#father kilter

[eaudecrow]

So Kilter has a new tsundere

[couchtaro]

It’s so hard being a single father with no kids who keeps going into cursed caves…..

Welcome back to Father Kilter Friday/Pigeon Paturday where we hfhgdhgdggdgshhshs..,,,, fhghdh…, hhhhhhh,,,,,,,

They’re fine they’re fine. Went for a swim in corrosive mystery goo and got briefly possessed. And it is about to get worse. But it’s fine.

[ofswordsandpens]

thinking about how the (greek) big three swore to never sire any more demigod children because those children are just too powerful (dangerous) and also thinking about how the characters that, arguably, seem to have the greatest proclivity for cruelty in the name of justice or vengeance are also the (greek) big three children... there's something there, a connection to be made I'm sure of it

[pebblemanteabag]

Posting self indulgent OC content to my burner account for the posting challenge

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Wouldn't you like to see something strange?

HI I know the new Halloween character isn't out yet but I needed an outlet for my excitement (Yes, I am unfortunately a Nightmare Before Christmas girlie) 💀 so please be advised that he may not be in character here, I'm just writing based on vibes! This is technically a twisted!Jack Skellington x Reader fic, but the Reader is basically playing a role similar as Sally from the film.

P.S. I want everyone to know that I busted out my drawing tablet to make this special border for him the same day he was first announced... Yeah...

Boo.

On the nights with full moons, he liked to steal away to the Spiral Hill on the outskirts of town.

The outcrop of land overlooked a vast graveyard and field laden with pumpkins, perfuming the air with the crisp sweetness characteristic of autumn. Beyond it, uncharted territory. When he squinted into the darkness, he could make out the vague shapes of naked trees, their gnarled branches like fingers beckoning him to approach, whispering his name.

He draped his long, lithe legs over the hill, letting them hang in the frigid air. Spindly as he was, the wind easily blew them, knocking his legs around like the straw-stuffed limbs of a scarecrow. He kicked with the breeze, carefree as a child on a playground swing.

The moon stitched his pinstriped suit and tattered cravat with silver thread, touched his pointed crown at its highest points. Even the white ribbons ribbing his jacket and the pattern of bones tugged over his gloves seemed to glow under the celestial light. He liked the view, and the view seemed to like him, too.

Held in his skeletal hand was a single flower. He stroked a silken petal, then slipped another finger under it, plucking the petal free. The wind claimed it, setting it sailing off into the unknown.

He continued. A second, a third. So on and so forth, until the flower was left stripped down and barren, even robbed of its leaves.

He dropped the stem off the hill. The pumpkins below consumed it, and the once lovely flower’s body became one with the patch.

"I figured this is where you were."

He lowered his dark circular lenses. His bright eyes slid to the figure that had approached from behind, on feet so swift they hardly made a sound. They came in with the sweetness of deadly nightshade, the trace of a poisoning committed at midnight. "Not a lethal dose, just enough to knock the doctor out for a few hours," as they always said. "How else would I sneak out to see you?"

Dry, ghostly lips dashed with hatch marks pried into an open smile, both teeth and the gaps between them. Charming, in a crooked sort of way. "My dear. You've come."

You bent down. “If you don't mind, I'd like to join.”

“The spot beside me is always reserved for you.” He patted it, inviting you to take a seat.

"Such a gentleman." You sunk down, folding your hands in your lap. "And so handsome when you're brooding. You're terribly good at that."

He was, he was, especially silhouetted by the moon. The man was practically monochrome, but bathed in silver like this, his pale skin was less sickly and more ethereal. He almost appeared like a cruel angel in the light, descending to expunge evil.

"I'm not brooding," he pouted, "I'm dreaming."

“Dreaming." You reached out and tucked a strand of alabaster hair behind his ear. "Father says it’s a ridiculous, wild thing.”

"Ah, but that's what makes it so much thrilling. Life’s no fun without a good scare.”

His mouth quirked to one side, and his smile became off-kilter--as his ideas often were. "He'll bring us to ruin with his crazy, new-fangled thinking and flights of fancy," your father would complain. But you adored that about the boy. How spontaneous he was, how his curiosity was never-ending. He'd race about like a child, picking items up and sticking his face where it probably shouldn't go.

Full of life in this otherwise lifeless town.

"What's this? What's this?" he'd say. "I must know!"

"He's gone daffy," your father would declare.

"Mmm." You nodded absentmindedly, tracing your fingers along the shell of his ear and down to his arm. "What were you dreaming about today?"

He lifted his head, looking beyond the hill and to the woods. Not a word was exchanged. None had to be.

"The Hinterlands?" you whispered. "But we don't know what's out there. No ghoul or monster has ever ventured out that far."

"Then sounds like I'll be the first! They’ll put me down in the history books as a pioneer." His laughter brightened up the gloomy night. When he quieted, his gaze was solemn—more solemn than you'd ever witnessed him. "... Don't you wonder about what's out there? Stuff that's cold and fluffy and falls from the sky. Things that come in colors we haven't seen."

"Sometimes," you admitted quietly, "but those are just dreams. I don't chase them."

"Maybe you should. We should," he mused, fingers tucked under his chin. "I bet there's all sorts of things we've never even dreamed of, too. And wouldn’t you like to see something strange?”

"I would. I really, really would," you told him in a soothing tone. Trying to reassure him as much as you were yourself. "Let's not doing anything dangerous though. I sense something in the wind—tragedy at hand. I can't shake that feeling that something bad is around the bend if you tread that path."

You gingerly laid your hand over his. Behind tinted lenses, his eyes widened.

"Stay here with me," you begged. "We can be together. Gaze at the stars. Be safe in one another's arms."

“… Sweetness, I would love for nothing more than to have you and to hold you ‘til death do us part.” His voice fluttered like the brush of a falling leaf upon your cheek. He regarded you tenderly, locking his fingers with yours and squeezing. “But you know that’s not the kind of man I am.”

“Yes, you’re every flavor of foolish imaginable,” you replied, pressing your forehead against his, “and I love you for that.”

“As do I.” He brought his icy lips to the back of your hand. A chill spider-walked up your arm, and you shivered.

“Then…”

“That’s why I must depart one day.” He pushed his glasses up. You caught the tragic reflection of your face in his lenses. “Out there… something more awaits us. I’m sure of that. I intend to find it and revive our town, this season that’s gone stale.”

“I won’t stop you if you decide to go,” you murmured. “And I will count the days until you return to me.”

“I knew you’d understand.” His smile—now it was touched with sadness, the knowledge of soon parting ways. “Thank you, dearest.”

He stood slowly, drawing you up with him. Your feet followed, as if pulled along by a puppeteer. How in sync the two of you were, how nicely molded your bodies were to one another’s. Your joy melded under the watchful eye of the moon.

“Shall we share a dance? One for the road,” he crooned. An errant breeze tousled his pallid hair, his tattered coattails—but to you, he was fairest of them all. “Our last dance for a while.”

“Alright, let’s make this one count,” you chuckled, “so I can send you off on your travels with a smile.”

“Excellent 🎵” He slid a hand around your waist, guiding you to lean into him. “Let the merrymaking commence!!”

“Yes…!!”

The midnight waltz began.

He led you, step by step, and you trailed after. Movements easy and effortless, like two intertwining maple leaves, spinning and spiraling. Their partner, the center of their universe.

“It’s as plain anyone can see,” he breathed.

“We’re simply meant to be,” you returned.

They danced as if possessed or an enchantment was cast upon their footwear. The moment too sweet, too succulent, to relinquish so soon. They wanted to savor it, indulge in it—and each other.

For never was there a more perfect pair than the Pumpkin King and his consort.

[wh0reforcoriolanussnow]

All in your head || Young President!Coriolanus Snow x reader

A/n: love this request!

Warnings: r is implied to be young, manipulative, controlling Coryo, if there’s anything else lmk

Wc: 564

Divider by @firefly-graphics

The grand hall was adorned with opulent decorations, an extravagant celebration befitting the fifth wedding anniversary of you and Coriolanus Snow. The air was filled with the scent of delicate flowers, and the soft murmur of the Capitol's elite mingled with the distant hum of the city beyond.

It was a spectacle of extravagance, but behind the façade of smiles and enchanting music, your marriage to Coriolanus was nothing more than a carefully constructed arrangement.

"This is ridiculous," you mutter to yourself, hands toying with your necklace as you hear a deep sigh beside you.

"Yeah well, you have no choice," he mumbled, adjusting his cuffs, preparing to step out onto the balcony for an interview broadcasted to all of Panem.

"Let's get this over and done with then," you huffed, smoothing down your dress with practiced grace before the doors opened, and you summoned a well-trained fake smile. Coriolanus, in keeping with the façade of a blissful marriage, rested his hand on your waist, his smile equally forced.

As the camera lights focused on the two of you, the citizens of the Capitol eagerly tuned in to the live interview. Caesar Flickerman, the charismatic host, beamed as he addressed the couple. “Ladies and gentlemen of Panem, we are honored to have Mr. and Mrs. Snow with us tonight!”

Applause erupted as you and Coriolanus exchanged a glance, a look perceived by others as one of love, though the reality was starkly different.

"Y/n, it felt like only yesterday we saw you graduating from the Academy, and now here you are, as gorgeous and powerful as ever as First Lady," Caesar complimented, leaving you slightly off-kilter-a reminder of the day you learned of your impending marriage to Coriolanus.

"Time flies, doesn't it?" You gracefully replied with a polite smile as Caesar chuckled. "Five years of marital bliss, how does it feel?" He directed his question to both of you this time.

You and Coriolanus exchanged a fleeting glance, a practiced smile plastered on both of your faces. "It's been an incredible journey," you replied, your voice measured.

"We've grown together and learned a lot about each other."

Caesar leaned in with a glint in his eye. "Speaking of growth, the citizens of Panem are curious— are there any plans for a little Snow on the horizon? Perhaps an heir to the Snow legacy?"

The questions about children were not new, but the pressure had been mounting over the years. Your father, a powerful figure in Panem, had orchestrated this union to solidify his influence, disregarding any consideration for your personal desires or compatibility.

The marriage had left you with an ache in your heart, and the absence of genuine connection with Coriolanus was palpable. Behind closed doors, conversations between the two of you were few and far between.

tense silence filled the spacious chambers, with occasional glances that spoke volumes but went unaddressed. The thought of children had become a looming cloud, casting shadows over your fragile union.

A polite chuckle escaped Coriolanus's lips, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of discomfort. "Ah, well, we're enjoying our time together for now. The future is unpredictable, but we're taking things one step at a time."

As the interviews continued, the speculation about Coriolanus's fertility surfaced. The whispers in the Capitol's high-society gatherings grew louder, comparing the size of your family to the apparent lack of progeny from the Snow lineage. It became a matter of public curiosity, and the pressure to produce an heir was now a heavy burden on Coriolanus.

Lounging out on one of the day beds, sunglasses perched on your nose, and a book in hand, you felt a figure towering over you. Your eyes move from the words on your page to the figure.

"We need to talk," he declared, his voice firm, as he offers you your robe to which your gratefully take and slip it on your body. The air hung heavy with anticipation as you reluctantly nodded. "Alright." You follow Coriolanus to his study where he closes, and locks the door behind you.

Raising an eyebrow at his odd behaviour he sits down with a loud sigh. You silently sit at one of the seats in front of his desk. Coriolanus took a deep breath, his gaze intense.

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, waiting for him to clarify. “How do you propose we do that?” His eyes bore into yours as he spoke, his words carrying an unusual urgency. “Let’s have a child.”

The weight of his statement hung in the air, and you couldn’t hide the surprise etched across your face. “What?” you stammered.

Coriolanus’s jaw tensed, his resolve unyielding. “I said, let’s have a—” “I heard you,” you interrupted with a snap, frustration bubbling to the surface. “But you can’t just decide that on a whim. It’s not that simple.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I understand that, but the longer we wait, the more the rumors will grow. I can’t bear the scrutiny any longer. We need to put an end to this speculation, for both our sakes.”

The cold reality of the situation hit you—the marriage, the façade, and now the pressure to bear a child for the sake of appearances. You couldn’t deny the logic in his words, but the emotional chasm between you and Coriolanus seemed insurmountable.

“I can’t just bring a child into this world for the sake of quelling rumors,” you protested, your voice trembling with emotion. Coriolanus scoffed, “You can, and you will.” His harsh comment made you gulp, your mother’s words ringing in the back of your mind. “Obey your husband,” “Do what pleases him,” and so you did.

It didn’t take long for you to get pregnant. On your sixth wedding anniversary, this time, you held your nearly one-year-old son in your lap, about to announce that you were expecting again.

[bitterrfruit]

I am begging on my knees for a part two to cowboy price😭🙏

here she is!!! cowboy price part 2!! I really really hope you enjoy it ♥︎♥︎

18+ mdni - cw: spanking - ~2.8k words

John Price owns the ranch that neighbours your father's. You like to trespass. He teaches you a lesson.

Here's part 1! (and there will probably be a part 3 lol i'm having way too much fun)

Staring face down into the bale of prickling hay, sipping the turgid air like warm milk, you scoured your mind for your next apology. There was a long list of transgressions Mr Price could demand an apology for. Would he punish you for every single one?

Did you want him to?

His spread hand hovered over the skin of your rear, a threat – it ghosted over the fine fuzz and triggered ripples of gooseflesh to radiate out from the faint touch.

“I’m sorry for–” you uttered, barely a croak, “for making you chase me.”

The second you spoke it, your entire body tensed itself on instinct – girding itself for the discipline that would inevitably follow. Swift, and purposeful; he raised his arm, reeling it back like the string of a bow.

And he released it just as suddenly, hurling his palm downward rapidly enough to emit a whistle through the air; it collided with your ass in a sharp smack, over the same burning handprint he had already left there.

The force of it thrusted you forward, knocked a helpless squeal from your throat. You whimpered at the grit and dust grinding under your knees as it rocked you, your hands flat on the haybale turned to fists as you desperately squeezed handfuls of straw.

“Mhm,” he grumbled, grave and deep, “and?”

You swallowed air through your open mouth, your heart thundered in your ears – out of breath, but too wary to inhale deeply enough to sate it.

“For…” you hesitated, “for talking bad on your father.”

Keeping your hips still with his restraining forearm, he raised his free arm once again; you held your breath, squeezed shut your eyes in preparation for the blow. Swing. Smack.

Each collision of his vicious hand over the same spot burned worse than the last, as though his palm was adorned with barbs that pierced your fevered skin on impact. Yet a quiet moan slithered from your chest, slipped from your tongue, oozed like honey.

He drew in a grumbling breath, strained as he sucked it deep. Could he hear the pining titillation in your throat, dripping from each yelp? Might he hit you harder for it?

You winced, shivered, as his wide hand rested against the matching print that only grew more raised and more red by the second, the touch by turn warming and punishing. “Keep goin’.”

“I’m–”

Bitten off by a gasp as his fingers pushed in only slightly, burrowing into the pillowy flesh of your ass as though the squeeze was unintentional – the pressure on your near-broken skin inflicted an ache that made you whimper.

“I’m sorry for stealing cherries,” you force out, in a wet mewl.

He bore his dissatisfaction with a cocksure suck of his teeth. “Whose cherries?”

“Yours,” you squeaked.

“Mm,” he nodded, grinded out through a tight jaw. “Mine.”

Followed quickly your chastisement; the swish of his hand hurtling through the air, the ear-splitting crack of his open palm striking beaten flesh, the whine of twisted thrill that squealed out from your lips.

“My cherries–” he spat, unrelenting; again he lifted his palm, letting it hover in the air for a brief moment before he brought it down with a force.

Smack.

“–My orchard–”

Smack.

“–My hat–”

Smack.

“–My horses–”

Smack.

“–My stable–”

Smack.

“–My land.”

Smack.

The final blow threw a saccharine cry from your heaving lungs, dosed with a shameful squeak of desperation, wet and eager; eyes watering, your head collapsed into the haybale, prickly against your bright red cheek.

The skin of your rear stung numb, throbbing like a heartbeat, your knees shook with the adrenaline that riddled you from head to toe.

And as you adjusted your knees to balance yourself after he had knocked you off kilter – you felt the slick that had seeped from you, drenching your cunt in slippery syrup, the cool air biting cold at the saturated patch of your floral pointelle panties.

You could only suck your bottom lip between your teeth, biting down in abashment and guilt, self-flagellation for the burning heat that had pooled between your legs; almost as blindingly consuming as the white-hot sting of his hand-shaped brand.

He leaned back from you, balanced himself with his hand on your ass. Panting like a wolf, he wiped his brow with the back of his hand as though he had overexerted himself, broken a sweat in his outburst. Seemed to pause as he looked over his handiwork – had spanked you hard enough that you wouldn’t doubt how crisp the perfect outline of his hand would have been. Perhaps it was purple, speckled with the spots of broken capillaries and blood seeping under the hot skin.

But it mustn’t have been the damage he had inflicted that he was stuck on, as you heard his heavy breathing degrade into hoarse, animalistic chuffing; a broken grunt as though he had been kicked in the stomach.

You felt his thumb, slow and probing as though influenced by an unseen force – creep towards the cleft of your ass, running along the elastic lace hem of your panties. Teased the trim like it might slip underneath, but it didn’t. No, instead, he hovered it over the gusset, barely grazing the sodden fabric.

Eyes fluttering shut, you inhaled weakly, a quiet simper as he pushed his thumb into the valley of your cunt; wetting the tip with your fluid that soaked the thin cotton, dipping into you as though the single layer of fabric wasn’t the only barrier preventing him from plunging it deeper.

He must have felt the ring of muscle at your entrance tighten and twitch, an inadvertent reflex to his intrusion – because he abruptly tugged his hand away. You quickly released a sharp and feverish breath, cunt still pulsing around the painful absence of his finger.

“Alright,” he huffed, through teeth, as he rubbed the back of his head in exasperation. “Reckon you learned your lesson.”

You squeaked as you felt his pelvis press against yours, weighing against you from behind; as he leaned over you, reaching past you to pick up the cattleman that he had knocked from your head.

“Huh?” He persisted.

“Yes,” you croaked, realising his demand, you were quick to follow it. You leaned upright, kneeling still, as you tugged down the skirt of your dress to cover yourself; grimacing as the light fabric brushed over the burning welt on your rear.

With a hand on his knee he pushed himself to stand, sniffing in vexation as he dusted off his jeans. Bowed his head to put his hat back in its rightful place, pinching the leather crown with a single hand as he gave it a shimmy to adjust it. “Yes what?”

Through a whimper, you whispered, “Yes sir.”

“’Atta girl,” he gritted, “learned you some manners.”

You feebly swept a lock of your dishevelled hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear, too poignantly humiliated to think of anything pert to utter.

“Up y’get.”

It took you a moment to gather the nerve to stand, breathing carefully as you placed your hand on the edge of the haybale. Impatient, evidently, John bent down to you, slipping his broad hands under your arms in an effort to pick you up.

You yipped, wriggling away from his grasping hands as he hoisted you upright, and you landed on your feet with a wobble. “I can walk,” you bit.

“Yeah, right,” he groused, spinning you by the torso before hooking his arm around your waist; you yelped as he tossed you callously over his shoulder like a wet rag. “I ain’t letting you run off again, missy.”

“I wasn’t gonna run,” you whinged, but you mustered no resistance as he hauled you towards the stable door, kicking it open with his boot.

He snorted as he adjusted you on his shoulder, carting you out into the evening sun – appeared the sun had begun its approach to the horizon since you had run off from him, you forgot the days were beginning to grow shorter. The hum of the cicadas still blared just as loud as earlier, though, and the air just as warm, despite the fading orange glow of the sunlight.

Trudging through the long grass, no doubt towards his truck, he chided; “D’you expect me to trust you?”

You bit your tongue, scoured your scrambled mind for any retaliation. “I don’t want to get in trouble again,” you mumbled. 

“I don’t believe that for a second,” he sneered, “I think trouble is the only thing you want.”

The pressure of his thumb lingered against your entrance, a permanent impression that made your heart flutter at the memory. Perhaps he was right.

“That’s not true.”

“No?” He questioned scornfully, grasping hand digging into the side of your waist to keep you steady. “Then why’d you come back here, huh?”

You pouted, staring into the grass, watching the back of his boots rise and fall with each step. Would you tell him it was just to see him? Just to have him find and scold you? Just to toe the line? Long since crossed, wasn’t it.

“I wanted some cherries,” you lied.

“Uh-huh,” he scoffed, as the grass began to shorten, bleeding to the rubble and dust of the old road. You heard the deep click of a handle, the rattling of the truck door, the moaning of its old hinges as it swung open. “Was it worth it?”

You hesitated, gasping as he tossed you into the passenger door of his Chevy – you landed on your back across the worn leather bench seat, bouncing slightly in the fall, head narrowly missing the steering wheel.

“Yes,” you breathed, to answer his question, and he froze like you had caught him in a bear trap.

Stood imperiously between your knees, as your feet dangled out of the open door, skirt having been rucked up by the landing. He glowered down at you, lips in a thin and admonishing line, but his predacious eyes betrayed his stoic righteousness.

Glare clawed down your splayed form from your dewy lips, to the swell of your breasts, to the bare skin where your thighs met your hips. Catching a glimpse of the mound of your pussy from under the hem, hidden from him by the dainty fabric of your underwear.

He breathed raggedly through flared nostrils, put a white-knuckled hand against the top of the doorframe, casting a looming shadow over your body. His gaze was pointed, fiery, burned from lidded eyes - you felt the heat of his stare, it made you sweat, made your cunt ache unbearably for his attention.

Tongue squirming, too bashful to form a plea; you made your entreaty with a meek hand, tracing your fingertips down your stomach, catching in the pleats and folds of your linen dress. With a hook of your fingers under the hem of your skirt, you coaxed it upwards, coyly exposing yourself bit by bit. Watched cautiously as his lour raptly followed your movements, belying his stone-faced expression.

But he stopped you, or himself, with a pat of his hand on your thigh, just above your knee. Left it there. And he ordered, dark and strained;

“Settle down.”

With a moan of petulant defeat, you dropped your arm to your side.

“I’m takin’ you home,” he grumbled, reaching for your skirt – did so with purposeful cruelty, letting his calloused hand graze up your thigh as he grabbed the hem and tugged it downwards to cover your panties.

He took impatient hold of your knees and swivelled them inside the cab, before shutting the passenger door with a creaking swing and a loud slam. You sat yourself upright, wincing at the painful reminder of the lashings on your rear as it pressed into the firm leather seat. He marched around the truck and hopped in behind the steering wheel, you crossed your arms churlishly as you glared out the passenger window.

Peevishly huffing as he started the engine and accelerated off down the deteriorated dirt road, you bounced around in your seat, the vibrations of the rolling vehicle doing little to settle the sore throbbing between your legs.

“I’m telling my dad what you did,” you griped, rich with spite.

“You can tell ‘im whatever you want,” he scoffed, hanging his arm out his open window, wrenching the steering wheel in the tight grip of his closer hand.

“I’ll tell him you hit me.”

“Yeah?” He gibed, “Gonna tell him how worked up you got?”

Scowling, you felt your cheeks glow red as you glowered out the window. “I wasn’t worked up,” you fibbed.

“Mm. Sure seemed like it.” You could hear his smirk without having to look at him.

You fumed. “Sounds like you’re proud of yourself."

He only released a quiet and scornful huff of laughter in response to that. Nothing snide left to say, now that you’d accused him of purposefully arousing you. But he was right. It was all you could think about, writhing and sizzling in your mind and in your stomach; a fire that he had lit, and now he mocked you for being ablaze.

Daddy’s house came into view, two storeys high with a wrap-around veranda, cladded in chipped white siding and adorned in carved cornices. Sat atop a rolling hill of dry grass, surrounded by century-old white oaks that kept it shaded.

You could only sulk, keeping your arms vitriolically crossed and refusing to utter a single word until the truck rolled to a halt over the raw gravel of the turn-around driveway.

Your father was where you’d often find him; leisurely lounging on the wicker veranda bench, reading glasses on his nose and some dull book about the economy in hand. But he perked up at the arrival of Mr Price’s truck, an especially unfamiliar sight, one that would no doubt spike some suspicion.

John left the engine running and hopped out of the truck. You sorely begrudged the dire possibility that you’d be forced to return to your childhood home, stuck in the tedium of your quotidian life, left to only daydream about the events of the afternoon as you washed dishes and folded laundry.

So in the brief seconds you had before he stormed around to the passenger side, you slipped your hands under your dress. Tucked your fingertips into the waistband of your panties, bucked your hips as you shimmied them down your legs and plucked them over your feet. And you nestled them behind you, out of sight as John yanked open your door, beckoning with an impatient and commanding hand for you to step out.

You groaned as you followed his wordless demand, jumping down into the gravel and glaring up at him with a vindictive curl in your lips. You spitefully stayed still, then, not taking a step in any direction of your own volition, wary that he might glance upwards and spot the coquettish little calling card you left in his truck.

“Move it,” he ordered. 

You only pouted. “You’re a dick.”

With an exasperated roll of his eyes, he tugged your shoulder in the direction of your house – then lodged his hand at the back of your neck, under your hair, an authoritative grasp so that he could drive you by it. And he did, nudging you along, you stumbled awkwardly over your bare feet as you were carted towards your veranda.

Daddy pushed himself to stand, holding his hand over his eyes to shield them from the blinding setting sun as he ambled to the top of the deck stairs.

“Johnathan,” he spat, disgruntled and apathetic – just wanted to get back to his book, no doubt. And when he spotted you, last, of course, he queried; "That you, hun?”

You glared into the gravel, flushed with fervent humiliation, disguising it as malice.

“Found her trespassing,” John yelled, terse and irate. “Again.”

Your father hooked his thumbs in his beltloops, squinting down at him. “Fence is on your property, John. S’your problem if she fits through the gaps.”

“You need to keep a handle on your daughter,” John snarled, thick with derision, fuse running short. He released your neck with a slight shove, then, and you vindictively rolled your shoulder away from his lingering touch.

Your father snorted. “Looks like y’got a better handle on her than I ever will.”

Had enough, you stormed away from the condescending rancher, marching with your arms crossed towards the steps.

“Y’know what happens if I catch you back on my property, don’t you, girl?” John barked after you, a growl in his throat.

Shoving past your bewildered father as you trudged up the creaking stairs, you rolled your eyes. Concealed the coy smirk that curled in the corner of your lips, you answered with a grouse;

“Trouble.”

for the besties who asked to be tagged in part 2, here you go!! @lilliumrorum @stars4sar @itsalwaysbetternottoknow @iamnotfinedaddy @erajoie07 @rafaelacallinybbay

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Vow 4

Warnings: non/dubcon, arranged marriage, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!August Walker

Summary: your father’s murder leaves you in the hands of a dangerous man.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

August draws you onto the dance floor. He tugs your arm so you swing into him, hitting his chest with an oomph as the first song begins. Your first song. Every girl dreams of this, don’t they? Their wedding day. Their first dance. But what about the father-daughter dance? 

You try not to think of anything but that moment. Not that bloody night, not the vows strangled from your throat, or the incessant pulsing of your heart. Just move your feet, sway, let the melody wrap you up and hold you close. 

Your husband has one hand on your lower back, his other cradles your gloves fingers and guides them onto his shoulder. You tilt your head up to see him. The spark in his blue eyes dispels your breath like fog. 

His hand falls to your hip as he turns you with him, moving smoothly around the floor, before all those watching eyes. Beneath the music is a drawn hush. His audience, his people, watch their new king take his crown jewel. 

His hand slips down and brushes the curve of your ass. He pulls you flush to him and growls. You squeak in surprise. It is another show of his dominance. Another proclamation of his power. If your father was alive, he would have his hands cut off but your father is dead and his hand remains as it is. 

“You are not his daughter anymore, you are my wife,” August intones under his breath. 

“Yes,” agree in a hollow gulp. 

“So smile,” he taunts. “Aren’t you happy to have a husband?” 

“Yes,” you repeat again. 

“You don’t seem it,” he challenges. 

You twitch. You make yourself lean into him. You drag one hand from his shoulder and to his chest. You feel the muscle beneath and your chest thrums. You feel his power nested beneath his suit. His cheek dimples, he’s pleased at the play of fear on your face. 

You make yourself smile and run your hand up to his collar and tickle along his neck. His throat bobs and you flutter over the short stubble already poking through his skin. He leans his head down and you nearly trip over yourself as you strain to kiss him. 

He hums, still moving you in his thrall, and his tongue flits over your lip. You let him in. He twirls you and bends you backward as he stills your feet. He deepens the kiss as he keeps you off kilter. The crowd jeers and eggs him on, shattering the brittle tension. 

He parts and puts you back on your feet. He spins you away and pulls you back in. You are weak to his whim. You are his wife, his possession.  

As he turns you, you see your mother. She watches in sombre stillness. She sits as others stands to watch, others joining the fun with their partners. 

Your hand drifts down and you keep it high on August’s shoulder as your other nestles into his side beneath his jacket. He purrs, content at your submission. He kneads your ass and breathes over your hair and veil. He toys with it as it brushes his knuckles. 

“Keep this on tonight,” he growls. 

Tonight. 

You quiver at the thought. This is only the beginning. That small hole in the back of your mind splits into a gaping tear and your fear floods in. 

“Your father always was greedy but I daresay his worst offense was keeping you locked up,” he snarls and kisses your forehead, the trim of his mustache bristling along your hairline. 

You shiver and curl your fingers against him. You cling to him as your legs threaten to give out. Your family mantle is suddenly a chain around your neck. The iron ball at the end will only drag you down. 

He nuzzles your hair, “will you shake when I have you under me?” 

You whimper, “please.” 

“Denial cannot protect you. It didn’t protect him,” he growls. “I could drag you out right now and fuck you over a toilet. Hell, I could throw you down on this floor and throw your skirts up and they would cheer me on. Every last one of them.” 

Terror surges through you and you pull back to look him in the face. To this point, he’s been patient. Stony and strict but not unkind. You can see clearly then what makes him so dangerous. His boldness. His shamelessness. His iron determination. 

“Yes, I know. I know you could. You can,” you eke out. “But I am being good. Sir, August, why would you be cruel?” 

He smirks, “I’m not, am I? I’m reminding you that I can, if you choose to stoke it.” 

“I understand,” you quaver and rub his chest appeasingly. Instinctively as you try to calm this sudden rise in him. “I can be good.” 

“For me or to me?” He wonders. 

“For-- to—Both. Whatever you will have of me,” you plead as you rub beneath his jacket. “Tell me what you want?” 

He stares down at you. His eyes sparkle and the corners of his lips tweak. He brings his knuckles up to pet your cheek. He considers you then stops, his hand on your hip. 

“It is time,” he booms out and signals to someone unseen. 

You turn to search for whoever it is. From your other side, a man approaches with a chair. You spin back and your mother stands. Her hands are fists. Her face is steel. She watches as her shame threatens to boil over. 

August puts you in the chair by your shoulders. You look around as the dancers still and circle around. Those still at their table angle around to see.  

You squirm as your husband gets to his knees. He puts his hands behind his back as Margot comes forward to lift your skirts. You stifle a yelp as she throws them over his head and he bows to drag his lips along your ankle. 

You twitch as he creeps up your stocking. You know what this is. You’ve been to many weddings. You always found the display terribly humiliating.  

His breath plumes over your leg as he reaches your thigh and he pinches you with his teeth. You cry out and your hands are grabbed before you can swat at your dress. Theo pulls your wrists behind you and you writhe as August continues his mission beneath the layers of tulle. 

His nose brushes along your leg and he kisses the tender flesh as you quiver. He nips and licks in a faux search for your garter, only biting down on it as you whine in discomfort. He tugs it down slowly as his growl rumbles against you. 

He brings it down the length of your leg and the skirts fall away from his head as he sits back on his heels. He has the lace in his teeth as his hair is askew from his plunge beneath the fabric. He grabs the garter and waves it at the ground as he stands and chortles in victory. You’re released and fix your skirts frantically. 

“Ahhh,” he scrunches it to his nose and inhales, “I can smell it. My wife is ready.” He shakes the garter in his fist and the crowd laughs, “aren’t you?” 

He turns to you and scoops you up. You cry out as he brings you against his chest. He sighs and looks around at the crowd; at his empire. 

“To the boss!” Theo calls out as he raises a glass and the entire room mirrors him in anointing their new king. 

[luveline]

Love love love your writing Jade, I must have reread everything a dozen times!

For a dad!character request, what would you think of Single father Remus signing up to chaperone a school event or field trip? Maybe he meets the newest teacher, who happens to be his exact idea of the perfect person for him…

(Lots of love<3)

“Don’t get– forget your coat, dad.” 

Remus grabs his coat from the passenger seat with a self-deprecating sigh. “I’m s’posed to remember things for you, Lia.” 

Cordelia smiles up at him, her shiny coat and boots already taking on rain. “Okay, so ‘member my lunch, then.” 

Remus turns back to the passenger seat to grab her packed lunch from the footwell. “Thank you.” 

Remus is the kind of parent who writes a list every week, budgeting to the penny and laying out uniforms the night before, but he’s off-kilter today. “I wish your teacher could’ve given me some warning.” 

“She’s new, dad. You have to be nice for new people, ‘cos they don’t know– she’s not used to it.” 

Remus locks the car door, already cold to the bone and wishing they could’ve called off sick. He offers Cordelia her lunchbox (which isn’t a box at all, but a padded fabric zip up pouch in fashion with the rest of the girls her age), and tugs on his jacket. It’s not his, it belonged to Sirius a few years ago, but it got left in his wardrobe somehow and he’s been wearing it since. 

“Okay, lovely girl, what’s the rules for today?” he asks, taking her hand. 

“To be good.” 

“Yeah, and what next?” 

“To stay with my buddy.” 

“Yes, and what’s the last one?” 

She beams at him and waves their joined hands. “To have fun!” 

Remus doesn’t think he’ll be having much of it. He isn’t on the PTA, he had no idea parents even went on these trips, but they’re short-staffed at Cordelia’s school lately and now the year two teacher is off sick, and the phone call was a shock. He didn’t have the wherewithal to say no. 

Cordelia’s class are waiting outside of the school gates near a big red and green bus. Remus is the only parent. Why is he the only parent? There are around thirty kids and only two teachers, the newest of which stands at the front, your hands behind your back and a massive smile on your lips despite the bad weather. 

You’re very pretty, Remus has already thought before, and you dress sweetly, happy colours and cute skirts and pants with flowers and hearts and stars. You’re reaching up into the sky as you say, “So they have lots of energy to grow big and tall like us!”

Most of the kids are listening aptly, though pods of them chatter or fight. 

You see Remus quickly and dodge around the children to meet him. “Mr. Lupin! Hello, hi Lia. I have a packet for you.” 

He smiles awkwardly. “Right.” What’s a packet? He looks down at Cordelia but she’s straining against his hand, desperate to go and talk to her friends. “You can go, lovely. I’ll be right here.” 

“Can I sit with you on the bus?” she asks.

He’d definitely prefer it. “Whatever you want to do. Want me to have your lunchbox?” 

“No, that’s okay!” She leans up for a kiss. Remus suddenly wonders if he’s any good at being a parent, knowing you’re watching, but he leans down for a kiss and gives her a quick pat on the back. “Love you.” 

“Love you.” He clears his throat and stands up. “The packet?” 

You’re looking at him funny. 

“What?” he asks. 

“Nothing, nothing,” you stay, still smiling. He’s ninety nine percent sure you aren’t making fun. 

You load the children onto the bus and have him stand at the front with you, squished together in the aisle. “This is Lia’s dad, Mr. Lupin. Can everyone say hi?” He’s sure he’s beet red. “He’s our chaperone today. You listen to him just like you’d listen to me or Mrs. Davies. If Mr. Lupin tells you to stop talking, to stop running, anything at all, you listen. But today is about having fun and seeing all the flowers and bugs, so let’s have lots of fun!” You touch his elbow gently. He smiles. 

Lia forgets that she wanted to sit with Remus by that time, and you end up hip to hip in the front row. The children are immensely loud, and Mrs. Davies has to constantly ask them to be quiet, but it’s not as though Remus would notice; when he woke up that morning he had no idea he’d be doing this, his schoolyard crush for you feels as though it’s written over his forehead, and he’s more nervous than he’s felt in years. 

Remus is cool. He’s the cool friend, the quiet, collected one, who doesn’t stutter nor falter, but he finds it harder to be that way with you when you’ve seen him pick Cordelia up from the yard and kiss every inch of her face and tell her in baby talk that he missed her so so much. 

“I got you something.” 

Cool, Remus says to himself. I’m cool. 

You unveil an informational packet and a small purple box. “That’s just the stuff I told you on the phone this morning,” you say, “and some emergency stuff you can read before we get there. God forbid something happen, but if it does, you aren’t liable. I, however, will get in lots of trouble.” You offer the box. Even your hands are cute.

It’s a rough day. The kids are rowdy, the weather is wet. Lia’s friend Kory keeps stepping in puddles and Lia herself won’t leave Remus alone. She wants to eat lunch in his lap and half gets her way, the two of them holding hands, Remus a big head surrounded by little girls. 

“What’s that?” she asks in a whisper. 

“This?” He knocks the purple box with his knuckle. “This was from Miss L/N.” He opens the plastic lid to show her the treasure inside, a caramel donut with chocolate shavings. It looks expensive and delicious. “Should we share?” he whispers back. 

“Yes, please.” 

Remus breaks it in half, and Lia breaks her half into half again to share with Kory. He feels eyes on his face and looks up to find you watching him with a soft look, but you promptly flatten it and look down. You pick at your lunch, and choke when someone asks you if you’re alright.

Oh, he thinks, giving Lia’s back a quick rub. Chaperoning really isn’t so bad.

[ceilidho]

oh i just know bear latches onto the single pregnant woman working at the diner closest to his place, he sees her as a way of saving her from gods wrath if he married her and adopts her unborn child and he gets the family he always wanted with Lena (who idk she rubbed me the wrong way in the show, maybe its due to the shows inability to write woman but i digress) but like that god complex sort of mentality that has been building in him with the loss of his navy brothers, the divorce and the loss of his own child idk man youre the one with the amazing brain and ability for these concepts god i love your work sm its not funny.

oh you've got something insane cooking here........

divorce has been finalized, Lena's long moved out and maybe even left the state altogether (I'm not touching what actually happens in the last ep)......only his work is really keeping Bear upright at this point, otherwise he would've just gone on a year long bender. he still has his bad days though, weekends where he just disappears. passing out in the bushes outside his house, waking up with a kink in his neck and a headache that threatens to split his forehead open. spends his days questioning why God has allowed everything else in his life to fall apart, has allowed countless other people to die, but just won't kill him.

and then one day he stops at the diner for a quick meal before heading to the bar and notices the new waitress. pregnant, obviously so. not terribly far along, but noticeable. his first thought, the most immediate thing that jumps into his mind is what she's doing working at this crummy diner on a friday night. just his luck that he's seated in her section and remembers how to turn on the charm, smiles and asks for her name and peppers her with compliments and she just rolls her eyes and smiles bashfully like she's used to grumpy old men melting around her.

when he finds out that the guy that got her pregnant has long since skipped town, told her in no uncertain terms that he has no interest in becoming a father, Bear's eyes go cold and hard for a bit. after what he's been through, the thought of someone having everything that he's always desperately wanted handed to them on a silver platter and then...sending it back...has him feeling just a little off-kilter. not quite right. it doesn't last long and he apologizes when she seems unnerved, but the rage still sizzles under his fingertips. makes his hands shake, old nerve damage and anger problems.

but as he sits there, drinking his coffee and lingering, the hour slipping by into the next, it starts to come together in his mind. why he's been forced down this long road alone, why God hasn't struck him down yet despite every terrible thing he's done. he was supposed to be in this diner with this sweet girl and save her. make her an honest woman, give her baby a father. bring her into the lord's house and do for them what he couldn't do for his daughter and fallen brothers.

so he sips his coffee and waits for her to come back to his table. and plots.

[colormepurplex2]

Now I'm Yours | Feel It In Your Soul

↳ Alpha!Jungkook x Omega!f.Reader ⤜ A/B/O, Established Relationship/Mates ⤜ Rating: MA 🔞 ⤜ WC: 6,697 ��️ Vulgar language, fingering, knotting, creampie, discussion of violent acts, fighting/physical altercation, alpha challenge, knife violence/attack, blood, injury, bond sex, dick licking/oral, slick eating, biting/marking, blood/wound licking, surprise pregnancy

A/N: Read Make You Mine, the first installment of this series, here!

⇽Previous Chapter ◅ Back to story masterlist

When you meet Jungkook’s family in the garage the next morning, the sun isn't even up yet. His parents are waiting next to the large SUV that’s idling by the open door when you enter through the side entrance from the laundry room.

After a hasty shower, you threw on jeans and a t-shirt and are now helping Junghyun load the back of the vehicle with a few boxes from the storage room. The tops of the boxes are labeled with various things, mostly boasting medical supplies or nonperishable foodstuffs.

“Did Jungkook say why he wanted us to bring all of this stuff?"

Junghyun looks up at you from under his brow as he bends over to retrieve the next box, his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. “Donations. We’re going to be close to The Sanctuary, and we try to donate once a quarter if we’re able.”

This is the first you’ve heard of the Jeons donating to The Sanctuary. You’re intimately familiar with the place. It’s exactly what it sounds like: a sanctuary for abused or neglected omegas and their children. Mari was one such omega, cast aside by her original pack when she didn’t match with any of the alphas within it. It wasn’t until Roland, having just taken over as pack Alpha of your old pack, started up his own annual donations to The Sanctuary that he met Mari. Your old pack made at least a donation every six months after that, helping as many omegas and children as possible.

It’s not that you wouldn’t think the Jeons are a pack that would help those less fortunate; you’d just not given it much thought, considering you grew up thinking they were run by power-hunger alphaholes. Not that Jungkook isn’t an alphahole, he’s just…maybe not as bad as you once thought—even without the rose-tinged view you have of him now from being your mate.

The duel is taking place on neutral territory, which happens to be an old warehouse that’s been converted into a performance theatre in the entertainment district of the central city. The warehouse was renovated a few decades ago by the council when enough of the surrounding packs hounded them for a space to meet en masse.

It’s about three hour's drive, the view filled with the sun peeking over the mountains and trees with their leaves changing in preparation for winter. You sit in the passenger seat, head resting against the window while you try not to stress too much over the events of the next twenty-four hours.

“Come on, dear,” the soft voice of Jungkook’s mother drags you from your rumination. She’s leaning through the gap between the front seats, her hand lightly squeezing your shoulder. “We’re here.”

You hadn’t even realized the vehicle had stopped and that Junghyun and Jungkook’s father had gotten out already. 

“Sorry,” you mutter, popping open the door and sliding out.

She meets you along the side of the SUV, a concerned look pinching her brow. “Are you feeling okay?”

Now that she mentions it, you are feeling a bit off-kilter. Though, it’s probably just the nerves. “Just worried, that’s all,” you explain, pressing a hand against your stomach.

“Did you skip breakfast?” she asks, hooking her arm around your other one and slowly leading you to where Junghyun and his father stand near the elevator of the parking garage.

Breakfast was the last thing on your mind this morning. “Yeah. I’ll be okay, though.”

“Nonsense,” she tuts, producing a whole-grain protein bar from the bag slung over her other shoulder. “You’ll feel better with something in your stomach. Now, let’s go find my son. Being near your alpha will do you a dose of good, as well.”

You nibble on the protein bar, looking to simply placate her, but find yourself suddenly ravenous and consume the whole thing in three bites. It sits like lead in your belly, and you immediately regret wolfing it down so quickly.

“This foolish display will start at precisely noon, not long now,” Jungkook’s father states, the clip of his cane hitting the linoleum flooring of the elevator echoing the disapproval that’s evident in his voice.

Junghyun presses the button that’s labeled ‘theatre hall’ on the control panel and the cabled car begins a swift ascent up to the fifth floor. You caught sight of Jungkook's motorcycle in the parking garage, sitting next to Jimin’s red sports car. A few other familiar vehicles lined the rows, but there were dozens more you didn’t recognize.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you feel a familiar humming warmth bloom in the center of your chest. It’s the same feeling you’ve learned to associate with being nearer to Jungkook. Peeking at your phone, you see it’s a message from the alpha, letting you know he’s waiting for you just on the other side of the elevator doors.

“There you are,” Jungkook exhales, not even waiting for you to get off the elevator before he’s gathering you into his arms. His scent engulfs you, immediately putting you at ease. Jungkook is all alpha, and as much as you hate to admit it, he’s exactly what you need; your stomach and nerves are instantly soothed.

Jungkook’s father clears his throat, drawing Jungkook’s attention. “What news do you have?”

Jungkook sighs, releasing most of his hold on you, but keeps an arm over your shoulders and ushers you out of the elevator and into the hall. “Most all the other families have arrived. Jimin is with Daehyun now. I haven’t managed to lay my eyes on either Raiden or Demetrius. According to the council, they’re supposed to be in the eastern dressing rooms. I have seen Kiel skulking around the halls, though, creepy bastard.”

“Have you seen Hyunsoo?” Jungkook nods in answer to his father’s question. “I’d like to have a word with him.”

“Last I saw him, he was inside speaking with the council.”

“Perfect, I could do with a word for them, too,” Jungkook’s father grumbles before starting toward the entrance to the performance hall proper. Junghyun follows closely behind, after dipping his chin at Jungkook. You’ve never seen Jungkook get bent out of shape over designation deference, as some alphas do. He doesn’t force those below him to bow and scrape; he just asks for as much respect as he affords them in exchange. It’s just another tick you’ve had to add to your ‘Jungkook isn’t as bad as I once thought’ list.

“Are you feeling okay?” Jungkook asks softly, his eyes flicking between yours.

You do feel much better now that you’re with him, which would normally grate on you, but you can’t seem to muster up the typical ire for some reason. “I’ll be fine,” you assure him. “Just nerves.” That seems to satisfy him.

“Come on, let’s go before Dad causes too much of a scene.”

“Umm, I’ll be right there. I’m just going to go to the restroom real quick.”

He continues to stare at you for a moment longer before slowly nodding. “Okay. Mom, we’ll be right back—”

“No, no. It’s okay, you don’t have to come with—”

“Jungkook,” his mom interrupts you both, giving her son an amused smile. “She might be your omega, but I promise she doesn’t need you to hold her hand while she uses the restroom. I’ll wait here for her. You go on ahead with your father and Junghyun.”

Pink creeps up Jungkook’s neck and kisses his ears. “Right. Okay. I’ll see you inside,” he mumbles, pressing a quick kiss to your temple before reluctantly taking his arm from across your shoulders and heading toward the door his father and brother disappeared through.

“Thank you,” you say to his mom. “I’ll be right back.”

You’ve only been here a handful of times over the years for various events, but you’re able to follow the signs well enough to the restrooms located on this side of the venue. However, when you get there, the door is locked, and there is a janitorial wet-floor sign posted right outside.

It’s just your luck, right as you’re starting to feel a light wave of nausea wash over you. Taking a few deep breaths to try and calm your inner omega, who isn’t helping the situation at all, you turn to retreat back to where Jungkook’s mom is waiting for you a few halls over. Maybe she’ll have something that can calm your warring stomach and nerves.

“I can break the lock if you need to get in there,” a voice calls out from further down the hall just as you take a step to go back. “You look like you need it.”

You swivel toward the voice but can only make out the silhouette of someone standing in a darkened doorway a few doors down. They pull out a phone, and the blue light illuminates the ceiling for a moment before it’s plunged back into darkness. “I’m fine, thanks.”

“You don’t look fine to me.” The words come with a chuckle that slithers over your senses and sets you on high alert. You’ve heard that voice before. “If fact, you look like a helpless little omega that’s about to sick up all over the floor.”

That’s a thought. You might just do that, considering who steps out from that doorway, the face fitting with the name screaming inside your head. Kiel Barton. He’s every inch the viperous bastard he’s known to be. Despite being not much taller than you, he’s thicker through each arm and leg than both of yours combined. His bald head glints in the overhead light, and the jagged scar on his right cheek is bright white against his red-flushed face. He swaggers into the hallway, just a few feet away, twirling a switchblade through his thick fingers.

“I’m not helpless,” you seethe through your teeth. You don’t necessarily mean for the words to come out so aggressively, but they do. Years of not taking shit from anyone don’t seem to have worn off too much from your time of being mated with Jungkook. And if it’s one thing you’ve always hated, it’s how everyone thinks omegas are weak and soft—helpless without an alpha.

Kiel grins, and it reminds you of something you might see in a horror film right before the psycho killer attacks. “Oh, sweet, sweet omega,” he crows before sucking in a deep lungful of air, “I don’t think you realize just how helpless you are right now.”

You’re about to turn on your heel and run when he leaps. It’s like a strike of lightning; he moves so fast—faster than your reflexes can keep up with. Pain thunders through you as his burly form knocks into you and sends you hurtling a few feet down the hall to land in a heap on the floor.

He’s back on you in an instant, cold steel pressed against your neck. “Get off me!” you scream, trying your best to buck him off despite the disorienting feeling still reeling inside your head.

“I promised my brother as long as he did his part, I would do mine,” Kiel sing-songs in a demented tone, his words trailing off into another one of those spine-chilling chuckles. 

“Fuck you!” You struggle under his weight, your knees and elbows trying to get any purchase along his thick-muscled body that they can. You manage to catch him along the neck with your hand, nails scoring bloody lines through the devil tattoo he has there.

An ear-splitting roar, the sound of loud banging, and running feet sound from somewhere down the hall, making Kiel’s laughter trail off. “Looks like my time to play is—” A small, sneakered foot meets the side of his ribs, turning his words into a grunt. The hit barely rocks him, but you can’t be sure of who it is, though, around his bulk.

“Get off of her, you snake!” snarls a familiar feminine voice, only it’s dripping with far more acid than you’ve ever heard before.

“FUCK! I don’t have time for this!” Kiel thunders, rearing back and bringing a fist around right into your temple, sending you careening into hazy darkness.

There is so much noise and movement that when you first come to, you think you’re dreaming. But then the very real pain lights up along your side, and you’re reminded that this is very much not a dream. You’re laying on the floor in the hallway outside the bathroom, side smarting hard from the impact of hitting the floor and the memory of a meaty fist stark in your mind.

You go to sit up, only to have your hand slip through a puddle of warm, sticky liquid. The scent hits you a second later, thick and metallic. “Oh gods,” you whimper softly. Your hand is bright red when you bring it up in front of your face.

“Please,” comes an even more pitiful whimper from beside you. Adrenaline kicks in, and you flip onto your hands and knees, letting your eyes swing over the scene around you.

A dozen bodies are packed in the hall, fists flying and mouths opened in concussive bellows. It’s pandemonium. Everyone is fighting, familiar faces and those of strangers alike. All the sounds combined make you want to crawl into a corner and cover your ears, but the form lying beside you keeps you right where you are.

Jungkook’s mom lies on the floor. Her body turned at an odd angle, with her hips going one way and her torso the other as if she was flung around like a ragdoll. You realize the whimpering is coming from her. She lifts a trembling hand toward you, and you grab onto it, crawling closer to kneel beside her.

The blood covering your hand, now seeping through the knees of your jeans, is coming from her. A familiar-looking switchblade is protruding from the upper right area of her chest, between her clavicle and shoulder, and there is a cut over her left eyebrow that blood is steadily oozing from.

“No, no, no!” You quickly rip off a strip from the bottom of your t-shirt and press it around the blade, trying to staunch the wound. The cut above her brow doesn’t look deep; all the blood is a bit alarming, but you know headwounds are the worst in being deceptive; they bleed so much. You’re also scared to take your hands away from her chest. “What did you do?”

Her eyes flicker open, rolling wide until they land on you. “Had to”—she pauses, whimpering in pain as someone stumbles backward and knocks into her splayed legs—”pr-protect the baby.”

“Protect the–protect the wh—”

“NO!” The alpha roar echoes through the hall, as loud as a thunderclap.

In the same instant that your hands are moved aside and replaced by the older, more gnarled ones of her mate, arms come around you from behind and you’re lifted up off the floor. Fear grips your throat, and you flail, aiming your elbow backward at whoever grabbed you.

“Stop, calm down!” Jungkook’s voice snaps you out of your fight instinct, and you sag in his arms. The fighting around you has turned into pockets of isolated struggle.

You blink a few times, clearing the panicked haze from your eyes, finally able to piece everything together. There are a few busted lips and some already swelling eyes, but there are at least a handful of familiar faces around you. Each one is executing some form of hold over individuals with less familiar faces; headlocks, arm bars, and others that look just as effective, if maybe more painful.

Then there is the scene at your feet, right out of a horror movie. Jungkook’s dad and brother are kneeling beside his mom, the knife still sticking out of her chest. It looks like the blood has stopped pooling around the blade, but you can’t seem to remember if that’s a good or a bad sign.

“Jungkook! Your mom, we need a medic!” you urge, struggling in his arms again.

A sinister, wet, cackling laugh cuts through the hushed din of the hallway before it turns into a hacking cough. You can hear the distinct sound of flesh hitting flesh and pained grunts.

”Shut up, you sick bastard!” The ragged cry comes from further down the hallway, where you see Seokjin with his arms wrapped around Kiel’s upper torso and Yoongi throwing fists into his stomach. “How dare you!?”

“Yoongi.” Jungkook doesn’t have to raise his voice at all. The other alpha stops, fist poised mid-punch, his shoulders heaving. “That’s enough.” The coldness in Jungkook’s tone has the hairs on the back of your neck prickling. You’ve never heard him sound so utterly emotionless. “For now.”

Pounding footsteps sound from the other end of the hall, and a few betas come skidding into view, medical bags in hand. “Out of the way!” one of the betas shouts, shouldering his way down the hall before dropping down beside Junghyun and beginning to work. “I need to get her stabilized before we can move her.”

Everything is still a bit cloudy for you; all you have are flits and flashes of memory, but it’s not hard to piece it together. Kiel came after you outside the bathroom, and then Jungkook’s mom tried to interfere. “Is she, is she going to be okay?” you ask, voice soft, your lips trembling around the question.

Jungkook hooks an arm under the backs of your legs and hoists you up against his chest, and you get your first good look at his face. There is a dribble of blood coming from the corner of his mouth and mild swelling coming up around his left eye.

He’s about to open his mouth to say something when a group of grey-haired alphas cut around the corner at the end of the hall, and the one in the front gasps dramatically, “Good gods! What has happened?” You groan at the loud sound, burying your face into Jungkook’s chest.

“This is what happens when you entertain absurd demands from a known trouble-making pack,” Jungkook’s father states with barely veiled malice.

“This is your mess,” Jungkook says, directing attention to the elders shuffling their feet at the end of the hall. His words are acerbic despite him speaking at a normal volume. It’s an alpha statement, carrying the cutting edge of an unspoken command. The entire hallway stills, the air thick with tension.

“Our mess?”

“If you had listened to me from the start about how utterly ridiculous this whole duel bullshit was, this”—he nods down at his mother, who is still being worked on by the betas—”wouldn’t have happened. I’ll have all of you off the council before the week is over, mark my words,” he seethes. “And, if she doesn’t recover fully, I’ll have more than just your titles. Yoongi, Seokjin, you know what to do.” With that, Jungkook turns and stalks down the hall, carrying you with him.

🌙🌙🌙

Jungkook

There is so much rage simmering beneath Jungkook’s skin that he thinks he might explode if he doesn’t let it out somehow. However, the only outlet he wants right now is you—to get lost in your body and your soul—but you’re in no state to take the brunt of his emotions.

“Jungkook.” Your soft voice draws his gaze down to your face. Seeing the swelling around your eye makes him want to turn around and finish what Yoongi was starting. Jungkook isn’t violent, but he could level the entire city right now if he weren’t so focused on getting you checked out. You bring a hand up and lightly trace the break in his lip. “What happened?”

“Raiden and Demetrius. I think this was their plan all along. One minute, Father and I were talking to the council while we waited, and the next, Raiden and Demetrius, along with a half dozen of their pack, came bursting into the theatre and attacked us.” Jungkook sighs, shaking his head. “I felt you, I felt the…” the trails off, not wanting to voice those feelings aloud. The pure terror he felt through his mate connection to you. The tie between the two of you has never really been an open street, he’s never been able to feel your emotions so viscerally before. It was almost enough to take him to his knees. If he didn’t need to fight off a pack of rabid alphas, it nearly might have. “I’m sorry,” Jungkook rasps.

“You don’t have anything to apologize for. We knew they were up to no good. I should have been more vigilant or, at least, taken you up on your offer to escort me to the restroom.” You try to laugh, but it turns into a groan as your head pounds.

“Let’s get you to the hospital so they can check you over.”

No amount of protests from you will deter Jungkook from getting you to a doctor. Junghyun texts him shortly after he places you in the backseat of the SUV, letting Jungkook know that everyone else is on their way to the hospital and an ambulance is en route to get their mother but that the betas are hopeful.

Several hours later, you’ve been released from the hospital with confirmation of no lasting damage, just a recommendation to get some rest. Jungkook’s lip is patched with a butterfly stitch, per your insistence, and it itches as he sits on the edge of the bed in the hotel room he booked before leaving the hospital. Even though you aren’t concussed or anything, Jungkook didn’t want to risk taking you all the way back to pack lands.

Besides, his mother was admitted and is still there for observation, and he doesn’t feel comfortable being too far away while she’s in recovery. She went in for surgery immediately upon arrival and woke up not too long ago. Junghyun and their father are staying at the hospital with her until she’s cleared to go home, which will hopefully not be more than a few days. Apparently, her wounds looked worse than they were, and she was fortunate Kiel didn’t get her an inch further to either side. Otherwise, it might be a very different outcome.

Jimin texted him a bit ago, letting him know the entire Barton pack is being detained at the local precinct, and the authorities are awaiting word from Jungkook about charges. The council sequestered themselves behind closed doors, but the duel was considered null due to the circumstances. Jimin feels bad about being part of the ruse, even if he was just being used as a means to get close to the Jeon pack.

It’s come to light that the Bartons decided to use their feud with the Parks because they knew the Jeons wouldn’t sit idly by. One big, elaborate plan, all to get close to Jungkook’s Luna and try to tear down the hierarchy. If Jungkook lost his Soulmate, he’d lose his foundation of power as well. Or so, that’s what the buzz was when some of the Barton betas were interrogated, according to Jimin.

Jungkook knows everything is going to be okay, that you’re going to be okay; the doctor told him as much. But, despite that assurance, he can’t seem to relax. You’re curled up in the bed, facing him, and you look so peaceful, even with the swelling on the side of your face, but all he can feel is rage when he sees that…rage and so much guilt.

He never should have let you go to the restroom on your own. If he has his way, he’s never going to let you out of his sight again. It’s such an alarming realization, going from one polar sensation to the next. The fact he could give two shits less about you just a few months ago, and now here he is wanting to murder someone for touching you, is hard to wrap his head around.

Yet, here he is, fisting the edge of one of the blankets as he battles this feeling inside himself. The fact his alpha has been mostly silent since Jungkook laid eyes on you in that hallway is just as alarming. It’s almost like his alpha is giving him space. For the first time since coming into his designation, he feels like a giant void separates him from his alpha; he doesn’t like it.

There’s also the pile of papers sitting on the desk, a few feet away, that hold another key bit of information that won’t let him relax. It was standard testing, just something to help rule other things out and see what kinds of tests they could and could not perform to assess your head.

You’re pregnant.

Now that he knows, Jungkook can tell. There is a distinct, underlying change to your scent. It’s sweeter somehow, more alluring in the sense that you now smell partly like him. He should have known before. He knows that if he hadn’t spent so much time away from you, he would have realized it sooner.

You were surprised, but your shock seemed more subdued. When questioned, you told Jungkook what his mother had said to you. Somehow, even his mother knew before he did. Jungkook feels like a failure, like he’s done nothing right by you. It had to have happened the night of your designation celebration. Neither of you had bothered with any preventative measures that night, too lost in the touch and feel of each other to care.

And now, here you are, pregnant without a bite on your neck and a knot on the side of your head. If anything were to have happened to the baby…Jungkook isn’t sure he can even think about that right now. Not without wanting to put his fist through the wall.

He’s spent weeks worried about staying away from you when all along, he was clearly concerned about all the wrong things. The doctor assured him that even the most attentive of alphas take several weeks before they can smell their own child in the womb. But that doesn’t make Jungkook feel any better.

He thinks back on all the curt and what he thought were nagging messages he had gotten from his mother the last few weeks and can see them in a different light now. She wasn’t just trying to chastise him about his duty; she was trying to coax him home so he could be there for his mate in a way he should have from the start.

Jungkook knows what he needs to do now. There is no question about it. Though, it’s not because he feels obligated…no, he truly wants to solidify that bond with you. As soon as you’re ready, he’s going to offer himself to you, finally and fully.

“Jungkook, are you okay?” your sweet voice breaks him out of his thoughts and makes him release his tight hold on the sheets.

Your eyes look so big and bright even in the dim light of the hotel room as you sleepily blink up at him. How he never wanted to give himself over to you so completely before now marks him as a sure fool.

He sighs, exhaling a slow breath. “Yeah. How are you feeling?”

You stretch, wincing only slightly as your arm brushes along the side of your face. “Better, I think.”

“Can we talk?” he asks after a pause of silence.

You give him a guarded look as you slowly sit up and gather some of the blankets in your lap. The doctor told him you might start feeling the need to nest and gather comfort items, so he had specifically requested the Omega suite, which comes with complimentary brand-new fuzzy blankets and extra pillows that guests are allowed to take home when checking out.

“Sure,” you finally say.

Jungkook watches as emotions cross your face, echoing the pulse he can feel emanating from his chest. His alpha perks up, rousing for the first time in hours it feels like.

“Okay.” Now that he’s been given the go-ahead to talk, he’s suddenly feeling very self-conscious and uncertain. “I know you told me I don’t need to apologize, but I’m going to anyway.” Your lips form a thin line when he says that, so he hurries to continue, “Not for”—he gestures vaguely in your direction—”but for everything else. I want to apologize for everything before this. The way I’ve treated you and how I’ve acted. You’ve deserved better than what I’ve offered you these last few weeks—for being an asshole and a fucking dick,” Jungkook uses your own choice of words for him, and that earns him a small smile from you.

“I want to apologize, too, then. And before you can protest”—Jungkook was 100% about to—”just let me finish. Sure, you’ve not been the greatest the last few weeks, but I know I haven’t either. I should have tried harder, fought you on you being gone all the time, stood up for what I wan–er, needed, and been honest with how it was making me feel.”

Jungkook shakes his head, unable to believe how you’ve yet again turned the tables on him. “I, uh, there’s something that…there’s something I want to do,” Jungkook barely manages to get the words out as anxiety spikes at the prospect of you refusing.

“What is it?”

The look of intrigue on your face turns into pure shock as Jungkook prostrates himself on the bed in front of you, deliberately turning his head to expose the side of his neck to you, an act of submission. “I’m giving myself to you, wholly and completely. All those weeks ago, I claimed you and made you mine, and…now I’m yours.”

🌙🌙🌙

You stare at Jungkook, not sure what to say. “I-I don’t need,” you begin, reaching for Jungkook and encouraging him to sit up, “you to do that. You don’t have to bend to me…as long as you promise never to make me bend to you either.”

Jungkook shakes his head. “I can’t promise I’ll be perfect, but I’ll never force you to be something that you’re not ever again. I’m sorry I didn’t realize this sooner, I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you when you asked to come with me to Jimin’s. From now on, I’ll listen to you, and I’ll not dismiss your concerns or voice. I don’t want you to feel like you’re beneath me simply because you’re my mate. I want you as my equal instead.”

The truth behind Jungkook’s words is evident in the fervent way he delivers them but also in the way your omega mews in satisfaction. A bite for a bite, an equal. Even though you wouldn’t be leaving a permanent mark on his neck like he will on yours, it’s still the intention, and it’s completely unheard of in your world. There are stories, myths, really…but nothing wholly substantial.

You shift on the bed, gathering your knees underneath you. Your jeans went into the trash, and all the hospital had was a thin pair of shorts and a t-shirt for you to wear. You fluff out the blankets absently as you mull over his words. “Your equal?”

“Yes,” Jungkook resolutely declares.

“I think I would like that,” you whisper, eyeing Jungkook’s mouth with a quickly burning hunger.

“Are you sure?” Jungkook asks, swallowing hard as you lean in closer to him. “If you need more time to think, that’s okay.”

“Are you sure?” you counter, raising a questioning eyebrow.

Jungkook responds by kissing you hard on the mouth, wrapping his arms around you, and dragging you against his chest. He tastes like home; his tongue is warm and wet against yours, and you’re certain you could drown in the sensation if he let you. But, he comes up for air, breaking the kiss for a moment before pressing open-mouthed kisses along your jaw.

Even with the aches in your face and body, you respond to him. With every teasing nip of his mouth, you feel yourself growing wet. The fragrant cream of your slick blooms in the air, melding with his masculine and spicy scent to create the perfect, heady bouquet.

“I’ve never been more sure about something,” Jungkook whispers the affirmation between kisses until his warm breath ghosts over the scent mark on your neck. “You smell so damn good,” he groans.

You can feel his lips part over the skin there; his tongue laves out and swipes up the side of your neck, sending shivers down your spine. With trembling hands, you help each other discard your clothing, finally coming back together skin to skin. Jungkook pulls you into his lap, his thick cock sitting snugly against your ass. You can feel the bulge of his knot already as if his body is automatically responding to just your closeness.

“You can say stop at any time,” you tell him, earning a surprised grunt when you shove him back against the pillows and deliberately slide your ass slowly over his cock as you move backward.

There is a challenge in his eyes as you meet them. You move until you’re kneeling between his knees, cock sitting prettily before you. “Where, ah,” Jungkook sucks in a stilted breath when you take the head of his cock into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it, “did you want to?” Pink tinges Jungkook’s ears as he looks down at you, mouth full of him. You tap the inside of his thigh and raise your brows in silent question. “O-okay, just…just be gentle.”

That makes you chuckle, the vibration coming up your throat, and you can tell it sends a shock through Jungkook; his head drops back, and his mouth opens with a loud moan. “Gentle says the man about to put a permanent bite on my neck. An act that is none too gentle, I might add,” you say, letting his cock slip out from between your lips.

“Okay, that’s fair,” he relents, his words breathy as you trace along the underside of his dick with your tongue. “Be as aggressive as you want, then.”

Feeling egged on just a little by that declaration, you plant your teeth firmly into the meat of his inner thigh and bite as hard as you dare. Your teeth pinprick his skin, and the metallic tang of blood leeches onto your tongue. Jungkook grunts; his whole body shivers against your mouth.

“Was that okay?” you ask tentatively once you’ve pulled back to admire the twin crescent impressions you left behind. There isn’t that much blood. The two small wounds from your teeth are already clotted.

Jungkook lets out a heavy exhale as his body finally relaxes back against the bed. His cock twitches beside your face, producing a thick string of pre-cum that has your mouth watering for a taste.

“That was,” he pants, “hot as fuck.”

Pride fills you, and your body kindly reminds you with an intense throb in your clit, how much it turns you on when Jungkook talks like that. “Your turn,” you urge, desperate to get his teeth on your skin and his cock in your pussy.

Jungkook growls his approval, letting his alpha strength take over, and maneuvers you easily into a kneeling position in front of him. Using a gentle hand in your hair, he pulls you up until your back is pressed against his chest, giving him unfettered access to the front of your body while being able to tease your clit with the tip of his length.

“Are you ready for me?” he asks, using the hand in your hair to angle your head sideways so he can lick along the side of your neck. “Let’s see.” His other hand slides down the front of your body, tweaking your nipples on the way, until his middle finger grazes over your swollen, aching clit.

“Don’t tease me,” you say between clenched teeth. Your omega adds her indignation to your own, making your words come out laced with additional grit.

“I just want a little taste,” Jungkook whispers as he hooks his finger lower and massages it along your slit, collecting a generous amount of slick as he does so. You watch as his finger comes up and disappears beside your face.

The wet laving sound of Jungkook sucking his finger sends a shudder through you. You reach down with your hands, cupping Jungkook’s cock in one and using the other to part the lips of your pussy so you can fit him against your entrance. “Fuuuck,” you drawl out as the broad head of his cock slides in.

“I love the way your pussy tastes,” Jungkook moans, dropping his hand to your hip and using it to guide your ass back against him, forcing him deeper. “It’s almost as good as how it feels.”

His fingers prod along your hip, sliding until his palm rests over your lower belly. You whimper, rocking your hips the best you can, and place your hand over his. “How do I look?” you ask. “You once told me I’d look so pretty once I was pregnant with your pup. Do you still think that?”

“You are,” he starts, “the single most”—he emphasizes the words with long, rolling strokes of his cock that have his knot kissing your lower lips with every forward motion—”beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on. Even before I fucked you raw and knocked you up.” The beautiful, endearing words contrast so wildly with the dirty confession he tacks on at the end. Proving once again that Jungkook knows exactly how to wind you up and have you begging for more.

“Prove it,” you goade, intentionally dipping your head to the side to expose your neck further to him.

The moment his teeth touch your skin, you both freeze. It lasts only a second, the time it takes for them to sink into the tender expanse of your scent gland. It’s like a double punch to the gut; you can feel it all the way in your soul. The bond snaps into place the same instant Jungkook fits his knot inside you, and you explode, disintegrating into a million tiny little points of pleasure.

Your body opens for him, both physically and mentally. What was once a small trickle of feeling now becomes a deluge of intensity. You’re vaguely aware of Jungkook groaning as he meets his own release, throbbing heavily within your walls. You can feel him beneath your skin, feel the way your own body is wrapped so tightly around his knot, and the infinite pleasure that’s flooding through both of your systems.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Jungkook mumbles against your neck, his teeth finally pulling free from your skin. “I can feel everything.”

It’s hard to tell where he begins, and you end. There is a sense of middling permanence, the perfect balance between alpha and omega. You once feared that submitting to him completely would change you in some cataclysmic way. And, it has…only, you don’t feel damned. In fact, it’s far more empowering than you ever thought possible.

Jungkook brushes his tongue along the fresh bite, tending to your wound in a tender way that has you slumping over. He follows you down, gently rutting his hips, which forces his knot to rub and grate inside of you, flooding you with another luscious rush of dopamine, like a second orgasm.

“Jungkook?” you ask, trying not to fall asleep as he continues to nuzzle your neck, and his knot keeps you secured so close to his warm body.

“Hmm?” he hums. Jungkook settles you both on your side, holding you against his chest with one hand and stroking and petting with soft, sensual strokes along every inch of your body that he can reach with the other.

“Thank you for taking care of me.”

“I promise never to make you doubt me ever again. You are my soulmate, my Luna…the mother of my child. You are my everything.”

And just as Jungkook said, he made you his, and now he’s yours. Forever.

⇽Previous Chapter ◅ Back to story masterlist

◅ Back to Master List ©️    2024-02-14    ColorMePurplex2  

[eaudecrow]

Outfit swap!

[couchtaro]

Special offer redesign commission for @eaudecrow!

[certainlynotasimp]

Okay here me out miggy and sunny who get ambushed by another spider but it turns out to be there daughter from the future?! I feel like they’d be shocked to see a teenager (like 18) just trying to fix a mess she made to get back home. I love all your work especially Miguel and Sunny!

Our Girl

(Miguel O'Hara x Female Reader)

A/N: Hey lovely~ So I kinda went off track a little with this one and kinda focused a little more on Maria, the daughter, and not so much her fixing the problem and more her being overwhelmed by the idea of the multiverse. I'm sorry I went off kilter but I loved the idea of seeing how they would react in general to meeting their child.

Also, I've been obsessed with this song on TikTok so I had to name their daughter after it.

A/N: If you guys wanna view more of my works then feel free to read my master list and if you wanna see what else is coming up, then check out this one-shot schedule. If you love the Sunny and Miggy fics like I do then comment on the taglist post because I add everyone who comments. I hope you enjoy it!

Warning: Grumpy x Sunshine, Barely any use of (Y/N) ((Sunny is the Reader's nickname, not her actual name)), Female Reader/ Female pronouns, Shinangins, Kinda fluffy, kinda a crack fic lol, and Google translated Spanish ((Pls forgive me, my wonderful Spanish speakers.))

~~~~~~~~~~

Okay, I guess If im gonna do this, I’m gonna have to start with the beginning, Hi I’m Maria O’ Hara and I’m-

“Kids, Breakfast is ready~!” A soft cheery voice calls out causing a groan to escape the teenager’s mouth. The sound of two pairs of feet book it past her bedroom door with the notable bang of one of them being knocked into the wall.

“Mami!” A teary voice of her seven year old brother yells. “Gabriel keeps pushing me into the wall!”

“No I’m not!” The thirteen year old cries out with a loud crack in his voice. “He keeps getting in front of me!”

“Gabriel, Ben, quit bickering and come here before your father comes down.” The gentle scolding causes the boys to continue their run down the stairs while Maria rolls her eyes and goes back to her diary.

Dammit, okay, we can work with this. Hi, I’m Maria O’ Hara. I’m 18 years old and I live in Nueva York with my mama and papa and my two brothers. I’m basically your normal teenager except for one-

“Maria?” a soft knock on her door causes her to call back through the door.

“Yes, Mama?” “Breakfast is ready, honey. Come on down stairs before it gets cold…” She can hear the cautious edge in her mother’s voice as she tries to coo her child down stairs.

“I’m on my way, Mama, just let me get finish getting dressed.” She cringes at the lie as she was already dressed and ready for her day. Maria holds her breath for a couple of minutes until she can hear her mom mutter a simple okay as the sound of heavy foot steps come up beside her.

The low baritone of her father’s whisper can be heard along with her mother’s worried tone as she can hear her trying to urge her husband down stairs to give their daughter some privacy.

Maria returns to her writing as she knows shes definitely on a ticking time bomb now that her father was up and down stairs. He was a strickler for spending meals together as a family and the only time he let go of that rule was when one was sick or when…Maria and Javi were in that accident…

She shakes the haunting image of Javi out of her mind as she writes.

I’m basically your normal teenager except for one thing. I’m Spider Woman, the one and only beloved hero of Queens.Two years ago, I gotten bite by this funky spider at my dad’s lab in Alchemax and I gained these awesome super powers. It was honestly the best thing to ever happen to me. I got to swing around and stop bad guys all before fourth period. The only person who knew was my best friend Javi-

“Maria!” A deep voice booms as Maria gritted her teeth. “¡Tu madre ya te llamó dos veces! ¡Baja y come!”

“Shit!” The teenager curses as she rushes to collect her stuff into her bag. The white and blue fabric of her spider suit shines at the bottom of the bag before her necessities get piled on top of it.

“¡¿Qué diablos dijiste?!” Her father yells as she can hear her mother yell at him. 

“¡¡Miguel, no te atrevas a maldecir en la mesa de mi comedor!!”

Maria hurries down the stairs as she listens to her family interact at the table.

A muffled voice that she figured was her mother scolds the angry man while a soft more masculine mutter apologizes. A couple of giggles can be heard before a stern voice scolds them as well for what Maria can hear, “Chicos, no le faltéis al respeto a vuestro padre. La única razón por la que tu madre puede hacerlo es porque me echará de la cama.”

As Maria makes it into the dining room, she laughs along with her brothers as their mom playfully slaps their dad’s arm. The tall dark haired man chuckles at his adorable wife before catching her hand and kisses it, causing the woman to smile with a love sick look in her eyes. 

“Eww!” Ben cries as he tries to block his vision with his toast causing the couple to roll their eyes.

Maria sits down beside her father Miguel and Gabriel as she starts to fill her plate. All of the children looked exactly like their father with only slight changes in hair textures and certain facial features. Ben, the youngest of the trio, looked the most like their mother with his eye shape and nose matching hers while the middle child, Gabriel, was a copy and paste verison of their father with only his mother’s smile indicating that they were related. Maria was a better mixture of the two with her mother’s height and face shape making her her mother’s “clone”, Miguel’s words not their’s. 

All the siblings would disagree as their matching dark brown eyes and their dark hair. They also had his temper. There wasn’t a single day that didn’t end without a fight. But they all loved each other despite the stress they put on their poor sweet mother’s heart.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Yahooo!” The web crusader swings around the city with a laugh bubbling through her being as the adrenaline pumps through her veins. Today wasn’t that bad today when it came to crime. No cat burgalurs, no bank robberies, No super mutants, No robots, and No…

A shrilling laugh fills the sky as Maria lands on top of a building. As she looks around for the source of the noise, a figure flies over her. Several flashes of gold falls down onto the streets below and a series of explosions go off at the chilling sound of a woman’s laugh among the symphony of screams. The woman was flying on a golden glider looking device with a skin tight blue holographic suit with an orange cloak wrapping around her features with a devilish jackolatern mask on.

“Who the hell is that?” She asks to no one as she swung up to catch up to the maniac, “Hey Spooky!”

Maria sticks a web onto the glider and propels herself into the air before slamming down on top of the villain. The woman shrieks as she falls off her glider with the spider until the glider follows them down. The villainess throws a purple bomb at the girl before her glider catches her. The teenager shoots a web onto a near by building and catches the bomb. 

“No thanks, I’m not on interested in what you’re cooking.” She throws the bomb into the air before it explodes. However, instead of smoke, an orange portal appears as a strong suction causes the spider’s grip to slip and fly into the air. “Hey!” She yells as she gets pulled into the portal.

~~~~~~~

A scream echos through the Lobby as a flaying spider falls down from a portal. Hobie rolls his eyes while Jessica looks up unimpress. 

“Another newbie?” She asks as the spider girl catches herself on a walk way above the duo. 

“I don’t know.” The rocker mumbles as he tunes his guitar. “You know that they normally end up in some alternate dimension where the floor is lave or some shite.”

The spider girl looks around her in shock as she sees millions of other spider people walking around her and she begins to hyperventilates. “No no no no. Please Please don’t tell me I’m dead……”  

Jessica frowns hearing a young voice panicking and she whistles up at the girl. 

“Hey, Newbie! Come here for a minute.”

Maria swings down as the older woman takes off her googles, her warm eyes brings the younger girl to ease enough to ask,

“W-where am I?”

Hobie chuckles, thinking that the girl was confused after failing to jump. “You’re in the Lobby, remember? Didn’t Sunny give you a tour?” 

“Sunny? Whose that?” Maria looks at the duo confused as Hobie takes off his mask to look at the girl more closely. 

Jessica looks at the girl suspiciously as Hobie examines the masked girl. “Your suit is certainly different. It kinda looks like O’ Hara’s.”

Maria jumps at the mention of her last name and faces Hobie as her patience snaps. “How did you know that? And who are you guys and why are you guys dresssed lik-”

The manic girl halts as she hears a familiar voice call out from above. 

“Hey,guys!” The gentle voice calls out as she swings down from several platforms above with a friendly smile plastered on her unmasked face. Hobie and Jessica return her smile as she lands infront of them. Maria stares in horror as the duo greets the cheery spider.

“Oi, Sunny, whatcha swing up to,love?” Hobie jokes as he hugs the woman he viewed as his friend and sister figure. 

“Boss man sent me out to look at what fell through the portal while Lyla was rebooting.” She says calmly as Jessica scoffs. Miguel sending Sunny out to check something out? Nope, thats not how he ran things. He would rather send out everyone else before he would dare risk his sol getting injured.

“Boss sent you to check out a portal?” The beautiful woman asks as Sunny rubs the back of her neck, clearly leaving out some details.

“Well, an anomalous Hobgoblin managed to hack into Lyla’s systems and shut her down so it can escape…Our comms are down too..He said to get Hobie and Ben so they can investigate the scene actually…” The jumping spider admits as she feels her cheeks warm in embarrassment. 

Jessica chuckles at her friend’s confession as she remembers the new spider who was silent the whole time they were speaking.

“Oh yeah, well this new recruit came out of the portal.”She shrugs as she directed Sunny to the small blue spider woman. “You really need to give these new guys better directions for portal jumping.”

The now confused woman shakes her head as she looks at Maria before looking back at Jessica. 

“There aren’t any new recruits.” She states as she frowns at the still masked girl as she walks up to her. “Hey, whats your name, honey?” She asks in her familiar concerned voice that Maria just heard this morning.

It was her mother…well at least someone who looks like her mother. She was several years younger than her mom, clearly in her mid to late twenties. Other than that, she was her. Even down to the same facial markers and the always warm edge of her voice. What really drawn her back was the fact her mom, or this woman that looked like her was wearing a black spider suit like her own with white along her chest and inner lining of her limbs. 

“Holy shit…” The girl gasps at the woman before she slowly reaches up and removes her mask. Her dark eyes peers back at her ‘mother’s’ in shock before mumbling, “Mama?”

“Mama!?” Jessica screams in surprise before she quickly studies the now unmasked girl and the paling spiderwoman. The similar way their wide eyes meet each other while their matching jawlines stuck in an a gasps expression. They definitely looked the part…

(Y/N) was the first one to move as she slowly lifts her trembling hands up to the girl’s face and cups it in a gentle grasp. She carefully traces her features with a haunted look on her face, almost like she was looking for something in her face, or maybe someone. As realization forms in her face that this was in fact her child, tears began to bubble in her waterline as her lips trembled.

“You’re my baby?...I have a daughter…” She says outloud before gently tracing under Maria’s eye with a look of disbelief and love. Maria’s own eyes burn as she sees her mother’s face in her clone as she nods. “Yea…My name is Maria…Maria O’Hara.”

And with that new revelation, the cheery spider faints due to the shock while Jessica yells out for help while Hobie was frozen due to the fact that not only that Miguel O’Hara and his delightful sidekick have a child from a different dimension, but that she was actually hot.

~~~~~~~

Safe to say, Miguel was not happy. 

After Lyla successfully rebooted and came back online, Miguel went to dimension 1784-B and recaptured the Hobgoblin. He never felt such satisfaction than when he tackled the flying witch out of the sky and tore apart her glider with his bare hands. He wasn’t very pleased that the villain easily gotten her hands on one of the gizmos and some prototype traps he was working on, so he made sure that the femal hobgoblin would never dare attempt to do anything like that again.

.After he returned to the surveillance platform, his annoyance grew as he hears that not only did some spider woman he had no idea about came into the Lobby, but that some incident caused his sunshine to be taken to the infirmary. 

“Lyla,” The annoyed man calls to the AI as he walks towards the infirmary. A tiny version of his fur coat wearing digital assistant appears on his shoulder as he focuses ahead of him with a glare. He can practically feel all the blood vessels in his hand pop as clenched his fist as he thought about all the ways he was going to say to the woman who had the nerve to injure his amor. “Give me all the information on this spider.”

“Yes ‘Miggy’” Lyla teases as she pulls up the file. “Spiderwoman 1784-B aka Maria O’Hara. 18 years old and has been spiderwoman for 2 years. A student at NYU with an undecided major and lives with her two younger brothers, Gabriel and Ben O’ Hara and her parents…Oh Shit!” 

The miniature AI starts laughing as she clenches her stomach. Miguel growls at Lyla’s outburst and seethes. “What is it?”

As she recovers, she throws up a projection infront of him with a smirk. “Check this out. You and Sunny do get a happy ending!” 

Miguel freezes as his wide eyes look at the image infront of him with a tremble in his form. The image displayed was a family picture that was clearly taken at a high school graduation with a family of five huddled together with wide grins splitting their loving faces. The first to catch his attention was the vision of him standing beside a teenage girl with a boy no older than seven on his shoulders with a look of happiness and pride in his gaze as one arm was slung across the girl’s shoulder. He was clearly older than he was now, but the lack of red eyes and fangs made Miguel nearly not recognize him. Its been so long since he’s seen himself before becoming spiderman… The next thing that caught his attention was an older version of his beloved also smiling at the camera with a teenage boy on your side a gentle hand placed on his shoulder as the woman’s attention was focus gazing a her daughter with such joy.

The children were a perfect mixture of you both despite the obvious favour in appearance being on his side. He carefully examines each child and their features as he releases a shaky breath as a single tear escapes his eye. 

This was impossible…How can you two have a family somewhere in the spiderverse and he didn’t know? the two have a family…they got married…she gave him the most beautiful children he could ever dream of and they both weren’t spidermen…they met and fell in love with out the worry of the universe on their shoulders…But their daughter…Their girl has this…burden instead…

“Miguel?” The unease in the AI’s voice brings him back to reality as he rubs his eyes. 

“I’m fine.” He snaps as he materializes his mask back onto his face. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So we are all connected by this weird multiverse of spidermen?” Maria questions as she quips an eyebrow as she looks at the other teen.

“Yep.” Gwen nods as she leans back in the chair. 

The group were huddled around the hospital bed as their cheerful friend laid in bed unconscious. Upon pouncing the new spider about her life and what life was like on her dimension, Gwen took the initiative and began explaining about the Spiderverse, careful to avoid talking about the girl’s variant spider parents.

“And this is a team of Spiderpeople that goes around and makes sure that the events of their life goes on course? Like the time police? Does that mean theres other versions of me? “ She rapidly askes the punk. The blonde chuckles as she can definitely see how much of Sunny was actually in this girl. 

“Yep and kinda like that. We make sure the canon goes as planned so your universe doesn’t collapse. And when it comes to the other versions of you…” Gwen looks towards the unconscious spider before meet her ‘daughter’s’ curious gaze. “If theres other versions of Sunny and Miguel, then there is other versions of you.”

“Wait. Is there a spiderman version of my dad?” She asks as the door opens.

Jessica looks up from watching her phone and smiles at Miguel while Hobie curses. Miguel’s mask fades away as Hobie begins to speak.

“Look boss, the kid didn’t mean to…”

“Are you alright, Maria?” Miguel’s uncharacteristicially soft voice interrupts Hobie’s defense as his ruby eyes locked on the girl.

His rapid heart flooded his senses as he looked over his ‘daughter’. She didn’t look like Gabriella like he thought he would, even though he already seen her face. She looked like his sunshine despite her having a majority of his features. She was his girl, his beloved’s child…

“Um yea…”The starstruck girl mumbles as she looks at the variant of her father. Unlike the unconscious variant of her mom, the age wasn’t the biggest indicate that he was different from her dad, it was the gentle red eyes and the fangs peeking out from his lips. “Holy shit, you’re cool…” She accidentially admits out loud which causes the man to chuckle.

“Oye, no maldigas delante de tus padres, pequeña araña.” He playfully scolds before he starts fiddling with his gizmo. “I think its time you head home now. Its almost time for dinner and I’m sure ‘I’ wouldn’t like for you to be late.”

A portal opens beside them as Maria smiles at Miguel. “Cool…can I have one of those?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Well it was worth a try.” Maria giggles as she walks up to the portal before looking at Miguel concerned. “What about that Hobgoblin? And about…” The teenager looks towards her sleeping ‘mom’.

“I took care of it for you and don’t worry about her.” Miguel chuckles as he gazes lovingly at his love. “Yo siempre cuido de tu madre, ¿no?”

Maria grins as she feels giddy over the idea that no matter what dimension, her parents will always love each other.

“Yep and word of advice, stop having kids after one!” She jokes as she steps into the portal and goes home.

~~~~~~~

A soft groan emits from the bed as Miguel looks up from his book. The sleepy eyes of his love meets his as he leans over and caresses his cheek. 

“Good morning, mi amor…you had a good rest?” He coos as he pushes the hair away from her face. 

Tears prickle in her sleepy gaze as the memory of her new friend came back. In a horse whisper, she tearfully asks, “Did you see her? Did you meet our girl?” A smile forms on her face as Miguel nods and rests his forehead against hers.

“Sí, mi amor. Y ella era perfecta.”

~~~~~~

As the portal closes behind her, Maria looks around with a breath of relief as she sees shes in her bedroom back home. 

“Thank god that’s over-!”

Before the stress could finally leave her chest, a shattering sound of a phone screen snaps her attention to her brother Gabriel looking at her in shock. Maria looks horrified as she realizes she is in the middle of her bedroom in her spidersuit and unmasked infront of her little brother…

“SHIT!!!”

~~~~~~~~

Translations:

¡Tu madre ya te llamó dos veces! ¡Baja y come!- Your mother already called you twice! Come down and eat!

Chicos, no le faltéis al respeto a vuestro padre. La única razón por la que tu madre puede hacerlo es porque me echará de la cama.-You boys don't disrespect your father. The only reason your mother can is because she'll kick me out of bed.

¡¿Qué diablos dijiste?!- What the hell did you say?!

¡¡Miguel, no te atrevas a maldecir en la mesa de mi comedor!!- Miguel, don't you dare curse at my dining room table!!

Oye, no maldigas delante de tus padres, pequeña araña.- Hey, don't curse in front of your parents, little spider.

Yo siempre cuido de tu madre, ¿no?-I always take care of your mother, don't I?

~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist:

@ameliadraws 

@tojisrightnut

@whyareyoubored

@silly-lovestruck-em

@luvil1y

@chims-kookies

@himesuedi

@22carolina08

@chaoticevilbakugo

@boredwithlifeatthispoint

@hoshhoshh

@isaidoop

@pheroineux

@rosiepetalss

@aniya7

@savannahlynnes

@boldlypessimistic

@dilfaddiction

@xsuvs

@bunnybopug01

@tanakaslastbraincell

@brivers

@mistermouseshideyhole

@paranoiac-666

@reypolaris

@beeframon

@sofiahowland376

@bby-lupin

@thesrtuggleisveryreal

@arminarmout15

@mintellaine

@maddsunn

@sleepyamaya

@meshuao

@scaraza

@nobarasgfriend

@kurxxmi

@lemoonandlestars

@pix-stuff

@galaxieshearme

@sunshiines-stuff

@iytatsworld

@corpsebridenightamare

@p-rspective

@almostjollypizza

@celestiayxl

@christinaatyourservice92

@marisolpusheen

@hereliespumpkin

@lordelvr

@shadowlover321

@internal-soundtrack

@lotustv

@0sftom0

@whosace16

@namjoons-crabssss

@baefys-world

@namioom

@20forty9

@cicithemess2000

@hailssss222

@cityofvoldemort-blog

@snow30285

@serenssuga

@miguelluvrinnit

@sammywammy1

@dameronshandholder

@moonlight-fox

@miwagila

@alexthebootyeater420

@mariaatp

[boinitwdidthat]

// Imagine - Them meeting a hybrid Na'vi (and falling for them) Pt. 1 //

>( Neteyam, Lo'ak, Aonung)<

>The boys meeting their first Omaticaya/Metkayina Na'vi (Gn terms, they/them)<

>Neteyam<

First running into you on the sands threw him off kilter

Literally, he ran into you and tripped on accident

"Ah, sorry- I should've been looking," He stood quickly, holding his arm out to assist you. Allowing him to really witness you for the first time.

Looking at your skin, almost seemed mythical. The splotches of teal and deep blue standing out beautifully to the sands. However, it was your eyes that captured his interests most.

Instead of either strong yellow or blue, they portrayed a pale green. Almost matching some of the younger plants he had seen coming to your home lands, and truly some of the most unique he had explored.

"Thank you," You grabbed his arm to stand, lightly dusting yourself off afterward. At last, you look up at him, smiling gratefully for his help. It was then you remembered the boy, familiarity showing in your excited voice.

"Oh! You're one of the new people! From the farther lands!" He bounced his head jokingly, appearing to mimic your excitement.

"Yes, you're one of the first people to sound happy for meeting me," He chuckled to himself before holding his arm out again, this time for a proper greeting.

"Neteyam," You reached out, his grip was definitely solid, and more textured than you expected. Curiosity grew in you for the reasoning behind it, but almost feeling embarrassed to ask.

"(Y/n)," As you shook, Neteyam's gaze couldn't seem to stray away from the various differences on your body. Even finding similarities to his own, but not recalling seeing any other villagers like you upon arriving.

Unless there was some secret section to their people for others like you.

His stares did not go unnoticed though, as you let go of his arm and began to shift away.

"Well, I've got to go fufill my duties for today so.." You slid past him, grazing his shoulder, "I'll see you around Neteyam."

As you began to leave the awkwardly growing silence, Neteyam's voice called out behind you.

"(Y/n)! Wait!" His body jogged back next to yours, mouth flapping silently for a moment. "I've been trying to learn about these lands, but I haven't been able to find any help. Could you- possibly, help me? It would give me a chance to talk to someone other than my family for a while." His smile boyish as he scratched the sand off of his arms.

"Uhm, yeah you can help, just can you.." You gesture gently, trying not to seem aggravated, "stop the staring thing you've been doing?"

He closed his mouth, definitely appearing apologetic.

"I'm sorry about that it's just, I've never seen one such as yourself before. It's so-"

"Weird? I know I've heard it all already," You turned away, hurt by his impending reaction. But, it wouldn't have been a new one, so it's best not to cry over the small things.

"Beautiful," Hi voice seemed to echo as it reached your ears, freezing your form in place.

Hesitantly you began to turn, after all, this could still be a cruel joke.

"You look like a gift from the Great Mother herself," his face was now a deep blue, reminding you of the depths of your oceans.

"I- thank you," You were reveling in this shock, too stunned to notice his body moving closer once more.

"So, if you'll still have me," His arm gently nudged against your own, "I really do wish to learn about your lands, but I wish to know more about you too." Eyes bearing into you, as if every inch of your soul was visible.

"Well, if you truly want to join," Leading the way through nearby shrubs, you motioned for Neteyam to follow.

"Now, just how can beauty such as yours," He gestured to your being, "Come to grace my feeble eyes." His joking manner pulling a small laugh from you at his antics, attempting to lighten the mood once more.

"Well, my father is of these lands, one with the waters. But, my mother was a woman of the trees.."

>Aonung<

Seeing you arrive with the other mutant bloods, he didn't expect you to be any different.

But when he truly saw you, he knew that wouldn't be the case.

You looked like his people, but not at the same time. Your hands were like his, not the tree boys, yet you had their skin too.

It wasn't until he was in charge of you for the swimming lessons that his questions became overruled by fascination.

"Okay, you need to breathe from here," placing his hand on your stomach first, watching your first breath come semi-easily.

"Wow- that was actually pretty close, are you sure this is your first time?" His smug smirk flustered you, increasing your heart rate out of balance.

"Yes, I'm sure," His hand removed as his body adjusted, displaying his intent listening for you. "I've lived among the trees all my life, it was my father who lived one with the waters."

Shock flooded his mind, spilling over to his face. He'd never heard of such a relationship among his people. One among the trees and one from their waters, having a child? Let alone a person breathtaking as yourself

Breathtaking? It was true, you're obtuse skin tones seemed to meld perfectly in his eyes. Tail neither wimpy, nor fully his own in similarity.

Your body markings held his eyes the longest though, each one dipping through the shades similar to a river line on his peoples maps.

"I've never thought there were children born that way," He maneuvered towards the rock you had been resting on, vaulting up as to sit next to you.

"Yeah, from what I remember they loved both cultures," You motion to the various decorative beads adorning your body, "Each is a separate piece from their home. I was going to learn about this place when I reached age, but then the sky people came.." He sat and watched as your eyes slowly dulled at the mention, and attempted to cheer your up.

"Well," His body slowly slid back into the water, "I can teach you our ways, but you've got to give me something else in return. Deal?" His hand reached out, offering a curious deal, you took a few moments to consider.

"Deal" Your grip was strong, but didn't match the slight wrinkled callouses on his own hands.

"You have to sneak out with me tonight, so I can give you a 'guide' to our night-life nature," His grin was almost devious towards your reaction, a look of appalled theme clouding your face.

"What- fish boy! I can't just sneak out for the wishes of a virtual stranger!" Letting go, question flashed his face until realization followed-suit.

He hadn't gave you his name this entire time, how badly he wished to sink into the waters and vanish was astounding.

"Yes- I'm Aonung," His arm stuck out a second time, before retreating back.

Too much hand holding for a first meet, already shook once, a second time isn't needed. Until your airy laugh brought him back to reality.

You were laughing at his expression, one of confusion towards his own actions.

"Hello Aonung, I'm (Y/n)," His name rolling off of your tongue had flutters running about his stomach, and odd feeling definitely as he took in your features once more.

Tsireya's voice broke through your small dome of solitude, bubbly excitement infecting your own.

"C'mon! I wanna show you the canals, the eggs should be hatching soon!" Hand grabbed, she jogged you away from the lessons, having deemed enough learning has been done today.

"Okay! Tsireya you're going to rip my arm off!" Your rambunctious laughter slowly fading to the distance, as Aonung watched your forms retreat further and further away.

You were. . . new. But not weird to him. If anything, he was excited to teach you the other ways of your blood.

"So, fish boy," Lo'ak's arm wrapped his shoulder, "how's it feel falling for a tree hugger." The smug bastard was reveling at his reaction, face swiftly flushing to deep cyan anger, before shoving him away stomping off. Away from responsibilities for the day.

All he could do now was hope his sister wouldn't torment him too much about this later.

>Lo'ak<

Lo'ak loved his father, really he did. But sometimes, when things escalated and words are exchanged, he can't help but feel as if he'd never been wanted.

His mother claiming these arguments only happen because Jake sees so much of himself in Lo'ak. But that reasoning can only last so long in the boys mind before it starts to sound like an excuse.

Today had been one of those days, having gotten into trouble again the lectures began to muddle together.

Eventually, he simply left the undergrowth, wanting at least some time to himself before inevitably they come looking for him.

Venturing out, he glanced around searching for any seldom reserves these people could be hiding.

That's how he came upon your form, kneeling among the grasses, almost statuesque.

You were holding some plant, examining it as if your life purpose hid within its leaves.

Tearing his eyes away from the majestic plant, to your lingering figure, still hyper focused in on the nature.

His eyes scanned your features, curiosity wailing in his mind, all he wanted to do was ask you questions.

Were you from his people, or the water clans? Remaining the largest in his head, he definitely saw you as an enigma.

Your head turned his direction, having felt a chill go down your spine, as if someone was watching you . Proving your suspicions to be correct, the lean boy stood frigid, mind racing through all of your eccentricities.

What attracted him to most to you, was your decor. Wearing both beautifully woven pieces from his home, but also intertwined with some of these lands.

Witnessing how the delicate ropes and beads fell onto speckled skin, his questions won him brain over in the end, as he slowly made his way over to your nook in the juncture.

He remained in a low crouch, as if moving to fast would startle you.

"What are you doing?" The tone accusing yet confused as he gazed up at your question.

"Huh?" Standing dumbfounded now, a few feet away from you but all the more able to save every feature of yours in his memory.

"Why are you crouching like a baby?" The smile on your face grew as his eyes widened, seeing his antics as the most ridiculous you've come across in a while.

"Oh! Uhm," His posture straightened, "I was just- examining the bugs." His smile felt tense, so after reveling in the comedy for another minute you loosened up, motioning for him to sit down.

"The life in these lands are, gorgeous," His eyes focused on your arm bands, one woven with the leaves of a tree from his clans lands.

Your eyes followed his, sighing in realization at what drew his attentions, the sigh slightly startled Lo'ak, as he quickly averted back to your face.

"It's one of my mothers pieces," You held out the band, gently placing in in his palm, grazing you fingers back as if hesitant to let go of it entirely. "She was not one with the ocean, instead she lived among the forest."

His face contorted at the statement.

"Really?" His astonishment genuine, his final straw for if this was some stray prank, trying to prove the tree boy stupid.

You fully turned to face him, taking his larger palm in yours before displaying your the various blues on your hand.

"I didn't take after one or the other," pressing his palm to yours showed the matching blue splotches, "Instead Eywa gifted me with traits from both of them."

His eyes did not move away from your connection, feeling the subtle softness on your finger pads. Clearly you hadn't climbed trees in the same way he had.

Sensing your growing sadness, he came up with an idea.

"Have you ever," the opposing hand gestured wildly, "tried to climb as your mother did?"

Pale jaded eyes meeting his prominent yellow, before silently shaking your head no.

"Well, as repayment for intruding on you like this, I can teach you the ways of trees. Just as I was raised."

His smile was radiant to you, almost disarming the dismissal you had planned on giving him originally.

"I don't know.."

"I promise, if you let me teach you I won't let you fall," The smile shifting into one of a smirk as he addressed your nervousness.

"Well," He hung on almost every detail from your words, "If you promise this won't impose on my duties as well, I'll attempt to learn your ways."

"Our ways," His hands doubled, gently sliding your mothers band back into place.

'Yes', you thought back to your dual nature.

Our ways

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Jay Kuo at The Status Kuo:

There’s a strange phenomenon occurring with the terminally online right. Ever since Vice President Kamala Harris announced that Gov. Tim Walz would be her running mate, many of the right have acted with fury. They’ve attempted to “Swift Boat” his 24-year service record in the Army National Guard. They’ve called him a racist for talking about “white guy tacos.” And they’ve dredged up a nearly 30-year old DUI—for which he took accountability and after which he stopped drinking altogether—to prove he’s somehow not so perfect a role model.

What they haven’t been able to do is make any of this stick. And yet, Walz continues to draw fire, which could otherwise have been directed at Harris. In other words, Walz is turning out to be a shrewd pick. At net 11 points positive favorability in polls, Walz is immensely more popular than his counterpart on the GOP ticket, JD Vance, who is underwater by nine. And as they continue to rail against him, the right keeps making his fundamental point about them: They are just really weird. In today’s piece, I explore some theories about why Walz brings out the worst impulses of the right just by being who he is. Then I’ll lay down some political tarot cards and prognosticate about where I think this leads.

Politico Uno Reverse

By most identity measures, Walz should be one of the MAGA right. He’s a midwestern white dude in his late 50s. He loves to hunt and is a sharpshooter. He served for decades in the military and achieved the highest enlisted rank of Command Sergeant Major. He was a football coach who helped lead his team to the state championship. And yet, despite all these identity markings, Walz in an unabashed progressive. He is for reproductive rights and an ally and protector of gay teens. And there isn’t a bigoted bone in his body. It’s as if when Harris picked him, she played, as writer Anna Gifty Opoku-Agyeman succinctly described it, a “political uno reverse.” The Walz card threw it right back at them, as if to say, “I’m a guy just like you, but without any of the weird baggage.” The MAGA GOP’s base is supposed to include white guys like Walz. But here is living evidence that they don’t have all of them or the best of them. That’s why they’re so eager to discredit him, because if they don’t, as psychologist Julie Hotard notes, then Walz will stand instead as a model of what is possible. On many levels, an appealing, white, male Democrat is a far bigger threat to their sense of identity than even a biracial woman candidate for president.

[...]

Attacking Mr. Nice Guy

For the past two decades, the GOP has shifted markedly toward being a party of cruelty, of “owning” the libs and drinking their tears, and of being as unpleasant and in-your-face as they can be. That kind of behavior has been rewarded with appearances on Fox and other right wing media, fundraising dollars from the MAGA base, and a spot at the side or in the tweets of the ex-president himself. As author Patrick S. Tomlinson observed, Walz represents what shouldn’t be an extraordinary notion: that you can be a nice guy, supportive of women, embracing of gay people, and still be all the coded masculine ideals of soldier, football coach, hunter and father that the MAGA right believed it had a lock on. Plus, you can be all those things without ever asking weird questions about menstrual cycles, chromosomes and genitalia. The right even tried to make a big deal about Walz’s efforts as governor to ensure free tampons were available to girls in school. Rumors circulated that schools had been required to also put tampons in boys’ bathrooms, but those claims turned out to be untrue, while demonstrating how off kilter the right becomes over sexuality and gender. The “Tampon Tim” moniker didn’t stick. On the contrary, there are probably many moms and dads grateful for a governor like Walz who is thinking about their daughters’ needs.

Jay Kuo explains the real reason why the right is being driven crazy by Tim Walz: The fact that he has a profile that would typify a MAGA voter (football coach, military service, loves to hunt) yet is a progressive white dude (solid LGBTQ+ rights ally before it became fashionable among Democrats).