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hamiltonells · 2 months

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ALWAYS ~ JUDE BELLINGHAM

[sort of based of this request! so thank you for request. please let me know what you think! always welcome to criticism, also let me know if you would like a series based or this little family! 🍓]

[SUMMARY: being soon to be parents is hard especially being so young as well, but Jude and y/n takes everything in their stride]

[WARNINGS: fluff, smut, morning sickness? not edited, swearing spelling mistakes? ]

You’re feet shuffled across the cold kitchen flooring as you soothed your bump with one hand and held a tub of Ben and Jerry's ice cream in the other, Your seven -month bump slightly peaking out of Jude’s shirt.

“Are you still okay for tomorrow, beautiful?” Jude’s voice reaches out over the FaceTime call, as you sitback down on the sofa and put the blanket over your bump.

With Jude being in Madrid, it was decided that you would have dinner at his parents' house in England. Due to your frequent travels between England and Madrid, you rarely have the opportunity to spend time with his family, especially with his mother being in the middle.

you placed the laptop on your lap during the ongoing FaceTime call with Jude, “Yeah all good jude, what time is your flight back” your voice grew tired with every sentence you speak.

“flight is about four in the morning will get back home at seven”Jude's voice making you grow even more tired and relaxed.

You knew it was difficult for Jude to balance being at the top of the football world and being a father at just twenty years of age, but he never complained about it once

It was unexpected for you to become pregnant, and it came as a surprise since you are only nineteen and Jude is twenty years old, but you both took it as your little blessing.

"Is my little one okay? It seems like she's wearing Mommy out" Jude's voice echoes through the FaceTime call, "we're okay, just tired and the usual sickness," your voice tiredly drawls out.

Since discovering you were pregnant, you have been experiencing severe nausea, even if it was morning or night It felt like a constant battle to keep any food down, and the smell of certain foods would instantly trigger your gag reflex.

"Plus, we miss daddy a lot," you said "fuck,don't do that voice, it turns me on" he added with a rough accent, you tutted “better hurry up home then”

"I'll be back home shortly, my Love," he said in his gentle Birmingham accent.

you was sound asleep when you heard the keys jingle in the door, the door open and Jude's footsteps slowly and carefully plodding up the stairs.

You hear Jude carefully open the door to the bedroom where you both share. As you shuffle yourself up to sit against the headboard, you reach for the switch to switch on the lamp, and you switch it on.

"What are you doing awake?" Jude's tired voice broke the silence of the room. You turned to see him rubbing his eyes, looking disheveled and exhausted.

"I missed you, heard you trying to be quiet" you admitted "I'm sorry, I just didn't want to disturb you" he replied, a sheepish smile on his face.

"You could never disturb me. I always want to hear your voice." you said softly, Moving to swing your legs out of bed holding your pregnant belly as you trying to ignore the persistent pressure on your bladder.

You sigh, knowing you have to get out of bed to relieve yourself.

“oi what you doing, let me help” Jude’s voice fills your ears, as he rushes to be by your side, you feel a pair of strong arms wrap around you, supporting your weight.

As he presses a soft kiss to your head, Your loving Jude gently helps you out of bed and guides you to the bathroom, making sure you don't trip over your own feet.

Once you’ve emptied your bladder, you get back into bed with a kiss on the cheek from Jude.

You snuggle into the bed sheets, Jude’s bare back now facing you as he’s rambling on about something with his toothbrush in his mouth, you don’t realise your eyes have started to close until you feel the bed dip beside you.

“Sorry baby, didn't mean to wake you again” Jude whispered as he pulled the duvet over the pair of you, with your back facing Jude he slides his arms around you and on to your bump.

"I love you and we both missed you," you murmur softly in response to him, you feel him snuggle into your neck as he presses a soft kiss there.

“hey Jobe”you slightly laugh out his name as he opens the door only to be thrown into a headlock by his own brother, the pair of them shuffling into the living room as they play fight with each other.

You shut the front door and clean your feet on the doormat before untying your shoelaces and removing your shoes.

You enter the living room and see the two brothers sitting on the sofa with a sour expression and Denise giving them a look.

"Y/n, lovely seeing you again” Denise greets you warmly as she glances up and sees you standing in the doorway “you look amazing, not long left now” she hugs you as you smile and look down, “thank you Denise” you gushed as you sat in between Jude and Jobe.

“only a couple more months left, did Jude show you the scan pictures” you continued.

"Yeah, he did," she replied with a smile. "They're amazing, aren't they? I can't believe how much the baby has grown already."

"I know, it's incredible," you said, excitement evident in your voice. "I can't wait to meet him or her."

"As long as they don't look like Jude, they will be alright" Jobe joked “You’re literally like a mini Jude, Jobe” You laughed as you put your hand onto Jude’s thigh.

“It's nice to know that I can actually grow a beard at the moment" Jude mumbles to himself, but loud enough so that Jobe can hear, "you call that a beard" Jobe laughs as he’s dodging Jude's kick.

As Denise calls all of you over for dinner, Jude gets up first to assist you up, putting one hand on your back as he guides you over to the dinner table, he sits next to you his hand on your thigh.

Mark, Jude’s dad is sat across from you, making slight conversation as you start eating your food.

As you took another bite of your food, your stomach churned you felt a wave of nausea wash over you, you reach out to take a sip of your water to hopefully wash it down.

But as the night went on, the feeling only got worse, your hand went straight over your mouth mumbling your apologies as you rush through the house to get to the bathroom.

He trails behind you, apologizing to his family before heading to the bathroom to assist you, gently rubbing circles on your back as you lean over the toilet, feeling him gather your hair up in his hands.

“you okay baby?” His voice soothing you, you lean back into him breathless as the embarrassment washes over you.

”Jude, I am deeply embarrassed. Your mother and your entire family are under the impression that I became sick because of the meal she cooked.“You convey your concern by covering your face with your hands.

“she doesn’t think that, don’t be stupid they know your struggling with your pregnancy” Jude tries to calm your down by wrapping his arms around your shoulders as you both sit in the bathroom floor.

“You okay y/n?” Denise’s worried voice makes you look up, as you see her standing in the doorway “she’s okay mum, bit tired though I think” Jude answers for you as he puts a strand of hair behind your ear.

"I'll set up Jude's room for you both, and maybe it'll be best if you stay overnight, I'll bring some lemonade up to help it helped my morning sickness with Jobe" Denise smiles at you .

In a pair of shorts and an old shirt, you lay on the bed of Jude's old bedroom, covered in the familiar smell of his old clothes.

Jude is right next to you, scrolling through his phone on his lap with his hand on your inner thigh as he softly squeezes it, as he as he speaks with Jobe who is laying across the end of the bed, who is also scrolling on his phone.

"How much longer do you have left?" Jobe asks quietly as you open your eyes to his voice. "Just a little over a month, why are you excited, Uncle Jobe?" you playfully respond.

he just hums to your question, focusing back on whatever was on his phone.

The next thing you notice is Jude placing his phone on his bedside table, and then shuffles over and settles his head on your chest while his hands go straight to shirt to lift it up, his hands go to your bump to soothe it.

In your hands, you are gentle touching the ends of his hair gently twisting it and reaching to his scruffy beard gently scratching it as he hums softly to.

When he presses a soft kiss against your bump, your unborn baby gives him a small kick as they responds to his kisses

“Did you feel that?” Jude’s face snaps around to face you as he realizes what has happened “yeah, going to be like there daddy” you smile as you stroke his cheek.

“what? let me feel, move Jude” Jobe says as he rushes to your side and he places his own hand on your bump he pushes Jude's hands away as he presses his own against the bump.

“Jobe, fucking hell it's my kid.” Jude leans down for a for a kiss before getting up and making his way to the bathroom. You giggle as you see Jude's scrunched up face as he gets up and goes to the bathroom.

you’ve just gotten into bed when Jude come in with a glass of water and places it on your bedside table, “mum says goodnight” you hum to answer him while tugging him down to yourself.

"Careful," he laughs as he catches himself on his hands as he's above you, your hands go around his neck as you press a kiss to his lips.

His laughter fades into a soft sigh as he leans in for another kiss, his lips meeting yours once more before he puts his face into your neck and presses a few light kisses.

“You have a good day, baby?” He mumbles into the crook of your neck “the best thank j” you the nickname you call him slides off your tongue easily.

Jude hums“I love you so bloody much”

“I love you more” you giggle even more when be nips your neck.

He seals your lips together once more, using his knees to spread your thighs a bit further apart for him as he spreads them apart.

In the midst of your kiss, he lets out a breathy moan, courtesy of the fingers which are holding his face, interrupting your kiss with a breathy moan.

Jude utilizes the chance to break away and snag a pillow from his side of the bed, urging your hips up by tapping the fluffy thing against your side.

your lift your back up, and he settles it under your lower back and bum to prop you up. Fortunately for him, he has had extensive experience navigating the challenges of your pregnant belly.

he grips your shorts and carefully pulls them off, taking your knickers off and softly pressing a kiss to your thigh in the progress.

Settling between your thighs, Jude giggles when you wraps your legs around his hips and tugs him closer.

Jude’s body hovers over yours , love-sick smiles a breath away from meeting each other, and he drags his fingers through your folds, groaning at how slick you’ve become.

“Oh fuck” you whisper into Jude’s ear, biting back a grin as Jude grips his cock with the fingers that had previously been fondling you.

Jude smiles as their chests are pressed together, enjoying the feeling of their stomachs touching while he guides himself into your slit.

Jude hums appreciatively, eyes fluttering shut as he basks in how warm and gooey you are for him. He'd almost forgotten how it felt to have you this desperate for him and his touch.

“Need to be quiet, Jobe next door” he whispered as a moan ripped though your body.

"Oh it's so good darling," he mumbles to you, dropping his head into the crook of your neck. He made a gentle backward slip, pulling the hips back gently as he slipped forward again, his breath stuttering as he dutifully slipped forward once again.

Guiding him, you softly release a moan, lowering one hand to the lower part of his back. With a whisper that tickles his ear, you affirm, "Jude, So so good." Tickled by the sensation, he squirms slightly and responds with a small laugh.

Jude soft with his movements, cautious of the baby between yourself, "made for being wrapped me huh?" And jude thinks nothing ever been truer.

Your arms were made to hold him, youe hands were made for pulling him closer and closer, and your heart was made to completely consume his.

you reached your high before him, rolling your hips up to try and bring him to the edge, grinding down into your heat as his cock twitches and buries deep in your walls.

Jude knows you’re watching his eyes scrunch shut and his gaping mouth curl into a breathy laugh as he comes “sorry baby, too tired for another one” he breathes into your neck.

As you nod and brush the sweaty spots from his forehead to soothe him and just like that, he is already able to feel lighter. He never has to sorry with you, you’ll always be here for him.

#jude bellingham x you #jude bellingham smut #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham #trent alexander arnold x reader #trent x reader #football one shot #football imagine #trent alexander arnold #max verstappen x reader #lewis hamilton x reader #max verstappen #max verstappen smut #charles leclerc x reader #lewis hamilton smut #lewis hamilton x you #lewishamilton #lewis hamilton fanfic #smut

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steveseddie · 3 months

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of movie nights and holding hands

rating: t | cw: none apply | word count: 1,841

tags: eddie munson lives, eddie munson has a crush on steve harrington, holding hands, getting together, first kiss

for the @steddielovemonth prompt “love is asking ‘do you want a blanket?’” by @thefreakandthehair

a/n: i liked this prompt so much that i wrote two fics for it! enjoy!

click here to read on ao3

***

Eddie tries hard to focus on the movie.

It shouldn’t be that hard since Top Gun is supposed to be a good movie. Tonight was the first time since movie nights at the Harrington residence became a thing that an argument didn’t break out amongst the group when they had to choose what to watch. Everyone just agreed. And even if the movie didn’t turn out to be good, Eddie would never waste the opportunity to ogle Tom Cruise for an hour and fifty minutes.

Except he is because, for the last thirty-two minutes, Eddie’s focus has been solely on Steve.

This isn’t the first time they sit next to each other during movie nights. More and more lately, they tend to gravitate toward the other whenever they hang out, and Eddie loves this as much as he hates it.

He loves being close to Steve, being able to whisper to him or touch him, or lean against him. But he hates how it makes him feel. How it makes his palms sweat or goosebumps appear on his skin. He hates it because he can’t let Steve know. Steve might’ve been cool about Eddie being gay and he’s cool with Eddie being touchy and loud and basically too much, but Eddie doesn’t think he’ll be cool with him having a huge hopeless crush on him.

(He probably would, though, because Steve is a good guy, the best guy Eddie knows, and he would let Eddie down easy and make sure nothing changes between them, but Eddie would still feel rejected and they might still end up drifting apart because he can’t handle that.

And Eddie would rather go against another army of Demobats than lose Steve.)

So Eddie tries hard to pay attention to the movie and be normal about the fact that Steve is basically sitting on top of him tonight.

They didn’t start the night like that. At first, it was just Steve, Eddie, and Robin on the couch with plenty of space to sit comfortably. But then Max and Lucas got into an argument- a childish quarrel really- that will probably be forgotten by the end of the night, but still she demanded that they open a spot for her on the couch since she didn’t want to sit with Lucas and the others on the floor anymore. To do that, Steve had to move closer to Eddie, pushing him against the arm of the couch and trapping him between it and his body. Max sits cross-legged next to him which leaves Steve with little to no room for his legs, so one of his thighs overlaps with Eddie’s, same with their arms. And of course, Eddie, who always dresses in multiple layers, decided to only wear a shirt and his battle vest tonight, meaning that his bare arm is touching Steve’s and every time he so much as wiggles trying to get comfortable, a shudder runs through Eddie’s spine.

He thinks Steve is too focused on the movie to notice, but halfway through it, he feels Steve shift closer (and how does he keep getting even closer?) and whisper right into Eddie’s, making the hairs on his neck stand up. “Do you want a blanket, Eds?”

“What?” Eddie asks. It comes out as a squeak. So much for acting normal.

“You keep shivering. Are you cold? Do you want a blanket?”

The thing is Eddie isn’t cold. Eddie feels warm all over actually, but he can’t tell Steve that the reason why he keeps shuddering or why he’s getting goosebumps is him.

So he says, “Uh, yeah. I could use a blanket.”

He expects Steve to get up so he can get it or to tell Eddie where to find one. Instead, he lifts the blanket that he placed across his lap when the movie started and drapes it across Eddie’s body too, shifting even closer to him.

“Better?” Steve asks with a sweet smile. Bless his clueless heart.

Eddie wants to scream “No, it’s not!” but instead, he just gives him a shaky smile that he hopes looks genuine and nods. Then he shoves his hands under the blanket so he can anxiously play with his rings without Steve noticing, feeling restless and jumpy at having Steve so close. After a moment, he sees Steve do the same out of the corner of his eye. Maybe his hands are cold.

Steve stays still after that, and Eddie can somewhat focus on the movie.

That is until he feels Steve’s pinkie finger brush against his under the blanket.

When it does, Eddie yelps, his leg jerking and kicking Lucas who sits on the floor right in front of him. He feels Steve withdraw his hand like he got burned.

“Dude!” Lucas protests.

“Sorry, Sinclair, uh. Muscle spasm,” Eddie mutters. The other kids give him weird looks but thankfully they go back to the movie.

Whispering so he doesn’t bother the others, Steve says, “Uh, sorry. It was- uh, it was an accident.”

“All good, Steve-o.”

Steve gives him a tight-lipped smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and Eddie gets the feeling that he’s lying, but then it would mean that his hand touching Eddie’s wasn’t an accident, but a deliberate move.

But why?

Glancing at him out of the corner of his eye, he notices that Steve looks nervous. He’s biting his bottom lip and there’s a divot between his eyebrows, his cheeks are also tinted bright pink.

So Eddie thinks, fuck it! and moves his hand under the blanket, hooking his pinkie finger with Steve’s.

Steve’s reaction is definitely more subdued than Eddie’s was, but Eddie still hears him gasp. He glances at Eddie, big doe eyes wide and a little hopeful, and Eddie feels like throwing up because holy shit, Steve Harrington was, in fact, deliberately trying to touch his hands and now their pinkies are linked. If it weren’t for the fact that the blanket offers them the cover that they need to do this, Eddie would toss it away. He feels like could burst into flames any minute.

Soon, it’s not just their pinkies touching. Soon, the tip of Steve’s remaining fingers find Eddie’s. He waits for a second, probably to see if Eddie is gonna jump again, but when he doesn’t, Steve tangles their fingers together and gives Eddie’s hand a little squeeze. And Eddie wants to scream, he wants to melt into the couch, he wants to kiss Steve, the kids and Robin be damned.

He doesn’t. He stays still except for his thumb which starts rhythmically stroking over Steve’s knuckles. Eddie hears his breath catch and sees his blush spreading up to his ears. At least he’s not the only one affected by this.

Neither of them is paying attention to the movie at this point, too focused on playing with each other’s hands and biting down on their dopey smiles.

Eddie doesn’t want it to end. He doesn’t want this bubble that they created under this blanket to burst. He’s afraid Steve won’t want to hold Eddie’s hand ever again if it does.

But eventually, the movie does end. The end credits start to roll and the kids spring to their feet, stretching and talking excitedly about the movie. Eddie hopes they don’t ask him anything about it, he couldn’t tell them the names of three characters if he tried.

“Did you like it?” Steve asks quietly.

“The- movie?”

Steve’s eyes crinkle at the corners. “I think we both know you didn’t pay attention to the movie, Eds.”

Eddie feels the blood that rushes to his cheeks at being called out. “Well, I was distracted,” he murmurs, thumb flicking over Steve’s knuckle one more time just to see Steve’s eyes widen a little and his lips part.

“Yeah? By what?” He asks, his voice sounding a little strained to Eddie’s ears.

“A pretty boy holding my hand.”

Steve whines low in his throat. Eddie is glad that the kids are being loud and that they’re focused on each other instead of them.

He continues, “Which I liked. A lot. And uh- I would like to do it again.”

“Me too,” Steve says with a shy smile. God, Eddie wants to kiss him stupid.

“Eddie!”

He jumps when Max calls his name. He and Steve both let go of each other’s hand at the same time, but keep them under the blanket.

“What?”

Max’s eyes roll to the back of her head. “The movie is over? We have to leave now if we want to make it home before curfew.”

“Oh. Sure thing, Mad Max.”

She narrows her eyes at him and Eddie tries to look innocent, not like he spent the last eighty minutes holding another boy’s hand. He’s not so sure that he nails it.

Together, they quickly gather the blankets and the pillows and stuff them into the hallway closet. With Nancy skipping tonight’s movie night and Robin still having no license, it’s up to Eddie to drop everyone off, and unless they leave right now, they’re gonna be late like Max said.

That doesn’t stop Eddie from running back to the house after everyone already piled up inside the van, claiming that he forgot something.

After he knocks on the door, Steve opens it with a confused frown that melts into a smile when he sees Eddie.

“Did you forget something, Munson?”

“I did actually,” Eddie says and for the second time that night, he thinks fuck it! and surges forward, pushing his lips against Steve’s in a quick kiss.

Steve yelps, but Eddie feels the softest press of lips from him before he backs away.

Before Eddie can spiral because oh, god he just kissed Steve, Steve is grabbing him by the lapels of his vest and pulling him toward him. They both stumble back into the house a couple of steps, just enough so they’re hidden from view and Steve can kiss Eddie for longer and a little more forcefully this time.

“Do you want to come over tomorrow?” Steve asks when they pull apart.

“To watch a movie?” He asks. Steve licks his lips and Eddie’s eyes track the movement. “Or not watch a movie?”

Steve smirks. “The second one.”

Eddie nods enthusiastically. “It’s a date,” he says with a grin that Steve mirrors.

They jump when the horn of his van blares, probably waking up a few of Steve’s neighbors.

Eddie makes a face. “Gotta go or the brats are gonna be late.”

“Drive safe,” Steve says, giving the vest a little tug.

“Always do, Stevie,” he says, giving him a two-fingered salute. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah. See you tomorrow, Eds,” Steve says with a dopey smile. Eddie starts walking backwards.

And if he trips on the steps because he’s too busy watching Steve and almost falls on his ass, then at least it’s just Steve who sees it.

And at least, he does it with a sweet smile painted on his puffy pink lips that Eddie just kissed.

#steddielovemonth #day 25 #two fics for the same prompt hehe i just love these two so much #steddie #stranger things #stranger things fic #steve harrington #eddie munson

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aezuria · 3 months

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okay now we need those Percy hcs immediately

*ੈ✎ love grows (where my rosemary goes)

"there's something about her hand holding mine, it's a feeling that's fine and i just gotta say 'hey!'" —edison lighthouse

note: OKAY ANON GOT TO WORK AS SOON I SAW THIS 🫡 idk what happened im sorry this is kinda ass 😔😔

content: percy jackson x reader; dating hcs

warnings: cursing

this man is a menace

he's head over heels for you but also almost drowned you

he claims the wave "wasn't supposed to be that big" SIR??

that was like typhoon level shit right there

he just wanted to put you under a littleee bit so he could be your knight in shining armor and save you 🥺🥺

spoiler: you ended up saving yourself

(it's okay he made it up with lots of cuddles and kisses)

you were wading into the water, eager to join percy in the deep end, when suddenly, an unnatural wave crashes into your back and sends you falling into the deep end

you gasp too late and take a mouthful of salty seawater

with your arms flailing in the water, you swam to the surface and gulped for air

you wiped at your face, opening your eyes to see percy near you, but at a distance as if he was afraid of invoking your wrath

you narrowed your eyes at him, his skittish behavior obviously telling you that he was the culprit

"JACKSON!" you swam towards him at a frighteningly quick pace, leaving the poor boy scrambling away and screaming apologies

"IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A JOKE!"

anyway

he swings your hands while you walk

its so silly and he loves it

also a fan of running while your hands are interlocked

the first time was purely out of instinct, him grabbing your hand as a monster crashed behind you guys (because when can demigods catch a break?) and he started sprinting, dragging you along

likes skipping??? he's so weird

says it conserves energy and it's fun (he's not wrong but he forgot to mention the downside of looking like a dumbass)

imagine him skipping into battle

or better yet: "greeks! let's, um, fight stuff!" and they all skip menacingly

that was kinda off topic my bad

if you wear a ponytail he loves spinning it around like a helicopter

makes the little noises too

you feel a tug on your hair, already knowing who it is

"percy? what the hell are you doing?"

"helicopter."

back to almost drowning you, you got back at him by draining all the water in his cabin

to this day, he still doesn't know how you did it

all he knows is that after the sink wouldn't turn on, he knew exactly who it was

he was a man on a MISSION as he ran across the whole camp to catch you

"Y/N!"

"IT WAS THE STOLLS!"

"YOU FILTHY LIAR!"

your relationship is full of prank wars and all that good stuff

once it's over you settle down and cuddle on the shore

he laid out a picnic blanket for the two of you and you talked for hoursss into the night

the two of you were sleepy, heads resting on each other as a gentle breeze swept the salty air into your faces

percy was rambling on and on about you, but you were already half-asleep

"you're just so amazing and wonderful and i'm so grateful for you, you know? you're so fun to be with, and you're so beautiful.. y/n?" he looked down at you after your lack of response, finding your pretty eyes shut

he smiled down at you and pressed a kiss to your forehead

"goodnight."

#percy jackson #percy jackson x reader #percy #percy x reader #pjo #percy jackon and the olympians #percy pjo #pjo x reader #percy jackson and the olympians x reader #*ੈ✎ stories

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sorcerous-caress · 5 months

Text

Early morning cuddling

[Fluff, wholesome, nb!reader]

[Wyll, Lae'zel, Karlach, Minthara]

Part Two

Wyll

The feeling of soft warm breath against your chest is soothing, Wyll's arms are wrapped around your waist with his curled back horns below your neck, safely out of reach.

A quiet squeaking sounds just outside your window, wandering and tapping their beaks gently against the glass, the adoring feathery fans coming to say hello to the prince charming, sleeping in your arms. After all, Wyll has been making a habit of feeding the two mourning doves who made a nest just outside your shared bedroom. It's a good omen, he claims.

But he's sleeping so peacefully in your embrace, it almost feels like a crime to wake him up. Despite how adorable his morning grumpiness can be, sometimes blue blood just never washes off no matter how much Wyll claims he is a humble man of the blade.

The pure cotton sheets and featherly pillows below you say otherwise, but who are you to argue with Wyll-can't sleep unless it's on a 2000 thread count sheets-Ravengard

Calling his name, you cup his face in your hand as he leans into it. Nuzzling into the warmth of your balm as you tell him it's time to wake up. His lips meet the soft skin on inside of your hand and gently give it a small kiss. Mismatched eyes fluttering open with difficulty as he battles through the sleepiness, finally meeting your gaze.

You let him cuddle up to you, the lazy morning weather is really mellowing out your mind and making all the responsibilities awaiting you pale in comparison to staying here on this soft bed, wrapped in your beloved's arms.

Wyll seems to share a similar idea, the hero of frontier happily indulging in the sin of sloth so openly, if only you had a necklace of pearls to clutch right now. Alas, you let this handsome devil lure you back into taking a nap together, ignore the calling of the sun outside your curtains, for the world can await.

♡

Lae'zel

She's awake much before you, only when the sound of running water stirs you awake do you realise the empty spot on the bed besides you.

Lae'zel took her morning training very seriously, slipping away before the sun was up to keep both her body and mind in shape. When the fading stars in the sky are her only companions through her long jogs, a reminder of a home she once knew.

A test of self-will to resist the allure of sleep each morning.

To resist the allure of you on her bed.

Which is why she feels entitled to your touch the second she's finished with her shower, you're the prize she has rightfully earned. Drying off her damp skin as she watches you with keen eyes, noticing the way your eyes linger on each droplet she wipes off of her body.

Finishing drying her hair, Lae'zel finally joins you on the bed after what felt like long hours of torture that realistically only amounted to ten minutes tops.

She smells absolutely divine, her hair is so soft as you run your fingers through it, using it to guide her face closer to yours. Her lips taste just as sweet as her scent, with a hint of toothpaste.

But a kiss is all that you have the stamina for. You can't make it to the second kiss before dozzing off again, mind clouded by the comfort her presence brings. The unspeakable safety you feel in her arms, knowing that she would let nothing in this world ever lay a finger on you.

Even after so many years, she still keeps her sword sharp, just so your fingertips may grow softer each day. Because you at this moment, dozzing off in her arms in the early morning, is what she's fights for everyday.

The two of you stay under the warm blanket, Lae'zel has never felt a greater sense of belonging than in your embrace.

♡

Karlach

Her beloved teddy bear, Clive, is squished between the two of you.

Karlach decided that your arms were at the safest place for the second most treasured thing in her life. Whilst she got to hold you in her own arms, it's a win-win deal.

Wearing very little clothes while sleeping, her engine hums with a soft night-light red glow. Since fixing it, it's become much easier to fall asleep by her side without its blazing light and loud churning, now it's more akin to a glowing amber beneath her skin that you could easily miss in the morning light.

You still grew fond of that hum, the low metallic melody that spelled a promise of a second chance at life to her, to return back what was stolen. Rewind the time and tend to the wounds.

As far as Karlach was concerned, she was living the dream. Sure, fighting had its merits, but nothing could compare to the steady sway of a mundane life. As safe as a baby in a cradle, she relished in every peaceful sleep she was granted by your side.

Her horn was growing in again, the broken one, you noticed that when it started lightly scratching the side of your neck in the early morning. You made a mental note to have a talk with Karlach about changing the sleeping arrangements, after throwing a small celebration for her horn.

Maybe you'll get her a pie from that bakery she likes, it's only a few houses away from where you lived in this small community. And the flower lady did say she got a new batch of sunflowers coming in today, it looks like lady fortune was smiling your way today.

Her strong arms made you feel safe, protected, and loved. Her legs tangled with yours under the cover as she held you tighter.

Peppering small kisses down face, you started with her forhead, just below her horns, and then moved to her closed eyelids, below her eyes, on her cute nose and cheeks.

Finally meeting her lips, just before you could pull away from what was supposed to be a gentle quick smooch, Karlach pushed you on your back and pressed her lips against yours, deepening the kiss and not allowing you the chance to slip away from her hold.

Greedily eating up all of the small noises slipping out of you, her firey eyes met yours as the kiss kept going for a minute before she finally pulled back breathless.

"Damn that's the best way to wake up." She let out with a smug grin, arms roaming your body while her lips meet your neck, a kiss after another.

But they were too light, sleep still clouded her mind as what was supposed to be passionate, neck kissing, turned into a tickling sensation against your neck that made you chuckle.

Karlach seemed a bit embarrassed by her clumsy skills, but she took it in stride and laughed it off, settling for one final taste to your lips before laying on her back and pulling you on top of her. Manhandling you so early in the morning as if you were her personal teddy bear to cuddle up with in whatever position she wished to.

♡

Minthara

It's peaceful, too peaceful for her liking. Not that she ever falls asleep to begin with.

And yet she finds herself following you to bed, joining in this routine nightly as if it was her second nature to do so. Like a guard dog would see you to the front door of your house whenever you were getting ready to go out, waiting at the doorsteps until your arrival.

You don't think she'd appreciate this euphemism if you spoke it out loud, so you keep to yourself, even when you find her waiting for you in front of the house one day when you took a little too late to come home.

With a book in her hand and the reading glasses replacement number forty-six that she will surely misplace or break before the week ends, Minthara retires to her side of the bed next to you.

You'd be lying if you said that her presence didn't help ease your mind, that the sound of pages turning didn't help lull you into dreams. She doesn't meditate during those hours either, prefering to do it for a couple hours during the day when your wide awake.

Maybe it's for safety, why she is so keen on watching over your helpless form. An old habit that came from surviving drow society, making sure no one can ever catch both of you off guard at the same time.

She's in the same place when you wake up, her hair a bit more of a mess with her fingers flipping the book to its final pages, red eyes scanning the writing with care as she takes in the information. They were always in drow language, you wondered what kind did she read? Fiction or nonfiction? Novels or science books? History or biographies?

The only thing you could make out on the pages was the small scribble at the edges of stray pages, where Minthara marked where she last left off with a pen, rather than using the various bookmarks she's been gifted.

The more you focused on the scribble, the more it looked like a tiny spider with way too many legs, but your wife simply refuse to acknowledge that whenever you wondered about it aloud.

Stretching your arms above your head, your back weighted down comfortably on the silk sheets that Minthara insisted on getting. Bright lavender in colour and unbelievably smooth against your skin, like sleeping on top of a cloud.

Seeking attention, you moved closer to her until your head was on her lap, she was sitting with her back leaning against the headboard. Her hand quickly found your neck and softly traced her fingers down your skin, settling on the nape of your neck before giving it a comfortable squeeze to massage your sore muscles.

Her hands felt...heavenly, she always know where to touch you to get the exhumation out. What body points were the most prone to stress, even now her paladin training is still engraned into her soul.

Minthara's touches always held a clear declaration of possessiveness in them, a hunger that may never be sated to own you, body and soul. She embraces you as if you were her lovers in various past lives.

The sound of a pen clicking before a small scribble is added to the edge of the page in front of you is your sign to start the day. Minthara closes the book as her full attention is directed at you, a hungry look in her eyes.

Actual hunger, mind you. You see, princesses never learn how to cook, not to mention drow women nobility, and she has been waiting all night on an empty stomach so this is your sign to prepare breakfast, be it store-bought or homemade, she never makes a fuss.

Although she does make a mean cup of coffee, if you happened to like charcoal as a drink, that is. Drows had to improvise in the underdark with no coffee beans after all. Although what use would an elf have of an energy drink? You're not sure.

♡

#♡Minthara #♡Wyll #♡laezel #♡Karlach #♡fluff #minthara x reader #minthara baerne #Wyll Ravengard #Wyll x reader #lae'zel x reader #Lae'zel #baldur's gate 3 x reader #baldur's gate 3 #Bg3 #bg3 x reader #nb!reader #fluff #Karlach #karlach x reader

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the-californicationist · 5 months

Text

The Welcome Distraction

MDNI/18+ --- TW: Blow jobs, face-fucking (lovingly) AO3 Link

“Everything alright, babe?” You asked, watching your huge, frustrated husband pace back and forth in your small den.

John Price was usually such a level-headed man. His cool exterior shell hid a furious temper underneath, but he was so very careful never to let it show. The hound was always on its leash. Today, though, it was growling — figuratively and literally.

“The wrong fucking intel… how could Laswell let this happen? All those months we spent planning to infil this base — wasted,” he gripped the iPad like it owed him money, the plastic casing creaking under his enormous hand. You watched the tiny muscles and tendons battle against the bones inside of it, remembering exactly how that generous grip felt on your skin.

You knew how to make him relax. Taking his iPad from him gently, you sat him down on the couch and poured him a generous glass of his favorite scotch. It was the fourteen year Oban, and you could smell the salty, smoky scent of apples and ginger, bookended by its signature creaminess. You stole a taste before you handed him the glass, getting his attention with your thievery. Then, you dug a fat cigar from his humidor, something that would smoke for an hour or more if he let it, clipping and punching it just as he had showed you.

Settling him down on the couch, you preened, enjoying his look of baffled confusion. His eyes were still rimmed with some frustration, but you could tell your distractions were working.

You were wearing one of his white button-down shirts as a nightgown, allowing the large collar to hang off of you at odd angles to show most of your skin. There was nothing underneath. He’d been pretty adamant about keeping you in as few clothes as possible when you moved in together, praising you for going commando, begging you to sleep naked, giving you little kisses and treats when he found you under the blankets on the couch with nothing on.

You learned quickly from these sweet rewards, so you knew what he wanted to see. Wearing his shirts had dawned on you like a eureka moment one day, and it had worked like a damn charm. He could barely keep his hands off of you when you had one on, and if you had an appointment or somewhere important to be, you made sure to be out of it before he got home. Otherwise, you would be at his mercy. You joked that he was your wild, untamed caveman; always ready to take his woman at a moment’s notice. He had just smiled and rolled a dark chuckle around in this throat, insatiable.

Gazing down at him now on the couch, you admired the absolute specimen that you’d been given. His wide, hairy chest stretched out his army green tee, the sleeves straining to accommodate his heavy arms. John had the most gorgeous mouth, and as he wet his cigar, lighting it carefully, you let your body reminisce about how those full lips felt against your warm center. Then, his jeans. Every pair fit like latex around his muscular ass and thighs, and the zipper was always tested by his fat, flaccid cock, cruelly stuffed against the fabric commando-style. He dressed to the left, and you could see how his shaft had begun to strain as it grew hard down the side of his thigh, reaching for something warm and wet.

You pulled a pillow off of the couch and knelt down in front of him, making quite the show of pinning up your hair. He watched you like a hawk watches a field, looking for movement and eager to sink his talons into the soft body of his squealing prey.

Then, you focused on him. John was held in your stare, his blue eyes bright and curious. Smoke fell down his mouth and into his scruffy beard like a waterfall of incense, the smell making you feel braver than you had a right to. You made sure he watched you as you plucked the buttons on his oversized shirt. Each loose button let the collar open further and further until finally, the silky cloth fell away, pooling around you.

“What’s all this, then?” He asked, sitting forward with one hand palming his cock and the other still busy with his cigar.

John kissed you, feeling how weak and pliant your mouth was, wetting your tongue with his own, becoming more ravenous by the second. You kissed him back languidly, making sure to keep your affections relaxed, slowing him down gently. You pulled away, smiling at him knowingly.

“Would you like to pick a toy for me, Captain?” You nodded to the end table where an assortment of plugs and vibrators lived. They were stashed all over the house just like the cigars — in case of emergencies.

He stirred at your use of his title, or at your suggestion about the toys; maybe both. But, he played along, bending over to the drawer and choosing an easy silicone dildo, something to keep you company down there on the floor. Your captain held it in his hands and waited for your next move, happy to be commanded for a change.

You let him hold it for you, and you sank your mouth around it, coating it in your spit and giving him a preview of what was about to happen to him. You sucked the head of the toy teasingly, and you let it slide into the back of your throat, coating it in your drool. You heard him let out a low, rumbling sigh, and you removed it from your lips.

You took it from him and slipped it into yourself with some difficulty, letting the fullness of the toy cock settle into you and warm itself with your core. Your little mewls of pleasure caught him like a fire, and you could sense the tension in his body, ready to burn.

Then, slowly, as if you were approaching a dangerous animal — you were — you popped open the button fly of his jeans, letting each button slip satisfyingly out of its hole, revealing the base of his impossibly thick cock. His hair was dark and coarse, curling around his velvety shaft and balls. You took him out carefully, admiring his girth. The rosy, swollen head was still tucked behind his smooth foreskin, and you were eager to slide it out.

You smiled up at him, watching him watch you,

“I want you to relax, John. So, I’m going to let you use me for a while. You can go back to your emails if you want, or maybe turn on the game,” you glanced at the television behind you, “But, I’m starving, and you’re going to feed me until you’re done with that cigar. Does that sound good?”

You licked the underside of his cock while he decided how to answer you. He melted into you so quickly, and he nodded,

“Sure thing, love. Anything you want.”

“Thank you, Captain,” you kissed his shining head and started your work.

Licking the underside of his shaft was one of his favorite parts, so you took your sweet time, softening your tongue and making sure to sweep over his head at the end of each long journey from his base to his tip. You took breaks here and there to suck gently on his large balls, taking them inside of your mouth like the round candy of a lollipop.

He had already started with his moaning, furrowing his brow and taking a long drag from his cigar. You looked up at him, watching the orange glow give way to thick, creamy smoke. He reached over for the scotch and drank, savoring all of the heat and the flavors you’d presented to his palette.

Slowly but surely, as you massaged and sucked and licked and kissed, his body lost more and more of that tension. After a while, he was pliant for you, high from his nicotine, buzzed from his drink, and floating in the river of hedonistic pleasure you had crafted.

In a way, you too had been weakened by him. Having him in your mouth was a challenge, but it was comforting. You suckled from his tip as if from the sweet flesh of a fruit, soothing yourself and letting your mind go blank. You didn’t need to think about anything else but him, and he was easy.

The toy was giving you a delicious amount of feedback. As you clenched around it, you could feel your pussy becoming softer and more pliant, and you could tell that you were soaking. You could even feel it on your thighs, and if you twisted your hips just so, you could make your lips slide against each other, making little wet clicking noises as you fucked the dildo against the pillow. It wasn’t enough to make you come, but it was enough to get you started.

Only when he started to get restless again did you care to speed up your efforts. So far, you’d been taking him only halfway, focusing on his sensitive head, licking long swipes along his glans, letting him fill with blood until he was taut like a bowstring. But, now, nearly finished with his whiskey and about a third of the way through his cigar, you began to notice little clues from his body that he needed more.

His hips would buck a bit when you took him deeper, and if you massaged his balls, his head would fall back and he would let out a deep, roiling grunt. The muscles in his lower belly were pulling and pushing against themselves, now, and every now and then, you could feel a twitch from his heavy rod, pulsing for you and mimicking its grand finale.

But, you knew your time was up when he opened that mouth again. He loved talking you through it, and when he was worked up, he would tell you all sorts of wonderful things. You heard him start in on his praise, generous and enticing,

“Makin’ me feel so good, pretty girl. Seein’ you with me in your mouth… ungh, yeah just like that, baby. Feels so fuckin’ good. Oh, fuck…”

So, you obliged him. You knew what he wanted. It was not the soothing comfort of your slow massages and delicate suckling. He wanted your throat, and he wanted to take it from you. He wouldn’t rush you though. Somehow, for all his fury, John was a patient man. If you kept at your languid pacing, he would swallow his desire and let you continue, happy to be at your mercy. But, you didn’t much like him as your harmless servant. You wanted your cruel master.

You called to him with your efforts, making new attempts at taking him deeper and deeper within you, reaching for his base with your tongue when you hit your limit. As you increased your pace, moving your body became more of an event. The toy cock nestled inside of you was making you more stimulated now, and it was slipping through your fluids, pressing a little deeper into your core as you slicked and clenched around its body. You swallowed around his thickness with your throat, unable to breathe when he was pushed past a certain point, counting down from ten in a steady rhythm, training yourself to take him farther each time.

“Bloody hell, love. Tha’s it, fuck… tha’s it, baby. Fuck, mmm…” You felt him stir, and you saw him set down his glass and the cigar on the end table. He leaned forward so he could see more of your body, reaching out to gently pluck at one of your soft, puffy nipples, pinching it to make it tighten, “You havin’ fun, pretty girl?”

You nodded, not taking him out of your mouth. You were grinding your hips with a purpose, and you showed him what a good job you were doing, taking your hand and bringing back some of your wetness for him to see, holding it out to him like a sloppy gift.

He grabbed your wrist and brought your hand to his mouth, sucking your slick off of your fingers and making you moan from it.

“Ahh,” he sighed, “Make those noises for me, love. Feels fuckin’ good.”

You gave him what he wanted; you would have given him anything at this point, and you watched him come undone. Your screams were vibrating his swollen rod, and when you took him as deeply as you could, you could feel him throbbing against your neck from the inside.

When you tasted the salt of his precome, you knew he wouldn’t be long. You also knew that your role would soon change. His eyes darkened, and his face wore the pained snarl of him holding himself back. Then, when he had enough, he put his hand in your hair and pulled you away with a wet, slobbering pop.

“My turn,” his smile was sinister.

He stood, keeping control of your skull, pulling your hair at the base of your head to turn you so that your back was against the couch. Then, your captain began to command you,

“Fuck yourself with that toy, pretty girl. Tha’s it, nice and hard. Just like that.”

You were pumping the dildo in and out of your body with your hand, sitting on the floor with your legs spread, not caring how cock-drunk you looked.

“Good girl. Does tha’ feel good? Tell me,” he let his hard cock lay against your cheek, leaving little wet trails of precome on your face and in your hair.

“Yes, sir. It feels so good…mmm, fuck…” You whined and whimpered beneath him, showing him your neck, and opening your mouth like a little bird, eager to be fed.

“Pretty girl,” he sighed as he put himself back into your mouth.

Then, he moved for you, fucking himself in and out in a chanting drumbeat, choking you on the way down and allowing you to breathe on the way up. You tried to concentrate, knowing you needed to take every break he gave you, but you lost the rhythm when you started to come, fucking yourself faster and faster to drag yourself over your peak.

“Oh, yessss…” He praised you, “Come for me, love. Come for me, just like that. Nuh-uh, don’t stop. Don’t stop riding that cock, pretty thing. Tha’s it, yeah. Keep it in. Good girl, good girl.”

You were struggling, but you did as you were told, your head swimming and dizzy from your orgasm, straining to take a full breath. You wouldn’t be so lucky to get one, not until he was done with you.

He fucked your throat with intent, now. John had both of his hands on you, one tangled in the hair at the base of your skull and the other holding you tight around the back of your neck, scruffing you like a naughty kitten. It may have been all in your head, but that pressure made you weaker than ever, and he was able to use you to your full potential.

His grunts morphed into longer, arching groans. He was shouting into the echoing walls of your den, growling down at you as he approached his zenith, the warm sun of him burning you up from the inside out.

Then, he found what he had been searching for, and he chased it. His rhythm faltered, and he held your face so tightly to him, clutching you to his center, burying your nose in his fur. Your body started to fight back, needing to breathe. You may have over-acted a little, but you could see that he liked to watch you struggle, so you gave him your tear-stained, pleading eyes and writhed to get away.

“Oh, Christ! Love, I’m... Oh… Oh, fuck me…”

His hips bucked into your aching jaw, and you felt your body fill with his come. The soft, creamy fluid dripped down your throat and into your belly, salty and musky on the back of your tongue. Your whole mouth could feel him pulsing as he emptied himself into you, and you tried to swallow every last drop.

John removed himself from you and aimed to lay down on the couch, using the last of his strength to pull you on top of him, laying you on him like a living blanket. You panted together, each of you breathless.

You basked in your joy for a while, rubbing your hands all over his chest, yanking his shirt off of him so you could be skin to skin. You pet him like a big animal, stroking him and massaging him for being so good to you. You were straddling him, and as his cock softened, you could feel its body against your wet pussy, lolling over to his hip, exhausted.

You whispered to him, brushing his hair off of his sweating brow,

“I’m sorry you had a hard day at work, John.”

He laughed quietly, wrapping his arms around you to keep you warm and held tight to him,

“Tha’s okay, love. It’s no trouble. Everythin’ works out in the end, hm?”

Your big captain kissed you then, tasting himself on your tongue. You could taste his scotch and his tobacco, all of his scents filling your mind with him. His soft tongue joined with yours, playing together in your mouths, lips slipping together and sucking on each other, gentle and soothing. You lay there, dozing together, sated and joyful, happily distracted.

_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_

Thanks for reading! Reblogs and comments deeply appreciated 🩷

#call of duty fanfic #cod mw2 #cod mwii #captain john price #captain price #cod #captain price x reader #john price #captain price x you

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 month

Text

Winter's King 17

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: I have a house now. One more month until move in.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You leave the queen, stepping into the gales that whip around the outer flap of her tent. You reach to keep your cap from flying into the violent winds, the soldiers with their chins down as they lean against the force. Before you can gain your bearings, a shadow appears and calls your name, battling the weather to be heard.

“Eh, where is your cloak, silly mouse? You will blow away with the leaves,” Bryce approaches, latching onto your arm as the bluster swirls around you, nearly taking you off your feet.

“I am fine, sir, I only need find a blanket,” you stumble against him as another willful gust pushes you around.

“That isn’t what I asked. What has happened to it? You’ve lost it?”

“The queen was cold, sir,” you answer and cling to him, shivering as the tempest swirls around you.

“The queen... greedy...” his voice trails off as her sneers towards the tent.

“Sir,” you touch his arm gently to calm him, “she needs it more than I. She is expecting the king’s child.”

He looks at you and juts out his jaw, “aye, s’pose you’re right, even if you’re too kind for yer own good.”

He turns you and grips you tightly, shielding you as best he can against the wind. Your progress is slow and stunted by the sudden ebbs and flows. He grunts as you stagger and steadies you, at times almost lifting you off your feet.

“Sir Bryce,” a deep voice slices through the whistle of the winds, “a storm approaches.”

The king nears, his sword gripped by the pommel as he leans it against hit shoulder. His golden eyes flick towards you, as if he had not seen you in the shadow of your escort. He raises his chin and returns his attention to the soldier. He angles his blade to the ground and the tip buries in the dirt.

“Aye, it surely does,” Bryce agrees, “I’ve seen a worst tempest in my years.”

“Sir,” Geralt holds out his hands and a glisten appears on his sleeve. You lean in without a thought, curious, then feel a cold speck on your nose. You look up and see the white flakes drifting down. “It will not remain so peaceful. It comes from the north and will deepen by morning.”

“Shall we wake the camp?” Bryce asks and you sway with the wind. Once more, the king’s attention strays to you, he frowns.

“Not as yet. Let the horses rest a little longer. They will be able to handle a dusting,” he affirms. “but I will harry the men to prepare for our departure.”

“As will I. I’ll be certain the carts are covered and weighted.”

“Sir, ever wise,” King Geralt praises and scowls at you. He shakes his head and huffs, “why does the maid wear no cloak? She will not survive in this, summer soul, she is.”

“Aye, yes, I was only just telling her as much. Seems her heart is too big for her thin hide,” Bryce tuts, “we were only off to find her a blanket before she sleeps.”

“Blanket, eh,” the king lets go of his blade, letting it stand in the ground. He unbuckles his collar and sweeps his cloak from around his shoulder, “I have my hunting cloak and I don’t mind the snow so much.”

Before you can react, the king lays his heavy cloak over your shoulders. It is longer than your height requires and it smells of sweat and iron. You lower your head at the warmth clinging to the lined wool.

“Your highness, many thanks, but I might find a blanket--”

“Do not defy your king,” Bryce rebukes, “mouse, you would do well to accept his grace. You will certainly need it if these winds do not pass.”

“Apologies,” you utter, “sir, your highness, you are both generous.”

King Geralt grumbles and nods, looking once more to the sky as he grabs his sword.

“The Ridge, Vulture’s Peak... it isn’t far. The castle will do, eh?”

“Not far at all, your highness,” Bryce agrees. “It would do you well to let your wife rest. Many congratulations, my king.”

“Congratulations? For what? Smelling a storm?” the king furrows his brow.

“Oi, I think I’ve said too much,” Bryce glances at you.

“Say more,” the king commands. The soldier sighs and sheepishly shows his teeth.

“Please, maid, would ya...” He mutters.

“Your highness, the queen said she is with child,” you swallow, “I only just came from her tent. I believed you were aware. I did not mean to gossip.”

“Child,” his eyes sink and close. He hums and heaves a deep breath, “yes, she would need to be still a time.”

“Your highness, again, you have my apologies--”

“No matter,” the king waves his hand. “Take the maid, I shall see to my wife.”

The king resumes his path onward, sword in hand. He hardly shares in Jazlene’s cheer for the news. Perhaps it is only the threat of the storm that has him unhappy.

You bring your hands to the dark fur along the collar of the cloak and draw it snug. You chatter and Bryce clucks. He nudges you and you walk forward in step.

“So the snows have come,” Bryce declares, “along with the heir. I sense many storms brewing, mouse. Best keep our eyes on the horizon.”

⚔️

You don’t sleep for long, if at all. Only the shallow dregs of your anticipation. You watch the snow fall from beneath the canopy and as the horses are roused and fed before dawn, a carpet coats the ground.

You peer down at the powder. You wonder what it feels like. Cold and wet, Bryce says, but don’t dirty your soles, you’ll be soaked. He remains, as ever, cynical.

“Be off soon,” he says as he brings Daisy around, a thick coat over her back and haunches.

“To Vulture’s Peak?” You ask.

“Aye, so we will,” he pets Daisy’s snout as she sniffs him. “though our host may not be so fond to have us.”

“Host? It is not the king’s castle?”

“Ha, no, no,” Bryce laughs heartily, “a king can’t live on a desolate bluff. By fealty, a lord must break bread and offer a roof to his king. It might be his company which has him facing a cold welcome.”

“Oh,” you frown.

“Ah, even this old coot won’t deny us in the coming storm. He has sense of these better than any,” Bryce shrugs. “Don’t worry your head. You stay in your cart and Daisy will do the rest. She’s a fine climber--”

“Out of my way!” The curdling snarl interrupts the soldier and you both look to see the source. “Move, by gods, I am the queen, be away from me.”

You get to your knees, leaning on the edge of the wagon to see out from under the canopy. A scatter of bodies split apart as Queen Jazlene struts through, the fur cloak rippling from her shoulders and the hood set back on her head as her curls spill out. She sneers at the snow beneath her slippers.

“Ah, I did hear there was a cart around here—ugh, out,” she points as she marches up to the cart, “by royal right, I am seizing this cart.”

“Eh,” Bryce moves closer, “your highness, the king--”

“I cannot sit a horse, sir,” she rests her gloved hand over her stomach. “Or would you murder the future prince with your selfishness. All for a--” she pauses and glowers over at you, rolling her eyes. “A maid?”

You rise and snatch up the cloak you’d used as a blanket. You keep bent under the low canopy and climb out with the cushion under your arm.

“Sir, the queen is right, she should have the cart, I will sit with the luggage.”

He huffs and sends a grimace to the sky, unable to direct his malice towards its source, “if she must...”

“I must!” The queen snaps and yanks the pillow from your hands, “I will need this, certainly.”

You stand aside, staring at the pillow dolefully, and buckle the top of your cloak. The queen pauses as she faces you. She looks you up and down.

“Where did you find this then?” She touches the collar of the cloak.

“It is my spare cloak,” Bryce insists before you can answer, “what else do you require, your highness? Shall we bring a lamb to sacrifice?”

“Hm, is that how you northerners worship?” She sneers, missing his irony.

He blinks dully and says nothing.

“Well, secure the horse, I will need to be drawn.”

“It is my horse,” Bryce insists, “you may bridle your own.”

“You dare deny me?” She snarls at him as the soldiers with her stand on either side of the cart.

“You may take it up with your husband. This is my steed, she carried me to war and she will carry me henceforth,” he snips.

Bryce and Jazlene glare at each other. You look between them nervously. You don’t know who King Geralt might choose in this battle should he be called.

“Fine, fetch the stinky thing,” Jazlene demands of one of the soldiers, “and blankets, another pillow, perhaps something to eat.”

The cast of the sky shifts with the first light of the sun and Bryce grabs both horses and leads them aside. He whistles for you to follow. You come to him as Chestnut and Daisy cluelessly puff into the cold air.

“You will ride. I will not have that... queen seizing my horse,” he sniffs, “I will show you how once I’ve saddled the mare.”

“Oh, yes, sir.” You look up at the horses back. It seems very high.

“You will want to be aback anyhow,” he shrugs, “you’ll not want to miss the mountain. It is very beautiful, especially in the snow.”

⚔️

The party continues onward, treacherously. As the snow falls, the train diverts away from the flats and onto the narrow paths speckled with broken trunks and towering trees. The smell of pine tickles your nose as you ascend, bit by bit.

It takes some time to grow used to the motion of the horse. Daisy’s hooves are certain and she does not slip on even the most precarious spots. Bryce rides behind you, booming about each nook and cranny, pointing out the white rabbits and the wilted fauna. His enthusiasm is unexpected but endearing.

You ride until the moon replaces the sun and dismount along the side of the great cliff. There is no room here to pitch a tent and only a few fires burn along the ridge. Your hips ache as the soldier grunts about his back.

“I should see to the queen,” you suggest as you rub your hands together.

“She must have many fawning over her,” Bryce spits out a wad of leaves and squashes it under his feet.

“I am her maid--”

“And we are on a long road. She might go without you minding her temper,” he snarls.

You frown, “I am not upset. She needs the cart more than me.”

“It isn’t that which sees me chagrined,” he growls. “It’s those deeds you will not admit of that traitor’s daughter which make me prickle.”

You’re quiet. You look away, your eyes wandering up into the sky, watching the snow swirl down, following it down to the ground far below. The heaps are immaculate in the moonlight and the trim of white along the ridge gleams.

“I am a maid.”

“I know little of your summer people but if that is how they treat those who serve them, perhaps this alliance was not so wise,” he grumbles as he steps up beside you, “perhaps it would’ve been better to submit such cruel nobles.”

“Sir,” you say, shocked and peer over at his profile. His beard has grown to meet his cloak, his hair coiling down to his shoulders.

“I serve my king, as I ever will, but I will not bend the knees to a snake,” he hisses and crosses his arms.

“We are united, aren’t we? Summer and Winter,” you reach to touch his thick hide mitt.

“Aye, yes, I do not seek another battle,” he exhales. “I am only wary of those who may.”

You squint. Your mind returns to Lord Dustan and what he said to his daughter. The heir is their prize, an affirmation of the bounty earned by their betrayal, but also a chain to that very act. To the man they forsook their name for. A man they speak as kindly on as they had their former allies.

“Might I walk?” You draw your hand from his. “My legs are sore.”

“Not too far. And keep your eyes open,” he girds, “and your hands in your cloak. You needn’t frostbite.”

You nod and he turns to you. He pulls up the hood of your cloak and pats your shoulder.

“Tarry too long and I’ll look for you,” he warns.

“Sir,” you shift slowly and step past him.

You trod higher up the incline as you marvel over the edge. Bodies huddles together beneath cloaks and blankets, nestling for warmth against the wall of the cliff. You carry on and stop near a luggage cart, close to the drop. You hold out your hand, letting snow gather in your palm. It is cold, bitterly and painfully cold, but so beautiful. You bring it closer and watch it slowly melt as your hand numbs.

“Do you remember...” the king’s voice drawls over you as his soft steps approach. “What I told you of this place?”

You look at him. He is lit by the moonlight, his golden eyes like stars, and his jaw is bristly with thickening stubble. You bow your head, “your highness, are the bears already asleep in their caves?”

He chuckles, “you do recall,” he praises, “not yet, though they do not come this high.”

“And the wolves? Are they near?”

“They are always prowling,” he says, shifting closer, his arm pressing to yours. He bends slightly to peer straight down, “the elk will be in the forests.” He points to the snowcapped tips of the distant trees, “here, the vultures have their nests. Their eggs,” he curves his hands to show the size, “I made a writ, years ago. It is forbidden to eat the eggs. I always found it quite tragic to desecrate the majestic creatures before they can even be borne. Before they can fly even.”

“Vultures? I’ve never seen one? They are... birds?”

“Yes, birds,” he confirms.

He is silent as he considers his kingdom below. His breath is gritty as it rises and falls. He has much to think on. A child, a wife, and his homecoming delayed by a storm.

“One thing has changed here, in these lands of winter,” he says lowly and you feel a ripple in your cloak. He presses his hand firmly to your back, sliding it along your side to grasp your hip. He moves to stand behind you and brings you close. He wraps his arms around you and rests his chin on your crown, “I said before, there is no summer here,” he holds you, pulling his cloak around you, concealing you within it as he drapes himself around you, “summer is here. With me. Warm and gentle.”

You go rigid as he holds you, your heart beating at the unexpected embrace, at the unseemly contact between you. He hums as he stands with you in the shadows of the cart, so brazenly covert. Anyone might happen upon you and yet they all hide away from the storm.

“Your highness,” you stammer and quiver against him.

“Treasure,” he purrs, “my treasure. The one good thing I’ve brought home...”

You can’t breathe or think. Is he drunk? Confused? What does he mean?

“I--” he begins but the kick of a rock quiets him, the stone bouncing off the cart’s wheel.

A shadow stalks down the precipice towards you and the king detaches, uncovering you from his cloak. He faces the figure as the tramp up the incline. You hear the king shudder as he tickles your back.

“There’s the mouse,” Bryce says as he comes into the moonlight, his brow and jaw set, though he doesn’t look at you. He looks at the king, almost defiant. “You shouldn't be out so long in the cold. Exposed,” he grits, “come, I’ve sparked us a fire.”

King Geralt clears his throat, “thank you, sir.”

“My king,” Bryce says as he beckons to you, “I will keep the maid safe. As you bid.”

#geralt of rivia #dark geralt #dark!geralt #geralt of rivia x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #au #medieval au #winter's king #the witcher

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ghxstmxchine · 4 months

Text

ꜰᴀʟʟɪɴɢ ᴀꜱʟᴇᴇᴘ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇᴍ

☆ ᴀ/ɴ: so sleepy lately, I want to write more fluff esp for the holiday so I decided to do this <3 enjoy loves

☆ ᴅᴇᴛᴀɪʟꜱ: SFW + FLUFF // includes: Miguel, Hobie x gn!reader, w.c: 0.6k

ʜᴏʙɪᴇ ʙʀᴏᴡɴ

Hobie invites you over plenty, he likes having someone around, especially someone like you. Even when he doesn’t have much to say, when he just wants to lay around quietly in his room he still invites you over

The window is open and he’s tuning his guitar, your head is resting on his shoulder where he’d purposefully taken his battle jacket off to make you more comfortable. Deft fingers slide across the fretboard, the deep thrum of each string filling the air as he fiddles with the knobs

You don’t know what exactly to blame, the soft crash of the waves against the hull of his boathouse, the gentle melody he’s playing on his guitar or maybe just how warm he is against your cheek, you find yourself slowly nodding off against him, eyelids heavier than they were before

Hobie doesn’t notice immediately, you’ve been leaning against him for the past hour so it’s nothing new. But suddenly you feel a bit heavier, no longer shifting to allow him to move his arm and continue messing with his guitar

He can’t help but chuckle when he looks over and you’re fast asleep against him, curling close to his arm like he was nothing more than a stuffed animal. Hobie pushes any hair from in front of your face, laughing to himself about just how cute you look and just how sleepy you are

“Wasn’t even playin’ some lullaby and here ya are noddin’ off on me.” He says softly with a smile when he notices you trying to wake up again, nuzzling closer to him as he shifts to cup your cheek. “Sleepy one, ain’t ya?”

He’ll move to let your head rest on his chest, rubbing your back as you both sit in quiet silence. You would be embarrassed if you weren’t so comfortable, it didn’t seem like Hobie was that bothered anyways. Hobie is careful, letting you get comfortable again. “Now don’t let me disturb yer beauty sleep, luvie. I’ll be here till ya wake up.”

ᴍɪɢᴜᴇʟ ᴏ'ʜᴀʀᴀ

Miguel can talk a lot, you wouldn’t think so with how guarded he seemed but he’s so comfortable with you that the second he steps inside your home it all just comes out. He doesn’t mean to keep you up with his updates, complaints about work and how no one wants to listen to him

His voice is just so nice, a deep rumble, like thunder on the horizon of a peaceful rainy day. It’s nice, listening to him as he goes on about his day, feeling the vibrations of his chest against your cheek as you lean against him, the underlying beat of his heart following his words

And his cologne, a weighted blanket to your senses, wrapping you up in the perfect mixture to fall asleep to. You don’t even notice you were falling asleep, one second you were listening to him and the next was darkness

Miguel notices almost immediately, he’d always been one to pay attention to detail, to know when there’s the slightest shift in the moment. Stronger senses, he feels everything about you slow down, a change in your demeanor as you slip into sleep

For a moment he’s worried, was he really that boring? Was he talking too much? He purses his lips for a moment, almost wondering if he should wake you up and ask. But he pushes it down, taking notice of how you cling to his chest and curl close, as if all you needed was him to fall asleep

Have you ever fallen asleep in the car and been carried to bed? Everything about how Miguel picks you up, so gentle despite his strength to gather you in his arms, muttering sweet nothings about how cute you are under his breath is reminiscent of that

He tucks you into bed, he’ll give you your favorite stuffed animal and if you wear glasses he’ll so carefully set them to the side. Everything he does is so tender, so caring, at his core he has nothing but love for you and it bleeds out through his actions

#atsv x reader #across the spiderverse #atsv #hobie brown #hobie brown x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #gn reader #spiderman 2099 #spiderpunk #spiderpunk x reader #spiderman 2099 x reader

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fatuismooches · 2 years

Note

hi omg, I hope you don't mind me sending requests <3

I live for your writing sm, all of your fluffs gave me diabetes but healthier. I am a sucker for all of them, so thank you for putting your time and effort in your written works <3

I was thinking of headcanons with gn!reader and the fatui members but the reader is fragile, who can get easily sick or physically weak because of the unhealthy conditions during their childhood. I would love to think about those "meanies" (cough dottore or scara) would go insta worry mode if something bad happens to you because of your condition. Fluff or angst, I'm in love with both, I hope you don't mind about the request ^^ (you can decide platonic or romantic <3)

♡ 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐅𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐥𝐞/𝐖𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 ♡

synopsis: The Harbingers are made of steel, unflinching in any possible situation. That is until they start worrying over your frail figure.

includes: all harbingers (platonic pulcinella) w/ gn! reader

notes: I really loved this request, it made me really inspired! (Probably because they'd be extra soft in this scenario and I love that...) I hope you like this nonnie!

Pierro:

He doesn’t get to see you very often with his work and whatnot. But rest assured that you are in good hands, and that even if Pierro only has a spare twenty minutes of break, he’s coming to your room or wherever you are to check up on you. He doesn’t want you to be restrained. He wants you to go and experience Snezhnaya instead of being cooped up alone all the time (with the proper guards and company of course.) He is a very stoic but kind gentleman. You’d hide in his coat while walking together and no one would know until you pop out of it and scare the recruits. He holds the doors open, pulls up the blankets to the very top. When you’re tired due to your sickness he likes to use ancient Khaenri’ahn magic to make you smile.

If you died, Pierro would feel grief that he has not felt since the destruction of his homeland. He has already lost so much that his heart had become numb a long time ago, but your death made it come flooding back. He would have some kind of small figure similar to a chess piece made of you, and he’d keep it on him. In the battle for his heart, you were always the winner. What hurt the most was that he couldn’t even be with you in your final moments, to at least confirm how much he loved you despite everything. But he promises you, he will see you again in the “Old World” after fulfilling the Tsaritsa’s dream.

Capitano:

He is really worried for you. It was such a sharp contrast - big, tall, in tip-top shape, hulking Capitano while little old you struggled to walk straight sometimes. If you sneeze or even cough once, he’s literally all over you asking you if you’re okay. He tries to do a lot of things for you by himself. He stabs the meat on your plate so hard it breaks. He accidentally spends an hour deciding what you should wear, because he didn’t realize you had this many clothes, so he needed to choose something that’d look the best on you, despite not really having any fashion sense. But at least he is very diligent with your medicine times. He literally hovers over you, unintentionally being menacing, while you drink it. It’s very cute but the first time he did it, you spat out the medicine in surprise because you opened your eyes and he was just standing there with no warning. (Don’t ask him to pour it though. Once you asked him to pour a little into the bottle’s cover. His hands were too big and it spilled on the bedsheets.) If you collapse on him, he would be internally panicking so hard. Poor guy thought he hurt you somehow. The kind of guy who paces back and forth and causes everyone around him ten times more anxiety with how he’s acting. Also, lots of rides where you hook your legs over his shoulders and your hands are on his head (I don’t know what they’re called.)

If you died, Capitano would feel like a monster. Yes, he didn’t kill you, but it still felt like your blood was on his hands. Or did he kill you? He brought ruin and destruction to everyone, did he curse you too? How did he even know you were happy with him? Did you regret it? Would you have been happier spending your days with someone else? Horrific questions dug deeper and deeper stabs into his sturdy body, weighing him down day by day. He would give up anything just to have you back in his arms, for you to reassure and caress him, that he wasn’t a demon. But it seemed like the monster part of him was taking over anyway.

Columbina:

The kind of lover who has a list of songs that remind her of you and also buys you the record so you could listen to it. Columbina thinks music can soothe and heal the soul. So everyone can frequently hear tunes coming from your room. She also has a very calming voice in general, so when you are in pain, she just talks to you. She’d gently croon you to sleep or get you to spill all of your fears about the future, and thus comfort you. Since she sings, I’m declaring that she’s pretty poetic and would write poems for you. They always include bravery, strength, and overcoming illness with love, complete with heart doodles around it.

If you died, she would create multiple songs in honor of you. At your funeral, they couldn’t go on with the proceedings for a long time because she sang for hours, thinking of you. Often, she would go to your coffin, encased in ice, and just lie on it, singing. I think she would take a piece of your clothing and attach it to her outfit or something. I just have a feeling that she has lost before, but she likes to hold that article of clothing and feel as though you are still with her. She would become lost in her thoughts a lot more than before. If you had a favorite song, Columbina could often be found humming it to herself alone.

Dottore:

He’s a doctor. A very unethical one, but Dottore’s still extremely intelligent. He knows what you can and can’t do, your possibilities and your limits, your good days and your bad days. He doesn’t trust anyone else to monitor your progress and health. When it’s time for your walks, Dottore personally comes with you, which baffles the other Fatui who knows that virtually nothing can come between him and his research. He tells you about how his medicine for you is coming along, and while you can’t really understand any of it, you like clinging to his arm for support. When it’s time for your medicine, he administers it himself despite your whining that it’s yucky. (For you though, he would find a way to make it a flavor to your liking.)

But even for him, illness can sometimes be unpredictable, despite his precise calculations. Which is why whenever your condition randomly takes a turn for the worse, his mood completely changes and he’s already running a bunch of tests and taking your pressure and all of the like, trying to figure out what triggered your illness. Everyone knows not to even look at him during these times. Doesn’t show it but even though he isn’t scared of anything, these little stunts are not good for him. Has notebooks dedicated to your condition and daily status updates. Nothing goes unnoticed by him. Oh, but he’ll have his clones piggyback you around when you’re too tired to walk <3.

If you died, Dottore wouldn’t show it, but he would never forgive himself. He has the power to create artificial Gods, clone himself, and so much more, but he couldn’t save you? Honestly, he would probably preserve your body through cryosleep, unable to accept your death and his failure. He keeps you in a room that no one else has access to, and just… stares at your naked body in the tube, ruminating about how much he wanted you back. Dottore’s efforts to research and master resurrection triple, and he won’t stop until he could hear your voice again.

Pulcinella:

When you’re at your lowest because of your illness, Pulcinella always comes in and likes to tell you some roundabout story that always has a life message at the end. He’s serious with you but also likes when you have fun. Reads you stories in different voices but it’s not very good when he sounds like a grandpa in all of them. He likes to set you up with different Harbingers. They’re also like family to him so he would want them to spend time with you. It would help your mental health too, he thinks. While some are fine with it, others are less interested, let's just say Papanella has his ways.

If you died, it really felt like he lost his own child. Pulcinella loved when you came to him asking for stories. When you sometimes left the country but came back with exciting stories. He liked to joke that if an old man like him could make it for this long, you’d have to as well. He really wanted you to go and experience the world and what it had to offer, just like he did. Planning your funeral was not something he was looking forward to.

Scaramouche:

Sometimes, he can’t help but think to himself, how much of a grip a weak, frail human like you has on him. A strong breeze could probably knock you off your feet, meanwhile, he has God-like powers. Yet he feels like a fool in your presence. He complains about how needy you are but in an instant, he is ordering someone to bring you a glass of water or extra blankets. Grumbles about how fragile you are but he holds you so gently, you wonder if it’s still Scaramouche. When you’re around, he tends to keep his voice down and not yell at others, since he doesn’t want to accidentally make you feel worse. Scaramouche is still his snarky self, but it’s noticeable how much he observes you, matching his pace to yours even if you’re walking slowly as hell, stopping with you to look at the scenery.

Despite all his whining, not gonna lie, if you collapse on him, he will probably freak out. If he had a heart, it would be thump-thump-thumping, but in its place is just an ache and unsettling feeling. Instantly catches you but his mind goes to the worse, knowing how fleeting your life was. Would move faster than the speed of lightning to get you help, and would not leave for side for anything. Waking up to Scaramouche’s hand intertwined with you and his head facing down into the sheets was not something you expected. In fact, he acts more vulnerable than you, ordering you (which, in reality, is more like a plea) to get better soon.

If you died, any remnants of love and kindness would just… extinguish. Anything in sight is being thrown, crushed, electrocuted. If the sickness was caused by the Tatarigami plaguing Inazuma, he would be especially furious. He would curse everything, everyone. The God, his creator, who abandoned him and let you get this sick. The doctors who were too useless to do anything. But he would curse himself the most, for being so weak, and not being able to do anything for the one person who actually gave a damn about him, now fated to wander Teyvat by himself for eternity. (But… reincarnation AU, anyone?)

Arlecchino:

Arlecchino is a silent yet watchful and hands-on partner. She observes you closely to see if your condition is acting up, or if you’re starting to feel ill. She is the kind of person who wouldn’t allow anything bad to happen since she picks up on your cues. Often times Arlecchino would scold the orphans for bothering you so much but you’d always reassure her that you didn’t mind. Whenever you try to lie about how well you’re feeling, she always narrows her eyes at you and makes you lie back down. Nothing can get past her. I also think she has a great soup recipe due to her experience with children, so you’ll definitely be fed some good food.

If you died, it would seem that there was no change in Arlecchino to the Fatui recruits. Same stone cold face and dead eyes. Same harsh voice that spat out orders. And they would be right, outwardly at least. Inwardly, however, was a completely different story. When a wound is healing, it hurts the most when it’s targeted. If her heart wasn’t hurt before, now it felt like it was completely broken, just when you were starting to piece it back together. When she looks at the children playing, she envisions you running after them too, but the only thing there is the shadows of the kids. When she’s walking through the halls, she anticipates you trying to creep up on her unknowingly and give her a back hug, but now all she hears is her own intense footsteps. When she’s doing paperwork, she expects to see you trying to sneak sugar into her coffee… but you won’t ever be here to do those simple things again.

La Signora:

La Signora treats you like glass. She is especially overprotective of you because she greatly fears losing you. You have the best maids and servants tending to your every need. She’d rather you not exert more energy than you have to. When she’s not around, she sends her little flame moths with sweet messages to you, in hopes of making you smile. She is scared about you going out by yourself since you could get sick so easily. So whenever you need a breath of fresh air, she makes sure to bundle you up in the finest coats. Also has her moths flutter around you for heat. Signora is very tall, so I think she would like to sit you on her lap and do simple things with her. I think she secretly craves a domestic life with her lover after she was robbed of it so long ago. She’d want to play with your hair, press you into her soft chest, make origami butterflies together.

If you died, the ice that previously surrounded her heart would swallow her up again. No more teasing you, hooking her finger under your chin, and kissing you. No more mock fashion shows where she helped to dress you in the most gorgeous clothes and the two of you would pose for pictures for the Kamera. It seemed as though the Gods would tear anyone she loved away from her without hesitation. She suffered the loss of her love once, but for it to happen twice? The pain was unbearable but Rosalyne sealed her feelings up once again. Coldness and ruthlessness returned to mask her true feelings, for if she didn’t, she feared she might not be able to handle it.

Pantalone:

Pantalone wants you to see and do anything you want. You want to go to Liyue to attend the Lantern Rite? He’s clearing his schedule to come with you. You want some obscure item? He’s searching all the markets and buying it, no matter the cost. You picked up some hobby to pass the time? He’s indulging you with the most expensive and efficient equipment to help you with it. He wants you to have the most stress-free, easy, and happy life, so you can just focus on recovering and getting better. Every day, you’ll be visited by a new doctor, repeating the same old questions about how you feel, but Pantalone reassures you that they’re working on something for your health. He’s thankful that his position in the Fatui allows him to stay in Snezhnaya most of the time because he worries about you every minute of the day. The kind of guy who would have a status report on your health sent to his office every hour.

If you died, behind closed doors, his smile would immediately drop, now feeling like it was a heavy burden just to quirk his lips. He had access to the best doctors, medicines, and even bought ancient remedies long forgotten. Yet it was all fruitless. The Mora that he once loved to feel slip through his fingers sickened him. What was all the money he had worth? It couldn’t buy your life back.

Sandrone:

If you want her to, she could probably hook you up with some robotic/prosthetic limbs. But she’ll never want to make you a full robot. You’re not one of her experiments, you’re her lovely lover. At first, she was okay with you going on walks. Well, it wasn’t really a walk because a Ruin Guard just carried you in its hand. But she never did that again when the robot returned with you collapsed and unconscious. Needless to say, the project Sandrone was working on is immediately dropped and now she’s taking extra precautions. I feel as though she would hook up a camera to her caretaker robots so she can be updated on your conditions at all times. When you’re sick, Sandrone likes to make cute robot animals, (which is something she never dreamed of wasting time on before she met you) to bring you little things. Maybe photos of some scenery she took might brighten your day. Or little short but sweet notes. The one that always makes you laugh is when it brings you a clipboard to fill out your daily assessment.

If you died, it would feel like she herself turned into a robot. Wake up, experiment in her lab for an ungodly amount of hours, forget to eat and sleep. Rinse and repeat. Her life was constant now that you, the variable, were gone. Sandrone had a bed for you in her lab so you could watch her while she tinkered with some mechanical parts. It was mostly you talking while she fiddled but your voice bouncing off the walls was pleasant. But now it was silent, only the squeaking of wrenches and screwdrivers remained. She felt emptier than any puppet.

Childe:

He’s the kind of person who excitedly grips your hand and tells you about all the fun and lively activities you two will do together when your health improves. He wakes you up every morning, sunlight pouring into the room and the smell of breakfast cooking (and him in an apron.) Loves to serve you breakfast in bed, spoon-feeding you while the two of you plan what the day will be like. You want to just stay in and relax? Great, he’s got some of Teucer’s favorite story books to read together. You want to go for a stroll? He’s already got the route marked and the picnic basket ready. Childe would manage to carry you and like ten other bags at the same time just to impress you. Also, he is your personal hype man. Even when you’re terribly sick, he’s there to motivate you and sing your praises about how strong you are.

If you died, he would feel lost. The abyss snatched a piece of his heart away already, but he felt even more hollow now. You were the only thing that made Childe forget about being a weapon for the Tsaritsa for a while. When he was away on missions, he enjoyed reading your letters about how you were supposedly getting better. In the middle of a battlefield he would flip through photos of you and his heart would swell in anticipation for the future. But as Teucer and his siblings wail and cling to his legs, and it takes all of Ajax’s strength to not break down in front of them too. When he’s alone though, he silently sobs into your old clothes and bed sheets.

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loveshotzz · 1 year

Text

Constellations

steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: under the stars, you just want steve to kiss you.

word count: 1.4k

warnings: 18+ even though there’s no smut. sorry kiddos. just some first kiss fluff inspired by season 3 steve who’s kinda lost his confidence.

authors note: another blurb outta the pile! I’m a sucker for late nights at Lovers Lake with Steve 💗. for @superblysubpar cause I know when I came up with this blurb months ago she was so excited. sorry it took me so long!

The sky was clear above the lake, the stars glimmering extra bright against the water illuminating patches of the trees surrounding you. The reflection hits the green and brown specks that lay nestled inside Steve’s eyes in a battle to steal your attention. You try not to meet his gaze as you search for the constellation he promised to show you when he threw rocks on your bedroom window, careful not to wake your roommate.

He was dressed more casual than your first date a few days ago. A date that didn’t end with the kiss you desperately hoped you’d get at the end of an evening filled with warm palms that covered your lower back whenever he’d get the chance, or stolen glances to the pink gloss that covered your lips just for him. Instead, an awkward hug and red cheeks is what you got as he tripped over his own feet from your doorstep to his car.

The gray shorts he wears stop just above his knees, the hair covering his legs matching the patch that’s always peeking out from the tops of his shirts. His sweater was the same color as the car that took you here, tight around his broad shoulders, and snug in all the spots you wanted to explore with your fingers. His honey colored hair was messier than you’d seen before, like he’d just woken up and had to see you, disguising it as late night stargazing by the lake. The thought of how soft it must feel makes your hands twitch at your sides.

Your shoulders are tucked into his jacket that he always keeps in the back seat of his BMW. It was the end of summer — August bleeding into September. The late nights starting to get that little bit chillier, the days a little bit shorter. The faded spice of his cologne swirls around your senses still embedded deep into the fabric from last year. The blanket he’d laid out on the lush grass that still hadn’t disappeared is soft under your hands that keep you propped up at an angle, your legs extend in front of you, crossed at your ankles and the toes of your sneakers bump into his.

The space he leaves between you is just enough to feel the heat of his body radiate off his bronzed skin, freckled and kissed by the sun, his big hands spread out palm down like a mirror with yours. The tips of his fingers are quiet, ghosting against the side of your hand. Leaning his head back to follow your line of sight, the smell of his shampoo reminds you of the woods around you when the wind catches it. He’s so close, but you want him closer.

It only takes a few minutes before you feel his eyes are on you again and you can’t stop the twist of your lips this time.

“Where are these constellations? Or you just wanna look at me?” Your voice is soft, the faint teasing edge behind it isn’t enough to cover up how he’s making you shy when your eyes finally connect with his.

He clears his throat, cheeks blooming and Adam’s apple bobbing under your grin.

“Shit - yeah, sorry. Just like seeing you in my jacket s’all.” Your stomach flutters at his words, butterflies wreaking havoc when he finally crosses the threshold, a big hand enveloping yours. He brings his attention back to the sky, fingers curling purposefully.

You lean in closer under the guise of getting a better look as he starts to trace along the path of a collection of twinkling stars.

“We’ve got Orion’s Belt right over here.” His shoulder brushes against yours, his thumb rubbing soft circles over your knuckles.

Water laps against the shoreline and the distant coo of an owl drowns out the fading chirp of crickets while he gives you a tour of the night sky. His voice calms your nerves, talking low enough just for you to hear while your bodies inch closer like magnets until there’s no space left, fingers daring to intertwine.

“And this…” he breathes and you know he’s not looking at the stars anymore, spearmint and a little bit of the joint you both shared hitting your nose “Is the big dipper.”

Your eyes dare to leave the wide expanse above you only to confirm your suspicions. The corners of his mouth turn up into a smirk when he gets caught for the second time tonight, but this time he doesn’t move to look away. You can see the stubble lining the sharp line of his jaw from this close, a collection of moles you think you could trace into the same patterns he just showed you coming into view. His tongue pokes out to wet his lips when his eyes shift down to yours and it makes your breath catch in your throat. He’s gonna do it.

“Are you gonna kiss me Steve?” Your impatience comes out in just above a whisper.

There’s a new air of confidence about him now, shifting so he can lean against his elbow, the new position has him looking up at you. The moon shimmers, wrapping around you punching the air out of his lungs. You’re beautiful. He’s gentle when he cups the side of your face, your skin heating up under the softness of his palm. His thumb traces the line of your cheekbone before moving to the silk of your bottom lip, tugging it down gently, watching it pop back into place.

“Is that what you want, baby?” His eyes darken when he sees the pinch of your brows. A pout.

The nickname makes your heart soar and your chest tighten, only letting you offer a nod and the sweetest “please.” It fills the empty spaces in the air around you, an electricity begging to explode around it.

His hold finds its way to the back of your neck, long fingers curving just below your hairline before pulling you down without a fight to meet him. Nudging his nose against yours, you can feel the brush of his lips from this close.

“I should’ve done this the other night.” His breath mingles with yours, teasing you in a way that you like. “You forgive me?”

You match his smile despite trying to fight it and he takes that as his answer, finally putting you out of your misery with the kiss you’ve been waiting for.

He takes it slow at first, his eyes fluttering shut while his hand finds your jaw. He asks you to open up for him gripping your chin while his tongue licks at your top lip. Granting him the kind of access you’d never deny him, a groan vibrates deep from his chest when you meet him in the middle to deepen it.

Your fingers find their way into his hair when he lays back on the blanket taking you with him, and it’s even softer than you imagined. Of course it is. You grab at roots on the nape of his neck when he nips at your bottom lip already addicted to the sound he gets from it.

The kisses get sloppy, all the tension coming to a head when he tugs at your hips. Your leg slots between his so the muscle of his thigh presses to the most sensitive part of you, and it takes everything not to rock against him. His hand moves to squeeze at the curve of your waist, teeth scraping together when you both start to get needy. More, more, more.

A high pitch whistle from the other side of the lake breaks you two apart with a jump, the culprits hidden by distance and darkness. A loud splash of water tells you they are none the wiser to the company they keep. A late night rendezvous like you and Steve.

He huffs out a low chuckle beneath you, with that signature hand running through his hair when his head hits the ground with a low thump. Keeping a hold on your hip to make sure you don’t go anywhere, his eyes are brighter than before when he looks at you with flushed cheeks and that smile that started your crush all those years ago.

“Took you long enough.”

#my writing #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x fem!reader

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wordstome · 7 months

Text

kingdom come - i

king König x princess & assassin reader

2nd person, no y/n, she/her pronouns, afab reader, romance, enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, kind of age gap because König has been king for a good chunk of time but it's not really much of a factor, fantasy/medieval setting, magic exists but it's the creepy kind ordinary people don't fuck with

3.5k words

tw: swearing and König gets a boner. what's new

[NEXT]

GUESS WHO'S BACK ON HER BULLSHIT HAHAAA IT'S MEEE STARTING A NEW SERIES/AU AGAINNNnnnnn. Don't fret, I'm still working on university au! I just started watching The Great (the tv show) and I was like hmm. I should get back to that one idea I had.

p.s. When I mention a "mask" on König, imagine a sort of phantom of the opera, Brahms kinda thing. He isn't always wearing the hood.

Outside, the bells are tolling. Back home, you’ve only ever heard church bells ringing to rally the troops. But here, in these foreign lands, they ring for a royal wedding.

You're wearing a truly massive dress shaped like a pastry. It's a work of art, to be sure, but it leaves you feeling restrained and vulnerable. You should be wearing armor into war—hard boiled leather and curtains of steel rings, not delicate lace and silken ribbons. You're walking into a battle: you would have liked to be able to bend forward further than thirty degrees.

You're at least glad you don't have to wear a veil—it would have been borderline unbearable if you had your vision restricted on top of everything else. It does mean, however, that you can see him standing at the end of the aisle, waiting for you.

A gigantic man with a soldier's physique, wearing a mask that covers more than half his face. Just the sight of him sends a a chill down your spine.

The officiant’s voice booms out over the assembly, but you don’t hear any of it. The sound washes over you, distant and echoing, as if your head is underwater. Your whole being is on alert as you tilt your face upwards to look at the only part of your soon-to-be-husband that you can see properly: his eyes.

They bore into you as if they're looking straight into your soul. As if they're revealing all of your secrets. For a moment, you feel disarmed, even though you can still feel the calming, solid presence of your trusty dagger against your thigh.

As the officiant finishes the wedding vows, he offers his hand to you, his touch shockingly gentle.

You steel your resolve and stare resolutely back at him as you place your hand in his, and the officials begin to bind them together with velvet cords. You remind yourself who you are, where you are, and what you must do.

You remind yourself that you have to kill him as they tie the final knot.

The woods are foreboding, home to a darkness that seems infinite and all-consuming. The heavy old trees that surround the palace grounds shut out most sunlight and all moonlight, and sometimes it feels as if the forest itself is a living, conscious thing brimming with a dangerous unknown. It's proven to be an effective line of defense in the past: citizens don’t dare to trespass on the royal grounds as it is, but an extra deterrent never hurt anybody.

Except perhaps enemy soldiers. But they learn their lesson quickly.

To you, however, the woods are comforting. You’ve spent many lonely nights amongst these trees, training until your body was sore all over. These trunks have withstood many a misplaced blow, these exposed roots have been your downfall many a time, and this mossy undergrowth has cushioned your bruises during many a tumble and fall.

Tonight, however, there is no training. No combat, no groans of pain, no thuds against wood or flesh. You are blanketed in quiet, something sorely needed as you contemplate the days to come.

This is it. The task you’ve trained for all your life is here. Every sore joint and pulled muscle, every tear-soaked pillowcase, every scolding in Father’s office has led to this. Sometimes it seemed as if the day would never come, as if years of reading, shooting, riding and sparring would be for naught. Though your breath rattles the leaves around you, you feel as if you’ve been holding your breath ever since Father broke the news. This is happening.

You leave in a few hours, as soon as the sun comes over the horizon. Your maids have already packed your luggage—you had to enlist their help after it became too difficult to pick what to bring and what not to bring. If all went well, you’d be back in this room in a few weeks. But what could you afford to bring? What did you need for your sanity? What minute details of an object could compromise your position?

Luckily, Calliope, your most trusted lady-in-waiting, was able to step in when she found you sitting on your rug, clutching your set of cloth dolls—the only toys you’d ever owned as a child that weren’t made with murder in mind—and suggest you take a breath of fresh air. You don’t know where you’d be without her, honestly. You may be your father’s pride and joy of a perfectly well-rounded monarch and killing machine, but you would never have gotten here without her by your side.

You sigh and lean your head against the thick limb you’re lying on. If you didn’t already know you’d wake up with a complaining spine that would then have to spend days riding a horse, you’d go to sleep right here, right now. The woods are your home, these trees your solace. You’ll miss it terribly, as the only place you can truly avoid all servants, generals, teachers, and parents.

Well. Parent.

But as with all things—Father’s rare good mood, your training days, peacetime—the sweet, silent embrace of the forest can’t last forever.

Reluctantly, you give the tree one last pat and climb down, making the trudge back to your room so you can at least attempt to catch a few winks of sleep.

It takes quite a few days of travel to get to your destination. You arrive in the empire next door's capital city saddle-sore and on edge. This was the snakes’ nest, the heart of the beast.

And yet…people are happy.

The mood in your hometown is far quieter and more grim—your country has been at war with this one for as long as you can remember, and yet the contrast could not be more vast. Back home, people walk directly from place to place, and don’t make eye contact with each other. Here, children play unsupervised, outdoor markets overflow with people, and windows are thrown wide open as neighbors chat.

You don’t know how to feel. The previous king here was a ruthless conqueror, building an empire by invading neighboring countries and forcing their monarchs to yield—or killing them when they were defiant. Your own land had only escaped being absorbed into the empire by employing rigorous military discipline and strict wartime measures. Yet here, in the heart of the empire, you would never be able to tell it was a nation at war.

And now you’re marrying the king’s son. The current king. The one they call König. So little is known about him that his entire existence is shrouded in rumor: that the hood he wears conceals a monstrous, disfigured face, that he plotted his father’s demise, that his first wife died not of childbirth, but was assassinated in quiet due to being unable to provide an heir.

You don’t plan on sticking around long enough to find out if the rumors are true.

To your surprise, your reception by the people feels more curious than hostile. You’d expected a bit of resistance, or at least a few dirty looks, considering you're the princess of the country they've been at war with for years. But whatever König has told them has been far more charitable than you anticipated.

Your arrival at the palace is greeted by a flurry of activity. Your entourage scatters to put affairs in order, but Calliope and a small contingent of guards follows you into the main hall. Not that you need them—but you need to keep up appearances. No one outside your family’s most tight-knit circle knows you can throw a punch, much less have an assassin’s training.

You don’t feel in the least bit prepared to meet your fiancé—and target—face to face fresh off a days-long journey, but you’re ushered into the main hall anyway. It seems your task has already begun whether you like it or not.

“Ah, princess. Welcome to my humble home.” You hear him before you see him, his voice heavy with an accent. There’s something a bit charming about it, you think—before the sight of him shakes some sense back into you.

He’s huge. He towers over even his own palace guard, broad with muscle, and moves with a deadly raw power even in this nonthreatening setting.

When his father still ruled, before the current peacetime, stories of the empire’s prodigal heir on the frontlines served as frightening bedtime story and a terrifying cautionary tale for the nation’s soldiers. A beast in a hood who fought with the strength of ten men.

You stand your ground as he approaches you. The hood, then, is real—although the stories were so consistent about it that it was never really in question, was it? What the stories had left out were his eyes—striking and green, piercing into your soul as he bends to kiss the back of your hand. It’s an odd sensation that sends shivers racing up your spine.

“The pleasure is mine, your majesty,” you respond, a hint of apprehension in your tone. Of course you had been expecting some form of courtly courtesy, but for some reason you hadn’t expected him to be such a…gentleman. A part of you had been expecting some feral animal, needing to be put down.

"I'm sure you must be exhausted from your journey," he says. "I hope you will find your rooms to your liking." Something about his demeanor is almost...bored? As if greeting his future wife is just another task he's obligated to complete.

He doesn't join you for dinner that night, which is odd. The servants inform you that he's taking care of some urgent business. You hope that your dejection is taken as disappointment that you won't have an opportunity to get to know your fiancé. You are, but not the way people may think.

After all, getting to know your target is half the battle.

You're left to your own devices the next day. König, you're informed, won't be available. That urgent business from last night appears to be an ongoing situation.

Fine by you. You could use some time to prepare.

You spend the day wandering the palace, familiarizing yourself with the grounds and plotting an escape route. You're halted on your brisk survey when you stumble upon a...garden?

Unlike the perfectly manicured hedges outside the palace, or the groomed efficiency of the kitchen gardens, this place is small. Quiet. A little overgrown, but clearly taken care of. The grass is long and soft, dappled in sunshine. Flowers burst forward, crowded around trellises spiraling with vines.

Part of you feels like a trespasser in this private little sanctum, but another part of you is set at ease by the idle tranquility of this place. You pause, feeling a pang of homesickness. It reminds you of the forest: wild in its own way, but gentle and welcoming at the same time.

Something at the corner of your vision catches your eye. A bush bursting forward with round, dark little berries.

Nightshade. Deadly nightshade, in fact. What is this doing in this peaceful little garden? You move forward to examine them closer.

"You shouldn't be here."

You whirl around to find König standing behind you. You had been so absorbed by the garden that you hadn't detected his approach.

Your cheeks burn. You've only been here a day, and already you're letting your guard down. This won't do.

"My apologies, your majesty. I got....lost."

You hold your breath as he draws near. His expression is unreadable—not that you can see most of it, anyway. But when you meet his gaze, you can tell he's sizing you up.

"This is quite a long way to wander."

Shit, is he suspicious? Thinking fast, your brain supplies the best answer you can muster.

"Should a future queen not know the palace she is to live in?"

"Mmm. You make a fair point."

Before you can say or do anything further, he's standing right in front of you. "That's nightshade, you know." You can feel him watching you, assessing your reaction. "Not many can recognize it."

"I..." You can't very well tell him that you know what nightshade looks like because you're an expert in deadly poisons. "I had been wondering what they were."

"I see." He leans forward and plucks a berry off the bush, rolling it between his fingers. "Have you ever tasted one?"

Does he know? Is that a threat? You can't read his expression behind that goddamned mask of his. You stare at him, hoping you look dumbfounded instead of panicked.

"No? They're quite sweet, you know." He holds it out to you. "Care to try one?"

"Your Majesty, I—"

"Don't look so nervous." If you had ever thought he looked frightening before, there's something uncanny about the half-smile that he gives you now. "I didn't expect you to say yes." Before you can say or do anything, he pops the berry in his mouth.

You're too stunned to do anything but watch as he chews for a moment and swallows. One berry won't kill him, but you're more concerned about why he's doing this. Is he trying to intimidate you?

"This was my mother's garden." He gestures to the general surroundings. "I spent a lot of time here as a child. Peaceful, isn't it?"

You let out a tiny sigh of relief now that the conversation appears to be moving on. "Yes. Quite."

"It's always been a place to get away. The first time I ate a nightshade berry was right here, when I was six. I was violently sick for weeks." His tone is a little too light for someone describing being poisoned as a child, and it's unnerving.

"That's when I learned to be careful of things that are too sweet. A good lesson to learn, don't you think?" He walks towards you, and you brace yourself for anything.

He stops next to you, you facing one way and him the other. "Take care then, princess. I will see you tomorrow."

You stare resolutely ahead. "Yes."

And hopefully you won't see him for much longer after that.

Fuck. You forgot about this part.

You had been prepared for this, of course, but you only realize now that you hadn't been mentally prepared. It wasn't until Calliope was helping you undress that you remembered what usually happens between a man and a woman the night of the wedding.

You pace the room, stewing and plotting, getting increasingly antsy before the door swings open and the man himself comes strutting into the bedroom.

"You look like a cornered deer." You hear König shut the door behind him, but you don't turn around.

"I've never done this before." Mentally, you curse yourself for the quaver in your voice.

"Well. Tonight won't be your first."

"What?" You do turn at that, watching him carelessly shed layers all across the room between swigs of his drink.

"I have no interest in bedding you. We do have to sleep in the same room for appearances, though." He plucks a grape from a cluster sitting on a side table and throws it up in the air, catching it with his mouth.

You haven't been in his presence much in the past few days, but each time you have, something about your encounters with him have shaken you up and set you on edge. Somehow, he's kept you on your toes even with a limited presence. Your meeting in the garden was dizzying and confusing, the ceremony set you on high alert. And now, he's thrown you another curveball.

It feels almost too easy. He's just going to go to sleep in the same room as you? No fanfare? "You don't want to...consummate the marriage?"

"You sound upset." He cocks an eyebrow at you. "Were you hoping to?"

"No!" Your face feels hot as he gives you that lopsided half-smile again, more like a smirk this time.

"That's a shame. I prefer fucking willing participants, you see." He drapes himself over the elaborate chaise lounge opposite the bed.

"Are you usually this vulgar?" you retort.

"I see no reason for pretense. We're married, after all." Curiously, he hasn't taken his mask off. Does he sleep in it? Or is he only keeping it on because you're here?

You feel silly now, dressed in a flimsy little silken thing, wrapped up like a present for a brute who won't even touch you. Considerate of him, you suppose. Not that it will matter for very long.

"Sleep well then, hmm? You should be well rested for your first day as queen tomorrow." There's a dangerous gleam in his eye, but it disappears so quickly you wonder if you had imagined it.

"Yes," you say, sitting on the bed while not taking your eyes off of him. "Sleep well."

You give it a few hours, just to be safe. A few hours of laying awake staring at the ceiling. A few hours of watching as moonlight bathes the room in silver light. A few hours of watching him.

The deepening darkness casts sharp shadows across his face, making him seem even more inhuman. What do bloodthirsty emperors dream of? Dominating the weak? Slaughtering the innocent? Conquering women? You shudder. Best not to know.

It's well past midnight when you slowly, quietly get up and pull your dagger from its hidden holster. One downwards thrust, and you're going home. One quick motion, and all of this is over.

It's a little anticlimactic, you think. But this is for the best. For you. For your people. For your family.

Light as a feather, you straddle him, hovering over him just enough so that your weight doesn't wake him. You try not to think about how intimate this position is, and remind yourself that this is the best way to prevent him from getting up or struggling, should your first strike not end him immediately. Which it will, of course.

You take a deep breath as you position the blade right over his heart, calming the fluttering anxiety in your mind. The beginning of a new chapter of your life begins now.

You plunge the dagger downwards.

In an instant, König's eyes fly open. Before you can react at all, his hand has seized your wrist in an iron grip, the tip of your dagger a hair's length from his chest.

"Well, well, well. What do we have here?" He purrs. "A little assassin?"

You grit your teeth and attempt to overpower him: you're so, so close. But his strength is so overwhelming that you can't even get the tip of the dagger to make contact. Panic starts to set in. This isn't good. This is disastrous, actually. He was supposed to be asleep!

You attempt to pull away, to get away, to do anything, but it's no use. "You don't seem surprised," you spit.

"It's not every day your most bitter enemy offers you his daughter's hand in marriage as a truce," he replies, clear amusement in his voice. Is he enjoying this? "Of course I smelled a rat. You must think me a fool."

"No." Yeah, you kind of had.

"Lying ill suits you, princess." You cry out as he jams his fingers into the tendons in your wrist, forcing you to release the dagger. You watch, helplessly, as he picks it up with his other hand and turns it over, studying it in the moonlight.

"What a delicate little knife," he muses. In your hand, it's a sizeable weapon. But held in his fingers it looks small, harmless. To your dismay, he then proceeds to chuck it at the opposite wall, the blade sticking itself solidly in between two panels.

"You knew?" you ask, a tremor in your traitorous voice.

"Oh, I suspected. You had me disappointed for a while—I thought you would have made an attempt well before this." He lets out a deep chuckle that sends terror through you. "For a moment I even thought that you were as you presented: just some poor little lamb, a peace offering given up to the slaughter." His eyes narrow behind the mask. "I am glad to see that you have proven to be much more interesting than that."

"Interesting?" Out of all the reactions you would have expected him to have, this is not one of them. Fear, anger, even immediate violence. Not...interest.

"You have no idea," he says. Your eyes widen as he you feel his hand run up your thigh.

That's not the only thing you feel, though. He shifts a bit underneath you, and it's then that the earlier flush to your cheeks returns in full force. Is he...hard?!

"If you're going to kill me, then get on with it," you ground out through your teeth.

"Little one, if I had wanted you dead immediately, I would have already pinned you down and snapped your neck. No, you've given me a gift: a gift I intend to cherish." You shiver as he slides a hand up your thigh. "A challenge."

"Is this a game to you?" You're not sure if your breath is running ragged from fear or anger, now.

"I could end this at any time, you know." You gasp involuntarily as a hand closes around your throat. "But that would be no fun, now would it?"

"You are a fool, then." You stare at him defiantly, even as his grip constricts your breathing. "Because I will kill you."

His eyes dance with some mad glee. "That's what I like to hear."

Hiiiiiiiii besties. I've been chewing on the idea of a medieval royalty sort of au since before Shrike, and I came up with this premise like. At least a year or two ago, before I was even in the COD fandom. So I'm glad to finally be making some real headway on it! I have no idea how many parts this is going to have. I have a lot of plot planned for it, so we're just gonna have to see where the vibes take us!

I'd like to thank @danibee33 my angel as always. I bounced a lot of royal/medieval/king König ideas off of her, some of which I still may use, but I changed the plot drastically when I had an epiphany a week or two ago. Hope you like this one babe <3 Also, thank you @kneelingshadowsalome and @gremlingottoosilly for their historical/time period aus. Your fics gave me a real kick in the ass to finish this.

Also shoutout to Pedro Pascal fans? I stumbled upon some breathtakingly kinky fanfiction on this beloved hellsite featuring the Mandalorian, and thought: you know what? If people can proudly write and publish the nastiest, most shameless smut I've ever read, then I can push through whatever impostor syndrome, perfectionist embarrassment I have with my work and get it done.

As usual, please let me know your feedback! I'm trying out a bit of a different characterization for König (not that much different, he's still our beloved violent horny maniac), and I want to know what people think.

I'm also going to be using my taglist again. If you were tagged here and don't want to be tagged anymore, please let me know! And if you would like to be added to the taglist, drop a reply <3

@crowbird @poohkie90 @cumikering @iytatsworld @papaver-decervicatus @anxietyrain @riotakire @ax0lotly @cookiepie111 @kacchasu @no1runawaymilkdad @chthonian-spectre @backwards-readings @yxllowtxpe @garbau @hexqueensupreme @queenthorin1 @violetstyless @her-majesty-theking @vegan-peppermint @peonytarian @ghostslittlegf @euuuuuuun @e1x03 @kokonoiwife @deaddainish @dragonfang @teehee-47 @catluvwr

#alright lads place your bets now what do you think happened to his first wife #könig #konig #könig cod #konig cod #konig x reader #König x reader #konig x you #König x you #cod #cod mw2 #call of duty #mw2 #fic: kingdom come

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acourtofmenandthirst · 7 months

Text

Coming Home

Eris x Reader, taking care of him after battle

Warnings: Illusion to smut for one sentence, war but nondescript

Word Count: 3.1K (not proofread)

The kettle screamed in the kitchen, the hot water begging to be removed from the fire and poured alongside fresh herbs and chamomile. You quickly set your book aside, careful to tuck a corner of your soft blanket between the pages before pulling yourself from the warm corner of the sofa. Bitter cold nipped at your bare feet as you skipped across the uneven floorboards, creaking at each step. You crossed your arms across your chest, the thick brown sweater tucked between your arms and over your neck.

Your boyfriend had a tendency to wear turtlenecks, preferring to trade his formal jackets with stiff collars for the comfortable hand knitted sweaters. He also had a tendency to leave them at your house.

You smiled at the memory, how the male would reluctantly crawl from your bed, grumbling something about the cold weather, before retracing his steps from the previous night, plucking up each article of clothing you’d thrown somewhere across the room. He’d have a multitude of items, usually a soft linen shirt, followed by a more stiff white button down, a vest maybe, a sweater, then the final layer: a tailored coat. He would throw you the sweater - only the softest, thickest material for the High Lord’s son - after he’d seen you curl up in the fleece sheets, wrapping them around yourself as you sleepily gazed over at him. He’d always pair the action with a small smile or a wink, to which you couldn’t stifle your grin. It was a silent battle between the two of you: whether he’d ever leave your home with all of his clothes, but it was one that he would happily lose, especially if he got to spend the morning making you breakfast while you sat on the counter all curled up in his sweater - it was his favorite sight.

You poured the steaming water over the leaves and flowers, silencing the noise that pierced your small home. You’d gotten a few complaints from your neighbors, when you’d left the kettle over the fire just a bit too long this late into the evening. Sometimes you’d just be too enthralled in your book, unable to stop yourself in the middle of the paragraph to head to the kitchen. Other times, you abandoned the kettle, the mere thought of tea long forgotten as the male in your arms kissed all down your neck.

The steam swirled around the rim of the mug as you grabbed the handle and carefully trudged back to the couch. After setting the cup on the small table beside you, you sat back between the plush cushions and curled your legs into you, tucked safely under the thick fabric of the male’s sweater. You threw the blanket over yourself for good measure, picking up your book with the blanket inside, and continued reading.

It was late, but by no means early morning yet, and sleep had evaded you. Despite countless cups of tea and tossing and turning in your bed for hours, you couldn’t manage one minute of shut eye; so, you’d given up completely and ventured to the living room to finish your novel. It was a tale of romance, a forbidden love between a stable boy and the princess - cheesy, no doubt, but it was one that made a smile cross your lips, a glimpse into your own relationship, however the roles reversed. But your heart swelled, as true love always found a way, the feeling almost too similar to how your own relationship had persisted regardless of the many obstacles in your way.

A harsh sigh left your lips as your ears perked up at the sound outside your front door. The clatter of metal, more than likely a candle holder, accompanied by a knock - one that no doubt belonged to your old neighbor, Mrs. Brittel, who had to pay you a visit at the slightest of disturbances. You groaned as you heaved yourself from the sofa, once again placing your book on the soft cushions.

Your eyes flitted to the clock on the fireplace mantle: nearly half past eleven; not too late to be up, but a decent enough excuse to answer the door in such an unbecoming state. You turned the lock, opening the heavy wooden door just a crack before poking your head through. A prickly greeting was already positioned at your lips, but your jaw fell open at the sight you were met with.

The male was tall, looming over you as the door fell open, your hands dropping to your sides. His helmet covered his fiery hair, though tufts of dark red curled around the edges of the metal. Silver adorned his body, a scuffed breastplate and armor lining his arms and legs. Dark leather bound his body underneath, visible at all his joints and tucked into his boots. A heavy-looking silver sword hung at his hip, his hands, tucked away in dark gloves, were shaking.

“Eris,” you breathed, his name the only word your brain could form. He sighed, chapped lips parting at the sound of your voice. His eyes shined, red irises glinting as silver lined his bloodshot eyes. A few cuts and scrapes adorned his flushed cheeks, riddled with marks or dirt and grime.

The male before you usually didn’t knock. He’d simply sneak in, entering your small cabin and sweeping you off your feet all in one quick motion. But he stood before you, dressed in armor, fresh from battle, shell shocked in your doorway.

He breathed your name, nothing but a whisper on his lips, as he stepped forward and held you by the shoulders. Your bodies didn’t touch, nothing close to the hug you’d been expecting to pull you into. He held you at arms length, weapons clinging against the metal along his legs, scanning over your form. What would normally have him in a frenzy, seeing you in his clothes, sweater busy barely covering your curves, not daring to even cover your bare legs - you normally wouldn’t be able to pull him off of you.

But he was ferally in search of any injuries, anything that may have been off about your form. Your hands rose to his wrists and found purchase against the leather that bound his arms into the armor. You felt his skin burning through the layers, that no doubt the heat was leaching into the silver.

You couldn’t even imagine what he’d seen, what he’d returned from.

Whatever it was, the dead bodies, the torture that must have been inflicted upon him and his men… you were just glad he made it home.

“I’m okay, Eris,” you whispered, gaze locked to his. You saw him press his lips together and swallow harshly. “You’re okay,” you continued. He looked okay, at least. No blood, no missing limbs, a few cuts and scratches - hell, you’d patched up many worse wounds inflicted by his own father.

The slightest nod.

“It’s cold, let’s come inside.” You waited for another nod before you stepped backwards, retaining your grip on his arms, slowly pulling him with you. The cold Autumn air had overtaken the whole living room, in which you couldn’t even feel the fire in the small hearth.

He heaved a sigh, dropping your shoulders as he began to recognized the room around him, when he realized where he ended up. It felt like his body was on autopilot - without even thinking he’d winnowed himself to your front door.

Eris’s hands fell to his belt, unfastening the holster his sword was looped into, and let if fall to the ground with a heavy thud. He flinched, then, returning his shaking hands to the metal plates on his chest. Those red eyes burned into yours, begging apology at the disruptive noise. “It’s okay, Eris,” you noted calmly, raising your hands to his armor. You helped him remove the heavy shielding, pulling at the thick leather laces at his sides, unweaving the knots and pulling free the strings.

He was frozen for what felt like hours, watching you work diligently, not flinching at the dirt that clung to your fingers as you pulled at the leather. The only thing he could focus on was his ragged breathing, the burn in his chest at each breath he took. He snapped out of it once you grabbed hold of the chest plate and blew out a breath as you tried to lift it off his frame.

His hands rose up to pull it away from you, the contoured metal much heavier than you could’ve ever guessed. He set it down, leaning it against the trim beside the door behind him. A small gasp fell on his pointed ears when he turned around, to which he shot back up to see you with your hands covering your mouth.

You motioned for him to turn back around, grimacing once you touched the dent on the metal hanging off his back. He shrugged it off, groaning at not only the loss of weight, but at the ache in his back. The whole piece of armor was dented at his spine, from when they’d killed his horse and he’d fallen onto their barrier walls. He thought it a miracle that he could even walk after that, but not after an ache with every step. He wasn’t sure how many bones were broken or how long it would take them to heal, but by the gods he couldn’t wait another moment to see you.

He shook his head, begging you not to ask, and continued on removing the armor, then the leather bindings, then the outer layers of his clothing. Eris was left in just his trousers and linen long sleeved shirt, the once loose material had become matted to his body, brown with grime and sweat. You tried not to stare at the flecks of blood, wounds that had probably already begun healing over, or the tears, where no doubt enemy swords may have scratched or even penetrated through the gaps in his armor.

As the broken male stood before you, eyelids heavy and shoulders slumped, you picked up your hand and raised it up to his prominent cheekbone, running your thumb over the scar adorning his pale skin. He hummed at your touch, nuzzling his cheek into your palm, as if his head was so heavy he could barely hold it up on his own.

He shut his eyes so, in fear he may fall asleep standing in your doorway, you tilted his chin up with your forefinger, and lifted his head up. He opened those bloodshot eyes and blinked a few times. “Can’t let you fall asleep so dirty, my love,” you whispered, running your thumb over his sharp jaw before you dropped your hand, only to grab his instead. “You’ll sleep much better if you’re clean.”

A small smile tugged at his lips at the sweet gesture of the female he loved as he followed you down the hall and into the bathing room.

The tea on the side table had been long forgotten.

You lit up the candles with your own fire power, the scent of maple and pine wafting around the room. Eris stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, waiting for you to guide him to the next step. He craned his neck in all directions, a low crack echoing off the walls. His shoulders ached, too sore to even move his arms, as he tried to roll out his shoulders. “None of that,” you stated over the sound of the copper tub filling with water. “Let me help.”

You grabbed two handfuls of his shirt, stuck against his abdomen, as you pulled it free from his lean muscle and pulled it over his head. He groaned, raising his arms only high enough for you to bunch up the material and slip it over his head. You repeated the action with his trousers, allowing him to step free of them and then into the water.

His skin was covered in bruises, some yellow, some still ripe and purple. His muscles were tense, you could see all the valleys of his toned legs and arms, the contour of each muscle that bound his bones. You touched his arm ever so lightly when it was time for him to step into the tub, adding a handful of soap into the stream of water.

Brown and red speckled along the surface of the water, the grime leaving his body as he nearly dropped himself into the water. He sighed, the water relaxing the ache in his bones. You grabbed the cloth and saturated it in soap, lifting his arm and dragging the soft material across his skin. A few minor cuts and scrapes, nothing that wouldn’t heal by the morning.

His eyes shut and his head fell against the edge of the tub as you worked your way across his body, stopping only to inspect the cuts adorning his skin. “Come on, Eris, wake up,” you murmured, leaning over from your spot at the edge of the tub. You lifted his head into your hands, scooping the water over his sweat-soaked locks. “Lavender or green apple?”

He hummed, opening his eyes only just a crack before responding. “Lavender.” His voice was low, so low that you almost didn’t hear it. The purple marks under his eyes were more prominent in the candle light - the male had been through hell and back, clearly, and needed nothing more than your gentle touch to heal him.

“Then you’ll no doubt fall asleep on me,” you hummed, lathering up the lavender soap in your hands before running your fingers through his hair. Your fingertips scratched at his scalp just the way he liked, running the sudsy soap through his long curls. If he weren’t so tired, he would have grabbed your arms and heaved you over the side of the tub, holding you over his lap while you washed his hair. He’d nip at your breasts as they’d fall right in his face, and maybe he’d tease the head of his cock through your folds as you bounced above him to clean the back of his head.

But he was so fucking tired.

And there was always tomorrow.

“Ok almost done,” you whispered, probably more to yourself than him, as you cleaned the soap from his hair. “You ready to get up? Or are you spending the evening in the tub?”

He smiled for the first time that evening, his lips pressed together with smile lines carved into his cheeks. His eyes had nearly fallen closed again, and although he did feel so comfortable in the warm water, he knew he ought to get up. He’d much rather spend the night in your warm bed wrapped in your arms than the water that was soon to grow cold.

“Thank you, (Y/N),” he almost moaned, pressing his large hands to the sides of the tub and pushing himself up. The water moved around him, falling off his body in waves.

“Don’t mention it,” you replied, wrapping a towel over his shoulders and beginning to wipe him dry as he stepped from the bathtub. You fetched some clean clothes for him - his stockpile he’d reserved for when he decided he needed to spend weeks at your house, not daining to leave even to winnow home for more clothes.

I’m not leaving you, (Y/N). I’ll just have to spend the week naked with you, he’d say. After that week, spent more in his arms than anywhere else, you’d forced him to fill your armoire with clothes for the next impromptu vacation.

You pushed over the bathroom stool, splaying your hands on his broad back and pushing him towards the chair. You opened up the expensive salve on your counter, swiping some with your fingers and spreading it over his cheeks. You rubbed the salve into his skin - your skin will go dry in the cold, you’d told him.

In truth, he loved being pampered. He was the High Lord’s son for gods’ sake. He’d been used to a lifetime of it; but his male-pride showed when he’d spend the first night at your house, grimacing as you attempted to put the product on his face. Only this once, he’d responded, giving in only when you’d jutted out your bottom lip in protest.

But he secretly loved it, and let you do whatever you wanted to him. Which is why he sat so still on that chair when you started to run your fingers through his hair, using the heat building up in your palms and fingers to heat up his hair, drying it quickly as you sifted through it.

Between the heat and your fingers pulling at his red locks, his head fell backwards and his eyes fell shut once more. You smiled down at the male, with the hard and rigid exterior, the no one can touch me god-like complex, melted and so soft under your touch.

Once his hair was dry enough where you knew he’d have no issues falling asleep in the cold air of your bedroom, you traced your fingers over his cheeks and down his neck, over his collar bones, then down the thick muscles of his arms. Your thumb drew circles over his hard muscles, still tense and no doubt sore.

He hummed, a groan deep in his throat, as he opened his eyes and held your wrists in his hands. “We done here?” He grumbled, knowing you’d like to pamper him much more, more serums and salves - and by the Cauldron he wasn’t one to refuse a good massage.

But you knew he was tired, you bit back the smile and nodded, allowing Eris to finally stand and guide you back to the bedroom. He made sure to get you into bed first, pulling back the covers that were already strewn about from when you’d tried to sleep earlier that evening. You crawled in first, pushing back the layers of covers before so you both could lay out under the blankets.

Eris followed you in, laying on his side, bending his legs so his feet didn’t hang off the edge. You curled up to his side, chest to chest, enveloped in his warmth. His arm fell across your back, holding you close to him, and you tangled your legs with his under the pile of blankets. Eris’s breathing fell steady - you knew he fell asleep the moment his head hit the soft pillow.

No matter how hard you’d try to sleep in, you knew you’d wake before him. He was in dire need of a night of undisturbed sleep, relaxation and healing the forefront of his exhausted body’s priorities at the moment. You knew that even if you tried to sneak out as slowly and quietly as you could, he’d hold you tight in his sleep, not even waking to wrap his arms tighter around you. So you’d lie awake in his arms, tracing the scars on his skin and counting the freckles adorning his cheeks.

But you wouldn’t have it any other way.

#acotar #eris vanserra #eris x reader #eris vanserra x reader #eris x you

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ratwithhands · 18 days

Text

Snakemas! Based on these guys, Iwakuni snakes (albino Japanese rat snakes):

This AU is (unfortunately) still in early development while I'm busy with school but there's some basic lore bits.

Half-monsters (hanmon) are a third group of organism between humans and pokemon. They are the result of ancient species from both groups combining and evolving over millenia to become specialized species of their own. They have monstrous appearances akin to pokemon, but wield only physical abilities like humans. Due to the nature of how they were formed and how they are viewed, most live in hiding, with only a few thousand individuals being observed and recorded

White Mountain Snakes are native to the Sin-Joh regions, showing up in traditional manuscripts as messengers of regional deities to guide and bring good luck to humans. Ingo and Emmet are children in a family that moved from Sinnoh to Unova. As such they consider themselves part of three cultures, and speak three languages

The twins are one of the only well known examples of hanmon in the present day. Most people are divided on their feelings about half-monsters, so they try very hard to skew the perception in a more positive direction. They act very proper with others and in public, only letting up and relaxing at home

Ingo does end up falling through the rift to Hisui. His main concern is that he fell right as the different clans were fighting over who was right, and having a "divine messenger" appear in Pearl Clan territory has caused a whole new mess for Ingo and the clanspeople

As for the serpents themselves:

The twins are constrictors, lacking fangs and instead having insanely muscular lower halves for wrapping and crushing prey in their grip. Depending on the size of the food they're eating, they might also just crush it with their bare hands to make it more manageable to swallow quickly

They are looooong, something like 10m in length from head to tail. The subway has multiple posters up warning patrons to watch their step in case they trip over them in traffic

They are awfully sensitive to temperature change. They sleep under a giant electric blanket, wear thick uniforms, and set the driving car temperature to be warm. Summer is their best working season, however they tend to stop working in winter to hibernate for about 4 months, much to the dismay of Battle Subway fans, staff, and local grocers

They'll shed about thrice a year and assist each other with peeling it when possible. This is mostly since they aren't dexterous enough to reach parts of their back. Shedding time means it's time for this little competition of theirs where they attempt to pull the longest pieces of shed possible off the other. Ingo is not very good at dealing with Emmet's dry ass and ends up accidentally cracking it most of the time. They sometimes give the scrap shed to Elesa for use in fashion outfits

Ingo's mouth is much narrower than Emmet's, he often has to stretch his jaws to accommodate something Emmet can eat easily. As a result the tissue connecting his jaws in the front is more stretchy

The twins have different organ locations due to their long structure. This usually doesn't affect their job but if you give them a hug you will feel the heart pumping in their abdomen

Thanks to all for reading this far. As a treat have Ingo and Emmet in their separation outfits, Emmet in his uniform and Ingo in the garb gifted by the Pearl Clan.

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sensitive-neuvi-enthusiast · 8 months

Text

Day 6: Somnophillia

♤♡-Pairs: Xiao x gn!reader

☆☆-Warnings: sex while sleeping, fondling in sleep, needy Xiao, male anatomy mentioned(for xiao), enjoy (:

The Adeptus rarely ever got time from his adeptal duties. More often than not, you'd fall asleep alone in your shared room at the Inn. Of course you knew this when you pursued him in the first place. He had warned you...after the various warnings of even being close to him. Yet still, your love blossomed to the point where you eventually started dating! It's been one year since then.

You'd be lying if you said you didn't miss him, or the few rare intimate moments you found yourselves in. Which is why recently, around a few months ago, you proposed an idea to him.

When he found time, more than likely when you were sleeping...he was allowed to touch you. He didn't really understand how that would be fun for either of you. Xiao enjoyed watching you as he gave you pleasure, he couldn't do that while you slept! But that little conversation found it's way into his mind tonight. Warn from battle, he made his way into the room. A small smile played on his lips as he saw your form huddled in bed. The blanket wrapped tightly around you. You were so cute.

He set his spear off to the side and made his way into bed. Pausing quickly when he noticed...you were wearing very little. Your body was practically bare safe for a few layers of thin clothing. Almost immediately his dick hardened in his pants. Should he...? He still held reserverations but..you were slowly melting those away.

Xiao climbed into bed, immediately slotting up next to you. His breath hot against your neck as his arm wrapped around your stomach. "Your temptations make me weak. This is not how an Adepti should behave yet, you've done this to me." He shifted forward, his erection pressed flush against your ass. His arm tightened around you from the stimulation. "You gave me permission...I'm going to make good use of that."

His hands slipped your bottoms off along with his own. Now it was skin to skin, hot bodies pressed against one another. And all you could do was softly mumble and whine in your sleep. His hand gripped his shaft, guiding it between your thighs to his goal. All the while, he let out soft moans as he felt you wrap around him.

"Mmm," he buried his face in your neck as he pulled you even closer. Thrusting his hips forward, listening as you parted your mouth and let out the cutest moans. "Need you so much...always need you." He mumbled, moving at a slow pace to savor how you feel. How tight you are around him, perfectly made for him. It had been a good week since you had sex, safe to say; he wouldn't last long.

And it just so happened, just as he was reaching his end, you slowly blinked your eyes. Gasping out into the chilled air of the room as you felt him release inside you. The feel of your hand placed on his made him freeze, red immediately dusting his cheeks as he hid himself.

"I see you took up my offer, my love. Now that I'm awake...shall we have more fun?"

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#genshin impact #kinktober #genshin impact smut #genshin impact x reader #genshin xiao #xiao #xiao smut #xiao x reader #xiao x you #xiao x reader smut #lovelies-getting-freaky

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notjustdragonspages · 10 months

Note

For the prompt ask:

Donnie with 🍭🍰?

Sleepyhead

a/n: Not a great title I know, but it's the best I could come up with... Anyways, enjoy!

Prompt: "You're my new pillow" "You look so cute when you're sleepy"

Warnings: none! Just really freaking fluffy

One in the morning. That's when Donnie decided to knock on your window and give you a heart attack. Grumbling and throwing your blankets off, you stomped over to your window to see a very excited looking soft shell.

You opened your window and let him in- within seconds of being in your apartment he started rambling.

"Now, dearest I know it's early, but I just had to come by! See, I was working on the new upgrade for S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N when-" he continued to talk as you stumbled back to your bed before flopping on it.

He tilted his head at you. "Love?" Donnie slowly made his way over to you, standing at the edge of your bed. "Is something wrong?"

As he spoke, you sat up, grabbing his face with both hands. He grunted but you stayed silent, bringing his head closer so you could study his face. A slight blush dusted his snout as the silence continued.

"Dearest, whats wrong? Something on my face?" You rubbed your thumbs under his eyes and he leaned into the touch.

"Yeah. Bags." You gave him a look. He stuttered and backed away out of your grasp.

"W-well, with all the stuff I need to work on, and S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N taking longer then anticipated, I guess I just haven't had time to... sleep...?"

You frowned at him and Donnie winced. Standing up, you stood beside him and gestured to the bed. The blush on his snout returned, but he complied with the unspoken request.

As soon as he sat down, you began littering his face with kisses, going lower to along his jaw line and a few on his neck. He sighed his appreciation for the soft touches and let his eyes close. Smiling at him, you pressed one more kiss to his snout before looking at his battle shell.

"Can you... take it off?"

He looked confused for a moment. "Eh- oh right, of course." Reaching a hand up, he pressed a button on the side of the shoulder attachment and with a click and a hiss it fell backwards onto the bed. Moving towards it, you picked it up and immediately huffed at the effort.

"Okay, how the hell do you wear this thing all day- Jesus Christ-" struggling as he watched you from the bed, you plopped it down beside your dresser.

Looking up at him again, he flopped onto the bed, wriggling around and relishing the way your soft sheets felt on his shell. Giggling at the sight, you walked back over to him.

"Better?"

Donnie nodded and opened his eyes to turn his sleepy gaze on you. Now slightly red in the face yourself, you climbed into bed. Once up by your pillows, you patted your stomach.

"C'mere, you big softie."

He made a small, low rumble as he got up and crawled over to you, laying down so his head rested on you chest and the rest of him was laying between your legs. Donnie nuzzled into your chest, a soft smile on his face at how warm it was. You looked down at him fondly.

"Gosh, you're adorable..." that seemed to get his attention. An indignant huff came from him and he looked at you as though mildly offended.

"Oh come on, it's true!"

You chuckled as he rolled his eyes and layed his head back down. Bringing your hand up, your gently rubbed the back of his neck, his mask tails brushing the top of your hand with each stroke. His expression relaxed and a small churr escaped his throat, despite his best efforts.

His eyelids drooped more as you made your way to the softer skin the connected his shell to his shoulders. You wanted to check first.

"Hey, Dee, is it okay if I touch your shell?"

"Go ahead, love." He yawned and stretched, all the way to his toes. You had to hold back audibly going "aww" at the cat like action. He seemed to have seen it in your expression though and snorted at you.

"You're my new pillow." He stated, shifting on you and nuzzling your chest again.

Once he settled again, you carefully hovered your fingers over his shell before pressing down gently, rub in the leathery surface. It didn't feel... Damp like you thought it would. God why did you think that??

Continuing, you gently rubbed downwards, tracing the spines that went down his back. Consumed with your task, your didn't notice Donnie melt into you, a happy smile stretching across his face, and his brows pinched upward at the sensation. Too tired to care, he churred freely, fully letting himself relax in your arms.

Glancing down at him, you saw his sleepy expression and chuckled. "You look so cute when you're sleepy..."

His only response was another round of loud churrs as you gently massaged near the top of his shell. He seemed tired enough to sleep, and you being exhausted yourself, you put a blanket over both of you, before continuing the gentle rubs. Donnie looked up at you.

"I love you, dearest."

You kissed his snout again. "Love you too, Dee."

#rottmnt #rottmnt donnie #rottmnt donatello #rottmnt donnie x reader #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise of the tmnt #rottmnt donatello x reader #donnie x reader #I did not edit this-#Hopefully I won't regret it

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