#like i love the man i love him so much hes so special to me. But hes also a war criminal

[sceletaflores]

come on into my bed with me (i know you want to)

pair: old man!logan howlett x fem!reader

wc: 4.1k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, some sad vibes because i can't function without them, large age gap (but isn't that obvious by now? mid 20s/old as fuck), established relationship but only kind of, falls in the logan 2017 timeline but very loosely, LONGINGGGG, gratuitous nickname use (kid, baby, honey, ect), nasty dirty talk cause he's old and gross, not so dry humping, JUST THE TIP RAHHHH, porn w/o plot, no use of y/n.

nat’s note: this was heavily inspired by imogen heap's 'i am in love with you' because that song fucks so hard and it really gave me lots of old man logan vibes. i was just so overcome with nasty thoughts that the beat possessed me and i blacked out and listened to it on a constant repeat while i wrote this instead of doing my a&p work. kisses!

dividers by angel @saradika-graphics!

you can't sleep, logan left his door open...

Rain pelts at the smudged glass of your window, drops trailing down the span of the panes that you follow with your eyes.

It's been raining nearly all week, a rare thing in Mexico, especially somewhere as dry as Sonora.

You used to love the rain. You felt a special kind of comfort anytime night would come and there'd be a certain chill swirling through the air, that familiar scent of damp soil and wet stone rising as the first drops hit the ground.

In Sonora, rain is supposed to be a gift—a reprieve from the unrelenting heat, a chance for the dry earth to drink.

It should feel cleansing, like a reset of sorts, and maybe it would have a few months ago.

Now it just feels heavy, oppressive. Each raindrop splattering against the glass feels like a reminder of everything that's stuck, unmoving.

The soft noise of it was almost enough to lull you to sleep, but it was still no match for your wandering mind.

You’ve been finding yourself here a lot recently, shrouded in the scratchy sheets of your bed in the quiet dark encompassing your room, mind racing.

It was raining the first night he touched you.

You've been with Logan and Charles for nine months.

A runaway hitchhiker turned caretaker after you fled from the meaningless scraps of your life back in Texas.

Logan found you on the side of the highway coming back from a shift in El Paso. One stop with the hazards on and a hasty conversation through a rolled down window later, you were throwing your bags in the back of his limo and climbing into the front seat.

You didn't realize until much later that he never truly asked you to stay, or to care for Charles alongside him.

It was only supposed to be a temporary arrangement, a roof over your head in exchange for your help. Watch over his ailing father for a few days while he went out to get him more medicine, that's what you settled on.

Yet somehow, here you are, nine months later.

You cook meals in a dusty kitchen that always smells faintly of motor oil, listen to Charles’ stories about a world you’ll never fully grasp, and watch Logan patch himself up in grim silence after he’s returned from whatever trouble found him this time. 

It's strange how the days seemed to stretch endlessly, but the weeks have slipped past like a blink. You carved out a routine in this crumbling house in Sonora, built something that resembles a life even if it feels borrowed, like a second-hand coat that never quite fits right.

At first, you weren’t sure what kept you here. Maybe Charles. 

You warmed to him almost immediately, drawn in by his gentle demeanor and the way he seemed to see right through you without a hint of judgment. 

Even when his mind faltered, slipping into tangled memories or distant fragments of a life long past, he treated you with a kindness you hadn’t felt in years.

You’d come to think of him as a king, regal and noble. A king stripped of his castle, yet still wearing a crown, if ever so skewed—a king nonetheless.

You still aren’t sure, but you can’t shake the sense that leaving now would be like tearing off a scab—painful and unnecessary.

And then, one night, the rain came.

You remember it vividly, a torrent so sudden and unrelenting. The downpour soaking the dry dirt surrounding the plant. 

You couldn’t help yourself from wandering out, stood barefoot on the porch as the cool air nipped at the skin of your arms and legs.

“You’re gonna catch a cold standin’ out here.” Logan said from somewhere behind you, his voice rough and low after the silence of a long shift.

You hadn’t moved, hadn’t even glanced his way. “I like the rain.”

There was a beat of silence before he stepped closer, the warmth of his body radiating against your back. His hand had been hesitant at first, a brush of calloused fingers against your arm. 

You didn’t pull away.

The heat of his palm felt scalding, causing goosebumps to pebble along your damp skin. His thumb swiped across the circular scar just above your elbow, a cigarette burn, one of many.

He didn’t say anything as he turned and walked back into the house. You learned quickly that Logan’s not the type to fill silences with empty words, but you both knew something shifted.

He came into your room later that night. The squeaky mattress of your bed dipping under his weight as he slid his hand down your stomach, pausing just above the waistband of your shorts, a silent question.

He didn’t kiss you, but the rain pattering against the tin roof was enough to swallow your soft moans and gasps.

You settled into something undefined—a constant push and pull of need and silence. Logan touched you when he needed to, and you let him because you wanted to.

It wasn’t love, not then. It wasn’t even comfort. But it was connection. A tenuous thread in the quiet storm of your lives.

You figured that was enough.

The rain hasn't slowed. If anything, the howl of the wind is stronger than before.

The soothing rhythm of droplets hitting your window turned aggressively sharp, like darts thrown against a worn cork board.

The boom of thunder is nearly in sync with the pulse of your core, aching and insistent in its need.

It’s been weeks since Logan touched you last, his endless cycle of guilt stronger than it's been before. He’s never outright said it, but you know it’s there.

The silence between you both has stretched longer than you'd like to admit, a quiet that isn't comfortable anymore.

You know he’s got it in his head that he’s somehow taken advantage of you. A perverted old man falling weak to the pretty, young thing taking up space in the bed two doors over from him.

The thought stirs something deep within you, a mix of frustration and confusion. He’s not wrong, not exactly—but he’s not right either. You aren’t a child, and you aren’t helpless. You knew what you wanted, what you needed.

And that hasn’t dared to change.

You shift in bed, the sheets tangling around your legs as your body hums with a restlessness you can’t shake. The air in your room feels thick, charged, and suffocating, a mirror of the space between you and Logan.

He doesn’t understand that you want him too, that you weren’t some helpless thing to be protected or shielded from his darkness. It eats at you until your skin is practically buzzing with it, buzzing with the need to show him.

There’s only so much silence you can take before it becomes too loud to ignore. 

You swing your legs over the edge of the bed, the hardwood cool against your bare feet. You know it’s late, but you don’t care.

You walk through the dimly lit hallway, the creak of the floorboards quiet under you as you make your way to Logan’s door. It’s cracked open, a yellow glow spilling through to guide you like a lighthouse guides its ships to shore.

When you reach the beat up wood you don’t hesitate, you push it open the slightest bit, peering through the widened gap. 

He’s there, sitting on the edge of the bed, his back to you. He doesn’t turn, doesn’t acknowledge you, but you know he knows you’re there.

You cross the threshold, your heartbeat loud in your ears as you pull the door shut behind you, leaning your back against it.

“Logan,” you say softly, your voice rougher than you intended.

He doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he runs his hand through his hair, pushing it away from his face. The lamplight catches the sharp planes of his face, a familiar weariness etched into his features.

His fingers flex at his sides, and for a moment, you think he’s going to tell you to leave—to go back to your room where it’s safe, where you won’t make things more complicated than they already are. You almost brace for it.

But then he speaks.

“What’s wrong, kid.” His voice is nothing but a deep rumble, like gravel crunching underfoot.

You shrug noncommittally, hands messing with a stray thread hanging from the edge of your shorts. “Can’t sleep.”

Logan sighs long and slow through his nose, hands pressing into his thighs. “Thought you liked the rain.”

You smile faintly at the irony, chest swelling with something dangerous. 

You take a step further into the room, pushing yourself off the closed door. The familiar scent of him invades your senses. It’s a mixture of leather, earth, and something raw—something undeniably him. 

You stand there for a moment, letting the silence stretch thin and taut before you finally speak.

“Can I stay?” The words come out barely above a whisper, but they land like a crack of lightning.

You feel your heart thud painfully in your chest, not from fear, but from the sudden vulnerability that makes your skin burn.

The room feels smaller now, the walls pressing in as you step forward, each movement slow and deliberate. You stop at the edge of his bed, the sheets pressing against the bare skin of your thighs.

Logan’s gaze flickers over his shoulder, meeting yours briefly before he looks away again, like he’s trying to convince himself that the ache in his chest isn’t real.

“You should go back to bed,” he says, voice gruff. “It’s late.”

“I don’t want to go back.” You shake your head even though he isn’t turned around to see it.

Without thinking, you crawl onto the bed, the comforter making soft shushing sounds under your hands and knees. You reach out, fingers brushing the back of his neck, the muscles there tight with strain.

Logan flinches slightly, but he doesn’t pull away, and that’s all the permission you need.

You shift closer, pressing your chest against his back, and letting your hands settle on his shoulders. The heat between you is electric, charged with something unsaid, something raw and undeniable.

“Please,” you whisper, your lips brushing against the back of his ear, your voice a mixture of defiance and desire.

Logan stiffens, but this time, you feel the shudder that runs through him, the way his body responds despite the walls he’s built around himself.

You know he’s torn, that he wants to fight this. You feel it in the tension that radiates from him, in the way his body seems to be fighting against the instinct to turn toward you.

But you don’t care anymore. You’re done with silence.

Your fingers slide down his back, feeling the rough fabric of his shirt against your skin as you press yourself closer. Your breath is hot against his neck now, and you can feel the rapid pulse in his veins beneath your lips as you hover just above his skin, waiting.

“Logan…” Your voice is softer now, almost pleading. You don’t know what you’re asking for, but you don’t have to.

His hand comes up, brushing against your wrist as if testing, as if he’s afraid you’ll pull away. But you don’t.

Instead, you lean into him further, your lips brushing the curve of his neck, whispering into the tension that still hangs heavy between you. “Please.”

The last shreds of Logan’s resistance snap under the cloying weight of your touch.

He’s moving before you can even register what’s happening, rearing up with heavy hands that land on your shoulders to push you backwards.

You fall back onto the bed with a soft gasp, bouncing on the mattress once, twice, before Logan follows. His body settles over yours like a warm blanket, thick forearms braced on either side of your head to support his weight.

"Why couldn't you sleep, honey?" he asks, dark eyes boring into yours intense enough to get your stomach churning. The green of them is deeper than normal, like fresh moss growing over stone.

“I was thinking,” you whisper, breathless. Your pulse races beneath your skin, you wonder distantly if he can hear it too.

“Thinkin’ about what?” he presses, breath fanning over your lips temptingly. 

Your brows furrow, a soft noise escaping you. You can't help but tell the truth. “About you.”

Logan hums, eyes trailing along your face slowly. He slots a knee between your thighs, groaning softly at the wet heat that seeps through to his jeans.

You gasp, hips bucking down instinctively. Your pussy aches desperately, leaking arousal into the cotton gusset of your panties.

His jaw clenches at the sound, muscle ticking just beneath the grey of his beard. “Is that right? You been layin' in that bed, thinkin' about me, gettin’ all worked up?"

Your face burns under his scrutiny, but you don’t shy away. You arch your back, pressing yourself as close to him as possible, letting the heat of your body speak for you.

“Yeah,” you breathe, the confession trembling on your lips. “I need you, it hurts.”

Logan exhales sharply, like the words knocked the air out of him. His hands slide from your shoulders, rough palms gliding down the skin of your arms before settling right under the swell of your breasts.

“Where’s it achin’, baby?” he asks softly, words almost getting lost in the dark of the room. “Show me.”

You let out a soft breath, reaching down to take his hand in yours.

Without breaking eye contact, you guide his hand down your trembling body until his palm rests over the apex of your thighs, where the damp fabric of your shorts clings to your swollen folds.

“Here,” you whisper, voice barely audible above the rain pounding against his window.

A low growl rumbles from deep in his chest, and his fingers press more firmly against you, feeling the slick heat that’s soaked through the thin cotton. His eyes darken further, the green almost swallowed by the black of his pupils.

Logan’s thumb drags over your clit, slow and deliberate, coaxing a needy whimper from your lips.

“Jesus,” he mutters, his voice thick. “You’re drippin’ for me, aren’t you? Didn’t even need to touch you, and you’re already so fuckin’ wet.” 

You whimper softly, bucking your hips against his hand, desperate for more.

"I've been like this all night," you admit, your voice going high and needy. "Thinking about how good you make me feel. How much I want you."

Logan’s eyes lock onto yours, and there’s something new swirling through them, something you’ve never seen before.

A beat passes—too long—almost agonizing. His free hand lifts from your hip, gently cupping your cheek, fingers brushing against your skin, like he isn’t sure if he has the right to touch you like this. 

His thumb brushes your lip, his gaze flicking to your mouth before returning to your eyes, asking for permission, even though neither of you had ever really needed it before.

"Logan," you say, the sound a little breathless, unsure of how to navigate this sudden shift, but he doesn’t keep you waiting.

He closes the distance in a heartbeat, lips crashing into yours with a ferocity you didn’t expect.

It’s like the world around you falls away, leaving only the warmth of his lips, the taste of him, and the pressure of his body against yours. The raging storm outside dulling until it’s nothing but fuzzy background noise.

His kiss is rough, deep, urgent, but there’s something more in it, a slow unraveling. Like he’s trying to carve himself into you, a permanent mark, a reminder that he was here, even if he never says it out loud.

Logan tastes like rich smoke and whiskey, the sharp edge of him mixing with the sweet burn of need. It sends your head reeling, arms coming up to circle around his neck.

You can’t find the words to describe it, not with the way his fingers slide through the wetness gathering at your entrance, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core.

Your hips thrust upward, begging for more, your body hungry for the release he’s just out of reach of giving.

“Want you inside me, Logan,” you moan desperately, slick lips brushing his with every word. “Please.”

Logan's body stiffens against yours at the sound of your pleading, his grip tightening on your cheek like he's trying to anchor himself in the reality of what you're asking.

“Shit,” he growls under his breath, his forehead pressing to yours as he closes his eyes. His chest heaves, the tension in his body palpable. "I—" he pauses, struggling to form the words, but you can see it in his eyes. He's conflicted, desperate, yet still hesitant.

You move against him, your body restless, your need undeniable, feeling the rigid outline of his hard cock pressed firmly against your thigh. A thick plane of heat that has your pussy clenching around the tips of his fingers.

You don’t want to push him, not anymore. But you’re past the point of waiting for permission.

Your lips meet his again, softer this time, coaxing, until he finally gives in, groaning against your mouth as he kisses you back with an intensity that steals your breath.

“I want to feel you,” you whisper, your hands trailing down to the hem of his shirt, pushing it over the swell of his pecs. 

His skin is hot under your fingertips, rough and familiar. Your fingers trail lightly across his chest, nails scratching through the salt and pepper hair dusted across his skin as you urge him closer.

“Just the tip,” Logan mutters under his breath, barely above a whisper. His voice hoarse, like he’s bargaining with himself. “Just to make you feel good, but that’s it, understand?”

You bite your lip, the edge of frustration gnawing at you. It’s not everything you need, not everything you want, but it's something. And right now, it’s enough.

You nod your head, hands already moving to the front of his jeans. You undo the button with shaking fingers, tugging the zipper down and pushing the worn denim away. 

His cock springs free, already hard, leaking with the same desperation you feel. You run your fingers along his length, feeling the heat of him, the steady throb of his pulse.

Logan peels down the thin layer of your shorts, cursing under his breath when he finds you completely bare underneath, your slick pussy shining under the dim light.

You watch him, chest heaving, as he stares down at you—his eyes dark and full of something primal, something raw.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his fingers tracing the outline of your wetness. He groans low in his throat, his thumb circling your clit once before moving down, dipping inside you just barely. “You’re perfect, baby.”

“Logan,” you whine, thighs spreading in a clear invitation. You patience is running exceedingly thin, your whole body alight with the feeling of a raging forest fire

“I know,” he mutters, placating. He takes the throbbing length of his cock in his hand, swiftly settling between your legs. “I know.”

The thick head drags through your folds, smearing pre-come along your skin and adding even more to the mess between your legs.

A quiet moan passes through your swollen lips, your muscles tightening as he slides himself along your clit. A slow back and forth movement that sends sparks shooting up your spine.

Logan grits his teeth, his breath shallow, as he finally aligns himself with your clenching hole. 

The air around you feels charged, a taut thread stretched between anticipation and restraint. You shift your hips slightly, just enough to encourage him, your eyes locked on his as you beg him silently with your gaze.

Then, with a low growl that vibrates through you, he pushes forward, just enough to make you gasp in relief, the head of his cock sliding home in your entrance.

And though it’s only the tip, the sensation of him inside you is enough to set your world alight. 

You can feel it, deep in your bones—the simmering, searing heat that makes everything else fade into the background.

Logan presses his lips to your forehead, his breath hot against your skin as he keeps his movements slow, deliberate, his hands holding your hips steady. "This is what you wanted, huh? Got you begging for it, honey," he growls softly. "Even if I’m only givin’ you a taste."

His hips roll languidly, staying true to his word and never sinking deeper than the thick head of his cock. His hand grips the base tightly, his fist fucking slow strokes over the length of himself to where he’s spreading your pussy open.

His scarred knuckles bump against your clit with every stroke, fanning the fire building in your lower stomach.

“Feel so fuckin’ good, honey,” he groans into the skin of your neck, the pace of his hips speeding up ever so slightly. “Feels like heaven.”

You claw at the skin of his back, touch wild and desperate. It takes everything in you not to shift your hips down, to sheath the rest of his cock deep inside your and lock your ankles around his back so he can never leave again.

Logan’s lips find your neck, teeth grazing your skin as he shifts against you. “Tell me you want this,” he says, his voice low, almost a command, yet laced with something tender. “Tell me you want me.”

You meet his gaze without hesitation, your voice steady despite the tremble in your chest. “I want you. I’ve always wanted you.” 

The words come out without thought, raw and honest, and you see something in his eyes shift—a flicker of relief, of something deeper than lust.

Logan groans like he got shot, his body shuddering above you as a low growl tears its way from his chest. He fucks into you faster, short, quick thrusts that steal all the breath from your lungs.

Sparks go off behind your closed eyes, bright white and glittering. You can feel yourself getting closer, your body trembling as you grind up against him, meeting him halfway, needing more, needing release.

“Logan,” you gasp, your hands gripping his shoulders harder, nails digging in. “I’m so close. Please—”

“Let go,” he growls, his pace increasing, his body pressing harder against yours. “Come for me, sweetheart.”

With his command, you unravel, the world spinning around you as the pleasure crashes over you, leaving you breathless, gasping for air, your body quivering beneath him as he holds you through it.

Logan follows, tearing himself from the tight grip of your pussy with a sharp jerk of his hips, your name falling from his lips like a prayer as he shoots thick ropes of come over your slick folds.

Your body shakes at the feeling, a breathless whimper pulled from your slack lips at the sticky warmth of his release.

He collapses onto the mattress next to you, his body shuddering enough to match your own. The room falls into a deep silence, the only sounds your mingling breaths and the distant sound of thunder.

A sick sort of dread bursts through the sweet afterglow of your hazy mind, settling in your stomach like a lead weight. You think that this is the moment where Logan will realize what you’ve done, that he’ll retreat back into himself and send you away.

Send you back to your own room and leave you to lay in the cold aftermath of your own recklessness.

You brace for it, the instinct to pull away, to protect yourself from his withdrawal, but it never comes. 

Instead, you feel his strong arm slide over your waist, pulling you closer, his body heat a stark contrast to the chill creeping in from the window.

His breath is warm against your neck as he shifts, his fingers tracing absent circles on your skin in a move that’s so endearingly human it has your chest aching.

"Stay here tonight?" he asks, his voice rough, almost a whisper.

Your heart clenches, tears burning at your waterline at the vulnerability of his tone. It breaks the dam inside you, relief and something dangerously close to love flooding your body in a bursting rush of water.

“Of course,” you murmur, your voice shaky.

Logan’s hand tightens around you, his thumb brushing over your ribs. He presses a soft kiss to the bare skin of your shoulder, settling onto the mattress with a slow breath.

You drift to sleep more relaxed than you’ve felt in years, even with the knowledge of the slow journey that lies ahead of you. It won’t be easy, it never is with Logan. You can’t find it in yourself to care.

Because even though the rain falls, the desert doesn’t bloom overnight. 

And neither do you.

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[lila-lou]

✨Little Soldier✨

Summary: Ben’s approach to parenting is all grit and discipline, just like the way his own father raised him. But with a little nudge from you, he starts to see that being a good dad is more than just teaching strength—it’s about showing love too.

-Christmas Special-

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Warnings: Language, ANGST, Fluff, (Ben is mistreating your poor son)

Word Count: 9291

A/N: English isn’t my first language, please be lenient. ❤️

It was one of those crisp winter mornings where the air bit at your skin, but the sunlight danced across the snow, making everything shimmer like a dream. The backyard stretched wide, blanketed in white, untouched except for the paths Ben and your son, Logan, had carved into the snow as they trained. Ben stood tall and imposing in the center, the green jacket of his suit open just enough to let the cold sting his chest. He didn’t seem to feel it. Soldier Boy never did.

Logan, just eight years old, was across from him, his small fists raised in a stance that mimicked his father’s. His breath came out in quick, visible bursts, more from effort than the cold. He kept glancing toward his feet, unsure of himself, while Ben paced a tight circle around him.

“Come on, kid”, Ben said, his deep voice cutting through the stillness. “You think anyone’s gonna wait for you to figure it out? Eyes up. Watch your opponent. Always”.

You knelt nearby in the snow, your four-year-old daughter, Lila, bundled up in her puffy coat and mittens, happily building the base of a snowman. Her little hands moved clumsily, her giggles breaking the quiet each time the snow didn’t quite cooperate. You helped her pack the snow tighter, gently guiding her hands and brushing her hair away from her flushed cheeks as you did.

From the corner of your eye, you caught Logan glancing over. Logan’s gaze lingered on you and Lila for just a heartbeat longer than it should have, his eyes filled with something unspoken. He wanted that—building a snowman, laughing, playing without a care in the world. He wanted to feel the warmth of your praise, the way you smiled at Lila when she held up a misshapen clump of snow as if it were a masterpiece. But he couldn’t. Not right now. Not when his dad was watching.

He straightened his stance, forcing the longing down into the pit of his stomach. He was a man, or at least, he was supposed to be. That’s what Dad always said. “You’re not a little kid anymore, Logan. You’ve got to be strong, got to take care of the people you love”. So even though his arms ached and the cold bit at his cheeks, Logan clenched his fists and focused on his father.

Ben noticed the hesitation, his sharp eyes narrowing. “What’s with the looking around, huh? You think your enemies are gonna stop because you’re distracted?”. He stepped forward and lightly tapped Logan on the forehead with two fingers. “This? This is your weapon. If you don’t keep it sharp, you’re dead, kid. Now, eyes on me”.

“Yes, sir”, Logan muttered, his small voice barely audible. He squared his shoulders, his knuckles raw from the cold.

Ben circled him again, his boots crunching against the snow. “Better. Now, hit me like you mean it. Don’t pull your punches just because I’m your old man”.

Logan hesitated for a split second, stealing one more glance at you and Lila. Lila was giggling again, her tiny voice ringing out like a bell as she held up two sticks she’d found for the snowman’s arms. You caught Logan’s glance once more, and your heart clenched. He looked so torn, so much older than his eight years in that moment.

But Logan turned back to his dad, his small frame trembling as he stepped forward and threw another punch. It landed on Ben’s open palm with a dull thud. Ben caught his wrist, holding him in place.

“That all you got?”, Ben asked, his voice calm but challenging.

Logan sighed quietly, his breath visible in the cold air. He hesitated, lowering his gaze to the snow before muttering, “I’ve got my laser eyes, Dad… do I really need to learn how to fight? I could just… laser an enemy”.

Ben froze for a moment, his grip still on Logan’s wrist. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, but it wasn’t amusement. It was that half-smile he wore when he was about to make a point, the kind that sent a chill down your spine as much as the cold air did.

“Your laser eyes?”, Ben repeated, letting go of Logan’s wrist. He straightened to his full height, towering over the boy like a general over a recruit. “That’s what you’re gonna rely on? Some flashy power you barely know how to control?”.

Logan’s shoulders sank slightly under the weight of his father’s words, but Ben wasn’t done.

“Let me tell you something, kid”, Ben continued, stepping closer. “You think some bad guy’s gonna just stand there and let you zap him? Powers don’t mean squat if you don’t know how to fight. If you don’t have the guts to stand your ground when things get real. You run outta juice, you get caught off guard, and guess what? You’re toast”.

Logan flinched, his face turning red, though whether from the cold or his father’s words, it was hard to tell. He looked down at his fists, the little tremor in his hands betraying the frustration he was trying to hide.

“But—”, Logan started, only for Ben to cut him off.

“No buts, Logan”. Ben’s voice softened slightly, though the steel remained. “You’re my son. You fight, and you fight smart. Lasers or not, you’ve got to learn how to handle yourself. You’ve got to be ready for the worst. Because trust me, one day, someone’s gonna come at you, and they’re gonna be faster, smarter, and meaner than you ever thought possible”.

Ben crouched down now, meeting Logan’s eyes. His tone shifted, quieter but no less intense. “And when that day comes, you don’t want to be the kid who only knows how to hide behind a fancy power. You want to be the kid who looks them in the eye and says, ‘Come on, give me your best shot’. You hear me?”.

Logan stared at him, his small frame trembling not just from the cold but from the weight of what his father was saying. After a moment, he nodded. “Yes, sir”, he whispered, his voice steadier this time.

Ben clapped a hand on Logan’s shoulder, a rare moment of affection. ��Good. Now hit me again. Harder this time”.

You watched from where you knelt with Lila, your heart aching for your son. He was trying so hard, carrying a weight far too heavy for someone so young. But there was a flicker of something in his expression now—determination, maybe, or even pride.

Logan set his jaw, stepping forward again. His small fist swung upward, and this time, the impact against Ben’s hand was louder, sharper. Ben grinned, nodding approvingly.

“That’s my boy”, he said. “Now we’re getting somewhere".

From the corner of your eye, you noticed Lila tugging at your sleeve, her little hands holding a snowball. “Mommy, can we throw this at Daddy?”, she asked, her mischievous grin spreading wide across her face.

You watched for a few more minutes, letting Logan and Ben have their moment. Logan’s punches were getting stronger, his stance more confident. Ben’s rare but genuine nods of approval lit up Logan’s face, even as his small fists grew red and raw from the cold. It was a scene that tugged at your heart—intense, yes, but filled with love in its own complicated way.

But enough was enough. Everyone needed a break, even Soldier Boy.

You silently scooped up a handful of snow, packing it tightly in your gloved hands. Lila watched you with wide, sparkling eyes, her grin spreading as she realized what you were about to do. “Shh”, you whispered, pressing a finger to your lips. She mimicked the gesture, though her giggles threatened to give you away.

Ben’s back was turned as he adjusted Logan’s footing, his deep voice still carrying instructions. He had no idea what was coming. You took careful aim, pulled your arm back, and let the snowball fly.

It hit Ben squarely on the back of the head.

For a split second, the world froze. Logan’s mouth dropped open, his eyes darting to you in shock. Lila’s laughter erupted, high and bright, as she clapped her mittened hands together. Ben straightened slowly, turning to face you with an expression that was equal parts surprise and challenge. A few snowflakes clung to his hair, and you couldn’t help but smirk at the sight.

“Really?”, Ben said, his tone low and dangerous, though the twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed his amusement. “You think you can take me on, sweetheart?”.

You shrugged innocently, already packing another snowball. “Well, someone had to remind you to have a little fun”.

Ben’s eyes narrowed playfully. “Oh, you’re gonna regret that”.

Before you could react, Ben scooped up a massive handful of snow and hurled it in your direction. You ducked, narrowly avoiding the incoming projectile, and tossed your snowball back, catching him on the shoulder. Logan burst into laughter, his previous tension melting away as he watched the two of you go at it.

“Oh, it’s on now!”, you shouted, grabbing another handful of snow.

“Logan!”, Ben called out, already forming another snowball. “You with me or her?”.

Logan hesitated for half a second before grinning mischievously. “Her!”, he declared, running toward you. Lila squealed with delight, abandoning the snowman to join your side, her tiny hands struggling to form a snowball of her own.

Ben feigned outrage, clutching his chest. “Fucking traitors! All of you!”.

What followed was pure chaos. Snowballs flew in every direction, laughter ringing out across the yard. Ben, true to form, didn’t hold back, though he made sure to go easy on the humans, meaning you. Logan and Lila worked together, pelting him relentlessly, while you managed to land a few well-aimed shots of your own.

By the time the battle ended, all of you were breathless and rosy-cheeked, the tension from earlier completely forgotten. Ben stood in the middle of the yard, dusting snow off his jacket, while Logan and Lila collapsed into the snow, giggling uncontrollably.

You started walking toward Ben, a triumphant smile on your face as you prepared to rub in the fact that you and the kids had clearly won the impromptu snowball fight. But before you could get too close, Ben’s grin shifted into something sly and mischievous—a look you recognized all too well.

“Don’t even think about it”, you warned, holding up your hands.

He didn’t say a word. Instead, with one quick, fluid motion Ben effortlessly pushed you backward into the towering pile of snow that had been stacked from the snow fort construction. You landed with a muffled thud in the cold, soft powder, your breath leaving you in a surprised gasp.

“Ben!”, you yelled, sitting up and brushing snow out of your hair, your cheeks flushing from the chill and the sheer audacity of the man. He stood over you, grinning like a smug teenager, his hands on his hips as he surveyed his handiwork.

“Never let your guard down. I thought I taught you better than that”, he drawled, shrugging one shoulder.

You narrowed your eyes, a mixture of irritation and amusement bubbling to the surface. “Oh, you’re gonna pay for that, Soldier Boy”.

“Big talk for someone sitting in a snowbank”, he teased, holding out a hand as if to help you up.

For a moment, you considered taking his offer. But then you saw the smirk on his face and knew better. Instead, you grabbed another handful of snow and flung it straight at his chest, catching him off guard. He stumbled back slightly, laughing as he brushed the snow off.

“That’s it”, Ben said, stepping forward with mock menace in his stride. “Now you´re done”.

Ben’s grin turned wicked as he shook the snow from his hair and stepped forward. Before you could even think to scramble away, he reached down, his strong hands gripping your waist with ease. “You started this”, he said, his voice low and teasing. “Now you’ve got to pay for it”.

“Ben, don’t you dare—”, you started, but the rest of your words were lost in a squeal as he hoisted you up and slung you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing. You pounded lightly on his back, laughter spilling out of you despite yourself.

“Too late for mercy now”, he said, his tone full of mock authority. “This is what happens when you challenge the champ”.

As you protested, he started toward the house, his boots crunching through the snow. Behind you, Logan and Lila dissolved into giggles, rolling in the snow as they started making snow angels, entirely unbothered by the fact that their parents were still in the middle of their antics.

“Ben, you’re getting me soaked!”, you protested, but your words were muffled by your laughter. Snow clung to your coat, melting quickly in the warmth of the house as he carried you through the door and kicked it shut behind him.

“That’s the least of your worries”, he shot back, his voice full of mischief.

He strode into the living room, his boots leaving a trail of melting snow, and without hesitation, he dropped you onto the couch. The plush cushions sank under your weight, and before you could react, he was hovering over you, bracing himself on his hands on either side of your head.

“See?”, he teased, his face close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath despite the cold water dripping from both of you. “You can’t win against me. I’m unstoppable”.

You glared up at him, though the grin tugging at the corner of your mouth betrayed your true feelings. You reached up and grabbed his jacket, tugging him slightly forward. “You’re soaking the couch, genius”, you said, though the laughter in your voice was impossible to hide.

“So are you”, he shot back, leaning closer, droplets of melted snow falling from his collar and onto your skin.

The two of you were practically nose to nose now, water pooling under both of you.

Ben’s smirk softened into something more heated as his fingers toyed with the edge of your jacket. His voice dropped, rough and low, as he muttered, “You know, I fucking hate winter”.

You raised an eyebrow, still trying to catch your breath from laughing. “Oh yeah? Could’ve fooled me, the way you were having a field day out there”.

His hands slid to the edges of your jacket, slowly pushing it open as he hovered over you. “Nah”, he said, a big smirk on his face again. “I hate all these damn clothes. Hiding this”. His gaze raked over you as his fingers began to undo the buttons of your shirt, his touch confident and deliberate, yet surprisingly gentle. “Hiding your perfect little tits”.

Your breath caught, your cheeks flushing warmer than they already were from the snow. “Ben”, you started, half in protest, though your voice lacked conviction. His boldness always caught you off guard, even after all this time.

“What?”, he said, mock innocence dripping from his words as his hands worked their way lower. His green eyes locked with yours, full of mischief and intent. “You start a fight, sweetheart, you gotta be ready for the consequences”.

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you, even as you felt his calloused fingers graze your skin beneath your shirt. “Is this how you settle scores now?”.

Ben leaned closer, his lips brushing against your jawline, his breath warm against your chilled skin. “When it’s with you? Damn right it is”.

Before either of you could go further, the sound of the kids’ muffled giggles echoed through the window. Ben froze, glancing toward the frost-covered glass, then back at you, his grin faltering for just a moment before it returned full force.

“Saved by the brats”, he murmured, though there was no real annoyance in his tone. He leaned back, giving you space to sit up as he ran a hand through his damp hair. “Guess you get a pass this time”.

You laughed, buttoning your shirt back up as you pushed his chest playfully. “You’re impossible”.

Lila, hands pressed to the glass. “Eww, Mommy and Daddy you´re gross!”, she teased, sticking her tongue out dramatically, while Logan laughed and shook his head, clearly trying to act like he wasn’t entertained but failing miserably.

You couldn’t help but laugh at Lila’s exaggerated expression, her hands still pressed against the window as she made a show of grossing herself out. Logan, on the other hand, was doing his best to look serious, though the laughter that bubbled up from his chest betrayed his attempt to remain mature.

“Eww, Mommy and Daddy always kissing!”, Lila mumbled with a playful scrunch of her nose, her voice full of mock disgust. She stuck her tongue out again, clearly enjoying the attention.

Logan, trying his best to be the older, wiser sibling, crossed his arms and shook his head, a grin tugging at his lips. “You guys are so embarrassing”, he said, though the way his eyes sparkled showed he didn’t actually mind one bit.

Ben, standing beside you, glanced at you and then back at the kids. His grin softened, and he leaned down toward you, speaking in a voice only you could hear. “They don’t have a clue, do they?”, he said with a quiet chuckle.

You smiled, rolling your eyes playfully at the scene unfolding in front of you. “Not a single one”.

Lila, clearly not done yet, leaned closer to the window, still giving you both the dramatic “eww” face. “You’re gonna make us barf!”, she announced loudly, her face scrunching as though it was all just too much to bear.

Ben couldn’t help but laugh at his daughter’s antics. “What are you two up to, huh?”, he called through the window. “Making fun of your parents? You should be building that snowman”.

Lila, always the instigator, puffed out her chest proudly. “We already did!”, she declared. “But now we’re watching you guys because it’s funny!”.

As Lila stood there, still making faces at you and Ben, Logan saw the perfect opportunity to sneak away. Without warning, he grabbed his younger sister by the hand, pulling her away from the window with a quick tug.

“C’mon, Lila!”, Logan urged, his voice filled with excitement. “Let’s finish the snowman! Dad and Mom are being all gross again!”.

Lila let out a reluctant giggle but quickly followed, her mittens flapping as she tried to keep up with her brother. “Okay, okay, but only if we can give him a crown!”; she shouted, already planning the next addition to their snow creation.

Ben watched them go with a fond smile before his gaze shifted back to you. His grin softened as he stood beside you, his arms crossing in that familiar, relaxed way. “You okay?”, he asked, his voice quieter now, with an undercurrent of concern.

You sighed, keeping your eyes on the kids as they ran back into the snow, their laughter a welcome distraction from the heaviness of the moment. “I think you need to ease up with him, Ben”, you mumbled, your voice soft but steady. “You’re demanding too much from him. He’s just 8”.

Ben didn’t respond right away. His gaze followed Logan and Lila for a moment, his jaw working as though weighing your words. You could see him considering it, but you knew how hard it was for him to let go of the lessons, the expectations he had for Logan. It had been instilled in him—toughness, strength, independence. But Logan was still a child, and there was only so much he could handle before it became too much.

Ben turned to you, his expression slightly guarded but not entirely dismissive. “I’m not asking him to be something he’s not”, he said, his voice calm but firm. “I’m just trying to make sure he doesn’t get soft. The world isn’t gonna treat him like a kid forever”.

You crossed your arms, feeling a knot form in your stomach as you looked at him. “He is a kid, Ben”, you said, your voice rising a little, frustration creeping in. “Let him be one. You can’t push him to grow up this fast. You can’t always expect him to be your mini-me, a smaller version of you. He’s Logan, not Soldier Boy”.

“I’m just trying to prepare him. If he’s not tough enough, the world will eat him alive. You know that as well as I do”.

You shook your head, exhaling slowly, trying to rein in your emotions. “I know, but there’s a balance. You can teach him those things, Ben, but not at the cost of his childhood. He’s just 8”. You softened your tone, meeting his gaze directly. “I just… I just don’t want him to resent you. I don’t want him to think he has to be something he’s not to earn your approval”.

Ben was quiet for a moment, and you could see the internal battle in his eyes. He opened his mouth to respond but hesitated, chewing on the words for a second before letting out a long breath.

Ben’s silence lingered, his jaw tightening as your words sank in. You could see the tension ripple through him, the way his shoulders stiffened and his gaze faltered. You hesitated, carefully choosing your next words, not wanting to push him too far but needing him to understand.

“You should know it best, Ben”, you mumbled softly, almost afraid of how he’d react. Your voice wavered, but you held his gaze. “You know what it’s like to feel like you’re never enough, no matter how hard you try. You’ve told me… how your dad was with you”.

The words hit him like a physical blow, and you saw it immediately. His confident, almost cocky exterior faltered, replaced by a flicker of vulnerability that he rarely let anyone see. His mouth opened as if to respond, but no words came. Instead, he looked away, his eyes drifting toward the snow-covered yard where Logan and Lila were playing.

“Don’t”, he finally muttered, his voice rough, strained. “Don’t bring him into this”.

“I’m not trying to hurt you, Ben”, you said gently, stepping closer and placing a hand on his arm. “I’m just saying… you know how it feels to grow up under that kind of pressure. Always trying to live up to someone else’s expectations, never feeling like you’re enough. You’ve told me you hated it. And I know you never want Logan to feel that way”.

Ben’s jaw tightened, and he exhaled sharply through his nose, the sound filled with frustration—but not at you. At himself. His shoulders sagged slightly, and he finally looked back at you, his green eyes clouded with something between regret and resolve.

“I don’t”, he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want him to feel like that. Ever”.

“Then let him breathe, Ben”, you urged, your voice soft but steady. “He’s just a kid. He needs to know he’s enough as he is. That he doesn’t have to be the toughest or the strongest to make you proud. He just has to be Logan”.

Ben rubbed a hand over his face, his fingers dragging down to rest at his chin. He let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders rising and falling as he processed your words. “You think I’m turning into him, don’t you?”, he asked quietly, almost to himself.

You shook your head firmly. “No, I don’t. You’re not your dad, Ben. You’re already so much more than he ever was. But sometimes… sometimes I think you’re carrying his shadow. And it’s time to let it go. For Logan. For you”.

Ben let out a slow exhale, his shoulders relaxing just slightly as your words settled between you. You leaned up and kissed his cheek gently, the warmth of the moment cutting through the tension that had lingered in the air. His eyes softened as he looked down at you, though he didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. You could tell he was listening, really listening, and that was enough for now.

“I’m going to get the kids”, you said softly, brushing your hand along his arm before stepping toward the door.

He nodded once, his gaze following you for a moment before shifting back to the snowy yard, where Logan and Lila were laughing together as they finished up their snowman.

“Alright, you two!”, you called, standing in the door, your voice cutting through their laughter. “Time to come inside! Wash your hands, and then we’re going to bake some cookies”.

Lila’s face lit up, and she immediately clapped her mittened hands together. “Cookies!”, she squealed, already abandoning the snowman and running toward you with excitement. “Can we make the ones with the sprinkles?”.

“Of course, sweetheart”, you said, catching her as she barreled into you. “But first, upstairs. Wash up”.

Logan, however, lingered behind, his small figure standing just a few feet from the snowman. His expression shifted slightly, the bright enthusiasm dimming as he avoided your eyes. You could tell something was on his mind.

“Logan”, you called gently, holding the door open as Lila darted inside. “Come on, sweetie. Time to wash up”.

He trudged toward you slowly, his hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets. When he finally reached you, he hesitated once more, his small boots crunching in the snow, but he kept his gaze low, his face unreadable. You crouched down to his level, brushing some of the snow off his coat. You tilted your head slightly, trying to meet his eyes.

“Logan, sweetie”, you said gently, “Do you not want to bake cookies? It’s okay if you don’t feel like it”.

His eyes flicked up to meet yours briefly before darting away again. This time, they landed where Ben still stood, his broad figure shadowed by the light from the living room. Ben had turned slightly, his gaze now fixed on the two of you at the door, his expression unreadable but clearly focused.

Logan shifted uncomfortably, his small hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

Then, he shook his head firmly. “It’s… it’s women’s stuff”, he muttered, his tone wavering. Without waiting for your response, he turned abruptly, his small boots stomping against the hardwood floor as he headed for the stairs.

“Logan”, you called after him gently, but he didn’t stop. You caught a glimpse of his face before he disappeared up the staircase—the tight set of his jaw, the way his lips pressed together like he was fighting something back. And then you saw it: the tears gathering in his eyes.

Your heart sank as you realized what was really going on. Logan usually loved baking cookies, that much you knew. He had always lit up at the chance to mix dough, sprinkle sugar, and get his hands messy in the process. But he wouldn’t admit that in front of Ben, not after what he thought his dad believed about “women’s stuff”. And Logan sure as hell wasn’t going to let Ben see him cry.

You sighed, glancing back at Ben, his expression unreadable. He had been watching the entire exchange, his arms crossed, his jaw tight. For a moment, you thought he might come, might say something, but he stayed frozen in place, his eyes following Logan’s retreat.

Without saying a word, you stepped inside, closing the door softly behind you and heading upstairs. As much as you wanted to comfort Logan, you also knew that Ben needed to face this moment, to see the impact of his words—not just through your eyes, but his own.

You found Logan in his room, curled up on the edge of his bed, his back to the door. His small shoulders trembled slightly, though he tried to keep quiet. It broke your heart to see him like that, trying so hard to hold everything in.

“Logan?”, you said softly, stepping into the room. You sat down on the edge of the bed, careful to give him space. “It’s okay to be upset. You don’t have to hide it from me”.

“I’m not upset”, he muttered, his voice muffled. “I don’t care. I hate baking cookies”.

You reached out gently, placing a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay if you do care. And it’s okay if you love baking cookies, Logan. That doesn’t make you less of anything”.

He didn’t respond at first, but after a long pause, he whispered, “Dad thinks it does”.

Those words hit you hard, and you had to take a moment to steady yourself. “Your dad doesn’t think that, sweetie. He just… sometimes he says things without thinking. But that doesn’t mean he’s right”.

Logan finally turned to look at you, his tear-streaked face breaking your heart all over again. “He’ll think I’m weak”, he said, his voice trembling. “I don’t want him to think I’m weak”.

You pulled him into a gentle hug, holding him close as his small frame shook against you. “Logan, you’re not weak”, you said firmly. “You’re one of the strongest people I know. And being strong doesn’t mean hiding the things you love. It means being brave enough to be yourself”.

At that moment, you heard footsteps approaching. The door creaked open slightly, and you looked up to see Ben standing in the doorway. He hesitated, his expression soft but conflicted as his eyes landed on Logan. He didn’t say anything right away, but the regret on his face was clear.

“Logan”, Ben finally said, his voice quieter than usual. He stepped into the room, his broad figure filling the small space as he crouched down next to the bed.

Logan’s reaction was immediate and almost frantic. He pulled away from your embrace, turning his back to both you and Ben as he roughly wiped at his face with his small fists. His movements were sharp and deliberate, as though he was trying to erase the evidence of his tears before anyone could say a word.

“I’m fine”, he muttered, his voice tight and trembling. “I wasn’t crying”.

You glanced at Ben, whose face tightened at the sight. You could see the regret and guilt pooling in his eyes, the weight of his own words and lessons crashing down on him as he watched his son fight so hard to suppress his emotions.

Ben cleared his throat, his voice softer than usual. “Logan, you don’t have to do that. It’s okay—”.

“I said I’m fine!”, Logan snapped, spinning around to glare at him. His eyes were red and glassy, but his jaw was set in defiance. “Women cry. That’s what you always say. So I’m not crying”.

Ben froze, visibly taken aback by the raw honesty in Logan’s voice. For a moment, he just stared, his mouth opening slightly as if to respond but no words coming out. It was like he was looking into a mirror of himself, the echoes of his father’s harsh lessons staring back at him in his own son’s tear-streaked face.

You saw the way Ben’s shoulders sagged, his defenses crumbling as Logan’s words hit him harder than any punch ever could. He finally sat down on the floor next to the bed, his movements slow and deliberate, making sure he was on Logan’s level.

Your heart aching as you watched Logan’s small figure tremble with frustration, hurt, and confusion. You couldn’t take it anymore. Turning to Ben, your voice came sharp and firm, cutting through the heavy silence like a blade.

“Fix this, Ben”, you said, your tone leaving no room for argument. Your eyes locked on his, stern and unwavering. “That’s my baby boy, and I will not let him feel like this because of something you’ve said”.

Ben’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue. He knew you were right, and the weight of the situation was already pressing down on him. You took a deep breath, your own emotions threatening to spill over, and with one last look at both of them, you turned on your heel and left the room. Your own eyes were glassy, tears threatening to fall as you closed the door softly behind you.

In the quiet of the hallway, you leaned against the wall, pressing a hand to your chest as you tried to steady your breathing. Hearing Logan say those words, seeing the pain etched on his small face—it was almost too much to bear. But you trusted Ben to handle it. He had to handle it.

Inside the room, Ben remained seated on the floor, his gaze fixed on Logan, who was still turned away from him. The boy’s small hands clenched into fists at his sides, his head bowed low as he tried to mask the occasional sniffle that escaped him.

“Logan”, Ben started softly, his voice steady but carrying a rare gentleness that was almost foreign. “Can I tell you something? Something about me?”.

Logan didn’t respond, but Ben noticed the slight twitch of his shoulders, the way his posture stiffened just enough to show he was listening. Ben took that as his cue to continue.

“When I was your age”, Ben began, leaning forward slightly, “My dad used to say the same things to me. He’d tell me that crying made me weak. That showing how I felt was… wrong. And I believed him. I thought if I ever let myself cry, or feel scared, or be anything other than ‘tough’, I was a failure”.

Logan shifted slightly but still didn’t turn around. Ben kept going, his voice growing heavier with emotion.

“And you know what? For a long time, I didn’t cry. I didn’t let myself feel anything, really. I just kept it all inside, like I was supposed to. But it didn’t make me stronger, Logan. It made me angry. It made me feel alone. Like I had to handle everything by myself, and no one else could ever understand”.

Finally, Logan turned, his tear-streaked face filled with a mix of confusion and curiosity. “You?”, he asked, his voice cracking. “You felt like that?”.

Ben nodded, his eyes meeting Logan’s with an honesty that he rarely let anyone see. “Yeah, kid. I did. And it wasn’t until I met your mom—until I had you and Lila—that I realized how wrong my dad was. Being tough doesn’t mean keeping everything inside. It doesn’t mean pretending you don’t care or don’t hurt. Being tough means letting yourself feel all of it and still finding the strength to keep going”.

Logan sniffled, his fists unclenching as he wiped at his eyes again. “But you said—”.

Ben let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair, his frustration with himself evident. “I know what I said”, he repeated, his voice carrying that gruff edge that always came with vulnerability. “And yeah, I messed up. I say a lot of dumb shit, Logan. Your mom would probably tell you I’ve got a talent for it”.

That earned a small, almost involuntary laugh from Logan, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he wiped his nose on his sleeve. Ben’s lips twitched into a faint smirk, the faintest hint of relief flickering in his eyes.

“But here’s the thing”, Ben continued, his voice softening again as he leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “I don’t want you to grow up thinking you’ve got to be me. Hell, I don’t even like half the crap I’ve done. You’re better than that. Better than me”.

Logan stared at him, his tear-streaked face a mix of surprise and confusion. “But you’re… you’re, like, the strongest guy ever. You’re not scared of anything”.

Ben chuckled, the sound low and rough as he leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. “Not scared of anything, huh?”. He smirked, shaking his head. “Kid, I’m scared as shit of your mom”.

Logan blinked, caught off guard by the sudden confession. “What? Mom?”.

“Yeah, your mom”, Ben said, his tone a mix of humor and honesty. “You think I’m out there facing down bad guys like it’s no big deal? That’s nothing compared to when she gives me the look”. He mimicked an exaggerated version of your stern glare, crossing his arms and tapping his foot, his lips pressed into a thin line.

Logan giggled, the tension melting further as he watched his dad pretend to shrink under an invisible scolding. “Really?”.

“Oh yeah”, Ben said, nodding seriously. “One time I forgot to take the trash out. She didn’t even yell—she just stood there, arms crossed, staring me down like I’d committed a fucking war crime”. He mock-shuddered. “I’d rather face supervillains".

Logan laughed harder this time, wiping his face again, though the tears were gone now, replaced by a small, genuine smile.

Ben leaned closer, his expression softening. “Look, kid, being scared isn’t a bad thing. It just means you care about something—or someone. Like how I’m scared of messing up with you and your sister. And yeah, I’m scared of your mom sometimes, but only because she’s got this way of making me want to be better, even when I screw up”.

Logan tilted his head, considering his dad’s words. “So… it’s okay to be scared?”.

Ben nodded firmly. “Scared, nervous, happy, mad—it’s all part of being human. What matters is what you do with it. And right now?”. He gave Logan a lopsided grin. “We’re gonna take those feelings, roll up our sleeves, and bake the best cookies this house has ever seen. You in?”.

Logan hesitated for a second before nodding, his smile growing. “I’m in”.

Ben stood, holding out a hand to help Logan up. “Good. But fair warning—your mom’s probably waiting outside that door to see if I fixed this. And if she’s still mad at me, I might need you to tell her I did a good job. Deal?”.

Logan laughed, taking his dad’s hand and standing up. “Deal”.

When the door opened, you were standing there in the hallway, arms crossed but a soft smile on your face. Ben gave you a sheepish grin, raising his hands in surrender. “Alright, boss. Mission accomplished”.

You shook your head, stepping aside to let them pass. “For now”, you said teasingly, though the gratitude in your eyes said everything you didn’t.

As the three of you headed downstairs, Logan walked between you and Ben, his small hand brushing against yours.

An hour later, the kitchen was alive with laughter and the sweet smell of freshly baked cookies. Logan and Lila sat at the table, surrounded by bowls of frosting and sprinkles, each focused on decorating their creations. Logan was surprisingly precise, carefully piping designs onto a gingerbread man, while Lila was happily dumping an entire handful of rainbow sprinkles onto one cookie, creating a chaotic masterpiece.

You leaned against Ben, his warmth a steady comfort as you watched the kids. His arm slid lazily around your shoulders, and he let out a soft sigh, one that carried a mixture of exhaustion and relief.

“You did good today, Soldier Boy”, you murmured, grinning up at him. Standing on your tiptoes, you reached up and pressed a soft kiss to his jaw, your lips brushing the faint stubble there.

Ben smirked, a small chuckle rumbling in his chest. “Yeah, well”, he started, clearly about to respond with one of his usual witty comebacks, when—

“Ewww!”, Lila groaned dramatically from the table, dragging out the word as she scrunched her nose and waved her hands like she was fending off a swarm of bees. “Mommy and Daddy are being gross again!”.

Logan snickered, not looking up from his cookie but clearly amused by his sister’s reaction. “Told you they do that all the time”, he said with a teasing grin. “It’s so embarrassing”.

Ben raised an eyebrow, glancing down at you with an exaggerated look of mock offense. “Didn’t realize we were raising such critics”, he said, his voice dripping with playful sarcasm.

Ben shook his head, smirking as he turned toward the kids. “Alright, listen up, you two. You keep calling us gross, and I’m eating all these cookies myself. No sprinkles, no frosting, just plain cookies. How’s that for embarrassing?”.

“Daddy, nooo!”, Lila shrieked, clutching one of her sprinkle-covered cookies protectively to her chest. “You can’t! These are mine!”.

Ben’s smirk deepened as he took a deliberate step toward the table, his eyes locked on one of Lila’s chaotic sprinkle-covered cookies. “Oh, really?”, he drawled, his tone teasing and slow. “You think you can stop me, little miss sprinkle queen?”.

Lila gasped dramatically. “Daddy, no!”, she squealed, scooting back in her chair and holding up a hand to block him. “You can’t take this one! It’s perfect!”.

“Perfect, huh?”, Ben quirked an eyebrow, inching closer, his large frame towering over the table. “Let me see. Gotta make sure it’s up to regulation”.

“It’s mine!”, Lila shouted, jumping out of her chair and running around to the other side of the table, her plate wobbling in her hands. “Go eat Logan’s cookies instead!”.

“Hey!”, Logan said, finally looking up from his carefully decorated gingerbread man. “Don’t drag me into this! My cookies are art”.

Ben burst out laughing, glancing over at Logan with mock offense. “Art, huh? Let me be the judge of that”. He reached out as if to grab one of Logan’s cookies, but Logan quickly pulled his plate away, holding it up high.

“Back off, Dad!”, Logan said with a grin, using his other hand to block him. “These are for Mom!”.

Ben stopped, placing his hands on his hips, his grin turning into a smirk. “Oh, for Mom, huh? Well, in that case…”. He lunged toward Lila, pretending to swipe for her plate.

Lila let out a delighted shriek, ducking under the table and crawling to the other side. “You’ll never catch me!”, she declared, her giggles filling the kitchen.

You leaned against the counter, watching the chaos unfold with an amused smile. “Ben”, you said, crossing your arms and giving him a mock stern look, “if you don’t leave their cookies alone, you’re not getting any of… mine”.

Ben froze mid-step, his hand still outstretched toward Lila’s plate, as your words hung in the air. Slowly, he turned his head toward you, one eyebrow raised, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Oh, is that right?”, he drawled, his voice low and teasing. “Not getting any of… yours, huh?”.

You tilted your head, meeting his gaze with a sly smile. “That’s exactly what I said”, you replied, the double meaning clear in your tone.

Before Ben could respond with one of his usual cheeky comebacks, Logan groaned loudly from his seat, his hands slapping the table. “I know you guys aren’t talking about cookies”, he muttered, rolling his eyes dramatically. “And for the record, I don’t want another baby sister, okay? One is enough”.

Ben blinked, taken completely off guard by Logan’s blunt statement. He let out a bark of laughter, leaning against the table for support as he pointed at Logan. “Kid, what the hell—where did that even come from?”.

“Logan!”, you gasped, though you couldn’t help the laughter bubbling up in your chest. “What are you talking about?”.

Logan leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as if he’d just solved a great mystery. “You guys are always giving each other those looks, and Dad’s always making those weird jokes”. He waved his hand in Ben’s direction. “It’s not rocket science”.

Ben, still chuckling, wiped a hand over his face as he shook his head. “The kid’s too smart for his own good”, he muttered, grinning at you. “He’s onto us”.

“Logan”, you said, trying to suppress your laughter and keep a straight face, “You are way too young to be worrying about this kind of thing”.

Logan kept his arms crossed, his gaze shifting between you and Ben as his face took on that serious, almost grown-up expression he liked to wear when he was deep in thought. “I’m just saying”, he said slowly, his voice losing some of its teasing edge, “you don’t need another kid. We’re good like this”,

You tilted your head, narrowing your eyes slightly. There was something unspoken in his words, a flicker of uncertainty behind the bravado. He wasn’t just teasing—this was something else. But you knew better than to press him here, not in front of Ben, not when Logan was so guarded.

“Of course we’re good like this”, you said gently, leaning forward and resting your arms on the table. “But would another sibling be that bad?”.

Logan shrugged, his lips pressing together in that tight, nervous way he had when he didn’t want to say what he was really thinking. “I don’t know”m he mumbled, his eyes dropping to his cookie. “I just think… things are fine the way they are”.

Ben, still standing beside you, raised an eyebrow. He glanced down at you, clearly noticing the shift in Logan’s tone, but didn’t push either. Instead, he crossed his arms and leaned casually against the counter.

Logan’s words struck a chord, and you could see the layers of concern in his small face—concerns he didn’t know how to voice yet. You gave Logan a warm smile, reaching over to ruffle his hair gently.

“You’re right, buddy”, you said softly. “Things are perfect just the way they are”.

Logan relaxed slightly at your reassurance, nodding as he returned his attention to his cookie. Ben gave you a questioning look, his eyebrow raised as if he were silently asking, What’s that about? You shook your head slightly, a silent later passing between you.

Because there was something you hadn’t told him yet—something that had been tugging at the back of your mind. You were late. Only a few days, but still. You were never late.

You hadn’t said anything to Ben yet because you weren’t ready to make it real, not until you were sure. But as Logan’s words played over in your head, you felt a swirl of emotions: uncertainty, anticipation, and a hint of fear.

Ben’s voice broke into your thoughts. “Alright, Logan”, he said, his tone light but laced with curiosity. “You better not be hogging all the good cookies over there. I need to taste-test those”.

Logan rolled his eyes, his small smirk returning as he pushed one of his neatly decorated cookies toward his dad. “Here, take one. But don’t mess up my frosting”.

Ben grinned, plucking the cookie off the plate with exaggerated care. “Wouldn’t dream of it, champ”.

When the kitchen filled with laughter again, you let yourself lean into the moment, deciding to hold off on the conversation for now.

As the evening wore on, the warmth of the kitchen turned into the quiet hum of nighttime. Lila had curled up on the couch under a blanket, clutching a small stuffed animal in one hand and a half-eaten cookie in the other. Her eyelids had grown heavy, and eventually, she’d surrendered to sleep, her soft snores filling the cozy space.

Ben glanced over from where he was tidying up the counter, his face softening as he took in the sight of his little girl. “Looks like the Sprinkle Queen’s out for the count”, he said, his voice low.

You smiled, drying your hands on a towel. “She had a big day. All those sprinkles wore her out”.

Ben crossed the room, scooping Lila into his arms with the ease of someone who’d done it a thousand times before. She stirred slightly, mumbling something incoherent, but settled quickly against his chest, her tiny hand clutching at his shirt.

“I’ll take her up”, he said, his voice quiet but firm, as though it wasn’t up for discussion. You nodded, watching as he carried her out of the room, the sight of his broad figure cradling her so gently always tugging at your heart.

Logan appeared in the doorway then, his steps hesitant as he glanced between you and the direction his dad had gone. He crossed his arms over his chest, standing a little taller as if to remind you—and himself—that he didn’t need the same kind of care his little sister did.

“I don’t need anyone to bring me to bed”, Logan said, his voice firm but lacking the usual bite of defiance. “I can do it myself”.

You gave him a small smile, stepping closer. “I know you can, sweetheart”, you said softly. “You’ve been doing great. But you let me help when Dad’s not here. Maybe you can let him help tonight?”.

Logan hesitated, his eyes darting to the floor before looking back up at you. “Dad’s never… he doesn’t usually…”. He trailed off, unsure how to finish the thought.

You crouched down, resting a hand gently on his shoulder. “Sometimes he doesn’t know how to ask”, you said gently. “But he’d love to, Logan. If you’re okay with it”.

Logan frowned, his small brows furrowing as he thought it over. Then he gave a small, almost reluctant nod. “Okay”, he mumbled, glancing toward the stairs. “But only if he doesn’t make a big deal about it”.

You smiled, brushing a hand through his hair. “Deal”.

By the time Ben returned, Logan was waiting at the foot of the stairs, his arms still crossed but his posture less tense.

Ben appeared at the top of the stairs, his heavy steps softening as he noticed Logan standing there, arms crossed in that telltale way that meant he was trying to appear tougher than he felt. Ben paused for a moment, taking in the sight of his son waiting for him, and his face softened in a way that only you seemed to notice.

“Looks like someone’s still up”, Ben said, his tone light but without the teasing edge he sometimes used. He walked down the last few steps, his movements slower, less hurried, as though giving Logan time to decide what he wanted.

Logan glanced at you briefly, then back at his dad. “I’m ready for bed”, he said, his voice neutral, but there was a flicker of hesitation in his eyes.

Ben nodded, his hands settling on his hips as he studied his son for a moment. “Alright”, he said, his tone casual. “Let’s get you tucked in, then”.

Logan didn’t move at first, glancing at the floor like he was waiting for Ben to say more. When nothing else came, he gave a small nod and started up the stairs, his pace slower than usual. Ben followed closely behind, casting a quick glance at you as he passed. You gave him an encouraging smile, silently urging him to let this moment be what Logan needed.

When they reached Logan’s room, Ben paused in the doorway, watching as Logan climbed into bed and pulled the blanket up to his chest. Logan fidgeted with the edge of the fabric, his small hands gripping it tightly.

Ben stood in the doorway for a moment, watching as Logan burrowed into his bed, the blanket clutched tightly to his chest. He let out a quiet sigh, stepping forward and crouching down beside the bed, his movements uncharacteristically gentle.

“You all set, champ?”, Ben asked, his voice low and steady.

Logan nodded, but his hands still fidgeted with the edge of the blanket. There was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, the kind that Ben hadn’t seen in a while. Without thinking too much about it, Ben reached out and grabbed the blanket, pulling it up snugly around Logan’s shoulders.

“Gotta make sure you’re tucked in properly”, Ben said, his tone shifting to something lighter, almost teasing. “Don’t want you freezing in the middle of the night”.

Logan giggled softly, his small voice breaking the quiet of the room. “Dad, I’m not gonna freeze”.

“Oh, you think so?”, Ben said, raising an eyebrow as he tugged the blanket even tighter around Logan, practically swaddling him. “What if a snowstorm hits? What if you wake up and there’s frost on your nose? Gotta be prepared”.

Logan laughed harder now, his small hands pushing at the blanket as he squirmed. “Dad! Stop, it’s too tight!”.

“Nope”, Ben said with mock seriousness, sitting back to admire his handiwork. “Perfect. You’re like a little burrito now. Nothing’s getting to you”.

“Dad!”, Logan squealed, his laughter breaking through the last of his earlier hesitation. He wiggled under the tightly tucked blanket, his face lighting up with a joy that reminded Ben of when he was younger, back before Ben had decided he was too big for things like this.

Ben grinned, leaning forward and ruffling Logan’s hair. “There we go”, he said softly. “That’s better. Haven’t heard you laugh like that in a while”.

Logan’s giggles faded into a warm smile, his eyes meeting his dad’s with a rare openness. “Thanks, Dad”.

Ben’s expression softened, and he reached out to brush a stray lock of hair off Logan’s forehead. “Anytime, kiddo. You know that”.

He stood slowly and glanced toward the door before he turned back to Logan, his voice low and serious now.

“Alright, get some sleep. Sweet dreams, champ”.

“Goodnight, Dad”, Logan murmured, his voice already heavy with sleep.

Ben hesitated for a moment, then leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to Logan’s head, something he hadn’t done in years. Logan didn’t pull away, instead letting his eyes flutter closed as he sank deeper into his blankets.

———————————

A/N: Not that much of Christmas, but it’s snowy and cold. So let’s just count it, lol. Please let me know what you think.🥰

-

Taglist: @blackcherrywhiskey @baby19sthings @suckitands33 @spnfamily-j2 @lyarr24 @deans-baby-momma @reignsboy19 @kawaii-arfid-memes @mekkencspony @lovziy @artemys-ackles @fitxgrld @libby99hb @lovelyvirtualperson @a-lil-pr1ncess @nancymcl @the-last-ry @spndeanwinchesterlvr @hobby27 @themarebarroww @kr804573 @impala67rollingthroughtown @deans-queen @deadlymistletoe @selfdestructionandrhum @utyblyn @winchesterwild78 @jackles010378 @chirazsstuff @foxyjwls007 @smoothdogsgirl @woooonau @whimsyfinny @freyabear @laaadygisbooornex3 @quietgirll75 @perpetualabsurdity @pughsexual @berryblues46 @deanwinchestersgirl8734 @kr804573 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @barnes70stark @roseblue373

[anadiasmount]

anything dad!jude pls we beg 🥲💕

safe and sound - jb blurb.

tiny insta au at the end 😉

“cranky, just like your mama,” jude baby talked as he shook the bottle, while his babygirl eva fussed and crinkled her nose upset. “here you go, let’s go sit on the bed with mommy.” jude made sure all the lights were off downstairs and doors were locked before gently going upstairs to your room.

“jude?” you called out, he yelled back a yeah seeing you finishing up your skincare routine by your vanity, pulling the covers down so he could sit with eva in his arms. “she’s so sleepy, i felt so bad waking her up,” jude whispered as you walked in now changed in your pjs and hair in a messy updo.

“i know but if we hadn’t she wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight,” you replied joining him sitting up on the bed. “but seeing her so excited and intrigued today, gosh i can’t believe she’s so big now. like you mean to tell me she was this small” jude pinched his fingers and squinted his eyes, “and now she’s almost one? where’d all the time go,” jude frowned, visibly upset that his babygirl is growing up so fast.

eva’s eyes were heavy, fluttering often as she drank her bottle and cuddled into her daddies embrace, the warmth and comfort helping her soothe so she could fall asleep quicker. jude traced her brows and the tiny birthmark on her cheek, kissing her forehead and giving her the most undeniably attention. “it feel like just yesterday where we found out we were expecting. the late night runs to the grocery store, the baby shower, i wish to do it all again,” jude said, kissing your temple as you leaned and laid on his chest.

“and we will, but we want to enjoy these special moments with her. for so long and give her the most happiest childhood. if we rush into having another kid i feel like we won’t get to experience and enjoy it. we have all the time in the world you know?” you said your hand coming up to trace eva’s cheek, where she was no fully asleep, lips pursed and brows pulled in. “she looks exactly like you when she’s asleep,” jude laughed.

“does she really?” you say confused, now noticing the probability of it.

“exactly like her momma,” jude leaned down and kissed you sweetly. “when you say do it all again… does that mean…” jude said unsure, feeling those similar jitters he once felt when you had surprised him with the unexpected news of your pregnancy. happy, scared, but overall thankful. thankful for the life he’s getting to build day by day along with you.

“i mean as in a few years maybe two or three we can try again for our second baby,” you whispered butting your lip as jude stared at you with adoration. “you make me the happiest man, you have no idea baby,” jude smirked, “don’t be getting any ideas now! just because i say that won’t mean we won’t have precautions,” jude pouted but shook his head understanding the boundaries you were setting.

while most of your pregnancy went smoothly, there was times where you felt just so stuck. the back pain, the headaches with no use of medication, the nausea and loss of appetite, being unable to sometimes keep your food in and throwing up. you felt useless but jude was there everytime to remind you to take it easy and that there was no rush, that both you and the baby mattered, as he held you close to him.

jude gently still rocked eva in his arm, making sure she was fully asleep before he went to leave her in her crib. the last thing he wanted was to stay up with a crying baby who refused to go to sleep. he had learned that back then when you had gone to a girls trip. the restless nights and getting a taste of what you dealt with when he wasn’t here.

“sometimes i can’t believe it’s real. that we made this tiny beautiful human,” jude sighed watching as eva slept peacefully. “im so incredibly happy, i just love you both so much,” and there he was again, despite you being with mixed hormones jude was always the sappy and emotional one during your pregnancy and after. “jude were not going anywhere,” you laughed, hugging him and pressing kisses on his cheeks as he cried.

“i know, i know, you know how i am,” you wiped his tears still giggling from the random outburst. “as long as you’re here next to me with eva, it’s all i need to be okay. to feel safe,” jude said kissing you feverishly. “i love you both so much, never forget that. i mean it,” he said seriously at the end. “if you ever decide to leave me just know-”

“jude im not going to leave you, quit it with that. do i have to remind you of this,” you flashed your engagement ring, “or this?” then grabbed the the pendent with his initials and eva’s on your necklace. “or this?” you said a bit louder, pointing to the tattoo dedicated to him. “that’s the best gift you could ever give me,” he smirked proudly, kissing the inside of your wrist where the ink was.

“i could always get it removed…”

“don’t!”

———————

judebellingham + ynusername

liked by: ynusername, vinijr, gioreyna, jobebellingham, andreamartinez, adidas, yourfriend, user129, and 996,390 others!

judebellingham: day out with mis dos amores 🤍

comments:

ynusername: ily hubby 😘

ynusername: MYY BABIESSS

ynusername: eva’s chunky legs im in love!! 😣😣

ynusername: ok stalker, catching me off guard 😒

jobebellingham: no invite? okay i see how it is 😒

vinijr: 🤍

gioreyna: sooo adorable! little eva is so big now! ❤️

comments are limited!

———————

ynusername added to their stories!

[meleeyz]

୭ 𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗡𝗚𝗦 𝗧𝗢 𝗙𝗜𝗫 ˚. ᵎᵎ 

ekko 𝒙 fem!reader

୨୧ English is not my first language, so I regret in advance if something reads weird or is misspelled

୨୧ Bro is going to fix the mess he made with his family from another dimension 🙏

୨୧ This is not exactly the result of what I wanted but it works ;)

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

The sun dipped below the horizon, its last golden rays painting the sky in soft shades of pink and lavender. The walk back felt longer than usual, the weight of the day pressing on your shoulders. The afternoon had passed in a whirlwind of preparations for Violet’s birthday—small, meaningful plans to make tomorrow special.

But now, exhaustion clung to you like a second skin. Inside the house, the warmth of home embraced you. Dinner had been a blur—a simple meal shared with your children before they yawned and rubbed their eyes, ready for bed.

After clearing up, you found Wyeth in his room, the soft glow of his bedside lamp casting a gentle light over the space. He sat cross-legged on his bed, his broken rocket cradled in his small hands, and his silk bonnet already in place.

You paused in the doorway for a moment, taking in the sight. His furrowed brow and the way his little fingers traced over the toy’s worn edges tugged at your heart. Quietly, you stepped into the room and sat on the edge of his bed.

"Hey there, sweetheart," you said softly, brushing your hand over his cheek.

Wyeth looked up at you, his wide eyes searching your face for reassurance.

"Mommy," he began, his voice a small whisper. “Is Daddy mad at me?”

The question caught you off guard, but you schooled your features into a gentle smile.

“Mad at you?” you asked, feigning lightness. “Why would you think that?”

His shoulders slumped, and he set the rocket aside, its bent fin catching the lamplight.

“I’ve been bad lately,” he admitted, his voice trembling. “Maybe that’s why…”

“Sweetheart, no.” you interrupted, leaning in to cup his face in your hands. “Daddy isn’t mad at you. He’s just tired, that’s all. He’s been working really hard and sometimes when grown-ups work too much, they get a little grumpy. But it’s not your fault, okay?”

Wyeth hesitated, his small brow still creased, but eventually he nodded.

“Okay” he whispered.You smiled and kissed his forehead, lingering just long enough for him to feel the warmth of your love.

“Goodnight, my little rocket man. Sweet dreams.”

“Goodnight, Mommy,” he murmured, burrowing under his sheets and clutching his blanket close.

You stood, dimming the lamp as you left the room, glancing back to see him already drifting off, the broken rocket abandoned beside him.

In your own room, the silence was heavier. You moved through the motions of preparing for bed, your body exhausted but your mind far from settled. As you pulled back the covers, your eyes flicked to the window. Outside, the night stretched endlessly, dark and quiet. Still, there was no sign of Ekko.

A sigh slipped from your lips as you turned to Violet’s crib. You smiled faintly. She slept soundly, her tiny chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, her soft coos occasionally breaking the quiet.

Finally, you climbed into bed. The room felt emptier than it should, the absence of Ekko gnawing at you in ways you didn’t want to admit. Your thoughts lingered on him, on the tension from earlier, on the strange distance that had settled between you. As sleep began to pull you under, you found yourself hoping that, come morning, things would feel a little less heavy.

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

The house was quiet as Ekko slipped inside, the soft creak of the door barely audible over the hum of crickets outside. He paused in the entryway, his eyes adjusting to the dim light, his breath hitching as he looked around.

He had to ask Heimerdinger where his own house was. The thought stung, but as he stood there, surrounded by warm tones and small, comforting touches, a sense of belonging crept in. This was his home—at least, it was for the Ekko who lived here.

The garden outside had been beautiful, a serene patch of green dotted with soft, colorful flowers and lanterns. Inside, the air smelled faintly of lavender and something sweet, a scent that grounded him as he moved deeper into the house.

Pictures lined the walls and shelves, drawing his gaze. Each frame seemed to tell a story, a life lived in a world so far removed from his own. His steps slowed as he reached for one in particular: a photo of his wedding day.

The image stopped him cold, his stomach flipping in a way he hadn’t expected. You looked radiant, your smile wide and bright as you leaned into him, your hands entwined. Ekko—this Ekko—was grinning from ear to ear, his expression caught somewhere between elation and disbelief.

His fingers brushed over the ring on his finger. He could tell it was handmade—gold, with delicate carvings of fireflies and his hourglass symbol etched into its surface. Of course, he thought. He probably made it himself, ensuring it was worthy of the person he gave it to. You didn’t deserve anything less.

Ekko chuckled softly, shaking his head. He’d thought about his wedding day before, in fleeting moments between battles and responsibilities, but it always felt like a distant dream. Something he could never afford.

He moved to another photo, this one capturing the moment of Wyeth’s birth. You were in a bed, holding a tiny, wrapped in blankets, your face glowing with exhaustion and joy. Ekko stood beside you, his grin wobbly and his hair a mess, like he’d just finished pacing the room for hours. He could imagine exactly how that had gone—nervous energy radiating off him, snapping at anyone who told him to relax, only to apologize afterward.

Ekko swallowed hard and tore his gaze away, continuing up the stairs.

The walls of the staircase were covered with more pictures. Wyeth as a toddler, clutching a makeshift artifact in his hands; Violet giggling in a field of wildflowers, her chubby cheeks and wide eyes making her look like the cutest baby in the world.

His steps slowed as his chest tightened. The memory of what he’d said earlier came rushing back

Why did I say that?

It wasn’t true. He knew it wasn’t true. You were his wife, those were his babies, and he didn’t doubt that. Not for a second. But the words had spilled out of him, born from the confusion and guilt swirling in his mind.

He clenched his fists, a wave of self-loathing washing over him. He hated the thought of you thinking, even for a moment, that he didn’t want this. That he didn’t want you. He had to fix it. He had to make it right.

When he reached Wyeth’s room, he cracked the door open just enough to peek inside. The boy was sound asleep, curled under his blankets with the broken rocket still resting on the nightstand. Ekko exhaled softly, relief mingling with guilt. He hoped he hadn’t confused the kid too much with his words earlier. Wyeth deserved better.

And then, an idea struck him.

If he wanted to make things right, he couldn’t just apologize. He needed to show you—show all of you—that he was here, that he cared. That no matter how he got here, this was his family.

Ekko closed the door as quietly as he could, slipping back downstairs with a newfound determination. He paused only to glance at the pictures on the wall one more time, steeling himself. Then he slipped out the front door, heading toward Powder’s hideout.

The night air was cool against his skin as he moved through the streets, the city was quiet but alive. He didn’t care if Powder hated him for waking her up; this needed to happen. He couldn’t wait until morning.

By the time he reached the hideout, his heart was pounding—not from exertion, but from the resolve burning inside him. He knocked softly at first, then a little harder when there was no answer.

“Powder,” he called in an urgent cry. “I need your help.”

It didn’t matter how late it was. Ekko wasn’t leaving until he fixed things.

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

The morning light filtered through the curtains, warming the room with its golden glow. You stirred slowly, the weight of sleep still heavy on your body. Your hand reached out instinctively, seeking the comforting presence of your husband, but the bed beside you was empty.

The absence hit you harder than you expected. Memories of the previous day lingered in your mind, his words cutting deeper than you wanted to admit. You sat up, running a hand through your head, trying to shake the uneasy feeling creeping up your spine.

It wasn’t until you glanced toward Violet’s crib that the unease turned to panic.

It was empty.

Your heart raced as you threw off the covers and bolted out of the room, your bare feet padding quickly down the hall. The first place you went was Wyeth’s room, pushing the door open with trembling hands.

“Wyeth?” you called, your voice shaking slightly. “Sweetheart, are you in here?”

But the bed was empty, his blankets neatly tucked at the edges.

Your chest tightened. Where were they?

“Violet?” you called, louder this time, your voice echoing through the house as you hurried down the stairs.

You rounded the corner into the dining room, your mind spinning with worst-case scenarios, and froze.

Ekko sat at the table, a knowing grin on his face. A bouquet of fresh flowers sat in the center of the table, their pastel hues soft and welcoming. Beside them was a spread of breakfast—pancakes, fresh fruit, and coffee—all laid out with surprising care.

“Morning,” Ekko said, his tone teasing, as though he hadn’t scared you half to death.

Your panic hadn’t completely subsided.

“Where are the kids?” you demanded, your voice sharp.

His grin widened, his dark eyes dancing with mischief.

“It’s a surprise,” he said simply, leaning back in his chair as if to emphasize how utterly unbothered he was.

Your brow furrowed, a mix of frustration and confusion bubbling to the surface.

“Ekko—”

“You’re cute when you’re worried,” His gaze swept over you, lingering on your sleepwear, and his grin turned decidedly more suggestive. “By the way, you look… incredible this morning.”

Your cheeks burned as his eyes trailed over you with that familiar, almost predatory glint you’d come to know all too well. It was the kind of look that once made your stomach flip in a good way, but now? It just left you reeling.

“Ekko, stop,” you muttered, looking away in an attempt to regain composure. But his playful chuckle made it clear he wasn’t about to let it go.

“Stop what?” he teased, his voice dropping slightly. “Admiring my wife?”

You shot him a sharp look, your emotions tangled in a confusing mess of frustration and something you couldn’t quite name.

“You’re confusing me so much,” you said finally, your voice quiet but firm.

His laugh was soft but rich, and it only made your frustration deepen.

“Good. I like keeping you on your toes,” he said with a wink, leaning forward slightly.

You exhaled, exasperated, wondering not for the first time, What is wrong with this man?

“I’m just trying to make things right,” he said as if he read your mind, his voice softening slightly.

The sincerity in his tone made your heart skip a beat. You wanted to be mad at him, to demand answers, but the warmth in his eyes made it difficult.

Ekko reached for the coffee pot, pouring you a cup with an easy grace that only confused you further.

“Eat first,” he said, sliding the plate of pancakes toward you. “Then I’ll tell you everything. Promise.”

You hesitated, but the smell of freshly brewed coffee and the sight of his earnest smile made it hard to argue. You sighed, picking up your fork. Whatever he was up to, you’d get to the bottom of it soon enough.

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

If you thought you were confused before, Ekko’s antics that morning had turned your head into a whirlwind of questions. After changing into a simple but comfortable outfit, you found yourself blindfolded by your husband, his hands gentle yet firm as he secured the cloth over your eyes.

"Ekko," you began, your tone edged with exasperation, "what are you doing? We don’t have time for this. We need to get to The Last Drop and finish setting up for Vi’s birthday."

"Relax," he said smoothly, the grin evident in his voice. "I already have it covered. Trust me."

You sighed, a grunt of disapproval slipping past your lips as he guided you forward with a hand on your arm.

"Trust you? Ekko, you’re lucky I love you."

"Lucky doesn’t even begin to cover it," he teased, laughter bubbling in his throat.

You kept up a stream of complaints the entire way, though your protests were punctuated by the occasional chuckle or muttered threat. His laugh echoed through the space as he steered you with careful precision. After a while, you noticed something odd—your voice echoed more than usual.

"Wait," you said, your pace faltering.

"Are we in the sewers? Ekko, you better not—"

"Shh," he interrupted, and before you could finish your thought, he stopped you. His hands brushed your shoulders, and with one swift movement, he removed the blindfold.

Your breath caught in your throat.

The scene before you seemed to be pulled from the pages of a fairy tale. The air was alive with fireflies and butterflies flitting between the lush greenery. Birds chirped softly from branches above, and in the center of it all stood an enormous tree, its wide canopy casting dappled light over the ground below.

You turned to Ekko, your mouth slightly open in disbelief, but he simply smiled, gesturing for you to take it all in.

Before you could say a word, several silhouettes approached. The first to come bounding into view was Wyeth, his grin stretching from ear to ear. He ran straight to you, wrapping his arms around your legs.

"Mommy!" he exclaimed, practically vibrating with excitement. "Look! Daddy fixed my rocket! He made it better, and now it can fly without breaking anything!” He held up the toy, his joy infectious.

You crouched down to admire the handiwork, running your fingers along the rocket’s smooth edges as Wyeth babbled on.

“And we climbed the tree, Mommy! It’s so tall! You should come see!”

A voice behind him interjected playfully.

“Let your mama breathe, rocket man.”

You looked up to see Powder striding toward you, her blue hair styled into two playful space buns. She carried Violet in a baby carrier strapped to her chest, the little girl now clad in the pastel green dress Powder had shown you the day before. A delicate butterfly charm nestled in her curls added the final touch to her outfit.

"Happy birthday, my sweet Violet," you cooed, leaning in to kiss your baby’s cheek. Violet giggled in response, her tiny hands reaching for you.

“She’s been in full princess mode all morning,” Powder said, rolling her eyes affectionately.

You smiled as you looked around again. Decorations were everywhere—streamers in bright, cheerful colors, balloons that bobbed gently in the breeze, and a large table set up beneath the tree, big enough to seat the whole family. Your heart swelled at the sight.

"Ekko," you began, standing and turning to your husband, "what is this all about?"

He stepped forward, taking your hand with an easy smile.

“What do you mean?” he said, his tone light. “It’s Vi’s birthday, isn’t it?”

You raised an eyebrow, suspicion tinging your voice.

“Right. And you did all of this?”

“Of course,” he said, leading you gently past the table and toward the other side of the massive tree. “Come on. There’s one more thing I want to show you.”

As you rounded the tree, your breath caught again.

There, painted across a wide section of the bark, was a stunning mural. Vibrant colors swirled together to create a picture of your family—Ekko, you, Wyeth, and Violet—all smiling and holding hands beneath the glowing canopy of the tree. The fireflies painted around the edges seemed to dance, their light giving the mural a soft, almost magical quality.

You stepped closer, your fingers brushing over the bark.

“Ekko…” you whispered, unable to find the words.

He smiled, his hand coming to rest lightly on your waist. “It’s us,” he said softly.

“My wife, our babies, and me. The people who mean everything to me.”

You turned to him, emotions swirling in your chest, but before you could respond, he took both of your hands in his. His expression turned serious, his eyes locking onto yours.

“I’m really sorry,” he said, his voice low but steady. “About yesterday. About everything. I don’t know why I said what I said—I felt so strange, so out of it—but I know that doesn’t excuse it.” His grip on your hands tightened slightly, as if anchoring himself to you. “I just want you to know how much I love you. You, Wyeth, Violet. You’re my whole world, and I’m going to make sure today is Violet’s best first birthday ever.”

His words were earnest, his gaze unflinching. He lifted your hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to each of them before leaning forward, aiming to kiss you properly.

Before his lips could meet yours, a familiar voice groaned from behind.

“Ewww!”

Wyeth’s loud protest made you both turn. He stood a few steps away, his face scrunched in exaggerated disgust.

Ekko laughed, scooping the boy up in one swift motion.

“What? You don’t want Mommy and Daddy kissing?”

“No!” Wyeth giggled, squirming as Ekko nuzzled him.

“Well, too bad, but don’t think you’re safe, buddy. I’ve got kisses for you too!”

Wyeth squealed as Ekko peppered his face with kisses, his laughter filling the air. You couldn’t help but join in, tickling his sides as he giggled uncontrollably.

“Okay, okay! Stop!” Wyeth cried, still laughing as he wriggled free.

At that moment, a familiar voice called from the distance.

“Well, look who we have here!”

Wyeth’s head snapped toward the entrance, his eyes lighting up.

“Grandpa Benzo!” he yelled, bolting toward the sound of his grandfather’s voice.

Ekko set his son down and watched him run off before turning back to you. His arms snaked around your waist, pulling you close. His voice dropped to a low murmur, meant only for you.

“Don’t think I’m done with you yet. I’ll leave it pending till tonight.” he said, his tone dripping with playful promise. He winked at you before turning to follow Wyeth, leaving you standing alone by the mural.

You exhaled deeply, hugging yourself as you looked up at the painting. It was vibrant, alive, full of hope and love.

You smiled softly. You chose well.

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

tags: @bbybubbles @bookies16 @xelzaria @honeyfewr @bubblegupyy @iwasholic @chaeisbroke @emforjin @itszazouu @kriss-w @moonlight-dreamer04 @iloveavatar @sturngs

[amirasainz]

Can you write some Gladiator!Carlos and Goddess!Reader? Maybe Charles is the priest that helps Carlos contact Reader and Carlos falls in love with her? Please, please, please♥️♥️♥️

Enjoy reading and send some requests!!!

-xoxo babygirl ♥️

Goddess

The arena roared with life as Carlos emerged into the light, his bronzed skin gleaming under the harsh sun. He raised his gladius, saluting the adoring masses of the Capitol. Every movement of his body, every flick of his raven hair, was calculated and captivating. The people loved him as much for his victories in the arena as for his charm outside it. Yet, beneath the surface of his confident smile, there was a gnawing emptiness, a longing for something he could not name.

In stark contrast to Carlos’ boisterous life, his friend Charles lived in quiet reverence. Charles was a high priest, his life devoted to the goddess Yn, the deity of beauty and sanctuary. He was a man of elegance and grace, clothed in simple but fine robes, his voice soft but commanding. The two had been friends since childhood, their bond forged in moments of shared wonder and mischief.

This particular evening, they sat together in Charles’ serene garden. It was a quiet refuge, full of blooming flowers and soft, tinkling fountains. The sun was setting, casting the sky in hues of orange and pink. A small table laden with fruit, bread, and wine sat between them.

Before they ate, Charles clasped his hands, closing his eyes. “Goddess Yn, radiant light of perfection, we thank you for the sanctuary of your beauty and the peace you bestow upon us. May your grace guide us always.”

Carlos watched, amused but respectful, as Charles plucked a perfect white blossom from a nearby bush and placed it on a small altar dedicated to Yn. He poured a trickle of wine into a shallow dish as an offering.

“You really do take this goddess seriously, don’t you?” Carlos said, his lips quirking in a teasing smile. “You’ve mentioned her before, but I’ve never seen you like this. What makes her so special?”

Charles opened his eyes, his expression serene but passionate. “She is everything. Yn is not just a goddess of beauty, but of sanctuary. She is the place we turn to when the world becomes too much. Her presence is perfection itself. Those who feel lost find solace in her gaze.”

Carlos leaned back, folding his arms. “You speak as if you’ve met her.”

“In a way, I have,” Charles replied, his voice lowering as though speaking a sacred truth. “I have stood in her temple, basked in her light. She has no equal, Carlos. Not in the arena, not in the Capitol, not anywhere. You think you understand beauty, but until you have stood before her, you do not.”

Carlos raised a skeptical eyebrow. “She’s that perfect, is she?”

Charles leaned forward, a knowing smile on his lips. “Come with me to her temple. See for yourself.”

---

The Temple of Yn was unlike anything Carlos had seen before. It stood atop a hill, surrounded by pristine gardens that seemed to glow under the moonlight. The building itself was constructed of pure white marble, its columns etched with intricate designs of vines and flowers. Soft music seemed to drift through the air, though Carlos could not see its source.

Charles led him inside. The interior was quiet, the air thick with the scent of jasmine. At the far end of the temple was a statue of Yn, a figure of striking beauty carved from pale stone. She stood with one hand outstretched, her expression serene yet commanding.

Carlos was about to scoff at the statue’s perfection when he felt a sudden shift in the air. From behind the statue, a figure emerged.

It was her.

Yn walked forward, her movements so fluid it was as if she were gliding. Her form was human, yet ethereal. Her hair cascaded like molten gold, and her eyes held galaxies within them. She did not speak, but her presence spoke volumes.

Carlos fell to his knees without realizing it. “Yn,” he whispered, his voice trembling. He fumbled with the pouch at his belt, producing gold coins and laying them at her feet. From his pocket, he drew a crimson flower, offering it alongside the gold. “Take these, goddess. Take anything. Take my heart—it’s yours.”

Yn’s gaze fell upon him, and he felt as though the world had stopped. She stepped closer, the faintest smile gracing her lips. Then, to his astonishment, she bent down and kissed his cheek. Her touch was like a spark of fire and ice, leaving him breathless.

She turned next to Charles, her most faithful follower. With infinite tenderness, she stroked his face, her fingers lingering as if in silent gratitude. Charles closed his eyes, a tear escaping down his cheek.

Without a word, Yn turned and disappeared back into the shadows of her temple.

---

Carlos remained kneeling long after she had gone, his mind spinning. When he finally looked up at Charles, his expression was one of pure devotion. “She is… everything you said and more. I understand now.”

Charles placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder, his own eyes still shining with emotion. “I knew you would. It is a gift to find faith, Carlos. You have seen her. You are changed.”

“I am hers,” Carlos murmured, clutching his chest as if to steady the storm of emotions within him. “Forever.”

Charles smiled, his heart swelling with pride. His dearest friend had found what he had always hoped he would: devotion to the goddess who had shaped his life. Together, they sat in the quiet temple, the lingering presence of the goddess Yn wrapping around them like a warm embrace.

[jakegooglyeyes]

So it was kind of a mistake to read this after I've finished the whole series. Oh well.

The smut was so good. I really have no words to describe how much I love your writing. It's arrggg ASDFGHSKAdjiu348SAGdv!!!!!!! I don't want to sound weird but the readers in your fics are always so cared for, especially when it comes to smut. And it's just simply perfection.

Also, excuse me, but the feels? I didn't walk into this fic expecting to be hit in the emotions like this.

You're the only person I've tried my hardest to protect.

And this

It was only then that you finally accepted to face the truth: nobody knew who you were, in relation to Rozat Sabich. He kept you in the shadows, he locked you in a cage. He protected you in this bubble of stolen kisses and broken promises.

I know Rusty is an asshole through and through. But I can understand why everyone seems to be down bad for him. This man seduced everyone and made everyone think they are special. All the while he thought he was doing the world a favor.

If this fic wasn't angst and Rusty wasn't being Rusty(tm) it would be comedic how down bad reader was for Rusty like girl, chill out.

ALIBI — RUSTY SABICH

summary: rusty seeks comfort in someone from his past to hide from both the present and the future.

warnings: mentions of cheating & the murder, mostly angst, smut (pussy eating, penetration, marking & hickeys, accidental creampie, some elements of noncon). 18+ NO MINORS.

word count: 4075

gif credits: me @/gyllenhaalstories / divider credits: @/firefly-graphics

notes: i was going off the vibes from the trailers but there are spoilers from the first two episodes. this was supposed to be all smut but then i didn't feel like writing smut so it was all angst but then i remembered i'm bad at writing angst so now it's... a mess. sorry? 👓 thank you for reading & REMEMBER TO REBLOG!

The doorbell rang. The noise was so loud that it startled you.

You had been on the edge all day, ever since you received a mysterious letter in your mailbox. The enveloppe was bare, the paper did not look much better. It could have been a bad prank for all you knew, it was not addressed to anyone specifically nor did it have the information required to return it. If it had not been of the familiar penmanship that wrote the words I'll be here at midnight, you would have believed that the letter was completely anonymous.

Rusty stood on the other side of the door, his body completely frozen while his mind and his heart raced faster than ever before. It was a bad idea, one of the worst ideas. He tried to make sure that nobody had followed him, but how could he know? How could he completely be sure there was not a car parked in the darkness of the night?

You ripped the metaphorical bandaid off. "What are you doing here?" You gripped on the door knob tightly, fighting the urge to slam the door back in his face.

He looked down at his feet. "You got my letter."

You were not having any of his misplaced timidity. He reached out, he needed to face the consequences. He needed to face you. So, you stepped out of the way and let him make a decision. Whether he walked away before it was too late, or whether he...

Rusty's shoulder bumped against yours while he made his way into your home. Memories flooded his mind. Memories of the two of you talking, laughing, kissing and...

"What are you doing here?" You repeated, this time with more annoyance in your voice.

He stopped reminiscing the past you shared. "I had nowhere else to go. I have no one else, but..."

"You don't have me either. You made that very clear when you disappeared. It's been so long, I started to believe you forgot I even existed. When was the last time we talked?"

When Carolyn started working. "It's been a long time, I know."

"You know everything, don't you?" You stated and closed the door. Rusty stood there, almost as clueless as you about his presence. You eyed him from head to toes and scoffed.

He flinched, expecting you to go on with another lecture about how he was such a horrible man. You did not, you knew he would like that too much.

You walked towards the living room and crashed on couch, as far as you could be from him. The distance made you feel safer. Only this safety was ephemeral and fragile.

"I, huh... I just," he stuttered and clenched his jaw while trying to compose himself. He pushed his glasses up on his nose. "I needed you."

You scoffed again at the use of past tense. Before you could talk back, he continued.

"I need you."

That confession weighted heavy in the air for several long, agonizing minutes. He came to you. He would have to work hard to get whatever he wanted from you.

Rusty fidgeted with his ring finger. Muscle memory.

You crossed your arms against your chest. You had showed this man more patience than he deserved. "Do you want a hug? Do you want me to tell you everything's gonna be okay?

He glanced in your direction, just long enough for you to notice the glimmer of hope in his eyes.

"I'm not the lawyer who's gonna defend your fake alibi, I'm not the detective who's gonna scrap pieces of evidence for you. I'm not the one who's going to get you out of trouble." You bombarded him with all of these options that he had once considered, crossing them off his list one after the other. "I'm not what you need."

"Yes, you are!" He raised his voice and you lifted a brow at his outburst. He hated being cornered, he hated being on the receiving hand of a tactic he had used one too many times in court. "I need you!" He shouted, he surprised himself.

You blinked and suddenly he was in front of you. He stood, tall but not strong. The louder he yelled, the weaker he felt.

"I need you to help me." You locked eyes with him, daring him to go on. "I need you to help me forget." He did not need to speak her name for you to figure out he was talking about Carolyn.

You laughed at him, as if you were hit with a sudden case of hysteria.

Your reaction made him walk away with his tail between his legs. He sat on the opposite side of the couch.

"You think you're so brave. Huh?" You smiled at him, in complete disbelief. "You were talking shit about how you wanted to leave your wife for me. The worst part is... I believed you." He seemed surprised once again. "Then you left me for another woman who died because of you. And now..." Your smile faded and your arms fell to your sides. "You're crawling back to me because you feel lonely?"

This was a mistake. He thought, he hoped, you would be different. He had enough of people berating him. He sprung to his feet and paced around your living room, planning his next move... His next words.

You chewed on the inside of your cheek while he behaved like an animal in cage. "Rusty..." You sighed, slowly giving in without your own consent. You opened the door of the cage.

"I know you feel lonely too." Rusty clenched his jaw. He stood firm in his word. Suddenly he remembered a conversation he had, not too long ago, about taking responsibility. "And I know I'm asking for a lot." His upper lip curled, his body reacting strangely to this rare case of acknowledgement and awareness. Perhaps it could have been... Guilt.

It was your turn to be surprised. This was uncommon, unnatural. You could not quite decipher if he was genuine or not. The longer you stared at him, studying and scrutinizing him, the harder it became to figure out what was going on inside his head. However, you noticed a shift.

Rusty knew he was getting to you. You no longer had the entire control over this conversation. He reentered your house and your life. While you told him you did not want him back, your body was saying something completely different. You expected him to visit, yet you dressed up so lightly in a shirt that hugged your curves and pants he could easily rip open. You never missed an occasion to drink him in, to appreciate the countless hours he spent at the pool to swim through his thoughts. The tough version of you that opened the door with an anger-filled soul softened up faster than he had imagined.

You eyed him up and down again. "This isn't going to end well." You spoke mostly to yourself. He heard you, but did not acknowledge the bad omen.

Rusty knelt before you. Not once did he break eye contact while he crawled, bringing your words into reality. He leaned back when he reached your legs and waited. He waited for you to tell him no, knowing it would only make him crave it more. Rusty rarely took no for an answer anyway.

You reached your hand to stroke his hair. You waited, too. You waited for him to realize he was taking the wrong decision. You waited to gather enough courage, although you were not too sure what to used that courage for.

He leaned into your hand that slid down to his cheek. You reminded him that the chase of thrills and butterflies could hardly compete with someone who had the magical power of calming him down, of making the whole world disappear.

You leaned forward and reached for his glasses that you gently removed. You took a moment to admire the sight of him: the muscles of his thighs almost bursting through his jeans, his chest heaving as if his hoodie made him so hot that he was melting, his eyes begging for your permission.

He watched you set his glasses away on the couch, safe and sound. He turned his head back to you while you lifted yourself off the couch to take off your sleeping pants. Rusty helped you pull them off, he threw them as far away as he could. He decided for you that there was no turning back. He then placed his hands on your knees, ready to part your legs open.

"I'm gonna regret this." You would, but Rusty would not. You locked eyes with him again and drowned into his darkened gaze. "You better make sure it's worth it."

Rusty faced a dilemma: he was unsure whether he wanted to take his time and savour the moment or dive into it head first. The throb of his cock, confined under his clothes, decided for him.

Your body showed no resistance to his touch, your legs opened easily with the light pressure he applied. His tongue licked a long stripe on your inner thigh while he made his way to your core.

You adjusted your position, sitting more lazily on the couch while he pulled you closer to the edge of the seat. He peppered kisses on your pussy before he used his thumbs to spread it open for him. At the first taste, he was addicted. More so, he was reminded of the addiction that had him sneaking out day and night just to eat you out.

Your back arched, pressing yourself against his mouth when he sucked on your clit. You fought back your moans, but, once again, your body betrayed you.

"Missed you so much," Rusty spoke against your skin. He spat on your pussy and caught the drops that dripped down with his tongue. He made a mess, not that he had to try very hard for it. You were already wet for him, he liked to think it was just a reflex you had failed to break since the day he left. "I missed you so fucking much."

You placed a hand on his head, pulling on his short hair. You refused to believe his words, but they sounded so nice. Almost honest.

Rusty began to lap at your folds, making his nose bump against your clit. He swallowed the juices that leaked from your entrance, but he was still left craving more.

You gasped loudly when his tongue teased your hole. You pressed his face against you, as if he could get even closer than he already was.

Rusty palmed at his rock hard cock, moaning into your pussy as he did that. He touched himself over his clothes while he finally focused on your aching clit, flicking his tongue on it to make you squirm. He tried to fight against the movements of your hips, making sure his mouth never left you.

Your legs started to close around Rusty's face, which did not bother him in the slightest. You struggled to keep your eyes open, to watch him while he brought you closer to the edge. He just looked so beautiful.

The vein on his temple was bulging, almost pulsating to match his heart beat. He let go of his crotch and helped you to put your thighs on his broad shoulders, encourage you to let go, to give in.

You were not ready to satisfy him just yet. You wanted this moment to last, you wanted it to be worth the guilt and regret you would experience the moment he would walk out the door.

That only made him hungrier. He devoured you like it was the last time, he shared the mutual feeling that it could very well be. He pulled away from you just long enough to catch his breath one last time. He was determined to get what he wanted from you.

In a matter of seconds, your vision got blurry and your toes started to curl.

Rusty's moans only made the sensations greater while his tongue worked you over and had your entire body shaking for him.

You did not need to speak, to tell him to keep going, he knew what to do. He knew how to make you feel better than anyone else ever could. That remained one of his biggest problems, he was a heartless cheater but he was just so fucking good at it.

He slowed down until your thighs relaxed around him and he helped to set them down, still wide open for him to admire the mess he made between your thighs. You were dripping of your own wetness and of his spit. He could have kept going all night, but he had a more urgent need to take care of. He scrambled back on his feet and, without a word, he took off the rest of his clothes.

You did the same, not without admiring his body and especially the throbbing and leaking cock that he stroked.

He admired you too: the way your clit throbbed for him, how your forehead was covered with a layer of sweat despite just sitting there and doing nothing besides screaming while you were cumming.

He surprised you with a rough kiss, all tongue and teeth. You did not want to reciprocate, you wanted to pull away and to protect yourself from falling harder for this man. It was simply pointless. You kissed him back with the same passion that left you both gasping for air.

Rusty helped you to change positions so that you turned around and you were kneeling on the couch and you leaned on the back of the furniture. He leaned forward to kiss your shoulder and all the way down your back. He wanted to print the memory of you in his mind.

Neither of you felt brave enough to speak. You let your bodies do the talking with moans and grunts that blended into a melody while Rusty pressed the tip of his cock to your entrance. His tongue failed to prepare you for the delicious stretch of his cock.

He squeezed your ass cheeks open, trying to catch a glimpse of your pussy gripping on him. That was the prettiest thing he had ever seen. He helped you arch your back, taking in the perfect position for him to use your pussy to get off. You felt so fucking good, so tight and wet around him. How could he have waited so long to feel you again? How did he manage to wait all this time?

You bit on your lip so hard that it tasted faintly of blood when he bottomed out. He stopped moving for a few moments, letting you adjust to him.

He pressed his toned chest against your back, cooing at you. When he felt your walls relax around his length, he started moving. The small but deep thrusts made tears pool into your eyes.

You held on the back of the couch for dear life when he fucked you harder, when he let you feel every inch of him nice and deep.

Rusty grunted louder and louder. The noises echoed in your apartment, filling the silence alongside the sound of your skin slapping against his. He was getting closer than he wanted to to admit it, so he stalled again.

You felt his hands on your skin, gliding down your arms. He held your hands in his, making the cushion of the couch cave in under the pressure. You looked down at his left hand, but your eyes closed blissfully before you could notice whether he was wearing his wedding ring or not. Your skin was so hot too, you could not even feel it the metal.

You could not feel anything else than Rusty's cock that was balls deep inside of you or his lips that sucked a few marks on your shoulder.

He kissed his way to your neck, where he nibbled and licked. He was buying time and you could feel it. You could hear it too, with the whimpers that came out of his mouth. He murmured at your ear while he marked you. "I’m gonna… I’m gonna cum."

"Pull out, just, fuck," your voice sounded hoarse from the moans. "Just pull out!"

Rusty cursed under his breath, his thrusts felt more like twitches than anything. His left hand moved down to squeeze on your hip, a rough and bruising grip. "I can’t," his body pressed down on yours. You could barely stay up on your knees. "You feel too fucking good on me."

"No! No, no…" You wanted to get him to move, or even to get off him. Anything really, but your pussy clenched on him with vice-like grip. It was already too late.

Rusty held your hip and your hand tight, giving you no room to escape. He grunted at your ear while he emptied himself in you. Multiple ropes of cum coated your walls and made both yours and his eyes roll to the back of your heads. It felt so good, so wrong yet so right. He should not have done it, he should have pulled out and avoid another situation. He never learned his lessons. This was forbidden. He loved it even more.

"Rusty! That was so fucking stupid." You shouted, there was more shock than anger in your voice. Your poor attempts at squirming out of his embrace failed. Your pussy milked him to his last drop.

The room went painfully silent. No moans, no skin slapping, no couch squeaking. Nothing. There was nothing but erratic breaths and the gears turning silently in your minds. What did he do? He did what he needed to do. He did what he knew you wanted him to do. Even if you told him otherwise, even if you tried to convince yourself of the opposite. "I'm sorry."

It was crystal clear that his apology was empty. As if the lack of conviction in his voice was not enough to prove it, the slow thrusts of his hips sealed the deal.

Languid strokes that made him appreciate the warmth he had craved for so long. "I know, this was wrong." He pressed his clean shaven cheek against yours. Slowly, he picked up the pace until he properly fucked you against the couch. "I'm so fucking sorry." He punctuated each word with a thrust that made you moan louder and louder. He was not going to stop anytime soon. He fucked his cum so deep inside of you until he was ready for a second load.

Only Rusty could fuck you this good. He made sure you learned that lesson, rewarding you with orgasms the more you surrendered to the pleasure he shamelessly gave you.

*~*~*

You felt Rusty's arm slide away from your body, goosebumps spreading on your skin from the sudden lack of warmth. You tried to stay immobile, although your eyes fluttered from struggling to stay closed. You knew he would leave. He always did.

He knew he would leave. He could not stay. He could not stay and drag you down with him once more. Rusty had hurt enough people for the time being, he needed to learn to be careful. To calculate the risks. The risks were too high when they involved you.

A part of you had hoped it would be different this time. Maybe he would stay for breakfast. Maybe he would offer to shower together and go at it again. Maybe he would make another promise he would inevitably break.

Rusty surprised you with a kiss to your cheek, one that lingered and communicated more than words could convey in the moment. He stood up on his tired legs and he stepped over your body to search for his clothes.

You opened your eyes a bit, squinting to catch a glimpse of his naked body roaming around your place. He looked so beautiful, so irresistible. His large back, his muscular legs, his toned ass that he quickly covered with his boxers. You could admire him for days on end. He would never grant you so much time in his presence.

He turned around, guilt and regret stabbed him in the stomach. Unfamiliar feelings. You looked so beautiful, so tempting. The delicate features of your face, the curves of your body, your steady breathing that he'd love to fall asleep to again. He wished he could stay with you and forget about the rest of the world.

You felt his eyes on you. You felt him stare and linger on the marks he left on your body, on the other places he'd love to bruise for his own pleasure.

Before he got riled up and, most importantly, before he failed once more to think with his brain, he finished dressing up in a hurry. If he made it back home before sunrise, no one would know about his escapade.

"Wait." Your mouth spoke despite your mind yelling at you to stay quiet and to pretend to sleep a little longer.

Rusty froze in place. He refused to turn around and look at you. Unless you asked him to.

You sat up, wrapping the blanket around your body that he had seen one too many times; your body that he could not even see in the moment. You used the blanket as a shield. An armour to brace for the upcoming impact. "Is she," you cut yourself off. "Was she special?"

You watched his torso rise and fall from the several deep breaths he took before answering. "Very." He did not need one more interrogation, one more trial.

You nodded slowly. "Am I special?"

You watched him experience a myriad of emotions, just by the change in his breathing and how his body tensed up while he searched for an honest answer. This question was a trap.

"Very." He repeated in a whisper. "The most special."

You snickered. His answer felt like just as much of a trap as the question you asked. If you had been the most special to him, why did he pursue Carolyn? Why did he have this grand affair with her and not with you? Why did he risk everything for her and not for you?

As if he could hear the questions running through your mind, he spoke again. "You're the only person I've tried my hardest to protect." He referred to his children that he hurt and sacrificed, to his wife that he lied to and cheated on... To his mistress who died because of his insatiable lust.

It was only then that you finally accepted to face the truth: nobody knew who you were, in relation to Rozat Sabich. He kept you in the shadows, he locked you in a cage. He protected you in this bubble of stolen kisses and broken promises.

If nobody knew that you two shared a long and complex history, he would never have to involve you in this situation more than he already did the night before. He would not need yet another alibi to cover up the messy trail he left behind.

You held your head in your hands. You hated to see him leave, each time felt like it got closer to being the last time he would walk out of your life for good.

Rusty put on his hoodie and fixed his glasses. He was now facing you, but it was his turn to need an armour so he maintained the distance between the two of you. He stared at you, time felt like it had stopped. His lips parted open to speak, but no sound came out of his mouth.

However, you turned to look at him just in time to catch him mouth the dangerous words I love you. You smiled sadly at him with a tear falling down the same cheek he kissed. It was your way to say I love you too.

And just like that, Rusty opened the door and left without another glance in your direction. The wall between the two of you built itself back up in an instant. That way, he protected you from the world. Most importantly, he protected you from himself. All the history between the two of you would remain a secret.

You were his best kept secret.

[rosyhoneydew]

nsf/w continuation of this fic below ⬇️ happy Thanksgiving pt. 2!

Buck opens the door for them to step back inside. He thrills a little at the feeling of Tommy's hand on his waist. God, it feels good to have those hands on him again. Chimney's alone in the kitchen, bagging up turkey and setting the dishes in the sink. He smirks at the two of them when they walk in and Buck resists the urge to smooth down his hair where Tommy had grabbed at it.

"You two talk things out then?"

Buck gives him a look. "You know there were easier ways you could've gotten us to talk."

"This way seemed more fun," Chimney responds lightly. "Can I get you some leftovers, Tom?"

"That would be great, thanks."

When Buck looks up at him, Tommy is smiling. He looks like he's come back to life. It's a stark difference from the cautious, uncomfortable man that walked in a few hours ago.

Tommy catches him looking and the smile grows sweeter.

"Come home with me tonight," Buck leans up to whisper.

He gets an eyebrow raise in response.

"Just to spend one night, not- I'm not asking for more than one night."

Tommy leans in even closer, his lips pressed to Buck's ear. He places a kiss at the soft spot of his jaw and whispers back, "Okay."

They pack up the night quickly after that. Tommy helps with the dishes, You guys did all the cooking, let me do this and Buck gets called into Jee's bedroom to say goodnight. When he emerges, 2 stories later, Maddie, Chim, and Tommy are standing around the counter, chatting and laughing. It sends a ripple through his heart. He can't help but think of Maddie's advice I think you have to trust the Universe is gonna bring you a special person. What could be more special than this, he thinks, a warm feeling washing over him.

Tommy drives them back to Buck's apartment. There's a slight hesitancy in him as they walk inside, maybe wondering if Buck has changed his mind, remembering what happened last time. Buck hasn't. He grabs Tommy's hand and pulls him inside.

He doesn't give either of them the time to overthink. The moment they're inside he's got his arms around Tommy's shoulders, kissing him messy and dirty and full of pent-up feeling that he's been trying and failing to burn out in his oven.

Tommy matches him step for step, he wraps one arm around Buck's waist and drops the other hand to his ass, squeezing and pulling him closer. They stand there, making out in Buck's kitchen for minutes on end before the desperation Buck feels becomes too much. He pulls away, pecking Tommy on the lips a few more times, like he can't stop.

"Bed?" he asks.

Tommy nods, repeats, "Lead the way."

Buck walks them upstairs, shimmying off his pants and shirt before laying back in the center of the bed. Tommy watches for a moment, like he can't believe he's here. It's sweet, but Buck is hungry so he spreads his legs wide and drops a hand to his dick, playing with it over his boxers.

"Come on," he urges.

Tommy follows after that, dropping to his knees and hooking his hands behind Buck's legs. He uses the leverage to pull Buck to the edge of the bed, nuzzling his cock the second he's eye-level. It's not what Buck was expecting, the sudden movement and stimulation making him gasp.

"Baby," he groans.

Tommy opens his mouth and places kisses along Buck's cock, sucking through the cloth at the head. It's dulled by the cotton, but the feel of Tommy's warm mouth and tongue pressing against him still leaves Buck moaning through it.

Tommy pulls his underwear down at the sound, staring at Buck, fully bare and flushing under the attention. The sensation of being watched sends tingles through Buck's body and he squirms. Tommy holds his hips to keep him still.

"I've missed you so much."

"You talking to me or my dick?" Buck asks.

Tommy sends him a look, but it dissolves in a moment. "Both," he admits. "I love your dick."

"Yeah, you miss having it inside you, baby?"

Tommy groans. Buck wishes either of them had the patience for that tonight. He lifts his hips a little instead.

"Want your mouth."

Tommy doesn't make him wait. He licks up and down Buck's cock a few times and then sucks the head inside his mouth. It's hot and soft inside his mouth, the way it always is, and Buck moans.

He sucks the head a few times, getting the angle right before he takes Buck down, going all the way until his throat is stuffed full. It makes a wet, clicking sound when he does and Buck gasps in response, eyes closing in arousal. He's always loved the sound of sex.

Tommy works him faster after that, gliding up and down in a wet slide that leaves Buck moaning and twisting in Tommy's hold. It doesn't take him long to get close. The feeling of Tommy's tongue pressing flat against him and the Tommy's right hand slips up to play with his balls and press just behind them gets him there.

"Close, baby, I'm so close," he gets out, urgent.

Tommy groans, working faster and spending more time sucking at the head as he does. He runs his tongue in figure eights there and slides down in rapid up and down motions and Buck is gone.

Buck can hear himself moaning and tries to keep his hips from fucking up into Tommy's throat with too much abandon, but Tommy doesn't seem to mind. He moans himself, swallowing and sucking Buck through it.

Buck is still coming down when he notices, Tommy's got his head resting against Buck's thigh, his mouth open on the grunts and groans pushing forward. He's got one hand, still wet with Buck's come, stroking his cock fast and hard. Buck's not even sure when Tommy got his pants undone. The sight of it is so blingingly erotic that Buck feels a shockwave of arousal run through him again. It's not long after that that Tommy looks up at him, eyes pinching before they roll back as he comes.

They sit there breathing for a moment, before Buck pulls Tommy up to the bed that has to be hell on your knees. Tommy lays down next to him, reaching a dry hand over to weave his fingers into Buck's. There's still so much to say, so much that Buck wants to make sure they air out, but for now they're content to lay like this. They've got time.

[cheegu3]

Hi there! I love your new piece on tbz new 🔥 can I request a jealous yandere non con (or dubcon) smut with enhypen sunghoon? Perhaps he can be a prince and y/n a maid. As for the premise, it could be him harboring interest in you despite already being bethroted to another princess and you never returning as much as even a glance. It all kind of exploded when he saw you hanging out and laughing with the gardener (who was your childhood friend). It riled him so much to see you not only talk but laugh with someone as lowly as a gardener and yet spare not even a glance towards a royalty like him. And so he drags yn to his chambers, hoping to seduce yn and when failed proceeded to eff the hell out of her for hours. Thank you in advance 😸

hi, thank u sm, also sorry for the wait! I LOVE this idea ur a genius are u kidding???

I love prince fics & I got super invested pls ;-; in honor of their amazing comeback <3 I did do a little twist tho based on your prompt, I hope that was okay c:

warnings; non-con / dub-con, yandere themes, self victim-blaming, mentions of hanging & bones, possessiveness & jealousy, sexual content, swearing, non-con kissing, sunghoon being super pushy; sexual harassment & mentions of it, misogynistic undertones, allusions to baby trapping, sickness, wrong use of royal terms

pairing; sunghoon x f.m reader

wc; 3.8k

prince!sunghoon - mine only

Sunghoon hated any other girl but you. Any time he laid his eyes on them, he was filled with such disgust he couldn't help but let show on his face. His delicate features, the ones fitting of a prince, twisted into the most cruel face as his mood soured the longer he was forced to look at them.

His lips curled in spite. But then a small movement would cause his gaze to shift, to you. The change in softness didn't go unnoticed by the others in the room. They shifted uncomfortably, hoping the king and queen hadn't noticed who their little prince was really in love with.

You cleared your throat and mentally prepared yourself, hands hovering near the curtains. One last glance at the sleeping man in the bed was made before you dragged them to the side.

''Good morning, sir. ''

Despite the cold winter weather outside, bright sunlight streamed in through the wide windows, casting a big glow on his face. He fluttered his eyes open slowly, blinking as you became clearer in his view.

He closed them again, and you grimaced as he smirked, you were his favorite maid. He felt happy that his parents had noticed that at least. Even if they didn't notice how obviously deep his feelings for his little maid actually went.

'' Good morning, '' he mumbled, his voice raspy from sleep.

You went over to the dresser and pulled out his clothes for the day which you placed on a stool. Then you turned the tap on in the bath and hurried towards the door.

But like always, he was quicker than you. In an instant, he had jumped to his feet and ended up between you and the door.

'' Where are you going? ''

You swallowed down your irritation. '' Sir, you do not need me to help you bathe. ''

You sounded formal, and your words were polite, which always made him smile in amusement. But there was an edge to your voice. Quite admittedly, you were sick of him playing this game every single morning and also the other games he'd try with you ever since he seemed to have taken a special interest in you.

The other maids fawned over him, they would've done anything to be in your place now. You had taken the job out of absolute necessity, with your mom being sick and your siblings too young, you desperately needed money.

You had tried to keep your head down and not catch any attention. However, it seemed that those who tried not to get noticed always did.

'' But I do, '' he said slyly. '' You wouldn't want me to go to my mother now, would you? ''

There it was, the threat that always came after you defied his wishes. You had a hard time hiding your true feelings, somehow especially in front of him. His eyes flitted over to your clenched fists; you had to dig your nails into your palms for you to hold yourself back.

'' No, sir. Of course not. ''

He nodded, like the thing had been settled peacefully, and then walked over to the now full bath. You flinched away when he casually took off his only clothing and slipped in.

You inhaled shakily. With wobbly legs, you kneeled at the bath, trying not to make eye contact with him. You could feel his predator-like eyes on you, practically could vision the satisfied look on his face too.

Rapt knocks on the door followed by the shrill voice of his mother saved you. '' Sunghoon! You need to hurry, we have guests arriving soon! ''

You looked down into your lap where you had busied your hands by rolling up and then flattening your maid dress and smiled to yourself. You didn't really care if he saw it, if anything you wished he would so he could see that not everyone was so eager to be in the presence of the beautiful prince.

He rolled his eyes but managed to answer his mom in a normal tone. '' Almost done. ''

You got up and felt light on your feet when you laid out the bathrobe and moved the clothes near the bathtub. He'd be busy today. You weren't sure if that was the reason his mood all of a sudden soured, or if it was because of what he was doing today.

'' No need to look so happy just yet. I'll still have you all evening. ''

Your face fell, which only made him light up again. He chuckled and got out, draping the bathrobe around his broad shoulders.

For some reason, he paused before getting his clothes on. You felt your stomach turn even though you had no idea what he was thinking of.

But you found out soon enough when he pushed the robe off again and looked at the towels stuffed under the basin. You met eyes with him, and he had to bite his lip to stop himself from sneering out in the open.

'' Dry me. ''

'' What? '' you gasped.

He had never asked you to do that before. Even though he was generally horrible and extremely annoying, this was taking it a step too far; judging by his face, he knew that too.

There was no way you could refuse a prince however, so you pulled yourself together and approached him, your hands crinkling the towel.

You turned him around and lightly dragged it over his back. Your eyes met in the mirror above the basin and you quickly looked away when he turned to you.

At the speed of light, you dragged it over his chest and arms and then crouched down, your head turned towards the ground with cheeks red in humiliation while you dried his legs.

You got up, hoping he hadn't seen your embarrassment, and turned away as he finally pulled his clothes on, being able to take the breath you'd been holding in at last.

'' Your Highness? '' another voice came by the door, it sounded like one of the other maids.

'' Coming, '' he rolled his eyes.

You felt like you had been saved by him being in a hurry, instead of stalling he walked right out without playing with you any longer. Outside, two other maids, one guard, and his mother stood, all looking stressed and impatient.

'' They are already here, '' his mother leaned in to whisper panicked.

You walked at the very back but still got a good look at the guests she had been referring to. A beautiful young girl who seemed to be about your age stood between an older male and female, presumably her parents.

Your eyes went over all of them, and from their good looks to their straight postures and the fine material of their clothes, anyone could tell that they were noble born just like the royal family.

One of the younger maids told you that they were another royal family and that they had traveled far to see if Mr. Park was a good match for their princess daughter.

Having heard this, you studied the young girl again. Her attention seemed to be fixed on Sunghoon while the parents exchanged some stiff, small talk.

This day in particular had been set up for them to go over all of the necessary things while the princess and the prince got to know each other, of course while being chaperoned.

Luck was only partly on your side today. You could already feel intuitively who he'd pick before he even turned to you, that sneer on his perfect lips again.

The other maids patted your back, saying it was an honor but you had to bite down the sour expression that wanted to show and politely followed after them.

A guard walked a few paces behind you, just to make sure no harm could be done to the prince. As the pair stopped by the fish pond you found yourself bored and looked curiously at the guard.

He caught your eyes and you hurriedly looked away. However, that was all he needed. He came up to your side and joined you in leaning against the big tree.

'' Sorry, I needed a rescue. ''

You looked surprised. '' You did? ''

You somehow hadn't really thought of the grueling work the guards must do every day, only feeling quite sorry for the maids as you all were in such close contact with the royal family.

'' Long days and not much happens, '' he shrugged and looked towards Sunghoon and the princess.

'' What do you think of this union? ''

'' It's...an ideal match. Maybe not what the prince desires but if he wants to be king, he'll have to learn that he can't always have his way.''

You felt like you already knew the answer deep down, yet you still asked. '' What do you mean? What does the prince desire? ''

He turned to you. '' Surely you must know. He wants you. ''

Your breath hitched and you had to place a hand on your stomach to make yourself take a few deep breaths.

'' I-uh, '' you cringed.

What was there to say to that? You could deny it even if it was obvious, but what was the point in doing that?

'' Why? '' was what you settled on at last, it was something you had wondered for a really long time.

The guard chuckled and looked down at the frost-covered ground, then he gestured towards them.

'' See that girl? ''

'' The princess? Yeah, '' you laughed in disbelief.

'' How do you think she feels about our prince? Just by looking at her.''

You focused on the princess for a moment. She was smiling and laughing loudly. Her heart-eyes rarely left him, even when silence passed between them.

'' She...likes him. Finds him attractive and charming, I guess. ''

He hummed, '' That's exactly why. ''

You knitted your eyebrows and chewed on your lip slightly as a frown formed while looking at him. He could tell that you didn't get it.

'' But you're not like that, are you? ''

Your lips parted in surprise. He liked you because you didn't like him? A laugh slipped out.

'' That doesn't really make any sense. ''

The guard crossed his arms across his chest and shook his head firmly. He was still watching the pair who had made their way onto the dock now.

'' He's attracted to her too, '' you added, observing him as well.

'' No. It's different. Men like our prince, they are used to getting what they want. All their life has been pretty much nothing but sweet, and girls have been throwing themselves at his feet, ready to do anything.''

'' Is that so bad? '' you said silently.

'' Well, I suppose one downside with being a prince is that you get bored pretty quickly. It's human nature to like working for things before we achieve them too, is it not? ''

You looked from the guard to the prince again and gasped when you realized he was staring right at you now.

'' It's not fun having everything you want, it gets boring very fast. I think our prince is like that especially, he likes the thrill of chasing. ''

You listened to what he was saying but it became more muffled while the prince was staring you down. His lips curled in disgust and you felt uneasy. This feeling doubled when he started moving towards the tree you were standing against.

'' As my guard, it is your job to keep me safe, '' he sounded very angry, his jaw was tense and his narrowed eyes were shaking.

'' Your highness- ''

'' What if I had gotten assassinated right then as I was standing on the dock! '' he screamed, making both of you flinch.

'' But, your highness- ''

'' Someone could have snuck up behind and I would've died immediately. It would have been your fault. All because instead of doing what you were told to, you were flirting with the maid. One of my maids! ''

The emphasis on '' my '' maid, made your eyes widen. This passionate outburst was very much due to jealousy, and suddenly, you found yourself terrified for what would happen to the guard now.

An awkward and tense silence fell over the group. The princess craned her neck on the dock to try and see what was going on while Sunghoon was locked in a staring match with the poor guard, it almost looked like they were fighting for dominance.

Eventually, the guard had to give in. Otherwise, he'd lose his job. He unfolded his arms and let them fall to his side, straightening his posture simultaneously.

'' I apologize, your highness. It won't happen again. ''

Sunghoon snickered, then went deadly serious again. '' I know it won't. ''

You sensed the threat in his voice and cleared your throat which immediately made his eyes throw daggers at you. He didn't want you to butt in but you felt like you had to, this was your fault as much as his.

'' Forgive me, your highness. ''

He ticked his tongue in annoyance.

'' It's not his fault, I was- '' however, you stopped here, not sure how you were going to finish the sentence.

'' You will get repercussions too, just you wait. ''

This was the last thing he said before returning to the dock next to the princess. He didn't look nearly as happy as she did. Before, he'd likely faked it out of politeness but it seemed the whole altercation had spoiled his mood and drained his energy.

The princess' smile faded when he didn't return her warm energy and chirpy mood again, and you felt bad for her. There were maybe more pressing matters at hand, like how the prince would punish you but all you could do now though was push that to the back of your mind.

'' It will do us no good to be scared, '' the guard echoed your thoughts.

You stiffly nodded, almost unnoticeable in case Sunghoon's hawk eyes happened to land on you again.

Despite the conversation dying down, the pair stood at the dock for a few more minutes before the prince turned and took the lead into the gardens.

You thought that he was going to show her the beautiful zen part of it at the back where he often spent time. Anxiously you watched as he bent down and whispered something in her ear. He then came over to you again.

'' Let's go. ''

You didn't dare ask where. He glanced at the guard too, so he followed closely behind. Despite your lack of questions however, you quickly got a sense of where you were going when he turned down the hallway that was rarely used.

He pried the rusty door open and walked first down the stone stairs, which echoed every step off the walls. You and the guard shared a look of horror. Before Sunghoon would get impatient, you hurried down after him.

But when he turned he ignored you, instead fixing his attention on the guard. A single jail cell in the royal family's dungeons stood open.

You felt your stomach turn upon seeing the mossy skull at the corner of it and the unwelcoming wet, cold cobble floor. It didn't even have a bed.

'' Get in, '' he jerked his head to the jail cell.

'' And me? '' your voice broke.

'' Oh, you won't be hanged like him, darling. Don't worry. ''

You weren't so sure that was a good thing. He had a glint in his eyes that made you consider squeezing into the jail cell with the guard; maybe even dropping to your knees and begging him to leave you down there.

Whatever it was, it wasn't good, you thought as he locked the jail cell. The guard gave you a sad smile that he looked like he had to force, but he didn't look scared, even when he knew he was dying.

'' I'm sorry, '' you pitifully whispered to him when Sunghoon's hand wrapped around your upper arm as he started dragging you up to the surface again.

'' I know, '' he softly said, his tone melancholy.

You weren't sure if you had imagined it, but you winced and inhaled sharply. The feeling of his nails digging into your skin had overcome you suddenly. Yet Sunghoon looked at you perplexed when you threw him a glare.

At the surface, you could barely register where you were going. The sharp turns made you feel extremely disoriented and almost nauseous. You wondered why he was in such a rush.

In the end, when the world stopped spinning at last, you blinked and noticed that you were in Sunghoon's bedchamber again.

'' Why have you taken me here? ''

He snickered. '' You know I don't want to marry the princess, don't you? ''

You shifted uncomfortably and swallowed down the lump that was beginning to form in your throat.

'' Yes, sir. ''

'' Well, '' he took a step toward you, and reacting automatically, so did you.

You felt the edge of the bed press into the back of your thighs. He had purposefully pushed you in that direction. The prince gave you a cruel smirk and then dragged the curtains shut. The feeling of unease only doubled, you were starting to feel sick for real now.

'' Who do you think I want to marry, miss? ''

You grimaced. '' I don't know, your highness. ''

His arrogance faded, replaced with anger at you addressing him like the other workers again. Any time you did that, it was like a slap in the face, reminding him of your difference in ranks; of how you could never be, of how, he could never get what he really wanted.

But not today, and not from today forward.

Sunghoon pushed you down so easily with just two mocking fingers to your chest, so you were sitting on the edge of the bed.

'' You. '' his voice shook, sending shivers down your spine.

He double-checked that the door was closed and then began unbuttoning his dress shirt.

'' Sir? ''

You started anxiously fiddling with your hands. Was there a chance you could escape somehow while he was distracted? You eyed the door and went from looking at it to watching him with his back turned.

No, the odds didn't look good. In the time that it would take for you to run to the door, he would've already turned around. Then you would have to undo the lock and run with a good distance between him and you so he wouldn't catch you.

You sighed deeply. In an instant, he whipped around and came toward you again. '' Sorry to keep you waiting, princess. ''

Princess? What game was he playing now?

You frowned and pushed yourself further back on the bed by your forearms. Only a few seconds later, he loomed over you again, like a magnet attached to you.

Recognizing the look in his eyes, you already knew what was coming. There was a small voice in your head that told you not to fight it, it would hurt even more if you did. But there was also another voice, an irreparable sadness, because you had always feared this, and now it was happening.

You couldn't help but blame yourself. You knew how sensitive and brutal he could be, you should've done anything in your power to not upset him so it wouldn't have come to this. Sometimes you wondered if he had done this to the young female workers that came before you. No one had answered when you asked, yet, how could you not fear the worst when they left his company in tears?

You laid down and didn't move, just letting him slip your clothes off while you tried to think of something else. His hands were cold, like a corpse, it felt fitting somehow.

When his fingers grazed your underwear you sucked in air through your teeth.

'' Do you have to do this? I don't want to. ''

He already had an answer prepared, a perfect and tempting answer, most likely prepared beforehand, or perhaps reused from another time.

'' Don't you want to live a better life? A life in luxury? In happiness?'' he sat up and straddled you for a moment, out of breath due to excitement. '' Think of your family, what my riches could do to them. ''

' Do to them. ' That was the problem, he always did things to people, never for them. You smiled bitterly.

Tears prickled your eyes and this time the lump in your throat felt too big to swallow. You tried not to, but as soon as he mentioned your family you pictured them in your mind. Your sick mother, gasping for breath, your younger siblings in whose eyes you could sometimes detect hatred.

Hatred because mother wasn't getting better. They knew that you were responsible for her, and no matter what you did, your pay wasn't enough to make her better, so they blamed you for it.

You sniffled and turned your head away from him. He turned you back to him immediately.

'' Don't you want that, my love? ''

'' How would you do that? ''

He snickered. Had you fallen for his trap so easily?

'' There are a lot of options. I can kill my parents and become king, and then no one can tell me who I can or cannot marry. ''

Your mouth fell open. He had said it so casually, so callously.

'' Or I can threaten them, beg them to change their mind or, make you my concubine. ''

His lips lifted into a small smile. The little lighting that managed to slip in through the drawn curtains, lit up his crazed eyes that stuck out in the dark, it terrified you. Were you really sure what you were getting yourself into?

The prince moved your panties down all the way, making you let out a gasp and try to hide yourself. He wouldn't let you do that; pinching you painfully as a warning. Next, he hurried to take his own underwear off and then pinned one of your wrists down with his hand, while using his other to stroke your hair out of your face lovingly.

He dipped down and kissed you passionately and hard, knocking the air and protests out of your lungs. With your eyes being closed, he took the opportunity and parted your legs, entering you so harshly and unpreparedly that you wailed loudly.

He started moving his hips rhythmically and the pain shot up throughout your whole body. Stubbornly he pressed his lips against yours, constantly wanting to be attached to you, only stopping occasionally so you could breathe.

Your shaky whimpers were like music to his ears, and the salty tears that ran down your cheeks and were licked by him were like his own personal drug.

'' Whatever I choose, '' he panted, speaking for the first time.

His voice sent shivers down your spine again, but this time, it was fear that started to mix with pleasure. Your moan was muffled by his hungry lips.

He growled back in your ear, '' You are mine, mine only, ''

[nillosgarden]

*ahem*

I think Suguru is the type of the man who shows all his nonchalant side, and there's that face that is always kind and sweet to all his beloved ones. But when it comes to you, damn. He doesn’t know what to do, if he should smile with all of his teeth, or control himself to not be a weirdo. So he made a special smile for you, one that makes his feelings more or less obvious - and it all goes smoothly, because you are oblivious.

But then, Satoru notices that Suguru shows a different kind of affection towards you, and starts to tease him about it. The white haired man says that Geto should ask you out, before he does it. (damn, the boy is a flirty flirty man. 🫠)

The next ones to notice are Shoko and Nanami, but they only watch from afar. Haibara is oblivious like you, so you both don‘t know about what the hell is going on.

Through the week, the black male is thinking about what kind of date would he ask you to. He already knows your favorite flowers and your favorite food, he is very attentive with your tastes. He thought about picnics, themed parks, cinema, arcade. But he needed something special to make you know how much he cares for you. So, after thinking, thinking and more thinking... He finally knew it.

So then, one day, you are sitting in a bench, reading a book you recently achieved, and you look to the side, seeing that Suguru sits next to you, giving you that smile. The smile that you always loved to see, and wished that he only smiled like that for you. (Little did you know...)

He asked about your day, and you both start to chat about the things you both love. Exchanging smiles, laughs, and... looks. The smitten ones. Geto breathes in, and exhales heavily, trying to gain courage. You look at him, concerned, and ask if everything is okay. He looks at you, and take a small box off his pocket, giving it to you.

You open it, and it's a charm with your favorite flower painted in a small frame. You look at it, and see that it seems handmade, so you ask him, and he anwers:

"I wanted to give you something I made with my own hands, so I could put a piece of my love in it."

Looking at him, with your face all flustered, you ask again.

"A piece?"

And he answers.

"The other part I can give you if you go out with me, and allow me to try to make your days a little bit happier."

~ ♡

(I swear I tried, but I'm sleepy 😭)

[p-h-a-n-t-a]

I tend to fixate on evan as a character at times because his whole shtick is that hes mysterious and has issues tm, but also because i have also been the haunted (literally spoke to ghosts as a child) ass white kid (white) suffering from food insecurity (yall ever have a mustard sandwich, its bread heels with mustard on them. Thats how i learned to like mustard.) So i relate to him quite a bit.

But, i cant help but be deeply curious about the other misfits and their lives, struggles, and their mysteries.

I frequently work with kids like Jammer (ive been christened with a nickname by middleschoolers. Its Shawty DooBop. Im glad its that and not "that mean ass librarian") and I wonder what his life is like on a day to day basis. Did he pick his sister up from her after school program? How long has he been writing? A lot of kids I know, no matter how much they like the sports they play, were originally put into them by parents hoping they could be something great, but what would he want to be if he wanted to be something different? Did he ever read the maximum ride series? Does he actually like dragon ball Z or is it more of a cultural osmosis thing?

K is deeply relatable to me on a number of levels (nonbinary tumblrina) but also deeply alien. Do they talk to their family at all? Do they feel remorse for cyber bullying people over steven universe? Do they get mad at themself when they have to remember people cant just be tropes, they also have to be people? Even themself? When will they go to therapy????

Sam black, britain, butler my beloved. Fellow child of divorce, how much did that influence your comunication? How long has being an influencer been her focus? Does she actually want to inluence, or does she just want friends? She struggled in school, did anyone ever try to help? Would it have been better or worse to be on an iep plan? Does she still talk to her family much now that shes famous, is it out of love, or out of that family wanting her support and her energy? How has T2 stayed a teacup pig? Those usually grow into potbelly pigs of some sort. Does she feel like her magic has actually hampered her ability to connect with others because she is so easily liked? What were the sailor moon forums like, what happened after your pink pal stopped liking pink?

Also to the magic mommy of all time, what was Bombini's life like? A 600+ year old wizard who seems to have lost everything dear to him and is upholding the memory of people long lost built on foundations that were crumbling from the start. Dudes middle name is kyle. He seems like a paralell to our sad ass white boy, if they had decided to uphold the nature of magic and the old ways, would evan have become like him? A shuffling, sad, impossibly old steward? Also whats happening on tadershacourt. Whos the shadow man with Khan.

God i have so many questions, im deeply glad misfits and magic got a season 2 but i do think it has just given me more to be insane about. I managed this with only 4 eps and a holiday special, im gonna explode. Truely the tumblr coded series of all time.

[luminique]

i woukd have some thoughts id like to share w the class… i remember seeing a video on guardian bells once; i’m not too well-versed in biker culture but they’re bells bikers/motorcycle riders put on their bikes as good luck charms/protection from accidents or mech failures. i havent actually touched zzz in a while, so i don’t know if the SoC have them in their designs or mention them in dialogues but i like to think they do have these bells somewhere on their own vehicles or have knowledge of them at least!

imagine lighter receiving one from his s/o / love interest / crush… maybe it was made just for him or maybe they gave/made the entire crew their own bells, but a certain someone takes extra care of his and makes sure to keep it in his sight when driving….. many brainworms… safe to say this man is making me a little insane…(● ˃̶͈̀ロ˂̶͈́)੭ꠥ⁾⁾

hope im not being too much of a bother by dumping too many Thoughts™️ and that ur generally doin good in life/staying in good health!（＾∇＾）i rly like ur works and i always look forward to whenever i see u post something regardless of what it is… <3

OH MY GOD !! THIS FACT IS SO INSANE i went and watched some videos about it and it is so cute to think that.

maybe you aren't that good riding bikes or just not much of rider yourself, so instead, you gave all of the sons of calydon their own bells. they could hear it jingle in your hands as you rushed over to them. they had the signature boar design on them and then little engravings of their name on it so that it was extra special. supposedly, when a biker bell is gifted, it enhances its power of keeping the rider safe.

all of them appreciated the lovely gesture but lighter specifically, he didn't know where to properly place it. most of the time, you hang them on the bottom of the bike. that's no good, he wanted to see this gift, a reminder that you got it for him specifically.

but as the legend goes, it is to ward off little gremlins.... wait were there even gremlins in the outer ring? maybe bangboos might cause havoc on the bike but they wouldn't do that, right? well he didn't want it to not work, so he begrudgingly installs it pretty low on his bike.

every time he rides, he can hear the soft jingling of it from the wind. it does get drowned out by the loud engines but just the knowledge that it's there, the knowledge that you want him to drive safely, he can't help but smile whenever he hears it.

[koko-canie]

❥⠀Careen Dating Hc's　｡｡｡

Warnings　𓎟𓎟　 None ! just pure fluff here

NOTES : Happy 1 year anniversary for the express mod ! this is also very self indulgent , i love careen so much ଘ(⸝⸝◞ ̫ ◟)

♡　To start , when it comes to affection or PDA , Careen is always happy to hug or kiss you if he has the time . He's a very affectionate man

♡　Adding to the last part , His favorite thing to give you is hand kisses ! he's a gentleman like that. its not to say he wouldnt kiss you normally but its his favorite way to give you affection.

♡　Getting gifts for him is fairly easy , Careen isn't a picky man and has no issue with receiving whatever. its the thought that counts more. But when it comes to you ? He'll get whatever he thinks you like best , He's someone who pays attention to your interests and always manages to surprise you with something you might have talked about weeks before hand

♡　Dates are something Careen isn't too experienced with , But he's very open to whatever you have in mind. However nothing beats just spending time with you. even if you both aren't doing anything special , being near you is the best thing he could ask for.

♡　 Aside from the ripping his heart out thing , his flirting is often done with words. this is of course if the heart thing didn't scare you off. Luckily Careen has been taking advice from Klaus and Judith , so he's trying to be more "forward" with his flirting. of course , still a gentleman , Careen wont go too overboard if he sees your uncomfy.

♡　 Last thing , If you happen to know anything on the medical side of things , he will be more than happy to have you patch him up. He does a lot for others , so its nice to be taken care of , Especially if its by you !! nothing like a personal Nurse/Doctor to come home to !

Remember to reblog and give feedback !! it helps me write better and gives me the inspiration to do so !

Art used in banner was made by @/0xeyedaisy !! image links back to og post !!

[sceletaflores]

•｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅ wip wednesday!

thanks for the tag @guiltyasdave <3

wip #1 • come on into my bed with me (i know you want to)

you can't sleep, logan left his door open...

this is the "just the tip" old man!logan fic i talked about literally forever ago. it's heavily inspired by imogen heap's "i am in love with you" because i'm obsessed with that song and it gives me lots of old man logan vibes!

Rain pelts at the smudged glass of your window, drops trailing down the span of the panes that you follow with your eyes. It's been raining nearly all week, a rare thing in Mexico, especially somewhere as dry as Sonora. You used to love the rain. You felt a special kind of comfort anytime night would come and there'd be a certain chill swirling through the air, that familiar scent of damp soil and wet stone rising as the first drops hit the ground. In Sonora, rain is supposed to be a gift—a reprieve from the unrelenting heat, a chance for the dry earth to drink. It should feel cleansing, like reset of sorts, and maybe it would have a few months ago. Now it just feels heavy, oppressive. Each raindrop splattering against the glass feels like a reminder of everything that's stuck, unmoving. The soft noise of it was almost enough to lull you to sleep, but it was still no match for your wandering mind. You’ve been finding yourself here a lot recently, shrouded in the scratchy sheets of your bed in the quiet dark encompassing your room, mind racing. It was raining the first night he touched you.

wip #2 • dull browns and dusty blues...

they say cowboys aren't made to be lovers...

part two of my yet to be named cowboy!logan series! i haven't forgotten about it! i honestly see this as being a longer fic so it'll definitely take me a bit to get it out, but trust that i'm working on it.

You leave your window open at night, letting the cool breeze that swirls outside fill the four walls of your room as the sweet sounds of crickets chirping lulls you to sleep. And you dream about Logan, of course you do. You dream about the way his lips felt against yours, about the way he tasted, about the way he smelled. You dream of the way he held you as you spun in slow circles under the stars, how his rough hands cradled your face, all hardened callouses and overwhelming tenderness. It’s been two weeks since you’ve seen him, two full weeks since the Governor’s ball. You’d like to say that you’ve been too busy to think about him. That being knee deep in stacked cardboard boxes and stray packing tape has kept your mind occupied. That isn’t the case. It’s almost embarrassing how much Logan lingers in your thoughts, so abundant that even your subconscious couldn't escape the sharp angles of his face. It’s a dangerous kind of longing, the sort that twists itself around your ribs and refuses to let go. So you try your best to bury it, to ignore it and keep yourself in check. You're too scared to think about whether it's really working or not.

kisses!

no pressure tags! @ebodebo @artemis-b-writes @avocado-writing @eupheme @elflutter @silverskyeline @ovaryacted @moonlight-prose @raeinyourdreams @javier-pena and you!

[idolomantises]

Since your askbox is open, what are your opinions on Kagurabachi? (& its recent arc and chapters too)

Given your praise of the manga and its community. Who's your favorite character and any specific critiques of the series so far?

I really enjoy reading your thoughts about media and other matters.

Best of luck on Monsters and Girls! Thank you for Powers; she is my favorite character

Dude I love Kagurabachi, it’s a series I genuinely feel so happy reading, makes me feel like a kid all over again.

Favorite character is the lead man himself Chihiro. I was one of those people who clowned on his edgy persona in the introduction chapter but watching him develop and realize it’s all just a front (though he is an edgelord in his own special way) is so rewarding.

I do have a few critiques though! I think the pacing is too fast, but it seems like a consequence of modern shounen rather than this manga specifically, but I still gotta gripe about it. I think some arcs are a bit too short and I wish they were longer, though I think the last arc was perfectly paced. This one is a bit odd since I think the artist shows a lot of promise and the artwork and paneling is wonderful but… I think he’s kind of lacking when it comes to pushing expressions. There’s certain shots and panels that I feel like could hit harder if he pushed the faces a little more, I think he relies on the square mouth shape a bit too much.

And thanks!

[gaiuskamilah]

pleeeeeaaaase tell me more about aerin being groomed by the dreadlord !!! (analyses, headcanons, anything you want)

minor spoilers for b3 ahead! also cw for discussions of grooming and canon-typical abuse, a brief mention of rape, mentions of books where rape & grooming are big topics (lolita & my dark vanessa). this got really long lol

so it's pretty much established that aerin was already very much isolated from people at a young age due to a number of factors, his fear of and abuse by baldur (and arlan) being the primary reason for that. he was also a meek and shy child who wasn't as popular in court compared to baldur. aurinae also died early in aerin's life, leaving him without the one figure who actually cared about him.

all this contributes to aerin being extremely vulnerable to the dreadlord. (minor spoiler) in b3 aerin mentions that he was nine when the dreadlord first started speaking to him. when you're a young vulnerable child like him, it's easy to fall prey to someone who seems like they have your best interests at heart. his family was either dead or resented him, he's the spare who people don't care about - the dreadlord's promises sound really good! we only got little of the dreadlord himself throughout the books, but i like to think the dreadlord did not actually care about him, only using him as a means to an end as he was a vulnerable child in a position the dreadlord can exploit.

(spoiler) aerin also mentions that the nerada stone was given to him after an incident where he accidentally used shadow, and that most shadow magic was done with the dreadlord's help. to me, the giving of the nerada stone is like a predator going "don't tell anyone, it's our little secret, okay?" i like to think this little secret between the two of them makes aerin feel special, and wanting for more, even if keeping the secret very physically hurts him (as mentioned in b1). what a lot of people don't seem to understand is that a lot of the times groomers make their victims feel special, and that causes a lot of mixed feelings from the POV of the victim. they do genuinely start to love their abusers, and from that line of thinking i like to think that aerin similarly has complicated feelings for the dreadlord (as does nia have for the temple of light, kamilah & adrian for gaius, etc etc).

with all this done i also like to build more on the idea of aerin's isolation. another thing that tends to be ignored is how the structures around the victim actually assist in perpetuating and providing avenues for the abuse to happen. in lolita (i keep mentioning this book on my blog, lolitapilled forever i fear), humbert tells dolores that she has nowhere else to go, that if she reported it to authorities etc they would shame her and mark as rotten forever and insitutionalize her and she'd never have a normal life ever again -

“While I stand gripping the bars, you, happy neglected child, will be given a choice of various dwelling places, all more or less the same, the correctional school, the reformatory, the juvenile detention home, or one of those admirable girls’ protectories where you knit things, and sing hymns, and have rancid pancakes on Sundays. ... if we two are found out, you will be analyzed and institutionalized, my pet, c’est tout. You will dwell, my Lolita will dwell (come here, my brown flower) with thirty-nine other dopes in a dirty dormitory (no, allow me, please) under the supervision of hideous matrons. ... Don’t you think that under the circumstances Dolores Haze had better stick to her old man?”

which he isn't exactly wrong about! if aerin had opened up to the people around him about what was going on, what would they do? if he went to his family, they'd shun and hate him even more. if he went to the temple, they'd brand him a heretic and also shame him even more (minor spoiler again-in b3, this is what is implied to have happened to nia). none of these institutions, the family & the church, would have ever had his well being at heart. they are the same institutions which shunned (family) him in the first place and would have shunned (church) him anyway because he didn't and wouldn't have been able to live to their ideals. again, family and religion aren't ontologically pure things - they're institutions which often exist to perpetuate the status quo.

that's to say that i personally hc that aerin has a lot of mixed feelings for the dreadlord. taking this line from my dark vanessa (also a book i love so much) -

“It only accelerated after that, once he knew I was ok with it—and isn’t that what consent is, always being asked what you want? Did I want him to kiss me? Did I want him to touch me? Did I want him to fuck me? Slowly guided into the fire—why is everyone so scared to admit how good that can feel? To be groomed is to be loved and handled like a precious, delicate thing.”

the thing is, aerin did want the things the dreadlord seemed to promise. no one else was left to treat him nicely. he loved that the dreadlord could give him the power to change his circumstances. and it felt good! he admits in b2 that he didn't regret killing baldur! him wanting that doesn't make him any less of a victim, but i think a lot of discussions around this tend to overlook this feeling, because it's a lot less easier to swallow than the typical Huge Evil Perpetrator/100% Unwilling Victim narrative that tends to get pushed around a lot. (i also don't like how people seem to be assigning morality to grooming. anyone can be groomed, and acting like the victims always have to conform to this perfect standard does not help at all actually)

so. anyway. i'd love more things/discussions about aerin and an interpretation where his feelings for the dreadlord are more complicated. where he accepts that the dreadlord took advantage of him, but he also can't find it in himself to FULLY hate the dreadlord, that sometimes he misses the dreadlord, sometimes he can't stand to remember how the dreadlord physically hurt him for over a decade in order to keep their little secret (can be read as a rape, imo, though it's not as overt as the dreadlord literally taking nia's body, which @puredoesnotmeankind @livelaughlovecassie and i like to read it as). the dreadlord potentially holding the fact that he was the one who's helping and "caring for" aerin over aerin's head. complicated feelings!! messy interpretations that are more true to complex human feelings and whatnot. i'd love that.

[starry-bi-sky]

Clone^2 - Separation Strikes

"Why do I have to go?" Damian asks, surly and accent-thick, it sounds more like a demand and a whine at the same time. Sitting on the kitchen table with his arms crossed, in a green t-shirt that Danny bought him at a whim when he was at a thrift shop, and black shorts, he's never looked more like a kid. There's a little backpack leaning against the table leg, Damian begrudgingly picked it out when they went shopping.

His English has grown in leaps and bounds since Danny found him -- er, or more accurately; since Damian was spat out in front of him. -- and very little did they have to use the translator on Danny's phone these days.

Which meant one thing: Damian can start attending school comfortably now. And 'go' was the Amity Smiles Child Care Center. Danny and Jazz went as kids until they were twelve, and Mom and Dad actually managed to convince the center director to let Damian enroll for the summer.

And it was summer; Damian starts today.

"Because," Danny says, trying and failing to hide the smile pulling on his face, his heart warm and soft, and also laughing at Damian's expense; "being cooped up in the house all day isn't good for you, and you're starting school in the Fall. And, in Jazz's words: you need to have interactions with other kids your age for the benefit of your social development. And besides, it's only for the morning."

Damian's nose scrunches up, and his eyes roll so violently that for a moment, Danny thinks about joking that he'll get his eyes stuck like that. He holds his tongue; his little brother already looks like he's five seconds away from committing an act of violence.

"I don't need social interaction." Damian sneers, his cheek in his hand; a neverend pool of pride. "I am--"

"The Blood of the Demon Heir, better than everyone else." Danny cuts off, waving his hand in dismissive circles, his voice mockingly deep. Damian's brown skin darkens in embarrassment, and he scowls at Danny. "I know, bud. But Jazz is right, -- don't tell her I said that, -- you should be around kids your age."

Especially when he starts First Grade in the Fall. Honestly -- Danny was a little nervous to send him to the center. Damian's long since cut the habit of trying to kill or otherwise maim people, his palms ache-burn with gentle reminder, but his tongue was as sharp and as cutting as his sword. He still struggles with trying to quell it when he's upset. Vicious child-weapon that he once was, and will never be again.

Danny knows that it comes from a place of fear and defense, that Damian lashes out because that's what he's been taught. That at the end of the day, he doesn't really mean what he says, and he's learning to express himself better. But the other kids don't know that, and kids can be unforgiving and cruel.

Danny just...

His slow beating heart sighs, melancholy settles behind his lungs.

He doesn't want Damian to be outcasted. He doesn't want him to be alone.

Not like he was.

Damian sneers again, but says nothing, his shoulders crawling up to hide his ears like a turtle receding into his shell. Danny watches him silently, leaning against the kitchen counter with his own arms crossed. The clock hanging on the wall ticks in their ears -- it's almost time to go.

He watches Damian, careful, and so he sees it when his little brother's stone-shell pride and petulance shudders, and cracks. The darkened furrow of Damian's brows weakens, and for a moment, slants back.

Ah, Danny thinks, his own shoulders slumping. Epiphany washes over him, and his sad-heart soothes in warm understanding. So that's what it is.

His head tilts, and his hair spills over his shoulders, messy and fluffy, tickling his neck. Some of his bangs fall into his face. "Hal 'ant easabiatan ya habibi?" He asks, voice low and soft. Just as Damian's English has improved, so has Danny's Arabic. He still stumbles over himself some days, and Damian says his accent is trash, but they can have whole conversations now in Damian's mothertongue.

(Danny was incredibly proud of himself for it.)

Damian's face darkens, his blush spreading across the rest of his face, and he ducks his head down. Grown-out curls, black-brown and springy, falls over his eyes. "La!" He yells, loud and indignant, and not at all convincingly. "La 'asheur bialtawaturi!"

He was nervous. Danny can see it now, in the hunch of his shoulders and the tightness of his face, and faintly, he can feel it too. In the ecto-rich air of the Fentonworks House, it thrums, barely-there, like a hummingbird behind his lungs.

Danny can't stop the little, fond smile that forces itself across his lips and upticks the corner of his mouth. "It's okay to be nervous, little brother." He says, he sounds like Jazz when he says that. He doesn't think she'll mind him borrowing the nickname.

He pushes himself off the counter, and Damian refuses to look at him, hiding behind his hair and in his shoulders. It takes three long strides for him to reach the table, and Danny turns, plants his hands on the ledge, and hoists himself up. Right next to Damian.

Damian leans into him easily when Danny's arm wraps around his shoulders and tucks him close to his heart. He can feel his ear against his ribs. Danny hunches over him, resting his chin on Damian's head. "It's so okay to be nervous, actually. I was nervous, Jazz was nervous." He tells him, scratching the blunt edge of his nails across his scalp. "Everyone gets nervous."

"'Ana last aljumiea." Damian mumbles, as small and feeble as he was the night on the OPS Center balcony, realizing that his mom and the League weren't coming for him. Realizing that he was replaceable.

Danny's half-working heart squeezes; in grief, in rage, and his faucet eyes sting. He breathes in carefully, and presses his nose into Damian's hair in a loving faux-kiss. "You're right, you're not everyone." He says, steady and strong, because if he's not a pillar for his family, who else is he?

He can feel Damian's eyes flick up to him, and Danny smiles into his black-brown curls. Tilts his head to squish his cheek against him instead, hand dropping to thumb below Damian's lashes. "You're Damian Fenton," Because the adoption went through a few weeks ago, and he's still riding that high, "You're my baby brother. O' Artist Extraordinaire, Kickass with a Sword, Vegetarian and Wonderful Co-Ghost Hunter."

Damian tries to stifle a smile, and fails. Score! Triumph gathers in Danny's gut, his smile grows wider. He squeezes Damian tight, and only releases him so he can look him in the eyes. "And if anyone gives you a hard time at school, and I mean anyone--"

Danny has bad memories of the teachers looking the other way when the other kids were bullying him, all because he was a Fenton.

And Danny, bleeding heart, bleeding hands, loves his family more than he will ever love himself, will never let Damian experience the same injustice. Not if he can help it.

His eyes narrow, and the buzzy-film of ectoplasm covers his eyes, making them glow, "--You tell me. And as your awesome great big brother-and-technically-dad-but-only-biologically, I will handle it."

Damian, wonderfully made, full of light, his little brother Damian, giggles weakly at him. A sound that's worth it's weight in gold. The scary eyes dissipate, and Danny matches the sound with a cock-eyed, impish grin, dragging Damian into a soul-crushing, too-tight hug. The kind that only annoying older brothers can give. "Got it?"

That gets a proper, if short, laugh out of Damian. He wriggles in Danny's arms, trying to break free. But Danny does calisthenics, his arms are as big as Damian's head, so it doesn't work. "Understood, now, daeni 'adhhab ya 'akhi!"

Danny laughs, loud and bright, and loosens his hold just a smidge, only so he can adjust his grip and hop off the table with Damian still in arm.

"Never!" He crows, hoisting Damian slightly. One eye flick at the clock, and in one quick move, he secures Damian under one arm like a football, and hooks his foot under the strap of his backpack. Kicking it up, he tosses it into the air and catches it with his free hand, and slings it over his shoulder. "Now, to the car, my boy! Before we're late and Mom and Dad get charged."

Damian groans, childish and dramatic and long, but his face is all squished up with a wide grin and glee. Danny can taste his joy beneath his tongue.

"And, if my little pep talk didn't encourage you," He says, reaching the door to the garage, flipping Damian up onto his hip instead. "If you have a good day today, I'll make you bal mithai when you get back."

Like all kids at the promise of sweets, Damian's eyes widen and glitter. Danny loves seeing Damian be a kid, it's his favorite thing in the world. "I will!"