#but would it be so hard for literally any one of them to be ... not cool with atrocities? or even ambivalent? just a thought

[bunni-v1]

Hnnghh christmas Lighter smut where reader is dressed in nothing but a long ribbon and bow bc he’s been a good boy this year

🍓Did u read my mind? Get outta there… jkjk, but seriously this is EXACLTY what I was thinking about. I really can’t dedicate the time to a full fic, which breaks my little gay heart, but imagine with me if you would… (this is a full fic btw i fucking lied to you and myself)

Tw: Nsfw; kinda rough (not too rough); UNEDITED ITS HORRENDOUS

Mdni

Christmas with the Sons of Calydon is pretty atypical. They have their own traditions that most New Eirduians would scoff at, but they’re rather important to those who live in these parts. Drinking, singing together (usually drunkenly and offkey), taking bike rides out to start a fire and literally burn away past regrets of the year, and of course fights — plenty of fights.

You weren’t exactly a fan of the fighting part, usually meant more work for you to do, but Lighter always seemed to have fun. Obviously he did, he never lost — he hardly broke a sweat for the most part. And he loved showing off, especially if you were there to watch him. Everything else was mostly normal, though… a little odd but custom made to your little ragtag group, and you loved it.

It felt warm, cozy, like family. They passed out gifts, most of them hand made or incredibly thoughtful since money was scarce for most of you. Lighter had gotten you a (rather expensive) bracelet with your and his initials engraved on it. It was sweet, and unexpected from the guy who pretended like the holiday was nothing for the months leading up to it.

It made you melt on the inside and feel nice and warm. However… his nonchalance about the holiday cause you one… teeny tiny, itty bitty problem. You had no clue what to get him, and you hadn’t gotten him anything — time had run out and no one would give you any good hints.

His insistence that you didn’t need to get him anything in return made your stomach ache. It was hard to focus on his fight when your head was rushing with ways to rectify the horrific mistake you’d made quickly. The red ribbon of the jewelry box wrapped around your fingers tightly, then unwound as you mulled over your options.

You could get him something for his bike, but you’d have to drive to the city and it’s unlikely he’d let you go without him — that’s if the stores were even open this late on a holiday. Maybe you could craft up something quick and easy, if you could get back to your place there surely would be something, but… that felt cheap. Especially compared to the bracelet.

“That ribbon’s pretty,” Caesar says next to you, drawing you from your thoughts, “Must’ve been one real fancy place he went to for ya.”

You sigh, leaning back against the wall a little, looking at the ribbon as you twisted it around, “I’m sure it was. He’s so hopeless sometimes.”

“Only because you’re so sweet on him,” She teases, nudging your shoulder lightly.

A laugh huffs out of your chest, then an idea strikes you. The ribbon is pretty. You actually had some like it back at your place, stored away from last years festivities. You twist the ribbon one last time, and then you grin, wide and wild. Lighter catches your eye as he socks his opponent in the jaw, smirking at you like he’d won a prize.

“Hey, Caesar,” You hum, turning to your friend who seemed a little uneasy at your expression, “How long do you think you can keep him distracted for me.”

She hums, watching him thoughtfully, “I’ll buy ya fifteen minutes — wait, why?”

“You’ll hear later~” You hum with a wink, and practically skip back to your place, leaving Caesar alone to deal with your very adrenaline filled boyfriend on her own.

It takes you half the time Caesar said she could get you to find the damn ribbon, and the other half is spent fighting for your life to get the thing on and look at least a little sexy. You tried to recall old articles you’d read on bondage and shibari, but it was hard to do without a guide. You’d managed to get all the good bits wrapped up and hidden, with a few extra crosses to make it look pretty.

You don’t get a chance to check because you hear Lighters heavy footsteps outside the door nearly as soon as you’ve tied the bow comfortably around your neck. Your able to sort’ve arrange yourself seductively on the bed for him just as the front door open and he calls out to you. You could tell he was annoyed from his voice alone. He never liked it when you left his shows early.

“Caesar told me you headed back here,” He called, boots thumping as he threw them off, “We’re you not enjoying the show?”

It’s a tease, you know it is, but there was an underlying annoyance in his voice that sent a tingle up your spine. He pushes the bedroom door open incredibly slowly, to the point you think he’s trying to surprise you with something. You have the gall to feel stupid for a moment right before his eyes land on you, and he stops at he takes in the sight.

There is an audible shudder as his eyebrows raise nearly to his hairline. He takes his sunglasses off, revealing those pretty green eyes that rake in every inch of you with hunger. Then, he smirks, shoving the bedroom door closed with his shoulder already working his gloves and jacket off to the floor. Forgotten without a second thought. The rest of his clothes follow quickly after.

“Merry Christmas!” You cheer, though you’re more nervous than happy. He clearly likes it, according to the quickly growing tent in his pants and how fast he is to strip himself, but he’s a little too quiet for your liking.

He sinks onto the mattress in front of you, hands ghosting around the bright red ribbon. Like if he touches it, it’ll all fall apart in his grasp. He traces each inch of it with careful practiced restraint, following the fabrics flow across your body until he remembers that you are under the fabric and he lands on your face.

His eyes soften when you smile nervously up at him, fingers tracing the apple of your cheek with such admiration it nearly makes you cry. “You like it?” You ask softly, unsure of yourself.

He scoffs like you’re stupid for wondering, “This might be the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

It draws a genuine laugh out of you, which he follows with his own as he comes down to nuzzle your cheek with his nose. Then a soft kiss that trails down to your lips, easing you into a slow careful dance of love and passion.

He readjusts your position so carefully, you almost don’t notice he’s doing it until he’s between your legs. Pressing them open then pressing his dick to the ribbons wrapping up your folds from him. You’re already dripping, the adrenaline from earlier enough to get you going, but the added friction just makes it worse. You’d never be able to reuse this stuff, that’s for sure.

His hands glide over your stomach, following the ribbon with lazy easy until he’s found the one covering you from him. His thumbs slide under the pieces, rubbing over the flesh of your abdomen gently. It’s then that he pulls away, a string of saliva keeping you connected as he presses his forehead to yours.

“You’re so perfect, you know that?” He murmurs quietly, “You could’ve given me a smile and I would’ve been happy.”

You shy away, “Well… I almost didn’t have anything to get you, but your gift, mmm, inspired me.”

He chuckles at you, reaching down to run his dick against your still covered folds. The silky fabric oddly making everything feel more intense. “I can see that. Very cute, by the way.”

“I know, thank you,” You hum, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as he presses the two of you back into a laying position, “Now are you gonna unwrap your present, or are you gonna keep teasing yourself.”

A roll of the eyes and another smirk, “Y’know, I’ve never been a fan of ruining the wrapping paper. Shits expensive… so how about we go nice and slow.”

As he says that, he slides his dick between the ribbon, right up against your throbbing clit. You let out a surprised sound, quickly melting into sighs of pleasure and he fucks into the ribbon. Each push and pull stimulates your aching pussy into gushing out more for him, clenching on nothing as he fucks himself against you at a leisurely pace.

You take the chance to look down, moaning out as he head of him touches your thigh. The sight is something you’d see in a porno. Lighter follows your eyes, smiling to himself when he catches you practically going cross eyed at the sight.

“We look good together, don’t we, sugar?” He purrs. A rare nickname, sweet and extra praiseworthy — just like he thinks you are.

You nod along with him, fluttering your eyes back to his with a dumb little smile. Each drag of his dick makes your toes curl and nails dig into his broad shoulders. He sighs at the sensation, pressing kisses into your skin to quiet himself up. He’d rather listen to you, after all, and this was a gift for him.

His fingers begin to crawl up your body, dancing along the ribbon excitedly. They make sure to stop and tweak your nipples through the fabric, humming when he feels they’re sufficiently hard and sensitive under his touch. Then, finally, they reach the neatly tied bow around your neck.

The tug at it, gently unwrapping it from your neck and pulling it away with ease. Replacing the red of it with his tongue, licking and sucking new marks into the flesh. Your hips stutter against his, and he lets out a groan, squeezing your tit as warning. You whine, but don’t fight him anymore. His hands returning to unraveling the ribbon, pressing into the skin revealed until he is the only thing keeping the ribbon and his dick pressed against you.

You pout a little when he pulls away, pussy aching for friction once his dick is gone. You feel it clench as it looks for him, and god it makes you feel like a whore. He takes your hands from his shoulder and leans over you to tie them to the bed board above your head. You can feel how wet your were at the wrists, especially when he kisses them reassuringly.

“I love you tied up,” He hums, “You’re so pretty when you can’t do anything.”

You pout up at him, but he doesn’t stay to admire the look long, leaning over to the bedside table to grab the condoms. It occurs to you, in a state of lust driven stupor, that he shouldn’t have to fuck his christmas gift with a condom on.

“Ah, wait—“ He raises an eyebrow at you, hand just inches away from the condoms, “Would you wanna do it raw?”

He blinks at you, again surprised in the same way he was when he first saw you. “Are you serious?”

“We don’t have to—“ You quickly try to rectify the situation, but he cuts you off.

“No, no, we definitely have to,” He shakes his head, closing the drawer with one swift motion, “You’re trying to kill me out here, aren’t you?”

You shake your head, but he’s not listening as he pulls you up into the position he likes most. Legs over his shoulders, body bent in half so he can fuck you hard and fast. He gives you a few seconds to adjust to the position, then he’s pressing his dick into you at a painfully slow pace.

It’s because he’s just so big, he always has to go slow, but you wish he’d just fuck you through the pain right now. The stretch is perfect as always, and you suck him in like it’s nothing with how wet you already were.

He cusses when he finally bottoms out, pressing his face into the side of your neck. You can feel his hot breath fan against your skin, tingling deliciously. “Fuck you’re always so tight. I’m never gonna get used to it, sugar.”

You hum, though you’re in no better shape. Shivering and shuddering every inch, and still quaking as he sits still inside you. You play with his hair to distract from how hot you are, and how you wish he’d make you hotter.

He gives himself a moment to calm down, then he presses a kiss you your cheek, readjusts you just a little so your muscles don’t tense up, and then he moves. The first three thrusts are slow and easy, then he starts to slam into you hard.

“Oh fuck—“ You cry out as the deafening smack of his hips into your ass rings out across the room.

The pace he sets is brutal and unrelenting, you were hoping for it all night. The unspent adrenaline from his earlier fights coming right back to fuck you so good you know you won’t be walking tomorrow. Each slap of his balls against your quickly reddening ass is accompanied by a stifled moan.

He watches you with an intensity you weren’t aware he was capable of, eyes drinking in every single inch of your expression. He looked crazed, but that’s what made it so hot. He was obsessed with every little look, every little sound that left you.

“Don’t be quiet, sugar,” He hums, pushing two of his fingers along your bottom row of teeth to force the sounds out.

“They’ll hear—“

“Let ‘em,” He dismisses, “They know you’re mine anyway, who cares.”

You really couldn’t argue with that, especially not when he shifts ever so slight to hit your g-spot head on. A salacious moan rips out of your throat, and your sure Caesar has figured out what you were up to earlier from that alone. He doesn’t stop ripping sounds out of you, though, continuing his brutal pace and hitting that spot so well you think you’re seeing stars.

The build up to your orgasm is so quick you hardly have time to realize it’s happening. One second you’re fine the next your throwing your head back and moaning like a whore.

“Lighter- Baby, I’m— fuck me- god I’m gonna cum, Lighter.” You admit, way too loud for your liking.

He hums, seeming to switch gears and fuck you faster somehow, “Go ahead, I’ve got you. Lemme feel you cum for me.”

You nod, chest rising and falling rapidly as start litter your vision. You think you nearly pass out, but Lighters hard thrusts fuck you through your orgasm. You squeeze him so tight, like you’re trying to milk his own out of him. You want him to fill you up, want to feel his warm cum deep in your belly. Want to see it drip down your thighs and pool onto the bed when he pulls out.

“Cum inside, please.” You beg.

“Fuuuck… ‘re you—“

You nod, “I need it, please cum in me. ‘S part of your present.”

He groans, fisting the sheets next to your head, “Suagr, you’re fuckin’ killin’ me.”

Always one to please, Lighter does exactly as you ask. Filling you to the brim with his thick hot cum. You revel in his moans, and only slightly wish you could curl your nails into his shoulders to leave another christmas gift for the morning.

He eases you into a more comfortable position before collapsing on top of you. His weight is welcome against your spent body, as are the wet kisses he presses into your sore skin. He unties your hand with one of his, and you quickly wrap them up into his hair.

“I love you,” He mumbles into your shoulder, “So much. You’re the best gift a guy can ask for.”

You giggle at the praise, “I love you too, Lighter.”

[cheshiresense]

Ok so I've actually gotten several asks about what Starrk's relationship with Unohana/the Fourth is/was like, but I don't have time atm to get into it, but I also want to toss out some of my headcanons about it because I've thought about it a lot, so I'll just list out a few headcanons in no particular order and get back to those asks later.

- First of all, Unohana is actually super protective of Starrk, but in a way that just confuses and/or scares people. Like she’s the sort to say dead serious no joke “my lieutenant is a gentle soul, you will answer to me if you upset him” while Starrk’s murdering his way across a battlefield and his reiatsu is eating a bunch of people for lunch 😂😂

- Unohana never thought she even had any protective instincts but Starrk just brings it out in her. At her age, with her experience, she can better sense just how old he actually is, just as she can sense-smell the amount of blood on him, so she knows he's lived a long time and killed a lot of people. But she can also tell he's not like her, he doesn't enjoy that sort of thing—when he kills, it's probably either because he has no choice or because he does it out of a sense of duty to whatever it is he believes in enough to fight for. Case in point, literally no one as powerful as she knows Starrk to be would choose to enter the Fourth with an honest interest in learning even more about healing than he already does. He's patient with even the weakest unseated Shinigami, and Unohana no longer has to personally come running every time the Eleventh decides to stop by to harass her officers because Starrk is there to stonewall them at the gates. But at the same time, the grief and loneliness she can sense in his reiatsu makes her want to shed blood because it never goes away. He can coax the shyest officers out of their shells with that no-pressure-calm he's constantly radiating, and for all that he'd prefer a nap over conversation any day of the week, he's also indulgent with members of his own squad when they ask him questions about a lecture or for a spar when he has time. He's reliable and steady and everything the Fourth needs him to be, with a reserved personality and a long-suffering air about him but careful hands and an even more careful mind in everything he does. And yet, hidden beneath all that, Unohana has never met anyone so constantly, miserably tired all the time. So yes, in her opinion, Starrk is a gentle, even fragile soul. She doesn't know - yet - what broke him so badly, but he's also hers now—she chose him, and he chose her, and she doesn't think she's imagining the way the Fourth feels stronger and stabler with his presence, with the easy way he shoulders the weight of a division right alongside her, with how their subordinates walk around with more confidence too in response to having two monsters watching over them now. For his competence as her second-in-command alone, she would've shielded him from anyone who upset him. But for the way he follows her around, genuinely eager to learn; for the way he sits with the younger officers and answers their questions and shows them new Kidou spells and treats them to snacks and protects them on missions; for the way he can stare down her Bankai without flinching and only grumble afterwards about how he deserves a week of sleep for such a hard spar but never even bat an eye when she reaches out to heal him with the very hands that had done their level best to rip him apart for several hours only minutes earlier; for the way he can give back just as good as he gets and allows her the chance to let herself off her own self-made leash every few weeks without having to hold back—for all of that and more, she would challenge anyone who dares try and force him to draw his blade against his will or break him any further than he already has been.

- I headcanon that for students who want to enter the Fourth, they have to take a separate written exam before they graduate. Results aren't great because there isn't actually much of a medical track at the Academy, plus it's generally considered uncool to end up at the Fourth, so there aren't many who would even take the exam, and of those who do, most can't even finish the entire thing, and minimum pass percentage is probably something like 50% lmao. At this point, it's less an exam and more an assessment of where the student is at so the Fourth's seated officers can sort the newcomers more easily when they have to start them on the basics. Then along comes Starrk who not only finishes the entire exam but also gets everything right, and it catches Unohana's attention enough to get her to make the trip to the Academy to speak to Starrk herself just to find out more, and the more she finds out, the more she thinks she'll finally be able to name a lieutenant with the kind of standards she's always wanted to be able to measure them by. At the end of the impromptu interview, she asks one more question—she asks him if he'd be willing to take one more test and become her official student. The lieutenant seat is his either way, but she's never had a personal student before. She won't be teaching him from scratch, which is a shame—someone with potential and a learning curve like Starrk's should've been scooped up long ago. But there's also more than just medical Kidou and surgical procedures she can pass on to him, and he may be a gentle soul, but he's a gentle soul with something he fiercely wants to protect, and that means there are other things she can teach him. He says yes, and that day, on the day they meet for the first time in any timeline, in a training room deep beneath the Academy, all seals activated for both privacy and containment, and even then they'd barely held—Unohana unseals her Bankai for the first time in centuries, and Starrk weathers every blow with the unyielding bedrock found beneath mountains and deserts and canyons and oceans, timeworn but timeless and enduring all the same. In the aftermath, both of them bleeding from multiple wounds with a good chunk of their reiatsu depleted, she thinks, yes, this one will be mine. He is strong enough to stand with me, tempered enough to be unafraid of me, old enough to have experienced the worst the world can offer, and wise enough to accept and bear it. And yet he remains... soft, at heart. Kind, in a way I do not fully understand, but it is precious nonetheless. It is something that should be protected. He is someone I can protect, so he will be mine.

- She'd prob also be like "let's get this signed and sealed before the old coot catches wind of another dual-wielding Shinigami and thinks he has first dibs just because he got the other two" 😂

- She would 1000% give Shunsui a shovel talk. It's probably the most terrifying shovel talk anyone has ever received in living memory ganbaa shunsui be brave you can do it.

- As for Starrk, he adores the fuck out of Unohana. But he’s also constantly baffled by how she kind of mothers him sometimes, in really off-putting ways (to others) but he doesn't realize that. Like the first time he goes out on a not-a-date with Shunsui, Unohana will be like "I wrote a dissertation called 101 Ways to Sterilize a Man, please read it over, I require urgent feedback" all while staring gloomy-eyed straight at a sweating Shunsui from behind Starrk's back because she'd watched this brat grow up, so she knows his skirt-chasing tendencies better than most, knows the way he likes beautiful people, likes flirting with them and charming them, likes the novelty of a new relationship and the thrill of the chase, and so she also knows the way it always ends with broken hearts but hardly ever his own. At most, he'll pout for a few days or a few weeks and mope and whine to Ukitake, and then he'll move on. He's always earnest and genuine in the moment, treats his lovers with all the respect and affection in the world when they're together, but he bores easily, and for all that he plays a good game of being open and friendly and approachable, Unohana has rarely met anyone more guarded when it comes to matters of the heart than Kyouraku Shunsui. He'd grown out of genuinely pursuing people in more recent decades, goes through the motions but no longer seems very interested in romance or even short dalliances, mostly only flirts these days with his long-time female acquaintances who all know better, but it would be easy for him to fall back into old habits. If he dares to be as careless with Starrk's heart as he'd been with previous lovers, Unohana won't stop until the Eighth Division will require a new captain.

- Starrk totally calls Unohana Shishou-san eventually. He has a thing for nicknames. Shunsui is of course Taichou-san. Shiina is Sensei-san. Unohana is Shishou-san. One person per category. It's an odd quirk of his.

[flwrkid14]

Omg for ur Jason Todd: Dad Mode Activated post, imagine how Jason would react if Tim gets injured during patrol or try to encourage Tim to take an interest in a few hobbies like cooking/ reading or what about how Jason helps Tim with some possible insecurities like a few neck scars

I absolutely love this ask!! I love adding and world-building for literally all of my posts!!!

I can totally picture Jason constantly carrying around a travel med kit for Tim, just in case something goes wrong. He’d try so hard not to go full helicopter-parent mode, but Tim’s always getting himself into trouble since he's so used to not having any kind of supervision!

As for the hobby thing, I think it would be fun if Jason pulled Tim into all sorts of random activities, not necessarily to get him into a hobby, but just to try things together!

Tim shows up at Jason’s safehouse one day, expecting a mission-related problem, only to find Jason sitting on the couch with a basket of colorful yarns and his laptop pulled up to a “Beginner’s Guide to Crocheting.” He'll say something casual like, “C’mon Timbo, Lian’s birthday’s in three months. Let’s see who can make the better stuffy.”

He'll pull Tim into the kitchen to teach him how to cook, or just be an extra pair of hands when he’s preparing something. He'll drag him to the library to pick out a book or just browse the shelves, sitting together while they read. He'll sign them up for a painting class or take Tim rock climbing after work, then convince him to join a cooking workshop where they make their own lunch (Jason only signs up because Tim refuses to go to any of these without him now).

But It’s Jason’s way of trying to teach Tim something new that he can implement into his personal life, without it feeling like a forced obligation. He makes sure to do these things with Tim, so it’s more about sharing the experience than pushing him into anything.

And as for the insecurities��� wow, this could get heavy. I can totally imagine Jason slowly realizing that Tim’s insecure about his neck, not because Tim ever said anything, but because Jason’s been watching him more closely lately. He notices how Tim always covers his neck—wearing turtlenecks even in summer, buttoning up shirts all the way, hiding it as much as possible. That’s when it hits Jason: the scars are his. He’s the one who put them there. And suddenly, he feels this wave of guilt and nausea hit him. He doesn't push Tim to talk about it, though. Instead, Jason quietly apologizes. Deeply, mournfully, with a few tears in his eyes. He doesn't beg for forgiveness, but he reassures Tim that those scars don’t define him. They’re proof of how strong Tim is. That he’s endured so much and is still here. And Jason will make sure that no more scars ever mar Tim’s skin—at least, not while Jason’s around.

It doesn’t fix Tim’s insecurity overnight, but it’s a start. Tim might not feel strong all the time, but with Jason’s words in his head, he knows that the scars don’t make him any less of a badass. And as much as he still struggles, he knows Jason will always be there to take care of him, even when he doesn’t feel as strong as Jason makes him out to be.

Tim comes to the conclusion that Bruce and Jack will never come close to what Jason has become in his life.

[sanjisleggy]

the warlord’s wife (mihawk x reader)

req: Oh if you want to you should do a Mihawk x reader (fem or gn) that's hurt comfort where the reader is like the exact opposite of him. Like she is usually so happy and sweet and kind. And something happens and maybe she starts to worry that she is too much for Mihawk because he is just someone who is quiet and to himself all the time and she thinks she is constantly bothering him

a/n: ahhh my first attempt at writing for Mihawk! a much shorter fic compared to my others but i hope you guys like it nonetheless :3c i’d love to write longer fics for him if anyone has any ideas yippee

contents: rude people (lol), insecure!fem!reader, simp!Mihawk, a tiny bit of angst, some hurt/comfort, fluff :3c

wc. 1k

wanna be on my taglist?

—

i. 

standing outside the large ornate doors, you feel your face burn with embarrassment as you contemplate simply going to the docks to wait out by the hitsugibune until the gala ends. as tempting as escaping from the horrific social situation sounds right now, your pride refuses to let you bow your head in defeat.

”i don’t know how else to convince you,” you try to appeal to the two marines standing guard outside the venue entrance once more, “if you could just ask him to verify my identity—”

”i’m sorry, miss,” the larger man of the two cuts you off with a less than apologetic look. “there’s just no reason why we should do as you say. if we listened to every man or woman demanding to go in, we’d lose our heads.”

your indignance and frustration quickly bubbles into pure anger and for a brief moment you lament having left your katana back at the castle. you bite your tongue, unable to think of any other way to convince the marine officers that you are, indeed, a guest who’d been invited to the gala because you’re literally one of the Warlords’ wives.

“besides,” the other officer chips in unprompted, “no offence but you don’t seem like the type of woman someone like Dracule Mihawk would marry.” his partner fails to hold back a scoff but quickly attempts to return his expression back into one of neutral professionalism.

clenching your fists by your sides, you try your very hardest to keep your eyes from tearing up for the second time tonight. normally such a comment wouldn’t phase you—years of being Mihawk’s partner has done wonders for thickening your skin—right now, though, you can’t help but feel a familiar sharp stinging sensation pierce through your chest.

of all the snarky comments you marine dogs decide to make, why this one?

ii.

it had only been an hour into the gala and already you regretted begging your husband, just weeks prior, to consider attending with you as his guest. the event was a grand one held by the marines every year to “show their appreciation” towards their allies, which included the Seven Warlords; and every year the invite would show up at your doorstep only to be promptly thrown out by your introverted husband.

”can we please go? i miss going for social events like these.” you’d pleaded that night in bed, hugging his arm tightly as you nuzzled your face into the crook of his neck—a move he liked to call ‘playing dirty. “just this once to see what it’s like, then i’ll never ask again.”

both you and Mihawk knew it was a lie but the swordsman was nothing if not a simp for you so he begrudgingly agreed.

”care to elaborate why?” you challenge, taking the two marines aback if their surprised expressions are anything to go by. clearly not used to ‘civilians’ talking back to them, they take a moment to gather their thoughts—and at least have enough decency to look embarrassed at being called out.

”w-well—”

“your wife is such a chatterbox! it’s a wonder you’ve tolerated her for as long as you have!”

”your husband is whom? forgive me, i find that hard to believe.”

”i thought he was some kind of recluse?”

”maybe it was an arranged marriage. how scandalous.”

”i pity the poor man. all my husband does is talk and it drives me insane some days.”

”darling?” a deep familiar voice calls out from behind you, accompanied by the sound of heeled shoes clicking against stone. before you can turn around, you feel his warm hand rest itself on your shoulder, the comforting heat of his body engulfing you from behind. “i’ve been looking for you.”

the blood drains from both the marine officers’ faces, their eyes widening in shock as it dawns on them what a mistake they’ve just made. as though pleading for mercy, the eyes of the larger man flickers in your direction, almost screaming: “please, i’m too young to die.”

”were these men giving you trouble?” Mihawk probes gently, using his other hand to tilt your head in his direction. the moment his eyes meet your own and widen ever so slightly, you know there’s no point lying. as much as you’ve been able to hold back your tears of frustration well enough to fool the average man, your husband is anything but average.

mouths still agape, the marine officers can do nothing but watch as the notorious swordsman proceeds to cup your face with his right hand in a manner so tender they can’t help but suspect he’s an imposter. unbothered by the unbelieving stares sent his way, Mihawk brushes his thumb under your eye as though to confirm his suspicion.

”they were but it’s okay now,” you finally reply, placing your hand over his to hold it in place as you relish in the comforting warmth of his palm.

”what did you do to my wife?” he disregards your subtle plea for peacemaking. he knows you well enough to infer that you simply don’t want him to make a scene for the sake of maintaining his public image. 

Mihawk’s aware of how much you actually enjoy silently watching him defend your pride and honour; and he also knows from experience how happily you’ll reward him with your honeyed words and sweet touches later tonight, when it’s just the two of you alone together. it concerns him, slightly, if he were to be honest, how easily you have him wrapped around your finger—but that’s something to think about another day. 

the marines stutter and stammer but nothing coherent leaves their lips, all linguistic ability fading into nothing under the angered gaze of the Warlord.

”be thankful my beloved is as kind as she is,” the swordsman warns, all the while maintaining his hardened glare. “know that had she not vouched for you two, i’d have no problem killing you right where you stand.”

—

taglist: @irethepotato @i-reblog-fics-i-like @grierpilots

[weepingtalecowboy]

Hyrule Warriors strategy lol

Fanfic prompt: A thing I absolutely love about Hyrule warriors is how the game needs strategy and how said strategy evolves

You go from

“Please go there I will carry you there but please don’t run off”

Too

“GET OVER HERE RIGHT THIS SECOND OR ELSE…!,!”

like you end up barking orders like a literal drill sergeant

You have absolutely no faith that anyone would go where they need to

I spent more time in the menu barking orders than I did actually holding and taking over zones

Even funnier is how replaying the game absolutely makes a difference

Where in games like windwaker or twilight princess you are forced to progress slowly through the game

No matter how good you get at them you still need to wait for bosses to enter second and third phase

Or more specifically need to either tear down the barrier (or skip it but that’s hard) or turn into a hylian in both games

The only thing that changes is that you can play the game better and more reliably than before

In Hyrule warriors the learning curve makes replaying the game hilarious

Because the second you genuinely understand the strategy for the game you play it completely differently

Fighting Volga the first time is literally more about precisely mashing buttons and aiming at him every single time than anything else

I beat him in like ten seconds flat

Like from a time travel fix it perspective Hyrule warriors let’s you do everything immediately

Like imagine warriors getting sent back in time to the first ever fight in Hyrule warriors and literally the second he gets promoted he goes full drill sergeant mode on people

Where first time you learn the usefulness of dragging people to do stuff rather late

You also eventually don’t trust anyone to do stuff if you aren’t outright controlling them immediately

This time around warriors got the confidence to scream at people right after he got the promotion lol

It probably looks so funny when a near new recruit gets the audacity to threaten everyone the second he gets promoted

And then out drill sergeants a higher up and finishes missions in like half an hour the most (respect speed run )

But only because he scared everyone into obedience (like npcs run like they would die if they don’t get to the ordered position right this second)

And kept tabs on all the zones that need to be held

While also ignoring literally every enemy except the generals , redeads and other special forces (honestly redeads make NPCs a new level of ineffective… way to slow)

Only doing side missions for two seconds and then doing the main ones exclusively

And boosting moral like crazy (because of how fast you get side missions done)

You legitimately become a tank at some point in Hyrule warriors and not even replaying the entire game would balance it out

Tune and mask probably feared the captain when he went drill sergeant (and you go drill sergeant way too often in this game)

We need more drill sergeant warriors in the fandom

Because in the game nobody disobeys your orders and runs like their lives depend on it

The chain needs to experience drill sergeant warriors when fighting a boss (maybe dink)

No honor for the evil … you trap them in a corner and keep beating them into submission and don’t stop until they disintegrate

Cia didn’t even have a chance lol

We need more time travel where the character simply immediately becomes their best possible form because they simply had a growing as a person arc they could skip this time around

Arguing with that guy about stuff involving missions is probably not recommended

Time and wind just sit back and watch as warriors get into drill sergeant mode and wait till one of the links gets to do pushups

You have better luck with literally any other type of discussion but not military or mission related lol

[chimggukchim]

Share our @s so we can be bullied in our inboxes till kingdom come and be ostracized by you lot? No, thank you. I'm a Jikooker too and I've seen it happen to other Jikookers too many times just because their view of Jikook isn't "they are 100% together and practically married and monogamous towards each other for more than 10 years now"

Unfortunately this space has become too cult-like where one just can't have a slightly differing opinion about Jimin and Jungkook's relationship or express how they personally truly observe it without Jikookers losing their minds or accusing them of things, the way you guys are doing right now.

There's literally no difference between this community and the Taekooker community anymore - I've seen that crazy side turn on their own just because they had the audacity to point out the ITS talk made sense to them because for a while prior to that even they felt things weren't the same between Taekook anymore. And now it's Jikookers doing the same to other Jikookers🤦🏻‍♀

People can believe that Jikook is real while still pointing out the things they feel contradict that belief, or they can believe they were together and no longer are but still think they are special to each other, or they can believe they aren't together in what one would consider the "conventional, traditional" sense.

Taekook can never be real. That is a ship that has no real substance and was literally formed on aesthetics and vibes and had a whole false narrative attached to it that became lore over the years. A lot of people say just Jikook's existence alone cancels out Taekook, but I think even if Jimin and Jung kook didn't have the kind of dynamic they have and/or they didn't exist as a duo, Taekook still wouldn't be real. Please there's fuckall there.

I am someone who believes there's something more than platonic between Jimin and Jungkook and that Jungkook is deeply in love with Jimin, but still I agree with everything the last anon's(s') said. They *are* different from how they were before and the last few years make it hard to believe in the kind of image of them that Jikook shippers have painted for years.

We are Jikookers, we are here, we exist. Accusing us of being Taekookers won't make that shit true. We don't have to be a monolith.

First thing's first - YOU may not be a taekooker in disguise, but the other anon most likely was. And most with dumb takes are as they have a knack of using the SAME rhetoric and examples every single time, not to mention, always managing to slip in Tae somehow. Let's get that out of the way.

Now, here's the thing, anon.

I understand completely, the feelings of confusion and second-guessing whether jikook are really together or not. I have been there before, on multiple occasions. There were things in the past as it happened that made me doubt whether my suspicions about the true nature of their relationship was right. I get it.

So don't go putting words into my mouth and think that you can assume 'what kind of jikooker' I am.

Cause like I've said on multiple occasions now, I did not start out in the ARMY fandom space either as a jikooker or as a shipper. I had no clue what shipping was. And til this day, I remain an ARMY supporting all of our boys as a group before any sort of shipping enters my mind. Whenever I watch BTS content, jikook as a couple is never at the forefront of my mind. I watch them as a part of Bangtan.

There are certain moments that jikookers put on a pedestal as concrete 'proof' of a relationship, that I side-eye and hence, make no post or comment on because it does not make sense.

If tomorrow, Jimin and Jungkook were to announce they were both dating other people, I would still be happy for them because before anything, I want them to be happy. If that's with other people, so be it.

So I know me and how I perceive Jimin and Jungkook's relationship. I trust my objectivity of their relationship over yours, thank you.

Now to what you have accused most in this community of...I have honestly yet to see to the extent that you have indicated. Harassing? Bullying? Cult-like? Well, I've got news for you. You're in the wrong side of town, deary. And people who go looking there, clearly want to find what they're looking for. (toxicity, by the way)

And the way you spoke of taekookers and knowing how they behave and treat each other?...Honey, the 'normal' jikooker would NEVER EVER find themselves anywhere near taekooker spaces willingly. But you have apparently. That says a lot.

You're looking for trouble. You're going to find it.

Also...my sympathy for you lessened when you compared jikookers to the cult. Because the last time I checked, jikookers didn't go around literally harassing Tae's and JK's FAMILIES AND FRIENDS in real frigging life. So miss me with that similarity nonsense. Point out all you want about SOME jikookers not being able to handle different takes of others all you want, that's fair. I'm sure there may be the immature ones like that in this community, I'm not denying it. I assure you, they're in the minority. But the minute you go comparing any shipping community's behaviour to THAT CULT...it clearly shows loose objectivity.

So with my sincerest heart, I would advise you to change your space. You're clearly in toxic spaces, jikook and taekook-wise. This is bound to influence how you view not only jikook but more importantly, the jikook community.

There is a reason why I don't answer or comment on toxic asks. It's because it brings negativity to the jikook space. And I don't want that. I have found myself probably treading on that territory these days with this discourse. But I'll work it out to bring back the space to positivity and just focusing on Jimin and Jungkook.

Anyway, the final thing I'm going to bring up is that you all keep speaking about Jungkook and Jimin's relationship changing with no actual evidence. You all simply point out things happening now but fail to actually show a proper comparison to the past to highlight the 'CHANGE'. That's not how that works.

For instance, I can say their relationship changed in that Jungkook became a lot bolder with JImin publicly as opposed to years ago. He actively flirts with Jimin on stage when, for instance, during the Red Bullet Tour (back in 2014-2015), he didn't. Jimin did. See how easy that is? Comparison.

If you have any sound comparisons...with proper context, by all means, share. I'm up to hearing it.

PS. This does not include "they don't see each other as much" because we are not privy to how much they actually saw each other back then nor how much they did in 2022/2023.

Anyway, that's all from me. Peace!

[zepskies]

@lamentationsofalonelypotato

Merry Christmas, my friend!! ❤️💚 First of all, I'm so honored that 'Twas the Night gave you some inspiration! 🥹 I'm excited to dive into this special Christmas edition of Take a Chance.

Aww poor Ben. I love how we start with shading in his past Christmases compared to what he's starting to experience now with the reader. We come at it from the same angle of headcanon, that Ben's mom was the only person who truly loved him in his family. So it was such a good detail that after she died, Christmases became just more of the same toxic/apathetic atmosphere with his father, compounded by the impact of his mom's death.

Of course he's having a hard time choosing a proper Christmas gift for her, because when was the last time he gave someone a gift because he genuinely loved them? I feel like Countess wouldn't be a good example lol. So what's going to be a reflection of the relationship he has now? Especially because she's not one for flashiness, or more materialistic gifts.

And as much as Ben loved that about you, it was only making this worse for him.

Yup. 😂😂

"Still not quite right?" She asks, adjusting the sleeves of her navy blue blazer. "We have some bigger jewel-" "It's not the fucking size." Ben snaps frustrated.

Lmfao come on, Ben. Let's not take this out on others. 🤣

"I'm not your fucking buddy." Ben sighs under his breath.

Okay, Ben. You do you. 🤣🤣

Ben had no intention of setting foot inside, but you were curious and even though it made Ben's throat tight to walk down the dusty cobwebbed halls, the wonder on your face as you walked through made the cold memories of the world he knew before he was a supe fade into the background. And this storage unit was all that was left of that life.

Wow, that's so interesting. Taking a trip literally through Memory Lane and walking through his family's mansion. I've never thought about that before, but I imagine it would be one of those things that Ben, for the longest time, couldn't bring himself to sell, but also couldn't visit. Like a mausoleum of his old life.

When Ben opens the trunk, he catches the smell of the floral perfume his mother used to wear and after all these years it makes him remember the tight hugs she'd give him the moment she sent him off to bed and the tight hugs she'd given him when he rushed down the stairs on Christmas morning.

You're killin' me, friend!! 😭😭

Something that you would have ended up doing about an hour before you had to go to the airport, but you knew that would only annoy Ben. But you liked annoying him.

Lmaooo deeply relatable. I feel like it would be oh so funny to intentionally getting on his nerves (knowing he wouldn't hurt you). 😂

He might not have been big on sharing, but your boyfriend was good at listening. Not just pretending to listen, but actually being quiet and wanting to learn more about what you're saying. You'd thought it was odd when you became roommates and you realized just how much Ben listened and remembered what you told him, but now it was one of the reasons that made you love your boyfriend more.

Oh, it's because he actually cares. 💗

In all honesty, you didn't hate how old fashioned Ben was, if anything it was a relief, a reprieve from the way the modern boys treated women. It was nice to finally be with a man who actually gave a shit about you and cared what you wanted.

People want to think there aren't any good aspects to "traditional/old-fashioned" men, but for the men who are actually good men, traditional doesn't necessarily mean outdated or toxic, so thank you for including this tidbit.

Her gift to him was so very sweet!! Of course she made him something heartfelt, and he appreciated it because it was a genuine "first" for him, having someone give him a hand-made gift from the heart. 💚💚💚

And his gift to her was absolutely perfect. 🥹 A keepsake from his mother? Him basically saying he wishes she could've met his girl? I'm dying of happiness from the sheer fluff. 😭💗

This was a beautiful addition to the Take a Chance story, and kind of feels like an epilogue in a way, even though I know you're working on that one too. I loved this, friend!!

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV, Soldier Boy POV and Reader POV

Summary:  All Soldier Boy wants for Christmas is to find the perfect gift for you and all you want is for your boyfriend to have the best Christmas he has in forty years. Reader is a supe with plant powers. (Takes place in my Take A Chance On Me Series- 4 months after they get together, but can be read as stand alone!)

Tropes: Established Relationship, First Christmas, Age Difference (Reader is in her 20s), Soft Ben/ Soldier Boy, Protective Ben/Soldier Boy

Word Count: 8.5K

Warnings: I'm going to label this 18+ because Soldier Boy (he's a warning and everyone knows it), Swearing, Mentions of Sex, Sexual Innuendo, Illusions to Sex, Fluff, Soft Soldier Boy, A little bit of self-deprecating thoughts, Soldier Boy is Mean to Hughie, Mention of drinking/drugs, Ben/Soldier Boy might be a little bit OOC.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

Take A Chance On Me Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Song Inspiration: Little Things By ABBA

A/N: I know I should be working on the epilogue of "Take a Chance on Me," but @zepskies wrote a lovely Christmas fic called 'Twas the Night for Dean Winchester, and it really just got me in a mood to write some Christmas Fluff! 🥰

Soldier Boy POV

Ben frowned at the delicate necklace laid on the black velvet cloth in front of him, the 10 carat diamonds catching in the brilliant lights that lined the ceiling of the jewelry store. It was the eleventh piece of jewelry that he'd asked the woman behind the counter to remove from the display case, and it still wasn't right.

Ben had waited until the last possible moment to go Christmas shopping. It wasn't because he'd forgotten or because he'd been so busy he hadn't had time to shop or because he'd been called away on a mission, but rather Ben kept putting it off because he didn't want to think about it.

It was his first Christmas back in the U.S, and it was already proving to be one so different than the ones he'd known before.

Christmas for him in his youth when his mother was alive was filled with light and joy. Each room of his family's mansion strung with tinsel, adorned with holly and festive wreaths, and a Christmas tree so large that it put all others to shame and sent the smell of pine wafting thorough the large home. He remembered the lavish parties his mother threw with women in gorgeous gowns and men dressed in suits taking crystal glasses from silver trays, remembered the warmth in the kitchen as his mother baked and rolled fresh pastry, remembered the taste of the hot chocolate on the tip of his tongue that his mother made him before she sent him to bed on Christmas Eve, and remembered her tight embrace and the smell of her floral perfume on Christmas morning when he'd run down the stairs into the living room.

Ben's jaw tightened.

Christmas without her was different, the large mansion where he lived with his father was cold and dark. The hallways desolate and frozen in the winter months that lead into spring, the kitchen no longer heated by the warmth of the oven or infused with the smell of gingerbread, the parlor no longer tinkling with the sounds of glasses and the laughter of guests, the living room no longer housed a Christmas tree so tall that it made the Eiffel tower look like a trinket, and there were no longer Christmas parties where people danced into the wee hours of the morning and poured themselves into bed smelling of champagne and eggnog.

All that was left was the drunken stupor of his father, the harsh words that echoed down the long hallways, and the urge for Ben to find the nearest bottle and drown himself in it.

Ben spent most of his years as a supe trying to forget the years that followed his mother's death and also his Christmases as a supe washing away the memory of the ones that seemed to be infused with the magic of Christmas in his youth.

Ben spent them at Legend's Christmas party with his woman of the hour clinging to his arm, making painful small talk and waiting until the party turned into a hedonistic thrall of sweat and skin as so many others had. And the next morning when he woke up from the fog, he turned back to the little white line that promised to make him forget and the amber bottle that did little to ease the reality that started to sink in.

But this year was different, because he had you.

You who loved Christmas more than anyone he'd ever met, you who was slowly reminding him how much he used to love Christmas as a child, you who'd dragged him to go Christmas tree shopping before Thanksgiving, you who had encouraged him to help decorate the small apartment the two of you shared with so many Christmas lights it was blinding,  and you who had planned something Christmas themed every week for the past month whether it be baking Christmas cookies or watching Christmas movies while drinking hot chocolate on the couch. And in each moment, you'd found some way to include him in it.

Ben wasn't used to that.

He wasn't used to someone wanting him there with them and someone like you going out of your way to include him in everything you did.

If a person had tried to tell him in the past that he'd ended up with someone like you, someone who smiled easily, someone who always put other people first, someone who actually gave a shit about him, someone who was always so damn warm and welcoming, someone who included in him everything you did in a way that didn't make Ben feel like an old grump, and someone who tried their best to make sure that Ben remembered every day that you wanted him around, he would have laughed in that person's face.

And yet there you were.

Truth be told Ben knew that the old version of him probably wouldn't have let someone like you close to him, let alone fall in love with them.

Ben hadn't met anyone else like you in the numerous years he'd been alive and he really didn't want to fuck it up. He'd fucked up so many other things in his life and he hadn't cared, but if it involved you, he wouldn't dare.

Hence, the current dilemma of him standing in the crowded Tiffany store at 8 pm two days before Christmas with you waiting at home for him to exchange gifts. Ben wanted to pick the perfect gift for you, but nothing felt right.

He'd never given much thought to what to buy someone for Christmas. In the past usually an expensive piece of jewelry, a handbag, a dress, or a car would have made any of Ben's many escapades swoon, but not you. Ben had tried to give you jewelry before, expensive jewelry that would have made any of those other women drop to their knees, but you were different.

And as much as Ben loved that about you, it was only making this worse for him.

The one time that he'd tried to give you a gift outright, a beautiful diamond and emerald drop pendant with earrings to match, you hadn't been impressed. Sure, you'd thought that it was beautiful, but you'd told him that you liked gifts that "meant something."

Whatever the fuck that meant.

And he knew for a fact that the 10 carat diamond necklace on the velvet pillow in front of him would mean nothing to you.

"Fuck." Ben murmured under his breath, and the saleswoman stiffened.

"Still not quite right?" She asks, adjusting the sleeves of her navy blue blazer. "We have some bigger jewel-"

"It's not the fucking size." Ben snaps frustrated.

He was running late.  He knew that you were waiting at home for him to bring back dinner and to give him his present, the one that he was sure would be thoughtful and perfect for him because you were always so damn caring.

The other shoppers were pushing and shoving their way to the counters where other salespeople stood in identical navy blazers and white button down shirts, the tension and buzz of two days to Christmas electrifying the air, while Christmas music that Ben couldn't recognize played in the background.

His supe hearing made it worse. Sometimes it was a bit overwhelming and as much as Ben pretended that he didn't have PTSD, he did. Being surrounded by this many people was not helping. It was in moments like this when you were there, would hold entwine your fingertips with his and brush your thumb gently over the back of his hand to ground him as if you could sense his discomfort.

Ben hadn't ever had someone care enough to notice things like that. Another reason why he wanted to find you the perfect gift, because you put up with all his shit and didn't ask for anything in return.

"Ben?" He hears a familiar voice ask, hesitant, and he turns to see Annie standing a few feet inside the open doorway. S

he's wearing a black puffer jacket and her hair is hidden under a red stocking cap, while Hughie holds the door for her. Hughie's arms were laden down with bags while Annie's remained bare. The winter wind blew in through the space, flecking bits of snow onto the rugs that had been laid out to avoid the customers sliding through the sludge.

"Hey." Ben grunts, not quite smiling.

He wasn't good at talking to your best friend or her boyfriend. Personally he thought that Hughie was a fucking pussy and that he didn't have the balls to tell Annie no, but the one time Ben had told you that, you'd only rolled your eyes and told him that Hughie "loved Annie."

Ben loved you and he did have the balls to tell you no, but Ben thought that sometimes it was better to keep his mouth shut and do what you asked. Not to mention Ben hated saying no to you when it was something that could make you happy. Ben liked making you as happy as you made him. 

He flinched at the thought. The self-deprecating monologue was beginning to seep in, the one that told him you were turning him into a "pussy" and that he should cut and run. The same monologue that made him make a mistake and run back to Vought a few months ago when he should have run to you.

Ben shakes it off.

"What are you doing here? I thought you two were going to leave this morning for Illinois?" Annie asks in surprise used to Ben's grouchy demeanor.

Your grandmother turned Christmas into a two day extravaganza, complete with a Christmas Eve and a Christmas Day party. And although Ben and you were supposed to begin the 14 hour drive to Illinois this morning, your grandmother had insisted the two of you catch a flight first thing tomorrow.

"Decided to catch a flight tomorrow." Ben replies.

Ben was secretly happy, because flying meant that he wasn't going to have to drive 14 hours in the snow. The two of you had driven to Illinois once before, and Ben hadn't minded it. You���d been more upset with him for not letting you drive, but Ben liked driving. Driving meant that he was in control and in an emergency situation he wouldn't have to reach over the console and yank the wheel to save the two of you and driving meant that you could relax in the passenger seat and work on whatever it was you were crocheting.

"Like us!" Hughie flashes Ben a wide smile that Ben doesn't feel the need to return. “You should have told us. We could have all traveled together!”

Ben's frown deepens at the thought at being stuck in a metal tube for hours with Hughie and he knew that if you were here you would probably elbow him in the side and tell him to "be nice." If anyone had ever tried to do that to him in the past, he would have ripped their arm off, but not you.

"Last minute shopping?" Hughie asks trying again.

Ben dragged his eyes over the numerous bags hanging from Hughie's arms. "Yeah. You too?"

"Mhmm. We just finished." Annie replies. Her gaze drops to the diamond necklace on top of the display case that the saleswoman is fiddling with. "Is that for-"

"No. Of course not!" Ben says sharper than he means to, shoulders tensing. But him standing in this store when he knew that you were waiting at home for him to celebrate Christmas made him feel like Annie and Hughie had caught him red-handed. "She doesn't like jewelry." He adds referring to you as he takes a step back from the counter and the sales associate who looks confused.

“But sir-“ The woman begins to say, but Ben waves a hand to shut her up.

"Why do you think that?" Annie asks interrupting the woman.

"Because she yelled at me when I bought her that diamond and emerald necklace!" He shouts so loud that some of the other customers turn to stare at him. "This was a fucking mistake, I have to go-" Ben starts to stomp out the door and past Annie not sure where he's going, but she shifts to stand in his way. His eyes narrow in annoyance, thinking about all the ways that he could move her.

He only put up with Annie because she was your best friend and he knew that if he did anything to her then it would upset you, and Ben didn't like upsetting you.

Well, he did think that it was cute when you got angry with him. Your eyebrows scrunched together, your cheeks turned a cute shade of pink, and your eyes seemed to glow with the force of your anger. There were few people who had the courage to tell him off, but the more you did it, the more he started to like it.

But this was different, and now thinking about you only reminded him of his current dilemma.

"Ben, wait a minute." Annie says.

"What?" He snaps

He could practically feel the seconds ticking away until he had to go back to the apartment. It was the first time that he'd ever dreaded going home and seeing you and fuck he hated every single moment of it.

"She does like jewelry." Annie's mouth drops into a sympathetic smile.

Ben tried not to get more angry when he saw the pitying look in her eye. He didn't need her pity, didn't need anyone's pity! He was still Soldier Boy damnit!

"Then why the fuck did she-"

"She doesn't like this kind of jewelry." Annie clarifies. "She like vintage stuff, simple, refined. Hell, I have to practically drag her away from the display cases at Atomic Archives."

"Atomic Archives?" Ben asks hesitantly. He had no idea what Annie was talking about. You'd never mentioned that place before.

"Yeah, it's our favorite antique store. It’s about two blocks over from where the plant shop used to be.”

"Can you show me where it is?" Ben says it before he can stop himself, his heart surging with hope at the possibility of finding the perfect gift for you.

"I mean I-" Annie begins to say, but Hughie interrupts.

"Babe, didn’t you say that the owner was closed this week because she went out of town?" Hughie asks her, throwing a sympathetic look in Ben's direction that made him bristle.

"Oh, right." Annie sighs.

Ben felt the hope inside pop and deflate like a pricked balloon, but the longer he stood there in the crowded shop, with the ostentatious jewelry twinkling under the lights, the buzz of the chatter of other shoppers, and the ridiculous new-age Christmas music that grated on his ears, he began to have an idea.

"Come on." Ben might have said it as a suggestion, but it wasn’t open for debate. As much as he didn't want to admit it, he needed Annie and unfortunately that meant that Hughie was going to tag along.

"What?" Annie sputtered.

"Come the fuck on. I don’t have time for this." Ben snaps back and stomps out the doorway past Annie and Hughie into the snow.

"But what about-" Hughie begins to say and Ben whirls around to glare at him, eyes narrowing. "Okay you got it. Lead the way buddy." Hughie nods his head in agreement.

"I'm not your fucking buddy." Ben sighs under his breath.

Soldier Boy POV

"This place is really murdery." Ben hears Hughie whisper to Annie from somewhere behind him. "Do you think Ben is going to try to kill us? Should I call Butc-"

"I'm not going to fucking kill you!" Ben snaps, pulling out his keys, the jingle of the metal echoing down the long hallway. "And I guess you really can't make a decision without that British fuck can you?”

The storage unit warehouse was desolate, but that was to be expected, it was after all two days to Christmas and most were more focused on buying things to put in their storage units than moving things out. The lights along the roof of the steel gray hallway flicker and throw long shadows over the navy blue doors of the units doing little to alleviate the creepy aura.

In hindsight Ben did agree that this particular storage space was "murdery," but it was the only one that he could get close to the apartment last minute. The same apartment that Ben has been trying to convince you to move out of.

It wasn't the safest neighborhood, and Ben hated the thought that you'd lived there as long as you had, walking home at night alone before he moved in. Now it wasn't a problem because Ben never let you walk by yourself. And as hard as you'd fought him not to live in a "big fancy apartment" all Ben wanted was to live somewhere where he could imagine staying permanently. Not in a small one bedroom apartment where he had to stoop in the shower, the bed barely fit in the bedroom, and seemed too small for one person let alone two.

He knew that he was wearing you down, but he still had a long way to go.

"Why are we here then?" Hughie asks.

"You're here because your girlfriend wouldn’t come without you.” Ben rolls his eyes as he fits the key into the thick padlock.

He was getting tired of listening to Hughie’s whining. He heard enough of that when he was stuck on missions with him, but he was tolerating him, for the moment at least. He had to, because if he didn't then he was never going to be able to find the perfect gift for you.

The interior of the storage unit isn't anything special. Ben didn't have much that he wanted to keep from his old life, as a supe or from his childhood. The things inside this storage unit were the only things that Ben had left that didn't cause him to be reminded of how his father chastised him or the drafty home that Ben returned to each time he got kicked out of another boarding school.

The mansion that had been in his family for decades had sat abandoned and locked up, hidden from the main roads so it was undisturbed after Ben's father died. Ben had gone to Philadelphia a few months ago to get things in order with the bank and prepare it for sale, but had been surprised when you told him you wanted to come.

He didn't think that you'd want to be involved in something so tedious, but it was almost as if you could sense how hard it was going to be for him, and you'd insisted.

Ben had no intention of setting foot inside, but you were curious and even though it made Ben's throat tight to walk down the dusty cobwebbed halls, the wonder on your face as you walked through made the cold memories of the world he knew before he was a supe fade into the background.

And this storage unit was all that was left of that life.

Ben located the old steamer trunk with ease. It was a faded gray now, but Ben remembered the day his father bought it for his mother. When the grayed sides were a soft supple black, the metal lock and edging were a polished gold, and the rose patterned fabric that lined the inside was soft and covered in bright pink flowers.

When Ben opens the trunk, he catches the smell of the floral perfume his mother used to wear and after all these years it makes him remember the tight hugs she'd give him the moment she sent him off to bed and the tight hugs she'd given him when he rushed down the stairs on Christmas morning.

He didn't like thinking about her or talking about her, but sometimes he would think of her when he was with you. Whenever you did something caring without being asked or whenever you took the time to check in to see how he was doing. Not that you were motherly, just that Ben hadn't had anyone in a long time care about little things like that.

The only other "relationship" he'd tried to have was with Crimson Countess and she didn't do any of the things for him that you did. There wasn't any comparison between the two of you as far as Ben was concerned.

He shakes off the memory the way he always does and moves some of his mother's clothes for the cherry wood carved box that he knows is in the bottom.

He opens it slowly, extracting a small velvet box from within, one of many inside that Ben probably should have taken to the bank ages ago for safe keeping. Ben's father had a tendency to buy things for his mother whenever he "messed up" and the small velvet boxes inside were proof of that.

Ben turns back to where Annie and Hughie are watching with curiosity at the door of the storage unit. "Here."

"Here?" Annie says hesitantly looking at the velvet box in Ben's hand.

"You brought us out here for a box?" Hughie huffs.

Ben narrows his eyes. "No. And if you tell anyone about this I'll turn you inside out, ass-wipe."

"Why do you always have to be so-" Hughie begins to say, but Annie nudges him in the side.

Ben wondered briefly if Annie and Hughie also tried to tolerate him the same way that he tolerated them for you.  

"Wow." Annie says, her voice hushed and reverent when she opens the box with strands of her blonde hair falling out around the hat.

"You think she'll like it?" Ben clears his throat, trying not to wince at the question.

He hated that he was relying on Annie for this or relying on anyone in general. Ben would have rather taken a long walk off a short pier than anyone for help, but he was just so desperate to make sure that the first Christmas the two of you spent together was perfect.

You deserved that and Ben wanted to give it to you.

"She will."

"Good." Ben takes the box back, but decides to bring the wooden box with him back to the apartment just in case. His eyes narrow as he looks over at Hughie. "If you tell anyone about this, I'll shove your head up Butcher's ass. Then again, you two would probably enjoy something like that."

"You're welcome." Annie raises an eyebrow.

"Whatever." Ben mutters.

Reader POV

Ben was late and you were starting to worry.

Not that Ben was always punctual. The man was about as punctual as the White Rabbit, but rather Ben was sure to let you know when he was running late. Not to mention Ben was rarely late to things that he knew were important to you.

And tonight was special or at least you wanted it to be.

You look at your phone again to check the time, noting that it was nearing nine and Ben had told you he was going to be back at eight. You were trying not to think too much about it, busying yourself with other little things, like packing for your trip to your grandmother's home in Illinois. Something that you would have ended up doing about an hour before you had to go to the airport, but you knew that would only annoy Ben.

But you liked annoying him.

Ben's nostrils would flare, his jaw would flex, and the green of his eyes would darken in a way that sent a pleasurable shiver down his spine, but tonight you were too anxiety ridden at how late he was to care about making him annoyed.

Ben and you were supposed to leave this morning to drive the 14 hours to your hometown in Illinois, but you'd called your grandmother a few days ago and asked her if Ben and you could fly in instead.

You wanted the two of you have a Christmas alone before you dragged him back home and made him sit through the two holiday parties your grandmother threw. So you'd planned a quiet Christmas at home where the two of you could drink eggnog, watch some holiday movies, and exchange gifts before Ben was subjected to every single person you'd known since you were six.

But Ben didn’t seem to mind any of that.

Regardless, you were going all out this Christmas. It was Ben's first since he'd come back to the States and you wanted it to be perfect and it was the first Christmas the two of you were spending together as a couple.

The anxious energy that thrummed through your veins reached out into the numerous plants in your apartment, that shifted and stirred as your powers coaxed them forward. The vines that crept along the walls shook with an unnatural breeze, the Christmas tree grew an inch taller, the mistletoe hanging above the front door grew another few shimmering berries, the blackberry and raspberry vines that hung over your refrigerator fidgeted and wove together into a curtain while the tomato plant in the garden box above your sink dropped bright red fruit onto the counter, and the orange/lemon tree that sat behind your kitchen table blocking the view of the alley beyond shook it's branches for a moment. You could feel everything alive in your apartment leaning towards you as if waiting for your silent command.

Rex, the creature you'd created from broken vines and trampled leaves four months ago, flicks his eyes over to you sensing the same disturbance the rest of the plants inside could.

You bite the inside of your cheek fighting your urge to check your phone even though you know that less than a minute has passed since you'd last checked. Instead you fiddle with the ribbon on the lumpy wrapped gift that is perched on your lap.

Shopping for Ben had been difficult to say the least.

You weren't sure what to get your 104 boyfriend who'd lived as a hedonistic playboy for most of his life and you didn't like giving gift cards (you didn't think Ben would understand the concept) or giving people meaningless trinkets that they used once and then threw away (the Grinch was right about some things). You liked giving gifts that you put time and effort into that you were sure the recipient was going to love.

And you were sure that the package on your lap contained the perfect gift and you were excited to see the look on Ben's face when he unwrapped it.

Your cat Bean purrs where he sits beside you on the couch and Rex your, for lack of a better word, Dragon was watching the multicolored lights on the Christmas tree in the corner blink on and off.

It was bigger for your apartment than it should be, but Ben had insisted on getting it and you couldn't complain. Not when he genuinely seemed to be happy to stand there in the snow picking out a tree with you.

And after when no Uber driver agreed to pick the two of you up because of the tree, Ben had carried it on his shoulder fifteen blocks while you begged him to let you help. When you'd tried to take some of the tree, Ben had shifted it to his other shoulder and taken your hand instead, which wasn't what you meant when you reached out towards him, but you didn't let go, not when it was cold and Ben's hand was warm.

The one jammed into the corner of your small living room didn't have a leaf out of place or any signs of decay. You'd fixed that with a flick of a finger.

You'd gone all out with decorations.

Every plant in your apartment had lights of their own and ornaments that swung just out of reach from your pets. Christmas lights were strung down the hallway and there was a wreath on your bedroom door. Strands of mistletoe hung over every doorway in your apartment and there was one taped to the wall above your bed. That one was Ben's doing, but you couldn't complain, not when it felt so damn good to kiss him.

Ben hadn't spoken about the Christmases he spent in the past, but he'd listened to you talk about your Christmases growing up when the two of you decorated the tree with ornaments you'd collected over the years.

He might not have been big on sharing, but your boyfriend was good at listening. Not just pretending to listen, but actually being quiet and wanting to learn more about what you're saying. You'd thought it was odd when you became roommates and you realized just how much Ben listened and remembered what you told him, but now it was one of the reasons that made you love your boyfriend more.

You sighed, a happy smile on your face. You didn't think that you could feel this way about anyone, let alone someone you hated for so long, but you did. Ben was changing the belief you had about what relationships should look like, and you were sure that you were doing the same for him.

You hear the jingle of keys and the fumble of the doorknob as Ben slowly opens the front door and you leap from the couch.

"You're home!" You exclaim as your body hits his full speed, but he doesn't move. It was difficult for you to produce enough force to move him, difficult for anyone really.

Ben chuckles "Miss me Petals?"

He moves the plastic bag of Chinese food to his left hand so he can hug you back, his right hand fitting comfortably over the small of your back to hold you tighter against him.

You could remember the first time you hugged him, when all he did was stand there with his hands at his sides awkwardly while you held on to him as tight as you could. This was better. Ben's embrace is warm and strong, unyielding, but full of the love that he’d had such a hard time admitting.

"Yes." You squeeze him hard, smiling into his jacket that's flecked with melting snow, cold against your skin, but the warmth of his body soaks through the chill and into you. You sigh, nuzzling further into him. "I was worried-"

"Why?" Ben's voice rumbles through his chest, against your cheek.

"Because you weren't home yet." You pull back to stare up at him. His brilliant green eyes catch in the multicolored strands of Christmas lights, strung through your apartment. There's snow caught in his dark hair, turning to water and dripping down into his face in the warmth of the apartment.

Ben frowns. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay. You're here now." You smile arching up to kiss him. Ben groans into your mouth, his grip on you tightening as he deepens the kiss, pressing the hand on the small of your back just a little more to secure you against his chest.

You sigh softly, content in living in this moment with him for another few precious seconds. The heat of his body transferring into you the longer you stand pressed against him, soaking through your sweatpants and chunky sweater in the best way.

You'd never felt this way about anyone in the past. There hadn't been another boyfriend who'd treated you the way Ben did, no other boyfriend who'd cared about the little things, and no other boyfriend who you were so in love with. Even your first love so long ago faded into the background, the one you thought you'd never get over, and all that was left was Ben.

You're too excited about giving Ben his gift to eat. You sit cross-legged on the plush gray couch so close to him that your knees are touching the outside of his thigh as Ben places the boxes of food onto your coffee table. The anxious energy tingling in the pit of your stomach and buzzing in your chest so much that it's difficult to sit still.

And before Ben can give you your chopsticks, you thrust the lumpy wrapped package onto his lap with a wide smile.

"You first!" You say.

Ben shakes his head. "It should be ladies first."

“I’m not a lady Ben. We both know that-“

“Sorry sweetheart that’s the way it goes.”

“Don't be so old fashioned Gramps. It's 2024.” You roll your eyes at him, laughing at the cute frown that pulls at his lips when you use the nickname. Ben never liked it, but when you'd first met, Ben hadn't told you his real name, and you'd assigned him the nickname and it had stuck when you realized how much it annoyed him.

That was when he did everything in his power to annoy you as well, so it seemed like a good fit.

In all honesty, you didn't hate how old fashioned Ben was, if anything it was a relief, a reprieve from the way the modern boys treated women. It was nice to finally be with a man who actually gave a shit about you and cared what you wanted.

"And I really want you to open yours first." You plead as you lean towards him. "Oh, and this goes with it."

You reach down behind the couch to grab the small golden barrel cactus, avoiding the sharp yellow spines, and place it on the minimal space left on the coffee table. You'd crocheted a dark green sleeve to go around the terra cotta pot.

"You got me a cactus?" Ben snorts.

"I mean, I have so many plants in here and I thought that you'd want one that was yours. Plus, you'll never have to water it." You gesture with one hand to the numerous plants around the room, the ones bathed in the multicolored lights from the Christmas Tree, the ones with bright green leaves that unfurled towards the light, the others with hanging vines that trailed to the ground so thick that you couldn't remember the color of the wall, the apple tree with ripe red fruit, and the numerous herbs in the garden box that hung over your kitchen sink. "And I gave it a sweater."

"Why did you give it a sweater?"

"It’s used to a warm climate and because I had some yarn left over."

"From?"

"You're just going to have to open your gift and find out." You shrug, but can barely contain your excitement.

Ben shakes his head at you, but a smile twitches on the corner of his lips. You knew that your boyfriend loved you because you were different than anyone he'd ever met, and you reveled in that. You liked that even though Ben was older than you,  that no matter how many other experiences he'd had in his life,  you were a first for him just as Ben was a first for you.

He rips through the paper carefully, trying hard not to ruin what was inside, the sound of crinkling and tearing blocking out the Christmas playlist for a moment that you'd put on before Ben had come home, but you can hear the ABBA song clear as day.

For a moment he stares down at the gift not quite comprehending what the lumpy mass in his lap is, but then he picks it up.

It had taken a month for you to pick out the perfect dark green yarn that was soft but not too soft, green but not too green, and another two months for you to finish it when Ben wasn't home, but you were proud of the sweater that you'd made your boyfriend.

He stares at it for another few beats, holding it up to the light, and it makes you worry that maybe you should have bought him something at the mall instead.

"You made me a sweater?" He asks, there's something on the edge of his voice that you can't place, some traces of emotion that you're not able to identify.

"Yeah. I wanted to make you something." You clear your throat, worried. "I mean- you don't have any and I know that you keep saying you run a little warm, but I figured we're going to Illinois for Christmas and it might be cold."

Ben doesn't say anything and you start to feel the self-doubt come roaring in.

Why did I make him a sweater? I should have bought him some cologne or something.

"And you complained when Butcher sent you on that mission to Alaska last month and I just thought that-“ You press your lips into a tight line, shoulders drooping. “If you don't like it I can keep it for me-" You fumble, but before you can finish, Ben yanks you into his lap.

His hands cup your cheeks as he kisses you so fiercely that it wipes any doubts from your mind. You make a surprised sound in the back of your throat, but sink into the kiss.  “Don’t you fucking dare.” Ben mutters against your lips.

Your blush burns against your face. “You like it?”

He nods. “ No one’s ever made me anything before.” His voice comes out a little bit gruff, as if he’s embarrassed to admit it, but it makes you smile.

“I figured and I wanted to change that.” Your fingertips dance over his forehead, brushing away the hair that’s fallen forward before your hand drops to cup his cheek, feeling the scratch of his beard against the palm of your hand. “But you’re sure you like it?”

Ben kisses you again, his large hands settling on your hips with an encouraging squeeze. “I do.”

“Good. Merry Christmas.” You wrap your arms around the back of his neck to hug him for a minute, sinking into his embrace with a happy smile.

"Merry Christmas doll." Ben murmurs into your hair, affection lacing his words.

Again, you send a mental thank you to your grandmother for understanding that Ben and you needed a day to be together and celebrate the way you wanted to before coming to stay. Not that you didn't like the Christmas Eve party or the Christmas day party, but you wanted to give Ben this. You noticed that Ben still had a hard time being in places with a lot of people when the PTSD came roaring back, and you wanted to show him what Christmas meant to you and hopefully show what Christmas would look like between the two of you as long as you were together.

“Sweetheart you gotta open yours now.” Ben’s voice rumbles, the warmth of his breath on your ear. It makes a pleasurable shiver thrill skate down your spine when you think of all the other times the two of you have been this close.

“It’s okay I can wait.” You hum into his throat, content, but Ben won't give in.

He pushes you back gently from his chest shaking his head. “Too bad. It's your turn."

"Fine." You start to move back to the space beside him, but Ben's hands catch on your hips to stop you.

"I didn't say I wanted you to move did I?" His smile turns more smirk.

"I-"

"How many times do I have to tell you that I like having you on top of me?" Ben purrs, kissing under your jaw, his beard scratching in a way that makes your throat tight.

"Keep doing that and the only thing I'm going to unwrap is you." You sigh in a half-moan, fingers curling into the hair at the base of his neck.

"After." Ben leans back to reach into his coat pocket and pulls out a small black velvet box that fits in the palm of your hand.

You hesitate to open it.

It wasn't that you didn't want jewelry for Christmas, it was that Ben and you had done this song and dance before after he tried to make you wear a diamond and emerald necklace with jewels bigger than your index, middle, and third finger put together. The whole time you wore it the only thing you could think about is how many groceries you could have bought with the necklace, how much you were afraid that it was going to break, and how much you feared that you were going to lose it or someone was going to try and steal it.

Maybe that was ridiculous, but extravagant gifts never appealed to you. You liked gifts that meant something, gifts that were heartfelt and thoughtful, gifts like the bookshelf Ben had gotten you months ago before you were dating because he noticed you needed one. Not to mention you loved just spending time with Ben. If he hadn't gotten you anything you would have been content with just sitting with him on the couch and watching a Christmas movie.

But you smile, because you don't want to hurt his feelings and because it's his first Christmas in forty years and you wanted it to be special.

It's Christmas and I will be thankful and happy with whatever he got me, because Ben was thinking of me when he bought it.

You think to yourself as you open the box.

The first thing you notice is that the box isn't as new as you thought, the inside of the lid is printed in ancient script that's a little faded, worn against the aged white silk that lines it. Your eyes drift to the piece of jewelry nestled on the pillow. It's a silver locket, hexagon shaped, and about the size of your thumb. The face is printed with weaving ivy leaves and roses that reach to a simple plain border.

Simple, stately, and completely you.

Ben is uncharacteristically quiet, but he breaks the silence first. "Do you-" He clears his throat, "Do you like it?"

He asks it hesitantly, as if he's afraid to hear your answer. It was unusual for Ben to look so nervous.

You can only nod, any words you had stuck in the back of your throat. Your fingernail finds the seam between the two pieces of metal and you gently unlatch the locket to see the picture inside. There's a piece of glass protecting a yellowed photo of a little boy who looks no more than five standing in a small black suit. You didn't think that they made suits for kids that small. He's smiling and one of his teeth are missing, but he looks oddly familiar.

"Who is this?" You ask. The more you look at the photo the more you think that you've seen him before.

"It's me." He says it quiet, almost a whisper.

"You? But-"

"It was my mother's." He clarifies and you inhale sharply in surprise.

"Really?"

He nods once, looking uncomfortable. By now you knew that moments like this usually made your boyfriend uncomfortable no matter how many times that you'd told him that he didn't have to be uncomfortable about being vulnerable. He was getting a little better, slowly, very slowly.

"Oh Ben I don't know if I should-" You shake your head, afraid to touch something so old.

Ben didn't often speak about his mother, but when he did, it was always reverent and respectful. You could see in his eyes how much he had loved her and how much he had cared about her. His father, Ben also didn't like talking about, but Ben never spoke of his father with the kindness that he'd spoke about his mother.

And you didn't want to take something like this away from him, something that meant so much to him, because of how much he loved his mother.

"No. I-" He clears his throat and Ben's hand tightens on your waist. "I want you to have it."

"But-" You stutter.

"What else am I going to do with it Petals? Can't exactly wear it myself." Ben chuckles, but the humor doesn't quite reach his eyes.

“Yeah, but it’s your mom’s and I-“ You trail off still looking at the photo of Ben as a little boy. He had the same mischievous twinkle in his eyes that you loved, the same unruly dark hair, but there was something different about him. He looked happier. It was the same look that Ben had when it was just the two of you together, the happiness that you wanted Ben to feel the rest of his life when he understood what it was like to be loved and cherished.

And it made you understand that the last time Ben must have felt loved and cherished was when his mother was still alive. It broke your heart to know that Ben had lived all these years without her and missed that in his life.

The locket was beautiful and the fact that Ben remembered what you said about liking gifts that “meant something” made your heart flutter.

Because this meant something. Ben taking the time to go through his mother’s jewelry and pick something out just for you that was special to him that he wanted to share with you, meant more than the emerald and diamond necklace he had tried to give you months ago.

There were tears burning behind your eyes the more you look at the photo of the little boy.

Ben is watching you. “Well-“ He shrugs. “I'm an only child. Which means I don't have any siblings who have wives to fight over this stuff so, I figured that if anyone was going to get it, it should be you. If you don't take it, it'll sit in that fucking storage unit. Seems like a shame."

You don't answer.

"And-" He hesitates, "I think my mom would have wanted you to have it. Hell, she might have given it to you, if I'd brought you home to meet her."

Your cheeks flush.

Ben studies you for another minute, before you watch his smile twitch into a frown. "Fuck, I knew I shouldn't have gotten you jewelry.  Annie said that you liked jewelry, but I told her you didn't and now the bitch is probably having a good laugh with that pussy of a boyfriend! Forget about it sweetheart, I'll go get you something else right now-" Ben tries to take the box from you, but you swat his hand away.

“Don't you fucking dare!” You shout, using the same words that he said to you when you tried to take his sweater away.

"But you don't like it-"

"I do!  And knowing how much this means to you, makes it better."

"Really?"

You nod, a wide smile wiping away any uncertainty in his gaze. "Will you help me put it on?"

"Sure." Ben says gruffly. His voice has lowered a little, and you know that it's a mixture of pride and love mingling in the tone. It made something break open deep inside and flood your ribcage with love.

You turn your neck to the side, pulling your hair away from the skin as Ben hooks the chain together at the nape of your neck.  The cool metal of the necklace against your skin and the weight are unfamiliar, but you already knew that you wouldn’t be taking it off anytime soon. "It's perfect!" You pull Ben in for a kiss, threading your fingers into his dark hair.

Ben smiles into your mouth, holding you tight against him as if he never wants to let you go and you don't want him to.

It was odd to think that you'd only been together for four months, but you couldn't imagine your life without him. It seemed ridiculous for you to think that Ben was it after such a short time, but he was. You'd never rushed into anything in your entire life, but then Ben was there shattering every expectation that you had, enough to make you throw your inhibitions to the wind and jump feet first into the unknown if it meant he was with you.

The kiss is softer than the one the two of you shared at your front door, filled with more emotion than Ben usually let the world see, but he was opening up bit by bit, learning that you wouldn't judge him for that and it made you feel sky high.

This was the relationship you'd always wanted, and you never thought that you'd have it with Ben, but now that you were here you wouldn't change a thing, because it wouldn’t have put you in his arms.

"You can change the picture." Ben murmurs into your lips.

"No way. I don't have any kid photos of you. And I'm pretty sure you'll see all of mine this week.”

“I bet you were cute.” Ben smiles, raising one of the hands from your hip to push your hair from your face. “Hard to imagine you being any other way sweetheart.” 

"Debatable." You sigh, nipping at his bottom lip in a way that makes Ben pull you back to him.

And when the kiss turns hungry, with you gripping his hair so tight you'd be sure that it would hurt anyone else, and with his fingers pushing up the bottom of your t-shirt to feel the warmth of your skin against his hands and find the dips and curves of your body that make you moan into his mouth, you can't help but think that this is the best Christmas you'd ever had.

"I do think it's later sweetheart." Ben's eyes shine with mischief, mouth pulling into the familiar smirk that makes your knees weak.

"Good. Because I have one other gift for you." You moan as Ben's mouth trails down to your jaw, his beard prickling against the sensitive skin, in a way that drives you mad.

"It's not another plant is it?" He bites just under your jaw and you tighten your hands in his hair, gasping softly.  "Fuck, I love those sounds you make baby." Ben murmurs.

"No." You've lost all ability to form sentences, not when he's so perfectly warm and the trail of his hands working up your abdomen consumes you.

"Give it to me later." Ben's eyes flash a startling green. "I want to unwrap my favorite gift right now."

"Keep going the way you are, and you're gonna find it."

Ben hesitates, before he raises his hand to feel the end of the brand new lingerie that you'd bought special for tonight, his eyes darkening with the realization. "Well then, Merry Christmas to me."

Ben's mouth falls against yours, but before he goes further, he pulls back just for a moment, his hand coming up to gently cup your cheek. Your eyes widen in surprise.

"Ben?" You question. 

"Merry Christmas Petals." He whispers, dragging his thumb over your cheek, and nudges his nose against yours in a gesture that warms your heart. He didn’t do things like that often, but whenever he did it always stood out to you, because it added on another layer to the man you loved with all your heart.

"Merry Christmas Ben."

A/N: I thought that they deserved a little Christmas fluff. I'm hoping that I have time to drop a follow up to this before Christmas, because I kinda want to write what happens when they go back to Illinois, but we'll see what happens! ❤️

As always thank you so much for reading! Reblogs, Likes, and Comments are not required, but are always appreciated! I love hearing what y'all think 🥰

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[oddyseye]

Things I did NOT like in the Ithaca Saga.

Okay, it was fine, but there were just...choices... There’s just stuff in that section that had me rolling my eyes so hard I thought they’d get stuck.

First up: "Hold Them Down." I get that Epic is trying to make the suitors worse villains, but the way they went about it was disgusting. That song outright says the suitors were planning to force themselves on Penelope, which is not even remotely in the Odyssey. Yes, the suitors are terrible — they’re greedy, arrogant, would-be killers who exploit her hospitality — but this crosses a line that feels like shock value rather than staying true to the source material. They included that song, but erased Calypso’s actions toward Odysseus? In the Odyssey, she held him captive for years and forced him into a relationship. That is literally such an important part of the story. Yet, not only did Epic omit it, but they also banned people from even discussing it in their Discord server. How does that make sense? You can explore one kind of assault but not acknowledge the other, especially when the one they ignored was actually canon? The double standard is infuriating, and it completely undermines the narrative’s integrity. Yet somehow this suitor nonsense made the cut? Make it make sense, because I can’t. Next, Telemachus. Why did they do my boy so dirty? In the Odyssey, he was brave, capable, and growing into his own. He fought beside Odysseus, killed suitors, and even comes this close to stringing Odysseus’ old bow, which is supposed to be impossible for anyone but...well. Odysseus. That’s a huge moment! It shows how much he’s grown and how much of Odysseus’ strength and legacy he carries within him. But in Epic? They turned him into some weak, helpless little thing who can’t do anything without Odysseus. Like, hello? Telemachus isn’t just Odysseus’ son; he’s a fighter, a prince, and a man trying to defend his home. Stripping that away to make Odysseus look like more of a hero is just lazy and disrespectful to the original story. They took away his courage, his growth, and his ability to hold his own. It’s like they didn’t trust the audience to see Odysseus as a hero unless Telemachus was made to look useless by comparison. And then we get to Odysseus and Athena. What even was that? Yes, the idea that Odysseus has become a “monster” is a fascinating angle—he’s been through so much that revenge, violence, and survival have completely overtaken who he once was. But Ithaca does nothing to earn this shift, and it outright ignores the groundwork laid in earlier sagas. Two sagas ago, we saw Odysseus at his lowest. He was stranded on Calypso’s island, completely defeated, and begging Athena for help. Let me say that again: begging. And this wasn’t just any goddess he was calling out to — this was the mentor who had abandoned him as a student. She had walked away, and he still reached out, still trusted her to save him when no one else could. That moment showed Odysseus’ faith in Athena and their deep, complicated bond. Calypso.

And Athena? She didn’t just listen—she fought for him. She went up against Zeus himself to make sure Odysseus could leave that island. She defied the king of the gods because she believed in him. Odysseus doesn’t know that detail, but we do, and it makes her devotion to him so much more impactful. She risked everything to give him another chance at life, at home, at redemption.

Fast-forward to Ithaca, and what do we get? Athena shows up, vulnerable and introspective, questioning the path they’ve taken and the world they’ve built, and Odysseus just brushes her off. He doesn’t just say no — he dismisses her entirely. His response boils down to, “Not my problem. I’ve got a wife to see.” Excuse me, now? This is the same man who was crying out for her intervention just two sagas ago. The same man whose survival has always depended on his intelligence, resourcefulness, and the help of others — Athena most of all. Now he’s too proud to even engage with her? It doesn’t track. It’s inconsistent, and it cheapens their relationship. She’s opening her heart, showing her vulnerability, wondering if there’s still a way for them to fix what they’ve broken. She didn’t owe him anything, but she did it because she believed in him, because she had invested in him from the start. So for him to now completely disregard her — when she’s in front of him, showing empathy and pain — feels like a betrayal of everything that came before. Odysseus’ monster arc didn’t need to erase Athena. In fact, rejecting the one person who literally raised him, who fought for him, who saved him so many times, doesn’t even make sense for his character. That’s not the arc of a man who’s become a monster; that’s just cruelty for cruelty’s sake.

This is someone who has given everything to Odysseus, and in this moment, she’s realizing that the person she fought for is no longer the man she thought he was. And that’s what’s tragic.

But Ithaca doesn’t explore that. Instead, it uses Odysseus’ rejection as a cheap plot point, stripping away the emotional weight of his relationship with Athena. She was the woman who raised him, who guided him, who saved him — and they reduced her to a mere plot device to show how “monster-ified” Odysseus has become. It’s lazy, it’s cruel, and it completely disregards the depth of their bond. The pain in Athena’s voice, the heartbreak in her words, is completely wasted.

Odysseus doesn’t need to be a monster who rejects Athena to be a tragic figure. The tragedy would have been in him choosing revenge and violence at the cost of his humanity, not in cutting ties with the one person who raised him into the hero he became. Ithaca could’ve explored that, but instead, it gave us a shallow, hollow portrayal that didn’t respect the characters, their history, or the emotional weight of their relationship. Ithaca is a hot mess, and it’s honestly embarrassing. It had all this potential, and yet it chose to phone it in with lazy writing and shallow plot twists. It throws out big ideas and then does nothing with them, leaving us with empty, unearned moments that just fall flat. Instead of digging into anything meaningful, it relies on cheap drama to get a reaction. The story feels rushed, disconnected from the other sagas, and like the creators couldn’t be bothered to put in the work. They had an opportunity to make something impactful and then just decided to half-ass it. If you're looking for a mess of missed potential, Ithaca is your go-to. That being said, the songs are sick and I will sob again over the last song. Thank you.

[butchvamp]

i dont know how you could play veilguard and genuinely think the dalish elves are represented well in that game. you can't even play a dalish rook (except somehow they kinda are dalish, but also you can make them andrastian too, because actually you're not dalish but you do know elven and call them "our gods" repeatedly for some reason but your faith is completely unshaken by all of this regardless), there are no dalish clans in the entire game, the only one we do interact with is massacred off-screen but it's fine this time i guess because at least it's not our fault, and the two dalish companions are treated like shit by the writers and the narrative and the playerbase. the veil jumpers are not the dalish, these are separate groups, there are humans and qunari and dwarves all within the veil jumpers. the dalish are separate, irelin and strife and bellara all left their clans to join the veil jumpers. the actual dalish clan in arlathan is killed after the gods escape, there's literally a whole quest where you have to run around and find their dead bodies.

bellara is punished not once but twice with her brother's death for daring to pursue elven history, just like merrill is punished for restoring the eluvian before her. and then rook is the one that gets to choose whether or not to destroy the archive, despite not even being dalish. yes, bellara is smart and strong and brave but she also is belittled for her beliefs; her struggle at the start is played as a joke, her comments are all punchlines, and when you do get to talk to her she blames herself and feels guilty, and the game gives you no real option to comfort her. it takes the game killing her brother a second time for us to finally get to see her practice her culture without feeling guilty and without being mocked for it at his funeral, because now she's learned her lesson (but also they make sure to throw in a comment about how Weird it is, and also that all the other dalish clans have been doing the Wrong funeral rites, just to make sure we know how silly they are)

outside of davrin and bellara, the dalish are absent. strife and irelin both immediately accept the sudden revelation that their gods are evil with no pushback (and i don't care if this is because they know harding and varric, this is not communicated in the game). and apparently every other dalish elf just accepts it, too. how is this not depicting them as a monolith? did we play different games? dalish clans have their own traditions and cultures and would absolutely have different opinions about their own gods; the only way you get to see something even remotely close to this is if you take bellara and davrin out together and listen for their banters-- which are never mentioned or relevant anywhere else in game.

and no, i don't want the dalish to blindly follow the gods in veilguard, i want the entire narrative to just not be so fucking racist. the oppressed people's gods being revealed to be evil all along is just racist. nothing else can be "fixed" while this is the core plot, and we knew this since trespasser came out, since it was first revealed over 10 years ago. people have been criticizing this choice and the depiction of the dalish for over a decade. and they still continued with this storyline, despite the various other lore bits they did end up changing for better or worse... instead they just wrote out the dalish completely while still managing to perpetuate harmful anti-indigenous tropes that they've been criticized for repeatedly in the past-- that are made even worse with the total absence of any other dalish characters to counteract them.

[joudama]

And that’s that for Veilguard. Got all the achievements and got the four main possible endings (didn’t bother with the bad ending where you do none of the side quests, everyone dies, and you end up trapped in the Fade forever with Solas).

My four Rooks:

Female Shadow Dragon elf mage - saved Minrathous - romanced Harding - punched Solas in the face

Female Antivan Crow human rogue - saved Treviso - romanced Lucanis - tricked Solas into using the fake dagger

Male Grey Warden dwarf warrior (this was originally going be a Qunari, but I couldn’t get over the yassified look of all the qunari I tried to make and I gave up) - saved Treviso - romanced Davrin (meant to romance Bellara and lol welp, that didn’t happen) - big softie who sent Solas into the Fade with the Inquisitor

Male Mourn Watch elf mage - saved Minrathous - romanced Emmrich (meant to romance Bellara or Neve and lol welp, that didn’t happen) - told the Inquisitor she could do better and made Solas go off into the Fade alone.

My Mourn Watch one is probably going to be my “canon” run, since I liked it the best (that’s not saying much) of my runs. I went with a life leeching run for him, including using the unique items that made health potions/companion heals not work, and beefed up leeching. Literally the only time I died was when my controller ran out of juice in the middle of a dragon fight. The Elgar’nan fight was over so fast I was like, “Wait, is that it?” It was like the curb stomp fight in Inquisition with Corypheus before they let you have enemies scale up with you.

And now for my thoughts. And oh boy, do I have a lot of them. Hoo.

I have…so many issues with this game. It is a very good…whatever the gaming equivalent of a popcorn flick is. It’s great if you go in with your brain turned off and enjoy all the shiny. But that’s not what I want in a Dragon Age game. I’ve been replaying DA2 - the game that DATV is basically trying to channel - while playing these, and the difference in writing quality and intricacy of plot and world building could not be more sharp. The first time I played DATV, I thought it was fine. Almost aggressively fine. I had fun with streaming the game and seeing where it went. I loved the reveals with the wolf statues. I had some major issues with the writing being as subtle as a brick to the face at times (more on my thoughts about the dialogue LATER, because oh boy), but it was serviceable. And I genuinely thought Veilguard had been robbed by not being nominated for Art Direction at the Game Awards, because say what you will, the areas are fucking gorgeous. But, even then, I was like, “Yeah, this would not have deserved a GOTY nomination had it gotten one,” and placed it at a 7 or 8 out of 10. A good enough, enjoyable game that ran well, but was not by any means GOTY material.

Then I made the mistake of playing it again, and the cracks began to show. By the time I hit the middle of Act 2 of my third run, I was just so done. I hated every time certain companions had anything to say at all. I hated that you couldn’t call people out for being a jerk but had to be the supportive nursery school teacher at all times to them. And for the first time playing any BioWare game at all, I found myself wishing I could either not recruit certain people or kick them out of camp. The cracks were beyond showing at that point, and I no longer thought the writing was even “serviceable.” Things that hadn’t seemed so bad on that first popcorn flick run suddenly became a problem - not being able to actually talk to your companions to get to know them went from “it feels more natural to have them saying this stuff while out in the field” to “what is even the point of going around the Lighthouse if all it gets me is a line spoken at me or overhearing bits of them having ACTUAL conversations?” It legitimately hurt replayability. I missed being able to actually talk to my companions, and I realized I cared more about Manfred and Assan than most of my companions because Manfred and Assan actually seemed to like interacting with me. I will take Manfred’s rock-paper-scissors game over a “hey Rook” and dead-eyed stare.

By the time I hit late act 2, I couldn’t wait for it to be over so I could delete the damn game off my hard drive…only for the last achievement I had yet to get to NOT pop when I finished the game. I looked it up and discovered it wasn’t set by triggering a certain end state, but was tied to picking some flowers in Act 2, and wanted to cry. I don’t usually 100% games, especially if I feel like some of the achievements are bullshit I don’t want to do (‘sup, MELE needing you to do some Armax Arena Spectre-level fight - I would sooner chew off my own arm than do that, as anyone who watched me stream Veilguard would have guessed watching me kvetching the whole time I was doing that Hall of Valor shit), but that was just frustrating. I decided to try to get it on a fresh run as a Mourn Watcher, since I’d heard that was one of the surprisingly good faction backgrounds, and that was a good choice. Mourn Watch became my favorite faction, when it had been Shadow Dragons until then. It added so much to a lot more conversations than I would have thought, and made it so I actually enjoyed the sadly few times you get to actually have conversations instead of eavesdropping/being talked at. I’m glad I decided to slog through one more time for that achievement, because if I’d ended it on that third run, I know I would have never played it again. It turned back into a popcorn movie again, aided by me knowing when to put on a YouTube video and watch or scroll through Bluesky instead of listening to a certain character be the fucking worst. If I ever play again, it’ll be a Mourn Watcher (I already know the Veil Jumpers and Lords of Fortune are considered, shall we say, lackluster background factions.)

Which brings me to some of the big, fundamental problems this game had.

This is not a CRPG. It’s just not. It’s an action RPG now, with the focus on “action” not “RPG.” It’s part of the whole Mass Effect-ification of Dragon Age. And I say this as a huge Mass Effect fan:

Dragon Age should not be like Mass Effect. And vice versa.

When Andromeda came out, they decided to ditch the Paragon/Renegade system, and instead went for DAI-style emotion-based options. Which seems great! More speech choices to make a more nuanced Ryder instead of picking up or down! Great! Only no! A lot of people hated it because it didn’t feel like Mass Effect. They had taken away something that had seemed like a major part of how you roll played in the series, and replaced it something very different. It was the first time they took a mechanic from one game and ported it into another, and it didn’t really go over well with a lot of ME fans because it didn’t feel like a Mass Effect mechanic.

And now with Veilguard, they basically made a Mass Effect game with a Dragon Age skin on it. And it just doesn’t work.

Combat: They copied the combat wheel from Mass Effect, but did it kind of badly. I honestly hated it because I tried to play like I do in Mass Effect - pull it up, use it to look around and get a handle on my environment, then pick an enemy or a safe space to bolt to - and the camera snapping the enemies meant I couldn’t. It drove me crazy because it was like the Mass Effect wheel but fundamentally not, and the camera drove me mad because I’d pull it up trying to find where the nearest blight boil was, and it would snap on enemies instead of just letting me look. It’s like they wanted to get rid of every little bit of tactical game play and replace with smashy smashy bang bang instead. Don’t think, don’t plan, just attack…which fits in with the popcorn flick-ness of DATV. Don’t think, just do. Turn your brain off and look at the particle effects.

Another Mass Effect-ification with regards to combat is dropping from taking 3 companions to 2. Which you need to do to have that Mass Effect style combat wheel, and the Mass Effect 3/Andromeda style primer/detonation style interaction of companion powers. It was very satisfying, but not very Dragon Age-y, and requires throwing out some of that DA lore to make it work, because now everyone uses magic-based abilities even if they aren’t mages. Assan attacks deal fire damage. You can spec a warrior who calls up a giant lightning hammer to twirl around, and…how? That’s not enchantment, that’s plain ol’ magic, and how?! Warriors didn’t deal magic-based attacks uncles their weapons where enchanted before, but now, everyone is just tossing magic attacks at everything. That’s not how the world of Thedas has worked until now, but you can’t have those flashy explosions or particle effects otherwise, so shhh, turn off your brain and don’t think, shhh. Look at the screen light up and the pretty lights. It worked in Mass Effect because they had already set up tech and biotic attacks, but there’s no way to make hitting something hard with a sword cause it to blow up and damage all the other baddies around them, so now everyone has magic. OK.

As an aside, it was also a really bad idea of get rid of how aggro worked. Dragon Age had always worked by warriors drawing aggro because they had the heavier armor (or could use taunt on enemies targeting squishy mages or rogues). Rogues had lower aggro because they had lighter armor, and could sneak. Mages had even lower aggro because they had the lightest armor and were distance fighters. DATV threw that out the window, and Rook draws all aggro because they are the only ones with a health bar. Your squad is immortal in fights, which means there’s no reason for enemies to ever target them. Which means god help you early game when mages and rogues have no real skills yet. Enjoy dodging while your companions hit the enemies with what seems like attacks as powerful as spitballs. It also means that there are times what the game tells you and the fight you just seem are completely at odds. Remember that fight with the Wrath of the Stone in Harding’s companion quest? That thing is on your ass the entire time, but then at the end of it, Rook says something along the lines of “It really hates Harding,” and…are you gaslighting me, game? That thing ignored Harding the whole damn time in favor of trying to stomp me like a cockroach. Harding did not exist to it during my fight. It had a hate boner for Rook and Rook alone, no matter what the game tried to insist on after.

Now, imagine how that would have felt if Harding actually could have been killed/knocked out during the fight, and it was only going after her? What if you couldn’t damage it if it took her down, so you had to make sure she stayed alive? Imagine how different that fight would have hit then? But no, that would mean the devs have to think about how to rez characters and how healing would work, and would mean players have to be tactical, and shh, no, no more of that, no thinking, just dodge and hit things and look at the particle effects. Shh. Have some more popcorn.

Story: DATV wants so badly to be ME2. It wants to recall the big suicide mission where you have to have everyone ready or you’ll all die. But you can’t copy what you did before and get the same flowers and results. You just can’t. You can try, and all you’ll get is diminishing returns. They tried to do the big cosmic horror of ME1, complete with a Virmire choice, then have the big final stakes of ME2, and no. You can’t follow a template and get the same greatness. That’s not how it works.

And speaking of following templates…

Romances: The romances in Veilguard are just dismal. And I think it’s because they decided to follow the Mass Effect pacing formula instead of the Dragon Age one.

Dragon Age: You start flirting in Act 1. You usually flirt with everyone because hey, why not? Some time in Act 2, things start getting serious, and you have to settle on who you want to go for. Things start to get serious, you get together, and then you get happy fun adult time with your new LI. You get the option to break it off or commit to them fully. By Act 3, you’re in a committed relationship. People comment about it. You can go to them and spend time with them - nothing major, maybe just a kiss. There might also be a special scene that’s just with them and unique to the romance. And by the end, after the lengthy amount of time that’s passed, you are Together.

Mass Effect: You start flirting in Act 1. You usually flirt with everyone because hey, why not? In Act 2, you keep on flirting with everyone. By the end, you might have to make a choice if you’re flirting too hard with everyone and the two LI options tell you to pick someone already, but you’re just picking who you’re interested in. Early in Act 3, there might be an almost kiss, but it’s mostly just the occasional anticipation of eventually boning and nothing really happens until right before the final big fight, when your LI shows up to your cabin for “oh shit, we might die in a few hours, so let’s go out with a high note” happy fun adult time. The only time you get that “committed relationship” vibes is in ME3 if you’re romanced the same character for at least one other game, and you choose to continue the relationship.

The Mass Effect pacing works in the Mass Effect trilogy because each game is only 20-40 hours long. Veilguard is a good 80 hours long. That means using that same amount of romance you use in ME is going to mean you’ve got too little butter to spread over too much bread. It’s why you have a good start for the romances in Act 1, then act 2 is a such a desert of nothing after you commit that I genuinely wondered if I’d hit the wrong option at said no at several points during the very long third act. There’s not just enough content for that long of an Act 2. Near the end everyone starts commenting on you being with them, but it’s not actually happening in the game. There’s no flirting, there are no extra scenes, and even the scene when you commit to them is based on a scene that happens with everyone, just with a romance option tacked on. The only person (of the ones I romanced, so I can’t speak to the others) who really get unique scenes was Emmerich. He actually takes you out on a unique date. It helped a lot to make Emmerich’s romance feel more fleshed out than the others. And Davrin had so many little jaunts out in the woods that those turned into romantic trips out, which added a lot to his. But Lucanis’ and Hardings? With both of them, like I said before, I genuinely wondered if I had accidentally opted out. Their romances most used the Mass Effect format, and it just doesn’t work for a game this long. BioWare knew that once, long ago, because Andromeda did not use the ME trilogy format for romances and was closer to one they used in DA. But DATV is trying to be ME2, so they used ME2’s very thin romances as a guide.

And we can all see how well that turned out.

The Executors: Fuck me, they feel like Cerberus reskinned, and I absolutely hated when Mass Effect shifted from sci-fi/Lovecraftian horror to space opera with Cerberus as the main bad guys you have to fight with the Reapers functionally falling to the background. The Executors are a secret, shadowy organization pulling strings from behind the scenes like the Shadow Broker codexes in ME2 retconned Cerberus into having been doing in ME. Ugh.

The Andromeda-ification of dialogue: Remember Peebee? Remember how she talked? Give her long hair and pointy ears, and she’s Bellara. Down even to the techno-babble. It’s like they’re trying to change magic to just “sufficiently advanced technology.” Everyone speaks in that modern, quippy style that was annoying in a game set hundreds of years in the future because it felt dated by the time the game came out (Ryder makes a Frozen joke, y’all). And it feels completely out of place in a game set in an early modern setting (I don’t think DA is medieval, honestly - it’s more a pre-industrialization/early scientific revoltution setting, so more 1500-1700s, and I’m gonna stop now). It was jarring. You can only let one quirky character break the rules about how people talk (Alistair in DAO, Varric in DA2, Cole in DAI) but when everyone does, it’s jarring. You can be anachronistic, but you have to know what you’re doing and how to do it when you do, and I’m sorry, but the current crop of BioWare writers don’t. They wrote the dialogue like it was a modern day YA novel, not a Dragon Age game. It would have been fine for a modern day urban fantasy game. It was not fine for a DA game set in the same time period as people using the four humours for “modern” medicine (remember the surgeon in DAI? Talked about the four humours? Yeah.)

OK, I did not intend to go on for this long, and I haven’t even gotten to what the game did to how religion is handled or the sociopolitical aspects of Thedas, and how they threw out so much that made Dragon Age unique in their urge to do a soft reboot, so I’m just going to end it here. I wanted to love this game, and I can only do that if I turn my brain off, and that’s not what Dragon Age should be.

[belphegored]

I wanna ride Satan or Andrealphus until they cry that's it that's the ask

There's just something about such powerful demons being submissive that make me froth at the mouth </3

Yessss anon I get you, either to have them willingly submit to you or pretending to put a bit of a struggle is such a delicious thought T-T

I don't think they'd play difficult though, I see Satan being like "okay, handle it yourself from here" if you want to ride him so badly, being all cocky at first And one would think that with him being so powerful it would take a lot to make a mess of him, but actually he's turned into a whiny thing the moment you sink on his cock and clench tight. Before that, even, all flustered if you're suckling and nibbling on his nipples as you grind yourself on him slow.

Time doesn't move as you fuck yourself on him, use him like a toy- if you tie his hands up so he can't even touch you Satan gets frustrated a little quicker, angry, needy tears welling up his eyes real soon, begging you to fuck him faster, give him anything so he can cum.

With Andrealphus it's more about the trust to me? Like...having him who is so guarded and reserved letting you take charge like that and have him in such a vulnerable state. He exists for you though, there's so much pain in his life that if there's anything positive, anything that brings him joy and pleasure and good things it's you and he wants you in any way, and laying himself in bed for you to literally have your way with him is meaningful and not just for fun imo!!

He wants you to take your time too, he wants you to make him sob, but I reckon it might happen sooner from overstimulation than frustration?

Toy and play with him, with his cock, edge him and then fuck yourself on him hard until he's coming undone, until he goes limp, and then do it again, and again, until he's dry, sobbing and begging not for you to stop, but to keep going even though it aches, his dick swollen and still so needy for you even though there's nothing more to give......

[agent-yolk-writes]

A Nightmare in Devildom (Obey Me/Nightmare on Elm Street concept fic)

Basically what it says on the tin. A "what if MC was a survivor of freddy kreuger's torment before the events of OM" concept fic.

This is was of those weird ideas I came with this during the early covid lockdown period where my insomnia got really bad to the point where I was borderline delirious. I meant to get this out during October for spooky season vibes but after three Octobers came and went and Obey Me isn't getting any more updates, I figure I throw it into the pit before that happens. No beta we die like obey me as a franchise, I guess!

If this inspires you to write something similar, please let me know! If you want me to write more...please reconsider!

And, of course, happy holidays!

AO3 Mirror Link

Good lord, I look terrible. You thought as you looked at yourself in the mirror. When was the last time I got some rest?

Other than looking more visibly tired, you look...older. It was the face of a nurse finally coming home after back-to-back double shifts. The bags under your eyes could only get so dark, but thankfully you knew a demon who had so much concealer and foundation lying around that he wouldn’t know if a few went missing. 

You knew you shouldn’t be continuing this habit, but you can’t help it. Despite living in a mansion with the most powerful demons in Literal Hell(!!) in the past few weeks your brain is still not convinced that you’re safe from Him . Would he still have the balls to terrorize you still? Does he even know where you are? Surely he’ll just know when you disappeared without a trace, but you can’t afford to find out for yourself. 

As much as you wanted to tell the brothers, you didn’t want to drag them into this mess. After all, this problem only started just weeks before you were brought here. It came without warning, and suddenly it turned into a bloodied hurricane. To think He was the one that killed your friends and classmates back in the human world…you regretted not being able to do more for them until you were in His sights.

This opportunity with the exchange program was either a saving grace or a divine intervention, and you’re not going to let that chance slip away from you. You have the whole year to work on magic and potions and anything else that could possibly drive Him away if not kill him for good, and you highly doubt he’s going to forget about you. Knowing how to do magic is one thing, but putting it to memory is another. This wouldn’t be a problem if you weren’t so damn tired. You’re trying so hard to pay attention in class, but you just end up more focused on trying to keep your eyes open lest you allow Him to strike at your most vulnerable. 

However, there is one possible solution. The only problem is that you needed to form a pact with his other brothers before he could even consider helping you, that slothful bastard. Belphegor knows how tired you are and how you would do anything for a safe and peaceful rest. There was no point hiding it from him as you were with the others. Oh, how you envied the way he could sleep the day away in his little prison cell…you could just punch him if only you had the strength.

…

You really didn’t feel good about the multi-layered lie you found yourself webbed into to get the pacts in the first place. You recently got Beelzebub’s pact, putting you at the halfway mark. He looked so happy about your ‘plan’ to impress Lucifer enough to have him make up with Belphegor that it made your stomach churn in shame. Is it really okay for you to do this? Wouldn’t it be easier to tell the truth? Out of all the brothers, you couldn’t help but feel guilty for lying to Beel.

But what if Lucifer points his finger at Belphegor if you bring it up before you’re able to finish explaining? Would it destroy all the progress you made? Would you make things worse ? If they draw parallels that your deprivation is somehow related to the seventh-born’s sleep-related powers…only Lucifer would have an answer different from the other five. That’s why you have to keep up this facade for as long as you can. That’s why you need to stay awake. To find a way to protect yourself as well as the others. 

Your new friends at Purgatory Hall, bless their hearts, were none the wiser. Considering two of them were actual angels, you would’ve expected at least Luke to confront you with tears in his eyes about your health at least a month in. He makes a big talk about how you should never trust ‘those demons’ before having lunch with Beelzebub. Sometimes you think Solomon is giving you weird looks whenever you make eye contact with him. It’s probably the sleep-deprived paranoia, but you hope it’s nothing. You’ve been getting away with it for this long, so what? 

Tomorrow you have to stay over at Diavolo’s castle as part of an exchange party sleepaway camp or something. If you’re lucky, you can have a room for yourself. You don’t pack your go-to methods for staying awake until right before everyone heads out.

~

The steaming heat of the boiler room did not warm the chill in your bones one bit. 

You should know the inner workings of this hellscape by now. It was His favorite hunting ground, after all. However, something seems different this time. Everything felt…a bit shifted to the right, in a way. On top of that, there’s no sight or sound of Him anywhere. No taunting catchphrases, no spooky teleports he’s fond of doing, not even the shilling sound of his claw on metal when he’s close. This is probably his new trick, you think. Lulling you into a false sense of security before-

You turned around, involuntary flinching as you braced yourself to be hit. Only to process seconds later that nothing’s coming. In fact, there was no sign of life behind you in the first place. Damn it, he really was playing with you at this point. As soon as you let out a sigh of relief, you heard someone screaming from the other side of the room. You couldn’t tell who they were, but that’s not going to stop you. You ran towards the sound before you let the dread wash over you. 

“I’m coming!” You yelled at them. “Wake up! He can’t hurt you if you’re awake!” You were so focused on tilting your head up to project your voice to the other person that you didn’t realize you hit a dead end until you ran into a wall of pipes. “Oh, god damn it!” You cursed, pivoting on your foot to turn around and run even faster. 

What happened next happened too fast. You didn’t know where you were going. Everything is starting to blur together. A pipe managed to burst the same second you turned your head to follow the noise, immediately blinding your vision with steam and a “Shit!” jumping out of your mouth. The suddenness of it all made you lose your momentum and you feel yourself stumbling forward. You didn’t have time to brace yourself for the sharp object that’s going right through your- 

You wake with an audible gasp, hands going up to your throat. The sound of your racing heart and your uneven breathing replace the sounds of pipes and steam. You looked around in the darkness and could barely see two bodies sleeping in their respective beds. Ah, that’s right. This is the first night of Diavolo’s retreat, and you find yourself paired to a room with Asmodeus and Simeon. In an attempt to pretend you’re asleep ended up having you fall asleep for real. You couldn’t help but think how pathetic you were for letting your guard down for one second and falling into His hands again after so long all because you were waiting for someone to finish their 20-step overnight skin routine.

With a shuddered sigh, you carefully slipped out of your bed and into the hallway in hopes you could clear your thoughts without disturbing your roommates. 

Thanks to the occasional jittering of a Little D doing their nightly duties, the halls of a demon lord’s castle don’t feel as haunted as you would think. The lights were dimmed but not out completely, which gave way for the moon to shine in as its own source of light. Had you been carrying a candle in a brass holder you would’ve thought you stumbled into one of those old gothic novels. You didn’t have a real destination in mind, but you made sure you remembered which room you were assigned to just in case. 

At some point during the night, you ended up in one of the lounge rooms, curled up on a couch facing the huge floor-to-ceiling windows, and looked up at all the stars. It has always been a comfort for you. You even began reading about them in an attempt to stay awake back in the human world. You thought you could recognize some of the constellations, but there are always a few stars here and there that turn it into an unrecognizable shape. At least you have new material to read about when you’re back in your room at the House of Lamentation. 

The soft calling of your name from the door broke your serene silence followed by a, “Is that you?”

A small gasp managed to escape your throat before you were able to put your hands over your mouth. You curled into yourself at first so whoever it was can’t see your head poking out from the back. After a few seconds, it finally clicked as to who it was.

Sheepishly, you stick your head out. “Hi, Barbatos.” You said, voice croaking in unexpected use. Even though it was dark and his figure obscured, you could make out that he was holding some kind of tray. “Am I not supposed to be here? I’m sorry. I’ll go back and…”

“It’s fine.” He assured you. “I heard someone walking around, so I’ve taken the liberty to brew some chamomile tea for them should they feel restless. Would you like some?”

“...”

Tea does sound nice, but the fact that it was chamomile made you hesitate. At the same time, Barbatos just made it, so it would be rude to let it go to waste.

“...That would be nice. Thank you.”

He made his way over to the other side of the couch. Part of you wanted to sit up and be proper when drinking, but even thinking about adjusting your posture makes you tired. Still, you make an effort to reach over to take the tea cup from the butler’s hands. Barbatos took this opportunity to start talking. 

“This is your first time spending the night at a castle, I presume?” You made an affirmative noise as you sipped, not wanting to point out that it’s not just any castle you’re sleeping at. “I reckon slipping in a new bed right as you got settled in would put anyone’s nerves on edge.”

You put your cup down as you replied, “I guess you can say that.” 

He looks at you quizzically. “Is something amiss? I’ll inform the Young Master right away.”

“It’s…It’s fine, Barbatos. Thanks for worrying.” You took another sip before letting out a sigh. “I’ve always had trouble sleeping, you can say. I get…these really bad nightmares that make me stay up for days on end. They were so terrifying and real…I kept wondering if I was losing my mind. I’ve tried every remedy in the book to stop them but…” You stopped to let a yawn out. “Sorry…As I was saying, I tried everything the doctors thought could help me. They even brought in a priest thinking it was ‘dream demons’ or something.” You paused, replaying the last thing you said. “Are dream demons even a thing here?”

“They are a form of lesser demons, yes.” The butler answered. “They’re relatively harmless as individual beings, but can pose a threat in large numbers or if they get close to a human.”

“Well, that’s reassuring.” You told him bitterly. 

“If it brings you any comfort, just know that they’re not powerful enough to be able to enter the human world on their own. Only certain powerful demons have the authority to travel to that realm directly. Such as the Young Master and Lucifer, for example.”

You couldn’t help but huff out air through your nose in relief. Suck on that, Pastor John. 

“...So yeah. Just before I was summoned here, they put me on a clinical trial for a medication that…reduces? Suppress? It, like, stops giving me dreams entirely, and they work. Forgot the name though. And I coincidentally ran out just before I was transferred here so…yeah.” Your eyes looked over to the butler. “Sorry I didn’t mention it earlier, I guess. I keep getting roped into whatever the brothers get themselves into that I never really had time to check on myself.”

Barbatos didn’t respond immediately. You were too busy concentrating on balancing the tea on your stomach to spare a glance over to your nighttime companion to see what kind of face he was making. Would he make one? Shouldn’t he have known of this malady when your file was being processed? Maybe, because of their biology, demons don’t worry about these kinds of conditions. You mulled around internally in a tired haze before realizing that your eyes were slowly creeping shut. With a soft sigh, you moved the plate to the nearest table and stood up slowly.

“Anyways, thanks for the tea. Compliments to the chef.” You couldn’t help but let out a big stretch followed by an even bigger yawn. “I’ll head back to bed now. No guarantee I’ll sleep though.” You let out a huff that was supposed to be your attempt at a dry laugh. “You should get some rest too. Big day ahead, y’know? See you in the morning.” And with that, you exited the room and into the dim hallway.

The small smile Barbatos had dropped as soon as your back was turned to him. It was no secret that your time as a transfer student was being hindered by your lack of sleep. Even your recent medical file was perplexing in figuring out the cause of this disorder. It’s not genetic nor was it caused by a major traumatic event. Perhaps it’s something else? You did mention dream demons, after all, albeit it was more of a speculative idea that was brought up by your doctors in order to get a man of the cloth involved. It definitely couldn’t be Belphegor’s meddling, he thinks. He wouldn’t know about the human’s arrival.

It looks like he’ll have to do some digging after this exchange party concludes. He might need to start gathering evidence now while the human is still here. Diavolo will need to get involved, there’s no doubt about that. He would do anything to ensure the health and safety of the exchange students, after all. 

~

When everyone converged for a tour around the castle, some had noted that you looked less sluggish than usual. You simply waved them off, making up an excuse about the mattress not being up to human standards. Hopefully, you didn’t offend the demon prince when you said that. 

Still, you can’t deny that you feel a little well-rested. You did remember trying a method where you close your eyes for 15 minutes, wake up for another 15, close your eyes again, rinse and repeat. You usually had an alarm for this technique, but you didn’t want to disturb Simeon or Asmodeus as much as you already did slipping in and out of bed. You didn’t think you were able to keep track, but you did somehow, give or take a few minutes. Now you can actually pay attention to that cute little demon acting as the tour guide, explaining the intricate history of all the subjects painted on these beautifully crafted portraits. You couldn’t help but smile seeing Diavolo puffing his chest in pride when the Little D started talking about his father, the current Demon King. 

(But when it was mentioned that he's been sleeping at the bottom of Devildom for millennia you couldn't help but feel jealous. The most powerful being of all the realms is casually sleeping the decades away while you don’t even get the privilege of an hour of uninterrupted rest.)

You looked at the other paintings decorating the hall. Some plaques are written in what you can only presume is some kind of archaic language that only demons would know. If you could understand at least a part of it, then maybe you can get a deeper understanding of these pictures. 

A gentle call of your name and a not-so-gentle clap on your back broke your weak concentration. You tore your eyes away to meet Diavolo’s gentle gaze. “I see that her beauty managed to draw you in?” 

You blinked, trying to process what he said. “I-I’m sorry, whose beauty? I was…too focused on figuring out what the plaque said.” You managed to blurt out, causing the prince to chuckle.

“Oh, that? It simply reads ‘The Queen of Devildom’. In other words, that’s my mother.” His gaze turned to the painting, but you stayed fixated on him. He continued by adding, “This painting and some vague memories are all I have of her. She passed away several centuries ago when I was still an infant. My father would always talk about how…” And he continued to drone on from there. It wasn’t his fault, and you were genuinely trying to cling on to every word he’s saying because it’s important to him and you wanted to leave a good impression. On the other hand, the bleariness in your eyes started to cloud your vision again as a result of your lack of sleep. So you avert your gaze back to the painting unintentionally so you can wipe it away, biting your tongue to restrain the yawn that comes with it. Part of you hopes that Diavolo thinks that you’re speechless and moved to tears.

That thought quickly vanished when you opened your eyes to the painting. 

There was a choking noise, and you almost didn’t realize it came from you. It felt like the world around you completely disappeared, and only you and Him were the only inhabitants. 

Devildom seemed to freeze over the moment you made direct eye contact with the painted eyes of your tormentor. His scarred face did nothing to hide that cocky smirk he loves to wear. He’s holding up his bloodied claw to you in a way that couldn’t be anything else but a taunting gesture, as if he knows what he’s doing to you. His other hand wrapped around the back of a bloodied woman. By the way, the painting is framed, you assumed she was supposed to be sitting. Unfortunately, you know that’s not the case here. Her head dipped back, obscuring her face from you. You assumed she was originally wearing either a white or a similar light-colored dress, but that didn’t matter as it was dyed by the blood seeping out of that four-lined wound in her chest that you knew all too well. Just the sight alone made you reach for your hip where an old wound dimly throbs at the clothed contact. 

You didn’t dare move your gaze. You needed to keep an eye on him. 

“Hey…!”

You knew it. This opportunity to fly off his radar and find a way to kill him for good while he’s not looking was too good to be true.

“...!”

How did he even get here? Did he follow you down when you got summoned? What will he-

“...!!”

Time seemed to resume the second someone grabbed onto your shoulders and turned you around. You wanted-no, needed to keep an eye on him. Sadly, you don’t have eyes on the back of your head. Instead, you were forced to look at Diavolo's worried eyes. You didn’t even let him get a word in before you began panicking. 

“What have you done?!” You yelled. You pointed to the painting behind you. “Can’t you see I’m trying to protect you!”

“Protect us from…who?”

“Him!” You pointed to the portrait.

Only the painted eyes of a woman stare back at you.

It was too late for you now. The moment you allow yourself even to think you’re away from his control, you end right back into his hands. 

Nowhere is safe, not even in hell.

A maniacal laugh fills your ears as everyone crowds around your panicked state.

[ihfmseatsoch]

hi erm do you take requests. and if so can I pretty please get a masc reader raping Jimmy after finding out what happened to Anya fic (I want to tear this disgusting man’s ass up so bad it makes me look stupid)

OHH my gosh anon i understand you so deeply. rape that mans ass to shreds!!!!!!! i hope this is alright :3

–

Jimmy Zare x masc!reader

reader refers to themself as a guy and has a dick

genre: smut, dark fic

word count: 2.8k

warnings/content: rape, you shot jimmy in the legs lol, several mentions of anyas sexual assault, no prep, loss of virginity, (on jimmys end) (literally) hate sex, rough sex, jimmys a little crybaby, death threats

–

"Are you scared, Jim?"

You crouch to ground level with the man– no, calling him a man would imply that he has some sort of humanity left in him. The monster in front of you, both of his kneecaps wounded by the bullets you shot with your own hands, glares at you with pure vitriol.

You've actually tried pretty hard to stay in your new captains good graces these past couple months. Of course, it was only for the sake of self preservation. Who would willingly befriend such an arrogant, self-centered, pessimistic asshole like Jimmy? Besides Curly, for whatever reason.

But it wasn't until Anya, at her wits end and on the verge of yet another mental break, confided in you about her pregnancy, and her assailant; none other than Jimmy fucking Zare.

You couldn't say you were surprised that he lacked basic morality. Maybe morality can no longer apply to the situation you're all stuck in, all of you just trying to survive at whatever cost. Every man for himself, right?

Even so, monsters deserve to be punished. And luckily, Jimmy is still alive to feel whatever you force him to take. Whether it be the insults you hurl at him, or physical torture; like the bullets embedded deep in his muscles, immobilizing him, his autonomy ripped away.

"It doesn't feel good, does it? Not having the option to worm your way out of the mess you've made."

Jimmy gives you he most contemptuous, disgusted look, like you're the evil one here. He let out a frustrated growl, his voice was low and venomous. "You think you're so fuckin', righteous, huh? Acting like you're any better than me." His lips curl downwards in a sneer.

You may not be any more of a good person than he is. You've stooped to his level, after all, resorting to violence. But as the saying goes, you reap what you sow, and Jimmy has yet to pay for anything he's done. All the pain and trauma he's caused, not just to Anya, but dozens of poor women back on Earth. Men like him always get what's coming to them.

"This isn't a morality competition, Jim. We're all only human here. But you..."

Leaning in, you grip his boney jaw, forcing him to look at you, your eyes boring into his. He's terrified, you can tell.

"Honestly, you're less than dog shit."

It was clearly infuriating to him that he didn't have the ability to physically intimidate or overpower you. For once in his life, Jimmy's bravado had been shattered. He was unable to move away, to spit back his usual insults, as he was forced to stare into your cols eyes. You had the upper hand, and he hated it.

He hated being in the same position as the many others he's forced into.

His body tensed with anger as he tried to wrench his jaw out of your grasp, but your fingers dug too harshly into his skin. "Get... Get your goddamn hands off me, you... you–"

"You didn't listen to Anya when she begged you for the same thing. Isn't it ironic, the way karma works?"

The mention of Anya seemed to hit a nerve within him, his blood running cold, frigid through his veins. "I told her to keep her stupid mouth shu– fuck!–" A stabbing pain shot through his legs, causing his face to contort in agony.

Despite the pain and the fear welling up within him, he forced himself to speak through clenched teeth. "Shut... Shut the fuck up. Stop talking like you– like you know anything."

"I know enough. So does Swansea. Curly too, for what it's worth. Even if the useless fucker didn't do anything to reprimand you." You shove Jimmy onto his back, his head hitting the cold steel floor with a dull thud, hard enough to make him woozy for a moment. You can't find any empathy inside of you to care. As far as you're concerned, the creature in front of you isn't a person.

Clicking your tongue at the sight of him, you crawl over to his pathetic, writhing body, hovering above him. "Guess it's up to me to give you what's been comin' to you for a long fucking time, huh?"

Jimmy hissed in pain and tried, in vain, to scoot himself away, but his wounded legs refused to move, and he found himself trapped between you and the floor. For the first time in his life, he was in the position of a powerless victim.

His voice comes out embarrassingly strained and weak, "What're you gonna do, then? Kill me? You think that's the worst thing you could do to me? I've been ready to die. You'd be doin' me a fuckin' favor."

You dig your knee into his groin, putting a painful amount of weight onto him, a sharp cry escaping his lungs. "No. You don't deserve to die, that'd just give you a way out." Your hand reaches up to his neck, squeezing his windpipe just enough to make him struggle to breathe.

"I'm keeping you alive so you can feel every single thing I do to you."

Jimmy clawed uselessly at your hand, frantically trying to pry it away from his throat, the only thing he could manage to do with his legs unable to kick or thrash. "S– Stop–! Ghhkk– Don't–"

"You still think you deserve mercy? That's cute, Jim."

You roughly yank the buttons of his coveralls out of their loops, tearing away the first layer of protection he had between you and him. Not that the uniforms Pony Express gave you acted as a safeguard in the first place.

Jimmy feels exposed, vulnerable in a way he's never experienced before. Suddenly, he's very aware of the fact that he's at your mercy, and he can't do anything to stop you. Fear began to creep in, and he started to hyperventilate, panicked and desperate as he choked out a reply,

"I– I said s– stop, you fucking– I swear, when I can walk again, I'll–" He sputters, his sentence coming out broken and raspy from the pressure on his neck. You let go, only so you can focus on getting him undressed. He intakes a large gasp of air, coughing hoarsely.

"You'll what? What're you gonna do, Jimmy?" You mock him, keeping your tone extra condescending just to rub the humiliation in even more. "I'll tell you how this is gonna go; you're not walking for a good, long while. That's just reality, so get used to it."

You tug at his clothes until, albeit with a lot of struggle and fighting against Jimmy's flailing, his uniform is bunched around his ankles, leaving him in his grey long sleeve and underwear.

"And, while you're incapacitated– You grunt as you tug his boots off, throwing them carelessly aside to make it easier to slip the garment completely off his body.

"I think you can guess what's gonna happen to you."

Jimmy's face pales as the realization of what you plan on doing fully dawns on him. His heart drops to the pit of his stomach, dread sinking into his gut. He can't escape this. "Wait, h– hold on, you can't– We... We can talk this through, just– get off of me–"

"I'm guessing you've never been with a guy before, huh? Nah, you're too... 'macho' for that." You flip him over, a sharp, throbbing pain rushing through his knees as he's forced to put pressure on his wounds to prop himself up. "Might as well give you your first experience before we all die here, yeah?"

Jimmy tries to scramble away from you, but his wounded legs barely move an inch. He cries out in agony, his eyes welling up with tears from the excruciating pain in his joints. He looks over his shoulder at you, his eyes wide, filled with fear.

"No, Wait, stop–! Don't– You can't do this, please, I–" He tried to keep his voice hard and defiant, but terror had seeped into it, causing his words to quiver and falter.

"Oh, I can't, but you can?" You scoff at his ability to still be a raging hypocrite, even in the position he's in. "You think the world bends to your fuckin' will, don't you? Curly sure did. Maybe that's what makes you feel so entitled. You were enabled."

With a swift tug, his fabric is pulled down just enough to expose his ass to you. "Not anymore. Never again."

Jimmy's pride, the only thing he had left, had begun to crumble beneath him.

He's scared.

He prayed for someone, anyone, to intervene in the situation. But the cargo hold was empty, devoid of any soul besides you two. Jimmy choked back a sob, his vision growing blurry with tears. His voice was strained as he pleaded, "P– Please, d– don't do this. I'm... I'm sorry–"

Completely ignoring his incessant pleas at this point, you carelessly fondle his ass, roughly handling what little amount of fat his had on his bones. "Oh, I'm sure." You mumble, your sarcasm audible.

Spreading his cheeks apart, you make a 'tsk' sound at the sight of his tight, untouched virgin asshole. "Sheesh, that's gonna be a tight fit." You speak your thoughts aloud, just to make his face burn redder with utter humiliation. He could vomit right now.

"I swear, I'm gonna fucking kill you." He snarls, voice breaking with the emphasis he put on the word 'kill', his teary eyed glare full of unadulterated disdain and loathing for you. "I'll find a way. I'll find a way to blow your fucking brains out."

He can't even move, and yet he's still trying to get the upper hand, as if he's some kind of cornered dog, snarling and snapping at your heels in defiance to the very end.

"Mhm." You don't take him seriously, knowing that without serious medical attention, which Anya obviously won't be providing, he's essentially screwed, for a lack of a proper description of his situation. You palm your semi-hard dick, stroking the outline of your length through the fabric. You hate this man, you really do, but you can't deny the excitement you feel from giving someone like him a taste of his own medicine.

You can't tell yourself it won't be satisfying to make him feel everything Anya felt, because it will. It will be the most gratifying thing you ever do.

You gather up a wad of spit in your mouth before spitting on his hole, saliva being only available lubricant. It may not be the best, but he doesn't deserve the comfort a proper lube would give him anyway. He physically cringes at the feeling.

"I'm not gonna bother prepping you. That'd be too nice." You considered not even warning him of this, but you liked seeing him scared. You liked seeing the way his breathing picked up in panic, his heart rate bordering on tachycardia.

"Fuck you," he spat with the hostility of a rabid dog. "You're gonna regret this. I won't let you–"

Jimmy's empty threats are interrupted when he feels the head of your dick prodding at his hole, and you chuckle lowly at his shudder. "Shhh. All you've gotta worry about from now on is getting me off."

Before he can even think, you're already pushing yourself inside him. The sting is unlike any kind of pain he's ever felt, even compared to his current wounds, which have actually gone half numb from the sheer amount of pain they're in. Jimmy cries out a broken wail, gritting his teeth, his tears pooling onto the floor as he squeezes his eyes shut.

You groan as you struggle to fit inside him even halfway, spitting on his hole again for good measure. "Hah– holy shit, Jim. I can already tell you won't be a half bad fleshlight for me."

Jimmy trembles from the utter discomfort he feels from the unwelcome penetration. He wants to scream, but all that comes out is pathetic, choked sobs, his cheek laying in a puddle of his own tears. "Fuck you, fuck you..." He snivels, blubbering.

You hardly even acknowledge him as he weeps, managing to jam yourself halfway inside him, his walls clenching like a vice around your shaft. "God, you're probably tighter than a girl." You laugh, your palm coming down harshly on his ass, just so you can watch him jolt. You snake a hand around his torso to grab his cock, noticing it's flaccidity. "Damn, you're not even hard," You comment without much sympathy, simply verbalizing your observation, "Not that I care, but it'd be funny if you got off on this too."

Jimmy, unable to recoil out of your grasp, can only cringe harder than he ever has. "You're sick," he hissed, "I'll tell everyone, you can't get away with–"

"You really think any of them will feel bad for you?" You roll your eyes in annoyance, growing tired of how irksome he is. "Jeez, I wish I could gag you with something. You're the most concieted egomaniac–" You grunt as you snap your hips against his, your dick shoved to the hilt inside him, "–That I have ever met."

Jimmy ceases his griping for once, laying there like a defenseless ragdoll. What else can he do? He's short of options, a plan, support... he has nothing. Nothing and no one will save him this time. The inside of his hole aches excruciatingly, agony washing over his entire body, his neck is cricked to the side, irritating the muscle which is sure to be unbearably tender later. A lasting reminder of how weak he really is.

His hole loosens to take your cock as you thrust with an impetuous rhythm, hearing him whine at every brutish snap of your hips. The way his slick walls drag along your shaft makes you feel a fervid sense of carnality, knowing you've reduced him to a mere object. A receptacle. "Fuck, I didn't think you'd feel this good. That's something you've got going for you." You utter throatily, groping his hips to pull him back and forth on your dick.

He wants to die. He wishes you would've just killed him and threw his bloated corpse out of the airlock, never to be seen again in the vast outskirts of space. Shit, he would've been fine with you just abandoning him to rot in here alone. But he hasn't earned your mercy, or anyone's. Jimmy feels every inch of your cock violating and slamming carelessly deep inside him

"I hope this hurts." You confirm scornfully that yes, you're aware he's in pain, and you're very pleased with yourself. "This is exactly what she felt, and this is exactly what you deserve."

Jimmy silently prays to a god he's never believed in to make you stop, or just cum already and be done with him. "Ple–ease...–" he finds himself mewling miserably, running out of both the tears, and strength to cry. He finds himself completely detaching from reality, clinging onto the hope that this will be over soon. If he can live through this, he'll be okay. His dissociative, quiet state makes it all the more easy for you to ignore his humanity.

You feel the familiar buildup of warmth stirring in your gut, balls tightening annoyingly soon. You wanted to prolong his suffering, but you've been just as pent up as anyone else would be during an 8+ month long haul. The difference between you and Jimmy was that you could hold back and not give into your own selfish desires.

Another difference between you two is that you can get away with this, not suffering from any ramifications. But him? If you're all miraculously saved from this hell you're trapped in, he won't be exempt from the consequences of his actions. The other, less favourable outcome being the ship runs out of oxygen and food, and you're all forced to die slowly, but the one positive aspect is that Jimmy still wouldn't be getting out scott free. In every way, he lost.

With a drawn out growl, you fill him to the brim with warm, thick ropes of cum. When you catch your breath and pull out, you watch the sticky, white substance seep from his gaping hole. It drips down his shaking thighs, which collapse under him, and he falls to his side, curled up in a piteous ball, hugging himself tightly and hiding his face as he tries to ignore the throbbing pain in his ass and imagine himself somewhere else. Though, he doesn't exactly know where to escape to. He's never had a 'happy place', so to speak.

Picking yourself up off the ground and brushing yourself off, you tut at the comical display of cowardice in front of you. You kick his quivering body in the ribcage for good measure as you tuck yourself back into your uniform.

"See you next time, Captain." You sneer, speaking to him with shocking casualness, leaving the cargo hold without a second glance back at him.

The words "next time" replay tauntingly in his head as he lay there, paralyzed with terror.

–

[pumpkinsy0]

Can we get some hcs of Pony spending Christmas with the Shepherds?

no,,,no u cannot,,,

•he was totally pulled along by curly, like w all due respect to the shepards pony never planned on spending any sort of time w them, let alone in CHRISTMAS he didnt even think they rlly celebrated it

•AND IN A WAY HES NOT WRONG!!! the shepards dont rlly celebrate it, angela and curly kinda want to but flip flop between wanting to b a good family and not caring and tim doesnt gaf about it, they would mostly spend their time doing their own thing waiting for the holiday to b over already

•but this christmas is special cause this was one of the rare times they were like “ok fuck it lets do SOMETHING together” so curly wanted pony to experience it w them too!! its only fair curlys been w ponys gang for a christmas pony gotta come along too

•not many places r open for christmas so they went some place to eat for breakfast!! not much pony says here hes rlly just “shepard watching” as he likes to call it, listening to them bicker on and on about something none of them will fill him in on till later

•pony does not spoke unless spoken to when it comes to tim AND angela, curly makes pony say something and puts him right in the spot and hes fumbling his words and hes getting teased HARD

•unless ponys borrowing one of their old jackets, curlys keeping his arm wrapped around ponys shoulders to keep him warm or they just share curlys jacket, tim and angela r fake gagging behind their backs, theyre both single and coping w it i cant blame em

•sometimes when trying to enter a place a mistletoe would b over the entrance and after SHOVING pony and curly inside bc curly wanted to take his sweet time kissing pony to anyone unfortunate to watch, tim and angela made SURE to go in one after the other they werent even gonna try and risk that bs of having someone tell them they gotta kiss, but a few times tim would kiss angelas cheek just to embarrass her (IN A FAMILIAL WAY OBVIOUSLY)

•curly got the bright idea for all of them to split up and go to different stores to steal gifts for each other, gid bless all the stores open around this time on christmas. tim got angela a pretty hairclip thats the most important thing here honestly nothing else matters, bc she always wears it now

•literally all of the minus pony stole a lil secret gift for themselves too, it was too tempting not to, this doesnt add much to the story i just felt like we all needed to hear that

•back at home, curly makes everyone hot chocolate before he has to drop pony back home, its not as decorated w whip cream and marshmallows n what not like darry does, but pony didnt mind it tasted rlly good he cant complain too much

•WOULD pony do that again???? yea sure he doesnt mind it, he wasnt talking much but it was nice seeing a different side of the shepards!! plus curly obviously had the best time and it was the first time in a while where that was the case AND they were both safe, its a nice change of pace

[stagkingswife]

Do you have a masterpost about your advice on otherworldly travel? I feel like when i do it maybe im missing something. When i was younger i used to do it a lot. I could very easily visualize stepping through a portal to another realm, and i have a weird ability to kind of feel sensations that i imagine, like if i imagine myself standing in grass i can feel it. But when i meet spirits in this place its hard for me to figure out if they are something outside of me or something i just made up. I also don't seem to be very good at keeping up conversations with them. I don't really know how to start a relationship with them. Past usual pleasantries im not sure what to ask them. I would love to hear if you have any advice. I personally find it easier to literally go into my back yard and talk out loud to them, its almost like the non verbal feelings i get when i do that give me more information than directly speaking to them, but i also really enjoy otherworldly flight. I wonder if there is a way i can sort of combine each methods so its more intuitive and clear. Thanks for reading.

You know, I've never really had the spoons to build masterposts, this post is the closest I've gotten to one on the subject of how to travel to the otherworld, and it's really more of a "greatest hits" than anything else.

I have answered a couple of asks about how to tell what's a genuine experience and what's a sock puppet.

Ask 1

Ask 2

As for advice on building a relationship: It's easy to forget that building a relationship with an incorporeal entity is different than building a relationship with a person, given the way people talk about it on social media. You don't have to sit and talk to them for hours. A relationship can be built on offerings, prayer (if you're into that), divination readings, whatever works for you. What really matters is consistency. If it feels easiest and most fruitful to go into your back yard and speak out loud to the spirits then do that! Just do it on a semi regular basis. If you're the kind of person who has a sort of personal Otherworldly space you could try traveling there and talking to your spirits "out loud" there and seeing if you get the same results. You might find that the results are a little more heightened than in your backyard, giving the increased proximity.

As for what to talk about beyond initial pleasantries that's up to you. You don't need to develop a relationship with a spirit in order to practice magic or travel to the Otherworlds so there must be a reason why you want to do this. Do you want their help with something? Do you want to be of some service to them? Do you just want to be a good neighbor so initial plesantries, a little small talk, and a "let me know if you ever need anything from me" is enough? Talk to them about whatever it is you want, info dump about your special interest, sing them your I Want song.

[fandomsandflyingstingrays]

Thoughts on the Ithaca Saga!

Spoilers under the cut, obviously

The Challenge

I'd listened to all the snippets beforehand and they did not come CLOSE to capturing the glory of the final song

Anna absolutely killed it, every note she sang was so stunning

And the instrumental? The way it built?? I'm still going nuts over it

10/10 very strong contender for my favorite song in the saga, which I was not expecting

Hold Them Down

Made me very uncomfortable

Which of course was the point so like it was effective

But I have no desire to talk about it more than I have to

(I will say though that I was not expecting Antinous's death to be in that song and so sudden, the gasp I let out was unreal)

Odysseus

Speaking of things that made me gasp: I audibly choked at the open arms bit. I thought I was used to Polites haunting the narrative but NOT LIKE THIS

I listened to this one before watching the stream so that I could be prepared in case the violence got really intense and boy am I glad I did

Like I knew SOMETHING bad was going to happen because of how intense the song got at the end but. I was. Not expecting that

Everyone who sang absolutely killed it though like Jorge's exhaustion and anger? So palpable. The suitors' performance? Incredible

And TELEMACHUS

THE INSTRUMENTAL WHEN HE SHOWED UP WAS SO COOL

And he sounded just like Ody when he sang "get off me, get off me"... my heart

I Can't Help But Wonder

I'll admit I was still too in shock from the end of Odysseus to really process this one at first

But the hug made me lose it

(Both Odysseus and Telemachus's and Jorge's and Mico's I was fully sobbing)

(Also the way Odysseus sang "Telemachus" in the familiar motif. I still can't listen to it without crying frankly)

I will say though literally the only thing in the saga I have any complaint about is Odysseus's reunion with Athena

We had a whole saga about how her friendship with him was still very much on her mind, and buildup to their reunion with Hermes's little hint at the end of Dangerous, and to have them talk about morality for a bit and then for Ody to skeddadle to go find Penelope was... realistic, I guess, but not very satisfying

It's not a huge issue or anything I just wish we could have gotten more of them

Would You Fall in Love With Me Again

Another moment that had me in tears: Drawing_Angie's animatic with all the other animatics in the background. Look how far we've come

I love that Penelope's test with the bed was to help Odysseus realize that he was the same person, that was such a cool twist

Also again, Anna killed it. The raw emotion in her voice at the "I guess that makes him you"? The two decades of anger and fear in the "waiting"s? Unmatched power

GIGI'S ANIMATIC. I WAS LOSING IT IT WAS SO GOOD

Also, the livestream in general was SO much fun. I genuinely can't remember the last time I laughed as hard as I did at the cast's antics. What a wonderful group of people