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oldermenlvrgrl · 1 month

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Filthy animal

Logan doesn’t regret much in his life but pushing you away is his biggest mistake.

Logan howlett x human! reader.

Word count: 6.5k

Warnings: hella angst to cry to, swearing, excessive drinking, loss & grief, his fighting era, dark themes, he’s an alcoholic, stalking, insecurities, depression, anxiety, memories of sex & sexual themes, kissing, talk of breeding/pregnancy, hormones, ovulation, mentioning of self harm, a/b/o themes, he eats raw meat like a feral animal.

A/n: to the one person that wanted me to write this, between when origins end and x-men begins era. He has a bike in this before he goes to the academy idc he’s hot when he’s on a bike

The house is too quiet. The log cabin stood on a mountain top overlooking the vast earthly landscape below. His fingers trace over the wooden bannister of the front door. Feeling every crevice and panel. His mind is numb to the feeling of longing. He doesn’t even know why he did it anymore. The pain in his chest that never yields is too unbearing. He sighs, locking the door and leaving it behind him, like he did with you. Locking away the love he had for you in a cage and leaving it behind.

He goes to the bar, the only place known to give him comfort is at the end of a whiskey bottle. A fat stogy lit between his fingers. The smoke dancing in the air. He doesn’t care that he’s told to not smoke. He nurses the glass, hunched over the bar. Aggression flaring up his face. A hungry dog with food aggression bowed over lapping at liquor. He clenches and opens his hand, feeling the metal under the skin gyrate.

For weeks this is all he has known. Lumber yard (when he shows up), fighting cage, bar and home. It wasn’t even home without you there. You were the only thing that was home to him. Now that you were gone he didn’t have a home.

“Now introducing…the Wolverine!”

Logan gets up staggering along the sea of people. Putting the head of the cigar in the drip of whiskey that resides in his glass. Shedding his flannel and his tank to his bare chest. His veins pulsing and his vision impaired. They open the fenced gate and his head is hung down as he focuses on walking straight. He never planned to win this fight. He didn’t want to. He wanted to get the shit beat out of him so he can feel something other than grief.

The man before him is about seven foot, a mutant with the way his skin is stretched. The bell rings and they size each other up. Walking around the cage. They don’t speak and he prefers it to be that way. He raises his fists and cowers his head behind them. The abomination swings and hits him in the side of his head where his ear is. The hit wasn't normal, the hit felt like he got his head run over by a train. He smiles knowing that this beating was exactly what he lusted after.

He staggers up against the side of the cage. The coldness of the metal burns his hot skin. His drunken eyes look at the crowd and he faintly imagines that he sees your silhouette. Another hit to his abdomen. He holds his arm over his stomach and holds onto the fence. He stares out with unsteady eyes to where he sees a mirage of you wearing his dog tags around your neck. Your pretty neck, your pretty hair, your pretty face. His pretty girl. He starts to smile wider, white bloodied teeth. The blood poured behind the crevices in his mouth. Down his chest. Speckling his skin with rogue.

His head rears back as the abomination throws his fist into his nose. Blood starts flowing down his nasal passages. The square part of his chin where it’s shaved is covered in fluid. Another, another, another. He’s surprised he’s not missing teeth as he’s sprawled down on the white plastic floor in a splattered bloody pool. His torso, bruised and battered. He’s laughing. It’s taxing as he feels his broken ribs poke into his lungs. He watches the man parade around him in a victory lap, money starts being handed to and fro. Cradling his ribs as he continues to laugh. He laughs at himself, at how much of a joke he is. How he doesn’t have any restraint or respect for himself. He’s a mockery of who he once was. He looks to the crowd once more to see your face and he doesn’t.

The usher lifts him up and shoves his balled up clothes into his chest. Telling him that he’s banned from the establishment. He’s a joke to the fighting scene and to the bar. Logan isn’t sure if it’s the concussion or the liquor that makes him hear “come back tomorrow.” So he pats the man on his shoulder with a bloodied grin and goes back home.

He drinks himself to sleep that night. If he doesn’t drink, he can’t forget and he’d rather go bankrupt with all the liquor he buys than to remember you. There’s a part of him that desperately latches onto your memory. The bits and pieces that were domestic.

He doesn’t even bother going to the yard. Deep down he knows he’s fired, he couldn’t care. He sits in his big empty wooden cage and just watches the sun change into the moon and stars. Fighting off war flashbacks and memories of you. The only cure is whiskey, and he hadn’t eaten in days. His hunger only grows with each passing day. He can’t eat anything after remembering those home cooked meals you made him.

Nothing suffices. His house was destroyed after he purged it. His couch was torn to shreds, his clothes, and walls. Everything. He didn’t have a television or radio.

So he sits in a leather chair overlooking the mountain in the loose boxers that hang loosely around his hips. His legs spread wide and out, his arms lazily laid over the rests. His bicep only flexes as he sips from the lip of the bottle. A lit cigar he lethargically puffs on occasionally, feeling the burn in his chest simmer down his stomach. The tendons in his neck bulge as his heart rate rises. Fuck, he thought about you.

He thought about the times he’s hurt you.

Once it was deep in his sleep, you cradled against his broad sweaty chest. The sheets scattered in the dark. One of your legs kicked over his torso. His arm around your back, pushing you closer. His body is rigid and tense. His body feverish as he perspires. Sweat drips along his brows and temples.

His face winces as he watches his brother dismember innocent people before him. The hopeless desperate yearning he feels in the pit of his stomach grows. He feels nauseous as his face twists in agony. He shouts and shouts to no avail. The metal between his knuckles, pushing out. He grows anxious.

He feels you shuffle and that’s when he slices your upper arm. Your breath staggers as you jolt awake with fearful eyes, he’ll never forget you pulling away from him. He stands from the bed, watching you with horror, stricken across his pale face. He watches your feeble hand touch the blood that welts from the wound. The sheets draped over your torso as you stood and walked to him. He doesn’t look into your remorseful eyes as your soft red painted hand comes to touch the hair on his face. Cradling his jaw in your palm. He doesn’t welcome your warmth, he doesn’t deserve it. As your touch lingers, his claws retract.

“It’s just a scratch.”

You whisper softly. He doesn’t listen.

“It’s just a scratch.”

He mutters to himself as he takes another drink from the bottle. It wasn’t just a scratch, not to him. That single cut meant that he couldn’t even protect you from himself. How was he supposed to protect you if he contributed to your harm? He thinks of another memory.

He was close. His abdomen tightening and his balls drawn tight. He feels your walls constrict around the thickness of his cock. Pulling and tugging with each bounce of your hips. His head thrown back into the pillows as he grits his teeth together, thick eyebrows furrowed as he concentrates on feeling your wet slick coating his wide thighs. The smell is brutalizing him. The smell of your cunt weeping for him.

He peeks and watches your breasts bounce and your nails dig into his hairy chest. The hair on his lower stomach glistening with your slick. He bucks his hips up into your core, hitting that spot deep inside your womb. He feels your heated breath on his neck. Your nipples brushing against his own as you lay on top of him, the metal of his dog tags pressed between each of your chests.

Allowing him to bury himself inside you. His strong hands hold your hips in place, your legs widening to let his aggression grow. He pours everything he has into breeding you. His heart hammers against his chest as he hears your whimpers. The silent cry of yours to breed you full of his pups.

He growls deep in the back of his throat. Jackhammering his thrusts, the filthy sound of your squelching cunt is music to him. The sweet smell of your ovulation makes him drunker than any whiskey. He can’t control himself anymore. He ruts and ruts against your puffy pussy as you squeal for him to slow so you can breathe. He doesn’t and continues to pound into your pelvis, rocking your entire body against his. It’s painful how hard and fast he’s pulling you down. His legs half bent as he pulls your ass down to touch his thighs with every thrust. He growls as he pushes all the way inside and releases his seed into your weeping cunt.

The pain from his bleeding knuckles is excruciating but not as much as the quiet squeak from your little mouth. He pulls his head up and sees the little slits he made on your thighs. He lays his head against the pillows with a long sigh. Knowing that he couldn’t bear hurting you anymore. He couldn’t have you baring his pups and risk hurting you.

He couldn’t even get hard anymore without you. He couldn’t smell your hormones, couldn’t smell how desperate you wanted him. It wasn’t the same without you. He drinks. The cigar burns the inside of his index and middle, he doesn’t care. He lets it scorch his tanned skin. If it burnt the entire cabin he wouldn’t care either. He remembers the night he ended it with you.

He was drunk to the point where he was a vegetable on his leather couch. Shirtless and only in his dirtied torn blue jeans. He waited until you got home after work. He made up his mind a couple days ago and he didn’t have the courage to do it sober minded so he drank himself to it. He smelled you before he watched as the door knob wobbled and you stepped forward. He hated how beautiful you looked and his stomach twisted. You had groceries and a pretty smile on your face. It turned into a frown as you saw him with the bottle.

You asked him if something happened at the yard and he said no. You took the groceries into the kitchen after kicking the door closed with your foot. You started taking the groceries out and putting them into the cupboards. The raw meat you had to get from the local farmers was bloody as you put it in the fridge. You turned to get another item and were met with his glossy eyes. His mouth turned into a snarl. His eyes glanced over your confusion and his heart weakened. He desperately wanted to comfort you, but he couldn’t. It wasn’t in his nature to. His chest heaved as he looked at the inscribed dog tags around your neck.

“I want you out of my house.”

His words were heavily slurred, but he knew you understood them as your brows pinched together and you stopped looking for things to put up.

“What?”

It was weak and it killed him. He stared at the wooden floor, taking another swig. He raised a thick eyebrow and looked down the curve of his nose at you with blurry hazel eyes.

“You heard me.”

You shook your head and placed your hands on the counter, trying to ground yourself. Your world was falling apart in front of you.

“You’re drunk.”

You say meekly, barely above a whisper. He doesn’t reply. That was true, but the saying drunken words are sober thoughts still apply. A wave of emotion hits you, and your eyes water. You sniffle and turn to him. Your Logan wasn’t there. His eyes were glossed over and he was a shell.

“You don't mean that.”

He watches your bottom lip wobble and tears fall down your face. His heart drops and he drinks. His lips polished over with alcohol. The tension is thick and restricting.

“What happened to our future together? Where you wanted me to be your wife and to have your kids?”

You look down at your feet as you cry.

“When you said you’d never leave and that I’d always be your girl?”

He doesn’t speak and resentment grows in your heart.

“Is there another girl?!”

He doesn’t know why but you insinuating that he’d be able to love another woman than you angers him. His snarl grows and he shakes his head.

“Answer me!”

You push his chest and he stumbles back. That enrages him, his claws push out. He puts the bottle on the counter and pins your hands together and pushes your hips against the wood. You try to move and get his grip to loosen but it doesn’t. He pins you with your hands together behind your back and his body pushed against yours. His hands pulled into fists as he attempted to control his anger. He smells like liquor and his musk. He smells your fear and sees the same sorrow he feels.

“No. There’s never been and never will be. If you come back to my house and if I ever see you again..”

He trails off and looks to the bottle of booze, not wanting to admit it but deep in his heart he knows it’s for the best.

“I’ll kill you.”

You frown and choke out a sob as he lets you go. He stands in the middle of the kitchen with his head downturned. He hears you weep as you gather your things. Dreading the sounds of hearing the wheels of your suitcase trail down the wood. He hears the door open.

“You don’t mean that.”

He listens to the door close and the scent of you leave. Fury rages through him as he destroys everything around him, it doesn’t matter if it’s handmade or expensive he ruins it. He destroys his entire house trying to defile the thought of you. Destroying everything you’ve touched or reminded him of you. He wanted to destroy himself.

He decided later that night he had to see you. Had to breathe in your smell and that’ll fix him, put his mind on track. He was still scared as hell to hurt you, but the agony of being without you is greater than the risk of hurting you. Logan was selfish and all he wanted was you.

He sat outside the building where you worked on his bike and waited. Perched like a predator waiting for prey. He was surprised that he was steady enough to even get there unscathed. He sat on the side of the road, not in the parking lot. The engine turned off and he listened to the birds chirp. He made sure to not let you see him. Digging into his pocket he takes the fat cigar out and places it between his lips. Taking the lighter and cupping his hands around the flame as he puffs it to life. The embers burn and the smoke swirls around his head. The evening slowly dying into night.

Raising his nose to the air and sniffing as he smells your hormones. Your car pulls out of the lot shortly after and passes him. He sees the side of your face through the window and his heart burns. Your face is puffy and gloomy, completely contrasting the sunshine you exude.

Chewing on the end of the cigar, he starts the motorcycle and turns behind you. A good couple cars between him and you to separate the distance. He follows you down the familiar path down to your parents house. The long pine trees and barren fields full of crops. Truthfully, he didn’t know what he’s doing or what he’s going to do. All he knows is that he needs to see you, something primal deep inside him tells him that.

He pulls into an open field, overlooking the farm house. Staring with foggy eyes as you pull in. Gazing at your car door as it opens and you step out. He leans forward to fully look at you as much as he can from the distance. Whistling low at the pretty sight. Then as if you were never there you leave his sight and enter the house. He sighs, leaning back on his bike. Looking to the sky he determines that night shouldn’t take no longer than an hour. He waits.

He waits with a cigar between his plush lips. His hands flexing on top of his thighs. Clenching and opening, enticing the burn of his knuckles spreading open. Observing with eager eyes as each light in every window turns dark, except yours. A wishful smile spreads on his face. Knowing the next thing you’re about to do before going to bed is cracking your window open, and without fail he sees your little hands opening the pane. His heart soars as he’s proud that you’re still his girl. Still, having the same habits and quirks he’s grown to admire.

With that, he takes the cigar from his lips and pushes the end into the palm of his hand. Snuffing the smoke and flicking it into the field. He swings one of his long legs over the bike and starts his trail down to your window.

Begrudgingly, he comes to terms with having to climb up the side of your family's house to your room. The ivy woven into the side provides a grip for his climb. The poor gutter he tried to climb groaned and cried as the hinges unscrewed from the roof as he tried to pull his body weight up it, so the ivy would just have to be adequate. As he climbs, your scent grows stronger and his head starts to get fuzzy. The toes of his boots stuck between some panels. The broad pads of his fingers stuck on the window sill.

Propping his head up, he watches you lay on your bed watching television. Some movie played that you weren’t too keen on paying attention to. If you looked over you’d be able to see his wild hazel eyes and his tufts of hair poking far above his head.

You move to lay on your other side and he wishes to see your pretty face again. Without fail and as overplayed as it is, you truly were a sight for sore eyes. He listens eagerly to your mother’s voice beckoning you to dinner. Like the good sweet girl you are, you obey. Getting up from your bed and walking over to your door. A hand outstretched and touching the knob, but hesitantly, you pause. Logan’s heart drops and the hair on the back of his neck perks up. Can you see him? Your beautiful eyes wander over to the window screen and he ducks his head. Almost losing his grip and falling into the grass below. Your mother yells your name again and he doesn’t pull his head back up until he hears the door close.

He takes one of his hands and summons the metal between his knuckles to grow out. Cutting open the side of the window screen, he pulls it to the side. Hoisting himself up and over into the other side of the window ungracefully.

He’s not as nimble as he once was. He falls on his hands and knees with a loud thud, similar to a cat. He stills, anxiety rushing to his face as he listens for a reaction. Only hearing the chatter of common conversation between your parents and you, he stands. Reality hits him with a rush of adrenaline. He’s in your room. What the fuck is he doing? Guilt crawls up his spine and he flicks his head, ridding the fear. He needs this. His fingers trail over various objects in your room. Wooden dresser, mattress, vanity. His slow saunter stops as he looks at your vanity closer, his dog tags nestled with a Polaroid tucked under the chain.

The weekend your parents took you both camping. He was supposed to propose to you on that trip but got cold feet.

You’re sitting in a little dress on one of his spread thighs in a lawn chair. The neck of a beer bottle was between his fingers over the side of the arm rest. You’re wrapped behind one of his big burly arms. The veins and muscle in his bicep flexed. Caging you to his strong chest as he holds you close. He’s only wearing his white sweat and oil stained tank. He just got done working on the bike, trying to figure out why it’s making a funny noise and arguing with your father about something. It’s evening time and the sun is shining between the maple trees. Everyone waited eagerly as your father grilled dinner. Your cheeks are rosy with a big precious smile as his face is shoved in your neck, pressing kisses into the tender area making you giggle. Your mother took that picture.

He swallows thickly as he sits with that feeling deep in his chest. Logan knows what he did was wrong and he feels like a reformed prisoner in his own mind. The duality is that he is also the police officer always beating him with a bat, constantly repeating the same behavior that has caused him to get in the prison. He loves to self sabotage and he fears that this fatal mistake was the end of it all. All he was and ever will be is an animal.

A strong aroma hits him all at once, he lifts his face and sniffs the air. Oh, god. It’s your clothes. Your smell is on all of them and it's surrounding him. Suffocating him. Something spurs him to start opening drawers. He pulls out various clothing, shirts, and jeans are too faint.

Pulling out another drawer, he goes to his knees. Panties. He grabs a handful, one of them being a devious pair of white cotton that has your name embroidered on the top and shoves them into his leather pocket of his jacket, closing the drawer. Stealing one of your dainty shirts that had your scent on it the strongest and holding that to his chest. He holds it to his nose and takes a long breath in, holding the smell deep in his chest. He almost moans as he exhales. He feels the front of his jeans tightening and his metal belt buckle poking his abdomen. He groans and adjusts the crotch of his jeans, trying to ease the discomfort, but it only makes his fervor grow.

He stares at himself long and carefully in your vanity mirror. An animal is all he sees, stealing your clothes because he can’t bear not breathing your scent. A pervert even. He smiles at the names, pride swelling in his chest. The pride is shot with a steady arrow as he hears a set of footsteps coming up the hall. Looking frantically for somewhere to hide, he figures your closet would be as best as he’s going to get. He makes sure that everything was in place as he first saw it and barricades himself inside your wardrobe.

This great and powerful Wolverine had fought in many wars and witnessed things that not even the most seasoned veteran can survive. Yet, he’s scared of the judgment of a woman he’s in love with. He’s sweating bullets, fat dwallops of sweat rolls down his hairline and neck.

Through the slits in your door he watches eagerly as the towel wrapped around the bust of your breasts falls. His breath stutters and he balls the shirt up and presses it against his mouth to stifle his hurried breaths. His almost green eyes roll back in his head, watching your bare breasts contort along with your body as you bend over to find clothes in your dresser. The smell is unbearable, the fresh scent of your dewy skin. The warmth of the water falling into every hidden crevice that only he can see.

His stomach growls. His starvation is growing worse. He palms his hard length. Raising your arms you put on one of his old hockey jerseys he gave you. He groans and his head thumps against the back wall. He can’t bear it. What if he jumped out and ravaged you? Would you be upset? He’d never forgive himself for it, but the need for release is far too much for him to withstand. You’re just a little woman, he couldn’t do that to you. Defile his sweet girl and breed her, only in his thoughts he entertains the thought. Stepping into some of his old boxers too. He’s been wondering where those had gone. Maybe he and his girl weren't too far off. Cut from the same perverted cloth.

You crawl into your bed with a deep sigh. Cuddling up with some childhood teddy bear. He watches your heavenly face twist as you cry into the fur of the bear. His heart breaks. He’s defeated, he hates to see you cry and it’s even worse when he can actually feel the sorrow fill his heart. He stands there for what seems to be an eternity watching you break down into a helpless little girl. Broken and distraught. In that moment he knows that you’d never love him the same.

He waits until your puffy eyes close and the soft snore falls from your parted lips to leave your closet. Closing the door behind him, he stands before your sleeping beauty. Admiring your face from afar. Logan is a hated man and he’s never cared, but he cares all too much that you do. He goes to his knees, quietly. Tucking your shirt into the waistband of his jeans. He tucks a fallen strand of hair behind your ear and kisses your nose gently. As gently as an animal like him could. Pulling up your blanket under your chin.

“I’m sorry.”

He whispers. He stands to his feet again, marveling at the memories he’s had with such a dream of a woman in the glow of the moon. Lost in his thoughts, he doesn’t hear the wiggle of the door knob and your mothers breath of your name. He twists his body and jumps out of the window. Again, he lands on his feet and he runs. He runs on all fours. Dirt getting under his fists as the claws give him leverage to run faster.

Your mother places a gentle hand on your shoulder as she sits by your feet. Blinking your eyes open, you look at her with blurry vision.

“Logan?”

He’s panting and his eyes are wild as he flies down the road on his bike. Feeling as if he just robbed a bank. He’s a wanted man. You know that he was there. You had to. The deep pit in his stomach is too expensive for you to not have.

As soon as he’s up the mountain and parks haphazardly in front of the cabin, he’s stripping off his clothes. He’s burning alive. He’s left only in his tattered jeans. His stomach twists and turns and before he knows it, he’s pulling out every single meat he has in his fridge and tearing it open. He feasts like a wild animal. Tearing the plastic open and the blood dripping down onto him. His chest and jaw slathered in dead animals. Pork, poultry, cow it’s everywhere. He doesn’t care if it’s not cooked, his hunger is far greater than his rationality. He doesn’t even breathe as he devours. His hands were coated in blood like he murdered someone.

When he finishes he stares at his destruction. Only bones were left in various places. His torso was even coated in red. He groans, chewing the fat of some animal and swallowing with a gulp. He finds whatever beer he has in the fridge and pops the lid off with his claw. Taking a prolonged gradual swig. Your shirt, surprisingly, still hung sloppily and pure under his belt.

He roams to his trophy case, full of all his war memorabilia and opens the door. Taking the wooden case full of cigars out and putting one between his bloodied lips. He sets the bottle beside the case and lights the cigar. It’s almost as good as an orgasm. For the first time he feels full. His needs were almost completely met. The only thing missing was you. He walks sluggishly to his open front door, leaning his shoulder against the frame. Switching between smoking and drinking as he listens to the night's ambiance. Listening to the wild animals howl.

Just a game of hide and seek was all it was. It was Fall. The leaves were scattered like a carpet on the floor of the woods. It was a random day where both of you were off and rather going into town, he thought it’d be fun to teach you how to fish. After multiple failed attempts of you becoming bored, he decided to play a game with you.

The game was completely rigged. Who would’ve thought the man with insane primal senses would be great at finding things that didn’t want to be found. The adrenaline was catching up to you both as you sought after him. The widespread woods were winding and confusing, but you were determined to find the animal. The cold nipped at your face as you kept your perseverance. Suddenly, you stopped. Realizing that instead of you finding him, and him staying hidden he reversed the game and was trailing you. A peculiar feeling arose, the thought of him following you without you even knowing coiled your stomach.

All of your theories were proven right as his big arms wrap around your torso and pulls you down into the leaves. He laughs heartily against your neck as you push up, straddling his waist. You hit his chest softly.

“You filthy animal I was supposed to be hunting you!”

He shakes his head with a small smile, squeezing your hips as he stares up at you with childish eyes.

“Maybe you’re just not that good of a hunter.”

Your eyes widen and your mouth falls open.

“Hey!”

You hit his chest again, and he sits up. Kissing your nose.

“It’s okay, lil’ bunny.”

It sincerely unnerves him how unobservant you were. How oblivious you were to the world, but that same reason is why he loves you. He loves that you’re different, even if you were human you understood what it felt like to be a mutant. He flicks the end of the cigar down into the asphalt and closes the front door. The blood on his body is dried and caked on him. Stripping the rest of his clothes in the hall as he goes to the bathroom. His house is still trashed and he doesn’t care to clean it until his life is put on track again. Until you’re in his life again.

He turns on the faucet and lets the water warm. Looking at himself in the mirror while he waits. He looks righteously like an animal. His hair wild on his head, the blood goes from his mouth down to the v-line of his hips. It’s brutal and chaotic. He wonders if this is what life is going to be like for him for the rest of eternity. Nature made him a freak, man had made him a weapon, and god is making it last too long. The water blurs the mirror and he no longer sees himself in the reflection. He steps inside the scalding hot water and his thoughts don’t slow.

All he’s thought about is you, all he can think about is you. You’re the last thing that’s keeping his humanity. Without you he turns into this beast of regret. He watches the blood pool around his feet. The blood mixed down his chest and face and down the drain. He wishes to drown but knows he can’t. He wishes to die but that’s too humanly for him for it to be possible. Maybe even love was too human for him to obtain. He thinks about calling you and then it passes. He thinks about his mother for a minute and that passes. Every wave of emotion, feeling and thought passes through him as he cleanses his body. He stays in that sauna of a shower for an hour.

When he gets out he pats his skin dry from one of the towels you bought out of the cupboard and ties it around his waist. Pushing his wet hair back it slicks back and stays. He knows he’ll wake to the two tufts being straightened on his head in the morning, he doesn’t bother. Bending down, he picks your shirt up off of the hallway floor and holds it to his nose. Closing his eyes and breathing in your intoxicating bodily perfume. He can already smell it fading. It’s damp from the water still clinging onto his chest. He sits down on the leather couch that he’s shredded. Contemplating if he should call, it’s late and he knows you have work in the morning. He shouldn’t bother.

The smell of you gives him motivation. What if? What if she does misses me and wants me as much as I want her. That’s blasphemy, he thinks. Yet, he ponders it seriously. He breathes in your shirt once more and finds the phone he’s thrown against the wall a couple weeks before. He dials your number apprehensively. His nerves shot to hell as he holds the phone to his ear. The buzzing and monotone hum of service sends his perturbation to his chest. His stomach clenched tight with bated breath. He hopes that you don’t answer, but his soul wants you to. He almost thinks about hanging up and it continues to ring. What is he even going to say? He doesn’t know. He never knows. His eyes widen and he doesn’t breathe as he hears your sleepy voice.

“Hello?”

You whisper into the phone and he doesn’t say anything. He’s internally panicking, on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

“Hello?”

You whisper again and he doesn’t speak, his head is in a frenzy and his hand is shaking.

“Logan?”

When you say his name he drops the phone. Trepidation strikes him. He hadn’t heard you say his name for weeks and the sleepy softness of your voice sparked something in him. He’s scared of that feeling, petrified even. Logan Howlett’s only fear is love.

He fell asleep with your shirt cradled tight into his chest. The morning’s sun is the only thing that awoke him. He didn’t fall asleep that night until dawn. He was too paranoid and scared to fall asleep, the anxiety of possibilities kept running through him. He sighed and the feeling he felt was worse than any hangover. He knew he was broke in every way possible, he didn’t have any money, he didn’t have anything. He didn’t even have you. He groaned and cursed himself as he saw last nights doing in his kitchen. He honestly doesn’t remember anything after what occurred at your house. He didn’t have any food left nor any liquor. He had to do one of the things he hated the most, grocery shopping.

His strong anxiety was almost numbing to him now. He’s felt so high strung the past few weeks that he’s used to it. He strolled through the store with a shopping cart that had one of its wheels broken and he almost thought god did it purposefully to mock him. He wandered helplessly through the aisles, grabbing miscellaneous food. Knowing most of it wasn’t going to even last him the rest of the week, but he needed something to get by.

Most of his cart was filled with strong liquor. He wanted to forget you and move on, and maybe finally kick the bucket with alcohol poisoning. He’s reaching into the fridge to grab another case of beer when he feels a soft tap on his shoulder. His stomach drops. It couldn’t be. He stands and looks over his shoulder and sure as shit, there you are.

You have a little smile on your face and your cheeks are dusted red by embarrassment. Looking to your feet, you see a pair of cotton panties peeking out of his jacket pocket. Your cheeks grow a darker red as you see that your name is embroidered on the top.

“I- uh, I-,”

You shut your mouth tight, cursing yourself for the hurried stutter and if he wasn’t so nervous himself he’d think you being flustered was cute. You look up at him through your lashes. He takes notice of the flint of his dog tags around your neck and his heart soars.

“I’m cooking dinner tonight at my parents house and was wondering if you’d like to come,”

You scratch the back of your neck, uneasily. Beaming timidly.

“You don’t have to come of course! And it’s just if you’d like if you’re not busy, I’m cooking steaks and I know you like-“

“What time?”

Your rambling stops and you give him the best kid going to Disneyland look he’s ever seen.

“Six.”

He nods and you smile. The trajectory of his life seemed to be on track again. This was the right timeline.

“I’ll be there at five.”

You smile wider.

“Thanks, Logan.”

He gives you a small smile and nod of his head in response. You start to turn to leave before turning back, looking both ways before you whisper to him.

“If you wanted a pair of my panties, you could’ve just asked.”

You give his cheek a quick kiss and walk away with a bounce in your step. Leaving him blushing and blinking at the case of beer in his hand, trying to figure out what actually just happened. Those small moments that are just so humanly indescribable makes him feel much less like a filthy animal.

#xreader #fanfic #fluff #smut #logan howlett #wolverine #wolverine x reader

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pseudowho · 3 months

Text

The Voice, Part 1/2

VoiceActor!AU. Nanami Kento is the most acclaimed and beloved voice actor of his generation. When the mysterious woman of his dreams is swept away from him in a moment of passing fates, will he ever find her again?

Full credit to @delirious-donna for dropping this into my head fully formed.

The next part will be all smut. No apologies.

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It began with anime; the first embers of your gentle obsession sparked to life, and you felt like the woman who had discovered fire. The voice. His voice.

You were not the only one, you were sure, as you diligently bought audiobooks in his voice, the words steeping in whiskey and smoke; played games with his voice threaded to the soul of a character; watched his voice brought to life on screen, and his characters were tinged with gold.

He was faceless; Nanami Kento, the most beloved voice actor of your generation, was a man of mystery, preferring to stay out of the limelight with stubborn insistence. You did not mind. His voice was enough, for you, soothing loneliness, companionable and smooth. It balmed the sores of your soul.

News outlets hunted for him. People gave up family members and colleagues, touting them as the owner of the voice belonging to Japan's beloved master of the spoken word. You knew they were wrong. Again, you didn't mind. Your obsession held no possession; there was no bite, no ownership.

You simply allowed the dulcet tones of a stranger to lick you to sleep every night. You simply dreamed of knowing him better. You simply dreamed of his voice, guiding you through your peak. In all other ways...you were perfectly 'normal'.

Heading to work in Tokyo snow, you caught yourself slipslid into the downstream of Tokyo commuters, flowing into Shibuya's subway. The crowd undulated in one direction, shoulder to shoulder, and you squirmed through, pressing through the sweat-coffee-toothpaste-cologne miasma until you claimed a spot on a train.

The people packed around you. Your back pressed to another, much broader, much firmer back, and you were quietly thankful for the stability it afforded you. As the train moved, and you wobbled, crying out, you felt the back stiffen and move with you, as if to anchor you. You were, again, grateful, and had to be so without words, corseted by societal expectation.

The train clatter-clattered through the twisting wormholes of the underground, dipping in and out of orange lights. You had just begun to relax, chilly from the morning snow, warmed by the back against yours.

The train screeched to a halt, halfway through a tunnel. The bodies around you cried out as one, shunting forwards with inertia. You heard a grunt of surprise from the back against yours, rumbling through you, a brick wall as you fell against him with a squeak. The cries died out. A few solitary noises of complaint...until the lights went out.

Plunged into darkness, you felt the collective heartrates rise, slow and mumbling, while yours rose exponentially with your breaths. You felt a chilly sweat down your spine, trapped in the dark in a tin can with nobody and no-one and you only barely heard the tannoy announcement apologising for a fault on the line and you'd be moving in a few minutes but it was a few minutes too long and--

"Hey. You're okay. Take my hand."

The back pressed to yours rumbled; it was the only thing that told you you hadn't imagined the voice. The voice. That voice. Other voices around you began to chat, too, societal norm sidetracked by shared peril.

"Just take a deep breath. With me. Take my hand."

Long fingers in the dark. A broad, warm hand clasping yours. You clung, reaching your other hand back to clasp his other hand, too. You stood like this, back to back, both hands plaited, while you gasped, hyperventilating.

"It won't be long. We'll get moving again. You're safe. You're safe."

You couldn't catch the tears before they fell, tumbling down your cheeks as you hiccuped, and apologised.

"--God I'm-- so stupid I-- I'm so sorry-- thank you--"

"You're not, I...I feel it too. It's alright. It's alright."

You couldn't believe what you were hearing, absolutely certain to your very core that this man must be the very same man you listened to every evening. The secret voice. The man of mystery. You felt yourself calm, dreamlike as you spoke, stroking a thumb against his palm. You respected his choice for anonymity.

"...are you okay?"

A pause. You felt his back stiffen against yours.

"I'll...be fine. I avoid the subway, usually, but work necessitates it today. I have no logical reason to hate it. There's no reason I should be scared."

You smiled, soft. "A phobia isn't logical. You can't reason your way out of it." You bowed your head, eyes closed in the dark, your heart bounding, unable to pretend you weren't hopelessly, ruinously in love with this man, now you held his hands in your own in some bizarre twist of fate. "And...thank you."

"No. No...thank you." He paused, tapping his fingers against your hand, jittery with his own restrained terror. His words tumbled, unbidden. "Shit, I hate it down here."

"Trauma from an alternate universe or something, huh?" You joked, gentle as you held him, now. "Just...think of it as night-time. In your bed. Calm, and dark, and warm."

"...not usually this many people in my bed--"

"--oh really? There are in mine--"

He laughed hard, kindling a blush in your cheeks, and you rested your head back against his shoulder, glad he couldn't see you. He spoke again, his voice smiling.

"Well if you keep picking up strangers in trains..."

"You call it 'picking up strangers in trains'. I call it 'Tuesday'."

The theatre masks flipped, comedy overtaking tragedy, your worlds reduced to just each other, in the dark. You talked, and talked, all easy banter and comfort. You raised his hand in yours, and he felt a tug in his gut as you accidentally wiped the tears from your cheeks with his plaited finger instead of yours.

"Using strangers as handkerchiefs now?"

"I haven't had my coffee yet, hush."

"What's your usual order?"

"I like a vanilla latte. Why?"

"So I know what to get you."

He felt a matchstrike of success as you squirmed against his back, pressing your plaited hands to your forehead. He let his eyes drift shut, sick of being lonely, maybe ready to let a stranger into his odd, isolated little world--

"...I'd love that. Thank you. And...your voice. I--"

The train rattled to life through the pitchcast tunnel, and he grunted, bracing himself as you fell against him again. He felt a spark of happiness, a lurching joy that you'd mentioned his voice, perhaps knowing who he was all this time but treating him like any other person and shit we can go out for coffee but is it too soon no no she'll respect the secret I've got a feeling she will--

The train lurched again, in the dark, and he heard you squeak as you fell away from him, the startled thump-thump and cries of strangers shuffling in this tin can. A white-orange light appeared at the end of the tunnel, the train rushing towards it, but his hands were empty.

You scrambled to get up from the floor, nobody's hands reaching down for you like his had. As the train bathed in light, you were hidden, masked by legs and bags, and you couldn't see each other, not that you'd know who you were looking for. You rummaged frantically, to get up, get up, come on you silly bitch, and you couldn't, and the train stopped, the doors opening with a tiny announcement.

You opened your mouth to call his name-- and clamped it shut, immediately, face twisted in conflict.

You managed to stand, and turn just enough to see a sea of black hair with pink tips and brown hair with ombre highlights and honey-blond undercut hair neatly parted and a head above the rest and no hair all shaved off and--

The teeming crowd pushed you off the train. You left your heart behind with a man who could not pick you from the crowd, despite his frantic eyes hunting, and hunting and hunting.

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Nanami Kento's stomach ached with lost potential. Sat in his chair at the recording studio, the staff there sworn by non-disclosure agreements, Kento read the same line over, and over, and over.

No amount of practice could inject it with enthusiasm, and he snapped, growling his way through the line and pressing his forehead into one broad palm. His agent piped up.

"Oh! That one was good. Stick with that--"

"No, no..." Kento rumbled, miserable. "Not like that. It doesn't suit the character, I just...I'm not in the best frame of mind today."

Kento felt dirty even admitting it aloud, a consummate professional who laid aside his true feelings for those he needed to portray in recording. His agent's eyebrows flicked up, and he sat beside Kento, nervous.

"That's...not like you, Nanami." Ijichi eked out, hesitant. "What's wrong?"

Kento slopped his script onto the side, hands plaited in his lap. He knew before knowing that the only way he would be able to find you, was exercising his own influence over the media world. If Nanami Kento was looking for someone, the whole of Japan would stop to help him find them. And, yet, it was risky. And dirty. And risked scaring you away.

There was no way you could know each other on the quiet Tokyo subway system, unless he decided to go completely gung-ho and stand at a station with a sign looking for The Woman In The Dark Who Held My Hands On The Train And Made Me Laugh which is fucking mental frankly but not mad if it works and it's worth the risk I think I want to know her want to know--

"Ijichi." Kento's agent perked up, his tired face pinched in servitude. "I have a favour to ask. A big one."

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After that morning, listening to Nanami Kento's recordings simultaneously fell flat and elated you, all at once. While their power spun gold through you, with the backdrop of real life connection with him, that peak then crashed, falling into the despondency and despair of knowing you would never have that intimacy with him again.

You couldn't approach him, in any form. Even his agency was a closely guarded secret, and anyone who did find out was swiftly dealt with, you were sure. Hordes of fans fawned over him. You were thrown into obscurity by the sheer volume of the clamouring masses.

The darker, self-loathing part of you seeded the doubt that he'd even want to hear from you. You swung between certain misery that you had imagined such intimate chemistry, and elation over the significance of the moment you had shared.

Weeks passed. You looked at every stranger on the train, sometimes trying to catch their eye, as if that gold thread would connect between your pupils. Any man could be him. All you knew was his voice, the touch of his skin, and the feel of his hands in yours.

One morning, alone and queuing for coffee, it all changed. Your jaw dropped to see the news splashed across a Tokyo billboard, its newscaster silently helped along by subtitles.

The voice of Japan, Nanami Kento, searches for mystery woman!

You froze, your whole body blooming into fine botanicals, brought to life like a greenhouse in summer.

You abandoned your place in the queue, stumbling out of the coffee shop doorway with a little dingaling from the bell above you. Wide-eyed, your shoulder bag dropped to the floor, and you stood, famous in anonymity, caressed by the eyes of millions and none all at once.

**Are you Nanami Kento's mystery woman?**

**Hundreds have already come forward, claiming to be the one!**

**The search begins!**

You grabbed your phone, clamouring to access the same newscast on your screen, shoving your headphones in with trembling fingers. The voice of the anchorwoman fed into you.

"...have already come forward, and Nanami Kento is yet to find his mystery woman!

When the subway train he was travelling on was plunged into darkness, Nanami-san reports talking to a woman who was separated from him when the train began moving again.

Now, unable to stop thinking about her, he has recorded her this message:"

You clenched within, clutching at your chest to hear Nanami Kento, speaking to you again, and your eyes filled with tears, threatening to spill over in one great hiccup.

"I'm not sure how to begin this. To...the woman who held my hands on the train. I'm not ready to leave it there. We had more to say to each other, and I know that you knew who I was the whole time. Knowing that you put that aside, to treat me with kindness, as a stranger...is more important to me than you know. I know you'll be able to answer questions that no other woman can."

His voice paused, and you pressed your fingers to your lips, now weeping in silence in the bustling Tokyo street. He spoke just once more.

"I owe you a coffee. Please...come forward."

As the recording ended, you gasped, a great breath of relief leaving your lungs. Your throat burned with having held your breath throughout his whole message to you. A helpline number rolled across your screen, and you spoke it aloud to yourself, still sniffling, shaking fingers punching it into your screen, until you looked up, and froze at your own reflection in the window.

You felt a familiar pang of disgust with spotting yourself reflected back at you. Your face was puffy, tearstained and mascara-smudged. You drank down every flaw, feeding it into the same positive feedback-mechanism that had fed your own self-loathing for years. Your finger stopped, hovering over the call button.

Nanami Kento was sure to be disappointed. Your hand slumped, your phone resting against your thigh, a number uncalled. Your heart squeezed so tightly, your chest hurt. You deleted the number off your screen. You abandoned your coffee. You walked to work, unable to face another subway journey, knowing for certain he wouldn't be there.

You were sure another woman would come forwards, able to convince him that she was the woman he was searching for.

Between recordings, Kento hurried back to the phone, set up exclusively for him in the studio. He answered call, after call, after call, coolly rejecting woman, after woman, after woman.

You were inimitable. Kento waited. Your call remained uncalled.

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Another week passed. Kento's lines went unrecorded as he worked his way through thousands of calls, each one a fake, a phoney, desperately trying to fit their foot into a glass slipper not made for them.

Pulling at his hair, shrunken by despair, Kento slumped with his face in his hands. He felt a coffee nudged in front of him. Ijichi sat beside him, always with a baseline air of nervousness.

"Have you considered," Ijichi began, considerate, "that she's worried about how she looks?"

Kento lifted his face out of his hands, staring into the silent recording booth, fingertips steepled against his chin. His voice dragged, heavy with the effort of another conversation he didn't want to be having.

"I have." Kento responded, thoughtful. "I just...hoped it wasn't that. I'm also aware that...perhaps she doesn't want to meet me, like I want to meet her." Kento paused again, the silence gravid between he and Ijichi, Ijichi's eyes downcast as he listened in concern.

"I should think that's unlikely." Ijichi replied, following Kento's gaze into the recording booth. "If what you've told me is accurate, and I'm sure it is, you two shared an irreplaceable moment. There's no way she could have missed the news, it's the talk of Japan. You felt no ring on her finger, so she's probably neither engaged, nor married. She hadn't finished speaking to you, before you were interrupted."

Kento listened, eyes sinking closed, jaded and exhausted. His hope rotted with rejection, his efforts rust-nibbled and tainted with the embarrassment of pouring himself into the open, vulnerable as he had never been before-- except, with you.

Kento was forced to face that, for whatever reason, you did not want to find him. Despondent, his belly full of rocks, he eyed the connecting cable at the back of the phone.

"I don't think I can handle another woman pretending to be her, Ijichi. I think...I think I'm done. She deserves peace and quiet. I think it's time to call it a day."

Ijichi made the briefest noise of despair, moving to stop Kento as Kento grabbed the cord in the back of the phone, ready to cut it off.

The phone rang.

Ijichi's eyes flicked to Kento, eyebrows rising up to his hairline.

"...just one more?"

"...I don't know, Ijichi. I'm tired of the disappointment. This has been a fool's errand, some horrible wild goose-chase. I'm supposed to be a professional, and I'm so behind on my recordings, and--"

"They can wait. Just one more."

Kento sighed. The phone continued to ring, and with one huge hand, Kento silenced it by picking up the receiver.

You held your breath, sheltered from a storm in a phone booth, chilly with the wet and anticipation. Closing your eyes in the Tokyo nightlights, you could almost be in the tunnel again. You clapped a hand over your mouth to hear his voice, weary and hesitant, but him.

"...hello?"

You gasped, a single great sob bursting forth. Silence on the other end of the line, as you babbled, sniffling, almost drowned out by the slamming of the rain against the glass.

"I-its me, it-it's me. I'm...I'm the woman from the train."

Silence again. A deep, uncertain rumble.

"If I buy you a coffee...what would your order be?"

"A vanilla latte."

Silence again, an ember of hope. "I called it 'picking up strangers on trains'. You called it--"

"'Tuesday'." You laughed, bubbling through your tears.

Kento clasped a hand over his mouth, his face crumpling, his eyes welling up as roses bloomed in his mind. He took one deep shuddering breath, blowing out before his chest could burst with the anticipation.

"Instead of a handkerchief, you used..."

You laughed, and Kento's face finally cracked, laughing himself as a couple of tears crept down his sharp cheekbones.

"...your hand. I used your hand. Rudely."

"Oh, god. Oh my god. It's you."

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she-who-fights-and-writes · 1 year

Text

MASTER LIST OF INSTRUMENTAL PLAYLISTS FOR WRITING (OR FOR STUDYING, MAKING ART, ETC.)

I find that the perfect writing playlist can GREATLY enhance the writing experience. Even if it doesn't make your writing "better" (which it can, since it helps writers with visualization, tone, and mood), it can definitely make your writing flow easier!

Personally, words distract me when I'm writing, either by breaking my train of thought or by getting me too into the music so that I'm jamming out to my favorite tunes instead of writing.

Therefore, I've amassed a vast knowledge of instrumental music across a variety of media over a course of many years. Now here I am, deciding to share all of them with you!

Maddy’s Favorite Instrumental Songs

Just like the title says. All of the best pieces of instrumental music I've ever heard, compiled together with no regard for genre. It can be a bit of a whiplash playlist, but some amazing recs in there that I just like listening to in my free time, not just for writing.

Maddy’s Ultimate Instrumental Playlist

A mega compilation of 550+ fantastic instrumental music from a variety of media and genres. Kind of a whiplash playlist if you put it on shuffle, but is a great start for anyone looking to find what kind of instrumental music they like! Playlist Groupings in Order: Independent instrumental songs, live action movies, animated movies, animated tv shows, live action tv shows, video games.

Maddy's Instrumental for Sleep

Some more chill vibe instrumental for people who either A) want to sleep or B) want a relaxed playlist that won't distract you with loud volume and sudden changes in tempo or melody.

MISC PLAYLISTS:

you're a haggard adventurer discovering worlds beyond your wildest dreams

Music to inspire wonder and wanderlust, the kind of feeling you get when you finally reach the end of a mountain hike and see the world stretching out before you.

you're a hero who's just lost everything

Basically the most sad instrumental music I could find. A playlist for grief and revenge.

more beneath the cut :)

you're a cowboy in the great American West

Cowboy instrumental for all of your ambient and writing needs. Or if you just really want to feel like a cowboy.

you're a divine witness

Epic choir music (no English). Most religious, some not, but all kind of have that eerie sacred vibe. I listen to this while writing my book about angels and demons.

you’re a scholar uncovering the secrets of the universe

Great chill study playlist! Has the kind of same exploratory/discovery type feel as the haggard adventurer playlist, but more dark academia.

you’re a villain plotting to take over the world

Villain-coded instrumental! Sinister, dark, and/or unsettling.

you're an academic weapon

HIGH BPM STUDY PLAYLIST! Keeps me focused, hyped, and helps me work faster!

you're an ancient god

Playlist that gives an ancient/eerie vibe. But some ancient gods are merciful- so there are some upbeat songs for wonder and awe!

you're falling in love

Music that encapsulates what I think falling in love feels like. Very beautiful, tender, and uplifting instrumental.

you're fighting the final battle

Intense and epic battle music for all of your fight-scene-writing needs! Good for getting shit done, but isn't necessarily restricted to high BPM like the academic weapon playlist.

you're having a tea party

Refined instrumental for a tea party, including classical, big band, and some miscellaneous goodies.

you're in a chase scene

Music for writing chase scenes. Pretty good hype music, too. Includes soundtracks from classic chase scenes in popular media!

you're in the medieval times

Medieval-sounding music for all of your ambient and/or writing needs.

you’re in your childhood room. the door is open a crack. people talk softly downstairs.

A playlist dedicated to nostalgia, to the feeling of lying in bed with your nightlight on after being too tired to stay awake at your family get-together. Could either make your day or break your heart lmao

you're the happiest you've ever been

Lighthearted instrumental meant to lift your spirits! A playlist dedicated to the joys of the little things.

#writing #writers #writeblr #booklr #creative writing #studying #writing playlist #roleplay #writing tips #writing advice #writing help #writing inspo #writing inspiration #inspo #music #music rec #instrumental music

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magics-neptunes-things · 4 months

Text

Cheetah

Hello everyone!

So for once this isn't a request, but more something who was walking in my head rent free and I just had to write it.

I don't know a lot about motorcycle to be honest but i made some research, so if there is some incoherence, I'm sorry!

Also I start to translate the English in Spanish before stopping, because in the end almost everyone is supposed to talk in Spanish and I'm really bad at it (I only can command something to eat and drink).

Please let me know what you think about it and enjoy ♥

TW : Moto accident, Angst, Injuries and a little bit of autodestruction maybe.

“Come on Cheetah, everyone’s waiting for you!”

You sigh softly, putting the picture you were looking at in your bag. It’s a picture of your ex-girlfriend and yourself, during your happy days. It’s been three months since the breakup and you are still mourning the end of your relationship like if it was the first hours. You still feel numb and if like someone is constantly crushing your heart in their iron grip. It’s not getting better, and it probably never will. Ona was, is, the love of your life and it’s just impossible for you to recover from it.

Falling for Ona was easy. You met her when you were both 20, even if you come from Palma de Mallorca and not Barcelona. You are a athlete too, so it wasn’t hard to cross her path at one of the Spanish awards. Patri Guijarro was there too and like you she comes from Mallorca, so she introduced you both and the rest is history.

When Ona moved to Manchester, you follow her. You find a team to train your motorcycle and your skills there. You were still young but promising on the circuit and you didn’t have trouble the find someone to help you getting better. And better you get. Just like Ona in Manchester United, you easily improve your skills and became one of the best in the world. Sure, you were sometimes away from home and Ona for your competitions, but everything was perfect.

When Ona came back to Barcelona, you flow back with her too. Some of your team came with you, some other didn’t but you can’t hold it against them. You find people to replace them and continue to race on the top of the leader boards.

The breakup didn’t come from nowhere, you can’t say that. You knew how much Ona was worried when you race, scared that you hurt yourself. You never had a big injury until now. But just after Christmas, you were implicated in an accident and Ona had trouble to concentrate in something else than that since that day.

It wasn’t your fault honestly; you just weren’t able to avoid the motorcycles already lying on the road. So, you made a gliding flight and had a concussion and a dislocated shoulder, nothing too serious. But Ona was in Barcelona while you were in Qatar, and it took almost two hours for you to be able to call her, even if you make everything possible to have your phone back.

That’s what pushed Ona to break up with you.

“I can’t keep focusing on your future death while I’m in training or supposed to be concentrated on something important, Y/N/N. I’m so sorry.” was what she told you.

Can you blame her? No. Did she told you it was because she doesn’t love you anymore? No. Did you try everything to make her change her mind? Yes. You even told her that you will stop your sport. But she’s not with you anymore and it hurt like hell.

“Hi Cheetah!” make one of your opponent when you arrive in the garage, where the motorcycles are stored.

“Hola” you mumble back.

Cheetah is your nickname, because of your speed and the feline way you stand on your bike. But it’s especially Ona’s favorite animal. You wonder if she’s still looking at your race sometimes. Probably not. You never asked Patri who became your friend with the years, the girl never talked about your breakup either. You like it that way.

One hour after, you are on your bike, ready to start your race. Your helmet is a notch off from what security recommends, but you prefer to wear it like that. Ona had forbidden you to do so and you had accepted her request without flinching. But Ona isn’t here anymore, and you have no one to care about.

Well, your brother who is in your team maybe. And probably your parents, but even if you love them, they aren’t Ona.

The qualifying rounds put you in fourth place at the start, but after a daring overtaking you manage to get gain the third place. The weather is great honestly, a little bit sunny maybe but it’s better than the rain. You are in Italy after all.

The fight for the second place is hard, your opponent always manages to stand in your way to keep you from reaching it. It starts to frustrate you, even if your team keeps telling you in the helmet to take no risks. You don’t listen to them, still being careful not to make faults though, you don’t want to have any penalty against you.

“Lenta, hermanita por favor!” (Slower, my little sister please!)

You hear your brother’s voice but don’t listen to him either. He will probably kill you for it after the race , but if you manage to get the second place, it’s worth it right? Winning is the only thing that you have left. The only thing that makes you feel a little alive.

That’s why you don’t hesitate to take other risks to get the second place. Plot twist, you shouldn’t have.

It’s the first time since you’re a teenager that you lose the control of your motorcycle, but it’s a strange feeling. You feel yourself flying and the helmet getting ripped off your head during the crash. After that it’s all black, you just have little moments of consciousness from time to time.

“No no no no no! ¡ Y/N No me hagas esto! Respira por favor!” (Don’t do that! Breath please!”)

That’s your brother voice. You don’t know where you are, you hear people screaming and probably running next to you. But you are too tired. Falling asleep now probably will help you feel better, right?

“Sigue luchando. Piensa en Ona." (Keep fighting. Think about Ona.)

Ona? You think about her every single second of the day. You are surprised by this statement, but it has the advantage to wake you up a little. Your brother usually never mention your ex-girlfriend, knowing how much the breakup is destroying you.

“Alright we take her to the ambulance, now!”

If you were able, you probably would have rolled your eyes because of the strength that this man screamed with. You are not even able to open your eyes though, and you hate the way you feel your body not responding to what you want. But your head hurt and soon you are asleep again.

The next time you are awake, it was way quiet. You hear your parents and your brother, but you have to make a big effort to understand what they are saying.

“She called her name several times in the ambulance, but she’s asleep since”

Well, that’s embarrassing. It’s useless to wonder which name you called, there only is one woman in your head after all.

“Did you call her?”

Your mother.

“No. Y/N would have probably hated me if I did.”

Is he right? Maybe. You’ll think about it later.

“She has the right to know how Y/N is.”

Point for your father.

“I’ll call Patri instead.”

Well, it’s probably better that way. Patri is one of your best friends and if Ona wants to have news of you, she will ask Patri. But once again, she probably has no interest about your health anymore.

You fall back asleep again soon after that.

Patri’s face is white when she reaches the gym of FC Barcelona Femeni. It’s not Ona who realized it first, your ex-girlfriend is focused on her exercises next to Mariona.

“Patri you alright?” Pina asks, looking at her friend with worry.

Everyone raises their gaze on the girl, but she’s only looking at Ona. And Ona knows, right there. She gulps and stand up, her hand shaking.

“What happened?” Ona asks quietly.

But Patri takes her by the hand to take her out. She doesn’t want to explain to Ona what happened in front of the others. She doesn’t know how the younger one will react at the news, and she’s scared of her reaction to be honest. Every single person in the team know how much Ona is sad about your breakup, even if she’s the one who chose to have it that way.

“Y/N had an accident during the race” Patri starts, looking at Ona with attention. “I don’t know what her injuries are or anything else. But she has that awful crash, and they came with the ambulance and those kinds of white curtains.”

Ona knows what the curtains are for. It’s to protect the dignity of the runner in the case of a serious injury… or worse. Very worse. Her face passes from white to green.

“Is there a video from the crash?”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea to…”

But Ona doesn’t listen. Like you, she’s stubborn. She wants to know. She needs to know. She doesn’t know when the accident happened, but the video of it is easy to find on social media. She doesn’t react at all during several seconds and Patri wondered if Ona’s mind crashed, too.

“She loosened her helmet” Ona whispers at first.

“What?” Patri frowned.

“She loosened her helmet! She loosened her helmet and now she’s probably dead!”

Ona’s shouting and Patri prefer that, but it’s surprising. Ona isn’t the kind of girl who shout usually. She puts a comforting hand on Ona’s arm before talking.

“We don’t know that for now” she tries, with a comforting voice.

“Haven’t you seen the crash? Haven’t you seen of hard her head hit the ground? She didn’t move after that! At all!”

Patri doesn’t know what to answer at that. Ona’s right and she regrets to have inform her so soon, without having news of you. Or your brother, who had kind of a crush for Patri before realizing that she’s as gay as you are. You still tease him about it years later.

“I’ll try to call her brother, ok? But for now, let’s get out of here.”

When you wake up next time, you have enough strength to be able to open your eyes. You don’t know what time it is, but the sun is shining behind almost closed blinds. There is someone on a chair next to you, but you are disappointed to realize that it’s only your brother. Not Ona.

“Hola” he whispers when he realizes that your awake.

You only answer with a grunt, unable to talk for now. You feel sleepy again, but you want to talk with him a little bit.

“We are at the hospital. Do you remember what happened?”

You close your eyes briefly to make him understand that you remember. Your throat feels too scratchy to talk for now. You’ll learn later that they have to intubate you to keep you alive.

“You’re lucky you’re alive, I’ll kill you a second time if you weren’t. They want to get you back in Barcelona tonight, are you okay with that?”

You don’t answer right away. Why can’t they keep you here?

“The team think it would be easier to be somewhere where they speak Spanish. And we will be closer to Mama and Papi.”

Your brother seems to understand your questions. It’s a great thing that you are both so close. You close your eyes again now and he nods before taking your hand in his. You don’t really care where you are taking care off after all.

“You can sleep now. You need to rest to get better, ok?”

You squeeze his finger softly before closing your eyes for good now, falling asleep again. You are still asleep during the transfer to Barcelona and when you wake up again you are in the Spanish’s city hospital.

Once again, it’s your brother who is here when you open your eyes. He changed his clothes but he’s still here, reading a newspaper with his feet on your bed.

“Don’t you have a house?” you groan.

He rolls his eyes after having looked at you for two seconds. Maybe to realize that he wasn’t dreaming. He threw carefully the journal next to you without putting his feet down, but everything is still blur.

“I can’t read it” you whisper.

“The Spanish’ motorcycle prodigy almost died in an awful crash yesterday. Her condition remains alarming” your brother read for you.

He’s angry. You don’t answer anything, what should you say anyway? You know that it’s your fault, if you were a little more careful nothing of that would have happened. You know too that you aren’t on the point to die, your brother wouldn’t have scolded you if that was the case.

“What are my injuries?” you ask without looking at him.

He sighs loudly before answering.

“You have broken ribs, a broken tibia, your cheekbone too, your elbow is in pieces, your shoulder has been dislocated again and you have a massive concussion. They thought that you have something broken in your spine, but it’s just a massive bruise. Oh, and you have other bruises almost on every part of your body, when it’s not burn because of the asphalt. They had to put stitches somewhere on your head and your brow bone too.”

you stay silence for several seconds, completely stunned. These are massive injuries, you know it. It will probably need a lot of time to heal all of them and that mean that you will miss the end of the championship. You were on the top 3, and it’s an awful disillusionment for you. You were already picturing yourself on the podium at the end of the season.

“How many time am I supposed to stay in bed? Before starting my rehab?”

He frowns softly, not expecting this question.

“They don’t know for now if you elbow will be well enough to start racing again”

“Of course it will be” you snort.

“No” your brother answer. “It’s serious, Y/N. You maybe won’t be able to drive a motorcycle again. On a circuit at least.”

“You don’t understand. I don’t have the choice. This is all I have left now.”

Your breakup was awful for you, but it was for your family too. You weren’t always careful with you, but Ona pushed you to be reasonable and stayed in the track. Now you don’t have anyone to hold you back. Ona was the only one you were listening. You don’t listen to anyone now. Only your Abuela when she when she emotional blackmails you. But your loved ones try not to use that card too much to not burn it.

“You have to stop that. You still have people who care for you. The Oldies do, I do, your friends do. I know that the breakup sucks, but you can’t play with your life like you do.”

“Piss off” is all you mumble back.

Because you know he’s right, but what are you supposed to do now that he’s here with you and you would give ten years of your life to swap him with Ona? He doesn’t answer anything, knowing that you’re out of arguments and that you know he’s right.

“Did she… Did she call you?”

“She didn’t have to” he answers after a moment of hesitation. “I called Patri as soon as we were in your hospital room in Italy.”

This hurt a little more, to be honest. You are not aware that Ona was with Patri every time she received a call or a message from your brother. You sight softly before closing your eyes. Your head starts to hurt like hell, which is probably normal for a concussion.

You wake up several hours later and you already know that it’s the night. There isn’t any noise coming from outside your room and no light from outside. But there is someone sitting on the chair next to you.

“Ona?”

It’s seems almost impossible, but it’s definitively Ona. You are able to recognize her silhouette in the dark after all these years passed with her. Even if you haven’t seen her in the last three months.

“It’s worse than anything” she mumbles, looking somewhere near your broken leg.

“What?”

“Not knowing how you are. I thought that break up with you will help me to stop worrying about your races, but it’s worse every time. I almost called you or messaged you before every race just to hear your voice, but I just couldn’t. And then I learned about your accident, and I have to live with the thought that you were dead for several hours.”

She raises her eyes on you, and you have trouble to support her gaze, even if you are in the dark.

“I’m sorry” you finally say.

“Really?”

She seems unconvinced and she has every right to be. She knows you, better than anyone.

“Well, I’m sorry that you were worried because of me. But as you see, I’m alive.”

She rolls her eyes and let her back go against the chair she is sitting on. You still feel strange, without knowing if it’s because of the drugs or because you are dreaming. You don’t have really anything to lose, so you ask.

“Is it real life?”

Ona looked at you with an obvious surprise on her beautiful face. God you missed her so damn much.

“What do you mean?”

“Is it real or am I dreaming?”

“Are you making the move where you ask me if I am an angel?”

You stupidly laugh before regretting it, your ribs protesting hardly. Ona seems alarmed when you groan in pain, putting your non-injured hand on it.

“I’m ok” you whisper, taking several small breaths, the big one would have been too hurtful.

“You are not” Ona mumbles.

She’s right.

“It’s less painful than the thought that I lost you.”

She sighs once again and looks at her fingers before shaking her head softly. You wanted to grab her hand, but she’s on your bad side and your arm is in that awful cast.

“Tell me what I have to do to have a second chance, Oni. I’ll do every single thing you’ll ask me. I swear. Please” you beg when she stays silence for several seconds.

“What if I ask you to stop your stupid moto?”

There is a challenge in her voice, and you know why. One time, she told you that she’s not even sure that if she asks you to choose between her and your sport, you’ll chose her. At that time, you didn’t know that she was serious, you thought that it was something she wasn’t thinking and said due to the fight. How wrong you were.

“I’ll do it” you answer without any doubt.

She seems surprised, looking at you with two big eyes. You have always loved Ona’s eyes, some people said that brown eyes are the most common and expressionless. They never have crossed Ona’s gaze.

“I saw what a life without you is Ona and I don’t want that life. I want you and if I have to stop my sport, I’ll do it if you still want me.”

She sighs and rubs her eyes. She seems tired to be honest, but maybe because it’s the middle of the night and that she’s supposed to be asleep right now.

“I didn’t break up with you because I don’t love you anymore. I still do and I think I will for all my life. I need you to be a part of my life too.”

Her words are melody in your ears, but you feel like there still is something else. Like if something was restraining her.

“But…?” you mumble, looking for her eyes.

“But I can’t continue like this. I thought you were dead.”

She’s crying now and your heart hurt like if someone just punch it. You move in the bed, trying desperately to touch her or anything to try to comfort her. Your ribs and your legs burn awfully, and you ignore your elbow hurting in protest.

“Ona I’m so sorry, I swear” you say, managing to take her hand in yours.

The position is awful, and you wonder briefly if you can throw up even if you haven’t eaten anything since almost two days.

“I didn’t think it will hurt you that way. Please don’t cry” you continue.

She shakes her head softly, kind of laughing between her tears.

“Why would you think that?”

“Because you left me. And you blocked me everywhere.”

That point hurts, too. You weren’t even able to look at her social media to have news of her, you were reduced to follow fan’s account of her.

“I just couldn’t live with you popping randomly on my timelines. It hurts too much every time.”

You nod and that the gesture who make your position too hurtful. You roll on your back, trying to hold your whine of pain. But Ona sees it anyway and frown almost instantly.

“Do you want me to call them to have more painkillers?”

“Are they ok with you being here? I don’t want them to make you leave” you admit with a law voice.

There is a beam of silence.

“I won’t leave your side” she says in a comforting voice.

You want to believe that she means it for like all your life. But having her tonight is what you have best for now. So, you nod, closing shortly your eyes when she rings the nurses. The door is open only a minute after and you open your eyes again when you hear Ona’s voice.

“I think she’s ready for more painkillers” the brunette says.

“I will give some to you” the nurse says to you before adding something in your intravenous. “What hurts?”

“Everything” you admit softly.

She nods and gives you a smile in sympathy. You look at her doing her things, missing Ona’s small winces at your admission. The nurse starts to talk again when she’s at the door, ready to leave.

“You will feel better like this. After that it will be great if you try to eat something. You will be sleepy for now though.”

Your eyes fly to Ona who is already looking at you. She said that she will stay by your side, but does she meant while you sleep too? She probably has training or somewhere to go. A match to play? You don’t know which day is it anymore, the painkillers are starting to kick already, making you confuse.

“Ona” you manage to say.

“Sleep, Hermosa. I’ll be here when you wake up, ok?”

Two weeks after, you are finally leaving the hospital. You still have to leave in a wheelchair, much to your disappointment. But with almost half of your body injured, there is no way that you are able to walk with crutches.

The only positive thing is that the person who is pushing the wheelchair is Ona and that she managed to make it funny, sliding on it in the hospital’s floor. Your brother is following with your suitcases, smiling softly while watching both of you.

After learning that you will be alright, you parents went home in Mallorca two days before you were authorized to go home. They proposed to you to come back to Mallorca with them and you have to admit that you miss your island, but there is no way that you are somewhere Ona isn’t.

When you felt better, you had a very intense and long discussion about your relationship, both of your feelings, what you both expect from that said relationship and where you want it to go.

Ona is the one who will look after you on daily basis, but sometimes your brother will need to take you to your appointment when Ona is away or training. The end of the season is soon here, but there still is the Olympics this Summer so she has to prepare herself intensively.

Your girlfriend’s here, one month after, when you are in the doctor’s office for the worst moment of your professional life. Sitting next to you, she’s holding your hand when the doctor looks at you with an awful sorry face.

“I don’t know where to start” he begins, playing with the sheets on his desk.

“Just go straight into it, Doc” you sigh softly.

You know already that you will hate what is going to be say. Ona’s fingers stroking your hand help, but your heart is still beating faster than ever.

“You are making good progress, I saw that they removed your cast on your feet, but we are really concerned about your elbow. We don’t think it will be fit enough for you to be able to start motorcycle in a professional way anymore.”

You were waiting for it, but it’s still hurt to hear that. Motorcycle is the only thing you knew since you were a teenager, you never thought about doing anything else in your life. You swallow softly before passing a hand on your face. You did everything you can to be able to start again, followed every advice your team gave you. But it’s not enough.

“I don’t know what to say” you finally mumble, looking at an imaginary point somewhere on the desk. “It’s all I know; I don't know how to do anything else.”

“I can pick you an appointment with our psychotherapist if you want to. It can help.”

“Can we leave? I’ll tell you if I want one”

For now, you just want to get out of this office and be able to breath some fresh air. Ona helps you to get up even if you don’t need help anymore. You suppose it’s a way to comfort you. You are glad for her. She doesn’t say anything while you are getting out of the building, but she doesn’t let your hand go when you lean against the railing once outside.

“What am I going to do, Ona?” you whisper softly.

She let go of your hand now, but it’s only to pass her arm around your waist and hold you close.

“Whatever you want mi Amor. It’s ok not to know now, but you still have a bunch of possibilities. We will figure it out together, yeah?”

She kisses your cheek, and you close your eyes, letting yourself being cuddle a little more. It’s not the same feeling that the one when you lost Ona. You know there is different exit doors, you just have to find the good one. Ona will be your light in the dark.

Several weeks later, you are in France. Not for a race, but for playing the WAG for your girlfriend who is playing the final today. She introduces you to others girlfriends/wife of her teammates and you get along great with everyone. You watched every single game in the stadium, and you were able to see Ona several times in between. You missed her and she was worried sick to let you alone at home, but you are pretty fine.

You are famous in the world of sport so it’s not a surprise that you are not able to skip some interviews while going to the stand to attend the finale.

“Y/N” said one journalist when he puts her microphone under your mouth, with an awful French accent. “You announced your retirement sooner this month because of your massive injuries. How are you feeling?”

“I’m still sad about it, of course. It wasn’t my choice and I think it makes it harder but I didn’t have the choice. I’m sad not to be able to finish the championship this year, I was really well ranked, but you know…”

You shrug, thinking that’s between his accent and yours, people on social media will have a great fun.

“Do you think you will come back in the motorcycle world one day?”

“Not as a racer obviously, but why not. I still need to figure what to do with my life, but first I have to heal correctly.”

“Thanks for your answers” he smiles. “Do you have a favorite for today?”

“Spain, obviously” you smile back.

“Have you a favorite player?”

You almost roll your eyes at that. Your relationship with Ona is a common knowledge for everyone, you are not hiding yourself. You both weren’t as famous before and you were posting without really thinking about it.

“Oh, I don’t know… Number two is pretty great” you smirk, looking at the jersey you are wearing.

You hear someone giggle in the background, and you are pretty sure to recognize Irene’s wife waiting for you with Mateo. You soon say goodbye to the journalist to find your place in the stand. You are sitting next to Ona’s family obviously and your family made the travel too. They are sitting next to other Majorcans people, Cata’s family and Mariona’s brother and mother aren’t far away neither.

When Ona smiles at you during the national anthem after looking around to find you, you smile back and say “T’estimo” to her. You know that she can’t hear you, but she easily can read it on your lips.

You don’t know what the results of this game will be, like you don’t know what you will do in several months. But you know you will be fine, because you will be with her.

Ona is your forever and you don’t want another.

#woso imagine #woso x reader #woso fanfics #ona batlle imagine #ona batlle #ona batlle x reader #woso one shot

454 notes · View notes

bones4thecats · 9 months

Note

Hi!

I was wondering if you can do Poseidon, Thor, Hades and Loki when their S/O plays with their hair?

thanks!

Type of Writing: Request Characters: Poseidon, Thor, Hades, and Loki Name: Playing with Their Hair Requester: @aurora-rose-miller

A/N: I honestly relate to this so much. I love messing with people's hair, though, I do hate it when people mess with my hair, since many people just basically graze it like they're touching a flower's petals😮‍💨

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

🔱 This guy definitely takes extreme amount of care when it comes to his physical form

🔱 I mean, have you seen this guy's muscles?

🔱 Poseidon also doesn't enjoy being touched, it's just something that has always bothered him

🔱 But, when you came up and into his life, Poseidon had adjusted to the best of his ability to handle how much you liked affection being thrown around physically

🔱 He doesn't take that many breaks, but for some reason, his head was pounding after handling a meeting with his brothers

🔱 Poseidon stood up from his desk and began to walk around the castle, making a bee-line to where he knew you were, the old garden he had gifted you as a wedding present, since he knew you liked observing the animals that inhabited his seas

🔱 Walking inside, he caught sight of you throwing a fish into the air for a dolphin to catch, laughing and petting it's head as it swam off

🔱 Smiling on the inside, he walked up to you and sat down, allowing you to speak up

" My Dear, may I massage your head? You seem quite tense. "

🔱 He nodded and allowed you to lay behind him as his back laid against his chest, this was one of his favorite things to do whenever he wasn't relaxing

🌩️ He's normally training quite often, but he does find time to wash his hair down so it doesn't get overwhelmed with grease, it gives him a headache

🌩️ Thor also doesn't do much to relax. But, when you bribe him right, he can sit down in the back of your shared residence and let the winds of Asgard flow through your hair

🌩️ This time, he had been training to a severe amount, and due to that, he was very tense and had a straining headache because Loki wouldn't stop popping up to ask the most mind-numbingly stupid questions known to the God

🌩️ Sitting down while facing the ground, you walked up behind your husband and began to massage his head, allowing him to adjust, before moving to mess with a strand of his hair

🌩️ Your husband looked at you as you twirled a long trail of hair in your fingers, and when your eyes caught his, he smiled gently and laid his head on your shoulder

" My Bolt, thank you for this. "

🌩️ You smiled and patted his head before laying a kiss on his forehead, his hair still being twirled in your hand

🌩️ Your eyes then lit up as he cocked and eyebrow while sighing

" You wish to braid it, am I right? " " Maybe... " " Go ahead, there is nowhere that is in dire need of my attention other than here, with you. "

💀 Okay, we have all seen that part in the series where Hades twirls his own hair, right? Based on that fact, Hades does enjoy it when he gets breaks to hang out with his S/O

💀 Hades normally always has work to do, either from his brother, or some that involved reasonings with his duties as the leader of Helheim, and that was including that day

💀 Zeus had really laid something down wrongly, and that angered the Hindu Pantheon's leader, Shiva, and due to being the older brother and most responsible, and only one who won't kill someone for no respect, he was trying to fix it

💀 Hades had looked over the same piece of paper sent by Shiva's first wife, Parvati, and sighed, the guy really had some anger issues, huh?

💀 Then, he heard your footsteps approach his office, and he looked up when the doors opened and your bright figure approached him

" My lovely King, you look so down in the dumps. What is the matter? "

💀 He sighed as you began to mess with his hair and occasionally rubbing his head, making him lay his head back to look at you

" It is nothing you need to worry about, Sweet-Skull. "

💀 You smiled lovingly and kissed your husband, causing him to twirl you around and sit on his lap

" How about you just rest here for a little while? You have nothing important to do right now, I presume? "

🐍 On everything this guy may seem like he doesn't, but he does wash his hair quite often, how do you think he's able to transform so much without gaining the worst migraine in history?

🐍 Loki looked at you and smiled from the tree, he flapped the wings of his bee-form and began flying down towards you, and when he landed on your hand, you squealed as he cackled in the air

🐍 Transforming back, Loki floated down to bump his nose to you and begin teasing you about how cute you were when you were scared

🐍 You chuckled at his childish antics and began to pat his head, prompting him to smile lightly and lay himself down on the ground

🐍 Instead of transforming like normal, Loki crawled towards you and laid his head in your lap, grabbing your hand and laying it down on his scalp before saying

" I got you to laugh, I deserve some sort of present for it. "

🐍 While shaking your head and rolling your eyes, you began to undo the little charm and braid he had on the side of his head and comb his hair with your hands

🐍 Loki smiled while he curled himself into your lap and pushing his head further into your grip

🐍 He may be quite the spoiled God when it comes to your affection, and he may be a pain in the ass to many, but he was your spoiled pain in the ass

853 notes · View notes

sorrowfulrosebud · 2 years

Note

Hi! I have a request.

Okay so 1-A bakugou end’s up to the future. Where he sees that he has a family with reader and sees what a simp he will become🫣

And how would future bakugou and reader (+ the kids) react to meeting him.

(You can choose if past bakugou knows reader or not)

I’m sorry if it’s confusing,

It was safe to say that Katsuki was beyond pissed. He was certain that at this point he was never going to fully get your attention, not with that damned Todoroki always swooping in before he can even look your way.

==================================

The cacophony of grunts from the students plundered against the walls of Gym Gamma. It was self-improvement day and Aizawa was NOT letting anyone rest.

“Keep it up class. Those who fail to break some sort of barrier today will receive double homework for a week. I’m looking at you, Kaminari,” Aizawa grinned evilly. You let out a giggle at Kaminari’s audible gulp before Aizawa shot you a glare.

Katsuki was busy increasing the flow of his AP shot; he thought that if he could increase his sweat, he could increase the speed of which the blasts sped out. The poor rock he was blasting was finally on its last legs, all before that IDIOT Kaminari accidentally bumped into him and caused a rockslide, directly above the platform that you were training on.

“Hey, watch!-” he yelled in a panic. He saw fear flash through your eyes as he willed his body to move. Thankfully for you and begrudgingly for him, a smooth glacier of ice barricaded you from being concussed with Bakugou’s debris.

Todoroki hopped his way from his platform to you and placed his hand on your shoulder.

“Are you alright? You aren’t hurt are you?” Todoroki asked, examining your head for injuries. You shook him off you with a nervous smile.

“Thank you for stopping the debris Todo, but I’m fine. It was shock, I’m not hurt,” you reassured him gently. Todoroki gave you another once over before seeing where the damage came had arrived from.

“I would recommend being more careful next time, Bakugou. Someone could have gotten really hurt,” Todoroki gave him a meaningful glare as Katsuki fought every vein pop in his neck at his implications. Kaminari let out a guffaw, before he let out a squeak of terror at the animalistic look on Katsuki’s face.

“Laugh. Again. I. Freakin’. Dare. You,” he strained angrily through gritted teeth.

“O-okay Kaachan!” Kaminari speedily ran away from the threat as Katsuki stared at the back of your head. Well, now he was in a bad mood.

==================================

Katsuki was the first one in the changing room, and the first one out. He trudged his way to the UA dorms so he could shower and forget the whole day. He couldn’t stand the idea of being teased right now, not when he was so careless to the point that you nearly got concussed. Well, that never would have happened if Dunce Face watched where he was going…

Katsuki was torn from his thoughts as he barged past another student.

“Hey, watch where you’re fucking!-”

And just like that, Katsuki fell to the ground.

==================================

It took Katsuki a long time to start stirring from his sleep. It was a gradual process, but somehow he managed to tear the sleep from his body as he was poked and shaken incessantly by someone. Katsuki jumped up immediately in surprise, throwing a blast at his assailant. His assailant was no match for him though, springing back and using their quirk to restrain him.

Katsuki wiggled in his restraints like a wild animal, snapping and snarling.

“What the hell do you want with me you bastards! Let me the hell go or I’ll fucking kill you!” He snarled with purpose. A soft giggle filled his ears. A familiar giggle.

Soft (S/C) skin filtered through his still blurry vision until he saw… you.

You were at least a good 20 years older, some laughter lines he didn’t remember seeing (not that he definitely doesn’t scan you every time you’re close to him), as well as new scars.

Your eyes had aged too, the bags slightly more prominent but you were still you. You had four small children gathered around the bed gawking at the teen. The smallest was in your lap, seemingly frightened of Katsuki.

“Easy there tiger, you just woke up. I found you in the street asleep, so I took you to a hospital to see if you’re okay,” you offered an explanation that only answered some of his questions.

“Who the damned hell are you?? Why the hell am I here?? Argh, damnit! Let me out of these shitty restraints!” He demanded. Your face hardened in an instant as you glared at him.

“Hey, no fucking swearing in front of my children! If you’re going to talk and ask questions, you need to be respectful. You’re frightening my son with your endless shouts, so what’s your name and we can call your parents to come collect you.”

Katsuki let himself be still for a moment, glowering at you before relaxing his pose.

“My name is Katsuki Bakugou. I was hit by a quirk on my way to the UA’s dorms, I fell asleep I think, and the next thing I know is I’m in a hospital bed surrounded by someone who looks like a classmate of mine,” Katsuki growled. Your face grew a look of puzzlement.

“D-did you say… Katsuki Bakugou? As in, explosion quirk, super goal oriented, current number 2 hero?” You questioned him worriedly.

Katsuki gave you a strange look. How the hell would you know about that stuff??

“I’m only a high school student so I can’t be the number two hero yet, but everything else is true. Look, here’s my quirk,” he said as he let off a few sparks. The small children around the bed looked on in awe at the sight as you chewed your nails.

Katsuki looked back up to you and saw your expression.

“Why?” He asked.

You gulped.

“Because I’m married to Katsuki Bakugou.”

==================================

“Baby, I need you to come to the hospital in Kyoto, it’s an emergency! What? No, me and the kids are fine, we-. Hey, I told you we’re okay, but you have to be here as soon as you can. I’ll send you the details. I love you, see you in a bit.” You hung up the phone with an ashen face as you made your way back to your chair. Your children were bombarding Katsuki with questions, all too weird for Katsuki to answer.

“Papa, why are there two of you?”

“Daddy, why don’t you remember us? Did we do something bad?”

“Dad, why do you look so young? Where are all of your cool scars?”

“Alright kids, give the kid some space. We obviously need to get this fixed somehow. How we’re gonna do that is beyond me though,” you massaged your temples with a sigh. You glanced back up to young Katsuki.

“You’re definitely not a clone or something? Not some sort of fanboy who cosplays in his spare time?” You asked him, half joking.

Katsuki snorted.

“No, I don’t cosplay heroes. I beat them in the hero ranks to show them that I’m the best!” He exclaims.

“God, you even sound like my husband. I’m getting more and more convinced that this is some sort of weird time shift,” you stopped speaking as soon as a muscular figure pulls himself through the door. Katsuki physically stills.

It was him, but older.

At first, older Katsuki didn’t give him a look in. He scrambled over to you, kissing you deeply before checking you over for injuries.

“Where are you hurt?? Are you alright?? Speak to me??” He demanded. You carefully push him off you and rub your thumb on his cheek.

“Sweetie, I told you I’m fine. See, even the quadruplets are fine. We have a major problem though, and I don’t know how we’re going to solve it,” you gestured to younger Katsuki. Older Katsuki glares at younger Katsuki before a look for confusion befalls his face.

Katsuki looked… older. His face was more structured, yet still maintained some of his puppy fat. Scars littered his face, the most noticeable a large triangle that went from the middle of his cheek to the underside of his neck. His hair was shorter too, buzzed at the side. He towered over you easily and his pecs looked even bigger than before. Taunt muscles flexed at the threat to his wife and children.

“Can someone explain what the fuck happened?”

“Katsuki, stop fucking swearing!”

==================================

Until he was back to his current time, you had pleaded with your husband to let him stay. Older Katsuki agreed when his babies started pleading too, chubby cheeks wobbling with unshed tears at the idea of their older daddy throwing out their younger daddy.

And for the last few days, he had lived with you and his (?) children. Older Katsuki was mostly at work when he woke up, and he wouldn’t see him unless he stayed up past his bedtime (he could never compromise his sleep).

He spent some time babysitting your children, the quads. The eldest, Akira, was a total carbon copy of him, apart from his hair texture and colour. He was so bold when facing younger Katsuki, asking him questions and hiding his siblings behind him when they properly met.

The second eldest daughter, Aika, was more like you; shy and reserved but very playful all the same. She was a more balanced mixed of the two of you (?).

Your third daughter, Kokoro, was a pain in his ass. She constantly played tricks on Katsuki, taunting him and making mean jokes (all before she was shut down with your stare).

And finally, your littlest quadruplet Keiko, was honestly kinda his favourite in the strangest way; he was so different to his siblings it was unreal. He was the smallest, most sensitive of the bunch. In a way, he reminded him of Deku when they were kids, but with his colour hair.

The morning of the third day, you sat him down with your children at the breakfast table and grilled him a fry up. Each of your children were giggling happily in their high chairs, scrambled eggs and ketchup smeared around each mouth. Katsuki let out a small smile when Keiko offered him a piece of toast from his plate before denying it with a “no thanks squirt, your ma is making me some”.

“Well, good news! I found the person who you described and asked them how long the quirk should last. You should be back to your own time by next week, maybe even earlier if you’re lucky,” you smiled as you flipped the sizzling bacon in the pan.

Katsuki was scarfing the breakfast like there was no tomorrow, up until you said that he should be home sometime by next week.

That’s good, he thought. I really want to know something though, I might as well take advantage of the situation.

He looked up at you, one burning question on his mind.

“I bet you’re wondering how me and … well, I suppose you got together, huh?” You grinned at him.

“How could you tell that’s what I was thinking?” He demanded. You let out a laugh.

“Katsuki hun, I’ve been married to you, er, him for over 15 years. I know all of your little tricks and tells, so don’t even try hiding them,” you offered more bacon to him. He accepted, before you turned your attention to the kids in their high chairs.

“Let me clean up my mucky little pups up first and we’ll talk after I’ve dropped them off at daycare.”

==================================

It was a pleasant day, Katsuki noted. After dropping off the children at the daycare and added cuddles from the babies, you did as you promised and hurried Katsuki to the couch with a photo book.

“See here, this is a photo I took of us at our first date. You were so nervous, your hand kept popping and you had to keep wiping your hand,” you laughed fondly at the memory. Katsuki peered at the photos with a strange feeling lying in his tummy. Is this why he felt so nervous around younger you all of the time?

“Oh! And here, this was our trip with the class to France! I had said something about the croissants being delicious, and you took that as a challenge. I was eating the croissants you made for days,” you let out another laugh as you recounted tales of your relationship.

Katsuki stared at you for a solid 5 seconds. You stared at him back until his face hardened and he turned himself away. You placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Is something the matter hun?” You pried carefully. Damnit, you even knew the right nicknames to make him feel all weak inside.

“Just… why the hell would you go out with someone like me, hah? I’m loud, I’m obnoxious, I can be pretty freakin’ mean, so why? Why would you ever let me have a home with you?! Why would you ever let me grow a family with you?!? Why do you seem so happy, even though there’s a chance I may never come back?!?” He was borderline yelling at the end of his lament, tears threatening to plop onto the pages of the photo album.

You hugged Katsuki tightly, fingers playing with the baby hairs on the nape of his neck, all soft and gentle.

“Katsuki… I have no idea how far you’re into the relationship with younger me, but I’m going to let you in on a secret. I had a crush on you since our first day. I thought you were so strong and handsome, although you had some angst problems. Even after that, I always admired you from afar.

It hasn’t always been easy with you, as I’m sure you’re aware of. You can be loud and mean, and that has caused some rifts in our relationship, but,” you lifted his head up and cleared some tears.

“You’re also dedicated. You found ways to make up for your mistakes, and I always forgave you for them. I wanted a family with you because I love you, er, older Katsuki. We’re so blessed to have the quadruplets, even if they’re little pains sometimes. And yeah, there isn’t a day that goes by when I’m not panicked beyond all belief when you’re at work, but I wouldn’t stop you because it’s your dream.”

Katsuki looked at you. Your eyes held nothing but sincerity as he smoothed his breathing.

“Now come on, let’s go make some spicy noodles. My husband will be back soon.”

==================================

Katsuki helped you diligently in the kitchen, chopping vegetables with renewed vigour. Older Katsuki trudged through the door with a loud grunt, you immediately dropping the pan on the hob to give him a welcome home hug.

“Welcome back baby, how was work? It was nice that Kiri offered to cover your shift,” you rambled happily into his neck. Katsuki let out a barking laugh at your clinginess as he picked you up and kissed you, making you squeal in surprise.

Younger Katsuki stared at your display; is this how you’re going to be in the future? Allowing him to kiss your neck when he comes home from work, cooking his favourite meals, keeping your home in tact?

“Oi, quit starin at my wife you pervert,” older Katsuki barked before you slapped his chest playfully.

“Leave him be, he’s literally you, you big dumb dumb. I’ve been letting him in on some of our dates and stuff so he can seduce younger me into wanting you,” you teased. Both Katsuki’s huffed simultaneously, earning a laugh from you. You wriggled yourself out of his grip and led him to the dining room where the meal you and younger Katsuki created.

You kissed his cheek as you went to fetch him a drink, leaving both Katsuki’s by themselves.

Older Katsuki stared menacingly at his younger self before clearing his throat.

“Listen brat, we need to fuckin’ talk,” he starts, rearranging himself on the chair and nudging the other chair adjacent to him. Younger Katsuki did so with hesitation.

“I’m fuckin’ tellin’ ya now, if you do anything that wrecks what I have now, I’m gonna come back in time to kick your ass,” he growls lowly.

“I love that damned woman more than anything in this godforesaken planet, as well as my little pack of brats. I would do anything for them, and I’ll be damned if you do anything that fucks that up for me,” he glares at him. Younger Katsuki slowly put two and two together and looked pointedly at the scar on his cheek. Older Katsuki knew where he was looking immediately.

“I, we, got this scar during a villain attack. (Y/N) took the brats to the park after a stupid fucking fight we had, and a villain attacked them out of nowhere. Luckily, I was patrolling there and stopped them from hurting them, so I took the blow in her place. I would do it a million times over for her,” his voice audibly softens whilst talking about you, eyes downcast to the large scar on his cheek.

He touches it almost fondly, as if he was proud of the scare. Knowing Katsuki, he probably was. He looked back up at younger Katsuki, who had a contemplating look.

“So…. Please. Don’t hurt her younger self in any way. I wouldn’t be able to survive without her. If you argue, hold your tongue even if you’re right. Treasure her. Make her feel like she’s the most incredible woman in the damned world, cos she fuckin is,” he finished with a doleful look in his eyes.

“…okay. I’ll, I’ll try,” younger Katsuki promised. Older Katsuki nodded and cleared his throat as you walked into the room. You presented the bottle of beer with a happy grin and a kiss on the cheek and a ruffle of the hair for younger Katsuki.

Fuck, he was smitten.

==================================

“Daddies, watch me!” Aika grunted loudly as she successfully tiptoed from one end of the couch to another. Older Katsuki clapped and whooped in adoration whilst younger Katsuki looked on in pride.

“That’s my little ballerina! You’re gonna be the most graceful dancer ever, pumpkin!” Older Katsuki cheered, sweeping her up on his shoulder and making her squeal.

Kokoro looked on in jealousy with a pout on her face before a brilliant idea struck her. She toddled back to the couch and attempted the exact same feat as her sister, except on the back of the couch.

Keiko sat below her and watched her with a fearful expression.

“Papas, watch me! I can do it better than Aik-AAAAA!” She shrieked as she went to fall on the cushions of the couch, and subsequently Keiko. Keiko let out a scared cry as younger Katsuki swooped in to save him, carrying him in his left arm and catching Kokoro diligently in his right.

Keiko sobbed loudly into Katsuki’s broad shoulder, clinging to him with impressive strength. He nestled in as close as he could, passing Kokoro to his older self as he tried shushing Keiko.

“There there brat, you’re okay. Shhh, it’s okay, I’ve got you,” he murmured softly into his ear. He tried rocking him softly in his arms the same way you did and he was slowly left with a hiccuping, sleepy toddler.

“Damnit Kokoro, this is why I tell you to be careful! Every time you try to show Aika up, you end up hurting someone and yourself. Are you hurt, Keiko?” Older Katsuki asked Keiko. Keiko shook his little head into younger Katsuki’s neck.

Kokoro started tearing up at older Katsuki’s tone and looked down in shame. He visibly softened at his daughter’s tears and wiped them away with his fingers.

“Just be more careful, okay pumpkin?” He said firmly. Kokoro nodded and offered Keiko an apology.

==================================

The next time Katsuki woke up, it was in a hospital bed. Specifically, Recovery Girl’s clinic. The light filtered through the blinds, hitting Katsuki in the face and making him stir.

IV wires and tubes fed into him and made it hell to try to sit up, before he saw a sleeping figure near his knees.

It was younger you.

He nudged you with his knee in order to wake you up. You looked dreadful; massive eye bags, lips nibbled red raw, sniffly pink nose like you hadn’t stopped crying.

“Oh my god, you’re awake! I’ll go get Recovery Girl!” As you moved to get her, Katsuki grabbed your hand.

“W-what…,” his voice felt strange, like it wasn’t his.

“What the damned hell happened?” He croaked out.

Your face saddens as you looked away.

“You seemed really upset after our last training session, so I went after you to find you. You had collapsed just outside of the Height’s Alliance building and you wouldn’t wake up whatsoever,” your voice cracks. Katsuki let out an “oh”.

You gained your composure before looking at Katsuki again.

“So, how do you feel? Is anything hurt? What happened?” You interrogated him. Katsuki rolled his eyes at your pestering before a sly grin crossed his face.

“Why, were ya worried about me?” He teased and watched as your face turned a bright pink. You flapped your hands around in a panic.

“It’s just because you’re my classmate is all! You wouldn’t wake up, and I didn’t want you to stay like this for ages!” You rambled in a worried state. Katsuki let out a gruff laugh before wincing at his voice.

Well, better shoot my shot, he thought.

“Well, I’ll tell ya what. Go out with me this Saturday and I’ll tell ya everything,” he promised.

The pink in your face told him everything that he needed to know.

#bnha x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou fluff #bakugou x reader fluff #bakugou #kinda angsty? idk #bakuboy is whipped for you #domestic bakugou is one of the best bakugous #domestic bakugou #time travel is a cool but weird concept #hope this makes sense 😭

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forever--darling · 2 years

Text

the outsider | neteyam x avatar!reader

summary: tension can only run so thick, so suffocatingly so until it brings you down with it. or so high until it snaps. after weeks of learning, it's clear that nothing has changed between you and neteyam. he still treats you like the outsider you are and after stepping on his toes just enough and with the help of lo'ak it seems all of the tension has built just high enough. so much so, it eventually snaps right in your face.

pairings: neteyam x avatar!reader

word count: 12.0k

warnings/notes: swearing, angst, slow burn, jealous neteyam with a splash of attitude, a flirting lo'ak (the usual), lo'ak x avatar!reader (one-sided), arguing, minor fluff

series masterlist | one of us: part three | requests are currently open for now

Pandora is so much more than the biology and the greed it had portrayed itself as for so long to the sky people. It’s so much more than all of it. It's about reading the trails, the tracks of the land, the tiniest scents and sounds. There is this constant flow of energy within everything: the spirits of animals, of the Omatikaya, and the way it all connects with the planet. That deep connection of the forest resides with the people. Neteyam talks about that network of energy and how it flows between all living things. He says that all energy is only borrowed and one day it has to be given back.

It's something you couldn’t fully understand through the journals and the video logs. It’s something no real sky person can understand until they live it. That’s what you were doing, every day. Living. Jake was right that at some point it all becomes backwards like out there is the true world, and in here is the dream. That had become your life — somehow overnight, within a month, you had felt like you had become a completely different person and you weren’t even close to being finished with your training.

The days began to blur together and before you had even known it, it had been a month. Four weeks of lessons and four weeks of settling into this completely different life. You were faster, your feet had gotten tougher and you were able to run farther every day. You had to learn to trust your body to know what to do, something you had been told the very first day.

With Neteyam, it's keep your mouth shut and learn fast or die. So you learned how to do that. No more getting angry with him and his attitude or questioning what he says. You just shut up and do it. It became easier for everyone that way. In fact, you had never even addressed that second day with one another. The day you had first rode a direhorse. No, after a few hours spent washing the mud away, you returned after dinner ready to learn again. He made you stay late that night and work on your pronunciation and it was never mentioned again. You had fallen asleep in front of the camera that night, the video log still running and Norm had to help you to bed.

That was another thing. Norm and Max were still making you do those and they had become far easier, your ability to speak your mind freely in front of a camera felt as if you were just talking to another person. It was natural, honest, and what they were meant for — real concrete evidence for the study. Your change was noticeable and everyone in that lab could see it. Max and Norm especially as your video logs had become longer and more animated, going on and on about energy and the relationships within the forest as well as the biology.

They saw Grace in you those nights. It was the tone in your voice, how you swung your hands around in the air as you talked about these people. Specifically, they took note of how you talked about the eldest Sully son, the future clan leader. You were still convinced he didn’t like you in the slightest but no one would ever believe you based on those video logs that you felt the same about him.

It had been a month and though you hadn’t had any more arguments, and continued to follow what he said, you were sure his hatred for you hadn’t lessened at all. He was bossy just as Kiri had told you the second day you were here and moody but he held it all in, sticking to his role with perfection. He didn’t budge an inch and it was difficult for you to get anything out of him about himself. It was like conversations about anything other than the Na’vi culture or your lessons were prohibited. If you tried or asked anything unrelated to that, he would give you this stern look; his brows furrowed, lips formed into a fine line. You would drop it then and there. Over the past four weeks though, you noticed more and more that the only person he ever gave that look to was you. Sure, he liked to put his brother in his place more than anyone but still, you were the only one he would look at that way.

“Again.”

His voice was unwavering, his eyebrows raised as he nodded at the bow in your hands. You sighed under your breath, already feeling the soreness within your muscles after having already pulled it back so many times that day. You knew why the lesson had gone too long though, you were unfocused, missing the target with pore posture. A posture that you both had spent hours upon hours for weeks perfecting. Just a few days ago you hit the target's center with a strong core and fingers that weren’t ripped open from the chord of the bow.

Somehow things had changed, your habits had reverted and you hadn’t hit the target once that day. Your biceps were tired from the constant pulling on the muscles, and you were sure your fingers were bleeding due to how the string rubbed against them. He wouldn’t let you go until you hit the target once. Only a few more lessons until he would allow you to go hunting for real.

“Pull back the bow, Y/N,” he stepped closer, eyes staring holes in the side of your face.

You were so close to rolling your eyes, so close, but then you remembered that he was already on edge and any sudden movements could piss him off. Instead, with a deep inhale, one that brought out a crack in your voice, you pulled your arm back stretching out the bow. You have to bite your tongue from wincing at the way the muscles in your back stretch creating pain, just as the already blistered skin of your fingers rubs further against the string of the bow. Based on the way Neteyam’s ear flickered and his eyes scanned your form, you knew it wasn’t good, possibly all wrong. You held the position though as he began to circle you, eyeing you from a different angle.

He gripped your forearm of the arm that held the bowstring, pushed it up higher, and stared at it for a second to ensure you kept it where he placed it. The burning between your shoulder blades worsened. You continued to stare forward knowing that if you turned your head to look at him he would just make you turn it back. He circled you again, his hand pressing firmly against your stomach, the touch making you shiver slightly at the contact. If he had noticed it, he didn’t react in any way. His palm pressed against your abdomen just above your belly button and pushed in to signal to you that you needed a stronger core. Something he knew he didn’t have to tell you after all these weeks.

“Better?” you asked, but he ignored you fully and instead walked around you so he was no longer in front of you but behind you. You felt his breath on the back of your neck and his hands ghosting over your sides.

Taking in a deep breath, you let your eyes flutter to a close, trying to ignore how badly you wanted to drop the position, to let your back and your arms rest. You knew better than to go against what he said so even though you could feel tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, you remained still, back arm pulled up high and core flexed.

“What the hell happened these last few days?” he snapped, his voice gravely within your ear.

“What?” you turned your head slightly but before you could ask anymore a gasp was being ripped from your throat as his hands took a hold of your waist and pulled you flush against his chest. You stiffened underneath the foreign touch as after all these weeks, Neteyam had never once communicated through physical touch. He only really touched you when he couldn’t explain through words.

It was surprising how hard his grip was on your skin and how it seemed to rip a shiver out from you, starting at the base of your spine and traveling to your neck. “Your back needs to be straight like this. We’ve gone over this. It’s like you don’t listen to a fucking thing I say.”

His hand wrapped around you pressing against your stomach, demonstrating the way your back was straight and pressed up against his chest. “Not slouched and definitely not arched. Your pullback is weakened, which I thought I had taught you at least a week ago.”

He stepped away, clicking his tongue and though the burning was now completely unbearable, you kept it. This time your back remained straight even without his body pressed up against it, reinforcing it. Walking around you one more time he nodded in approval. You kept your eyes forward, staring at the target on the tree that Neteyam had marked two weeks ago when you started bow training. You felt like your arm was going to snap in half and like you were running out of breath, but you waited and waited for him to ensure that everything was perfect. Taking in a deep breath, you felt your abdomen contract and the string rub even worse against the blisters.

His eyes shifted from the side of your face to the target on the tree. He leaned forward and lowered his voice, “Release.”

At the sound of his voice, you exhaled and let go of the string, letting the bow snap just as you felt your back was going to. The arrow plunged forward, quicker than you could follow but you felt a pit form in your stomach. As well as the need to scream in frustration as you didn’t hear the thunk it usually made when it hit the tree, piercing the bark. Instead, it flew by the side of it by no more than an inch, disappearing into the bush. You had missed the target and the entire tree, which meant your aim was completely off.

“Fuck,” you groaned, your arms dropping to your sides, “That’s like the fourth time I’ve missed today.”

“Go again.” That was all he said and somehow that alone made you forget about your pact with yourself to not piss him off.

You glared over at him, “No.”

“No?” he tested the word, it made his tail swish in annoyance and his head tilt to the side.

“No,” you repeated, “I am not going to go again. My body is killing me.”

“And who’s fault is that?” he shot back, eyebrows raised as he crossed his arms over his chest. You noticed the way his biceps bulged but quickly looked away, worried he would see it. “I don’t know what’s been going on the last few days, but you have to get it together because we don’t have time for this. We can’t afford for you to take two steps back every time you get something right.”

“It’s not like I am doing it on purpose,” you sighed, peering down at your fingers to find that the blisters had broken open. You hissed as they brushed against one another.

“I don’t believe that,” he said, challenging your every word.

“Are you serious right now?” Your face pinched together in both surprise and anger.

He wasn’t being kind in the least but an annoying pain in your side. It was like he wanted you to yell in his face and tell him that he was wrong. It was like he was doing everything in his power to make you snap and scream at him. To scream and walk away. Almost as if he found satisfaction in your frustration. The slight quirk in his lips proved that. Though he was exasperated with you, a part of him found this completely amusing.

“Then what is it?”

“What is what?”

He took a step forward, so close that if you leaned any closer your chest would brush against his arms that still sat firmly crossed. His gaze narrowed at you but you didn’t look away this time. “You’re distracted. Unfocused. There’s something clearly on your mind and I am getting fucking tired of it.”

“Excuse me?” you asked.

You were unfocused because of him. He was making you crazy and even when you weren’t here, you were constantly thinking about the village, about him, about the fact that he hated you. He hated you and you had no idea why. That’s why you were so unfocused.

“You’re wasting my time. The longer it takes for you to learn, the more of my time you’re wasting. So whatever is distracting you, you need to fix it. Do you understand me?” he explained, not backing down from you but neither were you.

His words had completely pierced through your skin to the inside of your body and if he kept looking at you like that, you were sure that at any moment you would give in to him completely. If that spring in your stomach would snap, you weren’t sure if you would slap him across his face or do something else. Something far more stupid than the former and something you knew you wouldn’t be able to take back.

Instead, you held your composure, your pettiness rising to an all-time high as you lifted your hand to rest against your chest. Your expression softened for a few seconds as if you actually felt bad for him. Like at that moment you were pitying the great warrior and the fact that he had to deal with you.

“Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t realize that you were the only one that has actual problems. I’m sorry that you have to hold up so much on your shoulders all by yourself. Oh, poor Neteyam. Poor future Olo’eyktan Neteyam. Your life is so hard.”

He fumed and it was clear for a moment he had fallen for your soft eyes and puckered lips. For a single moment, he thought you were being serious, but at the end of your sentence with the shift in your tone, he realized you were just being condescending. You were trying to hit him where it hurts, piss him off more than he already was. His arms fell to his sides, his hands tightening into fists as his breathing became more erratic. He glanced from your ears to your mouth and he realized all that he saw when he looked at you was fire.

You chuckled in annoyance, your hand tightening around the bow in your hand. Glancing down at it, you looked back up at him to see him still staring right through you, chewing on the bottom of his lip enough to make it bleed. He could taste the blood but he didn’t stop.

“You know what,” you paused and shoved the bow in his chest as hard as you could, “I think we’re done for today.”

He didn’t even flinch or shift backward but just took it from you anyway. No other words were expressed and all he could focus on was the fading sound of your footsteps as you stomped away. As soon as you were far enough away, he chucked the bow to the ground as hard as he could. He groaned and as much as he got under your skin, you left a permanent imprint on his.

Staring down at the bow, he cursed at himself. He had touched you. He had let his hands linger and pull you flat against his chest when you both knew he could have actively told you in minimal words what to do. Instead, he did the worst thing he could do. It was like he could still feel your warm smooth skin under his hands and your firm back pressed against his chest.

He screamed again, angry at himself and even more infuriated with you. He shouldn’t think of you that way, especially when you did nothing but make his life more difficult. You were talkative and argued with him, and did everything you could to waste his time. At least in his eyes, that’s what you were doing.

You made it back to the village just as the sun was setting, still stomping, cursing profanities underneath your breath. People stared at you as you walked by as they always did even after a month. They didn’t approach you. Some of them had started to in the past week and it was a great way to practice the language but they were still timid. Even now they were able to point out that your brows were furrowed, your lip tucked away in between your teeth and you walking too aggressively to not be upset. They watched, mumbling to one another as you walked, your tent the only place in mind to go.

Even the youngest Sully son could hear you from a few feet away and he stared as you approached him. You were stuck in your thoughts, talking to yourself, that cute angry look plastered across your face. He more than anyone noticed the pinched look and the fierceness that occupied your eyes. He also knew more than anyone that the cause was his older brother.

He watched as you walked right by him. Smiling, he called after you, “Y/N.”

“What?” you said, harsher than either of you expected as you spun around to face him. When your eyes met his, your entire body language shifted, the expression on your face softening. “Oh, sorry. Hi.”

“Done with lessons already?” he asked, curiously glancing over his shoulder, surprised to see Neteyam hadn’t followed you out of the forest.

You didn’t respond but instead peered down at your feet, that angry look returning to your face. That furrow in between your brows pinching together as your ears twitched. He then glanced around you to see your tail swishing rapidly back and forth.

“You okay?”

Slowly, you lifted your head and met his eyes, the same ones that resembled his brother’s way too much. You didn’t answer that question either, not feeling the slightest bit inclined to discuss it with anyone, especially Lo’ak. You knew it would only make you angry all over again and then you would say something you would regret; either spitting out names you wished to say to Neteyam’s face or worse admitting that you liked the way he handled you a little too much.

“You know you’re cute when you’re angry,” Lo’ak said, voice lowering as he said it.

At that, you felt your shoulders relax and you couldn’t help but smile over at him, his flirting usually annoyed you but at that moment you accepted it willingly. He watched as the sharpness in your eyes and the angry twitch of your tail disappeared. Instead, your head tilted curiously to the side, ears raised high and a small smirk forming on your face.

“Lo’ak,” you warned, staying put as he stepped closer that smug look slapped across his face.

“It’s true,” he said, “Might be even hotter in blue.”

“Watch it,” you laughed, shoving his shoulder.

Your laugh. He took in the sound and realized he could never get over that sound. He also knew that as cute as you were when you were angry, he found you even cuter when you had that smile on your face. He wanted to see more of it. The way your fangs poked out and a gleam entered your gold eyes. He wanted to hear the sound of your laugh again and again. He also knew no matter what Neteyam did, he couldn’t fix it, but more than anything he could distract you from it. Lo’ak was good at many things; getting into trouble, doing all of the things that were opposite of what he was supposed to do, and being a distraction. He was a great distraction.

“You want to get out of here?”

“Lo’ak, it’s almost dark.”

“Great Mother, my brother has made you into such a rule follower,” he rolled his eyes but his smile never left his face. “Oh wait, you’ve always been one of those. Once a fun killer always a fun killer.”

“Lo’ak—”

“We don’t have to go far.”

You closed one of your eyes, swayed from side to side, and tried to keep a smile from reappearing on your face because it would mean he had you right where he wanted you. He would have you giving in and running off with him to who knows where. He was enticing and he knew it. He was a troublemaker and he was asking you to give in to his white smile and his glimmery eyes. It was easy with him and it always had been though anyone else would disagree. They would find Lo’ak difficult, unable to follow the rules, and a complete pain. But he wasn’t that to you. He was Lo’ak — the fun and easy Sully son who just liked to make you smile.

The corners of your lips lifted up and he knew he had you. His ears twitched at that look on your face. “Yes?”

You nodded then. His own smile widened and he walked by you bumping your shoulder with his. He continued forward a few steps and then peered back at you, that smugness as evident as ever. “You coming?”

A part of you wasn’t sure how it had happened. How you had allowed it to happen. One minute you were standing in the middle of the village, just as the sun was setting, and then it was like you blinked and you were somewhere else. In the forest past dinner alone, looking every which way unsure of where to go. The foliage behind you was lit up like a bioluminescence trail of where you had come from and there were so many different creatures and insects lighting up the sky. It all provided so much light and you still had no idea where you were.

You couldn’t believe you had let Lo’ak talk you into this. One moment you were just walking through the forest talking and the next thing you knew he was telling you about this game. Before you could even agree, he was already gone, quietly like a thief into the night.

You felt like you were prey as you had ran and ran, eventually slowing to better calculate your steps. And your predator? Lo’ak. It felt like a weird game but you submitted to it anyway. You were to get back to the village before he could catch you. It was that simple but easy? Not so much. You were looking at the tracks, taking in the scents around you but it felt foreign. Because any moment you felt like you were close, you heard him nearby, getting closer and closer to catching you. Then you would run off, sprint as far as you could in the opposite direction, deeper into the forest, and then you would have to start all over.

Your thoughts shifted to the idea of something else catching you, a real predator, something far more dangerous than Lo’ak but he had assured you that you both would be fine. That you would remain close enough to the village and that it was still too light out for anything to come out and provoke you. Now, as you stared forward at the dark forest with far too many shadows you weren’t as convinced.

Bending down, you let your fingers trace your own tracks in the mud as you looked up all around you. You could just follow them back to where you started and to where it felt safer, but you were hesitant to go back in the direction you were sure he was. You could take a different route, though risking you getting more lost, you could avoid Lo’ak. Where safety would be the better option, you were also just as competitive with a desire to win.

As you were trying to decide in your head, you heard the sound of a twig snap behind you, so loud it had to have been from a person or something else. Your head turned in that direction, your ears twitching hoping to catch any other sound but it was silent after that. Too silent and then it was as if something was watching you and waiting. Waiting for the perfect moment to jump out and claim its prey — you. Slowly, you stood to your feet and took a deep breath, knowing you had to make up your mind fast in case it wasn’t Lo’ak.

After a few seconds, you began to take off, in the opposite direction of the tracks, away from the village and towards the inner depths of the forest. As you run, though, more noises are heard, and they weren’t that far behind you. It was the sound of quick footsteps following you, closely. You felt your heart rate pick up, a small inkling of fear forming as a part of you worried about the worst possible scenario. All you had on you was your knife, your bow you had thrown at Neteyam hours ago. No other weapon to protect yourself in case this had turned into an innocent game gone wrong.

All of your thoughts disappeared though as the sound got louder and then two strong arms were wrapping around your waist, almost making you both fall to the ground. The individual came to a stop and lifted you up off the ground, their grip too tight. You were squirming, able to feel their chest pressed along your back, their blade, from where it sat upon the person’s chest, poking in between your shoulder blades. Your hands fell to where they had you and that’s when you felt their hands. Hands all too familiar to you. Five fingers. You sighed then, relaxing against their form.

“I got you,” Lo’ak announced proudly in your ear as he carefully set you down.

You turned around and punched him in the chest, harder than you normally would. His hand reached up and touched it as if it had actually hurt. Of course, that’s how he had played it too, being the dramatic type, “Ow!”

“You scared me,” you admitted, looking around at the darkness around you, occupied by less flora than there was before.

“You kidding?” he chuckled, following your gaze to find nothing around you but trees and plants, “It’s fine. We’re fine. There’s nothing to be scared of.”

“I just…” your voice trailed off as it all came back to you. He was right. It wasn’t that late and you weren’t entirely that far from the village but there was still that feeling in your stomach. That this was wrong and that something could have happened despite how fun it had felt at first. “Can we go?”

He noticed the shift in your tone and suddenly he realized that your feelings had changed. “Yeah. Yeah, we can go. We probably should anyway. I think we’re late for dinner.”

You nodded but then let some of that fear fade from your face, replaced by a smirk he knew all too well, “Race you back to the village?”

A smile began to form on his face but before he could respond, you took off bolting in the direction where you both had come from. You didn’t make it very far though. Maybe a total of two feet before you collided straight into something, or in actuality someone. The person shifted backwards a couple of steps to steady themselves in addition to you. Their hands moved up to take your shoulders in them. Their grip was firm and you hissed under your breath as you happened to recognize their touch as easily as you had recognized Lo’ak’s.

Slowly, lifting your head, you felt your stomach drop as you found an angry Neteyam looking down at you. Not as angry as he had been earlier that day when you left him alone in the forest but it was close, too close. It was like steam was going to come out of his ears any second, and there was a permanent crinkle in his nose. His hands didn’t drop from you when he looked up over your shoulder to Lo’ak.

The younger Sully leaned back on his heels, stopping short in front of you, and couldn’t help the way the smile slipped away from his face. His entire body slouched as the look on his face was too entirely familiar, “Shit.”

“What the fuck do you two think you are doing out here?” Neteyam questioned, the tone of his voice making you stiffen under him, “And don’t you dare say having fun Lo’ak or I swear—”

“Well that’s exactly what we were doing,” Lo’ak raised his arms, matching his brother’s tone easily, “Having fun, but oh wait you don’t know what that is, right Neteyam?”

“Lo’ak,” he warned his younger brother as his fangs began to poke out from behind his lips.

“You know you’re the reason we are out here in the first place. If you weren’t running your mouth the way you have been lately then we would be back at the village with everyone else. Instead, though, Y/N needed a break from lessons, the attitude, and the orders. Mostly she just needed a break from you.”

You heard Neteyam growl under his breath as one of his hands dropped from around you, stepping forward intimidatingly so towards his brother. His other hand slid down from your shoulder all the way to your wrist where he kept a firm grip. Not hard enough to hurt you but enough that you couldn’t run off.

“Lo’ak it’s dark. It’s not safe out here.”

“Safe?” Lo’ak laughed, “Are you serious? We’re fine. I can take care of us just fine.”

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Then what?”

Neteyam took a deep breath as if trying to calm himself down, not daring to steal a glance at you as he tried to talk down his brother, “It’s almost curfew. There are rules for a reason. You shouldn’t be running around in the dark. Just, please go back to the village.”

“Did Dad order you to come out here? Send you out here to find us and save the day, yet again.”

You couldn’t help but look up at Neteyam as Lo’ak said that, the blow hitting him straight in the chest. His eyes faltered for a second, something flickering in them you couldn’t quite decipher. But then as if it was never there, they hardened again and he didn’t back down. “Lo’ak enough! Mom and Dad make the rules. We don’t. Go home!”

Lo’ak backed down, knowing it was an endless fight he wouldn’t win. As his brother’s words registered in his ears though, he glanced over in your direction and then at Neteyam’s hand that was still wrapped around your arm. “What about Y/N?”

“I need to talk to her for a minute,” he explained, still refusing to look over at you. He hadn’t even asked you but made a decision again for you. “We won’t be far behind you. Only a couple of minutes.”

Lo’ak opened his mouth to argue but Neteyam lifted one of his eyebrows as his lips curled into a scowl revealing his fangs again. You felt his tail flick you at how hard it was moving back and forth. His voice a warning, “Lo’ak.”

You watched as the younger boy raised his hands in the air, surrendering completely. He gave you one more look before he stalked off, hitting his brother’s shoulder as he walked by. You found yourself watching him until he disappeared among the trees and the foliage. As soon as you could no longer see him, you were reminded of the person in front of you and the grip he had on your wrist. Tilting your head up, you found him already looking at you, silently with rage.

You held his stare for a second before you found yourself pulling your arm free from his grasp, “What is wrong with you?”

“Why are you out here with Lo’ak, Y/N?” he took his own question and directed it back at you.

You scoffed, folding your arms over your chest, trying to ignore how that same feeling from earlier returned. The one where you felt like your body was burning. He made you so angry but somehow you knew that what you were feeling deep within your stomach wasn’t anger and it only pissed you off more. “I should have known. You didn’t come out here because your father asked you to, did you?”

“Except that my dad did ask me to come find you and Lo’ak,” he argued.

“Yeah, you said that already. Really there is no other reason?”

He was quiet for a moment, eyes straying from your face and the way you were looking at him, so intensely. You were demanding answers and no one other than Jake asked that of him. Suddenly then, he shook his head as if he had finally found an answer, “No.”

A moment of silence passed between the two of you, a pause before he stepped closer to you. This led to you taking one back, your glare not faltering in the slightest. He asked again, “Why are you out here, Y/N?”

“Ugh,” you yelled as your hands reached up holding your head in them. You inhaled and dropped them back to your sides, letting your next sentence fall freely from your lips without a second thought. "You are fucking unbelievable, you know that? I just don’t get it.”

He turned his head to the side curiously as if silently urging you to go on. He was biting onto his bottom lip so hard, he thought he was going to reopen the cut that had formed earlier while his eyes traced over your face and your pinched expression. A look that was commonly reserved for him. You didn’t look at anyone else that way. He noticed it. He noticed it too often.

“I don’t understand you,” you sighed, your hands forming into fists at your sides, “Everyone goes on and on about their future Olo’eyktan Neteyam Te Suli Tsyeyk’itan. This young warrior who has grown up perfectly into this strong leader. They say he is fiercely loyal, independent, and exceedingly respectful. For weeks I have been hearing people of Omatikaya describe Toruk Makto’s first son as a brave soldier with a strong heart. But for some reason, I haven’t seen any of those things. I have spent all this time with you and this Neteyam they talk so much about I have never met.”

He groaned because once again you were saying things you shouldn’t be saying. Going on and on about things you had no idea about. As if you knew who he was or the type of life he was set up to have, but you didn’t. No one really knew him at all. Everything that people said about him, everything they claimed he was, was handpicked by his father and entrusted to him at a young age. He was chosen to be the future Olo’eyktan which meant he had to be brave, loyal, and respectful. A strong heart. That is what they said about every warrior. It doesn’t mean it’s entirely true.

He doesn’t say anything, not at first. He stands still and holds his ground as he scans your face. His heart begins to speed up in his chest as he watches for a second as the anger dissipates from you. The rage that had settled between you two and that had been going back and forth for weeks was no longer there. Your expression had softened and it was almost as if it had been replaced with desperation. As if you were hanging onto every word you were whispering out loud to him.

“Just why? Why do you act so differently around me? Why do you have to be so difficult?”

His ears perked up at the way you had called him difficult. The brief moment between the two of you, where the anger and the resentment had seemed to disappear because before he knew it, he felt his statue tense up and that familiar feeling that came with arguing with you appeared again. Annoyance. Anger. Fear. It all was there and suddenly his walls were pushed back up to where they were before. Shown in the way he chose his next words.

You opened your mouth as if you were going to say more, but his voice silenced you completely, “It’s because you’re not one of us. You think that I am difficult but it’s only because you don’t belong here. You aren’t one of us and you never will be."

The words pierced through your heart and as you stared up at him in complete shock, you felt them rip your heart completely into pieces. A gasp fell from your lips, your hands wrapping around yourself as if it was the only way to remain standing. The worst of it all was how he stared down at you without even the slightest sign of regret. He said it and he said it without any hesitation and because of it, he cut you so deeply - like he had reached your core.

The Omatikaya had never liked outsiders, you knew that. You knew how they felt. They expressed it visibly and without remorse but, this wasn’t something you were expecting. Especially from him. You didn’t get along, not in the least, but out of anyone who could utter those words to you, you never thought it could be the understanding future clan leader and the son of a past dream walker. But there it was, right in front of you and you couldn’t hide from it any longer. The truth. The truth you had been trying to run from for years and more so this last month. He solidified it for you, no matter how hard you tried, if you managed to pass all the training, you would never be one of them, not truly.

Neteyam watched as all light faded from your eyes. You took a step back from him, your whole body caving in on itself. He shouldn’t have said it. He knew that, but he did it anyway. He put all of his frustration and his anger in one place and somehow that was you. You didn’t want it and you sure as hell didn’t ask for it but it was too late now.

He noticed the way your eyes glassed over, your face was so bright under the flora and it was like he was seeing every one of your emotions under a microscope. A tear slipped past your waterline and he couldn’t help but reach his hand out to you. You looked up at him incredulously, your body becoming cold as you suddenly felt completely exposed, as raw as the blisters on the divots of your fingers. It was like he could see every part of you; every emotion, every weakness, everything you hadn’t granted him permission to see. It was enraging because at that moment he not only had all of you, but he had all of the power.

You watched as his hand froze mid-air stopping from grabbing onto you. His eyes had softened, desperately trying to meet yours but you wouldn’t dare give him anything else. Just as you felt more tears falling from your eyes across your cheeks, you turned around and took off. You ran faster than you had ever had before, the sharp intake of air paired with the quiet whimpers made your lungs burn.

Your legs felt weak and your vision was blurry, so blurry that you found yourself tripping every few seconds but you wouldn’t stop. You couldn’t and within a matter of minutes, you could see the lights from the village accompanied by the sounds of voices. You bursted out through the forest but you couldn’t stop. The ache, the pain that was still ripping through your chest made sure you wouldn’t stop running, not until you were away from it all. You felt eyes on you as you pushed by people, your lungs gasping for air.

You felt your foot get caught on something, digging so deep, and a second later you felt a sting of pain. Even when you knew something had cut you, you couldn’t stop as Neteyam’s words haunted you. They pierced your eyes just as they had your soul. Wiping at your face with your sweaty hands, you cried out just as the pain worsened.

Neytiri, Kiri, and Tuk were standing near your tent waiting for you as they had heard you were talking with Neteyam after he had found you with Lo’ak in the forest. Jake was busy lecturing his youngest son and both of the women wanted to be there in case you were next. They were talking to one another but their conversation was interrupted by the uproar that seemed to be taking over the village. They heard the mumbles and the lingering words from people across the village about you, what they had seen. Soon enough, their attention shifted when they saw you appear sprinting your way through the village.

Kiri called out your name but you blew past them, ignoring her completely, the only thing you could focus on was getting away, far away.

Tuk tried to go after you when you didn’t acknowledge them or even say hi to her, “Why didn’t she stop? I yelled her name loud enough didn’t I?”

Neytiri shared a look with her oldest daughter as they both noticed your tear-stained cheeks. Neither of them said a word though as they looked forward again to find Neteyam emerging from the forest, walking hurriedly towards them, stress evidently strewn across his face. Neytiri’s stare had hardened at her son, connecting the dots rather quickly as you had faded completely from view towards the far side of the village. She still hadn’t fully accepted you, knowing she couldn’t until you proved you could be one of the people, but for weeks she had spent hours upon hours talking about you with Jake.

He told her about your life, where you came from, and the type of person you were. She couldn’t help but become far more understanding than she had been the first night you had arrived in the village. You were a bright young woman, beautiful, with a pure heart and she knew that even if you weren’t one of them yet, she couldn’t stand the thought of you being hurt, let alone because of one of her sons. Somehow she just never thought it would be Neteyam.

He approached them, something heavy clearly weighing on him and within seconds of seeing them, he could see the looks his sister and mother were giving him. They were stern and entirely scary. Neytiri’s ears were flat, lips curled down, her fangs poking out. Kiri stared daggers over at her brother, as she had become the most protective of you over the last few weeks. His eyes widened innocently almost as if he hadn’t don’t anything wrong. They both could see right through him though.

“What did you do?” Kiri asked, her voice demanding as she pointed a threatening finger in his direction.

He didn’t respond but instead looked over at his mother. She lifted a brow up disapprovingly. “Neteyam?”

“You did what?”

Neteyam flinched at the sound of his father’s voice as his stare was locked solely on him. He looked over his father’s shoulder to his mother who stood just a few feet away, arms crossed over her chest expectantly. She had been outside when you had run through the village and it was evident she saw how upset you were. When she asked him herself what had happened, he didn’t have the words to explain. Just as he thought he had found the right words, Jake emerged from their tent, Lo’ak followed him that usual look slapped across his face after having been lectured. His lips were in a fine line, his shoulders slouched, and his head hung low to the ground.

Jake found them standing out there and instantly caught onto the way the two women were looking at Neteyam. He looked around and once he didn’t find you anywhere he knew that something had obviously happened. His eyes narrowed at his oldest son after having just dealt with his youngest and he sighed, cautiously asking where you were. It was that question that led Neteyam to be stuck in his family’s tent with his mother and father both staring at him the way they were after he had told them what he had said.

“I obviously didn’t mean it,” Neteyam argued, voice raising.

“Then why did you say it?” Jake yelled back, eyes drilled onto his eldest son, the one he never had thought would do this.

Neteyam didn’t have an answer for that, instead, he just let his head drop, his eyes finding the ground. Jake exhaled, one that only spoke volumes of disappointment especially since he had spent so much time trying to make you feel comfortable to ensure that you would be okay here. But instead, you were completely exiled but his stupid son.

“Skxawng," Jake stepped forward, examining his son from head to toe, the supposed future Olo’eyktan.

Something had clearly been off ever since you had gotten there and it was then that Jake had finally noticed it. The countless eye rolls, the bickering, the way Neteyam was always tense if you were ever in close proximity. He was pushy, bossy, and insubordinate. Jake glanced over his shoulder at his wife who hadn’t even said a single word since Neteyam had explained what had happened, what he had said. Nothing. As their eyes met, Neytiri nodded toward their son, urging her husband to say something more to make Neteyam fix this.

Turning to look back at Neteyam, Jake took a deep breath to try and calm himself, “Neteyam, look at me.”

The eighteen-year-old boy hesitantly lifted his head but didn’t back down as he met his father’s eyes. Jake’s hand firmly took hold of Neteyam’s shoulder, “What is going on?”

“Nothing,” Neteyam said without hesitation.

“Really?” Jake asked, not believing him in the slightest, “Because ever since she has gotten here, you have been acting differently. You’re distant, hesitant, more annoyed than usual.”

“You told me to teach her and that’s what I have been doing,” Neteyam snapped back, the tone taking both of his parents by surprise, “You want me to be Olo’eyktan one day and you said this is what I have to do. So, that’s what I’ve been doing.”

“You want to be clan leader one day then start acting like it,” Jake said, “This isn’t you, and you know it. Whatever is bothering you, get over it. Do something to get it out of your system. I don’t care what it is. Just figure it out because I am not going to deal with this again, do you hear me, boy? You don’t want to tell us what’s going on… Whatever. Fine. But you will go say something to her, do you understand me? You will go apologize and fix this.”

Neteyam didn’t argue because his father was right. He had been distant, cruel, everything that they hadn’t raised him to be. It was eating away at him for weeks. This anger inside of him, he shoved down for years, slowly coming back up like bile. It was acidic and sickening and yet he didn’t know how to stop it. Instead, he had seen glimpses of it when he was with you. A rage that scared him, spiting out of him when the two of you were together, yelling at you as if you deserved any of it. Because it was easier, easier to take it out on you rather than his father, his siblings, or his village. You were the outsider, the last one in, so why not make you out to be the problem.

It was horrible, wrong in so many ways, and it weighed heavily on his chest as he left his parents' hut ignoring the glares his siblings sent his way. They stood outside listening to every word and he felt the guilt begin to swallow him whole as he stepped into the forest. You hadn’t gone far and within a matter of minutes, he had found you, sat within a tree on a branch, your arms wrapped around your legs. You had them pulled tightly to your chest, your chin pressed against your knees, your head tilted up towards the sky. The air nipped at your face which was stained with tears and you were shivering unable to stop the clattering of your teeth. Your ears were flat, eyes wide and still glassy, and all energy was drained from your body.

He stood afar for a few minutes just taking you in, the way you held yourself, and the diminishment of your frame. The sky was bright enough to reveal your face and the tears still clouding your eyes. Sighing, he walked forward unable to hide the way his footsteps echoed loudly among the trees. It made your ears twitch and due to the sound, your head snapped towards him, arms dropping as your body stiffened.

Below your swinging feet, the ground glowed under his footsteps, his broad figure stalking its way through undergrowth already peering up at you. As your glassy stare met his, your shoulders relaxed, but your frown deepened. Rolling your eyes at him, you wiped at your face trying to hide the tears that still coated your cheeks.

Neteyam felt even worse as he looked at you, realizing his words' full effect on you. Stood just under the tree, he watched as you actively turned away from him, looking back at the sky. He scratched at the inside of his arm nervously, suddenly unsure of what to say to fix this. He couldn’t take it back and wasn’t sure how far an apology would go when he hurt you the way he had.

“Can we talk?” his voice was quiet but firm as he asked the question.

You scoffed at the fact that he would even ask that. You shook your head, “No.”

He looked at you expectantly, noticing how his face pinched together in seriousness, which looked entirely unreadable. He kept his ground though, his golden eyes staring up at you, unwavering.

Sighing, you glanced down at him, the earnestness clear as day. That didn’t stop the image from earlier crossing through your mind. You could still see him snarling, eyes filled with rage, body not showing an ounce of remorse as he managed to say the one thing that could hurt you the most. You are not one of us.

You took in a deep breath, feeling the way your chest began to tighten up again. That lump in your throat was rising and the anxiety began to swarm you. You couldn’t do this. Not anymore.

Sighing, you brushed your hair out of your face, over your shoulder, and stood from where you were sitting. You climbed down from the tree and jumped down, the luminescent green color of the leaves immediately lit up as your skin connected with the plants. Unable to look at him any longer, you stepped by him. As you did though, you heard your name fall off of his tongue lowly, no more than a whisper as he managed to grab your elbow, keeping you from walking any further.

He leaned closer to you and at the feeling of his hand and the sound of his voice, you felt your entire body shift away from him, that pain reappearing in full force. It was like you were being slapped in the face for him to come here out of obligation to his father. Huffing loudly, you ripped your arm from his grasp just as you had earlier on the other side of the village.

“Stop!” you yelled in his face, no longer worried about hiding your face or the betrayal you felt, “Stop saying my name and stop grabbing at me. You have no right. No right to come here after what you said to me.”

“Y/N,” he said it again, this time louder than he had before and you hated the way it made your heart pick up in your chest and your stomach tighten.

Two feelings you were still unable to comprehend when it came to him. It only made you angrier that your body would react to him this way.

“I know you’re here to apologize just because your father told you so, but I don’t want it,” you admitted, a single tear slipping from your eye and falling down your cheek. His eyes followed it as you didn’t bother to wipe it away. “I don’t want your empty apology or your lies. I can’t, okay, so please just go.”

He couldn’t look away from you, his feet somehow stuck to the ground as he took in your face underneath the night sky. Your bottom lip was chewed to the point that the skin was starting to break open. Your face was flushed, eyebrows raised, and a worry line evident in between your eyebrows. Streaks extended down across your cheeks and more tears were slipping past your water line as he refused to walk away from you. Instead, he held his ground, arms pinned to his sides, eyes wandering across your face trying to take in all of you and everything you felt in that moment.

“Neteyam,” your voice cracked as you said his name, trying desperately to make him leave you alone. Even the sound of his name didn’t break his gaze that was permanently locked on you.

Just as your lips parted again to say something else, he interrupted you, letting the question fall quickly from his tongue, “Can I show you something?”

“What?” you whispered, unsure if you had heard him correctly.

His face remained stoic, serious, the question falling of his toungue again, “Can I show you something, please?”

Your eyes widened and your lips parted in shock. He leaned closer to you, the word please having completely taken you by surprise. You didn’t owe him anything. You knew that, even after everything he has taught you, you had every right to walk away from him and not give him any more of your time. But somehow you couldn’t. You found yourself standing there in front of him, unable to look away from him and walk away. His gaze, so different than you had ever witnessed had you glued there in front of him just trying to decipher it. So, you found yourself with so much hesitation nodding, giving into him entirely.

His lips lifted up at the small action, relief washing across his entire body. The smile dropped though after a few seconds as you continued to look up at him skeptically. Nothing else was said. He began to walk in the opposite direction of the village and you followed him. Silently, you walked side by side. As you pushed your way through tree limbs and bushes, you followed closely behind him, able to feel his body heat radiating off of him. He kept glancing in your direction, his gold eyes tracing your side profile from the curve of your nose to the shape of your lips.

However, you stared forward into the dark forest, even as you felt his fingers brush against yours. After about the third time though, you wrapped your arms around your waist to prevent it from happening again. Under your fingertips, you were able to feel the flush of your skin and for the rest of the walk to this place he wanted to show you, you denied that it could have been because of him.

Eventually, his steps slowed to a stop just behind the secluded area. He brushed the drooping leaves aside and stepped into the glowing space. As the forest broke open, it revealed the river, one of the few that ran within the forest. The sound of flowing water filled your ears and you closed your eyes for a moment to listen to the peaceful sound. As you opened them, you noticed a small waterfall hidden off to the side of the river, slightly out of view by some smaller trees.

Additionally, flora occupied the bank bathing the area in bright neon colors that reflected off the clear blue liquid of the river. Bioluminescence was the sight of this secret spot; from the plants to the water, to the insects that floated around in the air. Your head was on a swivel, looking around at the spot that seemed to be perfectly hidden within the forest and untouched by anyone.

As you looked over at him, head tilted up innocently, you found him already staring down at you. “Is this it?”

“Yeah,” he replied, taking in the soft curve of your lips and the doe-eyed expression that had snuck up on your face, “I come here when I need time to think and to just be by myself.”

He began to walk forward and you followed him quietly, listening to the way his deep voice was interlaced with something different. Something more uncommon than you had ever heard before. It was the same way with how he was looking at you as if all the anger had been flushed from his body and this was an entirely different person in front of you. He approached the edge of the river and took a seat, the ground glowing at the contact of his body. His long legs dipped into the water, ripples forming around them. You looked down at him for a moment, examining the way he stared forward at this small sliver of his world. A world he had never shared with you.

It was that observation, that fact alone, that convinced you to sit down next to him, close enough that your knee brushed his as you dropped your own legs into the cool water. “Have you ever brought anyone else here before?”

Your question took him by surprise and he found his gaze meeting yours, the water reflecting off of both of your faces. His gold eyes glistened and you couldn’t help but trace them as well as the soft smile that formed on his face. He shook his head, "No."

He watched as your face pinched together and you turned your head back towards the river, confusion taking over your features. Your bottom lip found its way in between your teeth and you were pulling on the tips of your fingertips, mind obviously busy with something. At least based on how you appeared and all the telltales your body was giving away that’s what Neteyam figured.

He looked at you and saw all of the little actions you weren’t even aware you were doing. He just studied you as if you were some problem that couldn’t be solved which was ironic considering he was the one who had been pushing you away from the start and doing everything he could to keep you at an arm’s length away. Truthfully, he was the problem that couldn’t be solved.

Softly, he clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and your head snapped back into his direction. As his golden gaze slipped down to your lip that was still in between your teeth, you released it. “Neteyam, why did you bring me here?”

“I came to you just as you originally had thought, to apologize,” he said, pausing to watch your reaction unfold, but you didn’t give him an inch, “But it wasn’t just because my father asked me to. I shouldn’t have said it. Any of it. I knew it even when I was saying it but…”

“You said it anyway,” you finished sadly.

“Yes and it was wrong. I am sorry, Y/N. I know that might not mean much but it’s all I really have.”

Those words felt just as heavy as the ones he had said earlier that day. You are not one of us. Somehow for a completely different reason within an opposing situation. You didn’t think you would feel again after that, especially anything for him. He had hurt you right where it would the most — the most fatal spot within you. The need to belong had become your entire life and when he said that it felt like you were destined to be alone, not quite fitting into the lines of any certain place or established group.

Your heart felt as if it had been taken from your body and plunged with an arrow dipped in the deadliest neurotoxin. That was the only way you could describe it but now sitting in front of the very same man who had created that feeling for you, who had made you feel crazy for weeks on end, was in so many ways reviving you. I am sorry. Who knew such three little words, three little words that had become meaningless over so many years somehow in that single moment had regained all of their meaning at once.

“It’s just you don’t understand,” he started, suddenly unable to look at you as he tried to figure out his next words, “My entire life I have been taught to be a protector. I have to put everyone’s emotions and wants above my own and keep everyone safe, no matter what. My siblings, my family, and someday the entire village will be under my authority. I have to worry about everyone.”

His ears flickered as he lifted his head slowly to peer up at the sky, the thousands of stars that reflected down onto Pandora — one of them happened to be the dying planet your parents were from and where his father was from. Somehow of all them and everything that had happened had led to this moment; you and him sitting together.

He sighed and shook his head, almost in personal disappointment, “You just became another thing I had to protect and watch over. I didn’t want that. I didn’t want to be responsible for another person. My anger and my dislike towards you was never because you’re an avatar or because you ended up here in the village. It was because I felt like I had to look out for yet another person without even being asked what I thought.”

You were staring at him, he could feel it, your lips slightly parted as you tried to process everything he was saying. A part of you wondered if he told anyone this but based on how he had never even brought anyone to this spot, you weren’t so sure. For his whole life, just like Lo’ak constantly argued with him about, he was trying to be the perfect soldier; the perfect son. Someone had to take orders, had to make sacrifices.

There had to be a next Olo’eyktan and Neteyam took that responsibility selflessly and he was the only one paying for it. It was doing so much more to him than you had originally thought and suddenly his outbursts, his condescending tone, and his cold glares all made sense. He couldn’t mess this up. He couldn’t let anyone down, let alone his father. Somehow you had added so many more things required of him on a stack and there was no one he could express his frustration or direct the blame to other than you. That’s what it all had been. An angry young man repressing it all to only have it burst out at you, a mere outsider.

“Neteyam,” you said his name, so quietly he didn’t even shift his attention until your next sentence came slipping past your lips, “Would it be better if I left? Left the village and didn’t come back. Would you want that?”

It was the only solution that you could find as the two of you had sat in silence. You were the extra weight, the overwhelming hours of his long days, and how could he alleviate that stress and those harmful effects? Remove the weight that’s causing it.

Suddenly, the stars were no longer an interest to him. Your questions had him turning his body towards you, enough that his knee pressed firmly into the side of your thigh. At the foreign touch, you didn’t even flinch or lean away, but almost like a part of you wanted it. His eyebrows had shot up on his forehead and you felt his tail flick so hard, it hit you in the back. The question had shocked him completely. “What? Why would you ask me that?”

You bit onto your tongue, looking down in between your bodies surprised to find you’d be this close to him, ever. He shook his head as he searched for your eyes, leaning down until yours flickered up to his. “I was given an order to teach you the ways of Omatikaya and I will do just that. My father was right if I want to be—”

“Olo’eyktan, yes, you’ve said it so many times,” you cut him off, his answer somehow leaving a lump in your throat, disappointment at his words the only feeling you could register in your chest, “I know that’s what your father has asked of you but what do you want Neteyam? Do you want me to leave? Would that make this easier for you?”

His brows furrowed and his fingers twitched from where they sat, pressed into the ground. Tilting his head to the side, he shook his head slowy almost as if he wasn’t entirely sure of the answer himself. “No, it wouldn’t.”

You nodded slowly and he glanced down at the sight of your hand pulling on the ringer finger of your other. The answer was satisfactory, it wasn’t expected, but it was what you thought you had wanted to hear. To know, that you were wrong and he was wrong and that he never hated you like you originally had thought. Somehow though that disappointment still remained, lodged in your diaphragm.

“Tsap’alute si (I’m sorry),” you suddenly say, your pronunciation perfect. You knew because the corner of his mouth twitched lightly, proving he had picked up on it. “For having been so difficult.”

“You weren’t. I was the one being an asshole, remember?”

You laughed, the sound gracing his ears and suddenly that twitch at the corner of his mouth developed into a full smile, teeth and all. Something you weren’t entirely used to seeing and you couldn’t help but stare at it, trying to take in the moment as long as you could in case it would be the only time he would smile at you. “Only a little bit.”

“Sure,” he chuckled, denying your hospitality to his rudeness, “I used to like to think of myself as anything but an asshole.”

You hummed softly, struggling with the urge to let your hand fall down on top of his. It never did though and instead you just hugged your arms tighter around your waist, deciding the touch of his knee was enough. “So, what do you want to do?”

“Nothing. We’re going to continue what we have been doing for the past month. Except now I will be less of an asshole. I can’t promise you I won’t be bossy and lecture you once in a while though.”

“That’ll be expected coming from a soldier who accepts orders and follows through with them. I wouldn’t ask for anything else,” you smiled, and it was like he was seeing it for the first time that night. At least the first time he saw it actually being directed toward him.

He rolled his eyes slightly but was amused by your comment. As both of you became quiet after a moment, stealing glances at each other while turning to the river, you suddenly felt him bump his arm with yours. “So… this means?”

You held your hand out towards him, your thumb facing upwards, palm outstretched for his, “A truce?”

And just like that as his hand slid into yours with perfect ease, clasping around your smaller hand, warmth began to spread from your fingertips down to your arm and you knew then that he had melted the icy walls around you. And that weight that seemed to be pressing down on your chest and shoulders was gone, blowing away into thin air as if the pain was nothing but a ghost.

His next two words just confirmed everything you had been working to deny. That he had more of an effect on you than anyone had before. “A truce.”

It was late by the time you emerged from the link pod and as you swung your legs over, you felt as if the world before you was nothing but a dream. You stared down at your hands - your hands, that appeared so foreign to you, and your legs felt weak. Weaker than ever before as for over a month all you did was sit and lay down in a metal machine. The air in the lab felt like it was suffocating and as you closed your eyes you swore, you could still feel his hands, his touch, feel the way his breath fanned across your face. His voice filled your ears and for a moment you could believe you were still in the forest with him.

You heard heavy steps and as you opened your eyes to find Norm standing in the doorway, you felt it all hit you too hard. That you were starting to feel things you had never felt before and for someone you should’t be. You were a human, an outsider, and somehow the life you were suddenly seeing before you was just another reminder of what you didn’t want for yourself.

“You were out late,” Norm said, watching as you stretched your arms above your head, “Who were you with this time? The younger Sully boy or the eldest?”

He watched the way your face flickered with emotion at the end of his sentence. You avoided his stare and just like that chuckle fell from the older man’s mouth. Your silence was confirmation enough for him. “Really? You and the future Olo’eyktan?”

Sliding down from the link pod, you sighed not ready to face your own feelings, let alone express them to anyone else. You shook your head rapidly as he continued to look over at you, laughing.

As you stood on your own two feet, you felt the effects of them being stuck in a small box for hours on end. They were asleep but as you took a step forward and stumbled over nothing but yourself, a strange feeling appeared in your chest.

Grabbing onto the nearest desk, you leaned over it, your breath feeling heavy within your lungs — almost as if they were struggling to even operate properly or take in oxygen. Shown in the way you began to cough, your hand reached up to hold your chest. But just as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone. Your breathing stabilized again as well as the strength in your legs.

“You okay?” Norm asked.

You nodded but you weren't entirely sure yourself.

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