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nagislemontea · 5 months

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Shanks & his Empress of Amazon Lily.

Summary: Just as every former Empress of the Maiden Island had succumbed to a love sickness, you were not the exception.

Idea: Shanks / Empress of Amazon Lily

2594 words.

After Shakky departed from Amazon Lily due to her love sickness, her position of power had fallen onto you. As the new Empress of the Kuja Tribe and the Captain of the Kuja Pirates, you upheld the image as the island’s pinnacle of womanhood. You were a rose that stood apart from the rest of the garden, though every rose has its thorns as well. You were respected, admired, yet also feared across the seas all the same. Creating a reputation as a notorious Pirate Empress created instances where individuals or groups were seen as fools to challenge someone so formidable, this current event in particular being one of them.

The Kuja Pirates were presently docked at an island in the East Blue rich with agriculture, stocking up on a multitude of food supplies for the venture back towards Amazon Lily. Unfortunately for you, a particular red-haired captain and his crew happened to dock at a harbour on the other end of the island. This placed you in your current predicament, the stallholder felt nervous as he watched the two captains in anticipation, wondering whether he should intervene or not. You glared at the man in front of you as he did the same, both so thoroughly invested in intimidating the other for a fresh batch of lobster… Besides that, you knew of the captain standing in front of you to be Red-Hair Shanks. He was a pirate recently gaining more attention because of his battles against Marine Hunter, Dracule Mihawk. His trademark besides his striking red hair was the straw hat, shading the rugged look he had.

Meanwhile, Shanks– while glaring at you– had been attentively observing the details of your face. Like you have heard about him, he has heard twice as much about you. He’s heard about your strength and accomplishments that have made you the threat you are today. Though he’s also heard about your beauty and grace, like a rose covered in thorns, prickling anyone that dares to cross you. He thought of you as a dangerous beauty, with your eyes as the most striking feature. Shanks imagined you’d make an amazing addition to his crew even if you already had one of your own, it couldn’t hurt to ask, right? But it did hurt to ask, just a little. He watched as the tension in your shoulders fell as a look of shock and confusion harboured your face, before bursting out into a fit of laughter, a pleasant mix of disbelief and amusement. Shanks felt rather flushed but quickly sank the feeling down as he took in the joy that was in your laugh. He found it endearing. So once again, he asked– not for you to join his crew– but for you to join him in walking around the island while gathering supplies.

He watched as a flash of hesitancy crossed your face, but chose to wait for a verbal answer. You, after gaining quite a good laugh from the man, felt a slight pull towards him. You were intrigued by the enigma presented before you. The newspapers formed a rather serious and unapproachable impression of the red-haired captain, though it seems to be quite the opposite now. You wanted to take a walk with Shanks, but as a resident of a Maiden Island, particularly being its Empress, you weren’t expected to casually frolic with that of a man. However, when you thought back to the stories you had heard from your former Empress and her experiences with the man named Rayleigh, you wanted to see if you could experience the same. Shakky had described it as elating, unforgettable, yet a fleeting experience for a Pirate Empress tied down to their duties. So, you accepted his invitation. In response, he gave you a bright smile. One that stunned you in place as you took note of how his lips curled up into something so radiant. If anything, it was like the sun allowing the roses of its garden to thrive in its light. You felt your heart begin to blaze, though buried it deep as you fell into place beside him to walk through the village. It was at this instance, that both captains had completely forgotten about their competition over some lobster, and the duties that their crews required of them to complete.

You found his presence to be freeing, there was no need for formalities. Shanks made that clear when he tried to amuse you with chopsticks in his nose, to which you walked away in response. You thought of the man as a fool, but a kind one. You noticed how he interacted with the children he came across, they all gleamed up at him with admiration despite his rising infamy as a pirate. You even noticed his subtle acts of service when he stopped a cart of fruits from spilling over without the villagers noticing, or when he ‘accidentally’ dropped a few coins for the man wishing to buy his child a dessert. He continued to smile ever so brightly, setting the whole island alight even as the sun began to descend. Shanks was a fool, you continued to think, but a charming one at that. You wondered if this is what Shakky experienced in her own time alongside Rayleigh, and if every single moment from today would continue to be something alike now. Surely not, life was not perfect. Though your eyes displayed such exuberance that made you want to cherish this experience and the others that may follow after this one, even if it was fleeting as you were once told.

Shanks almost couldn’t remember the last time he felt that he could rest. Typically, he’d be more elated at gaining more acknowledgment as a pirate, though the attention from the Marines and the World Government had begun to weigh more on his crew. He could see it in their expressions, even on his own when faced with a mirror. Hence his crew was currently sailing around the East Blue to rest up, leading up to his current situation. As he stuck the chopsticks up his nostrils, he turned to you for your reaction. He took in the way you covered your mouth to stifle a laugh, your fingers creating an opening to see how your lips went up into a beautiful curve. Shanks felt pride in being able to make you smile at his foolishness, even when you walked away to hide your own amusement. You were a rose with thorns, but still possible to grasp as long as you gently pulled out its spikes. He watched as you interacted with the environment with such grace in each of your steps and inquisitiveness in the enchanting eyes you possessed. He noticed how you usually came to the villagers with questions regarding things you held curiosity for. You were fascinating yourself, but still so intrigued by the world around you that it urged him to show you more if possible. Shanks was quite aware of who you were, an Empress of the Maiden Island and notorious Captain of the Kuja Pirates. He’d assumed you already knew a vast amount of knowledge about the seas and more, so he wanted to help with things you might’ve not known about. Shanks would beam when he explained something and the way your eyes would gleam at the discovery of new information. You were indeed a rose that flourished in the sun even as it set on the horizon.

As you parted ways with Shanks, you continued to stare back at the island aboard your ship, even as it became a minuscule block in your sight until it disappeared. Shakky was correct, it was a euphoric and unforgettable experience, though fleeting. Fortunately for you, this first meeting would not be the last. One year later, on an island in the Grand Line, you found yourself sitting beside the same red-haired captain. Only this time, he was without donning his straw hat and missing an arm. You took note of how his eyes held a new hope and how his personality only became increasingly charming the last you’d seen him. Though most of all, you noticed how his foolishness stayed present, despite seemingly becoming more serious in his role as Captain of the Red-Hair Pirates. The two of you chatted over a few drinks, ending with you inviting him to take a stroll around the island, to which he accepted with the same brilliant grin he decided to grace you with months ago. This became a daily occurance should you dock on the same island as Shanks, each conversation turning into a walk-and-talk around the archipelagos. Your crew, including his, noticed how every few islands their captains would disappear for hours, only to come back with their duties having been forgotten. Benn Beckman in particular, saw how every once in a while, Shanks would return with a more elated expression than usual, his mind elsewhere until Beckman would scold him for discarding his duties. Unbeknownst to his first-mate, he was only that ecstatic because of the time spent with you. He thought of you as a rose that he could hold without its thorns making him bleed.

Though you both continued to hold your own goals as you two sailed across the seas, there were times where one would linger in the other's thoughts more often than not. This became apparent after Gloriosa noticed how you’d stare off into the sea every time she would address you in your sleeping chambers, as if you had something else you’d rather be thinking of. Your mind drifting off continued until Gloriosa returned with news regarding a new Emperor of the Sea, the mention of Shanks’ name had your head turning in a speed that startled even Gloriosa herself. Your elder stepped in beside you as your eyes gazed upon the paper with an image of the Red-Hair Pirates claiming their glory, taking note of how your hand lingered over the captain’s face. It had been long since your last meeting with the red-haired captain, longer than usual, and it may have tore away at your thoughts at times as you had come to enjoy his company. You thought of him as a sun that you allowed yourself the privilege to bask in without burning. Gloriosa, staring at you with suspicion, began a subtle interrogation on your connection to the Emperor. You were able to answer her questions without faltering until she had asked a rather forward one, did you hold feelings for Red-Hair Shanks?

Without warning, Gloriosa watched as your face burst into a shade of deep red, almost the same shade as the mentioned man’s hair. Your lips parted multiple times to speak, yet your mouth ran dry at every attempt. Your gaze went everywhere but the paper that held the image of the red-haired captain, never letting your eyes linger for more than a second if it did. You felt the thumps of your heart making an attempt to burst out of your chest, your back falling against the sheets and taking deep breaths in an attempt to quell it. You felt warm, like the sun had invited itself into your room. You felt like you were burning, though unaware of the reason why. Normally, you disliked burning, though this felt more passionate and embracing, rather than the burning of an emotion like hatred. Gloriosa gaped at you with shock as she watched the same sickness she’s seen for generations overcome the current Empress of Amazon Lily. The elder ordered the concerned guards out of the room, fanning you with a nearby folding fan as you gathered your thoughts. As soon as you were able to sit back up, Gloriosa ordered you to listen to her carefully– that the sickness you had caught was not a joke. You’d thought her to be serious until she told you that you were in love, your face becoming warm yet again. You then allowed your mind once more to focus on Shanks. You thought him to be captivating. His smile, his charms, his foolishness, his warmth. These were only a few of the traits that you’ve come to admit that you admired so deeply. Gloriosa watched as your mind drifted off once again and sighed, leaving you to sort out your love sickness on your own.

However, as soon as the elder had opened the doors to your chambers, a warrior had stumbled in with a rather frantic expression. The young woman’s gaze switched between you and Gloriosa, apologizing profusely for her interruption before reporting that there was a situation along the island’s coast. Upon hearing the urgency in her voice, you stood firm on your feet, the symptoms of your love sickness having disappeared for the time being. Immediately, you took your cloak as you headed out into the halls of your tower, commanding the warrior to report on more details of the issue. Apparently, there had been a break-in on the island and multiple groups were currently out looking for the perpetrator. Gloriosa followed closely behind the two of you, only halting in her step when you did. The older woman behind you watched on in horror as your breaths became shallow and the thumps in your heart began once more. Though you had felt warm inside of the walls of your room, you were sweltering now, holding yourself against a windowsill for balance support. Despite the condition you were dealing with, you continued to walk forwards. Ignoring the pleas of the two to rest, you only turned back when Gloriosa said you would not be able to handle the situation accordingly in your condition, cutting her off with a single look. As it was clear that you would deal with the perpetrator, you commanded the warrior to retract their forces as you headed out into the sun.

You stared at the fool standing across from you with utter disbelief, before glaring at him as his head hung back from laughter. The red-headed captain was drenched from his swim across the Calm Belt, his black coat hung up to dry allowing you to admire the way his white button up presently clung to his skin. You observed every detail of the elation that he displayed, from the way his eyes crinkled expressing genuine joy to the way he held his hand to his stomach when laughing too hard. You took notice of every crease around his eyes, the veins on his hand reaching up to his arms. Even his tousled red hair that you’d be able to discern in any crowd. Everything. Though you’ve always believed it, you thought him to be more radiant than ever as the sun graced his figure as he stood before you. Meanwhile Shanks, as his laughing ceased, took in your grace as the roses around you seemed to flourish more than they did when he arrived. He thought you were more beautiful than the last he had seen you, just as flowers bloom when the sun has risen. He wanted to hear your voice, to see your smile, to have the privilege to hold you even if he is pricked by thorns. Shanks would bleed for you. You made no attempt to stop him when he embraced your figure, feeling the burning sensation in your body despite the water seeping from his clothes to yours. His warmth was welcoming and passionate, he is the sun that you would allow yourself to burn in. The sun had invited himself into your garden. A/N: i suck at dialogue so i avoided it woo

#one piece #one piece live action #one piece x reader #one piece x you #one piece imagine #one piece oneshots #opla x reader #shanks x reader #shanks x you #akagami no shanks #akagami no shanks x reader #red hair shanks #red hair shanks x reader #red hair pirates

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ancientgoddessofegypt · 5 months

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THE POWER OF VENUS: SENSUAL AURA; HOW MUCH POWER DOES YOUR BEAUTY CONTAIN?

For Venus Day I wanted to do something special. My favorite girlies are the choices for this reading. Pick which one resonates with you the most, and take a look at each pile ! Have fun!

PILE 1 - AALIYAH - 'The Loveable Child, Aura As Magical As The Clouds.'

You're aura has a mystical charm. Deep inside the inner self is a magical energy that puts people in awe. Your gentleness captivates people and your ability to see the beauty in all that is around you is what makes you much more magical. Your sensual energy is capable of proving a point, being a star is your mission if you have this placement. Because your divine essence is what attracts others to you and others are willing to help you in your mission, desires, dreams, goals, etc.

Message: Be quiet. Not everyone needs to know your mind. Be yourself but be quiet about the things you know. Take it easy, not everyone can be as high in the clouds as you. Heaven's Child.

Numbers & Colors : 333, 555, 777, 111, Pink, Yellow, Green Lavender

Animals : Skunks & Deers (Bambi)

Themes : Loveable, Kind, Sweetness, Adorable

PILE 2 - SELENA - 'A Dream Come True'

Whew. This one is magnetic and its BIG. Big in a way that you can feel it however you're not sure what it is. Your sensual grace forms a lesion of people to honor you no matter how you look. Your charm is essential to awakening the divine feminine in you and others. You have gifts in singing if you've pick this one, as your singing qualities is like a bee being attracted to honey, its calming, tasteful and filled with valuable energy.

Message: You are captivating, never allow jealous or envious beings bring you back to a place that kept you in depression. Leave now. Don't allow them to sink this ship, God sent you to them to heal.

Numbers & Colors : Rainbow , Green, Blue, Orange,

Animals : Gazelles, Lions, Cheetahs, Hamsters & Guinea Pigs

Themes: Bravery, Resilience, Determination, Power

PILE 3 - SALMA HAYEK - 'Witch; Powerful and Formidable Aura'

A Goddess. It is she who walks the darkest roads that comes out on top and flows like no other. Your charm and power holds so much weight. People stop and stare at you from a far. In a daze, no man or woman can stop looking at your psychique and the power you hold can make anyone be hypnotized by your spark. You have a gift in setting the room on fire, holding up the magic in the room and making it fold to your bidding. Powerful qualities in sensual abilities and manifestation abilities are stronger with this group. You have the gift of getting your desires through the power of your charm and ability to be seen in your raw nakedness, take that as you will.

Your flow intimidates people, but your charm is what keeps them running back ;)

Message: Know when to be seen or be heard. Appreciate the joy in being a 'bitch'. Allowing others in just because you said so. Boundaries are not a kept secret, tell them off. Let them know it.

Numbers & Colors : Pink, Red, Magenta & Purple, 1111, 222, 333, 444, 555, 666, 111

Animals : Serpents & Octopus

Themes: Being who you are, Lilith, Oceans are connected to this group.

PILE 4 - BEYONCE - 'Look at me now'

This group is undergoing a big transformation! If not now it's on the way. No enemy shall prosper with this group. Now back to the reading, you guys have an immense power that is connected to a faerie like charm. Very pretty and magical. If you picked this group you may have a venusian energy that connects to a Goddess (this is for you to go within and seek). A high priestess energy from this group and a aura that is valuable no man and woman shouldn't dare come to you without a gift or even an honorable mention. Do what you will with that.

Message: Learn to appreciate the world as is, its just a minor reflection of whats inside of you. Speak highly to others as well as yourself. Be kind to you and to others and watch mountains open for you.

Numbers & Colors: Yellow & Pink, 3333, 444, 888, 1111

Themes: Goddess, Queenlike, Ochun, Pyramids, The world revolves around you, make it happen.

#channeler #intuitive readings #intuition readings #pick a pile #pick a card #pick a photo

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wood-white-writer · 7 months

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"Didn't mean to make your heart Blue" || [8/...]

— OPLA! Buggy x F!Reader

"My love is mine, all mine. I love, my, my, mine. Nothing in the world belongs to me but my love,"

— Mitski, "My Love Mine All Mine"

Pairing: Buggy the Clown (Live Action) x F!Reader

Summary: You were an apprentice of Gol D. Roger’s crew in your youth, long before his eventual demise. Along with the Red-Haired Shanks and Buggy, you were a formidable trio; the embodiment of a new generation of pirates yet to come. But times changed, and so did you and your friends. Buggy, desperate for your attention, can't help but think about what led to this situation.

Warnings: fem!reader, LA!Verse, slight canon divergence, morally grey reader, depiction of blood and wounds, DIY suturing, slight alcoholic indulgence, Buggy realizing he's fucked up big time

Buggy recalls the first time he caught your smile.

It had been several months since the Captain introduced you to the crew. Despite the sorry state you were in at the time of your debut, your eyes were so bright even back then, as though illuminated by something internal.

He’s heard about fish glowing in the dark even when in the deep depths of the ocean, thousands of miles out of the light, and they require nothing but themselves to keep the light on.

He wondered if you’re like that. You didn’t look like a fish, nor did you remind him of any fish people he had encountered; too pretty and earthbound but glowing all the same.

Glowing, but dull. A knife that's not been polished for long, but still being used as intended.

Everything about you, how you walked and moved, all the way down to how you blinked, felt placid and stale from his perspective. He himself was an expressive man, never denying himself the capacity to show how he felt, so to witness it from you felt like a foreign sight.

You didn’t smile, nor show much of anything really. No sadness, anger, or joy. Just a blank canvas without any colors.

He compared you to a doll; a mannequin having come to life from behind a display case, breathing and blinking and moving, yet maintaining its lifeless nature all the same. You were strong, exceedingly so, and you followed orders without question or complaint. Like a machine working on auto.

He wondered whether you had been a slave or some kind of child soldier before Rogers found you. You must have been because no one becomes this … this … cold of their own volition.

He found that your apparent incapacity to live annoyed him, and so he set out to change it. He didn’t know why, but he just had to.

Quite frankly, he didn’t know what he said or did. Maybe he told some silly joke, the kind his crew mates usually smacked him in the back of the head for due to its cheesiness, but you smiled.

The image of that remains stuck in his head like a stain that won’t wash off. He remembers everything about that moment. The way you wore your hair, with a singular braid on the right side of your face. Asymmetrical and messy, yet you made it look just right.

He remembers the way the gray sky parted just in time for a ray of sunlight to shine across the deck, further illuminating your face. It was like the heavens above decided to put a spotlight on you.

He recalls the way your eyes glistened in the sun.

He remembers it all.

Maybe that’s when it first began? This … thing that’s been gnawing at him for so long? This feeling that won’t leave him in peace, even in his sleep. It tugs at his chest, pinches his stomach, itches his skin, and warms his face.

This feeling that’s been clawing at him in the twenty years you were parted.

The source of that feeling that’s currently looking at him from across the room.

His eyes light up like fireworks upon seeing you enter the kitchen area. “Hey! Look who it ...—!" The moment he sees the state you're in, whatever words were about to exit subsequently fall dead on his tongue. "— ... is."

You look like shit, mildly put. He's never seen you look as terrible before save for the time you first joined Rogers’ crew, and it feels like he’s back there again.

Back to sitting on the sidelines as the Captain procured you from under his oversized coat; a kid who looked smaller than she really was, now with a fresh bruise in development across your cheek, sunken eyes, and a pale complexion to your skin that wasn't there before.

You're leaning onto Rubber Boy like he's your only lifeline from falling headfirst into the floor, and upon squinting his eyes, Buggy notices the edge of a bandage peeking out from under your shirt, with a drop of blood staining the material.

In all the time Buggy's known you, he's only seen you bleed maybe once or twice. It was a rare occurrence; no blade could pierce your skin, nor daggers or swords. Your hide was impenetrable, like molten armor in the flesh. Arlong really did a number on you. He couldn't see much during the time he was stuck in that God-awful bag, but by the sounds of it, it was not a fight you were winning. He always held onto the notion that you were unbeatable; unbroken. Nothing could hope to harm you.

However, this diluted image of you he’s presented with confirms the opposite. You’re not invincible. You’re human. Faster, stronger, indefinitely more dangerous than the rest if your track record is anything to go by, but still bitterly human to the core.

When he led Arlong to Baratie, he thought you'd be able to finish the fucker off without a struggle. He'd watch the spectacle from the front rows, popcorn in his metaphorical hands while cheering you on from the sidelines.

Now, seeing you like this, like you've just walked through hell and back, he can't help but acknowledge the fact that he did this to you. He led Arlong to you.

He swallows the lump in his throat and stores the guilt away for another day.

Your eyes finally meet, for the first time since Orange Town, and he can see the confusion in your eyes. The hesitation that gradually morphs into the anger that he's become acquainted with as of late. You promptly yank yourself free from Luffy, stomp over to the table with uneven and unsteady steps that threaten to topple you over, and finally slam both of your hands on each side of Buggy's head.

The table cracks lightly under your grip, sending several splinters flying in every direction. Buggy gulps nervously.

"H-Heya, doll," he tries, but the darkness over your eyes leaves no room for sugarcoated words. They never did.

"Luffy," you say calmly while never taking your eyes away from the clown's, unbridled rage simmering in their depths despite your compromised state. "Why is he here?"

"About that ..." Luffy sheepishly scratches the back of his head. "He's the only one who knows the way to Arlong Park."

"To Arlong P— … " Your nails leave crescent-shaped holes in the soft tablecloth, and you glance at Luffy from over your shoulder, looking far more tired after seeing Buggy for ten seconds than you did beforehand. "And you're sure there'sno other way of getting there?"

"Nope!" Buggy interjects with a prominent pop!, hoping to catch your attention again. "He was real secretive about where his little fish-mancave's located. Lucky for you, I memorized the way back to my body!"

He's disappointed that you won't turn to even acknowledge his contributions to the conversation. You won't look at him again, and he discovers that he can't bear it.

Please look at me!

But you don't.

The silence is suffocating until you push yourself from your table, and he notices the way you cradle the side of your stomach while doing so. A silent hiss leaves your lips that he would've been unable to catch onto had he not been so focused on your reactions.

You look at Luffy, your back turned to Buggy, and limp over to the pathetic captain. Buggy predicts you’re about to shout at him, tell him the stupidity of this decision, and maybe even smack him across the face for emphasis. He hopes you will; the kid needs to have his ass kicked a few times to compensate for the humiliation the clown suffered at his hands.

To his bitter disappointment, you don’t commit yourself to any of the aforementioned. Really, not even a smack? Instead, all you do is heave an exhausted sigh before you prepare to exit the kitchens. "It's your decision," you say, and that's all you say before Buggy has to suffer your absence again.

———

It's the bounty hunter's turn to keep watch over him tonight, and Buggy, for one, would rather prefer to get tossed into the ocean than suffer like this.

He finds that this asshole is the worst one among the bunch to be keeping an eye on him. While the waiter and the long-nosed idiot would rather ignore him and leave him be, Moss-hairs over there seems like he has it out for him the most. Maybe it has to do with the fact that he almost killed him, but hey, all is fair in piracy?

"YAH!" Buggy shrieks when the asshole yanks him by the scruff of his hair with an iron grip, pulling out several blue hair strands while doing so. "CAREFUL WITH THE HAIR, SHITHEAD!"

"Shut up."

He can only hang when Zoro takes him inside to the kitchens, where the pretty-boy with the blonde hair is already cooking something up. Even before they entered the threshold to the kitchen, Buggy could hear your voice. You were talking to the blonde, and judging by the lightness in your tone, you were at ease enough not to be spiteful.

Buggy feels himself become annoyed, and not even the smell of food can tame it regardless of how hungry he is.

"Also, you should stitch up that wound soon," says the blonde, his voice growing more audible the closer they get to the kitchen. "Wouldn't want it to get infected."

"I'll handle it," you say in turn. "Wouldn't be the first time I've had to do something like this."

"You know, if you want to, I can lend you my hands. I'm told I have quite dexterous fingers, molded for delicate work."

"I'll pass, thank you."

"As you wish, but my offer is still on the table should you have a change of heart."

Buggy doesn't even know the guy, and he already wants to drown him. Whatever hunger occupied his stomach miles away with the rest of his body gets promptly replaced with something far sharper. Far uglier. It has teeth long enough to bite through flesh, claws that can tear open flesh, and it’s starving.

They finally enter the kitchen area, and whatever conversation previously took place shifts into silence upon their entrance.Buggy grins as he meets your eyes. "What's tonight’s specials?" he asks, hoping you'll actually respond with something this time, regardless of how sardonic it is.

He wouldn’t mind it if it’s something along the lines of “Fuck you” or “Eat shit” or “I hope you die, asshole.” It only has to be something, but it seems that even that is too high of a criterion for you to bother with.

You merely get up to your feet, unsteadiness painting your steps, and try to excuse yourself from the room without as much as a look his way.

For the duration of his uncomfortable stay with these shitty nobodies, Buggy's main priority aside from navigating this useless crew and getting his body back is your attention.

However, whenever someone — whether it be that shitty cook or the bounty hunter or the slingshot — brings him someplace where you coincidentally happen to be, you excuse yourself from their company and go someplace else.

He finds it more torturous than the bounty hunter's hold on him. It's been like this for the past two days. You won’t talk to him, won’t look at him, you won’t even acknowledge him even when he’s being the loudest head in the room.

Sure, he can piss off the rest of the bunch without even trying, but no matter how much he tries to catch your ire, you don’t take the bite.

The string that’s been dangling him above the water is just about ready to snap at this point.

"Hold up," Zoro says and proceeds to hold up Buggy's head for you, ignoring the string of curses that flow from his lips. "I want to eat my dinner in peace, so you take him."

Your face, while blank, cannot disguise the irritation laced in your words. "Give him to Ussop."

"He's on watch duty tonight,"

"Sanji?"

"My fine lady, as much as I'd desire to ease your woes, I'm currently preoccupied with preparing the meals." The blonde raises his pan for emphasis. "I would have lent you my aid, do not doubt that."

You’re not convinced. "… Right." Your eyes finally settle down to Buggy, and with great reluctance on your part, you slowly raise your hands up to take him.

Zoro smirks and deposits the clown into your hands. The absence of pressure at the top of his head is a welcomed reprieve. Your hold — while firmer around his cheeks than he'd prefer — is not uncomfortable per se. At least, not in comparison to your other crew mates.

He considers this a win. It's been far too long since he's been granted your touch, the last time being when you bid him a bitter goodbye back in Orange Town.

"Also," you say to Zoro. "I need a bottle of rum and a rag."

The swordsman tilts his head skeptically to the side. "Haven't you had enough to drink?"

"I need it to sterilize the sewing equipment."

Realization dawns on his face and Zoro relents. He hands you a bottle of rum from the kitchen cabinet, and after thanking him, you make your way to your cabins with the bottle in one hand whereas Buggy rests in the crook of your other elbow.

The walk is excruciatingly quiet, only the sound of your feet making any noise. It's deafening, and he can't stand it. He needs noise, preferably from you, but he doesn’t mind being the instigator.

"... So," he begins. "You know how to stitch yourself?"

You don't answer, and when he peeks up at you, your eyes are solely aimed at the path ahead.

"You gotta have the right technique," he continues, a little more energized. "Or it'll become an ugly scar. I can help you with it, I'm a pretty good seamster if I do say so myself."

Again, you don't dignify him with a response. He bites his cheek. Fuck, this is getting tiresome.

He looks up at you again, and he notices just how different you've become from when you were younger. Your eyes were bright, but your smile was even brighter. You'd happily chat with him for hours and hours on end without ever growing bored of the conversation. You'd joke, you'd playfully hit him (though your definition of 'playful' usually had him stumbling in his steps), and you'd smile.

Now, your eyes are dark, and sunken, and there are several wrinkles in development; not from age alone, but simple exhaustion. The years have truly changed you, and the itch nagging him at the back of his head reminds him that it's partially his fault.

He decides to shut up until you reach your cabin.

Your place, he discovers, is vaguely minimalistic at best. You have the basics: a hammock in the far corner, a chair with a small table next to it, a barrel serving as both a nightstand as well as what he assumes to be a storage space of sorts, and a lantern on the top that's already been lit.

You close the door behind you and head for the table. He expects you to all but pummel him down on it, like your crew mates, maybe even drop him altogether for the heck of it. He braces himself for impact and shuts his eyes when you raise your hands.

To his surprise, you simply put him down on top of it without any unnecessary pressure or force. He feels the wooden surface under his neck without any discomfort, and he can't help but notice that you've deliberately positioned his face towards the window.

He tries to plop around, like a fish out of water, but your hands - a little tighter around him this time - retract his movement. "Hey, what gives?!”

He doesn’t know why he’s even bothering to ask, already knowing that you're probably not going to answer.

To his surprise, you actually do this time.

"Don't look." Despite the sharp enunciation of your voice, the one he's been aching to hear for the past two days, it sounds hushed.

Not wanting to piss you off in case you decide to completely ignore him again, now that he's regained a smidgen of your notice, Buggy complies and elects to stare out of the window in spite of the desperate need to remain focused on you.

However, Buggy's never been one to completely follow the rules, so he decides to bend them. The window provides him a half-measured view of you in its reflection, with the dark waves serving as an addition to your image. A beautiful addition at that.

How sad is it that this is the only way he can look at you now?

He listens and watches as you put the liquor bottle on the table inches away from him, and then you proceed to retrieve a box of something hidden under the wood. It's not until you put it down next to the bottle and open it that he discovers that it's some kind of sewing kit.

You take a small mirror and put it on the edge of the window frame at a very specific angle.

Eyes sharp and focused on the task at hand, you withdraw a needle of adequate size from the box, carefully pull a thread through the pinhole, and douse them both with booze. Shortly after taking a generous gulp of the liquor yourself, you put them both to the side to draw up the side of your shirt.

Buggy pales slightly when he sees the bloodied bandages hidden under the fabric. If the semi-transparent reflection of it is enough to make him nauseous, he can't imagine what the real deal is like.

The three marks that stretch across your ribs look ugly. Scratch that, they look grotesque. Old blood rests dried and cracked along the edges, and the fresh flesh between your severed skin looks even worse. Like an animal maimed you and left you to rot on the ground. He’s seen his fair share of shitty shit in his life as a captain, but this is something he considers almost too much for him. It doesn’t make sense, he’s seen someone amputate on themselves due to a canon blast, but he only considered it a nuisance at best.

Maybe it’s because it’s you this time?

“God,” he whispers more to himself than anyone else. When snap your eyes to him, having heard him speak, he is quick to deflect. “I- Erhm, I never noticed how shitty the weather is tonight.”

He can’t tell if you buy it or not, but if you do, you don’t voice it and continue with your makeshift patchwork. With the rag you procured, you pour some of the alcohol over and press it tightly against your open wound with no delay. Buggy winces at the same time you do. He's had to disinfect wounds similarly before, and it hurts like hell. Fucking hell. He doubts you disagree with the notion.

You grit your teeth tightly, face contorting and your lips wobbling as a quiet "Fuck" leaves you. One second becomes two, two become four, four become eight until finally, you withdraw the now stained rag. He notices your hand shaking, your breath hitching, and the way you're all but forcing yourself to stay calm.

Since when did you limit yourself like this? Deny yourself the capacity to feel? Fucking scream, he wants to yell at you. Feel something. Say something! Show him that you still feel anything. Don't pretend like you don’t.

If that pot ain't calling the kettle black, he doesn’t know what is.

He looks at your reflection, watches as you pick up the needle and inching it towards your severed ski—

“DON’T!”

You abruptly stop and snap your eyes over to him, and he realizes he’s efficiently blown his cover. While still selectively mute, all the anger and irritation you need to convey is done so through your glare alone. Scorching. Sizzling.

He licks his lips. “If you do it like that, it’ll scar real fucking bad and won’t hold the skin together.”

At first, you only stare, and he thinks you’re going to ignore him again. However, like some miracle, you answer. “I know how to patch myself.”

“Sure as shit don’t look like it,” he retorts snidely. “With an angle like that, you’re lucky if—”

“I didn’t ask for your input.”

“Fucking looks like you need it.”

“I don’t need anything from you.”

You all but throw the needle into the nearby wall, which just happens to be the same one he‘s positioned next to. The needle lodges itself right into the wood, sticking out with the thread still dangling from the eye.

Buggy stops breathing, and a drop of sweat trickles down his forehead. He expects you to throw the bottle at him next, just for good measure.

But you don’t. You don’t do anything.

He spends a minute deliberating whether it’s appropriate to continue the flow of conversation. “Look,—” He turns his head around to face you directly. “I’ve been around the block; I know what is best suited for your kind of scratch.”

“I don’t need your help.”

“Between the two of us, who do you reckon has the most experience with having their asses kicked? The walking-talking tank who can launch people twice her size in the opposite direction, or the clown?”

“Thought you couldn’t be cut.”

“Correction; I can’t be sliced. There’s a difference,”

The look you give him is a culmination of everything ranging from indifference, irritation, boredom, and subtle agreement towards the statement. In lieu of an answer, Buggy prevails, "If you move the needle in a wavelength through the skin, it keeps it together better and is easier to remove. I know your name would make crossed stitches better fitted, but it sucks by comparison. Trust me."

You don't. Buggy knows that already, but if only for a second, your eyes shift to something other than the four aforementioned. Maybe it's contemplation, perhaps a softer edge around your crow's feet, but it's indecipherable from where he's perched. If he got closer, he might have a better chance at figuring it out.

To his surprise, you actually follow his word on it ... after retrieving the needle that's been embedded into the wooden wall with at least two-thirds of its length.

He corrects you here and there, and provides you pointers while weighing his words. He's just now got your attention, he's not about to risk losing it. "- Not too deep, remember? God, what are you trying to do, give yourself another scarring? Keep it tight!"

... Well, he weighed his words, but maaaan, is he bad at measurements.

After a few more glares from your side and some non-verbal threats of bodily harm, you finally manage to stitch the skin together. Your hands, while precise and experienced in the art that is self-suturing, didn't get to do it perfectly. He knows it hurts like a bitch, he winces every time he sees the needle protrude through your flesh, and while you show no facial reaction, he knows it hurts you as well.

If he'd had his own hands at disposal, he would've made it perfect. So perfect that you'd not even have a scar at all. That, and he’d finally be able to touch you.

But this is as appropriate a substitute as anything, and all in all, it's not too bad. It's you, of course, so nothing you do can be too bad. He keeps that thought to himself as he watches you wrap up your midsection and put away the equipment.

"So, how did I do as an instructor? Pretty damn flashy, am I right?" He says with a low chuckle, only for it to disappear once he's discovered that you're not talking or looking at him anymore. "What? Back to the silent treatment?"

Evidently, yes.

He chews on the inside of his cheek and comes up with another approach to get your eyes on him again. It’s a risky one; might get him your attention, or it might land him into the opposite wall, but it’s a risk he’s willing to take. "I heard what you said, you know? To Rubber-Boy."

He observes no palpable reaction, so he tries again. "Shanks seriously never told you what happened that day it all went down?"

There it is. The fish on the line. Bull’s eye. He sees you stiffen just slightly, and he gets his wish. A shiver runs down his spine when your eyes fall on him again; he can feel it, even from miles and miles away.

No distance can hope to expel the feelings your gaze bestows him with.

You speak one word. Just one. So low, yet so clear all the same.

"No."

... Buggy the Clown wants to vomit.

He's not sure if his current disproportionated state can manage it, not to mention it's been days since he last had a scrap of food, but it does not ease the nausea that threatens to overwhelm him.

Fuck.

When he first heard you tell Luffy this, he thought you were ... lying, somehow. It was stupid; you're not the kind to lie, always telling things as they are without skipping a beat. But he could not see your face, could not see the face you were making, and so he took it with a grain of salt. Or a bucket-load of it.

There was no way you didn’t know, no way Shanks didn’t tell you… Right? Buggy used to come up with excuses for his own righteousness, telling himself that this thing that happened was never his fault.

Now, he knows for certain. He knows you're telling the truth, he sees it, and he feels a bile rise in his throat.

One conclusion is made in the messy pile that is his brain.

He fucked up.

He fucked up BIG TIME.

It's a fuck-up that'll go down in history as the biggest fucking fuck-up ever to cross the seven seas in all fucking time. He fucked up so bad, in fact, that it cost him more than he'll ever be able to pay for.

The sound his throat makes is pathetic.

"Oh."

BANG!

A good-sized piece of the wooden table snaps under the pressure of your fist and descends to the floor with a plat. Buggy imagines if that was him instead, getting crushed to the floor like a maggot crawling in the dirty as an unsuspecting hiker walks across..

With the shove of your chair, you get to your feet. "I'm getting Zoro."

"NONONONO! WAIT! PLEASE, ANYONE BUT HIM!"

You don't care. You're already halfway across the room when he, in his desperation, shouts two words he's never said before.

"WAIT! I'M SORRY!"

… You stop.

He takes the moment right out of fate's hands.

"I didn't know, alright! I didn't know that you didn't know, and I thought you knew." He hopps his head a little closer to the edge of the table, right where the cracked piece currently on the floor once was. "I thought you knew, and then went with that fucking red-haired asshole! How was I supposed to know that you didn't know?!"

Wrong words. Very wrong words. He finds out soon enough just how wrong they were.

You're inches away before he can even blink, hands clenched on the table counter with one at each side of his head. Your noses almost touching, and he can feel the fire in your throat threaten to scorch him alive like a pig above the pyre.

"You could've asked." You say, softly at first, but bit by bit, your voice opens up to the deep-rooted anger that's laid dormant for years. "You could've asked me."

Craaaaack, and another splinter pops off the table and lands in his hair.

"You could've talked to me."

The entire table shakes now, and Buggy struggles not to slip from it. He thinks you're about to tear the whole damn thing to shreds with the way you're clenched around it. It's on-brand by now for you, comes with the name and everything.

"Cross-Hairs. Captain of the Cross-Haired Pirates, the Beast of the East, and Breaker of Tables and Faces and Bones and Jaws and Clown Noses."

He expects the additional titles to apply to him any moment now. He'll have to jump around the ship in search of his misplaced jaw next time, and probably the nose too. The crew of nobodies will have something to laugh about in years to come, and he'll never live the shame down.

But like with Orange Town, instead of the hand that will bring about his demise, all he feels is a breeze across his cheek. So light, and so brief, yet there lingers a warmth he wants nothing more than to grasp it. A thirsty man searching for his oasis.

You remove your hands from the table. "I would've traveled across the seas with you if only you'd asked it of me."

... What?

He feels his head freeze for the umpteenth time as your words circle in his head, garnering a storm of long-forgotten memories and feelings and hurt and betrayal.

You would?

You really would?

You would have gone with him all those years ago, if only he'd asked it of you?

He looks at your hands; the cracked knuckles and bruised skin, adjusted fights and blood and the impact of bones. The same ones currently threaten his safety as a dislocated head. He looks right into your eyes despite the risks it warrants.

You refuse to look at him, more now than ever, like there’s a rope wrapped around your neck that’s forcing you to face down. Like you're afraid that he might see something you'd prefer to keep in the dark. And yet he sees something wet and salty gathering in the corners of your eyes, and he sees the ways your body scrunches like a child wanting nothing more than to curl up to the floor and cry.

When was the last time he saw you even come close to crying? You never cried, for as long as he’d known you. If there ever was a time, it was the day he left you behind on that dock so long ago, and he had already turned his back before he had a chance to see the waterworks leak.

He finds it strange how some things seem to change whereas others don't. When Rogers first brought you onto the crew, disheveled and thin as you were, you never made a sound or showed any emotions. Being a man who wore his feelings and thoughts on display, he found it fucking weird. You were weird. You are weird, now more than ever.

Now, seeing you like this, knowing he's the one who brought it out, he doesn't know whether he's the detonator or the executioner. Maybe a bit of both?

His general nature is to deny accountability and put the blame on something or someone else to save face. It's always been like that; a habit by now. Call it cowardice, but he calls it a way of life. A bank getting robbed after the employees got knocked out by Muggy Balls? Not him. The white lion having a stomachache after eating old slabs left for too long in the cooler until it developed an ecosystem of its own? Not his fault.

But you crying?

You being hurt.

You hurting.

His fault. All his.

You, the strongest person he knows of; the same person who laughed at his jokes, worried about him, kicked ass seven days 'til Sunday, and shone so brightly in the moonlight by the docks, crying ...

His fault.

You're the strongest person he knows. Hell, you're probably one of the strongest people in all of East-Blue, yet still, he's the one who managed to make you cry. A beast rendered to a tearful child, still so small even after all this time, all because of him.

What does that make him? The strongest person in the East Blue? Or the worst? He's never minded being the worst at what he does, but he realizes in that moment, perched on the tabletop, that he can stand anyone's tears but yours.

Never yours.

You’re fighting those tears the same way you fight everything else; putting every ounce of strength your body has to offer, clawing at it, gripping it, doing everything in your power to keep the tears from spilling and potentially revealing something more.

Still, it doesn’t matter how strong you are. You could’ve lifted the world and held it in the palm of your hands, and the tears still would’ve proved the biggest challenge you'd face yet.

If he had his hands, he’d cradle your chin, hold you close, and promise to never let go ever again. You’d fight him all the same, kick his ass, claw at him, break all the bones in his body, and he’d let you.

He’d endure your strength, dance across the blazing charcoal that is your wrath, but nothing you’d do would make him let go, even if you were to separate every atom in his body one by one.

He'd hold on, and when he gets his body back, that’s what he’ll do.

“I’m sorry …” he whispers, the apology tasting like bitter peppercorns on the tip of his tongue. “I … Shouldn’t have left. I shouldn’t have” Fuck, he sounds pathetic. “… I’m so … so fucking sorry.”

For all of it.

He’s never once apologized in his life, not to anyone, but for you, he’d apologize a thousand times over. He’d learn “I’m sorry” in every language known to man, recite every prayer, suffer every penalty in the book.

This could all have been avoided if he’d just fucking talked to you that day instead of running. As if divinity decided to deliver punishments, he was haunted by that thing he ran from for twenty years; torturing him, driving him mad with longing.

Twenty years of bullshit in your absence … all of it avoidable had he not been the fuck-up he acknowledges he’s been.

He’d dive head-first into the ocean if it meant he could take back what he said that day. He’d take on the Marines too if he had to. He’d find the One Piece and give it to you, forgo his own dreams. He’d do anything, just to take back what he did.

Just to have you look at him with something other than scorn. Just to have you look at him the same way you used to.

A few drops of salt land on the table right in front of him, and save for the occasional sniffs and heavy inhales, you remain stubbornly quiet. This time, he keeps his mouth shut and awaits your judgment. The likelihood of you refusing to forgive him is the most probable one, and he can’t fault you for that as much as he’d hate it. The chance of you forgiving him just like that … is less.

A minute of silence becomes two minutes, and two become three, and five, and ten.

You raise your head to peer down at him, your eyes reddened and heavy, but you finally do look at him. He holds his breath in anticipation and wonders what’s working behind them.

What are you thinking?

What are you feeling?

Is it rage? Is it vengeance?

Will you wrap your hands around his neck and squeeze until there’s nothing left but an ashy head? He doesn’t know if asphyxiation will have the intended effect given his condition, but there’s only one way to find out.

He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and imagines that it will be his last.

The door slams and the room rattles, throwing him off in surprise.

Buggy opens his eyes and sees that you’re not here anymore.

You’re gone, again.

He releases the breath he’s been withholding, not knowing what to make of this. Will you come back, or will you leave him here by himself: put him through the same state as he left you in?

His head burns thinking about it.

Not even a minute later, you return to the room, and the scent of something delicious fills the atmosphere.

You’re holding something in your hand, a plate. It takes him a while to realize what it is, and as he’s about to open his mouth to ask, you wordlessly put the plate down in front of him.

Buggy drools like a dog. It’s food. Actual fucking food. Some kind of dish (fish?) with boiled potatoes and cabbage on the side, with sauce distributed evenly over it. He usually hates cabbage, but as hungry as he is now, he thinks it looks like the most delicious thing of all. Even better, the food is still hot, and it’s been cut so that it’ll be easier for him to take in.

He looks up at you expectantly and watches as you sit down, cross your legs, and put a glass of water with a bendy straw next to the plate. Did you bring him a bendy straw? Holy fuck, you brought him fucking bendy straw! He can’t help but stare at you like you put the sun in the sky because, how could he not? You brought him food, you brought him a drink, YOU BROUGHT HIM A FUCKING BENDY STRAW!

Bored eyes turn to him as you rest your chin in the palm of your hand. “It’ll get cold,” you state matter-of-factly, which he interprets as Hurry up and eat, asshole.

Buggy doesn’t have to be told twice, and he digs in like an animal. Decorum was never his thing anyway.

Maybe this isn’t forgiveness, and maybe you’re still rightfully pissed, but that’s alright. This gesture implies that, at the very least, there’s a bridge now. It’s made of rusty nails and unsteady planks and runs over a shitty river, but it’s a milestone from his point of view.

He’ll wait for as long as he’ll have to, even if it’s takes another twenty years to make up for it, even if it takes a hundred. He'll wait and he'll work for as fucking long as he have to, just to see your smile again.

He knows your dream.

He knows you care; you protected him, after all. You held him close, put yourself in harm’s way just to keep him safe.

That means, even after all this time, you still consider him yours.

All that remains is for you to finally find our for yourself.

-----

Taglist: @kurinhimenezu, @carpinchootaku, @ay0nha, @teh-vampire-bunny, @lokiscure, @internationalsuper-spy, @detectivesparrow , @yuriwk , @notyuralycat , @angeli-fucking-cat , @machinema7k , @shuujin, @avatar-lover, @gingernut1314, @autumn-slaves. @marvelouskatie, @floristoflillys, @dizzyenby, @redpool, @deliri-yum22, @aemondsb1tch, @ackroxia, @gayandfairycore, @knightsfavoriteprincess, @asterizee, @aamethyst23, @lizzie1107, @cyberwears, @heylookliisten, @f41k47, @beep-beep1, @crimsonflameproxy, @unpopular-sober-thoughts, @rayleeya, @timeladyrikaofgallifrey, (If you want to be tagged for this story, just send me a message or leave a comment :))

#buggy the clown #buggy x reader #one piece live action #buggy the clown x reader #one piece #one piece x reader #buggy one piece #buggy x you #buggy the clown fanfiction #buggy x female reader #DMTMYHB #Didn't mean to make your heart blue #one piece buggy #captain buggy

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mobbu-min · 2 years

Text

☆ cat, kitty, cat (3) ☆

summary: In which an alchemy lesson went wrong, and your favorite housewarden is turned into a kitten. Now your tasked with caring for him.

a/n: finally finished all the dorm leaders! I had a bit of trouble writing for idia, so he might be a little ooc ^^: also he was incredibly hard to find photos for, like i struggled so much. on another note, someone recently requested a vice housewarden version, so that will come out soon, but also we hit 700+ followers a little while ago! Im incredibly happy and over joyed, really thank you all!

So i'm thinking about doing a little event. I'm at a crossroads between doing one of those alphabet prompts or just regular prompts. with both, i think i'll include different genres (like fluff, yandere, angst maybe nsfw???) but those are all just thoughts.

if you have any suggestions, feel free to leave them! it's greatly appreciated :)

included: Vil Schoenheit, Idia Shroud, Malleus Draconia

!warning! cursing, ooc!idia? my horrible attempt at a country accent

*you can find the other parts here! -> one, two

Vil Schoenheit <3

This was it.

The moment you were going to meet your demise. Overblot after overblot, you stayed strong and survived. The boys that bullied you for being magicless wouldn’t even come close to the dread you faced. Nor did Grim’s rage when you ran out of tuna.

No, the pure rage you were about to face made all those things minuscule.

You wished you could go back in time and stop yourself. Stop yourself from doing the unthinkable. How you wished you weren’t that naive.

But no, you couldn’t.

You had to face the fact that you accidentally followed Neige LeBlanche back on Magicam. Had to acknowledge your misdoings. And most importantly, giving in and liking his top post. A cute photo of him in a flower field holding up a little puppy. You couldn’t resist. He tempted you with his ridiculously charming smile and bright eyes.

And now you had to face the rage of the one and only housewarden of Pomfiore, Vil Schoenheit.

You could picture it now. Standing in the garden of Pomfiore, the sun’s glow basking the four of you in golden light making the shadows all the more ominous. All the more formidable. You could see Vil’s picturesque frown, red lips in a straight line. Eye makeup done to perfection. Rook’s amused, yet unforgiving, smile. Lastly, Epel’s sad frown, blue eyes glimmering with tears.

You could feel the poison he’d give you slid down your throat. And it won’t be an ugly death, no a death that Rook would praise, a death Vil would be proud of. You’ll lay on the grass, head tilted to the side taking in the setting sun for the last time.

But it won’t be the last thing you’ll see, no, you’ll be blessed to see Vil’s face, pretty eyes and soft locks touching the skin of your cold face. His hands softly holding your chin and with the softest voice, he’ll whisper, “You should never go against your Queen.”

And that will be it for you.

Nothing more than another victim to Neige’s looks and Vil’s unbridled hatred towards the other.

Opening the doors to Pomfiore, your suspicions were only confirmed. No one was in sight. Not the overdramatic students that attempted to fight you and no harsh glares sent your way from the more stuck up ones. Not even Rook, who always greeted you with a hug, was there.

I guess this is the end. You sighed, shaking your head with a heavy heart.

The further you walked into the dorm the darker it grew. Lights slowly dimmed until you were following the lit candles down the hall, up the staircase, down another hall, ultimately ending in front of Vil’s door. Gulping, you leaned your head against the door, hearing nothing by silence.

Maybe I should just turn back? Yeah, my death can wait. Patting yourself on your back, you turned around to leave. But fate had other plans for your poor soul.

In an instant a hand dragged you through Vil’s doors. Another clamping down on your mouth to prevent your scream from alerting others. The door shut with a harsh bang. Panicking, you squirmed in your captor's hold. But he was strong and easily prevented you from elbowing his chest.

You froze the moment lips brushed against your ear. A low whisper echoed in your ear. “Welcome, my trickster.”

Immediately, you slouched in Rooks hold and did the first thing that came to mind.

Licking his hand.

He instantly retreated his hand. A gleeful, amused chuckles escaping his lips. Fixing your sweater, you glared up at him and asked, “Was all that really necessary?”

“Why of course, trickster! I find the way people tense up and squirm quite beautiful.” He winked.

Shuddering, you shoved him lightly and muttered, “You sure are weird.”

“Tell me ‘bout it.”

“Hey, Epel.” You waved, pushing Rook away from you. Sitting on Vil’s stool for his vanity, you asked nervously, remembering why you came in the first place, “S-so what’s gonna happen to me?”

Epel looked at you in confusion. His lips puckered lost at your question. Tilting his head, he mumbled, “What’cha mean?”

Playing with your fingers, you whispered, “W-well about my misdoings?”

Again, Epel looked at you like you grew two heads. Glancing at his lap, then to you, then his lap again, he said confused, “I don’t think ya’ did this?”

“Did what?”

Rook stood beside Epel and held out the fluffy kitten towards you. Irritated violet eyes stared at you. Its small body rocking from Rook’s movements. Its fluffy tail swaying languidly.

“This, my dearest trickster!” Rook said dramatically, bringing the calm kitten up to his face. Squishing it against his cheek, “Our dearest Roi de Poison has turned into a kitten!”

Like glass, you fell to your knees and grasped your shirt. A relieved sigh escaping your lips. Realizing that you’ll get to live another day. “Oh this is so much better than I originally thought.”

Vil came saunting towards your lap and looked at you expectantly. Chuckling, you softly scratched behind his ear. He purred in response.

Epel came to sit beside you and asked, “what in tarnation was goin’ through ya’ head?”

Settling Vil on your lap, you chuckled softly at his content purrs. Shrugging your shoulders you answered “I thought I was going to die.”

Epel made a noise of surprise and worried.

“I know. But it’s not my fault I liked one of Neige’s posts. It was too cute.”

Everything seemed to stop. Silence enveloped the room. No more purrs. Epel’s wide eyes stared at you in shock. Even Rook had nothing to say, but alas you stayed oblivious and continued to talk.

“I thought Vil was gonna have my head for not only liking his post, but following him back on Magicam, haha! I sure do have a- guys, why are you staring at me like that?”

A low hiss caught your attention. Looking down at Vil, you smiled nervously at his narrowed eyes and claws. “Haha, Rook, come get– AHHHHHHHH!!!”

“Oh! Seems like Roi de Poison is angry!”

“Ya’ think?”

“GET HIM OFF ME!!!!”

☆☆☆

⋆ Epel and Rook at to pry, and I mean pry, Vil off your face. He was seething, Rook was laughing, Epel was tired and you were crying. You left with a red scratch up face and an ice pack to help the swelling.

⋆ Vil is your stereotypical cat. Aloof, prissy, high maintenance, knows that he’s better than everyone, basically he’s just himself. And he’s just so fuckin pretty and fluffy. Literally, his fur is so soft, so silky. His is a warm white, with really soft light brown accents on his face, tips of his tail, ears and paws. And the prettiest violet eyes that practically allude mystery and confidence.

⋆ After Vil’s anger, he finds himself hanging by you a lot more. You’re warm and soft, and your hands even more so. Also he knows for a fact that you’re the one making sure Grim looks his best, because Grim sure as hell isn’t putting any extra work into his appearance. So he trusts you to keep up with his new maintenance.

⋆ It’s so much work, and I mean so much work. The water has to be perfect, the towels need to be freshly washed, etcetc. Anything he does for his regular self, needs to be done to his cat self. No you can’t argue, no you can’t give him to Rook to do it for you. He wants you to do it, and only you.

⋆ Don’t even entertain the thought of feeding him tuna, especially tuna from a can. Vil will stick his nose in the air and swat at the food. In the end, you’re like ‘and what am I supposed to feed you, Vil? I’m not exactly made out of money.’

⋆ He comes back an hour later with his credit card in hand and dumps it on your lap then goes to sit on his ledge near the window. His eyes blinked expectantly at you. In the end, you’re buying high quality meat for not only him by for yourself and Grim (or any food really)

⋆ And don’t even think about even setting him on the ground. He vehemently refuses to set foot on the ground. Vil will claw at your arm and clothing to prevent it. Hissing like a madman (mad kitten?) he makes it look and sound like your murdering him.

⋆ In the end you either hold him in your arms, cradling him like a baby, or he’s wearing little booties that you bought/made for him.

⋆ He may walk with those on, but he still refuses to sit on anything other than your lap. And you can’t say otherwise.

⋆ He’s one the few cats that will allow you to dress him. Vil loves the way you coo and gush about how adorable he is. He’ll proudly wear whatever you bought/made for him. Not only does he get to feel like his normal self, but your whole attention is on him and solely him.

⋆ Doesn’t nap a lot, but when he does: Do Not Disturb Him.

⋆ Vil also makes you sleep when he sleeps. Especially during the night. If you have a bad sleeping pattern, he’s fixing that. Vil will sit on your chest or stomach, make himself comfortable and will not move. If you attempt to move him or get up, he’s sticking his nails into your skin as a warning. He wants you to get sleep, it's the least he can do after everything you’ve been doing for him.

⋆ Overall, Vil displays the very typical cat behavior but he gets a pass because he’s pretty (and he’s paying your food bill)

“No wonder you look tired all the time. The time you sleep is outrageous. Hmm? Grim keeps you up? Well why don’t you just sleep here? We have an extra room. Or would you perhaps prefer to sleep alongside me? (chuckles) Spudling, no need to get so flustered. I was only teasing you~”

Idia Shroud <3

“Hey! Ortho! You called me buddy?” You said, walking into the Ignihyde dorm. You shivered at the cold air blasting through the ac. Rubbing your arms, you walked towards Idia room, knowing that Ortho was probably there with his brother.

Knocking on the door, you waited patiently before saying softly, “Idia? Ortho? Is it okay for me to come in?”

Shuffling could be heard on the other side. Ortho’s voice was the only voice you could hear followed by the scampering of paws. Frowning, you knocked again. “Ortho? Buddy, are you alright?”

“Yes! I’m fine! You can come in!” He called.

Opening the door, you walked in casually. Taking note to help Ortho to clean up Idia’s mess. Leaning against a dresser, you watched Ortho who was currently looking underneath the bed. His hands stretched out trying to get something from underneath.

Crouching down behind Ortho, you asked, “So…whatcha reaching for?”

“Idia.”

“What?”

His answer was blunt, straight to the point. A very Ortho response.

Sitting on his knees, he tilted his head and pointed to the bed, “Idia’s under there. Take a look.”

You stared at him questionably. Ortho’s not one to play pranks, and when he does, his pranks are harmless. Shrugging your shoulders, you leaned down to stare into the dark abyss. Slowly your eyes adjusted to the darkness. It smelt bad, but you ignored it the best you could and held your breath.

Seconds ticked by. It was becoming increasingly difficult to breathe. Just as you were about to come out for air, a swishing of a tail caught your attention. Staring harder, a pair of bright yellow eyes stared at you in fear.

Without thinking, you caught the creature before it could scamper away. Coming back up you took a deep breath of air and held up the screaming kitten.

“Big brother!” Ortho exclaimed in delight. Taking the kitten from your hands, he cradled Idia in his arms. Murmuring how scared he must have been and how he shouldn’t run away like that.

You merely watched Ortho snuggle into the kitten with amusement. This isn’t the weirdest thing that has happened during your time in Night Raven Academy. You could only assume it was an alchemy assignment gone wrong. Though this was so much better then last week when Ace turned his entire arm into a crab claw. You still had bruises from that.

Reaching your hand out, you scratched Idia behind his ear, “Damn, Idia seems like your an anime heroine for once.”

He meowed in response.

☆☆☆

⋆ Idia, much like his human counterpart, hates being around others. He��s so incredibly shy, but this time it’s so much harder because he’s so quick to hide underneath couches and beds. It’s a miracle he hasn’t gotten smushed.

⋆ That being said, you and Ortho take turns watching Idia. Idia feels comfortable enough around you that he won’t immediately be running to the hilltops.

⋆ Taking care of Idia is definitely the easiest. Besides his hiding problems, he’s not incredibly clinging or high maintenance. All he needs is a place to stay low, food, and a screen.

⋆ Like Leona, he’s pretty long, and like Riddle, he’s incredibly fluffy. If there’s one thing, Idia has over the others, is the fact his eyes look like they glow in the dark. You’re positive that’s not how cats should work, but at the same time cat’s shouldn’t talk (i’m looking at you, grim) nor should they have fiery ears and tail. And no, that's not only a jab at Grim, but also at Idia. Idia’s ears has the fiery flames like Grim and his tail has a little flame at the tip. Grim won’t admit it, but you know he’s jealous.

⋆ You know those pictures of cat’s fitting in the smallest of places? Yeah, that's Idia. In cups, little cracks in the wall of Ramshackle, your shoe to prevent you from leaving. Anywhere that’s empty, expect Idia to be there.

⋆ He sleeps a lot during the day. So he’ll hang out in your sweater or bag, but he much rather prefers to stay in your room.

⋆ During the night, he’s a menace. You know he’s trying to be quiet, but he fails miserably. He’s constantly knocking things over, falling from high places, jumping onto your stomach. It’s a mess, but you can’t really get mad at him. Not when he looks up at you with the widest golden eyes that screams ‘Please don’t be mad.’

⋆ Kitten Idia pretty content with affection. He loves when you scratch behind his ear or when you cuddle him close to his chest. Idia’s purring so damn much, it’s all like damn okay, touch starved much?

⋆ Definitely the chillest kitten you could have. Though beware, he hates bath time. Even more than Grim.

“S-stop staring at me like that. Y-your making me nervous. Huh!? You m–mean that I was…i was…cute! (quietly passes away)”

Malleus Draconia <3

It was calm.

Something that you were having increasingly difficulties in finding these past few days. Staring up at the starry sky, you sighed blissfully. Even though you weren’t familiar with the constellations and such in the dark abyss, you still found beauty in it.

“Is that what Rook means about finding beauty within things?’ You asked out loud. Taking a seat on the grass, you let yourself flop down. Fingers intertwined with the thin threads of grass. Inhaling the cool night air. Admiring the sparkling night.

It was perfect. You felt at peace.

Meow

You blinked, once, twice. You waited for the noise again.

Meow

It was closer this time. Turning your head to the right, you watched as a small black kitten emerged from the thick foliage of the bushes. Said kitten looked all around until its pretty green eyes settled onto you. Jumping, the kitten meowed again and rushed towards you. Falling a few times in the process.

Sitting up, you caught the kitten in time before it could fall onto its face again. Holding it at arm's length, you laughed softly at the kitten’s meows of delight. “And who are you?”

Bringing the kitten closer, you admired its silky ebony fur. Holding its paw between your fingers you melted at its little pink toe beans. The kitten purred in happiness.

“You’re the cutest thing imaginable. Yes, you are.” You cooed softly, cuddling your cheek against its tiny head. The kitten proceeds to nuzzle its nose with yours. You practically squealed in happiness. So cute!

Setting the kitten on your lap, you laughed as the kitten got comfortable on your lap. Staring up at you with its mesmerizing emerald eyes. Scratching behind its ear, you murmured softly, “Y’know, you remind me of someone I know.”

It blinked.

“His name is Malleus. He has black hair like you and the prettiest green eyes I’ve ever seen. And I mean, pretty pretty. No joke.” pinching its cheek, you murmured playfully, “But he’s not nearly as cute as you.”

The kitten meowed.

Closing your eyes, you fell back on your back and brought the kitten to your chest. Letting it rest on you. Pawing at your chest, the kitten soon settled on you and purred softly.

“I think I’ll call you Malleus Jr. How about it?”

Meow

“Fufufu, I thought the term jr. was given to a child?”

Looking up, you smiled at the bright magenta eyes that twinkled with amusement. “Good evening, Lilia.”

“Hello, little one. I see, Malleus is keeping you company.” Lilia mused, taking a seat beside you. Petting your head, he chuckled, “He was so eager to find you that he disappeared.”

“Lilia, you make no sense.” you breath out, slowly getting up and setting the kitten between you both.

The kitten proceeded to stumble towards Lilia’s outstretched gloved hand and purred loudly. An amused smile on Lilia’s youthful features. Glancing up at you, he grinned, “My child, you really are as oblivious as the rumors.”

“Rumors?! There’s rumors about me?” You gasped, your hand covering your agape mouth.

Chuckling, he nodded, “Tons, but that's not why I’m here.”

“No no, Lilia you gotta tell me now. You can’t just say stuff and not spill.” You pouted.

Placing a finger to his lips, he smiled, “How about we talk about it over a cup of tea?”

Stretching out your hand, you nodded your head, “Deal.” He shook your hand, and you asked another question, “So why are you here?”

“To retrieve Malleus of course.” Lilia said simply. His eyes twinkled in bliss. Pointed to the kitten that suddenly clung onto your hand, he said, “But it appears Malleus has no intentions on leaving his human any time soon. Ah, young love.”

“Wha- Malleus?”

Green eyes glossed over with wonder. With a nod, Malleus jumped onto your lap and made no signs to move.

Sighing, you stared at Lilia and deadpanned, “You’re paying kitten support.”

“Fufufu, why of course~”

☆☆☆

⋆ Okay, I am biased when I say Malleus is probably the best kitten to take care of.

⋆ He’s calm, full of curiosity, incredibly gentle, just really really sweet. Like he’s ten times smaller than you, but still treats you like he’s at his regular height. He’s careful not to hurt you with his claws, careful not to jump too hard on you. Its like he’s the one taking care of you and not the other way around.

⋆ Also, he’s really pretty. He’s like in the top three of prettiest kittens (vil and leona following behind) As mentioned, he has black fur because obviously, with the shiniest, brightest green eyes. Just down right beautiful. Also strands of fur that stick up on the tips of his ears that swoop up that emulate his horns. The cutest.

⋆ He’s ecstatic that he gets to spend time with you. Since he’s a kitten, he gets to go places with you that he normally couldn't. (much to sebek's dismay) Malleus attends class with you, sitting at your side or on the desk. He loves lunches, because he gets to experience what it's like to be a regular student (as regular as you can be as a kitten), to see you, the braincell trio, plus Jack or Epel, all goof around and talk about how hard a test was. He loves seeing your large smile and laughter. Also that head scratches he gets from Deuce or Epel is a plus.

⋆ There's never a dull moment with Malleus, you soon find out. Because this boy is so full of wonder and curiosity, that you can’t help but indulge him. Malleus loves to sit in the basket of your bike, he loves the way the wind pushes through his fur. Most of all, he loves the way your laughter sounds so joyful and bright.

⋆ Malleus, although likes to walk with you, also loves to sit on your shoulder and stare at everyone. Seeing everyone’s emotions and expression. Since every reaction he seems to get in his regular form, are ones of fear and total obedience. So it’s intriguing to Malleus to see all these different emotions, ranging from happiness to despair to rage to nonchalance. Malleus grows a deeper fastiation with humans after.

⋆ He doesn't really take naps, but will if you want to take one. Loves to cuddle into your side or chest.

⋆ Malleus in a very simple way to put it is incredibly gentle and curious. He wants to know so much more about the world, about the people around him and most importantly you. That he’s willing to drink as many kitten transformation potions to be able to experience what it's like to be a regular student and to be able to experience the warmth of your hands on his head once more.

‘My child of man, what do you think of going to Briar Valley with me? Hm? ‘Why’ you ask? Well, to put it simply, I learned a lot while I was a small kitten and that’s because of you. You allowed me to experience the highs and lows of a normal student life. I only want to repay you by allowing you to experience more of the world. Afterall, this campus is quite small.’

#vil x reader #vil shoenheit x reader #idia x reader #idia shroud x reader #malleus x reader #malleus draconia x reader #vil headcanons #idia headcanons #malleus headcanons #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twisted wonderland headcanons #twst hcs

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iwantjaketosullyme · 1 year

Text

𝐢𝐟 𝐢 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝, 𝐢'𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞

…but, big spoon, you have so much to do and i have nothing ahead of me.

➺ pairing: jake sully x omatikaya!reader (fluff/angst) ➺ summary: seeing jake was easy, seeing toruk makto not so much. (w/c: 2.8k) ➺ warnings: minor mentions of war & death a/n: inspired by mitski's 'your best american girl' nd dedicated to our fav all-american boy <33 na'vi dictionary at the end !! gif credit goes to @/worldofpandora

─────── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───────

Seeing Jake was easy.

It was shirking clan chores in favour of being held in the safe cocoon of his capable arms on a lazy afternoon, the two of you splayed out on the forest floor as it welcomed you into its clutch, soft grass embracing you, gentle breeze lulling him to sleep. As he slumbers you trace his features gently, eyes first, then nose.

You coast over the worry line that creases just like that when he senses a formidable threat, like the rogue palulukan that strayed a little too close to camp the previous week (or the persistent Omatikaya child that insists on having you braid his hair exactly when Jake’s sat down for you to rebraid his, meaning a rushed job and less scalp scratches for him).

Cautious fingertips are guided by the smattering of tanhi that litter his face, a map provided by Eywa, tiny stars aligning to lead you to your final destination - your favourite destination – his lips.

Being Seen by Jake was even easier.

- flashback -

Two weeks have passed since the fateful day your people reclaimed your ancestral home from the Sky People. The injured have been treated and deceased loved ones have been mourned and committed to Eywa. Now, the clan must celebrate.

Young ones chase after each other's tails (knowing the mood is good enough for them to escape chastisement from their parents), potential lovers dance around their feelings as they dance around the communal fire and elders thank the Great Mother for the privilege of witnessing another night like this – too many eclipses have passed since the clan could revel in shared joy like this.

The evening’s jubilations wind down as eclipse approaches, but the air is still charged with a sense of collective anticipation; you are yet to do what you do best. Gathered clan members form a blue sea, bioluminescent tanhi a mirror image of the stars in the skies above as they seat themselves on fallen logs.

Deep inhale, shoulders rolled back, head held high and gaze cast over young and old alike, you open your mouth and sing. Entranced, Jake looks up from where he was refilling his cup of pongu pongu (after falling victim to a particularly wily adolescent Na’vi bartering for the drink reserved for adults of the clan) and his amber gaze settles on you as he listens to the legend of a valiant Omatikaya warrior made song. His legend.

His song rolls off your tongue, volume ebbing and flowing like the waters of the Eastern Sea, reaching ‘ahhs’ and throaty ‘oohs’ conveying the highs and lows of his Pandoran alterlife. Sweeping peaks and troughs in the notes you belt out paint the picture in his mind of the mountains climbed and valleys traversed on his quest to find his humanity in a Na’vi body. Dulcet tones undulate from the soft pillows of your lips into the attentive ears of every clan member gathered around the fire, demanding the rapt attention of all that can and will listen.

Your voice betrays you, wavering slightly when you make sudden eye contact with Jake. He gawks at you unashamedly, his expression reminding you of the awe and excitement of a child watching kenten unfurl their luminous fans for the first time. Inwardly, you curse the power that this vrrtep has over you; you never get distracted! No doubt Ninat would be teasing you about this mishap til Eywa calls you home. That skxawng always liked to argue that she’s the better vocalist.

Final note lingering in the air and resonating in the hearts of those around you, you graciously accept the compliments offered. Soon after, you make a swift break for your marui, unaware of your newly acquired shadow following after your hurried steps as if still woefully caught in the spell your voice had cast upon him.

You flit about the marui, humming under your breath as you search for the herb and nectar concoction Tsahik gave you after overhearing you complaining to Neytiri about putting your vocal cords under too much pressure. An appreciative hum leaves your parted lips as the mixture soothes your throat, before a male, gravelly and obnoxious “Ah, shit!” cuts through your minute of peace, followed by the clang of a pot falling.

A stunned squeak escapes you before you have the chance to stop it, eyes widening as your ears fold back and your brow muscles raise in shock before furrowing in confusion. A moment passes.

You slowly crane your neck to look behind you, chancing a glance at whatever, whoever it is that managed to sneak into your marui and elicit such an embarrassing reaction from you. The fallen pot is still rattling on the floor as you lock eyes with the perpetrator and your upper lip raises into a sneer. Of course, you think to yourself, as if the vrrtep has not bothered me enough tonight he has come back for more!

“Oel ngati kameie,” Jake greets awkwardly, eyes shifting between your defensive posture and the offensive pot that he had tripped over in his dazed stupor. He brings his fingertips to his forehead before extending them towards you in a gesture of respect, and for a moment you are pulled from your derisive train of thoughts as your eyes follow the raised veins on his hands and you feel an unfamiliar feeling flutter in the pit of your stomach – much like the kindling of a new flame. Your examination of his anatomy comes to an abrupt stop when your eyes hone in on his outstretched fingers. Four fingers. Alien fingers.

“What is it that you want?” You throw the words at him, eyeing him up and down in an admittedly pathetic attempt to intimidate him. You are well aware of his prowess as a warrior; you’d only spent the latter part of the evening waxing poetic about it. Despite this, you cannot help but feel as if you must prove yourself to be a formidable threat to him, to this man who was once a tawtute imposter in a Na’vi body and has now made himself an imposter in your home.

He inches towards you cautiously, arms outstretched by his sides and palms open, intending to communicate his lack of malintention as he clears his throat and opens his mouth to answer you. Your eyes remain vigilant, ears pointing up, alert and awaiting his response. A series of unintelligible noises is all you hear, his mouth opening and closing in such a stupid way that you almost find it endearing. Almost.

Further incensed by the lack of answer, you jerk your head towards him, tail lashing behind you, impatient, “What is it then? Speak!” You begin to pace in front of him, agitated and expectant of an explanation. “Or do you only know how to stare?”

As if jolted back to reality, Jake blinks blankly before retorting “Damn, you sound just as good when you talk, pretty girl”. Astounded, your pacing comes to a halt, allowing you to baulk at his insolence – there is a notable pause as you compose yourself once more. His lips pull back into a self-satisfied smirk as he greedily absorbs your reaction, and there is a dangerous glint in his eyes, eyes too small to belong to a native Na’vi, that calls to you. You decline the call decisively.

“You still have not answered my question, Jakesully,” you attempt to regain control of this odd interaction, remaining firm in your affronted demeanour. “Speak!”

He lets out a huff of laughter under his breath, made bashful by the reminder of his inexplicable attraction towards you. “Well…I guess I heard ya singin’ out there and I-” he shakes his head, looks down and brushes a hand over his face, lips puckering to blow a gentle whoosh of air as he exhales. You feel his breath waft over your face and refuse to register the way it stokes the flame within you.

“I knew I gotta tell ya that you sound amazing, heavenly, even, unlike anything I’ve ever hea-” his reverent rambling is cut short by your cackle that pierces his ears that had perked up in delight while he sang your praises. He looks up to observe you doubling over in sarcastic laughter and waits, confused as ever, for you to explain yourself.

“Skxawng,” you rebuke, “do not insult my intelligence by suggesting you understood a single word other than your name. Neytiri has told me of your incompetence,” you lower your voice and let the venom seep into your tone, “Jakesully.”

He meets your narrowed eyes with a challenge in his stare, his right eyebrow, yet another tawtute feature, quirking up. “You’re wrong y’know,” he tilts his head to the right and nods as if still contemplating your rude interjection. In spite of his shock, he does not appear deterred in any way and for a moment you fear that your attempt at resistance is futile. Perhaps you have grossly underestimated his proficiency at your native language and have embarrassed yourself.

He continues, “I understood you calling me a skxawng just now.” A cheeky smile creeps onto his face as he basks in his ability to rile you up. “But I figure that might as well be my name with how many times Neytiri’s called me that”.

Insistent on finding a fault in his words, you give him an incredulous look and respond, “Now you dare to criticise the tsakarem?” A disbelieving scoff leaves your lips. “Impertinence!” Your words, however, do not have their desired effect as he remains unbothered by your jabs, seeing through them completely.

“C’mon pretty girl,” Jake tries to reason with you, “y’know that’s not what I meant.” Encouraged by the involuntary huff of defeat that leaves your body that has grown weary from the night’s activities and this back and forth that is honestly fraying your nerves, Jake perseveres with the determination of the Marine that he is. “Now stop deflecting ‘nd take the compliment.” You relent, albeit reluctantly. “Call me crazy but the way you sang out there…it felt like I knew exactly what you were sayin’, even with my thick Jarhead skull.”

He takes a breath before more words tumble out of his mouth. “I know you were singin’ about me. I never thought I would mean enough to the Omatikaya people for someone to write a song about me.” He surprises you by laughing self-deprecatingly – in the short time you have interacted with him you have become used to his natural bravado. “I never thought I would be enough for anyone to write a song about me.”

Jake wants to tell you more. He yearns to speak of the cosmic force, the pull he felt towards you the moment he heard your voice for the first time. The pull he feels tugging at his heartstrings now, plucking away at them, composing a tune to accompany the siren song of your voice. For a moment he thinks he might just really believe this Eywa shit now.

But he doesn’t tell you. For once in his life he holds back. Instead, he moves even closer to you, every inch of his eight foot figure towering over you as he encroaches on your personal space. Your eyes widen, pupils dilating as you take him in. All of him.

Spurred on by your favourable change in expression, Jake reaches forward to place a warm hand on the snug of your neck. His other hand’s forefinger and thumb frame your dazed face as he caresses your cheek with a reverential tenderness you would have never attributed to him. He shifts his grip down to your chin and tilts your face upwards, so that eye meets eye.

As your steely resolve weakens into something soft, something pliable, you are rendered boneless against your own will, putty in his hands – carbon fiber-reinforced bones be damned. He is held captive by the unexpected, soft trill of your laughter, spirited away by the light breeze that has entered like the melody of a windchime. Eyes of molten gold bore into your soul and he sees you. He Sees you.

- end of flashback -

Seeing Toruk Makto, however, was anything but easy.

You smile to yourself as you recount how you and Jake met, but are quickly sobered by the realisation that no other clan member would even fathom speaking to Jake so disrespectfully – speaking to Toruk Makto so disrespectfully. And so you are forced to confront the reason why you could not stand the man, even if he ensured your clan’s survival by bringing an end to The Great Sorrow.

You fiddle with the purple tassels of your breast covering, made up of the fallen strands of a tawtsngal plant that you had painstakingly braided to be in likeness to the whispering tendrils of the Utraya Mokri. The Tree of Voices.

To the ignorant tawtute that threatened to populate your beloved Eywa’eveng like pests it was simply one of the many flux vortex hubs that rendered their alien inventions useless, stripping them of their ill-perceived superiority and reminding them that they do not belong here. But to you, it was an awe-inspiring wonder that was the source of many a song composed by you and crooned into the ear of a fussy baby, sung to soothe an ill elder or belted out to relay the ballad of a beloved fallen warrior.

With the stories whispered in your ears by the ancestors, you weave the tapestry of the clan in song form. It is for this reason that Jake had taken to affectionately calling you ‘parrot’, explaining to you that they were birds that once lived on Earth and repeated what was said by others.

Your garment was not only of totemic value, symbolising your role in the clan as an esteemed singer, but was also a love letter to the sacred place that birthed your passion for the art of song - and in doing so established your roots in the intricate network of the clan.

If only you had known of what was to come, you lament. That a day would come when the very roots of the tree that planted you firmly within the clan would be so easily uprooted by the wretched Sky People and their demon machines. On that day, you felt as if your place in the clan was uprooted with it; you had lost your communication channel with the ancestors, and therefore your muse.

You sit up and detach Jake’s arm, limp with sleep, from your waist. As you look upon his face you try to reconcile all the affection he has extended to you with the fact that he once was a Sky Person, working for their destructive cause.

Before you can stop it, the familiar feeling of resentment stirs within your belly as you question why the Great Mother would choose to allow your life’s joy to be so mercilessly taken from you and yet bestow the revered title of Toruk Makto on such a man as Jake.

How could she turn her back on you? Strip your pride from you? Replace you with a man born not of Na’vi, but of the immoral tawtute? You cannot help but feel that Jake is more Omatikaya than you ever will be now, as you think of what you long to be.

His mate.

Mate to Toruk Makto, rider of last shadow, yet unworthy to stand with him, even in his shadow. The honour of being under this dark, ominous, yet protective shroud was reserved for a select few - the chosen ones. Proven warriors who have sacrificed their lives, their existence on this terrestrial plane for Toruk Makto, like Tsu’tey, or dutiful daughters who have overcome prejudices born from murder for Toruk Makto, like Neytiri. Not for glorified parrots. Not for you.

You heave a gentle sigh, banishing those thoughts with a soft shake of your head and rest your head back on Jake’s shoulder. Tense shoulders loosen as you shuffle back into the warm comfort of his body. Your finger begins tracing again, up, up, up his arm before a tentative hand opens up to grasp one of his larger ones.

Curious eyes explore the network of veins that branch out along his hand like the roots of a tree, like the roots of the Utraya Mokri. You feel the heat rush to your cheeks as you reminisce the first time you had been in such proximity to the veins on his hand and the feelings they aroused in you back then.

Perhaps, you muse, you could find solace in him the same way you once did in your sacred trees. You lean in, pursed lips relaxing to place a tender kiss on each of Jake's fingers, all four of them. The same fingers that once instilled a deep rage within you. The same fingers that held you with a love that can only be Eywa-given. The same fingers used to tame the mighty Toruk. A part of you, no matter how distant or small, knows that in these capable hands you can rest easy.

So yes, your struggle to See Toruk Makto may yet prevail, but Jake? Jake you would always See. It is with this conclusion that your hold on his arm slackens, and half-lidded eyes flutter close. You slot yourself into the space within his body that is made for you. Two bodies mould into one. Little spoon into big spoon.

─────── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───────

na’vi dictionary

palulukan - thanator // tanhi - na’vi bioluminescent freckles // pongu pongu - na’vi alcoholic beverage // kenten - fan lizards // marui - tent // oel ngati kameie - I see you // skxawng - idiot // tsakarem - tsahik-in-training // tawtsngal - purple pandoran flower // tawtute - sky person, sky people // eywa’eveng - na’vi word for pandora

#✦•·.· 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘴 ·.·•✦#jake sully x reader #jake sully #avatar x reader #avatar fanfiction #avatar imagine #jake sully x omaticaya!reader #jake sully fanfiction #avatar #jake sully imagine #avatar x omaticaya!reader

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theaveragepsychoticbitch · 10 months

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Submissive!Poseidon, Jataka, Odin, and Buddha x GN!Reader. I wrote mostly with Amab reader in mind(save for Jataka's), but you can interpret it as a strap. Features cum swallowing(reader), fingering, hand jobs, masturbation, face fucking, penetration, and riding. Tags are overall in order. Kinda proofread

You love a man with the makings of a whore. And gods if Poseidon didn't fit the bill.

The murderous look in his eyes only fueled the speed of your fingers further, three cum-covered digits fucking his tight, pink hole. Merciless in the way you pound his prostate, sadistic in how you watch the pleasure make his legs tremble and twitch. He's panting, biting his lips raw even as you encourage him to let it all out. Cum covers his chest, and when you lean over him to run your tongue through it, he can't help the way his eyes roll back.

Sweat pours by the bullets from the exertion; still, you didn't let up, didn't stop pumping his sensitive dick, or sucking at its leaking, red tip. When you noticed how he'd clench when you nipped his nipples or tore at the sheets when you ran your teeth across his neck, you took advantage.

You couldn't help but adore him. He doesn't even realize how perfect of a slut he is.

His back arches, a perfect curve that you latch onto twice as tight, nails digging into his waist as he groans at the loss of contact on his cock.

You bend down and wrap your lips around it fully, hollowing your cheeks as your tongue made quick work of the beading precum there. You don't take your eyes off his pretty face once, and thank the gods you didn't.

His eyebrows knit, eyelashes fluttering over clouded blue eyes rolled to the whites as his mouth opened wide, a sound more addictive than siren song meeting your ears.

In your mouth, it throbbed once, twice, then-

Poseidon cries out, angry tears filling his eyes as you finger him through his nth orgasm of the night.

It was funny, watching how his face heated as you touched yourself in front of him. Moaning his name, keeping your legs wide so he could get an eyeful. He said he wanted to experience true happiness- you were just showing him.

"Look at me, Jataka. Watch, and see how happy you make me- how happy I could make you."

He inhales sharply, untouched cock twitching hard at your words. He looks so innocent, all flustered and twitchy, unable to make proper eye contact. His hands float around, restless as if they didn't know what to touch first, or even if they should.

You take your hand, the one you used, and grasp his chin, gentle though firm.

The pad of your thumb is fixed against his bottom lip- pillow soft. You can't resist the urge to reach in deeper, give him a taste of joy.

And he, oh, he can taste it all on his tongue one tentative lick later. It's sweet and salty, a perfect mix that has him sucking on your thumb in search for more.

And more you give him. Fucking his pretty face, grinding on his eager tongue. As you approached your climax, pride swelled in your heart and your groin as his big hands wrapped nervously around his own cock.

Odin is quite a formidable figure. But little does the world know, he's your bitch.

"It's not even all the way in yet. Were you always this pathetic?"

He groans, and you roll your eyes. His hands are tied above his head, but there was truly no need for any bondings- he'd hold his hands in place all by himself if you told him to.

You stroke his thighs, false disappointment apparent in your sigh. "Look at yourself. On the verge of cumming untouched long before I can even fuck you in true. Maybe I should shorten the foreplay next tim-"

"No."

"No?"

"Please. No. I can take it." You smirk, amusement sparkling in your eyes as you take him in. He was never an expressive God, even in the bedroom, his facial expression rarely had any big changes, and he was one hell of a silent soldier save for a few grunts.

But finally, fucking finally, you've gone and done it. You flipped the script on him- touched and stroked and fucked on him, and you can't get enough of all the sounds he makes. The way his muscles flex when you bend him every which way, how sweat travels down his forehead when he's struggling to take you, how his eyes roll back when he cums hard.

He doesn't break eye contact as he takes your arms in his hands, pulling you closer, trying to pull you deeper. "I can take it. Move."

You chuckle, grabbing his waist. "Never one to shy away from what you want, ey love?"

He doesn't get to answer as you bury yourself deep in one thrust right after.

Buddha was made for this. He finds he's experienced no greater freedom than when under your control.

"Fuck."

The cocky bastard smirks above you, riding you hard with his hand gripping your shoulder even harder. The other is on the headboard, claws puncturing the wood. You moan, and his lips are quick to swoop down and swallow it, never faltering his speed. The kiss is excited, feverish, and you dig blunt nails into the soft skin of his ass. The clap of skin on skin is hypnotic, and you start to think, 'I'd let him fuck me like this forever,'

And there it is. He's fucking you. What, were you gonna kiss his toes next? Who's the boss here, you... or him?

You, of course. And you were finally gonna act like it.

You trail your fingers along his raised arm, replacing the headboard with your hand. You clasp his tight, kissing his knuckles. You do the same with the other hand, and in the confusion of your changed intensity, he slows down. In the same second, you flip him over and capture him in a kiss. Your tongue traces his sharp canines, brushing sensually over his own tongue. You can taste candy on it still. Raspberry flavored.

Your hips snap forward, and he moans into the kiss. It doesn't end when you pull away; mouths wide, your tongues intertwine, sucking and tasting each other. It's heaven to your senses, pleasure overriding every coherent thought.

You set a brutal pace, fucking him hard into the mattress. And good fuck, he's smiling about it. Full on grinning as spit leaks down the side of his mouth and his dick bounces between you. You move your grip to encompass both his wrists.

As your hand wraps around his dick, he laughs. It's a beautiful sound, accompanied by his walls choking your cock and him throwing his head back as he cums, pearly white ropes coating both your chests.

Yet, you keep going. You fuck him hard, and smile when laughter turns to sobs.

#record of ragnarok #shuumatsu no valkyrie #record of ragnarok x reader #poseidon snv #poseidon x reader #buddha ror #buddha snv #buddha x reader #poseidon smut #buddha smut #snv odin #snv odin x reader #odin x reader #jataka snv #jataka #jataka smut #the psychotics writing

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manikas-whims · 4 months

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26/02/2024: Nina and Matthias’s son asks Kaz if he’s a bad person

“Uncle Kaz, are you a bad person?”

They were walking down the bustling streets of Little Ravka.

Unsurprisingly his four year-old nephew, Soren, had acquired the same love for waffles as his mother. From his father, had merely acquired the sparkling blue eyes which he weaponized quite a lot whenever he needed to coax Kaz into doing his bidding.

And so, after ignoring Soren’s adorable pleas and big, blue, sparkling eyes for hours, Kaz had agreed to take him out for a snack. As such, they were heading towards this famous local diner in the area to try some ravkan-styled waffles.

Kaz had expected the child to show his excitement over it. Expected the little one to constantly persuade him into buying delectable sweets on their way. But questions about his morality were the last thing he had imagined. And from a child at that.

“Why do you ask?” He spoke in an even tone.

The child replied without a beat. “Cause a lot of people in Fee-eda say so.”

“I see.”

It’d been years since the Ice Court Heist. Despite never being able to prove it, there was a common tale spread around the Fjerdan folk about a sinister Demjin named Kaz Brekker who had come from the land of Kerch and broke down the formidable walls of the Ice Court using his dark powers. That he had peeled off his gloves inside the court and cast a sinister enchantment with the devious motions of his fingers to corrupt the sacred tree. That he was a mad man who had stolen the Shu child on a whim, and then decided to sell him off to the highest bidding nation for further entertainment.

“Wanna know what I think?” Soren asked, waving his hands in excitement.

Kaz smirked. “I honestly don’t care but you’ll tell me anyway, won’t you?”

The boy giggled. “I will! I will!”

“Well..?” Kaz waited patiently, both gloved hands now resting on his crow head cane.

“I think you’re a good person.”

The words stupefied Kaz more than they should have.

“And what makes you believe so?” He asked. He was expecting some sort of innocent and childlike response such as: because you spoil me with candy, because you show me magic or because you defend me when Papa gets mad.

The boy however, tilted his head, cheeks puffing up as he collected his thoughts and formulated a response.

“Because Aunt Inej likes you.”

Once more Kaz was left stunned. And a little flustered by the child’s words. He could only hope no one else heard it for the mere idea of someone liking Dirtyhands could stir the entire barrel with some spicy rumors. And he would not want to deal with them when his little nephew was around.

Soren’s eyes twinkled as he went on. “Aunt Inej likes me too! And, and..she told me she only likes good people. So that means Uncle Kaz is good too!”

“Alright then, ” Kaz coughed to compose himself and offered a gloved hand for the boy to hold. “Let’s get you those damned waffles.”

Soren bounced with joy at that and accepted the proffered hand as they continued their walk.

» 15/? of Manika's Mini Fics «

Read my previous mini fic with Kaz and Soren HERE

SOC Masterlist

#six of crows #kaz brekker #manika's mini fics #nina zenik #matthias helvar #helnik #helnik child #helnik parents #kanej #inej ghafa #wesper #wylan van eck #jesper fahey #grishaverse #crooked kingdom #soc fanfic #soc fic #post ck #canon divergent au

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soulessjourney · 7 months

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Stranger In The Shadows (Part 3)

Paring: Azriel x Reader (Rhysand's sister)

Word count: 2.5k

Summary: It's been almost two years since Y/N disappeared without a trace during one of her missions. Now, she suddenly reappears just outside of Velaris with no memory and a strange darkness enveloping her mind. What secrets does she now hold after her mysterious disappearance? What lies within that abyss of darkness that consumes her?

Warnings: Some violence, some angst

A/N: I promise that in this chapter, we'll see more Azriel and her relationship with him. It's going to be a slow burn, as our character feels the need to relearn how to love. Additionally, we'll witness a more formidable side of our character as she learns to harness her newfound power.

On another note, I'd like to express my gratitude for all the love and support you've shown me regarding "Stranger in the Shadows." I was never particularly confident about sharing my writing, but your enjoyment and appreciation of it have brought me immense joy. Your support means the world to me, and I can't thank you enough. I'm eagerly looking forward to continuing this journey with all of you!

It had been months since you had finally returned to the Night Court after disappearing for two years, and yet there were still so many unanswered questions. You were no closer to figuring out what had happened to you during the time you were missing, and at this point, it felt like you might never find out. Your relationship with Azriel had improved, but there were still moments of tension, as if your body was trying to protect you from him. You and Amren trained every day to harness and control the power coursing through you. Amren had noted your improved control over your other half, which you had come to name Aefre, and she believed it was time to learn how to fight using the power that flowed through your veins.

Standing in front of the room, Aefre circled around you as a soft hum escaped her shadowed lips. "I must say, they did an excellent job with our new leathers," she remarked. She wasn't wrong. The dark leathers clung to your body, boasting a deep blue hue that matched the shadows in the room. The breastplate sat snugly against your chest, with a large Jade siphon placed delicately in the center. Each shoulder bore one siphon, and three others nestled between your wings lining down your back. Two more siphons rested where your collarbones were, resembling a necklace. You had a total of eight siphons to channel your power, yet it still didn't feel like enough.

Aefre approached you once more and shook her head. "Something is missing. To truly look like a total badass, I believe we need a cape or something. Women look badass with a cape," she suggested. Wrapping her arms around your neck, you looked back into the mirror and let out a gasp. The two siphons on your collarbones glowed as your shadows draped around you like a cape. Aefre would be one with you, easily separable when necessary to protect you or herself, and capable of shielding your back with your shadows acting as a protective barrier.

As you pulled your hair up into a braided crown, you couldn't help but notice the way the white streaks intertwined with your brown locks. It was a peculiar aspect that came with having Aefre within you. She seemed to siphon your vitality slowly, yet you remained alive, and you couldn't fathom why. Aefre had mentioned that your connection to her prevented your death. She held your life in her hands, and as her host, she was determined to keep you alive as long as she didn't have to return to the cauldron.

A knock sounded at your door, prompting you to cross the room and open it. Before you stood a taller figure, and you felt a tug in your chest. Looking up, your eyes met a pair of hazel ones, and a small smile involuntarily spread across your lips. "Rhysand wanted me to come to see what you think of the new leathers," Azriel said, his eyes scanning you.

Stepping aside, you welcomed him into the room as your shadows swirled around you, almost reaching out to touch Azriel's. "They surprisingly fit well. It seems he went for the fashionable side of things, which is very much like my brother," you chuckled. When you looked up at Azriel, you noticed his eyes softening as they gazed at you. It had been a long time since he'd heard your laughter, and he looked almost pained. How could you blame him? You had forgotten about him, and he had spent a considerable amount of time filling you in on what you two had been like as a couple, all while respecting your hesitation to return to that relationship. It was tearing him apart, but he was willing to wait as long as it took.

"Amren mentioned that I need more training, especially when it comes to my shadows. You're the only one who can truly help me with that, even though Cassian doesn't want to admit it. So, I was actually going to seek you out and see if you'd be willing to train me."

Azriel took a step back at your request, a slight blush tingeing his cheeks as he considered the implications. He realized that one-on-one training with you would allow for more time together. He looked away briefly, hiding his embarrassment before finally nodding. "I suppose I could make the time to work with you. Just be prepared to deal with Cassian's fit when he finds out you came to me instead of him," he said, turning his gaze back to you, a soft chuckle escaping his lips at the thought. Cassian had been eager to train you and help rebuild your confidence, making it clear that he wanted you to choose him for training. Sometimes he would wait outside your door early in the morning to offer his assistance, or he would appear behind you, startling you and often sending him flying across the room.

Shrugging, you looked back into the mirror, fixing your hair as you suppressed another laugh. "I'm sure Nesta will help him mend his broken heart. He's not the one I'm currently trying to repair a relationship with," you quipped, sending him a smile over your shoulder. "Now, go on. I need to finish a few things before our training." You playfully shoved the grinning man out of your room and closed the door. Your shadows whispered in your ear, informing you of the broad grin on his face and the lightness in his step as he walked away.

Part of you felt guilty because he expected a kind of love you weren't sure you could give. Each time he tried to hug you, something in your body froze, and you wanted to keep him at arm's length. You were afraid of hurting him, feeling as if he was delving deep and searching for someone who was no longer there. Something around your shoulders squeezed, and Aefre's soft whispers echoed in your mind. You turned back toward the door, opened it, and stepped out, ready for the hellish day that lay ahead.

Sweat dripped down your back as you twirled around the ring, the sound of metal clashing together. "Focus, Y/N," Azriel instructed, giving you a quick kick to the stomach to emphasize his point. Letting out a growl, your wings flared out behind you as you lunged toward Azriel, only for him to step aside. "Coming at me while letting your emotions control you is the last thing you want to do in a battle. Now, focus or step out of the ring."

Throwing a glare in his direction, you could hear Aefre hiss in response to Azriel's words. "If he doesn't watch his mouth, I will knock him on his ass again." But that was precisely what Azriel didn't want. He didn't want you to rely on Aefre when your emotions got the best of you. Instead, he wanted you to use her and your shadows to your advantage while remaining level-headed. Taking a deep breath, you stood tall, your shadows slithering and rising around you like vipers on your shoulders. Shooting out, they wrapped around Azriel's wrists, immobilizing him, before you charged at him, ramming your shoulder into him and knocking him back, as cheers erupted around you.

You had spent the past four hours training with Azriel before he suggested a sparring match. Of course, with the two of you in the ring, it drew the attention of others, which led Cassian to excuse the other warriors and the valkyries to watch your bout. The other girls, particularly Nesta and Gwyn, cheered for you, and they couldn't help but laugh at Cassian's reaction.

Azriel nodded, giving you an approving smile before launching his own shadows at you. Twisting on your foot, you spun as Aefre moved off your shoulders to engage the incoming shadows, while you focused on Azriel. From the side, you could hear Cassian yelling at his brother to take you down, while Nesta and Gwyn cheered you on, trying to boost your confidence. Azriel struck your ribs, causing you to take in a quick breath at the blow. That one would surely leave a painful bruise that Aefre would tease you about for days. Turning, you kicked your foot out, striking the back of Azriel's knees, watching as they buckled under the sudden hit. You swiftly moved, wrapping yourself around him before flipping him onto his back and holding a sword to his neck. Cassian let out a loud, offended gasp from the sidelines. "You cannot be serious, Az. You let her hand your ass to you," he grumbled, earning laughter from Nesta and Gwyn.

It was true; the shadow singer had lost in the ring, and the feeling of winning made you feel light. Once you felt Aefre wrap around your shoulders again, you held out your hand for Azriel, who gently took it as you helped him stand. "You've improved; I'm impressed. Maybe it was a good idea that I was the one training you rather than the giant toddler over there," he said, looking toward Cassian, who was bickering with Nesta, trying to claim you were cheating.

"It's only been two days since we've begun training, and I've learned more from you than I have with Cassian," you murmured, crossing your arms as you stood next to Azriel, watching them. "Just don't tell him that; I think that would destroy his ego." Cassian's head snapped to you, which caused you to laugh as his jaw dropped and a look of offense crossed his face. For once, you felt like a family as Azriel laughed at Cassian beside you, and Nesta tried to calm the gentle giant, who was trying to climb into the ring, telling you he could hand your ass to you, unlike Azriel.

The crowd hushed as Rhysand walked through the training area and stopped just before the ring, looking at you with a cold expression and tension in his shoulders. "It's time," he said before winnowing away. Looking up at Azriel, he sent you a small, encouraging smile, which was soon matched by Nesta and Cassian. Handing your sword to Azriel, you thanked him before winnowing to Rhysand's office. Stepping inside, Madja, Feyre, Rhysand, and Amren stood next to the couch. "It's been a week since our last attempt. I think you have gotten some rest and your mentality is a lot better compared to last week. Training with Azriel and the valkyries seemed to have helped a lot. I believe we could finally crack open a memory, but only if you're ready," Rhysand said, stepping forward to rest his hands on your shoulders.

Nodding, you took a deep breath as Aefre held you tighter. "I'm ready. I know what I need to do, but what if she doesn't let me access those memories? You know how Aefre is," you whispered, looking up at your brother. It was true; your counterpart was protective of your memories, fearing that unlocking them could hurt you or drive her away, back to the cauldron, where she would have to suffer again.

Rhysand smiled, running his hand over your head, giving you a gentle smile. "You'll have to connect with her. We can only be here to guard and protect your body when you're there. What you two discuss is ultimately up to you, but she'll allow you to see those memories when she deems you ready. Today is just another opportunity to try, like all the other times," he reassured you. Swallowing hard, you glanced behind you as the door opened, and Azriel stepped in, offering you a supportive smile.

Turning your attention back to Rhysand, you returned his smile. "Give me a moment to speak with Azriel, and then we can begin," you said before moving toward the male standing by the door. "You came, after last time, I didn't think you would," you said, a frown crossing your face as you remembered the last attempt. Aefre had rejected you from accessing your memories, leading to a battle of power that had resulted in an explosion of shadows, broken windows, and your brother, Azriel, and Amren flying across the room. Shaking your head, you looked up at Azriel, who simply patted your head.

"I want to be here for you. Moments like these are when you need the people who care about you the most. You mean everything to me, and I want to be with you every step of the way. I'll be sitting right next to you, waiting for you to open your eyes. I won't leave your side, no matter how long you're in your head. Your family is here for you, Madja and Amren will watch over you, and I'll be here holding your hand," he said, leaning down to press his forehead against yours.

Taking a deep breath, you accepted the affection from Azriel, willing your shadows to remain under control. You closed your eyes, whispering a small thank you before pulling away and looking at your family. "I'm ready," you said, your breath shaky, flinching as Azriel gently grabbed your hand. Looking down at your hands, you led him to the couch, where you lay down with Azriel beside you, your head resting on a pillow Amren had set down. Feyre and Amren stood behind the couch, looking down at you with encouraging gazes, while Rhysand stood above you.

Madja stepped forward, bringing a chair with her. "The same as last time, but this time, you need to keep a clear mind. You struggled because you went in there demanding to see your memories. You need to be smart and play her game," Madja advised before looking at Rhysand and nodding.

Rhysand placed his hand on your forehead, sending you a gentle smile. "Be safe in there, little sis. You've got this," he whispered as you felt your eyes grow heavy and your vision darken.

Sitting up, you looked around, a gasp leaving your lips as you took in your surroundings. The entire setting looked different from before. As you looked down at the silver gown you were wearing, you stood up. The cloth of the dress dragged as you walked forward, letting your eyes scan the horizon. The area around you appeared normal, but it wasn't. In the sky, stars lined the area, and planets spun around, resembling moons. The land under your feet was floating, and as you continued to look around, you discovered that you were on an island of sorts. A stone structure sat a few feet away, and off in the distance, you found more stone archways. Was this what your mind was like? Just an island that felt so peaceful?

Walking further into the area, you stopped when you spotted a woman sitting on a stone, gazing into the distance. Her dark locks circled her shoulders, and her tan skin gleamed under the sun. She wore a black dress with a deep neckline, and the dress hugged every curve, showing off as much skin as it possibly could. Turning her head toward you, she stood and walked closer.

"Hello, Y/N, I've been waiting for you," she smiled warmly, placing her hands on your arms.

Tags: @historygeekqueen

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kingedmundsroyalmurder · 9 days

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Blue Castle Book Club 2.0 - Chapter 2

We begin in this chapter what will be a recurring motif, namely people whose spouses died because they did not care about them properly. Our first example is Mr. Fredrick Stirling, whose name haunts the narrative but about whom we know practically nothing. What we do know here is that he was a man who did not – could not? Would not? – override his wife and died because of it. There are a lot of formidable women in the Stirling Clan, but for the most part the men seem to match them. The two couples we see – Aunt and Uncle Wellington and Aunt Alberta and Uncle Herbert – are fairly evenly balanced, with the one pair being fierce and unyielding and the other being more chill. Meanwhile Fredrick Stirling seems to have been much closer to Valancy in temperament than to his wife, judging by the fact that neither he nor Valancy seems able to defy her.

More broadly, this is a book about how people blossom when they are loved and whither away when they are not. That bodes ill for Mr. and Mrs. Fredrick Stirling’s happiness, had he lived.

With that said, this is also a book about gossip, and backing up a step, what we are actually told is that “It was whispered about in the connection” that Mrs. Stirling killed her husband by not lighting a fire. We’re about to be told a great number of other things that “the connection” whispers about, most of which are patently untrue. We are also slowly going to learn that no one in the family actually particularly likes Mrs. Fredrick Stirling. And so that begs the question: did Mrs. Stirling cause her husband’s death? Or was he already ill and no amount of fire would have saved him and it was just easier for everyone to blame the newcomer to the family that they already didn’t like? Mrs. Stirling is undeniably a petty tyrant, but the Stirling clan is also undeniably vicious.

Mrs. Stirling is also undeniably afraid of rocking the boat. She exercises all her vicious tyranny onto Valancy because she has no other outlets for it. She is terrified of Uncle Benjamin and his will. She allows Aunt Wellington to tell Valancy how to wear her hair. She has extremely little power within her family, which was her husband’s family first. None of this excuses the way she treats her daughter, but it shows how deeply the poison here goes. The clan creates miserable, vicious people whose only pleasure is taking their misery out on others.

The other thread here is a complete disavowal of fantasy. Valancy is 29 and miserable and will only ever get older and more miserable and she can’t bear to hide from it any longer. There isn’t a hint of lightness or joy in any of the descriptions – they are all stark and bleak, monochrome and harsh. It’s grimdark but in the form of descriptive paragraphs. And, like grimdark, it feels in the moment as though it’s Valancy facing life as it really is, in all its dreadful hopelessness. But life at its most unflattering is no more a whole realistic portrayal than life at its most rose-tinted. Last chapter we rejected the Blue Castle’s diaphanous whimsy, and now we have to work to reject Elm Street’s harsh grimdarkness. Somewhere between those two extremes we’ll find a reality that’s actually worth living in.

Colors mentioned:

Brown gingham

Black stockings

Black hair

Black brows

White teeth

Dark-brown eyes

White face

Black bear

This chapter is short and almost aggressively drab. Brown, black, white. That's it. Those are the colors we get when Valancy is determined to go through life without any fantasy and "face reality unflinchingly".

#blue castle book club #moonlight and mistawis

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untoldreader · 4 months

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A Fateful Encounter

Summary

The reader's path crosses with Maria Hill's in an unexpected twist of fate, setting the stage for a deep connection to form

Warnings

None

Tag List

@alexawynters

The bustling streets of New York City pulsed with energy as I made my way through the crowd, my heart and mind consumed by the daily grind. It was just another ordinary day, or so I thought. Little did I know that destiny had a different plan in store for me.

Lost in my thoughts, I absentmindedly looked up and our eyes met. There she was, Maria Hill, a formidable presence with her piercing blue eyes and confident aura. In that instant, something shifted within me. It was as if time stood still, and the world around us faded into the background. It was a connection that seemed to transcend mere coincidence.

I stumbled, caught off guard by the intensity of the moment. "I'm sorry," I managed to utter, my voice barely a whisper in the bustling city sounds.

Maria's stern expression softened, and a faint smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "No need to apologize," she replied, her voice carrying a warmth I hadn't expected.

As she walked away, the memory of her gaze lingered, stirring something deep within my heart. It was a feeling I couldn't shake—the sense that this encounter held a profound significance, that I had just crossed paths with someone who would change the course of my life.

Days turned into weeks, and I found myself yearning for another glimpse of Maria. I caught myself daydreaming, imagining what it would be like to be in her presence once more, to explore the depths of our connection. And fate, it seemed, had plans to bring us together again.

One evening, a message arrived, shrouded in secrecy, with the sender's identity concealed. "Meet me at the coordinates below. Trust your heart," it read.

Intrigued and filled with a mixture of anticipation and nervous excitement, I couldn't resist the pull of the unknown. I followed the coordinates to a secluded spot, where Maria awaited me, a glimmer of anticipation in her eyes.

"You came," she said softly, a hint of surprise in her voice.

I nodded, unable to contain the emotions swirling within me. "There was something about you," I confessed, my voice trembling with honesty. "Something that drew me in from the very beginning."

A smile played upon Maria's lips, a subtle acknowledgment of the undeniable connection we shared. "I felt it too," she replied, her voice filled with a tenderness I hadn't seen before. "There's a love that defies explanation, a devotion that binds us together. Are you willing to explore what it means?"

In that moment, I knew that there was no turning back. The love between us had ignited, a flame that burned with an intensity I had never experienced before. With unwavering resolve, I met her gaze and whispered, "Yes, Maria. I'm ready to dive into the depths of this love, to embrace the devotion that binds us."

And so, with that heartfelt affirmation, our journey began. Little did we know the challenges that awaited us, the tests our love would face, and the strength of devotion that would be required to overcome them.

As days turned into weeks, Maria and I found ourselves inseparable. We explored the city together, hand in hand, discovering hidden gems and sharing our deepest thoughts and dreams. With each passing day, our love grew stronger, expanding like tendrils intertwining our hearts.

Maria's presence in my life brought a sense of stability and purpose that I had never known before. She was my rock, my confidante, and my partner in every sense of the word. We faced the world together, supporting each other through the highs and lows, and celebrating every triumph as a team.

But amidst our joy, shadows loomed on the horizon. Maria's work with S.H.I.E.L.D. demanded her unwavering commitment and often placed her in dangerous situations. Our love was tested as we navigated the complexities of her duty and the sacrifices it required.

There were nights when I lay awake, my heart heavy with worry, waiting for Maria to return safely from her missions. Each time she walked through the door, unharmed but wearied by the weight of her responsibilities, I held her tightly, cherishing every moment as if it were our last.

But even in the face of adversity, our devotion remained steadfast. We chose to embrace the love that bound us, to find solace in each other's arms and draw strength from our connection. It was a love that defied logic, that defied the odds stacked against us.

As the months turned into years, Maria and I built a life together—a life filled with love, laughter, and shared dreams. We supported each other's ambitions, pushing each other to reach new heights. Our devotion was not just romantic; it was a commitment to nurturing the growth and happiness of the other.

Yet, with every passing day, the world continued to change. New challenges arose, threatening the delicate balance we had created. Forces beyond ourcontrol tested our devotion, pushing us to our limits.

One such challenge came when Maria received a top-secret assignment that would take her away for an extended period. It was a mission of utmost importance, one that required her expertise and unwavering dedication. As she shared the news with me, her eyes were filled with a mix of determination and sadness.

"I don't want to leave you," Maria whispered, her voice choked with emotion. "But this is something I have to do. It's my duty."

Tears welled up in my eyes as I fought to hold them back. I understood the weight of her responsibility, but it didn't make the impending separation any easier to bear. "I'll be waiting for you," I replied, my voice filled with a conviction born out of our love. "No matter how long it takes, my heart is yours, and I'll be here when you return."

With a heavy heart, I watched Maria depart, knowing that our love would be tested in ways we couldn't yet comprehend. Time stretched on, and the days turned into weeks, then months. The ache of her absence was a constant companion, a reminder of the love we shared and the sacrifices we made.

During those long months apart, we relied on letters and occasional encrypted messages to bridge the physical distance between us. Each word penned on paper carried the weight of our devotion, the longing we felt, and the unwavering commitment to each other.

In those letters, we poured our hearts out—sharing our triumphs, our fears, and our hopes for the future. We supported each other from afar, offering words of encouragement and love that transcended the limitations of distance. Despite the challenges we faced, our connection remained unbreakable.

Finally, the day arrived when Maria's mission was complete, and she returned to my waiting arms. The joy that flooded my heart was indescribable as we embraced, the weight of our separation melting away in that single moment of reunion. We had weathered the storm, and our devotion had emerged stronger than ever.

But the challenges didn't end there. Life continued to test us, throwing unexpected obstacles in our path. Yet, with each trial, we leaned on the foundation of our love and commitment, strengthening our bond and reaffirming our devotion.

Together, we navigated the complexities of life—supporting each other through career changes, personal losses, and the ever-changing landscape of the world. Our love was a beacon of light in the darkest of times, guiding us through the storms and reminding us of the unwavering connection we shared.

As the years passed, Maria and I built a life filled with cherished memories and shared experiences. We celebrated milestones, big and small, with hearts brimming with gratitude for the love we had found in each other.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

And so, our love story continues—a testament to the power of devotion and the resilience of the human spirit. Our journey is not without its challenges, but we face them together, bound by a love that knows no bounds.

For in the end, it is the devotion between us that sustains and nourishes our love, a flame that burns bright against all odds. Together, we embrace the unknown, knowing that as long as we have each other, love will always prevail.

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#maria hill x reader #maria hill #marvel #Relentless Devotion

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sengardet · 3 months

Text

Lyria's Gift #1 Valyra

Using a knight's chest and still-beating heart to warm her hands - there was a delicious perversity to it.

As Lyria, a stocky redheaded nomad, returned from her daily hunt empty-handed, she noticed a slender platinum-blonde woman in elegant garb rummaging through her belongings. The intruder's fine regal attire and lightly armored gloves stood in stark contrast to the rustic surroundings of her campsite.

Lyria, approached cautiously, her hand instinctively gripping the handle of her axe. The tall and lithe blonde woman turned to face Lyria, a smirk playing on her lips. "Ah, the infamous Lyria Elisdor. I was searching for you."

She drew her sword, the blade gleaming in the fading light. "I am Valyra Rosewell The Third, a knight of the Northern Kingdom, and I'm here to claim your head."

Lyria readied her battle axe, brandishing a smile. “Alright, princess, Take it.”

Valyra launched forward, her sword slicing through the air. Lyria parried the blow with her axe, the clang of metal against metal ringing out across the campsite.

Lyria scoffed. "Another knight seeking glory, maybe gold?."

Valyra's eyes narrowed, her grip tightening on her sword. "I assure you, it is the honor of my kingdom I seek."

Despite the knight's agility and apparent skill with her blade, Lyria's formidable stature and strength proved to be a match for her. With a powerful counter, Lyria knocked the sword from the blonde's hand, sending it clattering in the distance.

Seizing the opportunity, Lyria tackled the woman as she ran for her blade, pinning her to the snow-covered ground while it was just out of reach.

Reaching for the rope she kept to drag prey, Lyria bound the woman's wrists together, rendering her helpless.

"Please, no... I beg you! Allow me my sword, that was a clumsy slip!" the woman gasped.

Lyria flashed a cold smile. "You should have thought about that before you tried to kill me." She ran rope across the woman’s mouth, silencing her protests to muffled gurgles.

With the woman secured, Lyria sat back, catching her breath. Tears welled in the distraught eyes of her captive, a mistake costing both life and honor as she accepts her looming death at Lyria’s hands.

Lyria carried the flailing woman into her tent and laid her down roughly on the dirt floor. Confusion filled those large frosty blue eyes before they landed on the hunting knife in Lyria’s hand, its blade glinting in the dim firelight.

The helpless woman whimpered and pleaded weakly, terror consuming her delicate features. Lyria ignored her pitiful display while pinning her in place with a knee on her heaving chest.

She carefully and silently sliced the woman's upper belly, a stream of blood welled up and pooled in Valyria’s abdomen. The woman let out an agonized moan as the blade slowly pushed inward, certain of her impending end as Lyria seemed to take joy in such a lengthy execution.

…But Lyria had different plans.

The woman's body heat called to her, a furnace in this frozen wasteland. She slid the blade out and plunged her numb, icy hands into the gaping wound. Exquisite warmth engulfed her fingers as she probed the slick, pulsating organs, siphoning precious heat. Valyra’s muffled voice cried out in deep discomfort.

Lyria gasped as her hand saught deeper into Valyra's torso, pushing through the woman's innards. The knight's liver and stomach squelched and shifted beneath her touch, making way for the intruding digits that probed mercilessly into her core.

"What’s wrong, little princess? You’re alive, aren’t you?" Lyria smiled. "Your insides feel divine. As you see, there’s nothing to start a fire with out here, so warmth is hard to come by."

Lyria felt around for the cut she made in Valyra's diaphragm stretch and then pushed her wrists through with a wet pop. The knight jerked and choked out a gurgling cry, back arching as Lyria's arm sank into her chest cavity.

"Shh, shh..." Lyria hushed, curling her fingers around the thundering heart, groaning in relief. It quivered like a frightened animal against her cold intruding palms, fluttering desperately in the shock of her grip.

Concern filled Lyria’s eyes and she gently compressed and massaged the organ to settle its pace, like a bellows stoking a flame, coaxing it to keep pumping, to provide her with its feverish heat. Its panicked rhythm reverberated through her arms as every inch of the woman’s insides pulsed with its tempo.

The woman shuddered and whimpered, nerves alight with agony and inner disturbance.

Valyra's ribs creaked and flexed around the impaling limbs, violated body squeezing its soft vital organs around the invading arms in feeble protest. Her shuddering lungs enveloped Lyria's hand in their warm, spongy embrace, compressing with each labored breath. The knight's body was powerless to stop it, to do anything but elicit an amused, perversely adoring grin across the redhead’s lips.

"That's it," Lyria whispered. "Good girl. Keep your precious little heart beating for me, nice and strong." Conquering the threat of her feeble companion's death, Lyria sat in perverse comfort as she passively extracted warmth from the knight's delicate core. She was finally able to appreciate the magnificent firmness and vigor of the organ. For such a slight woman, the knight had a surprisingly hefty and powerful heart, no doubt forged by years of rigorous training and battle. Its angry protests kicking into her with every contraction, even as the rest of Valyra's body lay helpless and defeated.

Valyra silently prayed for the blissful release of unconsciousness, to be freed from the violation and humiliation of those cruel hands playing with her very core…But her heart, her treacherous, resilient heart, refused to still, no matter how much its rhythm stuttered and strained. It labored on under Lyria's ruthless manipulations, condemning her to endure every disgraceful second of this nightmare.

#dark cardiophilia #heart torture #f/f #internal heart play #prolonged heart torment #uncertain ending

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mononijikayu · 6 months

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malmö i mitt hjärta ━ nanami kento

But amid the sterile bleakness, a beacon awaited. Someone was there for him, a comforting presence that contradicted the harsh realities of the hospital room. The warmth of her memory, a stark contrast to the clinical surroundings, lingered in his mind like a gentle embrace. As his senses gradually acclimated to the reality surrounding him, he became aware of the cool caress of pristine white sheets against his skin. The distant symphony of medical equipment, each beep and hum, served as a poignant testament to his unexpected survival. Yes, he was alive.

GENRE: Post - Shibuya Arc, November 2018;

WARNING/s: Canon Divergence, Angst, Fluff, Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Near - Death Experience, Explicit Mention of Injuries, Mention of Death, Mention of Loss, Mention of Gojo's Sealing;

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HE DID NOT REMEMBER WHAT HAPPENED AFTER THE BURST OF WHITE LIGHT ECHOED ALL AROUND HIM. Nanami Kento found himself in a disorienting haze, the aftermath of the blinding white light that had enveloped him. The memories of what had transpired were elusive, slipping away like grains of sand in the wind. Bleeding and broken, he stood amidst the chaos, wearied not only by the physical toll but also by the relentless violence that surrounded him.

Shibuya had proven to be a formidable battleground, surpassing even the expectations set by reports. Nanami, however, hadn't anticipated the extent of the exhaustion he would feel. The weariness ran deep, etched in the scarlet lines that adorned his wounded flesh, almost resembling weary tears.

As he stood at the precipice of what seemed like the end, he could envision the face of Yu Haibara, a nostalgic smile etched across the features of his youth. There he stood, eyeing Nanami with all the kindness he doesn't deserve. It was as if Death itself was extending an invitation to the solace Nanami had long sought, a respite from the unending cycle of struggle that seemed inescapable.

Yet before he knew it, it was as though he was never there.

Haibara smiled, standing before Mikoto Nobuhiko.

Nanami realized that they switched positions. From where he stood before, he could catch the glimpse of Nobuhiko's orbs glisten in crystal tears. He tried to scream, he remembers he could. But Itadori Yuuji did it for the both of them, crying out Nobuhiko's name.

He didn't know if he cried or not.

He doesn't remember that much.

But he knew that the blue summer ended forever.

Nanami Kento had lost himself in fleeting delusions.

In those fleeting moments, Nanami's mind drifted to the simple joys that made life worth living. The vivid beauty of a Malaysian morning, the tropical sun's warmth on his skin, the gentle winds accompanying moments of quiet reading against a backdrop of serene resignation, and the comforting aroma of green tea in the familiarity of his home.

The mental images continued to unfold, walking hand in hand with a cherished person, the resonance of their rings echoing like a soft bell, proclaiming a love that belonged exclusively to them. Her gaze, filled with the profound echoes of a love uniquely theirs, lingered in his mind as he faced Death head-on.

Her face, where her warm smile was tender for him.

The scarlet sunset etched all over her cheeks.

The bright beam of love in those eyes for him.

He held on to life, wanting to see her again.

As the intense beam of light faded, Nanami Kento found himself grappling with the harsh reality of his surroundings. The once vibrant scenes of his memories were replaced by sterile white ceilings, devoid of the vitality he had just envisioned. His lips, now forming a flat line, mirrored his uncertainty about this unexpected twist of fate. The struggle to open his eyes wide was matched by the greater challenge of drawing breath into his lungs. Amidst the confusion, he became aware of the narrow hitches of breath escaping his lips.

As he took in the scene around him, the echoes of a flatline transitioned into the sound of morning air filling his lungs. The pain was a harsh reminder of his corporeal existence, yet the sensation of life coursing through him was undeniable. Nanami Kento found himself grappling with the juxtaposition of life and near death, a survivor in a world that seemed to have momentarily abandoned its tumultuous chaos.

The sterile hospital room resonated with the cold hum of fluorescent lights, casting a clinical glow upon the barren walls. For Nanami, it was a realm he despised, a place where discomfort and unease mingled. Despite the years spent in the ebb and flow of blood and flesh, the hospital environment remained foreign, an unwelcome terrain that clawed at the edges of his resolve.

It wasn't just the sights; it was the acrid scent that permeated the air, triggering memories of a bygone youth marked by echoes of profound loss. The antiseptic aroma, a nauseating reminder of vulnerability, threatened to unravel him. Yet, confined to his bed, there was no escape. Nanami Kento found himself ensnared in a place he had vowed never to return.

As his senses gradually acclimated to the reality surrounding him, he became aware of the cool caress of pristine white sheets against his skin. The distant symphony of medical equipment, each beep and hum, served as a poignant testament to his unexpected survival. Yes, he was alive.

And in that pulsating moment between life and the sterile ambiance, he found solace in the idea of returning to her. The prospect of reuniting with the vivid tapestry of their lives painted itself in his mind. Another day, another chance to age gracefully in the cocoon of her love, a promise that whispered of a tomorrow adorned with shared laughter, quiet moments, and the unspoken embrace of a love that had weathered the storm.

Nanami Kento, in that fragile instance of survival, embraced the prospect of living another day—a chance to return to the arms of the one who made life's battles worthwhile.

“Oh, you’re awake.” The words cut through the clinical ambiance, a lifeline tethering him to the present. The voice, though familiar, held a depth of mystery, and he turned his head to find those unmistakable purple orbs. There she stood, a reassuring figure, her presence a balm to his disoriented senses. “It’s quite a miracle that you’re alive, Mr. Seven — Three.”

Nanami, ever the stoic one, couldn't help but release a sound that resembled a snort. His senpai, Gojo Genmei, had picked up some of his husband's bravado over the years. In that moment, he found solace in the warmth of her company, even in the face of his physical discomfort.

“How can it be a miracle when it was obvious you manipulated my survival, Genmei–san?”

A hearty laugh escaped Gojo Genmei as she moved away from the wall, pulling a chair with her as she settled down. “You didn’t have to say it like that, Kento–kun!”

Kento, now adjusting himself on the medical bed with a laborious effort, retorted, “You’re too much like Gojo–san. It’s giving me a headache.”

“Hm, you’re still you, alright.”

He raised a questioning brow. “What do you mean by that?”

Genmei's laughter echoed in the sterile room, a melody that cut through the clinical atmosphere. As she leaned forward, a mischievous glint sparkled in her eyes. “I mean, even on the brink of death, you're still as grumpy as ever, Kento–kun. That's how I know you're okay.”

The younger sorcerer let out a wistful sigh, his breath carrying the weight of fleeting moments and unspoken echoes. "Facing death doesn’t change me much, I suppose. I’m just... alive. I'm well enough, I can say."

“A fact I’m sure your wife will be happy about,” Genmei remarked, crossing her legs as she leaned back, the air thick with unspoken understanding. "I think any wife would be, I think."

“Hm,” he nodded in agreement, a subtle smile playing on his lips. The prospect of returning home, of going to Malaysia with his wife, lingered in his thoughts like a delicate melody. It was enough, he believed. Enough to live for, to savor in the quiet richness of shared moments. “I suppose I owe you my life.”

“You owe me nothing,” she dismissed his gratitude with a wave, a tender smile softening the contours of her face. In her warm eyes, there was a somber tenderness, an acknowledgment of the unspoken complexities that lingered between them. “Someone has to have their happy ending first. Nobu thought so too, don't you think?"

In the pause that followed, a heavy silence hung in the air, pregnant with the weight of unspoken truths. Nanami's memories of his dearest friend passed through him in the silence. It was as though those three years of youth never happened. As though they were his day dreams in his one summer day. He was the only one left, he's still breathing. Yu would forever be seventeen, as will Nobuhiko stay twenty - seven.

Genmei - senpai meant every word she uttered, a sentiment that resonated even as she wished it didn't. Perhaps if Nobuhiko would be here too, he'd say the same thing. Both of them were the same like that, almost like mother and son.

His senpai was happy for him, she always has been. She had always supported his decisions and his actions. Just as Nobuhiko did. Nanami was certain he's only alive because she knew what Nobuhiko would do for him. It was because of her that he's still alive. And yet he knew deep down, she was jealous. His senpai after all was not the god people saw her to be. She too felt humanity make her a hypocrite.

Beneath the veneer of Gojo Genmei's righteousness and kindness lay a selfish desire, a longing to cling to life just as fiercely as Nanami clung to his reasons for existence.

As much as she had risked everything for the peace of the Jujutsu and Human world, a poignant selfishness whispered in her heart. She clung to Gojo Satoru, she clung to the memory left by Nobuhiko over and over again. He could see it in her lilac eyes. She was yearning for the day when she could live without the constraints of this absence, this hole inside of her. This emptiness. She looked forward to the day when she would be free of torment.

That Nanami knew too well. And in the same breath, Nanami knew, as did she, that such freedom to her desires was not imminent. The person she held dearest, the god she worshiped, remained sealed away, and no one yet held the key to his release. This truth, unbeknownst to Nanami, lingered in the shadows of their shared existence.

"I hate how self-righteous you are," he finally uttered, a playful accusation laced with a deeper understanding of the intricacies of their intertwined fates.

In that moment, amid the fragility of survival and the weight of unsaid words, Gojo Genmei embraced the role of the patient observer, waiting for her turn to taste the sweetness of a life unburdened by the shackles of uncertainty. Genmei laughed. Nanami, in his silent acknowledgment, found solace in her kindred happiness.

“It sickens me, Genmei–san. At least be mad at me for what happened."

“Let me indulge in this mood.” She bit her cheek, her purple eyes narrowing at him. “It’s all that keeps me afloat.”

"Really...."

She smiles at him. "Why should we blame you, though? Love is a curse, but its worth dying for. So don't curse Nobuhiko like that. Besides, I doubt you wouldn't say the same thing, Mr. Seven – Three."

His lips pursed in a flat line.

He hated that she was right.

She's become more like Gojo Satoru.

“How many days have passed?” Nanami questioned her, changing the topic.

“Just a few days,” She informed him diligently, crossing her legs in the other direction. “You’ve healed quicker than Todo, I have to say. I’m impressed. With your wounds, it was expected that it would take even longer."

His mind moved towards the young ones, once she mentioned the third-year protege of Kyoto High. He moved to open his mouth, wanting to express the many worries that plagued his head at the thought of the young ones. Genmei stopped him, smiling. “You shouldn’t worry about the young ones, Kento–kun. They’re healthy, for the most part. Megumi and Yuuji are doing what they can do find the answers we need. Just trust them for now. Rest your restless heart, Kento-kun.”

Kento did not think her answer sufficed; there was too much hidden in the words said. But he knew he would not argue with her about the matter. At least not today. There would be more days to catch up, to ask his many questions.

His mind was still a blur; he still needed rest. This is enough, for now. He didn't want to carry the heavy load of all of it just yet. Nobuhiko was enough. Knowing the kids were safe. All he wanted right now, he supposed, was to see his wife. He did not want to be here. He wanted to go home. He wanted to be in his beloved's arms once again.

“You’re quite the fighter, though,” Genmei's light sandy hair shone against the beaming sun. “You responded well to the treatments, Kento–kun. It’s incredibly determined.”

He looked at his damaged arm. “Well, I can see that, seeing I’m somewhat still whole.”

“Hm, Your wife insisted,” Genmei responded to him, causing him to perk up at the mention of his wife. “She protested, how you can live with burns and scars, but not without your arm and hand. You need it, she told them. Cause you would never leave your job here. She knows that much.”

“She knows me too well, then.”

“And I know you just as well,” Genmei said, standing up as hands moved towards the inner confines of her kimono and revealing papers. She lays it before him, he looks at her suspiciously. He takes it, mustering all his strength to read it. “You need a break, Kento-kun.”

He frowns deeply, dropping the paper. His eye arrows at her with all the emotions that drowned him in turmoil. "You forced them to put me on a break? Now, when am I most needed?”

“You aren’t well just yet,” She says, her lips tightly pressed in a line. “And not for a long time, Kento-kun. You need to rest.”

“I can’t just leave now. Genmei–senpai, you just can’t—”

She shakes her head at him. He could see her eyes become fonder. He has not called her 'senpai' in a long time. “Kento–kun, you are of use to us when you’re well. You can only be well when you rest. I cannot have you risking your life like that again, Kento–kun. You are more valuable to all of us, to your wife, alive. So please, don’t fight us on this.”

For a moment, he couldn’t stare at her in the eyes. He felt like that child again, that child hiding his face, hiding the way every inch of it contorted in grief and sorrow. Hiding the way his one good eye echoed the tears that neared his face. He felt so defenseless, so raw, so open to the world that wouldn’t understand the bareness of him. She looks at him, almost guilty. But Kento knew that in her heart, she knew this was the right thing to do.

She didn’t want to see him dead. She told him then that she was glad he was not dead. How blunt she was then, telling him how glad she was that he was not Haibara. The glee she found in her heart when he told her that he would be leaving the Jujutsu world behind and starting anew. Inside her heart, Kento was a younger brother. And perhaps, it was much better for her to be hated by him, than to see him robbed from her by the cruelty of their lives.

Genmei watched him, an unspoken understanding passing between them. She walked over to the window, gazing at the city beyond as the fading sunlight painted the sky in hues of orange and pink. "Your wife," she began, her voice softer now, carrying the weight of shared burdens, "She loves you deeply, Kento–kun. She fought for you to have this break because she wants you to be whole, to be with her."

Nanami's gaze remained fixed on the papers before him, the weight of his wife's love and Genmei's concern settling in his chest. He knew the truth in those words, the depth of the sacrifice she had made for him.

"You need to rest, not just for yourself but for her too. You've been fighting for others for so long; it's time to let others fight for you," Genmei continued her eyes still on the echo of the city's skyline, now bathed in the soft glow of twilight. "Please, Kento-kun. Leave it to us. Enjoy your life for a bit."

He sighed, a mixture of resignation and gratitude. "I'll take the break," he finally conceded, realizing the truth in her words. "Just this once."

Genmei turned to face him, a small smile playing on her lips. "Good. You deserve it, Kento–kun. And when you're ready, we'll be here, waiting for you."

As she left the room, the door clicking softly behind her, Nanami's thoughts turned to the papers on the bed. They were a ticket to rest, a journey into the unfamiliar territory of self-care and healing. The room, once a battleground of conflicting emotions, now held the promise of renewal.

With a weary yet determined sigh, Nanami Kento allowed himself to succumb to the quiet solitude of rest, knowing that beyond the confines of the hospital walls, a world awaited where the echoes of Shibuya would gradually fade, and the whispers of a new beginning would take root.

AND SO, HE SAT THERE FOR A WHILE STARING AT THE CLOUDS PASS BY. The sterile hospital room, a cold oasis of white, seemed to echo with the whispered words of Gojo Genmei as she left. Nanami Kento left alone in the quiet aftermath of their conversation, found himself wrestling with an unsatisfied restlessness. The very notion of being told to rest felt like a cage, confining him in a realm of inactivity that clashed with the echoes of Shibuya still reverberating in his mind.

He shifted uncomfortably on the hospital bed, the crisp white sheets clinging to the contours of his tired form. The room, bathed in the sterile glow of fluorescent lights, felt oppressive. Nanami's gaze wandered to the window, where the outside world beckoned, tantalizingly close yet out of reach.

The very air seemed to carry the weight of unspoken promises, of a life beyond hospital walls. Kento had called for food to be brought to his room, now that he was awake. He’s quite weary, much to the conversation in itself. The medicines he was forced to take into his body made it even worse. But he needed to sustain himself, he needed to make a moderate effort at least.

‘How am I supposed to return to normal if I don’t push myself to?’ He scolds himself in the quiet of his somber room. ‘I have to do it, I have to do it.’

Just as the specter of discontent began to settle, a soft voice invaded the sterile silence in his head. The words of parting dwelled in his mind like a broken record.

‘Enjoy Malaysia, Kento–kun. The trip will make you strong, I’m sure, hm? Just take all the time you need! Bring a souvenir, Satoru would adore it by the time he sees it!'

The voice of Gojo Genmei had always made a mark whenever she spoke, her presence a fleeting memory that lingered in the room. She had left, but her words hovered in the air like a gentle melody, a reminder of the promises yet to unfold. She had reassured him that all would be well. He had to put his faith in her, in all his comrades. In Gojo Satoru. He had to think that they’d do well.

That they can carry on while he is gone. He did his best, to collect himself but he could not help it, feel the things he did. Nanami, still restless, couldn't help but dwell on the words. He couldn’t deny that she made a good point. He agrees with her. His life as a sorcerer was always bound to be short, bound to danger. He had to make the best of it. He needs to make it all worth it. Now more than ever.

Time passed in measured increments, the rhythm of the hospital machinery punctuating the silence. It was in this liminal space that the door creaked open, allowing a sliver of anticipation to seep in. The food was finally brought by the nurse. The nurse was an elderly woman, and she seemed to fawn over him as though he was a child. She told him to press the button by his bed if he needed anything or if he wanted more food. Nanami Kento was certainly overwhelmed by her energy, he had used all his energy talking to Genmei before.

But he merely nodded his head and thanked her for her help and the meal. Nanami didn’t find the taste to his liking, and in all honesty, he’s never liked the food at hospital canteens either. But he was not one to turn down food when he needed it. He’s not ungrateful. And so he ate and he ate, listening to the music on the radio, the disco jockey announcing the next song. It was his favorite by far, Saboten Record, by his favorite band Fujifabric.

It had been quite a while since Kento had heard the song. The last time he did was when he and his wife danced to it in the narrow space of their kitchen, laughing as they spun playfully against the beckoning edges of mahogany counters and marble tops. The night had been a spectacle, a happier time which gave him strength. For a moment he started to hum, the fondness of his heart following along to the echo of the rhythm.

Then, just as she had entered into his life, his dearly beloved wife, a vision of quiet strength and warmth, entered the room with all the vibrant color and exquisite wonder that she had brought with her.

Her eyes widened in surprise at the sight of Nanami, awake and grappling with the confines of the hospital bed. Her eyes were red, one could expect that from the tears she must have cried from worry. The room seemed to brighten like it was spring all over again as her gaze locked onto him, and in that instant, the stark walls became a canvas for the emotions playing out before her. Life made sense again, purpose existed again. The meaning of life blossomed in front of him, still from shock.

"Kento!" Her voice, a symphony of relief and joy, carried across the room. Tears glistened in her eyes, mirroring the overwhelming surge of emotions. She rushed to his side, the clatter of her footsteps echoing in the otherwise hushed room.

Nanami Kento, in turn, watched her approach, a myriad of emotions flickering in his eyes. Her presence was a balm, a reminder that he had weathered the storm and emerged on the other side. As she reached his bedside, the floodgates of her emotions opened, and tears streamed down her cheeks. She was still in the cycle of disbelief, the realm of joyous hope stuck in the motion of where her happiness began.

She kisses his scars, his burnt fingers, and hands. She could touch him, she could hold him. He was here. He was breathing, living. He was with her. She embraced him as though he would disappear if she didn’t hold onto him as tightly as she could. Not even the bundle of tears flowing from her face could stop her.

She was grateful, to any god out there, to anyone who listened to her prayers, that she had him in her arms. She had her love, the love that was made out of the wonder of this man, return to her. Alive and well, warm with everything that encompasses the beauty of life.

"I'm so happy you're alive," she whispered, her voice choked with a mix of gratitude and disbelief. All the love in her words, in her tone, brought him back to life. “You came back, you returned to me.”

He reached out to touch her cheek, his fingers gentle against the warmth of her skin. "I'm alright," he assured her, his voice a soothing murmur. "I'll never leave. I promised that to you, didn’t I, min skat?”

She leaned into his touch, her tears mingling with the warmth of his palm. "We're going to Malaysia, Kento. Together. I’m never letting you go, mit hjerte. You promised me. We’re going to live happily, Kento."

A soft smile played on his lips, a promise reflected in the depths of his gaze. "Yes, we will. I promised you, min skat. We’ll be together until we’re old and grey.”

The hospital room, once a sterile chamber of uncertainty, seemed to undergo a miraculous metamorphosis as Nanami Kento's beloved wife entered. The harsh, clinical glow of fluorescent lights softened, casting a warm, golden hue that embraced the room's confines. The air, once stagnant with the scent of antiseptic, now carried the subtle fragrance of hope and revival.

Nanami, despite his weariness, felt a surge of vitality as his wife crossed the threshold. The room itself seemed to respond, shedding its clinical demeanor in favor of a gentler, more welcoming ambiance. The crisp white sheets on the hospital bed, though still meticulously arranged, appeared softer, and inviting. They cradled him with a newfound tenderness as if conspiring with the universe to provide solace to a weary soul.

As she approached, the echo of her footsteps against the linoleum floor resonated like a reassuring heartbeat, harmonizing with the subdued hum of medical equipment. The door creaked open and closed, a gentle symphony, orchestrating the entrance of love into a space that had witnessed pain and healing in equal measure.

Her eyes, shimmering with tears yet ablaze with an unmistakable joy, met his with an intensity that breathed life into the room. The stark walls, once indifferent observers, became witnesses to the sacred dance of their reunion. The very essence of their connection infused the air, transforming the room into a haven where the boundaries of time and space seemed to blur.

In that quiet moment, their words became more than utterances; they were a melody, a soft cadence that reverberated with the depth of shared vows. The room, once void of emotion, now pulsed with the palpable warmth of love rediscovered. Dialogues danced between them like ethereal waltzes, each word a step in a choreography of reassurances and promises that only they could understand.

The hospital bed, a utilitarian piece of furniture, became a sanctuary where the contours of their bodies aligned with a perfect, unspoken understanding. The sheets, once merely functional, cradled them in an embrace that transcended the physical, a cocoon of shared experiences and the promise of a future yet to unfold.

As she leaned in, her lips pressed against the scars and burns on his fingers and hands, the room held its breath, as if granting this tender moment the reverence it deserved. She enveloped him in an embrace that felt like a gentle breeze, carrying away the residual echoes of pain and fear. The atmosphere crackled with the electricity of their shared relief, the acknowledgment that they had weathered the storm together.

Her whispered words, "I'm so happy you're alive," painted the room in hues of gratitude and disbelief. Each syllable, a brushstroke, adorned the walls with the colors of love's rekindled flame. The hospital room, once a backdrop to uncertainty, now stood as a testament to the resilience of the human spirit and the enduring power of connection.

Nanami, in response, extended his hand to gently cup her tear-streaked cheek. His touch, a caress against the canvas of her skin, carried a promise.

"I'm alright," he assured her, his voice a soothing murmur that resonated with the strength of shared trials. "I'll never leave. I promised that to you, didn’t I, min skat?”

In this delicate exchange, the room bore witness to a pledge that transcended the physical confines of its walls. The hospital, once a realm of sterile uncertainties, had now become a sanctuary where the beauty of life's fragile yet enduring moments unfolded, leaving an indelible imprint on the very fabric of their shared existence.

"I was so scared, Kento. When they told me what happened..." Her voice trembled, a delicate timbre of vulnerability, the remnants of fear still haunting her.

It made his heart ache, a heavy throb echoing through his chest, as he watched the flickering emotions dance in the depths of her eyes. She suffered because of him, and the weight of that realization settled in his soul like a stone. But she understood, as she always did. She understood the essence of him, the intricate dance between duty and the echo of his existence.

The Jujutsu world was as much him as it was the reflection of him, a reality he couldn't fully escape. Yet, despite the peril that clung to his every step, she embraced him. She embraced his flaws, his scars, and the unspoken challenges that defined his very being.

“I’m glad that you’re here with me, Kento.”

He squeezed her hand, fingers intertwining in a silent communion of shared strength. The touch was a testament to the unspoken bond, a lifeline tethering them to the realm of the living. "I'm here now. We're here."

Her laughter, a delicate melody, bubbled forth like a spring of relief. Each note carried the weight of a thousand worries released, a cascade of sound that filled the room with an ethereal lightness. "This is enough, being with you. I could ask for nothing more. But this moment. You and me. Here."

He chuckled, the resonance vibrating through the air, a deep and comforting sound that echoed in the corners of the room. "It's more than enough for me too."

She enveloped him in her arms, a tender sanctuary where love and survival intertwined in an intricate dance. The hospital bed, once a sterile canvas of clinical white, transformed into a haven where the essence of their shared existence blossomed. Their whispered promises exchanged in the quiet sanctuary of their moments painted the room in hues of contentment.

Each word was a stroke of color, a brush dipped in the palette of their love, transforming the backdrop of sterile walls and clinical lights into a canvas adorned with the vibrant tapestry of life rekindled.

As she nestled into the curve of his embrace, Nanami whispered, his voice a soft breeze in the tranquil space, "You are in my heart, only you."

A joyous smile glistened to him. “You are too, Kento. You are my heart. My everything.”

Her eyes, still glistening with tears, met his, and in that shared gaze, they found the promise of a tomorrow unfurling before them. The hospital room, now adorned with the intricate details of their intertwined love, became a sanctuary where time seemed to stand still, embracing the beauty of life's fragile yet enduring moments.

The soft glow of the hospital lights filtered through sheer curtains, casting a warm hue that painted the room in a gentle embrace. The air, once laden with the sterile scent of antiseptic, now carried the fragrance of their shared history—the familiar scent of her perfume, the subtle notes of his cologne lingering in the air. The crisp white sheets, once clinical and unwelcoming, cradled them in a cocoon of comfort, a haven woven from threads of shared laughter and whispered confessions.

The shadows of fear and uncertainty, cast by the specter of Shibuya, faded into the background, eclipsed by the radiance of their shared love. Each heartbeat, a testament to survival and resilience, echoed in the room like a melody composed by the hands of fate. The hospital machinery, once an intrusive symphony of beeps and hums, now harmonized with the rhythm of their shared breaths, orchestrating a quiet lullaby of solace.

Nanami's scars, etched like battle-worn poetry on his skin, told a tale of survival and strength. His fingers, once battered and bruised, now intertwined with hers, creating a tapestry of connection that spoke of enduring love. The room held the echoes of their laughter, the whispered promises exchanged in the silent moments when the world outside seemed to disappear.

Their intertwined fingers traced patterns on the crisp sheets, creating a visual symphony of connection. His touch, a gentle caress against her tear-stained cheek, carried the weight of unspoken assurances. Her tears, now mingling with the warmth of his palm, became droplets of gratitude that painted the canvas of their shared existence.

As they leaned into each other's embrace, the hospital bed transformed into a sacred space where love and survival intertwined. The room, once a sterile chamber of uncertainty, now blossomed into a sanctuary of renewal and hope. The delicate dance of their shared gazes painted the walls with the colors of understanding, where unspoken words wove a narrative of connection stronger than any adversity.

The cadence of their breaths, synchronized in the quiet sanctuary, became a hymn of gratitude for the fragile yet enduring moments life had bestowed upon them. The outside world, with its chaos and uncertainties, seemed distant, held at bay by the sanctuary they had created within the hospital room. It was a haven where time, for that moment, ceased to be a relentless force and instead became a gentle companion, allowing them to savor the exquisite beauty of being together.

In that room, the resilience of the human spirit was not merely an abstract concept but a tangible force, pulsating through the air with each shared heartbeat. Their whispered promises, delicate yet profound, lingered in the spaces between them, creating an ethereal connection that surpassed the confines of the hospital walls.

And so, in the quiet embrace of their intertwined love, the hospital room became a canvas where the intricacies of life's tapestry unfolded. The fragility of existence, highlighted by the shadow left behind by the horrors of Shibuya, found solace in the enduring strength of their shared promise—a promise to weather the storms, celebrate the joys, and traverse the unpredictable terrain of life hand in hand.

writer's notes: kinda perfect to put this out, considering i was fuming last night that mei mei was in malaysia and not nanami. GEGE WHEN I CATCH YOU GEGE??? im not sure if i'll write more about nanami and his wife, but im thinking on it. if you have any thing you wanna see from their life, just come on and tell me as suggestions!!! <333

facts about nanami's relationships: genmei is the person nanami trusts the most, to the point that she knew everything about his life after he left jujutsu high. they met up often to talk about how life was shit while drinking. nobuhiko and nanami were polar opposites when they met. nobuhiko was like suguru and nanami was more like satoru in terms of beliefs. but even more opposite in personality as nobuhiko is more like satoru there and nanami is more like suguru. the person that mediated between each fight was haibara. the first person nanami introduced to his wife was genmei, and they got along pretty fast. the second was nobuhiko, just after nanami and his wife got together when he got back to jujutsu. genmei and nanami have a food blog together, where they document their favorite foods across missions. since they share a similar food palate, that's how they know what to eat when they're near by. genmei, nobuhiko and nanami visit haibara often, together and separately. they often gather to drink beside haibara's grave on his birthday and death day. genmei and satoru were the two witnesses at nanami and his wife's wedding. because satoru was the one who made the process speedy, he's been irritating nanami about naming his first born after gojo satoru. nanami's wife said she'd consider it. nanami refuses.

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