#even looking at anything make him feel awful

[notjustjavierpena]

Parents

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: Merry belated Christmas from me! I know this is my second Christmas fic this time around but I finally got the courage to write about Wife’s awful parents. 

Summary: Javier puts his foot down during Christmas with your toxic family. 

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: Toxic family dynamics, psychological abuse, childhood trauma, Christmas, conflict and confrontation, sobbing, declarations of love, hurt/comfort, body/fat shaming

Word count: 5.7k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61942318

Parents

You get a call from your parents’ home number a few weeks before Christmas. Your mother and father haven't actually bothered seeing you since your wedding day last year but Lucas is four months old now and there’s suddenly a strange interest from them in being grandparents to your firstborn. Somehow, they talk you into spending Christmas with them and reassure you that they’ll take care of everything as long as you bring their grandson. The whole idea causes a ball of anxiety to settle in your stomach, almost imitating getting hit right in the solar plexus with how much your breath struggles to even out as you tell Javier about it. Your husband agrees reluctantly but not without raising a concerned brow, asking you several times - and with days between each time - if you are absolutely sure. 

He even asks you now as he parks the car in your parents’ driveway, looking at you with a serious expression, brows furrowed while you sit stiffly in the passenger seat. You glance towards the front door, trying to act casual as if you’re staring at a wild animal who might pounce if it notices your anxiety. It is an odd feeling you get, staring at your childhood home but feeling more as if it is the scene of a crime. This house is not a memory of warm and fuzzy feelings but rather a place of constant criticism and unjust pain. 

Javier says your name softly beside you. On the backseat, Lucas hiccups.

“Do I look okay?” You quickly ask instead of acknowledging the tone of his voice, fixing your hair without changing anything. 

“Yeah,” he answers and tries not to comment on your nerves, “You look beautiful, mi amor (my love).”

The call from two weeks ago had your shoulders tensing up before you even answered the phone but the way they had reasoned you into revisiting the place of your hardest years has made your shoulders not come down again. 

You sigh gently and unbuckle your seatbelt, “Okay. I can do this for just an afternoon. Let’s get this over with.”

You climb out of the car, Javier following you after carefully unbuckling Lucas and cradling him in one arm while balancing the diaper bag on the other shoulder. You leave his car seat, knowing how much easier it would have been to transport your son inside in it but Lucas has been fussy all night. You really wish he hadn’t because you don’t want to go inside with only half the energy that a good night’s sleep could have provided. 

As you ring the doorbell, you take a look at Javier one last time, “Please don’t interfere. I don’t want to make everyone uncomfortable.”

“Baby, are you sure that—“

“Oh, there you are!” Your mother exclaims when she opens the door with a syrupy smile, “We were starting to wonder if you’d gotten lost.”

“Sorry. Life with a baby and all,” you shake your head with an embarrassed chuckle and try to ignore the tension in your muscles, shrugging your coat off your shoulders to reveal your wine-red button-up and dark skirt. 

“Honey, I thought you knew we always dress up a little during the Holidays,” your mother says while glancing at your outfit with veiled disdain, “Where’s that nice blue dress? With the ribbons?”

“This is all that fits me right now, that isn’t maternity clothes,” you answer apologetically at the first jab of many. Beside you, Javier takes a step closer to you without saying anything. 

“Anyway! Where’s the little man?” Your mother chirps, already having moved on and looking to Lucas who has started stirring in Javier’s arms. When she gets closer, about to reach out to run a hand over his little head, Lucas immediately starts whimpering as if he is aware of the unpleasantries that his mother has had to endure at the mercy of this woman. He knows the culprits before they’ve even revealed themselves. 

“Oh, he’s a little fussy, isn’t he?” She laughs it off and retreats much to your relief, letting Javier bounce your son to make him settle down again. When he quietens down again, you share a glance with your husband who signals that everything is okay. You take a deep breath and let him handle the situation. 

“Where’s Dad?” You ask to turn your attention away from your crying child, smoothing out a nonexistent crease in your skirt. 

“I think he’s just about to get the turkey out of the oven,” your mother says, wagging a finger in Lucas’ face with a little smile, “Why don’t you go say hi and I talk to my grandson for a moment? Oh, look at you, Lucas! You’re just perfect, aren’t you?”

You reluctantly leave the three of them to head for the kitchen. You can feel each family photograph staring back at you as you walk through the hallway to your destination; a picture of your five-year-old self on a bike but somehow no picture of your graduation ceremony as if it has been decided where things went wrong before you could acknowledge it yourself. 

“Hey Dad, smells so good in here,” the kitchen does indeed smell wonderfully as you walk through the door. Your father looks at you over his shoulder, giving you a little smile and you try not to think about how he didn’t bother to come out to greet you. 

“Mom and I were wondering if you were ever coming,” he notes while plating pieces of turkey meat. In the hallway, you can hear Javier striking up polite conversation. He’s handling your mother with his usual calmness, and you feel grateful for his presence yet embarrassed that you aren’t strong enough to handle it yourself.

You shrug a little, Javier’s presence giving you the courage to try and mirror said calmness, “Newborns, you know.”

“He’s four months,” he corrects. 

“Right, time flies,” you reply with your confidence fading fast, the words coming out in a way that doesn’t quite carry the quick wit that Javier usually loves about you. You touch your arm, standing awkwardly by the counter, “Still figuring it out as we go.”

Your father doesn’t turn around, “Parenting’s not rocket science, you know. Your mother and I managed just fine without all the made-up nonsense you young people talk about these days.”

You jump a little as your mother puts a hand on your shoulder and says your name to get your attention. You look back at her, “Can you set the table? I put the tablecloth ready on the silverware cabinet.”

“Sure, Mom,” you smile, already heading for the dining room to escape from your father’s subtle judgments. You find Javier has already gone, an irrational thought popping into your head of how he has bolted and left you to deal with your mom and dad by yourself. 

You glance into the kitchen as you start placing the plates in each of their respective places, “Where’s Javier?”

“He went to get the presents from the car,” your mother replies from the kitchen. You hear her take out a serving bowl from a cabinet. 

“Oh, I should go help him wi—“ 

“He’s your husband, sweetie. Let him handle it. There’s no need to emasculate him like that,” she is suddenly in the doorway, staring you down in a way that makes your hands shake. Her gaze drops to the table and her brows furrow, “You’re using the wrong plates!”

You look up with a racing heartbeat, “What?”

She sighs your name audibly, “These aren’t the Christmas plates. We don’t use regular plates for special occasions. Honestly, I thought you’d know better.”

The words sting and you set down the plates you have been holding in case the littlest twitch will make you drop it onto the floor, “Sorry, Mom.” 

“Ah well, now you’ll never forget it,” she jokes without humor in her voice as she opens the door to the china cabinet, pulling out the plates adorned with what you recognize to be hand-painted holly. You shamefully realize you know them from childhood Christmases and that they are exactly where they’ve always been. 

Automatically, you gather the wrong plates to make room for the right ones. It’s Christmas, you remind yourself as you do it. It is one day. You can survive one day. 

“See? Isn’t this much better?” She says cheerfully when your mistake has been corrected and while you nod, Javier reenters the house. 

He joins the two of you, carrying a large gift bag in one hand and holding Lucas on the other arm. You immediately go to take him, doing a careful transfer until you can lay his tiny body against your shoulder while supporting his bottom. 

“¿Todo bien? (Everything okay?)” Javier asks quietly when you follow him into the living room where the tree stands. He sets down the bag and tries to act casual, laying out the gifts and waiting for your honest response in the meantime. Apparently, you haven’t been as successful in hiding the distress on your face as you thought you had. 

You force a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes and Lucas starts whining again. You bounce him gently, “It’s nothing. Just… Christmas stuff.”

Javier glances toward the hallway to the kitchen where your parents’ voices can be heard faintly over the sounds of cooking. His jaw tightens slightly and his mouth becomes a thin line. 

“Don’t,” you say as firmly as you can muster because you wish he would, “It’ll only make it worse.”

“Dame un beso (give me a kiss),” he says instead, and you shyly lean in to peck him on the lips. Afterward, he pulls back but only after stroking Lucas’ back, “You’re both doing great, okay? Don’t let them get in your head.”

You are interrupted by your mother’s voice ringing out from the dining room, telling you that dinner is ready. Javier kisses you one last time before reassuring you that everything will be okay and that he is in your corner. You try to smile, tense as you take a seat with Lucas still in your arms. 

The Christmas meal begins with polite conversation, your father asking Javier about work and your mother telling you about neighbors that you haven’t spoken to in years. You mostly just speak when spoken to, having decided to focus on your baby as he keeps wriggling in your arms in discomfort. You try to rub his belly, try to make him settle by giving him your attention but still, his tiny face crumbles and he lets out a string of small complaints. 

“Maybe we could open presents while he naps?” You suggest hesitantly when your mother has given you enough judgemental advice, “He’s been so fussy all night, and I don’t want him to get more overwhelmed than he—”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” your mother says your name with a sigh. You hear Javier’s chair scrape against the floor, almost as if he is about to get up and get ready for a physical altercation.

“Let’s do whatever is easiest for the baby,” your father interrupts, placing a hand on your mother’s wrist. Her annoyance shines through her eyes but she nods with a smile nonetheless. 

“Of course,” you hear her grit out, “It’s just… We’d love to spend time with him. We’ve already missed so much, and Luke needs his grandparents.”

“We’ll see,” Javier answers for you. 

The dinner continues in mostly silence with turkey being substituted by pie, cutlery clinking against plates, and glasses being lifted and set down again. There’s tension so thick that it can be cut with a knife, your mother glancing at Lucas with a smile before it disappears from her face when she shifts her gaze to your direction.  

Mercilessly, she finally speaks, “So, honey, have you thought about when you’ll start losing the baby weight?”

“Mom!” You exclaim in shock, surprised that sound comes out when your throat feels like it is about to close up completely.

In the same manner as one would spit out a drink in shock, Javier’s fork scrapes unpleasantly against his plate, and suddenly, your mother’s name falls from his lips like the sound itself leaves him with a bad taste in his mouth. She looks startled by the interruption, almost like a deer in the headlights of a car, but it doesn’t faze your husband, “My wife looks beautiful and she has just given me - us - the greatest gift which is our son. Let’s not diminish that, shall we?”

You try to feel the weight of Lucas against your chest instead of how you don’t feel safe within this house, with its bruises on the walls and its ghosts of a youth spent walking on eggshells. Lucas’ body is warm, a reminder that this doesn’t matter. He matters. 

“I’m focused on taking care of my son right now, Mom,” you reply coolly with your lips resting on the soft hairs on Lucas’ head. 

“Right, of course. I didn’t mean anything by it,” your mother argues, clearly flustered, “You know how important it is to stay healthy for the baby.”

“Your mother just wants what’s best for you, honey,” your father intervenes, trying to steer the conversation onto friendlier and safer topics but she has already gotten up from her seat. 

“Why don’t I clear the table so we can move into the living room and open presents?” She mumbles, putting on a show by letting her voice waver. She has begun stacking plates before anyone can even say anything, practically fleeing the room and leaving you all looking slightly sheepish. Javier hides the roll of his eyes exceptionally well and he smiles when you catch him.

“I’ll put Lucas down for a nap,” you announce to what is left of the party.

Javier gets up alongside you to help you. He walks upstairs right behind you, a calming presence with the diaper bag in hand as you head for the guest room.

When you close the door behind the three of you, the tension seeps out of your body at having a quiet moment with your boys. The lighting in the room is soft and calming, almost making you want to lie down to nap with your son. 

“There we go,” you say as you gently place Lucas on the bed while Javier rummages through the bag for his pacifier. Lucas blinks up at you, his tiny fists balled and his chubby legs kicking excitedly. He lets out a happy gurgle.

“Oh, now you’re happy,” you tease softly and kneel by the bed to rub his tummy, “Picky with who we’re smiling at, are we?” 

Javier joins you by the bed and offers Lucas his pacifier. Your son stretches his arms and reaches for his father, letting out a high-pitched giggle around the pacifier. However, as he suckles gently, accompanied by your soft touch that has now moved to his chubby cheeks too, his eyelids start to grow heavy. 

When his breaths have slowed, you do whatever you can with the pillows to create a safe space for him to sleep. You create a barrier around him, ensuring as well as possible that he won’t roll over. 

“You know, you’d think that they would have set up a crib for him if they’re so desperate to see him,” you murmur bitterly as you adjust the last pillow.

“You sure you want to go back down there?” Javier asks carefully. 

“Can you grab the baby monitor?” You ignore his question at first but Javier is already handing you the monitor, ruining your attempt at not addressing the situation further. You sigh and get up from the floor, “I can get through it. If it’ll make them stop pestering me for a visit for a while.”

“I swear, one more word out of her mouth and I’ll open my own,” Javier says with anger simmering just beneath the surface. He drags you into his arms when you stand up again, hears your sigh of relief at being squeezed. It calms your nervous system so effectively that you slump. 

“Believe me, I feel like I am going insane,” you whisper into his neck and shoulder, grabbing aimlessly at his strong frame and inhaling his scent. He returns the desperate touch by simply rubbing your back in slow circles. 

“Yeah, I don’t know how you stay so calm,” he kisses your temple a few times. 

“Trust me, humans can endure a lot when they know there’s a time limit,” you chuckle humorlessly and pull away, “Let’s just do the gift exchange and leave.”

Downstairs, your parents are waiting for you by the tree. The collection of presents is sparse this year due to the short notice but you find it relieving to know that the gift exchange will be over quickly. 

Placing the baby monitor on the coffee table, you sit down on the sofa but don’t allow yourself to relax into it. Javier drops down beside you but leans back into his seat, his hand resting casually on your thigh to ground you. 

“Let’s get to the gifts. It’ll be nice to end this day on a happy note,” your mother says overly cheerfully, pretending to have forgiven and forgotten all about the situation earlier. She reaches for the first gift under the tree while your father stands ready with a bag for the wrapping paper. 

“That’s mine,” Javier tells her with a little smirk in your direction. He holds out his hand until she gives it to him, “To my beautiful wife. Merry Christmas, baby.”

“How thoughtful,” your mother mumbles and sits on the edge of her armchair. 

“Javi, I thought we weren’t on gifts this year,” you scold playfully but there’s no seriousness to your voice. You finally smile and this time it is genuine, feeling his gaze on you while you impatiently rip the wrapping. 

“I know what I said but I know you’ll love it. It’s more for Lucas anyway,” he informs you shyly. 

Inside, you find two pairs of identical fuzzy and comfortable socks with a dinosaur print on them. However, one pair fits Lucas’ tiny feet and the other fits yours. Your whole demeanor changes with the sight of your gift, your face lighting up with a bright smile, “These are so cute!”

“For your cold feet. Thought you could use something cozy while you take care of Luke at home,” he moves his hand to rest just above the small of your back, his palm smoothing over you on top of the fabric of your blouse. 

Your parents sit idly by. They stare at the gift with confusion and arrogance, clearly holding their tongue over how ridiculous they find it. Your mother picks at her fingers, “Interesting.”

“Interesting? Aren’t they adorable?” You hold the matching socks up happily, not sure what to expect but not even your mother’s judgmental expression can bring you down right now. To really rub it in, you kiss Javier’s mouth gently in front of them, “Gracias, esposo (Thank you, husband).”

But the happiness is short-lived as your father goes to get the next present from the small pile. He searches for a moment amongst the few there are, deliberately seeking out the present that you have brought them, most likely to be able to leave the room soon due to the obvious tension. He has never been one to intervene. 

“You shouldn’t have,” your mother tuts with a small smile as she carefully unwraps it in her lap, her fingers doing everything they can to not tear the paper so she can reuse it. 

When the framed picture of Lucas is revealed - a photo taken during an afternoon when he was particularly happy and smiling - her smile develops into a slightly wider one even if it looks against her will. She studies the picture with your father looking over her shoulder. 

“We thought you’d like something to remember him by,” you encourage her to say something. 

Your mother places the photo on the coffee table, her hands smoothing out the wrapping paper while she talks, “It’s lovely, sweetie. Though I’m sure we’d have more memories if we got to see him more often.”

You tense up beside Javier. Out of the corner of your eye, you see him do the same but he squeezes your hip to tell you that he is right there. Anxiously, you curl your fingers into your skirt but your mother isn’t finished.

“I just don’t understand why you’ve been so distant,” she continues, cold in her tone. “You hardly call, which would be fine but you visit even less than that, and now you’re letting Lucas sleep through his first Christmas. It’s not like you’ve gone back to work, so what is it?”

“Mom, please,” you say quietly but it doesn’t veil the wavering of your words, “I’m doing the best I can.”

“Are you?” She challenges, “Lucas has been fussing all night, hasn’t he? Maybe he’s picking up on your stress.”

You hear Javier say your mother’s name as he had during dinner, low and with warning. At the same moment, the baby monitor crackles with the sound of Lucas’ tiny complaints. The sound pulls you from your seat, your instincts to go to him overriding your desire to defend yourself from further abuse. However, your mother’s voice rings out behind you just as you take your first step.

She rolls her eyes, “Oh, just let him cry a little. You’ll make him clingy if you keep running to him every time he whimpers.”

You stop in your tracks, finally turning around to look her in the eye with your own eyes narrowed. You can see Javier watching you closely while you talk, “Mom, if he cries, he needs me.”

According to you, she has already gone too far but it seems that she cannot stop once she has started, “You know, you really should stop babying him so much. He needs to learn to self-soothe.”

Tears of frustration start to build in your chest and you can feel the muscles of your throat start to tighten as they rise to your eyes, “Jesus Christ, Mom, I’m not going to stop babying my baby.”

Her final blow comes out with a deliberate intention to hurt you, “There you go overthinking again and snapping at your mother. He is whimpering. Honestly, sometimes I wonder how Javier puts up with it. You can be such a bitch when you’re stressed.”

The room falls dead silent and the first tear escapes your eye at the cruel nickname… then a second and then a third until you start to cry silently and hopelessly. You suddenly feel like a teenager again, suffering from forced proximity. Your father opens his mouth but nothing comes out, seemingly not able to figure out how to defend his wife for once. It is the final straw for Javier.

“What did you just say?” He firmly cuts through the silence. He has gotten up from his seat and has stepped in front of you to shield you protectively from your mother’s line of sight. His nostrils flare with anger that might explode into rage at any moment but he keeps his voice steady, “You better not have said what I think you did or I am wondering why you haven’t apologized already.”

Your mother’s eyes widen at the idea of consequences. She splutters, caught off guard, “Apologize? Javier, don’t be ridiculous! I’m her mother—“

Javier laughs dangerously and condescendingly and looks away with a roll of his eyes. He shakes his head, not afraid to let the room know that he thinks she sounds pathetic without even calling her out on it. He crosses his arms over his chest, “You got a hell of a way of showing motherly love then; all you have done is tear her down today.”

“Javier,” your father tries to interject, “Let’s not make this into a scene.”

“No,” Javier turns to him, his jaw muscles flexing slightly underneath his skin with how much anger is flowing through him. The simple word makes your father sit up straighter than before - a testament to Javier’s days in Colombia - but Javier is not done, “You don’t get to lecture me about making a scene. Not after sitting there and letting this happen. She is your daughter.”

When your father has shut his mouth, looking uncomfortable by his defeat while he leans back into his seat with no intention to follow up on his words, Javier’s fury settles on your mother once more, “What’s your goal here, exactly?”

You’re aware that it isn’t just a simple few tears falling from your eyes anymore but rather a silent stream that has your face puffy and sensitive. It is accompanied by grief over your younger self not having had someone like Javier in her corner. You sniffle audibly, feeling as if you have been punched in the gut with how much it hurts and humiliates you to sit idly by. Your mother catches a glimpse of you behind your husband but it doesn’t seem to have any effect whatsoever. 

“There’s no secret agenda here, for God’s sake. I didn’t mean anything by it,” she sneers, trying to keep her demeanor straight despite the humiliation of getting called out being evident on her face. 

“Yes, you did,” Javier argues immediately and fiercely, pointing his index finger at her in an accusing manner, “You knew exactly what you were saying. You wanted her to hurt. Well congratulations, you’ve succeeded. Unfortunately, your daughter is a lot nicer than me and handled your words with a lot more grace than you deserve. I will not be doing the same thing.”

Your mother’s composure falters. She says your father’s name helplessly but he looks at her with tired eyes, full of quiet disappointment. Even if he is absent and passive like always, his refusal to intervene further is a sign that he would never go as far as his wife has just done. He shakes his head in disapproval, “Why’d you do it? We were having such a nice time too.”

She gapes at your father while his gaze drops to his lap, shrinking herself slightly at the realization that she is outnumbered and has to face your husband alone. Javier takes a step closer, radiating authority when she tries to avoid further confrontation, distaste so clear on his face for how he has lost her attention for a moment. When you let out a quiet sob, too paralyzed in your spot on the couch to go to your whimpering child, his face hardens further and he continues, “Listen to me.”

Your mother looks up reluctantly. She appears to be on the brink of an attempt to turn his words against him and argue right back once more, but Javier cuts her off before she can even start. 

“You don’t talk to her like that again. Ever. And you most certainly do not question her ability to be a mother. She is a perfect mother and God knows, she hasn’t gotten it from you. Lucas is a happy, healthy, and thriving baby because of her,” he takes a breath, and for a second, it seems like he might be done but then, “You hurt my girl, you understand that? And if you ever speak to her like that again - actually if you even speak about her like that again -  I will personally make sure you don’t get to have Lucas in your life.”

“Are you threatening us?” Her composure slips even more. 

“No, ma’am, I am instructing you,” he replies coldly, “If you can’t respect his mother, we’re done here.”

Javier turns to you now, his face softening immediately at the sight of you sitting teary-eyed on the couch with your hands clutching the baby monitor. He says your name so softly, a sound that has always felt like an unfamiliar and unwelcome sound within this house, and gently pulls the piece of technology out of your hands. 

“Listen to me, baby. Go wait in the car. I’ll get Lucas and his things,” he instructs you, placing the baby monitor on the coffee table behind him without looking away from you. He helps you to stand when you find yourself nodding. 

When you’re up from your seat, he puts a hand on the small of your back to guide you towards the door. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t let you linger in the room. 

“You don’t have to leave,” your mother protests with obvious surprise that you and Javier are carrying out the promise of consequences. She begins pushing herself to stand. 

“Sit down, I will not let you disturb any of the peace she has left,” he commands harshly when she tries to take a step toward you. 

Your mother falters, stunned by his audacity, and sinks back into her seat.

The moment you’re out of the front door, your legs start shaking so badly beneath you that you aren’t sure if you’ll even make it to the car. The walk feels endless, like climbing a mountain, the neighborhood surrounding your childhood home quiet because everyone is inside with the happy family that you never got to have growing up. 

Until now. You have it now. However, you have left them to fend for themselves on the battlefield to slide into the front seat of the car. You rub your chest as it feels tight but it soothes nothing and suddenly, the tears come harder than they had in the living room. You rest your head against the glass window, screwing your eyes shut and feeling drips of hot tears on your cheeks.

Memories come flooding and you have no power to stop them, pictures of many nights spent in solitude in your room because it was the only illusion of sanctuary in the house before you. The sound of your mother’s scoffs, her unbearable ability to make you feel small, inadequate, and unwanted. Her year-long cruelty feels like a knife in your chest but your father’s silent complicity twists its blade too, makes you think that you were never worthy of defending. 

Yet Javier had done it so effortlessly, had done what you’d wished someone would have done for you in your entire life, and he had done it without any hesitation. You are shattered by another night believing the worst about yourself, yes, but you realize that a part of your sobs comes from relief too. Suddenly, it all feels silly and you don’t know why you have always stopped Javier from speaking up for you since you met because his words - she is a perfect mother - have taken the power out of your mother’s incredibly fast. 

You hear the front door open and a shaky sob leaves you at seeing the two of your boys approach the car. Javier has the diaper bag over his shoulder whilst cradling Lucas against his chest, his face serious. He moves in long strides to get to you fast, not saying anything as he buckles Lucas’ sleeping form into his car seat before climbing into his own seat in the front. 

You sit up again, eyes still brimming with tears that streak your face. You feel overwhelmed like you have run a marathon or fought a bear or a monster. 

Javier puts on his seatbelt but doesn’t put the key in the ignition yet. He looks out of the windshield for a moment, breathes a sigh of relief. The car is quiet except for Lucas’ soft breaths as he sleeps.

Right until Javier says your name when you don’t automatically turn your head to look at him, ashamed of how the day has progressed. It is Christmas, after all, and Lucas’ first one ever too. 

“Mírame (Look at me),” he says in a gentle murmur. 

You shake your head, unable to answer with how tightly wound you are. You feel his hand under your chin, carefully pulling you by your chin until your eyes meet his. His outline is blurry from all the tears but his voice cuts through the fog in gentle firmness. 

“I love you so much, and I love our son, okay?” He says it like it is a promise, “They aren't ever gonna to talk to you like that again because I won't allow them to. Do you understand me?”

You silently look at him through your tears, nodding weakly. He reaches to brush your tears away with a knuckle. 

“Everything’s gonna be okay because you don’t have to see them if you don’t want to. You just have to let me take care of you,” he continues and cups your cheek instead, “And right now, I say you’re done with them for tonight. Actually, for as long as you fucking want.”

“I want… I don’t…” You say at first but then, “I’m sorry.”

Javier furrows his brows, “Why are you sorry?” 

“Because that’s my mom,” you try to speak around a fresh sob, “And you married me and I trapped you with my fucked up family.”

“Hey, heyheyhey,” he shakes his head, moving his other hand to cup your whole face now. He leans over the console of the car and rests his forehead against yours. When you simply cry harder, he pulls you into a hug, “You didn’t trap me, okay? You didn’t. I’m here because you make me happy. You make me so happy, baby, and Hell knows, I needed a bit of taking care of when you met me. Let me return the favor.”

His body is warm, soothing, and grounding. His embrace squeezes you hard enough to make you calm down, giving you a moment of quiet peace in your mind as you begin to take in his words. You feel the same. You want to say it but you’re afraid that you’ll never stop crying tonight, so instead you find the courage to say those words that you should have told yourself years ago, “I don’t think I want to go back.”

“What do you want to do then?” Javier pulls back to look at you. He moves back into his own seat again and starts the car to give you time to think clearly about his question. 

“Can we go to your dad’s?” You ask hesitantly. 

Javier’s brows rise slightly but he doesn’t argue, just nods as he puts the car in reverse. Before reversing out of the driveway, he pulls you in to kiss your forehead softly. 

“Claro, mi amor (Sure, my love),” he says simply, “He’d love to see us.”

.

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[hiiikiko]

𝖘𝖜𝖊𝖊𝖙 𝖆𝖘 𝖈𝖆𝖓 𝖇𝖊

pure smut tbh, bully!ellie x reader

tw: bully!ellie, sweet!reader, sadistic notes, maschistic notes, and maybe a few more idk lol

Ellie hated you, she couldn’t put her finger on why, though. Maybe it was the stupid bows in your effortlessly curly hair, the way those pretty long lashes would bat up at her when she slammed you into a locker, or maybe… maybe it was the fact that you just had to be so fucking sweet to everyone, sweet as can be.

She bit harder on the wood of her No.2 pencil, her eyes boring a hole into the back of your head where that stupid fucking pink bow was sitting, her mind not even attempting to listen to whatever the professor was saying. Her mind was still reeling from she had witnessed earlier, you and that stupid boy flirting near the water fountains, or at least that’s what it looked like.

“Class is dismissed,” the professor’s dull voice echoed throughout the classroom.

You quickly collected your things and stuffed it into your backpack, your mind focused on getting out of there as soon as possible, before you-know-who corners you and escaping into the safety of your room.

You were so, so close to sweet freedom when she-who-must-not-be-named swooped in front of you, grabbing you by the collar like a mama lion would carry her baby cub but this time, she was the lion and you were the poor gazelle with your neck in her mouth.

“Hey Ellie,” you nervously laugh and tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear, mouth running dry as her piercing green eyes rake over you.

You had no clue why she hated you so much. You were a complete sweetheart to everyone, never even accidentally stepped on someone’s toe when making your way through the crowded seats of your lecture halls and yet, this girl, hated your guts.

“Yeah, hey,” her eyes narrowed at your outfit, she clearly had a distaste for the frills, lace, and pink, “Need a favour.”

You knew that a favour from Ellie wasn’t a favour at all, it was and order, “Okay, what is it?”

She scoffed, she couldn’t believe how easy this was, “Come over to my dorm, room 328, Saint Cal Hall, need help with classowork.”

She nodded at you and left the classroom. Ellie smiled as she made her way to her next class, how could you be so fucking sweet to her, your bully? She shook her head.

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

Ellie’s dorm was clean.. surprisingly. Maybe you stereotyped her a bit too hard.. you had assumed that all jocks were assholes who left their socks strewn all over and waited for the weekends for their moms or girlfriends to clean up their dorms.

Studying went well.. until..

“Why were you talking with that frat boy,” she crossed her arms and leaned into the chair of her desk.

You racked your brain for a frat boy… frat boy… “Oh! Liam? I was just giving him some advice on Professor Edwards class since I took it last semester,” you truthfully admit.

“That so?” she scoffed, not buying it.

“Mhm,” you hum out, your body tensing under her gaze.. you couldn’t deny it, Ellie was objectively attractive, hell, she was hot. The way her hair was messy but in an effortlessly cool way, her piercing gaze that never seemed to falter, the way she was so close, you could count the freckles on her face, the way—.

“So you couldn’t see the way he was looking at you? He was obviously eye-fucking you,” she scoffs and eyes you up and down, “You can’t even blame him when you’re wearing a skirt that short.”

Your cheeks flushed red and tears began to prick the corners of your eyes, you should be used to the bullying by now, right? But you weren’t, if anything you had gotten more and more sensitive.. and Ellie noticed that.

“I don’t need this,” you mutter and make your way to the door.

“Aw, you crying?” she laughed dryly and pushed herself off the chair, circling you like a vulture, “Did that hurt your feelings? God, grow up.”

You wiped your tears with your sleeve and sniffle, “I’m not crying.”

The way your lashes glistened with tears stirred something deep within Ellie, “God, you’re too sweet.”

You cocked your head in confusion…. ‘too sweet?’

“What do you mean by that?” you wipe another tear away.

“You really wanna know what I mean?” she took a step closer to your front, her pale hand wiping away your fat teardrops.

You weren’t sure how to answer but then you hesitantly nod.

Within one quick motion, Ellie looks the door and with her other hand, pulls you in by your neck, hungrily kissing you, a small groan escaping her pretty lips.

You were confused, this girl who has bullied you since Freshman year is now kissing you, causing your knees to buckle as you wrap your arms around her to hold yourself up.

“You’re so fucking annoying,” she growled out and pushed you up against her bed, her hands lifting you up onto it while she nipped at your neck, “Too fucking sweet for your own good,” she muttered against your neck.

Right now, all Ellie could think of was you… the way you always smiled at your fellow classmates, the way you didn’t notice the fluttering touches that the boys in the class would leave on you. In her own sadistic way, this was almost a way to teach you a lesson, to teach you that not everyone should be treated in such a sweet manner, that not anybody can be trusted.. if it meant protecting you, she was willing to play the big bad wolf.

She roughly pulled up your skirt and moved the thin fabric of your panties to the side, her fingers grazing against your folds, “You’re so fucking wet,” she laughs cruelly, “You really getting off on this?”

Your cheeks flared red, “N-No.”

“Liar,” she laughed and pushed two fingers in, earning a sharp gasp from you. Even in this case, she was as cruel as ever.

“E-Ellie,�� you whimper and move your hips so she could reach deeper.

She turned her head to not-so-subtly sniff your strawberry scented hair, groaning at the sweet smell. Everything about you is so sweet, she angled her hand in a way that would make her two fingers move further into your sweet pussy, her fingers pushing up against that sweet spot deep within you, “What? Feelin’ good?”

You eagerly nod, you were already so close, you were clenching so hard around her, “I-I’m gonna—.”

She rolled her eyes, “Already? Don’t you fucking dare, you’ll cum when I tell you to.”

She was being so mean and both of you knew it but you couldn’t deny that you didn’t like it.

Ellie knew she had to teach you a lesson like, come on. You came all the way across campus to her dorm to tutor her? To tutor your fucking bully? Get real, you were too fucking naive for your own good and like that saint she is, Ellie decided to teach you a very much needed lesson.

She moved her fingers faster, rougher, causing your eyes to flutter shut. Your hands desperately balled the sheets up into your fist, desperately trying to find anything to keep you grounded. You were so close, you were going to—.

Just as you were about to be pushed over the edge, she pulled her fingers out, they were slick and wet, “You’re such a pathetic girl,” she laughs and licks her fingers clean, “but you taste so sweet.”

“Get on all fours,” she said, roughly turning you over and watching as you get up.

You heard faint rusting and a drawer opening, you glanced back to see Ellie with a strap on tied around her.

She climbed onto the mattress and pushes you down, holding your hands against the mattress so that your face was flat against the bed as she rammed the strap into you.

You let out a loud cry at the harsh thrusts, tears pricking your eyes as your eyes rolled back.

“Gotta stop being so fucking sweet,” Ellie groans, emphasizing each word with a sharp thrust, her hand roughly circling your aching clit while the other pushed your head deeper into the mattress.

All you could do was cry out ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘won’t do it again’ over and over.

She growled at your pathetic babbling, “You’re so fucking weak.”

You whimpered, you never really cared for how harsh she could be but… it was a completely different story if it was in bed.

“You like how mean I am, baby?” she laughed as she felt you clench around the strap.

You nod, too fucked out to care about what you just admitted.

“Yeah?” she whispered against your neck, placing a soft kiss on the back of it.

“Y-yeah,” you whimper.

“You like being fucked by your bully?” she laughed and went harder, bullying the strap deeper inside you.

You couldn’t hold it in anymore, your vision turned white as you fell apart on the strap, your body shaking from the intensity of your orgasm.

As your brain came out of that fuzzy bliss, you heard Ellie laughing softly, “You’re way too sweet.”

[threadbearsweater]

one warm day is all i really need | arthur morgan

When you find yourself taken in by a gang of outlaws, the last thing you expect is to grow sweet on one of them- and have the feelings reciprocated. Arthur Morgan doesn't have time for romantic nonsense, but a few memebers of the gang want to make sure that he gets to indulge in his obvious affection toward you. Tags: 3.9k words, an unlikely romance, meddling gang members (with the purest of intentions, one might suppose); female reader, alcohol use, smoking, emotional smut. A repost from a (regretfully) deactivated blog.

Arthur first notices your eyes on him one evening around the campfire at Shady Belle. He won’t accuse you of staring– Lord knows he’s been known to look at you with the same foolish grin you’re wearing now– but he tips his hat to acknowledge you. The heat in your cheeks is suddenly warmer than what the fire has already provided; your grin only grows until your teeth are showing, and you duck your head into your shoulder to hide. Arthur takes a long swig from his whiskey bottle and grimaces as it goes down. He hasn't had a drop of anything in days, and the burn takes a little while to grow numb to now.

“Think she's sweet on you, Morgan,” Sean says in his Irish lilt, giving Arthur an elbow in the ribs.

“Naw, she's lookin’ at you,” Arthur deflects, though he hopes he's wrong. He thinks he knows.

“She told me last week to keep my eyes on my own work,” Sean continues. “I really don't think it's me she wants, Arthur.”

You turn to whisper something to Sadie, who laughs out loud with her face tilted toward the stars. You dare a glance back at Arthur, who is, in fact, looking at you.

Maybe there's some truth to what Mary Beth told you yesterday.

“Arthur's been awful quiet lately.”

The sun shines through the trees and dapples the table where you're seated with bright spots of pale yellow. It's your third round of dominoes with Mary-Beth, and she's whooping your ass, as usual. You don't know how she does it, but each game you play, you're a little more privy to her prowess.

“You think so? I don't know him as well as you.” You hope it isn't obvious that your heart started beating a little faster at the mention of his name. It leaves you breathless.

“Oh yeah,” Mary-Beth continues. “He's been scratchin’ away in that journal of his a lot more, too.” She leans closer, conspiratorial, her eyes twinkling with the gossip she's about to share. “Karen said he went to town twice last week to have a hot bath. If you knew Arthur like I know Arthur, why…you'd know that's highly out of character for him.”

“But you said he'd been quiet. Is that unusual for him, too?”

She hums and purses her lips. “Well you see, Arthur isn't usually a man of many words on a good day. But it's been real bad lately. He don't even give John a hard time like usual.”

You ponder the dominoes for a moment and then make your move. It doesn't earn you any points, but at least you didn't have to draw. “What do you think the problem is?” you ask, nonchalant as possible.

Mary-Beth smiles. Big and bright and sparkling. “Oh, it's not a problem at all.” She lowers her voice and cups her hand to her mouth. “Arthur's in love.”

You gasp, then giggle behind your hand, and Mary-Beth follows suit. Hosea looks on and shakes his head, so you quiet down, reaching across to grab Mary-Beth's hands. “Who do you think it is?”

Her cheeks are tinted pink, and she looks around to make sure there aren't any ears to hear. Word travels fast around camp if one isn't prudent. “I think it's you.”

A thunderstorm rips through Shady Belle a little over a week later. Your little tent that you share with Sadie is ripped straight off its supports in a terrible gust of wind, and you and the others hightail it inside the house to take cover just as it begins to hail. There's quite a ruckus as everyone huddles inside, windblown and rain-soaked. A few of the men hold up lanterns to illuminate the darkness while you watch the lightning and feel the thunder shake the old bones of the house.

“Everyone just calm down,” Dutch calls, descending the stairs, wearing some ridiculous robe with his arms spread wide. “Are we really gonna let a little old thunderstorm keep us from getting a good night's sleep?”

“Says the man with a bed inside the house,” Arthur bites, rounding the corner from what used to be the kitchen, holding a lantern up high in front of him. “Dutch, you better allow these ladies to take cover in here for tonight, or I'll–”

“Or you'll what, Mister Morgan? Pray tell, what kind of man do you take me for?” Dutch's eyes are fiery as he stares Arthur down; a display of dominance. A veritable cockfight.

Arthur's jaw twitches, but he doesn't back down. “The kind of man I should hope would have some goddamn respect for his family.”

There's a tense moment or two where everyone is quiet, then Dutch relents. “Fine, fine! But I expect everyone out there pitching in to clean up in the morning.” He points at Arthur and raises his voice again. “That includes the other man with a bed inside the house,” he sneers.

Arthur shakes his head, then looks away only to catch sight of you, shivering in your wet undergarments, huddled close to Mary-Beth for what little warmth the two of you can share. For a minute, he forgets to breathe, then composes himself enough to cross the room.

“Come on in here. Get yourself warm and dry by the fire.” His hand on your elbow is rough but warm as he leads you toward the fireplace. You nod and look back at Mary-Beth, who shoos you away with a flick of her wrist and a wink; you notice that her teeth are chattering. Despite the humidity that hangs heavy in the air, the temperature has turned chilly with the storm.

Arms crossed over your bosom to preserve any shred of modesty you might have left, you allow yourself to be led away by Arthur. Dutch and some of the others head upstairs while Charles and Javier keep watch from the front porch.

“You alright?” Arthur asks. He covers your shoulders with one of his heavy winter coats, and you pull it around you, grateful for the weight and warmth of it. Another clap of thunder shakes the house and you jump. Arthur chuckles.

“You laughin’ at me?” you quip, placing your palms flat in the direction of the fireplace. You don't even bother to hide the grin you feel curling on your lips.

“No madam, I am not,” Arthur says earnestly, taking a seat beside you on the old wooden crate he's set up as a makeshift bench.

“Then just what do you find so funny, Mister Morgan?”

He scratches the back of his neck, looking into the flames. “Aw, I dunno. I'm sorry. It's just that you're…”

You bump him with your hip, unable to stop the giggles that bubble up from your chest. “I'm what?” you pry.

There's a clatter of something falling on the front porch, and Arthur uses it as a good excuse to get out of this hole he's dug for himself. “I better go see what's going on out there. Charles might need my help.”

“I'm what, Arthur?!” you call, to no avail. He's gone before he can see the proverbial hearts in your eyes.

The saloon in Rhodes is a little nicer than the ones you visited in Valentine, though it's a far cry from the ones you used to frequent in Saint Denis. Still, when Sadie and the other girls decide that it's high time you have a little fun in town, you throw on your best dress and let Karen curl your hair and even apply a little of the makeup you snagged from a homestead up north. For the first time in months, you feel like a proper woman. There isn't time to be melancholy about the past, though, when the boys start whistling and cat-calling upon the sight of you and the other girls.

“Aw, knock it off!” Sadie hollers. She's decided to dress up a little tonight, too, much to everyone's surprise. But she hikes up her skirts to hop into the wagon, calling for the rest of you all to hurry it up. “I've got a bottle of rum with my name on it that's waiting for me to come drink her all down!”

You catch the sunset on the way to town. It's dazzling over the meadows, all golden light and warm, blazing oranges and reds that settle into a brilliant pink by the time your reach the main road into Rhodes. You wish you could see Arthur's eyes, but he's got a handle on the reins next to Charles in the front of the wagon. You've seen him watching the sunset before; he always looks so peaceful those evenings at camp, and you often wonder what he thinks about in those few minutes before the horizon is painted in pastel hues.

Karen starts singing a song that everyone eventually joins, and before you know it, you're pulling up in front of the Rhodes Parlour House. You can already hear the piano and a few voices from outside; the sound of it stirs something in your soul that makes you long for the familiarity of home, but you quickly shove it aside in favor of the company of your new family.

“Madam.” Arthur's voice brings you out of your thoughts and back into the present, where he waits at the back of the wagon with his hand extended to you. You beam at him, and he feels dizzy. And when your soft hand fits into his, he straightens his knees so they don't buckle and betray him.

“Why, thank you, kind sir,” you say, lifting the hem of your skirts to step out onto the dirt road.

Arthur leans in, dangerously close to your ear. You can smell the whisky and cigarettes on his breath, along with the faint tang of gunpowder and hair pomade. “You sure do look nice in that dress.”

You demure and fan yourself with your hand. “Just how much have you had to drink already tonight?” you giggle.

“Ahh, just a little nip to take the edge off.”

“Mm-hm. Sure, Arthur. Whatever you say.”

The night starts off relatively calm, as most nights do. You and the other girls find an empty table to sit and pick up on the town gossip, and the men start a hand of poker. It grows loud and crowded sometime around midnight, and it's hard to have a conversation without shouting over the din of voices, the clink of glass bottles, and the slow drag ragtime music from the piano. The ambiance is charming and lighthearted, and there are even a few couples drunkenly dancing on the porch.

You push back in your chair and find that when you stand, you're a little more wobbly than you thought you would be. The alcohol has loosened you more than you realize, and you grip the table for support until you feel a firm arm around your waist. “Whoa there.”

It's Arthur, who has won the last round of poker and has come to check in on you and the other ladies. You're pulled tight against his chest for one fleeting moment, and you look up into his eyes. He, too, seems drunk, with his eyes gleaming and drooping at the corners, his smile easy and his cheeks flushed.

“My knight in shining armor,” you slur, pretending to faint in his embrace. He only pulls you tighter against him, both of his broad hands splayed across your back. You laugh, and he smiles.

“You weren't getting another drink, were ya?” he questions with a raise of his brow.

“‘m thirsty,” you whine, lifting your empty glass entirely too close to his face. It knocks against his nose, which sends you into another fit of laughter.

Arthur takes your wrist– gentle but firm– and lowers the glass away. “Think you need to drink something that's not whiskey,” he drawls. You can't help but watch the way his lips form around the words; the slip of his tongue between his teeth, the way his mouth turns up into the hint of a smile when you pout. Before you can think too long and hard about it, you lunge forward and kiss him. Hard and clumsy and impulsive. You don't give him time to react. You're far too involved in the kiss to notice, but the girls at the table behind you have all gone silent. Arthur slides his hand along the side of your face and presses his fingers upon the nape of your neck, kissing you back like he really means it. (He really does.)

You pull back suddenly, breathless and reeling, swiping the back of your hand over your mouth. You're still held firm in his embrace, but the playfulness in his gaze has been replaced with an intensity that makes your knees weak all over again.

“What'd ya do that for?” he asks.

“Could ask you the same thing.”

“Well, you started it.”

“And you finished it.”

“Oh, I ain't finished with you, yet.”

“That a promise or a threat?” Your pulse is thumping wildly in your ears.

“Ya know, they got rooms upstairs for that!” Sadie shouts. There's a ripple of laughter across the table. Arthur's hand on your cheek feels like a brand, his arm about your waist an anchor. The rest of the room comes back to you in a woozy blur, and you look around, a little lovestruck and a whole lot drunk. Arthur's lips at your temple make your eyes flutter shut, and the room fades to black as tIt'weight of you slumps against him. He staggers only slightly, but holds you firm, chuckling softly.

“It's a promise,” he whispers.

You come to some hours later. Your mouth is dry as the desert, your head feels like lead, your skin broken out in a cold, uncomfortable sweat. At some point, it seems you were covered with a downy soft blanket, and the pillow at your head is much more fluffy than the makeshift one you made out of a bedroll at camp. At first, you think you're dreaming. Then, you wonder very briefly if you're back at your childhood home in Saint Denis. You almost call out to your mother when you hear a soft snore from the other side of your bed.

The room spins when you turn your head, and you rub your eyes until Arthur comes into focus. He's sprawled in an armchair a few feet away. His arms are crossed over his chest while his chin is tucked into his chest. Off to the side, you spy his boots; his big toe pokes through a hole in his sock and you smile at how vulnerable he looks.

“Arthur,” you whisper, shifting slightly as you pull the blanket up around your chin.

He grunts and lifts his head slowly. He frowns a little at first, but when he focuses on you lying there, so close he could reach out and kiss you again like he did last night, there's a slow, easy smile that spreads across his face.

“Hey there, party girl. You feeling alright?”

You could kick yourself for all the giggling you've done around him lately, but you can't help it. He brings out something giddy and downright foolish inside you, so you toss a pillow at him and bury your face in the sheets.

“Aw, come on now. I'm just messin’ with ya.” He leans forward and rubs your head affectionately. “I'd say you were feeling pretty good last night.”

It's in that moment a white-hot jolt of sheer panic shoots down your spine. Quickly, you check to make sure you're still wearing clothes. Aside from your breasts being a little lopsided in the confines of your bodice, you're relieved to find that your dress is still intact and– more importantly– on your body. You dare another peek at Arthur and notice that his shirt is unbuttoned down to the middle of his chest and he's discarded his vest somewhere, but he, too, is fully clothed. Thank the good Lord above.

You must've said that last part aloud, because Arthur laughs. “Don't worry, nothing happened. Though it weren't for lack of tryin’ on your part,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. “Thought I was gonna have to lock you in here like some feral cat till you settled down.”

Oh. Oh Lord. You try to recall what happened that led you to this room, but all that comes to mind is a lot of loud conversation, some dancing, a spilled drink across Sadie's lap, and Arthur's hand on the side of your cheek. “Oh…”

Now you remember it in vivid detail.

“Didn't know you cared for me like that,” he says. It's earnest and tender, a few shades less intense than the kiss you now recall, the one where it felt like he wanted to eat you alive right there in the middle of the saloon. Now, he thumbs your cheek and looks at you so fondly you swear your heart jumps right up in your throat. “I mean, I'd been hoping. Wasn't sure you was looking for a romance.” He huffs a short sigh, frustrated with himself. “Aw, hell, what am I saying? ‘Course you weren't. You're just looking to survive, just like the rest of us, and here I–”

“Shut up,” you say, taking hold of his hand and tugging him closer. He resists until you pull even harder, watching the fire in your eyes blaze to life. “You talk too much, Yankee.”

“I ain't no damn–”

“Kiss me.”

He's over you in an instant; you're pressed flat against the bed, completely and totally at his mercy. This kiss feels different than the drunken one last night. It's sober and honest, if not a little hesitant, as if he's holding himself back from devouring you wholly. The warmth of his body against yours takes your breath away. Or maybe it's the way his tongue laves heavy into your mouth, unashamed of how badly he craves the taste of you. You grip his hair at the roots and tug him down to kiss him harder, lifting your upper body to meet him until he presses down, his chest flush with yours.

Things get heated quickly.

His mouth moves across your cheek, down your neck, and he groans against your skin, rutting his cock against your thigh. You fleetingly wish that he had managed to get you out of that dress before he presumably tucked you into bed and passed out in that chair, because there’s a whole lot of fabric between you and him that really pisses you off right now. Arthur must feel much the same, because he’s bunching your skirts up past your knees while you’re fumbling with his belt buckle, desperate to feel him against you, inside you. It’s clumsy and crazed, rushed and rough, but you manage somehow to shuck off every last bit of your clothes and his until you’re breathless and so, so eager beneath him.

“Need you now,” you whine. You feel insane. Dizzy and dehydrated, impossibly turned on, every nerve ending on fire when his callused hands grip the fat of your thighs and open you to him.

“Greedy little thing, ain’t ya?” One of his hands slips between your legs to find you wet and swollen. He presses the pad of his thumb against your clit and pushes a finger inside you; the sound you make nearly has him finishing there on the sheets, so he wastes no time in getting himself as close to you as humanly possible.

“Never wanted something so bad,” he murmurs into the dip of your shoulder. He wants all of you– all at once– wants to fuse his hands against your skin and sink himself into you so deep that it would be impossible to tell where he ends and you begin. The heat from his body takes away what little breath you have left, his mouth on each part of your body building the buzz in your chest until you feel like you might just burst open. You grabbed at each other like it was the first and last time you might have this opportunity, as if you wanted more than what the other of you was able to give.

Considering the kind of life you’ve both led so far, it’s a good possibility that you might never get to do this again.

“Give it to me,” you plead, opening yourself further to him, fingers wrapped firm around the base of his cock. “Please.”

Arthur Morgan is a man of incredible strength and self restraint, except when it comes to a woman like you.

There’s nothing gentle about the way he takes you. It’s primal, sweaty, filthy, rough. Arthur pushes as far inside you as he can go, then pushes further when you beg for more. He cups your knees with slick palms and presses you open as far as you can bend; you tug roughly at his hair and bite down on his shoulder when the pleasure builds to a blinding ferocity. The wooden bedframe knocks angrily against the wall with each thrust, but you can’t bring yourself to care if anyone hears. You can’t focus on anything beyond the feeling of him filling you with every stroke of his cock, of the taut, corded muscle in his back and shoulders as you grapple to hang on as tight as you can. Your orgasm hits your hard and fast, and he encourages you through it, taking his time to give you long, controlled strokes. It’s as pleasurable for him as it is for you. “‘Atta girl,” he rasps, lips moving against your ear. Your hand flies to your mouth to muffle your cries, but he pulls it away and threads his fingers with yours, pressing it onto the pillow. “I wanna hear it.”

Your moans are what drive him over the edge.

He buries his face against the side of your neck, panting heavily as he comes, driving into you so hard that you can almost feel the mattress beneath you begin to sag under the weight. You cradle his head in your hands and link your legs around his waist, boneless and languid in the aftermath of your own pleasure. When he moves, you move with him, riding out the waves together until you’re both too tired to move another muscle.

Neither of you speak for a while. He lies on his back with an arm around your shoulders while you curl against him, tuned into his heartbeat and swirling little patterns into the hair on his chest. It’s comforting to feel him next to you, to watch his chest rise and fall as he steadies his breathing, to soak up the warmth of his skin against yours.

You’re the first to break the silence. “Did everyone else go back to camp last night?”

Arthur nods slowly. “Something tells me they planned all this.”

“Planned it? You mean…” You lift your arm slowly and flick your wrist to acknowledge the room you’re laying in. “This?” You lift your chin and grin at him. “Or getting us together?”

“Room was paid for before I even had a chance to ask if they had one,” he explains. “Think it was Mrs. Adler.”

You vaguely recall her shouting something about a room after you kissed Arthur last night, and you shake your head. “You complaining?”

He turns to his side, draping an arm across your hip. “Me? Never.” You’re suddenly pressed beneath him once again; from the looks of it, you won’t be getting out of this bed anytime soon. “Specially when I’ve got you here to help me keep warm.”

[noharaaa]

𝐌𝐚𝐝 𝐓𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐧 & 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐥𝐮𝐠 (𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐬 𝐱 !𝐝𝐫𝐮𝐠 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐫!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫) II

Author’s Note: Disclaimer! This plot is not to encourage drug usage! Don’t do drugs people!

• Reader has no specific gender.

• Parody fic! This is all for jokes.

Enjoy Reading!

╰᭡⿴༘͜─𖧷̷۪۪᪇ ༘᪇𖧷̷۪۪⃟ꦽ⃟:: ᰰ۪۪꧇⿴༘⃕▦᰷᰷ᰰ

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲:

Back in your more questionable days, Choi Su Bong was a frequent (and unforgettable) customer. He’d show up at the oddest hours, paying in cryptic compliments and half-finished rhymes while buying from your stash. You were just trying to make a living, but he treated every transaction like a chapter in some epic cosmic romance. He was the aspiring rapper who thought the universe revolved around him, and you were the unlucky drug dealer stuck listening to his "intergalactic" bars. You thought those days were behind you….until now, when fate (or bad karma) brought him crashing back into your life in the most ridiculous way possible.

prev

The next game, Six-Legged Pentathlon, everyone else seemed to be busy psyching themselves up or planning strategies. Forming alliances had been going well for you after the first game. You’d managed to team up with Se-mi and Min-su, both seemingly normal and mentally balanced individuals. But then, just as the timer for team formation neared its end, you caught a glimpse of something unsettling from the corner of your eye.

purple hair. Of course.

A tap on your shoulder followed, and you already knew who it was before you even turned around. Thanos stood there with Nam-gyu, a smug grin plastered across his face “Hey, dealer,” he drawled, his purple hair catching the harsh fluorescent light. “Miss me?”

Before you could say anything, the buzzer rang, locking you into a team with them.

“Great,” you muttered, already feeling a headache creeping up your brain.

As you sat in the circle waiting for the caterpillar race to begin, the five of you were herded to the starting area, each group bound together in teams. You knew a disaster was waiting to happen. You seated next to Se-mi, while the purple-haired headache was seated on your other side.

And just when you thought the situation couldn’t get any worse, out of the corner of your eye, you spotted it.

Thanos, slipping Nam-gyu a… pill?

Your eyes widened as Nam-gyu caught your gaze and nudged Thanos, who turned toward you with a grin. “Enjoying the show?” 

You sighed, trying to look anywhere but at the visible build of sweat collecting near his hairline. He was fidgeting like a kid who’d had too much sugar, his leg bouncing up and down like he was ready to launch into orbit.

Classic signs. Oh, great. He’s freaking high.

Nam-gyu leaned over, whispering  “Boss said you’re a drug dealer?”

“I was” you corrected sharply, shooting a glare his way. “Past tense.”

“Oh, right. Boss said you were the best.”

Thanos tapped his chest unfazed, “Still got it,” he murmured, shifting his shirt slightly to reveal a silver vintage cross necklace tucked inside. “You know….in case you’re interested.”

“I’m not a dealer anymore. I’m here to survive, not relive my ‘glory’ days with your… whatever that is.” You gestured vaguely at the pill situation.

“Aw, c’mon, Dealer! Not even a little for old times’ sake?” 

“Stop calling me Dealer.”

You crossed your arms, determined to ignore him. But then the game announcer’s voice blared out, and you watched as the first group of players was led to the starting line, their faces tense and pale. Your stomach twisted in a knot.

Okay. New rule, no panicking. you said to yourself.

Except your body didn’t get the memo. As you watched the first few teams fumble their way through the grueling physical challenges, the knot in your stomach tightened. Sweat beaded on your forehead, and your body went stiff..

Thanos noticed your unease because of course he did. He always had a knack for spotting weakness and exploiting it.

“Nervous?” he asked, leaning in just enough to make your skin crawl.

“I’m fine” 

You knew that was a damn lie. You scared as hell!.

“Just a thought, you know…” he whispered. “You never know when you might need a little… boost.”

Se-mi leaned into your side, mumbling, “Is he seriously trying to sell you drugs right now?”

“Apparently. This guy has no off switch.”

He gently nudged you with his elbow, trying to get your attention again. Holding the pill between his fingers, he turned it over like he was checking for imperfections. His lips curled into a sly grin as he cast a sideways glance your way, smugness radiating off him.

"Tempting," he whispered randomly in English

You shot him a glare, but your heart was pounding, and your hands were clammy. The anxiety was bubbling up, making it impossible to think straight. You hated that he was there, with that stupid pill and that stupid face offering an easy way out.

“Fine, dammit. Just give it to me” 

Welp! There goes your stubborn pride…..

His grin widened as he pretended to ponder for a moment longer, holding the pill up to the light like it was a precious gem before finally handing it over. “Your wish is my command,”

This guy needs a good punch in the face. Maybe after you make this round.

You snatched it from his hand, swallowing it down with a grimace. As the tension in your chest began to ease, a sliver of relief crept in, though it was quickly overshadowed by irritation. Maybe, just maybe, this oversized grapehead-looking guy wasn’t entirely useless. But admitting that? Never.

prev

╰᭡⿴༘͜─𖧷̷۪۪᪇ ༘᪇𖧷̷۪۪⃟ꦽ⃟:: ᰰ۪۪꧇⿴༘⃕▦᰷᰷ᰰ

Author’s Note: (Leave a like! Or reblog! I respond to anyone ❤️)

@nikoeatschemicals

@audrey8864

[gay-dorito-dust]

Just some big three pjo things I think about.

Percy -the little shit- would absolutely utilise his ability of water to mess with you.

100%

If you leave a water bottle unopened, expect Percy to surge what little water was left inside to spray you when you’re going in for a drink. Leaving you soaked and glaring at the boy across the camp.

He thinks he’s funny but he’s really not.

You can’t even try to do this back to him as it usually results in it being thrown back in your face, literally as you’re reminded that this dude can walk into waist deep water, and miraculously come back as dry as he was before entering.

So needless to say you keep your water bottles tightly shut when you’re near Percy in case he’s feeling funny that day or has that certain gleam in his eye.

Percy can’t be trusted near uncapped water bottles, it’s a rule to never leave Percy near them or be within sight of any un opened water bottles.

Percy is not allowed to participate in watergun fights…for very obvious reasons and even if he does, the bastard had to be prohibited from using his powers at all during the watergun fights!

Everyone else in camp will be soaked and he would be dry as fuck, everyone calls it cheating but Percy calls it otherwise. Smug little twat.

Also don’t imagine Percy using the water out of an water bottle to douse you and when your chasing him, ready to kill him, his excuse is that ‘it’s a hot day in camp and I thought you could cool off a little!’ As if that was going to save him from the ass whooping your about to give him.

Nico has silent footsteps.

He can travel through shadows.

This is a recipe for disaster as he can easily scare you without having to try all that hard. And it’s the worst feeling ever.

He won’t know just how silent his footsteps are until you point it out to him or else he’ll think that he’s more than made his arrival known. (He absolutely didn’t)

Nico could emerge from the shadow nearby and walk up to you and casually say ‘hey’ and you’ll almost come out of your own skin when you realised the pale Italian in the aviator jacket next to you.

‘Fucking hell Nico’ you’d groan as you grasp your chest, trying to calm yourself down from the initial scare. ‘Warn me next time.’ You would add and Nico would only look at you as though you had grown a second head.

He had no clue what you were on about but would continue his day like he would any other, doing the same exact thing to other campers and getting the same exact reaction he got out of you too many times to be coincidental.

Even when he’s not shadow traveling, his footsteps are quite enough to have you believe that he had just appeared out of nowhere, and not walked the entirety of camp just to tell you something.

‘You’ve got to stop popping up out of nowhere.’ You tell him.

‘I’m not doing anything!’ He’d reply.

‘You’ve got silent footsteps Nico! Can’t hear shit when you’re creeping up on me, do you want me to die?’ You’d say and all of sudden everything made sense to Nico as to why everyone seemed to be unable to notice him until he was standing nearby.

‘Oh.’ He’d say. Does this change anything? No not really as Nico finds it funny to see people get scared. It’s made even funnier when on Halloween when everyone is done telling their scariest stories.

Jason tends to electric shock people, not on purpose, it just happens without warning.

I’m talking rubbing your hands on a carpet super fact and touching someone’s arm, or rubbing a balloon against yourself and watching in awe as it makes the hairs on your arms stick up.

However he didn’t need to rub his hands on a carpet to give someone an eclectic shock, he can just reach out to you and make it happen.

You could just be reaching for his hand and zap! You’ve been given an electric shock by Jason grace! You flinch back to rub your hand and Jason thought you were hurt and was already reaching out to you to help when-

You guessed it another electric shock happens.

It doesn’t hurt, you’re not in any pain but still you were being zapped at the end of the day.

Jason isn’t aware of this ability until afterwards and he’s just as confused as you and will not reach out for you for a while until he’s certain he won’t shock you.

Which is a solid 50/50. It happens when he least expects it or it can strike twice if you were the unlucky soul to get an electric shock back to back.

Guess it’s a weird perk of being the child of Zeus.

[fragrantdream]

prince xavier

The rustling leaves of the weeping willow shelter you from the sun and the gentle afternoon breeze. You sit beneath the magnificent tree with your legs crossed and head leant back against its’ trunk. The sun starts to waver in the sky, its light turning from bright white to a much more comfortable orange. You can’t help but fall into the clutches of a light sleep while you wait, but after a while the tranquillity of the gardens is interrupted by a restless presence. Opening your eyes, you look up to see Xavier standing before you, the loose white fabric of his undershirt billowing around him like a halo, and his skin tanned rather strongly in of the dwindling days of summer. He smiles down at the disorientated look on your face, admiring the way you look up at him in awe. 

“Have you been well?” Xavier asks with a smirk, sitting beside you comfortably.  

“I should stand to greet you.” You aren’t sure who is watching you, so you do just that. You bow, trying to greet the future king with the proper protocol.  He chuckles at the sight of you standing before him with your clothes stained by the dampness of the ground – a leaf hangs from your shoulder. He stands and returns the bow mockingly, before reaching out and picking up the leaf between his fingers to let it flutter to the ground. 

“Nobody is watching.” Xavier silently hopes that he’s right, and that his minders hadn’t followed him into the woods. He grips your shoulders and pulls you into a hug, which forces you to smile despite your anxiety. You know you aren’t permitted to see him, and you let the fear of being caught flicker over you for a second before the feeling of his head nuzzling deeper into the crook of your neck makes you forget. You both stand still for a moment, taking the moment as it is – beautiful, and fleeting. Birds and bugs begin to chirp louder as the sun continues to set, the air growing colder. Naturally, and as you have many times before, you lay side by side for a while to silently watch the stars as they appear. It’s easy to lose track of time chatting about the upcoming winter, and anything else that comes to mind. You eventually light the oil lantern he’d hidden in the trunk of the willow months ago when you’d first met in this meadow. It is the only way you’re able to stay out just a bit longer past sunset. 

You look over at Xavier, now illuminated by the warm glow of the fire with an arm resting behind his head, eyes trained on you as you lay back down beside him. His hands grasp yours tightly, and he pulls them to his lips where he kissed them, before letting them rest on his chest over his heart. Even after all this time, he was yet to kiss you, so although foreign the action was not undesired. Propping your head up on your elbow you look down at him, and he’s surprised you’ve let go of his hand and wonders if he’s done something wrong. You start to think about how it wasn’t long before he’d no longer be your prince, but rather, a king. He’d be betrothed, and running the country. You wonder how much he might change when that happens though you quickly dismiss your doubts because it’s Xavier, and he has a habit of handling anything life throws at him. You find yourself lost in the sentimentality of the moment and lean down to press a kiss to his lips, certain that his father the king would be disgusted at the thought of his son being touched by a commoner. He winds his hand behind your head and sits up, and you quickly realise he wants to kiss you too – you both slowly test the waters, and relish in the feeling after so many years of imagining it. The feeling is completely different from those daydreams, yet it is a thousand times better at the same time. 

Xavier opens his mouth first with a loud exhale that tickles your face and sends shivers down your spine and neck. You both straighten up and readjust for a moment while he moves his open mouth against your lips, waiting for you respond, and you cave in an instant and open your mouth to fully taste him. The remnants of wine and fruit from his lunch linger in his mouth, and the tastes are richer than anything you’d ever had access too before. He whines slightly at the feeling becoming enthralled with your mouth and softly guiding you to lean back against the now dewy grass. You follow his lead, stretching your legs beneath him as he straddles you, lips never leaving your own. This doesn’t last long however before he pulls away, asking if you’re okay as he lays himself atop your body and guides your legs to wrap around his waist. You nod in an instant, hastily pulling him back to you. This pulls forth more prominent groans from his throat as his lips venture to press open-mouthed kissed to your jawline. You open your eyes for a second to watch him move to your neck, before immediately scrunching them back closed when you feel him sucking on your skin. Unsure of what to do with your hands you reach down to grip at his hair, though he grabs hold of your wrist before you get the chance to tug.  

“I must be presentable for dinner with my father tonight.” Xavier reminds you, and you let out a breathless laugh at the thought. He tightly clasps both of your hands together above your head between one of his own, fingers cold yet strong whilst holding you in place. He kisses your upper arm, letting out a sigh and opening his eyes to look at you below him, already completely wrecked. There is something wild and unfamiliar in his expression, even with only half of his face visible in the light of the nearby oil lamp as it grows dimmer over time. He reluctantly lets go of your wrists to feel your waist and chest, imparting only the softest of touches before moving your arms over his shoulders. You run your hands over his upper back and grip onto the soft fabric of his shirt, pulling it up slightly to feel the buttery skin of his lower back. 

You are interrupted by the sound of Xavier's name being shouted from the woods, and quickly reach for the lamp to extinguish it, breaths heavy and eyes wide. He shushes you while standing and offering you a hand to help you up, before guiding you behind the great tree. He adjusts himself and calls out a haphazard “I’m coming now”, before reluctantly walking towards the clearing. He makes it over to his minders but turns back, telling them he’d forgotten something after falling asleep. They dismiss him with a sigh, arms folded and posture trying but failing to intimidate him. He rushes back to the tree and grabs hold of the brass handle of the oil lamp. When he is certain he is out of view, he hooks it between your trembling fingers to leave it with you. 

“Please find your way home safely in the dark.” You press another kiss to his lips as a thank you, hoping that he’d hurry back to his minders before he gets in trouble, though as the crown prince you suppose he is always in trouble. He smiles in return. 

“I love you.” Xavier turns and begins walking back before you can respond, hoping you managed to hear him over the sound of the crickets. 

[admirationandromantics]

O.M.G.

I FOUND THIS PROFILE A COUPLE DAYS AGO I AM IN SHOCK YOUR WRITING IS AMAZING. back to the request, how about a submissive Josh?...where he moans and begs to be fucked and looks at you with his puppy eyes? omg that would be perfect♡

p.s.: thank you so much for your work! it's really fantastic:)

You're too sweet!!! I can definitely see him just sitting on his knees, begging you to fuck his brains out, yes. I guess many see him as kinda dominant, but I personally think he’s a switch. Anyways, enjoy some sub Josh headcanons! 

Submissive Josh

You’ve been teasing him all day, knowing that he’s been hot and bothered, not having had a chance to do something about it. You arrive inside, and he immediately starts kissing you, hoping it’ll lead somewhere. You kiss him back, but pull away quickly to take off your coat and outerwear. Taking a long time so he just stands there like a lost puppy, waiting for you to give him attention again. 

“Something wrong, Josh?” “Fucking hell, I’ve waited all day, please, just please” “A whiny mess, are you?” 

You sit him down on the sofa, placing yourself on top, straddling him. His hands wander, of course, but you don’t mind. He’s allowed to this time. While kissing, you feel him twitch underneath you, hips starting to grind against you, begging for attention. 

“Josh… You’re not gonna get anything if you keep this up” He whimpers in reply, stopping himself from getting off on you. Your hand goes to the back of his head, grabbing his hair and pulling it back. He looks up, making you lock eyes with this adorable messy man. They’re glossy and desperate, wide-eyed like a puppy, begging you for satisfaction. 

“You want me to do something?” “Yes” he whimpers, hands going up your waist. You cup his bulge, the small touch making him let out a desperate moan for more. “Tell me how much you want it” “So, so much. I need you so bad” 

With a satisfied answer, you get off his lap, unbuttoning his pants painfully slow as he starts regulating his breathing. You drag his pants and boxers down, his dick popping out throbbing and red. You take hold of him, pumping a few times slowly, causing his head to fall back on the cushions as he moans your name. 

However, you’re not done teasing him, and your tongue makes its way to his shaft, small licks all over, especially on his tip. His hips bulge automatically, wanting you to take him fully. “Can you” “Use your words” “Please suck me off, get me off, right now, please” 

He looks down, breathing heavily, chest heaving and eyes pleading. How can you say no to that? Finally, you fully take him, letting him into your mouth and filling as far as you can go, hand still squeezing his shaft and other one massaging his balls. You suck your chins in, making sure not to hurt him with your teeth. 

He pleads for you to go faster, repressing the urge to hump his hips into you, grabbing your hair and forcing your head down on him. You sense his tension, steadying yourself on his thighs as you up your speed, making him finish not long after. It had been a long day teasing him after all, and you’re surprised he even lasted this long based on it. 

You take it, showing him your tongue filled with his liquid, and swallowing it right after. He looks at you in awe as you take your place on his lap again, kissing him deeply and letting him taste himself.

[seraphicloves]

𝒋𝒋𝒌 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒔 𝒘 𝒂 𝒔𝒏𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓!

⊱✿⊰ summary: requested by anon; jjk boys reacting to a reader who snort (laughing not drugs) and is insecure abt it

⊱✿⊰ warnings: insecurities, overall very cute!!, romantic undertone possibly(?), should be gender neutral, one suggestive comment in toji's and in choso's

⊱✿⊰ notes: ty to who requested this! i included only the canonically adult characters bc you said "men" but feel free to ask for a pt.2 with other characters you want to see (politely ofc i am sensitive)

Satoru Gojo:

❀ he thinks you are the cutest thing, ever. seeing the way you tilt your head back with laughter, eyes shining with unshed tears. and oh god, that snort? you were so adorable he was sure he was going to explode

❀ gojo definitely teased you about your reaction, although not maliciously of course. he'll give you that signature smirk and say in that cooing voice, "aw, baby! that was so cute, do it again!" and absolutely adore watching you fluster

❀ he would not allow you to be insecure. you are like a literal god, how could you be insecure? especially over something seemingly miniscule. he'll tease you of course, but he makes sure you know he doesn't think its weird. hell, he'd probably make sure to snort around you later, so you feel less alone.

Suguru Geto

❀ laughter is a rare thing for the cult leader, even rarer with such a genuine one. but he doesn't seem to mind seeing your eyes twinkle with amusement and a snort escaping you.

❀ "hm? i didn't think i was that funny." he mused, unable to suppress his slight smirk. he reveled in the way your eyes widened and your face warmed, your embarrassment prevalent.

❀ he could tell you were insecure about the noise you made, which surprised him a bit. what surprised him even more was the fact he cared how you were feeling.

❀ "it's nice to know somebody appreciates my humor." geto said, trying to alleviate your insecurities. he wasn't sure why he cared about you, but he did and he wasn't planning on stopping.

Ryomen Sukuna

❀ he probably wasn't purposely making a joke, so he definitely thinks you're making fun of me. all huffing and puffing, asking, "why are you mocking your king in such insolent ways? answer me, human."

❀ then he figures out you're not mocking him, and feels a slight sense of pride. you thought he was funny? he would be sure to try and say funnier things mors often (though his lame attempts at knock knock jokes are more dorky than anything)

❀ when you apolgize for snorting, he was a bit confused. what were you apolgizing for? so he simply said that, "don't be ridiculous, peasant. it was an adequate reaction." which was his way of saying it was cute.

❀ he refuses to let you be insecure, as long as he's aware of it. for some reason he wants to worship you like a queen, he has the strange urge to make you happy always. so he makes sure you know you weren't weird for snorting. hell he might force his servants to snort around you so you feel more comfortable.

Kento Nanami

❀ he was probably confused by something you said jokingly, taking the statement literally. it was so absurd you couldn't help but laugh a little which turned into a full snort.

❀ nanami will give you a mildly amused look, mixed with a hint of confusion. "did i say something funny?" and you would look away with a guilty smile

❀ he might not admit it, but he loves your laugh and your snort. it felt so pure and untouched by the grim realities of life. he liked how happy it sounded.

❀ he'll secretly overexaggerate his lack of understanding a joke, taking things in a literal sense even if he knows what you mean. he also tries out some dad jokes on you, of which are so bad you can't help but snort

Toji Fushiguro

❀ he was probably insulting someone or saying something so awful you can't help but snort. he'd look over at you with surprise before he gave you a shit eating grin

❀ "hm? what a pretty noise, i wonder what others you could make..." yeah he's a shameless flirt, literally not caring if you know how much he wants you. toji is confident in himself.

❀ he adores your snort, wishing he could always and only be the one to make you feel happy. maybe he'll make more comments that you would find funny, just in hopes to be the one to put that pretty smile on your face

Choso Kamo

❀ he has zero clue what he did to make you snort, he had just been trying to ask a question about some balls? what was so funny about the toy?

❀ he very bluntly asks you, "what did i say that was funny? I wanna hear you make that noise again." He gave you a smile, brown eyes twinkling.

❀ that would practically just erase any insecurities, with how genuine his enjoyment in your little snort was. and anyway now you were more focused in having to explain to choso the misfortune of having a dirty mind.

lori © 2024. please don't copy, modify, or do anything weird with my writing! i like reblogs and comments but please be kind as this was my writing.

[blackknight-kai]

Hiiiii I love your Black Myth HCs! Finally worked up the courage to put an ask in ahahaha.

If you’re inclined, would love your take on a reader who gets very turned on watching DO/SW fight— maybe also wants to learn how to fight too? Cue awkward/flirty training sessions where DO/SW starts to realize what’s happening etc etc.

Even if this isn’t up your alley just wanna thank you for providing us with so much content!!

First ask in a while I know….thank you for your ask and I’m sorry it’s taken so long! (Side note for future asks - I’m open for MKR Wukong :) and I will be trying to get these asks done between work and my hand issues so look forward for more! Use my tag #bk kai writes to find my other Headcanons!!

Yes! I love this idea and honestly think about it a lot myself because my OC (generally) is one that can/wants to learn to fight depending on the AU.

Also, I legit fell in love with Wukong fighting Erlang in that opening scene AND I have a favorite move DO does through the game it’s…yeah it’s a thing okay? 🤣

Anyway!

As far as reader goes! (This is just one path my brain takes and I hope it came out okay!)

Getting hot under the collar watching him fight? Yeah. That’s happening. There’s something graceful yet powerful about him fighting. Every step is calculated from years of practice and every move made is times just perfectly. Sometimes there’s a misstep but generally? He’s so fluid with his movements it’s hard NOT to stare. He’s earned his confidence that’s for sure.

Watching the way he twirls his staff or even just simply walking backwards and while he may look almost relaxed you know he’s ready for anything his enemy throws at him. That self assurance is intoxicating.

And depending on what armor he’s wearing? Even better. Because honestly, watching his muscles at work is…well your eyes have a hard time looking anywhere else. He’s gorgeous. His grunts and noises of effort also start to get to you, making your cheeks warm as your brain images those sounds during…other instances.

Fairly quickly you realize you have a huge problem. You’re getting a little TOO warm under your clothes as he fights. Feeling squirmy and hot as he does that one move that always sends a tingle down your spine. You do your best of course to play it off later and calm yourself down but…at night when you’re resting? The striking image of him in battle plays in your mind and you can only hope he doesn’t notice. (Or notice when you linger while bathing to…..have some you time.)

Unfortunately…He can always feel you watching. In the beginning he wondered what you were thinking about, did he scare you? Did you think he over did it? Were you curious about how to fight? But after catching your awed stare out of the corner of his eye he realized you LIKE the show he puts on to some degree. And so that’s what he does. He likes having an audience and especially your attention. So while he may not know the full extent of your thoughts and feelings as you watch him fight (at first), he enjoys the feeling of your eyes on him. Gets him fired up even more than usual. Also….dont be surprised if he purposely gets into fights just to have your attention on him again.

The day you ask him to SHOW you how to fight? That’s one of the best days of his life. Not only does he get to actually teach you - which he honestly enjoys doing in general - he gets to be close to you. And you’ll know how to protect yourself if need be. Even better if you can fight along side him.

Destined One:

- [ ] Completely oblivious to what’s going on in your head. He just thinks you like watching him fight and are awed by him.

- [ ] Honestly at first thought you were kinda weird for staring so much until he realized it was in admiration - kinda like how monkey cubs used to watch him train.

- [ ] He won’t admit it nor show it but makes him work harder knowing you’re watching him. He LIKES your stare and likes showing off although again, he’d act dismissive about it (he’s glancing the whole time though to make sure you’re still looking).

- [ ] While he is always focused when fighting….dont be surprised if he accidentally gets a little too cocky with you watching or distracted. Slip ups might happen and he will always make sure youre safe and protected but dont be mad at him…he cant help it LOL.

- [ ] Sometimes though (always) your stare makes him HOT. His fur rippling and his muscles unconsciously flexing as he fights or goes through his trainings/warm ups.

- [ ] This confused him because that is NOT how he normally feels when someone watches him fight.

- [ ] It’s faint, but he also catches something on the wind that he’s not sure what it is but knows it comes from you - and it always makes his mouth water and his body temperature rise.

- [ ] Honored and tickled when you ask him to teach you / train you.

- [ ] Takes teaching you very seriously (for a bit). Very hands on and actually patient - most of the time.

- [ ] This beginning phase is a bit awkward mainly because well…he likes you but doesn’t really realize it fully - youre special to him that much he understands.

- [ ] Since hes not super verbal he’s all about moving you - with your permission at first but then as he continues he just does it automatically because it’s necessary for you to have good form and posture etc.

- [ ] This also gives him first hand experience with touching you but also….now he can be closer to that previously faint scent that comes off you when he’s fighting - he’s still not sure what it is but he notices youre clearly aware of him and after certain moves or him moving you around a lot that scent permeates off you. He slowly becomes addicted to it - and it makes him restless as hell so it takes him some time to adjust and get a handle on himself. Don’t be surprised if he cuts training short sometimes or keeps his distance a little bit - hes kinda….fidgety for reasons.

- [ ] He is a hard teacher though, while he wont be too hard he isnt going to be easy - he wants you to be able to defend yourself properly. So unless you are genuinely overly tired he’s not going to let you falter and stop your training/teaching. Granted…if you give him certain looks or tell him youre truly too tired etc he would let you off the hook - big ol softy. (This only doesn’t happen if there’s serious danger and you MUST learn something - then he’s going to make sure you keep at it)

- [ ] Over time his seriousness doesnt exactly stop BUT his cheeky behavior absolutely comes out - he’s similar to Wukong in this aspect. Expect tricks and mischievous behavior. Pranks. His smug snickers. All that.

- [ ] By now his teaching you is still genuine but there are times when it’s super playful and FUN. This is where you catch him smiling like a jerk or when he’s play fighting with you - sometimes with weapons and sometimes hand to hand.

- [ ] He’s adores when youre playful with him and while is face might not ALWAYS show it especially if he’s trying to pretend to be ‘Come on training is serious’ his tail sure gives him away with how its swaying and swishing happily.

Wukong - Taking his in a slightly different than normal way :)

- [ ] Smug as fuck. Wukong know’s he’s a sight to behold. He’s had many admirers of his form over the years and has taught many monkey warriors in the time he’s been alive. Not only is he used to the stares he’s used to the awe as well. That said, YOUR stare makes him feel the best.

- [ ] The first time he catches you watching him he’s not surprised. But he IS curious. Very curious. To the point of near distraction not that he would show it. He’s going to keep an eye on you from here on out, clocking every one of your facial expressions if he can.

- [ ] Wukong wants to know what youre thinking and sure he’d have ZERO qualms about asking you - he kinda wants to observe. Sometimes we forget how observant Wukong actually is with how loud and in your face he is. Wukong is a plotter and takes note of so many things and yes hes impulsive but it’s shown time and again how calculating and smart he actually is. So hed be watching you back but you wouldn’t know it.

- [ ] Honestly it’s not going to take him long to figure out that SOMETHING about what hes doing makes you squirm. Why? Undetermined. So he decides to keep up his little ‘trap’ and purposely shows off every time he fights or trains. Memorizing every little expression on your face and your body language.

- [ ] While he is…always a controlled chaos sometimes (just like DO) he might get a little TOO distracted and cocky and something not exactly wanted results from it, like you being kidnapped or almost put in danger - or he takes a hard hit.

- [ ] Your scent? Because let’s be honest youre getting hot under the collar watching him…hes going to register it fairly early on with how sensitive his nose is. But I feel like he’s going to lie to himself about it even if he kinda knows what it means. He’s old as hell and has been around many beings, his nose knows that kind of scent. But I think at first he’s going to pretend and lie to himself what it means coming from YOU. Why? Yes hes cocky and you’d think hed get smug (he will eventually) but at first he’s might not exactly understand why YOU hold that scent and why its in regards to when he’s training/fighting.

- [ ] This is one of those times where his general ‘uncaring’ attitude to things like ‘sex’ and ‘romance’ come into play. Not that he doesnt want that with YOU (he definitely dreams about it both sleeping and awake). Just….look hes an idiot. He’s a little blind to his own growing feelings and why would YOU want to roll around with HIM? - Not that he doesnt think hes handsome etc - we all know his ego is the size of the universe. It’s more, hes a MONKEY demon….Usually people only want him to ‘use’ him in some fashion if they hit on him so again, hes gonna be a bit blind - not for long.

- [ ] Regardless, he wont stop showing off. He loves your attention and preens for it like a peacock.

- [ ] Eventually might tease you and say something like “Why are you staring? Want to learn how to fight from Old Sun?” Or something and will be TICKLED TO DEATH when you say yes. He will act overconfident and smug but inside? He’s so excited to share this with you (and that you trust him to be the one to do it).

- [ ] This is going to give him up close and personal access to your normal scent which he loves, but also that special scent. Wukong has a lot of control over himself WHEN HE WANTS. And in these moments he exercises a lot of control. Why? Because you make him twitchy as fuck and his blood run HOT. He is a bit taken aback by his body’s reaction to you and that scent, having never reacted like this to anyone else. The more you spar the more he has to reign himself in - which might turn into grumpy monkey or him ending training for the day, or even mistakes.

- [ ] Might be a little too excited honestly to teach you though - so sometimes he might go overboard or be hasty with his teaching.

- [ ] He is one of those half hands on half ‘let them figure it out’ teachers. While he’s going to of course guide you and make sure you have basics and good form….hes also going to want you to run a bit off instinct. So dont be surprised if hes sitting up in a tree after leading some low level enemy to you and lets you kinda….figure it out or gives you advice.

- [ ] Make no mistake he is ALWAYS right there ready to step in. But hes a bit of a ‘learn on the go’ kind of trainer a lot of the time. Something he’s discovered with training his warriors.

- [ ] But if this doesnt work for you? Best believe he will adjust for you. Might have to fight him about it at first though and show him you mean business and that this way of teaching isnt going to cut it. At the end of the day he wants you to be SAFE and feel confident in your skills. So whatever he needs to do to make that happen? He will.

- [ ] He is a tough teacher in that he doesnt let you give up, give half ass effort, or slack off - Wukong has trained many in his time and while he wont be the ‘Monkey King’ to you giving orders he is serious about you learning and being safe.

- [ ] That said….expect shenanigans. This Monkey is a damn trickster and so dont be surprised when that particular trait shows up during your training or sparring sessions.

- [ ] Not every session is one of over seriousness either. Training and sparring is fun with him as a general rule. Mainly because you are not one of his monkey warriors - youre special.

- [ ] So be prepared for antics or some weird game of the day hes come up with - for an old monkey he is extremely playful.

- [ ] No matter if you just wanted to learn basics or wanted to learn further training your sparring sessions often devolve into screwing around courtesy of Wukongs mischievous nature.

Both: moving into NSFW-ish

- [ ] The more you train with him or spar with him the more he’s going to notice about you - and himself in turn.

- [ ] Your sessions are at times going to become charged with ‘something’, often times leaving you both restless at the end of it.

- [ ] Some days the energy is so thick between you that mishaps happen. Like maybe he grabs you a little too rough or in a specific sensitive spot and a moan leaves your lips - causing you both to freeze and then awkwardly try to navigate the rest of the session.

- [ ] Sometimes your sessions are a little more playful - doing silly things that make you both grin and chase after each other. Things most would probably consider ‘flirting’ or ‘gross’ behavior depending on who you asked.

- [ ] Play fighting is a near constant - wrestling? Oh boy….that starts off great until someone shivers and moans (or bodies grinding on bodies causing those special noises) and “now what do we do” - going into the awkward untangling of limbs.

- [ ] Touches when showing new moves or adjusting stances will linger much longer than necessary, sometimes you both get so caught up you really dont notice until some outside factor startles you both apart.

- [ ] What you dont realize is that most of the time? He has to exercise a lot of self control around you. Your scent and the way you interact with him sends his instincts into chaos - the amount of times he’s almost shoved you to the ground to assert himself over you and give into his own…new urges is staggering.

- [ ] Oftentimes you might have him growling against you - be it from holding himself back or instinctively making sounds as you accidentally brush against a sensitive part of him.

- [ ] Monkey is frustrated beyond belief though - you are too I’m sure.

- [ ] If there are others around you guys - they notice something weird about you two. The lingering eyes, touches, and sometimes awkward fidgeting you do (not in a session). And the tension is thick.

DO: NSFW-ish

- [ ] He’s slow but not that slow when it comes to putting 2 and 2 together. Granted, he might need an extra push. What that is could be anything from accidental grabbing, you feeling his hard on during a session, him causing you to bodily react to him.

- [ ] Wouldn’t be surprised if either he makes a move (unconsciously) and thinks he over stepped. Might try to put distance between you until you fix that immediately. OR depending on your reaction 2+2=4 in his head and “oh they want this, this is happening and yeah”.

- [ ] DO - is a bit of a shy guy though. So while he CLEARLY wants you and now he knows you want him - cue awkward behavior round 2.

- [ ] He may not touch you as much and might keep his distance a bit - why? His instincts are kinda going wild. This is a first for him and he fears overstepping (plus again it’s NEW).

- [ ] Might either need some coaxing OR he’s gonna just pounce one day depending on what YOU do (and your preference!).

- [ ] Sessions are more like foreplay now - sometimes still serious of course!

- [ ] Sessions devolve quickly in an instant - at first being as it’s new and well…you’re thirsty for each other. They are always charged and filled with anticipation. (Later when you’re not as in the honeymoon phase training and sparring is more comfortable and can be JUST training or something more if you want it)

Wukong: NSFW-ish

- [ ] So remember how I said he resists shoving you onto the ground? Yeah…that gets broken.

- [ ] See, the great Sage is strong. A pillar of strength if you will. But not against your scent and reactions to him.

- [ ] At some point he’d come to terms with his own feelings (something dramatic happened let’s be real) - and then finally allowed the idea that YOU wanted him back to fester.

- [ ] Sure, by this point hes kind of screwing with you - out of love - and probably doesnt help either of your situations because hes going to poke and pod at your reactions, enjoying every shiver and hot look you give him. The way your breath catches and how your heart beat quickens. He’s a bit of a smug jerk like that.

- [ ] But after time and time again of being subjected to your intoxicating scent and his instincts taking over Wukong finally snaps.

- [ ] Expect whatever he does to be sudden and dramatic. His restraint shattered - depending on your reaction to him, he may keep going or he may back off.

- [ ] Regardless he is going to want you to tell him you want him and what you want with him - consent king. Even if he’s impulsive he doesnt want something like this to be unwanted.

- [ ] Wukong is a major tease - so training sessions are a test of strength for both of you as he purposefully does things to get you riled up (and you him). Often ends with roam hands and mouths (and tail), or bathing sessions which turn into…getting messy and then bathing for real.

Small note for both:

- [ ] When he discovers - be it you saying so or him putting it together in his head - that you get turned on watching him fight/train/stretch etc…..oh boy. He likes showing off an a good day and now? He’s doing it FOR YOU. He fully understands your scent and gaze as you watch him and will definitely flex and train without much clothes on, on purpose. Will absolutely flaunt himself in front of you (and pretend hes none the wiser).

- [ ] Will tease you about it given the chance.

- [ ] If you notice he has a hard on while training/stretching/fighting - just know its for you because you watching him gets under his skin just as much as he gets under yours.

[rafecamerons-national-anthem]

PICNIC UNDER THE STARS-DREW STARKEY The day had started like any other, but by evening, Drew was acting strange. He kept glancing at the clock and pacing the living room, muttering something about “timing it perfectly.” When you asked what was going on, he only smirked and said, “You’ll see,” before grabbing your coat and insisting you follow him.

“Drew, what are we doing?” you laughed as he led you toward the stairwell of your apartment building instead of the front door.

“Patience,” he replied with a teasing grin. “And close your eyes. No peeking, Y/N!”

You rolled your eyes but obeyed, your heart fluttering as his warm hand wrapped around yours to guide you up the steps. The sound of your footsteps echoed in the stairwell, the air growing cooler with each floor you ascended. You were about to ask again what he was up to when Drew came to a stop.

“Okay,” he said, his voice soft now. “You can open them.”

You blinked your eyes open, and the sight before you stole your breath. The rooftop, which had always been plain and unremarkable, was transformed into something out of a movie. A large blanket was spread across the ground, covered with pillows and surrounded by strings of fairy lights that cast a warm, golden glow against the night sky. A small portable speaker played one of your favorite songs softly in the background, and a wicker basket sat at the center of it all.

“Drew,” you whispered, turning to him in awe. “Did you, did you do all of this?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, a bashful smile creeping onto his face. “Yeah, I did. Took a few trips up here earlier today, but I really wanted to make it special.”

“Why?” you asked, though your heart already knew the answer.

His blue eyes met yours, earnest and full of affection. “Because you deserve it,” he said simply.

You felt your cheeks flush, the warmth of his words settling over you like a blanket. He reached out to take your hand again and led you to sit on the blanket.

For the next couple of hours, you laughed and talked as you shared snacks from the basket. Drew had packed all your favorites, he even managed to bring that obscure candy you’d once mentioned loving as a kid.

“You seriously remembered that?” you asked, holding up the wrapper in disbelief.

“Of course,” he said, grinning. “I pay attention to the important stuff.”

The night deepened, and the stars seemed to shine brighter as you and Drew cuddled under a blanket. His arm rested around your shoulders, pulling you closer as the music played softly in the background.

“You know,” he said after a while, his voice low and thoughtful, “I’ve always wanted to do something like this. Just sit under the stars with someone who matters.”

Your chest tightened at his words, and you turned your head to look at him. His face was lit by the soft glow of the fairy lights, and he looked so at ease, so content, that you couldn’t help but smile.

“Well, mission accomplished,” you said, leaning your head against his shoulder. “This is perfect, Drew. You’re perfect.”

He chuckled, the sound vibrating through you. “I wouldn’t go that far. But I am glad you like it. I’ve been planning this for weeks, you know.”

“Really?” you asked, tilting your head up to look at him.

He nodded, his lips curving into a soft smile. “Yeah. I just I wanted to see you smile like that. Makes it all worth it.”

You didn’t know what to say, so you didn’t say anything at all. Instead, you leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, lingering just long enough to feel the way his breath hitched in surprise.

“Thank you,” you whispered, pulling back to meet his gaze.

His eyes softened, and he pulled you closer, resting his chin on the top of your head. “Anytime, Y/N. Anytime.”

The two of you stayed there for hours, wrapped up in each other and the beauty of the night, the world fading away until it was just you, Drew, and the stars above.

[poisonouswonderland]

Canine!Reader x Octanville Dorm

Azul Ashengrotto ⁎⁺˳✧༚

• Truly? He didn’t expect to be as fond of you as he was. You were silly, clumsy and loud.. simultaneously, you were joyful and reminded him to see the bright side. You made him laugh and smile so often his cheeks hurt. You accepted and adored him as he was which he couldn’t be more (silently) grateful for

• You compliment him at every turn— your stream of consciousness was constantly pouring out of your mouth! Which didn’t bother him as much as it made him blush

“Hi! I missed you.” You blurt out as if it’s the easiest thing in the world, tail wagging in excitement just from seeing him.

“I—” He has to blink away the surprise and force his voice to cooperate instead of crack, “Yes, I-I’m happy to see you as well.”

• Azul needs a while to get accustomed to your physical affection. You’d pounce on him and pepper his face in kisses in the courtyard if he’d let you, but he prefers to keep PDA to a minimum. He can see (and appreciates) how you try not to hound him for hugs, cuddles and kisses. You’ll bounce on your heels, tail going berserk as you wait for him to hug you or pet the top of your head

• He wants to reward your devotion and loyalty, it means a great deal to him.. you help him realize that’s just being in a relationship.

“All I want is you, my silly fish!”

“Not a fish, silly pup.” Azul corrects gently, his thumb mindlessly stroking your soft ear.

“Silly cephalopod doesn’t roll off the tongue, though.”

“I don’t have to be a silly anything.” He offered, turning his head to look at you when his nose met yours. Your smile was too wide, eyes too bright and heart too full.

“Fine, but you have to be mine!”

• Fond didn’t begin to cover it, now. He loved you.

Floyd Leech ⁎⁺˳✧༚

• Y’know he was actually worried he’d be bored of you one day? Or worse, if took one of his bad moods out on you and lost you because of it. He’d never thought about something like that before. And he made it your problem

“Oi, shrimpy, you know I care about you, right? You think I’m nice to you, right?” Floyd asks as he’s— carefully— pulling on your ears.

“Ah! You’re such a bully, you’re lucky I love you!”

A perfect answer if he’s ever heard one.

• He knows he could stand to be kinder to you, though. You deal with endless antics, pet names, jokes, puns and, of course, squeezes. He doesn’t mean to be so rough with you, like when he pets you too hard or pulls your tail to make you mad. At least you give as good as you get, tackling him and matching his playful moods

• You’re painfully patient yet honest with him, on par with Jade! Like with his tweel, he doesn’t acknowledge it but that doesn’t mean it goes unnoticed. You’re silently added to the very short list of people he trusts

• Floyd loves how you somehow always bring an adventure to his day. You heard a rumor there’s buried treasure in Heartslabyul’s rose garden? Riddle won’t mind if the two of you check that out!

• Yeah, he lets you think you’re his guard dog but, in actuality, he’s fiercely protective of you. He recalls the evening that he nearly got expelled because someone hurt your feelings. His temper spikes at the memory of your face, and how hard you tried to hide the mark the comments left.

“Didn’t know they let dogs in here.” A patron of the lounge snickered.

“Hopefully Ashengrotto can get the smell out.”

Your ears drooped, though. It was as if the cafe went silent so he could hear the heartbreaking, tell tale sniff before you got up to leave. Floyd’s usual sharp smile dropped, his bi-colored eyes moving to your offenders with a dangerous glare… He doesn’t remember much else after that.

No one was rude to you again, though, so how bad could it have been!?

• You changed how he felt about mornings, too. He used to be the worst to wake up, losing quite a few alarm clocks to his bad mood. It’s impossible to wake up grumpy when you he feels the gentle thump thump thump of your tail against the mattress, telling him that you’re awake and simply happy to be next to him. Floyd ends up pulling you closer to hide his growing smile from you

Jade Leech ⁎⁺˳✧༚

• It may not have looked like it but under his aloof demeanor, he was ecstatic to have a new member for his club. You loved being outdoors, loved being with him! You were enthusiastic about his interest in flora, specifically mushrooms, and would ask every question under the sun if only because his eyes lit up when you did

• He checks you for ticks after hiking

• Jade inadvertently compares you to his terrariums. As your boyfriend he assumes that it’s his responsibility to look after your well being. He does it for his brother after all. However, while care of Floyd is a chore he’s happy to do, taking care of you is a choice that makes him happy. He keeps snacks for you on his person, fixes your uniform when it’s crooked and if you’re not feeling well he’s the one checking your temperature

• You do things that remind him you’re very much not a terrarium, though. Like jumping in his lap during a study date for a kiss or bolting away from his side when Ruggie steals your backpack (in good fun you assured him, luckily for the beast) or bringing him random gifts merely because you thought of him when you saw it

“What’s… this?” Jade’s smile widens in confusion. You’re a continuously curious creature that delightfully confounds him at every turn. He longs to understand you, though it seems he never will.

“A survival pack! Look this bracelet—“ You’re grabbing his hand and clicking the chunky cord into place around his wrist, “—can hold 550 pounds, so if you needed to, I don’t know, lower yourself off’a mountain; you could!” You were out of breath from explaining everything as you took them out of the box.

“Why would I... Where did you acquire such thoughtful items, dearest?”

“Someone over there was selling them.” You mumbled quickly, rummaging around until you found something that brought back your excitement, “and and and they said if I bought everything they’d gimme stickers! Look, it’s your favorite! Let’s put them on your new water bottle!”

Mushroom stickers. You bought him an entire camping essential kit for mushroom stickers

Jade sighs fondly, “You are something else.”

• He’s weak for your pleading puppy-dog eyes. He has actually covered your face with his hand and looked away because he can’t tell you no when you do that! You try not to abuse the power.. but he can be just as manipulative, so you call it even

• Keeping up with his brother is nothing compared to your boundless energy. Jade loves every minute of being with you but finds your sleepy self adorable. He can read in peace while you rest, sprawled out in his lap. You’re playing a game quietly on your phone, trying to keep your eyes open as his nails gently scratching your back and lull you to sleep.

“We have to be up early tomorrow.” He warns, “You should stop resisting it.”

You yawn, “I know. I jus’ wanna spend more time with you.”

His heart aches at your tired confession, though it’s not the first time you’ve said it. You’re always fighting for ‘five more minutes’, even if you’ve been beside him for hours. It’s endearing.

“I’m not going anywhere.” He promises.

After a moment he feels you grow heavier in his lap, your breathing changes and he knows you believe him enough to let yourself fall asleep.

[graveyardgremlins]

WIP ALERT WIP ALERT

What makes death so special that everyone seems so scared to talk about it? It is not as if, in this universe, it’s the end of the line. Not really. If anything, it felt more like the beginning of something.

Now, routine feels like the end of it all. Even when you’re a vigilante and everyday is a surprise, it still feels like slowly withering away. Like, if you stop moving you’re going to start rotting on the spot. But for some reason, people love routine and hate death.

Dick, for example, constantly looks terrified. It’s not obvious, as no feeling in our faces is ever obvious, but I can tell it’s there. He once said, mournfully, that we would bury Bruce like he is now, with jet black hair. The thought upset him, but I still don’t understand why. It’s not as if Bruce cares. Sometimes it feels like he is trying to speed up the process.

And sure, it would suck not to be able to see someone you care about ever again. But if Dick truly is so scared of missing Bruce, he can go knocking on Constantine’s door — or Zatanna’s, or Madame Xanadu’s, or Doctor Fate’s, or Jason Blood’s, or… you get my point — and ask for a seance. Besides, it’s not as if you can say the guy wasted his life. No one on this Earth has more accomplishments under his belt than Batman himself.

So why the long face?

Like, sure I get why they look weird every time I bring up my past death. I was a kid and all that. But they seriously need to stop looking at me like I’m planning to kill myself everytime I bring up my future death. I’m not planning to die any time soon, but what if I do? Are they going to lose their shit again?

I mean, Tim literally cloned his best friend as a manner to bring him back from the dead because he couldn’t cope with him being gone. Not to say I’m terribly worried about the Imposter missing me so much as to clone me, but still. What if I die? Are they going to try to bring me back? Because I don’t think I want that.

Death was easy, you know? It was awful up until the point where it wasn’t. I don’t remember much, but I remember being warm and embraced. And then someone dragged me back screaming and kicking. Then I woke up boiling alive, with the skin falling off my bones in the middle of the Assassin’s League Headquarters.

I’m not particularly excited about being boiled alive again.

No one in this family knows how to let go and Bruce is the worst one. I used to be so mad that his grief wasn’t enough to make him kill the Joker. I wanted him to prove that he loved me like he said he did. But I was a recently deceased and resurrected teenager. I firmly believe that the only reason Jesus reacted better to being murdered is because he was already thirty three. Now, as an adult, I’m less mad.

Bruce deals with grief like this: he doesn’t. He lets it eat him away. I think he likes it, the feeling of rotting from the inside out. Maybe that’s why he likes routine too. I think he has a lot of love inside of him that, instead of showing it, he reschedules it. Like he thinks “tomorrow I’ll show it” and then never does. And when I died, maybe he didn’t have anywhere to put that love anymore. There wouldn’t be any more “tomorrows.” So he just rotted.

It’s why I try not to be jealous about how endlessly patient and affectionate he is with Damian. Or how careful he is with Tim. Or how much interest he takes in everything Duke does. Or how he always listens when Steph talks. Or how he always comes when Cass calls him. At least, I served to teach him a lesson. 

So, yeah, when I got an invitation to a Ghost Ball, I didn’t tell anyone. Because they don’t understand why I linger in the cemetery. They don’t understand why I kill, when they believe I should be the first one to be against death. They don’t understand why I keep talking about dying over and over and over. They just don’t get it.

Also, they would totally ruin this moment for me. I’m sure of it.

How many times do you get invited to a ball? Not those shitass galas the Waynes always go to. A real authentic 1800’s ball. With the lettering cursive invitation, sprayed with some kind of perfume, sealed with a gold wax coat of arms. Not only that! To what was an official celebration to the Ghost King’s 21th birthday.

I didn’t even know there was a Ghost King!

Sure, it’s probably a trap. This kind of thing is always a trap. But they had addressed the invitation to “The Red Knight of Gotham, Avenger of the Damned, Cursebreaker, Three Times Born, Wielder of the All-Blades, the Darkest Star” and, if I am to be honest, flattery will get you everywhere with me.

I’m not entirely sure what the “Darkest Star” was in reference to, but it’s the least of my concern. The theme of the ball was Black, White and Neon Green, which completely fucks up my aesthetic. The last time I wore green I was a Robin and I’m particularly inclined to never wear it again. I’m also not wearing a tuxedo. Maybe a black suit over the armor instead of the usual jacket and a neon green handkerchief.

Now the problem is getting fitted for a suit like that. Every rich motherfucker knows that just sending your measurements to a tailor that never met you in person before is the recipe for a disaster. And sure as hell there is not a single tailor in the Crime Alley. Not that I know of. And there is no way in hell, or heaven or wherever the flying fuck the Infinity Realms were, I’m showing up to a real ball looking anything short of dreamy.

So, I did the reasonable thing and texted Alfred.

If you could come by the Manor, Master Jason, I will see what can be done. He texted back.

There is a theory going around the midst of superheroes that says that the one thing all of the bats have in common is how stubborn we are. It’s true, but I don’t think we learned that from Bruce. I’m pretty sure that’s just the Pennyworth in all of us. That man clearly only still works as a butler at 65 and calls us all “master”, “miss”, “mister” and “ma’am” out of pure stubbornness. I have no evidence of this, but I’m working on the theory that someone at some point betted that he would crack eventually, which is why he hasn’t. That I know of.

So, I showed up at the Manor like he asked me to.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Tim asked.

“I live here,” I answered.

“No, you don’t.”

“Unless someone touched my room, which I doubt, then yes, I do.”

“When was the last time you were here?”

“Last week. I dropped by to move all your furniture 1 inch to the left counterclockwise.”

“I knew it! I knew someone was touching my stuff! Steph said I was crazy!”

“You are, but I touched your stuff. Like all of it. Including your Monster collection. You should really clean that, by the way. It’s disgusting.”

“Fuck you.”

Someone cleaned their throat and we both turned around to see Alfred standing in the hallway, looking less than impressed. I’m pretty sure we learned that from him too.

“Sorry, Alfred,” Tim said.

Alfred sighed and then turned his frown towards me.

“What? I didn’t curse.”

He raised one pointed eyebrow and that’s all it took.

“Sorry for touching your stuff, Timberlake,” I said and turned to Alfred again. “Happy?”

“I suppose that will suffice.”

“Yeah, fine,” Tim agreed and moved out of the way to let me in. “Just never do it again.”

“Oh, I’m definitely doing it again.”

“Why?!”

“Dick told me to stop whining and start getting on that, and I quote, ‘big brother grind’, so you and the Demon brat are going to have to endure it.”

“Why not Duke?”

“He is obviously my favorite.”

Tim just groaned and followed us to one of the upstairs closet.

“What are we doing anyway?”

“We are doing nothing. You weren’t invited.”

“Master Jason is getting fitted for a new suit,” Alfred said, ignoring me.

“Why?” Tim asked.

“What are you? A Toddler? Why do you think?”

“Well, you sure as hell aren’t going to the galas—”

“Damn right, I won’t.”

“And you’re definitely not going on a date—”

“Wait, why?”

“Because.”

I turned around to fully face him. “What do you mean ‘because’?”

“Just because,” Tim made a vague gesture with his hand. “You know.”

“No. As a matter of fact, I don’t know.”

“You know,” He gestured again. “Because.”

“Because what?”

“You’re chronically single.”

“What?!”

Tim threw himself on one of the sofas that was turned towards the closet and sank into it. “Chronically single. Chronically, meaning in a persistent and recurring—”

“I know what chronically single means!”

“Then you know.”

“I’m not chronically single!”

“How long ago was your last relationship and how long did it last?”

“That does not mean I’m chronically single! I get bitches all the time!”

“Perhaps, Master Jason, refraining from referring to your partners in a demeaning manner might be the first step to improving your romantic aptitudes.”

“I don’t– I’m not– Ugh!”

“Try this suit on. I think it will be the closest to your current measurements.”

I took the suit from his hand and closed the closet door behind me.

“So,” Tim said, “If you’re not going to a gala, you’re not going to a date, then where are you going?”

“None of your business.”

“It’s not a birthday, because I’m pretty sure none of your friends is an Aquarius–”

He kept talking and I tuned him out. The pants were a bit too tight around the knees, so they would have to fix that, and the jacket sleeves were a little too short. Besides that, I liked the red lining inside, as well as the flower pattern that almost disappeared into the black. It wasn’t very on the theme, and I would risk looking a bit christmassy, but it would be worth it. I did need a neon green handkerchief, though.

“It can’t be Two-Face, because he is still in Arkham and also not your usual target. Black Mask has been quiet, so maybe him,” Tim was, somehow, still talking.

“What are you talking about?” I asked, opening the closet door to let Alfred take a look.

“People you might be planning to make a move against in a place where a suit might be necessary.”

“Maybe I just want a suit, ever thought of that?”

“You’re fitting it over armor,” Tim pointed out.

“Touché.”

“Tt, it’s too tight around your knees,” Alfred commented.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “Oh, Alfred? Do you by any chance have a neon green handkerchief?”

Alfred made a face. “I do not own any monstrosity of that sort, Master Jason. Why do you ask?”

“Because the theme is Black, White and Neon Green.”

“Wait, you’re actually crashing a party?”

Alfred sighed and made another disgusted face. “In that case… This suit won’t do.”

“Sorry, Alfred. I didn’t write the dress code.”

“Of course not, Master Jason. I would expect that you would have a better sense for fashion than that.”

“And for your information, I’m not crashing a party. I was invited. Not that you know what that’s like, Stalker.”

“Who would invite you to anything?!”

“Not telling.”

“C’mon!”

“Perhaps the Zegna will look less… clown-like with a neon green handkerchief than the Armani,” Alfred said, mostly to himself.

“Did I hear, Armani?” Selina’s honey-dripping voice came from the corridor, and she poked her head inside the room. “What are you boys doing hiding here?”

“I’m getting fitted for a suit.”

“He is going to a party and I’m trying to figure out which one,” Tim answered at the same time as me.

“Oh! That sounds fun! Do you need help, Alfred?” She asked and slid into the sofa next to Tim.

“I’m afraid I am at a loss, Miss Kyle. The theme of the evening is Black, White and, ugh, Neon Green.”

She made a face very much like Alfred’s own. “Where are you going, Kit Kat? The Riddler’s birthday isn’t until July.”

“Not telling you, either.”

She pouted and pulled Tim’s face near her own, he understood what she was doing a minute later and pouted too. “Please?” They said, like children.

“Nope. Not happening.”

Selina shrugged it off, not particularly bothered, but Tim seemed to still be fixated on the issue. 

“Have you tried that Slim-fit Hugo Boss brown suit, Alfred? I think it will make him look distinguished amongst the neon green aberration,” she said.

“Is it a winter party of some kind?” Tim asked.

“Not giving you any tips, Timmy.”

“Actually, Master Jason, that could help us find a better suit.”

I sighed. “I don’t think it is specifically a winter party. I think it's just a coincidence.”

“So it is a celebration of some kind!”

“I’m. Not. Telling. You.”

“No need. I will find out eventually.”

Alfred brought out the Hugo Boss brown suit and held it up for Selina to see. 

“I think it will clash, Miss Kyle,” he said.

“I think you’re right, Alfred,” She tapped one manicured finger to her lips. “This party is not of someone we know. Is it, Kit Kat?”

I shrugged.

“Why do you say that, Selina?” Tim asked.

“Motherly instincts.”

The door behind them opened again, this time to reveal a mildly disgruntled looking Bruce. His hair was a mess and he was wearing a sweater and sweatpants. He was definitely sick.

“What are you guys doing here?”

“Are you sick, old man?”

He sniffed. “Seasonal allergies.”

“Jason is getting fitted for a suit,” Selina answered.

“Oh?”

“And I’m trying to find out why.”

“Oh.”

“You guys are nosy,” I said.

Alfred brought out another slim-fit suit and both Selina and Bruce made a face. “Yes, I imagined so,” Alfred said, disappointed.

“What kind of party is it, chum?”

“Not telling.”

“The theme is Black, White and Neon Green,” Selina said, and both her, Alfred and Bruce grimaced.

“Jason, please tell me you’re not going to the Riddler’s birthday party.”

“Of course, he isn’t, silly. The Riddler’s birthday is July 21st.”

“Oh! Should I send a present?”

“It would be very polite,” Alfred said and Selina agreed.

“If this party is of someone we don’t know then it must be someone you met recently or a very long time ago. But if it was from someone you used to know, you probably wouldn’t be using an expensive suit, and if it was someone new we would have heard of it already,” Tim said.

“What makes you think it is someone we don’t know?” Bruce asked.

Selina raised her hand with a cheeky smile. “If we knew them already, little Kit Kat wouldn’t be so worried about imprrrressing them. We would have embarrassed him already.”

“I’m not worried about impressing anyone.”

“You’re getting fitted for a suit,” she pointed out.

“Yes, because I outgrew all my other suits and I can’t wear them with the armor. It’s not as if I’m buying a new one,” I rolled my eyes.

“If you’re wearing your armor are you worried about being attacked?” Bruce asked.

“Is it a mission then?” Tim asked. “Otherwise, why would you be going to a place where you might be attacked?”

“Good point, champ.”

“I’m not answering any of those questions.”

Bruce pondered for a second. “Have you tried the gray Kiton wool suit? It might null a bit of the neon green.”

“Ooh. Good idea, love.”

“Let’s see if you’re correct, Master Bruce.”

“I’m texting Dick to see if he knows anything.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Father, have you seen Alfred Jr?” Damian’s voice rang from the corridor.

“Not really, Dami.”

“He is probably in that warm spot in the library where the sun hits just right,” Selina said and stretched as if she could feel the warmth from here.

“Thank you, miss Kyle,” Damian poked his head inside. “What are you doing here?”

“You’re welcome, Damian.”

“I live here.”

“Do you?” Bruce asked.

“Do you?” Damian asked, fully walking into the room.

You see? This is why I can’t tell them anything about this ball. Or else they will want to come with, they are nosy like that, I’d have to explain to every cute person I meet why I brought my entire family with me when the invitation didn’t even have ‘plus one’ on it.

Jesus, maybe Selina was right.

“Master Jason is getting fitted for a new suit, Master Damian,” Alfred said and held the gray wool suit.

“Yeah, that doesn’t do it either,” Selina said.

“What is wrong with the suit?”

“The theme is Black, White and Neon Green.” Everyone grimaced at that. They really needed to stop repeating the same thing over and over.

“What is the occasion?”

“Kit Kat won’t tell us.”

“Nope.”

“I’ve talked to Dick!” Tim announced. “He has no idea who could be, but his best guest is someone Jason met with the Outlaws! So I’m going to text Cass, so she can text Artemis and see if she was invited to anything.”

Damian sat on the opposite arm of the sofa and pondered.

“How much have you narrowed it down?”

“Someone we don’t know, someone dangerous, possibly on a mission, not a winter party,” Bruce said.

“Birthday?”

“No gift.”

“Maybe it’s someone I don’t know enough to buy a gift to,” I said, just to throw them off.

The three of them narrowed their eyes at me.

“Yup, talked to Artemis. She doesn’t know anything,” Tim said. “Also Dick is calling.”

He put it on speaker so everyone could suffer together.

“Hey, guys!”

“Hey, chum.”

“Hello.”

“Hey, birdie.”

“Sup?”

“Jesus Christ,” I rubbed my temples. I could feel a migraine coming up.

“Jason! The man, the myth, the legend! Will you tell your big bro where exactly you’re going? I promise to keep it a secret.”

“Not even on your deathbed.”

Alfred brought out another suit. It was also gray and it still did not match neon green.

“C’mon, Little Wing! Don’t be like that! It can be that bad for us to know.”

“It’s out of principle.”

“That reminds me,” Tim said. “Dick, go screw yourself.”

Alfred made a face at that, but didn’t comment anything.

“Wait, why? What did I do?”

“Why did you tell Jason to ‘act like a big brother’? He touched all of my stuff!”

“I’m sure he didn’t touch all of it.”

“Oh, I didn’t look under the bed, but besides that? It will be very funny when you start finding the glitter.”

“What?!”

“Ah, is that why Jon found a lot of superboy merch I did not buy in my closet?” Damian asked. “Well, I must say that is not a good prank. I’m not embarrassed to say I’m my best friend’s biggest fan. Though, he did cry.”

“You say that now, because you haven’t found the bees.”

“What bees?”

I simply smiled. This wouldn’t work on most of my siblings, but Damian was small enough to be fooled and once he believed it, the others would follow.

“I swear to God, Jason. If I find glitter on my clothes I’m putting a skunk inside your house,” Tim said.

There was also no glitter, but now he would check everything first. Forever.

“Why would you do that to a poor innocent animal?” I said, to be contrary.

“Yeah, Tim. Leave the animals alone! It’s not their fault Little Wing started a prank war.”

“Yes, Drake. I’m disappointed you’d even think about this.”

Alfred brought out a deep blue suit. Selina sighed and slumped down the sofa and Bruce shook his head.

“Hey, Dick,” I asked. “Do you have any suits that might fit me and that will look good with neon green?”

“Why do you ask? Don’t tell me Poison Ivy is your plus one.”

“Alright, I won’t.”

“Poison Ivy is light green, not neon,” Tim said.

“And Ivy is too old for you,” Bruce said, pointedly. I rolled my eyes.

“I don’t think I’d have anything either way.”

There was a moment of silence while everyone considered, perhaps the color neon green or perhaps Poison Ivy.

“I figured it out!” Damian shouted suddenly. Selina flinched from the noise, and he apologized quickly. “Sorry. But I have figured it out.”

“What?” Everyone asked. I wasn’t particularly worried, it’s very hard for the little brat to have known about a King I wasn’t even aware of. Though, maybe Ra’s did know it before me.

“Regular-fit Dark Grey Virgin Wool Serge from Hugo Boss,” Damian said profoundly.

“What?” Tim asked.

“The suit that will go with neon green.”

Alfred, Selina and Bruce thought it out. “Yes, I believe that might work, Master Damian.”

“Good job, son,” Bruce said, making my insides twist painfully.

Selina simply raised her hand over Tim’s head so Damian could high five her.

“That still doesn’t answer where he is going!”

“Who would do a Neon Green party? Besides the Riddler, his birthday isn’t until July.”

“How do you even– No, actually, I don’t want to know. Thanks for the help, Demon Brat.”

“You’re welcome. Now tell us where you’re going.”

Fair enough. “To a birthday party,”

“Goddammit! It was the first thing I crossed off!”

“Of whom?”

“None of your business, old man.”

“C’mon, tell us Little Wing.”

“What are we trying to find out?” Duke asked, walking into the room. “And why is everyone here?”

“Jason is going to a birthday party and he won’t tell us who's is jt,” Tim said.

“Oh?”

“And I’m getting a suit fitted.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t worry, though. I’ll tell you whose birthday it is later.”

“Hey!”

“Wait, why?”

“Yes, why him?”

“Oh, Duke is my favorite.”

Duke smiled innocently at all the people in the room and did a little twirl.

“That’s not fair!”

“Hey, this is your fault. You told me to be an older sibling.”

“Older siblings don’t pick favorites!”

“Of course they do. Damian is your favorite, I’m Cass’ favorite, Duke is my favorite, and Tim is no one’s favorite.”

“Screw you!”

“Don’t worry. When Bruce adopts another one you can be their favorite.”

“I’m not adopting anyone.”

Everyone in the room raised an eyebrow at that — yet another thing they got from Alfred — and Selina patted his hand. “Whatever you say, love.”

Alfred fitted the suit perfectly, to the point where that one guy on twitter that talks about male clothing would applaud. And he did find a neon green handkerchief, though he would only buy it if I promised to burn it afterwards, which I swiftly agreed to. I considered bringing a present, but something I learned from the filthy rich is that it’s always better to look like an asshole rather than a fool.

And so the suit saga ends and the ball saga begins.

One would think that an interdimensional being called the Ghost King would think of better ways to direct his guests towards his party than a set of coordinates and another number, which I quickly realized to be the hour in military time. Of course, one would be wrong. So me, my bike, my beautiful suit and my weapons directed ourselves to the middle of bumfuck nowhere, literally in the middle of Nevada's desert.

God, I am going to arrive at this party covered in sand.

[thethronezone]

Love the father Primarch series. Keeps getting better.

The schooling bit did get me wondering how said Primarchs would react if they discovered they had a kid they hadn’t known about for whatever reason.

Mortarion tries to convince himself that it was better this way. He's not ... father-material. Surely, he would have made for an awful parent, ruined this child like his adoptive father ruined him. Yet his heart won't stop aching and raging inside his chest because what if? What if he had raised them? What if he had been given the chance? It's the way that chance was taken away from him that makes him feel like he's been robbed. And what about the child, his child? Do they feel the same? Or do they already loathe him? The thought of finding out scares him.

Fulgrim is caught between admiring his newly discovered offspring and seething with outrage over the fact that they were hidden from him. Look at them, perfect in every way. Why would someone hide them from him? Fulgrim would have approached fatherhood with open arms, would have treasured every moment and yet... those were stolen. All of it, taken from him, without him even knowing. But now he does know and Fulgrim promises, he's going to prove to everyone that he can still be a father.

In some distant past, Angron might have considered becoming a father at some point in his life, but that fantasy had been torn apart the same moment the nails were plunged into his skull. After that, he never even considered the possibility. Yet here they are, his child. And Angron rages. Not at the child, they haven't done anything wrong, even he can recognize that. But he feels hurt. Betrayed. Confused. And deep in his heart, frightened. Because what does he do now? He's not prepared for this, he does not know what to do or how to be a father. All these emotions turn into violent anger.

Magnus senses them before he sees them. He feels their soul and his heart aches over how similar it feels to his own. And then he sees them, a child sharing his red skin, and what little doubt there might have been in his mind disappears without a trace. He wants to get to know them, wants them to know him, wants to teach and nurture them, watch them grow. But Magnus is a proud, proud man and while he genuinely wants to get to know his child, he just can't let go of his proud, making it hard for him to truly connect with them.

Rather than angered, Perturabo's first reaction is one of frustration. Because this was not part of the plan. He never planned on having children and now he's suddenly got one? What is he supposed to do with it? It's only after he comes to terms with the fact that he's apparently a father than the rage sets in. Perturabo might not have wanted children but who had the gall to take that choice from him? To deny him the right to his own flesh and blood? It's the lack of control that angers him the most.

Who's child is it? Alpharius or Omegon's? They aren't sure, identical as they are. Omegon secretly hopes its his. Just this one thing that he's got that Alpharius doesn't. Alpharius knows this but doesn't mind and truly doesn't care who's the 'real' father. In the end, the child belongs to both of them. They are both are less angered by being lied to and more curious as to how they didn't learn of this sooner. They take pride in knowing everything about their surroundings, about being aware of every little detail. The fact that this went hidden for as long as it did is both intriguing and slightly infuriating. Will subtly infiltrate the child's life before they reveal themselves.

Lorgar tries to rationalize this as some sort of divine trial. It's the only way he can make sense of the situation and not get consumed by his feelings of anger and grief. No, he has to believe that there's some sort of deeper meaning and purpose being this, otherwise, why torment him like this? He already loves his child, treasures them, and he's only known of their existence for the briefest of moments. To imagine that they have been out there all along, that he's missed so much of their life already... It's a test of faith, Lorgar reminds himself. A holy trial, he says as his fingers dig into the surface of the table, leaving behind thick grooves.

Horus always wanted to be a father. And while he loves his legion, his astartes, they are not really his. He didn't raise them, he didn't cradle them in his arms when they were just a babe, didn't tuck them into bed. And Horus thought he would never get that. Yet here they are, his child. His blood and flesh. And before today, he didn't even know they existed. He is happy. He's angry. Sad, disappointed, overwhelmed. Someone kept them from him. Lied to him. It makes him want to kill someone. Depending on how old the kid is, how long they have been kept a secret, he just might. For now, he's got so much to catch up on.

I will not lie, Konrad will probably kill the mom for hiding away his kid all this time. And then he will spend a long time just staring at his child, blood still fresh on his face. They look so much like him, it both unsettles him and soothes some primal part of his brain that recognizes them as his offspring. But just how deep are the similarities? Is it just the surface or are they like him, twisted and broken on a fundamental level? He'd probably lock them away somewhere, a safe place where he doesn't have to see them, not because hates them (he doesn't) but because he's afraid of what he'll possibly see when he looks into their eyes.

Sanguinius has only known them for but a brief moment and he already adores them. It's not just because they looks so much like him, it's the future he sees when he looks at them. In a way, it feels like he already knows them. But they don't know him and oh, doesn't that just break his heart? To them, he's just a stranger, a man they happen to share half their blood with. That's why, Sanguinius tries not to be pushy and overwhelming with his affection, despite how much he yearns to spoil his child. He will take this nice and slow, proving himself to them as both a human being and as a father.

For some time, Corvus considers if he should just let them go. As much as this situation pains him, as betrayed as he feels, he genuinely questions if this was maybe for the child's best interest. Could he even be a proper father? Would they be happier without him in their life? Corvus hesitates. Doubts himself. Shoves his own feelings to the side as he focuses on what's truly best for his child. His child. He isn't sure what's worse. The fact that he's never even met them or that he's already ready to do anything for them, just to see them safe and happy.

It's about responsibility, Ferrus thinks. He needs to do what's right and that's to teach this child who's undoubtedly inherited too much of him. Are they strong? Fast? Durable? Intelligent? They need to learn control. And that's where he comes in. That's all there is to it. That's how he justifies bringing them into his fold. Ferrus doesn't need to be a father, he doesn't need to nurture or raise them. He doesn't even know where he would start with that. He couldn't... He can't raise a child. It was probably for the better that they were kept from him, he wouldn't have been a good father. Telling himself this makes it easier for Ferrus to come to terms with the fact that he's essentially missed out on his child's entire life.

Rogal is very displeased. Not with the fact that he has a child, that he accepts fairly quickly, but that they have been kept from him. He feels like its an injustice, that he's been lied and deceived. Robbed. But Rogal does not dwell on those feelings. Those will bring him nothing of fruition. No, what he does instead is focus on the present and the future. Rogal will bring his child into his fold and he will raise them like he was supposed to do from the beginning. He will be the father he's supposed to be and he will do this child right.

Vulkan feels like an awful human being and some irrational part of him blames himself. The fact that all this time, he had a child he didn't even know existed. He can't stop thinking about all those lost moments, the time he's missed out on. He feels like he should have known, somehow. Wants nothing more than to make up for lost time and get to know his kid. Practically throws himself into fatherhood, accepts it immediately though his enthusiasm and unconditional love can be slightly intimidating for someone who doesn't know him.

"They've got my eyes." That's all Lion can think when he comes face to face with his secret child for the first time. He recognizes other features as well, things like posture and expression. So much like him, but also not. He does not know how to feel about it. Part of him feels outraged. Furious. He's been lied to, deceived and the thought of it makes him want to hurt someone- But he won't, because he's not a beast. No, apparently, he's a father and while there's a lot of emotions there that Lion does not have the time to unpack, he knows one thing for sure; parenthood is a duty and he's always fulfilled his.

Even if Leman was blind, he'd still know the kid is his. He can smell it on them, parts of his own scent. Every Space Wolf has some of Leman's scent but with this kid, HIS kid, it's stronger. And once he figures out that he's a father? Yeah, he's taking this kid back with him to Fenris. Doesn't care if he's got to drag them there kicking and screaming, he's going to raise his kid in the way he thinks they should be raised. Tries to focus on the future so not to think about the past and the fact that someone HID HIS OWN FLESH AND BLOOD FROM HIM because that will only cause him to rage and fester in hatred.

Jaghatai feels robbed. He knows he would have loved being told that he was going to become a father, would have looked forward to all those moments where he could raise his child and watch them navigate in the world around them. And while Jaghatai will make sure to have his justice, that's not what's on the forefront of his mind. No, his child is. Because strangers as they may be to one another, they are still family, they are still his blood, and Jaghatai still thinks he's got the chance to be a father. Everything is not lost and it's better to start late than never.

Poor Roboute. On the outside, he's professional, dignified in regards to this startling revelation. Barely a twitch on his face as he learns that he's got a child, a child that's been kept a secret from him for years. But inside, he's a mess of emotions. He feels lost, betrayed, angry, sad. But he can't express any of that because people are looking at him and expects so much. So, while his heart aches and screams for answers, he calmly tells his aides to bring the child to him, with a full Ultramarine escort, of course. It's only when Roboute is alone that he buries his face in his hands and allows his emotions to run their course.

[gliphyartfan]

Hiii I'm back with another hug ask, bc the last one was cute and lu has been stuck on my brain for literal months now (help). Feel free to ignore if it's not your thing

I think I sent this to another blog but I'm curious to hear your take on it: yan chain w/ reader who doesn't know what hugs even are and just freezes up anytime they're given an ounce of affection. I'm such a sucker for characters who have no idea how to react when they're given positive attention. They're standing there while Hyrule is hugging them thinking he's gonna pull out a knife at any moment. They sleep with their own under their pillow

Oh, Anon, this is GOLD. You know the Chain is gonna be all over this.

The first time it happens, it’s Hyrule who does it first because of course it is. Sweet forest boy is naturally affectionate, so it just happens. Maybe Reader got a little scraped up in a fight or looked particularly exhausted, and Hyrule, being the ball of sunshine he is, decided a hug was the best way to comfort them.

He wraps his arms around them, all smiles, and says like, “You’re safe now!”

And Reader? Reader is just standing there like a stone statue. Frozen. Wideeyed. Heart pounding in fear because why is he hugging me and what’s his angle?!

Hyrule notices immediately. He pulls back, confused but concerned. “Are you okay?” he asks, tilting his head, while Reader just stares at him like he might pull out a knife any second. (Cause what he doesn’t know is that she was about to do that.)

Hyrule tells the others because, let’s be real, he doesn’t know how to process what just happened. And the Chain? Oh, they have feelings.

Wild is immediately like, “What do you mean they don’t know what hugs are?!” He’s borderline offended on Reader’s behalf.

Legend acts like it’s no big deal but lowkey feels awful about it. He’s been there, and he gets it, even if he’d never admit it out loud.

Sky is heartbroken ya know. This man probably cries about it later when no one’s looking.

Twilight is all quiet and broody, vowing to make Reader feel safe enough to accept affection.

Warriors? Oh, he’s dramatic as ever. “How could anyone deny them affection? They’re so precious!”

Four is quietly determined to fix it. He doesn’t say much, but you know he’s planning ways to help. (He’s…gonna have to go back to the drawing board a few several times when his plans keep failing)

Wind is confused at first but quickly makes it his personal mission to introduce Reader to all the hugs. He gives his sister and grandma hugs all the time! It’s a travesty NOT to hug and be hugged!

Time just gives one of those cryptic nods like he already knows but doesn’t elaborate. (He’s clueless but he’s gonna fix that.)

They’re obsessed with figuring out why Reader freezes at hugs. Who hurt them? Who dared deny them love and warmth? The thought keeps them awake at night, eating away at them until they’re ready to tear apart the entire world to find answers.

They need to be the ones to break through to Reader. It’s not just about helping; it’s about being the one Reader finally trusts, the one they lean on and allow into their heart.

I thiiiiink, Hyrule is the most persistent but gentle. He starts with small touches, a pat on the shoulder here, a light hand on their arm there, until Reader gets used to him.

Wild probably makes it into a game. He’ll casually lean against Reader, ruffle their hair, or throw an arm around their shoulders. Before they know it, they’re comfortable with him.

Twilight is careful. Like he’s dealing with a nervous animal. He waits until Reader is truly comfortable before trying anything, and even then, it’s just a warm hand on their back or a brief side hug.

Sky is the king of asking for permission. “Would it be okay if I hugged you?” And when Reader hesitantly agrees, he gives the softest, warmest hug imaginable.

Legend is… awkward. He doesn’t know how to express affection without it being weird, so he just gives them stiff, quick hugs and pretends it’s no big deal. (I think she’d be more comfortable with him since if HE’S awkward about it just like SHE is, then he’s not up to anything malicious and she’s totally okay with that. They both become cuddle bugs eventually. Much to his touch starved enjoyment.)

Warriors is surprisingly patient. He loves affection, but he reins it in for Reader’s sake. When he finally gets a hug, though? He makes it dramatically playful.

Four (eventually after many failures) takes the practical route. He offers hugs as rewards for little victories, like, “Good job today,” and eventually, Reader starts to look forward to them.

Wind is a menace. He sneaks up behind Reader for surprise hugs, then laughs when they freeze. But he quickly lets go so she only tenses for a second and doesn’t have time to really register what he did. But he’s also the first to cheer when they start relaxing.

Time is slow and steady. He probably waits until she’s more used to the others. His hugs are grounding and calm, offered when Reader seems like they need them most.

When they find out about the knife, it’s a…moment. Sky is devastated. (he’s also secretly furious that Reader ever felt unsafe enough to need it.)

Twilight is like, “That’s…practical…I suppose. but you don’t need it anymore. We’re here.” And he means it. (She still has it much to his dismay.)

Wild? Legend? Wind and Hyrule? They are just like, “Oh, that’s smart. I do the same thing.”

Warriors (who also sleeps with a knife cause ya know, soldier.) probably offers to buy them a better knife because, in his mind, better protection means better sleep. (Wild and Warriors definitely

The others are a mix of concerned and quietly determined to make Reader feel safe enough to sleep without it. I mean, I have no doubt they would all try to take the knife from her but when she shrinks away from them and doesn’t interact as much because of that, they’ll eventually give it back…kinda..they’ll spend a while trying to convince her she doesn’t need it but uh…it doesn’t work. (Even when she later on enjoys hugs from them.)

When Reader finally hugs one of them back, it’s Hyrule. Of course, it’s Hyrule.

He’s hugging them after another battle, telling them how glad he is that they’re okay, when he feels their arms wrap around him, hesitantly, awkwardly, but it’s there.

Hyrule freezes for a second, then breaks into the brightest smile. “You hugged me!” he says, voice full of joy, and everyone else immediately demands to know what just happened.

Every small victory,a brief touch, a hesitant smile, is like a drug to them. It’s not enough. It’s never enough. They want more, and they want it now.

When Reader finally hugs Hyrule back, the Chain is…. not okay.

Sure, they’re happy for him (on the surface), but deep down, they’re seething with jealousy. Why him? Why not them?

From that moment on, it’s a competition. They’re all trying to outdo each other, looking for any excuse to be the next one Reader hugs.

If Reader so much as leans on one of them for support, the others are immediately trying to replicate the situation to get the same reaction. It’s not just affection they crave.

It’s to know Reader trusts them more than she does the others.

…aaaand…that’s it! That’s all I got. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[ladybirdswritings]

INVISIBLE STRING, AU — clark kent x reader.

DESCRIPTION: you lock eyes with a charming stranger at a party you’d rather not be at, and now he’s finding it hard to resist you. NOTES - leave me all your thoughts and opinions. i love them <33 | prev part ; next part

four;

You had only one partner in your entire life—and Christ knew how awfully that ended. Still, each relationship taught you the same lesson: crying in front of them, especially too quickly, was as cruel as a death sentence.

But here you were, eyes glossy as you fought to suppress every awful, hopeless feeling swelling in your chest, the credits of The Notebook rolling on the screen.

Did that love even exist? Better yet, would you ever find it?

You couldn’t stop the quiver in your pretty, pink lips.

Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.

“Hey,” Clark called, his laugh breathy, and your shoulders tensed.

You didn’t want to rush this, or push anything further. You weren’t entirely convinced he wasn’t hiding something underneath that perfect façade.

But Clark hadn’t hurt you when he brought you to his apartment. He hadn’t hovered over you when you sat on his dark emerald couch. Quite the opposite, in fact—he’d given you space, letting you curl up in the corner with a blanket, sitting a cushion away to make sure you felt comfortable.

Funnily enough, your mind wandered to how his body had felt in the bookshop just hours before, swaying so close to yours.

Christ…

“I’m fine.” You laughed at yourself, shaking your head, a sniffle escaping as your eyes blinked, letting two tears fall. Clark adjusted his glasses with his wrist, grabbing a tissue from his abstract glass table and offering it to you. You accepted it gratefully.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” he cooed, his voice a deep, soothing balm for the anxiety gnawing at your stomach. “I’ve cried at this film too.”

He was lying, but his words made you laugh, and that was enough for him. He grinned as you wiped your tears away.

“Are you lying to me?” Your watery doe eyes were too pretty a sight—and though Clark prided himself on being a strong man, he grew weak under your gaze.

“Yes,” he admitted, and after a long pause, you both erupted into a fit of laughter—breathless and wiping your eyes when it ended.

Clark sighed long and deep, leaning back against the cushions, gazing lazily at you with one arm resting along the back of the couch, his fingers grazing your shoulder.

“God, you’re pretty.” The words slipped out like a breath, and that ever-present pinch returned to his brows when he realized what he’d said. But when you flushed a soft pink and brought your shy gaze to meet his, he made no effort to take the words back.

A comfortable silence settled between you both. You peered at him through watery lashes, and he gazed at you with a soft smile, as though he was memorizing the delicate features of your face.

“Clark,” you started, and he hummed in response, too busy counting the sparse freckles on your face, tracing constellations in their scattered stars.

“Why’d you ask me out on a date?”

Maybe it was the wine, the gentle breeze flowing through the window, or the way he looked at you—as if he’d known you for a thousand lifetimes. Whatever it was, you couldn’t suppress the question from slipping past your lips.

He shifted, leaning forward, resting his forearms on his knees as he considered your words.

“It’s been a long time since anyone’s interested me,” he said plainly, as if it were the simplest answer in the world. Your curious mind didn’t think that was enough—but before you could push for more, you held back the urge.

He turned his head to you slowly, tilting it with a playful glint.

“Why’d you say yes?” he asked, grinning lazily.

You found yourself flushing pink again as you considered your answer.

Because you look like Adonis.

Because I’d be an idiot to say no.

Because I need to know if you’re a serial killer or not.

“Because you read books.”

Oof.

You winced as the words left your mouth, watching his brows furrow and the grin slowly fade from his lips. You felt the urge to crawl into a hole, but instead, you scooted closer on the couch, tucking your legs underneath you.

“I’m awful with words,” you admitted, voice small.

Clark recovered quickly, masking his brief disappointment with another lazy grin. “But you’re pretty,” he repeated, his gaze softening as he leaned closer to you.

For a moment, time seemed to slow. Your gazes locked, pulling you both closer like magnets.

And then, in a blink, he was there. One arm on your hip, just like earlier. The other gripped the couch as if it was the only thing keeping him tethered to his self-control.

“I’m gonna kiss you,” he whispered.

And though the parts of you scarred by past trauma screamed for you to take it slow, to hold back—

Well.

Fuck it.

You nodded once, and his lips were on yours—soft, slow, and tentative.

One peck, and he pulled back, scanning your eyes for any trace of regret or hesitation. When he found none, he dove in again. Only this time, his glasses bumped your nose.

You winced, and his eyes widened. But then you broke into an amused smile. He mirrored you, a ghost of a laugh playing on his lips as he removed his too-big glasses and set them aside.

“Let me kiss it better, baby,” he whispered, and God, you melted.

Baby.

In that moment, you knew. Even if he eventually broke your heart or turned cruel, you’d still long to hear that word fall from his lips.

Oh, but slowly, he leaned forward again and pressed a soft kiss to where his glasses had bumped your nose. Then another to your cheek, and another, then your eyelids, your chin, your forehead—exploring you, savoring you. He hovered just shy of your lips, his arms warming your skin, his fingers finding a home cupping your cheeks. His thumbs brushed against the apples of them.

“I want to keep kissing you,” he whispered, his voice strained, deeper now. You interrupted him, unknowingly.

“So do it, Clark.”

He inhaled sharply, a strained grin playing at the corners of his lips.

If he were a lesser man…

“If I keep kissing you,” he admitted, his voice low and heated, “I’m going to have a hard time stopping.”

And you swayed in your seat, body humming with anticipation. He pressed soft kisses to your forehead, each one igniting the fire inside you, while your eyes dropped downward.

And then you saw it.

A bulge—strained but undeniable—aching to be released. To be touched.

A very big, demanding bulge.

Maybe his kisses were meant to distract you from it. Or maybe he wanted your innocent little eyes to fall upon it.

Unbeknownst to you, it had started to ache the moment he inhaled your intoxicating scent in the bookshop. One kiss, and it had been pulsing.

You gulped, wide-eyed as his kisses moved to your temples, his lashes tickling your skin.

Maybe it was the way he called you baby, or maybe it was curiosity… or maybe, just maybe, you felt as though you owed him something.

Yes, that was it.

He’d been so kind to you. Wasn’t this your obligation?

It’s certainly what your ex used to believe…

You winced as your shaky hand reached for his denim, slowly grazing the firm bulge, your fingers testing the limits of its tightness.

He tensed, his grip on your face tightening as he leaned back a fraction. Awe glazed your expression as you watched him close his eyes, jaw tight and lips pursed. A guttural moan escaped him, shaking both his chest and yours.

You had to keep going, if only to hear that delectable sound again.

Slowly, your fingers found the zipper, inching lower and lower—until his hand snapped down to capture your wrist.

Mortification spread across your cheeks like wisteria vines.

He stopped you, holding your wrist for a moment, catching his breath before his eyes fluttered open again, scanning your face.

A slow, lazy kiss pressed to your wrist, then two more to your reddened cheeks.

“You had wine,” he whispered against your neck, dipping his head into the crook and licking lazily at your pulse.

He hadn’t let go of your hand—not because he didn’t trust you, but because he didn’t trust himself.

His words took a moment to make sense in your foggy mind, but when they did, relief flooded your tense body. You relaxed against him.

He did want you— he just didn’t want you buzzing from wine.

He wanted you whole, complete, present.

You shivered as he traced his tongue from your throat to the soft place beneath your ear, pressing a final kiss there before pulling back.

His face had changed now.

Gone was the gentle, bookish man who’d kindled a fire both for and in you and let you ramble about books. No, this Clark was different—hungry, staring at the finest ambrosia before him.

Ready to pounce.

"Are you okay?" he murmured, and you realized then you'd been staring at his lips.

You licked your own.

"I'm okay, Clark."

He nodded, and in a swift motion, you were seated in his lap, his bulge pressing against your plump bum. The clothing between you only deepened the pulsing ache.

"You just bite me if I cross a line, okay?" You giggled softly at that, and he only nibbled your ear in response, wrapping two strong arms around you and settling back against the couch.

You had been the most fun he'd had in a while—and damn if he wasn't already dreading the moment when you'd part.

"Can I take you home tonight?” he asked, his voice low and filled with a new intensity that made your breath catch. His hands were gentle on your waist, but the tension in his grip told you that he wasn’t quite as calm as he appeared.

You hesitated for a moment, your mind racing with conflicting thoughts and even stronger feelings. You’d never felt so simultaneously vulnerable and desired. There was something about him—something in the way he treated you with patience and respect—that made your guard slip, just a little. And yet, the fear of getting too close, too quickly, still lurked in the back of your mind.

You swallowed hard, trying to push past the anxiety. This isn’t the same as before, you reminded yourself. It doesn’t have to be.

“I think I’d like that,” you said finally, your voice shaky but sincere. You could feel his grip tighten slightly, as though he was holding his breath.

“Are you sure?” He searched your face, wanting to be absolutely certain that you weren’t just saying yes out of some sense of obligation or fear of disappointing him.

You nodded, and a small smile played at the corners of your lips. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

The air between you two shifted, as if the space around you had contracted and expanded all at once, drawing you closer to him. Clark’s eyes softened, and his smile was tender, almost reverent, as he kissed your forehead once more.

“Okay,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your skin. “C’mon pretty girl.”

He stood up, holding his hand out to you. You took it, allowing him to help you up from the couch, and together, you made your way to the cherrywood door. As you walked out into January’s chill, you found yourself unsurprised when he draped his coat over your shoulders.

As you climbed into the truck, Clark reached over to start the engine, but before he did, he turned to look at you once more, his gaze soft and searching.

“I want you to know ,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, “this isn’t just a pass of time for me or my pleasure. You’re pretty, and you’re incredibly tempting… but I don’t expect a thing from you. That’s not the man I am.”

He could be lying. As your ex had, as many others had before. Christ, you’d just met him a few weeks ago. Were you to believe his words were truly more than just a ploy to get you comfortable?

One stolen glance into his blue-gray gaze though, and you just knew that could not be true.

Your heart fluttered in your chest, a mix of relief and something else—something deeper, something unfamiliar but present. You smiled softly, your fingers brushing against his hand as he reached for the gear shift.

“I’m not like that either,” you replied, your voice steady and sincere. “But I think you know that.”

He grinned, not needing to say more words as the tension eased from his shoulders and he shifted the car into drive. As you pulled away from the apartment building and into the quiet streets, you weighed each syllable of his words with scrutiny. You thought yourself to be a fool for considering them honest.

But that was okay.

Clark Kent was a man more than determined to prove your pretty little mind wrong…

[phpruitts]

'Thank you,'

Phoebe smiles again, and nods, but there was nothing that she had said that wasn't completely true. Rafael did look out for her. He gave her rides, took her out to dinners with crystalline glasses and carpaccio and expensive wines, but far beyond that, easily the kindest, most important thing to Phoebe ... Rafael did not look at her with condescension or judgement.

She was an ant, really, in a world as big as Rafael's. But that never seemed to influence the way he treated her. Or looked at her. Or spoke to her.

And to Phoebe, that alone was everything.

Rafael wraps an arm around her shoulder, tugs her in close on the couch, and then—

'There’s a lot you don’t know about me,'

'I don’t know if I want you to find it all out, to be honest,'

Phoebe straightens minutely. There was something subdued in his voice, a little quiet. What did he mean by that?

Work, maybe? Beyond his position in his father's business, handling expansions and investments and shareholder meetings, Phoebe would have to be stupid not to understand there were other aspects of Rafael's career. Serious stuff. Illegal stuff. Phoebe made a point to keep her nose out of where it didn't belong, but she would have to be blind, really, not to suspect that the Dahar's influence extended deep into the city, in avenues that went far beyond hotels or casinos.

But Phoebe had known this from the beginning. When Rafael had first started flirting with her, Phoebe was well aware who he was, and the more time they spent together, the more glimpses Phoebe would get— little things, because Rafael shielded her well, but just the deference he was shown, men coming to him at the club and speaking vaguely about shipments and meetings.

Yeah. Phoebe knew. And there were probably so many more things Rafael had shielded her from, and wouldn't want her to see, and even if Phoebe's mind could fill in the blanks, she just didn't ... care.

Phoebe didn't care if Rafael's daily workload could fill an episode of sensationalized tv.

Rafael was still the person whose first response, when he met Phoebe was, was kindness. But it was still hard to admit this much, wasn't it? It probably took a lot for Rafael to voice that kind of fear.

Her palm brushes along his cheekbone.

"Well. You don't have to share everything with me. If it's something you don't want to do." A beat. "But, uh ... I trust you. I always feel good with you, like safe, in a way I've never felt with other guys. So you should know I won't care about whatever you tell me. I'll still look at you the same."

A smile pulls at her lips, gentle, something flickering warmly behind her eyes as she stared at the man who cared for her so well.

Rafael liked how things were now; Phoebe too. There was nothing that Rafael could ever share with her that would change her opinion of him, or dampen the feelings she felt in her heart.

And Phoebe. Well. If anything, she felt like the fraud here, the one with a thin veneer glossing over an ugly past full of things dark and shameful. The syringes and the evictions and the crunch of glass and all the awful little apartments with awful silences and even more awful yelling, the nights spent with strangers, exchanges that left Phoebe feeling empty and awful. The man who she'd stayed with for weeks, months, who sometimes frightened her so bad she wanted to vomit. And the highs, and the things she did to keep those highs. Years and years of sacrificing everything for her highs.

Yeah. What if she told Rafael all about those things, and he rightfully felt different? Maybe saw her as pathetic, or gross, or someone he just didn't want to associate with.

Rafael had always been so kind to her, completely lacking in judgement, but the fear was still there.

Anxiety churns in her gut. Phoebe looks at that anxiety and does what comes natural now: she tucks her arm into one of Rafael's, and leans her abdomen into his solid frame.

"If it makes you feel better ... there's stuff, about me, that I worry would change your opinion of me."

It seemed obvious, but it hadn’t really occurred to Rafael that Phoebe saw him as something other than just … an intimidating rich asshole. This illusion that there was depth to Rafael felt… strange. It didn’t really seem possible to him. It had felt pretty impossible until Phoebe, and now… well. There were a lot of questions that Rafael wanted answers to, but they wouldn’t come from Phoebe.

Even though she’d offered to help, he had to figure some of it out on his own.

Rafael was nice to her right away. There was just something about Phoebe that drew him to her like a magnet. And over the months, those feelings had only become more intense. As the time went on, there was nothing that Rafael wouldn't have done for her.

“Thank you,” Rafael simply said.

It was endearing that Phoebe was willing to put up a fight about his kindness. She hadn’t seen him at work. Not in the office, but ... his real work. She hadn’t seen him in the hour before he showed up at her apartment. Fists aching and covered in blood. Making a call to dispose of a body on Christmas Eve.

He wrapped an arm around Phoebe, pulled her in close.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” he told her. There was. Good and bad. Maybe she assumed, and there were rumors, but she didn’t really know. “I don’t know if I want you to find it all out, to be honest,” he said, voice quiet.

Would she think of him differently? If all of the rumors were true?

“I like the way things are right now,” he said, voice quiet.

It felt like a scary thing to admit.