#that’ll hurt more than my pride | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

askinkiskarma · 2 years ago

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𝕄𝕠𝕟𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕚𝕟 𝕄𝕖 | ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕀: 𝕎𝕙𝕪 𝕐𝕠𝕦 𝔾𝕠𝕥𝕥𝕒 𝔹𝕖 𝕊𝕠 𝕍𝕚𝕔𝕚𝕠𝕦𝕤

Pairing: Neteyam x (f)Omaticaya!Reader

synopsis: you and Neteyam are the two prodigies of the Omaticaya, and while that unmoving fact brought you together as children, now, as adults, it brings you to your knees, as each day is just another opportunity for you to hurt each other in any and every way your minds could conjure up.

warnings: 18+ minors DNI, enemies-to-lovers, strong language, mentions of violence, blood, neteyam being an absolute dick, mentions of reader being choked (not in the fun way)

wc: 5.4k words

a/n: after a much longer wait than anticipated, my enemies-to-lovers fic is officially here, and I'm so excited to start a new series. As much as I love the one shots and the requests and the drabbles, I am a series enthusiast at heart, and this is something i'm really looking forward to, as I find this whole idea very challenging and hope i do it justice. pls enjoy besties, and as always, thank you for every like, reblog, reply, it means the world x (thank you very much to @cinetrix for her amazing Neteyam art ily bestie x)

na'vi compendium: syä - bitter, rumaut - cannonball fruit tree, tanhì - bioluminescent freckle, parultsyìp - children

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I tried to look for the best in the worst, but like, fuck me, that caused a commotion

You're lucky I'm a private person, I’ve quietly carried your burden

And everyone thinks you're an angel, but shit, I would probably use different wording

“You know, syä, one day, I’m going to be better than you at this, and that day, you will have to swallow your words, and I think that’ll be very hard for you to do.”

“You know, Lo’ak, if you one day do beat me at anything, then I’ll be more than happy to swallow my words. I’ll even swallow my tongue, if you want.” You chuckled as you propped yourself onto a thin branch of a rumaut, maybe 50 metres from the target on the ground, and dangling from it, upside down, you took aim, focusing intently with one eye closed. Breathing in, you took the shot, and watched as it landed straight in the middle, right next to your last arrow, very far away from Lo’ak’s arrows, which were buried somewhere so obscure, you couldn’t even spot them anymore.

“You suck.” Lo'ak puffed, rolling his eyes annoyedly. You laughed and reclaimed your spot next to him, nudging him softly with a hand.

“No, skxawng, you suck. That’s why we’re here.”

These little training sessions have become one of your favourite things to spend your afternoons doing. They started a few weeks ago, when Lo’ak came by unannounced to your tent, his tail sheepishly between his legs. He hated that he had to ask, his enormous pride wounded and scarred, but he figured finally building up the courage to ask you to train him in his bow and arrow practice was better than asking his brother and once more proving the chasm between their skill level true. You were cocky and arrogant on the surface, but deep down, Lo’ak knew you had a heart of gold and wouldn’t judge and, at the end of the day, would do anything for him, and for his whole family.

Well, almost his whole family.

You found the oldest Sully sibling by his tent, masterfully skinning a yarik from his latest hunt. Just like everything else Neteyam did, he excelled at it. He looked peaceful and deep in thought as he worked, expression which quickly melted into annoyance when his lips pursed in a tight line and his eyes hardened, as soon as they spotted you making your way towards him. You smirked when you noticed the change, loving to see him so on edge whenever you invaded his personal bubble, which happened to be all the time, since you were as good as Neytiri and Jake’s adoptive daughter.

You loved Neytiri and Jake. You owed them everything you had, everything you were. After your parents’ death, they provided you with the support and love and care needed to not fall into the pits of despair that came with being orphaned, with being all alone. They saw something in you, ever since you were a child, and trained you side by side with their oldest son, Neteyam. Quickly, it was obvious to everyone who paid attention that you were a prodigy, just like he was. Neteyam liked you when you were kids, and you liked him, too. You loved him, in fact. He was your best friend, and you were his. It was hard not to be each other’s best friends, when you spent so much time together, when you shared every blister, every bloodied gash, every muscle cramp from practice. You shared the good and the bad, and it was just the two of you. Nobody else knew what you went through or could possibly understand, nobody else had to spend their whole childhood being honed into the perfect warriors, the future of the Omaticaya strength. Kids played and kids laughed and kids held hands splashing in the nearby river, but you and Neteyam cleaned each other’s wounds and gave each other words of encouragement, and soft, shy smiles as your eyes met across the practice field.

That was all in the past. Very far in the past. So far so, it was hard for you to conceptualise that it happened in this life, and it wasn’t some sort of fantasy you made up in your head, because there was nothing left of the warmth or the camaraderie you once shared. Whereas before he was a warm shelter from the storm in your life, now he was the storm, cold and ruthless, out to get you and to hurt you, to turn your limbs cold and your heart numb. You don’t know when this happened. You just know that at some point around when you were 12, Neteyam started pushing you away, until one day you were so far away, you were just a dot in his life, so far removed from the vast, centre-stage line you used to represent, a line between his past and future, between a friend and something more, something better, something permanent.

It’s been 7 years since. Seven years since Neteyam was more or less a stranger, albeit an annoying, aggravating stranger. Because a stranger, you could ignore. A stranger, you didn’t have to see every damn day, in practice, in stings, in battles, at breakfast, lunch and dinner. A stranger might have ignored you, or pretend you don’t exist, but not Neteyam. Neteyam was determined to make your life a living hell, to make you feel as unwelcome and inadequate as humanly possible, and so you resigned yourself to returning the favour, because you very rarely ever lost to him, and you weren’t planning on starting any time soon.

When you and Lo’ak approached, you watched as he sized you up, his eyes travelling down your body, lingering for just a second longer on your chest, covered in flowy, silken fabric, your signature look. You loved the beads, and the feathers that usually concealed Na’vi bodies, but what you loved even more was the feel of the luxurious, soft material that you took great pleasure in making yourself from a secret, coveted technique your mum taught you as a child, before she died. You tried to ignore how his stare made you feel, how the tingling that always appeared on your skin matched the bubbling feeling in your stomach, and you pushed it down, choosing to believe that’s just the feeling of hatred, of deep, intense dislike, that you didn’t feel for anyone but him.

“If you’re not actually going to contribute anything of use to the clan, you might as well train instead of wasting time and dragging Lo’ak to your level. Are you not in enough shit with father as it is, baby bro?”

You didn’t even look at him as you walked past, opening the flap to the Sully family tent.

“Well, Neteyam, not all of us have to try so hard all the time to keep up. Some of us are just naturally better than others.” You say with a sly smirk, almost able to hear the steam coming out of his ears, before you entered the tent and closed the flap behind you.

“The two of you will kill each other one day, you know that, right?”

You rolled your eyes at Kiri, who was dutifully making healing pastes by mixing it in a small pot on the fire, and removed the bow from around your torso, tossing the quiver on the ground and sitting next to it, warming your hands off the heat emanating from it.

“Or fuck each other, one of the two.”

“Lo’ak!” You and Kiri hissed at the same time, and you threw a small rock you found on the ground at him, hitting him right in the middle of his forehead. You smiled, satisfied when he yelled in pain. You never missed.

“Ow?! You’re so mean sometimes, no wonder he doesn’t like you! I’m just saying, you guys always have sexual tension, and I’m definitely not the only one that thinks so. Spider says so, too.”

“Oh, well if Spider says so, then it must be true! It couldn’t be that you’re both children, and your mind hasn’t left the gutter since you first had a girl let you into second base.”

“Ah… Mira… she was something, wasn’t she? Haven’t seen her in a while.”

“Yeah, she’s hiding from you.”

Lo’ak returned the rock in a pointed throw, that you dodged effortlessly, smirking in his direction.

“See? Mean.”

Walking through the village in the late afternoon, you are pleasantly surprised at the still bustling atmosphere, all the men, women and children contributing in their own respective ways to the clan’s prosperity and success. People were returning from hunts, crafting arrows, sharpening knives, preparing new garments for the warriors that will be leaving for a new mission early in the morning. It filled you with a sense of wonder, this clan, despite having lived and breathed in it your whole life, it never ceased to amaze you, how beautiful, how grand, how unified it was. It made you determined, more and more each day, to fight the fight, to never give up or give in, to always strive to be better, stronger.

It was a big one tomorrow, a big train filled with guns and supplies, protected by 10 helos and armed guards, that were needed to the clan and would constitute a big loss for the humans. A win-win, as Jake would sometimes say. You couldn’t even remember when the first one of these missions started. It’s been more than 5 years since the humans have returned, 5 years since life as you knew it changed forever, 5 years since death and hurt followed you everywhere you went, since every day felt like a battle for survival, for your clan, and your people, and your world. Back then, that first mission terrified you, it ate at your soul and your body, manifesting itself in chills and shakes, in crying eyes and trembling lips.

You remember that day like it was yesterday, you remember how you and Neteyam were the youngest in the war party, how for the first time in years, you felt a connection to the boy as your eyes met on your respective ikran, and you saw in them pain, and fear… and yearning. For a second, he was your friend again, and the future you dreamt about as a kid, one where it was just you and him, facing this harsh world together, came back in full force, taking the breath out of your lungs. But the second passed and so did his gaze and his vulnerability, and his walls never diminished, but only got thicker and more fortified in time, and yours did too, as a result. It hurt you, his behaviour, how sudden the change had been and how drastic, how he pushed you away with no goodbye, with no chance to defend yourself, how no matter how much you tried to mend it, it just ended up making it worse. So after a while, you gave as good as you got, and blow by blow, your relationship died like soldiers on the battlefield, broken and bruised, rotting away, only the beautiful memory of what used to be left behind.

Training was still in full force at the edge of the village, in the big clearing fortified by trees and a waterfall where Jake now taught you all how to use human weapons. You didn't really need the practice, not anymore, having mastered every weapon he thought fit to throw at you years ago, but still, you went, because you may not need it, but one person you wanted to see did.

You smiled as you saw him, struggling with a Y70 Bullpup Rifle, a deep frown on his face and a small pout on his lips, and your heart swelled at the sight. O'ì'en Te Äfawoo Ìrauyon'itan was many things, all good and pure, all sweet and kind, a good balance for you, all fire and ice, no sense of balance or middling emotions. He was a mighty warrior, and a needed shelter from the new storms in your life. You've known him your whole life, but have started spending more time with him recently, as you started subbing for Jake as a mentor and a teacher, in days he was too preoccupied or otherwise engaged with one of his other many Olo'eyktan duties. He found the human weapons particularly strange and difficult to understand, so you weren't surprised now, finding him like this, struggling as he was, still trying to understand how to put it back together, how to make it work again.

You snuck behind him, careful not to make a noise, and he startled as your hands reached around and found his chest, that you caressed, tracing his defined pecs and abs, laughing as the weapon almost dropped from his hands.

"Tanhì, you scared me. What are you doing? People are watching."

"So? Let them watch." your eyes found Jake, who was eyeing your interaction curiously, an eyebrow raised and an amused smirk on his face. You brought your hand to your forehead and greeted him with a smile, and he waved at you, another human gesture he found it hard to part ways with. He made his way towards the pair of you, enveloping you in a big hug, and you almost suffocated in between his swollen, muscular pecs.

"Woah, Jake, you're gonna kill me right before an important mission." he laughs again, and you feel the deep rumble in his chest, reverberating in the forest surrounding you.

"I see you, ma Olo'eyktan."

"I see you, O'ì'en. Is the gun giving you trouble? I'm sure my little spark here can help you out. Seems you two are... close enough that she might consider it." you rolled your eyes and removed yourself from his grasp, and his knuckles made contact with the top of your head, putting pressure and twisting until it hurt, in yet another human habit you hated, that he called a noogie. He said it was affectionate, but you weren't so sure.

"Good luck." and with a wink, he was gone, focusing on the other Na'vi who needed his help and guidance.

You got on your tiptoes and kissed his cheek.

"Right. So this part is the underslung grenade luncher and it goes -"

It was late at night when you made your way back to your tent, smiling to yourself at the tranquility and joy of your evening, so far removed from the morning that was waiting for you and all you stood to lose when it came. Worry enveloped you like a shroud as you approached, and haunting thoughts tugged at your mind, but they didn't have time to fester, not as soft moans and breathy names percolated in your ears instead and took their place, names and voices you recognised. You circled your tent to the tree that rested right behind it, and you found exactly what you thought you would, exactly what you didn't want to ever see in your life. Neteyam's back shielding his little annoying girlfriend's naked body propped against the tree, with her legs around his hips, as he rutted into her.

You hated Neteyam in that moment. You knew he was doing it on purpose, you knew there was no other reason why he would choose this spot to do this, other than the knowledge that you would be coming to bed soon and the satisfaction he knew he would get from your reaction. But you wouldn't give it to him. The satisfaction, that is. He was good, at the little mind games, at knowing what buttons to push to drive you to the point of considering whether your love for the Sullys was greater than the desire to remove his head from his shoulders, but in time, you learnt all his little tricks, and in time, you learnt how to beat him at his own game.

You cleared your throat, your voice sweet and docile as honeycomb as you spoke.

"Neteyam, I just came from your family's tent. Mo'at was looking for you, she said you've been missing you treatments for your genital warts." You let out an affected noise, trying your hardest to sound sympathetic and concerned. "I'm sure it's fine, though. I'm sure the elders are wrong when they talk about how it makes fungus grow out of your vagina if you're infected by it." You almost broke your composure when the girl let out a pained yelp, but otherwise pushed through.

"Oh, well! Have a good evening!" And with that, you took your leave, grinning from ear to ear as all you heard when you entered your tent was screaming and Neteyam trying to hush her and defuse a newly-chaotic situation.

The mission and the aftermath went as well as could be expected, and you were proud of your contribution that never went unnoticed in the clan, or among the Sullys, much to Neteyam's dismay. He was still enraged about your little stunt, and you were happy that despite his continuous stink eye, you killed 5 humans, and secured the perimeter at all times, keeping the war party safe throughout the duration of the mission. The praise from everyone in the village meant the world to you, it meant everything to you, and by the afternoon, you felt on top of the world. The feeling didn't last, though, replaced with more anxiety than you knew what to do with, as Mo'at asked for your immediate presence by her side, as a matter of urgency.

You were nervous as you made your way to the Tsa’hik’s tent, unsure of why you would have been summoned there in the first place. You were going to see Mo’at for dinner shortly anyhow, so whatever it was she had to tell you was definitely too important to wait, and well, let’s just say you had a bad feeling. The bad feeling worsened when you finally pushed past the flap of the marui and found Neteyam sitting on the ground, the same kind of muted confusion visible on his face, that quickly changed into his signature “you” look as soon as he noticed who it was that walked in. You brought your fingers to your forehead and bowed your head to your Tsa’hik.

“I see you, Mo’at.”

She returned the gesture with a smile, and you sat down in front of her.

“Is something wrong, ma Tsa’hik? Why are Neteyam and I here?”

Mo’at circled the pit of fire that resided in the middle of her tent and placed a hand on one of your and Neteyam’s shoulder, a big smile on her face.

“It’s great news, ma parultsyìp. My latest communion with Eywa brought forth visions and guidance from the our Great Mother. Visions of you, my children.” Her smiled dropped a little and was replaced by a more serious expression, which accompanied her tone of voice.

“I know you two haven’t seen eye to eye for a while now. I know a lot of it is our fault, pushing you both to be the best versions of yourselves and pushing you apart as a result, but you used to be best friends, you used to hold each other close in your hearts, and Eywa thinks that can happen again… that it should happen again.”

Mo’at’s words scared you. She was being vague and the direction of the conversation made you uncomfortable, sending shivers down your spine. You looked at Neteyam, who was watching you already and you stifled a grimace at the way he turned instantly, like the thought of meeting your gaze was too unbearable to even be considered.

“Grandmother, what are you saying?”

“Eywa has chosen the new Tsa’hik, grandson. You two are to be a mated pair, and Neteyam, you will be one of the finest ruling pairs the Omaticaya has ever seen.”

Your mouth fell agape in shock and your brows furrowed as your mind was assimilating the influx of information, the way that your life instantly changed in so little time, in as little time as it took Mo’at to say the words out loud. Mated pair? Tsa’hik? You and Neteyam? Too many contradictions, too many oxymorons when said altogether for it to make sense to you. You looked over at Neteyam, hoping that for at least a second he’d let you in, he’d look at you, so you could work through this together, so you can navigate it together… so you can handle it together. But all you saw was anger and his composure coming apart at the seams, his tail shaking furiously and the tip of his ears a deep purple.

“Absolutely not. This has to be some sort of mistake, grandmother.”

Your own ears twitched and fell backwards at the unfairness of it all, at his booming tone and furious demeanour, at the way it was inconceivable to him that you'd have to spend your life together. It stung, the needles of hurt piercing your skin like a tattoo, marking you, how Neteyam never said no to his family, to his Tsa’hik, but decided to break that rule for himself just to reject you. It’s not like you wanted him, either, definitely not, but there was something about his antipathy towards you, unshaken and unwavering, even after all these years, that will always get under your skin, in the way that only he ever managed to. If there’s one thing you were good at, though, is matching him blow by blow.

“Yes, Mo’at. He has his standards set much too low to allow me to be his mate, and I have mine set way too high for him to be able to do anything but limbo under them.” yet another word you learnt from Jake, that seemed appropriate now, too appropriate to go to waste.

“That’s enough!” Mo’at was no longer in a joking mood as she looked at both of you, a stern disposition about her that you knew better than to cross. “Eywa’s decision is final, and she’s never wrong. I was just as shocked as you are, and I don’t know why she chose you, but she did. We will talk shortly about the ceremony. You can leave now.”

You sighed, your head falling in between your hands as you heard Neteyam scoffing and getting up, and the air that hit your back as he opened the flap of the tent and rushed out of it without another word.

“Mo’at… please. This has to be a mistake. I’m not fit to be Tsa’hik, you know this. I am a warrior, I have been a warrior my whole life. There’s much better suited people for the job, much better girls, I -“

Mo’at silenced you with an affectionate pat on your head. “I think you’d be better fitted than you think. Now go, I’m sure there’s better things you could be doing than sitting here, fretting over a done deal.”

The water in the lake of your secret meadow, your favourite place in the whole world, was colder than you were used to, a welcome respite in a sea of flames that felt like it was engulfing every corner of your mind and body, as you were processing the calamitous conversation you shared with the woman. What was she thinking? What was Eywa thinking? You and Neteyam? The man hated you. And you hated him. What kind of mateship could this ever be, other than one filled with pain and suffering. What kind of leadership could this be, other than one that was disjointed and chaotic. This was a mistake. You would tell Mo’at as much the next time you saw her.

You could at least try to reason with Jake and Neytiri first. They always listened to you, they always took your opinions into consideration. You would tell them that Neteyam has a girlfriend and an intended mate, that you were too young for such eternal commitments, that there was no productive resolution to this, as long as this was still to go ahead. You would do this and it would work. It had to work, because what was the alternative?

A little calmer and with a plan in mind, you swam your laps, enjoying the cold crisp feel of the water against your burning skin. You did this for hours, until you eventually tired, now peacefully laying on the soft grass, looking up at the stars. You have always been able to escape this sometimes harsh reality in the safety of your mind. But harsh reality always had a distasteful way of creeping back in, and it did so now in the form of the one person you never wanted to see, the one person whose presence had the power to burn you and turn you cold all at the same time.

“Leave, Neteyam.”

“No. We need to talk.”

“Oh, what could we possibly have to talk about, Neteyam?” You said sarcastically. Of course he’d want to talk now, finally coming with his tail between his legs. You might put him out of his misery if he was nice about it, if for the first time in years he found it in his tiny, little heart to apologise and talk to you like an actual person, if he came to you with some semblance of humbleness and communicated fairly and honestly. Maybe you could finally come to a mutual understanding. This would benefit both of you, so there had to be a way to finally learn to be civil to one another and put your difference aside.

“Stop being coy, it doesn’t suit you.” You rolled your eyes. This wasn’t off to a great start.

“Stop being a dick if you want to talk to me.”

“You have to go talk to my parents and tell them you don’t want this. Tell them you’re in love with that loser boyfriend of yours, tell them you’ve mated with him already. Tell them you don’t want to ever be tied down, that you don’t think the title of Tsa’hik would suit you. I don’t care what you say, just do it. You and I both know this can’t happen. It won’t matter what I say to my parents.” He looked down to his feet and mumbled mostly to himself. “It never does.” He collected himself quickly, before he continued.

“But they care about your opinion. I have to be Olo’eyktan, you don’t have to be Tsa’hik. So go talk to them.”

You rose to your feet and faced him. Your blood quickly started boiling in your veins at his words and tone, at the way he barely looked at you or acknowledged you, at the way he continued to treat you like a plague or disease to be sneered at, to be demeaned, to be avoided. You wanted to scream at him, to take him by his shoulders and shake some sense into him, and hope that this way the Neteyam you used to know, whose memory you still cherished despite all the horrible, unhappy, strenuous years that followed, would just return to you. But being vulnerable around him is something you’ve learnt the hard way you needed to avoid at all costs, so in the matter with which you’ve been accustomed, in a half-sneer, half-growl, you spoke.

“I have to give it to you, Neteyam, you definitely have some nerve. Coming here, demanding that I take one in the chin, yet again, might I add, and be the one to go and talk us out of this predicament, and not even being civil about it, when it’s you asking me the favour. You’ve always enjoyed letting me do all the dirty work, while you maintain the golden child title you clearly value so much. The mighty warrior. The perfect soldier. We both know, deep down, you’re just a fucking coward.”

You watched as his expression darkened, an edge to his face and beautiful features you’ve very rarely, if ever, seen before. But you were angry, so angry, so done protecting his feelings, so over trying to maintain a semblance of decorum for the sake of the love you shared in the past and the love you still share with the rest of his family, for the peace that you once hoped to protect. No one could make you angry like he could. No one got under your skin as well as he did, nuzzling there and making a home of the warmth of your bones, there to stay, until you were willing to forcefully remove him, until you were willing to finally break free from his unyielding grasp his presence had on your mind. It was finally time, it seemed.

“You sit there and act like this is an inconvenience to you. I’m going to be stuck being Tsa’hik forever. I’m one of the best warriors in this clan. I stood by Jake and Neytiri my whole life, just like you. Why the hell should you get to lead the people in battle, while I have to stay behind, and forsake everything I have ever worked for, all the sacrifices I made and all the years I gave to stand behind and heal your wounds? I should be Olo’eyktan between the two of us, and I think you know that, Neteyam. I think it eats at you at night, the thought. I think that’s the reason you have treated me like dirt since the second you realised this very fact. I think you’re scared your own parents prefer me. You’re scared that comes push to shove, that little bimbo girlfriend of yours might only be with you for the prestige that comes with fucking the future Olo’eyktan, and that if by any chance she finds this out, she’d dump you faster than a banana fruit on a sunny day.”

You knew it was a step too far, and definitely felt it as soon as Neteyam’s fingers wrapped around your throat and squeezed and your breath hitched in your throat with nowhere to go.

“You’re such a little bitch. Take it back.” There was no light in his tone, no levity, just pure rage, burning wildly in his eyes and manifested in his bared teeth, threatening fangs fully on display, the low growl blooming in his throat felt deep within you, and for the first time in your life, you were scared of the man sitting in front of you. You felt yourself becoming dizzy and disoriented as the lack of oxygen was taking over your mind, but you refused to give in to his desires, not when he was hurting you, not when he crossed a line, not when you could be hurting him. You smirked instead, and tried to focus enough to get the words out.

“You’re… a coward. You’re weak, Neteyam. Threatened by a little girl, so you pushed me away and continue to treat me like dirt. I have never thought I am better than you, Neteyam, until right now, that is. I realised something today. I don’t think I’m better than you. You think I’m better than you.”

With all your might and the last of your power, you kneed him, as hard as you could, straight in the groin, and exhaled in relief when his hand dropped from you throat and went to his loincloth, growling in pain. You groaned as you felt the marks he left on you, that will definitely bruise, and struggled to find your balance, as you walked slowly away from him.

“I’m just as unhappy about this as you are. But you crossed a line, Neteyam. The next time you lay a hand on me, I will make you pay, and I promise you that little girlfriend of yours will have to make do without offsprings.”

You left the spot that meant so much to you, that was now tainted forever, rubbing his finger imprints off your now sensitive, raw neck, heart full of deep anguish and mind filled with all the ways you were going to make him pay, and that started with one simple step: forsaking the plan to get out of this little arrangement.

taglist: @fanboyluvr @theycallmesia @afro-hispwriter @soleilmoon @crazy4books1 @bakugouswaif

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yandere-kokeshi · 1 year ago

Text

Yandere Ghost with a chronically ill darling

Warnings: yandere behavior, talks about being ill & doctor visits, and medication.

A/N: I’m chronically ill, and when reading fics, I feel quite left out due to my conditions; because of it, I decided to write my own! Hope you guys can enjoy <3.

It makes him more emotional than what’s prepared for him. Starting fresh, he’s a soldier– a man of dignity and wants to help people. But when learning of your illness, whether that’s you telling him, or finding out for himself, he wasn’t prepared to find days when he can’t help; rather playing the ‘waiting game’. Simon has to learn that even with your illness, pain is normal — and it’s something he didn’t expect he’d be getting used to.

While it makes him sad that you’re constantly in pain, it does make him feel a bit of sense of relief and pride; you can rely on him, Simon Riley only, and have him take you places where nobody should be doing.

His large and calloused hands come with goodness, which means back-rubs, or any kind of massage you’ve asked for, will be delivered in full. Simon getting into your knotted muscles, kissing your tender skin.

Simon is constantly hovering, and while he doesn’t mean to do it, he fears you’ll hurt yourself. The privilege of washing by yourself in the shower is taken away, but instead with him.

Adores it when you ask him for things, especially for affection, or that cup of drink you had left on the counter once you sit down. He always ensures that he never gets annoyed, and no, he won’t get angry if you want him to save the cooked-food for later due to your extreme nausea; the beloved man of yours had promised to take care of you, better than anyone.

He’s always willing to carry you. When feeling fatigued, extremely nauseous where you can’t see straight, he hikes you up on his back or comfortably carrying you bridal-style, and sitting you in a comfortable place. And no, he doesn’t care if it happens in public.

Routine is quite important — and he swiftly learned that from the start. In the early mornings, he has you up and ready by 9AM, helping you get dressed if needed, and helps take your medication with peppermint tea. His hand is rubbing your thigh in an affectionate sparse, supporting you with how you take it. Breakfast is served next, a good nutrient plate that’ll leave you full and maybe wanting a second plate. Then, move on reminding you of the doctor visits – easily driving you there with quiet music playing in the car.

Speaking of doctor visits, Simon is extremely confrontational and can get aggressive towards doctors who give you the doubts, or any type of attitude that ends with ‘not believing you’.

Nothing makes him angrier when it comes down to you being upset. He’ll bicker with the doctor, explaining that no you aren’t faking it, and yes, you’re in a lot of pain. Towards the end of the visit, his intimidating size and demanding threats end up working for the damn doctor(s) — his eyes narrowing at them as they escort you for another checkup. And suddenly, within the next few days that pass, they’re gone.

Flareups are a hard thing, especially if it affects the way you walk, talk, or your very mind. With this said, Simon treats you like glass, insisting you rest, and you let him take care of you. He ensures to cuddle you, letting you use his arm as a pillow, creates warmed baths that he’ll help wash your body with, and is constantly reminding you of how attractive you are, even with a sweaty body.

Hospital visits are annoying, and sometimes devastating. Laying down in the uncomfortable bed, continuous beeping of your vitals, and nurses walking in-and-out are exhausting. But, Simon is beside you, holding your hand and kissing it; whispering praises and asking if he can do anything to ease your boredom. Of course, he tries to ease your body aches with some horrible-but-good jokes.

Leaving for work is the hardest part for him. Whilst he knows you can handle yourself, having been doing it most of your life, he still hates leaving you alone; ‘what if’ questions spiraling in his mind about accidents that could happen.

Because of this, he often calls you — and leaves you text messages of “You doin’ okay?”, throughout the day when he can. And if you don’t answer? He gets really anxious, about ready to come back home to see you for himself.

—

Masterlist || Please consider reblogging and commenting instead of liking. It helps me as a creator!! Stay well!!

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jonasiegenthaler · 1 month ago

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What are the best games for a newbie hockey fan to watch to see that patented 1386 chemistry

ooh this was a fun one anon, thank you! this is more like, foundational (imo) games of the "this is nico's team now" era more than anything. but this did get. Very Long. so sorry about that lol

20 APR 2021 - NJD @ PIT: to me, really truly the start of a new era, couple games removed from moving zajac and palmieri at the deadline, in the middle of a 15-game (kinda, they had one win so like, is it really a win) losing streak. down 6-0 at the end of the second period they score 6 (!!!) goals in the third period and fall juuuust short of a comeback leading to this moment

29 APR 2021 - PHI @ NJD: the first of 3 games against philly because covid season was a fever dream individually great games from jack and nico but more importantly one of my favourite hughes to hischier power play goals of the season

19 OCT 2021 - SEA @ NJD: cursed jack shoulder injury game so like, maybe don’t watch it, BUT one of many captain games from nico, absolutely killing it once jack went down, played incredible defensively and kept the team afloat in jack’s absence

31 DEC 2021 - EDM @ NJD: honestly this game has everything (except defense)! jack goal! nico goal! dawson goal! jack ot goal! surprise hugs!

02 JAN 2022 - NJD @ WSH: the very first jack to nico overtime goal! against the caps! rejoice! (and sheldon keefe take notes)

22 JAN 2022 - CAR @ NJD: pride night game, jacknico(sevo) pp goal, post-win shenanigans, lots of them!

24 FEB 2022 - NJD @ PIT: 3 point games for both jack and nico, and 2 (!!!) power play goals, fun game, we love wins, we love pp goals, we love wins with pp goals

22 MAR 2022 - NYR @ NJD: of the ‘prom pose across the ice blown up into a mural at the prudential center where people now take couple photos’ fame. historic night for devils nation, and therefore the world. but also just. such a good game, made you believe in the team and the core (and then they lost 5 of the next 6 because they wouldn’t be the devils if they didn’t). top 3 hischier to hughes goals. the perfect game. obligatory fuck the rags.

28 OCT 2022 - COL @ NJD: second game of the 13 game win streak, we didn’t know what to expect and they gave us an absolute defensive masterclass from nico and a jack power play goal as a treat

disclaimer: not gonna put every game of the win streak here but like. you should watch all of them. just for the pure joy.

10 NOV 2022 - OTT @ NJD: another jacknico ot goal! i.e. things you love to see! truly bonkers overtime, if you don’t want to rewatch the full game just watch the overtime because akira subbed in with like 10 minutes left in the third, ice cold, held it down with ottawa pushing and played SO well in ot

17 NOV 2022 - NJD @ TOR: nico goal, jack ot heroics, and a little hurt/comfort, yknow, the good stuff

15 DEC 2022 - PHI @ NJD: my mind retconned this one as a win and turns out they did lose BUT it is a win solely for nico going after tk in jack’s honour, juicy narratives

07 JAN 2023 - NJD @ NYR: jack going nuclear, jacknico power play assists to jesper (big three goal!) +++ jacknico overtime goal which, okay, sevo scored the goal and neither of them got an assist on it but it’s the essence of it all. also burger king jerseys my beloved.

16–24 JAN 2023: the stretch from the sharks game to the vegas game where they were inexplicably red hot on the power play/6v5 and dougie’s shot was automatic and they put us through an absolute roller coaster.

23 FEB 2023 - LAK @ NJD: hughes to hischier! with the net empty! with like 40 seconds to go in the third and then dawson gets the ot winner and it’s beautiful and life is wonderful and everything’s perfect.

25 FEB 2023 - PHI @ NJD: 2003 cup anniversary game! jack goal! nico goal! something something passing the torch, something something looking up at the rafters hoping that’ll be your name up there someday

22 APR 2023 - NJD @ NYR - GAME 3: jack power play goal pulling them right back into the series what a game what a time <3

28 NOV 2023 - NYI @ NJD: hughes to hughes to hischier power play goal, that’s family baby! also of course “nico is a horse” game because why be normal about your captain when you can do whatever jack’s doing.

09 MAR 2024 - NJD @ CAR: first jack to nico 5v5 goal! put it in the history books! One of the few bright spots from last season that’s hopefully gonna carry forward this season, jack and nico finally starting to click at 5v5.

22 MAR 2024 - WPG @ NJD: unremarkable in the grand scheme of things but so many power play goals, therefore so many jacknico moments, bon appetit <3

#i do love reminiscing when i should be working instead #you don't have to watch all of the games obviously that's probably very hard #but i think everyone should experience top 4 matt tennyson at some point in their lives #asks #anon #1386

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ceilidho · 8 months ago

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im tryna write viking soap!!!! tips for writing soap? hes such a strange fella and i really enjoy your characterization of him

I have two competing versions of him in my head, one that’s a bit more serious (see: my fic Saltwater) and one that’s a bit more self-indulgent (I still feel like it has some veracity, like I try to tie anything I write to the canon characterization, but it’s definitely mostly because I’m a freak and this version of him makes me h***y)

In my head, Soap is very charming and smooth talking. He’s got a real lightness to him, like very class clown vibes, but when someone finally manages to hurt his feelings, he’s known to sulk and mope for a good long while. His feelings can be deeply bruised, but it takes awhile to get to that point because usually he just shrugs things off.

I feel like he’s got a real problem respecting authority lmao. In the games, he’s WAY too familiar with his COs for being a sergeant. He almost fully made the executive decision to kill Makarov despite his captain yelling at him to back down, and he actually really respects Price. You know he’s incredibly good at his job because that behaviour would not fly if he were at all expendable. He does follow orders, obviously, but you can see that he has a lot of resistance to just immediately acquiescing.

When he finds the people he respects and admires though, he sticks to them like glue. Soap is an incredibly loyal person in my head, like could never be bought off or blackmailed into betraying his chosen people. You could even take this to the extreme if he’s pledged his loyalty to the wrong person, but he’ll go to hell and back for someone he cares for. (I think this is one of my more realistic traits for him, but I love warping this when I write Soap as a bit more unhinged; he’s possessive and will not let go, will not move on)

I also feel like he has a very unpredictable temper, like you don’t know what’s going to set him off. You could be yelling at him and calling him names and he’d just smirk and enjoy it, or you could mumble a little snarky comment under your breath out of frustration and it would set him off. Impossible to predict how he’s going to react. He doesn’t appreciate being insulted or patronized and little comments can hurt his pride.

Super horny. Crazy sex drive. This is my most self-indulgent characterization lmao but in my head he’s just always ready, like he has a hair trigger. Absolutely obsessed with pussy (and dick). Massive oral fixation, loves to have things in his mouth. Bordering on submissive in bed, but with a partner smaller than him, he kinda goes a bit crazy and ravenous and likes to pin them under him. He’s also the kind of guy that’ll do anything once, if he hasn’t tried it.

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kenyukisser · 1 year ago

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❝ Cause this love,, is a sure thing❞⋆｡

₊˚⊹♡ summary ; Rin would never open up to his feelings, he thinks they’re lukewarm and useless or so he thought.

RIN ITOSHI, who would never open up to his feelings, he thinks they’re lukewarm and useless, something that’ll drift away with enough time, because he can’t understand them, he can’t understand you.

And when he’s left with his pride and your feelings, he just doesn’t know what to do, what to shatter, what to choose.

“Rin Itoshi, if you go on like this, you’ll fail my class.” The teacher sighs, glancing back at him before back at the board, going on about the lesson he couldn’t care less about.

The way he shrugs doesn’t go unnoticed by you, the way he views you as nothing more than your seatmate, but you couldn’t ignore the guilt that runs through your veins when he refused to pay attention to the lesson.

You almost pitied Rin Itoshi.

Halfway in the lecture, you threw out all that pity in your body, replacing it with that sweet soft smile plastering your face when you place your textbook in between both of your desks.

“what are you–” but before he could continue, the teacher glared at him, the familiar glare that would make him want to shut up on spot, so he did.

He stayed silent, glancing at the book every now and then but its sure, Rin Itoshi was yelling at you in his head.

You pointed out the basics points of the lesson, highlighting parts of the textbook, the bright neon glow, it glows like the smile you give him every now and then when you’re explaining the factors of the lesson, Rin likes to think it’s lukewarm, and that you’re getting in his way.

The younger Itoshi has never once felt the slightest bit of grief when he gets his report cards, If anything. He’d just acknowledge the full marks he gets in English.

English kept him going in school, if he wanted to be the best striker in the world, but the way you sat beside him so comfortably, so eager to teach him with the way your features compliment you so well, maybe you’d keep him going too. ‘It’s just a troubled thought’ he would think.

But he eventually gives in, exchanging pens because ‘you can write better in this pen’. Always looking forward to your teaching every now and then, pointing out the obvious that he eventually learned, Hell. He’d learn the whole book to see the way your mouth shapes into an ‘o’.

But it never seemed like that, in your perspective, he was silent, he’d always give you the cold shoulder, the type of feeling that makes you feel you aren’t wanted, the way his cool teal eyes pierced right through your notebook, it would always leave such horrible remark, he was inconsiderate. you’d think.

But what you don’t know is, he started studying for you.

Rin Itoshi, who’s a loser at communication, the way the small smile that’s barely visible on his face disappears the moment he doesn’t see you beside him, turning and tossing his head every now and then to see you at the other side of the classroom, beside your so-called friend, sharing notes with him, and writing down notes on his textbook with the pen he’d always let you borrow.

It left a slightly bitter expression on his face, a pang of jealousy, he doesn’t know what this is, he doesn’t want to know.

He saw the way you smiled at the guy, it wasn’t brighter than the way you smiled with him, the way you explained the lesson to him, he knows he’d understand it more than he ever could. The younger Itoshi who loved to assume things, to keep his pride soaring high.

But his pride was hurt, shattering to small pieces when he realized you weren’t going to be beside him any time soon, he wanted a soccer ball to come flying to his face.

“Why did you stop?” Rin musters up the courage to ask, flinching slightly the moment you’ve heard his voice from behind, causing you to look back.

He saw every feature, the way you stopped to think, the way your hair flows so nicely, and the uniform that was tailored just to fit you perfectly.

“Stop what?”

“Stop being by my side.”

Your eyes widened slightly at how bluntly he said it, as if it was normal.

“I didn’t know you wanted me there.” You replied, the tension closing between you, as if you were his source of oxygen, because he didn’t want you there, he needed you.

There are so many things a man will never tell himself, Rin Itoshi wasn’t immune to this. He told himself he’d never love again, that is was such a mediocre feeling that’ll just frustrate him in the long run, but why isn’t any of those describing you?

Oh how hard it is, to be the only one to know the truth.

“I’ll confess to you later, will you still be here after my practice?” Rin asked, with his usual nonchalant face, but a hint of curiosity could be seen.

“What?” Your eyes widened slightly.

“Will you be there?”

“You just confessed, Rin…” you crossed your arms, chuckling slightly at his attempt, at first you were convinced he wasn’t serious. Oh dear, he was so serious.

“…No I didn’t?”

You sighed softly, he was so unaware and it was so obvious he’s never done this in his life, although. You gave him a small nod, reassuring him that you were gonna be there.

It made his heart warm, all the coldness, all the hatred he had for other people, it just melted away when he saw your smile, so pretty, that if one day, the venom that spat out of his mouth reached you, he might just never speak ever again,

( The moment he confessed he was such a loser UGH I want to pinch his cheeks :(. He made sure the right words came out of his mouth and eventually you gave in, it was so cute seeing him try to tell you about his feelings. ) THIS IS SO RUSHED I SWEAR I DO BETTERR THAN THIS.

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asherraccoon · 3 months ago

Text

Thinking- QPR Radioapple- hurt/comfort- Requested by Anonymous

Alastor stared silently out over the balcony of his radio tower. His arms rested on the railing, one leg crossed behind the other, the light breeze brushing against his hair and face. He was thinking. Thinking about a lot. His deal with Lilith, the future of the hotel, his future with Lucifer and Charlie, the exterminations, everything. It was exhausting.

The deer demon gazed over Pentagram City, sighing softly. His ear twitched as he heard a noise behind him. The sound of a door opening and closing followed by footsteps. He could recognize who it was just by the sound of his steps. He didn’t turn to face him, however.

“Hey,” Lucifer said softly, leaning on the railing next to Alastor.

“Hey,” Alastor replied dryly.

They both stood in silence for a good few minutes before Lucifer spoke up.

“You’ve had a lot on your mind lately. Haven’t you?” The blonde said, looking over at Alastor.

Alastor didn’t respond, though his smile faltered. His eyes lowered slightly, though they remained on Pride’s cityscape.

Lucifer took that as a yes. He looked back out over the city. “Everything’s going to be fine, y’know?” He said with a soft smile.

“How can you be so sure?” Alastor asked. His ears lowered. “I’m worried, Lucifer…”

“What is it you’re worried about?” Lucifer asked, returning his gaze to Alastor. “You can talk to me, Al,”

Alastor shook his head and dropped his eyes to the railing he leaned on. “Just… everything,” he said, almost breathlessly. “There’s just… so much going on in my head that it almost feels like static,” He said, moving his hands up to his head and leaning on them. “It’s stressful,” he whispered. “I can’t stop thinking about my deal, and the exterminations, and my future with you…” he looked at Lucifer. “It’s… scary…”

Lucifer listened silently. “I get it,” he said when Alastor finished talking. “Sometimes your head just decides to feed you all of these worrying and stressful thoughts and ideas that you never asked for,” he sighed, resting his head on his hand. “I’ve had that happen more times than I can count,”

Alastor listened to Lucifer attentively.

“But y’know,” Lucifer continued. “It’s usually just your head making things seem like bigger deals than they really are,” he pointed to his own head. “And in the end, those things don’t matter all that much,”

Alastor sighed. “But what if they do end up being big deals? What if I’m supposed to worry about those things?” he asked. “Like the exterminations, shouldn’t I be worried about that?”

Lucifer shook his head. “Al, we defeated the exterminators months ago, remember?” he said. “We won’t have to worry about them for a long time,”

“But-” Alastor tried to argue.

“No,” Lucifer interrupted. “You’ve gotta stop letting your head get the best of you,” he said. “And I know damn well that it’s easier said than done,” the angel used his magic and summoned a pack of cigarettes. He offered it to Alastor. “But it’s possible. Just takes some time,”

Alastor took one of the cigarettes and put it in his mouth before lighting it with his magic.

Lucifer sighed, fidgeting with the lid of the box. “Sometimes all you need is a break, and that’ll be enough to calm down your thoughts,” he looked out over the city again.

Alastor took a drag of the cig and blew it out, watching the breeze blow the smoke away and right into Lucifer’s face, who coughed and waved his hand at the smoke. Alastor let out a soft chuckle. “Sorry,”

“It’s okay,” Lucifer said, laughing a little.

Alastor offered the cig to Lucifer.

Lucifer hesitated for a moment, debating on whether or not he should take it. After a couple seconds, he took it from Alastor’s hand and took a drag before handing it back to the deer.

The two stood in silence for a bit, sharing the cigarette and only exchanging words every now and then. After a while, Alastor spoke up.

“The moon looks beautiful tonight,” The deer said, looking up at Hell’s red moon.

Lucifer hummed and smiled, looking up at the moon as well. “Yeah,” He looked at Alastor, who was already looking back at him. “It does,”

#hazbin hotel #radioapple #alastor x lucifer #duckiedeer #hazbin lucifer #hazbin alastor #appleradio #qpr #qpr radioapple

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tojiscumdumpster · 10 months ago

Text

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ PART THREE - TOJI

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀summary page

✧ content warnings su*icidal thoughts (very brief. just one sentence)

God, she’s so damn pretty. Ten years later, and Y/N looks the same as before. Actually, no. She’s gotten more gorgeous. What came with age was fuller curves and a rounder face. But her deep brown complexion still shines the same when the sun kisses her skin.

I watched her sleep like a creep after I made love to her and that tight pussy. Talk about being dead. I feel alive after fucking Y/N. After being reunited after so many years. After saying… saying I love her.

It was never my intention to stop by Y/N’s apartment after seeing my kid. Hell, I didn’t even think she would still be living here, but I had to check. And I’m glad that I did.

Maybe it was selfish of me to come see Y/N when, based on her reaction, knew that I was dead. Me coming here probably hurts more and gives her the illusion that I’ll be here forever.

I’m not.

I’m temporary. Just how it was ten years ago because I always knew I wasn’t going to last long in this world.

And even when I knew that I still pursued Y/N. I’m not saying it with pride, but I don’t care. I needed her. I needed that fucking addicting energy.

Then, when I realized I love her… she wasn’t going anywhere. I wouldn’t let her. So, yeah. Maybe I’m a dick for building a temporary connection with Y/N, but what I had with her was one of my best memories. And I don’t keep many of those.

But soon, that’ll come to an end.

Again .

I can’t stay here forever. Not even for another hour. I have to go now because any longer I’ll become more than selfish.

“You like what you see?” Y/N’s asks, pulling me back to reality. She’s awake, and there’s this type of sexiness in her sleepy voice that makes me hard.

I gently push her coils away from her forehead. “Always.”

“…What happened?”

Already knowing what she’s talking about, I began answering her question.

“That white-haired brat that I sent to tell you I’m not coming killed me. I got too fucking cocky.”

“So how are you here right now?”

I sit up, looking at my hand then to her. “Honestly… I don’t know. It had something to do with that cursed technique shit I told you about.”

“I see.” She looked down and I took notice of her eyes watering.

I caress her cheeks. “Don’t cry for me, sweets.”

“Ten years, Toji. Ten years I went without you. Been without you. Everything was robbed from us,” she explains. “It was hard for me to adjust to your death. Still is, but I’m trying.”

When I look at her, I see someone broken. Hurt. Betrayed. She’s crying for me because of me. I made the wrong decision… Here I am, yet again, being the cause of Y/N’s pain.

“I waited a week for you, and you never came back. I even said a pep talk to myself to leave you alone when I saw you again. Who knew that would’ve been my permanent reality.”

“I’m sorry, sweets, but you’re an angel,” I say to her, rubbing her bottom lip with my thumb. “You were never meant to be with someone like me. We wouldn’t have lasted even if I wasn’t killed.”

What am I doing?

A frown forms between her brows. “What are you talking about? Why do you keep saying that?” She also sits up to look me dead on. “You’ve been saying this since we met, Toji. I’m a fully grown adult and more than capable to dictate who can and cannot be in my life. Why don’t you understand that I love you?”

“Because I’m not a lovable person. I’m not meant to have love.”

I serve no purpose in this world.

“Yet here I am, loving you. I’ve loved you for ten years! Even after you were killed, I desired only you. You ,”—she points her finger at my chest— “own my heart. I don’t want anyone else, but you and I can’t even have you because you’re dead. I don’t know how you’re here right now–I might be fucking hallucinating, but you’re dead!”

Her breaths are shallow and tears stream down her face. How can someone look so beautiful while in pain?

Y/N is right. I am dead. If I can take a guess, I was summoned to wreak havoc. But rather than doing that, I came to see her one last time. I should’ve killed myself after I came across my kid.

Coming here was a mistake.

She makes me feel like… a human. These emotions brewing inside of me creates an attachment to a world I have no reason being in. Y/N is my attachment. No matter how many times I try to see myself as less than a human, her love will always give me hope to a reality I didn’t think was possible.

Coming here wasn’t a mistake. Walking out her door ten years ago was.

I didn’t mean to hurt her. Not like this.

“I have to go,” I say, abruptly, leaving her bed to head toward the balcony. I knew I wouldn’t be here for long, so after we had sex, my clothes were back on.

I just wanted to spend a bit more time with her.

“What-where are you going?” She gets out of bed, bare body on display, to follow me. “Toji, where are you going?”

“I shouldn’t have come.”

“What? Why?” she asks, sounding frantic. “Fuck, where’s my shirt? Where’s my fucking shirt?”

By now, I’m at the edge of the balcony, ready to leave. I look back at Y/N to see her put on clothes to follow me. I look back to see the woman I love and the life I could’ve had.

Growing old and being with someone forever sounds like hell. But with Y/N? It would’ve been more than worth it. She even had optimism to believe I can make amends with my kid.

I don’t want to leave her. Not again.

Before I leave, I go to her one last time and place a soft kiss on her forehead, halting her from her movements. Y/N is breathless, but still manages to take my fucking breath away.

God, I’m going to fucking miss her.

“Toji, please don’t leave me. Not yet. Just a little longer, baby.”

“I can’t.”

“You can’t or you won’t?” she asks, accusingly.

Both .

“Looks like I was able to keep my promise.” I try to leave, but she grabs my hand.

“Toji! No, please. Please, don’t leave me. We can figure something out. Just stay. I can’t do this alone.”

It’ll be hard, but you can. Someone will be good enough to love you properly.

“Why did you come back? Why did you tell me you love me just to leave? Just to say you kept the fucking promise?”

“I said I would come back to you and say it. That’s what I did,” I argued.

“So stay now! Stay with me! I don’t give a shit about your nihilistic attitude. Do this for me. For once, don’t be selfish.”

“I c-”

“You know what? I hate you. I hate you so much, Toji. You just keep hurting me over and over again, and I never learn. Why can’t you just do this for me?” She falls to her knees and begins sobbing uncontrollably. “ Please… just for me.”

I wish you can understand how badly I fucking love you.

“Goodbye, Y/N.”

If I stayed any longer, I knew it would be harder for me to leave. I jumped over the balcony and left Y/N crying in her apartment. She screams, cries, curses at me any and every emotion that comes to that pretty mind of hers, causing my empty heart to feel the same way it did on the day I was killed.

Broken .

I thought maybe after my wife died long ago, I would reaffirm my identity by fighting that Gojo brat. To go against the Zen’in Clan and prove to them I’m not a fuck up. That they should fear someone like me who lacks cursed energy.

I thought love made me weak.

I allowed my pride to get the best of me.

Now, having love taken away from me for the second time, makes me regret warping to my usual self. I kept fucking saying I held no purpose in the sorcerer world, but I continued fighting in it. Just to stroke my ego.

I had a chance to feel like a human again and fucked it up by leaving Y/N that day. I don’t know how many times I have to tell her that I’m sorry, but I am.

I’m so sorry, sweets.

Another selfish thing for me to ask is to forgive me. So maybe if we found each other in another life, I could love you properly.

That’s the only thing I’ll beg for while I’m atoning my sins in the afterlife.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

THE END.

hello. thank you for reading until the end. if you're interesting in continuing this couple's journey, i suggest you read, words i've finally said.

#jjk x black reader #anime x black!reader #toji x black reader #toji fushigro x reader #toji x reader #toji angst #jjk angst

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saphirered · 1 year ago

Note

I saw your autumn/winter prompts

It’d be cool for you to do some fluff with Ashton for either cold nights or thunder and lightning

Love your stuff!!!

More prompt requests incoming! 😘

Miserable. This weather feels absolutely miserable. Ashton is uses to the rain and thunder but now it’s fucking cold. Freezing, frigid cold and fuck does it hurt. They can feel it in their bones, their entire body just hurts, more so than usual. The jungle is fine, perfect even. It’s like home. But they’re far from home. The heart in the jungle, lies far beyond sight and perhaps even mind. This fey bullshit is something else entirely and Ashton doesn’t quite like it. The weather seems to hate them especially. If there’s some asshole watching over them making this all happen, he’ll personally see to it that there’s a nice and comfy spot in the earth about six feet under. Fuck.

All of those emotions disappear though. A burst of light illuminates the skies and with it your face. You look up at the sky and admire the tendrils flash before the disappear as quickly as they came. You’re a beautiful sight- It is a beautiful sight. Fuck. You’re beautiful. They’re in deep. Once upon a time Ashton thought this was fun while it lasted. A little teasing and flirting never hurt anybody but the line had blurred a long time ago. Ashton caught feelings and it’s very few times they’re unsure about anything. Your lips move but your voice is drowned out by the sound of crashing thunder.

“Hah?!” Ashton leans in closer to hear as the ground shakes once more.

“I said we should find some shelter!” You all but shout pointing at the sky and take their hand. So much for venturing off on your own and having a little voyage ‘back in an hour’. You hope the others have the mind to find shelter too. You send them a message just in case as you pull the genasi along through the trees and rocks until you stumble upon a cave. You’re not taking any risks and the lightning is getting closer. From here you’d be safe with cover, and still able to witness nature in all it’s grandeur.

Letting himself be dragged along Ashton isn’t opposed to the shelter you’ve found because with his track record he wouldn’t put it behind any mischievous fey to set the gold in those cracks to attract the lightning. On the other side they too are a little curious to see what would happen… Maybe another time. Ashton curls and uncurls their fingers, rotates their wrists when you let go and take a look out at the oncoming clouds hiding the moonlight, or dusk-light should be more appropriate. You stay at the mouth of the cave to watch another rumble hit the earth in a cacophony and the lightning, quick as it passes makes this cave all the darker. Ashton can’t see shit and in an attempt to find a wall loses their footing. A crack, that’s luckily hidden by thunder saves most of the hit to his pride. But then fire glow appears in the palm of your hand.

“Why are you on the ground?” You hide a chuckle as you watch Ashton give up on, life, existence, everything laying on their back, legs bent at the knees and groan.

“I just wanted to be one with my element.” They speak as casually as they can but your brow furrows and you take a tentative step closer, and another and another. You kneel down and help Ashton sit up. Groans are not just a casual annoyance at this place, but something of discomfort. You caught on. Shit.

“I can give you two a moment if you’d prefer but I don’t think that’ll do you much good.”

“There’s room for one more. Plenty of the earth to go around.” Ashton jokes.

“I was hoping there’d be plenty of you but I can settle for the rocks beneath my feet.” You jest and Ashton scoffs though the attitude is quick to slip when your arm hand touches their back. Even through their jacket, the warmth offers such a relief. “You doing okay?” Again your brow furrows.

“Yeah. Yeah sure.” And so the comfort disappears. You pull back and just sit on your knees, hands gathered in your lap. Disapproval crosses your features.

“Sure.” You deadpan and grab onto Ashton’s wrist, uncurling the fingers gently and clasping his hand between yours. You bring it to your lips and blow warm air. It doesn’t take much to see the instant relief cross their features.

“Okay maybe I’m not entirely okay.” The look you give them is much akin to ‘ya think?’ and it hurts to admit to the way it makes Ashton feel inside. Then your features soften. You look out towards, the oncoming storm, to the lightning reaching out, and the wind rustling through the trees picking up.

“Sit with me.” You simply say. It’s not quite a question as much as it is an order and Ashton does feel like they have a choice. It’s just a very tempting one despite their disdain for authority and following orders. You shift from your knees until you’re comfortable, looking out over the horizon. Everything seems so much easier when he looks at you. Everything is. You make it so because any doubt falls away. Ashton knows they’re on the right path because you’re there and as long as you walk it with them they’ll keep walking with you.

Ashton shifts and sits next to you. He bumps your shoulder with his. You chuckle and bump back, though much likes the rock around, they don’t budge. The cold pain creeps up again and almost as if you know exactly what to do, you wrap an arm around their back, slipping your fingers under the jacket and lean your head on their shoulder. Just your sheer presence, and a little magic manages to numb the pain and that’s more than Ashton can say the majority of people they’ve had in their life have ever been able to do.

“You’re so fucking confusing.” Ashton speaks before they think.

“Wow, so much affection.” You scoff but pull closer.

“You are.” Ashton doubles down. “You’re a fucking disaster waiting to happen.”

“But I’m your disaster.” You poke a finger at his chest.

“Are you?” Again, speaking before thinking but that seems to be the right track. You take a deep sigh and Ashton’s heart stops, their breath stops. Time stops. There’s not but anticipation, both joy and dread loom overhead and they’re just stupid fucking feelings because end of the day you’re just you and you’re fucking amazing. That’s what you are. You’re fucking amazing.

“I don’t know. Am I?” The both of you look at another lightning bolt striking close by. Ashton gives it a moment, letting the trembles of the earth fade and the light too, not but the dim orb behind the two of you offering the littlest of light.

“Maybe you are. If you think you can handle it.” He looks down nudging your head from his shoulder.

“First off, rude-“

“You’re the one using my shoulder as pillow, find a rock or something.”

“Maybe I will.”

“Will you now?”

“Yeah. A nice and comfy one.” You’re unreadable. That’s dangerous. Next Ashton knows you’re on your knees at their side, back facing the exit of the cave, your warmth has disappeared from their back but settles on their shoulders. It takes everything to not lean into the touch. Not that they have to because you lean closer.

“This one seems plenty comfortable.” You close the gap, press your lips to Ashton’s. While you’ve shared your flirty kisses before they were just that. This kiss is different. This kiss is a lifetime unfolding however long it might last. This moment is as bright and beautiful as the flashes beyond the cover. You’re like a warm fire in the cold dead night and are simply a relief. You’re a certainty in their life when they have known so little. This might not be eternity but this is certain. You’re certain because you’re just fucking you and that’s all you’d ever need to be. Cover from a thunderstorm isn’t so bad out here.

#critical role x reader #bells hells x reader #ashton greymoore x reader #ashton x reader #bells hells #critical role #critical role fanfiction #ashton greymoore

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gluion · 1 year ago

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[part one] of guitar strings and peeled tangerines (i’ll bruise my fingers just for you)

non-idol!jacob bae x reader, slight non-idol!ji changmin x reader

when you are unable to continue staying in the city, you are forced to move back to the small provincial town you begged to stay away from. but when you come face-to-face with the reliable village co-chief, jacob bae, you learn that your stay won’t be so pleasant after all.

genre/warnings ➵ childhood friends to strangers to lovers, slow burn, slice of life, angst, slight fluff!, afab reader (they/them pronouns), hurt/comfort, flashbacks, being lost (and trying to figure things out) in your late 20s, a lot of trauma that stem from mommy issues (tiger moms :')), themes of grief, forgiveness, and pressure to succeed, quitting your job & lying to everyone out of shame, realizing you have grown out of your hometown, ju haknyeon is your lovely best friend, jacob bae has issues with you </3, you two also work together, use of nicknames, alludes to someone's death, depictions of panic attacks

word count ➵ 8.2k words

parts ➵ check out the series masterlist

taglist ➵ @deoboyznet @kflixnet @blankjournal @winterchimez @miusgirl @jenoscafe @sweet-unicorn-world @vernyangel @mosviqu @tbzhub

a/n ➵ SHE'S DONE!!! SHE'S OUT!!! EARLY RELEASE YUP!!!! needed this out just to give me time to work on the fic exchange event </3 please be patient for the other parts (there will be more jacob and reader interaction </3) this is very slow burn so i hope you guys will stick with me all throughout! i hope you all enjoy! i would really appreciate it if you could take the time to reblog this (even if it's in your tbr!)

want to be part of my taglist? send me an ask! main masterlist

The first steps you take are ones you don’t remember; the first time you managed to stand on your own two feet in front of your parents, the first words you say to your dad—poopy—as he changed your diapers, even the first book you read to yourself. (It’s The Rainbow Fish by Marcus Pfister, though you probably didn’t understand the string of words at the time)

Yet, within the four corners of your mind, a cardboard box labeled “do not throw” sits by one of them. It stores fractions of moments that’ll never get lost in a hole that time continues to shovel down; your first day in kindergarten where you scraped your knee from playing, and the first friend made in your first years of school who you cannot help but think about until now.

But most of all, you’ll never forget the aspirations that propelled you to where you stand today. The desire to be good—great, even—so that you could prove that you are capable never seemed to dwindle. And no matter all the times the ambition felt like it would slip from your fingertips, you gripped it tighter than ever, forming calluses all over. You couldn’t allow yourself to settle for less. You had to prove yourself to someone—one who underestimates while expecting everything from you.

It’s funny; a monologue about determination and pride only for you to stand in your apartment littered with boxes filled with household items, ready to move out of busy Seoul. You stand in the middle of the mess, chewing on your bottom lip as your eyes scan through the items that need to be packed and sold.

“Appa, I’m sorry again for causing you trouble,” you whisper.

A chuckle sounds out from the other end of the line. “What’re you sorry for? I’m happy that you’re coming back home!” You sigh as you sit down on your couch. It’ll be the last time you ever get to sit on it until you move tomorrow.

“I swear, I’ll be back on my feet soon enough. It’s just that,” you try to keep your heart at bay. “HR is forcing me to use my vacation days, and rent here is impossible without me doing work.” The lie leaves your mouth like how you practiced it over the past weeks.

You couldn’t stand to break your dad’s heart with the truth. The child who should’ve succeeded had turned into an unemployed individual. Who would’ve expected that you, out of all people, would quit your job? It paid well and kept you afloat amid Seoul, and you wonder why you did that in the first place.

Now, you stand between crossroads without any road signs. Without a clue of which track to thread on, you take steps back rather than moving forward. You were supposed to reach another height your father could commemorate. Instead, you’re back in the town you grew up in—the place you’ve grown to hate, the one you abandoned for the right reasons—and you can only imagine the disappointment that will coat your father’s face as he has to shelter you once more.

The brown container that sits in the corner of your mind doesn’t only store the trinkets that are in good shape—it holds novelties that bring sorrow. No matter how many times you wish you could chuck it down the endless hole, these tangible fragments always land back in the box as if they never left. The case can never be thrown away; there’s nothing you can do but leave it as is, stirring away from it as much as you can.

“I really don’t mind. I mean, it’s been years since I last saw you,” your dad says, and you cannot help but bite the inside of your cheek.

“Still, I’m sorry I sprung this on you last minute.” Your eyes land on a picture frame that hangs on the wall. A picture of you and your coworkers during one of the team buildings; it’s your favorite memory with them. “I would’ve asked my friends if they could help me out but they didn’t have the space to accommodate me.”

This time, you were telling the truth. Kim Namjoon from Production and Kang Seulgi from Marketing, your friends from your old job, didn’t have enough room for you in their respective places. You didn’t want to inconvenience them with your troubles, anyway. Ultimately, it’s your fault for leaving your job after all, and it’s not your friends' responsibility to take care of you.

“Y/N,” your father starts. “I said it’s fine. I’m happy to take you back because I miss you.” You pout at his words. Although you had the right reasons to leave home, you felt bad that you abandoned him as well. You two tried to stay in touch through short calls you managed to squeeze into your busy schedules, but you know that it could never replace the comfort of physical presence.

“Appa,” you whine out as you lean back on the couch, the leather squeaking against the friction. “I miss you, too,” your dad chuckles on the other end of the line; it’s a sound you haven’t heard in a while.

As you stare at the opened boxes, you let out a sigh. “Appa, I’ll have to go. I still need to finish packing and sending some items away.” He hums in acknowledgment. “I’ll see you by next week, okay?”

“I’ll pick you up from the station.”

You chuckle before saying, “Appa, it’s fine. I still know my way around town.”

“Still! I want to help you out with your luggage, and the town has changed a bit since you last visited for—”

“I get it,” you cut him off. He doesn’t say anything after that. “I’ll figure it out. I want you to focus on your restaurant, okay?” He only hums.

A beat passes. You’re about to say something until he beats you to it. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think—”

“Appa, it’s fine.” The tone is convincing, but you two knew about the sensitive issue that he almost touched on. A sigh leaves your lips. “I mean it, okay? You don’t have to worry.” The last thing you wanted is for your dad to worry about you again; he’s done enough of that while you were still under his care.

“But I’ll always worry about you because I care. You know that, right?” You bite the inside of your cheek, letting out a hum. Your dad sighs before saying, “Okay, I’ll let you go now. I’m sure you have a lot of things to do.”

You smile to yourself. “Okay. I’ll see you soon, Appa.”

“Bye, Gyul-ah.”

Warmth spreads to your heart. It’s been a while since you heard him call you that—mandarin orange. To you and him, clementines and tangerines looked and tasted the same, no matter what other people tried to convince you of their differences. The fruits were staples in your childhood home, always peeled and ready to eat.

“Bye, Appa.” The call drops. You move your phone to the side before letting out a sigh. You look at the mess that surrounds you. It’s tough work but one that must be done. You’re staying there for two weeks, and you’ll return to your life in Seoul right after. You’ll be able to find a job within that time frame, right?

Six years ago—that was the last time you visited this town. In your time away, it still looks the same. Unlike Seoul, the sky isn’t polluted by the exhaust from cars or the blaring lights of every skyscraper. Puffy white clouds contrast the bright blue.

The sounds of cicadas fill your ears, and the heat pierces your skin. God, you remember why you disliked staying here, and it wasn’t just from the minor issues. So many reasons to leave, and yet, you’re back here with no choice.

A sigh leaves you as you step out of the train. The station looks the same as the last time you left; rust covers the arms of benches, the clock still ticks slower than the one on your wrist, and leaves are scattered all over the floor. You notice only a few passengers have gotten off this stop (five people including you) and you only wonder what business they have here.

Nothing is interesting about where you grew up. It’s a rural area; the fields of fruits and vegetables, a small communal market at the center of town, and only around 200 residents living in this area. It’s a small town—what could’ve changed over the years?

You step out of the station, luggage trailing behind you, and you bump into the busy community. In their arms were crates of produce; vegetables, fruits, eggs, you name it. The faces that passed you were familiar ones, but no one seemed to recognize you. Maybe you grew out of your 18-year-old self. And you expect to feel a sense of relief take over—you have finally grown out of your past—but you feel more displaced than ever.

But before you can dwell on it, you hear someone call your name. The voice is familiar, one you haven’t heard in ages, and your eyes land on a boy—your first friend back in kindergarten. Your heart soars at how much he’s grown. He comes rushing to you with a crate of oranges and drops it as soon as he stands in front of you.

“Juhak,” the nickname leaves your lips, a smile following.

Before you know it, he brings you into a hug; it’s one you haven’t felt in years. “I haven’t seen you in ages!” He smells of citrus, probably from the fruits he was handling. The scent reminds you of home; tangerines and clementines in every corner, unpeeled and ready to consume. Your arms wrap around him, your face snuggling into his shoulder, and you breathe him in—almost to make up for all the years spent separated.

Ten years ago—that was the last time you saw your childhood friend, Ju Haknyeon. The difference between him when you first left versus now isn’t stark. Long gone is his fluffy hair, and a short fringe is what he sports. He’s grown a few inches taller, and he’s definitely gotten more muscle on him. But baby fat still fills his cheeks, and he flashes you a toothy grin; it’s a Juhak signature. In this man, a part of your best friend still resides.

“I—wow, I don’t even know what to say,” he says as he rests his hands on his hips, taking in the sight of you. “Can’t believe you’re dressed up like that.” The chuckle that leaves his lips has you rolling your eyes. Clothed in a pair of jeans whose material seems hotter than fleece and a long-sleeved shirt, you were not dressed for this type of heat. This outfit is normal back in Seoul, even something you would wear during summer, but you’ve forgotten how different the heat is back here.

“Sorry, didn’t know there was a dress code.” It’s laced with sarcasm, and Haknyeon snorts. You pull on your collar, letting the air pass and graze your skin. You smile at him. “It’s been a while.”

“Yeah,” Haknyeon gulps down nothing. It’s a habit of his—swallowing nothing whenever he couldn’t find the right words to say. You’re almost shocked at how his antics are still the same even ten years later.

Silence takes over. In those few seconds, you two allow for it to settle. You two couldn’t believe you’d finally set foot back into this town, and the joy of reuniting with an old friend shifts into discomfort. The reality sinks in—you abandoned your best friend without any notice.

You divert your gaze to the ground. In your peripheral vision, you spot him picking up the crate. “I, uhm,” you fix your posture, back straight as you stare back at him. A gentle smile rests on his lips, and you’re only reminded of how shitty you were to leave this town with no way to contact you. “I’m—yeah, I don’t even know where to start.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “I’m assuming you're on your way to Abeoji.” He glances at the luggage behind you. As you hum, he says, “I’ll go with you.”

Your eyes widen at his offer, taking a glimpse at the crate he holds. “What about work?”

“Lucky for you, I just need to drop this off at the market and then we can go.” He flashes you a smile, and you nod, accepting his request and hauling your luggage as you walk side-by-side with him.

As you two make your way to the center, you take in the features of the town. The buildings are shorter than the skyscrapers in Seoul, reaching only two levels high. There were marts selling different products; school supplies, ingredients, amenities, you name it. In every establishment, it would be filled with people who know each other. No matter who you passed, every store clerk had a relationship with the customers, and every customer seemed to know the other shoppers as well. It’s a tight-knit community, you always knew that, but it still amazes you that such an attitude persists after your disappearance.

“Here we are,” Haknyeon says, causing you to halt your steps. “This won’t take long.” Before you know it, he enters the establishment. The store clerk’s expression instantly brightens at the sight of him. As you watch the two interact through the glass window, your heart is enveloped in warmth. It feels similar to the glow in a fireplace—toasty enough to bring you comfort until your hand is too close to the source, leaving a mark that can only be soothed by cold water. The sight shows that Haknyeon is doing well, but it’s enough to remind you of what you missed out on during your absence.

He makes his way out of the store, hands-free, and grins at you. “Well, ready to visit Abeoji?” You nod before walking to your dad’s restaurant. You two make your way out of the center, entering the quieter parts of town. The chatter turns into mumbles and the buzzing of cicadas takes over.

“So, Abeoji renovated the restaurant,” Haknyeon starts. You glance at him before letting your eyes trail back to the path you take.

“Really? How different does it look?” Your dad never mentioned this. Even when you came back to visit six years ago, you were unaware of such plans. But you remember that you two never talk (and you mean actually talk). In your phone calls, it was always small talk—Hi, Appa. Are you doing well? Okay, I’ll ask the same question tomorrow. Bye—and never about what occurred in your separate lives.

“It’s nicer. It still has a wood interior, the chairs, the tables, you know.” You hum at what he says, glad to know that it won’t be too different from the restaurant you grew up with. “But the kitchen is a lot nicer and not as cramped. It’s still small and cozy. Your dad added sleeping quarters to the back.” You look at Haknyeon but he only looks straight, eyes still on the track you two take.

His revelation made you wonder how much your father had to face all while you were gone. All while you were off in Seoul barely getting by, you can only imagine what your dad must’ve gone through. The waves crash against your heart, dragging it into the sea of black and consuming it as if it were nothing. Did you even have a heart if you abandoned everyone ten years ago?

He meets your gaze, a grin on his lips. “I’m so glad to see that you’re back!” You smile back at him. “If you don’t mind me asking, what brought you back? Does Abeoji have a problem?” His question isn’t meant to be invasive. Out of all people, Haknyeon knew how to respect your boundaries. You wish you could tell him the truth—you’re unemployed and you have nowhere to go but here. And yet…

“Oh, I’m on leave.” His eyebrows raise in shock. “My company told me I need to use my vacation days. It’s part of the policy, you know.” The only truth that stands is that your old company did require you to use those allotted days; it’s their way of ensuring that they aren’t overworking their employees.

“Wow! Didn’t know city life was that progressive,” Haknyeon laughs. “I would’ve gone to Seoul if I knew that.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. “I just got lucky with my company. Work is still work, you know?” He hums along. “I’m guessing you still work with your parents?” It’s a fair assumption considering his family has one of the more giant fruit farms in town.

“Yup!” His eyes sparkle. “I’m going to be taking over the business once Appa retires.” You forget how much Haknyeon enjoys this place. Never once do you remember him ever considering a life in the city, away from the noisy cicadas and troublesome flies. All he needs is found here.

“How’s the city?”

You hum, thinking about where to start. “Everything is cramped but far apart,” you chuckle as you shake your head. “The buildings are so close together but you need to commute to get around, and it’s hard to travel during rush hour.”

Haknyeon scrunches his nose. “That sounds awful.” You nod. “But I’m sure your friends helped you out in adjusting.” He meant to say it with sincerity but the tone is like ice water being thrown at you—a reality check of what you had done to him. You know of your sin—it’ll be one you need to repent for.

You two finally arrive in front of a small building, one that resembles a house. The roof used to be crimson with splotches of black, and the walls were once off-white. But the new look of your dad’s restaurant is a sight to behold; a cream-colored roof and walls painted in basil green with potted plants littered at the front.

“Well, here we are!” Your eyes snap back to Haknyeon. He holds the same smile he first shot when he spotted you in the crowd. “How long will you be staying?”

“Around two weeks.” That’s what you hope.

“That’s good to hear! We should catch up while you’re still here.” Knowing him, this isn’t an empty request; it’s one that you must fulfill. So you nod, smiling before making your way to the door. Your hand rests on the knob; you don’t know if you should turn it.

“There’ll be a party by the community hall tomorrow.” You gaze at him. He stands afar, chest open with a gashed heart. It bears the marks of your fingertips; he still hands it to you. “Your dad is coming, and I’m sure everyone else would love to meet you.”

It’s Haknyeon’s attempt to involve you with the community once more—to give you a reason to stay—but it won’t be enough. Melancholy fills the air. The repulsive stench clings to every corner of town—only you can smell it—and that scent accompanies your sins; they take form in the faces of those you know. You didn’t want to be face-to-face with the one person you’ve disappointed the most.

“I’ll see.” It’s a whisper, one that signifies your hesitation. You’re sure he knows what that phrase means; it never changed during your years away. But he settles for a smile, not bothering to convince you otherwise. The ball is in your courtside, and it’s your choice on what you want to do with it.

“I’ll see you, okay?”

You nod and twist the doorknob, and the bells chime as it signals your arrival. “Bye.” A final glance and grin are what you spare him before you enter the restaurant. And when you close the door behind you, you realize that it’s not only the outside that carries the stench. Within these four walls, the scent is accompanied by murky waves. Every part of this town floods you with nothing but misery.

Picture frames litter the walls; photographs of the community, the sceneries of town, and artworks from unknown artists. Some you recognize back in the days you stayed here after class but others were new. In a sea of potted plants that hang from the ceiling, incandescent bulbs glow within the expanse of green. You once remember the lack of greenery in this restaurant. But the chairs and table are the same ones from then, their wood getting discolored with age. You’re almost sure you can find your old carvings if you spend time looking for them.

Every corner of this restaurant held a piece of the past amongst the new—a part of what you’re familiar with within the abundance of the unfamiliar—but these do nothing to drive away the stench. If anything, the scent intensifies. A face mask cannot do anything to keep you from smelling it. You’re only left to suck it in and plague you with memories you’ve pushed down.

“Gyul-ah!” Your father comes in, a grin on his face. There are more lines on his face, a sign that he has gotten older over the time you were gone, and you are glad to witness him at this age. Not many people can say they’ve seen their parent’s hair turn white and wrinkles get deeper. The sight of him is enough to twist the valves, almost turning on the waterworks, but you keep your hand firm on the knobs. Today, you weren’t going to allow yourself to cry.

But you run to him, leaving your luggage by the front door, and wrap your arms around him. You bury your face into his shoulder, breathing him in for the first time in six years, and he embraces you. He smells of baby powder, the same brand you used back when he took care of you, and you realize that he keeps parts of the past to hold pieces of you. You can only imagine how much you’ve grown since he last saw you.

You grin at him when your head finally leaves the space between his neck and shoulder. You two untangle yourselves from each other. For a moment, you let yourselves bathe in each other’s presence; it’s a miracle after all.

“You continue to grow and become more beautiful with time,” he starts, his hand reaching out to your shoulder. He draws circles, almost as if he’s trying to process your presence. “But I know the child in you still lives,” he attempts to come to terms with how he barely knows you, but you won’t disagree—not this time, at least.

“Appa, I love what you did with the place. How come you never mentioned it?”

He shakes his head, retracting his hand from you. “Ah, it’s nothing. We’re busy with our own lives, so I didn’t want to trouble you with the details.” It’s a direct strike on your heart, but it’s the truth. “But I’m glad that you’re here to see it yourself. It makes the reveal a lot more authentic.”

“Yeah.” You bite the inside of your cheek.

“I’d love to catch up, but I need to prepare and open the restaurant,” he sighs before making his way to the door, flipping the sign that once said “closed” to “open.” “My employee will be late, so I’ll need to work extra hard for the time being.”

You frown. “Late? Why?” You quickly make your way to grab the luggage and drag it to the counter where the cashier is. “Let me help out.” You didn’t give him time to share the reason.

“No, it’s okay,” your dad’s attempt to reassure you does nothing. His gaze rests on you as he slowly approaches where you stand. “You should settle from your long journey. I’m sure the ride was exhausting.”

“Appa, I only sat in the train for a few hours, and during the ride I was asleep. I want to help.” Before he knows it, you’re already dragging your luggage to the back of the restaurant.

“At least put your things in the quarters!”

The last time you worked in your dad’s restaurant was ten years ago. Back then, you used to work with the cashier and clean dishes. But when you are left to handle all those tasks and tend to customers while your father focuses on cooking, it feels impossible. As the hand of the clock strikes 2:00 p.m., customers have made their way out of the restaurant. You can finally catch your breath.

Your dad exits the kitchen, spotting you leaning on the counter. “It’s nice to see that you still have it within you.” He doesn’t mean to mock you, you know that, but the sting of his words is still felt. Years spent in Seoul will never diminish the skills you learned from working under your father.

“How do you even manage? I mean, with you and your employee?”

He sighs. You watch him wipe the clean dishes and set them aside. “I like what I do, no matter how difficult it may be.” His gaze is affixed on you.

It strikes a chord within you. You spent six years in your old job, so indeed you must’ve enjoyed what you did, right? And yet, you stand in front of your father, a pitiful case that he’ll have to tend to once more.

You clear your throat. “Appa, you’re getting old. Don’t you want to rest?”

“No,” he chortles. “I want to keep running this restaurant until I can barely move. I’ll know when to let this place go.” He walks to the space beside you and grabs hold of your hand. The hand that changed your diapers and cooked your meals has aged. He’s spent so many years taking care of you; there’ll never be a good way to thank him for everything.

“I’ll have you stay in the old house,” he starts. Your grip on his hand grows tighter. “I’m not ready to go back there, so I’ve been sleeping here.”

A beat passes.

“Since when?”

“Six years ago.” He looks at you. “But I’ve been able to enter that house again. I just don’t sleep there. Don’t worry about the dust. My employee and I clean the place every week.” You’re not worried at all about the mess. It’s the stench that clings to the furniture, the murky water that floods the place, the spiders that crawl over the walls, the remnants of her. Those four walls only fuel your nightmares; ironically, you call them such when they’ve all been real.

So you want to tell him—no, beg him to let you stay here. You couldn’t walk into that house for it will have you relive fractions of your trauma. If you couldn’t enter that house six years ago, what difference would four years later make?

The bells chime, and your eyes land on the person who enters the restaurant. Foggy waves clash against you in full force, and the air is knocked out of your lungs. There he is, dressed in a baggy teal shirt and denim shorts. A few strands of hair hang in front of his forehead; it’s different from the old bowl-cut hair he used to have back in high school. But most of all, he’s grown up—not only out of his baby face but even in figure, aura.

A polite smile once rested on his lips. He looked ready to greet your father, almost ready to say hello to you, until he realized who stood beside his boss. The smile dissipates. Suddenly, time stills; it’s almost as if it worked under his command.

Under his gaze, you cannot help but shrink back to your 18-year-old self—the one who spent countless nights wondering what it would be like to be face-to-face with their best friend after abandoning them. And now that you’re finally in the situation you’ve spent days imagining, figuring out how to gain his trust again, you’re not sure what to say.

Jacob Bae—the home you sought out during your years growing up. (He still is, no matter how hard you try to dissociate that from him.) But now, he embodies your fears. The smell of tangerines is mixed with the repulsive stench—he’s turned into the house you ran away from ten years back.

Jacob’s expression shifts back to a polite smile as he looks at your father. “Abeoji, I’m sorry I’m late!” His nonchalant stride made the situation unpalatable. With every step taken towards your dad, an arrow is shot through your heart. It’s almost as if he didn’t care about what happened between you two (should he when you were the one who caused the rift?). His shoulder faces you all while he talks to your father; it’s a clear sign of what your relationship has turned into. Despite this space being one you grew up in, you’ve become an intruder. You have revoked your spot in this restaurant, this town.

“Don’t worry about it,” your dad says as he grips Jacob’s shoulder. “I hope all went well in the community center.”

Jacob smiles at him, and says, “Yeah, we got it settled. We’re just finalizing things for tomorrow.”

Your father hums as he glances at you. “Why don’t you bring back Y/N?” Your eyebrows shoot up. “They’ll need help getting settled in.” You shake your head at him, but he refuses to acknowledge your silent protest.

“Appa, I’m sure you’ll need him here,” you chuckle as your eyes glance to the back of Jacob’s head. “I can figure it out. I’ve lived there anyway; 18 years long, to be specific.” Jacob’s going to say no; you expect it. And yet…

“Okay.”

Your eyes widen. He proves you wrong—you don’t know him after all.

“Alright! Go get your stuff Gyul-ah,” your dad says as he wraps his arm around Jacob’s shoulders. And for once, Jacob looks at you. You cannot pinpoint the emotion across his features.

You nod at your father’s words and make your way to the back of the restaurant. Your heartbeat rings in your ears. Years spent imagining what to say to Jacob didn’t prepare you enough to face the actual situation. Once you gather your things, you leave the sleeping quarters. Your dad’s chortle bounces off the four walls, probably from a joke he made. And then you catch a glimpse of Jacob’s smile; it’s still sweet as you remember it. You’re suddenly back to your 17-year-old self.

Then, his eyes land on you. The smile vanishes. He stares right at you (you mean really stares at you, a long one for the matter) for the first time since he arrived. So you clear your throat, hoping that he will be the first one to break eye contact—he doesn’t. Your dad spins to face you. “Ah! Okay, I’ll see you.” You watch Jacob nod all while he keeps his gaze fixed on you.

For once, you let your ego take the hit; you avert your eyes and make your way to the door. You two leave, and Jacob doesn’t give you a moment to think. He grabs your luggage from you and finds his spot beside you. And you were going to comment—I can handle it myself—but he keeps his eyes forward; you decide to do the same.

Instead of walking on the dirt trail path, you’re walking on eggshells. You’re not sure what to say to clear the silence. Unbeknownst to you, he can sense your awkward nature. Hands fiddling with the strap of your shoulder bag and gaze fixed on their feet; your antics remain the same after all these years.

“How long will you be staying?” Your eyes snap up only to see him continue to look at the path.

You clear your throat, afraid your voice might crack. “Two weeks.” He only hums. You two fall back into silence.

It’s weird to think about it; the same guy who you once treated as your best friend since childhood—the same one whom you’ve poured your heart to—is now someone you barely know. You grew up with him and stuck with him from your elementary days until your high school ones. Ten years apart can change so much between those who once swore to stay in each other’s lives.

You two finally arrive in front of the old house, your old house. Everything is in shape; the windows are crystal clear and the paint is intact. It’s just like how you first left it. A storm brews within you; you despise it. After all these years, you still can’t escape the horrors of this house.

“Here,” Jacob says and raises the keys. You open your hand, allowing him to drop it into your palm. “Your boxes are inside, they arrived a few days ago. I also cleaned out the place.” You only nod. He glances at the luggage he holds and asks, “Do you need help settling in?” You shake your head which has him nodding. He hands you your luggage. “Okay.” You take it from him.

Before you know it, he turns away from you. He only takes a few steps but it feels like he’s gone distances away from you. And you’re afraid you’ll let him slip away like last time.

“Cobie!” It’s the first time you’ve said that nickname since you last saw him. He freezes. You’re not even sure if you had the right to call him that. He looks back at you, and his furrowed eyebrows say enough. “Sorry, I meant,” you close your eyes for a moment. “It slipped.” It’s an honest mistake, but you’re sure he’s not pleased by it.

He turns back to you, walking until he stands directly in front of you. He doesn’t say anything, only looking at you with the same expression. “Do you want to come in?” His expression falters. “Maybe just to catch up.” It’s a small step but still one to begin with. Maybe you’ll figure out what to say to him within those four walls for they have you at your most vulnerable state; it’s the doing of the ghost that haunts the building.

The Jacob you knew would hear you out after all these years. He’d be defensive but still accept the offer. Cobie—no, Jacob always found comfort in answers, closure. And yet….

“No,” he answers. Your eyebrows jump in shock, and he notices. “I’d prefer not to. Good luck with unpacking.” And before you know it, he takes his leave. You watch his figure become smaller with every step he takes. He’s slipping away from your fingertips; there’s nothing you can do for he would only free himself from your grasp.

The waves are strong enough to tip your balance. You do everything to stand on your own feet. The image of Jacob you drew on the sand has been washed off—it’s your fault for drawing it too close to the shore.

Autumn makes its way here; the scent of rotting leaves, bruised fruits that fall from trees, and the breeze that hits your cheeks. You stand under a tree whose branches are perched with twig nests. They hold flocks of birds, ready to keep themselves warm during the season. The birds huddle up and chirp away tunes—they remind you of what you don’t have.

Then, a swingset creaks, and you are snapped out of your trance. A few meters away from you is a playground, one you don’t get to play in as much as you’d like, and in the middle of it a boy who looks down to the floor. He grips the rope with his blue sweater hands but doesn’t bother to swing.

With nowhere to go, your feet bring you to him. He pays no attention to you for he doesn’t notice you. But suddenly, he hears the rustling from the swing beside him. And when his eyes drift upwards, he finds you, seated and eyes trained on him. It’s surreal to him; to be graced by the talk amongst his classmates, the kid whose father runs a staple within the town. He doesn’t know what to say, but you don’t allow him to worry.

“Does your mom go to school like you?” He’s perplexed by your question. How did you know of him and his mother? “I see you two going to school together, always thirty minutes before classes start.”

He nods. “Yeah,” his voice is shaky. “She’s a teacher.”

“That’s cool!” Interest is evident in your tone. You move the swing side-to-side, going against the direction it typically goes. “Do you like her there?” Your eyes remain on him, and heat rises to his cheeks. He’s already shy, to begin with, and your stare only has his heart running.

And he would’ve settled with nonverbal responses, either shaking or nodding his head, but he’s not sure what compels him to answer. “I do,” he whispers, a shy smile on his face. He looks away from you, afraid to look back at you. “I like seeing her.”

He hears you hum for a moment. Then, silence settles between you two.

He thinks he should say more. Maybe he should tell you of all the trips his mom would take to the faculty’s cafeteria whose food is to die for. But when he glances at you, he sees your hands preoccupied with peeling a fruit—a tangerine. Stubby, nimble fingers peel the rind off, exposing its orange-colored flesh covered in strings of white. “I wish I could say the same.” A sigh follows with a bittersweet smile.

He watches you tear a piece, and suddenly, your eyes meet his. You raise it to him, the bittersweet smile now replaced with a genuine one, and say, “Have one.” His eyes dart back and forth between you and the flesh you hold in between your fingers, and you can’t help but giggle. “There’s nothing to be scared of.” And when he sees your smile—feels the warmth you emit in the middle of autumn—all worries slip away.

He grabs the tangerine slice and eats it. With just one bite, the juice bursts in his mouth; the citrus taste coats his tongue. A grin is on his face as he chews away.

“Eomma taught me how to peel tangerines,” you start. “She says I’m getting old, and that I should learn how to do it myself.” He looks at you only to see your eyes staring off to nowhere. How can you be old when you’re only ten years old? He didn’t even know how to peel fruits himself.

“But it’s okay. Not a lot of kids knew how to peel tangerines.” It’s almost as if you could hear his thoughts; he didn’t know if he should be petrified or amazed. Such a difficult task and you knew how to do it—perhaps his mom didn’t teach him how to do it so that he could meet you.

Before you know it, a woman grabs onto your arm. Your eyes snap towards her. “What did I tell you about walking off?!” Her tone is harsh. He doesn’t know what to say.

You are pulled to stand up. As the woman drags you away, you glance at him. “I’ll see you in school, Cobie!” He never told you his name, and yet, you found the perfect nickname for him. As your mom tugs you away from him, you can’t help but smile to yourself. Perhaps autumn brought you what you needed the most.

Ever since Jacob denied your offer, you weren’t sure how to act around him. He worked in your dad’s restaurant, and you offered to help them prepare for the party. It’s awkward, that’s for sure, and your dad could notice it. (Though, he never bothered to comment.) But you watch him all the way from the other side of the communal area, observing how he talks to an unfamiliar face.

“How are you enjoying your vacation?” Your eyes dart to where your father is. You’re sure he saw you looking at Jacob, but you can only hope he won’t bring it up.

You sigh as you carry a steel tray filled with kimchi. “Boring, really.” He only shows you an apologetic smile. “I like to work, you know me...”

He hums. “You know, it’s important to take time to rest.” You bite the inside of your cheek as you set the tray down on the table. “I’d be happy if you choose to stay.” To your father, it seemed like you being on leave (or you guess unemployed) would be the only way to have you stay here. You don’t blame him for wanting to try for you know it comes from a place of love, concern, yearning. But even ten years later, you still cannot find a reason to stay here.

“Appa,” you turn to face him. The apologetic smile is now replaced with pleading eyes—it’s hope. “I don’t like not doing anything, you of all people know that.” You’re a motor, one that needs to remain on, and feels the urge to always be on the go. Call it being a workaholic, you couldn’t stand the idea of not doing anything related to work.

And before your father can say anymore, a booming voice sounds throughout the venue. “Jacob! Sangyeon!” Your eyes snap to see Haknyeon hugging the two. Before you know it, his eyes settle on you. “And Y/N!” He rushes to you with a grin on his face. “You decided to show up after all!”

“Well, I want to help Appa out,” you chuckle.

“Abeoji, let me help, too!” Despite what your father says, Haknyeon walks off to grab some more trays.

Your dad sighs. “Haknyeon, always the one helping out.” A grin rests on your lips. He’s still the same boy you know after all. At least some things remain the same.

Before you know it, night comes, and the venue is filled with more residents. Most of them knew each other, talking amongst themselves as they filled their stomachs with food your dad made; it was a sight to behold. But most of all, you can remember the expression on some of their faces when they recognized who you were.

“It’s been forever!”

“You’ve grown up well! What do you do now?”

“You’re back? Since when?”

Admittedly, most of them weren’t expecting your return. You couldn’t disagree with them; you thought the same as well. After all, you moved all your things to Seoul. Still, the people who saw you grow up here were happy to see that you’ve come back, even if it may be for a few weeks. (That’s if you find a job in time.) But even in a sea of familiar faces, you feel out of place. Ten years spent refusing to contact any of them; it’s only expected that your absence would have you as the odd one out.

And you thought you would be okay with it, for you know that you’ll be going back to Seoul anyway. It’s okay if you’ve lost a home in this town for there was none to begin with anyway—no, there was. It would be wrong to say that there’s no trace of home here when the one person who provided you with that for eight years stands on the other side of the venue. He talks to Haknyeon, Sangyeon, and other faces you didn’t know the names of. The smile plastered on his face is one you haven’t received in a long time.

The waves crash against you; they tip your balance and drag your body into the unknown waters. And suddenly, the murky liquid fills your lungs. The bulbs that hang above you become streaks of yellow, and the ringing in your ears tunes out the music and chatter of residents. And before you know it, your feet are taking you elsewhere—anywhere—so long as it’s far from here.

You’re not sure how long you’ve spent walking, or what path you took. All you know is that you’re back here at the playground—the same one you first met Jacob. You find yourself seated on the same swing; it’s definitely smaller but you make it work. The thumping of your heart is all you can hear, and your eyes shut close. A shaky breath leaves you.

Swing. Chain. Steel. Tray. Silver. Jewelry. Sapphire. Blue. Water. Sand. Sun. Warmth. Home—Jacob, Jacob, Jacob. It always goes back to him. Your eyes peel open and they settle on the red slide a few meters away from you.

Deep breath in, deep breath out.

Slide. Red. Plastic. Short.

Deep breath in, deep breath out. You repeat the action.

The palpitations start to subside, and you can hear your breath become steady. Your brain is exhausted. Today, the waves were stronger—you can only hope the current dies down.

“Why are you here?” Your heart jumps at the sudden voice. As you look at where it comes from, you see Jacob whose hands are tucked in his pockets. His expression is laced with some emotion—you can’t pinpoint it.

With his eyes staring back at yours, you can’t help but feel the need to spill it all out—fears, worries, the ugly truth about you. Maybe it’s the effects of your recent attack that have you in your most vulnerable state, but all you know is that you would do anything to go back to the way things used to be. All you want is to find that piece of home in this godforsaken town.

But your silence is enough to make a frown appear on his eyebrows, and you remember that this isn’t the Jacob you first knew. In front of you is a distant one—the realistic version of the house you’ve run away from—and you’re snapped back to your hardened state.

“I didn’t know we were talking.” The tone is harsh; the venom laced with your words shocks you. You notice how Jacob flinches at your response, and you wish you could take it back—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that—but he doesn’t allow you to talk.

“Fine, I’ll leave you alone.” He tongues the inside of his cheek. “I don’t even know why I bothered following you here,” he mumbles; it strikes a chord within you, and you stand up.

“What’s with you? Why do you suddenly have this attitude with me?” Your frown gets deeper with every question you throw at him. Jacob used to struggle with his anger issues, you know that, but he found ways to resolve it around middle school. Jacob, who used to have a short fuse, turned into one who knew how to control his patience; it seemed like he lost that control over your years away. The boy in front of you almost seems like the version you first knew all while being one you had no clue—a living oxymoron. “I mean, what did I do to deserve this?”

With that one question, something in him snaps. The frown gets deeper, and his hands leave his pockets. “Are you seriously asking me that?” He crosses his arms. “How do you expect me to talk to you after what you did? To someone who just got up and left?” Your face starts to relax, and you only stare at him—the one boy you’ve upset and disappointed the most.

“Y/N, you left with no message!” His hand reaches out to his face, covering his mouth for a moment as he looks away. “You didn’t even bother to keep in touch! How can you change your number right after leaving?” His eyes meet yours; they’re filled with anger, frustration, regret. “I can’t believe you would throw years of friendship away.”

Thunder sounds within you. “Jacob, you of all people know why I left,” you scoff. “Don’t make this about you. I had every reason to leave and you know it, so don’t try to turn this whole situation about you.”

An exasperated sigh leaves him. “You can’t just come back here, ten years later, and expect me to be okay! I have every right to be upset by your disappearance.” He clenches his teeth. “You didn’t even say goodbye!”

“I didn’t have the choice—”

“No, you always have the choice. Don’t try to play that card with me right now.”

Lightning strikes within you; it rumbles and shakes the ground. The river moves at a rapid speed, enough to leave bruises if you were to dip your feet into it. And the fire within you continues to grow, causing everything to erupt into flames. It didn’t matter if Jacob was right or wrong—all you know is that you’re upset with him.

“Fine. If you don’t want to talk to me without being pissy about it, then let’s not talk. I’m going home.” His angered expression falters. “Handle the party yourself.” Before he knows it, you take your leave. It’s possibly the worst thing you could do. You knew they were low on manpower, but you could care less about anyone, about him, for the matter.

With your back turned towards him, you walk to the house you were forced to stay in. And with every step, the sea level rises. The walk back is a tough journey; every step in high levels of water makes it difficult. And when you stand in front of the building that reeks of a scent only you can smell, you wish the water would fill your lungs and submerge your body—it’ll take you away from this place, after all. In this town, not a single trace of home exists.

#works of moni #deoboyznet #kflixnet #bjnet #k-labels #the boyz #jacob bae #the boyz x reader #jacob bae x reader #the boyz fluff #the boyz angst #jacob bae angst #jacob bae fluff #of guitar strings and peeled tangerines (i’ll bruise my fingers just for you)

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quillandink333 · 7 months ago

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The Dove and the Swan Take Flight • pt. 2

Credit to @winterxisxcomingx for the beautiful banner ♡︎

SPOILERS FOR HAZBIN HOTEL ~ Read ahead at your own risk!

After centuries spent distancing himself from his people and letting affairs of state fall into neglect, Lucifer decides it’s high time to get reacquainted with his would-be fair kingdom and brings Emily along for a grand tour of the Pride Ring.

WARNINGS: Abrahamic imagery (obviously), corporatism, body dysphoria, I wouldn’t exactly condone telling shady strangers where you’ll be going in the near future

Part I • Part II • Part III

“I’ve been thinking…” Emily broke the silence. She and her host had been enjoying their breakfast so thoroughly that they hadn’t noticed when the conversation had dwindled to a halt.

Lucifer had a mouth full of sugary carbs and fresh fruit as he answered, “Hm?”

“We’re going to Sinsoplex today, right?”

“We are indeed!” he proclaimed. “I wanted to give you a taste of what mainstream city life is like down here. That, plus our excursion to Cannibal Town made me realise we stick out like a sore thumb in public.” He tilted his head with an awkward glance toward his hat and coat, which were draped over the unoccupied chair beside him, and she giggled. “That’s why we’re hitting the boutiques first and foremost, as clearly I don’t have the first clue about today’s trends and the like.”

“That’s perfect!” Her eyes lit up with excitement, making his heart flutter. “Because I’ve been thinking, I know I just got my hair cut at the barber’s, and I love it! But the thing is, now that’s made me wanna change it even more,” she confessed, as if simply wishing to alter her appearance was a sin.

“I see no reason why we couldn’t do that on the same trip,” he offered right off the bat without question. “There’s bound to be a few sinners in the beauty industry who could help us on both fronts.”

“Well, yeah, but do you really think we’ll find someone willing to do all that for us on such short notice?”

“Naturally. I’m Lucifer Goddamn Morningstar; who could possibly refuse?” he chuckled. Being the supreme ruler of Hell had all the perks one would expect, which he could surely stand to take advantage of more often, he pondered. Emily, however, was of the mind to disagree, but she didn’t dare correct him when he’d been showing her such endless generosity ever since her fall. As long as he paid their stylist what they demanded in return for their services—which he obviously had the means to—she supposed it didn’t matter.

Word Count: 2.7k

“Right, let me just get this straight.” The youngest of the so-called Vees was hardly giving them half of her attention as she played around giving herself different flashy manicures with a flick of her wrist. “So the pair of you just poof into my studio out of nowhere, then order me personally to give you each the full Transformakeover service right this fucking second with no appointment?”

Emily felt a stab of shame at the sarcastic accusation, causing her to shrink back into Lucifer’s side. Before she could say anything, though, he waved his cane and conjured a pile of cash taller than a fridge between them and the overlord. “I take it that should work for you.”

Velvette’s eyebrows shot up toward the top of the stack. “Yeah, no, tha-that’ll do.”

“That’s what I thought,” he smirked.

The first order of business, as apparently per their stylist’s standard practice, was hair. She took Emily aside and sat her down in front of an oversized mirror in a frame of uncomfortably bright LEDs, then had a stylist on standby sit the king in the chair next to hers. “I’ve gotta say, darling, you’re in desperate need of some layers,” she noted, running a comb through the lilac tresses. “A new colour wouldn’t hurt neither. Any requests?��

“Uhh…” Out of habit, she cast a lost glance over at Lucifer. It took him a couple of seconds to notice, but when he did, she whisper-yelled to him, “What colour should I get my hair dyed?”

He raised an eyebrow. “What are you asking me for? It’s your hair, sunshine,” he smiled tightly. “I shouldn’t need to tell you by now that I think any colour would look great on you.”

“Oh. Okay…” Her gaze meandered back to her reflection. She’d never had her hair dyed before, and she’d never had much of a say when it came to styles either. Velvette was getting restless as she waited for an answer, which had Emily chewing on the inside of her cheek.

“Here, how ’bout something like this?” Lucifer stood up to show her a picture on his phone. “That Angel Dust fellow sent it to me the other day saying he thought it would suit you. Now, why he didn’t just send it to you directly, I have no clue.” The image showed a sinner from behind. They had shoulder-length hair with feathery layers and a balayage going from dark roots to a warm vanilla blonde at the crown, then into a blinding platinum for the better part of the length. Emily’s brows rose and her lips formed a lowercase ‘o,’ telling him she at least wasn’t averse to the sight of it.

Velvette scoffed. “Are you joking? That’s, like—” Her words caught in her throat when she spotted Morningstar shooting a glowing red glare her way through the mirror. “I mean—y-yeah, if that’s what you want. Seems easy enough.”

She promptly got up, wasting no time walking Emily over to one of the sinks for a wash. The little angel floated along without a care in the world while the other two trailed behind. Having heard that it would be ‘easy enough,’ she was surprised to find out the dyeing process was a lot more complicated than she was imagining. Lucifer was already in the middle of getting his blow-dried by the time she got back from her rinse.

“Good god, where’d you get this cut, Cannibal Town?” cringed Velvette as she got started on the trimming process.

“Yeah, actually!” Emily was anything but oblivious to the disgust in her tone, but she’d already decided to ignore it. “Lucifer’s taking me on a tour around Pentagram City, and that was the first place we visited. Today it’s the commercial district!”

“You don’t say?”

“Mhm! I went to get my hair done at the barber shop, and they had a singing quartet in the shop! It was so cool!”

“So where you off to next, then?”

“Uhm…” The abrupt change of subject caught her a little off guard. “Well, I forget what her name was, but she’s an overlord like you, and I feel like her first and last initials were the same. We’re going to visit her. Either that or we’re visiting someone named…oh, fudge. Did it start with a ‘Z?’ I think it started with a ‘Z…’ Sorry, I can’t remember. It was one of the two—or both, maybe. I dunno.”

“Was it Zestial Morde and Carmilla Carmine, perhaps?”

“Yes, that’s it! Oh my gosh, thank you. That was driving me crazy!” she giggled at herself. “So does that mean you know them?”

Not much time had passed before they were interrupted by Lucifer’s hairdresser, spinning him around in his chair to show her work to her boss.

Lucifer himself was looking none too pleased. His forelocks messy and unkempt, the devil was now sporting something called an undercut. The roguish diva had tried to have it dyed—he’d vehemently put his foot down at the very first mention of the idea. But even though he didn’t care much for the end result himself, when he saw Emily clapping for him and flashing him a double thumbs-up with an open-mouthed smile, he couldn’t help but smile back.

“She’ll be done in a minute,” Velvette dismissed him after reluctantly approving the work of her tired-looking employee.

Once the trimming and styling steps had been wrapped up, she sprung up from her seat and made a beeline toward the waiting area where he was sat. “So? How do I look?”

“Lovely!” he grinned from ear to ear. “Wow, uh… This might sound a bit strange, but you look just like Charlie. It’s like you two could be sisters,” he chortled.

“Really?! Haha! I wonder if she’ll think the same when she sees it.”

With their hair done, it was onto the retail stage of the trademarked Transformakovers.

“So what kind of look are you thinking for me?” asked Emily as they were led into the overlord’s walk-in closet, which was really more of a gallery. “Woah…!”

Her eyes popped and her mouth hung open as she ogled her surroundings. There were garments of all different colours and materials and personalities she couldn’t even label, the racks on every wall going all the way up to the vaulted ceiling. She’d had no idea how vast the world of fashion really was until she’d stepped inside.

“Velvette, this is amazing!” she squealed, forgetting that she was supposed to be hiding her wings as she darted from rack to rack. Lucifer smiled quietly at her unabashed excitement. “Did you design all of these? Ahh, look at those shoes! And that top! Oh my gosh, how do you ever decide what to wear?!”

Velvette’s curt body language contradicted how flattered she actually was. “It’s not hard, really. I mean, I wouldn’t touch half the shit in here, but that’s just me.”

“What?! Really?” She fluttered back down to the floor, shocked and a little crestfallen. “You mean you don’t like this stuff?”

“No, it-it’s—well, yeah, most of it’s…fine, I guess.” This reaction had Emily crossing her arms at the emotions she was detecting now: mainly flattery, but also a hint of vulnerability and… Was that guilt? Before she could figure it out, it vanished, both from her senses and her memory. With a snap of her fingers, Velvette summoned a rack on wheels full of clothes and accessories ranging from ostentatious to understated beside her. “Here’s what I’m thinking for you two.”

Emily wasted no time getting a closer look, the hooks of the hangers screeching against the metal rod as she flipped through them. Upon observation, the rack seemed to be divided in half, each side containing the makings of a whole outfit plus a few alternate options for certain parts.

“I’m guessing that’s her side and this is mine?” Lucifer inferred as he side-eyed the white tennies on his end with reflective toes and ludicrously chunky tread.

“Ooh…” Emily grimaced as she took a strikingly short mini skirt off the rack and held it up to her hips. It was covered in a loud print of candies and desserts atop a sweet pastel pink. “Oh gosh, it’s even shorter than I thought,” she laughed crookedly.

“Absolutely not!” Her chaperone, livid, snatched it out of her hands practically in the middle of her sentence. He shot daggers at the diva, which seemed to bounce right off of her.

“Oy, calm your tits, Your Holiness,” she jeered, “I’ve got it covered.” Then she reached between them for Emily’s half of the rack and removed from it a pair of fuzzy, black, thigh-high leg warmers. To Lucifer’s dismay, the model looked pleased as punch when she saw them, leaving him no choice but to give her his begrudging approval.

Then out of the corner of his eye, he saw Velvette positioning her fingers for a snap. He raised his cane and froze them with his own magic just in time.

“Nope! No, nuh-uh,” he chuckled despite the severe crease festering between his brows. “We can get changed by ourselves, thank you. If you’ll just point us in the direction of your changing stalls.”

Though she just had to give him attitude in the form of a bratty shrug, she complied. Lucifer was the first to emerge from his stall, and Emily appeared a short while later, the two of them decked from head to toe in their shiny new drip.

“Tada~!” She gave a dainty little twirl. “What do you think?”

He and Velvette looked her up and down as she greedily soaked up their attention. She had on the skirt and leg warmers from before, and under the latter were a pair of black platforms with reflective toes that matched those on Lucifer’s shoes. For the upper half, she wore a sunny yellow crop top under a white zip-up hoodie. Her hair was tied back in a mid-low ponytail, and her collarbone was adorned with a colourful pastel necklace with beads of all different shapes and sizes, which looked almost edible.

When she asked for his thoughts, Lucifer had all sorts of adjectives going through his head, but none which he dared say out loud while they weren’t alone. He cleared his throat. “Well…” Maybe her special empathicism would be enough to let her know he didn’t entirely dislike it.

Meanwhile there he was, his own outfit perfectly on theme with hers, and yet he felt like an absolute buffoon wearing it. From the top down, he had on a plain white tee with an alarmingly deep V-neck, which was tucked into a pair of bulky, high-waisted, greyish magenta cargo pants. Overtop of that was a black baseball jacket with glaring yellow trim and a meaningless monogram.

“You’ll want a mask, too,” Velvette added, making the accessory appear directly over his nose and mouth with a snap. “To cover up those little red spots on your cheeks.”

He caught Emily cracking an amused grin, causing his ears to fume with the heat of rushing blood. Pulling the mask down to his chin, he huffed, “Not sure I’d be super comfortable going out in public dressed like this.” He didn’t bother trying to hide his scowl, peering down his neckline at his pale self. “Don’t you have anything a bit more, erm…normal?”

“Nah.” Velvette stood firm in her selection. “You told me disguises—what’s the point of a disguise if it doesn’t make you look like someone you’re not?”

He grumbled, “Right you are.”

“Hey, at least we match!” Emily chirped and grabbed both his hands with a bounce in her posture. “That’s a pro, isn’t it?”

He couldn’t help letting out a nasal chuckle at her enthusiastic attempt to find a silver lining for him. “That’s true, I suppose.”

She checked her phone and noticed it was only a few minutes past midday. They still had a whole afternoon of fun ahead of them! “Oh, we should probably get going,” she said, to which Lucifer nodded in stoic agreement. “Thanks so much for everything, Velvette, this has been so much fun!” she beamed. “I’m so glad I got to meet you!” Velvette replied with a charismatic grin and nothing more. As she showed them the exit, one turned and waved goodbye while the other offered half a smile over his shoulder before the door closed behind them.

Velvette waited until both their backs were turned, then dropped her hand and pulled out her phone. The screen buzzed with static and the speaker crackled before the face of the one receiving her call appeared. “Yeah? What?”

She grinned. “Vox, you are never gonna believe who just showed up at the studio.”

The two fallen seraphim were making their way on foot to their next destination of the day: some sort of music festival supposedly happening on the roof of the massive skyscraper nextdoor. The younger of the two was bursting at the seams with excitement, but the older had only agreed to it because Charlie had vouched for its security.

“You know, it honestly does suit you,” blurted Emily.

Lucifer scoffed and gave her a raise of his brow. “Seriously?”

“Seriously! Believe me, I may be the angel of joy, but I’d never say something I didn’t mean just to make someone feel better.”

This earned her a hearty laugh as they strolled across the skybridge connecting the two halves of the sprawling complex. “Well, thanks, but even if you think it looks okay, I still can’t say I see the appeal.”

“Ah, well… That’s okay.” She gave his hand a squeeze. “It’s just for today. When we get home, I can start sketching out some ideas for a new outfit you’ll definitely like.”

He almost stopped in his tracks when he heard that. “Wait, you’re gonna make me a brand new, Emily-original outfit?” he gawked. “From scratch?”

“Absolutely! Seeing that walk-in closet gave me an inspiration overload. I can’t wait to get started! In fact—I don’t think I will.” Concentrating all her attention, she held out her free hand and expertly manifested a fresh drawing pad along with a pencil wrapped in hot pink.

“Oh, nicely done!” applauded her doting guardian. “Looks like my lessons have been paying off, huh?” But when he looked over again, she was already deeply engrossed in her sketching, the pad of paper fixed in mid air a foot or so away from her while they walked. He tightened his hold on her hand and turned his gaze straight ahead, his fond smile hidden beneath the black face mask.

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