#luxeberriesfics

[luxeberries]

now on ao3

One day, in mid August of ‘85, Dustin shows up at Steve’s front door, completely unannounced. It’s the middle of the night and Steve has half the mind to reprimand Dustin about curfew and biking alone in the dark. But when his vision finally focuses on Dustin’s expression, Steve sees panic in his eyes; fear. At first, his heart plummets and he thinks not again, not so soon. But then Dustin says-

“I killed that guy. Didn’t I?”

And every other thought in Steve’s mind crumbles like ash. 

“The Russian,” Dustin clarifies in Steve’s silence. “The doctor.” 

Steve remembers. 

Bald, round glasses. 

Stale coffee breath. 

Pliers pulling his nail. 

He can’t speak, throat closing up. 

Dustin keeps talking, rambling like Robin does when she’s panicked. “They used those cattle prods to stun demogorgons, Steve. Do you have any idea how many volts that thing held? He- He fell, like-”

“Dustin,” Steve says - rasps it out because his throat is dry but he needs to stop Dustin’s spiral. 

Rendered silent, Dustin looks up at Steve with wide, glistening eyes. He’s expecting an answer, but Steve doesn’t have one. He can’t think beyond the sight of Dustin standing before him in a matching pajama set and untied shoes, like he didn’t have the time or mind to fasten them up because he was in too much of a rush to come here. To seek out Steve, in the middle of the night. Steve, who should be able to help because that’s his job; he’s the protector, the older brother Dustin can come to for comfort. 

Except that Steve was woken with a start just five minutes ago when Dustin started pounding on his front door and he thought it was the Russians coming back for him, his mind still half lost to the nightmare he was having; all blood and bone saws and Robin’s screams. Part of him is itching to call her, like maybe she somehow died back there and Steve has been imagining her this whole time and he just needs to hear her mom answer the phone and say, ‘Yeah, she’s right here, honey’. 

But he remembers Dustin charging in, remembers watching him strike the doctor right in the chest and how he fell to the ground, limp, and didn’t get back up. Knows that everyone is safe, no matter what his brain tries to tell him. Robin and Erica are sleeping in their beds, and Dustin is standing on his front door step, bike discarded on the ground next to the Bimmer. 

Steve takes a deep breath and says, “Get in here.” 

He ushers Dustin in with a hand on the back of his neck, locking the door behind them, and heads to the living room. Dustin just keeps looking at him, like Steve has all the answers. Like Steve can make it all better. Can say the voltage wouldn’t have killed him, as if the possibility that he’s still out there wouldn’t send himself into a panic attack. 

“Steve,” Dustin says, and it sounds like a plea; the way his voice lisps, wet and small. 

He’s only thirteen.

“I killed a person,” Dustin says. 

And Steve gets it, sort of. It doesn’t matter that the person Dustin killed was evil and cruel, just like it didn’t matter that Billy Hargrove was about to kill Lucas when Steve stepped in between them. He still didn’t want to hurt someone. Each punch felt like too much, like if he punched any harder, he’d do some serious damage. And Billy would have deserved it - as horrible as it feels to think that after his sacrifice - but Steve didn’t want to be the one to do it. That’s not who he is. He’s a protector, not a fighter. Not a killer. That breaks something in a person, as is made clear by the crack in Dustin’s voice. It took something from him. The little bit of innocence Dustin had left. 

“Yeah,” Steve says, quiet and almost apologetic. “You did.” 

Dustin’s face falls, as if he really did want Steve to say otherwise. But avoiding the truth won’t help anything. 

“But- But you saved me, okay?” he says, like he’s asking if that truth is enough.

Dustin’s eyes flash with something Steve can’t identify. 

“Me and Robin,” Steve continues. “You saved us. If you hadn’t done what you did- What you had to do…”

His nightmares have answered that hypothetical too well. 

He shakes it off, puts his hand on Dustin’s shoulder instead.

“You saved us. You did good, Dustin. Okay? That’s what’s important here.” 

Dustin's face crumples and before Steve can blink, he’s got an armful of the kid. He’s still bruised, ribs only just recovering from the break, and it hurts. But he wraps Dustin up in his arms and lets him cry into his shoulder, wetting the thin fabric through. 

"Hey, it's okay," Steve soothes, voice low. "You're okay. I've got you, buddy."

He’s not coddling him or trying to get him to stop crying- he just talks so Dustin knows he’s there. Tells him how grateful he is for Dustin taking care of him and Robin when they were messed up, for being so brave when he busted into that room. He talks until Dustin is quiet against him, left with his arms wrapped around Steve’s waist and his face pressed into Steve’s shoulder. He doesn’t move for a while, but Steve doesn’t mind - just rubs his back and rests his cheek against his curls. 

“Your mom know you’re here?” he asks softly. 

Dustin shakes his head. 

“You wanna stay here tonight?” 

Dustin nods. 

Steve checks his watch over Dustin’s shoulder. It’s almost midnight. He sighs. 

“Remind me to send her flowers or something as an apology for waking her up right now,” Steve says, light-hearted, trying to make Dustin laugh.

But Dustin just sniffles, guilty. “Sorry.”

“Hey, no. It’s fine. Take your shoes off and head on upstairs, yeah? I’ll call your mom and tell her you’re with me.” 

Dustin pulls back, wipes his wet nose with his sleeve and Steve tries not to cringe. 

“Thanks, Steve.”

It’s not entirely selfless, calling Dustin’s mom. If he calls Mrs Henderson, he can call Robin right after without Dustin knowing. He has a feeling she’ll be awake at this time too anyway. He thinks he might call the Sinclairs as well, wants to make sure Erica is okay. 

And as long as Dustin stays the night, Steve knows that at least he’s safe, spread out right beside him, taking up the whole bed. Can make sure Dustin sleeps through the night, can be there if he has a nightmare that his mom wouldn’t be able to calm him down from. 

Steve ruffles Dustin’s hair, smiling at how he pushes into it like a cat. “It’s no problem.”

#luxeberriesfics #stranger things #steve harrington #dustin henderson #henderfam #was having thoughts last night about dustin suddenly realising he killed that guy #like maybe he was aware of it but it never really hit him that he took a alife #i dont think i explore that very well tbf like i could go much deeper into it #but really i just wanted steve and dustin comforting each other #so #i think of this one as a companion piece to my stobin ficlet #i might upload them on ao3 and make it a little series #might do one with erica too at some point

[luxeberries]

hello new fic based on this post and my tags.

-

Steve wakes slowly, pushing his face into the pillow beneath his head as sunlight shines too brightly through the gap of the curtains. The bed sheets are soft against his bare skin and warm with his body heat. He isn't sure what woke him until he registers the coldness beside him. A little more awake, he turns over and looks at the empty space.

In less than a second, he's wide awake with the realisation that Eddie isn't lying next to him.

A small, distressed noise climbs in his throat as he looks around the small room, as if Eddie is somehow hiding in the laundry piles on the floor or in his too-small closet. The trailer is silent but for the ever-present ringing in Steve's left ear and, judging by the complete lack of body heat on the bed, Eddie's been gone for a while so there's no way he just slipped out of bed for piss.

Steve's heart plummets to his gut.

He's been here before, too many times now; woken up alone after what he thought was a good night with someone.

But this is different.

This- this is Eddie. He's not like anyone else Steve has been with and last night wasn't just a 'good night' for Steve. It was the culmination of something bigger, something Steve hasn't felt since Nancy.

Last night wasn’t some drunken fuck or spontaneous, meaningless fling.

It was flirting that wasn’t as casual as it once was and lingering touches, tiptoeing their way into new depths. It was a soft and tentative first kiss that turned bruising as they realised how much they really wanted it. It was Steve kissing and licking and biting his way down Eddie’s chest, set to loving on his body, and Eddie stroking his hair so gently that it could have been called loving. It was fumbling for each other’s hands as Steve sunk in and Eddie making stupid jokes at the worst time and Steve laughing so hard that he kept slipping out, until they finally lost themselves to the pleasure of each other’s bodies.

It was- It was nothing like Steve had ever had before. Unparalleled, just like Eddie.

He thought Eddie felt the same.

But the bed is empty and it's not even Steve's bed, it's Eddie's, and Steve has been abandoned in the morning plenty of times, but never in someone else's house which only confuses him more. He thought they were on the same page, he thought they were both clear in what they felt for each other, but…

It was just like Eddie to run away, though. Steve would never call Eddie a coward - and he isn’t, no way - but it’s undeniable that Eddie runs from the important stuff. He can fight a swarm of demobats on his own, but he purposefully flunked a final exam because he wasn’t ready to leave school yet and he keeps people at an arm’s length; he backs away when they get too close to the walls he’s built. Maybe he got scared about letting Steve in like this, so he took the running thing literally this time.

That would be fine: Steve would be there when he comes around, no question.

Because Steve gets it. It is scary - this change in their dynamic. It’s been a long time coming, maybe ever since they first properly made friends last April, with the flirting and the touches and the almost-maybe-not kisses in Eddie’s kitchen or on the hood of the Bimmer. More than that - it was the trust and bond they forged in those weeks of recovery and everything after. Stronger than glue, knowing the ins and outs of a person as well as one’s own and accepting each part, no matter how ugly.

This - the culmination of it all - was always going to happen, one way or another; whether like how it actually happened with sweet words pressed against bare skin or with some romantic gesture and a ‘you free on Friday?’. It’s just that now it has happened, it’s scary. It’s a big change for both of them: Steve hasn’t felt this way about someone since he was seventeen and Eddie hasn’t ever even dated anyone.

Steve gets it. And if he’s being honest, facing that demodog in the junkyard was easier than saying 'you should go with him’ to Nancy Wheeler.

So he gets it.

Doesn’t mean that it doesn’t suck, though.

He falls back onto the pillows and tries to smother himself with them. They smell like Eddie - cigarette smoke, sweat, and strawberry shampoo. It's intoxicating and comforting despite the sourness in his stomach.

He can't believe Eddie left him alone. Like, he actually can't. Eddie doesn't run from Steve, not anymore and he definitely wouldn't leave Steve all alone in his own trailer at-

Steve checks his watch -half nine in the morning.

Fuck, he needs to get out of here before Wayne gets back. They get along just fine, but Steve isn’t sure how happy Wayne would be about finding Steve naked in his nephew’s bed.

Wiping the wetness at his eyes, Steve gets out of the warm bed and starts rummaging for his clothes. Briefs, sweatpants, socks... Steve searches for his sweater - the red knit one he wore because he knows Eddie likes it - on Eddie's messy floor, but it's not there.

"Goddamnit," he curses, so softly he barely hears it.

Figuring he must have left it on the couch last night, Steve heads down the hall to the living area. He freezes when he reaches the kitchen.

read the rest on ao3!

#stranger things #steddie #steddie fic #luxeberriesfics

[luxeberries]

now on ao3

One of the first things Steve noticed about Robin - aside from her cute, choppy haircut and witty personality - was her painted nails. The day they met, Steve's first day at Scoops Ahoy, Robin's nails were this shimmery blue tone that shifted to purple in the light of the backroom. He thought it was pretty. He found his eyes lingering on it when her hand was wrapped around the scooper.

Steve learned a lot about Robin while slinging ice-cream at her side, but one thing he learned was that she liked painting her nails; she had a new colour every week because she either got bored of it or picked the polish off. Steve learned, just from looking at her nails each week, that Robin had a small yet extensive collection of colours - all in different finishes and colour families - and Steve is pretty sure he saw every single one of them in those months of working with her.

After the mall burned down, after signing fresh, new NDAs that Steve couldn't even skim but Robin read through entirely - if only to give herself something other than fleshy-goop monsters and bone saws to focus on - he and Robin started hanging out all the time. They went to diners together, watched movies at the Hawk, went on walks. The colour of Robin's nails continued to change, more frequently now.

After two sleepless nights in his own quiet, cold house, Steve decided he had enough. He didn't have to be alone this time around and the idea that Robin was going through the same thing made his skin itch, so he snuck into her bedroom window and she pulled him in with open arms. Bullied him into the bed instead of sleeping on the floor. Still, they didn't sleep. They huddled close under the blankets, under the soft glow of Robin's lamp, wide awake and afraid of the nightmares, and they talked. Like little girls on a sleepover, they shared secrets big and small - things they never admitted to anyone else.

Two days into this routine, Robin pulled out her box of nail polishes, having admitted that painting her nails distracts her mind enough to finally calm down for a little bit. Steve sat at her side and looked through them all, helping her pick a colour and confirming that he had indeed seen every single colour on her nails before.

Except for one.

She told him, "I like pink, but pink nails is a little too girly for me. My mom gave me it, though, so."

It was the colour of girls' lipgloss; bubblegum pink. It was bright and bold and soft all at once. Steve liked it. Steve had always liked the colour pink, pretended that he didn't. "Yellow," he'd answer to that essential question seven year olds ask each other on the playground. "Yellow is my favourite colour," he'd lie.

It must have shown on his face or in the way he still hadn't put the little pink bottle away because then, Robin, who was uncapping a dark, shimmery green, said in a carefully casual tone, "How about I paint your nails?" And then, seeing Steve's hesitation, added, "I have nail polish remover. We can take it off before breakfast tomorrow."

And there was something about the cover of night, the lamp washing Robin's room in a soft yellow glow, and Robin's gentle tone that made Steve feel safe enough to say yes.

They shifted to sit opposite each other, crossed legs touching at the knees, and Robin set her pretty green aside to take the bubblegum pink from him.

Steve's heart raced and he felt a little bit sick. Painting his nails was one thing, but painting them pink? It was starting to get to him.

But then Robin took his hand and moved the little brush close to his nail and Steve jumped away for an entirely different reason.

Where do you work? How did you find us?

More lies.

Memories of sterile basements, beady-eyed interrogators, and a Russian doctor wielding pliers flashed in Steve's mind. The next thing he knew he was on the floor, breath coming heavy and fast, eyes darting around the room as he searched for dangers that weren't there. Robin's voice was drowned out by the ringing in his ears he was beginning to think wasn't normal.

Then, a hand on his arm. With chipped, purple nail polish at the cuticles.

"Steve." Her voice was clearer now. He could hear the sheer worry in it, the slight tremble to it. "Steve, it's okay. It's okay, you're with me. We're safe. You're safe. You're okay."

Later, he'd be embarrassed about freaking out, even though Robin assured him it was understandable. Later, he'd feel guilty about the spill of pink that would stain Robin's bedsheets permanently. Later, he'd have a nightmare that this time his nail got ripped.

But until then, Robin would coax him back onto the bed and tuck him against her side. He'd watch, head on her shoulder, as she painted her own nails that nice green she seemed to favourite. She'd offer him the little brush and her right hand and laugh at the terrible job he does, but she would still hand him the bubblegum pink polish and tell him to paint her pinky nail with it.

And Steve would settle for the coat of bubblegum pink Robin paints his pinky finger with in turn.

#stranger things #steve harrington #robin buckley #platonic stobin #hi hello. i dont normally do this. but take it #this comes from my headcanon that steve loves pink (specifically bubblegum pink #the colour of lipgloss) but says its yellow bc yellow is soft but manlier than pink #AND my need to explore my boys torture #AND my need for stobin content #luxeberriesfics

[luxeberries]

now on ao3

Steve yawns when he wakes up, jaw cracking painfully as it happens, and, immediately, his heart drops to his stomach. Because of course, of course, his stupid, three-time damaged brain would choose today of all days to lay down and scream about how damaged it is. Like a toddler hitting a stuffed toy with its little fists but the toy is the left side of Steve’s head and the toddler is the phantom remnants of Billy Hargrove and evil Russian interrogators beating him unconscious. 

Steve buries his face into the pillow as if suffocating is a better fate than a migraine. Sometimes, it feels like it is. And it’s definitely a better fate than making Eddie’s big, brown, twinkling eyes turn dull and disappointed with the ruining of their plans. Just the memory of them makes Steve’s heart break a little. 

Face shoved into the pillows, Steve thinks suffocating himself may be less painful than disappointing Eddie. 

-

He finds Eddie in the little kitchen, wearing mismatched socks, worn in boxers, and a tour t-shirt from 1973. From the hall, Steve watches Eddie flip a pancake without the spatula; practised and showy. The floor creaks under Steve’s foot when he shifts his weight, breaking Eddie out of his little bubble. He turns to Steve with a smile, dimples popped, eyes bright. There’s a smudge of batter on his chin. 

“Morning, Stevie,” he says, sweet and sugary in the mornings as always. "I tried making hearts. To be cute and all. But, uh” - he turns back to the stove - “shit's hard, so."

Steve tries to hide his yawn behind his hand. Jaw aching horribly, he mutters, "G’morning,” and moves to wrap his arms around Eddie's waist. Looking over his shoulder, Steve laughs softly at the misshapen blob in the pan.

"Oh, he's laughing,” Eddie says. “You hear that? He's laughing at you, in there. You gonna take that, Mr Pancake?" 

Amused, Steve tucks his nose into Eddie's hair. Yawns again. He feels Eddie’s shoulders stiffen up a little. Feeling caught, Steve just watches the pancake bubble up. 

"You tired?" Eddie asks carefully, head turned towards Steve. "You've been yawning a lot."

Steve burrows further into Eddie. He’s aware that it’s silly to feel ashamed, but he is. He hates this and he hates that it’s ruined their day.  

"Not tired,” he whispers. 

For a moment, Eddie's quiet. The pancake is probably black underneath at this point, but he’s not flipping it. “You having auras? Are you nauseous?"

"Not yet."

Steve can feel it when Eddie makes the decision to act nonchalant and unbothered. It’s there in the way he sets his shoulders and finally flips the pancake - with the spatula this time, so he doesn’t jostle Steve. 

"Well, at least you can eat breakfast before your day goes to shit,” Eddie jokes, deadpan.

Steve snorts, but he’s still upset. “I’m sorry. I could just…” He knows as he says it that it’s a lie. “I could ignore it. Stick it out, whatever.” 

Put on a brave face and act like the pain doesn’t sort of make him want to kill himself. Nothing he hasn’t done before. 

Eddie pours more batter into the pan, trying, again, to shape it into a heart. “We both know how that’s gonna end, Steve. Baby, it’s fine. I’m not- upset, or anything. I mean, I’m sad for you and all, but… It’s fine. We can stay in and watch shitty TV and binge chick flicks, or something. I’ll eat junk food while you try not to yak on my uncle’s couch.” 

Steve laughs, but also sort of groans at the same time. He lets himself go slack against Eddie. 

“I hate this,” he whispers. 

“I know, sweet thing,” Eddie comforts, putting the jokes aside. He kisses Steve’s temple. “I’m sorry.”  

It makes the job harder, but Steve doesn’t stop clinging to Eddie like a koala the whole time Eddie’s plating up. He pours the syrup for Steve even though Steve is more than capable of doing it himself, and he hands Steve the plate of heart-blobs along with a knife and fork. 

“I promise it tastes just as good coming up as it does going down,” Eddie says, taking up his own plate with just a fork and a lake of syrup. 

“That’s disgusting,” Steve says, grimacing. 

“Disgustingly sweet,” Eddie jokes. “Just like you.” 

Stupidly in love, Steve just smiles at him. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Eddie grins. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Stevie.”

#luxeberriesfics #stranger things #steddie #me an hour before valentines day ends: i want to write a valentines day fic. something i have never done before in my life- #because i hate valentines day #HELLO

[luxeberries]

It's a little bit like choking. Loving Wilson, that is. It didn't used to be like that. It used to be easier; less noticable. It used to just fit right in there with the pain in his leg and the breath in his lungs. But now, in the face of his slow but steady decline in health and the months counting down, it's like House can't keep his love down anymore.

Like how Wilson describes his dysphagia, House feels a great lump in his throat. He can't push it into the pit of his stomach, it just stays there in the back of his throat. Like it wants to climb up, like bile, and spew out his mouth in some moronic form of a love confession.

He's not Cameron. Or Foreman. He's not going to act on something that won't last long enough for the both of them.

#house md #hilson #i wrote this down last month but I don't think I'm ever actually going to write the full roadtrip fic so #here you go! #luxeberriesfics

[luxeberries]

Before the winter of '83, when a creature from hell with a face made of too many teeth dropped out of the Byerses' ceiling, Steve never used to remember his dreams. Nightmares are potent things, these days; vivid scenes that cling to his mind long after waking. They never really got a chance to subside before the next round of creatures from hell showed up the year after. And the year after that. And the year after that.

By far, the Russians made for the worst nightmares of all. Sterile rooms, long, yawning corridors, pliers pulling his fingernails. Who do you work for and the sickly scent of ice cream and blood mixing on his uniform.

That was before March '86.

Because it turns out there is something more haunting than giant gooey, flesh spiders and interrogation rooms that smell of blood and bile.

Longing.

Yearning. Whatever you want to call it.

Every night since late March, Steve has dreamt of Eddie Munson.

Eddie Munson, with his unruly hair and unwashed denim vest. Eddie, who was all limb and loud. Eddie, who Steve last saw with clouded eyes and blood-stained skin, cold fingers still tangled in the fabric of Dustin's gilly suit. Eddie, who was so, so brave but never believed himself to be anything but a coward.

Sometimes, Eddie is somewhere Steve has never seen him. At a party, Eddie smiles at Steve from across the room before returning to his conversation with some faceless person Steve probably knew once in school. In a park, Eddie sits on a swingset, rocking slowly with his feet in the mud, hair swishing in the breeze and a strange look on his face.

Sometimes, Eddie is wearing his leather jacket and denim vest. Sometimes, there's blood on his cheek and in his mouth as he smiles at Steve. Sometimes, he's only wearing his Hellfire shirt, but it's torn up and bloody and Steve can see the gore of his ripped open belly.

But no matter what the scene, or the state Eddie is in, there are somethings that never change.

Steve is never allowed to move. Steve is never allowed to talk. Steve is never allowed to touch.

All he can do is ache.

Ache at the sight of Eddie Munson as he once was, but not quite. Eddie's smile is never quite right. His hair is a little too neat and clean. His vest is always missing the pins and patches. Little details that Steve never got a chance to appreciate before Eddie died. Little details Steve will never get to know.

But he settles for this not quite right version of Eddie because it's the only one he's got, patched up with the anecdotes Wayne Munson recounts to Dustin that Dustin recounts to Steve.

He settles for looking at Eddie from across the room, for the occasional too-perfect smile he'll get thrown his way. Even though he wants to drag Eddie away from the faceless person, or sit down on the swing next to him, or scream from his place across the room I'm sorry I couldn't keep you safe and I'm sorry we failed anyway and more selfish things like I wish you'd lived because I think we could have been friends and I feel like I'm missing a limb I never even had.

Instead, he watches Eddie, soaks up the peaceful image of him for as long as he can until he wakes up. Hopes that his image of Eddie doesn't distort anymore than it already has.

Hopes that one day, when the nightmares are all gone, Eddie remains.

#stranger things #steddie #UH. idk what this is #i had an idea based on dreams that i have a lot #so i cleaned this up from like. 3am last night. aahah. #luxeberriesfics

[luxeberries]

hello hello this was inspired by @bamf-jaskier 's post about dermain and i wrote a short, impulsive fic about him

no content warning, ~700 words

--

Dermain wakes with the sun. It’s earlier than he ever used to wake, but the windows of his bedroom are big and face the rising sun so he has little other choice. He’s told his chickens start squawking at this time anyway so it’s become part of his new daily routine to feed them once he gets up. His mornings are slow. He wakes with little else to do than take a piss and break his fast, so he does. With bread and cheese between his teeth, he heads to his garden.

The chicken coop is a shoddy bit of fencing and the actual coop, which he built on his own. It’s smaller than he planned it to be and there’s some gaps between the wood panels, but Dermain only has so much experience in carpentry. His chickens don’t seem to mind; they’re content to roam around the fenced off area in the day and sleep in their coop at night. Dermain had made sure to pack the coop with wood shavings, which were donated by the lumberjack down the road, so that, despite the draft, his chickens would be nice and warm. In winter, he’ll have to make adjustments, but for now it’ll do. 

So far, he has just three chickens but that suits him just fine. They greet him eagerly, poddling to his feet. Their beaks open and close and Dermain wishes, sometimes, he could hear their little ‘bawk bawk bawk’s. He sees the excited sounds in their little throats as he tosses feed on a patch of dirt. Crouching before them, he watches them eat for a moment, finishing his own breakfast in a few bites, before collecting the eggs. 

‘Thank you, ladies’ Dermain signs, heading back inside. 

His house, admittedly, is still quite bare. Dermain had been eager to make a place for his chickens, so the first few days were focused on that. Mornings were spent building and the nights before he went to bed were spent cleaning the house. Once he’d finished with the coop and he was sure the chickens were nice and settled, he’d turned his attention to the house. 

There were the essentials - a bed, a functional kitchen, a small table and chair… He’d also bought an old bookshelf from one of his neighbours for cheap, which holds a few random books he’d picked up over the years and a book on caring for chickens, which is stuffed with various papers with advice from neighbours and such. After the basics, though, he’d been stumped. 

It has potential to be more than it is, and Dermain can see it in his mind. A small sitting area by the kitchen, paintings and hangings on the walls, decor on the hearth. He knows what to add, but every time he steps into a room with the intent to decorate, he suddenly loses all of his ideas. 

He realises, looking at his bare bones home, that part of him is waiting for the day he meets someone - the day his future wife will integrate herself into his space. And it’s… Well, it’s unsustainable to think that way. It could be years before he meets someone he really loves and who loves him too. But his years, almost decades, of dreaming for the life he wants never accounted for the before part of that. 

Someday, he’ll have a wife; he imagines prepping dinner with her, imagines tending to the chickens and greeting her home with a kiss, imagines cosying up on the couch he will someday get. (If his mind still lingers on the beautiful, raven-haired Yennefer of Vengerberg then that stays with him).

But right now, this is his space - it's his kitchen, his sitting room, his bed. Finally, a place to call his own. Finally, a place where he is safe, where he is warm, where he has all the time in the world. He owns this place and no one can take it from him. And he can do what he pleases with it. 

Over the weeks, Dermain has collected a small crateful of things that caught his eye at the market or was lost in the woods. 

He picks up an ornate, ceramic vase. It's chipped and some of the paint has scratched off, but he'd cleaned it and decided Ed he'd liked it. 

He places it on the dining table, steps back to look at the full picture. He nods approvingly, with a smile. 

It’s a start. 

#the witcher #dermain #new tag! for my benefit..... finally..... #luxeberriesfics

[luxeberries]

i haven't got a name for this, but here is a little drabble for kings of sorts by the wonderful @crabbng. quick summary/thought process i guess? - reread kos like.. yesterday, and i was Thinking about how bons feelings towards hana changed over the short time they travelled together. very conflicting feelings.

- character study, unreliable narrator, very abupt ending

- hana/bon

- word count: 643

--

The warm breeze ruffles his hair as he and Hana walk through the Ashunhai forest. The journey is almost painfully slow. From what Bon's gathered, Hana has probably never left the area of the mountain, so the very often distractions are expected. He lets out a short, excited exclamation before going off course to look at a dung beetle, a butterfly, whatever is in sight that isn't a tree or grass.

It's almost endearing.

"Bon!"

He's still getting used to that name. Bonic. Bon. He keeps testing it on his tongue, hearing how it sounds in his voice. He finds he likes it a lot more in Hana's voice, decides - or... decided the moment Hana suggested the nickname - to use it.

He likes a lot of things in Hana's voice, like how he rambles in vast detail about the things he finds on their path.

"A real turtle!"

Bon makes a sound of affirmation, and hoists himself onto a boulder, settling in for the next five minutes.

"Did you turtles don't have teeth?"

"It would be creepy if they did," Bon remarks, grimacing at the image of it.

"Yeah, I suppose. I knew they didn't have teeth from research stored in the mountain - they use their beaks instead, made of keratin, you know like our fingernails? But I thinks it's strange. Have you ever seen a ducks teeth before? I read that they have... an unnecessary amount."

"Yeah?" Bon asks, distantly. Knowing Hana, even for only these few days, Bon finds it hard to believe the village people were afraid of him. He hasn't got a bad bone in his body. Nor, Bon thinks, a suspicious bone either. Leaving his house unlocked, showing a complete stranger the secrets of the mountain, the... what did he call it? City of Lights. There are people who would kill to find that place, to strip everything it has for their gain, for their knowledge, and Hana just let Bon in. He's never met someone so naive. someone so relentlessly kind and trusting. A bit of a pushover, if Bon is being brutally honest, the image of Hana in an unlocked coop he built lingering in his mind.

By all means, Bon should pity Hana, look down on him, but watching him wade further into the lake, cooing over the turtle, that for some reason is still around, Bon only feels a strange fondness, and with that an overwhelming urge to protect. But that isn't his job, that has never been his role. He was created to serve, to harm, to bring chaos. And he has done that, he has always done that.

His hands are tools, weapons, and yet Hana had been so hasty to hold them and gush over his power. He's still fucking reeling. No one, no one, has ever gushed over his power. He's had screams, he's had praise for being so powerful and detrimental, but he's never had- 'That's so cool!', or 'You're amazing!', that's new, especially the second: not 'this is amazing', but 'you are amazing'. Bon still isn't sure what to do with that. It had felt good, as undeserved as it was.

"Hana," Bon says, his voice a bit crackly.

Hana turns, sweeping his hair from his eyes with his fingers. "Yeah, Bon?"

There is so much trust in those eyes, in his body language, and it is overwhelming, and suddenly, Bon thinks, 'I cannot take him to Abigh. I can't take him to her. She would crush him, leave his bones bereft of bad in a pile of ruins and ash'.

Bon clears the thickness from his throat. He has to- he has to take him. He can't- fuck, he can't...

"Bon?" Hana calls softly, concerned.

Bon shakes his head, and jumps off the boulder. "We should carry on. Get your shoes on, let's go."

#kos #kings of sorts #be warned... i barely proof read this bsbdnd #ive had such a shit time writing lately but i kept thinking about these two #and i just love writing character studies... #ONE DAY.....i will write longer for them #luxeberriesfics

[luxeberries]

bon's secret dream

a fic inspired by a post of the same name happy kos anniversary @crabbng !! wc: 5675

summary/preview:

“So… how long has this been here?”

“The farm? It’s… always been here?”

Hana makes a little inquisitive sound. “I guess I’ve never come this way before. I wasn’t expecting a farm out here at all, nevermind- uh- you.”

Bonic frowns. What the fuck does that mean.“What the fuck does that mean?” he asks.

"Fucking chickens," Bonic mumbles, paces away from his most devious chicken - a brown girl named Cow. The other chickens are so well behaved, never causing any trouble, while Cow always manages to find her way out of the pen and to the strawberries Bonic's been growing in front of the farmhouse. He knows chickens like fruits, but he didn't know how crazy Cow would go for some strawberries. His day had started so well, too; he'd woken up, tended to the sheep, fed the goats, checked on Bonnie. And then he'd caught a blob of brown flashing across the field, towards his house.

Sometimes he wonders why he'd had the idea to raise chickens.

Bonic trails behind Cow, keeping his steps quiet, avoiding any twig that could give him away: if she notices him, she'll bolt, and Bonic is not in the mood to run after a chicken. Crouching in Cow's blind-spot, he watches her inspect a patch of strawberries, cocking her head to the side.

Cow takes a tentative step forward.

Bonic grabs her.

She flaps her wings, startled, and then quickly calms, accepting her fate.

“Got you,” Bonic says, petting Cow’s head. “Little shit,” he says affectionately. Cow looks up at him and blinks. “I know, I know, but these are my strawberries – you can’t keep stealing them.” Cow blinks again and turns away. “I- You can have one strawberry, how’s that?”

He dips down to pluck a single, ripe strawberry for his mean, manipulative chicken.

The coop is a little ways from the house, down a short cobblestone path. Bonic lets Cow down in the area he fenced off, and gives her the strawberry. He watches, for a moment, as she happily pecks at it, defending it from the other chickens who waddle over to see what the fuss is about.

“Menace,” Bonic remarks.

When he turns, it’s only because of his past teachings that he doesn’t visibly startle at the sight he sees. There’s- There’s a man. On his farm. A short man with red hair and-

Bon squints.

And his cat. Sort of.

She’s struggling out of his hold.

There are many things that go through his mind, namely that this man just happens to be very attractive, and it’s oddly endearing seeing him try to wrangle this small cat in his big hands, but also there is a man on his farm, so, naturally, Bonic asks, “what the fuck are you doing on my farm? And why?"

With a short yelp, the man jumps and searches for Bonic. When his eyes settle on Bonic, he relaxes and puts on a small, sheepish smile. His teeth are… sharp.

“Hi! I’m sorry, I didn’t know there was a farm here. My name is Hana, I – this stray comes to my house for food and she’s very precious to my daughter, and she got injured? The cat, I mean, and I tried to help but she ran off so I followed her and uhm… Well, I got her!”

Bonic sighs, and steps closer to the idiot –Hana – who followed a fucking stray cat to his farm.

“Hello, Hazzy,” Bonic says to the cat. She meows at him pathetically.

“Is she yours?” Hana asks.

“She’s her own cat,” Bonic says. “But yeah, she lives here. Sleeps with the sheep. On the sheep.”

He gestures for Hana to hand the cat over, which he does, so that he can inspect her- and maybe save the guy from getting scratched up. “Where’s she injured?”

“Right front leg,” Hana says. Bonic notices him looking around the farm. “So… how long has this been here?”

Bonic examines the leg, pressing gently down the length of it. He finds some swelling above her paw and she meows at him as a warning. “The farm?” Bonic asks idly, checking her other legs.. “It’s… always been here?”

Hana makes a little inquisitive sound. “I guess I’ve never come this way before. I wasn’t expecting a farm out here at all, nevermind- uh- you.”

Bonic frowns. What the fuck does that mean?

“What the fuck does that mean?” he asks.

Hana’s eyes go wide and he fumbles his words. “I-I mean, you’re- it’s- it’s the middle of nowhere, and you’re” - he clears his throat, shaking his head - “Can we start over?” He extends a hand. “My name is Hana. May I have the pleasure of knowing yours?”

Scratching Hazzy’s ear, Bonic looks Hana over, not even trying to hide how he judges him. Hana stands, hand still outstretched, mouth twisted anxiously. Against his better judgement, Bonic tells Hana his name. He doesn’t shake his hand. His hands are full of defiant cat, anyway.

Hana drops his hand, rubs the back of his neck. Shaven hair, Bonic thinks. The red is natural, a rarity. Sharp teeth, red eyes…

“So, uh, the cat?” Hana asks.

“Right,” Bon says. “The cat.”

Hana reaches a hand forward, lets said cat sniff him before he pets her head. “Sprained leg,” Bon says, watching Hazzy lean into Hana’s touch. She craves affection, a bit like Bonic in that aspect. Suddenly, all he can think of is that he hasn’t been hugged by anyone other than Tera in years.

“How long will it take to heal?” Hana asks. “A week?”

“Or two. Maybe three. I’ll keep her here, indoors, but she finds a way and it takes longer when they move about so much."

Hana hums, scratching under Hazzy’s chin. Bonic just watches for a minute before Hana says, “Would- I mean- my daughter is… attached. And I don’t want to impose but would it be alright if we - uh - visited? Until she’s healed?”

“I- " He doesn’t get visitors. He gets Yahuul for short bursts of time every few weeks, and Tera - and Aoife by association - who’s too busy to come around more often than every couple of months - understandable since Bonic lives in the middle of nowhere which makes it even more mind-boggling that this guy and his daughter live in walking distance. He wouldn’t mind the company, even short-lived as it would be, as reluctant as he is to admit that.

Bonic finds himself nodding.

Hana’s eyes light up, red shining orange in the sun. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” he croaks.

“Thank you! I’ll - I’ll bring something! I should be off, uhm, have a good rest of your day.”

“You too.”

Hana leaves, turning to wave goodbye one last time, and Bonic is left standing at the gate with an injured cat in his arms, speechless. He just agreed to this stranger and his daughter visiting his cat. What is wrong with him?

He looks to Hazzy for guidance. She stares at him.

He scowls.

-

Hana never actually said when he would come around, and the next day when he doesn’t show, Bonic figures that he hadn’t been serious about visiting, or maybe he changed his mind. Maybe he saw reason and decided visiting a loner living on a farm in the middle of nowhere was a bad idea, and that he should steer clear. He accepts this fact around mid-afternoon. And yet, Hana is all he can fucking think about despite only having chatted with him once for about ten minutes. It’s so stupid. He can’t get him out of his head; his ruby red eyes, his beaming, sharp-toothed grin, his big hands petting that dumb cat so gently, so full of care.

Bonic curses himself.

He’s just… lonely, his logic reasons, he’s craving attention - it’s natural to cling onto the first new person he’s seen in… however long.

That night, as he’s getting into bed, Hazzy curls up with him, a rare thing for her to do, and sleeps on his pillow. He grumbles, petting her, and tries to sleep.

The next morning he’s woken by claws batting his nose.

“Fuck off,” Bonic mumbles. “I’ll feed you later.”

He turns over, away from the nuisance in his bed, but said nuisance meows at him urgently. He mocks her tone, sitting up and squinting at her. She sits patiently on his lap.

“Fine.”

He carries her to her food bowl.

He’s checking on the chickens when he hears his name being called. Or… a version of it.

He turns, a grimace already on his face, and sees Hana and, presumably, his daughter. He’s holding a tupperware of something - no doubt the ‘something’ Hana said he would bring.

“Hello again,” Hana greets with a smile when Bonic approaches them. “I brought stew. Made it myself.”

Bonic takes the proffered stew, feeling a loss for words. It’s been a long time since someone has cooked for him. Tera brings meals around sometimes, but this isn’t the same somehow. He shakes his head, brain stalling, and asks, “What did you call me?”

Hana’s smile falters. “Uh- s-sorry, I called you ‘Bon’-”

“Bonbon!” Hana’s daughter interrupts.

“Is that- is that okay?”

“It’s- fine. Hazzy is inside.”

“Hazzy?” his daughter asks.

“The cat,” Bonic says, leading them to the house.

“Oh, you mean Kitty.”

Hand on the doorknob, Bon pauses and looks down at the kid. “I guess?”

As soon as the door opens, Hazzy jumps off the sofa and meows loudly at them. She crowds Hana’s daughter immediately, purring loudly as she pets her.

“Baby calls her Kitty,” Hana explains as if Bon hadn’t gathered that, but also-

“Baby? ‘S a bit… on the nose,” Bon says, heading to the kitchen to put the stew in the fridge.

Hana laughs, sitting with Baby by the coffee table. “You question ‘Baby’, but not ‘Kitty.”

Bon leans against the kitchen doorway, squinting. “The cat was named by a five year old-"

"I'm four."

"- a four year old. Baby was named by a grown man."

He’s heard worse names for someone, and truthfully he doesn’t think ‘Baby’ is the weirdest.

"How do you know Baby didn't name herself?" Hana says, turning to pet Hazzy/Kitty. "And anyway, what kind of name is 'Hazzy'?"

"Short for Hazard."

Hana laughs, caught off-guard. It’s a nice laugh, a soft shy thing, and Bon preens a bit.

"What's a has-hazard?" Baby asks.

“Something that could cause harm,” Hana says, still smiling.

Baby’s brows furrow. Her expressions are so clear they may as well have them written on her forehead. “But Kitty is a sweet girl!” she tells Bon. She says ‘sweet girl’ like it’s one word, ‘sweetgirl’, as if they don’t hear the words separately often. “She’s not a hazard.”

“She is,” he says, perching on the sofa by them. “She’s mean to my chickens. Scares them.”

“Does she try to eat them?”

“No, she’s- picky. Eats the stuff with jelly. She’s just mean. Seems to have a soft spot for you though.” Baby is fucking holding her and Hazzy doesn't even seem to care. "She doesn't bite you?"

She shakes her head. "Nope! Kitty loves me. Not a hazard at all."

“Huh.”

Seeing something in the corner of his eye, he glances to the window. “Oh, for-”

Fucking chickens.

He swings the front door open, accidentally scaring Cow off. Bon lets out a very deep, very emotive groan.

“Everything okay?” Hana asks, coming up behind him.

“My fucking chicken escaped again.”

“Do you want me to get her? My hometown had a lot of them, always ran into my garden."

“And leave me with your child?” Bon grimaces.

“You say that as if you’re scared of children.”

Bon laughs. “Children are scared of me.” He actually had quite the soft spot for them when he was still a part of larger society.

“Why? You’re not scary at all?”

Bon gestures to his face. He’s scarred all over, but it’s the face that gets most people.

Hana frowns. “Well, I think you look nice. Look, Baby isn’t scared of you. It’ll take two seconds. I trust you.”

Bon makes a disapproving sound, but lets him go. “Be careful, she’s a b- menace.”

He rounds back to Baby, crouching next to her awkwardly.

“Sooo… Your dad,” Bonic says, watching Hazzy curl up in Baby’s lap. “He’s… nice.”

Baby nods. “He is! And so are you- he told me.”

Bon cocks his head. “He told you- what, exactly?”

“Hana said you were nice and tall and pretty.”

Bon has a feeling Baby hasn’t quite grasped keeping things secret. But damn… pretty? No one's called him pretty since he got all burned up.

“I see,” he says, feeling his face flush. “I see. Okay. Uh- are you… in school?” he asks in a desperate, poor attempt to direct her attention away from that bombshell.

“No.”

She carries on petting the cat, oblivious to all. Bon's mind swarms. He doesn’t have much of an opinion on his appearance - his body is a tool, a vessel - but he knows he isn’t nice to look at, he's… well.

“Hana’s right,” Baby says suddenly.

“About what?”

“You’re very tall! Stand,” she instructs. As Bon stands, Baby does too. She just comes up to his hip. She looks up at him, her lips pursed. “Yes. Tall. More tall than I’ve seen.”

Bon laughs, feeling the urge to pat her head. “You live with a four foot tall man in the middle of nowhere - that’s not much of an accomplishment.”

Baby shrugs and sits back down. Bon slinks down next to her, propping his arm on the couch.

Hana comes back just as Hazzy falls asleep in Baby’s lap.

“Well,” he says. “She’s back home.”

“It go okay?”

“Yeah, I got a little scratch, but it’s nothing.”

“A scratch?” Baby asks.

“Yeah, it’s nothing,” Hana assures.

Getting the feeling it’s not nothing, Bon approaches Hana and takes his arm, gently but with a firmness Hana can’t escape. He probably could escape it, Bon thinks, feeling the muscles of Hana’s forearm, but he doesn’t.

“That’s - uh. Not nothing,” Bon points out. “I mean. I should clean this. And you might want a bandage.”

Hana shakes his head with an assuring smile. “It’s fine!”

“I am no longer suggesting.” He drags Hana by the arm to the kitchen. “Clean it under the sink.”

While Hana cleans the blood from his arm, Bon grabs the first aid kit from the cupboard under his kitchen sink.

"Is Hana okay?" Baby asks, creeping into the doorway. For a moment Bon questions how she got up without disturbing the cat, wondering when she woke, but then he sees said cat over her shoulder, sleeping. How the fuck?

"I'm fine, Baby," Hana assures.

"I've been meaning to ask actually - does your dad have a history of lying?" Bon asks Baby. Hana pouts at him, but Baby nods, and then he pouts at her instead. “Who knows where that chicken’s nasty feet have been,” he says, taking out a roll of bandages - a bandaid wouldn’t cut it - and a sterile wipe.

He gestures for Hana to hop up on the counter and give him his arm. Hana has this look on his face as if he’s worried he’s burdening Bonic, as if he’s not literally fucking bleeding. “I should have expected this,” Bon says, cleaning the wound. “She’s a little shit.” He can feel Hana’s gaze on his head, can feel a slight puff of breath ruffle his hair. Hana's skin is warm under his own.

“No, it’s fine - don’t worry about it, Bon. She’s a feisty one.”

Bon huffs. “Yeah.”

He wraps a bandage around Hana’s arm - it might be a bit overkill for the wound it is, but at least Hana won’t bleed all over everything.

“Thank you,” Hana says softly.

Bon raises his head to catch Hana’s eye, and quickly looks away because the look on his face is so unreasonably sincere and… almost fond? And he has no right to be when this is the second time they’ve met.

“No problem,” Bon rasps.

He lingers for a moment, by accident, still holding Hana’s arm in his scarred hands.

“Are you okay now?" Baby asks suddenly, making Bon drop Hana’s arm and clears his throat. She no longer has Hazzy, suggesting she woke up at some point and left.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Hana says. He hops off the counter and picks her up with a playful roar. She giggles brightly. "See?" he says, propping her on his hip. "Good enough to pick you up."

Bon smiles at them as they head back into the living room before he starts tidying up. When he gets back into the living room, Baby crowds him.

“We’re going home,” she says bluntly.

He blinks. “Right.” He looks to Hana who’s trying to get Baby’s attention. “I’ll- uh- show you out.”

Baby takes Hana’s hand and they walk out.

Hana’s helping Baby into the car when he stops, fixating on something towards where the sheep live. “Not to alarm you,” Hana says, “but you have another trespasser.”

Bon looks over. Ah.

“That’s uh- Yahuul. They visit sometimes.”

“And… and lift the sheep?”

“Yeah,” Bon sighs. Baby’s trying to climb on the car seat to look over the roof at Yahuul, so Hana just lifts her onto his shoulders. It makes her about as tall as Bon. “That’s how I first met them. I heard some rustling or whatever and went to check it out and… they were… y’know lifting my sheep. I don’t know why. Maybe they like… lift weights? But my sheep are the weights? Fuck knows. Anyway, I don’t care because they help out.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, they uh- they’re like my very own big and scary sheepdog. Except, y’know, they live out in the woods and I have to force them into sleeping on my couch when it gets cold.” He shrugs. Yahuul is weird, but that’s Yahuul. “You wanna meet them?”

Hana turns to Baby who is nodding emphatically.

“Sure.”

They head over to the sheep and upon seeing them, Yahuul meets them halfway. Despite the chilly weather, they aren't wearing much coverage - Bon wonders if they ever get truly cold. Maybe they developed thicker skin after living in the woods for who knows how long.

“Yahuul, Hana and Baby. Hana and Baby, Yahuul," Bon introduces.

Yahuul waves.

“Right. They’re mute. Or deaf.” He turns to Yahuul. “You never clarified.”

Yahuul shrugs, smiling.

Okay, then.

“You know sign?” Bon asks Hana.

“Yeah, I had… a- uh… a lot of spare time when I was younger.”

Yahuul signs, ‘You have sharp teeth.’

Hana laughs softly. “Thanks.”

“What did they say?” Baby asks, tugging Hana's hand. Yahuul crouches, looking to Bon.

They sign word by word as Bon translates each one.

Baby laughs. “So do I!” she says proudly showing off her chompers.

Yahuul’s ever present smile changes just the slightest bit, upturning a little more at the corners. Then, they stand, wave and leave without another word.

“Strange person,” Hana says.

Bon shrugs. “You have red hair and shark teeth.”

“Good point.”

-

To say Hana inserts himself into Bon’s life, while not entirely accurate, is partly true; he does do this, but also Bonic allows him. He allows Hana to come over every few days - the times in between getting shorter and shorter each week - and he allows Hana into this space, this safe haven he’s made for himself. Hazzy's leg has long been healed up, and there's no longer a reason for them to visit. But as Bon watches Hana drop down on the couch, throwing his legs over Bon’s, Bon realises this has always been so much more than wanting to see a fucking cat, at least for Hana - Baby was definitely in it for the cat. But today Hana is alone - it's Baby's first day of school.

“It’s weird with her not in the house,” Hana tells him.

“It’s been an hour, hasn’t it?” Bon points out, deciding in his head what to do with his hands. Hana is so free with his affection, it seems so easy for him to ruffle Baby’s hair, to lead Bon somewhere with a hand on his elbow or at his lower back.

Hana pouts. “Yeah…”

“And doesn’t her school day last for like… four hours?”

“Five,” Hana says as if it makes all the difference. “But yeah, basically.”

Bon can’t help his grin or the fond feeling that creeps up his chest. He shakes his head, laughing at Hana. Hana smiles right back at him, a laugh tinting his question of, “What? I- You’re not allowed to make fun of me!”

“‘M not making fun,” Bon says. “I get it- she’s- she’s your baby.”

“She is.” Hana agrees, leaning closer to rest a hand on Bon’s bare thigh. He knows Hana’s saying something else, something he should definitely be listening to, but it’s hard to concentrate on the words when, suddenly, all he can think of is every place they’re touching, the warmth of skin against skin. He can’t entirely feel it due to the thick scar tissue across his body, can’t feel it like he knows Hana can, but the weight, the pressure - it’s nice. Cozy. “Uh- sorry,” Hana laughs nervously. “I’m rambling, I just- I appreciate your company. It’s a bit lonely sometimes.”

“Yeah- yeah, I haven’t… seen another person apart from Yahuul, Tera and Aoife since… maybe since I moved here.”

Hana goes wide eyed. “When did you move here?”

Bon sucks in a breath, thinking. “Uh… five-? Five years ago?” He shrugs. It’s probably longer, he doesn’t have the best concept of time here. It was a blur, moving out here, a hasty but planned escape from a bad situation; he doesn’t like to think about it- it’s in the past. “Why did you move out here? Not exactly the most fun place for a kid.”

Hana smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “People didn’t like me. Or Baby when she came along.”

Bon makes a questioning tone.

“They were… scared of me, I think. I never really caught the 'why' of it, but I suppose… well, you know,” he says, gesturing to himself. Bon takes a good long moment to really look at him, but all he gets from it is, oh, oh he is really handsome. Freckles, a soft jaw, a nice nose, handsome scruff… a cute blush colouring his cheeks.

Bon shakes his head. "I don't know."

Hana makes this face as if it’s inconceivable that Bon doesn’t understand. “My teeth?” he says. “My hair? My-” he chuckles bitterly. “I never left my house, I had to teach myself how to read and speak the language - I- They all thought I was a freak. And then Baby came along and she was just like me and… I couldn’t let her grow up there. They called her names while she was still barely six months old, thought she was… cursed, or something.” He shrugs, rubbing his stubble. “I figured we’d be better off elsewhere. Without people. I think I might have made it worse, though, I mean- I was so scared of her getting hurt that I isolated her.”

“‘S that why you put her in school?”

“Mm. And I can’t homeschool her- it wasn’t a fun experience for me. I still pronounce some words wrong.”

“I noticed,” Bon says. “That’s really shitty - what happened to you two. You didn't deserve that."

Hana smiles. "I know. You are the first person to tell me that. I just hope Baby doesn't remember it. One time… when she was two, we went to the market and she…" Hana shakes his head. "She's just a fucking kid. She didn't deserve any of it."

Bon rubs Hana’s ankle with his thumb, squeezes it reassuringly.

-

Those years ago, when Bonic was planning to move out here, he knew the cons to isolation outweighed the pros, but he’d gone through with it anyway because at that time it was his best option- he still believes it is. And now that Hana is around almost daily, Bon is realising just how detrimental cutting himself off from society was; mentally, he’s a lot happier, lighter with Hana around. He had, and still has, Yahuul and Teraat and he enjoys their company when he gets it, but Hana is… he brings something else to Bon’s life. At first Bon was reluctant to admit it, but what he feels for Hana may not be strictly platonic.

It's not as if he's in love with Hana, but there's definitely… something akin to it. Maybe he's just in denial, though.

It's just that when he sees Hana playing with Hazzy, he gets this wave of fondness roll over him. And when he laughs at a joke, Bon wants to do anything he can to make him laugh again. And he can't stop thinking about Baby saying that Hana said he was pretty. He'll be watching Hana pet Bonnie, or Cow, or he'll be lying amongst the sheep, playing with Baby and Bon will wonder how this man, this gorgeous, embodiment of the sun thinks Bon is pretty. Bonic's just… Bonic.

And- fuck, the nickname Hana's given him, the name that Bonic has adopted for himself, Bon. How fucking cutesy is that? Fucking Bon… Is that really how Hana sees him?

But things are good, lately. Hana and Baby are good company and it’s hard to believe that they’d only just met just a few months ago. They visit regularly. By the time Hana and Baby come over, Bon's finished all the important chores, but ever since he'd moved out here Bon has taken up baking, so sometimes he'll leave the eggs for Baby to collect and he'll help her crack them while they make whatever baked good they decide on that day. And Hana always insists on helping Bon harvest herbs or fruits and veggies; Bon always gives him a cut to take home.

Things are so good that it catches him off-guard when he wakes up one morning with a scream in his throat.

He sits up abruptly and clutches his arms, his face. He's fine, he tells his racing heart. That was a long time ago now, he's all healed up. Mostly. Bon thought he was done with this, with the nightmares, but clearly not.

He lies back down, curls up into himself, and breathes deeply. His memories of it all are always so prominent in his mind, always creeping in the background, when he has these dreams, and Bon knows already his day is ruined - that's how it always is. He knows that all day he will be thinking about the smell of burnt flesh and hair, the months spent in hospital, and the slowly diminishing number of people visiting him. One day they all stopped altogether, all except for Teraat. The pain, he knows it was excruciating, the worst he's ever felt, but he doesn't remember it as much as the despair, the depression, the isolation. It's at the forefront of his mind now, and he knows he has responsibilities to attend to, animals to feed, crops to check, but the thought of it all is so overwhelming. So he stays in bed.

At some point, he does manage to get up, manages to convince himself to at least have a shit day on the couch rather than waste away in his bed. Yahuul drops by at around nine, not caring to knock before barging in with crossed arms and a face that could be concern, could be a grimace.

‘You haven’t fed the chickens,’ they sign.

“Haven’t done anything,” Bon mumbles.

Yahuul puts their hands on their hips and huffs a breath. ‘I’ll do it,’ they sign. Bon hums in thanks, and turns over to face the couch. Maybe he’ll sleep. He hears a knock on the wall, and he turns his head. Yahuul’s standing by the front door with a subtly pinched expression.

‘Feel better,’ they sign, and promptly leave.

Just the words make something shift in him, and he does feel a bit better.

He sleeps, and wakes again after an undetermined amount of time to Hana at his door. He, unlike Yahuul, does knock before entering. Bon doesn’t bother to straighten himself up, knowing that Hana won’t mind.

“Hey,” Hana greets, his voice soft and his expression concerned. He's got Hazzy with him, bundled in one arm. “I saw Yahuul- they said you were having a bad day?”

Bon groans, rubbing his eyes. “Can’t a man have a shit day in peace?”

Hana frowns. “Unfortunately no, because you can’t do this all day.”

“I can, and I have.”

Hana approaches the couch with a huff and lifts Bon’s outstretched legs to sit under them, letting Hazzy jump from his arms and right onto Bon's belly.

"Oof," he wheezes, petting the cat.

Hana rubs his big hand over Bon’s leg, thumbing under his knee, as if the huge scar isn't there.

“Do you want to talk about it?"

“No."

“Do you want me to talk?”

“I want…” He feels his face flush at the idea, and he grimaces, turning away.

“Bon?” Hana frowns.

Bon covers his face with his hands, lets out a long groan and says, “to fucking… cuddle,” like he’s allergic to the word. And Hana laughs so softly, so fondly, Bon can’t handle it.

“Yeah,” Hana says, so easily, “of course. Come here.”

Bon uncovers his face, seeing Hana’s arms outstretched for him. Bon gets up, lets himself be pulled into Hana’s embrace. He lets Hana pretty much manhandle him, not having the energy to do anything against it, and he ends up with his head resting on Hana’s firm chest with Hana’s hands, heavy and grounding on his back. Hazzy had slinked around them and is resting by Hana's feet.

“This okay?” Hana asks quietly.

Bon nods, melting into him. His body goes limp and he has to stop himself from burrowing into Hana’s chest. It’s been a very long time since he was held like this, with a solid, warm body beneath him and a hand in his hair. It’s overwhelming, the way Hana is so gentle with him. Bon huffs wetly, hiding his face in Hana’s soft jumper.

“Bon? What’s wrong?”

Bon shakes his head, not trusting his voice.

Hana noses his hair. “It’s okay,” he whispers. “Sometimes… we get a little too overwhelmed. You’re no different.”

They lie there for a while, Hana rubbing Bon’s back as he silently cries into his shirt. It’s fucking embarrasing really, but Hana doesn’t seem to mind. He's good like that; he's patient and kind and sweet and so overwhelmingly good and Bon doesn't deserve him. Bon sniffs and wipes his face, muttering an apology.

“Don’t,” Hana chides softly. “It’s okay.”

“I-” Bon clears his throat. “When I was younger I used to- I craved affection more than anything. When I got- when I got burned up I couldn’t handle touch. It’s not like anyone wanted to anyway so it was- fine. But I get this… this tingly feeling in my skin, as if…”

“As if it’s craving it.”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t hesitate next time you want this, I don’t mind. I like cuddling with you.”

“I like being with you," Bon admits. "I don't feel like a freak when I'm with you."

"You're not a freak."

"I'm not not a freak."

"Is this what's bothering you today?"

"I get these… stupid nightmares. Reminds me that everyone who loved me or even just liked me left me after this" - he gestures to his face - "Everyone says they're there for you, but no one has the capacity to be there when you're having a fucking breakdown in the bathroom because everything hurts and you don't…" - he clears his throat, shaking his head. "I used to be- y'know, cared about, and now no one does."

"I care for you," Hana murmurs. "Tera cares for you, so does Aoife, I can tell. And Baby really likes you. The people who left you when you were hurting don't deserve you, and you don't deserve them. You deserve good things. Good friends.”

“I have good friends,” Bon says.

“And we’re not going anywhere."

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I like you," Hana whispers. Then, after a moment, "Might even love you." Bon tilts his head up to look at him, only to see him looking right back. Part of him itches at it, being seen like this, but he can't help his heart picking up its pace in anticipation. He can feel Hana's beating just as much.

"Don't joke with me," he says, pulling away.

“I would never.”

“You mean it?”

Hana bites his cheek. "Yeah."

"Like- really?”

Hana laughs softly. "Yeah."

Bon flushes, embarrassed. "It's just- no one ever really means it, y'know? I mean my own fucking" - he shakes his head - "I just- It's hard to trust it."

"You trust me, don't you?"

"Without a doubt," he says immediately.

"Then trust me."

"What the fuck does 'might' love me mean?"

Hana barks a laugh. "I don't know! I- You know!"

Bon's face splits into a grin and he laughs with him. "How the fuck would I know?"

"Have you ever felt like… I've only known you for a few months, but I feel like it's been years. And - And you're such a sweet man, and I- I'd do anything for you. To keep you happy, to-"

His words are cut short into a little surprised sound as Bon kisses him, but then he kisses back and brings a hand up to cup his cheek and Bon can't stop the words on his tongue.

"I'd do anything for you," he whispers against Hana's lips.

Hana grins. "Would you kiss me again?"

Bon does. Again and again and again.

"Does this mean you 'might' love me too?"

"Yeah."

Hana presses kisses to his cheek, his nose, his forehead, making Bon giggle quietly the whole time. He doesn't know how to handle this - it's all so much. He hasn't been loved like this in so fucking long and-

Hana's gaze trails to the window.

"What?"

"I think I just saw Cow."

Bon groans petulantly. "I should never have gotten those fucking chickens."

Hana laughs and kisses him again. “Come on, let’s save your strawberries.”

#kings of sorts #KOSbirthdayBash #kos #luxeberriesfics