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estrellami-1 · 1 month ago

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Anything

Trigger warning: discussions of death. Not a main character, but it does happen. Lots of angst. Lots of hurt/comfort. I’ll post it in the tags as well.

Steve has a problem.

It’s not a big problem, not really, but his brain won’t let it go and is making it a bigger deal than it really is.

Eddie won’t ride in his car alone.

With the kids, sure; he’ll practically dive into the backseat, noogie Dustin, generally make a nuisance of himself.

But if it’s just the two of them? If Steve insists on driving, Eddie will take his van. There’s no problem if Steve wants to ride with Eddie. But the other way around? Eddie riding with Steve? That doesn’t happen. And Steve has no idea why.

“Talk to him, Dingus,” is Robin’s advice. He’d flip her off, but unfortunately he thinks she’s right: this is something they’re gonna have to talk through.

So Steve pulls on his big-boy pants and marches himself to the Munsons’ trailer, knocking on the door and waiting expectantly.

He doesn’t expect Wayne, but maybe he should’ve, because that’s who answers the door. “Hi, Steve. You’re here for Eddie, I bet, he’ll be in his room.” He moves aside to let Steve in, and Steve thanks him after a second before moving down the hall to Eddie’s room.

He hears him before he sees him; or, more accurately, he hears his guitar. He’s playing the acoustic tonight, instead of his usual sweetheart, so Steve knocks instead of walking in like he’d usually do.

The guitar stops, and Steve hears it being put down, hears a heavy sigh. “Wayne, I’m not really in the- oh.” He opens the door as he speaks and blinks at Steve. After a second, he smiles. “Hey, man, c’mon in.”

Steve blinks. “Uh. Are you okay?”

Eddie purses his lips. “Define okay. I’m not currently being eaten by bats, y’know? But playing the acoustic always reminds me of my Ma.”

“Ah.” Steve shifts. “Sorry, man. Maybe I should come back later.”

Eddie shrugs. “You’re here now, aren’t you? I can’t be that terrible company.”

Steve snorts. “No, I just… I had a question, but it can wait.”

Eddie tilts his head. “You do that a lot, y’know?” He turns, sits on his bed. Motions Steve into his room.

Steve sits next to him, more comfortable here than in his own room. “Do what?”

“Put yourself last.” He shrugs. “You can ask me. If I don’t wanna answer, I won’t.”

Steve scrunches his nose. “Okay, fine. Why won’t you ride in my car?”

Eddie frowns. “I do, though? Hell, I did what, two days ago? You, me and Dustin went to that comic store in Indy.”

“Okay, let me rephrase. Why won’t you ride passenger in my car, alone? Without any of the kids? And even two days ago you were in the backseat with Dustin.” He shrugs. “It’s not a big deal, I’m just curious.”

Eddie takes a breath. “No, it’s- yeah. You should know.” He clears his throat, grabs the acoustic again. Plays a riff of some sort, fingers dancing over the frets. “I think I feel like I have to save everyone. Or at least be in a position where I can save them, if the need arises.” He swallows, takes another breath. His fingers still. They tremble over the strings. “Did I ever tell you how my ma died?”

Now it’s Steve’s turn to inhale sharply. He shakes his head. “We can stop,” he says. “You don’t have to tell me.”

Eddie smiles ruefully. “I do, though.” He shakes his head. “I was… I was six. It was three days before my seventh birthday. We were driving home from the city. Ma was drivin’, an’ she let me sit in the front seat, since it was almost my birthday. Or- that’s what she said. I think it was so we couldn’t stop her. Couldn’t save her.” He swallows. His eyes are glassy. His accent is thick, the way it gets when he’s thinking about her, or when he’s emotional. His left hand grips the neck of the guitar tightly. Steve worries for his fingers. “We weren’t goin’ that fast, even, but forty’s enough when-” he shakes his head, looks away. Coughs out something that wanted to be a sob. Steve takes the guitar, takes Eddie’s hand. Puts the guitar down. Doesn’t let go of Eddie. “She unbuckled her belt. Dad didn’t see it. I did. Didn’t say anythin’. Maybe I should’ve, I dunno.” He squeezes Steve’s hand. “Then it all happened so fast… she smiled at me, an’ opened her door, an’ next thing I knew-” he wipes at tears on his cheeks. “D’you know what happens to a human head under the wheel of a car at forty miles an hour?”

Steve gasps, grips Eddie’s hand just as tightly. Pulls Eddie in when he begins to shake. “An’ I know why, now,” he whispers. “Dad weren’t good to her. I’unno what he done t’her. I know she did what she could. But I was there. I was right there.” He sniffles, trembles with the effort of keeping his sobs in. Somehow succeeds. “So that’s why. Figure if a kid were to try… I could stop ‘em. Figure if you were to try…”

“You could stop me.” Steve holds him tight. “I won’t,” he whispers. “I swear to you, I won’t.”

“I know,” Eddie whispers back. “But I gotta be able to try.”

“Christ, Eds,” Steve whispers. “I was gonna ask if you’re okay but that’s a stupid question.”

Eddie giggles, still teary-eyed. “Just a little bit.”

Steve pulls away to look him in the eye. “I’m staying tonight, okay? Nightmares are always worse after something like this.”

“Then you should go home,” Eddie argues. “Sleep while you can.”

“Nightmares are always easier with someone else.”

“Damn you, that’s true.” They both laugh a little.

Just then, Wayne comes in with two steaming mugs. “Listen to your boy, son,” he says to Eddie, handing over one of the mugs. He gives Steve the other with a wink. “Lavender tea with a shit ton of honey. Learned it from my ma.”

“Not my boy, Wayne,” Eddie grumbles, but thanks him for the tea anyways.

Steve thanks him too, and he winks again before leaving. Eddie rolls his eyes. “I’d apologize for him, but you’d just defend him.”

“Hey, I like Wayne.”

“I know. Sometimes I think you like him more than you like me.”

Steve chuckles. “Never. You’re my favorite.” He moves so they’re sitting shoulder to shoulder, drinking their tea, leaning against each other. It’s peaceful, and soon enough Eddie’s yawning and dropping his head onto Steve’s shoulder. “Imma pass out soon.”

“Then let’s get you up to brush your teeth before you do.”

Eddie groans like the toddler he secretly is. “I don’t wanna.”

“Yeah, and you don’t wanna go to the dentist to get teeth pulled, either, now do you?”

“Shuddup.”

“Wow. Real master of words here. Really feeling that Dungeon Master power.”

Eddie thumps his arm, but snickers, and really that’s what Steve was going for in the first place, so he just smiles and leads Eddie to the bathroom.

Soon enough they’re in bed, tucked in next to each other, not quite packed like sardines and it’s only because of the heat outside that Steve isn’t more upset not to have more of a reason to touch Eddie. “Night, Eds,” he murmurs, smiling when Eddie rolls over to face him and is temporarily blinded by his own hair. Steve helps move his hair, grabs at Eddie’s hand when he’s done. “Wake me up if the nightmare doesn’t, okay?”

“C’mon, Steve, I can deal with them-”

“I know you can,” Steve answers. “But I want to be up if you are. I want to help if I can. Please, Eddie?”

Eddie sighs after a second. “Damn you,” he says, “I can’t say no to you.” He’s smiling, despite his words, so Steve smiles back.

“Thank you.”

“G’night, Stevie.”

“Night, Eds.”

Steve wakes up to Eddie crying out in his sleep. Even with his eyes closed, he’s got tears streaming down his cheeks. Steve sits up, turns on the lamp, and puts a hand on Eddie’s shoulder. “Eddie?”

He rolls over, away from Steve, and continues sobbing. “Eds? Are you awake?” No answer, so Steve puts his hand back on Eddie’s shoulder and shakes a little. “Eddie, wake up!”

He’s up with an aborted yell and a flail of limbs, sitting up and staring into the darkness of his room, trembling. He sniffs and turns to face Steve, finally realizing he’s there, and Steve opens his arms for a hug.

He collapses into Steve’s arms, face mashed into the side of Steve’s neck, arms snaking around Steve’s torso to give an ineffectual tug. Steve takes the hint and inches closer until they’re practically hip-to-hip. “Y’wanna talk about it?” He asks. Eddie sniffs and shakes his head. “Y’want me to talk? To distract you?” Eddie nods. “Okay. Uh… I may have bitten myself in the butt with this one, ‘cause I’m not a great storyteller, not like you are, but did you know we actually met in middle school?”

No answer. “We did. Hawkins Middle was putting on its annual talent show. Now, back then, I was nobody. No one knew me, my name, my parents… nothing. I had one friend named Tommy, who I’d grown up with. Of course, you know him, and you know what happened between us, but he was my only friend back then. I didn’t tell anyone, but I signed up for the talent show. I didn’t even know what I wanted to do, I just knew I wanted to do something. I’ve always had a pretty decent voice, so I figured I could just sing, if I couldn’t figure out anything else to do. Knew I’d at least beat out Tammy Thompson.” He shifts so Eddie’s hair is no longer a choking hazard and pets his hand over Eddie’s head, doing his best to tame the wild curls. “So it’s the night of the talent show, right? And it feels like the whole school is there. I’m sitting backstage, peeking through the curtains, and am about to have my very first panic attack. Someone bumps into me and knocks me over. They tell me to watch where I’m going, even though I wasn’t moving. So now I’m on the ground, thinking about the crowd, and the noise is getting to be too much, and someone grabs my hand and it all… stops. Just like that. It’s silent, other than, like, a ringing sound in my ears. And this boy, the one who grabbed my hand, kneels in front of me, puts my hand on his chest-” Steve demonstrates, moving so he can grab Eddie’s hand and put it on his chest, just over his heart. “-and tells me to breathe with him. In, out. In, out. He raised his hand when we breathed in, and lowered it when we breathed out. In, out. In, out. And when my breathing’s calmed down, he tells me to name five things I can see. And you know what I said first?”

Eddie furrows his brows. “My… my hair?”

“Yup,” Steve nods. “But you’d just had it shaved off, so d’you know what I really saw first?”

“What?”

Steve giggles. “Your ears.”

Eddie groans and ducks his head, pressing his forehead into Steve’s chest. “Hated my ears.”

“I’m gonna say something that’s gonna sound mean, but is actually a compliment,” Steve warns him. “Your ears reminded me of Dumbo. I always loved that movie, the reminder that we don’t have to change who we are in order to be loved. That sometimes the things we hate most about ourselves, the things people tease us about the most, are actually the things that help us most, in the end.” He guides Eddie to lay down. “And I’m not saying your ears are what saved you. But I am saying they reminded me that everything, maybe, isn’t entirely hopeless.” He smiles, tucks Eddie’s hair behind his ear. Says, “I like your ears.”

Said ear burns red. “You’d be one of the few.”

“That’s okay.”

“What’s your thing? Your… ears?”

Steve hums. “Did you know I cried a lot as a kid? I was very emotional, very easily moved. My dad always hated it, so I learned to cover it up. But I think it’s what got me here in the end. I could’ve told Dustin I didn’t have time to help him, but I didn’t. I got roped into this whole mess, but it’s how I got to know him and the kids. It’s how I got to know Robin and you.”

Eddie smiles. “I’m glad you cried as a kid.”

Steve laughs. “Yeah. Me too.” He shifts, a little closer, a little more down the bed so their eyes are level. “D’you wanna talk about it?”

“There’s nothing I want less.”

“D’you think you can sleep?”

Eddie takes a breath. Steve feels the exhale over his cheek. “Maybe.”

“M’kay. Lemme know if you can’t.”

“Okay. I won’t.”

“Eddie.”

He giggles. “I’m kidding. I’ll let you know. I just… won’t stop talking at you until you answer.”

Steve hums, lets his eyes slip shut. “I’ll always answer.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, so soft. It makes something warm unfurl in Steve’s chest. “I know you will.”

Steve reaches out, squeezes Eddie’s hand in answer. Lets sleep drag him down the way it’s wanted to since he lay back down.

He doesn’t think about the fact that their hands are still clasped.

He’s the first one up in the morning, and he’s a little annoyed by it because they’d shifted during the night, so Steve is no longer facing Eddie.

His annoyance lasts for all of two seconds before he realizes there’s a warm weight behind him and over his hip, and he figures out it’s because Eddie is behind him, arm over Steve’s hip, fingers curled against the little bit of skin visible from Steve’s shirt riding up during the night.

Steve smiles, sighs, and lets his eyes sink shut again.

He doesn’t sleep, just kind of drifts, so he feels it when Eddie wakes up. He feels him tense in a stretch, feels his forehead press against Steve’s spine, feels his fingers curl farther into Steve’s stomach.

He feels Eddie wake up fully and realize the position he’s in. Feels him hum, then stiffen, slowly pulling away. Steve aches about it, but doesn’t move until he’s out of bed completely, taking the time then to roll over as if he’d just woken up. “M’rn’n,” he mumbles, not exaggerating the sleep-rough in his voice at all.

“Mornin’,” Eddie yawns. “How’d you sleep?”

Steve hums, stretches, sits up. “Think I should be asking you that.”

Eddie smiles. “I slept fine. Now how about you?”

“No more nightmares?”

“Not at all. Think you chased ‘em all away.”

“Good.”

“Steve.”

“What?”

“How did you sleep?”

“Oh. Fine. Great.”

Eddie hums, but takes his word for it, offers his hand to help Steve up, which he accepts.

“Can I ask you something that I’m pretty sure you’re not gonna want to answer?”

Eddie grins crookedly. “You can ask me anything, Stevie. If I don’t wanna answer, I won’t.” He sits back on the bed, next to Steve. “What is it?”

“What was your dad like?”

Eddie blows out a breath, looks away. “Jesus, first thing in the morning, too. Uh… y’know how you said your dad is a grade-A asshole?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah. Last I heard, he’s in the state prison for the next… five? Ten? Years. I dunno, don’t really keep track. Was just little things at first, petty theft, then he got an ego and started stealing cars, met a guy who could clean ‘em, and he just…” he shakes his head. “Wayne says he got too big for his britches. I say he got what was coming to him. He tried to rob someone and it… didn’t go well. He got caught, the owner tried to scare him off, swung first, but it doesn’t matter who swung first when he’s dead and my dad was trespassing, right? Tried to say it was self-defense, but…”

“But he was trespassing,” Steve nods.

“Exactly. He got twenty-five for that, and it’s been… twelve years? So I guess he’s got… thirteen left. Not five or ten. Guess it feels like he’s been gone that long.” He sighs. “I went to live with Wayne before that, though… I had a friend, he was my best friend, and my dad… really didn’t like how close we were. Spit out a couple’a slurs, said something about sending me to a camp.” Steve’s breath catches. “I called Wayne that night. Poor guy drove that night, was there by… one in the morning? Picked me up and I’ve never looked back.” He shrugs, picks at his comforter. “Turns out Dad was right about me, but Wayne’s never had an issue, so.” He shrugs. His fingers belie his nerves.

“I think, if I were to ever tell my dad,” Steve says quietly, “a camp would be the least of my issues.”

Eddie’s fingers still for a second before continuing, not fidgeting quite as quickly as before. “Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

“Then it’s a good thing you don’t have to tell him.”

“I think I do, though.”

“How so?”

“He’s got this… way. Of just proving himself right, every time. It’s why I haven’t left yet. He always finds a way to twist it around and show me I can’t make it on my own. Not on my Family Video salary.”

Eddie hums. “Maybe not on your own,” he admits. “But with a person or two? There’s Family Videos in other cities. Ask to transfer. Robin’s been making noise about heading to Indy, right?”

“I think she just wants out of Hawkins, and Indy is the only feasible place to her.”

“Very understandable. Where would you go, Steve? If you could go anywhere?”

Steve sighs. “That’s the problem, though. I can’t leave the kids.”

Eddie chuckles. “I should’ve known. Then why not find a place in between? Maybe on the edge of town?”

“We’re still both on a Family Video salary. I don’t think even combined we could afford anything.” Steve tilts his head. “You said a person or two. Who’s the other person?”

“Ah,” Eddie says. “Well, not to come between the platonic soulmates, but I’m sure Wayne would love to have his life back.”

Steve snorts. “Robin loves you almost as much as I do, Eds, of course you’re welcome.”

Eddie ignores that, for the sake of his own sanity. “Well,” he says instead. “Maybe it’s time to take a crack at those newspapers Wayne’s been hoarding.”

“Maybe it is,” Steve says, a strange sort of smile playing across his lips. “And I can ask people. You’d be surprised at the amount of gossip I hear at work.”

“Oh, I believe it, trust me. Or are you forgetting I use to hang around Sam Goody?”

“Oh, god,” Steve laughs, “I had forgotten that, yeah.” He sighs. “D’you think we would’ve been friends back then? If we’d known each other?”

“I don’t think so.” Eddie chews at his bottom lip. “Not because of you, but because of me. I was still stuck in that high school hierarchal shit, y’know? I would’ve seen you as an asshole jock even though you weren’t anymore.”

“I think I’m still working on it.”

“I think we’re all working on being who we want to be.” He stands and offers Steve a hand up with a grin. “And y’know what helps with that?”

Steve chuckles, places his hand in Eddie’s. “What’s that?”

“Pancakes,” he says decisively. “C’mon, let’s go bully Wayne into making us some.”

“And by bully, you mean ask once.”

Eddie hums. “Same difference.”

He waltzes into the living room, arms spread wide. “Sir Wayne! Our visiting prince has requested pancakes this fine morn.”

Wayne squints at him. “I’m your king, dipshit,” he says, lip quirked up in a smile as he winks at Steve. “Make your own damn pancakes.”

“Wayne!” Eddie cries. “Betrayal! Betrayal of the highest order!”

“You’ll live,” Wayne deadpans. Steve giggles.

Eddie narrows his eyes at Wayne. “Fine,” he says. “We will make our own. But there shall be no extra for you, sir!”

Following him to the kitchen, Steve says, “We’ll make extra.”

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Wayne returns, “but I’d ‘preciate it.”

In the kitchen, Eddie sighs with his head halfway in a cabinet. “Okay, so we don’t have mix.”

“That’s okay,” Steve says. “I can make them from scratch.”

“Or,” Eddie says, turning to Steve with a grin. “We can go out.”

“We could,” Steve allows. “But then Wayne wouldn’t get any.”

Eddie hops backwards onto the counter and leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “Y’know how I said we wouldn’t have been friends if we’d met earlier?”

“Yeah.”

“It really would’ve been entirely my fault.” He sighs. “You’re just… so nice. And it would’ve been unbelievable, for me, because the Munson Doctrine dictates that all jocks are assholes and stay jockish assholes. I think what happened… had to happen, if we were gonna be friends.”

Steve worries his lip. “Then… is it bad if I say I’m glad it happened? If only for that reason?”

“Only if I’m also glad it happened, for that reason,” Eddie responds quietly. “Y’know the only other person I’ve told about my ma is Jeff?”

“I’m…” he pauses, scrunching his nose. “I wanna say I’m honored, but that sounds weird.”

Eddie chuckles. “I know what you mean, Stevie.”

Steve nods, and they stay there for a minute, looking at each other, until Steve looks away with a sigh. “Alright,” he says, pancakes?”

Eddie gusts out a sigh. “Please.”

Steve chuckles and shoves the flour towards Eddie. “Here. Two cups.”

Eddie frowns. “Only?”

“For now. We can always make more later if we need to.”

Eddie shrugs, but nods at Steve, as if deferring to his expertise. “D’you have eggs?”

“Uh.” Eddie checks the fridge, then the cabinet. “No, but we’ve got Spam?”

Steve snorts. “That works. Wanna cut up a can and fry it?”

“Works for me.”

And so they work, side by side, until breakfast is ready and they’re all three eating side by side.

After, Wayne stretches in his seat, glances at the clock, and mutters something underneath his breath as he gets up. “Thanks for breakfast, boys. Steve, you gonna be here for dinner?”

“Uh,” Steve says, glancing at Eddie. “Unless Ed kicks me out.”

“Never,” Eddie swears.

“I’ll pick up burgers on my way back,” Wayne decides. “That work for you two?”

“Definitely,” Eddie nods.

“Sure. Thank you, Wayne.”

“Son,” Wayne starts, then shakes his head.

Steve gets the message: he belongs here. His cheeks burn. “Thanks, Wayne,” he murmurs.

Wayne ruffles his hair as he passes.

“So,” Eddie asks, once it’s just the two of them. “Any plans for the day?”

Steve makes a face. “I gotta work at two, but I’m free till then.”

Eddie snorts. “Lemme guess, you’re working alone?”

“Yeah.”

“Well not today!” Eddie says brightly. “Why don’t I come with?”

Steve blinks. “Because… why would you?”

“Cause you’re my friend, Stevie. I wanna hang out with you but I can’t do that if you’re at work and I’m here.”

Steve snickers. “I guess we can talk about moving in together. Tuesdays are always the slowest day of the week.”

“Yeah! Wayne’s got the papers around here somewhere.” He trails off, looking around, then bounds over to the TV with a triumphant, “Ha!” He reaches into the crate the TV’s sitting on and pulls out a stack of newspapers. “Okay, we don’t want anything from last year… beginning of this year might be too old…” he hesitates, looking at Steve. “Maybe since Spring Break? A lot of people moved out.”

Steve hums, moves closer. “Good point. There’s bound to be something on the edge of town.” He sighs as he sits next to Eddie. “The only problem is Robin doesn’t have a car, or even her license. And if I’m working here, and she’s trying to work in Indy, how’s she gonna get there?”

“Well,” Eddie begins, “who says you have to stay at Family Video? Why not stretch your wings out? Try something else? Indy’s a big city with lots of opportunity. How about this.” He shifts so he’s facing Steve. “If you could do anything in the world, work anywhere, what would you do? Where would you work?”

Steve fidgets with his pant leg as he thinks. “A bakery,” he decides softly.

Eddie stills for a moment. “I feel like I should’ve seen that coming. You’d be a great baker, Steve. Or if you want to just sell the baked goods, you’d be great at that, too. Hawkins is small enough we don’t have need for a bakery. Not when you can get everything you need at Melvald’s. But Indy’s big. I pass by two bakeries every time I head into the city.” He puts a hand on Steve’s knee. “Stay at Family Video for now. But when we move, you can apply to those places. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Steve nods. He can feel his cheeks heating up, feel the excitement coursing through his body. “You really think I could?”

“Steve.” Eddie sighs. “I think you are so much better than you see. I think you can do anything.”

“I dunno about anything.” Steve ducks his head as he blushes. “But, uh. Thank you.”

Eddie smiles. “For?”

Steve looks up at him. His breath catches, for a second, at the look in Eddie’s eyes. He looks away with a shrug even as his cheeks heat up. “Believing in me, I guess.”

“Anything,” Eddie promises again.

Steve looks at him again. Really looks, even as his cheeks heat uncomfortably warm. “…Anything?”

Without looking away, Eddie grabs his hand. Rubs his thumb over Steve’s knuckles. Whispers it again.

Steve leans in and kisses him.

Eddie kisses back.

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #robin buckley #starambles #tw character death #cw character death #I’m imagining Eddie goes to Family Video with Steve that day and eventually puts on a vest another employee had left there #He does more work than Steve #Except for when the old ladies who hate Eddie on principle come in #Eddie finds out Steve can out-bitch them #He falls more in love #He does in fact have to excuse himself to the back after that. Yes they kiss about it later #I literally googled ‘human head getting run over at 40mph’ and I think the FBI agent in my phone is officially Worried #Oh well. He knows I’ve seen worse #Also in case you were wondering. I couldn’t find any concrete answers. But I got Enough #No beta we die like Eddie’s mom apparently????#(Too soon?)

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loaksky · 2 years ago

Text

— 𝘪𝘯 𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘮

the deets — lo'ak is the black sheep in the family, clinging to honor by a precarious thread. you are the well-loved songstress in the tribe. he should resent you for being everything he's not, but his fickle heart can't bring him to do so.

the who — lo'ak x fem omatikaya!reader

the word count — 10.2k (rip yall)

the tags — (one-sided) rivals-to-lovers, angsty angsty, hurt / comfort, reader gives lo'ak a big ol smooch (perhaps more than one), lo’ak is the biggest dumbass and because of this he’s mean asf, reader has a big ol heart and just really wants lo’ak to like her, aged!up characters for maturity’s sake.

the warnings — language, lo'ak is in luv but doesn't realize it, he's in denial that the feelings could be reciprocated, this is super dramatic so put your seat belts on!

the notes — was feeling extra sad and wanted to write something self-indulgent. this lovely anon requested something, and i used their ask as inspiration to finish this beast. fine line, bags, and love in dark are the three main songs i listened to finish this, so if you wanna be in your feels, have a listen LMAO. despite all the support, i’m still so mf nervous posting this ejsjsjdjs

masterlist

SOMETHING UGLY KINDLES IN THE PIT of Lo'ak's stomach at the mere mention of your name. It's sour on his tongue, bitter in his brain. He doesn't know when he's started to feel like this, started to feel absolutely dreadful anytime he'd hear the timbre of your voice.

It's warm, thick like nectar and it makes him sick.

Ever since you all were little, the elders crooned over what a great girl you were growing into; strong, intelligent, beautiful. It made him boil how much they'd sing your praises, the high esteem everyone held you in as one of the clan's most talented.

Something dull would pick at him being compared to his older brother, but nothing burned more than being compared to you.

Maybe it's because it's always implied whenever your names share the same sentences, that lingering implication that he could be more like you. The clan fans the flames of your mere existence while Lo'ak is snuffed out like a dying fire.

He hates it. He hates you.

He thinks.

It'd be easier to, if you were awful behind the scenes. Arrogant, stuck up, but you're none of those things. You're kind, gentle, mighty when you need to be. It doesn't help that you shine like the brightest star, engulfing everyone in your light, in your warmth.

But Lo'ak resists. He sees right through you, sees right through every saccharine smile you send him. He can see it in your eyes, how you really see him. Despite standing a full head taller than you, he sees the way you look down your nose at him.

It grates his nerves, how disgustingly sweet you are towards him despite all attempts to rebuff you.

Certainly doesn’t soothe his ego when you always seem to be around the bend every time he gets bitched at by the clan, eyes soft and filled with pity. To add insult to injury, you frequently tail him like a shadow after these moments when all he wants is to be alone.

Like now, you linger.

It's after dinner and Kiri and Spider stand before him. They come together like the three points of a triangle and you stand an awkward distance away from them.

Kiri notices you first, her face splitting into a big smile as she waves you over.

Lo'ak breathes a deep sigh before locking eyes with Spider who tries his best to suppress an amused grin.

“Hi,” you chirp and Lo'ak can't help but roll his eyes.

Spider and Kiri greet you eagerly. Lo'ak simply nods his head in acknowledgement before tightening his fist around his dagger.

“We going or what?” he finally says.

You perk up.

“Where are you guys heading off to?” you ask curiously, hands clasped behind your back.

Spider opens his mouth to answer, but Lo'ak cuts him off quickly.

“No where important,” he says, unsure if you'll blab about their whereabouts to the elders, or worse, his parents.

You roll your lips and shift on your feet.

“Can I come?” you ask hesitantly, eyes hopeful.

Kiri's smile grows as she links her arm with yours.

“No,” he says sharply. “Absolutely not.”

Your face falls and something pulls inside his chest when you fail meet his gaze, your frown barely perceptible.

You make a move to pull from Kiri's grasp, but her arm tightens through yours. She levels Lo'ak with a weighty glare and you fidget uncomfortably under his narrowed eyes.

“Don't worry about it,” you say, like someone's hit a reset button. You smile that pretty smile and Lo'ak wants to scream. "It's okay, I think Rutan needs help with clean up."

You slip from Kiri's grasp and the three watch you walk off.

“Do you always have to be such a bitch?” Spider scoffs a disbelieving laugh.

“She's just gonna tag along so she can snitch,” Lo'ak grumbles.

“Oh c'mon,” Kiri argues. “________ just wants friends.”

Lo'ak sneers.

“I don't want to be friends with her,” he says firmly, knuckles white around the handle of his knife.

“Weirdo,” Spider mumbles. “She’s cute. Think she likes you.”

Lo'ak's spine stiffens.

“It's an act” Lo'ak grumbles. “She just wants to look good in front of the elders to keep up whatever nice girl show she's putting on.”

Kiri rolls her eyes hard.

There are moments when Lo'ak thinks he's being harsh, but he can't help himself. It's like he loses all semblance of a filter when it comes to you.

“Hi, Lo'ak,” you greet him sweetly, lowering yourself onto the fallen log he's perched on, fashioning arrows to practice with later on in the evening with Neteyam.

He shifts away from you, putting the distance of two bodies between the two of you as he pauses his task at hand.

“Hi,” he says flatly.

“Can I help?” you ask tentatively, fingers twitching towards one of the untouched sticks in a pile next to his feet.

His kicks them closer to himself, out of your reach before leveling you with a sharp glare.

“No thanks,” he says quickly and you recoil slowly, letting out a shaky laugh before fixing that stupid smile on your pretty face.

“Oh, sorry,” you apologize, straightening in your seat.

A silence so uncomfortably palpable settles over the two of you as you shift so that your knees are turned towards him.

His throat bobs when his gaze travels from your little toes all the way up to your inquisitive gaze, golden and searching. It makes something unruly settle in his gut and he turns his attention back to carving his arrows.

“Do you need something?” he breaks the silence finally. “I'm kinda busy.”

You bite your lip before scooting a little closer to Lo'ak's hunched figure.

“My birthday's coming up,” you start.

“I'm aware,” Lo'ak almost scoffs.

It's all the clan has been able to talk about for the past few days. How they'd be able to prepare for the golden girl's next birth cycle and what they'd be able to do to make you smile the brightest.

“Your birthday is a week before,” you state and his head whips towards you.

“How do you know that?” he asks sharply, accusation heavy in his gruff tone.

You flinch and he falters for a moment before your smile simply widens.

“We grew up together, Lo'ak,” you say and the way his name sounds from your mouth sounds absolutely heavenly. “You're my friend.”

Friend.

He scowls at the term.

“We're not friends,” he bites back.

If the statement bothers you, you don't show it, simply tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before putting on a brave face.

“I want to celebrate with you,” you say shyly.

“Hard pass,” he says too quickly, gathering his sticks and fashioned arrows under his grasp.

He leaves you in the clearing on your own.

You must be fucking with him. You have to be. It'd be the only explanation for why Jake pulls him aside a few nights later and tells him that you've requested to work with him and Neteyam during archery practice.

“No,” he says stiffly, shaking his head.

His dad levels him with a hard glare and Lo'ak sighs deeply.

“She's a nuisance, Dad,” he argues. “Me and Neteyam are making good progress with our training and we'll have to start at square one if she joins.”

“Lo'ak, this isn't an ask,” Jake says sternly.

“But, Dad!”

“Lo'ak.”

Lo'ak huffs, snatching his bow and quiver angrily before storming off.

“You're doing great,” Neteyam says to you once the three of you have convened in the training circle.

The three arrows you've shot have all landed within centimeters of the mark and to say that Neteyam is impressed is an understatement. Lo'ak, on the other hand, fumes not-so-silently as he tears his arrows from his target.

Yet again, you have another person wrapped around your finger and it makes his blood simmer as he assumes his position at the marker and loads his arrow. It splinters through the air and hits the target right on the bullseye. The arrow punctures through the hide and lodges its way into the wood from the sheer force of Lo’ak’s shot.

You start at him moon-eyed, lush lips breaking into a full smile.

“Perfect shot,” you observe. “That was awesome.”

Lo’ak scans your features hesitantly before his gaze flits to his older brother, waiting for any acknowledgment that he’d done a great job, but Neteyam is taking notes on the arrows still stuck in the fabric of your own target.

His heart sinks.

“Fuck this,” Lo’ak grumbles, bundling all of his belongings.

He stalks through the clearing, past his brother, to leave you two.

He doesn’t know what fuels the fire more, the fact that Neteyam didn’t even bat an eye at the feat they’d been practicing for for the past three weeks because he was too immersed in you, or the fact that you bore witness to his first clean shot and gave him that sickeningly sweet smile that made his stomach turn.

“Where are you going?” Neteyam sighs.

“Somewhere you two aren’t,” he grumbles under his breath, ducking through the brush of the lofty forest.

You lick your lips, locking eyes with Neteyam as you give him a bashful grin and slowly break away to follow Lo’ak’s path.

He isn’t far ahead as you push through the vines and low-hanging leaves, the path lined with large plants and the spindly roots of the looming trees. The grass is plush between your toes as you scamper to follow Lo’ak from a distance, watching as his lithe body climbs through the dense flora.

“Why are you following me?” he calls after a few dozen paces, stopping in the middle of the path to whirl on his heel.

His golden eyes are syrupy, warm despite the edge, and you can’t help but flash him your pearly whites in a genuine smile that takes up your dimpled cheeks.

“Why’d you run off?” you ask him. “You were doing so well!”

His chest rises and falls with a scoff.

“You can give it a rest, you know?” Lo’ak says flatly, fist so tight around his bow he feels like he’ll crush the wood.

Your expression morphs, eyebrows furrowing in a way that makes Lo’ak throat bob, something pinching behind his ribcage.

“What?” you ask, frown marring your pretty face.

“I don’t know what you’re playing at, but you can stop acting like you wanna be friends with me,” Lo’ak says matter-of-factly.

“You are my friend,” you protest quietly.

Lo’ak rolls his eyes.

“Dude, whatever,” he mutters, turning his back on you.

“Is it so wrong?” you murmur and he stops in his tracks, refusing to meet your gaze. “To be friends?”

Friends.

That stupid fucking word again.

Lo’ak bites his tongue and stalks off, leaving you on the path.

Neteyam rips him a new one when he sees him at dinner later that night. Lo’ak hangs his head as Neteyam digs in.

“Is it so hard to be nice?” Neteyam asks, hand squeezing his shoulder as they stand a handful of meters away from the main circle.

As his eyes wander, he notices you sitting with his sister, head thrown back in laughter that glitters and wafts with the rising smoke of the fire. He swallows turning his attention back to his older brother.

“Just don’t like her,” he admits. “I want her to leave me alone.”

“You don’t like her or you like her too much?” Neteyam asks, brow bone raised.

Lo’ak’s face scrunches.

“Ew, no,” he blurts. “Why would I—”

“________ just wants to fit in,” he sighs. “She has trouble making friends.”

“Yeah, I wonder why,” Lo’ak mocks. “I don’t know why Kiri and Spider are always up her ass, she’s—”

“Lo’ak,” Neteyam warns.

“Dude, everyone is always ________ this, _________ that! I don’t understand what’s so great about her—”

A throat clears and the brothers both turn their attention to the newcomer. Lo’ak could groan in frustration seeing that you’ve abandoned your seat and now stand nearby with two wooden plates.

“They’re going to start cleaning up soon,” you say hesitantly. “Wanted to bring you some.”

Neteyam takes it graciously from you, nodding his head in thanks while Lo’ak stares down at the plate you’d arranged for him, abundant in vegetables and thick cuts of meat.

“No thanks,” he says flatly.

You try to coax him.

“C’mon Lo’ak, you say gently. “I know you haven’t eaten yet.”

“No thanks,” he repeats stonily, holding his hand up.

You offer up the plate again.

“Lo’ak–“

“I said no thank you,” he grunts, annoyed.

He’d only meant to push it back towards you, but one second it’s in your hands, the next you’re wearing dinner, the plate clattering onto the ground.

“Lo’ak!” Neteyam scolds.

“Shit, I didn’t–”

“It’s fine,” you breathe an airy laugh and Lo’ak freezes when he hears your breath hitch. “It was an accident.”

“Oh, ________…” Neteyam sighs, but you’re picking up the plate and scurrying off, ignoring the nearby snickering.

“Whatever you got going on, you need to cool it,” Jake scolds him in the family tent after dinner that night. “________ is a good girl, she’s trying to find her place. Can’t really do that if you’re gonna be a jerk to her all the time.”

Lo’ak resists the urge to roll his eyes because, yet again, someone is sticking up for you, admonishing him about how he could be nicer, how he could take you under his wing, how he–

“What about me?” Lo’ak argues. “I tell her to leave me alone all the time, but she doesn’t listen. Why do I have to be nice to someone who doesn’t respect–”

“Cut the bullshit,” Jake thunders. “You haven’t even tried being her friend.”

“Why should I?” Lo’ak counters.

“Because maybe you two are more alike than you’d care to learn,” Jake says knowingly. “Now go apologize.”

“Dad!”

“Go, Lo’ak.”

Lo’ak sucks in a deep breath before squeezing his eyes shut and blowing out through his nose.

“Fine, fine, whatever,” he grumbles, ducking from the tent into the humid night air.

He starts into the jungle, fingers brushing over the leaves and petals of the plants and flowers. He takes the moment to regulate his pounding heart in his chest before trying to wrack his brain for any words that he could scrounge into a believable apology.

When he crosses the glowing waters of a skinny brook, something rustles nearby and his hand is on the hilt of his dagger in the blink of an eye.

He turns to face the noise, knife drawn, but then you emerge and his body relaxes a fraction.

“Fuck, ________, you scared me,” he sighs in relief.

You fidget and swallow down the lump in your throat.

“Sorry,” you say sheepishly.

A brief silence dawns the two of you and Lo’ak notes that you’ve cleaned up from the evening meal’s debacle, now wearing a longer loincloth threaded with round pearlescent beads that refract the luminescence of the surrounding forest.

Your grasp tightens around a leather bound journal and for a moment, he wonders what you could be writing about.

When you follow his gaze, you shyly tuck the journal behind your back and give him an uneasy smile.

“I wanted to–”

“I came to–”

Your words clash and you breathe a little laugh through your nose as you gaze at him with brilliant eyes. You start closing the distance and Lo’ak’s hands grow clammy.

“You first,” you offer.

Whatever threads of an apology he’d crafted in the moments prior have evaporated now that you stand before him, absolutely glowing.

“Lo’ak?” Your head tilts and his cheeks warm.

“Sorry,” he says hoarsely. “For what happened at dinner.”

You shake your head quickly.

“You don’t have to apologize,” you assure him, reaching out to touch him.

He recoils, clearing his throat as he retreats to put an ample amount of distance between the two of you.

You eye the berth and something shutters across your face as you rock back on your heels and flash him another uneasy smile.

You haven’t even tried being her friend, his dad’s words echo like a call in the night. Maybe you two are more alike that you care to learn.

Were you? You and Lo’ak were as different as they come, you molded by the love and adoration of the clan, him built up by the lessons and lectures he received from his parents and Neteyam.

“Where are you going?” you ask, blowing by the previous conversation.

He shrugs.

“Dunno,” he admits. “I was looking for you.”

The way you freeze is almost covert, your lips rolling as you try to hide the smile threatening to split your face.

“Oh,” you hum. “Wanna go for a walk?”

No, he wants to say. He absolutely does not want to spend anymore time with you than he has to. Likes to believe that he wouldn’t even bat an eye if he were to never see you again, but you’re looking at him expectantly and his dad’s words are like a mantra in his head, so he agrees begrudgingly.

It’s awkward at first, silent except for the natural soundtrack of the vicarious jungle. But like you do so well, you break the silence and Lo’ak has to resist rolling his eyes for the third time that night.

“What are your favorite colors?” you ask suddenly.

“I dunno, green?” he offers.

“Are you sure?” you laugh quietly.

Lo’ak thinks a moment before nodding his head.

“Yeah, green,” he finalizes. “And blue.”

He barely notices that you’d fallen behind, and when he turns to look over his shoulder, he sees that you’re scratching something into your little journal.

“And your favorite fruit?” you press, nose still between the pages.

Lo’ak breathes out a laugh and your head shoots up.

“What? You gonna send this list to the lab?” Lo’ak asks.

You give him a shy smile, shifting on your feet.

“No,” you say softly, then whisper to yourself, “just compiling a list to win your heart.”

Lo’ak barely hears you, ears twitching as his eyes narrow in confusion.

“What?” he asks.

You snap your notebook shut, shaking your head quickly as you pad through the grass to catch up to him.

“Nothing.”

Something ripples in the fabric after that night, you and Neteyam both notice when Lo’ak enters the training clearing the next afternoon and greets you with a nod instead of flat out ignoring your presence like he had the last training session.

And you think that the moment is fleeting, a one off, but as the days progress, you realize that maybe Lo’ak is finally softening around you.

He stays for entire lessons, the most minute of smiles twitching at his lips whenever you compliment his shots. He waits near the edge for you as you pack up your things, and while the walk back to the village is a quiet one, you bask in his company, triumphant when he doesn’t run off.

And while your evening walks are few and far between, you savor the moments he affords you, wedging yourself between him the crumbling walls of his facade.

Tonight is one of those moments, sitting on adjacent branches overlooking the lively forest, when Lo’ak lets you peek farther into his life than he’d originally intended.

“He never understands,” he sighs, popping a few berries from his satchel past his lips.

Tonight’s topic is his father and you listen intently, eyes fixed on the way he reclines on the branch and looks up at the stars.

“I try hard, you know? To make everyone proud, but all they see is my failure,” he says, obviously annoyed. “No matter what I do, it’s not good enough.”

“You do great things, Lo’ak,” you say quietly, the first words you’ve said all night.

And like your voice is a reminder, Lo’ak’s spine goes rigid, throat bobbing as he realizes that he may have said too much to you. He’s getting too comfortable and you’re all the willing to absorb every insecurity and every worry he has.

But something about quiet moments like these makes him loose-lipped, eyes fluttering to where you’ve got your notebook balanced in the seam of your thighs, scrawling something on the pages as you eat your own berries.

The words are leaving him before he can stop them.

“Easy for you to say,” he murmurs. “You’re perfect.”

The laugh that escapes you startles him and a few of the berries he was about to devour slips from his fingers and plunk down the leaves.

“I’m not perfect,” you assure him.

“Only someone who’s perfect would say that,” Lo’ak grumbles, peering over the edge of the branches to spot his fallen fruit. “The whole village loves you, everyone’s always so ready to bat for you.”

You look down at the pages of your journal with a sad smile.

“It’s a lot of pressure,” you admit quietly. “Everyone’s watching your every move, waiting for you to mess up.”

Lo’ak shifts uncomfortably.

You continue.

“And most of the villagers our age don’t like me,” you say, thumbing one of the pages. “They say I kiss ass, that I’m always trying to keep a leg up.”

Lo’ak winces, knowing that he’s the source of at least one of those sentiments.

“The elders think you’re honorable,” Lo’ak argues gently. “You’re talented, you have something to offer the people.”

“Honor means nothing if you’re bound by it,” you say finally, closing the cover to your journal. “If anything, I want to be more like you.”

“Like me?” Lo’ak asks incredulously, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

You nod, smiling at him.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I think you’re brave, fearless. And even if you care what people think, you do what you want.”

Lo’ak is quiet, taken aback by your confession.

Before he can respond, you’re gathering your things, bidding him a warm farewell as you begin climbing down the tree to disappear into the night.

After that night, you think that maybe you’re just imagining things, that you’re reading too much into the fact that Lo’ak has begun to finally act like you exist, but then Kiri says something and the hope sends your heart soaring.

“Seems like he finally got his head out of his ass,” she says a few mornings later as you two stand near a shallow stream, eyes peeled for any fish you two could bring back to the village.

“Think so?” you ask nervously, arrow trapping the flailing fish to the pebbles of the stream’s bed.

Kiri shrugs.

“He actually pays you mind now,” Kiri observes. “That’s a step up for sure. I think you just need to spend more time with him.”

You smile, splashing through shallow waters to capture the fish and add it to the growing pile in the basket between you and the middle Sully.

“Yeah?” you wonder

So you test the theory, basket filled with various peeled fruits and a little container of nectar you squeezed from the petals of a flower.

It doesn’t take long to hunt him down. When you enter the training circle, he’s packing up his things, quiver strapped to his back and bow in his fist.

Before you make yourself known, he’s turning on his heel to face you, eyes wild as he swallows down the lump in his throat.

He’d be the last to admit that the last night you two spent together was branded in his brain, that his mouth had dried up so much so he felt his tongue could crack.

There were so many implications in your words and it horrified him, scared him so much that he knew he couldn’t let you that close again.

But now you stand before him, pretty as can be, hopeful even, and he’s at a war with himself, absolutely caught between resenting you for being everything he’s not and giving into the draw.

“Hi,” you greet, basket heavy in your hands.

You look more radiant than usual, skirt brushing the forest floor, the woven vine of your top banded to expose your midriff.

“Hey,” he replies hesitantly.

“Where you going?” you ask curiously.

His throat bobs as he gestures behind him.

“Hunting,” is all he says.

“Do you want to go for a walk?” you ask eagerly.

He doesn’t. He shouldn’t. Because things are shifting and he’s not sure if he’ll be able to stomach the change. If he’ll be able to admit to himself that you’re wearing him thin, that you make him feel things he’s never felt before and that it makes him feel like he has no control.

Because when it boils down to it, you make him lose control, make him lose his filter, and make him feel every emotion twice as hard.

“No,” he says.

And in that moment, you feel like you’re back at square one, watching as his eyes turn stony and his jaw sets firmly.

“You shouldn’t go hunting on your own,” you say softly. “Will someone be with you?”

“It’s fine,” he argues. “I’m fine.”

“I can go with you!” you offer. “I thought maybe we could sit by the stream and talk, but we can go hunting instead. We can–”

“No,” he says again, pinning you with eyes so lethal, it makes you wonder if you really had imagined the moments you shared with him, if you had imagined Kiri telling you that she saw it too.

You try again anyways.

“It’ll be good practice and–”

“I said no, ________,” he barks. “You’re dead weight and I want to be alone.”

Your lips seal and you bite the inside of your cheek.

Lo’ak could nearly scream in frustration when he notices the way your shoulders sag and it makes something in his heart cinch.

“Okay,” you agree, nodding quickly. “Be safe and–”

The words die on your tongue when you notice the look of annoyance on Lo’ak’s face.

Lo’ak is in deep shit, you come to find out hours later.

You sit outside of the training circle, knowing that Lo’ak will return down the path after his hunting trip. What you don’t expect, however, is Jake and Neytiri emerging with the entire line of Sully kids and Spider.

Jake grips the back of Lo’ak’s neck tightly as they march past wandering eyes, straight to the family tent. You don’t miss his wounds though, varying in depth, some bleeding, some sore.

You’re hot on their heels, standing right outside of the entrance as Jake tears into the middle Sully.

“Time and time again, I have to get on your ass for doing the complete opposite of what I ask you to do!” Jake’s voice is thunderous inside the tent. “Do you not realize that you not only risked your life but your sisters’ too?”

There’s a beat of silence before Jake continues, obviously pacing from the way his volume fluctuates.

“And what were you thinking bringing Tuk? She’s nine, Lo’ak!” he shouts, the anger and the hurt evident in his tone.

“I’m sorry,” Lo’ak mumbles.

“Yeah, I bet you are!” Jake scolds. “I don’t ask for much. All I want is for you stay in line. Just stay out of trouble and work hard on your training. I paired you with ________ and Neteyam in hopes that maybe you’ll tighten up and be more like them, but you’re always disappointing me.”

You frown.

Whatever Lo’ak had done probably didn’t warrant such deep admonishment and something tugs especially hard at your heartstrings knowing that all he wants to do is make his dad proud.

“You’re surrounded by good influences, but you always have to go against the grain, Lo’ak,” Jake says, the edge in his tone softening. “I’m getting tired of the bullshit, son. You need to clean up your act. Hear me?”

“Yes sir,” Lo’ak says quietly, voice almost a whisper behind the hide of the tent.

“Now go get yourself cleaned up,” Jake huffs.

Your spine is straightening when you hear foot steps closing in, holding your breath as the flap to the tent billows open and Lo’ak is emerging.

His eyes flit to yours and his expression sours further.

“Lo’ak,” you murmur, reaching out to him.

He’s shrugging you away, wincing when a wound on his shoulder stretches especially taut.

“You’re hurt,” you say quietly. “I’ll–”

“Leave me alone,” he says, eerily level.

“But you’re–”

“I said leave me alone, ________,” he warns, pushing past you in what should be the pursuit of his grandmother’s quarters.

Instead he’s making a beeline for the jungle.

You’d seen the look in his eye before he stonewalled you, seen the hurt and heaviness that most people didn’t seem to notice because he was always so adventurous and carefree.

You follow after him.

“Lo’ak, you know he’s only worried for you,” you try to reason gently, fingers reaching for his own as you duck under massive leaves and fluttering insects.

He whirls to face you, swatting your hand away.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” he bites. “You don’t know anything.”

You swallow, holding your hand to your chest as you watch him lay down every brick to wall himself off.

He hates it. He hates how you look at him, how you seem to pity the life he has to live. It makes him sick, thinking that you two have it the same. He’d rather be hated for being great than hated for being a let down. It’s insulting, how you think you know how it feels.

“Let’s go back. I’ll wrap your wounds and–”

“Of course, clan’s golden girl is gonna patch me up and make it all better, huh?” he seethes facetiously. “Just fuck off!”

You flinch, blinking at the boy you holds so much rage in front of you.

“I know you’re hurting, but you don’t have to be mean,” you whisper, taking in a shuddering breath to will yourself not to cry.

“Mean? Mean?” Lo’ak bristles. “I’ve tried telling you to lay off nicely, tried telling you to just leave me alone, but you don’t listen. You just pry and overstep and you make every little thing about you! Oh, it’s so much pressure, villagers our age hate me, of course they would! You already have everything and just have to go rub salt in the wound!”

You shrink, eyes welling as your lip trembles.

“Lo’ak, stop,” you whimper.

“We’re not friends, ________.We never were and we never will because I don’t like you,” he spits. “Now please, for the love of god, will you just leave me alone!”

The forest is silent save for Lo’ak’s ragged breathing, fists clenched as he glares down at you.

“I-” Your breath hitches and you choke out an apology. “I’m sorry.”

Lo’ak’s heart softens a fraction as you take a step back, turning quickly on your heel.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” you rasp, tripping over your own feet as you stumble into a run, putting as much space as you can between you and the middle child who stands in the middle of the forest, unable to wrangle every harsh word he’d said to force back down his throat.

You dropped your journal.

Lo’ak is sure you’re looking for it, know that you’ve always got your nose stuck in it. You had dropped it running off and now he has its leather bound in his hands.

It’s been a couple of nights since the faithful evening he’d blown his top and he’d only seen whispers of you. It was so unlike you to disappear, to not be entertaining the masses as they fell to your feet.

He’d cooled off significantly, and when he replayed the conversation in his head, he winced, body folding in on itself as he realizes how harsh he’d been.

“Are you actually thinking thoughts?” Spider claps him on the shoulder, startling him so badly he drops the journal.

It lands spine down, the pages fluttering open.

He chances a peek before Spider is rounding his lithe figure to pick up the notebook. All he makes out is a rough sketch.

“You write?” Spider asks, intrigued.

“No, it’s ________’s,” Lo’ak answers.

“Oh, your little girlfriend’s?”

Lo’ak gives the human a cross look, snatching the book from his grasp as he stands up.

“Trouble in paradise?” Spider pries, scurrying to keep up with Lo’ak’s long strides.

A beat of silence before Lo’ak finally answers.

“Made her cry,” he mumbles, embarrassed.

Spider winces behind him.

“You serious?”

Lo’ak sighs.

“Yes, dude, fuck,” he breathes, hand coming to the back of his neck. “I don’t know what came over me. Dad was ripping me a new one and Neteyam already chewed me out before they got there and she was being annoying, so I just…”

“Bro,” Spider scoffs in disbelief, scratching the back of his head. “You’re a real dickhead sometimes.”

Lo’ak’s eyes wander as he shifts uncomfortably, feeling incredibly small as his friend glares up at him.

“I mean, I told her I wanted to be left alone!” Lo’ak tries to defend weakly. “I- I didn’t mean to.”

“She likes you a lot, dude,” Spider reiterates. “She just wants you to like her back.”

Despite the glaring signs, Lo’ak has trouble believing that your feelings for him far surpass charity work. They couldn’t, it was impossible. Because at the end of the day, you’re you and he’s…him.

He opens his mouth to say something, but Spider beats him to it.

“Did you at least apologize?”

Lo’ak squirms.

“Dude!”

“Look, I know, I know,” he tries to assuage the situation.

“________ is literally the sweetest girl in the entire clan you just–“

“I get it, bro, I get it!” Lo’ak huffs.

“Get your head out of your ass,” Spider says. “She might not stick around long enough for you to realize.”

“Realize what?” Lo’ak snaps.

“Are you really gonna play stupid right now?”

He blinks at the human.

“You like ________,” Spider says matter-of-factly. “You always have, ever since we were kids.”

“Oh, piss off,” Lo’ak grumbles.

“Dude, you’re literally my best friend, but I sometimes I wanna shove my foot so far up your–”

“I do not like ________,” Lo’ak says sharply.

“Everyone sees it but you, dipshit,” Spider scoffs. “You like her, but you’re scared. She’s perfect and she intimidates you. Think she’s gonna see you for what you really are and turn her back on you like everyone else does when you fuck up, but she’s not like that, Lo’ak. She’s been there whether you like it or not. But she might not always.”

Lo’ak swallows down the knot in his throat, fingers tightening around the notebook.

“Everything clicking?” Spider asks knowingly.

Lo’ak throws him a final narrowed glare before stalking off.

It’s Lo’ak’s birthday and just like every orbit, he spends it alone in the forest.

At first, he’d been burdened with the weight of hurting your feelings, but now his conversation with Spider weighs heavy on him as he climbs dirt walkways and flowered paths.

It doesn’t help that your notebook weighs heavy in his satchel, a silent reminder that he still has a piece of you while you cling to his peace of mind.

I think you’re brave, fearless. They’re the words you uttered to him that fateful night you turned the reality of you two on its axis.

As he splices all the moments you two shared like a reel, he realizes that it’s endless. That you’re always there, you’d always been there, like a layer of impenetrable atmosphere surrounding him.

He really should apologize, he knows this much, but you’ve disappeared like a wisp of smoke. Training sessions have returned to a sibling affair and he’s too prideful to ask about you.

It’s almost eclipse when he begins making his way back for the evening meal, knowing that a scolding will await if he arrives even a minute late.

After what had happened with you, he was lying low, trying to diminish his blip from the radar.

As he closes in on the village’s main circle, he notes that it’s quiet. A little too quiet. It puts him on edge, makes him draw his bow and feel around for an arrow in his quiver.

A few more paces and he’s broken into the clearing, a few stragglers milling about. Another half a dozen steps and it’s like the forest melts into a celebration, whorls of blue pouring into the circle as villagers begin trilling.

Lo’ak is hoisted into the air as the dying fire in the center of the camp begins to slowly roar.

“Happy birthday, baby bro!” Neteyam caws loudly as they begin jostling him into the air, chanting and dancing as the dense crowd of clanspeople celebrate him.

It’s like time slows as he peers from side to side eagerly, seeing the way Spider, Kiri and Tuk dance happily among his people. Jake and Neytiri stand near the fire, smiles wide when they see the look of awe on their middle son’s face.

When he’s finally set on his feet, he wobbles, childlike as he turns, taking in the glowing streamers that crisscross between the tents. Flowers of green and blue thread through the vines, gleaming like lamplight as the forest buzzes around them.

“Wha– What is all this?” Lo’ak croaks in disbelief, eyes flitting wildly as he notices Norm and Max standing next to a table they’d hauled from the pod to the circle, piled high with meats and vegetables wrapped in leaves.

A platter of yovo fruits, his favorite, are at the center, surrounded by a painted sign with his name and the handprints of dozens of villagers on it.

“You survived another orbit!” Neteyam laughs heartily, head-locking the younger boy before roughly digging his knuckles into the top of his head.

A laugh bubbles from Lo’ak’s lips, swatting his brother away as villagers and clan members he’d grown up with approach him one by one to greet him.

As the night progresses, he doesn’t even realize he’s searching until your mother approaches and his spine goes rigid, cheeks warming under her piercing gaze.

“From my ________,” she says, setting a pouch into his palms. “She toiled over these for many eclipses. Please take care.”

Lo’ak’s nod is delayed as his satchel shifts on his shoulders, a dull reminder that your journal still remains with him, begging to be read.

“Where– Where is she?” he asks suddenly, feeling your absence all the more now that your gift sits in the palm of his hand.

“My daughter does not feel well,” your mother says simply. “She wished to be excused from the festivities.”

His chest feels hollow, stomach tight as his cheeks burn. You’d mentioned this to him, all those days ago in the training circle, about wanting to celebrate with him.

His eyes flit to the flowers looped through the vines, the mountain of yovo fruits, the gift in his hands. He doesn’t want to be presumptuous. Doesn’t want to fuel the tiniest ember of hope in chest, but he can’t help it.

He can’t help but read into it, into the implications of this celebration you’d planned all for him, into every word you uttered to him in the quiet of the forest’s chirping.

It’s all it takes for him to lock himself in his own head. The feast melts into the background, dull, as his eyes cut the crowd for you.

You have to be here, gotta be hanging around the outskirts silently. The idea taunts him, makes his gut twist hard as images of you dancing in the circle, singing to him, celebrating him, loving him—

Lo’ak freezes, blinking incredulously at the thought that’d just crossed his brain. It makes him queasy, makes the regret and the guilt gnaw at every nerve ending as your crying face flashes like an unwanted slideshow in his brain.

It’s all he can think about as the festivities die, as villagers begin turning in the for the night and he helps his family clean up the aftermath of another orbit finally finished.

Spider helps Tuk and Neteyam near the fire, and as Lo’ak moves through the motions like he’s caught in a tide, Kiri watches, knowing all too well what consumes her brother’s mind.

It isn’t until Lo’ak is shrouded by the stillness of the early morning, his family tucked in their tent, bodies and limbs splayed as they sleep together, that he sits in a swinging hammock, your journal and the pouch in his lap.

It feels wrong, the way he thumbs the cover, working up the courage to turn it open. But Ewya, fate, would have never left it in his wake if it wasn’t meant to be read.

As his finger ghosts the etchings of the front cover, worn and loved by you, something tickles his leg as he admires the leather. He blinks in disbelief when he sees a singular woodsprite resting against his thigh.

Before he loses his nerve, he’s opening the pages with bated breath.

Recipes, nature notes, short thoughts fill the sheets and Lo’ak feels like he’s reading into your brain, seeing all the little things no one bothers to know.

he is like the sun,

shines so bright,

but burns the closer you get.

Lo’ak’s pointer finger glosses over the ink, over your curly handwriting.

he is so incredible, but he doesn’t even know it. i want to shout it to every creature in the forest, every tree and every flower. oh, how i wish to be as fearless as him.

His chest heaves as the words blur.

Fearless.

In this moment, he feels everything but. He feels like a coward.

He continues to flip, throat lodged as he sees drawings, both rough sketches and full renderings. He hadn’t even known that you liked to draw, yet here he was, observing his home through your artistic eye.

Flowers, leaves, trees, creatures, insects, fruits mar the stained papers, etched like it’d been caught in real time.

likes green and blue.

likes yovo fruits.

The entry from the day you’d first walked with him through the forest.

When he turns the page, his breath hitches.

In full color, you’d captured his bullseye from your first training session. His back taut from the release, expression shaded stoic. He looked mighty, like the strongest warrior, and it was all through your eyes.

Lo’ak doesn’t even realize he’s crying until the bullseye in the illustration bleeds from a fallen tear. Another one drips from his chin, then another.

The next page is the night you two had poured your hearts out to each other. Again, in full color, he’s watching the stars. You don’t leave out the glow of the freckles that smatter his face and body, don’t miss the smile that plays at his lips as he quietly points out that his dad had come from a star.

He flips again and different iterations and designs for what seems like jewelry litters the pages, shaded with different colors of blue and green, marked with varying notes, x’s marking through ideas you didn’t like.

Lo’ak remembers the pouch, sitting untouched in his lap, and his shaky fingers undo the ties. He shakes the contents on the flat of the notebook and the most intricate beadwork fits into the crease.

His eyes widen as he picks up the necklace in a trembling hand, the eclipsing sun catching the etching in the flat stones.

Four five-fingered hands and four four-fingered ones, each separated by jewels scavenged and cleaned from the bed of the glowing river.

A small scroll flutters from the pouch and Lo’ak chokes back as sob as he unrolls the hide.

Happy Birthday, Lo’ak. I am always grateful to know someone like you. May your next orbit be filled with endless blessings from Ewya and may you see yourself how I see you.

You see him, he realizes. You’re his supporter, a silent force that consumes every insecurity and swallows every doubt. You believe in him more than he believes in himself.

He stands from the hammock and runs.

You’re sitting in the same tree the two of you had rested in the night you’d confided in Lo’ak, watching as the sun eclipses and begins to light up the sparkling forest.

Something rustles and you sit up, hand on the hilt of your dagger as you search the area for movement.

As your eyes lock on the source, you almost wish it had been a beast coming to devour you whole. But as Lo’ak climbs the branches of the tree quickly, you feel the dread begin to solidify in your veins.

You take your satchel, hanging from a nearby branch and sling it over your shoulder, pulling your shawl over your head to prepare for your escape.

“________, wait,” he chokes breathlessly. “Please.”

You feel like crying all over again, feel so unbelievably stupid thinking that Lo’ak would ever see you the way that you see him.

You pause a beat as he settles on the branch across from yours, chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath.

Something glints in the sun and your eyes widen when you see that Lo’ak has fastened the necklace you made him around his neck, right above the the leather chain that holds his beloved claw charm.

“You’re wearing it,” you whisper, lips twitching into a frown as you try your best to keep your tears at bay.

“I’m sorry, ________,” Lo’ak apologizes hoarsely. “Fuck, you don’t understand how sorry I am.”

The tears well on their own.

We’re not friends. We never were and we never will.

The words haunt you like a broken record and you shake your head, moving from your perch to move down the branches.

“Wait, wait,” Lo’ak pleads. “Please don’t go, I–”

“I hate you,” you whisper. “I hate you, Lo’ak.”

He freezes, watching as you balance on a branch below.

“I tried so hard to be your friend,” you whimper, angrily wiping away your tears. “You’re amazing. You’re strong, and you’re fearless, and you are everything I want to be, but you’re heartless.”

Lo’ak lets out a shuddering breath, a chill running down his spine as you look up at him like he’d smashed every star in the sky.

“I wanted to be with you, you know?” you let out a watery laugh. “I hoped that maybe if I stuck it out, you’d see how much I cared, how badly I wanted to be with you, even if it was from a distance.”

“I do, _________, I do!” he argues.

He hadn’t always, but he sees it now. He sees you.

You shake your head again.

“You don’t,” you sigh, voice trembling. “It’s my fault anyways. You were right. You told me to leave you alone and I was being too much.”

“Stop–”

“Let this be the last time,” you assure him. “Let’s just– Let’s pretend we never met.”

“No, _________. Wait!”

You’re climbing down the tree and disappearing into the brush and, like a fleck of ash, you’re disintegrating into nothingness.

Most people think he’s being moody, that he’s just been scolded by his father or older brother, but Neytiri knows better.

She sees the way her son has changed over the course of the past few weeks. She knows there is a great burden that he carries, but much like her beloved and her eldest, he suffers in silence.

“Maitan,” she says quietly, brushing a braid from his face as he folds the leaves around a chunk of steaming meat.

Lo’ak pauses almost imperceptibly, but continues his task.

It isn’t like him to stay home and work with Neytiri. If anything, he’d be the first one out of the tent, Tuk, Spider, and Kiri tailing after him as they galavant through the endless forest.

“Something weighs heavy in your heart,” she tries again, hand coming over his.

Lo’ak stops and leans back, unable to meet his mother’s searching gaze.

“I hurt someone,” he says quietly.

Neytiri stiffens.

“What?”

“I hurt someone I care about,” Lo’ak admits. You’d called him fearless, strong. He needed to live by your word. “I hurt her and I don’t know how to fix it.”

“Oh, Lo’ak,” she murmurs, squeezing his hand gently.

Her face has softened as she takes in his stony expression.

“My son, some things cannot be fixed,” she says honestly. “But all things require great effort. Sometimes those efforts will fall through, but that is the natural order of life.”

Lo’ak swallows.

“Whoever this special person is, if you have hurt her, she deserves the full effort of your heart, no?”

You do, he knows you do. You deserve every last effort. But a niggling streak of insecurity tells him that you don’t deserve someone like him. You don’t deserve someone who takes your affections for granted. You deserve someone who will love you with every breath, who will love you fearlessly.

“I really messed things up, Mom,” Lo’ak says quietly. “I don’t…”

Neytiri’s hand comes to Lo’ak chest.

“The night I first met your father, Ewya gave me sign,” she says. “He has a pure, strong heart. You do too.”

Lo’ak swallows.

“Be brave, Maitan,” she says. “Sometimes that is enough.”

Lo’ak’s fingers hurt from picking berries.

His cuticles bleed, pricked by the thorns of the fruit’s bush. Kiri hums beside him, weaving a little bag out of ropes of thin vines.

“You’re not gonna help me?” he whines.

“Why should I help you with your mess?”

You look beautiful under the glow of the evening meal’s crackling fire. It’s the first time you’ve emerged since before Lo’ak’s birthday feast and you’re being flocked by elders and villagers, wishing you well and asking about your supposed ailment.

He sits across the fire, fists tight as he searches for a lull in the crowd.

Spider snickers next to him, devouring the contents of his plate like he’s starved, watching Lo’ak’s useless pining like a show.

Be brave.

He’s standing to his feet before he can back out, crossing the circle to approach you. The villagers watch like they know something he doesn’t and the nerves are eating away at him as he steps into your space.

You look up from your conversation with a girl your age, the smile slipping from your lips.

“Can we talk?” Lo’ak asks, eyes wandering to watch the way everyone watches him.

You remain jaded.

“Now’s not a good time,” you say quietly and a few onlookers snicker in the background. “________,” Lo’ak tries again.

You stare up at him, the shadow of the fire dancing over your features as you seemingly look right through him. It’s humiliating, the way you remain seated and watch him fidget, but he figures he deserves the cold shoulder after months, years of casting you to the side.

“Let’s go?” you ask the girl, nodding your head over your shoulder.

The girl chances a glance between you and Lo’ak, noticing the telltale sign of your work etched into the stones of the choker he hadn’t taken off since his birthday.

She gives him a sympathetic smile as she follows after you.

He’s going to have to try a lot harder than he has, he realizes as your birthday looms right around the corner. The next eclipse, in fact.

He’s losing hope, losing courage, but he can’t give up on you two just yet.

He makes sure the berries he picked the days prior are packed tightly in his bag, the lid to the nectar fastened, and his present wrapped nicely.

It’s his last hope, his last shot to make things right.

Spider, Tuk, and Neytiri surround him, Neteyam and Jake off on a hunt.

They’d all been privy to the fact, aiding him in his endeavors as he organized his final grapple with your heart.

“Kiri said she’ll bring her right before eclipse,” Spider says, peeking from the flap of the tent. “That’s in, like, minutes.”

Lo’ak is nervous. Doesn’t know what he’ll do if he loses you for good, but he knows he has to give it his best effort. It’s the least you deserve.

Be brave. Sometimes that is enough.

Lo’ak glances at his mom and she gives him a warm smile, ruffling his braids.

“You are the son of Toruk Makto,” she assures him, pinching his cheek. “There is nothing you cannot do.”

The words are carved into his brain as he rushes through the forest, the the stream that the curls and bends through the forest. It glows beautifully at night and that is his final push.

“Wait, give me like three seconds, I left something.” Kiri’s voice is muffled behind the trees.

“Huh?” Lo’ak sees the way your head tilts through an opening in the foliage.

“I’ll only be a second!”

“Wait, Kiri!”

Kiri is running straight for him, comes barreling through the bushes, and continues down the path.

“Good luck, egghead!”

Lo’ak takes in a final breath to quell the tremor in his hands before ducking through the bushes to reveal himself.

You’re sitting on the embankment, on a woven mat that Kiri had laid out for you two, decorative vines edging the seams.

“Oh, you were–”

You peer over your shoulder and your expression falls.

“Lo’ak…”

“Happy birthday, ________,” he breathes.

You don’t look amused, slinging your bag over you shoulder as you rise to your feet.

“Kiri and I are hanging out,” you tell him.

He scratches the back of his head.

“I…I had Kiri bring you here because I knew that you wouldn’t come with me if I asked,” he admits. “And of course, I don’t blame you, but I– I just really need to talk to you.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, unable to look him in his eyes as he draws nearer.

“Just give me some time, please,” he pleads.

You finally meet his gaze, searching his eyes as he looks down at you earnestly.

You give him the tiniest nod, reluctantly shedding your satchel to reassume your seat on the mat.

The waters rush gently, like a song as Lo’ak lowers himself next to you.

His palms are clammy as he fidgets in his seat, the scent of herbs and flowers wafting from your dewy skin. He can’t bring himself to look at you, afraid that every sentiment he’d crafted in the hours of the night will escape him, so he watches the bubbling of the stream.

“Well?” you whisper, like you don’t want to shatter the fragile sheath of peace that layers you.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “I know I’ve said it already, but I really am, ________.”

“I know,” you murmur and his gaze flits to yours. “Even if you don’t act like it, you have a good heart, Lo’ak. You feel everything, even the things you don’t want to.”

He swallows.

“I didn’t mean it,” he says carefully. “I was mad and I took it out on you. That wasn’t fair.”

You sit silently, knees hugged to your chest. Your cheek rests against your knee, watching Lo’ak with seeing eyes. It makes him trip over his words.

“My whole life, I’ve always been compared to Neteyam,” he says. “The entire village would whisper about me and how I was nothing like the mighty warrior.”

When he glances at you, he notices your fingers twitch, like you want to reach out to him.

He squashes his fears and turns to face you, five-fingered hand coming up to thread with your four. You watch the union, uncertainty obvious in the way you tense, but Lo’ak squeezes.

“And then when we started growing up, you were just another person I had to live up to,” Lo’ak whispers. “You’re perfect, ________. You’re kind, and you’re smart, talented. You’re everything I’m not and it made me hate you.”

You shrink, but Lo’ak pulls you towards him, hand coming up to brush your cheek.

“But you’re all of that and more,” he continues, the words gushing like a river. “You’re always there, you support me and you defend me and see things I don’t.”

You become shy under his gaze because for the first time, he’s seeing you. He’s seeing you for every single thing you’ve been to him and it makes your stomach knot.

“I have something to tell you,” he says. “Please don’t be mad at me.”

Your gaze is soft, palm still in his as he turns and reaches into the bag he discarded next to him. Your eyes widen when he produces your notebook, edges curled the slightest as he hands it to you.

“My journal,” you say, taking it from him quickly. “I’ve been looking for this. Why- Why do you have it?”

He looks guilty, lips rolling as he avoids your gaze.

“Did you…”

“I wasn’t going to,” he admits. “But there were woodsprites and I knew it was a s–”

“Lo’ak this is private,” you murmur incredulously. “Why would you read this?”

“How long, ________?” he asks quietly, grip on your hand tightening.

“Lo’ak, don’t–”

“How long?” he presses desperately.

Your eyes are watering, like that wicked night all over again and Lo’ak begs Eywa for the final push.

“Since we were ten,” you whisper brokenly. “It was my first performance and it was so stupid, but I was throwing up because I was nervous and you talked me through it.”

Lo’ak is stunned, the memory like the faintest of outlines.

“We didn’t even know each other that well,” you hiccup. “But you patted me on the back and you gave me this–”

You pull your fingers from his grasp and flip the journal to the last page, revealing a hidden pocket. Your nimble fingers pull a tattered string, the remnants of a vine, threaded with wilted flower petals, preserved from being pressed inside your notebook.

“You said that they made you make it during lessons,” you say, breath hitching. “That it’d be my good luck.”

He’d forgotten all about the memory completely, too caught up in driving whatever wedge he could between you two, building up walls to seal you out.

“And you kept it this whole time?” he asks, face scrunched in disbelief.

“I’d hold on to anything you give me,” you admit in defeat. “Heartbreak included.”

He lets out a shaky breath.

“________, I’m so sorry,” he repeats, hand coming up to your neck. “You have to know that. I’m really fucking stupid, but if you give us a shot, I won’t mess it up.”

Your hand comes up to his wrist, crumpling as you bow your head.

“Don’t do this to me,” you beg, moving to break away from him.

“Please.”

His hold tightens, other hand twining with yours.

“If I…if I give myself to you, I’m giving you everything,” you say hesitantly. “If you break this, you break me. I don’t think I can come back from this.”

Lo’ak presses his forehead to yours, breath warm against your lips as he searches your gaze for any semblance of hope.

“This is me being fearless, ________,” he whispers.

You melt, pressing your lips to his tentatively. He’s frozen for the shortest of moments before relenting, pushing up onto his knees to deepen the kiss.

He’s cradling your face and your hands are wandering and Lo’ak can’t help but think he could get used to loving you.

To being loved by you.

BONUS

“I was gonna give it to you on your birthday,” Lo’ak says sheepishly a few nights later under the stars. “But, you know…”

Your usual place among the branches of the looming trees have a lot of memories both bitter and sweet, but you suppose you could make new ones.

“You don’t have to give me anything,” you say sweetly, tail swishing to wrap around his ankle. “You’re all I need.”

Lo’ak doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to your saccharine words if the pounding in his chest is anything to go by.

His hands are shaky as he pushes the hide towards you, a bow made of vine tied neatly around the gift.

“Wanted to,” he says simply, moving the hair from you face to see your reaction better. “Open it.”

You’re gentle with the present, like you are with most things, but eager to see what he’d gotten you.

A tiny gasp falls from your lips when you finally see it, wide eyes meeting his as you free the jars of paints he’d mashed up, the brushes he fashioned, and the brand new journal he bound himself.

“Lo’ak, wow…”

“So you can paint me more,” he says, then adds timidly. “Or maybe us. Maybe you could paint us.”

an — holy shit guys, this was such a big project for me because i really wanted to dive into so many different things in this fic. to everyone who was waiting patiently, thank you sososo much. as usual, i took a lot of creative liberties with this one, but i hope you guys enjoyed nonetheless! although requests are paused for me to catch up, like always, if you wanna chat with me about literally anything, my askbox is open. lots of love hehehe :) xx

taglist: @nao-cchi , @jkiminpark , @philiasoul @amart-e , @s-u-t , @netesbby , @tayswiftlovebot , @dumb-fawkin-bitch , @ewackmn

#lo'ak x reader #lo'ak sully #avatar the way of water #avatar way of water #avatar #atwow #avatar the movie #lo'ak imagine #lo'ak avatar #lo'ak angst #lo'ak fanfiction

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 months ago

Text

Love Game 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your fiance suggests incorporating roleplay in the bedroom to keep the spark alive, but playing pretend turns out to be all too real.

Characters: Andy Barber, Lloyd Hansen

Note: I did this because I could.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

'You ready?'

A tingle accompanies the text. Your stomach tosses and turns at the thought. You think you're ready. As ready as you can be. It's all so new to you.

You hover your finger over the automated reply suggested by the OS. You tap on 'yes', too shaky to type it yourself. You're not scared, just nervous.

When Andy first brought up the idea, you laughed. It was so absurd. Silly really.

You remember how the look he gave you was like hands on your throat. The hurt with an edge of agitation strangled away your laughter. You apologised and asked him if you heard him right. Then he explained and it made sense. Kind of.

'If we're going to get married, we need to keep the flame alive,' your fiance said as you stirred the contents of a pan with a spatula. 'Trust me, I know. A dead bedroom can kill everything else.'

You frown at the memory. You hate when he mentions his first wife. He's engaged to you now. You're not her. Besides, things are pretty good. That's why you laughed. There was nothing bland to spice up. At least, you hadn't thought so.

'You know the plan?' He texts. Always thorough, if not persistent.

'I think' you type as you squeeze your phone tighter then think better of the reply. You backspace. Remember the plan. 'Yes, sir.'

You blow out between your lip and put the phone on the counter. You look in the mirror and pick up the bottle of moisturizer, smearing it over your face. Half the day you've spent prepping yourself. Everything has to be perfect. Andy is always certain of that.

You snap the cap shut and peruse the rest of the basket. He thought of everything. New soaps, wax, perfume, and all sorts of goodies. You didn't need it all but he insisted.

Everything about Andy Barber is pristine and tidy. His house not least of his carefully curated existence. So it is that you often feel as if you don't quite fit it, even when he tells you the opposite.

Your phone vibes and you look down at the screen as the notification flashes, 'good girl.'

Your lashes bat and you giggle thinly. You've never done anything like this. You struggle to get a precise grip on the tweezers and have to still your hand with the other. This is wild!

You rub your thighs together and strike hotter the flame of your anticipation. As much as the whole thing has you uncertain, it has you alight. You steady yourself and lean into the mirror, just a few stray hairs. It shouldn't matter, it'll be dark, right?

Your phone goes again. You pull back and glance down. You trade the tweezers for the cell and press your lips together.

'Did you find your surprise?'

You look up and search your expression. Surprise? You lower your brow and peer around the bathroom. There's more?

'Bedroom' his next message comes bluntly.

You chew your lip and leave the mirror behind. You go down to the main bedroom and ease through the door. The room still smells of his cologne. The whole place is drenched in him, meanwhile most people wouldn't guess at a glance that you lived there too.

You see it on the bed. White silk and lace. The lingerie is sheer enough that you may as well forego it. You near and touch the scalloped hem. You know it must be expensive, funny how so little fabric can be worth so much.

You step back and take a picture. You send it to Andy and wait, your thumb between your teeth. He replies.

'Put it on.'

His blunt orders add to the thrum coursing through you already. It seems he's already in character. You need to get yourself together and do your part.

'Yes, sir.'

You set the phone on the corner of the mattress and trade your bathroom for the lingerie. The thong, while high-waisted has you on full display. Not ass, no crotch, just lace straps that trim your thighs and bottom. The top is an open teddy with cups that do nothing to censor your pert nipples. Just wearing it sends a thrill through you.

You take the phone and return to the bathroom. You use the full-length mirror to frame your reflection with the lens. You snap a few pics and sift through for the best one. You hesitate before you tap the little arrow. You're a mess of paranoia and lust; you shouldn't send photos like this and yet you can't help yourself.

You wait for his reply. Wait and wait and wait. You have to stop yourself from staring at the phone, knowing that your hyperfocus will only slow time. You cross to the counter and place the phone near the edge.

Your attention is drawn to the sheer fabric acrosd your chest. You can't suppress the moan that leaks from you. You can feel how excited you already are but your eagerness might just get in the way of the whole thing.

You sigh and the buzz draws you back from your anxiety. You read the message, almost disappointed.

'Midnight.'

That's it. That's all he has to say. Was the pic not good enough? Is this part of the roleplay? You don't know.

As ever, Andy has you guessing at what he really wants. Hopefully this time, you get it right.

💕

10:47pm. You’re wired. You’re trying to settle down. You have freshly laundered bedding and a glass of wine; all the perfect ingredients to lull you to sleep. That’s all you need to do. Fall asleep.

Yet knowing what’s coming won’t let your mind stop. Ugh, your heart is racing again. You need to finish the wine. You push yourself up and have another gulp. You lay in the glow of your phone, a Get Ready With Me playing on low volume. Usually this all works.

Not tonight. You’re too buzzy. Too frazzled. Too eager!

You empty the glass and lay back down. You were generous, filling the wide body of the glass to the halfway point. At least two regular glasses worth.

Your head meets the pillow and you start to feel it. The acidic burn spreads through your veins and you sink into the soft sheets. You turn your head to watch the small screen of your phone, vision slowly hazing as the contoured woman applies her lip liner expertly.

Your eyelids cling and start to itch. Your heady is swishy, your tummy too, and your limbs weaken. It’s working. You try not to think too much about it, not wanting to counteract the alcohol with your self-awareness.

You roll onto your side and drift into a half-conscious daze. Your brain swirls and your blood burns hot. Your breathing slows and piques only when your rouse, glancing at your phone as a new video plays. The time stamps into your vision; 11:25.

You curl your shoulders inward, more tired than anxious now, and slip back into your tipsy stupour. The screen is just a glow on the other side of your eyelids and the audio a scratch in your ears. It fades beneath the even ebb and flow of your quiet snores.

As the light fades out and the sound dwindles to nothing but the still of night, you wake again. Your eyes open to the darkness. You’re alone. Confused.

You feel around on the bed for your phone. It must have timed out or the battery died. You don’t find it. Instead, your wrist is trapped in a strong grip and dragged away from the duvet. You gasp and remember what’s going on. It’s starting. He’s there.

“Ah, ah,” comes the grizzled tut as your other arm is seized and your hands are brought together above your head.

Andy’s shadowy figure straddles you, pinning you to the mattress as you squirm. You let out a squeak and he hushes you. You still and arch your back, trying to push your chest up.

“Please, who are you?” You whine, doing your best to play into the scenario. “Please, my husband will be home soon--”

He shushes you again, holding your wrists together as he leans back to reach behind him. You can hardly see through the dark and your foggy tipsiness. The curtains have been drawn, obscuring the room to fuzzy lines and pulsing shadows.

He hooks something around your arm; a leather cuff, then secures your other wrist. He keeps your arms up and reaches behind the mattress. He attaches the wring between the cuffs to some unseen hook. Where did that come from?

You writhe as he stares down at you. You squint back at him, trying to see through the dim. Something feels off. He’s so quiet and forceful. It must be part of the roleplay but it just doesn’t feel like him. He feels like a stranger.

He backs off of you, peeling back the duvet to drop it on the floor. He prowls along the foot of the bed and you kick your feet, whimpering as you strain against the cuffs. You keep forgetting it’s a game. You have to play your part too.

“Please, don’t hurt me,” you beg.

There’s no answer. Andy continues to pace, back and forth, back and forth. He's really transformed. Where he would usually have his hands on his hips, he has them folded behind him, shoulders squared, his steps lighter.

He stops and lets out a willowy rasp. He unzips his jacket, slipping off the sleeves slowly, deliberately. You lift your head as you try to see him clearer. Did he change? He must have dressed up too.

Then he pulls his shirt over his head and huffs out again, a growl catching in his throat. He drops the shirt with his jacket and the duvet. Andy never leaves a garment outside the closet or hamper but this isn’t Andy, remember? This is an intruder! And you’re the helpless housewife.

You nearly moan at the thought. Something about it is so hot even if it makes you a bit squidgy too. You tug again on your wrists as you hear his zipper slice through the din.

“Please--” you beg.

He kicks the footboard and the loud bang silences you. You can’t help the pathetic noise that trickles from your tongue and you swallow. He’s doing good. It feels so real.

He continues to undress. Your heartbeat picks up as you wait for him to really start. He bends to pick something up then climbs over the footboard onto the bed. For a moment, you wince. His silhouette is slimmer. Or seems so. The difference is so minuscule it might be your wine-laced brain playing tricks.

He catches your kicking feet and pushes your legs wide. He trails his hands up them, a piece of fabric tickling beneath his left palm, and firmly hooks them around him as he moves between them. He stops at your pelvis, his rigid length hovering over you. He stretches the black cloth across your eyes, blotting out what little sight you have. He knots the band behind your head and you gasp.

He traces along your cheeks and your jawline, as if he can see you through the dark, as if he’s learning you by touch. His fingertips dance down your throat and across your shoulders. You feel fragile as he toys with the strap of the lingerie and feels along the flimsy cups, circling his thumbs around your nipples as they pebble beneath the sheer silk.

He gropes you and growls. The noise is guttural and raw. It flutters into your core and has you twitching. He pushes his knees against your cunt, moving so the friction flurries in your clit. You babble and raise your chest, hungry for his touch.

He flicks your nipples and his hands crawl onward, down your torso, doting on the soft flesh of your stomach, and framing your hips as he draws back on his knees. He snarls and bends over you, bowing as he grips you tightly. His nails dig into your skin and you whine as you feel his hot breath against your folds.

He nuzzles along the edges of the panties, growling as he does, squeezing your harder, then at once, buries his nose in your cunt. He wiggles his head and drags the tip of his nose up over your clit and swipes his tongue up to further set you aflame. You moan and curve your back, planting your heels as you urge him on.

He delves into you, lapping and licking, suckling and swirling. His arm reaches up and he kneads your chest, blindly pulling the lingerie under one tis. He pinches as you cry out and he rolls your clit between his teeth. You puff out shallow breaths, swept up in the sensations.

This is so different. Unlike he’s ever been before. He’s almost feral in how he touches you, how he feels you, how it seems he wants to consume you. There’s something else different, something strange you can’t place.

Did he shave? You can’t tell, It must be the wine. His cheeks feel bare against your thighs and yet you swear you feel that scratchy tickle against your cunt. You don’t think about it; it’s all too much to focus.

You squeal as you cum, spasming into his face as he drinks up your orgasm. You’re heaving and hollow as he doesn’t let up. He laps at you until you’re begging him to stop. Until you’re quaking, nearly sobbing in overwrought pleasure. Until you have a second, a third, and a fourth.

Your slickness smears over his face and across your thighs. As he parts, his breath is humid, and you can smell the sweet scent of your release. You shiver as he raises himself up and the bed jostles. He snarls and slaps your thighs, squeezing until you whimper.

He shifts and slides a hand under your leg. He flips you onto your stomach so your arms twist and your face is buried in the pillow. You pant into the linen as he smacks your ass with both hands and growls as he fondles you. You murmur as his touch sends tendrils down your legs and up your back.

He grips your hips once more and raises your ass. Oh my god. It’s only a few times you’ve done it like this, often Andy prefers you on your back. He says he likes to see you.

He pulls you back against him, his length resting between your cheeks as he bends over you. He inhales the scent of your hair and snarls against your crown. He reaches down to feel between your legs, spreading your swollen cunt as he angles his hips.

His tip slips down and he uses his fingertips to guide it to your entrance. You’re so wet he slips right in. He sounds just as surprised as he gasps. He sinks into your limit and you whine. He retracts his arm, hooking it around your neck, and thrusts.

You squeal as he buries himself even deeper. He does it again; harder. It hurts. You croak and press your chin down into his arm. You feel a ripple of fear. His chest feels... bare. Andy has that trim of fur that you like to play with. Maybe he got rid of it? For the roleplay?

He snaps his hips again, staying deep before slowly rearing back. He pauses, then bucks again. The impact of his pelvis on your ass is painful and he’s hitting your cervix.

“Ow, Andy--”

“Quiet,” he grits in a deep sneer and brings his other hand up to smother your mouth.

He leans his weight on you, your neck and shoulders aching from the angle of your spine. He dips into you again, again, again. Each pause between grows shorter as he tilts into a full rut. The entire bed shakes with his motion.

You squeeze your eyes shut and curl your fingers into your palms, the cuffs slowing your circulation. You huff into his hand as he continues his rampant fucking, skin slapping, bones aching. Harder, deeper, faster, until you’re delirious.

“What’s your husband going to think when he comes home to his wife being fucked like a slut?” He rasps and nibbles your ear, “huh? How’s he gonna compare to this, baby? Your husband can’t fuck like me can he?”

He taunts and you cringe. You don’t like it anymore. It’s not fun. You don’t want him to be this man. To be this rough and rude. You want him to be Andy. You try to say his name again but only taste the salt of his palm.

“Keep your mouth shut, slut,” he sinks into his limit and stays there, his voice echoing in your head. His tone is just... off. “I’m not done with you yet.”

#andy barber #lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark andy barber #dark!lloyd hansen #dark!andy barber #andy barber x reader #lloyd hansen x reader #defending jacob #love game #the gray man #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series

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hollyhomburg · 1 year ago

Text

Before I Leave You (Pt.63)

(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: you never thought that just cuddling with Hobi on a cold day could lead to this; his pants off and you begging "Daisy please-"

Tags: fluff, a little hurt but mostly just comfort, first times, soft cuddle sex, unintentional mutual somnophilia, knotting, scenting, under clarified limits, a touch of slick kink, breeding kink, a touch of size kink (you know the good stuff), unrealistic amounts of cum, implied belly bulge, implied feral sex, small triggers after sex, small references to past abusive relationships, hole check's, knot checks, dom/sub undertones to later scenes but not in the main smut,

W/c: 14.2k

A/n: thank you guys for being patient for this next chapter :) it's one of my favorites so please give it lots of love! i know we've all been waiting for hobi's confession and the completion of their arc, did i do it justice? Also i'm sorry that i have a pathological need to end every single chapter with a cliffhanger lol, this one is no different!

Previous part ~ Masterlist

(5 years ago. Before Yoongi. Before everyone.)

Jung Hoseok cleans his arms in a bathroom. He is 21 years old, there is lipstick on his fingers, and nothing bad has happened to him yet.

Bad is all relative of course. Some would call growing up in a rich area while living in a one-bedroom apartment bad. Some people would call not really knowing your parents because they work late nights bad. Some would even say that the fact that they won’t pay for Hoseok’s college education a fucking tragedy.

But between you and me and Hoseok; other people wouldn't know a fucking tragedy if it hit them in the fucking face. Talking to some people about your suffering is like trying to make a toddler shoot the broad side of a god damn barn with a double barrel shotgun. Or like those little lemon slices they put in the water at olive garden-

It's fucking useless. And you're more likely to be sent to the hospital than get some actual fucking results. Weather it's because of food poisoning, a bullet wound, or because some idiot you trusted thinks you're a god damn suicide risk.

See right? Talking about your problems is fucking useless.

But he’s always been able to focus on the brighter side of things. It's a blessing and a curse because optimism always lies to you. It's easier to be happy than it is to be upset, at least for Hoseok at this moment.

At least he was an optimist until they ruined him a little. After this year, finding the silver will take effort.

The tiles beneath his feet are cold to the touch. He knows that there’s a button somewhere to turn on the heated flooring but he just can’t find it. Hidden and unfamiliar as he is with this den. So different from his own little dormitory halfway across the city.

This fancy three-bedroom apartment is one that he will move into in precisely 4 months once they make it official, he’ll live here for exactly 2 years 3 months, and 8 days before being kicked out and moving into the pack's den. It’s exactly 2 years to the date that he meets Min Yoongi in the record store.

But nothing bad has happened to him yet. Today he is just himself, No idea of what's about to befall him and that It won't just be bad.

This apartment is upscale, with its wainscotting and long gauzy curtains that barely keep out the sound of the city streets 5 stories below and the lightly warm June morning. He’s not quite sure who pays for this one yet. Hasn’t had the chance to ask, he's only been seeing this pack for 2 months. This Hoseok is shyer than the one you know. Timid and unsure of where he should place his dulled claws.

It's all awfully mysterious. The question of "What do your parents do?" and the answer pressed to a raised finger. The truth lingering between lipstick and manicure on a single giggled breath.

"That's a secret"

He casts a glance around the bathroom, the marble counters, the plush hand towels, and even the designer soap is forghein to him.

Rich people.

It's one part tired jealousy and one part true distaste. Even if Hoseok had all the money in the world he wouldn't waste it on painting a bathroom white or powdery Dior soap. Why not blue or orange or green or pink?

(Oh Hobi. The pack’s bathroom will be green one day, with delicate tiles in the shade of the lightest moss. Not yellow-toned and not blue. he's going to help yoongi pick it out, He just doesn’t know it yet).

Their apartment is just a few blocks from the college that he attends, a freshman but not for much longer. A freshman, along with the pack's youngest. Her on the business track and him in a weed-out art department. The prerequisite humanities course is their shared battleground.

Out of everything in this story, this is the only true coincidence.

This version of Hoseok likes omegas with a bit of a dark side. The ones that are a bit bitchy, a bit entitled and alot pretty. The ones that hone their eyeliner to a vicious edge, or the male ones that act a little bit more like alphas and disobey gender norms. That’s what drew his eye to this pack's youngest in their hum 1 class.

He got a little melty when her eyes turned less “I’ll kill you if you even sniff in my direction” and more “A pretty alpha like you has to have a pack right?”

Hoseok had stuttered when he’d said that No- he didn’t.

Before long he’ll drop out because he just can’t cut it at art school. Just can’t spend nights with fingers black from charcoal, working on things that will one day be thrown in the garbage because he’ll have a pack to attend to. Good alpha that he is.

(It will be years before he realizes that it wasn't art school just mediums. He’s meant to use flowers to make things instead.)

They’re not his pack yet, not yet. not yet. Not Yet- But there is a gift waiting for him downstairs. A fancy set of pastels and paints. It’s the start of courting even though he’s supposed to be the one buying them gifts. He’s the penniless college student they’re the ones with the nice apartment. He’s the one with the knot, and they’re all omegas. It’s a give-and-take.

Yet somehow even though he’ll be the only alpha he knows he won’t be the pack alpha.

He cleans the lipstick from his fingers. Bright red. He knows he has it in other places too, down below the tugged low hemline of his pants pulled on after they were done fucking.

The last thing he wants to be is like the other alphas in the fraternities on campus, the ones that holler at all the omegas shit like “I can taste your slick from here baby,” and “want to study anatomy together? I’m a hands-on learner” Hobi dreads the idea that he might be like that. Even a little bit. Even unintentionally.

But still, their words from earlier ring in his ears.

“They haven’t been dating for that long, you can’t expect us to be comfortable all the time with you in our nest, it's a really intimate thing for us."

Hobi feels like one of those phraternity alphas when it makes him uncomfortable.

It’s reasonable that they wanted to give his knot a ride and try him out before they make it official. One alpha and four omegas, these odds are every alpha’s wet dream. He knows his performance was Oscar-worthy.

It had been nice to be in a nest for just a little bit, Hoseok’s biology wants it, the tense knot between his shoulders all loose.

Hoseok has never been loved by someone who wanted to talk to him every day, it will be easy for them to reduce his focus to their beck and call.

There's 4 different colors of lipstick on his cock. Four different shades from four different women. His new packmates get to the carrot part of the carrot and stick arrangement.

In the future, he’ll deny that he ever thought of any of these women as that- as packmates. He'll say it was only ever Namjoon’s pack that he wanted in this way. He’ll say it never compared and it didn’t. Except for these first few months. These first few days.

Memories lie to us all the time; memory is the best secret keeper.

He watches one of his packmates sit on the edge of the nest, she wears the lipstick prints better than he does. Lining the inside of her thighs, her own lips smudged.

Hoseok doesn’t let the smile fall from his lips and she smiles back. She tugs her long hair free of a bun that she’d put it up in so that she didn’t get slick in it. It will be a few more months until she cuts it above her collarbones. Blunt to a brutal edge.

Hoseok’s sweatshirt is on the edge of the nest, and Hoseok watches as she brings it to her nose, breathing in deep. Hoseok is just about to say that she can wear it when she throws it onto a nearby ottoman. Not onto the floor thankfully. No omega has ever worn his sweatshirt before. Hoseok tries not to let the rejection of his scent sting.

She looks at the lipstick on Hoseok, there’s a bit on his lip. “Come here.” She asks, parting her legs.

Hoseok is a good alpha and goes.

~-~

(Now, You and Hobi)

When Hobi wakes it's because the pack is moving around the room, bickering, and struggling to be quiet, bickering a little.

Their low hum drum voices as they talk about “Jungkookie? where did you put my mittens?” and ”I sort of love that you still wear mittens, babe.” Yoongi’s deep rumble, “Did Jimin buy those for you too?” All teasing and understanding. Because if anyone knows how Tae likes to be teased, Yoongi does.

Tae’s fond little croon is so melodic it makes Hobi sigh, ears straining to hear more of it. “Yes, he did. Got pup matching ones too.”

Pup. that’s you. Curled in the center of the nest under Hobi's elbows. dozing but unable to lift your head from where it's pillowed. You’re sure that Yoongi knows you’re kind of awake or at least listening in because Yoongi knows everything.

You’re sure that as he looks down at you and Hobi tangled together, he’s doing it with a smirk. You don’t need to open your eyes and double-check.

The temperature of the nest is balmy, overly warm in the way that it gets when it’s cold outside and the nesting is hitting so particularly good that Hobi won’t even think of moving. (The way it feels when you come out of the cold and into the waiting arms of someone you love) Hobi nuzzles into the warmth in front of him.

A small storm brews outside. The snow has been falling since midday. Just a little here and there. But Tae loves how it looks with all the Christmas lights. There aren’t quite enough up yet but the holiday season is close.

But the snow won't last, soon it won’t be falling at all. It will all melt off by tonight, the afternoon is supposed to be sunny. Can sun showers happen with snow?

"Do you think we could walk all the way to the gym, it's not all that far! only like 10 miles. We could run it in like an hour!"

He listens to the others talk. The sound of Yoongi’s voice, gravely and vaguely upset. “Jungkook, you’re not really thinking about going to work out right now- You’ve barely been home for like 5 hours. I just said we could go do something not run 10 fucking miles.”

Jungkook always gets this way; when the dizziness of the seizures turns to restlessness and he's honestly fine but the others can't resist trying to baby him. Too awake to sleep anymore. He sounds grumpy, whiney, and pouty even though Hobi's eyes aren't open to see him turn his puppy eyes on Yoongi. “I’m never going to be able to sleep tonight if I don’t hyung- I’m gonna go crazy.”

There’s the faint sound of lips meeting and smacking. Kisses that are probably meant to soothe Jungkook. “How about we compromise pup.”

“A walk?” Tae offers, sounding hopeful.

“A long walk.”

You shift a little and Hoseok opens his eyes. You're mostly still asleep just settling, making yourself more comfortable with the new space no longer corralled by arms and bodies.

Hobi’s mouth is dry when he watches you shift onto your stomach your face half-smushed into the cushions, scenting them a little in your sleep. The homey scent fizzle in Hoseok’s bones tells him that you've scented him too. Being surrounded by the pack's scent like this makes Hobi’s skin feel like pop rocks. Like his bones are mentos and coca cola. All sensitive and tingly.

He’s cuddled with you before- through your nightmares and last night at the hospital of course- but it’s never been just the two of you in a nest. He’s never been the only alpha here, charged with guarding the pillows and blankets and you curled soft in the center.

Hobi tentatively puts an arm around your waist, tugging you a little closer. The house still hasn't totally warmed up yet and you'd be cold without some body heat. He does it slowly, seeing if you’ll wake.

There is a hand in his hair, petting softly, and he snatches his arm from around your waist the second Hoseok realizes he's being watched. Yoongi leans over the edge of the couch-turned-nest, smirking a little. The door shuts behind Tae and Jungkook with a puff of cold air, and he raises his eyebrows expectantly.

He would look intimidating if his beanie didn't have cat ears.

The pads of Yoongi's fingers rub soothing circles under Hobi's jaw and his lips part unintentionally. “Be good yeah?” he says, whisper soft. Hoseok just nods, too sleepy to verbally respond.

They haven’t talked much about Hobi’s confession; that night on the beach what feels like ages ago. But everytime he thinks of it Hobi still tastes salt on his tongue and your name on his lips.

Yoongi’s wearing the same look now that he did then; half hopeful and half worried. But if there was anyone that would object on your behalf, if Hobi wasn't allowed this closeness with you, Yoongi would tell him.

Yoongi doesn't say that you and him aren't ready for cuddling like this. Yoongi doesn't say that Hoseok should give you space or not cradle you to his chest like you are something as fragile and necessary and as doomed as his beating heart. Trembling and stuttering with the force of sweet expectations and hopes made hollow with satisfaction.

Yoongi does not realize that Hoseok's heart has not had a steady beat since he woke up holding you.

Yoongi doesn't say anything. Yoongi just drags a single knuckle down his cheek and leaves. Heading out after Tae and Jungkook who are, judging from the hallow sound of snow hitting the windows- are having a snowball fight.

“If one of those hits me I’m not holding anyone’s hand for the whole walk-“

The door keeps out the sound of Tae's sweet giggles and Jungkook’s pouted, "just one hyung- I won't hit your face-"

And the two of you are alone. Wrapped up warm, quiet and hushed, just the two of you.

Well, except for Noodle.

The meticulously kept edge of the nest is all fluffed, Noodle makes sure of it. Small paws depressing the blanket as he kneads it and then settles on the edge. His purr is audible from here as he blinks slowly from the bottom of the couch turned nest. Jin wrangled him for a brushing yesterday morning and his coat still looks extra fluffy and kempt.

Unwatched and unjudged, Hobi tentatively reaches to cradle your ribs again. Thumb smoothing down the center of your stomach, a little close to your belly button. You’ve got a little hair there. Hobi’s fingers like the feel of it. Not rough but not silky.

Your skin feels like champagne bubbles and sparklers, everywhere he touches your skin goes fizzy. Hobi looks down at you, breath hitching, and thinks Is it really so horrible to want this? Why am I so afraid of this?

You wiggle a little closer in your sleep and Hobi’s arm goes vicelike.

Noodle's purr goes a little louder.

Hobi doesn’t like to think about his last pack ever, but he recognizes that hollow ache and tug that says memories aren’t too far behind. And it threatens to swallow him until he looks down at you. The house is quiet but your eyebrows are puffed up like something very shocking is happening in your dreams. He doesn't want to think about them right now.

He drags his nose across your hairline; scenting you. Tasting your emotions on his tongue. Comfort. Ease. Arousal-sweet. Not all that abnormal. Not nightmares then. He is always on the lookout for them. After Jungkook and the hospital, he sort of thought they might come back.

Hoseok counts his stars and snowflakes, and rests his forehead against the nape of your neck.

Over the next hour, you’re restless. Moving, worming your way closer to him as he goes in and out of sleep. You make a soft noise and he shushes you. a growl that says to stay put and alpha's here.

You blink slowly up at him. Hobi pulls back, taking his arm from around your waist, feeling like he’s just stolen candy from a jar on the counter that’s for him anyway. You stretch and don't comment on it, yawning.

Noodle hops closer, squirming between the two of you and stepping over your shoulders. Meowing right in Hoseok’s face. “Alright alright, I’ll feed you again.”

You snuggle into the warm hallow he left on the couch when he detangles himself, hand under your cheek watching him as he stumbles out of the nest. Noodle follows tail held high. It's truly horrible. Leaving the nest when every bit of Hobi's body wants him to stay in the warmth. The house is always so slow to warm up.

“Fuck the floors are cold.”

“Quick,” you say, face above the edge of the cover. Hoseok rushes, doling out a single scoop of dry food and then running back to you. Hobi wastes precious seconds to grab his headphones from the kitchen table before collapsing onto the couch where you hold the blanket up, sealing the warmth and him back inside. The headphones tangle between the two of you and he falls with a giggle. Disappearing among the white blanket. He sinks thankfully into the warmth, into the safety that the nest offers. Into you.

Your warm arms wrap around his shoulders and his body shivers delightfully in a way that has nothing to do with the cold. Your jaw pops when you yawn and then he yawns too, a breath later. You laugh too and tuck your face into his shoulder.

“Fuck- it’s so cozy.”

It really is, the kind of cozy that only comes along a few times a year. A quiet to your bones that says there is nothing to do now but rest. The coldness that turns your bodies into these molten-loving things. Your warmth and Hoseok’s warmth. One warmth.

He breathes, deep and heavy.

“I don’t know if I want to get up yet.” The house is still quiet. Nothing but Noodles happy munching sounds and the faint scratch of big snowflakes hitting the windows.

Hobi’s heart beats frantic against yours and you sigh. “Wanna listen to some music?” He offers. Hobi always loves a backtrack, a little compliment for the exposition.

You nod, a little sleepy, but Hobi has a playlist for that. He’s got a playlist for everything including ’sleepy cozy pup time’. The headphones take a second to locate, lost in the nest. But when he does you share them. One earphone a piece, the sound turned low so you can still talk.

Hobi puts on a love song, and it makes you smell all sweet. Stretched out with your hair tangling because you’ve left it unbound, the split ends prodding at Hobi’s cheeks. He doesn’t really listen to the song, just watches you. Eyes closed humming softly.

Your scent sours and Hoseok's hand goes tight on your wrist. You tell him what's bothering you without him even having to ask.

“I saw this line the other day that didn't like." You look at the ceiling, not at him. "it said a love song is really good if you can’t tell whether they’re talking about another person or if they’re talking about god.”

You think about Jimin and Tae. You've been thinking about it since Tae talked about their childhood earlier and the bloody cross between the two of them. If holiness does exist, it’s in Tae. If there is anything like religion for you or Jimin, it's love. God has nothing to do with it. God's not the person who makes love songs sound good.

Hobi turns on his side, leaning on his elbow. “I’m not sure Jimin would agree with that either.”

You turn in time to see Hobi’s smile. It catches the sunlight, lingering right on his cheek. An octagonal shaft of sunlight that has traveled millions of miles to get there could not have found a more beautiful place to fall. He huffs a quiet laugh again, and you swear you might hear the highest note of a piano somewhere.

You wonder when he became so musical to you, maybe it’s just because he’s the person who made you love music so much.

(You can tell a love song is good, when it makes you think of Hobi).

“You’re still worried about him, aren’t you?” You rest your lips against his shoulder and Hobi’s body doesn’t move an inch. They’re soft where they lie not a kiss but not not a kiss either. You can rest your lips against his skin, you can rest your whole body and Hoseok wouldn't move an inch.

“Always worried, got to worry about Minnie. Always worried about everyone.” You mumble. Eyes closing.

The light comes through the windows all honey yellow, turning the bookshelves that Yoongi made gold instead of white. Turns the tops of Hobi’s hair a little red too, the brown has endless depths in the sunlight all burnt umber and Sienna where the sun hits, yellow ocher at the tips. The sunlight savors falling on Hobi, down to the last inch.

You try to keep your eyes open, struggling, and Hobi sets a hand on the top of your head, ruffling your hair lightly.

"Go back to sleep pup."

You hum, already half there. He pulls you a little on top of him, holding you with a firmness usually reserved for too-large packages and the tenderness reserved for very fragile very precious things. It makes your whole body feel tingly at the edges.

“Thanks for not leaving the nest when everyone else did,” you think he might be asleep for how long it takes him to answer. But everything in the last 24 hours has left you feeling like you don’t want to be alone, that you can’t be left by yourself. He breathes up and it presses against your stomach.

“Didn’t want to go with the others- just wanted to stay here in the nest with you.” nesting is a biological need for alphas as much as it is for omegas, Hobi hasn't felt so relaxed in ages.

He murmurs, hand still skimming through your hair. His thumb rolling against the nape of your neck and you shiver hard into the touch, sinking further into him. “Is that okay?”

Your hand finds a spot under his arm and you use it to tug yourself closer, getting your forehead against his shoulder, the headphones slipping from your ear.

“Yeah. It’s always okay.”

Hobi tucks your hair behind your ear and puts the headphones back in.

The next time you wake it’s because Noodle is licking at your forehead, grooming you, and you hear the shutter sound of Hobi’s camera, his small giggle. You swat at noodles face and he bats at you a little before settling on the small of your back, fighting Hobi for necessary real-estate and howling when he gets pushed off.

“Nu, be quiet,” Hobi’s hushed words are answered with an equally quiet meow that sends you straight off to dreamland again.

You don't know how long it's been, it could have been hours or minutes the next time you wake. You just know that Hobi smells good, smells musky sweet caramel all drippy and heady, that you've got your nose pressed up against his scent gland. All surrounded by it. Surrounded by him.

The next time you wake is not so innocent.

You’re a little too close. Cuddling with Hobi in a way that you might with Yoongi- with Namjoon or Jungkook. All warm snug hot. Bodies and dreams tangled so thoroughly that it's hard to tell where dreamy wants begin and fragile delights end.

You’re warm at your front from Hobi and warm on your back from the sunshine streaming through the window. Warm all the way through. Until he moves his hand and you realize that’s from him too. His fingers splayed over your spine.

You think you can be forgiven for confusing them. Hoseok and sunlight are one and the same.

The apex of your thigh is pressed tight to his hip just where his thigh starts. Your leg hitched over his hip and tight to it. The fabric of his sweatpants and the fabric of your pajama shorts are all bunched up from your movements. Your knee bent at a comfortable angle. His scent is heady in your nose, pressed to the low tugged collar of his shirt just over his heart.

As close as you can be but still not enough.

You don't even realize your hips are moving, sleepily grinding against his thigh until it's too late.

Hobi grabs your hips and groans.

You stop mid-movement, thoughts sloshing sleepy. And oh, you were moving, weren’t you? There is a dampness between your thighs and the scent of slick and arousal sharp in the air. That comfortable pleasure hiccup in your throat that says you want to cum and can. could like this.

You jerk back from the warmth in front of you, startled into wakefulness as you realize exactly you were just doing.

Oh no- you didn’t mean- Hobi. Alpha, warm and comfortable at your front.

You start to back up, still half asleep, but terror and embarrassment flood you like the ocean floods the sea rocks at high tide.

Hobi groans, a deep near growl sound, and moves before you can back up even an inch. he was just as asleep as you just were until you pulled away. His sleepy brain still clings to you.

His hands slip lower, holding you tight against his front. His sleepy alpha brain is malfunctioning. Sweet omega needs to stay close. The source of his warmth and the friction against his front cannot slip away.

His hands are on your ass and your pussy is pressed flushed to his hip, and Hobi-

Hobi is your best friend, Hobi is your packmate and Hobi has to be unaware of what he’s doing. You’re sure of it. You try to pull away again from him fighting back more embarrassment than you've ever felt in your entire life, hands pressed to his chest.

But He pulls you right back to him.

Right into a unmistakable hardness poking at your stomach. Hard and warm. Right where you were grinding in your sleep.

Hoseok’s heavy breath brushes your ear.

Instincts are incredibly hard to describe. The way they hook into your consciousness and separate reason from action and want from logic. The part of you that’s in control, that recognizes that you and Hobi shouldn’t be this close like this if it’s not talked about, is so distant.

A needy sound echoes that might be from you, that is from you, as Hobi’s hands slide up your hips and under his sweatshirt. Cold hands on your warm hips and oh-

Hobi’s eyes are cracked open, looking down at you, watching you with pink cheeks. Tongue darting out to lick at his lip. “S’okey you just-" his eyes flutter closed again; breath warm against your face. "You take what you need.”

It’s only a testament to the pack's care that you associate these things with each other. Safety and coziness are just so close to pleasure and comfort. Your sleepy body associates this kind of nesting with sex. it's only natural that you'd get a little needy while inside of it.

You can get needy, Hobi doesn't mind.

Before either of you can say if you really should, if this is really a good thing to do without talking about it first. Hobi’s hands are on your waist, pulling you back snug, his hard thigh between your legs.

If you were more awake, you’d think better of it, you’d think so much but there is only that sweet pressure. The drag, the wetness, the soft little huffs of breath that he shushes when he lets you take what you need. Helps you with his hands on your hips and guides you back into rocking against his thigh.

You feel it all the way down to your toes when his hands slide down to the curve of your ass then back up again, underneath the hem of your shorts and then your sweatshirt- his too (all of you his). Rucked up to your ribs.

“Soft.” Hobi groans.

This must not be real. This has to be a dream. Because Hobi doesn't want to touch you like this, Hobi doesn't groan and twitch against your stomach or guide the movement of your hips with his hands into a slow grind that has you gasping against his jaw. Hobi doesn’t leave the seat of your pajama bottoms soaked with slick. Hole clenching around nothing already. Utterly boneless where you lie against his front.

There is one single moment where you look at each other, one single moment where you try to keep from going any farther. Even though you want it, even though he wants it too. If Namjoon and Jin have taught you anything they've taught you caution.

Hoseok can smell the others lingering on your skin, the spot on the top of your head where Yoongi rested his cheek. He leans down, brushing his lips over it. It’s such a tender gesture and it breaks the flood and he's tugging you up, tugging you even closer, desperation coloring his voice all sweet.

“Fuck- please.” His forehead rests against yours, “fuck I just need-“

You're not sure who moves first, who starts the kiss only that once you’re kissing him it’s hard to stop. One second you're holding back and the next you're kissing him like he's Yoongi and he's kissing you like he's starving.

Teeth clanging against each other, harsh as they nip. Kissing so good that when you pull apart for breath you're both gasping and it has nothing to do with needing air.

Hobi has such nice lips it’s no wonder that they’re heart-shaped. Made for kissing, made for the needy needy licking against the seam of his lips. He shifts turning you on your side, surging up to kiss you properly and put his weight behind it. cradling your head with one hand and your side with the other. You’re so pliant, so willing to let him kiss and take. You want him to take everything. arms around his neck.

He breaks apart, forehead resting against yours, heart beating so quick that he can feel it in his palms. Pupiles blown when he blinks. “If you take what you need, and I take what I need- Can we-“

Your hands thread hard in his hair. Tugging him back to your lips. Closer and closer. “Fuck Yes- please-“

You don’t know where the wanting comes from, why it’s raging through you like a fire. His lips move against yours frantic, you bite his lip and he jerks. Hovering over you with your back against the nest, all tingly and fizzy. Your bones feel like champagne popping, like shooting stars burning out.

Hobi’s hands shake when they touch your hips, just like yours do when you mirror him, your touches shy but just as hungry, tugging up his shirt, fingertips and nails pressing bluntly to his happy trail of fine dark hair. You can feel the way his cock jumps against your stomach and thigh when you scratch gently.

You pull back a little and sit up and it’s sacred; the way that he panics, scrambling to hold onto you. You're A little bit shy when you take off his sweatshirt, nothing underneath. hair fluffing when you get it free from the cotton.

Your bare skin and the cold room. You get goosebumps on your arms almost instantly when they cross over your bare chest. Hobi’s breath stutters in his chest, like roman candles flare and settle. Hobi takes his sweatshirt from you and sets it aside in his haste to hold you again.

He starts to tugs his pants down, getting tangled because he won't even pull back an inch from you. You kiss his throat, again and again making up for lost time. Sucking a mark there. His hands fumble with the waistband of his tied tight grey sweatpants. finding the loops and then freeze when he feels wetness. Pulling back and looking down just to make sure that that is what he thinks it is. you stop your kissing and look too.

There is a wet spot, darkening the grey material. Your slick from your grinding, the spot where you got so worked up and felt so good that you couldn't even help it. He pulls back so that the light can kiss it but yeah that's definitely from you. Evidence of how much you want this. Evidence of how much you want him.

Hoseok thinks you might have actually set his body on fire. Is about ready to start checking your fingers for matches.

You blush so hot that you think you might be burning in embarrassment. Hands between your legs, clutching at the material of the nest, so embarrassed you can't watch as Hoseok looks down at it and then up at you.

“I’m sorry I- I can’t help it- I'm always-“

Hobi’s hands smooth over the wet patch, splaying up to cradle his cock where you’ve left your mark. And he looks at you, jaw rolling and eyes dark. He doesn’t say anything. Can’t.

It’s hasty how you both move to take his pants off, and he kicks them to some forgotten corner of the nest, his boxers pulled off too, and then clings to you. You cling to each other. Kissing again. Hands knotting through his hair and tugging.

You glance down and oh- Hobi has such a pretty cock. the prettiest in the pack maybe (don't tell Tae), Flushed at the tip, hair neatly trimmed and curving up.

Your bare thighs press to his adds a whole new level to this, the skin there is sensitive and unknown. Lying thigh to thigh somehow feels more intimate than chest to chest as you lie the way lovers do, your leg, his, then yours again.

You’re damp between your legs when he touches, hands shaking. He doesn't bother to take off your shorts just tugs the soaked bit of fabric to the side. It’s been a long time since he’s touched a pussy but he knows enough to do it gently. Petting over your folds like he’s teasing a flower to bloom and opening a rose for a bouquet.

“Please” you gasp, hand vicelike around his wrist. Kissing his frantic pulse again. Hot lips and a cold nose drag down his throat. You hiccup as the pads of his fingers find your clit, shaking against him. "Please-"

But you don’t need to ask, you don’t need to beg. Whatever you need Hobi will give it to you. Your hands scratch as his back when he presses close, snaking underneath his sweatshirt. Breath heavy.

He kisses your neck and bites it when his length brushes the wetness between your thighs. Hot and honey slick. his hips press to your hips, harsh lines of his thighs pointing low that you like. There is so much about Hobi that you like; the way that he kisses, the way that he touches. oh- it’s better than you imagined.

His knuckles are glossy with your slick when he curls them against the nest, holding himself up.

Hobi bends down to skim a kiss across your neck, your collarbones, your sternum.

You laugh, your giggle high and bright. He has to pull back, not upset at all but wanting to laugh too, giggling too. “Why are you?”

Your smile means everything to him. “Your hair tickles.” It is kind of fluffy, kind of pulled everywhere from your kissing and you run your fingers through it, scratching a little around the nape of his neck, and Hobi is done playing.

He pulls back, already dripping a bit of precum, silvery and pearl like at the head of his cock, standing against his stomach. a little hidden because he's still wearing his sweatshirt. Checking because he can’t not check.

“Is this- can I- fuck are you-“

“Daisy, please-“ Oh, how that pet name unhinges him.

He won't make you wait another second for it, hands shaking as he holds your hip. Shushing your needy whimpers with a soothing alpha rumble as he guides his cock close. Giving you what you both need.

Hoseok is not as big as Namjoon or Tae or Jimin, but he’s properly thick. Not the kind of thickness that knocks the breath out of you but the kind that fits just right. Not enough to make you ache or hurt even a little. It doesn’t hurt at all when he eases in slowly.

It doesn’t hurt at all.

That might be because of how soaked you are; dripping messy underneath the warm humidity of the blanket. The visual of your glossy pussy robbed from him but unimportant as Hobi stares at your face, resting his head against your forehead. Watching your eyes dilate and eyelashes flutter. “There we go- fuck-”

It’s not worth pulling back to separate how close you are. How good it feels to press his chest to your chest, not even a single inch separating you. His kisses go gentle and messy, moving against yours in a gentle rhythm just like his hips after he gives you a second to grow used to it. Rocking just a little.

Hoseok has heard the others talk about your pussy, those moments that he tried to block out at the beginning and then started to file away once loving you got more real. But for everything he's heard from his packmates, nothing compares to the reality.

The closeness. The way your hips fit. The hot- too much- clench around him.

He understands a little maybe, fully buried in you for the first time, why they talk about it so much. Why Jungkook had slipped it into dirty talk a few times with Namjoon and why it had made him growl and cum so quick. Why Tae had teased Yoongi for hogging you.

Your pussy feels like an inside joke in all the best ways, the kind of inside jokes that always have you feeling both known and loved. You can’t remember what you used to laugh about when you were a teenager and if asked Hoseok would fail to describe why sex with you feels so full. Why it feels like highlights and golden ages, the golden hour drenching you. It’s not sex for pleasure’s sake and it's not sex for closeness's sake either- although that’s part of it.

It’s not sex at all, it's making love. With Hobi, it’s making love from the beginning.

It's not instincts and mating bond urges. It’s not one submissive giving to a dominant. It’s not about protection and safety even though that's there or because you're an omega and he's an alpha. Because he's a man and you're a woman.

It's just love, that's it.

And it doesn’t hurt at all. For either of you.

The eye contact is never ending, his warm and fucked out the more he rocks. Gentle at first and building up frantic. Hobi doesn’t fuck like the rest of the pack does either; he doesn’t speak, letting out these quiet heavy breaths and shushing your squeaks with soothing alpha grumbles. His thumb wiping away the few overwhelmed tears that slip out and a smile swallowing your hiccuping breaths.

"Fuck” he breathes, moving his hips a little faster. His stomach presses to yours damp and tacky with sweat. Hoseok’s doesn't fuck in and out all the way, hardly moving away from you at all. Just rocking in deep.

Hobi doesn’t stop hitting every spot, comfortable with these unending rocks of his hips, maddening in the way that he never stops filling you. Never pulls out even half way.

Your hands weakly clench in the blankets of the nest as he twitches right there. That sensitive spot inside of you that feels like courting ecstasy when he nudges it. It’s the same spot that Yoongi likes to tease at, the spot that only his long fingers can reach properly and Tae’s too when she’s really trying. Ghosting over it and petting at it until you’re mad with pleasure.

But Hobi doesn’t tease, Hobi just gives. rubbing against it again and again with every gentle roll of his hips.

you put your hand over your mouth to quiet your whimpers when he pulls back, sitting up just a little. Holding your waist and forcing your body further down on his cock, nudging it as deep as it can go and you sob.

Hobi grins, a little cocky, a little pleased that despite his size compared to the others you're still equally as wrecked.

“Right there yeah?” he teases, and then rocks against it again. thumbs pressing against your stomach where he cradles you. waist so tiny that they almost meet when he holds you.

Your cheeks are hot, and you have to turn and whimper into the pillow. he lets you shift so that you're belly down in the nest and he's behind you glued to your backside. lying his weight down behind you like a blanket. pressing you into the nest where you'll stay like a good pup.

Hoseok instincts are absolutely purring. omega, getting bred in such a pretty nest. Good warm soft omega.

Your hand laces with the blanket, needing something to hold onto and he kisses the back of your neck, treading your hands together as he keeps going. This new position lets him rock in even deeper, putting his weight behind it.

“If you keep going, I’m not gonna be able to-”

His breath ghosts your ear, lips dragging down the column of your throat to nip and suck gently at your scent gland, marking you there. his hand presses, holding you to the bed as he rocks harder. His barely formed knot already inside and growing, getting you closer and closer as it thickens. Keeping him right there at the spot and you on the edge. You're so wet it's making noises, soaking and dripping down his cock.

He kisses your mating mark, nipping at it, and you’re gone.

You cum, a wet gush around his knot and a broken whimper. a growl in his throat sounds loud in the empty house. It sounds like made mate happy, made omega cum for me. Hoseok's Alpha is absolutely preening watching your Legs shake, the nape of your neck sweaty, body slack and head tilting to bear your neck. both of your bodies messy from it, filthy and blushing with love.

Hobi’s not far behind, rocking another time, a third, a quiet satisfied breath into the back of your neck before his knot pops locking you together as he cums so gently. No growls or gasps, just hot spurts that fill and satisfy you. Knot popping and Locking you so close you can feel his cock pulse. So close you can feel the same heartbeat on his lips when kisses you, hurried kisses pressed to the nape of your neck that quickly go slack with sleep.

Your hand settles across your stomach, and oh- you realize why hobi wasn't bothered by how wet he got you earlier. He just keeps cuming, so much that it's leaking a little around his knot. You're not sure that Jimin or Tae or Yoongi cum this much, Namjoon definitely does- but thats kinda proportional.

he just keeps going, heat flooding you. Maybe he's only cumming so much because it's the first time, and he needs to claim you from the inside out. you're a little too dizzy to figure it out.

You feel like you might pass out. You don't know if it's squirt or cum or just sweat when he lies himself over you. cuddling closer despite the mess. Teeth at your bared throat, Sucking softly, Soothing.

instincts are kind of embarrassing at best, irrationally hot at worse. you squirm a little closer so that his knot goes deeper.

The sunlight spills across your cuddled forms, still underneath the big thick blanket. He doesn’t pull out, the knot keeping him snug tight. His hand is on your cheek, rubbing up and down your jaw. He pulls the blanket up around you. And neither of you says a word as your rapid breathing calms.

You’re not sure who falls back asleep first. Only that he wraps his arm around you and pulls you back on top of his chest, cuddled there. Knot warm and safe inside of you.

knotted together like this, you're finally finally close enough.

~-~

When Hobi wakes you’re watching him and his dick is out. Wet and slick and cold.

That would certainly cause him to be alarmed if it wasn’t for your expression; a little pale. Hands between your legs and looking at the doorway.

You just really don't want to drip cum onto the couch, like- obviously. Hobi didn't hurt you. But the brief terror at waking up uncuddled and so suddenly douses Hobi like a bucket of cold water.

The cold might be the actual reason for his sudden wakefulness. The wintry air in the room is jarring because the house is finally heating up. (as much to do with the heating system doing its job as it is with your activities earlier that turned the windows all hazy with condensation).

It's like someone had just come in and then abruptly left again. Your cheeks are pink, and there is a cloth on the side of the couch, folded and warm. You didn't get it for yourself.

“Don’t freak out, but Yoongi and the others walked in while you were asleep.”

You’re kind of glad that he wasn’t awake to see your mate barely contain his screech, jumping up and down with Jungkook in the entryway. Namjoon’s subtly grinning expression when he took in your appearance and paused in the cold doorway breathing in deeply. Tae wrapped around one arm; their walk interrupted by his return from surgery.

He groans, barely awake enough to think about the visual that Yoongi and the others were treated to. The consequences are better than a shot of expresso at wakeing him up.

But really, was there ever a possibility that the others wouldn’t find out about this? Does Hoseok even want them not to know?

He's too tired, too think about this logically.

Hoseok wonders why he didn’t wake to you holding him. He’s seen you hold the others, hold Namjoon in the morning when you smell like him. The way you wake slowly and run your fingers through their hair. The other alphas have a habit of cuddling up to rest their head against your chest. Hobi remembers that day by the beach when you pet his hair, he wants you to do that now.

But he can't fucking ask. Asking you to cuddle him would be fucking embarrassing.

“Shit." He shakes off his neediness and easily locates his boxers in the mess of the nest because they're bright red. Surreptitiously tucking his now soft and deflated knot back inside. You look away, letting him have that moment of privacy without comment. Your arms curl around your chest, you’re still nude from the waist up. thighs clenched togeather.

“Yeah uhm, they went back out to like- give us some space.”

"Did they say anything?"

You look away, wiggling over to the edge of the nest. "No. But they looked like they wanted to say a whole lot.”

You definitely don’t say that you heard their scuffle, Namjoon and Tae using their alpha privileges to wrangle an overly excited Yoongi and Jungkook. or that both of them had come back inside, both with pink cheeks smelling sweet at the sight of Hobi’s face pressed to your neck and the fresh hickeys at your throat.

(Hobi’s hickeys are always so small and cute. Tae can’t wait to take a picture and save it, for memory's sake. She’s half tempted to take out her phone and snap a picture of the two of you now.)

Your hiss of “Don’t say anything, I swear to fucking god if you wake him-" cured her of any bad ideas and had Namjoon grinning, his dimples showing.

Yoongi’s finger pressed to his lips in the doorway. Smiling wide and showing his gums. Omegas do get awfully protective over alphas in their nests. Especially post-knotting.

You’re honestly a little surprised that their muted shouting hadn’t woken Hobi. The closed door had kept out the cold but not the sound of them discussing on the porch; mostly Tae's insistence that they needed to get out of the house for lunch instead of heading back inside.

“But what if they need aftercare?”

"We shouldn’t leave them alone and unprotected.” (Classic Joonie).

“Yeah! What if they need cleaning!”

Yoongi snorts, “Gross Jk- I’m pretty sure the last thing they want is you licking up Hobi’s cum.”

“But he always likes it when it’s Jinnie-" that had your face and body heating (although that could just be Hobi- a literal furnace that he is wrapped around you).

Now his warmth is on the other side of the nest yet it feels impossibly farther away. As you both stew in silence under the weight of what you’ve done, what you just did.

Everything feels quiet and scary as you put yourselves back together in silence. You use the wet washcloth to keep yourself from dripping all over the couch while he looks for his pants in the mess of blanekts that smell like sex.

Thoughts like shit shit shit and what have you done ping-ponging back and forth across his brain. Mind bouncing between unlikely personal regrets and likely female rejection (of which he is only too familiar with).

Hobi doesn't like feeling rejected, it always brings up bad memories. He didn't wake up to you holding him. Is that a rejection or is his brain just making it up? People always hold each other after sex. Don't they?

You reach for his sweatshirt but before you can touch it a growl bursts forth from his throat and you freeze.

Hoseok scrubs a hand across his eyes, trying to wipe away the memories fitfully. Maybe it’s just because of the fact that he woke up and you weren’t wrapped around him. He's going to have to cuddle you himself if he wants it right now.

This first time with you reminds him of other first time's that didn’t end well. He's sorry for it the second it slips past his lips.

“Sorry, I don’t know why I just- my fucking instincts feel like they're on fire."

“So can I…?” you trail off. Your skin has goosebumps again. And Hoseok doesn’t know if it’s the casual nakedness that has him feeling so unmoored. A blush trailing its way up the back of his neck even though it shouldn’t be weird. He saw you shirtless every other hour during Namjoon’s rut for Christ’s sake.

“Yeah, just wear it- please wear it.” He can’t take back his growl, but he can meditate by watching you pick it up and hug it to your chest. Looking at him for a second as if to check that it’s still alright and he’s not going to snap at you again.

There is a hickey on your shoulder, the spot where it meets your arm. Hobi doesn’t know if it’s from him or someone else. It's a little too red to not be new. You don’t look uncomfortable being nude in front of him.

If anything, you look a little bit glowy.

You look at him and then pull it over your head. His cheeks still heating stubbornly as your chest moves a little, jiggling.

Why do girls have to just- girl all the time- it's honestly a little unfair how much hobi blushed.

He watches you, sitting on the edge of the bed in nothing but his boxers as you stand up pulling the sweatshirt down your hips. He stares at you until you ask a little flustered by hiding it, “What?”

He tugs on the hem of his sweatshirt, slowly, carefully, leaning forward as he tugs on one of the strings with his teeth. His hands go to your waist pulling you close gently, half sure of himself and half afraid. Hoseok is always somehow half afraid. Is this allowed? Is this wanted?

He rests his head against your stomach, loosely twining his arms around your waist to pull you closer, still loose enough that you can step away if you want. All of this can stop if you don’t want it. He hopes you know that.

Hoseok looks down at your feet, not at your face. “I love it when you wear my clothes. I really don't know where that came from.”

“Careful,” you say, a grin in your voice. Your tone light because you don't want him to smell so sour again. “I’m gonna go for your pants next.”

You snatch his from the floor and dart away. Nothing excites an alpha’s instincts like a chase, and Hobi feels the fire light down his spine. His movements are a hunt-heavy blur. Brain honed in on you.

He catches you by the counter, your giggle echoing off the high ceilings. His blood heating again as he drags you by your hips and flops down into one of the bar stools, sitting you on top of him with a growl.

His hands grip hard around your waist, determined until he’s shy. Letting you go softly, “Sorry I just-”

“Instincts still? Don't worry I get it.” You give him his pants and sit up off his lap so that he can put them on. And now is not the time to get another boner Hobi- but it’s kind of hard not to when you smell so bred, so wholly satisfied.

Hobi did that. Hobi's the one who made you look like this drowning in the afterglow.

Your own instincts are telling you that you want to take the blankets from the couch and drag them upstairs, and tuck them in around the scents of the others. So that they can all see and smell how good you made your alpha feel.

Hoseok’s pleasure leaves an undercurrent to the air that’s intoxicating. Half sugar-sweet and musky alpha. Your body hums with it as he steps up close behind you, close enough you can feel his warmth and not his body, nose skimming the bruise he left close to your mating mark. Letting out a tired sigh.

You did just work off a lot of energy, regardless of the half-nappy half-cuddle fucking that just was; It's also left you fucking hungry.

As much as the kitchen has been a place of anxiety for you it really isn’t with Hobi there. There is still that tape line on the floor that guards you off from the stove, sink, and the fridge. Hobi steps out from behind you and goes to the fridge, getting out some of the prepped fruit that Yoongi almost always keeps on hand.

But you keep looking at the kitchen, the pans hanging above the sink, your mixer sitting dusty in the corner. The hanging mugs. Everything.

He brings it to you, setting it down in front of where you sit. instincts making his eyes fever bright. He watches a little too intently as you lift a raspberry to your mouth. Something about watching you eat cools his instincts, making him release a taught breath.

He watches as you lift another piece, a blackberry to your lips and bite down. Almost purring, too afraid of what might slip out if he speaks. He half wants to do it himself and feed you from his fingertips. But that’s a little too embarrassing to consider.

A minute later, after you’ve eaten half a dozen more pieces, he reaches past you, about to get a piece of peach. He doesn't think anything of it, but when he reaches past your face- you flinch.

It happens so quick that he almost doesn’t even catch it. One second your cheek is turned straight and the next your eyes are darting from him to the bowl. Scent souring with fear and memories from Geumjae.

Fuck. (No cuz actually- fuck Geumjae.)

You don’t look at him with fear, you just look at him with a strange sort of sadness in your eyes. Sorry. Like you’re sorry for being scared. hoseok's hand goes tight on the counter.

"I'm sorry."

Hobi sits down. Holds your hands in his, and waits for a second before he speaks. makes his words quiet and gentle because anger at someone dead and gone has no place here.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” You have nice hands, warm where they press into his. And he cradles them, your knuckles flexing vaguely in his grasp, gentle but commanding.

“You’ll try not to, you mean."

You smile at him sadly. Hobi’s chest is tight with it. He needs you to know how much he means those words. How much he needs to mean them. But you both know how hard it is to promise that.

"No. I mean I’m not going to hurt you. Ever.” He repeats. You smile at him sadly again. And he knows his brief anger earlier when you touched his sweatshirt- usually such a normal thing for you- didn't escape you at all. But grief and mourning and memory always finds you at the worst times; after first times and on sunny winter afternoons.

The two of you are a mess, bodies teeming with the memories of failed loves, lost and broken. But you can ignore your triggers; such innocuous things as you wearing his sweatshirt and him reaching past your face. You can ignore your memories; the wretched and rotten ones, just for today.

You let the heavy moment pass and look at the other side of the kitchen. Hobi’s chest feels tight with something. Something that he needs to say but can’t just yet. You can only tell someone you love them for the first time once. You don’t get a second chance.

Hobi just wants to get it right.

You’re looking at the kitchen that Yoongi made for you, holding his hand still. using the other to feed yourself more fruit.

(Is there anything more intimate than holding hands with someone? It feels like more than the pads and lines of his fingers are pressed to yours. soul to soul and palm to palm. The future is written out right there but you ignore it. Love line, health line, fate. But the two of you are dedicated to writing your own end. Your love line is exactly the same length as his, not a millimeter longer).

Hoseok’s chest is still all tight. “What are you thinking about?”

“I haven’t made anything in months.” You sigh, sad. “I want to. I used to love baking, I used to-” you break off, sorrow making you quiet.

Hobi’s eyes are fixed on your shoulder. There are freckles there. He’s not sure why he’s never noticed them before or that you’ve got them dotting your back.

Hobi swallows past something in his throat. Pushing you gently from your chair until you're standing next to him. Cupping your waist because now that he's started touching you it's hard to stop. Now that he knows he’s allowed to touch you so casually, so affectionately, he going to keep doing it.

“Go. I’ll watch you, make sure you stay safe.” Because that’s the rule, isn’t it? Not that you can’t be in the kitchen at all, just that you need someone there to keep you safe.

The words feel tight in his throat, not easily said. I love you. He thinks as he watches you move to the mixer with a small but pretty smile that looks like daisies have taken root on your skin, everything sweet and flowering.

I love you. He thinks as he watches you get your cookbook from behind the mixer. I love you he thinks when he watches you place a mug from that morning in the sink. I love you he thinks as you get the sugar, the vanilla, the salt. He has to get up and get the flour for you, unwilling to have your arms strain underneath the heavy container, doting on you just because he can.

Just because he wants to, just because he loves you.

The shadow of what’s left on the bag hits his dark clothes like a ghostly outline when he holds it. The flour is a bit like you; everywhere he touches it leaves an impression. The rainbows from his suncatcher you put in the kitchen shift with the angle of the sunlight, winking out one by one as dusk falls.

He sits at the kitchen island and watches as you hum and flick through your recipe book. Golden hour fades to orange and pink the same way that roses fade.

He’s not sure why he blurts it out, why he asks, “What’s your favorite?”

You look up from your cookbook, everything is set out but still, the recipe is undecided. “What?”

Hobi can not look at you for this, instead looks at the kitchen island and the old butcher block countertop. Fingers toying along the edge where a knife left a gash.

“You always make everyone else’s favorites; Namjoon’s honey cakes, coffee-flavored things for Jin, the vegan stuff for Jungkook you know- but-” his eyes flick up to you in a moment of bravery. “What’s yours? What's your favorite?”

You think for a moment, a kitchen apart, fingers tapping on the countertop and Hobi can’t take his eyes off of you. His body feels a little achy but in that ‘was just fucked good’ sort of way that makes his breath deeper. Quieting some alpha part of him that always wants a little more. A little more scenting, a little more validation, a little more attention.

But everything can wait.

“My favorite thing to eat or my favorite thing to make?”

“Both. Either.” You glance at the clock. Going to the pantry for a second to double-check that you have everything you'll need. “I’ll have to make some of it from scratch but-" you look at him. “Do you have time?”

Hobi nods. “As long as you need.”

Hobi watches as you measure out the flour and sift it. Hobi watches as you wait for the eggs to get to room temperature and fucks with the playlist. His phone will eventually get splashed with coco but- it’s okay.

All of this is okay, all of this is I love you I love you I love you and I don’t know what to do with all of it, can you take someone it, please. I don’t have enough space in my body to hold all of it. Hoseok doesn’t speak for how sheer the impulse is just to blurt it out.

The yellow plastic mixing bowl keeps clattering against the counter as you stir the egg yolks until they froth up and fizz. Pouting you turn your eyes to him. “Can you help?”

Hoseok has to swallow back the words before they slip past. Hopping up a little too quickly. “Yeah of course.”

You don’t tell him what you’re making, let him guess. So many of your recipes need egg whites and vanilla. You let him put it together on his own. Hobi doesn’t peek at your recipe book and spoil the surprise.

Every action, every spoonful of sugar is I love you too, just say it. You don’t talk about the sex you just had and you don’t say I love you to him. You wait for him to say it first. You don’t say a thing besides; “Just a half teaspoon of that; drizzle it a little at a time, or else it clumps together. Good.” Hobi’s cheeks heat with every bit of praise and you have a lot of it for him.

Hobi looks away when you look up from the bowl, oh so carefully folding the batter and egg whites together. So gently that the hiss and bubble of whipped egg yolks disintegrating is hardly audible.

Hobi hasn’t baked since he was a kid; since he got into his head that chocolate chip cookies were totally something that an eight-year-old should be able to make on their own without adult supervision and almost burned his parents’ apartment to the ground. He tells you the story and you laugh.

He can tell that you’re making adjustments as you go. Adding in a bit of cinnamon, piping off the cookies in neat little lines, and then tapping them oh so carefully to get rid of the bubbles.

The stove preheats and then the tray goes in, filling the room with your scent. That cakey baking aroma that has him resting his head back against the cabinets when you sit on the floor and greedily breathing in.

You wait the 30 minutes like that, sitting on the floor between the cabinets and stove. Your feet pressed to his knees and a glass of lemonade between the two of you.

“You really like baking,” he says, and your eyelashes flutter, you must be getting tired. He takes your feet into his lap, using his hand to massage up your calf. Smiling when you sigh.

“Yeah, it makes me feel- I don’t know. I like making the world sweeter, just a little. Even if it’s just my little corner of it. Making things you guys like makes me happy too.”

“You know, you could go to culinary school if you wanted.” Hobi gets a little shy because you hadn’t explicitly told Jin and Namjoon not to tell anyone about your plans or your application (still pending). It will be a few more weeks until you find out, but that change is just on the horizon.

He's already seen Jimin perusing expensive leather bookbags and has overseen a recommendation letter coming from Namjoon’s email. Hobi might have read it for him to double-check because Hobi always notices things the others might gloss over. Jin and Tae had given it proof read too.

You make a noise in your throat, halfway between a hum in approval and a hum in distaste. “I don’t know, it seems like- a lot to do for a hobby.”

Hobi and you are the only two in the pack who wanted to go to college but didn’t. Couldn’t in your case because Geumjae wouldn’t let you and flunked out in his. He gets the lack of clarity in your voice; to go back or not go back. To try again or not try at all and not worry about whether or not you’re enough.

“I already started applying anyway. Namjoon and Jin and Tae put a lot of effort into helping me apply and-” You let out a frustrated sigh.

Hobi shakes his head, “Doesn’t matter. You can change your mind.” There is always time. You tap your toes against his shins and he grabs your feet and you jerk, ticklish. And he almost almost gives in to the urge to tell you he loves you right then and there.

“But could you be happy? Doing this all the time?” You turn, putting your hand over your eyes to peer into the oven and make sure that the ladyfingers are rising properly. “Doing it every day? Would it make you happy?”

You pause, hand on the door before replying in a small voice. “Yeah, maybe. Maybe I could be happy.”

You stand with a crack of your knees, sticking out your hand for Hobi and almost falling into him when he truly uses your hand to help himself up.

“Come on, we’ve got to make the whipped cream next-”

It goes like that, you both talking, and Hobi fucking with the playlist. Thinking three little words and not saying them.

You let the ladyfingers cool for a few minutes while you make the expresso. Dunking them in quickly. Piping out the honey-flavored whipped cream in sticky little dollops. Shaking out the cocoa with a practiced hand.

You make the caramel for the top last. Sugar-burning, glass-like little strands on top for a bit of crunch.

The tiramisu is a delicate creation, the layers perfectly spaced out in just the right ratio of cream to chocolate. You let it sit for a second in the fridge and when you take it out, you cut it into a single perfect little square and put it on a plate for him. Treading over the blue painter’s tape line and lingering by him where he sits.

“Try it.” You ask and he does obediently.

Hobi takes a bite of it, rolling the flavors around his tongue while you watch. You haven’t cut a piece for yourself just yet, but you have a fork. You stand on the other side of the kitchen island and take a bite from the other corner of the pan, humming happily when the taste hits your tongue.

It really is your favorite. You grin at the plate, “I could finish this whole thing in one sitting.”

Hobi takes another bite. It’s really good, the flavors are simple but delicate, each of them identifiable but yet cohesive. He could eat all of it too.

Hoseok swallows and realizes why it's your favorite; It tastes like all of you- like the pack.

The honey whipped cream is Jin and Jungkook, and the chocolate cocoa on top is your mate; dark chocolate like an Oreo cookie. Hobi thinks it might not be normal cocoa. The homemade ladyfingers are soaked through with Namjoon's coffee and the cake itself is a delicate dance of Tae’s cinnamon, Jimin’s vanilla, and your scent too. Buttery and yummy.

He's finished half of what's on his plate before he realizes that you added the crunchy layer on top, the caramel too.

That’s Hobi isn’t it? The Burnt sugar sweetness. He knows that’s not typical but still, you added in anyway. The smell of caramel is thick in the air. Sweet sweet sweet. Hobi always smells the sweetest when he’s falling in love.

The tiramisu tastes like the whole pack. Like love soaked threw. Hobi’s heart and body is full of it.

He thinks this might be his favorite too.

Hobi tries to blink back the wetness, really tries not to cry as he takes another big bite. He gets a little bit of whipped cream on his lip, licking it and sniffling. You pause, a bite hovering between the plate and your mouth before you set down your fork with a clink.

“Oh Hobi”

The space between you is nothing more than air as you quickly head around the kitchen island. You cup both of his cheeks and he sags into the touch, hands instantly going over yours to keep them there. Tears spilling warm and unabated down his cheeks.

Hobi decides right then he is beyond pretending that he doesn’t want it, that he doesn’t want you. Wet cheeks and imploring eyes.

“Oh Hoseok, what’s wrong?”

You’re standing between his legs and your collarbone rests against his cheek. Your hand runs through his hair and his heart pulses hard.

"I didn’t mean to make you cry. If this is because-” you trail off. You don’t say that you shouldn’t have had sex earlier because you can’t find it in yourself to regret this even a little bit. But you are sorry for not doing it in a way that didn't make him cry. If that's why he's crying.

“No it’s not that. I just-" Hoseok can hardly speak his mouth is so full of love that it bursts from him before he has a chance to think it through. Sobbing a little as he says it;

"I'm crying because I love you and I don’t know how to tell you.”

Hobi stutters and your hands on his cheeks go firm for a second before they relax. “I love you; I love being around you, I love that you're my best friend and that i get to love you too. I love living in this house with you. I’m crying because for the first time I get it-”

He can’t stop the confession now that it's started, and if he'd just open his eyes he'd get to see your smile but they're screwed shut tight.

“I get it, I get why once Yoongi met you, he couldn’t leave. I understand why he brought you back to us. But-” he hiccups and you giggle a little at the sound. His eyes shoot open and he realizes that you're crying too- that you haven't stepped away. You wipe away his tears with your thumbs and grin down at him.

“I'm so fucking afraid too- I can’t help but feel like the way we started just- fucked everything up. I fucked everything up back then by being jealous. I look at you and I’m scared I’ll fuck this up.”

You hold his face in your hands and think; I will be gentle with you, I will be gentle with you even if it kills me. You have never loved someone broken like you, and you know how easy it is to make a wrong step. But you’re sure when you say the words anyway.

“You won’t.”

“But-” you kiss his hands, knuckles, fingertips. His forehead, his lips Everything. Your eyes are focused and Hobi can’t look away.

“You won’t, you promised not to hurt me and you won’t.”

He falls silent, and you pull him in close. His lips still tingle from your kiss and you kiss him again, long and lingering, hard with the force of your conviction. It tastes like tiramisu.

When you break apart, Hoseok rests his ear on your heart and listens.

You should say I love you back, you really should return the words. But you think there will be other moments to say them. You'll say it when you wake up with him tomorrow morning, you'll say it when you fall asleep tonight curled close to him. There will be more time to say them- during a late-night drives when you look over at him in the dark. There are always going to be more times to say it and you’ll say it and mean it every time.

Unfortunately, life isn't so neat and tidy.

You wipe his cheeks and he wipes yours and you both giggle, leaning into each other. You get him a tissue for his nose and start laughing all over again. Being with Hobi will always be like this, half your lover and half your best friend.

“Do you want to go on a drive later, only,” you wipe tears from your own eyes, “want to take the others this time?”

He smiles, “That’s the best idea you’ve ever had.”

He tries to pull you in for another kiss but you feed him a bite of tiramisu instead and it gets half on his cheek, “finish your cake alpha,” you command, and Hobi is perilous to disobey. the next bite you take ends up on your cheek too because he tickles you, and you blush when he leans forward to lick it off your cheek. All giggly and happy and close. You sat practically on the edge of the counter. Noodle meows and laps up some of it from the floor.

You don’t need to say I love you back, you already have. Hobi can taste it on the edge of every bite.

You cut him another piece and share it this time, and he can't stop looking at you, can't stop smiling.

You smile around a mouthful, "i'm gonna tear up that train ticket."

"Don't you fucking dare. We've gotta like- put it in a scrap book or something."

You clean up the tiramisu, thinking of what might happen when the pack gets back, thinking of how things will go now that you’ve settled this. They’ll be happy; all of you all together finally. This last piece of your little family finally falling into place.

Maybe it will go like this:

Maybe when the pack gets home, there will not just be tiramisu on the counter. Maybe there will be gluten-free lemon bars and honey cakes. Chocolate ginger cookies dusted with powdered sugar and freshly baked bread with cheese and garlic. Little personal cheesecakes that you made in a muffin tin dotted with jam preserve because now that you’ve started to bake again there might not be anything to stop you.

You already feel the urge in your hands, the urge to make things. You think it might have been learned from Yoongi.

Maybe they’ll come home with pizza, unsure if a party and alcohol is really the proper way to go about celebrating, but the cake from the bakery that Tae will buy as a joke, will have flowery lettering and “congrats for losing your Hobi-ginity"

It will make you laugh until your lungs ache like the fireworks have gone off. Will make him blush and rub the back of his neck in shyness.

When they come home there might be a few sly comments but the pack knows when to tease and when not to. Maybe Namjoon will take a hearty sniff at Hoseok’s throat, dragging it up and down the nape of his neck, huffing happily. (Namjoon has always been a little bit possessive of Hoseok the same way Jin has always been possessive of you, but that's pack alpha's for you).

Tae will tuck your hair behind your ears to get a better look at the mark he left on your throat, manicured fingers gently stroking over it. and Yoongi will shoot him a challenging look and drawl, "really daisy? is this really something you wanna start?" all playful. the way yoongi only gets when he's really really happy.

And when Jin gets home, Maybe he’ll drag you over his lap with some squirming because there is no avoiding this hole check. Not when Jin and the others have been waiting.

Under the hungry eyes of the rest of the pack, you would still squirm. Your mate watching and grinning as he nibbles a piece of pizza and just watches as Jin pulls your sleep shorts down to your knees. Leaving them there to pin your thighs together. Hand against the small of your back to keep you still.

Of course, the pack omega has to look after the two of you and make sure the lowest on the hierarchy is being safe without a stronger presence nearby. But your entrance is pink fucked warm, not red and inflamed. Hoseok’s knot is the perfect thing to warm you up, and Jin tugs his sweatshirt over your hips to keep you warm as he examines you.

Fingers drag your entrance apart to show the others how good hobi did. Prompting them to touch and feel for themselves, all of their fingers teasing at your entrance and all of them touching you. Tae and Jungkook holding your thighs, Jimin and Namjoon resting their hands on your ass to help jin hold you open better and yoongi prodding to feel-

They'd want to see his cum slip out, forced from your hole by your needy clench. Of course, they'd just fuck it back inside because not a drop can go to waste. one set of fingers and then another, jungkook leaning down to taste.

Jin’s eyes would be all dark eyes and honey tones, looking hoseok up and down, cheeks as red as the sweatshirt you wear. His praise makes Hobi feel just a little bit too proud for his own good.

Hobi would probably get a knot-check for that, because if the alpha has something to be proud of then surely the others need to check his ego (and only in the way that hobi likes).

The alphas would scuffle with him a little, wrestling to settle him. Hobi's instincts are still fever bright and he needs to be put in his place. To feel the pack for what they are; very necessary safety bumpers.

He'd go so easily after a few nips- Jimin would help pull his pants down so Namjoon could get his big hands around him, fingers teasing at the red skin around his base and making Hobi growl and gasp. Pausing to cup lower and make sure Hoseok's empty, that he didn't hold back breeding you. Tae would tutt and make him open his mouth, her finger teasing along his teeth just for shits and giggles. Just to make him groan.

Nothing makes an alpha more proud than getting to show off his teeth.

Jin would smile at the display, and croon. “Good alpha.”

Maybe Jin will pat your pussy lips softly before pulling your pants up, making you flinch and then relax and jungkook would bend down to give Hoseok's knot a little kiss before standing.

The whole thing would take maybe 5 minutes but it would leave the whole pack ravenous for more. The final evidence of this finally happening; all of you together and not fragmented.

As you should be, together.

Maybe later, after treats and pizza, you'll all get to go to the beach like Hobi promised. Two separate cars. And Namjoon might let Hoseok and Jimin do donuts in the empty parking lot without too much fuss. The smell of tires and gasoline ripping.

Jungkook whooping and Yoongi watching on with his grin, Jin in the back seat with you going “Oh- oh hope- slow down” looking a little green. But terrorizing the pack omega is kind of your job.

It’s cold and late at night but you’ll tear out across the sand. Running to the shore. Tossing your shoes into the dark and toeing into the waves. Yelling happy.

You and Hobi will try and throw Yoongi into the water and then the other alphas will actually succeed in throwing Namjoon, pushing him until he inevitably tumbles into the seafoam. All 7 of you will try and wrangle Jungkook into the same wet fate and fail.

Jin will tuck Namjoon’s wet hair back behind his ear and grin at him, his grin saying the words they don’t need to. Kisses tases like secrets and salt but that much has not changed. Might never change when it comes to the eight of you. All the secrets in the world couldn’t keep you apart.

You’ll get zoomy in the way that dogs get in wide-open spaces. You’ll run. Your feet slapping against the sand, tossing spray into the air as high as your laughter, chasing after each other. A bunch of barefoot kids in too-big bodies and sand between your toes. Hands clasped tight in each other’s so that you won’t let go. You won’t ever let go now that you've found them.

For once you'll be absent of all the things that drag you down. Lighter than the warm air that billows over the sea. Mouths that store special secret salty smiles for the better. Damp fingers that curl against warm wrists. holding onto each other tight even though you’re running and running-

Running.

Maybe.

But that’s not what happens. Instead, what happens is this;

You are sitting at the kitchen counter when Hobi gets a text. It’s from Jungkook asking about the pizza types that you’d want and

Yoongi’s left his phone, he says with a little 👀 emoji. But he won’t truly tease the both of you until he gets home. Of course Yoongi was too distracted by you and Hobi post coitous to grab it from the other room.

you to to the pantry to put away the flour and this close- you can hear another phone ring from the bathroom. It's it yours? Only No, it's not your phone sitting on the counter, but Yoongi’s. Lighting up with Jin’s contact information.

JinJinJin: 5 missed calls.

It's so like your mate to leave his phone in such a random place. You smile as you pick up.

Jin is already talking a mile a minute. Fear and panic make his words come quick and desperate.

“Yoongi- why the fuck didn't you pick up" You don't have time to respond. Don't have time to let him know it's not your mate but you that picked up the phone.

"I don’t know how the fuck it happened, I don’t know- but-“ he’s almost shouting over the phone, such raw panic in his voice that it has your body going frozen.

Jin lets out a broken sobbing breath.

"I shot Minnie.”

~-~

Please Like, Comment, and Reblog <3 Every little bit of encouragement helps <3

Come tell me what you liked about this chapter!

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~-~

Notes:

I ended up editing out a good portion of Hoseok ’s inner monologue at the begining, because I realized that at that point in time with the other pack he wouldn’t have been thinking stuff about how terrible it was because it wasn’t terrible yet. i probably should have even edited it fluffier if we're being honest. i think that would have been more unsettling.

The line where she says “One second you're holding back and the next you're kissing him like he's Yoongi and he's kissing you like he's starving.” Is a little hard to explain, she’s not thinking about Yoongi in that moment but the person she associates the most with love is Yoongi so- yeah it made sense. I feel like this line might make people go a little like “what??”

I swear if you guys didn’t cry a little at the ‘It doesn’t hurt at all.’ Parts I’m not doing this right because I was SOBBING.

Listen, I almost edited out the line where he calls her pussy an inside joke so many times- but for me- when I was younger I always wanted to be a part of inside jokes because like- if you are that means you’ve got history with someone- Hoseok is thinking this because until this moment- he hasn’t been able to be apart of something that the rest of the pack had understood.

When Hoseok was leaving a hickey over her mating mark it’s his way of saying “this is mine too 😠” to Yoongi,

Honestly??? Why is Hobi so feral in this like- he’s a /little/ unhinged from how much he wants her and tbh it’s fair. Look away if you don’t wanna read him going APESHIT for her.

ALSO- I’m just imagining him on the walk with jungkook and Tae, cheeks slowly pinking up because he can feel that they’re having sex down the mating bond, maybe getting hard and the others noticing, both of them plastering themselves along his side and teasing him with words like “do you think he’s making her all wet and messy hyung? Do you think she’s gonna cream around his cock like she creams around yours?” and Yoongi just- endlessly suffering around the two horndogs that are Tae on estrogen and jungkook on a regular day.

The moment where they’re holding hands and it’s talking about palmistry is a refrence to noah kahan’s song everywhere everything and the line “it’s been a long year, in all of our books pages dog eared, we write out the ends on our palms dear, and forget to read.”

The worst worst worst part about this chapter is that I don’t??? have a fucking recipe for the tiramisu?? Like I’ve made it before but I’ve never made honey flavored whipped cream or put caramel on top 🥺 maybe I’ll test it out one dayand update this chapter

Okay so the ‘flash into the improbable future at the end is a little too horny for the end of smutt but I couldn’t just /not/ put it in there because you know how I love a good hole check scene.

do you hate me because of this cliffhanger? even i have to say its a little unforgivable.

please be patient for next chapter because i do not have A SINGLE fucking word written for it. like nada, we're starting from scratch come monday.

~-~

Hobi's sex Playlist (jk isn't not a sex playlist)

Dominic fike- Mama's boy (hobis' flashback)

Mitski – my love mine all mine. (yoongi telling him to be good)

Lana del ray – chemtrails over the country club. (the sex)

Olivia Rodrigo – can’t catch me now (when they're both triggered from the respective abusive relationships)

Tom o’dell – black Friday. (Juz cuz)

612 notes · View notes

burntheedges · 9 days ago

Text

Pas de Deux Chapter 4

Din Djarin x f!reader | 2.6k | fic masterlist | main masterlist | ao3

chapter summary: It's time for your first practice with Kuiil and Din, and you're nervous.

a/n: I feel weird putting this up today but this is the schedule I set and I'm a little afraid that if I put it off I'll just never post anything again. I'm gutted and angry but I do love this fic, so. here's the next chapter. See my notes at the end and on the masterlist about reader in this fic and ballet in general. Thank you @katareyoudrilling for being the best beta, as always!!

chapter tags/warnings: gen, ballet terms (see end notes and the masterlist for definitions and videos), a bit of angst, a bit of fluff

Chapter 4

You didn’t try to talk to Din again for a few days -- you were suddenly nervous. Adrian said he kept watching you during morning classes, but you hadn’t caught him in the act yet. For your part, you couldn’t stop yourself from watching him, so you figured he must not have been looking that much, because you would have seen him. Right?

You tried to put your stilted conversation with him in the hallway out of your mind. You didn’t want to let it get in your head before practices even started.

On Monday the following week, you were walking down the hall from class to rehearsal when Kuiil fell into step with you. You briefly glanced around, wondering where he’d come from, and smiled when he greeted you.

“I am looking forward to working together.” The echo of your words to Din made you smile, ruefully. As always, Kuiil was direct but his tone was warm. “I am glad Greef agreed with me about casting. I know you will do well.”

You blinked. You thought it had been Karga’s idea. “Oh, well, thank you! I didn’t realize… he didn’t tell me it was your choice.”

Kuill nodded serenely. “Yes. You were my first thought to dance it with Din, when I began to picture it in my mind. You will each bring something important to the piece, something the other could learn from. Something you can share.”

You nodded, even though you weren’t exactly sure what he meant. You were used to that, when talking to Kuiil. “I’m very excited to be in it, and grateful that you thought of me. I’m honored, really.”

He smiled at you as you stopped by the door of your rehearsal for Jee’s piece in the January mixed program. “We will start rehearsal this week, I will update the schedule on the board this afternoon. Before our first meeting, I only ask that you reflect on the idea of existing in the moment, and what that means for you personally and artistically.”

You blinked. This wasn’t your first unexpected request from Kuiil, but it was somehow always a surprise — you could never predict him, and once he was done talking, he was done. There was no use asking for more of an explanation. “I will,” you promised. He nodded and turned to continue down the hallway.

Existing in the moment. Well, you weren’t sure where to start, but you were going to have to try and figure it out before your first rehearsal.

…

On Thursday afternoon, you made your way to the small studio usually reserved for pieces with only two or three dancers. Kuill had scheduled short weekly practices to start focusing on the choreography while everyone was still busy with the upcoming programs for January and February. Adrian had escorted you until you passed his own rehearsal a couple of doors back, and you were glad he had — you’d needed the pep talk.

You can do this.

The door was open when you arrived and you stopped just short to take a few deep breaths. As you did, you realized Din was already inside and you could just hear his low conversation with Kuiil

“… never done something like this before. I—”

Kuiil interrupted him. “Din. You must try to set your worries aside. I know what you have done and what you have not. And I know that you can do this. You must learn to trust in yourself, not in who they said you were. Instead, in who you are.”

There was a pause, and you tried to will yourself to move, but failed. You wanted to hear his response.

“I—” he sighed. “I’ll try. But you know…”

“I know,” Kuiil agreed. You had no idea what they were talking about. You shook yourself into motion — you didn’t want to eavesdrop too much.

You tried to make some noise as you took the last few steps to the open doorway and into the studio. They both turned to look at you as their conversation suddenly stopped.

“Hello, my dear,” Kuiil said, waving you forward. You said hello and moved to meet them by the sound system, dropping your bag nearby. “Welcome.”

You nodded. “Thank you again, Kuiil—”

He waved his hand and you stopped, smiling. You knew what he was going to say.

“No, no, none of that. You are the best choice. And you, too, Din.” Kuiil turned to look at your new partner and you noticed that whatever they might have been discussing, Din had put on his expressionless mask yet again. He nodded.

“Now, we will talk before we dance.” Kuiil looked first at you, and then at Din. “Tell me, what does it mean to you, to exist in the moment?”

You felt relieved for a moment that you weren’t the only one given homework, and then nervous at the thought of sharing what you’d thought about. With one glance at Din you knew he wouldn’t be speaking first. Guess it’s on me, you thought, wryly, and squared your shoulders.

“Well,” you said, tone tentative. “I thought about it, as you asked. I thought of the obvious — not thinking of the future or the past, but only the present. But then in class and in rehearsal I wasn’t sure how that applied because, well, dance is always in the moment, in some ways. It’s an action, it’s happening right now, even though it can reference and build on both the past and future.”

You paused and glanced up at Kuiil. He was nodding. Ok, good. You didn’t look at Din. “And so I thought about it yesterday, in my rehearsal alone for Midsummer and then with everyone for Jee’s piece. And…” you hesitated, and finally risked a glance at Din. You were almost startled to find him staring at you intently, eyes dark and unreadable. You blinked. “And I thought about the difference between being on stage alone and with other people. We dance the choreography, of course, but we also react. To each other and to the music.” You paused.

Kuiil tilted his head. “Go on.”

You took a breath. “Well, being in the moment in dance is more than just following steps you were taught. You have to be aware of your fellow dancers, and you have to move with them but also in response to them, and to yourself. And depending on the ballet, your ability to react or modulate or adjust or improvise could make or break it. But aside from all that, it also puts you in conversation with each other and the music. There’s a difference between dancers moving on stage in unison and dancers moving and working together, even if they’re doing different things. Does that…” you hesitated again, glancing between them. “Does that makes sense?”

Suddenly, Kuiil smiled, and you felt your shoulders relax. “Yes, my dear. An excellent observation. Din?”

You both turned to look at him. For a moment, he said nothing, and you wondered if he really hated talking this much. Then he looked down and murmured, “I agree.” He glanced at you and you shivered. To Kuiil, he said, “The best performances happen when the dancers inhabit the music. Together. When they speak to each other in movement.”

Kuiil nodded. “A sentiment I think your former company might disagree with.”

Din sighed and for a moment you thought you caught the hint of a smile around his mouth. But you blinked and it was gone.

“True,” he nodded. “And it wouldn’t be our first disagreement.”

Kuiil nodded like he understood, and you resisted the sudden, overwhelming urge to ask what other disagreements he’d had with Concordia.

“Well done,” Kuiil said, looking at both of you. “I want you to continue thinking about this question as we work together. This will not be like a classical pas de deux,” he looked at Din, who nodded, “but instead something new. Some parts may be familiar. This piece will have three movements, each staged separately, and it will be difficult. Technically, yes, but also because of what I will ask of you.” He paused, and you felt your heart start to race, not with nerves, but with excitement. “The choreography will ask you to react to one another, at first as strangers, but later in harmony. It will be dynamic. First you will meet,” he gestured with his hands and moved them past one another. “Then you will circle each other,” he moved his hands around each other, sometimes coming closer, sometimes moving farther away. “And finally, you will come together and create something new.” He pressed his hands together and nodded. “Overall, it is about the connection you form and nurture between you, in these short moments together.”

No one spoke for a moment as you took that in. “That sounds beautiful, Kuiil.” Your mind was spinning as you thought of the possibilities for each part of the piece, and what it might look like on stage.

“Thank you, my dear. I believe it is the two of you who will make it so. Now, for today’s practice, we will listen to the first movement, and then I will send you home to listen to the rest. Focus on what you hear and we will talk about it after.” He turned to the sound system and your gaze drifted once more to find Din, to your right.

You found him already looking at you. Your eyes caught, and as the music started, you swore he might have started to smile.

…

You felt better after your first not-quite-practice with Kuiil. You hadn’t danced at all but you felt more sure of yourself and the piece.

The only thing you weren’t sure of was Din.

After rehearsal he had once again left quickly, and Kuiil had nodded at you as you followed Din out the door. He had already been halfway down the hallway when you stepped out.

A few hours later, you finished with PT and went looking for Adrian — he had promised you dinner (and a debrief) and you weren’t going to let him get out of it. You found him talking to Owen and pulled him away.

“Sorry! He promised to feed me and I’m starving.”

Owen laughed, waving you away. You tucked your arm through Adrian’s and dragged him towards the street.

“So,” he said, elbowing you. You elbowed him back. “How was it?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but weren’t sure where to start.

“Oh come on,” he said, when it took you too long to respond. You looked at him, confused. “I bet you haven’t even learned any choreo yet and you’re already in love with it.”

You rolled your eyes. “We talked about the piece and his vision for it.”

“Oooh, his vision,” Adrian teased you, and you laughed. “You’re so lucky getting to do this with, like, your favorite choreographer. It’s going to be so amazing, too, because I swear the two of you are on the same artistic wavelength. But what about your partner?”

You shrugged and you both stepped out onto the street and you smiled. “I’ll tell you all about it over dinner. Come on, you have to feed me.”

He laughed and tugged you down the street.

…

The following week you had a shortened rehearsal with Kuiil, due to the start of the January mixed program in the next few days. But it only took a few minutes for your tentative hope and confidence about the whole thing to start to slip.

You turned, holding your position in attitude, and began to draw inwards, collapsing your body as Kuiil had asked. Before you could begin the extension of the next movement, though, the music stopped.

“Hold on,” Kuiil called. “Take a moment, both of you. Breathe.”

You stood up straight and closed your eyes. You took a deep breath, trying not to hear his words as sharp criticism.

It wasn’t going well.

The first movement of the piece was all about meeting someone new — someone with a different style, someone who moved in a different way. Unlike a classical pas de deux, it started with the variations, with solo moments on stage for each of you that played to each of your strengths. Then Kuiil had you meet each other for the first time. It emphasized your differences in ways that showcased your talents, but at the same time those strengths drew you apart. You were supposed to move past each other, to miss each other, but then somehow to catch each other’s attention anyway. By the end of the first, you were just starting to be pulled into each other’s orbit, intrigued but wary, unsure of the nature of the tiny connection you formed.

But you both seemed to be having trouble with the idea of being in the moment separately, yet still somehow together.

You knew you would start alone, dancing in turns, and wouldn’t even share the stage until a few minutes in. But rather than start with that solo choreography, Kuiil had started this first rehearsal with the choreography for the first few moments you were on stage together. You started up stage left with a turn into a full extension that became an arabesque en pointe. From there you ‘fell’ to the floor and rolled before standing and turning into a leap. Then a series of jumps and turns took you across the stage towards Din.

Din, on the other hand, started in the wings from stage right and burst into action. While you were moving slowly through your extension and arabesque, he came flying onto the stage in a double saut de basque en dedan. From there he twisted and turned until he was supposed to cross paths with you.

You’d only learned a few counts of 8, and yet somehow you could both tell it wasn’t working. Whatever you’d managed so far, it wasn’t what Kuiil had envisioned. It felt disjointed. And the more frustrated you felt, the more you knew it would show in your body. You could feel it, and you could definitely see Din’s frustration almost radiating off of him in waves.

After a moment, Kuiil called you over to where he was standing. “Even though we start this piece with the two of you emphasizing different styles, you are still talking to one another. From the first moment, when you meet, you are interacting, you are curious. You are not dancing separately, no matter how tentative, no matter how new or foreign or hesitant the connection might be. You affect each other from the moment you meet. Your bodies cannot lie on stage.”

He sighed, and you felt your shoulders tense.

“I want you both to practice until next week, and to think about how to form that connection.” He looked at Din, whose spine was so taut you wondered if it hurt. “But let us stop for now. I know you have your solo variations this weekend, Din, and you, my dear, have Jee’s piece. Go and focus on those things, and next week we will try again.”

You bit your lip and nodded. You opened your mouth to apologize, but he waved you both towards the door. “No, no, it is only the beginning. Do not worry, we will find it.”

You nodded. You needed to get out of this room, to get your mind ready for the next rehearsal. For the performance awaiting you over the weekend. As you stepped into the hall you heard Din begin to speak to Kuiil, but you walked quickly away. Eavesdropping definitely wasn’t going to help you clear your mind, this time.

...

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a/n: uh oh 👀 now what? some ballet terms:

Kuiil mentions that this pas won't be like a classical pas de deux -- as I mentioned last time, classical pas de deux have certain recognizable parts. This one is a bit more inventive.

attitude (derriere) - a position with one leg extended with the knee bent at a 90 degree angle, usually turned out. in this case reader is doing it to the back (derrière) and en pointe (on her toe shoes). here's a video!

extension - reader mentions the 'extension of the next movement' -- she's starting in attitude derrière, collapsing inwards, and then extending her leg back out into arabesque (next bullet), all en pointe.

arabesque en pointe - similar to an attitude but with the leg straight rather than bent. here's a very short video of basically the position reader is about to do.

leap - a leap is a broader term that can be used for a variety of jumps in ballet, but in this case reader is supposed to turn into a saut de chat -- a leap where the front leg does a developpe. (the video shows this well)

double saut de basque en dedans (~0:28) - Din enters the stage doing one of these. The video has a few different impressive jumps but this one is one of my favs, tbh. He's turning in the air twice with one foot touching the knee of the other leg, which is straight. 'En dedans' refers to the direction of the turn (towards the supporting leg, the one that stays straight). Here's Baryshnikov doing one.

counts of 8 - reader refers to learning a few counts of 8. In dance we count in 8s (what anyone musically inclined would think of as two 4/4 bars) and you often learn new choreography in 8s, or 8 beats. it's just the unit of measure everyone uses (which would obviously change if the time signature of the music was different). I've heard a lot of explanations for it (can tie more movements together, more room for choreography, easier to break down the moments between the beats) but honestly I don't know the historical reason. lol

music - Kuiil has chosen a piece with three movements. I actually have one in mind but I'm torn on sharing it because it's not like, 100% right, but mostly. I've choreographed a lot of this thing in my head. 😂

tag list coming in a reblog!

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin x you #din djarin #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian #pas de deux fic #pedro pascal character fanfiction #nbt fic #x reader

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nicoline1998enilocin · 8 months ago

Text

"I can hear you!"

PAIRING | Tony Stark x Avenger!Fem!Reader

WORD COUNT | 2.8K

SUMMARY | After a rather intimate moment in the kitchen with Tony, you go to your room to take the edge off for yourself. When he happens to walk by and hear you moan out his name, he can't help himself as he walks in, wanting to give you the pleasure you're so desperately craving from him.

RATING | Explicit (E)

WARNINGS/TAGS | Age gap, mutual pining, friends to lovers, use of nickname (Cupcake)

SMUT | Voyeurism, masturbation, use of vibrator, nipple play, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!), cream pie, aftercare

A/N | This one-shot is based on a request I received from a lovely Anon! From the moment I saw this request, the gears in my head started turning, and they haven't stopped ever since. This is proofread by the lovely @ccbsrmsf1; I could not have written this without your help and support 🩷

EVENTS Masterlist | @mcukinkbingo | Position: missionary

Banners: Yours truly | Divider: @firefly-graphics | GIF: @ccbsrmsf1

Main Masterlist | Tony Stark Masterlist

You're practically floating around the communal kitchen while baking, one of your favorite pastime activities. You tend to make the sweetest treats imaginable when you're not away for missions, hanging out with friends, or buried with your nose in a book. One person, in particular, has greatly liked you and your expert baking skills.

Since you joined the Avengers almost five years ago, Tony hasn't been able to keep his gaze off you because you radiate natural happiness and calm. On the battlefield, you always manage to keep a level head no matter how difficult it gets, which he admires. During those years, he has also developed a massive crush on you, which he has managed to keep under wraps all this time. Little does he know, you feel the same about him, too.

"Are you excited to see Tony again?" Natasha asks as you put the cookies in the oven. You made a batch specifically for him after he texted you about how rough his last mission was. The butterflies in your stomach go wild at the mention of his name, though you pretend nothing's going on, just like you have done all this time.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Nat," you said while rolling your eyes, though you know exactly what she's talking about. You've been crushing on Tony for a long time, too, and it seemed to be visible to everyone except you and him.

"Sure you do," she says before standing up straight, letting you know they're back before going to her room to give the two of you some privacy. Tony walks into the kitchen with a look of defeat on his face, and your heart sinks at the sight—you've rarely seen him like this before.

"Hi, Cupcake," he says to you as he sits down on a chair by the kitchen island, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips that doesn't quite reach his eyes. He's really struggling, and you know he needs your company right now.

"Shall I make you a cup of tea? I have cookies in the oven that are almost done as well," you tell him, and he hums appreciatively. Before he met you, he would immediately grab something stronger, but something inside him flipped the moment you took care of him after a challenging mission. So now, he prefers to drink some tea and enjoy your baked goods while in your company because simply being around you lifts his mood.

The tea is quickly made, and you walk around the kitchen island to sit next to him as you put his mug in front of him.

"Thank you," he whispers before he places his head on your shoulder and lets out a deep sigh. His eyes are closed as his hands wrap around the warm ceramic of the mug, and he can immediately feel himself calming down. Your familiar scent and warmth radiate comfort to Tony, and the two of you stay like that until the cookies are done, and you have to get them out of the oven.

"Would you like to try one? I made your favorites after hearing about the mission," you said shyly, and Tony immediately perked up. Knowing you made these specifically for him made his heart beat faster, and the sparkle in his dark brown eyes returned.

"How could I say no to your delicious baked goods, Cupcake? They're my favorites after a long mission," he says, and you nod. You put two of them on a plate before sitting down again and letting them cool while you sip your tea.

"Are you ready to talk about it?" you ask him, but he shakes his head. Tony usually talked about his missions with you as a 'debriefing,' but he wants to live in your comfortable bubble right now.

"Okay," you say softly before sipping your tea again, and Tony does the same with his. He groans softly as the warm liquid slowly makes its way down his throat, soothing him from the inside out. When he puts his mug down, you break off a bit of a cookie before holding it to his lips. It's a seemingly innocent gesture, but how he looks at you with a fire in his eyes lets you know it is anything but.

Your eyes flick from his plump, pink lips to his dark, chocolate-brown eyes, and you must suppress the whimper that wants to move out of your chest. The way your heart beats faster as you lift the baked good to his mouth doesn't go unnoticed by you, but from the look on his face, you know he's feeling the same, too.

His lips parted slightly before he took a bite of the sweet cookie, the taste exploding on his tongue in the best way possible. A soft moan escapes his lips, and you clench your thighs together at the sound, wishing it was you who was coaxing them out instead of the sweet cookie in his mouth. He keeps his eyes closed as he enjoys the taste, though before he can open them, you excuse yourself, quickly making your way to your room after what just happened.

Tony is confused as he wonders what he did wrong, but he ultimately decides to leave it be for now, as he doesn't have the emotional bandwidth to go after you. He makes a mental note to check up on you later, though he won't know what hit him once he does.

A few hours have passed since you shared that intimate moment with Tony, and you're still horrified by how you left him there. At first, you paced through your room while debating whether or not to go back, and when you finally decided to do so, he was gone, and you were too late.

Now you were thinking about the whole ordeal again, and more specifically about the soft moan, Tony let out when he tasted your cookie and the arousal he made you feel by doing that. A flame roars up in your belly at the thought alone, so you decide to help yourself using your trusty vibrator like you have done countless times before.

The lilac-colored silicone toy lands on your bed with a soft thud before you remove your clothes, leaving you in only your underwear. You quickly slip under the covers before getting comfortable, your vibrator in your hand as you tease yourself a little bit first.

The toy comes to life with a soft hum, and you place it over your panties for some light teasing over your clit. Your bottom lip is pulled between your teeth as you move it up and down, your hips rutting up. The friction of the vibrations combined with your arousal has you on the edge of release sooner than you thought, so you stop yourself before it's too late.

This time you guide the toy under your panties, sliding it through your soaked folds before turning it on, making you gasp at the feeling of it against your sensitive clit. You moan softly as you rub it over the sensitive bundle of nerves, all the while memories of Tony go through your mind.

When you slide the toy into your pussy, you moan Tony's name loudly as you turn up the setting on it, giving you more and more pleasure while you take your time with it. Your free hand is rolling and tugging on your nipples under your bra, only adding to your pleasure.

The moment you gasped out Tony's name, he happened to walk over to your room to talk about what happened, but he came to a halt right the moment you moaned his name. At first, he wasn't sure he heard you correctly, but the moans became louder, and he could clearly hear you say his name.

Tony can feel himself chub up in his pants, and he's thankful he decided not to put on any underwear after his shower; it would only have been in the way of him and his pleasure. He listens for just a moment longer until he's almost at the point of cumming untouched, which is when he knocks on the door, and you shriek at the sudden sound.

"Uh—oh, one moment!" you say as you quickly put your vibrator into your drawer, not caring about the clean-up for now. All you know is that whoever is on the other side of the door probably heard you, and you're scared to find out who it is.

"Come in," you say after gathering yourself back together for a moment, but all that goes out the window when you see it's Tony, who is on the other side of the door. All color drains from your face at the realization. He definitely heard you moan his name, and now he knows you've been fantasizing about him.

"T-Tony, hi..." you say as your voice trails off, and your gaze lowers. Your line of sight is immediately drawn to the tent he's pitching in his pants. You pull your bottom lip between your teeth at the sight before quickly looking away as you know you shouldn't be staring at him and his cock - which has invaded your mind for way too long now.

"I came here to talk, but I think I might want to do something else instead. Hearing you moan my name like that got me so fucking hard for you, Cupcake, and I think I know the best way to relieve myself of the tension," he says confidently as he walks over to you, and all you can do is nod.

"Let me show you how a real cock can make you cum, and I will ensure you it'll be much better than the shitty excuse of a toy you just fucked yourself on," he continues, stripping himself of every last bit of clothing while walking over to you. He kneels on the bed before crawling over to you, caging you in between his arms before lowering himself until he's only a few inches away from your face.

"If you want me to stop, tell me now, Cupcake. I won't be able to once I've tasted you," he whispers, but you shake your head. You don't want him to stop; you want him to make you fall apart on his cock like he promised, as well as so much more.

"I need you, Tony, please," you tell him, and within less than a second, his lips are on yours in a bruising kiss, all the air punched out of your lungs at the movement. Your hand laces into his hair while your other one glides down his back until you've reached his ass, squeezing it in a bold moment. The moan leaving Tony's lips has you ruining your panties even further as a gush of arousal soaks them.

"I've been waiting so long for this, Cupcake; I need you so bad," Tony says, and you nod as he strips the comforter away from you, leaving you in nothing but your bra and panties before him. The fabric of both is pulled off your body in an instant, leaving you bare to him.

"Look at you, Cupcake, you're an absolute sight for sore eyes," Tony tells you as his fingers glide over your body, softly tugging on your nipples before sliding through your folds and gathering the slick there. He puts his fingers in his mouth as he hums appreciatively, and your eyes flutter shut at the sight before you.

"Look at me, Cupcake; I need you to look at me when I slide into you for the first time. I need to commit every second of it to memory because I know it'll be a sight I'll never be able to forget,'' he whispers, and you do as he asks. His hand wraps around his long, veiny monster he calls a cock before pumping a few times and lining up with your entrance.

"Take a deep breath for me, Cupcake," he tells you, and when you do, he slides in with a single thrust, and your back arches into him as you moan his name loudly. The smirk on his face is unmistakable as he allows you to adjust to his size, but he doesn't get a chance to say anything before you do.

"Fuck, I love you so much," you tell him as your fingers squeeze his biceps to ground yourself as you adjust to his size. You've never been with anyone of Tony's size, and even though it's a pleasurable burn, you want him to stay still for a bit longer.

Tony looks down at you with wide eyes after your love confession.

"I love you too, Cupcake. God, I've been dying to tell you that," he says with a breathy laugh, and you pull him down for a kiss as he starts to set a slow pace, his hips rolling against your pelvis in a leisurely rhythm. He cannot even begin to tell you how long he's been waiting to tell you that, but now that he has, he can't stop telling you.

"You're so beautiful, loving, and funny, and I love you so fucking much," he says, and you nod as you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him even closer.

"I love you too, Tony, so much," and with those words, he sets a fast pace that has you screaming his name within no time at all. The sound of skin slapping against skin and your combined moans make for a beautiful chorus that Tony can't get enough of as he's nearing the end of his ropes.

"Fuck, 'm close! Where do you want me, Cupcake?" he asks you, but you already know the answer.

"Inside me, Tony, I'm on birth control," you say, and he lets out a sigh of relief at your words. Even though you know it isn't the safest option, you don't want to let him go. You want him to cum inside you and mark you as his because you are exactly that. His.

"Yeah? Does my girl want my cum in her sweet, tight pussy?" he asks, and you nod as you slide your hand between your bodies, your fingers playing with your clit until you're trembling and clenching around Tony's cock, milking him for all he's worth.

His pace falters quickly after your orgasm, and with a loud grunt, he shoots every last drop of his cum in your pussy until he's spent. As he falls to the side, he pulls you with him to have you close as you're both enjoying the post-sex haze.

When you both come down from your high, you take a shower together where there are more kisses shared, as well as some less innocent touches, but you're both sensitive from the sex, so you both keep it to a minimum. When you're both finished and dry, you head to the kitchen to prepare some more tea.

"I'm a lucky man with you, Cupcake," Tony tells you as he stands behind you. You're wearing nothing more than his shirt and a pair of panties, while Tony is only clad in his jeans. He places some soft kisses on your neck, his facial hair making you giggle as he does.

You don't notice the rest of the Avengers slowly coming into the kitchen, too, and they're all sharing looks as they see the two of you all cozy by the counter.

"Finally! It took you guys long enough!" Natasha says, and that's when you both look at all the Avengers. Tony keeps you close to him as a blush spreads over both of your faces, making her laugh loudly. You give Tony a look of 'What is she talking about?' but he shrugs before placing a kiss against your temple.

"Guys, come on. The sexual tension has been dripping off you both ever since you first met; it's a miracle it took this long. However, as long as you let me be the maid of honor during your wedding, I will support your relationship with all my heart," Natasha tells you, making everyone laugh.

"Deal!" you say as you melt into Tony's hold. After that, congratulations were exchanged, and everyone quickly accepted your relationship. From that moment on, you and Tony were inseparable, and you are nothing if not a woman of your word, so the moment Tony proposed to you, you asked Nat to be your maid of honor, which she happily accepted.

Life with Tony is nothing short of amazing, and you're secretly thanking yourself every day for moaning his name that day because it brought you the best thing that has ever happened to you. It shows that sometimes the best things can bloom from the most embarrassing moments, but you wouldn't change this one for the world.

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romana-after-dark · 23 days ago

Text

Our Gentle Sins: Chapter 8

Thank you so so so much to @plasticbabies for making this beautiful header!!!! we finally have a good one!

Dark!Logan Howlett x fem!reader

Series Masterlist : Main Masterlist : Logan Masterlist

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Follow @romana-updates and click follow, join my tumblr community or ask to join the tag list to keep up!

Buy Me A Coffee : Kofi : Go Fund Me

Chapter summary: Past. Logan and you dance. Present. Your admit your issues with doctors.

Warnings: This fic features non con, pregnancy, and themes of religous trauma. I will not be saying everything that happens to warm you, by clicking read more you are prepared for extremely dark themes and that you at 18+. You are responsible for your own media consumption.

3.0 words

Before

You were beautiful. No, no, beautiful wasn’t enough. Radiant. Ethereal… Fuck, Logan was struggling to find words as he watched you in your dress, confidently striding around the dance with a spring in your step. You wore a yellow, floral dress that vaguely resembled regency era, everyone around you wearing the best they could get. Charles had put money towards allowing the teens to get nice dress clothes, believing knowing how to dress properly was important, so when you and your literature class planned a school ball, they were prepared. Everyone came, because of course they did. You were the favorite teacher.

Being the favorite teacher meant Logan hadn’t hardly seen you all evening, watching you float like a butterfly around the hall talking to everyone. You had enlisted him and Remy, as well as a few others like Scott or Emma to help chaperone, but you and Remy and him had spent the week setting everything up. Logan never saw himself as the type to hang up streamers, but for you he’d do it all. Sometimes, he’d catch you glancing towards him even while chatting with another, and that made him happy.

You made him happy.

“She’s beautiful, Logan.” Kurt appeared next to him, but Logan didn’t stop watching you. The way you looked tonight, he needed to make sure you didn’t suffer unwanted attention. He’d protect you.

“Yeah, she really is.”

“You make a move yet?”

Logan rolls his eyes. Kurt was nosey. “No, Kurt. You know I can’t.”

A chuckle beside him. “No, I actually don’t. Charles didn’t actually say you couldn’t. I think you just like to wallow in self pity. Remy agrees.”

His head whips towards his friend, tearing his eyes off you for just a minute. “The fuck you talking to the Cajun about me for?”

Kurt remained playful. “Besides you and her, no one wants you together more than Remy does. Now, for fucks sake Logan, go get your girl.”

You were talking to Hank, discussing the struggles of making the most period accurate dance you could with one of the few people here who could understand.

“Can I cut in?”

Logan.

You turn to see him, and god, he was beautiful as ever, but incredible in that dapper suit. He slaps a friendly hand on Hank’s back, and Hank gives him a knowing look, politely excusing himself to go get some food. Logan smiles down at you, holding out his hand. “May I have this dance?”

Heat warms your skin, heart picking up as you try and fail to hold back a smile, taking his hand. “My dance card is very full, but I think I can squeeze you in.”

It was perfect. Logan, being the man 200 something years old, knew how to dance. Remaining chaste, somehow you still managed to feel like he was burning a hole through your clothes when he touched you. His hand on your waste felt indecent, salacious… but his touch on your shoulder was downright lewd. Logan had never seen your shoulders, always covered up even that night, and a few nights after, you came to his room as he tossled in the throws of a nightmare. Not that he had seen the waist he touched so lightly either, but you imagined him slipping off the dress with the hand on you, heat beginning to pool in your stomach.

Logan had never mentioned catching you masturbating, although he’d certainly heard you calling his name as well. The window was nothing to his hearing. He was polite enough to leave it be, and that’s one of the things that made you fall in love with him. He was better than you deserved. Logan was good, Logan was kind and gentle and you didn’t care what other people thought of him. He was better than you.

“You look beautiful, Dolly.” Logan spoke earnestly, thumb caressing over the material on your collar bone, making you wince in pain, his large hand splayed over you.

The compliment made you blush, casting your eyes away. You knew how to take a compliment, even if you weren’t convinced of its truth. “Thank you.”

“Hey.” His hand, smooth and soft from the regenerative cells in his body, cupped your face, coaxing it up to look at him. “I mean it.” When your eyes avoid his, he presses further. “Why don’t you believe me?”

You swallow hard. How to explain it without sounding like a jealous or catty bitch. You didn’t hate other women. You were jealous of many here, yes of course you were. Jean, Emma, Rogue, Storm. Of course you were jealous, you weren’t an idiot. But it wasn’t the sort that made you dislike them. All the women here had been wonderful to you, but still, you struggled to connect. You felt out of place in womanhood, often feeling as if you were a perpetual teenage girl on the outskirts, no idea how to be a woman correctly. It wasn’t that you were a virgin, but you hadn’t had any idea what they were talking about with sex. Your husband made you feel dirty for wanting to try anything new.

You didn’t know how to do make-up or how to dress like them, do hair and fuck and kiss and maybe kiss each other? You didn’t know. Did friend kiss all the time like in college movies? What was normal? Getting married at 16 certainly wasn’t. You couldn’t really talk to them about interests because you didn’t really know what interested you. You liked reading, but the books Emma read were…. Well, far from the Jane Austen and Agatha Christie you read. Part of you wanted to read those books… but you was scared.

It was a big world out there, and you didn’t know how to navagate it.

“Dolly, talk to me.”

“I just… sometimes I wonder why you spend so much time with me… there are far prettier women here-”

“Dolly-”

“Who don’t cry when they try on pants, who don’t dress like grandmas, who can drive a car-”

Who can give you children.

“Hey-”

“You should be spending your time chasing someone who can give you what you want. I’m not an idiot, Logan. I know you feel what I feel for you but…” Tears prickled at your eyes. “But I can’t… I can’t be what you need or want, Logan. I can’t.”

For a long moment, you danced in silence, Logan leaving you in a waltz as bodies blurred around you. Scott and Emma, Remy and Rogue, student couples of yours who you’d suspected were together… all of it surround you, filling the air with lust and love and friendship. In the middle of it, you and Logan, some combination of all three.

“I’m not who you think I am, Logan.”

“What do you know of what I need, baby doll? I don’t need what others have. I need what you have. I need you. You. You are my dolly, nothing else matters.”

Your next words blurted out. “I can’t get pregnant.”

Another pause. “I guessed that.”

Your head whips up, finally looking at him in shocked confusion. “What?!”

“Fundamentalists don’t believe in birth control. They don’t even believe in um… natural family planning. You were married several years. So, either you didn’t get pregnant either because of you or him, or you left children behind.”

“I’d never leave children with that monster.” You spat out your words.

“I know. I know you wouldn’t. I figured it was either you or him.”

His trust in your character touched you, but there was something else that stood out. “What do you mean him?” Logan narrowed his eyes, brows pinched together.

“Him? If he didn’t have enough…” He hesitated to find the polite words. “Well, if the issue was on his end.”

Your skin, if it was burning before with Logan’s touch, was on fire in a rage. “You mean the issue could’ve been him?”

You were absolutely livid. All those years, all those years he blamed you, said you were barren, and it could have been him! Your beliefs at the time didn’t allow for medical intervention for women who struggled with infertility (natural only!) so you never went to the doctor for help conceiving. For years you were miserable, wanting a child, wanting nothing more than to be a mother, told all you were worth was your potential motherhood and since you couldn’t live up to it, you were nothing.

And it might not have been because of you.

Logan watched with concern as your eyes filled with tears, burying your head in his nice shirt to hide your crying as you explained it all. Every negative pregnancy test, how badly you wanted it, the nights you spent on your knees until the bruises begin God to be worthy of a child.. How every time one of your siblings or church members announced a pregnancy you rejoiced for them but felt a punch in the gut, how your husband beat you for your failures.

“Did Logan make you cry?”

Scott pulled you out of your thoughts. Not long after you and Logan danced, Scott asked for one and you happily obliged. Scott was very kind. Remy was a good friend, Logan was… whatever was happening with Logan. But Scott checked in on you regularly. See if you needed anything, if you were settling into the school well, if you were having any trouble or concerns with the teens. When you were sick, he checked in late that day much to Logans annoyance.

“What?” You snap to attention. “Oh! No, no… I was just… other stuff, you know.”

You couldn’t see Scotts eyes, so reading his face was harder than with most. Over the years, you’ve gotten good at reading men's body language and facial expressions, the only way to survive in the male dominated world you grew up in. Scott was an enigma.

“Are you sure? Because Judith,” His use of your pseudonym threw you off. “If anyone here is harming you, we won’t protect them. I know the life you had, but you can just us. We won’t choose Logan over you.”

What on earth was he talking about? “Logan wouldn’t hurt me, Mr. Summers.” You insist, eyes searching for Remy, hoping to get out of this conversation.

Scott’s thumb pulled at the top of your dress, moving it aside just a single inch, but you knew what it revealed. You gasp, swiftly covering it up again, hoping no one saw. “What-”

“If he is hurting you, you need to tell me. I promise, I can he-”

A large, hairy hand clamped down on Scotts shoulder, a subdued cry of pain escaping Scotts lips.

Logan spoke, a dark, low voice in Scotts ear. “The only fucking reason I’m not tearing your arm off is because my baby doll spent months planning this dance and it would be rude to spray blood all over her guest. So I suggest you take your hands off her, and we handle this outside like men.”

“LOGAN STOP!” You scream, crying against the wall as you watched Scott and Logan fight in the parking lot. Well, fight wasn’t the right word. Scott could probably have killed Logan if he was really trying, but he wasn’t. Scott was far more rational than Logan was, especially now.

The two men battled it out, leaving you all but forgotten as you sob on the floor.

Then, an explosion. It wasn’t big, nothing and no one was damaged, but enough to make Scott and Logan stumble back and pause, chests heaving in their torn and dirty formalwear.

“For fucks sake!” Remy appeared from the purple cloud, gesturing towards you. “I leave for 5 minutes and I come back to find my friends fighting like teenage boys! And I do say boys, cher, because a man,” He reached a hand to you, helping you up. “Wouldn’t leave a lady crying on the floor!”

“Take her inside.” Scott instructs. “I’ll handle this.”

Logan’s ‘fuck off’ went unnoticed.

“And what, exactly, are you handling?”

“I dunno, Remy, maybe something to do with the claw marks on her!”

All eyes turned to you, including Remy. “Pistache,” His voice was gentle. Did something happen?”

You melt under the pressure, slinking away behind where Remy stood. “I can explain, Mr. Summers.”

And just like that, eyes were back on Scott. “Are really out here trying to kill our brother in arms before you even ask the girl what happened?”

Scott looked embarrassed. “She won’t say anything about him! She’s clearly scared! Besides, I wasn’t trying kill him…”

“Ah, just maim him then.”

“Dolly.” Logans voice called to you. He looked so worried, so sad, his eyes wide and desperate. “Did I… hurt you?”

You nod. “But Logan… It was the nightmare.” You turn to Scott, a hint of indignation you couldn’t help for him accusation to Logan, but a softness because someone, someone cared enough to notice. “He was having a nightmare. He scratched me in his sleep when I tried to wake him.”

Once again unreadable, Scotts voice was careful. “You don’t have to defend him. You can-”

“Respectfully, Mr. Summers,” You said, letting go of Remy in favor of approaching Logan and taking his hand. “I’ve survived abuse once. I told people then, they didn’t believe me but I told them. I would do it again if Logan did that. But from Logan’s point of view, you were pulling at my clothing. So I think its best both of you sweep this under the rug as a misunderstanding.” You walk away, taking Logan with you. “Logan and I are about to miss the last dance.”

After

“You’re missing the dance.”

“Can’t wear anything that won’t show them I’m pregnant.”

It was prom, and you had organized another dance for it. Months of work, and you couldn’t even see your students dresses. Everything nice enough to chaperone would be too tight, thanks to the slight bump. You didn’t know Logan would be back so soon, but him and Kurt returned this evening. Under the blankets, you feigned sickness to Remy, asking him to attend the ball in your stead, show your students the love you wanted to give.

Your first year here was almost done, and you were sure once the pregnancy came out you’d be fired. You couldn’t expect Charles to put the baby through daycare.

The room was dark, but the glow of the TV illuminated Logan as he sat on the chair with a heavy sigh.

“How's the girl?” You ask.

“She’s gonna need a lot of rest and food and she’s on an IV but… she’ll make it. Seems happy to be here. Kurt and her got along well.”

“Good.” The Tv drowned out the quiet, Bobs Burgers again. “You know, I don’t understand half of this show sometimes. Pop Culture references I don’t get. Like, who is queen Laytifa? Who is Bruce Springsteen? I don’t know.”\

A beat. “If it makes you feel better, I don’t get a lot of the jokes either.”

You give a small chuckle. “It kinda does. At least I have an excuse.”

Logan gives you a moment before asking. “How are you been since i left.”

You try to think of an honest answer. “Morning sickness is terrible. Nightmares are worse than ever, but Remy’s helped me. I’m too fat for some of my clothes already. Not going great, honestly.”

“Dolly,” He huffs, “We need to get you into a-”

“A doctor. I know. School’s out in two weeks.” You take a deep breath and release it slowly. “I’m teaching a few summer classes and the literature club is meeting through the summer but… I’m free at noon every day. We can go, I guess.”

Logan’s heart leap, relieved to finally get you and his baby medical care once again. He knew this was difficult for you, you never went to doctors for anything this whole school year.

“Is it a naturopathic thing? Like you guys didn’t believe in science.”

You groan, covering your face with a blanket. “Why do you think we’re friends, Logan? I’m not talking to you about my life like this!”

Frustrated and tired, he tugged the blanket back down. “”I just wanna take care of you, dolly!”

“After you raped me!” Your words hung in the air, bitter on your tongue, but more spilled out. “I- I was pregnant once. I think. It was too early to test but I just… knew. And then he beat me. It was… it was so bad, Logan. I’ve never known pain like that. And then I started bleeding. I tried to tell a doctor I was being abused…” You willed yourself not to cry this time. “But he told me…”

You think back to that night, your eyes pinched shut as you recounted it to Logan. Everything hurt. You wanted a female doctor but your husband insisted on seeing a family friend. When you were alone you tried to say no, you didn’t fall that he did this too you. You tried to say that you made you miscarry!

‘Do you know what the laws are for abortion here, ma’am?’

His question stunned you.

‘Uh… illegal?’

You didn’t really know.

‘Legal in some circumstances, unfortunately. But illegal outside of medical performance, and we don’t know how far along you are.’

‘I’m only-’

‘Whose to say. My point is, how are we to know you didn’t try to skirt around the law and end your own pregnancy?’

You couldn’t take the TV anymore. Too loud, too bright. You turn it off, getting up to open the window for fresh air. Through the crack, music from the prom spilled in, Glitter in the Air.

Logan’s arms wrapped around your waist, burying his hair in your face and you wanted to pull away. You wanted to scream. But you also wanted Logan to just be your Logan again. Maybe he was? You had missed him, even now after everything you missed him. You wanted to be with him.

“Dance with me, Dolly. Even if it’s our last.”

So you danced with him. And it was not the last.

But Charles returned for graduation, and you needed to make a choice what to do.

WOW THANK YOU SOSOSOSOSOOSOSOSOSO much!!!!!

comments mean the ENTIRE world and the in depth thought you've all given are so wonderful!!!!!!

I really really am so delighted with the love here, and all the new followers and friends!!!

Thank you so so much everyone. I love you all!!

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bonny-kookoo · 1 year ago

Text

Jungkook/platonic!OT7

𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐝 [Part 3: Glow]

And suddenly, the thing you feared most becomes the only thing you can seem to trust.

Main tags/Warnings: Werewolf!Jungkook, Werewolf!Bangtan, strangers/enemies to lovers, romantic Jungkook x reader, Platonic bangtan x reader, eventual smut, mentions of past emotional/psychological manipulation, hurt and comfort, fluff!, some angst, actually a bit more than just some, but we're getting spicy

Length: 2.5k words

There is no taglist for this fic.

-> Masterlist

🌲── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ─🐺─ ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──🌲

None of it makes sense. Or at least, you refuse to let it make any sense.

Suddenly, the medications in your drawer look more like poison to you, as you anxiously unlock your phone to search up the name of it online. But the moment you do, you accidentally accept Jungkook's call- who's unaware of the panic you're in right now. "I was wondering where you were. You're not ghosting me right now, are you?" He laughs, jokes, but you can't really see any fun in it right now.

"I'll- Jungkook can I call you back later?" You say, trying to sound normal- but you don't, because Jungkook's now serious tone gives away the fact that he knows something's up.

"Everything okay?" He worries. "You sound upset." The alpha wolf states, and you sigh, running a hand over our face.

"Yeah- yeah!" You force out. "I'm good, just, a little sick. That's all." You stutter out, staring at the now opened letters from your mother and the final notice you got today.

"I'm sorry but I'm not buying that at all." He sighs on the other end of the line. "Do you need anything? Even just some company?" He asks, offers, and you're not sure about that. "I can just stay on the phone, too. Don't have to come over or anything-" He rambles, when you swallow thickly, cutting him off.

"Do.." You start, before you summon all of your strength to speak it out loud. "…Do you know a medication called Amatropin O-plus?" You ask, and he's quiet for a moment, before he answers you.

"I know of Amatropin A-plus. It's.. a prescription medication used to control instincts in prime-Alphas." He explains, and you put your phone down at that, putting your face into your hands. "Why are you asking?" He presses, saying your name after to gain your attention back.

"What the fuck.." You breathe out. "I'm gonna lose my job- my whole life-" You rant, deadline for your IC-evaluation test staring back at you, before you grab your phone. "How do I get out of an IC test." You demand to know, voice quivering.

"What are you talking about?" Jungkook asks. "An IC-evaluation is mandatory, you can't just get out of one. But why are you even-" He suddenly stops. "…I knew it." He suddenly says.

"Knew what?" You bark. "Knew what?! Has everyone been lying to me now?" You break, as Jungkook's voice is heard again.

"Can you let me in?" He asks, and you're not sure what he's talking about- when a knock is heard on your door. and as you open is, he's right there, ending the call before he slips his phone back into his pant pocket. And you're not sure why exactly you do it- probably some weird wolf-shit that you just don't understand yet, but you just open the door fully, and let him hug you for a good little while.

"What do I do now.." You whine, while he closes the door behind you, and wraps both of his arms back around you.

"We'll figure it out." He reassures. "Can you show me the notice?" He asks, and you part from him and sniffle, collecting yourself a little to walk him into your bedroom, where the floor is littered with ripped open envelopes, handwritten letters, and lastly- the notice, right next to your opened box of medication. You sit down in the mess, and he himself takes his place right next to you, taking the official notice for himself to read over it. "It's a final notice. Where are the other two?" He asks, and you shrug.

"Probably having been sent to my mother." You say, defeated. "God my whole life is over." You complain, face in your hands.

Jungkook doesn't want to pry, but as he reads some parts of the handwritten letters, he begins to put one and one together. It's not unusual- especially with omegas, situations like this happen more often than not, really. Parents hiding their daughters and sons either out of shame or fear- and in this situation in particular, he doesn't know which one it might be.

Some parents are ashamed due to the stigma russounding omegas. Others are afraid because of how they're treated, and how often they're the victims of crimes.

"She knew. She.. must've known that they'd send me this, right?" You ask, and Jungkook shrugs, trying to contain his own instincts right now. You've probably not taken your medication since yesterday now, because your smell is now a lot more present than he's used to.

"Absolutely." He agrees. "She probably didn't react to them either, which is why they searched for your personal address now for the final notice." Jungkook explains. "You can explain to them what your situation is though. I'm sure they can offer you more time to prepare."

"But I've been technically living alone in the city illegally, right?" You worry. "I've been working illegally- oh god what if I go to prison.." You whine, and he runs a hand over your back in comfort.

"You didn't know." He tells you softly. "I'll help you with things, okay?" He offers, and you nod, trying hard to calm down now. "And I'm sure you have a place with Namjoon and the pack too, if they really deem your score turns out too low to stay here." The wolf comforts.

"She's not even my actual mother." You mumble quietly, staring at the letters with an empty gaze. "She knew all along what I was, but she didn't want me like that. She just.. kept me because she promised my dad to take care of me."

Jungkook feels for you. Omegas aren't seen very fondly, especially not by humans- simply brushed off as sex-hungry beasts who can't even take care of themselves properly without a pack or alpha around or a dick inside them. Which is entirely untrue- but years of written fantasy novels and the misuse of them in online erotica and porn in general has given them a stigma they can't shed. Just like alphas are said to be violent creatures with no sense of control, Omegas are just filled with lust and nothing else.

He's upset at that. You don't deserve to be forced into a situation like this- no one does.

"But that's the past now." He tells you. "I very much want you just the way you are. And I promise you, the rest of the pack won't mind you either." He explains, and you nod.

"Jungkook?" You ask, and he hums a reply, before you lean into him, clinging onto his warm body. "Thank you." You mumble, and he can't help but smile.

"No problem."

⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅

"Not surprised." Yoongi says as he finishes his food. "She might've been able to fool other humans, but not other wolves." He says, while Jimin sighs.

"Poor thing." He sympathizes with you. "I remember my mom went through the same thing. She was so glad when I turned out to be a Beta." He remembers, and Jungkook nods.

"I'm going to try and push the evaluation date back as much as I can today." Jungkook explains. "There's no way she can just be evaluated in two weeks, when she's never even had enough time to prepare. It wouldn't be fair at all.." The alpha wolf complains.

"It's never unfair to them in any case." Namjoon worries to himself. "I still can't believe that they're still seen as something to be ashamed of. I mean, that's her mother we're talking about." He shakes his head. He doesn't know the full situation yet, and Jungkook also doesn't want to involve them too much until you yourself want to.

"I'm more concerned about her safety." Yoongi argues. "Is she taking her suppressants?" He asks Jungkook, who shakes his head.

"She's scared of them now. Refuses them." He explains.

"So you left her?" The alpha growls. "You left an omega alone, who's never even experienced her own Instincts without any control before, and is under added pressure of her entire life basically falling apart?" He scolds angrily, causing Jungkook to shrink in on himself.

Yoongi can be quite intimidating.

"Yoongi has a point." Namjoon offers a lot more kindly. "I'd suggest you either stay with her, or even better bring her here so she's in a safer environment while she adapts to things." He suggests.

"I can ask her if she wants that." Jungkook nods, before he gets up. "If not, I'll stay with her instead." He mostly tells himself, leaving the packhouse.

"Do you think that's a good idea?" Hoseok wonders. "I mean.. we all noticed it.. right? Will he be okay alone with her?" He asks, and everyone grows a bit more quiet.

Because you're not just any kind of omega.

And everyone worries about the added challenges you might face because of that.

⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅

"Maybe you should ask about a lower dosage before you just quit them like that-" Jungkook tries, watching you struggle with your clear headache next to him on the couch.

You shake it softly. "No, I don't have time for that." You deny. "I've got too much.. paperwork to fill out and all.." You complain, raising your head to look at all the unopened and opened letters on the table, stacks of paperwork ready to be read and filled out with your personal info as soon as you want to.

Or can, in your case.

"You do have time." He gently argues. "Half a year, remember? Six months to prepare, and these documents don't need to be signed for another three weeks." He attempts to explain to you. "Please think about your health first. Quitting medication you've been on for years just like that isn't a good idea." The alpha urges, and you sigh.

"I don't want them." You argue however. He knows it just has to be overwhelming- if not just mentally, then physically as well. Your body is entirely confused and out of balance now that the usual hormones and other ingredients of your medication aren't present any longer. And yet, you refuse to see anyone for it, and he doesn't know why

Is it shame? Embarrassment? And if so, what does that say about what you think of him?

But he swallows that down, or at least tries to, when you furrow your brows in confusion, suddenly looking around, before your eyes find him. He looks at you in question, when you stare into your kitchen in alarm, getting up to check- but on your way, you already stop, because no, that smell is not coming from there at all.

One look back just offers you Jungkook sitting still on your couch, confused as ever.

"I.. you.. smell that too, right?" You ask, and his golden eyes are unsure.

"I don't really know what you mean." He asks. "What exactly do you mean?"

"Something.. burning. I don't know. It smells like.. I'm not sure, like plastic burning almost." You cringe, and at that, his face softens.

"I'm sorry. That's.. probably me." He chuckles a bit as you walk back towards him to sit down once more. "Your senses are probably.. I guess returning as they're supposed to be." He offers.

"But- my meds are only for instincts-" You start, when he shakes his head.

"No, they're used to prevent sensory overload." He explains. "That's a bit different. It's to basically shut down all the things that make us.. well, different. Our instincts get shut up, our senses become dull, and in turn, our own scents and stuff become almost unnoticeable too because our bodies dont produce the same hormones and stuff." He shrugs. "Which is why I'm trying to tell you you shouldn't just cut them off like that. It'll be incredibly hard to go through that." Jungkook offers.

You feel horrible for him.

For years you believed all the stories told, never actually thinking about what he or any of his kind must be going through. He probably deals with all of this daily but knows how to handle it- and from what you read online, his instincts are even stronger than most.

Which is another thing you want to know more about.

"Jungkook.. what does 'prime' mean?" You ask. "It's.. like, it's in front of your sub-gender, and on the evaluation invite it said the same for mine." You wonder with a good amount of worry.

"That's something for another time." He offers, while you wince from the pain in your head as you move it too quickly to follow him with your gaze as he walks towards the kitchen. "For now, lets settle with some simple human meds for your headache, and then we'll visit a specialist, okay?" He questions, squatting down where you sit on the couch with a glass of water and some regular headache pills.

"...you don't have to go everywhere with me, you know." You mumble, reluctantly taking the items from him- mostly because your headache is getting unbearable at this point.

"I can ask someone else from the pack then- but you shouldn't be out in this state by yourself." He sighs, before he takes his place sitting next to you again.

"Why not?" You whine, after taking the pills and eagerly chugging the cold water down. Somehow, you feel thirsty.

"Because.. You're pretty much a walking target right now." He sighs. "Wolves might not be what they always say but they're still.. some have the potential to be dangerous, let's just say it like that." He offers. "Your scent alone.. is like a drug to alphas especially." He says.

You watch him for a moment.

"Even for you?" You ask, and he shrugs- and only now do you notice the sweat on his hairline.

"Even for me." He nods, before he smiles. "But I've got good self control, so no need to worry." He tries to joke- but you don't find it funny at all.

"I'm sorry." You shake your head, staring into the kitchen where the medications lay. "I.. didn't think about how this could affect you at all.." you apologize, but he just shrugs it off. "No- it's not fair on you at all. You're being nothing but nice to me and I'm acting like a child basically.."

"Your whole life got turned around. I don't blame you for anything." He just shakes it off, and it doesn't make the weight on your soul feel any lighter.

"Jungkook.." you ask quietly, and he leans a bit closer to hear you better. "Can we... still be friends now? Even though I'm.. an omega and all?" You worry.

And Jungkook just laughs.

"Of course we can."

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#bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts fic #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook imagine #bts jungkook imagine #bts jungkook fanfic #bts jungkook x reader #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook fanfic #jeon jungkook imagines #jungkook imagines #werewolf jungkook #werewolf bangtan

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theyluvlyss · 4 months ago

Note

Hey!! you mentioned you wanted to write for tbp a while back, idk if ur still down but if so could I please get some robin hcs??

♡♡

𝐚𝐬 𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐚𝐬 𝐈 𝐚𝐦 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐨𝐛𝐢𝐧...

...I figured I'd use this as an opportunity to expand on all of the black phone boys, plus gwen, because... because I fucking can lmfao. so yeah, along with robin, I'll add finney, gwen, bruce, billy, vance, and griffin, if that's okay :)🖤.

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥/𝐋𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬

《 ♡ 》 headcannons

───────── 《 .°•♡•°. 》 ──────────

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭 :

lyssa's personal rendition of the ghost boys + gwen (except the difference is that I'm 100% totally right and everyone else is wrong, so ya😙🖤✨️) ((I'm kidding, plz don't attack me)). also, prepare, because this is probably going to be sooo long lmao...

𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 :

none

𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐞 :

1978 (plus some time afterward) - "if they lived" hdcns

𝐓𝐖/𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 :

cursing - mentions of death/abuse/brutality - me getting passionate (hence why this is so long) - spoilers (if you somehow haven't seen the movie by this point💀) - autism/adhd related topics - highly encourage shifters to use whatever I've written here as black phone shift-inspo because I know the movie doesn't give us a lot to go on for the boys personality-wise (also, tag me in your drs, guys, I'm so nosy😆♡)

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ...𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

───────── 《 .°•♡•°. 》 ──────────

𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐲 𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐤𝐞 :

I gotta get this off my chest before I forget and go insane, but oh my god, Finney is NOT the crybaby some of y'all make him out to be😹. That boy cried once in the entire one hour and forty-three minute runtime of the whole movie, okay? And it was when he was at his VERY LOWEST point during said movie/events, okay? Okay.

Y'all are fr gonna have to drop that narrative, because if it really came down to it, boy could talk mad shit and spread rumors like wildfire. All it takes is one little whisper to Bruce😆🤭...

Now that that's settled...

I feel like he's very non-confrontational as a person, though, fs. Like, if he's put in a position where his well-being/life is/may be on the line (😃...), then yeah, he'll do his best to stick up for himself. But otherwise, his main, favorite, and works-90%-of-the-time tactic is to just avoid conflict and places where it might occur altogether.

Also, I definitely think he's autistic. Like, no way he's not. Hyperfix? Space, obviously. Especially rockets, and then the science behind space/the things in space. I don't see him as a fan of loud noises, either (especially when we consider his upbringing). He also seems to not have the best handle on social cues/is awkward (but I guess that can also be perceived as a neurotypical trait, too, so idk). I also feel like he's defo a stickler for texture. Won't eat certain foods or wear certain fabrics,,, needs things to be a specific type of feeling/way for him to operate as usual, you feel me?

Having complete (emotional?) shutdowns when he's not in a positive mood and/or environment, only really having a logical way of thinking until the tasks/emotions run a bit too high and then he breaks down... I could go on, this really all seems like solid evidence to me, ngl🤷🏽‍♀️.

Bro just like me fr. Anyways.

I also think he's a huge fan of routine, especially simple ones that he can remember. Or, if/when a task is somehow connected to an object/person/other task? Yeah, his brain loves that.

He's a Cancer (birthday - July 10th), but I definitely think he's got Capricorn in his chart somewhere, too.

I might've brought this up before in another post, but I definitely think Finney would take/find interest in astrology. Maybe not actually believe in it or take it as seriously as the next person, but he'd definitely respects it because, while he's more of an astronomy guy, focusing on the logical aspects of space and stars and shit, astrology delves into a more spiritual and belief-based aspect, and he likes the thought of the stars that he loves having meanings and things that correspond to, not only your life, but to who you may be as a person.

Kind of like a little bit of insight, a look-see, on who someone is. So, with that, he definitely knows his own star sign and is happy to answer when asked.

"Oh, I'm a Cancer :). What are you?" And would probably find himself either asking or doing research on his own time on your/a person's answer to his rebound question.

A raging bisexual if I've ever seen one (I am one so I would know🫶🏽) (I give him the certified stamp of bi-ness, dw guys, I gave him proper clearance🫶🏽). Tell me he wasn't looking at Donna and Robin the same way. Actually, don't tell me, because if you say anything other than, "You're so right, Lyss😻‼️" I'm blocking you♡.

But in all seriousness, I feel like Finney himself didn't realize he felt the same feelings that he does for Donna for Robin until after he got with Donna (like,,, bro didn't clock it was the same feeling, nor that he even swung that way at all, until after the fact,,, does that make sense?). Sometimes, you just have those moments of clarity about yourself later on, I was kind of the same way.

Anyways, cat person to the third degree max. Only likes small dogs, and anything bigger than like,,, those little, fluffy ass dogs, he starts tweakin' real bad🥴💀. I don't blame him fr, though. Dogs are loud "BARK BARK🗣‼️" all in yo face, lick-lick, hyperactive, unpredictable... I could not deal, and neither could he.

I'm not saying cats are any more predictable or that they don't have their own cons, but hey, everyone has their preferences, and he just prefers cats🤷🏽‍♀️.

LOVEEESSS sugary/sweet tasting stuff. The type to always be craving a little sweet treat after dinner (genuinely, he does eat all the ice cream, he really tries to hold back for Gwen, but,,,😔✋🏽), or throughout the day, all he'll be thinking about is a crisp, cold soda.

😃💀His teeth are gonna be wrecked by the time he's thirty-five lol anyways...

He also loves a good crafting session. Could honestly spend hours in his room cutting up paper and pictures, building model rockets, making paper dolls for Gwen. He just really likes stuff he can sit, hunker down, and really focus on. Likes having his attention drawn, so things like crafting, watching TV, scrapbooking, etc. is really good/fun for him. Billy is DEFINITELY his picture plug, btw.

No way Finney isn't itching by the door for Billy to come by so he can be updated on the latest things added in the paper. Or, if his dad gets to it first, he's reminding him not to throw it out until he gets back home from school so he can still sort through it for what he wants.

Speaking of Gwen, I do fully believe that Finney was the one braiding her hair every morning before school. Not doubting their father's girl-dad skills or anything✋🏽😃✋🏽,,, but that man was barely coherent enough to not slur his words in every sentence, and you expect me to believe he was worried about making that girl's head look pretty for school? Girl, anyways💀✋🏽.

She probably asked him one day and he was like, "Gwenny, it's school, not a fashion show😐🍺."

For sure, it was her mom doing it every other day. So yeah, when she passed, Finney figured he wouldn't let tradition die along with her. He learned and would braid/style her hair for school however she wanted.

Umm, I think that's all I got, other than... like,,,

RIP Finney Blake, you would've gone feral watching The Sandlot😔🙏🏽.

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𝐆𝐰𝐞𝐧 𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐤𝐞 :

She reminds me so, SO much of my little sister, so a lot of this might be me projecting her (my lil sis) onto Gwen🤭💀.

A little brat, but in the best/silliest way. Like yeah, she'll tease you and talk all that shit and lowkey kinda bully you, but bro, it's all love fr🫶🏽😙. If anything, if she's being extra polite and courteous to you, it's probably because you're someone she just met, or because she really dislikes you and is hoping that you'll catch onto her fakeness so she can exit stage left of the conversation lmao.

Another raging bi-in-training lollll. I'm sorry, but she's totally one of the girlies who never got a ken/boy doll so she had to "improvise" and "pretend" one of her girl dolls was a boy💀✋🏽. Like, girl, anyways, you know seeing Cher live on TV for the first time had you rethinking your entire life, don't deny it lmfao🤭🩷💜💙.

She has a very particular sense of style, like,,, has certain statement pieces and outfits she likes to mix and match, and only she really gets it, but it fits/suits her. Plus, some of it is from her mom, so ofc she has to rep it fr✊🏽.

Once broke a girl's shin (as in, yes, Gwen kicked it that fucking hard), because another girl had said the pair of earrings she wore that day were ugly. Now, to be fair, the girl couldn't have known they were Gwen's dead mother's earrings, but bitch, didn't anybody tell you if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say shit at all🤨? Exactly. Mind your manners or get your shin kicked in😙♡.

Speaking of, contrary to the movie (yup, I go against canon, idc, sue me), I feel like she is NOT a fair/honorable fighter at all (or a trained one, for that matter). Especially if you're hurting someone she loves (so Finney, obvs). She's biting, pulling hair, grabbing anything she can use as a weapon, outnumbering you if she can somehow recruit ppl; she gives no fucks.

And you can't talk her out of it, either. She's dead set on two facts; 1. If you attack me, I assume my life is at stake, and I'm fighting you as such. If you wanna call that unfair, idk, maybe you shouldn't have thrown hands with me🤷🏻‍♀️. 2. I don't start shit, I finish it. I won't throw the first punch, but if you do, anything I do to you afterward is self-defense🤷🏻‍♀️.

Robin and Vance have tried to teach her otherwise - y'know... give her the ol' dignity and honor speech - but sheeee...

She wasn't listenin' to that shit bro bffr💀✋🏽.

And while yes, she didn't take that piece of advice from him the one time, anything else that leaves Vance's mouth might as well be damn near close to Jesus speaking directly to her😭. She's practically got a crush on Vance, and it's so obnoxious, it's not even funny.

The girl will go off with her little girl friends and basically stalk him (guys, let's not act like teenage girls aren't literally insane😻💀) and often, she enjoys his fights and is finding literally any and every way to just even have a conversation with him. Vance,,, has not caught on at all, but it's probably for the best💀✋🏽.

He sees her as another one of his sisters, at most. Annoying, yet charming in her own way, and is always sure to give her some half-assed advice; "I don't wanna see your ass outside when the street lights come on, got it?" "Yup🫡😻!!" And occasionally gives her a fight-related tip.

Same thing with Robin, but to a much lesser degree. It's more like a fond admiration, like, that's basically a second older brother. Has and will continue to scarf down any food he brings over, even if it wasn't even for her. And if he gets pressed, she'll just-

"It's me appreciating it 'cause your stuff is good😃😇...!" "😐🧍🏽" And then she's running off to avoid any scoldings.

I feel like Gwen is a very ambitious person. Doesn't take no shit, which can make her stubborn at times, but at the end of the day, she always finds what she's looking for and/or gets the answers she needs. Ambitious and persistent.

Definitely a go-getter type, which was why she even took the time to read up more on her little ability, what it means, etcetc. Miss girl wanted answers, she was going to find 'em🤷🏽‍♀️.

I have no clue when her birthday is (if someone knows it, TELL ME👹), but for now, I hdcn she's either a Taurus, Leo, Gemini, Cancer or Virgo (some of those also being in her chart as well, if that makes sense).

She is so totally, undeniably, and authentically 🎀🩷✨️girl✨️🩷🎀 like,,, idk how to explain. Like, yeah, she's rough around the edges, and her mouth is trash, and her attitude is up the wall, but oHMYGOD, SHE'S THE GIRLIEST GIRL through it all, somehow. It's so sweet and cute.

The type to spend time dressing up her dolls and making sure her dollhouse is in PERFECT shape after just rolling around in the mud. Has Finney braid up her hair in all these intricate, detailed ways just to get her comb stuck in them in matted knots a minute later. Only uses purple, pink, and yellow pens for her school work/notes, but she inherited her dad's shitty handwriting, so yeah, you can barely read that shit...but it looks pretty as hell, don't it😌? Does her nails allll of the time, but will immediately do other things right after, barely letting them dry, which leads to them smudging and looking a little messy.

Things like that just make her who she is. They make her ✨️Gwen✨️, y'know?

Also, her favorite color is yellow. Random, but idc, it makes perfect sense.

RIP Gwen Blake, you would've loved White Chicks😔🙏🏽.

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𝐑𝐨𝐛𝐢𝐧 𝐀𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐨 :

- before his death -

He's an Aquarius (birthday - February 2nd, which is literally two days before mine🤭💜🧡), but he's definitely got Libra and/or Leo somewhere in his chart, for sure.

I feel like he's the type to think/say none of that "astrology shit" matters, but then know his whole entire chart, top to bottom, and only wants to know/cares about the charts of people close to him. And I bet you he only did it because Finney brought it up once, and he wanted to know what the hell he was talking about💀.

While on the topic of Finney, tho, he probably had eyes on Finn since day one. Wanted to befriend him since the sandbox days, but didn't really have an excuse until he found out he was being bullied. Thought maybe one day Finn would fight back, but he never did, soooo😗...

Robin got to step in😈. And then all it took was landing on a common interest, and 💥BOOM💥. 4lyfers🤞🏽.

I feel like Robin also feels his feelings pretty deeply, more so than people realize, but again, he's definitely not finna let you know that. The type to cry it out/cuss people out quietly under his breath/vent to himself when he's absolutely sure he's alone, and then act like he never did it at all. And shit, he's good at hiding it. You'd probably never even know unless you were close with him or he flat out told you.

He's kind of a show-off, if anything😭. Just a little bit, nothing crazy, but he does get a kick out of "proving a point" beating the breaks off of someone "for the crowd". Or just anything he's skilled at; he might not actively seek the attention, but god, he hopes someone is watching, 'causeeeeee😗😙.

He was definitely taught to fight from his father, but continued to go to boxing classes after he went off to war and never came home. Robin would go wherever he could find them/they were offered (bonus points if they're free), spending a lot of time brushing up on technique, form, whatever. Even takes the time to actually read up on more, study it; does better with visual stuff, though, like pictures or videos or someone showing/guiding him, things like that.

That round-kick ain't just pure talent, y'know😌 (he'd definitely argue otherwise, tho).

He has a whole bandana collection that he's super proud of and kind of just started, but that green one is signature. Something his father left behind, and, like Gwen,,, my man's gotta rep it, you feel me😌✊🏽. Literally ONLY let's his mom touch it, and that's only to wash it. Off limits to every and anybody else, even his own uncle, and everyone knows it, too. The other bandanas are free game, though.

Robin was often given cooking lessons from his mom, and he found he likes to bake, too, but can't bake for shit. It always comes out completely burnt or not at all like he was expecting (it makes him so sad, too😭 like, bro just wants to make his own tres leches instead of having to wait for special occasions,,, is that too much to ask😫?).

A horror movie nut from day one. Definitely something that startled/disturbed his mother for a little while, but she got over it💀✋🏽.

He's not in it for the scares or anything, but for the production (although he loves and cherishes the semi-rare times where he actually jumps). He's actively studying the movies, what makes them good vs. bad, the actors, the lighting, the music, atmosphere, dialog, everything. Even watched the really cheesy, awful, bad ones. He's thought about hashing out some faint ideas he's had, maybe in script format, but really just didn't have the skill for that just yet. So, he stuck to just observing for the time being.

His favorite trope is "everybody dies". Doesn't mind a good "final girl/boy" or a "beat the shit out of the bad guy/murderer/ghost" ending, either.

...Robin realized/knew he couldn't fight The Grabber, but was super salty/petty about it. Would scratch and bite at him like a damn dog, kicked at him, made it really difficult for The Grabber to literally exist in that basement with him (which was why his death was quick, you alr know The Grabber was 'bout sick of his ass lmfao). Fought like hell until the end and thought about his dad the wholeee time.

Very- .... SUPER annoyed when he woke back up in the basement,,, livid when he saw The Grabber walk in with Finney...

- if he had lived -

I wouldn't put a label on Robin, and neither would he himself, to be honest. Like, even "unlabeled" is a label to him. He truly has the "If they're hot, they're hot🤷🏽" mindset and pretty much has his whole life.

Doesn't even really see the need for labels at all, but if you tried to get him going on that, he'd be more than likely to wave it off so he didn't have to go through the trouble of being misunderstood when trying to explain.

He totally would've been a movie buff/critique. Hell, probably would've made his way into the industry on some film student type shit🤭. Not the best when it comes to actually writing shit out or explaining exactly what he means, but when he has a vision, he has a VISION. Trust the process, fr🤞🏽.

Is totally the target audience for all that action-packed shit. Rocky, Karate Kid, Top Gun,,, very male, very g u y, very macho-manly lmao. Might possibly even be a weakness, like,,, he really can't resist that stuff (not as passionate as he is for the horror genre, tho).

I feel like he would get really into the rap/hip-hop scene. Would also fw r&b mad heavy, love him some Michael Jackson, even dresses diff to kind of fit with that aesthetic...

Couldn't bring himself to cut his hair, though, he's too attached😭. That's absolutely staying, or at least getting braided up or something.

Actually, he was straightening/perming his hair a lot of the time, mostly when he was coming up, but eventually stopped and let it grow its naturally wavy pattern. He would cut off the dead hair as it grew more and healthier (never fully chopped/buzzed it off, though, bc again,,, he couldn't bare to lose the length), and he eventually learned to take proper care of it.

(We love happy, healthy, natural hair over here, y'all lmfao😻‼️).

Would definitely cook for his mom, both when asked and just because he felt like it (or if he's craving something specific for dinner that evening, he'll pull the, "Ama, let me cook tonight, I love you🥰." card so he can get away with cooking what he wants lmfao). Sometimes, he'll send his uncle off with leftovers for work or just make his own lunch for school, boxing, or going to work with his uncle, shit like that.

Still hasn't quite grasped onto baking yet, though. Still burns most of his stuff and has totally given up on making cookies (he's fs the type to end up with one, giant, morphed ass cookie on the sheet and he just has to stare at it in pure disbelief like ">:0..." lmao💀) ...

MASTERED THE FUCKIN' TRES LECHES, THO, LET'S GOOOO🗣🗣🗣‼️‼️‼️💯💯💯

Robin has friendly beef with Bruce bc fym you playing against my man🤨? I think tf not, Finney better win or "...that's your ass, Yamada." Won't actually do anything, tho, Bruce is cool people fr lmao.

More on him as a person, though, I feel like he'd definitely realize he's one helluva looker one day and DEFINITELY use it to his advantage. Charmer, but in a corny way that makes you shake your head and sigh type beat. Not really a romantic, but has and will make exceptions for the right people at the right time.

Even before that, though, he was always kinda cocky and it really only got "worse" for lack of a better word💀😭. Like, he's cute/hot, and he KNOWS it, but he's still gonna play clueless as if he's not looking at you with those big brown eyes and giving you a knowing smirk. Gets away with entirely too much, fs.

Robin's also a certified yapper. Doesn't even have to know you. You give him one good reason to like you or he hears you say something even mildly relating to one of his interests, he'll just start talking to you like he knows you (it's how he's made a lot of his friends, ngl, he's just outgoing and relatively friendly).

Talks mad shit, too. Bro's no better than a woman😭. Gets all the tea from the beauty shop/salon where his mom be going. It's okay, tho, because he's got such good energy and is a charmer in his own way (like I said), so it's hard to dislike him or to want to turn him away from your ongoing convos.

Laughs at everything, but says nothing (if that makes sense). He's sooo... "Nah, nah, it's just...🤭💀*more giggling*"

Bro is just a dork, he's easy to make laugh/entertain, not as stoic as most ppl think he is (regardless of the resting bitch face he chronically suffers from). Dare I say, he's lowkey a little bit manic pixie dream boy coded. No, I won't elaborate♡.

One like on this fic equals one step closer to a cure for Robin's RBF😔🧡.

Only does edibles. He's so scared of something ever happening to his lungs (health class traumatized him, no joke. He saw that model of the charred, black lungs from smoking, and that was all it took. He won't inhale SHIT that's not oxygen bro lmfao💀😭✋🏽).

Would probably cry if his mom caught him smoking anything anyway, so it never even occured to him to try it. He can hide being high, but he knows damn well you can't hide the smell of that shit, so gummies it is🍃✨️☁️.

RIP Robin Arellano, you would've been geeked at the fact that the Halloween franchise is still going 3-5 decades later😔🙏🏽.

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𝐕𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐇𝐨𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐫 :

- before his death -

I feel like he got moved around a lot as a kid because his dad was a military brat or whatever (a classic hardass type with The Abuser Mustache™) ((if you don't know what I mean by the mustache look, think about/look up Chloe's stepdad from Life Is Strange)).

It didn't matter where he went/was/moved, though, because it was a dysfunctional home life regardless. Mom and dad always fighting, no real stable income (one of those things where it was like,,, sometimes they came off as well-off and be spoiled, and sometimes, they were going to an off-brand thrift shop for cheap clothes and other necessities), things like that.

So when his dad left, it definitely left a mark on everyone in the house. Bittersweet type of thing because while yes, he was a dickwad, he was still their dad and he cared for them in his own, fucked up way (part of why Vance is so angy😞).

I don't give not one good fuck what anyone says, Jim Hopper (Stranger Things) is that boy's uncle, idcidc😻✨️!!

(I love connecting fandoms thru coinkydink headcannons♡).

Vance is a middle child who has all sisters (five, to be exact. One eldest who's college age, a second eldest who's about a year or two younger than the oldest, one that's basically his irish twin, a younger sister around Gwen's age, and then a baby sister who's still in diapers). And absolutely he would go to bat for all of them (especially them two youngest, he don't play about them and he spoils them to death if/when he can).

Woman dominated house fr, and probably a big part of the reason he isn't fully/entirely off the rails (AND WHY HE WOULD N O T TREAT WOMEN LIKE SHIT. Again, I'm sorry but y'all gonna have to drop the narrative of him treating girls and/or fem readers like absolute dogwater. He knows ENTIRELY better, he's not a crazy monster, bro probably wouldn't even enjoy cussing at you, let alone calling you out of your name with things like "dipshit" and "cunt" and "fuckface" in a "loving" way all of the time, like absolutely not,,, I could go more into this but that's for the next set of hdcns I'm going to pos-...oop, I've said too much🤭- MOVING ON...!).

Speaking of cussing, though... Regardless of what I just said before, I feel like it doesn't mean he still wouldn't curse. Like, no, that boy can work his mouth REAL good. He probably started talking from an early age, too. Dude's first word(s) was probably something really sweet/cute, or something just absolutely vile, no in between💀😭. Maybe both.

Over time, though, he learned when and when not to do so. Like, when/where it was appropriate for him to cuss and when not to. For example, he'll cuss with/at his friends, in front of adults he doesn't know/doesn't give a shit about. But in more professional settings like school or whatever, he'll tone it down because he's trying NOT to get in trouble more than he already has (doesn't mean it's worked, but hey, at least he tried lmao). He cusses at home, yes, he'll cuss around his mom but not AT her, huge difference. Has cussed out his father plenty of times, cops as well. Won't cuss around the younger sisters, but will with/at the older ones. Point is, he's good at gaging the situation.

He's a Leo (birthday - August 10th), but for some reason, I think there's maybe some Pisces in his chart?? I...idk, don't question my madness✋🏽🥴✋🏽. But yeah, he couldn't give two fucks less about birth charts. That stuff not only means nothing to him, but he thinks it's really stupid, too. The only reason he even knows his own sign is because of one of his sisters, and that's it. Knows nothing about what being a Leo entails, doesn't care to find out, and will probably look at you crazy if you bring it up.

He has this fixation with pinball because there was always a machine or a place that had one close by, no matter where he went; he'd used it to drown out memories/high emotions, but now is just addicted to playing it, even when he's not pissed off💀. He was real pissy one day, played it, WON,,, and since then, he hasn't really felt a joy/satisfaction like it. Angry/upset feelings immediately morphed into, "Holy shit, I fucking won...!!" And that was it, he was hooked. Bro probably has the highest score on so many machines across the midwest area and doesn't even know he has this "nobody can beat this mystery Vance guy" reputation states away or something💀✋🏽.

Another thing he uses to distract/sooth himself is music. Not a full music geek or anything, but LOVVVESSS rock/metal music (if you couldn't already tell given his style). Kiss, Metallica, all of that shit. Was dreaming for the day he either got an electric guitar as a Christmas or birthday gift or for when he could save up for his own.

And, because he wanted to further mimic all the cool rockstars he was seeing coming up, he tried a cigarette ONCE, and he ended up hating that shit💀. He fr wanted to see the appeal so bad, too, but he just can't, and side-eyes people whenever he sees them smoke, now.

"Their breath is fucking rank, I just know it..." "They're literally addicted, Vance, they cant help it." "They need to be addicted to a fucking toothbrush and some mint gum🫢🤢."

Like Robin, when Vance got snatched, he fucked with and was doing his best to beat the breaks off The Grabber until the bitter end. He had a better advantage, too, because he's much bigger, so he definitely got good licks in - which led to The Grabber starving him so that he was too weak to fight back so yes, he took his time with Vance, made his death hurt, which just kinda left Vance feeling pissed off and hopeless until he died.

- if he had lived -

He definitely would've learned to calm down a bit; some time and talks with his mother and sisters, some warning calls from Uncle Jim, the threat of actual prison and not just "juvie for a couple of days" eventually set him straight. Still quick to anger, but he doesn't practically kill people anymore😃👍🏽. Don't ... Don't fuck with his pinball machine, though, that's still a very active warning/threat on his behalf.

He also gained a sense of moral justice, so even if he did decide to go apeshit (y'know, for old times sake), it'd be for a valid reason, ngl.

That lady from the Grab'n'Go store fs gave him that pinball machine at one point (replaced it with a lamer game or something, like Pac-Man or whatever). When she straight up realized Vance wasn't going to let anyone else touch that shit, let alone beat his high score, which meant she wasn't getting any business with it, she basically just-

"Ykw, just take it😐". ... "...What :0??"

He was clueless as hell, too, genuinely had NO IDEA why she would give him the ENTIRE MACHINE TO KEEP FOR FREEEEE, but was VERY grateful. His mom even tried to get him to give it back, but that woman insisted😭. "I don't know what you think I'm supposed to do with it if you won't let anyone else touch it, Vance. Just keep it and stop wrecking my store."

He didn't at first, has no clue when or how it happened, but very suddenly and intensely grew a guilty-pleasure liking for superheroes. Really likes The Hulk and X-Men comics and has stacks of them he's both bought and stolen collecting in his room.

Sometimes, he rips them up and makes posters out of them, like,,, rips out certain characters or speech bubbles he likes or whole pages and then plasters them around his room.

Relating to superheroes, kind of... You wouldn't think it, but he's got that Spider-Man mentality where it's like,,, he's always looking out for the little guy. When his sense of moral kicked in, he wasn't just fighting for no reason anymore. Now he was fighting if he saw some fuckers talking mad shit or doing something he knew was wrong on their part, so he'd set 'em straight. Would make sure people he didn't have problems with weren't getting picked on.

Also has a high respect for Robin because he essentially does the same shit, and because while Vance has the size advantages, Robin has the skill advantages that he doesn't. The feeling is mutual, too.

Is very confused and awkward when he is told/finds out girls have crushes on him. Very much like🧍🏼‍♂️.

Not opposed, just... bro don't know what to do with that info, and he sure as hell aint making the first move💀✋🏽.

He's more of a close bond, has to have already been best friends first, and then develop feelings along the way, typa guy. Likes real and close connections that actually have a chance at lasting (especially considering his childhood consisted of a lot of moving around, never really getting to keep friends, etcetc).

RIP Vance Hopper, you would've loved Thunderstruck by AC/DC but slowed and reverbed😔🙏🏽.

───────── 《 .°•♡•°. 》 ──────────

𝐁𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐞𝐫 :

- before his death -

I'm not even gonna lie,,, think of your average, white, classic, all-american poster family from the movies,,, That was his life. Stay at home, quirky mom, breadwinner businessman father, bratty little brother, rebellious older sister, golden retriever dog, snow white cat, nice suburban house with a front lawn and a backyard with a grill and pool, all of that😭.

He's lowkey kinda spoiled, too, for the listed reasons above lmao. Not in a bad way, but sometimes he says or does things that are a little tone deaf and you're just like "😃..." But I mean, if you communicate well enough, he's more inclined to understand.

It's just cultural/environmental difference, fr, that's all lmao.

Billy was doing the paper boy gig to save up for a car. A specific one, too (defo a car guy, I feel like).

I couldn't give details, but I just feel it in my nuggets, he was saving up for a specific car and my boy was DETERMINED, too. Bro was DEDICATED to getting this fucking car. Everyone around him knew it, like he made it very clear his only goal in life at the moment was to get that car lmfao.

I feel like he's a very detail-oriented person, but in the way where it's like,,, Very adhd-coded. Won't clean his room because "It's an oragnized mess, don't touch anything, I know exactly where everything is" type beat. Or like, whenever he has multiple tasks to complete, he'll do that thing where he'll stand somewhere and just start glitching lmfao like when you give a sim too many tasks at once.

He also really likes making lists. But then all of his lists get jumbled up, so he's gotta find the right list for the right stuff LMFAO it's silly, he's silly.

I also think he's a good writer and takes interest in books and poetry. Wouldn't write poetry, but would read it a lot. But definitely has half-assed, pending ideas for his own original stories/books.

And comics, too, he really likes graphic novels, things that have both descriptions and pictures that correspond with one another.

Like Vance, he also really likes superheroes, but unlike him, he's always been into comics and stuff since he was little, so the interest didn't just pop out of nowhere. Not really a Marvel guy. He leans more towards DC, so his favorites are Aquaman and Superman.

He also loves cartoons. Like, to an unhealthy amount. There he is every morning, sat right in front of the TV, no matter how many times his parents have told him to back tf up before he ruins his eyes, with a piping hot cup of coffee, glued to the screen running all of his favorite cartoons lmao. I don't think he'd ever grow out of it, either. He'd be in his 40s-50s, totally adapted to the newer cartoons like The Amazing World Of Gumball or whatever lmao.

You can pry the original Scooby-Doo from his cold, dead hands, though💀.

Billy's a Sagittarius (birthday - December 12th), but I think he also has come Capricorn, Libra, and/or Cancer in his chart. He just seems like a very chill, curious, and understanding person, which can either make people really like him at first or misjudge him (maybe even dislike) him. But at the end of the day, he's very secure in himself and who he is. He knows what he's got going on. And like I said, he loves to learn further and understand, so it's not like he's ever going to purposefully cause problems or anything.

If at all, I think he's also a non-confrontational person, much like Finney. He stays in his own lane, does his very best to avoid conflict, and while sure, he's got a lot of scattered friends from different areas and walks of life and whatever, it's that way for a reason😭. He's just a good dude fr!

He's also more outspoken than you would think at first. Can definitely hold and even start a friendly conversation, and honestly... TAKE HIM TO YOUR PARENTS👹👏🏽‼️. Adults love him, he's very polite and courteous, and they find him funny because he can for SURE crack a well-timed joke.

I mean it, too, I think Billy definitely has a way with words and comedy. He's so on par with all different types of humor, so once he picks up on yours, oh my god, he'll have you crying-laughing lmao.

Like Vance, he's good at cussing, he will cuss you the fuck out with his sassy, petty ass💀✋🏽. Knows better than to cuss in front of adults (like I said, they love him, and he plans to keep it that way lmao), and he probabaly won't call you out your name, but boyyyyy he's got a mouth on him😭💀!

Speaking of, oUUU he's a petty mf, he don't let SHIT slide. Ever. Bro can't fight but whew...!! He be talking shit like he can😭 (he's probably gotten his ass kicked due to this once or twice, ngl, but hey, you live and you learn lmfao).

Billy was a little too calm when he got snatched up. Like yea, he fought tooth and nail when he initially got grabbed off of his bike, but once he was in that basement and after a few days, he sadly just kind of,,, accepted his fate.

What he didn't expect was to be put through the psychological tortures of like,,, being beat or thinking he had the chances to escape whenever The Grabber would give him false hope, that stuff. That really fucked with him up until he died.

- if he had lived -

Oh, you can bet your ass he got that fckn car💀.

He was feelin' himself for WEEKS after the fact, too. He was giving all his friends rides, honking whenever he arrived at places, always keeping it PRISTINE looking. Not a scratch, dent, or spec of dust on or in that mf😹.

Just overall being super obnoxious about it ngl lmfao💀😭 (but he deserves to be, he worked so hard for it and everybody understood that, so it's fine). Got a better job after the fact, too, now that he could actually take himself to and from.

I know I mentioned him drinking coffee earlier, but to expand on that a little more, he was basically always drinking coffee and energy drinks to stay awake and (barely🥴) coherent when he was doing his paper boy job and school at the same time, so he now unfortunately has a caffeine addiction that he cannot shake for the life of him. He's tried so many things, he just can't let go😭. He likes it really sweet, too (he has a sweet tooth).

He'll add a lot of creamer, flavored syrup, sugar... whatever he can find to kind of just dilute the bitter taste entirely, he's throwing it in the mug. Also part of the reason why he's more fond of soda/energy drinks, because at least he doesn't have to deal with that nasty taste coffee has (I'm a coffee hater, hop off😒✋🏽).

Also like I mentioned earlier, he'd still have this weird yet cute thing with cartoons. Like, yeah, he'd enjoy a good movie (indie, coming of age type stuff), but cartoons just really do it for him. Sitting at the kitchen table with his second bowl of fruit loops laughing at Tom and Jerry is his therapy, truly♡.

While he can be out of touch, he's very open and easy to gain understanding from, loves to learn (especially since he's a writer). Just an all-around stand-up guy fr, you can not go wrong with Billy Showalter.

Hell, he can do no wrong😭❤️.

I CAN'T BELIEVE I ALMOST FORGOT ABOUT HIS DOG, WHAT THE FUCK >:0!!!

HE LOVES THAT HYPERACTIVE LITTLE SHIT😭❤️🐶❤️. He's had her for a long ass time, since she was a puppy (idc what anyone says, the goldie is a girl, and her name is Harper), and it truly is the case of a dog is a man's best friend between them. He begged for the dog, got the dog, takes care of the dog, spoils the dog, he loves the damn dog, okay🥲?

He could be stripped of everything he knows and loves, and Billy would STILL make sure Harper was okay first before all. She's such a good dog, too. She's very polite and sweet, and it doesn't take much to get her going. Like I said, very hyperactive, so pretty much all you have to do is say a favorite word ("outside" "ball" "play" "treat" "good girl" "go get..." etcetc) in a certain, happy tone, and now she's all riled up.

Speaking of love, though, Billy's got so much rizz, I can't even fully explain what I mean. I could better convey it with writing, tho (somebody plz request Billy fics).

Like he's just... he's one of those guys you don't pay much attention to, but he could do ONE meaningful (or tbh even meaningless) thing, and suddenly, he's a 10/10.

The type of guy you'd have zero feelings for, but have one singular dream about being with him romantically, and then you'd wake up with a crush on him. He's just got it like that, idk what to tell you🤷🏽‍♀️😆.

RIP Billy Showalter, you and Harper would've loved Courage The Cowardly Dog😔🙏🏽.

───────── 《 .°•♡•°. 》 ──────────

𝐁𝐫𝐮𝐜𝐞 𝐘𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐚 :

- before his death -

He's definitely a popular person, like,,, easy on the eyes, charming with both his words and actions, handsome smile, LOVES to gossip, has a clean-cut, crisp style, and you wanna tell me he doesn't literally know/is on good terms with everybody from every clique? Girl, bye🤭✋🏽.

He'd look at you and say it, too💀.

"Girl, BYE😹✋🏼!!"

On that, though, I feel like his mom very much prides herself on appearance. Not in a vain, controlling way, but just in a "I love and care about my babies, so every time they step out this house, they gonna be looking RIGHT, idc" type of way.

And after a while, he definitely picked that up from her, so he takes it upon himself to always look spick and span.

He's a Gemini (birthday - June 12th), but I think he could very well have some earth placements as well. He'd find astrology interesting, kind of like Finney, but he wouldn't dive too deep into it. He'd know his Sun, Moon, and Rising sign, ask about yours, and unless you went further with it, the conversation on astrology would probably end there lol.

Also, kinda random, but his nickname is "Brucie". Like, idk, it's just fitting. It's not an all the time thing that everyone calls him, but if you know him and if you're close to him, it's kind of like a teasing thing. "Heyy, Brucie, what'cha been up to😹✨️?" You know?

I feel like overall, he's just a very calm, cool, and collected person. Not easy to irritate him or make him mad/upset (but omg, don't do it, he gets feral so fast), and also very understanding. Good listener, which is why he's good with the gossip. Very much resident secret keeper, unless he knows it's something he needs to tell, if that makes sense.

Totally the type to be like, "I won't tell anyone :D!" And then immediately think to himself, 'I can't wait to tell my mom/best friend/Amy lol'. But don't worry, that's the only person he'd tell fr😭✋🏽 (who am I kidding, he's messy as hell, and we all know it).

He do be instigating fs. Will watch somebody like Vance or Robin get pissed about something and be in his ear all like, "Wooowww, I can't believe they'd do that, what are you gonna do? You're not gonna let it slide, are you🫢😗🙃??" LMFAOOO just messy💀😹.

I honestly think of him the same way I think of Benny Rodriguez. Baseball was life to him. Like, it was his passion, it wasn't just something he did because it was a fun hobby or a distraction. Like yes, but it was more than that as well. It was everything to him, and he definitely had dreams to go the distance with it and actively searched and scouted for any and every opportunity to do so.

I also think Bruce is a very thorough music lover. Very non-discriminatory or judgemental, and will honestly vibe to anything. But that doesn't mean he doesn't have his favorites. Just has a wide range, that's all. Also an MJ fan for sure, tho.

Like Finney, he's got a close bond with his sister, Amy (who I hdcn is younger than him), but the vibe is a lot different. You probably wouldn't even know they were siblings outside of the house if it weren't for the fact they look alike. Not because they're embarrassed of each other or anything, they just have vastly different cliques/lifestyles, so the only time they really get to reconnect is back at home or on family outings.

The Grabber took Bruce and he had a wholllle mental breakdown. Like, got in that basement and was a full-on mess, literally inconsolable. Cried at everything for every reason up until he died, and if one were to have witnessed it, it'd be very heartbreaking.

The Grabber almost feels guilty for it, but only because he can't get the sobs, hiccups, and voice cracks out of his head. Ik I just said Bruce is a triple C case (calm, cool, collected type), but c'mon, guys. He's a Gemini. He be switching up😔🤷🏽‍♀️💔. There were maybe two or three key moments where he did something beneficial to himself/was an attempt to escape, but...yeah...

- if he had lived -

Bruce would've fulfilled those dreams on going the distance with baseball.

Or would've done a complete 180° from whatever everyone and even himself thought and would've become a fashion designer. I can't elaborate on this, I just...I feel it in my bonesssss.

Which reminds me, he definitely would've discovered his own style at some point and would've dived DEEP into exploring different things. Trendsetter type of vibe (and it would either be the case of people around would've been eating it up or they would've shunned him, no in between. But I feel like he'd have the charisma for ppl to eat it up).

Much like Robin, actually, he's so the type to be cute and KNOW he's cute, but act clueless lmao. Walking around as if he's not getting letters and gifts and whatnot from secret admirers WEEKLY, flashing a smile and/or a wink at people, all of that. But what makes him even more likable is that he's such a GIVER.

Bro is always giving somebody something, it's just in his DNA, it's all he knows. Not even his parents know where he gets it from, and while it's a very admirable thing he does,,, don't get it twisted, he's not naive, he'll take things and remove himself from your life just as fast if you fuck up. Don't test him, his patience is lowkey surpsingly thin💀.

But yeah, he's always offering his time, his money, his thoughts, his praise, his compassion. If he feels like you derseve it (doesn't even have to know you well, you'd just have to make/leave a good impression on him), next thing you know, he's trying to find out what you like and what you're interests are so he can just pop up later and be like, "Oh, here, I got/made you this :)."

Like SIRRR???🥲💚

But anyways, yeah, Bruce is the resident pretty boy. I mean, he was before, but I feel like he's the type to just get better with age. Bro would be 80 years old looking like a fine ass 45😻. And it definitely is a result of upkeep/routine; he and his mama zon't💅🏽 play when it comes to looking fresh.

RIP Bruce Yamada, you would've loved fit-checks on TikTok if you ever figured out how to use it😔🙏🏽.

───────── 《 .°•♡•°. 》 ──────────

𝐆𝐫𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐧 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐠 :

- before his death -

This neurodivergent little fucker OUUU he's an AuDHD menace to society, a little gremlin👹. Nothing he does or says makes any sense but YES IT DOES like,,,

He's just so inquisitive and insightful; wise beyond his years type. Just one of those kids who have an innate sense of self, society, and the world from a very young age. But it's all thinly veiled behind this glass wall of silly/aloof behavior.

Also, he is a younger kid, so that kind of adds onto the whole "People don't take him as seriously as they often really should" deal.

He's one of those people you either really love for who he is, or you find him very odd and off-putting. Or both. Not that he cares because he knows exactly what and who serves him and what and who won't for the current moment. Like I said, he's just...ahead of himself/time/what people would expect.

But also-

"You ain't gonna tell me shit. ... Suck my dick. ... Suck my dick you fuckman. ... You're gonna be here sucking my dick." That's literally him.

"You ever think the wind is trying to tell us something?" His poor tired mom, probably > "I just want you to stop saying odd shit😮‍💨🍷..." That is also him.

He's a Leo (birthday - July 31st) but I don't believe that for even a second, so I have the theory he's got a lot of earth and air in his chart that overshadows the fact that he's a Leo. I think he's one of those kids that dips his toe into everything, so whether or not his beliefs align with whatever he has knowledge on doesn't really matter. He just likes to know.

So, on that note, he does know some stuff on astrology, knows his birth chart, will tell you his sign if/when asked and will definitely ask for yours if he's curious enough to know more about you. If not, he probably wouldn't ask.

Griffin is everybody's little brother, tho, fr. Like even if you don't really know him or "like" him per se, you always feel some typa way if you see him being picked on or whatever. It's pretty much an unwritten rule in that small down in Denver,,, Do not fuck with Griffin Stagg. Like, even fully grown adults go to bat for him, I'm being so serious right now😭.

Lowkey kind of a teacher's pet. Not because he's a try-hard or anything, but he genuinely does everything he's supposed to. He participates when he wants to, he keeps straight As, he's quiet, all that. So, whether Griffin himself knows it or not, he's on a lot of his teacher's good sides :).

It definitely makes his mom happy, too, which he likes. A total mama's boy all the way (I feel like all of the boys are, tbh, but not in that weird, emotional incest, toxic way lmfao💀).

Speaking of...! Defo an only child of a tired but very loving single mom. A SINGLE MOM WHO WORKS TWO JOBS, WHO LOVES HER KID AND NEVER STOPS😫🗣🎶‼️. That's their case.

And it's not that he's sheltered or anything. He just doesn't have the strongest urge or whatever to go out and do stuff that doesn't - like I said - serve or benefit him at the moment. His mom really does try to encourage him, though. To go out and make friends, to go do something with any free time he has besides spending it in his room or with her. Sometimes he listens.

Sometimes not lmao. He really is a homebody, and if he had things his way all the time, he'd like a nice, quiet, and peaceful environment to be in if he HAD to go out. Like a park but with no kids there or a library. Maybe he'd enjoy an arcade,,, but only if it was on a very slow day and everything was deep cleaned and the machine's volumes were turned down lower and- 🥴💀.

Yeah...

It's not that he has memory or noise/sensory issues or anything (or maybe he does, he honestly wouldn't know for sure himself lol), but he's just got stuff constantly whirring around in his brain.

Operates with the file system (has to open up specific cabinets/drawers and sort through the files, find the exact memory/topic he's looking for, etcetc, it's a whole, intricate system) and even then, that's not always guaranteed.

So yeah, if he's says "I dunno" or "Prolly" just give him a second or two afterwards, because it's not that he's actually forgotten or doesn't know, he's just stalling while his brain lags lmao (he might even be sassing you a little🤭).

When he got snatched and put in that basement, he was calm, but not like Billy, where he just had a moment of acceptance. Calm like,,, more like when Finney was in the basement. Just very observant, scared, and confused. Almost a little painfully naive, which made it easy for The Grabber to mess with him😕.

And he (The Grabber) did for a while, "play with his food" for lack of better wording, before Griffin eventually wised up and started getting a little too smart, quick, and sneaky for his liking. Which led to his death, for sure, because I have a hdcn that Griffin fr almost got out (again, kinda like Finney's case) but unfortunately, couldn't try all the lock combos in time before he was back in the basement and then eventually,,, yk,,, for having tried it at all.

- if he had lived -

I feel like he'd be the type to have explored so many different interests, niches, and just really overall loves to learn. Wouldn't be able to stick to anything, but it definitely keeps him busy. Good at everything kinda guy; you could ask him about/to do anything, and he'd genuinely have surface level knowledge on it.

Human Google. If you wanted help with your homework, project, or just simple research, he'd be the best guide. And he'd open up a little, too, while doing it because not only does he enjoy learning, but he'd love even more for a chance to yap about what it is he knows/has learned without somebody falling asleep on him mid-sentence😃.

His mom. His mom be trying to listen but bless her heart, she be TIRREEED😫. Like Griffin, honey, you might as well be singing that woman a lullaby, she is out like a light😭💀. But it's okay, he understands, so it's not like he holds a grudge or anything.

I also think the more time he spends with a person, the more "character traits" he picks up. Spent time around Gwen? Now he's cussing up a storm more than usual. Hung with Billy for a little while? He's got that sass on lock now. Had a chat with Finney? He picked up on that little nervous thumb biting thing he has.

It's endearing once you notice it, and he's not doing it on purpose. He just mirrors you because well,,, he likes you and wants you to like him, so subconsciously, he just-

*sees you doing something* *now he's doing it too without missing a beat or noticing himself*

He met Gwen, though, and it was a wrap. They were stuck to each other like glue, besties, 4lyfers, and then met Amy and Vance's younger sis and after that?? Even if he was sheltered, he sure as fuck wouldn't be anymore😹.

I'm sure they'd be running around Denver, wreaking havoc and being little sillies together♡.

RIP Griffin Stagg, you would've loved making slime😔🙏🏽 (he'd probably make a whole collection of different types and textures, maybe even sold 'em for a side-hustle lol).

𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐈 𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐨𝐫 𝐧𝐚𝐡😌?

I had so much fun writing this even though it took me so long lmao :>. but yeah, little spoiler, I've got more tbp content coming up, most being requests, and then I am slowly making my way down my MASSIVE inbox, so hopefully - in due time - y'all will see more content in general coming from me :).

but, until the time comes, I hope whoever reads this enjoyed it !!/ᐠ^˕^マ!!

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ...𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ...𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 :

anon

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 :

9,296

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐬 :

none :(

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