#why do we have to add these ridiculous tags

[glitchiono]

bark bark

(this took like an hour to make my brain is mush)

[darkclouds-rainsounds]

“Someday, I'll solve every riddle in the legends of Hisui's Pokémon. And on that day, I'll stand before Arceus at last— No, I will CONQUER it! No matter how many years, how many decades, how many centuries it takes me!”

Rambling Musing under cut

[Addition to this concept]

I can't have been the only person who thought of this; of Volo having died sometime not all that long after the battle at Spear Pillar and because of his excessive spite and hatred, he would come back as a Hisuian Zoroark. I have seen quite a few people do this concept with Akari where she ends up dying during her exile, but I haven't seen it done with Volo after Spear Pillar where he would be at his most vulnerable.

There was one person who had a similar idea whose username I can't remember nor care to, who had an idea (au concept???) of Volo having been a Zoroark the whole time who wanted a better world out of missing the way things used to be pre-human civilization (subtle way of saying he hates humans settling in Hisui and bridging the gap between themselves and pokemon).

Like, I know this is pokemon of all things, but considering the literal fact I made a psycho-analysis of Volo that would prompt practically everyone into going "It's not that deep", I always found it a little too perfect how if one is a believer of the hiker theory or just has any headcanon that he didn't die, that means Volo somehow survived the worst of what was to come after Spear Pillar.

After Spear Pillar, he was emotionally and mentally exhausted and very much not in his right mind because Arceus decided to be a jackass and summon the Azure Flute the moment the spooky plate made its way into the player's hands and set him off again after he calmed down. The anger; the rage and absolute vitriol he felt towards Arceus and still yet so, the player, was still relatively fresh and with his defeat and loss of his greatest ally in getting to Arceus (I mean, I get why he yelled at Giratina but also 🤨?????), that left very large room for recklessness and acting illogically.

Not only that, but with the likelihood that the clans and Galaxy team would catch wind sooner or later that he was the one who opened the rift and nearly destroyed the world by accident in the process then explicitly tried to do so again on purpose, he wouldn't be accepted in any settlement. This also applies to the Ginko Guild: they would want absolutely nothing to do with him once they find out as he'd be a blemish upon their reputation.

So you have a very bitter, very not mentally stable man trying to survive in the wilderness of Hisui almost entirely alone. It's a miracle that in terms of the hiker theory, he manages to survive past that, because the most likely thing that would have happened was him dying— like I can't convey to you just how lucky he was.

But this is ~pokemon~ so of course that didn't happen despite Volo being surprisingly realistic for a character. And to that I query, "what if it did?"

So here we are back at the beginning, Volo died and came back as a Hisuian Zoroark due to his overwhelming spite and hate.

How?

With what I've said previously, I decided that his death would be in the Alabaster Icelands. With there being very dangerous pokemon around, random holes in the ground with steep drops that can easily injure or kill you if you aren't watching where you're going, and deadly blizzards, death is guaranteed for the unprepared. Why would Volo go up that far north if it's so dangerous then— SHH SHUT! I am trying to convey an idea, the minute intricacies are lost on me right now. All I can imagine as of current is that Volo was in the Alabaster Icelands for one reason or another, something happened that was out of his and his pokemon's control and they couldn't save him (I'll tell you this: the cold on its own isn't what would kill him, otherwise his death wouldn't occur because he has his Arcanine.), and he came back as a Zoroark.

Part of the reason for the Alabaster Icelands is that I'm fairly certain? that only those who die— normal Zorua, Zoroark, or humans— there can become Hisuian Zoroark. If they die anywhere else regardless of the other criteria being met I'm pretty sure they can't become Hisuian Zoroarks, so Volo would have to be in the Alabaster Icelands for this to happen to him.

One can only imagine the grief his pokemon felt when they realized the oddly yellow Hisuian Zorua by their trainer's frozen corpse was their trainer. How they would feel that if they knew sooner or were out before it happened, his death would have been avoided. How Lucario, a pokemon that can sense aura, and his beloved Togekiss (because Gamefreak said fuck any visible notion his Roserade cares about him I guess), would instantly know that the Zorua was him.

Now,

for explanations on his appearance and his personality. Since I am unable to draw this digitally without it being immensely more difficult than it should be, I will have to heavily hint towards the symbolism since rarely ever do I draw or write something that is straightforward.

•His color pallette is still a lot like the normal Hisuian Zoroark, aka very white, but the typically red areas in a Hisuian Zoroark's hair and fur are instead the same blonde yellow as his hair from when he was alive. (White and yellow instead of yellow and white huh?)

•The eyes don't look as... narrow... as they should. Strange...

•Is it just me, or does this Zoroark not look as... wispy, as the others?

•Since I do not use color traditionally, I will have to say that the bulbous black areas on his arms and legs are supposed to be a dark red-brown and not a bright red. Hm, wonder why...

•He just has more scars because I personally headcanon Volo as actually having quite a few scars and had that directly translate into his Zoroark appearance.

And now for something lighter (by my standards atleast).

•Upon his becoming a Hisuian Zorua, he gained the ability to understand pokemon and speak with them on their level.

•It took a while for him to figure out how to talk human languages again (like pokeani meowth) and even longer to do so so it sounds natural and not... off (again, pokeani meowth)

•Very spiteful and angry little ball of fluff that simmered down faster than he would have in the even that he didn't die. Since, y'know, your death ultimately being caused by your hatred will make you reevaluate a few things about yourself.

•Loathed not having hands until evolving which only gave him three claws but it's better than useless bitty paws.

•Him calming down much faster and realizing how damaging he was being to himself and to his pokemon by tunnel visioning on figuring out how to usurp Arceus and seeing anything else that wasn't that as being in his way— provided much relief to his team that the person they knew and loved was coming back and not what he was twisting himself into in his downward spiral. (Again, this does happen when he lives, it just takes years rather than like... one)

•Took time to learn how to master casting illusions but the only illusion he can really even do at this point is of himself when he was alive. (Other Hisuian Zoroarks: able to do countless illusions of people and pokemon to varying degrees of accuracy. Hisuian Zoroark!Volo: can only do an illusion of himself but it's absolutely flawless)

•Wears his Celestica pendant at all times (forgot to draw it, don't want to deal with wrestling with my camera phone to retake the picture)

•He also wears his backpack and hat as well; they're not part of the illusion (didn't draw them since I 1. don't know how to draw either and 2. wanted him to be as unobscured as possible)

•He can still be the hiker, it's just that he's a ghost rather than immortal. Yes, his friendly, charismatic demeanor has returned despite him being like this now but there is the difference of a layer of somberness underneath and an even thinner layer of well-concealed vitriol towards Arceus and Arceus alone. (If you've read my post on Quincent and how I interpret Banettes, the same principal of spite functioning as fuel for a flame applies to Hisuian Zoroarks as well. However it is a bit different in that where a grudge functions as the fuel for Banettes animation, spite functions as the tether for Hisuian Zoroarks not moving on in the afterlife. It could be considered "unfinished business" but it's not really the same)

•Yes, this also means his illusion was changed to be that of what he would look like as a hiker rather than when he was in the Ginko Guild (he had figured out that illusion a long time ago since him being mistakenly affiliated with the Guild would be bad and eventually the uniform would become outdated as the Guild would no longer exist in the state it did when he was still alive at the least and would cause people to look at him weirdly)

•Had to get really good at not responding and talking to pokemon or else he garner unwanted attention.

•Can maintain the illusion through being touched so long as he anticipates it, otherwise he kinda just goes poof.

•The illusion obviously goes away when he's asleep and starts to wane when he's tired.

•He maintains the illusion for as long as he can upon awakening but it is incredibly draining on him to focus on maintaining it for such a long stretch of time that he does end up tired far quicker than if he simply didn't do it for so long or so often.

•Can also partially cast the illusion and look uncannily inhuman. +The illusion starts to wane when he's experiencing strong emotions since he can't focus on maintaining it and it's kinda terrifying to see some guy slowly be engulfed in billowing smoke with no known source out of nowhere and watch his features warp and shift into something very much not human.

•His moveset does not contain bitter malice by the time of pokemon platinum.

(•Just for those wondering, no he doesn't blame Akari/Dawn in any way for his death and very much acknowledges it to be no one's fault but his)

•There is also the question of "if Volo is Cynthia's ancestor but he died before he could have children, does she just not exist?" and the answer is: she still does, but she's Cogita's direct descendant now and not Volo's. (wtf is up with Celestica genes? Yeah a lot of the other characters in PLA have descendants that look almost identical to them, but with Cogita, Volo, and Cynthia, we have three people from a single bloodline that have MANY generations between them— that is, if you headcanon Cogita as being Volo's ancestor— and they hardly look any different. WHAT THE FUCK ARE THEIR GENES??? Also forgot about Cynthia's sister who doesn't have a canon design but if Cynthia is any indication...

•Ghost types have the ability of distinctly knowing something's up when he's casting the illusion of himself and basically look at him like '🤨'. Kinda difficult to keep a straight face when a swarm of gastly are just staring unblinkingly at you like "tf is this". +Normal living Zoroarks can instantly tell that he isn't human and get the wrong idea thinking he's trying to trick someone rather than him clinging to the humanity he had.

[madelynraemunson]

You can answer this privately, but a few weeks ago I was thinking about if Reader was trying to make Eddie jealous with the song I kissed a girl in the background making out with some girl on the stage you know. Or tryna make him want her more lol.

def need to catch up tho

ooooh a lil toxic lovin’ i see i see 😏💋 thank you for helping with the possessive!eddie dirty talk and reactions, my sweet.

from the CMWYW universe

timeline: shortly after chapter 013

𝐈 𝐇𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐌𝐲 𝐁𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐃𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐈𝐭 18+

a collaboration with @emsgoodthinkin 💌

modern!strip club owner!eddie x modern!fem!exotic dancer!hargrove reader

CW: jealous!eddie, wlw, possessive!eddie, boyfriend!eddie, biting, degrading kink, eddie calls us a slut lmao, bratty shy girl, dom!eddie, sub!shy girl, lmk if i miss anything

[WC: 2.0k]

“I just think you’re getting a little too into it.”

It’s crazy to think Eddie would draw the line at Gareth and not Steve. Yet here you two are, arguing in the dressing room mid-shift because Eddie realized his D&D friends — who are regulars at his D&D themed strip club — have eyes and money. 

“Babe, this is GARETH we’re talking about here,” you emphasize. “Gareth!”

You’re talking about the Gareth who’s gamer tag is ‘Gareth the “Gare Bear” Emerson’.  The same Gareth who still uses the bunny ear method to tie his shoes. The same Gareth who gets upset when his food touches. Aside from his now relatively toned build, clear skin, and knowledge on self-care and personal hygiene, Gareth Emerson is still the same guy. And that guy is a fucking dweeb.

“Yeah, but Gareth is conventionally attractive now,” your boyfriend points out. “And somebody who’s had no choice but to build their charm from the inside out is a dangerous person.”

Projecting, are we Munson? You think to yourself. You couldn’t believe the audacity of your boyfriend. Ever since you two became exclusive, Eddie has become extra protective of you. You didn’t mind it. You actually preferred it because it means he cares. But really, at work? The place you clock in every day (not only to see him but) to make a living?

“You left scratches on his back last time.”

“He paid me to make a girl jealous.”

“And let’s not forget whatever the fuck that was that you did with Creel,” Eddie adds refusing to hear you out. 

“Henry PAID me for a lap dance,” you hiss. “He was lonely, I was doing my job. He came in and spoiled me and your business on his off day, babe.”

The heat dissolves from Eddie’s cheeks when he hears his pet name. Albeit flattering, this conversation between you two wasn’t over just yet. 

Eddie knew what he saw. He knows that blank, fucked out stare from anywhere, and it was prominent when you were giving Henry a lap dance, using the crinkle of his pants to get yourself off.

There’s no arguing there. But you were single when that happened and Eddie at the time made it really seem like he didn’t want anything with you. None of this was taking away from how ridiculous Eddie was being.

“Okay,” you sigh, still choosing to honor his wishes. “No more dances for Gareth.”

“At least for tonight,” Eddie barters, issuing you a fake pout. “Feeling a little bit jealous, but I’ll get over it.”

Stay away from Gareth, or men in general tonight. You can definitely do that. 

Eddie’s a happy camper now. He watches as you do your thing at Vecna’s Lair, cock twitching eagerly in his pants as you swing down the pole and sink your pelvis onto the stage. The men douse you in ones, fives, tens, twenties. And you let it rain down on you with ease. 

But why is Eddie still so jealous? He can’t help but turn green with envy when he sees you smile at your patrons. When you lock eyes with them as you speak. And the way they gravitate towards you and your pheromones like some magnets on a fridge. 

You seem to be unbothered by everything, unbothered by his presence in a room full of other gentlemen. Eddie needs to test the waters. Eddie needs to know you care.

So he decides to grab a beer and approach the first customer of the opposite sex who happens to spiral into his periphery. It happens to be good ol’ Stephanie tonight. 

A regular during the beginning days of the week, this kind hearted, very approachable redhead welcomes Hellfire’s owner with a smile, offering her beer bottle to Eddie for him to give her a clink, hello. 

“Hey!” he chimes. “How uh, how are you doing?”

“I’m doing well, and yourself?”

Eddie grins. “Not too shabby.” 

Performatively studying her with his eyes, he decides to ask her an innuendo-filled question. “You enjoying yourself tonight?”

“What’s it to ya?”

“I always like to make sure my customers are satisfied.”

Her brow does a fruitful quirk upwards.

“So you’re the owner huh? Already so young and successful. That’s quite impressive.” 

“D’aww,” your boyfriend’s hands clutch his chest. “I appreciate that.” 

You can’t help but look over, stomach warped into knots.

Eddie told you to stay away from guys. So why is he flirting with a girl? Specifically a customer you’ve interacted with before. Not that Eddie would know that, since he’s always in his office when Stephanie is here.

Eddie knows you see him now and that’s all the satisfaction he needs. Knowing he got the reaction he wanted, he excuses himself from Steph, strutting back over to his office to disappear for a while and let your mind wander.

But your mind is already two steps ahead. When Stephanie catches a glimpse of you, her eyes sparkle. You wave her over.

“You just keep coming back for more, don’t you?” you infer as she strides towards you. 

Stephanie chuckles. “You just can’t seem to keep me away, Shy Girl. I owe Vicky and Robin one for putting me onto this joint.”

You swing your legs over so you can divert your attention to your stunning regular. She seems to be receptive to your flirtatious nature. And conveniently, the DJ transitions into a very fitting song:

“How are you doing tonight?” you assess her.

Stephanie shrugs. “I’m doing okay. The chick I was telling you about last week stood me up. So I’m here just trying to make myself feel better.”

“OMG I’m so sorry dude.”

But she brushes it off. “It’s okay. The loneliness will die down. I just gotta feel sorry for myself first.”

You rest a consoling hand on your shoulder. Before becoming exclusive with Eddie, you knew the feeling of rejection all too well. 

“You’re welcome here anytime. Even if you just wanna talk. Girl to girl, we can even do a private room for an hour.”

Just then, Stephanie reaches into her bra and pulls out a twenty dollar bill with the smuggest look on her face. 

“What about center stage? You tryna kiss it all better?”

You could’ve… and would’ve done it without the money. But knowing Eddie is in for the plot twist of his lifetime, you’ve rendered the deal priceless. Happily obliging, you accept the money Stephanie insists you take from her and extend your arms out.

“Bring it in, chica.”

It’s not what I’m used to. Just wanna try you on. I’m curious for you…

And then it happens. It starts with a timid smack of the lips to feel out both your comfort levels. The feeling of safety and trust propels you both further into realms of intensity you wouldn’t have thought of exploring with one another before. She tastes of cherry, with a hint of minty coconut. 

You let out a satisfied hum. It registers as a vibration against her full, vivacious chest. Dancing your fingers in her wavy hair now, you pull her closer to your chest as your lips lock in tandem. 

“WHEW!” you can hear Argyle shout all the way from the kitchen. “GAH DAMN!”

…I kissed a girl and I liked it. The taste of her cherry chapstick…

The uproar creates a chain reaction and soon all the gentlemen at Hellfire are hooting and hollering at the relatively unscripted act of affection in front of them. Soon, the money follows. Grinding your hips against her torso now, you chase the feeling of self-indulgence as you unravel yourself onto Stephanie. Right in time for Eddie to see.

I kissed a girl just to try it. I hope my boyfriend don’t mind it.

Floored, confused, and just a tad aroused, your man stands at the foot of Vecna’s Lair with his hands curling at his sides.

It felt so wrong. It felt so right. Don’t mean I’m in love tonight.

His stiff cock protrudes at the posterior ends of his zipper, boxer briefs shamefully laced with the salty spouts of his leaky tip. Fuck, he’s so hard. But still, oh so very pissed.

I kissed a girl and I liked it. I liked it.

Standing where you knew he’d be, you shoot him a wink, letting him know that you’re well aware of his foiled plan. And after you and Stephanie thank one another for each other’s time, you prance off to the dressing room with mountains of bills in your hands.

———

“You think Eddie’s gonna like this green set?”

There’s an itch to burn the cash you got tonight, so you find yourself browsing the internet for lingerie on your phone.

“Oooh,” Nina coos in approval. “Yes girl. You’re gonna look like a sexy dragon of sorts.”

“Mm. And what about this g-string?”

“Yes, get it. I have the same one and it’s so flattering and comfortable. Look!”

Just then the door shoots open.

“Eddie, what the hell?!” Nina shrieks, quickly donning her cloak to cover up. “Knocking, fucker. Ever heard of it?”

You turn towards the entrance to find your flustered man at the door, scowling at you briefly before turning to apologize to Nina.

“Sorry, Neens,” his gaze softens sincerely. But Nina is already storming out. “I was dumb for that.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” you tsk.

You two wait until your colleague is out of range to engage in what you both know is about to be some pretty reckless behavior. When all is clear, Eddie wastes no time, pouncing on you, pinning you by the wrists to the drawer of your vanity, leaving love bites at the crook of your neck just keen enough to draw blood. 

Pathetically, you love it. Your dripping cunt swells for the intensity — the fury of his rough hands — the vampiric blows to your hot pulse points — the rugged buckling of his hips as he digs his claws into the tender indents of yours.

“Eddie…” you whimper.

“This familiar?” he demands between breaths. 

“Rings a bell,” you muster, tracing his large display of excitement with your trembling palm. “Though it seems like you don’t necessarily…have a problem with it.”

A sinister laugh escapes his throat.

Eddie huffs. “Think you can be a smart aleck with me without repercussions?”

As swift as they come, Eddie flips you around, easing you safely onto the desk portion of your vanity by the your neck. You squirm around like a brat, whining and kicking at him with your heels in playful retaliation. His fingertips then tightly enclose around your thin lacy bralette, causing a minor tear of the sparkly chrome fabric.

Too far. Grabbing him by the wrist, you eye him in disapproval.

“Eds!” you hiss at him, seriously this time.

“You’re buying new sets anyways,” he shrugs indifferently. “You know, with the money you got for being a needy little slut.”

You issue a low grumble as Eddie sinks his body atop the small of your back. The softness in Eddie returns again when he presses delicate kisses around the tip of your chin.

“Mine, remember?”

He spins you around again, ordering you to your knees with an authoritative snap. You oblige a little too quickly, but you don’t care. You’re at the mercy of him tonight and always.

“Yours…” you breathe, knowing he’s about to fuck you and your mouth to spit and tears. “Yours only…”

He smirks, satisfied with himself. You bite your lip eagerly as you watch the King of Hellfire — and your heart — unbuckle his belt, ushering his pants down to line his pulsing cock up against your lips. Desperate for more already, your tongue peaks out to say hello. The deep lines of his snarky face concave further.

“Pucker up, sweetheart.”

💞 valentine’s divider by @saradika-graphics 💞

happy valentine’s day, sweethearts 💌

tag list: @chrrymunson , @the-fairy-anon , @ali-r3n , @corrodedcoffincumslut , @bebe07011 , @mmunson86 , @eddiesguitarskills , @chelebelletx , @imonhereforareasonsadly , @eddies-trailer-babe @mediocredreams , @motherfckerr , @jxpsi , @lindseyj23, @sidthedollface2 , @manda-panda-monium , @elvendria , @micheledawn1975 , @hereforshmut , @siriuslysmoking , @nymphetkoo , @m-chmcl-rmnc , @justinelittlewoodsworld , @ahoyyharrington , @keepittoyourselftellnobodyelse @kellyxo1 @emsgoodthinkin @winchester-angel @chloe-6123 , @redbarn1995 @angietherose @kiyastrf94 , @purplewitchcauldron @kellsck @joyfulfxckery @munsons-mayhem28 @dragonfire @emma77645 @drivelikenina @livosssblog @thinkingth0ts @hugdealer @ellielunamckay

[negans-lucille-tblr]

Sit - Soldier Boy x Reader Oneshot

Summary: Y/N finds herself in trouble when she doesn’t listen to her boyfriend’s instructions. 

Rating: 18+

Pairing: Soldier Boy x plus sized!Reader

Tags: angst, self worth issues, body image issues, oral sex (fem rec), face sitting, face riding, biting, p in v

WC: ± 2.2K

A/Ns: This smutty little fic was commissioned by someone who doesn’t have tumblr, but wanted me to share it with you guys anyway! Hope you all love it! <3

The Boys Masterlist

“We need to talk.” 

Y/N’s eyes widen slightly as she looks up at her boyfriend from her place on the couch, and then a small frown begins to crease into her forehead as she sees the darkness in his green eyes that tells her that whatever this is isn’t good.  

“Okay…” she hesitantly replies, sitting up straighter. “Is everything okay?” 

No, it’s not, he’s had enough of you and he’s leaving. He’s finally realised he can do better than you, that he is so far out of your league you’re barely a spot in the distance.

“No, it’s not actually,” Soldier Boy replies, confirming to her that her inner monologue is right. He crosses his arms over his chest and stares down at her, making her only grow more and more uncomfortable. 

Just get on with it, she begs him silently in her head.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, timidly. 

“When I tell you to sit, I mean sit,” he explains. 

Only it’s not an explanation at all, and the frown creased into Y/N’s forehead only deepens, as she glances down at the way she’s currently sitting and shifts her weight slightly, wondering what’s wrong with the way she sits and why her boyfriend suddenly has such a big issue with it. 

“I don’t get it, Ben,” she admits, still shuffling in her place. 

“You hover,” he adds, clearly irritated by the very fact. Y/N licks her lips, opening her mouth to reply, but no sound comes out to begin with, and so she clears her throat and then frowns deeper yet. Now she’s completely lost, because she has no idea what Ben’s talking about. “When I tell you to sit on my face I mean sit not hover,” he concludes. 

Y/N’s eyebrows raise, and then a smile begins to curl over her lips, and suddenly she’s giggling to herself. She really thought this was going all wrong, that maybe he was trying to find some ridiculous excuse to break up with her because he didn’t want to just tell her the truth; that he could do better. But now she’s realising it’s got nothing to do with the way she sits on the couch. He’s talking about sex. Of course he is. The thought only makes Y/N giggle harder as the relief floods her entire body. 

“What’s so funny?” he asks, frowning himself now that he’s the one that’s confused. 

“Jesus, Ben, I thought you were seriously angry, then!” she scoffs, shaking her head and relaxing a little, so glad this was just some joke. Jesus, the guy’s a good actor. 

“I am,” he replies stubbornly. But she’s not falling for his teasing any longer.  

“Oh c’mon, it’s no big deal,” she brushes him off, laughing again. “Besides, I don’t wanna crush you, I’m hardly lightweight,” she points out, gesturing to her body.  

Ben’s frown only deepens at her words, and he huffs a breath, staring her down until the smile has faded a little more from her face, and she starts to second guess if he is only teasing, or if he’s actually mad about this. She’s never known the supe to be a huge joker, so maybe she should consider the fact that he’s actually annoyed.

“Are you seriously mad about this?” she checks, just to be sure. 

“Yes,” he confirms with a brief nod of his head. “What’s the matter, you think I can’t handle it?” he challenges. 

“Look at me, Ben, I’m not going on magazine covers any time soon,” she scoffs, shaking her head. “Last thing I need is to suffocate the world’s first superhero to death with my fat thighs.” 

“You flatter yourself too much,” Ben argues back. “You think that’s all it would take to kill me? You just said so yourself, I’m superhuman, I’m sure I can handle it.” 

Suddenly, it all clicks into place, and Y/N realises just why Ben is so upset about this. He thinks that she’s going easy on him, he thinks that she thinks that he can’t handle it. He’s a very proud man, she should’ve known something like this would annoy him. But that doesn’t mean that she can’t point out how ridiculous he’s being. He knows exactly what she thinks about him and his powers. It’s never hurt to call Ben out on his ego trips now and then. She likes to think it keeps him grounded. He does seem a lot more level headed since they started dating. 

“Oh, I see,” Y/N smirks slightly, crossing her own arms over her chest. “I’ve bruised your ego,” she points out. “Ben, it’s nothing personal. It’s just all my exes never meant sit when they said sit,” she explains briefly, not seeing the big deal. 

“Yeah, well until now you’ve only dated boys,” he counters. That’s when he uncrosses his arms and leans down over her, his hands resting either side of her head as he brings his face closer to hers. “You’re dating a man now, honey, so next time I tell you to sit, I expect you to sit.” 

“Yes sir,” she replies sassily, smirking once again before rolling her eyes, but the supe doesn’t smirk back, and she realises he’s once again not messing around. Just the thought actually begins to make her sweat a little. The fact he wants her to stop holding back is quite the turn on. The darkness in his eyes adds to that too, of course. “Next time I’ll sit,” she confirms, with a lot less teasing in her tone. 

Soldier Boy reaches up and grabs her chin softly, kissing her lips briefly. “Good girl,” he husks, before walking away, leaving Y/N dazed and flustered. 

Soldier Boy’s POV

The supe is feeling just a little better that evening as he relaxes back on the bed and amuses himself with the Soldier Boy comic books that had been released during his time away. Though, he’s not too fond of the way he gets portrayed sometimes, like he’s a big baby that runs and hides at the first real sign of danger. Maybe that’s added to his stress, because while he’ll never admit it, Y/N had been right that his issue this morning had mainly been an issue because of a bruised ego. Of course it was a little insulting that Y/N might think he can’t handle a woman sitting on his face. When really, he could think of nothing better, especially when it comes to a woman like Y/N. 

At the thought of her, he hears her humming quietly to herself under her breath as she emerges from the bathroom in nothing but a towel. She smiles over at him softly when she notices him looking, and then proceeds to head over to her dresser, opening her drawer and pulling out her pyjamas. Ben can’t help but notice they’re the silky ones he likes most, and just the thought of seeing her in them starts to get him going. But the thing that really sets him off is watching her slowly remove her towel, using it to dab herself dry slowly, exposing more and more of her perfect naked body. 

He can’t help the soft moan that escapes his lips as he appreciates his view, and Y/N glances his way at the sound. 

“What?” she asks coyly. 

“You know just what that body of yours does to me, honey,” he hums, unashamedly. Y/N rolls her eyes and turns her back to him, but he doesn’t appreciate the view any less, his eyes dropping to her perfect, full ass and her thick warm thighs, and he imagines his face trapped between them and has to reach down to palm over his thickening cock. “C’mere,” he commands with a soft grunt. 

Y/N slowly approaches his side of the bed, still clinging to her towel as she attempts to cover up part of her body with it. The supe is quick to reach out and tear it from her grasp, throwing it to the floor so she’s got nowhere to hide. His eyes rake hungrily over her curves, and he realises it doesn’t matter how many times he sees her, he’ll never grow tired of seeing her. 

“Remember what we talked about earlier?” he asks, peeling his eyes off of her body and looking up at her face instead. 

“Yeah,” she replies hesitantly, seemingly only growing more timid. 

“Good,” the supe grins, shuffling himself further down the bed and throwing his head back. “Then sit.” 

“Right now?” she checks. 

Soldier Boy only has to turn his head and look at her to prompt her into action as she bites down on her bottom lip and begins to climb onto the bed. He can tell she’s still hesitant, slowly and carefully lifting her leg to begin straddling his body, and the supe grows impatient and grabs her thigh, tugging her down almost forcefully as he makes her squeal and giggle slightly. Instantly, her sex is pressed against his mouth, and Ben wastes no time opening up, extending his tongue to push through her folds as he begins to taste her sweet juices. He hums in delight, feeling the full extent of her weight pressing down on his face, feeling utterly suffocated by her and loving every second of it. This is what he’s been craving. 

He laps up every drop she gives him; and she only gives him more and more the longer he toys with her clit, or fucks her opening with his tongue, and while her voice is muffled thanks to the warm, soft flesh of her thighs pressing against his ears, he can still hear her hums and moans of pleasure above him, and he can hear the slight groans and creaks of the mattress and headboard as she holds on for dearlife and rocks her hips to aid him. His arms wrap firmly around her hips, holding her down tighter against him, wanting to struggle to breathe in anything but her and her intoxicating scent, and it works, his cock desperate and throbbing between his legs at the very sensations flooding him. 

When he begrudgingly pulls back for air, he turns his head and begins to bite and suck on the soft flesh of her inner thighs, making her gasp for air and tense them either side of his face, only making him feel even more wrapped up in her. 

“God you taste so good, baby girl,” he growls against her skin, once again encouraging her pussy back onto his mouth, already missing the sweet tang of her juices. 

He feasts on her once more, not stopping until her legs are shaking either side of his head, and she’s trying to speak coherent words, but the only sounds falling from her lips are in broken english and near enough gibberish, until he can feel her walls pulsing inside her, her thigh muscles quivering. 

He moans himself as he pushes his way out from underneath her, leaving her on her knees, supported by the headboard she’s still clinging to for dear life, and he’s quick to kneel behind her, pulling out his throbbing erection and finally giving it some of the attention it’s craved. He places one hand on her hip, his fingers digging into the soft, supple flesh, and keeps her in her place as he shuffles a little closer and teases her pussy with the tip of his cock. She moans, rocking her hips back seemingly instinctively, and Soldier Boy wastes no time teasing the two of them for a moment longer. 

He thrusts forward, feeling her pussy still pulsating from her orgasm, sucking him in perfectly, and he moans, his eyes beginning to roll as he hones in on the rapid speed of her heartbeat. 

“Fuck, honey,” he hums, folding himself over her, “you almost feel as good as you taste.” 

He presses his face into the side of her neck, dragging his teeth along her delicate skin, biting and sucking occasionally, knowing how much she loves that as he starts fucking into her from behind, wrapping his one arm around her front to keep her elevated just right. Y/N moans, reaching to hold onto his arm rather than the headboard as she fucks back into him too, her nails digging into his skin everytime he gets deep enough. 

“Did that feel good?” he asks breathily against her ear. He can feel her nod, but she clearly can’t reply with words, which only makes him feel even more smug. “Good, so next time I tell you to sit, you better fucking sit,” he growls, his cock throbbing at just the thought of next time. 

“Oh fuck,” she gasps out, her eyes fluttering closed. “Whatever you want, baby.” 

[spacebarbarianweird]

Punishment

Synopsis: Domestic hurt\comfort becomes domestic smut because Tiriel should have listened to her vampire and not risk her life.

Tags: hurt\comfort, smut, dom!Astarion, very long prelude to the smut, a lot of butt slapping + also some complications of having an active sex life when you have a child Based on this amazing art by @mutualcombat

Thanks @themadlu for beta-reading!

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

The fall was painful.

An enemy, a resurrected skeleton in heavy armor, easily pushed Tiriel from the cliff. Her armor and weapon left her no place for maneuver and the barbarian fell on the thin layer of ice that was covering the black waters of a lake.

Pain pierced her body. Tiriel gasped – every breath was agonizing as her ribs were broken. She coughed and immediately realized that a bone damaged the lungs.

Stupid, she thinks. So stupid. 

The ice cracks and the waters take Tiriel.

**

“O’su, why are you angry?” Alethaine rubs her sleepy eyes.Whether her dhampirism is to blame or the quarter of human blood in her body, the girl sleeps like a cat, for much longer than human kids her age. 

Astarion doesn’t mind this quirk of hers. 

When she sleeps, she can’t run up to the ceiling and fall from there. And she won’t try to escape outside, especially at night following the call only vampires and dhampirs can hear.

“I am not!” Astarion huffs putting food onto a plate. The four-year-old elf yawns and grabs a spoon in a very clumsy manner. Then she sticks it into the oatmeal and Astarion suspects Alethaine is trying to find sweet pieces of berries there. 

“You are angry,” Alethaine says. “I heard you and Mum fighting yesterday.”

“You didn’t.”

“I did!” Alethaine gets anoyed and hits the table with her small hand. “You were fighting!”

Astarion crosses his arms. Well, as a half undead Alethaine has extremely acute hearing. So acute that no matter how hard her parents try, she does hear noises from their bedroom she can’t yet comprehend.

And of course, she did hear her parents yelling at each other outside the house.

“Well, we had some… disagreements.”

Tiriel was offered a job. To help a bunch of adventurers retrieve a treasure from the dungeon deep in the High Wood. And his wife wanted to go so much that she couldn’t care less about what Astarion was saying.

That the job was dangerous.

That those morons who hired her had no idea what they were getting into.

That the weather was so shitty it made Icewind Dale look like Calimshan. 

And Tiriel accused Astarion of controlling her. That he was possessive, that he didn’t want her to go without him – because he was fucking jealous!

Ridiculous. 

“Why?” Alethaine demands answers.

“It was a bad idea to go alone, that’s all!” Astarion says. “Your mother will spend more gold on healing potions than she will earn!”

Alethaine’s ears twitch. She stops eating and pulls away.

“I don’t like when you fight,” she says. 

“I don’t like either, princess. But it’s going to be alright! Your mother will come back and everything will be good!”

“O’si said she was bored,” Alethaine adds. “When she was reading me a story, she told me she was bored at home. Mum wanted to slay a monster like in that book.”

Astarion nods. Well, another thing he sometimes forgets. Whilst he feels comfortable and nice in their house, reading books, sewing clothes, and taking care of their child, Tiriel is a fighter. She is used to the roads, sleeping in the dirt, fighting, and drinking. Domestic life is exhausting – and she doesn't even know how to occupy herself when the blizzard howls in the woods.

When Alethaine was younger, she required all of Tiriel's attention, but now Alethaine is more or less independent – and the barbarian has started feeling…

…Bored…

“Still no excuse to risk herself!” Astarion protests. “Alethaine, your mum fights as if she was a vampire. And before, I used to be there to have her back or drag her to the healer. Those… morons…. Young idiots won’t do that for her!” Astarion quickly corrects himself. 

“What does “moron” mean?”

“You didn’t hear that.”

“I did!”

“It means someone stupid. Just don’t repeat it anywhere, it’s a bad word.”

“Then why did you say it?” 

“Alethaine, eat your breakfast” Astarion bares his fangs as a threat.

The dhampir huffs and takes the spoon. 

The next moment Astairon hears footsteps. Someone is coming to the front door. 

“Vampire!” he hears the healer’s voice. “A quick word!”

Astarion opens the door. The female halfling doesn’t wear a winter jacket even though her house is many blocks away.

And there is an aura of…

Fear…

“What happened?”

And the Astarion catches a familiar scent. Way too familiar to ignore.

The healer’s sleeves are covered in Tiriel’s blood.

**

Tiriel feels like dying. She knows she is dying.

The dark waters dragged her under the ice trying to murder her. So stupid. Astarion warned her not to go and he was right. He has a better perception of danger than her. She should have  listened.

She didn’t.

Was it some stupid pride preventing her from listening to her husband? Or just the exhausting boredom she endured at home?

Anyway, she is dying.

She is leaving her husband and daughter alone.

Alethaine will grow up barely knowing her.

Astarion … Can he survive without her? Twenty-four years is such a short time for him to heal…

Tiriel failed them both.

Then, she starts suffocating. Primal fear suppresses everything sentient about Tiriel – and it awakes the rage in her.

The ice wounds her hands as she crawls to the surface, bleeding and freezing. 

And then the rage leaves her with only a fever.

Ttiriel barely remembers anything after that. She knows someone carried her somewhere. 

Voices, insults. 

A pair of red eyes staring at her in a dimly lit room.

A child crying.

“Is she dying?! Dad, is Mum going to die?!”

Tiriel wants to console her daughter, but she is too weak. The healing potion burns her throat, but it’s not enough to repair the damage. 

“Astarion, she has frostbite. If the potions don’t help, I will have to cut her leg off.”

Tiriel is hit by a wave of panic. No, not cutting her limbs off! No, they can’t do this to her!

Pain. Fever. Thirst. Difficulty breathing. Tiriel wants to scream but she can’t. She can’t move, she can’t see anything.

Another cry. An angry voice forcing the child to go away. 

Gentle hands. Cold skin. 

Astarion.

Tiriel tries to open her eyes to see him but can’t. She needs to see him. She needs to make sure he’s not a hallucination. That he has come to save her. 

But then, the darkness takes her and there is no pain anymore.

**

Astarion leans on the kitchen table. It’s over. Tiriel is getting better. She has made it. They didn't even have to cut her leg.

She is home.

It will take her months to fully heal, of course, but she isn’t dying. That's the most important thing. 

Astarion takes his blood-stained shirt off, suppressing the desire to chew the soaked fabric. 

“Daddy.” 

He turns around and sees the dhampir. She’s been crying – damn, she is still crying – and stands in the kitchen hugging a plushie dragon.

“What is it, princess?”

“Is mum going to be alright?”

“Yes,” Astarion puts on the clean shirt, the one made of black fabric. 

“Why did you yell at me?”

Astarion feels guilty. The last thing he was thinking about was how the whole situation was perceived by a four-year-old child – he just didn’t want her to be in the same room with her mutilated mother.

“I am sorry,” Astarion lifts the girl up. “Sorry for yelling”.

“Is mum really going to be all right or you just say so?” Alethaine insists.

“She is going to be all right… She just needs rest”

“Dad.”

“Hm?”

“We aren’t letting her go anywhere anymore,” Alethaine says. 

Astarion chuckles. “Well, I don’t think we can prevent her from going outside, but you can express your concerns about her behavior”.

**

A week later Tiriel feels more or less capable of standing up. All these days, she was basically nursed by her little family – Astarion was spending all his time near her bed. Alethaine would come to check asking if she needed anything and was extremely proud of herself when Tiriel asked the girl to bring her a glass of water or medicine.

Tiriel gets up, puts on her trousers and a shirt, and goes looking for Astarion. Alethaine is fast asleep in her bed, barely visible among pillows and plushies. 

Perks of not needing to breathe – Alethaine can bury herself in soft blankets and experience nothing but warmth and comfort.

And, if one day she is thrown into a frozen lake she won’t drown.

One less thing to worry about, Tiriel thinks.

Tiriel finds Astarion in the basement where they stash artifacts and gold. 

“Hello, my sweet,” Astarion smiles, but Tiriel knows he is faking it. He is upset. Angry. And gods know what else.

“Hello,” Tiriel sits beside him. “I'm feeling much better.”

“Good.”

The silence is so heavy it causes discomfort. Tiriel touches his shoulder and suddenly he flinches as if this form of intimacy were out of the question.

“Are you angry?” Tiriel asks. 

“Oh, thank you for asking,” Astarion closes the book and throws it at the wall. The heavy volume immediately becomes a pile of paper. “I am!”

Tiriel bites her lip. She is ashamed of herself. Of what she did.

“Why couldn't you listen to me?! Do my words mean nothing to you, Tiriel?!” Astarion's eyes glow red. “You could have died!”

“I am sorry!”

“I am very well aware of the fact I am going to overlive you. But could you not make it happen so soon?! Alethaine was crying her eyes out. Because she fucking saw you bleeding to death! She has nightmares! and I… I…” he sits on the floor grabbing the fistful of his hair. “Tiriel… I…”

The words are stuck in his mouth and Tiriel kneels in front of him. Then, she cups his cheeks and kisses the bridge of his nose. Then she proceeds to kiss his forehead and lips.

“I am sorry, Astarion. I will listen to you next time, I promise.”

“You can’t even understand how much I want to lock you somewhere,” he says.

“Astarion, we’ve been there. I know you are possessive. But love isn’t about control, unless it is a bedroom play.”

He nods and kisses her wrist. 

Tiriel smiles. “How can I … pay for my disobedience?” 

Astarion suspiciously looks at her. He is examining her, she realizes. Trying to understand if he can… make her pay.

Tiriel unfastens the claps of his shirt, baring his chest. Then she kisses his right nipple and teases it with her tongue.

Astarion lets out a moan but, instead of undressing Tiriel, pushes her away.

“Astarion?” she hesitates. How angry is he, actually?

“You told me you want to pay.” He sits on the bench. “Then you will.”

Tiriel giggles.

“As you wish, my lord, '' she says. “How will I do it?”

“Take off your clothes.”

“I obey,” Tiriel undresses and throws the clothes on the stone floor. Astarion studies her body – scars, fresh bruises. Tiriel nods, inviting him to continue their game.

What is he thinking about?

“Turn around,” he orders and she obeys. “Now, kneel!”

Tiril cringes feeling the harsh and cold surface with her knees. Astarion stands beside her and puts his arms on her shoulders. His grasp is strong and Tiriel admires how truly strong he is as a vampire. 

Fangs pierce the nape of her neck. She gasps, but Astarion hardly takes any blood; he just licks some with his cold tongue.

“You were a terribly bad girl,” he murmurs. “Not listening to what I say!”

Tiriel smiles. Astarion is fully clothed, but she suspects he is already hard.

He pinches her nipples forcing her to moan. 

“What are the odds she won't hear us?” Tiriel whispers and Astarion immediately shuts her mouth with his cold palm.

“We could have built torture chambers for people like your recent clients here and princess wouldn’t have suspected anything.”

“Hm, then we need to bring a bed here.”

“Then she will suspect. Now shut up and let me make you pay for your misdeeds!” Astarion clenches his hands around her neck and forces Tiriel to lie on the stone floor. 

She feels his cold finger touching her pussy. He gently tracks along her labia, forcing her core to get wet. 

Tiriel expects him to get inside, but it doesn’t happen as he keeps teasing her. 

“Astarion…”

The next moment, the index finger of his left hand is in her mouth. 

“Suck it!” He orders.

Tiriel wraps her lips around his finger and makes suckling movements trying to catch the same rhythm Astarion has teasing her pussy.

The heat between her legs became unbearable. She wants to beg him to at least fill her with his fingers, but instead, he abruptly lets her go.

She sits up in front of him as if she were enslaved and he was her captor and master deciding her fate. Tiriel waits, letting him savor the image.

Then he kneels in front of her. His smile is coy and his eyes are tender and Tiriel thinks the play is over – and that he is going to become his usual self in terms of sex. Maybe even much sweet and tender – compensation for all the years of rough fucking.

But then, he tugs her to his lap. His free hand tugs her half-elven ear.

And then he slaps her.

The sensation is so unexpected that Tiriel lets out a cry and then feels tears pricking her eyes. Another slap, stronger and rougher.

She elbows up a bit and feels the bump between his legs. 

Then a pause. Astarion waits. Tiriel can leave. She can say she doesn't like it. That the stone floor hurts her elbows, that the whole thing is embarrassing. That she feels cold or not fully healed.

But she doesn’t say anything. Instead,she moves a bit, making it more comfortable for him to keep slapping her naked butt.

SLAP

His hand is cold and strong, and Tiriel knows it will be hard to sit.

SLAP

Tiriel concentrates on the painful pleasure, allowing herself to melt in it. Her whole world is narrowed down to the torture she inflicted upon herself. 

SLAP

“Will you disobey me again?” Astarion demands.

“No, I never will! Aah!”

“What if I say it’s fucking dangerous to go alone next time?”

“I will listen!”

SLAP

“Good,” he stops. His fingers are placed on her pussy again as he gets distracted by her scent.

Tiriel squirms and moans in his arms as he keeps playing with the swell of her sex.

“Please…” Tiriel whimpers.

“What is it, bad girl?”

“I want you inside of me… please…”

But Astarion doesn't listen. His fingers play with her as if she was a musical instrument. Astarion knows all of her sensitive spots. He knows how to make her come, how to make her a mindless half-elf. He's learned her body thoroughly. In a both possessive and selfless way.

Tiriel feels her orgasm approaching. She clenches her fists and lets out a cry as she reaches her peak.

She doesn't feel cold anymore. Tiriel pants and mewls as Astarion finally lets her go.

He caresses her cheek in the most tender way possible and kisses her.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Tiriel puts her hands on the lace of his trousers, but instead of letting her continue, he gently pulls her away.

“No,” Astarion firmly says.

“Why?”

“Because you are still healing.”

“Astarion, are you fucking serious?! You’ve been slapping me!”

“Yes. I was slapping your butt not lying on top of you”.

“We can do it in a different way!”

“And it still involves some form of physical activity from you. Or me absolutely ravishing you. No. You will get better and only then we will fuck each other into  oblivion.”

“And what are you going to do about this?” she pokes the bump to feel the delicious hardness below the fabric.

“I will use my hand.”

“Save it for the time when I am away,” Tiriel unlaces the trousers, freeing his cock.

“Hand or mouth?” she asks, tracing her finger along the shaft. 

“Mouth… And keep…eye contact…please.”

“As you wish,'' Tiriel kisses the tip of his cock. Over the years they have been together, Tiriel learned how his body reacts to her touches. 

In a moment she’s already swallowed it fully – tears flow down her cheeks. She moves her lips and tongue along the shaft, never breaking eye contact. 

Astarion groans and grabs a fistful of her hair. His cock is cold and hard, but his sensitive, soft skin is quickly getting warmer in Tiriel’s mouth, and she wishes to prolong his pleasure.

But it’s so damn cold in the basement.

Suddenly, she feels being pulled away. Tiriel lets the cock go. Astarion grabs it with his free hand, makes a few stroking movements, and then the white liquid spills over her breasts.

Tiriel stands up shivering from the cold, and only now does she realize how truly intense the slapping was.

Astarion laces his trousers and quickly kisses Tiriel's lips and when she tries to put on her clothes back he wraps her shoulders in a blanket and lifts her in the air.

“Let's go to our normal bed,” he says. 

“Only if you stay there with me,” Tiriel pouts.

“Of course, love, of course!”

Minutes later, Tiriel lies in Astarion’s arms –  he’s insisted on wiping her breasts and pussy himself – and now she can just enjoy the comfort.

“Astarion.”

“Hm?”

“I promise to listen to your advice next time.”

“Thank you, love.”

**

By the time spring starts, Tiriel finally feels well enough to wield her weapon and wear her armor. Astarion knows she longs for a fight and a good adventure, and it would be too ungrateful for him to try to lock her down and guilt-trip her into always staying by his side. 

But someone needs to keep an eye on their daughter and Astarion slowly makes peace with the thought that Tiriel will indeed have to go away without him from time to time.

Astarion puts his old bedroll on the stone basement floor. There was a period when this imitation of a bed was the most comfortable thing he owned. Well, there was a period when he thought getting kisses from Tiriel was merely a reward for his services, not a genuine demonstration of affection.

“No, don't go!” he hears Alethaine’s voice. “Mum! Don’t go!”

“It’s all right, kitten. I will be back in a week. I will bring you a gift from Secomber.”

“No! I want you to stay! Dad!” Astarion hears small footsteps – Alethaine is forbidden from going to the basement due to all the dangerous artefacts stashed there, so she stops on the top step. “Dad, Mum is going somewhere! Again!”

Astarion goes up and sees an absolutely angry four-year-old dhampir pointing at her mother who is preparing for a trip.

“That’s all right, she promised not to fight anything stronger than her,” Astarion picks the girl up. 

“She will find things that are stronger!”

Tiriel approaches them, hugs Astarion from behind, and caresses her daughter’s cheek. “Kitten, I will be back soon, you will see. And when you grow up, you will also have someone who won’t want you to go away – but you sometimes will have to.”

“When I am as big as you, I will have a little girl,” Alethaine says. “And when she asks me to stay, I will!”

Astarion chuckles – well, he hasn’t got used to the idea of having a daughter even though she is four and the very idea of having a grandchild eventually sounds even less realistic than him regaining his mortality. 

“That will be your choice,” Tiriel kisses. “What do you want me to get you?”

“I want a book about elves,” Alethaine says.

“Ok, I will take a look for something interesting.”

Alethaine pulls away, showing that she wants to go. Astarion puts her back and the girl immediately disappears into her room. 

“Are you leaving in the morning?” Astarion asks.

Tiriel nods. “Something on your mind?”

“Actually yes,” Astarion takes Tiriel's hand and makes her follow him downstairs. “Besides,” he playfully pushes Tiriel on the bedroll, “Our best nights were on the road in our old tent!”

--

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[elvensorceress]

wip wednesday

tagged by @hoodie-buck @exhuastedpigeon @eddiebabygirldiaz @wikiangela @disasterbuckdiaz @diazsdimples @tizniz @heartshapedvows @theotherbuckley be sure to read their lovely snippets! 💕 tagging @spotsandsocks @shortsighted-owl @hippolotamus @messyhairdiaz @rogerzsteven @monsterrae1 @loveyouanyway @bekkachaos @daffi-990 @wh0re-behavi0r @eddiediazisascorpio @evanbegins @confetti-cupcake if you want to share anything 💕 More Unless because I WILL finish this monster. I WILL.

Eddie leans down, but only a little because his son is already ridiculously tall, and kisses Chris’ forehead. “You know you’re my favorite, right?” 

Chris rolls his eyes but grins. “Buck can be your favorite, too. I know he is.”

“It’s different. You both are. But you are always first. He thinks so, too. You’re our son. We love you more than anything.”

The smile fades a little and then disappears as quickly as it appeared. “He’s going to stay with us, right? He’s not going to leave?” 

Why is it always Chris who can so effectively drive a knife through Eddie’s chest with the way he’s suffered and lost and been in pain? Chris never should have had to experience so much pain. “Yes, Chris. He’s going to stay with us.” 

Chris gives him that pointed, very Shannon look that twists the knife so well. He sounds fragile and so much closer to being the heartbroken six year old who missed his mom than he is to being the teenage survivor that he is. “Promise?” 

He can’t promise that. Eddie can’t even say he believes it himself all the way. Why wouldn’t he fuck up and lose the best thing that’s ever happened to them? Why wouldn’t Buck get tired or fed up and leave Eddie? 

Eddie’s not enough for him. 

“I promise Buck is never going to leave you, okay?” Eddie tells him and it has to be enough. “You’ll always have him. He’s not going to stop being your dad for any reason.” 

Chris just looks at him with unending sorrow and eyes full of tears. “What about you? You need Buck, too. I know you do. He’s also your favorite and your ‘more than anything’ and he’s both of ours and I don’t want him to leave you either. I know how sad you were, Dad. I know you were. You’re not the same without him. You need him. We both need him. I don’t want you to be sad like that ever. I don’t want to— I don’t want to lose Buck like we lost Mom. He’s my dad and you love him and I don’t want to do that again. We can’t do that again.”

Jesus Christ. Can he have a chance to not be stabbed through the heart, thanks? 

“Chris—” What the fuck does Eddie even say? “Buck will always be my friend. Even if we don’t— even if—” 

He can’t breathe. He can’t. There’s no air. 

He has to swallow and get it together. It’s fine. He’s fine. The mere thought of having to break up is not going to make him panic. The thought of Chris losing another parent cannot make him panic either. 

It’s just— it’s not great. The whole idea of losing Buck is awful and he hates it and doesn’t want to even think such a thing let alone talk about it. 

But he has to say something. He has to reassure Chris. He blinks back his own tears and he can do this. They’ll figure it out. It’ll be okay. It has to. “If dating him doesn’t work out, Buck and I will still be friends.” 

They will be. Their relationship is so much more than dating and kissing and being in love. It’s strong enough to survive anything. It would be awful and Eddie honestly doesn’t know if he’d ever stop being in love with him even if they had to face the horrible reality of a divorce. How could his heart ever stop wanting Buck? But they would find a way to be friends. 

They might not be able to have a marriage, but they have to be in each other’s lives. That is nonnegotiable. They’d figure it out. 

“And he’d still be your dad,” Eddie adds. “None of that would change.”

Chris sniffs and still frowns. But he tries to at least look like he buys it. “He wouldn’t live here with us though.”

“No, probably not. But in a few years, you won’t want to live here either. You’ll want to go to college or get some fancy job or maybe you’ll travel, but you’ll have your own life to live wherever you want and do whatever you want. You won’t be here either.” 

It was supposed to be comforting, but it only makes Chris’ tears overflow. He goes back to hugging Eddie as tightly as possible and trying to stifle the way he cries.

Eddie simply hugs him in return and wishes he could banish away all his pain and anguish. But he doesn’t know how they would make it through losing Buck either. They would. They would have to. They have each other. 

But Buck is missing pieces and filled in needs and worlds of love and support for both of them. Eddie doesn’t know how they’d keep going if all of that is ripped away. They would, but. How? 

One step forward, one more breath. That’s all you can ever do. That’s what Bobby and Athena told him before. That’s all anyone can do. 

Eddie closes his eyes tightly and has to shut it off and he just needs to comfort his son. He can do that. He just needs to protect and love his son. 

After a tiny second of quiet, there’s movement at the doorway to the kitchen. And then Buck is wrapping around them both. Until they’re holding Chris between them while also gripping each other. 

They’ve all been through so much loss, so much trauma, why wouldn’t the scariest, most horrible nightmare imaginable be the thought of losing each other and their little family? 

Buck kisses them both, Chris on the side of his head and Eddie on his cheek, and he whispers promises of infallible, irrevocable love. Because he’s nothing if not his unfailing heart. 

[devilfic]

❝right place, right time❞

IV. the hierophant.

parts: previously / next plot: you ask bruce to take his shirt off. pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x gn!reader. cw: surgeon!reader, secret identities, slow burn, emotional hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, alfred’s a little mean but he’s just being protective, you’re making serious life choices on four hours of sleep and a dream, you’re getting warmer, mentions of guns (none used). words: 7.3k.

a/n: this one is longer than usual and it is largely due to the fact that the last half of this fic came to me at six in the morning and I deigned to part with it. enjoy!

You get about as far as the lobby before your confidence wanes. The woman behind the desk has the kind of look that fits in a place like this: pristine brows, glossed lips, nary a flyaway not tamed by gel and a boar-bristle brush. You realize, quite belatedly, that you stick out like a sore thumb. 

Even with a phone tucked between shoulder and cheek, her stare pins you down and tells you to stay where you are. You listen because, frankly, you don’t know where else to go.

She’s in no hurry to finish her call, but it’s all too soon before she’s fixing you with that stare again. You’re already nervous. “Can I help you?” She—Alexandra, you gather from her name tag—doesn’t blink.

You feel ridiculous saying it out loud, “I’m here to see Bruce Wayne.”

Alexandra’s head tips to the side, examining you more closely. Perhaps looking for your audacity, you think, because she doesn’t look too keen on helping you with that request. “He sent me flowers.” You add on, lamely.

Finally she blinks, unimpressed, “Did he now?”

You feel unnerved when you hand it over and she doesn’t immediately take it. Eventually, after your arm has begun to shake, she plucks it from you.

It takes her but a few seconds for her entire expression to change. The next time she looks up at you, her stare is curious, memory jogged. “You were on the news, the doctor from Gotham General,” Alexandra recalls, “did you have an appointment?”

“No. I uh... well, I just... the delivery person dropped these off a half hour ago. I just wanted to thank him.”

Alexandra’s face softens. “I’m sorry, I can’t let anyone up without a prior appointment. I can relay a message, however. Or give you his office’s number.”

You wouldn’t be seeing him today, would you? You’d come here on an adrenaline high, a little angry and a little woozy on pain meds. You hadn’t even been thinking when you’d left your apartment, had turned off your phone as soon as your mother started calling, and now you were on the other side of the city hoping to see the most important man in Gotham. Of course you should’ve called. He left you his number and you thought you could just walk right into his office.

But then again, he’d walked right into yours. Why couldn’t you do the same?

Behind the desk, one of the (heavily armed) security guards is keeping an eye on you. That... answered your question. Maybe you’d have to make that call after all.

You’re about to do just that, thanking Alexandra for her time, when you hear your name being called from a few feet away.

You recognize him in an instant. The weathered, greying face of Bruce Wayne’s right hand man is approaching at impeccable speed, nearly making you stumble back to keep the distance, “Mr. Pennyworth.” You breathe the name at the same time as Alexandra, who goes a step further and stands to acknowledge him. You don’t think it’s customary with the way his quick smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

You, on the other hand, get no smile at all, “What a surprise to find you here. I hope the flowers were received well? We were unable to gather if you’re prone to allergies.”

You wonder how he would’ve gotten that information without asking you first, “No- I mean yes, they were fine. I was actually coming to deliver my thanks.”

Alfred straightens at this. It’s not hard, with all your experience, to recognize a veteran when you see one. He’s got the determined, flawless gait along with the endless eyes (the ones that go on forever with stories and horrors not so far beyond your imagination). He’s also got the immovability of one. You understand why he’s Bruce Wayne’s right hand man. If a bomb was unable to take him out, you doubted much else could. Not even if you asked nicely. “That’s very kind of you. I’ll have to pass your thanks on to Master Wayne.”

Master? It’s not so out of place, situated in his West London accent, but it does throw you off in 21st century America. Everything about him read as other than, and yet you felt the most out of place in this conversation. “Actually, I was hoping if I could see him. I’d like to tell him in person. If that’s alright.”

Alfred’s eyebrow twitches upwards, “Does Mr. Wayne know you’re coming?”

You flush. You really should’ve called first. “No. He doesn’t. I thought-” that you’d all make an exception for me, “I was in a hurry to get here. I didn’t even think to call.”

“Mr. Wayne is a very busy man.”

“I know, I’m sorry. Truly. I just really need to talk to him.”

“Perhaps you can come back another day. I’ll be happy to schedule that with you, if Mr. Pennyworth is needed elsewhere.” Alexandra interjects. There was no way you could tell her or Alfred that if you had more time to think about what you were about to do, you might as well ask to be put down.

Mr. Pennyworth extends his arm, bringing his wrist to his eyeline where he reads the time on his watch. You glance at your phone and realize it’s just a few minutes after one. “Actually, Alexandra, there’s no need. I believe Mr. Wayne has just finished his workout and should be headed back to the penthouse to rest for the afternoon. I don’t believe he’d mind our guest coming up for a chat.”

You cut your eyes to Alexandra, then back to Alfred who’s now looking at you. Either you were really lucky, or there was something you didn’t know going on here.

Regardless, Alfred turns on the spot and begins to walk away.

With one last “thank you” thrown at Alexandra, you head off after him, slowing to a more graceful pace as employees pass pointed looks at you. You shrink closer to Alfred, then further behind him when he casts an inquisitive glance in your direction.

He leads you around the corner, down a long hallway where the suits and ties grow fewer and fewer. A few more turns and you both end up in the elevator alone.

The silence is only cut through every few seconds by the occasional ding! letting you know you’ve passed another floor. This was all starting to feel just a little too easy.

After the first five floors, Alfred speaks, “I trust you’re recovering well?”

“Yes, actually. I’m lucky. We all were.”

Alfred hums, “Yes. It is rather lucky having the Batman around.”

You turn to him, curious, “You’re a fan?”

For the first time in your presence, the old man actually cracks a real smile. It’s faint, but realer than the one he’d given Alexandra. “A critic.”

“A critical fan.”

“I think he’s done a better job taking care of the people in this city than some, though his methods could use refining. And you?”

“I might be biased given that he’s saved my life and all, but I’m a fan,” you wonder if you should tell him. Then, in line with your other decisions thus far, choose to do so anyway, “I actually got to tell him that. When we first met. Before the... hospital. Patched up a nasty bullet wound for him.”

For some reason, Alfred doesn’t look as surprised as you were hoping for. You’d have to find another way to impress him. “Is that right?” His gaze becomes more pointed, “Think he was looking out for you?”

It sounds so absurd to you at first that you laugh, but even thinking about it for a second, it isn’t that absurd. It’s easy, even, to come to that conclusion. You’d saved his life. He’d saved yours. Perhaps he’d just wanted to do away with owing you, but you know that isn’t quite right, “I think he’s just a good person. It was just-”

“Lucky.” He finishes for you, smile gone now. You get the feeling that he knows something you don’t.

Before you can be so bold as to question him about it, he starts talking again, “If I may, Master Wayne informed me of his interest in you prior to his job offer. And it’s my understanding that you politely declined. Now, it’s none of my business as to why you turned down his offer, that was your decision and he must respect that, and it’s neither my business why you’ve insisted on coming here after the fact, but I do want to make one thing clear: as Bruce’s butler, I have seen many come and go through these halls with intentions I’m more than privy to. I know when someone is looking to gain something from him. This is the first time I’ve not been sure what to predict. It’s not clear to me what you plan to get out of this arrangement, but I request that whatever you do, you do not make me regret allowing you past these doors.”

The elevator comes to a full stop, the final ding! alerting you that you’re one floor away from the penthouse. A mechanized voice requests over the speakers to “present identification”. Alfred does not move. He stares at you, awaiting your response.

You don’t know whether to feel angry or sheepish. You stand here in little more than sweatpants and ratty sneakers, shaking like a purse dog where at any moment, someone could come around the corner and put a bullet between your eyes for saying the wrong thing. In fact, no one needed to come around any corners. You’d seen the outline of the 9mm under Alfred’s vest on the way to the elevator. You had little more than your keys on you for self-defense.

You weren’t a threat. You were barely anything without a scalpel in your hand.

And yet this military man with more bullets than you’d have seconds to escape him thinks you enough of a problem to lecture you. God, alright, you’re a little angry.

“If I may,” you start, “I have no clue what Bruce wants with me either. And frankly, I’m more worried about that than you should be about me. I just want to talk to him. If you’re lucky, you’ll never have to see me again.”

He holds your gaze a little longer, wondering if you’ll crack. It takes very deep, measured breaths to keep from doing so.

You don’t know how long the two of you just stand there, but eventually Alfred touches a screen on the wall with his thumb that seems to be the magic password. The voice from before confirms as much, jolting the elevator the last few feet before spilling the two of you out into the penthouse. Alfred says nothing more, simply guiding you down another hallway, up some stairs, and into a room larger than the upper half of your apartment complex.

You don’t have time to pause at the one-of-a-kind art on the wall, nor the shelves lined with books of all languages and disciplines. You don’t even have time to examine the city outside the window (from what you glimpse, the view is beautiful).

You stand out in the open beneath twin winding staircases either side of you, leading up into a dark unknown. You feel like a child staring up at the ceiling, breathing in the gloomy castle. It’s worlds away from your quaint unit stuck in the 80s.

“He should be here,” is the first thing Alfred has said to you since the elevator, “I’ll just be a moment.”

You watch the old man wander up one of the staircases, calling for Bruce. Without anyone watching you, you’re free to explore. And really, what if this was the last time you’d ever step foot in this place?

The first thing you approach is the large table in the middle of the room. There’s a W engraved in the wood, polished to a shine, surrounded by abandoned teacups and loose papers you try not to look too closely at.

The next thing you approach is a small study off to the side where more books live, but your stomach drops when you chance a glance out into the city. You’ve been this high up before, but you couldn’t imagine this being the first thing you see every morning. You could see most of Gotham from this high. Every skyscraper, every dingy alleyway, every car and boat and train from miles around. This far above, it was no wonder they called the Waynes royalty.

You also couldn’t imagine the money it took to build this place. It was cheaper back before anyone in this building had been born, but if Bruce Wayne wanted, he could build one just like it in every major city. You can even see Gotham General from here. It’s... it makes you feel so small.

Your fingers press into the glass and leave behind prints. You doubted anyone would even notice.

You’re seconds from whipping out your phone and texting Emily a photo of the view when Alfred’s voice breaks the silence, “Master Wayne! There you are.”

Shit, he was here already?

You turn, expecting him to be at the staircase or by the front door or even by the table you’d been pondering. You don’t expect him to be just a few feet behind you, watching you watch the cityscape. The sudden closeness makes you tumble back into the window, your head thudding on the glass so loudly that you see Bruce wince.

When Alfred’s voice carries again, he’s much closer. Close enough for you to hear the displeasure in: “You have a guest.”

Alfred leaves you both alone in the study. He cites some phone calls he needs to make and swears to keep “Dory” out until the end of your meeting. You’re assured it’s just the two of you up here. As if that would calm your mounting nerves.

At the very least, Bruce looks just as unsure as you.

He puts the desk between the two of you, still standing, only now his shape has changed. In his fancy suits, he was angular, a person who parted crowds with his size. Now, here, in a t-shirt that hangs off him so loosely he looks gaunt, he looks smaller somehow. Tall and lean but smaller. Softer. It helps a little, doesn’t feel so out of place when his voice matches his demeanor, “Did you get the flowers?”

Only then do you realize that Alexandra still has the card he left you. “How do you know where I live?”

His expression turns frightened for just a moment, then softens, “Your boss called when they arrived at your office, told me you were on leave. He offered to send them to your apartment.” He takes the way your eyes narrow as you not believing him, “He didn’t tell me where. And I didn’t ask.” He hastily tacks on the last part.

Of course, he says all this as if you had lawyers on speed dial. Was it because he had something to hide?

“They were... beautiful. I can’t remember the last time someone gave me flowers.” You reply, honest, and it takes a little of the tension out of his shoulders. Yours too.

“After I saw the news, I was just glad to know you hadn’t been seriously harmed.”

“No, I was lucky. Or someone was looking out for me.” The last bit slips out without you meaning it to. When you look up to hazard Bruce’s reaction, he’s entirely impassive. Whatever got you into this penthouse convinces you to ask the next thing that comes to mind, “Do you believe in the Batman?”

You catch the genuine confusion flit across his face as he asks, “Like... the boogeyman?”

“No, I mean... do you believe- I mean he’s just a person, right? Clearly. But do you believe he’s doing something good for Gotham? Mayor Reál seems to think he’s a sign that the city has gone to shit. I know you’re a supporter of hers. I was just curious.”

“The city’s always been... shit,” he catches your eye as he reuses your wording, “I don’t think he’s a sign. I think he’s a side effect.”

“So... the city gets better and, what, Batman no more?”

“That’s the ideal.”

“I can’t imagine a Gotham that nice.”

Bruce studies you. You find it alarming how still he can be, “Do you?”

“Hm?”

“Do you believe? In the Batman?”

Why do you feel so naive when you blurt out a confident “yes”? Is it because Bruce looks skeptical? Because you realize that maybe you’re more attached to the vigilante than you should be, even if he saved your life? That maybe you’d placed all your hope for a better world in him, and if he ever failed, you’d be in for a rude awakening? All of the above was your best guess. “You didn’t answer.”

Bruce fidgets. “I don’t know.”

“That’s a cop out.” It hits you that the conversation has begun to flow on its own, the longest you’ve ever talked to Bruce. Maybe the suits were the issue after all.

“It’s... like you said: Gotham gets better, the Batman is no more. I want Gotham to get better.”

Whether he’s playing diplomat or not, it’s such a neutral stance that you begin to reevaluate what you know about Bruce Wayne. You shift the conversation to shallow waters, “Your butler is intimidating.”

“Alfred?”

“He interrogated me on the ride up here. Felt like I was being lectured by my girlfriend’s dad.”

Bruce laughs all of a sudden, even less tense. The smile that splits his stoic in two is so very different from anything you’ve seen on him so far, “I’m sorry about him, he’s protective. I hope he didn’t scare you.”

You go to say he didn’t, but then you remember the gun he’d had hidden in his slacks and reconsider, “It’s fine. He let me up here, didn’t he?” Whether he’d done so hoping this would be the last time you ever step foot in the tower or not, you would leave that unsaid. “But I didn’t come here just to thank you for the flowers or talk about Batman. There’s been something on my mind for a while. Ever since you came to offer me the job. I was too stunned to think about it then, but I’ve been meaning to ask you... why me?”

You expect to have to clarify. Bruce takes a long look at you and doesn’t ask you to, “Because you’re good at what you do.”

“There’s hundreds of talented doctors in Gotham. Millions in the world. You met me once and you wanted to put your life in my hands.”

“You’re one of those talented doctors.”

“But you... aren’t just anybody. You have to... you’ve gotta know that, right? You could have asked for anyone. I should’ve been a blip on your radar as soon as you met me. There’s no logical reason for someone with your resources to come to me, in person, and ask me to work for you.”

“Of course there is.”

“Like what?”

Frustrated, he maneuvers around the desk until it’s no longer blocking the both of you. It makes the conversation feel more personal. You don’t feel like you’re talking to the same Bruce Wayne from before, “You noticed I was hurt right away. No one else did.”

“It feels like more than that.” And it does. All of this. Every interaction has felt like something bubbling under the surface, waiting to break skin and bleed out for everyone to see. You keep getting that feeling that you know. Bruce even looks like he knows. Alfred, too. But you’re the only one who can’t quite name it.

It doesn’t help that for a second, you think Bruce is going to say more. He doesn’t. He schools his expression into stoicism again. You find that you don’t really like that look on him, can’t stand not having that glimpse of someone human now that you’ve been spoiled on it.

He takes one step after the other, assertive. You feel like you should step out of the way once he’s right in front of you, when the fresh scent of green apple invades your senses and you notice that the soft strands on his head are still damp. You realize then that you’d probably caught him fresh out of the shower, that it wasn’t just the lack of suit that had changed him. You realize too that his knuckles are still bruised, only now the flesh looks like it’d been freshly broken recently.

You’re so focused on the injury that you startle looking into his eyes for answers. For a shining, blinding second... you’d seen someone else.

“I wasn’t trying to change your mind. The flowers were a courtesy. Nothing more.”

You believe him. He’s not acting. He’s so earnest you don’t even think he’s breathing as he waits for your reply.

You’d come here in a haze and you’re finally sobering up, but you wouldn’t sound like it from what you say next, “And if I changed my mind?”

The stoicism melts. Bruce exhales a heavy breath.

It starts to catch up with you that you still have no idea if the offer is even still on the table. “If you haven’t already found someone else,” comes your buffer, trying not to let embarrassment seep into your words, “and if you’d still like me to-”

“Okay.” His answer is sure, final. His certainty reassures you in a strange way. You still feel way in over your head but God be damned, you got this far.

“Okay. And I have some conditions. I’ll still be working at Gotham General, you’ll just be my priority. And I want to do a physical exam, figure out what I’m working with.”

“Whatever you need. It’s yours.”

You glance back down at Bruce’s hands. He needs no convincing. You think back to that day when you first met him: the limp in his walk, the barely contained pain in his expression, his excuse that had felt more practiced than your speech. If you recalled, he’d favored his left side, which would put his sprain just about...

Your hand is touching his waist before you even realize that it’s left your side. Through the shirt, you feel the muscles that are deceptively concealed. No matter how much softer he looked like this, there was power coiled beneath his skin.

To your surprise, it’s you who reacts first.

You yank your hand away and put one whole step between the two of you—which does nothing. You didn’t recall being this close before you touched him. Just how out of your mind were you?

You take stock of Bruce’s expression. If he had looked any sort of way when you’d been so bold as to touch him, you’d missed it. You summon enough strength to ask, before you could throw yourself out of those beautiful windows behind you, “Can I use your restroom?”

You don’t know what you’re doing, you don’t know what you’re doing, you don’t know what you’re doing.

It’d be better to think something more positive, something that would get you to release your death grip on the sink, but you’re Icarus and you can smell something burning. You can also hear voices outside; Alfred’s, unmistakably, and Bruce’s which would be easier to hear if you pressed your ear up to the door. No doubt, they were discussing you.

Your palms are so slick that they start to slip and you have to run them under water. You don’t even want to think about drying your hands on the towel hanging beside the mirror, quality visible even to your eye, but if you wiped them on your sweatpants, everyone would know.

Your second idea is to check your phone, swiping through the missed calls and messages begging for you to have some sense and call your mother back. You check the weather (clear skies for the night), pull up pictures of kittens, scroll online until you’ve seen every news report and viral video on mute and have no excuse to hide anymore, because the only thing worse than having a borderline panic attack in a rich person’s bathroom was the rich person thinking you were absolutely destroying their plumbing.

You take a few breaths, decide against splashing your face, and begin to turn the knob.

The hallway you’d been abandoned in is far enough away from the main part of the house that you can’t see Alfred and Bruce, even if their voices carry fine. Everything about the penthouse was stately, old money etched into the deep honeys of the wood and warm lamps casting more shadows than light. Any windows on this side of the house are covered with heavy drapery, blocking what little sunlight the city allowed in the waking hours. It’s easier to imagine that you’re not sixty stories up this way.

You can still hear Alfred and Bruce talking as you drift in the opposite direction.

There are a few doors down this way, past the restroom, all doors shut and imposing enough to keep you from taking peeks inside. Outside one of the doors at the end of the hall, you do catch a whiff of clean linen from under the door. The laundry room, maybe? You recall Alfred smelling the same.

On your way back, you look back down the stairs you’d come up earlier and spot an old-timey landline with a notepad and a pen beside it. Chancing a closer look, you see a note with something scribbled across it.

Dory,

Call about the leak. Tomorrow at the latest. Preferably before evening. Bruce won’t be home.

There was that “Dory” again. Was she the maid? The one Alfred promised to keep busy?

“...it has nothing to do with you.”

For the first time, Bruce’s voice carries out into the hall ringing clear. Alfred scoffs, tone bitter, “No, by all means. Bring a stranger home. Give them a key to the place, too, while you’re at it. You might as well rip the bandaid off in one go. I’m sure that won’t be a liability.”

You carefully ascend the staircase again, sticking close to the walls. You strain to hear without drawing any attention to yourself.

“You wanted this, Alfred. You were the one telling me I couldn’t do this alone.”

“But not... bloody like this. Look, this has never just been about you- and don’t you give me that look. I’ve stood by your side since you were a child. Since you were born. And like it or not, what you do has consequences far beyond yourself. When you’re reckless, who do you think’s gonna make sure your mess is taken care of?”

It’s when you slip around the corner that the two come into view, warring voices echoing off the walls no matter how quiet they tried to be, “I’ve never asked you to clean up after me.”

“But you’ve needed it, haven’t you? I’ve done alright, haven’t I? And all I’ve asked of you is to be careful.” From your vantage point, you can see Bruce’s face twist with determination. At the same time, Alfred’s has softened. You get the strange feeling that this isn’t entirely about you after all. “As your butler-”

“As Alfred.”

“...I’m always keeping my eyes open for you, and I’d appreciate it if... if you could keep your eyes open for you too. And mind the overlap. Lest your nights become your days.”

The silence is deafening. Even worse, you realize a second too late that their spat has come to an end because they both turn to where you stand in the archway, clinging to it to hide. Alfred gives you one hard look, forcing out pleasantries, “I trust the amenities were to your liking?”

Your mind blanks for a moment, still stuck on what exactly they’d been yelling about, “Oh, yes. It’s lovely. All of it, the whole place.”

The soldier gives a firm nod. “Bruce tells me you’ve reconsidered. I’m happy to hear it.”

Right. So much for him being lucky.

Before you can muster up some way to curb the tension, Alfred excuses himself from the room, going back where you’d came. Moments later, you hear a door shut a bit too loudly. Bruce hovers several feet away, conflicted. Somehow, this is even worse than the first time he’d left you two alone.

It becomes fairly clear after a while that neither of you know where to go from here. Were you to pretend you didn’t hear all of that? Pretend that Alfred’s anger wasn’t, at least in part, directed at you?

This was all starting to feel too much like a minefield to maneuver. Perhaps all three of you would sleep on this tonight and wake up in your right minds, but for now, all you could do was hope to God this didn’t bite you in the ass.

“Your conditions,” Bruce starts, “have them sent over to me. Whatever you need, I’ll make sure you have it.”

It takes a lot out of you not to jump back when he’s close enough to touch again. As if you couldn’t trust yourself not to reach for him. Or trust that he would even bother to stop you. “Of course... Mr. Wayne.”

By the time you arrive home, darkness has risen over the city and you’re back in your apartment building before your day could get even more exciting.

You’re operating on fumes, fantasizing about what’s left in your fridge from meal prep earlier this week, barely sound enough to get your key into your mailbox.

You feel a presence nearby as you’re sifting through bills and junk. Her scent (that of cinnamon and myrrh) gives her away immediately, “Hey, Judith.”

The little old lady doesn’t smile at you—she rarely does, severe as she is devout—the crow’s feet about her eyes fold in on each other as she assesses you, “You should apologize to your parents.”

You don’t mean to. You usually have better manners than this, but you can’t hold back your sudden, audible groan. Even Judith is startled. “They’ll get over it.”

“They’re worried for you.”

“Did they tell you to tell me that?”

“You need to be careful, dear. Strange spirits are drawn to you.” Her hand chronically trembles as it reaches into her purse. Out comes her handheld copy of the Bible, lovingly worn and dressed with tabs of all colors from her studies. You watch her pick at a neon green tab and flip the little thing open, “I’ve been praying for you ever since I saw the news. That... Batman may have saved you, but I fear you’re still in danger. I have some verses that might help you keep him out should he come looking for you again-”

Judith has never needed to care this much. On your first day moving in all those years ago, she’d struggled up a flight of stairs just to prepare you dinner and offer to show you how to get your janky dishwasher open. Your roommates had found her offputting, had turned down her offer for tea at her place, but you had gone. It’s how you found out that she’d lost her husband and only son years prior. Gunned down, wrong place wrong time. Nothing new in this city. God was all she had left.

If babying you helped her sleep at night, if praying for you gave her peace of mind, you would let her ten times over.

“He’s not a demon, I promise. He’s as much flesh and blood as you and me.”

Judith frowns, not at all convinced, “You’re not in debt to him, are you?”

You shake your head, locking your mailbox back, “We’re even, actually. I saved his life. He saved mine. We’ve nothing to do with each other anymore.” You realize that she’s dressed to head out just then. Her coat is buttoned to the neck and she’s got her beret clutched under arm while she puts away her Bible. “Got Bible study tonight? Stay safe.”

Once she fits her hat over her salt and pepper curls, she caresses your arm. Her hands hadn’t been warm in years, but they weren’t any less comforting than when you’d first felt them. “You too, dear.” Then she reaches for your keys and picks out the one she’d copied for you forever ago, “Whenever you need to, don’t hesitate.”

You watch her totter off onto the sidewalk, swept away in the waves of commuters getting off work. You hoped you’d never have to take her up on her offer.

It turns out that not only had they put your flowers in your bedroom, your parents had also taken the liberty of cleaning out your fridge. You hated that on top of all the incessant texts they’d left you since this morning, you’d be expected to break the ice with a “thank you”. You’d prolong that for as long as humanly possible, that’s for sure.

Somewhere between popping your dinner in the microwave and turning on the news, you found yourself standing at your window staring into the dark. He wasn’t there. You kind of wished he would be, though. For some reason, he was the only one you wanted to talk to.

And then, somewhere between the timer going off and your stomach growling, you’d pushed the curtains aside and propped the window open.

You practically inhaled dinner, glancing every so often at the window during infomercials. With every breeze that shifted your curtains aside, you looked. Every squeak and creak of the fire escape, you looked. By the time there’s nothing left to scoop out of your bowl, night has fallen completely. It makes it harder to see out, harder to gauge if you see him or just a shadow. Your eyes start to cross again and you force yourself to shower the day away.

You don’t expect the window to be closed when you get back.

Even better, you don’t expect him to be standing right outside it.

You’re far too eager to get it open again, cursing the old thing all the while, “Shit- sorry. Must’ve fell closed while I was in the shower, I left it open for you.”

You’re bending out of the window where Batman stands just a step or two away. You have to crane your neck to look up from your position, wondering how long he’d been standing there. He looks a little peeved at you. Had he been waiting long?

“I know. I closed it.”

You blink, “Why?”

“You were in the shower.”

You’re about to reiterate “I left it open for you” with feeling this time when it dawns on you that he’d already clocked that. You shut right up. “Okay—admittedly—stupid move. But you haven’t considered the fact that maybe I knew you’d get here before someone with a gun.” Batman doesn’t look impressed at all. In fact, he looks like he’s going to turn around and abandon you forever. You frantically back away from the window, “Sorry. Are you hurt?”

He waits to answer you until he’s stepped fully inside. He takes a short survey of the room, peering into every corner, before he’s turned his attention to you. It’s clear skies tonight. He doesn’t smell like rain for once, “I just came to check on you.”

Your chest has the audacity to swell with stunned breath. “Really?”

“Were you expecting me for something else?”

“Well, no, I just... I was just... when I said I left the window open for you, I meant... I hadn’t really expected you to stop by. Was more wishful thinking. An invitation.”

Your admission should’ve stayed secret. You watch him work through a host of expressions, landing on a firm scowl.

“Okay, again, admittedly stupid move. Can we move past the window already?” His glare could freeze you dead. No wonder he was so good at his job. “And I’m fine.” He continues to stare. “Seriously. I’m good.” Now he just blatantly looks like he doesn’t believe you. You would find it funny—you do find it funny, actually, though you hide it well—if you weren’t so annoyed that he’d found you just as convincing about your wellbeing as you found him about his own, “But you would know about being a hypocrite, wouldn’t you?”

That last part is said with a little more venom than necessary. You regret it as soon as his face softens. His eyes tells you he takes no offense.

“I’m sorry,” you found yourself saying that a lot tonight, “I don’t know what’s going on with me today. Are the people you save usually susceptible to rash, impulsive decisions?”

“What did you do?”

You exhale through pursed lips, saying with the same cadence of a teenager admitting they’d crashed the family car, “Got a job.”

Batman’s expression doesn’t change except for a teeny, tiny glint in his eye. Teasing, it looked like, “You’re insane. What on earth were you thinking?”

“Okay, ha ha.”

“No, really. You might have brain damage. We’ve got to get you to a hospital, stat.” It would’ve shocked you that he reached forward to press the back of his hand to your forehead had you not been giggling deliriously. You smack it away like he did this all the time, though once you’re touching him, your fingers cling for a little longer than needed. You aren’t exactly sure what about touching him made you want to hold on, monopolize the feeling. Was it because every time you’ve touched him, it’s been an anchor? For comfort? Something that extends beyond words? Probably.

You release his hand before he can notice. Or comment on it.

But then you’re stumbling toward your couch and dropping your head in your hands like you’ve made a big mistake. You don’t have to look up to hear him follow you. “I must be insane.” you grumble, tracking his body where it stops in front of you, where he kneels, and you clench your eyes shut tighter.

You barely feel it at first. It’s faint, lighter than a breath. It doesn’t register as a touch, let alone his touch, until all five of his fingers are hovering over the surface of your knee. You peek through your fingers and sure enough, his hand is right there. He doesn’t dare press his fingers into your skin and it almost feels like he’s dangling you off a ledge.

You don’t want him to let go.

You place a hand over his and hold it there, closing around the leather. You don’t know how long you just stay like that, trying desperately to cool down what feels like a creeping panic. There’s too much happening. Too many sensations, too many thoughts, too many emotions. You just need him to stay there, quiet, and let you touch someone.

You don’t remember the last time you’d been properly hugged. You surely hadn’t been since you’d left the hospital. Your parents had been too focused on getting you to come home with them that you hadn’t thought to ask for one, hadn’t expected that you’d get one. And, to be fair, if you’d been given one, you’d probably have brushed it off.

Because, truth was, you did not know what you were doing.

Batman doesn’t seem to mind being still. He waits, breathing slowly and deeply. At some point, when you zero in on him (because how could you not? How could it be lost on you that this isn’t just anyone you’re touching right now?), you start to match him.

You begin to apologize for the other night when you remember how you clung to him, but fear that another “sorry” might actually annoy him more than leaving your window open again. You search Batman’s face for any sign of “I need to get the fuck outta here” and find none. “I’m asking you this because I trust you: have you ever met Bruce Wayne?”

You watch him shift uncomfortably, but he never breaks eye contact with you. “What?”

“Bruce Wayne. Can I trust him?”

He hesitates, picking apart your face for something, “I’m not following.”

“He asked me to work for him. Apparently, he thinks I’m very talented even though he’s never seen me work.”

“You are. I would know.”

“Yeah, you would. It’d have made more sense for you to ask me. What I don’t get is why me. His answer wasn’t very enlightening. That’s why I’m asking you.”

“...What do you think?”

“I think I want to. But I’m worried I’m being reckless again. I’m used to... I used to chase danger a lot when I was younger. Kind of had a taste for it. I’m worried that that’s what this is.”

“There’s a lot of danger in change.”

“You’re saying I’m afraid of things changing?” He was starting to feel like a therapist now, prodding at old wounds and everything, “Is that what this is? Things change all the time. I’m a doctor. Nothing is ever predictable... and you didn’t answer my question.”

Batman frowns. You realize this is the second time you’ve said that today. “Bruce Wayne isn’t corrupt, if that’s what you’re asking. You can trust that. The rest is up to you.”

You’d think that would have been enough to put all your worries about him to bed, but it left you with more mystery. The bruised knuckles, the pain in his side he’d passed off as just stress, the warning Alfred had given you in the elevator, Bruce’s sudden interest in you... all of it felt connected to something bigger. If it wasn’t corruption, what could it be? And if it was, how deep did it go for even Batman not to know?

You’d be much more prepared for concerns like this on more sleep. And less pain meds.

You start thinking about the skin healing beneath your bandaged leg, the dull pain that shifted with every movement. You also think about Batman’s hand on your knee (the one you’re still holding, the one he doesn’t look eager to retrieve), “Do you have somewhere to be?”

You’d missed looking into those deep blues. He holds your gaze steady, speaking quietly as if not to break the moment, “It’s quiet tonight.”

“Don’t suppose you’ll react kindly to me asking to see your wound.” As soon as you lock eyes with him again, his eyes narrow. You get the feeling he’s getting better at clocking your bullshit. “Unless you’ve got some other doctor friends I don’t know about taking care of you.”

He gives you that look again, the same one on the fire escape that made you worry he’d up and leave, but his hand doesn’t shift from under yours.

You watch him look around, searching. It takes him a few seconds before he reaches for something on the other end of the couch. Your mouth gapes a little when you realize he’s holding one of your shirts, the not so fresh one that you’d forsaken for the shower just an hour ago. He removes his hand from your knee and grabs the other end of the shirt, stretching the material before looking back up at you. It takes you an embarrassingly long moment to figure out what he’s asking for, his hands motioning for you to lean forward.

You slowly tilt closer until the fabric of your shirt caresses your eyelids. You feel Batman pull the shirt around your eyes, around your ears, and to the back of your head where his fingers begin to tie a knot with it. You’d be mad that he was stretching one of your favorite pieces of clothing if you didn’t feel his breath ghost your lips, letting your head be lightly jerked around by his tying, “No. Just you.”

taglist: @yikes-buddy​ @alexxavicry​ @theclassicvinyldragon​ @angxlictexrs​ @moonlightreader649​ @geekyfer @thescarletfang​ @navs-bhat​ @maryx0107 @vainillasmil157​ @moony-toasts​ @sketchiethebear @trawberry-fire​ @hangmanscoming​ @agent-scorpio​ @julesjewelss36​ @chonkercatto​

[jean0farc]

‎ ‎‎Honor Among Thieves

Captain Hook x Fem! Reader | 2.5k

⎯⎯ summary ‣‣‣ “On an ordinary summer day my friends and I are having fun at the beach when suddenly Captain Hook and his pirates come seemingly out of nowhere and attack, causing chaos. I try to escape, even so much as to reach the car my friends and I used to get there, but I get caught and by one of the pirates and taken.”

⎯⎯ content warnings & tags ‣‣‣ dubcon, penis in vagina sex, creampie, fem! oral receiving, dom! Hook, body worship, fingering, breast kink, praise, dirty talk and pet names.

⎯⎯ requested by ‣‣‣ the wonderful @disney-girl67.

⎯⎯ banner credits ‣‣‣ the lovely @cafekitsune.

The intensifying heat of the sun today was rather unbearable for my liking—I had to make sure the amount of sunscreen I applied was just right for my skin in regards to basking in the summer heat. Thankfully, my best friends had some spare bottles of lotion perfect for our trip to the beach. We’ve packed just the best meals suitable for our picnic date; it’s been a while since we’ve taken a week off of an exhausting day of work, and an opportunity arose when we were given a discount to a beach getaway!

I drew a satisfying breath, taking in the fresh breeze that blew from the east side of the coast. Apart from the overwhelming heat of the sun, it was quite refreshing to take a time off of the monotonous city where industries and businesses collided in chaos. The palm trees danced lively by the breathtaking view, the birds chirping happily as we booked a stay at the chalet nearby.

“So, Ashley, what do you think of this spot so far?” I asked.

“It’s perfect,” my friend smiled. “Summer is a godsend, especially these days. The weather may be humid, but other than that their services are properly managed. I can’t stand always having to work under our boss lately. So I’ve decided to take a leave!”

“May I add that this particular sea stands out because there’s lots of treasure underneath.” my other friend commended. “Rumors say there used to be pirates here, but I believe they’re long dead after getting shipwrecked.”

“Pirates?” I asked, sitting upright, fixing my bikini. “Wait, are you saying, this place isn’t safe for visitors like us?”

“Relax, friend,” my other friend spoke, laughing. “It’s just a scary story spread all across this village. I’m sure that with all the legal authorities becoming more aware of the troubles they cause, they're probably thrown into prison by now.”

“Good, good.” I replied. 

“Anyways, I think now is the right time to go in for a dive! The deeper, the better!” 

“Wait, guys, but-“ 

My friends ignored me this time. They left me without any explanation to stay, leaving me to rot in my own thoughts of whether there were potential thieves roaming around the place. But I’ve decided I won’t back down. I left the patio, without any other reason to make excuses for why I refused to go in for a swim. Out of guilt, I just kept on going, leaving all my worries behind.

My friends and I ran towards the seaside, happy and carefree of the world’s stressors. We even threw some handfuls of sand at each other and splashed some seawater the moment we went for a swim. 

I found it difficult to keep up with my friends this time, the way they swam around the beach and took pictures of the glittering waters. But I dared not to be a killjoy as of this moment, I complied with their requests to have fun regardless.

As we swam recklessly by the sea, I noticed the sight of a large, wooden ship approaching from a distance, seemingly approaching towards us. I felt all along that my gut instinct was right. I tried my best to not falter at first, but knowing they could kill if we didn’t surrender our belongings was something I was truly terrified of. 

“Ashley! Lottie! Mary!” I called out. “There’s a ship approaching! Let’s gather around and leave!”

“[Name], you’re being incredibly ridiculous.” my friend Mary laughed. “Those can’t be pirates! It looks like a normal ship!”

“But-“

My friends ignored my pleas, so I had no other choice but to leave the seaside. I was deathly worried about their wellbeing since pirates aren’t to be trusted regardless, but I started to give less fucks about others and focus on my own needs. This is it. I left my friends and made my way back to the beach house, running half naked and sweaty from the intense blanket of heat that filled the air.

“Take a closer look, Murphy,” scoffed a pirate from the ship as he used his binoculars to zoom into the sight of my friends swimming. “We eating good tonight, aren’t we?”

“Damn right. Nothing more than a bunch of bombshells worth taking in for the night.” Black Murphy laughed loudly. “James will surely be having fun by the end of the day. From what I understand, he’s already by the shore holding some random bitch hostage.”

“Right! Hah. The Captain should consider himself lucky.”

And there I was. I finally arrived at the beach house, surprised to find the door to our room locked. Pleas of someone could be heard from inside, and I didn’t know what to do other than bang the door from outside. The voice was muffled, which made me realize that whoever the captor was turned out to be someone not to be messed with.

My heart raced upon this discovery. Who could have possibly thought there was someone else inside the compound? I tried using all of my strength to open the door. I tried, and tried, and tried…..

And with all my brute force, I managed to successfully pry the door open. I was then met with an unexpected scene.

There in the corner of the room stood a tall, dark figure dressed in red, while his other hand was replaced with some sort of hook. He apparently was holding some sort of knife with his other hand, and it turned out that the identity of who he just killed was the manager of the beach house me and my friends stayed in. The figure took a step forward, revealing himself to be none other than a pirate captain.

I tried to leave, but another one of his pirates grabbed me by the wrists from behind, pushing me to the ground and swiftly locking the door from outside. It was unknown as to how this happened, but I knew from the bottom of my heart that this was coming. 

“Looking as gorgeous as you always were, lovely stranger.” the pirate spoke softly. “Say, are you perhaps here for a trip?”

“Um, yes?” I hesitantly replied. “Who could you be?”

“That doesn’t matter, my dear. In fact, your name doesn’t matter to me either. Say, what are your thoughts about a relationship of give and take? Worry not, for I won’t harm you, as long as you do exactly as I say.”

“Huh????”

“I came here to claim five million bucks from this entire resort. Provided you and your friends do exactly as we please, your lives shall be spared.”

“What???!!!” I protested, attempting to get up and reach for the door behind me. “No, I must have known…!! You-you must be the captain!!! Please, captain, spare our lives!!!”

“Why, if it isn’t the right answer, hm? My name is Captain Hook, I also go by the name James. Though this info won’t matter by the time I’m done with you.”

I froze, unsure of how to react in the face of such a threat. I attempted to stand up, only for the captain to kneel on one knee and unfasten my bikini straps. 

“Please…..” I begged. “Let me go! I’ll do anything!!!”

“Is that so? Why then, don’t resist.” Captain Hook smirked.

I frankly hated how this was turning me on.

He moved his hook down my breasts, groping it with the thin piece of metal while his other hand caressed my cheek. 

“Such a beautiful, sensitive little thing.” he cooed. “Gods must have sent you to serve as my personal pet.”

Tears formed in my eyes as I disobeyed his request and resisted the captain’s touch, only for him to pull me inward. He kneaded on my breasts gently and leaned closer to suckle on my nipples, which was already hard at the sight of his tall stature. He swirled his tongue around it, moaning gently as the sounds of sloppy slurps filled the room.

I hated how good it made me feel. I shivered at the thought of a random stranger’s face up my breasts, but there was no denying that he was extremely good at it. A part of my mind wandered on the scenario where he claimed a number of bodies. From the charm of his facial hair surrounding his features, to his enigmatic smile, it left me with chills—and they weren’t exactly that of the bad type.

He didn’t stop, oh, he didn’t. The more I held back a moan, he just kept sucking in long slurps that left me soaking in my arousal. My breath hitched at the sight of his unshaved face lapping and salivating against my breasts, carefully caressing it as he pulled away.

“Mmmmmhhhh~”, I groaned in frustration.

“What a cute, desperate pet.” Captain Hook whispered. “If all it takes for you to grow wet is to have someone suckle on those stress balls, then you must be a really needy whore after all.”

“Please……I need it….I need it so bad!!!” I protested, desperate for release.

“Eager for my cock?” Captain Hook asked. “Well, you might want to exercise a little patience, my dear. Good things don’t always come in easy packages. Now, let’s take this off from you, shall we?”

With that, he tore my panties off with a clenched fist, leaving my naked form to sulk in hopelessness and frustration. He wasn’t the type to give warnings, for he was quite straight up with what he wanted to do. He was all powerful. That only gave way for me to feel worthless and pathetically needy for his touch.

“Mmmmmm……already this wet? Hah. How pathetic.”

He didn’t give warnings, indeed. I knew he had it in him when he dove into my cunt, kissing the nub gently as he rubbed his finger against it. I felt as if I was about to squirt too early, but I held it in. Then comes the hard part. The fingers. He stuck two fingers in me, forcing his way in without any form of lube or prep. With the burning pain slowly melting away into pleasure, I let him swirl his tongue around my clit without any form of inhibitions after all. The captain yapped and lapped at my vaginal fluids, overflowing to an extent of it streaming down my cunt. It felt warm, pleasurable, and on top of all that, I felt like I was about to catch feelings for the man.

His digits began curling upward, making me wince at the length of his fingers, yet still aroused. The slight curve didn’t bother me in the slightest. It felt so good, and I for once didn’t mind squirting and cumming all over his face for all I cared.

“Ahhhh, I’m close,” I moaned. Captain Hook drove his mouth deeper, giving my clit a rough suck before pulling away. Leaving my entrance gaping with fluid, he chuckled smugly.

“You taste divine, pet. Hmmm….I think you’re ready to take all of me now. Just relax.”

Captain Hook let go of my figure, turning to his pants as he pulled the upper section down. I wasn’t expecting the sight of at least ten inches of trouser action, and I grew hopelessly frustrated by the fact that it still wasn’t shoved deep in me. 

“Now, now, dear.” Captain Hook spoke. “This won’t be lasting quite long. After all, you’re already this close.”

Spreading my legs wider, the captain rubbed my clit with his cock, enabling me to make use of my energy in humping right back. I held the throbbing length, and felt its texture before he slipped it right inside me with force.

”AGH!!” I squealed.

“What, don’t you like it?” Captain Hook asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Keep going….It burns, but, keep….going!”

“I see. Well, then who am I to deny you what you want.” 

With one thrust, he drove his cock inside me and started to slowly rock in and out of my cunt. It felt euphoric, really, the way he handled me roughly and recklessly without any filter. To compensate for his efforts of ramming through my walls, I fucked him back.

My breasts wobbled as my body grew used to the pleasure judging from the growing speed of his thrusts. He was brutal, violent, just like any other pirate would be when faced with an incoming threat. Gripping my cheeks tightly, Captain Hook used his superior strength to lift my limbs upward to gain a better access towards my core. He kept hitting, and hitting the spot, so much that I could feel myself cumming in less than five whole minutes. I arched and mewled against his grasp, the sounds of skin slapping against skin becoming more apparent. I began to develop no care for whoever overheard our little affair going on. All I needed was to reach completion at the hands of this charming stranger.

Captain Hook was also growing desperate over time. His moans grew more animalistic, muttering a ‘yes’ repeatedly as he was about to lose composure. When I felt a tinge of pleasure spark from within my heated core, that was when he chose to pick up speed. He then leaned closer to feel my neck with his face, leaving hickeys all over as he continued to bite down the layers of thin skin. I yelped in pain for a moment as the sensation slowly turned into pleasure the way he bit on the right spots. 

If only he could see my face right then and there, I would have been humiliated from that point onward. Then he did.

“Ah, ah, ah, no looking elsewhere.” Captain Hook muttered under his breath, panting hard. “Eyes on me. Show me how much you crave this feeling.”

“I—Mmmmmmhhhh….!!! Please, I’m….I’m gonna…..”

“Hold it off, little one. Have your master do all the work.”

With all his strength, Captain Hook grabbed my hips tightly, the hilt of his cock ramming in and out of my heat. The slaps against my ass were wet and loud, our moans matching each other like a symphony. 

“Agh!!!! Captain!!!” I trembled in excitement. “Ahhhhh~”

I wailed his name (James) as Captain Hook thrusted so deep into my core. My walls fluttered and throbbed hard that it was almost a crime for him to pull out of me. I shook against him, crying like a bitch in heat as I felt like the whole world had just shattered before my eyes. Captain Hook spurted his seed balls deep in me, his cum surrounding itself all over my dripping cunt. I let out a deep sigh, realizing the whole mess I’ve been engaging with in the company of a complete stranger.

“Hah……Hahhhhh……..”

Captain Hook didn’t even budge, his cock already retreating from my walls in a slow, yet steady fashion. 

“Such a filthy, disgusting little mutt.” he said, putting his cock back in and leaving me to sulk by the edge of the doorstep. “Get up.”

Captain Hook grabbed my cute, pink bikini, tossing it before my face.

“What is your name?”

“[Name].”

“You did well, [Name],” he said. “Judging by the looks of it, you owe me several nights of complete entertainment. Come outside when you’re ready. I’m more than willing to bring you into my ship.”

[olderthannetfic]

Do you have any idea why authors of multichaptered works INSIST on putting things like "Good news! We're about X of the way to the end folks" and "Sorry folks! I keep thinking it's almost done but then a new chapter happened and it's not going to be done as soon as I thought"? Like, are they fishing for compliments? Like, the fic is getting read. It has subscribers. Ppl are leaving comments. Do they think ppl WANT it to be over? I mean, these are writers we're talking about. So they were naturally readers first and presumably still are. So the concept of fellow readers not wanting what they enjoy to end shouldn't be such a novel concept to them! So why remind us and remind us and remind us that we're closer to the end? If the chapters are already numbered, we can see it thanks! We don't need a reminder! And if the chapters are written like "5/?" we don't WANT to know when the story is going to end! And the apologizing because there's more story? It's so unbelievably infuriating I have often just closed the tab because I was so mad I didn't want to read anything by someone so moronic (or fake-modest or fishing for compliments) anymore. So many writers seem to absolutely have no awareness or understanding or respect for the concept of a reader being immersed in a story. In published multichaptered books, you don't find little author's notes full of unfunny self-deprecating jokes and anecdotes and life updates at the start AND end of every chapter. You're immersed in the story and eagerly going from chapter to chapter. But sure, chat about anything and everything under the sun and completely break the hold your storytelling had on me! Author's notes are not a chat room. It's for stuff that affects the story or a heads up about a tag that hadn't been in the tags until that specific chapter but warrants a warning. Ugh to be honest lately I've completely stopped reading author's notes. From weird "haha see what I did there" after the most achingly written pining and temporary heartbreak scene, to smug and inane and ridiculous declarations of "X and Y switch because I believe in equality" as if it's a moral issue instead of a very real life preference for many men who sleep with men, author's notes are just idiotic most of the time. I will only read them by authors I trust, who will add a quiet few lines about the translation of a Latin phrase, or a link to pictures of a real-life place they featured in a poignant scene. Otherwise they just make me wring out my hair and who needs that. And for the crowd that LOVES to get offended: No I don't mean this is gospel. I mean this is MY experience. And since I'm clearly not one of a kind because no one is, there's bound to be others like me. So authors who WANT to keep ruining the mood they managed to craft can keep doing it -- most of their readers probably don't mind! The authors I trust though (the ones whose notes I will read, and whose notes have never ruined the mood for me) never do that anyway. But this is a heads up to those who are interested in finding out what makes SOME readers tick, because there's a first time learning about something for everyone. Thanks for letting me vent!

--

[tibbind]

I really really wish people didn't smoke tobacco. Or at the least, didn't smoke cigarettes. The warning labels on the packages and doors don't do anything.

OoOH scaRy NicOTiNe

That's all they see. At most, it's a joke to them. Something to gawk at.

But in a purely anticapitalist lens, 6 companies own essentially all tobacco. This includes most non-tobacco nicotine products, like vapes or Zyn.

People don't realize that companies have VERY little control over prices of Cigarettes and dip. Sometimes they don't tell us to change a price for months. A year, even. Other times, they make us change it three days in a row. Sometimes it's up 10¢, 50¢, or an arbitrary amount. Once it even went down 3¢ one day then the next up 18¢.

We have to change all of the signs. Every time.

And we also have to suffer people getting angry over a price change.

We make 2-10¢ per pack of cigarettes.

They cost minimum $8.99.

$3.33 of that is State tax.

At most, we profit 1% of the cost the customer pays. It exists solely to increase foot traffic. Which is good, but is like kinda ridiculous when you realize we make more on a single Bic sale than we do on 10 cigarette pack sales.

OUR CARTONS OFTEN DON'T EVEN SAVE YOU MONEY ANYMORE. If we wanted to create an artificial savings, we'd have to manually increase our own profit by raising cigarettes even further (which we are, again, limited by) but we don't want to fuck over our customers even more and lose even more business.

And what's even fucking crazier, is that bigger chains get better contracts and are allowed to sell their cigarettes for significantly cheaper, fucking over every small business. Why the hell would people stop by our shop when they can go to Dollar General and grab a pack of cigarettes for a buck+ cheaper.

Oh, and our contract limits our sales even more bc we aren't allowed to have ANY cigarettes cheaper than Lucky Strikes, which are 9.49. how did we get one down to 8.99, you definitely ask?

Well, we add a 50¢ coupon onto it, provided by the cigarette company. A legal grey area in the contract.

I feel so black pilled by this anti competitive shit, it's so anti small business.

EDIT:

For those too dumb to get it, my problem is with toxic contracts, gov lobbying by big tobacco, artificial competition, and corrupt politicians enabling it, as well as policies.

I am not an anarchist, though I do agree with some ideals and like listening to what they think, which is why I tagged them.

I am not a communist, and, like Anarchism, I do agree with some ideals and enjoy listening to their perspective, again which is why I tagged communism.

I am a socialist, and I am anticapitalist. Anyone who opposes anti-capitalism is pro capitalist, and is anti-human. Capitalism has killed more than any other ideology.

Go touch grass.

[bp-zb1fics]

Can you do "cuddles and kisses with lee jeonghyeon", i'm glad if u do something suggestive like lap sitting maybe?? thank youu!!

Ridiculous but you're mine~

pairing: leejeong x reader

genre: fluff, suggestive themes (pls see tags!)

tw/tags: flirting, kisses, making out, hand-holding, lap sitting, non-explicit/implied s*x acts, korean pet names, leejeong being the biggest simp and pretending to hate it (spoiler: he doesn't)

wc: 1592

summary: jeonghyeon values a lot of things but he’ll make an exception for you

a/n Hi anon~ I may have gotten a little carried away with the suggestive part but I hope it's somewhat similar to what you had in mind and it's not too much. Kind of played with a different format writing this fic, idk if it works or not but I am very proud of how it turned out. Any readers for this, please, please do let me know what you think and if I should add additional tags to this, ty!

Check my pinned for more fics~

Jeonghyeon wasn’t a touchy person. Not at all. No thank you.

He’ll accept skinship if he’s feeling indulgent, he’ll freely offer a hug if someone needs it but aside from that, he generally likes to keep his personal space, well personal. 

Until you, that is. 

You don’t even need to do anything. It’s a little infuriating actually. 

You look at him and his brain completely short-circuits.

__________________________________________

“Leejeong-yah~”

He really regrets letting Mun Junghyun tell you about their “leejeong, mungjung cross.” God, that was embarrassing. And it was even more embarrassing because of how cute you thought it was and how cute he thought you were and now he has the displeasure of becoming even more flustered by his own damn name.

“Hmm?”

He’s putting his socks on, getting ready to go out because you wanted sushi and god forbid Jeonghyeon doesn’t give you what you want. It’s a little chilly so he throws on the black hoodie that you like because of how soft it is. 

He reaches for his earrings and his eyes meet yours in the mirror as he looks up to put them on. Jeonghyeon nearly drops the damned earrings. 

Don’t ask him to explain why. Literally no thoughts, head empty. He’s only beginning to recover when you walk over and give him a back hug, burying your face to the fabric of the hoodie while he just stands there, frozen like the idiot he is.

“Wahh so soft.” Your voice is muffled but Jeonghyeon is desperately fighting back the blush that threatens to bloom on his cheeks.

“We should go.” He manages to get out, glad that his voice didn’t crack.

__________________________________________

You hold his hand and any rational thought is reduced to ash.

__________________________________________

As soon as you get outside, the cold hits and Jeonghyeon immediately shoves his hands into his hoodie pocket. Before he can check on you, you’re already linking your arm with his and sliding your hand into your own pocket. Seriously, how can his heart take this?

“Are you cold?”

You shake your head, bouncing up and down a little. It’s very cute and really not great for his health.

“Sushi, let’s get sushi~”

You make your way to the restaurant. Jeonghyeon can’t help but look at you, glancing around occasionally to make sure you were following the right directions but eyes always coming back to you. And he can’t help but wonder what he had done right for the universe to decide to send you his way. Someone who loved him with all his scrappy imperfections and flaws.

Suddenly a gust of cold wind tickles the back of your necks and you yelp, one hand slipping out of your pocket and into his. Jeonghyeon freezes as you wiggle your fingers between his, pressing yourself closer like you want to sink into his side.

“It’s cold.”

You say in the way of justification, not like he even needs one. For the rest of the way, you walk like that and he can only ever feel your hand in his.

__________________________________________

You pout, just a little, and whatever values he has, personal, moral, family values, all out the window.

__________________________________________

The restaurant is a sushi train. You’re directed to a booth and left alone with a tablet in case you wanted to order something that wasn’t on the train.

Jeonghyeon begins taking plates. And it was only after you had a sizable serving in front of you that he realised he took all your favourites. Really, when did he become like this? When did it become an instant serotonin boost to see your face light up like that? 

“Leejeong say ahhh~”

He mindlessly opens his mouth and lets you feed him. It’s good. Any food that’s given by you is automatically better than any other food. He’s never been one for public displays but you look at him expectantly, your bottom lip protruding ever so slightly.

It’s like he’s been hypnotised, carefully picking up a piece and feeding it to you. And no, he’ll never admit to anyone how endearing it is to watch you eat, your cheeks puffing out as you chew.

He’s a weak, weak man. And it’s all your fault, seriously it is.

__________________________________________

It’s ridiculous. 

__________________________________________

You stumble back home, bellies full. Kicking your shoes off, you tug him towards the couch and switch on that one drama you insist he watch with you. Both of you started off seated. He sits cross legged while you tuck your feet to the side, his arm resting around your shoulder.

It’s not a new drama you’re watching. No, it's one of those that you like to come back to, one of those you watch without needing to think too hard or wonder what to expect. 

Junhyeon sighs as you lean against him, comfortably pressing against his side. He watches you fondly as you mimic the dialogue on screen, the audio almost like white noise at this point. Suddenly you’re reaching up, fingers skimming feather-light across his jawline leaving little sparks in their wake.

“So handsome~” You murmur, letting your thumb ghost below his bottom lip. Jeonghyeon’s breath stutters. 

“My Leejeongie, naekko!”

He’s going to die. You’re going to kill him. Belatedly, he realises that you’re just imitating the drama. Still, his stupid heart is ready to pound its way out of his chest. Before he can think twice, he gently grabs your hand in his and presses a kiss to your knuckles. You go quiet. Before he can drop your hand, you pull yourself closer, nudging at him until you’re kneel-sitting between his thighs, his legs stretched out on the couch. 

You drop his hand in favour of resting your palms on his shoulders to balance yourself. His arms are limp by his sides. Jeonghyeon almost stops breathing as you lean forward, your noses nearly touching, trying to keep his cool. You peck the corner of his mouth. He’s an absolute goner at this point. 

For the next few minutes, he lets you litter kisses all over his face, sweet on his forehead, making his cheeks flush hot, his teeth clenching as your lips brush a trail along his jaw. You chip away at his sanity every time you bring your lips to his and pause just before they touch, leaving his mouth a little more dry every time. The last straw is when you bite playfully at his collarbones, giggling at the look of utter distress that washes over his face as you tease up his neck. By the time your lips once again ghost against the corners of his, his hands grab needily at your waist.

“Dammit aegiya, please.”

Jeonghyeon breathes out shakily and you flash him a coy little smile that does bad, bad things to his heart before you finally kiss him. 

__________________________________________

God, you’re ridiculous. 

__________________________________________

Jeonghyeon can’t stop kissing you. 

His teeth scrape slightly against your bottom lip and you gasp. Your tongue flicks out to drag across the roof of his mouth and something so good just bursts in his brain. Hands squeeze your waist again, you squeak and they stroke your sides as if to soothe, sliding down to rest on your thighs. You shift, gripping to the front of your boyfriend’s hoodie and just like that, you’re fully on his lap, straddling him.

If nothing, Jeonghyeon only gets needier.

He’s mouthing at your neck, tongue teasing mindless patterns at the places he knows are sensitive. The little noises that escape you set off tiny firecrackers in his head. Your hands clench uselessly before finding their way to his hair and tugging. Heat blooms at the pit of his stomach and he bites a little harder than he meant to. The strangled noise that it draws from you is delicious and your hips jerk forward, creating friction that has him groaning. His mind is empty, save for the thought of you, how desperate he is for you.

Fingers slip under this hoodie to fidget with the waistband of his pants, every touch against bare skin has him inhaling sharply, his eyes dark and pupils blown out, staring at you in a way that has heat coursing through your whole body. He’s become bold enough to rest his palms over your ass, slipping them into your back pockets and squeezing. Your hands go a little lower and he bites back a curse, resting his forehead on your shoulder, eyes fluttering shut. Any sense of composure is tossed aside, neither of you bothering to see where it’s gone.

It’s all shaky breathing, gasps swallowed up by lips on lips, fabric rustling and the desperate repetition of each other’s name like a plea to the universe to mould your bodies together so that you’d never be apart from each other.

Jeonghyeon’s basking in the afterglow, both of you struggling to catch your breaths. He’s as boneless as you are, languidly draping yourself on top of him, sprawling almost, limbs loose and liquid-like. You giggle and that’s when he notices the drama still playing in the background.

Hands reach for his own, and he swears he can see the stars in your eyes. You’re absolutely going to be the end of him. His heart and his mind and his body and his soul, dangling into the precipice that is you. It’s absolutely idiotic, letting himself drop in so deep, not caring about when he’ll have to hit the ground, running.

__________________________________________

And yet, he’s the one who’s ridiculous enough to fall for you, over and over and over again.

[the-cookie-of-doom]

Five things Porsche learns about Kim lets gooooo

This actually started as a prompt from @shubaka forever ago (before we were friends 🥺) and I decided to torture myself by turning it into a 5+1 fic! But then I stalled out bc I didn't know what to add for the other parts klasjdhgf. It's actually still floating somewhere around here in my writing tag!

In it, Porsche is trying to befriend Kim, and Kim is horribly resistant to it. Porsche steals Chay's phone since Kim won't answer him, only for Kim to hang up as soon as he speaks, it's a whole thing. Basically Kim being forced to bond with his future brother in law <3

The first thing Porsche learns about Kim is that he's a squirrely little bastard. He weasels his phone number out of Chay - after finding out that Kinn didn't have it saved in his own phone, which will be a conversation for later - but Kim doesn't any answer any of the flurry of phone calls and texts that Porsche hurls his own way. Apparently, according to Porchay, Kim has memorized all the numbers of everyone important enough to be worth his time, and doesn't bother with anyone else.

What if someone has to borrow a phone? Porsche had asked. Sucks to be them, Chay replied, with a silly smile that might mean he's kidding, or it might mean he knows exactly how ridiculous Kim is being, but still somehow likes him anyway. Porsche would prefer the former but he's almost certain it's the latter, and he's trying to figure out exactly why Chay would like him so much. Because as far as Porsche can tell? Kim is more akin to a feral cat than anything else. Keeps his distance, sullenly watches Porsche anytime they happen to be in the same room, looking away only to scan for the nearest exit - which he takes at the earliest opportunity - and Porsche is certain Kim has actually hissed at him once. Probably not. Since Kim won't answer unknown numbers, Porsche is forced to stoop to his level. Kinn's phone is of course out of the question, which only leaves one other person, at least only one Porsche can easily access, guaranteed to have it. He's holding a struggling Porchay in a headlock while the phone dials. It only rings once. "Hello, love," Kim greets, his voice warm and syrupy and so, so fond that Porsche has to gag, just to see the way his brother flushes. "I'm sorry, Kim!" Porchay shouts. He's still struggling, digging his hands into Porsche's sides. "I tried to stop him!" "Porsche." And there it is, that flat tone Porsche is used to. "Hi, Kim, how's it going?" he asks casually. "Goodbye. "Wait, wait, wait!" It's no use. The line is already dead. Porsche releases his brother with a groan, and doesn't fight it when Chay snatches back his phone. "Why does he have to be so difficult?" "Kim doesn't like being cornered, hia," Chay scolds him. "If you just talked to him like a normal person-" "He won't let me! He keeps running!" "You're intimidating!" Porsche doesn't believe that for a second. If Kinn wasn't intimated by him, no way his feral, murderous little brother was. "Maybe you're coming on too strong? He probably think you're gonna kill him for, y'know..." "No, I don't know." Porsche side-eyes Chay, who's no longer making eye contact. "Do I need to kill him?" "No!" "Should I want to?" "Hia, No!" Chay throws his hands up. "See! This is why he won't talk to you! You're embarrassing." "Good. Also, I don't care. I want to talk to him, and unless he wants me to lock you in your room and forbit you from seeing each other for the rest of your life, he better cooperate." Chay lets out a sigh like the weight of all the world is bearing down on him. "I'll talk to him," he mumbles, sullen. 

[council-of-beetroot]

pls make a longer post omg

Tolys and his struggles with body Image and Appearance

Alright anon you and a few others wanted me to elaborate so I will!

So in a previous post I said this

"I genuinely think Tolys has issues body / appearance wise and it's probably because of Ivan"

So you know how in quite a few strips Tolys is weirdly overly embarrassed by things Feliks does like how he dresses or when he suggests Tolys try a certain hairstyle?

It's odd to me because Tolys has been friends with Feliks for a very long time, he should hypothetically be used to Feliks' interests and unusual hobbies. Tolys is seemingly used to everything else weird that Feliks does so why does this bother him so much?

Now let's take a look at this panel from 2007 where we have the stripping panel

To which Tolys responds with this before it moves on to the next person.

Now we're circling back to Ivan. This leads me to believe Ivan used appearance as a quite effective humiliation tactic. Additionally it gives Ivan a ton of control.

Now why is this a good tactic? Well for one it gets to Liet, not only is he easily embarrassed it makes him overthink. To him, it's one thing to get beaten to the point of unconsciousness and it's another to be forced into a maid dress. It's over the top and deliberate, it ends up with Tolys "thinking how did I get myself into this situation it's ridiculous, I am a warrior, why is this getting to me?"

And Ivan knows this

He knows that he can make it so Tolys is so in his own head questioning things that his mindset quickly becomes just Tolys and Ivan.

Now here's where it comes back to Tolys having residual issues with his appearance/ or femininity.

It's simple Ivan knows this: Refer to him as your ex, your wife, call him your toy, call him cute and pretty and compliment his long hair. Eliminate the space between you and him, rub his shoulders, come up to him from behind. Show him off to others and tell him how adorable it is to see him blushing from the attention. Strip him of his privacy, his self autonomy, and safety. Control him so it's only you he can turn to whether you give him comfort or pain.

Now if you've ever experienced that you know in particular how much it can mess with your head when things like compliments are used to hurt you or when someone is cruel one moment and nice the next. And it's even more of a mindfuck when they confide in you let, their guard down, and perhaps you do too.

Hence why I am lead to believe Tolys still is struggling with this. Any comment of his appearance makes the alarms in his head go off. A compliment on a date makes start searching for the nearest escape route. Feliks' comfortability with his feminine aspects and wanting Tolys to join in reminds him of Ivan dressing him up in bows and dresses and telling him he's pretty. Feminine things were used to humiliate him. Appearance was used to humiliate him. It's genuinely triggering for him even though with Feliks, he's just being him and wants to include Liet. For Tolys, it reminds him of being dolled up and paraded as Ivan's cute secretary. Even a genuine compliment brings him back to a time where he couldn't say no and he felt powerless, because it was weaponized against him.

Hopefully I worded this right and let me know if i should add any warnings in the tags

Totally unrelated but in searching for images I found a bunch of HWS lithuania tiktoks and if I didn't refuse to ever download tiktok I'd go watch them.

(I do want to say people often use this especially back in the day wondering why he's portrayed as so weak especially when he's shown to have defeated Prussia. Here's the thing that's important to know, enduring abuse doesn't make anyone weak, anyone can get trapped in abusive relationships even if they think they can't.

Tolys has been under Ivan for a long time this gives Ivan the advantage here to create the perfect atmosphere to isolate, control, and facilitate abuse.)

Also if you wonder why doesn't liet do anything or fight back in panels like this let me explain, you can't survive if you are constantly choosing every battle. Tolys has a lot to lose and he can't afford to lose it all by not being careful.

Yeah it bugs me when people complain that lithuania is protrayed as "weak" he's not.

[heyiwrotesomethings]

Oh!!! It's a good thing I was staying up late or else I might've missed this!! (Oh god this got a lil long, I'm so sorry ajdgskahd)

Using she/her, how about a kakegurui one where R(eader) is a relative of Yumeko's, maybe her sister (or cousin could work too), and it's like. Yumeko's the fun loving one, her canon sister I imagine is the calm one, and R is like the angry takes no shit from anyone type, and she's there to watch over Yumeko's trouble attracting ass to keep her inline, so to focus on that, she doesn't gamble (Yumeko does enough of that for both of them) but now that's making trouble turn to R instead in the form of an infuriating Kirari, R like back talks to her and would probably bite a hand that gets too close if she has to, and when Kirari in one (underhanded) way or another manages to corner R into a gambling match with some poor soul so Kirari can observe her, R shows that she's just as good and insane as her relatives (though calms down faster?) , aaaahh I don't know what else to add on or how to end this, can't think much this late so here you go!! I hope you have fun!!

The Jabami Blood Flows

Jabami Sister Reader, Yumeko Jabami and Kirari Momobami (Platonic)

A/N: Here it is! Sorry I didn’t really get into the gamble. I couldn’t make myself research exactly how craps works and I’m not smart enough to calculate any math or cheats. The canon gambling timeline might be a little messed up too because it’s been awhile… But I think I captured the spirit of what you were asking for. Thanks for reading! Word Count: 2,523

(Y/n) couldn’t remember what life was like when her parents were alive, nor could she really remember what her oldest sister Souko was like before Yumeko had to send her away to live in that special hospital. All she knew was that life as a Bami was eat or be eaten, take or be taken from, and she hated it.

When Yumeko told (Y/n) of her plans to transfer to Hyakkaou, she was dead set against her going. That was where she went to school, Momobami Kirari. The one who had a hand in their older sister’s decline in mental health along with their own aunt. However, nothing that she said to Yumeko could get her to change her mind. So (Y/n) did what any good and responsible sister would do and filled out her own transfer papers so she could tag along.

It was difficult keeping track of Yumeko when they were two years apart, especially when the middle school was in a separate wing of the sprawling building.

But after she had heard about Yumeko becoming a house pet within the first week, (Y/n) had nearly blown a gasket. In retaliation, she quickly sized up the casino disguised as a school and realized the students could do basically whatever they wanted. (Y/n) was disciplined, a diligent worker and good student, so she got all of her schoolwork ahead of time and did it at home so she could keep an eye on Yumeko throughout the day.

She allowed Yumeko to take part in the Debt Swapping Game to undo the damage she had done to herself and her “new friend” Saotome, but after that (Y/n) was all over her… not that her nagging was very affective, unfortunately.

“You’re so cute when you pout!” Yumeko gushed, squeezing (Y/n)’s cheeks.

(Y/n) grabbed her sister’s wrists and groaned, “Neesan, I’m serious! No more gambling! We have the money, pay off the debt so you can stop wearing that ridiculous tag!”

“Sweet little sister, always looking out for me. You don’t worry so much, okay? I want to keep this tag just for awhile longer.”

“Why? It makes no sense, people treat you worse than an animal!” (Y/n) only got more upset the longer this conversation dragged on, “Get rid of it!”

“I’m not going to do that,” Yumeko smiled, somehow so carefree, “it makes for some really interesting gambles!”

“You’re so stupid!” (Y/n) suddenly yelled, finally shocking the smile off of Yumeko’s face, replaced by mild surprise, “It’s like you want to end up like Oneesan, you want to leave me all alone!”

“(Y/n)—“ Yumeko reached out her hand to (Y/n) but she ran passed her and kept running until she found an empty classroom to cry in.

She couldn’t cry forever though, and soon fell into a quiet, simmering anger that began to boil the more she thought about how their lives had come to this.

“Momobami Kirari.” She hissed hatefully. She ruined Souko and was in the process of taking Yumeko away from her too. Well, (Y/n) wasn’t going to standby quietly.

She wiped her eyes and and stood up, tromping through the halls, she followed the signs until she came to the Student Council room and without bothering to knock, she pushed the door open with a loud thump, making the pair that resided within look up.

“You can’t just charge in here like that!” Sayaka was quick to reprimand.

But Kirari put up a hand, “Don’t be troubled, Sayaka. It’s just one of my dear little cousins paying me a visit. I’d recognize a Jabami anywhere. Care for tea, (Y/n)? I haven’t seen you since you were quite small, you’ve grown a lot.”

“Jabami…” Sayaka’s mood soured a bit more. One Jabami was already one snake too many.

“And you look very cute in the middle school uniform.” Kirari continued on, tilting her head towards Sayaka, “I remember your middle school days Sayaka, you looked very cute in that uniform too, although this one is nice as well.” She tugged on the hem of Sayaka’s jacket for emphasis.

“Thah- thank you, President.” And like that, Sayaka was subdued, but still a little wary of their impromptu guest.

“I don’t want your stupid tea, or small talk!” (Y/n) yelled. “I want you to get rid of the house pet system!”

“You can’t just storm in here and demand such a thing!” Sayaka bristled.

“Ah, is Yumeko refusing to pay off her debt?” Kirari sat back in her chair slightly, “Unfortunately for you, I’m not inclined to accept your request. Your sister is just too fun to watch.”

“I hate you!” (Y/n) seethed, Kirari’s eyes widened, but it was clear amusement rather than surprise at the outburst, “I hate what the Bami clan is under your rule! If it was someone else— if things could have been different— My parents would be alive, Souko wouldn’t be in the hospital and you wouldn’t be trying to take Yumeko from me right now! I hate gambling! I hate that when people gamble, they are risking the happiness of people they are supposed to care about too! I hate you for pitting everyone against each other all the time! You have the power to stop all this before we all destroy each other for good, but you don’t use it, and I despise you for it!”

“Oh my,” Kirari cupped her between her thumb and index fingers, “so much resentment for a girl so young. Are you sure you aren’t Saotome’s little sister?” She chuckled.

“This isn’t funny!”

“Is it not? I find it a bit amusing at least. For someone with Jabami blood flowing through her veins, you are very adamantly going against your nature. It’s interesting. You might be one to watch as well.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“I think Yumemi has plans for your sister today. You might want to start making your way to the auditorium to cheer her on.” Kirari said instead, steepling her fingers in front of her coral blue lips.

A look of realization and then dread fell over (Y/n)’s face. She gave Kirari one more glare, then bolted from the student council room.

“What a rude girl!” Sayaka huffed. “Has she no respect for upperclassmen at all?”

“Easy Sayaka,” Kirari soothed with a teasing lilt, “I think my week just became a little more interesting.”

***

In the days after Yumeko’s admittedly unique gamble against Yumemi, (Y/n) had taken to giving her dear older sister the cold shoulder. It made Yumeko sad and pouty of course, but until she could promise (Y/n) that she was done gambling for good, (Y/n) refused to talk to her. She started going back to her classes like normal instead of following her sister around and did her best not to think about all the bad situations Yumeko could be putting herself through.

But she couldn’t ignore her sister for long, not when an unfamiliar upperclassman came to her classroom to summon her for a gamble. Apparently, Yumeko had got herself in a lot more trouble than (Y/n) had dared thought possible, or so the house pet had claimed.

“Where is she? Yumeko!” (Y/n) ran into the room, only turning around when she heard the door lock behind her. “Hey! What are you doing? Open the door!”

“That was a lot easier than I thought it would be.”

(Y/n) whipped her head to the back of the room to see a tired looking upperclassman, another house pet, sitting at a fancy craps table in front of a large mirror that almost took up the whole wall.

“I’ve been waiting for an opportunity like this to get back at Jabami for what she and Saotome did to me at that damn debt swapping game. You’re her little sister, right? What am I saying, of course you are.”

“What do you want? Who are you?” (Y/n) asked defensively.

“Kiwatari Jun.” The upperclassman answered with a smirk, “And I’m gonna turn you into a house pet.”

“Like hell you are. You can’t force someone into a gamble unless they are part of the council. Unlock the door.” (Y/n) commanded, but Jun chuckled darkly.

“You’re right, I can’t make you do anything, but the door is locked from the outside, and I don’t have the key.”

“Then I guess we’re just stuck here forever until we die.” (Y/n) hotly retorted.

“Not the case,” he knocked on the mirror behind him. “See this, it’s a one way window. People can see us, but we can’t see them. Once we gamble, someone will come and let us out.”

“I’m not going to gamble you.”

“You will. Word is your sister is going on a gambling tear without you yapping in her ear. She’s got a real big gamble coming up today with that crazy Beautification Committee officer. You know, the one who likes swinging a gun around.”

“Yumeko already gambled her and was disappointed. She wants nothing to do with Ikishima now.” (Y/n) had really hated that gamble. It was exceedingly frightening. She was glad Yumeko had been put off by Midari’s recklessness in some shape.

“She came up with a new gamble that really has your sister going. Safe to say she’s giving her another chance. I don’t expect you to believe me, but is it really a risk your willing to take? If you aren’t there… you might not see her again.”

(Y/n)’s blood froze. She didn’t want to believe this guy, in fact, she was sure he was lying, but her fear of losing Yumeko was stronger than reason. Saving Yumeko was the only thing she could think of that was truly worth gambling for…

“What is the game?” She finally asked through gritted teeth.

“Craps,” he swept his arm over the table, “A simple dice game, what do you say?”

“I want to test the dice.”

Jun exhaled though his nose, “Not a gambler, huh? You sure seem to know what to look for.”

“When you grow up in the world that I have, you can’t help but pick up a thing or two.” (Y/n) sat down at the opposite side of the table, she could feel her heartbeat picking up like it would at the starting line of a race, or before reading a speech in class. She hated the feeling. She hated how her body loved the feeling. The excitement of doing something that felt totally crazy.

Despite not remembering her mother very well, she was definitely her daughter. That blood flowed through her veins as it did with Yumeko and Souko. A red glow briefly reflected off of her eyes.

“Are we doing this, or not?”

All of Jun’s little tricks were exposed round after round, but even if (Y/n) had let them slide, she was rolling perfectly every time, a skill she had picked up by merely watching Souko practice as a toddler, just a baby even. If she wasn’t so dead set against gambling, she could probably be making millions of yen a week. Her playing style reminded Jun more of Mary, but every once in awhile, she’d make an absolutely insane call that could only be something a Jabami would ever think to do.

It didn’t take long before all of the money the student council had leant him was on the other side of the table and with it, his dreams of freeing himself from his house pet chains. Now he was another four million yen in the hole.

“No… you’re just a snot-nosed middle schooler!” He hissed, pounding his fists against the table, making the dice and chips clink together. “I was supposed to win.”

“Idiot.” (Y/n) smirked, the red gleam appeared in her eyes once more, “Don’t you know nothing is guaranteed in gambling, nothing but disappointment for someone anyway.” She got up from her chair, not even caring to take her winnings with her. “A pity a had to lose my no gambling streak because of you. You weren’t even a challenge.”

She walked over to the door, pleased to see it was already opening in anticipation of her approach. She was a little surprised to see it was Sayaka who opened the door, however. She was even more surprised when Sayaka pulled her forward and a zapping noise met her ears, followed by a heavy object hitting the ground. She turned to see Jun curled up on the floor and saw the taser in Sayaka’s hand. He must have been coming up to attack her for humiliating him so badly.

“You never learn, do you, Kiwatari?” Sayaka tisked, “Lose with dignity for once.”

“Thank you for the show, Jabami (Y/n).” Kirari rounded the corner seconds later. She must have been watching from the other side of the glass. Suddenly this impromptu gamble was making a lot more sense. Jun didn’t seem smart enough to come up with a scheme like this himself.

“I should have paired you up with someone interesting, but I wanted to see what I was working with first. You did not disappoint. We will have to do something like this again soon.”

“No way,” (Y/n) could already feel herself coming down from the brief high of gambling a upperclassman into submission, “I’m not going to let you catch me in a position like this again. No way in hell! Yumeko isn’t even in trouble, is she?”

Kirari smiled, “No, she’s not. However, I’m sure I could make an offer or two you simply would not be able to refuse. Whether it’s to forbid your sister from gambling in this school again, ending the house pet system, dethroning me as student council president, or even as the head of the Bami clan, I’m sure we could work something out. I think it would be really exciting for us to gamble one day.”

(Y/n) hated the shiver of excitement that ran up her spine. There were a couple of options in that short list she wouldn’t mind seeing to fruition, yet she shook her head and bumped into Kirari as she passed her.

“Just stay away from me!”

“I’ll be seeing you around, (Y/n). Have a good rest of your day.” Kirari waved, watching (Y/n) stomp away with amusement.

***

“Oh, (Y/n)?” Yumeko was surprised that after days of the cold shoulder, (Y/n) had sought her out for a hug, but she was very happy for the suprise affection to say the least and instantly returned the embrace. “You’re being so sweet to me! What brought this on, I wonder?”

“Don’t gamble with Ikishima ever again, got it?” (Y/n) ordered, “And always make sure you have your phone on you so I can ask you what you’re up to, okay?”

“Okay, okay!” Yumeko giggled, “You don’t have to worry. That person you just mentioned is dead to me anyway.”

A strangled moan of Yumeko’s name could be heard in the distance, but no one acknowledged it.

“Hey,” Yumeko’s eyes lit up, “let’s go do something fun this weekend. Just you and me, anything you want, okay?”

A small smile worked its way onto (Y/n)’s lips and she nodded, hugging her sister tighter.

“Yeah!”

[itwasthereaminuteago]

Hi I have a Matt x reader x Frank castle smut request. Matt tells Frank what he does to you after his patrol, how he spoils you with his tongue, how tight you are and how good your pu$$y tastes. Matt takes Frank to your home and the 3 of you have fun together.

I've put a slightly different spin on this and sorry it's taken so long Nonnie!

|| Vacancy ||

Female reader x Frank Castle x Kingpin!Matt Murdock

w/c: 3200

Tags/warnings: When you want something Matt won't hesitate to give it to you. Two guys one girl, bit of oral, unprotected p in v, p in a, creampie. Thank you to @albatrossandivys for the moodboard! 😘 Teeheehee, this was fun to write!

"You got a good reason why you're so fuckin' late, Red?" Frank grumbles as Matt Murdock strides up to him at the bar.

Matt just smiles, he looks ridiculous in that red suit, matching fucking red-tinted glasses and stupidly quaffed hair. He makes a show of licking his lips.

"Yeah, and I can still taste her." He replies.

Frank shakes his head. "Christ… you planning on sharing the details of your sex life every time we meet?"

Matt shrugs and smirks. "Dunno, you just always seem… interested."

There's a silence for a while before Matt starts up again and Frank reluctantly resigns himself to it.

"Sometimes that's all she wants, my mouth between her thighs all night long. God, she tastes so fucking good Frank, and the sounds she makes…" He bites down on his lip for emphasis.

Frank shifts slightly, something that Matt doesn't miss. He leans in closer to him, his voice low in that fucking growly 'devil of hell's kitchen' way as he keeps on going, knowing how much it's riling Frank up.

"Sometimes she begs, when I'm fucking her, begs for more. You know, your name came up the other night." Matt tells him, so casually Frank wasn't sure he heard him right.

"My name came up?"

"Yeah. When we were fucking." He adds nonchalantly.

"Wh-when you were fucking…" Frank repeats with incredulity. "'course it did."

"Asked her if she thought she'd be able to handle you."

Frank almost chokes on his own spit.

"She acts all sweet and shy but she can't lie to me. Her cunt gripped my cock like a vice when I said your name, Frank. She wants you."

"Uh…"

"And anything my lady wants, you know I do all I can to make certain she gets. If you were to do this for me, I'll owe you one. So what do you say, Castle?"

Frank swallows and absently checks that the safety's on his handgun, his hands urgently in need of something to do. "Murdock, what the hell are you askin' me?"

"God, you can be so fucking dumb sometimes." Matt grins, shaking his head as he takes a sip of the whiskey the barman has put down for him. "Would you please, fuck my wife?"

Frank looks at him blankly and then sighs, staring out the window at the flashing lights and sirens of the night. "Jesus…"

He'd met you briefly a couple of times when Matt had brought him back to his place when he got a little more banged up than usual. You had helped stitch them both up and you tended to like doing it while wearing the skimpiest little outfits.

Frank scratches his stubbled chin while he acts like he's seriously mulling it over. "Is this some entrapment shit or somethin'?"

Matt just grins. "No, it's not. But I will be there of course, 'case you try to steal her away."

"Well alright, if that's what she wants. But if I'm gonna take care of her I'm doin' it my way."

Matt claps him on the back of his shoulder, pleased with his decision. "Attaboy!"

.

You're surprised but not shocked when you open the penthouse door to see Frank standing there in a sharp suit with a bouquet of your favourite flowers in hand. Matty had told you to dress up for dinner and that he had a gift for you. You just thought that the gift would be a 'thing', not a person, and least of all Matt's friend, the man you admittedly had a bit of a 'thing' for.

"Hey." He says in an adorably gruff way in greeting.

"Frankie." You smile sweetly, accepting the flowers from him. "This is, unexpected… but nice, thank you."

He clears his throat as he's taking you in. You were wearing a beautiful long dress with a plunging neckline and side split, the soft fabric skimming over your curves. "Uh yeah. You look gorgeous."

"Oh Frank, thank you, and I swear I've never seen you looking so…" So fucking good in that suit, you think. The jacket broad at his shoulders and tapering in to his narrow waist, the tailored pants hugging around his huge thighs… You have to restrain yourself from wanting to rip him right out of it in that instant. Instead, you hum as you pop the flowers in an empty vase near the door and take his offered hand. "Shall we?"

He takes you for an Italian meal, it's delicious and in such an intimate setting. Frank is a perfect gentleman throughout, but as the evening goes on you start to let your touches linger on his arm, and under the table, on his thick muscular thighs.

When he doesn't reciprocate you know it's because he's terrified of Matt. You find the whole situation hilarious, the Big Bad Punisher shitting himself because you, the Kingpin's wife wanted to fuck him.

You finally take the initiative and his hand from its resting place on his knee. "You're allowed to touch me, Frank."

He takes a large sip of wine and nods as you lean closer to him, the plump valley of your breasts right in his eyeline.

"So touch me." You purr as you guide his free hand and fingers between your legs to graze the intricate lace of the exquisitely beautiful lingerie set that Matt had bought you especially for tonight.

"Shit." Frank curses under his breath when you spread your legs wider and pull your panties to the side. He can feel your hot wet cunt right on his fingertips, it'd be so fucking easy just to…

"Bella, your dessert. Please enjoy!"

Frank barely stops himself from jolting and flipping the fucking table over as the waiter places your tiramisu down in front of you. You thank him, smiling so sweetly and telling him just how delicious it looks before taking a spoonful and moaning at the taste licking the cream from your lips as you shift your hips forward and the pad of Frank's finger glides over your clit.

The waiter looks pleased. "So glad you find it to your satisfaction!"

You take another bite, urging Frank to keep going. "Mmm, it's soooo good Frankie, would you like a taste?"

His cock has been squeezed tight to the inside of his thigh in these damn pants all night with the way you'd been acting, and now you had him fingering you in a restaurant like it was nothing. It takes every bit of his military training to remain still.

"I'll, uh, get somethin' later, when we get home." he grits out. You were something else.

"Just a lil taste? C'mon Frankie, don't be shy. You can use your fingers…"

Frank can help but relent, swiping his index finger through your slick folds and pushing inside your tight entrance. His cock twitches as you let out a tiny whimper of pleasure as he strokes back and forth before bringing his hand back above the table cloth, gathering a dollop of cream from your plate before he sucks and licks it off along with your juices from his fingers.

"Check please!" He almost yells and you just laugh.

The car journey back to your penthouse was an event itself. You instruct the driver to put up the privacy screen, so you could finally get your manicured hands on Frank's rather sizable package, squeezing and rubbing him through his suit pants so much that he was almost tearing right through them.

"Jesus Christ, Red wasn't screwing around when he told me about you."

"Hmm, or me about you Frankie. I don't know if I can take all of that…" you whine as you cup his bulge, nipping at his scruffy jaw with your teeth.

"Fuck sweetheart, you're gonna be the end of me." He runs his big paw-like hand over your breast, gently squeezing the flesh and running his thumb over the nipple through the fabric of your dress making your breath hitch. "So what's the deal anyways, the hot shot lawyer not doin' it for you anymore?"

"Oh he does it for me enough Frank. A girl just gets a lil greedy sometimes…" you grin and pull him out of the plush town car and into your even plusher building, your mouth on his all the way up in the elevator to where Matt is waiting for you both.

He's reclined on the huge leather couch, tie hanging loose around his neck with a whiskey tumbler in hand as you drag your new toy through the door.

"Hey kids! I know you had fun tonight, I can smell it." He drawls, taking a sip of whiskey before he gets to his feet. "Did you take care of my darling girl, Castle?"

Frank flushes red. "Think she's the one takin' care o' me Murdock."

You pull Frank with you as you wind yourself around Matt, tasting the booze on his lips as you kiss him. "Get my zipper for me, Mister Castle?" You plead, and Matt nods at him before Frank moves to slide the zip of your dress slowly all the way down from your nape to the small of your back. His fingers brush over the thin waistband of your underwear and you hum, shimmying free of your dress and unhooking your bra. The fabric pools down at your feet leaving you naked except for your panties. You turn around and Frank is left drinking you up with his eyes.

"Time for bed I think, don't you?" Matt says, and Frank nods as he watches your hips swing as you walk towards the huge bed on the other side of the room. You slide your knickers down your legs, bending over and giving Frank an eyeful of your bare ass and everything else before kicking off your heels and making yourself comfortable on the bed. Matt's already shirtless and following, snapping his belt free of the loops, his red tie dangling from the fingers of his other hand. "Did you have some dessert?"

Frank's tongue peaks out from between his lips as he catches the faint remainder of your taste. "A little, yeah."

Matt grins twirling the tie. "Such a sweet perfect pussy, could eat her all night long." he muses. "But, sometimes she gets wild, much safer to restrain her."

"Hey!" You huff in mock protest.

Frank slowly unbuttons his jacket, aware that you're watching his every move. "S'that so?" He replies, carefully rolling up his shirt sleeves and prowling towards you. You give him a satisfied smile as you know he's gaining more confidence with you. Matt scootches you up the bed, wrapping the silk tie skillfully around your wrists and knotting it through the bedrail. You squirm and nod, more than ready for what's to come.

"I know how much of a fucking tease she can be. So go ahead, get her back." Matt instructs, and now that Frank's in this situation with the memory of what happened in the restaurant he doesn't think twice, crawling onto the bed, curling his huge hands around your thighs to spread your legs apart.

Rough fingertips trace your soft skin and it makes you shiver, feeling the touch of someone who's not Matt is a definite thrill. You bite down on your lip, chest heaving as your body yearns for him to touch and taste, to play with and penetrate you. All while your Kingpin is happy to sit on the sidelines and conduct the proceedings.

You both moan long and loud as Frank finally dives forward, pulling your hips towards his mouth, his tongue licking you from hole to clit in one strong committed swipe. He holds you firmly and you purr, writhing and bucking your hips as he alternates such soft swirling teasing with fucking his tongue deep in and out of your aching cunt, over and over again. You're so responsive and he feels you strain and pull at your husband's tie holding you captive as he laps at your clit until you can't do anything but beg for his cock.

"Is he that good, baby?" Matt softly questions, "Not better than me surely?"

You can only mewl in answer as Frank rises to that challenge, ending you in a moaning, panting mess as he makes you come on his lips. When he surfaces his mouth and chin is shining, covered with your arousal. Matt sidles up to him, his hand sliding around the back of Frank's thick neck pulling him close as he unashamedly licks the taste of you from his swollen lips. Frank can't think or respond as Matt's dexterous fingers start to unbutton his shirt, so drunk on you. You watch hungrily as he easily flips him onto his back and removes his shoes and pants while he's so distracted. His pupils are blown full and black as Matt's slender fingers trail teasingly down the deep cut lines of his muscles and Frank grunts, jolting as Matt's hand continues down to palm his thick cock through his shorts.

"What the fuck Murdock?"

Matt flashes his teeth in a devilish grin as he gives him a squeeze. "Just curious. Come on big boy, don't keep her waiting."

You're laughing breathlessly at their interactions but the anticipation of what will happen next has you feeling a little nervous too as Frank grunts and turns back around, all of his focus on you.

"Let her loose." He growls, gaze burning right through you.

"Alright, but don't say I didn't warn you." You tut at Matt, stealing several hot, wet kisses from him as he untethers you. Then you're free, launching yourself at Frank, taking him by surprise and pinning his massive bulk to the bed. His hands run lightly up your sides, as your own scratch with your nails over his broad pectorals, your mouth quickly following their path, tasting his scarred skin. He hisses as you work your way down his hard body reaching the waistband of his underwear, yanking them down and releasing his heavy cock, the hunger in your eyes unmistakable as they land on it.

You tease with light kisses up his thick length to the tip where you flick out your tongue to taste, and the salty musk of him has your clenching around nothing as he leaks onto your tongue with a rough gasp.

"Yeah, she'll do that to ya." Matt muses as he observes.

You've been slick and ready since the restaurant, to hell with waiting any longer you think, crawling up his muscular form, straddling his hips and grinding your wet pussy along his length so he knows how much you want him and besides, Matty said you could have him after all. When you move back you tilt your pelvis, catching his tip at your entrance and lowering yourself down to force the fat head of his cock inside.

Frank groans and you cry out as you try to keep sinking down on him.

"Fuck baby, take it easy, okay?"

You're so fucking tight and hot and he's barely inside you.

Matt chuckles from his comfortable seat near the bed. "That what you wanted, Princess? Another cock to stuff you full?"

Frank's thumbs circle on your skin as he holds onto your hips, guiding you as you take another inch, you're whimpering as he's splitting you open. You're a fucking dream and his cock throbs as you keep going, you're squeezing him so tightly he has to think about something else, anything else or he's never gonna last.

"Doesn't she feel just sublime, Castle?"

You grab onto his wrist, moving his hand to the juncture of your thighs and encouraging him to pay attention to the already swollen bundle of nerves there, praying that the feeling will relax your body so you can take him all.

"Damn, so fuckin' tight…"

He keeps moving slowly, carefully, smoothing his free hand up your body, caressing you as he's finally buried in you to the hilt.

"Yeah, attagirl, there you go…" Frank soothes, watching your mouth drop open as he pumps his hips up a couple of times. He can't believe his luck.

Tears sting the corners of your eyes as you feel so full already, and when you feel the mattress dip as Matt positions himself behind you and between Frank's legs, you just about lose your mind.

"Are you ready for me now, sweetheart?"

You sob with desperation at Matt's question, whimpering yet again as he teases around the only other place he can go, very gently circling and pushing his already lubricated finger past the tight ring of your ass.

"C'mon, you wanted this. Didn't you baby?" He purrs at you with an edge of sarcasm, and as soon as he feels you relax he adds another digit, loosening you up so you can take the girth of his dick. One hand slides around your neck and the other braces around your waist as he lines himself up and slowly sinks inside you. It burns but he's right, it's everything you want.

"Mm- y-yes Matt!" You cry out at the overwhelming combination of them both, dancing on the threshold of pain and pleasure.

"Yeah, there's my greedy girl. Look at her Frank, cockdrunk already."

You're at the mercy of two men who want nothing more than to satisfy you, stuffed beyond comprehension.

"Move." Matt growls at Frank over your shoulder, clipped moans tumbling from your lips as they both start to fuck you in perfect syncrony. Frank's hands get a firm hold of your hips, your breasts bouncing as he pistons hard up into you. You whine, you plead, you beg, and you don't even know why because they're already giving you everything.

It doesn't take long until Frank can feel your pussy begin to flutter, you're about to come undone, and his balls draw up tight, dripping with your slick as he stuffs himself inside your perfect cunt over and over.

"Goddamn… I'm close sweetheart, real fucking close. W-where d'you want me to-"

"Fill her right up Frank," Matt growls low, "fuck it right into her like the spoiled little cumslut wants." He reaches around and squeezes your nipples hard between his fingers.

You cry pathetically at Matt's filthy words, but he knows that it makes you weak, gets you off.

"Oh sorry, was that too much kitten?" He smirks as he keeps pounding against your ass, his fingers digging into your flesh reminding you that you're his. He's not going to last long either with the way you're taking them.

"Mm! Ohh!"

"Good girl, fuck, yeah, just like that, just-like-that…" Frank suddenly roars as he spills first, thrusting deep in you with a grunt as you squeeze and clench around them, Matt following and groaning loud soon after as you're coming so hard you can't see and your head's completely empty of any thought other than how much you want them both.

As you come back down to earth Matt's breathy voice reaches your ears. "Honey, sweetie, darling, you okay?" you feel the light soothing touch of his hands running over your skin and slowly open your eyes.

"Mmm." You hum, looking up at both men as they're gently cleaning you up.

Matt smiles at you, kisses your forehead and turns to Frank. "You did real good, Castle. Don't think I've ever seen her this wrecked before. I'm thinking maybe you should stick around, help keep my angel satisfied when things get hectic around here."

At your insistence Frank leans down and you kiss him slow, lingering as you drag his bottom lip between your teeth.

"Think you'd want that job Frankie?" You ask him hopefully. "Because it sounds like a vacancy has just opened up."

After what just happened Frank finds it extremely difficult to say no.

[bg-brainrot]

Final winter prompt ! ! Thanks for joining me on the 12 days of the BG3 Holiday Challenge, and shout-out to @justporo and @the-littlest-raindrop for their fluffy challenge ✨

Prompt: New Beginnings

Featuring: Astarion x Rogue!Tav

Series: Fits into Love at First Knife, AO3 link here

Premise: As the year comes to an end, you and Astarion have time to reflect on your time together. When Astarion asks you the question, “Do you regret any of it?” he’s surprised at your response.

Tags: POV Second Person, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Fluff, Holidays, post-canon, new year

Word count: 1k

As the year comes to a close, you spend the last moments of it with your love, cozy on the couch. Astarion’s head is on your lap and his eyes are hazy with warmth as they gaze into the fireplace. “We’ve had quite a year, haven’t we?" he muses. After your hum of agreement, he adds, "So darling, do you regret any of it?”

Your response is immediate. “Gods yes.” 

“What?” he asks, face turning up to you in shock.

“How could I not?” you reply, looking down at his wide red eyes. 

Astarion only continues looking at you, a blank stare doing nothing to hide the concern on his face. 

“Don’t tell me you don’t regret anything, Astarion. That would be ridiculous.” You tap a finger lightly on his forehead and continue, “It certainly hasn’t been all sunshine and rainbows.”

“What do you regret?” he asks, red eyes darting between yours. “And does it have anything to do with the handsome vampire in your lap currently?”

You shake your head and gently run a hand through his curls. “Nothing like that–well… maybe.”

“What." he asks again, the word coming out flat. His eyebrows lift high in alarm and you trace them with your fingers before you clarify.

“Let me explain,” you say, as you begin scratching his head in small, soothing circles. “I don’t regret meeting you, falling for you, or anything to do with you. I only regret that we started off so poorly. I feel bad for assuming a lot of things about you.”

Astarion breathes a deep sigh of relief. "Oh. Well then." After digesting what you've said, he purses his lips at you, clearly debating saying something.

"Astarion?"

He releases the purse of his lips only to turn his head away from you, back to the fire. "It's nothing. I'm pondering other possibilities."

"Like?" you press gently, fingers tickling his ear in a few gentle strokes.

Astarion shudders under your light touch and responds, "I wonder what you might have done had I been honest from the start."

You consider his words briefly, mindlessly twirling a finger through his hair. "It's hard to say. If I'm being honest with myself, I might have fallen all the faster."

His red eyes turn back to you slightly, hesitantly. "Really?" 

"Yes, I think so. I kept telling myself not to fall for you because of how bad of a liar you were."

"Really?" He repeats, now incredulous. "Not the fact that I was lying to you? Or that I am a vampire?"

You chuckle at his questions, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck now. "Oh no, that's all fine," you say with an air of nonchalance that comes from a place of honesty. "Lying is expected of a rogue, vampires are just another part of life in the Gate. But bad liars? Well, that's near unforgivable."

"My love, have I told you that you have an odd way of showing your affection?" He turns back to look at you, his curls looking quite mused by all of your delicate attention. It reminds you of rustled feathers and it's all you can do not to laugh. "And now you're laughing at me?"

At that, you do laugh. "What can I say, my lover is funny. One of the reasons he’s so charming."

Astarion's annoyed facade slips at that, as a small, reluctant smile begins to curl up. He can't help it when you praise him so easily and openly. After a beat, he says, "I, however, have no regrets. I've decided I don't think I could ever have been honest with you."

"Mm, why's that?" you ask, beginning to brush his curls back into place.

"Well, aside from the obvious, like the risk of being staked in the heart, needing protection…" he closes his eyes as you continue to pet. "Lying meant that you were more curious about me. You'd come ask me questions, prod about. I quite liked that."

"You're saying you'd lie poorly again, just for the attention?" you ask, furrowing your brows at his ridiculous statement.

He nods, bumping your hand with his nose, taking a second to press a kiss to your fingertip. "Oh yes, darling. Never underestimate the power of a good mystery."

"I wasn't curious, Astarion. I was more cautious, concerned," you say with a snort.

Now he shrugs, as if it's a mere technicality. "Whatever got you to my tent, I suppose."

You're about to retort, tell him that only he would see that as a win, but you're cut off by the chiming of your clock. 

At the first chime, Astarion opens his eyes and jolts up, as if struck by something.

At the second chime, he turns toward you, grasping your hands in his.

For the third and fourth chimes, he smiles at you lovingly and says, "Happy New Year, darling."

During the fifth and sixth chimes, you reply back, with an equally adoring smile, "Happy New Year, love."

At the seventh chime, your lips meet in a tender kiss. 

Chimes eight through twelve are spent in embrace of each other's arms, kissing each other over and over again with each ring of the clock.

When you finally pull apart, now many minutes into the new year, you look into Astarion's eyes. No amount of regrets or what-if’s could pull you away from this moment, from his arms, and his love. “I’m fairly certain I won’t have any regrets this year,” you say to him, rubbing a thumb across his knuckles. 

“Why’s that?”

“Because I’m entering it by your side.” 

Ringing in the year with your love for the first time, experiencing an entire winter together for the first time, looking forward to your future together– it all brings you a sense of peace you haven’t had in a long time. And, while you no longer have a tadpole to connect your thoughts, you can see that very same serenity in your lover’s eyes. You hope to experience many, many more years like this.