#and i consider this too short for ao3 so i'm posting it here | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

just-some-random-blogger · 11 days

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Edge Of Ever After | 3

Part 1 2 3 4

Sandor runs his fingers down my spine and sighs, "everything I ever touch goes to shit." He grabs my hip and pulls me close. I turn to him and nestle my face into his chest. He traps me in his arms, "but you... you turn my shit into gold."

Sandor Clegane x Reader | 5k+ | cw: fem!reader, wife!reader, smut (slight dubcon, piv, degradation), mentions/depictions of violence, heckling/cat calling, sunshine x grump, remnants of forced marriage, slow burn, angst, emotional unavailability, emotional vulnerability, The Hound being abrasive, miscommunication, fluff, typos, etc.

A/N: hello everyone its been a while a;sjkhdfa;sklfhas;lkfhs it feels weird to post fics on tumblr again after my tumblr got sent to JAIL but its only fair that i continue posting this here <3 (i post this on my ao3 first then bulk post here).

When Sandor enters the Brown Wood meeting hall, he is greeted kindly by many of the people who wished to seek audience with his wife. He vaguely overhears a conversation about someone's babe, but it's cut short.

She turns to him, just as the townsfolk flock over to him like a moth drawn to flame. She smiles, then shoos them away, concluding the meeting for the day.

Sandor watches how she commands the room. One by one the people trickle out of the hall. He watches as she sighs and rubs her belly. He watches as she walks over to him and asks him what he needed.

His eyes remain on the hand she kept on her stomach, "I wanted to… …" gods, have they upset her.

She raises her brows, "to?"

"… are you alright?" He takes her other hand with grave reluctance, "are you hurting?"

Immediately, she drops the hand she had on her stomach and grows rigid. Sandor catches the discomfort she masks with a smile.

She shakes her head, "I'm well."

Sandor frowns. He gently rubs her skin, in case his palms were too rough, "… I wanted to show you… the strawberries."

Her eyes twinkle, "oh? Have they begun to bloom?"

Sandor is winded by how brightly her face seemed so suddenly. He motions with his head, "want to see for yourself?"

The two of them head to the garden.

"Heel, pups. Dammit," Sandor hisses when the three dogs run in front of them.

With one sound and a look, the pups turn to Lady Clegane and move out of the way. Sandor grumbles and nudges them out of the way as he passes, "fuck off."

"Sandor."

"They started it!"

When they get to the garden, the puppies run around the yard, no longer interested in their masters, but instead the birds that had made the unfortunate mistake of resting dormant on the Brown Wood grounds.

Sandor was a natural fast walker, considering his stature. He's always loathed slow walkers. And though he could never loathe his bride, in this moment, he particularly itched to show her the strawberries sooner, so he took her hand and pulled her towards the garden.

He didn't notice the squeak that fell from her lips when he did so. All he knew was that she had to slightly catch her breath when they stopped.

Sandor bends down and turns to her, glancing once at the pups to see what they were barking at. When he realizes the fuss was over birds, he turns back to her and speaks, "I have a strawberry now."

She peers down and knits her brows, "… where?"

Sandor raises a brow and looks at the branch, "here."

She walks closer but only spots it when the man points at the marble sized greenish fruit.

"Oh!"

Sandor turns back to her and nods, "there are many of them already. Do you want to see?"

Before she can reply, Sandor is already examining his garden, looking for something to show. He doesn't just walk off however. He reaches his hand out to her, rather absentmindedly, and mutters something about caterpillars.

He doesn't notice how she sucks in a breath before taking his hand. He doesn't notice how her lips curve when he tells her the things the gardeners taught him.

Sandor doesn't even notice how her eyes water when he tells her that they could trade tasks, she could do the gardening and he could talk to the townsfolk, so not to burdened by their worries; she scratched the tears away by the time he looked.

The only thing he notices is how her face fell.

Gods, he done it again.

"… what's wrong?"

Sandor's insides feel like their being pulverized when he catches the way her lips quiver. It's even worse when she smiles and says, "nothing."

A line forms between his brows.

"I am just… I'm am pleased to see you look so happy."

Sandor knits his brows.

She gives an airy laugh but tears stream her cheeks in spite of it.

Sandor stutters out her name, cautiously reaching out to her.

"No," she chuckles, bringing his hands to her cheeks, "I am not sad. Truly. I am happy. I am happy for you."

Discomfort doesn't leave him when she says this. He wipes her cheeks with his thumbs and nods, "aye. I am happy because of you."

She laughs through tears again.

He feels an overwhelming urge to kiss her.

And so he does.

He pulls her close and leans down. He kisses her like he means to drink in all the sorrow she was lying about. His one hand cradles the back of her head, the other brushes down the small of her back.

He ponders how she chuckles between kisses. Maybe, she wasn't lying. He pulls away and examines her face.

She chuckles again and rubs his chin.

She sighs and licks her lips, "I like it when you kiss me like that."

His brows quirk, "like w-"

She kisses him again. He is caught off-guard when she grabs him by the collar. Sandor can't help the groan that rumbles in his chest as she brings her arms over his shoulders. He snakes his own around her torso and lifts her up.

When she pulls away for a breath and tries to wrap her legs around him, he jostles her body up, allowing her the momentum to do so. He wastes no more time keeping their lips separate. He kisses her as he heads inside.

Unfortunately, Sandor had to see to get to their chambers, so he has to pull away. She makes him cuss when he kisses her neck. He nearly kicks the fucking door down on his way in. He does the same to the chamber door then slams it shut.

Sandor throws her on the bed and heaves like a rabid dog as he looks down at her body and her wanting face. He feels himself go hard with how she licks her lips as he undoes his top. He's never loathed clothes quite as much as he did this moment.

And then she stands up and tilts her pretty face up at him. He towers over her as she grab his hands and slowly pushes them away.

"Let me," she mutters, tugging his top out of his trousers.

He has to bend to help her get it off and it amuses her. She giggles, "you're so tall."

He stirs at the sound of her voice. He wraps an arm around her waist and kisses her mouth. He can taste the sweetness of her laughter on her lips.

He huffs when he pushes him away.

She rubs her nose against his, "lie down, puppy."

His eyes widen.

She bites her lips, feeling nervous over his shock. She manages to convince herself to power through and grabs his arms. She pushes him toward the bed, "lie down."

He doesn't have to hear it another time.

Sandor sits down on the side of the bed, then sequentially gets on his back. His feet stay put on the floor and he keeps his head up to watch her closely. He is visibly straining in his pants and the sight makes her face warm. She bites her lips harder and slowly lifts her skirt up.

"Fuck," Sandor hisses, heart pounding in his chest and his cock.

She removes her smallclothes then slowly crawls on top of him, stopping just before his pelvis.

"Fuuuuccckkk," he sighs, dropping his head. His hands dig into her hips as she undoes his trousers, "you're driving me mad, seven fucking gods, woman."

She hums and giggles softly, "that's right, Hound. I'm a woman."

"H- fuck-" whatever he meant to say gets crushed into a groan when she grabs his throbbing length then aligns herself on him.

He rips at her skirts when she sinks down and leans on to his chest. She rubs his body hair, "your woman."

"Fucking hell," he rubs her sides, "all fucking mine, that's right."

She whimpers when his hands squeeze her breasts. She clenches around him, making him throw his head back. She heaves, "you take such… good care of me… wanna do the same."

Sandor nearly passes when she begins to move. She starts out slow then eases her way into a quicker pace. He groans through his open mouth as she leans further, allowing her to move more surely.

"That's it, love. You feel so fucking good, fuck."

She is encouraged, "like this?"

He doesn't have the words to agree and merely hisses.

Eventually, Sandor can't just lie down. He slowly begins to buck into her and gods does he love the face she makes.

Like a man starved, he pushes himself up, sitting himself down, and kisses her neck. He wraps his arms around her and guides her movements. He brushes his lips down her neck and hisses, "that's it, love," he nips her neck, "so fucking good for me. My lovely wife."

Sandor loosens the ties at the back of her dress. He is frantic about it that he eventually gives up. He resigns to yanking enough of her dress down to expose her breasts. He promptly licks a stripe on her soft flesh and leaves marks wherever his mouth can reach.

She tangles her fingers in his hair and tugs at the roots, "Sandor."

He hums and kisses her jaw, "my love."

They share a kiss until she has to break away and catch her breath from her rigorous movements.

He brings his hand under her skirts and squeezes her thighs, " 'm gonna come."

She squeals when she feels him rub her sensitive nub.

He hisses, "so fucking wet. Mmm, fuck, I'm gonna come inside your hot cunt. Then I'll pin you down and come some more."

"F-fuck, Sandor-"

He hisses as he clutches her neck. He doesn't put any pressure but he still has her whining, especially as he grazes her skin with his teeth. He says hotly, "I need you to be a good girl and make me come first."

She grabs his shoulders.

"Don't you want me to fill you up?"

She hums, "y-yes."

"Good girl."

She bounces on him harder.

"Fuck," he grabs her hips and helps her through it, "yes, yes, yes, just like that-"

She comes first, and she comes hard.

Sandor has to maneuver her roughly to chase after his high, and by the time he does, she's a shaking, loud mess, babbling only his name, cause that was all that's left in her head.

It takes a good while before he finally slows. He makes sure that he rides out the pleasure and fucks every drop of his seed into her softness. Then, they both go limp on the bed.

Sandor heaves. His wife does the same atop him. She can feel her cunt spasm. She can feel their hot spend leaking, but she's too tired to care.

Sandor rubs her back as he sighs, "you're incredible"

She is too dazed to say anything but, "Sandor."

Sandor wraps his arm around her waist, "I'm here, my love. I'm here."

She nuzzles her face into his neck.

He sighs in content.

"Sandor."

" 'M here."

"Is this enough for you?"

"…"

"… what?"

She lifts her head and sucks in a breath. She sighs deeply before replying, "sex… and strawberries?"

Sandor looks at her face. He is in awe of her beauty. What treachery it is for her to believe it isn't.

His silence make her eyes glass.

He grunts as he brings them back into a sitting position. He kisses her neck and rocks her back and forth, "honest to every god in the sky-- old, new, or otherwise, if I died this second… I would die the happiest I have ever been in my whole life."

Her heart throbs. When he looks at him, she knows he isn't lying. Still, she can't help to want to disagree.

And Sandor can see it. He sighs.

"I will tr-"

"Let's go to Volantis."

Her expression drops.

Sandor tucks her hair back, "this is more than enough for me… but it isn't for you. I want to be enough for you too."

She is unable to speak.

"I don't trust that fucking leech, Littlefinger, but if there is a chance…"

Her eyes blur with water.

"… at least we can say we tried."

The next second, she wraps her arms around him and shudders into his shoulder.

"Sandor."

A crack of thunder startles me, and the two horses beside us.

I watch as my husband grumbles something under his breath and hands me the lead on his horse. He steps out of the shade of the tree we were under gets drenched in the pouring rain water. Well, more drenched.

To be fair, I was still getting wet too, but it was not as bad from where I stood.

I adjust the hood covering my face to look at him. He looks around then back at me. He shouts over the rain, "we've no choice but to walk!"

I fix my hood and hand him his lead. I follow after him and we slowly trek through the wet ground, the reason why we were not on horseback. He says it was a horse ankle killer.

"You know!' I scream over the rain.

Sandor's clanking armor is still audible through the pouring rain.

"They say rain is a sign your journey will be great!"

"Yeah, and who told you that?!'

"My aunt!"

"Your aunt's a dumb bitch!"

I shoot daggers at the back of his head, "Sandor!"

"Tell her to shove mud up her arse!"

"Stoooop!" I whine.

Sandor and I continue through the sludge with our horses walking by our sides. I can vaguely hear him grumble under his breath and my worry for him, and the horses especially, begin to worsen.

"Puppy!" I call, slightly frantic, "maybe we should find some shade for a moment!"

Sandor does not look back at me, "it won't matter! The rain won't stop any time soon!"

I look at my poor steed and wipe her dripping face. I am overcome with guilt when she shakes her mane.

Without warning, a crack of lightning lights up the dark sky then a roll of thunder effectively spooks my horse, causing her to stand on her hind legs and her lead to slip out of my grip. Sandor's horse remains relatively calm, beyond the huffs she gives.

Sandor is quick to come to my aid, or rather my horse's. He pulls me back, so not to be trampled on, then manages to grab hold of her lead, shushing her until she was as calm as she could be in the middle of the storm.

I watch as his hood falls off. His face is immediately drenched with water. I frantically put his hood back on and my husband turns to me. He shakes his head disapprovingly then leads both of the horses himself. He screams louder than needed, "IT'S NOT TOO LATE TO TURN BACK, GIRL!"

I watch him as he continues to walk. I come up behind him.

"I bet your wench is worried sick over you! I bet her and your pups are at the door, praying for your return!"

"Stop calling Lucy names!"

Sandor looks over his shoulder only to look forward again and grumble.

I really don't mean to pick a fight, especially not in this weather, but I also really didn't want to go back, not when the whole of Brown Wood knew we would be leaving for Volantis to get rid of the curse. In hindsight, my integrity took the best of me in that moment. I could have just said I wanted to travel… but the again, I did not want them to think we would be leaving them to fend for themselves purely for my wanderlust.

I decide not to speak a word, but then I catch a light from afar.

"SANDOR!" I gasp and point, "LOOK!"

The Hound turns and sees the glow of a fire.

"I think it's an inn!" I exclaim, heading towards it at once.

I hurry over to the direction of the light and thank the gods when I find that I was, in fact, correct. A sizable inn was now only a few paces away from me. I turn around, seeing the struggling man and our horses slowly coming towards me.

I'm about to run back to him, but he barks out, "GO IN AND GET US A ROOM!"

I nod and rush towards the inn.

I push the door open and sigh when I feel warmth envelope me. I cautiously enter and hover by the door. The place is packed. It seems everyone here was caught in the storm, judging by how some of them were still dripping, and others had towels around their shoulders.

I look at the puddle that builds beneath my feet and feel guilty at the mess. The wooden floors were already muddy and I did not want to add to it.

I shrug off my cloak and wring it out of the open door, proceeding to do the same to my skirt and my hair, at least as much as I can.

"Oooh, lovie, oh dear!" a voice says. I turn and see an old woman approaching me, "don't bother with that and just come in."

I give a bashful smile as she reaches out to me, "what will you be needing? Some towels? Soup? I'll be happy to help, for a price, of course."

I nod, "both would be lovely. I'd like two sets of each and a room for me and my husband."

She nods, "of course. You arrived just in time. We have the one room left. I'll need you to pay upfront though, because our Golden Deer Inn is bustling, as you can see."

"Oh, of course, of course," I nod and prepare my coin purse. As I pay her, I remember, "oh. We also have two horses. I would like them to have a towel and some hay as well."

I pay her handsomely and her face brightens.

"As you command, my lady," she curtsies after taking my coin. "Go find yourself a seat, I'll bring you and your husband some supper in a jiffy. If you need anything else, or if anyone bothers you, holler for Trysha," she places a hand on her chest and nods.

I nod back, "thank you, kind Trysha."

"Of course."

Trysha walks off and so do I. I shudder as I look for a vacant table, rubbing my arms as I gaze upon the packed room. I quickly realize there is none and rub my hands. I decide to head for the fireplace and at least warm myself in the meantime.

A man seated by the warmth stares at me, suddenly uninterested in his meal. I ignore him and slowly move away.

"Oi, you, girl!"

I feel agitation build in my stomach.

"You! At the fireplace!"

I suck in a breath and ignore the call.

"OI!" the voice calls louder, "OI, YOU!"

When another voice screams through the bustle of room and I hear someone stand, my instincts takeover and I turn around. A man, stood by a table of six, is looking at me.

"So ye'rent deaf," he says, making the men at his table laugh and turn to me.

I gulp and simply stare at him. I roll my shoulders back, feigning confidence. I raise my brows in expectation.

The man with a cut on his chin rolls his jaw and chuckles, "ye wonna share a table with us? You look awfully sad and lonely o'r there. All wet and exhausted."

I feel sick as he motions to the men at his table, their eyes on me like I was nothing but meat, their next meal, "we could keep you warm."

The group cheers with laughter. One raises their pint and another whistles.

"I am not interested," I say firmly, "I am waiting for my husband."

They laugh and howl like wolves. One of the table speaks, "that's what they all say."

"I don't see your husband here."

"Come on, don't be shy."

"You dogs leave her alone!" Trysha hisses as she reenters. I immediately feel relieved at the sight of her. She walks up to their table holding two bowls, "I will not have you disrespect my customer when you lot haven't even paid for your grub!"

The man glares at her, as if testing if she'll back down.

Trysha narrows her eyes, "if you're not scared of me, which you should, you'll be scared of my sons."

And as if on cue, a large man walks in serving a plate of roast chicken to one table. The man with a thick chest and thick arms to match scowls when he spots his mother, "these blokes bothering you, ma?"

"And that's just one of them," Trysha mutters. She turns to the man, "I'm not sure yet, love."

"Ligh'en up, woman. We were only playin'," the stood man sits down, "isn't that right, sweet'eart?"

Trysha, her son, and the men at the table turn to me.

I cannot give them the satisfaction. I grip my chest and shake my head, "you brutes have a sick sense of humor and the gods will soon punish you for it."

Trysha's son squares up, "you botherin' the lady?"

"We was jus' joking!" another says, "she's a stuck up bitch."

Suddenly, that man is grabbed by the collar. Trysha's son pulls him to his feet and he begins to choke, "now, I've had a long day. It would be my joy to break all of your stupid faces, but then I'd have to mop off blood on the floor."

Trysha steps back as the rest of the table stands.

"Go on," her son says, pulling out a knife, pressing it to the man's neck, "apologize to the woman and I'll let you pay for your meals once you've finished."

"You mad fucker!" one of the six scream.

The man being held hostage begins to wince when the blade on his neck draws blood. Immediately he begins to apologize, "I'M SORRY, I'M SORRY!"

The large man releases him and demands they pay up and leave.

They collectively reach for their coin and leave some on the table before leaving.

Trysha turns to me and smiles, "your table's ready."

I watch as the men exit and slowly come towards them. I watch as her son clears the table. He steals a glance at me and mutters, "sorry about those fucks."

I offer him a smile, "you need not apologize for their uncouth nature."

I place a hand on his shoulder as he takes all the plates and pints. He stills as I ask, "may I ask for your name?"

He looks at me and clears his throat. He straightens up and mutters, "Riley."

Trysha places the bowl on the table and then wipes off the surface.

"Thank you, Riley," I smile.

Riley clears his throat and nods. He then walks off.

"Right," Trysha says, "I'll go get you your towels."

"Thank you, Trysha."

I sit down and keep my eyes on the front door. I begin to sip of my soup, surprised by how flavorful it was and relieved by how it warmed me up.

I perk when the front door opens but deflate when I see a group of men enter.

Trysha comes out with towels, the converses with those said man, telling them the inn was fully booked, but they were welcome to stay for a meal if they liked. The men talk to themselves and Trysha walks over, handing me the towels.

I thank her for it and she smiles, "we have some pie and mead, if you'd like."

I wipe my face the wrap myself with the towel. I nod, "yes, I would. Only one pint of mead, however. If you have any more stew," I pull out some coin, "I'd like a bowl as well."

Trysha smiles and nods, "I'll have Riley bring you some roast pork too."

As Trysha walks off, I continue slurping my soup. When I turn back to the front door, my sight is obscured. The group of men who entered were now at my table. My heart leaps into my mouth.

"Pardon my companions and I. We have travelled far and have grown weary. Do you mind if we share a table with you? None else are currently available."

I look at the four men and feel uncomfortable under their scrutiny. Though they appeared more civilized then the ones before, I was still uneasy.

I manage a smile and motion to the bowl of soup across me, "I'm waiting for my husband."

The man looks at the other bowl, "ah. … But otherwise, you would let us sit?"

His adamance makes my stomach churn. I take a breath and shake my head, "I do not know you, ser. I do not like to dine with strangers."

The man seems taken off-guard by my response, judging by the way he chuckles dryly. He turns to his friends, who now carry sour expressions on their faces. The man seems emboldened by this and releases anger, "it is not as though you own the seat you are on. Why won't you let us sit?"

I turn uncomfortably to my soup then back at him. I muster up the resolve to speak, "I was ushered personally to this table by the innkeeper. What I do here is my business."

The man stares at me. I can see how the comment seeps under his skin.

"Squirrel?" a loud voice calls out.

My heart races and I gasp under my breath, "Sandor." Against myself, my eyes begin to water.

One of the men look over his shoulder, and it is enough for me to catch sight of my husband, face dripping with rain water and worry. Thank the gods he spots me as well.

His face immediately shifts and he marches over to me. Without another thought, he grabs two of the four men and yanks them away from me.

I instinctively stand but could do nothing but watch as the Hound drags the two bodies out of the inn with him. The other two follow after, unsheathing their swords.

The whole place goes silent as screams sound off from outside.

I gulp.

Riley walks in. He sees me standing and presses his lips together. He places the tray of food on my table and slowly asks, "everything alright?"

I turn to him an debate if I should tell him. I don't.

I flinch when the Hound enters the next moment. Riley looks back and Sandor sheathes his sword. My husband stops when he sees the man beside me.

"Did you kill them?" I mutter frantically.

Riley turns to me and Sandor speaks, "who's he?"

"He's the innkeepers boy. He brought the food. Did you kill them?"

Sandor eyes Riley as he slowly walks over to me. Riley eyes him back and moves out of his way. The two of them stare at each other and I have to pull Riley away from him.

"Stop it!" I hiss, "Riley's no trouble ," I lightly nudge the said man away, "you're merely hungry."

The Hound glares as Riley hesitantly walks off. He looks at me one last time and finally goes back whence he came after I give him a nod of encouragement.

Sandor looks down at me as I take the other towel and wipe his face.

He grunts, placing his hand on my arms, keeping my towel on me, "I leave you for a few minutes and there's another man swarming you."

He pushes my arm down. His brows knit as he examines my face. He looks irritated, but more than this, he looks worried, guilty even.

I sigh and shake my head, "Riley saved me from a different group of men."

Only fury is left on his face, "what different group of men?!"

I sigh once more and sit down, pulling him down with me. He sits beside me and I recount what happened. His face is hard and his body rigid after he hears it.

"He should have slit their throats when he had the chance," the Hound spits on the floor to his side, "fucking craven."

"Sandor…"

He grabs the pint of mead, some of the liquid splatters on his hand and the table. He downs it in one go. His armour clanks as he sets the cup down with a bang.

I knit my brows and grab his arm, "I'm glad he didn't kill them."

He looks livid as he stares at me.

"Please tell me you didn't kill those men."

He chuckles dryly. He yanks his arm out of my grip, causing me to yelp when his armour cuts me.

I turned to my hands, thankfully finding no blood, and he immediately freezes. The next moment, he is overcome with guilt. He clenches his jaw and releases a deep breath. He takes my hands, examining it. Sandor shakes his head, "I didn't slaughter the fuckers, no. Just broke some bones they didn't need."

"Sandor…"

He shakes his head quicker. He releases my hands, "you're too kind for your own good, far too kind."

"I'm kind for the both of us, my love."

Sandor stares at me upon hearing this. I wipe his face with the towel again.

"Men are dogs… you know this, sweet squirrel."

I leave the towel on his shoulders and shrug, "I happen to like dogs more than men."

Sandor says nothing.

I brush his beard with my thumbs, "my puppy."

He sighs and takes my wrists. He pulls my hands away and shakes his head, "I'm not a puppy."

"No, you're my puppy."

He rolls his eyes, "eat. We need to get changed quickly."

I press my lips into a frown, "okay, puppy."

"Enough," he says. He begins to feast on the roast pork.

I raise my brows at how quickly Sandor was eating. I stare at him as he chomps through half a chicken as though it was a sweetie. He washes it down with some mead and muffles through a mouthful, "tastes fuckin' shite."

He grabs a spoonful of stew and stuffs it in his mouth.

"Sandor," I call through furrowed brows, ceasing to eat.

He seems not to hear me with how violently he was chewing.

"Sandor," I speak louder, placing a hand on his arm.

His cheeks are stuffed as he turns to me. His mouth is slightly open, as he stopped mid-chew.

I giggle and sigh, "you don't have to eat so quickly. You've stuffed your cheeks like a squirrel."

"Hmp," he continues to chew and muffles out, "you think you're so clever with that?"

I squint as I watch him swallow so much in one go. He takes another bite of meat.

"Beating up shitheads cost two chickens at least. Why do you think I'm always hungry?"

The notion sounds ridiculous, and yet I knew better than to contest it. In fact, I feel somehow guilty at the thought. I cannot help the chuckle that leaves lips though. I turn to my plate and shake my head, "forgive me. It's not funny."

"Quit it and eat then," he pushes my plate towards me.

He continues to inhale his food and I continue to watch with both parts amusement and concern. I consciously chew slower consequently. That is, until, Riley walks up to our table.

Sandor immediately tenses we he does.

"Are the burly brown horses yours?" Riley asks.

"Why d'ya ask?" the Hound retorts without missing a beat.

"My brother had to move them to another stable. They were too big."

Sandor takes in a breath before responding, "fine… anything else?"

"…"

"Ehm, my mum told me to tell you that she prepared hot water in the tub in your room."

I smile, "oh, thank you. Please tell Trysha I am grateful for it."

"She probably meant for me to to tell you so that you'd go before it's cold."

"Oh," I look at my plate, "alright, we'll finish up quickly."

"If you like, you could bring it up," Riley offers.

"Oh, we can? That would be splendid," I immediately stand and gather my plate. Sandor stands and grabs the satchels of our stuff from under the table.

"I can help," says Riley, picking up the rest of the plates.

We head up to the second floor and Riley leads us to our room. It's a modest psace with minimal furniture. The tub is in the corner, the water in it steaming. The bed was on the other corner, and beside it was a table with two chairs.

Riley places the plates on the table, so does Sandor, then myself.

"If you need anything, just come down and look for someone to help you," Riley says to me.

I smile and nod, "thank you. We will."

With that, he walks out and I close the door behind him.

"Don't smile at him," says Sandor, coming up behind me to lock the door. I watch him as he walks back the table, sits, and continues to eat.

"Why not?"

"Because he'll fall in love with you."

I snort at the ridiculous notion and walk over to him. I place a hand on his shoulder then turn around. I remove the towel around my shoulders and undo the ties in my hair, "help me, please."

Sandor knowingly undoes my dress.

"I don't think that's how it works."

"…"

"Falling in love, I mean."

Sandor pulls the wet dress off me and grabs me by the hips. He spins me around and looks up at me, "then you've learned nothing, little girl."

I press my lips tightly together as I am rid of my drenched clothing. My husband pulls the sopping dress down to my feet and I step out of it, kicking it aside.

Sandor eyes my body. The shift I still on me was effectively stuck on me with how wet it was. I watch him as he looks at me. My breathing gets heavier as I notice him clench a hand when he leans back on his chair.

I am reminded of my cold I actually was when a shiver runs down my spine and my skin breaks out with gooseflesh. I continue to comb out my hair with my fingers, but do so quicker. I huff in realization, "I won't be able to do my hair as good without Lucy."

The Hound lifts his gaze up and drags his chair closer. He parts his legs and positions me between them. He slowly reaches for the hem of my shift, pushing it up.

My breath hitches.

"Mmm, we should go back home," he mumbles, hand coming in contact with my thigh.

We both hiss at the feel; I, at his heat, him, at my chill. Sandor hisses, "gods, you're freezing."

My toes curl when he rubs my flesh. I lean one hand on his arm and huff, "w-well, I'm wet."

He chuckles, hands hiking up to my waist. I squeak when he drags my smallclothes down and looks up at me, "are you?"

I feel my face burn at his question and find myself pushing him away. I pull my pants up and point a finger, "so are you!"

I hear him laugh as I rush towards the tub. He sighs, "what's gotten into you, pretty squirrel? Don't like it when I'm filthy?"

I bunch my shift up then snap as I turn over my shoulder, "are you getting in, or--"

The sound of a chair skidding fills the room. I hear footsteps, but before I feel him behind me, he stops.

"Actually… I'm a lot grimier than you. You should bathe first."

I turn around and look up at Sandor. He seems to be breathing quickly. I lick my lips and remove my clothes. I feel his stare as he watches me get into the tub. The warmth is so welcomed. I sigh in relief as I scrub myself with my palms.

Sandor walks over and kneels at the side of the tub. His eyes are glued on my legs.

My heart races and I tut him, "no, husband."

He turns to me, "what?"

"We can't do anything tonight."

He stiffens and scowls. Slowly, he becomes dejected, "… is it because I broke those fuckers' bones?"

I whimper at the thought, "gods, Sandor, how many bones did you break?"

"…"

"… … … not letting me touch you won't fix them…"

I laugh begrudgingly and move towards him, "it's not that," I cup his cheeks, "though I do not encourage you to break bones."

He scowls again, "they're lucky I maimed them and not hung them by their entrails."

"Sandor," I whimper, shaking my head.

He pouts, about as much as Hound could.

I raise my brows.

He sighs, "… forgive me."

I frown, "all is well," I rub his cheeks, "I just don't think it would be proper for us to couple at an inn. That's all."

He is dumbfounded. He stares at me, as if trying to assure whether or not I was joking.

I was not, obviously.

"Fuck," he sighs, "I've forgotten you're a lady. A proper lady."

I furrow my brows at that and continue to wash myself, "one if us has to be."

He chuckles leans on the side of the tub. He watches me as I clean my chest. I feel conscious as I rub my breasts.

"I can help."

"No. You are filthy."

"Rude."

By the time I finish, I ask him to get me a towel and he does. He does not hand it to me however, instead, he opens it up and instructs me to stand. And so I do. I fidget a bit under his hot gaze, especially with how unabashed his eyes rake me over. He wraps me in the towel and plucks me out of the tub.

I squeal as he walks over to the bed. He drops me on the cushion.

"Sandor! I'm wet!" I scold as I quickly crawl off the bed.

He removes his shirt and walks back to the tub, "so you keep telling me."

I glare at him as I wipe myself down. I watch as he strips, turning away when I see his bum. I clear my throat to mask the tingle on my cheeks, as well as my giggle. I few moments later, I hurriedly run off towards our bags to get dressed.

"Don't you dare put on a lick of clothing," Sandor says as he scrubs himself down.

"Sandor," I whine, "I am serious. We cannot-"

The Hound emerges front he tub, dripping wet as he walks towards me. He yanks the towel off me and wipes himself down. I instinctively wrap my arms around myself.

"On the bed," he nods as he wipes his face and chest.

"… d-did you even clean yourself?"

"Clean enough to get dirty with your come, lover."

"Sandor."

He chucks the towel somewhere without looking and forces me back by walking closer. I press my hands on his chest to try and stop him. He hisses and stops, but not for the reason I think.

"You're fucking ice, girl," he grabs my wrists. He rubs my pulse before kissing it. He nods towards the bed, "we have to fix that. On the bed."

"But-"

"Or I'll put your smart mouth to good use."

My heart races as I walk backwards 'til my calves hit the bed. I slowly sit down and scoot up to the middle of the mattress, circling myself into a ball in an attempt to cover myself.

The Hound chuckles as he stalks over, "such coyness from my bride."

My stomach flips when he places a hand on my knee.

"Open up," he mutters, "lest you forget I've fucked you like a bitch in heat before."

I gasp out his name.

He chuckles and says my name, as if to taunt me.

I can hear my pulse in my head. I can also feel it sharply between my thighs.

"I've tainted your innocence far too much for you to act shocked," he says under his breath. "Now, on your knees."

I gulp. I feel my breathing shorten as Sandor takes his hand off me, only to grab his hardening length. I make a sound as I catch him stroking himself, pressing his thumb on his tip. I slowly shift on my knees. I prop myself on my arms and bite my lip in both agitation and expectation.

Sandor doesn't waste any time in climbing behind me. I shudder when he grabs both sides of my arse and slowly squeezes them.

I whimper when he releases me with a laugh. I whimper louder when I feel his fingers touch my center. My body tingles when he rubs my slick folds.

"Well, well, well, you are wet."

"Sandor."

"D'ya like being called a bitch?"

I make a visceral sound when he fidgets with my clit.

"Mmm, my bitch?"

My arms begin to give out as his two fingers pump shallowly into me. I groan into the sheets and arch my back. My hips involuntarily buck against him.

He hisses and grabs my hair. He clamps on my roots and tugs slightly, "that's a question I need an answer to."

I whine and push myself up again after he releases my hair and ends his prodding. I catch my breath and press my forehead on the mattress. I breathlessly reply, "I-I… yes."

Sandor moans in satisfaction and grabs my hips.

We both let out strangled groans as he mounts me. He slowly thrusts and kneads the flesh on my sides, "good girl."

His words ignite a spark in my belly. My toes curl. I clench around him. He hisses.

He moans as he quickens his pace. He deeply plunges into me one, only to stop himself and barely move at all. He releases as shaky breath, "d-does my good girl need to be bred like a bitch?"

My voice gets louder when each rut of his hips get rougher. I lean down and release my lewd noises into the sheets.

"No," my husband growls, grabbing me by the hair again, "I need to hear you. I need all of them to hear how I take my wife."

With his reminder, that we were fucking in an inn, I tense and try to muffle my sounds, "n-no- f-fuck, Sandor-" I let out a sharp cry when he rubs my clit.

He releases my hair and grabs my hip, "ooooh," he coos, "think you have a choice, do ya?"

Against myself, I make noises that are louder than I'd like. I still muffle them as much as I could but it becomes hopeless as I grow breathless.

Sandor heaves like a bull plowing through dirt. He cusses, louder and faster as he chases his rising high. The sound of his thrusts fill my ears. The wet slaps are so powerful and lewd I can only hope it was still raining outside. I feel my thighs begin to falter as the promise of hot release coils in my belly.

I choke on my spit when I come. My throat is hoarse by the time I do. I am completely limp as Sandor uses me to pleasure himself. My belly shivers. My thighs barely do any work of keeping me up. He slaps his hips into me roughly, desperate and erratic. He finally comes to a halt after a guttural grunt.

I feel my cunt flutter and clench on his cock. I feel warmth cascade in my belly. I squeak when he rubs my clit. He laughs, as if wanting that reaction.

I whine as he slowly pulls away.

"Fuck," he hisses. His hands are the only things keeping my body hoisted up.

I shiver as I feel his come drip out of my swollen cunt. I shakily whine.

"Oh, fuck," he says again, mind wild at the sight of his come leaking out.

I wince loudly when he plunges his fingers into my whole. I twitch, eyes watering at the oversensitivity, "S-San-"

"As beautiful as your cunny looks leaking with my come," he hums.

I whimper and trembles as he pumps in and out of me a few times.

"I'd rather knock you up now, so we don't have to fucking go to Volantis."

"Sandor."

"Mmm? You need to lie down?"

I slowly look to him, but squeak instead when he turns me over. He pulls his fingers out of me as to get me on my back, and I immediately feel come gush out.

He checks my thighs and clicks his tongue disapprovingly, pushing his fingers back in. He then crawls up to my side and kisses my shoulder. He grabs one of the pillows and tucks it by my bum. He slowly pulls out and rubs my belly, "that should do."

I grab his hand just as he's about to moves away. He freezes, looking at me in expectation.

My eyes begin to water at a memory of a similar scene, "the last time you did this, you left me alone…"

Sandor is struck with the realization, "… oh…"

I scratch my eyes to mask the twinge of the memory.

"I just want to clean you up, my lady."

I release his hand. A pit of dread forms in my stomach but I manage to nod, "alright."

Sandor stands and does just that. He wipes me down with a towel and even helps me get dressed into my nightgown. He bashfully asks me if he can finish his meal and by then, my dread is gone. I chuckle softly and, allowing him to do as he pleases.

Still undressed, he seats himself on the table.

"Wait, shouldn't you wash-"

Sandor eats his chicken with little care for what I have to say.

"San-"

"I love pussy flavored chicken."

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fortunatetragedy · 2 months

Text

writeblr intro 2.2

hello! welcome to blog!

who i am

a gender-apathetic homosexual "elder millennial" with one (1) bachelor's degree who types faster than they think and is a good illustration of the "childhood trauma to self-deprecating writer with a substance problem" pipeline.

between 2017 and 2021 i published fiction in the dark fantasy and horror genres under a pen name. i left social media in 2021. other than lurking on pinterest and rejoining tumblr that hasn't changed.

i live with adhd, anxiety, and chronic pain in the form of cervical spine stenosis and trigeminal neuralgia. i am considered disabled.

where i'm from

i am an air force brat. i've lived several places, but i don't have a hometown.

as of june 2023 i live in oklahoma. that move inspired me to write a novel about human suffering, true love, and time loops.

what i write

my big project has the working title DOOM METAL LOVE STORY.

a weird western trilogy set in the 1870s, it follows a cavalryman and his outlaw lover as they escape a time loop to stop a delusional man from summoning an apocalyptic god-spirit.

book 1 | status: complete revising, 167.5k words (2024/3) playlist/chapter list here character intros: [x] cole sullivan [x] arthur royston [x] erik hofer

book 2 | status: in progress, 38.5k words (2024/6) book 3 | status: slowly becoming an outline

you can find DMLS posted in installments on AO3 every monday.

i am drafting:

THE CAVE DIVE, which is exactly what it sounds like: a group of young people end up literally out of their depths on a cave dive they shouldn't have been on in the first place. | status: in progress, 2,000 words [2024/6]

also on AO3:

a living machine [m:ta] is the story of a child prodigy/son of ether who grows up to become a mad scientist. | status: in progress, 24.3k words (2024/5)

among the elements [m:ta] is a shitpost of a short story i wrote about my player character's NPC father, khalid, aka the mad scientist from ALM. he grows a baby in an incubator and has to hide it in his guts to keep it safe. it sounds weird. it is weird. don't be scared. | status: complete (10.9k words)

finally, i am planning the following:

a story about RIVAL VAMPIRE ASTRONOMERS - exactly what it says on the tin

content warnings: in general, you're going to find

violence, blood/gore, sex [DMLS]

violence, blood/gore, body horror [ALM]

blood/gore, thalassophobia, claustrophobia [UNHS]

violence, blood/gore, vampire sex [RVA]

themes: futility, metafiction, existential dread/horror, making one's own purpose, chaos vs. order

neuroqueer characters who have to earn their happy ending

like infodumps? i have that too.

final warning

if we're mutuals i'm going to get obnoxiously excited about your projects and characters because fiction rules and so do you.

#writeblr #writeblr intro #writers on tumblr #caffeine-addled maniacs #queer writers #i haven't known what the hell i've been doing since 1984 and i'm not about to start now

47 notes · View notes

kingsnake101 · 2 months

Text

First time posting fanfic on Tumblr! This is a crack snippet too short to post on AO3, but I'm proud of it so here you go :)

Characters: Four, Twilight, Shadow, Dink

Warnings: kidnapping, swearing

I write a decent amount of these so lmk if you want more

“Dink,” Four snarled, gripping the bars of the cell. Dink smiled cruelly in response. Twilight growled from his place stuck firmly on the floor. Some sort of dark magic shackle held his paws and neck to the ground.

“Hero of the four sword,” Dink began. “I have a proposition for you.”

“Over my dead body,” Four barked, and Twilight growled in support.

“Don't be so hasty, hero. You haven't even heard of my offer!” Dink huffed, lifting his chin. “And besides, if you want your friend to live, you'll consider,” Dink smiled again, eyes flicking to Twilight. Twilight snarled at him, ears pressed back to his head.

Four glared.

“I know you've allied with the darkness before, so I know you are the smartest of the heroes,” Dink explained. Twilight's eyes widened. Wait, Four had done what? He glanced at Four, who held the same stoic expression as before. “If you join me, your friend will live. I will send him back to his friends, and you will stay here, as a respected guest. What do those idiots have to offer you anyway? They can't give you power. They can't give you Shadow back,” Dink smiled.

Four flinched, face twisting into sorrow. Twilight whimpered, trying to support his brother. If only he could talk!

“...can you bring him back?” Four asked, voice quiet. Twilight startled. Wait, he wasn't seriously considering it, was he?

“I can. In fact, I already have. Shadow?” Dink called.

A dark figure appeared from the shadows, like he had always been there. It closely resembled Four, except for gray skin and dark clothes. Twilight growled, but Four released a teary gasp. Was this someone Four knew from his adventure?

“Shadow?” he whispered, reaching to the dark doppelganger.

“Hey, Fruitcake. Miss me?” the shadow asked, grinning with a mouth full of sharp teeth. He reached into the cell, fingers interlacing with Four’s. They stayed like that for a moment, and Twilight silently whined.

Suddenly, Four lunged for Twilight, hand still intertwined with the shadow's. Twilight yelped as a small hand scuffed him, holding tight to the fur behind his neck. He felt a pull of dark magic, not dissimilar to Midna teleporting him.

“Fuck you, bitch!” Four yelled as the trio disappeared into the shadows.

#lu four #lu shadow #lu twilight #lu wolfie #lu fanfiction #tw kidnapping #tw possible gay people #here we go #ill probably post more of these at some point #theyre all four centric what do you expect

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prolix-yuy · 1 year

Note

So if you’re feeling it, i would love a fic about Frankie’s first time as an escort…Thank you and love you lots💕

Mari my darling, this ask is sooooooo delicious! Especially because as much as we've alluded to Frankie's work, we haven't actually seen any of it yet. Though I'm gonna pull a little bit of a fast one on you in regards to the wording here, but I think you'll enjoy where it takes us.

Frankie's First Time

Pairing: Francisco "Catfish" Morales x F!OC "Lily"

Summary: What was Frankie's first time like?

Word Count: 6.9k

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, descriptions of male and female bodies, grinding, oral sex (f receiving), we are dedicating another 2k words to Frankie's kitty king skills, fingering (f receiving), safe PiV sex, a whisper of ass play, Frankie AND Lily's filthy mouths, watch me make up shit about sex work.

Notes: This was a blast to explore how Frankie "auditioned" for Pope's, and how he got the reputation we all know and love. I also got to explore things from Frankie's POV, so we get some insight into exactly why he's so competent in places. Even though Ms. J is sitting out this story, we know she's thanking Lily for her service well into the future.

Cross-posted on AO3

Sex Worker!Frankie AU Series Masterlist

He’s not sure if he’s supposed to knock on the chipped blue door or let himself in. The whole situation feels weird, like an audition for a play he never learned the lines for.

Well, at least the metaphor’s pretty accurate.

“Come in,” floats through the wood, answering his question, and with a deep breath and a turn of the knob Frankie steps into a whole new world.

She’s walking to greet him when he steps over the threshold, a bright smile on her face.

“Pope said you’d be punctual,” she says, one hand on her hip as she surveys him. Now that he’s here and actually doing this - really considering sex work - his jaw locks up and hands wipe nervously back and forth against his jeans. He nods quickly, grimaces a smile, and scuffles his feet on her doormat.

“Oh, you are a cutie, you don’t need to be this worked up around me. I don’t bite,” she says, taking the last steps to rub her arms firmly up and down his biceps. Her touch is comforting, the raise of her eyebrows and nod a well-earned reward. “Let’s sit down and chat. Do you want water, coffee, iced tea?” She coaxes Frankie further into her apartment, waiting for him to toe off his boots with a mumbled apology before sitting him on her maroon couch. Leaving briefly, she returns with two iced teas. Frankie gulps his down fast enough to make her smirk.

“So you’re friends with Ironhead and Golden Boy? And Pope too, of course.” Frankie’s eyebrows knit together in confusion until he makes the connection.

“Will and Benny, yeah. Pope sent them to you too?” he asks, twisting the cup in his hands to give them something to do.

“What can I say, I’ve got a lot of experience vetting the talent,” she quips back, turning to tuck her knees onto the couch and face Frankie more fully. He takes a moment to actually look at her more than quick glances. She’s pretty but in a way that’s disarming, a way of watching him that makes him feel like she knows his secrets but won’t share. Her chestnut hair flows over her shoulders in silky waves, complimenting her warm skin and umber eyes. He thought she’d be in some tight little tube dress but the lightweight tank top and shorts compliment her natural beauty with a realness Frankie didn’t know he craved. Her toes are painted baby pink.

“You’re making me nervous you swallowed your tongue, honey, can you tell me how you’re feeling right now?” she says, and Frankie coughs out a laugh.

“Sorry, I’m feeling…shit, way out of my depth,” Frankie says, leaning forward to put down the glass. He remains hunched, head in his hands as he takes a deep breath.

“One step at a time, baby, let’s start off easy, okay?” she says, and that firm hand on his arm directs his attention back. “They call me Lily. Not my real name, you know. Will and Benny picked their own, you have one in mind?”

Frankie leans back and slaps his thighs.

“No idea, my call sign was Catfish but…nothing much else.” Lily laughs, and the noise is soothing to his frazzled nerves.

“Catfish it is. Was it the whiskers?” she asks, reaching over to scritch her fingers lightly into Frankie’s scruff. The touch is surprisingly welcome, her demeanor calming. He didn’t think he’d be ready to be touched yet.

“Long story. You don’t think that would weird out…uh, clients?”

“Might make them more intrigued.”

Her hand moves to settle on his thigh, and the familiar stirrings of intimacy through touch rumble under Frankie’s skin. But it’s too fast, brings too much of the artifice of this situation to the forefront, and Frankie balks.

“So where are you from?” he says, voice booming in the small room. He winces at the volume, but Lily doesn’t move her hand.

“Colombia. Came over with a bunch of other girls.”

Frankie remembers this part of the story.

“One of Peña’s informants?”

“More or less.”

“But you’re still…?”

Lily scoots closer to him, and Frankie tries to relax into her proximity. She is pretty, long limbed and smooth skinned and smelling of sweet soap.

“I get to do something I enjoy and I make money. And this is the nicest place I’ve ever worked, though much quieter than I’m used to.” She taps Frankie’s thigh to turn his attention back to her. “If you don’t think you’ll enjoy it, I would recommend you not start. It’s not easy. If you’re not looking forward to the good parts, the not-so-great ones will make you miserable.”

Frankie nods, thumb worrying at the denim stretching across his thighs.

“What are you afraid of happening?” Lily asks, and now her knee is pressed against his thigh. The tension starts to bleed out of his shoulders. She’s good, no wonder why she’s Santi’s best girl.

“It’s, ah…it’s a lot of things,” Frankie starts. She waits, her hand moving to stroke soothing circles. “What if someone finds out that I don’t want to know? And what do I do with the…clients? Like how do I plan out what they want or figure it out and what if they don’t like it? Or don’t like…me. Am I…” Frankie pauses and looks, really looks at Lily. “Would anyone actually want me? I get Will, and Benny. But I’m not…”

The rest of Frankie’s concerns slide back down his throat as he sighs and rubs the heels of his hands into his eyes. Lily lets the silence stretch for a moment longer.

“I’d recommend keeping the work between you and as few people as possible if you’re afraid of being found out, but it’s a risk you’re taking no matter what. A client could out you as much as a stranger.” Frankie hums and nods as she continues.

“As for what you do, Pope will give you some background. You’re not going in blind, which is a big plus to this setup. Are you taking all clients, or being selective?”

“I, uh…hadn’t thought about that. Probably women to start, and then…I’ll see.”

Lily’s lips curl at the corners.

“Full of surprises. Women can be hard if they don’t know what they want. Part of what we’ll do today is find your boundaries so Pope knows how to schedule your clients. If you don’t do men, he won’t give you any. If you might do something out of the ordinary if you have clear direction, he’ll talk it through with you. And if there’s something you’re very good at, you’ll be his go-to guy.” Lily’s fingers tap up his forearm thoughtfully. “We’ll find those things too. I’m a discerning lady, and if you’re good I’ll know.”

Frankie sighs and finally lets go of that last bit of tension holding him hostage.

“As for your last question…” Lily says, lifting up on her knees. “Can I sit on your lap, honey?”

Frankie’s eyes go wide, but he nods slowly at the request. Lily swings a leg over and settles on his lap, big hands going to her hips immediately. She smiles down at him and lets her fingers wander through his hair, tugging the Standard Oil cap off to free his curls.

“You’re worried they won’t want you, or like what you bring. But from my perspective, a broad-shouldered man with huge hands and the most kissable lips I’ve ever seen is underneath me, and if those big brown eyes are anything to go by, you’re a thorough, and attentive lover.” She swipes her thumb over his lips as he parts them. “When they open the door and see you standing there, big boy with soft eyes, their pussies are gonna throb.”

“Fuck,” Frankie breathes out, shuddering against her touch.

“Soon enough,” she quips back. “First, ground rules. You never jump right into fucking. Always make sure you’re both clear on what she wants and how she wants it. Check in, make sure she’s not feeling pressured.”

“Of course,” Frankie says, confusion flitting across his face. “I thought everyone did that.”

“Oh sweetie, you are a slice of perfection,” Lily giggles, and Frankie’s hands tighten on her hips.

“Take your time. Don’t rush it. You know how long she’s paid for, so give her every last moment. You might be the first person to ever give her undivided attention, and that will keep her coming back.”

“You ever get attached?” Frankie asks, his cock filling at her hot body pressing into his lap. Maybe this wouldn’t be so difficult. He’s certainly having a good time with her now.

“Yes, once or twice. You redirect those emotions into something useful. Channel those feelings into care for the person. You love how happy you get to make them feel. You’re attracted to how they open up and trust you. You’re giving them a valuable service and you enjoy that.”

Frankie rolls his hips below her, and she tugs his hair with a cheeky smile.

“Lastly, before I see what you bring to the table, always be safe. Condoms always. If she wants something risky, for herself or you, that hasn’t been discussed, you respect your boundaries. And you walk away if it’s getting out of hand. Pope will always have your back.”

“Okay,” Frankie murmurs, his eyes hooding as his gaze licks over her body.

“Now,” Lily says, her voice dropping into a sultrier register. “I’d like to kiss you, Frankie.”

“Yes, please,” he murmurs back, tilting his head back for her descending lips.

She’s perfectly soft against his mouth, but firm as she cradles Frankie’s head. He moves his lips against hers, the gentle presses he usually starts out with before he deepens the kiss. She sighs into his mouth, hips rolling slightly as he strokes his fingertips up her spine. The pebbling of her flesh swells pride in his chest.

“Mmm, feels good, Frankie,” she hums, backing off just enough to signal Frankie it’s his turn to show her what he can do. Splaying his large hands on her back, he leans up to meet her lips again, another chaste press before he slips the tip of his tongue along her bottom lip. She opens for him, and he thanks her with soft little laps, barely touching as his hands roam her back, the strong muscles of her thighs, weave through her hair. They’re rocking together in a rhythm neither consciously chose, Frankie’s cock starting to ache at the lack of pressure.

Her nails scratch across his scalp, tugging his curls just shy of painful, and he delves his tongue deeper into her waiting mouth. She groans, sliding down his thighs to finally fit her core against his straining length. The welcome friction drives his kiss deeper, her teeth sinking into his bottom lip, tongues sliding more fervently. She finally breaks away, lips shiny and eyes bright.

“Mmmm, you’re a very good kisser. Let’s take this to the bedroom,” she says, lifting off Frankie’s lap. A small noise of protest leaves his lips at the loss, but he obediently follows through a plain hallway to a sparsely decorated bedroom. The nightstands are simple honeyed wood, a matching headboard behind the king-sized bed. The bedspread is an inoffensive dark gray, crisp white sheets folded primly at the head. Lily turns around and stands at the foot expectantly.

“I, uh…do you want me to just…” Frankie stammers, the confidence waning.

“How about we do what you normally do, and I’ll chime in as needed. Show me your moves, handsome.” Her coquettish smile entices him to step forward and cup her face in his hands, brushing their noses together again before he parts her lips with his own and drinks from her. She melts against his front, fisting his t-shirt as he gathers the hem of her tank top in his bigger hands.

“Can I take this off you?” he asks, tracing his nose along her cheek as she nods. Pulling the thin fabric over her head, he takes in a sharp little breath that she’s not wearing anything underneath it. His hands travel up just below her pert little breasts, dark nipples tightening at his touch.

“I’d like to put my mouth on you,” he pants into her ear, waiting patiently for her breathy, “yes, Frankie,” before he guides her back, banding an arm around her waist before laying her down. On his knees between her spread legs he drinks her in, parted lips and hazy eyes and a body he wants to take apart until she’s a shuddering mess.

“Frankie,” Lily calls lightly, a smile brightening her face.

“Sorry, you’re just…beautiful,” Frankie says, allowing a little of the awe to creep in as he hovers over her prone body.

“I like it when you say what you’re thinking,” she replies, fingers back in his increasingly messy hair. He makes a note to keep it a little longer if this is the treatment he’ll get.

“I think there’s a lot more I want to taste than just these,” he purrs, lowering his mouth to wrap around her nipple and softly suck. Her back arches, legs caging in his narrow hips as she sighs at the clever licks of his tongue and drags of his lips over the supple flesh. Frankie loves breasts of all shapes and sizes, and her small handfuls are no different. He loves how his whole hand can dwarf their size, how large his thumb looks swiping over her puckered nipple. He switches to the neglected one, his thumb and forefinger rolling the wet bud in the absence of his mouth.

“Yes, Frankie, that’s so good,” she mumbles, thighs tightening around him. He drops his hips into the cradle of her sex, a shallow grind relieving some pressure while driving her pleasure higher. With a satisfied hum he lifts to capture her mouth again, lips plumper and reddened from his thorough work. She accepts with fervor, nipping and sucking at him until his hands find hers and he presses them into the mattress.

“You taste so fucking good,” he groans, dipping to lave his tongue along her neck. She squirms underneath him, reedy moans making his head spin. “Not faking any of this, are you?” he huffs, breaking the heady tension. Lily fists his hair again and pulls him to eye level, a sardonic smile on her swollen lips.

“Not a chance in hell, honey,” she rasps, and Frankie can practically feel his dimple pop out at her breathless admission.

“Want to taste you here too,” he admits, rolling his hips against her hot core. “Want to make you cum on my tongue. Would you like that?” he asks, bolder in his question now that he’s coming into his wheelhouse.

“Yes, Frankie, fuck, definitely yes,” she pants, hands coming to tug at his offending clothing. He shucks his flannel and t-shirt, a brief moment of self-consciousness following. He knows he’s got a little bit of a softer stomach, no six-pack like Benny, and his hairless chest might be a little less manly than he wished, but when her eyes widen and her tongue comes out to lick her lips the thrill returns.

“Knew there was a tasty fucking body under there,” she teases, fingers tapping against his belt buckle. “I bet when you’re on top you make all the girls feel small under you. Those broad fucking shoulders. Can’t wait to get my legs over them.” Frankie’s cock slams to attention at her filthy mouth, taking a moment to palm himself while he settles on his knees at the foot of the bed. If he does this often enough, he’s going to have to bring a pillow with him. Or a chair.

“I’d never keep you waiting,” he shoots back, testing the banter. To his delight her eyes darken, lifting her hips as he eases her shorts and panties down her legs. Her glistening folds make his mouth water, and when he pulls her down the bed to his waiting face her thighs shake under his capable hands.

“Relax, sweetheart. You said you were gonna keep an eye out for what I’m good at?” he says, innocence written across his face. She quirks a brow and nods. “Perfect, because I am very good at this.”

She might have been preparing for a scoff, or a witty comeback, but when he lowers his mouth to her pussy and licks a wide stripe over her throbbing clit all he can hear is her garbled groan as he begins learning her cunt in earnest. Circling her clit with the tip of his tongue makes her hips rock. Sliding down to her entrance with slow-steady strokes arches her back generously. Teasing just at her hole eases her back into steadier breathing, but breaching it makes her whole body shudder. Every movement, every reaction he gets from his oral onslaught he files away, content with taking his time to map out everything that makes her thrash and sigh.

“You are good at this,” she gasps out, locking eyes as he looks up at her from where his face is buried in her folds. “Holy shit, you look so fucking hot like that,” she stutters out, his smile pressing into her cunt.

“Love doing this, s’my favorite part,” he garbles into her flesh, wrapping his lips delicately around her clit and pulling soft suction into his mouth. She cries out, fingers tightening in his hair as a chanted, “Oh god, oh fuck, fuck Frankie, I’m gonna, holy shit I’m gonna cum if you keep doing that,” tumbles from her lips. He keeps it up for a moment more before releasing, her breaths coming out in ragged sobs.

“Would you like to come, beautiful girl?” Frankie murmurs, hands stroking soothingly along her bare thighs. She laughs briefly before reaching down to stroke his sticky lower lip.

“Show me what you can do, big boy,” she challenges, and the glint in his eye is her final warning before he sets to his task. Long, firm strokes from her hole to just below her clit work her up, her hips rocking in time with his pace. He pulls her closer, legs draped over his shoulders as he bobs his head, eyes flashing up to catch her blissed-out face before she tips back into the pillows. When a whine grows in her throat he switches to tight circles on her clit, alternating directions and interrupting with quick flicks to keep her keening and arching into his mouth.

“Frankie, please,” she begs hoarsely. He was never good at edging, always wanting his partners to cum now and cum over and over again. So with his mouth sealed around her clit he sucks and works his tongue over her tight little bud as her hands scrabble for purchase on the bed, his tousled head, the sheet he hears creak in her fists. When her body feels as tight as a bowstring he releases the pressure just enough that when he flicks over her clit she’s helpless to stop it. Her orgasm rushes through, thighs clenching hard around his ears, hips bucking hard enough he has to pin them down, and breathy shouts shooting right to his throbbing cock. If he could cum from this he would. If he had a hand down his pants right now he definitely would. But instead he slows his strokes, enveloping her slick folds with his hot mouth as she weakly releases his head and flops back to the mattress.

“Holy shit, Frankie, that was…yeah, I’d fucking pay for that,’” she gasps, his chuckle dark and deep against her core.

“Nah, that’s standard good fucking. What you’ll pay for is that I’m going to do it again,” Frankie says, and he almost can’t recognize the confidence in his voice. It’s making his skin crackle with excitement as he strokes a finger through her sopping cunt, savoring her scent in his mustache.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, handsome,” Lily says, propping up on her elbows to look at him between her thighs. “Sometimes less is…way fucking more than most girls are used to.”

Frankie lets a lopsided grin dance onto his face, enjoying how her own expression falters.

“You don’t think I can do it?” he purrs, shallowly breaching her with his fingertip. “Haven’t even tried to get your g-spot yet. Give me a chance to make you cum on my face again, and I’ll fuck you in any position you like. Even the challenging ones.” Lily contemplates his offer, carding his curls back from his face. He likes the way she plays with his hair. He’ll have to encourage that.

“Even the positions where I fuck you, big boy? I’ve got loads of toys for that.”

Frankie flushes deeply at that, face blazing hot as she laughs at his sudden turn.

“Teasing, only teasing. Though you shouldn’t knock it. I could make you see stars, baby.”

Frankie coughs and tries to get back into the moment, shaking his head.

“Maybe when I’m a little more experienced,” he acquiesces. It’s a little white lie. He wouldn’t be able to let someone make him that vulnerable for a handful of dollars. That’s something he’d only consider with someone he trusted deeply, and cared for just as much.

“Fair enough. Let’s see what you got,” she says, leaning back and propping some pillows behind her back. A wicked smile crawls onto Frankie’s face.

“I’ll give you my best, sweetheart.”

Frankie’s specialty is the second orgasm. The first is long, languid, learning. The second one has a pace all its own, both in the buildup and the payoff. He can’t go right back to torturing her overstimulated clit, or pumping his fingers into her, no matter how hard the idea makes him. Instead he drapes his arm over her waist, spreads one of his hands over her thigh, and lays heady kisses along her stomach. Her muscles twitch at the scratch of his beard, the teasing nips of his teeth, the self-conscious giggles he earns when he tongues a particularly sensitive spot. He lets his hands roam, kneading at her thighs, skimming his fingers up to splay across her chest. Their span is exciting to most, eyes widening when they see how far his thumb and pinky can reach. He basks in the relaxation of this moment, bringing her down from her height onto the pillowy comfort of his touch.

“Frankie,” Lily murmurs, sliding her calf along his back. He slides up to kiss the inside of her knee, trailing his mouth down her thigh. “Frankie!” she giggles more urgently, wiggling her hips when he doesn’t speed up his movements.

“Impatient?” he hums into her skin, but he lets his fingertips dance closer to her core. “Thought you were going to let me try.”

“Didn’t realize you were going to take all afternoon for the second one,” she quips back. Mischief flashes in Frankie’s eyes, and he crawls up her body to ghost his lips over her earlobe.

“Are you turned on yet?” he whispers, testing a deeper bedroom voice. To his delight she writhes under him, fingernails lightly scraping up his back. He slides a hand down to cup her pussy, sliding one finger through her folds. “Mmm, yes you are,” he sighs, scraping his teeth behind her ear to elicit a shaky breath. Coating his finger in her slick, he slides inside as she takes in a shaky breath.

“Good?” he asks, holding still with his middle finger buried inside her slick heat.

“Yeah, fuck, Frankie, please,” she gasps, rocking her hips against his hand. A triumphant smile hides against her neck as he drags his finger out, then buries it back inside her. After a few careful strokes he finds a spot that arches her back, a quiet “fuck” escaping her lips.

“Oh yeah, there it is,” he coos, swirling the tip of his finger over it. Her nails bite into his shoulderblades, the pressure of his jeans against his cock almost unbearable but he’s so focused he pushes it to the side. “Can you take another one?” Lily nods quickly before he slicks his ring finger and slides both inside.

“Shit, Frankie, I don’t even really like fingering but this…” she says, pulling him down to settle more of his bulk on her. He draws one knee up to plant under her thigh, but lets his broad frame press her deeper into the mattress. His unoccupied hand slides under her neck, holding her while he dives in to kiss her deeply, sensually, in time with his methodical strokes. When her hips start moving in time he breaks the kiss, shuffling back down the bed.

“Gonna cum again?” he asks, only allowing a hint of smugness into his voice. Lily laughs breathlessly.

“Yeah, if you put your mouth on me I just might,” she teases.

“Yes ma’am,” Frankie says back before lapping fervently at her neglected clit. The warm passes of his tongue stiffen her back, thin moans growing into cries as he finds the pattern that drives all thought from her mind. Slick with sweat, her body roils under Frankie’s careful ministrations. When his knuckles pull too much at her sucking grip he spits on where they’re joined, licking where she’s stretched around him.

“Frankie, holy fuck, don’t…don’t stop…” she stammers, hands back in his hair as he rubs roughly against her g-spot and messily tongues her, audibly moaning to vibrate her clit and tighten her nipples. He wants to palm one pretty tit while he’s eating her out but she’s so close he can’t help himself. He clamps his hand down on his protesting cock as he swipes his tongue hard and fast, thrusting his fingers deep and devastating. Pride surges in his chest when her hips lock hard, bowing her off the bed as she wails. His hands fly to support her, holding her firmly against his mouth as he plunges his tongue into her spasming cunt and circles his nose on her clit. She thrashes against him but he holds steady, eyes burning up her body so when she finally opens her own she can see the raw need heating his face. His cock jumps again when her eyes roll back and another, softer pattern of pulses wrap around his tongue.

Again, he thinks with wonder, she came again just looking at me.

When her body unlocks, trembling instead, he lowers her down to the bed, soothing his hands along her skin as he swallows down her second release. Her breaths are ragged, sending him to search for a glass of water for both their parched throats.

When he returns she’s positively wrecked, limbs weakly spread on the bed. Her head lifts and she blearily takes the water, letting Frankie hover at her side until she places the glass down on the bedside table. The silence stretches until she finally speaks.

“Holy fuck, Frankie, not only are women gonna pay for that, they’re gonna pay double,” she says, making Frankie’s shoulders shake with quiet laughter. “I’m serious, I don’t think I’ve ever had my pussy eaten that good. Who the hell taught you that?”

Frankie’s eyes go soft in memory.

“I had a girlfriend when I was a lot younger. It was both of our first times, and she’d never…she was all stressed out about cumming. Repressed upbringing, you know. I didn’t want to pressure her to do anything if she didn’t know what felt good. I’d been jacking it for a while before that, I knew what I liked, but she was so nervous. I told her we wouldn’t have sex until I made her cum first.” He strokes a hand absently on Lily’s forearm, her smile soft and kind. “Fingering was too intense, so I tried to eat her out. I was…ah, not good at it. And she wasn’t sure if it felt good, and was self-conscious about how long it took, if I liked it too. It stressed us both out for a while. I finally asked her if I could just try for as long as it takes.”

“And how long was that?” Lily asked, turning on her side so Frankie’s wandering hand could stroke along her hip.

“About an hour. Took my time watching her body, seeing what she liked. Combining things, doing some things longer, more intensely. When she came I almost fucking passed out, I got so turned. And then, when she calmed down a little bit…I did it again. And again.”

“And now you’re a fucking god at it,” Lily concludes, wiggling her hips when Frankie takes a careful handful.

“I like doing it. Like the taste, how you smell, how responsive you are. It’s intimate, special. If someone puts their mouth, they want you to feel good. I like the intensity of that.”

“Well I’ll definitely put that in your recommendation. But we should also take care of the final bit of business before we call our session complete.” Frankie’s eyebrows shoot up when Lily’s hand grazes his thigh, palming his neglected erection. “Hiding something big in here, are we Frankie?”

The confidence radiating off of Frankie dissipates a fraction, the earlier apprehension creeping back on his face.

“I- I know it can be a lot. I’ll go slow, we can take our time,” he stammers, backing off a bit to give Lily room. She smirks at him, sitting up and swinging her leg over Frankie’s lap to cage him in.

“Well, we’ll have to work on your delivery there. You say it like it’s a death sentence,” she giggles, and the tension eases enough for Frankie’s shoulders to lower. Her fingers glide along Frankie’s skin, skimming across his plush chest. “Say it like it’s the sexiest thing,” she challenges, leaning back to see what Frankie does. He ponders for a moment, then unbuttons and unzips his jeans to hang loosely around his hips. The dark boxers he’s got on underneath stretch across the soft V of his hips.

When Frankie looks back up at her, his eyes are dark as sin with a smile to match. Crawling up her body, he gently takes her wrist and guides her inside his pants. Urging her fingers to wrap around his girthy cock, he whispers in her ear.

“I know it can be a lot,” he purrs, apprehension swapped for smooth confidence. “I’ll go slow. Take my time.” With each new suggestion he rolls his hips into her grip, hot breath ghosting down her cheek.

“That’s more like it,” she replies, an appreciative hum rumbling out of Frankie’s chest. Covering her with his body, he slides his jeans the rest of the way off, fitted boxer briefs generously tented.

“Condoms?” he asks, her hand stretching out to tap at the bedside table. He shuffles in the drawer before pulling one out along with a bottle of lube.

“Probably a good idea to bring one of these with me?” he asks, half to himself. Lily plucks it from his hand and places it back on the nightstand.

“I’m plenty wet enough for you, big boy. But yes, always condoms and lube wouldn’t hurt. Better to be prepared,” she says, spreading her thighs to invite Frankie in. Rolling on the condom, he returns to the cradle of her hips, fisting his aching cock to tap against her clit. She arches, a delightful smile painting her face.

“Can’t wait to feel you stretch me,” she whispers.

“Fuck,” he gasps back, dragging the underside of his cock through her folds. “Shit, you feel good. How…how do you want me?”

“Any way you want, baby,” she purrs back, the plump head of his cock pressing at her entrance.

Frankie enters her slowly, inch by blissful inch. Some of it is care; he’s watched the pinched expressions of women not used to taking a cock as thick and hefty as his, and he’s highly attuned to discomfort. If he catches it he drags back out, slow as syrup before pushing forward again into her blinding heat. Lily takes him so well he has to slow himself down, his mounting arousal pulling him too close to the edge. She’s moaning softly below him, fingers digging into his hips as he presses flush against her.

“Fuck, Frankie, you’re filling me up so good,” Lily moans, lifting her hips to grind on his buried cock.

“You feel amazing. Fuck, yes, so goddamn good. I want to fuck you like this first, then make you cum on me again. Shiiiiit.” Frankie’s groans are positively filthy as he takes his first slick stroke into her cunt, the flutters of her walls around him pooling liquid metal in the base of his spine. Firming up his stance, he rolls his hips into hers, long languid strokes that speak to his stamina and patience. If her moans were filthy before, they’re downright crude now.

“Fuck, fuckfuckfuckfuckFrankieeeee,” she whines, hands scrabbling along his shoulders and hair as he mouths at her pebbled nipples and palms her overheated flesh. When he’s wet with her slick, sweat sliding down his smooth skin, he slips two fingers between them to circle her clit, fast slippery circles making her quake around him.

“Oh please keep doing that, Frankie, fuck…” she whines, and Frankie’s teeth find the sensitive spot under her ear that makes her hair stand on end.

“Gonna fuck you so good you’ll be gushing around my cock, then I’m gonna pound you from behind until you strangle me again. Gonna be so deep inside you you won’t be able to think about anything else but cumming. C’mon, gorgeous, cum on my fat cock.” Frankie can barely register where the words spilling from his gasping lips are coming from, but they certainly land like sizzling oil on her skin. Eyes screwed shut, lips parted in a silent cry, her rhythm gets messier as Frankie brushes his cock over and over her g-spot, deadly accuracy in every thrust. With a few more targeted circles over her clit she bursts, legs clamped viciously around his waist as he grinds into her spasming cunt. The pressure rockets his orgasm close to the surface, his balls tightening up as wetness coats them further, but he thinks about baseball and those smoking commercials he hates and the crest ebbs back to a manageable pace.

Once her legs unlock Frankie kisses her again, firm and exacting while she’s still on cloud nine. Humming into his mouth she strokes his scruffy cheeks, the sensation tingling up his spine.

“Want you to cum, Frankie,” Lily whispers against his mouth, and the desire roars up inside his chest. With efficient strength he flips her, lifting her hips to meet his own, and slides back into her sopping cunt. “Oh fuck, Frankie, you feel ever bigger like this,” she chokes out, back arching as he takes one experimental thrust into her. She keens under his large hands, shuddering at the press of his mouth on her spine when he folds over to kiss her again.

“Gonna fuck you good and hard now, pretty girl. You’re gonna make me bust with this sweet fucking pussy,” he pants, admiring her round ass and sweet little hole. He presses his thumb lightly against it, earning a garbled sound of pleasure.

“Please, Frankie,” she moans, and he could never deny her the pleasure he’s brimming to give.

The first snap of his hips drive her face-down into the mattress, and the subsequent pounding buries her fingers in the sheets. Every snap of his hips to her thighs, his balls slapping against her clit, drives him even more wild, babbling to her about how fucking good her pussy is, how he’s gonna maker her cum on his big cock over and over again. She throatily agrees, backing up against his thrusts to drive him deeper, harder into the spot that will make her cum again. Frankie’s lips peel back from his teeth, throwing back his head to growl and gasp as he rails her into the bed, his orgasm just moments from toppling him over into his denied bliss.

“Cum with me, baby,” he orders, wrapping his arm around her waist to palm her dripping cunt. The heel of his hand combined with the smack of his hips rocks her clit over his palm, and that stimulation throws her off into the deep end of her fourth orgasm. This time her cunt is too tight, too fucking good to stop him from cumming, shouts devolving into ragged whimpers and sweet reassurances as they both come down from their highs.

Frankie eases Lily to the bed, stroking her sweaty hair out of her face and placing a chaste kiss on her temple. He disposes of the condom in the bathroom, taking a moment to check himself in the mirror. He’s flushed and rumpled, his hair an absolute mess, but damn if he’s not glowing as well. He runs the tap and slicks damp fingers through his hair, returning just in time to catch Lily downing the rest of her water.

“Frankie, baby, you are going to have a great career if you can pull that routine even once a week.” His scoff brings her hands up to scold. “I’m serious! You like making people feel good. I can definitely see this working out for you.”

Frankie’s blush radiates from his cheeks to his chest, coming to sit beside Lily on the bed.

“I’m glad you had a good time,” he says. His fingers come to rest on her forearm. “What should I do for aftercare? I normally get some water, cuddle, help clean them up. Should I be doing something different?”

Lily gives him an approving smile.

“It’ll probably be a bit shorter than what you’re used to, but yes to all. Some girls may not want it, others may want more. So keep your eye on the clock and give them as much as you can. Believe me, they’ll get more out of that than the sex itself.”

Frankie nods, deep brown eyes coming to hers again.

“Which one are you? Aftercare or no?”

Lily leans back, settling into the pillows again.

“I could take a little cuddle before you go.”

Frankie ducks his head to hide his shy smile, tucking her into his side so he can stroke soothing paths up her side, weaving his hands into her hair and kneading at the back of her neck.

“I had fun,” Frankie finally says, staring at the ceiling and chewing the inside of his cheek. “I wasn’t sure what I was walking into, but it was a lot of fun.”

“It should be if you’re doing it right,” Lily quips, running her hand over his chest and twirling her fingers into his loose curls splayed against the pillow.

“I can last longer than that, you know,” he murmurs, nosing into her hair when she lets out a breathy giggle.

“You lasted plenty long enough, big boy.”

“Well, I have my ways just in case,” he says mysteriously. Lily’s hand slows on his chest, her body hovering on a question, but it passes. Instead she lifts up to press a sweet kiss to Frankie’s lips.

“Now I’ll show you how to leave graciously.”

“So how did he do?”

Lily lounges on her couch, phone to her ear as Pope’s voice filters through.

“I gotta hand it to you, Santi, you only fraternize with men who are very competent at fucking.”

“Ha ha, Lils, but really? Frankie’s cut out for it?”

Lily pauses, the itch under her fingernails growing louder.

“Definitely has the right temperament, the right attitude. His confidence could use a little work, but he got into the swing of things. Eats pussy like a fucking god, and knows how to use that big cock of his…”

“Jesus Lil, a yes or know would have sufficed.”

Lily laughs into the phone. Riling up Santi is a rare treat.

“He’s a boyfriend experience guy, so I’d steer him to clients looking for that. He’ll make them feel like they’re his whole world for the hour. And he’ll make bank doing it.”

“Any concerns?”

Lily’s hands flex briefly.

“Has he ever had an issue with substances?”

The silence on the other end answers her question, but she still waits for Santi.

“Not in a while. So he’s told me.”

“What was it?”

Another pause, then a sigh.

“Coke.”

The word sinks deep into her stomach.

“You know I don’t fuck with that shit, Santi. Not after Colombia.”

“He’s not using.”

“Maybe not, or maybe not a lot. But if he’s got a proclivity to it…keep an eye on him, Santi.”

“I will. Thanks Lils.”

She lets her breath out, lightening the conversation.

“You gonna call him Catfish?”

“He told you that?”

“Could be a good play on words.”

“Ugh.”

“Swimming in pussy?”

“That’s awful.”

“Doesn’t need to breathe. Certainly didn’t feel like it after the second one.”

“I’m hanging up now.”

“Bye Santi, te amo.”

Santi chuckles at the saccharine endearment as he hangs up. With approval from Lily he’ll start giving Frankie work. Her warning echoes in his ears, his own apprehensions mixing with it. They all had their demons to face, but Frankie chose a path that worried his friends. Santi would have to keep an eye on him, keep Frankie safe and watch out for his clientele. But he trusted his friend, and wanted him not to worry so much when his rent came due.

“Seems like Catfish is on the menu,” he murmurs to himself, snorting at the unfortunate innuendo. He’d have to share it with Frankie next time he sees him.

END

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mammalsofaction · 3 months

Text

Those Moments When We Didn't Get Along

Rating: G

Relationship: Heinz Doofenshmirtz/Perry the Platypus

Add tags: Human Perry, mute Perry, POV Outsider, the whole Flynn-Fletcher family, set during the breakup scene from About Time.

A/N: The lore behind Perry and Lawrence's relationship is in compliance with the Human Perry Lore post I've made a while back here. Perry's sister, Lawrence's ex-wife, was named Evelyn, AKA Agent Eve the Echidna. (Get it, egg laying mammals native to Australia?)

Now read it on Ao3!

"Perry?" Lawrence calls out, knocking on his door. The room is dark, unlit, but the answering churr is unmistakable. He sounds...

"Are you alright, dear boy?" This time, an indecipherable grunt. "Linda sent me up to tell you dinner's ready. May I come in?"

When he hears no response, which is as good of an answer on its own, he pushes the door to let himself inside, and instinctively reaches for the light switch.

Perry's face down on the bed, still partly dressed in his teal work clothes. He doesn't flinch.

"My word, old boy, what's happened?" Lawrence demands, mildly alarmed. Perry bats his hands away when he plops himself down next to him on the mattress, shoving at his shoulder, but he does it without twisting himself around. "Don't be like that, let me look at you. Perry. What's gotten into you?"

Then he hears it. The unmistakable sniffle.

Lawrence gapes. "Have you just broken up with someone?"

It was an educated guess, but the way Perry leaps up to slap at his face all but confirms it. Lawrence supposed he had said it too loudly considering the kind of household they're in. He could swear Candace's hearing could be supersonic sometimes. "We didn't even know you were dating anybody," Lawrence chides, half despairing. Perry tries to plop back down into bed, and Lawrence doesn't let him. Going so far as to physically set himself between Perry and the miserably crumpled mattress so his foster-cum-brother-in-law was throwing himself into his embrace instead.

Lawrence pats Perry's back, commiserating. Perry's buried his face in the crook of Lawrence's throat. He hadn't gotten more than a glance at Perry's face, but what he's seen has practically torn his heart apart; nothing but swollen eyes and visible tear tracks. "What happened?" He asks again, helplessly. "Will you tell me?"

Lawrence half-expects being ignored. Both of them knew that Lawrence knew, at least partially, the hidden truth of Perry's career, but it wasn't from anything Perry ever tells him in person. There are some unmistakeable aspects of himself that he still clamps down on, and Lawrence would never presume to push.

So he's taken by surprise when Perry shrugs, noncommittal, then raises his hands to sign; Think I just got cheated on.

"You what?" Lawrence hisses.

It's fine, I don't-

"No, Perry." Lawrence fumes emphatically, and the teak haired man stops short in surprise. "It is very clearly not fine."

Lawrence-

It's too late. Lawrence had already gotten to his feet, hands on his hips in a way that Candace had once told him made him look his own age, in a derogatory manner. He isn't thinking about that now, though. Now all he is is vibrating at an visible frequency of second-hand outrage. Dinner first, Lawrence thinks to himself. Then he will...he will drive out, and get Perry some ice cream so they can. Can stew and Perry will eat his heart out and they can cry and rage all about this....this no-good heartbreaking bedswerving cad.

This he tells to Perry, who responds by simply burying his face back into his pillow so he could continue wallowing. Lawrence feels generous enough to let him, but he leaves the lights on as he stomps his way downstairs, where the family was happily eating dinner before they see the look on Lawrence's face.

"Dad?" Phineas asked innocently. "What happened? Where's Uncle Perry?"

"I'm afraid Uncle Perry will not be joining us for dinner tonight, boys, and will unfortunately be out of commission until spoken otherwise."

"Out of commission?" The boy gasped dramatically, kneeling on his chair. Candace and Linda had both curiously put their spoons down. "He's sick?" Phineas concludes in dismay. Ferb blinks, shocked.

"Of a sort." Lawrence answers grimly.

"Of a sort?" Candace grunts. "What kind of answer is that? He's either sick or he isn't." Her tone was haughty, skeptical, but Lawrence could hear the concern in her inflection from a mile away. Candace loved pretending she cared less than she truthfully did.

When Lawrence feels the tug on his sleeve, he turns to see Linda, who had a carefully concealed look of concern. A single flick of her eyes in the direction of Perry's room was all she needed to communicate her offer; Dinner?

Lawrence nods, then points to the car keys, hanging by the front door.

Her brow furrows further in concern, but they both know that it wasn't the right time to properly ask. She turns to back to the kids instead. "Honey, why don't you help me make a plate of dinner, and Candace can send it up to Uncle Perry?"

"I want to help send it up!"

"There shouldn't be too many people in Uncle Perry's room, dear, he might have a headache."

"Me and Ferb will be really quiet, please please please please please-,"

Lawrence leaves them to it, pressing a gentle kiss to the crown of Linda's temple and ruffling Ferb's hair as he makes his way out. He feels the boy's gaze follow him all the way to the door, but doesn't realize he's being followed until he turns around to shut the door behind him.

Ferb blinks expectantly.

"Oh, go inside, my boy, it's chilly! I'll just be a moment."

The boy responds by pulling a pair of mittens, and his purple bobblehead hat from his deep pockets, blinking again once he shrugs them on.

There was no talking Ferb out of something he's clearly made his mind about. Lawrence sighs, taking his hand as they walk to the garage.

"Alright," Lawrence concedes. "But promise we'll keep this between you and me, alright?"

Lawrence doesn't doubt he will. Ferb blinks eagerly in compliance.

-----

Lawrence figures the boy's figured it out, on their way home from the supermarket, cradling a chilly tub of Perry's favourite ice cream between his legs on the ride home and nothing else. He had snuck a couple packets of antibiotics and fever patches into the basket while they were out shopping, and Lawrence had awkwardly put each one of them back.

When Lawrence returns the sachet of night-time tea they both know Perry favours when he's actually sick, the boy had turned to him with such a deeply knowing look Lawrence felt busted for something he hadn't even been trying to hide, much less of any sort of trouble. The boy said nothing. He didn't have to. He reached for nothing else (save for a packet of gum from the side of the register of both his and Phineas' favourite brand) and remained perfectly well behaved for the rest of the trip.

"Now Ferb," Lawrence says warily, as they start pulling into their street. "You will have to promise me to keep this between us, not even to Phineas if he hasn't figured it out yet. Your uncle is the private sort, and I can't imagine he will want his dirty laundry waved all across town in the state that he's in. He's feeling vulnerable, you understand?"

Ferb nods firmly. Lawrence stretches out his pinky.

"Promise?"

Ferb takes it, and they shake on it like men.

"Good boy." Lawrence says proudly, once again ruffling his hair, and pulls into the driveway of the house.

Ferb rushes inside to put the tub in the freezer (Lawrence hears Phineas happy greeting from the kitchen, "Oh, there you are, Ferb." ) and Linda comes forward to take his jacket, welcoming him home with a gentle kiss. "Welcome home, stud. Found everything he needed?"

"As far as we know. Did you get to talk to him?"

"He's not in a chatty mood. Though Candace squirreled a thing or two out of him; think she figured out faster than I did."

"She's always got a good head on her shoulders." Lawrence concedes, unsurprised.

"When need be." Linda agrees, before her facade drops and he spies a glimpse of regret. "I didn't even know he was dating someone."

Much less it was anything this serious. Goes unspoken. "I'm inclined to think it's deliberate. Not that we didn't have our suspicions."

"Did he say anything to you?"

Lawrence hesitates. "Not much." He hedges, unconvincingly, from the look of his wife's face. He sighs, and triple checks that the children had dispersed their own ways out of earshot.

"He did say," Lawrence begins carefully. "That there was some matter of. Infidelity involved."

Linda gasped. "Oh, that poor man."

"Not particularly forthcoming beyond the statement."

"Do you think it's one of his...co-workers?"

Lawrence glanced at Linda with a raised brow, but she seems firm with her line of questioning. She's one step further removed from any personal knowledge of Perry's life choices, and occupation-but Lawrence could hide from her as well as blood from gauze. She knew everything he did of Perry's career, which was never much at all. Enough to go by. Enough to reassure her it wouldn't harm their children.

Lawrence had never even considered this, but now that he was, it made a terrifying amount of sense. "I'm obligated to think it might be." He acquiesced. "Might be more complicated than your run of the mill splitting sob story."

Linda hums in agreement, before tactfully changing gears. "I'll reheat your dinner. Did you get him rocky road?"

"Mint chocolate."

"Oh my."

"I'm afraid we'll have to pull out all the stops this time around."

"Maybe I'll pull out my cake pan."

-----

In the days that follow, Perry remains inconsolable.

He's mostly taken to stuffing his face in chips and junk food in front of the TV, half watching re-runs, but for a couple of hours each day the children manage to convince him to participate in their backyard projects, and Candace even manages to coax him to come with her on a trip to the mall. Perry had come home laughing, with a new pair of jeans and flip flops, raving for some obscure chinese martial arts movie they had watched together. The joviality didn't stay, but it was still such a relief to see.

On a pleasantly windy Thursday night, while they've set up a fire and a couple of beers for a Men's Night In in the backyard, Perry nudges his shoulder to tell him, lightly, that he's thinking of quitting.

Lawrence inhales his drink down the wrong tube, and practically coughs his lungs out. Perry thumps him helpfully on the back, and politely refuses to comment.

"Perry," Lawrence gasps, when he's gotten his breath back. "Perry, that's-,"

That's good, he wants to say. But was it really? Bias aside...

That's odd, seemed a bit more truthful, but what kind of response would that be? Nothing at all.

"Are you really?" Is what he ends up saying, more baffled than he meant to put out. Perry shrugs, avoiding his gaze. A moment passes as he takes a sip, and running his thumb around the circumference of the tap.

Maybe not really. Perry admits. Just. I'm getting on in years, maybe I'm not fit for any of the fieldwork I used to do in my twenties. Maybe train some recruits, let someone new take my place.

This was the longest, most honest conversation they've had surrounding Perry's career. Even compared to the one surrounding Evelyn's death, almost a decade ago now.

He knows Perry enjoys fieldwork. It's been largely implied he prodigiously excels in it. So had Evelyn. He had never begrudged her for it, not even till her very end.

Lawrence wonders what changed. He doesn't have to for very long.

The honesty in the air makes him bold, almost uncharacteristically so. "This partner of yours," he starts, careful, careful. "Who was he? To you?"

Perry smiles, a small, bitter thing.

He was everything.

------

Then one day, Perry comes home and he's...better.

Not a 180, but it's. Close. A noticeably stark difference than how he had been last night that it even puts Phineas off, but only for a moment. Mostly he was just ecstatic.

"Uncle Perry's better!" The boy cheers and giggled, dangled beneath Perry's pit like a sack of fresh loam. Ferb's hanging from the back of his shoulders, kicking happily and trying to pull himself up. The man doesn't seem to notice, or mind, the pain. "He's better! He's better! Candace look!"

Ferb manages to haul himself up to sit and wrap his legs around Perry's shoulders, and Perry grunts, reaching back to help him establish balance as he drops a wiggly Phineas back on his feet to reach his mother, chopping lentils in the kitchen.

"Perry? Oh!" Linda says, surprised as Perry swoops in to plant a kiss on her cheek. She giggles, and pinches his. "Welcome home, you blasted rouge. Are you going to help me with dinner?"

Perry responds by taking over chopping duties, pulling the board closer to himself and stealing away her knife to commence vegetable slicing duties. His speed, and the nonchalance that accompanies it-despite the heavy burden around his shoulders, swinging his legs- was almost terrifying, but Linda barely notices. She's reaching for her phone by the cooking stove, sending her husband a red alert. Perry was whistling.

"I gather you had a pretty good day at work, huh?" She muses, half-serious.

He gives her a cheeky one-shouldered shrug, eyes rolling up. His smile dimples. Maybe.

She's practically burning with curiousity, but knows that now wasn't the time to ask. "Well, I'm making braised chicken. Why don't you help me with the asparagus? Ferb, sweetie, you want to get down and help me with seasoning the chicken breast?"

"Oh, but mom!! Asparagus makes Ferb farts so stinky!" Phineas complains.

"It also makes your farts stinky, mister. Now go help Perry pre-heat the oven."

-----

After dinner, Lawrence drops by again. In contrast to the state of things when the trouble began, his room is well-lit, and instead of resting, Perry's at his desk with his reading glasses, and a stack of documents he folds and puts away, out of sight, before he lets Lawrence in with a warm chitter.

As if the last few days never happened at all.

Lawrence has been witness to something like this a few times before, but it never gets any less off-putting, to realize he was so distant from the heat of things -the state, the conflict- and being privy only to the resolution.

Perry had been cheated on, by a man who meant everything. And now?

"Just wanted to check on how things were going." He says, closing the door behind him. "The kids were telling me you're feeling a lot better."

Perry, confoundingly, began to blush, looking down at his pen, rolled and fidgeted between his fingers. I am, he tells Lawrence. Wish I could say it was a huge misunderstanding, even if it was, a little bit. We just never put it into words, what we were, and I think it never occurred to us how much it would hurt, for him to have done what he did.

Perry put down his pen, picked it back up again, uses it to scratch the back of his nape as he looks at Lawrence a little bashfully. Then he puts the pen back down. It surprised me too, that I took to it as bad as I did. What we had was something...special. I didn't realize...

Lawrence looked at him intensely, arms crossed. When he determines Perry had nothing else to say, he asked -what he knew to be- the most important question of all. "And did he apologize?"

Perry smiles. It dimples. This time, it's directed at Lawrence himself, instead of a special man in the distant mind. He did. Perry signs.

"And he meant it?"

As much as he could.

"Well," Lawrence proclaims brusquely. He's trying to sound stern, but the undeniable lovesick smile on Perry was contagious. "So long as he doesn't do it again...,"

Oh, Perry signs ominously. He won't.

Lawrence finally lets himself smile, echoing the childish joy on his brother-in-law's face. "Well," he chuckles. "Then I suppose that's all that matters, doesn't it?"

Perry concedes with an affectionate roll of his eyes, but when Lawrence comes forward to hug him, he returns it right back tenfold.

Thank you, he signs meaningfully.

"You're family, Perry." Lawrence replies, with a shake of his head. "What slights you is a slight to all of us, and your joy is ours. Family sticks together."

It's an old catchphrase of a woman long gone, beyond what's left of her in both their hearts, and Perry tears up. Though he plays it off with a dismissive sniffle, and a bump of their shoulders.

You can be just as insufferable as she was. He signs, more affectionately than he wants to pretend to be. His tone shifts, grows bashful again.

Lawrence, he signs. Slow, hesitant. Do you think....if things ever....and I brought him over to meet...would you...like...?

The implications of Perry's broken up request was as strong as a punch to his gut, and Lawrence fears he might have lost his cool in his eagerness. "Of course we will!" He restrains himself to a stage whisper. He fears he would wake the neighbourhood in excitement, otherwise. "Perry, of course we will. I'll...we'll be honoured, my boy."

He means it too, and Perry could tell. His smile was blinding, and his blush had spread brighter than his skin tone, all across the bridge of his nose. You have to be cool about it. He makes Lawrence promise.

"Oh, totally." Lawrence reassures him. He's putting it on a little bit, on account of it making Perry laugh. "Chill. 100 percent-o. Call me liquid nitrogen the fact that I am lighter than air. I am pre-emptively cooling a block of ice. Call me Fro-zone the way I'm-,"

Get out, Perry demands. Barely. He's also doubled over in laughter. Oh my god, just get out before you make me regret this.

"Getting out!" Lawrence complies with a salute, and dashes out the room. He can still hear Perry chuckling as he closes the door behind him. His cheeks ache from his grin. All better, indeed.

Flushed with triumph and good tidings, he embarks on a mission to find his wife and share the wonderful news.

#heinz doofenshmirtz #perryshmirtz #human perry #phineas and ferb #choice of fic

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cricketnationrise · 4 months

Note

hello! :) THIS IS SO CUTE I CAN'T WAIT FOR A POSSIBLE CRICKET EXCLUSIVE!! because i am obsessed with u fr but that's common knowledge. <3

for the ficlet fest, if you'd like:

time stamp: 2:23am

location: brownstone

character: alex/henry

song: this is me trying by taylor swift (only if you want!!!!!!!)

rating: whatever you'd like

but like you can go any direction with this I'm just always projecting my adhd/anxiety/not good enough feelings onto alex on a regular basis :')

my ao3: firenati0n | Archive of Our Own (same as tumblr user)

THANK YOU SO MUCH! SENDING LOVE XOXO

your cricket exclusive is here! i actually went full on henry pov with this one bc my brain got stuck on the trying of it all. so have some first post-canon fight make up. this is actually the longest ficlet yet, but somehow i don't think that'll be a problem 😂 💜🦗

read the rest of the ficlets here!

❤️🤍💙❤️🤍💙

2:32am, brownstone

The brownstone is quiet when he returns, which is completely reasonable for just after two-thirty in the bloody morning.

It’s also immaculate, which is decidedly less so, especially considering the state of the place when Henry stomped out a few hours ago.

The hallway is clear of trip hazards, shoes neatly in the rack. The kitchen gleams in the range hood light; counters clear and wiped down, small appliances lined up as precisely as Buckingham guards. Peeking his head in the for-once dark office reveals two tidy desks, chairs pushed in, and both of their laptops plugged in and charging.

The den at the base of the stairs makes Henry pause. The stacks of books have been put away. The coasters on the coffee table have been relieved of their burdens of half-drunk tea cups and abandoned coffee mugs. In the dim light from the street lamps through the window, Henry can even see vacuum lines in the carpet. A second glance has Henry taking cautious steps inside.

There is one thing out of place after all.

On the couch, propped on a few of the numerous throw pillows Pez insisted upon, and tucked into the quilt Ellen sent them, is Alex. Like an anchor to the ocean floor, Henry is drawn into the room, and to Alex’s side.

He kneels between the coffee table and the couch near Alex’s head and just looks for a long moment. Alex clearly hasn’t been sleeping well. The couch is too short, even for Alex’s shorter frame, so his legs are tucked uncomfortably. His curls are more of a wild mess than normal, like he’s been tugging at them. Alex is gripping the quilt as tightly as he normally clutches Henry, and there’s deep furrows on his forehead.

Henry should let him sleep, probably—neither of them have been sleeping all that well. Increased paparazzi presence as Alex’s first semester of law school starts and Henry takes a more active role in the shelter has been stressful. But Henry can’t help but reach out and try to smooth those lines on his forehead. Something churning and tense settles inside him when his gentle touch has Alex’s eyes blinking open, a small smile on his face when he recognizes Henry..

“You came back.”

“Of course I did, love.”

Alex exhales messily, blinking back tears now. “I wasn’t sure— After earlier—”

Henry shushes him with a hand on his cheek. “I will always come back to you. Promised I was done being an obtuse fuckin’ asshole, didn’t I?”

“You still left, though,” Alex says.

It’s Henry’s turn to fight back tears. “I could hear myself sounding more and more like Philip at his worst. It scared me. I didn’t want to subject you to that, to even inadvertently use my knowledge of you as a weapon. So I left before words I didn’t actually mean could find their mark.” He sways forward, resting his forehead on Alex’s, needing to be closer. “You deserve more than sharply aimed words, especially when you haven’t done a thing wrong.”

“Hen…”

“I’m sorry Alex. I shouldn’t have— I knew it would be different once the paparazzi got wind of our plans, but I wasn’t prepared for how much more invasive they would feel. I’m having a hard time adjusting to life beyond Kensington’s thick walls and I started to take it out on you.”

Alex’s hand pulls on his shoulder. “C’mere.”

Henry climbs onto the couch and sprawls undignified on top of Alex, tucking his head into the crook of his neck. Alex’s hands, as ever, hold him steady, rubbing large circles across his back.

“There were two people in our fight, Henry. You aren’t the only one struggling. Or taking it out on the person he loves.” He presses a kiss to Henry’s temple. “I could hear echoes of my parents, but couldn’t figure out how to stop the word vomit. And that scared me—I never want you and I to be like them.”

Henry pulls his head back to meet his gaze fiercely. “Never.”

Alex smiles at his vehement tone, but it's got a rueful edge to it. “We’re gonna have to figure out how to talk about this stuff before it blows up in our faces again.”

“Not tonight, though?”

“Nah, not tonight.”

They’re quiet for a long moment, curled around each other on the couch, when a niggling thought finds its way past Henry’s lips.

“Alex?”

“Hmm?”

“Why were you on the couch? Did you— Did you not want to be in our room?”

Alex holds him tighter. “I— You left and— So I was cleaning, and I did this room last, and when I was done there was no way stairs were happening, so I just collapsed here. I didn’t actually think I'd fall asleep, I don't usually when you aren’t right next to me.”

“So it wasn’t because you wanted space from me?”

“Fucking hell, baby. No, I never want space. I want the opposite of space from you. If I could figure out a way to crawl into your rib cage every night I would.”

“Oh.” The last bit of tension leaves Henry’s body at that and he relaxes fully on top of Alex.

“Yeah, oh.” Alex chuckles. “But, as nice as you feel on top of me, it’s late and this couch ain’t big enough for the two of us.”

“You fit on it better than I do,” Henry can’t help but tease.

“First of all, rude. Second of all, I also have to pee so get up before I shove you off.”

Reluctantly, Henry stands and reaches down to help Alex up after him. Henry folds the quilt and hangs it over the back of the couch, smoothing the last wrinkles with his hand. When he straightens up, Alex is only halfway up the stairwell.

“Meet you in bed?” Alex whispers.

Henry climbs up to meet him. “Always, love.”

#cricket writes #firenati0n #ficlet fest 500 #rwrb #pov henry #the brownstone #they'll have a longer talk later and come out stronger #but early mornings are for lovingly flopping on top of your boyfriend

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that-gay-guy-from-hell · 1 year

Text

DMC MASTER LIST

ON GOING QUESTION/POLL (I can't actually make a real poll but I want to know some opinions lmao)

All fics are posted here on my AO3, along with other things (like my personal headcanons).

VERGIL ONE-SHOTS:

Stubborn as Always--G/N, Fluff

Si vis amari ama--G/N, Fluff, Minor Angst

Uncontrolled Instincts--Male, Smut, Rut fic.

Sweet Serenade--G/N, Smut (? Vergil "self pleasuring")

Good Morning, my Love--G/N, Smut (Consensual somnophilia)

Tapestry of Leather--G/N, Fluff, Lime (god I'm old)

Student and Teacher--G/N, Flirty Fluff

The Bed of the Blue Devil--G/N, Smut, Rut fic.

As You Wish (Part 2)--G/N, Smut

As You Wish (Part 1)--G/N, Fluff

Despite Your Flaws--G/N, Sad Fluff

What Would They Think--G/N, Angst/Sad, Fluffy Comfort

Without You--G/N, Angst/Sad, Fluffy Comfort

A Devil's Secret Wingman--G/N, Fluff

Phantoms of the Past--Male, Angst, Fluff?

DANTE ONE-SHOTS:

Rough Day?--Male, Fluff

I've Got You--G/N, Fluff, Overprotective Dante

Where There's a Will, Right?-- Male, Angst (kinda), Fluff, Smut; Dante between 2-4

Stuck in a Rut--G/N, Smut, Rut fic.

Deep Regret--Male, Sad, Fluff

A Valentine's to Remember--Male, Fluff, Smut

Song of the Heart--G/N (w/anxiety), Fluff

NERO ONE-SHOTS:

No One Else Can Have You--Male, Smut, Power Bottom Nero, Top Reader, Pre-4 Nero

Wanting--G/N, Smut

Fear of the Devil--G/N, Comfort, Fluff

The Scent of You--Male, Smut

V ONE-SHOTS:

Lineaments of Gratified Desire--G/N, Smut, Handjob (V receiving)

Stuck in a small hiding spot + Injured V (short one-shot answers)

MULTIPLE/OTHER ONE-SHOTS:

Bound by Blood: Reader & Sparda Bloodline (Platonic; comfort, angst, fluff)

STUPID THOUGHTS THAT RELATE TO DMC:

Sin Devil Trigger Vergil's tail

Vergil only has 2 things to his name

Me at Vergil when I found out about Devil May Cry

Screenshot ruining my Bloody Palace run

Vergil right after V and Urizen merge appreciation post

"Bound by Blood" re-write excerpts (semi-gory warning)

"I think I'm pretty good at playing Vergil"

Ebony & Ivory replicas. Plus, Nero and Dante body pillowcases.

How much can the Sparda bloodline lift??

Thoughts while writing a "Nero x Terminally Ill reader" fic

Vergil and Lawn Darts

Vergil tiddies

This is why I love the DMC fandom--Comment thread

DMC 2 "Dante" is actually Vergil

Teeth!

Why do Dante and Vergil in DMC5 look so different?

Can the Sparda-bloodline dance?

Kneeling Vergil

Vergil being sick but also stubborn

Do it for him

A really good Nero x G/N Reader fic (that's not mine) and why my dumbass commented lmao

Eric and Vergil

Vergil's autistic

Sparda twins and leg gaiters

Aro/Ace Dante?

SHOP LAYOUT MAP

ART:

MLP Dante

Semi-spicy Dante (Mature label)

Drifting in the ocean all alone

GOOGLE DRIVE MASTERLIST OF PROMPTS/IDEAS THAT I'LL BE DOING.

Requests are currently closed; I have WAYYY TOO MANY. It might be a while before I reopen them; thank you so much for the support!!

A quick shameless self-plug--I also have a fan-character-based story as well if y'all would consider giving it a look, I'd really appreciate it. It is both here, @adevilsfolly , and on AO3

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theshipsfirstmate · 10 days

Text

Bridgerton Fic (Francesca/John): Sometimes I Feel So Insecure

(Francesca/John, T, wc: 3,802 -- AO3)

modern/college AU. Francesca and John are grad students, who meet in a practice room and find their own kind of harmony.

The very first time she meets him, it feels both wholly mundane and utterly life-changing.

Mundane because Francesca's sequestered herself inside a piano practice room on the ground floor of the music building — the type of space she's become intimately familiar with throughout four years of undergrad and nearly a year so far of her graduate program.

Life-changing in part because she just about loses her own, jumping out of her skin as the door bangs open, interrupting her fourth go-round on the Schubert she's been considering for her master's recital.

"I'm sorry…" The first thing she notices is his accent. There are more than a handful of international students among the post-grad set at Ithaca College, but still, she's used to being surrounded by the Boston and New York/New Jersey affectations that make up much of the student body. But he sounds like home, or something close to it, anyway.

The second thing she notices is his eyes. He has a handsome face, certainly — a strong jaw and brow, a mouth that curves up at the corners, like smiling comes easy — but it's something in the eyes that nearly makes her breath catch. They look kind, warm, and maybe … maybe something more.

The third thing she notices, too late, is that she hasn't yet spoken. After another second or so of unbroken eye contact, he seems to finally notice too.

"Sorry, I- I know I'm a few minutes late..." He checks his watch, "But I believe I had this room reserved."

He's wrong, Francesca is sure of it. But for whatever reason — whatever mutation she's had since birth that takes the notorious Bridgerton affability and twists it into awkward silence and social anxiety — she doesn't bother to correct him. She just stands quickly and grabs at her sheet music, hoping to leave before the fire rising in her cheeks burns her alive.

"I'm sorry," she says, trying desperately to force some courage into her voice. "I thought… I - I'll leave you to it."

He seems to become a bit frantic when he notices her discomfort, turning back towards the door. "Uh, I-I'm happy to go check with the scheduler. It's possible I've got my rooms mixed up."

"No, it's fine. I'm sorry," she adds again, even more unnecessarily this time. "Enjoy the, um, enjoy the room...."

_____________

She's fretting over the Vallée d'Obermann when she sees him next, and that certainly doesn't help her mood.

At least this time he knocks softly before he enters, with a smile inexplicably directed at her. At least this time she has a slightly longer moment to prepare herself for his handsome face.

Unfortunately, it doesn't help that much.

"I triple checked!" she insists, louder than she intends, before he can even get a word out.

"No, no, no," he replies quickly, and for whatever reason, he's still grinning. "Don't worry. I checked the schedule this time, too."

"So you know I have this room," she protests, weaker now. "You're not here to throw me out again?"

"No! Yes. I…" He sighs. "I'm going about this all wrong."

She waits. His frustratingly handsome face is suddenly so earnest that she has to clasp her hands together tightly and fidget her fingers into knots in order to distract herself.

"I just came to apologize," he says, " Francesca ."

Oh .

It would seem there’s still a type of music left in this world that she hasn't heard before.

She stammers for a moment, working through a thought process that's suddenly gone terribly hazy. "You… you checked the schedule."

"It’s a beautiful name," he confirms, with a half-smile, and… my goodness . "I had a great aunt Francesca. I think they called her 'Fancy,' for short."

Her nose wrinkles at the moniker, but when she follows it by nervously smoothing her hands over the pleats in her perfectly-ironed skirt, she watches his mouth twist wryly.

She clears her throat, hoping to find a modicum of composure somewhere in her voice box. "And you are?"

"Nothing so fancy ," he teases. “John. John Stirling.”

She reaches out to shake his hand before considering the implications. Large, warm, secure but not controlling. She holds it maybe too long, but he just smiles again and her breathing goes all wispy…again.

"You were on to the Lizst this time," he observes as they finally let go. “I like the Schubert better. More heart, I think.”

"I don’t think I fully understand it," she admits on a mumble, shaking her head as if to clear it. "The Vallée, I mean.”

He tilts his head in curiosity, and so she continues. "I'm thinking of changing it out for a Beethoven. But at this rate, I won’t have a masters recital to speak of…"

At this, he takes a step back, and lets out a scoff. It's the first time he's ever seemed less than entirely friendly.

"Well, you’re better off than me," he mumbles, running a hand over his face. "Can't get a masters in composition with writer's block."

"Wouldn’t that be composer's block?"

He gives her a bit more of a laugh than it deserves, and that's the moment she really notices how he looks sort of sad today. There’s something else underneath that pall, too, a level of anxiety that she hadn't had time to examine when she last saw him.

He's stepped far enough away that she can see how the stress makes him rigid. Even his smiles look somewhat fragile, though she has to admit they've still succeeded in warming her.

She wants to help, she realizes. She barely knows the man, but she wants to make him feel better, to ease some of his tension.

(Really, what she wants to do is hold his hand again, but she's fairly certain that won't help matters at all.)

"Since you’re here," she offers slowly. "Can I… Could I play you something?"

His eyes snap up from where they'd been fixed at his feet, and the gaze is too reverent to take in for too long.

So she just keeps talking. "Only if you want, I mean. Of course."

He grins again at her rambling and it looks better, more assured, more real . Suddenly, she needs to know.

“What's your favorite?"

"You'll think me simple."

She just offers a half-smile, lips pursed, until he concedes.

"'Clair de Lune.'"

Tears burn suddenly at the base of her throat. Mercifully, they're happy ones, so she tries to make herself smile wider, to put him at ease.

"You won’t judge me for it?"

"Not at all," she confesses. Even if she were the sort of snob who would, "It’s my eldest brother's favorite, as well."

John simply raises his eyebrows. He's making a habit of that, it seems, giving her space in conversation that others so rarely offer.

"He used to say that everything I played was his favorite," she recalls with a roll of her eyes. "He’s a good sort of brother like that."

"But I made him pick, before his wedding," she continues, still a little misty at the memory, "so I could give him his gift."

"Eldest, you said?"

"I have four brothers — three older, one younger," she explains, thinking of them fondly — the elder trio she grew up in awe of, and then little baby Greggy.

"Goodness — five of you," John remarks.

"Eight, actually," she clarifies. "Four of each."

And Francesca, as a general rule, doesn’t like attention — but it is always a bit enjoyable to watch people take that in.

" Eight ??"

_____________

They hadn't wanted her to go so far away for her studies.

They hadn’t wanted her to go to Ithaca, to leave England at all after she’d conceded to doing her undergrad in London.

"You've already started to establish yourself."

"It's the middle of nowhere!"

"Two years at least without a proper Sunday roast??"

"It's so far, Francesca," her mother had finally lamented, with tears in her eyes. "What if you need us?"

It was a confusing combination of words but one Francesca knew not to question after all this time. Not aloud, anyway.

She loves her family, to be sure. But she's lived more than 20 years as the quietest Bridgerton, and she likes to think she's become quite self-sufficient in all that time.

Of course, she understands that she needs her family in that abstract way that anyone does — the way they’ve made her who she is, the way that they've never asked her to be anyone else.

But the way her mother spoke of it, she wasn't quite sure at the time that it was something she understood.

Not yet, anyway.

_____________

"It’s just my mum and I," Michael offers, once he's finished sputtering over the size of her family. "She moved to New York with me. Not- not with me , with me, I should say."

She likes him best like this, Francesca thinks. A little flustered, a little like he might know what it feels like to move through life with a colony of butterflies who have made their happy home in the space just behind your rib cage.

"She has an apartment in the city," he explains. "I take the train down to see her every few weeks or so."

"That's nice," she finally concedes, genuinely. "It's nice that she's close."

He nods. "Some have also said that my cousin Michael and I are as close as brothers, but having no frame of reference…"

He pauses and smiles carefully, as if she'll take offense to the comparison. She doesn't.

"I think closeness can be largely subjective."

His smile quickly turns itself the other way around. "You don’t get along with your siblings?”

"It’s not that," she promises, fast and guilty. "I’m just… different… from all of them. It’s always been that way. It’s a happy house, but it’s so…"

" Loud ," he muses, somehow understanding in an instant. "And you prefer the quiet."

Yes. That’s it exactly.

There might be so much more he’d understand. But each time he hesitates with her, Francesca is reminded that, in order to be accepted, you have to make an offer.

And so she turns away and plays him his piece, holds back her tears when she thinks of her eldest brother — happier than she’s ever seen him — and watches as an invisible weight seems to lift off of John’s shoulders.

When she's done, he offers her a new smile, one that fills their special silence better than any applause or acclaim ever could.

_____________

It takes her about a week after that — maybe a little more.

This time, Francesca seeks him out in what she’s suddenly come to think of as their room. It’s an odd hour for practice, and she breathes a quick sigh of relief when she realizes she was right. He's here.

In fact, he's standing in a corner of the room with a violin, playing her very favorite Rachmaninoff with his eyes closed tight.

She can tell by the case that the instrument is a rental, but she thinks that no one would ever know by how he holds it, by how beautiful he looks when he makes the strings tremble across the soaring melody.

In an instant, Francesca braces herself for the boldest move she’s ever made. She thinks of her siblings, of how much they’ve risked for what they call love, and she opens the door as quietly as she can.

She holds the handle until it shuts and creeps across the floor, to the shabby standup piano in the other corner of the room. When he hits a measure she’s known by heart since she was 11 years old, she joins him.

John falters for only a fraction of a second — the untrained ear wouldn’t be able to hear it.

But then his eyes flash open and he turns to her, smiling so wide, but never missing even an eighth note.

They finish the movement and she stands, suddenly so unsure of herself once again.

“That’s one of my favorites as well,” she admits. “Though once, when I played it at home, my brother Benedict identified it as ‘that Celine Dion song.’”

At this, he laughs, actually laughs, and she finds herself determined to hear that particular sound again, in every key.

“He is perhaps the next most artistic of the bunch,” she concedes. “But the visual arts are definitely more his forte. Music, not so much…”

“ Francesca ,” John says simply, still smiling at her, and she wonders what kind of theory he’s studied that he can still make her name sound like that .

She takes the few steps to reach him, and, in perfect step, he gently sets the violin down just in time to catch her as she wraps herself in his arms, pressing up to her tiptoes to capture his lips, reveling in the knowledge that even the noises from the backs of their throats sound in harmony.

_____________

After that, they simply… find their way together. Measure for measure.

He waits for her after rehearsals, a takeaway cup of tea in both hands. She finds him wrestling one instrument or another in their favorite practice room and persuades him to take enough time away from the crumpled composition sheets to eat some dinner. He drives her home, coasting down South Hill to her apartment on the Commons, walking her to her door and bidding her goodnight with kisses that range from chaste to positively fervent.

The first time he spends the night, it's the opposite of sordid. They're both exhausted after a 16-hour day of rehearsals, lectures, lessons, grad assistant work and whatever else, and by the time they get to her door, John looks absolutely ready to wilt.

"Just, come inside," Francesca insists, nerves overridden by the sheer need she feels to not let him get back behind the wheel.

When they finally wake, in the late morning of the next day, however, she's immediately aware of their state of dress. Or rather, lack thereof.

John had stripped to an undershirt and boxer-briefs before they crawled beneath the covers — at her insistence, somehow. She’d composed herself only a little more in order to change into a silky pajama set that she’s never thought of as sensual until this exact moment.

Tangled up as they've become through the night, it’s like she can feel him everywhere — and, strangely enough, it doesn’t make her skin crawl.

His arms are wrapped around her waist. She has one hand on the side of his neck and one pressed against his chest, and so she can feel the thrum of his body when he truly wakes. And she decides to be bold once again.

“Good morning,” she whispers, sleep-soaked and just a little raspy.

"Good morning, Fancy," he answers, kissing her nose as it wrinkles in distaste — like he’d planned it.

The heat she’s felt, watching his hands glide over a keyboard, it's nothing compared to the way it feels to have them against her skin. Calloused fingers caress up and down her rib cage as they press infinitely closer for the kind of kiss they’ve never shared before.

This is the magic, she thinks. This is what her siblings have unabashedly waxed poetic about, ever since Daphne went and fell for Anthony's best mate.

She likes it, she loves it, Francesca realizes with a start. In fact, if she thinks hard enough about it — or maybe not at all — she might find herself needing it.

_____________

By the time she's ready to fully spiral out on a cyclone of confusing emotions, she finds a grounding presence amid the members of her family. It's funny how that always seems to happen.

Anthony's flown to the city for work, and he's brought Kate, who's eager to travel as much as possible before her third trimester puts her on lockdown. In typical big brother fashion, he bullies "his Frannie" — as kindly as possible, of course — to take the train down and join them for dinner.

She’s quiet throughout the meal, but her usually doting eldest brother — hassled over his day of meetings and harried over worrying about his pregnant wife — doesn't fully seem to notice. She's always been quiet, after all.

But Kate's eye on her sharpens throughout their dinner, until finally, she tells Anthony to go order his last drink at the bar, brushing off his questioning eyes in a way that’s never once worked on her brother before.

Her sister-in-law waits until her husband is out of earshot to finally ask.

"So, what's going on?"

"Nothing!" Francesca can hear it, the manic tone that raises Kate's eyebrow instantly, and knows she's caught.

So, she simply sighs and answers honestly. "It's complicated.”

"With you, it always is, Frannie," Kate responds, all concern and no annoyance. "But this seems like something you need to get off your chest sooner rather than later."

Francesca fumbles for the words, her head making each explanation sound less meaningful than her heart needs them to be.

"I met someone," she admits simply, hoping that her astute sister-in-law can read the rest of the swirling turmoil in her eyes.

“He — he offered to come with me tonight, if I wanted. His mother lives in Manhattan,” she offers in reprise.

Kate takes what feels like an eternity to mull that over.

"Do you miss him?" she asks finally. "Tonight, coming to the city alone — did it leave you… wanting him?"

Francesca nods, even before she knows she wants to, and Kate matches it with a watery expression.

"Sorry to say, but…"

"But it's not the right time!” she blurts out, having failed once more to keep her true feelings in the bottle where they belong. “It’s the perfectly wrong time!"

“Why?”

“We’re just…” Francesca actually hears herself trail off as every argument fades away to the memory of the way it felt to be pressed against John in her too-small bed, in her tiny apartment, as their symphony echoed off the walls.

“These next years coming up are so important for both of us. For our careers, for our art,” she finally protests. “We have to focus and... I can’t. Not entirely.”

"Sorry again, on that count…."

Francesca has always admired Kate’s no-nonsense attitude until this exact moment.

She counts the measures of silence until…

“Frannie, you should know that no one understands better than me how hard it can be to fall in love at exactly the wrong time.”

Francesca remembers the rumblings about the drama of a blind date Anthony went on with Kate’s sister, the months the two of them spent bickering and pining, until finally the Bridgertons started placing wagers on when they would finally get their act together.

To see them look at one another now, it’s impossible to think that there was ever a time when the both of them weren’t absolutely sure.

But then, here’s Kate, assuring her that it can happen this way.

And she has no idea what to think.

"Unfortunately, you can't just wish it away," her sister-in-law offers softly. "And if it's real, it'll be worth every complication."

Anthony returns then, of course he does, and Francesca knows he can’t help mirroring the anxious expressions they struggle to hide as he shuffles them out of the restaurant onto the dewy spring avenues.

Their car approaches, and suddenly she knows how important it is to thank Kate for the gift she’s given her tonight — even though she can already see how she’ll spend her train ride north shredding the metaphorical wrapping to confetti, wishing that, just for once, she could be a normal Bridgerton, with a blustering sense of herself and the confidence to look life in the eye.

"You're gonna be fine, Frannie," Kate promises, with a fond glance over to Anthony, before she leans in to whisper. "That look on your face when you talked about him? That was all I needed to see."

Is there a world, she wonders, where it gets to be that easy?

_____________

Somehow, John is waiting for her at the train station when she returns — even though Francesca’s quite certain she didn’t tell him which one she’d be on.

"Hiya, Fancy," he says with that grin, and instantly it’s so easy to forget how many times she's tried to hide herself away from the potential of heartbreak.

“Hi, you,” she answers, matching his smile and then his lips, threading an arm through his, not realizing that he’s about to take an ice pick to the rest of her self doubt.

The music building is supposed to be locked after midnight. Yet somehow, tonight, John has a key. He leads her by hand to that very same practice room, the one where he barged in on her — what feels like it might have been a lifetime ago.

He sits her at the piano bench, places a bundle of sheet music on the rack, and something stirs deep inside of her when she recognizes his writing on the pages.

A gasp. "Composer's block?"

"Gone. I think I had just the inspiration I needed."

They smile at one another, brief and almost blinding, before she turns back to the page. But then, she thinks, maybe this is the moment.

"John, I…"

And she freezes. The the words won't come. There are so many ways this could go, and yet, in the moment, her traitorous mind can only imagine the scenarios that end in heartbreak. It’s not the time, he’s not the one, she’s not built for a love like this…

She turns back, helpless, only to find nothing but those eyes — the ones she fell in love with before she ever knew what was happening.

" Francesca ." Her name again, a complete stanza off his lips. "Please, just play it."

She does, turning back to the keys — back to the home she knows better than any other — and starting in with gusto.

It's beautiful .

She realizes after just a few measures that she knows him well enough now to hear him in the composition, to see his smile in the swell of the melody, his kind encouragement in the way the movements ebb and flow.

And then, there.

At the beginning of the third, the piano line that he’ll hide just under the strings.

A variation on the Rachmaninoff. Too complex for an untrained musician, but it's suddenly all she can hear.

It's so beautiful .

And so is he. And so are they. And all she has to do is allow it.

The most beautiful thing of all, it turns out, is when she finishes, and absently flips back to read what he ended up titling the piece — a detail she'd admittedly, blindly skipped over in her haste to hear it out loud.

And there it is.

Fancy, My Love

_____________ _____________

(p.s. full credit to this TikTok for inspiring that one scene)

#bridgerton fic #francesca x john #john x francesca #francesca bridgerton #john stirling #modern AU #college AU #do they have a ship name yet??#first mate fic

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toomanyrobins2 · 3 months

Text

Our Manhattan

Summary: An orphan all her life, Y/N is simply too old to remain at The Bowery Home any longer. That is where an anonymous patron has swooped in to send her off to college and all he requires…a monthly letter of her academic progress.

Based off the book and musical “Daddy Long Legs”

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Reader

last part // series masterlist // next part

Notes: I'm finally getting around to updating this fic! If you would like to catch up and get more consistent updates to this story and others I would go to by AO3!

24th March, maybe the 25th

Dear Batman,

I don't believe I can be going to Heaven—I am getting such a lot of good things here; it wouldn't be fair to get them hereafter too. Listen to what has happened.

Y/N Abbott has won the short-story contest (a twenty-five dollar prize) that the Monthly holds every year. And she's a Sophomore! The contestants are mostly Seniors. When I saw my name posted, I couldn't quite believe it was true. Maybe I am going to be an author after all. I wish Mrs. Lippett hadn't given me such a silly name—it sounds like an author-ess, doesn't it?

Also I have been chosen for the spring dramatics—As You Like It out of doors. I am going to be Celia, own cousin to Rosalind.

And lastly: Harriet and Barbara and I are going to New York next Friday to do some spring shopping and stay all night and go to the theatre the next day with 'Master Brucie.' He invited us. Harriet is going to stay at home with her family, but Barbara and I are going to stop at the Martha Washington Hotel. Did you ever hear of anything so exciting? I've never been in a hotel in my life, nor in a theatre; except once when the Catholic Church had a festival and invited the orphans, but that wasn't a real play and it doesn't count.

And what do you think we're going to see? Hamlet. Think of that! We studied it for four weeks in Shakespeare class and I know it by heart.

I am so excited over all these prospects that I can scarcely sleep.

Goodbye, Bats.

This is a very entertaining world.

Yours ever,

Judy

PS. I've just looked at the calendar. It's the 28th.

Another postscript.

I saw a street car conductor today with one brown eye and one blue. Wouldn't he make a nice villain for a detective story?

7th April

Dear Batman,

Mercy! Isn't New York big? Worcester is nothing to it. Do you mean to tell me that you actually lived in all that confusion? I don't believe that I shall recover for months from the bewildering effect of two days of it. I can't begin to tell you all the amazing things I've seen; I suppose you know, though, since you live there yourself.

But aren't the streets entertaining? And the people? And the shops? I never saw such lovely things as there are in the windows. It makes you want to devote your life to wearing clothes.

Barbara and Harriet and I went shopping together Saturday morning. Harriet went into the very most gorgeous place I ever saw, white and gold walls and blue carpets and blue silk curtains and gilt chairs. A perfectly beautiful lady with yellow hair and a long black silk trailing gown came to meet us with a welcoming smile. I thought we were paying a social call, and started to shake hands, but it seems we were only buying hats—at least Harriet was. She sat down in “front of a mirror and tried on a dozen, each lovelier than the last, and bought the two loveliest of all.

I can't imagine any joy in life greater than sitting down in front of a mirror and buying any hat you choose without having first to consider the price! There's no doubt about it, Bats; New York would rapidly undermine this fine stoical character which the Bowery Home so patiently built up.

And after we'd finished our shopping, we met Master Bruce at Sherry's. I suppose you've been in Sherry's? Picture that, then picture the dining room of the Bowery Home with its oilcloth-covered tables, and white crockery that you can't break, and wooden-handled knives and forks; and fancy the way I felt!

I ate my fish with the wrong fork, but the waiter very kindly gave me another so that nobody noticed.

And after luncheon we went to the theatre—it was dazzling, marvellous, unbelievable—I dream about it every night.

Isn't Shakespeare wonderful?

Hamlet is so much better on the stage than when we analyze it in class; I “appreciated it before, but now, dear me!

I think, if you don't mind, that I'd rather be an actress than a writer. Wouldn't you like me to leave college and go into a dramatic school? And then I'll send you a box for all my performances, and smile at you across the footlights. Only wear a red rose in your buttonhole, please, so I'll surely smile at the right man. It would be an awfully embarrassing mistake if I picked out the wrong one.

We came back Saturday night and had our dinner in the train, at little tables with pink lamps. I never heard of meals being served in trains before, and I inadvertently said so.

'Where on earth were you brought up?' said Harriet to me.

'In a village,' said I meekly, to Harriet.

'But didn't you ever travel?' said she to me.

'Not till I came to college, and then it was only a hundred and sixty miles and we didn't eat,' said I to her.

She's getting quite interested in me, because I say such funny things. I try hard not to, but they do pop out when I'm surprised—and I'm surprised most “of the time. It's a dizzying experience, to pass eighteen years in the Bowery Home, and then suddenly to be plunged into the WORLD.

But I'm getting acclimated. I don't make such awful mistakes as I did; and I don't feel uncomfortable anymore with the other girls. I used to squirm whenever people looked at me. I felt as though they saw right through my sham new clothes to the checked ginghams underneath. But I'm not letting the ginghams bother me anymore. Sufficient unto yesterday is the evil thereof.

I forgot to tell you about our flowers. Master Bruce gave us each a big bunch of violets and lilies-of-the-valley. Wasn't that sweet of him? I never used to care much for men—judging by Trustees—but I'm changing my mind.

Yours always,

Y/N

10th April

Dear Mr. Rich-Man,

Here's your cheque for fifty dollars. Thank you very much, but I do not feel that I can keep it. My allowance is sufficient to afford all of the hats that I need. I am sorry that I wrote all that silly stuff about the millinery shop; it's just that I had never seen anything like it before.

However, I wasn't begging! And I would rather not accept any more charity than I have to.

Sincerely yours,

Y/N Abbott

Bruce stared down at the check. He had barely thought about it when they had been out in the city and once Y/n had sent the letter, he’d dispatched the check without a second thought.

Clark Kent, who had been present during the discussion about Y/N's shopping woes, entered the study with a knowing expression. "Having trouble with the whole 'helping' thing?" Clark quipped, a smile playing on his lips.

Bruce sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I just wanted to make things a bit easier for her. She didn't have to return the check."

Clark leaned against the desk, crossing his arms. "Bruce, you know Y/N at this point. She's independent and proud. Accepting help might not come naturally to her, especially from someone like you."

Bruce frowned, the frustration evident in his eyes. "But I want to help. She shouldn't have to feel lesser than her peers."

Clark nodded, understanding Bruce's genuine concern. "Maybe it's not about the help itself, but how it's offered. Try sending her a letter with a short note explaining why you sent the check. Make it personal. Sometimes, a few carefully chosen words can make a big difference."

Bruce considered Clark's suggestion, recognizing the wisdom in his friend's advice. "You think that might work?"

"Y/N's a writer, Bruce. Words matter to her. A thoughtful note can make the gesture feel less like charity and more like a friend looking out for another," Clark explained.

Taking a deep breath, Bruce reached for a pen and paper.

Miss Abbott, I go against my rules by penning this letter but I find myself unable to let this matter go. This check is not charity but a gift from a friend who wishes to see you excel in all matters. I wish you to be able to experience all that your peers are able to. I have never sponsored a woman before and I confess that I lack the knowledge to ensure that you are equal to your peers. I kindly request that you keep this cheque as an apology for my own failings as your patron. Mr. Smith

As Bruce sealed the letter, he handed it to Alfred, who was passing by. "Alfred, make sure this gets to Miss Abbott. And let's hope this time, she accepts it."

#toomanyrobins #batman #batman imagine #batman x reader #bruce wayne #bruce wayne imagine #bruce wayne x reader #battison #battison imagine #dcu #dcu imagine

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