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clockwayswrites · 5 months

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A Broken Sort or Normal, Epilogue

WC:1383, Masterpost

Danny glances up from his fight to fit the cufflink into the sleeve of his rich blue suit and smiles at what he sees in the mirror.

“You know, it’s supposed to be bad luck to see the bride before the wedding.”

Wally grins, easily, from where he leans against the door frame. “I’m the one in white so I think I’m the bride, in this case.”

“Oh, so putting the bad luck all on me?” Danny asks as he turns to appreciate how his fiancée looks. Wally really is stunning in his white on white tux. Danny hadn’t been able to stomach the idea of traditional black and white tuxes, not with Phantom still being such a raw wound. Wally hadn’t minded in the least going with a brighter color palette.

“Never,” Wally promises. “We’ll face whatever comes together.”

It’s a vow that Danny unquestionably trusts. Since the curse broke, Wally has been there for every step of it— and Danny has needed a lot of help with steps. Danny’s weakened core not only handicapped him as a ghost but as a living. Many days Danny is able to pass through it all relatively unaffected, other than the cold ache that has settled into his bones, but other days are harder. Other days Danny walks with canes braced against his arms. Other days Danny needs his wheelchair. Other days he can hardly get out of bed unless he goes ghost. And through it all Wally has done everything that he can to make things easy for Danny.

They have a house now, one story and carefully renovated so that on the days Danny needs the wheelchair he can still move around easily. There are electric blankets and soft pillows and this ridiculous massive bean bag that’s big enough for them to both sink into on the bad days.

And there are good days too. There are days where the aches are just a background note, days it all doesn't hurt so much, days where he can fly. Oh how Danny had missed flying. Of all the things that came with being a halfa, flying is what Danny had missed most– not because he could help or be a hero, he missed flying just for himself.

The first time he had felt stable enough to fly, Wally had whisked them out to that same field their first date was in and let Danny loose. Danny had flown for hours, darting around, doing tricks, and floating among the clouds. When he had come back down to earth, Wally had been there, picnic waiting and the biggest smile on his face.

So like everything in Danny’s life, it’s all a balance: the good, the bad, the effort… Danny loves it all.

He loves it not just because it reminds him of how much living means, but because of how deeply it shows that Wally cares. Wally’s love is one thing he can never question. It’s a certainty that Danny has needed through all of the aftermath.

Once Danny had been released from the Watchtower’s medical, he had started small dealing with it all. Coworkers were easy to reply to and he could trust that informing a few would spread the news to the rest. They didn’t push for more than he was willing to give, though he had known he would come back to questions and rumors.

Everyone else was harder.

He had set a video call with Sam and Tucker at the same time. It was maybe a little unfair to not give them each their own call, but he just didn’t have the energy for that. They weren’t kids anymore and hadn’t been for a long time.

“God, Danny,” Tucker started at the same time as Sam said his name.

He held up his hand and their mouths shut with a clack. His smile was tinged with sadness, but it was a smile. “Don’t. You two didn’t do anything horrible.”

“Dude,” Tucker said and for a moment Danny was back in high school. Tucker looked good, still in bright colors and with his hair expertly shaved on the sides with a little pattern. “We forgot about you.”

“We left you alone to deal with all that,” Sam said. Her hair was a more natural shade of black now and her smoky eye an expertly done wing. It was odd to see her lips red instead of purple.

“Because of a curse. You forgot because of a curse,” Danny said, “and then you just did what anyone does, you went on to have a future. It’s not like we had some big fight or anything, you both just moved on with your lives.”

“That still had to hurt,” Sam said.

“It did,” Danny said honestly. He didn’t see the point of pretending the past hadn’t happened. “But that doesn’t mean it was either of your faults. The last thing I want is anyone doing anything for me out of guilt, especially since in this case it’s misplaced. It’s okay that you both grew up. I did too.”

It hurt and it would always hurt, at least a little, but Danny didn’t want any false care now.

Sam chewed on her lip and Danny smiled a little at the sight of the old habit. “I’m still sorry.”

“Me too,” Tucker said.

“Thanks, that does mean a lot, but it’s okay, really.”

There was a level of peace from that talk. Sam and Tucker both asked if they could reach out sometimes, and Danny said yes but with zero expectations. They were different people than they were as children and Danny knew, because he had lived it, that without Phantom there wasn’t much for them to talk about. And Danny had no plans to talk about Phantom. That part of him had ended with a wish seven years ago. He didn’t want to rehash or relive it now, even with them.

Jazz… Jasmine was harder. Sam and Tucker losing touch was just part of growing up. His own sister ignoring him though, that wasn’t the same at all. If it wasn’t for his nieces, Danny didn’t know if he would even be trying with Jasmine, even as apologetic as she was. There were some things that were too hard to come back from.

“Are they here?” Danny asks and looks back down at his stubborn sleeve.

Wally steps forward and takes the cufflink from Danny. He’s gentle as he fits it into the slot and secures it. “They are. And all our friends are here too. Just remember that you don’t have to talk to them any more than you want to. It’s okay to be taking things slow. It’s okay to decide that you can’t do this with her. You know I’m with you whatever you decide.”

Danny raises Wally’s hands to brush a kiss across each set of knuckles. “I know. I’m so lucky to have you. Is it bad that part of me making an effort with them is so that my nieces have family other than their moms and our parents?”

“Nope. I think that makes you a really good uncle. I mean, where would I be without Aunt Iris? Family like that can mean a lot and if that’s the only reason you have for dealing with your sister, then that’s enough,” Wally assures him.

It helps Danny relax some.

“Okay, good. We’ll just… see how it goes. I’m not going to focus too much on them today, not when today is about me and you.”

“I think that’s all good. You’re just wrong about one thing though,” Wally says, his grin just a little mischievous. Danny loves that grin.

“And what’s that, Mister West?”

“Well, soon to be Mister West,” Wally says, “it’s that I’m the lucky one. I could have lost you so many times and so many ways and despite everything, today I get to marry you. I don’t think there’s anyone luckier than me today.”

“Well, not to have our first fight,” Danny teases, “but agree to disagree.”

“I think I can live with that.”

Danny laughs. There’s nothing funny about that, but the laughter bubbles up in him all the same, not from humor but from joy. “Living, that sounds like a very, very good plan.”

---

AN: Aaaaaah we are done!! Not everything is perfect, but Danny is alive and living and Wally is going to be with him for all of it <3. Thank you all for coming along for the ride on this! It's been unexpectedly delightful to write these two together and I'm glad to finally wrap it up with (hopefully) a nice bow.

And yes, this will be going up on ao3 but I need the brain functions to go back to the start and give it a good polish! I'll likely do it chapter by chapter weekly to give myself and my darling beta @mokulule time.

Until then or the next thing here, stay delightful, darlings!

#dp x dc #quick death ship #danny/wally #abson

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zeroeightzeroone · 6 months

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lover of mine - bang chan

genre: angst, hurt/comfort

pairings: idol!bang chan x female reader

warnings: none

notes: if this looks familiar, it was originally posted to my secondary blog @zerothreetwentyfive so i'm republishing everything here on my main blog.

wc ~3k|moodboard

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ｡｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:

"i'll never give you away, 'cause i've already made that mistake,

if my name never fell off your lips again, i know it'd be such a shame.

when i take a look at my life, and all of my crimes, you're the only thing that I think I got right."

lover of mine - 5 seconds of summer

you always thought that the next time chan would be making you cry would be at your wedding ceremony.

initially, you would try to hold in your tears, just enough so that you weren't full-on sobbing and ruining your makeup. eventually failing as the tears flow freely listening to the man tell you the moment he fell in love with you, the moment he knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you and the promises he vows to keep forever. chan's eyes would never leave yours as you exchanged vows; in that moment, only you and chan existed, the proclamation and celebration of your love were the only things that mattered.

instead, here you are crying over chan. sitting in the driver's seat of your car, sobbing over the man who once said he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you, now not wanting to fight for that future anymore.

…

"you're doing it again."

the sound of your best friend's voice snaps you out of your thoughts, attention now on the girl sitting across from you, "huh?"

she reaches over and places her hand on yours with a sympathetic smile on her face. no words are needed from her to make you realize what you were doing whilst zoning out; fiddling around with your ring finger. a habit you picked up after chan proposed, and a habit that hadn't changed even without the band on your finger; your fingers instinctively moving to spin and twist a non-existent ring.

"right," you clear your throat awkwardly.

your hands slipping out from under hers, sliding them under your thighs hoping that maybe sitting on your hands would work against the habit.

"how are you?"

the word 'lost' feels like an understatement. the word couldn't encapsulate even a quarter of your feelings.

you felt directionless, overwhelmed by the constant switch between emotions: anger, frustration, sadness, and denial, it left you exhausted. day by day, you only grew more emotionally drained, the desire to feel nothing only intensifying.

the mere thought of the dimpled man gave you whiplash, your heart and your head conflicting with each other and your feelings pulling you from one end to the other. you couldn't pinpoint exactly how you felt about him.

god, you wished that you didn't even think about him.

you wished that you weren't plagued by the thought of him at every waking moment. everything reminded you of him, everything brought you back to the memory of how easy it was for him to let you, the person he proclaimed to want to spend the rest of his life with, to watch them walk out the door, to just give up without a fight.

why couldn't it have been easy for you too? why couldn't you just let him go the way he did you? forget him like he meant absolutely nothing?

as much as you wished it was, you knew it wouldn't be easy to move on from chan.

your early adulthood started with chan, moving in with him almost a year and a half after you started dating. he became a part of your routine and you became part of his; there was a time when your day didn't feel complete without hearing a goodnight from him or getting that goodnight kiss. your lives were intertwined, and your future plans were intertwined.

you believed chan was your future. he made you believe that you would write the next chapters of your lives together, that you two would be side by side on the road to forever. you envisioned your future with chan, without him you've hit a crossroads, struggling to navigate where to go from here. you were scared.

scared to learn what the future holds for you, scared to take a step towards a future without him.

on top of all that came public attention.

the news about your breakup hadn't been confirmed by chan or jyp entertainment. regardless that didn't stop the speculations and rumours that came with the lack of seeing you and chan in public together, seeing you without your ring, and other proofs fans would dig up. the algorithm also working against you as whenever you refreshed social media, the first couple of posts would be news articles, headlines and what have you, discussing the speculations.

'did stray kids' bang chan and his long term girlfriend call it quits?'

'fans of stray kids speculate bang chan and his partner have called off the engagement'

'netizens react to alleged proofs that bang chan and long term girlfriend have split up'

'breaking: did stray kids' bang chan and girlfriend split up? here's why fans are wondering about the status of the long-term couple'

your comments were flooded with questions regarding the rumours, mourning fans hoping that they were baseless and haters congratulating you on setting the man free. you wondered why the news hadn't been spoken about by chan or any official representatives but the speculations drove you to log out of social media. the realization that one day the articles and headlines will change from 'speculations' to 'confirmations' the anticipation and anxiety driving you insane.

you look back up to your friend, your lips pursed together in a small smile as you reply:

"i'm fine."

…

"chan hyung!"

the boy pulls the pillow up and over his head, trying to block out the noises from outside the door. hoping that the longer he ignored, the realization that he wanted to be alone would sink in and everyone would leave him be. that hope was short-lived as the door swung open.

"chan hyung!" changbin calls from his spot at the door, "you need to eat something."

from where he's standing, changbin watches chan groan out a response from under the pillow, making no effort to get up and go eat something. changbin's eyes drift to the older boy's bedside table, a picture frame is lying face down (probably a photo of you), and sitting on top of the frame is a gold band with a large diamond: your engagement ring. the sight of the band sitting on chan's bedside table and not on your finger has a small frown adorning changbin's lips.

"hyung, i know it's hard but please. you need to take care of yourself too," the younger boy sighs, "locking yourself in your room won't do anyone good."

of course, it wasn't easy for them to see chan in such a state.

chan had always been the one putting up a strong front, walking around with his head up no matter the circumstances as the leader. but these past couple of weeks, whenever chan was out of the public eye he'd walk with his head down, dragging his feet, no words leaving him. almost like he's being forced to be anywhere outside of his bedroom.

the members in the other dorm were curious about their leader, wondering how he'd been holding up but chan stopped replying to the group chat. it got to the point where the members made a chat without chan, using that to ask jisung, changbin and hyunjin how the older one was doing.

for as long as you were in chan's life, you were also in the member's lives. the news of the breakup came as a shock to them as well. they were all curious as to how you were doing too, but were hesitant to ask you directly for fear of making things harder for you. you met all of them through chan, and seeing their names pop up on your phone may just be another reminder of your ex.

changbin's eyes are on chan as the older boy takes the pillow off his head, slowly sitting up on the bed, feet hitting the floor but making no move to stand up. instead he's slouched over, head in his hands and sighing.

"do you, uh…" chan's voice barely above a whisper, "do you think i made a mistake?"

changbin shuts the door behind him hearing chan's question, realizing right now his friend needed someone to talk to before, maybe, going to eat something.

leaning against the door, he replies, "what do you mean?"

"w– was proposing… a mistake?"

"do you feel like it was a mistake?"

chan shakes his head, "no."

"did you mean everything you said when you proposed?"

"yes."

"then it wasn't a mistake."

chan lifts his head out of his hands, head turning to the younger boy leaning at the door. even in the dim purple lighting of chan's room, changbin can see how glossy his eyes are, how the bags under his eyes have gotten more prominent since yesterday.

"was… was letting her go," chan's voice shaky, "a mistake?"

changbin pushes himself off the door, making his way to sit next to his hyung on the bed. a comforting hand moving to chan's back.

"that's a question only you can answer," changbin's lips are pursed to one side, a sympathetic look in his eyes as he continues, "did it feel like a mistake at the time?"

"i- i thought i was doing the right… thing," chan's voice pitches higher at the end, questioning his own answer, "when i came home, an–and saw the dinner table, full of food she made for us. when she told me everything she was feeling, the look i-in her eyes."

chan loves your eyes, it's by far his favourite thing about you.

looking into your eyes had him falling in love with you before he even knew it. looking into them made it feel as if he was looking into your soul, almost like your eyes could tell him what your words couldn't. chan's day would immediately be flipped upside down just at the sight of your eyes, a shitty day becoming the best day when he caught a glimpse of those radiant, warm pools of life, your eyes sparkling with a zest and excitement for life that sent a wave of comfort over him. whenever he looked at you, that glimmer of hope in your eyes made him feel like everything would be okay.

but that night, the look in your eyes that night is seared into chan's memory. haunting him whenever he closes his eyes, whenever his eyes fall on your ring sitting on his bedside table.

that night when you told him just how lonely you'd been feeling, how you felt like he was treating you like the help and not as his fiancé; those words knocked some sense into chan. the harsh reality glaring him down: he had been falling short in your relationship. he had been so blind to that fact for who knows how long, listening to you had chan wallowing in guilt.

at one point chan felt like he was a third person watching everything go down, but it felt like he was watching you and a whole different person. he wondered why he wasn't saying anything, why he couldn't move, why he couldn't feel anything other than guilt eating him alive.

when he looked into your eyes, that's when everything came crashing down.

the eyes that once gleamed up at him, washing a wave of comfort and reassurance through his body were boring into his own. the contrast had his blood running cold. the sight of your hollow and dull orbs gazing up at him, even the sources of light around you did nothing to bring back that sparkle. the way your eyes looked incredibly sunken in, tired, swimming with distress as they searched his. he wondered how he hadn't seen the change before.

a change that happened because of him. the light in your eyes is gone all thanks to him. he wanted to be the one to preserve and make sure your eyes light up for the rest of your life, but instead he's the reason you look defeated. he couldn't handle the guilt eating him up at the sight.

"i-i broke her," chan whispers, "you could see it in her eyes how my shortcomings, the ones i was too blind and stupid to notice… that broke her. i broke her."

changbin doesn't say anything.

"i thought it would be better for me to let her go… get her away from me who was sucking the life out of her," chan's hands run through his hair, "she deserves so much more than me."

the older boy cries. his thoughts, feelings, everything just clouded with you.

"hyung," changbin's tone is soft, feeling out the atmosphere, "don't you think that it's sucking the life out of her even more, to be away from you?"

this time chan is the one who doesn't say anything.

"she wanted you to stay, she wanted you to convince her to stay."

"convince me to stay… please."

"i'm sorry."

"yes. from what you told us the day after you broke up, she does deserve better."

changbin's words send a dagger to chan's heart.

"but don't you want to be the one she deserves?"

chan's head turns to look at changbin.

"you need to work to be better, to be the one y/n deserves. that's what she wants, she wants you hyung."

"… m-me?"

"she wouldn't have said yes to marrying you if she didn't want you for the rest of her life."

…

your plan for the day was to wake up around noon, order some takeout or ransack your best friend's freezer for some food (and ice cream), chill on the couch and watch some netflix. instead you're jolted awake, at ten in the morning, by pounding at the front door.

rolling your eyes in annoyance, stretching your arm out, feeling around before grasping a pillow and clutching it over your head, trying your hardest to block out the noises and fall asleep. hoping the longer you hold out, it will give off the illusion that no one's home and come back later. a couple moments pass, a sigh of relief falls from your lips when the knocking stops, allowing you to loosen your grip on the pillow around your head.

maybe the neighbours got annoyed and kicked whoever that was out.

at the silence, you roll onto your side and shift your body around to get comfortable in the mattress. another long breath leaving your lips once that optimal position to fall asleep in is found, closing your eyes and getting ready to be lulled back into dreamland.

now you think someone is fucking with you.

the knocking starts up again, for a second you thought you'd fallen asleep and the knocking was continuing in your dreams but no. sadly, you weren't lulled back into dreamland like you hoped, the pounding in your head making it apparent that this was indeed, reality.

on top of all the things happening in your life lately, being woken up by a stranger relentlessly hammering the life out of their fist on your– actually, your best friend's– door is the kicker to a great day. a whine leaving your lips as you roll out of bed, pouting as you trudge to the door of the guest bedroom and continue your trek down the hall, towards the front door.

sure, you wouldn't have minded if your best friend, the person who lives in this unit, was actually home to answer the door. alas, she's at work whilst you're here; straightening out your pyjamas and plastering the fakest smile on your lips whilst you undo the locks, twisting the doorknob and swinging the door open.

"hello, mis—"

your jaw drops. posture immediately straightening due to the wave of tension that rushes through your veins, your mind comes up with two options: hide behind the door or run. your heart begins to race in your chest, tears threatening to spill at any moment but your feet are cemented to the ground. any urge you had to run away and hide quickly depleting at the sight of the man in front of you, a bouquet of flowers in his hands.

"chan… wh-what are you doing here?"

there he is: the man of the hour.

in front of you, in the flesh. standing a couple inches away from you clad in his usual all-black attire. you're avoiding his gaze but can't seem to pry your eyes off the bouquet in the man's hold.

a medley of red and white roses, baby's breath peeking throughout the arrangement.

"i- i needed to see you," chan's voice comes out husky.

shifting awkwardly on your feet, you sigh, "how did you know i was here?"

"multiple calls to your best friend and a long speech," he uses his free hand to scratch at the back of his neck, a nervous smile on his lips.

'she's getting a long speech from me too.'

"okay, well…" you clear your throat, "you saw me so bye."

you go to shut the door but chan stumbles forward, holding it open as he stands in the doorframe. the gush of air from his sudden movements gives you a whiff of his cologne. that along with the closer proximity has a lump forming in your throat.

"w-wait, i wanted to talk too."

"y-you spoke and so did i so, bye," you choke out, trying to close the door again but to no avail as his body blocks your way, "please chan, what more do you want from me? don't make this harder for me."

chan reaches forward at the sight of a tear falling, wanting to wipe it away but you flinch away from his touch. your reaction has chan recoiling, he shifts awkwardly on his feet. you go to turn away from him.

"i made a mistake," he states, his words coming out rushed.

you gulp, angling your body towards the man again. this time your arms crossed over your chest, your gaze still falling away from his face. chan's throat clears when he realizes that you're not going to speak.

"that night, i shouldn't have let you go," he continues, "i should've told you, said something, said anything to convince you to stay… but… fuck. i- i was scared."

your eyes glance up at his face, only to look away just as quickly.

"you're probably thinking, of what?" chan runs a hand through his hair, "but listening to everything you said, everything that i was stupid, ignorant enough not to notice, all those things that i did– or, uh didn't do… that hurt you. it scared me to tell you i wanted you to stay."

your eyebrows furrow in frustration, this time your gaze stays on his face, making no move to wipe the tears running down your cheeks.

"listening to you, hearing how much i hurt you. i- i thought it would've been selfish of me to tell you to stay," chan's voice cracks, tears falling from his eyes as well, "i thought i would hurt you more if you stayed… that you didn't deserve that, y-you deserved so much more than me."

"god, chan.…" a bitter smile on your lips, "you saying nothing, letting me leave… a-and not fighting for me, for us! fuck… that hurt more than anything."

the memories of that night have your heart aching. whimpering as the tears continue to fall, the sight has chan's gradually getting heavier in his chest. he wants nothing but to pull you into his arms and to never let go.

"i know… i know. baby, i'm so sorry," chan's cheeks are soaked with tears but he makes no effort to wipe them away, "i'm so fucking sorry. i thought i was doing what was best for you, but i fucked up, i fucked up big time."

your eyes lock with chan's. glossy, tear-filled orbs gazing into each other, at that moment the tears only build until the both of you are crying a river in the hallway.

chan quite literally launches himself at you. throwing his arms around your body and pulling you into his chest. instinctively, your arms wrap around his torso, nuzzling your head into his shirt. bodies trembling and shaking as the both of you cry in each other's arms.

chan soaks up every single thing about this moment; the warmth of your body radiating onto him, your face nuzzled into his chest, the smell of your hair, the way your hands grip the back of his shirt, the feeling of your body pressed up against his. he isn't even sure that you'll take him back. regardless, he knows he wants to work his hardest to ensure he'll have you in his arms every day for the rest of his life.

in his arms, he holds the person who has been with him every step of the way and supported him day in and day out. the biggest mistakes chan ever made took place on that day: not convincing you to stay, not telling you how he loves you with his entire heart, and holding your engagement ring in his hand while he watched you walk out.

chan wants you to be so much more than just his past and present, he wants you to be his future, his forever. he's always wanted that but he failed at showing you, instead hurting you in ways he was completely ignorant of.

"i love you," chan cries, you can hear his heart racing in his chest, "i love you so much. if you let me, i'll work every single moment of every day to show you that. when i told you i wanted you for the rest of my life, i meant it. i mean it with my whole heart. i fucked up–majorly, but i swear to you! i swear i'll show you that i'm the one you deserve, that i can give you that life you deserve."

chan looks down at you, enveloped in his arms as your gaze naturally lifts to meet his eyes.

chan's heart skips a beat.

there it is.

that sparkle.

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jojikawa · 5 months

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The Princess and the Delinquent 🎀🖤

Highschool AU — Delinquent!Ryomen Sukuna, Popular!Reader, Little Brother Yuuji, is Mostly SFW apart from AU Sukuna being a horny young adult.

artist: yom

Delinquent!Ryomen who’s been staring at you every day since you’ve transferred to his school. His attraction towards you was nearly immediate. You were just so soft-looking and pretty.

Delinquent!Ryomen who tells himself that he will emotionally distance himself from you once he finds out you’re already taken but he fails miserably, settling for admiring you from afar.

Delinquent!Ryomen who learns that you had a nasty breakup with the guy and now you’re really heartbroken because you’ve been dating that guy since grade school.

Delinquent!Ryomen who begins messing with you during the classes the two of you have together. He sits behind you, tugging your hair if it’s long enough to go down your back, moving your chair more towards him with his foot and even getting bold enough to throw things at you like candy wrappers and small crumpled sticky notes.

Delinquent!Ryomen who scares off any guys that seem like they may be trying to pursue a relationship with you, leaving you wondering why no guys ever approach you after your break up.

Delinquent!Ryomen who you’re forced to partner up with because of your consistently high grades and his consistently low ones.

Delinquent!Ryomen who nicknames you princess when he experiences just how soft and frilly yet demanding you are when you try to get him to do his half of the work.

Delinquent!Ryomen who gets in a fight and is almost expelled because he heard some guy in the locker room saying something vulgar about you. He doesn’t mention this to you at all to protect your feelings.

Delinquent!Ryomen who eventually opens up after your excessive help to keep his grades up. You end up tolerating him a lot more too which he is grateful for.

Delinquent!Ryomen who you actually find kinda cute once your heartbreak begins to subside.

Delinquent!Ryomen who leaves unsigned love letters in your locker, just to convince you that some sad lonely loser left them instead once you mention it to him:

You: “Ryomen…someone keeps putting these notes in my locker.”

Ryo: “I wonder who’s gonna tell that poor freak you’re not into him.”

You: “Well, I want to know because they’re actually kinda sweet.”

Ryo: “Wait, really?!”

Delinquent!Ryomen who kisses you in the hallway in front of everyone on Valentine’s Day because you felt sad and left out about not getting a present.

Delinquent!Ryomen who confesses his feelings shortly after.

Delinquent!Ryomen who is extremely surprised about you returning his feelings and kissing him back because why would a pretty princess like you want anything to do with him?

Delinquent!Ryomen who invites you to his house for homework after school where you meet his adorable kid brother, Yuuji. He was a sweet, curious toddler who immediately latched onto you the moment you got in the door.

Delinquent!Ryomen who you scold for bullying the poor child because he annoyed him.

Delinquent!Ryomen who gets bored of homework so soon and pulls you into his bed with him instead. You sorta get the vibe that he’s sorta lonely and isolated because others find him scary.

Delinquent!Ryomen who makes you his security blanket, melting into your chest and falling asleep before you could even say anything about it.

Delinquent!Ryomen who randomly asks if you’re on birth control or not while he’s walking you home. He does not elaborate why but you sorta get it.

Delinquent!Ryomen who uses his bathroom break to peer into the windows of whatever class that the two of you don't share to stalk you. If you see him watching you then he smirks before waving at you and disappearing. If you don’t notice him, he will tap the window, alerting the entire class and earning himself detention.

Delinquent!Ryomen who gets you in trouble so that you can be stuck in detention with him.

🎀 — @ameliabs-world

#ryomen x reader #high school AU #sukuna x reader #I’ll die for you in secret #jujutsu kaisen ryomen #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #jujutsu kaisen x reader #Jjk #Ryomen Sukuna x reader #fluff #SFW #Safe for work #Ryomen Sukuna x you #Ryomen Sukuna x y/n

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partycatty · 3 months

Text

older!johnny cage > overheard

you're caught in the act of swooning over your boss

notes: i'm not even fuckin playing i just woke up from my nap in a cold sweat with this idea haunting my mind so here i am. i truly honestly genuinely cannot stop thinking about dilf johnny and his thick fucking arms and how much i want him to [REDACTED]

[ masterlist ]

• during your break from training, you managed to squeeze in a meal break with one of your closest friends. it was just the two of you, laughing and for once breaking the stoicism implanted into your demeanors from training ruthlessly.

• "jesus, commander cage really kicked our asses today," your friend whined, rolling her shoulder. "i get we're fighting against demons and elementals, but did we really need to run twenty miles?"

• "it wasn't all bad," you shrug, poking at your food. "we've done worse, i feel."

• "oh hush, you had the time of your life," your friend groaned, lightly pushing into your shoulder with a smirk. "you and johnny cage got to run beside each other in formation." your friend was sure to say his name in an announcer voice, wiggling her fingers as she pretended to read a large sign.

• you huff, planting a fist on the table as you try to conceal your embarrassment with faux anger. "oh my god shut up..."

• your mind wanders to earlier in the day. johnny decided to wear only a tank top instead of a long sleeve with a vest, giving you a delicious view of his arms as they pumped during the run. while you two didn't talk, he shared panting encouragements by your side, telling you you were doing so good and how much further you had left. it made running feel almost impossible as each word and grunt knocked the wind from you.

• "jesus, look at you," your friend laughs at your dreamy expression as you replay the memory. "you're down bad, girl, anyone and their mother could tell."

• "is it that obvious?" you murmur, burying your face with your hands. "i'm doomed."

• "nah, you might have a shot," she insists, pulling your hands from your face. "he might be into younger women, most celebrities are."

• "but he's not just a celebrity, he's our superior," you whine, rolling your head back. "i just watch his movies and pretend i'm the love interest."

• "oh, it's bad bad," she laughs, looking past you for a moment. her smile falters.

• "can you blame me? ugh," you rake a hand through your hair. "he's all muscle, he could just pick me up and snap me like a twig! normally i'd settle for height alone but holy fuck he's built like a brick fucking wall!"

• your friend falls silent.

• "and don't even get me started on his age," you point an accusatory finger. "he is 50 something and so fucking fine i can't even bring myself to focus on literally anything ever. i watched some of his old movies, and he literally aged like the finest fucking wine any vineyard has ever even dreamed of making! thank god his daughter is the commander because if he stood around and told me what to do i'd behave so much like a dog it would embarrass me. he is the god damn devil in disguise and i sure a shit don't have a single chance of him even looking in my direction with any more than a smile because at the end of the day i'm just a sad little recruit crushing on a guy who probably has a massive di—"

• "i'm fifty-nine," you hear a low, horrifyingly familiar voice in your ear. you can't even bring yourself to turn around, smile dropping and eyes widening. the only thing you can bring yourself to do is stare across the table at your friend, who's as equally still. maybe if you were still enough, he wouldn't see you. like a dinosaur.

• "lieutenant," you breathe out after a long silence, drunk on the smell of his cologne. "we were just... t-talking about you."

• "oh yeah?" his voice is rumbly, a teasing inflection making you want to burst out in tears. you had a faint suspicion he was behind you the entire time, something he confirmed before you could muster the strength to speak. "sounded more like it was just you."

• "well," you wonder if you can outrun him, stammering as you try to talk yourself out of this. "you know..."

• you finally get the courage to spin in your chair, turning around to face him. he's towering over your sitting form, a shit-eating smirk on his lips.

• "i'm sorry, sir, i'll... i'll do extra push-ups, i'll go overtime on training, scrub the toilets, anything to—"

• he holds a hand up, waving it away as he shakes his head slowly.

• "don't stress it," he stands up straight, crossing his arms. oh my god his arms. "but, uh... just a word, in my office, when you have the chance." you almost miss the wink he sends at you, but you caught it just as he spun on his heel and walked out, a cocky sway to his hips.

• you spin back around, slack jawed at your friend, who's red from holding in her scream of excitement.

• "he's totally gonna bang you on his desk," she finally spits out, covering her mouth immediately after. you just lower your head, hitting it against the table in defeat.

• who knows what he's gonna do to you in his office?

#mortal kombat #mortal kombat x reader #johnny cage #johnny cage x reader #mk11 #marley writes ☆

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lukes-castaway · 1 year

Text

Growing Pains

Neteyam Sully x Reader

Warnings: slight smut, cursing, angst, arranged marriage

Word Count: 7.5k

Notes: Reader is 19, Neteyam is 20.

"It's for the clan, 'ite."

Those are the words that leave air trying desperately to claw its way up your lungs. It's the morning of your nineteenth cycle—one that should be celebrated, but instead, you're here.

A warm palm encompasses your bicep, and your mother's voice which usually brought comfort now brings dread. "Everything will be okay, yawne. You will grow to love him."

Those are the words they leave you with. Your feet are like boulders as you walk to your corner of the hut, hands are like a hot coal as you shove things into a pouch. It doesn't take long for your belongings to be tucked away, and you wonder if anyone will be sad when they stare at your empty hammock. Will your brother stop when he comes to visit, and let his eyes linger on the space you once occupied? Will your father's ears ring when he walks into silence at the end of each day? Will your mother miss sitting with you near the fire, sides pressed together as you talk about your day? And your sister—would she miss your gossip?

You tell yourself you should have argued. Maybe kicking and screaming like a child would change their minds. Maybe it would deter the man they're handing you off to, but something in you holds back. It's the small flecks of approval you see in your father's eyes when you don't bark out a dispute. It's an emotion that you haven't seen in...well, forever.

Hunting was never your forte. Healing was never something you yearned to do. Blending into the crowd, however, was your best skill. But blending into a crowd isn't something that the daughter of a fierce Olo'eyktan should be able to do.

Your older brother often surpassed you when it came to being a good clan member. He hunted well, he was strong and gregarious with the people. Then there was your sister, who seemed to have every aspect of her life figured out. She was mated already, had one baby on her hip and another in her womb, and never seemed to do wrong in anyone's eyes.

It was obvious the way your father's eyes would change when he looked from them to you. Almost like catching sight of a bruised fruit amongst a perfectly ripe pile.

So when he tells you this, that giving your hand in marriage will benefit the clan, you find it hard to dispute him. It seems like the only way to finally gain his pride.

"I know handing your daughter off is not easy to do, but she will be treated well here. I give you my word." The Olo'eyktan of the Omatikaya says.

Your father breathes out a laugh, "I trust that she will, JakeSully."

You wish you had argued.

Though the Omatikaya doesn't live too differently from your clan, everything feels wrong. The air feels too hot, the wind too harsh against your skin, and you just want to go home.

When your father stops walking, you nearly slam into his back, but you catch yourself just in time, and you only see this because you can't tear your eyes from the ground below you.

"This is my son Neteyam." Jake's voice is no more than a distorted echo in your ears. "My oldest. He is a good man, he will protect your daughter in their union."

Your stomach turns, eyes unable to focus on anything. A scream fights its way up your throat, but you swallow it down bitterly. You can't stop thinking about the admiring eyes your father has for his other children, and you yearn for that. It keeps your feet planted against soft earth as you're being traded—offered like a piece of fabric between seamstresses.

"Ma'ite," your father places a calloused hand against your back, "say hello."

Timorous eyes lift from the dirt, glancing at your father who holds an expectant expression. And when you finally allow yourself to meet the gaze of the man chosen to be your husband, the air gets knocked out of your lungs.

Your lack of oxygen is not due to the sheer beauty of the man in front of you. It isn't because of his broad shoulders and thick arms, or the neat braids that fall just above his pecks. It isn't the scent of herbal balms wafting off of him, either.

No, it isn't that.

It's his eyes. The ones that burn holes into your skin, leaving scorching trails as they assess you. It's the way his jaw clenches pensively. He's so intense that it makes you squirm, makes heat creep up your neck and into your cheeks.

It's the way he looks like he would rather be anywhere than right here.

And yet, something in you urges the words out. They're a meek sound, but words, nonetheless. "I see you, Neteyam te Suli Tsyeyk'itan,"

He says the greeting back, voice strong and holding the confidence that you've lacked forever. You think then that he can see it in you. His gaze alone is calling you weak, pathetic, and you can't really argue with him.

You both stand there, children of renowned chiefs, yet you couldn't be more different.

Neteyam holds light in his palms. You can tell he's nothing less than golden in his village—his father even stares at him as such. He stands straight and tall, his body composed. You can only imagine by his build that he's a skilled hunter, impossible to beat in a spar, and he's probably three steps ahead in every altercation.

Across from him, you stand. You're half hidden behind your father, eyes bouncing nervously from the ground to his own. Hair falls over your face in a flustered curtain, and you don't bother to move it, either. Looking at you, it's obvious that you're nothing like him.

He's the sun. People stretch out under his rays of light, basking in it.

You're the moon. People grow tired under your glow, and they don't spare you a second glance.

Neteyam speaks up, eyebrows furrowing just slightly as he stares at you. His words dig into your skin because what he's really trying to say is that he doesn't want this, either. "It is for the clan."

And you look right back at the ground, eyes pricking with tears that you blink away before they can really surface. This is just a transaction, your father handing you off for the betterment of his people, and Neteyam's father accepting you for the betterment of his.

"I will do my best. As your wife, and as a member of this clan." You say despite the weight of speaking, and your father's hand squeezes gently at your shoulder in approval.

After all, approval is all you want.

Blending in is your best skill, and yet, you are a spectacle.

Harsh eyes trail your every move, and you wish nothing more than to sink into yourself and be invisible. You know word has traveled fast that the Omatikaya's beloved prince has finally chosen a mate. Their eyes hold the silent question, why you? You see this everywhere, even when you offer meek smiles to your watchers.

When you meet Neteyam's mother, you see where his intensity comes from. Her eyes blaze into your skin like his did, but you don't squirm, because there's something different about the two. Neteyam's eyes picked you apart, piece by piece, but Neytiri's do no such thing. She's intense, but her eyes give you comfort. You can see your own mother in her face—a fierceness to protect her children that no one would be able to hinder her from. You think she might see you, too, because her gaze melts into something soft and maternal.

Jake is kind. He's busy a lot, but being the daughter of a chief, you understand. When you do see him, you're shy. He chuckles a lot at your timid responses, but it isn't to ridicule you.

Lo'ak is quiet when you meet him. He's younger than you, scrawny and bashful. Heat spreads across his cheeks when you smile at him, and something about his awkwardness makes you feel safe. It's endearing, similar to the way Jake thinks of your gentleness.

Kiri is so warm and receptive. She's the first person that makes you think that things might be okay—that you may be happy here. Her careful hand holds one of your own and she says, "I think you and I will be great friends."

And then there's Tuk. The sweet girl smiles up at you so big when you meet her for the first time that you can't help the laugh that falls from your mouth. You crouch before her, allowing her small hands to run over your long hair.

She's your favorite, even if you aren't really supposed to choose.

For the first few weeks, at least one Sully is glued to your side. Rarely is it Neteyam, who claims to be too busy with his duties. You don't mind though, being away from his penetrating stare.

"What did you do back home?" Kiri asks you one day.

Soft moss kisses your feet as you walk, and for a moment, you imagine you're back in your own village.

Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, you tell her, "I taught the children, mostly. I'm not too good at hunting."

You aren't sure why you admit that, but Kiri feels safe. When she laughs, it's sweet, and comfort blooms in your chest. "Neither am I."

Silence blankets the two of you. She's a bit younger than you, but she feels wise. She reminds you of your sister. And though the thought washes you with homesickness, part of you is drawn to it.

"Would you like to do that here?" Kiri asks after a moment. "Work with the children, I mean."

"I would love to, but I feel like I should do more."

"Working with the children is plenty, trust me." The Sully girl chuckles. "We don't have too many gentle souls here. Your presence would be appreciated,"

It's one of the few moments since you've arrived that you grin. Kiri smiles right back, her warm hand clasping yours. "You don't have to be so kind to me,"

"You are my family now, eylan." She hums. "I will speak to my father about you teaching."

"Thank you, Kiri."

The days begin to go by quicker, and your heart feels a bit of ease when you're thrust into caring for the village children. You spend the hours of the day teaching them, relishing in their accepting souls. They don't judge you, don't tell you that you're too quiet. They watch you with the only thing you've ever wanted.

Approval.

Evenings aren't so easy. Your stomach twists in nervous anticipation once the sun goes down, hands shaky as you prepare dinner. Your hut is empty apart from yourself until soft taps sound against the frame. When you swivel around and find Neteyam, that same breathless feeling always surfaces, and his same harsh stare is always there. The two of you eat quietly, even though the point of having dinner together at all is to get to know each other.

It isn't fair to blame him. You can only imagine that it's just as hard for him—accepting some stranger as a wife, solely for his people. He doesn't have to love you.

But you wish he would try.

You wish he wouldn't glare so much.

You wish the roughness of his voice would soften, just once.

You wish the smile wouldn't be wiped right off of his face when he lays eyes on you.

"My father says our ceremony will be in a few days." He tells you.

You try not to drop your glass of water, hands shaking. In a few days, you will be officially mated. Officially locked into a loveless marriage.

Approval urges you to speak. "Okay."

"I know that this is not ideal," His voice is gruff, even after he clears his throat, "but it is for the people."

You don't love him. You know that you don't, and still, his words sting. Because at least you are willing to try, willing to let him into your heart. The look on his face tells you that his own is under lock and key.

You wonder if it will always be this way. Would he come home every evening with cold eyes and stiff shoulders? Would you just be a womb to produce children for him? A warm body to sink into at night? Tears burn your eyes, but you blink them away.

"Right." You say. "It's for the people."

Your eyes fall to your lap before you're able to catch the crease between his eyebrows softening.

At your ceremony, it's impossible to blend in. The whole thing is centered around you and Neteyam, and the thought tugs nervously at your heart. You use the training you've been through all your life—sit up straight and poised. Smile when spoken to. Speak with confidence.

The last part is hard, especially when you catch Neteyam downing whatever is in his cup, because he'd rather be anywhere but here. People congratulate him, and he thanks them. But you know better.

His skin is hot when you touch him. Your bodies are practically pressed together during the ceremonial dance. You wonder if he feels your heart thudding so wildly against him.

Warm breath fans against your ear. "Are you having a good time?"

The question almost shocks you, but then you remember who he is. Son of the Olo'eyktan. It's his job to check on his people, one of which you are now. You tell yourself he doesn't really care, that he's just being a gentleman because that's what he is. Even though he often looked at you indignantly, he was never cruel. You think that if he wasn't forced to mate you, he might be quite nice.

"Your family has been very kind to me. This ceremony is beautiful," You say, hoping he won't linger on your evasiveness. "Are you having a good time?"

His ear flicks lightly against your hair, trying to catch the soft sound of your voice. "I'm drunk."

What you think he's trying to say, is that he's doing whatever he can to get through the night.

You truly look beautiful under the gentle glow of the Tree of Souls. Your skin looks so soft, so plush, and Neteyam almost reaches out to touch your light, but you don't notice. Your eyes are glued to your feet.

"Are you ready?" He asks.

No. You aren't, but you nod anyway.

Trembling fingers undo the knots of your top, then your loincloth and a nearly unbearable heat engulfs your face. Neteyam does the same with his own clothing, and his hands feel unsure as he leads you down to the soft dirt.

His mouth leaves wet kisses against your skin until your neck is littered with evidence of him. His fingers seem to grow more confident, wandering parts of you that haven't been explored by anyone but yourself. You say you don't love him, yet you careen into his touch. Pretty noises leave your mouth, only to be caught by his ears, and you hope he'll hold them there.

Kisses from him never reach your lips, because despite being together now—literally preparing to seal your souls for life—kissing you there seems too intimate.

Neteyam leans up slightly, deft hands pulling his kuru over his shoulder. He gazes at you, pupils blown in arousal as he waits for you to pull your longest braid from behind your back.

It's the first time you haven't felt so small under his eyes.

The pink endings of your braids twine together, making you both exhale with the new sensation. His lips are back on your neck then, and as soon as you tell him it's okay, he's pushing himself into you.

You shouldn't have gotten your hopes up, but apart from physical pleasure, you feel nothing.

This is a task for him. The final part in becoming a mated pair. It's just something he has to do, and it makes a part of your chest hurt. You tell yourself you don't love him.

You don't love him.

And he certainly doesn't love you.

He can feel your embarrassment, your rejection, and you know this. You try to push it away, but just like you can feel every inch of his being, he can feel yours. Still, you close your eyes, breathe in against his wide shoulders and let his scent make you dizzy. You focus on the noises he makes, the way he moves. Anything to avoid your own feelings.

When you both finish, he stills and allows himself a moment to catch his breath. The movements of your body feel like something of autopilot; standing when he does, slowly tugging your clothes back on, each of you with your backs turned to each other.

The wave of emotion that hits you does so harshly. You aren't sure what it is. Maybe it's the ache between your thighs, or maybe it's the loss of his body heat that suddenly makes you feel so cold, but your eyes begin to burn. You can't push it away this time.

One drop falls, and then another, and soon, you have your head in your hands and you're swimming in tears.

Your first time shouldn't have been like this. You shouldn't have been a chore, and Neteyam shouldn't have been one either.

Dammit, you wish you would have argued with your father.

Blending in is something you want to do right now, and you try, stifling sobs behind your palms. But Neteyam hears you. His head whips around, eyes landing on your crumpled body, and you feel their burn on your back.

He takes a hesitant step forward, voice holding trepidation. "Did I hurt you?"

"No," You breathe, "no, I'm okay."

But you aren't okay. You are so far from okay, and that's obvious to both of you. Still, you take in a deep breath and try and stop the sobs from racking your body. His hand is big, nearly engulfing your entire shoulder as he turns you carefully, but you can't meet his eyes.

He asks again. "Did I hurt you?"

"No." You step away from his touch, away from his intoxicating air. "You were gentle, Neteyam. I'm sorry, I don't know why I'm crying."

He watches you for a long moment. Your dainty fingers wiping away tears, chest hiccuping, breathing on the verge of hysteria. You're not okay, yet you tell him that you are. You downplay your hurt so that he won't feel bad. He doesn't even have to love you, you just want acceptance.

Neteyam knows the feeling all too well.

The man hangs his head, and his chest pangs with something unfamiliar. He wishes there was something he could do to make you stop crying, but his touch won't help. The feeling of you still lingers in his mind—your want to belong, your heart opening and fraying at the edges.

"I'm sorry," He says.

When you lift your head, it's him who won't look at you. "It isn't your fault. You don't have to apologize to me,"

He feels like he does. You're a stranger to him, but he doesn't like seeing you cry. He doesn't like the way your big eyes won't stop glimmering with sorrow. He doesn't like hearing your soft sniffles, or your hiccuped breaths. He doesn't like that you aren't okay, but you tell him you are anyway.

"Let me take you back home." Neteyam proposes quietly.

"Aren't we supposed to stay out longer? Won't people talk about us? " You ask, eyes widening at the thought of trekking through even more accusatory stares.

Most newly mated couples would stay out for hours, exploring each other, basking in their love. But you and Neteyam aren't the same as them.

He's the sun.

You're the moon.

"It isn't anyone's business." He snaps, his blazing eyes lifting suddenly, landing on yours. You wince at the roughness of his voice and he sighs before trying again. "People will still be celebrating. They won't worry about us."

You wipe your face, nodding. "I would like to go home."

Neteyam walks ahead of you, though not far. You watch your feet, missing his frequent glances at your trailing form. The hut is dark when you step inside, though the smell of something sweet fills your nose. You take a look over your shoulder and you see your husband hesitating at the door, shifting from foot to foot. It might be the first time you've seen him look so unsure.

"Aren't you coming in?" You ask.

His eyes flick to yours, slightly wide. "Yeah,"

"It's yours now, too. Please don't feel unwelcome," Your voice is so soft that again, his ears have to strain to hear you.

Gentle. That's the first word he thinks of when he looks at you. Because even after being forced to give yourself completely to him, even after feeling so rejected, you're still kind.

Neteyam clears his throat. "I'll light a fire."

While he does that, your silent feet stalk over to the corner where you keep your things. You're quick with changing, wiping your body down to feel a bit more like yourself. Even after doing so, the smell of him lingers on your skin, like it's a part of you now.

Orange light illuminates the space and you're glad for the heat that the flames give off, but if your mood could sour any more, it surely does when you look around your home. Someone has come in and placed baskets of fruit and sprinkled the petals of beautiful flowers over your floor. There are even petals strewn about your hammock.

The gesture is nice, but you don't want it. You don't want to be reminded of how backward this situation is.

You pull your bottom lip into your mouth, chewing on the plush skin so you can keep yourself together. You feel his eyes on you again, burning as you swipe the petals from your bed. Neteyam doesn't look away until you lay down, body taking up the smallest corner of the hammock that you can. Even after that, he allows himself brief looks, and he knows by the tense rising and falling of your ribs that you aren't asleep.

At some point during the night, when sleep begins to embrace your mind, you feel him lay beside you. He does the same thing that you did hours earlier: rests himself on the edge of the bed to give you space. You still feel the skin of his back brushing yours, warm and soft.

You dream of him. The way he felt inside you, the way his lips felt against your neck. You dream of him taking a moment to look into your eyes when his own aren't so harsh. You dream of his voice telling you that you mean something to him.

The thing that wakes you in the morning is the sun. It's bright and higher in the sky than you're used to, making you squeeze your eyes shut harder. You feel the dull ache between your thighs, and it makes you realize that the warmth of Neteyam's body is gone.

It takes more strength than you would like to admit to swing your legs over the side of the bed. You find a cup of something herbal waiting for you near the fire, resting on a coal. It's still warm and you sip at it greedily.

You figure Kiri must have poked her head in earlier and left it for you. She's been such a kind friend ever since you arrived.

Soft knocks sound at the doorway of your home, leaving you to call out a welcome. Just the person you're thinking of walks in.

"Hey, eylan," Kiri smiles warmly. A cloud of serenity follows her as she enters and you breathe it in. Only when you breathe her in, you still smell Neteyam on your skin.

You muster up a smile, though only half of your mouth lifts. "Hi,"

Kiri isn't stupid. She sees the weight on your shoulders, the tear stains on your face. She settles a warm hand against your cheek and you lean into it. "How are you doing?"

"I'm okay, Kiri." You tell her. "Thank you for the tea,"

Her eyebrows crinkle, bright orbs taking a fleeting glance at your cup. She takes notice of the orange petals floating around and the herbal smell wafting up with steam, and the corners of her mouth twitch upward. "It's Neteyam's recipe. He says it helps him calm down,"

And maybe you're oblivious, or just too stubborn to catch on to what she's implying, but you nod. "It's nice."

"I brought you some things," Kiri says.

You watch her as she settles herself on the floor, knees pressed against yours. Her hands dig around in her satchel and things clunk around noisily, which almost makes you grin. You're thankful for her. Kiri's energy is pure and sweet. Her eyes welcome you every time she looks your way, and she practically oozes acceptance. Maybe that's why you're so drawn to her.

"This is a salve to get rid of bruising. Works quick, too," She mutters, head still tucked toward her bag as she pulls out a jar.

Your face must fall, because she looks up at you with sympathy.

The skin of your neck adorns the marks of him. You smell like him. You share a home with him. But he doesn't love you.

"Will you help me?" You ask.

Her expression is so gentle. "Of course, I will."

Careful fingers spread the salve over your skin. She pays extra attention to a spot below your ear, all while you fight the memories of the night before.

It should have been special, but you cried after, and he looked at you with pity.

Kiri says your name softly and waits until you meet her eyes. "You will grow to love him."

You let out a quiet exhale, and Kiri can see your gentle nature right on your face. "I know I will. That's the problem."

"He will grow to love you, too."

The smile that appears on your face is devastating. You could explain to Kiri what you felt from her brother last night. You could explain to her the hollowness he held toward you, but you don't.

"He won't. He will protect me, he will give me children, and he will treat me well because he's kind. I will fall for him hopelessly and he won't know. I won't tell him. You won't tell him. I will cook for him, and raise his babies, and I will support him in everything that he does. But he won't love me. And that's okay." You say.

Kiri squeezing your hand is all she can offer.

Sure, you told Kiri not to say anything, but she never agreed to it. So when the tea you drank makes your eyes feel heavy all over again, she leaves you to rest.

Her feet are swift as she rushes through the village, jaw set in determination. Neteyam sees her before she sees him. The look on her face scares him, so he politely excuses himself from the conversation he's having and makes his way toward her.

"Tsmuke," He calls out. Kiri's head whips around in search of him, but it doesn't take long. Neteyam sticks out in a crowd. He's taller than most and he just has a regal air about him.

Kiri's gripping his arm before he can speak and then she's tugging him, and he's trying to ask her what's wrong but she won't listen.

"Kiri!" His voice is barely lower than a yell.

Still, she tugs, until they're in a private spot. "Eywa, I've been looking for you everywhere!"

"Why? What's wrong?" Neteyam begs.

"This is all a fucking mess, Neteyam, that's what's wrong." She groans. It doesn't take a genius to know what she's talking about.

It's the only thing anyone is talking about lately.

"You went to check on her like I asked?" Neteyam questions. Kiri rolls her eyes, and in return, he does too. "Well, is she alright?"

"Was she alright last night?"

"She said she was, but no."

"She said she was today, too, but no."

Neteyam rubs at his eyes in frustration. He's supposed to be calm, and well put together, but the man is coming apart at the seams.

All of his efforts seem futile. He only said yes to taking you as a wife because his father suggested it. It will strengthen the relationship between our clans, Jake told him. And all Neteyam ever wanted was to make his father proud, so he found himself agreeing, and before he knew it, you were in front of him.

You were there with your big, pretty eyes, and those eyelashes that grazed your cheeks when you stared at your feet (which was always), and your stupid hair flowed down your slender back, and long fingers fidgeted at your sides, and the soft swell of your breasts would rise and fall anytime you took in a large breath. When you spoke, you were so gentle that he worried he'd break you. He felt too rough around the edges, and you too soft.

Fuck, he was losing it.

"I think I hurt her last night," Neteyam admits. He feels like he should be embarrassed, but it's Kiri he's talking to, and she's his best friend.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, she started crying after we..." He doesn't want to see his sister grimace, so he edits his words. "She says I didn't, but you should have seen her, Kiri. She went to sleep as soon as we got home and we didn't talk any more about it."

"Oh, Neteyam," Kiri sighs like she always does when she knows something he doesn't. "You didn't hurt her."

"How do you know?" He pleads softly.

"She cried because she's scared." She tells him.

"Of what? Of me?" He's nearly whispering.

Kiri places a loving hand over his arm. "Scared that she'll go her whole life loving you and you won't feel the same."

He's too rough around the edges, and you're too soft.

Neteyam is supposed to be composed. Calculated. Three steps ahead at all times. But you have him so unfocused these days.

He spends a few weeks after his talk with Kiri trying to break the ice with you. Little things, like lingering at the door to say goodbye to you in the morning, or thanking you for the meals he comes home to. It's not much, but he's trying.

He thinks he could grow to love you.

He's positive, actually, because he feels this odd stirring in his chest when you speak to him.

There were women before you. They were usually just clandestine meetings in dark caves, rushed touches just to feel relief from all of the weight Neteyam held on his shoulders. There were women before you, but Neteyam didn't see them the way he sees you.

He wasn't afraid to break them.

He didn't pay attention to the small mannerisms they had. Not like he does with you.

He's supposed to be composed, but he isn't when he's next to you. Music is loud in his ears, he has a cup in his hand that he hasn't even sipped from, and there are too many people around. Neteyam usually enjoys feasts. He enjoys talking to his people, enjoys dancing, but he's so unfocused.

The skin of your arm is hot where it's pressed into his own. You're so soft, and you smell nice, but you aren't happy. He can tell by the way your mouth is pressed into a flat line, only breaking when you take another sip of the drink in your cup.

The people have come to love you. They smile at you now, eyes glowing with warmth. They embrace your gentleness and the way you treat the village children. They love you, so why doesn't Neteyam?

You don't want to linger on the thought too long, but you're past the point of being drunk, and your brain isn't cooperating.

When you stand, the loss of your warmth makes Neteyam flinch. He watches you sway lightly on your feet, watches as your fingers tuck a loose hair behind your ear. Your cheeks are darkened, eyelids slightly lowered, lips pursed. He wishes you were happy.

"Where are you going?" He asks you.

You're drunk, but you still find it hard to look him in his eyes. "I just need air. I'll be back,"

You need air away from him and he knows this, yet he still springs to his feet. He follows your retreating figure, flashes a glare to one of his hunting friends that whistles at the sight of you two disappearing into the dense trees.

You would be hard to find if he hadn't studied you so much since you came into his life. Your steps are silent and soft against the forest floor, his are rough.

When you finally come to a stop, he isn't sure what to say to you. He isn't even sure why he followed you, but he did. And now he's staring at your back and the luminescent freckles on your skin, and he's wishing he knew what you were thinking.

"What am I doing wrong?" Your voice startles him. It's the loudest he's ever heard you speak, the volume drawing him forward. He's emboldened by it, but the second you turn and face him, he stops. "Why won't you touch me? Why do you stop smiling every time you see my face? Am I that bad?"

A fleeting memory crosses his mind of the night you two mated. He was too drunk and you too sober, but now things have flipped.

You'd never speak to him this way if you weren't intoxicated.

He rasps out your name. He wants to explain to you what he's thinking but he doesn't know how. He doesn't know how to touch you without hurting you. He doesn't know how to throw himself into loving you because he's scared to disappoint you. He's too rough, you're too soft.

It's you who takes a step toward him now. "I promised to be a good wife and I'm failing."

You're so close. He breathes in your scent until he's dizzy, and his voice comes out in a mutter. "You are a good wife."

"Then why do you hate me?" Your breath fans over his chest. Your nose brushes against the dip between his neck and collarbone, and you feel his throat bob as he swallows.

"I don't hate you." His hands ball into fists at his sides, itching to reach out and touch you and all of your soft curves. But you're drunk and he knows better.

"But you won't touch me,"

He doesn't want to break you.

"It's not that I don't want to," He whispers helplessly.

Your head tilts up because, for the first time, you're brave enough to crave his eye contact. Your eyes trace over every freckle on his face, every scar, every crease. You may be drunk, but his beauty is sobering.

"Neteyam," Your voice is so gentle as you call out to him. He finally looks down at you, and his eyes aren't so harsh. "Touch me, please,"

You ask him to touch you, but you mean more. You want him to see you, to feel his heart warm when he walks into your home at the end of the day. You want him to want you.

He inhales sharply when your lips brush the corner of his. His fingernails are digging into his palm as your hands fall to his hips, your mouth grazing the length of his jaw. He wonders what you taste like, wonders what kind of noises you would make if he got to sink his teeth into the plump of your bottom lip.

But you're drunk, and he knows better.

When his hand clasps around your wrists, you think you may finally get what you want, but he tugs your touch away.

Rejection burns in your chest and your eyes sting with tears as he tilts his head down, trying to catch your evasive gaze. His large hand scorches where it holds you captive.

"I will not touch you. Not here, not like this. Not when you're drunk." He says. You feel like he's upset, but his voice is the softest you've ever heard. "Ask me tomorrow, okay?"

You want to be mad at him. You want to shove at his chest and yell at him that it isn't fair, but you can't. It's not his fault that you love him.

"Can you take me home, please?" You croak out.

The hold on your wrists drops. "Yeah, I'll take you home."

It's like the first night that you two ever spent together. You amble through the village, eyes on your feet, tears threatening to spill down your face. When you reach your hut, you climb into your hammock and Neteyam lingers by the fire.

Humiliated is an understatement. You just want to disappear, and that would have been so easy back home, but it's impossible here.

You hear your husband's feet pad across the floor, growing softer and softer until they stop just outside your hut. You should call after him and see if he's okay, but you can't bring yourself to speak. Instead, you shut your eyes and pray for sleep to come.

Neteyam has always loved the moon. As he sits outside of your shared hut, he lets himself admire the glow of it. It's his favorite thing in the whole universe because it's always there, always shining, always taking different shapes. Most people go to sleep as soon as the moon shows its face, but not Neteyam. He likes to bask in it, almost as if he has it all to himself.

He pictures you under the glow of moonlight. Soft, gentle. Beautiful.

He's growing to love you.

In the morning when you wake, Neteyam isn't home. You get out of bed and there's a cup of tea waiting for you by the fire. While you drink it, you try to fight your feelings of embarrassment and guilt. It wasn't fair for you to ambush your husband like that. You've said it for all this time—he doesn't have to love you, and yet you asked him to.

Maybe you aren't in your right mind as you leave your hut, an empty basket clutched in your hand. No, you definitely aren't in your right mind as you gather fruits and pretty flowers, and even a brightly colored feather to pile into the wicker.

You have certainly lost it when you set off through the village, searching for your husband's tall frame. And when you spot his broad back as he speaks to a group of hunters, you almost turn around. Only you don't get the chance, because it's like he senses that you're there. He turns, brows lowered, intense eyes searching the bustling crowd.

Part of you wants to look away from him but he's mesmerizing. He carries golden light. He was meant to lead the people, meant to be admired.

He's the sun.

"Are you alright?" His voice is husky and breaks you out of your daze.

Heat spreads across your cheeks. "I'm fine,"

Where did all of your words go? The apology you practiced in your head?

Suddenly your feet are interesting to look at.

"Did you drink the tea I left? It's good for a hangover." He says.

Why does he have to be so kind and make you love him?

"I did. Thank you," You say, and you mean it. His eyes burn on your face as you try to muster up the courage to speak again. He's incredibly patient as he stands there, never once looking away from you. "I brought you some things. I wasn't sure if you had breakfast, and I know you must get hungry training all day."

"That's kind of you." He says.

It's now or never. You look up at him before you can talk yourself out of it. "I also wanted to apologize. The way I acted last night was unacceptable. I'm truly sorry if I made you uncomfortable, Neteyam."

The crease between his brows softens. "It's alright. I'm alright,"

Silence blankets the two of you for a moment. He's staring at you, eyes like melted honey and you tell yourself that you shouldn't love him.

But you do.

"I'll see you later?" You offer quietly. The corner of his mouth lifts as he reaches out, his hand brushes yours when he takes the basket from you.

"I'll see you later."

He watches you walk away with a dumb smile, because, fuck, he's starting to love you.

"I know that this isn't ideal," Neteyam begins.

You're still embarrassed about the night before, especially now that it’s just the two of you in the confines of your hut. You still remember the feeling of his skin against your lips, and you're craving more.

Shy eyes lift from your hands, falling on his face for the first time since you apologized to him earlier. You're used to his hard stare. You're used to his mouth falling into a flat line, but that's not what he looks like now.

He's watching you like you've never been invisible in your entire life.

His shoulders are tense where he stands, hands clasped together. "I know we were both pushed into this marriage for the sake of our clans,"

You think he might tell you that he doesn't love you and he never will. You're just collateral. But he shakes his head, and that's when you see it.

The bright hues of the feather you gifted him, tucked neatly into a braid behind his ear.

"You're wearing it," You gasp.

The way your eyes sparkle catches him off guard. He's dazed by your beauty, and it takes him a moment to understand what you're saying.

"Oh," He mutters. His cheeks burn. "Yes, I hope that's okay,"

You're smiling, and he feels like he's under the glow of the moon. You're gentle and you shine, and you take on so many pretty shapes.

"I wasn't sure you'd like it."

Of course, he likes it. You picked it for him.

"I do."

He can't remember the speech he was about to give about growing to love you, because he likes the way you tuck a piece of your hair behind your big ear. He likes the way you look down, suddenly shy. He likes the way that you're soft and smoothing out his rough edges.

"Would you like me to ask you now?" You're nearly whispering, and it's a shame that you're looking at your feet, because the smile that splits his face glows like the sun.

He steps toward you. "Yes, please."

Your chest would brush against him if you took a deep inhale, but he makes you breathless. "Touch me, please?"

Neteyam is supposed to be composed, but he isn't when he's this close to you.

His palms are rough and warm when they pull you in by the hips. They mold around your curves like Eywa carved them just for you.

He's the sun.

You're the moon.

Time just wouldn't exist without the two of you.

His lips are soft against the spot below your ear. It's his favorite place because you feel like silk there. He leaves a trail of kisses across your cheekbone, on the button of your nose, before he hovers over your lips.

"Would you like me to touch you here?" He murmurs.

You want him everywhere, but you're breathless. All you can do is nod.

He delves forward. You're so warm, and your lips are even softer than the skin below your ear, and now he knows what you taste like.

You're the sweetest fruit he's ever bitten. He'll go his whole life craving you.

It takes a while before you both pull away for air. Your hands fall against his chest, feeling the rumble of his light laughter.

When you look up at him, you can't believe you ever found him so intimidating. You can't believe that you ever thought he hated you, because he's looking at you like you're the best thing he's ever had.

And you are.

"I know that this was chosen for us. I know that I said this was for the clan," He says.

It was for the clan, but now he loves you.

"But?" You urge him gently.

"But I want to do this for us. I want all of you. I want all of your secrets, the good and the bad. I want to come home to you every night, and I want to take care of the people with you. I want to tell everyone what you mean to me." He proclaims.

You smile, eyes glimmering with happiness. "You have me."

He's yours.

You're his.

#avatar #jake sully #neteyam #neteyam sully #neteyam x reader #neteyam imagine #lo’ak sully #neteyam x oc #the way of water #avatar neteyam #avatar twow #neteyam smut #neteyam fic #neytiri

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wonbriiize · 7 months

Text

pairing; wonbin x reader

genre; fluff, comfort (in a way)

warnings; none

note; idk what to think about this but i hope y’all will like it anyway !!

all at once

in which you convince your boyfriend wonbin to make bracelets with you and he ends up making one specifically for you…

“i can‘t believe you’re making me do this,” wonbin sighs while he sits down on the floor, next to you.

“oh, don’t act like you don’t love this,” you grin, taking out your beads, and everything else you need to make bracelets, from the bag you brought with you.

“you know what i love?” wonbin smirks, suddenly pulling you closer to him.

“hmm.. no, i don‘t think i do?” you tease him, smirking against his lips.

wonbin plants a kiss on your lips and you fight off every desire to take this any further because wonbin’s roommates are all at home and you don’t want them to just burst into the room out of nowhere.

“let’s get to work,” you let go of wonbin and start collecting out the beads that you want to use for your bracelet.

wonbin does the same, but he’s struggling to find colors that he wants to use. for him, this isn’t just making any bracelet. he wants to make one for you. and it needs to be perfect, because in wonbin’s eyes, you deserve nothing but the best.

you wonder why it’s taking him so long to search out the beads, but your worries get brushed off once shotaro enters the room and sits down on the floor.

“i want to make a bracelet too,” he says, not really asking you for permission to use your beads, but you don’t mind. out of all the roommates wonbin has, shotaro is your favorite.

wonbin doesn’t even notice shotaro coming into the room, he’s too busy thinking about the bracelet that he’s making for you. he‘s putting all his focus into it. wonbin doesn’t even get mad when shotaro makes you laugh so hard that you almost start tearing up (because he is the only one who’s allowed to make you laugh like this), no, he’s too invested in the bracelet. right now, he’s deciding what he should use to make it more special. more meaningful.

“shotaro, your bracelet looks so cool,” you say, admiring his work. even though shotaro just started it, he’s halfway done already.

“yours doesn’t look that bad either,” he grins.

“can you two stop flirting? i‘m trying to concentrate,” wonbin glares at shotaro and you which makes you both laugh.

“hey, look who finally acknowledged my existence,” shotaro throws a bead at wonbin’s head, which just annoys him even more.

“if you keep flirting with my girlfriend, my fist will also acknowledge your existence.”

your heart jumps at the mention of ‘girlfriend’. wonbin and you have been dating for a long time, but everytime he calls you his girlfriend it still feels like the first time. it makes you feel so happy, excited, loved… it makes you feel so many things all at once.

wonbin makes you feel so many things. no matter what he does or say.

“wohooo, how scary,” shotaro grins even more.

he knows wonbin would never actually hurt him, they’re best friends. he just likes to tease him from time to time so he can loosen up.

“if you’re done with your bracelet can you leave?” wonbin points to the door and shotaro rolls his eyes. “no, i‘m not done yet.”

“i think you are,” wonbin raises up his eyebrows.

“i‘m literally not,” shotaro looks confused, not understanding why wonbin is pushing this so much.

“you can finish it up somewhere else.”

“but the beads-”

“god, shotaro, just leave so i can have some privacy with my girlfriend!!”

this conversation between the two of them makes you laugh. seeing wonbin and shotaro bickering with each other is your happiness.

“you could have just asked nicely instead of forcing me,” shotaro pouts, standing up.

now wonbin feels bad.

“dinner is on me,” he says and shotaro starts grinning. “i wasn’t actually sad, i just knew you’d say this if you’d think i am.”

with that, shotaro happily jumps out of the room, leaving wonbin shaking his head with a big smile on his face.

“i hate him.”

“you love him. but not as much as me i hope,” you slip closer to wonbin and wrap your arms around him.

“there‘s no one i love as much as you,” wonbin leans in to kiss you, but he stops right before his lips land on yours. your heart sinks a bit, you were really anticipating the kiss.

“what’s wrong?”

“before i kiss you, i want to give you this,” wonbin pulls out the bracelet that he has been working on the whole time.

“it’s for you.”

your jaw drops a little and you’re shocked at how beautiful the bracelet is. you can tell that wonbin put in a lot of thought while making it because in the middle of the bracelet, he put in a bead which represents an inside joke that the two of you have.

“you didn’t have to do this,” you say, feeling sad because you didn’t make one for wonbin.

he softly grabs after your wrist and puts the bracelet on.

“i wanted to.”

then he looks up to you again, his eyes scanning your lips.

“and now i want to do this.”

seconds later, his lips intertwine with yours. you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him as close to you as possible.

at this very moment, you don’t care about wonbin’s roommates being at home and the high possibility of them suddenly coming into the room.

no, all you care about is wonbin.. and the beautiful bracelet he made specifically for you.

and once again, wonbin does it ; he makes you feel so many things.. all at once. all indescribable. all beautiful.

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yawarakaizai · 8 months

Note

pm!dazai taking reader on a date after school, but it’s somehow awkward! tried to get you a stuffie from a claw machine but failed miserably, so he shot the glass out of frustration.. something like that hehe ☆〜（ゝ。∂）

ⵌ HANGIN' OUT THE PASSENGER SIDE OF HIS BEST FRIEND'S RIDE

SENDER Reader (Fem) RECIPITENT PM Dazai Osamu (BSD) CONTENTS You were a horrible pair. You two were unlikely and the path ahead of you could have never predicted such thing to happen. You aren't sure why or how, but you found yourself the centre of Osamu Dazai's attraction. NOTE fluff, reader and dazai are 16/17, brief chuuya, jealousy, young love COMPANY No Scrubs

A/N wrote th is thro ughou t th e sch ool d ay ;3; forgi ve any mist a kes or rush ed writ ing !!! eeeeeeE EEEE i lov requ ests ٩(๑❛ᴗ❛๑)۶

It was embarrassing at this point.

You disliked bringing any sort of unwanted attention to yourself more than anything else. And yet, you owe it to the brunette by your side who attracted stares like a magnet.

" Owwh, fuck! " His drawn out swear accompanied by the stomping of his shoe against the carpeted floor. It's biometric, vibrant patterns splattered across a dark black background sickened you to stare for too long.

" I told you, these are a scam ", you attempted to protest against his insistence that he was sure to win this time, no take-backs. " Why not buy a ticket to the bowling alley instead of wasting it on these? " You remained temperate in opposition to his rowdy and indecent behaviour. You adopted the traits of an older sister, or a mother.

" No way! I spent too much to give up now. " Your head ached. " Look, if I keep inching it closer to the drop, I'll be sure to get it. "

And so, the poor joystick would continue to be abused, 200 yen being inserted into the comparator with every miss, Dazai's agitation growing with each failure.

It had been a sultry evening after school. Gathering your belongings and preparing to take the daily commute home, the pitter-patter of heavy footsteps ran behind you to reveal none other than Dazai Osamu.

He was somewhat of an enigma to everyone who knew him, even those that never exchanged a word with him knew of his name.

Dazai had a horrible track-record and even worse attendance. With a mysterious bandage over his right eye.

Despite his lack of punctuality and participation in classes, he not once has ever failed an exam. Many rumours circulated that he'd cheat - though no evidence of such was ever received. Others thought he must've slept his way to good grades.

Or, he was just inhumanely intelligent.

" Y/N! Y/N! " His ecstatic voice beckoned you to stop walking as he had finally caught up to you, bending over to catch his breath. " Let's visit the arcade together! "

You didn't know what possessed you to accept.

" Oy! Leave 'er alone, moron. Some people actually have work to get to after school. "

And there was his companion, Chuuya. Underestimating him is like a death wish. He was short. Horribly, unfortunately short. Sometimes, you'd feel bashful for the fact he'd have to look up at you sometimes.

Unlike Dazai, Chuuya's absence from school wasn't intentional.

No, not at all. Chuuya never missed a day of school on his own accord. His record full of missed days were from suspensions.

Often getting into fights with anyone, he has never lost a fight.

The duo had a dynamic you couldn't quite grasp.

And then there was you in the middle of it all.

Dazai had lured you into the friend-group about two years ago, when you were all put in the same base class and Dazai, in his extroverted glory, made attempts to suck up to all in class.

You listened to how the girls would swoon and whisper amongst themselves about the legend that was Dazai Osamu, and once he reached you, you couldn't be less impressed than what he had to offer.

" Oh, c'mon Y/N! It won't take too long, we never hang out anymore! "

His sad attempt at desperate puppy eyes lightened your day a little, so you thought you should humour him, just this once.

You didn't know much about Dazai and Chuuya's private life and you didn't pry into the territory either.

All you knew was that they were filthy rich and had a connection to the principal, Ogai Mori. Otherwise, they would've been expelled a long time ago.

" Let it go, Dazai. It's not worth it. " You put your hand on his shoulder as he leaned forward, nose barely touching the glass of the claw machine as he tried to focus on getting just what he wanted.

" But you looked at it! " He whined, digging into his pockets as the machine played a sound of defeat. " And? "

" And that means I need to get it for you! "

He insisted profusely that it'll be worth it, and you continued to doubt him. You've been standing by his side for thirty minutes at this point and not once has he won a prize.

You remarked to him that the game was purposely rigged, pointing out how weak the claw was and estimating the plushies within were weighing a little over the maximum capacity something so weak would be able to grasp for more than two seconds. That, and also how the claw would never close properly, inching in barely and dropping what toy it had luckily managed to hold onto.

And that degrading sound of humiliation. A squeaky, robotic coquettish voice repeating itself 'Better luck next time!' over and over.

Dazai was not losing to a machine.

Your stomach grumbled with hunger, and it was becoming clear that you both were growing with unrest at this machine.

" You kids still going at that? "

An arm propped itself on top of the roof of the claw machine, you looked up to see a worker had made his way over to you both. Dazai, did not look up from the game.

" I tried to get him to stop ", you mumbled, looking away from him. You'd always get shy at people older than you. You weren't exactly timid, but you were raised to be respectful. " He wants to win it for me. " It sounded oddly romantic when you put it that way.

" Yeah? You sure he can do it? " The man laughed at the truth. " So you two are on a date? " He overstayed his welcome and you began to wonder if it was usual for employees to wedge themselves into customers business.

" Yeah. We are. " Dazai answered for you, slotting in more coins for yet another try.

" Here, move li'l man, I got this. " Shoving Dazai away by the hip, the white-haired man. Begrudgingly, Dazai said nothing.

And almost with no effort at all, the man easily got the claw to clasp around the exact seal plush you wanted.

He must have been watching you both for a while to know what you wanted.

Although you kept assuring Dazai you didn't need it, you couldn't help the way your eyes sparkled as the man handed it to you with a smug smile.

" Oh! Thank you, sir! Thank you! " You took it from his hand with joy, looking at the fat cushion with adoration. It was simply adorable! You bowed your head repeatedly in gratitude, though felt it was simply not enough.

You almost forgot about Dazai until your ears deafened with the sound of a loud bang and the crashing of glass.

On impulse, you dropped to your knees with your hands over your ears protectively, unsure as to what just happened. Peeking through your tightly shut eyes, you saw that you were the only one to have dropped down and everyone else was as normal as ever.

Before you were even able to question, you uncovered your ear to hear Dazai converse with the man.

" How sad, I guess when you're making minimum wage you figure out how to make your job interesting. " Dazai cocked his pistol like second nature, and behind the legs of the employee you were crouched behind, you peered between his legs up at Dazai with wide, lost eyes.

Looking down at you, Dazai looked pissed.

" Didn't mean to scare you. Get up, we're leaving. "

The employee and Dazai seemed to know each other. You figured by the way the older man was cool about the whole ordeal, almost like he'd done everything intentionally.

You shakily rose to your feet, at a loss for words, and stared with astonishment as Dazai began to gather multiple stuffed toys from the now-broken claw machine and hold them in his arms after tucking his pistol away.

" But- you- the- "

You tripped over your words and found yourself unable to comprehend what had just happened.

" Not gonna run way with your Clyde, Bonnie? " The employee joked, stepping out of your way.

You felt this to be illegal. Maybe because it was. You did not want to aid in a robbery even if the employee was not actively stopping you. Before you could even act, Dazai grabbed you by the arm and ran ahead of you, dragging you behind him as he laughed, your other arm held tightly around the seal plush, afraid to let it go.

" Holy shit, I was so cool! " He shrilled, your shorter legs barely able to keep up with his strides.

" Dah-zai! " You panted out as he kept on running.

Your adrenaline rang in your ears and the heart in your chest beat rapidly as the two of you ran, jumped, hopped over valleys, onto the stepping stones of the river and through the bushes of the dark forest.

" Y/N! "

Dazai yelled out to you. At this point, many plushies in his arms had fallen, yet your intertwined hands never once budged open.

" Whah! Wh-What! " You tried to match his energy, but you were far too exhausted.

Finally, you both collapsed into the cold grass surrounding by large oak trees.

The night sky looking down on wild star-crossed students.

" I think I.. think I love you, Y/N " He said between deep breaths, both your limbs spread out as you tuned to the sound of crickets, the birds and the rapid breathing of one another.

You didn't know what you were thinking, or if you were even thinking coherently, though..

" I think I love you too, 'samu. "

©yawarakaizai 2023 ﹒﹒ reblogs appreciated! requests open :3

#dazai x reader #pmzai #pm dazai x reader #port mafia dazai x reader #bsd x reader

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aezuria · 2 months

Note

okay okay but like could you do hcs about Jason grace x shy/cutesy fem!reader?? It would be so cute omgg everyone looks up to Jason as this intimidating badass leader but his gf is just the cutest, softest, most adorable lil thing ever??

*ੈ✎ he don't bite! (yes he do!)

content: jason grace x reader; hcs

warnings: none?? i made this more camp jupiter based tho sorry

note: THIS REQUEST WAS SOO CUTSEY OMGGG jason is a doberman bf fr

so like yk how everyone in camp jupiter sees him as this super tough guy???

who wouldnt; he was the former praetor, son of jupiter himself, literally trained for war since he was a toddler

why is a guy like that walking around with YOU??

the most sweetest girl to ever grace the earth

how does that even happen?

jason is quite literally marching around with perfect posture, glaring at everyone (he's really just squinting cause he forgot his glasses... again)

and then he sees you!!

even with shit eyesight he knows the shape of you by heart

and his whole demeanor just?? softens? lights up? relaxes? all of the above

it was just such a rough day for him; he forgets everybody around him and just scoops you into his arms, burying his face into the crook of your neck

a bit of an awkward position with him having to bend down at a weird angle but he doesnt care!!

he just wants to hold you and have you hold him and cuddle :((

meanwhile everyones like WTF WHO ARE YOU AND IS THIS REALLY JASON

literally melts in your arms the second you hug him back

"you wanna go rest?" you whisper into the crook of his neck, to which he nodded against your shoulder. you laughed lightly and pulled away, or at least tried to. "let's go then."

he begrudgingly let you out of his arms, following behind you

everybody else is still reeling in shock btw

you guys were the TALK OF THE TOWN for WEEKS after

one of those things where youd never guess but when you know abt it, it just makes SO much sense

you guys are polar opposites in such a good way (to everybody else at least)

cuddling with you is his best relaxing thing to do

you literally had to get him a life cause the only things he knew to do were work and fight

bro has never had a day off like ever

once you two started dating, he was introduced to the most addicting drug: physical touch

he was probably really shy at first; really really likes it but feels like he doesnt deserve it cause all hes been treated with is harshness

and hes unused to being so gently handled

(someone give him a hug fr)

which is what YOU did!

now he love loves it, especially on days like these when everythings just too much and all he wants to do is unwind

runs to you like a puppy

LOVE LOVES being the little spoon even though hes shy abt it

he can do both but smth abt being held instead of doing the holding for once makes his heart heavy in a bittersweet way

would spend all day in your arms if he could just get out of his workaholic attitude (which is never, but hes doing better with you)

okay, we can all agree jason is scary when hes mad

which is USUALLY unlikely unless someone hurts his friends or smth like that

but sometimes he just looks mad and if you werent close to him, you wouldnt be able to tell the difference

but back to him being MAD mad

like, abt to beat the living (dead?) shit out of a monster mad because there is one RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU EW GET IT OFF

he just, did NOT NEED THAT TODAY HES TIRED AND SAD AND that was his breaking point

unleashes HELL on that poor monster, literally calls down a whole storm

the skies turn dark, clouds heavy with rain and the whole camp just looks up like ??? was this on the weather forecast

then it starts raining LIGHTNING and they all know who it is

and go inside and hide

was it a bit overdramatic? yes, but jason deserves to be dramatic sometimes

once he FINALLY finishes the job, he stomps back into the camp, terminus even taking note and doesnt say anything quippy

youd think he has the plague by the way people make room for him to walk

but then you poke through the crowd and spot him. "jason?"

hed know your voice anywhere, his head immediately turning to the direction he heard it

you were already right next to him, rubbing his arm and giving him your signature sweet smile

the stormy air around him seemed to part for you, like you were sun seeping through the cracks in the clouds

"y/n," he greeted you warmly, linking your arms together

what an odd sight the two of you made, but a cute one nonetheless!

#*ੈ✎ stories #jason grace #jason grace x reader #hoo #heroes of olympus #hoo x reader #heroes of olympus x reader #pjo #pjo x reader #percy jackson and the olympians x reader #percy jackon and the olympians

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chronicdisasterwrites · 9 months

Text

i’d keep you company in the dark

pairing: gojo satoru x reader

genre + warnings: - ANGST but FLUFFY ending!! jjk movie spoilers!! happens after the ending of jjk-0, death, sad gojo, kisses.

word count: 1,672

authors note: this was a request by my lovely @daisy-the-quake <3 it's a song-fic, inspired by the song "peaches” by grandson x k.flay

enjoy <3

Your eyes shoot open as you lie still and unmoving. The blinking red light of the clock on your bedside table indicates midnight. Yet another nightmare, about the same thing. It starts with you standing face-to-face with Suguru. His face twisted with the sneer he had on when he came to the school to announce his plan; "The Night Parade of a Hundred Demons". You try to move but you can’t. You try to talk to him, try to convince him to listen to reason, but nothing comes out. He laughs, then it shifts and his laughing transitions into an irksome drone coming out of his ajar mouth. It turns into an incessant buzzing growing exponentially until it’s so loud you can’t see, think, or feel anything. And then the noise stops completely and you’re standing in the sky looking down at Satoru standing in an arena, alone, with a horde of shadows surrounding him. They all make their way toward him like ants capturing a crystal of sugar. You don't do anything. You don’t move or scream or fight. You feel like you don't even exist. Just when the shadows are about to swallow him whole does he look up at you, with hollow eyes and no will to survive.

The hammering of raindrops against your windows could’ve also been a factor, but the sweat on your face and the drumming of your heart indicate otherwise. Taking a few deep breaths you try to normalize your heartbeat. It was exhausting, having the same nightmare over and over again. Ever since Suguru died, all your dreams seemed to be about the same thing. Then you imagine, how Satoru must be feeling. You fall back into reality and realize Satoru’s side of the bed was abandoned. It had been a few days since Suguru died, and since then Satoru had been acting strangely. You never asked him straight up if he was okay, because you know he wasn’t. Of course, he wasn’t. So you tried to show him you were there if he wanted to talk, but he always laughed it off and changed the subject without showing a moment’s weakness. He was acting like nothing happened and life was just fine and dandy. The dream you had fills your mind with thoughts of Satoru losing his mind to the grief of losing his best friend and trudging down a path from which he could never return. You couldn't help him in your dream. Instead, you just stood there watching him get consumed by his demons. You bolt out of bed to look for him. He wasn’t in the apartment you both shared, so you made a guess and decided to trust your gut. You take your keys, wear a raincoat, take an umbrella, shove your phone in your pocket, and make your way to Jujutsu Tech.

Parking your motorcycle in front of the steps of the school you see him sitting on the steps, head downturned and raindrops ricocheting off his Infinity. Once you start climbing the steps, does he lift his head to give you a small smile, tired and sullen, not at all like his genuine smile.

You sigh and sit next to him, shoulders touching and legs brushing. Your face was half-covered by the hood of the raincoat but some raindrops still fell on your nose and exposed hands. Hearing the familiar buzz of Satoru’s Infinity, you look up and watch the raindrops slide down around you, making you feel like you were encased in a snow globe. The pattering of raindrops sounded muted and you felt safe and protected from the terrors of the world. So, this is how Satoru feels?

“What brings you here?”

You remove your hood and look into his dull eyes. Shrugging, you reply with a tender voice, “I couldn’t find you so I figured you’d be here.”

Satoru huffs, looking away and linking his hands together over his knees, “I’m fine before you ask.”

Gojo Satoru was a complex human being. Sometimes people tend to forget he is a human being, thanks to his charisma, strength, and holier-than-thou attitude. But that’s all he was; a human being, blessed burdened with the strength of a God. The ever-present smile on his dazzling face makes you forget that he’s not a shiny person. But when his eyes dim and his smile falls in the dark of the night when a million eyes aren’t on him you realize just how bruised and battered he is.

You release a tired breath. He thinks he’s all alone in this world. He thinks no one can ever help him with anything because no one is as strong as him. The world always revolved around him, his strength, his power, his name. No one could ever equal him, so he believes it’s only fair for him to carry his burdens and sorrows on his own.

“Y’know Satoru…” He glances at you and quirks a thin, silver eyebrow. You stare ahead, picking at the skin around your nails.

“You’re not alone. As much as you want to believe you are, you aren’t. So, if you aren’t gonna let me in, that’s fine. Just- please let yourself feel without putting on a front.”

You hear him exhale and watch him hang his head down from your peripheral vision.

“What’s the point?” He mutters under his breath. The only reason you could hear him at all was because his Infinity dulled the noise in the outside world.

This time you stare at his downturned head and you can’t stop yourself from speaking, “What’s the point? The point is that you don’t have to do this alone. You don’t have to hurt alone. I want you to share your pain with me! Yeah sure, you can get through this alone. You can shove it under the rug, but just this once, don’t be the strongest. Just let me hurt with you, let’s get through this together. Please, Satoru.”

He lifts his head and stares you straight in your eyes. You know how much he’s hurting. His world turned upside down and everything changed. He had to watch his friend plummet into the darkness and he had to be the one to deliver the final blow. His heart is shattered and you’re scared there’s absolutely nothing you can do about it. The only thing you can do is be by his side and try to pick up his broken pieces.

He exhales a shaky breath as his eyes glisten like a dewdrop on a blade of grass, “Can we get through this?”

You reach out your hand and move a couple of strands of his hair from his vision. You let your hand lie against his warm cheek and he lets his eyes shut, “I know everything went to shit. But it’s not permanent, Satoru. I don’t know if things will get better, but we can only hope, right?”

He takes your hand in his own and runs his thumb over your knuckles.

“Yeah. We can only hope.”

He sighs and stares at your hand, “I miss him.”

“I know…”

You squeeze his hand and he squeezes back. It’s dark, except for a few streetlights. You think he’d enjoy a piece of cake or something sweet right about now. You open your mouth to ask him when he beats you to it, “Things won’t be the same.”

Your mouth hangs open and you wait as he continues speaking, “It might get better, it might get worse. Honestly? It doesn’t matter. We can’t really afford to be optimistic with a life like ours.” He lets out a humorless laugh. Looking at you, he gives you a gentle smile and leans forward to kiss your forehead. He lingers there for a quiet moment as the rain serenades you both.

“We’ll get through this.”

You love him so much. Looking at his beautiful, weary face, you smile and leave a chaste kiss on his lips. Stealing another kiss, he brushes a few strands of hair away from your face, “I love you, y’know that?”

Smiling, you stand and give him your hand, “Yeah, I love you too.”

He holds your hand and stops you on your way down the stairs, “Hey…I'm sorry for being selfish. I know you’re hurting too. I don’t want you to think I don't notice that.”

Turning back to look at him, you caress his knuckles with your thumb, “It's okay, Satoru-”

“No, it's not.” He stands on the upper step, looking down at you with tender eyes, "D'you have another nightmare? Is that why you woke up?" He traces the dark circles under your eyes and keeps his thumb on the apple of your cheek.

You sigh and close your eyes momentarily, "Yeah..."

"You wanna talk about it?"

Your free fingers wrap around his slender wrist as you look up at his glittering, blue eyes. "Maybe later." He nods.

You both walk down the steps, your hand warm in his. By now the rain had slowed down to a soft patter. He notices the umbrella tied on the backseat of your motorcycle and quirks an eyebrow, “Why’d you bring this?”

You offer a sheepish smile and take out your keys from your pocket, “I- uh, figured you might need it. I thought you’d deactivate your Infinity and sit in the rain or something… So y’know I didn’t want you to waste all your energy covering us both from the rain but I guess that’s exactly what you did so it was pretty usele-”

Your rambling was immediately shut down by the press of his lips against yours. You feel him smile into the kiss and your heart feels so warm. I love him so much. Hugging you, he rests his chin on your head, “Thank you.”

You think it’s ironic how you’re shivering from the cold yet feeling so incredibly warm at the same time. He chuckles and unties the umbrella taking a seat on the backseat of your bike, “Let’s go home, yeah?”

a/n: well, after chapter 236 this sure is a knife to the heart.

taglist: @thepup356, @porridgesblog, @stray-npc, @daisy-the-quake, @reignsaway, @ainetx, @icarusignite, @mariapierce789, @laylasbunbunny, @r0ckst4rjk

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wandanatsbaby · 5 months

Text

The Betrayal

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x reader Warnings: Angst? Not a good ending but there will be a second part

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You wanted to trust her. You really did. But everytime you looked at her all you saw and thought about was the betrayal.

It was the night of your 15th birthday. Pietro had always been faster then both of you so he went out to go gather some food while wanda did her best to clean up the old little apartment that some lady rent you all. You watched Wanda walk around and mutter to herself as she cleaned various things. You had offered to help her but she declined everytime saying “Its your birthday you need to rest.”

When Pietro had gotten back he brought more food than you all needed. You questioned it but he brushed it off and you believed him not noticing the sad look the twins gave each other. The night was wonderful and you had the best birthday. Wanda your crush since you were little had even confessed and kissed you. You didnt think things could get any better.

Later that night wanda dragged you to your shared room and you both made love to each other all night. She held you close and whispered how much she loved you into your ear while silent tears fell down her face.

The next morning when you woke up you were alone. You searched the whole house but couldn’t find the twins anywhere. And when you made it to the kitchen you found a single sticky note stuck to the fridge.

My Detka,

Im so sorry we did this. But me and Pietro had to leave. I am not allowed to tell you where due to reasons but just know were safe.

We didn’t want to leave you but we had to. You don’t need to be brought into the life were going to be living.

Last night was the best night of my life. I hope you know I meant it when I said I love you.

Pietro made sure there was plenty of food in the fridge to last you about a week. And I arranged for someone to bring you food everyweek after.

You’ll be okay. We are still looking after you. Just stay with the apartment.

We’ll see each other again

Wanda

You spent the day sobbing as you immediately threw the sticky note away and packed your stuff. You didn’t want to be in this apartment anymore. You felt disgusting and used.

Once all your stuff was packed you immediately left. You had connections that would help you get out of this city and hopefully this country.

Thats how you ended up joining the avengers. Your connection had gotten you a flight to America more specifically New York. Natasha Romanoff was the one that had brought you in.

She had caught you attempting to steal from her and when she went to confront you, you punched her. You both spent about 20 minutes fighting each other.

You weren’t sure what she saw in you but she brought you back to the avengers tower and you had quickly found your new home.

The battle of Ultron was when you saw the twins again. They were working with him and had powers. You remembering first seeing Wanda. The way her face went from shocked to angry when seeing you with them.

You were the first one that she used her magic on. She had made you relieve not only the day they left you but the night before and the day the bombs hit. Steve had to carry you onto the quinjet and sat you next to Natasha who was also out of it.

When the battle was over and Pietro being dead Wanda had joined the avengers team. You stayed away from her as much as possible. She tried talking to you multiple times but you always would just walk away.

You refused the dinners she would make, refused to train with her, and even refused to go on missions with her.

Thats what lead you here to being trapped up against a corner with Wanda looking angrily down at you. You refused to meet her eyes and instead looked at you hands.

“Y/n look at me!” she yelled as her hand hit the wall beside your head causing you to flinch. Noticing this she took a deep breath to calm herself. “Detka please. I just want to talk.”

Slowly you moved your head up to look at her. “You left. You and Pietro left me. You left me alone.” You stated quietly as you looked at her. She frowned but nodded.

“I know we did. But we had someone looking after you. Did you not get the food?” She asked worriedly trying not to imagine you starving in that small apartment.

“I left. I couldn’t stay there after you had… I couldnt.” You looked away again not wanting to look at the witch anymore.

Slowly she brought her hand up to your face and rubbed your cheek.

“Lyubov Im so sorry we left you. We should have stayed. I should have stayed. I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you. But please stop pushing me away.” You look back up at her with tears in your eyes.

“Please just leave me alone” You begged the girl as the tears ran down your cheeks. “I can’t look at you without remembering that or when you put those memories back into my head. I can’t sleep at night knowing that you were okay with doing that to me. So please. Just leave me alone.” You quickly pushed past her as she was distracted and ran off to your room. You hopped she would listen to you.

Wanda on the other hand was devastated. How could you tell her to leave you alone? She loved you and she wanted to be with you. She knew you loved her to and she was going to do everything in her power to have you back. You were made for each other. She saw it when she touched the scepter. She saw the life you would both live together. You were hers.

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laiiaaa · 10 months

Text

LOVE WILL TEAR US APART — CARMEN BERZATTO (part 1)

summary You come back to Chicago for the first time since Christmas five years ago. Seeing Carmen might just split you wide open.

length 5.4k

contents angst, childhood friends to not friends not lovers but a secret third thing, very deeply requited love and everyone knows it except them, family troubles/fighting (giving y’all the Berzatto special), takes place the year of Mikey’s passing so everything is still fresh n rly painful, reader has the nickname ‘Birdie’, there's some fluff dw, happy endings are overrated we die like men

note this was originally going to be 1 part but seeing as the doc is reaching 13k words…here’s just the beginning :)

Wind comes from the pale gray sky and bites at your cheeks and the tip of your nose. Fingers go stiff, a chill runs from the nape of your neck down your spine. Maybe you should’ve worn more than just your jacket; Chicago’s always been a little colder than New York, anyway. You tend to forget the little things.

The windows of the Berzatto house glow yellow with company, and you can hear the bustle just by standing at the door, frosted glass animated by guests. You can picture it like it was yesterday: white yellow lights around every corner, the table set in full with porcelain and silver, hollow presents under the tree, too much talking to hear yourself think. You can still go home to at least save yourself the trouble. Can’t lose if you don’t try, right?

For once, it’s Richie who greets you—not like Mikey’s around to do it anymore, to pull you into a bear hug and tell you how much you’ve grown up, to ease you into the chaos he struggles to navigate himself. Struggled, you have to remind yourself. Past tense.

“Birdie!” he calls out to you, opening the door wide before you can knock, half-expecting you to walk yourself in before meeting you on the porch instead with a big smile.

You look up at him as he plants his warm hands on your shoulders. He’s taller than you remember, but five years time leaves a lot in the ruins. “Hey, Richie.” You lean into the hug and into his chest to at least try to catch your breath, to try and slow down your heart’s racing.

He rubs your back ever so slightly. “It’s good t’see you, kid. ‘S been a while, I missed you ‘n that smile ‘f yours.” He gives you two pats and pulls back to hold you by your arms as he gives you a good look. His brows twitch, subtle enough to nearly miss it, with a sympathetic curve to his mouth. “You doin’ alright?”

Since Mikey died is what he means to add to the end of the question. Maybe it’s Since you up an’ left us. Or Now that you’re finally free.

You stick with the first one and just nod. “I’m okay.” Your eyes flit back to his face before landing on the front door, unease pooling in your gut. “A little nervous to be back in so long.” You let your voice go quiet, and you look at your hands and with wet eyes while your fingers fidget like a tall child. “And I…I miss him, y’know?…I should’ve—” you’re getting choked up now, throat growing tight— “I should’ve been here, or—”

His brows really furrow this time, head tilting to the side before he looks to the sky to bite back any real sadness that could come through in his voice, to keep you from seeing it. Bringing you into a hug again, he mutters, “Shhh, don’t beat yourself up about it, sweetheart. I know you miss him, I know.” A gentle kiss to the top of your head. “We all do.”

Growing up across the street from the Berzattos led them to be a second family to you—and, by extension, Richie, for how inseparable he and Mikey were. Much of your memories as a kid were the two older boys, already teens by the time you came into the picture: Mikey and Richie taking you out to ice cream, Mikey and Richie pushing you on the swings down at the playground, Mikey and Richie teaching you to ride a bike. They might as well have been your older brothers by blood. They always cherished and doted on you, and while it changed in manner as you grew older—from piggy back rides to intimidating prom dates—it was always there. They always cared. Richie still does. Maybe double as much to make up for what’s been lost.

You don’t cry so much into his chest. A few tears fall, sure, but you use the time to just breathe, to close your eyes, to stall. Sniffling, you pull away, wipe your eyes, and straighten your clothes, smoothing creases. “Okay,” you huff. “I’m okay. I’m ready.”

A knowing look. “You sure?”

You nod. “Yeah, I’m good.” Another sniffle. “Promise.”

Richie turns to face the house with you, opening the door while the other hand stays hovering by your shoulder. With the smallest shift in the hinges, noise spills out the door. Small talk in the living room, clinking of glass against tabletops, boisterous laughter, timers ringing in the kitchen, Donna’s voice rolling in. It’s more than you remember. Heavier. Hotter. Richie motions to take your coat and you happily oblige, left to pick at the hems of your sleeves rather than buttons and pockets.

“So,” Richie starts, and with the way he says it you’d think you look like you’re about to pass out, “How’s New York treatin’ ya lately? You a hot-shot lawyer yet?”

You laugh softly, partly to be nice and partly to stave off the awkwardness you feel, like you’re being watched by the rest of the family. “I just passed the bar this year, Richie, I’m barely an associate—”

“Right, right, right—all that stuff goes over my head. Whatever, you’re a genius in my book.”

You smile sheepishly. “Yeah, well the people I work with are just—they’re incredible, how smart they are. I’m a baby compared to them.”

He waves it off as if to say Fuck ‘em. “How’s the livin’ situation, then? You affordin’ it okay, eatin’ good, all that?” He looks a little more stern, more brotherly when he asks it.

“I’m fine.” You look up at him and smile to let him know you’re honest, that you aren’t just saying it to get him off your back. “I really like it out there. I made decent enough money as a paralegal, and I have a roommate with a cushy job in finance. We’re pretty close, but we don’t see each other often with our hours ‘n stuff. Not the best,” you shrug, “But I’m doing pretty well, all things considered.”

He pauses, looks you over to see you’re genuine. “Alright,” he sighs, pulling you into his side and squeezing you tight because he knows you hate it. “I believe ya.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, fuck you.” You’re laughing a little harder for the first time since arriving in Chicago, and it reminds you that it can be close to normal, coming home. “Where’s Nat? I haven’t talked to her since I got off the plane.”

“She’s upstairs resting.” He lets go and starts drifting to the kitchen absentmindedly—why, you’re not sure. “The baby’s got her in a mood, kickin’ ‘n all that, the little fucker—but Pete ‘n Carm ‘r down here somewhere—”

Your heart stops, and for a moment you can’t hear anything but your own thoughts, fragments of his voice and his laughter from memory. Your chest goes tight, your throat runs dry. You knew from Nat and Richie that he’d come back to Chicago a while ago, after Mikey’s funeral, but never in a million years did you think he’d come to Christmas dinner. Richie doesn’t seem as shocked as you think he should be. “Carmen? He’s here?” You nearly whisper it, afraid to be heard if he’s nearby.

He stops walking. “In the kitchen, yeah, why? You talk to ‘im in a while? Figured he’d’ah told ya, me ‘n Nat had to convince ‘im. A real jagoff about it, by the way.” His tone doesn’t say anything more than his words do. Maybe he’s forgotten about everything, or he’s trying to spare you. Maybe he never knew all that much to begin with.

“No,” you answer, quiet with an ache in your chest you haven’t felt in years. “We don’t…we haven’t really talked since the last time I was here…” And I don’t want to change that at the moment is what you don’t say, bile in your throat at the thought of peeling back scabbed wounds.

Before Richie can comment, a loud voice comes to you from the front room: “Is that my little Birdie?”

Cicero. You missed him, honestly.

He huffs himself out of his seat in the living room and welcomes you in the foyer, bringing your attention away from Richie like you’d been hoping to. “Oh, I missed you,” he says, giving a brief kiss to your cheek.

You hug him in return, but really you’re just hoping to get away from the kitchen. “Missed you too.”

Resting his hands on your shoulders, he smiles and looks at your face. “You’ve only gotten more beautiful since the last time I saw you. Like an angel.” He doesn’t let you protest, he only peeks behind you to look at Richie, who leans against the wall with his arms crossed. “Ain’t she beautiful, Richie?”

“Yeah,” he deadpans, unamused. “A real treat she is.”

Cicero looks back to you and speaks lowly. “Ignore that son ‘f a bitch. He’s just jealous ‘cause you’re my favorite.” He winks, gestures to the living room, and takes a few steps while he brings his voice back to a normal volume. “C’mon, tell this ol’ geezer about New York—can’t even remember the last time I was there, musta been ‘83—”

If the rest of the night is like this, you think, Carmen might not be so much of an issue. He could be nothing at all, like he always wanted to be.

He promises himself that he’ll say something by the end of the night. He has to, he thinks, and if not to avoid being an asshole, then to avoid getting reamed by Richie. Carmen realizes he has the upper hand, too, whether he likes it or not: he at least expected you to be here. That doesn’t make it any less terrifying to hear your name.

The first time is when he’s cutting onions as Richie opens the door, and he gets lucky enough to hear nothing else but the door shutting afterward. An afterthought, a mirage maybe.

In between that and the second, his name slips by your lips. You whisper it, of course, because you hate him—you hate him for the way he treated you, and for the way he didn’t, and for the fact that he wasn’t man enough to ever speak to you about any of it, or speak to you at all. And despite the fact you try to hide it when you say it, he hears you; he doesn’t think anything could keep him from doing that much. Especially not when it sounds just like you did years ago on those half-broken steps to the back porch, after everything went to shit and there was a hole in the fucking house and you couldn’t stop crying if you tried. He was there for you like he always was: letting you lean your head on his shoulder as you wept, one arm holding you tight to keep you grounded while the other hand nursed a cigarette to keep himself sane. And his name sounded just like it does tonight when you turned to look at him with bleary eyes so many years ago, whispering Carmen? so sweet he wanted to taste the lip gloss that flavored it. That night he did, for a fleeting moment. Before he ruined it.

So of course, he hears you say his name, and he knows it’s you. He doesn’t think anything could keep him from knowing you.

The second time he hears your name it’s like a confirmation. A confirmation that it’s real, you’re real, and you’re here, and it isn’t his mind playing tricks on him like it does when it’s late at night and he’s walking the streets and thinks he sees a girl that looks like you. The rest of the dialogue after the fact goes blurry, the timers going off turn into a monotone buzz, all he hears is chopchopchop against the cutting board until Uncle Jimmy calls you beautiful. He’s sure you are, but he doesn’t want to see it and believe it even more. Your heels click against the hardwood a few times, and he’s not sure where Ma went, but Richie’s standing behind him saying something he can’t decipher and he wants to tell him to Fuck off but he can’t, not now, not tonight.

“Cousin!” Richie snaps, pushing his shoulder. “Did you hear a word I just said?”

He sighs and looks over his shoulder but stays gripping the knife. “No, sorry, say it again—‘m listenin’.”

“Right. So when’s the last time you talked t’her?”

His hand squeezes a little harder, the knife suffers for it. “Talk t’who?”

A quick bang of a hand to the counter top leaves the onions rattled. “Don’t play stupid with me right now, Cousin—” a harsh finger points in Carmen’s face— “or I swear t’God I will fuck you up once this dinner’s over.”

He pauses. He looks past Richie into the foyer where you once stood but quickly goes back to work. Chop. “Look, I dunno, it—it’s just been a while, I dunno the exact fuckin’ date, alright?” Oh, but how vividly he does.

“Yeah? How’s five years to the fuckin’ day sound? Pretty damn accurate, or what?”

No response. Chop.

“You’re a real piece’ah fuckin’ work, y’know that, right?” Richie sounds about as angry as he’s ever been, but it’s different this time: it’s quiet, it’s controlled, it crawls up Carmen’s spine.

“It’s not—it’s not like I meant to, to, uh—”

“ ‘To, to, uh’ what?” he mocks. “To pull the shit you did then go fuckin’ AWOL on ‘er?”

Another beat of silence. Laughter trails in from the living room, and he starts to wonder if it’s you who made it ring. He shakes his head, scrunches his nose. “H—…” Rethinking whether he wants the answer to his question, he puts the knife down and leans into his hands before looking over Richie’s shoulder again. “How, uh…how is she?” It’s muttered, ashamed, the way he asks it, brows furrowed with regret and slithers of hope. “ ‘S she doin’ alright?” He heard bits and pieces of the conversation from just a minute ago, but part of him needs this: to hear it crystal clear, to have it branded beneath his 773 tattoo you traced with an anxious finger, to have the pain be inadmissible such that he can’t forget it.

Without needing to look him in the eye Richie knows to soften his approach. Carmen’s eyes are wet, he’s got that solemn air to him that he gets when he’s thinking about something that forms lumps in his throat, he swipes his hand by his mouth like the words were bitter to say out loud.

He turns over his shoulder like he’ll get caught and looks down at the chef. “She’s good, Carm,” he sighs, nodding his head slowly and with raised brows. “Real good…Like Cicero said, she—she’s beautiful, ‘n she’s gotta career lined up for ‘er. But—” he hesitates when Carmen looks up— “The look on ‘er face, man, it—it changed when she found out you’re here.”

Something indescribable flows through his veins. “Wh—what d’ya mean?” He shakes his head in denial. “Like, like, it—what’d she look like?” He waits expectantly, and part of him hopes something hard and fast’ll put him out of his misery.

Richie swallows. He smooths a hand over his hair, lets it fall to the nape of his neck while his eyes dance elsewhere. “Listen, she…she just looked like—” He kisses his teeth, unsure of how to phrase it, weary of the first thing to come to mind and whether the subject was worth mentioning at all. He should lay it to rest.

But Carmen is ever the stubborn boy at heart. “Cousin.” Fingers drum against granite. “Looked like what?”

“...Like I’d just stabbed ‘er in the gut.”

The rest of the family is enthralled by you, though whether it’s because they haven’t seen you in five years and miss you, or because it finally gives them an excuse to make Lee let someone else talk, you’re not sure. But by the time they let you get a breath in it feels like three hours have gone by, though when you peek at your watch, it’s barely been thirty minutes. You’d forgotten how exhausting the family is when they’re all together. Your head hurts. It’s too hot. You could use a nap.

Cicero looks at you a little softer from his chair. “Would you like a drink, hon? I should've asked ya before we sat you down for an interrogation.”

“Oh, well,” you start, pausing to let it seem like you aren’t dying for that opportunity, ��I’ll have one. Is there wine?”

“Of course there is. I’ll grab a glass for ya—” he begins rising from his chair, but you stop him.

“It’s alright,” you insist. “I don’t mind getting it—in the kitchen?”

He nods, and you’re on your way. You pass by Richie and the Faks in the foyer and try to hide the deep breaths you’re focusing on, eyes shut and shoulders shrugging as Richie eyes the kitchen before you enter like you’ll be walking into a war zone.

It’s exactly what you’d expect: Donna with a glass in hand, Carmen assisting, an ashtray full nearby. Natalie has joined them, so you must have missed her on her way downstairs, and Pete hovers beside her as she speaks to him with a worried look on her face, disjointed from the other two Berzattos.

You’ve nearly psyched yourself up enough to interrupt when Donna notices you, almost instantly placing her glass on the counter. “Oh, Birdie, I—” She looks happy, you think, but with her it’s never been easy to tell. “C’mere, honey.” She opens her arms to you and gifts you a hug, patting your back as she says, “It’s been so long, my beautiful Bird—” she pulls away to get a better look at you and plants a kiss to your cheek, just like Cicero— “Oh gosh, you’re so beautiful, all grown up.” She smells thickly of tobacco.

“Thank you,” you laugh, dazed by so much affection from her, “Cicero said the same, it’s just been a while.”

“Well—” she picks up her glass promptly after her hands leave you— “It’s true, you’re practically glowing. He knows what he’s talking about.” She takes a hefty sip like she can’t get enough, and quickly looks to her son. “Isn’t that right, Carmen?”

From where he stands nudged into the corner, focused on the countertop with nothing to do but wring his hands, his attention perks up to his mother. “What was that, Ma?”

You can’t ignore the fact that she hasn’t acknowledged Natalie nor Pete since you arrived; you’re stuck, looped in with Donna and Carmen and somehow obligated to stay there until you’ve been dismissed. You know how she is. Carmen won’t look at you, either.

“Look at Birdie,” Donna coos, and she gestures to present you to him. Your stomach turns. “She’s gorgeous, isn’t she?” She smiles coolly, looks to Natalie only for a brief moment to rub salt in the wound.

Carmen, reluctantly, looks at you. His golden brown curls are disheveled as always, made messier by anxious runs of his fingers every few minutes. His mouth seems caught in a persistent pout that he won’t let up, and if it were years ago, you’d stay by his side until he broke you just to keep someone in his corner. Beneath his eyes rest dark circles, and he wears a forest green sweater you’ve never seen before. There’s a split second of eye contact that has your breath caught in your throat. You haven’t been able to look at him in what feels like a lifetime, let alone hear his voice—not even over the phone. It’s different than you remember, a little huskier, more fatigued. You wish you couldn’t care.

He gives a shallow nod and a shrug to Donna’s question. “Yeah.” His eyes meet yours accidentally again before looking back to his mother, apathy bordering on distaste. “She looks nice.”

You look nice. You don’t know what you thought he would say. Part of you wished he would’ve said exactly as Donna did, or that he’d use the word beautiful, or stunning, or pretty, even. But he’s never been one for words—his consolation offerings were limited to a shared cigarette and sitting beside you, and you’ve always resented that part of him since your last Christmas together. If he’d been better with words, it would’ve been just that; there wouldn’t have been the hand on your back turning into an arm wrapped around your shoulder, he never would’ve pressed his lips to your temple for the first time since you were in kindergarten, you would’ve never been close enough to smell tobacco on his breath. You never would’ve known what American Spirits taste like off of anxious lips or what it feels like to be worth everything and then nothing at all.

Donna kisses her teeth and gives you a sympathetic look as she cups her hand to your neck. “Oh, sweetheart, don’t listen to him. He’s just in a mood today.” She sips her wine again, which quickly turns into the rest of the glass.

That’s not a mood, you think. That’s just Carmen.

By the Berzatto standards, dinner preparation blows over without a hitch. The house smells divine, nothing is broken, no one has stormed out. Ma sits down with only five glasses of wine in her system. No one mentions the gaping hole in the seating arrangement at one head of the table—not even Lee.

Carmen feels the weight of it on his shoulders, and he thinks you feel it too. You sit for a few minutes as everyone settles with your head in your hands, eyes closed as you breathe. Every time you open your eyes they shoot to Mikey’s seat, only for your hands to cover them again with a sniffle. Richie keeps a good eye on you, even though they’re getting glassy from watching you, and he rests a soothing hand on your back before leaning down and whispering something Carmen doesn’t catch. You shake your head, perking back up again as you dab at your eyes with your sleeves, looking to Richie and mouthing the words I’m okay with a smile plastered on. Carmen’s skeptical.

Uncle Jimmy insists on saying grace as a way to honor both you and Carmen being in Chicago for the holiday, and instinctively he looks to you, looking for something to hold onto to let things feel normal with you, but you keep your eyes closed. Since you walked into the kitchen nearly an hour ago he hasn’t been able to get his mind off of the sweetheart neckline of your dress, or the locket pendant hanging close to your chest. Mikey gifted it to you, he remembers, when you earned your undergraduate degree—presented in a black velvet box when you saw him after the ceremony, you cried. Carmen wasn’t there; he was in Copenhagen, doing other things. He can’t quite remember what.

Grace gives way to a more quiet bustle of the dinner, where talking is more or less limited to passing plates and taking first bites, making sure everyone has said hello to everyone. He sits almost silent, taking a measly bite every few moments to avoid an excuse to talk. He notices you don’t navigate this dinner like you have the countless ones before: you’re engaged tonight, laughing with Richie beside you and looping Sugar and Pete into your banter; you’re no longer the teen you once were, who would sit at the end of the table with him to stay quiet and barely munch on dinner, the two youngest with Mikey to your sides, pestering the both of you to Eat, ‘fore Ma tells you to. And it’s not a bad thing, either. You always had that way about you like Mikey did, where you could make conversation with anyone, make them fall in love with you, make them think you’re their best friend. He’s always thought you were his, anyway. You look happier than he’s ever seen you. Ever since he could remember, he had a feeling you’d outshine him.

It’s like Ma said—you’re glowing.

It’s nearing fifteen minutes since the food being served when Sugar nudges him on his right. “You alright, Bear?” She keeps it quiet, under the radar. “You haven’t eaten much.”

He nods and takes a bite to cover his tracks. “Yeah, yeah—just not that hungry, ‘s all.” He hasn’t eaten today. It’s the nerves, really, of seeing everyone—of seeing Ma, seeing you. Brings him back to New York, where his morning ritual included huddling over the toilet and rinsing his mouth until he couldn’t taste stomach acid anymore. He’s hoping that with being in the kitchen all day, she doesn’t pry. “Thanks, Sug.”

She furrows her brows but drops the subject with a bit of a pout. “…Okay.”

“So,” Stevie starts, at the opposite corner of the table, leaning over his plate to smile at you from down the table. “Birdie—can I call you Birdie? Is that okay?”

You smile that smile you always do when you’re caught off-guard before shrugging lightheartedly and taking a bite. “Uh, sure. I mean, everyone here does.”

Richie makes eyes at you, weirded out, and Carmen tries to follow, but you only link with the older of the two. He’s shut out.

“Great. I’ve been wondering—why does everyone call you that? I mean, I know Sugar here’s got an origin story, so what’s yours?”

“Oh, this is such a sweet one,” Ma chimes in, hands over her heart. “They was so adorable, her ‘n Carmen.” The words have warmth blossoming in his chest and rising to his neck.

“Yeah,” you laugh, “I’m probably not the best person to tell you; I was really little.” You try to stifle a smile at the thought, and Carmen knows it’s the same thought as his: Mikey loved that story. “Richie’s probably man for the job.” You look up to the man on your left and pat him on the back to startle him. “Aren’t ya, Rich?”

“Uh, yeah, fuck that.” He nods to Carmen. “He can tell ya, Stevie, he was the one dancin’ with ‘er like an idiot, not me.” He shoves three bites’ worth of food into his mouth so he won’t have to talk anymore.

Sugar cuts in, “He was also five, he had nothin’ to do with picking that name.”

“Yeah?” he taunts, mouth still full because he can’t help but put up a fight, “Then you were eleven, missy, so you can tell it. You remember.”

The room starts spinning, there’s back and forth between Sugar and Richie, and Neil’s roped into it, and then Michelle’s convincing them to calm down, but Richie’s still going at it, starting to tell the story, but Ma says it’s not right, and Sugar cuts in again, and the room is still spinning and his head won’t stop pounding and there isn’t enough water in the world to clear his throat.

“Alright, alright!” It’s Uncle Jimmy now, almost shouting, waving his hands to simmer the room. Carmen would thank him if he could speak. “I’ll tell the damn story, you all settle down, eh?” He clears his throat, sips on his drink. “Our Birdie here, when she was real young, now she was a singer. All the time, some tune. Didn’t even have t’be a real song, she’d be hummin’ it anyway.”

You’re sheepish as Uncle Jimmy praises you, grinning to yourself and rolling your eyes at the embarrassment. Cute, Carmen thinks. He smiles and takes a bite of his food.

“An’ remember,” Uncle Jimmy continues, “This was late ‘90s, we didn’t have none’ah that YouTube, Spotify music bullshit, whatever’s popular with you people now—so anyway. We had this boombox for the longest time—”

“Yeah,” Richie interrupts, “Was a real piece a shit, that’s for damn sure.”

Cicero points to Richie while looking at Steve. “Correct. So one Christmas, many, many years ago—”

“Don’t make it sound so cryptic,” you giggle, and Carmen has a tiny fire lit in his chest, eyes trapped on your smile. He remembers that night—not so vividly, but enough.

“Right, right. I apologize, sweetheart.” Uncle Jimmy turns back to Stevie. “One Christmas the weather was especially bad—snow storm, crazy winds, Christmas lights flyin’ everywhere—and the power goes out. An’ our boombox ain’t workin’, got jammed or somethin’.” He shrugs, makes a face that’s unassuming. “So whatta ya do for the music, then? Everyone knows you need holiday music, eh?”

With you, Carmen laughs for the first time tonight. He likes it that way, uninterrupted by the noise of the other guests, who are all listening fondly and eating their meals. It’s like that special Christmas all over again. You’re so pretty when you’re laughing, part of him is a little jealous that anyone else gets to see you like this.

“So Mikey comes up with a great idea. We already got a singer, right? So we just need ‘er to do the holiday songs. So we get ‘er, ‘n we ask her to sing for us all—me, Donna, Mikey, Richie, Sugar, ‘n Carmen, that was it ‘cause ‘ah the storm—but she won’t do it.”

“They were tryin’ to force me, Stevie!” You smile up the table and back at Uncle Jimmy. Carmen beams back at you even though you’re not looking. Richie is.

“An’ she’s cryin’,” Uncle Jimmy continues, “An’ she’s all nervous, she can’t do it, whatever. Then our little Carmy Bear over there—” he shoots him a look with a smug and pointing finger, and Carmen flushes, grinning at his plate to hide from you— “Now he’s her knight in shinin’ armor.”

Everyone smiles at that—you, Richie, Sug, Ma, and Carmen, and everyone else—because that’s the truth. At least it was, for a while. You and Carmen keep your smiles downcast, hidden from the other, and Richie and Sugar make eyes at one another, looking between the two of you.

“He gets ‘er outta her hidin’ spot behind the couch where she was cryin’ an’ he brings ‘er a wooden spoon for a microphone, and he whispers somethin’ to ‘er—to this day I dunno what, coulda been anythin’ for all I care—and all of a sudden she wants to sing again. She sings Rudolph, Jingle Bells, Frosty the Snowman, all the stuff the kids knew, an’ she does it all with this wooden spoon, with our little Bear holdin’ ‘er hand the whole time.”

“An’ he didn’t even do anythin’!” Richie points out. “Just stood there, swingin’ ‘er arm like a jagoff—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Uncle Jimmy waves off, “But he did it for ‘er. And so,” he says, a finality in his tone, looking back at Stevie across the table, “Birdie is born. Our little Christmas song bird protected by the Big Bear. An’ the rest is history.”

Stevie smiles and nods his head. “That was sweet. Really, really sweet.”

“Oh,” Ma laments, “I just love that story. They were such babies then, so cute. It was always Birdie ‘n Carmy doin’ this, Carmy ‘n Birdie doin’ that. Always on their little adventures together. He took her everywhere.”

Carmen smiles to himself, head down as he eats his food. He doesn’t think of his childhood often, more so the teenage years if anything, when he was failing school. Hearing back such a memory brings up a sense of nostalgia—not necessarily for being a kid again, or doing those stupid things, but for how easy it was.

Ma is right: it was you and him together for the ride, up until it wasn’t. He never cared as much after reaching high school. You were in different buildings, and he saw you around but didn’t spend as much time with you anymore. He outgrew you, it seemed. Even in his early twenties when that fire rekindled, he devoted himself to his work. You were still close, closer than you were with anyone else in the family, and nothing would ever change that. But life ran its course.

And it ran pretty damn fast.

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bokettochild · 5 months

Note

Thank to rub salt in the wounds, Twi.

Not only your timeline was perfectly FINE, not only the hero before you isn't DEAD but he left you a sword in a perfect condition.

Twilight didn't have to fight, as a child, to survive in a cruel world. The hero before him did'n't fail, he didn't leave the sword in a horrible condition.

I wonder if Legend has guessed that the hero before Twi was Time, seen Twi's smile. (it's kinda obvious seen how close they are)

Did he guessed that Time was the hero before him too? And he chooses to stay silence to not hurt anyone? Time has never been the hero of time in his timeline after all and is probably died as a child.

But outch Legend's face....it's a mix between "Yep you are a lucky boy" and "if only you knew about the hero before me or maybe "thank to remember me how much a tragic mess my timeline is"

Because Legend is too nice and patient to say "how nice for you, the hero before me died against Ganon, his sword was in a horrible condition with still his blood on her, so much that i have had to reforge her myself! As a CHILD."

No Legend is too nice to take his bitterness on Twilight who did nothing wrong and didn't know. He'll shallow it and says nothing about the sword's condition in his timeline.

I think that's a big part of who Legend is actually! He comes off as really bitter and cold, at least as far as Twilight is concerned, and I wish there was more focus on that interplay.

Twilight met Legend and, based off of a few limited interactions, mentally labeled him as a bully and a jerk and thus treats him accordingly. Not without reason of course, he's drawing mental parallels to actual bullies and Legend is unintentionally checking the boxes, but I think it's sort of sad that until this point, Twilight has still not bothered to get to know Legend at all beyond his initial observations .

But the fact remains that Legend IS from a world that was in shambles, a world where everyone is a threat, if not to everyone else than at least to him. Legend is a prey animal trapped amongst predators with little to no guidance. The cards of fate are stacked against him as far as his world is concerned, and while the goddesses may have granted him additional blessings and favor to make up for that, his world is still magically a mess, physically a mess, and just generally a mess.

The vet has no legacy of proud heroes to look back on. The First Hero died. The Hero of the Four Sword is a raging lunatic who tries to murder children and is sealed beneath the castle. The Hero of Time died in combat. This is the legacy he gets to follow in. Legend doesn't have the hope of becoming like those before, he has the fear of meeting a similar fate because life is never kind to heroes.

Legend's world was left in shambles, and he's had to be the one to help rebuild it, only to watch it get torn down again and again as enemies undo all his hard work. But on a more personal note, Legend has tried again and again to establish himself in the world just to have all the people he loves hurt or harmed on his account.

His Uncle died, and even though he was brought back, he disappears from the timeline shortly after, leaving a kid hero alone in the world. Legend's grandparents have high expectations and aren't the best at listening when he says that their wishes make him unhappy or uncomfortable, and instead push him to follow them anyway, only to themselves disappear from his life once the Oracle adventures are over. Din, Ralph, Raven, Nayru, Moosh, Ricky, Dmitri, all these are people Ledge befriended and was close to and had to say goodbye to again for one reason or another.

Marin.

Legend is always losing the people he loves most, watching his work get thrown in his face and receiving little to no thanks for his work. He's still actively treated like a nuisance and a threat by some people in his kingdom and no doubt there are others who simply don't believe him.

The whole world is against him, and yet the only thing it's done is made him defensive. Ledge isn't cold or cruel, you can see that he actively cares for and worries about the other heroes, he's just guarded more than they are about it. Still, in times of high emotion the walls fall and he's his true self: that kid who's got a heart too big for his own good and is going to get it broken again.

And Legend knows this. Legend actively knows that Twilight isn't fond of him, and that the other heroes regard him as an ass, but rather than correct them, stand up for himself, provide even one of the thousands of reasons he has to guard and defend his heart like he does, he just lets them have their peace because what good would it do to tell them about the losses he's suffered? The world he grew up in? The legacy he has to bear? The terrible fate he no doubt expects to one day meet? What good would it do to make them love him if that will just make their inevitable parting all the harder?

It's hard to lose those you love, but it's easier if you convince yourself they never actually loved you, so you're better off.

So yeah, Twilight is over here unintentionally rubbing salt in the vet's many wounds, but Legend keeps his mouth shut because it does no good to speak up, and in the long run, at least as far as he thinks, it's better to let it be.

I kinda hope Twilight will come to understand the vet better though, and maybe get a peek at what has hardened up the younger hero enough that he comes across the way he does. I'm pretty sure his whole outlook would change if he did, and his respect for the vet would definitely increase.

#lu twilight #lu legend #character analysis #linked universe analysis #asks and answers #linked universe #linkeduniverse

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yaut-jaknowit · 2 months

Text

In Front of the Clan

Pairing: We'ar-ow (Female Yautja) x GN!Reader

Word Count: 4237

Summary: We'ar-ow decides to speak to her clan about the situation and brings you along. As We'ar-ow speaks, people interrupt and speak falsehoods about the situation. Rumors within the clan always spread around. When the meeting gets a little out of hand, you stand forward.

Author Note: There's only four planned chapters left guys! We're getting closer to the end of this duo.

Masterlist

Ao3

A plate of alien food was set before you. The corners of your mouth quirked up in an appreciative smile towards the large pink Yautja. She grunted before sitting down next to you and leaning into your side. Her warm scales pressing into you while We’ar-ow peers over your shoulder to look at the tablet laid open on the counter.

After learning that she has known about your plan for escape, you only use the tablet to play games now. There was no other use for it. We’ar-ow hasn’t even restricted the access to internet or deleted any of the information you’ve saved. Either she trusts you or she knows you can’t escape even if you tried without her knowing.

Before learning We’ar-ow knew, there was a possibility of actually making it off the mothership and homebound. Yet, she has her claws sunk into your skin. You were never going to escape now… nor did you? Did you want to leave?

That got you thinking. If you had the chance to leave, like an open door back home, would you take it? Leave all this behind. The troubles of not getting hunted down by your ex-mate, or the mess of confusing feelings about the massive alien leaned against your side. The fact the only two people you could safely converse with are her and Xilomere. That was a sad thing to think about. Such a lonely life.

Then, there was We’ar-ow. A creature that always demands, always commanding. She takes no shit from anyone. If she wants something done, she’ll do it herself. She’s protected you from the harms Dwainet attempted to bring down on you. The fact he wants you dead. We’ar-ow won’t throw you to him to get rid of her troubles. No, she’s fighting for you.

You glanced over your shoulder to find her orange eyes on you. “What?” you questioned, concerned there was something wrong. The alien chuffed and reached out with her hand towards your face.

Instantly, your first reaction was to jerk away. Instead, you held your ground. Her thumb swiped at the corner of your mouth then wiped whatever was there off on a napkin. You cursed inside of your brain the way that made your body flush. You bowed your head to look back down at the tablet.

A game was pulled up, the dog hunting one. Where you level up your hunting dogs and breed the best ones. So far, after little less than two months have gotten you far in the game. With nothing else but to pass time now, you are stuck it. There are other games you have downloaded but this one is your favorite.

Plus, with the fact you don’t… need to plan an escape anymore, it’s all you can do to pass the time. With We’ar-ow gone during most of the day – despite her attempts to coax you along with her, you have to do something not to go insane now.

We’ar-ow reached out once more and slid the tablet closer to her. You grumbled a noise of disagreement but continued to munch on the food she cooked for you. She did give it to you, nor could you stop her if you tried. From your hunched over spot, you watched as the Yautja tapped away on the device until getting to a page. She turned towards you.

From English to Yautja, the words on the page were returned to their native language. “Hey! What did you do? Now I can’t read it,” you complained and gave her a deadpanned look.

In all of your time around these creatures, you’ve not once learned about their language. The way they spoke it made it seem impossible for you to replicate. You don’t have the proper vocal cords to make such sounds. Seeming some of the words gave you head. Like, how does thirteen words equal a simple ‘how’ or something. Of course, it wasn’t perfectly translated over so it could mean a little different. Yet, still.

“It is time you learned. You are on my ship. I will teach you if you like it or not. At times, I will turn off your translator and test you. Understood?” she explained then tapped the screen. “Find where you can turn it back to English.” Your lips parted at her words.

“But-but I don’t know how to read your language!” you bickered and glared at her. The Yautja’s expression didn’t change. “How do you expect me to navigate through it to get back to English.”

To probably frustrate you more, she patted your cheek with her rough palms. “Sink or swim. This is where you show me what you got. Then, I shall go from there.” You couldn’t believe this! She just changed her soft personality like one-eighty on you. How can you even get to the settings to change it back to normal?! The translator behind your ear only did verbal words than also words on a paper or screen.

“Come on, don’t do this! My puppers need me,” you begged her, not expecting her to let you sink like this. There was no chance you were able to get to the settings and return it to English.

“I have faith in you, little ooman.” We’ar-ow left your side, stealing away the comfort her presence brought you, and stood up from the stool. “I’m going to finish preparing myself for the day. Once, I’m done, I have a meeting with the clan I must attend.”

That caught your attention. You dropped the spork you were using and spun around. This was serious. This must mean she was going to face off with Dwainet.

And instead of hiding here, you needed to be there.

“Can I come with?” you finally asked after three weeks of refusing to leave the safety of your space. Not when Dwainet or one of his goons can come up and snap your neck. The bruises lasted until last week.

We’ar-ow’s eyes lit up for a fraction of second before dipping her head. “Of course. I will warn you. Every eye in this ship will be upon us. I must address the unrest building within the clan and kill it before it becomes a problem,” she warned and hooked her finger under my chin to ensure I keep my gaze on her. “You are free to stay but I promise to keep you protected and safe in and out of this room if you are to join me.”

Your heart began to thunder in your chest at her intimate touch. It was starting to get harder to deny the way your stomach fluttered at gestures like this. The lump in your throat was swallowed down. “This is about me. I’m the center problem. I… I can’t show how afraid I am, can I?” you retorted yet with a soft voice. There was no time to show your fear to the crowd despite how terrified you are in this situation.

One of her upper mandibles quirked up. “You are learning, little one,” she purred and dragged her thumb claw along your fragile lips. You shuttered yet continued to keep eye contact with the large beast before you. “Yes. Now change into something more presenting for a meeting with the clan.”

A deep breath filled your lungs before you slipped off the stool, leaving behind the tablet for a later time. You grabbed your plate and put into the sink then headed into the shared bedroom. We’ar-ow shadowed behind you.

All of the clothes Ruach made for you were hung in the expansive closet before you. Your eyes raked over each strip of clothing, brain mauling over which would be the best for this time. Something grand, something to show you have power despite being a pet in everyone eyes.

Blues, purples, whites, and golds. An array of colors decorated the pieces you chose. Light in fabric, the top of see-through. You didn’t let that bother you as We’ar-ow helped looped strands of golden metal around your neck. Other jewelry decorated your wrists and ankles alike.

Royalty. You looked like royalty.

The bulk of We’ar-ow towered from behind. Each of her hands engulfed your shoulders before one slipped off to wrap securely around your throat. Despite knowing you should be trembling at her hand placement, all you felt was safe. You tilted your head back to find her eyes on you. Her grasp tightened for a fraction of her strength, still not worrying you a bit.

There was a slight pressure pressed onto the spot behind your ear for a moment. The translator. Words of her native language fell from her fangs like water over jagged rocks. Your brows creased, confused on what was spoken to you. The language is completely unfamiliar to you. Since day one, you’ve relied on it to get through everyday life within the Yautjas.

Another small graze over your skin. The translator was back to life. “Hey, what was that for?” you whined with a small pout. Why did she have to force you to do this? That’s what the translator’s for. There was no need to learn Yautja. Maybe the reading part but the speaking, not so much.

The hand shifted so her thumb ran over the scar that marred your skin on the back of your neck. You shuttered at the feeling, head still stretched back. “What did you say?”

A playful glint entered her eyes. “You’ll know once you’re ready,” she spoke ominously. You groaned and leaned against her with the pout still etched into your face.

“You’re not fair. How am I supposed to learn if you won’t teach me what you had just said?” We’ar-ow stepped back to create space for a moment and used her hand on your shoulder to keep you steady. At first, you felt a bit heartbroken she had moved away. Only to slightly tense up when her fangs touched the crook of your exposed shoulder and neck.

Your throat bobbed but you made no move to stop nor to encourage her. A part of you, deep down, wanted for her to take the bite, to latch her teeth onto your fragile skin. You felt them add just the tiniest of pressure to create divots in your skin. Your breath was caught in your throat, unable to move, frozen and at her mercy.

We’ar-ow retracted her head then patted your shoulder. “We must go or else we risk being late. That would not look good on us.” You pulled fresh air back into your weak lungs and dazedly nodded your head.

What was wrong with you?!

Everyone’s eyes were on your forms. The sea of people parted. We’ar-ow stepped forward. No one dared to step in her way, let alone look at their Monarch in the eye. They bowed their heads with respect her. You shadowed at her side, head level and refusing to look at anyone. A steeled expression etched into your face as you refused to shy away from the crowd.

Pet or not, you held a power within the clan. They couldn’t touch you without We’ar-ow baring down on them within the same instant. You gripped that power by the reins tightly as you strutted next to her.

The two of you ascended to her throne. You faltered for a moment, realizing you had to sit on the steps. Heat rushed to your cheeks instantly before you reeled in the embarrassment, ready to find a seat.

Suddenly, your feet left the ground. You squeaked minutely, on the verge of flailing in reaction. When your butt was placed on a warm thigh, you instantly paused your dramatic reaction. For a moment, you stared off blankly, regretting all of your decisions in the moment. Then, you relaxed against We’ar-ow looked down upon the sea of Yautjas crowded at the base of the steps.

The entire room was filled to the brim with the masses spilling out into the hallway. Though, it was heavily overcrowded with faces you couldn’t begin to recognize, you spotted a familiar figure moving through.

Xilomere. Others you learned that were part of the council climbed the steps as well. They stopped short of the last two steps to the throne and spread out. Xilomere and a female Yautja stood the closest, on either side. The alien mentioned by name gave a cheeky wink to you. Heat rushed to your cheeks, knowing the position in her lap wasn’t very professional.

Your hand snaked over to clutch We’ar-ow’s still holding your hips from when she grabbed you. Her other limb was resting on the armrest of her throne. You shifted around to find a comfortable spot to sit in. Which was your back to her chest, one of your legs crossed over the other, head held high. This wasn’t the time to show weakness in front of everyone.

Her fingers widened and allowed for yours to card through them. We’ar-ow trapped your digits between hers, refusing to let you go. This was an action you couldn’t tell was for your support or hers.

Behind you, We’ar-ow leaned in close to your ear. “No matter what happens, I will protect you, my little ooman,” she promised then returned to her original spot. She was attempting to calm your racing thoughts and thundering heart only for them to worsen. It made it seem like she was preparing for a revolution to break out.

We’ar-ow slammed her fist down with an ear shattering roar that echoed after the room fell silent. After a few long seconds to let this sink into everyone, We’ar-ow spoke in voice you’ve deemed to be her Monarch voice. Only used in the presence of her fellow clanmates.

“Many of you know what this about. Rumors spread. I am here to quell this outrage at the source.” Her voice carried out into the room. At first, you tensed your shoulders. Immediately thinking this quelling would include your death once and for all… but We’ar-ow wouldn’t do that. She wouldn’t take the easy way out.

“My pet is here to stay despite what that scum decides to try next.” You nearly curl up into her torso at her words, seeking protection. But Dwainet isn’t here to cause chaos. No, he’s locked up. “Number two, if you have an issue with my ruling, either bring it up to me or leave. I don’t need weak Yautjas part of my clan. Only the strongest, only the most skilled are sought after. You don’t have a place amongst the elite.”

“And three, if you don’t see me fit to rule, challenge me. There’s always been a clause to allow any of age to issue a challenge.” Her commanding voice sent chills down your spine. She squeezed your hand tightly. You returned the gesture the best you can.

“How can we trust that you’re strong when your pet is a feeble soft meat?” Someone from the crowd shouted. Others joined into the calls and spitting of harsh words.

“We were blinded by the last Monarch and her horrible rule.” Other agreed with whoever said that. You don’t know who or what happened during the last reign but We’ar-ow wasn’t anything like the sort. She’s a person who deserved to have this position.

Anger fell over your features. With a snarl, you ripped yourself from We’ar-ow hold and lap then stood before her, overlooking the room. Fire sparked to life in your eyes. “I know I haven't been here long, but I have seen the way she rules. A ruler that is strong enough to be gentle and knows when to use her strength,” your voice boomed loudly over the shouting match.

Everyone silenced themselves at first.

“Oh, look at that, the problem only causing more chaos in the mixture,” another voice drawled then scoffed. “I should gut you like the prey you are. Then, you’ll see how weak you truly are, soft meat.” You knew the use of ‘soft meat’ was a terrible insult to humans, but you simply brushed it off. It didn’t hurt to be said to you. Though soft, you could still cause damage.

Due to their words, you instantly knew We’ar-ow was going to step in. But, you had to act fast. “Maybe you’re right. I am weak. I am prey amongst hunters. Yet, here I still stand, with power you could dream of. I sit upon a throne while you grovel at our feet, paying your due respects to a Monarch whose blood, sweat, and tears have been put into this job.”

We’ar-ow stayed seated in her throne, yet eyes watched with rapture.

Then, your eyes drifted over into the direction of the other Yautja who before this one. “You’re right as well. I haven’t been here long. Long enough to know We’ar-ow could put you in your place. All of you in your place. Yet, here she is, choosing a path of peace rather than destruction.”

A new silence filled the tense air. Any eyes willing to meet yours, you glared at. You didn’t care that anyone in this room could kill you at the moment. Right now, this needed to end.

“Do you want discord? Or do you want peace?” you snapped and curled your hands into fists. None of your hits would do damage but it was the thought that counted if anyone dared to step up those steps. Plus, We’ar-ow promised you.

From behind you, We’ar-ow stood up placed her hands on your shoulders. Her thighs pressing into the middle of your back. Knowing that hunter stood at your back, you felt more power fill you instead of terror. She or anyone on this ship may be able to snap your neck, but We’ar-ow would never.

One person started it. They knelt down on one knee, hand splayed out to cover their face, head bowed. Once it began, others followed in their wake. Until all but eleven showed their respect to their Monarch.

Those who refused to bow glared daggers at the two of you. You snarled. Inside of your brain, you’re ready to throw down hands on any of them who didn’t respect the hardship We’ar-ow has endured. We’ar-ow tightened her grip on your shoulders and brought you from your boiling thoughts. You felt the way they twitch, nearly attempting to incircle your throat. Yet, they stayed glued to their spots.

“What paths shall you take? Leave or challenge. I will not tolerate any more disrespect from any of my clan members. I won this place, this title. I will continue to show why I deserve to be here,” she growled and tugged you tightly into her thighs. Her form continuously towering over you.

“We side with Dwainet. We see the flaws that will cause detrimental damage to our clan. You will be our downfall. We will not allow that to happen,” one snapped and stomped his foot down, arms splayed out at his sides in display.

A growled from the pits of hell tumbled from We’ar-ow’s throat. Yet, the Yautja didn’t move from her spot. “Dunkot, detain these foolish younglings,” she demanded a yellowed colored Yautja.

Without hesitation, he began his pathing down the stairs. A short growled fell from him. Others from the crowd moved towards their targets and did what their Monarch ordered them to do. They were escorted out and away. You breathed a sigh of relief and titled your head back to look up at her. Her fingers twitched and ghosted over the column of your throat before returning to their original position.

Her words made you realize. Only those under two hundred years were part of this revolution. Dwainet himself was barely even a hundred years old. They were only stupid young adults playing fire before they even knew it would burn them.

Once they had been hauled out, We’ar-ow gazed out into the crowd. “Does anyone else have something to say to either of us?” she demanded. Everyone stayed bowed but raised their heads to look upon their Monarch again. No one spoke up to voice their concerns again.

“Meeting adjourned.” With that, everyone took their, except Xilomere and the unnamed female Yautja. Though her color was different, her facial features were similar to We’ar-ow in a way that had you unsettled.

Said Yautja spun on her heel and moved along the steps to stand before you. Even at a couple steps down, she still had the same giant form as We’ar-ow. A playful smirk on her fangs. “Such a little thing to cause an uproar, sister. I love the fact you’ve kept them around,” she laughed.

Sister? This is the sister?! Jesus Christ. You don’t know why but you felt the need to impress her in any shape or form.

Xilomere joined the group as well and held out his own fist towards you in a very human fashion. You fulfilled the gesture. “Look at what you did. You’re just as good as We’ar-ow here.” His gaze flickered up to We’ar-ow. “You chose good.” You looked back up at her behind you.

“To be honest, if she wasn’t here, I’d be a shredded mess of meat and shattered bones on the ground right where I stand,” you nervously inputted and leaned more against We’ar-ow’s thighs. Her hands squeezed once more on your shoulders. It was the horrible truth.

He raised a brow and gave you an up and down look. “You are unarmed. Any honorbound Yautja wouldn’t attack you. Prey or not.”

Hidden on the side of your waist band was that knife thar random Yautja gave you a while ago. The fabric that flowed over your shoulders was enough to cover it apparently. “Well,” you drawled then unsheathed the blade carefully. “About that.”

The beautifully crafted blade was shown the group. We’ar-ow bristled behind you then snatched it out of your hand. “Where did you get this?!” she scolded and spun you around to face her. “This isn’t one of mine. Who gave this to you?” You nearly shied away from her due to instinct but held strong.

“A merchant named Wourk. He tried to trick me but I knew better. He gave it to me, free of charge. I needed something to protect myself. I have to show myself as capable without always being seen as this pathetic little creature,” you argued and tried to reach for it but she kept it out of reach. “This issue with Dwainet isn’t resolved. I could be killed by one of his goons.”

She growled and grabbed your throat, pulling you in close as she leaned down to your height. “No you won’t. I told you I would protect you as you are mine. Dwainet nor any of his followers shall lay a digit on you again. This blade will only put you at risk more. You will be seen as huntable prey with it,” she explained then plucked the sheath from your waist band with the hand around your neck.

You spun to look at Xilomere for help. “Help me. Don’t you agree me having a blade would be better than nothing?!” you rallied for him to side with you.

That look on his face told you otherwise. “I agree with her. If you hold a weapon, you are considered worth to be hunted. Without it, you are unhonorable to kill you. She’s just protecting you, ooman,” he resolved. You didn’t dare to turn to the unnamed sister, knowing she too would side with We’ar-ow.

“None of you realize how powerless I feel in this situation,” you growled, hands shaking then glared up at the pink Yautja. “Without you, I would be dead, ten times over. If it wasn’t for you presences alone, many would kill me. I just want to protect myself!”

Your voice carried out into the expansive room. Then, it turned to silence.

Both Xilomere and the sister bowed their heads to look somewhere else as you stared We’ar-ow in the eye.

“Well, I’ve got things to do. See you two later!” Xilomere announced his exit and was swiftly to fast walk down the stairs and out the room. We’ar-ow’s followed after him after giving a wave at the two of you.

Once the door was shut and offered privacy otherwise. Your neck was snatched in firm grasp that didn’t hurt.

“I do not know what it will take to get it through your thick skull. But I will protect you. You are mine to protect. My ooman!” Her fangs roughly clack together then spread wide. “Dwainet will pay for his crimes. He will die by my hand. He will suffer for the trouble of wasting two years of your life.” Her thumb rest upon your pulse point, feeling the way your heart raced.

The words in your throat died. Your chest heaved with each breath as the two of your stared into the other’s eyes. You licked at your lips. Her eyes darted down for a fraction of second during the motion. Long enough for you to notice.

This claim she continues to make felt different this time.

A deep huff dropped your shoulders. “Fine. But can I at least keep the blade? It’s pretty,” you asked, hoping she would let you. Despite the fact it could put you into danger for just having it, you liked it.

Her eyes glanced at it in her hand. “No.” Goddamn her.

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