#now I just have to soothe egos | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

getodrools · 2 months

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your toji really does something to me. the big mean gruff guy that he is, not even caring if you turn to a whiny mess is just top-tier. i was wondering what's your take when possessive-ish (and slightly insecure) bf toji found out you're using sex toys (dildos, vibes and suckers) whenever he's not around ;p thank u sm and i hope u have a wonderful day ahead <333

໒꒰ྀ ྀིᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟ ohhgossh i’m glad it does winkwink honestly, any possessive but insecure asshole like toji is HARD on the mind omffghh especially as big as he isss makes it so scarily hot (¬////¬)… newaays ! i hope you have sparkles n’ only sunshine today ml ! ! thankuu <3

꒰ ୨ NEVER BETTER! ୧ ◞ T. FUSHIGURO ꒱

ᡣ𐭩 warnings. mdni | f! reader | pwp, usage of dildos + vibrators on reader, anal !!!!, overstimulation, masturbation ( reader ), size difference, degrading, orgasm denial, dacryphilia, tongue pulling, finger sucking, no prep ish, creampie, humiliation. ( wc. 2.6k+ )

TOJI IS ALL MORE than just confident that your needs are beyond filled – especially how heavily you sleep when he's getting ready for work; the way you sprawl out so peacefully with a soothed face from the night before… A night of stuffing and tight, burly positions that folded you into two.

Practically glowing!

He admires the way you drift off, pecking right at that pretty head he knows is lost in dreams right before he steps out…

Confident he did damn good fucking you...

But the way you — now, nibble at your bottom lip from the pressure of a pink dick squeezing past tight walls, he'd think you wouldn't be moaning just as loud as you would with his real pink dick!

. . .

“Does this mean something?” Your heart not only throbs as hard as your clit does, but the mix of covert ecstasy and shock does not settle well in the pit of your tummy.

Your eyes snap wide towards a particular man sauntering against the bedroom doors frame — forgetting today was only a meeting, not his usual dozen missions that takes hours beyond… And now as your eyes tremble, watching each other again a lot earlier than you had expected, clearly, you try hard to muster something up.

“Toji! I… I was just—” You fumble.

The irritant rumble was deep in his throat as he parted his lips before you could embarrass yourself some more, “What're you now… some cockhungry whore?” The way his voice had dropped more than just an octave had you coward; legs tweezing back together to slowly pop the toy out as if he couldn't already see the puddle seeping in the sheets…

“No no, keep that in you since you seem to be so needy.” His shock was just as pounding. But the blank slate ridden across his face seemed to be more of shame, even his posture was stiff. Almost like the thick poll hard in his confines, but the way he crossed his arms over their stacked muscles was threatening.

Was he warning you?

Don't say anything dumb, “… I missed you…”

“Really? Or do you miss having something in you, huh?” He sounds more repentant than angry, “‘Cause… that, is nothing like me.” His finger waves around in a circle.

The shroud of his features hardened like clay above his feelings. Though you never caught sight of them much, you can tell he was… off about this. Not knowing exactly how to feel, seeing his pretty girl stuff herself with a fake dick when he's only one call away made his chest ache with a broken ego… His eyes grew darker – like jungle trees in rain, not the evergreens you always admired and it made you tremble.

But in the moment, your legs opened back up as shame was swallowing you whole. Listening in faint hope he'd spare a sort of mercy…

His shoes click.

One, two, three steps he was already filling up the bed and was reaching for your legs.

Slapping them apart, too slow for what he'd asked for, “Do you need every hole stuffed? Is that what I made you out to be? Hm?” Toji tries to play it off, watching how it began to slip out from the pressure of your tight, slippery walls.

It was a bit smaller in length, and of course, the bright pink was far off from his usual tanned base and flushed tip. Other than that, the veins and girth seemed to fill you just right how he does…

Toji clicks his tongue, “This thing really makes you feel good… too?” Your eyes shake, too embarrassed now.

You nod your head, “But it's nothing compared to you…”

“Oh, I know.” But gazing at the wet slop your pussy gushes out with still, even teased by just a flimsy — dumb toy… he was feeling otherwise.

His palm tracks up your foot and to your thigh, traveling between the sweet heat of your legs ‘till he reached the suction part of the dildo. You wince soon as the toy plunged back up, filling your pussy with ease as Toji carefully watches your reactions.

Just the same. Damn.

“Toji... I promise…” Your knees clink together, but his body forcing them apart denied your retreat.

“Tch, I know that thing doesn't make you feel that good. You're just bored.” He soothes himself and ignores the other buzzing toy laid next to you too, for now…

Maybe his tongue may not work as fast as those crafts, or maybe his dick may not have multiple functions that could whirl and vibrate but he damn well was not about to be outclassed like this. Outclassed by something fake!

He had to prove a point.

He's a real man, and those are just frauds.

You didn't keep track, but his pants had already been tossed somewhere followed by his shirt.

Nibbling at your bottom lip, “You're always busy…” and his own parts, “And?”

And? Your brows hook in, “I can't just call you when you're in the middle of business...”

“Ah, making excuses now? It's o.k that you're a needy cock thirsty slut–– no need to deny it.” Toji smacks his lips, dismay was written all over him, “So, I’ll give you exactly what you seem to want so badly, ‘n maybe, that'll calm your rabbit ass down.” He was just jabbing at you left and right, it was a roller coaster of humiliation and twisted pleasure.

Your head falls back, groaning into the palms of your hands as the man fell to your body – his cock now off its leash and clanging between his thighs like a church bell. Feeling him rub closer to you, your pussy oozes and clenches around the thick rubber lodged up in you, creating a mess of goo to slime down the crack of your ass.

It was enough muck and glisten to shine his bulbous pearl; smearing the hard cap around the stream – teasing you. Teasing that perk hole that was still too tight to stick a measly finger in, a hole that was left untouched and clearly wasn't plugged up – clearly how you desperately so needed to be…

“I'll make sure your nice n’ stuffed, baby, that's what you want, right? Heh.” And with that followed by a grunt, your eyes snap wide and knock back. Toji held at your waist with a tight hold, keeping you down as you twisted in sodden bliss.

Gasping, “Toji!” and drawing out the syllables with a loud hiss. Your moans trailed off in a low whisper of pure adoration, “Ohmygod.” Your little rim hole formed an inviting seal, and you were set right against the base in a swift thrust. Aching at the long, throbbing mast - your ass squished down on his hardness with enough pressure to keep him practically trapped. He winced too as he watched with wide eyes when his strong pelvis knocked into the dildo... Forcing the toy to ram further up into you in reverential lust.

Oh. Fuck.

Two dicks? One man? His thoughts light up, a wry smirk now plastered wide. Maybe… he did like this… His hand had left a deep mark in your thighs, catching it soon as he reached for the whirling pink, strawberry-sized replacement beside you.

“Huh, this thing goes fast.” Still lodged in you, he was inspecting it and you were inspecting him. Cursing beneath your breath, he was trying to bully you out of his own damn insecurityes!

A big man with a broken ego is not a good mix.

Toji presses the vibrator right against your puffy clit, making tenfold of the pleasure throbbing up your brain. It was like your function to speak was fully cut off; all points of sensitive bits were being toyed with ‘till they bulged out in aching bliss. Your clit was already puffy as is, the session he caught now becoming more swollen as he crushed that toy between your bundle of nerves, pussy stretched wide with another toy as your perk hole was being rammed with a mean man's cock…

Your mouth seemed full with moans, but looked empty in his eyes, “Don't you start whinnin', thought you wanted to be all plugged up?” His hand is rough against your face, squeezing the fat in your cheeks until your lips sucked in his fingers; one, two, and three hooked down your throat.

“Or is this too much? Can't handle what you thought you could?” Bullying your poor holes, he lets out a hearty chuckle, “You ain't no big girl.” Those tears of pleasure lusting down your ridden cheeks and shinning down his forearm sure did express that.

Toji did not expect to go this far. But watching how you gagged around every inch of him hiked something up his spine. A sort of sick pang. And it made his cock grow an inch harder, throbbing deeper up your perk little hole, nearly worming up to your guts…

Toji was quick with his motions; hips jackhammering a cruel rhythm into your ass, and at each killing strike, the silicone cock slid back and forth. The tight pressure of your wet pussy slid it out only for his working hips to ram it back in all in sync. All walls, gummy and soft, rubbing around thick slabs of hard meat, fake or not, your mouth still drooled between his digits like so.

Moans bubbled into spit; purely messy and sticky all around. Just filthy.

“You really are a cock whore.” His brows raise, catching how you twitched beneath him.

Your high was itching close, feeling it rock in your core as soon as Toji’s hips bucked widely. But Toji knew that face, even though half was being squeezed into his palm, he saw that very shine he so adored.

You whine out; your tongue was pinched between his pointer and thumb, “I don't think so.” His body stills, yet yours spasms in wanton need.

You wanted to scream his name, but the mean clip at the point of your tongue only slobbed out a mess when you tried. Defeated. You can't win against him! When he wants to prove a point, you will get the point, and it was aching soon as you recognized this deal.

“I'm still upset with you.”

Asshole.

Your legs fall from the sky. Limp and full – as much as you had thought you could be… Toji only played fair with himself, letting his own high rock out from his tight orbs throbbing up ‘till they released from the pent pressure.

Lodged in your ass, it was warmer than usual. You could feel how his cock throbbed powerfully, swelling and pushing aside the fleshy walls surrounding him, and he was undone with a quick sodden push. He grunted loud and kept his hooded eyes locked with yours needy doe ones – teasing you, bullying you.

As he shoved his hips up, he made sure you felt him and the first jet of cum spiraled upwards like a geyser, splattering a full can of white paint across. Your perk hole clenched from the sticky ropes of cum slathering deep – no way it'd bubble out the way his hips clamped into yours. Even the rubbery dick stuck in your pussy was deeper than you could imagine.

Another rope ran out his turgid cock, still working a rhythm that could churn it thickly inside of you… Doused in white gunk, the glowing man stilled. Keeping you plugged up, Toji tilts his head and eyes you up and down, admiring the beads of sweat rolling across those pretty peaked mountains of flesh.

“Needa get something for those tits next time. Or was that enough for a while–– Satisfied now?” He snorts and you snort back up the snot threatening to glob down your chin… more than satisfied. It was a damn new world you just explored and you couldn't help but imagine what's on the other side. Hoping you'd get to cum all over him, if he'd play nice…

He sighs catching that sick flicker in your eyes but leans close to your shivering frame that's all more than ready to give out if you dared…

<– BACK: PINNED ꪆৎ NEXT: MORE TOJI –>

#🌐 𝐿𝒜𝒱𝐼𝐼 𝒲𝑅𝐼𝒯𝐸𝒮!#ᝰ toji fushiguro!#toji smut #toji x reader #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jjk #jjk toji #toji fushigro x reader #toji fushiguro #tw dacryphilia #tw overstimulation #tw size difference

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bkgml · 1 year

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phone calls with kats !!

you’re rudely awaken by your phone going off like it’s nobody’s business.

“ugh.. fuck off.” you groan, hand tapping at your nightstand in search of your phone.

once you finally grab hold of it your eyes scrunch up from the blinding light of the screen.

you whine lightly, eyes adjusting and clicking the green ‘answer call’ button.

“hello?” you croak out.

“…hey.” you hear from the other line.

you jolt up from bed.

“katsuki?! why are you calling? did something happen? are you okay?!” your mind races a mile a minute. he wouldn’t call you at this hour unless it was important.

“i’m fine, sweets. ‘m sorry for making you worry.” he says quietly.

you pause.

“why’re you calling me kats, did something happen?” you say, now calmed from your previous panic.

you hear a sigh from the other line. it sounds tense and tight in his throat, almost painful.

you let the words come to him, knowing forming words to match his emotions isn’t one of his strong suits, yet.

“just missing you.” he sighs again, to stop tears from forming in his eyes (but he won’t tell you that part).

“i miss you too, suki. you just gotta keep working, yeah? this missions important.” you soothe.

“uh huh.” he says, voice cracking ever so slightly.

“i love you. my big strong man protecting everyone. makes me wanna give you a big kiss as thank you when you come back to me.”

“yeah? you think i’m the strongest, huh? city would be nothin without your man, right?” you hear his grin through his response.

“oh the way to a man’s heart, his ego.” you laugh lightly.

he stays silent while listening to your laugh fizzle out.

stays silent while he listens to your breathing.

stays silent as he listens to you laying back down into the comfort of your bed.

“wish i was there with my sweet girl though.”

you smile lightly, trying to keep him motivated.

“i know, baby, but it’ll feel better after catching your bad guys, more rewarding.”

he goes quiet once more as he thinks.

“i guess you’re right.” he admits begrudgingly.

“i am.” you smile.

he hears you yawn.

“i shouldn’t have woke you.” he frowns.

“i have the day off tomorrow, and even if i didn’t i’d be happy you called, i’ve been missing you too.”

“yeah?” he replies, sounding more longful than he hoped.

“course, kats. love you more than anythin. i should let you sleep though.” you say.

“wait.” he says, urgently.

you do and he sighs.

“can you stay on the phone until i fall asleep?” he grumbles.

“uh huh!” you smile.

“do you wanna facetime so i can see that handsome face?”

he doesn’t reply but you get a request to switch the call to facetime pop up on your screen.

“hi, pretty boy.” you smile.

you watch his brows furrow slightly, faking disgust.

“don’t call me that shit.” he frowns.

“shh. you’re supposed to be going to sleep.”

his frown deepens and he sighs before closing his eyes.

“only a week more. you’re gonna spend your days kicking ass and taking names kats.” you smile as you ramble on quietly.

“my man is going to protect the whole country. all my friends at work are going to be soooo jealous.”

you see him smile slightly, keeping his eyes still closed.

“and then when you’re done doing the job you love you’re going to get on a plane and come see me and all your friends. i might give you a big welcome back party with your friends from high school and your parents.”

you see him frown lightly and you can tell he’s trying his best to listen to you but he’s drifting off so fast.

“but i don’t know, i might have to be selfish and keep you all to myself your first night back. maybe i’ll cook you a nice dinner, your favourite. i could make it extra spicy just for you. or we could order takeout and cuddle up close on the couch while we watch a movie you make fun of the whole time, even though i know you’re enjoying yourself.”

you see his consciousness fade away as you ramble on about all the things you’ll do together when he gets back.

#bakugou x reader #bakugou fluff #bakugou x yn #bakugou x you #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou katuski x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #katsuki <3

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oreosmama · 8 months

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Voicemails After the Breakup (Haikyuu!! Headcanons)

*GIFs not mine*

A/N: I pity the fools who ignore this a/n bc WARNING, these are hcs without those stupid bullet points bc I have suddenly emotionally decided that they fucking suck. Anyways, I hope y'all enjoy the light angst, for all those survivors who are still vibing in this fandom. Enjoy!

Word count: 1968

Tooru Oikawa:

“I’m totally and completely over you.”

That’s how the message starts.

Part of you wonders if you missed something, or accidentally skipped ahead. It’s so immediate, like Oikawa could barely wait for the beep before tearing into you. Like he needed to spit poison the second he had the chance.

And it’s one of those biting remarks that he wants to let fester—for a while, evidently; he doesn’t say anything else for another five minutes.

All that follows is a loud thud, like he’s thrown the phone away from him. And then footsteps, like he’s pacing, pacing, pacing back and forth, trying to think of more scathing words by burning holes into his carpet.

You hit a point where you think you should delete the message, maybe try and not care about whatever else he may or may not say after waiting for so long. You nibble on your nails and tug at the snarls in your hair. You pick four pieces of lint off your sweatshirt and seventeen more off the blanket draped over your lap, and you know how many there are because you line them up and count them afterwards as you wait, anxious, listening to your ex-boyfriend’s panting.

But a small rustle stirs at that five-minute mark, right against your ear. And a sniffle.

“Fine.” Oikawa’s voice cracks. “You win.”

You suck in a breath.

“What do you wanna hear? That I miss you?” He sniffles again, then scoffs bitterly. “That I miss you so fucking much I can’t sleep at night? That my bed is so fucking cold now I can’t even stomach sleeping in it? That every girl I see I automatically compare to you because I have to—I just fucking have to, all because she’s not you. And it makes me sick.”

His chuckle is sour and crackles harshly into your eardrum. “Am I stroking your ego enough, sweetheart? Because you win. You fucking win.

“I want you back.”

He sighs, and it sounds like he’s rubbing his forehead.

“I need you back.”

More beats pass in the silence. More sniffles, too, but stretched out, like he’s trying to steady his breathing.

You don’t think it’s helping him any. As you wipe the cuffs of your sweatshirt underneath your eyes, his voice returns, thoroughly raw and wounded. It squeaks out of him, barely above a whisper. His voice is so loud and tender, like he’s cradling the phone against his cheek.

Your hand against his warm cheek, curled over that pink skin, fingertips inches away from brushing through those soft strands, wiping tears. That’s what you wish it was.

“I didn’t know…”

A shaky breath. You hold yours in return.

“I didn’t know anything could hurt this bad.”

He swallows thickly.

“Those last few moments after you left—I thought that would be the worst of it. When you just walked out. And I keep seeing you do it, over and over and over, in my head like I can’t help but torture myself with it.

“I never knew it would get so much fucking worse.”

He whimpers a little, and your heart constricts unbearably. You tear at the damn thing buried underneath your sweatshirt, massaging the skin like it can soothe that phantom ache.

Oikawa must hate you. Maybe he hates you like you hate him: not because of the breakup, but because you can go for weeks without seeing him, holding him, kissing him, and everything still hurts like that last time.

“Thing is, I could’ve sworn you weren’t always in my life. It’s been two years. Only two years. And yet I can’t remember a damn thing before us. It feels like it was always us. Some fog, and then you, and then everything afterwards. Everything that was us.”

“And I hate that we had it so good, YN. I really do. Because missing you has been the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”

The frustration in his voice is familiar, a sickening sense of deja vu around it, and you latch a hand over your mouth at how vividly the image comes to you: Oikawa tearing his fingers through his hair, teeth gritted, cheeks flushed and shiny. Like when he lost a game, but different somehow.

Like this was something he didn’t even know he could lose.

He’s crumbling in a way he doesn’t know how to stop. That ugly part about having something wonderful and new—the moment it’s gone, what the hell are you supposed to do then?

“I just—Goddamnit, I can’t stand how badly it hurts anymore. I can’t,” he cries, desperate and aching, like his hand is fisting at his heart. You can hear the breath hitching in his throat, the hiccuping breaths after his sobs. You can hear every tear, feel it against your own cheeks, a soreness building at the front of your skull.

Too many tears. Your body is screaming at you, too many fucking tears.

But it’s him and he was yours and you were his.

Were.

You were his.

You had no idea how much that single thought could make your entire chest throb.

Oikawa inhales, and it makes your heart race against the thick wall caging it in, squeezing against it.

“I need to see you.”

He says the thought like it’s just slapped him across the face.

“I need to go see you, I—I have to.”

He mumbles to himself unsteadily, like he’s rocking back and forth. Debating, really, what he’s supposed to do, if he should do it at all, if it’s right after everything.

You should probably think he’s wrong.

You probably shouldn’t be curled over your phone, eyes wide, mouth open, not making a fucking peep. Waiting to hear what he’s going to do.

Maybe—just maybe—you shouldn’t be telling yourself that as the voicemail counts down to its final seconds, if he decides he’s not going to go to you, that you’ll definitely be going to him.

“I can’t just sit here. I can’t stay in here, without you. This isn’t right, I—”

Your breath hitches when you hear the frantic jingle of keys.

Then the sound of a door slamming.

His footsteps racing down his apartment’s stairwell.

A car engine revving.

“I need to see you.”

And the voicemail ends.

_________________________

Satori Tendou:

The message begins with a scoff of utter disbelief.

“Is that what we’re doing now?”

He pauses, almost like he thinks you’re going to respond.

“Heard from someone that I suddenly have syphilis. Yesterday, I had herpes though, so I guess I’m gonna have a tough week.”

A rustle like he’d shaking his head, like he can’t fucking believe it.

“And sure, okay, I figured that’s fine. You can say all that shit, and it won’t really stick because everyone knows it was us and that it’s you and you’re hurt.”

He sighs.

“But I saw it, sweetheart. I saw it.” The phone whines like he’s adjusting it against his face, and his voice is suddenly lower, darker.

“You don’t get to have it both ways, you know. You can’t spread all that shit—all those rumors about how shitty everything was and how we didn’t have anything going for us—and then turn around two days later wearing my sweatshirt. And you don’t get to wear that necklace I gave you for our anniversary and then run away from me the second you see me. That’s just not fair—you’re not playing fair anymore.”

Something swishes around like loose clothing, and a large huff greets your ear from what must be Tendou collapsing into a seat. When his little sounds become quieter, that relentless humming and the excitable clicks of his tongue against his teeth, you figure he must have put the phone on speaker and balanced it on his knee like he always did. Mid-conversation with Ushiwaka, he always used to spin his phone with those long fingers, or bounce the damn thing up and down against his frantic leg.

And the voicemail came through late last night, one of those dead hours where the only ones awake were Tendou, his scrambling thoughts, and the moths flitting back and forth outside his glowing window. He was always awake, always thinking, always doing something.

When you’d first broken up, after one long, wrenching fight where you’d both lost your voices and the frustration welled so high you just couldn’t breathe anymore, you’d been thankful for the idea of sleeping soundly for the first time in months.

You’d been wrong. You weren’t even sleeping anymore; just long, slow blinks where your phone screen would magically turn from 3:45 a.m. to 7:25 a.m., and in five minutes you’d have to get up and slug your way through another day.

Tendou had been the same. Those naturally wide eyes sagged under the pressure, and the curve of his spine had deepened like he’d been hauling the lack of sleep everywhere he went.

He must be sitting at his window now, at this moment in his message, pale skin aglow with wispy tendrils of moon. And he’s calling you. And he saw everything you’d done.

“Not fair. Not fair at all,” he whines, teasing. Always, always teasing, and if you hadn’t heard the slight cripple in his voice on the last word, you’d have gone on thinking he viewed it as one big joke.

You’re sure he heard the same thing you had—that he couldn’t keep acting like it was all fun and games. His usual, cat-like smile surely fell into a pert little frown, pale lips twisting like he’d sucked on a lemon.

No fun, no fun, no fun, he must have been thinking.

“Ya see, I thought we had a little deal,” Tendou drawls. “You’d talk smack and start dressing all pretty just to spite me, and then–and then I’d go ahead and delete all your pictures and put your name as ‘Bitch’ in my phone. And in, like, two weeks, we’d just be two ships, whoosh, whoosh, passing each other on the high seas of life, ya know?”

He breathes a ghost of a laugh.

“But, sweetheart, you look like shit.” He chuckles for real this time, and it’s disgustingly hollow. “I’m not even kidding. Like someone ran you over three times every morning—it’s horrible, really.”

You curl into yourself even further, and you’re smiling, grinning, lips peeling with how much you’ve cried and how little water you’ve drank after. You hate him; God, you hate how he can make you laugh and cry at the same time.

“But that’s okay, I’ll give you a pass just this once. I haven’t deleted your pictures yet, so I botched my end of the deal, too.” Tendou tsks his tongue.

“I won’t go easy on you, though. Here–here, how’s about this: for every day you stop wearing my clothes—because they look horrible on you, sweetheart; really, you’re painful to watch—I’ll delete one of your pictures, eh? That means, in about–uhhdivideby365daysinayearignoringleapyearbullshit–ah, seven years, I’ll have held up my end. S’that good with you?”

You lean your head back, letting the tears flood your hair as he chuckles to himself.

“Fuck it,” he says after a pause. Hopeless. Breathless. “Fuck it.” He must be gnawing on that pale lower lip, biting and nibbling until it bleeds. Because he lets something go to sigh again, and he must have smacked his head against the wall, and then you think he sniffled.

“I still want you. I’ve always wanted you. And I’m tired of missing you and wanting you. Doing both hurts too much.”

Tendou soughs.

“So I’m still your Chicken Tendy, baby. Always. And I’ll be here when you're ready, syphilis and all.”

#haikyuu x reader #oikawa x reader #tendou x reader #tendou satori x reader #oikawa tooru x reader #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyu x reader #satori x reader #oikawa tooru #tendou satori #satori tendou #tooru oikawa #haikyuu x reader angst #haikyuu headcanons

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woso-dreamzzz · 2 months

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Scottish Sam

Hardersson x Child!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: Magda wants you to wear her jersey

It's not very often that Magda gets to see you in her jerseys.

You wore Pernille's Wolfsburg and Denmark one easily. You'd had, on special occasions like the World Cup, worn Magda's Sweden jersey. You'd never willingly worn her Chelsea one.

You'd complained about everything when she used to force you into it. The size. The feel. But most of all, the colour.

Your aversion to Chelsea was something she had grown to live with but, now that you were at Bayern, Magda hoped you would wear her jerseys more often.

There was a strong sense of pride that she could never properly explain when she saw you in one of her shirts like she could imagine the woman you'd become in your own professional jerseys. There was something about it that just made her turn to mush which was why she was glad the Bayern jersey had red.

Red was your favourite colour. She blamed it for the reason that you were drawn to Arsenal in the first place but now she was sure that it was going to work in her favour.

Of course, that all came crashing down when she walked into the locker room to find you wearing a Bayern jersey that wasn't hers.

It wasn't Pernille's either - the only other person she could tolerate you wearing.

Instead, you were wearing Sam's.

You were standing in the woman's cubby too, arms crossed over your chest as you oversaw the other girls milling about waiting to go onto the pitch.

You look a bit scary like that but only a little because you're the same little girl who still slept with your stuffed toys and complained about eating fruit.

Sam's grinning as she looks around, showing anyone who would listen what you were wearing.

"Did you have to let her wear that?" Magda groans," I had a plan, Pernille!"

"It wouldn't have worked," Pernille laughs," She has opinions now. You can't trick her as easy as before."

"We'll see."

As Sam helps you get down, Magda pulls her jersey out of her bag and clears her throat.

You look over at her, wandering closer because Momma has your keeper gloves and Maria and Anna said that you can train with them and Cecilía today.

"What's that?" You ask.

"A Bayern jersey."

It's your size and you look at it suspiciously. You pull at the one you're already wearing. "Why?"

"Well, I thought you'd like to wear it."

"I'm wearing one now."

"But this one is special."

That catches your attention and you shuffle closer. "Why's it special?"

"Because," Morsa says with a flourish," It's mine."

Your interest waves and you move back to Momma. "Oh. That's boring."

Momma laughs and Morsa hisses at her," Pernille! It's not funny!" She turns back to you again. "It's not boring. We can match!"

You huff and stare at Momma. "Do I have to?"

She laughs and cups your cheeks. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to." She helps you slip on your keeper gloves and turns you around so she can fix your hair.

You're facing Morsa now, who is looking between you and the little you-sized shirt in her hand. You stare unblinking at her as Momma runs a brush through your hair and begins to braid it back.

Morsa sighs before tucking it back into her bag and waving a teasing finger in your face. "I'll get you in that soon, Princesse. Just you wait."

You stick your tongue out at here. "Nu-uh!"

Morsa sticks her tongue out too and Momma finishes your hair.

You go towards where the keepers are waiting before you freeze and turn back to Morsa, tugging on her shirt.

"Morsa," You say," You have to take a picture."

"How come?"

"I want to show Australian Sam my new shirt."

Magda bursts out laughing, her ego suddenly soothed by your desire.

You'd never once in your life worn Sam's jersey, Chelsea's Sam of course. You'd always refused, running away whenever she tried to ask you and screeching whenever she came near you with it.

It was always funny to watch and Sam had to try and convince you from a distance.

You never accepted though and Magda's ego suddenly feels fine again now she knows you want to show Sam that you're happily wearing Scottish Sam's jersey.

"Alright," Magda laughs, positioning you so you're looking over your shoulder with a smile as Sam's jersey in seen clearly. She snaps the picture.

"You have to send it to Australian Sam," You say," Okay?"

"Got it, Princesse. Go on off to training."

You grin and nod, running off towards the Bayern keepers, who lead you outside.

"You're not actually going to send it to her, are you?" Pernille asks and Magda's answering smile is all the explanation she needs. "Magda!"

"What?" Magda asks innocently," I'm just respecting Princesse's wishes. There's nothing wrong with that."

Pernille rolls her eyes but doesn't argue anymore and Magda takes this as her chance.

SAM 😈 wtf???? you can't let her do that Magda!!! where's the loyalty???? get that girl into my Chelsea jersey this instant!!!

#woso x reader #hardersson x reader #pernille harder x reader #pernille harder #magdalena eriksson x reader #magdalena eriksson #woso community #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso #The Big Adventures Universe

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beenbaanbuun · 3 months

Text

the bed w/ jongho

words - 🤠

genre - fluff/friends to lovers

warnings - pure fluff, nothing else

“why are you in my bed,” jongho grumbles as he storms through his bedroom door

he kicks his shoes off, not paying any attention to where they land before crawling onto the bed himself

you’d spread yourself out in the centre of it, leaving very little space for your friend in his own bed

he makes do, though, throwing himself over your stomach and pinning you to the bed

you groan as he knocks the wind out of you, but all does is chuckle

“actually, scratch that,” he says as he tries his hardest to got comfortable, “what are you doing in my apartment? you don’t have a key.”

he finds it hard to find a good spot to lay since there’s a literal body beneath him, so instead he sits up and tries his hardest to shove you to the side

you resist, but eventually roll over when his finger pokes a particularly ticklish spot in your side

he goes to get comfy, making sure to pull one of his pillows free from beneath your head and put it beneath his own

you punch his arm as payment; it doesn’t hurt him, he just laughs

“found your spare key under your doormat,” you say as if it’s as simple as that, “you need to find a better place to hide that, by the way.”

he repeats your words in a mocking tone, rolling his eyes in an exaggerated manner

“sure, but why are you in my bed?”

“it’s comfier than mine,” you shrug, laughing at the exasperated sigh he gives you, “besides, it’s not like you were using it while you were at work.”

“and maybe if you had a job you wouldn’t feel the need to come to my apartment and nap in my bed when you could be at work,” he teases

now it’s your turn to roll your eyes

you shove him slightly, in response to the poor taste joke, but he knows you’re not really mad

you never are when it comes to him…

something about the way he taunts you makes you light up inside

maybe it’s the way he giggles at you when you get annoyed, face lighting up in glee, or perhaps you just like it when he pays you attention

either way, you hope it never stops

“i’m trying to get a job,” you reply, seriousness lacing itself in your voice, “i had an interview this morning actually.”

he turns to look at you with surprise on his face

“you never told me,” he says with a minuscule pout, and you realise the shock on his face is more to do with the fact it was hidden from him than anything else

you look away, not wanting to force yourself into seeing the hurt that’s swimming in his eyes

all this over a job interview? weird, you think to yourself

“i wanted it to be a surprise if i got the job,” you mumble, “but i kind of fumbled so i don’t think i did.”

you’d never tell him, but it’s actually your disappointment at your own failure that led you to your best friend’s bed

the comfort it brought you to slide one of his hoodies over your head and surround yourself in the familiar scent of his bedding was better than the comfort you gained from anything else

the knowledge that jongho would be there soon to comfort you, unknowingly picking up the pieces of your shattered ego, was nice

his presence was your safe place, even when that presence was just the smell of him ingrained in his sheets

“you fumbled?” he clarifies, “how so?”

he opens his arms to invite you closer; it’s an opportunity you jump at, shuffling until you’re close enough for his arms to circle your body

“i kept answering their questions weirdly,” you say as you press your face into his chest, “but in my defence, their questions were dumb.”

he chuckles, and the sound rumbles through him

“you don’t need to defend yourself to me,” his voice sounds deeper when you hear it through his chest, “i know you’re trying your hardest.”

a hand comes into contact with the back of your head, gently patting at it as if he’s trying to soothe you

you almost tell him that you don’t need soothing, but the sensation is nice so you let him continue

“i am trying hard,” you sigh, “and i wish they could see that rather than just seeing all the stupid answers i give them! they probably think i have negative braincells…”

jongho can’t help but heartily laugh at that

he clutches onto you as the sound rings through the air, effectively pinning you to his body

you can’t help but be happy that he’s not one of those people that slap things when they laugh…

“i also think you have negative braincells,” he says through his giggles, “but that doesn’t stop me from thinking you’re a great person that’s worthy of employment.”

for what seems like the hundredth time, you hit his arm

“i got higher than you in school, dickwad!”

you only scored higher by a margin, but you still did better than him and therefore have eternal bragging - or in this case defending - rights

the playful arguing doesn’t go much further than that

in fact the two of you fall into a peaceful silence pretty quickly, the only sound that fills your brain is jongho’s heartbeat; strong and stable, just like he is

just likes he’s always been, actually, ever since the two of you were just kids playing in each other’s back yards

he tried to teach you football when you were both young, but ended up kicking the ball too hard and bruising your shin

even at the age of 7 he was so willing to comfort you in your time of need

you still see so much of that pudgy-faced boy in the man you know today

and then when he was a teenager you specifically remember him trying to teach you basketball

he had his arms wrapped around you as he positioned your hands correctly

when you shot your first basket without his help, he celebrated it like he’d just scored the winning basket for the team he played on

you still think about the way he picked you up and spun you around sometimes; it feels like such a special memory

you can’t help but smile as you let it play in your mind one more time

“what are you thinking about?” jongho asks

you shift your head so you can see his face, his big brown eyes meeting yours immediately

perhaps it’s the dimness of his bedside lamp, but you can’t help but appreciate how nice he looks right now

you’ve always known him to be attractive, but surely his lips haven’t always looked that soft, right?

“why do you want to know?” you respond quietly as you try and make sense of this new feeling that settles over you

well, perhaps it’s not new, but it’s certainly stronger

“i want to know everything about you,” he replies, no evidence of a joke on his face, “like what you’re thinking, or when you have a job interview.”

well, that’s targeted, you think to yourself

“i told you it was supposed to be a surprise if i passed!” you whine

he smiles slightly

“it would’ve been a great surprise,” he admits, “but i still can’t help but wish you’d told me! i would’ve gone with you for support.”

and he would’ve

one word from you and he’d have taken a day off work just to do anything in his power to help you

hell, you’re sure he would’ve gone into the interview with you if he could

you can’t help but giggle at the idea of him standing behind you like a bouncer, arms folded threateningly as the interviewers fumble through their dumb questions

“your support would’ve been greatly appreciated,” you say

he hums an agreement

“this is why you tell your jongho things, okay?” he teases

you pause

“my jongho?”

“who else’s would i be?”

you shrug

“i don’t know,” you admit, “i just thought such a title would go to a girlfriend or something…”

you feel your face heat up at your own words

perhaps it’s the connotations that come with it; a title that should’ve gone to his future girlfriend has gone to you instead

why is that thought making your heart beat so fast?

“i mean maybe one day it will,” he says, “but only if you say yes.”

your mind goes blank

what does he mean by that?

“because if you don’t then my plans will be kind of fucked, you know?” you don’t know. you don’t know anything at all, “like what’s going to happen if you say no and things get awkward? who will i take on my family’s spring vacation then?”

“huh?”

that’s all you can say

because his words make sense in your mind, but none of it makes sense in concept, except it also kind of does

but then the notion of it all is making butterflies erupt in your stomach, which also doesn’t make sense because why?

“do i have to spell it out for you, my little dummy?” he smiles, a familiar fondness in his eyes, “i’m asking you to be my girlfriend.”

and that’s when it all dawns on you

the reason you feel closer to him than anyone else

the reason you want him to be the first to know everything

the reason why you always try so hard to impress him

you’re in love with him, and you have been for quite a long time, it seems

perhaps it was the basketball incident that set this proverbial train in motion; you distinctly remember feeling butterflies then

although at the time you had put it down to just feeling nervous about impressing jongho, even that excuse points in the direction of love

holy fuck

“hello?” he waves a hand in front of your face, “anyone in there? or am i just going to have to assume it’s a no-”

“no!” you cut him off, eyes going wide, “i mean yes. no to saying no, yes to your question… the girlfriend question.”

a wide toothy grin forms on his face, one of the ones that shows his gums and makes his nose scrunch up in the cutest way

oh god, have you always been down this horrifically bad for him?

“god you’re cute,” he says with happiness evident in his voice

it’s funny; you were about to tell him the same thing

#ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #jongho x reader #jongho fluff #ateez fluff #jongho oneshot #ateez oneshot

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loaksky · 1 year

Text

— 𝘪𝘯 𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘮

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

the who — lo'ak x fem omatikaya!reader

the word count — 10.2k (rip yall)

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

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

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

masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

He hates it. He hates you.

He thinks.

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

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

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

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

Like now, you linger.

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

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

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

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

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

“We going or what?” he finally says.

You perk up.

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

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

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

You roll your lips and shift on your feet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lo'ak sneers.

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

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

Lo'ak's spine stiffens.

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

Kiri rolls her eyes hard.

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

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

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

“Hi,” he says flatly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My birthday's coming up,” you start.

“I'm aware,” Lo'ak almost scoffs.

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

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

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

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

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

Friend.

He scowls at the term.

“We're not friends,” he bites back.

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

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

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

He leaves you in the clearing on your own.

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

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

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

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

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

“But, Dad!”

“Lo'ak.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His heart sinks.

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

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

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

“Where are you going?” Neteyam sighs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

His chest rises and falls with a scoff.

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

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

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

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

“You are my friend,” you protest quietly.

Lo’ak rolls his eyes.

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

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

Friends.

That stupid fucking word again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lo’ak’s face scrunches.

“Ew, no,” he blurts. “Why would I—”

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

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

“Lo’ak,” Neteyam warns.

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

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

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

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

“No thanks,” he says flatly.

You try to coax him.

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

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

You offer up the plate again.

“Lo’ak–“

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

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

“Lo’ak!” Neteyam scolds.

“Shit, I didn’t–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why should I?” Lo’ak counters.

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

“Dad!”

“Go, Lo’ak.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You fidget and swallow down the lump in your throat.

“Sorry,” you say sheepishly.

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

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

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

“I wanted to–”

“I came to–”

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

“You first,” you offer.

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

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

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

You shake your head quickly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He shrugs.

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

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

“Oh,” you hum. “Wanna go for a walk?”

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

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

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

“I dunno, green?” he offers.

“Are you sure?” you laugh quietly.

Lo’ak thinks a moment before nodding his head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” he asks.

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

“Nothing.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The words are leaving him before he can stop them.

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

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

“I’m not perfect,” you assure him.

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

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

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

Lo’ak shifts uncomfortably.

You continue.

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

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

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

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

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

You nod, smiling at him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kiri shrugs.

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

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

“Yeah?” you wonder

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey,” he replies hesitantly.

“Where you going?” you ask curiously.

His throat bobs as he gestures behind him.

“Hunting,” is all he says.

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

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

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

“No,” he says.

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

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

“It’s fine,” he argues. “I’m fine.”

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

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

You try again anyways.

“It’ll be good practice and–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry,” Lo’ak mumbles.

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

You frown.

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

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

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

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

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

His eyes flit to yours and his expression sours further.

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

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

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

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

“But you’re–”

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

Instead he’s making a beeline for the jungle.

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

You follow after him.

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

He whirls to face you, swatting your hand away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shrink, eyes welling as your lip trembles.

“Lo’ak, stop,” you whimper.

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

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

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

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

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

You dropped your journal.

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

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

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

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

It lands spine down, the pages fluttering open.

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

“You write?” Spider asks, intrigued.

“No, it’s ________’s,” Lo’ak answers.

“Oh, your little girlfriend’s?”

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

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

A beat of silence before Lo’ak finally answers.

“Made her cry,” he mumbles, embarrassed.

Spider winces behind him.

“You serious?”

Lo’ak sighs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did you at least apologize?”

Lo’ak squirms.

“Dude!”

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

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

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

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

“Realize what?” Lo’ak snaps.

“Are you really gonna play stupid right now?”

He blinks at the human.

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

“Oh, piss off,” Lo’ak grumbles.

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

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

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

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

“Everything clicking?” Spider asks knowingly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he is like the sun,

shines so bright,

but burns the closer you get.

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

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

His chest heaves as the words blur.

Fearless.

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

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

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

likes green and blue.

likes yovo fruits.

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

When he turns the page, his breath hitches.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He stands from the hammock and runs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The tears well on their own.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I do, _________, I do!” he argues.

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

You shake your head again.

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

“Stop–”

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

“No, _________. Wait!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I hurt someone,” he says quietly.

Neytiri stiffens.

“What?”

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

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

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

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

Lo’ak swallows.

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

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

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

Neytiri’s hand comes to Lo’ak chest.

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

Lo’ak swallows.

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

Lo’ak’s fingers hurt from picking berries.

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

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

“Why should I help you with your mess?”

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

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

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

Be brave.

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

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

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

You remain jaded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Be brave. Sometimes that is enough.

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll only be a second!”

“Wait, Kiri!”

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

“Good luck, egghead!”

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

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

“Oh, you were–”

You peer over your shoulder and your expression falls.

“Lo’ak…”

“Happy birthday, ________,” he breathes.

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

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

He scratches the back of his head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He swallows.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did you…”

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

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

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

“Lo’ak, don’t–”

“How long?” he presses desperately.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He lets out a shaky breath.

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

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

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

“Please.”

His hold tightens, other hand twining with yours.

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

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

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

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

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

To being loved by you.

BONUS

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lo’ak, wow…”

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

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

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

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

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bonesandchalamet · 5 months

Text

in this world, it’s just us — Finnick odair

masterlist | pairing: Finnick odair x reader

summary: in a world where hunger games don’t exist anymore it’s just you and Finnick

warnings: fluff

a/n: finally writing for finnick 🤭

you can hear his breath escape his lips, it’s faint, but it’s all that matters. he’s alive in your arms and in your bedroom.

nights were never the same, consisting of some form of him muttering incoherent words, legs thrashing, and thick sweat glistening against the sheets. the hunger games haunt him, even in a world where he’s safe.

there’s no president snow, there’s no more kids being hunted by others. the odds were in everyone’s favor, and people could sleep well again. except those in their respected districts victors villages.

the soft grunt that escapes his lips indicates he’s awake now. he rolls carefully onto his side, almost like he doesn’t want wake you, but you’ve been awake for some time. reflecting on what the nights could’ve been if finnick never was picked at such a young age.

“you’re doing it again.” he mutters, you feel him shift closer to you, his warm clammy skin pressed against yours, “you’re thinking about the if’s.”

he tsk’s you, and yanks the covers off your bodies to reveal the cool air of the house. it feels nice, after tossing and turning in the heat trapped sheets, you allow yourself to stretch out against the mattress and watch finnick rise for the day.

no day was ever the same, but finnick needed a new task everyday, or else he’d go insane. he needed to occupy himself from the loss and maybe even the ache. you never knew, he was a closed book about his experiences.

you watch him gather around to fish, a typical morning routine despite the overflowing amount of food in your house. you never objected or asked him not to go, it was the one thing finnick enjoyed and he could now do so freely. who were you to stop him?

“can I join you?” the words slip your mouth without a second guess, and he’s stopping in his tracks. you’ve never taken up much of an interest in fishing, not since you didn’t have to do so anymore, but you loathed sitting around waiting for him to return. plus, it gave you something to do as well.

“you better hurry.”

scurrying out of bed, you find yourself rushing with the sunrise and finnicks personal clock, but by the time you’re down by the water, no one else is even there and the sun is just starting to rise.

“what’s the plan?” you ask, turning to face him he’s got a trident in his hand, his typical choice of weapon that somehow made it back to district four along with him.

“we hunt, we go home, and then we eat.” he says offering a small smile before moving carefully and slowly into the water. he moves with such precision, careful not to alarm the fish. any movement and they’ll scatter along. you watch him hunt for awhile until it’s your turn, you don’t come up as lucky as he does, but he still applauds the three fish you killed.

“now we eat and save some for dinner.” he smiles, content with the couple hours of work done. without telling, it’s most likely noon and your stomach was reminding you of the lack of food in your stomach.

the hike home doesn’t take long and Finnick is cooking while you shower. the warm water trickles down your back, soothing away the morning worries. you take longer than you normally do, just to enjoy the silence your mind finally gives you before turning off the water.

emerging from the shower, he’s leaning in the doorway. a cocky smile against his lips that if it weren’t for his beauty, you’d attempt anyway to erase it.

“you think about me in there?”

“never in a million years would I think about you in my shower.” you pick up a soft towel, running the fabric all across your body and through the ends of your hair. out the corner of your eye, you can still see that smile. the smile that every girl falls for when finnick would enter a room. he’s easy to like, bright eyes, beautiful smile, golden blond hair, and an ego so big sometimes it’s adorable, other times? not so much.

“you’re awful at lying. it’s actually one of your worst traits.”

“and you’ve got an awfully big ego, it’s one of your worst traits.” you fire back with a smile on your face leaving him to roll his eyes and tell you lunch was waiting for you.

In this world, it's just us

You know it's not the same as it was

#finnick odair #finnick odair x reader #finnick x you #finnick x reader #finnick odair x you #finnick odair blurb #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair fanfic #finnick odair fluff #finnick odair fic #the hunger games x you #the hunger games x reader #the hunger games x y/n #the hunger games imagine #the hunger games fanfiction #the hunger games fic #the hunger games blurb

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endeline · 7 days

Text

Let The Light In: Part 2

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4

Words: 1,598

Pairing: Paige Bueckers/Media Manager! Reader

Warnings: Angst, Friends to enemies to lovers (but the reader doesn’t know why they’re enemies), reader is actually so in the wrong, slow burn.

“Is that Paige Bueckers?” The guy sitting next to you nudges your elbow, his eyes fixated on your computer screen.

He didn’t need to ask you to confirm that it was her, as if the massive ‘5’ on her jersey and those unmistakable blonde braids didn’t provide enough context clues. But, you indulge him anyways, turning back to the screen of your laptop as if you need to double check who’s picture you’re editing, before giving him an affirmative hum and re-focusing your attention on the exposure curve that’s been giving you trouble all morning.

Seemingly unbothered by your lackluster reply, he leans out of his seat, inching closer, and letting out a sharp whistle as he gets a better view “damn, that’s good. You take it?”

“All mine.” You reply hastily, reaching over to pat the camera bag next to you.

“Are you on the media team or something then?”

You just nod, casting a quick glance in his direction while his eyes stays fixated on the image of the girl on your screen until you swear you can see drool forming in the corners of his mouth.

“You know this should go up on the posters they have around campus” he says, finally leaning back into his chair.

It’s almost like he knows that stroking your ego is surefire way to get you to soften up.

You turn to him, a hint of a smile playing on your lips now; “if you think that you should go check them out next week, there might be a few changes you'd like.”

An impressed look passes briefly over his face before returning to a cocky smirk. “You know, you’re doing her a favor, she looks way hotter in this than the ones that are up right now.”

Guard all the way back up, you turn to him, doing very little to hide your disgust. Without a word, you scoop up your belongings and move to another spot, eager to distance yourself far, far away from him.

Your new spot is near a window, which you’d normally avoid since you need to see your computer screen clearly while editing, and sunlight wouldn’t help with that. However, when a blonde woman walked by, hand in hand with her toddler who was clearly fighting off sleep with a blankie draped over her shoulders, you couldn't resist the urge to get as closer to the all-too-familiar scene.

----

"Hey, you awake?” Paige's voice is barely audible over the soothing hum of the air conditioner. You’re half asleep, nestled comfortably beneath the blankets, and all you can manage is a low, affirmative hum in response.

"I can't sleep," she whispers again, this time poking your cheek to ensure you’re paying attention.

"Count sheep.”

A loud groan echoes through the bedroom as Paige turns over to face you.

“We should do something."

You pretend not to hear her, keeping your eyes shut.

“Wake up, wake up, wake up” she intones, pulling the covers off your chest as she sits up in the bed.

"Let's go for a drive."

You peek one eye open, glaring at her. "Paige, please, for the love of God, just let me sleep." She keeps her mouth shut, but you can feel her gaze on you as you pull the covers back over yourself.

After two blissful minutes of silence, a soft "please" brings you back to consciousness. Opening your eyes fully now, you stare at her.

"Paige, I'm really tired."

"I'll let you have the aux, and you can bring your blanket," she offers, nudging your shoulder gently, trying to coax you out of bed.

With narrowed eyes, you meet her gaze, her face is illuminated by the moonlight streaming through your open blinds, and with just that one glance, any remaining sibilance of a resolve is shattered.

"An hour tops, and if I fall asleep again, you can't wake me up until we're home."

A soft smile crosses her face. "Deal."

Before you really know what’s happening Paige has an arm wrapped around you, practically skipping as she drags you, half asleep and wrapped in a quilt, through the parking lot to her car. She turns your seat heater on, connects your phone to the car, and lets you choose a playlist before pulling out onto the main road, interlocking your fingers, and letting your hands rest on the center console.

"Dude, come on, really?" she groans as your sleep playlist begins and the sounds of an artificial rainstorm flood the car.

"I'm going back to sleep," Is all you can manage to say in your fatigued state, leaning your head against the window and shutting your eyes once again.

You don’t wake up again until sunlight has begun to shine through the trees lining highway, urging you to peek your eyes open, the gentle shake of the car almost lulling you back to sleep before you realize where you are.

"Paige, you've got to be kidding me," you groan out after catching a glance at the 6:45 A.M. flashing on the car’s dashboard. She looks at you briefly, a sheepish look passing over her face. "You're awake."

“I am.” You respond, not doing anything to hide your anger. “Where the hell are we, Bueckers?" You ask before turning to look at her.

As your eyes meet hers, a soft “Oh” escapes your lips, and suddenly, where you are doesn't matter anymore.

With your camera, you could have captured every detail—the way the morning light seemed to dance across her blonde hair, the delicate shadows her eyelashes threw across her under-eyes, mingling with the dark circles from a restless night. She looked beautiful.

It could be the best picture you'd ever taken of her. - And if you hadn’t been so clueless and absorbed in your art, you’d probably be paying a lot more attention to the miserable expression across your best friends face instead of the light that was hitting her perfectly.

"Wait, hold still," you whisper, your tone softening as you reach for your phone and point the camera at her. “Just let me get this shot.”

____

It takes a few seconds for you to dig your phone out of the bottom of your backpack where it had been left it in an effort to prevent distractions, but once you’ve found it you waste no time in opening the favorites album in your camera roll, holding up the image from that morning next to the one on your laptop.

‘Oh’

Side by side, the pictures are nearly identical.

Without realizing it, the two of you had recreated on of the last pictures you had taken of her before the two of you stopped talking, before she stopped talking to you.

In this new version, a stark black backdrop replaced blurry trees seen through a car window, and artificial orange and pink lights substituted the natural sunlight. In each image, her expression remained unchanged—those firm glares and pursed lips staring back at you from both screens. A heaviness settled in your chest as you set the phone aside and shut down Lightroom.

‘I’m not doing this right now.’

It was undeniable that you still missed her, even though the two of you had barely spoken in the past year. And despite all of your friends telling you that you should be furious at her for essentially ghosting you, your feelings haven’t changed.

Pure, unbridled misery. That’s the only way to really describe it.

The day you realized your best friend wasn’t ever going to respond to the 20+ ‘read’ texts and missed calls from your attempts to reach her was one of the worst days of your life.

----

Paige had just gotten the OK to return to campus after her ACL surgery, you had been on your way to try and visit her when Azzi had knocked on your dorm room door.

“Oh, were you on your way out?” She had questioned, seeing your outfit and the purse in your hands.

“I was gonna go check up on Paige I heard she was back.” Pausing before you add, “actually I’ve been meaning to ask if you had heard from her? She hasn’t gotten back to me yet and I’ve called like a million times.” You ask, forcing a chuckle to mask the stress bubbling beneath your words.

Azzi's expression hardens, her eyes avoiding yours. "Listen," she begins, her voice heavy with reluctance, "that's actually what I came to talk to you about."

"Oh?" Your voice rises slightly, a mix of confusion and apprehension.

She takes a deep breath, steadying herself. "Paige doesn’t want you reaching out to her right now. She needs to focus on getting healthy again."

"Oh." The word escapes your lips softly, tinged with hurt and disbelief, as the weight of her words settles in your chest.

----

The memory fades but the unmistakable hurt is still coursing through you as you close your eyes for a moment, letting yourself breathe.

It had been a mistake to let your guard down.

“You good?”

The voice you’ve been longing to hear for the past year interrupts your thoughts, sending a familiar pang through your chest as you look up, locking eyes with the blonde, her brows raised as she looks down on you with an unreadable expression.

#paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers fic #paige bueckers #paige buckets #uconn wbb #wcbb #wcbb x reader #wlw #paige bueckers headcannons #paige bueckers fanfiction #uconn huskies

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moonstruckme · 4 months

Note

heyy i absolutely love your writing and i wanted to ask if you could write something for remus?? <3 I’m having a surgery soon and i’m a bit nervous about it so if you feel like it, could it maybe be about reader having surgery and remus calms her beforehand or takes care of her after? thank you so much for sharing your amazing work with us, ly!!!! <3

Hi lovely, thank you for requesting!

cw: hospital, reader is a bit out of it due to anesthesia

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 907 words

Remus doesn’t think you belong in hospitals. You don’t look like yourself, all swathed in white. White sheets and a white gown and white fluorescent lights that make your skin look paler than usual and thin as paper. He’s been rubbing the back of your hand absentmindedly as he waits for you to wake up. It feels stupid, comforting you while you can’t feel it, but when your eyelids twitch he’s glad he is.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he says softly. Your eyes find him, sleepy and unfocussed. “Glad to have you back with me.”

There’s a tiny divot between your brows as you survey the room. “Did I do it?” you croak.

“Yeah.” The word leaves Remus in a laugh, and he can’t help reaching forward to brush a piece of hair away from your face. When you lean into the touch, his heart splinters. Something about seeing you like this makes him want to swaddle you in blankets and spoon-feed you soup and kisses for the rest of eternity. “Yeah, baby, you did it. You’re all done.”

“M’glad,” you sigh. “I told them I wanted to bring you, and they wouldn’t let me.”

“Yeah, I remember.” He grins, recalling your doped-up argument with the nurse. The cute pout that had stayed on your face throughout. “I was there.”

“Mm.” You hum as though vaguely recollecting his presence, though Remus had been the one to finally get you to calm down and go on without him.

Your gaze fogs over, and for a long time you stare at nothing, features relaxing. Remus is content to let it happen. He’s never minded sitting with you like this, both of you lost in your own thoughts and the love between you humming and incandescent in the air nonetheless. He’s watching the slow drooping of your eyelids, wondering if you might fall back asleep, when suddenly you perk up.

“Rem—Remus.” You sit up, reaching for him.

“What?” You’re pulling your IV. He stands from his chair and leans over you to grasp your forearm, pinning you as gently as he can to the bed. “What is it?”

“You haven’t kissed me hello.”

Remus can’t be held accountable for whatever passes over his face in that moment. He’s too surprised, and you’re too cute. It’s unbelievable.

“Well, it’s not really a hello,” he reasons. “We’ve both been here the whole time, love.”

You scrunch your face up as though you’ve tasted something sour. “Don’t play mind games with me. I almost just died.”

Remus is fairly sure you’d come nowhere close, but he doesn’t feel much like arguing. He bends over you carefully, pecking you on the lips. Your lips are warm and a bit chapped. He makes a mental note to dig your chapstick out of your bag a bit later.

When he pulls away, you’re frowning. It doesn’t do wonders for a man’s ego.

“That wasn’t a real kiss,” you complain.

He chuckles. “We’ll have more kisses when we get you home, okay? There are people around.”

You glance towards the door. “There’s no one here right now,” you say, as if there aren’t doctors and nurses passing by every five seconds. “Just a quick one. I really missed you.”

Remus glances towards the door, too. It’s a bit public for his taste (and usually, for yours), but he can never really say no to you when you’re being all sweet and earnest like this. He sits on the bed this time, heedful of any wires or tubes, and melds his lips to yours slowly. You take his face in your hand, your mouth pushing with almost too much force. Remus pushes back, but tries to slow you down with a hand on your shoulder. Soothing. You whine.

He pulls away quickly, thinking he’s hurt you, but you don’t let him get far. You’re clutching the material of his shirt like a lifeline.

Your eyes are wet.

“What is it?” Remus asks, panicking.

Your eyebrows bunch, pulling upwards in the middle. It’s a crumpling. “I love you,” you say, “so much.”

“Sweetheart.” Your crying makes him want to cry, but Remus does his best to laugh through it, hoping to get you out of this mood before you’re fully in it. He kisses the first tear as it falls. “I love you too. That’s nothing to get upset about.”

You shake your head, sniffling. “It’s too much. I love you so much it hurts.”

“I know what you mean, darling.”

“You do?”

“Of course I do. If I let myself think about it too much, I’d never stop crying. You’re a real burden to me, you know that?”

To Remus’ relief, you laugh. Wetly, but still. “Especially when I almost die, I bet.”

“You know you didn’t actually almost die, right?” He narrows his eyes at you. “I feel like it’s important that you know that.”

You only blink at him, befuddled.

Remus nods slowly. “I guess someone will be wanting to know you’re awake,” he says. “I’m going to go find a nurse.”

He stands, but you hold fast to his shirt. “Wait,” you plead.

He raises an eyebrow at you. “Hm?”

“One more kiss.”

“I think you’ve had enough.”

“One for the road. Please.”

Remus shakes his head, grinning. “You’d never consent to this much PDA if you weren’t so loopy right now, you know.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” He presses a quick kiss to your forehead. “Back in a minute, love.”

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lieutenantsluvr · 5 months

Text

༉‧₊˚✧

❝ cough medicine & kisses ❞

pairing : sick!simon riley x fem!reader

tags : NSFW, Undefined relationship. (Unprotected p in v, mentions of overstimulation.)

Synop : sub!simon who isn't actually a sub, but just so overworked he wants to fuck himself dumb.

w/c 3.8k

Sick. It’s a word you never thought you’d hear from your Captain’s mouth. “Sick?” You repeat, like a broken record. It only earns a small nod from Price, followed by a short breath of annoyance. Yeah, Okay. You can practically read the older man's mind, “Go check on him yourself if you’re so worried.” Is what he would say if he had any less humanity in him. But, he saves you the hit to your already fragile ego. Did you even want to see Simon? The feeling of seeing him in a state any less of… cold? makes your stomach churn in an uncomfortable turmoil.

Softly knocking on the door to his barrack, peeling your knuckles away from the cold wood frame. Noise within his barrack ceases, only for a few seconds before you hear a groan. Followed by a cough. Maybe two, or three more. Simon opens the door. He's still sporting his usual balaclava - But, his eyes are deep, darker and glossy. Dark circles line the bottom of his lids, similar to that of a raccoon. Blonde hair slightly tufted up, messily sprawled over his head. Sure enough, he looks sick as a dog.

"What do you want?" He asks, his voice an octave lower than it usually is. Still dark, gravelly, but it has more ache to it. The way his voice strains almost sends you to your knees. Vulnerable. It’s the only word that comes to mind as you look at him right now. Would he tear the limbs from your body if he knew you thought of him this way? Absolutely. But, as much as the big brute tries… you care for him nonetheless. “I’m here to check up on you.” You state, voice coming out a little bit more weakly than anticipated. Nice one. You try to recover, eyes briefly flicking somewhere else in the dimly lit hallway to escape his unrelenting gaze down. “You haven’t come out of your room in two days,” You add with a small tut of your lips, breaking the silence that seems to only make you uncomfortable. “Have you been eating?”

“I don’t need a nurse.” He states, flatly. His eyes languidly trail against your body, as if sucking up every detail, and then spitting it back out. Simon has taken a comfortable position in his doorway, his arm hiked up above himself to lean against the frame of the door. He has a fever. In fact, you know he has a fever. Tiny sweat beads forming above his brow, barley in sight from the way his balaclava is messily dragged across his face. He heaves for a second, as if trying to conceal a cough. Then, he spits it out - Coughing again, throat dry and raw. It takes him a moment to regain his composure, blinking away the blur that choked itself into his vision. “And, I eat when I feel like it.” Despite the sickness, he doesn't step down from his authoritative role. Big fuckin’ baby.

“I can practically feel your fever from here.” You huff, a quick folding of your arms to defend yourself from his princess attitude. “Have you taken medicine?” You continue, feeling the urge to take care of him swirl in your gut. No, you weren’t a mommy to the men of the taskforce, but more often than not, you found yourself stirring up a pot of soup to soothe their aching throats. Or placing a cold cloth on their foreheads when they ignored the chill in their bones. As much as you loved to tease them about their uselessness when it came to taking care of their bodies, part of you actually enjoyed the play. Okay, maybe you were mommy.

“I can take care of myself, thank you.” He chuffs, a small wheeze from his constricting lungs. You can feel the heat radiate from his body. The smell radiating from the inside of his barrack is deep, and musky. A mixture of his sweat and natural scent. Something about it makes your skin rise, and your heart scutter. You remind yourself that he’s sick, and probably wouldn’t take too kindly to the thought of getting you sick either. The sound of him clearing the phlegm from his throat quickly pulls you from your thoughts - now, no longer turned on. . . just a little more empathetic, you sigh. It’s like the man can feel your persistence from where you stand in the doorway. You just won’t back down. His head slightly lowers, eyes shutting for a second before they reopen and stare back at you. “No.” He says, flatly. All you do is quirk an eyebrow in wake of his question, and he’s shifting in front of you. Clearly his sickness is wearing down his resolve, and he’s almost submitting to your obvious request to take care of him. It's like a cowboy stand-off. Two idiots staring each other down, too stubborn to admit they just want to cuddle.

The stare is only broken as he wheezes out a choked out cough, eyes fluttering shut against the tears that build against his lid. “Fine,” Another cough, “You win.” He slides his arm down from the frame of the doorway, fingers flexing for a moment before resting at his sides, now unmoving. A single stare, until he crosses the room to his bed, sitting on the edge - almost robotically. Clearly he’s uncomfortable with your presence. Clearly he’s uncomfortable even having someone in his room.

You step into the room, eyes taking in the unfamiliar sight. A sight you’ve honestly been dreaming of. It’s a larger room, one that comes from the privilege of being Lieutenant. There aren’t really any decorations, perhaps a plant or two. Mixtures of grays and blacks littering the color scheme of his room. From there, your eyes drift to his bedside table - a tiny bite of what seems to be four crackers on a paper plate, an empty glass of water, and a multitude of used tissues. Not the… good kind of used. Nonetheless, your brain wracks with the sudden realization. He’s sick. Not just, sniffly, but genuinely sick.

“Go on,” You prompt, a soft wave of your hand, “Lay down.” He’s quick to obey you, though, not without protest. He grumbles to himself, incoherent sick whining. Eyebrows furrowed, and an ached whine as he slides himself into bed. “I’m not tired.” He chuffs, but even he knows that’s bullshit. His eyes are barely opened, glassy, and the dark circles that line them almost look painful. “You’re tired.” You reply, knowingly. It’s a quick walk across the room, opening his bathroom door and searching for a washcloth. Once found, you wet the rag, wringing it from excess water and then trotting back over to the side of his bed. Eyes falling down on his sicken frame, you see the way his muscles contract with every labored breath. Simon seems in pain. His scowl visibly softens, his eyes flicking between the soft hold you have on the rag, and your face. A quick quirk of your eyebrow, as if saying, are you going to let me do this? His eyes lower, and a pained chuff emits itself from his scratchy throat. You’re already at the side of his bed, there’s no stopping you now. “I’m not a child.” He reminds you, though, it’s clear he could use the coddling. “Yes,” You begin, leaning over and lowering the cloth to his forehead, “Such a big boy.” Tone lacking malice, and only harboring love for the sick man. He's stubborn - even as sick as he is, Simon doesn't want to be babied, even if he knows he desperately needs it. He keeps his lips clamped tight, trying to stay stoic. Stilling even when he feels the cool washcloth press to his forehead, when his skin is flushed and on fire. It takes a great deal of willpower to stay quiet when the cool cloth soothes his aching body. He's breathing deep, and slow now. It doesn't matter how he feels about you, his body needs the rest.

He’s out like a light. Unmoving, and slow breathing. Broad shoulders, and firm chest rising with every sickly breath he inhales and exhales. A quick glance around the room, and you plan your next attack. Simply cleaning up his barrack, and preparing him a small meal. Though, the tasks do take awhile, having thoroughly cleaned the place. It’s the least you could do. Right?

It wasn't until he stirred in bed that you finally approached him again, a small groaning emitting from his lips as he stretched the sleep from his aching muscles. “Hey..” You cooed, fingers haunting the area of his forehead to check his temperature. He was still quite warm, definitely entering the cusp of breaking the fever, but still quite sick. His eyes take a moment to register your presence, glossed honeyed gaze rising up and taking in your concerned gaze.

“You stayed?” The words were like a knife to your gut, twisting, sinking, and ripping it out. Stayed? Why the hell wouldn’t you stay? The realization hits you even harder, a freight train dragging your body the whole span of the track. “Of course,” You sigh, your hand softly trailing down his face, thumb grazing in wake of his jawline, “Why would I leave?” The touch brings him peace. A wake of molten arising on his very skin, eyes clamping shut. Your touch - It's a gentle, comforting gesture, one you seldom see in your line of work. “I don’t know.” He croaks out after a moment, eyes only opening enough to watch as your thumb ghosts the fabric of his balaclava. He wants to respond, he can feel the words forming at the tip of his tongue. But, they're caught when she drags her thumb down his chin again. He swallows hard, looking around for a way to avoid a response, but finds none. “Shut up,” You interrupt before he can grasp on to the feeling in his chest, “Take this.”

You’re quick to reach over to the bedside table, handing him one or two pills from the bottle, and holding the glass of ice water in your other hand. He looks at it, awkwardly before taking the medication from your palm. His hand raises to his balaclava, hooking a thumb underneath and raising it up just enough to place the pills on his tongue. You try not to look. Keyword, try. Soft stubble from days of not shaving, sharp jawline, and lips full enough to lay claim against. He notices, of course. He notices everything. Eyes flicking down your face, then down to the glass of water. Simon takes hold of it, his fingers grazing against your own as he slips the glass into his own hand. The contact sends shivers down your body, now aching from the servitude you’ve dove into. It’s like fucking shell-shock, the way his touch rattles up and down your nervous system, until the only thing you can think about is pushing him against the bed, and stuffing down on his cock so- “Are ya gonna give me the glass?” He mutters, a slight pressure as he tries to take the glass. You sputter, only for a moment, before letting him take it. Simon makes quick work to the glass, putting it to his now, unclothed lips, and taking a few swigs - soft drops of water forming against lips. Lips so soft you can almost feel the sensation. Lips so soft you can hear the demons in your head screaming to roll it between your teeth.

You avert your gaze, hushing the demons that claw themselves from the pit of your stomach. It was like something in your body shifted - a sense of you shouldn’t be here eating up your consciousness. Quickly, you stand up, eyes flicking over only to catch the clink of Simon setting down the glass. “Where are you off too?” His words are thin, and hoarse, as if he can barely speak against the sickness building inside of him. You actually had no clue where you were going, only crossing over to the kitchen to make yourself look busy. Being away from him was helping, though, the butterflies in your stomach pitter pattering against gummy insides. “Just gonna do some of your dishes, no big deal.” You chide, the heat you once felt on your back from his stare very quickly becomes real heat. “Why are you acting weird?” Simon asks, placing a hand down on the countertop beside you, his body loosely caging your presence. You could walk away, simply move from the spot you’re in, and he’s giving you that option. But you don’t. “You’re sick, go lay down.” You usher, trying to get him to back up. Hand slipping to push on his waist, only a little, fingers barely grazing the fabric of his tight gray t-shirt. He’s quick with his movement, a single hand snapping up to grab hold of your wrist - the same wrist linked to a hand pressed a little higher than his hip. “I thought you were nursing me back to health, yeah?” He chuffs, the reverberating ache in his throat causing his usual tone to deepen by an entire octave. So, there he is, caging you to the kitchen countertop. A hand on your wrist, and the other placed against the granite, fingers visibly curling. I might just take him on this countertop, you think to yourself, the demons practically chewing on the bars of your brain. Deep in thought, he takes a small movement in your daze, his hand cascading up from your wrist to your shoulder - a soft grip, but one that still drips of possession. “I asked you a question.” He asks, head dipping down to meet your height. Dilated pupils, a small form of sweat against his brow, and the remaining flush of his fever. His jaw is clenched so tight you swear it’ll stay locked like that forever. It’s really the only tell that he’s affected by the sight of you. The warmth dripping from his body is scorching. Tickling down your entire body, as he inches and inches closer it’s like molten lava clawing at your very flesh. But, there isn’t a single syllable you’re able to utter in response. You don’t know why you react this way when he’s close. You don’t know why you feel your heart slam against your ribcage when you make eye contact. You don’t know why you wish to map out the entirety of his back and use your hands as the ink that cascades down on paper. “I don’t know.” A simple, and blunt answer falling from your still parted lips.

“Well, figure it out, yeah?” Simon chuffs, before leaning back. The sudden loss of heat is what gets you, knees practically buckling from the cool air kissing at your skin. His eyes drift down, still glassy, and far - but, looking at you, nonetheless. “Si,” You utter, softly. It’s like the gods got tired of looking at the way you pathetically stare at him - deciding, hey, give this one a little push. He tenses, an almost growl as he glances down at you. Fuck, that nickname. “You’re right,” You murmured, feeding into his words, hand sinking back down against his hip, “Let me take care of you.”

It was like an apparition entered his fucking body. In seconds, hands your wrist, backing you up into the countertop. He falters for a moment, head dipping down to your shoulder - an almost soft inhale of the shampoo you use. The smell alone is practically creating a tent against his sweatpants. Finger curling against your wrists. You glance up at him, only seconds as you catch those dangerous honey-like irises inspecting you. Dilation. Quick to hike up his mask, he kisses you. It’s messy, desperate, and almost clumsy. Giving in, you part your lips - an immediate attack of his teeth drawing in your bottom lip, biting down with a force. Groaning into the kiss, he pushes his hips against yours - the cold granite of the countertop pressing into your lower back. A desperate, “Fuck..” as he flattens his tongue against your teeth. Being sick has obviously caused something in his brain to rewire, something to calm the constant ache in his head - or the warmth your body projects feels like healing.

His hands cascade up to your hips, a tight grip as he lifts you - almost effortlessly even in contrast to his sicken state. Almost delirious, setting you down on the bed - hands attacking the hem of your own sweatpants. “Lovie,” Simon exhales through a tight groan, fingers shimmying down the fabric to your ankles, “need this… ‘so fuckin bad.” Maybe it’s the cough medicine rewiring his brain, but he’s practically whimpering for your touch. You feed into his head, hand lazily dragging down the fabric of both his sweatpants, and boxers. Obviously, he’s not going to go for any sort of foreplay. He’s too fucked dumb, eyes desperately searching your gaze as you realize just how drunk he wants to get off of your pussy. His hand slides up to the valley between your breasts, pushing down until your back hits the soft plush of the mattress. “so ‘fuckin pretty.” A tightening of his hands against your hips. His eyes flick down, simply just staring at the state of that pretty fucking pussy. A bite to his bottom lip, before placing himself against you. Still watching you closely, he drags the crown of his cock up and down in slow lines - shuddering against the slickness that oats your entrance.

The sight continues to make him whine. He’s practically teasing himself at this point, only using your body as a means to soothe the sick ache in his head and push his cum so deep into your cunt that he’s the only thing you’ll think of for weeks. You stare up at him, hips circling slowly to further the teasing he plants upon himself. The hand not placed against his cock is quick to snap against your stomach, pushing down until you reside still on the bed. Oh. The crown of his cock latches against your entrance, a shudder from his flesh as he pushes his hips against yours. The motion is slow, sensual and you can practically feel the air leaving your body against the fit. Tight. “fuck, lovie.. ‘so good.. ‘so fuckin good..” Simon whines, his head tipping back from where he stands. The build up is astronomical, in and in, and.. In, until you almost can’t believe he’s not even halfway fucked into you. The tight fit sends electricity to every nerve in your body, gummy walls barely able to clamp together as they get filled. “Fuck, Si-” You choke out in hesitance, only for it to be met with another whine from his throat. Somewhere between a cry, and a whine, he lowers his torso down to meet yours - within seconds he’s buried fully inside of you.

He’s plunging into you like a man starved. Back, and forth - creating his own whimpers. He likes to drag it out, pulling his cock all the way out, leaving only the tip - stirring there for a moment until his own body constricts, and then slamming in as hard as possible. Hands vice gripped around your thighs, bringing you to and from him like a pocket pussy. “fuck, such a good girl.. Oh my god..” Simon whines, his face burying itself deep into your locks, inhaling deeply to consume every last fiber of your scent. Lazily gasping between every fluid motion of his hips, clumsiness peeking around the corners as he fucks into you. “oh, lovie.. jus’ what I need.. ‘so fuckin good.” He whines again, his hand curling into a fistful of your hair just to stop himself from jerking about. Simon constricts for a moment, pulling out, and then circling his tip at your entrance - his body twitches, and convulses as if overstimulating himself on purpose. Pussy sloppy around him, already drenching the area between you two - wet squishing noises as he drags back the mixture of pre and slick, just to bury it back inside of you. “sweet girl, oh fuck.. fuck..” He sputters out again, another whine into the crook of your neck as he clumsily slams his hips down against yours. What the fuck was in this cough medicine. Lifting himself up, a hand placed at the side of your head, fingers curling into the sheets. His eyes trail down to your connection, and now you’re painfully aware of just how pussydrunk he’s become. Bottom lip taken between his teeth, glossy eyes staring down at the sight of his cock sliding in and out. “Up.” He shudders out, his other hand slipping from the sheets and placing itself behind your lower back, holding you up against the edge of the bed. His knee sinks up onto the comforter, and now he’s plunging into you even deeper. Fucking the same spot, over and over again - abusing the gummy wall he seems to be intent on murdering. “sweet girl,” He practically wheezes, the reminiscent of his sore throat, “just like that ‘yeah.. milk my ‘fuckin cock.” You’re too busy blissfully indulging in the art piece in front of you. A man, who is usually cold and stoic, so pussy drunk he’s whining.

The feeling is quick, sweeping, and hits like a freight train. Your insides curl into a tight coil, and release like the snap of a rubber band. A simple, “S-Si!” Sputters from your mouth, earning a jagged groan from his throat. Simon’s fucking into you like an animal, rutting in and out to ride out the way you clamp down on him. Practically whining, and crying - every time he pulls out, it earns a quick, “Hnng-” from his tickled throat. “fuck, please.. right there, oh fuck, lovie..” He practically cries out, hips clumsily and weakly slipping against your wet meeting point. A continuation of the rutting, followed by a small cry of relief. He cums, and a lot. So hot and filling it practically burns. Simon continues his sloppy pushes in, and out - using the cum to push deeper, and deeper. He’s a writhing mess on top of you, his muscles twitching and contorting as he grinds out the sensitivity. “Ha- Ha.. fuck, lovie.” A quick sputtering, until his face is once again buried into your shoulder. Simon doesn’t bother pulling out, instead basking in the heat. Soft, and absentminded twitching of his tight muscles - whimpers still slipping from his mouth as he rests against you. Vulnerable.

“Ya’ tired?” You ask softly, eyes flicking down to see his head still buried in the depths of your hair. A few seconds of silence, before you’re met with a small hum of acknowledgement.

“Alright, big guy, let’s get you a nice shower, yeah?” You chide, pressing a soft kiss to the side of his jawline, fingers making their way down his spine - slight tickling of your nails against the aching muscles.

#↳ simon ༉‧₊˚✧#cod fanfic #simon ghost riley #smut #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader

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