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abyssruler · 7 months

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furina’s guide on the art of matchmaking

neuvillette x gn!reader

it’s no secret that furina is constantly bored of the mundanity that comes with court, but with the recent discovery of neuvillette’s crush on you, things have just gotten a lot more interesting. if only you and neuvillette would just get together, but alas, it comes down to the great hydro archon to bring justice to neuvillette’s sad, pathetic love life.

furina pov, comedy, furina being dramatic as hell

Furina knows the best way to get under Neuvillette’s skin is through you. The Iudex may seem impassive from the outside, but she knows where to look for his tells, particularly when he’s annoyed (she has, after all, been the recipient to silently judging stares, usually those of a disappointed or even irritated nature).

And she’s seen the way Neuvillette looks at you—his face softening, an almost imperceptible smile on his lips, and most damningly of all, the slightest hint of a blush whenever you stare into his eyes a little too long to be considered proper.

It’s all so entertaining to watch, if a bit miffing to endure seeing how utterly slow the two of you are. If Furina had been in Neuvillette’s shoes, she would have long since enacted a performance grander than anything Fontaine has ever seen and asked you out on a date. Not just any date though, no, she would have to pull an all-nighter to come up with the best date there is. One does not simply go on a date with the God of Justice and have it be mediocre.

But all that aside, with how boring Neuvillette is with his stricter than strict rules and views on how one must go about their day, it falls upon her to make sure he doesn’t die as a decrepit old bachelor who’s never felt the touch of another person intimately. (Not that Furina had any say on the topic of intimacy, seeing as she’s never had any experience in the romantic aspects of life, but experience means nothing compared to the wisdom of the God of Justice!)

So, after many nights spent huddled beneath her blankets, scribbling on her notebook and brainstorming the best way to get a rise out of Neuvillette, she happened upon a breakthrough. An idea so great it would not only be something worthy of the Steambird’s headlines, but also be something the people of Fonatine would speak of for years to come.

Yes, it all comes down to this very moment, standing over the highest place in the opera with hundreds of eyes watching her as she points an accusing finger at your figure standing on the very stage she’s set up.

Neuvillette watches it all with his eyes narrowed at her, hands clasped tightly around his cane, and Furina would have loved to relish in that reaction, but alas, she must continue with her script.

With a haughty smile, she meets your eyes as she yells out loud to her captivated audience.

“I charge you, (Y/N), with the crime of theft!”

The people below gasp in shock at the sudden accusation. Only natural, of course. You, an esteemed person of reputable background who most people view as a kind person, being charged with theft? How scandalous!

But that’s not all!

“You stand accused of thievery,” Furina pauses for a dramatic effect, feeling the spectators hold their breaths as they await her final verdict.

She then looks up at Neuvillette, and it takes all she has in her not to burst in hysterics at the comically pinched face he’s sporting. She moves her finger from you to Neuvillette, practically preening in place as the assembled crowd below let out varying expressions of shock.

And with a smug smile, she deals the final blow.

“For stealing the Chief Justice of Fontaine’s heart!”

One, two, three—

Screams erupt from below. Women squealing in delight while the men cheer at the sudden twist from accusation to romance.

Furina basks in the attention as the people sing praises of her.

“Of course, how could not I have seen it before?”

“Lady Furina is so sharp to have caught on!”

“Monsieur Neuvillette and (Y/N) do make a good pair, don’t they?”

“How ingenious! As expected of our Lady Furina!”

But then, Neuvillette stands, a stern look on his face as he taps his cane on the ground hard enough to rattle her eardrums.

“Order!”

His face could have been made from stone with how hard he’s looking at her. If looks could kill, she’d be dead on the spot. Yikes! Perhaps it’s time to make a swift escape…

“Lady Furina, might I remind you that charges and accusations are not to be made lightly within the court. To abuse your position in order to make a ridiculous statement. I…”

With every word that leaves his mouth, Furina slowly begins to feel that perhaps she’d been too hasty in thinking that all would turn out well. And oh, maybe she should have thought up of scenarios and what-to-dos after she finished performing her grand plan, but in her defense, she’d been too excited at the prospect of finally pushing you two together that it completely slipped her mind!

Is it too late to claim it was all an elaborate performance not meant to be taken seriously?

Neuvillette stares thunderously up at her.

She’ll take that as a no, then.

Just when all hope seemed to have been lost, a savior comes in the form of you raising your hand.

Neuvillette immediately stops speaking in favor of addressing you.

“Would the accused like to defend their innocence?”

You take a deep breath, gaze briefly flitting to Furina’s before meeting Neuvillette’s. And even without much prompt, from that single glance alone, she knew she was about to witness something extremely entertaining.

“I… I would like to press charges as well,” you say evenly, and for a second, Furina’s heart drops as she thinks you’re about to charge her for false accusations and perhaps even slander, (the first time in history that anyone has charged the God of Justice for a crime!) but then, you continue—

“I would like to press charges against you, Monsieur Neuvillette, for stealing my heart too.”

Your statement is followed by a stunned silence that only lasts for a brief moment, before it’s overcome by exclamations and whoops at the sudden turn of events.

Furina falls back on her seat and howls with laughter as she watches Neuvillette be struck speechless, red creeping up his cheeks as your statement echoes across the cavernous hall. She reminds herself to gift you something extravagant for saving her at the very last moment.

Ah, what a delightful way to end the show.

She watches you direct a besotted smile towards Neuvillette. Another day, another poor sod saved from the horrors of a nonexistent love life.

Furina mentally pats herself on the back for a job well done.

#furina: another day another slay #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #neuvillette x reader #genshin neuvillette x reader #gn reader #furina #focalors

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satoruwiki · 2 months

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omg more food pay pls!!! maybe whipped cream???

🍰ଓ ｡ﾟ.CHANTILLY ۪ 𑁬 ໋

minors, ageless and blank blogs dni.

content: nsfw; smut; porn w/o plot; afab!f!reader; implied relationship; cuffing; cunnilingus; food play; inappropriate use of whipped cream

w.c: 1.3k

n/a: do not use whipped cream on the poosay guys, it can cause you a yeast infection. any request/interaction supporting this post is very much appreciated <3

"What do you think? Tastes good?" you looked at him with anticipation glimmering in your eyes, a little excitement and nervousness coursing your veins as you waited for his verdict.

Satoru hummed and tapped his finger over his lips, pretending to think very thoroughly about it, toying with you until you lightly swatted his shoulder, impatiently whining to give you his answer already.

He chuckled and rubbed the area you slapped him at like you actually inflicted pain on him and nodded. "It's good, baby. I'm proud of you," he finally said, pressing his lips on your forehead, though you weren't satisfied with his answer.

"That's it? Just 'good'?" You questioned with your brows furrowing in disappointment, a baby pout forming on your lips.

Satoru cupped your face between his large hands, forcing you to tilt your head back to lock your eyes with his. "What's wrong, you don't like my answer?" he murmured, to which you answered with a light nod. Satoru pressed an apologetic and chaste kiss on your lips, his eyes looking at you like you were the most precious thing in the world (which you were) for him, "I'm sorry, I didn't know my girl liked my praising so much. I'll do it better: the chantilly was delicious, you're so good at baking and always know what I like," he praised smoothly before kissing you again, earning a shy laugh from you.

You felt his wholesome smile on your lips as he filled you with sugary kisses, your heart fluttering inside your chest. Smoothly, he purred, "You know how it would taste better though?"

—

You squirmed underneath him, frustrated your movements were limited by your arms cuffed to the bed, whining. "Satoru, take these off, please," you begged, a soft mewl escaping your lips as he lapped over your chantilly-covered tits, licking them clean.

"No can do, sweetheart. You look exquisite like this," he mumbled, his teeth grazing your nipple and sucking on them, tasting the remnants of the sweet cream.

Satoru created a sugary path of whipped cream on your abdomen, your body shuddering at the funny and ticklish feeling of the chantilly on you. He nipped and bruised your flesh as he cleaned the cream off of you, trailing down to face your pussy, his blown-out pupils glinting with lustful hunger in them.

Your teeth latched at your bottom lip, trying to stifle your noises, which Satoru didn't like (more like he hated it). You squealed after he gave you a mean spank on your ass, following whimpers and tears brimming from your eyes at the stinging and burning pain on your rear. "Don't do that," he said, his words carrying some seriousness and depth in them, letting you know he wasn't joking despite the soft touch of his hand soothing your cheek, "I like your sounds; let me hear them."

You swallowed thickly and sucked in a sharp breath, nodding slowly at his instructions. Satoru dropped a kiss on your puffy lips and feasted on your cunt. Drool ran down his chin as he was making out with your pussy, sucking and slurping on your clit like a starved man. He was such a messy eater -- getting your arousal all over his mouth as he fucked you with his tongue, and he loved it. It was his way of demonstrating how passionate he was about making you cum.

He pursed his lips, letting a thread of spit fall onto your cunny and gave a broad stroke at your folds as he held eye contact with you, panting like he just ran a marathon, his warm breath fanning over your lower region. Your hips jerked at every harsh suck he gave on your bundle of nerves, your moans mixing with the slurping and wet noises. You wailed, feeling helpless and excruciatingly desperate that you couldn't pull at his soft, snowy hair and pushed his head closer to you with your legs.

"Sato- 'toru," you sobbed, unable to keep yourself still as he worked on making you cum. His fingers pinched your swollen clit, making you arch off the bed and cry out of pleasure. "'toru, I'm close- gonna cum," you mumbled, your throat dry and sore from all the gasping and other noises drawn out of you.

"Yeah? Wanna cum on my cock?" his voice taunting you to beg for it. Your sweet pleas always had him hard as a rock, delighted to hear your usual soft voice messed into a croaked and whining one.

"Yes, please, lemme cum on your cock," you batted your eyelashes and pouted so cutely to his eyes he couldn't deny you what you wanted, always so needy and hungry for his dick.

Satoru sighed and hovered above you, pulling you closer for a passionate kiss. His teeth caught your lower lip and nibbled on it, his playful tongue licking it and beckoning you to let it enter your mouth cavity. Seduced by the sensation of his lips against yours, you agreed to participate in the erotic game his tongue offered, parting your lips to let him explore the corners of your mouth and find your tongue in return. Satoru softly moaned into the kiss, his broad hands finding the plush of your ass and kneading the flesh thoroughly.

You felt he stole your breath every time his moist lips pulled away from yours, only to press them again and keep you dizzy from his touch. Immersed in his kisses, you didn't realize he had lined up with your entrance until you felt the tip pressing against your slit and pushed past it, his manhood stretching your vaginal walls.

A small gasp left your parted lips as his dick sank down into your warm and spongy walls. No matter how many times you did this with him, his cock would always leave you breathless once he was fully sheathed inside you.

Satoru cursed under his breath; your pussy gripped him so tightly he already felt himself close. He looked at you under his white eyelashes, admiring your blissed features, your eyebrows knitted together, your glassy and half-lidded eyes begging him to fuck you without needing to say it vocally, your plump and wet lips moist in saliva from the previous passionate kissing parted gasping for air. You looked beautiful in his eyes, his favourite expression of yours with no doubt.

He brought his hand to cup your cheek. "You look so cute right now. I'd take a picture if I could," he murmured, his lips looking to mark your neck with purple-hued bruises as he fucked you tenderly.

Satoru's hot breath grazed your skin, making your body shudder. Your hands wandered off to touch from his shoulder blades down to his abdomen, enjoying how his abs would tense under your soft touch. Satoru palmed your belly in return to feel how deep his cock stroked your sweet cunt, his voice rasped and breathy. "You feel me? Feel how deep this cock is inside you?"

You mewled, nodding, your legs wrapped around his waist and your heel digging to push him closer to you. "I love it, fuck me harder, please," you begged, hoisting your hips to meet his thrust.

He picked up his pace, his hands now holding your hips firmly as he plunged aimlessly in your pussy, placing your legs over his shoulders, your feet dangling in the air with each powerful thrust of his hips against your pelvis.

The stimulation of his abdomen rubbing against your clitoris brought you to ecstasy, your loud moans and spasms heralding the arrival of your long-awaited orgasm. Satoru let out a breathy and shaky victorious laugh, enjoying your face contorting in pleasure and your lips pronouncing his name oh-so sweetly.

Satoru would soon join you, pulling out his cock just in time and tugging it eerily, letting out a groan as he spurts his hot sperm onto your convulsing abdomen.

You were tired, your chest falling up and down dramatically, and your arms felt numb and tingling by the lack of proper blood circulation through them. You breathed heavily through your nose, slowly coming down from your haze until you smelled something burning.

"What's that smell?" Satoru questioned, grimacing at the unpleasant smell.

Then it clicked, and you cursed, your eyes wide as saucers in panic. "Holy shit! My cake!"

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beomiracles · 16 days

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SEVEN MINUTES IN HEAVEN

─ “Soob, you mean to tell me you’ve never made out with anyone?”. Soobin remains quiet but you feel him bobbing his head in a nod. “Then we gotta fix that don’t we?”

pairings: soobinxafab!reader warnings: sub!soobin, dom!reader, implied virgin!soobin, inexperienced soobin, oral (m rec), making out, reader makes out with multiple people, no established relationships

A/N ─ started writing out of boredom and then I couldn't stop... NOT PROOFREAD heh :3

The empty beer bottle is spun around yet again. You watch in anticipation as it slows down, finally stopping in front of Yeonjun. He smirks as he glances toward Beomgyu who was in charge of the game. “Well?”, he asks and Beomgyu raises a hand as he scratches his chin thoughtfully.

“I dare you to…kiss the hottest girl in the room”, he finally says. Without hesitating Yeonjun leans forward and claims your lips in a messy kiss. His tongue is quick to slide inside your mouth and you can taste the alcohol on him.

Running a hand through his hair you lean into the kiss. Beomgyu whistles from somewhere beside you and you can hear the quiet murmurs and whispers that fill the room. When Yeonjun pulls away he gives you a wink as he sits back down.

Beomgyu claps triumphantly as he urges Yeonjun to spin the bottle again. As he does everyone leans forward slightly. The bottle comes to a stop in front of Hueningkai who squirms uncomfortably in his seat.

The look on Beomgyu’s face suddenly turns mischievous. “Huening”, he drawls, “I dare you to make out with the person to your left”. The younger boy throws a quick glance to the girl on his left as his face immediately turns a sheer pink.

Shaking his head he downs the shot in front of him instead and Beomgyu tsks. “How disappointing”, he murmurs as Hueningkai spins the bottle. Before you know it the empty glass bottle has stopped in front of you.

Your stomach is immediately filled with butterflies as you glance toward Beomgyu, awaiting his verdict. He seems to consider his choice for a long time before finally revealing it, “I dare you to spend seven minutes in heaven with the next person the bottle lands on”.

Glancing between the bottle on the floor and the shot sitting in front of you as you bite your bottom lip. You were no pussy. “Bet”, you say as you lean forward to set the bottle in motion once more.

The room goes completely silent as everyone waits in awe for the bottle to choose its next victim. After what feels like forever it slows down, it passes Hueningkai and Yeonjun. And just as you think it’s about to stop on Taehyun, it moves just slightly to the right.

Soobin swallows hard as he glances up to meet your gaze. A small smirk tugs at your lips. You had met Soobin once before, according to Beomgyu he wasn’t big on parties, you could tell. The nervous flicker of his gaze as he pushes his glasses further up on his nose, gave it all away.

Though tonight it seemed Beomgyu had finally managed to convince the poor boy. And look where it got him.

“Well?” Beomgyu interferes as he leans forward, “you gon’ do it or not?”. Standing up you reach a hand out to Soobin, “of course we are, right Soob?”. His gaze travels from your eyes to your hand as he hesitantly takes it.

You pull him to his feet before dragging him to the closet in the corner of the room. Pushing him inside the dark space, you close the doors behind you. Having underestimated just how small the closet actually was you find yourself almost pressed against Soobin’s tall frame.

The boy is completely quiet, and if it wasn’t for his ragged breathing and the fact that you were pressed up against him, you wouldn’t even have known that he was here.

“Are you ready for the time of your life, sweetie?”, you tease as you trail your finger along his neck. Soobin flinches beneath your touch and breathes out a quiet, “what?”. You can’t resist the giggle that surfaces. “Relax, I’m just playin’”, you say as you lean back against the door.

“We don’t actually have to do anything”, you shrug. Soobin is quiet for a moment before he speaks again, “really…?”, he whispers and you frown. “Yeah? You didn’t know?”, you ask, somewhat confused.

“No…”, he admits and you can hear him fidgeting nervously on the spot. “You’ve never done ‘seven minutes in heaven’ before?”, you question and Soobin confirms that he in fact has not.

“Do you usually do…stuff in it?”, he asks shyly and you grin, “yeah, y’know the usual”. Soobin is quiet for a moment, as if considering if he should ask his question or not, it was cute. “The usual?” he finally whispers.

“Uh-huh”, you lean forward again, warm breath fanning his neck as you speak, “y’know, a little innocent making out, if you’re quick, maybe a blowjob too”. Soobin’s breath hitches in his throat and you can hear him swallowing a gulp.

“But you would know all about that already”, you say as your index finger traces his jawline. You can feel him shaking his head. “No?”, you ask, faking a surprised tone. “Soob, you mean to tell me you’ve never made out with anyone?”.

Soobin remains quiet but you feel him bobbing his head in a nod. “Then we gotta fix that don’t we?”, you whisper as you lean forward, your lips ghost over his as you wait for him to push you back or say something.

When he doesn’t you softly press your lips against his. You feel him tense up as you move your lips against his stiff ones. The kiss was probably one of the worst ones you’d ever had, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away.

After a moment Soobin’s lips finally respond against your own. He kisses awkwardly, but you couldn’t blame him. Your tongue experimentally swipes at his lower lip and to your surprise he immediately parts his lips to let you inside.

Soft fingers trace his lean and surprisingly toned torso. You longed to see all that you were feeling. As your tongue pushes its way inside his mouth he makes a small noise, it was so fucking sexy.

His large hands move awkwardly to rest on your hips. You fight the urge to roll your eyes. Bringing one of your own hands to his, you guide his hand to rest against your breast. To your surprise he gently starts fondling your breasts as he pinches your hardening nipples between his thumb and index finger.

When you finally pull away yours and his heavy breaths fill the small closet. Swiping your tongue against your bottom lip, you smirk. “Not too bad for a first timer”, you comment and Soobin makes a small noise.

His evident hard on doesn’t pass you unnoticed. “Hard from just a little bit of kissing?” you ask, “you sure know how to flatter me”, you say as your fingers play with the hem of his jeans.

You glance toward his face, being unable to read his expression in the dark closet. “Wan’ me to help you out?”, you ask, not really expecting an answer. Soobin lets out a heavy breath, “y-yeah…”, he mumbles and your face lights up in a grin.

Your hand finds the zipper of his jeans, “you have to promise me one thing though”. “What is that?” Soobin asks, a hint of uncertainty in his voice. “You gon’ have to be quiet, can you do that, sweetie?”

You can make out the nodding of his head, “yes”, he whispers and you smirk.

Quickly getting to work, you unzip his jeans as you push them down along with his briefs. Though unable to see it, the feel of his cock tells you that he’s big, much bigger than anyone you’d had before.

Though you remained confident as you gave him a few soft strokes. The tip was already coated in a sweet layer of precum and you used to glide your hand along him. Soobin flinches under your touch as he lets out small noises of pleasure. If only he knew how sexy he sounded like that.

Slowly sinking to your knees, you run your free hand along his inner thigh. Soobin shivers above you as his hips buck up into your hand. “So impatient”, you mumble as your hot breath fans his hard cock. Soobin lets out a small cry of pleasure and you give him a harsher stroke, “what did I say about keepin’ quiet?”

He sniffles and lets out a small “‘m sorry”. “You’ll just focus on keeping quiet, and I’ll be good to you, okay?”. Your hand keeps a steady rhythm on his pulsating cock and Soobin nods so furiously that you can make it out in the darkness.

Pressing your tongue flat against the base of his twitching dick, your stomach fluttering at the way he reacts. Slowly working your way up and around him as your hand supports the movements of your tongue.

When you reach his tip you gently suck it into your mouth, pretending it to be a lollipop. Soobin’s hips snap forward, thrusting his cock further down your throat without as much as a warning. His sudden movements have you gagging as you pull back slightly.

Quiet apologies spill from his mouth as he tries to steady himself. “‘m sorry, shit, didn’t mean to, i’m so so sorry, please forgive me”.

“Just focus on keepin’ quiet, love”, you remind him as you place on hand on his hip to push him back. Soobin’s ramble of apologies are immediately replaced by a soft moan as you reattach your lips to his tip.

Determined to take him as deep as possible, you relax your jaw as you push him further down your throat. The feeling of his cock twitching deep inside of your throat has your core clenching and you moan softly around him, earning a whimper from the boy.

“mhhn, ‘m gonna…gonna cum, please…can I?” Soobin breathes above you. You’re surprised that he asks you for permission but the way your cunt pulsates at his words has you immediately nodding around his cock.

“You gon’ cum in my mouth, pretty boy?” you ask as you place your tongue against his tip. Soobin whimpers above you, “fuck, yes”, his trembling hands find their way to your hair as he grips onto it.

Hot spurts of liquid coat your tongue as he finishes with a soft groan. You moan at the sensation, licking him all over as you gently stroke his softening cock. Soobin’s breathing is short and ragged as he leans against the closet walls.

Wiping your mouth on the back of your hand, you gingerly rise to your feet, knees aching. As Soobin tucks himself back into his pants, you run a hand through your disheveled hair. “I think our seven minutes are up, love”.

Soobin lets out a short breath, “y-yeah..”. Without warning you push the closet doors open as you walk out. The bright light of the room immediately blinds you. Soobin steps out behind you and for the first time since you entered the small closet, you see him clearly.

Hair sticking to his sweaty forehead, his glasses crooked on his nose and his face a pretty flushed pink. He awkwardly shifts on the spot and you smirk triumphantly.

“That was thirteen minutes and forty-seven seconds”, Beomgyu retorts from his spot on the couch.

Wiping your smudged lipstick you turn to him, “I’ll make it fifteen for you”. He grins, “bet”.

taglist ✎ @theresawtf @jjklvr9 @binniebakery @gardnhee @beomies-world @unknowzzn

#txt #txt fanfic #txt post #soobin x reader #choi soobin #soobin #txt soobin #soobin smut #beomiracles ₊˚⊹ ᰔ #beomiracles hard thoughts ✧˖

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daisies-daydreams · 2 months

Text

Just One More (Hiromi Higuruma x F!Reader Drabble)

Pairing: Hiromi Higuruma x F!Reader Category: Smut Warnings: Not really proofread, Breeding Kink, Referenced Multiple Orgasms, Creampies, Unprotected P in V Sex (You Know the Drill), Swearing, Dirty Talk, Lactation Kink Word Count: 1.4k+ Summary: You let Hiromi use you to destress after a long day. A/N: I have no words 😳

Hiromi walked in through the front door - his footsteps thudding against the hardwood floor as he released a long, heavy sigh. Dark bags rested beneath his eyes as he eagerly loosened his tie. The lawyer ran his large hand through his messy, black hair.

He wasn’t sure how much longer he could take the raw disappointment of yet another guilty verdict. All the hours, all the effort…when would it finally be worth it?

“Hiro!” you suddenly squealed. The dark-haired man opened his eyes, a soft smile crossing his exhausted features as you bounded over like an excited puppy. Hiromi chuckled as you nuzzled your face into his chest and wrapped your arms around him. He kissed the top of your head as the two of you simply stood in the genkan, your bodies snugly pressed against one another as he shoved his sharp nose into your hair.

“Did you use my shampoo?” he asked with a quirked brow. You adorably bit your bottom lip as you wriggled in his touch.

“I…I just missed you so much,” you frowned as you traced your fingers along his jaw before cupping his cheek. Hiromi’s breath hitched; your light touch like fire dancing across his skin. “Missed the way you’d smile when I kissed you in the morning,” you said as you reached up on your tip-toes and pecked his lips. Hiromi blinked as his chest grew tight, his hands falling on your perfect waist. He was completely mesmerized by the way you swayed your hips as you parted your lips.

“The scent of your shampoo and body wash on our sheets,” you continued as you nimbly worked his tie free from its knot. He chuckled as you kept it slung behind his neck and tugged on it, drawing his head closer to you. His eyes lit up as you pecked along his jaw, your hands now slowly rubbing up and down his crisp, white button-up.

“The way you’d fuck me into the mattress until the bed sounded like it’d break,” you purred into his ear. Hiromi’s brows immediately shot up as his lips quirked into a wry grin. You gasped as he backed you against the wall, his larger frame looming over you as he swallowed thickly.

“You want my cock, baby?” he rumbled lowly while letting his palms fall on your breasts. Hiromi’s cock twitched beneath his dark slacks as you mewled while he tenderly squeezed your sensitive mounds. His smirk grew as he massaged your tits, his heartbeat racing as he brushed his lips over the shell of your ear. “Want me to stuff this pretty little pussy with my cum after I pound it raw?” the dark-haired man rumbled before nibbling in your earlobe. He flashed a satisfied smile when you moaned and arched into his touch.

“F-Fuck yes, Hiromi,” you whined.

+++

Hiromi clenched his jaw as he squeezed your hips in his massive palms. His eyes were locked on the way your greedy, slick cunt swallowed his cock whole with every quick snap of his hips.

“Fuck baby, k-keep squeezing me like that,” he groaned as your walls sucked him in a vice. You wailed beneath him, your puffy nipples rubbing against his chest as your legs wrapped around his sharp waist. “H-Hiro! It’s so much!” your voice cracked as overstimulation washed over your body. Hiromi chuckled as he lapped up the tears that spilled down your burning cheeks.

“I know, baby. You’ve done so well for me so far,” he praised as he snapped his hips, driving his fat, girthy cock impossibly deeper inside your weeping hole. “Just. One. More…please,” he panted between thrusts. You gazed into his eyes and audibly swallowed. You gave a quick nod as your breasts bounced with the push and pull of his hips.

You gasped when he suddenly hooked his hands behind your knees and folded you in half, his dick still lodged deep inside your raw cunny as he moaned.

“Fuck!” you screamed as Hiromi mercilessly pounded into your heavenly pussy. A lewd concoction of your combined juices leaked out of your stretched out entrance, your sheets completly soaked with sweat, cum and spit.

Hiromi sucked in a sharp breath as he felt his heavy, potent balls tighten while they wetly slapped against your asshole.

“I’m gonna fill this pretty pussy up. Make sure it’s nice and full of my cum,” your lover rumbled as he gazed into your eyes deeply. Your breathing grew ragged with every thrust he gave, your pussy growing tighter and tighter as soft, pretty moans fell past your swollen lips.

“P-Please fill me, Hiro. Wanna have your babies,” you hiccuped. His thrusts faltered at your words as something primal was lit deep inside his belly and burned through his entire being. He blinked a few times as he set his pace again while wearing a gentle smirk.

“You want to have my babies, hm?” he lilted while rubbing his dark patch of hair against your swollen clit. You gasped and arched your spine as his hips slapped against your ass, his cock gliding along your messy, gummy walls as he grunted. “Want to get all round and swollen with my children?” Hiromi groaned possessively as he squeezed the back of your knees.

“Yes!” you cried as the wooden bed frame creaked beneath his feral thrusts. Hiromi’s cock twitched as he thought about your tits being so swollen and full of fresh milk - how it would make you so sore that he had no other choice but to suckle on them himself. His mouth watered as he felt himself balance on the edge of his release.

Hiromi rested his sweaty forehead against yours as his hot breath fell over your face.

“Come on baby: cum with me,” he said with a deep, guttural groan. His thrusts came to a halt when he felt your soft walls clench his cock in an intoxicating vice. Hiromi’s jaw went slack as his eyes rolled back. “(Y-Y/N),” he moaned as his cock swelled and pulsed inside your delicious heat, pumping thick loads of his seed against the swollen, gummy plug to your womb.

You whimpered as he shallowly thrusted into you as he violently came, painting your walls stark white as he groaned. Hiromi sighed heavily before opening his eyes, the sight before him too precious: you folded in half and stuffed to the brim with his softening cock.

You mewled as your lover kissed your forehead, his lips curved into a satisfied grin.

“You did so well for me, baby,” Hiromi murmured as he peppered your glowing face with kisses. He cooed while slowly pulling out of your tight cunt, his cock slipping out with a slick “pop”. He sucked in a sharp breath when he saw a river of his cum gush out of your puckering hole.

You moaned as he slowly swiped his fingertips over your lower lips and shoved his seed back inside. He smiled as he wiped his thumb over your entrance before coming to your side. He chuckled softly as you snuggled up to him, draping one of his toned arms over your smaller form.

Hiromi sighed peacefully as he brushed his thick fingers through your hair.

“Hiro?” you piped up. He hummed in reply as his heartbeat began to steady. Hiromi raised his brows when you wiggled in his grasp. “Do you…do you really want to have kids?” you asked in a timid voice. Your love’s chest tightened as he sucked in a sharp breath. His fingers ceased halfway through your locks as he swallowed thickly.

“Yes,” he simply replied. Despite all the atrocities and injustices he’s seen in the world, he couldn’t help but give into a deep, primal desire that sprouted from his chest like a vine. “Do you?” he asked with a hint of hesitation in his voice. You slowly turned in his arms, your eyes soft and smile gentle as you brushed your fingers down his face.

“I do,” you beamed. Hiromi’s heart completely melted as he gazed into your eyes. You squealed and laughed as he rolled you on top of him, his strong arms caging you against his rugged body as he kissed your lips. “Hiro!” you giggled - a sound that always soothed the dull ache that lingered inside his chest. Hiromi smiled as he slowly pulled back, admiring the precious treasure he held in his arms.

————

Thank you for reading! 💗

Taglist: @maybethatfanfictionwriter @depressesoespressorat @yuhhtricki999 @lavenderbabu @thedevax @famouscattale @spktrgantenk @zombieblogx @mrswhitethornbelikov @migueloharastruelove @galaxy-dusk @samanthashadowriley @theloneshadow24 @xxkay15xx @inspace1 @manlikemilesmyguy @ghostslynx @synamonthy @oharasfilipinawife @scaleniusrm @jotarossshark @acotarobbsessed @8xbygirl @catchmeupimgettingoutofhere @lyrasdrawer @rinverse

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spacebarbarianweird · 2 months

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Tiny Dhampir

Synopsis: Astarion is spending time with Alethaine.

Tags: comfort, dadstarion, dhampirs, tooth-rotting fluff

Alethaine's age: 3.5 years old

Thanks @themadlu for beta-reading!

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

Astarion meditates.

In his memory he stands in front of his tent. It's dark, and difficult to say if it’s night or day. It's always midnight in the Shadow-Cursed Lands.

He has to tell her. He can’t continue like that.

Tiriel doesn’t deserve to be lied to.

Astarion clasps his hands. She will break up with him, and she will force him to leave the camp. And she will be right to do so.

He hears a loud laughter. Tiriel walks into the camp and waves to him. She is so beautiful in her Drow armor that Astarion can’t take his eyes from the half-elven warrior.

Astarion desires to touch Tiriel, to hold her hand, to taste her blood, to feel her warmth.

He doesn’t have a right to do either of that.

“Tiriel!” he finally approaches her. “Tiriel, can we talk?”

She’s just taken her armor off. “Yes, what is it?”

Tiriel is so close he can feel her heartbeat. Shame burns him; he is preparing himself as if this were the last conversation between the two of them.

Come what may, Astarion decides.

He confesses. His lies, his ill intentions, his betrayal.

“You deserve something real. I want us to be something real.”

Silence.

Astarion waits for the verdict. It's difficult to decipher Tiriel’s facial expression. Is she sad? Is she disappointed? Will she dump him and go to the wizard’s tent?

Of course, what did he expect? Tiriel opened up to him and he used her body for his own sake.

“Astarion…” Tiriel says. “I am not stupid. I knew what you were trying to do.”

Astarion stares at her in disbelief. What the hells… He expected any response but not that.

“Are you not angry?”

“Why would I be?” Tiriel stands up and smiles. “Astarion, love, if it makes you feel better, I forgive you, but there is nothing to apologize for. You were trying to survive. And you didn’t know any better.”

“And what does it… mean… for us?”

“It means I love you and want to be with you. It means I want to cuddle with you at night and hold your hand by day. It means I want to help you with your master and I know you can protect me in the fight. If you don’t want to have sex, it’s ok, we can be together without it.”

Astarion is so shocked he can’t say anything coherent. He expected tears, curses, and violence. Instead, there is so much softness he is drowning in it.

Tiriel approaches him, Astarion pulls back, his mind rushes, and he clenches his fists but instead of pain, there is just a gentle hug.

Tiriel holds him in her strong arms, pressing her face against his chest.

Astarion hesitates and puts his arms on her back. He might imagine this but he thinks she is smiling.

That night, she brought her few things to his tent. It was weird to share the bedroll with someone else and not have sex. He remembers listening to her quiet breath, to her heartbeat, and then waking up to her playing with his curls.

Tiriel. His love. His wife. His savior. His partner. His friend. His thiramin.

The mother of his child.

Astarion slowly returns to reality. He finds himself in a comfortable bed, not a bedroll, and with a soft pillow under his head.

Home.

He is at home.

At his own place, his and Tiriel’s, in a distant town far from Sword Coast called Daggerlake.

Astarion feels someone is staring

“Good morning, princess,” he mutters, looking at the ceiling.

A three-year-old girl with long silver hair stands on the ceiling as if she was a bat. Her hair is messy, it looks like she’s tried to braid it herself but couldn’t handle a brush. Her black dress makes her look even smaller than she is.

Alethaine doesn’t reply and keeps staring at her dad.

“How long have you been there?” Astarion elbows up. “Is anything wrong?”

Alethaine’s ears twitch and her lower lip quivers. She looks like she is about to cry.

“Princess, use your words,” Astarion lies back on the bed and reaches his hands up. Alethaine immediately falls in his arms.

'When will mum return?’ she finally asks. “She's been away for too long!”

Astarion places Alethaine beside him and his daughter immediately nestles in the crook of his right hand. She is so small, so delicate - like a kitten or a porcelain doll, much smaller than the human children in their town.

“She will be home soon. Maybe in a few days. Depends on how stupid her new companions are,” Astarion says and then he hears a fast heartbeat.

Meanwhile, Aletaine barely breathes and her pale skin is rather cold; she has a natural heartbeat which Astarion adores listening to.

Alive.

Technically, half-alive - Alethaine is a dhampir, after all, but she grows up, she eats, and her heart beats. And what bewilders Astarion is that Alethaine loves being held by him.

“Tell me, princess, were you standing on the ceiling because you’d forgotten when your mum was coming back or did something scare you?” Astarion takes Alethaine’s tiny hand in his and caresses her perfectly pale fingers.

The lower lip quivers again.

Alethaine bursts in tears.

Astarion would always freak out when she started crying but with time he got used to the fact that Alethaine cries because she can. Sometimes it’s genuine crying because of a bruised knee, an unfortunate fall from the ceiling, a dead character in a story, or a nightmare.

But most of the time Alethaine’s cries are her way of communicating she’s been lonely.

Astarion sits up and places Alethaine on his lap.

He manages to decipher a complaint that he’s been sleeping for too long. And also how did he dare not to wake up because she was intensely staring?

“Princess, you are a big girl, look at you, you are almost four! You can spend some time on your own!”

“I am three!”

“You will be four in two months”

“I am three!” Alethaine insists. She immediately stops crying and now she looks a bit angry. “I am three!”

“All right, all right. Are you hungry?”

She shakes her head.

“How about you tell me what you want?” Astarion kisses the crown of her head.

The girl sniffs. The other thing that bewilders Astarion is how much she trusts him. She comes to him when she is scared, when she is hurt, when she just wants to play or read. He was sure she would always prefer Tiriel to him - with the warmth of her mortal body. But no! Alethaine’s tiny world consists of two people - her mother and father – and it fits in one wooden house in the underground part of Daggerlake.

Alethaine trusts her father. Alethaine trusts Astarion with her tiny half-dead heart, that he loves her, that he protects her, and that he will never hurt her.

Astarion hopes he will never disappoint her.

The dhampir then jumps to the floor and walks over to the stack of books. She picks up the third one from the bottom, causing the stack to collapse, and hands the heavy volume to Astarion.

It's a book on the geography of the Lands of Intrigue, a faraway southern region – with maps, pictures, and text in different languages.

“This. I want to read.”

“You want me to read to you or you want to read with me?” he specifies.

“Read to me,” she says. “Please,” she quickly adds.

“How can I say ‘no’ to such a well-behaved young lady?”

At first, Alethaine is deeply concentrated on the text studying the detailed pictures of dragons and monsters but with every page, she gets more restless.

She bares her fangs as if trying to yawn and Astarion notices something is off with her teeth.

“Alethaine, open your mouth,” Astarion asks

Alethaine immediately squeezes her lips and shakes her head.

“Alethaine.”

“No.”

“Alethaine, I will just take a look.”

Alethaine gives up and obliges. She has a full set of baby teeth but her upper fangs are long and pointy. They grew very early when Tiriel was still breastfeeding her and Astarion suspects those fangs cause a lot of discomfort to his daughter.

The inner part of her lower lips bleeds pierced with the fangs. The upper gums are also irritated as if Alethaine rubbed them.

“Does it hurt?”

Alethaine nods.

“Why didn't you say that?”

“I don’t know.”

Astarion would sigh if he could breathe. “Let’s go to see the healer.”

It takes an eternity for Alethaine to put on her clothes. She is constantly distracted - either with a spider crawling on the ceiling, with her dolls, or with the book about the Lands of Intrigue. Astarion suspects she does it on purpose.

The most difficult part is to make Alethaine wear warm boots. The dhampir refuses to acknowledge it’s winter and even though snow doesn't fall underground it is cold outside.

Alethaine wants her black shoes - period. And it doesn’t matter that they are intended for summer and that they are already too small for her feet.

“Alethaine, put on your boots,” Astarion repeats for the fourth time.

“No!” Alethaine cries again “I want this!”

“Then we are not going to the healer.”

“Fine! I don't want to!”

“Then your teeth will keep hurting. And you won’t be able to eat sweets. There will be a lot of cakes and candies at Solstice and you won’t be able to taste any of them.”

Alethaine tries to cry once again, but Astarion pretends he is busy studying a spider crawling on the wall. The dhampir realizes she’s lost this round and puts on the winter boots. Then, she stares at her father.

“Is anything wrong, princess?” Astarion gives out a laugh. Alethaine is so stubbornly adorable.

“Daddy”

“Hm?”

“I can’t lace them.”

Astarion kneels in front of her. “And what do we say when we want something?”

“Please”

“Good girl”

Astarion quickly laces her boots. The rest of the winter clothes are put on without a fight and they finally go outside.

As they walk to the healer's hut, Alethaine rubs her gums, and Astarion catches the scent of droplets of blood. Her blood is different—half-dead. It has a bitter odor, similar to the smell of wormwood. Astarion suspects that the reason dhampirs are immune to vampirism is because vampires get poisoned by tasting the blood of their children.

…The healer, an old halfling woman smokes her pipe outside the hut. Noticing astarion and Alethaine she puts the pipe aside.

“What do you want, creatures of the night? I don’t have blood in storage!”

“Oh I am sorry, I can't hear what you from down there, Kelma”

“Careful Astarion, I am the only healer in this wretched town! Hello, Alethaine, I can see that Dhampirs still feel the cold?”

“Hello,” Alethaine says and smiles, showing her fangs.

The healer invites them inside. Kelma is also the only midwife in the town and it was she who welcomed Alethaine into the world almost four years ago. Astarion remembers that day in every detail. His own fear, the smell of blood, Tiriel’s cries, the newborn’s squeal.

“Where is Tiriel? I thought it was you who made money by dealing with contracts.”

“Tiriel couldn’t say “no” to the prospect of working as a bodyguard in a wyvern-hunting party.”

Astarion sits on the bench and places Alethaine in his lap.

“So what happened?” the halfling asks.

“My teeth hurt,” Alethaine complains. “And my lip bleeds!”

“Open your mouth,” Kelma says and Astarion sees her concern, as she carefully touches the tips of Alethaine’s fangs.

“Is anything wrong?”

“The fangs are too big and scratch her lip. And there is simply not enough space for them.”

“But is it normal?”

“Astarion, you are the only vampire I know and this is the only dhampir I know! I don’t know if it’s normal. All right, Alethaine, I am going to do something, it will hurt for a bit but you will feel better.”

Alethaine glances at her father. Now she looks absolutely helpless.

“Kelma isn’t going to do anything bad,” he assures his daughter.

Alethaine isn’t persuaded.

Kelma takes out a small bottle with liquid and opens it. It probably doesn’t stink that much for the healer but sharpened vampiric senses are immediately averse to it. Alethaine winces.

The halfling touches Alethaine’s gums and rubs the ointment on the delicate skin. The second the healer puts her finger away, the little Dhampir bursts into tears again. Now it’s tears of betrayal because she didn’t expect the medicine to cause an unpleasant sensation.

“Alethaine” Kelma coo. “You are such a big strong girl, don’t cry.”

“It burns!”

“I know,” Kelma chuckles. “Astarion, don’t let her eat for a couple of hours. And now take your tiny copy, I have work to do”

“What did you say?”

“I said take your tiny copy of a daughter and … oh damn, Astarion, I forgot you can’t see yourself in the mirror. She is your copy. And I am not talking about fangs.”

Astarion shakes his head in disbelief.

His copy? Sure, he knows Alethaine has the same silver hair color and skin tone but the rest?

Does he really see himself in her?

“Daad,” Alethaine pulls his arm when they leave the healer’s hut. “Can we go to the surface? I think it’s already night!”

“Yes, why not?”

As they go to the uppertown Alethaine constantly talks. She speaks about everything she sees, and asks dozens of questions including “Why is Kelma so short if she is an adult”, “Why can’t vampires be in the sun”, and “Why does she have fangs and other children in the town don’t”. It doesn’t seem like she pays attention to the answers but Astarion has an uncanny feeling that everything he says is being engraved in her memory for life. And he should choose words carefully.

“Are you sure mum will come back by the Solstice?”

“I am.”

“Will I be an adventurer when I grow up?”

“If you want.”

It's a chilly night and the prickly stars shine in the night sky. There are barely any people outside—most of the townsfolk are halflings and humans deprived of dark vision. As for dwarves, they prefer the company of each other.

Alethaine’s skin looks almost white in the moonlight.

First, they make a snowman—Alethaine insists on adding pointy ears to its head Then, the dhampir tilts her head up and freezes as if seeing stars for the first time.

Maybe she does. She just hasn’t paid attention before.

“Look”, Astarion points at a constellation. “This is the Circle of Swords - seven bright stars forming a circle. The Goddess Mystra has her divine castle in the center of it. And below it—the Ice Snake.”

Astarion wasn’t into astronomy of any sort but once he and Tiriel hit the night road for twenty-four years after leaving Baldur’s Gate and their former companions behind, he found a lot of comfort in observing the stars. Tiriel taught him all that—how to use stars to navigate in darkness. However, she has always preferred her people’s constellation names: Faeraula instead of the Ice Snake and the Circle of Coins instead of Mystra’s Circle.

Alethaine listens to him bewildered by the night starry sky. Suddenly her ears twitch and she turns her head away, to the road leading to the town gates.

And then Astarion catches a familiar scent.

“Mum! Mum!” Alethaine cries out.

Astarion doesn’t need to strain his eyes to see Tiriel in the distance. She probably neither sees nor hears them. But both astarion and Alethaine can already distinguish her winter armor, the hood covering her red hair, and a two-handed ax on her back.

“Mum!” Alethaine cries once again and now it’s enough for Tiriel to hear her.

Alethaine sprints and rushes to her mother. Tiriel kneels, opens her arms and Alethaine jumps in her hands.

Astarion walks toward them as Tiriel smooches Alethaine’s face.

“I suppose I am not the only one in this family who needs to be kissed” Astarion smiles at Tiriel. The warrior stands up holding Alethaine in her arms and kisses him too. First his cheek, then his forehead, and then his lips.

Astarion answers her with the same tenderness. Gods, she is warm even now after spending hours in the freezing winter.

“Dealt quickly with the wyvern?”

“The party couldn’t agree on the strategy and the wyvern burnt them to crisps. I took their loot and left. And the wyvern is flying… somewhere.”

“Oh so you didn’t challenge the wyvern, did you?”

“Hmm, I wanted to fight it alone but then I remembered I have this” she kisses Alethaine’s forehead, “and this,” she kisses astarion once again. “I am a mother and a wife, why take the risk? Besides, there are plenty of monsters I can kill later!”

Astarion takes her bag and the weapon, and all three return to their home under the surface. Alethaine demands to tell her everything about Tiriel’s small adventures and Astarion feels it’s very difficult not to use “bad words” to explain how stupid those companions were.

Astarion grabs Tiriel’s hand tighter, enjoying her warmth.

Their small family looks normal.

Astarion was stripped away from his normality centuries ago. Dead men don’t have homes. They don’t have wives and daughters.

But he does.

A gentle ear rub returns him to reality.

“What happened to her teeth?” Tiriel whispers as they go inside their house. Alethaine naps in her mother’s arms.

“The healer said the fangs grew too early.”

It’s already sunrise on the surface when Tiriel collapses on their bed and asks Astarion not to wake her up even if the wyvern returns and demands a fair duel.

“Come here” Tiriel opens up a thick blanket inviting Astarion. She wraps herself around him like she does since that day they started sharing the tent and immediately drifts to sleep. Astarion tugs her close and relaxes, stealing her body heat.

When she is so close he sometimes thinks his body is warm, too.

Tag list

@tugoslovenka @marcynomercy @wintersire @vixstarria @not-so-lost-after-all @ashiro20 @theearthsfinalconfession @herstxrgirl @starlight-ipomoea @micropoe10 @astarion-imagine-archive @veillsar @elora-the-slutty-songstress @fayeriess @lumienyx @tallymonster @caitlincat-95 @tragedybunny @valeprati @lynnlovesthestars @marina-and-the-memes @waking-electric @ayselluna @connorsui @asterordinary @darkarchangel96 @locallegume @brainfullofhotsauce @coffeeanddonutscafe @my-queen-rhaenyra-targaryen

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girlwithamissingpearl · 7 months

Text

I understand things have been dry in Outlander land but even desert dry has me smh. Ladies, if you have to try that hard to shit all over SH, I’m not saying it makes you a hater but it sure as shit doesn’t make you a liker.

Back after a bit- admit it, we all need to occasionally take a break- I feel I needed to pace myself during the drought. But after a bit of scrolling, I felt compelled to dive right in. Isn’t this fandom about fun, entertainment and guilty pleasure? That’s why I’m here. So why the endless posts from the SH haters? Do people dislike SH, enjoy the snark or just think the man is stupid?

So just for fun (or insomnia) I thought I would play a short game of SH: Stupid, Smart or just SMH?

1. SH and Cons/Private events for $

Why do people have such a problem with SH trying to make a living? Most if not all actors part of a series or movie franchise participate. In my opinion SH is doing it now, so he won’t need to in his 60’s to pay the rent. While most fans are priced out of the more exclusive events, all I can say is the paying fans are the only ones that never complain. Supply and demand. If any charitable component is part of the deal, great. So can we finally put a line under this?

Verdict: Smart as hell

2. SH always “Shilling” SS to his Fans and on SM

Uhm, he is the brand. It’s his company. Can it be a bit much? Yes. Promotion to the fan base and the use of sm is marketing 101. In order for people to try the product they need to know about the product. We can disagree as to his methods or success to date, but fans are not the only ones buying bottles. As for the constant and consistent presence of AN with SH during events? Suddenly they are a couple? WTF. AN is a business partner. He owns part of the business. They both work hard promoting SS, and so far it looks like they will continue to release more SS. Ladies, don’t put your lawn chairs away yet!😉

Verdict: Smart

3. SH and boundaries with his fans

Regardless of the letter you attach to SH, he is a recognized actor around the world. Definitely a people pleaser, in imho, he will happily take a selfie with anyone. Obviously, he never wants to disappoint any fan, but his lack of boundaries and security at events can be cringe worthy at times. If a female actor was touched, mauled, or asked to sign fans boobs or t-shirts it would be a #me too moment. Someone, anyone in security or a handler needs to be bad cop if he won’t. How far is too far?

Verdict: Stupid with a side of SMH

4. SH as a Philanthropist and Charitable Causes

This one really bugs me. MPC has raised over $6m for charity. SH’s name attached to any cause raises awareness and $. The BS from the haters who discount this based on the fact SH apparently never donates his own money is petty nonsense. Gentleman’s ride is one example. Agree it was his female fans that made it happen. And? This is my only fandom but SH is held to an impossible standard. Apparently he is a hypocrite in his support for clean oceans because someone on his team had a catered lunch using single use plastics. Great topic for discussion, but the man didn’t throw the containers in the ocean. Also let’s not judge a person’s commitment based on sm posts. SH can literally, yes ladies literally never win. Thankfully the causes he supports do. I dare you to disagree.

Verdict: Smart

5A. SH’s dating life

According to an extremely ardent part of this fandom, SH has dated😉 every fit blonde 👱‍♀️ within a 250 mile radius of everywhere. I wish that someone would keep track of all the mysterious initials and lack of any literal proof of these women. This is where I separate the snark from the hater’s. While I’m in owe of the investigative skills of some, and enjoy the gossip-even though mom thought gossip was a sin, sorry mom- not all women aka initials welcome the attention. Any woman save CB that SH is remotely warranted or not attached to, has an avalanche of hate comments and 💩emoji in their future, welcome or not. Personally, I believe SH, goes out of his way to protect the people he cares about, and perhaps even those he may not. I think we can agree he is not a monk. However an actor is entitled to privacy. Ginger Jesus included.

5B. SH ‘s Sexuality

From the beginning, 3 years for me, I’ve read posts about someone who knew a friend of a friend of a bartender’s friend who knew for a fact SH had a boyfriend. WTF. You know the drought is real when this bullshit gets recycled. We all know the question has been asked and answered by SH. More than once. Next.

Verdict: SH keeping his private life private: Smart as hell.

6. SH and the use of all things Outlander related

If you don’t get it, I don’t have the time and am too lazy to explain it to you.

Verdict: Smart. Smart as hell

7. SH and CB

The only real problem here is obvious. And I don’t know why the fans or even the haters- btw, I use the term haters like I do profanity- perhaps not the best word, but like GFY, FU, MF, C, etc. I’m lazy and it saves time and no confusion to whom I address. So where the actual f&ck is the audition tape we all want to see? You know the part of which I speak. If only the fandom investigators could put aside any petty differences and uncover the SH, CB chemistry kiss tape? I’m not saying it will be a unifying and CTJ moment, but it would give SH fans something to make the drought less….thirsty.

No verdict necessary. 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👨😚😉

And last but definitely not least…

8. SH and Thirst Traps

Ladies, because of Outlander and all things Outlander related, we’ve had the pleasure to observe SH from every view and lovely angle. Come on, if you 👀 closely it’s all there. Why the actual f&ck people in this fandom have a problem with his shirtless posts is beyond me. Not only is he promoting the results a good fitness regime can produce, he is literally, yes literally giving his fans something they want. And don’t even try me with- you’re treating him like an object. This is a 100% consensual relationship. And if the word “hater” seems harsh about the same gang that complains and shits all over his shirtless thirst traps, then please find me a better name.

Verdict: Smart as hell and thank you

So for those who may not get it, this post is silly and something for my handful of friends or any SH fan to have a laugh. If anyone has the patience to read the entire thing😉 So any comments are welcome, but to the people or person sending awful and cowardly anon messages: save your time. Or GFY. See what I did there?🤓

#outlander #outlander season 7 #sam cait #sam heughan #sassanach #men in kilts #men in kilts 2 #waypoints #clanlands

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centrally-unplanned · 13 days

Note

As far as I can tell, Frieren is done. What's the final verdict?

6/10 I would say?

Like its good at what its want to be, and I am a peaks over consistency guy. I think its the best-looking anime of the season, Frieren is a solid character with a strong dynamic with Fern+, you watch it and you care about her because its core conceit of playing with time and the attachments that transcend it is a good hook. Also Sein is a goat, should've kept him around.

It just lacks a story worthy of all that. As I mentioned before it essentially should just be an OVA, it has about ~6 episodes of plot in actuality. But its not 1991 so they stretch that out and add a ton of padding instead. They could have made it a slice of life thing where there is no plot intentionally and I think that could have really worked with its tone and lush worldbuilding? But they chose shounen battle academy arcs (worst) and demon army battles (those are okay but wear out their welcome, the demons are boring) instead.

I think I wouldn't recommend it to a non "srs anime" or genre fan. Like most people *don't* want the tradeoff of "intricate animation & layouts but weak story" right? They don't really value the first part that much. But if its your genre, if you are an anime head, hell if you wanna fuck one of the main cast or w/e, then yeah, its good enough to justify watching it if you want a fix of your go-to. Otherwise I think one would be disappointed and feel like they wasted their time.

#frieren #ash anime reviews I guess #ty for the ask is nice ^_^

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privateanxieties · 16 days

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these final hours

Summary: When your job becomes too overwhelming, Frank decides enough is enough. A brief conversation reveals that things run deeper than he thought.

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His verdict comes down one Sunday evening, breaking you from the melancholic stupor you're well into traversing.

"Alright, that's it."

There's a part of you that wants to protest immediately. It's always the first one to make itself known, because it's the one that feels the most fear. No, you cannot just quit your job, no matter the toll it's taking on you. No matter how many people tell you it's making you fade. No matter how little you stand to gain from keeping it up. Because if you do, then - then -

"Don't look at me like that. I said that's enough. You ain't going tomorrow."

There is, however, another part of you: the one that could cry out in sheer relief just by being presented with an out.

You don't even know what it is, exactly. Everyone has to work who was not born fortunate. People have much harder jobs than you do, and they get paid even less. So many struggle to make ends meet. You have neither the long, nor the short straw. The work is completely average, though perhaps below your capabilities. Definitely below your studies - God knows you're not justifying any of those student loans, save for maybe lots of jobs requiring some kind of degree these days. No, you can't quite grasp where all this melancholia with regard to your job originates.

When you really look at your situation, you have to abstain from getting carried away by overwhelming disappointment over how unjustified all this grief seems. Things could be a hell of a lot worse. People go through things at work that render them suicidal, and here you are, on a Sunday night, sad that you have to wake up for your commute.

"Sweetheart, you gotta talk to me. Alright? Can't handle seein' you like this. Nothin's worth it, you hear me? Ain't a goddamn thing in this world worth what this shit does to you."

Frank's hand on your knee makes you immediately tense up. It's instantaneous sensory overload from a simple touch and you can't explain it. It bothers you that you can't explain because it's another thing that's wrong with you. Another overreaction to an inoffensive event.

Before you can move away or even just barely take a breath, the warmth of his skin disappears. You hate the relief that washes over you. Who feels better when someone they love stops being affectionate? You, apparently. Always against the grain.

"You know I'm not making you do anything. Yeah? Need to hear that you know that."

A nod is what you manage, but eye contact has yet to happen. You theorize that if it were to happen, if you were to see him in this moment of wild vulnerability, you'd probably want to run from him and all else in the world.

"You don't have shit to prove to anyone. You included. Can't try to beat yourself into a mold if that mold's just gonna take away all the best parts of you."

Your chest rattles, and you try to keep your breath from becoming a pained gasp.

"You know, just 'cause I read doesn't mean I'm good with words. That's all you. But I'll say whatever I gotta say to get through. I ain't losin' the woman I love to a fucking job. And I sure as shit ain't letting her believe she's gotta do what the world says she's gotta do. Break herself as many times as she has to just to get approval. Can't do shit with approval, I'll tell you that."

Against all odds, words tumble out of you like a knocked over pot of crayons. Sharpness everywhere.

"I fail at - at everything. I haven't done one thing right my whole life. I quit everything I start. Everything - Frank, I can't st-"

An involuntary sob rips straight from your heart.

"I can't stand myself. I'm tired of being tired. I'm tired of my days not belonging to me. I'm tired of getting nowhere. I'm tired of not having any good reason to be like this. Every day I have to know, I have to wake up and go to sleep and never stop knowing that I am the way that I am. And I wish something would just happen so I don't have to keep-"

It stops. The flow of words you've never said out loud, even to yourself, stops dead. The silence floods the remaining space without delay but it, too, does so fruitlessly.

Frank has heard enough. Enough to know exactly what you've sworn you would protect him from.

"Will you look at me?"

The softest plea. You don't think you've ever witnessed it.

"Need to see it. Yeah? I need to see it in your eyes, what you just said. And then we'll figure it out. But I need to know, sweetheart. Because if I gotta protect you from your own mind, Imma be honest with you - I need different gear."

It's a weak attempt at humor, but not completely unsuccessful. Mostly you just know that Frank means every word. And you know, as your gaze meets his at last, that the part of you that always resists outside help has lost some strength. You're not too far gone to be able to admit that your thoughts have been getting bleaker. It's a newness that scares even you, who's been down this path before. Somewhere, it seems a turn arrived that even you weren't aware you'd taken.

But Frank is nothing if not relentless. There is no road he won't track you down on and no path inaccessible to someone of his determination. You can see it in his eyes, along with the subtlest glimmer. You're making him worry, and when Frank worries, he plans. Ten, maybe twenty steps ahead - which is why he locks away your phone with his guns for the night. It's safe to say you won't have an alarm for tomorrow, and the relief that fact brings isn't unaccompanied by guilt. Frank soothes it with promises and his unique brand of realism - you'll get through everything together, as long as you're honest. No more hiding, no more detours.

You're not sure how good you'll be at it, and when you voice the thought to him, Frank doubles down as he pulls the covers back from the bed and you both slip under them.

"You know what being good at therapy looks like?"

You hum your curiosity.

"Not needing relief anymore. Promise to let me know when we get there. Yeah?"

You press your fragile promise into the skin of his cheek, tucking your head below his chin and wrapping as much of your body around him as possible and, for the first time in weeks, drifting off instead of fighting to sleep.

-fin-

A/N: just a short piece that I hope brings you some comfort if you need it.

#frank castle x reader #frank castle x you #the punisher x reader #frank castle fic #frank castle fanfiction

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milgram-tournament · 3 months

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MILGRAM Best Song Tournament, Round 2, Match 1 WEAKNESS vs. THE PURGE MARCH

Propaganda for both options under the cut!

Propaganda for WEAKNESS:

"This is definitely more of a personal anecdote. However, I’m neurodivergent (like Haruka) and struggle with knowing it causes quite a bit of disappointment for my mother. I cry about it a lot. But I find that putting on Weakness is soothing for me. Knowing that there’s a character out there with the same issues…. I don’t know. Just my experience."

---

"why weakness should win over umbilical: - THE SINGING THE HIGH NOTES - this song set the tone to what to expect for the trial songs to come (or what we expected) - the part where the song gets all slow paced and then picks up louder at the end it just done beautifully - it's haruka. - the singing sounds like a mix between of course singing and crying. the 'AHahA' sounds like manic laughing until the end when he's crying and it almost feels like he's sobbing while laughing. - the guitar and the drums complement his soft/sad-ish voice perfectly, especially at the beginning - very emotional, even if you didn't see the music video you can tell he's crying and mentally unwell I'm bad a propaganda, but vote for WEAKNESS!!!!"

Propaganda for THE PURGE MARCH:

"Despite the shorter length, the Purge March has several distinct sections in its structure.

It starts with a rolloff, and then… they don’t follow it. Amane isn’t here to follow the beat.

There’s the spoken-word intro and the upbeat first verse listing the tenets. The prechorus (“dou shiyou mo nai…”) has an amen break. The most-sampled four-bar drum beat. Well, there’s half of it. Is it supposed to mean something? Can I get an amen?

The chorus is so, so cheerful… unless you’re actually listening to the lyrics (“I’ll crush your throat too”) or watching the video. And it’s super catchy.

The second part of the verse dials things back. Now we’re in reality. This is how Amane breaks her tenets. All the while, those tenets are spoken into both ears over the singing. Get some good headphones. She sounds different in each ear.

The music picks up again with the amen break as Amane happily strolls back home, and then-

Oh.

The somber second chorus, with Amane’s lower singing voice and mournful spoken words, leads into the final chorus, with new lyrics and a more forceful tone. The once-meaningless chanting now has real words. “You’re sorry? I don’t care! Please go ahead and die already.” You can hear Amane’s anger despite the cheerful melody. She harmonizes in the final phrase, as if to say “we’re in this together, me and my little color guard troop.” And finally, it’s just her. Speaking. "Oboetemasuka?" Accompanied by only a single drum.

She is both Amane Momose and not. She upholds the doctrines that she was raised with, but she can’t."

---

"Purge March is geniunaly one of my favorite pieces of fiction both in and out of the context of trauma. Its fantastically directed and composed. The batton twirling is spetacular and energetic, the set and character design of Amane conveys a lot about the world she’s in and the story she’s telling. Purge March contextulizes a lot of Magic in both expected and unexpected ways (insert the entire cat symbolism thesis here) Purge March casts Amane in the role of a scary child. The glowing eyes, the framing of Amane as Above the viewer, the brutality and catharsis of it all. It seems tailored made to make you Scared of her. It’s a continuation of the cycle of abuse that we the audience repeated in T1 when we gave her that verdict. A red flashing warning sign about the Inhumanity and Monsterous qualities of Amane Momose. But Amane as a monster is fufilling and freeing. Again, its deeply cathartic. I would write more if I wasnt so sleepy at the moment but its just some Fantastic work overall. Purge March is also just fantasitic vocally and also hids electricity sounds in the instrumental which I think is evil and awesome."

---

-Amane’s vocals and how they slowly get more and more off the deep end is both really sad and cool to watch.

-The symbolism of the marching band and the flags. Ifykyk

-The beginning where it sounds like a propaganda TV show… really shows just how far Amane’s thinking is rooted in her cult and how that’s shaped her perception.

-The LYRICS. They work so well but it’s also creepy AF considering it’s a child who’s singing it.

-“So there is no second time, I’ll give back the judgment that you gave to me!”

-The overlapping part… gives me chills everytime.

-Building off the last point, the last “I’ll crush your throat too.” Ouch.

-“Remember MY cries, MY repents, MY words of “I’m sorry” that I said to you?”

-The song also does a great job of showing how much the guilty verdict messed with her.

#milgramtournament #milgram #haruka sakurai #sakurai haruka #amane momose #momose amane

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bbanghiitomi · 2 months

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PART III: you give me headaches...

| masterlist | previous | next |

synopsis: first day of trial will surely put some pressure into your bones, but you'd rather think about how annoyingly enchanting this prosecutor is than the sudden need to scream in embarrassment — add the fact your client isn't cooperating.

pairing: idol!prosecutor!mdanielle × non-idol!defense-lawyer!fem!reader

U⁠ ⁠´⁠꓃⁠ ⁠`⁠ ⁠UU⁠ ⁠´⁠꓃⁠ ⁠`⁠ ⁠UU⁠ ⁠´⁠꓃⁠ ⁠`⁠ ⁠UU⁠ ⁠´⁠꓃⁠ ⁠`⁠ ⁠UU⁠ ⁠´⁠꓃⁠ ⁠`⁠ ⁠UU⁠ ⁠´⁠꓃⁠ ⁠`⁠

Day 2: Trial

"i think i've done enough voice training for this." you mutter, arms crossed on your chest as you breathe steady breaths — you would love to not think about anything other than the amount of trust mrs. jeon has put on you. it's like gambling, considering the fact you've never really been into an actual courtroom before. "you sure did! i've never heard you as loud as you are today before." hyein bobs her head with a proud smile, you definitely have a loud voice but a very gentle personality — can get snarky but very easily embarrassed.

"you think i'm gonna be fine?" you ask hyein, pulling your arms off of your chest and opening your hands to show off your sweaty palms. hyein laughs and shakes her head. "ah, you think too much! just chill, the worst thing that could happen today is mr. jeon getting a guilty verdict." she shrugs, you look at her with a sweaty forehead, hoping to god she won't manifest a bad fate.

"oh you don't say that..." you wish min heejin was here to give you a heads up, it's not good for your health to be absolutely shaken by a bad verdict, disappointing mr. jeon and his wife that he obviously loves very much.

apparently, mr. jeon likes to differ.

"come on judge! just give me that g-verdict already!" he shouts with all his chest puffed up as he is being escorted by the bailiffs to the lobby. you grimace, completely not understanding what's gotten into your client, why is he like this?

"that's bad, why does he want a guilty verdict so bad." you mutter to yourself as you tap your shoes on the floor, hyein sighs and scratches the back of her head. it's not the first time she's seen clients like this, her mama has gone through the same before based on her stories.

but knowing you, you're probably about to piss your pants now.

"that's probably just what he thinks, he must be thinking that he's guilty." hyein tries to calm your spirits down, but there's nothing as bad as hearing your client blatantly admitting his crimes, it's ridiculous!

how do you have more faith for him than he does with himself?

is it just right you hold on to his innocence when he doesn't even see it?

this is so messed up.

"mr. jeon please don't say that. we all know you're innocent." you tell him, making sure to make a very serious eye contact with him. he seems to shift his gaze away, not wanting to look at you straight in the eyes — you feel something click inside you, this must be some sort of a habit he does when something isn't right.

you ignore it and sigh. "well then, i'm going to need your full participation in the trial. your wife believes you, she's going to be really sad if you get a verdict other than not guilty." you continue, raising a brow at him. he ignores your remark and continues to do his thing before he finally things of answering.

"see if i care. i just gotta let things go which way it wants, there's no fighting back — you get what i'm saying?" he tells you, you grumble and bite your inner cheek. "i don't get it." you tell him.

there's a pair of footsteps right behind him, and you assume the big man has got to be his father.

"don't just say things like that, listen to your lawyer, young man." his father scolds him, you give the old man a look before nodding.

"we've been doing this business for so long, and you want me to be scared of some prosecutor!? beside, i'm not gonna find any other job when this is what i was made for." mr. jeon argues, and you start to worry about what kind of job his family has, you feel your knees tremble and you couldn't help but laugh sheepishly.

"you don't know what you're talking about." his father says.

hyein looks at the father-son duo and you, before chuckling. "sounds like, they've been doing some good voice training too." she says, you put a hand on your forehead before sighing.

you start to sweat harder and thinking to yourself.

this isn't good, how come i have not realized this sooner? i'm so screwed, why have i never thought of talking to my client before this trial?

10:00AM — District Court, Room 304.

"the court is now in session for the trial of jeon heojoon." there's other people inside the courtroom beside you, hyein, danielle, the judge and the defendant. you already expected this but it still feels like something you never knew was about to come.

you know what to say. "the defense is ready, your honor!" you say, hoping your voice wasn't as loud.

danielle giggles, snapping her finger. "i'm ready as always, your honor." with so much confidence, she tells the court.

you're so screwed, you don't like the way she's looking at you with her glimmering eyes, the way she's currently looking like an absolute star.

god, you hope she'd disappear from your sight.

but that's just not possible right now, beside the lights and the expensive accessories on her— she's just probably one of those things inside this courtroom that shines so bright it could hurt your eyes.

you hate it at the same time it's mesmerizing.

"as always, danielle doesn't fail to impress everyone." hyein shakes her head with a playful sigh, you hate how accurate it was — danielle is just truly... impressive without much effort.

"ah prosecutor danielle, you're back! long time no see, were you on a leave absence?" the judge asks, looking over his seat, seemingly fond of danielle's presence.

ah — how do you compete with that?

"oh, you know i've had so much free time that i have thought of joining a girl group for fun. we've been doing quite well and i just thought i'd give the career a much deserved attention." hyein watches as danielle talks, it seems like hyein herself knows how important the group is to danielle and her performance as a member too. you would hate to admit that they're very close but it's just the truth.

unfortunately not close enough for hyein to know anything other than danielle's life as an idol.

"it's just hard to say no to your fans when our songs went super viral, right hyein?" you look at hyein who perks up at the mention of her name and laughs and you don't fail to notice her thick australian accent. "oh yeah! say judge, what's your fave song!?" hyein asks, smiling at the judge who immediately starts thinking to himself.

"ah! i love your songs but my favorite would have to be super shy! such a great song." you grimace, starting to think everything here is just a huge joke to them — you're seriously about to cry, it's not helping that the sudden surge of fear starts crawling up and they're all laughing!

"ah... i was a bit worried. you might still be concerned about that one trial." the judge says, danielle shakes it off and looks at you. "i wouldn't want to miss this one, your honor. this is worth more than any fanmeets and photocards of my group, right? i'm also curious about what this girl has to bring to the table — min heejin's cute little minion!" she says with so much enthusiasm, you furrow your brows but ignore it before shaking your head.

hyein does nothing but just stare at danielle doesn't say anything too, you think — she might be thinking about something but doesn't want to say as it was out of her usual.

with a hit of the gavel, you know it's time to take your stand seriously.

"understood, now will you start giving your opening statements?" the judge tells danielle, but she shakes her head with a mischievous smile on her face.

"can i say something? isn't this courtroom too serious?" she says, the judge widens his eyes and speaks. "it is the court of law after all."

"we need to get the audience jumping up and pumped up." she snaps her fingers and the courtroom starts playing some stupid music, to which you grumble and the judge looks at her in disbelief.

"the audiences are not going to jump! this is a courtroom!" he scolds the prodigy prosecutor.

"in order for me to get down to prosecuting, i need to get up first! so, the victim — a doctor in the seoul center, dr. park minseok was found driving a food truck inside the public freedom park." danielle starts explaining, a very proud and distinctive smile on her pretty face. you stare at her in disbelief as you watch her from the other side.

"oh why? i wonder why a doctor would be driving around using a food truck?" the judge asks, danielle nods and looks at the judge. "oh well? the only way to find out is to ask the defendant, right? because it's an undeniable truth that mr. jeon shot dr. park." danielle finishes.

you look at her before swallowing a lump in your throat. "calling it, undeniable, seems a bit of a stretch." you tell the prosecutor, who then only gives you a smile before leaning on the bench and gesturing to mr. jeon.

"hey, if you're going to glare at anyone, why not do it to your brave client? because his crime was witnessed, quite clearly." she argues back, calmer than you will ever be. you sigh and look at the judge who nods his head.

"oh very well, please admit this witness to the stand." he says and danielle snaps her fingers and in less than a second, the courtroom became silent, every chatters die down and it leaves everyone, you, the judge, and hyein all in a state of confusion.

"i swear, i'm starting to think danielle's a fairy." you roll your eyes as hyein speaks.

danielle stands there, not saying anything until the judge says something. "what's the matter?"

danielle shakes her head. "judge, what about the motive? why would the son of a very famous family, intend to murder a doctor?" you widen your eyes before slamming your hand on the bench.

"objection!" you shout, your voice echoing the whole room and surprising the judge. "that's! no! mr. jeon does not have to explain anything!" danielle only laughs and smiles at you, endearingly.

"but what if he wants to? he requested that he gives a shout out to his gang." the judge widens his eyes when he hears danielle say that, he hits the gavel. "what does that mean!?" he asks, the chatters grow louder.

no way... this is! unfair! you think to yourself.

"when our manager tells us to hit the stage with heat and ferocity, danielle really did huh? she got you good." hyein comments causing you to rub your forehead with a deep sigh.

"well then, it's unusual but we may have the defendant stand about his motives." the judge says.

right there, you know you'd be screwed. it may not be over yet, but it's just starting... danielle might no go easy on you...

#newjeans #kpop #kpop imagines #female reader #girl group #newjeans imagines #girlgroup imagines #danielle #newjeans danielle #danielle new jeans #danielle x reader #danielle marsh #mo jihye

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bengiyo · 21 days

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Love is Better the Second Time Around Ep 6 (Finale) Stray Thoughts

Last week, so much happened. Iwanaga tried to get Miyata to move in, but it was too soon for Miyata. Iwanaga's cousin showed back up to start shit, and also revealed he was the one who spooked Miyata when they were teens. Iwanaga's family wants him to come back home now that he serves a use for them since his sister is marrying a foreigner and leaving Japan. Despite Miyata trying to stick with Iwanaga, all this drama came between them and we left at them parting. It was a kinda frustrating speed run.

Not Iwanaga smoothing over any work troubles Miyata might face. I'm so frustrated for them!

Wow, Miyata's doing so poorly! Look at this apartment.

Girl, do not go to that man's house drunk like this.

This lamp continues to haunt me.

Oh good, Shiraishi appears. Let's have one more bitchy fight before the end.

Wow that was actually really nice of Shiraishi. Is he okay?

Man, I'm not sympathetic to this mom at all.

I hate this Kyosuke guy so much holy shit.

I like that the bet was far less malicious than Miyata thought.

Miyata, why would you tell the villain your plan?

Why is Sugimoto suddenly helpful and honest? I don't trust this.

I can accept the mom just deciding to let them have it for now. This whole situation is too broken to mend over a single conversation.

Finishing the series by this lake and then having them catch the train they missed 14 years ago is pretty, but I feel like we didn't finish the story with Iwanaga.

Final Verdict: 7, This Should Have Been a 10. I don't know what happened after episode 4 and why they decided to derail their own show about the second chance these two had, but this was such a disappointment in the final third of this show. This is as baffling as many of the failed Thai BL outings of recent months. I was really enjoying the relationship repair aspect of this story. I deeply resent this show spending the finale on the idea that somehow Miyata is the one who messed up for not questioning the scheming cousin 14 years ago, and that he should just take the leap on Iwanaga. He had valid reasons to doubt here. I do not think we gained anything of use in this story from spending time with Iwanaga's family, and it left us without a crisis moment for Iwanaga to make a choice with Miyata. They never get to become a team together. We end on Miyata just jumping in on it. This is so disappointing.

#Ben watches #love is better the second time around #koi wo suru nara nidome ga joto #japanese bl #bl series

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ohanny · 1 month

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before we move on to this love doesn't have long beans, witness my mental illness that manifests in an ability to turn everything and anything into a kentakim au:

a hallmark movie where tony runs a five star michelin super fancy restaurant that charges like 500 dollars for a slice of breast fed baby cow and kenta is his pastry chef. all of kenta’s desserts demand the use of tweezers and frequently fly across the kitchen because tony simply could not stand his placement of the gold leaf.

kim is just some rando uni student who stress bakes. a monstrous, ugly ass, lumpy fudge brownie that tastes like multiple orgasms brings them together and reignites kenta’s passion for real people food and high on store brand sugar and each other, they decide to open a quaint bakery in the hipster district.

obviously tony cannot let this stand so there is at least one case of attempted arson and a bullshit embezzlement charge. babe is kenta’s lawyer and we do not question this: his jawline can cut through all the bullshit and discover the truth. kim shows up to court in the middle of a session, wearing a flannel shirt (because yes, this is thailand but it is also hallmark) and delivers a legally blonde monologue about justice that sways the jury and has them deliver the verdict right there and then. kenta is declared innocent and tony is immediately arrested while screaming cartoonishly evil insults full of cooking puns.

the final scene is a shirtless kim walking into a door frame, seductively waving a can of whipped cream. kenta is sprawled over a bed and does a super sexy come hither motion and the camera pans out to show they are living in a flat above a bakery with an “opening soon!” sign on the front. the credits roll to a thai bootleg version of a meghan trainor song.

the end. or as the swedish would say: “slut”

(a friend expressed disappointment over kenta not being controlled by a tiny rat and i sincerely apologize for this grievous oversight)

#pit babe the series #i am obviously very well #brain hasn't rotted at all #kentakim #kimkenta

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warmblanketwhump · 8 months

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a change of heart

sicktember 2023 - alt prompt “I’m so sorry.”

note: i wrote this AGES ago for something else and just...never actually finished it. the writing's a tad rusty and idk if the plot actually goes where i wanted it to, but I couldn't be bothered to rework the thing beyond changing the names to A & B, SO HERE YOU GO

A hunches their shoulders against the rain, huddling under the large umbrella that protects them from the downpour. It was a long day at work, and they were ready to dry off, warm up, and curl up on the couch with a bowl of soup, a blanket, and a good book.

A sudden gust catches them by surprise, and A struggles to keep their grip. As they wrestle with the umbrella, they trip over something on the ground, tucked beneath the alcove.

A bites back a curse, popping their umbrella closed and kneeling to see what they’d tripped over—and it stops them dead in their tracks.

There, huddled beneath a thin blanket and wearing a filthy sweatshirt with the hood drawn up, was B.

It was impossible. Wasn’t B supposed to be in jail now? A racked their brain, trying to remember when they’d put this particular criminal away (lately, the days and the trials and the crimes and the criminals blurred together in their mind).

B's dark eyes meet A’s, flooding with recognition, and A freezes. Those haunted eyes contain multitudes, and it all comes back to A.

The murder trial. A prominent local politician, killed. The video footage that placed B at the crime scene just minutes before the killing. A’s testimony against B that was the final nail in the coffin. The banging gavel, the satisfied feeling that rose up in their gut when B was finally put away. The strangled cry from B when the guilty verdict was announced.

(They’d done their best to forget that part.)

But A sees something else in B's eyes. Anger? No, not that. Loathing? Maybe.

Despair?

A snaps out of it and stands back up. They don't care. B got what they deserved. So instead, they clear their throat. “You’re out, B.”

B huffs a mirthless laugh. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

“How’d you get out, anyhow? You should’ve been in there for ages.” For life.

An incredulous look spreads over B's thin, pale face. “You really don’t know, do you? I got out two weeks ago. Apparently, someone came forward with new evidence that cleared me.”

A’s blood runs cold. They remember B’s agitated pleas, their cracking voice on the stand, begging for mercy, that they didn't do it, they couldn't have done it. The performance that A was so convinced was an act.

You were wrong. The unprompted thought comes like a punch to A's gut, a crack in their infalliable shield.

“Why...why didn’t anyone tell me there was new evidence?”

B shrugs and winces, tightening the blanket around their hunched shoulders. “Beats me. Guys who let me out, they said they were told to keep it quiet. After all, it looks bad for you. For all of you.”

A frowns. “But...why wouldn’t you come after me? Or anyone else? After all, we’re the ones who put you there.”

B’s face hardens. “I’m a criminal. I’ve done a lot of things, A. But I didn’t kill that guy, and I’m not going to kill you. That’s not who I am.”

The wind picks up again, and A feels their heartbeat quicken. You were wrong.

B shrinks further into their blanket and shudders, coughing weakly. They had to be freezing in this weather, thought A. And their face looked so thin, gaunt, with dark bruises under their eyes. When was the last time they’d eaten?

A should have asked that. They should have apologized. But the guilt and shame were too much. A knew they’d put a lot of criminals behind bars. And sure, some of them had done some pretty terrible things.

But B? Petty crimes at best—a few robberies, forgeries, a scam or two—nothing where anyone ever got hurt. And somewhere, deep down, A had always envied their carefree charisma, their ability to breeze through life while bending life their way, and they hated B for living life outside the lines in a way they never could.

Meanwhile, A had been so caught up in making a name for themselves and being right that they’d forgotten that some of their enemies were people.

So they do the least brave thing of all – they turn on their heel and run home.

——————

Hours later, A should have forgotten B. They should have been enjoying their homemade potato soup in front of the roaring fireplace, as the rain turned to icy tapping on their windowpane.

But A can't think straight, B’s words still rattling in their brain.

That’s not who I am.

Could it be possible? A takes great pride in their own sense of right and wrong. They’d seen the evidence. They’d known it—that’s why they’d testified so confidently on the witness stand.

Did I really get it that wrong?

They rub their temples, head aching. I was wrong.

But I could make it right.

Before they lose their nerve, A whips their still-soaked raincoat from the hallway coat rack and heads back out into the icy, frigid night.

The walk takes 20 minutes at a casual pace, but A makes it there in 15. B is in the same spot, the same shadowy lump that A had tripped over that afternoon. Even in the dark, A can see their form huddled in the doorway. As they got closer, their stomach drops for the second time that day.

B is convulsively shivering beneath their thin blanket, shaking so hard that A can hear their teeth rattle. A drops to their knees and gently pulls back their soaked hood to feel their icy, damp forehead. The pale streetlight casts a sickly glow across B’s pallid face and blue lips. A frantically shakes their shoulders, pulling them into a seated position.

“Hey. B. It’s me. Come on now. It’s too cold. You gotta wake up.” B’s eyes are glassy and unfocused, and they reflexively curl in on themselves, coughs wracking their body. A turns to try and block most of the wind and rain, rubbing B's arms to try and get some warmth into them.

This is all my fault.

“Alright, B,” they whisper, pulling their once-nemesis to their feet. “You’re coming with me.” B shivers again and tucks themselves into A's warmth, leaning their own cold body into A’s side and resting their head on A’s chest.

A stiffens for a moment—they can feel the cold radiating off B’s body—but finally relents wrapping their arms around B. A winces at the feeling. They could feel B’s every rib, even through their sweatshirt. The blanket had fallen from B's shoulders, so A unthreads themselves from B’s weak grasp, sheds their coat, and wraps it around B's shaking frame, securing it in place with their arms.

They stumble like that, an intertwined pair of opposites on a rainy winter night, until they get back to their loft where, blessedly, the fire was still burning bright. A stumbles through the threshold, quickly locking the door behind them, and deposits the soaking, coat-wrapped figure on their couch. They dart back to their bedroom, shucking their wet layers to the ground and replacing them with a warm sweatshirt and flannel pajama pants.

After a moment’s hesitation, they grab a second pair of their own clothes—they might be too big, but B can't stay in their wet clothes all night.

When they come back, B is still huddled on the couch, shivering, barely turning their head when A comes around to their side. A gently lays a hand on their shoulder, and B blinks slowly, registering the presence beside them.

“You’ve gotta get these clothes off if you want to get warm,” A says, voice matter of fact, straightforward. B still says nothing, but holds out their arms to A. Guess I'm doing this, then. They peel the dirty sweatshirt from B’s body, which conceals an equally filthy and soaked T-shirt.

A works quickly, trying to make the awkward situation last as briefly as possible. But when they see the welts and bruises lashed across B’s back, they suck in breath. B shrinks back at the sound, shuddering as the air hits their wet skin.

“B, what did they do to you?” A whispered softly.

“P-prison wanted answers,” B chatters. “D-didn’t have them.”

Anger rose in A’s gut. All this time, they’d believed in the system. Trusted it. Then, they feel a tinge of guilt. You’re a part of the system, A.

They push their feelings down and help B shrug into the warm, dry clothes, draping a blanket over their shoulders. B accepts it gratefully, grasping it tightly and inching closer to the fire, deep, painful coughs convulsing their frame.

A leaves the room, returning a few minutes later with a reheated bowl of the homemade soup. B accepts it with a brief murmur of thanks, wrapping their cold fingers around the warm ceramic and hugging the soup close to their chest, then attacking it with the fervor of someone who hasn't had a proper meal in a long while.

The silence hangs heavy in the room, B trying (and failing) to eat the soup in a dignified manner, and A aching with a level of guilt they didn't think possible.

Finally, A speaks. “B. I’m so sorry.”

B stops slurping their soup, their body freezing in motion. They slowly lower the bowl, eyes uncertain. “Come again?”

“I said I’m sorry. I…when I testified against you, I was convinced you did it. I thought you were…a criminal.”

B smirks. “Well, you’re not entirely wrong.” They're still pale and wan, but a spark of mischief glints in their eyes. “You do know criminal and guilty aren’t always mutually exclusive.”

A rakes their hands through their hair, frustration rising in their chest. “Stop. I’m trying to get this off my chest.”

The smile fell from B’s face like a mask dropping to the ground. “Fine. Ease your conscience, then. But I know why you’re doing this.”

“Doing what?”

“This. Helping me.” B sets down the bowl and pulls the blanket tight as a shiver shakes their frame. “You feel bad, so you figure you’ll take me home, warm me up, and just fix everything.” Their voice catches on the last phrase, and A sees them swallow hard before taking another breath.

“You’re helping me to make yourself feel better. But you won’t really help me. No one ever has.”

The words sting, but A knows they're right. They're using B now, like they always had. First to advance their career, now to ease their conscience. And what were they really planning on doing, anyways? Adopting the very criminal they'd wrongly put away, then continuing to be a part of the same corrupt system that had harmed B in the first place?

A small whisper within asks them a question they hadn’t dared to think of: What if you tried to make it right?

Do you know what that would cost you?

What will cost you if you don’t?

A digs their fingers into the arm of the chair, then stands, crossing the room to sit next to B on the couch. B was still hunched over, the occasional shudder still rippling through their frame, staring bleakly into the crackling fire.

“What if we found out who really did it?” A blurts out. B casts a sidelong glance, as if they didn’t believe their ears.

“Look…something’s not right. With your case. With this...situation. And I can’t…I can’t undo what I did to you. But I can find out who did it. We can find out who did it. Because, B, I am sorry.”

The look in B’s eyes is a look A hadn’t seen in a while, and they nod, as if hardly believing what they were hearing.

And A recognizes what they see in their eyes.

It looks something like hope.

And then a violent cough wracks B's frame, and A realizes that there's a long way to go until B's in any shape to help.

"Alright, B. I hope you like cherry cough syrup and menthol rub, because you're getting both."

#sicktember 2023 #caretaking #hurt comfort #sickfic whump #cold whump #sickfic

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devilfic · 2 years

Text

❝where two are joined, relentlessly❞

VIII. happy birthday, mr. wayne.

parts: previously / next plot: celebrating the birthday boy is hard when he doesn’t want to be celebrated. baby steps. pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x gn!reader. cw: romance, humor, tooth-rotting fluff, domesticity, bruce wayne is a taurus agenda. words: 4.7k.

a/n: I’ve proofread this once and I think I caught everything. lord help me if I haven’t

May, last year.

The lack of ornamentation should have been your first and biggest clue as to where Bruce Wayne might be today, though you still ask, “Where’s the birthday boy?”

You’d expected the penthouse to be wrought with decorations the minute you arrived, baubles and flowers and desserts being set up around the house for the occasion. Alfred, of course, hadn’t warned you of any such plans before you left work yesterday. You’d just... assumed.

Dressed in his usual attire (not even donning a chocolate covered apron!), Alfred laughs for barely a second, “Hiding away from people who call him ‘the birthday boy’. And what in the world have you got in your hands?”

You roll the piece of ceramic in between your hands with concern, more aware of the lopsided handle than before. You’d worked the thing into the best mug shape your novice hands could manage, carved a “W” on both sides, painted it black and gold, and hoped for the best, “It’s... a mug. Bruce’s present.”

When Alfred comes closer to give it a look, you nearly shy away with it. You’d hoped that if there was going to be a party, no matter how small, your gift wouldn’t draw too much attention to itself, but seeing as there would be no party, every mistake in the cup felt painfully obvious. Alfred takes it from you anyway, examining it with his glasses perched on the tip of his nose. You wait with bated breath for the verdict.

Holding up your mug to the light, Alfred nods once, approving, “I’m sure Master Bruce will love it. I’ll make sure to relay his gratitude tomorrow morning.”

You watch Alfred make off with your mug for all of five seconds before you start skittering after him, looking around for any sign of the billionaire in question. The house is just as quiet as it always is when you arrive bright and early, and while it had been made clear to you that you’d rarely ever see Bruce while the sun still shined, you’d been lucky every once in a while. A dark figure hurrying from the kitchen to the stairs here, the noise of someone coming up the elevator on the second floor there. You’d been told that particular elevator was off limits before, its destination meant to stay a secret between the inhabitants of the tower, and you wondered if he was down there this very moment.

“Wait, tomorrow? Will he not be here today?”

“No, I’m afraid not. He’ll be busy with work elsewhere.”

“He didn’t take the day off? It’s his birthday.”

“He hasn’t for a while,” you think the butler sounds disheartened about that, “it’s just another day of the year. Same with holidays. It’s really nothing to fret about. Master Bruce finds more enjoyment in his work than he would throwing a big, unnecessary fuss. Trust me.”

You suppose you have no right to be sad about that. Everyone was different, after all. It was like any other holiday. It wasn’t unusual for some not to celebrate Christmas, or Thanksgiving, or the Fourth of July. “For a while” just left you wondering when he’d finally decided to stop. You could come up with a million reasons why if left to your own devices.

Instead, you roll with it in spite of your disappointment, “Well, I would’ve really liked to give it to him in person, but I understand. Not a total loss.”

Alfred hesitates setting your mug down on the breakfast table then. The butler casts a scheming side-glance at you, “...If your heart is that set on it, he will be here tomorrow.” When you perk up, Alfred pivots away from the table, placing your mug back into your hands. “Stay late enough and you’ll catch him. Might even be in a better mood.”

The idea is genius. You thank Alfred and put the mug into your bag, careful not to crush it. Maybe you’d get him a card on the way home too. Something to make up for the mortification of your mug being perceived.

Your drive to the convenience store around the corner is a short one, and you quickly head inside to grab a few of the only warm, “fresh” foods they offer and a birthday card from the funny section (something silly, something that won’t end with your prompt termination). You spend such an unnecessary amount of time next to the greeting cards that an employee eventually flags you down to figure out if you need any help.

It isn’t long after that you find you’re not quite ready to go home yet.

There isn’t much waiting for you there, anyway. Due to constant complications, your mother was back to an extended stay at Gotham General, leaving you alone in the apartment. You never enjoyed being alone there while she worked late, but you enjoyed it even less when she couldn’t return at all. Everything was louder in that tiny apartment without her presence to fill it up. You can’t return to the tower, though, no matter how badly you’d like to be sharing stories with Alfred over tea right now.

You consider Robinson Park, though the later hour warns of danger you could do with avoiding. Next, you consider the public library, but it wouldn’t be open much longer. You didn’t often yearn for the simple safety of other cities, but if you could post up on a street corner and be unbothered, you’d jump at the chance.

While in the midst of your contemplation, you follow the road, succumbing to muscle memory. You hadn’t gone this way in years, yet the twists and turns of the city come back to you like second nature, a guiding light in the gritty darkness until you’re pulling up to a building you hadn’t visited since college graduation.

Once upon a time, when you were still a teenager looking for places to get away from it all, your friend would invite you to the rooftop of her apartment building to watch cars pass by. She’d officially moved from Gotham after college for the west coast, but you’d never forgotten that the door to the rooftop had a funky hinge. The landlord thought as long as people gave up on the first tug, they’d think the thing was locked and wouldn’t budge it further. You, on the other hand, knew better.

It doesn’t take much. One of the tenants buzzes you in and up the seven flights of stairs you hike. The door comes open as easily as it did the last time you tried years ago.

You’re not very high above the city like this, though the drop from the ledge is no less terrifying to behold and the view no less stunning. Most people in Gotham had grown desensitized to the little things like this. With the rampant crime, finding beauty despite it all was like finding a needle in a haystack. Even for you, with your well of positivity that struggled to run dry, you found it hard to see the beauty in it sometimes.

But there’s beauty even in the ugly parts of the city. For as much violence that bled through the streets, there was just as much humanity that walked them. Families, lovers, people just like you. You couldn’t hate Gotham when you could see that humanity, not really.

You take in lungfuls of air, sweeping your gaze from the graffitied bridge a few blocks down to the inner city skyline, and from the inner city to-

It’s a bit like making eye contact with a stray cat.

You’d seen him on TV, sometimes in copies of the Gotham Gazette at newsstands, but never in person. He was a bit like a child’s tale, a playground legend: your friend’s cousin’s girlfriend would see him, perhaps saved by him if the storyteller was really bold, and you’d go around telling everyone who’d listen that you’d seen the Batman too.

No one could keep the story straight when asked too many questions, but that was the excitement of Gotham’s very own, living boogeyman. One would simply hope to never see him for the wrong reasons. You hoped you weren’t seeing him for the wrong reason.

He’s perched on the ledge only a feet away from you, hard to make out against the dark night sky if you aren’t paying attention. When you put together that you are looking at a face and not some vague, black shape, you freeze up and wait to see if he’ll make the first move. If he thought you were a threat, you’d be taken care of by now... right?

You both hold each other’s gaze for a few minutes, both perhaps waiting for the other to run first. Neither of you ever do.

“I’m sorry,” is the first thing that comes to mind, though you aren’t sure why. It was as much his rooftop as it was yours, “I didn’t know anyone was up here.”

The Batman is too far away for you to make out what he’s thinking by his eyes alone, though you get the feeling that he’s not sure how to respond. He wasn’t alone in that.

What were you even supposed to say? Or do? All those stories were action-packed with nary a dull moment to breathe. None of them could have prepared you for his eerie stillness. When meeting the Batman in a friend’s cousin’s girlfriend’s fantasy, he’s usually a lot more animated.

Leaving him alone and going home sounds like the next best course of action for you. Of course, you do the opposite, “Are you busy?”

“No.”

You shift back at the sound of his voice, feeling more out of place by the second. You knew this rooftop by every square inch, and yet you might as well have never stepped foot in this city at all when standing in his presence.

You clutch your bag to your side tighter. “Do you... need me to leave?”

The Batman pauses then, never looking away from you, “No.”

Was he... giving you permission? Perhaps he was the one who’d leave, leaping away into the night to find another perch to do whatever it was vigilantes did in this city. The thought that he’d leave so soon left you oddly disappointed.

But he doesn’t move. Save for turning to watch the city, the Batman pays you very little mind. You fail at the same task even as you fish out Bruce’s birthday card, hoping to distract yourself with writing your appropriately heartfelt message, body rigid and fingers struggling to loosen enough to hold your pen. No words come out of you when your heart beats out of tune. You don’t know how to be normal when he’s so close by.

You’d come up here to be alone, but had he?

Your pen hovers over the blank inside of the card, ink tip drying in the wind, but no words are coming to you with your mind a stone’s throw away from you.

It’s not clear that he’s side-eyeing you, but you feel like he’s side-eyeing you. Surprisingly, it’s him who breaks the unsteady silence, “Special occasion?”

You have to reel your brain back to your body to answer him. He continues to survey the landscape even though his question is very clearly directed at you, and you wonder at what point during your attempt at appearing unbothered had he looked over at the card in your hands. You’re grateful you’re not under his scrutiny for the time being, “Oh, yeah. It’s a card for my boss. It’s his birthday today.” And then, as if his totally normal silence deemed your explanation unsatisfactory, you continue, “He was working all day today, so I thought I’d give it to him later.”

This time, the Batman turns his head fully toward you. Had you given too much information? Annoyed him, maybe? You make out the small shift of his eyes from your own down to the card in your hand, and you hold it facing him to give him a better look, scooting closer. “And you came up here to write it?”

“Rooftops are peaceful. One of the perks of living in a city like Gotham.” You don’t want to say outright that you don’t belong up here. While you were sure the vigilante had far more pressing matters to handle than harmless breaking and entering, you really don’t want to fuck around and find out. “Is this a usual surveillance point of yours?”

You’re surprised he lets you ask, and even more surprised when he provides an honest answer, “One of them.”

You’d always imagined that the Batman was a shadow, slinking about in the night from empty doorways to streets less travelled by, an all-seeing eye for Gotham. There was a magical aspect to it all, but seeing him here now, tangible, made him appear more man than shadow. He was still shrouded in mystery, but that distance probably kept petty criminals home some nights. Even you had wondered if there’d come a day that all-seeing eye of Gotham would turn to you.

That’s why talking to him now, you could hardly stand to be looked at for too long. Had it not been for the cut of his cowl leaving his very human jaw exposed to you, he might’ve appeared to you more like an omniscient phantom. What did he think when he looked at you? What did he know?

Of course, you know better than to keep going down that road. You were talking to the Batman for Pete’s sake. You could do better than waste an opportunity. “Batman? You said you weren’t busy, right? Can I ask for your opinion on something?”

He stares at you, practically unblinking. You take that as a sign (perhaps not a good one, but a sign nonetheless) to keep going. Putting away your card, you remove Bruce’s present from your bag and present it to the Batman, hands trembling a bit as he inspects it in the city light. His eyes glide up from the mug to you, inquiring.

“I-It’s a mug. I made it. I just... I just wanted a second opinion on it. My... superior said that my boss would love it, but I think he was just trying not to hurt my feelings... but you’re a neutral party. You know?” The more you explain, the more stupid you feel. Who were you, asking the Batman of all people to evaluate your rookie pottery skills? So much for not wasting an opportunity.

But you hope that you’re earnest enough to warrant an answer anyway. If he was truly annoyed with you, he could jump away at a moment’s notice and find another rooftop to survey from. It was his fault he didn’t turn you away earlier when you gave him the chance.

You nearly drop the thing when he reaches for it, cautiously taking the cup into one gloved hand and bringing it closer to his eye. He turns it this way and that, genuine as he looks over every detail. You’re hyperaware of all the blemishes, awaiting a scathing review that would send you back to that pottery class on tomorrow’s lunch break to fix your mess.

Instead of that, the Batman hands it back to you. You hold the mug between both palms awaiting his judgment. “Why make it?”

You blink, “I’m sorry?”

“You could have bought something like this. They sell them a dime a dozen at every gift shop in town.”

Well, you knew that. You’d seen them while perusing the shelves for something he might like. With every option, you’d come back to the same depressing conclusion: “There’s nothing I can buy him that he couldn’t buy better, so I thought I’d make him something he couldn’t find anywhere else. I mean, where else is he gonna find a mug with a lopsided handle and his family’s insignia carved on the side-”

“Not a lot of families in Gotham with insignias these days.”

Shoot. Was that bad? You couldn’t recall hearing if the Batman had something against the Waynes. You surely hoped not. “...I don’t work for Bruce Wayne if that’s what you’re thinking.”

If you didn’t know any better, you’d say the Batman was... amused by that. “Of course not.” You hug the mug to your chest, worrying the inside of your cheek between your teeth. “He’ll like it. And I can promise you that I don’t care about your feelings.”

You breathe a laugh, and while the Batman doesn’t return it, you can tell he’s pleased you got the joke.

His head snaps up to the sky a moment later. Following his line of sight, you spot a familiar circle of light piercing through the clouds from further into the city. It wasn’t uncommon to see it light up every once in a while, though its unwavering position in the sky was peculiar; it never swiveled or flashed. Most searchlights were beacons of the nightlife drawing Gotham citizens to every club in the city. This one... well, who knew?

Your companion shifts and leans toward the light. “You should head home. Keep off the streets tonight.”

“Oh, do you have to go?” You start, twisting around to put the mug back in your bag, “Thank you for the...”

When you turn back, all that’s left of the Bat is the rush of air from his departure. You lean over the ledge to see if he’d jumped straight down, but you can’t make out anything besides the usual pedestrians. You shiver.

Despite never accomplishing your intended task, you follow orders to a T. You push the rooftop door back into place to ward off any ne’er-do-wells and lock your car doors when you get back inside. On the drive back home, your hands jitter around the steering wheel, and at every stoplight, you think about his eyes. Had the light been any better up on that rooftop, you might’ve even found out what color they were. You wouldn’t rat him out. You’d just like to know.

It’s evening when he begins to show. You’re busying yourself with extra paperwork to justify your business being there past work hours and Alfred entertains you, assuring you that you wouldn’t have to wait much longer. With each second that ticks past six o’clock, your jaw clenches that much tighter.

“Ah, there he is,” Alfred stands to his full height beside you, drawing your attention to the second floor where the mysterious, forbidden elevator rattles up the shaft, “knew he’d make an appearance eventually.”

The first conversation you’d had with Bruce Wayne was the day you were hired. He’d sat across from you at a conference table six stories below the penthouse with Alfred at the head of the table and your former boss sat beside you. While you all discussed when you’d start, what to expect, and getting your access upgraded, Bruce Wayne had kept his eyes low and nodded along, never uttering more than a few words at a time.

He’d been terrifying back then, the scariest man you’d ever met, and when he did look at you, you might as well have been strapped to your seat. At the end of the meeting, you’d all shaken hands to part ways. When you’d reached for Bruce’s hand, he’d given you a long, hard look that you’d mistaken then as threatening (you could laugh now, thinking about it), and told you that he’d “be looking forward to working with you”.

You felt the same way only five months later, waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs.

“Alfred, I’ll be out late-”

“Master Bruce, we have a visitor.”

Bruce comes to a stop at the top of the stairs. There’s a towel thrown over his shoulder and if it weren’t for the sweat staining the neck of his shirt, you’d think he’d just come fresh from the shower with his hair wet at the ends.

You stand at the very foot of the stairs, trying not to let the clamminess of your palms ruin your gifts prematurely. When Bruce continues to look on, clearly looking for an answer as to why you were here so late, you take the initiative. “I don’t want to hold you for long, Mr. Wayne,” you say, climbing the stairs slowly, “I just wanted to... give you something. For your birthday. I know it was yesterday, a-and I know you don’t usually make a big thing out of birthdays, but... uh. I wanted to say thank you. For everything.” You’re two steps below Bruce when you finally come to a stop, worried that coming any closer might cease your ability to function. “I promise that was a lot less sappier than the card.”

For a few seconds, Bruce doesn’t move, and your palms start to sweat more profusely. When you look down at the mug and card extended toward him, your arms shake the longer he makes you wait. You were almost too embarrassed to look back up at him again.

Then, Bruce reaches for the mug, holding it up to inspect it. One of his fingers traces the engraved, golden “W”, not nearly as fancy as the emblem you’d traced online. “W. For Wayne.” He states rather than asks. “Did you make this yourself?”

“Uh, yeah. Sorry about the handle, it was my first time handling pottery. The instructor said it’d hold up fine, though! Perfect for Dory’s tea. Or you could put pens in it. Or a... lucky bamboo. For wealth and prosperity.” You worry the joke might be too silly, an unnecessary buffer in case he hated the mug after all.

Bruce shocks you with the tiniest of smiles, “Thank you. I’ll put it to good use.”

You return the smile, giddier than you let on. “Happy birthday, Mr. Wayne.”

May, the present.

“Took you long enough, birthday boy! The ice cream’s gonna melt. Get in here!”

“Just be glad I didn’t escape through the terminus when I had the chance,” Bruce tacks on a smile before you can protest, knowing full well it wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibility for him, “No one else is coming, right?”

The table is made up with minimal decoration: there’s a simple tablecloth stretched from end to end, struggling to cover the octagonal shape in full, and a pair of black and red star-shaped balloons tied to Bruce’s chair. The cake was easier to splurge on, a labor of love between both you and Alfred, baking and decoration included. It gave you both the freedom to draw a bat across the face of the cake in buttercream icing. It’s the first thing Bruce destroys by swiping his finger through it. You smack him on the shoulder as he smiles around his finger.

“Of course not. Miss Kyle didn’t return my call.” Alfred smirks.

You usher Bruce into his seat before retrieving the lighter. How you’d managed to fit so many candles on the cake without ruining the design was largely a stroke of luck, but it takes comically long for you to light them all. By the time the last candle is lit, the others are dripping wax onto the cake. “Okay, okay. Are we gonna sing?” You ask.

Dory cheers at the same time Bruce begs you not to. Naturally, you all sing.

It’s nothing pretty-sounding, though you think Dory really tries, and even though Bruce looks like he can’t wait for it to be over, he does brace it all with a smile.

“Gonna make a wish?” You ask, bending at the waist until your face is beside his.

Bruce raises an eyebrow. He seems to really consider it, and after a moment or two passes, he leans forward and blows out the candles in one fell swoop.

The cake is passed out in even slices around the table courtesy of Alfred, followed by gifts. Alfred presents Bruce with a new watch, Dory gifts him a guitar pick, and you hand him off a new sketchbook. “To draw me more” You joke, watching him go rosy.

By the time the small party has come to an end, Bruce is following you out to the balcony, spooning ice cream out of his mug with soap suds still dripping down his arms from clean up. “I can’t believe you still have that thing.” You remark, the garish, gold “W” glaring back at you in his hand.

“Did you think I was going to throw it out of the window or something?”

“Well, no, but... it was kind of embarrassing giving you that. I thought you were just being polite when you took it from me.”

Bruce leans his elbows on the fence and you do the same, “I know I said I didn’t care about your feelings, but I didn’t really mean it.”

You groan, dropping your head into your hands. “I still can’t believe I showed that stupid thing to Batman.”

“It’s not stupid,” You peek between your fingers at him, mortification no doubt seeping through, “I’ll have you know this mug is on weekly dishwasher rotation.”

That explained a bit of the paint fading. Your heart quietly swells at the thought that your little piece of misshapen pottery was so well-loved. It’s enough to shut up your self-deprecation. “Did you enjoy your party, birthday boy?”

“I did. I enjoyed it even more because it wasn’t a surprise.”

“’Course not! Baby steps, Wayne, baby steps.” You giggle, “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

Bruce gets a silly smile on his face peeking down at your lips. Setting his now empty mug on the patio table, Bruce brings you close by the waist and lays a kiss on your mouth, lips still turned up at the corners. It was new, this featherlight repose that Bruce carried around the tower these days. He wasn’t without his dark days, and those days got particularly dark, but you weren’t the only one who’d noticed that there was a change in him. It was a gradual difference; no flip was switched, but things that lasted usually took time.

Bruce wasn’t healed of it all, but his shoulders seemed a little lighter.

You drag Bruce’s bottom lip between both of your own before speaking again, “You taste like ice cream.”

“Sorry.” He whispers, not at all apologetic as he chases your mouth. He’s able to get in one more kiss before something shines in your peripheral.

You’re the first to break away, a little disappointed as you recognize light carving a bat into the clouds: the Batman’s insignia. Bruce seems just as disappointed, though you know he won’t be for long. This is where he thrived, after all.

You release your grip on Bruce, nodding to the balcony doors, “Don’t keep Gordon waiting, handsome.”

“Will you help me get ready?”

He doesn’t have to ask twice. Taking his hand, Bruce leads you to the terminus elevator, letting it lead you both down and into the cave. It had become routine enough for you to know where to go and what to do first. The paint is your most important task, though you help Bruce slip on his utility belt and gloves.

With one foot propped on his desk chair, Bruce laces up his boots while you gently apply the paint around his eyes, always careful not to poke him between his lashes. A gentle tap on his cheek has him turning for better access.

The second you give him the OK, Bruce bends forward and allows you to slip his cowl on after you’ve brushed his hair back (he hated it getting stuck to his forehead when he was in need of a haircut). Fitting it snugly on, you lean up for him to give you one more kiss for good luck. “All set. Stay safe.”

Bruce grunts as the last dredges of his happy-go-lucky mood melts somber. He doesn’t miss out on the opportunity though, passing off the last bit of sweetness on his lips. “Don’t wait up this time.”

You smile and Bruce knows immediately that you aren’t listening to him, “Sure. Don’t be gone long.”

Neither of you expect the other to keep up their side of the bargain, but it’s the thought that counts. After all, it only made sense that you’d be there to wash off the same paint you put on, right? That was your excuse, anyway.

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