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#then this mf has his brains out
zeb-z · 3 months
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“Even if it’s not my fault, it’s still my accident, it’s still my mess. It’s still something that - exists, because I do” oh. and he just doesn’t know another way to help, either, because all his life has been screwing up without helpful direction in order to meet impossible standards, and so there is no other way than to bleed himself dry. for the cause, for a friend in need, for anyone he doesn’t know. especially for the problems that he himself creates, because to him his pure existence has always been the problem, because the elders were fucked as hell and traumatized him to no end - so even causing problems is a sin. a single mistake is a sin. it always has been. and it’s rough trying to learn anything other than that mindset - but Jay and Chip won’t let him struggle alone.
and it’s like - that’s what comes with being raised the way he was. punished for imperfection, but there’s no guidebook, no definition of perfect. and so perfect is never good enough anyway. it’s a trap and there is no winning, so there’s nothing else to do but take the blame and bear it, and internalize it. and it makes actual failure and actual mistakes that much more painful. of course responsibility needs to be taken for your actions - but when you’ve been taking responsibility for everything, up to and including the literal fate of the world, all of your life, every outcome is your fault. and guilt only builds, and resentment only festers. of course he hates the elders for how they treated him. of course he hates himself.
he’s grabbing his own destiny and making his own choices - but the thing about making your own choices is that there are so many of them. there’s no destiny to blame anymore. and all you can do is the best you can. and it’s not always going to be good enough. he’s learned plenty about failure, but with Jay and Chip around, maybe he’ll learn about second chances, and self forgiveness. maybe he’ll learn that accidents aren’t always met with extremes. and that he’s not the only one left to deal with a mess if he slips up and breaks something.
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princekirijo · 6 months
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Riku's the kinda guy to sit there and be like "wow my friends and family should hate me because I really am a worthless person", turn around and be like "I am literally the most attractive person in the room" and then move on like nothing happened
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infizero · 9 months
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thinking about dl!scar makes me sad for many reasons but one of the worst is thinking about him knowing far too well that grian is unhappy with him and just having to live with that
#they make my brain melt. and srry in advance cause what im about to say is like mainly the shit i made up but bear w me#anyways#like. scar loves him. and grian makes it very obvious that he isnt happy being soulmates with him#and scar just has to go around knowing that. he doesnt WANT grian to be unhappy but there isnt anything he can really do about it#he didnt make them be soulmates#and yet he gets punished for it anyway as if its his fault#also notice i never said grian doesnt love him. its the soulmate thing he doesnt like#maybe if it had been someone else he had been paired with#but with it being scar its just. he cant go thru that again. he is still in that damn cactus ring and now he is literally being forced to#basically do that all over again. with the added bonus of being RESPONSIBLE FOR IF SCAR DIES which is like erm.#the WHOLE crux of why 3rd life fucked him up#i do think grian loves scar but. he loved him once and it ended in tragedy. and he just cant do that again#thats why i believe he distances himself so much from scar in double life#also i will always champion that grian would literally rather die than be forced into a monogamous relationship which is.....#basically what DL is lmao. (3L is different cause despite initially being forced to serve scar he CHOSE to love him)#so add that plus extremely complicated feelings ft. trauma concerning scar equals yeah that mf is gettin outta there!!#btw this is not at all to excuse him if u guys know me you know when it comes to life series grian i HATE HIS ASS!!!#he couldve talked to scar about this. maybe they could have worked something out! but instead he decided to be shady and inconsiderate#anyways GETTING BACK TO WHAT I WAS ORIGINALLY SAYING.#i just think about how hard it'd be to be scar in DL. like you have been forcibly paired up with the guy you love and got lowkey betrayed by#in LL (but you betrayed him too once so does it really matter? and does the bond you forged in the desert really carry over?)#and yeah you're a little annoyed and hurt he kept it from you for that long. but you're ready to work together again#it's just like back then and its great! after all you never really left monopoly mountain. but the problem is he never left the cactus ring#even though you never held it against him. it always affected him more than you didnt it? you seemed to have far different takeaways from 3L#and so now you're sitting in a patch of bamboo feeling like a useless burden (because that is what he keeps treating you as)#and you havent seen your so-called ''soulmate'' in a day#and when you do its like whatever happiness was on his face dies out and he is so painfully unhappy around you#and you both pretend there isn't a smudge of chocolate and crumbs around his mouth#serena.txt#sorry. my demons
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uzaydenizanasi · 1 year
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Only my version of pg saiou is canon and i know it
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i hate it when I want to talk about Goemon or even just anything for Lupin the Third but all my brain wants to do is repeat his name over and over like I’m constantly starting a sentence I will never finish
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coridallasmultipass · 3 months
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(This is just an apology I owe someone I will probably never see again. Please ignore, I just needed to get it off my chest 16 years later. I'm not a good person, and I was very cruel as a teen.)
Hi. I'm sorry I wronged you. I treated you terribly when you gave me that letter. It was my fault, obviously. You were such a kind person to me, and we could have been great friends. You shot your shot, and that was totally normal and fair. I just want to explain why I reacted that way, because it was completely uncalled for.
I was living as a girl then, and had no idea that I had this trans man living inside me all along. I didn't know it, but my friendships with men felt so important and validating to me. I felt like I could be one of the bros without realizing that there was an actual personal reason why I needed that validation and mirroring. I guess, at the time, I would have chalked it up to 'daddy issues' from having a continually absent father figure,' which is incredibly reductive and dismissive, and was never genuinely my issue. I felt safe when it was me hanging out with some guys, especially when we often had more interests align which was rare to find in female friends. It's not easy being a kid into metal, alt fashion, art, and nerdy things, when you live in a rural small town where sports is considered the 'ideal' for teens. But you already know that. You lived it, too. You just didn't have the societal pressure to perform femininity, when you're not a girl, on top of it. ((But who knows, you could be a trans woman right now and struggling with your own issues from the other side, I really don't know you.))
But boy, did I PERFORM femininity. The metal scene wasn't the best inspiration for women. You had to be a hot sexy metal babe or you wouldn't get dick. No love for the androgynous women (except lesbians. Go lesbians, I love you.) At least that's what it felt like to 14-year-old me. I had to struggle with the fact that I wanted to look like the band members, not the women they were pictured with. I showed my hairstylist pictures of band men and short-haired Rihanna so I had at least one girl on there. I don't know where I'm going with this. I tried to do both perform the femininity, and doing small things to look more like the band guys I idolized, finding excuses to portray men in acting/roleplay/costumes. 'Because I had a crush on them, right?' No, because I wanted to BE them. Iwanted to be wanted as a man. Not as some metal babe. Being desired as a woman felt horribly invalidating, and I couldn't have ever explained why until now.
It's not a valid excuse, but I reacted that way because I felt safe around you. So safe. You were a dude, my bro, and I could be myself without feeling like I'm being 'tested' for performing human femininity like I did around girls. Like I walk into a room and everyone stops and glares at me. That's what I felt like, that hypervigilance, without knowing what that word meant. You were a good friend, kind, interesting, naturally attractive, and cool. I can't explain it, but it felt like betrayal when you gave me that letter. Suddenly, I was a 'love interest' and not 'fellow bro' and it hurt me so badly to believe that our friendship was built on you viewing me as a girl, not an equal. (That sounds absolutely horrible, I'm not implying that women are 'less," just that it made me feel like I was being unseen, that your feelings were for someone i was not.) I felt like our friendship was built on a lie. I felt disgusted at myself for reasons I didn't understand.
I reacted horribly. I wrote you that shameful e-mail in response. I tried burning that letter because I'm a dramatic hoe, but couldn't get the fireplace open, so I had to blow it out and instead melted and shredded it into the sink disposal. My mom came home and smelled the smoke and thought I was trying a cigarette. (I didn't try a single drug until I had a cigarette in fall of 2017, age 23.) Do we address the situation like an adult with calm words and ponder why we feel all these negative emotions, or do we SINK GO BRRRRRRRR DESTROY THE EVIDENCE?
14-year-old Cori go BRRRRRRRR, apparently.
I mean, I was a KID. Kids are mean as fuck.
It's no excuse, but I can look back on that now and say definitively that it was a result of not understanding my gender identity. I know I'm gay (not to mention, aro), but I did things counter to that, like have a phase of being a lesbian/bi/pan-preferring woman. if being attracted to women made me feel more butch and manly, then 'hey, look at that chick's thighs, bro…' I was gonna play it up.
Anyway, my point, discovering gender was like, literally taking off a suit of armour that never fit right because it was too small for me. I took off that suit of armour at age 19. It felt freeing to have no gender at all. I could do anything I wanted to find what fit me, trying on anything and everything. I finally found that fit in 2015. I'm a dude. This armour fits me perfectly now, and it flexes with my movement. But i still have the chafing and bruises from wearing the wrong armour for so many years.
I should have gently told you that I wanted to stay just friends. Instead, I was spiteful and mean for something that was my own fault. I refused to address my own gender problems, avoiding them entirely and dumping them onto you. I should not have been so immature as to do that and then entirely avoid you forever after.
So, I am deeply and truly sorry. I have regretted it every moment since I clicked 'send.' I hope you've entirely forgotten me by now. I hope you're doing well and still playing music and being your own creative self. I hope you're making mad bucks doing whatever the fuck you love. I'm sorry.
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nkogneatho · 6 months
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𝐒𝐀𝐋𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐌𝐀𝐍'𝐒 𝐄𝐗𝐂𝐋𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐂𝐔𝐌𝐒𝐋𝐔𝐓
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—cw: rough, blowjob, degrading nicknames, hair pulling, tie leash, fem!reader
—a/n: this came into existence after i watched the new episode and i realized this mf is insane and actually has some wild ass kinks
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you hated how the world pictured kento. he wasn't just some bored and tired man who hates his job. he was more than that. he was insane. if only there was a way to show them that.
"On the knees." Nanami ordered, the cheetah print tie circling around his big, rough hand.
You did what he asked to. Not that your body had a privilege to betray your lustful brain and deny. He wrapped his tie against your neck and secured it with a distanced but tight knot. Tight enough to yank when needed. You couldn't meet his eyes in embarrassment, maybe a little fear too. This was a side he kept hidden to the world, only portrayed if he either loved them or wanted to kill them.
"Take my cock out, my sweet slut." Your fingers struggled to unbuckle his expensive belt. He wouldn't help, you knew it. Once you got the metal out if it's loop, you aimed for the buttons, then the zip. Your sweet fingers dug through his underwear to find his cock. It felt so big in your hand always, and it wasn't even completely hard yet. You started giving it slow pumps and heard him curse under his breath. you waited for his next command, for him to tell you what to do but it never came. Instead what came was a hand that cupoed your jaw, forcing you to lock eyes with him.
"I'm going to use this beautiful face as my cocksleeve, yeah? You'd let me, right?" Your core wet, your mind hazy at his words. He didn't need to ask. You know it was just a formality and a dessert that came with the gentleman personality. But he was anything but a gentleman in the bedroom. Calling you names. Using you to his satisfaction. But he knew you liked it because he's the one feeling your pussy tighten when he calls you a "slut."
Nanami's hand traveled to the back of yiur hwad where he grabbed a fistful if your head. You gulped in preparation about what had to come. You opened your mouth and Kento slammed his dick inside you. It slid fast through your tongue but you could taste the hint of his precum.
"Fuck. So good for me," he said, beginning to thrust. "You like when I fuck my frustrations on you." You did. "your mouth is my cumdump, right? you're such a good little slut who always sucks my anger out of me." People out there constantly think how is he always so calm. He's not. The truth is here. He comes home and fucks his anger away. And you count yourself lucky to be his fucktoy because holy shit, the way he fucks you makes you feel like you've found heaven on earth. It's sinister. The darkness in his eyes. They consume you. But ironically, the pleasure that he gives you can only be compared with heaven.
"Shit! I am close—sss agh!" he felt the back of your throat vibrate which sent excitment down his balls. "fuckfuckfuck" he cursed as he yanked your hair back to look at your doe eyes. Soon, he caught up to his high and all you could make for a sound was consumed by his thick load shooting deep inside your throat. He was so deep you didn't even get to taste them. Nanami pulled out, the remaining beads of his cum lacing your lips.
"Such a good little slut. my exclusive cumslut," he cooed running his thumb over your lips, glistening with your sakiva mixed with his released. "ready for me to fuck your brains out, fuckdoll?" Like you'd ever say no.
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ariiiloves · 1 year
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I swear the day my mother actually supports me instead of telling me all the time to smile and not get angry
That day
I will believe in god
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3liza · 1 year
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it's been said but there is something magical about the writing ability of the tumblr userbase. it's monkeys with typewriters of course but with the wisdom-of-crowds weight-guessing phenomenon on top. the pure synaptic delight of a phrase like "this idiot hasn't seen Goncharov" or "girl what kind of interview is this". "his wife has filled his house with chintz" probably has a thesis written on it in a linguistics program somewhere by now. blöro, blorbo, horse plinko, bode. that's pussy babe! put the pussy in a scarmophagus. suck a blood clot out them mfs like los feratu. lots of O and R sounds. oughh. we are in a low and gutteral era of memes, totally appropriate for the universal fatigue, the lowness of daily existence. every day on this website i read some effortless sentence that triggers the neuroverbal part of my brain with something like ASMR and in seven years i will spontaneously remember the phrase "nosferatu pussy indulgence" and start laughing so hard i hurt myself
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btsugarush · 4 months
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GANGSTA | myg - 004
summary: rough sex, blood money, drugs, and gang related activity; four things you never predicted to experience in your simple life. not until you opened your mouth and caught his attention.
pairings: gang leader!yoongi x f!reader
warnings: smut, gunplay, drugs, drug addiction, dark!yoongi, drug lord!yoongi, strong language, gang violence, blood and gore, murder, manipulation, possessive/obsessive behavior, abuse, cheating, angst, fluff, dubcon, implied noncon (not from yoongi but within his gang with his knowledge), 18+, minors dni.
word count: 3.5K
authors note: yes, it is here. it only took me 76 years lmao. y’all best give me all the love since y’all wanted to be on my ass about this mf. anyway, enjoy the drama. also this was prewritren with the tags a long time ago so if you no longer wanted to be tagged or if you’re new and wanted to be tagged i’m sorry. the taglist got full but i try to switch out who i tag every chapter.
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“Now, are you sure you’re okay? I can personally file a report for you.” Mr. Kim asked for the 6th time. You roll your eyes, fed up with the badgering. You didn’t understand why he cared so much anyway. He was the one that refused to listen to you when you tried to explain why it wouldn’t be a great idea for you to deliver in Gongdan.
You didn’t go into detail about the assault, or even bother to mention Yoongi being the reason it didn’t escalate. You simply just stated to him that you were attacked and managed to slip free.
Luckily for you though, the old man’s guilt for the attack led him to giving you the rest of the day off and you snatched that offer up immediately. Not like he needed your assistance, seeing as the restaurant was practically dead with only about 4 customers. “I’m fine, Mr. Kim. I promise.” You assure him one last time. “Alright then. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“See you tomorrow.” You exit the shop, the door dinging as you do. You spot Mina’s car sitting in front of the restaurant, and she smiles cheerfully as you climb inside. “Hey. Thanks for picking me up so early.” You sigh, buckling your seatbelt. “No problem… But why am I picking you up so early? And…” she leans forward, peaking at your ripped shirt. “Why is your shirt ripped?”
You scratch your head, the thought of explaining the situation to Mina made your brain itch. “I had to deliver at the Devil’s playground again, and got attacked.” You kept it short and sweet. Mina’s eyes widened in shock. “What?! Was it that Yoongi guy again?!”
You shake your head. “It wasn’t him, it was this group of guys. Yoongi was actually the one that saved me…” you twiddle with your fingers as your mind wanders about the raven. Mina arches a brow at the gentleness in your voice. “He saved you?” You nod slowly in response. “My god, what does he expect from you now? Sexual favors?”
Of course Mina has to be the most dramatic and think the worst possible thought of everything. “No, he didn’t ask me for any favors. Which I guess is surprising for someone with his track record.” You admit, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth. Mina starts up the car, finally moving from the restaurant premises. “Please don’t tell me you’re buddy buddy with that thug now?”
You scoff, letting your eyes roll back. “Of course not! The guy is a criminal, and stalker. I’d never befriend him,” You argue, crossing your arms. Yoongi may have saved you, but you weren’t swayed by his heroic charm. “Anyway, enough about me and my shitty day, it’s too traumatic to talk about. Did you have a talk with Jin like I suggested?” You change the subject. Mina’s face drops at the mention of her boyfriend’s name. “Yeah, we talked for about 2 minutes before it all blew up. Now we’re not on speaking terms,” She sighs. “I think maybe I should break up with him…”
You frown. ‘There she goes being the most dramatic again…’
“Mina, don’t be so damn hasty all the time.” You try to reason with the blonde. “I’m not!” She defended herself. “I’m just tired, y/n. I’m tired of trying to figure him out. I’d rather break up with him before he breaks up with me.”
Mina had never been the girl to get her heart broken. In high school she was the one always doing the heart breaking, so you could tell that it genuinely killed her to love someone as much as she loved Jin, and not know where his head was at regarding their relationship. “I don’t know, Mina… I just know if I was in your shoes with Kookie, I’d try to work things out before I think of the worst possible outcome.”
Mina pouts, but she doesn’t continue to speak. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, you were right. She shouldn’t just jump the gun and break up with Jin. Although he was acting strangely and it was confusing the hell out of her. “You know… I’m jealous of your relationship with Kookie.” She suddenly blurts, causing you to turn to her with a raised brow. “Huh?”
“I’m jealous,” she repeats. “Of you and Jungkook.”
You tilt your head to the side, your eyebrows now scrunched in curiosity. “Why?”
Mina simply shrugs, sitting quietly for a couple of minutes before answering. “You two match, and have an unbeatable connection. You started off as best friends, which played in your favor. I met Jin in the hospital because he had a broken arm. We don’t have the history you and Jungkook have.”
You smile at the compliment towards your relationship, but quickly shake your head. “History isn’t everything. Some people marry their high school sweethearts and breakup. You and Seokjin just need to be mature– or you at least.” Mina whips her head in your direction, her brows furrowed. “What do you mean by ‘or you at least’?”
“I mean that sometimes you’re immature. You tend to freak out when things don’t go your way and storm off like a child.” Mina snarls. “I’m not immature.” She muttered to herself, practically proving your point. The car finally slows down in front of your apartment before coming to a complete stop. “Thanks for the ride again, Mina. I appreciate you.”
“Of course. I’m mature enough to pick up my best friend when she needs me.” She glares, your previous comment still not sitting well with her. You shake your head, paying no mind to her attitude. “Bye, Mina. I hope everything works out with Jin.” You pushed open the car door, climbing out.
“Yeah, you and me both.” She mutters her last words before she waits for you to close the car door, speeding off into the distance with you standing there to watch. You let out a sigh, shrugging. What was the point of her asking for your advice if she was always going to dislike what you had to say?
You turn on your heels, walking up the steps that lead to your building entrance. As you venture down the hall to your apartment, you spot a shaggy haired man placing a bouquet of flowers right in front of your front door. A smile forms your face as you see the one person you longed to see after such a horrendous experience. “Kookie?”
The brunette jumps slightly, your sudden appearance catching him off guard. Once he registers that it’s you, he smiles as well. “Well shit, I wanted to surprise you with something sweet when you got off. Guess that’s a fail.” He scratches the back of his neck, chuckling. You shake your head, instantly embracing him with a hug. “It’s not a fail. I’m so happy to see you.” Even though you pretty much talked on the phone with Jungkook everyday, it felt like you hadn’t seen him in weeks.
Jungkook’s tattooed arms wrap around your waist, returning your gentle embrace. “I’m happy to see you too, angel. What’re you doing home so early though? I thought you weren’t off till 8:00?”
You bit down on your bottom lip. You wanted to start crying right there just thinking about what almost happened to you today. You hadn’t told him about your trip to Gongdan yesterday because you didn’t want him to worry, but now you felt as though he deserved to know this time. “I got attacked today.” You take a step back, showing him your torn shirt. Jungkook looks down, dumbfounded at how he hadn’t clocked your ripped shirt when you first walked in.
“By who?!” He shouts. “If it was Yoongi and his gang I swear to god–”
You shush Jungkook, looking around to make sure none of your neighbors were in the hallway eavesdropping. “Let’s talk about this inside, okay?” The brunette is pissed, but he nods, awaiting for you to open your apartment door. He grabs the flowers from the floor as you dig through your purse for your key. ‘I really need to get a keychain for this thing," you thought, finally finding the piece of metal in your bag.
You open the door, and Jungkook wastes no time storming in. He places the flowers on your kitchen table, pulling out a chair for you to sit and explain yourself. Even though he was angry he still focused on your wellbeing. You close the door, unsure if you really wanted to recite the situation. Too late to change your mind now though.
You shuffle to the seat that Jungkook pulled out for you, plopping down. “So? Was it Yoongi’s doing?”
How do you even begin to explain all of this? Yes, but not really? While Yoongi was the reason you ended up in Gongdan, he isn’t the one that attacked you. But he has taken a weird interest in you ever since the Makoto showdown between you and his trusty stooge. If you told Jungkook that though, he'd just spend every moment trying to protect you and probably do something unnecessary to get himself hurt. You didn’t want that.
So, maybe it was best to embellish the truth a bit and leave Yoongi out of it.
“I had a delivery in Gongdan today. Jimin was out sick, and I was the only one that could deliver it. A group of guys attacked me on my way back to the restaurant.” Jungkook furrowed his eyebrows. “You had a delivery at the devil’s playground and you took it? What the hell were you thinking?”
“I was thinking that I had to do my job. I had no choice, Kookie. Mr. Kim wasn’t letting me out of it. Believe me, I tried.” The brunette scoffed, redirecting his anger to Mr. Kim. “I should go down there and kick that old man’s ass,” He muttered. Jungkook was never too fond of Mr. Kim. He thought the old man could be a bit misogynistic.
“Did they hurt you?” His voice is now more tender. You shook your head. “No. I’m fine,” You assure him. “The only thing that got hurt is my precious shirt.” You laugh a bit, trying to lighten the mood. “Did they just let you go? How’d you get free?” He pressed on.
“Umm…” you trail off, your thoughts once again wandering to the raven haired man.
“So Wonder Woman, you ready to accept that ride today?”
“They got scared off by someone that happened to be walking by. Lucky me, huh?”
Jungkook sighs smoothly, crouching down in front of your chair. He takes your hands in his, interlocking your fingers. “I’m glad you’re okay, y/n. I hate to know you experienced that and I wasn’t there.” He frowns, leering down at your hands. “Jungkook, you’re not gonna be able to be there for everything, and that’s okay. You’re here now, when I need you the most.”
Jungkook looks up at you. “And I’ll stay here.”
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“Please remind me to stop letting you pick out movies. You always pick the cheesiest ones.” Jungkook grimaced as you two reached the end of your movie. You wiped stray tears from your eyes, glaring over at your soon-to-be boyfriend. “The Princess Diaries is a classic. I love it.” Jungkook snorts, shaking his head. “Yeah, well next time I’m picking the movie. Your selection sucks.”
You gasp, taking a pillow from the other end of the couch. “Take that back.” You cock the pillow, ready to deliver a blow. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry… that you’re ass at picking movies.” You swing the pillow down on him, and his hands go up in self defense as he laughs, his back landing on the couch cushions to better protect his face. You take this advantage to straddle the brunette’s waist, continuing your attack until he ultimately surrenders. “Okay, I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” You finally toss the pillow back down to the end of the couch, a victory smirk plastered on your face. “I knew you’d see it my way.”
“Hard not to when I’m being attacked by a pillow.” He looks up at you, still straddling his waist. Jungkook’s hands slowly roam up your legs, stopping to grip your hips. “You’re so beautiful, you know that?” Your cheeks heated up with the compliment, and you felt a sudden wave of warmth between your legs that made you anxious. This was it. There was no better time than this to lose your virginity to Jungkook.
You lean forward, pressing your lips to his pierced ones, the metal was cold against you; Jungkook didn’t hold back, or hesitate the moment your lips were against his. Your mouths moved in sync, but sloppily at the same time as though you both wanted it real bad– and you did. Jungkook’s hands moved from your hips, reaching back to cup your ass in his hands, giving your cheeks a squeeze.
You moaned softly into his mouth, rolling your hips over the rough fabric of his jeans until you felt his cock harden underneath you. Jungkook made sure to assist you, his hands pressing you down harder against his confined length. Your panties were soaked, and your mind was in a daze. You were sure that you had dampened his jeans by now. “Fuck, Y/n…” he muttered in between kisses. “We have to stop before I can’t stop.”
“Then don’t stop, I want this.” You whine, rolling your hips faster. Jungkook moans, eyes squeezing shut. “Fuck, I can’t.” He grabs your hips, forcing you to stop. You take the hint, but you can’t help the pang in your chest. Was there something wrong with you? You didn’t get it. What was he waiting for? You climb off of him, taking your place back on the couch.
It’s silent as Jungkook sits up on the couch, running his fingers through his hair. “Y/n…”
“Save it,” You cut him short. “You don’t want to have sex with me, I get it.” Jungkook shakes his head. “That’s not true. I do.” He argued. You scoff, rolling your eyes. “So then what’s the problem? I’m always practically giving signals that I’m ready and you’re holding back. You have never done that with any girl you’ve dated before me.”
“You’re not any girl I’ve dated before you.”
“Right, I’m y/n, the girl that’s been your best friend for years and the truth is that’s probably all you see me as.” Jungkook says nothing, he doesn’t even bother to argue because that’s just something he hates doing with you. “I uh… I should go.”
“Then go.” You snapped. Jungkook nods, standing up from the couch. As he walks to the front door, he looks back at you. You don’t look his way, you just continue to stare forward. “You’re not any girl I’ve dated before you.” He repeats; those are his final words before he opens the door and leaves.
Your eyes brim with tears as you finally turn, looking towards the table where Jungkook’s bouquet of flowers sat.
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“Well well well, look who made a full recovery today.” You eye Jimin taking orders as you walk into Makoto. Jimin smiles at you, happy to see you in what felt like forever since you two worked together. “Y/n, it’s good to see you too.” He greets. You cross your arms, not in a greeting mood. “I have a bone to pick with you once you’re done here.” You say, walking back to the kitchen to clock in.
“Y/n, good afternoon. How are you feeling today?” Mr. Kim asks you as you grab an apron from the hook, tying the black fabric around your waist. “It’s a Monday, how am I supposed to be feeling?” You speak dreadfully. You barely got any sleep after what happened last night with Jungkook, and now you were at work. Jungkook hadn’t even called or texted you. Not that you wanted him to right now.
“Well, I meant everything that happened yesterday, how are you feeling today?” He reiterates. You grab a time card, swiping it through the clock. “I’m fine, Mr. Kim.” You walk past him, taking a notepad and pen from the cup holder. Jimin walks back into the kitchen, his face suddenly pale like he was ready to puke. Maybe he was sick.
“Hey, um, there’s someone out there at table three that’s requesting for you to take their order.” He says, scratching the back of his neck. You raise a skeptical brow. ‘Requesting me? Could it be Jungkook?’ You thought. Maybe he wanted to talk in person instead of over the phone. You didn’t see why he couldn’t have waited until your shift was over and come to your apartment, but you didn’t argue with the gesture.
“Okay…?” You walk out of the kitchen towards the dining area. As you scope out table three, you don’t see Jungkook, but in fact, Yoongi, Joon, and two other guys you don’t know. That’s why Jimin looked so sickly. You shake your head, sauntering over to their table. “What’re you doing here? Was yesterday not enough?” You snap at Yoongi.
“Nice to see you too,” the raven laughs, leaning back in his chair. “Yesterday is the reason I’m here in person, sweetheart. Wouldn’t want you getting your pretty self into any more trouble in my hood.” He smirked. “You remember my boy Joon, don’t you?”
“Wonder Woman, it’s good to see you again.” You glare at Joon, rolling your eyes. You didn’t have time for this. Yoongi was the last person you cared to see right now, and you definitely never wanted to see Nam-joon again. “So are you here to order something or are you here to be the bane of my existence?”
“Depends… are you on the menu?” He bites his bottom lip, looking you up and down. Joon, and Yoongi’s other two minions snicker and you’ve decided you’ve had enough of this pig fest. “Okay, goodbye.” You turn to head back to the kitchen, but Yoongi stops you by grabbing your wrist. “I’m just joking around, sweetheart. I’m here to ask you something.” You pull your wrist from his grip, turning back to face him. “Ask me what?”
“Well, I’m having this kickback at my place tonight. I want you to slide through.” You scrunch your eyebrows together in confusion. “What on earth would make you think I’d dare to step foot into Gongdan again? And what makes you think I’d go to your shifty ass warehouse?”
“Well, I just thought after my heroism the other day you would want to thank me more properly.” You scoffed. Mina was right. He was expecting some kind of sexual favor from you. “I knew it. You only helped because you thought you could use me later on. I should’ve expected that from someone like you.” You leave their table, making your way back towards the kitchen, but this time Yoongi stands up from his seat to follow you.
“Princess,” He stops you again, his hand grazing your waist, but he doesn’t fully touch you in a manner that came across as though he was trying to respect your boundaries–for once. He steps in front of you, blocking your way to the kitchen. “It’s not like that. I helped you because I wanted to.”
“Is that so? Because it truly didn’t seem like it just a second ago.” You snarled, crossing your arms. The raven makes a “tsk” sound before continuing on. “Sweetheart, if that’s all I wanted from you then I would’ve made you give it to me right there in the alleyway. Regardless of what happened,” His face was stone cold serious. He meant that. You stood silent, not knowing what to say next.
“Listen… sometimes I have these kickbacks, and they’re a vibe, but it would be better if I saw your pretty face there.” His voice is soft, so soft that you didn’t think someone like Yoongi could produce such a tone. “I don’t think it would be a good idea for me to take a bus through Gongdan at night.”
“So don’t. I’ll pick you up.”
You sigh, slowly feeling yourself ready to cave in and you didn’t know why. You literally could not stand this man. He was a stalker for fuck sakes. A criminal. And yet… here you were ready to accept his invitation because of one good gesture, and a sudden softness to his voice. Yoongi’s eyes search for yours until they lock, a smile forming his face. For a moment as you're looking into the raven’s eyes you begin to question is he really the monster he makes people believe? Or is that all for looks?
“Hey, can we get the check please?” A customer calls out. Your eyes snap away from Yoongi’s. You had almost forgotten you were at work. “Look, I have to get back to work. I’ll… I’ll let you know.” You take your notepad, writing down your phone number. As you rip the paper from the pad, you actually begin to question your sanity. You hand the paper to Yoongi, his lips tilting in a sly smirk as he takes it.
“I look forward to hearing from you, princess.”
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lundenloves · 9 months
Note
bro ik simon buys his daughter some silly ass shit on missions😭 like he will buy her a mug ( a mug, FOR A BABY. ) titled: "worlds best daughter and dad duo" .. wont even let the reader hold their kid as long as hes some n shit.. just pls dad!simon hcs PLS
you ask and you shall receive anon. here are the current thoughts swooshing around in my messy brain right now. 🪄
dad!simon masterlist | hc 2
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my god definitely tho.
He’s the definition of girldad. To a T. Like, when she’s younger and he’s still new to the whole thing it’s all scary but once he’s past that and realises it’s literally just a tiny person. It’s over for everyone around him.
That little girl is worth crushing skulls for fr.
Waking up in the middle of the night to baby cries was something he took in stride. The first few times definitely scared the shit out of him and he wanted to wake you up. But then again, realising that it was just a tiny person. He would get up and probably fall asleep on the sofa with her instead of taking her back to the cot.
Not that he would admit it but he felt way more relaxed with her sleeping on his chest.
Shirtless.
SKIN. TO. SKIN.
When she gets older, she starts asking questions about him and his job and all the ‘why’ follow ups. We’re talking ages 7-9 here.
“Why wear skull stuff if you’re called Ghost?”
“It’s a callsign.”
“What’s a callsign?”
“A nickname.”
“Why?”
Literally his mini-me though. She follows him everywhere. All around the house, upstairs downstairs, outside inside. EVERYWHERE. He never grows tired of it though. Always entertaining the questions.
“Do you have a name?”
“Yes. I have a name.”
Then telling her it and she goes onto call him Simon for three days straight before moving onto another source of entertainment.
She draws pictures of 141. Penning a little version of herself in the middle of the men, a big arrow pointing to each of them labelled by their names spelt wrong. Sop. Pris.
Soap draws pictures back stfu.
Definitely the type of relationship with his daughter where they’re close until she becomes interested in boys and her dad is suddenly embarrassing lmaoooo.
Johnny is actually the embarrassing uncle.
Her first boyfriend my days.
I know by this point, he has another daughter. No one can convince me otherwise. He has a minimum of two.
“She’s gonna see her boyfriend.” The younger one would sing and Simon is right onto that shit. Dad stance n’ all.
“What age is he?” First question.
“Dad.”
LeaveTheDoorOpen™️
His kids don’t actually know what he works as. It’s like, no one knows exactly what their dad does. SAS shit or smth.
For forms, he just waves a hand of dismissal and is like, “Just say i’m in the army.”
“Are you in the army?”
“No.” this mf
Having two daughters definitely be teaching him a lot. Like periods. He never took them seriously until he was being barked at for the seventeenth time in one day, deciding in that moment to understand.
Also the designated bag holder and credit card user on shopping trips.
Dilf.
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this is short but i’m writing a huge smut for him rn don’t tell anyone. you. yes, you.
taglist? click this link to complete the form.
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moyazaika · 7 months
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Idea that won't leave my brain: a discharged soldier yan. He's the perfect house husband, really, it's just... he approaches everything with that military mentality. Any neighborhood event is a warzone. He almost choked someone out for grabbing the last bag of reader's fave chips at the supermarket. He treats reader as their commander & follows any orders, no matter how inconvenient or embarassing it may be. Reader's lucky to have a job, otherwise they couldn't ever leave the house doesn't stop him from spying on them tho. Basically like The Way of the House Husband but with dog tags & camoflauge -💗
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cw — obsessive themes // stalking. lowkey he’s so bad with kids it’s child abuse ☠️ other than that just vvv domestic tooth rotting fluff, he’s just a big strong man who loves his little spouse tbh 🙌🏽🙌🏽
yeayesyes i always hog these concepts u send in the inbox purely because i always wanna write full 1000k world length fics on them buUUUT this one i have been EyEEIIINGGG it is so delicious i js wanna sink my teeth into this mf 😞☝🏽
no bc he would be the perfect househusband honestly! :(
u come home from work sooo exhausted and the place looks brand new, the pantry’s been organised and restocked with all of your favourite snacks. your favourite movies/games all have their respective DVD’s arranged in alphabetical order, and he’s just in the kitchen, and u can’t help but laugh —
this super serious looking, big man with a five o clock shadow and a permanent scowl on his face is wearing a cute frilly apron with pink hearts on it, yk the ones that say kiss the cook?? and he’s making ur favourite dinner for u??
he pretends not to hear u sneak up behind him, acts surprised when your arms wrap around his waist and you greet him. you press a soft kiss to his cheek and he melts into you, the tiiiiiniest smile on his lips.
“hi honey,” he’ll press a soft kiss to ur forehead, run a hand through your hair if they’re not occupied with the food in front of him. “how was work?”
“mmm was good. missed you tho.”
“missed you more. now sit down, dinner’s ready in twenty, and i wanna hear everything about it.”
bbbbbut if you think he doesn’t know where you are at all times and everything that’s alr happened in ur day already then you’re reallyyy cute <3
even when you’re at work he’s keeping a close eye on u. on days he’s not busy (the house is clean + dinner’s alr ready) he’ll follow you around, making sure nobody gets too close - and that those who do never do it again.
you best BELIEVE this man is like a guard dog. gives you scary dog privileges 24/7.
cus i just know his expert stealth leaves u completely oblivious to his presence thanks to the training he revived back in his military days - but everyone around you can’t help but feel like they’re being watched if they’re around you too long. (too long being more than a minute ofc)
and speaking of his military days IM FERAL. his scars hhh he still has those scars all over his body, and on his face too. i like to think that the way he looks deters people away from him but darling fell for him first as they were the sort of person who didn’t care. and that made him fall infinitely hardER.
grumpy x sunshine except he’s literally melting in ur hands but everyone else in the world can die <3
ok but he’s also the type of guy to be so bad with kids that it’s honestly endearing. it’s pathetic to watch, but let’s say darlings doing a neighbour a favour by babysitting triplets, and then comes home to find one of the poor children is taped to the wall, and another is ??? stuck in the washing machine ????
“…darling?” you set your keys down and shrug your coat off, eerily calmly.
“yes, honey?” your husband smiles at you from his place on the sofa, where’s he’s playing a game of chess with one of the triplets, who is bawling their fucking eyes out.
“what the actual fuck are you doing?”
“teaching junior #3 strategy.” he nods solemnly, gesturing to the snot faced baby to make its move before turning back to u with the sweetest grin. “can never start too young, right?”
you blink.
“…you’re sleeping on the couch tonight.”
can we also talk about his strength for a moment LORDDD have mercy.
ur husband being the beefy man he is will manhandle you to the max. idc if you’re seven feet tall or double his weight this guy’s twice your height and absolutely huge. sleeper build? tf is that, his muscles are practically bulging out beneath his shirt. he picks u up alllll the time, wants you constantly on his lap or is just always touching you.
you can ask for his workout routine, but the most active he gets is when he’s at the store, tryna buy you something u like and making SURE that even it’s the last one there and fifty people are in line before him, you know for a FACT he’ll treat the mall like a war zone and go full commando mode with war paint and a game plan and blueprint and all </3
the cashier sees him sneak in through the vents, dangling by a rope as he reaches dooooown - fingers grazing the edge of the last copy of that novel u really wanted to read and so close to securing it for his darling spouse when — “uh sir?”
fuck. he looks up, is genuinely startled to see the poor traumatised teenager awkwardly rubbing their neck. minimum wage does not pay them enough for this man’s bs. “do you need help with that?”
and yk that strength is a curse as much as it is a blessing. sometimes he can’t control himself, seeing you come home after a long dayy of work, but don’t worry because he’ll take good care of you!
he’ll do that sexy thing where he’ll have you tied to the bedpost, and try crawl on top of you till there’s a loud CRACK beneath his weight as the mattress dips dangerously low. he blinks, face blank and you bite ur tongue to try not to laugh at what you think just happened.
“…darling?”
“…yes, honey?”
“did you just break the bed?”
“…”
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ncteez · 1 year
Text
the bore next door (j.ww)
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Jeon Wonwoo is not dull, nor is he the clean and polite neighbor that your mother assumed he was when she set you up on this awful date. 
or the one where wonwoo takes you home on the first date and renders you unable to walk, hoping to god that you don’t expose him to your parents.
ao3 | minors dni! | kindly leave feedback and reblog, i will kiss your forehead so fucking fast if you do. 
WORDCOUNT― 8.8k
PAIRING― wonwoo x afab reader
CONTENT― strangers to fucking immediately to the possibility of dating later, reader is a teacher but this is not a school setting, mocking and making fun, sneaky sex, flirting and bullying in the same instance, cocky wonwoo, um…they’re kind of competitive in bed
WARNINGS― small mention of other teachers cheating on their spouses (very tiny mention), the resistance of pressure to fall in love/have children
NOTE― I repurposed an old wip for this because putting this mf in the main role hit harder than it should have. that being said, don’t expect me to write men often like this, i just thought it would be neat to make him take control. this is not proof read.
smut tags under cut:: 
smut tags― dom(ish) wonwoo, bratty/sub reader, huge cock agenda (again), he gets the best head he’s ever had, he calls you messy a lot (he likes it messy),  face fucking, pussy eating, nipple biting, finger fucking, squirting,  dirty talk, wow i can’t believe I actually wrote a condom being used this time!!!!, wonwoo tries to make you moan because his horny brain wants your parents to know, dirty talk, praise, hair pulling.
~
23rd street. The restaurant is on 23rd street, and you can honestly say you’ve managed to hit every street but this one. From 13th street to 35th street, does the street in question even truly exist? Were you set up by your parents?
           In short, you have been single since high school. Maybe a few flings here or there throughout college but never truly settling on one man or woman in a relationship. You’re almost shocked that your parents are pushing so hard for you to find love. They want you to somehow feel the love from the movies, something like they had felt when they met. In this century, unfortunately, love isn’t quite as predictable. You can’t just pick a person who has a good job and a decent face and assume love will settle in someday.
           Not only is it not predictable but it isn’t a priority in your life. You have no interest in meeting the standard a man could hold for you, nor a woman, or family member. You’re here to exist in your own way, work your way up through the corporate food chain, and live in a home with over thirteen cats before dying a peaceful death in your late eighties. Why do you need a man to do any of this? Why do you need to settle for one cock, one set of hands, and one personality?
           Right, because mom wants you to at least try to experience what love is. Surely, it’s just because she desperately wants a grandchild from her one and only daughter. Sorry to disappoint, but that will not be you. Children were never a thought in your mind, nor was marriage, a honeymoon, or a burial plot next to another person. Your mother knows this, but the least you can do is show some effort to please her, right? To prove that relationships just aren’t your thing, and you’d much rather have the funds to live a comfortable life all on your own. 
           23rd street is the small thumb tack on a map where there is a restaurant that holds a very, very, annoying arrangement. Your mother had really sold the idea to you. She says the nice neighbor boy next to her seems to be around your age, he brings her the mail sometimes. He seems to have a job, his own car, his own home that sits in a plot next to theirs. His lawn stays mowed, and he even seems to have a dog that he walks at the same time three times a day. 
           She doesn’t mention what he looks like, and of course, when you’d asked because, in all honesty, that’s the most important thing to you if you’re going to get anything out of this, she simply states that he is tall, handsome, and has dark hair.
           For all you know, she just set you up on a date with Antonio Banderas. 
           What you weren’t expecting though, is to find this restaurant almost an hour late and walk in to find an already half-eaten meal in front of a man who looked at you as if you were any stranger on the street. A stranger you were, and so was he, but honestly, he is attractive. That alone made you feel a bit guilty for not having found this place sooner. The idea that the man in front of you did not wait for you shows that he also has priorities that aren’t you. This is probably a huge inconvenience for him too, if anything. Imagine your nice neighbor lady telling you to go to a restaurant to meet their daughter? God. The first words out of your mouth are an apology. Not for being late, and not for not even wanting to be here, but for your mother for even trying.
“Sorry about my mom,” you mutter, plopping down into the booth with a sigh. You eye over his food, already knowing that the check will likely be split. “Let’s just get this over with.”
“Why the rush?” The man immediately says, pushing an untouched glass of water your way. “I don’t mind that you were late, I was just really hungry.”
           You hum at him, waiting for the waitress to come over so you can place the most obnoxious order in the world because you’re really not in the mood to even look at the menu or the prices. Chicken strips and fries, obviously.
“So, what did you order?” You state, eyeing his plate. 
“Steak?” He says it like a question, as if it is the most obvious thing in the world and it definitely was. Clearly there is a half-eaten steak that probably costs over twenty dollars on his plate. Still, you were just trying to make small talk.
           The man says nothing after this, offering nothing but an awkward atmosphere. It doesn’t take long at all for you to stop caring about the entire arrangement, as if you cared in the first place. 
“Look—” You try to offer, and the handsome man in front of you doesn’t even quirk a brow as he sips his own drink. “I don’t even remember your name, and I know my mom is trying to set us up but—”
“You’re not interested, and you have better places to be?” The man finishes for you as he sits his drink down with a gulp that makes much less sound than your own. “That’s fair. My name is Wonwoo, by the way.”
           You nod at him, already deciding that you’ll get chicken strips somewhere else on your own so that you can eat them in the comfort of your own home, alone, without a stupidly handsome man in front of you that has, probably, less interest than you do.
“Well, I’m interested, and I don’t have anywhere better to be,” Wonwoo says, shooting his eyes up at you. “And to be quite honest with you, your mother was right. You are pretty.” 
           Taken aback, you’re somehow comforted by his forwardness towards you. He acts just as uninterested as you do but counters that demeanor with his words. You can’t imagine that this is how the man picks up women, there’s honestly no way he would win that way. No wonder he is single.  Then again, you kind of do the same thing. You see an attractive person and you act much the same as Wonwoo right now. Uninterested in anything long-term but clearly interested in something. 
“I’m pretty, huh?” You laugh, sipping the water and internally giving this man an extra three minutes to fully sell the idea of this date to you. “Imagine my surprise to walk in and find that I was set up on a date with someone that is actually attractive.”
“Oh?” Wonwoo quirks a brow. “Is this how you return a compliment?” 
           You shrug. “Is this how a date normally goes for you—you know, where you’ve already eaten your food and would probably rather pay and leave before she even gets a chance to order?”
“No,” he responds pointedly. “Would you rather me throw a tantrum that you were late?”
“You’d be a lot less dull if you did.” You throw back, eyeing a waitress as she heads over. 
           Wonwoo watches as you place your order and watches a bit harder at the way you smirk at yourself through nearly everything you say. You must think you’re clever, you must think he’s willing to chase you or something.
“I’m dull?” He questions, staring you down with narrowed eyes. “You just ordered chicken strips at one of the most expensive restaurants in town.”
           You’re taken aback a bit, shaking off his little insults and sitting straight up. Interesting date, truly.
“Okay then, Wonwoo—” You say his name as if it’s a joke or something, but you don’t really let him react to it. “What do you do for a living?”
“I’m a systems software developer,” he deadpans, swirling his very nonalcoholic water in his hand. “Not that you’d know what that is or anything. And you?”
           In all honesty, you don’t really know what that means, but it isn’t hard to figure it out. Assuming he must make programs or something, assuming he probably flew through college in order to do it in the way he seems proud of what he does. In all honesty, it still sounds like such a bore. He must talk in code or something in his free time. 
“I’m—uh—I’m a teacher.” You try to laugh, realizing that you’re kind of putting him down when he very clearly must make more money than you do. 
           Only now does it set in that your mother stated he has his own home. One that sits directly beside theirs in a neighborhood that you grew up in. One that you tried to find your own home in but ended up in a shitty apartment in the city because it is all you could afford. Wonwoo must make good money. 
“Oh yeah? What do you teach?” He perks up in interest, no longer acting as if he is trying to insult you and instead offering conversation to you with such ease that you almost forget you’re supposed to be getting through the date in discomfort. 
“I teach everything, I guess. It’s just first grade. I swear, I teach them how to pull up their pants properly more than how to spell words.” You smile to yourself thinking of the loud and obnoxious children you teach five days a week. Your job is why you don’t want children though. Your job is why you’d rather stay single. All you hear about is how the third-grade English teacher is fucking the fifth-grade science teacher even though he has a wife who is pregnant with their second child. Sometimes you hear gossip about the students themselves. Who in their right mind as an adult would gossip about elementary school kids? It’s no wonder you’re not a favored teacher. You’re sure they’ve said something about you for not having a significant other or a child on the way. 
           Wonwoo smiles through your endearment towards your class, eyes perking up at the plate of chicken strips on their way to you. He doesn’t say much when you thank the waitress and doesn’t really pay attention to the way you devour the first strip in nearly one bite. 
“Seems like a lively job. I just sit around all day staring at a computer screen…” He begins to drone on about his own job, sounding more like background noise in your head if you’re being honest. You can barely hear him over the crunching of your chicken and you’re a bit thankful for that.
“And I think that it was really worth the—” You interrupt his long string of sentences with a call of his name. “Wonwoo, do you have any other interests?” You ask, sipping your water.
           He deadpans at your rudeness of interrupting him. Wonwoo doesn’t often go out on dates, nor does he often get asked about these types of things so, he goes quiet, flicking his eyes down to his hands and then back up to you.
“I like to go hiking, I guess? Watching movies? Sometimes I like to cook—”
           Ah. He’s one of those guys. 
“Those are like, the most common interests a person can have. You don’t have any special hobbies or weird quirky things you like to do?” You question, trying to see something in him past the fact that he’s nice to look at and has a decent paycheck. 
“I don’t really have the time to put into other things. When I’m not working, I’m busy cleaning my house or doing yard work since I’m usually too tired during the week to do it.”
“God, you are such a bore.” 
           Wonwoo realizes now that maybe you’re not just throwing around banter. Sure, neither of you really wanted to come on this date but he could have used the time away from a computer screen to look at his neighbor’s daughter. If anything, it was an interesting offer, and those don’t come by him too often. He had seen photos of you. He knew you were pretty, and he also should have known you were a bit stubborn with the way your mother warned him before the date.
“If I was so boring, would I be sitting here on a date with a woman I don’t know?” He glares over at you. 
“I don’t know, probably. It isn’t the riskiest thing in the world. What? You don’t have tinder?”
           Wonwoo looks down again, because no, he doesn’t have fucking tinder and he doesn’t understand why that matters.  “Why does that matter?” 
“Ah, so we are similar.” You smile to yourself in a small win, and you’re not even sure if it’s even an argument at this point. “No time for hobbies, so no time for dating either?” 
           He nods slowly at you, completely confused by the way you go from picking his personality apart to finding some way to connect with him. 
“We can wrap this up then if you want?” You offer, still picking at the food on your plate. “I can pay for mine, so I release you from this arrangement.” 
           He just sits there staring at you. What a peculiar woman. Do you really assume he isn’t somehow finding the fun in all of this? In all honesty, this date is going off without a hitch compared to many other dates he’s been on. He has never been on a date where he is criticized, nor has he ever criticized a date himself before. It’s almost kind of nice, like a breath of fresh air being able to meet someone who isn’t trying to show their best aspects. Someone who is sitting in front of him being as real as they possibly can be. Sure, you’re attractive, but your lack of interest in this date is somehow—flooring.
“What if I want to stay?” He makes eye contact with you. “What if I want to pay for your overcooked chicken?” 
“I’d be letting you win if you pay for me, but you’re free to stay.” You wave him off with your hand, realizing that the chicken is very dry and wasn’t hitting the spot like you’d been pretending. “So, what now then?” You add with a tilt of the head. 
“Admitting I’m interested in you, I guess?” He says it with so much confidence that you barely notice the ‘I guess’ at the end of his sentence. It surprises you a little bit, because this entire time you’ve been trying to act as uninterested as possible, despite finding some amount of attraction to Wonwoo..
“Poor you,” You coo, pushing your plate away from you and pulling your almost-empty water closer. “Okay, let’s try and make this worth something then.” 
           Wonwoo prepares himself to listen, but honestly, he couldn’t have prepared for what you’re about to say to him.
“Neither of us are looking for anything serious right?” You ask, continuing after he nods. “So,” you pause briefly, thinking a bit too hard on how to word it. “Why don’t we just pretend this is a tinder date or something?”
           You’re definitely implying that the night could continue together, only to never speak of or see each other again after the sun rises. 
“Are you suggesting I bring you home with me?” He looks at you with a face you can’t really read. 
“Isn’t that what people do when they’re on a date, find each other attractive, but want nothing more?” You reiterate for him, because he seems to have trouble processing what you’re trying to get across to him. “Unless this isn’t your thing?”
           Wonwoo pulls his hand up and pushes his hair out of his face for a moment. He’s thinking about it, barely even realizing that you’ve known each other for less than an hour.
“I didn’t take you for the type of fuck on the first date.” He cocks his head, looking at you in a lazy way.
           It feels a little painful that the first curse word he says out loud is describing something that involves you and your offer. 
“I’m not, usually, but it has been a while for me and I can’t help but think we could have fun with it.”
           He nods, eyeing you down. “Do you want to just drive to my house then? Or do I need to bring you back to get your car?”
“Nah, I can drive. I know where you live, considering I grew up next door and all. I can just crash at my parent’s house once we are done.”
           Wonwoo kind of shifts his eyes nervously, looking down at the table and then back at you with a lick against his bottom lip. “Speaking of your parents—” He pauses, fiddling with his hands. “Look, they probably wouldn’t expect me to be the type to uh, get intimate with their daughter on the first date.”
“Only date,” you correct him, amused. “What, you thought we would meet again after this?”
           Wonwoo waves you off dismissively. “That’s not the point. I don’t want my neighbors thinking I’m some fuckboy, and I’d rather them not find out because I’m sure your mom would slap the shit out of me the next time I bring her the mail.”
“Wonwoo—” You snort in a mocking tone. “My mom set you up on a date with me, you’re gonna take me home and show me a good time within an hour of meeting me. Imagine if she found out you’re not as sweet and innocent as she thinks–”
           His face goes warm, but his eyes darken a bit as he looks at you. “Listen, I don’t usually do this.” 
“Well yeah, you seem too boring to actually have some fun.” 
           Offense taken. 
           And when he says nothing else to that, you speak up again, this time a bit more gentle. 
“Don’t feel like you have to. I can go home and we can pretend this never happened.”
“No, no,” Wonwoo assures, making eye contact with the waitress as if to silently ask for the check. “I could use the distraction.” 
           He was slim when he stood up, obnoxiously attractive getting into his stupid expensive car, and even the way he drove in front of you pissed you off. He drove the speed limit all the way to the familiar street of your childhood. What a boring, boring man.
           When he pulls into his driveway, you aren’t sure if you should park at his house or your own. You realize if you park at either your parents will wonder why you’re parking in their driveway but not in their living room, or wonder why you’re parked in the clean-cut Wonwoo’s driveway because he would never fuck their daughter on the first date. 
           You opt to park two houses away. You already know who the person is who lives in this house and surely they’d only raise a brow at your car being there. You shoot them a text just in case though, because god forbid if they mention it to your parents.
 ~
 “Fitting,” you say as you step into his living room and scan the way he is entirely fucking boring.
 “What?” He asks from behind you, watching you judge his space.
 “Very boring, very you.”
             Wonwoo sighs at your constant critiques of him, but he’s still smiling through it because you’re still here, and you’re the one who suggested coming home with him.
 “I’ve gotta say, I’ve never brought a woman home just to have her insult me,” he laughs, stepping around you and placing his jacket on the end of the couch. “I can imagine that your place hasn’t been cleaned since you moved in.”
             You glare at him, slipping your own jacket off and throwing it on his floor out of spite.
 “I am a comfortable mess, Wonwoo, and you–” you scan the room once more, “are very clearly uncomfortable.”
             He shifts his eyes for a second because, yeah. It’s not that he wouldn’t enjoy having colorful photos on the walls or a couple of knick-knacks lying around. Arguing about it isn’t your purpose for being here though, and he’d much rather skip the banter at this point.
 “I can admit that your jacket looks good on my floor,” he takes a step forward, attempting to be as bold as he typically would be with a woman who knows how he is in bed. He’s never had to play off of his own cleanliness though. “I’m willing to make a mess of this house if you take more off.”
             Oh, okay.
 “Oh, so you can be interesting?” You mock him once again, reaching for the hem of your dress (yes, dress.) and looking at him. “You want to see my clothes on your floor?”
             Wonwoo watches you intently, seeing your thighs being exposed more and more as the dress raises. His body is already reacting, becoming more and more attracted to your witty sense of displeasure toward his entire personality and lifestyle. After all, he’s a computer whizz and you deal with screaming children all day. He wonders why he expected anything less. Little do you know though, he fully intends to have you praising him before the night is up.
 “I’d like to see you on my floor,” he answers, reaching for your dress and pulling it up further and above your head. “If I’m being honest, anyway.”
             You were trying to go slow with the removal of your dress, mostly to see how he reacts to seeing a woman nearly naked in front of him but damn. You weren’t quite expecting how forward he’s being about it. Here you were expecting to be fucked missionary without any foreplay in a bed with all white sheets, right next to a washer and dryer.
 “Oh,” you gasp, slightly out of character in his opinion but his body reacts even more to that. He’s entering into his horny brain, confidence bubbling up through each thought and word he decides to say to you.
 “What, you’re shocked?” He laughs, dropping your dress to the floor and scanning your body. “I can admit that I’m a little shocked too.” 
             You look at him in confusion, moving your arms over your chest and wondering what the fuck he’s talking about. 
 “You wore a matching set for a first date? With a stranger?” He mocks you this time, stepping even closer and running his fingers along the hem of your bra. You can feel the warmth from his thumb gently rubbing the skin as he does it and instantly your body tells on you in the form of goosebumps. 
 “I’ll have you know,” you’re the one stepping closer this time, “I always wear matching sets, because I like to feel sexy.” 
             You’re a liar. You definitely wore them just in case.
             He hums, mere inches from your face as he looks down at you. It feels like he’s fucking looming, and even worse, it feels like he must have his heat set too high or something. It gets even worse when his eyes don’t leave yours, but you feel his hand drop from your chest only to hear the familiar sound of a belt being unbuckled. He stares at you while he does it, his hair falling in his face at the movement of what he’s doing waist down. For some reason, that does it for you, and you’re already rubbing your legs together as you stare right back at him. 
 “I think that’s bullshit,” he smirks, slipping his belt from the loops of his pants and tossing that to the floor as well, and then he brings his face another inch closer, “and don’t think I can’t tell that you’re turned on.” 
             You don’t back down, nor do you admit that he’s absolutely right. You just look at him, watching a strand of his hair fall in front of his eyes that are beginning to darken by the second. 
 “I’m not turned on, believe me, it’ll take a lot more than–” You’re cut off by him planting his hand directly between your legs, two fingers pressing your panties slightly into you. 
 “Hm?” He encourages you to say that again, but you’ve got your breath caught in your throat at his extreme change in demeanor.
             Still, he’s looking directly at your face, watching the way you try to think of a lie. 
 “You wanna keep pretending that I’m boring?” He asks, sliding his fingers up and pressing against your clit. 
             You shake your head, finally dropping the act and blinking at him with empty thoughts. 
 “That’s what I thought,” He ticks his tongue at you, now pulling his fingers away and showing you that even through your panties, his fingers are already soaked. “Now take the rest off.”
             You do as he says, watching him step away with his shirt untucked and his pants undone. You note that he grabs a condom, which for some reason reminds you that you’re definitely about to get railed into the next dimension if that bulge behind those pants implies anything. 
             Standing there with all of your clothes thrown around his living room, you watch him harder than you already had been. He’s slow when he sets the condom down on the table, and even slower when he walks up to you and places a hand on the top of your head before guiding you to sink down.
 “Wha–right here?” You ask, feeling the clean carpet offer relief for your knees rather than the hard wood floors of the room over. 
 “I said I wanted to see you on my floor, didn’t I?” He smiles, already admiring how shameful you’d appear to be if your parents saw you naked and on your knees for him. 
             You nod, looking up at him. When you reach forward to actually lower his pants though, he steps back and continues to create distance between the two of you as he backs himself up to the wall and lounges against it. 
 “Crawl to me,” he instructs, wondering if it’s too much for you but letting out a pleased sound of relief when you instantly do it.
             Would you normally let a man tell you to do that? No. Would you ever actually listen to a man who speaks to you like this? Fuck no. You can’t defend your actions when you do it and you also can’t lie that you’re absolutely fucking dripping over it. Like, honestly, he’s going to have to deep clean this fucking carpet by the time you leave this house. 
             When you reach him, you can feel the heat in your cheeks at the very idea of him from this angle. You sit on your knees, lifting your hands to his pants and lowering them before he can try to draw the process out even longer. You can hear him let out a short chuckle at the way you try to be quick with it, and you already know he’s about to say some shit.
 “I didn’t expect you to be this eager.” He talks down to you with a deep and raspy voice, one that sounds entirely sensual. In terms of what he says though, honestly, you shouldn’t expect much more considering how the two of you practically roasted each other on a fire before this very instant. 
             You ignore his words, letting his pants drop to the floor and now reaching to pull his briefs down. You were incredibly unprepared for his size as you watched it stand stiff and raging in front of your face. Not a single hint of precum is seen, and it makes you feel kind of pathetic for how wet you’ve already gotten. It almost feels like a challenge now, to make him feel just as desperate as you do now. 
             Thankfully, your throat is fairly trained for sucking men until they’re trembling. Hopefully, all those dudes you’ve fucked around with before come in handy, and don’t let you down this time around. 
             Wonwoo watches you from above, smiling over the way you stare at his length before finally touching it. He keeps his cool though, wondering how just over an hour ago you were ordering the worst food a restaurant has to offer, scoffing at his job, his hobbies, and now look at you. What a sight. 
 “Go on,” he encourages you, pressing his hips forward so that the head of his cock hits your cheek, “let me see how messy you are.”
             You roll your eyes at him, gripping the base before closing your eyes and breathing in through your nose. The very second you wrap your lips around him, he has both hands on your head, not moving it, not pushing you down or anything, just resting there. You’d think it was sweet if it weren’t for the fact that he pushes his hips forward after four whole seconds.
             So, he’s not going to guide your mouth, he’s going to hold it there? Okay, you guess. Thankfully, he’s not being super rough with it like you anticipated. If anything, he’s sliding himself into your mouth much as you’d do on your own. 
             He hums out at the feeling of your mouth, pressing in more and more with each thrust of his hips until he finally gets the majority of his length past your lips. He can see you breathe through your nose, but he doesn’t feel resistance at all so he presses his hips in even more, essentially until he’s blocking your airways and your throat is restricted around him in a gag. 
             Instead of pulling your head back though, he feels your fingers grip the back of his legs, you’re trying. He holds your head there in place, feeling your throat massage his cock in probably one of the best ways he’s ever felt. 
 “Shit,” he seethes out between a bite of his lip, “you’ve done this before?” 
             The very thought of you letting your throat be used is enough for him to want to keep doing it, but hearing your response as a half-moaned gag vibrating around his length is a whole other story. 
             He releases his hands from behind your head just to see if what he thinks you’re implying with those vibrations of sounds is right, and god is he thrown for a loop. You stay there, and even when he pulls his hips back before fucking into your throat once more, you still stay there.
             He’s going to lose his goddamn mind because never has a woman been able to withstand this amount in their throat for this long for him. Enough to actually have him a little worried that you’re essentially suffocating on him. 
             Wonwoo snaps his hips back, pulling out of your mouth and leaning down just a bit to grab your chin and guide your eyes up to him. 
 “Breathe,” he says, watching the way you smirk at him as if you’ve won some sort of award. He narrows his eyes at you, “you can choke all you want babe, but you’re gonna have to not be this cock drunk if you want to pretend that you’ve got the upper hand.”
           That motherfucker. You’re trying to make him show just a hint of desperation for you and he completely flips the tables on you? 
             Before you can even argue again, he’s guiding your lips back on him. You decide that it’s not over yet, he can talk down to you all he wants, but you’re going to be the one laughing at him by the end of the night. 
             You allow him to place his hands back on your head, and you kind of like the weight of his cock on your tongue if you’re being honest, but god damn does he have a harsh rhythm. His hips snap languidly but he buries himself deep.  Even when you try to look up at him as your nose presses against his pubic bone, he’s looking down at you so casually. Like he feels okay. Just okay. 
             This time, when he pulls his hips back, he doesn’t have to hold your head steady. You chase his length even as it tries to slide from your mouth, and you start to move your head back and forth in time with his hips. You finally receive a moan from him when you reach a hand up and cup his balls, massaging them in one hand as your saliva bubbles out from around your lips.
 “So fucking messy–” he chokes out in a surprised moan, praising you for somehow making this feel even better than it already did. 
             You hum around him again, feeling the weight of his cock pulse against your tongue and you start to taste more and more of his precum. Shamefully, you’re starting to want this more and more. You want him to call you messy, you want him to bruise your throat. You don’t mind, now that you’ve seen a snippet of what he’s like when he shows his pleasure.
             Just a moment goes by when you feel his hands grip your hair, pulling slightly and following the rhythm of your movements, just putting a bit more force behind them until he finally presses you one last time against his pelvic bone, swirling his hips and stretching out your throat impossibly more around him. 
 “Just like that, yeah,” his moans echo throughout his empty walls and it causes your eyes to flutter as you try to breathe in through your nose. When you gag, he moans again. “Fuck, you know exactly what you’re doing.”
             Then, he releases you and watches with a smirk at the way you pull back in a deep breath before wiping your mouth. 
             You’re not sure why, but the way he’s looking at you makes you feel proud. Maybe it’s because he’s managed to pull out this weird, needy side of you, or maybe it’s because he looks incredibly good looking at you like this after the two of you spit insults at each other all right. 
 “Do you want me to return the favor?” He asks, finally unbuttoning and removing his shirt.
             Seeing him now, you stare at his chest and toned arms, wanting to grab onto them and feel him do whatever it is he wants to do to you. He, on the other hand, can’t tell if you’re nodding to his question or looking him up and down slowly. 
 “You were so talkative earlier, what happened?” He smiles, stepping forward and falling to his knees himself, nudging your legs open in one go, “do you want to fuck my tongue, or no?”
             He continues to smile at your silence, eyes trained between your legs as he spreads them and then looks up at your face. “No?” 
             You shake your head, leaning back on your elbows to watch him and take a breath in.
 “It’s hard to talk when you’re like,” you motions towards him, “that.”
             He chuckles, taking it as a compliment before snatching a pillow off of his couch and tapping your thigh to get you to lift up. You do so, allowing him to place the pillow under your ass before he settles himself there.
           His eyes stay locked on yours as his fingers start to trail to your core, slipping through your folds with such ease that your embarrassment shows plainly on your face. 
 “Messy,” he compliments, lightly tapping against your clit before lowering his head and blowing softly against the glistening heat you offer to him. “Keep your legs spread for me babe.”
             You still watch him, his eyes glaring up from between your spread thighs as he lets his tongue fall from his mouth and lick one long and languid stripe up your core, stopping just before your clit and pulling back as if he’s tasting. You’re not sure what it is about him but goddamn, he must know he looks good when he’s pleasuring a woman. 
             Despite him asking you to keep your legs spread for him, it appears that he doesn’t trust you to do it because he’s still got one hand prying one of your legs apart and his head moving in all sorts of ways as he allows his tongue to lap every part of you besides your clit. Even his other hand, exploring and gently placing pressure against your entrance– the way he’s doing this makes you want to press forward, it makes you want to do exactly as he asked. 
             You roll your hips forward, and he instantly attaches his lips to your clit. You stop, and he trails back down and flicks his tongue against your folds in a teasing way. You grind forward, he’s right back on your clit, flicking his muscle the same way and eliciting a whine from you. 
             This time though, when you roll your hips back, he takes both hands and presses your legs open as far as he can get them, spreading your pussy out across his lips for him to take full control of. He nips at your clit before licking down, pressing the pointed muscle into you and only then does he release your legs. Now, he’s sliding both hands under your ass and rocking you against his face, angling his head so that he can lick inside of your walls to truly taste you.
             God, you’re gonna lose it. Even if you didn’t want to, you’d think the way he’s moving his mouth is enough to get anyone to take advantage of it. You moan, pressing forward and back against his mouth as your own fingers fall to your clit. You rub when you press forward, feeling his warm and wet saliva drip down your slit and down to your ass, and you rub harder when you pull back, watching his eyes flutter open and still somehow manage to glare at you.
             And just as soon as it started, you blink and his face is right there. You would have let out a shocked sound, because jumpscare much? But you moan instead, because he hovers over you with a smirk and an arm between the two of you, his fingers instantly sliding into you as he attaches his lips to yours with little more than a moan of his own. 
 “Have you ever tasted yourself?” He asks, licking against your lips and scissoring his fingers open inside of you.
             You have, but for some reason it tasted better this time when he prods his tongue against yours. Perhaps because it’s from him, or maybe it’s because you’re a little obsessed with the way he navigates sex. 
             When he pulls back from your mouth, now losing himself a little bit in the heat of the faces you make when you feel good, he can’t help but give you a moan along with your own. You sound so fucking good when you’re not talking your shit, and god he knew that mouth could do more than be annoying. 
 “Open up,” he says, licking against your bottom lip as he thrusts his fingers deeper into you, “let me hear you.”
             You can’t really help it. When you open your mouth, you’re practically panting for him. His arm is moving harshly as he fucks his fingers into you and causing you to nearly lose balance on your elbows, but he holds you there with his other arm wrapped around your waist, still licking against your lip and smirking when you still can’t say anything. 
 “Louder,” He instructs, at least wanting you to moan louder for him if you’re going to act like this when he’s touching you. “Let your parents hear you get fucked.” 
             Your eyes shoot open after that, and god, he is the fucking worst. Or maybe not, you can tell he does it on purpose. His fingers curling up inside of you and putting intense pressure against a spot that takes every man ages to find if they manage to even remember it.
 “Wonwoo,” you groan, rolling your eyes back while rolling your hips forward, hand shooting to his and holding it there, “can’t you just fuck me already?”
             He chuckles, dipping his head down to give a sharp bite against your nipple, his fingers still curling up into that spot. 
 “Come on my fingers first.” He says, floored by how good your voice sounds when you want to get fucked. 
             He continues to suck and bite against your nipple, and that sends shocks of pleasure straight down to where his fingers meet your g-spot. You could come right now if he’d just–
             You roll your hips forward harder, grinding your clit against his wrist and essentially fucking yourself on his fingers now. He moans against your nipple at the movement, biting down harder as he hears you just above him holding your breath. It seems like you like not being able to breath, which is just fucking great for him. Your mom would be so heartbroken, honestly. 
 “You think you can ride my cock like this?” He asks, popping your nipple out of his mouth and moving those bites up your neck and to your ear, “think you can come around me twice tonight?”
             You nod with heat rushing through your body, feeling his wrist stiffen up for your pleasure to grind against. 
           Fuck, he can feel your pussy gripping his fingers as you work yourself up and it takes everything in him not to pull his fingers from you and absolutely bury himself into the tight heat you’re offering, but he holds back, pulling from your neck and watching the way your brows furrow and your mouth falls slack.
 “That’s it babe, ride it.” he encourages, hearing your wet slide against his fingers with each movement of your body.
             You shake as it washes through you, feeling his fingers remain in their spot against your little bundle of pleasure inside of you. You feel like you can explode from this alone and he practically forces it out of you, pulling his fingers out and immediately rubbing circles on your clit. 
 “Let it go,” he encourages in a pleasured sigh, watching your body tremble involuntarily as your face contorts to what anyone else would assume is pain. He moves further back and watches your body soak both him and his floor. “Fuck, yes, such a fucking mess.”
             Well, that’s never happened before and the fact that you’re still orgasming is also new. You feel so sensitive, releasing in waves that offer little in terms of self control. Your hands shoot to his arm, gripping him so tightly as you try to hear his moans for you, but to be honest, you can’t hear a fucking thing through this wall of arousal in your head. 
             Finally, you open your eyes and he’s just looking at you, smirking at the dripping against his legs and the wet spot on the floor. 
 “Can you stand?” He asks with a chuckle, but his face is slightly amazed.
             This is the first time Wonwoo has ever had a woman squirt for him, and honestly he’s been trying for ages to let someone experience this through him, goddamn was it sexy to see. You look absolutely fucking gone at this moment, and he might be fucking in love with the image. 
 “Come on,” he says, not giving you enough time to even think about standing before he’s pulling you up on wobbling legs and guiding you to his couch. “Don’t worry, I like the mess.” He smiles, snatching up the condom and tearing the wrapper open with ease before rolling it down his length.
             Oh, right, he still hasn’t even fucked you yet. Fuck, he’s good.
             He sits himself next to you, pulling an arm around your waist and guiding you on top of him. He doesn’t even think twice at your shaking legs, soothing them as you follow his hand and position yourself against his long neglected cock being held up with his other hand. 
 “Can you ride me?” he genuinely asks this time, still seeing the shine against your legs from your recent orgasm, he continues to soothe the shaking in them though, hoping to god you’ll do the same thing on his cock. 
             You nod, knowing that once you’re seated, you have both his broad chest and the back of the couch to keep you steady. And when you sink down, you hear the sound you’ve been trying to pull from him all night. He lets out a soft moan, almost a whimper if you think hard enough about it, and it ignites a brand new fire in you as you take him in inch by inch.
             He can feel you clench, and your legs shaking only offer even more in terms of pleasure as you envelope him entirely with your heat. He can’t help but moan, almost unable to keep up his dominant persona with a pussy so sweet wrapped around him. God, he loves blind dates, honestly. 
 “Mhm,” he hums, rubbing both of his hands now against your thighs as you sit yourself flush against him and wait to adjust to his size, “I definitely like you.”
             You fall forward with a small laugh, the irony of the situation a bit too much on top of your mind falling helplessly and embarrassingly fast at how lucky you are to have a mother to set you up with such a man. 
             He’s a bit soft at this moment, wrapping both arms around your waist and listening to your breathless laughs against his neck. You’re pretty, and so fucking annoying. Just his type. 
 “I’m still going to fuck you senseless though.” he finally says, feeling your body still at his words as you lift a bit, just to slide back down on him.
 “Is that a promise?” You ask weakly, pretending that he didn’t already manage to do it with his hands alone. 
             He nods, the softness in his eyes disappearing instantly when he feels the drag of your pussy hug his length. He doesn’t hold back his moaning for you this time though, and he shows no shame in slapping your ass and guiding you even closer to his chest. 
             You stand on your knees a bit on top of him, watching his eyes zone in on your tits in his face. Hopefully, he’s going to keep that promise. 
             His hips snap up harshly as his hands grope your ass and spreads you apart. He snaps his hips again and again, nearly pulling his entire length out of you each time just to fill you up once again. You bounce a bit each time, and you can also feel his lips graze against your nipple each time he does it. 
             You whimper out, the sounds still echoing throughout his house along with the sounds of your thighs slapping against his. His grunts are deeper, and all of the sounds together sound like a desperate soundtrack of what you’ve always wished sex was like. He fucks you good, despite your legs still shaking, and despite the pain of his teeth biting against your skin now. 
             You can’t help it when you fall forward again, hugging around his head as he starts to relentlessly fuck into you at a faster pace, the thrusts going from slow and deep to tight and pointed. His thick cock easily pressing against that same spot his fingers had been teasing earlier. You choke out at the feeling, legs jolting and causing you to sit again. 
             He doesn’t falter at your failure to stay in position for him, and instead he gropes your ass harder, swirling your hips around him. You can feel how hard he is inside of you, splitting you open and pulsing at a near constant pace. 
 “Ride it,” he instructs, much like he did with his fingers and you follow suit, lifting just slightly and sliding back down again. “Harder,” he demands, pulling his head from your grasp and looking up at you with a wild smirk. 
             You look down at him, wondering how pitiful you must look up here. He appears to be loving it though, absolutely in love with the way you struggle to do what you swore you’d be able to. 
             Trying again, you begin to bounce on him and he grants you his fingers on your clit for that, moaning at your own choice of rhythm and leaning forward yet again to pop his presumed favorite nipple back into his mouth.
             The ministrations of his fingers paired with his mouth sends you spiraling once again into a world of pleasure. The shaking in your legs become more of a driving factor than anything as you ride him better than you’ve ever ridden anyone.
             Finally, he’s the one moaning out and trying to string together choked words of praise.
 “Your grip is so tight,” he mutters out, kissing up your chest and to your neck, “i can fucking feel you dripping down my legs.” He adds in a moan, losing himself in the way you move your hands through his hair and scratch at the nape of his neck. He wants to ruin you so badly, and he’s already drenched in you. He wants more. 
             You could have sworn he said he was going to make you come twice, now look at him, muttering out strings of curse words as you do nothing but ride and pet him. He’s melting under you, and you’ll be damned if he comes before you get that second orgasm. 
             Shooting your hand to your clit to replace his lazy movements, you work yourself up to your second orgasm and he just watches you, taking in the image of you practically riding him into oblivion until you’re clenching even tighter around him, throwing your head back and shooting your hands to his shoulders as you harshly roll your hips into his. You’re working yourself through it when he starts pumping into you, short and tight thrusts pushing you through your orgasm until he’s gripping you equally as hard, holding you down on him as he spills out and into the condom in more of a purr than a moan.
             You watch him, dazed out of your fucking mind as he bites against his bottom lip and slowly blinks through his orgasm as you. Part of you wishes he just did it raw, wanting so badly for him to make a mess of you like you did to him.
 ~
             You find yourself with him at your parent’s house just a week later, eating lunch in the chaotic mess of your mother’s kitchen. It’s funny, really, how he’s trying to be polite to her as if he’s not about to take you next door and probably fuck you against an open window just to blow his own cover.
 “I told you he was a keeper,” your mother compliments him as she lays a plate of croissants on the table. “Just yesterday he offered to mow our lawn when we head off for vacation this weekend!”
             She’s praising him much like you wouldn’t, and you kick him under the table for trying to suck up to her even more now that he’s fucked you already. 
 “Did he now?” You ask, glaring over at him and then smiling sweetly at your mother. “Guess he is kind of a keeper, maybe.”
             His eyes shoot to you and he smiles around his bite of croissant at you. 
 “You were right though,” he counters you towards your mother, “she’s definitely a handful.”
             Your mother crosses her arms as she leans against the counter, looking between the both of you. 
 “How many dates have you been on without telling me?” She asks, looking at you.
 “A few…” If she considers it a date to meet up and fuck every other day this week.
 “We had lunch a few days ago.” he adds, backing you up. It’s just that the lunch wasn’t exactly like–you know, at a restaurant, and maybe it wasn’t food…
 “So, are you guys going to be exclusive, or?”
             Wonwoo looks at you curiously, and you look back at him. 
 “I dunno, it’s only been a week, Mom.”
             She nods, clapping once before pushing off of the counter and leaving the kitchen. 
             It’s silent between you and Wonwoo for a few moments before he speaks up.
 “I wouldn’t be against it.”
 “Against what?” You ask, looking at him with a raised brow. 
 “You know, like, dating. I can’t imagine anyone actually putting up with you besides me, anyway.”
             You kick him again from under the table, causing him to wince out in pain before glaring at you. You smile in return though, giving him a shrug and now rubbing your foot against the bruise you probably just caused. 
 “I can’t imagine anyone would want to put up with you either,” You laugh thinking hard about your next words. “Lucky for you, I already put up with you.”
 ~
6K notes · View notes
loaksky · 1 year
Text
— 𝘪𝘯 𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘮
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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
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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. 
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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.
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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. 
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“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. 
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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. 
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“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.” 
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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. 
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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. 
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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. 
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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. 
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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. 
Fearless. 
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. 
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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. 
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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.” 
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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?” 
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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. 
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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. 
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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.” 
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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
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neng © 2023
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taglist: @nao-cchi , @jkiminpark , @philiasoul @amart-e , @s-u-t , @netesbby , @tayswiftlovebot , @dumb-fawkin-bitch , @ewackmn
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average-cosmopolitan · 2 months
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Just a couple sub Albedo thoughts :)
- Albedo is a great mix of awkward inexperience and unexpectedly smug. Like, have you seen his face sometimes? That smug Albedo face? That one. That.
- He’s 100% a virgin before you get at him, this isolated mf. So when you get to take his first time (after a very long time dating), he’s not used to… well, not studying things.
- When you first start out he’s going to be like… the kind of awkward only scientists can be. Attempts to dirty talk will be met by unimpressed looks and judgmental eyebrow quirking. - Mostly because at first he uses the biological terms (“penis” 💀)
- But that’s before you turn him into a mess
- He absolutely overestimates how much he can take. He assumes he’s going to have plenty of stamina and resistance because of his efficient homunculus body. Sure it’s good for physical activity and such, but it’s not like Rhinedottir built him for withstanding pleasure!? He fails to realize that sex is an entirely different wheelhouse than just physical activity
- So when you manage (your cock or strap) inside him (after many gasps about how much bigger it seems when it’s inside), and start to pound him he absolutely falls apart.
- Poor boy isn’t built for this. His every sense overridden by a sensation he wasn’t built to withstand. The normally composed alchemist, reduced to a blathering mess of tears and drool as he completely loses it.
- He will deny that happened the next day though
- In the future, when he knows what to expect, dirty talk will start to become more effective. And, you can start to explore more kinks with him!
- The idea of dollification with Albedo is fun, but I feel like he’ll only subscribe to that idea after a while, when he gets a better grasp and confidence with all this.
- Start out slow. Light bondage, praise, maybe a little edging and overstimulation. All light, please ease him into things
- Over time, he’ll be able to handle more and you can become more intense ofc :)
- He understands how sex works, but isn’t well-versed in the world of kinks and fetishes. So, corrupt away, my good fellow.
- At the end of the day, Albedo is always going to be high commitment and patience-driven relationship. High commitment high reward. Be good to him, and all that brain power will focus on making you happy (and being a good boy for you~).
- Albedo is my favorite if you can’t tell. My baby boy 🙏 Frfr. Love him so much.
This has been stuck in my drafts for months ❤️
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hp-hcs · 5 months
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mattheo riddle if you beat the shit out of him in a fistfight <3 — mattheo riddle x gn! reader
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Requests open
implied Slytherin (non-pureblood reader)
tws: violence… duh
OOC. LIKE AS OOC AS IS POSSIBLE. i am so sorry for whatever this is 💀 i’m like, borderline delirious kind of sick, so that’s my excuse ig 😌
•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
homeboy is not doing fine
his bruised ego 😔
he’d been teasing you for years with his group of lackeys, and you just snapped
he made a comment that went too far about your blood status, talking shit about your family
you just dropped your shit, spun around, and decked that mf
obviously he wasn’t fuckin expecting that, so he just kinda froze like 👊💥😳🧍‍♂️
he has no idea what to do
((he’s also just a little bit turned on bc manwhore duh))
everybody in the hallway freezes too like,
“you dumb bitch the fuck are you doing??”
his friends are jeering, and he just kind of shakes his head like a goddamn etch-a-sketch and like, gently shoves you back by your shoulders (cause you cute bae 🩷 he don’t wanna ruin that pretty face of urs <3)
you, on the other hand, are just ready to FUCK someone UP
and if that someone turns out to be the dark lord’s son, c’est la vie
he makes one more lame attempt at a scathing comment and you just fucking TACKLE him
you’re on top of him (not like that you silly little sluts get your mind outta the gutter) in the middle of the hallway just beating the s h i t out of him
homeboy has no idea what to do lmfao
lowkey he’s falling in love just from your knuckles smashing his face in (masochist manwhore)
he def thinks it’s hot as fuck
one of the professors comes to separate yinz, (probably hooch, cause there ain’t no way she puts up with any shit) and has to fucking DRAG YOU OFF of him
he's got like, a broken nose, a busted lip, a probably-going-to-become-a-black eye, and yk, decimated ego
but he’s just looking at you with those fuckin PUPPY DOG eyes
🥺
congrats, he’s obsessed
he won’t shut up about you for the rest of the day, to his friends, his enemies, madam pomfrey when he’s in the hospital wing…
they're all like “ah. i see the mommy and daddy issues are making an appearance”
when you get out of detention and go back to the common room, he LEAPS off of the couch and over to you
you’re standing there with still-bloody knuckles and a try me, i dare you face
he apologizes profusely, like, to a kind of pathetic extent
you’re like “dude, you’re not pureblood either, dipshit”
he got called out 😔
you apologize for OvErReAcTiNg (you had to apologize as part of your detention & punishment lmfao) and getting ‘unnecessarily violent’
and cause manwhore he’s just like “oh no it’s fine that was hot”
y/n: 😶🤨🫠
he’s got a lil giggle ✨
literal heart eyes for you
so ur like “yeah i gotta mess with this guy even more”
you kiss his cheek and make his brain stop working
baby is bluescreening rn
he then ends up shadowing you for the rest of the week, following a half-step behind you wherever you go like a lil puppy
(i’m of the opinion that he’s just a slightly more violent golden retriever white boy)
((i’m not saying himbo but himbo))
walk him like a dog, sis
alexa, play lovefool by the cardigans
he’s ur bitch now, enjoy <3
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