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goldenstring6123 · 9 months ago

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Lnds: Reconciliation

Warning: Still a bit angst-y. no teeth-rotting fluff. lots of drama.

Author's note: Please read "Lnds: Fighting with them" first before reading this one.

Zayne:

Well, most of the problems have been resolved already when you have heart-to-heart talks with him in his office. Although it was inevitable that you would shed a tear of frustration, Zayne would never let you go to sleep with a heavy heart.

Despite being mentally exhausted from your work and your fight, his genuine kindness will never flicker, especially towards you. When he gets home, his first instinct is to find you and check on your state—sure, you've resolved the issue through the conversation. Still, he isn't naive to think that lingering afterthoughts of the fight won't weigh your heart down.

Zayne loves you, and albeit he can't say it directly, he'd show it to you instead.

When he finds you, you are most likely lost in your thoughts, reflecting or distracting yourself in one way or another, but it will almost always be the same scenario: you will be sitting out in the garden in your nightwear.

Zayne would place his bag down and head to the kitchen to brew your favorite warm drink, doubling the amount of sweetened cocoa powder. It's not healthy to drink, but it was okay once in a while. You could hear the clinking of the teaspoon hitting the mug, and shortly after, Zayne was behind you, draping a knitted shawl over your shoulders.

He would hand you the drink and simply sit beside you in silence. He wasn't on his phone and dared not speak, letting only the chilly air envelop you both.

It wasn't awkward; there was no tension. Just silence.

And a little warmth as his hands clasped onto yours, his thumb grazing your palm.

That moment made you think that whatever you fought about felt trivial and tiny.

"I'm sorry for getting mad," you tell him lightly. "Thank you for the drink."

Zayne had said his sorries, and he didn't really need to hear one from you, but nonetheless, you were heard. He felt your head rest on his shoulders, and together, you basked under the full moon.

Xavier:

Xavier was looking for you. He went to the office and to that small hidden field, searching for an inkling of your presence. He didn't know what he would do once he managed to find you, but it was the last thought in his mind.

You weren't in your apartment, and it had already been 24 hours. Xavier waited patiently in silence, reflecting on your fight. A phantom of pain from you slapping him amplified the fear in your face, sending an ache through his heart.

He shouldn't have done that. He didn't know why. You never had the habit of running away during a fight, so he was unsure why he was unconsciously pressing you against the wall. Xavier is more than aware that his strength is incomparable to yours. You would, quite frankly, stand no chance if he used force, but that was precisely the point; he had no reason to use it.

He wanted to apologize to you, and he wanted you to reprimand him. He could take another hit from you, but what he can never accept is seeing that frightened, cornered look on your face.

You arrived pretty late into the night, and he was still there on your sofa, patiently waiting for you, almost like a little puppy. You spared him a few seconds of your glance but turned away soon after, taking off your coat, dropping your bag, and heading to the bedroom to speak.

You lay in your bed, facing away from the door because you knew too well that he would come in after you. Even then, you didn't lock the door. Xavier looked more than dejected when you didn't speak to him. You kept your position and closed your eyes shut.

Quietly, the silver-haired man made his way to your bedroom, peeking before carefully entering and lying beside you. Lightly, he clutched onto the hem of your shirt. "I want to apologize," his voice cracked a little, almost making it seem he was on the verge of tears.

"I don't like it when you corner me," you told him.

He scooted closer. "I know, I'm sorry. I won't do it again. I promise."

"I don't like it when you don't listen to my side of the story."

"I'll listen to your side next time," Xavier said, his voice faint yet closer.

It was the perfect time to let go of your anger. You never really talked about his habit when you fight, and you were partly at fault for tolerating it, hoping he would just listen one day. But how would Xavier change something when he didn't know how it affected you so much?

You rolled over to finally face him, his eyes going wide. You stroked his cheek, the side which you slapped the day before. "I shouldn't have slapped you. I'm sorry." Luckily, you didn't hit him too hard; otherwise, the ring on your finger would've cut his face.

Relieved that you had forgiven him, Xavier grabbed the hand that stroked his cheek. He closed his eyes and basked in your warmth. "Don't be. I scared you, and I deserved that." It was a quiet moment for you. Neither of you really knew what you had to say to each other. All was forgiven, and what awaits is simply the both of you fulfilling the end of your promises.

To fill in the silence, Xavier scooted closer and closer, kissing the exposed part of your collarbone shortly after, burying his face in your chest. You smell like coffee, he thought, but rather than stir him awake, it lulled him to sleep.

It didn't take long for him to snooze off to dreamland; after all, he waited for you for a day, not once sleeping in the hopes that he could see you face to face.

Rafayel:

In this relationship, you're almost always the one who needs to go after him, coddle him like an infant, and practically mend the entire relationship. Almost.

On rare occasions, Rafayel would apologize. That was the case for that big fight between you two. You had gone no-contact, leaving him on read most of the time. You avoided the place where you could likely find him wandering about; after all, it was him who should be going after you in this fight. You didn't owe him anything.

You ended up on the sandy shore of the bay, watching the tides threaten to soil your shoe, only to retreat and slither back into the sea. The cold air brought with it the salty scent of the ocean water, bringing a slight comfort to your nose.

The roughness of the waters masked the crunching sounds of Rafayel's footsteps; only then did you notice his presence when those familiar, gentle arms circled around the dip of your waist.

Silence.

"I was looking for you," he uttered under his breath.

"Why?"

"To apologize."

"Do you even know what you're apologizing for?" That came out of your lips monotonously, yet it struck every fiber of Rafayel's being.

"I said too much. I was mad, and so were you, but that's not an excuse to insult you and your feelings." To Rafayel, the waves were ready to swallow him whole. Like a poor little crab, unable to run away from the sea. "I was wrong for doing that, and I was wrong for shutting you out."

The apology wasn't enough. It was sincere, but it wasn't enough. "You can't keep doing that to me, Raf. You don't even get to give me a chance to speak." You pried away the hands that tried to bring you comfort. "You curse at me, you insult everything about me, and then kick me out like I'm just a major problem you can toss aside."

You could see your lover bite his lip. Anxious.

You love Rafayel, and there's nothing that can change that, and even if you were the one running after him during your fights, he fails to comprehend that you get tired, too.

"I'm an adult," you started. "We both are, Rafayel. But when we fight, why do you belittle me so much? Do you really think that low of me? Do you think you can push me around and make me follow all of your emotional whims?"

"No!" Rafayel exclaimed, in disbelief that your thought process had led you to say what you said. "I was mad. I didn't mean anything that I sai—"

"Then treat me right, Rafayel. Is that so hard to do? Is it really complicated to just…talk? Is it so hard to just sit down on your couch and listen to me?" You kept your lips shut, eyes staring at him without much thought. The usual cheery tone of your voice, nowhere in sight, in its wake, exhaustion. "I can only do so much for you, and I'm growing tired the more you do this to me—I get tired as well, Rafayel. You need to realize that."

The poor man didn't know what to say. Your words invaded his head, ridding it of any thought. They hurt. They stung at his heart. His fingers raised to lightly pull the hem of your sleeve, eyes meeting yours, glossy and flickering with fear; with hesitation, he asked: "Are you…breaking up with me?"

"I love you too much to break up with you." You took his cold hands. "I want to make us work. So help me. I can't do this alone." You tell him.

Your fingers were tiny against his own, yet they belonged in the in-betweens. You closed them and placed a kiss on the back of his palm.

He pulled you into an embrace, tightly, like the world was about to end in a matter of seconds.

He was cold, but his hug was warm. "I promise I'll work on myself. I don't want to hurt you again, and I don't want you to get tired of me." Rafayel whispered in your ear. "So don't give up on me. I'll change…"

The spare hand that hung on your hand gradually crept up his back, finding its usual place between Rafayel's shoulder blades. You rubbed small circles, the only comfort you could provide despite your exhaustion.

"I'll hold you to your word." You pressed a kiss on his cheek. As you did, you realized something you didn't a few minutes before.

Rafayel's exposed neck, his thin clothing, and his sandals didn't cover his whole feet. In the cold seaside, Rafayel looked like a madman wearing an indoor outfit, as if he had just walked out of his home without much thought. No wonder why he was so cold. He was shivering both at the thought of you nearly breaking up with him and because of the chilly mists of water hitting his way.

You unrolled the cotton scarf that warmed your neck, wrapping it around him instead. "Let's head home, I don't want you getting sick."

He quietly complied, pulling away from you but keeping your hand locked with his.

Sylus:

The same things happen again and again; it makes you feel numb. Empty.

There was no difference when you woke up alone or when you woke up in his embrace. Not when you were fighting.

Not tonight.

Sylus was awake. You couldn't see him due to the sheer darkness of his room, but he was there, his thumb brushing against your nape while a leg crossed over yours. You stared off into the corner of the room, wondering who was going to speak first.

"We're not breaking up, sweetie." It was more of a demand rather than a statement.

"We won't," two can play at his game. "If you apologize." Nobody would want to be abandoned and left hanging for a month. Especially not you.

You mustered the strength to push yourself up, expecting a bit of restraint from your lover—to your surprise, he let you stand up.

"Apologize for what, exactly? It was you who decided to test my patience. You were the one who cursed at me, calling me names and even throwing things in my way, so pray-tell, sweetie, what do I have to apologize for?" He stared at you, his gaze unfaltering and intense.

"I'm sorry," you stood your ground, yet the apology was long due. "I don't remember what we fought about, but I apologize. For cursing at you, for throwing things in your face. That won't happen again."

A lengthy breath escaped his lips, sounding unsatisfied with your seemingly half-hearted and shallow apology. Sylus wouldn't want to admit it to you, but he doesn't even know why he was mad; all Sylus knew that evening was that he was overcome with too much anger, one that he would usually release through violence. But it involved you. He doesn't want to hurt you or lay a hand on you, so the best option he has is to get away.

He didn't know for how long he should be gone, and in the blink of an eye, a full month had passed.

His anger had long been gone the same time as your loneliness began to fester.

As simple as the apology sounded, it was more than enough for him. "You're forgiven. Don't do that to me ever again."

The man stood up, and you watched his figure as he strode closer to you. He could see the look in your eyes, the anguish mixed with despair, and as he was about to pull you into a hug, a reverberating slap echoed in his room.

The back of his hand stung. And so did your palm.

"You're not going to touch me until you apologize, too, Sylus." Your throat burned at your own words. Your feet felt like they were buried half an inch into the floor, preventing you from running away. He looked down at you, low-lidded eyes devoid of any life.

"Why should I?"

You wanted to laugh at his crap.

"Why is it that you demand compensation every time I leave you on read for more than 3 days? Why do I have to explain where I've been, who I was with, and why I was gone while you—" A bitter laugh bloomed out of your mouth, "While you come here and not even offer a single bit of an explanation nor an apology?"

Sylus offers nothing in exchange for your words. He avoided you, that he can't deny. He used his work as an excuse to bury you at the back of his head and intentionally minimized your presence in his life.

"Hah," the ache at the back of your neck crept to the back of your head, nearly sending your head to throb all over. "You're unfair, Sylus. You're so goddamn unfair that…" You couldn't continue the words you wanted to say. It will only fan the flame in your heart and his.

"I just," the shiver in your breath snapped Sylus into reality. The feeling in your throat was uncomfortable. It was slowly becoming tangled, choking you of air. "I just want an apology from you, Sylus. Even just a small apology for abandoning me." And the fact that you had to beg him for it is just…

Sylus wrapped his hand around you, keeping your arms in place. You tried to break free from his grasp, but he held on to you tightly, not offering you a way out. Your face was smashed against his chest, and you could hear his heartbeat, pumping, beating all too fast.

"Forgive me," Sylus whispered. "There's no excuse for what I did."

His words were like the key to your eyes as tears began to cascade down your cheeks. There was no need for him to say anything else; it was enough for you. There was no strength left in you to reciprocate his hug, but you wanted to.

Sylus slipped his hand underneath your thighs and lifted you up. Carefully trudging to the bed, he laid you down in the same place you got up, tucking a blanket over you. He got on the bed as well, pulling you closer to his grasp.

"I'll make it up to you tomorrow." He stroked your cheek and placed a kiss on your eyes. "We can talk properly, and I'll apologize again," Sylus said. The same hand that touched your cheek slid down onto your shoulders, caressing it up and down.

The weariness began to settle in. The soft mattress and pillows and his warm touch.

It was getting harder and harder to keep your eyes open, and you didn't know why you were fighting the fatigue, but Sylus' promise helped you settle down.

He doesn't go back on his words and doesn't say things he doesn't mean. You hold him up to his words.

And quietly, you drift off to sleep.

Author footnotes: I changed the writing style to a somewhat story-telling format. I hope you guys don't mind.Layout by me, using canva premium | Do not repost |

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writingoddess1125 · 2 years ago

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You Give Them a Massage 💆‍♂️

Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Usopp, Nami, Buggy, Shanks, Mihawk.

Buy me a KO-FI

Luffy

Luffy while not exactly needing massages enjoys the physical affection.

You will focus on his spine as you gently knead his muscles into relaxation. Which usually turns into you kneading a soft rubbery feeling since he will relax so much it's like he turns into a toy.

"Are you stretching out?"

You question as you realize you've kneaded him into puddy. As well as praising the nice clean lemon scented lotions you used.

He will giggle at the feeling and eventually fall asleep at your touch.

"Your hands are sooo nice (Y/N)!'

Sanji

A massage for Sanji usually starts out as physical therapy for his legs since the muscles are so tight and locked up it causes him pain. Stretching him out leads to him usually Biting a Pillow and groaning in discomfort.

*Please watch for your viewing pleasure ;3

Once done with that you massages away. Focusing on his legs and thighs in order to get him relaxed. Using nice peach scented lotion to help him relax.

"Your hands are heavenly my dear~"

He will flirt with you while on the table but eventually just develope into groans of bliss.

Zoro

Zoro will be stubborn and not want a message at first. However fall into it when his shoulders are sore.

You have to use baby oil for him since his skin is very rough. You have to use a lot of strength to work out the knots in his shoulders, having felt stones that were softer.

"This is ridiculous, I don't see... ohh"

Once you hit that point that has been hurting him he will fall under your spell. Humming in gentle delight as you work out the sorness and tension from his shoulders.

He will fall asleep, snoring rathed loudly as you smooth out his shoulders.

"That was.. very very nice"

Usopp

Usopp will be down for a massage, especially since all his maintenance om the ship make his arms sore.

At first talking your ear off about fake stories as you worked, using different mango lotions on his hands to make them soft.

"You know, I traveled to this island once that had beautiful mermaids, they were all over.. over oh that feels nice"

Will eventually fall into a dreamy like state as he will mumble gentle praise as you work up and down his arms.

"That was so nice (Y/N) thank you"

Nami

Oh poor Nami- Her lower back is always a problem for her! So when you offer a massage she jumps at the opportunity.

You work at the very strong tension on her lower back and help ease the ache. Using nice orange scented lotion for her to add a bit of aroma therapy to the room.

"Gods that's so nice... ugh having boobs suck-"

She will grumble earning some nice chuckles out of both of you. Casual conversation will take place between the two of you as you work, but at the end silence will win over as she's too relaxes to speak.

"Thank you (Y/N) you're a life saver~"

Buggy

Buggy never talks about how sometimes his joints ache after using his devil fruit. Mainly his neck if he detaches his head for long periods of time.

Will throw a mini temper tantrum as you tell him to get on the table, which he does even if he makes a fuss.

Once you start this man is all moans and whimpers. Feeling you work the muscles in his neck into relaxation.

"Fucckkkk" He will moan and pretty much fall apart under your skilled hands. The nice strawberry lotion filling the room which makes him even more complient and relaxed. Defiently the type to get 'excited' during a massage as well.

"Well.. maybe we can do this again?"

Shanks

Shanks will be open to a massage, however it takes him a while to actually relax.

You focus on his shoulders and side of his body. Especially the one with his missing arm, He does get phantom pains and were the muscles are suppose to connect on his missing arm sometimes clench at the pack of stimulation. So you have to carefully work those muscles with your fingers and travel up to his shoulders and side of his body.

"...Thank you (Y/N)"

He will sigh out, feeling the ache in his arm fade from your fingers as the cucumber lotion helps him relax. Will try and crack a few jokes with you here and there but will eventually relax enough to allow silence.

"It's been a while since I've felt this nice, Thank you again"

Mihawk

When Mihawk finally allows you to give him a massage after pestering him for a while you see why- It's like his entire back is made of cobblestone- You question how he gets any sleep with this much tension!

It takes a good hour just to work out the knots before you can even begin to give him a proper massage. He will grunt only at the nice feeling of you working his muscles into submission, the Eucalyptus lotion helping his mind fade into tranquil bliss as you work.

Mihawk is dead silent the while time you work, enjoying the peaceful silence as you get him to relax and ease the pain in his entire back.

Once finishes you are close to exhaustion.

"Thank you deeply (Y/N)"

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litloverscorsetlaces · 25 days ago

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Phantom Acting Choices That Live in My Head Rent Free (Part 2)

The way Hugh Panaro says "sing for me" during the title song. Extra emphasis on the ME, like this man knows Christine doesn't sing for anyone else like this--especially not that insolent boy.

Tim Martin Gleason's emotionally regulating self-hug.

David Shannon plays the Phantom like his skull exposure is actually vulnerable/causes him chronic pain.

Earl Carpenter directs tf out of Christine's voice during the title song in his '06 run. Gospel choir director energy, but make it sex.

Phantoms kneeling during the Don Juan AIAOY reprise. (Looking at you David Thaxton and Hugh P.)

Every acting decision Gina Beck makes in the final lair.

There's a boot (I think 1995?) where Davis Gaines pauses after he says "this is the choice" and he actually realizes he's gone off the deep end and "this is the point of no return" fr.

Michael Nicholson's deranged laugh turned sob. So sad, so disturbed.

Gary Mauer says like 4-5 ily's in the final lair like he can't stop now that he's uttered it aloud. And the more the merrier imo lol.

#phantom of the opera #andrew lloyd webber #poto musical #hugh panaro #tim martin gleason #TMG #david shannon #earl carpenter #david thaxton #Gina Beck #Davis Gaines #Michael Nicholson #gary mauer

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vole-mon-amour · 4 months ago

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After everything that has happened to Johnny, his body autonomy is such a huge and interesting topic for me. It should be WAY more present in the game.

In Phantom Liberty, they barely touched the surface of his military trauma and other traumatic events throughout his life, let alone Johnny losing his human arm and getting a prosthetic that sent him over the edge with cyberpsychosis and a messed up, traumatized psyche (as if it wasn't bad enough before that).

Cyberpunk 2077 is already such a great game, but it could have been an absolute masterpiece if they let us get through to Johnny and his trauma. V tells him he's a softie and Johnny replies with a "fuck you"—because how many people have been kind to him before that, really? How many people tried to genuinely understand him, especially since he pushed them away over and over again?

The game should have allowed the player to push through his "fuck you" that is actually a defensive mechanism, his awkwardness at being seen and exposed to those human feelings. The game should have allowed the player to help Johnny, to "Don't bullshit me, Johnny, I'm here for you whether you like it or not. Don't want me? Let's go talk to Kerry. Rogue is also an option, y'know?" (And judging by the way Johnny acts during a date with Rogue, and by him telling Rogue about V's death, Johnny still trusts Rogue enough and is, to a point, ready to be vulnerable and truthful with her.)

I mean, I'm sure Johnny and Kerry had many heart-to-heart conversations, but Johnny still built up a wall and pushed people away, even Kerry (his best friend, mind you).

And after the war? Drugs, alcohol, anything to drown the pain. The way he used sex to manipulate and to cope while he was also disassociating? I mean, he already has an arm he hates, that is still a foreign object, why not use his body, too?

You've heard this from me before and you'll hear this again: Johnny Silverhand deserved better. The Temperance ending remains the best canonical ending for me—he gets that second chance at life, to heal, to live. Even though he has to live in V's body, has to get used to it and that there's no V anymore, that the body fully belongs to him now. There's another question of body autonomy because Johnny's consciousness/the Relic overwrote itself on V's psyche, so technically he stole the body and killed V without meaning to. But then again, it was V's choice to give Johnny the body. It was V's choice to tell Johnny, "Don't fuck this up. Heal. Live for me to the fullest."

And so he tries, with his immense guilt and grief. He genuinely tries, otherwise V's sacrifice was for nothing. Otherwise it was only a waste.

Of course, in my head V is alive. Johnny gets his body back, his rehab, his healing—because's Johnny's actual body is so tired, is so used to every kind of poison, he NEEDS time to heal. It's going to be a process. It's going to take years. But it's important for him to get help.

But that's not canon. Canon is that Johnny is suffering all the fucking time, lying to himself that he's good, and then during events of Phantom Liberty and any kind of heart-to-heart with V it overwhelms him to the point of him holding back tears.

"I was totally ok with that, until now."

Yeah. Sure you were, darling.

Anyway. Body autonomy for Johnny Silverhand 2k25.

#cyberpunk 2077 #cb2077 #johnny silverhand #kerry eurodyne #phantom liberty #long post #natiswriting #meta #cyberpunk 2077 meta #this was supposed to be a short post but oh well #they have my heart #silverv #I guess?#even though I'm not that big of a fan bc I'll always choose Kerry for Johnny over V

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yet-another-heathen · 7 months ago

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On the topic of realistic conditioning/deconditioning,

If the trigger is something whumpee wouldn't hear often when they're with caretaker but whumpee still wants to break it because they might hear it elsewhere (like kneel being taken as a command)

Would whumpee ask caretaker to casually trigger them so they have the opportunity to challenge it in their own head and in a safe place? Would this be a good idea for recovery?

And of course being there with the praise everytime whumpee makes just a little bit of progress, or comfort when they don't.

Heads up, anon: your ask was an EXCEPTIONALLY good one, and I ended up writing another mini TED talk (~3-4 min read) in response. Thank you so much for sending it in!

...on Conditioned Whumpees - Part 3

[ Part 1 - Part 2 ]

That is a very, very good idea! You're spot on with all of it, particularly operating in a safe environment where whumpee is ultimately calling the shots. Having that comfort/support readily available will make a huge difference in how well whumpee can tackle the matter. And while the process isn't fun, approaching desensitization with this much intent is much, much more likely to result in success.

I can offer a few pointers that can add another few layers of realism, as well as some other things to think about while tailoring it to your story:

if whumpee is actively working through their conditioning in this way, memories of their trauma will become closer to the surface. As a result, all of their other PTSD symptoms will be elevated during the course of their practice sessions, as well as for at least a few weeks after.

flashbacks are a very common experience during times like this. engaging with triggers like this is going to cause their flashbacks to become more frequent and intense.

during such flashbacks, it is almost a given that whumpee's mind and body will enter a similar state to the one it was in during the time when the flashback was taking place. By that I mean that the fear they felt in that moment, where it was physically located in their body, will echo into their body in the present moment. Same goes for other all other emotions, and sometimes even phantom aches surrounding any injuries they received at the time...

while the emotions tend to be identical to the ones felt during the trauma, in my experience, the pain comes out distorted in a similar way to the way it does in dreams: less intense, and more "blurry" and imprecise in location. When we say that someone having a flashback is "reliving the moment", we mean that their body literally feels as though they're in the same immediate danger that it was in back then.

this is true even though they'll be aware to at least some degree that they're presently with caretaker and safe.

the flashbacks don't always happen immediately after the conditioning trigger is used. Often they flare up hours or days later, sometimes without warning, sometimes as a result of encountering a different flashback trigger. The whumpee's thresholds for what counts as a trigger will drop, which is part of what causes the flashbacks to happen more often. Something they could normally ignore is going to affect them much more while they're like this.

your whumpee is more likely to experience severe mood swings while in this heightened state. Especially feelings like irritability, frustration, anger, loneliness, and grief. This stuff ain't pretty, folks. Even your sweet cinnamon bun is most likely going to lash out at someone as a result.

PTSD episodes are also exhausting. your whumpee is going to feel mentally, physically, and emotionally drained. And, to add insult to injury, being tired amplifies the emotions listed above.

Now all of this said, your whumpee may or may not know that this is to be expected. If they've worked on processing their trauma before this, they'll have figured out that one often leads to the other. They'll go into the deconditioning practice knowing this is coming, and will approach it carefully, but with a fairly level head. Knowing that it'll suck, but they'll come out the other side okay.

If not, they're in for a rather nasty surprise.

For the latter, they will feel at first that the deconditioning practice is making everything worse. They're suddenly struggling the way they did when the trauma was fresher, and it can be tempting to stop and refuse to touch it again because the mental/emotional pain gets so intense.

If they do give up at this stage, it will make trying again far more daunting in the future.

But the trauma being stirred up is actually a sign that it's helping. It means that the whumpee is starting to process what happened to them, which is a fundamental step in being able to heal.

Note: All throughout the process, crying is a very good thing. It lets them physically get rid of a lot of the brain chemicals associated with these surges of emotion. Letting themselves cry over things they couldn't cry about back then can actually help them let go of those feelings in a similar way to if they'd been able to process them in the moment. [Which is the basis for much of EMDR, a specialized tool used in trauma therapy.]

Okay. So now we know what other effects can cascade from the actual deconditioning practice, now we have some things to consider.

First off, what time parameters are whumpee and caretaker working within while deconditioning? There are three basic options:

they sit down together and practice repeatedly using the trigger for [X amount of time; usually <45m at once] back to back. Once that time is up, caretaker will no longer use the trigger at all, the excercise will end, and they'll get up to do something else.

whumpee sets a specific window of time [X number of hours] within which caretaker will use the trigger word at random points. Once that time has elapsed, the exercise is over.

over the course of days, caretaker uses the trigger word at random points without giving warning. the excercise only stops after being ended by whumpee.

Now why is that important? Because of something called hypervigilance. It is another symptom of PTSD which, to put it into the simplest words, is whumpee waiting for the other shoe to drop. It's a heightened state of tension and wariness in which whumpee is expecting that something bad is going to happen, and is constantly searching for any sign to indicate when it's coming.

It is beyond exhausting.

Imagine knowing that someone is about to slap you as hard as they can, and you have to sit there with your eyes closed, waiting for it. The breath-holding, the flinchiness, the rigid tension in your body as you strain to listen for when they're coming.

Only now, stretch that moment out into hours. Days. Weeks. That is hypervigilance.

A hypervigilant whumpee is not going to be able to relax. Or rest. Or decompress. Or readily trust much of anything around them. They're MUCH more likely to flinch at sudden movements/sounds. They might start biting their nails or showing other signs of nervousness and distress.

These methods above have a gradually increasing chance of setting off whumpee's hypervigilance. If they know exactly when the next trigger is coming, as in example 1, then their 'waiting for it' tension will be low. But the more uncertain they become of exactly when it's going to happen, as in examples 2 & 3, the worse the hypervigilance is going to get.

The trade off is that the later examples are more effective in desensitizing them toward the trigger. The more their practice mimics encountering an unexpected trigger in day-to-day life, the easier it will be to fall back on that desensitization when the time comes.

Therefore, it would be a very good idea for a whumpee who's new to this to start with number 1, then gradually progress to 2 & 3 as time goes on. They should be the one to decide when the next step is made, and if/when they need to dial it back.

Other questions to ask yourself while plotting:

how mentally prepared is whumpee for worsening symptoms? what about caretaker? did either of them know it was coming?

how much of this heightened PTSD stress can your whumpee take before it becomes too much? how do they react when they do hit that tipping point?

if caretaker feels that whumpee is getting too distressed during practice even though they're not tapping out, would they call it off themself? Or would they ultimately leave that decision to whumpee?

based on the answer, how would whumpee feel about caretaker's decision? Relieved? Belittled? Betrayed?

does whumpee have any grounding tools they can use while practicing?

how does caretaker handle the mood swings and instability that come with whumpee's heightened PTSD? You should consider both their internal and external reactions on the matter.

how does whumpee prefer to decompress after a practice session? what things would help them calm down and recover?

how long do they need (hours or days) before the next attempt?

Even with all I've just written, there's far more to the resulting hightened state of PTSD than flashbacks and hypervigilance. PTSD symptoms that they're most likely to encounter in the background while doing deconditioning practice include:

Flinchiness, anxiety, panic attacks, nightmares, exhaustion, emotional mood swings, outbursts, crying spells, depression, executive dysfunction, dissociation, numbness, racing thoughts, freeze responses, tremors, inappetence, muscle tension, and heart palpitations.

Yes, usually many of them at once, even those that contradict. Your whumpee is going to have a LOT going on at once, and it is not going to be a fun time. I recommend looking up any of the above symptoms you don't recognize, and looking for whump inspiration in what you learn.

(Because everyone experiences PTSD episodes differently, there's a lot of wiggle room in which ones whumpee will encounter. Don't feel pressured to use all of them, find what you want to write and have fun with it!)

Thanks again for the incredible ask, anon. And again, I want to congratulate you on how spot-on your original ask was. You nailed it. I know this was a lot more than you asked for, but I hope this provides helpful context for your whump! My inbox will always be open if you think of anything more <3

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animeyanderelover · 4 months ago

Note

Hello! I hope you're having a good day! Can you write about the topic you wrote in this link for Muzan meruem chrollo and sukuna? Good afternoon!

The link being referred to is this one if anyone is curious.

Tw: Yandere themes, possessive behavior, obsession, controlling behavior, manipulation, blackmailing, isolation, violence

Tags: @jamayah @leveyani @chxxz @hyakki-yosai @shenryu-sama @maggiequinn59 @lovley-valentine7

S/o is a time and world traveler

Chrollo Lucilfer

📖An ardent reader of humanity, Chrollo takes an interest in you early on as he notices you during one of his stays in a city he plans to raid with his Phantom Troupe. There is information to be gathered from him and as he schemes and manipulates to achieve what he needs, you stumble upon him. New to town with wide eyes brimming with curiosity, the type of innocent that someone like him should stay away from. Yet somehow he is unable to shake the feeling off that to you there is more than meets the eye. It’s a suspicion he is unable to shake off as Chrollo has certainly a good read on humanity. So why does he feel like there is something special about you? With the time he still has left before the coup, Chrollo decides to indulge in his peaked interest and approaches you one day in town. Offering you to show you around the city works wonderfully to get you to open up to him as you accept his offer eagerly. The answers you give him are vague though, your true home a mystery. Chrollo always seeks answers though so the lack of information from your side only serves to fuel that urge to find out what it is that has his attention so stuck on you. Whatever it is you are keeping, he needs to find it out.

📖Initially it's his charm he uses in hopes of coaxing you into opening up to him. It has worked on a lot of unassuming people before yet on you it doesn't. It's hard to get you to open up and whilst others might find this infuriating, Chrollo finds himself enjoying the challenge. He's come to like you over the last few weeks that he has gotten to know you. Something within that innocent curiosity attracts him especially since it is coupled with an unusual amount of knowledge and wisdom that not many within your age possess. It is such an unusual combination as wisdom always comes with pain yet you have kept your liveliness alive nonthelesss. He wants to know how you have done this and why as well. As you don't respond to his attempts, Chrollo sees himself with no other choice but to use a Nen ability on you. He introduces you to his friends, all under disguise, and asks Pakunoda in particular to question you about your origins and use her powers to get the answers. Only for her to report back to him later on that she was unable to use her skills on you. Once again Chrollo finds himself denied of a knowledge he wishes to obtain yet the more it is kept away from him, the more he desires it, desires you.

📖Nen, the very ability that makes many people as fearful and strong as they are, doesn't touch you. After Pakunoda's report he decides to try to use some abilities out of his book to see if you respond to any of them yet he receives the same results as Pakunoda. Nen doesn't respond to you and you don't respond to Nen. The very power of this earth can't touch you mentally and in cases not even physically. This leads Chrollo after many hours of pondering to a theory that only ensures his further downfall into obsession. If Nen does not respond to you then perhaps that hints at the fact that you aren't from this world. An anomaly if he has to name it, something that shouldn't be within this world and yet still is. Answers have to be obtained and he has to resort to methods and substances that can and will work on you. He drugs you and restrains you, uses your inebriated mind to slowly and patiently pull all the answers out of you without putting a single scratch on you. He bemourns that he can't have a conversation with you at your fullest abilities but he fears that otherwise you might escape his grasp. Your ability is something he cannot steal so he has to find other ways to keep you by his side.

Meruem

👑For you it is a very unfortunate happening of being at the right place at the wrong time. Your plans originally only involved exploring the very kingdom where Meruem and the Chimera Ants have settled down yet you don't know about that until a few foot soldiers attack you. There is little to no choice for you but defend yourself though you do not kill them. Perhaps that was your one fatal mistake as they quickly report the accident to one of the royal servants who in return reports it to Meruem himself. The slight rousing of curiosity is not enough for him to take matters in his own hands though as he simply tells one of his servants to capture you and to deliver you to him as he may get stronger by eating you. All search is quickly solved as you decide to turn up right at the palace's doorsteps yourself. It's your curiosity of the species of the Chimera Ants that has led you to this place and you are immediately brought to Meruem. His boredom outweights his interest yet he decides to entertain you as he asks you to name a reason why he shouldn't behead you and devour you within the next second. What you offer him though in return for staying within this palace is knowledge. Knowledge which you have a lot of.

👑You bring with you complex board games which do not exist within this world as victories go back and forth between Meruem and you. Whenever he wins, there is no feeling of satisfaction as everything is always cutting too close for him to confidently believe that he is genuinely better than you. The conversations between the both of you prove to equally as entertaining as your answers are thought through and always deeply sophisticated. You do not shake whilst in his presence like normal humans nor are you as blindly loyal as his royal servants. Meruem finds himself appreciating this as he continues his conversations with you and keeps you alive whilst you get to find out more about his species. It's Shaiapouf who brings him the news of the weird discoveries that he has made whilst going through your stuff, his distrust for you too deep as he views you as a threat to the king. A part of Meruem wishes to kill the servant for that breach of orders but the information that Shaiapouf brings with him makes him still valuable enough. Diaries he has stolen from you and devices which do not exist within this world, maps of strange worlds and sketches of inhumane creatures.

👑Shaiapouf offers to use his Nen abilities on you to force you to talk but he is crashed through the next wall as he makes such a brazen suggestion to Meruem's face. Instead the king seeks you out himself to confront you about the things that he has found out just now. He wishes for transparency as he has given you the freedom to satiate your curiosity. It is only fair that he gets to do the same with his own interest. Surprisingly enough you do not protest much and decide to answer him all the question that he wishes to have answered. The answers you give him are as intriguing as they are worrying him. What you hold makes you worth more than treasure as your knowledge, powers as well as your immunity against Nen make you very strong. Yet Meruem realises that you have no intention to stay in this world where he exists forever as you plan to move on as soon as you have achieved what you came here for. A scenario which he cannot let happen as he has grown far too attached to you. A King needs a worthy partner by his side. You will be that person who will stand next to him as he conquers new territory. Meruem won't settle for anything less than you. You will be kept.

Kibutsuji Muzan

🩸Muzan's one fatal weakness is to underestimate humans. He seems himself as something above death, above humanity. After all he has almost reached the perfection that he wishes for yet it is a tiny life of a flower which he is missing in order to walk under the sun. For a millenium already he has been searching for the Spider Lily yet not a single demon that he has created has been able to deliver him the flowers. You happen to catch his attention through the talks of the people within the city he is currently residing within. You've just recently appeared within town and happen to have an interest for botany. With you you have brought exotic plants no one in Japan has seen before as you do not come from this country. Immediately you have Muzan's attention as with your arrival he suddenly sees a chance that you might have the very thing that he so desperately is searching for. He takes things into his own hands as he pays you a little visit under the disguise of being a human who wishes to get to know you, the new person in town. You happen to have opened a small shop selling flowers and trees. What he needs he doesn't find there yet he still asks you if you know where to find the Spider Lily.

🩸The brief flash of recognition within your face as he speaks the name almost elicits glee within him. So you do know. A good thing rarely comes without bad news though which is exactly what happens when you inform him that you do know where they grow but that they do not grow here. It's only natural for him to assume that you mean that they don't grow within Japan but another country, a hindrance that he believes he can conquer though. After all now he knows that what he is searching for exists. He wishes for your help as you are the expert yet you sense that there is something very malicious behind those red eyes and deny him. A fatal mistake which you would have paid dearly if you would have been just a normal human. You aren't though and as Muzan sends at night a demon out to capture you and deliver you to him, he finds out about that too. You possess abilities which he is not familiar with as you are no Demon Slayer. Is there another organisation out there with people who possess powers similar to you? Will they be a threat for him? It's always only about his own life yet all the answers he needs are within you and unfortunately he can't catch you.

🩸He breaks into your house after having ensured that you will be out at night as he lets some of his demons loose to keep you busy all whilst he goes through your stuff. By the time you return he has almost pieced the truth together. The moment you step inside he attacks you and knocks you out before you can try to do anything to escape into a dimension which he can't follow you to. Your obedience he cannot gain through the usual means but his answers he will get. He needs to have you. You are far too valuable to escape from his grasp. After all now he finally understands what you have meant. The Spider Lily grows in another dimension which you have already travelled too. All he needs is for you to take him with you to that dimension so that he can collect the cure needed for him to walk under the sun again and then he can finally reach the perfection that he has always desired. You are far from done even though. You are a limitless potential which Muzan can use for his own gain. You should be honored, you know? After all he intends to keep you alive and by his side as not a mere pawn but as a precious pet which he will cherish. After all biologically he can still transform you into a demon.

Ryomen Sukuna

🗾Truth be told, Sukuna and you know each other. As someone able to travel through not only dimensions but also to arrive in different dynasties it is unsurprising that you can appear over a millenium within the same world after having already visited during the reign of Sukuna's rule in the past. However, you are no prophet and for that you are not aware that the King of Curses has already spawned within the new time and age and is currently locked away within a boy named Itadori Yuji. You just happen to meet the boy during your trip through modern day Tokyo without any clue of what monster he is keeping within him for now. Whilst you don't see Sukuna though, Sukuna senses you whilst sealed away within the boy. It's almost nostalgic to know that you are still out there, one of two faces of a glorious time which has long passed. However, he is not as sentimental as to let himself get carried away by one very important fact. You shouldn't be alive anymore. It's been over a 1000 years since him and you have faced each other and as far as Sukuna knows you were nothing but a itty bitty human back then which he could have easily devoured. Things are about to get interesting, aren't they?

🗾He orders Uraume to keep an eye on you whilst he is plotting to break free. What he needs is a vessel and not a cage. As soon as he has found a new body strong enough to serve as a vessel for him he intends to find you and figure out how you are still alive and no day older than the last time that he has met you. Though you are still unaware of Sukuna, you sense that there is something watching you. Uraume is after all a tangible body within this world unlike many of the little and weak curses scattered throughout a city as large and densely populated as Tokyo. You are oblivious to the curses around you and they cannot latch on to you and feed from your emotions either as you are intangible to them. All of this nothing but observations that prove to fuel Sukuna's fascination the moment he has finally found a useful vessel in which he can reside in and have full control over. A grin spreads on his face as he listens to Uraume's report during the time they have observed you. It seems like there is more to you now than what he was able to see back in the days. It's time for a long overdue visit where the two of you catch up with each other. No lies, please. After all he is your oldest acquaintance.

🗾He's flattered to see that you haven't forgotten him either if your expression of mild terror is anything to go by. Sukuna makes himself comfortable within the place you are staying at as if he owns the place. The cocky grin doesn't leave his face once as he invites you to sit down and expresses his wish to merely talk with an old friend. You cautiously sit down after a few seconds as your curiosity ultimately wins you over as well as your own confidence that he won't be able to kill you as easily as he could have done when the both of you first met. After all you have gained a lot of experience and control since then. Something that Sukuna notices as well. You've matured in a lot of ways and he actually compliments you for it. Still, he has found out that there is a world of curses out there which you cannot perceive and you yourself aren't aware of it. That's the bait that he uses in order to get you to reveal to him how you can still be alive after all this time as he would kill any other sorcerer you might seek out in order to receive your answers. Oh, if he would have known about all of this a thousand years ago he would have taken you long ago. Perhaps he'll enjoy the challenge now that you're stronger and wiser though.

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delusionalbitchinthehouse · 1 year ago

Text

Hi, hello, Swiss being accidentally summoned at the same time as Cumulus and Cirrus. Swiss who didn't have a pack or mate in the pit. Swiss who trailed after the ghoulettes instead, not quite part of their pair as he kept his distance, but always somewhere not too far off. Swiss who tagged along during their hunts so that they may go after a bigger prey. Swiss who kept watch when the ghoulettes slept curled around eachother, standing tall a few feet away. Swiss who didn't want to impose his presence to such a close-knitted duo, not knowing that the ghoulettes were totally enamored with this lovely grinning ghoul who seemed to have taken upon himself to keep them safe. Swiss who only ever let the ghoulettes return the favor when he was in especially bad shape, too weak to protest. Swiss who clawed his way out of the pit right behind them, using the magic pulling at his air element, ableit more weakly than it did for the two air ghoulettes, because he couldn't phantom losing this semblance of a bond he had built with them. Swiss who thought about giving up halfway, the effort being far more exhausting and painful for a ghoul not directly targeted by the summoning. Swiss who was about to let go until Cumulus looked back, chirping at him encouragingly. Swiss who was halfway through the portal in the altar when it started closing off, stone becoming solid once more and threatening to crush him, only for the ghoulettes to each grab one of his arms and yank him out. Swiss who clung to them like a lifeline for a long moment, shaking with adrenaline and unsteady on his legs, wholly uncaring of the eyes on him and curious whispers filling the previous silence. Swiss who hid his face in Cirrus' shoulder as she and Cumulus hissed and craddled him between them protectively, making it clear that if they were to stay, so was Swiss. Swiss who in this moment, finally, finally let himself accept their affection. Swiss who to this day, even with a whole pack that loves and cherishes him, sometimes wakes up to a feeling of loneliness that only recedes once he's tucked in bed between Cirrus and Cumulus, purring as they hold their sweet boy.

#swiss ghoul #cumulus ghoulette #cirrus ghoulette #nameless ghouls #the band ghost

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callmeagardengnome · 9 months ago

Text

˚ʚ sore thumb ɞ˚ | CHOI SAN

pairings ᯓ idol!san x boxer! fem!reader

genre ᯓ soulmate au, one-shot

synopsis ᯓ tied by emotions and injuries, you and your soulmate have been through quite a roller coaster - especially when he can feel each and every punch you receive.

c.w ᯓ SLIGHTLYY angsty but it does have hella fluff. also this is during the BOUNCY era!

w.c ᯓ 2.6k

author’s note: sorry for the kinda late upload! took me a while to write this.. also ignore the weird ass timeline, this story is definitely not really true to the actual irl events

not proofread!

masterlist

you’ve always known that boxing was your calling. the thrill of getting in the ring, the sounds of gloves hitting the bag - the adrenaline that you got from the sport was.. addictive.

from the moment you stepped into the gym, you were hooked. while you weren’t that good at first, you continued to work day and night, training and perfecting your technique.

fortunately enough, you managed to climb the ranks. you became a pretty big name in the boxing world. people loved watching your matches, not just calling you a boxer, but an entertainer.

san, on the other hand, experienced your matches in a different way.

for years, san had been dealing with the sensation of getting punched in the face, or if it wasn’t that, his fists were the ones feeling the damage. not only that, he was completely oblivious to you and your job.

the both of you found out about your soulmarks early in life. frankly, it was pretty obvious. you started to feel emotions that weren’t your own and had sudden bursts of pain that came without warning. when your parents brought you to various specialists, all their answers were the same - it was a soulmark.

while san felt happy that he had an easy-to-spot soulmark, he couldn’t help but feel.. annoyed.

he often found himself wincing during rehearsals, clutching his sides as phantom pains shot through his body. san had been reasonably concerned and confused when the punches first started. there would be days when mysterious bruises would appear out of nowhere or where he would feel the sudden urge to dodge an unseen pinch flying towards him.

this led to san wondering - what were you doing? why were you getting into fights so often? were you a criminal? or could it be martial arts?

san eventually came to the conclusion that you were in some form of combat sport. after all, the punches that you received seemed controlled, and the bruises that you got were repetitive.

“again?” san would mutter under his breath, rubbing his sore ribs. this would happen almost every day, each time feeling as though it was happening to you for the first time.

though, sometimes, he would roll his eyes, somewhat amused, as if he was speaking to someone directly. “really? you couldn’t dodge that one?” he said, shaking his head with a smile.

as time passed, san found himself growing more attached to you. though he didn’t know who you were, he felt your emotions. he felt the anxiety you felt before every match and the rush of victory you experienced after a successful fight. he became oddly protective of you, even if he didn’t know why.

unfortunately, everything changed when you trained for an upcoming championship match. you were having a pretty intense training session, pushing yourself harder than before. as you landed a powerful punch on the punch bag, you felt a sharp pain shooting through your hand, making you drop to your knees.

“shit- what did i just do..?” you mumbled to yourself, staring at your twisted hand in shock. the pain was unbearable and overwhelming, throbbing in waves and spreading up your arm. the realisation hit you - something was wrong. not only for you, but your soulmate.

at the very moment, san felt the pain explode in his own hand. he was in the middle of rehearsal, practicing the choreography for ATEEZ’s new comeback. the sudden pain caught him off guard, making him shout in surprise.

“woah, what happened?” hongjoong rushed over immediately, his face laced with concern.

“i don’t know, hyung-“ san winced, his hand shaking. “my hand feels like its broken.. i- i can barely move it.” the other members gathered around him, completely stopping their rehearsal.

“san, that looks pretty bad. do we need to get you to the hospital?” seonghwa asked, kneeling beside him.

san shook his head, trying to catch his breath. “i think i’m fine.. just give me a moment.”

he was far from fine. the pain felt too real, too intense. you must have really injured yourself - badly. his mind started to race with worry. what happened? why did this feel 10x more painful than anything he’s ever felt? and most importantly, were you okay?

“come on san, we should at least get it checked,” wooyoung insisted, helping him to his feet.

meanwhile, you rushed to the hospital, cradling your injured hand. the both of you were left with the same diagnosis - a broken hand.

for you, it was devastating news. boxing was your life, your soul. putting in on pause meant that your whole life was on pause. the injury meant months of recovery and falling behind in the sport you love.

you also felt extremely guilty. not only did you cause yourself pain, your soulmate was definitely experiencing the consequences of your actions.

“great,” you sighed, running your fingers through your hair. “i just injured two people.”

despite your friends and trainers trying their best to support you, you couldn’t shake off the sadness you felt. what you hated though, was the fact that your soulmate could feel the range of emotions your were experiencing.

“why am i so careless,” you thought to yourself as you lay in your bed. “he must think i’m a mess.”

while he didn’t think you were a mess, san was struggling with the new injury. with the new comeback approaching, he needed to change the way he danced, finding ways to work around his broken hand.

sure, it was a inconvenience, but all san could think about was you. during this period of time, he constantly felt waves of sadness crashing over him. san could feel how guilty and depressed you were over your hand. the only thing that made it worse was that san could do nothing to help you.

san desperately wanted to reassure you, tell you that he’s fine and that you shouldn’t worry about him. but since neither of you knew one another, all he could do was imagine what he would say if he could reach you.

“whoever you are,” he whispered to himself. “don’t be too hard on yourself. we’re in this together.”

˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆ ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆˚ʚɞ ⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

a few months go by and you eventually recover from your injury. you started to slowly ease back into boxing again, regaining the spark that you temporarily lost in your life.

KQ soon decided to postpone the comeback to a further date, wanting san to have a speedy recovery. the pain eventually subsided, allowing ATEEZ to continue with their promotional activities for the comeback.

with the group entering the ‘BOUNCY’ era, KQ wanted san and wooyoung to watch some boxing matches to try and get a realistic shot for their music video.

the two men sat at their dorm’s living room couch, scrolling through the different videos on their tv.

“which one should we watch..” wooyoung said, clicking the remote controller. “ooh.. how about this one? it’s live streaming right now.”

san shrugged, not really caring on what’s on the screen. his mind was elsewhere, thinking about the recent preparations for the comeback. he was about to reach for his phone when he suddenly heard the commentator’s voice booming through the tv speakers.

“and now, stepping into the ring, the undefeated boxer making her much awaited comeback after a hiatus - ‘____’!”

san froze mid-reach, but it wasn’t your name that caught his attention - it was the sudden surge of energy and adrenaline coursing through his veins. it was a familiar feeling that he felt all those times whenever you were in the ring.

wooyoung noticed san’s focus on the screen, giving him a look. “hey, you okay?”

san nodded, his eyes glued to the tv as he watched you step into ring. “yeah, i’m fine. i just feel like i should watch this match.”

you stood in the center of the ring, hearing the crowd cheering your name. it felt surreal to be back, reclaiming your place in the boxing world.

when the match began, you moved with precision, every punch given with the techniques that made you a popular boxer in the first place. the first few rounds were intense, with neither you or your opponent giving in. you wanted to show the world and your soulmate that you were no longer held back by your injury.

as san watched the match unfold, he felt every jab, every dodge, every emotion that you were feeling. it was as if he was in the ring with you, experiencing the fight through your eyes.

and then it happened - the moment that confirmed san’s questions. you landed a strong uppercut on your opponent, making her fall back. the crowd erupted with applause and san felt an immense pride that wasn’t his own.

he realised then, that you were his soulmate.

san took a deep breath, facing wooyoung in surprise. “i think.. i just found my soulmate.”

wooyoung’s eyes widened. “what? you mean-“

“yeah,” san said, leaning back into the couch. “it’s her. i can feel it. i’ve been feeling it the whole time.”

˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆ ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆˚ʚɞ ⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

the fight ended with your victory, with various sponsors and offers reaching out to you afterwards. while you appreciated it, you felt that maybe it was a good idea to take a few breaks from boxing every now and then.

one day, your manager told you about an interesting offer. a company called ‘KQ Entertainment’ reached out to you, wanting you to help choreograph a fight scene for their music video.

“why me?” you asked, genuinely curious. “i’m a boxer, not a choreographer.”

your manager shrugged, a smile appearing on her lips. “they mentioned wanting authenticity and your name came up. they said that the scene could benefit from your expertise.”

you paused, taking in the proposal. the idea of working with a k-pop group intrigued you. it was something different from your normal routine. a break from boxing didn’t mean that you had to step away from it completely. you finally made up your mind, accepting the deal.

˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆ ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆˚ʚɞ ⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

“wait, what?” san exclaimed, getting up from his chair.

“yeah, your soulmate’s going to teach us some boxing moves,” hongjoong said with a grin.

san began panicking, not expecting to meet you so soon. he didn’t expect his company to reach out to professional boxers, let alone you, to help choreograph the scene. he eventually calmed himself down, preparing himself on what to do when he finally meets you.

the day of meeting ATEEZ arrived and you found yourself entering the lively building. you were introduced to the staff and the directors, who eventually led you to the studio where ATEEZ were. while you have heard of them before, you didn’t know what to expect, feeling slightly nervous.

the both of you started to feel anxious, both just from your own emotions, but from each others. when you entered the studio, san couldn’t even believe that you were real.

as more introductions went around, one of the members caught your eye.

“hi, i’m san,” he chuckled nervously, extending his hand.

the moment you shook his hand, you felt an intense wave of emotions that wasn’t yours. it was as if the world paused for a moment, allowing the two of you feel each other’s feelings.

san, too, seemed taken aback. his eyes widened slightly as his hand started to shiver in shock.

“it’s nice to meet you,” you managed to say, trying to keep your composure. after all, you didn’t want to seem unprofessional in front of celebrities.

“likewise..” san muttered, his grip lingering longer than necessary. “i’m really looking forward to working with you.”

“booo just kiss already,” wooyoung shouted playfully.

you raised an eyebrow, looking between san and wooyoung.

“sorry about that, he loves to make things awkward,” san said, turning to you with an nervous smile.

the both of you stared at each other for a moment, unable to take your eyes off each other. there was something about him that made it difficult for you to look away.

you laughed, ignoring the blush rising up your cheeks. “it’s all good.”

˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆ ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆˚ʚɞ ⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

the rehearsal for the scene went by quickly, with san and the other ATEEZ members eager to learn the different moves.

“san, try to keep your guard up here,” you instructed, demonstrating the move. when you reached over to adjust his arms, you felt the same wave of emotion crashing down on you once again. was this a coincidence?

you eventually let them do their own thing, wanting them to try out the moves without guidance. yet, there was still something at the back of your mind - the weird feeling between you and san. it was unlike anything you’ve felt, almost as if it was.. meant to be.

as you started to think about the implications, you thought of an idea. sure, it was a little silly, but it would confirm your suspicions of san being your soulmate.

you decided to bite your tongue, slightly harder than needed, seeing if you could get a reaction out of san. as expected, he yelled out an ‘ow!’, looking at you briefly before quickly returning back to practicing.

that was it - he was your soulmate.

you waited for the rehearsal to be over, walking over to where san was. he turned as you approached, his eyes lighting up with an excitement that made your heart skip a beat.

“hey-“ “hi-“ you both said at the same time, sharing a small laugh.

“thanks for helping us today, we really appreciate it,” san smiled.

“of course, no problem,” you said nervously, trying to cover the flustered state you were in. no matter what though, san definitely knew how you felt in that moment.

you took a deep breath, gathering the courage to speak. “can we talk..?”

san’s eyes softened, looking around for places to talk at. “absolutely, let’s go somewhere quieter.”

he led you to a quiet corner of the studio, away from the hectic noises of the building. san leaned against the wall, his eyebrows furrowing as he thought about the right words. “i think i know what you’re going to say,” he began. “you felt that earlier too right? that whole emotions thing?”

“yeah..” you nodded. “are you thinking what i’m thinking..?”

san smiled, his gaze holding yours. “i think we’re soulmates.”

hearing him say those words filled you with joy you didn’t expect to have. it was one thing to suspect him of being your soulmate, but it was another thing to have him actually confirm it.

“i’ve known for a while,” san admitted, scratching his head. “but i didn’t say anything at first, i didn’t want to scare you away.”

“well, i’m glad you told me,” you chuckled.

his smile grew, “and i’m glad you understand.”

standing there, you felt a peace wash over you. the bond you shared was no longer an unspoken part of your lives, but a truth.

“so what happens now?” you asked.

“i’d like to get to know you better,” he replied, leaning closer to you.

his words were sincere, making you feel flattered that someone like him wanted to know you, or even spend time with you.

“i’d like that too,” you said, a smile spreading on your face.

san leaned even closer to you, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “i think we have a lot to learn about each other..” he said trailing off.

“mhm,” you agreed, grabbing the collar of his shirt. you pulled him in for a gentle kiss, which he gladly reciprocated more fiercely. the both of you could feel each other’s emotions, even the sounds of your heart beating.

the both of you pulled away, laughing, feeling weak and giddy from the kiss. “we’re going to have so much fun together,” he smiled, whispering it into your ear.

any and all feedback appreciated <3

other fics

series taglist [OPEN] - @cara-rey @hwasbabygirl @chngbnwf @passerbyforfun @butterfliesinthenightsky @ismelllikechlorine247 @pansexual-and-eating-pancakes @forever-atiny @arki-sha

#gnomeo 🥫#gnomeo🥫writes #ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fic #ateez x reader #atz #atz fic #atz x reader #ateez fan fic #ateez san #san x reader #ateez san x reader #soulmate au #ateez ot8 #ateez soulmate au

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anika-ann · 2 months ago

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Take the Ache - pt.1

Part 1: The Us in Trust (gone)

Type: series, slightly canon-divergent, idiots in love with sprinkles of angst

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word Count: 4700

Summary (series): An Avengers’ ally, a brilliant weapons designer, one of the closest friends to Steve Rogers; you’ve been carrying all these titles with pride. And now it seems they are all crumbling down at once, torn down by allies, enemies and by yourself.

How can you fix it? How can you win when your traitorous heart fights for what you’d always wanted and never had?

If you work hard enough, you can do justice to the word 'hero' in your codename. Maybe. But can you really be enough to take the 'ache' from heartbreak?

Series masterlist

Warnings: allusions to slightly self-destructive behaviour, mild pain, minor injury, self-doubt, mention of death

A/N: written for Stella’s Starry Winter Sky challenge; DIVIDER by @firefly-graphics; this prologue is a flashfoward and is very short, especially on my scale; title is, just like chapter titles, taken from The Script’s No Good in Goodbye

A/N 2: No use of Y/N. Main character's nickname made up by Steve is 'Lo (will be expalined at some point, promise)

This feeling – this absurdly heavy sensation in your chest and stomach – was killing you.

It was nothing short of suffocating – and that fact alone was even more absurd and defied all science there was.

Because it shouldn’t feel like this.

It could be unpleasant, yes, but it shouldn’t feel like your ribs were being crushed, a phantom of debilitating pain you knew wasn’t really there. And yet it was.

Your knuckles ached. Hurt. Stang. You suspected that was the courtesy of you having wrapped the tape around your hands wrong; but you weren’t exactly an expert and you had no patience to watch a video, nor the heart to try and remember the details Steve had so gently taught you. Mainly because it was his fault that you were here in the first place.

It was her fault.

You punched the bag again and again, focusing on the sting to help you disperse the memory of Steve very carefully laying his hands on your hips to lead your movements during punches, because the key to having a mean right and left hook was the impulse for the punch coming with the slight rotation of the hips. Even Steve did so to create the explosive power behind his punches, despite his arms being ten times stronger than yours and the size of goddamn bowling balls, the muscles of his arms threaded by the supersoldier serum.

Now, you punched the bag purposely without that rotation as to out of spite; unfortunately, you also miscalculated the power behind the hit as well as the angle of the impact, and failed to properly tighten your hand in the wrist, resulting in a sharp jolt of pain all the way up to your elbow.

You hissed and shook the hand, taking a few breaths before you kept going; this time mindful of clenching hard enough. At least you hoped you did.

After all, you couldn’t quite tell; you were no expert.

That was the problem to begin with – you weren’t skilled at combat. You didn’t need to be, because you weren’t an agent. Steve had been kind enough to teach you, because he had wanted you to be able to defend yourself at least a bit just in case he wasn’t around.

At the time, you hadn’t found it insulting. In fact, you had found it charming. You had turned almost starry-eyed at the fact that he cared that much, the sincerity and worry in his gaze, along with an almost palpable enthusiasm, perhaps born from being able to teach you something and even show off in front of you.

You had been wrong.

You were a smart woman, but apparently, you were also an idiot.

An idiot who could never match the expectations one of your closest friend had for his future partner. That was, if you could even still call Steve a close friend, when the amount of time you had spent together lately was decreasing at alarming pace.

The thought of losing the bond with him stung much sharper than the microcracks to your skin under your wraps, bringing frustrating tears into your eyes.

With a lovechild of a huff and a growl, you hit the bag harder; and you almost wished you could give yourself a real reason –a physically painful reason – to cry.

But wasn’t the loss of a dear friend a good enough reason? Mourning the loss of shy hope? Wasn’t anger, eating you alive, good enough either? Because you were angry. So damn angry.

At yourself.

At Steve.

At Sharon.

She had simply walked in in her badass agent attire, perfect hair and light touch of make-up accentuating her natural beauty, all lean and gentle curves and the perfect brains and her stupid last name and went and stomped on your hopes like they meant nothing.

You huffed again and dropped your hands, wiping away the sweat at your brow, inhaling and exhaling before you gritted your teeth and hit the bag again.

It was wrong of you to think that way, you knew. It was incredibly unfair.

But you really did dislike the woman, as much as she didn’t deserve it.

And that might have been the worst part; Sharon didn’t deserve even a lick of your antipathy.

She was one of the most likeable people you had ever met. She had that magnetic personality and looks of a woman who attracted anyone in her vicinity with her kindness and smiles and brilliance and courage and skill. And while it was true that Steve was a supersoldier, he was also only human. He was only a man. You couldn’t blame him for falling for her, for spending so much time with her, be it at work and outside of it. The whole team was, too, even if there were probably less than romantic feelings involved than in the former case. Again, you couldn’t blame the team; and not only because Sharon sure as hell made for a better company that you did these days.

Hell, had your heart not belonged to another already, you would have probably fallen in love with her too.

And boy, was she was around too much for anyone to resist her pull.

She was around a lot.

Ever since the joined operation of SHIELD and the Avengers Initiative to take down a rogue fraction of former HYDRA had started, Sharon practically moved in to the compound, simply for the convenience of not having to commute and rushing in here whenever the team found a new lead. In fact, with her knowledge, experience and skill, she was an indispensable part of the very team. And they were always planning, discussing different angles, gathering intel, training so they could coordinate their attacks better. She was basically a new Avenger at this point, deservedly so.

And what were you?

A scientist. A weaponry designer.

You tried your best to keep the team safe, yes, to give them what they needed so they could continue saving the world, but you were technically nothing but a glorified lab rat.

Sharon Carter, the legendary Agent 13 on the other hand? She was out there. With Steve. And with others. She truly had their back. Kicking ass and probably looking flawless while doing so, Lara Croft style.

You weren’t unfit, but you could never keep up; let alone measure up. Compared to her, you were but A. Pathetic. Little. Human. With. A. Lame. Right. Hook. There was barely any power behind your hits.

And you knew that you were being mean and were exaggerating and that you were viewing her and yourself through the lens of jealousy and frustration and hurt, but that didn’t change the fact that all these things were true and you were feeling nauseous whenever you saw her face or god forbid her and Steve in the same room.

Shaking your head again, you continued punching, breaths coming out heavy and ragged, a courtesy of your work-out and your work-out only; it had nothing to do with the suffocating feeling of the crashed hopes you had been trying to push away when you had thrown yourself into work consuming you.

Nothing at all.

“Hey you,” sounded from behind your left shoulder without warning, causing you to waver, your hand slipping along the bag with your wrist bent, another jolt of pain riding up your forearm.

You turned on your heels with a hiss, heart thundering in your ribcage at the fright – and at the fact that your thoughts of Steve might have actually summoned him:

Summoned him to stand there in all his glory, white tee and grey sweats and trainers, with worry etched into his brows as he immediately went to inspect your left hand without as much as a greeting at your part, a murmured sorry on his lips.

You swallowed hard, unable to speak a single word.

He was beautiful. He was such a ridiculously beautiful human being, inside and out, his fingers tender as they cradled your slightly achy wrist attentively, gaze meeting yours with another wordless apology.

You had almost forgot how your heart stumbled whenever you saw him, how the slightest hint of his smile could take your breath away.

You had almost forgotten because you had been trying your best to avoid him, to avoid the heartache that came with knowing he wasn’t and would never be yours, the knowledge solidified by his absence you too might have had a hand in but regretted it all the same.

But he had started it. He had replaced you. He-

-was talking to you, apparently.

“’Lo? Are you okay?”

“Hm?”

You dropped your hand from his as if he burned you by speaking the special nickname only he was allowed to call you, the soft sound bringing a smile to your lips automatically. He wouldn’t even have to address you, however; your lips acted on their own volition whenever, ache or not, because Steve made you smile. And for all your stubbornness, your chest still felt lighter at merely seeing him even now.

That was what being in love with him felt like.

It was an evil juxtaposition; wishing to be in his soothing company, unable to get enough, and despising it at the same time because of the feelings that had so inconveniently took your heart by a storm.

It was a dilemma in which self-prescribed isolation until you’d settle your foolish heart seemed like the best option – that was, until his eyes roamed your face with concern and all the work you had put into stomping on the fluttery sensation in your chest upon seeing him looking at you like that turned into nothingness, denying the basic law of physics.

You knew there was a way out of this inner turmoil; you knew were being childishly angry and that acknowledging that was the first step.

You knew that eventually you’d come to terms with Steve being with Sharon, because ultimately, you wished him all the happiness in the world.

You knew you’d learn to live with the fact that the happiness simply wasn’t with you and you’d make your peace with you and him remaining good friends.

It was just not quite the time yet.

And until then, you’d have a hurricane in your ribcage and an earthquake in your mind whenever you’d see him, affection and animosity rising and falling like a tide.

You cleared your throat, brought back to the reality by the sound of your name.

“I’m fine, Steve. I don’t even feel it anymore.”

“I’m glad,” he said, an apologetic smile on his lips. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I know. It’s okay. I just didn’t hear you,” you admitted. “Got lost in my thoughts.”

“A new brilliant invention in the works then?”

You chuckled, the light-hearted question taking you by too much surprise to hide the bitterness in the sound, and reached for your water bottle.

“Sure. That.”

You took a swing from the bottle, the cool liquid soothing to both your throat and your nerves.

You never used to be nervous around Steve – not like this. There had never been molecules of charged with awkward energy, not this much at least; whatever nerves you used to be feeling always tasted more of giddiness and content deep within your soul.

Funny how quickly things could change when certain blonde strode into your lives.

But you couldn’t blame Sharon. You shouldn’t blame her, because she was just a correlation, but the cause. Sharon or not, Steve would have made a move ages ago if he had been interested and you, you could have tried to make a move too, had you had the courage and truly believed the probabilities he had wanted you to be more than friends with him were high. But you hadn’t.

You still didn’t.

No question of that nature from neither you nor Steve. Because Steve had been waiting for the right partner as he had always been saying and that partner wasn’t you and now, she finally showed up and occupied an unhealthy childishly large portion of your brain no matter how much you tried to shush that green monster living in your head and eating up your heart.

A new brilliant invention, Steve said. How about something to make jealousy settle? Maybe you should start working on that, it would be a hit. Or perhaps you could work on some kind of a shield to hide yourself from Steve’s softly inquisitive gaze – like the one he was watching you with now – that had always made you fold and reveal your cards, no matter how close to the chest you had planned to play them.

He had no damn right to stand there, head slightly tilted to side, brows furrowed with concern, making your stomach clench, sending your pulse fluttering. Not when he-

“Is everything okay? I feel like we’ve been like ships that pass in the night lately…”

I’m surprised you noticed, you thought bitterly, instantly chastising yourself for that unfairly aggressive note, swallowing the venom of the words forming on your tongue. You shrugged instead.

“We’ve been busy. With the HYDRA fraction popping up… we both have our plates full.”

“Never stopped us from making time for each other before,” he whispered, insistent, his lips pursed slightly in thought, the same focus he directed on the world around him when he was either strategizing or wondering how he could capture the image in front of him on paper evident on his face.

Being on the receiving end of that look of his used to be a privilege; now, it was what you imagined being stabbed in the gut felt like. With a twist of the knife added for good measure.

Never stopped us before, he said.

‘Before’, you weren’t crushing if not in love with your fellow ridiculously charming agent, you thought, hiding the remark behind another shrug.

“Yeah, well-“

Your voice died in your throat as Steve’s fingers sprawled gently over your forearm, effectively stopping you in your tracks before you could turn away to move onto stretching, trapping you in the bottomless sea of the unfairly tender emotion in his irises.

“I miss you.”

Your throat closed up as the words echoing the very same sentiment got stuck there, your heart now hammering painfully against your ribs and sternum.

Yeah. You missed him too.

His warmth, his kindness, his vulnerability, the quiet way he seemed to understand you without words.

Of all the Avengers, as much as you liked them every single one of them, Steve was your favourite; and it wasn’t merely the attraction and the different nature of your affection for him. It was simply because it was Steve with whom you had formed a unique bond.

Getting along with Tony was easy despite him not being the easiest person to befriend; your shared interests and your more-than-common goal and expertise worked in your favour, your job as his right hand as well as working on your independent projects for the Avengers providing you with hours spent together without any forced interactions. Not to mention the role Tony’s excentric nature played; once he decided to figuratively adopt someone into his circle, you were just there.

Natasha, while intimidating, had the enormous advantage of being a woman. The platonic mother and sister to the team safe Bucky whose feelings for her were everything but platonic, she had an innate ability to convey her feelings about boys driving her crazy in a single glare, whether it was aimed at them to make them realize the absurdity of their behaviour or at you in silent sympathy. While you and her alike did not enjoy being in a room overflowing with oestrogen-driven creatures, you were a solace to each other when the room reeked of testosterone.

Bruce, on the other hand, had the same advantage as Tony. While his focus in science was slightly different than yours – even though between the number of his PhDs and other titles, it was hard to tell which was his main field – he was a relatively comfortable person to spend time with, at least in the lab, where you could either cooperate or stay out of each other’s way.

If Tony’s adoption figurative rights concerned his professional inner circle, Clint’s were more literal. He was the fun uncle, sometimes with ridiculous habits and antics, but whose wisdom could take one by surprise. Having seen all he had in his life, he appreciated simple things, simple friendships; and his aiming skill was as deadly with a bow or a gun as it was with well-meant advice or jokes.

Thor… well. Thor was a whole another species, someone you hadn’t had much chance to interact with; but the opportunities you had had, were nothing short of pleasant and bewildering, his boisterous nature reminding you of extroverts who simply found the most introverted person in the room and made them the centre of attention and their friend, whether they liked it or not. Those less-than-social people, you, in this scenario, would always end up enjoying themselves eventually; and you had to admit that much like Clint, Thor had a knack for cracking not only thunder, but also wisdom one often forgot he possessed.

Bucky was a person haunted by demons who sharpened his fists and tongue alike. A partially reformed ladies’ man who had seen way too much evil during his relatively short life and had been forced to commit almost half of that evil, he was a surprising wild card of the team. He was deadly – on battlefield, in training, in personal life, n verbal sparring with Sam. He’d die for his people and would live for them all the same. He was a storm; a slightly unpredictable force Natasha knew how to navigate, almost as good as Bucky himself did. Oftentimes you weren’t sure what you and Bucky were, whether you were friends or not but the fact alone that you were – or had been – close to Steve earned you his respect and care. The fact you could work on his mechanical arm helped too.

Sam’s warm energy and his innate ability to make people around him comfortable made him a natural friendship material – not to mention his utter fascination with the things you could do to improve his favourite robotic buddy Redwing. From TV and music and books to the mysteries of life, he was, in a way, an opposite to Steve. Where Steve and you seemed to understand each other without as much as a single word, with Sam, it was through words.

And Steve… well. ‘Special’ was not enough of a word to encompass the complexity of him and all the ways in which he was exceptional, as an entity and to you. Politely inviting from the start, assuming the responsibility of the unofficial team leader and official strategist, he had clearly worked to make you feel comfortable and welcomed, even as you were more of an Avenger-adjacent employee than anything else. However, the true bond had been forged in quiet moments and through similarities and contradictions of your pair.

Like a pair of twins, you both carried around a sketchbook or a notebook with a pencil, almost without fail. But where you drew designs of ideas suddenly born in your head, only to make them into reality later, Steve did the opposite; he drew what already was reality laid in front of him, only to bring it alive on paper for the second time, capturing it so vividly you were certain it would rise from the page any moment. Where your specialty were inanimate objects, his was people. The number of times that found you in the common room when you couldn’t sleep, ending with both of you lounging on the couch, often touching in an inconspicuous but reassuring and encouraging ways, were next to astronomical.

The second experience you bonded over, however, was much darker – but perhaps brought you even closer. To a point, you shared it with all the Avengers, with all your close friends; but there was something about the way you could relate to Steve so profoundly and vice versa that solidified your relationship with him in particular.

You both wanted to help people. And despite doing your best, you did so in ways that sometimes made you lose sleep, good intentions tainted with violence. You did help; and to do so, you hurt. Steve with his impeccable strategy and iron-solid fists; you with the weapons you designed. And when that darkness crept in too close, so close it seemed to come from within, you found each other; you shared each other’s light and reminded one another that violence was never your primary purpose and was but a momentary means for future tenderness.

Where you struggled to grant yourself the same benefit of doubt on your own, you never had doubts about him; with Steve, it rang true. Not a soldier, not an usurper; a protector’s soul. As much as you tried to convince yourself that what you were made of the same thing, that you were merely protecting your teammates and other people from much more merciless displays of power, in the cold space of your room and workshop, it wasn’t always enough for you to believe. Being with Steve – spending time with Steve – always made you a believer.

Even now, with his cerulean eyes still observing you, the ugly feeling brewing in your gut – the jealously, the envy – felt so much more tender and much less evil, his touch grounding you and wordlessly whispering a plea to cut yourself some slack and allow yourself to feel whatever your heart thrummed with.

“You spaced out for a bit… feels like you’re always miles away,” he said, his thumb pressing softly into your forearm. “Miles away from here, but from me too. And I can’t help but wonder… did I do something to wrong? Offended you or hurt you? If I did it wasn’t my intention.”

Your breath caught in your throat, alarm bells ringing in your head as you tried to gather your thoughts and get your expression under control as not to give him any hints, even as your mind spoke of the things he had or hadn’t done so painfully clearly.

You exist. You exist and you are happy, just as happy without me as you were when I was by your side, as a friend, a mere friend with silly hopes-

You had to stop with these thoughts. That was not on him. Not really.

Pushing you to backburner because of loving someone else was barely something you could hold against him. Friends didn’t do that to each other, but you were also aware half of the distance put between you was on you and at your attempts to deal with your own feelings.

You sighed, willing the corners of your lips to rise reassuringly as you squeezed his hand on you before escaping his hold, pretending you didn’t feel as if he had had drawn his mark on your skin in ink for you to remember.

“You didn’t.”

“Did something happen then?” he pressed, the protective note that always made your heart race finding its way into his voice, enticing you to tell him everything and let him make it okay. Except he couldn’t. No one but you could. “Are you-“

“It’s nothing, Steve. You… don’t worry about it. I just got a little busy at work,” you said, his expression speaking volumes about how much he knew that was a lie – or at least a half-truth and the goddamn genuine interest written all over his face made it so hard to think straight and resist- “I’m just--- working through something.”

His shoulders slumped, a barely-there movement to his hand as if he was about to reach out again. And you couldn’t bear it.

“And I need space to deal with it. On my own. Alone,” you added, willing yourself to raise your chin as to show you were determined to do it so.

Something flickered over Steve’s face, a quick emotion you didn’t get a chance to decipher as the door to the gym opened, drawing Steve’s eyes on instinct and yours as well.

The determination to resist Steve’s inquiries with a straight face skyrocketed in an instant, a jab to your gut making you strung like a bowstring in preparation for another hit. Because you would be prepared for that hit. And you would not be hurt nor shaken by Steve’s attempts to get in; for you to find peace for now, you needed to keep him out, at least at arm’s length.

The second and a half that took him to turn back to you was enough for you to steel your heart, a shield having gone up against his expression of concern and unfair gentleness wrapped in an intimately low voice.

“Okay. But if you ever-“

“It’s not your job to worry about me, Steve,” you cut him off, so sharply it made him actually flinch the tinniest bit, the emotion on his face clear this time.

Hurt.

He set his jaw tight despite the regret in his eyes, a courteous nod telling you just how deep that tone and words cut.

You hated yourself for putting that expression on his face; something heavy and solid, a wall you yourself had built appeared between you, blocking his attempt to reach out, and now, he had added his own side to it.

And if you kept going like this, that wall would cut him off from your life completely.

You gulped as the idea made something visceral in your bleed.

“I mean… I know you feel responsible for the whole team, Steve,” you said, this time mindful of your tone. “I just know you have enough things to worry about. And, uhm, Sharon’s waiting for you.” Your encouraging smile must have tuned into a grimace, but Steve didn’t mention it, the tension in his jaw easing just the slightest bit at the mention of his beloved. Of course it did. Your caricature of a smile hurt your cheeks. “Thank you for worrying about me, Steve, but I have to deal with this on my own. I’ll be fine. But I promise I’ll make space for my friend in my busy schedule, yeah?”

Now that brought a small smile on his lips, a little sparkle of almost-joy lighting up his eyes – and your heart ached.

“I’ll clear up mine… take care of yourself, ‘Lo, alright?”

“Aye aye, Captain. Have fun.”

He gave you one last smile before turning on his heels, jogging to Sharon. You held your face long enough for neither of them to see when your own smile slipped.

You left the gym not five minutes later, irritated with how their warm up – her warm up – naturally was three times more impressive than your whole work-out, your gloomy thoughts back like a seasonal cold.

You didn’t notice Steve’s lingering gaze as you walked away without as much as a goodbye, a sharp icy feeling settling in his already tight chest. He wasn’t an idiot; he knew you had been avoiding him. And you were hurting, your mind preoccupied with something; something you didn’t trust him with. Didn’t trust him enough to let him help you, to comfort you.

Seeing you walk away from the space he had barely just entered felt like letting you walk away from his life. It felt like losing you.

But he was not giving up without a fight.

He swore to himself he was done not pushing, ready to confront you the moment an opportunity would arise or was created by him.

He never got the chance.

With FRIDAY noticing a chatter about gathering forced in one of a few remaining bases of operations of HYDRA, all he got was your brief be careful addressed to the whole team.

Had he died on that mission, he’d die wondering if the words you had always took time to tell him and only him in person still applied and if you still truly cared whether he came back or not.

Next chapter // Series masterlist

Complete masterlist

Steve Rogers masterlist

Thank you for reading, loves 💕 Thoughts, encouragements and reblogs are always appreciated ✨

If you’d like to be notified on updates, follow my other blog @anika-ann-writes or let me know for a tag.

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hanafubukki · 2 years ago

Text

Just A Human

Summary: Sacrifices had to be made after all, and you were nothing but a human to General Lilia Vanrouge...right?

Pairing: General Lilia Vanrouge X Gender Neutral Reader

Notes: I’m really proud of this one! It came out of nowhere and hit me like a truck. I hope you all enjoy. 🥰🌺💕

You never have felt so sluggish in your life. it was hard to move your head and you could hear a high-pitched ringing.

It was hard to breathe.

You vaguely wondered if you could die in a dream…

…oh.

That’s right.

You remembered what happened.

It would explain why you were in so much pain.

It would also explain why you could now clearly hear shouting.

As you blinked your eyes, trying to clear it, you saw long black hair mixed with red.

Lilia.

Vaguely you could see a motion of blur from the corner of your eyes.

He… must have been running…

You were getting sleepy again.

You don’t know how you gathered the courage to lift your hand to his face, but the ruby eyes mixed with magenta brought a sense of comfort.

Then the darkness consumed you.

When you next awoke, you saw the ceiling of a tent.

If the aches in your body said anything, you were very much alive.

“You’re awake.”

…and not alone it seems.

You turned your head towards the voice, eyes meeting ruby red.

Lilia.

“Why did you block that hit?”

You had to clear your throat a few times before talking, “I was tired of seeing sons crying over their oblivious father.”

Malleus’ and Silver’s stricken looks flashed before your eyes.

“I-” General Lilia stopped himself.

For a moment, you thought you saw a mixture of magenta in those crimson eyes before returning to their red hue.

You saw General Lilia Vanrouge grit his teeth and stand straighter.

“What about you? Would no one cry over you?”

“Am I not just a human to you?”

A question for a question.

No answer from either side.

It seemed that was all the energy you had before you succumbed to sleep once more.

But not before seeing a flash of magenta in crimson once more, and feeling the brush of lips on your head.

“I’m sorry, Precious.”

You decided you were going to have a talk with Malleus and whoever else that decided that dreams were allowed to let you feel pain.

It wasn’t fair.

It was a dream and yet it hurt to walk and breathe at times.

But at least there was some positives to these events, General Lilia seemed to soften towards you.

Holding his hand out to you to help walk down uneven roads.

Allowing Silver to make food that you all could eat without worry.

During cold weather, he had even draped his cloak around you, making sure the hood provided you enough warmth.

You and Silver shared a look.

The Lilia you both knew and loved was still there in this Phantom General.

…Especially if the permanent magenta mixed with crimson eyes gave any indication.

How was it? I had two endings for this fic, but I went with this one. I might make another fic with the other ending I thought of. 🥰💚💜

#lilia vanrouge x reader #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst lilia vanrouge #twst lilia #general lilia #General Lilia Vanrouge x Reader #twst drabble #twst imagines #twst x you #twisted wonderland x you #General Lilia Vanrouge #general lilia vanrouge x you

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chaggie4ever · 10 months ago

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Ok I need to get this off my chest: people need to stop hating on my girl for her final performance against Lute. Vaggie has been out of practice for 3.5 YEARS (42 months), during which she lost her depth perception and wings and hid her identity, which definitely limited her ability to train (not even accounting for the psychological torment and phantom pains). Meanwhile Lute has been living her best life in heaven, likely training every day to keep her position and fully intact.

She has one month to prepare and learn some basic self defense. Now mind you, training montages are hilarious because after the first week if you’re doing it right you probably can barely move out of soreness XD (the ONLY accurate portrayal I’ve seen was on Galavant, which everyone should watch - it’s a medieval musical with a similar tone to HH). I’ll cover more on her and Carmilla separately.

Then Lute proceeds to watch the entire final battle while Vaggie is busy killing at least four angels by my count. When they fly up to Adam and Lute, she immediately sucker stabs Dazzle, dropping them hundreds of feet and disarming Vaggie in the process.

Despite all of this, Vaggie is able to stop a full force sword charge directly at her eye bare handed. She deflects several more vicious blows, using tools in her environment to help (shard of glass, radio). Yes she is losing. She is unarmed and see above… also unused to fighting with long hair even pulled up XD (as an aside, I absolutely LOVE how Carmilla pulls her hair down the moment Vaggie complains when training lol).

She gets a few more face cuts while we watch Charlie stab Adam, and ends up on the ground reaching for her weapon, which Lute uses to stab her hand before stupidly leaving it while gloating. Yes, Lute could (and should) have ended her here. I have a few separate theories on why that did not happen (later post). But regardless of the reasoning, Lute’s hubris left Vaggie alive enough to goad her second wind by mentioning Charlie. And Vaggie was SMARTER (and ultimately more spirited).

Now the tables have turned but Vaggie spared Lute, more out of spite than kindness but ultimately because of Charlie. Lute only has her left arm pinned; she should have stopped the spear but basically asked for death. This is also deserving of it’s own analysis but I think all angels hate themselves :(

Vaggie leaves and when she no longer has her undivided attention, Lute is irate enough to rip off her arm and pin her. Vaggie isn’t fighting at this point, she’s trying to get to Charlie but was sucker punched/tackled. Pretty understandable imho… interesting theories that Lute may have ironically saved Vaggie’s life here. I love her but she’s not stronger than Adam :( I’ll keep these Yuri headcannons to myself for now XD

Ironically, I think this may end very badly for Vaggie and Chaggie (if Lute kills anyone I will kill everyone and then myself), especially after Adam’s death. We haven’t even seen Vaggie cry but Lute now has. The same girl who just pulled her own arm off in sheer rage (seriously what’s up with her brute strength XD).

But ultimately, while I don’t feel comfortable saying Vaggie properly won this fight, she did a damn good job with what she had available and people need to stop hating on this character! Lute definitely did not win. And I’m REALLY hoping for a proper rematch because given Lute’s HATRED, she clearly feels at least challenged by Vaggie, one of Adam’s “best girls” who likely had at least Lute’s 275 kills annually… AND/OR she was dumped right before Vaggie’s last extermination and all the yuri 😍🥰😘😇🤣

#hazbin hotel #vaggie #lute #chaggie

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kneelingshadowsalome · 2 years ago

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Lazarus (Ghost x Medic!Reader Pt. 2)

"According to tradition, Lazarus never smiled during the thirty years after his resurrection, worried by the sight of unredeemed souls he had seen during his stay in Hell..."

Word count: 5.7 k

Tags and warnings: Angst, fluff, soft smut 🔞. Slightly possessive!Ghost. Graphic depictions of past suicidal thoughts. Dating, kissing, cuddlefucks, emotions (the most daunting cw there is). Unfettered prose about a grown man's complex trauma. Reader is female and works as a medic at the base. Ghost POV.

Summary: You've just started dating Ghost. (This is a standalone sequel to Refugee)

She tastes round and sweet after the tang of blood and smoke and metal of the field. She feels like warm cascading water after the bleak, dead weight of a gun that leaves his hands throbbing with recoil. Her skin returns the memory of Paradise until it overrides everything else.

She's a soft blooming to the senses.

And his have been blown wide, torn apart, shot full of noise. There's an amputated, burnt stump where there should be a limb and some soft skin. But still, a blast that burns flesh from bones is not that different from her soft whisper that has the power to level him like a nuclear wind.

. . .

They're some kind of a secret, although he doesn't know why exactly.

Perhaps because she knows enough by now. She knows he's a dead man.

A ghost.

And women like her don't date apparitions. They deserve more than just bones and a haunting: they deserve flesh and blood and solid ground. She deserves far more than promises he has no power or right to give.

He has no mandate for life. His is a half-life, and stolen; he's living on borrowed time.

She doesn't only protect his phantom, she shields herself from talk and rumors. It's only understandable. He takes everything she gives him, which is more than he deserves.

He fucks her to ruin on the conference table people share in the meetings. He makes her leak all over his desk during quiet afternoon hours of his office; he makes her come on his tongue in the fucking hangar after a long day, just to get the taste of dry desert sand off his mouth.

She stops complaining about propriety after that. After all, she's the one who came there on his call and allowed him to rip her pants down when there was only settling dust to accompany them in the quiet hall.

It doesn't take long to see that the woman's not actually complaining at all. She fucking loves it when he barges in and simply takes her.

And he buries himself inside her like she's the base. His home after a mission, his destined location after deployment. She lets him fuck her practically anywhere except on the floor.

That's his place. And he has no problem with lying down there in the filth, especially if it means he gets to watch how she sits on his cock until that pretty little face distorts with pleasure that looks like pain.

His field pants and navy blues have cum stains after his visits while she cleans herself up in no time, fixes her hair and looks as innocent as ever. His mask smells of cunt when he's trying to concentrate on missions, and the scent of her juice makes him hard while he's supposed to be instilling brass into bodies. He smokes cigarettes just to drive the maddening taste of her from his tongue.

He's gonna get killed one of these days. The irony doesn't escape him: it's not a bullet or a grenade that will take him, but that sweet, hazy memory of her cunt.

She's an obsession. He injects himself full of her like the most pathetic addict.

Until one day, she says it can't continue like this. That it won't do to rut like animals until the smell of mad sex coats the room she's supposed to stitch and staple people in.

It causes a small panic till she asks him to visit her.

In her home.

It sounds serious: it sounds like she wants more than just his cock. And he's fucking terrified.

Women think about whether to wear this dress or that on a date: he thinks about whether to put on the mask or not – he meditates on it for two whole hours. Everything else is clean and in order; he looks like a human and not a soldier. But he can't rid himself of the skeleton.

There's a storm coming when he reaches her place. It electrifies the air until his spine is full of thunder.

She seems surprised – happily so – when she finds him at the door, decent as can be. He gets one of those innocent smiles which are pure sin beneath.

"You came."

"Sure."

She doesn't ask why he's always wearing a mask. She takes what he has to give, which is his all, which he fears will never be enough.

"There's food–"

She lets out a delightful little noise when he picks her up and carries her to what looks like the biggest and softest bed he has ever laid a woman on, ever laid himself on.

So, she likes luxury. Or at least, comfort.

Softness. Hugs… Support.

And kisses, apparently, because his mask is lifted without permission. Not that she needs one.

"Simon, I made you some dinner," she laughs in his mouth, and he's smiling – she's the only one who makes him fucking smile.

"Later," he rasps with a sore throat – he has become soft, too, and it's her fault. He has barked orders all day, but with her, his voice always comes out quiet and calm.

Where her domain at work consists of harsh lights and sterile frigidity, her home is dark and warm like a womb. His senses are filled with lemon and thyme – she has made something he's never tried before, something… Mediterranean, perhaps. A culinary ambrosia for someone who has lived on dog food and tried to thrive on it.

It's a pity that he's a barbarian, and here for dessert. As much as he likes the dainty little thing she has put on just for him, it's not cunning enough to stop him from ripping it to shreds.

She protests at first with a posh little gasp, but then she spreads her legs like it's open season and he's the VIP customer. The laced, pathetic little thing lays in wreckage around all that softness creaming just for him, and his mouth shoots full of water.

The feel of her is better than sinking a knife between two ribs. She's velvet on his scar and coarse stubble and for the first time in his life, he curses the mask. She moans all around him, tries to grab him by the hair still under the black fabric.

And it makes him want to rip it off and let her yank and tug to her heart's content, grab his hair and push his face as deep inside her cunt as it goes.

He tries to fit inside her apartment, a serene space filled with scented candles and clean carpets and frilly little curtains that shift in the restless night wind.

He tries to fit inside her.

The attempt always makes her moan and tremble and sigh. It's hard to focus on the task at hand when he wants to freeze the moment to where her lashes flutter and she stops breathing for a second – when she takes him in with grace and hunger.

"Oh fuck…"

She swears this time, watches with helplessness and an open mouth as his cock slowly disappears inside her. Then she looks up at him like…

Like she's missed him.

"You're a brute," she whispers, eyes shining.

"Thought you liked brutes."

"I made you dinner and you…Ah…"

He arrives home, heavy and loaded with yearning.

First things first.

It has been a week, and there's been no time to relieve the pain, nowhere to go and wank off the sickness that festers inside him every second they're apart. And she's the only one who can cure his disease. But he does feel like a brute for not letting her feed him. When was the last time anyone made him anything?

The sea is booming now, roaring behind the window she has left open. This time, they're not fucking at the base, in some corner of a room with a lock hurriedly latched on. He's fucking her amidst doused lights and a seaside breeze that enters their skin through an open window. He's at the beach, even when there's no sun. The sands are even more stunning with a gathering storm.

He fucks her like a dog, and she looks at him with weak love in her eyes. She's looking up at him with those big, wet eyes like he's the best leader there is - like she's counting on him. Like the people under his command, those who ask for his advice, ask for the next move.

It drives him fucking insane.

It's even better than a good round of sex: that unbound look of adoration. His mask is a poor shield against all that. She slips past it like she's the expert in clandestine warfare here. And suddenly he doesn't want any more secrets. There's a ton of them already; he carries the weight of them in his soul.

He's an underdog, always has been, but he's also a hound for claiming her as his that night.

After he's done fucking her to oblivion, he descends. She comes alive like a jolt of lighting in his arms as he kisses her, then sucks the tender skin of her neck. Everyone's going to see it, he makes sure of that by using the tiniest amount of teeth to finally mark her. She moans an equal amount as she does when she's clenching around his cock.

"Did you just give me a hickey?" She asks, breathless when he's done.

"High time, don't you think," he mutters. The woman will look glorious on the beach and highly improper at work.

Lie down with dogs, get up with fleas…

"You're unbelievable." She only laughs at his obsession. The woman’s not afraid at all, even when she’s face to face with a monster. The sunshine of her smile pairs well with the crackle of thunder outside.

"You want a beer?"

He's too drugged to answer with nothing else than a surprised, drowsy blink. She laughs again and takes it as a yes, which it is. He stares in awe as the woman walks to the fridge, all naked and lax from his treatment, takes out a bottle, opens it, and brings it to him. She takes none for herself; she only serves him like he's some kind of a king. When he takes a sip, she smiles again: lighting flashes somewhere in the distance and gives her an aureole of light, a halo of an angel for a second.

"I'm gonna go take a shower." The wink she gives him makes it perfectly clear that she wouldn't mind him joining her. But as she goes by the mirror, the vision of his claim stops her.

"Simon…"

He gets a scolding, and it only makes the corner of his mouth tug.

"No concealer is going to cover this."

"That's the point," he takes another sip while lying on her too-soft bed. She shakes her head before walking to the shower. The eye of the storm is above him, and everything's silent, like he's lounging on a dream.

The bottle in his hand sweats cold condense in his hand, and like always with her, he finds himself in the present moment. He drinks the beer in less than ten seconds, then takes the mask off and leaves it somewhere among the sweat and cum stained sheets.

It's the first time she has seen him without the shield, the first time she sees his body in full light. Every protrusion of white scar, every part of uneven skin, every marring of two and three stage burns is visible as if he is on a well-lit stage.

"Well. Pleased to meet you."

The smile that greets him, the veil of surprise that draws aside to reveal pure delight and marvel is more than worth the risk. She's frozen in time with a bottle of shower gel in her hands, too preoccupied with the trust he has decided to arm her with. She now has power over him, but he proceeds to do what he came here to do. Which is to make her sing a second time.

"For what do I owe this pleasure–"

The bottle falls on the tiles with a soft plunk as he steps between her legs and lifts her against the wall.

On that, she doesn't only kiss him; she takes the scar of his lip between hers and sucks. The warm water is nothing compared to her hands which sweep up and down his back and release years and years of tension. She whines when he only gives her shallow thrusts, then tries to claw his back to get more of his cock. It makes him chuckle.

"Needy," he comments on such delightful hunger, and she lets out the most annoyed, frustrated noise he has ever heard on her.

"Stop teasing, Riley…"

She tends to use his last name when she's fed up with him. It's supposed to create distance, but it only makes him latch himself onto her more fiercely.

He could torture her, delve deep, dig out even more frustrated sounds from her, but that's a quest for another time. He grants her wish along with his own and slides fully in. She kisses him through the whole fucking, and he feels like he's in boiling water, cooking until the raw meat grows tender and prepared.

And he realizes he's not actually fucking her: he's making love to her. He didn't even know he could do that.

When they've had their fill, the water takes away his gift. It feels wrong that something meant to be inside her leaks down some filthy drain. It's like a testimony, an illustration of his whole life: that his essence, his worth, belong in the sewers.

"You're a beautiful man," she whispers on his skin while caressing his back filled with past torture. His stomach churns, he feels like throwing up and falling asleep at the same time. An odd sensation.

She holds his mutilated corpse under the descending water and breathes life into him. The vomit never comes. He exhales history on her skin, inhales some peace in its stead.

In the morning the sound of thunder has been replaced by myriad birdsong.

. . .

He never meant to bring her here, but the wind on the beach is too harsh today and she's cold. It would be ungentlemanly not to get her a jacket from his apartment when it's only a few hundred meters away.

"To say that this place needs a woman's touch would be an understatement, Riley."

There's little else here but a tv and a fridge. He doesn't need either of them, but they're there to remind him what a home should look like. She takes the deafening silence and barren wasteland well, far better than he ever imagined she would.

"Y'can touch anything you want."

She turns and raises an eyebrow – he already knows that look. He's in for it now.

"Smooth... Very smooth." She walks to him and pushes him to the armchair. Not with force, because she doesn't need it. He falls to the sagged old thing like it's suddenly cloud nine rather than his old deathbed.

He waits for her to climb onto his lap and ride him until the chair breaks under the weight of their love. He could use a new chair anyway.

But she doesn't do that.

She gives her what this place has been missing.

A woman's touch.

Her mouth is hot as hell, wet like the gulfs that used to drown men in the sea centuries ago. She's a siren with her songs, but this time, she's quiet.

The room is not: the deathlike silence is suddenly filled with wet urgency and sloppy sounds of adoration. All his hauntings recede to the shadows like the blowjob is a whole exorcism.

His head falls back, and the first charred moan coats the air like it's been entombed for decades. And it has.

She is encouraged by the sound, and the tongue that sweeps the underside of his cock sends him jolting from his shallow grave.

Jesus fuckin'–

"Fuck…" He tries to blink back tears or death while looking at the crumbling paint on the ceiling. He feels equally worn out on her tongue: old and a lot of work, but a woman's touch is like magic.

"Mm–h." She dares to moan on his cock as if it's the best thing she's had in her mouth in decades, too. She even brushes her fingertips over his balls like they're some newfound treasure. They pull taut under her touch, stupefied by the sudden attention.

He can feel the upcoming blaze. It gathers at the base of his spine, his cock is brick-heavy in her mouth, and she won't stop – fuck, she goes even deeper…

"Fuckin' hell, pet…"

His thighs bunch and spread, a scorching groan erupts like he's a volcano and not a man. That's when she gives his cock a long, torturing suck, and he's gone, there’s no time and space other than her hot velvet mouth that surrounds him like the hot core of a star.

She adds a hand at the base of him, and he explodes so hard that he barely has brain cells left to worry about whether she will choke on it. But she doesn't even gag, even if the first spurts must be more than generous.

Fuck, this woman…

He melts in the chair while she finishes the rest of him, takes all he has to give, like she always does. They're an odd pair: an angel and a demon, and he feels like he's finally saved, resurrected – this room, this chair has never seen anything like this.

It's different with her, the emptiness that comes after. It's not filled with grief but deliverance.

He wants her to know what she’s just done, but he knows the things he's good at, and he knows the things he's not. Words are one of those things. She moans and begs and shatters and swells in his arms, she takes on a volcano and resurrects corpses long since dead, and he still doesn't know how to tell her. That he's hers, that he wants to make her feel as good as he bloody fucking can. He could be tortured for days and he still wouldn't know the right words. He tries to tell it to her in other ways and sees how she settles.

He would rather kill the whole human population on this earth than see her settle for anything.

So he forces the strange words out, fleshes them on his tongue and pushes them through teeth to haunt the stale air of his apartment that has never seen such love before.

"I missed you."

Of course it sounds so odd that she laughs. Bitter, too.

"You missed my tongue."

"No. I missed you."

She finally raises her eyes to his, doesn't try to blink back the watercolors. Those eyes are shining; they're beckoning.

"I missed you too," she says, then lays her head on his thigh like she's only a humble servant begging for mercy.

It's a farce. He's a skeleton, a ghoul of useless rubble while she's celestial; she's summer, a fucking empress.

It rips his chest to see her on her knees on the dirty floor, that she's comforting him in a chair that should've been his disposal site. The leather was supposed to be painted with shards of bone and puddles of pink-white brain; this room was supposed to echo with a single blast of a gunshot, not with roars of fragile love. He would've been found relatively soon, the neighbors wouldn't have had to complain about the smell: after all, the military takes care of their own. A lieutenant's absence wouldn't have gone unnoticed, even if everything else in him would never have been missed by anyone.

He brushes her hair, and she sighs, oblivious to his past hell. All nine circles of it, an inferno that would put poets to shame. And she doesn't know she has pulled him from the depths just by smiling.

. . .

"Promise to come back."

"Yeah I promise."

He can't promise that. Fuck, that he wants to.

Every bullet acquires sound, like that birdsong from her little window. They gain weight, they start to carry death. It used to be his power: to bring destruction. He was put on this earth to reap.

Now he's alive.

He's suddenly a man who can be killed.

Now everything's bright like he's a newborn trying to get used to a world full of pain. Light and sound and time and space; mortality.

Sharpened instincts have never been his friend. It used to be a simple dance: knife out, knife in. Drop 'em.

Line the sights and deal extinction. Walk like a ghost until the battering ram announces there's death coming.

It takes him a while to understand where the sorcery lies.

It's in the senses. She's sensuous.

"Simon–"

He hears her in the shaded crevice of rocks, catches phantom notes of vanilla from the dry desert air that tries to push through the filthy fabric of his mask. She’s with him just before the hatch opens, and for the first time in his life, he hesitates before the jump.

She tastes round and sweet after the tang of blood and smoke and metal of the field. She feels like warm, cascading water after the bleak, dead weight of a gun that leaves his hands throbbing with recoil. Her skin returns the memory of Paradise until it overrides everything else.

She's a soft blooming to the senses. And his have been blown wide, torn apart, shot full of noise. There's an amputated, burnt stump where there should be a limb and some soft skin. But still, a blast that burns flesh from bones is not that different from her soft whisper that has the power to level him like a nuclear wind.

He has to learn how to come back to his senses. It's a joke that makes him wish he could shed tears. Luckily, she's the best teacher he could ever have.

"Fuck, Simon…"

He tries to quit smoking just to be able to taste her better. A scorched tongue is a curse when a man can't get enough of cream and silk.

"I need you. Need you so much. You don't even know..."

He knows. He knows that the depth of his need surpasses hers; it always has and always will.

The last time he saw her wasn't at the base; it was when he woke up to the sight of her foraging for orange juice from the fridge with his sweatshirt on. She combined sultry lace and bare, smooth skin with an old, black hoodie.

And it swallowed her. All his darkness. She only looked sleepy and content while being smothered by all that dark cotton.

"I'm gonna make some breakfast," she announces upon seeing he's awake. "You like bacon and eggs?"

What the fuck did I do to deserve you.

She knows full well she could offer him a chest filled with gold, and it wouldn't be half as tempting as her little American breakfast.

"That'll do."

He was supposed to go to the shower but instead, his feet take him right back to her. She gives him a pleasant hum when his hands fall on her shoulders and start to rub some stress away. He knows it will make her moan, as it does now. She leans a little into him, surrenders to his treatment.

"Simon… Do you come here just for sex?"

The hiss of cooking bacon almost drowns the question. Just one syllable less, and the question would be as she originally meant it to be.

Does he come to her just for sex.

"No."

She turns to look at him with a shy little smile. It makes him want to crush her against that counter until those lips part with a helpless sound.

"I like your cooking."

"You…ass," she laughs, shoves him lightly.

He treats every day like it’s his last with her, waits patiently for her to realize he is not the man she thinks he is. Under the bones he wears there’s only more bones, nothing more. She can feed him all she wants, but it will only make him more hungry; and a day will come when she sees he’s not actually a man at all but a yawning, six feet grave.

The black cotton hugs her and makes it falsely look like this woman belongs to him. It’s another round of torture to see how she takes his shirt, takes his cock, plays with the only things he can give her for a while or two.

She has the sweater on as she gives him the softest farewell smile. She adds a few words, some more detail to her request. In truth, it's his new protocol.

"Promise to come back to me."

He doesn't ask for the sweatshirt back.

She's left with it and his promise.

. . .

"Poor lass's always sulking when you're on those solo missions."

He knows that Price might know about them by now. But if Soap knows, everyone knows.

He doesn't care: after all, the woman doesn't even try to conceal the seductive looks and dreamy smiles she gives him whether there are other people present or not. They're not a secret anymore. Perhaps that's the way she wants it to be.

But the information Soap gives him is new.

"She is?"

He goes straight to her after the plane lands. Doesn't give a single fuck about that smug look the boy gives him.

She looks slightly surprised as he simply walks in: she can see he's filthy. He has grime on his hands, on the fingerless gloves that make it easier to operate a gun when there's no threat of sweating. He smells of smoke and ruin, gasoline and tobacco – a lousy compensation for her, a ridiculous substitute to calming his nerves when he knows the mission is going to be tricky. It already pisses him off that her cream will be mixed with smoke and disease again. He knows his weaknesses, which aren't many. But with her, he has learned it's not about the quantity.

The sorrow is briefly disguised from him. It's admirable: the way she tries to hide even the plainest of things. He knows her by now, knows that the sun casts shadows too. She should know he's the one she can cast them safely with.

The throat between the shoulders burdened by work and worries looks fragile in his hands. A bird's neck he could wrench without breaking a sweat.

"Mmh. I love your hands."

"Just my hands?"

He shouldn't be touching her with his filth, but he can't help it anymore. If she loves it, who is he to argue back?

Love your hands too.

Fuck, I love your smile. Your tits, your lips. That little pout you got when you don't get what you want right away.

I love–

She sighs. Then she cranes that beautiful neck, clings to him with one, tiny hand. "Why are you here, Simon?"

"Heard you were sulking," he mutters in her hair.

"What…?" She laughs. She laughs, but she's not happy. "What on earth are you talking about?"

She's shy. Reserved. Hiding behind a wall of humor and sunshine and smiles. His darkness penetrates it all.

"Heard you're devastated when I'm gone," he tries even more softly.

She could take it as arrogance. One of his lousy jokes. But she knows better than that.

"I am," she finally says, angel-soft. When she turns, there's finally sorrow in her eyes. She looks up at him, up, up, again with that stare that says I am yours to command. On the brink of tears; tears he wants to battle to the abyss. But his muscles are no use here.

Her lip trembles, just a little, when he brushes his knuckles over her cheek.

"We can't have that."

"We can't?"

"No."

"Well what are you going to do about it?"

Her voice is soft, pleading. It's not a demanding question: the woman's simply out of it. She wants assistance, assurance.

What are your orders, sir?

She worries too much. Up until this point, he thought it’s just because she's dutiful, responsible, one of the best employees there is. But she's not tense from work.

It's not just the missed you's she whispers when his skin is at its most thin.

She fears losing him.

Stone-cold realism is required in his field of work; no sleight of hand magic can help him when he's facing the unavoidable. If the mission is impossible, he doesn’t take it. Because he can't change the unchangeable; he can't fight the inevitable. They both know he can't promise anything.

They both know he will do his best to come back. There was a time he would’ve considered it a blessing if he didn’t. Death used to be his only ticket to some peace.

She gives him an impossible mission, and he can't say no. Leadership is about taking care of people. His people. And she's more than just a subordinate.

He grabs her by the waist and raises her to the counter, relishes the way she gasps. She weighs nothing in his hands after cold, hefty cannons. It’s almost like she gains wings and flits to the tabletop designed for him to take her. It’s the perfect height for him to simply open his pants and alleviate her pain.

"Gonna fuck you until you cry."

She sighs. "You can't solve every problem with a gun or a cock, Riley."

The woman knows how to penetrate him, too. The stabbing doesn’t stop even when her thighs part slowly - she knows, just as much as he, that this is the best way to remind her just how alive he is. This is the only thing he can give her, and he is damn right going to deliver. His hand covers half of her thigh as he brushes a thumb over the sensitive inner side.

"You sure about that?"

That look of desperation makes him hard already. Her hands go about his neck in a perfect paradox with what she whispers next.

"Honey… Not here."

She calls him honey. As if this tar-black madness is only golden nectar to her.

"No?"

It’s not only sorcery, but necromancy: how she’s brought him back from the grave. No wonder such arts are considered dangerous. This is forbidden, and still, he cannot stop.

"Ya want me to stop?"

"...No."

He leaves most of her uniform on because he is in too much of a hurry to get between her legs. The woman molds herself against him the second his tip meets her folds.

"God, you feel good," she sighs as he slides in. It's like a prayer: both her words and his return back to the base. Alive.

"So fucking good…"

Fuckin' tell me about it.

She whimpers and clutches him like a little leech. Almost cries already.

"That's it. You just hold onto me."

If someone heard the way he's cooing in her ear, they would deem him soft in the head. He doesn't give a fuck.

Her moans chime inside his head like the softest, most beautiful opera. He has never been a man of high culture. The whole civilization could go to hell for all he cared. But she sings to him so beautifully that even a man like him can finally see the appeal. Legs wrap around him even tighter than those small hands until he doesn't know who's holding who here.

"That feel good..?"

"Yes… Don't stop, just don't stop."

She's almost limp in his arms. Good. He's managed to relieve that tension already.

He goes deeper, deeper, and a tiny hand that saves people instead of slaughtering them grabs him by the shirt, probably in an instinct to try and catch some skin. He can't see her face but the body against him trembles and shakes as he spreads her wide and pours love in her.

"No need to sulk, sweetheart. I got you."

She's crying, or laughing, or both. Of course she likes pet names paired with support. He adds it to the list of things the woman loves, the things he can give her. He hopes, half expects that she will shed some tears after shattering around his cock. She needs a good cry as much as she needs him. And nothing feels as good as this: being needed by her.

When she comes with an arched back and a scream he fears and hopes will reach every other officer here, he knows he can let go too. He's done his duty: now it's time to collect the reward. It's not transactional, she's not work, but she's still his responsibility. The woman's paycheck is fatter than anything he could ever get from his employer. He's inside her, but that doesn't mean she isn't inside him too. She's embedded in him in ways that threaten to swallow him and leave him on the shore like bleach-white bones on a beach. He stays inside her long after the waves have passed. She rests her head on his shoulder, and he doesn't dare to move.

"I still have your sweatshirt," she sighs while holding him.

"Good. Looks better on you."

"I sleep with it sometimes," she whispers and wraps herself around him so tight that he wishes he could be there every night to send her to sleep. Now she only has his memory as a company, some darkness far too big for her. "Sleep in it, actually."

His mind is like a wheel that turns around nothingness. There's nothing to hold on to; he's falling through starless space.

The eerie sound of gunshot echoes in his head, he thinks about the splatter of brain matter on the armchair; how there's at least one person in this world who would cry from hearing the news.

And not just any person, but her; a whole summer in one woman. A midsummer sun, missing some forgotten, weatherbeaten bones on a beach when there's plenty of flora and fauna to shine on.

"If you ever break your promise…"

She sniffs in his neck, and his embrace tightens instantly.

"Would rather die than break it."

His promise doesn't make any sense. Or perhaps it makes every sense. She finally cries like she's supposed to.

"Shh. I'm here now."

I'm not dead.

#simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley fluff #simon riley smut #ghost x you #ghost smut #ghost fluff #mw2 fanfic #ghost x female reader

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thiccpersonality · 3 months ago

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The Difficulties of The Working Class (Just Clark Kent): A Beautiful Omega, His Pups and The Fact He Wants Both

Happy Valentine's Day my loves! I know this isn't a post for that Damian story, nor is it the 5+2 that I'm doing, but I did say that I was working on a 5k+ superbat story (that obviously didn't stay 5k+ words). I kept myself up the whole night just to be able to post this on today, though sadly I won't be able to make a double post like how I wanted, but I hope this will suffice?

I really hope everyone is able to find some humor and love within this story? 😂 Enjoy! 💛

Being a reporter can be a pretty rough job...or so Clark assumes. It doesn't make him as physically drained as his very human coworkers, however, the Kryptonian can often feel mentally and emotionally overwhelmed depending on who it is he's talking to and what exactly he's researching.

And maybe it's just his body's way of trying to relate to earthlings?

But, Clark often feels a physical weight on his shoulders or back when a scoop is particularly difficult to look into, or his legs get phantom aches and pains in them when he's been moving too much. All the bodily discomfort he tends to feel is most likely just Clark taking what he's heard the people around him complaining about daily and trying his best to imagine that for himself—again—in anyway to try relating to the humans around him, all to show that he's not too different. Anyway, Clark could go on forever talking about his identity crisis, but that isn't what this is about.

No.

This is something much bigger than any stories he could ever chase down.

'Why', you ask?

That's a very good question. It's because most of Clark's mental, emotional and physical distress comes with one eligible bachelor's children. 'Who?' You ask this time instead. Well, one Bruce Thomas Wayne and his hoard of children...or demons? Clark isn't too sure on what exactly those—creatures are yet.

Figuring out if Bruce Wayne's children are also an alien species like himself, an experiment gone wrong, or demons that crawled their way out of hell, is a mystery that Clark has yet to solve at this moment in time. But all is well—if nothing else—than because everyone's beloved Kryptonian has found himself growing closer to Bruce everytime they do an interview together. It's honestly like a dream come true...ah, having those strikingly blue eyes on you that is, not the hoard of gremlins children that stare into your soul from afar off because they most definitely know that you have a crush on their mother and do their very best to make your life miserable and your job impossible.

Clark can't say that he knows for sure how they feel when seeing someone try to flirt with your mother during business hours, and eye him like he's eye candy. But, he supposes he could understand feeling protective over the only parent/person who–out of their love and kindness–took you into their home and loves you for who you are.

You see.

Not much is known about the Wayne childrens parents. It's something that hardly anyone talks about, and while there have already been released (and confirmed) statements on how all of Bruce's children (except one) is adopted, most people-including Clark himself-wonder if that's all true. I mean, most of Bruce's kids look like they could be his by blood...especially the Wayne brothers, and there's also the possibility that the rest took after their birth fathers more than the billionaire himself.

But in all honesty. That's not a thought Clark tries to dwell on too much...he gets...jealous whenever the thought of Bruce sleeping around with anyone that isn't him pops up in this useless brain of his.

Which Clark truly feels guilty for feeling. Isn't that, what did one of Bruce's kids put it as, red flag behavior right there? I mean, they aren't even together, so why should he be concerning himself about who Mr. Wayne sleeps with? The answer: he doesn't know. Which is making Clark start to feel disheartened at the fact he ends up with more questions than answers, he's a reporter for goodness sakes! That's all he does is find answers to questions left untouched and unsolved. Anyhow, Bruce's kids make his job so much more exhausting than it needs to be (or should be) for him. I mean, when he said he wanted to feel human, he didn't mean for it to be in the form of the world's most menacing kids making him feel like he aged as gracefully as forgotten milk in the fridge.

No matter though.

Because Clark can put all his worries behind himself—please don't ask why again; he'll tell you this time. It's because he gets to interview (again) for the fourth time in the same year and month, his unofficial lover crush/boss, Bruce Wayne.

The man's smile can make Clark feel like he can do anything both in and out of his suit (civilian and superhero). He makes him feel indestructible, as if even Kryptonite wouldn't be able to take him down. Which maybe that's the secret weapon? Clark should give it a try sometime. But, the man and everything he exudes does wonder for Clark's health, especially when those soft, fair skinned cheeks flush a pretty pink whenever Clark looks at him a certain way when interviewing...there's always a pleasant smell that escapes Bruce Wayne's scent patches whenever Clark flusters him, a smell that only the Kryptonian can detect and bask in.

A fact that makes that possessive side of Clark simmer down like a dog finally given a bone after growling and barking for it.

And when looking at Bruce.

What a pretty bone he is. Clark wouldn't mind biting on that one any day.

Ahem! Where were we? Clark is being extremely unprofessional right now...he's about to go interview his crush/boss and he can't be thinking such thoughts while interviewing the other, or else nothing but intense staring and heavy breathing will ensue after simply looking at the man sitting in his seat with that beautiful smile on his face to welcome him.

Which Clark wouldn't mind staring at Bruce all day. But the other might not appreciate it, and might even fire him for looking so creepy.

And if he's fired. There's no more getting to hold in-depth conversations with Bruce and hear that soft as silk voice caress his eardrums like a gentle lover. He won't be able to see the billionaire's carefully sculpted (yet somehow delicate) face flush a soft pink whenever Clark brings up something he actually enjoys.

...

....

Oh, yeah...and there's also the fact that if he's fired, he won't be working anywhere ever again. There's also that.

But today is a day to be free of any burdens built up over the past few months of carefully inspected stories and grueling hours of getting the scoop on people that don't want to talk. Because Clark is now sitting (im)patiently in Bruce Wayne's lobby, waiting to be told by the too stern receptionist (her name is Clara) that he's okay to head on up to the office. Even if it's always the same routine of him being allowed up before the interview actually starts...Clara sure is stubborn about him actually going up when he's allowed (she claims he's too early and should just be on time for once. Rude).

Clark jiggles his leg up and down in an anticipatory manner, sighing softly as he stands up from his seat and heads over to Clara's desk, the woman only giving him a warning glance as he leans onto her desk before continuing to clack away at her keyboard.

"So...Clara-"

The strawberry blonde sighs, pushing her stark white cat eye glasses up her nose when they slip. "Mr. Kent. I swear if you are here to ask me, 'can I go up now?' one more time, I'm going to lollipop your throat with my pen." The receptionist rolls her eyes when hearing the defeated whine escaping the beta's lips, glancing up from her computer to look at the pouting reporter, raising a brow unimpressed at the behavior. "You are a grown man with a job, not a pup, please remain professional. And do you really think Mr. Wayne's children would accept a father who acts just like they do?"

Clara smiles victoriously at catching the taller off guard, basking in the embarrassed sputtering escaping from Clark.

"I-I don't—I'm not-" Clark looks around nervously to make sure no one heard them, narrowing his eyes at the female omega when she speaks up again, her voice amused while the corners of her lips tilt up impishly. "What? The only people around are you and I. Unless you're suddenly afraid of the chairs and walls talking about how embarrassing you are. Do you even realize how pitiful it is to see you trail after Mr. Wayne like a lost dog? And you always come way earlier than you need to and it always ends up the same routine."

Clark's flush deepens at how matter of fact the woman is about this...he's not that easy to read...is he?

"I-It wouldn't be the same if you just let me up early. You know Bru-Mr. Wayne doesn't mind it."

Clara snorts and shakes her head, "Well, I'm not Mr. Wayne, am I? I'm just a humble receptionist trying to do her job without bumbling Metropolitan reporter's disturbing me while receptioning." Clark's brow furrows and he groans while resting his cheek in his hand dejectedly, "Receptioning isn't a word, Clara. Are you sure you can't just-" he cuts himself off when seeing the omega reach for her pen. "You aren't a word, Kent. And I swear if you ask me to send you upstairs." Clark frowns in offense at the woman's implied threat, staring at the hand that squeezes the pen defensively. "First off, that doesn't make any sense. And second, you really meant that? About lollipopping me with a pen?! But...but it's such an expensive looking pen, surely it'd be a waste of money just to harm me?"

Clara twirls the object between her slim fingers, her smile pleased and relaxed. "I could afford it. Now, go sit down." Before Clark can raise another protest, a small child's voice speaks up from behind the man. "Good afternoon, Ms. Clara, is this...intruder disturbing you?"

Both Clara and Clark turn their gazes onto Damian Wayne, the small pup giving the larger male an assessing look before clicking his tongue. "Oh, it's you...again. Why haven't you kicked him out yet?" Clara smiles at the boy and sighs, "I've tried. Your mother just so happens to really like Mr. Kent's interviews...so here he is for yet another one. Are you here for lunch, sir? It seems a bit early to be out of school, doesn't it?" Damian tuts and straightens up his school uniform, lifting his nose high into the air and brushing off imaginary dust. "I got into trouble today. The only reason mother does not know about it is because he was doing something of the utmost importance today-" he side eyes Clark suspiciously and tiptoes up so that he can loudly whisper to Clara-"This Metropolitan invader isn't the...important thing, is he?"

Clara looks Clark up and down, taking in the cheap suit (that's one of the man's better one's) and clunky tie (which aren't bad things, she just likes teasing the man) before chuckling and whispering back. "No, it's definitely not him."

Before the beta can protest, Clara clears her throat, "Alright. Alright. Your mom would be cross with us if he heard us teasing his—friend. How about I send you upstairs to your mom? I'm sure he'd be happy to see you despite getting into trouble. And no matter what he may say, I am proud of you for throwing a nice punch to whoever troubled you."

Damian nods his head and gives a small, but genuine, smile at the receptionist. "Thank you. I'll have to remind mother to give you a raise."

Clark sighs and moves away from the desk, inching closer to his seat before Damian snaps his fingers towards him. "Straggler, you're coming up with me. It's always so pitiful seeing you sit there alone...like a dog left in the rain." When the man refuses to move, Damian looks over his shoulder to raise a brow at the other. "Are you coming or not?" Clark practically vibrates in excitement and speed walks to the open elevator, playfully sticking his tongue out at Clara before the doors close. "U-Uh, thank you so much for allowing me to come up with you! But what's with everyone comparing me to a sad, lost or wet dog?"

Damian just hums noncommittally while loosening the tie around his neck, he hates these things and wishes whoever invented them had a horrible life.

Clark clears his throat at the silence and works on fixing his hair and tie before stepping out of the elevator with the small pup, willingly ignoring the piercing glare sent his way as they both stand outside the omega's office. "Listen up, Kent. I'm going to enter first, because my face is the first one my mother should see, and then after that you can come ruin everything with your sudden appearance, okay?" Clark feels like crying. He doesn't know what he did wrong to get Bruce's kids to be (what is it that Jason says) out of pocket with him, but he just nods slowly and nervously stands as far away from the door as possible so that he's not seen through the glass by the hardworking omega.

Damian narrows his eyes at the taller one last time before opening up the door and smiling brightly at his mother once getting his attention, "Hello mother. How is everything going today?"

Bruce blinks in surprise for a moment before immediately pushing away from his desk and standing up to greet his baby son, "Damian? What are you doing here, baby? Did something happen at school today? Why are you here? Did-" the omega suddenly looks distressed-"did someone get hurt?" Damian hugs onto the omega's legs, rubbing his neck on the soft fabric of the pants so that Bruce smells like pup. "I'm here because I wanted to see you, mommy. I got in trouble at school because someone-as per usual-was being an idiot. Again, I'm here cause I'm in trouble and wanted to see you. And the only person that got hurt was that little idiot at school. But, if someone were to get hurt that we know, I bet it'd be that idiot brother of mine."

Bruce slowly finds himself relaxing as his questions were answered one by one, gently running his hand through his pup's hair while shaking his head fondly.

"I've told you about getting into fights at school if you can help it, baby. But, I'm always happy to see my little boy." Bruce purrs happily and picks Damian up, "Please try not to call your classmates idiots...even if it can seem true sometimes. And don't call your brothers idiots either...though, which one are you talking about hurting himself?" Damian nuzzles into his mom's neck with a small squeak, "I don't know? Maybe the one that would do a flip off of the Empire State Building just to prove he could do it all because he was in the circus. Oh, or the one that would encourage the stupid behavior of the first one. Or, the one who would die because he can't properly care for himself–oh, wait a minute. That's all of them."

Bruce sighs softly and bumps his forehead softly against Damian's, "Don't be that way to them. All of my babies are very smart, and I won't have anyone, even you, saying otherwise."

Damian gets so caught up in snuggling his mother, that he almost forgets about the reporter he (practically) promised to let see Bruce. Key word being: almost, as the sudden flash of a horrid looking patched pattern of the man's sleeve, seen out the corner of his eyes, jump scares the poor boy into looking out of the window and towards Clark Kent, who looks dejectedly into the glass as though he wants to be a part of what's going on.

Ugh! He really is pitiful.

Damian clears his throat and quickly scents Bruce more before speaking up, "Ah...yes. I almost forgot that I wasn't the only one to come up here to visit you-" he directs his snuggle drunk mom's soft gaze to the reporter in the window-"That...reporter you insist be one of the only people to interview you is right outside. It wasn't time for your appointment yet, but I brought him up with me anyway." Because he looks like a kicked dog whenever he sees him, is left unsaid, but he's sure his mom understands. Damian pouts slightly at the way Bruce perks up and looks towards the door, a startled flush tinting the omega's cheeks pink as he automatically makes sure his hair and suit look good for his special guest. "Why didn't you bring him in with you? I look like a horrible person making him wait outside like this."

Damian clings onto the omega tightly, pursing his lips in displeasure while glaring at where the beta stands outside.

"Maybe he should learn how to actually be punctual for once in his life, rather than coming when you aren't yet prepared. And mother could never look terrible-" the pup perks up when complimenting the omega, his squishy cheeks rounding out until his eyes squint as he smiles-"you are the prettiest person ever. I look like you, so I must be pretty too." Bruce chuckles fondly at the compliment and peppers his son's chubby face with kisses, "You and your siblings are such flatterers, you know that? And you-" he boops Damian's button nose softly-"are adorable. You're just my pup, my baby, my little boy whom I love so dearly." Damian shouts in mock protest as he's cuddled close to his mom's chest, accidentally giggling when the older playfully bites the ticklish side of his neck and squirming as the omega keeps it up with a few laughs of his own. "M-Momma—stooop!" Bruce blows a raspberry into the tan skin and inhales the calming scent of his pup, getting one last tickle in before kissing the boy's face.

"Okay, okay. I stopped. Satisfied?"

Damian hides his face in Bruce's neck, raising his shoulders up to his jawline just as a precaution while nodding. "Yes."

Bruce smiles softly and kisses the crown of his pup's head before shaking off his nerves and opening up the door for Clark, looking up at the tall beta fondly when he just stands in place. "I hope I haven't become a stranger to you?" Clark snaps out of his daze when the omega addresses him, blinking away the brain fog and smiling down happily at finally seeing the man of his dreams. "H-Huh?"

Clark scratches the back of his head bashfully when Bruce giggles at him, "What? What did I do? Why are you laughing at me?"

The omega scrunches his nose in an attempt to stop laughing. A thing that usually isn't hard for the billionaire as he controls his facial expressions all the time being Batman, but leave it to Clark to achieve what seems like the impossible. "I-It's not you, per se, not in a bad way. I just think that you're cute-" Bruce smiles kindly and ushers the taller into the room, unaware of the now disgruntled pup in his arms-"You usually are so talkative whenever you come up, but some reason you are being really quiet this time." Clark can feel the air leave his lungs as Bruce flutters his long eyelashes up at him, the look screaming genuine in a way that the omega usually doesn't show in public, as though this is just Bruce himself choosing to do this and not Brucie.

Something about it also is a bit more reserved and shy than usual as he juts out his lower lip into a pout.

"Has my beauty finally stunned you into silence, maybe?"

Clark doesn't know what he looks like right now...but he knows it's probably stupid. His brain feels like it's turned into mush at how...soft and eager the omega looks as he asks the question.

'Everything about you has.'

Is what Clark thinks...or that's what he thought he thought at least. He must have said it out loud as Bruce's pout disappears into a surprised look, as though his mind is processing what was said before he ducks his head shyly.

Yeah, he definitely said something out loud. The look Damian is giving Clark makes the man fear for his life.

"U-Uh...I'm sorry for saying that out loud...ha, ha, ha. I just—you—I never really have gotten to see you interact with your kids much, you know? They usually rush off when I'm around or don't talk. So, it was nice to see you be...uh, a mom just now."

The silence is deafening.

God, why is it so quiet?

Clark blushes something fierce and feels like being launched into a red sun, anything to escape the embarrassment of his big mouth. However, the regret is quickly replaced with one of satisfaction as that pleasing scent from before escapes Bruce's scent patches...and it smells...pleased? Happy? Satisfied?

Clark swallows nervously and stands a little taller, clearing his throat to get Bruce to look back up at him before giving the final tier to his compliment cake. "And I just think that it's a great look on you. I can tell you love your pups dearly, Bruce. And that's admirable." He holds his breath. Gosh, he hopes that didn't sound demeaning or anything? That's definitely not the route Clark was trying to go, but what if that's how he made it sound? He just...just thinks being a mom fits Bruce, especially witnessing that affection in person. It's almost unreal how gorgeous the man acts when he's...acting like a mother.

Oh, gosh.

Does that sound horrible?

Clark slowly spirals internally the longer Bruce just stares at him. Is this some weird fetish thing he has? He's not just thinking this way because he's objectifying being an omega or a mother?

Because if so. Someone should just shoot him with Kryptonite for being like a lot of these alphas in the world.

But, by only nothing short of a miracle, Bruce finally reacts with the deepest blush he's pulled from the omega yet. That hidden scent that only Clark can smell drifting the hidden alpha's way, causing his pupil's to dilate at the happy and (admittedly) alluring smell coming from the shorter. It should be impossible to smell this good, shouldn't it? Clark fists his suit pants at the overwhelming scents coming from the omega, detecting a smell that is more similar to–no? No way.

Clark inhales deeply (without being noticed) and closes his eyes for just a second to focus on that one particular smell, stiffening up when realizing the omega is releasing a scent of gratification.

And he wouldn't call it a sexual one exactly.

Even though there is a hint of that sort of pleasure in the scent as well.

No.

Right now. Right now Bruce seems to be releasing a scent similar to the one's omegas release when they find a desirable mate.

Clark's eyes bug open. Internally screaming, gagging, throwing up (all in good ways. I promise) at how his simple words have caused Bruce to react in such a way.

The reporter has to fight his inner alpha so hard right now. It's jumping the gun and practically demanding he make Bruce his right now so that the omega's family can finally become his own and they can get an early start of making pups of their own. But, he has to remind that eager part of him that Bruce's kids seem to not even like him...and that is one of the most important steps is to at least have them be comfortable enough around him before doing anything with or to the omega.

Bruce's soft voice finally speaks up, cutting through some of Clark's troublesome thoughts. "I...u-um..."

Clark feels like howling with his inner alpha at the sight of the shorter hiding his still red face in Damian's fluffy hair. "Thank you...t-that is always such a-a compliment to me. It reassures me that I'm doing something right with these pups of mine." Bruce looks up at the alpha before glancing away timidly and turning his gaze back up to the taller man once more, the way his cheeks push up and round out all to similar to Damian's face when he smiles big, the sight enough to have Clark wanting to bow and thank the omega for gracing him with such a sight. "Especially coming from you, Clark. I...admire you a lot, so thank you for the compliment-" he hesitates for a moment before pushing onwards-"and I'm sure that whatever omega gets to be yours someday will be so lucky."

It takes everything inside of Bruce to say that last part. A slightly bitter feeling in his mouth as the weight of what he just said settles on his tongue.

Before Clark can respond to the comment, a puppy's call bursts the two adults bubbles, both men looking down at Damian who's face is now lifted from the omega's neck. The boy huffs and squeaks in irritation while fisting his mom's suit jacket in his small hands and tugging desperately, "He's not cute!" Bruce and Clark are both taken aback by the random outburst, the omega rubbing Damian's back comfortingly as he thinks about what he did wrong.

A subtle hand movement from the corner of his eyes gets Bruce's attention, the man looking up at Clark and furrowing his brows curiously as the man mouths something to him.

The omega squints at the taller man's lips in concentration before the realization hits him.

That's right. He called Clark cute earlier.

Bruce tries to hold back his amused chuckle and bounces the pup slightly to get his attention, "Ah...is this because I said Clark is cute?" Damian's brows furrow more and he lets out a small growl, looking betrayed as his mother responds by giggling at him. Bruce coos at the hurt look he receives from the boy and clears his throat, "I'm sorry, baby. I didn't mean to laugh. But adorable and cute are two different things, right? I think adorable is much more endearing than cute is."

Damian perks up at that and smiles innocently, "So that means he's actually ugly?"

Bruce shakes his head and looks at Clark apologetically, "That's not what that means. I just think that out of the both of you..." he trails off to build anticipation, smirking slightly at the insistent tugs to hurry up from his pup. Surprising the boy by suddenly attacking his neck again. "That you are my baby-" a ticklish nibble to the soft skin-"my pup-" a gentle brush of his nose to the neck glands-"my everything in life and more!" Bruce ends with a loud, over exaggerated eating noise to the neck as he digs into that weak spot, chuckling himself at the squirming pup's loud belly laughs as he tries to escape the omega's attack. "And therefore, that means that out of the two of you, your cuteness will always triumph his." Damian squeals (though he would insist otherwise) at Bruce getting one last nibble in before releasing him, causing the boy to slump against his chest again, his small hands releasing the collar of his mother's suit to now wrap around his tie absentmindedly. "Okay-" he purses his lips and fiddles with the tie-"I'll stake my claim on both titles until I'm pretty like you."

Bruce's face hurts from all the smiling he's doing right now, but he hums in satisfaction at how his pup is learning to be content with being a child more and more everyday. Placing a gentle kiss to the pup's forehead before refocusing on Clark.

"I'm sorry for taking so long to start our interview. I'm pretty sure we should have started already?"

Bruce smiles apologetically before heading towards his desk chair, making sure Damian is situated just fine in his lap before gesturing for the beta to take his seat. "Don't be a stranger today. We'll do everything as usual, the only difference is that Damian is here for it. Okay?"

The only difference?

Does the omega truly not realize what he's doing to Clark and all of his instincts and desires right now? How can he focus on everything else when all he wants to do is watch Bruce be a mom all day, and he truly means that respectfully. It's probably dangerous how...fulfilled Clark himself feels just from watching the family–heck, even reading about them in the papers is enough to bring out that warm, fluffy feeling of contentment. As though he's watching a family of his own just simply be.

Sigh...

Clark realizes how much he wants to have a family of his own every time he's around the omega.

But what's worse is the constant realization and confirmation that he wants all of those things with Bruce alone. And isn't that taking his wishes too far? All of those little moments with Bruce that seem like flirting are probably just in his head, right? I mean, he definitely is probably a little bit obsessed with the other in some way, probably to the point of imagining the other flirting back, amongst other things as well, cause Clark is positive it's not too normal to envision a whole life with someone you only talk to for work. And he's also positive that you probably shouldn't have dreams where said person you talk to only for work is carrying your pups inside him...and not even in the sexy, you turn me on sense, but quite literally imagining the ways you can love and care for your pregnant mate who works so hard everyday.

And while Clark knows he might be a little obsessed.

He also knows that he's terribly, undeniably, truthfully, a lot-fully in love right now.

Clark's shoulders slump slightly at the thought. He sounds like Clara right now with the made up word...so that must mean he really is in love.

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, Clark places a careful smile back on his face and takes his usual seat, pulling out everything he'll need to do this interview. "I could never be a stranger to you, and I would never want to be."

Because I hope to be more than that to you someday.

Clark sighs softly at his own thoughts, distracting himself by smiling at Damian instead. "Also, if he would like to, and if it's allowed, I'm sure the Planet would love to hear a few words from Mr. Damian." Bruce's eyes widen slightly in surprise, a doubtful look overtaking his features at the suggestion. "I don't know...I don't really like having the children in the news if I can help it, Mr. Kent-"

Clark interrupts Bruce with a calm smile, taking the omega's breath away as he looks at the other.

"I thought you asked me not to be a stranger with you today? Why are you suddenly calling me Mr. Kent?" Clark messes with his pen and holds eye contact with Bruce, his smile remaining open while his eyes suddenly hold a seriousness within them. "And you don't have to do anything that you're uncomfortable with, Bruce. If you don't want Damian to be in the papers, even if it's just with a quote, then he doesn't need to be. That's your choice ultimately as his guardian to make."

Ah! Why is Clark always so thoughtful?! It makes the omega's heart flutter and his stomach to tingle.

Bruce smiles thankfully at the other man, his posture relaxing at the beta's understanding, looking down when Damian taps on his hand to get his attention. "Do I not get a say in what I want to do?" The boy grumbles and crosses his arms to show how he doesn't agree with what's going on, huffing more when his mom just gives him that same amused smile once more. "I'm sorry. But you don't, not in these cases. You know that I consider it, but the choice is ultimately up to me, especially with those of you who are still underage...and I don't think I could handle seeing the comments people would, could and will make about you guys. And you know that no matter what, the media always finds a way to portray anyone horrible, even children. You all have enough troubles on your own...I'd hate to add onto that by shoving your faces in the news too."

Damian sighs softly and concedes to the rule by snuggling back into the omega's side. "Fine...but people find a way to talk about everyone in our family anyway and they barely know about us. It's not our fault we are iconic and they can't help but to talk about it all the time."

Bruce pats the boy's head for his obedience and laughs at how much Damian is picking up his older siblings ways of speaking.

"Thank you, puppy. And until the day you and all your...iconic-ness can be seen in public, you'll stay right here hidden away with me. Doesn't that sound better?" Bruce tilts his head down and to the side as he asks, humming happily when Damian snuggles more into his body, his small arms tightening around the omega's waist as his answer. "Well, since that's settled, Clark, would you like to begi-" Bruce sighs at the interruption from his desk phone, whispering a quick apology to Clark before picking it up and signing into the receiver. "Clara...what are you doing? You know I'm supposed to be having an interview right now?"

Clark does his best not to look like he's listening in on the conversation. Distracting himself with small doodles of his and Bruce's names put together on the back of his notebook in different fonts.

"I'm so sorry to interrupt the meeting we both know hasn't started yet. But, Mr. Hannington showed up for a meeting, or so he claims, and he isn't leaving no matter how much I insist that he has the dates mixed up. He told me to tell you that it's an emergency, but if you don't feel like coming down, I can just call security on him." Bruce rubs at his temple tiredly and sighs once again, "Why would you call security on him? He's a seventy-five-year-old man with memory problems. Tell him I'll be right on down and that I'm sorry for my misunderstanding, maybe find him something to snack on while I finish things up here, okay."

Clara makes a suspicious sounding noise on the other side of the phone, her computer keys clacking away and her voice lowering as she whispers. "You never know what a seventy-five-year-old man can be capable of, but I'll do what you said right away, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce sighs tiredly at the woman's paranoia (that's rich coming from him) and puts the phone back on its stand, clearing his throat to get the reporters attention, his icy blue eyes apologetic as he stares at the taller man. "I'm so sorry to cut this short when things barely even got started...but there's an older gentleman downstairs who usually comes around unexpectedly, expecting me to have a meeting with him. He's a very sweet old man with no one to keep him company, so I would hate to leave him alone for so long and disappoint him."

Clark is truly and definitely in love.

How can his the omega be this kind to people? This is exactly why Clark is so smitten with Bruce. The man is just so naturally caring and generous to anyone willing to accept his help. The reporter nods his head in understanding and rises out of his seat along with Bruce, "I understand. It's very kind of you to...entertain him like this when you aren't obligated to. I guess I'll see you whenever you schedule another meeting-"

"It doesn't have to be a waste of his time, mother."

Both Clark and Bruce look down at Damian for his interruption, the omega giving his son a pointed look at the suggestion. "We've already talked about this, sweetheart-"

Damian crosses his arms and huffs, "No. You talked about it and I just agreed because I love you."

Bruce raises a brow at the backtalk and puts a hand on his now cocked hip, "Damian Wayne-" at the full name, the pup immediately snuggles up to the man's side and wraps his small arms around the other's legs. "I'm sorry, mama...but, don't you think me being interviewed by someone as trustworthy as Kent could be beneficial to me?" Damian looks up at the omega, determined to get his way, smiling a little in victory at the man's curious look. "Think about it this way, mama-" he presses on when Bruce still doesn't correct him-"I can learn how to act and talk in interviews now, so that way when the time comes for me to say something in the news later, I know how to be professional about any dumb questions the reporters ask me."

Bruce hums thoughtfully, carding his fingers gently through Damian's hair and grumbling internally at how he can never properly stay mad at his kids.

'Well..." The omega glances at Clark considerately. It's true that he trusts the beta with a lot more information and things considered normal for someone who's ultimately his employee to be trusted with or to know, but it's also not his fault that the man has proven himself to be trustworthy and a gentleman to top it all off. But, just because he trusts Clark with himself, does that mean he trusts the man to be alone with his children?

Clark clearing his throat snaps Bruce out of his thoughts, the omega looking up at the now awkward beta as he scratches the back of his neck nervously.

"Um...if you wouldn't feel uncomfortable leaving me with Damian, I wouldn't mind giving him a trial interview. I promise that I won't record or write anything down...i-it can just be a few easy questions for your pup to get a feel of things, you know?" Clark glances down at Damian briefly before looking at Bruce again, licking his lips nervously as he shifts in place slightly. "Plus, I would be lying if I said the thought of getting to talk to one of your kids wouldn't be exciting-" at the omega's unwavering gaze stayed on him, Clark clears his throat awkwardly-"O-Only because I often see your children hanging around the office with you...but every time I come around, they run off or something. It's probably stupid. But, you've been such an amazing person to hang around, so I could only imagine what your kids were like, but I haven't really gotten the chance to speak or have a real interaction with any of them until today."

Clark laughs nervously and shrugs, "I don't know? I guess it was also a bit discouraging to see your pups run away from we whenever I come around. I've always liked children...so, uh...I guess having a whole group of them not feel comfortable around your presence is a bit sad." He paused for a second before panicking and waving his hands around frantically, "Of course I'm not saying that they are obligated to be near me or anything! That is fully up to them if they would want that. I just-I guess I just wanted to get to know them better since I feel I've gotten to know you so well now."

Bruce is silent. Damian is silent (and glaring). And Clark is most definitely quiet now that he's word vomited everything to the omega.

Are they still even talking about the interview? Bruce wonders silently. At this point, it sounds like Clark is someone he's been seeing romantically for awhile now and he is trying to get to know the family after a couple months or a year of dating one another. I mean, Bruce wouldn't mind that option either, but he's in a working environment...so the intense blush from imagining building an imaginary life with your employee is probably some form of inappropriate workplace behavior.

Nevermind the fact that said imagination is almost causing Bruce to just ask Clark to be the father of his children.

Yeah, that's definitely crossing some sort of workplace code of conduct.

Bruce sucks in a deep breath to calm down his racing heart and gently nudges Damian's head, giving the boy a soft and serious look as he gestures towards Clark. "Baby, do you...would you feel comfortable sitting up here with Clark for a bit while I take care of Mr. Hannington?"

Damian can't help the sassy reply as he looks up at his mom, "Do I...do I actually get a say here?"

Bruce playfully slaps the back of his pup's head for the remark, "Of course you do. This is different...like if I were to leave you in the care of a babysitter or something, I want you to truly feel comfortable around them above anything else. Cause it doesn't matter what my personal feelings or opinions are about Clark-"

Damian tugs on the omega's pants, his gaze steady as he stares his mom down. "And what are your feelings on him?"

Oh, wow...

Bruce suddenly feels called out by his own child (even though the boy hasn't said anything worthy of him feeling that way) as the boy looks at him almost analytically, the pink tint coloring his face once more as he does his best to meet the big green eyes of his youngest pup. "Well—" Bruce gives Clark a passing glance, his tone uncharacteristically soft-maybe even shy-as he answers—"I trust him a lot more than even I ever expected to. H-He's a really outstanding reporter...and man from what I've gathered."

Clark swallows down all the saliva that suddenly decided to have a get together in his mouth. How is it possible for his throat to feel too moist yet dry at the same time?

The taller man looks down at Damian and focuses on the serious look the boy wears. Watching closely as the boy's lower lip juts out into a pout as he thinks (like Bruce does), and how his eyebrows scrunch together and wrinkle in the middle because of how hard he's thinking (exactly in the way Bruce's does too). The pup huffs softly before sticking his nose high in the air as though he didn't look troubled before and kindly waves his mom away, "Well...if you trust him, mother, then surely I have a reason to feel comfortable around him as well."

Before Bruce can protest, the pup pushes insistently at the long legs.

"And before you scold me for what I said. I know that it's ultimately up to how I feel...but, I also trust your judgment as my mom. I know you wouldn't leave me with someone you know would hurt me-" the same can't be said about yourself, is left unsaid-"So, I am willing to find out for myself why you feel this way exactly. Now, off with you, mother. Go tell that old goat I said hello." Despite Bruce's complaints at being pushed, he humors the small boy and gives in to the pushes, heading towards the door step by step until he's 'shoved' outside of his own office.

Correcting Damian about referring to his elders as 'old goats' before the pup shuts the door in his face, respectfully, of course.

Clark shivers at the temperature dropping in the room suddenly when the pup turns around, the boy's soft green eyes (when looking at Bruce at least) suddenly turning sharp and cold as he looks the beta up and down. "Take your seat."

What is Clark to do but to listen?

This is a whole new side of Bruce's kids that he has never seen before. Of course, he's seen the kids in passing, usually when they ran away or made his job difficult by pulling little pranks on him, but he truly has never interacted with one of the creatures the children so closely before. He feels like his movements should be slow...and it's sad to say, but at this point he's not sure if the slow movements are for his sake or theirs.

Damian nods approvingly as the older listens to him and takes the same spot he was in earlier, hopping up onto his mom's desk chair and folding his hands as if he's in a serious meeting. "Look, Kent-" the pup sighs tiredly, as though he's been talking to the older man for hours on end already-"I understand that you have this...'infatuation' with my mother, but I'm here to tell you that whatever it is that you are scheming isn't going to work on him or us. You are here to do your job—" he pauses and waves his right hand around, rolling his eyes when the alpha just stares at him stupidly—"Your job, which is what exactly?" Clark blinks in confusion and pushes up his glasses nervously, "Um...being a reporter? More specifically: interviewing the people that I'm told to interview, go to the places I'm sent to go to get information, writing and getting the facts on my stories...to...uh...name a few things."

Damian nods his head, "Very good. And because you are constantly working hard to get such information from people, wouldn't you say that there requires a specific kind of professionalism to be had during work hours?"

Clark isn't sure where this conversation is going...but it sounds like one he doesn't want to have.

"Yes. Of course I remain professional during work hours. I wouldn't be a good journalist if I couldn't remain so."

The boy stares at him silently before humming and knocking thrice on the wooden desk, "Then why exactly have you been flirting during working hours with someone who you are sent to talk to for business? And not only that! But you flirt with someone who is now your boss." Clark flinches at the harsh accusation, looking on curiously as Tim Drake-one of Bruce's many pups-slides out from one of the desk cabinets with a large tablet in his hands. Damian choosing to carry on as if what's happening is completely normal, "My brother here has compiled up all the moments in which you've made those disgusting looking googly eyes at our mother."

Tim nods his head in greeting and draws Clark's attention to the device in his hands, his gaze accusing as he stares at the older man.

"Thank you, Damian. You did a wonderful introduction to this whole problem. Anyways, Mr...Kent, is it?" At Clark's slow nod, the young alpha continues. "That's what I thought. My siblings and I usually wouldn't bother to involve ourselves with our mama's business (that's a lie), but you see, we have been keeping our eyes on you these past few times you've come to interview our mom—" a few taps of the screen suddenly shows an image of Clark and Bruce, the video playing exposé style—"and we haven't appreciated what we've seen from you: 1. You are flirting on the job, 2. You are flirting on the job with someone who is supposed to be your boss now, 3. You are flirting with our mother and 4-"

Clark jumps in his chair as someone drops down dramatically from the ceiling, the tall and bulky alpha snarling meanly at the reporter. "And 4: We don't know what your fucking plans are with our mom, so spit it out or we'll help you spit it out."

Ah...

This one must be Jason. Clark remembers the few (un)lucky reporters who have actually gotten up close and personal with a few of Bruce's kids (jealous) saying that the second eldest boy is nothing like the omega describes him as: cute, innocent, a baby, the most precious being to ever walk the face of the earth, his small little boy; and now that Clark is looking at the alpha, he can see what those reporters meant. This 'baby' is built like a reinforced war shelter or something...but the man can't help but feel like this young alpha looks familiar in some way.

A whine escapes Tim from behind Jason's bulk, the much shorter alpha hitting at his big brother's back with his tablet. "That's no fair, Jay! You got in the way of my presentation! You promised that you'd wait until the end."

The older boy growls at being hit, but it must not be as threatening as he makes it sound as Tim keeps hitting him, even going so far as to start kicking at the older one's leg, in rebuttal to the sound. "I promised that I'd think about it, pipsqueak, and guess what my answer was? A big, fat, loud f-no. I'm getting impatient with this guy's innocent act...especially since he obviously wants something out of our mama."

Okay, okay, okay.

1. Clark knows he should be terrified right now because of how menacing Jason looks.

2. He is terrified...but not necessarily for the reasons they may want him to be.

3. How can he be scared when Jason calls Bruce, "mama", with an adorably scrunched up nose of protection (because that's definitely a nose scrunch of protection...Clark can tell. And is that something they all got from Bruce?)

And 4. Why is this whole experience making him want to father his pups these pups more than he already wanted to?

Clark, at the realization that his nervousness and fear is more so because he wants to impress Bruce's kids, rather than because they actually and genuinely terrify him, causes him to bury his face in his hands with a loud and pitiful cry.

Jason licks his lips in excitement at the reaction, a twisted smile gracing his face as he looks down at the wailing reporter and giving a menacing chuckle. "Yeah, you motherfucker (and I oop-), cry me a river you bastard. I wanna smell the distress coming off of you in waves by the time you leave this place. You think you can just-just enter our mom's life without us knowing about it, huh? You think that you can make heart eyes at him and get away with it, hm? You think that you can just waltz in here and try to take him away from us, is that it?"

What is wrong with Clark?

Why would he want to be a father to what seems like some of the world's most stubborn, paranoid, crazy, out of hand, bloodthirsty children to ever exist?

I mean, some of those descriptions may be a bit true...but, Clark also can hear the adorably sincere, protective, maybe a touch possessive (in the way pups can be over their mother's), dedicated, filial, genuinely loving and caring tone coming from these-these gremlin children.

Clark is just beginning to realize how crazy he either is himself, or, just how selfish he can truly be right now. Cause all he wants to do is to make these pups his own and be strong for them...because the way they seem to be talking right now disturbs his heart and penetrates deep down to his own protective instincts, at what sounds like the fact that none of these kids seem to have had a decent alpha figure in their lives.

I mean, what are they talking about taking there mom away? What do they mean by his 'plans' for their mom? They make him sound like he's here to hurt Bruce and his family rather than love them.

Jason growls low in his throat at the lack of a response from the seated man, the pups scrambling back in surprise when the reporter suddenly shoots up out of his seat and stands over them.

And stand over them he truly does.

They never actually realized how big the other man was until now...is he standing at full height?

Jason feels a pang of regret for talking the way he did. What if he got his younger brothers in trouble because of his big mouth? The young alpha pushes the younger two behind him, growling low in his throat when they try to protest his protection, forcing them to stay behind himself as they don't know what happens after backtalk. It always leads to beatings and bruises...and he doesn't want that to happen to them, not if he can help it.

"Stay the fuck away from us!"

Clark freezes at the deep baritone of the boy's voice. He sounds...angry? That one is for sure, but the Kryptonian can hear beyond the instinctual anger and down deep to the imperceivable–well, imperceivable to anyone without super hearing that is. The older alpha (though they don't know he is one) stands as still as he can be and lets his super senses do the work for him. Frowning at hearing the slight, almost unnoticeable, shakiness of the boy's vocal cords; fear, the boy is feeling fear when talking to him. Clark carefully scents the air and has to hold back his distressed cry at the uneasy, weary smell coming from the young man.

Jason narrows his eyes suspiciously at the taller and how he seems to have listened to the command to not come closer...at least for now he has.

Baby blue eyes look behind the alpha as the office door opens and Richard enters the room with the rest of their siblings. They were on standby as clean up crew just in case things got messy, but now, the older is inching his way on up to be close to Jason when seeing that glassy look trying to take over the younger one's eyes. "Jay, everything is alright, Mr. Clark isn't moving a muscle." The eldest Wayne child suddenly turns a sharp gaze onto said male, looking over his body to make sure that he's remaining in place.

Cass does the same and looks over the older man, relaxing slightly at what she sees and huffing a quiet laugh to herself at how open the other is with his feelings.

The beta pushes past Richard and skips over to her three brothers, giving a big smile to Jason in response to his protective hissing. "Cass! What the hell is wrong with you?! Don't get so close to him!" The younger tilts her head slightly and looks behind herself to get a glimpse of Clark, taking note of the sadness in his eyes before turning back to Jason and making an x with her arms, "I don't sense anything threatening from him. I promise you, Jason. Everyone is okay as far as I can tell...if anything, Mr. Clark is uber easy to read, if a bit confusing? He's thinking too many things at one time for me to pinpoint what's causing his distress."

Jason watches his little sister sign closely, snorting at the last part of her comment. "Yeah...right, distressed. Why in the hell would he be distressed right now? Because he's been called out for his atrocious behavior?"

Richard finds himself relaxing a bit at having Cass's two cents on what's going on, though he still wants Jason to feel comfortable enough himself to release Tim and Damian from his protective grasp...the poor pups look like they're suffocating with the way the taller is pressing them into the wall. "Maybe we can give him a chance to explain himself? Even if he is some big, horrible man at the end of the day...I don't think he would harm us, especially as mom can easily come up and catch him doing it. And he seems a little too fond over B to hurt us outright."

Clark blinks away the wetness in his eyes...he understands what Richard is trying to do, but it still is a pain to hear someone say that their brother thinks that you'd harm them to your face indirectly.

Jason stiffens up as Clark is on the move again, making a confused noise in the back of his throat when the beta hunches in on himself (as though to make himself smaller) and clasps his hands together as though he's begging for forgiveness. "I-I'm sorry if I have ever acted in a way that has caused any one of you to think I meant harm to yourselves or your mother. I doubly apologize at the fact that I don't know what it is that I did to make all of you feel this way, but if you would be willing to tell me so I can fix it..."

Everyone stares at the reporter in varying stages of shock, confusion or guilt, Barbara being the one to break the silence with a long-suffering sigh. "I told you guys that this would be going too far."

Clark glances over to the sheepish looking woman, the ginger waving her hand in a gesture for the man to relax. "I'm sorry about our behavior towards you...we...uh...we got a little to overzealous in our plans to come talk to you in concern of our mother's new interest, and I don't mean that to be offensive. Mom usually only shows this much interest in us...so I guess we got a little jealous over you."

Stephanie nods her head in agreement, though she still looks curious and a bit cautious as to why Clark is so interested in their ma. "Yeah, and I hope you can excuse Jason? He has some...personal issues, like the rest of us do, and he just got a bit startled." Jason tightens his grip on Tim and Damian (that he moved to holding at some point), burying his nose in their hair for comfort (just like Bruce does *sobs*) as he protests. "I didn't get startled! And I wasn't scared-" his baby blue eyes shift over to Clark cautiously as he slowly relocates himself and his baby brothers over to where his siblings are gathered-"I was just making sure that he didn't do anything stupid is all. You can never trust a stranger."

Stephanie deadpans, "But all of us met B and trusted him when he was at his strangest to us."

The slightly younger alpha frowns, "But this is different, Steph. B is-is our mama. He's able to be trusted because he's showed himself to be." The blond sighs softly in response and just tiptoes up to ruffle the younger boy's hair.

This time it's Richard who turns to look regretfully at Clark, "I'm truly sorry about all this. I feel like I should take most of the blame as I'm the eldest sibling...and I know for a fact that I didn't help dissuade the others when they made plans to come interrogate you-" the older whines as he's slapped upside the head by Barbara-"Okay, okay, I'm sorry. I left out how I was one of the first to suggest coming here to do this."

Clark looks between the group of pups (because that's what they are, okay?) and finally lets his tears fall, causing the children to look troubles by the intense reaction.

Damian stops trying to wriggle out of Jason's arms at the sight of Clark's tears and sighs empathetically, "I understand how scared you must have felt when I started talking to you. But...just know that while I was trying to intimidate you, this was not the reaction I was expecting–hey!" He shouts in protest as his hair is roughly ruffled by Jason (who has chosen to release Drake...how unfair). "It wasn't you he was intimidated by, it was me, obviously."

Damian frowns deeply at the obvious lie, nipping and biting at the older boy's hand in retaliation, causing a chain reaction as the rest of his siblings join in on the chaos and forget the crying reporter watching them fondly.

It's only when the man releases a deep chuckle that everyone turns to look at Clark confusedly, especially as he keeps on laughing. "I-I'm sorry to disappoint...but I wasn't scared of either of you-" he looks between everyone before shrugging-"Well, maybe just a little boy at first? But, I'm so selfish and greedy; covetous about something that isn't even mine." Everyone is taken aback by the yearning in the deep blue eyes. "I-I accidentally said too much earlier to your mom when he was in the room...I am guessing that Tim and Jason heard me as they were hiding the whole time? But, I just wanted you all to be impressed by me I guess...I just found it discouraging how none of you seemed to feel comfortable around me whenever I came to interview Bruce."

Jason purses his lips and stares Clark down, "And why do you even want us to feel comfortable around you? It's not like we'd be around you twenty-four seven."

Clark nods almost dejectedly, a small sighs escaping him. "I know...I guess it was partly because I ended up coming around a lot, so to see you kids in somewhat of a consistent enough manner really made me hope that I could get to at least speak to one of you. And...um...I said that I was selfish and greedy earlier—" he swallows nervously at the sharp looks he receives for the change in tone—"and I meant that. I suppose you all were somewhat right when saying I had intentions, but I promise you that it's not anything nefarious."

Stephanie hums thoughtfully before waving her hand, "Explain."

Clark nods in thanks at the chance to share his side of things, "It's true that I've been...flirting with your mother-" he ignores whoever murmured about stating the obvious and pushes forward-"and I'm sorry for being unprofessional in my work, but...but your mom–Bruce, he's such a hard worker and a dedicated boss to those working for him, as well as a committed mom to all of you. And I saw that and I-truthfully I fell in love with his everything: his passion to make this city and the world a better place for the struggling, the reddening of his face when I take an interest in something he finds interesting, his care and adoration for children and youths of all ages and backgrounds." He takes in a deep breath and deals the final blow, "But especially I fell in love with the children of Bruce Thomas Wayne: my boss, crush-and honestly-someone who feels like my best friend during these moments of getting to know each other."

Clark doesn't know where the sudden confidence comes from, but he looks each and every single pup in the eyes as he finally finishes. "And when I said I fell in love with his everything, I meant everything. All of you mean so much to me and I haven't even gotten to know you. That's the reason why I was so scared, it's because I wanted you to see me as someone worthy enough to talk to and feel comfortable around, and I'm only sorry for not being able to be that someone for you all."

With that, Clark bows his head and waits for the biting remarks from the Wayne children, only to be surprised at the gentle tugging of his suit sleeve.

Cass smiles kindly at Clark when he looks up at her, the girl's eyes a bit watery from the confession and baffled at the level of sincerity radiating from the man as he confessed. "You...you already sound like more than what any of us deserve. We're sorry for putting so much pressure on you rather than talking it out...most of us aren't good at that-" she gives a playful smile to lighten the mood and continues signing-"or in my case, can't simply do so. But, your honesty is appreciated...if a bit overwhelming because of its level of sincerity. Thank you."

He doesn't know how it's possible, but Clark is falling more for Bruce's kids and how...soft they actually seem to be.

They just need a little love is all.

And maybe a father? (Fingers crossed)

Jason grumbles to himself dejectedly at how wrong his analysis of the man was. Which really is a good thing! He would have freaked out if he found out the other had bad intentions towards his mama, but, he also doesn't know what to do with this new information, because it's nothing like what he expected it to be.

However, in a rare moment of showing respect, Jason turns to look at Richard and nudges the older with his elbow to get his attention and opinion as the head alpha (when Alfred isn't around that is). "What do you think about this? About him?" Richard's eyes crinkle in that familiarly comforting way it does when he's low-key (read: high-key, cause he ain't low-key about nothing) excited about something, the older wrapping a lean, yet strong, arm around Jason's neck and leaning in to nuzzle the boy's cheek. "I...actually feel really good about him, Jay. Don't feel pressured to like him either just because I or anyone else does, okay? You were very brave today too, by the way, thank you for standing up to what you saw as a threat."

Jason would never admit it, but he preens under the praise and returns the muzzle back to his older brother, allowing his tense body to relax into the slimmer build as Richard holds him up. His blue eyes scanning Clark from head to toe, "I...think I trust him too? I'm scared that I do though."

Richard hums in understanding and hugs his baby (because he is a baby) brother close, the two watching as Damian finally gets out of Jason's hold and stands up in front of his siblings with a heavy pout on his face. "T-Traitors! The lot of you! All of you don't love mommy, for you betray him by falling for such acts!" Uh oh...the boy is stressed out right now, he calls Bruce mommy to/when: 1. To soften the omega up when he wants something, 2. When the omega is distracted with something and Damian whines for his attention or 3. When he gets distressed at a situation and wants to snuggle into Bruce.

And with the way he's looking right now, Damian falls into category number three.

Tim softly tries crooning to Damian when seeing the boy get teary eyed at what he perceives as unfair treatment. "Dami-"

"Damian?"

Everyone jumps in surprise at hearing Bruce's voice suddenly, the omega growing defensive at the thought of his pups having been hurt by Clark at the sight of their teary eyes, until he sees that the man himself also has been crying. "Baby, what's wrong?" Bruce purrs to soothe the distressed pup, lifting the boy into his arms and rubbing gentle circles into the small back as he looks between his kids and Clark for an answer. "What is going on right now? When did you kids even get up here?"

At the apologetic looks from his kids-and the very obvious looks Richard is giving Clark-Bruce immediately mourns whatever it is that his kids said or did to the poor beta.

"What exactly have you kids been doing while I was downstairs? And why are you all crying?"

Bruce extends a gentle hand to his kids and allows them to take off the scent patches on his wrists so that he can rub his comforting smell on all of them, his voice a calm rumble as he calms them down. "There you go, it's okay. Now, I want answers as to what is happening. No one is on trouble, understand? I just need to know if anyone was...hurt or anything." The doubt in Bruce's voice immediately causes all of them to speak up at the same time, the omega looking back and forth between his children in confusion as their words jumble together. "I love you, Bruce Thomas Wayne!"

Now that voice, that voice Bruce most definitely heard.

It's loud, booming, deep, gentle yet commanding and so undeniably alpha of Clark Kent.

Which is confusing. Isn't he a beta?

It takes a moment for everyone to get themselves under control, Clark being the first to shake himself out of his own surprise as he boldly takes off his scent patches so that Bruce knows about him. "I-I wasn't expecting for my confession to ever go this way-" he looks at Bruce's kids in amusement-"much less with an audience around. But, I said I love you and everything about you, from the top of your head to the soles of your feet I love you. From your piercing blue eyes and the way you roll them unknowingly whenever someone says it does something stupid—I should know, you've given me them a lot—to your pink lips and the way you pout them in deep concentration whenever you think hard about something."

Bruce is too busy staring in a daze up at the alpha to pay attention to whichever one of his kids cooed about the romance happening and for someone to scoot over so they can get a better view (though it's most likely Richard).

Clark keeps his eyes trained on the shorter man, standing to his full height and slowly stepping forward until he's right in front of the man, his gaze overwhelmingly fond and loving as he looks down at the smaller. "I love the way you gracefully handle the most troublesome situations in your city, yet complain about the small things like a certain vegetable you don't like in your food or how the weather is a touch too cold for your liking—" Bruce frowns at that and unconsciously rolls his eyes. "Those are perfectly reasonable things to fuss about–w-what?"

Clark watches as the omega adjusts Damian so he can hold him with one arm and pat at his face with his free hand, to see if there's anything on his face. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

The alpha smiles and raises a hand slowly until he's cradling the soft face in his wide palm, basking in the heat radiating from the blushing man. "It's because I love you and the way you complain to me-" he whispers it as though it hurts him to realize just how much he can love someone else-"and...and I don't even know if it's possible for me to have you and for me to be yours in return. I—you are so beautiful, Bruce. Inside and out. And to be around you for so long the way I've been privileged to is such an honor, while also slowly driving me mad with thoughts and dreams about a future I don't even know is obtainable for me." Bruce's arms tighten around Damian, soothing the pup as he whines from the confession going on, his voice nothing but a whisper as he nuzzles the hand cradling his cheek. "Then...then why don't you ask me what I think?"

Clark's breath is taken away at how beautiful Bruce is, his eyes searching the omega's face hopefully as he swallows down his nerves and does as requested. "W-What do you think about me, Bruce? What do you think about us being together?"

Bruce exhales shakily at hearing the question even though he asked for it, "I think...I think a lot of things: how crazy you must be to actually enjoy being around me, how correct you are for loving kids-but especially my kids; how I think that y-you'd make a wonderful father to the omega lucky enough to have you as an alpha." Oh...is this a rejection? Clark can feel his shoulders automatically slump dejectedly, though he keeps his hand on the other's face, fighting off the urge to protest and complain. The alpha caught off guard at the warm tears dripping onto his palm and the warmth of the omega as he steps closer and closer, until their chests are aligned and Damian is cradled in a warm cocoon between the two.

Bruce's voice is small yet optimistic as he asks, "Can I? Can I be that omega?"

Surprisingly, Damian is silent this time, everyone holding their breaths as they wait for Clark's reaction.

Before Bruce can self doubt anymore, Clark lets out a happy shout and picks up the omega and swings him around, placing a tender first kiss onto the shy omega's lips. "You can...as long as I'm allowed to be your alpha in return?" Bruce feels overwhelmed at feeling so...loved and sniffles loudly, stretching up on his toes when Clark pulls away from their kiss, stunned at how addicted he is to the alpha's taste already. He nods his head quickly in answer to the other's question, "Yes! Yes, yes, yes! Thank you, C-Clark."

The alpha wipes away the omega's tears, hugging the man close to his chest and places a tender kiss to the man's forehead as he lets him cry.

Clark catches Damian teary eyed stare in the middle of making sure Bruce is okay, giving a gentle smile to the pup as he croons softly to the boy. "And you-" he bends down until he's face-to-face with the pup-"I promise that I'm not taking away your mom from you or the family. I...I hope to add on to the family he's built, not take away from you guys, and I hope that I can prove that to you and your siblings in due time."

Damian remains stubbornly curled up against Bruce, though he's not as stiff and weary as before, his little nose twitching as he sniffles and looks between Clark and his mother.

"M-Mommy—" Damian whines and clings onto Bruce's suit—"he...he isn't like father."

Bruce sucks in a sharp breath at the admission, nodding his head in agreement, "You're right. He's not your father...he won't hurt you, baby, or me." Damian nods his head softly and leaves it at that, dragging Bruce's hand up to his face so that he can smell at the scent glands on his wrist to be comforted.

Well, that worked out better than expected for Clark, he gives a hopeful smile to Bruce before they turn to the rest of their kids.

Richard smiles brightly and practically vibrates excitedly at the thought of having a dad (again), "Welcome to the family! Is it too early to invite you over for dinner?"

Barbara rolls her eyes good-naturedly as she carefully pushes the eldest to the side and nods her head in polite introduction, "Excuse the family dog, he hasn't had enough playtime today-" she smiles at the offended exclamation she gets from the alpha, waving him off when he tries to play fight her over it-"I'm Barbara and that's Richard...though I'm sure you knew that? I'm really sorry about what happened earlier...but, I'm glad you're one of us now."

Clark feels like crying even more at the beta's kind acceptance of him into the pack.

Cass steps forward next and waves excitedly, "I'm Cassandra; the favorite child, but don't tell anyone else that. I admit that I don't understand why you love us the way you do...not many of us will right now, but like Barbara said, I'm glad you're with us now instead of anywhere else. I'm glad we didn't scare you off...you're kind." Clark barely has time to respond to the small girl before Stephanie is barreling her way through her siblings, the blonde eyeing him carefully now that she knows for sure he's an alpha. "Most alphas we know personally have sucked, so I hope you really aren't one of those ones? You don't seem like it though, so welcome to the family, and let's learn to bug people together. You and me. That's our bonding time."

That was...blunt, but appreciated nonetheless. Clark just is happy at the fact she mentioned bonding with him.

Jason bites his lip when the older alpha looks at him, scratching his index nail against his jeans nervously from the attention. "Uh...I guess I'm sorry for the...overreaction, but I don't have good experiences with alphas." The nineteen-year-old finds himself blushing as he quickly spits out, "But thank you for not freaking out about it-" a quick pause-"I guess."

Clark smiles and softly reassures the boy that there's no need to be sorry, unaware to how Bruce is melting at the dad energy radiating from the man.

Everyone stares at Tim as he's the only one who hasn't said anything yet. Not that he's supposed to, of course, but it's making Bruce worry about it the boy is feeling neglected already...he knows the pup as abandonment issues, so change is often a scary thing for him. "Timmy, is everything okay?" Bruce questions softly, gently brushing away some hair from the alpha's eyes just to see what's going on in his head. The boy only stares up at Clark as though he's found something (or in this case, someone) amazing, the teen hugging his tablet to his chest as he exclaims in awe: "I can't believe Superman is our dad."

Clark's eyes widen to the size of dinner plates as he chokes on his spit, the Wayne family practically breaking their necks to look at him as the room descends into chaos, Stephanie loudly exclaiming.

"I guess #superbat is now trending!"

And that's how Superman found out he was in love with Batman and vice versa.

(Damian's bio parent in this is Ra's Al Ghul. If I would have a decent writing schedule, y'all would have understood that as it's in the separate Damian story I said I was writing. But, just a quick explanation for anyone who would be curious as to who the parent is.

Just know that this also isn't related to the 5+2 story I have in this series as well, as due to popular votes, the majority wanted Clark (in said 5+2) to be Damian's bio parent. So, this takes the route on what I would have done if I would have kept anyone else but Clark as his other bio parent.

Also, please don't ask me what I was thinking when writing this? I was confused on whether to add the crack tags or not, especially as I don't think this is so silly/odd to the point of me tagging that, however, I felt (personally) that the certain way I wrote things was leaning into that crack-ish territory (though I'm most likely wrong lol).

Also, also, I had so many cute endings planned and some reason went with that. I swear if y'all are mad at the ending, I can try fixing it XD, but I just felt the story reached a certain point of angst I didn't expect to have for this...so I made the ending a bit silly-stupid

You all are always so greatly appreciated! And know that I love and appreciate each and every single one of you for taking the time to read, comment and kudos. You all are the most amazing Valentine's a girl could ask for, thank you!

Please remember to stay safe, happy, healthy and of course lovely as always. 💛)

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