#spring time of youth content is ending.. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

httpsserene · 6 months ago

Note

Hello hello! How are you?

I wanted to request a Yuki Tsunoda one-shot before you close your inbox.

I was thinking of a GN!Driver!Reader (if possible) and Yuki going out for a stroll after the Japanese GP in which the reader got P1. Yuki is showing them around, local places to dine and such... Seeing them be so interested in his ramblings he starts to realize some stuff and decides to act on it!

Please and thank you! Have a nice day! ☀️

why don't we go there — 𝐲𝐭. 𝟐𝟐 yuki tsunoda x gn!driver!reader (reader's race/ethnicity/appearance is not described but, they're bi-poc < 3) 2.7k words. requested! by @anicega 🤎 oneshot & smau. yuki pov. fluff. feelings realization. pre-relationship. explicit language. alcohol consumption. flirtation. author's never been to suzuka, i apologize for anything that's incorrect or inaccurate.

synopsis: yuki's private tours include exclusive features, just for you.

༊࿐ ⊹ ˚. serene returns with a yuki fic/smau she was hoping to post in celebration of him being promoted to RB...have this as consolation instead. belated happy holidays and happy new year, 2025 will be all you wish it to be x

title inspo from one direction's why don't we go there (miss u liam🕊️) they were my #3 artist of 2024 and i'm not ashamed to admit that. when i read this request for the first time i instantly thought of this song and it just had the vibe of realizing you're crushing on somebody.

in other news, my 3k followers celly will serve as my v-day special this year and will last the entire month of february (this is how u properly celebrate black history month) !!! so, trying to finish writing the last of my requests so i can focus on doing the 3k celly requests :) more fics and info coming soon but in the meantime, enjoy reading xxx

⌕ join taglist | feedback & requests | upcoming chapters | table of contents ↻

twitter • april 7th, 2024

Yuki watches your expression bloom with awe as you take in the endless sprawl of Sakura trees within Suzuka Flower Garden. Your hand grasps his forearm gently, tugging happily and exclaiming in delight as pink and white petals float through the sky. The flowers (while not as novel to him as they are to you; he’s seen many Sakura seasons growing up in Japan) make him feel nostalgic, memories of his youth—before F1, before karting—tingling somewhere at the back of his head. It feels like a lifetime ago.

Your mouth remains open in amazement until you end up sputtering around a mouthful of blossoms, and Yuki laughs.

“Take a picture of me, please?” Yuki accepts your phone, not complaining as you make him take hundreds of photos before you find two or three that you deem acceptable.

Yuki remains silent during your stroll underneath the trees. He allows you space to inhale the vanilla-like scent, to marvel at the image of graceful, falling petals. Every so often, the comfortable silence is interrupted by a passing fan sharing congratulations. They smile kindly while praising your first-place finish, but grin wildly while cheering for Yuki’s first home-race point.

“She sounded happier about your point than she did about my win,” you remarked, not offended or annoyed, but charmed.

Yuki denied the idea, but his pink cheeks undermined his credibility. The earlier silence is absent, but not missed as Yuki begins to explain the significance and traditions of cherry blossom season in Japan.

“The sakura is our national flower. It symbolizes Spring—the time of renewal, life and death, beauty and violence, the fleeting nature of life. The blossoms only last for two weeks, which tells us to appreciate what we have,” Yuki relays, recalling what he was taught in elementary school verbatim.

“We have cherry blossom parties,” he grins at your envious gasp, “—called hanami. The translation is ‘watching blossoms.’ It can be just a walk like we’re doing now, but we also have picnics under the trees with family, friends, and even colleagues. There is also something called yozakura, which is doing the same thing but at night. My middle school held a hanami every year.”

You come to an abrupt start, turning to look at him with pleading eyes, “Let’s do a yozakura! Can’t we have dinner here? I want to see the trees at night—it must be beautiful! ”

Sympathetically, Yuki frowns, “We don’t have enough time to have dinner here if you still want to make it to the shrine before it closes.” His resolve weakens at the growing pouty downturn of your lips, “…I guess, we can have a snack here before leaving.”

He lets you drag him to the closest takoyaki cart, pleased to see the vendor’s patience as you order in choppy Japanese. While the food is being prepared, Yuki tasks you with finding the perfect tree to sit underneath while he stays near the cart.

“The two of you make a cute couple,” the vendor comments, smiling adoringly.

Yuki chokes on his exhale.

The two of you are far from resembling anything near a couple. Or, at least, Yuki thinks so. He thinks of you as a close friend but, do you see him as a friend? What if you view him as a colleague, or worse: just another annoying, backfield, competitor? Banishing his spiraling thoughts, Yuki considers there is no need to correct the kind lady. She doesn’t seem to recognize him. And, if she did follow Formula One, she would know you two aren’t a couple.

“Arigato gozaimasu,” he utters after a beat, reaching for his wallet as she begins plating the snacks.

She refuses to accept payment, ushering him to grab the small plates, “You’ve earned this meal; for your point and their race win—it is free.”

Yuki nearly exhausts himself expressing his gratitude to the vendor as he thanks her and deeply bows. When he finds you sitting underneath the chosen tree, he realizes he forgot to correct her assumption about his relationship status. Instantly, he forgets again, as you reach toward him to tuck a blossom behind his ear with a smile.

“Kawaii, Yuki-chan~,” you tease, grabbing your takoyaki dish off his stunned-still hands.

“Shut the fuck up,” he flusters eventually, cheeks burning at the sounds of the word cute and his name leaving your mouth in quick succession. Even if the grammar is incorrect and it’s nothing more than a joke.

Yuki practically swallows his snack in one bite. He didn’t know he was terribly longing for authentic street food until his first bite. Not wanting to rush you to finish, he busies himself by searching for the most unblemished flower he can find on the ground.

Yuki waits for the perfect moment when you're distracted by brushing away the petals clinging to your clothing and tucks the near-perfect blossom he picked behind your ear.

“Now we match; kawaii desu~,” he chirps, his grin deceptively innocent. “Close your mouth, it would be a shame if you swallowed more petals.”

Yuki snorts at your offended gasp and dodges the soft punch you throw out as you both dispose of your trash and head back to the car.

The drive to Tsubaki Grand Shrine is filled with anecdotes about his childhood mischief on these very streets you're passing by and questions about shrine etiquette. He didn’t realize you were so concerned about acting respectfully in the temple until you forced him to quiz you on appropriate manners and the important steps. Your dedication to having the perfect etiquette makes him think you’re one of the kindest people he’s ever known. It’s characteristic of you to be mindful of different cultures and kind overall; the fact that you willingly chose to celebrate a win by letting Yuki show you around Suzuka is telling.

Yuki parks smoothly, and soothes your worries calmly, “You have no reason to panic. It sounds like you have it memorized—and if you forget anything, that’s what I’m here for. I would be a terrible tour guide if I let you fuck around and get cursed.”

With a healthy amount of side-eye, you quip, “I will write an extremely negative review and give you one star on Yelp. If you decide to fuck around, be ready to find out! Is this your intricate plan to get me cursed with bad luck so I don’t win another race this year?”

With an appalled expression, he earnestly denies, “If I had to pick any driver to win besides myself, I would pick you,” Yuki sees your eyes soften sweetly and he swallows nervously, needing to deflect the attention, “And, maybe Pierre. Only because he would be mad if he found out I chose you over him.”

The soft tinge of your stare remains even as you roll your eyes at him and giggle, “Of course! I could never compare to your lil’ boyfriend Pierre.”

He shrugs, the two of you exiting the car and making your way to the entrance. Feeling devious, he speaks loftily, “Hey. we both know there’s nothing little about Pierre.”

Yuki can admit he deserved to be deafened by your shriek of disgust. His ears continue to ring as you adamantly state that you don’t need any image of the Frenchman in your brain besides the view of his car shrinking away in your mirrors.

The distraction was effective, your earlier panic about proper manners is nowhere to be found as you confidently navigate purifying yourself at the chozuya, only looking toward Yuki once for reassurance. While you’re busy being awestruck by the architecture and natural beauty, Yuki carefully makes sure you don’t stray into the middle of the pathway and finds himself taking candid photos of you. He knows you’ll be disappointed that you forgot to take any, but he doesn’t want to interrupt your reverence. Hopefully, his idea of what makes a beautiful picture satisfies you. He pauses at the thought, wondering if it’s odd that you’re in the forefront of all the images.

You’ve always been attractive—photogenic, to him.

The two of you reach the shrine and Yuki lets you pay your respects first. He offers you a handful of coins to choose from, reminding you that the amount doesn’t matter, any coin will do. You decided on a 5-yen coin; Yuki’s certain you’re unaware of the belief about that coin increasing your chances of finding a significant other. Although, he is aware that it’s an urban legend. It doesn’t stop his chest from tightening when he thinks about you in a relationship, with somebody who isn’t him. He tosses a 5-yen coin in the offering box to match.

He doesn’t believe in the myth, but if there’s any chance it helps him get together with you he’ll take it.

Burning incense at the temple comes without any more romantic realizations. Buying omamori, on the other hand, has Yuki thinking that what he feels for you is more than a simple crush. He forces himself to not stare at your selections and focuses on his purchases. An en-musubi (for finding love) for himself, and he’s chosen two for you: kotsu-anzen (for safe driving—he thinks it’s a little ironic) and katsumori (for success and victory—he knows you don’t need it).

On the way to dinner, Yuki notices your shuin and asks needlessly, “Is that to remind you of visiting?”

He can feel your gaze as he watches the road in front of him, hearing you ponder over your response, “Of visiting the shrine with you? Yes. Um, I don’t know if this is weird but, I bought you a couple of omamori, if that’s okay?”

Your tone is bashful and when he spares a glance, you avoid eye contact, fiddling with the shuin anxiously.

Yuki sighs giddily, relieved, “It’s not weird because I bought you a couple too. We can exchange at the restaurant?”

He sees the shock on your face from the corner of his eye, as if you weren’t expecting him to do the same. It angers him slightly, his previous obliviousness. If you didn’t ask him to show you around tonight, he never would have been aware of his budding feelings for you, nor the feelings he thinks you already reciprocate.

You’re overwhelmed with the number of choices at the hole-in-the-wall sushi establishment Yuki chose for the night, eventually slamming the menu shut and asking him to order for you. He sits up straighter at the responsibility, rattling off the plates he’d like to the server, mindful of any preferences and dietary restrictions you have.

A flight of sake samples is brought to your table, and Yuki finds it fitting that you enjoy the sweetest flavor because it compliments you. The alcohol loosens the tension gathered in him, helping him maintain a semblance of a regular conversation while he refrains from thinking about the shape of your lips, your attentive shining eyes, the length of your neck, your inquisitive questions as he recalls his childhood, the dip of your waist—Yuki doesn’t take another sip after he feels his eyes straying. He’s enamored with your undivided attention and it makes him feel hotter than he was in Qatar last year.

He asks to see the omamori you’re gifting him before you can comment on the flush spanning from his cheeks down to his collar. Receiving kotsu-anzen (for road safety) and katsumori (for success and victory) from you only serves to make him redder. He thinks about asking for your hand in marriage when he reveals he’s bought you the same and your flush blooms to match his.

With impeccable timing, the server begins to deliver the endless amount of plates Yuki ordered and the moment passes without being addressed. He almost whimpered aloud when your eyes fluttered shut at your first bite of food, moaning appreciatively at the taste.

Desperate to distract his hindbrain, he stutters, “W-What was I talking about before?”

Yuki feels like you know what he’s trying to hide, your eyes omniscient. He spots the corner of your lips tilting upward into a smirk, but it vanishes before he can be sure and you remind him, “You were talking about beating Natori in Motegi to win the F4 title in 2018.”

The rest of the meal remains lighthearted, intrigued chatter flowing around bites of food as you compare and contrast your junior careers and hometowns. It carries to the final stop Yuki brings you tonight, Isozu Beach. The vast, dark ocean is bathed in moonlight, the salty breeze cooling the air, and the coastline is lit up with buildings. The sound of waves crashing against the shore melts away as the heart-to-heart you’re sharing becomes his sole importance. He’s holding both pairs of your shoes in one hand, listening to your occasional giggles as the tide slips high enough to wet your feet and tickle your ankles. Your lilted and somewhat slurred speech tells Yuki you’re tipsy, but you’re insistent on simply linking your arm with his to prevent yourself from stumbling as you continue to walk the length of the shoreline. The stroll resumes and you slowly lean more of your weight into him; your head nestled on his arm, hand wrapped around his bicep, and Yuki feels you shiver at the next wind gust.

Like a gentleman, Yuki pulls off his sweater and helps you into it when your arms prove to be too clumsy to manage on their own without ending up stuck. Briefly, he squeezes his eyes shut to regain his composure after you bury your nose into the collar of his sweater with a pleased hum.

“Okay,” he says, sounding strangled, “Let’s get you back to the hotel—you’re more drunk than I thought.”

He suffers quietly during the short trip to the hotel you're staying in. The way you’re humming quietly as you play with the hem of his sweater has his grip tightening around the steering wheel, stopping him from reaching for the handbrake to halt the car and leaning over the console to kiss the tiny grin on your lips. Yuki escorts you to your room door, making sure you arrive safely.

He takes the keycard from you and unlocks the door after you fail at your first few attempts.

The door clicks open and Yuki speaks, “This was…nice. It’s the best celebration I have had in a while. We should do it again, sometime.”

You smile shyly, agreeing quietly, “I think so too. Thank you for showing me around.”

Nervously, Yuki’s voice wavers, “But, next time, I want it to be a date.”

“I think…I think I would like that,” your small smile grows into an unrestrained grin, pupils wide with infatuation.

He exhales roughly, the tight pressure in his chest lightening as it sounds like you like him, want him, too, “W-wait—really?”

Yuki looks on as you hold onto the door for stability as relieved-sounding laughter overwhelms you. Your amusement quiets when you straighten up to meet his eyes once more, probably seeing how he’s honestly shocked at your returned feelings.

“Yuki, babe—” Oh. He’s going to sing in the shower when he gets back to his hotel room. “—I tucked a cherry blossom behind your ear and called you kawaii. I know the 5-yen coin has that myth about relationships, and I bought an en-musubi omamori for myself because it’s for finding love. Obviously, Yuki—I would like to fall in love with you.”

Lost for words, and with his mouth gaping, stunned, he says, “...You do?”

You’re kind enough to spare him with a roll of your eyes, “I do.”

“I bought the en-musubi, too,” he reveals for no other reason than not knowing what to say.

“I know, babe,” Yuki’s heartbeat skips, “I saw it in the bag during the drive back here.”

“When is your flight scheduled?” He asks suddenly, a plan beginning to form in his mind.

“Tomorrow morning?” Your brows are furrowed in confusion at the change in topic, glancing down at your phone screen to confirm, “—Or this morning, I suppose, since it’s the next day already.”

He swallows, eager again all of a sudden, “Is it too soon if I ask you to cancel your flight and spend the rest of the week here with me?”

instagram • yourinstagram

liked by charles_leclerc, f1, selenagomez and 652,113 others

yourinstagram missed my flight because i got lost in suzuka. not because i got hammered 👍🏽

view comments

user1 when i put "two f1 drivers start dating e/o" on my 2024 bingo card, i meant for it to be lestappen… happy for you though haha...

user2 WHERE HAVE YOU BEEEEN ???!!!

user3 BEDS EMPTY 😡 user4 NO NOTE 😵‍💫 user5 CAR GONE 😫 user2 i was going quoting rihanna but this works too LMAO

danielricciardo well well well

yourinstagram are YOU doing well 🤨 danielricciardo i’m not the one who told their team that they needed to reschedule their flight bc of food poisoning yukitsunoda0511 it’s me! i’m food poisoning 😁🙋🏻‍♂️ user6 YUKIII PLS 😭😭😭

user7 no shot u missed your flight when u told your team to be ready for it on the radio 🤡

yourinstagram do as i say, not as i do—is the phrase, i believe :) user7 okayyy mother gothel since u know what's best 😝

oscarpiastri hey you never gave yuki his sweater back, in case you forgot 😀

yourinstagram oscar please stfu i’m never telling u anything again landonorris hey don’t speak to osc like that…he’s just a boy :( yourinstagram lando u can stfu too? tf ??? these hands are rated e for everyone 🤺 user8 the threat of violence almost distracted me from the sweater exchange…keyword being almost

user9 no post about the race win and no tag for yuki on the last photo…

-yourinstagram hey i won the suzuka gp in case anybody forgot :p -yukitsunoda0511 hey i’m in the last photo in case anybody didn’t know :3

instagram • yukitsunoda0511

liked by maxverstappen1, redbullracing, nicorosberg and 739,926 others

yukitsunoda0511 i do private tours 🇯🇵🍣⛩️🌸🌊🌖😚🥇

view comments

pierregasly no point in asking who took that last photo 😏

yukitsunoda0511 your mom did pierregasly yuki please yukitsunoda0511 is what your mom said last night user10 your honor, my client pleads: boy best friends

user11 that’s a lotttt of emojis yuki-san

user12 he graduated from the charles leclerc school of emoji usage with honors 🧑🏻‍🎓 charles_leclerc i am a very good teacher 😊 user12 chuck legleg responded i can die happily now

yourinstagram do you have any tours available in shanghai next week?

yukitsunoda0511 there’s a spot open at a discounted price! yourinstagram how much will it cost me 🥴🤧 yukitsunoda0511 five or six kisses should cover it :) yourinstagram payment is on its way rn 🏎️💨💨💨 user13 this could have been a private whatsapp message… user14 going to say taylor swift sucks on twitter so death comes faster

visacashapprb when you tell your driver to have some decorum and he decorates his caption instead 🫠🫠🫠

user15 WAITTT WHY WAS THIS ACTUALLY A FUNNY JOKE💀💀😭 user16 when you tell your driver to score a point and he decides to score a date as well 🫠🫠🫠 pierregasly when you tell your driver to stop harassing pierre and he cyber bullies him instead 🫠🫠🫠

366 notes · View notes

thereoncewasagirlnamedjane · 3 months ago

Text

SOME TYPE OF SKIN (3).

PAIRING — billy russo x reporter f!reader

CONTENTS — coarse language; pining; fluff; some angst; billy faces the consequences from part 2.

SUMMARY — Billy has told himself numerous times that whatever it is you two share, it wasn’t worth messing up his status quo. But suddenly, the stakes are higher than they’ve ever been… and the price of your life is one he’s definitely not willing to pay.

WORD COUNT — 3.2k

NOTES — so remember when i said this would be a three-parter?? i lied lmao. but i am going to leave this little tale aside for now while i work on blossom & bloom. i will come back to this eventually though… because these two need to bone. like, yesterday. so yeah, these two will get a better conclusion than this—although this was very fun to write 🤭

✩ masterlist ✩ library blog

« PART 1 || PART 2

Spring is barely here, but it’s unseasonably warm today in New York. The sun is high in the sky, warm enough for you to walk back home from the subway station with your jacket hanging from your arm, the ice in your soda already melted.

You frown at it before setting it down on your kitchen counter, half-drunk and watered down, and then you flop onto the couch with a loud sigh. You set down the baseball bat Karen had let you borrow, but you’d forgotten to give back to her before heading home. No matter. You’d see her tomorrow.

Your duffle bag drops to the floor, your jacket sliding down your arm and into your lap. Your eyes flutter closed, your head spinning a little with the sudden change in elevation, and you grin up at the ceiling fan as it turns lazily above you.

This time yesterday, you were stuck in the office, forced into back-to-back editorial meetings for your latest exposé. You’d spent the day trying not to think about how many hours it’d been since Billy left for his business trip in Jersey—fifty-two, but that’s not the point.

Today is Sunday though, your usual day off. With the fantastic weather, you and the rest of the Bulletin staff played a friendly game of baseball against the New Yorker before sharing cheap beer and greasy hot dogs at a local pub. The good-natured rivalry had continued even at the pub, long after the game was over—the Bulletin won, of course, six-to-four—trash talking between teams growing more obnoxious and belligerent with each new round.

You let your smile widen, before stretching out your limbs as you roll off the couch and land back on your feet. The game had been a welcome and fun distraction. Billy is coming back today, and even though the thought made you a little giddy, you hadn’t wanted to sit around waiting for him like a lovesick teenager. If he ever got so much as an inkling, he’d never let you hear the end of it.

You wonder what he’d say about the handsome editor from the New Yorker who sat a little too close to you at the pub, his smile a bit too lopsided, his body turned too much towards you to just be friendly. Your smile falters a little. Thinking about the rather ambiguous relationship you share with Billy always makes you a little… well, maybe not sad, exactly. But it still doesn’t quite inspire happiness, either.

You push him from your thoughts, heading into your bedroom to start unpacking your bag. The first thing you pull out is a baseball glove, the leather still somewhat stiff and pristine, almost brand new. When Mitchell and Karen first invited you to these games, the only glove you had was the one from second grade.

You happened to let it slip to Billy that you had to get a new one, but you had no idea where to start. That team you joined in your youth had been forced on you by your parents, and your team had sucked. You still knew nothing about baseball. The next day, this glove had arrived in a small package to the Bulletin. It contained a small note with no signature, but you knew who it was from regardless.

Knock ‘em dead, sweetheart.

Unfair, really. The way he won’t acknowledge this thing between you, but does shit like this that makes it hard for you not to think about him every waking moment of your day.

You shake your head, tossing the glove back into your closet, grabbing an old tee and a pair of loose shorts to change into after a shower. Then a muffled sound outside gets your attention. You tilt your head, listening, pausing as you hold your breath. It almost sounds like footsteps, like someone coming up the stairs, and your lips curl into a mischievous smile.

So, that’s how it’s going to be, huh? You shake your head, arranging your change of clean clothes on your bed, completely unbothered as you call out, “This is getting old, you know!”

Nothing but silence greets you.

You mutter under your breath, annoyed, because you know it’s probably Billy trying to scare you again. You did think it was suspicious how much he emphasized that he’d be back on Monday morning, and it was just the kind of shit he’d pull to surprise you by coming home a day early, hoping to make you jump.

“Not gonna fall for it, you jerk,” you call out again, grabbing your phone, scoffing and rolling your eyes when everything falls silent again.

You activate the screen on your phone, cursing when you realize just how long it’s been since you checked it—not since before the game this morning. You aren’t expecting any messages, to be honest, since you were with everyone from work already, so you’re surprised when you see just how many notifications you have.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” you mumble, but there’s one notification that catches your eye, one from hours ago. It’s from the security app that Billy downloaded for you, the one to go with the new alarm system he’d installed when you signed on as a client.

YOUR DEVICE HAS BEEN DISABLED.

You frown, quickly scanning through the rest of your alerts. This has to be another joke. Billy’s handiwork. Who else would mess with you like this? And as far as you know, he’s the only other person with access to your system. He’d never give that away without at least telling you first.

Something dawns, and despite the warm weather, your skin goes cold and clammy. There are so many messages from Billy, dozens of them—

Hey, why was your alarm disabled?

I didn’t teach you how on purpose. You shouldn’t mess with it.

Call me when you get this.

Where are you? Weems says you’re not home.

Karen’s not answering her phone either. No one is. What are you doing?

Call me. Now, please.

Answer your goddamn phone, woman. Where the fuck are you?

And then there’s a voicemail—

“Listen, if this is your way of gettin’ me back for the stunt I pulled a few days ago, it isn’t funny, okay? I’m not playin’, sweetheart. You need to call me. I’m—shit, the conference.” There’s a brief pause. “Fuck it, I’m heading back now. If you didn’t disable the system, then you need to stay away from the apartment. Just until I figure this out. Do you hear me? Do not go home.”

You stare at your phone, wanting to tell yourself Billy is just messing with you. He has to be, but would he really go this far? He sounded panicked over the phone, the tension in his voice too genuine for you to just shrug it off. More footsteps sound outside, and you nearly jump out of your skin.

You stare out into the hallway, once again hit with that sickening realization. If this really isn’t Billy’s doing…

Then there’s only one way out.

Billy wants to break something.

He swerves off the freeway, taking the nearest exit that will take him back into New York, with his cell in one hand and his foot pressing firmly on the gas. He ignores the angry honking he gets from the other drivers on the road, doesn’t have time to tell them to shut the fuck up because this is literally about life or death.

Your life or death. You’ve been quiet for too long now, uncharacteristically. His messages and calls have gone unanswered all day. A single alert on his phone tore him from his business meeting, your security system had been disabled earlier that morning.

He hadn’t even taught you how, taking the user manual with him and warning you not to touch it or change any of the settings. You’d rolled your eyes, but promised you wouldn’t.

Things he hadn’t felt even back when he was serving in the Marines—dread, panic, and cold, hard fear—rushed him all at once when message after message was left unread, not one of them ever opened.

“It wasn’t us, boss,” his associates at Anvil assured him they had nothing to do with it. He called everyone—all your coworkers at the Bulletin, and also received no answer; your neighbour, who he’d tasked with reporting back to him should anything suspicious happen, but was told she hadn’t seen you all day.

He wants to fucking scream.

Billy has always been calm and level-headed, rational and controlled, even the first time he saw you after the attempted kidnapping weeks ago. Karen had brought you to him, looking both worried and exasperated because you’d fought her every step of the way, insisting that you had it handled. Except you’d looked more of a mess than he’d ever seen, the bruise on your face still fresh, the cuts and scrapes on your palms still raw.

He’d been pissed then, of course. Something clawed at his chest, threatened to close up his throat, at the way you looked casually back at him like nothing happened. That nonchalance was almost as bad as the injuries themselves, because he knew it was fake. Your fingers were trembling as you squeezed the strap of your handbag, your lower lip quivering slightly as you took a deep shuddering breath.

But he’d powered through, kept his own features schooled into something neutral and maybe even cold, because Billy Russo does not care about anyone but himself.

He and his rise in the world were all that mattered. Caring made him vulnerable, and he does not do vulnerable—not since Arthur Walsh broke his arm, and he vowed he’d never leave himself in a position so unguarded again.

Just look at what happened to Frank. Shit. For the first time, Billy feels the tendrils of guilt tightening around his lungs. Frank had loved Maria and those kids more than life itself, their deaths had turned him into someone Billy doesn’t recognize.

Billy knows himself well. He is not a good man by any stretch. God, the things he’s done. Even worse, in some senses, are the things he’s let slide. How much worse would he become if he didn’t get to you in time?

It shouldn’t matter. People die around him all the damn time; he’s personally responsible for most of it, and in many cases he even enjoys it a little. Maybe even a lot. So who cares if he finds you in your apartment too late, with your skin—instead of being stained purple and black this time—covered in splashes of crimson?

His own blood goes cold at the thought.

He hates this. He feels out of control, like he might die if he doesn’t lay eyes on you this very minute. He hates you for making him care, because this isn’t how things were supposed to be, but it’s a goddamn lie.

She’s fine. She has to be. She’s probably just pissed at me for something dumb that I said. She’s punishing me for scaring the daylights out of her the other day.

She’s fine.

She is fine.

That’s much more manageable than what he really thinks. You’ve ignored him before, after the first time he’d almost kissed you and then turned around and slept with another woman, the first time you realized he wasn’t going to do anything about whatever it was that simmered between you.

Billy thought it was funny then, even kinda cute. You tried not to pout as you teasingly called him a shameless womanizer, tried not to bristle when he stood a little too close, tried not to look at him the way you always looked at him—like you were silently asking for more.

He never gave in, despite the temptation, despite the way you tried to present yourself, you aren’t the kind of woman who liked the kind of hooking up he did. He told himself it’d get too messy, and that was the last thing he wanted. He wanted no strings attached, the I’ll-call-you-when-I-feel-like-it (or-maybe-not-at-all) level of commitment, and he wasn’t interested in having a girlfriend.

But he’d make you into girlfriend material, and that’s the only goddamn truth in this mess he’s gotten himself into. Even if you told him you wanted sex and nothing else, how long would it be before he caved into the feeling of how perfectly you fit into his arms? Before he’d start with the post-coital cuddling, the overnight stays with his fingers intertwined with yours, or the soft kisses to the curve of your shoulder as you slumbered?

Your silence is not as funny now and much less cute. Billy is getting reckless, so focused on making it back to you that he’s running red lights, coming dangerously close to crashing more than once. The sound of sirens soon follows behind him—good, he thinks, but he doesn’t slow down or pull over, because this isn’t a goddamn game. Not like it has been before.

You’re in real danger this time, and he’s got way too much skin in it to walk away unscathed.

Your apartment building finally comes into view, but despite the chaos trailing behind him, everything feels too still. Billy puts his car into park, quickly yanks off his seat belt and pushes the door open, not bothering to close it as he steps out onto the pavement. The police cars are still a few seconds away, so he draws the wrist blade hidden in his left sleeve and approaches your door.

His stomach drops to find it slightly ajar, the handle busted. He pushes the door open further, slowly, with the tip of his shoe. Everything is dark as he calls your name, his voice more raw and ragged than it’s ever been. There’s no answer. Not a single sound.

Panic surges again as he checks the kitchen first. It’s trashed, pieces of shattered glass crunching under his feet. Something’s spilled all over the floor, and without looking down he takes a deep whiff through his nose. It smells sweet and his shoulders sag slightly. It’s not blood.

But there’s still no sign of you. The sick feeling in his stomach twists tighter as he steps around the counter and into your living room, which is also in a similar state of disarray with clear signs of struggle. Your books are scattered off the shelves, your favourite vase in sharp, jagged pieces on the floor, and your phone lying among the clutter, its screen dark and cracked.

But he’s also met with an unexpected sight. It’s more than he knows what to do with, the tension in his body replaced with slight confusion.

There are two unconscious men on the floor.

Before he has time to make sense of it, to search the rest of the apartment to see if you’re here, you come barrelling out of the bedroom, screaming like a banshee. The first thought that crosses Billy’s mind is, what the actual fuck?

But then he gets it. He sees the baseball bat you’re wielding in your hands, raised high above your head, the familiar fire in your eyes, and he gets it. You think Billy’s one of them, another intruder, and you’re ready to go down swinging. Attagirl.

You look half-crazed and breathless, but at least you’re alive. He waits just long enough for you to catch his eye, withdrawing his blade with a soft click, and before you get too far with your flailing attack, Billy reaches up to wrench the bat out of your hands. He lets it fall to the floor, clattering noisily onto the hardwood, before he grabs your wrist and hauls you forward to crush you against him.

“It’s me,” he breathes, too relieved, the sensation warm and welcome in his veins, to notice the sting in his arms where you beat on them. “It’s okay, it’s just me.”

“Billy!” You gasp into his chest, not giving him even a moment to relish in the relief before you’re yelling at him. “Goddammit, Billy! Fucking idiot, you scared the shit out of me!”

It’s not as sharp as the bat would’ve been, at least, he thinks as you finally slump against him. Your hands fist into the lapels of his coat, and he can’t tell if you’re shaking or if he is. He just holds on tighter, as though afraid you’ll disappear. He’s not letting you go now.

“If that isn’t the pot callin’ the kettle black,” is what he says. It’s much more than that, more than he’s willing to put into words even now. Instead, he releases you just enough to look you over like he doesn’t believe what he’s seeing. You start talking fast, explaining the sequence of events, and he doesn’t miss that for a minute you almost dismissed the threat because you thought it was him.

Shit. There’s that guilt again. He watches your mouth and misses the rest of what you’re saying. Then the guilt bubbles into something else, and he laughs.

You glare at him and demand, “What the hell is so funny?”

You sound like you’re pissed, like he wasn’t the one who was pissed first, like he wasn’t the one scared fucking shitless this whole time. Like he hadn’t been worried out of his mind, like he hadn’t stormed out of his hotel and left those important business contacts behind. Like he hadn’t almost wrecked his car, wrecked himself, trying to get back to you.

You’ve got some nerve, he thinks, but Billy’s got more. He’s got more of everything now, even if he won’t yet say how goddamn happy he is that you are okay, how crazy it made him to think that you weren’t, still too breathless for that.

Instead, he pulls you close again, like this is normal. Your arms wrap around his waist, like there aren’t two unconscious bodies at your feet even as the police come storming in. They go from defensive, their weapons drawn, to being slightly confused, until you announce that the men had broken in and you’d disarmed them with—where was it? Oh, the bat, still on the floor.

“Didn’t know you had that in you,” he murmurs as the cops check on the intruders. You tuck your head under his chin. “Where did you even get that?”

“Karen,” you tell him simply, even though there’s a bit more to the story. You squeeze him quickly before tilting your head up at him, giving him a look that would melt most men. His arm tightens around your shoulders. “And my backup plan was a little busy.”

“Where was this fire last time?” Billy snorts, twisting away from you when your fingers pinch his waist. He softens when he feels your body tremble against him, stops touching you only long enough to remove his coat and drape it over you. “Would’ve been here sooner.”

It’s as close to an I’m sorry he’ll ever say.

“I’ll kick your ass later,” you mutter, voice muffled into his chest, and that’s as much of an I forgive you he’ll ever hear. Even so, he can’t stop smiling.

“That’s my girl,” he says it quietly, not letting go even as the police try to pull you away to take your statement. You might have heard him though, because you remain tucked against his side as you talk to them. It’s only when the cop says you should probably get checked out by the EMTs outside that he reluctantly releases you from his hold.

But for the first time today, Billy’s not worried.

to be continued.

© 2025 by thereoncewasagirlnamedjane. do not repost, translate, or copy to third party sites. no part of this work may be fed into any AI software or websites. minors are asked not to interact with my blog; you are responsible for your own media consumption. blank/ageless blogs will be blocked.

#billy russo x reader #billy russo x f!reader #billy russo x female reader #billy russo x you #billy russo x y/n #billy russo fanfiction #the punisher fanfiction #billy russo fluff #billy russo x asian!reader

163 notes · View notes

ghostlyferrettarot · 7 months ago

Text

✨️Pick a Picture: ✨️💙Who were you in your past life?💙✨️

•Pile 1 •Pile 2 •Pile 3

❗️This is a collective reading, take what resonates and leave the rest❗️

✨️Paid Services ✨️ (Natal charts and tarot readings) Open!

🫧Join my Patreon for exclusive content!🫧

✨️If you like my work you can support me through Ko-fi. Thank you!✨️

💙Masterlist💙

🧡Pile 1:

You were a kind and empathetic person. From a young age, you always showed a genuine interest in others, which made you a great friend and confidant. You had an infectious laugh that brightened up any environment and an innate ability to listen. People often felt comfortable sharing their thoughts and concerns with you.

Despite your optimistic nature, you also had your reflective side. You often took time to think about your experiences and emotions, which helped you grow and learn from each situation. At times, you could be a little self-critical, but you used that introspection to improve and move forward.

You were loyal and committed to your friends and family, and always willing to offer your support. You believed strongly in the importance of building meaningful relationships and being a pillar in the lives of those around you. You had a quiet and happy life, maybe in some ways you felt it was a great life but you weren't entirely satisfied; For this reason, perhaps you seek a little more time, to take more risks.

🧡Significant things: Color orange and blue, royal vibe, long blond hair, polar bears, spring season, letters, delicate handwritting, flowers, pearls.

💙Pile 2:

You lived in an environment marked by uncertainty. You grew up in a neighborhood where it was though to evolve, and the lack of opportunities seemed overwhelming. Despite this i see that you always showed curiosity about the world around you, seeking refuge in your hobbies, I think many of them had to do with writing and books.

Despite your strength, sadness always accompanied you, I feel that others did not quite undestood you. In the end, although you achieved some significant achievements, such as finishing your education and finding a job that you really liked, I feel that you were a born educator.

Life taught you hard lessons about resilience and loss, but it also led you to discover a deep empathy towards others. There's a lot of things to learn about this, start to listen to your inner voice and don't let others dictate your path.

💙Significant things: Books, Writers, 1950's-1960's, Jazz music, Owls, Brown and Green colors, curly long hair, piano, birds.

🩷Pile 3:

You felt a deep connection to the world around you. You grew up in a small town where nature played an important role in your life. As the years passed, you began to explore your spirituality. You were drawn to the teachings of different cultures and traditions, and often spent your evenings reading about philosophy and meditation.

You learned to listen to your inner voice, feeling a connection beyond the tangible. However, life also presented you with challenges. The loss of a loved one hit you deeply, leading you to question your faith and your purpose. In the midst of grief, you realized that suffering could be a path to transformation. As your life progressed, you felt more aligned with your purpose. In your later years, you found deep gratitude for each day lived.

Life had taught you that spirituality was not only a path to personal understanding, but also a way to connect with others and the universe. You felt at peace, knowing that your journey, with all its lights and shadows, had been a priceless gift. You need to start valuing your spiritual gift, maybe you accept them for granted sometimes, but they can give you the warmth you need.

🩷Significant things: Runes and Stones, violet and red color, dark hair and clear eyes, Charisma and cleverness, owls and cats, winter season, jewerly, round face, youthful look.

✨️Thank you for reading and tell me if it resonated✨️

227 notes · View notes

cr4yolaas · 1 year ago

Text

to be fragile — iwaizumi hajime

synopsis: to be gentle is foreign to iwaizumi hajime. you teach him through the seasons.

content: angst, bittersweet fluff. fast burn. implied childhood friends (rdr and iwa). pre-relationship, implied post-relationship at the end. timelines are probably incorrect (i haven’t read the manga in a long time). iwaizumi is probably ooc. gender neutral reader. miscommunication and pushing each other away. coworker akaashi. not proofread.

notes: this was a spur of the moment fic. the pacing is very very swift and somewhat cheesy and i kinda just blew through everything in one go, because i didn't really plan any of this out LOL. hope u enjoy :)

SPRING, 2014

Iwaizumi had always been rough around the edges.

From youth, his shoulders had been burdened with the weight of the world, a result of his overbearing desire to be reliable. It grew increasingly evident as he aged. Even more so when he faced you in the middle of the airport.

“Are you not going to say anything?”

He turned around, his luggage following suit. The crowd swayed around you.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, his gaze cast to the floor. “I just thought-”

“Hajime.”

Iwaizumi was not delicate. He was not fragile, nor gentle, nor vulnerable. But the call of his name from your lips rendered him a fool.

He watched as you approached him, your fists tight around the strap of your bag. “I don’t understand why you didn’t tell me anything.” Your footsteps came to a clean halt before him. “I’m sorry if I did something that made you uncomfortable to share this with me. But if all this — pushing me away and leaving without so much as a goodbye — is because you thought it would be better, I don’t want to hear it.”

He bit the inside of his cheek, pretending you didn’t read his intentions. His hand found its way to the hem of his shirt, a tell of his anxiety.

Another apology spilled from his tongue, this time quieter, softer. He braced himself for impact: for tears, for a harsh scolding, anything. Instead, he found himself in your embrace.

“I’m upset you didn’t say anything. But,” you paused, your grip around him tightening. “If you’re happy, I’m happy. Just text me, okay?”

Iwaizumi could only nod. He watched as you released yourself, allowing your fists to return your bag and your eyes to drift away. He waved goodbye, in silence, when you turned around and walked towards the exit. He sat with a heavy heart when your figure was no longer visible, and all he had left to do was wait at his gate.

The promise of a brighter future — one full of success, and passion, and growth — was impossible for Iwaizumi to turn away. Even if it meant casting aside his heart and leaving it in Japan to ache. Even if it meant shouldering the burden of being alone. He never wanted you to see it, in fear of you harboring distaste for him.

When he sat in the plane, Iwaizumi Hajime chewed at his cheek, once more, for he realized he had hurt you in exchange.

FALL, 2019

Against the pleas of his friends, Iwaizumi refused to celebrate his return to Japan. Instead, he found himself searching for you.

His feet were heavy against the asphalt, each second of contact solidifying the gravity of the moment. You sent him your address before he boarded the plane, but before that, there was minimal contact, save for awkward messages checking in on one another out of obligation. Regardless, the dull ache in his chest strung him to your front door.

You opened the door before he could knock.

"Hajime?" you whispered, the syllables of his name seeping from the cracks between your teeth all too easily.

He didn't know where to put his hands, didn't know how to look at you. His fingers found solace in the inseam of his hoodie pocket (which was barely hanging on). The speech he had written during his flight had slipped from his mind, leaving him silent.

You welcomed him in anyways. You had a tendency to do that — to accept him without question. Even if it felt wrong.

"Take a seat anywhere," you spoke, although your attention was elsewhere. The hum of the kettle was the only noise in the room, save for the shuffling of your slippers against the tile or the buzz of the air conditioning. A packet of green tea sat in each mug.

You sat parallel to him. As if to calm your nerves, your hands made their way around the porcelain, the heat of the tea spreading throughout your palms. Iwaizumi slouched in his seat, taking small sips from his mug to make himself look busy. To conceal his fear.

"How was it?"

His eyes darted up to yours, then to the side, then back down to his tea. "It was different. It's warmer there, and the people are louder. I met a lot of good people there, though. I think you would've liked it."

A hum reverberated in your throat. You didn't know how to convey it: your joy at his return, at the fact that you were the first person he chose to see, at him being within arm's reach.

"I'm sorry," he muttered. "I shouldn't have left like that. I felt like shit afterwards." I missed you.

You smiled warmly, the upturn of your lips filling his lungs with burning hot ichor. "It's alright. I got over it, anyways. I'm just happy you're back." I missed you, too. "What do you plan on doing now?"

"I'm gonna start working with the men's national team, as their trainer. I think I'll-"

"No, I meant, do you have a place to stay? Food to eat?"

He looked away, again, before shaking his head ashamedly. You laughed at his chagrin, your chin slotting itself into your palm. "Stay with me, then."

✧.*

A week passed. Iwaizumi wedged himself back into your life, with ease, after disappearing for five years. Your routine made room for him, now — grocery shopping, for two; breakfast, for two; laundry, for two. You did your best to ensure that he was comfortable, that the guilt from years ago would wash away. And yet, despite your efforts, he was cold. Distant, almost, even though he was around you all the time.

You feared the worst. That, while away, he realized how little he enjoyed your presence. That he wouldn't contact you again once he settled back in completely. That the silly feelings you had burrowed in the underwater reservoir of your heart would resurface, only to be shut down.

His voice in the kitchen pulled you out of your thoughts. You laid on the couch in silence, the calls of your name doing little to quell your worries. "I found an apartment close to my job," he muttered, the words blending in with the stream of water from the sink. "I'll be ready to move out within a few days. I'll let you know when."

"So soon?" you responded absentmindedly.

You watched him pivot towards you, his face blank but his eyes telling. "What do you mean?"

"I feel like I've seen you for such a small amount of time, and you're already leaving. Again." You sat up and met his gaze, calculative as ever. A sigh unleashed itself from his lips, the glass in his hands meeting the countertop.

"I don't want to rely on you too much," he whispered. "I can't. I just- I need to steady myself first." He nibbled at the flesh inside his cheek when you frowned. "I'm sorry. I just don't want to force you to take care of me. You don't have to do that."

"It's not a burden, really. I'm happy to be here for you, I'm happy to even see you after so long. I don't want you to feel like you have to rush yourself into everything."

Iwaizumi shook his head softly, his decision finalized long before the conversation had begun. He escaped to his room before you could protest. His heart sung of somber tunes and a loneliness he could not describe, a result of his never-ending guilt upon leaving you time and time again. He could not help the white hot tears staining his cheeks, nor the heavy breaths escaping his throat. Calloused hands pawed away at his eyes, and once again, Iwaizumi realized he had hardened himself far too much for your liking. He was always too far, too absent. He hated it. And yet, he felt it was necessary; he felt like he would lose himself if he allowed for a moment of rest.

"Hajime?" your voice called from outside his door. "I'll help you pack, okay? Just know I'm here. I'm always here."

He loathed how vulnerable you left him. He hated the fluttering in his stomach, the airiness in his head, the warmth of his skin from every word you spoke. It was a foreign taste on his tongue, one he wished to wash away every time it bubbled to the surface, but it haunted him endlessly. Distance would make him feel less weird, less weak, he figured.

Within a day, Iwaizumi Hajime had moved out of your apartment, this time leaving a small letter thanking you for your care and a bill that was much too unreasonable.

SUMMER, 2020

The heat beat down on your back in waves. Pinpricks of sweat cascaded down your back, evidence of your growing exhaustion.

In the heart of Tokyo, beneath a canopy of trees that accompanied each bustling building and towering skyscraper, a cafe nestled itself in the middle of a busy shopping district. You stood behind the bar five days a week, from nine to five, like clockwork. Akaashi Keiji — a face you barely knew from glances in high school — stood beside you every shift. He spoke minimally, save for rambles shared during late nights in which you were both tired and overwhelmed; all you knew of him was his career as an editor and his tendency to overthink. That was all you needed. Nothing more.

Iwaizumi's name hadn't left your lips since the day he left. The pieces of his being drifted away from you all too naturally. The lack of explanation left too much room for assumption — you believed he hated you or had something to hide from you, anything of that sort. But his existence lingered every now and then — mentions of his work on the news, an ad promoting the Men's National Volleyball Team, a post on social media with his account tagged in it. Efforts to abandon the taste of him on your tongue were all for naught, for he lived in every dusty corner of your life.

As if to haunt you once more, the television propped up on the wall featured his face, tanned and bright and sweaty, an interview about the team's upcoming match playing out on screen. You looked away. Akaashi's eyes followed yours.

"He talks about you sometimes," the boy muttered. His attention was drawn to the wet glass in his hands, his movements nearly robotic as he dried each curve and bump. "Bokuto tells me about it, on occasion. How your name pops up during practice for no reason whatsoever."

You tilted your head from its spot between your sweaty palms. "What does he say? About me?"

He placed the cup down on the counter, his wet cloth forgotten alongside it. Akaashi leaned against his back against the marble before explaining, "Lots of things, apparently. He says he feels bad for leaving you all the time, something along those lines. Bokuto says he never explains anything further than that, though."

You copied his position, the countertop cold against your back. Your jaw grew tense from how tightly you clenched it. The methodical fidgeting of your fingers against the hem of your shirt kept you calm, each thread of cotton consoling the ache bubbling in your stomach. "I hate that. I just- why can't he talk to me? Why does he feel the need to talk about me?"

Akaashi shook his head. "I don't know. Bokuto doesn't understand it either; he says its cuts into their practice time and it gets worse every other day." You didn't notice the drink he prepared for you in the midst of your conversation. The ice soothed your nerves, and you thanked him softly. "I don't think he hates you, for how much he talks about you. I think he just doesn't know where to put his feelings, or how to handle them."

His analysis forced you into silence. Quietly, you began to clean up the counter together, making room for the evening shift. The interview finally came to a close, and the screen flashed to an advertisement for women's hair care.

The bus ride home — which you routinely shared with Akaashi — was spent in thoughtful stillness. His words cycled through your mind, each statement making its rounds before settling in the depths of your chest. Your stop always came before his, and small waves of goodbye were shared before you began ascending the steps to your apartment.

Iwaizumi's contact burned brightly on your phone screen. You never did block him, despite your desperation to do so, in fear that he would contact you in any way. He never did.

You thumbed the call button, with hesitance. It rang three times in your ear before he picked up, the timber of his voice unfamiliar to you.

"What's up?" he answered, all too casually.

"Come over, please."

✧.*

You sat adjacent to him, cross-legged on the carpet in front of your couch. His knees were strewn up to his chests with heavy arms wrapped around them, akin to a child.

"Akaashi told me about you," you mumbled, the words tumbling out of your mouth in quiet jumbles. "He said you talk about me, a lot."

Iwaizumi looked at you briefly before turning his head away. "Yeah."

"Why do you keep leaving? Without saying anything?"

"I don't want you to see me at my worst," he began, his voice resolute yet wavering with anxiety. "I'm at my weakest when I'm around you. You don't need to see that."

Your lips parted, your shock plastered on your face. "I don't understand." He buried his head into his knees while you rambled on. "I just want you to be comfortable. That's all I've ever wanted — to see you truly at ease, at rest, for once. I don't mind." The words spilled too quickly, too rapidly.

An admission of your affection in the midst of your rant nearly slipped past him. His hands, once lost, found their way to your face, his marred skin rough against yours. Your speech died on your tongue, your breath cutting short and falling to a stop. "Hajime?" you whispered, and again, as always, your call of his name dissolved the composure ingrained deep within his bones.

His lips slotted themselves against yours, naturally, as if he were born to do so. The delicacy was alien to his being, for he had only known resilience for years upon years. As you had wished, he felt relaxed. At ease. Fragile, almost. He let go too soon, his hands returning to the ground and his eyes falling to the floor. An apology fell from his mouth.

He prepared himself for the worst. Instead, you smiled at him, toothily, and promised him that it would be okay. That he was allowed to be vulnerable. And finally, he smiled back, his lips curling up tenfold.

WINTER, 2022

Iwaizumi sat on your couch, his back heavy against the cushions. His arms stretched out before him, and under your gaze, each scar and bruise on his flesh was on display. A bottle of alcohol and a roll of gauze were propped up against your legs.

"How did this happen?" you questioned, a lilt of jest to your voice.

"Got into a fight with a guy," he mumbled, wincing only slightly when the alcohol dropped onto his wounds. "Not on the job, if that's what you're gonna ask. We were out and he said some stupid shit. Had to knock some sense into him."

"Uh huh," you muttered under your breath. You wrapped the bandage around his arm daintily, the pressure just enough for him to breath in. "And look where that got you."

He sighed at your remarks, opting to observe rather than retaliate. Your hands were soft, a contrast to his own, and each ghost of your fingertips against his skin left him dizzy. "All done," you exclaimed quietly. He watched as you stood up from your spot on the ground, all while scooping up each tool into your arms. You disappeared into the bathroom, leaving him alone in your living room, his arms covered with your gauze.

Iwaizumi Hajime was always rough around the edges. To be gentle was unfitting for him, and he had always lived in such a manner. And yet, around you, he found himself seeking fragility. He yearned for each tidbit of sensitivity and vulnerability you rung out of him, for he adored the smile that adorned your lips in return. He had learned delicacy from you. And that was more than enough.

317 notes · View notes

mononijikayu · 1 year ago

Text

too sweet — ryomen sukuna.

His gaze did not waver as he leaned in, the intensity of his eyes locked onto yours, communicating a depth of emotion that words could scarcely convey. You felt his breath against your skin, warm and inviting, before his lips met yours in a soft, exploratory kiss that spoke of a thousand unspoken promises. The gentleness of the kiss was a stark contrast to the fierce battles and harsh realities that both of you faced daily; here, in this moment, there was only gentleness, only love.

GENRE: Heian Era to Shibuya Arc, 2018;

WARNING/s: Alternate Universe ─ Canon Divergence, Romance, Emotional Hurt, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Angst, Heavy Pining, Domesticity, Friends to Lovers, Character Death, Grief, Mention of Depression, Mention of Mourning, Depiction of Physical Touch, Depiction of Mental Anguish, Depiction of Violence, Depiction of Harm, Depiction of Blood and Wounds, Depiction of Death, Depiction of Harm, Portrayal of Misogynist And Degrading Acts and Language;

masterlist

ashes of love

song: too sweet by hozier

note: i was distracted writing this because my mother came from thailand and brought home the best sandwiches from 7/11 thailand. i just??? i think i fell in love. other than that, they've grown up and fallen in love for each other!!! let's see how their love story <333 mwah <333

HE’D NEVER THOUGHT HE’D EVER BE IN THIS POSITION SEVEN YEARS LATER. As the wind caressed his face, Sukuna's stern gaze took in the increasingly familiar landscape unfolding before him. The languid rustle of cherry blossoms caught in a spring breeze, their petals scattering whimsically, began to ease the tension in his shoulders. The lively calls of fisherfolk, a harmonious chorus that had once been foreign to his ears, now beckoned warmly from one end of the bustling docks to the other.

Approaching the land, the sight of double herons embroidered on rich, silken purple flags fluttering against the wooden decks of the patrol ships struck a chord within him. A subtle smile tugged at the corners of his mouth—a rare, involuntary expression of contentment. For years, the concept of home had been an alien idea to him. As an orphan boy, he had never known a consistent backdrop, nor had he felt a compelling need to root himself in a place that promised permanence.

Yet, here he was, years later, feeling the weight of reformation. Ryomen Sukuna had wrestled with the need for a place to call home for many moons, and now, as he stood on the precipice of return, he found it waiting for him. Home, once a strange and elusive notion, had slowly woven itself into the fabric of his existence, coloring his world with a sense of belonging he had never dared to imagine before.

The familiar sights and sounds that he had once observed with detachment now welcomed him with the quiet affirmation of arrival. Home was no longer just a place, but a living tapestry of experiences and memories that, against all odds, had claimed him as its own.

Sukuna hadn’t anticipated that his mission would stretch out so long; after all, the curse wasn't particularly formidable. However, as time passed, the whispers of his prowess in jujutsu began to permeate far and wide. You had always cautioned Sukuna to maintain discretion in his work—reminding him that a Ryomen does not boast nor seek glory in fulfilling his duty.

He vividly recalled the countless times you made him write those words repeatedly whenever his confidence edged into arrogance. Hiramu had ingrained this principle deeply, reiterating it time and again, especially when Sukuna found himself kneeling in penance for any youthful misdeeds.

Despite this, the enthusiastic accolades and expressions of gratitude from those he helped, intertwined with your praise, had become a secret indulgence for him, a reward he guiltily cherished. He was well aware that his rising fame likely irked other clans.

They were losing clients, gifts, and, most crucially, influence—a fact he was sure had not escaped the ears of clan leaders who probably complained to your father over the past seven years. Yet, Sukuna remained indifferent to their displeasure of these foolish, pitiful clans; his primary allegiance was to you and your interests. And to you, it was the prestige of the clan.

Thus, he continued unabated, accepting mission after mission. To prove himself. To hone his jujutsu. To serve you. Even though he disliked being away for extended periods, he still did what he must. He felt you needed him more than those he aided, but you smiled at him each and every time, telling him to go.

You told him you were proud of him, even before he left. Each mission must be impeccable. Your name was on the line, as much as your honor was. He was a part of you. And so, he had to do well. He had to be stronger. He had to be greater.

The thought of disappointing you was unbearable to him. He couldn't risk drawing your ire, not when he yearned so deeply for the comforting touch of your hand in his once more. It was as painful as to see you harmed in the field, doing the dirty work of the elders who can’t be bothered to exercise curses themselves. His devotion to you dictated his actions, guiding him through a tangled web of duty and desire, each task performed a step in the dance of his allegiance, bound by the intricate threads of loyalty and love.

As Ryomen Sukuna approached the end of the pier, his silhouette was etched sharply against the setting sun. His white and red haori flew against the wind, the herons dancing against the exquisite silk. His stride was purposeful and his presence commanding, causing a stir among the few who lingered in the vicinity.

He supposed the town’s folk will never get used to the intensity of his presence. But he did not care. A lone servant dressed in Ryomen silk wool waited there, his head bowed respectfully as he anticipated Sukuna’s arrival. The moment Sukuna's footsteps halted before him, the servant looked up slightly, maintaining a posture of deep respect.

"Sukuna-sama," the servant began, his voice steady yet imbued with a palpable tension, aware of the importance of this encounter.

Sukuna's eyes narrowed slightly as he surveyed the servant. "I was expecting someone else to wait for me." he stated, his tone cool and imposing. He did not say your name, for risk of your reputation. “But it seems you were on time. Unlike last time.”

The servant swallowed, a hint of anxiety flickering across his face. "My apologies, Sukuna-sama. It would seem that Mikoto-sama was preoccupied accompanying Gojo-sama and Lady Hiromi on their ride. They were—"

Sukuna raised a hand, cutting him off mid-sentence, his displeasure evident on his features. As time went on, his annoyance of Gojo Suzaku had turned into hatred. "Why is clan leader Gojo in Hida? And did you say it was now Hiromi–sama accompanying him?" His voice grew colder with each word, and a shadow seemed to cross his features.

"Yes, Sukuna-sama," the servant hurried to explain, sensing the growing storm. "They were engaged in matters of the clans, discussing important matters. But Hiromi–sama seemed uneasy and went for a ride. Gojo–sama came along, to continue their conversation.” Sukuna's jaw tightened, and he took a moment to compose himself. The thought of Hiromi spending time with Gojo, in such intimate discussions concerning such intimacy, stirred a tumult of feelings within him. His voice was controlled but sharp when he finally spoke. "I see. And was this meeting arranged?"

"It was planned, Sukuna–sama. Gojo-sama is here for business with Isamu–sama," the servant replied, his eyes downcast, wary of Sukuna’s reaction. ”The annual clan gathering will be hosted here in Hida, after all. Gojo–sama thought that he would discuss the matter with Isamu–sama and Hiromi–sama.”

Sukuna processed the information, his mind racing with thoughts of Hiromi and Gojo together, the implications of their meeting stretching beyond simple preparations. A surge of possessiveness and an unspoken fear gripped him—emotions he wasn't accustomed to confronting. Jealousy, he was certain, among them. But he would not let them be expressed out loud.

"Very well," Sukuna said tersely, his demeanor calm but his eyes betraying a storm brewing beneath the surface. "Make certain to inform Hiromi–sama that I had returned. Have a rider sent out, if you must.”

"Of course, Sukuna-sama," the servant responded, relieved to have been spared Sukuna's wrath but noting the undercurrent of tension.

As Sukuna turned to gaze out over the water, his mind remained on Hiromi. The servant, recognizing the dismissal, bowed deeply and retreated, leaving Sukuna alone with his thoughts. The tranquility of the scene before him contrasted starkly with the turmoil within, as he grappled with the complexities of his feelings—a mixture of protectiveness, entitlement, and a burgeoning realization of deeper emotions towards Hiromi that demanded his attention and perhaps, his action.

He purses his lips and crosses his arms.

It was not easy to feel all these at once.

But he thinks it's just what it truly was, to him.

The madness of love, that’s what it truly is.

With you, love was the unknown bountiful sea.

FATHER’S WORDS RANG OUT YOUR EARS OVER AND OVER AGAIN. As you rode atop your horse, the weight of recent events hung heavily upon you. The shock of your father's firm decision still clung tightly to your mind, refusing to dissipate. You felt a deep sense of unease; even the horse’s steady gait beneath you and the surrounding sounds of clan leader Gojo's voice failed to draw your attention or stir your passions. It seemed inevitable, this moment.

For the first time, your father had exerted a true force over your decisions, and as his vassal, he had treated you with an uncharacteristic lack of deference. You pressed your lips into a tight line, realizing it was perhaps overdue for him to assert his will over yours. You were no longer in the flush of youth, yet remained unwed and without an heir to carry on your father's legacy.

Most women of your age in your position would already have children; indeed, your mother often joyously remarked how your Fujiwara cousins had dutifully fulfilled their roles, providing heirs for their husbands. But your situation was far more complex. You were not merely your father's daughter; you were his chosen heir.

Your life and choices were inexorably tied to the clan's future. Whether in sickness or in the throes of war, your existence was a matter of clan continuity. Now, with the pressure mounting over your lack of a spouse and an heir, it seemed your father could no longer shield you from the council's increasingly pointed discussions.

Each council meeting, you knew, brought with it brooding deliberations over your future and the future of the clan. The need for you to marry and produce offspring was not just a familial expectation but a strategic necessity. What good was a clan, after all, if there were no descendants to continue its legacy? The question haunted you, echoing the stark reality that your personal desires were secondary to the clan’s needs.

As you contemplated this enforced path, a mixture of resignation and defiance took root within you. You understood your duty and the importance of your role within the clan, but the thought of a marriage arranged solely for strategic purposes—devoid of affection or choice—chafed against your deepest desires for autonomy and respect.

The landscape around you blurred into a backdrop for your turbulent thoughts, each hoofbeat of your horse a reminder of the relentless march toward a destiny chosen not by you, but for you.

This imposition on your personal freedom was a stark reminder of the sacrifices demanded by power and position. As the future clan leader, your personal happiness was intertwined with strategic alliances and clan survival. This realization did not come easily or without resentment, but as the land stretched out before you, you knew you must find a way to navigate these complex waters, preserving both your father’s legacy and your own integrity.

Lost in your own thoughts, Hiromi barely noticed the scenery changing as they approached the heart of the clan territories. It was Gojo's voice, gentle yet tinged with concern, that pulled her back to the present.

"Hiromi, are you alright?" he asked, his eyes searching hers for any sign of distress. “You seem lost in thought there. What's on your mind, little heron?"

Startled, you blinked, refocusing on the man riding alongside you. Suzaku Gojo had always been more than just a clan leader; he had been a mentor and, at times, a confidant. You had grown up with him as much as your brother had. He was a thankful constant in your life. But his presence too was comforting.

He was your better in such concerns of life, one who had experienced them more readily than you had. He was, if anything, someone you trust, on the same level as you do with your uncle and Sukuna. Perhaps, even more.

"Yes, I'm just... considering everything that's happening," You responded to him, blinking slightly. His eyes did not waver in that concern. Your voice steady but your eyes betraying the turmoil inside. “Father had never been forceful about the idea of marriage before. The council of elders was another thing, but well, father was always another.”

Gojo nodded back at her, his eyes softly gazing at you. “It’s understandable. Your father has thought to give you the same freedoms as that of a man, to choose your intended. It is your right as heir.”

“It is my right.” You gently reiterated back to him. “But to see him fold like that….”

“I shall say this, I do understand your father’s concern.”

You raised a brow at him. “In what way?”

“You are his only heir now—”

“Sukuna is one of his heirs.” You retorted back to him, urging your horse forward again. “He is my uncle’s son. He has a name. He has the power, the strength. He can be my heir.”

Suzaku sighed, “But he will not be inheriting the blood of your father. Sukuna is one of you but–”

You turned to him sharply. “There are no buts, no ifs. He is one of us. He is my kin. That is why this is preposterous.”

“It is not truly as preposterous as you think.”

“Says the man who is a bachelor by choice.” You snickered back at him sharply. Suzaku laughed. You sighed. “How do men have more choices than women?”

Gojo's laughter faded into a knowing smile, an acknowledgment of the sharpness in your words. His gaze, still filled with a mixture of respect and understanding, remained fixed on you as your horse picked up pace alongside his.

"Indeed, I have chosen to remain a bachelor," Gojo conceded with a nod, the lines around his eyes deepening with his smile. "And you're right; men often do face fewer constraints in these matters. It's an imbalance, rooted deep within our traditions.”

Your frustration was palpable, the reins tight in your hands as you navigated the uneven path. "And yet, here I am, expected to marry not for love or even respect, but for alliance and convenience," you said, your voice tinged with bitterness. "Is it so wrong to want more from life than strategic marriages?"

Gojo's expression sobered, his horse slowing to match the contemplative pace of your own. "It's not wrong at all," he replied sincerely. "In fact, it's a sign of your strength and your understanding of what true leadership involves. It's about merging duty with personal happiness, which is a difficult but not impossible balance to achieve."

“How would you know?”

“I was a child born out of love.” Gojo retorted back to you, with a prideful smile. You rolled your eyes at him. “It’s not entirely impossible for you to find some poor piss sod of a second son with good blood as your consort.”

You glanced at him, the setting sun casting shadows across your path, mirroring the complexity of your thoughts. "Certainly not the Zenin second son, if that is who you imply," you murmured dismissively. “At the very least, they should let me choose. They handed me a list, but they must ‘access’ him if he is indeed worthy of me.”

Gojo took a breath. "Your father is in a difficult position. As much as he values your freedom, your choice, he also faces the burden of ensuring the clan's future stability. The council made him realize that. Your marriage isn't just about you or him; it's about the entire clan's lineage and the alliances that will sustain it into the future."

"The weight of legacy," you sighed, the realization settling in like a cold blanket. "And what of Sukuna?" you asked, turning to your friend. "You say he cannot be the heir, but he has the strength and the respect of many within and outside our clan. He has the Ryomen name. Isn’t that worth something?"

"Sukuna is indeed capable," Gojo agreed, "and his contributions are invaluable. But leadership of a clan as prominent as yours, involves more than personal strength. The council will never approve of putting you aside. Woman you may be but you are their kin. And most blessed of the gods, with your powers. They’d not risk handing that over to another bloodline. Sukuna, while respected, will never gain the approval of the council. You know that too well, Hiromi."

You did know that well.

But you did not wish to believe it.

You wished that it was all too easy.

As you rode alongside Gojo, the silence stretched between you, filled with the distant sounds of nature and the soft thudding of your horses' hooves against the soft earth. Your mind churned with thoughts, particularly of Sukuna, and the complex web of emotions that his potential marriage stirred within you. The idea of him choosing a partner, possibly from outside the clan, and the resulting distance that it might create, unsettled you deeply.

You had always relied on Sukuna, not just as a cousin or a fellow warrior, but as a pillar in your life—a constant presence whose strength and understanding had often been the anchor in your turbulent role as heir. The thought of him being tied to someone else, of sharing the bond you valued so much with another, felt like a quiet threat to the stability you depended on.

In the reflective quiet of your ride, you realized how much you needed him to remain close, both physically and in loyalty. "If Sukuna were to marry," you finally spoke, breaking the silence, "I hope it would be someone from within our clan." Your voice carried a mix of hope and a subtle plea, laden with unspoken reasons. Suzaku did not say anything, if he had noticed.

Gojo glanced at you, noting the undercurrent of concern in your tone. "Keeping him close would certainly be beneficial for the clan, and for you," he acknowledged. "Sukuna’s talents and his loyalty would be best served within the clan, continuing to strengthen our core."

"Exactly," you agreed, feeling a slight relief at Gojo’s understanding. "His marriage within the clan would ensure that he remains integrated in our affairs, accessible, and involved. It’s not just for personal reasons," you added, though your voice faltered slightly, betraying your personal stake in the matter.

Gojo nodded, recognizing the dual layers of your concern—both for the clan and for your own connection with Sukuna. "It’s a strategic and personal hope then," he observed wisely. "But remember, Hiromi, as much as we plan and hope, some things will ultimately be Sukuna’s decision to make, just as some of yours are yours alone. Even as his lady and he your servant — you will always be two separate souls.”

You absorbed Gojo's words, feeling the gravity of their meaning settle heavily upon you. Yes, Sukuna had his own will, his own life to lead, and while your paths were intertwined by blood and duty, they were also distinctly separate. You couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness at the acknowledgement, a reminder of the individual journeys you both must undertake, regardless of your desires for closeness.

You purse your lips in resignation, eyes casted off to the ground. “I suppose you are right. If he wishes to continue to serve me….that is up to him.”

“Don’t worry about your pretty little head too much, you’ll end up with Hiramu–sama’s wrinkles.” Suzaku jokes at you as you pout at his words, glaring at him. “Besides, ‘tis not too late to find a man to boss around, other than Sukuna–dono. There’ll be eligible bachelors at the clan gathering waiting to be bossed around like him, I’m certain!”

You gasp at your friend. “I don't boss him around! Take that back!”

Gojo's laughter trailed into the distance as he galloped ahead, leaving you momentarily alone with your thoughts. His jest, though light-hearted, sparked a mix of irritation and amusement within you. You couldn't help but smile slightly, despite the seriousness of the conversation. There’s a reason your brother had loved Suzaku like his own brother. He let the weight fall off, with one laugh. And you are, you supposed, are fond of him in that way too.

You nudge your horse forward, catching up to Gojo who had slowed down, allowing you to ride side by side once again. "You know, it's not about bossing anyone around," you began, your tone playful yet carrying an undercurrent of sincerity. "It’s about having someone who understands and shares the burden, someone who can stand by my side not just as a subordinate, but as a partner."

Gojo nodded, his expression turning thoughtful as he considered your words. "True partnership is rare, you need only look at my parents, Hiromi." He whispers back to you "but it's not unattainable. And you, Hiromi, deserve that. And I hope you have it. But such a talk of marriage, that is for life. You bound your homes, your family, your souls for all eternity. You must pick well.”

You gave him a small nod. "I shall bear it in mind.”

"As you should," Gojo responded, his tone confident. "Take this opportunity, this clan gathering, to access the suitors. Take mind of what you want — companionship, friendship, strength, mayhaps even love. Look into their souls. And pray to the gods on it.”

“I know.”

"You're not just choosing a husband, Hiromi," Gojo said as the estate’s gates came into view, silhouetted against the twilight sky. "You're choosing someone to support you as a leader, someone to stand with you against whatever challenges the future might hold."

Gojo's words carried a weight that resonated deeply within you as you neared the grand gates of the estate, the last rays of sunlight casting long shadows over the grounds. His advice was not merely practical; it was a call to introspection and discernment, a reminder of the profound implications your choice of a partner would have—not only for your personal life but for the future of the clan you were destined to lead.

"I understand, Gojo–sama," you replied, your voice tinged with the gravity of the decision that lay before you. His eyes changed, became more guarded, now that you were both returning to the world beyond the two of you. Servants bowed as you passed them by. He sighed. “I take your words into mind.”

As you passed through the estate gates, you felt the weight of your responsibilities more acutely than ever. The upcoming gathering would be a pivotal moment in your life, a time when the personal and the political would converge in the faces of the suitors presented to you. Each candidate would need to be evaluated not just for his lineage or his alliances but for his ability to be a true partner in every aspect of the word.

"Pray to the gods, indeed," you murmured to yourself, echoing Gojo's earlier advice. You knew that divine guidance, if such a thing were inclined toward your plight, would be most welcome. Yet, you also knew that the ultimate decision would come down to your own judgment, your ability to see beyond the surface and discern the true nature of those vying for your hand.

"Thank you, Gojo–sama, for your guidance," you said, offering him a sincere smile as you approached the main house. "I will take everything you’ve said to heart. It was good advice for me to ponder on.”

Gojo Suzaku returned your smile, a sense of pride evident in his eyes. "That's all I can ask for, Hiromi–sama. Know that whatever decision you make, I, and many others, will support you. You are not alone in this, nor will you ever be."

As you dismounted your horses at the stable, you parted with Suzaku, who had returned to his own quarters in the far hedges of the estate. The very best was offered to him — lest your pride would sooner give it to the Fujiwara. As you approached the main house, the fading light cast long shadows across the courtyard.

There, standing with a poise that commanded attention despite the casual lean against a stone pillar, was Ryomen Sukuna. The sight of him, so suddenly before you, caused a small hitch in your breath—a mixture of surprise, then a flood of relief and tension. All those around you were lost in the blur as you approached him. You felt your chest tighten in joy as you looked at him. He was back home. He was safe. And he’s in here, in the flesh.

You turned to your servants as they bowed to you in reverence. You smiled at them, ordering them away. As they backed away, leaving you both to your privacy, Sukuna straightened as he noticed your approach, his expression unreadable at first, then warming slightly with a reserved smile that seemed exclusively reserved for you. His bright red eyes, sharp and discerning, scanned your demeanor as if trying to read the thoughts swirling behind your composed facade.

"Hiromi–sama," Sukuna greeted, his voice carrying a calm strength that often reminded you why he was not only respected but also deeply integral to the clan.

You smacked his hand. “Ever so formal. They’re gone. Talk to me as you usually do, you brat.”

Sukuna's expression tightened subtly at your playful smack, a brief flash of something unspoken passing through his eyes before he masked it with a controlled smile. "Of course…night flower," he replied, his voice holding a trace of coldness that wasn't there before, as if maintaining a careful distance even in his informality. “As you wish.”

“It is my wish,” You nodded at him. “Now, tell me. What has gotten you to such a state?”

"You always preferred plain speaking," he continued, his tone smoothing into something warmer, though it still held an edge that you couldn't quite place. His gaze lingered on you a moment longer than necessary, as if trying to read your thoughts or perhaps gauge your mood.

As you looked back at him, trying to decipher the layers of his demeanor, you noticed a tension in his posture that was unusual for Sukuna. "What's the matter?" you asked, your voice tinged with concern. "You seem... different. Has the trip fatigued you?”

Sukuna shifted slightly, looking away for a moment before meeting your eyes again. "It's nothing," he said, a bit too quickly. "Just the usual clan pressures, you know how it is." His smile was back, but it didn't quite reach his eyes, leaving you with a sense of unease.

You frowned at him, looking up to him as his height towered over you. “You are displeased. But what about? Tell me. Is it something I’ve done?”

Sukuna paused, the conflict evident in his expression as he weighed his words carefully. The usual confidence that characterized his demeanor seemed momentarily shaken as he grappled with his internal struggle. He took a deep breath, and when he spoke, his voice was a mix of resignation and sincerity. His red orbs take a good look at you, the beauty of you, as you stand there, waiting for him to speak. Even now, you’re more concerned about him. More desiring to please him, to see him warmly smile. To be joyous when he’s with you.

“It’s….” He takes a moment as your eyes plead with him, you move to take his hand into your own. He looks down as you wrap your palm against his. It moves him, how your hand and his seem to fit each other like a glove. After all this time, he thinks the touch of your hand on his is the warmth that touches his soul the most. The very touch that makes his heart beat in his chest. “It’s nothing.”

Sukuna's voice trailed off into a whisper, his usual resolve crumbling slightly under the weight of his unspoken thoughts and feelings. The contact of your hand in his, gentle yet firm, seemed to anchor him, providing a silent reassurance that words alone could not convey. Despite his initial protestations, the simple gesture encouraged him to open up, to share more than just the superficial concerns that had been allowed to surface.

"Night flower," he began again, his gaze lifting to meet yours, a hint of vulnerability flickering behind his steady exterior. "It's….I heard about the council.." His words hung heavily in the air, charged with an emotion that had previously been masked by his stoic facade. "I know it's what's needed for the clan. I know it's your duty. But," he paused, searching your eyes for understanding, "It doesn't make it easier to know that….you and another man…”

Your heart clenched at his confession, feeling a surge of empathy for the struggle he faced. Sukuna had always been the pillar of strength, the steadfast protector, rarely showing any signs of personal desire or conflict. To hear him express such raw, personal sentiments was both startling and touching.

"Sukuna," you responded, your voice soft but filled with conviction, "You are irreplaceable to me. No political alliance or marriage can change what you mean to me, to the clan. To us. You are my confidant, my steadfast supporter. My….my dearest follower." You squeezed his hand, reinforcing your words with the warmth of your touch. Your cheeks turn scarlet at your words. "This decision, while necessary, doesn't diminish us. It doesn't diminish our bond."

He listened intently, each word you spoke seeming to ease some of the tension that had built up within him. The warmth of your hand in his served as a tangible reminder of the connection you shared, one that went beyond mere familial duty or clan obligations.

"I know," Sukuna finally said, a small, grateful smile breaking through his usual guarded expression. "And I'm here for you, little night flower. Always." He squeezed your hand back for a moment. Next, they touched your cheeks.You leaned against his touch. “I only live for you.”

“I know.” You responded in a small whisper, feeling his hand squeeze your own. You smile at him. “You had just gotten home. This conversation should not be what we welcome you home with.”

Sukuna's smile softened at your words, a mixture of affection and reassurance lighting up his features. "It's alright," he said gently, his thumb lightly caressing your cheek. "There's no one else I'd rather talk to about these things, no matter the day. But you're right, let's not let this be the shadow that greets my return."

He dropped his hand, though his eyes lingered on you a moment longer, conveying a depth of emotion that words could scarcely capture. "Let’s focus on the now. I’ve missed this—us talking, just being together," he added, his tone warm and inviting.

You felt a wave of relief wash over you, grateful for the shift towards lighter conversation. "Then tell me about your journey," you suggested, stepping back but keeping the warmth in your smile. "What tales do you bring from afar? Any new challenges, any triumphs?"

“I shall tell you later, when we have both recuperated.” He whispers to you tenderly, a small grin on his lips. “Will you sup with me tonight?”

“Of course,” You responded with elation, smiling at him. “I would be happy to be your guest tonight.”

“As am I, little night flower.” He gently lifts your joint hands under his lips, and lets his lips brush against your fingertips. “I shall let the servants know.”

Sukuna released your hand with a final, affectionate squeeze and let it go, as soon as he turned, his sharp eyes piercing towards one of the nearby servants who had been discreetly waiting at a distance. You turned to where he stood and he nodded at the servant. With a few quiet words and a nod, he instructed the servant to prepare for the evening meal. As soon as he showed himself, the servant too fled.

As he finished, he turned back to you, his expression one of quiet anticipation. "It will be just us tonight," he said, his voice carrying a hint of something more personal, a shared intimacy that was often veiled beneath the formalities of clan duties. "A chance to relax and speak freely, away from the ears of the clan. You need not bother with manners.”

“As you like.” You laughed, turning to your side as you watched the sun go down. “We have much to talk about. I suppose. With you being gone so long.”

“Hm.” He nodded at you as he turned around, as though to inspect your surroundings. You were stunned at his sudden touch, tickled as he pressed a kiss against your cheek, his arms wrapped against you. You slowly descended into his touch, your face as scarlet as the scarlet sunset. You leaned against him, comforted in the familiar touch. “I had missed you.”

You slowly looked at him.

You smile at him tenderly.

Your heart skips a beat.

You see the world in him.

“I missed you too, Sukuna.”

YOU HAD NEVER INTENDED TO FALL FOR SUKUNA. He was younger than you, he was not at the same rank as you. You were his better. His superior. You were his master, he your follower. You did not know how it truly began, where it began. But you knew it started subtly, and felt that slow shift in your relationship with Sukuna. In the early years of your youth together, it was all about duty and the responsibilities that came with your roles within the clan. You were the mentor, guiding him through the nuances of life and jujutsu sorcery, preparing him to make the banner of the Ryomen clan stand firm. He was eager, a quick learner, and his dedication to his role within the clan mirrored your own. But most of all, he was eager to serve you in all ways you wanted him to. He declared his purpose to live — to be you.

Over time, however, the lines between duty and personal affection began to blur. More so when your uncle had made him your retainer, as an extension of your uncle’s service to you. It was the small moments that began to weave a deeper connection between you two—the late-night strategy sessions that turned into long conversations about hopes, fears, and dreams.

The way he looked at you when you taught him something new, a look of admiration mixed with something you hesitated to define; the quiet comfort of his presence on a difficult day, and how naturally you began to seek out his company.

You found yourself noticing little things about Sukuna—the way his eyes crinkled when he truly smiled, how he'd always make sure you had the first cup of tea during your meetings, or the way he'd stand just a little closer to you whenever you were in a crowd. How he would walk with you night after night until your body finally tires enough to bid nightmares in the dark.

These were trivial, everyday occurrences, but they built up a tapestry of affection and care that was hard to ignore. They built up admiration, they built up devoted trust and then they built love — one that lingers in your heart then and now today, even stronger.

The realization that you were falling for him was sealed to you during a particularly perilous mission. Sukuna had thrown himself in harm's way to protect you, and the fear that gripped your heart at the thought of losing him was a wake-up call. He had been cruel to that curse that had nearly taken your life.

But he did more than ever, because if he hadn’t, then life would be gone. It wasn't just protective instincts or camaraderie; what you felt was deeper, more personal—a tangled mix of love and devotion that you no longer could or perhaps even wanted to deny.

Admitting your feelings to yourself was one thing; acknowledging them to Sukuna was another. The night you both finally spoke openly about what had been silently growing between you was filled with a mix of anxiety and relief. Under the dimly lit kiss of moonlight, the blossoming of those queen of the nights all around the ponds. Your eyes had never seen clearer. Your heart had never beat harder.

Sukuna, it turned out, had been harboring similar feelings. He confessed that what started as admiration and respect had grown into something much more profound. He loved you, not just as his mentor or as the heir to the clan, but as the person who understood him better than anyone else. He loved you because you were his life. You were his everything. And that has reduced you to the most profound tenderness of your life.

It was the night of too much merry drinking, Sukuna’s name–day. He had settled it to the day he had met you, the day his life had truly begun. Under the ethereal glow of the moonlight, you and Sukuna found yourselves walking along the tranquil paths of the estate's garden.

The night was serene, with a gentle breeze stirring the air, carrying the delicate scent of Wijayakusuma flowers—a rare bloom that only opened at night, releasing its fragrance into the quiet darkness. The pond beside which you walked reflected the moon's silvery light, enhancing the otherworldly atmosphere that enveloped you.

You had been discussing mundane clan affairs, but as the pathway brought you to a secluded spot near the water, surrounded by the blooming Wijayakusuma flowers, you felt a compelling urge to express the feelings that had been growing stronger within your heart. You stopped walking, turning to face Sukuna, who looked back at you with a questioning gaze, sensing the shift in your demeanor. You pulled at the sleeves of his haori. His eyes widened slightly, at how intimate your touch had been.

"Sukuna," you began, your voice soft yet carrying a firmness that underscored the importance of your words. "I know that our duties and roles within the clan are what have always guided our actions. But tonight, under this moonlight, I want to speak not just as your mentor or the heir to the clan, but as myself."

Sukuna's expression softened, his usual guardedness easing as he stepped closer, instinctively understanding the significance of the moment. "Hiromi," he replied in an equally soft voice, his bright red eyes searching for yours.

"There’s something I need to tell you," you continued, your heart beating faster as you gathered your courage. "Over the years, what I feel for you has transformed. It has grown beyond respect, beyond our…existing bond. Sukuna, you must understand. This is….it is hard to say. But…I love you." The words felt liberating, yet laden with the weight of truth that you had held back for so long. You looked at him even more intensely. “I love you.”

The world seemed to hold its breath as you waited for his response. Sukuna's eyes deepened with emotion, a mixture of awe and tenderness etching across his features. He reached out, his hand gently cradling your face, his thumb caressing your cheek softly.

"Hiromi–sama," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "This heart of mine has been yours for longer than I can admit. I love you too. I have loved you in ways I dared not acknowledge until now." His words flowed like a sacred confession, filling the space between you with a profound sense of connection.

The admission ignited a spark that had been smoldering quietly within both your hearts, and as Sukuna drew you closer, the distance between you closed not just physically but emotionally. Your lips met in a kiss that sealed your mutual confession, a kiss that spoke of deep bonds, shared secrets, and a love that transcended the roles you played in the daylight.

Surrounded by the night-blooming Wijayakusuma blossoms, under the watchful gaze of the moon, you and Sukuna embraced each other, allowing yourselves to fully experience the depth of your feelings without reservations. Tonight, you were not just the heir and the warrior; you were two souls united by a love both forbidden and inevitable.

Your relationship, of course, since that confession had been a carefully guarded secret. The stakes were high—fraternization within the clan, especially of such a clandestine and intimate nature, was fraught with political implications. Not to mention, he was your uncle’s son. He would be one to decide his son’s fate in matrimony.

Even if the marriage would be acceptable, the elders would never accept it either. Yet, this secret had brought you closer. This desire to grow this love, this relationship has brought you closer. You both had enjoyed creating a private world where you could both just be yourselves, without the titles, without the burdens of your birthright.

Now, each stolen moment with Sukuna was cherished, a precious respite from the world's demands. You understood the risks, but the depth of your bond made every stolen moment, every shared glance, every secret touch, worth it. It was a love that had grown in the most unlikely of soils, under the cover of duty and clan loyalty, blossoming into something neither of you could have anticipated but now could not imagine being without.

As you sat across from him, delicately handling the utensils and taking small, thoughtful bites of the meal laid out before you, Sukuna watched you intently, his gaze almost unblinking. The soft light of the candles flickered across your features, highlighting the gentle curve of your cheek and the sincere smile that occasionally graced your lips as you engaged in conversation.

To anyone else, this moment would seem ordinary, just two people sharing a meal, but to Sukuna, it was a poignant revelation of all the facets of your being that he had come to adore.

In that quiet observance, Sukuna found himself reflecting on the depth of his feelings for you. He thought he understood it well. You deserve someone as sweet as you, someone whose kindness mirrored your own, whose love was as unwavering and pure as the light in your eyes. You deserve someone who could love you better than he ever thought he could—someone less troubled, less consumed by the complexities and shadows that often followed him like specters from his past.

Yet, as he watched you, Sukuna knew he was addicted to your sweet taste. It was an addiction born not out of necessity but out of a profound and overwhelming desire that transcended mere affection or loyalty. It was an addiction to the warmth you brought into his life, to the serenity that accompanied your presence.

It was an addiction to the way you saw him—not as the formidable warrior or the guarded clan member, but as himself, Sukuna, with all his flaws and strengths laid bare.

He liked things bitter, he liked things as they were—harsh and unadorned with pretense. That was the world he knew, the world he had made his own. But not with you. Never with you. With you, everything was different. Your sweetness didn't cloy; it soothed. It didn't overshadow; it illuminated the dark corners of his heart he had long resigned to shadow. Your love, your presence, transformed the bitterness of his existence into something bearable, even beautiful.

As these thoughts swirled through his mind, Ryomen Sukuna realized with a pang of both joy and sorrow that no matter how much he believed you deserved better, he could not imagine stepping back into the shadows and watching someone else take his place by your side.

The selfish part of him, the part that was irrevocably entwined with your very essence, would not allow it. He was bound to you, not just by duty or shared secrets, but by a powerful, inescapable love that demanded to be acknowledged, cherished, and reciprocated.

So, as you laughed softly at something he said, bringing him back to the present, Sukuna allowed himself a small, genuine smile—a rare gift from a heart so fiercely guarded. In that moment, he made a silent vow: to be the sweetness in your life whenever possible, to temper the bitterness not just within himself but in the world around you, ensuring that no matter what, you would never have to face the shadows alone.

The path to Sukuna's quarters was familiar, yet each step seemed imbued with a sense of anticipation tonight. The estate was quiet, most of its inhabitants having retired to their respective quarters, leaving the halls dimly lit and silent. The soft patter of your footsteps on the polished wooden floors marked your passage through the vast corridors of the Ryomen clan's ancestral home.

As you approached the door to Sukuna's quarters, you paused, taking a deep breath to steady the fluttering in your chest. It was strange how, even after all this time and despite the countless secret meetings, the thrill of seeing him never faded. You gently knocked, a coded rhythm that whispered of hidden intimacy.

The door opened almost immediately, as if he had been waiting just beyond it. Sukuna's presence filled the doorway, his figure imposing yet welcoming. His eyes lit up at the sight of you, a warm smile quickly replacing the usual stern expression he wore around others.

"Night flower," he greeted softly, stepping aside to let you into his private world. The warmth of the room, lit by the gentle glow of lanterns, enveloped you as you entered. The familiar scent of incense was comforting, a subtle reminder of the many nights spent here, wrapped in conversation—or in silence equally profound.

Sukuna closed the door quietly behind you, ensuring your privacy. "I'm glad you could make it," he said, leading you toward the small dining area where a simple yet meticulously prepared meal awaited. The intimacy of the setting—a small table set for two—was a stark contrast to the grand dining halls you were both accustomed to.

"It's been too long," you responded, allowing the relief and happiness to show in your voice. As you sat down across from him, the proximity brought a comforting sense of closeness that you cherished deeply. "I've missed this."

"As have I," Sukuna admitted, his gaze lingering on you with an intensity that made your heart race. He served you both, his movements graceful and familiar. The meal was a simple affair, chosen for ease and comfort rather than formality. Each dish was a reminder of previous confessions and conversations that had deepened your bond.

Dinner passed with easy conversation, the kind that you could only have with someone who knew you as well as you knew yourself. You spoke of everything and nothing—missions, clan politics, small triumphs, and trivial frustrations. Yet, beneath the mundane lay the unspoken acknowledgment of the rare and precious nature of your relationship.

As the meal came to an end, Sukuna took your hand across the table, his touch sending shivers up your spine. "No matter where our duties take us," he said earnestly, "this—us—it's worth every risk."

You squeezed his hand in agreement, the danger of your secret alliance a shadow that loomed large but felt inconsequential against the depth of your feelings. "Always," you affirmed, your voice low but fierce with conviction.

The rest of the evening passed in a beautiful blur. You talked, laughed, and shared quiet moments of just being together, stealing time from your respective responsibilities. When it was time to leave, parting was as always bittersweet, filled with silent promises of another stolen moment soon. He did not wish to see you leave. But you had to.

There was a meeting to prepare for, the clans will be arriving soon enough. It was needed as heir to be part of the conversation. Sukuna too will be returning to his training. He had been eager to perfect another technique he had thought of, he called it Kumo no Ito.

He had done it once, fighting a mountain curse by chance. But he was adamant to show it imperfect in form to you. He said it had to be perfect. And he could only do so, if he was perfecting it. And as such, you both needed to bid farewell for the night.

In his dimly lit room, the soft glow of candles casting shadows that danced upon the walls, Sukuna held you close as he bid you farewell, his strong arms encircling your waist with a gentle firmness. The world outside faded into a distant murmur, leaving only the two of you in the cocoon of warmth that your shared presence created.

His eyes, usually so intense and commanding, now looked at you with a tenderness that made your heart flutter, a softness you saw only in moments shared in solitude like this. He was like this, only for you. You were the only one worthy of his humanity.

The gentleness of the kiss was a stark contrast to the fierce battles and harsh realities that both of you faced daily; here, in this moment, there was only gentleness, only love.

As if moved by an unspoken agreement, the kiss deepened, driven by a surge of emotions that had been simmering beneath the surface. Sukuna's hands moved from your waist to cradle your face, his fingers threading through your hair with a delicate touch that belied his warrior's strength.

The softness gave way to a burning intensity as the kiss grew more passionate, more urgent. His lips moved against yours with a fervor that left you breathless, each kiss a fiery declaration of his need, his desire, his love.

The intensity of the moment fueled a deep yearning within you both. Sukuna’s hands, firm and warm, traced the contours of your back, pulling you even closer against him. His touch sends shivers down your spine, igniting a fire within that grew with every caress, every squeeze that conveyed his impatience and longing.

You responded with equal fervor, your own hands exploring the broad expanse of his back, feeling the muscles tense under your touch. You could feel the heat of his skin through the thin fabric of his shirt, the solid strength of his body a stark contrast to the gentle way he held you. It was a heady feeling, knowing you could evoke such a powerful response from a man as composed and formidable as Sukuna.

He broke the kiss momentarily, his breath ragged as he looked into your eyes with an intensity that made your heart race. "You undo me," he murmured hoarsely, his voice low and husky, filled with raw desire. Before you could respond, his lips were on yours again, more insistent this time, as if he couldn’t get enough of the taste of you.

His kisses trailed from your lips down your jawline to your neck, where he lingered, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin, eliciting gasps and soft moans from you. Each sound you made only seemed to drive him further, his hands roaming over your body, mapping every curve, every line, with a possessiveness that thrilled you.

You tugged at his shirt, pulling it free from his trousers, desperate to feel his skin against yours. Sukuna obliged by shedding the garment swiftly, revealing a chest sculpted with muscle and scarred from battle—a sight that only heightened your desire. You traced the lines of his scars with reverent fingers, each one telling a story of survival and strength.

Sukuna lifted you then, with a surprising gentleness, and you instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist. His hands supported your thighs, his grip secure and unyielding, as he carried you to a nearby piles of warm straw pillows. Gently, he laid you down, his body resting against you. You lean towards him, looking into his eyes as though you see the stars, he whole sky, in him.

The world around you seemed to spin, the intensity of the moment drawing you deeper into a whirlwind of sensation and emotion. Sukuna's heartbeat thundered against your chest, mirroring your own rapid pulse. The heat between you built, a delicious tension that made every touch, every kiss, feel like it was both the first and the last.

As you clung to each other, lost in the fervor of each other, it was as if nothing else mattered—no clan duties, no hidden secrets, no potential consequences. In that moment, there was only the truth of what you felt for each other, laid bare and undeniable. But Sukuna knew he could not give into his desires. You were too sweet for him, it's true. But he didn’t want to curse you with bitterness.

Not until you want him to. You deserved better than this. Better than to be shamed beyond your marital bed. He would marry you first, he would claim you as his wife before he goes beyond anything else. Control, he must have control. He could not do this to you. Not yet.

When the kiss finally broke, you both were left gasping, foreheads pressed together, still holding onto each other as if to anchor yourselves in the aftermath of such powerful emotions. Sukuna's eyes met yours again, still intense but now shimmering with a mix of satisfaction and awe at the depth of connection you shared.

“You must go.” He whispers to you, eyes not leaving yours. “Before we do something we’re not prepared for….Tomorrow, we have a busy day, night flower.”

His voice was husky, a whisper laden with regret and a stark reminder of the reality that awaited outside the sanctuary of this moment. His hands, still cradling your face, held you gently as if he could somehow convey the intensity of his feelings through his touch alone.

You nodded, understanding the weight of his words, feeling the ache of leaving him like this. But his use of your affectionate nickname, "Night flower," reignited the warmth inside you, a reminder of the deep bond you shared, one that went beyond physical desires.

"I know," you whispered back, your voice tinged with reluctance. Your fingers traced the line of his jaw, memorizing the feel of him, the strength and warmth that emanated from his skin. "But it doesn’t make it any easier."

Sukuna's eyes held yours, a tumult of emotions swirling in their depths—passion, desire, but above all, an overriding sense of duty and care for you. He leaned in once more, his lips brushing against yours in a tender, lingering kiss that felt like a promise. "Tomorrow," he said softly. You looked up to him. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Reluctantly, you stepped back, feeling the cool air rush between you as you disentangled from his embrace. The room seemed colder now, the warmth of his body a ghostly presence that you already missed. You fixed your attire, a physical act of preparation for the return to your separate roles within the clan, each movement marked by a silent yearning for just a few more minutes.

Sukuna watched you, his gaze following every movement, every adjustment. There was a protectiveness in his posture, a silent vow that he was there, always, no matter the distance or duty that might separate you.

As you reached the door, you paused, looking back at him, still standing in the middle of the room, the candles casting soft shadows over his strong features. "Goodnight, Sukuna," you said, the words heavy with unspent passion and a profound affection.

"Goodnight, my night flower," he replied, his voice steady but his eyes revealing the storm of emotions within. As you closed the door behind you, the soft click sounding unusually final, you carried with you the memory of his touch, his kiss, his longing look—a treasure to sustain you through the challenges of the coming day.

As you slipped out of Sukuna's quarters and back into the cool night air, the secrecy of your love felt not like a burden, but a shared secret that bound you closer together, a silent vow renewed with every fleeting encounter. In the shadows of the clan's expectations, what you had with Sukuna was a beacon—a light that, however hidden, guided you both through the darkness.

You wanted it to last forever.

You want it to be eternity, all of it.

Yet you knew better than that.

Wijayakusuma dies easier than that.

And so do many happy days in spring.

Nothing sweet tastes sweet forever.

fun facts for this chapter

they got together when hiromi was 21/22 and sukuna was 19/20. it took hiromi about a year to confess, sukuna was planning to confess when he was promoted in a higher position in the clan. when she confessed, he was already at a higher rank, something similar to a buke, and so felt a little more confident abotu accepting her confession.

hiromi doesn't use her powers that much when she fights, but sukuna does. sukuna is a perfectionist when it comes to jujutsu. he thinks his skill is the best way to prove he's worthy of hiromi, who in his eyes is already powerful without using much of her cursed technique. her cursed technique, sadly drains her too much. we'll see that in as the world caves in and a red winter!!!

isamu does not want hiromi to get married to someone who will make her unhappy due to his own unhappy marriage. but the council of elders think that the earlier hiromi marries, the more her position wouldn't be contested by sukuna (he does not want to contest her).

council of elders want someone who is from outside the clan to marry hiromi because they think it would open to a closer tie with a powerful clan that they think would be able to subdue sukuna's influence. the elders do not trust sukuna, and they never will.

hiromi and suzaku gojo became very close after her brother died, as he was her brother's closest friends. she feels like she needs him in her life to have her brother close. she's hiromi's person when she needs advice about something serious.

hiromi and sukuna often ate together with hiramu in their presence, they were like their own little trio. but hiramu has become more busy with the bureaucratic work that isamu asked his brother to do - so he left sukuna in his place as hiromi's retainer. sukuna has since taken his adoptive father's place as hiromi's confident.

hiramu isn't clueless about what's going on between sukuna and hiromi, but he says nothing. he knows sukuna would end up in trouble. but he would rather see them happy than not at all.

the clan gatherings were made by hiromi's ancestors to settle rekindle friendship between clans. they hunt curses together, compete in poetry and music, archery and such the like. it's the ryomen's turn to host it this year. last year it was the gojo clan who hosted, which is why suzaku was there, talking about clan matters.

124 notes · View notes

vivid-ink · 2 years ago

Text

"Show Me & Teach Me" Part III - A Heart Full to Bursting

Neteyam x fem!Omatikaya OC Part III Summary: Will Seyla finally find the courage to tell Neteyam how she feels?

Content: SMUT 18+ MDNI, angst & fluff, pining, protective Neteyam, romance, Neteyam is your mentor, teacher-student chemistry, eventual happy ending, slight age-gap fetish, older man-younger woman. Word count: 9.3k

Part I - Show Me & Teach Me Part II - I Like Your Stars Better

Author’s Note: I apologise for the delay between Part II and this final Part III. I’ve had a difficult few weeks at work and I can’t write when I’m tired, the words just don’t flow. But here it finally is! The conclusion to Neteyam and Seyla’s journey. This part is more emotional than the last, but it’s no less spicy. Enjoy! 😉

***~~~***

It had started as a dull ache at first, just a mild pressure in Seyla’s chest that niggled at her throughout her days; three unspoken words whispering and swirling gently in the tender depths of her heart. I love you...

She kept them a secret.

The small ache had then grown, ebbing and flowing like the modest currents of the spring water streams that ran down through the mountains and hills, feeding into faster-flowing waters. And as more time passed, the three words began to chant themselves louder within her, the ache surging into capricious currents like river rapids that frothed and churned, filling her heart with a deep yearning to speak what she felt aloud. I love you, Neteyam…

But still, Seyla kept her lips sealed.

Now, the three unspoken words roared like furious thunder in her soul, demanding to be freed so they could dance on her tongue and slip past her lips into the realm of spoken truth. It was almost unbearable how full her heart felt, so full it was close to bursting. The pressure was almost akin to pain.

Seyla did not know whether it was her timidity, her fear or just plain youthful inexperience that caused her to cling on so tightly to her silence. Perhaps it was a combination of all three. She had no doubt about her feelings; there was nothing she felt more certain of in her life. She loved Neteyam. Her heart was his to possess and yet she could not find the courage to speak the words.

The only times she was distracted from the agonising ache was when she was deep in concentration; focused singularly on a complex healing task at work, or focused so entirely on Neteyam during another one of their lessons. Indeed, her heart was not the only thing too full of him at the present moment. Her mouth was currently also too full to speak the verity in her heart even if she wanted to.

A deep, rumbling moan sounded from Neteyam as his hands threaded themselves into Seyla’s beaded braids where she was knelt before him, his cock in her mouth. His grip was firm and her braids pulled against her scalp where he had fisted them in his hands, but the slight pain was pleasurable, Seyla found.

Running one hand in a tantalising caress along the inside of one of his thighs, she moaned keenly, bobbing her head while she worked his beautifully hard length in and out of the wet heat of her mouth. Her other hand was wrapped tightly around the base of his cock where it was too far down for her mouth to reach, and she stroked him in time with the bobbing of her head.

A string of expletives ground their way out from between Neteyam’s gritted teeth, “Fuck, that feels so good. You’re getting too good at this, numeyu (student).”

Hollowing her cheeks and drawing up his length with a long, slow suck, Seyla’s lips popped free of his cock with a soft slurp and she looked up at him through coquettish eyes, “Mm, I’ve got a good tutor.”

With her bright green eyes never leaving his, she stuck her tongue out and began to run it in a slow swipes from side to side against the sensitive, ridged underside of his cock head. The move earned her a strangled grunt from Neteyam and a little spurt of pre-cum against her tongue, salty and sweet. His head lolled backward against the bark of the tree he was leaning against and she revelled in the way his breaths came in deep heaves; each one causing his broad chest and shoulders to expand and contract raggedly.

Seyla could feel her own arousal like a thumping beat between her thighs. Her sensitive flesh tingled and she was sure she could feel core drenching itself in slick. She absolutely relished seeing Neteyam like this, completely undone and unguarded. It made her feel empowered in a way she had never felt before to have such a formidable male at her mercy.

“Yawntu, please stop teasing.” Neteyam’s words were a pleading whine and his grip tightened in her braids, though he made no move to force Seyla’s head closer to him. She giggled. He was ever the gentleman even amid his burning desire.

Licking a teasing stripe up his length, she conceded to his request and took him into her mouth again, carefully puckering her lips like he had taught her so she would not nick him with her teeth. Enjoying the way his girth stretched the moist confines of her mouth, she slowly pressed her head down until he hit the back of her throat, before pulling back up again in another tormenting suck.

Seyla carried on at her unhurried pace, making sure to pay special attention to the swollen tip of his cock every time she bobbed back up to it with a particular suck and swirl of her tongue. She caressed his balls with her free hand, encircling them in a loose grip and fondling them with her thumb and fingers. Neteyam emitted a whimper and his hips jerked.

Humming in satisfaction when his cock hardened impossibly further in her mouth, Seyla brazenly reached down with another hand to touch herself. Her fingers ran easily past her core, collecting the slippery moisture that had pooled there. Her eyes lifted to Neteyam’s face again and she found him watching her with a slack jaw and hooded eyes. Raising her slick-soaked fingers from her core, she ran them smoothly up the skin of his thigh, leaving a glistening trail of dampness in their wake, all the while still dutifully bobbing and sucking like a conscientious student.

Neteyam’s face twisted and he panted wantonly, his hips squirming a little under her ministrations, “Seyla, please.”

Drawing back off him again with another pop so she could speak, Seyla purred, “Please, what? Tell me what you want karyu (teacher).” She continued to fondle his length with a hand, squeezing and stroking his shaft, but she stopped her strokes just short of the sensitive head in a deliberate move to tease.

It was at times like this that Seyla amazed herself. She had discovered a feminine confidence within herself these last couple of moons in these provocative situations with Neteyam. She took control where she wanted to, whispered filthy things to him, coaxed whimpers from him and made him beg with a self-assurance she never knew she possessed.

It was ironic really. She was like a bold palulukan during their carnal evening explorations, but when it came to voicing the ardent emotions she harboured for him in her heart, she was like a wilting tsawksyul (sun lily).

A bead of pre-cum seeped out from his cock and Seyla swiftly cleaned it away with a keen lick of her tongue. Neteyam had yet to give her an answer, but he appeared too consumed by his pleasure in that moment as she proceeded to play with him even further. She toyed gently with the mushroom-shaped tip, softly caressing it in small up and down strokes with only her fingertips.

Neteyam was clearly becoming impatient in his endeavour to find ecstasy. He pumped his hips lightly, seeking more friction against the devilry her hands were wreaking upon him. Deciding to indulge him a bit, Seyla clasped his length firmly with both hands and allowed him to thrust into her grasp. She lowered her head towards her hands and positioned her lips in such a way that would permit the head of his cock to press against her puckered lips in a salacious kiss with each upward thrust of his hips.

The daylight was diminishing quickly now with the onset of eclipse and Seyla absorbed the masculine vision before her in the tawny light. Neteyam’s tanhì (bioluminescent freckles) were aglow now in the darkening atmosphere. His skin glistened with a sheen of perspiration and a single rivulet of sweat was beading its way down his sternum between impressive pectorals. The muscles of his abdomen and his thighs flexed from time to time with his thrusts and by Eywa did he smell divine.

An intoxicating musk was pouring off him, a rich aroma of woodland pine and pure male sex appeal. It made Seyla very much wish that his cock was filling something else of hers instead of her hands. Her core pulsed and clenched in want between her legs, disappointed at the emptiness it felt which she knew would be so satisfyingly filled by the beautiful, hard cock pumping in and out of her grasp.

But she and Neteyam had yet to cross that line. And besides, they were late for dinner at his family’s home now too.

Seyla saw Neteyam’s gaze flicker briefly to the darkening horizon as if he too was registering the latter-mentioned fact. His lips peeled back from his teeth in an unsatisfied grimace and he panted at her through his thrusts, “I’m so close. Can you be a sweet girl and finish me off like I taught you last time?”

Seyla felt a spark of excitement rush through her at the memory of their last encounter. Neteyam had guided her around what he liked and he had been a striking and wild picture of pleasure when she had thrown him over the edge. “Yes, karyu.”

Remembering what she was taught, she grasped his balls with her left hand in a firm grip, snug enough that she felt the skin of his scrotum pulling but not so tight as to be painful. A pleasure-filled hiss from Neteyam confirmed she was right. Encircling his shaft with her right hand, she positioned it at the base to hold him still before wrapping her lips over the swollen tip of his cock. Focusing just on the tip, Seyla began to bob her head quickly, the flat of her tongue roving over the oozing slit at the top with each rapid draw and suck.

Neteyam’s reaction was immediate and a long, throaty groan exhaled from him, “Oh Great Mother, yes. Just like that, yawntu.”

Seyla knew he would not last long based on the telltale stuttering of his hips and the shuddering of his breaths. He was so beautiful like this, all rippling muscle and moaning with wild abandon as he hurtled towards his peak. She felt her own nipples stiffen at the stimulating sight and the throbbing want between her own legs intensified.

His groans were getting harsher now and Seyla felt one of his hands leave her braids to cup her jaw, which she had learned was his indication that he was about to orgasm. She was not going to pull away though. She wanted to taste him on her tongue and imbibe every drop of the essence he was about to gift her.

Neteyam’s entire frame tensed and Seyla took a quick and indulgent glance at his face, noting how his jaw was dropped and his eyes were screwed shut while he sailed over the edge into oblivion. Gorgeous. She pressed her head down, taking his length as far as she could go. She felt his cock harden before it pulsed and jumped, hot fluid spattering the back of her throat as she instinctively swallowed it all down with a gratified moan.

The stifled cries of bliss from Neteyam as he came were music to Seyla’s ears and she rubbed his thighs relaxingly while he came down from his climax. She slowly drew her mouth back over his sensitised flesh one last time to clean him off before she released him, licking her lips demurely and patting the sides of her mouth with her hands to make sure she had not missed any stray drops.

A breath blew out from Neteyam’s lips and he chuckled at her with a shake of his head, “By Eywa, look at you, you’re so beautiful on your knees. Pleased with yourself, are you? Enjoyed your dessert before dinner?”

Seyla rose elegantly to her feet with a smug smile, “Very pleased.”

She moved to pluck her loincloth from where it lay over a nearby rock, but she felt Neteyam catch her wrist and spin her to face him. Clutching her against him, Neteyam stole a hungry kiss from her. Evidently his desire had not been completely slaked.

“We’re late for dinner now and it’s all your fault.” Neteyam murmured against her lips, his hot hands roaming in a searing trail down her back and over her pert bottom.

“You needed it.” Seyla breathed in return, “You were so wound up after the disagreement you had earlier with the other warriors. You were strung tighter than a bowstring that’s too short for its bow. Do you regret my offer?”

“No, I could never regret that delightful mouth of yours.” Neteyam’s hands roved past the cleft of her buttocks and she gasped when two of his fingers slipped easily through her folds to breach her core. He smirked, devilishly handsome, while he curled his fingers within her tight heat and revelled in the way Seyla writhed against him, “Perhaps the only thing I regret about letting you have your way with me is that I now have to wait until after dinner for my own dessert. I’m not done with you, yawntu. We’ll finish what you started later.”

***~~~***

Dinner with the Sullys went tremendously. The comfortable teasing and banter they all shared was both a wonder and a comfort to Seyla who had grown up an only child. They shared the happenings of their day with each other, joking and laughing as they ate.

Neteyam had been incredibly attentive to Seyla the whole evening. Not that his family had excluded her by any means, but knowing she was shy, he had made sure to keep her included in conversation and had encouraged her with a squeeze of her knee whenever she spoke. He had checked what foods she preferred and consistently ensured she had enough on her grazing mat, topping it up with more teylu grub, stewed yerik, spiced grains and leafy greens as she ate. In return, Seyla had peeled and cored the various fruits they shared afterward. They had fed each other fragrant pieces of sweet fruit by hand, so wrapped up in each other that they were completely oblivious to the quietly approving eyes of the rest of the family, Neytiri and Mo’at in particular.

“They make a very sweet pair, sa’nok. She’s a good choice for Neteyam.” Neytiri remarked under her breath, sitting alongside her mother as they enjoyed their dessert of fruit.

Mo’at’s eyes crinkled in the corners, a wizened smile gracing her lips as she watched her grandson and his betrothed. They were sat closely together, their crossed knees touching. Their sides were pressed against each other’s and their tails were twined like lianas while the downy tufts of hair at the ends whipped and frolicked in a frisky tango with each other. The tsahìk breathed a tranquil breath, “Yes, they suit each other remarkably well and the bond they share is deep.”

“Seyla is blessed by the Great Mother too. I can feel the grace of Eywa about her. Her heart is tender, but her spirit is strong.” Neytiri added, chortling to herself when she saw Seyla attempting to fend off another piece of fruit, which Neteyam was trying to coax into her mouth.

“Indeed, she will be a formidable tsahìk in time. I daresay they will be among the greatest leaders the Omatikaya have ever seen.” Mo’at agreed, “Eywa calls to them both, maite. It won’t be long, I feel, before we will be celebrating their blessed union.”

“No, not long indeed.” Neytiri smiled, feeling balmy warmth swell in her heart at the sight of the young pair. She recognised the expression Neteyam wore, his attention focused singularly on the young woman beside him as he beamed at her through golden eyes that were radiant with contentment. Her son was absolutely besotted and it only warmed Neytiri further to see the same enamoured expression mirrored on Seyla’s face.

“One more.” Neteyam cajoled, lifting another saccharine fruitlet to Seyla’s lips. Her giggles were infectious and he tittered along with her, playfully zipping his hand this way and that to avoid her repeated attempts to bat him away.

“No, I’m full! I’ll be sick otherwise. The fruit is very sweet!” Seyla twittered, twisting away from his fruit-laden fingers.

“Just like you are.” Neteyam said, yielding to her wishes and slipping the fruity morsel into his own mouth instead, “Although, I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you, yawntu.” He bumped his nose softly against her cheek in a tender nuzzle and winked at her, before helping himself to more fruit.

Seyla sucked in a small breath at his affectionate words and she felt herself flush from her cheeks all the way to the pointed tips of her ears. There it was again, that teeming pressure in her chest and the uncomfortable tingling on her lips; an ever-mounting urge to confess to him how she felt.

Great Mother, Neteyam was so beautiful. His cerulean skin gleamed slightly in the lambent glow of the firelight and Seyla particularly enjoyed the lean flex of the muscles on his broad back as he reached across the platters of food to pick at more teylu grub. Physical appeal aside, Neteyam was also a good man, a much-loved brother and son, and a wonderfully attentive partner.

Neteyam was her betrothed. They had kissed, played and enjoyed each other’s bodies for many weeks now, and she had known him and respected him as her mentor for far longer still. He had been clear in his initial affection for her, had asked her to accept him as her future mate, so why was she struggling to tell him she loved him?

Or perhaps her struggle was fuelled by the underlying insecurity of the converse question: Why had Neteyam not told her he loved her?

Those three words that hankered to escape the confines of her sealed lips had not crossed the threshold of his either. Maybe he did not feel for her as deeply as she did for him and Seyla did not want to make a fool of herself by being too eager.

“Seyla!” Tuk called from across the space, approaching them with a cheery grin, “I hate to peel you away from my brother, but can you re-do my braids for me, please? You’re so good at them. Besides, we’re overdue some girl time and Lo’ak is being gross over there.”

A loud burp sounded from the far corner where Lo’ak was lounging and Kiri swatted his thigh before scrambling away from him. She heartily agreed with Tuk, “Yep! He’s got enough gas to light a bonfire currently.”

“Hey, man!” Lo’ak protested with an exaggerated pout, patting his distended belly, “Go easy on me. I feel like I’ve eaten an entire sturmbeest cow.”

Neteyam gave an emphatic laugh, “You look like you’ve eaten a cow, bro!” He placed a warm kiss on Seyla’s forehead then and gestured for her to join Kiri and Tuk where they were seated not far away. His voice was low as he uttered a promise, “I’ll catch you later. I haven’t had my dessert yet, remember?.”

Seyla’s eyes widened at him in shocked warning, hoping his voice had been quiet enough that no one had overheard his comment, but she grinned at him anyway and joked, “Go, I think Lo’ak might need your help burping him. Firm pats on the back should do it.”

Kiri was already helping Tuk to undo the existing braids of her hair and Seyla moved to join the two women. Being only a couple of years older than Tuk, Seyla was closer to her than she was to the other Sully siblings. She and Tuk had been in the same circle of friends as children and she had a few fond memories of the games they used to play together.

“Your hair is getting so long.” Seyla breathed, settling herself at Tuk’s back as Kiri moved over to make space for her, “It’s nice and thick and healthy too.”

“Groundnut oil, like you said. Works wonders for the hair.” Tuk beamed.

“Yes, I’m sure Tuk wants to look her best to impress her tunutu (crush).” Kiri teased, jabbing Tuk lightly in the ribs, which the young woman protested with a playful swat at her older sister.

Seyla sucked in an excited breath, chortling impishly at the topic of conversation, “Ooh, who is it?” She ran her fingers through Tuk’s hair and her skilled hands began their braiding work, “You’re stuck here now while I do your hair so you have plenty of time to tell me about him.”

Tuk gave a narked harrumph and Seyla saw Kiri laugh at what must have been a glower on her younger sister’s face.

Kiri snorted with an eyeroll, busying her hands with some flax weaving, “She isn’t going to tell you so you’re going to have to guess. I’ll help you.”

“Kiri!” Tuk squealed in complaint, though her tone held more embarrassment than heat.

“Is he around our age?” Seyla queried. Tuk stubbornly remained mute, but Kiri shook her head and tilted her head upward in a hint. “Oh, older? Let’s see, what does he do?”

The kittenish game carried on, Seyla guessing various occupations and making several deductions based on Kiri’s enthusiastic hints and expressions. Tuk was muttering curses under her breath at the discomfiture of the whole situation though she had no choice but to sit still while Seyla finished her hair.

“It doesn’t matter.” Tuk grumbled, “He doesn’t take any notice of me.”

“Well, why don’t you go up to him and talk to him?” The suggestion earned Seyla a pointed look from both Kiri and Tuk, who turned to purse her lips at her with an expression of scepticism.

“That’s a bit rich coming from you, oh shy one. You barely speak to anyone you’re not familiar with.” Tuk retorted.

“I just mean that maybe you should put yourself out in his space? Greet him as you walk past? I don’t know. I can’t really offer any tips if I don’t know what he does or who he is.”

Another peevish harrumph from Tuk, “I would go and put myself in his space, but he’s never alone.” Her sentence was punctuated with a sulky pout and she turned her head slightly to shoot a glower in the direction of her older brothers.

A distant memory of her and Tuk talking about boys as children wafted through Seyla’s mind as she registered the scowl on the other girl’s face... An image of the warriors’ party coming and going on their daily assignments came next, and her brain conjured clear recollections of Neteyam and Lo’ak laughing and joking with one of their warrior friends…

A bright spark went off in her brain and Seyla gasped by Tuk’s ear, “Ateyo?”

A startled gulp from Tuk and a victorious hoot of laughter from Kiri was all the confirmation Seyla needed that her guess was correct.

“Shhh! Stop it!” Tuk squirmed, swatting lightly at Kiri again who evidently found the entire situation incredibly entertaining. Tuk cast wary eyes in the direction of her brothers, “Be quiet or they’ll hear you!”

Reaching for another bead to adorn the braid she was working on, Seyla chuckled, “I remember you liked him even when we were kids!”

Tuk shifted self-consciously on her crossed legs and sighed dreamily, “He was cute when we were young. Now he’s hot. Don’t tell Neteyam or Lo’ak or I’ll never stand a chance! They’ll think he’s too old for me.”

Kiri scoffed, turning her flaxen work over and holding it up to the light so she could check her patterning, “Ateyo is only four years older than you. You’re grown now, Tuk, our brothers shouldn’t be meddling. Besides, Neteyam can’t really talk on that point.” Her perceptive eyes fixed on Seyla and they narrowed deliberately while a grin played on her lips.

“Well, Seyla is two years older than me. Plus, you know what Lo’ak is like. Ateyo really looks up to him and Neteyam, and I don’t want Lo’ak to pull the whole ‘don’t touch my baby sister’ shit on him.” Tuk griped, reaching back to carefully pluck at one of her finished braids. She surveyed Seyla’s handiwork with admiration and gave her a grateful smile.

“One last bead,” Seyla breathed, her skilful fingers securing the last braid, “And there, you’re done.”

Tuk ran a gentle hand over her head, patting at her new braids and she turned to give Seyla a hug, “Thank you, sister!”

“Immaculate work as always.” Kiri praised, tucking a loose strand of her own chin-length hair behind her ear, “The only time I feel a tiny inkling of desire to grow my hair out is after seeing the results of your beautiful braiding, Seyla.”

Seyla smiled appreciatively in response at Kiri’s words and returned Tuk’s hug with equal fervour. She placed her hands on Tuk’s shoulders as they drew away from each other and she said, “Mantis orchids are in season right now and our healers’ stock of the flower’s nectar is running low. The orchids bloom their widest at night. I think you should be brave and ask Ateyo to accompany you on an evening walk while you gather more mantis orchid nectar for your grandmother.”

“Just like you should be brave and tell my brother you love him?” Tuk’s riposte came without missing a beat and Seyla’s breath caught in her throat on her next inhale, and she choked, coughing.

“Tuk.” Kiri reproached her sister, knowing her remark bordered on inappropriate as it touched on a very personal subject. Her eyes still held a twinkle of mirth though and her smile was astute as she regarded Seyla.

Seyla felt the saliva in her mouth dry up. Her ability to speak also proceeded to abandon her in a poof of smoke and she felt hot blood rushing to her face and neck in mortification. Great Mother, was she that obvious?

“I don’t- I mean, we haven’t-”

Tuk was now sporting a shit-eating grin that could rival Lo’ak’s at Seyla’s discomposure, and Seyla knew this was her friend’s cheeky payback for being teased about Ateyo.

Tuk gave Seyla’s knee a supportive pat, “It’s OK, it’s not just you. You’re both really obvious.”

“You’ve got that look on your face when you look at Neteyam.” Kiri added, “That moony-eyed and slightly constipated look that people wear when their heart is bursting to jump up their throat and out their mouth.”

Squirming under the scrutiny, Seyla murmured under her breath, “I don’t want to be too forward.”

“He loves you too, I know it.” Kiri reassured, “My brother is good at many things and he’s a fairly open person, but he’s shy with his words especially where he feels deeply about something. He’s a mighty warrior, but even the bravest of warriors will be less than mighty when it comes to matters of the heart.”

Tuk nudged Seyla’s side with a giggle, “I’ll do you a deal. I’ll ask Ateyo out if you tell Neteyam how you feel.”

“Only if you’re ready, Seyla.” Kiri countered with a pointed glance at Tuk, “But don’t be afraid to speak your truth if it’s burning in your heart. Be brave for my brother and tell him.”

***~~~***

The light twittering of the insects and the gentle croons and calls of the nocturnal wildlife resonated through the woodlands like a peaceful melody. Their swift footfalls lit a bioluminescent trail on the mossy ground as Neteyam and Seyla jogged toward the forest loft that served as their private retreat.

The nights were cooling off rapidly with the approach of the cold season, but their speedy pace as they headed for their destination kept them warm. Seyla trotted ahead of Neteyam, her heart beating both in excitement as well as in nervous anticipation of what was to come. The jogging kept her warm now, but she knew that the sensual activities they were soon to engage in would do more than stave off the cold. Neteyam wanted his dessert and she was going to let him indulge.

She felt a playful tweak on the tuft of her tail behind her and Seyla increased her pace, laughing. This was a game they often played. Neteyam was understandably stronger and faster than she was, and the only reason he always ran behind her was because he enjoyed chasing her flicking tail.

Reaching the familiar cluster of tall trees where their loft hung, Seyla scaled a massive trunk with Neteyam hot on her heels, reaching for one last tug of her tail. He succeeded just as she reached the flat of the woven platform and she squealed, whirling away from him.

“You can be such a child sometimes!” Seyla laughed, her chest heaving slightly from the physical exertion of the climb.

“How many times did I get you today? Four? Five?” Neteyam questioned, chasing her over to the warm rugs and blankets they had laid out in a corner over the past few moons. “You have to keep me guessing a little better.”

“Like a child.” Seyla admonished again with no real crossness in her tone, her expression mirthful.

Neteyam dipped his chin, his gaze turning predatory, and she spied the roguish weaving of his tail behind him. She watched him intently, loving the way his eyes glowed with mischief and his tanhì glimmered in the darkened atmosphere. Great Mother, he looked anything but childlike. He was an imposing picture of masculinity; like a stone-cold hunter that had identified his next target, whose countenance held the promise of the most delightful kind of danger that she was quite happy to fall prey to.

Seyla remained undaunted. On the contrary, her heart gave a tight squeeze, full of fondness as Neteyam stalked her towards the blanketed corner. Though his eyes were hungry, his smile was warm and her arms instinctively twined around his neck when he lunged forward to envelope her about the waist and take her to ground.

He laid them both on their sides facing each other and showered a series of kisses over her forehead and cheeks, “Thank you for coming to dinner with my family again tonight. It means a lot to see you getting to know them all. I hope we weren’t too rowdy.”

“It was wonderful. Your family has always been very welcoming.”

“You looked like you had quite a good time with my sisters. What were you all talking about?”

A nervous pang hit Seyla at the recollection of her conversation with his sisters and Kiri’s words rang in her ears; be brave for my brother and tell him… She licked her lips and swallowed, suddenly feeling edgy. Remembering Neteyam was still awaiting an answer, she brushed the subject away, “Just girl stuff. Secret girl stuff.”

“Yeah?” Neteyam did not look at all deterred from the topic. He trailed a warm hand down Seyla’s arm, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips. He kissed her knuckles and then each of her fingertips, “You’re not supposed to keep secrets from your betrothed, yawntu.”

Eywa help her… Seyla gulped and gave a taut chuckle and tried feebly again to end the conversation by making it seem mundane, “We were just talking rubbish about boys.”

If anything, her remark had the opposite intended effect and Neteyam cocked his head coyly at her, “Are your eyes wandering towards other men, Seyla?”

“No!” She gasped in a mild panic, and while her next words refuted his statement, they also damned her further into the conversation she was trying to get out of, “We were talking about you!”

“Oh? What about me?” Neteyam’s voice was a low and teasing rumble, but Seyla found nothing about her present circumstances funny.

Her eyes were wide as she stammered, trying and failing to find an answer. Seyla froze, looking at Neteyam who had his head propped up on one elbow as he surveyed her. She probably looked like a stunned yerik facing the pointed tip of a hunter’s arrow.

The truth in her heart swelled and the pressure amplified in her chest. The words she so badly wanted to say crept up her tightening throat. She was a little concerned that she was going to be sick, but there was no nauseous roil in her belly, just a jumble of nervous flutters.

You know he loves you… he has shown you that he does through his actions… Seyla’s brain supplied encouragingly. His sisters, those closest to him have reassured you…

Sure enough, Neteyam sensed her upset and he was quick to soothe her, “Hey, it’s alright. You don’t have to tell me. I was just teasing you.”

A little bit of the pressure in Seyla’s chest fizzled out and she shook her head with another attempt at sounding light-hearted, “Sorry, it’s girl code.”

A chuckle rumbled through his chest, “I can accept that you were talking about me and not to me. As long as you were only saying good things.” Neteyam ended his statement with a wink at her.

Seyla forced a grin and rolled gently onto her back, pillowing her head on a small bolster roll, relieved that at least she did not have to lie, “Yes, it was only good things.” A yawn overcame her then and she rubbed lightly at her eyes.

“Tired? Grandmother said that it was busy today in the healers’ hut.” Neteyam asked, to which he received a bleary nod in response. He chuckled again and reached out to stroke her cheek, “Just rest then, go to sleep.”

Seyla’s heart was galloping behind her ribs and she still felt on edge. Sleep would not find her easily in this state and besides, she wanted Neteyam to have his dessert. He was about to roll onto his own back and get comfortable when she protested his movements and pulled him in for a kiss.

She slanted her lips against his and his upper body moved to shelter hers as he deepened the kiss with a groan. It never failed to amaze Seyla how he stole her breath from her every time. Her blood began to heat and everywhere, all over, she felt like she was liquefying into a pool of desire. She wanted him, all of him.

Neteyam drew away slightly and the cold air of the night caressed her lips again at the absence of his warm mouth. He spoke, “We don’t have to do this. I know what I said earlier, but you’re tired and you should sleep.”

“No, I want you to touch me.” Seyla took hold of one of his wrists and manoeuvred it to cup one of her breasts through the delicate string of leaves over her chest. Still sensing and seeing the hesitation on his face, she added, “It’ll relax me and help me sleep. Please?”

With a shake of his head, Neteyam took a deep inhale before his breath whistled out of him in a sigh that sounded very much like a surrender, “I can’t deny you anything, yawntu. You have me wrapped around your finger. And I guess I’m happy to help myself to dessert too. Just relax, sweet girl.”

He claimed her lips again with so much fervour it was a little painful and Seyla clutched at his face with both hands, letting her mouth fall open to his plundering. This would be an apt distraction from the yearning in her heart. The pleasure would divert her attention away from it and a climax would relax her enough to find sleep.

Her heart gave a hard and petulant thump, almost as if it wanted to challenge her cunning plan.

Neteyam’s lips roved over her neck and chest, and her chest covering was swiftly discarded. He busied his mouth with the supple skin of her breasts, his tongue and lips worshipping her peaked nipples in hot and moist suckles. Seyla let her eyelids slide shut and she focused on the pleasurable madness that he continued to wreak upon her body.

I love you… The thought speared through her conscience. Seyla pushed it away, doubling down on her efforts to concentrate elsewhere.

The ties of her loincloth were being loosened by large, hot hands and she lifted her hips to help Neteyam shimmy the fabric from her hips and legs. She heard him groan at the bare sight of her, which made her lips quirk a little.

Pressing his lips to the inside of her thigh, his hot breath tickled her sensitive skin, “You’re so perfect, Seyla, and you’re all mine.”

His words sent her heart into overdrive, her tender emotions spiking exponentially. Seyla’s conscience chimed in yet again, tell him how you feel… he has claimed you as his… tell him you love him…

She was panting now, but she was unsure if it was because of the rising tidal wave of emotion within her, or because of the fact that Neteyam had buried his face at her core. Heady bursts of pleasure shot through her as he lapped and suckled at the little nub of nerve endings above her entrance. Her core pulsed in bliss under his attentions and a wanton moan escaped her when he snaked two fingers inside her.

However, despite the pleasure, Seyla was trying and failing to lose herself in it.

Her emotions had risen to the challenge and they were steadily overwhelming her. Her plan was not working... She could feel that her entire body was tense from the mounting anxiety, and a painful lump was forming in her throat where she had clamped her tongue to the roof of her mouth in a bid to stem the pressure.

Speak the words... Be brave… She pressed her fist against her open mouth, the points of her teeth digging into the bony protrusions of her knuckles. It caused her pain, but it was yet another helpful distraction from the pressing burden of the words that threatened to evict itself from her body by force.

Eywa, she was being absolutely ridiculous... Why was she so afraid? This was Neteyam, her Neteyam…

Seyla knew there was no escaping her predicament anymore. She had kept her love for him to herself for too long and it had eaten away at her slowly until now. Her feelings had reached a head and she needed to tell him tonight.

Neteyam stilled between Seyla’s legs. She was sprawled on her back for him as she had been all the previous times he had pleasured her like this, but that was where the similarities started and ended. Her legs trembled where his firm hands pressed into her pliant thighs, but they were not trembling with need. The air around him was devoid of her breathy moans and panting breaths. Instead, her torso was stiff and she was silent.

He kissed her clit gently, drawing it into his mouth again while curling his fingers within her, but his head shot upright and away from her when a hitching sob reached his ears.

Bolting upright and wiping his mouth on the back of his wrist, Neteyam shifted so he could peer at Seyla’s face. Her fist was wedged tightly against her mouth and she peered back at him through wide and anxious eyes that were pooled with tears.

Panic flared in Neteyam’s gut and his concern was instant, “Seyla? Have I hurt you?”

Seyla’s legs lowered themselves until they were flat again and she rolled onto her side to sit up. She was partially facing away from him now and he could see her dabbing at her cheeks. Her response was a wet gurgle, “I’m sorry. It’s not you, you’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Why are you apologising, yawntu?” Unable to help himself, Neteyam placed a cautious hand on her shoulder and applied pressure, urging her to turn back towards him. She did, but her eyes remained downcast. “Something’s bothering you, what is it?”

Her head bobbed in a slow nod and she took a shuddering breath, “I need to tell you something.”

“Alright, take your time.” Neteyam said in a gentle croon, fighting back the urge to press her further. Patience was something he learned early on with his siblings, especially with Kiri or Tuk when they were upset. Putting pressure on them for information before they were ready to speak only had the opposite effect of making them shrink further into themselves.

Worry and dread started to bubble like an amalgam of trepidation in his belly. Seyla was clearly upset and his mind was jumping to all sorts of the worst conclusions. Was the pace of their relationship moving too quickly?... Had he scared her with his enflamed desire for her over the past weeks?... Or worst of all, was she having second thoughts about being his betrothed?...

The points of Seyla’s ears rose and fell with her next deep breath and she began softly, “I hope that this doesn’t change what we have or make things awkward. And it’s fine if you aren’t where I am with things.”

“Go on.”

Seyla lifted her gaze to meet his and while it pained Neteyam to see her cry, the wetness of her tears shone beautifully in the moonlit reflection of her bright green eyes. Her hands lifted from where they had been clasped in her lap and she reached out with overturned palms. Neteyam took them intuitively in his, rubbing his thumbs pacifyingly over her smooth palms.

He could see she was struggling with her words and her tail had curled itself around her knelt thighs, the furry tuft quaking slightly. Keeping careful control of his own insecurity, he reassured her in a measured tone, “Don’t be frightened. Whatever you have to say, it’s just me. Even if it’s bad news.”

That earned him a watery laugh from Seyla and she shook her head, “No it’s not bad news.”

“OK, then speak freely.” Neteyam raised her hands to his lips, kissing her knuckles again. It was one of his favourite things to do to show his affection for her. Seyla had beautiful hands; healing hands that were gentle and soft, skilled and lifesaving. They were also hands that had set his body aflame with desire, hands that had brought him to the edge of paradise and beyond.

“Neteyam,” Seyla murmured, her voice almost barely a whisper. She squeezed his hands then, drawing strength from the feel of them around her own, “I love you.”

The moment the words left her, it was like a great weight had heaved itself free of her being. Seyla felt as if her lungs were suddenly able to expand better, the cool air filling and refreshing them with renewed vigour as if they had been impeded previously by the emotional burden she had carried.

Neteyam sat in speechless silence for several moments. Seyla could glean no hint of his thoughts or feelings, his expression the careful and neutral mask she had seen him don before in high pressure clan situations that called for composure amid heated chaos. His silence felt like an eternity to her and the black tendrils of her dreaded doubt began to unfurl in her heart.

But then his face split into an effulgent smile, stretching across his cheeks, all gleaming teeth and bright eyes.

Seyla could not help her own smile in reaction, her face illuminating in an overjoyed reflection of Neteyam’s. He pulled her towards him, one of his hands cupping one side of her face as he drank from her lips again in a deep kiss.

Cradling her face in his hands, Neteyam rested his forehead on hers, “Is that what you needed to tell me, sweet girl? Great Mother, I love you too. I love you so much.”

Seyla’s heart was bursting now with a different kind of pressure. It was light and warm, full of gladness and teeming with her love for him, which she now knew was returned with equal fervour. Sniffling and giggling in turn, she pawed at her eyes, “You never said anything and I was scared to tell you in case you didn’t feel the same.”

“That makes two of us. I was scared too. We’ve come a long way in the last while and I didn’t want to rush you or put any pressure on you by admitting how I felt too early.”

Seyla chortled at the thought that Kiri had been right about Neteyam (as she often was with most things). Rubbing her cheek affectionately against his, Seyla teased by his ear, “My mighty warrior was scared?”

Neteyam pressed a kiss to her neck, “Only when it comes to you. Only you have that power over me, to rattle my confidence and make me question my actions. I told you when we started this that we would go at your pace.”

Secure now in herself and in the profound connection they shared, Seyla knew what she wanted. “Then I want you tonight. I want to have all of you.”

“My life and my body are yours, as you wish.”

Neteyam groaned when Seyla climbed into his lap and her sweet mouth slanted over his. Their position elevated her head a little over his, giving her better control of their kiss as their faces twisted and moulded to each other’s from side to side. He was very aware that she was naked atop him and his cock was painfully hard within the confines of his loincloth.

Skimming his hands up her bare sides, he found her breasts and cupped them, delighting in the way her nipples stiffened immediately against his palms. Toying with the interested peaks, he felt Seyla whimper into their kiss, her hot breath sweet and moist against his mouth. He moved one of his hands to grip the softer flesh of her bottom, while his other hand snaked its way between their bodies to rub at her centre. She was so silky slick and she raised her hips to allow him to insert two fingers.

A gasp left her and she threw her head back, clutching at his shoulders as she undulated her hips, grinding herself against his hand. Neteyam’s other arm moved to her lower back to support her movements and he nuzzled the soft skin of one breast, purring, “That’s it, sweet girl. Do whatever feels good for you.”

To say that Neteyam felt like his control was slipping was an understatement. Watching Seyla like this and feeling the sensual clench and pulse of her core around his fingers inside her, as she writhed in his lap, was the best kind of torture a man could ask for. It was so easy for him to pretend that it was his cock she was riding. He knew that the fabric of his loincloth would be damp from the pre-cum he was leaking if he touched it.

Neteyam knew her peak was fast approaching by her breathy whimpers and the rhythmic fluttering of her core. Burying his face against her bosom, he attached his mouth to one nipple, sucking and flicking it with his tongue to further push her towards her oblivion.

However, Seyla gave a cry and abruptly stilled her movements, “Wait no, not yet.”

“What? Why?”

Seyla gingerly clambered off his lap, her hands reaching for the ties of his loincloth, “I want you inside me when I finish.”

Neteyam felt very divided in that moment. His body screamed its approval, but his mind hesitated with his concern. He gave a cautious chuckle, “This is your first time and it could be a little uncomfortable. It’s not a bad idea to finish first before we explore further.” He saw her wrinkle her nose in disagreement and she looked resolute.

Seyla loosened the ties of his loincloth and tugged at it insistently, prompting him to raise himself onto his knees so he could free it from his body completely. She stated clearly, “You said I could set the pace. This is what I want.”

Neteyam could never refuse her, he was powerless to. His cock throbbed with the relief of being freed from its cloth prison and he palmed it gently. Seyla was about to lie down on her back when he reached for her, “No, come here, numeyu. Stay in my lap like you were before. It’ll give you all the control.”

Following his guidance, Seyla settled over his lap again, greeting his cock with several tantalising strokes. Neteyam’s hips jerked, but she instantly understood what he meant when he said that this position gave her total control. His hips had jumped at the contact of her hands, but her weight prevented his pelvis from doing much more than squirm in place with no real upward motion.

She felt the aching throb at the apex of her thighs heighten at the sight of him, hard and wanting. She did not need any more foreplay. She felt hot all over, sensitised to every whisp of wind that whispered past her tingling skin; sensitised to every caress of Neteyam’s hands as they roamed her hips and back.

A flush had begun to tinge Neteyam’s cheeks a dark violet and his breaths blew out of his parted lips in shallow puffs. His golden orbs were desirous, but Seyla still perceived his gentleness in them and she smiled, “I’m ready.”

Neteyam swallowed tightly, resting his hands on the swell of her hips and guiding her as she raised them to position herself over him, “Take your time. Don’t worry about me, I’m already enjoying this far too much. Just focus on you.”

The blood was pounding in Seyla’s ears and they burned hotly too, but she was not afraid. Her heart was thumping in sensual anticipation. She reached down between them to take hold of his hard length, running the blunt head through her folds to find the right angle for entry. Neteyam whined at the contact and he buried his face into her neck.

The head of his cock nestled itself into place where Seyla could feel her entrance was and she slowly began to press downward. Her mouth popped open as the tip of him breached her with a slight burning sensation. She carried on, seating herself further and further down along the length of him. The girth of his cock filled her with an uncomfortable and burning stretch that made her wince, but there was also a satisfying fullness to it that urged her hips down all the way until her thighs were pressed flat against his once more.

Seyla’s discomfort thankfully did not last long and the stinging pain soon gave way to a gratifying pleasure at the notion that he was inside her. Sitting back a little, she beamed at Neteyam who grinned at her through half-lidded eyes and he squeezed her hips encouragingly.

Neteyam was going to explode from the sensation of Seyla’s tight walls around his cock. Her body was wet and so, so blissfully hot. She began to tentatively swivel and lift her hips and the friction made him hiss aloud in pleasure. He was vaguely aware that he was also cursing under his breath and he fought against the urge to press her hips down harder with his hands. Her pace was what they had agreed on and he would not violate that.

“You feel so amazing.” Neteyam breathed as she rocked against him with a gratified moan.

“So do you.” Seyla returned breathlessly.

Neteyam’s hands shifted to support her pert bottom, easing some of the pressure in her thigh muscles while she continued to lift and sink her hips, stroking her core up and down his erection. His head spun with blissfulness and his cock throbbed its enjoyment within her. However, he could soon feel that she was tiring and one of her hands was rubbing desperately against her clit as she chased her climax.

A whine of frustration escaped her as Seyla tried and failed to reach the peak she was yearning for. It all felt so good, but her thighs burned and she somehow needed more of him. Sitting herself against him and pausing to catch her breath, she felt Neteyam kiss her chin tenderly.

“Let me take over, yeah?” Neteyam carefully manoeuvred them both to lie her on her back, never breaking the contact between their bodies as he did so. Her thighs hugged his hips and she turned to press a kiss against one of his biceps where he was now leaning over her on his forearms.

Seyla loved being caged by him like this, their bodies pressed as close as they could be and his face hovering by hers, close enough to kiss, nuzzle and whisper in his ear. Her hands ran up his muscled chest and she pulled his face towards hers for a searing kiss.

Neteyam rolled his hips, thrusting into her with a full stroke and she broke away from his lips with an abrupt inhale. She gasped at the new sensation. She felt him even better like this, even fuller and more completely than before. He had stilled at her gasp and his expression was concerned as he stared down at her.

“I’m fine.” Seyla reassured, pressing her thighs against his hips and squirming in an unspoken urge for him to continue, “That feels great, keep going.”

Placing a gentle kiss against her lips, Neteyam nodded before tucking his face against hers to rub his cheek along hers, “Alright. Stop me if I’m hurting you, yawntu. You feel so amazing and I’m on the brink of losing my control.”

Neteyam rolled his hips against hers once more and then continued, setting a sustained rhythm that made Seyla’s head loll to the side as her pleasure consumed her. Every roll of his hips pressed his pubic bone against her clit while the length and girth of him pushed and pulled in and out of her core in the most delicious manner. Her entire body prickled and seared with ecstasy, her orgasm building quickly where they were joined between her thighs.

Moans and whimpers were leaving Seyla with each solid thrust of his hips against and the sound was the most titillating thing Neteyam had ever heard. The burning coil of his impending orgasm was winding low and tight at the base of his spine and his control wrestled with his pleasure. She was close to her own climax and he was determined to see her through to it without losing his control.

Cracking open her eyelids to catch a glimpse of her lover, Seyla relished the picture before her. She could not see Neteyam’s face as it was buried into the crook of her neck, but she could feel his expression was pinched, no doubt in pleasure, and his breaths were tearing from him in ragged moans against her skin. The muscles of his shoulders and torso contracted with each punishing thrust of his hips and she trailed her hands up his sides to press her palms against his hot skin, wanting to feel his muscles bunch and flex beneath her fingertips.

The telltale pulsing at her core signalled her impending climax and Seyla’s head lolled back, a hoarse cry leaving her as her body went rigid with ecstasy. Her fingernails clawed involuntarily across the skin of Neteyam’s back while her core contracted and throbbed around his cock in a powerful orgasm that made bright spots burst behind her clenched eyelids.

If Neteyam thought that he had enough control left to let himself savour his bliss a little longer, he was wrong. The violent clutch of Seyla’s centre around his cock as she orgasmed was vise-like and it forced his own climax from him with a guttural shout. He was helpless to stop the intense pleasure from consuming him as he ejaculated, his seed surging from him in harsh spurts into her welcoming heat.

Neteyam was panting against her like he had sprinted for a sustained distance. His chest heaved and his perspiration made his skin slick against her body. She nosed the side of his head where his beaded braids fell, tickling her cheek, and she inhaled his musky scent which was always the most potent after they had played.

He slipped off her to the side and she whimpered a little at the feel of his cock leaving her body. The sensation was closely followed by an oozing trickle of warmth that seeped down between her buttocks. An immense sense of gratification filled Seyla as she relished in the idea that Neteyam had reached the height of his pleasure inside her. She marvelled at how perfect she felt; how perfect it had all been bodily and emotionally.

Seyla whispered a small prayer of thanks to Eywa and her heart was so full.

Now that his breath was returning to him, Neteyam rolled onto his side to face her, “I love you, yawntu. Know that I always will. You’re the most precious thing in my life.”

“I love you too.” Mirroring him to roll onto her side as well, Seyla ran a hand across his forehead to wipe away several beads of his perspiration. She glanced downward at the thick braid of his kuru (neural queue) which was lying between them. Perhaps the afterglow of sex made her daring, but she reached out to trail a gentle hand down its tightly braided length.

Neteyam shuddered and his drowsy eyes slipped open at her touch. She watched him carefully. It was an incredibly intimate gesture, to touch the kuru of another. However, he appeared unbothered and a sloppy grin danced across his lips. Seyla’s own queue trailed at her side next to his, not touching but close enough that a mere shift of either of their arms would put their queues in contact.

Neteyam reached out to return the gesture, his hand stroking gently down her corded braid. It was a very pleasurable sensation and most definitely erotic in nature.

Seyla settled her hand over his, “I meant what I said earlier. About wanting all of you.” She traced her hand down his kuru again.

“What are you saying?” Neteyam murmured quietly. His eyes were bright and the corners of his mouth were twitching upward in what looked to be a hopeful smile.

“That I’m ready to be yours, fully, when you’re ready too.”

Seyla nudged her neural queue to lie alongside his, the thick braids coming into contact. The fleshy pink tendrils at the ends of their kurus unfurled, twisting and undulating in delicate coils. A few of the tendrils on each of their queues reached for the twisting wisps of the other’s, feeling and tickling each other but not fusing completely.

They both sighed in mutual pleasure at the intimate exchange, but they would not do this here tonight. It was not the way of things. Mating bonds needed to be forged before Eywa at the sacred grove.

Neteyam wrapped a strong arm around Seyla, pulling her body flush against his, “I’ve never been more certain of anything.”

Seyla snuggled against his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart as slumber called to them both. She pressed a lingering kiss to his jaw, her heart singing with elation, “Well then, we better tell your grandmother that we have a wedding to plan.”

The last thought that flitted across Seyla’s mind before sleep claimed her was a humorous one and it brought a small smile to her lips: Tuk was going to have to hold up her end of the bargain after all.

***~~~***

Author’s Note: A massive THANK YOU again to all of you for reading and for your support. Leave me a line if you enjoyed this, I’d love to hear from you. It makes it so fulfilling to write when I hear your feedback. Reblogs are also massively appreciated! This is the last part of this work. I don’t have any plans to continue it. Maybe now I’ll be able to go back and add to my epilogue draft for ‘To Know You Again’ and hope my writers’ block for that gets lost! Much love to you all. xx

@glimmering-darling-dolly @liluvtojineteyam @han-sirentell @cinetrix @bluealiensimp @nmin @bellstwd @baahsaama @oasiswithmyg @creepytoes88 @strawberri-blonde @luvteyams @couragemydearheart @jaeyutabae @fandom-geek17 @anonymousailurophile

P.S. If you asked for a tag and you aren't in this list, then for some reason it hasn't worked and I wasn't able to tag you, sorry. 😟

#neteyam #neteyam sully #avatar movie #atwow neteyam #avatar james cameron #avatar twow #avatar neteyam #atwow #avatar #neteyam te suli tsyeyk'itan #neteyam x oc #neteyam smut #avatar smut #neteyam fic #neteyam fanfiction #avatar fandom #james cameron avatar #avatar fanfiction

467 notes · View notes

strawbeerossi · 2 years ago

Text

Speak Now

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid

Description: Spencer Reid regrets many things in his life, losing his beloved girlfriend years ago is one of them. When he gets a wedding invite, he swallows his pride and decides to attend. That's when gets a dangerous idea.

Content Warnings: Some light angst, mention of regret, Spencer decides to ruin a wedding, there's some curse words thrown in for pizzazz, reader and Spencer run away together in the end.

Word Count: 2.1K

Masterlist || Taglist || Request

Tags 🏷️ @beardedhotchh @nyx-tella @multifandom-on-the-side @morgthemagpie @x0xonatalie @eveyez-exe

First installment of the Speak Now (TV) mini series!

There were a lot of mistakes that Spencer made in his life. Letting Y/N go was one of them. It was the nature of his job that had begun to take a toll, his girlfriend being met with the frustration and pain that he carried. It had gotten unfair on her, he knew that. It led to a discussion that needed to happen, resulting in an amicable breakup.

There were no hard feelings, no hatred. Y/N understood that his life was growing overwhelming, promising that she would wait for him. This job was new, it was his first year on the team. She would wait for him.

And she did. She waited for nine years before the realization hit her, Spencer wasn’t coming back to her. She’d learned of a false imprisonment, the death of a girlfriend, a serial killer who was obsessed with him, even the numerous times he’d been injured on the field.

Penelope Garcia was a close friend, the two meeting through Spencer and keeping communication through all the years. They frequented lunch dates, girls days, and even trips whenever the two women could find the time to do it. That was how not only Y/N got her information about her ex boyfriend who she could never forget but Spencer asked his own questions about the one who got away.

Their lives went in different directions. Spencer had worked himself up the totem pole of the BAU, his life’s work shining through his college lectures and the information he put out to the world. Y/N however had been a shining star at the elementary school she began teaching at, living at a relaxed state of her life where she didn’t have to worry about the impending issues with traveling the country about a million times a month.

It was fitting. Spencer had always wanted to save the world, wanting to help the people who couldn’t help themselves while Y/N wanted to help the youth of the country to grow strong and confident in themselves in order to break generational failures and curses.

So different yet so alike.

Penelope liked to say that opposites attract, that they’d find their way back to each other one day. Y/N had given up on that dream years ago, finding a man who loved her and treated her with nothing but love. The news killed Spencer when Penelope showed him pictures when he grew too curious.

The beginning of the relationship was the first knife to his heart, the engagement was a second. The third didn’t come until a year later, when he was being made aware there was a wedding that was in the Spring.

Spencer and Y/N talked about getting married in the Spring. When the flowers just began blooming, she could use the pastel color palette, and the flowers in the bouquet could be a collection of pink peonies and white roses. He could remember seeing her happy, a blinding smile on her face as she described everything down to the last detail. The way she looked at him in admiration, the way that she cried the first time he told her he loved her, the way she was always checking in on him.

He fucked up royally.

Whenever the wedding was rapidly approaching, he wasn’t expecting to get his own invite. He remembered opening the beautiful envelope with the familiar cursive writing that he remembered from years ago. The invite was personally addressed to him, saying he was more than welcome to bring a plus one.

A plus one.

What better than Penelope Garcia, even if she already had her own personal invite. He wouldn’t be able to face this moment head-on by himself and he couldn’t ask JJ to go like he would’ve before, not since their relationship began to get awkward after the events of the bank incident. In theory, he could’ve asked Luke but then Penelope would probably kill him for taking her idea.

Thankfully, the bubbly tech analyst was more than happy to accompany the brunette to the wedding that was surely going to be hard to swallow. Watching someone you love get married to someone else isn’t exactly ideal.

There were a lot of emotions that Spencer shifted through. There was anger, anger that he let her go when he was a young idiot who had no idea what he wanted. Then there was sadness, the tears soaking his face from the mere idea of having to fully lose her to a man who surely didn’t deserve her. Then there was the final stage that he had to get through his thick skull; acceptance.

He knew this was better for her, to have someone who had normal working hours who could always be there for her. However, he wasn’t going to like it. At all. However, there was one thought that lingered at the back of his head. What if he convinced her to leave with him. They could run away, find solace in each other’s arms again, just like years past.

That was a shitty idea in theory but on paper? Oh, he liked it.

He liked it so much that he made it his plan. There was no backing out of it. He was going to ruin this wedding. The worst that could happen was that he could be escorted out. That was it. If he was going to lose Y/N regardless, at least he could say that he tried.

Penelope wasn’t made aware of that plan though, having a fear that she’d talk him out of doing it entirely.

As Spencer had arrived at the venue, it wasn’t long until he was met with his close friend as well as Luke. Of course.There was no secret that even with the consistent banter between Garcia and Alvez that they had some underlying amount of love and care for one another.

“Are you ready?” She asked, sparing a sad glance at the taller male who walked alongside her and Luke into the venue that was rented out for the occasion.

“Yeah.” Oh god, if you only knew what I’m about to do.

Everything was beautiful and eloquent, a ceremony fit for a queen. It was fitting. His gaze looked over the chairs that were set up, decorated with strings of lights as well as an assortment of different flowers. The colors were pastel, like he’d vividly imagined for the whole year leading up to this fucking ceremony.

Y/N’s family looked pleased to see him.

Maybe even relieved. However, his mind could’ve been playing tricks on him. They wouldn’t be thankful for him showing up to the wedding of their only daughter. There would be no reason to be. Unless his suspicions of this guy being not all that he was cracked up to be was correct.

There was a silence that enveloped him when he could recognize the man from all those sickening social media pictures. This was the groom.

Well, she had a type. The mess of brunette curls falling in his face while he was currently laughing and talking with who Spencer could only assume was his own family. Again, it could’ve been his mind playing tricks on him. This was his own body’s way of telling him that his idea to speak up was going to be the correct decision.

He was an imitation, Spencer could give her the real thing. He was older, wiser, more experienced at this point. With his mandated time off, he could give her a life where he wasn’t always gone. He could love her, hold her.

He was definitely going through with it now.

“You must be Spencer.” A voice brought him out of his thoughts, blinking slowly. This guy was talking to him. Fuck. “Oh, yeah. Hi. I’m Spencer.” He spoke slowly, letting out a breath that he didn’t know that he was holding in. “Nice to meet you, man. I’m Matthew.”

Oh. He was nice. Well, that made him feel shitty. He wasn’t backing down though. Instead, he offered a smile, a fake smile that was easily mustered.

“Great to meet you too! Congratulations on the big day, by the way.” He offered a smile while letting out a soft hum.

There wasn’t much longer until the wedding attendees were being told to get into their seats and prepare for the wedding to begin. It was now or never. He was going to do this. It was a risk, one that he knew he didn’t actually sit and think through.

Losing Y/N in all aspects would crush him. This had to go well, it was going to go well, he needed it to go well.

As soon as the sounds of the Bridal Chorus was echoing through the room, Spencer had to take in a deep breath, eyes glued to the door as the bridal party was emerging first, followed by the flower girl. Then there was Y/N and her father.

God, she looked beautiful.

Spencer was mesmerized. He never pictured himself sitting amongst the guests the first time he saw her in a wedding dress. Hell, he wasn't even waiting for her at the end of the aisle and he could already feel tears soaking his cheeks. Tears of pent up sadness, longing, and envy.

As she approached her husband-to-be and everyone was getting seated, Spencer’s leg was bouncing from anticipation. He was good at getting through the beginning jargon of the promises and affirmations.

His actions weren’t going unnoticed. Penelope was the first one to glance over at the male sitting to her left. “You okay?” She asked, leaning over to put a hand against Spencer’s knee to prevent him from bouncing it. Which he couldn’t speak, too focused on hearing the words he needed to hear, the invitation to ending all of this.

It felt like an eternity of waiting, however, his opening finally came. “And if anyone objects to this marriage, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

His body works against the rational functioning in his brain, the man shooting up from his chair. There was a mixture of reactions,some looks of horror as if Spencer had just ripped the groom’s head clean off, then there were other knowing glances.

Y/N’s mother even looked as if she’d been greatly anticipating for her daughter’s ex to stand up and say something.

Spencer didn’t care, instead his eyes were directly on her. It was bold, something the old Spencer that she’d gotten to know would’ve never done.Her gaze was settled on her ex boyfriend, honestly being surprised he’d mustered up the courage to show up.

There was a tense, painful silence looming over the guests while Y/N cleared her throat. “I need to.. Step out. I’ll be right back.” The words were rushed, the bouquet falling out of her hands as she rushed out of the main room, heading to the backdoor that overlooked the beautiful garden outside.

Without being prompted, Spencer shot up despite Penelope trying to grab his hand and pull her down. “Come here!” She hissed, although he was already running out of the doors that were once shut tight.

So much for a wedding, right?

Y/N could be found near the back entrance, where she was supposed to leave after a beautiful ceremony and a memorable reception. Instead, there she was, hands over her face. The sound of footsteps caused her to glance upwards.

She had a smile on her face.

Out of all the interactions he expected, he wasn’t expecting a smile. He didn’t expect to feel her arms wrapped tightly around his torso either.

She did want this.

“I’m so glad you came. Fuck, I knew you wouldn’t let me down.” She spoke, now tossing the bouquet of flowers on the table that was close by. This was.. Something. “Come on, we need to get out of here. I promise that I’ll explain everything later. For right now, we gotta go.”

There was urgency in her voice, her hands nudging Spencer. The FBI agent in him was worried. Was this man hurting her? Was this all an act?

“Don’t profile me. He’s a nice guy but.. God, he’s not Spencer Reid. Now, can we please go?” She spoke, eyes glistening with mischief and affection. This was real. This was happening.

“Y-Yeah.” He spoke, his own smile creeping up onto his face as Y/N was tightly grabbing his hand while the two were running out of the building together, a whirlwind of adrenaline flowing through both of their veins as it became clear that this was the way that it should’ve been.

“I’m so glad you were around when they said speak now.”

514 notes · View notes

xmintpiex · 3 months ago

Text

Silver Blessing

wc: 1169

You had heard the rumors of the bastard son of the late royal princess and his rise of power, but you never expected that you would become personally involved with the 'fate-blessed' Michael Kaiser.

content: sfw, Michael Kaiser x f!reader, age gap, first meetings, widow!reader, implied misogyny, european fantasy inspired au

When you first received your nephew’s letter, you assumed it would be similar to all of the other monthly letters he wrote. Asking of your health, saying how greatly he missed you and your countryside estate, always thinking of the garden where the two of you spent your time together in his youth.

Reminiscing of the years he stayed with you as a child when the smog sickness was too widespread in the capital. Gentle urgings for you to come visit him and the rest of house Ness, that you shouldn’t have to continue with your strict following of the mourning customs. His words echoing that of your sister’s. Your titles and land rights were secured, there was no need to be so vigilant. It had already been two years since the passing of your husband.

You expected the little updates and tidbits about his post in the imperial palace and another one of his endless gratitudes towards how you helped convince his parents that they didn’t need yet another Ness in the royal health ministry.

Indeed this letter did have all that, Alexis’s thin, elegant writing the same as always, soft curves and ink scented with lavender. But towards the end, there was a plea. A plea for you to help one ‘Michael Kaiser’.

Even you, the widowed countess tucked away in the countryside knew the stories and rumors of him. Another bastard son of the late royal princess, given a minor title and the royal surname.

Another entry to contest for the vacant crown prince position. Michael Kaiser was rumored to be the most promising despite his lowly origins, he had already obtained a position in the coveted royal guard before he had even revealed his royal ties.

(There were other rumors of course, that this Michael made a name for himself in the antiquated, barbaric arena. That he killed the arena’s prized lindwurm with his barehands and made a noteworthy amount of coin from his bettings.

Whispers of how he grew up on the west side of the abandoned canal, just another orphaned sewer hunter in that dirty lawless place built out of mud and smelling of dead fish and rot. Whispers of other unsavory things that you did not hear because that was then you gave your servants a gentle warning look.)

You did not think you would ever be involved in court politics and it’s tiresome drama again, you had barely been able to handle the fighting with your late husband’s family, yet here was your most beloved nephew gently asking if you could help this Michael fellow establish himself amongst the nobility. His framing was quite persuasive, your nephew knew your worries too well, that an unmarried noble woman of low ranking had very little power, even as a widow.

But if Michael Kaiser truly was like the rumors did he really need a reclusive countess like yourself? You were uncertain of his age but he must at least be ten years your junior.

The rumors stated he was intimidating yet incredibly handsome. Surely there were better options for him, younger more prestigious and wealthier noblewomen that would be eager to marry the potential future crown prince.

You would hate to tie down a young man with so much potential in a loveless marriage. You knew how miserable that was.

So you sent your dear nephew a response back, stating that you would be willing to help his friend in other ways aside from marriage and you assumed that would be the end of it.

You did not expect for an unannounced visitor to arrive at your estate a few weeks later. A pleasant spring afternoon, you were dressed in one of your simple lightweight gowns, a sunhat thrown on haphazardly when one of your younger maids ran to your location in the gardens. Her cheeks flushed and eyes twinkling with excitement. For a moment it felt like this mysterious visitor was her master and not you as she practically rushed you to the entryway.

If you were someone else, perhaps you would have noticed the large bouquet of impossibly blue roses in his gloved hands. Or perhaps the intense blue of his eyes, his long golden hair fighting against the neat style it was tucked into, the shape of his firm lips, his pale cheeks. Perhaps the thick black fur perched upon his shoulders or the rich materials of his suit would have drawn your eyes.

But around his neck he wore a simple chain and on that chain was a small silver pendant, almost shaped like a teardrop and polished to perfection. Yet you knew it was not a mere pendant, that the teardrop was a blessed token, unique to the old western side temple of Eostre, the token only given to newly married women who paid a worthy amount to obtain the fertility goddess’s blessing.

You had only held the token for a short afternoon back when you were a young bride yet you still remembered it quite well. The weight too heavy in your palm back then, heavy with the expectations of your family, heavy with the cold words of your new husband, your naive dreams and young heart shattered. That little token in your palm more stifling than the dark colors and heavy fabrics you had to now wear as a married noblewoman.

Only in your hands for less than a day before you offered it to a young boy, a poor orphan no doubt based on the rags he wore, the dirt caked onto his body and hair. How he hissed and shrunk back as you gently handed him the token, blue eyes like that of a wild kitten.

The little token would serve him far better than it ever could you. You forgot exactly what you said but perhaps it was for him to use it, to sell it, to live. Sometimes you had wondered what had happened to that young boy, but not often. Your thoughts were always too pessimistic before the passing of your husband.

The first letter of your given name delicately carved into the center of that silver pendant around Michael Kaiser’s neck. That same token from all those years ago. Yours.

His movements, stiff yet confident, taking you out of your thoughts. Now only focused on the blue of his eyes. No longer that of a little feral kitten. Perhaps now that of a lion. Of something more powerful. More dangerous.

It seemed you would soon find out. His body shifting to kneel before you, blue roses extended upwards as an offering. His eyes unblinking as he looked up at you, gaze so ferocious it felt misplaced, unreasonably fervent, too beautiful.

Better suited for a goddess in her sacred temple, not for here on your doorstep, not for you. But it tugged at your heart, made warmth bloom that never did when you were a young bride. Was this how it was like to hold someone’s heart? How lovely.

“Marry me.”

#michael kaiser x you #michael kaiser x reader #michael kaiser x y/n #bluelock x you #cw age gap #xmintpiex work #this was meant to be like a paragraph at most idk what happened😆🙈

24 notes · View notes

star-redfiles · 4 months ago

Text

a modern-day cinderella story

atsumu miya x reader

3.3k words // content: not proofread, atsumu pov, second person, underage drinking, underage partying/clubbing

it’s a regular friday night. atsumu’s on a high after achieving win after win during the preliminary rounds for the spring tournament, securing a spot at both the nationals and the all-japan youth training camp before it. a couple of friends had invited him out to a party to celebrate, and who was he to decline? he was always down for a good time. besides, he knew how to pace himself well enough now that he was in 2nd year, so he wouldn’t be waking up to a painful hangover the next morning. he still needed to stay in good shape for nationals, after all.

an hour or two into the night, he meets you by one of the tables after your drunk friend is saved from a fall by resting on his back. though you also seem a bit unsteady, you’re definitely more in it than your friend, apologising profusely on her behalf. atsumu himself is a little tipsy, but he isn’t too inebriated to notice how mesmerising the person in front of him looked. he quickly expresses forgiveness and helps you lift your clearly wasted friend into what he assumes is your booth. even after she’s all settled, the fake blond still lingers, trying to make small talk with you.

“I'm miya atsumu, by the way. what’s your name?”

he starts with simple introductions before diving into his usual tactics to try and impress you. atsumu feels uncharacteristically nervous about the conversation, but ends up pleased with himself anyway when you do take interest and offer him a drink, both as an apology and to get some privacy away from your friends. not that they were an inconvenience anyway, either too drunk to notice or subtly encouraging the conversation. atsumu declines the drink, saying it feels backwards for the girl to buy the guy a drink, offering to get you one instead. you’re not necessarily offended by the notion, but try to reject anyway as you’re still pretty apologetic over your friend.

“no please, it’s my pleasure,” the setter flirtatiously reassures you. “letting me stay and talk to you is enough of an apology, seriously.” you seem to take the compliment well, tucking your head into your shoulder to try and suppress a smile. he even thinks you called him cute between giggles, but he wasn’t sure if it was just his intoxicated mind playing tricks on him. an unprecedented warmth appears in his chest when he hears you laugh, and it’s not from the alcohol. he then walks you over to the bar and orders on your behalf, carefully eyeing your glass as it’s being prepared.

time passes by in the blink of an eye while you converse. too soon, he finds that you’ve been talking for an hour and the clock’s hit 2am. people have already started streaming out of the party, including your now-sobered up friends, who wave you over to leave. when you notice them calling you over, you show him a look of remorse. “i’m sorry the night had to end so quickly, atsumu.”

a buzz fills his head when you say his name, blocking out everything that wasn’t your voice. he feels intoxicated on not just the drinks now. “i think you’ve apologised to me too often tonight,” he says, recalling how you met earlier that night. “i should be the one who’s sorry this time.” you offer him one last laugh in return to his corny joke, and he starts wishing the night could last forever.

to atsumu’s disappointment, the two of you did have to exchange goodbyes, even though he was wishing it had been a ‘see you later’. he doesn’t say it, but atsumu really hopes to see you again soon. the blond slumps back to his friends, hoping they hadn’t abandoned him yet. suna had a terrible habit of leaving him behind for kicks at parties, and his twin brother just loved to go along with it, no matter how many times their mother had scolded him. luckily, he finds them still hanging around outside the club in a crowd, impatiently waiting for him so they could leave. ‘prolly ‘cause the others tagged along this time, though,’ he thinks to himself.

once his twin spots him, osamu gets up from his spot leaning on the wall next to suna and asks where the hell he’d been for the past hour. “it’s like ya just straight up disappeared!” he complains.

“did ya happen to look at the bar?” atsumu asked with a hint of sarcasm. osamu could only stare at him in return, not bothering to make up some terrible excuse for the fact that he was just too lazy to search for his brother. “just cut me some slack, samu. i met a girl and we started talking for a while.” he tries to mask his excitement as he tells his twin about you.

though initially uninterested, suna looks up from his phone when he hears atsumu mention a lady. “a girl? was she hot?” the blond twin rolls his eyes and steps closer to the wall suna’s leaning on to slap him over the shoulder, knowing his friend meant to insinuate that he couldn’t pull.

meanwhile, osamu raises an eyebrow at the news. “i thought you said you were swearing off girls until after the spring tournament?”

atsumu replies with a shrug. “some drunk girl fell over on me and i thought her friend was cute so i helped her out and started talking to the cute friend. i just offered her a drink, and without knowing it, bam! i spent the whole hour with her. she was actually really cool, i think she laughed at every joke i said.”

“wow, she must’ve been really drunk then,” osamu teased, prompting atsumu to turn to him and tell the other twin to shut the fuck up. suna piped up from behind their quarreling to ask about your socials, no doubt so he could stalk you. “okay but seriously, what’s her instagram? i gotta know if she’s actually as hot as you say she is.”

that’s when atsumu’s night came crashing down. he faltered, not knowing what to say. he realised just then that he had been too caught up in the moment and forgot to ask for anything other than your name. osamu is dumbfounded at his brother’s idiocy while suna simply asks him, though not without a disappointed sigh, if he at least got your name. it doesn’t calm him down much, but as soon as atsumu tells them your name, suna instantly starts searching away on his phone. “is this her?” he shows the blond a profile on his phone, asking him to identify if it was his ‘mystery girl’. atsumu shakes his head and suna swipes back to the search results, moving on to the next account.

they go through several of them, atsumu shaking his head at each one. that is, until they find a private account with an unclear profile picture. it’s a distant photo of the account owner during a sunset, the glare of the flash covering most of her face. suna hands the phone to atsumu to get a better look and he thinks it could be you, based on the similar hair and figure, but he’s still unsure. suna decides to investigate further, snatching the phone back to look through any mutuals you and him shared. it was just their luck that it was an invite-only party, so they were bound to know someone who knew someone there. the twins watch him work from over his shoulders, observing how he quickly scrolls through feed posts and story highlights until atsumu sees you, or at least one of the friends who were with you that night. suna lands on a story from one of his mutuals from that very night, where atsumu recognises your drunk friend that he’d helped out earlier. to their delight, her account was public and she appeared to be a very close friend, with plenty of photos of you on her profile. with the confirmation that the account they found was, in fact, yours, suna sends the profile link to atsumu.

on their way home, osamu suggests that his brother send a follow request to you right then and there, but atsumu protests, all flustered and the like, saying that it would be weird and creepy if he did so without you telling him about it yourself. while suna agrees with atsumu, he also reminds them that, if he couldn’t follow or message you, there was really no point in knowing her account since it was private and all. atsumu becomes more frustrated as they travel home, both at his friends for making him acknowledge his unfortunate situation, and himself for being stupid and getting himself into this situation in the first place.

come monday morning, atsumu is still upset about his girl issue and osamu was starting to get fed up with his grumbling. “you have got to be in love with her or somethin’!” osamu exclaimed. “there’s no way ya’d be so caught up about it if ya weren’t. i don’t think i’ve ever seen ya overthink something not-volleyball-related since like, ever.”

when they enter the practice room that afternoon, the grey-haired brother calls up aran to offer some advice. he tells the older boy about atsumu’s situation while holding off an angry ball of yellow hair trying to stop his brother from “running his mouth”, on account of the story of you and that night being “his privacy”, or something. osamu wasn’t really listening. aran, already used to the stupidity of the twins from a young age, could only muster a deadpan look in response to hearing of atsumu’s oh so heartbreaking tale. he tells them that he’s on the osamu’s side, agreeing that there was no harm in following the girl and messaging her.

“ya know, instead of being creepy, it could actually be a great conversation starter.”

atsumu furrows his brows and calls the senior’s idea silly, wondering why his twin even called aran of all people over for relationship advice in the first place. taking feint offence, aran tried to defend himself. “what, you can easily open up a conversation with that! just be honest. tell her that ya told yer friends about her and when one of them asked about her instagram, you realised that ya didn’t get it, so they tracked it down for ya. it’s not like ya followed her home or found out where she goes to school. if she really liked ya, she might even be flattered.” after relaying his advice, aran quickly returns to the other side of the gym to start stretching – and maybe maybe to avoid atsumu altogether.

after practice, the setter contemplates actually taking aran’s advice. he’s also gotten sick of his own misery at this point –something he really didn’t want admit to osamu– so he might actually throw caution to the wind and do it. just like his brother said earlier that day, it was uncharacteristic of him to put so much thought into something like this. he supposed that the others were right –also something he’d never say out loud– and it really wasn’t too big of a deal, but he didn’t want to risk scaring you off in any way.

to everyone else’s dismay, atsumu ended up deciding not to send you a follow request that night. instead, he comes up with a bigger, better, and more complicated –or in osamu’s words, stupidly exhausting– plan to meet you again and ask for your instagram directly. he thought he was a genius for it.

based on your friend’s instagram that they found the night of the party, she was quite a frequent partygoer. so, going off both on your closeness and the fact that you seemed comfortable that night at the club, he assumed that you must’ve been one, too. as such, his master plan involved going to as many parties as he possibly could in hopes that he’d run into you again. when he told suna and osamu about it, they both called it dumb, saying he didn’t have the time and energy –or, frankly, the money– to be doing all this when he should be preparing for the spring tournament. atsumu interjected their complaints, reminding the two that being the prefecture’s most popular highschool volleyball player (a statement which earned even more protest from osamu, who insisted that he shared the title) had plenty of perks, including the connections and charm to get free entry into any party he wanted. as for volleyball training, he noted that parties were typically hosted only on weekends, so they wouldn’t take away too much energy from him. “besides, i’m not even planning to stay long at any of them. i’ll just stop by to look for her, and if she doesn’t show after a while, i’ll leave right away.”

although suna didn’t express any further concerns, instead being more vocal about how interested he was in seeing where this went, osamu was still hesitant about letting his twin go along with the foolish plan. though he tried not to show it, the younger twin was still worried about atsumu. “we need you in good shape for the tournament and you have that training camp at the end of next month, ‘tsumu. don’t go getting any more stupid because of some girl you talked to at a party.”

even though atsumu saw where osamu was coming from, he still expected a little more support from his own brother. “‘samu, ya don’t get it. she’s not just some girl.” the apprehension from his twin thinned out atsumu’s patience and sparked an annoyance in him, getting him even more fired up. the two of them started to go back and forth, atsumu becoming more insistent as they went on. “ya don’t have to worry about this taking me away from volleyball or whatever, i just need to find and talk to her again. it’s not like an impossible task or something.”

“I know it’s not necessarily impossible, but there are just better ways to go about it, don’t ya think?” osamu proposed.

still, atsumu was adamant on his choices. “and we’ve already talked about them. but just let me do this, will ya?”

with a final sigh, osamu gave up the fight. he knew his brother’s stubbornness well, and he knew when to back down from a battle he wasn’t going to win. he was getting exasperated over the debate anyway, so he just let it be, hoping that atsumu wasn’t going to regret it later on and praying that you weren’t going to disappoint.

over the next couple of weeks, atsumu went to as many parties as he could in the area, looking for you at each one to no avail. although he did catch glimpses of the group you were with that night you met, he never saw you with the crowd. he just about gave up in the final week leading up to his training camp, finally admitting defeat to suna near the back of the club they were at.

“i don’t think i’m gonna find her again. man, i really thought she’d be at one of these.” the blond sorrowfully sips on the glass he’s nursing in his hand while he watches people move to the house music blaring over the speakers. However, as he takes one last scan over the room, a familiar face catches his eye. shoving the drink into suna’s empty hand, he rushes over to a spot near the edge of the dance floor, paying no mind to the crowd of drunks he has to slip past and shove over to get to you.

when he reaches you, you’re startled by the feeling of a hand on your shoulder while you’re dancing on your own. you let out a shriek, turning some heads from a few people over. you grimace, realising that most of the attendants aren’t sober enough to notice you scream over the loud music. all your friends are scattered around the area, either at the bar or back at your table, which instilled a sense of danger when you felt the touch. but as soon as you turn around to who you expect to be a stranger, you’re met with a somewhat pleasant surprise in the form of a messy head of bleached blond hair.

atsumu lifts his hand again as soon as he hears the high-pitched noise coming from you, realising all too late that suddenly grabbing your shoulder in the middle of a crowded club was probably a bad idea. “shit, i’m so sorry i scared ya like that!” he yells over the deafening sounds of the party.

“hey, it’s fine!” you laugh, leaning in a bit to make sure he can hear you more clearly. “i didn’t think i’d see you again so soon.”

the boy in front of you lets out a nervous chuckle at your words. “oh yeah, hi again, by the way. i was kinda hoping i’d see you again soon, to be honest.”

he seems less confident than he did the last time you met, which piques your interest. “oh really? if we’re being truthful here, i kinda was, too.” you watch as the light in his eyes brightens up at your response, evident even under the dim LEDs in the room.

“seriously? then is it kinda weird that i’ve been looking for you everywhere?” atsumu asks, to your shock. observing the look on your face, he’s quick to clarify himself, stating, “i mean at every party i’ve been to. sorry, i think ‘everywhere’ does make it seem a bit weird, huh?”

he makes you laugh again, even without meaning to. “yeah, it kinda does. and have ya been to a lot of parties recently?” you question him, truly interested in how much he’s been looking for you in these past weeks.

atsumu nods in reply, admitting that he usually doesn’t, but he went out more in an attempt to find you. “my friends called me stupid for it,” he says, earning another smile from you.

“well, they might be right, considering i don’t actually go out that much,” you reveal. “once every few weeks, at most. and i’ve been busier since it’s the end of term now, so other things have been holding me back from partying.”

atsumu feels the shame rising into his face at this revelation, finding out that his assumptions were poorly mistaken and his efforts were somewhat futile. it’s his turn to laugh now. “i’m sorry, i guess i made the wrong judgement then, didn’t i?”

your smile grows wider as something dawns on you, recalling a detail from your previous meeting. “yeah, i guess you did. hey, look, you’re the one who’s apologising too much, now.” the blond matches your expression, glad that you remembered the comment he made the last time you spoke. the two of you launched into easy conversation once again, moving away from the crowd so that you could hear each other more easily. you eventually made your way out of the club altogether. suna spots the two of you walk out the door and inconspicuously slips out behind you while being sure to leave some space. although osamu had given up on coming with atsumu during his initial outings to find you, suna still tagged along, eager to see what you looked like for himself. he watches from a distance as the two of you talk, hoping that atsumu doesn’t forget to ask a crucial question this time around.

and luckily for all of them, he didn’t. before you exchange goodbyes that night, atsumu remembers not to make the mistake of forgetting to ask for your socials. no way he was letting you go this time.

note/rant this fic honestly isn't as good as i hoped it would be, especially the bit of conflict between the twins 😓 it's somewhat of a brainfart 'cause it really doesn't feel like good writing by my standards (maybe bcs i've been writing too many research essays) but i had the idea in my head and couldn't let the concept go to waste so i just pumped out whatever i could with my creative juices running low. also, the teenage party scene in this is based off my own hs experience, and ik it probably doesn't fly in jpn but I really wanted to write something based on it so

28 notes · View notes

moobloom-mention · 8 months ago

Text

To Wait for You Would Mean to Wait an Eternity (And By Then It'd Be Too Late)

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3

Summary: Macaque escapes his own death by refusing to interfere with Wukong's JTTW. Besides, Flower Fruit Mountain needs a king that'll nurse it back to its golden age, a role he believes he'll fit quite well.

Too bad Wukong isn't one to enjoy returning to his kingdom to find it overthrown by his own moon.

Content Warning(s): Implied Death

Word Count: 5758

----------

If Macaque was asked what his favorite thing about Flower Fruit Mountain was, he’d be the first to admit his fondness for its consistency.

Having risen amidst the calm waters of Earth’s equator, the island had never known the harsh bark of seasons demanding a change of climate, forever encapsulated in a state of spring if only to nurture its vibrant garden of flowers and trees.

The sky, too, never strayed far from the familiar status of clear, the sun’s routinely appearance a gentle glow everso eager to warm the fur of whatever little one had chosen to lounge about in its rays. Rarely was the sun ever blocked by the startling appearance of clouds and rain, their designated gods not daring to tread foot upon the island less it’d been deemed absolutely necessary.

Macaque supposes their fear of going anywhere near Flower Fruit Mountain meant that at least something good to come out of Wukong’s past claim as king. The sage may have disappeared from the mortal plane at least a few centuries ago, but not many beings were willing to take the risk encountering the ire of Wukong just to step on the island’s beach.

But whilst the implied protection very-well scared off any celestial beings or demons seeking new territory, it’d never exempted Macaque from needing to console little ones and fix whatever problems that’d frightened them.

He’d long outgrown the capability of counting on his hands just how many times he’d awoken at the first mention of sunlight to small monkeys hopping frantically atop his bed with urgent cries- ones painfully dismissive of his six ears -howling, “Macaque! Macaque! We lost [insert random number] banana trees last night-!”

Of course, Macaque- even amidst battling the thrall of sleep and his newly formed migraine -would always be mindful in comforting whomever had woken him, reminding them that he’d assist with planting more trees to replace whatever they’d lost. Sure it’d take a good year for the saplings to sprout and bear fruit, but that’d give them plenty of time to ensure other food alternatives remained bountiful.

Besides, if finding a few dead trees ended up being the annual tragedy his kingdom would need to face, Macaque couldn’t find himself bothered by the occasional rude awakening.

But to be savagely dragged from the comforting embrace of sleep by something heavy thumping hollowly against his forehead?

Yeah, no. He’ll take small hands shaking him awake anyday.

“Wha-?”

“Oh good, you’re not dead,” a familiar voice heaves somewhere to Macaque’s left, and he winces as the same hollow sound- which he now recognizes is a scroll -clatters violently against the stone flooring of his bedroom. It’s a harsh noise that harmonizes awkwardly with the distant chitters of other little ones roaming about the upper tunnels of the cave system. “I was beginning to think I’d have to handle the end of the world by myself-”

Now that puts distance between Macaque and the thick tendrils of sleep he’s still partially ensnared by, the king’s ears flattening in brief sorrow as he forces himself from the comforting warmth of his bedsheets and onto his feet.

He’s almost certain the little one that’d struck him is Èzuòjù, a blonde gibbon that’d never been the type to fear Macaque growing angry over his wild antics. Of course, Macaque’s genuine temper was a difficult thing to evoke, but it was the youthful spirit’s bravery that’d gotten him in good graces with the antisocial king in the first place.

Alas, it isn’t the familiar grin of a gibbon that greets Macaque’s brief scan of his bedroom, his eyebrows pinching as he finds an oddly short wall of bamboo scrolls seemingly floating across the floor. It takes an embarrassingly amount of time before he realizes that his library hadn’t suddenly learned the art of levitation, but that it was Èzuòjù himself dragging the heavy things across the room.

It’s an odd sight, really, the little one never having been the type to take an interest in reading. Learning to verbally translate Mandarin? Sure. But stealing Macaque’s reading material?

Maybe the world really was ending.

Wait-

Macaque hisses as the damning thud of a migraine vibrates against his skull, pressing a hand to his eyes if only to quell the pain and attempt to chase aside the fog of sleep still triumphantly seeking refuge behind his gaze.

The noise of discontent that’d managed to surface feels far too muted as well, his tongue heavy and uncooperative despite the verbal communication and sheer mental load this situation is bound to demand from him. “Why- my scrolls? And the world- why is the world ending?”

“The sky’s black,” Èzuòjù announces, helpful as per usual in his report. The wall of scrolls hesitates once before it clatters to the ground, Macaque’s thudding ears echoing the unapologetic “-oops-” that’s carelessly tossed his way.

“And,” the little one drawls with newfound disinterest in the pile of scrolls as he lifts his gaze toward the other. Macaque blinks expectantly when Èzuòjù suddenly pauses, the gibbon’s previous expression of quiet triumph quickly dissolving into one akin to shock. “Holy shit, you are dark.”

Ok-ay.

The world is ending.

The world is ending and it’s all because…the sky is black.

And because Macaque is dark. Whatever that could mean.

A disorientated sound claws its way up the back of his throat and he almost entertains the thought that this could all just be apart of some prank. Macaque was never the quickest to gain coherent thought after being abruptly woken, and Èzuòjù wasn’t the type to pass the opportunity to terrorize Macaque’s occasional moments of peace.

The worlding ending wouldn’t even make sense in the first place; Earth was far too early in its cycle for the Heavens to let it die, and well, the sky being black wouldn’t be anything new.

It’d only mean that the moon was still in its first phases, too weak for its light to reach the Earth and declare that Macaque should definitely be fast asleep instead of doing whatever this is.

“…and?”

The gibbon stares a beat longer before visibly shaking himself from whatever spell had possessed him. “It’s noon.”

Heavens above, no wonder Èzuòjù thought he died. He’d overslept, badly, and now it was noon.

Actually, no. He’d overslept and now the world was apparently ending, all because the sky is still dark and it’s supposedly noon-

Oh.

“There it is.”

There’s a shrill yelp as Macaque flings himself toward his wardrobe, unguilty as he disregards the indignant expression that crosses Èzuòjù’s face.

“The world is ending, and you’re getting dressed?” the gibbon asks, incredulously.

But Macaque pays no mind toward the question, clawing desperately through his drawers in search for the familiar rough fabric of his yellow and black hanfu. It was an article of clothing that the king had practically been raised in, and he’d made dozens of copies in the past few centuries if only to keep the original hanfu safely contained within his wardrobe.

On a normal day, Macaque would’ve hissed at the idea of wearing it outside, fearful the Heavens would take his boldness as a taunt to destroy it, but today was anything but normal.

His world was soon to end, and the king could care less for his hanfu’s safety as he dressed himself in red pants and a waistplate tied to his hips by a sash only a shade lighter than his pants. His iconic scarf is the next item to wrap around his neck, Macaque certain it’d match with the pale complexion of his fur.

(“Reds and yellows, bud, reds and yellows. Lemme tell ya, they’ll change your life!”)

He almost hesitates as his hand fastens around the decoration to coincide with his outfit: a gentle crown with leaves that’d been chain-linked together by little ones. It wasn’t a sturdy headpiece by any means, and it needed to be remade as least every three months, but Macaque had never minded such a fact.

The little ones were more than happy to remake him his crown and graciously bestow it upon his head with chants of, “Our king- our king-!”

“The world isn’t ending,” he manages to murmur whilst blindly adjusting his crown, his other free hand naturally clenched at the scarf around his neck. He knows that reds and yellows will never quite fit into his albino color scheme, but Macaque would be damned if he wasn’t draped in clothes that sang of nostalgia for his own king’s return.

He dares a glance at the mirror he’d previously leaned against his wardrobe and-

…and he pauses.

Because surely, that couldn’t be him?

It resembled him undoubtedly, the reflection standing with its own expression of shock and nostalgia as a hand lies frozen against its scarf. There’s even an awkward tilt in the leaf crown it wears, the gentle vegetation having given way to stray fur still tussled from sleep.

A glance toward his arm only confirms his fears, chest squeezing with an emotion he refuses to put a name to.

Gone is the familiar shade of white fur that Macaque had grown to adore amidst his centuries of life, replaced by a pelt bearing an almost navy shade of black.

It isn’t unlike the color of the sky just beyond his window, not quite able to be called black as though whatever deity had cursed him had taken into account the sun’s weak attempts to bring light to Earth.

He looks every bit the king he’d sworn himself to become- even adorned in colors that finally compliment the red masking around his eyes.

Macaque stares and what the fuck- what the fuck-? Why- this had to be His fault- He isn’t here by my side and it feels like a brand, get it off- get it off-

Èzuòjù’s tail flicks, hesitant in the corner of Macaque’s eyes and his mouth instinctively clicks open. It’s only habit as his mind combs desperately for something to say, anything to reassure the little one so blatantly unnerved by the scene.

But it proves to be pointless, his jaw clamping shut once more as a purple vortex pools beneath his feet. The shadows hiss with discontent, a second voice to Macaque’s blinding panic whilst they lash relentlessly at his ankles.

It isn’t until his ears flatten that Èzuòjù suddenly leaps from his state of uncertainty, hand outstretched as though to stop the other.

“Wait, Macaque-!”

But the king only falls blissfully into the familiar snare of his shadows, the temporary comfort that the portal brings short-lived as he’s spat violently somewhere amidst the cave system’s Eastern Tunnels. The spare shadows still lurking at his feet rumble with a silent fury, but for once the apathy his shadows seek appears only in the truth that their master could care less for the rebellious behavior.

He’d been long deserving of the ability to freak out, and today was the day he finally had a reason to do so.

After all, Macaque was nothing but a dead monkey desperate to breathe meaning and control into his final moments of life, certain he’s soon to become the very image of a dead king that Macaque had once proclaimed Wukong to of been.

The only difference will be a body to prove the other’s death.

“…que…!”

No, he doesn’t have the time to think about that. It was noon, and Wukong could very well burst through the waterfall at any moment, seeking any ounce of attention the island could afford.

The great sage might even demand a banquet at once and of course that’d leave no room for Macaque’s tongue to intervene, it never had before. Wukong would do anything to avoid confrontation that he’d inadvertently caused, including using the excuse of hunger like he used to amidst the Brotherhood.

“…caque…!”

His excitement may even gloss over the blatant evidence that a coup had taken place in Wukong’s absence; one orchestrated by his best friend nonetheless. The blissful peace that’d come with the sage’s oversight wouldn’t last though, especially with regard toward the fact that Macaque would refuse to let the little ones approach him.

Maybe he could…oh gods, do what?

Just turn the “Great Sage, Equal to Heaven” away the moment he attempts to step foot on the island?

The bastard would be furious.

“…slo…own…!”

…or maybe he wouldn’t. Wukong’s temper had always been something that’d needed to be fed and nurtured through mutual anger, surely that could be useful. Should Macaque at least attempt to remain calm and blunt, then the sage would have no room to be combative, right?

It wasn’t perfect, but gods was Macaque reaching desperately for straws- anything to preserve the prosperity he’d sworn to eternally gift Flower Fruit Mountain and the little ones.

Besides, Wukong wouldn’t dare do something drastic and violent against someone who’d protected his homeland for centuries, let alone his best friend. There’d be no need for him to summon his staff and-

“Macaque!”

The king freezes at an instant, terror striking behind his gaze as he searches frantically for whoever had called his name. There’s a flash of golden fur- one that looks a little too familiar -and Macaque almost shrieks amidst in his attempts to not stumble.

The suffocating blanket of panic quickly sheds to make way for guilt as he finds Èzuòjù staring, the gibbon’s eyes the size of rice bowls and his fur puffed out in clear concern.

His shadows must have teleported him not far from the confinements of his room, only forgiving enough to gift him a few seconds to breathe.

“Èzuòjù,” Macaque swallows, a hand to his chest if only to calm down its rapid beat. “You scared me.”

“I scared you?” the little one questions and Macaque can do nothing but weakly offer his arm for the gibbon to leap upon, a small olive branch that’s taken almost instantly. “What is going on? The sky’s black, you’re black, the world isn’t ending apparently, but you still disappeared on me, and are we going into lockdown or-?”

“Yes,” Macaque interrupts, lunging at the opportunity to escape the ontourage of questions bound to be sitting on the gibbon’s tongue. He could barely keep his own head straight, let alone try and answer Èzuòjù’s questions should they continue.

…but going into lockdown would be a good idea. It’d certainly keep the little ones far from whatever reaction Wukong could potentially have.

“Look,” he breathes, praying that he doesn’t sound as exasperated as he feels. “Long before you were born, the Jade Emperor foretold an event that’d occur amidst the next eclipse- today’s eclipse.”

“Eclipse-?”

“The sun and moon will merge together, and when they do, a…demon of sorts will appear on Flower Fruit Mountain.”

There’s a beat of silence and Macaque almost fears that the gibbon will claim the excuse to be as phony as his weak attempts to seem collected. Èzuòjù had always been good at that.

But the gibbon only stares a moment longer before his eyebrows knit. “What do you need from me?”

Heavens above, for all the grief he gives Èzuòjù, it’s moments like this that remind Macaque exactly why he doesn’t mind the little one’s mischievous antics.

“I need everyone in the Upper Tunnels of the Western Caves, and no matter what happens, they aren’t to leave. I’ll portal anyone I’m able to find in the Eastern Caves, but a mouth to explain the situation or at least warn others would be helpful.”

There’s only a firm nod before the gibbon scampers off, presumably to locate the desired caves and provide relief to whatever panicked brother needed it.

The crushing wave of relief at being alone once more collides oddly with the cautiously suppressed anger that’d been arising within Macaque’s stomach, a dangerous concoction of panic and frustration over the situation at hand.

Wukong was never meant to return, and it was such a fact that had gifted Macaque the boldness to ascend the throne in the first place.

Macaque might as well surrender his title of king anyway, now sharing more in common with a wife whose husband had come home early and was soon to catch her amidst her affair. For Heaven's sake, he was stumbling about the extensive cave system if only to portal away any little ones like a wife would her paramour.

It’s a measurement of safety, he tells himself if only to comfort his mind.

History was not one to take kindly to being rewritten, but two centuries had proven Macaque’s attempts to be a blinding success. He refuses to give Wukong yet another chance to ruin everything he’d done to protect both their subjects and the sage’s legacy of chaos.

It’d only take one stray slip of tongue for his life’s work to be uprooted. The little ones would learn that Wukong was in fact not deceased, and that Macaque had sworn the sage’s allegiance where it didn’t belong.

After all, Wukong had never proclaimed himself to be allied with the subjects of his mountain; it was only the pride that came with claiming ownership to a kingdom that he had entertained.

You are not ruining this, Macaque swears, and the mantra continues in his attempts to seek out any stray little ones.

It’s only once the panicked chatter of ape-speak settles toward the western side of the cave system that Macaque finds himself content pacing the Central Cave. It was a gracious clearing, full of vegetation and still bearing the same hut that Wukong had built nearly a millennium ago. If there was anywhere the sage would seek company first, it would be here, only a short journey from the cave’s initial entrance.

Macaque isn’t sure how long it takes for his theory to reign true, his ears flicking as the soft hiss of a cloud dissipates somewhere beyond the cave’s waterfall. Clumsiness writes itself in the heavy thrum of each step, the familiar sound not unlike if Macaque attempted to recognize someone’s handwriting.

The note of recklessness continues as the steps grow closer, and Macaque is certain that even if he lacked six ears, he’d still be able to hear the sheer weight behind the sage’s feet.

“Mihou!” that damned voice sings, not unlike a demon outstretching their hand in faux kindness. “Little ones! I’ve returned home!”

Home.

Macaque tries his hardest to chase the anxiety and bittersweet sorrow that laces his tongue, bidding his lips to remain firm in an expression of displeasure.

Perhaps in another life “Mihou” would’ve been all Wukong needed to say before Macaque would spring into chirps of glee, smiling fondly as little ones tackled their righteous king to the ground. Apologies would cascade from the sage’s mouth like a waterfall, and tearful laughter would consume his six ears as they attempted to make up for the time they’d regrettably lost in the other’s absence.

Faintly his mind traces another life, in which Wukong calls only out to the little ones, far too acquainted with the concept that Macaque would never again be able to step foot on Flower Fruit Mountain.

But such fantasies would never be the life Macaque could live within; they’d died the day that the ex-moon had been gifted a choice:

Mourn and daydream over the useless taunts of “what-if”, or focus on protecting the little ones and ensure the prosperity of their lives.

The decision was obvious, so both he and Flower Fruit Mountain had been forced to cut the strings of codependency that’d once kept them enthralled with their past king.

Wukong’s voice yells throughout the cave once more and Macaque hates how heavy the crown sitting atop his head has grown.

Wukong had never needed a crown to proclaim his status of king. His very essence exuded that of power, an ambitious conquest that Macaque had never found himself caring enough to venture toward. He wasn’t king through acts of bravery, nor because he’d inherited it righteously in the death of his best friend.

Macaque was only king because he’d been left to his own devices, and because the crown atop his head exclaimed that such a statement must be true.

A flash of gold finally peaks into the cave’s clearing, and Macaque swallows the desperate whine that’d made its home within his throat, forced into silence out of fear he’d call out for someone he’d sworn he’d buried nearly two centuries ago.

Wukong was meant to be dead and yet here he stood, uncharacteristically shy as he sought refuge behind a grand fern.

“Wukong.”

Said monkey’s head snaps to meet Macaque’s wide gaze, those familiar golden eyes crinkling into something akin to joy before they flee back toward the vibrant greenery in a nostalgic display of guilt and panic.

If not for the sombersome scene, Macaque is certain he would’ve smiled at how familiar the expression is, not unlike the reaction Wukong would have whenever Macaque smacked him upside the head for doing something stupid. It’d all been in good fun, amidst a fun when they’d all been so young and naive, too focused on lounging about and cracking jokes to worry themselves with immortality and power.

The clearing stills, and for a moment, he fears that they’ll both continue the awkward stalemate.

But the anxiety on Wukong’s face quickly falls apart, giving way to a quizzical expression as their eyes meet once more. The sage isn’t unlike a rabbit as he bounds forward, Macaque’s rule of personal space forgotten in Wukong’s eagerness to get a closer look at the newly-turned-black monkey.

“Something's…different about you,” the great sage begins, ever-so-observant as Macaque tries not to squirm beneath his gaze. He doesn’t care to denote the uncomfortable stance of the celestial monkey, springing up dramatically as he chitters with excitement. “Oh, I know! C’mon, bud, even I’d be able to tell you’ve dyed your fur. Kinda miss the grey, though.”

“White,” Macaque corrects, far from amused.

“Pfft, same thing.”

Well, Macaque supposes there is one thing he could always trust Wukong to do; disappoint him time and time again.

“Fun crown, too. The little ones manage to strangle you into it?”

And how could he forget Wukong’s habit of releasing tension through attempts to embarrass those around him?

“No, actually,” Macaque grits, trying his hardest to maintain poise. The crown had been a thoughtful gift bestowed upon him, and as much as the thought made his six ears turn red, Macaque felt much more at-ease wearing it in the face of his past king.

(“You deserve to be king,” the crown sang, sitting content atop his fur. “You wouldn’t of been given it otherwise.”)

“It was a gift. They missed having a king, so…”

So they’d wrapped Macaque in the finest jewelry and armor of Wukong’s treasury, completing his coronation with a carefully weaved crown and Macaque’s now infamous red scarf, whose unique red hue was the result of a dye from the flowers of Flower Fruit Mountain and a few feathers that’d been “borrowed” from a Phoenix.

“That’s adorable,” Wukong grins, an almost knowing expression on his face. “Ya’ think they’ll make me one if I ask them?”

“I didn’t have to ask for mine.”

“Is that a no, or?”

“It’s a no.”

“…it’s my turn, then.”

And Wukong bows, his chest low to the ground as though he were expecting for the crown to be transferred onto his head.

Oh, Macaque realizes, dumbly. Wukong does expect the crown.

His heart makes an ugly snarl, but the sound that comes from his throat is nothing but unkempt laughter. Quickly he swipes a claw at the tears forming at his eyes, if only to keep the salty water from dampening his fur. “You expect me to give you my crown?”

“I mean, every king does need a crown, doesn’t he? C’mon, Mac, just share this once-”

Wukong lunges and adrenaline collides violently with the blood cells running through Macaque’s veins. His brain feels as though it’d been dowsed by the ice-cold bucket of panic, falling into a state of defense even despite the fact the Wukong had clearly aimed only for the crown.

A furious shriek beats Macaque to the punch, fangs entering the scene before being followed closely by the harsh sound of Wukong screeching.

Macaque blinks once, vision clearing to reveal the “Great Sage” himself flailing his arm like a helpless infant and Èzuòjù’s fangs sunken deep into scarred flesh.

“Let go!” Wukong shrieks in Mandarin, and Macaque knows damn well that Èzuòjù understands the command.

After all, the gibbon had been the one to demand that Macaque teach him Mandarin in the first place, now well-educated in translating the language despite the fact that Èzuòjù’s vocal cords would never enable the gibbon to speak it.

Wukong is pleading on deaf ears, as the king of Flower Fruit Mountain has yet to demand the gibbon to release his prey.

It isn’t until Macaque extends his own arm that the gibbon returns to his righteous king’s side, snarling once toward Wukong before settling down at Macaque’s shoulders.

“Little one,” Wukong whines, exasperated as he cradles his wounded arm, and the noise feels…odd as it bounces against Macaque’s thrumming eardrums. It’s a form of ape-speak that the king hadn’t heard in over seven centuries, old but blatantly familiar dripping from the sage’s tongue.

Heavens above, Wukong hadn’t even attempted to keep up with the rapidly changing dialect of his mother tongue.

It’d been at least a handful of centuries since “little one” had turned into the gentle chirp of “little one”.

“I thought I told you to stay with the others,” Macaque begins, forcing himself to ignore Wukong’s noise of confusion. Perhaps if the “Great Sage” had put effort into his own mother tongue, then he’d have the right to tune into the conversation. “What if they come searching for you?”

“They won’t,” Èzuòjù huffs, teeth still bared but certainly not toward Macaque. “And who-? Is that the demon? He could’ve done something if I hadn’t appeared!”

“He woulda just stolen my crown for a moment,” Macaque murmurs in a desperate attempt to diffuse the situation. “He wouldn’t have hurt me.”

Still, Macaque finds himself doubtful of his own words. After all, Wukong had still yet to understand the reason behind Èzuòjù’s aggression.

“Mihou,” the sage complains. “You better be reprimanding him for biting me.”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” Macaque rolls his eyes before gently petting at the fur surrounding Èzuòjù’s face. “But I’m glad you bit him, I was seconds away from doing it myself.”

“That does not look like reprimanding.”

“You deserved it,” Macaque shrugs. “Don’t try and swipe what isn’t yours.”

“But I’m the king! I’m in need of a crown.”

“The King of Flower Fruit Mountain already wears one,” Macaque hums, bowing his head slightly if only to allow Èzuòjù to try and straighten the tussled crown. “I don’t think I see any other kings in need of one.”

Wukong freezes, and for a heartbeat Macaque almost expects to be punched, even with a little one crouched on his shoulders.

But the Great Sage only stares with wide, uncertain eyes. “You wouldn’t-”

“Èzuòjù,” Macaque interrupts, his voice uncharacteristically harsh as his ape-speak blends into Mandarin. “This is not a conversation for you to hear.”

Èzuòjù’s eyes almost match that of Wukong’s, though a deeper shade of concern versus betrayal runs rampid. “But, Macaque-”

The gibbon is given no further chance to speak, quickly whisked into a vortex that’d put the little one with his siblings in the Western Tunnels. This fight would not be Èzuòjù’s to hear nor attempt to interfere with.

“You’ve been gone for several centuries,” Macaque continues, quickly dismissing the bitterness that’d threatened to lace his words. “Y’know, when you told me to do anything to protect Flower Fruit Mountain, I took it to heart.”

“I didn’t think that meant ‘take the throne’!” Wukong gapes, throat raspy with what Macaque can only hope is disbelief and not strain from attempting ape-speak.

“Oh, of course,” he agrees and now he allows sarcasm to drip from his tongue. “‘Suppose I was just meant to, y’know, keep it warm and then lay down like a good dog, yeah? ‘Heel, Mihou, your king has returned’!”

The words taste as bitter as Macaque recalls them to be, still clear in his mind despite them having been uttered nine centuries ago when they were still on good terms with the brotherhood. He only has Wukong to blame, who’d never let his companion live down the embarrassment he’d caused during one of their many meetings.

Amidst his own exhaustion, Macaque had accidentally stolen Wukong’s seat at the end of the table, a mistake that the table had at first brushed aside. After all, the closeness of the two monkeys could easily explain this odd occurence to of been planned.

Macaque would sit in Wukong’s seat, and Wukong in Macaque’s.

Alas, there’d been a soft croon of “Aww, Mihou, keeping it warm just for little ol’ me? No worries, your king has returned-” before the table realized that the white monkey had indeed made a genuine mistake, bursting into laughter whilst shades of red painted Macaque’s face and ears.

His expression hardens.

“I refuse to kneel before you again.”

“But I am still your king,” Wukong deflects, bold. “And this is still our home.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Macaque shrugs, nearly shocking himself with how nonchalant his taunts sound. It’s a stark contrast to the consistent stutter his heart bears and he’s almost grateful that Wukong doesn’t share his enhanced hearing. “It took centuries, but Flower Fruit Mountain doesn’t remember you anymore. At least, not as anything but their island’s first king, who’s long gone in history. You can’t remain here and call it home.”

Wukong’s smirk is nothing but teeth, lips curled into an ugly expression of gloat. “So, you’re, what? Banishing me from my own kingdom?”

“Yeah.”

Heavens above, Macaque almost swoons over the way the sage’s smug expression drops into something more masked and deadly.

“Don’t be cruel,” Wukong growls. “You’re being cruel.”

I’m terrified, he instinctively corrects. Not cruel.

Wukong merely could not stay on Flower Fruit Mountain. Macaque had built a life that the island’s prior king could not be apart of.

Macaque’s ears flatten. Perhaps he was being cruel.

But who would cruelty’s mother be if not terror?

“Your stupidity and absence killed this island- killed me before I ascended the throne,” Macaque reports, his tail rigid as he stares at the ape he’d sworn he’d buried. No, he thinks, he’d only buried the memory of Wukong amidst his begging to the Heavens that the bastard would never return.

But an eclipse rages on just beyond the curtained waterfall.

And Macaque’s fur will never be white again, forever branded by Wukong’s misdeeds.

“For centuries I called for you, begging the stars to let you return to Flower Fruit Mountain once again, but never once did you heed my call,” he tsks, “You stood tall, strong as ever in the face of freedom, even as I mourned the very thought of you.”

And Macaque hates how his own conscious yearns to protect Wukong’s mistakes, with screams that selflessness and vulnerability had never been the melted rivers of iron that Wukong’s strength was forged within. Neither was it true that kindness was the native tongue the “Great Sage” could conjugate the words of with ease.

Only the familiar sensation of anger could appease Wukong in the face of confrontation, like a heron poised but still ever-so irritated in its wait for prey to arrive.

But unlike the common tale between a heron and fish, Macaque does not quiver nor dart beneath the venomous stare of death itself, standing tall and arrogant as Wukong does before him.

He cared not for the sage’s opinion on that fact that Flower Fruit Mountain was now Macaque’s to protect, and whether such protection was against outside demands or the island’s own previous king would never matter; Macaque would rather face death itself than forfeit his centuries of work.

“I haven’t killed you,” Wukong breathes, voice an inch from being a hiss as his shoulders sit strained with what Macaque can assume is the thin lacing of desperation. “If I had, you’d already be haunting me. In death you would have followed me, taking any form- moon or shadow -just to argue and speak with me.”

And like a newborn fawn, Wukong lurches forward, a hand clenching tightly over his chest as though he were soon to burst into laughter. “It’s in life that you refuse to follow me. You’ve agreed to abandon me and try to banish me from our home.”

Ironic, for Wukong to claim he’d been the one thrown aside.

Macaque stands firm, gaze unwavering. “The ‘Great Sage’ doesn’t need me to find some other island to conquer. Your lust for power has already settled any domain of this realm yours to take.”

There’s a beat of silence, and a vicious snarl hovers atop Wukong’s lips.

Perhaps in another life, amidst the gentle mantras of tranquility and suffrage, Wukong would have paused to acknowledge his misdeeds and agreed it to be best that he found a new kingdom to proclaim as his own. Or perhaps in another life this situation would have never existed, as Wukong chose to live his days peacefully on Flower Fruit Mountain instead of daring to wreak havoc on the Heavens.

But Macaque can only mourn for what could have been, for in this life Wukong was still a creature birthed with the knowledge he’d need to fight his way through life, a mantra that’d grown him obsessed with sneaking past the title of “distrustful and cunning” and proclaiming the words to be sisters of “ambition”.

Macaque knows well that Wukong is an unstoppable force that now stands firmly before an immovable rock, one not unlike the one Wukong had destroyed the moment he was born.

Today will be the day legends will speak of, the Heavens concede, safe from the sage’s wrath amidst the clouds. They’ll pass stories of the rivalry that’d caused the obsessive relation between shadow and host.

For if the Great Sage, an Equal of the Heavens, could not have his moon by his side, then he would have him forever in his shadow, lying in wait for his righteous king to order him about.

Today, Macaque would learn the true sensation of dying, if only to return and haunt Wukong at every turn.

#lego monkie kid #lmk fic #shadowpeach #lmk sun wukong #lmk macaque #angst #death cw #one day I'll get part 3 done

34 notes · View notes

wangxianficfinder · 2 years ago

Text

In the mood for...

~*~

1. Itmf best brother nmj/nmj is everyone’s da ge.

🧡 Where's Your Emergency? by trippednfell (M, 64k, WangXian, 911 Dispatcher WWX, Single dad LWJ, Kid fic, Modern AU, D&D Games, Angst with a happy ending)

~*~

2. I randomly came across this video recently of the Japanese Rabbit Hopping Assc. today, and I immediately felt compelled to ask if anyone has written (or possibly is inspired to write) 'actually very serious rabbit agility racer Lan Wangji'

Video link if anyone wants it lol:

youtube

Tumblr story by @/mondengel2 I took it as a prompt

~*~

3. Hii!! I am really looking for fics with angst with happy ending (happy ending for wangxian mostly) coupled with Jiang Yanli betraying Wei Ying if there are any? Thanks!! @yilinglaobunny

~*~

4. Hiya!!! I've got an IIMF request: fic where Wen Yuan is actually a blood heir of the Wen and that somehow factors into the story importantly (like, he's Wen Rouhan's grandson, has special Wen powers, etc). Thanks for all the hard you you all do! @kimboo-york

sami's 'Dream of Youth' and 'Hand in Hand Together' has A'Yuan as Wen Xu's bio son. It's a minor plot point though.

The Dreams of Youth by sami (E, 85k, WangXian, YZY/TLJ, Canon Divergence, Time Travel, Fix-It, Family, Not Lan Sect Friendly, Bad Dads, good dads, JFM's A+ parenting, Qingheng-Jun's F- Existence, Childhood Friends to Lovers, Sort Of, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Some People Live/Not Everyone Dies, Canonical Character Death)

Hand in Hand Together (All Your Life) by sami (T, 41k, WZL/JC, WangXian, Queerplatonic relationship, Implied future MingLi, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon Divergence, Time Travel Fix-It, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Healing, Slow Burn)

When Flowers Spring from Killing Things by windsweptice (B0redaf) (Not rated, 100k, wangxian, Wen WWX, Demonic Cultivation, WWX Has No Golden Core, he's got a resentful one instead, Yīn Iron, WRH pov, LWJ pov, WWX pov, WWX Isn't Adopted by the Jiāngs, Sentient Burial Mounds, XY Is A Little Shit, WQ pov, Protective WWX, Protective WQ, Cinnamon Roll WN, Protective WN, LXC pov, BAMF WWX, Burning of the Cloud Recesses, Fall of Lotus Pier, Cultivation Discussion Conferences, BAMF LWJ, BAMF WN, BAMF WQ, Good Person WX, WWX Has a New Golden Core, Cloud Recesses Shenanigans, Weddings) might not be everyone's cup of tea cause he's literally wen ruohan's son

~*~

5. Hello! ITMF a fic where WWX survived the siege at Burial Mounds and remembers that LWJ saved him that night at Nightless City. Then WWX finds out about the punishment LWJ had to go through because of that. And WWX takes LWJ to Burial Mounds to mend his scars and they end up together.

I saw a fanart of wangxian with Yilling Patriarch!WWX treating LWJ's scars and that was all I could think about.

❤️ A Myriad of Blossoms by Itszero (E, 56k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, Forced Marriage, YLLZ WWX, Hurt LWJ, Cruel wwx, he's cruel until he's not, Protective WWX, Caring WWX, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Eventual Smut, Bottom LWJ, Dark WWX) pls pls read this because based on ur request this is amazing (pls don't hate wwx in the beginning)

~*~

6. Hello! I'm in the mood for fics where wwx is experiencing some kind of delusion or psychosis and lwj (or other characters) try to help him through it. I don't mind wether it's canon universe with the demonic cultivation being the cause, a curse or even modern au.

Thanks!

From Underneath by steppjes (M, 15k, wangxian, Character Death, Major Character Injury, Modern, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Mystery, Supernatural Elements, Demons, Ghosts, Hallucinations, Grief/Mourning, Blood and Injury, Depression, Hospitals, Mutual Pining, The Troubles of Baby Acquisition, Very on brand self hate from wwx, he's going through a lot okay)

Mud on Your Feet by AvoOwO (Not Rated, 59k, WangXian, Nightmares, Sentient Burial Mounds, Possession, Panic Attacks, Night Terrors, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Good Sibling JC, Hurt WWX, Soft WangXian, Blood and Injury, Hallucinations, Delusions, JC Loves WWX, Insomnia, Good Sibling WWX, Sleepwalking, Sleeptalking, Protective JC, POV LWJ, PTSD, Post-Canon, YLLZ WWX, resentful energy, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Angst with a Happy Ending, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Soft JC, Yúnmèng Siblings Feels)

let me sing to you by greybird_crookedbranch (T, 61k, WangXian, Post-Canon, Canon Compliant, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, adorable Juniors, Minor Original Character(s)for plot purposes, Minor Violence, Demonic Cultivation, resentful energy, Trauma, Guilt, Protectiveness, BAMF WWX, Hurt wwx, Protective WWX, Protective LWJ, Baby Lans, WWX loving and being loved by tiny Lan babies, LWJ being utterly whipped for WWX, Mental Instability, Possession, Angst with a Happy Ending, POV LWJ, a tasteful seasoning of Yunmeng Bros Reconcilliation, CQL canon except LWJ is not chief cultivator, Nightmares)

out in the garden, there's things you hid away by saltyfeathers (E, 121k, WangXian, Possession, Animal Death, mass death event, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt(s), lotta hurt lotta comfort, wwx-centric, unfortunately there's also a bodily fluids warning, just like a lot of bodily fluids, there is sex and it is all in the last chapter, Serious Injuries, Angst with a Happy Ending, Post canon)

Something at the Door by Pip (Moirail) (E, 50k, WangXian, Modern with Magic, Modern Cultivation, background 3zun, Background Yi City trio, Intrusive Thoughts, Horror, Suicidal Thoughts, Temporary Character Death, Blood, Explicit Sexual Content, Mutual Pining, Angst with a Happy Ending, Mystery, Urban Fantasy)

~*~

7. Helloooo mods! It’s been a while! 💜 for the next itmf can i get some completed fics that explores wen ning in a romantic way? Like fluff and falling in love? Aside from JC , i don’t mind who he’s shipped with.

Thank you! 😊 @jikcf

the height of summer by la_dissonance (G, 8k, WN/LWJ/WWX, Getting Together, Romance, Accidental Courtship, On purpose courtship, Polyamory, Fluff, a small amount of pining, Love Confessions, WN/Happiness forever otp, Gift Giving, Secret Admirer)

~*~

8. Can you please find a au marvel or Wwx as Wanda or black widow ! Thank you 😊 @brighterthanmagicalfluff

~*~

9. Ok guys, I'm in the mood for your favorite Good Uncle LQR fics. I don't care for any other details besides that, please & thank you

小兔子 | Little Bunny by dragongirlG (T, 6k, LQR & LWJ, LXC & LQR & LWJ, LSZ & LQR, minor wangxian, POV LQR, love language: acts of service, Caring LQR, Character Study, Canon Universe, References to Canon, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Comatose QHJ, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Hopeful Ending, Podfic Available, Good Uncle LQR)

🧡 Stunted, Starving Juvenility by TomatenMark (E, 742k, WangXian, WIP, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, Feelings Realization, Getting Together, Sexual Tension, Supportive LQR, Light Angst, Internalized Homophobia, Period-Typical Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, WWX learns about his parents, First Dates, First Kiss, First Time, LWJ is confused, Then he is 100 percent on board, Kink Discovery, Kink Exploration, Bisexual WWX, Dual Cultivation, Slow Burn, Fix-It of Sorts, Not JFM friendly, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fluff and Angst, Blood and Gore, Supportive LXC, Protective LXC, Canon Divergence, Inventor WWX, Eventual Smut, Possessive LWJ, Genius WWX, Cultivation Sect Politics, Scheming NHS, Cultivation Discussion Conferences, Pre-Sunshot Campaign, Minor Character Death, NHS gets himself a beard (not the facial kind), POV WWX, Fluff and Smut, Burning of the Cloud Recesses)

Lessons relearned by Iamnotawriter (T, 44k, WangXian, LQR & WWX, Not Madam Yu Friendly, Time Travel Fix-It, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Inventor WWX, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, No Golden Core Transfer, YZY Bashing)

Skate Happy by cinder1013 (E, 12k, wangxian, Modern, Meet-Cute, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Skate disco waiter outfits, booty shorts, Inappropriate Marriage Proposal, secret wedding plans, Good Uncle LQR, Good Friend JGY, not entirely evil XY, wwx has low self-esteem, but it works out in the end, They buy a farm, wwx wears what he likes, Panties, Anal Sex, A+ parenting all around)

🔒 Baby, Beard and Birds by mondengel (G, <1k, LQR & LWJ, Fluff, Babyfic, Family)

🔒 An old kettle, a tiny teacup, and a new pot. by mondengel (G, 2k, LQR & LWJ)

Between the rotten apples lies a fresh grave by hamlets_ghost (T, 12k, LXC & LWJ, WangXian, NieLan, Modern AU, Twin Jades of Lán Dynamics, Canonical Character Death, (Madam Lan), child LXC, Child LWJ, Child Neglect, implied kidnapping, (madam lan), Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, (also madam lan), this is not a happy fic so mind the tags please, passive suicidal thoughts (but not really?), Angst with a Happy Ending, non-linear timeline, semi-explicit discribtion of a corpse (chapter 3), Slightly hinted 3zun)

When we were small by deliciousblizzardshark (T, 7k, LXC & LQR & LWJ, Implied WangXian, Modern AU, Kid Fic, Good Uncle LQR, Neurodivergent LWJ, Baby LWJ, Baby WWX, Parenthood, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, POV LQR, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Grief/Mourning, Emotional Hurt/Comfort)

Discordant Rhapsody by nirejseki (T, 49k, LQR & WWX, wangxian, JC & WWX, WQ & WWX & WN, LWJ & LQR & LXC, canon divergence, fix-it, hurt/comfort, trauma, politics, protective LQR, protective LWJ, protective WWX, LQR centric, whump, angst)

through the eyes of elders series by Fleetling (T, 13k, LXC & LWJ, LXC & LQR, wangxian, LXC & WWX, LQR & WWX, CQL Canon Compliant, LQR's perspective on wangxian, mainly him being frustrated at wwx wasting his talents and then realising that oh no that backfired wangji's in love, the homeoroticness of sword fights, wangxian DOES NOT get together there's just ust and longing glances like in canon, LQR isn't bad he just wants the best for his nephew, LQR pov, LQR is a good uncle, LXC recovering from the whole JGY thing is a major part, Wingman LXC, good brothers!!!)

Good Guy Lan Qiren series by thunderwear (T, 28k, wangxian, LQR & WWX, Canon Divergence, Fix-It, Golden Core Reveal, LWJ's POV, Fluff, Everyone Lives AU, LQR finds out about WWX's core, wwx and lqr are friends?? In My Fic? its more likely than you think, lwj in the bg like whats happening?, WWX goes to Gusu, Mutual Pining)

The stuffed bunny, the beautiful nephew, and other gifts from Lan Qiren by deliciousblizzardshark (G, 8k, LQR & WWX, wangxian, Modern, Single Parent WWX, Good Uncle LQR, Accidental Uncle Acquisition, Found Family, Fluff)

~*~

10. OMG I REALLY WANT TO READ REVERSE ROLES LZ AND WWX (ex: cold WWX and troublemaker LZ, Top WWX and Bot LZ) IDK 😭 @naoenowa

~*~

11. hi! I'd like to make an itmf req for canon era fics that feature a dark(ish) gusu lan/lan zhan, such as "hoards and treasures" by apathyinreverie which i loved. for instance, fics where the gusu lan interpret their rules with a darker lens, and where they might turn to manipulation/deceit to achieve what they consider right.

i know about "A Matter of Time", which is on my read list! but I'm also esp interested in seeing the dark gusu lan/lan zhan trope explored without time-travel elements. thank you very much! @potatokunst

~*~

12. Hola :) , For the next In the mood for, I'm really, really interested in Lan Sizhui fics centric, specially related to Gusu Lan or his relationship with Clan Lan.

you are my chosen family by jinyinhua (T, 14k, LSZ & LJY, wangxian, LJY & LSZ & LWJ & WWX, 5+1 Things, Good Kid LJY, Good Kid LSZ, Blood and Injury, Night Hunts, Drinking, Age Regression/De-Aging, Married Wangxian, Fluff and Humor, Found Family, Gūsū Lán Juniors Dynamics)

Revolution by mrcformoso (T, 8k, WangXian, ZhuiYi, Light Angst, Happy Ending, POV LSZ, Found Family, Toxic Elders, Fatherhood, Growing Up, The Lan Juniors, LWJ Adopts LSZ, WWX is LSZ's Parent, LSZ is a polite menace, Canon Compliant, Canon Divergence, Good Uncle WN) You might need to read the other stories in the series but if you just want LSZ feels then this can stand alone :)

this blood in my mouth by ShanaStoryteller (Not Rated, 3k, WangXian, POV LXC, Post-Canon)

~*~

13. Hi!

For the next IMTF, I'm looking for fics where LXC finds himself a new passion and is hilariously bad at it, much to others' amusement & secondhand embarrassment. Especially lwj or lqr is suffering.

His partners, be it jgy, nmj, jc or anyone, is very supportive of lxc's passion. It could be baking, gardening, cooking, dancing etc.

For example, "The evolution of the heart" by Uglybeautiful, Radiencia..(lxc takes up magic/the art of illusion and joins a circus) @imstillthinkingaboutithmm

Magic Mishap by Regency_Bunny (T, 8k, WangXian, NieLan, Modern AU, Single parent WWX, Fluff, Humor, Kid Fic, Meet cute, Love at first sight, Himbo LXC, Magic tricks)

The Shape of Your Love (is Horny) by Vamillepudding (T, 25k, WangXian, XiYao, Urban Fantasy, Getting Together, Romantic Comedy, WWX is Bad at Being a Demon, LWJ is definitely a Monsterfucker) had a running gag about LXC taking up new hobbies that he is horrible at, including ceramics, perfume-making, knitting, etc. JGY is very supportive and LWJ and LQR try to ignore it out of politeness

~*~

14. Hi! I’m itfm

a) tattooed lwj agenda. Specifically when his arms are tattooed and they show when he pulls up his sleeves, but anything and everything is fine

b) Ceo lwj where his employees find out he’s married or dating wwx or regular office worker lwj and his coworkers find out

Thank you! @wangxian-is-my-life

14A)

(our friendship) up against the ropes by daltoneering (E, 36k, WangXian, Modern AU, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, lan zhan FUCKS, Fluff and Smut, Experienced LWJ, Oblivious WWX, Mutual Pining, Friends With Benefits, Pining while fucking, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Masturbation, Spit Kink, Dirty Talk, Light Bondage, Praise Kink, Dom/sub Undertones, Kink Negotiation, Pride and Prejudice 2005 (dir. Joe Wright), mentions of Wei Ying/others and Lan Zhan/others)

🔒 Craquelure & Coverups by Inessencedivided (E, 27k, wangxian, Modern, Tattoo Parlor AU, Reincarnation, Tattoo Artist WWX, Tattooed LWJ, Dreams and Nightmares, Past Lives, trauma discussions, Mutual Pining, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Chronic Pain, First Kiss, First Time, Body Worship, Non-Penetrative Sex, Happy Ending, further tw in the notes)

Tattoos for Broken Hearts by TriviasFolly (G, 1k, WangXian, Modern AU, LWJ has a Tramp Stamp Tattoo, that's the fic) lower back tattoo

14B)

like strawberries on a summer evening by ritualist (E, 15k, WangXianChengYi, Foursome - M/M/M/M, Modern AU, Accidental Voyeurism, Office Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Choking, Light Dom/sub, Light BDSM, Bratting, Light breathplay, Wei Ying says no when he means yes (and everyone understands this to be the case), Mild S&M, Spitroasting, Rimming, Porn with Feelings, Polyamory) lawyers, poly 4some

~*~

15. Hi! For ITMF, could you recommend me a heavy plot fic in canon era before WWX died and revolve around him. It can be fix it/time travel/canon divergence/etc. No bashing except several character like YZY, JFM, LQR, JGS, WC, WLJ. You can bash them but i prefer not.

Thank you @idontknowwhattowriteforusername

~*~

16. I saw a lwj whump in the itmf some time ago but I can't find it.

I believe it was physical lwj whump specifically, can u help please?

hope you're having a nice day

Alter by Solmae (E, 162k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Drama & Romance, Slow Burn, Canon-Typical Violence, Rape/Non-con Elements, Gang Rape, Forced Prostitution, PTSD, Top/Bottom Versatile | Switch WangXian, Explicit Sexual Content, Sexual Slavery, Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Torture) LWJ is taken as a sex slave by the Wen, so definitely counts as whump

Bring Your Wonder (Lose Your Faith) by kianspo (M, 75k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Different Sunshot Campaign, straight boy wwx, Feelings Realization, Protective LXC, Protective WWX, BAMF WWX, Angst with a Happy Ending, Twin Jades of Lán Feels, POV Multiple, LWJ Whump)

~*~

17. Hi! I know this isn’t your normal ship, but could I itmf WWX/NMJ fics? I recently read “Better Things To Do With A Flute In Wartime” (a WWX/NMJ/ eventual also LWJ fic) and really liked the dynamic between WWX and NMJ. Particularly how blunt NMJ was, how he valued WWX’s mind and strength from a kind of unbiased viewpoint as a sect leader and war general, and also that they bonded over unorthodox cultivation methods. Would love to see more of this couple! Thank you so much!

An Elegant Solution by giraffeter (E, 205k, niewangxian, canon divergence, arranged marriage, friends to lovers, fix-it, everyone lives au, courtship, polyamory, smut)

Crowned in Glory (fear no more) by Pip (Moirail) (E, 19k, NMJ/WWX, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation, Loss of Virginity, Size Difference, Sunshot Campaign, Sexual Tension, Certified dage fucker, Dirty Talk, Oral Sex, Rimming, Canon Divergence, Butterfly Effect, Canon-Typical Violence, Blood and Injury, Hurt/Comfort, Dubious interpretation of resentful energy)

Resent & Blossom by manaika (T, 26k, NMJ/WWX, JC & WWX, LWJ & WWX, NHS & NMJ, NHS & WWX, Love Triangles, Pining, Arranged Marriage, Canon Divergence, Angst and Feels, eferences to Fatal Journey, Strangers to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Murder Attempt)

Pastime (With Good Company) by nirejseki (Not rated, 25k, NMJ/WWX/LWJ, Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, WWX is very thirsty, and not straight at all, same for LWJ, WIP)

~*~

If you didn’t get an answer to your ask here, don’t forget to make use of @mdzs-kinkmeme and MDZS KINK MEME on Dreamwidth. Authors actually do use them for ideas. You may get what you order!***Your prompt doesn’t have to be kink! Fluff, crack, whatever - it’s all good!***

#wangxian #mdzs #wangxian fic recs #i'm in the mood for a fic #the untamed #wangxian fic search #wangxianficfinder #long post

143 notes · View notes