a kainess (kaiser x ness) fic | blue lock | 1.3k
tags: yearning, mutual pining, getting together, halloween party, halloween costumes, post-chapter 301, michael kaiser has an oral fixation, making out, sexual tension
Summary:
Ness has never stopped chasing him; Kaiser’s only just realized he’s been chasing back.
When Ness invites him to Bastard München’s Halloween party, the distance between them finally gives way to everything left unsaid.
OR:
Ness's fangs + Kaiser's exposed neck
a kainess (kaiser x ness) fic | blue lock | 8k | yearning, hurt/comfort, touch-starved, getting together, breakup, hopeful ending, post-chapter 301
“Fine, Ness! If you want me so bad, we’ll move in together, sleep in the same bed, go on dates, kiss, hold hands, fuck—everything couples do! But don’t say I didn’t warn you. I’m trash. You’ll get tired of me.”
Or: Kaiser accepts Ness’s love, if only to prove that Ness can’t fix broken THINGS like him. Yet between defiance and tenderness, Kaiser begins to fall not just for Ness, but for the version of himself Ness never stopped believing in.
Or: Kaiser and Ness become a couple and argue in IKEA.
“You’re not my Kaiser. What happened to you?” This world's Ness keeps repeating, heartbreak bleeding through every word. “I want him back. Give him back to me!”
“I want to go back, too.” Kaiser dissociates, retreating from the sting of rejection by someone he didn’t know could cut this deep. “This world disgusts me.”
“Why? Because I see you?” Ness is firm but kind, crawling across the tangled sheets to close the space between them. “Because I know you?”
"Shut up!"
Ness falls silent, but there’s a fire in his eyes that lets Kaiser know this version of Ness is dangerous. Maybe his Ness is, too. Because, under Ness's gaze, Kaiser is completely-
“You wouldn’t let me kiss your neck for the longest time,” Ness says, like he isn’t unraveling Kaiser from the inside out. “Now it’s your favorite.”
-naked.
or:
Kaiser is ripped from the violent hands of death by a soft brush of lips, but when he wakes, he finds himself in a strange, altered world - possibly a parallel universe, or a far-off future - with Alexis Ness sleeping quietly in his arms. Can he survive this second chance, or will the past pull him under?
I'm excited to offer my Sailor Moon AU for @resbangmod's resbang 2021! I had the BEST partners ever - @macabremermaid (listen to playlist here), @bellflowerss (view art here) and @emmyyq (view art and her collab with bell here). Please take the time to listen to the playlists and love on the art they did because it will give you SoulxMaka feels and warm your heart. I would also like to thank @soundofez and @lunar-resonance for their beta skills and support! I could not have finished this without any of these lovely people!
Summary: Maka never expected to be stalked by a talking black kitten, drift away from her best friend, or turn into a clumsy, blushing idiot every time she runs into a certain snarky boy at the arcade. These aren’t even the worst things happening to her - add in an obnoxious love-spell trend involving costume jewelry and her papa’s newfound love interest in the school nurse, and Maka is at her wits’ end. She doesn’t have time to “transform into Meister Moon and hunt witches by moonlight,” even if the kitten’s ability to shoot pumpkins is kind of cool. But the fate of the universe waits for no final exams or school dances, and the friends Maka meets along the way (and a very charming and handsome masked stranger) might make that 3.99 GPA worth it. Sailor Moon AU. A magical girl story exploring the power of love, friendship, and fighting witches and mental illness.
Read on ao3 and fanfiction.net.
This story got away from me pretty quickly. I realized I couldn't fit everything that I planned in this fic for resbang. So, I've decided to start a slice-of-life spin off! More villains, more crime fighting by moonlight, more friendship feels, more magical girl shenanigans, and more clumsy young love à la the Sailor Moon 90's anime adaption! So please consider this a very fast paced main story and keep a look out for the spin off, the slowest of slow burns :)
day 6 of @soulxmakaweek 2020
X
Soul pops his head into the small bathroom to raise an eyebrow at Maka, their eyes locking in the mirror. “I heard banshee screeching. Are you being murdered or do you need me to be your alibi for murdering someone?”
“None of the above,” she confirms, sucking in a ragged breath that somehow only aggravates her more. “I’m trying to put on wings.”
Faint interest flickers in Soul’s eyes. “Wings?”
“Yes, wings.” Exasperated, she raises the liquid eyeliner stick that arrived (late) in a beat-up, squished, and possibly already opened box delivered to their doormat earlier that day. “I’ve watched six million tutorials online, called Liz and Kid for help, and tried every hack I could find, but I can’t make my eyeliner even.”
“It’s all in the wrist,” her weapon partner says, and when she responds with a confused expression, he steps into the bathroom. “It’s just art, Maka, but on your face. Here, can I try?”
Having him this close throws her nervous system out of wack. That’s been happening a lot lately. It’s like she can feel the warmth radiating off his skin and she wants to reach out and touch him to feel it herself. But why does his proximity affect her now? They touched a lot before in the past, actually---when he’s in weapon form, when they hold hands while one of them is in distress---except now she wants not to have an excuse. Somehow it doesn’t seem fair that she knows him inside and out emotionally but there exists a physical side of him she’s never explored before.
Maka is so entranced by his hands handling the eyeliner that she doesn’t notice him staring at her expectantly. “Huh? Sorry, I zoned out.”
“I said, uh...come closer?” He bites his lower lip, his breathing shallow and his voice somehow unsure. “So I can put your wings on for you.”
“Oh--uh, okay. Yeah.”
Maka’s heartbeat drums in her chest as she takes the smallest step forward, tilting her head up to try and make up for their height difference. Oh wow. She’s been close to him, but not like this, practically standing on top of his feet. Such a position feels too...intimate, especially when he cups her face with a gentle hand and stoops down. Maka forgets how to breathe while he first studies her face before sliding a finger underneath her chin and tilting her head up even more. She has no choice but to watch him watch her. Not that she’s strong enough to focus on anything else or even pay attention to what’s happening. Soon she feels the cool touch of liquid on her upper-lid, and then the other, and then---
“Done,” Soul announces proudly. Something like adoration shines in his eyes as he stares while she inspects his work in the mirror. She pretends not to notice, thanking him about a million times for his work because fuck, it’s really good. Better than the makeup gurus she’s been seeking out on the internet for advice.
“Your emo phase with guyliner really helped me out,” Maka teases, fumbling over her words.
“It wasn’t a phase and I’m still emo. But actually, it helps that I like artsy stuff. And that I’ve looked at you a lot.”
“Oh,” is all she can muster, what with her brain short circuiting at this revelation. No way is she going to dig deeper into that statement.
For a second Soul looks like he wants to confess something, but then seals it away behind a crooked grin. He brushes her hair away from her face with feather-like grace before leaning back against the bathroom counter to continue admiring his work. Maka prays that he doesn’t attribute the pink searing her cheeks to any feelings about him because that would totally be untrue.
“Damn, I do a good job, huh?”
“So humble,” is all she can manage before rushing out of that cramped space that smells like his laundry detergent and keeps messing with her head.
“I’m here if you need a touch-up or need another appointment,” he calls after her. It sounds so sweet to her ears. “I’m always available if it’s you.”
Maka bites down a huge grin when she answers the door and realizes it’s him. Try as she might, the scowl she puts on isn’t believable, not with the air of amusement behind her pretend anger.
“We’re not dating anymore,” she huffs, mouth rounding into an adorable pout. “Why are you here?”
Soul takes a deep, patient breath. “We are dating, and I live here, Maka.”
“No, not anymore.” The matter-of-fact tone in her voice is so convincing it almost breaks his heart. “Not since you said my cat was evil---”
“Oh, because it is!” Soul yanks his shirt up, tracing the angry red claw marks transversing his abdomen. “Look! Three claw marks. Three! That’s a sign of the devil!”
Desperation crosses Maka’s face, as if staunchly holding onto the lies she made up in her own head. “Blair is not the devil! She’s just---just overly affectionate! She doesn’t know her strength!”
He pulls his shirt back down, rolling his eyes. “Okay, how do you explain that pentagram shape she made with her food on the floor that I, by the way, had just mopped?”
Maka hikes up a stubborn, dismissive shoulder. “She’s artistic.”
“And the bones we found under our bed when we were cleaning?” He narrows his eyes, remembering other incidents of Blair dragging her sometimes-still-half-alive prey into the apartment. Ever since Maka came home three weeks ago with that stray cat, weird things keep happening, especially to him. “Are you telling me that wasn’t evidence of sacrifice rituals?”
She shakes her head. “The man at the market gives her free fish. I can’t help that she doesn’t know how to use a trashcan.”
“What does she do when she sneaks out of the house all day anyway? That’s super suspicious.”
“I don’t know, cat things probably?” Lord, Maka is so cute when she’s neck-deep in denial. “Chasing mice, playing with her friends---”
“You mean spying on me, following me around town, and stealing my stuff and leaving it in the parking lot for cars to run over.” He pauses for dramatic effect. “She’s bad, Maka. I don’t think she likes me.”
She softens at hearing his confession, tilting her head to give him an understanding look. “Blair loves you, though. Just like I do.”
Those words do the opposite of consoling him, though. Feelings of inferiority and insecurity creep abruptly and hauntingly over him like fog. What if she’s not joking about the breakup? Sure, he and Maka have serious arguments, but they never give each other ultimatums or treat each other harshly. They only play fight like this over dumb things like who forgot to put the wet clothes into the dryer or whose turn it is to pick their next show to marathon. He can’t help but sound pitiful as he creaks, “Maka, how do we not breakup?”
Her response is immediate, final, and haughty: “Apologize to Blair.”
Oh, okay, so she’s definitely still acting like his goodnatured, attention-seeking girlfriend. “I’m not saying sorry to your cat, Maka.”
“Then we’re through.” The glimmer in her eyes says otherwise. She taps her fingers on the door, probably expecting groveling and to hear a thesis-long apology.
But honestly, Soul wants to win this argument more than he wants to kiss and make up. He hits her back with a taste of her own medicine: “Okay, we’re through. I’ll need my hoodies back, thanks.”
Watching Maka’s jaw drop is fun. “What? Those are mine!”
Soul shrugs easily, as if he doesn’t care. “Then keep them. I’ll buy new ones.”
She closes and opens her mouth, mind obviously racing for a rebuttal. “But you have to wear them first so they can smell like you.”
“Fair,” he says, trying his best to feign innocence. “What do you say we call a truce? We’ll go back to normal. You can keep my hoodies, and Blair can stay in the apartment watching me go to the bathroom, throwing my plate off the table at dinner, throwing up on me, sitting on my head when I’m trying to sleep---you know, her usual evil self.”
“She’s not evil. But yeah, that sounds like a deal.” She gives him a mischievous beam. “Let’s make out, not-not-boyfriend.”
But before he can pull her close to and cover her mouth with his, a wild meow screeches dangerously close to his ear, followed by the searing pain of claws sliding down his face. His legs rush him to the bathroom mirror, Maka right behind him. “Ughh! See, THREE claw marks! Your cat is doing Satan’s work!”
bonus day for @soulxmakaweek 2020. can’t believe i’ve written for 8 days straight. thanks for all the lovely tags and support, y’all! happy soma week!
X
Maka isn’t sure when she began to lose her mind and started playing pretend. It must be because of all those damn books she reads.
Oh well.
Whatever it is that caused her to spiral out of control, at least it helps her imagine that Soul reacts well when she stirs him from his sleep at two in the morning. No, he’s happy (beyond irritated) that she asks him (demands) to please take her to the library (give her a ride that instant or else) because she absolutely needs to check out a book (NOW!) from the restricted section. After all, he’s her weapon partner and she needs his (ID card) help. No one else can possibly do this for her except him, Soul (because of his ID card).
And she did not want his attention. Nope.
In her own little fantasy world, Soul is glad that she came to him. (“You can’t just walk into my room whenever you want like your dad at a strip club, Maka, damn, what if I had been naked?!”) He slips into his shoes and jacket and grabs his keys without denying her. (“I’m going to freeze my nuts off, just for you…”) The best part is that he relaxes under her touch when she smooths out his bed hair. (“Maka, ouch! That’s my hair! Me telling you that my nuts are going to shrivel up does not warrant you to pull my fuc-”)
Now, in the parking lot, she slides her arms around Soul’s waist, pressing herself against his back as he starts his motorcycle, only to exclaim, “Wait, let me tie my hair back!”
Soul peers over his shoulder to watch as she gathers her hair into a quick, messy bun. A certain...pining? gleam in his eyes sends shivers down her spine. Once she’s done, he navigates them through the empty and quiet streets to the library. To Maka, it seems like the traffic lights work faster at three in the morning because the pair don’t encounter any red lights, which are the best, as they provide more time for Maka to play pretend. During those stops she can almost convince herself that she’s not fighting back a powerful, undeniable something for Soul.
The motorcycle rolls to a stop in front of the library. Oddly self-conscious of the strands that hang loosely around her face, Maka grunts when he tells her he’ll wait outside. She feels his eyes on her as she climbs the stairs and then again minutes later when she wanders out, book tucked between her arm and ribcage.
“Okay, take me home,” she says, thumping his helmet.
“Yes, my angel,” Soul drawls before speeding off.
So much for playing pretend. Maka definitely heard him say those words. Thank goodness he can’t see the red watercoloring her cheeks. It’s times like these, when he’s relaxed even though she’s indisputably invading his personal bubble, that Maka questions why she needs to deny what their partnership has blossomed into. This is Soul, with his – ah, how did he put it all those years ago? ‘Fear of touching others’. Yet he does not flinch when she clings to him as they ride home.
Even yesterday, like many other times, she had accidentally sat too close to him. Soul’s gaze had been glued to the television while Maka read, and she had forgotten that he was sitting on the other end of the couch. She had stretched out her legs into his lap without thinking. How was she supposed to move them when he placed his hands on them so casually, like they belonged on her so comfortably? It’s---
“You have to let go of me,” Soul’s voice drawls through her thoughts.
Ah, they’re at the apartment now – Soul has parked his motorcycle in its usual parking spot, and silence that only the early morning hours can achieve hum around them. A single nearby streetlamp provides a beacon of soft yellow light. Maka pretends that she isn’t embarrassed as she climbs off the bike, that her arms miss him and that she’s fiddling around in her backpack to look for her keys even though Soul has his own in his hands. Their neighbors have their porch lights on, and they look like lanterns guiding the pair to their own door, which Soul shuts behind him as he kicks off his shoes.
“Are you upset?” The demon scythe sure doesn't beat around the bush. “I’m not actually mad that you woke me up, you know. I was just giving you a hard time. Teasing you."
Maka spins on her heels and shrieks, her vocal cords straining. “No, I’m not mad!” And that's the truth, though. She's just hopelessly confused. Why does he make her feel too much?
Soul bites down an amused smirk. “Good, because I’m not mad either.”
Death, even his mouth is so infuriating. "Good!”
“Good!” he returns, laughing. His stupid grin just makes her stomach flutter and pisses her off more. What’s with his know-it-all attitude?
“Fine!” she yells, growling indignantly when he steps forward and cups her cheeks. Oh no, he's too close and it's driving her crazy. She may pass out.
“Shut up,” Soul says, not unkindly. They’re the most tender words she’s heard him speak. “Do you need a hug?”
All she can do is nod. They sigh in unison, Maka closing her eyes as she rests her head against her chest. This close to him, she doesn’t have to pretend to not feel anything. Maka can just be, and what she is... is completely head over heels for her partner. And she can finally allow herself to focus on him.
“...I can hear your heartbeat,” she whispers a couple of minutes later.
“Good.” When he speaks, his chest rumbles and she can’t get enough of it. “Listen as much as you want for as long as you need.”
Right then, she kisses his throat as he throws his head back and laughs. It vibrates through his skin, low and rumbly, imprinting itself onto her lips where she’ll save it for when he’s not around. Or when his laughter is not around because sometimes, in the dead of winter---or any time of the year actually, because serotonin is a finicky thing---he’ll go quiet and somewhere faraway. The light in his gaze dims. His musical voice fades. Try as she might, Maka can’t always help, but she can be there. So, she saves the ghost of his smiles and jokes on her lips so she can give them back to him in the winter (or the spring, or the summer, or the fall). Everyday she keeps little pieces of him to remind him of the good, the soft.
Except, Soul doesn’t know. It’s her own secret mission to be his helper guardian angel. Besides, it makes touching him more fun, even if he pretends to be annoyed and sticks his hand in her face to stop her from trying to cover his neck in kisses.
“That’s enough slobber, Maka,” he gripes, though one corner of his mouth hikes up higher than the other. “I can’t practice my guitar if you’re distracting me like this.”
“So put it away,” she says in his ear, finger trailing lightly down his arm. His muscles jump, and he stiffens with bashfulness but then relaxes with a sigh. “Nothing is more important than making out and cuddling.”
“Uhm I don’t know...there’s music, food, and air...” Soul goes on with his list but can’t quite go on, especially when she runs her fingers through his hair. He gives in to her easy, like falling asleep. Soon he’s laughing again, calling her a dork for tickling him.
“But you’re just soooooo cute!” Death, but he really is beautiful, especially when he grins and it reaches his eyes. She hasn’t figured out how to save that yet.
Soul pinches his nose in faux exasperation. “Am not. I’m cool. Cool guys aren’t cute, Maka.”
She cups his face and distantly wishes happiness wasn’t so fleeting. “I love you, cool cutiepie---”
