#his hair thankfully didn’t give me as much trouble as i thought it would

[sugary-daydreams3]

Quiet inbetween [Sukuna x Reader]

Summary: Collections of quiet, cozy, intimate moments you share with Sukuna, who thinks you two won't last a year. Someone who used to live a wild, fast-paced, loud lifestyle couldn't possibly be fit for a long-term relationship. But he doesn't know that you're the one he needed this whole time.

Word Count: 3.7K words

Rating: Mostly fluff with a little spice (sexual content) at the end, but no full explicit content. Mostly T with a little M.

A/N: Happy holidays y'all. This might be my last fic posted in the year so I hope you guys transition into the new year safely. Goodness, do I love writing my A.U. version of Sukuna. So fun and flirty that he makes me blush sometimes and I control what he says. But I guess that's a good thing, right. Sadly my next fic is dealing with a not so fun topic, haha. (It's Gojo-centric, so you might know where I'm going with this) Anyways, stay safe out there and I'll see you again in 2025. Enough yapping from me, enjoy!

Normal, quiet moments tend to bring discomfort within Sukuna. Dating trouble as a teen limited his time to sit and enjoy the small pleasures of life. He was all about the grand, overwhelming, taboo pleasures that one wouldn’t dare chase but rather daydream about. Or worse, make simulation games about and live out their guilty pleasures vicariously through fictional characters. But with taboo pleasures come consequences which landed him in jail for some time.  

Within the year after his release, he met you which slowly inspired him to alter his fast, vicious lifestyle. You introduced him to things he never would have found himself participating in. Things he used to tease his twin brother for being a sheep for society for. A mom-and-pop coffee shop was one of them.  

“How do you drink this shit?” Sukuna sticks out his tongue. Tanned liquid trapped in your mouth almost spills. Air blows from your nose, signifying your amusement at Sukuna’s first experience with coffee.  

Swallowing down the first sip of your coffee, your eyes admire Sukuna’s childlike distaste for your go-to morning beverage. “Because I order mine with cream, sugar, and caramel. You’re pretty much drinking burnt black water.”  

“Why didn’t you tell me that before?”   

You give him a “really?” look. “I said you should start out with the caramel Frappuccino but you said, and I quote.” You notch your voice down several pitches lower. “The hell I look like drinking that sissy shit.”  

“You could have recommended me any other drink but this. This was a terrible first impression.”  

“I can order you another one to make up for it.”  

Sukuna pouts. “I’ll pass. I fear I’ll be disappointed again.”  

“Sukuna, you just drink straight black coffee, you can’t write the whole thing off just because you had one variation of it. That’s like saying “I hate potatoes” because you ate unsalted, lukewarm fries.” Sukuna scrunches his face.  

“That’s not the same.”  

“Yes, it is. It’s a perfect comparison.”  

“It’s two completely different scenarios. You really thought you schooled me with that, huh.”  

“Shut up. I’m ordering you a new drink.”  

Waiting for his redemption cup, Sukuna stares at you typing away on your laptop computer. Your hair curtains over part of your face, tempting Sukuna to reach over and fix it. Yet the messy hair curtain highlights your beauty so effortlessly, he couldn’t stop adoring your natural radiance.  

The strong smell of roast occasionally makes its mark. Ranges of chatter mingle with the loud cycle of brewing and baking. Quirky, cheesy posters hang all over, providing a drowning sense of positivity and relatability. Generic chill music slithers through the atmosphere, failing to chill Sukuna’s social anxiety. Thankfully, his new drink just came to save the moment.  

Taking a drink from the flat white laced with sugar and cream, he sits back to allow his brain to register. His eyebrows raise with a small smack of his mouth, giving you some hope that coffee redeemed itself on the oh so great Sukuna’s tastebuds.   

“Well?” You ask impatiently.  

“Not bad. Could use more sugar but it’s drinkable.” Sukuna reviews. A pleased smile killed your worry. “I’m glad you gave it a second chance. I hope we can have more coffee dates like this.”  

Sukuna narrows his eyes. “This is a date?”   

Your eyes roll. “No this is a job interview.”  

“I’m not one for customer service but if I get to look at you all day long and the pay is good then sign me up.” You hate that something as corny as that made you blush.  

“Hush Sukuna, of course this is a date. This is like our twelfth time seeing each other, I like to think all of the time we spent together so far wasn't a waste of time.”  

“Ooh someone’s no-nonsense.” Sukuna smirks, large arms crossed.  

You sigh, “I’m just over the hookups and the flings. Honestly, I’m surprised you didn’t just one-and-done me.”  

“Eh, all of the one-night conquests and strictly sex ordeals were starting to get stale. You got a nice face with a body to match. You’re on no bullshit and are fun for the most part. You haven't bored me yet so I don’t mind continuing this.”  

“Yet?”  

“I tend to get bored with my women so I wouldn't hold hope of this lasting past a year. Just letting you know so the heartbreak will hurt a little less.”  

You smirk, amused by his lack of filter. “Well, a year will be record breaking compared to my recent relationships these last few years. So bring it.”  

Your polished nails navigate the grassy fields of dusty pink, natural hair oil inked on your fingertips. Your poor thighs are weighed down under his dumbbells for arms. Your other hand caress Sukuna’s right bicep, fixating on the jet black tattoos contrasting with his pale skin. He rubs your left knee as he rests against your stomach.  

Sukuna releases a deep sigh, letting go of the temporary stresses of life. He’ll rather die than admit it but this is what he mostly looks forward to when he goes about his day. It took him a while to get used to you being positioned behind him, often side eyeing the first few times you two were like this.   

Call it trust issues. Slam the non-medical diagnosis of PTSD resulted from a rough upbringing and life as a criminal. Or if we’re really getting psychological, throw out the fancy “internalized misanthropy” word. Re-fucking-gardless, he’s always been highly aware and on guard whenever people are in close proximity to him, ever since he was a kid.  

Now, the more he allows himself to turn his brain off in your lap the easier you hear him lightly snoring within several minutes. You giggle as his resting figure emits loud snores thirty minutes in of scalp scratching and head caressing.   

“Sweet dreams.” You reach down to peck warmth on his forehead.  

Your wishes go unnoticed as child-like ease warps itself across face tattoos and a sharp jawline. A surprisingly dynamic clash.  

Your laughter saturates the kitchen space accompanied by music from the vintage radio. Flour dressed your behemoth all over, making it the sight of the century. Sukuna frowns as he attempts to smooth the pizza dough with the rolling pin. Tears edge your eyes; the catastrophe he was causing was funnier than any standup comedy.  

“Hush. You're breaking my focus.” Sukuna was struggling to knead the dough enough to be a thin foundation. It usually ends up shaping to be a deep dish or just a regular sized pizza. This was his third effort to mold the pizza, with two “epic failures” baking in the oven.  

When your laughter demoted to light chuckles, you rub his arm for support. “You know I can help you shape the dough. It took me fifteen tries before making an objectively decent pizza.” Sukuna shakes his head.  

“That’s because you were the one making it. It’s gonna be perfect this time.” Sukuna smooths out the dough and smirks at his “perfectly” thin pizza. You roll your eyes and walk over to gather the cheese and other toppings.  

The pizza rises within the oven, gluing the toppings within the cheese. Sukuna watches it carefully from the kitchen island, like his life depended on whether this Thursday night dinner was great or not.   

A marathon of T.V. commercial ramblings was bugging background noise as you tidied up. The other two pizzas sat on the cooling rack, being forgotten tasty mistakes. Flour ages his hair many decades, snowing down his chest with every tiny movement. He turns to see an unlikely troublemaker look down at him, a small hill of flour ready to be thrown from your palm. Sukuna narrows his eyes with a challenging look.  

“You’re playing a dangerous game, darling.”  

“Game on.” You threw it, igniting a two-man war.  

The remaining time for the perfect pizza to cook filled with flour fights, spotting majority of the kitchen with white powder. The cooking timer goes off as you two lay across the table exchanging flour and zeal between prolonged smooches.

This epic fantasy was seducing your imagination during the mundane hours of the late evening. You sense Sukuna spying on you and your book from the corner of your eye. However, the clever arrangement of words trailing above your bookmark helps you ignore him.  

“How do you read these things? That shit looks bigger than The Bible.” Sukuna pokes at the spine of your novel, trailing over the gold-engrained lettering.  

“I don’t judge stories based on length. If it’s engaging enough then I wouldn’t mind reading three hundred-plus pages of something.”  

“Where do you find the time to invest in a story that long?” Sukuna wasn’t even teasing at this point; he was genuinely curious.  

“People watch 10 seasons worth of television or animes with more than 100 episodes.”  

“Watching TV and reading are different no matter how much you try to make them feel the same. I can simply turn on the T.V. and watch 100 episodes of something without exerting much energy. You have to sit up, read so many words, and decipher hundreds of pages worth of story. It’s not the same.”  

“True, I’ll give you that. I just find it funny that people draw the line at consuming a story through reading only because you have to put a little more effort in it.” You bounced back.  

Sukuna rubbed his chin. “I remember being into poetry and haikus a lot as a teenager. But I started getting involved in other shit so I lost interest along the way.”   

You snap to him, no longer being a silent witness to a passionate kissing scene. “You like poetry?”  

“I suppose. I always liked how poets managed to craft thoughts so elegantly. Perfectly describing the complicated or unsaid.”  

“You know the local bookstore down the street has a whole section of poetry books. What’s your favorite poets? I could buy you some of their latest work.” Your comforter became a temporary bookmark with your book lying face down.  

“Hmm, I don’t really have a favorite poet. I used to buy a bunch of random poetry or haiku books and kept the ones that stuck with me. There is one writer that I really like though...”  

You wait in anticipation as you witness him in thought. Simple things like racking his brain makes him a cutie. Sukuna snaps his fingers.  

“Ahh, Yosa Takahama is his name. His work is usually written in Japanese but some translators re-publish them in their mother’s tongue. His work is hard to find around here though. I don’t even know how I managed to snag one of his books in the first place.”  

Despite the challenge, you were determined to get it for him. “I’ll figure out a way to get you one. That way we could be reading buddies.”  

“You don’t have to do all of that, doll. You’ll rip your hair out trying to find those books. I’m fine watching you ignore me in favor of a book that can knock your teeth out.” You chuckle.  

During the rest of the night, you noticed the boredom on Sukuna’s face as he mindlessly consumes television. The least you can do is try to hunt down this haiku book for him. Dating him for some time, he confessed to losing touch with so many hobbies he grew up with over the last few years. You wanted to bring that inner child back to life, killed by proving to the world how tough he was.  

Getting him to read something that actually interests him can be another way to embrace the innocent pleasures in life. You can tell he misses that wild delinquency some days, but you hope he doesn’t miss it enough to end this relationship over. If you can find it, hopefully it can be a building block that rebuilds his new path after leaving the old behind. Anything to help you be closer to him.  

6 weeks later 

Sukuna emerges from the bathroom. The odors of the food he cooked from his restaurant today were replaced with standard soap and his natural scent. Like every other night, you sat with your book, seemingly ignoring Sukuna’s lingering stare.  

After dressing himself, he sinks on the mattress and attempts to lay against his pillow. His thick neck isn't met with the soft cushion but instead a hard surface in the middle area. He stares at his pillow, offended for it not providing comfort, so he lifts it up. A white hardcover book reveals.  

“What’s this?” He asked, not turning to you yet. You shift from the words to your boyfriend’s confusion. “I don’t know where that came from. Maybe the book fairy paid you a visit.” You played dumb.  

“You’re so corny.” He holds up the book.  

“A corny girl you’ve been dating for almost a year now.”  

“Quiet. I’m trying to see what this is.” Sukuna didn’t even examine the title, the pages of the book flutter until he lands on a random page. He reads aloud.  

“Vindictive winter / A white, mighty rabbit looks / betrayed by the king / ...wait.” Sukuna looks at you and you copy his shocked expression.  

“This is Yosa Takahama’s stuff. How did you even get this? This must have cost you a fortune.”  

“It was costly and took me weeks to find a readable copy but the look on your face right now makes it worth it. I wanted you to read with me instead of being a T.V. zombie. Even if that means reading mind fuckery haikus.” You chuckle.  

Sukuna grabs your waist from the side and unleashes many wet pecks around your cheek, neck, and upper chest. You giggle as you brush his hair and hug him back.  

“I appreciate it.”  

“No big deal.” You replicate his cool cat version of “You’re welcome.” that he usually throws at you. Sukuna smirks at the playful imitation.  

The rest of the evening is spent with you two lost in your own worlds of literature. Your brains mixed imagination, broadened perspectives, and emotional intelligence from honeyed words inked against the white.

“I’m too big for this tub. You barely have any room to stretch your legs.” Sukuna commented.  

He adjusted his position behind you, the bubbles shifting from his large body. Your feet rested on the tip of the tub to keep from smushing against the porcelain. You turn to him, offering a reassuring smile. He snickers at your ridiculous face mask, particularly the cucumbers concealing your eyes.  

“No, you’re not. You say that every time you get in with me. You’re fine Kuna, really.”  

Sukuna rests his arms around the top edges of the tub, leaning back to make himself comfortable in his slightly cramped soak. The warm water, Epsom salt, and meditation music playing from your phone kneads away the hidden tension that plagues his body from the everyday.  

“Before I met you, I haven't taken a bath in almost fifteen years.” He confesses.  

“That sounds so disgusting out of context.” You cringe. Sukuna chuckles.   

“You know what I mean.”  

“I can’t imagine going that long without a bath. Baths are way better than showers.” You admitted.  

“Showers are for a quick wash. Baths are more for relaxation.”  

“I shower for fifteen minutes minimum, thirty-five minutes max. I spend about three minutes just letting the hot water hit my body and think about whatever. There’s no way I can just shower for ten minutes or less.”  

“Is that why you’re so smoking.” Sukuna flirted. You shake your head, “That was so corny, Kuna. C’mon you can flirt better than that.”  

“You’re right. I just wanted to see your reaction.”   

You two enjoy each other’s company. The heat protects you from winter and the sheet of bubbles float around and pop within. Sukuna arms lay over yours, rubbing over your wrist. Sukuna focuses on your face and develops a sense of mischief.  

“Babydoll.”  

“Yeah?”  

“Turn around for me.”  

You quirk a brow but obeyed by slowly turning his way. In a swift motion, Sukuna moves forward and bites off the cucumber sitting on your right eye. Your right vision sees Sukuna munching on your edible eye mask.  

“Really, Kuna? You couldn’t resist temptation to eat that?” You scolded. You take off the other cucumber, abandoning your hopes to keep your eyelids nice and fresh. Sukuna steals the other cucumber from your hand and flings it in his mouth.  

“You’re impossible to relax with sometimes.”  

“Thanks for the snack.” Sukuna mumbles through chewing.  

You sigh then lay against his chest and close your eyes. If he was going to interrupt your beauty routine the least he can do is be your pillow.

Sukuna big toe hugs your own after caressing your right foot. Both of your feet poke out from the thick blanket, suffering from the gentle lashes of the nippy air condition. You rest your head on his squishy but firm chest, goosebumps forming from his rough hands brushing your skin.   

“We should light the fireplace.” You suggested.  

Sukuna let out a lazy sigh, “What you really mean is that I should light it.”  

“Yeah, you should.”  

“I could but I fear I’ll turn into a popsicle.”  

You giggle. “Hey, at least you’ll taste good.”  

Sukuna smirks, “I already taste good. You should know out of anyone.”  

You playfully shrug. “Eh, you’re alright. No fine dining though.”  

“Oh really?”  

“Yep.”  

“How about you taste this then.”  

Sukuna leans down and traps your lips in the moment. His lips were smaller than yours yet they managed to govern the heat stirring between each lingering kiss. The frigid air in the room is forgotten in your minds as you and Sukuna make out under the grey blanket. After a couple minutes of sensual touching and lip pulls, Sukuna goes for your neck.  

“Well?” Sukuna lands soft bites inches under your chin.  

“I was just kidding earlier but that was...”  

“Better than fine dining?”  

“I don’t know what’s better than fine dining but, yeah, better than that.”  

Sukuna chuckles, “Glad to remind you.”  

Sukuna “accidentally” lands a hard bite just above your collarbone, caging a pleasured groan within closed lips. Sukuna kisses the forming red patch, “Sorry baby, got a little greedy there.”  

“I hope I give you a brain freeze.” You joked, trying to take your mind off the aching spot.  

Sukuna hooks his finger around the side of your silk underwear, his other hand slowly appreciates your ass. “I’m sure it’ll be worth it.”

Your body slowly rocks on top of him, the yellow and orange from the fireplace illuminate your dips and curves. The aftershocks of your second orgasm calm down, giving you the signal to stop riding him. One hand caresses the trimmed hairs sprinkled across Sukuna’s chest. The other traces the small gold chain decorating his pecs. Sukuna squeezes the body fat from your hips then pats your left butt cheek.  

You hop off and lay down on the blanket you set down for your second round. Sukuna pulls off the condom and gets up to throw it away. The contained fire warms your naked body from a distance, defending you from the army of white cold. You hum while the fire entertains you until Sukuna comes back. He’s wearing the boxers he had on earlier with the embroidered knife patterns. Where he got those kinds of boxers you may never know.  

Sukuna drops the pillow he stole from the couch then sits down on the blanket. He pulls you towards him and you two lie down together. You perform his signature trait, pushing his hair back, enabling his wild look. Sukuna traces your spine, quietly admiring both how strong and weak one’s bone structure could be.  

“I never thought I would enjoy silly things like sitting in front of a fireplace during winter.”  

“It’s silly?”  

“Not really. I guess I just associated this with Christmas activities. Christmas always seemed too cheesy to me so I associated things like this as silly holiday stuff.”  

“Yeah, I get it. Sex in front of the fireplace, just silly wholesome Christmas activities.” You joked. You instantly felt Sukuna’s laughter rumble throughout his chest. After calming down he gives your arm a light pinch.  

“You know what I mean.”  

“I’m just happy you allowed me to bring some mellow in your life. I remember when I met you, you were always in some crazy illegal trouble. It seemed like I could barely keep up with you and your fast-paced lifestyle.”  

“Yeah, it was fun for a while, I’ll admit. Even getting caught had some sort of thrill. Now that I’m pushing thirty, I just feel over it.”  

You chuckle, “Not a spring chicken as you used to be.”  

“Yeah. I suppose every hot shot has their limit.”  

“Well, I’m proud that you’re beginning to settle down. I know your brother is too.” You rub his cheek.  

“I was surprised when he offered to help me set up my fight clubhouse. He’s usually against violence and shit.”  

“Maybe he thought that it would be a nice distraction from your life with crime. Even if it meant supporting you doing something he also doesn’t like. Like a lesser of two evils kind of thing.”  

“I never knew someone so predictable yet unpredictable at the same time more than him.” Sukuna said. You giggle then sprawl your hands across Sukuna’s abdomen, trailing over the ridges in a playful matter. Sukuna tender gaze studies your features as he softly pulls little cushions of your skin.  

“Thank you for sticking with me.”  

You look up to see the wild orange shadowing his strong features. His usual too cool-for-school attitude was replaced with a loving nature only reserved for you. A nature molded by small, seemingly insignificant moments sparked by a mutual agreement of casual dating. You plant a few kisses against his jawline then lay back on his chest.  

Before your eyes close for the night, you slur a few words that gets a smile out of Sukuna. “Guess you’re stuck with me now.”  

[stardusteyes]

I still find it hilarious that for most of the scenes in the Winthrop house in the Unnamable, Carter was just calmly sitting in the library while his classmates were getting hunted down and killed by an Eldritch Abomination at least a room or so over. Like, could he hear them screaming? There’s no way he couldn’t. I can’t imagine those old walls were very thick. Either he really was that distracted by all the books or he was deliberately camping out there to try and see the monster.

Except the monster didn’t seem to notice or care that he was there until he went out and used the spells in the Necronomicon.

Either way, I feel like these movies would have been 10x better if they embraced Carter’s Nightmare Fetishist tendencies a little more.

[galeorderbride]

Hiii!!

I discovered your account recently, and I'm a fan! This strengthens my love for Gale even more! I have a request, is it possible to use the following prompts :

3)Touching foreheads

7) Kissing scars

11)Sharing secrets

41)Washing each other hairs

52)Crying into their shoulder

60) sitting in their lap

i will probably ask for others prompt later ahah!

thanks you so much 🖤

Thank you for the request!! I’m stoked to know I’ve helped strengthen your love for everyone’s favourite rizzard lol. And send as many prompts as you like!

Your prompt awaits:

Rated: M (Gale and Tav sharing a bath, non descriptive nudity).

Gale x F!tav

Words: 1652

...

Wash my Troubles Away

Baths were always the way Tav chose to unwind after a stressful day. Before the nautiloid, and after, although she’d been seriously lacking in access. In all honesty, she was surprised it took this long for her to break down. Months on the road, toiling through endless swaths of blood, shit and tears with the onus on them to solve everyone’s problems. At first, Tav enjoyed helping, seeing new friends suffer a little bit less in such a difficult society. Once they reached Rivington, however, her patience ran drier than a dead fountain. 

Thankfully, they found the Elfsong, where a private bathroom awaited. As soon as the fee was paid, Tav thought about taking a bath—craved it. A space to calm her muscles and cry out her troubles without drawing attention. 

Hot water flowed against her naked back, bubbling with lavender oil and sudsy soap, emanating the scent of vanilla and oat. Tav tucked her legs to her chest, curling into a ball of frustration and embarrassment as she couldn’t stop crying. Tav needed more resilience than this. Facing the end of the world required stalwart bravery, and she was having a meltdown over finding gold for a bank manager. How in the hells was she supposed to take down a giant brain? 

Meanwhile, everyone else had no problem being selfish. A toy maker set explosives in his own products, totally willing to kill children to save his own skin. Idiots tying up Volo just because he was talking about the things they wanted to ignore. Ironhand gnomes masking abusive bigotry with a shining cause. Tav was tired of everyone’s bullshit, making excuses for themselves, taking zero responsibility when she had no other option but to face problems head on. 

Her self pity was interrupted by a knock at the bathroom door. The sound of a lilted, erudite voice coming through the wood: 

“Mind if I come in, love?” 

Gale appeared in the doorway after Tav agreed he could enter. Holding fresh towels and a wicker basket of different bath products, looking brand new as if he’d just returned from an apothecary. Tav splashed water in her face to mask the puffiness of her eyes, as if her detail oriented wizard would ever let a thing like that get past him. 

“You seem like you could use some company. And so far, I’ve been very skilled and…calming you down, so to speak. I fetched some products from Bonecloak’s, all your favourite scents. Jasmine, pomegranate, aloe vera. If you’d prefer to be alone, know you won’t offend me. I just wanted to give you these so you know someone is thinking about you,” he said. 

Tav turned her head, grinning as best she could, easier because of his presence. Since their romance had begun, he was the only one virtually incapable of annoying her. He always knew what to say, always understood the right words or actions to keep her grounded. No one had been such a positive force in her life, and every morning, no matter how terrible, she thanked the stars for finding that unstable portal. 

“I’m not enviable company at the moment, but yours, would surely heal my weary heart,” Tav replied. 

Gale smiled, “No matter how you’re feeling, there is no one in the realms I’d rather spend my time with.” 

Times like this were when Tav didn’t believe she deserved his sweetness. Doting on her out of an adoration she couldn’t figure out. He placed the bottles on a tiny stool beside the tub, undressing so he could join her in a warm, sudsy water, snapping his fingers with a little magic to heat it back to ideal temperature. He made use of the large, circular space as he sunk in behind her, enveloping her in a comforting embrace as she rested her back onto his chest. Little hairs tickled her skin, causing her to chuckle for the first time all day. 

Careful movements of his fingertips massaging her scalp sent shivers down Tav’s spine. Scents of pomegranate and jasmine soothed her sinuses, letting the hot water pour down her head, through strands of clean hair. Tension from her muscles seemed to dissolve with each considerate touch, Gale’s hands created to caress her skin. When he finished, he wrapped his arms around her, rocking her back and forth as they both watched the window ahead. A clear night gifted them glimmering stars, a cool breeze whistling out of a crack in the insulation. Tav leaned back, resting her head in the crux of Gale’s shoulder as she closed her eyes. A few, stray tears fell from her eyes, overwhelmed by the sudden comfort of her magical lover lifting her through the ache of evening. 

Gale didn’t press her for reasons, didn’t rush to solve the problem when he noticed her tears. He just held her, waited in solidarity until she was ready, happy to let her sink into his life force to refresh her own. 

“I’m sorry,” she finally said with a tearful chuckle, “You must think I’m ridiculous. Crying for no reason like this.” 

“Well, my love, your mind may be telling you that there is no reason, but that doesn’t mean it’s true. With all our travels, all the weight on your shoulders, you have every reason to cry. You’re more resilient than you think, I’d have crumbled long ago,” he said. 

Tav looked up at him, in utter admiration for his thoughtfulness, his beauty, everything. If she could, she’d sing his praises for a thousand years, to make up for all the times Mystra never did. Or anyone else who didn’t care to see the magnificence of him. 

Her fingers traced up his collarbone, around the mark the orb left that paved a path to his wonderful neck. A forced tattoo sunk into the surface of his skin, binding him to his well intentioned folly. Their foreheads touched as Gale lowered his head, wishing desperately that he could hold every

 part of her at the same time. Mage hands and mirror images weren’t enough, it had to be him. 

“Can I tell you something I’ve never told anyone before?” He asked, words hanging on between their breaths, lips hovering over each other but never quite meeting. 

“Hmm, you’ve already told me about Mystra. And that you haven't spoken to anyone in over a year until me. Oh, and that you get excited when you see me bloody after a fight. What else could there possibly be?” She asked, flirtatiously smiling at him with her eyelids batting just the way he liked. The smirk he made when he saw it was irresistible. 

Gale chuckled, “This one is far less serious, but might be what you need to hear in this moment.” 

They adjusted slightly, Gale sitting up as he pulled his arm out of the water. Just above his elbow was a superficial scar, raised tissue blending in with the rest of his skin. An uneven line travelling up his arm, about three inches long. Wherever he got it from, it had to be years ago. 

“People don’t notice this scar much anymore, not with the giant black circle on my chest. But people used to. I’d tell them it was from a kitchen knife,” he said, “But…really I accidentally set fire to my neighbour’s rose bushes when I was a child. I was trying to conjure, and the fire got away from me. Singed my arm in the process.” 

Tav turned, scooching further onto his lap as she examined his arm. She couldn’t help but laugh, “That’s your secret? Ruining a bush?” 

“Not just any bush. A rose bush. One of the most beautiful I’d ever seen. I’d pass by those roses every day, stare at them for a minute or two. Just to see something be so effortlessly perfect in its imperfection. They simply grew that way, and then I destroyed them. All I could do was cry, sob over how I tarnished something so innocent and pretty for my own sake. I don’t talk about it because…well, it’s silly, but it’s the worst thing I’ve ever felt. It’s stayed with me my entire life, and the burn scar only serves as a beacon for it,” he explained. 

“Even worse than what happened with Mystra?” She asked, grazing her fingertips across the uneven line of the scar. Eyes stuck to the mark as if it was the last thing she’d ever see. 

Gale hesitated, taking a heart wrenching pause. Tav noticed his eyes staring ahead, fixated on the window. A heavy, unsaid energy hung over him.  

“It was the catalyst. For everything. Had I not set fire to that bush, Elminster never would’ve found me. And then I’d never have attracted Mystra’s attention. A boring existence…but maybe a better one,” he said, voice trailing along the waves of his melancholic thoughts. 

Instead of responding, giving him a treatise on how he didn’t need to feel guilty anymore and burning a flower bush wasn’t a definer of his total character, she pressed her lips against the burn scar. Counting her kisses for every year of remorse he felt since setting that fire ball. Ever since their first night together, he slowly began to shed that overconfident veneer, more comfortable to show her the parts of him that hurt, the deep cuts that both of them wished they could bury. 

“Seems we both have a guilt problem,” Tav said. “Come here.” 

Tav moved to straddle his lap, taking the ceramic bowl and filling it with the warm, soapy water. Gale rested on her shoulder, as if on impulse, while she poured the liquid down the long strands of chestnut hair. Running her shampooed hands across his scalp, satisfied every time she heard his happy moans against the scratch of her nails. After rinsing, she kissed the top of his head. 

“Thank you for telling me a secret,” she said, “I’ll tell you one of mine tomorrow.”

[catreginae]

This Ring is a Shield

As far as the others knew, Warriors' ring was just something he wore to make sure other people didn't flirt with him to much. What they don't know is that Warriors technically married and that the platonic nature of his marriage actually works great for both him and his wife. It should have been easy to explain the nature of his marriage but in truth, he's just tired. He's tired of the comments, tired of the advice he didn't asked for, and tired of the pity. AKA the "Warriors and his wife are both aroace but Warriors takes his sweet time telling the chain" fic. I wrote a one-shot! A long one but it's a one shot and I finished it just in time for the aro and ace prompts for the @queering-the-chain event. You can also find this fic on AO3!

When Warriors saw the collection of buildings ahead of them signifying civilization, he pulled his ring out of one of his many pouches and slipped it onto his ring finger. The ring was slightly too big when he didn’t have his gloves on but seeing as he only really wore it in uniform, he didn’t have any reason to complain about it. Getting it sized down a notch wouldn’t be difficult but the thought only ever crossed his mind when he happened to be somewhere he couldn’t get it done.

“Why do you only put the ring on when we’re around other people?” Wind asked as he sped up to keep up with Warriors.

“Because he wants people to think he’s married,” Legend answered with a shrug. “It lets people know that they don’t have a chance with him. It helps when you’re in an era that isn’t your own and you don’t want to complicate whatever this is even further. The timeline is fragile enough without becoming your own great-grandfather or something stupid like that.”

Warriors hummed, wondering if it was wise to correct Legend. The veteran was definitely correct about one thing – he didn’t want people to be interested in him. However, he was technically married. He didn’t blame the others for thinking he was single, seeing as he called Time’s wedding ring a shackle and he didn’t treat his own ring as a symbol of love and devotion. Warriors didn’t think that the others would give him a hard time if he told him that he was married and why but in his experience, trying to explain his feelings on romance and intimacy was an exercise in frustration.

“You’re on the right track,” he said after a moment of hesitation. He didn’t have to explain it all now. Warriors could just give them something to think about and leave it at that.

“Right track?” Legend huffed. “Where am I wrong?”

Warriors chuckled and ruffled Legend’s hair, dislodging his hat from where he usually kept it on his head. Legend responded with a growl as he swatted the captain’s hands away and readjusted his hat.

Thankfully, they went the rest of the day without anybody asking about the ring on his finger.

-

“Thanks for coming, Link,” Zelda greeted as Link dropped the salute and she motioned for him to sit in the chair across from hers. “I have a big favour to ask of you and you’re going to hate it.”

Link didn’t say anything, electing to let Zelda continue speaking.

“I’ve been negotiating with the Arlet family for more support in the court,” she started. Link nodded along. From what he knew of the court, a lot of the nobles were giving her some trouble regarding how she was getting and allocating funds for the ongoing reconstruction effort, which was further behind than Zelda wanted. Getting the support of any of the noble families for this issue, and any future concerns, would be a massive relief for her. The less people she had to argue with, the better. “They are willing to support me and fund some of the reconstruction themselves... in exchange for your hand in marriage with one of their daughters.”

He gulped. Oh, she was definitely right when she said he was going to hate it. Zelda knew he wasn’t interested in marriage but he supposed that when he pledged allegiance to Zelda and Hyrule, that was out of his hands. She said it would be a favour but Link knew there wasn’t actually a choice in the matter. After all, she didn’t actually ask him.

“Do I at least get to meet her?”

“That can be arranged. Link... look, I know you don’t want to be married but...”

“It’s politics. I know.”

-

“Gah! Where is it?” No matter how many times Warriors looked through all of his bags and pouches, he couldn’t find his ring. It wouldn’t be missed or hard to replace thanks to the fact that he married into nobility but he didn’t want to have to admit to his in-laws that ever lost it in the first place. His wife wouldn’t care because she wasn’t all attached to the rings whatsoever and she only wore hers when she had to leave the villa. He couldn’t afford to be an embarrassment to Athena though.

Maybe it was on the ground? He swore he had it before they set up camp, so it couldn’t have gone too far away.

“What are you looking for?” Four asked. Warriors was so engrossed in his search that he jumped slightly when he heard Four.

“My ring. I can’t find it in any of my bags.”

Without question, Four got down on his hands and knees and started patting the ground for it. As far as the rest of them knew, it was a cheap ring he used to prevent people from flirting with him too much, but it was kind of Four to help him find it regardless of what he might have thought it was.

“Oh, here it is!” Four announced as he held up the ring. “Huh, this is good quality gold and I think I see engraving... Are you sure that this is just-”

“Thanks for finding it!” Warriors said as he plucked the ring out of Four’s fingers and put it back in his satchel where it usually stayed when he wasn’t wearing it on his finger. He really ought to find a better place for it. Maybe he should use it for its intended purpose more often and just wear it on his finger, even if he didn’t care for the symbolism behind it.

“Maybe you should have a small pocket for it in your satchel. Maybe with some sort of button. It would suck if you lost it in another era.”

“That’s not a bad idea...” It wouldn’t be hard to make a pocket inside of this satchel. He just needed some more material for it. Why didn’t he think of that before?

-

Link sat in one of Zelda’s meeting rooms with his heart drumming in the pit of stomach. He was sitting at a small, rounded table with a pot of tea and some biscuits in the middle. He already poured himself a cup and ate one of the biscuits in an effort to calm his nerves a bit. It didn’t help. He found himself wishing he was outside fighting something big – at least he was confident in his swordsmanship.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door and Link shifted so that his back was straight. A guard in full uniform opened the door and walked in, followed by a tall yet slim woman with chestnut coloured hair pinned into a bun. Her dress was plain, yet well-made from what Link could see, and the green and brown colour scheme matched her green eyes. When she approached the table, Link realized she would be taller than he was if he stood up. She took the seat opposite of his.

“I take it you’re Captain Link?”

“Yes. Just Link is fine.”

“You can call me Vivienne,” she said as she held her hand out. “Nice to meet you.”

Link took it. “Likewise...” he said as the guard walked out. Once the door was closed, Link let her hand go. “Before we start talking, I just wanted to say that I’m not actually... interested in couple things. I don’t really like romance and I never had the desire for intimacy and no offense, but I don’t think that will change any time soon. If I had a choice, I would probably never get married or hook up with anybody.”

He was the man who stared death in the face several times in his life so far but telling a stranger who was going to be his wife how he actually felt about being married was one of the most nerve-wracking things he had ever done. He was less nervous when the fate of Hyrule was resting on his shoulders.

“I just didn’t want you to get your hopes up...” he added slowly when she didn’t respond at first.

“Link, it’s... it’s fine. In fact... I was trying to figure out how I would say the same thing to you. I’m glad you said it first,” she said with an awkward chuckle but she also had an easy smile that actually made Link relax a little.

“So... we want the same thing. Am I hearing that right?”

“Yes. It seems as though we make a good match, though not for the typical reasons noble families arrange marriages for their children. We can make this work, I’m sure. After all, I doubt either one of us would get this opportunity to marry like minded people again.” She relaxed her shoulders as reached for one of the biscuits. That was when it finally sunk in for Link – he had nothing to fear. Zelda wouldn’t know it but her favour was actually a blessing.

“No kidding. Just to think I was so scared,” he said with a deep sigh, putting a hand on his chest. “If nothing else, I know how to put on a show.”

-

Spending time at the ranch was sometimes a bit of an odd affair for Warriors. It wasn’t that he hated doing hard work that often involved him getting dirty somehow, as much as the others like to make assumptions about his current life that happened to be close to the city. He didn’t mind any of the work Time gave them just to keep them busy and tire them out because collectively, they needed to burn some energy. None of them were really good at just sitting still.

He just felt awkward around Malon and Time sometimes. It wasn’t anything they did together or even separately – he loved them both. He was happy for both of them because they truly seemed to fit well together. Time deserved to be happy after everything he went through.

The problem was that he couldn’t get his brain to shut up. Sometimes, it was hard to watch Time and Malon enjoy their marriage without all the ‘life advice’ and the persistent questioning about his nonexistent dating life racing through his head and weighing him down. He could imagine all of those people pointing at Time and Malon, setting them up as the prime example of everything he was supposedly missing out on.

Aren’t you lonely without a partner? You just have to find the right person, then you’ll fall in love. You’ll settle down later in life, you’re just busy right now. Won’t you regret it if you don’t have any kids?

Those weren’t even the worst. The worst was the pity, the way they looked like they were sorry for him.

Like he was broken.

“Warriors?”

“Hm?” It took him a second to realize that somebody was trying to talk to him. It also took him a second to realize that his wrist was sore from holding his head up as he lounged against the horse fence. How long did he zone out for? His brain, his current worst enemy, helpfully reminded him that getting distracted like that in the battlefield would have gotten him or somebody else killed. Thanks, brain, he really needed that.

“Wow, you really are distracted,” Legend mumbled. “What’s going on? You look upset.”

Legend was good at teasing and poking fun but he was also good at knowing when it wasn’t welcomed. He must have zoned out for longer than he thought if Legend was frowning at him like that.

“It’s nothing.”

“Nothing? You’re all tense. I know the ranch will never be completely safe but you can relax a little bit.”

“I... yeah.” Legend was right, though not for the reason he might have thought. He shouldn’t let a bunch of people he could barely remember ruin his time at the ranch. How often do people get to travel through time and visit their now giant little brother’s home? Time and Malon did absolutely nothing but be welcoming and kind to him. It wasn’t them who tried to give him advice he never asked for. “I think I’ll just head inside.”

He heard Legend huff as pushed himself off the fence and walked inside the house.

-

Link woke up with the sun as he always did but it still took him a moment to remember just where he was waking up. He wasn’t used to the soft bed sheets, he wasn’t used to sleeping with more pillows than anybody actually needed to sleep, and he wasn’t used to being vaguely aware of another body in the same bed he was in. Luckily, his bed and sheets were so large that he had yet to really feel Vivienne moving around, but that didn’t stop him from being aware that she was there.

This morning though, she wasn’t there and if his head didn’t pound so much, he would have gotten up to go look for her. He always woke up before she did.

No, he should get up anyway. He had to go to the training grounds. The army had a lot of new recruits and he was one of the captains responsible for training the recruits who started to show some promise with a sword or at least seemed interested in learning how to use one. He sat up and a wave of dizziness struck him, forcing him to settle his head into his hands with his elbows digging into his thighs. His head was still pounding. His stomach felt like it was going to betray him.

Suddenly, the door opened. Link didn’t lift his head up to see who it was but only Vivienne would be around at the moment. The only other person who spent a lot of time in the villa, a women they hired named Clarissa who helped them maintain the villa, didn’t come in until much later in the morning. Usually, Link only saw her when he returned home and she was just getting ready to leave.

“Go back to sleep, Link,” Vivienne said as she guided him back down to the mattress. “I’ve already pulled a couple of strings to make sure that anybody who was expecting you knows you’re not available for the foreseeable future. You have quite the fever there.”

Oh, yeah, that would explain things.

However, it was also putting it mildly.

He was barely able to keep anything down except for some plain toast and water and even then, sometimes the toast was too much. His head never stopped aching or spinning so he had a hard time falling asleep and staying asleep. Vivienne was concerned enough to call for a doctor, who was constantly trying new medicine or new dosages. Sometimes he could keep the medicine down, sometimes he couldn’t. The doctor came daily to check for any signs for change for better or for worse. He supposed that was a perk to being married into a noble family – they had the extra rupees to pay for a doctor’s full attention.

No matter how bad it got though, Vivienne and Proxi, who dropped into their home at some point and declared that she was staying until he felt better, were always around for him. Proxi helped with encouraging words or translating his mumbled speech to Vivienne or the doctor. Vivienne was always there to help him feel more comfortable, like washing his face and back, changing the sheets, or holding his hair back when something upset his stomach too much. Sometimes, she even rubbed small circles into his back until he drifted off to sleep for as long as his body would allow.

All in all, it took nearly three weeks before Link was well enough to return to the barracks. They weren’t married for that long and once he was well, Link found himself a little embarrassed that one of her first impressions of him was him being violently ill.

Vivienne simply smiled when he said as much. “Link, we might be stuck together but I consider you to be a friend nonetheless and when one of my friends is suffering, I try my best to make it better. I’m glad you’re alright now and I’m glad I didn’t catch whatever that was.”

“You should be. It was awful.”

-

“I didn’t know you liked cats,” Twilight said with a grin as squatted down to scratch one of them behind the ears while Warriors was busy petting one down the length of its back. It was a creamy-white colour with long, fluffy fur that seemed pretty well taken care of if it was truly a stray. All the cats he saw had soft and shiny coats, seemed to be of a healthy weight, and he didn’t see any signs of illness. Maybe somebody did take care of them all. There were a few people in his own Castletown who took it upon themselves to make sure the strays were doing well.

He felt like he ought to be doing more, since they were in a large city and not every era had a big city to explore. Twilight’s Castletown felt much like his own, busy and bursting with life, including the very many cats he found in one of the residential side streets. However, he was busy petting cats and he didn’t think the cats weren’t going to let him go anytime soon even if he did want to leave. The cats were the perfect distraction for his very busy mind and they seemed to sense that he needed a distraction because they surrounded him in an instant. He was petting one or two at a time but the rest were doing their own thing, simply content to bless him with their presence. How could he possibly leave them to go do errands?

“Oh, I love them! I have one of my own, actually.”

Warriors always did enjoy cats but his parents never allowed one in their home, since it was attached to their store and well, his parents didn’t want fur all over the clothes they were trying to sell. He didn’t like it but his parents had a point. It wasn’t until he moved in with Vivienne that a pet was feasible – they had the room and she spent most of her time indoors, so Penelope was never alone for too long.

“Really? You have a pet? Aren’t you busy being a big shot in the army?” Twilight asked with the grin that always accompanied his playful jabs to Warriors’ career choice.

“Well, I don’t live alone. I have a roommate who takes care of her when I’m not around. That’s why we picked her out together from a neighbour’s litter. She looks kind of like this one,” Warriors said, gesturing to the cat he was petting, “but she’s all white and her name is Penelope.”

“Penelope!” Twilight was practically squealing. “Fucking adorable.”

Thankfully, Twilight didn’t ask about his roommate. He didn’t feel like explaining that his roommate was actually his wife and Penelope was regarded as their child and she was even introduced to his in-laws as such. Link inquired about putting Penelope in their will to inherit their estate should they both die suddenly and tragically young but her parents only begrudgingly called Penelope ‘the furry grandchild’, so they wouldn’t find it as funny as they did. Unless they adopted a Hylian child or brought more cats into the house, Penelope was the only ‘grandchild’ her parents were getting from them. Maybe they won’t care – Vivienne wasn’t their only child to get grandchildren from and she wasn’t inheriting the main estate anyway.

“I hope you know that if we’re ever in your neck of the woods, we’re going to see her. You’re not allowed to hide a cat from me.”

Warriors found himself laughing. “Twilight, I know better than to get between you and an animal.”

-

Link was grateful that his in-laws didn’t try to parade them around or throw extravagant parties on their behalf that often. Their wedding was mostly just friends and family from both sides and it took place in the Arlet estate garden, so it was out of the view of the public. Vivienne said something about how they were glad she got married at all, so maybe they were afraid to rock the boat too much. Maybe that’s why they didn’t argue when Penelope was introduced as their child.

For their first anniversary, her parents decided once again to forgo something fancy and just gifted the two a bunch of wine that they definitely drank too much of that night because he couldn’t really remember what they did besides drink a lot. He did remember waking up on the bedroom floor with Penelope sleeping on his back. Her parents didn’t leave Penelope out of the celebration either, giving her a bed that she went on to use a lot.

But Link knew that one day, his in-laws would drag him to some sort of function where they would show him off. He was the hero and a noble now.

He couldn’t say he was surprised when his father-in-law showed up at his door unannounced, thankfully when he was actually home, and told him and Vivienne that he was hosting a party and he expected the two of them to be there. Luckily, he already had clothes for the occasion that Vivienne said were nice enough – a gift from his tailoring family when he got married – and he went to fancy dinner parties before as a bodyguard, so at least he wasn’t going in blind.

“Vivienne and Link!” They spent maybe all of five seconds at her father’s before he found them near the entrance. Link wouldn’t have been surprised if he was waiting for them. His father-in-law gestured towards the rest of his estate with a grin on his face. “Link, let me show you around. This is your first time inside the main estate, yes?”

Link looked back at Vivienne. She simply shook her head. They were stuck following his father-in-law around his estate. Link couldn’t tell if it was because he was proud of his estate and actually liked showing it off to people or if it was some clever way to show off Link himself to the guests that were already there. He was certainly recognized as the hero even though his scarf was missing. At least he was used to getting looks from strangers all the time.

But it was made tolerable with Vivienne being close by, offering some sort of comment about what trouble she got into as a kid when her father introduced them to a new wing of the estate. Apparently, she was quite the fan of climbing when she was a child and he could see it in her father’s face that he wasn’t sure if he should have been amused or exasperated by the memories. When her father let them go to hang out and eat in the dining room, the two of them stuck together in a lonely corner of the room, watching and making quiet comments about the other guests. Vivienne knew most of them and had some juicy details to share.

If Link had to summarize the party, he would call it two friends suffering together. He had a decent time but it wasn’t because of anything that was offered at the party – it was spending time with a friend and engaging in gossip.

It made him think of all the people he could have been stuck with, all the people who would want more than he was comfortable with offering or just couldn’t offer at all. He couldn’t reciprocate romantic feelings as he didn’t feel them and the thought of being intimate made him deeply uncomfortable.

But being friends and sharing a space with Vivienne was easy. They were two friends who had to pretend to be more sometimes, but the important part was that they both knew that it was a game.

-

Warriors frequented taverns and pubs, not just to have a drink or two with those he was close to but because drunk people were a fountain of information. It was less helpful in his own era since people knew who he was and were more guarded around him, but in other eras where people had no idea who he was? They saw no reason to filter their words and they told him all sorts of things. Sometimes it was useful but sometimes he just got sucked into whatever gossip there was and he didn’t learn anything that would help them.

Today, he was at a pub with Sky and Twilight. He didn’t drink with them often, just once or twice in Time’s era when Time dragged them to Castletown. Time was his usual drinking buddy but he seemed pretty tired so he declined his invitation. It was times like those where he truly lived up to his ‘old man’ nickname.

Alcohol didn’t change Twilight that much. His accent was definitely coming out more and he was a bit louder but otherwise, Twilight was acting mostly the same. Sky was quieter after a couple of drinks, like he was contemplating matters of existence. The chosen hero wasn’t the chattiest to begin with but after a few drinks, he didn’t start conversations anymore. He needed to be roped into it.

They were only a few drinks in when a woman slid into the seat beside him with a wide grin on her face. Great, he knew exactly where this was going. Before she could say anything, Warriors held up his hand with his ring on it. “Before you say anything, just know that I’m already taken.”

“Oh, are they here right now?” she asked, her eyes scanning the crowd before her gaze settled on him again. “What they don’t know won’t hurt them.”

“I’m not a cheater,” Warriors snapped back. “I’m happy with my wife.”

“Is she happy with you? You’ve got the look of a military man. When’s the last time you’ve gone home to see her? Are you sure she’s been as loyal to you as you are to her?”

Warriors wasn’t sure what her goal was. He never had anyone who wanted to sleep with him insult him and his wife in the span of a minute. Was she mad that he rejected her?

“You don’t know anything. If you’re trying to get me into bed with you, you’re failing miserably,” he said as he stood up. Sky and Twilight caught him and he spotted Twilight fishing out his wallet as Warriors found the shortest route to the exit. He didn’t look back as he headed to the one familiar spot in town and stepped into the room he was sharing with Four and Hyrule. He must have looked a mess because the two took one look at him and stayed away from him for the rest of the night. Just as well, he didn’t feel like talking.

He knew he couldn’t avoid it though. He wasn’t surprised that Sky found him in the morning as Warriors chugged down some water, hoping that the minor ache in his head would disappear if he had more water. At least, Warriors hoped that the minor headache came from alcohol and not because that woman at the bar made him so angry that he had a hard time falling asleep and staying asleep.

Though, if he was honest with himself, it wasn’t just the encounter at the bar. His mind raced constantly, dredging up experiences and memories that he wanted to bury and never look at again. Ever since he was asked about his ring, he couldn’t stop thinking about all of the unhelpful and unwarranted advice he got when he was single or all the pity he got when people thought he was stuck in a sad, loveless marriage. Warriors just couldn’t stop thinking about it even when he wanted to or needed to focus on something else.

He hoped they weren’t travelling. He was pretty sure he wasn’t fit for it.

“Why did you storm out of the bar last night? Was it the woman?”

“Of course it was the woman!”

Sky smiled awkwardly and rubbed at the back of his neck. Shit, he shouldn’t have answered his question like that. He wasn’t mad at Sky.

“What did she say that set you off? Twilight and I didn’t really hear it.”

“She wanted me to cheat on my wife and when I rejected her, she start insinuating that my wife was cheating on me and before you ask, I actually do have a wife.”

“Oh, that’s what you meant when you said Legend was on the right track,” he mumbled as he titled his head slightly. “You are actually married, huh?”

“It’s a political marriage. Athena needed extra support from a noble and she got it when I married the noble’s daughter. Through marriage with the hero, that family is now closer than ever to the royal family and in return, Athena has more weight to throw against other nobles.”

“So you didn’t marry for love?” Sky asked with a slight pout on his lips that often came with confusion. Warriors could feel his frustration bubble under his skin but he took a deep breath. It wasn’t Sky’s fault that Warriors had this conversation before with a bunch of other people who didn’t understand that not everybody wants to date or be in a marriage or be intimate.

“I’m actually happy this way. I don’t care if it’s a ‘loveless’ marriage. We both knew what we were getting into before the documents were drawn up and before we were actually married. I made it clear to her the first time we met that I wasn’t interested in sex or romance. It turns out she feels the same way. We’re just roommates who occasionally have to pretend that we are more than just roommates. We share a home, we share a bed that’s so big we barely know there’s somebody else in it, and we share custody of a cat named Penelope. I’m not interested in anything more than that.”

Sky hummed for a moment, then smiled. “Well, if that’s what you want, then that arrangement sounds perfect for both of you. As long as you’re both happy, nobody should get a say about what the two of you do or don’t do together.”

For a moment, Warriors was taken aback. In his experience, it generally took a lot more convincing before somebody backed off and switched topics. He didn’t know why it was so hard to convince people that was actually happy.

“Why didn’t you say this before, though? Everybody would have understood.”

“Because it’s tiring... before I got married, everyone and their grandma would tell me that I just had to meet the right person, then I would want to date and get married and have kids. If I met the right person, I would be ‘normal’. Now that they know this marriage is political more than anything else... they fucking pity me. They think the fact that I didn’t marry for love is something to pity. Some people even tell me I’ll learn to fall in love with my wife. They just can’t fathom that somebody just... doesn’t care about any of that. It’s so tiring. I’m tired of trying to explain it and people looking at me like I’m broken or something. No matter how many times I tell them I’m happy, they just don’t believe me.”

Sky frowned. “Has... this been on your mind for a while? We all noticed that you seemed distracted lately.”

He only nodded. The thoughts probably would have started bothering him at some point, even if nobody asked about his ring. They seem to come and go, more often when he was in town and people tried to talk to him. However, the current cyclical nature of his thoughts was because he was asked about his ring and he had to think about how to answer.

“Do you ever plan on telling the others that you’re married?”

“If we end up nearby, yes.” He did tell Twilight he could meet Penelope and even if he didn’t, the villa would be a nice break for them and their wallets. They were always maintaining guest rooms that didn’t get used so it would be nice if the villa was full of people for once. It was far too large for a family of three and their hired help. “For now, I just need to collect my thoughts.”

Though... it helped that Sky took it so well. Maybe he wouldn’t have to explain it to them more than once. They would probably believe him if he said he was actually happy with his arrangement.

“Okay. Just let me know if you need any help.”

“I will. Thanks, Sky.”

-

Warriors thought there would be more time between his conversation with Sky and the conversation he knew he needed to have with the others before they set up in the villa for a few days. It was only a couple of weeks after he talked to Sky that a portal took them to a battle and it was when he was wiping the black blood off his blade that he realized that he recognized the castle in the distance. His villa was only about a half an hour from the castle.

“To the castle?” Twilight asked.

“Actually, there’s a place we should go first. Athena can wait until tomorrow.”

“Oh, so this is your era,” Legend said with a nod. “What’s this stop you plan on taking?”

“My place. It’s big enough to fit all of us comfortably.”

Wind raised an eyebrow. “How big is your place?”

“It’s...” Was this how he was going to start explaining who Vivienne was? By explaining why he can comfortably host them all? His gaze met with Sky’s, who gave him an encouraging nod. “It’s a villa. I moved in when I got married.”

There was a moment of awkward silence before Legend glared him. “Is that what you meant when you said I was on the right track? You could have just said so! It was bugging me ever since you said it.”

Warriors rolled his eyes. “I didn’t feel like explaining it back then. Even now, it’s a little difficult...” He took a deep breath. “I got married because Athena asked me to. I didn’t pick my wife but it’s pretty convenient for both of us because we are both just happy being friends. If I had to get married to somebody else, I wouldn’t be able to return any romantic feelings and being intimate would be out of the question. We have to put on a show sometimes but that’s a small price to pay to able to say I’m married and not have to do anything I’m uncomfortable with.”

He had no doubt that there were questions but the others simply nodded, except for Sky who offered two thumbs up instead. Maybe they were just saving questions for later but he wasn’t going to complain about the break. They probably cared more about having a roof over their heads than about his odd but convenient marriage.

Wind hummed for a moment before putting a hand on his chin. “So your wife won’t mind if we stay at your place then?”

“I doubt she would care. In fact, she might even be happy that we’re using the guest rooms as guest rooms for once.”

“What are they being used for now?” Time asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Decoration.”

“Wait, this means we get to meet Penelope!”

“Who?”

“His cat!” Twilight answered with a wide grin. “C’mon, butts in gear! We have a cat to meet!”

There were some grumbles but the group started moving, following Warriors as he led them to the villa. It was nearly sunset by the time they got there so he wasted no time in opening the front gate and letting everybody in. He stopped them as soon as they got into the front doors and he couldn’t immediately see her nearby. He didn’t think she would get upset about the villa being used as an inn for a few days, he wanted to give her a little bit of warning.

He found Penelope first in one of their many hallways so he scooped her up and kept looking for Vivienne until he found her in her plant room, which was the room in the villa with the most windows. She was bent over one of the pots trimming the plant inside of it. He cleared his throat to let Vivienne know he was coming in so she didn’t startle and drop the trimmers.

“Oh, you’re home.” She straightened her back and turned around to face him.

“For a bit. If there’s another lead, I’ll have to go again. I have company though!”

“Oh, those heroes you mentioned in the single letter I got?” she asked with a smirk. Warriors winced internally – they were still friends and he should really let her know more often that he was still alive and her father didn’t have to find a new husband for her. “I’m not upset, by the way. I can only imagine that time travel complicates things, to say the least.”

“Yeah. I got busy. I didn’t realize I only sent one letter,” he mumbled as he ran a hand through Penelope’s fur. “But they’re in the lobby if you want to meet them. I told them they could stay here for a few days since we have the room.”

“It would be a shame not to use it. It might be the only time we’ll fill all four guest rooms at the same time. Let’s go show them their rooms, then. My parents didn’t raise me to be a bad host.”

Warriors’ heart pounded in his chest was they walked back to the lobby. He couldn’t understand why he was so nervous. The others would be nice to Vivienne and they knew she was his wife, so there wasn’t anything to hide. Vivienne was generally pretty nice and she got along with the people he was close with before. It should go well but his nerves were still getting the best of him.

Finally, he saw the other heroes, who were all studying Vivienne.

“Wow, she’s tall!” Wind gasped. Vivienne was a bit taller than Time, as it turned out and she wasn’t even wearing shoes. Her entire family was tall – taller than he was – so he wasn’t exactly surprised that she beat them all.

“We’re just kind of short,” Time chimed in, shaking his head.

“This is Vivienne,” Warriors started, gesturing with his free arm, “and this our daughter, Penelope. Vivenne, you already know their names but they’ll introduce themselves with their nicknames sooner or later.”

“Can I hold Penelope?” Twilight asked, arms outstretched.

“Just keep her belly down, she hates being on her back,” he warned as she gently passed her over.

It was a good thing that Penelope enjoyed a lot of attention. Once she was settled in Twilight’s arms, it wasn’t just Twilight who was petting her – half the group was reaching around and crowding Twilight to get a chance to pet her. Warriors could hear her purring over the excited cooing coming from the boys.

“I hope she doesn’t expect that much attention from now on,” Vivienne mumbled before she turned to the others. “I know Penelope is amazing but I should show you to your rooms. Penelope doesn’t leave the house, she’ll be around for more petting later. She may even pick one your rooms to spend the night in later.”

“We’ll be back,” Twilight said quietly as he pet her on the head one more time and set her down on the floor. Warriors watched as everybody followed her, looking around the villa as they did so. Penelope purred and rubbed her head on his leg so he picked her up once again.

“That went well,” he mumbled as he looked down at her giant green eyes. “Especially for you.”

She meowed.

“Yeah, you are spoiled. You deserve it, though.”

Instead of following everybody to the guest rooms, he headed towards the master bedroom to change into something more comfortable. He set Penelope down on their bed – neither he nor Vivienne cared if Penelope got her fur all over it – and slowly stripped off all of his equipment and gear, dropping everything on the floor by his side of the bed to deal with later.

One loose shirt and clean pair of trousers later, he left the master bedroom to find that everybody was gathered at the kitchen table that he and Vivienne usually used for their own dinners. The only person not at the table was Wild, who was poking around in the oven to warm it up. There was a more official dining room in the villa but they only used that one when Vivienne had family over and it had one of those long dining tables that made Warriors wonder if anybody actually wanted to eat together. The table in the kitchen was a little small for the size of the group but they were all used to butting into each other’s space all the time.

Warriors decided to stay on the periphery of the conversations, joining only when their conversations were directed at him. He wanted his brothers and his wife to get along, so he wasn’t going to intrude when it seemed like they were actually bonding. Vivienne was relaxed, talking to the group in the same way she spoke to him or the few times he saw she had a couple of the neighbours over for some tea. It was also the same way she spoke to Clarissa, as the two of them became friends pretty quickly. She spoke more formally with some of her family members than she did with the other heroes.

As for the heroes, they were behaving as he expected – they were asking Vivienne for embarrassing stories about him. Oh, well. If that was the price of peace, he would let it slide. It wasn’t like she had a lot on him in particular.

Once they all had dinner and tea, the group of heroes all headed to their rooms, except for Sky. He helped himself to the last of the tea in pot and started to headed to his assigned room but he made sure that he passed Warriors.

“You did a good job today,” he said quietly, adding a small but sincere smile before leaving.

Once he was gone, Vivienne tapped him on the shoulder. “He’s right, you did a good job. I know it’s not easy to tell people we’re married,” she started before gesturing toward their own bedroom, “but we should go to get some rest too if we’re hosting this many people.”

“They can be a handful,” Warriors mumbled. “I’m sure Penelope is waiting for us anyway. Let’s go.”

[brighttears]

hi! back again with another request, i hope that’s ok! if not then totally ignore this. For the request: could we get a jealous reader? Im always seeing Fics where Joel is jealous and would like to see that changed up! Maybe she sees Joel hanging around another woman more his age and she gets insecure, idk it’s totally up to you how it happens. if you do take this request then thank you so much, if it’s not something you’re interested in writing then that’s ok too and thank you for your fics!! <3

Joel Miller x reader

No physical description except for having hair, leaning fem but no pronouns or explicit mentions, no use of y/n 

Warnings: age-gap, mentions of sex, drinking, Angst (happy ending), pet names (honey), you have a big fight :,(

Word Count: 1.6k

A/n: omg love this idea. Thank you for the request you’re so sweet and I’m happy to do them !! helps so much with writer's block plus I get to do cool stuff like this lol. This was challenging so I hope it doesn't disappoint :P

P.s. if any of yall’s name is Emily i apologize just replace it with the name of someone you hate lol

—

Even from all the way across the bar, you’re burning up, watching the way the woman in front of Joel twirls her hair and flashes her teeth when she laughs over enthusiastically at his jokes. Thankfully his back is to you so you can’t be tortured by whatever his expression—or wherever he’s looking—may be. 

Ever since you got to Jackson women have been crowding Joel like he’s the only man on the commune and it’s been driving you up the wall. You want to go over and give Joel a big wet kiss and tell her to fuck off, but you and him have never had a discussion about ‘us’, so you have no real right to claim him. Still, it burns, and that woman, Emily, as you’ve come to learn her name, as Joel’s number one fan, has such a punchable face. A matching burn of the whisky from your glass is welcomed down to your stomach.

When she leans forward, showing off the goods, you can’t stand it anymore, down the dregs of your drink and storm out of the Tipsy Bison. The icy breeze cools you down some but you’re in no way calm once you’re back at the house. Stomping up to your room—you and Joel’s room, you strip your jacket and immediately grab your gun to deep clean. Icey pain drips from your heart down into the crater of lava in your chest and it hisses in your ears.

Sitting at the head of the bed, you’re almost done with the fourth cleaning when Joel’s recognizable stomps sound with the creaking and slam of the front door. You continue to clean, not looking up when he comes in. 

“Hey,” he says breathily, innocently. 

“Hm. I’m surprised you even came home.” you reply, still not looking up. Still aflame, you keep a mostly even tone but Joel easily catches the pointy edges. 

He pauses, then finishes kicking off his boots to straighten up and turn to you, “An’ why’s that?”

“I mean I thought I wouldn't see you until tomorrow morning on your walk of shame from Emily’s house.” you keep your focus on the final wipe down of your gun.

“What?” 

“What? Can’t blame me, I saw her eyefucking you. Basically shaking her tits in your face, too. Didn’t stay long though, it was actually kind of fucking gross.” 

“Beg your fuckin’ pardon?”

“Oh, don’t act stupid.” you finally meet his gaze, “Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble. Go fuck whoever you want. I guess it’s none of my business. Would have been nice to know that that was the deal here before we started sharing an actual bed, though.” you go back to overpolishing the metal, trying to act nonchalant, but your chest is full of mud. 

“What makes you think I’m goin’ around fuckin’ other women?” 

“Well, now that you’ve got the pick of the litter, why settle for me?” you finally place your gun down loudly on the nightstand. 

Joel raises his voice in sternness, “What the fuck r’you talkin’ about?”  

You take a deep breath through your nose, refusing to let your anger go, but the icey, tight pain is tearing at your heart and you can’t stop it from piercing through your voice when you say, “I just—I just thought it was me, I thought it was me you wanted.”

“What—’course you’re—where’s all this comin’ from?” 

You stand to face him and scoff, “Please, you think I don’t see the way the women here have been looking at you? They drool all over you, and you just let them, you throw ‘em a smile.” you voice is teeming with attitude, “Never saying a word to me about it. What is it, are you ashamed of me? I have to be your little secret? I’m just some young—some young…” you stop yourself before you finish a sentence you know you’ll regret, no matter how much you want to stick him with it, but it’s too late.

Joel steps one foot towards you and shoves his finger out, glowering, “Good call not finishin’ that sentence.” he growls, “I don’t know who the fuck you’re talkin’ to though cause it sure as hell ain’t me.”

You pick your fire right back up, “I thought maybe I’d be good enough but there's things I don’t have, huh? Need a woman more your speed? Well, you’re free to let Emily fuck you better, just please don’t bring her back here, okay?” you end it with your voice drenched in sarcasm.

It’s Joel’s turn to scoff now, “What the fuck are you talkin’ about? I don’t give a shit about Emily! I’m not fuckin’ her! Wh—” Joel narrows his eyes, “You tryin’ to say I’m a cheater? Is that it? That's what you think a me?” 

“N–no,” you stutter, suddenly realizing that that is what you’re accusing him of. 

Near shouting, he continues, “You don’t trust me. That's what this is about.” 

“No, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that,” you move towards him but he steps back.

“How the hell else am I supposed’t take that?”

“I’m just scared.” the confession jumps out of you.

“Scared of what?” he shouts.

“Of you leaving me!” your voice breaks and you choke back the onset of a sob, but Joel loses no venom.

“You’re scared of me leaving? After all this time—after everything, you think I’m—I’d—I don’t want to leave you! Talkin’ to Emily, I was just tryin’ t’be fuckin’ polite, be,” he takes another step towards you, “social, that’s all! You think I can’t talk to women without tryna get in their pants? Is that really the kinda man you think I am? Should I stop talkin’ to Maria, too? Cause I’m such a piece a shit cheater I’m probably tryna get at her, too, huh? My own brother's wife? That’s what you think a me?” 

“No,” you nearly scream, hitting your hands to your head to grab at your hair, “that’s not what I mean, that’s not what I’m trying to say!”

“Then what are you trying to say?” He yells back.

Your chest is starting to heave, beginning to be overwhelmed with emotion, but you try to keep it under control, not wanting to break down in the middle of an argument. “I just hate seeing it! I hate seeing the women here fucking crawling all over you like cats in heat and you just fucking take it, like you want it, you want them, not me, now that I’m not the only option, you’ve got all these pretty women just waiting for you to knock on their fucking door, and I was just—just—”

“What, just some young pussy?” Joel snarls.

“No one that mattered! No one special! And all of it was empty, all the words, the sex, the time we shared, I was just a placeholder for a proper woman, cause I’m not good enough, was never good enough for you…” your voice shatters as the whirling in your head and heart overcomes you and you step back until the back of your knees hit the bed, then flump down and put your head in your hands, trying not to sob.

Instinctually, Joel comes to kneel before you, his anger beginning to melt away when his attention shifts to you in pain. He takes your wrists to uncover your face, saying nothing, only focusing your eyes and his, now gentle, as you continue to try to control your jumping breaths. After a few moments of you unsuccessfully calming yourself, Joel moves his hand to stroke your cheek, over the side of your face, into your hair. When your breathing has calmed some, he looks over your face and wipes away the few escaped tears. “I hate it when you cry but you look so pretty when you do.” he tells you, soft and quiet, pulling a small laugh out of you. Once your inhales and exhales are at an even pace, he speaks up again, with a soothing tone, “Okay. Now I’ve calmed down, n’ you’ve calmed down.” he takes a deep breath and you do with him, like you’ve learned to, before he continues, “I know all a that was just outta anger. N’ we’re just not at an understandin’ here… Honey I’m in love with you.” 

His words make you take a deep, post-cry shuddering breath. Remembering you have to say something back, you whisper, “I’m in love with you, too.”

After a few silent but full moments with Joel stealing glances at your lips, he asks, “Can I kiss you?”

You nod your head as you’re already leaning in as a response. Your lips essentially smash together, want igniting in both of you. You lean forward until he’s on the floor and you’re sitting on top of him, both hands holding his face while one of his clutches your hip and the other slides over your jaw and into your hair. Then Joel pushes you up and onto the bed, nosing into your neck from above you, sticking wet kisses all up and down it while your hands tangle in his hair. He slows and drags kisses back up to your mouth. Sounding drunk, Joel finds time between your mouths to say “Don’ want no one else.”

Between kisses you continue to converse, “So can I punch Emily in the face?”

“Mmm, I don't think Maria would like that very much. Why don’tcha just give me a big sloppy kiss next time she won't leave me th' fuck alone?”

“I can do that. Can we hold hands?”

“Yeah we can do that. Can I squeeze yer ass?”

“Only when someone’s looking. You can do it when they're not either but I would prefer if you did it while you know one of those alley cat’s watchin’.”

“Mhm. Every time. Let em’ all know.”

“You know, you’re gonna have a lot less friends once I scare all of them away.”

“Fuckin’ fine by me. I got everyone I need already.”

[teavocationmagic]

spilled ink

sakusa kiyoomi x reader

you've spent the past few months mentally preparing to get the tattoo that means so much to you, conquering your intense fear of needles, and thankfully it'll be your bubbly bestie shouyo giving you this tattoo . . . right?

18+ (seriously please), banter city, grumpy-but-blushing kiyoomi & disaster-sunshine reader, fluff and semi hurt/comfort, mentions of needles/fear of them, allusions to sex (smut in later chapters)

a/n: so that sakusa x reader post i made over a year ago . . . not 3.5k. more than that. definitely more. anyway, here is chapter one of three ish??? much love, lav 💜💜

You catch the slight tremor in your hand once it’s on the door handle and give it a firm shake, as though you can wiggle the nerves right out of your body. This is fine, you force yourself to think as you push open the shop door. Everything is going exactly as planned. You’re on time for the appointment, Alisa is going to pick you up afterwards to get takeout and fall asleep watching movies on her couch, and Shouyo is going to be as kind and supportive as ever. 

You can do this. 

Inside, Black Jackal Tattoo & Piercing is quieter than the busy street outside, and the bustle of the sidewalk is swept away as the door closes behind you. The only sound is the click of a keyboard, the squeak of your shoes on the tiled floor, and a distant shrill sound that comes and goes as you make your way to the desk.

A head of ginger hair shoots up from behind the desk, fluffy like a dandelion head, and you manage some small relief when Shouyo grins at you from where he’s abandoned whatever paperwork he was typing up on the shop’s computer. 

“You’re here!” He comes rushing out from behind the desk to hug you - Shouyo Hinata has always been, for better or worse, a hugger - and you let him bounce around you for a moment while he does his eager-puppy routine. “Alisa said you were so nervous you almost puked last night, so I didn’t know if you’d show!”

“Of course I was gonna show,” you say with a wobbly laugh, fighting down the urge to actually puke all over Shouyo’s shoes. “You went through all the trouble of getting me a slot between your appointments, it’s the least I could do.” 

“Yeah,” Shouyo says, bright smile suddenly dimming and hand scratching the back of his neck. “For sure.” There’s a long pause while he watches you watch him, and you can already feel that bile rising -

“I can’t, um, actually do your appointment.”

“What the hell, dude?!” 

“Ow!” Shouyo grimaces, rubbing his shoulder, but you think he’s just being dramatic - you didn’t whack him that hard. “Rude! It wasn’t my idea, okay, but Atsumu called in sick -”

“Naturally.”

“- and I’m the only one whose slots will cover his afternoon appointment. It’s, like, this super big addition to some guy’s sleeve, and everyone else has appointments by four. It’s an emergency!”

You sigh through your nose, arms crossed tight over your chest as Shouyo pleads for you to understand. The tremble has returned to your hands, you notice, and you hope keeping them pressed under your arms hides the worst of it. 

“I’m so sorry, Y/N, I really thought I could help -”

“Sho, it’s fine, I’ll just - I’ll come back another day.”

“I mean, you can still do it. I actually, um, wouldn’t recommend skipping the appointment now,” he adds, mouth twisting in thought, “Sakusa would be pissed. He kinda hates having people make last minute cancellations like that.” 

The name has you grimacing, and Shouyo definitely catches the recognition in your eyes, if his wince is anything to go by. A mental image of dark, piercing eyes and a permanent scowl flash through your head, and you let out a quiet sigh. 

Shouyo continues, “He’s, like, a total stickler for a schedule - not like Kita, but also not somebody you wanna piss off.” 

“So . . . you’re saying I still have an appointment?”

“Yeah!”

“With a total stranger? Who’s an asshole?” 

“Well, I mean . . . kind of?” Shouyo scrunches his face up, considering, and then nods again. “Yeah, pretty much.” 

“And why would I want to not only not have my friend with me,” you say, making Shouyo whine another apology, “but switch to having some random asshole coworker of his stab tiny needles into me instead?” 

“Y/N -”

“Because,” a low voice from the corner of the room says, “he isn’t some random asshole coworker of Hinata’s, but a competent and professional asshole coworker?” 

The voice sends a chill down your spine that has nothing to do with the shop’s impressively strong air conditioning. You know you’re going to have to turn around now, but your feet seem to move in slow motion, heart hammering as your eyes meet a dark glare from across the room. 

Sakusa, a.k.a. Shouyo’s competent and professional asshole coworker, is immediately too tall and too grouchy to be anything but intimidating. You can’t even gauge how tall he might be from across the room because you’re too busy trying not to stare directly into that deeply-etched frown, his brow furrowed so intently that you think the muscles might just freeze in that spot forever. He’s got his arms crossed, too, but you’re not sure what reason he has to be that guarded; after all, you’ll be the one being stabbed. 

You’ve at least confirmed why the name Sakusa sounded so familiar: this is the same Sakusa you met when Shouyo was first brought on at Black Jackal, stiff and frowning back then, too. You remember the glare he sent you and Shouyo from above his black face mask, hovering by the door of his little studio room, itching to dart back inside and close the door behind him. 

You also remember the delicate curl of the ivy on his shoulder, revealed by his sleeveless black shirt, trailing down the lightly freckled skin of his bicep. You remember the tilt of his head as he studied you up and down, the slight pinch of his brow as he crossed his arms, the feeling of his stare on the back of your head as you said hello to Atsumu and Bokuto. You remember the lingering coldness as he closed his studio door, like a chill wind sweeping through the hallway in his wake, something elemental about his presence. 

Shit.

“I take it this is your friend,” Sakusa says, nodding in your direction as he turns back to Shouyo, like you’re not even in the room anymore - this just gets better and better. The idea of putting yourself in this guy’s hands for the next forty five minutes is making your insides twist around on themselves, and you can’t tell if it’s from anxiety or the prospect of being alone in his studio, as Alisa would probably say with a silly wink. “I thought you meant Yachi.”

“No, Yachi’s not - I mean, she wouldn’t really get a tattoo. This is Y/N.” Shouyo explains, although Sakusa’s face remains impassive. “I mean, I know this is last minute -” 

“It’s fine.”

Clearly, it’s not. He’s glowering as though you’ve done him a personal slight by scheduling yourself on the day that Miya got sick; he’s got his hands shoved into the pockets of his black cargo pants now as he shifts off of the wall, but you’re sure they’re clenched. 

“Seriously, Hinata,” Sakusa continues, lifting one shoulder in a deeply disgruntled shrug. “I don’t care. Just wish Miya had thought to get his fucking flu shot when I told him to, idiot.” 

“Yeah,” Shouyo tries for a laugh, but he’s never been much of a liar. “Anyway, Y/N’s pretty nervous, so maybe they can just come back another day? I thought -”

“I looked at your design,” Sakusa interrupts, gaze locking with yours again. It’s intense, holding you in place while he speaks. “It’ll only take about thirty minutes, if that. Do you seriously need Hinata to do it? Because if you’re just going to cancel, I could’ve come in when I was supposed to.” 

You press your lips together, trying to fish for a way to get out of this appointment - and trying to figure out if you even want to. Your stomach is still churning with nerves, that’s for sure, but the way Sakusa is watching you, pinning you in place with just his gaze as you scramble for an answer, is something you had only let yourself think about the night after you’d met him, assuming you’d hardly see Shouyo’s distant and rude coworker again. 

“I . . .” 

“Y/N, you can cancel.” Shouyo is also a bad whisperer - subtlety in general was never his strong suit. But he’s giving you a way out, probably having to deal with Sakusa after your hasty retreat, so you only feel a rush of gratitude as he offers you a smile. “It’s no big deal, no matter what this grinch has to say about it.” He hooks a thumb in his coworker’s direction, still giving you that knowing smile. 

Sakusa sputters for a moment, the most human thing you’ve ever seen him do. “I’m not - Hinata, shut up.” 

You can’t help it - you snort. There’s something about indignance on Sakusa’s face that is too funny not to get to you, and you only laugh more when he shoots you a sharp glare. He’s intimidating, sure, but if Shouyo can get under his skin, then he’s more than fallible.

You take a deep breath, sighing through your nose as you shrug. “It’s fine. I wouldn’t want to have wasted anyone’s time.”

Your gaze tilts to Sakusa, whose frown has finally smoothed into something resembling cordiality. “Is now okay to start? I wanna get this over with.” 

Black Jackal is an odd maze of little hallways and dead ends, and you shuffle just behind Sakusa, trailing after him like a kid scared of getting lost in a mall. 

“You know,” he says over his shoulder once you reach the back of the shop. “Tattoos are usually optional.” 

“Yeah? And?”

“Well, you keep talking about this one like you don’t have a choice in the matter.” 

The door of his studio is plain, save for a small sign that reads his name - Sakusa Kiyoomi, you read - and a little frowny face etched into the wood. 

“Is that the kind of artistry I should be expecting?” You ask, reaching past him to tap on the carving, and Sakusa rolls his eyes. 

“Fuckin’ Miya,” he mutters, and you nod in understanding. 

“Ruffians,” you say, nodding sagely. “They’ll graffiti anything nowadays, nothing is safe.” 

You think you see the ghost of a smile on his mouth as Sakusa lets you inside, following and closing the door behind both of you. 

The inside isn’t nearly as plain as you’d suspected. The walls, a cool dove gray, are papered over with designs and photos, magazine spreads carefully tacked up alongside rough sketches and inked canvas, everything with its own place in the sprawling inspiration board that seems to be Sakusa’s studio. His supply cart is neat but plentiful, coloured ink shining under soft lights in a rainbow of options, and there’s a half finished takeout coffee and bagel on the small desk in the corner, clearly his effort at breakfast while he set up for the day. 

“You didn’t answer my question,” Sakusa says from behind you, and you turn on your heel to face him. He’s got his arms crossed - again, oh my god - and even through his dark green pullover, his shoulders look ridiculously touchable. Meant to be grabbed, really, used as an anchor to pull yourself up and -

“Why are you acting like you’re being forced to get this tattoo?” His face scrunches slightly in displeasure. “You didn’t lose a bet or anything like that, right?”

“No!” You feel your face heat up, thinking about the insinuations, and remembering that he’s seen the design. You can’t help but let your gaze lower, dropping to rest on his shiny black docs. “It’s not like that at all. I just . . . I’ve been thinking about doing this for a long time, and Shoyou went through all the trouble to help me design it, but I . . .”

And here it comes, the lamest, most pathetic part of this whole ordeal. You swallow the nerves bundled in the back of your throat, clearing the way for your confession. It comes out quiet and sharp. 

“I’m just really fucking scared of needles, alright? They freak me out, and this is a thousand of them going into me over a long period of time, and - and it’s freaky and fucked up, okay?”

You’re expecting Sakusa’s coldness, a scoff or an eye roll - hell, given his attitude so far, even a request not to waste his time. What you aren’t expecting is the undignified snort he lets out. 

His mouth is pressed tight when your eyes dart back up to his face, like he’s holding in another little laugh, and his brows are raised, a little disbelieving. 

“Don’t laugh at me, god!”

“I’m not.” Sakusa’s frown is morphing slowly into something resembling a smile, which rests in the apples of his cheeks more than his mouth, lifting his face until the gloom that hovered over him is evaporating. “It’s just that that’s so normal, and you’re so embarrassed . . . you really don’t have to be.” He snorts again, and you scowl. “No wonder you’re friends with Hinata, you’re just as fuckin’ dramatic.”

“Shut up,” you snap, but Sakusa’s halfway-smile is warming the chill in the studio too well for you to be annoyed. You find your shoulders relaxing a bit as he moves to his desk, taking a sip of his coffee while he rifles through some papers stacked neatly between binders. You take a seat on the rolling stool he nods to, waiting next to the desk for him to find what he needs; you try not to notice how he looms above you, but it’s difficult when you have a front-row seat to his broad hands shuffling around his papers. 

“A lot of people get scared, especially once they actually get here and see the machine and everything,” he shrugs, handing you a few of the papers. Consent forms and the like, you realize as you scan the top one. Sakusa has a pen held out for you before you can even ask. “It’s not weird. I mean, you’re letting some random asshole stab tiny needles into you, right?”

You can’t help the cringe that passes over your face, and though he doesn’t laugh again, you can see the teasing glimmering in his eyes. “Sorry about . . . that.”

“It’s fine, I’ve been called worse.” He drums his fingertips on the desk, and the nervousness of the gesture warms you even further. The studio is thawing like a fresh spring day after a storm, and you find yourself breathing a bit deeper as you slowly fill out the paperwork. “Meian sometimes warns people ahead of time that I’m a bit blunt.” 

“Blunt?” You echo him without meaning to, distracted by the process of the paperwork and easing ever so slightly under his teasing. 

“Okay, he warns people that I’m a dick,” Sakusa says, and the rueful note in his voice catches your attention and draws you away from the form in your hand. “No filter, or whatever.” 

“Oh, come on,” you say, tapping the pen on your thigh, squinting at him in your own turn of disbelief. “You’ve gotta know how scary you are when you walk around all mean and grouchy like that. You’re, like, seven foot fourteen and dressed like a bouncer at a goth rave, you can’t also be an asshole, you’re intimidating enough as it is!” 

You really need to learn when to keep your mouth shut, you think, because Sakusa’s face drops, brow suddenly knitted tight again as he stares you down, and you’re reminded of how right you are about how intimidating he is when he glares like that. 

“Do I really dress like I’m at a goth rave?”

“. . . what?”

“Do I,” he repeats slowly, “dress like I’m at a goth rave?” 

And then you see it: the smallest twitch of his cheek, and your horror turns to annoyance in two seconds flat. “Maybe you do.”

“Hm. Seems a bit uncalled for.” 

“Seems like you just proved my point exactly, actually,” you shoot back, holding out the paperwork for him to take. “And I didn’t say you were at a goth rave, I said you dress like a bouncer at one. You know, like you’re there to be all serious and break up fights and shit.” 

“You’ve got a lot of experience with goth raves?” Sakusa asks as he files the paperwork away in a drawer and reaches across the desk to get a pump of hand sanitizer. The sterile smell permeates the small space, and you feel your insides twist, hands clutching the seat of the stool tight. 

“No, I just -” you pause, searching for the words while trying not to throw up in Sakusa’s studio. He might be warming up now, but you doubt he’d love that. “I don’t know.” You made me nervous doesn’t feel like a great explanation, not with the next thirty minutes of being in his personal space about to begin.  

He studies you for a long moment before jerking his chin, motioning for you to stand. “First, you’re going to sit there -” he points to the soft, leather chair that takes up so much space in the little studio, “and you’re also going to calm down for a minute, because I will cancel this appointment for you if you get sick in here.”

“Knew it,” you mumble, mostly to yourself, as you pull yourself up onto the table, the material soft and smooth beneath your bare thighs. Your legs swing off of it and you feel so exposed, though you haven’t changed your position much; you press your thighs together anyway, keeping your hands in your lap as though to cover up. 

“Knew what?” Sakusa is rummaging around in his desk drawer again, and you move your gaze to the designs on the far wall. It’s a delicate series of ocean waves and marine life, and the broad expanse of coral reef you’re looking at is a bit better than looking at any of the equipment. 

“Knew you’d hate puke,” you say lightly, trying for nonchalance and managing only to sound like you’re being strangled from the inside out. “You have the vibe.”

“Are there people who like it?” 

“I mean, everyone’s got their own thing -”

“No, stop. No talking about that in here.”

You clamp your mouth shut, and don’t move a muscle until you feel something fuzzy on the back of your hand. When you look down, startled, a palm-sized ferret plush is sitting next to your hand on the table. 

“What the fuck is that?”

Sakusa is glaring when you look back up at him, but there’s no real venom to it, so you only notice how the scowl makes his eyelashes stand out more, soft and shadowed beneath his pinched brow. Well, fuck. 

“I’m not the best at - at being . . .”

“Nice?” You supply helpfully.

“. . . Comforting.” He purses his lips, and you try not to pay too much attention to them. “Bokuto got him for me to use when I started, so that he can make people feel better when I . . . don’t.”

“A ferret?” You ask, prying your fingers from the hem of your skirt to pick the critter up, holding him carefully in your lap. 

“A weasel, actually,” Sakusa says, still scowling. “His name is Itachi.”

“Why does his tag say Omi-Omi, then?” You ask, pinching the fabric between your fingers and squinting at the messy handwriting. 

“Because Atsumu fucking sucks.”

It surprises a laugh out of you, though a bit shaky, and Sakusa’s scowl eases back into that glimmering, knowing look, not quite a smile but on its way there. You press the weasel against your stomach, hoping to relax the knots it’s tied itself into, and look to Sakusa for direction. 

“So, before we do anything - you’re absolutely sure you aren’t gonna throw up?” 

“Promise.” 

“Good,” and you try so hard not to notice how nice that sounds in Sakusa’s low, quiet voice. God, what is wrong with you? At this point you’re sure Alisa will see right through you when she comes to pick you up and finds you this . . . unsettled. You squish Itachi a bit tighter to ground yourself. “Then I’m going to ask you where you want this thing.” He holds up a piece of paper, Shoyou’s design splashed across it. 

You tap your inner bicep, just above your elbow, and this time Sakusa manages a lopsided smile. 

“Did you do your research for the least intense places to get one?” 

Face burning, you give him an embarrassed nod, though you can’t tell if the problem is him catching you out so easily or the appearance of the very first smile you’ve ever seen Sakusa Kiyoomi wear. 

“I like to be prepared,” you add with a huff, and he only seems to fight off another smile while tugging on a pair of black nitrile gloves. 

“I’m sure you do.” And why the fuck does that line make your face even warmer? “Here - is it alright if I touch you?” 

The gloves are smooth and impersonal as he guides your arm out, positioning it at a good clear angle to work on, and the disinfectant he sprays on the spot is cold enough to make you jump. 

“Sorry,” he mutters, and you try to shrug it off without moving your arm too much. Your stomach is starting to feel wobbly again, and it gives a sudden lurch when Sakusa tugs his work trolley closer to him and pins Shoyou’s design to the side of it for reference, his fingertips starting to skim over the spread of inks available. 

“You’re shaking, by the way,” he says, selecting a jet black ink that you can’t tell the difference from the others, rolling the glass between his fingers as he looks up at you from his seat. “You promised you wouldn’t throw up.”

“And I’m keeping my promise,” you grit out, nearly strangling Itachi in your iron grasp. “I’m not gonna throw up.” 

“Even if I believed that - which I don’t know that I do,” you manage a scowl, though it’s aimed at the floor, “- I can’t exactly do my job on someone who’s shaking like a leaf.” 

“I’m not,” you argue.

Sakusa slowly lifts your hand, and you both watch a shiver run through it. His hand is warm even through the glove, his grip soft on your inner wrist. Your face pinches in defeat and Sakusa just lets out a small sigh through his nose.

“Look, I don’t really do these kinds of appointments.” 

“These kinds?” You echo, tilting your head in confusion, before you slowly nod. “Right, you’re part of the back of house escort service, I forgot. Would it be better if I undressed a little? Make you more comfortable?” 

The baby pink flush this gives Sakusa is so stark of a change that it startles you, and you think the joke was worth your own burning embarrassment at making it. He clears his throat, brow furrowed, but you can clearly see the blush that warms his cheeks, and the uncertain twitch of his mouth, like his brain can’t decide whether to smile or frown. 

“If you’re done interrupting me,” he says, “I meant nervous clients. Meian knows not to bother booking them with me, because it’s - well, it hasn’t gone that well in the past.” 

And you already know this. Shouyo has explained his coworker’s early mishaps while starting at Black Jackal, including the delightful incident where someone did puke in Sakusa’s studio and he had to send them off to Bokuto while he cleaned it top to bottom. His reputation is exactly why Shouyo’s news sent you into a panic: his image in your mind was a looming, scowling asshole who barely spoke two words to you at every visit you’d ever paid your best friend at work (which was too many to count, thanks to Shouyo’s insistence on forgetting things at home.) 

“I’ve heard,” is all you say, and Sakusa’s lips purse. He probably knows exactly what you’ve heard. 

“I don’t know how to . . . make people calm down.” He releases your hand and it drops back down to the worn leather; the absence of his touch is cold, and you miss it immediately. “And I’m guessing me just telling you not to freak out hasn’t been helping?” 

“How did you know?” You ask, voice flattened by the weight of your sarcasm. Sakusa manages another of his ghost smiles, but it fades from his eyes as he takes you in again. From the way he’s watching you, you must look as terrible as you feel right now. 

“Look,” you start, steadying yourself with a small, uneven breath. “I want this tattoo, you don’t want to cancel this appointment, so it seems like the best thing is for us to just - just commit to the bit, you know? So just distract me and it’ll be fine.”

“Distract you?” This suggestion seems to strike Sakusa like an electric charge, jolting him into another startling blush, brow furrowed in frustration. “With what?” 

You swallow a nervous laugh, eyeing his panic like a house cat eyes their pretend prey, and say, “You could take your shirt off or something,” because you’ve completely lost your mind and you want to draw that blush out of him as much as you can. It might be the only distraction you need. 

Sakusa’s face goes bubblegum pink, from his forehead to his - remarkably sharp and pretty - jawline, and something about it makes his eyes even more piercing. He just stares at you as you cackle, your nerves making the laughter bubble up in your stomach like a shaken bottle of sparkling wine. 

“I’m kidding, I swear,” you laugh, face warm and insides fizzing with a wild cocktail of anxiety and helpless endearment. “You can just, you know, talk at me or something. That’s usually how I get through shots and stuff.”

“Oh? This is a recurring issue?” Sakusa is still a little pink as he reaches for his supplies, but reaches out a gloved hand and gently turns your head to face the opposite wall when you look over. “Don’t look, idiot, just stare at the art or something.” 

“Okay,” you nod, a bit breathless even when he finally releases your jaw. You train your gaze on the wave designs you noticed earlier, the detailed strokes a good visual distraction. “Yeah, I don’t like needles, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Sakusa echoes, voice flat. You’re trying to picture his expression, and when you chance a glance you see you nailed it: the scowl and single quirked eyebrow combo he’s used three different times on you today. 

“Yeah, obviously. I know it’s not uncommon, but it’s still, like, embarrassing, you know?” Your fingers twist into Itachi the Weasel’s soft fur. “It’s like a little kid phobia.” 

Sakusa just hums, barely audible, as he wipes a cold towelette across your inner arm, and you suppress a shiver. 

“It’s not that embarrassing,” he says finally, though his words are a bit distant, out of focus, as he concentrates on whatever he’s rifling around with on his cart of supplies. They clink gently as he works, the only sound in the room aside from his quiet murmurs. “You’re doing pretty well. I appreciate that you still haven’t puked.” 

“And I’m not going to,” you insist, pulling a quiet laugh from him. 

“I would hope not.” His gloved hands are back on your arm, repositioning you slightly and then tracing something cool and soft along the skin. When you look down, he’s outlining the design; his movements are so delicate it’s as if he’s pushed all the concentration in his body to his hand. “Not when I’m being so nice, anyway. Now,” he reaches up with his free hand, tilts your chin up and guides your gaze back to the wall of art, “stop looking.” 

You laugh, your stomach fluttering. “But what if you do it bad? I need to see the tracing!” 

When Sakusa’s hand stills for a long moment and he goes quiet, you risk a look back down and see him glaring up at you, though his mouth is twisting away from a smile. 

“I don’t know if you’ve heard,” he says quietly, leaning ever so slightly closer to you, coaxing you to lean forward and meet him, “but I’m really fucking good at what I do.” 

And you don’t mean to say it, you really don’t, but the muttered, “Oh, I bet you are,” just slips out. Sakusa really walked into it, if you think about it. 

And he responds with another deep pink blush, giving a slight cough as he leans back, eyes now glued to your arm as he reaches to continue the design. He nudges your chin up again with his knuckles before he gets back to work. 

The studio is quiet after that, the pair of you letting the tension brew as Sakusa finishes the small tracing and starts sifting through his supplies again. 

“Okay,” he breaks the silence, and there’s a note of concern that wasn’t in his voice before. “I’m going to get started now, but I think you should take a second to breathe. If you start hyperventilating,” he adds sternly, “I will not do this tattoo.”

“I won’t hyperventilate,” you assure him, sounding much more confident than your shaky lungs feel. 

“You’ll be fine,” Sakusa concludes, and he seems to realize how much of a non-comfort this is, because he knocks his elbow against Itachi, where he’s pressed to your stomach. “Remember to squeeze the living shit out of him, alright? He won’t mind - I think.” 

It’s only when that gets a smile out of you that Sakusa continues, and your head turns instinctively when he lifts something from the cart. 

“Eyes on the wall,” he says without even looking up at you, fiddling with the tattoo gun in his hands. You obey, eyes shooting back to the wave designs, trying to trace the patterns instead of thinking about any impending stabbing. “Thank you.” 

“Anytime,” and it comes out as more exhale than speech, but you are managing to  get your breathing under control. 

“I’m going to turn it on now, but -”

The moment the mechanism buzzes to life, you flinch so hard that you almost drop Itachi, and Sakusa gives a little sigh through his nose.

“- I won’t use it yet, because I figured you’d do that.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” you mutter, struggling to put up a teasing glare so he knows you’re joking. Sakusa’s dark eyes are narrowed in thought when you look over at him, averting your eyes from the tattoo gun in his hands. 

“Are you done shaking now?” His fingertips graze your inner wrist, glancing down to study your arm like he’s looking for more tremors. “Because I genuinely can’t do this if you’re moving around, you know.” 

“I know,” you say, a bit breathless at the contact as Sakusa’s hand travels up to rest on the crook of your elbow, steadying your arm. He’s still not looking at you, but you think he can probably feel your eyes on him. “. . . It’s fine. I’ll be fine.”

“The design is small, so it won’t take too long.” He presses on the skin of your inner bicep, shoulders hunching as he moves to get started. “Just say something if you need to take a break.”

You let out a shaky laugh. “And you say you’re bad with nervous clients.”

A beat of silence, broken by Sakusa clearing his throat. “Just repeating the stuff Bokuto always says.”

You give a sharp gasp when the needle finally touches your skin, the sting sudden and swift, and Sakusa doesn’t look up from where he’s carefully inking your skin when he says, “Yeah, it’s not pleasant.” 

“I mean, I figured, but what the hell!” You hiss, face scrunching in displeasure. You suppress a shudder that tries to run through your body as he lifts the needle and then returns it to your skin. 

“Eyes on the wall, Y/N,” he says, and your gaze moves before you realize you’re following his direction. When had you looked back down at him? “You don’t wanna watch me stab you.”

“I said I was sorry about that,” you mutter, and Sakusa just exhales the ghost of a laugh as he continues. 

It’s not unbearable, the pain small but constant, and you focus on the feeling of Sakusa’s hands on you to distract yourself - whether this is really a good plan has yet to be decided. At least it steadies you, his grip sure as he works, and you wonder for a split second how this would be going with someone like Shouyo. You’ve seen your best friend give tattoos before, but the feeling of his distractible, fluttering hands on your arm seems like miles away from the solid reassurance in Sakusa’s hands. There’s something about his concentration, the small pinch returning to his brow whenever you flicker your gaze to him, and the warmth of his broad hands that has your stomach fluttering while your pounding heart eases slightly. 

Maybe this mishap wasn’t the worst possible outcome. 

“Nearly halfway,” Sakusa murmurs, and you catch it in surprise just over the buzz of the machine. 

“Already?” You’re so focused on the feeling of Sakusa holding you that you didn’t even notice ten minutes flick by. 

“Yeah, I told you, a design like this won’t take long.” His hand slides down your arm a bit, holding your inner forearm in place, and his fingers curl around you almost reflexively. You resist the urge to look down as hard as you can, and find yourself outright glaring at the ocean scenes on the opposite wall. “You’re doing really well.” 

And now you’re glaring and flushing, the praise going straight to your hammering heart while you fight the warmth in your face and the twist and turn of your insides as you study his work. The brushstrokes of that middle scene, a huge tidal wave in a myriad of blues and grays and teals, are so delicate that it’s hard for you to pick them apart from across the tiny studio, and you think you want to see Sakusa’s hands do something that delicate. It’s only fair, if you can’t look at him as he so carefully and gently marks your arm when you want to chance a glance so badly. 

“Nearly there,” he says, unreadable as he lifts the needle from your skin, adjusting your arm’s position slightly. “Need a moment?” 

“I -“ You’re not sure if the break is really what you want: your plan was to just get the whole thing over with as quickly as possible, and now your torment is drawing to an end. But your brain is going hazy with Sakusa’s hands on you, and you want to ease into that feeling for a little longer. “. . . Sure, just for a second.” 

“How about ten?” You hear him laugh, the sound low and warm. “And you know you can look wherever you want now, right?” 

Your gaze darts down to meet his, and you catch the tail end of his smile before it sinks below the surface again, just the remnants of it left glimmering in his eyes. 

“You wanna look, or wait until I’m finished?” 

And Sakusa huffs out a laugh because he sees that you’re already sneaking a peek at your half-finished tattoo, the skin around it irritated but the inked lines and curls so entrancing that you want to touch them. Sakusa holds your hand back, placing it over Itachi where you had sat him down next to you on the table. 

“You like it?” The permanent intensity of his gaze makes the question feel like you’re being interrogated, but you just smile.

“Yeah.” You glance back at the design, studying the parts of it that still need to be filled in. “How much longer, do you think?”

“If we keep going right now, I can probably get you out of here by three,” and you swallow your disappointment. Twenty minutes did not give you a lot of time to crack open more of Sakusa’s shell.

“Alright.”

He gets back to work and the studio falls quiet, save for the steady buzz of the gun and the creak of the table each time you shift your legs around. Sakusa’s silence is so complete that you find your gaze wandering down to him, despite your promises to keep your eyes away from the procedure at hand, and you study the crinkle in his forehead as he focuses, the curl that strays between his eyes. He pauses to brush that curl back into place, and the movement is hypnotizing; you can’t stop watching how smooth his motions are, every one deliberate and careful. When he does so his eyes slide over to meet yours, and you sink so deep into his gaze that you can’t even try and pretend like you weren’t staring. 

“Almost done,” he says; his thumb traces the edges of the design, and the smallest sting is left behind on the irritated skin, a mark of his touch. You just nod, your brain moving honey-slow as you watch him. 

“You’re doing fine,” he remarks, head cast down as he finishes his work. “Not nervous anymore?”

“No, I am,” you reply, a bit breathless, “but I’m - you’re - it’s not that bad.” The words clatter their way out of you, awkward and uncertain in your mesmerized haze. His hair catches the studio lights and the curls remind you of the brushstrokes in his art, each rivulet of the tidal wave rendered with individual care, smooth and inviting. You clench Itachi a bit tighter, keeping your hand where it is. 

Sakusa breathes something like a laugh and a sigh, lifting the needle from your skin for the last time. “Well, good, because you’re done. Told you it wouldn’t take too long.” 

He putters about his equipment for a moment, putting things back in their places, and you study his movements as your hand frees Itachi (much to his relief, you’re sure) and reaches for the stinging patch of skin on your inner arm. 

“Don’t touch it,” Sakusa warns, barely glancing at you from where he’s slathering on another round of hand sanitizer. “Unless you want it to get infected.” 

“No, I’m okay, actually.” Your hand drops into your lap as you wait for him to return, legs swinging with your nerves as he finally meets your eyes. 

“You didn’t puke.” Sakusa is giving you that barely-there smile again, and you swear you see the beginnings of a dimple on his right cheek. The urge to run your hands through his curls only grows with this observation, which you really wish it wouldn’t, because talking to him is only getting harder. 

“I didn’t.” 

“Thank you for that,” he says, pulling on a fresh pair of gloves and motioning for your arm. “Hold your arm out straight for me.” 

Warmth creeps up your throat as you do as asked, and Sakusa’s hands are warmer this time when he uses a cotton round to spread a thick layer of ointment onto the design. It shimmers in the light, and you turn your arm slightly to examine his work. 

“I’d ask if it looks okay, but it’s a little late for that.”

“Maybe you should’ve let me look, then,” you try to glare up at him as he crowds into your space a bit, gently laying plastic wrap over the area. You can feel the warmth of him this close, and catch a note of his clean, summery scent, like one of those sweet-scented dryer sheets. “So I could tell you before it’s too late.”

“You would’ve freaked out. Besides, it definitely looks okay. I told you, I’m pretty good at this.” 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” you manage to roll your eyes, despite the flips your stomach is doing even as he backs away. He retreats to his desk to shuffle through the contents of a cramped drawer, and you watch the broad line of his shoulders stoop as he bends over the drawer. You feel the need to get ahold of yourself, but it’s a distant concern when your head is this floaty. 

“Alright,” and when Sakusa turns back around, folded papers in hand and firm expression fixed on you, you let that concern fizz out entirely, “you’re finished. These are aftercare instructions.” He passes you the papers and waits for you to carefully tuck them into your purse. “Follow them - don’t skip steps or rush the healing process. Understand?” 

“Got it,” you salute, warmth fluttering through you at his low tone. “I can follow instructions.” 

Sakusa just nods, mouth flattened as you gently slide off the leather seat. “I’m sure you can, so I expect you to. I want to see that healed properly the next time you come to see Hinata.” 

“So you’ll actually come say hi, instead of hiding back here?” 

He quirks a brow and you squirm under his questioning gaze, embarrassment flooding you. Was that too obvious? 

“. . . We’ll see. Depends on if you still want to see me after this.” Usually people don’t. The implication hangs between you both, and you yank it aside like you’re letting in fresh air. 

“Well, maybe I do. Is that a problem? Gonna ruin your street cred?” 

“I think you’re going to obliterate it, honestly.” 

“You don’t sound opposed.” And that’s as much a question as it is a jibe; you stand prone in his little studio, waiting for Sakusa to stack up his many walls once more, back where they stood before you followed him into his sanctuary. 

But he just stares back at you, the corner of his lips twitching as his gaze moves from your face to your new tattoo and back again. “Maybe I’m not.” 

A knock at the door startles you out of the fuzzy, warm headspace you’ve sunk so deep into, and both of your heads whip to look at Shouyo, whose fluff of ginger hair is peering around the open door as he looks back at you both. 

“Are you done already? My client’s just taking a break now, and I wanted to come check in . . .” 

Taking a step away from Sakusa - when had you drifted so close to him? - you flash Shouyo a thumbs up and a wane smile. “Totally done! Completely finished!”

“Awesome!” 

It’s quiet as you all head back to the front desk so you can pay, Shouyo seemingly oblivious to the tension brewing between every word you direct at him instead of Sakusa. You leave Black Jackal with a new tattoo and the feeling of Sakusa Kiyoomi’s eyes on your back as you step out the door, finding Alisa already waiting for you, leaning against the passenger door of her parked car. 

“Hey! Lemme see, I bet it’s so cute . . . what’s wrong with you?” She squints at you, hands still on your arm to see the tattoo, and you shrug. 

“Nothing, I’m all good.” 

“So you didn’t freak out?” Alisa asks, pulling you along to the car. “No hyperventilating?”

“No,” you shake your head, sliding into the passenger seat. “I . . . I might go back, get another one. I’m not sure yet.”

“Wow.” Alisa gives you a once-over when she gets into the driver’s seat, turning on the ignition but not taking her eyes off of you. You don’t look over to see if she’s suspicious - you already know her too well for that. “It must’ve gone really well.” 

“Yeah.” You nod slowly, fingers twisting in your lap. “It did.” 

“So Hinata’s actually good at his job?”

“I, um - actually -” You fumble with your words, the last hour crashing through your brain at hyperspeed; there’s no turn of phrase that feels appropriate, not with the bright, too-hot feeling bubbling up inside of you, coaxing a wavering little smile out of you. “Shouyo couldn’t, um, actually he didn’t do it.” 

“Oh?” Alisa pauses before pulling onto the road, her acrylics tapping thoughtfully on the steering wheel before she lets out an obnoxious, dramatic gasp. “Oh! Oh my god, wait, who?” 

“Shut up,” you say instead of answering, burying your warm face in your hands. 

“No way,” she argues, and you feel the car start moving, thank god. Soon you can be embarrassed in peace. “No way, you - it wasn’t Miya, was it? Please tell me it wasn’t.”

“No! No, it wasn’t - it actually was Miya’s fault that Shouyo couldn’t do it, so - I mean, um - it was . . . you know Sakusa?” His name trips off of your tongue, pretty and hushed, and the phantom feel of his hands on your skin makes you shiver.

When you finally look up at Alisa, she’s staring at you in mingled disbelief and delight. “No fucking way.”

“I’ll literally hop out of this moving car, right fucking now.” 

“I didn’t say anything! I just - no way. No fucking way.” 

“Yeah.” You murmur, head tipped back against the headrest, trying not to picture that almost-smile glimmering in his sharp gaze. “No way.” 

[lovelyladyabsinthewrites]

Give Me Your Heart, Make It Real, Or Else Forget About It

Pairing(s): Manolo Sanchez x Reader, Manolo Sanchez x Maria Posada, Joaquin Mondragon x Reader

Warnings: soft nsfw, implications, break ups, Manolo might be OOC since it’s been a while that i’ve written for the book of life, bsf to lovers, gonna try writing for gn reader for first time, probably not as fluffy as anon may have wanted, a lil angsty cuz that’s my bread and butter, world expansion, alcohol consumption, both reader and Manolo are of age, dancing, young horny adults

Words: 8029 (jfc this has got to be my longest fic ever. fingers crossed it doesn’t suck lol)

Summary: Only one thing comes to mind when faced with mending your friend’s broken heart: drinking.

* inspired by Santana’s “Smooth” 

*Man now I really want pan dulce

“Jesus, Manolo.” You breathe out when you open your front door. His eyes were red and puffy, shoulders slouched forward utterly defeated. Even his hair, meticulously styled was a mess that drooped over his face. It was starting to get dark, street lamps were barely starting to be lit. 

When he brings his big brown eyes to look up at you, you know whatever happened was bad. Worse than anything you had seen him go through before. Your heart plummets. The worst thing was seeing your best friend in shambles. 

His lips move, about to say something but thinks better about it when a glossy sheen grows over his eyes like he’s about to cry. Immediately you usher him inside your hacienda and settle him down on your sofa. He looked like a giant sitting on it, especially as you wrap him in one of your thick, quilted blankets your grandmother had made you. You scurry to your little cocina to grab a warm drink for him and perhaps some pan dulce if he wanted it although you doubt he has much of an appetite. Upon your return, Manolo is blankly staring at your wall. Normally lively eyes were dull, nearly lifeless. That scared you more than anything. You put aside what you brought him on a small end table and get on your knees in front of him, imploring to tell you what was wrong. His hands were large in your’s when you grab onto them and pull them close to your chest. Never before had Manolo been as broken as he was there on your sofa. Not even with the whole thing involving literal immortals like La Muerte and Xibalba. When Xibalba fooled everyone into thinking Maria was dead. Absolutely cruel of them to use your friends’ lives in a messed up bet just because they were oh so bored of immortality. Thankfully since then, life in San Angel returned to relative normality. Or as normal as San Angel could be. 

He wasn’t ready to talk. Not just yet. The only thing you knew he needed right now was to bury his face in your shoulder as you held him in your arms. His shoulders tremble and you feel wet plops against your shoulder. Allowing him to take however long necessary until he gathered his thoughts. The only thing you could think of that could put him in such a state was something bad happening to Maria. They definitely couldn’t have broken up. They were still in love with each other after all those years of waiting and pining. Surely their love would last forever. Unlike you and Joaquin who’d been doomed from the beginning. That had only lasted a year before things disintegrated between you and Joaquin. One of those situations where it turned out you loved him more than he loved you. Not everyone could have a fairytale relationship like Manolo and Maria. Funny how back then you were in Manolo’s position and he’d been the one consoling you. 

What you had thought was a baseless fear was actually reality for him. 

They had broken up.

Even as he told you the lead up, you still didn’t want to believe it. Sometimes love wasn’t enough to keep two people together. Maria has always had an adventurous spirit. It led her to many escapades and mishaps that your parents didn’t necessarily like. She got you and the boys into plenty of trouble. Her fun loving nature was what broke her bond with Manolo. She wanted to travel, see more of the great big world out there. Manolo though, he was all too happy staying in San Angel. While his family no longer walked on this plane of existence, he loathed the idea of leaving his home. Not after all he went through to get back and save it. Plus you and Joaquin were still here. He couldn’t up and leave his best friends. Maria exasperated herself with begging him to go with her, for she was leaving either way. She loved her work at the orphanage she missed traveling Europe. There was still so much of it she hadn’t seen. Both tried to come to a compromise but could not come up with one that would would satisfy them. Manolo was equally set with not leaving. He’d give Maria everything and anything but not this. His home was everything to him. All his memories of his family reside here. the last pieces of his father and grandmother.

While not as close to Maria as you were with Manny, you knew she would be equally devastated with this drastic turn of events. She’d loved Manolo, even as little kids you remember Maria as having a soft spot for the guitarrista. She didn’t have any other friends besides Manolo, Joaquin and you. You wonder, albeit bitterly, if she had sought comfort for Joaquin. After all, she had been the catalyst for your break up with him. He was still in love with her but accepted that she had chosen Manolo. You would always be second best to him. Unlike Maria, you had no great beauty and no talent to boast of. Not even your parents were of incredible birth like the great General Posada. They had humble jobs that kept you and your siblings fed and a roof over your head. You never held any of these things against her though. She was modest and kind and was someone who would help you up if you ever fell down. 

Finishing up his retelling, he slumps further into the sofa; weariness causing deep set lines under his eyes. He didn’t want to be alone in his own casa. He would be all alone there. You told him he could stay at your small house, for as long as he needed. Providing him with blankets and pillows, you leave him in your living room to get much required rest. Even when you woke up the following morning, Manolo was still sleeping like the dead with the blankets wrapped around him as tightly as a tortilla in a burrito. You let him sleep and go about your day, having sent word to your parents that you wouldn’t be able to work at the family panaderia. Manolo slept like the dead. Even when you broke one of your clay bowls as you toyed around with recipes to propose to your father with. He didn’t even twitch. Several times you checked to verify he was still breathing. Still alive. This was Manolo’s first ever breakup. You were much the same after your own. He rouses at your gentle prompting, reminding him to eat or drink water before going back to the numbness of sleep. 

Two days pass like this, with Manolo talking a little bit more each day but still looking blanched. When you return to work and tell your parents what has been going on, your mother says in inappropriate to have Manolo staying with you for as long as he has. You want to support your friend though and ignore her wary glances that she shoots you. 

After bidding him goodbye one morning, you make your way to work. Your little brothers are already under foot, running around the store and getting it ready to open for the day. In the cocina you hear your mother shouting at your brothers instructions and reminders as if they hadn’t been working here since the day they started walking. Mama made sure her children didn’t have idle hands. She’d even send the boys out to the town center to sell churros, not understanding why they would come back with white frosted churros and no sales. In time you hope she learns that little kids are not responsible sales people.

“There you are.” Your mama exclaims as she whirls out of the cocina and to the front counter. She’s already tossing you an apron. Prattling off the list of orders and tasks for the day, you nod absentmindedly while reaching around your back to tie together the straps of your stained apron you’d had for years. When the boys get too rowdy for her liking, she snaps at them, brandishing a wooden spoon and light threats.

She sighs and pushes you into the kitchen. “Go on. Your pap needs help with Senora Bigote’s order of three dozen conchas for her conquian night with the other ladies in her group.”

Papa is kneading dough with his strong hands that you’ve personally seen split a whole apple perfectly in half. He’s a big man and looks comical in the panaderia’s kitchen. In one corner of the room sat a wood fire oven, ready to be worked and seemingly standing in vigilance over the cocina. Automatically, you grab large baking trays and place them next to your father. You give him a quick peck on his cheek before grabbing half of the smooth, elastic dough to start shaping them.

He makes a grunting noise as he gently stops you. “I can handle the conchas. Start on the wedding cake for the Torres’.”

Obediently, you wipe off your hands and set out to gather everything you needed. You pass by clay pots and bowls used by generations of family bakers.

Solemnly your mind travels back to Manolo whose probably still fast asleep on your couch. There would be no wedding for them after all. Manolo always said he wanted you to make their reception cake when the time came. you’d already planned the flavors, layers, fruit and decorations. An occasion that had been anticipated for a while. Alas, no one would get to see the splendor of the cake you would have created for your best friend. 

Your mama takes care of the front of house often leaving just you and your dad in charge of the actual baking. 

Focused on your task, you lose track of time. When your mom goes into the kitchen to take over for you, it’s already lunch. Gently, you rotate your neck to work out the kinks and give your back a good stretch. You push open the half door that connects the front of the store to the kitchens. Both of your brothers had been sent out once again to sell churros in the heart of San Angel. You check the clock that fixed above the front door, wondering how Manolo was doing.

Front door bell jingling, your eyes move back down to the moustached face of Joaquin as he enters. You’re more than confused seeing him there. He’d avoided the panaderia after the break up. Even he shifts awkwardly in front of your widened gaze. His lush moustache wiggles as he tries to find the proper words. 

Saving him the effort of speaking first, you ask him with saccharine politeness “What can I get for you today sir?” Two years the both of you had been separated, but you still felt tender once you were back in his presence. 

Joaquin exhales and rubs at the back of his neck.  “Hey. Long time no see?” In reply you simply deadpan your face into a neutral stare. If he was going to beat around the bush you might as well get your mama to chase him out. He was wasting your time. Thankfully he was aware and gulps before continuing. “I gather you know about Manolo and Maria?”

Ah, of course. You stiffly nod “Yeah. Manolo showed up at my door the other day. He’s been sleeping on my sofa.”

He lets out a clipped laugh making something ugly in you unfurl. There’s a cruel little smirk subtly tugging up his lips but he hides it with his hand. “Of course he did.”

You didn’t bother to hide the sharpness of your frown, your elbows on the wooden counter and narrowing your eyes at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Instantly regret slaps across his face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it. Really. I came here because we have to do something. This an’t be how their relationship ends. Not after everything they’ve been through.”

You’d tried plenty of times to get Manolo to go back and talk with her. “It’s none of our business.”

Squinting his eyes at you, Joaquin places his hands on his hips. “You can’t be serious. Manolo literally died for Maria! They-They can’t end over something as stupid as this!”

“Apparently it’s not that stupid if it’s caused such a rift.” You counter smoothly.

A moment passes where neither of you say anything, just stare at one another. His nose scrunches up in frustration. Nostrils flare and chest heaving as he tries to prevent himself from saying something he’d truly regret. But you wore him thin. You’d always been able to get under his skin so easily. As kids you liked teasing him because he made it so easy. Nowadays it took a little more to ruffle him. 

“Maybe you’re secretly happy about this.”

This merry go round. You were familiar with this ride. “Not this again.”

When you roll your eyes, Joaquin prickles. “You and Manolo have always been close. Maybe too close to be just platonic.”

This had been a constant point of contention when you were still together. That had never been a problem before when you were kids. Those were simpler times when emotions such as jealousy wasn’t as toxic as in adulthood.

Remembering your parents in the back, you lower your voice. “Look, if you want to talk this over with Manolo, be my guest. I’m not poking my nose in his business unless he asks me to. I don’t want to talk about this here.”

His eyes follow your’s to the still swinging door. He understood and immediately straightens. If your mom caught Joaquin in her store, she’d froth at the mouth before lunging at him. Mama had never liked him and was more than happy when you told her you’d broken up. From his face you could tell Joaquin wanted to argue with you more. The medals that decorated his chest clink together as he lets go of a heavy breath. Reluctantly he turns his back to you and leaves the store. 

Joaquin’s appearance leaves you agitated for the rest of the day until your mom could no longer suffer through your sulky attitude. Your brothers having returned some time after lunch, its you whose being pushed out of the door with her wooden spoon. You’re of no use to her in that state and you were better off at home. She was right. You’d wanted to go home anyway to see how your best friend was faring. 

Your shoes click against the cobblestone streets that lead to your hacienda. An orange tint painted the sky and buildings. You many not be able to mend his heart right away but you know music and dancing always managed to revive his spirits. Anything that might act as a soothing balm for him. Worth a shot.

Front door unlocked, you turn the knob without any resistance. Manolo was still on your sofa but now he was sitting up. Recognition brings life to his eyes. He offers you a half-hearted smile just like with the other days you’d come home to him. “Welcome home.”

You go to his side. “Did Joaquin come over?”

He nods. You want to congratulate him on actually brushing his hair today. “Yeah. Tried to talk me into going back to Maria. But. . .” Manolo shakes his head.  “There’s no more talking left to be done with her. You know how Maria is.”

Yes, once she made a decision, she didn’t go back on it. General Posada tried for years to rein in that part of her to no avail. She was too much like her mother who had also left San Angel to pursue travel.

“And you’re really sure you don’t want to go with her? You won’t be gone forever.”

Sadly chuckling, his shoulders sag forward. “I did enough traveling in the Land of the Remembered and the Land of the Forgotten.”

Pursing your lips you affectionately pet his hair and feel him relax a little under your touch. “Why don’t you go clean up and come with me to listen to some good live music.”

From the down turn of his mouth,  you know he wants to reject the offer. You’d let him. Of course you wouldn’t force him to do anything he didn’t want to. You wanted this to be his choice, his decision. An after thought seems to change his mind though as he slowly nods his head. “Okay. That sounds like it could be fun.” For your benefit, he puts energy into his smile before you leave him to get ready and head for your room so you could change and freshen up as well. You’re sure there is flour dusting the top of your head making you look like an old lady. 

In the local cantina, they’d recently been hiring more live entertainment which included the Rodriguez brothers and even young Ignacio who Manolo had been teaching guitar to. Plus others in the neighborhood as well as musicians from nearby towns. The night life was really picking up in your once quiet San Angel. Plays were performed in the old bullfighting arena now, equally titillating the masses. Torches would illuminate the outside walls and if you lived close enough to the arena, you could hear the boisterous laughter of the crowd. It was nice to walk through the town at night, listening to joyful people. All four of you had gone out to enjoy such activities. And when you ended things with Joaquin, you and Manolo made it a point to have best friends night. They were always the best. Drinks were had (never too much because you always worked early in the mornings at the panaderia) and by the end of it your feet were about ready to fall off thanks to all the dancing. He always got you out of your reserved shell. You really shined brightly around him. Unsurprising that Joaquin may have been jealous by your closeness to the former matador. You’d always told him that was nonsense. Manolo had always been your friend. Just friend. Joaquin continually persisted that there was something more to your feelings for Manolo. 

Funny because Maria never saw an issue with how much time the two of you spent together. Sometimes she would even join in on your revelry. You weren’t jealous toward Maria being with him. Joaquin just likes to say stupid things. He still had to work on himself, undo whatever whispers were left over from Xibalba.

The both of you having dolled yourselves up (you had to admit that Manolo cut quite the figure in a matador outfit), you head out and down the street arm in arm. A lightness in his step that you were happy to see. His smile was still a watered down version of what it normally is. The goal of tonight was to get him out of his own head. Even if it’s just for a few hours. 

That night’s air tastes sweet on your tongue as you and Manolo are already laughing when coming upon the cantina. Music from inside so loud that its making the ground softly vibrate against the soles of your shoes. 

Manolo leans into you to ask “Do you know whose playing tonight?”

You list one out of town band and two local performers. From the entrance to the bar, everything becomes hazy, almost dream like as you and Manolo throw back drinks and grow more deliriously jubilant. Thankfully the music was good, aiding to the overall atmosphere. As music plays on, glasses were raised, you watch a glimmer of life return to Manolo’s eyes. Liquor infused a vibrant glow to your surroundings and the intricate patterns of the tiles beneath your feet. You spend time reminiscing of days past. Manolo couldn’t resist bringing up your terrible partners before Joaquin took that position. You tease back in return by making fun of how hopelessly moon eyed he’d been around Maria when you were kids. Thankfully it made him laugh instead of diminishing his smile. You hadn’t meant to bring Maria up but you’re happy that he didn’t react negatively to it. That was the only hitch and was quickly forgotten.

Manolo’s shoulders bump against your’s as he laughs or when he bobs to the flow of melody. He’s having an authentic good time. Relief blooms in your chest. Good. That was really good. 

The band playing strum their guitars with fervor and an impulsive spirit rose within you. You stand and extend your hand to Manolo, playful mischief lighting your smile. 

He lets out a soft chuckle and regards your hand. Encouraged by the music and your inviting gesture, he takes your hand, his lips curling into a reluctant but genuine smile. The two of you stumble, making your way to the center floor where others have already coupled off in small groups. Laughing about your clumsy feet, you cling to Manolo to make sure you don’t take a tumble. Manolo’s chest rumbles in his own giggling as his hands securely tighten on you. 

Your dancing is simple swaying at first as both of you try and find your groove. Two puzzle pieces finding their fit. He’s twirling you around, making you dizzy but you enjoy the lightheaded buzzing that it delivers to your head. Manolo insists you spin him as well and you do your best but he’s taller than you and he has to bend down a little bit in order for you to complete the move. You feel like children again. 

In the midst of rhythmic, drunken chaos, something extraordinary began to take shape between you that took you some time to recognize. The goofiness that was making the air silly and fun turns into something else. Manolo’s laughter, a sound as familiar to you as your own heart beat, melds seamlessly with the guitar chords in the background. His footing and turns grow surer with each passing minute as he acclimates to your pace. Distance between you shrinking as your bodies synchronized to the melody. Fingers brush against fingers and glances began to hold more weight than previously. A heaviness in his dark eyes when they land on your face. It makes your heart spasm in your chest.

You want to pin it on the alcohol flowing in your system. Maybe even the lighting in the bar that sharpened Manolo’s already exquisite face. The hitching beneath your breast as you become aware of just how close he is to you and the parting of his lips as his breathing becomes strained. And by his blown out pupils, you could only surmise that he was going through the same odd feelings you were. His Adam’s apple bobs nervously, his yearning becoming profoundly clear as he leans his face closer to your’s; drawn to you like a magnet. 

Realizing the hungry fire that ate away in your belly was attraction and want. For Manolo. Your best friend who had just broken up with the love of his life just a few days ago. 

His nose brushes against your’s. He says something, low enough that you would have been able to hear despite the loud music. Your brain is malfunctioning though. Unable to process his words.

This wasn’t right. Whatever it was.

You had too much respect for yourself to be his rebound. 

Abruptly you tear yourself away from him, horror turning that once bright fire into ash in your mouth. Music becomes white noise in your ears, you watch Manolo’s mouth move but couldn’t hear the words that he was actually saying. Slowly you back away from him. He follows you back to the table the both of you had previously sat at. Gripping the edge to stop your head from reeling further, you don’t hear Manolo come up from behind you.

“Please-”

You shake your head furiously and pivot on your feet. Too many emotions were hijacking your body. Unable to even look him in the face unless that feeling of attraction was to bloom in you once more. The buzz you’d been enjoying betrays you. 

It’s just the alcohol. You’re not really in love with him. Not after all this time. It just had to be your inebriated state. Any other reason for it, you refuse to acknowledge. If you stayed on the dance floor any longer, you would have kissed him. Or he would have kissed you. Someone would’ve initiated it. And if it were Manolo, you’d let him kiss you.

He tries to put a hand on your shoulder but his touch scalds you. “I’m sorry, I didn’t. . . I-I”

Taking a deep breath, finally you manage to meet his desperate gaze. Fear flashes vividly in them. Neither of you could even describe what had transpired as an accident. Vulnerability has your stomach curling into itself self-consciously. 

Joaquin was right all along. You and Manolo weren’t just friends. Definitely not anymore. What were you then if not friends? This would justify all of Joaquin’s accusations. going out was supposed to be for Manolo’s benefit, get his mind off of romance and relationships. Not to confuse him with these feelings that have sprout up so suddenly that it gives you whiplash.

“W... We should leave.” Your lead tongue finally moves to articulate words. Disappointment leaks from him but there nothing you could do about that. Wordlessly, the two of you leave the cantina. You don’t bother to look back and check if Manolo is following you. His soft, sad footsteps trek after you. Unlike early, the walk home is quiet. As much distance as possible is forced between you and Manolo. It just then reenters your mind that Manolo was sleeping on your couch. That had to end. Tonight though, you’d let him stay. He was in no state to be alone in his empty house. Now that would be adding cruelty. 

Inside of your home, you mumble a hasty goodnight and retreat to the safety of your room. Quietly you listen to his shuffling outside. A creak comes from the floorboards before you hear the sound of the couch as Manolo sits down.

What’s he thinking right now? Is he realizing he almost made a huge mistake in kissing you? He’s gotta be. Maybe this will make him go back to Maria to talk things out. Good. For the best. They were meant to be together. Everyone said so. Yet when you think about them going back to each other, a lump forms in the back of your throat that chokes you up. 

You wanted very much for the void to swallow you whole. Leave nothing left of you in the mortal world. You desired to go to the Land of the Forgotten and to have Xibalba tear you into pieces. 

When cruel morning light peeks in through your curtains, you pull your covers over your head. If you didn’t get up soon, you’re certain your mom will come and break down your door. Whether out of motherly concern or as your boss, you weren’t sure. But once you didn’t show up for work without a notice, she would hunt you down to the end of the earth. Drinks last night hadn’t been too bad to where you had a severe hangover, simply a dull ache that resonated at your temples. A cup of coffee will help with that. If you could gather the courage to get out of bed and face Manolo. No way you could put it off any longer. Prolonging the inevitable.

Running a hand over your face to dislodge signs of sleep, you roll off of your mattress and set about getting ready for the day. Dread is heavy in you after getting dressed, your hand hovering over your bedroom door knob. 

To your surprise, your living room is empty. The pillow and blanket Manolo had been using were neatly folded and placed atop of the sofa cushions. A folded piece of paper with your name scrawled on the front begs for your attention. Manolo became a fixture on your couch that seeing him not there makes you more uneasy than relieved. 

You can’t bring yourself to read it. Instead you tuck it into your pocket and head into your cocina to get coffee before going into work. 

The sinking feeling you’d experienced last night lingers in you. Your rambunctious little brothers, always running around, even notice how quiet you are and in turn aren’t as loud as usual. They even cast worrying glances at you when they think you’re not looking. Head down, you just worry yourself with keeping busy and numb. 

What happened last night. . . You replay every moment. Turning them over and wondering what exactly went wrong for you to so suddenly be in love with your best friend. Because now that you weren’t drunk, those feelings stayed. You overanalyze everything until you mentally exhaust yourself. 

At some point while you’re in the kitchen with your dad, the note Manolo left for you soundlessly slips out of your pocket. Papa maneuvers around you for something when he notices the slip of paper on the ground. He bends down to pick it up and stares at your name in print. He recognized that print. Seen it throughout the years change but he’d known the familiar swirls in the letters. Manolo’s writing. Papa opens it without any regard for your privacy.

His bushy eyebrows shoot up in shock at its contents and his eyes dart from the piece of paper to your shoulders as you fix together dough for the orejas. 

He makes you jump when he calls out your name. You turn and he’s holding the note with your name facing you. Gawking, your hands immediately pat down your clothes before realizing too late. “What is this?”

You knew he wouldn’t give it back to you, not until you explained it to him. Difficult when you didn’t even read it yourself. 

“What is he talking about?” Your normally stoic father was now shaking the paper in his hand. “What happened last night?”

The fever-like blush that stains your face embarrasses you. Yeah this was not a subject you wanted to broach with your dad. “Papa-”

“What is all the noise?” Mama hangs over the half-door to peer into the cocina. Papa bypasses you although you desperately make grabby hands at the note in his hand. He hands it to your mother and now she’s reading Manolo’s handwriting. She gasps, scandalized and her eyes round as she clutches the front of her apron like she was having a heart attack. 

Your brain feels like flan as your mouth makes lame attempts to explain yourself to your parents. You felt like a kid again after getting in trouble. As if you didn’t feel bad enough already. The best thing for you to do was to wait until they exhausted themselves. If you tried to talk now, they would only raise their voices.

And eventually they do run out of wind. You even wait an extra minute before explaining to them how Maria and Manolo broke up, he’d been staying with you since and that the two of you went out for some fun last night. Nothing out of the ordinary, your parents knew Manolo since he was a kid and always liked him. He was sweet, considerate with helping out around the panaderia if he was visiting even though he definitely didn’t have to. Another thing was how respectful Manolo was to your parents. They thought he was a good boy. Nothing like Joaquin. 

The note still troubles them and they bring up. “And this? What is he talking about?” Finally you snatch it from his hands to read it. 

They leave you be for a few moments as your eyes hungrily eat up Manolo’s written words:

I’m sorry. I never meant to make things awkward. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking on your couch while you’re out at work. What else was there for me to do? I thought a lot about what Maria and I went through with Xibalba and La Muerte. Even before then. Everything seems to start and end at you though. When I worried about my future and what would happen, I knew you’d be there beside me as you’ve always been. And that gave me such relief. I thought I’d never feel joy again but then you suggested we go out to listen to music. You and the music woke me up to life again. I’m sorry I screwed everything up and probably hurt you. Separating from Maria was world ending, but life without you would thrust me into a completely endless void. I don’t know what any of last night meant. I understand if you’re upset with me and don’t want to see me. I hope some day soon you can forgive me and we can talk.

Manolo was always eloquent with his words. You weren’t angry with him. Not even when it happened. There were a lot of emotions swirling inside of you last night, not anger toward him though. An actual adult would have spoken to Manolo that same night to figure things out. You’d been so flustered and confused, even embarrassed and you just couldn’t face him in that moment. This couldn’t go on any longer. 

 You fold the note back up before addressing your parents. “I’m gonna step out for a little bit.” The seriousness in your tone as them quietly nodding, staring after you as you take your apron off and leave the panaderia.

You’d try his house first to see if he was there. A few places in mind to where Manolo could be. Mentally organizing them from the most possible to least. At this time of day, the streets were deserted except for a couple of vendors and stray chickens. Your work shoes, while perfect for standing hours at a time, were not exactly the best type to run in. 

The Sanchez home was quiet. Weird trying to adjust to Manolo’s great-grandmother not sitting out front while she’s knitting, her glasses nearly as big as her head. 

A few birds above twitter and swoop over the roof of the house. 

No one answers your persistent knocking. You even peek in through his windows to find not a soul in sight. Just the lonely chairs that once occupied his father and great-grandma. 

That’s when you pick out the gentle strumming of chords not too far away. You close your eyes and concentrate on the forlorn chords. They sang of the ache in Manolo’s heart. They came from the direction of the decommissioned bull fighting arena. Only a few blocks away, you start the short walk there. As you drew closer and closer, the singing of his guitar becomes stronger in force. 

Outside the arena walls, there are already a few individuals who had stopped to listen or try and peek their head inside. Instead of matador posters on the walls, there were now posters of performances that would be happening. 

The inside of your mouth is uncomfortably dry and the ramming of your heart nearly nauseates you into stopping. You had to. You loved Manolo too much to ruthlessly ignore him. That would be like ignoring the other part of you. He was ingrained in your every day life. It was weird not to talk to him.

You find Manolo alone, sitting silently in the middle of the ring. The old bull fighting arena where generations of his family had come to face off against the hoofed beast that furiously charged at them. All of that infamy ended with Manolo. He was never meant to be a killer. A lover, not a fighter. 

He’s mindlessly strumming the metal strings, face tilted up to the clear blue sky and letting the sun gift him with besos upon his cheeks. It sounded like the melody of whatever song was being played last night when you and Manolo danced together in the cantina. Only it lacked the vibrant energy. Dampened by his own mood. His only audience were a few birds that sat on the bench seats where spectators normally were. 

Sitting atop of the fence of the ring, you observe him silently. You don’t want to startle him. Plus you always loved when Manolo played guitar. He’d tried teaching you once upon a time but you lacked the patience for it. Wearing his traditional black and red traje de luces short jacket, you catch the sunlight glinting off of gold tassels. Your Manolo.

Just thinking that to yourself had you ruffled and blushing. He wasn’t your’s. You never saw him like that. Not before last night. Was that true though? There had to be other moments where your heart was struck by something you’d never felt before. You did get rosy eyed whenever you hung out in the arena while he was forced to train by Carlos. You’d do stupid little things to make him crack a smile as his father cracked down on him. You never liked seeing him despondent. Especially when the source was from Carlos Sanchez whom Manolo only wanted to be proud of him. 

As Manolo continues to play his guitar, he starts moving slowly until he’s completely turned around to face you. When he lifts his eyes to where you sat, you see him startled and nearly drop his guitar. You smile shyly. Now or never. So much was riding on this interaction with him. Your friendship dangling on the line. But as he registers you there and begins walking over to you, the courage you’d been able to nurture has shriveled up and died. This was scary. This was new.    

He’s tentative about approaching you, every movement he executed was calculated like he was coming up to a stray, scared animal. You couldn’t blame him. You’d completely ignored him the rest of last night. 

You run your tongue across your cracked lips. “Hey. . .”

His breath is shaky. “H-Hey.”

Patting the spot next to you on the fence, he carefully sets down his guitar and sits next to you; making sure he puts space between both of you. 

“I just read your note.” Slowly you kick your legs back and forth, something to release the pent up anxiety that needed an outlet. “I. . . You didn’t upset or hurt me last night. It was all just so confusing. You just broke up with the literal love of your life. I know I’m your best friend but the last thing I want to be is your rebound.”

Manolo blanches and attempts to stutter out his own exclamation but he required a moment to come up with his reply. “I never thought of you as a rebound. I’m not going to lie, everything is still confusing to me. Nothing has made sense since breaking up with Maria, but you’re a comfortable constant I can always cling to. Whatever last night meant to you, well. . .” The way he just refuses to look at you tells you more than he ever could verbally. 

“You. . . meant to kiss me?”

The tips of his ears actually BURN pink from his blush and a smile breaks across your face. “Not exaclty- well, i mean. . .” He huffs, frustrated with himself. “I figured, if it happens, it wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing.”

Holy shit.

Your brain hums and that not so bad nauseous feeling rises back in you again. Realizing that it wasn’t nausea. It was something entirely different.

“Meaning?”

Fiddling with his strong, callused fingers, Manolo chews on his bottom lip. Then his chocolate dark eyes land on you. That look, it screamed love and desire all bundled into one great feeling.

He goes on to tell you “You know, there was a time while Maria was gone that I hoped you would look my way and see me as someone who was more than a friend to you.”

How could that be true? He’d always loved Maria and that love had neither diminished nor left his constant thoughts. He let everyone know that. Manolo and Joaquin would get into contests about who would win Maria over. Lighthearted fights of course. There was no hitting, more like bragging. You found these debates amusing and added your own commentary. 

“You liked me?” 

Manolo chuckles and nods. “Of course I did.” Making sound like it was only obvious that he did. “I started to think that maybe Maria and I weren’t meant to be together. That maybe I would be leagues happier with you. Why do you think I followed you around like some puppy?”

You never saw it like that. You thought you were the one to always be tagging along with Manolo and Joaquin. Little Joaquin even complained loudly to Manolo that you were annoying. 

Hands that were gripping the wood of the fence post you sat on grew sweaty as the damn hummingbird in your chest was going wild. 

“I never thought of you as a rebound or second choice.” He whispers and fluidly places his large hand atop of your’s. “I just thought. . . it was meant to be when we were dancing. All signs pointing to you. I’m sorry-”

“You don’t have to keep apologizing.” You airly laugh. “I told you I wasn’t mad. But, I guess it makes more sense now.”

Cautiously, Manolo asks “Did I misread any signals?”

“Absolutely not.” Now it’s you chewing at your bottom lip. “I felt bad though. How sudden it was. Even worse is that this proves Joaquin was right. And he’s never right!”

Manolo almost falls over from his laughter. “What was he right about?”

“That we were more than just friends. He never did like how much time we spent together.” How many times had you fought with your ex about it? Too many. Now you would have the egg on your face when Joaquin finds out. You didn’t want him gloating how you were wrong. And you didn’t want to hurt Maria either. You knew you wouldn’t like it very much if your ex partner got over you quickly and was in a new relationship. “Did Joaquin know about your crush when we were kids?”

Lips pressed in a thin line, Manolo nods. “Yeah. That could probably be why he thought us hanging out so much was weird.” He groans too when he realizes that he’ll be getting an earful from Joaquin once news of of this got to him. Plenty of times they had the same argument that you and Joaquin did. How both of you spent too much time together. You guys didn’t act like just friends. You were always closer. Always seated next to each other. Always laughing so loud that it annoyed your other companion. 

“You’re right that this is sudden.” He acknowledges your previous comment. “I think I need more time before we officially become a couple.”

You quirk an eyebrow up. “Oh? Who said I wanted to be with you?”

That made him pale and you knew your joke was a little too mean. You laugh and reassure him you were just kidding, his easy going smile once more on his face. 

In the meantime, you carefully angle your body so you’re closer to him and reach your hands out to cup his face. So handsome. That dumb smile on his face made you want to eat him up. He leans into your touch and before he knows it, you have your lips on his.

And that’s how the both of you went tumbling off the fence.

Manolo’s body softens your fall at least. Both of you are laughing though. “Oh dios mio Manolo are you okay?”

His chest moves up and down as he gasps out his own laughter. “Never better.” He gives you a thumbs up. 

You hover above him before taking his lips once more in a drawn-out kiss that left him breathless and starry eyed and you with fire in your blood. Hands found their way on your hips and by a force of magic, you end up straddling his waist. 

Choking on your own breath, skin underneath your clothes tingle when he runs his hands from your hips to the swell of your thighs. A simple action that left you overly sensitive and wanting for more. 

Pressing yourself flat against him, your lips devour his neck with the gentlest of nips that leaves Manolo a panting, squirming mess under you. He’s trying to say something but moans when your own hands do their own exploration. 

Restraint is needed for you to peel away from him and to stand up on wobbly legs. Manolo looks up at you with disoriented eyes. “Where are you going?” 

“Well, we very well can’t be making out in public. Not when we’re not officially a couple.” You smirk at him and wait for Manolo to get to his feet and run after you.

His house being the closest, you race him to the front door but he caught you in his arms and you let out a surprised squeal as this matador gone guitarrista hauls you into his arms. When the door clicks closed, you’re on him once again. Tongues wrestle, and clothes are discarded haphazardly. Your brain barely registers your back being pressed up against his wall or how he’s supporting the bulk of your weight with his arms. 

A blur of kisses, caresses, and moans ensue along with a glowing sheen of sweat that makes your skin tacky but you hardly mind. Not when you’re entangled with Manolo.

In his thrusts, Manolo was making you a promise that this was true. He’d give you his all. When the time came the both of you would tell the world of your love. By then you’ll be ready to face Joaquin’s scrutiny. 

At some point your bodies had made it to his bedroom but not necessarily to his bed. 

On his floor, you stare up hazily at his ceiling as your head rests atop of his arm. He’s sated and content to stay down there if it meant you could remain in his arms. Free hand swirling patterns along your bare skin. Manolo’s humming softly while you nuzzle the crook of his neck that has little love bites scattered. 

“Are you sure about this, Manolo?” This feels like a dream. But none of your’s had ever felt as real as this one. The heady delirium of sex lightened and reality was creeping back on you. Specifics would have to be ironed out to avoid hurting anyone’s feelings. Admitting that he wanted you, there was no willpower in you to stop yourself from tasting him. Common sense had fled from you in the split seconds before you kissed him. 

His prominent curly cue bobs as he shifts his head. “I am a little worried. But you’re with me, so things can’t be too bad.” Face optimistic, it smothers the negative thoughts that had been slithering around you. 

“Oh you should most definitely be worried. ‘Cuz when I get back to work, my parents will definitely know something happened. And they will know it’s you since they read your note.”

Comically, his eyes bug. “They read my note?! Why did you let them read it!” Face red, he’s mortified that your parents were aware of everything that happened. 

You laugh and clutch your stomach. “I didn’t let them! It slipped out of my pocket. Besides, I hadn’t read it yet so I didn’t know what it said. Otherwise I would have made sure not to take it with me!”

Manolo truly looks concerned for his life. “Your mama is gonna kill me. I saw what she did to Joaquin!”

Ah yes, she’d broken her wooden spoon on top of his head. She would have done a lot more were it not for your dad and Manolo restraining her.

“Just make sure to duck and you’ll be fine.”

[fanfictions-loveavatar]

Why always her?

Pairings: Neteyam x f!omatikaya reader (Neteyam is 19 and reader is 17 and Lo’ak is 18)

Warning: non-smut, angst, fluff with Lo’ak. Neteyam

Summary: With Lo’ak being your best friend you are considered a Sully however you could never look at Neteyam the same way you look at all the Sully’s. However Neteyam sees someone else the same way you see him and for your destress it’s the one person you hate most, your sister and Lo’ak helps you through the hurt.

Word count: 2781

Y/N POV:

If I knew this was going to happen I would have stayed at the village. I was currently standing in front of a Thanator, correction a very pissed Thanator. I have to thank Lo’ak later for messing with the baby thanators and pissing off their mother. The said idiot currently standing next to me, his knife in his hand ready to defend us against the creature. Kiri and Spider were above us in the trees thinking of ways to help.

Suddenly I see an arrow flying through the air landing next to the thanator’s leg. Causing the creature slowly turning around and running away. Me and Lo’ak finally breathing again.

“ARE YOU CRAZY?!” we both turned around to meet the person who saved us and yelled at us.

Neteyam didn’t look impress as he and his Ikran landed next to us. Kiri and Spider also coming down looking relieved.

“What are you all doing here? It’s pass the boundaries that we are allowed.” Neteyam’ s gaze moved from me to Lo’ak.

“Chill bro we were just exploring.” Lo’ak met his brother’s gaze, he knew he was wrong all of us knew but he still had to talk about to his brother.

“Ye exploring the ways to die.” Neteyam took deep breaths to calm himself down, I like to believe he has gotten used to his brother’ s behaviour.

“Well, we didn’t die, me and Y/N were handling it.” Lo’ak put his arm around me.

“Yeah exactly.” I said proud.

Both me and Lo’ak were way too stubborn to ever admit that we fucked up. Neteyam glared at me.

“Seriously, why do you always follow through with him?”

“Because he is my best friend, if something happens to him it happens to me.” Lo’ak smiled at me and I returned his smile.

“Love birds.” Everyone looked at Spider, him immediately running back into the forest back to the village with Lo’ak chasing after him and Neteyam just shook his head, his braids moving from side to side, his hair had a mind of its own, following the two boys back.

“Boys…so immature.” Kiri said as we also started walking behind the boys.

“Tell me about it.” We both giggled.

 Later

Thankfully we avoided a lecture from Jake since Neteyam didn’t tell on us, knowing full well he will also get scolded for not looking over us in the first place.

It was now after eclipse, everyone (the Sully’s) was gathered around the fire.

My parents were gone, my dad was a Na’vi, and my mom was a sky person, a good friend of Jake her name was Trudy. Their love was forbidden but like Neytiri and Jake that didn’t stop them. But unlike Jake and Neytiri my parents didn’t live a happy ever after. My mom died while giving birth to me and my dad died on the battlefield while fighting among side Jake. After my parents’ death Jake and Neytiri took me in as their own, they were my family.

“Y/N, Lo’ak.” Jake looked at us. We both looked at him.

“You guys are adults now, have you started thinking about choosing a mate?” Me and Lo’ak exchanged looks, we haven’t discussed it yet.

“I haven’t thought about it yet.” Lo’ak said.

“Same.” I said after. Jake nodded ending the conversation and returning to his food.

I have always had someone in mind, someone who was currently eating his food, someone who always saves me when me and his brother get in trouble, someone who is tall, muscular, amazing warrior and handsome. Neteyam was someone I knew saw as a brother but as so much more.

The Next Day

Me, Kiri, Spider, Tuk, Lo’ak and Neteyam were sitting next to a waterfall not too far away from the village. Tuk was playing with the nature around us, or with the small animals that would fly around us. The boys were in the water splashing each other. It was rare for all of us to get a free day and it was even more rare for Neteyam to join and actually have fun instead of standing at the side being protective. Kiri and I were sitting on a rock next to the water.

“So have you really not thought of a potential mate yet?” Kiri’s question caught me off guard.

“No not yet, there is time though I am only 18 after all.”

Lo’ak emerged from the water sitting down next to me.

“Same here, what if we mated.” He said it so casually like he was saying the weather was nice. I played along though because why not, we always joked around.

“Sure, imagen what our lives would be, should we do it before Eywa or find somewhere else.” I wiggled my eyebrows ( a trade me, Lo’ak and Kiri shared along our 5 fingers.) Both of us laughing when Kiri rolled her eyes not taking us seriously, while Neteyam looked flabbergasted.

“What are you two insane?” Neteyam asked taking us seriously.

“Nope, completely sane and also Y/N, would you like to swim?” Lo’ak turned to me with a devilish smirk on his face.

“Oh no, don’t you da- Lo’ak!” Before I could even finish Lo’ak picked me up in his arms (bridal style) and jumped in the water with me.

“You crazy bastard!” I splashed him with water when I emerged from the water. Lo’ak laughed along with Spider while Neteyam and Kiri covering their laughs. I started chasing Lo’ak around the water and when I caught up to him, I grabbed his head and pushed it under water. Before I could continue, strong arms wrapped around my waist pulling me away from him and towards the shore. Neteyam put me down next to Kiri before smiling at me saying “Please don’t kill my brother I know it’s hard not to sometimes.” His smile was so beautiful I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Soon we had to go back to the village, through the way back me and Neteyam were at the back talking.

“You know Y/N you are so beautiful when you smile.” I couldn’t believe my ear, did Neteyam just flirt with me. His hand patted me on the head lovingly. Maybe he did see me as more then family as well.

Later

It was dinner again; everyone was around the fire eating. Neytiri suddenly started talking.

“So Neteyam, how is your mate search going.” My food got trapped in my throat and I started coughing at the sudden question. Everyone looked at me questionably but I just apologised and drank some water.

“Actually, yes mother I have.” Neteyam responded with a smile and my stomach turned. Everyone looked at Neteyam.

“Who is it?” Neytiri asked clearly excited for her son.

“It’s Eyra.” As soon as the name fell off Neteyam’ s lips it took everything in me not to vomit.

Eyra, the person I hated most on Pandora, of course, of course it had to be her. Eyra is my older sister. My parents had her 2 years before me, she blames me for mom’s death. Growing up she made my life hell. At first my dad’s relatives adopted us both, they were my grandma and grandpa but Eyra kept on turning them against me, ripping a basket and blaming it on me saying that she saw me, bullying me outside the tent, calling me a 5 fingered freak. She got her friends to beat me up and call me names too and would get one of her friends to hit her so she could tell grandma that I hit her, and she was defending herself and grandma believed her, always her. One day Lo’ak found me all beaten up and took me into his family that understood that my living situation had to change and since then I have lived with them. And now Neteyam wanted to mate with her. But I am not surprised it was always here it will always be her.

At night

Everyone was asleep, everyone except me. I couldn’t sleep not after feeling betrayed by Neteyam. He knew how much my sister hurt me yet he still wants to choose her as his mate, it really hurt.

I needed fresh air; I tip toed through the sleeping bodies and went outside going next to the end of the mountain where the village was located on. I sat down my feet dangling off the edge of the mountain. I started thinking about my past about how hard I tried to get Eyra to love me.

Lo’ak POV: I woke up feeling like something wasn’t right. I looked around and saw that Y/N was missing. I noticed that there were footsteps leading outside, I followed them and found Y/N sitting at the end of the mountain. I walked towards her and once I got close, I heard her little sobs. When at her side I quietly sat down next to her and pulled her into a hug, my arm around her and her head resting on my shoulder her tears rolling down her cheeks. We sat like that in silence for a while.

“It’s not fair Lo’ak.” She finally spoke. I knew what she was talking about I knew the moment her face looked like a ghost when she heard my brother saying her sister’s name, someone else might have missed it the way her face changed but I knew her better then anyone else and I especially knew how much she was hurt by her sister after all I was the one who found her, bleeding and bruised.

“I know flower I know.” I moved my hand up and down her shoulder.

“Why does it always have to be her? First getting to meet our mom and experience her love, then being grandmas and grandpas favourite, not getting the “curse” of the 5 fingers and now getting the guy I love.” I couldn’t help but grab her face making her face me.

“Hey listen, you might not have experienced your mom’s love but you have experienced so much other love, my mom loves you like you are hers and so does my dad, your sister doesn’t have family that loves her just because of her they love her because she manipulates them to, but you are loved for who you are for your personality. And I know that having 5 fingers is known as a curse but what if we aren’t cursed just unique.”

Y/N POV:

Lo’ak’ s words really touched me. He was right I have a loving family and maybe I am not a freak just unique. I need to know my worth.

“Thank you so much Lo’ak I really needed this.” I smiled at him.

“Always, you are my sister.” He smiled back at me. We hugged.

After sitting down for a little bit more we stood up and went back to the tent. I went to sleep smiling.

Waking up the next day I decided to not let Neteyam’ s choice ruin our relationship. However… after waking up and not finding him anywhere I went out to look for him and found him near the forest. Right as I was about to go and talk to him I saw that someone was with him… Eyra. They were looking at each other, not noticing me not far from them, I hid behind a tent and when I peeked to look at them I saw them kissing. At that time I knew me and Neteyam’ s relationship would never be the same, it was too painful.

A week later

It has been a week since I saw Neteyam and Eyra kiss and I have been avoiding him like the plague. Whenever he would try to talk to me I would turn the other way completely ignoring him. At dinner when he would pass me something I would take it without sparing him a glance. I spend most of my time with Lo’ak who understood why I kept my distance with his brother. Kiri also found out why fairly soon I couldn’t keep it from her. She understood me as well.

It was a day where me, Lo’ak and Neteyam join Jake and Neytiri on their attacks against the sky people’s weapons. We were supposed to be in the air but I really wanted to go and see the weapons. I lower to the battlefield and Lo’ak and Neteyam followed. Just as I got handed a gun a big explosion sounded that send all of us flying. Me and Lo’ak were okay, but Neteyam was bleeding.

 Jake found us and immediately got us to safety. Me and Lo’ak got on our ikrans while Jake took Neteyam with him.

When we reached the village me and Lo’ak got a massive scolding from Jake. Afterwards, I went to help Neteyam. Yes, I was still hurt by him but he got hurt because of me.

It was only us two in the healer’s tent. I took a towel to clean away the blood from Neteyam’ s wounds.

“Why have you been ignoring me?” Neteyam suddenly asked. I didn’t respond but just kept cleaning his wounds.

“Y/N.” He said in a serious tone. I stopped cleaning his wound instead I stood up in front of him.

“Why do you think Neteyam you want to mate with my sister. When you know full well what she did to me. How could you?” I raised my voice at the end. Neteyam looked shocked for a second before getting annoyed.

“Come on Y/N that was a long time ago, she wants to make it right with you.” He stated like it was the most simple thing ever. Now I was angry how dare he make it sound like I am being the one in the wrong.

“Right with me? Don’t make me laugh she is a snake that is manipulating you to hurt me because she knows that I care about you.” Now Neteyam also stood up.

“Care about me? You have been ignoring me for a week, what is wrong with you?” Neteyam was annoyed. He was annoyed at me when he didn’t have any right to.

“You! You are what’s wrong with me Neteyam! I love you or more like I loved you I always have and you choose my sister. Why is it always her that gets what she wants?” I couldn’t help the tears that escaped me as I continued to talk.

“Y/N…” He looked at me with pity.

“No don’t Y/N me, you didn’t care for my feelings when you kissed her either, I saw you kissing!” He tried to grab my arm, but I moved back whipping the tears off my face.

3rd person POV:

Neteyam tried to hug Y/N, but she pushed him off feeling stupid for even saying anything.

“Y/N I am sorry, I didn’t mean to.” Neteyam felt awful he didn’t realise how hurt Y/N actually was by her sister.

“You know what it’s fine Neteyam I know my worth and I am not going to wait around and wait until you see it I deserve someone who sees me.” With that Y/N walked out of the tent, leaving Neteyam devasted.

Just as he exited the tent to go after Y/N, he felt a hand on his shoulder, turning around he saw his brother who looked angry at him.

“Don’t follow her bro, she needs her time.” Lo’ak was angry at his brother for making Y/N feel that way but he also knew his brother. Kiri and him have been talking about how Neteyam has changed ever since Y/N stopped talking to him and they knew their brother. They knew he liked Y/N even if he wouldn’t admit it or even realise it.

“Also, you might want to look over there.” Lo’ak pointed towards Eyra who was kissing another boy not too far from the brothers. Right then is when Neteyam realised how big of a mistake he has made.

He realised it when he didn’t feel a tiny bit sad that Eyra was kissing another boy but he felt devasted when Y/N started ignoring him.

He really screwed up…he had to fix it.

 Writer’s note: I hope you guys liked it. I have an idea for part 2 tell me if you want to see it?

[keepyourpantsongohan]

Married, Colleagues, Divorced

This thought would enter his mind: Something about it is definitely different. (Gaara Hiden, Ch. 1) | Ten Days of Tenzo (@tendaysoftenzo) Day 5: Kakashi | AO3 |

                          ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Yamato to Kakashi of the Two Normal Eyes: Kakashi. Can I ask you a question...?

Kakashi to Colleague I Think About Such a Normal Amount: Yes, Tenzō?

Yamato: Did you date Iruka?

Kakashi: Why do u ask?

Yamato: Something Naruto said about going on outings with the two of you. Apparently, you even paid. 

Kakashi: We are amicably divorced

Yamato: Elaborate. 

Kakashi: The outings are part of our custody arrangement. The ramen is alimony

Yamato: I understand all of these words but not in this order. 

Kakashi: What’s not to understand. It’s important to model healthy separation for the kids 

Yamato: So you two did date?

Kakashi: No. Next question 

-- 

Kakashi to Standing Tenzōvation: Come sit here

Yamato to Hatake a Bow: I’ll come find you after. We’re going to get in trouble for texting during jōnin council deliberation again. 

Kakashi: I tried talking to u with Anbu hand signals. U said those were too obvious

Yamato: They are too obvious; you should see the message Genma sent me after the last council. Why do I need to sit there anyway? 

Kakashi: I want to eat with u today and if I’m not already occupied after we finish I will be caught in a meeting vortex

Yamato: Comes with the new job-title, Rokudaime-sama.

Kakashi: Not until next week, officially. And I didn’t enjoy any part of that sentence.

Yamato: Well, aren’t you emotionally forthright today? It’s refreshing. 

Kakashi: Does that mean u will buy lunch?

Yamato: You’re the one who just got a promotion. Hokage’s treat? 

Kakashi: I’ll spar u for it

Yamato: You’re on. 

--

Kakashi to Magic Mountain: Soup on your windowsill 

Yamato to Lord Sixth Flags: Thank you. You could come in, you know. 

Kakashi: U need some rest. Plus I have been assigned a mission to have tea with Hyuga-san 2nite

Yamato: That’s a new one. Who assigned that?

Kakashi: Me. 😔 I’ve been told clan relations are my problem now

Yamato: I can hardly wrap my head around you being a politician. 

Kakashi: I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around u nearly getting chakra exhaustion from a spar

Yamato: How many times have YOU gotten chakra exhaustion?

Kakashi: I haven’t kept a count 

Yamato: I have. 16.

Kakashi: That’s not bad. 1.4% of missions. Point is that’s what I expect from me, not u 

Yamato: Give me a break. I’ve only ever fought you when you had your sharingan. I didn’t account for how much stamina you’d have without it. My hospital check-up was quick and painless. 

Kakashi: Easy for u to say, u weren’t awake for the berating when I hauled u in

Yamato: Tsunade-sama or Sakura?

Kakashi: Sakura, thankfully. She still feels bad about hitting me, unlike her shishō

Yamato: Are we in trouble?

Kakashi: Don’t think so. The killing intent stopped after u woke up 

Kakashi: Sakura threatened to abandon her post and become a rogue ninja if we ever do it again, but I have a plan for that

Yamato: Do you anticipate Sakura leaving Konoha?

Kakashi: Not really. But after Sasuke I figured the other two should have contingencies, and I kept adding as u and Sai joined 

Yamato: Are you saying you have a plan for a scenario where all five other members of our team abandon the village? 

Kakashi: Don’t take this the wrong way but I have a 14-step-plan for that scenario

Yamato: Both impressive and concerning. 

Kakashi: That’s what they tell me in ninja therapy

Yamato: You have a therapist? 

Kakashi: Yeah. Don’t u?

Yamato: Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’ve never been more attracted to you.

Kakashi: Hm. What’s your average amount of attraction to me?

Yamato: I abstain from the question.

Kakashi: 🤔😈㊙️❓

--

Sakura to Team Thanks for Pardoning Sasuke, Sensei: reminder that our new team photo will be taken tomorrow. naruto buy a hairbrush. sensei and sasuke remember to show up on time 

Naruto: i own a hairbrush!! it just doesn’t work on my hair y’know

Sakura: bring it and i’ll help. i’m not breaking another one of my combs

Sasuke: Why do I get lumped in with Kakashi? I’m on time.

Sakura: you missed the last three years of team meetings

Sasuke: Touché. 

Sai: Do Yamato-taichō and I need to do anything? 

Sakura: i think you’ll both be fine. don’t worry too much about what kind of smile you need. be natural

Sai: I will join you early so we can practice being natural.

Sakura: that’s not what i meant. but sure we can get breakfast 

Naruto: me too!!!!

Sakura: NOT ichiraku. 

Naruto disliked “NOT ichiraku.” 

Sasuke liked “NOT ichiraku.” 

Naruto: :(((((((((((( ok 

Yamato: Kakashi and I will both have a meeting about the new housing developments first thing. I can make sure we get there.

Naruto: should u be spending so much time together?

Naruto: i don’t want yamato-taichō to catch ur chakra exaustion again kaka-sensei

Kakashi: For the last time, I did not GIVE Yamato chakra exhaustion. U can’t catch it

Sakura: debatable.

Sai: Sakura does offer medical credibility to Naruto’s theory.

Kakashi: Tenzō, tell them.

Yamato: I haven’t ruled it out.

Naruto: SEE. ur contagious sensei 

Kakashi: I miss when u all found me intimidating

Sasuke: We never found you intimidating. 

Sakura liked “We never found you intimidating.”

Naruto liked “We never found you intimidating.”

Yamato: Didn’t you make them homemade bento on their first day? Not your most menacing tactic. 

Naruto: tbh iruka-sensei and jiraiya-sensei had a lot more rules than u 

Naruto: ur gonna have to work on that as Hokage!

Sai: If you would like, I can pretend to find you intimidating. I’m a very good actor. 

Kakashi: Thank u, Sai. 😔🤘 

--

Anko to Jōnin Gone Wild: @Shiranui Genma, Married, Colleagues, Divorce: Gai, Raidō, Aoba 

Genma: Easy. Marry Raidō, Colleagues Gai, Divorce Aoba

Aoba: I understand

Gai: You have ALWAYS been an EXCELLENT Colleague, my friend!!!

Raidō: 👌

Yamato: What kind of a game is this?

Anko: Kakashi invented it. Something about it being a therapy exercise

Kakashi: Actually, my therapist advised against it. But I’m glad we have a new game. Shizune was 2 good at online mahjong

Shizune: You would be too if you grew up with Tsunade-sama. Also your next meeting is 5 minutes. I’ll bring the briefing when I’m upstairs

Kurenai: You know, as Hokage, technically Kakashi is responsible for all active shinobi. He shouldn’t be allowed to date any of his colleagues

Anko: Hahahah, government-mandated celibacy

Kakashi: I’ve been Hokage for like 3 days and none of u respect authority anyways 

Kurenai: Are you saying you DO want to date a jōnin?

Anko emphasized, “Are you saying you DO want to date a jōnin?”

Yamato emphasized, “Are you saying you DO want to date a jōnin?”

Kakashi: U think I don’t know a trap when I see one

Shizune: He has a picture of gljljLKHGLJ

Shizune: I would like everyone to know that Kakashi-sama grabbed my phone when I was writing that message. 

Kakashi: Aiming for meeting brief. New depth perception with 2 eyes. Talk later bye

--

Yamato to Celibacy Senpai: Explain to me how the game works again. Since we’re colleagues, we can’t be married or divorced?

Kakashi to Comrade Featured in Several GROUP Photos: It’s more of a state of mind

Kakashi: Take for example, if I had u, Yugao and Ibiki. I’d Colleagues Yugao, Divorce Ibiki and Marry u. 

Yamato: That implies you were married to Ibiki before me. 

Kakashi: Would it affect ur interest in marrying me?

Yamato: No, but I’d wonder why we didn’t get married first. We get along more.

Kakashi: We prioritized our friendship over other potential kinds of bonds

Yamato: I think we've got a pretty good track record for adapting. Besides, spouses should be friends. Anyway, none of this answers the question of why you’d suddenly marry someone else.

Kakashi: We were separated by a tsunami. U lost ur memory and I couldn’t find u so Ibiki and I got together so the kids could have another role model

Yamato: How long was I gone before you moved on? 

Kakashi: We co-parented but I didn’t move on. That’s why u and I get married 

Yamato: What if I’m more of a long-term-romantic-roommates kind of guy? 

Kakashi: I’d make that work

Yamato: In the game?

Kakashi: Sure. In the game

--

Naruto to Team Congratulations Chūbu Sai: i went 2 the yamanaka flower shop for plant food after we met up and u’ll never guess what i saw!! u know the bandana guy?

Yamato: Genma? 

Kakashi: Ibiki?

Sakura: Ebisu-sensei? 

Naruto: no. sasuke hair

Kakashi: Izumo

Yamato: Izumo. 

Naruto: yeah him!! he was buying flowers for that other guy. big stick.

Sakura: 🤨

Kakashi: That’s Kotetsu. And? 

Naruto: he was BUYING FLOWERS. for that GUY. for a DATE!!!!!

Sai: Ino tells me it is customary to bring your partner gifts like flowers to show your affection. 

Naruto: I DIDN’T KNOW THAT WAS AN OPTION!!

Kakashi: Dating Kotetsu? It isn’t. He’s in a relationship. And he’s too old for u

Naruto: DATING A GUY!!

Yamato: Why didn’t you think it was an option, Naruto? 

Naruto: i mean, everyone thinks that way about guys and girls and everyone 

Naruto: but no one DOES IT, y’know

Sai questioned “i mean, everyone thinks that way about guys and girls and everyone.” 

Sai: Is that true?

Sakura: i think this is the wrong chat to ask that question in 

Yamato emphasized, “i think this is the wrong chat to ask that question in.”

Sai: Why? 

Kakashi: I can give u a book that will explain it, Sai. Anyway Naruto, people can date anyone they want, within reason. As long as the people involved like each other

Naruto: anyone?

Kakashi: Yeah. Even more than one person at once. Right, Sasuke? 👨🏻‍🎤

Sasuke: What’s that emoji supposed to mean?

Kakashi: I just like to make sure ur phone is on. 

Naruto: i gotta go for a walk

--

Yamato to It’s Kakamplicated: I’m going to tell him.

Kakashi to Konoha’s Next Top Anbu (Not a Sex Thing. Maybe A Sex Thing): Give him a few more days, he’ll figure it out 

Yamato: …How long did it take you to figure it out?

Kakashi: I abstain from the question

Yamato: 🙄

Kakashi: Fine. 19. 

Yamato: Age or years?

Kakashi: Definitely one of those two things. Next question 

--

Iruka to Senseis R Us: What have you been telling Naruto?

Kakashi: U’ll have to be more specific

Iruka: Why did Naruto say he was going to hang out with my ex-husband?!

Kakashi: What makes u think I have anything to do with it

Iruka: I didn’t say I was talking to you. However, he was going to see your team and I don’t think Yamato-san is responsible for this!!

Yamato: I’m going to leave this one in Kakashi’s capable hands.

Iruka: Kakashi. What is wrong with you?

Yamato: Becoming a chunin at the age of 6, a strangely public black ops career, a possible attachment disorder and some very interesting tan lines. 

Kakashi: That’s the kunai calling the shuriken sharp. 

Kakashi: Also I’ll show u some interesting tan lines

Yamato loved “Also I’ll show u some interesting tan lines.” 

Kakashi: Anyway. I didn’t say much, Naruto was just curious about our history 

Iruka: We don’t have a history?? 

Kakashi: What about when I reupholstered your sofa?

Iruka: Was that... a romantic activity for you?

Kakashi: This is why we’d never work out, Iruka. 

Iruka: Because you text like a member of the cypher corps? 

Yamato: It’s not so bad. His birthday messages are very heartfelt. 

Kakashi loved “It’s not so bad. His birthday messages are very heartfelt.”

Kakashi: Thank you, Tenzō.  

Iruka: Who’s Tenzō?

Yamato liked “Who’s Tenzō?” 

Kakashi loved “Who’s Tenzō?” 

Iruka: This is going on your performance review as an ex-husband.

Kakashi: That’s fair

--

Yamato to Kakashinova: Have you seen my uniform belt? 

Kakashi to Some Kind of Wooderful: I have not. U do keep taking it off every time we eat if that helps?

Yamato: I can’t get used to the placement. But I’ll need to find it or order another one before my next check-in. You know how they are about item counts. 

Kakashi: U can use one of mine if u want 

Yamato: Your black belt which has Rokudaime Hokage stitched on the inside? I’ll pass, thanks. 

Kakashi: I don’t know why they keep putting that on everything. But u can’t see that part while ur wearing it anyway. It’s the same belt 

Yamato: Yes, but the Anbu would know it was your belt. I get enough heat for how much time we spend together as it is.

Kakashi: Favouritism?

Yamato: More like wisecracks about holding a torch for you. 

Kakashi: Haha why. Do you have a crush on me, Tenzō?

Yamato: You know the answer to this one. Next question.

Kakashi: What makes u think I know the answer?

Yamato: You’re the smartest person in this village. And we see each other every day.

Kakashi: We all have our Shodaime’s nipple

Yamato: Some of us more than most. Let’s try a different question. How many times have we kissed each other?

Kakashi: 7. 9 and a half if u count missions 

Yamato: Where are you getting the half from?

Kakashi: CPR

Yamato: Ah. So, in those nine-and-a-half moments... You didn’t have any suppositions? Inferences? Lessons gleaned from experience? 

Kakashi: Four and a half of them we’d need to discount for recall, and the last few are harder to report on due to observer bias

Yamato: The observer bias in you gauging my romantic feelings.

Kakashi: Yes

Yamato: Because you would like?

Kakashi: You

Yamato: Me to what?

Kakashi: Long-term romantic roommates, eventually

Yamato: Oh.

Kakashi: Yeah. Do you mind?

Yamato: No, I don’t mind. Maybe we can start with dinner and a walk first? 

Yamato: And Kakashi? I long-term romantic roommates you too. 

Kakashi: That’s a funny way to ask me on a date. 💘 See u in an hour?

Yamato: It’s on.

[bellarkeselection]

Creighton’s and Dutton’s Don’t Mix

Request from hardywoman99 on Wattpad, Spencer has a daughter named Elizabeth who has been seeing a boy named James who is the son of Banner Creighton. One night when Spencer gets home he finds the boy in his house and handles the situation

James and I were talking in my bedroom and had been for most of the night since we got out of school early today. I knew my dad Spencer is still out working out on the ranch so I knew we most likely wouldn’t get caught. Laughing at something James said I didn't hear footsteps coming through the house or even tell that it was my father. The bedroom door got kicked open where we both turned our heads around seeing my father Spencer standing in the doorway. "Elizabeth, what the hell is a boy doing in our house!"

"Dad! I didn't think you'd be home for a few more hours." I jumped up scared that he was actually here right now.

James scrambled to his feet, running a hand through his hair since some of it fell in front of his eyes. "Mr. Dutton, we weren't doing anything I swear just talking-"

"Shut your mouth!" My father raised his shotgun up that I didn't know was behind his back. He aimed it at his chest. "Hands in the air and get walkin out the doorway now!"

James didn’t waste time and quickly bolted through the door with my father pushing him down the stairs almost. Thankfully Jacob and Cara were out working the land so we we’re just the ones in the large cabin house. Scurring after the pair I watched him get James out the front door still aiming the firearm at him off the front porch. “Dad, we didn’t do anything except talk.” I attempted to defend him.

“Be quiet, Elizabeth! Now you better Hugh tail your ass out of here or I’ll do the same thing I did to your father Banner. Do you understand?” My father growled seeing the boy run off into the sunset distance climbing onto the horse he rode over on. Spencer turned towards me lowering the firearm in his hand but by the look on his face I knew I was in trouble now. “I thought I made this perfectly clear, Lizzie. That you aren’t supposed to have any boys over here.”

Crossing my arms over my chest I snapped back at him. “We didn’t do anything remotely close to what you and mom do almost all the time.”

“This is not about me and your mother. This is about you bringing a Creighton boy to our ranch!” My father deepened his tone of voice at me.

Rolling my eyes I didn’t understand why he didn’t like James so much. I mean the way my mother Alexandra explained their love story you would think he would want the same sort of fairy tale to happen for me. Yet he’s never given me the chance to find out if that could happen with James or not. “Why don’t you like James, dad?” I asked softly knowing he wouldn’t give me an answer that wasn’t filled with rage.

“Because his father almost killed my entire family and took our ranch from us.” His time dropped lower as he spoke but I could see anger still in his dark eyes that were now focused on me.

Dropping my gaze to the wooden floor I mumbled. “I’m sorry I didn’t know.”

“I know you didn’t, sweetheart. Because I didn’t feel like telling you all that drama that has passed before you were born. I…I don’t want him or anyone in his family bloodline to hurt you.” Spencer slowly walked towards his daughter sitting the shotgun down and without warning pulled her in for a hug.

Wrapping my arms around him I sniffled through some tears hearing footsteps coming through the living room inside. The front door creaked open where he broke the hug barley with me where we could get a glimpse of my mother Alexandra or Alex as my father called her standing there. “Spencer, what is all the noise about. It’s the middle of the night.” She questioned him brushing a hand through her curly blonde locks.

“Nothing to worry about, honey. Just gettin’ a vermon off our property.” He responded to her shifting his gaze downward to me becoming more serious in his words once more. “As for you little Missy. You are grounded and don’t you go riding any horses until I feel that you’ve served your punishment.”

I gasped drawing away from him. “Dad, are you kidding me!”

“Spencer, surely you can do something a little less dramatic.” My mother suggested but he wasn’t having it.

He pointed back towards the staircase sending me off. “Sorry Alex but there isn’t. Go upstairs now.” Stomping my foot on the ground I wouldn’t get over how much I hate that our families were at war.

Comments really appreciated ❤️

[malevolantkitcheen]

hello! i notice that you do matchups, and i really love doing these, also because i'm always curious about who i get.

i'm 20, hispanic, and pansexual!

personality: my personality often gets compared to a chihuahua, and that's because i'm feisty and small for my age (4'11). i do love the attention, but not as in "Hey, all eyes on me" and more like "Hey you, i want some of your love and attention" type of thing... if that makes sense? sometimes people think i'm timid because i'm quiet, but, in reality, don't like to talk unless i'm being asked something, if it's necessary, or the topic is something that i know and/or love. i'm also known to be very honest and sarcastic to the point where it can get me in trouble or people don't know if i'm messing around or not. which leads me to become cautious/careful in the things i do and say. It doesn't always work, but at least i know i tried! i don't like breaking rules, and i tend to be the goody two shoes. however, if something just doesn't sit right with me or if the situation is unfair, then i won't mind breaking a few rules. i can be oblivious and sometimes can't pick up what's happening until someone points it out to me. i'm very curious! i pretty much want to know and learn about everything, even if it seems useless. and i easily get flustered/embarrassed easily. thankfully because i'm brown, you can't tell... well, except for my ears. they turn pretty red...

love languages: acts of service and gift giving

hobbies: discovering/listening to music, playing any kind of games, reading, and stargazing.

likes: art, dr. pepper, fashion, music, playing games, and stargazing,

dislikes: coffee, heights, hot weather/temperature, insects, and overcrowded places

thank you so much if you end up taking my request! and i hope you have a good day :)

For Jujutsu-Kaisen, I match you with…

Satoru Gojo

- Your personalities bounce back off one another as Gojo finds it absolutely hilarious to playfully tease and joke with you because he knows he’ll always get a reaction of you. “God you are so annoying”, you thought to yourself.

- He can’t help but always try and distract you from whatever you’re doing: If you are reading you can feel him peering over your shoulder, if you’re listening to music he’ll come listen to it with you, always giving his opinion on it.

- After a while, Gojo offered to take you out for lunch in a quiet cafeteria, stubborn on the fact that you would not be paying for it as it was “his treat”. The both of you sat for hours just talking about almost anything and everything, he just seemed to be so well adept to filling silence; there wasn’t an awkward moment. From this you discovered that beneath his very cocky and outward personality was a very intellectual, interesting and genuine man. He would fixate on every word, every vowel, every consonant that escaped your lips. He was always listening with intent. Maybe he wasn’t so bad. This “treat” became a regular occurrence, which you didn’t mind because it was nice, his presence felt like an escape from absolute everything and everyone else. There was just something you absolutely just couldn’t get enough of. He was intoxicating.

- As the two of you got closer, he would always make sure that he was by your side, trying to discreetly brush his hand against yours. This made you blush every time, hoping that he hadn’t noticed but you knew nothing got past this man. Over time, his acts got bolder, he was desperate for your approval. He would brush your hair behind your ears if it had been windy and got in your face, he would bring you home new vinyls for you to listen to with him.

[zorilleerrant]

Hello, I saw you say that you'd be willing to take SteveTony prompts? If it's not too much trouble, can you do no one believes they're dating?

When does this take place in the timeline? Listen. Don't worry about it. We'll fix it in post. Humor, little bit of fluff. 2k.

“Oh, Captain America!” the teacher says, surprising Steve into an awkward smile. She twirls her hair self-consciously just the slightest bit, and then clears her throat and gives him a professional nod. “Sorry, do you have a meeting here or something?”

Steve opens his mouth, closes it again, and dithers a little bit over what to say. “I’m here for Peter Parker?” Is it awkward? he wonders, watching the teacher’s grin turn into a frown, as she looks around for her student. Maybe it is. Tony picks him up often enough, but Steve isn’t so much the step-dad as the step-mentor, and that isn’t really a thing, so it’s probably normal that she’s confused.

Thankfully, that’s the moment Peter chooses to walk up to them, say, “hey, Steve,” and take advantage of Steve’s enhanced reflexes to corner him into both a hi and low five. “I’m at Stark Industries again, today,” Peter reminds his teacher, saving Steve from that explanation to both his and the teacher’s grateful looks.

“Of course, right, you’re teammates with Mr. Stark,” the teacher says, and writes something on her clipboard, and waves a friendly goodbye to them as she turns back to the rest of the students.

“She’s keeping track of our community service,” Peter explains, which, unfortunately, doesn’t help Steve understand at all. “A lot of people fake their hours, apparently? So we have to do, like, regular check-ins.” He gives Steve a look like he shouldn’t have to explain all of this, and Steve can’t even be sure if it’s the kind of look that people are meant to give him for being a little out of his time, or if it’s just the teenager thing. He gave those looks, often enough.

“I thought you had Tony sign something for that?” Steve says. He is paying attention, it’s just that he isn’t working on developing any of their prosthetic limbs, and won’t be until Tony comes to him, frazzled in the middle of the night, muttering about how he can’t get skin tones to look right in the rubber, and how most of them look a little too gray. That Steve will be happy to talk him through, one of these days. “Anyway, I just assumed your school would be a little more progressive than it was back there.”

“Oh, yeah, they thought it might be forged, probably because I forged it. Mr. Stark always forgets to sign stuff,” Peter tells him, doing some sort of jump and half flip across a mailbox as they turn the corner to the garage. At a Look, he doesn’t do the same to any of the cars. “What wasn’t progressive?”

“Well, she called Tony my teammate,” Steve says, then considers it for a moment. She also called him Captain America, though, so it isn’t like the Avengers weren’t on her mind. Maybe he’s reading too much into things. It’s not like everyone follows his love life in the scandal sheets. He doesn’t either; he wouldn’t even know what they’ve said.

“Um, that is your teammate, unless you’ve decided to have another war no one told me about,” Peter says, and then looks at him anxiously enough that Steve has to refrain from patting him on the head. No teenager wants to be treated like a small dog in a lightning storm, especially not the small ones. “Right?”

“Right,” Steve agrees, getting Peter to relax enough to actually get in the car. Well, what did he expect her to say? Boyfriend sounds so immature and partner is probably presumptuous at this stage, at least coming from a stranger. He doesn’t know what he would say under the circumstances, either, so, well, it’s probably fine. “I guess at least she didn’t call me your step-dad. Your teachers don’t think Tony is secretly your dad anymore, right?” Steve double-checks.

“Ha! No,” Peter says. Steve makes sure they’re both buckled up before he starts the car, and heads out of the city, hoping traffic will decide to be elsewhere so they can get on the open road. “Wait, are you and Tony finally dating? How many dates have you been on? Did someone take your picture at dinner or something?”

“What do you mean finally,” Steve says, looking skeptically at the kid, “we’ve been dating for more than a year, now. You knew this.”

“I didn’t know this! Don’t tell me what I know! If I knew I would’ve made you an anniversary card,” Peter says, a little wistfully, shaking his head. “I’ve got this great shot of, like, two squirrels, where, if we’re being honest, they were probably fighting over that nut, but still. And you guys fight all the time, so it would be fine.”

“We do not fight all the time!” Steve says, aghast. It’s one thing for Peter to take it in stride, but he thought Peter took the relationship in stride a year ago, when they told everyone, and also the news. Do people think they fight all the time? What exactly are the other Avengers telling the kid to make him think that?

“No, you totally had that showdown one time,” Peter disagrees. Beaming, he adds, “I punched you in the face!”

“Everyone punched everyone in the face!” Steve says, taking deep, even breaths so he doesn’t drive them off the road, “that’s not how our relationship is!”

“Well, I hope not, because that had way too many governments involved,” Peter says, pulling his phone out of his backpack and composing messages to someone. “Not to sound too much like a hippie, but I was raised to believe the government should stay out of people’s relationships anyway, you know? I wouldn’t like them in mine. So, what, like, three dates? Or haven’t you had your first one, yet?”

“A year,” Steve says again, and they proceed to argue back and forth for what would otherwise feel like a much shorter drive to the practice arena.

Steve would usually feel the need to open the door for the kid, even though car doors are easy now and even really little kids don’t have trouble with them. But Peter’s still halfway convinced they haven’t been dating long at all, and insisting he’s going to call Tony for confirmation. (He hasn’t, yet. Whoever he’s been texting ‘agrees with him’, and therefore can’t be Tony, unless Steve’s really confused.)

“Can someone here please convince Peter that I would know if my relationship were brand new,” Steve says, leaving every door flung open on his way inside. Natasha looks up at him in amusement, puts her gun back together by feel, and gives him that quirked eyebrow that invites him to elaborate. “The kid thinks we’ve only been dating days, if that.”

Tossing a glance over her shoulder at Peter, Natasha turns back to ask, “who does he think you’re dating? Or not dating, I guess.” She doesn’t even wait until he’s all the way in the locker room to ask, so they’re both treated to an eyeroll.

Steve slaps a towel angrily on one of the weight machines, and then has to rearrange it more gently so it doesn’t fall off. “Tony. Peter says we’re adorable and he would know better than I would whether we’re dating.” The weight machine is already set to Steve’s standard, and he realizes that they’ve all gravitated towards favorites in this gym. Possibly they should do something about that? To vary up their training.

“Oh, well, yeah,” Natasha says, tugging on the lever to start the climbing tower’s ascent so Peter can practice on it. It starts whirring to life, giving Steve a minute to think Natasha’s about to comfort him before it quiets down and she adds, “the kid thinks you two are cute, and I can see why. I’m sure he doesn’t mean any harm in claiming you’re dating.”

“We are dating,” Steve says, plaintively, suddenly concerned he’s somehow in a coma and only dreamt every bit of it. Long walks on the beach are a standard, right? Holding hands as they frolicked across the sand could be pure imagination. Luxurious candlelit dinners, well, he can remember how everything tasted, but Steve easily could’ve eaten that food by himself, lit his own candles, only wished Tony could be there. Did he imagine all the soft words?

For a moment, he’s slightly worried he’s still inside that terrible machine, waiting to see if he can be reforged into a weapon, and dreaming endlessly instead.

“Well, finally,” Natasha says, clapping him on the back hard enough to jolt Steve out of his reverie. She flashes him an approving grin, and it settles into a real smile. She takes the bench next to his – well, she sits on it, anyway – and says, “I’ve been waiting to see how long it would take you. You two are so stubborn, even with all of our hints.”

“Stubborn?” Steve says, incredulously. He manages to drop the weights with a clang, and be glad he isn’t using free weights after all. “We’ve been dating. We’ve been dating for a year. We announced it officially!” It’s tempting to hang his head in his hands, but Steve’s never one to give up without a fight, so he steels himself, and tugs against the weights again. They move slowly as he tries to be methodical.

“Wait, what? I thought that was a publicity stunt,” Natasha says, bending backwards to call out, “Clint! Wasn’t the Steve and Tony thing a publicity stunt?” At Steve’s incensed look, she shrugs unabashedly and makes a vague gesture that isn’t anything like an apology. “They were doing that for political reasons, right?”

“Right,” Clint agrees, pulling down free weights and taking a seat near them. His form is way too show-offy. Steve is convinced he spends his spare time using tiny weights on his fingers to get his arm muscles to look just right, but Steve may just be angry Natasha’s convinced him that his relationship is some kind of sham marriage. “For Pride Month.”

“For Pride Month!” Steve repeats, unable to form a response even inside his own mind. They orchestrated an entire pretend relationship for – well, honestly, he doesn’t even know what for. Would that even be useful? What isn’t useful is angrily tugging at his weights, but he can’t think of anything better to do. Clint is curling his little free weights, and Natasha looks half asleep in a handstand dead center on the nearby mat, and Peter’s already jumped up to the top of the climbing tower as it continues slowly moving higher, which is cheating.

It’s long minutes before Steve can think again. Long enough minutes that the irritation has cooled into something like dry amusement, and his weights have warmed him up enough to add more to them, starting to feel that nice itch in his muscles. So he’s only reminded that he’s supposed to be annoyed when Tony walks up to him and sweeps him into a kiss – a relief to the slight part of him that was convinced he really did make some of this up. Although, to be fair, he thinks that’s the same romantic part of him that always enjoys making googly eyes at Tony from across the room, even after a year, even minutes after the last googly eyes.

“Uh oh,” Tony says, taking a step back, “am I in trouble?” Of course, Steve’s already busy gazing at him fondly, and Tony’s expression softens, too. They could probably live lifetimes in each other’s eyes loudly enough to annoy everyone around them.

Which reminds Steve, “why do all these unobservant jerks who claim to be our teammates think that we aren’t dating?” He takes a moment to step closer to Tony, so he can cling a little to his tank top, something that always seems like it should be intimate and sweet, but is really better done before anyone starts to exercise too hard. Bending their heads together to touch softly at the temple is also better done before anyone has a chance to work up a sweat, and Tony kisses him thoroughly for it.

“They what?” Tony asks, through the middle of the kiss, arm coming up around Steve’s back to pull him closer. Tony runs a thumb across Steve’s jaw even as he looks around at everyone else, “they think we’re not dating?”

“You guys want to start dating?” another voice booms from the doorway, as a second adds, “this is joyful news!”

Tony, to Steve’s relief, stares just as incredulously at the newcomers as Steve would, if he hadn’t sat back down heavily on the bench so he could press his face against Tony’s stomach and heave sobs that are only half faked. Come to think of it, a lot of conversations are making more sense now. Or less sense, given that he didn’t think they were being secret.

Tony’s laughter rumbles against Steve’s head. “I knew the news didn’t quite believe us, but, you guys. You guys. Come on.” He tugs Steve’s chin up again, and gives him a soft kiss, just a peck, really. It’s the look that really does it. There’s nothing tentative about the way they meet each other’s eyes; it’s a trust built over many, many conversations about their hopes, and their worries, and nothing at all.

Yet another person calling finally echoes across the room.

[edmunsonss]

You Belong With Me || E.M.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x  GN! Reader

Summary: Miscommunication and feelings that might not be reciprocal put your friendship with Eddie, your best friend, at risk. Should you tell him how you feel? Or will someone beat you to it and confess their feelings first?

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: Swearing, smoking... that’s about it really. The slight reference might not make much sense on this part but it will in the future.

Masterlists & Taglist  

A/N: I started writing this during my first month of college or so. It’s far from being done, but someone has given me the little push I needed to finally get this first part out there. Wanted to give thanks to @mochaoreos​ for reading this (and more) and giving me feedback, I appreciate it loads :)

°∴,*⋅✲°∴ °∴,*⋅✲°∴ °∴,*⋅✲°∴  

You had just arrived home after going to another one of Corroded Coffin’s shows at The Hideout. Eddie was trailing right behind you as you threw your jacket on the couch and announced your arrival. To no one’s surprise, the only response you got was utter silence, meaning your father was still away at the work trip he had promised to return early from, while your mother had stayed back in the office to work. 

Any other night, you would’ve been upset at the thought of having to eat dinner alone. Thankfully enough, Eddie happened to be with you, which made things better. In fact, you were excited at the thought of having the house to yourselves because it meant you’d finally get the chance to have a movie night.

You stared back at Eddie with a bright glint in your eyes, which made him chuckle, “What’s going on inside that head of yours?”

You rolled your eyes and shoved his shoulder lightly before making your way to the kitchen, “I was just thinking—”

“Oh dear, we really are in trouble, aren’t we?” He teased with a smirk. You scoffed and ignored him, instead kneeling down to peek into the cabinet where you kept your baking supplies and ingredients. 

“Rude. Anyway, I was thinking that, since we’re in the first week of October, it’s like the perfect opportunity to have a scary movie marathon. We could even bake some cookies!” You exclaimed, an excited smile on your face.

Now, one thing about Eddie was that he wasn’t big on baking whatsoever. In fact, he despised it because anything he tried to bake without your guidance turned out to be a health hazard. However, he’d pretend to be the biggest fan of baking in the phase of the earth if he got to see your eyes shine and face brighten in excitement over and over again.

So he nodded and helped you gather all the ingredients for normal sugar cookies while you ventured out into the living room to play some music. You heard Eddie groan loudly when a Bee Gees album he’d heard a million times already—thanks to you, of course—started playing loudly. You snickered evilly before sauntering back towards the kitchen. 

“Please turn that shit off,” Eddie whined, but you could tell from the smile on his face that he was merely joking and enjoyed the album much more than he’d ever admit. He’d once told you Bee Gees music would be nice to get high to, which had you laughing for a while.

You let Eddie work on the frosting while you focused on making the cookie dough. As anyone would expect from you both, things got messy pretty quickly. His dark hair ended up covered in flour and your face splattered with colorful frosting. You shared a lot of laughs with your best friend as he helped you remove the frosting from your face with a wet towel and you tried to shake the flour out of his hair to no avail. You felt guilty for ruining his hair, knowing how much effort he put into styling it.

Eddie didn’t take your guilt for a second and made you drop the cookie cutter in your hand before he pulled you close to him when How Deep Is Your Love started playing. You leaned your head on his chest as he swayed you both side to side to the slow rhythm of the music. You tried to ignore the way your heart picked up at the gesture and tried your hardest to bury the thoughts that started to surface in the back of your mind.

“Never thought I’d see a day where metalhead Eddie Munson would be slow dancing to a Bee Gees song,” You laughed, leaning your head back slightly to get a better look at him. “Wonder what the Hellfire guys would say if they knew, especially Henderson.”

Eddie shook his head as he gently pulled you closer again,“Say it and they’ll all call bullshit. They think too much of their Dungeon Master.”

You knew you were one of the few people, besides Wayne, who got to see this side of Eddie. The side of him that wore his heart on his sleeve and would never stop smiling or being affectionate towards those he loved. You got to know the Eddie that would beg for a hug after a tough day and who’d cuddle with you when it got too cold—or on any occasion really, he needed no excuses to cuddle. You treasured that with your whole heart.

It was hard for Eddie, being vulnerable. He always expected something bad to happen, whether it was an insult, a prank, or a joke. He felt like luck had never been and would never be on his side, which often translated into insecurity and isolation. Yet, for some reason, he trusted you enough to know you were the exception.

“You really are their idol, huh?” You smiled, aware of how much the Hellfire boys loved him.

“You say their,” He pointed out, “Am I not yours too?”

“Of course not, I can see right through you, Munson. I know you’re a big softie on the inside, whole meanie act doesn’t work with me. I do admire you, though, if that makes your big head feel any better.”

Eddie’s smile only grew at your words and you felt him give your waist a soft squeeze. He leaned in close to you, his dark hair tickling your cheek as he whispered in your ear, “I admire you too, more than you could ever imagine.”

His words left you even more flustered than you already were, but you didn’t give it time to let it show. Instead, you pulled away from his comforting embrace and reached for the cookie cutter you’d dropped earlier.

“C’mon now, instead of being so cheesy, why don’t you go take a shower while I cut the cookies and put them in the oven, yeah? I promise I’ll have a bowl of candy ready when you're back.”

He nodded and broke into your personal space once again—not like you cared one bit—so he could leave a kiss on your forehead, “You’re the best. Are my things still where I left them?”

You hummed and shook your head yes as you started pressing the cookie cutter into the rolled out dough, “Yep, top drawer underneath the sink. The towels are back in the closet though.”

While Eddie was away showering you tried to busy yourself with accommodating the cookies in the baking trays to ignore the stupid butterflies fluttering around in your tummy. It was an annoying feeling that had started to become familiar since it seemed to appear ever single fucking time Eddie did as much as look at you funny.

You had started to think that maybe you had an allergy to Eddie’s drugstore cologne. As blatantly stupid and far from the truth your thoughts were, ignorance was bliss. If worrying about a stomach bug rather than your feelings was the thing that would help you sleep peacefully at night, you’d keep it up.

You spent the rest of your time deciding on which record to play next, still indecisive on whether to play some Metallica or Black Sabbath. You went for Master of Puppets and let it play as you gathered a few of the blankets scattered around in the living room and dropped them on the couch that was right in front of the TV. 

Eddie silently crept up behind you as you accommodate the pillows on the couch. At some point, he stood right behind you and reached up his arms to tickle your sides, making you jump up in surprise in the process.

“Holy shit, Eddie! You scared me!” You exclaimed and turned in his embrace to hit his chest in the process. He laughed loudly and gave you an apologetic look that you knew he didn’t even mean. 

Eddie didn’t let you go as he started humming along to the song playing, Battery, “This is definitely much better than your hippie shit.”

“The Bee Gees are not even hippies! C’mon, they’re disco icons, the best of the best,” You argued back.

“You hype them up too much, they’ve got nothing on ABBA,” You gasped in mock offense and pushed him back as your face morphed into one of fake disgust, playing up your theatrics to get a laugh out of him.

“You cannot have any cookies, Munson. You don’t deserve them after the blasphemy that just left your mouth.” You finally get the laugh you were looking for after that comment. He flipped his damp hair on your face, which made you groan as you dried your face.

You started to walk away from him and into the kitchen, “You’re such an asshole, Eds.”

You could hear his loud laugh at that and could almost imagine the way he shook his head before trailing right behind you.

Once the cookies were ready and out of the oven, you disappeared to go get changed, not before giving Eddie a warning, “Don’t you dare eat the frosting while I’m gone.”

————————————

When you got back, the sight that greeted you made a big smile appear on your face. Eddie had turned up the volume of the music so much that even the neighbors would be able to hear, then he got to work.

He’d pulled his long hair into a messy bun that sat at the nape of his neck with hairs sticking out both at the bottom of the bun and around his face. He was hunched over the counter, a bag of bright red frosting in his hand and he was singing along to the music. You couldn’t see what he was doing, so you moved closer to him and peered over his shoulder.

You stifled a laugh at his action. The reason why he wanted you to cut up some cookies in the shape of gingerbread men suddenly made sense to you as you watched him frost a poor decapitated gingerbread man.

You didn’t quite know it, but you’d remember that moment forever. How could you not? Eddie looked beautiful like that, with a slight pout of concentration on his lips and furrowed brows, strands of curly dark hair framing his face. You loved it all… you loved him. 

Those three words made your world stop spinning on its axis the moment you caught the thought floating around in your brain. Your heart plummeted to your stomach as everything you had been trying to ignore rose to the surface and refused to sink back down. Of course the stupid butterflies were not the result of a stomach bug, nor did heart problems have anything to do with the way your heart sped up when you were around Eddie. 

‘Fuck, fuck, fuck.’ That was the only word that existed now, the only one you could think of as you stared at your best friend with eyes as wide as saucers. 

He eventually turned to look at you, proudly showing off the gingerbread man with a few streaks of frosting going down its body from where the head should be. Had it been any moment, you would have laughed at the gruesomeness, but you weren’t able to do anything other than stare.

Eddie tilted his head to the side and laughed awkwardly at the way you were staring at him, “What is it? Have I got something on my face?”

His words brought you back to reality. You blinked and met his eyes as you tried to come up with something to say. Your stare moved all over his face until you spotted an incriminating bit of red frosting on the corner of his lips.

You gladly took it as a way out and pointed an accusatory finger in his direction, “Yes, right there! I thought I told you not to eat the frosting, Eds.”

Eddie quickly moved to cover up the evidence by wiping his face, but missed the spot every time. You took a step closer and wiped at the corner of his lip with your thumb. It could’ve been your imagination, but you swore you saw his eyes soften as he looked into yours, a soft smile slowly forming on his face.

Had you been bold enough, you would’ve stood closer to him and taken his rosy cheeks into your warm hands to press your lips against his chapped ones. You would’ve told him all about the feelings you’d been bottling up for months. You didn’t. You didn’t because you couldn’t even fathom the idea of losing him, of ruining years of friendship for feelings that he didn’t reciprocate. You couldn’t let your treacherous heart make you lose him.

So the only thing you did was cough to break the silence and took a step back, “I’ll forgive you if you let me play one of dad’s old scary movies.”

“No fucking way, I’m still traumatized by the last one.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Two movies, a plate of cookies, and a bowl of candy later, you were sitting on the porch of your house, a thick blanket over both your backs. You were leaning your head against his shoulder as you smoked together. As much as you hated to admit it, you hadn’t been able to stare into his eyes, nor had you been able to talk in coherent sentences, which was why you were thankful for the silence that was between you.

A cloud of smoke appeared before you as you exhaled and gave the cigar back to Eddie. In a kind gesture, Eddie pulled you flush to his side and accommodated the blanket that was about to fall off your shoulder. You mumbled out a soft thanks and nuzzled your face into his neck with a sigh. The smell of cigarette smoke mixed with his musky and cheap cologne was comforting, like a drug you wanted more of. 

“Hey sweets, can I ask a question?” He mumbled. You hummed in affirmation.

“Have you ever… Do you ever wonder what being in a relationship’s like?” There was a beat of silence where you didn’t say anything, so he started rambling, “I’m sorry if it’s a stupid question. I know we never talk about shit like this but ever since Gareth met Simone, I can’t stop thinking about what it’d be like.”

You almost burst out laughing at the irony of his question, “Only like, everyday. When you like someone I guess it’s common to…”

You trailed off, realizing your mistake. Any trace of humor on your face was quickly wiped away by the words you’d just uttered. You trusted Eddie with everything you had, but you knew that uttering those words out loud had been a mistake. You knew he wouldn’t let it go until you confessed.

He pulled away from you slightly so he could look at you better. His dark eyes narrowed and his eyebrows furrowed at the new piece of information he had just received, “You like someone?”

His tone indicated nothing but pure curiosity. There was no teasing, so you decided to tell him the truth, “I do, yeah.”

“What happened to the ‘I don’t believe in relationships’ shit?” Eddie wondered. You groaned.

“Don’t be unfair, Eds. I said that after I got my heart broken. Even if that wasn’t the case though, people can change.” You tried to defend yourself, which made him chuckle.

Unbeknownst to you, your defensiveness had told him much more than you’d let on about the subject you had eyes on. Still, he didn’t say much, “They’re that special then. To make you change and all.” 

“I guess you could say that,” You replied and, for some reason, felt yourself get bolder as seconds passed, “He’s sweet and kind, creative too. Also has the coolest hair and he’s a genius at playing the guitar.”

You were dead sure he’d caught on by then, especially after the guitar part. You thought he had noticed, which was why you weren’t surprised when his arm fell to his side and he stood up, avoiding eye contact with you.

He scratched the back of his neck and mumbled out a few words you couldn’t make out, “You should uh… tell him all that, if you haven’t already. For what it’s worth, anyone would be lucky to have you.”

Then Eddie paused, and there was a beat of silence that seemed to stretch out like a never ending corridor, “I should go, don’t wanna get home after Wayne does.”

He promised to call before getting into his van and driving away. You sat on the porch until you finished the remainder of the cigarette you’d been smoking. You tried to distract yourself by watching TV, it was already past two in the morning so you figured you’d wait for your mother to get home, knowing it wouldn’t be long until she did.

When you finally heard her car pull up into the driveway, you sighed. Part of you felt relieved to have her there, hopeful that maybe she wouldn’t be too tired so you could talk to her. However, the bigger part of you felt guilty for even thinking of holding her back from going to bed because of some teenage drama she probably didn’t give a shit about.

However, keeping it to yourself was impossible. When she walked in, despite the bags under her eyes and tired face, she sat down on the couch right next to you and asked how you were. Those words were enough to get you to break. Everything you’d been trying to hold back escaped your mouth and you spent a long time sobbing on your mother’s shoulder, sure that you had just fucked up one of the best things in your life.

Your mother didn’t ask for an explanation as she held you, so you didn’t give her one. She eventually had to get up and go to bed, finally consumed by the tiredness that was plaguing her body after her nightly shift. You stayed behind and managed to fall asleep for an hour or two before the sun finally rose. There was still hope in your heart that maybe when he called you later that morning things would be fine, as if nothing had happened. Sadly, yet to no one’s surprise, that call never came. 

[milawritesstuff]

can i request for pedri in english?

where reader is from austria and can’t speak spanish so they teach eachother spanish and german? lots of love and if ypu don’t want to write it, it’s totally fine🤗

A/N: I don’t know any German so I did my best. 😬 for future reference I speak Spanish and English fluently. I know some Catalan and French. Hope you like it.

Warnings: None

••••••••••

It was your first week with Barça and you truly believed you were completely in over your head. You had taken the job in Barcelona as a social media manager not paying any mind to the fact that you spoke absolutely zero Spanish and many of the players barely spoke English let alone German. You wished we you were back home to Austria.

This morning your assignment was with midfielder Pedro Gonzalez, or Pedri as most called him. To your disappointment he barely spoke any English. Here we go again, you thought to yourself, for sure they would be firing you today for failing to meet yet another assignment.

You sat in the team’s rec room waiting for Pedri. You practiced a few Spanish greeting words as the sound of the door opening startled you. Pedri walked in straight from practice with his cheeks fully flushed and looking somewhat disheveled.

He was what you imagined when you thought of a Spaniard. Dark hair and dark eyes. Hints of stubble coming out from where he had just shaved this morning. He was much younger than many of the other players but as he walked in he held some sort of dominating presence.

“Hola.” You smiled. “Hello.” He responded, you could tell me was also trying his best to meet you halfway. “We are going to make some videos about your favorite things.” You explained to the young man that was now sitting across from you with a confused look on his face. “Videos de tu favorito cosas.” You did your best. He smiled. “Vale.”

Thankfully you had the questions written in Spanish which helped direct him throughout the recording but the cringiness of the small talk was difficult to swallow.

As you pressed to stop recording after the last sentence you exhaled a breath of relief. “Terminas.” You said. Pedri walked over to you “We are done?” He said with almost no Spanish accent making you question whether he truly didn’t know any English. “Si.” You responded.

“Your name?” He asked. It was then you realized you had been so stressed about getting this assignment done right you hadn’t even told him your name. “Oh Uhm Y/N.” Pedri leaned in and gave you a kiss on each cheek and attempted to explain to you that was the way a proper Spanish hello was to be performed. You smiled shyly at him. “Freut mich, dich.” Nice yo meet you, you said to him. He smiled and waved goodbye as he left the rec room.

You had worked with only a few players during the week but Pedri by far had been the nicest. Maybe that’s why the session had been a success. You checked your watch and raced back to your office to try and work on the video so you could send it to your boss for approval. By the time you started to pack your bag to head out home the night sky had already overtaken Barcelona. You began to walk out towards your car when you heard footsteps and someone yelling out your name.

You turned back and saw Pedri now in different clothes jogging towards you. “Pedri, what are you doing here?” He did his best to explain to you he had stayed after hours to practice. “Tienes hambre?” Are you hungry? He asked. You nodded since you had already eaten your dinner in your office. “Drinks?” He asked shyly.

You should have known better but you had a miserable week. You missed your family and friends back in Austria and you needed a drink. Besides Pedri was eye candy and who would ever say no to someone like him. You chose to ignore the trouble you could get into both at work and with your heart if you says yes to his proposition. “Si.” You replied. Pedri managed to give you directions to a local bar and he was already there when you showed up.

The two of you communicated in between half spoken English from him and half spoken Spanish from you. As well as signs and sometimes the held of google translate. “How you say, bonita in German?” He asked you. “Muy bonita.” He corrected himself. “schöne?” You said questioning him. “Y/N schöne.” Said Pedri with a smile as he took another sip of his drink. You looked down shyly.

“Gracias.” You responded. “You have boyfriend at home?” Pedri asked. You could tell he had been sitting on that question for minutes now because he either couldn’t figure out how to say it or he had to get more alcohol in him to have the guts to. You nodded “no.” Silence.

“How do you say girlfriend in Spanish?” You asked. “Ah,” he giggled. “No, no yo no tengo novia.” I don’t have a girlfriend. He responded. “Novia.” You repeated.

The two of you sat there drinking for some time. Sometimes not believing that somehow the two of you were actually having a meaningful conversation despite the language barrier. As the night came to an end Pedri asked for the tab and payed motioning for you to put your money away. “No, no.” He had said.

The two of you walked out as he asked what direction your car was. You pointed towards the right and he began to walk you. “Aqui.” You said as you reached your car. He walked up to stand right in front of you. “How do you say kiss in German?” He asked. You could feel his breath on you. The warmth of his body now right in front of you. You could smell his cologne that somehow you hadn’t been able to in the bar. And it was intoxicating. You smiled as he leaned in and kissed you.

A few seconds later his lips let go of you and you stood there in front of him dumbfounded. “Kuss.” You whispered.

[monroeknoxwrites]

postcanon moshang comm wip: sqh faces the worst aspect of royal marriages - navigating the politics

Part One Completed Fic

Much to Shang Qinghua's dismay, accepting Mobei Jun's proposal was not the difficult part. The demon king of the north had a council to appease. He was well within his rights to slaughter them all if they disagreed but demon loyalty was fickle, a show of tremendous force could keep their families in line or it could give them a unifying cause to rebel. The council were Mobei Jun's subjects, meant to give him advice on the affairs of the kingdom, follow orders given on how to execute matters discussed. And as their king, Mobei Jun had an unspoken duty to at least feign hearing them out, even if he didn't heed it.

The thought Mobei Jun would paint the halls of his castle in black blood if that was what it took to have Shang Qinghua by his side was terrifying and oddly romantic. And way too much to put on Shang Qinghua's shoulders!

Shang Qinghua stood beside the massive throne of black and pale blue ice, its icicle points reaching high towards the ceiling surpassing Mobei Jun's towering height. Mobei Jun kept his word about the jewelry but he insisted Shang Qinghua wear robes more fitting of a northern king's betrothed. A clear message to the assembled council the seriousness of his intentions. The cloak about his shoulders was fur lined, mirroring Mobei Jun's, and the material of the robes themselves thick and multiple layers. Normal human beings would be weighed down by the amount of fabric alone — forget the traditional assortment of jewelry. As a cultivator, Shang Qinghua felt some of its heft.

This was only the betrothal attire, he shuddered to think how heavy and elaborate the wedding ceremony garb will be.

The long sleeves covering his hands were conveniently hide the nervous clenching of his fists at the ominous atmosphere in the throne room. All the council members entered through a thick haze of their king's aura that hung about the air as they assembled to their respective spots. Only the king may sit. Demons tended to assert their dominance to underlings by their aura alone — Mobei Jun essentially opened discussions by slapping his dick on the table.

Shang Qinghua was torn between pride at his king’s clear show of support and embarrassed by it at the same time. Thankfully most would regard his pink cheeks as a human’s weak reaction to the cold.

He wasn’t divided on the dread coming over him at being the focal point of so much demonic ire. Notably from the pale haired demons from the depths of the north kingdom — Linguang Jun’s domain.

While he was technically exiled from the castle for his attempts to steal Mobei Jun’s rightful powers, Linguang-jun was a member of the ruling family, Mobei Jun’s elder, and responsible for a hereditary territory in the region of perpetual night at the northern most point in the kingdom. Linguang Jun wasn’t a fool. After his first dismissal by Mobei Jun’s father, he made his domain indispensable. Many important and dangerously acquired items came from the mines and caves dotting his land. And one of the oldest, most powerful families called it home.

For all his tricks, Linguang Jun secured himself a voice in the council. Without committing to killing him outright, Mobei Jun accepted it. Linguang Jun’s followers usually didn’t cause him too much trouble.

Shang Qinghua sensed today would be different.

A tall, pale haired woman, only a few centimeters shorter than Mobei Jun, broke the heavy silence.

“My king,” her courtesy was a perfunctory incline of her head and bending of the knees.

Shang Qinghua cursed at her in his head for the bare minimum of respect. He jumped when her black eyes turned to him as though she could read his mind, eyeing his attire with thinly veiled disdain.

“Should this servant offer congratulations? But forgive me, I do not remember the council discussing the significantly important matter of our king’s betrothal.”

The heating talismans on Shang Qinghua’s person seemed unnecessary at first. Now, with the air plummeting so low the weaker demon’s present flinched, Shang Qinghua feeling the strain on the talismans to shield him, he was incredibly grateful.

The woman didn’t so much as blink. She met Mobei Jun’s gaze steadily.

On the other side of the chamber, a demon woman sporting dark hair with streaks of silver stepped forward. She addressed Mobei Jun but it was clear her words were targeted at the woman beside her.

“My king,” her courtesy was deeper, genuine, “It is the understanding of those present we were summoned to discuss this very matter. And this servant rejoices our king has found a candidate worthy of the honor of royal consort.”

Her gaze that drifted to Shang Qinghua was neither cold nor warm. Shang Qinghua doubted any demons were thrilled at their king’s choice in consorts but some were loyal enough to back his decision.

It was better than total opposition.

Commissions Open

[justice-is-a-weapon]

In vino veritas [Dazai x gn reader]

·•━━━━━━━⋆⋅☆⋅⋆━━━━━━━•·

Chapter 15 / ?

previous | next

TW: mentions of depression

Walking outside I took a seat right next to the door. I took in the view I was presented with. To my left a run down car. It must’ve stood there for god knows how long, considering it was overtaken by rust, the black paint chipping away. I heard some birds chirp nearby. I, however, was not in the mood for chirping.

I took a look at my watch. 4:38 pm. It had taken me exactly 20 minutes to calm down from the fight. At least I had now calmed down so much as to not bash in Dazai’s face when seeing him again. Now I tried focusing on what exactly he had done to avoid letting him trigger me like that again. I recognized a pattern. Dazai will at first ignore any issue he faces while also being completely aware of it, then, when he needs to actually face it or is confronted with the issue, he may snap. This usually leads to the other person involved giving up when they can make the decision to do so. This is the route I assumed his colleagues usually took. Well, it was the easiest way out. But sometimes the easiest way is not the right one. I took route two: Confronting the issue head on. That was my error. Or maybe it wasn’t. It definitely made Dazai turn directly against me. Dazai is very likely to attack even those who he cares about when he feels threatened. I’d need to stay away for now. No provocation. First thing is making him feel safe, not threatened.

I still need to clean that bathroom though. He needs a shower. Or a bath.

I had also been too harsh on him. Maybe I should apologize. Yes. I will apologize.

I took another deep breath. We both fucked up, I thought. I could check his mailbox while I was at it. Nothing except for some bills to pay, advertising and some sort of weekly news subscription. With that I sat down again, leaning back against the wall, closing my eyes.

I imagined Dazai walking out the door, sitting down next to me. He'd first complain about the bills but he’s also saying sorry in my imagination, sorry for causing me all this trouble. I’d tell him not to be sorry, he’s just feeling intense emotions and this meant stuff like this could follow. I don’t blame him. Although him saying sorry would help me immensely. It’d be proof we’re both merely human.

But I’m taken back into reality.

Dazai is not sitting next to me. Instead I’m met with two long legs. My gaze follows from the brown dress shoes, over the beige dress pants, up to the black collar and lastly his face. I’ve settled on calling his hair “piss blonde” by now. He doesn’t like me anyway.

“So why are you sitting out here? Thought he probably ghosted you too.”

It’s more of a statement than a question.

“Well he did,” I finally answered, “But I’m more of a ‘I’ll break into your house if I need to’ type of person y'know?”

“Makes sense.”

I don’t question his response. An uncomfortable silence follows.

“I know you don’t like me.”

He looks at me, not quite expecting me to talk nor my sudden honesty. I just roll my eyes.

“Don’t act like I can’t be honest for once.”

A pause.

“I know that you know that I don’t like you.”

Now it was my turn to quirk a brow at him. Thankfully he answered my unspoken question.

“Dazai told me.”

This made me whip my head towards him. I hated how much I reacted to the simple mention of Dazai. I suddenly felt a bit caught.

“He gave me quite the verbal beating the day after.”

“He did?”

“I’m usually not afraid of Dazai but he seemed pretty determined to change my mind.”

He took another look at me. I prepared myself, thinking harsh words would follow. Kunikida didn’t like me. He didn’t trust me and I knew it.

But I was surprised.

“I don’t completely hate you. But I don’t like you either.”

He sat down next to me. Right where I imagined Dazai just a minute before.

“Just seeing you sit here tells me you’re determined too. I like determination. It’s part of my ideals. I’m a man that is determined to follow my ideals. They give my life meaning.”

“I’d call that fanaticism.”

“To some it might be yes. But that’s not the point I’m trying to make. I was actually trying to tell you there’s traits I like about you too.”

“Oh wow. Thanks for the compliment.”

I said rather sarcastically. I looked up at him, our eyes meeting for a second. He seemed softer. He was serious.

“Thank you for putting up with him. I know he can get a bit difficult.”

I hadn’t expected such kind words from Kunikida. He then shook his head and continued.

“To be honest I don’t get how or why you do it.”

With that he let out a long sigh and rested his head against the wall, looking towards the sky, then closing his eyes. I exhaled, slightly laughing.

“I just try again and again. Why? Because he’s my friend. Of course he’s an ass but I’ll make sure he’s doing okay.”

“You’re something for sure.”

We sat in silence for a second.

“I miss him too, yknow.”

Silence. Then his eyes widened.

“Please don’t tell him I said that.”

Now this made me laugh.

“Don’t worry. I won’t.”

I wanted to ask him another question but didn’t know if it would be too invasive. After some thinking about it I decided to do it.

“Why are you here though?”

“Mainly to check up on him I guess. But someone beat me to it.”

Again, comfortable silence.

“I used the premise of giving him his work stuff. Mainly a lot of documents. But I really just wanted to see if he’s doing okay.”

For a man so focused on ideals instead of emotion Kunikida seemed to actually have a heart. This made me happy. It was proof that I was not talking to a robot.

“Is… Is he doing okay?”

“I think it’s a depressive episode.”

“Oh… I see.”

“But we’re making progress.”

He looked me up and down.

“If you’re making progress, why are you out here?”

“Sometimes getting your ass kicked is also progress.”

A small chuckle from Kunikida.

“How far did you push him?”

“Insulted me, yelled at me, tried to tell me I’m nothing-“

“Oh I see. He’s frustrated.”

“Very much.”

Again we sit in silence.

“And how are you doing?”

This question made me think. How was I doing? Good? Bad? Something in between? To be honest I had no idea.

“Fine?” Was my final answer but it came out as more of a question than a real answer.

“Take care of yourself.”

I said nothing after that.

“Should I go in again?” I asked quietly. “I don’t want to upset him. Or worse, I could flip at him too. I don’t want that.”

“I know you don’t.”

I looked at him shyly.

“What do you say?”

He chuckled quietly, fixing his glasses.

“Get your ass inside.”

·•━━━━━━━⋆⋅☆⋅⋆━━━━━━━•·

[There it is! The long awaited chapter! Thank you for your patience. For anyone wondering what’s going on in my life please go ahead and read the author’s note. Take care!]