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queenendless · 5 months

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☯️My Senpai (Student!SatoSugu x Student!Reader ft Student!Ieiri Shoko)☯️

A/n: The canonical prequel of Ticklish Remedy aka the Cursed Seer AU!

You the late transfer, getting along with your fellow first years, while also being dote on by your senpais.

There is an allude to an ongoing mystery with you in this AU that is kinda obvious, crack kinda nonsense from everyone here, mentions of ShokoHime, and SatoSugu be kinda chaotic in this, I did the best I could to make it short but sweet!

PLEASE DONT PLAGIARIZE, STEAL, REPOST, COPY AND/OR TRANSLATE MY FANFIC CONTENT. Reblog, like, and follow instead please and thank you.

You're a walking mystery.

No family.

No home.

Just a wandering soul that was discovered passed out by the entrance, collapsed before the first torii gate.

Sensing the shift in balance as an abnormal source appeared out of the blue right at the doorstop, Gojo was the first to find you, followed closely behind by Geto.

Your eyes were closed, lost in subconsciousness.

But in your mind's eye, you could visualize everything transpiring. You could hear them clear as day. Gojo's curly lips as he held you in his arms, brushing your hair aside to see your face more.

“Like a little kitten~ Kawaii~”

“Less flirting, you. Best to take her to Shoko.” Geto murmured as he took you in his arms to carry you all bride-like.

“You're blushing though~” Gojo snickered.

“Shut it.” Geto's kick was halted by Infinity.

“You likey, me likey~” Gojo sang as they started climbing those stone steps.

Those two nosey felines peaked in as you awoke a while later after Shoko's healing did the trick, a cig between her quirked lips.

“Cutie pie.” Patting you on the head, she gave you a lollipop. “For being a good patient.”

“Hey! I want some!” Gojo barged in loud enough to startle you in bed, grabbing some right out of the opened bag nestled in the desk chair. “I get sweets on top on seeing this sweetie up and about for real!”

“Good to see you awake, um …” Geto's awkward trail off as he rubbed the back of his neck, not knowing your name.

“Y/n L/n.”

Those three had big sparkling eyes of wonderment the moment you replied. Even your name sounded wonderful to them.

Like, your very presence was swaying them all.

“Ieiri Shoko.” She saluted.

“Suguru Geto.” He bowed a bit.

“Satoru Gojo.” He winked.

Blushing up at their greetings gave an extra kick for you to feel energized.

Enough to change into one of Shoko's spare tees, sweatpants, and sandals before the trio brought you before Yaga-sensei who met you inside a shrine of the school, introducing yourself to the newfound principal.

After affirming your backstory and situation thus far, you were put on the spot and tested for your chance to stay, facing off against one of his cursed corpse dolls. A giant bear with boxing gloves.

Your eyes burned and gleamed bright as moving pictures appeared in your mind.

As they zipped up to you, you felt something click within.

In that next moment, your feet moved on their own.

Your desire to move had you zipping in blurry speed all over, exhilaration racing through your veins.

Kicking the bear right into the wall, leaving cracks in its dent sized hole.

Shoko snapped a pic whereas the guys both whistled lowly.

It all went by in a snap.

“Not bad. For a sapling. However!” He pried his wiggling bruised doll from the wall, cradling and patting the whimpering little thing. “Everyone has their reason for becoming a sorcerer. What is yours?”

“I have nowhere else to go … no one else to turn to.” That was all you could rely on because your recollection on how you teleported here was still foggy but there was nothing else to do but move forward and hope the truth comes to light in time.

“If this is my gift … my innate talent … my newfound purpose then … is to take advantage of it to the fullest. And if saving lives can come with that, then fine. As long as I have food, a roof over my head, and get paid for it, that is.”

Yaga-sensei turned to the second years who looked anywhere but him, whistling, at the mention of getting paid. “Very well.” Yaga bowed to you. “Welcome to Jujutsu High.”

You bowed in return when the clapping and congratulations from your new senpais had your face tinted like a flustered rose.

☯️☯️☯️☯️☯️☯️☯️☯️☯️☯️☯️☯️☯️☯️☯️☯️☯️

“Suguru?”

“Hmm?”

“Is that not the cutest thing you've ever seen?” Sitting against the vending machine, Gojo's blue raspberry lips curled up, directed at you as you chatted with your fellow first years.

“She has a name, ya know.” Geto's pineapple tinted lips pursed.

“And our precious kouhai to boot~!”

“Staring at her so much will only unsettle her.”

“Slowly growing curse energy level. Innate technique still developing. Almost as if she's just become a cursed newborn –”

“Terrible word choice.”

“These eyes can fully read her … but it still feels like she's hiding something.”

“Everyone’s entitled to have secrets.”

Only a week has gone by and already you were part of the IT crowd.

Clad in your new uniform, you had walked out of the combini with Nanami on one side and Haibara on the other, plastic bags of popsicles in hand as your senpais tasked you three with buying them, passing them out as you plopped a (favorite flavor) popsicle in your mouth.

Haibara got chummy with you, chattering about anything right away with his coconut soaked lips madly while Nanami commented here and there with those lemon lips but looking at ease with you two there.

Gojo chuckled, dumping his popsicle and wrapper into the nearby trash can. “How interesting~ This'll be fun~”

Despite barely meeting the qualifications of becoming a sorcerer, you gave off such a comforting assuring presence.

Everyone flocked to you. The curious, genuine soul amiss the cursed chaos that is this kind of life. Among this crew. A rare special enigma …

“L/n-chan~ Walk with me~ Talk with me~Adore me~!” Gojo appeared before you, floating right there, embracing you in a squeeze.

Burning face aside, the word slipped out before you could process it.

“No.”

Haibara's gasp, Nanami coughing out a snort in his fist, Shoko's kiwi glossed smirk, and Geto's surprised but amused face were all a pale contrast to Gojo's guffawed face as he shook you, oblivious to how your insides fluttered so damn much from his actions.

“Huh!? Why not!? I'm your senpai! The strongest one there is! You have to do what I say!”

“You and Geto-senpai are the strongest together, you hurtful baka.” You reminded the prime fact that has been etched in your mind and soul.

Geto's pink dusted cheeks made him that much more dashing in your eyes as he pulled you out of Gojo's arms. “Thank you, L/n-chan.” He then smacked Gojo upside the head. “Baka.”

“Suguru, I didn't mean that! Forgive me!’ The albino shredded waterfalls, embracing the stewing teen who easily broke free from the lanky grip.

You hurried over to hide behind Geto's bulky frame, peaking out at Gojo before blinking up at Geto with those anticipated e/c eyes earning an enriching laugh from him. “Yosh yosh~” Geto patted your head to your bashful self. “Forgive him. He's still learning the mundane ways of decency.”

Haibara and Gojo gasped dramatically in unison, Nanami looked cross eyed at the escalating nonsense, and Shoko took another popsicle in.

“You're just as bad as me, ya know.” Gojo poked him insistently in the cheek.

“Satoru, your prideful obnoxiousness isn't gonna win her over.” Geto lightly smacked his hand aside.

“It won you over, didn't it~?”

Gojo's sly smirk and Geto's flaming face had Haibara raspily squealing, Nanami covering his mouth to stop that noise, Shoko giving a bland whoop call and you this close to getting a nosebleed.

“Come on, Suguru~ Flex them muscles and brains for our sweet kouhai if you're so confident like you do for me~” Gojo flirted.

“We shouldn't overwhelm her right off the bat you idiot!” Geto hissed.

“What is happening?” Nanami was mortified.

“Our senpai are so brazen … it's inspiring!” Haibara was starry-eyed, seeing nothing wrong.

“The moronic couple have broken their own world record.” Shoko hummed as she was recording with her phone to show Utahime later.

Blue and almond clashed when a supple soft form appeared between the two, taking each of their hands in your own, tugging on them just to get them to hold hands themselves. “Don't fight because of me. Please.”

Arrows pierced the pair's hearts; red dusting from cheeks to their ears, with light in their eyes at the supportive small softie that is you.

“Kawaii~” Gojo hummed.

“Angelic~” Geto breathed out, stunned.

“Stubborn but reasonable … I like you.” Shoko laughed a bit; her popsicle stuck in between her lips instead, pulling you out from between them, hugging you from behind. “Maybe I'll keep you for me and Utahime-senpai to share.”

. . .

“Eh?”

Moving pictures flashed in your mind for a moment.

Holding their hands.

Being carried away in their arms.

Laugher ringing out through the bright scene.

They came in so quick.

They were gone the next.

“Eto?” Your dot eyes blinked dubiously.

“We call dibs on her, Shoko! Right Suguru!?”

“Wha – ?”

“Damn it, fine.”

You yelped as they each took an arm of yours and easily pulled you out of Shoko's hold, using their arms to carry you in their own makeshift arm throne, running fast enough to leave dust in their wake.

“Suck it Shoko!” Gojo hollered over his shoulder.

“I'd be lying if I said I wasn't interested! Sorry Shoko!” Geto yelled back in a jumble.

“Everyone!” Your panicked yell echoed along with their manic laughter as you three blinked out of view.

“GoGe throuple it is. Damn it.” She didn't sound too upset as she sent the recording to her bae before taking the bags you dropped amidst the chaos as she followed their path.

“Our senpai are idiots.” Nanami's head dipped in shame as he followed.

“But bold! I like it!” Oh Haibara, always the optimist.

As the winds blew hard and the sun gleamed for the optimistic future that laid ahead of you, you were suddenly lowered down. Your heart was ready to soar out of your chest.

The vision came true.

But chalking it up as coincidence would be best suited until more came into fruition to confirm their legitimacy.

Perhaps then, using them as a guide would help reveal the missing pieces in the puzzle that is you. How you came to be here. These newfound abilities of yours that were steadily growing as we speak. And your otherworldly charm that lures everyone in. These two especially.

Tilting his shades up to rest on his head, Gojo's eyes twinkled with deviousness as he cheekily giggled. “Y/n~ How lucky you are to have two strong senpai looking after you~”

“While part of me still finds this insane, I suppose being Jujutsu sorcerers in training entitles us to embrace the craziness. Right, Y/n-chan~?” Geto's toothy smirk made you just as nervous as it did anticipating what's to come.

You gave off steam as you hid your burning red face in your hands, earning you breathy laughs from those two as they waved at your fellow schoolmates that were finally catching up to them.

What a way to start things off.

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eu-nicola · 2 months

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"Between visions." Paul Atreides x Princess Irulan (different ending)

summary: In a world of political intrigue and prophecies, Paul, Irulan, and Chani find themselves caught in a triangle of love and betrayal. As Paul grapples with his visions of the future and his relationship with Irulan transforms, Chani clings to hope for a family. As tensions escalate and secrets are revealed, the three struggle to find their place in the world.

warnings: eithout correcting, loss of a child, manipulation perhaps, and I think nothing else, if I forget something let me know.

From the moment Paul took Princess Irulan's hand, things certainly didn't improve, at least not for the princess. True, she was part of her husband's council, but what good did it serve her if her life was miserable and devoid of a shred of love or even attention to console her?

Paul's promises to Chani still echoed in Irulan's thoughts, whether she wanted them to or not. The princess was strong in mind and soul, that was what still kept her standing, and what was even more important was that she was very intelligent. She took all of this in stride, refusing to be affected by the fact that she was destined for a loveless marriage and without children.

Paul, on the other hand, began to have visions involving Irulan. Not just any visions, but rather of the princess with a swollen belly. Paul's interactions since then were more cautious and suspicious, simply from the thought that Irulan's belly might be carrying another man's child, perhaps an enemy's.

He didn't want to dwell on the issue any further and simply pushed it aside, but at the same time, he couldn't help but pay attention. Or at least that's what he wanted to do. The visions actually tormented him with possible futures, especially those in which Irulan's face reflected joy and wonder as she held a child, whose eyes gleamed with the same golden intensity as his own.

From that moment on, Paul made sure to make Irulan's life miserable, no matter how bad it made her feel, but he never planned to have children with her, ever. The only mother of his children would be Chani, the only woman he loved would be the true mother of his children.

Fearful of the implications of his offspring, Paul retreated into a distant and disdainful attitude towards Irulan. This distancing only fueled resentment between them, creating an emotional chasm that threatened to destroy the princess's loyalty. The princess sank into dark resentment. Amid whispers of the court, she pondered plans to weaken her position and undermine her confidence in Chani. Secret intrigues were woven in the palace corridors as the princess explored the possibility of winning the loyalty of those surrounding Paul. Jealousy and envy drove her to consider conspiring against him and Chani, seeking to undermine the connection that seemed unbreakable. An aura of betrayal hung over the princess, who delved into the shadows to reach her own dark objectives.

Despite the dark conspiracy weaving in her mind, the princess could not escape the internal conflict that enveloped her. Among the whispers of betrayal, an echo reminded her of the love she still felt for Paul, albeit distorted by ambition. Every step toward conspiracy was marked by hesitation, a shadow of doubt wavering in her heart.

The idealized love for Paul was perhaps even greater than her desires for betrayal. The princess sought a balance between her dark desires and the fragments of affection that resisted fading away completely.

•••••••••••••••••••

Paul, lost in his own world as the wind gently blew, delved into the depths of his visions, still trying to decipher the future. However, a shroud of uncertainty loomed, challenging his prescient abilities. In his heart, he began to doubt the certainties that had once seemed unshakable.

Days later, when the princess had vanished from his sight and retreated into her own world, Chani, in a moment of solitude, approached Paul with news that would change his beliefs about destiny. The bond between them had borne fruit, and she carried within her the gift of life. Paul, surprised by the news, momentarily thought that perhaps all this time his visions had been wrong and that what he desired was actually going to come true. That's what he wanted.

Poor Irulan had no choice but to remain silent in the face of the news, not even having words to say; she simply accepted the fate she had once already accepted.

The light in Paul's eyes intensified as he interacted with Chani, and his laughter, a rare presence until then, became more frequent. This change even extended to his relationship with Irulan. Impending fatherhood softened the sharp edges of the intricate political web that surrounded them.

The princess took every part that Paul offered her to feel complete, no matter what it was, even politics, something she truly loved and enjoyed doing.

As political tensions and future expectations converged in the Palace of Arrakis, the relationship between Irulan and Paul underwent a subtle metamorphosis. Moments of shared humor and complicity arising from Chani's pregnancy slowly transformed into a deeper connection between Irulan and Paul.

On a starry night, with the dunes illuminated by the moonlight, Paul and Irulan shared a singular encounter. Far from the political intrigues and responsibilities weighing on their shoulders, they found themselves in a quiet corner of the palace. The conversations that were once only held in council now flowed with an authenticity neither had experienced before.

The physical proximity between them became palpable, charged with unexpected energy. Comfortable silences intertwined with meaningful glances, revealing layers of mutual understanding that went beyond their predetermined roles. In that moment, Paul and Irulan realized the humanity they shared, regardless of the circumstances that had brought them together.

Under the cover of night, Paul and Irulan, propelled by a newly discovered emotional connection, shared an experience that defied expectations and the constraints of their world. A night that, in its intimacy, marked the beginning of something unexpected.

From Irulan's perspective, the night was an encounter with the naked truth of emotions. The walls she had built to protect herself from the complexities of love and vulnerability slowly crumbled. Each prolonged gaze was a step beyond the predefined limitations of her relationship with Paul. The physical closeness was an echo of the emotional connection that was developing, and in the stillness of the night, Irulan found herself contemplating the possibility of a different future than she had imagined.

For Paul, however, the night brought a profound revelation. Irulan's company, which had previously been confined to political duties and formalities, transformed into a source of comfort and understanding. The princess's warm laughter and sincere conversations were like a breath of fresh air amidst the intricate web of his responsibilities. He felt like he was betraying everything he wanted. But in that moment, as strange as it felt, he enjoyed the company of his wife.

The calm that had enveloped the night abruptly dissipated the next morning when Paul, engulfed in a mixture of confusion and anxiety, decided to withdraw early. His thoughts, usually sharp and prescient, became entangled in the uncertainty unleashed by the previous night. Without explanations or farewells, Paul departed, leaving Irulan alone with the morning shadows.

Hours later, Irulan, bewildered by Paul's absence and not fully understanding the reason behind his sudden departure, learned the tragic news. Chani, the bearer of new life, had lost the baby.

The devastating news enveloped the palace air with a veil of sadness. In their grief and confusion, Paul, prey to the irrationality of mourning, found a target for his frustration: Irulan. In his affliction, he blamed Irulan for the disconnect he felt between his visions and reality, a connection that, in his mind, could have altered the course of events.

Irulan, surprised by the unfair accusation, found herself caught in Paul's emotional storm. The tragedy had triggered a series of events that defied any logic, and while Chani mourned the loss of her child, the relationships between Irulan and Paul became fragile, shrouded in the pain and weight of unfounded guilt.

As the days passed, the relationship between Paul and Irulan grew increasingly tense. The shadows of accusation and loss cast a dark cloud over their connection, eclipsing the moments they had once shared. Miscommunication and distrust erected insurmountable barriers.

At the height of their estrangement, the princess found herself facing news that would completely change everything. She learned that she was pregnant. The uncertainty of the child's future added to the burden of her fractured relationship with Paul.

Upon confessing the news to Paul, the room filled with a heavy silence. The revelation unleashed a storm of emotions in both, as they faced the decisions they now had to make. The life growing in Irulan's belly became an unbreakable bond between them, despite the challenges they faced as a couple.

The news of the pregnancy acted as a catalyst, forcing Paul and Irulan to confront the complications of their relationship more directly. The weight of past accusations momentarily faded, making room for deep reflection on the meaning of life and the crucial decisions they had to make.

For her part, Irulan experienced a mixture of fear and hope. The responsibility of bringing a new life into the world forced her to confront her own dilemmas. The life growing inside her served as a constant reminder that all of this shouldn't have happened, yet it did.

Though content with this, the days of pregnancy passed in silence. Paul's absence, immersed in his own struggles and political responsibilities, left her to face the emotional and physical challenges of pregnancy alone. The loneliness became palpable in the silent nights and in the moments when doubts and fears enveloped her.

Although Irulan immersed herself in writing and reflection to fill the emotional voids, the lack of emotional support became a constant burden. The absence of a support network affected her maternal experience, leading her to question the decisions that led her down this solitary path.

Over time, the visions Paul had about Irulan had become reality. When the day came, Irulan, accompanied by the silent murmur of palace medical staff, gave birth to a beautiful baby boy. The room resonated with the emotional tension that hung in the air, while life flourished amidst the shadows of the past.

The little one, wrapped in the warmth of blankets, bore an astonishing resemblance to Paul. His presence in the room illuminated the space, dissipating the shadows that had darkened the path to this moment. Every familiar feature, from the deep eyes to the strands of dark hair, testified to Paul's legacy in the new life that had come into the world.

Irulan, holding the baby in her arms, found herself captivated by the expression of innocence on his face. The connection between mother and child transcended the complications of the past, and in that moment, she plunged into unconditional love that illuminated her own face, reflecting hope and the possibility of a different future.

••••••••••••••••

With the passage of time, Paul, facing the responsibilities of his office and the prescient visions that continued to guide his path, made a painful but inevitable decision to end his relationship with Chani. The deep connection they shared was overshadowed by political decisions and his life.

Irulan, always on the periphery of Paul's life, found herself transformed into the main companion in his life. The reconciliation born at the birth of their first child evolved over time. Paul, after overcoming the shadows of the past, found in Irulan a solid support and genuine connection.

Together, Paul and Irulan decided to expand their family, welcoming more children who filled the palace halls with laughter and joy. Each new birth represented an opportunity for redemption and the building of a united family. Though power and political intrigues persisted, the home Paul and Irulan built became a refuge.

As the family grew, Paul found in Irulan not only his life companion but someone to share joys and sorrows with, and a loving mother to his children.

Life led Paul down paths that transformed his feelings towards Chani. The pressures of leadership and constant political struggles created emotional distances between them. Responsibilities created a chasm, and political reality overshadowed the light of love that once flourished between them.

Chani, in turn, found in her loneliness and lack of emotional connection the need to seek comfort elsewhere. The emotional distance from Paul led her to explore new connections, and eventually, she fell in love with someone else. The search for understanding and affection led her to a relationship that filled the emotional void that persisted in her life.

The severing of ties between Paul and Chani was not simply a consequence of individual decisions but a complex dance of circumstances that life presented to them. Political designs and the inevitabilities of power transformed the nature of their love, leading them down separate paths.

Thus, amidst intrigue and change, both Paul and Chani found themselves on paths where life, with its unpredictable twists, led them to seek new forms of love and connection, leaving behind a story that was once the center of their lives.

Lastly, Irulan, far from being just a distant witness to Paul's life, became the protagonist of her own destiny. Redemption and love intertwined in her story, demonstrating that, despite some difficult moments after suffering, the good part always comes in the end. Both were committed to building a shared future, and so it was until the end of their days.

#fanfic #oneshot #imagine #paul atreides #princess irulan #chani kynes #paul x chani #timothée chalamet #florence pugh #zendaya #paulatrediesxirulan #paulatrediesxprincessirulan #dune part 2 #dune part two #dune movie #dune #paul atredies x reader

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helloescapist · 6 months

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The Hashiras in a Relationship | Sanemi Shinazugawa

Word Count: 8314 (I believe it)

Setting: Sanemi Shinazugawa x gn!reader

Content Warning(s): mild suggestive, poilers for the Shinazugawa family.

Summary: love relationship headcanons for Sanemi Shinazugawa from attraction, dating, and in love.

A/N: The time has come, my dear, sweet Sanemi. I only hope I did him justice, but I feel like, for him, it just will never be enough. I will never be able to accurately depict a love he could give you. To release this is almost bittersweet. I have adored writing the Hashira headcanons, and thank each and everyone of you who has read them. Thank you for giving me a chance. <3

To be loved by the Wind Hashira is to know devotion and safety. His love is the fresh scent of rain, sooothing as comforting as the wind that meets the windows. Rattles your bones, and resignates within your heart. That soothes the edges of frayed nerves, echoes affections. A drizzle that meets the afternoon hours, rain that caresses the window panels of a greenhouse. The encasing of a garden aglow with candles, touched into the cozy nook of a chair. Your eyes only left to wander the glaucous gray, bask in the peaceful oasis embraced by the rain and ambience of tapping amongst the glass roof. The scent of fresh rain, intermingled with the rich earth, sweet as the fingers that graze your own. The roll of distant thunder that ignites your senses, thrills your being. Snuggled into his arms beneath dark clouds as urethral as charcoal portraits painted in the night. Tucked secrets of sentiments, whispered amongst hushed voices, ghosts of fresh wildflowers on the window ceil. An amorous touch of tranquility that dares the chaos upon your fingertips, thunder and lightning that illuminate the graze of his touch. Devoted to committing the memory of this moment to his memories, depths of desire expressed to you alone To be loved Sanemi is to lay awake in the dead of night, long after you know you should be lulled to sleep. Defying the late hour just to hear the coo of howls against the window that falls in sync with the beat of his heart. To savor the distant rumble of thunder greeted the depths of his slumber, the security of his snore as you embrace his chest. Solace as the raindrops that cascade down the window panels in the dead of night. As refreshing as the ethereal as the trail of kisses beneath the rainfall. The touch of his lips as they meet yours; your senses alive beneath the touch of rain. The passion and heat of his lilac eyes as he proclaims you to his chest, secure and devoted. Never daring to part, just as his love.

to be loved by Shinazugawa means that you will need to be gentle. To be soft where others would callous, to love where others would shudder. Delicate where others would coarse. To sooth nightmares, whisper reassurance to broken pasts, to alleviate old wounds. To know that only those who are deemed worthy will know his scars, to trace their depths, and shelter their pain.

Endure the initial distance. To tread depths that he dare not reveal, to allow yourself to be carried away by the under toe. Dare to push where others would flee. Firm against his ushers, resolved in your ideals. Possessing the quiet humility that balances his boldness, complements his confidence.

Embraces his flaws, and offers a safe space if only for a moment. Mutual respect. To be willing to give as much as you take, and unyielding in the face of adversary.

Because truthfully, Sanemi is a conundrum wrapped in enigmas. A shattered soul with little choice but to bind his fractured pieces back together, and endure what remains.

On the surface, he’s a rather intolerant individual, or rather, he’s narrow minded. Often stiff to change, unbending despite how it may impact his partner. His reputation proceeds him. our rabid puppy stabbed himself in an attempt to expose Nezukos weakness.

Though the truth is that his own inflexibility is built on a foundation of a shattered child. His own loyalty the very reason why he was willing to mutilate himself, his dedication to the demon slayer corps clear cut. Heedless of the mangled flesh, or the threaten to his own health that such injuries could incur.

His thoughts are on the safety of those around him, of his peers, of those beneath his rank. Of civilians. At times, Sanemi follows a default, and is at risk of becoming judgmental.

In many ways, it’s a self-defense mechanism that he has built himself over the years. Frayed at the edges, and slow to trust, the Wind Hashira has survived a life that would have split others at the seams.

Due to his quick decisions, the swordsman if more often than not likely to become frustrated by a partner who defies certain expectations. such as bringing home a pet demon. It’s not that his counterpart is necessarily in the wrong, it’s that he truly, does not understand. Because of this, he can become critical, and disparaging of his companion.

It doesn’t help that much like Obanai, Shinazugawa is firm believer in regulation and rules. Because of this, he has a rather scathing opinion of those who adhere to Demon Slayer ways.

It comes as no surprise that his reputation amongst the corps is anything but fragrant.

Though, for those who have had the opportunity to build a bond with the Hashira are aware that underneath his bossy nature, and rough façade. Have been gifted with a rare opportunity to peek beneath the surface.

Despite how it may seem, I mean, I get why you may have doubts Shinazugawa is actually an expert problem solver for other people. Perhaps it’s an attribute brought on being an older brother to so many siblings, a caretaker in his own right.

However, in his own life, has a tendency to take things at a rather pointblank approach. Which can often lead to a violent approach. The truth is, he is not one to express the patience of talking about problems for hours. Rather, he is intent on finding a solution, for the both of you.

He just doesn’t know how to admit it.

There is no live and let live. If someone has wronged you, he will not just allow the insult to pass. He will stand for you, when you cannot find the strength. It is so important to note, he does not forget.

The good news is that, the swordsman is a direct communicator, and you will never be left guessing where you stand with him. although you may wish you did. His blunt approach to communication, while well intended can often rub others the wrong way, and border into being downright insensitive, but none of it is ever intended to inflict unnecessary injury.

Rather as pragmatic as the man is, he just forgets that those around him may not be as direct in their communication. He would sooner risk you despising him than jeopardize your life.

Just as the Wind Hashira sacrificed his own relationship for Genya’s survival, he will without hesitation, threaten to severe ties with you if he believes it is truly in your best interest. He just wants you to live a happy life.

Part of this is brought on by his sense of duty. As a victim of marechi blood, Sanemi believes that there is truthfully, no other way of survival that exists for him.

As long as he exists in this life, he feels that he is a bane on the existence of those that he cares for. Bestowed cursed blood by the gods, Sanemi is convinced that it is his obligation to distance himself from others.

To act as a harbinger of death for the nightmares of the night, never daring to touch upon the sunlight of a normal life.

The Wind Hashira prefers to keep his feet on the ground, and his grasp within reach of those that are obtainable. His heart may desire the warmth of a family, of what if, and daydreams, it is perhaps his fears of rejection that keep him grounded.

Rather than dream of what he can never acquire, the tenderness he will never know, he would rather focus on what is within his means.

The callous of his fingers earned through hours of practice, the sparing of blades against a trainee, the tug of fabric as he mends his own clothing, hush any dread that dares to seep in. skirting rejection before it meets him.

Stunned are the members who know of the hidden courteous of the Wind Hashira.

Respectful of his superiors, and his peers; Sanemi is rather polite, and considerate to those around him. Quick to inquire how those around him are faring, if their burdens have fruited hardships far too much for them to endure. If perhaps, is a way for him to shoulder some of their burden.

Shy in his approach, bristled should anyone draw attention to his kindness, but candid to offer any assistance. A spirit that does not yield, nor does it hesitate to shield those around him.

Though Sanemi may never readily reveal it, he is a caring man. One who consistently frets about the wellbeing of those around him. Whether it’s an old wound that is agitating a veteran member of the coprs, a new recruit he pushed far too far in training, or a peer who has seen horrors better left unspoken, Sanemi cares deeply for others.

He is the sort to happen upon someone struggling with their groceries, and initially… pass. He’ll opt to ignore it, the Wind Hashira will try to persuade himself that they’ll do just fine—they should have been more considerate of their buying and if they could carry it all.

But with each step his take, the defiant thought dissuades him. Gnaws at his gut until finally, he I left with little choice but to stomp back to the stranger, uttering every curse known to man before stopping before the individual.

Sanemi will just his hand out, and tuck his chin feigning annoyance rather than admit his courtesy. or the blush that has claimed his features.

He will mutter insult after insult on the way home, all while consistently peeking over his shoulder. Careful to maintain his pace at a comfortable stride, and to gauge if he needs to further lighten the load.

It is perhaps because of how naturally considerate he is, that you will often find that not only is Sanemi supportive, but has a talent for detail. The swords man is the type to notice the smallest of thing, the shift of your heel as your form is shifted. Slightly off, filtered far too favoring one leg over the other, the realization dawning upon him, and in the next moment, he is before you.

Crouched with his back exposed, his hands beckoning the burden of your weight. Never settling for any refusal on your part, rather, it is only when you are secured in a piggy back, does he confess his apologies for not having noticed sooner. In a gruff, grumbled voice,…

"You should have said something dumbass." "Your foot…. Does it hurt ?" " I should have noticed sooner."

He’ll take extra care for the time to come, always vigilant against your wound. Sanemi has a great memory. The Wind Hashira takes great care to be able to keep track of everyone under his wing. he to this day keeps tabs on the Kocho sisters in Kanae’s stead.

But, I also imagine that keeps track of little things. Such as dropping off Tororo-Konbu for Obanai when he is under the care of the Butterfly Estate because he remembers that Obanai has delicate eating habits, leaving Muichiro a selection of lovely kami, or the way he leaves his condolences upon the anniversary at Gyomei’s door step when work will not allow him to visit the grave site.

As time goes on, you will discover the supportive gooey center of the Wind Hashira.

Shinazugawa values a stable relationship, and because of this, a partner who has his upmost trust is the only way he can build a bond. He needs that security, the safety of vulnerability, as such, someone who follows through on their word is quick to catch his attention.

A partner who if given a task such as delivering medicine to the Butterfly Estate, will chance every incline weather to ensure the medics have received their necessary panacea. I’ll be there, has to mean something.

Your word is your vow, and you will see your duty through to the very end. It’s essential for his partner, because for Shinazugawa, to be able to place faith in another person is an obstacle on his own.

To accept his weaknesses, to be embraced for his frailty, he needs the certainty that you will never falter nor retract your word. His trust is not easily attained, but it is very, very worthy it. as sweet as fresh, authentically crafted mochi.

It shouldn’t come as a surprise that someone who is unreliable is not likely to fair well in a relationship with him. Cancelled date, and broken vows will severe any ground you have made. and likely ensured you will never have your zori in the door, again.

His fixed behavior borders on rigid, and if anything, your capricious behaviors will only reveal he has made a grave mistake in placing any value in your word. I dare say, he may treat you worse than Giyuu.

Being as strict as the Wind Hashira is by nature, I think he needs a light-hearted partner. Someone who will partake in light banter to ease the misery of the day, that sees the silver lining amongst the clouds on a rainy day.

Or truthfully, just dances in the rain. The first time he witness your carefree bliss, a giggle of amusement as the raindrops patter against your form as you splash through the puddles, heedless of any damage to your kimono… he was somewhere between befuddled, uttering a curse of dumbass at your expense, before lowly… that smile. THAT smile.

Paint across his features, softens his features, gives way from the pains of the past, and reveal the boy beneath the layers of scars. A lover who sees the opportunity to play, to build snow bunnies along the road following a successful mission, weaves flowers into crowns. Oh, he would so wear it if you gifted him one.

Sanemi is not blushing.

DAMN IT.

Oh, someone who will eagerly greet him after so many days apart. Rush up to him, greeting him with the joy of a missed companion, a smile ear to ear as their hands fold over his own callous. He needs someone to sooth his sharp edges, to laugh, and to smile.

Your ability to accept things as they come, rather than resist will not only help ease his own heart, but it will greatly benefit your relationship.

Someone who can balance his moods will go a long way in his own health as well. Soothing, and comforting like a warm beverage on a cold winter night.

Let’s be clear. Sanemi isn’t looking for a pushover. Gods above I suspect it would just worry piss him off.

No, he has no desire nor the energy for a relationship in which you’ll but heads all of the time, and yes, he does love taking charge.

However, that does not mean that Sanemi wants someone to be subservient to him either. Rather, he needs the reassurance that from time to time, you will meet him at his level. Reel him in when he goes to far.

When push to comes to shove, you will not lose your footing. You will stand your ground, and remain firm to your ideals, and desires. call him on his shit. The rare moment in which your laidback nature morphs, his soft squishy lover hardening beneath his gaze, meeting his sight head on.

Nose to nose, solid. He will huff and puff. And absolutely walk away from you. He has no desire to sink his relationship, but oh… his heart. Sanemi will retrace this moment over and over.

One because he wants to consider it over, but to the other effect, oh… he’s got it bad. real bad.

Now, let’s be clear, just as he doesn’t want someone who compliant without question, Sanemi has no desires for a partner that desires to control his movements. If it’s not mutual respect, he doesn’t want it.

Goals and ambitions are a turn on for Shinazugawa, he’s attracted to individuals with their own desires in life. It goes with his own desires for independence, built on mutual respect and trust. With his own desires for autonomy, it’s only right that your own needs are on equal grounds.

He does not want you to live a life waiting by the door for his return home. He adores you greeting him when he gets home, but… it isn’t much of a life.

You should do things you love, things that bring you joy. he loves to see your smile. For a happy, healthy relationship, Shinazugawa needs a relationship that is not built upon power dynamics, for either side.

Otherwise, things could just end up toxic. Really, if you have the time to give just a little bit of yourself, it will go a long way with him. Small tokens, little bits cheering him on.

Whether it’s a little note in his lunch, a kiss on the cheek as you part ways for the day, Sanemi just needs to know that you support his ambitions.

For the swordsman, intimacy is at the forefront of his desires. Because of this, a relationship that contains a lot of emotional turmoil will send him far from your grasp. For the most part, he is open to meeting misunderstandings and disputes as they surface, but a partner who is insisting on thrill seeking in the relationship stirring the pot.

He. Does. Not. Have. The. Patience.

He just doesn’t. It’s not who Sanemi, so if you wish for the relationship to continue, you may wish to adapt a more direct approach to communication. At the end of the day, Shinazugawa is just a do-er by nature.

He is the sort to find solutions, and approach things as soon as he can. A leaky roof, he’ll have it mended before the next rain. The garden has been invaded by pests, Sanemi will strengthen the barriers. I can just imagine him happily building a little bug habitat on the weekends.

For Sanemi, the moment of attraction would most likely the peace that you bring. It could be that you yourself are just a peaceful individual, one who allows life to flow without much resistance.

Finding solace in thunderstorms, joy in snow, and laughter on scalding summer days. The smile never leaving your face, or the way you just flow with those around you.

Comfortable within your own skin, into your own desires. Grateful for the clothing upon their back, and the meal in their tummy. It may be that you’ve a special aura in yourself. One that soothes the edges of others.

A tree that provides shade amongst the shifting weathers, a cozy spot to seek refuge to wait out a storm, or a pleasant place to slumber on a spring day. Tranquility that drew him to you, whispered sweet dreams to him.

Dared to fantasize a life he only touched upon in his slumber. a spouse, a house, a small garden.

There are two main scenarios in which I can imagine you meeting Sanemi. The first being that of a Demon Slayers.

Your initial meeting well… may not have been off to the best foot. In his defense, he was sort of feral running out there slaying demons by any means. Yet, there was something about the way he composed himself. As small children often do, his pestering had initially been a small annoyance, one you ignored, but that day… that day you had enough. The way his tongue got away from him, the bluntness of his approach that rubbed you the wrong way, and rather than allow the new recruit to cross your boundaries, you elected to meet him head on. The stance well practiced, sturdy in its resolve, and the perfection of your form met into the follow through as your fist landed squarely into his cheek. Sending him far to the side, and off center. Swept him off his feet, and squarely on his bum. Lilac eyes that swam through the ocean, caught upon the clouds, dazed as they appraised your smaller form. One hand to support him, while his spare found his cheek which begun to swell near immediately. The calm way your gaze met his. Red, bruised. The lump he would garnish for quite some time. The affectionate regard Ubuyashiki acknowledged the bandages upon his peek. A small child who's pride had been afflicted a heavy blow, and how it had driven him. just imagine the Master seeing the wound upon his cheek with the smallest smile before asking if perhaps, Sanemi and [YN] had had a spat Years entangled in one another, light banter, sparing matches, the growing of missions at one another’s side, time that had bound your soul to his. The tranquility of your giggle, the relaxed manner of your presence--- your very existence a special place for you alone upon his heart.

The other scenario I can imagine Sanemi falling for you would be one of which you are just an ordinary person.

One who works as any other, such as the child of a restaurant owner. A small little hole barely bigger than a yatai vendor, a hole in the wall that survived from their own merits, and abilities. The warmth of smiles, dared to greet passerby with a smile despite how many scars adorned his features, never paying attention to the whispers of other patrons that depicted a troubled child. His passing always curious about the child no more a little older than himself that giggled through the noren. Harmonious and light, one that always planted a bulb of a small smile on his own, only given the rare opportunity to blossom one rare rain day in which your parents beckoned the youth in. Ushered comments of the chill claiming his bones, the warmth of your mother’s hands as she guided him from inside, the touch of whiskers on your father’s face as he set to work preparing a warm meal to fight off any would-be chills. The calm hours before opening, along the nonexistent foot traffic allocating family time to caring for him as though he were a stray. Lead him through the restaurant business portion of your home to the inner familial abode despite his open protest, and flaring. His despondency hushed upon being set before you. A combination of shocked, horrified, and confused as to the willingness of such an odd family to welcome him so openly. It was the first time he had ever gazed upon your face, the giggle he heard so often in passing greeting him with a cloth, doing your best to erase the droplets from his snow-kissed hair. Your own curiosity betraying you before allowing the tip of your finger to trace the jagged blemishes that decorated his face with a curious smile. Quickly scolded by your mother for rudeness, the roll of her sleeves prepared to right your attitude, only deterred by the meal before all of you. Shinazugawa had told himself that he would not be swayed, nor visit the establishment again, and your family humored him. Reassured him that if that were to be the case, very well while sharing dumplings and miso soup, an added scoop of rice for the stray. The following weeks the effort he had placed in his footing, avoided the path that led to your road. Unavoidable times spent dodging the greetings you would offer as he dashed pass. Until having witnessed a spat between you and a drunker on a grocery run. The audacity of the man having attempted to force himself upon you, defiance in the swing of a leek as you scolded him. Stubborn despite the way the man had a hold of your collar, nearly dragging your smaller form towards himself, only enraged at your protests and insults. Laid to rest by Sanemi’s own rage, no longer to deny the pull you had upon him. The way he found himself drifted to the establishment time after time.

The warmth of a home that was never his own.

In courting, I feel as though Shinazugawa may take a more considerable amount of time to mull the decision over than other Hashiras. Not nearly as studious as that of Kocho, nor bashful as Mitsuri, but not quite to the level of open pursuit as that of the Flame Hashira or retired shinobi.

I feel that if his life had taken an alternative route, one in which he had the opportunity to grow with his siblings, care for his mother in her old age, I imagine he may have been just as forthcoming as the later. Quick to declare his attentions, resolved and determined to win your heart amongst the suitors at your door, but life has taken an alternative route than initially planned.

The Sanemi we have is one who has been through heartbreak, experience loss, and punishments brought on by his birth. The one who adores scars for the sake of others, and because of this, I feel that Sanem is sort of a middle ground amongst the Hashiras. One who may not be as hesitant as Obanai, but still resistant to the way his heart pines for your own.

In courting, the Wind Hashira is a rather straightforward, shameless flirt. near Uzui levels. Open to express physical attraction, unambiguous in his approach. Not the sort to play games, or leave things up for interpretation.

Rather, quick to grab your wrist, to pull you within reach, uttering in a husky voice with need, “What are you doing tonight?”

Fairly confident in his approach, and not one to shy away from a physical fling should the desire touch upon him. it’s a great way to keep others at arms length.

He is assertive, subtility is not in his nature, and an expert at taking the lead, guiding the flirtations on his time. Tease suggestive comments, coo his attentions.

Upfront in delving that he is not craving something serious, or long term, Sanemi is not one to dip his toes in manipulation. Rather, any mind games is quick to deter even a one night stand. He just does not have the patience, nor the interest.

For the most part, Sanemi is not as likely to delve into casual relationships as much as one would think. Rather, he has a deep need for security, and assurance, and a relationship of this nature is rather unappealing to him, but don’t let that fool you.

He’s rather comfortable with a one-night stand from time to time, but it varies on the individual. If it’s one in which the interlude will be met with the proper emotional distance, such as an oiran, he’s likely to enjoy the experience, but should there be a hint of false intimacy one that tries to reflect upon a real relationship, or dares to stray into more idealistic means, it will not end well.

He’s well adapted at being able to separate physical pleasures from emotional intimacy, a master at engaging without attachments. loves using flirting to test the waters.

However, it is perhaps the desperate touch of his heart, and longing for a life he knows he cannot tread upon that prevents him from regularly engaging in such trivial moments. It’s not enough for him at his core, but as he is far too afraid to stray into such areas carelessly, he’ll often go without rather than risk more than he bargained for.

He’s open to admitting that he’s interested, but once the deafening realization hits him that he is smitten, he is quick to withdraw. Shatter in features, regardless of what he was doing in that moment that it crossed his mind that he has fallen, delved deeper than the occasional pursuit, he’s dropped everything.

Pulled himself from our touched, uncoiled his fingers from your hair, barely offering a half assed excuse before fleeing. Dodged interactions, quick to seek escape.

Unable to touch upon the depths he has submerged, panicked at the thoughts of loss. It is only when he has come to terms with the circumstances that he will move forward. He is not the type to jump in, nor will he ever truly be.

That being said, the swordsman is truly quick to fall heels over head for the right person. The moment he has caught feelings, there will be a shift in approach. Genuine notes of tenderness in regards, desiring your warmth, and providing patience to allow you to come to him with the passage of time.

Laughter, witty remarks, and forthcoming gifts and compliments as the air that he breathes. Any attempt to seize your attention. In fact, I firmly believe that Sanemi would delight in the more conventional courtship routines that others often overlook.

He would savor picking flowers for you and carry your belongings for you. he wants to show off his muscles. Would ask you to visit a tea house with him, offer you his share of ohagi, and flutter at the nervous way you dust the rice flour from his lips.

Once he has made up his mind, Sanemi will never detour from your love.

To have entered the dating stage with the Wind Hashira is no small feat, and one that will be approached with the utmost sincerity and earnestly. Allow him to take the lead, and you will more than be rewarded. Dates vary wildly in what you can expect.

Competition events such as a shooting game at a festival is sure to bring out his drive. He will get you that stuffy, at all costs. And while he thrives in such environments, it’s the dates he plans that will catch you off guard.

Shinazugawa loves any chance he must get to know you on a deeper level, one that you have never dared to share with another. In part, it’s because he wants to be as special to you as you are to him, but he also feels reassured knowing expectations, and a clear understanding of who you are beneath the facades you bear to others. Because of this, he will aim for intimate rendezvous free of distractions and wandering eyes.

Time spent wandering the markets, plucking produce, with the intention of cooking you a wonderful meal. He's an amazing cook, I won't be convinced otherwise.

Traditional dates such as dinner and drinks, recounting childhood memories. He’s open to trying new things, a new game together, or even a comedy show. Sweeter, more reminiscent dates that touch upon joyful memories. Walks through a park, skipping stones on a lake’s edge, even a zoo trip, to more adventurous dates if you have an interest like rock climbing, or a couple’s massage.

Maybe even taking lessons on how to offer you a sensual massage himself. I promise he has documented these dates somewhere for future grandchildren to giggle over.

The Wind Hashira in love is an enigma in a way. At times, he can appear to be serious and aloof, but it is little more than a barrier than admitting how his heart longs for your touch.

Yet, the truth remains that if you have entered the dating zone, you will quickly realize that he has long since loved you. Whispered your name into the depths of his heart, a phantom amongst his dreams.

Beneath his tough exterior, Sanemi is romantic at his core, and desires a drowning connection to his lover. Warm and affectionate, quick to give himself more than he will ever request, his entire being belongs to you. In love, there is not a question of whether he will commit.

Rather, your bond is all he ever needed to conclude that he is committed. Sanemi would be hurt to discover you ever thought otherwise. However, he understands that others must progress at their own pace, and because of this, he will do his best to hide away the maddening depths of his devotion and mascaraed as aloof, attempting to give you all of the patience you need.

Though, should you pay attention, you will notice it in the way he cares for you. How he soothes your hair in comfort, warms your hands with his own. How openly he pursues quality time together or dotes upon you regardless of who may be watching. He already knows everyone else has caught on.

In fact, for all the ways that he will cherish you, you will discover that disposing of his feelings in a verbal manner is a challenge for him. It’s not that Sanemi doesn’t desire to whisper sweet nothings into your ear, it’s just that it’s not his strong suit. And he knows it.

He’s far more comfortable allowing his actions to speak of his adoration.

Because of this, Shinazugawa can and will seize every opportunity to put himself in your service. To give you peace, and ensure your life is easier with each passing day.

As he was with dating, but he approaches romance in a fairly traditional aspect as well. He adores classic outings, scheduled romance to ensure that the spark never leaves your senses.

You will be wooed throughout your life in a way that has you questioning if you have committed to the Love Hashira. That being said, Sanemi adores a good surprise.

The Wind Hashira is just as quick to place grand gestures at his disposal frequently, so much so that it is almost second nature to him. As a supportive individual, you will find that he prides himself on being able to offer a safe home free of worries and will do so through whatever means he can conjure.

Hour spent hanging the laundry, cooking meal after meal, and cleaning up after dinner with the biggest of grins as he mentally files away what dishes caught your attention with a smile. He will also accomplish this through more traditional routes, such as working tirelessly to ensure you never want for anything, and have a safe comfortable home always waiting for you. if his upbringing was not a clue.

The Wind Hashira desires for you to have the life of your dreams between your fingertips, you need only grasp it. No really, any odd pursuit you may have, Sanemi will be the first to admit, it’s a little peculiar, but he will never hesitate to cheer you on.

Push you when you need it, make the big jump to pursue your dreams regardless of how small or enormous they may be. Truly, he wants a relationship built on mutual respect.

In many aspects, he is the ideal partner.

Commitment is not something to be taken lightly and is something he has already mulled over in his thoughts time and time again before pursuing you. Because the truth is, once he has made the decision, he has done so wholeheartedly.

Committed loyalty and fidelity into his pore, striving at all costs to make the relationship work. Bathed in resolve, Sanemi truly desires a relationship in which he feels secure.

One that you will never doubt his loyalty, and he never needs to question your own. But also, one in which he can confess fears, reveal vulnerabilities, accept your embrace without a second thought.

Seek your comfort, never doubting his own masculinity for doing so. Yes, in a committed and well-developed relationship, Sanemi’s eyes will never wander. It would never occur to him despite how his flirtatious nature may appear.

He would never forgive himself for straying and betraying your trust.

That being clear, Shinazugawa is a rather unorthodox, vengeful person at times, and if you have decided to play a game of tactics and manipulation… well, he will be direct in his rath.

Intentional planting seeds of doubts, actively pursuing your friend in an emotional affair, he is the sort to retaliate.

For all he will give to you, communication can either be a godsent, or a curse.

Sanemi prefers open, and direct dialect. Even at the risk of hurting feelings, he would rather be far to blunt than sugar coat a horrid truth. He is not one to live a lie, and truthfully, it’s not that it is ever his intention to inflict wounds.

Rather, he feels that to obscure truths would be disrespectful to his partner. His goal is truly, to be honest. However, as a naturally outspoken man, his communication style adds a level of aggression that he often doesn’t intend. He just really doesn’t see the point in beating around the bush.

He would much rather rip off the band aid and begin the process of healing rather than allow the wound to fester. That being said, Sanemi does have a bad habit of being one to judge others, and rather quick to criticize than acknowledge someone else’s needs.

The Wind Hashira rather enjoys engaging in conversation as long as it is nothing too abstract. He’s not one for discussions about the universe, or why it is the stars align just so, but for more tangible concepts he’s quick to engage.

Share conversations about your dreams, about a future together. Engage him in discussions from serious politics to even casual banter about whether Sakura mochi or ohagi is the best dessert. savor how persuasive he can be when he sets his mind to it. His well-informed perspective combined with his confidence can be rather tantalizing convincing.

One would assume that confrontation would come naturally to Sanemi. It’s a fair jump of an assumption to make, but the truth remains that Sanemi does not wish to trade blows with those that he adores.

He’s the protector, not the assailant. The shield, never the sword. He desires safety, and stability in his relationship, and as such, fighting is not something he enjoys—it threatens the security of his relationship, leaving him with uneven footing.

This does not mean that he will allow slights to slide by the waste side, he hates being challenged, and his opinion distorted. Mixed words, or such tactics are sure to anger him. While he can be set in his ways, and slow to compromise, approaching a conversation or discussion with intentional conversation will always give you an edge.

Despite how confrontational Sanemi is, he would never, I mean never raise a hand to his partner. Under no circumstances. he will never be his father.

A stressor for the relationship will likely be his detachment to autonomy. It’s not that he intends to invade your space regularly, it’s that he does not quite understand why you have a need for space. Or perhaps it’s that he naturally feels anxious when you’re far away from him, as though a piece of him is missing.

For some people, this may not be a problem, but if it is for you, it’s important that you discuss it openly rather than attempt to dodge or force your opinion.

Just explain, you would be surprised how willing he is to see your perspective.

Sanemi is not one to enjoy an envious partner, one who doubts his fidelity rubs him the wrong way rather than excite him. The hint of your jealousy can be a backhanded slap rather than a compliment. Though, if the truth were to be revealed, Sanemi himself has a rather controlling tendency, and adores attention.

Because of this, I suspect that should you pay attention to another—even innocently, he’s likely to feel a prickle of jealousy. Should he have to fight for the monopolization of your attention that he feels entitled to as your spouse, I suspect he will be down right petty.

He’ll never truly act on it, he has the upmost faith in you, but he will pout from time to time. It’s illogical, and he knows it, but HE wanted to sit next to you, not be replaced by the pet dog.

He’s side eyeing the pupper as it receives the cuddles that were rightfully his own.

You should never be surprised to notice the fierce way in which he guards you. Dear. Gods. Above, he has no hesitation in becoming aggressive or confrontation in general, but if it is on your behalf, Sanemi can be practically feral.

resource guarding?

He will take any slight against you very, very deeply, and is quick to act on it. Which is why he needs someone to keep him on a leash. Not everyone is worthy your time, nor your lover’s. SIT boy!

For most of the Hashiras, the concept of family is one that varies from individual to individual, but for the most part, they are all willing to compromise with their partner.

However, in Sanemi’s case, I feel like, it is either one way, or the other.

In a world of demons, and terrors in the night, there is absolutely no way he would ever allow himself to father a child. He abandoned that life long ago and prayed for Genya to live his dreams. Sanemi would never forgive himself for bringing a child into the world knowing all too well what he deems to be its inevitable fate.

No, in a world in which Muzan and his fledglings wander the night, he would never willing allow it to come to pass. If he was unsuccessful and his lineage continued knowing all too well the dangers, it would break him.

That being said, if he were gifted the opportunity to raise a child in a world without fear of losing his child, or his family as he had in the past, Sanemi would jump at the opportunity.

A small home, one in which the sound of children’s laughter rang through every window. The patter of bare feet running across the wood, playful banter like music to his ears. Like his mother before him, Sanemi would have no set number of children he would desire but would welcome each one that entered the home with joy and cherish each one with all of his heart.

I feel as though Sanemi by nature would be a very protective father. One who would fret over their child’s wellbeing: emotional, physical, mental, he worries about it all.

Questioning if his decisions were the right one, if perhaps he shouldn’t have raised his voice. How could he have done better as a father. Every little scrapped knee, every bruised heart, he bares all of it on his soul.

All of this is with the best intentions, all he desires is for a future in which his children may know love, comfort, and peace. A solid foundation that he never had, nor could give to his siblings, and the way his hand always reaches for those of his child, knowing that he must let them go one day.

Please, just give him a little longer.

Sanemi is a practical demon. Almost all of his thought processes are logical, even though they may not always appear to be so initially.

Such as the way he attempted to snub out his own brother was truthfully proof of his own affections for Genya. if you do he emotional math.

If your love language is acts of service, your needs will be more than satisfied. Just as he was in his familial home, Sanemi is quick to make himself of service to his lover. He will massage aching bones, prepare morning tea, and pack bentos with the cutest little notes.

To serve the household, to prove himself for you time and time ago; Shinazugawa lives by the moto, happy spouse, happy house. Securing lose threads as they reveal themselves, warming the bed, or starting a bath when he knows the hours have ran across your features.

Rush to greet you at the station with an umbrella on a rain day. If you are one to give love in this manner, note that every task, any attempt to express your affections will never be overlooked. Though he may never say anything, he will find himself smiling at the small treat you found for his beetles, or the added serving of ohagi in his bento. Or the way you mended his kimono after a wound, tucking a smile to his heart like a little secret.

Each token of love is treasured no matter how small. He’s so grateful to have you.

Gift giving is rather second nature to Shinazugawa, and it may be due to the fact that his thoughts never leave you. As a natural caretaker, he is likely to always keep you in his mind as he goes about the shopping, smiling at a cute little treat knowing all too well how you would adore it, or spending a little extra for the spicy snacks in the hopes of seeing your smile.

Missions that send him far away, will have him gathering local treats. Little goodies made by the grannies, procuring a variety of scarves, regional flavors, all secured to his back with the intention of coming home to you with a variety of goodies.

Another area in which he will never struggle is quality time. In fact, the way he yearns to spend as much time with you as possible may have you pushing him out the door for quality time.

Again, Sanemi seizes every opportunity to bathe in your company. Whether it’s spiriting you away to dinner for the night, a hot springs trip, or gods help him if you decide you’d like to go on a beetle excursion. he has been hit with Cupid’s arrows all over again. He’s gushing.

Sanemi dreams only of you, but there are also the times in which, he doesn’t need some grand romantic gesture although he’s good at them. Rather, he really will seize any moment to just be near you.

Content to enjoy a quiet moment peeling daikon at your side, listening to the stillness of your breath as your eyes breath in the weather outside the veranda. To enjoy snuggles beneath the kotatsu with one another. Lay his head in your lap, allow our fingers to thread through his locks, or the way your fingers wander the lines of old wounds.

When you consider the way that Sanemi struggles with articulation, and placing his emotions into language, it may not come as much of a surprise that words of affirmation will be a struggle for him.

That’s not to say that he won’t try, he is as he has always been forth coming with his praise and adoration of you.

Shamelessly complimenting you regardless of the place, or the company that may overhear. hell, he would announce it in a microphone. But, the fact remains that communication is not one that comes naturally to him. Blame his upbringing.

At the same time, the way your face lights up adorably as his compliment paints your features. The blush that claims you nearly contagious in how it spreads to him, leaving him a stuttering mess desperate to regain himself. a-again! He’ll do it again!

Physical intimacy is an area that can run a risk for you. Let’s be clear, it’s not that Sanemi isn’t one for physical intimacy, in fact I feel strongly that he will leave you a panting mess desperately crying out for release as he worships you time and time again. he will ruin you I swear…

However, physical intimacy can mean different things to different people, and there lies the rub. For you, physical touch may be a means of expressing affections and trust. Allowing yourself to be vulnerable, and explore the depths of desires that you may hide away, but Sanemi was never one for being the touchy feely kind.

He’s an expert of separating and physical “needs” which may leave you feeling as though your emotional needs are not being satisfied, and that he relies too heavily on expressing his affections in the bedroom.

The truth is that in some ways, Sanemi can be touch starved himself. Rare moments in which he will graze upon your cheek without a second thought, how tenderly he holds you after time apart. It’s not that Sanemi does not savor your touch, rather it’s that he doesn’t know how to communicate his need to be treated gently.

Should you choose to initiate it, he will happily respond.

To be loved by Sanemi is to know sanctuary. To see refuge amongst the falling stars, to know the that your tears have found a gentle home. It’s to dance your fingers across his scars; whispered affections that claim your heart. It’s to have your hair soothed, the warmth of his head as he softly toys with your hair. It’s to know safety, a love that will give its life for your own. Always thinking of you, dreaming of you, yearning for the day when your hopes become reality. Rejoiced in truth, it is effort day in and day out, giving of himself for all that he has, but never asking of sacrifice. It’s safety, it’s snuggled by the fire, and a blanket to draw you to his heart. It is sweet as ohagi on a rainy day, the touch of cashmere blankets, and It is a flower nurtured with tender care. It is devotion etched into your skin; the promise sealed by the touch of his lips upon your flesh. Whispered devotion, and the strength to expose yourself for all that you are in the night air. Desperate cries, that plague of passions and yearning, it is a piece of your soul that you had never known was missing. To dream of the memories to come. To yearn for something, you never dared admit. A soft lullaby just as is his love.

It is… everything.

Everything.

#demon slayer x reader #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #kny x reader #sanemi x reader #sanemi shinazugawa #the wind hashira #thehashirasinarelationship

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theredofoctober · 4 months

Text

RUMPLESTILTSKIN— An Oliver Quick/Reader Saltburn DarkFic

Pairing: Oliver Quick/You, Oliver Quick/Reader (no gender specified, terms like pretty are used though just to mention)

Synopsis: Oliver finds You, the awkward guest at his birthday party, and takes what his dark heart desires.

Trigger Warnings (PLEASE READ): noncon, blood play, Oliver just being evil

Fic under the cut, keep reading

"Who are you, then?"

It was the small man that said it, the one with the slurring Nothern accent and eyes like ice picks, palely sharp.

You'd seen him swaying on the outer edge of the party, seeming both drunk and far too sober, all at once.

His face was odd, flat, and sleek, like a trickster in a German folk story: thief of children, bringer of gold.

You hated the boy in a moment, drawing back from him against a trellis, your hands wrapped fast through the slats. His eyes made you wish you'd drunk rather less than you had done, silver as scissor blades in the swelling night.

"I'm one of Venetia's friends," you said, though you knew Felix more, and Farleigh rather better than you liked to. "You don't know me. Who are you?"

The boy stepped around a plant pot, his balance the measure of sobriety. He wore deer antlers with an open-chested white suit, embroidered with leaves, the dress of a more handsome man. Only the slopes of his cheekbones, the soft mouth were beautiful.

His eyes made an autopsy of you. There was nothing in them but wanting, a starving colour. An absence of it.

You would have turned to run, only there was nothing then to fly from that made sense.

"I'm Oliver," said the young man. "It's my birthday party. Felix's family arranged it all for me."

"Happy birthday," you said, at once, a reflex.

You wished that he'd go away, that he would edge into the maze like a shadow thrown by the sun, and meld with the dark of the leaves beyond. Anything but approach as he did then, his compact form eating of the air between you with carnivorous haste.

He was slight enough that you thought you might push him down or aside with little effort, but the poise of him, as delicate as a barber's blade, gave you pause. He'd cut you if you touched him, you thought. Something would happen, and you would run crying as you had from a dozen birthday celebrations as a child, unwanted.

He brought that old vulnerability up out of you, somehow, though he hadn't yet done much but broach the most innocent of smalltalk.

"How come you're over here, on your own?" asked Oliver, his head at a sympathetic incline. "You're too pretty for that. You know that, don't you?"

His voice was a sing-song croon, then, all silken menace. He was trying to charm you, you knew that, yet you saw as though through the beads of a brothel doorway the hunger in him, the appetite of worlds.

You glanced right and left, realising, with an awful start, how very drunk you were, swaying and stupid with it.

"I needed some fresh air," you said, with a high, braying laugh— Oliver half-smirked at the sound of it, knowing its falseness, knowing your fear. "All that bloody champagne went right to my head."

"You'll need someone to look after you, then," said Oliver, and then he uttered your name, making a baleful ditty of its syllables.

How had he known it? Had he known it all along?

You'd glimpsed him watching you, before, an empty glass in hand, attaching himself to your heels like a stoat after a rabbit, all lithe cunning on the hunt. Likely he'd heard your name then, as Felix had bent down to kiss your cheek, all affable golden looks. Heard it, and slipped it into the pocketbook of his mind to tear free, when it was needed.

Your name was pretty on Oliver's tongue, sugar, and ribbon, and stained glass, as apt to break. Happily you'd have taken the pieces and cast them all out into the riverbed, have gone nameless rather than hear him speak it again.

"You don't know anyone else here, do you?" asked Oliver, and there was the word again, no longer ribbon, but rough as a noose, strangling as he came closer still. "Just the Catton family. Something in common, me and you."

You lurched vaguely to the right, and Oliver's arm came up against the trellis, gently, a tender trap.

"You're lonely," he said. "Haven't you always been, though?"

His face was close enough for you to note the punctuation of a mole on his right cheek, the lines at his brow, the riddled literature of him. What he saw in yours was a portal to the past, all features from the nervous mouth to the twitching eyelids telling of a once bullied child, an outcast brought in through charity from the cold.

"Go away, Oliver," you said, bravely. "I want to be alone. I can't breathe."

That was true enough. You were stifled in your plastic wings and ill-fitting garments, sweating and airless, almost wanting to be sick.

Oliver drew his face nearer, and your throat closed to the breadth of a lock in your dread of him, of those ink spill eyes.

"I don't want you to breathe," he said. "Not right now."

Then he darned his lips to yours, their heat, their softness like the death of summer blooms, and you pressed back into the trellis so hard that you thought the wood might break, so brittle did it seem.

You brought up your hands to battle his shoulders, only for them to be joined with his, your fingers tangling, a torsion of slick skin and bone.

There were no thoughts that survived the cruelty of Oliver's embrace, the insistence of his compact strength, the length of tongue, of arousal under clothing, at your thigh. You wanted to snap free of him like a spell, but he kissed you until your fight withdrew in sight of its fair winner.

No one came close enough to see you, or if they did they thought you drunken lovers, poised to consummate your pash against the fence.

At last Oliver moved back his head, the reflection of the night's obsidian in his mortuary eyes.

"Let me go," you whispered. "I don't want to do this. I don't want you."

"Well, I want you, though," said Oliver, with an authority that frightened you in its unshifting weight. "And since nobody else here does, what's the point in saying no?"

His hands, little and wicked, wore their way under clammy layers of clothes. In all the heat they were almost cold, dragging from you a series of ragged gasps that were lost in the revelling darkness.

You wished the wings at your back were feathered, those of swans; they'd have broken the bones in his arm and you out of this, far lovelier a transportation than the sticky taxi that would bear you home in the hours to come.

Yet had such pretty things hung from your back this beast named Oliver would have bitten them off and flossed their quills through his teeth, you knew it.

He touched you until his findings were of stolen treasure, watching your every tendon solidify to strands of stone through the art of such fell grief.

"You weren't what I came looking for tonight, you know," he said. "But you're mine, anyway."

You didn't answer, imagined any word drowned like a cat in the depths of him.

Oliver stepped into you with a dancing softness and kissed you again, sucking a plum welt into your lower lip, breaking it between his teeth to blood. Again you struck your hands against him, but Oliver, with liquid instinct, pushed your arms back through the apertures in the trellis, caring little for the splinters in your wrists, if at all.

Crucifixion could not be so painful, so martyring as your capture beneath him.

"Oliver," you said, and he smiled.

"That's me. The birthday boy. And what does the birthday boy get?"

He opened your costume with the hook of four fingers, touched the bruised rose of princely lips to your ear.

His breath was smoke, and champagne, and stolen blood.

"I get what I want," he said, and then his cock was an arrow at the heart of your waiting horror, his slight hips a harp played against you, moving in the strum of entry, into the gold he made of your pain.

You screamed, and the sound was devoured by the bacchanal night. Oliver took you slowly, with patient intelligence, feeling each trembling agony of your body and twisting it, by sorcery, into something else. His eyes were a witch's orbs through which he knew you, psychic, solipsistic—

You were ivy about the wand of him, a thing that would poison the man, were he not immune to its effects. He fucked you as though he thought it romantic, somehow, this violence in a friend's pungent garden, the scent of flowers and trodden grass and arousal a perfume to woo.

There was blood on both of your faces, on his bare chest, under the blazer. It frightened you, suddenly, a tarot spread of death in the summer night—

Your panic, the heaviness of lingering champagne, the attack like Zeus upon a swan; all of it made you limp, in Oliver's grip.

He paused in his taking of you to hold you upright, studying your face under the Midas yellow of a nearby lamp.

"Stand up straight for me, now," he said. "And look at me. Look at me."

He tapped your cheek— not a slap, far too soft for that, as though the concern in the vicious gossamer in his voice was real.

"You want me to make you feel good about yourself. Need me. Don't you?"

"No," you said, but as Oliver kissed you again, and a firework shrieked somewhere against your eardrum, you lost what temporary power you'd had to resist him.

Like a spindled sleeper you endured his lovemaking, swallowed his tongue like a precious key. Your body was a pulse in deep water, stirred by hands and cock into a dripping arc.

Oliver moaned against your tattered lips, his arms about you in embrace. The heat of him would follow you, afterwards, the haunting of his lust's smoke from dream to dream.

He moved away from you, aided you in pulling your arms back through the trellis. For a moment he tried to hold you, his murmuring at your hair, its comfort indistinct.

Then, as you ripped him from you like the segment of a rotten apple he wiped himself clean of your blood; the rag he used was something torn from your garments in the fury of his love, a token of it. A thread from the maze.

You sat down in the grass and stared up at Oliver, seeking some answer. Assistance from the breaker of will.

"Go home," he said, at last. "Felix doesn't want you. And now—"

Oliver shook his head, and the peat fire of his eyes was of the underworld, then, of sapphire death gone to ash.

"I don't want you either. Not anymore."

Then he turned from you, and walked away, towards the house, his fey shape a shadow puppet on the wall.

#saltburn fic #oliver quick x reader #oliver quick #saltburn #dead dove do not eat #darkfic #tw noncon #tw assault #tw blood #oliver quick x you

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throneofsapphics · 8 months

Note

hi love!!! i hope you're okay and everything in your life is fine 🫶🏻

i know i have sent other requests, but I'm so bored that I can think of ideas for fanfics, and since I don't know how to write I send them to you because you seem like a AMAZING writer. here is my idea;

angst and fluff ; reader is aelin's best friend (aelin and rowan are married). she does not live in the castle although she goes there a lot. the reader's father wants her to marry a boy (against her will), on one of her trips to the castle, she meets fenrys, and they fall in love.

I'll leave it to you what happens next, I know you're going to do a great job ❤️‍🩹

pd: keep safe, drink water, sleep well and be happy ❤️‍🩹🫶🏻

broken promises

(part two)

Fenrys x f!Reader

Summary: “If you need help, let me know.” Aelin replied - a mischievous glint in her eyes. Y/n realized she might have to do a bit extra work to keep her from doing something rash or impulsive.

Word Count: ~5.8k

Warnings: drinking, bad family dynamics, mention of death, kind of angst, reader is demi-fae

A/N: oh my gosh I love this idea and I got a bit carried away, I’ll have to do part two. I love your requests so much and you’re so kind, please keep sending them! I’m doing well, and I hope you are! part two will have more angst/fluff

She made frequent trips to Orynth, her Fae form allowed her to travel quickly. Monthly, at least, and Aelin got pissy when she missed a visit. Always claiming she’s one of the only people she can stand. Maybe because she refuses to use their friendship to gain any kind of influence, and always manages to drag the Queen into trouble of some sorts.

She lived rather close, her father a minor Lord in Eldrys.

She had no idea Aelin was the Queen of Terrasen when they met.. Aelin was in disguise when they met. Out seemingly by herself, although a few broody looking males were in attendance as well. It was a minor holiday, but one Eldrys always celebrated - and looked forward to how the Queen and King of Terrasen would visit.

It wasn’t uncommon for newcomers to wander into their Tavern around the holiday, and a new batch came in. Two broody looking males, and one female who was nearly bouncing with excitement. It was easy to count the blades on them, but they didn’t scream danger to her, so when the female, Lillian, approached the table they dealt her in.

She was horrible, absolutely horrible, and with a quick glance to her friend they lowered the betting pool. It always felt wrong to drain a stranger of their coins.

But, Lillian laughed it off and played a few more rounds. One of the males with her joined, and he was much better.

Somehow, they ended up in a drinking contest. Lillian matched her round for round, until she finally tapped out. A true northerner, then. From Orynth - based on the accent.

“That’s the closest anyone’s gotten to beating her,” one of my friends, Edde, told her with a smile. Lillian laughed and said she’d get me next time.

And the next day, as she was being introduced as a member of the lord’s household, she was shocked to see Lillian - no her Majesty, Aelin Whitethorne Galathynius, Queen of Terrasen, wink at her.

Weeks later, she received an invitation to Orynth - only her. Her entire family buzzed with excitement, spitting out different things to mention, how lucky she was, and questioning why it was her. The youngest child with no particular influence, and no desire to have any. And born to her fathers second, short lived, marriage.

“We needed a second round. This time on my own turf,” the Queen grinned at her, and disguised herself again, a bit more heavily this time, before taking her out into Orynth. Y/n beat her, barely, but ended up stumbling to the castle in laughter, leaning up against each other.

“Ignore the broody males,” Aelin whispered to her conspiratorially.

Y/n gave a quick, fumbling, curtsey that almost knocked her off balance. “Easily done.” A snort sounded from behind them, and

They went back through a side entrance, less heavily guarded, and discreetly made their way into the castle. As soon as they entered, Aelin straightened, walking through the castles elegantly. If she hadn’t been with her the last few hours, she’d have no idea the Queen was currently wasted.

Y/n collapsed into bed - waking to water and pain relief on the table beside her. She thanked the Gods for whoever did that, and cursed herself for not noticing anyone entering the room.

The friendship blossomed from there.

Her mother made a promise to her, and her siblings, from a young age. She would never force us into a marriage. Her mother, Fae, raised her herself, rather than in the castle - for the first fifteen years of her life until her untimely death. The rest of her family were all humans, but never carried any public resentment to her for her heritage. When she settled, things began to change.

She sent word to Aelin as soon as it began, and she insisted on y/n coming to Orynth for the duration of it - where it would be safer, both for her and the people surrounding her.

“Through this marriage, you and your children could provide centuries of security and relations for Eldrys.” Her father beamed with excitement, and yes, she knew he wanted the best for Eldrys in the long run - but his mind was obviously centered on the short term gains, and the extra power he could gain for himself. Something rolled in her stomach. Children. He wanted her to spit out babies.

“You said you would keep her promise.” She seethed, and his eyes turned cold.

“Your mother made the promise, without my input.” His words were calculated, cold, and stung. At the end of the day, he couldn’t force her to do anything, but he could get damn near close - and make her life difficult if she chose not to. There’s a thousand things she could say - she could insult his honor, tell him he’s disrespecting her memory, or spew hateful comments that would strike home, but she’d save those for later - if they became necessary.

Y/n cleared her throat, “I’m due for a visit to Orynth.”

“That can’t be delayed?” He raised his brows.

“Her majesty will be disappointed if I’m unable to make it.” She rolled her shoulders back, tilting her chin up.

“Very well,” her father muttered. “Do try and make it shorter this time.”

For that, she might extend it. And take some trips of her own. Y/n ignored him, stalking from the room to pack her things, her departure was set for dawn.

‘I have news,” y/n grumbled as Aelin led her towards her private rooms.

“Not the pleasant sort, I’m assuming?” Aelin glanced at her.

“How ever did you know?”

“You look like you smelled pig shit, and you’re stomping.”

Y/n snorted, and crossed the doorway - heading for her favorite chair and flopping into it.

“He’s trying to marry me off. Turn me into a broodmare.” She closed her eyes, forcing a few deep breaths to calm the rage bubbling inside her at the memory of their conversation.

Opening them, she saw flames dancing in the Queen’s eyes. “Breaking your mother’s promise?”

“He said she made it without his input.”

“That’s bullshit.” Aelin said through gritted teeth, a muscle in her jaw clenching.

Aelin was pissed. Beyond pissed. Y/n’s father - going back on a promise made to his daughter. One her friend always cherished. And, the hurt and upset in her friends eyes only fueled her own temper. She clenched her fists, extinguishing the small flames that began to dance at her fingertips.

Over the years, she’s grown particularly protective of y/n. The closest friend she’d made in centuries, and another immortal. The loss of most of her court, centuries ago, hit her hard. Maybe if she invited y/n into her court officially - although she already considered the female a personal advisor, it could deter her father. But y/n would protest - on principle. She never had any interest in politics or ruling territory - she has six older brothers. Plenty to take over from her father when the time comes around.

“Did he say who?”

“Someone in Doranelle.” Her voice grew quiet. Doranelle - although a good place to live, filled with good people - now that things had changed, it’s somewhere Aelin would never visit, and it would be difficult for y/n to visit. It would isolate her from her friends and family.

Her father wants the trading routes, the extra income and resulting power it could bring him. And, given y/n has settled, it would bring centuries of possible guarantees to Eldrys - if the marriage works. But - using his daughter as a pawn to bring that to fruition. Absolutely unacceptable in her eyes, there’s several other ways to bring that around.

“I can handle this on my own.” Y/n said firmly, noticing the look on Aelin’s face.

Her friend was already thinking of a myriad of different ways to interrupt her fathers plan, but this is something she can handle herself. If it came down to it, she could always leave. There’s not much for him to hold over her, and she has enough skills she can find employment somewhere else. Besides, herbs and tonics she makes sell well, even under her pseudonym.

“If you need help, let me know.” Aelin replied - a mischievous glint in her eyes. Y/n realized she might have to do a bit extra work to keep her from doing something rash or impulsive, maybe even let Rowan know. Although she’s not sure if that would help, at all.

Thankfully, the subject changed, and the rest of the weekend passed in good fun.

Another month passed, another visit to Orynth, and her father hadn’t brought the subject up. She hoped he’d forgotten about it, heeded her words and the reminder of her mother’s promise. It’s the least could do to honor her memory.

But, by the time the next visit rolled around, her father already had a male in mind - one she hadn’t heard the best things about. Living in a port city did have some benefits, she could ask a few discreet questions and get some answers rather quickly. She heard that he’s ‘cold and a bit nasty but not the worst.’

The guards let her in through the gates, recognizing her by now, and she strode right for Aelin’s rooms. Nobody interrupted her thankfully, considering she’s on a warpath.

She flung the doors open, and without scanning the room, started speaking. “He already has a gods-damned male picked out. And not a good one.” She seethed. Someone cleared their throat.

Aelin and Aedion were there.

“Hello Aedion,” she gave him a quick smile, before turning back to Aelin. “I told him he had no honor, and that he’s being a selfish bastard.”

Her approving grin made y/n feel slightly better. “What did he say?”

“That he ‘doesn’t care of my opinion on the matter,’” she quoted, “as if the matter doesn’t involve me at all.”

Before Aelin could respond, a small knock on the door sounded and a male she’d only heard of strolled in. “I came to see what the fuss was about.”

Long blonde hair, dark-eyed, bronze skin, and an air of irreverence to him. Fenrys - Aelin’s main emissary, whom she hadn’t crossed paths with. Beautiful - was the first thing to come to mind, and she forced herself not to look at him, lest she end up staring like an idiot. And - she got the sense he gets that a lot, the last thing she wants to do is play into a male's ego.

Instead, she made for the couch Aelin sat on, and sat next to her - not particularly elegantly, and with a long exhale.

She saw his gaze fix on her, scanning her body, instead of blushing or forcing herself to turn away, she copied his actions, and tilted her head.

Aelin saved them the grief of introductions, “Fenrys this is Y/n, Y/n this is Fenrys.” She waved between the two of us.

“Pleasure to meet you.” She half-grinned,

“Likewise.” He nodded, and took a seat in a chair across from them, propping his feet up on the table. Aelin eyed them, like she might knock them off, but ignored it. “What did I interrupt?”

“Nothing of your concern,” Aelin said sweetly, and felt y/n’s appreciation. She’d already given Aedion a look that said, keep your damn mouth shut, and the male gave her a subtle nod. Of course, she didn’t miss the small tension between the two of them - and the look they gave each other. Maybe a solution would work out on its own. She turned to y/n, “I need you here for a few weeks.”

“I doubt that,” y/n rolled her eyes.

“Are you going to ignore an order from your Queen?” Aelin was half-joking.

“I have a business to run.”

“And your friend can manage for a few weeks. I know you keep months of backstock.” Y/n’s lips pressed into a tight line. “Write to her. I need my personal advisor.”

“I’m not your advisor.” Y/n narrowed her eyes. Aelin only gave her a saccharine smile.

“Informal advisor. Source of sanity. Best friend.”

A choking noise came at the last one, “I thought I was your best friend,” Fenrys looked vaguely offended.

“I can have more than one.” She waved her half, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “Are you going to ignore an order from your Queen?”

Y/n groaned, “when you put it that way.”

She watched the female head to her desk, grab some paper and wrote two missives, and headed right out to post it.

“Why have you hidden your pretty friend from me?” Fenrys asked after she was out of hearing range.

“I’m not hiding her,” Aelin raised a brow. “You haven’t been here.” He had been gone frequently over the last several years, only coming back for a week or so to give reports before heading somewhere else. It is a bit strange the two haven’t crossed paths before now. “Maybe you need some extended time back in Orynth.” She offered.

“A break would be nice,” Fenrys admitted and a tang of guilt ran through her. She never forced him to go anywhere, but he’d accepted everything she offered.

“Get that look off your face,” Rowan slid through the door. How long had he been listening? “You can’t make that bastard do anything he doesn’t want to.”

Fenrys’s agreement reassured her. “Then stay here for a while,” she said firmly.

“Why was y/n on a warpath?” Rowan questioned.

Her father is getting pushy. She spoke to him directly. His face tightened, but he didn’t reply, instead launching a few questions to Fenrys, about his latest assignment. In Doranelle - somewhere she’d been hesitant to ask him if he wanted to, but surprisingly he agreed quickly.

“One of their minor lords is looking to establish more ties to Terrasen. Specifically Eldrys, the rumor says it’s through marriage.”

Y/n’s father really is pushing the subject.

“Which one?” Rowan asked mildly. She couldn’t keep anything from him, and he knew almost everything about y/n’s situation.

The description of the male made her stomach turn. Not horrible, but cold and nasty. Absolutely no way she’d let her best friend end up in that situation. Even if she had to write to her father herself. Y/n might be pissed at her for it, but if it came down to it - she would do it.

She knows what Aelin is trying to do - get her away from Eldrys for a while. And she appreciates it, even if she’s being a bit fussy. Plus, some time in Orynth does sound nice. Maybe she can scout out somewhere to work or live, if she ends up leaving her home. Which is becoming more and more likely by the day. It’s nice out, and a walk through the city always calms her nerves.

It wasn’t long before she made it back to the castle - just as the sun was setting.

Aelin dragged her right to her closet, saying they were going for a night out - to celebrate Fenrys’s return.

She disguised herself, and threw some clothes at y/n. Fenrys, apparently, had told Aelin he wanted to see one of their competitions in action. She’d never turn down a challenge.

Fenrys watched in amusement as the two females stumbled back towards the castle, arms looped around each other's shoulders - laughing the entire time. Rowan had already stopped them from falling once - only for Aelin to hiss at him and call him a fussy bastard. He’s glad he’ll be staying here for a while - and that y/n will too. Just to get to know his replacement, for Aelin’s best friend. Not that it’s a competition.

Y/n isn’t exactly sure how it happened, but Fenrys started seeking her out over the weeks she spent there, and she started seeking him out as well. At first, she thought Aelin put him on to it, but the Queen denied any involvement.

They didn’t spend time together alone, but she found herself drawn to him like a magnet. In a crowded room or tavern, she’d always keep an eye out for him, wanting to know where he was. Aelin teased her lightly, asking a couple of questions that she carefully deflected. She convinced him to dance with her one night, and he was a surprisingly horrible dancer, and stepped all over her toes. She ended up stomping on the insole of his foot, and he watched himself more carefully after that. She spent time with Aelin, of course, but Fenrys was there more often than not.

He did claim he was her best friend, so maybe it’s normal for them to be in each other’s company that frequently. She thought she should feel jealous or upset, but Aelin deserves good friends. And she enjoyed his company. But - if Aelin stopped demanding her monthly visits - then she would have a problem.

When she arrived back home, she knew something was wrong. Instantly, based on the looks on her brother’s faces - half pity and half outrage. “I’m sorry,” one of them mumbled. “He’s in his office.”

She made right for the room, carefully closing the door behind her. She didn’t bother to change out of her traveling clothes.

“What is it?” She hissed.

“Nice to see you too, daughter.” He said, without looking up from his papers.

“What is it?” She repeated, her anxiety growing with each word.

“You should be happy, your engagement will be announced any day now.”

She froze. “Is it now?” Her voice grew cold, and low. “I don’t believe I agreed to any engagement.”

“We’ve been discussing it for months.” He finally lifted his head to meet her, and flinched slightly at the pure rage he found.

“Cancel the announcement.”

“I cannot.”

“You can,” she snarled, canines flashing “but you won’t.”

He eyed her with some distaste. “A beast then, like your mother.” Y/n froze in place, debating the merits of patricide, or if she should throw something at him. But he kept running his damned mouth. “I only married her so you wouldn’t be born a bastard. I shouldn’t have bothered.”

Her jaw went slack, she felt heat burning in her chest, and her heartbeat starting to thrum in her ears. “You shouldn’t have.” She managed to say, before storming from the room like a child throwing a tantrum. But, she didn’t care, not as she made her way to her room to post an urgent message - one to Aelin, and one to her friend - explaining what happened and that she’d be gone for an undetermined amount of time. And to close the shop.

Aelin received a letter the day after y/n left, surprisingly. It wasn’t like her to write this quickly, and she had a bad feeling about it.

He’s planning to announce an engagement. Can I come stay for a while?

Aelin didn’t bother replying, she sent Fenrys instead - he could move quicker in his wolf form. She explained as much as she could the layout of the area, from what she could remember, and told him to be discreet - and to bring y/n back with him.

Aelin didn’t tell him the specific reasons behind why she was sending him over to Eldrys, but he didn’t complain too much. Only that y/n would be preparing to leave, and not to come back without her. That - he had a bad feeling about, but Aelin told him the layout of the house and he trusted himself enough he should be able to sneak in, if necessary.

Outside where her bedroom should be, he saw an undeniable figure fluttering around the room, shoving things into a small pack.

He bent slightly, picking up a small stone. Smooth, round, and not large enough to cause any real damage. He tossed it so it would hit the window pane. She jumped, turning to face the window.

A loud thunk on my window, and she had no idea what the hell it could be. Maybe it made her a bit dumb to go investigate it, but she did anyway. She has enough magic to throw a small shield up if necessary.

She slid the glass pane open to see clearer, and peered out.

Fenrys. Standing in the garden beneath her window. Aelin sent him.

Maybe she should be annoyed, but her pulse fluttered instead, and she grinned at him.

A second later - with a small flash, he was inside her room. She stumbled backwards, hitting the wall, and threw a hand over her heart.

“I forgot you can do that.” She kept her voice low, eyes darting towards the door, listening for anyone who might be approaching.

“It’s useful, on occasion.”

She watched as he scanned the room, seeing everything in disarray. She’d been combing through, taking anything that might be of some value to her, including the cash she’d carefully collected, and various irreplaceable items. And any of her weapons. Her pack was already full of the essentials - long ago, at Aelin’s insistence, she’d started keeping some clothes at the castle. In the rooms specifically designated for her. She shifted back and forth on her feet. It felt awfully personal for him to be in her room, her childhood room. She didn’t mind it, but now her mind was only focused on leaving - on getting the hell out of this place. Her father couldn’t announce an engagement without her there, an engagement to someone she’s never met.

“Are you ready to go?” He asked, sensing her unease.

“Yes.” Her throat bobbed.

“Lead the way,” he motioned, and she headed for the window. She’s not too far off the ground, and the pipe is strong enough for her to shimmy before jumping. “Sneaking out, I like it.” He commented, and she was grateful for his amusement.

They cleared the area quickly, and she took to the outskirts of the city - avoiding anywhere she might run into people. People who would ask questions. Once they’d cleared the city, they shifted - running, not at a brutal pace but still running, back to Orynth. It was … fun, running with him through the forests, even if he was a giant pony-sized wolf, and she a normal sized fox, she would dart in front of him to cut him off, sending out chitters of laughter when he growled, and darting through trees to avoid him. He managed to knock her off balance once, and she retaliated by nipping at his heels. She needed the run, to clear her head. In animal form it was so much easier, the thoughts weren’t as loud, and everything seemed simpler - her mind didn’t whirl with all of the repercussions that could be headed her way. Most likely, hopefully, she’ll just be disowned.

They shifted back to Fae forms once they reached the outskirts of the city.

“Did Aelin explain anything?” She asked hesitantly.

“Of course not.” He snorted, looking at her from the corner of his eyes.

“Typical.” She forced a half smile on her face, and thankfully he didn’t push her for answers. Although he’d find out soon. If she’s moving to Orynth, everyone will end up knowing.

Aelin was still seething when Fenrys arrived a few hours later, y/n in tow.

She crossed the room, grabbing her friend in a tight hug, y/n squeezed back before releasing her. “Thank you,” she murmured.

“I should’ve taken care of this sooner.” Aelin grumbled.

“I’m taking care of it now.” She saw how y/n forced a smile onto her face. “He can’t announce it if I’m not there.”

“Can I be filled in now?” Fenrys asked from where he was leaning next to the door. Y/n gave her a quick nod.

“Her father has been trying to force her into a marriage to someone in Doranelle,” Fenrys’s eyes flickered in recognition, before narrowing. “Even though she was promised that would never happen.”

Y/n cut in for the rest of the story. “As soon as I got back, he told me the engagement would be announced in a few days. I’ve never met him, only heard a few things - none of which are pleasant.”

Aelin carefully watched Fenrys’s every movement and reaction. Angry, she could tell he was angry for her, and … maybe a bit scared? She knew he grew attached to her over the last few weeks, with her extended time spent here.

“Good thing that won’t happen.” He said, his voice a bit tight.

“And good I don’t have any sisters he can try and pull into it.” She let out a joyless chuckle. “At this point I’m not sure how he’ll react.”

“He’ll leave you the hell alone.” Aelin snarled. “I’m sure he knows exactly where you are, and he can’t do a damned thing about it.”

“I’m sure he’s smart enough not to try.”

“It’s not even the engagement that pissed me off the most.” Y/n sat heavily, and pinched the bridge of her nose. Aelin watched as she exhaled slowly, looking up at her, silver lining her eyes. “He said he only married my mother so I wouldn’t be born a bastard. And called me a beast, ‘like my mother.’”

A reference to her Fae heritage. Aelin knows some … resentment against Fae still exists in parts of Terrasen, but right now she’s seeing red.

“You can’t kill him.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.” She snapped, before giving an apologetic glance to y/n, who didn’t look offended.

“There’s plenty of other ways to gain ties to other countries, than using a daughter as a pawn.” Fenrys’s tone was neutral, diplomatic - almost, but Aelin saw the way his eyes blazed, just like her own were.

“And he’ll have to figure that out.” Y/n leaned back, seeming to sink into the couch cushions - like they might swallow her whole. “There’s a lot to figure out,” she mumbled, under her breath.

“And good thing you have us to help.”

Aelin watched as he crossed the room, taking a seat next to her, and squeezing her knee. Her friend sent an appreciative smile - and her … was y/n blushing? Her cheeks pinked slightly. Oh, she would be making fun of her for this later. Asking a lot of questions.

She felt the warmth of his hand on her knee, and the gentle squeeze was more reassuring than any words had been. Then, she realized just how close he’d sat to her, and the intensity in her eyes, and felt her cheeks flush. Instead of looking away, she gave him a tentative smile. He returned it with one much more confident that hers, squeezing her knee again before leaning back, stretching over the couch and interlacing his hands behind his head.

“Maybe I’ll move to Orynth.” She mused, ripping her gaze away from the male, back towards her friend.

Aelin’s eyes lit up and her smile was radiant. “That is the perfect solution. If I remember correctly, an old herbalist is due to retire soon, with no apprentice.”

“I’ll go find him tomorrow. And start looking for a home.” There’s a lightness in her chest, one she hadn’t felt in months. Ever since he father started bringing that up.

After her father started speaking about the engagement, she discreetly transferred her private funds to a bank in Orynth. Her mother taught her early on to plan for the worst.

“You can live here.” Aelin frowned.

“Not permanently.” The Queen looked vaguely offended, but left it alone for now. “I need a nap,” she yawned, before excusing herself from the room - looking forward to a hopefully peaceful sleep.

Fenrys’s eyes followed y/n out the door, debating if he should go after her, ask if she might want some company. “Too bad Eldrys is too useful.” He sighed, turning back to Aelin.

“So … y/n.”

“Don’t start.” He snarled half-heartedly at her.

“You’re smitten.” Her eyes gleamed, and Fenrys debated the merits of throwing himself out the window, to get out of this conversation. Aelin wouldn’t leave it alone until he gave her something.

“She’s fun to be around.” He narrowed his eyes, all while praying she wouldn’t push any further and deflected, “I threw a rock at her window.”

“Please repeat that.”

“I threw a rock at her window.” He cocked his head, watching his Queen. She looked like she might laugh or scold him. “It didn’t hit the glass, give me some credit. It was only to get her attention.”

Footsteps sounded down the hall, and moments later Rowan slid into the room. “Did it go well?” He glanced between the two of them, his face as stoic as always.

“He threw a rock at her window.” Aelin snickered.

Rowan’s head snapped to him. “You what?”

He groaned, and left the room, not bothering to explain to either of them. Instead, Fenrys found himself heading towards y/n’s rooms. He’d never actually visited them before - considering she rarely spent time there, but knew exactly where they were.

He keeps thinking of how he could’ve lost her, and had no idea what was happening. But, she wasn’t his. Not really. Maybe he could work on changing that. Aelin’s right, he was smitten.

She didn’t realize she wanted company, not until he knocked on the door. Of course she knew exactly who it was - his scent is … why does she have his scent memorized?

She swung the door open, stepping aside for him to come in, if he wished, but he leaned against the doorway.

“Aelin never told me about it.”

Y/n rolled her bottom lip between her teeth. “I didn’t tell her to keep it a secret, I thought I’d have more time to handle it.”

“Did you ever consider it?”

She thought that was a strange question to ask, but answered honestly. “Not for a second.” His shoulders relaxed slightly. “Do you want to come in?”

“Sure,” he strode inside. The rooms are cozy, a low table surrounded by a small couch and a few armchairs, a few bookcases, a fireplace - and a small set up to make tea.

“Tea?” She asked, heading for the kettle, if only to give herself something to do.

“Sounds nice.”

She turned and gave him a small nod. Nervous, she realized, she was nervous. Acting like a skittish school-aged girl with a crush. At least making tea busied her hands, and he was good at making small talk. Once it was finished, they each sat in one of the armchairs. She curled her legs up underneath her, kicking off her shoes.

“Do you …” he swallowed, “need to talk about it?”

She took a small sip of the still too hot tea, and winced as it burned her tongue. “No, I think I’m alright.”

“Are you really?” He cast a sly glance at her, blowing on his own cup.

“I’m alright with not talking about it.” She clarified, and he snorted.

“If you do want to …”

“You’re here?” She guessed, taking a sip now that it was a bit cooler.

“I was going to say Aelin, but I’ll listen if you’re desperate.”

She choked on her drink, and he reached over to thump on her back, only making the tea spill over her pants. Quickly, she sat it down.

His face was red, and an apology on his lips, but she laughed. “I needed to change anyway.” He tossed her a towel and she managed to sop up most of it, before standing. “You can make it up to me, and make another cup.” Her eyes danced, and she left to the bedroom, wondering if he’d actually stay and make it.

Sure enough, she came out to a fresh brew, and Fenrys - his face turned back to the normal shade now. He handed it to her silently, watching as she took a sip. Perfect - better than what she made. “You’re forgiven.”

He exaggerated his relief, “Thank the Gods.” He clasped his hands together, looking up to the ceiling.

“Didn’t Aelin kill them?” She asked idly, tracing her finger around the edge of the cup. “You should be thanking me.”

“Thank you for your forgiveness, kind Lady.”

She scrunched up her face, giving him a dirty look. “Not a lady. I’ll likely be disowned.” His face grew taut, his expression a bit wary - as if he didn’t know whether or not this was a good thing. “That would be a relief.” She added.

Fenrys laughed, “you’d give up any titles?”

“I didn’t want them in the first place, and I’m the last child - to a beast apparently.” Her expression soured, the words still ringing in her ears. Did he ever love her? Or only didn’t want to have a ‘bastard’ attached to him, like it was such a horrible thing. “They divorced months after I was born and I lived with my mother until I was fifteen.”

She wasn’t sure why she was telling him this, but it felt right.

“Did you live in Eldrys?”

“A bit further out, closer to the woods.” The cabin still stood, technically in her name, but she couldn’t bring herself to go back often - or to live there.

He must’ve sensed her discomfort, because he changed the subject, “How did you meet Aelin?”

“She didn’t tell you?” Fenrys saw her eyes dance in amusement.

“Only that she was visiting Eldrys.”

“I beat her first at cards, then in a drinking contest, and she invited me here for a rematch.”

He bit back his laughter. That sounds very much like Aelin, and something she would do. A century had passed since most of their original court died, and he knew she found making friends to be difficult. Maybe something about y/n made Aelin latch onto her. Or her competitive streak. “Has she won yet?”

Y/n shook her head. “The day she does, I’ll hide out of shame. You’ll never see me again.”

“Then let's hope you keep beating her. You’re fun to have around.”

He watched her shift slightly, heard her heart beat a bit faster, and a bit of smugness came over him. But - he had to tread carefully, and he knew that.

Still, maybe whatever it was about y/n that attracted Aelin, was getting to him too. She’s something of a magnet, and a twisted part of him is glad she was driven here.

#fenrys x reader #fenrys x y/n #fenrys moonbeam x y/n #fenrys moonbeam x reader #fenrys moonbeam #throne of glass fic #throne of glass x reader #not proofread too well because I was excited

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aphrodisiac-siren · 2 months

Text

Home~ Neteyam x Metkayina!reader

Summary: Leaving behind everything he knew was hard for Neteyam and then adapting to the ways of the new clan was even harder. He'd push himself, overwork and exhaust himself even, to live upto his family's expectations; never really giving his own wants a second thought. That's why Y/N was the prefect companion for him, someone who kept things in his life balanced, who made sure to let him know that what he wanted was just as important, perhaps even more so, than what everyone else wanted of him.

//slow burn, Neteyam just denying his own feelings//

masterlist, Part 5

Part 4

🫧

It had been a good amount of time since eclipse.

The fishermen and hunters had retired for the day and the homemakers had only just put their food above the fires to prepare a nice warm dinner. The younger children were done with their lessons and were headed home, eagerly looking forward to a delicious meal followed by some much needed sleep.

But then they saw the warriors hurriedly mount their banshees and head out with panicked urgency. Not a moment later and Tonowari’s own children joined them to patrol the waters around the reef. The sudden and rare search party caused an eruption of speculative whispers amidst the villagers, each one trying their best to decipher what was going on.

Betwixt all the chaos, Y/N exhaled a sigh of relief when she spotted Lo'ak swimming toward her, calling out her name in response to her calling out his.

“I’m here Y/N” he waived his arm at her as she closed the distance between them whilst siting atop her ilu.

“I got you” she held out her arm for him to take, pulling the heavier boy to sit behind her before she turned around, yelling out to the other Na’vi who were just as eagerly looking for him “I’ve found him, he’s okay!”

A stream of yips and relieved sighs were passed around as everyone headed back, thankful to Ewya that the kid was returned to them unharmed.

“I’m sorry about my brother” Y/N immediately said once Lo’ak was well seated behind her, legs dangling lazily in the water as they followed the other people back to the village.

“I’m sorry about mine too” Lo’ak responded, referring to the exchange his brother had with her earlier that day “he’s not usually like this”

“Don’t worry about-“

“No really,” he continued nonetheless, still not done with his apology on behalf of his brother. Lo’ak never imagined in all his years that he’d one day find himself apologising for how his perfect older brother acted “he was rude and what he said, it-it was not okay. I’m sure he didn’t mean any of it. Don’t take it to heart and hold anything against him, or at least against me because of it”

Y/N held back a giggle. As sweet as it was that he was trying to be an adult and say sorry for the comments Neteyam made, it was almost adorable how he couldn’t conceal his child-like desire for her to keep her animosity toward his brother on one side and away from him. In simpler words, he was trying to get her to continue being friends with him.

“I’m not mad anymore Lo’ak” she assured the boy with a genuine smile, patting his knee in a friendly way “not at Neteyam, and definitely not at you”

“Friends again?” He sheepishly asked and Y/N found it almost too difficult not to turn around and adoringly pinch his cheeks with an ‘aww’ but she kept her cool. Just like Aonung, she could tell that Lo’ak definitely did not like to be fawned over.

“Friends again” she warmly told the boy before clicked her tongue at the ilu, prompting him to stop.

Both her father and mother awaited them, standing at the front of the crowed gathered to have a look at the lost and found forest boy.

Y/N’s eyes found Aonung’s and she could tell he was relieved that Lo’ak was fine. She knew he’d messed up by doing something as stupid as going beyond the reef by himself and then made things even worse by taking the new boy out there too and leaving him.

As if they shared some sibling-telepathic connection, she could also sense how horrible he felt. It was true that he’d managed to publicly embarrass himself, knowing well that the gossip regarding how the chie’s son caused such mayhem would last for a good amount of time before it was forgotten; but what really stuck out in that moment was the extremely evident remorse in his eyes.

Aonung was born into an almost royal-like environment, being treated like an image of utmost importance from a very young age. He was well know and well respected in his clan and he liked the power and authority he held. But after days and days of bullying the Sullys, it would seem like he all of a sudden didn’t like this higher rank. His first major screw up drew all this attention to him, the negative kind. He was well aware that he’d used his prestigious title of being the next Olo'eyktan in the most irresponsible way, by throwing his weight around and this time he’d feared it cost Lo’ak his life. Aonung would admit, he didn’t like the new kids but that certainly didn’t mean he wanted them to die, much less because of him.

“He’s fine, yeah?” He whispered to his sister once she’d stood next to him, standing his ground even when he saw Lo’ak angrily advancing toward him with balled fists. This time if he’d get punched, he wouldn’t have the nerve to hit him back.

But Jake saved him from further humiliation, pulling his son toward him to inspect him for any injuries and then announced that he was alright, giving Aonung another wave of relief.

“Excuse me, sorry I just- Hi”

Neteyam pushed past the others, swimming through the crowd to get a look at his brother. He only stopped when his eyes landed on Lo’ak, who was currently being scolded by his mother. He’d only realised until a few moments later that he halted right next to where Y/N was standing.

“Found him” the girl simply said, looking up at Neteyam. She saw him visibly relax his shoulders and slow his breathing, also at relief just like the rest of them.

“Yes, I can see” he smiled, nudging her arm gently with his “thank-you”

He wanted all of his attention to be focused on his brother, considering how tensed he was during the search but now that he’d seen him in person, fully assured that he was fine, his mind only kept wandering to the Na’vi girl beside him.

She thinks I’m pretty?

Neteyam didn’t want to jump to any conclusions, especially not to one as major as her finding him attractive, even though he was fully aware that he wasn’t so bad to look at. He was never really the type to seek any validation regarding his looks from girls, nor was he the type to overthink it if any girl did flirt with him. Though calling Y/N’s previously mentioned endearment ‘flirting’ would be a stretch.

She couldn’t have been, obviously not.

She was mad at him, furious even just hours ago. He highly doubted that a simple ride on his ikran would all of a sudden magically make everything okay. Yes, she was no longer upset but the wound was fresh and things wouldn’t go back to normal overnight. Which is why it just sounded absurd that she would indirectly attempt to tell him that she was into him.

Which then led to another foreign thought that crossed his mind. If she didn’t particularly mean to tell him that he’s pretty, he at the very least hoped that she thought of him as such. He felt like a little boy, hoping to impress his dad with how efficiently he caught fish.

It’s not a crush, he thought to himself. There was absolutely no way that Neteyam would ever succumb to such silly things. Getting giddy after tender touches, heart skipping beats, anxious around the other person- it sounded more like a health hazard rather than something cute.

So then why did he all of a sudden care if she found him pretty?

His thoughts began to fade away just like how the crowd did after being dismissed, no longer too keen on sticking around anyway now that Lo’ak was found. And he too, just like them, didn’t feel the need to stay there any longer.

He weaved through the crowed, eyes never losing sight of Y/N as he patiently made his way toward her. Their previous time together had been cut short and now that everything was okay, he wanted to continue with their walk around the beach.

His plan to do so was immediately soiled when he heard his father’s strict voice call out his name. Ever-obedient as he was, he immediately stopped in his tracks, wincing softly in annoyance but headed toward his dad nevertheless.

“Where were you?” Jake scolded him in a hushed tone but his displeasure was evident “what happened to ‘keep an eye on your brother’ hm?”

“I’m sorry sir” Neteyam pressed his lips into a thin line. If there was something the boy hated more than failure, it was disappointing his parents. He’d grown up around the desire to seek praise and approval from his parents, pushing himself to be without flaw at everything just so that his parents would be proud.

He looked around, discreetly searching for Y/N once again but he’d lost her in the crowd. Neteyam was well aware he was on most occasions referred to as the warm, friendly person in the family but he too, just like most males had a slight ego. He wasn’t going to go after Y/N just to talk; he wasn’t smitten with her to do that. So instead he just silently followed his family back to their pod, feet dragging through the cool and course sand.

It was awkwardly silent at first, everyone just quietly doing their own thing. Lo’ak, out of everyone, was sat by himself in the farthest corner of the room. He’d already done enough that day, he did not want to add to the list by ruining dinner.

“Um, hello” a familiar voice meekly greeted from the doorway “I just came to return this”

Everyone turned toward the source of the sound, eyes landing on Y/N as she stood awkwardly at the entrance, holding a bow and a few arrows. It was evident that she too could feel the tension in the room, judging by how she awkwardly kept switching her weight from one leg to the other.

“Hey” Lo’ak was the first one to reach her, helping her with the things she was struggling to carry without dropping them “Is that.. my bow?”

“Uh yea” she nervously chuckled, feeling as though the boy did not appreciate her having it in her possession “I was using earlier to practice, sorry-“

“Nah nah don’t worry’bout it” Lo’ak gave her a toothy grin “you can borrow it anytime you want”

“Maybe you can make one for her” Neytiri joined the conversation as she cut up some dried meat to add to the dish she was making “I’m teaching her how to shoot arrows, she’ll need a bow of her own for hunts”

Lo’ak nodded in agreement.

“Must’ve been a long day today huh” Jake smiled at the younger girl, referring to practically everything that took place from the fight his son’s got into with her brother and her training with Neytiri to Lo’ak getting lost and then found after hours of searching “stay for dinner”

“Oh no no, It’s alright” Y/N politely tried to decline, still standing by the door “thank you though-“

“Nah don’t be shy, it’s okay come on in” Jake wasn’t really taking no for an answer, trying in his own way to amend things not really knowing that his son had already done it by charming her with his ikran.

“My mom cooks really yummy food” Tuk tried to lure her in too, her comment putting a smile on their stoic mother’s face.

“Okay then” Y/N smiled, walking in and sitting in between Tuk and Lo’ak, right across Neteyam- who couldn’t tell why he was really hoping she would agree to stay and eat with them. The short fleeting feeling of something fluttering in his chest was unexplainable when she sat down across from him, her pretty eyes locking with his for a moment or two before she got engrossed in a conversation with Kiri.

Dinner with the Sullys was a lot more lively in comparison to her own family. They joked around, told eachother about their day and laughed boisterously, something that her mother would scoff at if done at their own dinner circle.

Neteyam, for most of the dinner, only observed Y/N. she seemed to get along with his family rather well. She could keep up with Tuk’s endless chattering, make easy conversation with his moody sister Kiri, patiently listen to his younger brother’s exaggerated stories, laugh at his father’s broken humour and make his stone cold mother smile. He could tell that she liked them just as much as they liked her and for the sake of his family, he would do better at being a good friend to her.

Not because he just wanted her to like him, no.

Once dinner was done with, Y/N took her leave, politely letting them know that it was too late for her to wait any longer. Jake asked for his older son to walk her home, despite the protests from Y/N.

“Your family is really sweet” she told him on their walk back, idly kicking her heels at the sand “I don’t remember the last time I actually had this much fun at dinner”

“Ah you’re too kind” he rubbed the back of his neck, unsure of how to respond to such praise.

“No really, dinner with my family feels like a war meeting. Minimal conversation and no laughing” she rolled her eyes.

“You’d love our bonfires then” he begun with a smile, thinking fondly about his home “at the end of the day, almost the entire Omatikaya clan gathered around the large fire for a meal. There’d be music, people exchanging stories. It was like one big family”

Y/N listened to him talk about the forest, a sad smile etching its way to her face. It was a bit heartbreaking, hearing him talk about his home with such eagerness as his face lit up just thinking about his past life that he had to give up and leave behind.

“You miss the forest a lot, don’t you?” She asked, still looking up at him with the same expression as before. Neteyam only chuckled, running his fingers through his braids as he nodded a ‘yes’

“A lot” he grinned, masking his feelings like how he always did “but I like it here, it’s-“

“It’s okay to be sad you know” she cut him off, seeing right through his facade. She knew what it was like, having to deal with the pressure of being the golden child in the family. It was almost draining sometimes to live up to the standards set, often resulting in no space nor time to deal with your own emotions “I can tell you’d rather be at the forest than out here in the reef”

“It’ll take some getting used to” the boy shrugged, still refusing to fully allow himself to wallow in his longing to return back to his clan “I loved the forest but I’m willing to give this place a chance”

“Hm” she simply hummed, proceeding to think of something to say that might lighten the mood “maybe you can show me around your village when you go back”

“If I go back” Neteyam chuckled, reminding her of the harsh reality that there wasn’t much of a chance of them returning.

“When you go back, maybe you can take me to this bonfire you told me about” she emphasised on the certainty that they would all see their precious forest soon, attempting to give him a sense of hope.

“Okay Y/N” he gave up, agreeing to whatever it was she was saying with an amused laugh “I’ll take you wherever you’d want to go, maybe even teach you to ride a direhorse”

“Really?” She almost yelled, causing Neteyam’s ears and tail to shoot up with surprise. She immediately composed herself, blushing at her own over-excited reaction “you mean it?”

“Y-yea” he adoringly gazed at her, lopsided smirk dancing on his lips. She was a curious little thing, very similar to his brother except for the whole ‘doing things without thinking’ bit.

“This is me” she stopped when they were a few feet away from a grand-looking pod that he could only assume was her place of residence “thanks for walking me home, a-and for earlier”

Neteyam only responded with a smile, waiting patiently until she’d walked inside before he turned around to head to his own little abode.

——

“I’m telling you guys, it was a tulkun”

Lo’ak was surrounded by his siblings, Aonung, Tsireya, Rotxo and Y/N; all of them immersed in Lo’ak’s story in which he claimed to have been rescued by a lone tulkun.

Y/N was firstly surprised to see her brother actually being nice to the Sullys, especially Lo’ak. She was present of course when Lo’ak shouldered the blame for what had happened at three brothers rocks, but she didn’t really think Aonung would be this touched by the gesture.

Clearly, she was wrong but she didn’t mind it in this case. It was a nice change honestly to see them all getting along.

“No tulkun is ever alone” Aonung told him, still finding it a bit hard to believe.

“This one was” Lo’ak was adamant and stuck to his story “it had a missing fin”

“Payakan” Tsireya immediately said, exchanging nervous glances with her siblings “you are lucky to be alive Lo’ak”

The boy seemed confused by that statement, so Y/N took the liberty to further explain their reaction.

“He’s a killer” she told him, finger drawing random shapes in the sand as she spoke “he’s killed other tulkun and na’vi”

“Not here” Aonung added “but a little far from this village”

“He’s been outcast since” Rotxo chimed in, contributing with his share of knowledge “he hasn’t been seen much since”

“He’s no killer” Lo’ak blew a raspberry, clearly not buying into what the other had to say about his new friend “he saved my life”

“My baby brother, the mighty warrior” Neteyam tried to lighten the mood by simply just giving his brother some credit for surviving whatever took place out these in open waters “who took on the killer tulkun and lived to tell about it”

That clearly didn’t sit well with said ‘baby brother’. He huffed in annoyance as he arose to his feet, not happy about being treated like a child by his older brother.

“You guys aren’t listening” he pouted, walking away from them.

“Lo’ak I’m listening” Tuk tried to get him to come back. She was always so eager to be around him, doing whatever she could to be in her older brother’s good books.

Still, it didn’t seem to work because he walked away nonetheless.

Y/N and Tsireya were up on their feet, ready to talk Lo’ak into coming back but Neteyam held Y/N’s hand, giving her an expression that clearly read ‘it’s okay, leave him’. She stayed put, but gave her sister a nod to go after him, knowing that if anyone could calm the boy down, it was her.

“I’m bored now” Tuk crossed her arms. She was obviously enjoying the story time with her brother and now with him gone, she needed something else to keep herself busy. She tugged Aonung by the hand, forcing him to get to his feet “I want to go look for shells, help me find them”

“I know a good place” Rotxo offered, looking at Kiri in hopes that she’d join too “it’s that way”

Y/N watched as Tuk rounded them up and followed after Rotxo, happily skipping along to pass the time by looking for shells by the beach.

“You aren’t coming?” Neteyam asked, sweetly waiting for Y/N while the others headed out to wherever Rotxo was leading them.

“You go ahead pretty boy, I’ll just stay here for a bit” she looked up at him, too lazy to get up and walk around the beach.

Ah, there it is again, she called me pretty.

Neteyam involuntarily simpered at the nickname she’d given him, finding it stupid that a big boy like him was inwardly kicking and giggling at a pet name given by a girl. Especially one like this which actually made him wonder if she actually meant it or if she was just saying it.

“What?” She scrunched her brows as she fondly examined his expression shift from neutral to borderline abashed.

“What?” He asked back.

“What’s with that smile?”

“I always smile like this” he sat down next to her, silently wondering what had changed about his smile. He was smiling like how he normally did, right?

“No, you’re trying fight that smile” she was teasing, poking her finger playfully at his cheek which only elicited an adorable chuckle from Neteyam “was it because I called you a pretty boy?”

“You can call me anything you like, I assure you it doesn’t make me blush” he held her by the wrist to keep her from poking at his cheek, beaming down at the girl who was poking fun at him, quite literally.

“I didn’t say you were” she grinned “aw, are you actually blushing Netetyam?”

“Oh fuck off” he chuckled before his eyes went wide upon realising he swore in English around her. One more thing Y/N had in common with Lo’ak apart from their heightened curiosity was their childish fascination for swearing in English “do not repeat that”

“Don’t repeat what?” Y/N raised a brow, a mischievous smirk dancing on her lips “fuck off, is that what I’m not supposed to repeat?”

“Your dad is going to kill me one day” he facepalmed, groaning at the fact that he’d unintentionally added another profanity to her dictionary.

Y/N laughed at this, her forehead coming to rest on his shoulder as she continued to giggle. Neteyam only looked down at her fondly, feeling something warm zap through his chest like lightning. He liked the sound of her laugh and more so, liked the fact that he made her laugh.

Another thing he seemed to like, was how she hadn’t pulled away her hand that was still in his. Why did he like it? He didn’t know, he just did.

While the both of them enjoyed each other’s company, Lo’ak and Tsireya observed them from a distance. Like Y/N had suspected, her sister did manage to calm him down and convince him to return to the group. What they saw on their way back was their entire gang amis from the spot except for Neteyam and Y/N who were laughing while seemingly holding hands.

“Look at the fool” Lo’ak pointed at his brother, looking at him with an expression that was nothing less than disappointment “he’s clearly into her, he’s giving her ‘the look’, see”

“The look?” Tsireya asked, head tilting in confusion. She didn’t know what it meant but she couldn’t deny that they would look cute together.

“Yea it’s like.. he dying to kiss her” he told her and watched as Tsireya’s eyes went wide “but he’s too much of a wuss to do it”

“Does your brother like my sister?” She asked, once again looking at the two.

“If I ask him he’ll say no” he answered with a shrug “but it’s so clear that he has a thing for her. I mean look at him, he’s holding her hand and everything”

“Mhm, they’re leaning into each other a lot too while talking” Tsireya noticed, observing their body language more closely “do you really think they’ll end up together?”

“If we’re waiting for my brother to make a move, it’ll be a while before that happens” Lo’ak honestly told her with a roll of his eyes “he’s never been the type to run after girls”

Lo’ak found it to be a different but pleasant change to for once see his brother actually allowing himself to just be a boy and have fun rather than being busy with training. It was a bit unusual to see him enjoy the company of a girl though but it did give Lo’ak a chance to tease him about something. And he liked Y/N so if his brother did end up tripping over his own tail for someone, he’d be quite glad it was her over anyone else.

All he did wish for was for his brother to not antagonise him by playing oblivious to his own feelings and to keep all the mushy stuff away from his poor eyes.

#avatar #avatarimagine #avatar way of water #neteyam x reader #writing #fanfiction #neteyam imagine #avatar imagine #avatar fanfiction #lo'ak imagine #lo'ak x reader #lo'ak fanfiction #neteyam fanfiction #jamie flatters

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koishiro · 7 months

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# - 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐒

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ — 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 : bumping into (what you thought was) your enemy on a winters morning, you realise he isn’t so much of the annoying boy you once thought he was. bakugo just wants you to know how deeply he feels for you, chasing that hug that was ripped so viciously away from him

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ — 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 : slight angst to fluff??

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ — 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 : 2k

=͟͟͞͞ ⌧ 𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐋 : i put this off for so long… (this is actually kinda pointless)

masterlist | bnha masterlist

I bundled myself up in my winter coat — the same old grey one my mother had bought me years prior, slowly falling apart yet still thick and warm. I hadn’t walked a block before I felt the chill of an impending snowstorm settling around my shoulders like a blanket; but undaunted by what lies ahead on this brisk morning walk towards the school building, I gathered up the courage to continue. There's something special about stepping out into nature after all - no matter what conditions lay ahead.

The cold morning air numbed my nose as the icy breath of winter settled upon the landscape. It was colder than usual, prompting me to draw my coat tightly around myself in an effort to contain my body's warmth. The trees were beautiful that day, with no green leaves in sight—just a blanket of fresh white snow dancing by way of a glimmering light between them and reflected off the frozen-over lake where a few daring children slid across its surface like seals on ice.

There was something indefinable in the crisp air and soft light of this morning that made me feel more alive. Everywhere around, colors shone in a sharper hue than usual, and birdsong sang through the trees with a special clarity. I half-closed my eyes and breathed it all in - cinnamon spice from somewhere nearby mingling with the smoky scent of woodfires out on nearby stalls; remembering shared Christmases back home surrounded by family laughter; wondering what they'd be doing right now.

I had been living in Japan not too long and was attending the prestigious U.A High School, where heroes came to refine their abilities and skills. But despite my best efforts, there was one boy who seemed to have a problem with me; he always picked on me for no reason other than maybe his own insecurity or jealousy of my growing reputation as a powerful hero. His taunts were unrelenting and every time I encountered him it felt like an assault from the inside out – I could let myself be thrown off balance by his words or strive to take back control of what he thought would break me down.

You were well aware of Bakugo's temper, which could sometimes spiral into an eruption of unchecked anger. But the most incredible thing about him was his restraint. Despite this misdirected fury, you never saw Bakugo direct it at anyone in particular — not even you who he had made a habit of singling out for years previously. It seemed that though his voice rose to a deafening pitch and those flares of emotion coursed through him like electricity, they somehow remained safely contained until they could eventually be dissipated in harmless fizzles and scowls against the wall or table instead aimed at any living soul.

Bakugo was a raging storm in human form, his temper quick to flare and his voice booming even when he wasn't speaking. His words were always tinted with anger or annoyance whenever you had the misfortune of being within earshot. You would frequently find yourself watching him from afar, holding your breath as if bracing for some kind of ripple effect akin to dropping a pebble in still water - any attempt at conversation instantly dissipated like dust in the wind no matter how innocent it seemed and although you never really liked him, there was an air of resignation that surrounded both your interactions; one born out of desperation and necessity rather than out of desire.

Still, something was different this time as he looked at you with a newfound emotion, like he had just caught a dazzling vision come to life outside the barriers that both societies had seemingly placed between you. His words were more gentle now and even in the cold winter air around you felt an unrestrained warmth; one that rapidly began to thaw your heart and have it beat with a foreign feeling you had never experienced before.

Bakugo stood before me like a soldier at rest – tall and proud, but still uncertain. His breath was visible in the cold winter air as he exhaled heavily. He wore his usual confidence on top of an otherwise unreadable face, clad in a fluffy navy bobble hat, the kind with woolen pom-poms and a soft foldover band. His signature orange winter coat was cut and draped around him like an ancient cape; two large buttons on either side kept it secured against his body. His feet were sheathed in high black Doc Martens - thick leather uppers, heavy rubber soles – which gave him both stability and protection from whatever might threaten below.

Tension emanated from him and his eyes flickered with nervous energy as he shifted from one foot to the other, not knowing what to say or do next. Despite this display of uncertainty I could feel how strong he was beneath it all; a force too powerful for any mere words or actions by himself alone to suppress.

The same could be said of me, though I was more shy and introverted compared to him. A soft pink scarf hung from my end, complimenting my skin and my hair situated in an intricate updo. I drew strength from his presence, becoming bolder as he shifted from one foot to the other.

He gestured with his outstretched hand, the metal of my house keys glinting in the morning light. "You dropped this, dumbass" he said softly. I looked down to see my own keychain lying in his open palm, each individual key jutting upwards like a tiny hill.

“Oh, thank you Bakugo” I gave a grateful smile and reached out my gloved hand for my keys but before I could take them back, Bakugo's fingers closed around them, drawing them closer to his chest - holding them captive. My gaze shifted to his face where a frown had planted itself across the brows of his deep eyes, “why do you always call me that?”

I gazed up at him, noting the pensive expression that had come across his face. It was clear to me this bothered him - why wouldn't I call him Bakugo? I had no reason to call him anything else nor did I want to. But instead of words, all that came out of my mouth was an uncertain "Sorry?"

His frustration had reached its boiling point. He gritted his teeth, his hands balling into fists at his sides as the words left his lips - “you always call me Bakugo. Why?” His expression changed from one of anger to something sadder and more lost, as if he wanted desperately for someone to understand why he felt so frustrated all the time. His arms dropped limply down by his side in a gesture of helplessness and despair before finally turning away from me, instead glaring at the snow covered ground.

He moved forward slowly, his feet grinding out a path in the crisp white snow with each step. His winter coat was like a beacon amidst all the greys and whites of our silent surroundings; marking his presence for me to follow as I kept my distance behind him.

The surrounding trees were frozen and still, their icy frosted leaves reminding me of childhood winters when I stayed up late searching between constellations in night skies trying to find warmth amongst celestial forms. Breaking through our shared silence he muttered something under his breath that seemed small yet profound enough that it urged me closer towards him than ever before without us having said a word.

“‘m sorry”

I abruptly halted my steps, and heard Bakugo follow suit a few feet in front of me. My head spun around to face him, and I uttered in disbelief: “You’re sorry?” The sarcasm of my voice was thick enough to choke on, a scathing undertone only barely contained by its edge of seething contempt. “Do you know what exactly it is that you’re apologising for? Or is this simply another one of your feeble attempts at humour?"

Bakugo shifted uncomfortably in his spot, clearly not used to having to deal with these sorts of feelings - let alone apologise for them. His words were stilted and clumsy as he tried to express himself, "I’m a dick I know, but I don’t mean to be-"

Bakugo cut himself off as soon as he noticed the deadpan look on my face. His mouth quirked downwards into a frown and his eyes darted away from mine. He began to fidget, it was clear he wasn't quite sure what to do with himself in this uncomfortable moment.

He cleared his throat before speaking again, almost uncertainly at first. "I mean... I was aware of what I was doing, and I know you don't exactly like me," His voice was low now; slightly embarrassed by the admission of knowing our strained relationship for too long had been unrequited on both our parts.

"I can't help it," he continued, lifting his gaze back up towards mine. "You're just so... nice" He said the last bit softly, almost as if he were telling me a secret and didn't want anyone else to hear it. I felt my cheeks flush at the sudden compliment and found myself wanting to say something back, but I couldn't think of anything suitable.

I stared up at him as the words spilled out of his mouth, my brows furrowed in confusion, “You get along with everyone and it pisses me off” His voice was laced with frustration and anger, “the stares you get and the way people just find it so easy to approach you - it really fucking pisses me off”

Bakugo held his hands tightly in front of him, his eyes wild and bright with fury. His clenched fists trembled while he spoke, each word coming harder than the last. "And I'm over here thinking over what to say to you every fucking morning," he ranted, "every fucking morning while you greet everyone else in that damn class except for me!"

As the words left him like arrows flying from a bowstring, so did all of his remaining fight. He hung limply between them both; drained by what had just flown from his mouth as if a heavy veil had been lifted revealing something underneath too vulnerable and raw for him to handle.

My mind raced as I tried to figure out why he was so angered by something that had nothing to do with either one of us - why would I greet someone who’d snarl at me either way?

“Remember valentines? Those stupid flowers you got on your desk?”Of course I did, how could I not? It was the first time anyone got me anything remotely thoughtful. “I spent two fucking hours picking them out, for some stupid fucking meaning that got half-and-half a hug - he stole my hug!”

The words hit me like a slap across the face. I would've laughed at the pout on his face if it weren't for the sheer seriousness lacing his voice. He spoke of these small tokens of love with such wistfulness - as though he had been robbed of some deep, passionate feeling that those little flowers held within them.

His unchecked rage and emotions were evident on his features as if someone had given him back an empty box after holding out their hands for something valuable, something precious; his stolen hug.

Bakugo had tried to mask his handwriting without realising how similar it was to Shoto’s…

All this time I had thought it was Shoto who had given me those beautiful pink tulips tied with a delicate white laced bow. The sheer joy and amazement that filled my heart when I saw them sitting on my desk nearly made me squeal in delight. Without thinking, I ran over to where Shoto was standing and wrapped him in an enthusiastic hug only to now realize months later that it was Bakugo's broken frown behind those flowers all along.

”I didn't know…”, my words dragging from me like a broken record. My voice was but a whisper, laden with the pain he must've felt all this time. Those small gestures that had gone unnoticed had meant more than I could have ever guessed; it stung to know that they'd been overlooked completely when all he wanted was for them to be seen by me - for me to understand everything without him having to say anything at all.

“That’s what hurts,” he spoke louder now, but his resolution held no heat or spite - just hurt in its purest form; acknowledgement of what hadn't been realised earlier gracing his lips as I waited to hear whatever it was lingering in his voice.

"All I ever wanted was for you to see me," he said quietly, averting my gaze and swallowing hard before continuing. "I know that none of what I did is forgivable. But all these years, I kept on hoping that maybe someday you would actually see me"

He looked up at me, an unspoken plea in his eyes. "I'm not asking for you to forgive or forget - I just wanted you to understand why I made all of those mistakes, why my life became so disordered and chaotic. All those stupid things I did to you, pulling your hair or kicking your chair - all for you to see me, ‘m sorry”

Those two words had never held so much emotion before. All those teasing moments, all the crying I had done meant nothing yet meant everything.

Closing the small distance between our feet, I hugged him with such warmth it battled his own. Bakugo was clearly shocked at first, not realising its intent would end with my arms wrapped around his middle. He remained motionless for a moment, hesitating before slowly wrapping his own muscular arms around me in an embrace that felt like a shield from the world outside our small bubble of newly found comfort.

“What did they mean?” I said, my voice muffled by his orange puffer jacket. Tilting his head to level my own he stared down at me with a confused look, “the flowers, what did they mean?”

He moved in closer and pushed back the collar of his coat to get a better look into my eyes; I could smell a slight hint of cologne on him that was sweet but faint and it made me shiver slightly in response. His lips parted as if about to speak before he suddenly paused again and ran one hand through the sandy brown tresses on top of his head

“You can’t laugh at me, ‘kay?”

Resting my chin on his chest, I stared up at him in wonder. He mumbled something I couldn’t quite make out; asking him to repeat himself, he mumbled again, this time clearer: “I care for you” Those simple words sent a flood of emotion through me that felt like a million stars lighting up my eyes – “that’s what they mean”

Had I thought I’d be here now, wrapped in the arms of the boy I swore to hate as he whispers these words to me, I would've thought I was crazy.

I felt a warmth spreading through me even though it was colder than cold outside but that didn't matter because my heart no longer held any hate for him anymore; I had let it melt away with the first touch of our embrace beneath that snow-covered sky.

“Can I have my keys back now?”

—

=͟͟͞͞ ⌧ 𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐋 (2) : #3 in my 𝘶𝘱𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬𝘴 / 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘴

— 𝘒𝘰𝘪 𝘹𝘰

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the-monkey-ruler · 5 months

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Regarding Erlang killing Wukong's monkeys, under what circumstances does this occur? I think the people of the lmk fandom portray Erlang as someone cruel, cold and a tyrant, however, it is also understood that Wukong was an enemy of heaven and Erlang followed orders to burn the mountain.

Lucky for you I just answered this.

I find it very giving that people don't know that Erlang Shen is one of the greatest heroes of legend and it saddens me when there are thousands of years of history showing him as the great figure he is, rather ignoring or being ignorant that Erlang Shen went against Heaven's order to spare Wukong's monkeys in the Nine familial exterminations order and leaving some of his family alive and his mountain still standing. Wukong even says in the Nine-Headed Demon arc how thankful he is to Erlang Shen and sees him as his sworn brother because he was able to spare his home and what few monkeys he could in the burning rather than following the order to wipe out his whole home.

I understand that people are upset with the burning, and they are right to be, but they also have to understand that the severity of Wukong's crimes not only called for his whole family and even his neighbors to be executed but rather his mountain wasn't flattened and he was still having a family to go home to. I know this isn't considered a lot by modern standards but facing complete annihilation instead for Wukong's crimes showed that Erlang Shen knew that the order was too much and didn't follow through it.

Erlang Shen is a complex but overall good and moral character that is going to do what he finds is right. He is considered to be rather a loose canon in heaven, similar to Wukong in that he doesn't always follow an order and rather has his own sense of justice that he chooses to follow. It makes him just as dangerous to heaven as he is also considered a god that puts heavenly officials in their place if they are ever seen abusing their powers. He is the most similar to Wukong in that he cannot be controlled or bribed but rather must make choices himself, thus why he lives on the outskirts of heaven most of the time. If he must follow orders then he does his best to make it that they follow what he deems is fair and it is clear that he didn't think killing all the monkeys in Wukong's family was fair, whether it is because heaven killed his own father and older brother, or that he truly thinks that Wukong's crimes don't fit the punishment is hard to say. Wukong committed a crime that went against the very foundations of the universe, trying to overthrow the JE and take over the position himself despite having no proper training for this role either. This kind of attack would not only put Heaven into chaos, but also all three realms as The Jade Emporer is meant to keep balance between the realms, and if Wukong made one mistake without prop training could’ve had catastrophic destruction on both Earth and the underworld, possibly even leading to the end of humanity if taken too far.

….. so yes, it was a very big crime.

A lot of modern media does take Wukong's rivalry with Erlang to be more antagonist depending on the film or show but more often than not they are to be seen as foils, two sides of the same coin that have gone down different paths. I see a lot of media as well Showing this foil of how Erlang and Wukong see themselves other, and how they are, both limited by society and their own desires to either follow their choices to their own destruction or learning how to change and adapt to their surroundings. Wukong is the one to try to overthrow heaven to fit what he deeps is 'right' through might. And Erlang rather join heaven and choose to change what he deems is 'right' while still within the laws. They are both outcasts (Wukong a yaoguai, and Erlang a product of an illegal union), both fought the Jade Emporer (Wukong for the sake of his status, and Erlang for the sake of saving his family), and both either being punished for their crimes or joining heaven, but only on THEIR terms. Erlang only joined heaven after his mother was saved and Wukong only joined heaven when he reached enlightenment and is no longer under the control of anyone in Eastern Heaven. They ended up in the same place but also refused to give up their personal freedoms as well.

They have similar pasts that make them such good foils. Both of them rebelled against heaven at first but while when Wukong won his first rebellion, rather than being punished he was awarded the position of Great Sage, and got what he wanted. But even then he found that it wasn't enough and ruined the peach banquet, and led to an even bigger fight where he rebelled again. And this time Erlang was his opponent. When Erlang first fought heaven he also won and moved to heaven with his sister San Shengmu and they both agreed to stay in heaven. He was never questioned again and he didn't rebel after being forgiven for his first attack rather making a place for himself in heaven and never being walked over for the circumstances of his birth.

Erlang is actually still considered quite the rebel, even within the heavenly courts as you noticed JE how sent an entire crate of gold just to convince Erlang to fight Wukong. Erlang didn’t fight Wukong because he was ordered or even because of the gold, rather, because he thought what Wukong was going was too far. He might not have joined in the first fight where Nezha and Li Jing were to fight Wukong because he thought Wukong could’ve been justified in his anger, just as he fought Heaven once. But after the eating of the immortal Peaches, immortal wine, and immortal pills, and also abandoning his post and trying to overthrow heaven so he can take does Erlang make a conscious choice to join the fight. But even then the JE had to ask him with the prompting of Guanyin.

From there, two men of similar backgrounds are slighted by heaven, but one chooses to continue to fight and never be satisfied until he is in charge of all of heaven, while the other accepts his position and stays and rather lives by his own freedoms and sense of justice. And tell me, Lotus Lantern could be a deep dive into how Erlang became the same forces that he was fighting against in the first place and how he never properly processed his own trauma of heaven killing his family and rather him fighting himself when he fights Liu Chenxiang. He’s a very interesting character and that’s why people really enjoy putting him alongside Wukong as they both have generally good intentions, being considered strong family men, but somewhere along the way, they still lose who they are and in the end, hurt their family due to their actions and short-sightedness. Wukong puts his monkey in the crossfire due to his own crimes and Erlang arrests his sister despite him being a product of the very same crime she has committed, almost condemning his own existence.

These two are such great foil characters, they are so similar and they are so complex in both their good intentions but also how they remain so human and reliable despite being gods.

#anon ask #anonymous #anon #jttw #journey to the west #sun wukong #xiyouji #lmk #lego monkie kid #lego monkie king #monkie kid #yang jian #ask #erlang shen

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bowieandqueen11 · 2 years

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Dream Being Protective Would Include...

Request: I need protective Dream hcs 🥰🥰

Oooh here you go my lovely!

If you enjoy, please make my day and comment or reblog!!!

(I do not own the Sandman or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @katronautt.)

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°

I think I genuinely go more feral each time I write these first sentences little by little but it’s worth it lmao. I’ve genuinely never seen a more woeful person with your uwu eyes skulking about like a melodramatic paper bag being whipped by the wind you king of having no brain cells I’ve never wanted to bonk someone so badly he really is the moment. Sometimes when I feel sad I just walk around like Dream does walk walk fashion baby he owns the catwalk, and I immediately feel better lmao.

Dream’s lost a lot during his existence, and he knows how it feels to be so alone and tormented constantly by the world around him, so keeping you protected from the dangers of all the realms is of the upmost importance to him. If you’re not safe, or if there’s even a hint that you’re not alright, Dream would tear every world apart, piece by piece, and scatter their ashes through the cosmos if it meant protecting you.

No joke, Dream’s first instinct when the two of you run into trouble is to hide you away so he knows you’re safe. The verdant rolling orchards that he takes you to in the hopes to woo you further, with thick marble clouds that seem to shoot out honey gold sun rays like halos, can sometimes become unstable after the whole mess with Rose Walker and the Vortex. So, Dream being Dream of course, he doesn’t completely... well, he doesn’t completely understand human customs, let’s just say. He just kind of scoops you up like you’re a feather on the breeze and wraps you up in his coat until the two of you become a little compact unit of burrito lmao. Bless him, the scowl on his face doesn’t give any hint to how tight the vice grip of his arms around your stomach trembles each time the grass beneath your feet shakes. The frumple of his concerned eyebrows as he watches the sky fracture like a shooting spiderweb straight down the middle is balanced by the way his legs tighten around yours, until you’re tucked inside his thighs. You’re not complaining though: his chest is toasty and haven-like, even if your cheek is smushed up against it like an aghast hamster.

Then, there are the more stressful (albeit humorous) times when he becomes super hypervigilant and solicitous when you’re around his family. He’s not a naturally touchy-feely PDA filled person out in public; Dream has to stay restrained to keep all the feelings and hopes and beacons of light of the dreaming within him. If even a fraction of the love that cries within him for you slips through his mask unrestrained, it would overwhelm you so greatly it would be an earth-burning devastation borne from the purest kindle. That doesn’t stop him from staying by your side during the family get togethers you end up always having to drag him along to. If he sees Desire’s slippery little snake fingers slithering their way towards you, even for a millisecond, he grows and gnarls and warps until he’s an ink splodged shadow looming up the wall. He becomes a cataclysmic penumbra that slowly begins to swallow everything in its wake; it takes Despair nodding at their twin for Desire to finally wallow off and sit by their sister with an unbothered shrug, but the thudding pang in their heart can’t mask their understanding of why humans are so afraid of nightmares.

As soon as they’re gone, Dream relents a little and comes stalking behind you, tethered tightly to your back like a sulking scarecrow surrounded by devouring crows. He glares at everyone with that lemon sucking sour face of his, until you eventually manage to get him to calm down and retreat back into himself by twisting round to face him. Even he can’t help the blank, trusting look of awe that slips through when you carefully cup his cheeks and bring him down to tentatively kiss your lips - but the smile that twitches against them definitely is purposeful.

It doesn’t last very long though: when Death comes over aawing and genuinely looking delighted, sweetly singing about how Y/n and Dream are ‘k-is-s-i-n-g’, he’s straight back to moping and dragging you back home lmao.

If any of his escaped nightmares even dare to come after you, Dream could send them straight down to the depths of Hell with only an icy glare. He’s by your side straight away, appearing in the corner of your eye as you blink and blowing the nightmare straight back into sand before you even have time to summon him. When you get back to the Dreaming, he will. not. leave. you. alone. Even though you both know that you’re perfectly capable of handling yourself, he still has this aching, fiery anchored gap in the pit of his heart: the loss of his son and the severance and betrayals from his family have bitten and torn chunks from him, even though he’ll never admit it willingly. So, he does what he can - not to be ‘clingy’, in his eyes, but just precautious (which equals to him being clingy as frick.) You actually cannot step out of a room in the castle without Dream just hovering in the corner of the next like a bloody phantom. You step out to talk to Lucienne and peruse some of the latest journals in the library? Dream suddenly floats around the tucked away bookshelf like an emo ghost and nearly scares the crap out of you. He doesn’t say anything, but just settles next to you and bumps his shoulders against yours in a way that screams out: I love you, I love you I love you I love you and I can’t leave your side. It would ruin me. Thankfully you’ve learnt how to read the small and seemingly insignificant signs he gives by now, so you say nothing as he peers down at the dusty volumes along with you. You don’t even make a note: not a sound, too wary of scaring him away from this easiness as he cups his hands onto yours in a comfortable affinity. His breath shakes as he gapes down at the way your fingers slot perfectly underneath his own, a mixture of awe and curiosity in his eyes. As if he’s feeling you. Studying you. Absorbing you. Trying to understand how something like you could exist without being one of his own creations. Because if he dared his hand to try and mould perfection, it would equal you in every way.

Or when you sit up in the turrets to have a nice nap during the long stretch of the afternoons, since it is the Dreaming after all! When you blink awake, you find that Dream has settled himself into your side, tucked up all blissful and pensive as he peeks out from the cape he’s wrapped around the two of you like a turtle. The stars have begun to peek out, brightening the horizon like a sprinkling of shadowy blues and pearls of gold as he ties his hip against yours. To your surprise, Dream gazed up at the skies that reflect the iridescent infinity within his own; he begins to hum softly, very out of tune (but he’s still trying) as he traces all the universes and constellations that he’s traversed. If you must sleep, he wants you to know you’re not physically alone, and to make sure you have the sweetest dreams to boot.

The poor boi bless him one time in the human world you pinged a few too many crumbs at pigeons (his favourite activity lol). They began to swarm around you like a storm of beaks and beating wings, and Dream became so afraid they were like sent by Lucifer to swoop you away from him in retaliation for his earlier visit. He started pushing you behind his back and sternly telling the birds off, chiding them with warnings, which earned him a few grumbles and raised eyebrows from the London passerby.

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intermundia · 4 months

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I think Jude Watson’s (almost wrote jude law ansdjkgmgm lol) novels have informed fanon for obi-wan’s youth so that he’s very angsty, has a thirst to prove himself / to prove he’s worthy of his place in the jedi order etc etc.

What do you think his canon youth was like? Because in canon he was chosen very young as a padawan right?

What youth do you think fits him best? How would write his youth if you could?

yeah a lot of the jedi apprentice books can really be explained within the context of the genre and target audience, and reflects more how YA stories with child heroes need negligent guardians in order to go on wildly dangerous adventures of their own. it also distorts the personality of obi-wan to fit inside that context and increase his relatable and vulnerable traits for insecure kids. i think even the novel padawan by white maintains this distortion, though it is more subtle.

how would i write it? i'd extrapolate from the phantom menace where obi-wan is said explicitly to focus on his anxieties (still learning to balance living in the present with planning the future) and shown to be eager for approval from the council. i would write him as very bright and earnest in his desire to do good and become a good jedi knight. he is not alienated from the order or at risk of being cast aside, he has the security of knowing his place among his family is not in danger of rejection. he wants to live up to the order.

basically, i think his sense of duty comes not out of fear, but out of love. that's the heart of him. he loves the order and loves the force, and he always has. he felts at home in the temple, had friends and went on adventures, confident enough in being safe that he felt comfortable to break rules. he trusted his guardians and his guardians took care of him. they were his family as much as they were his role models for a good life.

extrapolating back from his elder personality means drawing back a curtain of maturity and equanimity to a more raw and emotional child, less wise and more dramatic. i can see him being mischievous and always looking for adventure, bright, dramatic, and creative. i think there's a reason yoda was quite fond of him. i suspect he rebelled against qui-gon's rule breaking by becoming overly rule following for a period in his teens, but it was not in his nature since birth to be like that.

i'd drain off some of the YA melodrama and make him more a part of the order that raised him, connected and secure enough to be a bit rebellious and impetuous. he wanted to be a great knight, and trained hard and practiced hard to be the best he could be, but not out of insecurity that he's not good enough, as much as out of conviction he could do good and well. his friction with qui-gon arose from him trying to figure out how to think for himself, and know when rules are to be followed and when they are to be broken, not from qui-gon's negligence. there'd just be less angst in general, i think haha.

#sorry there's an essay on obi-wan lmao #obi-wan kenobi #the key is nuance and jedi positivity lol #sw

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alagaesia-headcanons · 7 months

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I'll never get enough of the AUs where Murtagh in some way, at some point ends up in Carvahall instead of Uru'baen. There are so many potential variations of how he gets there and who he stays with and even the little differences have some really fun effects. I'm especially intrigued by the idea of Murtagh growing up there while still clearly remembering Morzan and his dragon and where he came from. I think it makes for an interesting counterpoint to canon where Murtagh can't escape his past and his father's legacy because that's what everyone sees in him. Instead, in Carvahall, his past becomes such a dangerous taboo that it can't even be acknowledged, much less focused on. Rather than his past restricting him in its grasp, it keeps sliding out of his own grasp, defying all his efforts to understand what it means for him and what everyone else might feel about it. Black and blue eyes and gleaming red scales haunt his dreams, but he has to swallow those memories down every time.

Assuming Murtagh grows up with Garrow and Marian, when he first arrives with all his fear, he's determined to never breath a word about any of that. But he gets older and starts to second guess that resolve- Eragon aches to know who his father is and Murtagh hates lying to him. He deserves to eventually know the truth (what Murtagh thinks is true, that is), even if it's painful. And it gnaws at Murtagh's own heart to wonder if his family would accept him if they knew, or if the only thing perpetuating his acceptance is their ignorance. At night, he tosses and turns wondering if he's turning out just like his father, a question he can never answer because he has no reference of Morzan beyond his own dim, scattered memories.

One of my favorite AUs like this that exist inside my brain follows that track and actually stays very close to canon. Murtagh grows up alongside Eragon, and plans to tell him about his past when he turns 16, but before that, the Ra'zac arrive and he's tortured as well as Garrow. He pulls through only to discover Eragon vanished with Brom and he goes to track them down, eventually saving them when they're the ones at the Ra'zac's mercy. Then when he's kidnapped and enslaved, there's so much more heartbreak and guilt because he's pitted against everyone he grew up with and cares for. And maybe Brom gets to live so there can be a reckoning when Murtagh does tell Eragon what he believes about their parentage, following him as he struggles for the courage to face his son and tries to find any way to help his step son, before it's all too late.

For something that goes quite differently, I've been thinking through an AU where both Selena and Morzan live. Selena fakes Murtagh's death to disguise her stealing him away and she and Brom raise him and Eragon in Carvahall. They love and protect them fiercely and the boys grow up safe and happy, but whenever Murtagh tries to ask about the things that happened before, they swiftly shut him down and dissuade him from ever mentioning it out of their own fear of the past. It leaves him feeling out of place and fragmentary. And that comes at a cost when Morzan appears, under orders to search for the egg. Murtagh has to hurriedly figure out what he was never able to, now with so much danger hanging in the balance, because no matter how Morzan could want to treat him, that might not matter against the king's orders. And Selena and Brom have to confront their own snarled relationships with Morzan that were never truly laid to rest. (It also caters to my desire to jerry rig the three of them into a very messy and emotionally charged polycule.)

In that one, I build something more redeemable into Morzan's character (soon I definitely plan to elaborate on why I find that a fascinating angle to take with him). I don't know if anyone would want it, but I wrote a drabble for that AU when Murtagh first sees Morzan again, and I could brush it up and post it. [EDIT: here's the fic] I just love the idea of small town farm boy Murtagh who's peaceful and amiable and also just a little bit off. Like maybe sending the guy who dreams each night about blood red swords and dragon's snapping fangs to go plow fields won't last forever.

#lemme know if you want that drabble i guess #eragon #inheritance cycle #murtagh #morzan #and others #im just rambling today #a lot of similar aus have murtagh become a rider also on the vardens side #which is fun #but i like the idea of him still being dragged into the empire and the far different emotional strife it would cause #or not having thorn at all during that time and having to navigate himself by himself

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cosmickiszka · 1 year

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Bubbles.

Josh Kiszka x Reader

WARNING: mention of nudity, alcohol ..

Heavily inspired by “Morning Song” written and sung by The Lumineers. Give it a listen while you read. ☀️

A/N: Hello! Happy Valentine’s Day! Consider this a gift from me to you. :) I apologize if the spacing is a little aggravating, I’m still learning to use this app. Also, this fic is the first I’ve ever posted to a public platform so I ask you to *please* be nice! Hope you enjoy! 💟

You take a deep breath, welcoming the cool air of the night to invade your lungs. Exhaling, it being momentarily preserved in a visible puff that lingers not far from your lips, just to fall and disappear behind you as your feet carry you up the familiar front steps and to the dark wooden door.

Fumbling with the items in your hands, you balance your belongings into one of your palms and use your empty one to scope the space of your pockets, searching for your keys. Amongst the empty candy wrappers and crumbled receipts from earlier on in the day, you come across the ridged metal buried underneath them. Smiling to yourself, you bring it out and up to the slot in which it fit perfectly, turning it to the side and pushing it in.

The house is dark as you step inside. Your shoulder presses up against the wall beside the entrance and flips the light switch like you’d done nights prior to this, using your heel to shut the door behind you. Almost immediately your eyes scan the expanse of the living room, brow raised as your soul tries to detect the difference in the atmosphere. Your mind can feel it, your heart knows it, but your vision is unable to find it.

Setting your things down on the nearby coffee table, removing your shoes, you continue to look around before deciding to take the next step — quite literally, walking away from the hardness of the wooden flooring to the transition of plush carpet. The closer you get to the flight of stairs, the more visible the red spots become.. easier it is to figure out what they belong to. There’s a mixture of white and red rose petals leading a messily beautiful trail upwards. Shaking your head, your own personal shade of red dusts your cheeks.

Of course, you would’ve been foolish had you considered him to not do anything today. After all, it was Valentine’s Day. The holiday of love, and who to love harder than your boyfriend, Josh? Your boyfriend, Josh, the man you had spent the majority of your life with rather than without. From the day you moved next door into the warmth of the brick house that roomed closeby to the one his family occupied, you were inseparable.

Since the day your wide eyes full of youthful light met his cheery browns, the second you gathered the courage to approach and ask if he’d like to be friends. From play dates that turned into high school “will yous?” which varied from after school study hangouts to seeking out newly released movies in the theater.

Chaste kisses to the cheek to him being your first real one, how you cherished the electric feeling you felt when his lips planted yours for that first time. It was after a showing of The Notebook, in which you shed heavy tears that he wiped away from your face.

He was so gentle in the way he cared for you. Hardly pressing his thumbs to your cheeks as he collected the large salty drops that ran down your features. It was at that moment that he looked at you for longer than usual and before you knew it, you were having your first kiss with the boy you had been in love with since elementary.

As the sweet moment flooded your mind and made you feel light, like a feather drifting through the wind, you ascended the stairs and found yourself on the second floor of the house you bought together. It took a lot of convincing from your part to get Josh to finally commit to purchasing the piece of property, yourself tired of constantly moving and renting places, desiring a place to finally refer to as home.

Even though that was anywhere you traveled with Josh, you had bigger plans for the future; ones that included building a family, and you wanted to make sure you had a permanent spot to ensure where that could happen, where it could grow.

After searching and scheduling multiple appointments in different areas, you finally found the one and you both agreed without words. The moment you stepped past the door, you exchanged all knowing looks and locked arms, following the realtor as they showed you the rest of the place.. despite you two already being sold.

Now, after almost a whole year, the house was no longer empty and instead, filled with knick knacks from all over the world—per tours and your own personal travel—and other miscellaneous items that showed off your differing personalities. You made it a space that felt welcoming, that you looked forward to returning to.

The lighting upstairs was dimmed to a comforting level, dark enough to relax but bright enough to where you could make out where you were going. Soft music pulled you into your shared bedroom, the smooth voice of Nat King Cole deepening the lovesick trance flooding your mental state.

Behind the instrumental, you could hear him humming along to the song, singing the words like he hadn’t heard you come in.. which, it seemed like he did not from the way he remained kneeled by the tub. His extended fingers swiped under the faucet to check the temperature of the running water, assuming it was warm enough from the content facial expression he wore on his face. Not wanting to startle him but transfixed on the scene, you stayed by the doorframe of the bathroom, leaning against it with your arms loosely crossed over your chest.

“Ever plan on making yourself known, mama?”

Josh spoke up first yet didn’t turn his focus away from the tub he was dressing, only standing up to reach the bubbles that were on the metal shelving below the shower head. He popped the cork off the glass bottle and poured the liquid towards the stream, bubbles forming on the top of the setting water soon after.

“I don’t think so. I’m actually pretty fine with just staying silent and watching you like this.. so domestic. Cute. You make me feel loved without having to speak any words.”

Taking a few steps forward, you were finally in the bathroom with him, closer as you’d like to be but still a little ways from him. Near the sink, you hoisted yourself up onto the marble counter, careful to avoid the candles he had set up so nicely around the otherwise clear space.

Sitting from this new perspective, you could take in even more of the details he had clearly put a lot of thought towards. Tealight candles were placed along the sides of the tub, adjacent to where the faucet was, two long glasses that were not yet filled with the still closed bottle of wine that sat by the bottom of the tub. He had bought a heart shaped box of chocolate too, just to stay somewhat traditional.

“I couldn’t not do something for you, you know. This was bound to happen whether we agreed or not. I need to take every opportunity there is to show you what you mean to me.. to spoil you, to simply love you.”

While he spoke, the track switched over to another soft melody without lyrics. Josh finally took that moment to fully stand up and turn around to face you. His rosy cheeks were full as he smiled at you and his eyes gleamed without the effect of upper lights, it was all from the inside. It was all sparkle from the love he felt for you. God, did he love you. You consumed his every waking thought and without you, he wouldn’t be living—would not feel alive—he would not exist. Your love, what love he had for you fueled him more than anything else. That was his oxygen.

“I love you, Joshua.”

Tears brimmed your eyes, threatening to fall from the overwhelming emotion that now possessed the room. You were in love with him. What you had with him was only pictured in love stories, what you felt for him seemed almost impossible to reach had it been with anyone other than him. This was unique, a one of a kind type of thing.

“Oh, sunshine. C’mere.”

Like a magnet, you ended up pressed against his chest, his muscular arms wrapped securely around your frame. His soft lips tenderly kissed over your flushed face as you cried. Josh took care of you like he always did, in the best way he could, as much as possible. Pulling back from you, his large hands laid over the expanse of your back, still keeping you close.

“Feel better? Wanna join me for a bath, baby?”

You managed a nod through your pitiful sniffles. In that moment, you felt the level of importance he held you to and in that same second, you also feared this love. This overpowering love that you always thought could be taken away from you before you got the chance to grip onto it. Your mind was a maze of possibilities that weren’t far fetched but as they came to the surface, Josh was there to pull you away from them. He was there to reassure you they’d never come true, that he would stick by you through the thick and thin.. which he proved time and time again. You weren’t the easiest to love but he made it feel otherwise.

“I’ll help you get out of these clothes, okay? Just want you to relax tonight, spend a little time with me. Does that sound nice?”

He leaned in and kissed the very tip of your nose, his eyelashes fluttering against yours. Another way he showed his affection, with sneaky butterfly kisses. You giggled and he smiled wider, realizing his attempt to get you to crack had worked in his favor. Josh made your personal space his own as he placed more kisses away from your nose and down your flushed cheek, trailing to your chin then back up to the side of your face. All while shedding you from your day clothes; working to pull off your—his jacket, letting it fall to the floor. Kissing over to your ear, he earned light laughter out of you, his fingers tucked under the hem of your shirt.

“I’m going to marry you—gonna make you my bride. Then, we’re going to have as many kids as you want.. two, if I remember correctly. We’ll grow old together. I’ll kiss you until I take my final breath.”

Soft promises he spoke, his cheek now pressed to yours, fingers working with the clasp of your bra. An ever growing pile of fabric now existed on the tiles next to your feet.

“I’ll search for you in every lifetime after this one just to experience this kind of love again.”

Peppering kisses down your chin, the middle of your throat, over your collarbones, down your chest, tummy.. his hands placed on your hips, him kneeled on the ground, looking up at you with those full brown eyes. He kissed the button of your jeans before undoing it, pulling the zipper down, ridding you of your pants and undergarments. You stepped out of them and he rose, taking your hand in his, leading you over to the tub now filled plenty with the sweet aroma of lavender and bubbles. You looked back at him; he smiled.

“Don’t worry, I’m going to join you. Just let me get undressed too.. unless you want me clothed?”

Giggling, you shook your head.

“No, let me see you. You’re so beautiful. I need to see you.”

He nodded, watching you step into the bath and slowly descend into the water. Likewise to how he assisted you, Josh undressed himself and kicked his clothing to join yours.

“Oh! The candles. I can’t forget about those, they’ll make the experience even more enjoyable.”

Your arms rested on the side of the tub, folded on top of each other as you watched your living Greek god pace the floor of the bathroom and resurrect a dancing flame to each portion of wax. Vanilla joined lavender, a delightful mix of light scents filling the air. You sighed and closed your eyes, feeling Josh step into the water beside you. Bringing you into his embrace, your back laid against his chest, his chin resting on your shoulder.

Time passed slowly as you basked in the warmth emitting from the man behind you and the water you bathed in, not a single negative thought daring to cross your mind, no nerve threatening to ruin this experience. You were in Heaven and Josh, the angel sent to present you peace.

“Want some wine? S’white, bought it this morning just for you.”

He muttered into the crook of your neck, adjusting just enough to reach the bottle that was dunked in a bucket of ice beside the tub. Removing the twist cap, he let it fall past his fingers. Each glass was poured to about half, him presenting you with yours before fixing his own. When they were both ready, he gently clinked his to yours.

“To now.. and however long the cosmos allow us to stick together, my love.”

You craned your neck to look at him. Josh kissed your forehead. He took a sip of his wine. You looked down at yours. Bubbles formed at the top, popping as you tilted the glass, the liquid slipping past your lips.

Tart and sweet.

—

Bitter.

Staring down at your drink, ice bobbed up and down in the dark liquor. You don’t know what you ordered from the bar, just that you requested something strong enough to make the night go by quicker. Something to distract you from the feelings eating away at your heart and the thoughts clouding your mind.

From across the room, you could hear the faint sound of laughter. One was more prominent than the rest and instead of swimming towards it like you often used to do, you let it pull you under and drown you under the waves. Where it went wrong, you don’t know. You don’t even know if it went at all. Just that one night you were in love and the next.. the next, he hit the road and you were nothing but an afterthought. Another lover left in the dust with remnants of a one-sided romance.

You heard she was pretty. A friend of a friend. Her eyes were brighter than yours, teeth straighter. She had talent. He wanted more.

He wanted more and you gave him more, but it didn’t hold to the same standard as the music. The music was a priority. You were not.

At this point, you can’t remember if she was an actual person or if she was something you came up with to make yourself feel better in some sort of sick way. If you had a reason why he left, that would make it more bearable. You could understand it. You could understand if he met another and decided they were better in every way there is to be.

You took another swig of the dark liquor and let the empty class clank against the surface of the bar.

It was easier to play pretend than it was to face this reality that you were stuck in. A reality where you no longer had him. A reality where the universe suddenly decided that the time you had spent together was enough. You often thought about if it were easy for him. How easy it was for him. You couldn’t get away from his name in this city. You saw him when you tried to avoid the public by looking at your screen. He was here, there, everywhere that you sought. You ordered another drink. He’s laughing again. A tear runs down your cheek.

It’s a shame that it ends this way.

#josh kiszka x reader #josh kiszka #josh kiszka gvf #josh kiszka greta van fleet #jake kiszka #sam kiszka #greta van fleet #gvf #josh gvf #josh kiszka fluff #gvf fanfiction #greta van fleet fanfiction #greta van fanfic

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frostandflamesfanfic · 1 year

Text

Letters from Santa (Dad!Steve Harrington x Reader)

Letters from Santa (Rated G)

Pairing: Dad!Steve Harrington x Reader

Word Count: 1.6k+

Warnings: None!

Summary: For Day 9 of Stevemas; A continuation of Letters to Santa, little Amelia can't wait to get her letter back from Santa Claus to prove her point to a classmate. What happens when one day, just a few days before Christmas, your husband discovers a very special delivery from the man in red himself.

“Did it come?” Amelia asked as you opened the door to your car and helped her into her carseat.

It’s a question that she has been asking you for weeks now. Ever since Steve promised that if she was really nice to Santa in her letter, she would hear back. Now this was all she was worried about when you came to pick her up from preschool after your shift.

Amy pouted, just as she’d done every time she asked and you hesitated to answer her.

It always broke her heart when you had to tell her no. She had so much hope instilled in her by her father. From the minute she was lifted up to release the envelope into the special red and green mailbox (which just so happened to be a direct line to Santa that appeared every time the girls were ready to contact him), she was so excited to go back to school with her response. To find out it hadn’t come yet completely crushed her.

A sigh escaped your lips, just as it did every time you watched her facial expression morph into one of pleading. Except this time, it was accompanied by a cheeky smirk you hoped your twin daughters wouldn’t detect as you strapped Em in her carseat. “I’m sorry, bean,” you apologized before slipping into the driver’s seat. “Nothing in the mailbox yet.”

You watched your daughter’s arms slump from your view of the rearview mirror. Emery reached over to gently pat her sister’s arm. “Itsokay, Amy,” she soothed. “Soon! Like Daddy said.”

“Exactly,” you agreed, another small smile toyed upon your lips as you began to make your way back home. “Soon!”

Little did she know how soon it would be…

⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫

“Are those my girls?” Steve’s voice called from the kitchen when he heard the sound of the front door opening up.

“DADDY!” two familiar voices cried out.

He wiped his hands on a dish towel and slung it over his shoulder before he poked his head into the hallway. A smile stretched its way across his face as he noticed you attempting to balance two small backpacks in one hand, one light-haired toddler on your hip, and another dark-haired toddler vice-gripped to your right leg.

It was a sight Steve would never tire of seeing every single day of his life until the day he died: you with his family– your shared family that you were growing together. He knew he found the right person when he told you his dream and you didn’t laugh. You didn’t mock him, challenge it, or make him feel as though it was overall stupid. Instead, you thought it was admirable to want to have a family to love and protect after not truly having one for so long.

While you had made him promise that the two of you would grow your family slowly, given the time off needed and your current finances… God, he couldn’t wait for the day you could carry another little bundle of joy through that front door. Maybe even two.

“Somebody was asking about the mail again,” your voice broke through his thoughts, dragging Steve back to the present. He watched as you placed Amy down on the hardwood floor and dropped their backpacks by the door. A stray piece of hair fell into your eyes and Steve had trouble battling the desire to walk over to put it back in place.

The aforementioned child padded her way over toward him, looking up at him with wide eyes. “Did it come yet, Daddy?” Amy pressed.

“What?” Steve raised his hands and let them flop dramatically against his thighs. “No ‘hi daddy?’ or ‘I love you, daddy, how was your day?’?!”

Em took that as a sign to detach herself from your leg and connect with his own. “Hi Daddy!!”

Steve looked down with a fond smile, hand reaching down to ruffle her light brown copper curls. “Hi, squirt.” He diverted his attention back to the lighter haired girl beside him. “I thiiiink I can remember seeing something when I checked the mail this afternoon. Had an awful lot of stamps. Think it traveled a long way to get here.”

An expression of pure joy lit up the young girl’s face. “REALLY?”

“It’s for you and your sister,” Steve replied with a smile and a nod. “I put it on the kitchen table.”

He almost fell flat on his face with the amount of force Em used to run away from his leg.

You laughed as you wrapped your arms around his waist to steady him. “Whoa,” you said between giggles. “Easy there, tiger. Who would’ve thought a four-year-old could take you out faster than an angry Byers.”

“Oh, low blow.” Steve pressed a kiss to your cheek, then your lips. He then pulled you into a tighter hug, relishing in your form against his own. It was a feeling he could never tire of and he was glad to know he would never have to know what it would be like to live without it. “How was your day?”

“Long,” you mumbled against his chest. “Glad to be home.”

“I’m glad you’re home too.” Steve pressed a few more kisses against your hairline. With you here, he felt safe. With you, he was home.

“Whatcha making for dinner?”

You felt the vibrations of his laugh in his chest against your face. It filled you with a warmth better than any coffee or soup ever could. “Well I was trying to make some Italian, but I got a little interrupted by-”

“HE’S REAL!” Amy’s small voice came in from the kitchen. There was a smattering of footsteps that tore down the hall as the two girls came over to the two of you, the envelope waved in the air. “He’s really real, Daddy! Wote me a wetter like you said!!”

“ME TOO!” Em shouted, not to be outdone by her sister.

“Oh, yeah?” Steve asked, eyebrows raised with a smile, arms still wrapped around you. “I thought that return address looked familiar.”

Within seconds, two envelopes were thrust in his direction by some very tiny hands. “Can you read it, Daddy?”

A quiet groan escaped your lips for Steve’s ears only as you needed to detach yourself from his hold. He couldn’t help the grin on his face as he plucked the envelopes from their hands and began to ceremoniously pull the notes from their confinements. He cleared his throat and began to read:

Dearest Amelia and Emery, You can only imagine how thrilled I was to receive your letters this Christmas. Mrs. Claus and I are doing just fine up in the North Pole. Although, I do miss the cookies over there in Hawkins. I don’t suppose you have any more of those chocolate chip ones you left for me last year, do you? The reindeer were so disappointed when I only gave them the carrots (they were so good, I just couldn’t share!). It’s funny you should mention wanting a doll for Christmas this year. I think the elves might have something like that being cooked up in the workshop. About the puppy…I think I’ll have to see what I can do. I’m not sure if you know this, but for extra special requests like these, I need to check in with a few more of the elves. I think I just heard a clatter from the stables. Rudolph’s been getting a bit impatient now that we’re so close to Christmas. We just can’t wait to visit you in Hawkins again this year!! Don’t forget about those cookies and we’ll see you soon! Sincerely, Santa Claus

“Well, would you look at that,” Steve said with a low whistle once he finished reading. “What does that signature say, girls?”

“SANTA CLAWS,” both girls shouted in excitement.

Em bounced around the room, causing Steve to wonder just how many sugar cookies she had eaten at the preschool’s holiday party. Amy looked absolutely over the moon, eyes shining at the piece of paper held in her father’s hand as though it was the most precious jewel. She tugged gently on his pant leg, arm outstretched.

“Can I have it, Daddy?” she asked softly.

You tilted your head to rest against Steve’s shoulder. “What do we say, bean?”

“Please?”

Steve smiled and knelt down to hand the letter to her. “Here you go, squirt,” he said softly. “Told you he wouldn’t let you down.”

Amy hesitated for a moment before she threw her arms around his neck. The ends of her short hair tickled at his nose, but Steve didn’t move. He simply pressed a kiss to the top of her head and held her close. He could feel her beaming smile against his shoulder and knew his heart was going to burst from the sweetness at some point. “Fank you, Daddy,” she whispered.

“Anytime, sweetheart,” he said and he meant it.

On the day his two little miracles were born, Steve made a promise to himself and to them. Anytime his little girls needed him, he would be there. They needed help with a school bake sale? He’d stay up until four in the morning to make sure they had treats to sell. Someone breaks their heart? He’s there to break their bones with a bat.

Steve Harrington was never going to let his girls stop believing in the things that brought them joy, because he sure as hell will never stop believing in them.

-----------------------

Author's Note: We're almost there guys! Just three sleeps until Christmas. Honestly, I'm surprised I got this far. I won't lie to you all, there might be a bit of a delay on fics being posted, but the final three fics will be written and posted as soon as I'm able! I have two more days to write -- let's keep our fingers crossed these ideas will start to write themselves after a while. In the meantime, Dad!Steve is back and ready to protect his little girls. I honestly love this version of Steve and it still makes me smile to think about how we've all collectively decided he's a girl dad. Great job everyone!

If you liked this story and want to see more like it on my blog, make sure to leave a comment, tag a friend, and reblog this post. Likes are appreciated, but it's the other types of interactions that really help me out as a writer. It spreads the word about my works and lets me know what types of content you like to see, motivating me to keep writing/posting! If you want updates on Stevemas or the rest of my fandom-related ramblings, maybe consider giving my blog a follow! We're nearing another big milestone, so start sending me ideas for things you'd like to see for a celebration.

Until next time, my little sparks! <3

Taglist: @bakerstreethound, @theelmgrove

#steve harrington fanfic #steve stranger things #steve harrington imagine #steve x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington drabble #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #twelve days of stevemas #ficmas 2022 #dad!steve harrington #frostandflamesfanfic #joe keery #joe keery imagines

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tropes-and-tales-archives · 16 days

Text

More Precious Than Rubies: Part 7b

This is an alternate timeline story that has a Rafael Barba track and a Sonny Carisi track. The two paths split off in part 3.

WC: 4104

TW: Angst; fluff; family drama; smut (fingering; food-play, kinda). 18+ only.

AN: The prompt was "I love you for you. Don’t you dare think otherwise."

Over the next few weeks, Sonny came to realize that you had changed since you’d been together before. He still thought his original assessment was mostly correct, though – much of your change in character was nothing more than extreme fatigue.

After the night of your panic attack and opening up about your father, for example: Sonny had nodded off almost immediately after sex, but when he woke in the middle of the night, you weren’t in bed beside him. When he went looking for you, he found you hunched over at your kitchen table, reading through case files.

When he coaxed you back to bed, he felt you toss and turn beside him until you finally fell asleep.

And you woke up shortly after with a start and a gasp, like you’d been asleep only long enough to have a bad dream.

Sonny tried to help you as much as he could, relieve some of the pressure. It was a delicate balance to walk though. If he did too much, you felt guilty to be burdening him. If he did too little, as he had in the past, he knew you’d feel neglected.

The two of you struck a balance together. Your schedules meshed only half of the time, so you spent more time apart than Sonny would have liked. If he had it his way, he’d move you into his place and always have you with him. Instead, you took turns staying over at each other’s place (Sonny, in reality, only lived about five blocks from you). You each had your nights alone too, even though Sonny hated falling asleep without you. You tried to have a lunch or a coffee date during the week so that you could get caught up in a more leisurely way.

It was different than before. You were letting him see more of your life, more of your feelings than you ever had before. Of course, it was just as likely that you were too exhausted to bother putting on a brave face. Sonny felt…more protective of you.

He still saw glimpses of the old you, though. When he was going through his own tough time, nothing but mandatory double-shifts to help catch a serial predator, the old you turned up and took charge. You brought him lunch and dinner to the precinct. You picked up his dry-cleaning and even drove back to Manhattan late one night to pick him up when he was too tired to drive himself home.

When SVU finally caught the guy, he sent you a triumphant text. Your first reply congratulated him. Your second expressed a deep desire that said serial predator could afford his own counsel.

And your third text told him that you should celebrate, and that he should come over to your place the next evening.

-----

When he got to your apartment, he could smell the problem before he even got through your front door. You answered his knock with a hang-dog look, a t-shirt splattered with something, and a smog of odor behind you. Sonny sniffed carefully. Burnt garlic. Something fishy.

“Hey,” he said in his most neutral voice as he pressed a kiss to your furrowed forehead. “How are you?”

You answered with an exasperated sigh, and he followed you into your kitchen to survey the damage. There was a pan on the stove, still smoking gently against the exhaust fan. He held back the smile that threatened to cross his face – it looked like you had tried to make shrimp scampi, judging from the shrimp (still raw-looking in the pan) and the garlic (scorched black). He glanced over and saw a strainer of cooked linguine, boiled to a paste-like consistency.

Then he glanced over at your face, and you looked so confused and distraught that he finally did laugh.

“I don’t know what went wrong,” you told him. “I followed the recipe exactly.”

“Which recipe?”

You unlocked your phone and handed it to him. He scanned the recipe.

“It was listed as ‘easy’ on the website, and there was only three steps to the entire recipe…” you said.

Sonny glanced back at the pan on the stove, and then he picked up a spoon and poked at its contents. “Did you buy fresh shrimp?” You nodded, and Sonny peered at the evidence closer. “Did you peel and devein them?”

“I took their shells off, yes,” you said, a little defensively.

“You know they sell these already peeled and deveined, right? You didn’t devein these…see? This black line here needs to be removed.”

You leaned over to look at where he was pointing, and Sonny tried to ignore how it felt to have you standing so close to him, your breasts pressing against his arm as you listened to him break down the scene of the crime. You scoffed when he pointed out the scorched garlic (too high heat), but then you gagged when he explained what deveining shrimp really entailed.

“That black line isn’t a vein,” he said, and you pulled a disgusted face and said you were never eating shrimp again.

“Points for effort, though,” he finished with a smile. “Let’s order in.”

“I really thought I could pull this one off.” You pouted and surveyed your kitchen disaster again. “I’m sorry, Sonny. I wanted to celebrate your big case.”

“It’s the thought that counts,” he replied with a smile, but you only continued pouting, your eyebrows knit together in consternation.

He couldn’t resist your lower lip stuck out, so he leaned down and kissed you, slow and lingering. When he broke away, you were grinning up at him a little sleepily.

“You have one good meal under your belt though,” he said. “You did amazing with our anniversary dinner, remember? You did that baked rigatoni…”

Your smile faded and you slid your eyes away from him. You tried to wriggle out of his grasp, but he tightened his arm around your waist and held you against him. He mentally kicked himself for bringing up that sad memory, but then you muttered the truth.

“I didn’t cook that, Sonny. I, uh…tried to. But it turned out terribly.” You glanced up and made eye contact with him, and you winced.

“But it was really good!”

You winced again. “Sonny, it was good because you thought I made it. It was from a chain Italian restaurant in Times Square. I couldn’t order something from an authentic place. You would have never bought that I could suddenly make my own ravioli or squid-ink linguine. So I got the baked rigatoni and dumped it in a casserole dish…” You trailed off, obviously ashamed.

Sonny laughed in disbelief. “The betrayal! And on our anniversary!”

“I wanted to impress you!” you exclaimed. “I was going to eventually tell you, but that evening didn’t go as planned anyway, and we broke up not too long after that.”

His smile fell a little at that memory. He also thought back to your time together before; you’d met his family once for a Sunday dinner, and his sisters Gina and Theresa had relentlessly teased you about the family recipes, and how one only earned them when they married into the family. You had laughed along with them, but Sonny hadn’t missed the subtle panic that washed over your face.

The Carisi family was centered around food – it was their love language and their national identity. Of course you would lie during your anniversary dinner. You probably wanted to prove yourself to him, and you had obviously panicked when you had failed.

He felt a wave a shame for teasing your appalling cooking abilities, so he pressed another gentle kiss to you.

“Let’s order in,” he repeated softly. “And tomorrow night, we’ll cook together. We’ll start easy and go from there.”

*****

It was Saturday. Sonny got called into work in the morning, but early in the evening, he turned up at your apartment again, laden down with grocery bags and his now-familiar overnight bag. The two of you stayed over at each other’s places, but you hadn’t broached the topic of leaving essentials at the other’s place quite yet.

You let him in, enjoying the sight of him, even a bit rumpled from a day at work. He was wearing a three-piece suit. You thought you’d send ADA Barba a thank you note, since the man had obviously influenced Sonny’s wardrobe for the better. You watched Sonny shed his coat and vest and tie, and you watched him roll up his sleeves. You thought maybe you could skip the culinary lesson and just drag him into your bedroom.

Instead, you bit back your nascent desire for him and followed him into the kitchen.

You wanted to learn how to cook. No one in your family did – you were essentially raised by a single mother, with three older siblings. Your mom worked three part-time jobs, and any odd job she could find in between, so meals were relegated to grazing on whatever you could find: frozen pizzas and Hamburger Helper during flush periods, peanut butter sandwiches during lean times. You couldn’t remember a single meal where everyone sat together and ate, unless you counted holiday meals at your aunt’s house. Those usually descended into family squabbles, and the turkey was always bone dry anyway.

Sonny’s family was different. They ate every meal together when he was growing up, thrown together by a stay-at-home mother who poured her love into every homemade sauce and pasta and dessert. You were never more uncomfortably aware of your differences in upbringings as you had been during that Carisi meal. And while you didn’t prescribe to traditional gender roles, you also wanted to be able to pull your weight if things with Sonny progressed.

You watched as he laid out the groceries, and then you watched as he rifled through your cabinets until he found all the pots and pans he wanted. Then he turned to you.

He looked you over, and it seemed that he had the same thought you originally had when he first came into your apartment. You were in a simple cotton dress, barefoot, hair pulled back into a low ponytail. Nothing special, but the look in his blue eyes was practically predatory. But he pushed it aside, apparently, because he reached into one of the bags and handed you a piece of folded cloth.

You shook it out and then laughed – it was a ridiculously girly apron, frilled and ruffled. There were two deep pockets on it, though, so you could see the utility beyond the style.

“You wear as much food as you attempt to cook,” he said simply, and you rolled your eyes but put it on. You tied the back and then gave a little spin on your bare toes, savoring the look that crossed his face when you did.

“I think you just have a 1950’s housewife kink,” you teased.

“Maybe,” he teased back, and he wrapped an arm around your waist to pull you against him. “Maybe I expect to be greeted at the door every evening with a drink and a smoke and dinner on the table.”

“Hmm.” You stood on your tip-toes to kiss him lightly, and you pulled away when he tried to deepen the kiss. “I hope you enjoy Spam loaf and Jello salads then.”

Sonny grinned down at you. “You think you could actually manage a Spam loaf?”

You pretended to be offended. “You think you could manage sleeping alone in a twin bed?”

“Never.” He kissed you again, then spun you around so that you were facing the kitchen counter, all business. “Tonight, we’re making a simple salad and Bucatini Cacio e Pepe.” You grinned at his Staten Island-accented Italian.

He supervised while you started the salad, watching you rinse the lettuce and then start to cut the tomatoes. You kept trying to talk to him – about his day, about your upcoming cases – but he kept making frustrated growls at you.

“I think I see your problem,” he finally huffed. “You aren’t giving the meal your full attention.”

“I’m just talking to you.”

“Yeah, but when you’re talking, you’re going off-task.” He pointed at the last few tomatoes you had cut up. “See? You didn’t cut the stem out of these. And you keep turning to face me while you’re cutting….you’re gonna hurt yourself.”

He put his hands back on your hips and turned you back to face the counter. “Pay attention to what you’re doing,” he said sternly. Stern-Sonny was a rare occurrence, and you felt your desire reemerge.

“Can’t go off-task,” you said to the tomatoes, and you assumed a thick Staten Island accent. “Gotta cut you up just right.”

You felt rather than heard Sonny’s exhalation - of frustration? Or laughter? Maybe both. It was hot against your neck, and you felt him put his mouth close to your ear.

“You think you’re funny?” He put his hands back on your hips, and he pressed the length of his body against you until you were trapped between him and the counter.

“Can’t talk right now,” you said, your voice steady. “Gotta cut these tomatoes. Can’t bring shame upon my Sicilian ancestors.”

Another huff, this time of laughter. “My family’s from Lombardy and Calabria,” and the way he growled it made your desire for him grow even more.

“Lombardy?” you teased, already knowing how he was going to react. “So you’re practically Austrian then. Shouldn’t we be making a schnitzel?”

You had thought he’d spin you around to face him – Sonny hated when you reminded him that shifting country lines and wars meant that “Italy” was something of a nebulous concept, as were most European countries. He didn’t though: instead, he pressed himself more firmly against you, enough that you could feel his growing desire for you.

“Pay attention to what you’re doing,” he growled in your ear. You bit your lip as he rolled his hips against you, but you finished chopping the tomatoes, sans stems.

“That’s good,” he continued. “Now peel and slice the cucumber.”

You kept your hands steady as you started to peel the cucumber, but Sonny shifted one hand from your hip and snaked it around your front. His fingertips found the hems of your skirt and apron and slipped underneath. When his hand drifted up your thigh and found its target, you paused in your task and let out a shuddering breath.

“Keep working,” he husked in your ear.

“You’re not playing fair,” you whined back.

Another huff of laughter. “I’m teaching you to focus,” he said, and he stroked a finger lightly over the junction between your legs. “It’s like how runners train at high altitudes so that they can run faster at sea level.”

“Really, Sonny…”

“And you’re so wet, doll, so your mind was somewhere else than on the cutting board in front of you.” Then he pressed his mouth against the back of your neck and mumbled a string of Italian, probably something filthy, but punishment for insinuating that he wasn’t one hundred percent Italian stock.

He kept giving your instructions – cut the cucumber, boil and salt the water – and you followed them, stubbornly trying to ignore what his hand was doing to you. Two could play that game.

While the water boiled, Sonny upped the ante and slipped his finger under the hem of your panties, stroking you more firmly. You wanted to give in, but he informed you that the pasta needed to go into the water, so you clenched your jaw and dumped the noodles.

“Those need about four minutes,” Sonny told you with another firm roll of his hips. “Anything we can do to kill four minutes?”

He wasn’t playing fair at all, so you sassed him. “We could have sex. Four minutes – that’d leave an easy three minutes for cuddling afterwards.”

Sonny made an injured sound behind you, and the next thing you knew, he was scooping you up in his arms and carrying you to the bedroom, and when the pasta ended up mushy and overcooked from boiling for over ten minutes, it wasn’t entirely your fault.

*****

As much as Sonny wanted to take you on a hundred perfect dates, there was something perfect about the evening: cooking together, sex, eating the meal together, more sex. And after the second round of sex, you were relaxed and more apt to talk about deeper issues. It allowed Sonny to get past that hard outer shell of yours.

Right now, you were both in your bed, naked and cozy under your faded quilt. Your head was resting on his bare chest, and you poked him in his side from time to time. It made him laugh, and hearing his laughter rumbling under your ear made you laugh too.

Sonny always started the conversation with shop-talk, to ease you into the waters. You were on a run with Major Case and Homicide defendants, so your tell-tale heels hadn’t been clicking in the bullpen of SVU lately.

“We miss you,” Sonny joked. “Amanda and I have a runny tally on how Barba reacts when he sees you’re the defendant’s counsel.”

You perked up a bit and turned to look at him. “Oh yeah? How does he react?”

“He’s got four basic things he does.” Sonny shifted his arm and counted off on his fingers for you. “He clenches his jaw hard enough that you can hear it pop. He huffs and snorts through his nose so that he sounds like a bull. He rubs the back of his neck really angrily. And he says ‘great’ in this sarcastic tone he has.”

You chuckled. “Which one does he do more?”

“Oh, he clenches his jaw more than anything. We have a pool on him needing a crown eventually for when he shatters a tooth.”

You smiled at him. “He the worst A.D.A. I have to work with, you know. He’s very frustrating, especially compared to Niles or other ones.”

“He’s the worst?”

“The worst, by which I mean the best. Every case I face off against Barba, I put in twice the work. He doesn’t half-ass it like some prosecutors do. He doesn’t pull cheap tricks, like leaning into race or gender or socioeconomic status.”

Sonny grinned at this. “I’m gonna tell him you said that.”

“Don’t you dare!” You poked him in the side, hard, making him laugh. “He’s my arch-nemesis!”

“Oh, your arch-nemesis,” Sonny wheezed as he tried to wriggle away from your ticklish fingers. “I’m gonna tell him that too.”

The two of you tussled, and Sonny let you win for a while, but he couldn’t resist flipping you on your back and holding your wrists down lightly as you vowed to show him no mercy once you got free. Sonny leaned down and kissed you – all over your face – until you laughed and promised him maybe a little mercy after all.

He released your hands and switched your earlier position: you were on your back, and he laid his head on your upper chest. He could hear your heart beating, slow and steady under his ear.

“It was a good evening,” you murmured, and he felt you reach out to finger-comb his hair. You tugged now and then against the remnants of his hair gel, and you scratched his scalp lightly when he winced at the tugging.

“It was,” he agreed.

“I’m sorry about messing up your celebration dinner last night though.”

“No worries. I liked cooking with you.” When you didn’t reply, he let the silence grow for a moment before continuing.

“Why does it matter so much to you, cooking for me?”

He heard you sigh above him, but he felt, under his cheek, your heart start to beat a little faster.

“I just want to show you that I can pull my weight,” you muttered. “You grew up in a house where every meal was homemade…” You trailed off, but your heart was thudding faster now.

Sonny may have missed a lot when you first dated, but he was more observant now. And you’d let him in more about your own past, and he realized that you compared your family and childhood to his own. Maybe it fed into your insecurities before; maybe you were still insecure about it. Maybe you were insecure about a future with him.

“Doll, are you comparing yourself to my mother?” he blurted out, and the questions fell out of him much like they did when he put a case together, so fast that you didn’t have a chance to answer them. “Are you trying to prove you can cook like her?”

Then, the question at the heart of the matter: “Are you worried that…there wouldn’t be a, uh, future between us…if you can’t cook?” A ridiculous question when said out loud, but it was the right one to ask.

“Maybe,” was all you replied.

“Seriously?” He shifted so that he was gazing down at you, and your face was tense in the way he knew meant you were worried.

“I mean…it’s not just the cooking, Sonny. You grew up in this idyllic, perfect life, and my childhood was so far from that. I didn’t even know that breakfast was a real meal when I was a kid. It was off-brand Pop-tarts on the go and eaten on the bus. I never sat down to a breakfast until college. Then I met you, and your mom cooked breakfast for you every morning. Waffles and omelets. Pancakes with chocolate chip faces in them.”

“Okay…”

You took a deep breath and looked back at him. “It’s just that you had this amazing model of what a family looks like, and I can’t replicate that.” You shrugged and added, “so why would this ever go anywhere between us?”

Sonny took his own deep breath. It hurt his heart to hear that you didn’t think he’d marry you because of something as trivial as the ability to cook…but he knew it was deeper than that. You’d been to exactly one Carisi family dinner. You saw his childhood home, perfectly cleaned because company was coming over. You saw his mother’s best recipes laid out. You saw his family on their best behaviors for the benefits of Sonny’s new girlfriend.

He told you now all the things you didn’t see: the messy home, the nights his mother ordered pizza for dinner. The squabbles – the little fights over past grievances. The larger fights – like how his mother felt unappreciated by his father, how his father felt harried. The weird little cliques that sprang up: him and Bella against Gina and Theresa. Him defending Bella’s engagement to Tommy to everyone. Everyone getting on his case about joining the police force.

“We aren’t perfect,” he concluded. “Far from it. And my childhood wasn’t as wonderful as you think it was.”

The expression on your face was pure skepticism, so he leaned down and kissed you. He could tell you: about the spreadsheet on his laptop calculating the savings plan he had already laid out to buy you the perfect ring, how he already had the ring picked out, how he had an entire folder of ideas for how to propose. How he agonized about how long he should wait (inconclusive, after talking to both Bella and Amanda) versus how long he wanted to wait (not at all).

He didn’t tell you. Instead, he kissed you and hoped you felt how much he loved you, and how utterly certain he was that he wanted to marry you. Cooking was such a non-issue in his world. His parents’ marriage, now that he was a grown man himself, felt uncomfortably lopsided, and he didn’t want that with you. He wanted a real partnership.

Sonny broke the kiss, and the doubting look on your face was gone. He reached up to cup your face in his hand, and you leaned into the touch. He locked eyes with you, and he said, “I love you for you. Don’t you dare think otherwise.”

“But – “

“No,” he chided you gently. “This isn’t an argument. We aren’t lawyers right now. No ‘but.’ I love you exactly as you are.”

You snorted at this. “Even when I reach well into adulthood without knowing how to devein a shrimp and, more to the point, that deveining isn’t really removing veins?”

“Even then,” he agreed, and he surged forward to kiss you again, because you were already opening your mouth to argue with him, though he caught your smile right before he did.

#sonny carisi #sonny carisi imagine #sonny carisi x reader #law and order svu #law and order svu fanfiction #tropes and tales

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