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ilsanslut · 3 months

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proneboning—it’s HIS favorite position. there’s just something so very tantalizing about pinning you flush to whatever surface he can manage and completely ravishing you beneath him. and you? you love it just as much.

your pretty face pressed deeply into the sheets, leaving you to helplessly writhe and moan beneath the weight of your lover. your tiny fists fisting the sheets, bracing for every powerful, mind-numbing thrust as you feel his thick, heavy cock pounding the deepest depths within you. your shrill moans and pleasured wails becoming muffled by the duvet beneath you as you’re smothered beneath his hardy, masculine frame. you can feel his heavy weight and muscled chest boring down on your back, crushing and pinning you firmly into a mattress in such a delightful way as every one of his powerful, carnal thrusts, aided by gravity and his heft, pounds you further and further into submission—as if every singular one is bellowing MINE, MINE, MINE, from the lewd echos of your bedroom walls.

you can’t catch your breath, you can’t speak, you can’t even think. you’re reduced to a babbling mess, your weeps of sheer ecstasy matching that of your glistening, weeping cunt as it gushes around his thick shaft with every obscene clap of his pelvis PLAP, PLAP, PLAPPING against your bubbly ass.

“yeaah, that’s it.” you can barely make out his gruff voice as his lips press to the shell of your ear, his heavy pants mixing with near-feral growls as he struggles to maintain his own composure.

amidst his unforgiving pace, you feel his muscled forearm snaking around your waist, his meaty palm, and equally thick digits pressing against the fatty part of your lower belly to feel that prominent bulge that forms every time he bottoms out within you. “y’feel me in here too, princess? bullying that pretty womb of yours? haah, fuck. thaaat’s it. sing for me, angel. let me hear that pretty voice of yours.”

so you do. you cry, you shriek, you mewl—“singing” praises of his name, how big his cock is and how good his cock feels inside of you, how you can’t take it because it’s “too much," as well as contradictory pleas of him to slow down followed by depraved cries of “please, please, fuck me harder!”

that’s not good enough for him, though. c’mon, princess. use your dumb little brain. you think he can hear you when you're nose-deep in the sheets? don’t worry, he has a solution for that.

nothing could have prepared you for the sensation of a broad, bulging bicep snaking around your neck, the crease of its forearm and elbow resting tautly against your windpipe as he wrenched your head up from the sheets and began to squeeze. he balled the fist of his other hand and used his strength to pull back the latter, effectively locking you into an unforgiving headlock that made your toes curl and your heightened moans catch in your throat.

“say it again for me, pretty. y’like my fat cock fuckin’ you up? like me using you like the pretty pocket pussy you are? yeah? ngh, shit. c’mon, lighten up, princess, you’re chokin’ my dick here.”

“y-yes! yes, yes, yes! oh, f-fuck yess! m’gonna cum, hah, mpfh! m’gonna cum!!”

he raises himself onto his knees, caging your petite frame in between both of his muscular thighs as he pounds into you with more ferocity than before, like a ravenous predator claiming every ounce of his darling little prey. he was always so, so generous, most of the time. who was he to deny his little angel her precious orgasm?

“do it. c’mon, make a fuckin’ mess on my cock, you dumb slut.” he would snarl against you, his teeth and sharp canines grazing the shell of your ear.

you did so graciously; your moans mixed with babbles of useless speech along the lines of “thank you” and incoherent swears. your glassy eyes spilling with fat globs of tears that rolled down your cheeks could not register their surroundings, nor could your brain register him slamming his cock's head firmly against your squishy insides, pumping you to the brim with his virile seed that threatened to bloat your lil’ tummy.

he let you go in an instant, allowing your exhausted body to fall slack on the sheets before you, your head resting soundly on the crevice of his elbow between his bicep and forearm. he had yet to pull out of you, even after you had come down from your high, and his cock had long since ceased languidly pumping the ropes of his creamy, heavy seed deep inside of you.

“shh, i got you, angel.” he eased your twitchy frame and panting mewls with an affectionate, breathless kiss to your forehead.

“always such a good girl, f’me.”

blue lock: KAISER MICHAEL. SHOEI BAROU. nagi seishiro. KUNIGAMI RENSUKE. itoshi sae. itoshi rin. KARASU TABITO. EGO JINPACHI. otoyo eita. OLIVER AIKU. isagi yoichi. BACHIRA MEGURU. RAICHI JINGO. LORENZO DON. SHIDOU RYUSEI. jujutsu kaisen: nanami kento. GETO SUGURU. kamo choso. FUSHIGURO TOJI. OH MY FUCKING GOD TOJI. SUKUNA. SUKUNA. SUKUNA PLEASE GOD SUKUNA. GOJO SATORU. mahito. HAKARI KINJI. todo aoi. zenin naoya. genshin impact: WRIOTHESLEY. CHILDE. ALHAITHAM. kamisato ayato. ragnvindr diluc. ARATAKI ITTO. tighnari. SCARAMOUCHE/WANDERER. HEIZOU. IL DOTTORE. PANTALONE. kimetsu no yaiba: SHINAZUGAWA SANEMI. UZUI TENGEN. rengoku kyojuro. RENGOKU SHINJUROOOO. IGURO OBANAI. KIBUTSUJI MUZAN. akaza. kokoshibo. DOUMA. HANTENGU CLONES. GYUTARO, tokyo revengers: mitsuya takashi. KAWATA NAHOYAAAA. SHIBA TAIJU. BAJI KEISUKE. HANEMIYA KAZUTORA. haitani rindou. HAITANI RAN. RYUGUJI KEN. sano manjiro. SANZU HARUCHIYO. akashi takeomi. imaushi wakasa. TERANO SOUTH. sano sinichiro. HANMA SHUUJI.

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munson-blurbs · 5 months

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Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

Day 1 of TUI-Mas

Warnings: smut (18+ only, minors DNI), unprotected p in v, breeding kink and lots of it, fingering, oral (f! receiving)

WC: 2k

Divider credit to @saradika

October 1998

Your head rests on Eddie’s thigh, cheek pressed against the cotton sweatpants serving as his pajamas. His fingertips dance along your shoulder in comforting circles, the other hand digging into a bag of peanut M&Ms and dropping several into his mouth at once.

Harris is sleeping in bed, his little eyes having drifted closed halfway through his second bedtime story. You’d laughed softly, kissed his forehead, and closed the door as quietly as you could.

On the TV screen, Phoebe Buffay prepares to give birth to triplets while Joey’s learned that his sympathy pains are actually kidney stones.

The candy shell crunching ceases as Eddie speaks over the characters’ dialogue. “You ever think about that?” he asks, jerking his chin towards the monitor.

“Having three babies at once?” You wrinkle your nose, tugging the fleece blanket up a bit higher. You adjust your position so you can see his chocolate-smudged lips. “Only in my nightmares.”

Eddie laughs, but his smile doesn’t quite reach his doe eyes. “N-No, just, like…having a baby?” His front teeth scrape his lower lip nervously while he awaits your response.

You shrug. “Yeah, I mean, I definitely want to have kids with you. And I know Harris is dying for a sibling to play with,” you add teasingly, though your words are true. He’d come home from school last week claiming that his friend Joshua’s mommy was having another baby, lamenting that it wasn’t fair because Joshua already had a sister. “I can’t wait to add some more Munsons to our little family.”

“Okay, yeah,” Eddie nods, swallowing thickly. “So, um, what exactly are we waiting for?”

The question makes you sit up, pushing yourself with your palms, so you can look him in the eyes. “We’ve only been married for a few months…” you trail off, unsure what to say next, but it doesn’t matter because Eddie leans in and silences you with his lips on yours. Tiny, passionate kisses, his smile rendering him unable to draw them out longer.

“I’m ready whenever you are,” he murmurs, nose gently bumping yours. Four fingers are tucked behind your ear, his thumb delicately grazing your cheek. “There’s no rush, ‘kay? No Baby Munsons until you’re totally on board.”

“What if I’m ready, too?” You kiss him, body buzzing with nerves just from having this conversation. An excited giggle slips out, and you drape your arms over his shoulder to straddle his waist. “What if I want to start trying?”

Eddie throws his head back and laughs; he swears he’s hit the jackpot with you. “Then I say…to hell with those pesky birth control pills.” He kisses you again, peppering them all over your face and neck. “C’mon, Sweetheart. Let’s make a baby.”

It’s a few weeks later when Eddie breezes through the apartment door after work, kicking off his Reeboks in the general direction of the hall closet. His weary expression shifts to a joyous one when he sees you walk out of the bedroom with a knowing grin on your face.

“What’s that little smirk for, hmm?” he teases, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you towards him. An autumn chill sticks to his leather jacket; you shiver as the cold fabric brushes your bare arms. “And where’s the other troublemaker?”

“Harris is at Wayne’s for the night,” you tell him, stepping back slightly and briefly lacing your fingers with his before grabbing something from the back pocket of the jeans you immediately changed into after work. “This little line means that I’m currently ovulating,” you quickly explain, not wanting him to confuse it with another important test.

Eddie’s grin could split his cheeks in half. “So…so that means…” his eyes shine bright with anticipation. “It’s baby-making time?”

You giggle at his phrasing. “Yes, Eddie,” you confirm through peals of laughter. “It’s baby-making time.”

Eddie’s lips crash onto yours in an instant. He groans into the kiss, hands instinctively grabbing your ass to pull you closer. Your own fingers grasp his jacket by the zipper teeth, tugging it off of his body and letting it fall to the floor unceremoniously. His hands snake underneath your sweater, eyes widening when he touches supple skin rather than the underwire of a bra.

“Mhm,” you bite your lower lip and nod, gasps of pleasure caught in your throat as his thumbs brush against your nipples, giving them a small tweak. He grins at your reaction, more than satisfied to be catching you off-guard.

“Y’know,” he muses, not straying from your breasts, “I won’t be able to be so rough with ‘em once I knock you up. They’ll be extra sensitive, and I gotta take care of my girl.” The sweater is a hindrance, burying the treasure he so desperately desires, so you shed it without a second thought.

He stares at your bare torso for a moment, enthralled with your body even after all this time. Like a vampire lusting for blood, his teeth sink just below your areola, nipping and sucking sloppily until the underside of your breast is dripping with his saliva. “C’mere,” he growls, taking a breath and leading you into the bedroom.

You’ve never seen Eddie this hungry for you; his lips and tongue and hands trailing along your curves and leaving goosebumps in their path. It’s as though he can’t decide where to touch you and with what.

All articles of clothing–both yours and his–are long gone by the time your bodies tangle in the bedsheets. The only word you can manage is his name, so you whisper it over and over again.

Eddie. Eddie. Eddie.

His body towers over yours, middle finger gliding up and down your folds, gathering your slick and rubbing deliberate circles on your clit. Your trembling legs fuel his own passion, his erection flush against his tummy and leaking pre-cum.

“You need me inside you, Sweetheart?” Eddie coos, letting his finger drift down towards your wanting hole. When you nod pathetically, unable to string together a sentence, he laughs. “I’d normally make you beg, but seeing as you’re gonna be carrying my baby, I’ll let it slide.” He lays down, hissing at the glorious pressure against his cock. “In fact, I’m gonna make sure my girl gets everything she needs tonight.”

Soft lips wrap around your swollen bud while his middle and ring fingers stretch you deliciously. You buck your hips, using his face to draw you towards what you suspect will be your first of multiple orgasms.

The only sound lewder than your wanton moans is the schlick of his fingers pulsing in and out, soaked with your arousal. You let yourself float away, relishing in the comfort of his control.

“F-Fuck, Eddie…” you sputter, arching your back and hooking your grasp into his curls. He smiles against your pussy as you clench around his fingers.

“Thassit, honey.” He breaks his rhythm for a split second to encourage you, resuming his pace like he’d never stopped. Maybe it stems from his musical prowess, or maybe he simply knows your body that well. You love this man, and you swear you’ll do anything to give him a baby.

You come undone moments later, taking everything you need without hesitation. Eddie lowers you from the high and kisses down your thighs, your arousal smeared on his pursed lips.

“Need you to do me a favor,” he says, shifting his body so his eyes gaze directly into yours, pupils blown out with lust. “Need you to bend your legs and hold onto your knees. Can you do that for me, Sweetheart?”

You nod, bringing your knees to your chest and hugging them tight. Eddie’s breath hitches, taking in the view of you, glistening and on display just for him.

“Fuckin’...perfect…” he groans, running his hardened length along you, slowly pushing in. “Gettin’ to watch your pretty pussy cream my cock…shit…’s my favorite fuckin’ sight, I swear.” He grips your hips so tightly that it pinches a bit, pain indistinguishable from pleasure.

He’s entranced in a way you haven’t seen before, despite the multitude of times he’s already had you in this position. Your eyes fill with emotion when the realization hits: you and Eddie could make a baby right now. A little being that’s half-him and half-you.

“‘S everything okay?” he asks, one hand moving from your waist to gently brush away a rogue tear slipping down your cheek.

“Mhm,” you answer, laughing and crying at the same time. “I’m just really happy that this is for real. No more pretending; we’re actually doing this to expand our family.”

Eddie swoops down to kiss you, a few soft pecks punctuated with a long, intimate embrace. “I love you so much.” He says it as a promise, not a simple statement. “You’re mine and I’m yours, and I never want you to forget that.” He resumes thrusting, pulling almost all the way out and leaving just the tip inside you, before sinking back in. The movement draws a whine from deep within you, and he wears it as a badge of honor. “That’s my girl, my sweet girl, gonna have my baby.”

Sweat trickles down the bridge of his nose and drips onto your chest between your breasts. He bites his lip in determination. “Shit, ‘m close already,” he mumbles, smiling as he adds, “kinda wish I didn’t have to cum so we could stay like this, but, uh, that would defeat the purpose, huh?”

Your eyes crinkle at the corners as you giggle, which only further spurs him on. “You get tighter when you laugh, fuck, babe.” But he’s laughing with you, stopping for a second to get his bearings. “I gotta stay focused! Trying to make a baby over here!” His palms flex on your knees before gripping them again.

“I’m sorry!” You’re not, and neither is he, the two of you soaking in the comfort of being with the person you trust completely and love wholeheartedly.

“Okay, okay,” he says, wiping perspiration from his brows with the back of his hand. “Let’s get back on track.” His thrusts resume slowly as he once again grows harder within your walls, gradually quickening in pace.

Everything is overwhelming; the way he feels inside you, the sweetly possessive hold he has on his legs, the unexpected comedic interlude, the potential to create a new life. Passion sweeps you up into its embrace and you come with a strained cry of your husband’s name.

“Want your baby, Eddie. Please.”

Eddie’s brown eyes shine at your desperate plea. He nears his own climax, hair sticking to his forehead and his guitar pick necklace thumping against his chest. “‘M right there, Sweetheart; you’re milking my cock so good.” His biceps tremble as he gives a final few pistons of his hips, spilling into you harder than he ever has before. “Fuck, gonna give you a baby, take it.”

You shiver when he growls the last two words, savoring the movements until they abruptly stop. With panting breaths, Eddie slides out of you.

“Don’t move,” he gently commands, holding up one finger and using the other hand to hold his softening dick. He scrambles for a free pillow and tucks it underneath your hips. “Helps ‘em swim faster,” he sheepishly explains. “Or, like, hit their target a little better.”

“Hit their target?” You ask through a bemused grin. “Is that the proper medical terminology?”

Eddie rolls his eyes playfully, returning to the bed and nuzzling into you. His frizzy curls tickle your chin when he rests his head on top of one breast. You both lay in comfortable silence for a few minutes before he speaks again.

“Can’t wait to see if it worked,” he muses while fighting a yawn. “Whatever happens, it felt special, y’know?”

You know. Your hand flutters over your abdomen; Eddie drapes his over yours soon after. The two of you fall asleep wrapped up in one another and an intoxicating blanket of hope.

#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things #tui #smut

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cryptotheism · 1 year

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The prince, beautiful for a six-foot clam, was freezing and starving. It wasn’t fair. Nothing was ever fair.

He cursed his father. He cursed his sisters. He cursed the pools of freezing muck and he cursed the film of saline moss that covered them. He lost count of how many times he had sunk his legs into freezing pools. His belly was empty, and his legs were numb with the cold. Bastards, he thought. Bastard bastards bastards. He kicked another small shelled creature into a wall. He didn’t deserve any of this. He had prepared.

Everything. He had packed everything into that catamaran, and now it was gone, smashed to the bottom of the interlocain by the autodefenses. Clothes, tools, bedroll, tent, rations -the goddamn rations- even the books. All he had was the boots, the leather pants, the billowy linen shirt with the gold buttons, his sword belt, and a nearly-empty sword.

Now he was cold, and hungry, and he couldn't sleep because of the cold and the hunger. He had tried to eat the weeds, but the taste made him retch. He tried to eat the small shelled things, but they were full of so many little bones. Bastards, he thought. They never thought he would actually do it. They never thought he would just pick up and run. He was glad, in a way, that his family couldn’t see him now. He could picture it. His father, bored and disappointed. His sister’s smug grin. His mother, full of pity. Poor Marin. Always poor Marin. It wasn’t fair. The city didn’t call them. It called him. It called to him alone. That little voice, deep into the night, calling him north, calling him here. Something wanted him here…wherever here was.

Here was Teleth Avaris, tomb-city to the old gods. Specifically, here was a shore battery on the south wall that had largely collapsed into the sea. Even in the cities heyday, it would have been a gray place devoid of honor or beauty. Titanic guns rusted on their mounts, eaten by the salt-sea air. The old concrete had been licked smooth by the waves, and the whole place sagged into the water like a great stone and rebar hammock. Tide pools formed in potholes dug by the impact of old kinetic shells. Moss and lichens and barnacles clung to every surface, trapping moisture and thus the cold. To the little shelled creatures and chubby gastropods, it was a banquet, a feast of winter vegetables and fresh fjord insects. To the prince, it was a palace of discomfort, the seat of some rude foreign king who decorated only in tapestries and carpets of wet, rotting, sponge. The prince attempted to kick another small shelled thing, but slipped on a patch of slimy lichen, nearly losing his footing. The prince chuckled to himself. You know what? Good. Maybe father would send Lunine in after him, and she would end up at the bottom of the interlocian, her and that goddamn bodyguard. Maybe this could be a good thing. If he could escape from this carbonsteel dung heap, he would be a hero. Lone survivor. A legend. Father would... No, who cared what father thought. Father would be forced to give him the reigns. If he escaped. If he survived. This was a win-win.

He could escape. Of course he could escape. He had read books on survival. Even books on survival in the teleths. Everyone always said he was intelligent, and he was. A tiny part of him was giddy at the idea of playing shaft-diver. He had always adored shaft divers. Every young man adored shaft divers. Yes! That's what he would do. It was all coming together. All he had to do was recall every piece of information he could remember about shaft-diving, every story, every book, every wayward tale, and he would survive. His stomach groaned.

The prince drew himself up, puffing out his chest with newfound confidence. Yes. It was all coming together. He seized a rock, a nice sturdy one, and scraped off the lichens with his hands. It was a disgusting sensation, but the prince reveled in his newfound rustic aplomb. No, he thought. It had always been there. He was emerging from his chrysalis. He crouched low, surveying his environment for danger. He focused his eyes on a chubby little gastropod, and began to stalk, creeping toward his prey like some huntress-witch from the glowing swamp. Toe to heel. Yes. By the gods it was working. Yes. He was doing it. He was actually doing it. Three meters. Two meters. One. He raised the rock.

As he brought the rock down, his foot slid out from under him, sending him toppling sideways. His elbow plunged through a bed of moss and into another freezing pool. The chubby gastropod hopped up, skittering away as fast as its tentacles could carry it. The rock caught it by two of its legs. In a herculean feat of hunting prowess, the prince lunged, sprawling upon his belly to slam the rock down on the gastropod again. The hit connected, breaking the shell with a satisfying thwack.

The prince, giddy with adrenaline and hunger, seized the thing in his hands. He peeled off his mouthplate, and tore into the mass. Almost immediately he recoiled as bits of shell tore into the spaces between his teeth. He plucked and spat out the shards, and remembered something about the little gastropods. He began to tear off tentacles. The texture was disgusting, leathery sheathes and overwhelmingly fatty meat with veins like gamey dental floss. The prince, in his starving delirium, found them delicious. He laughed and wept as he ate, mad with adrenaline, splayed out on his belly in the freezing muck. Success. Victory. A conquering.

The shaft diver, who had been observing all of this from a nearby boulder, watched on with an expression of mild horror, mercantile opportunity, and ill-advised lust. He descended from his perch as loudly as he could, and strode across the wet ground with purpose. He adjusted his bow tie, and in his most charming voice, the one he reserved for rich marks, said;

"Hey there."

The prince whipped around, bits of tentacle flying from his mouth as he drew himself up to one knee, and then up to both feet. He was met with the sight of a vile little beast. Maybe five feet tall, pink and fleshy, with wide dark eyes flanked by little fins and a row of razor-sharp teeth. No doubt one of the many horrors common to these ruins. The prince drew his weapon, the nanites flashed into place, forming a thin, scalpel-sharp, blade which he leveled at the beast's throat.

"mgie bgeft" he shouted through a mouthful of gastropod, and lunged.

A wristblade extended from beneath the shaft-diver's sleeve. It parried and backstepped with rigged agility. "Hey now! Hey hey hey! Relax! I'm not gonna hurt ya." Said the shaft diver, holding up his palms in a calming gesture. This guy was scared shitless, he needed an angle.

"Hey buddy calm down, its okay, whats your prodigal?" Said the shaft diver.

The prince stared at him, "Prodigal?" He said, clearly still panicking.

Oh boy, thought the shaft diver, this one was real out of his league. "Oh, sorry sorry, I thought you were one of us, said the diver."

The prince stared back, bits of gastropod dripping from his mouth. "One of us?"

Time to lay it on thick. "A shaft diver, dummy. I was watching you stalk that thing, figured you were pro." He paused for dramatic effect, feigning realization. "You're tellin me you're not a diver?"

"No. but I can see how you would make that mistake." Said the prince, swishing the nanoblade away with sudden dignity. "You stand before Marin de Trozier, firstborn and rightful heir to house Trozier."

The shaft diver was all but drooling. He could tell guy was wealthy, but the firstborn of an Atlantean merchant clan? The shaft divers thoughts went into overdrive. Do I bow? No. He's playing shaft diver, let him play the part.

The shaft diver put on his best shaft diver voice, the rough, touch-mad one, like how they sound in teleplays. He was nearly a foot shorter than the prince, but did his best to look rugged and unimpressed. "Am I supposed to be impressed, prettyboy? Want me to curtsy? You're in Teleth Avaris now, you left your titles behind. Like it or not-" He paused for effect. "-you're a shaft diver now."

"Hmph." Said Marin, turning up his nose at the insolence. "Maybe so. You still haven't given me your name. Your 'prodigal' was it?" Marin made mocking quotes as he said the words. The shaft diver shook his head. "Seeing as you've already given me your proper name, there's no need for prodigals." He extended a rigged hand, "You can call me Kip."

Marin returned the gesture, shaking. "Marin."

Kip grinned. Hook, line, and sinker.

This is the first chapter of Emerald Seas. You can read the first draft, and its prequel, here.

#Emerald Seas #Long Post

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star-sparkler · 4 months

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(Found a lil drabble I wrote a while back that I wasn't gonna share outside of my buddies but you know what? Cute Brand New Papatello be upon you.) *

It wasn’t until he was cradling his daughter to his plastron, fresh from the tube she’d been grown in, that it occurred to Donnie he had never once in his life held a baby before. The thought was equal parts terrifying and surreally fascinating.

Distantly, he knew his family was losing their collective minds over the infant turtle mutant. He vaguely recognized a coo from someone - Leo? - telling the others to look at Donnie’s expression right now (“He’s a goner already.” An affectionate laugh. “You good, Dee?” “Shhh let him have this.” “Her fingers are SO small!”). But the longer Donnie looked at the baby curled into his chest, the less his family’s voices made sense.

Sound fell away. Hesitantly, Donnie brushed a hand - as big as she was - over the curve of her tiny shell. It was softer than his, the smooth leather surface still damp with incubator fluids. He could feel the ridge of her spine. The alien familiarity, the echo of his own shell, the smallness and fragility of her, the miracle that she was here and alive - a million thoughts and feelings simultaneously colliding - made Donnie’s breath hitch and a wave of warmth wash over him.

Donnie had already decided he cared about this baby, and his dum dum brain had already sent out all the dum dum hormones that filled him up with more dum dum affection for her than he knew what to do with. All the researching and the planning and the prepping and the step-by-stepping so that everything would be fully assembled to help her thrive and grow had been rigorously completed. And yet. And yet and….and yet….Donnie had never been so prepared while also being so helplessly lost and overwhelmed.

Words failed him.

His fingers were touching lightly over her cheek, her brow, hands so small they made his heart squeeze. She was incredible. She was the scariest thing he had ever beheld. And also the most beautiful. His stomach flipped. Instinctively, she searched for something to latch on to, mouth as toothless as a koi fish on the tip of his finger. The sound she made was an unmistakeable, Donnie’s-world-altering, high, sweet chirp. Donnie didn’t realized he’d clicked back automatically until an especially shrill noise of delight erupted from his brothers. With it, the vacuum tight bubble around himself and the baby popped.

Sound and smell and sight outside of himself and his miniature copy rushed back in. It was disorienting, but Donnie’s focus was resolute. He tried to ask for the bottle they’d prepared for her. She needed feeding and there was still some potential trial and error ahead in figuring out just what she would eat (baby formula? Turtle food? A Yokai recipe of some kind? Donnie had about a dozen different forms of nourishment prepped just in case. But he couldn’t manage to ask for a single one of them. The very thought of taking his attention off of her was absurd.

“How you holding up, Dad Man?” Leo asked with a laugh, the sound softer than usual. All of his family had settled down after Donnie came back to himself, maybe recognizing he was toeing the line of overstimulated, maybe just genuinely soft and happy themselves over seeing whatever it was they saw on Donnie’s face. He could worry about the implications of that when he reviewed the footage for his archives later. Right now however…

Replying should have been easy. Just string together a few coherent words, Donatello. Speaking was something he was perfectly capable of. He inhaled to do so. The rise of his chest for air, however, made the baby stir against him, peeping softly, and what little remaining rationale Donatello Hamato had flew out the window. Donnie was scooping her in closer, pressing his nose to the top of her head as he curled around his baby.

“Perfect.” He mumbled.

“Ha! Say again?”

“She’s perfect.”

Augustine Hamato, daughter of Donatello Hamato - his stomach flipped at the thought - was absolutely, two hundred percent…perfect.

#AugustineHamato #Papatello #this man is smitten ur honour I don't know what to tell you. scared senseless and overwhelmingly in love with da baby

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unclewaynemunson · 9 months

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Thanks to a conversation I had with @frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe and @stevesbipanic about this post by @piratefishmama about Scott Clarke helping middle schoolers with sexuality crises I wrote a lil something :)

Scott Clarke has been worrying about Eddie Munson ever since the boy first set foot into his classroom. He was tiny for his age and thin on the verge of being scrawny, with big, scared eyes in a pale face. With his long, dark curls he was the kind of boy who would unavoidably be called names for being too much like a girl, and Scott wasn't surprised that it only took one week before the boy came in with his hair all buzzed off, pulling even more attention to his expressive eyes instead.

Scott was known for worrying about the nerdy kids, and even though it wouldn't be obvious to everyone right away, he immediately noticed that Eddie was one of those. He wasn't the kind of nerdy kid who would sit in the front of the classroom, hanging onto Scott's every word while avidly scribbling down the secrets of the universe that Scott liked to share. No, Eddie was the other kind of nerdy kid: the kind who would often be called dreamy, or imaginative, or quiet, or lazy. The kind who would retreat to the back of the class and get low scores on their tests because they were spending their time sneakily reading comic books underneath the table or staring out of the window with their mind completely elsewhere for hours on end.

Middle school wasn't an easy place for kids like Eddie, as Scott knew all too well. The only thing he could do, as a teacher, was try to make it a little bit more bearable for him. He was glad when the boy took him up on his offer to spend his lunch breaks in the science classroom instead of the cafeteria or the playground. Soon, it became a habit that Eddie would be on the other side of Scott's desk reading his way through some big book while Scott was grading papers or preparing his next lesson.

Scott knew that with patience and kindness, all kids like Eddie would eventually come out of their shell and start trusting him. So he asked about the books Eddie brought first, proceeded to topics like music and games he liked to play later, and eventually could ask him about his home life.

Whenever he'd talk about his books or his music, Eddie's eyes lit up and his smile widened. Scott soon found out that, when Eddie was at ease, he could talk a mile a minute and bounce around the classroom, caught up in his stories with all kinds of excited hand gestures. At those moments, he was nothing like the quiet boy with the haunted look in his eyes who Scott met two months ago.

But Eddie never disclosed much about his personal life. He didn't mention his mother even once and he didn't tell Scott much more than that he was living with his uncle in Forest Hills because his dad was “unavailable” to take care of him.

Scott doubted whether Eddie was much better off living with his uncle than with his father. Judging from the meager lunches he brought with him, the shabby and ill-fitting clothes he wore, and the fact that the man never once came to drop Eddie off or pick him up at school, Scott was skeptical, to say the least.

He started worrying even more when one day, Eddie lingered in the classroom after the last lesson of the day, saying he wanted to ask him a “science question” with a certain dread in his eyes that Scott had never seen there before.

“There's nothing I love more than a good science question,” Scott quickly reassured him. “Tell me, what is it?”

“The other kids,” said Eddie, “Brendon and Mark and, you know... They call me names.” His voice was soft and his eyes were aimed towards the ground as he spoke. “Queer. And fag. And...” He shrugged. “Y'know.” He raised his head up again, big scared eyes meeting Scott's.

“I – I think they're right,” he said, almost in a whisper. “How can you stop being gay?”

And oh, this was a conversation Scott had experience with. He had been a teacher at Hawkins Middle School for almost two decades and there had always been kids he worried about, who would open up to him about this exact topic.

So he sat Eddie down at his desk and patiently talked him through everything the boy needed to know; God knows his trailer park uncle most certainly wouldn't. He told him all about science and nature and feelings and, most importantly, being perfect the way you are, no matter who you love.

More than two hours later, Eddie finally left the classroom with relief in his eyes instead of dread. But Scott kept worrying: Eddie's uncle hadn't so much as called the school to inform where Eddie was. Who was looking out for him after the last school bell rang and the kid rode his bike out of Scott's sight?

Not long after that conversation, Scott finally got to meet Mr. Munson for the first time. He was one of Scott's last appointments of the yearly parent-teacher evening, and Scott half expected him not to show up. But he was right on time, even though he looked almost comically out of place when he walked into the science classroom.

He was exactly what Scott would've imagined of a man living in Forest Hills: washed-up jeans and a worn-down flannel, cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth, and a gruff frown hidden underneath a faded gray trucker's hat. He walked up to where Scott was seated behind his desk in a few big strides, and Scott couldn't help but think that there was something almost intimidating in merely the way he carried himself. Not exactly the kind of man who radiated safety for a boy like Eddie.

They shook hands and Scott felt rough callouses press against his own chalk-stained fingers.

While Scott talked Mr. Munson through Eddie's grade list – a list that at this point was barely enough to get him into the next grade – Mr. Munson didn't say anything. Only when Scott asked him if he had any questions, he opened his mouth.

“How're the other kids treatin' him?” the man asked him in a thick southern accent.

“It's not easy for him,” Scott answered in all honesty. He wondered how much Eddie told his uncle about what his days at school usually looked like.

Mr. Munson bowed his head. “I know,” he mumbled.

“Eddie is a sensitive kid, he –”

“I know what kinda kid he is,” Mr. Munson interrupted him immediately. It sounded sharp and Scott wondered if he should be worried about Mr. Munson having a temper.

“Of course,” he cautiously retreated. “I just assumed, since I've never seen you at the school before, sir, that you might not be aware of what exactly he has to deal with in here.”

“Maybe you should do less assuming, then,” Mr. Munson answered bluntly. “You think I should be at the school more? Drop Eddie here in the mornin', come pick him up in the afternoon, all that?”

Scott wondered if Mr. Munson was mocking him.

“Well, I think it might be good for Eddie if –”

“You know why I ain't never at the school? 'Cause I'm tryin' my damned best to keep that boy's stomach filled. When should I be at the school, exactly, between my day shift at the quarry and my night shift at the plant?”

“I – I'm sorry,” Scott backpedaled. Suddenly, the frown lines in the tired face of the man in front of him had gotten a different meaning. “I didn't know. You're right, I shouldn't have made assumptions.”

“Look, I dunno how much he shared with you, Mr. Clarke, but I know he looks up to you. So I think you should know that he's the kinda kid who got in trouble at home for bein' “too sensitive.”” He shot Scott a meaningful glance. “Boy was cryin' to me on the phone, 'cause of what his daddy did to him, so I picked him up and drove him here and I made it my mission, as his uncle, to protect him, to shield him, and to take care of him as best as I possibly can.”

Scott had always prided himself on being a good judge of character. He wondered if he had ever been more wrong about somebody before in his life.

“I know he thinks highly of you, Sir,” Mr. Munson continued. “And I'm very grateful that you're keepin' an eye on him when I can't. But at some point, he may trust you with some very personal information about himself, and you better have his back when he does.”

He knows, Scott realized with a shock. He tried to give Mr. Munson a reassuring smile, but his heart was beating in his throat with what he was about to tell him.

“I was a sensitive kid, myself, Sir. I promise you Eddie is in good hands with me.”

Scott wondered whether Mr. Munson caught the message in those words while a long silence stretched out. Their gazes were locked: Mr. Munson's eyes were bright blue, completely different from Eddie's but just as expressive. His gaze softened while the seconds passed and underneath his graying beard, his mouth twitched.

“I was a sensitive kid, too,” he eventually said.

And Scott's jaw nearly dropped to the floor. This man, with his big calloused hands and his trucker's hat and his undeniably manly demeanor?

His feelings of astonishment must have been visible on his face, because Mr. Munson chortled softly.

“Didn't see that one coming, did ya?”

Scott laughed, too, making the last bit of residual tension between them disappear. “I'm sorry, Mr. Munson. I had no idea.”

“'S okay,” Mr. Munson said. “'s good to know that Eddie has someone lookin' out for him here. Um –” He scraped his throat. “I um...” He abruptly averted his gaze back to his lap again, where his fingers were nervously fumbling with the cap he was holding between his hands.

“I always make Eddie dinner,” he finally said. “'S one of the few things I can do for him, y'know. It'd probably be better for me if I took a quick nap 'tween my jobs, but it's the only time of the day we got together. I'm not much of a cook, but I try to get him to eat somethin' healthy and warm, and we talk about stuff, whatever it is he wants to talk about. So um... If you ever wanna join us – that is, if you don't mind comin' to the trailer park... We don't have much, but I'm sure we can fit another chair 'round the table. I think it could be good for Eddie.”

Scott could barely believe what was happening. To think that only a few minutes ago, he had been worried about this man having a temper or being neglectful towards his nephew...

Wayne Munson was shy and soft-spoken and he loved Eddie with a passion that sparked a fierce protectiveness. And after having Scott judge him based on the way he looked and a bunch of false assumptions, he showed him nothing but genuine goodness.

He felt his lips bend into a smile more authentic than he'd been able to give in a while.

“I'd love to join you sometime,” he told Mr. Munson. “For Eddie – but I also wouldn't mind getting to know you better,” he added in a sudden spur or braveness.

And he could swear that something suspiciously like a smile matching his own was hiding beneath Mr. Munson's beard.

#thank you noelle for providing the worms #and thank you b for telling me that clarkson should always be brought up <3 #it's past 1am so idk if this is any good but here ya go #yeah i stole that speech from the joel stoffer interview about wayne #i love him #don't mind me rambling about stranger things #scott clarke #wayne munson #stranger things #scott clarke x wayne munson #clarkson my beloved #fruity ficlet #bluffing my way through that southern accent again 🙃

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sargeant-bxrnes · 5 months

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birthday ramé. [g.s]

—✮ summary: where your husband gojo, and your little daughter airi, are planning a nice birthday surprise for you, which of course, in true gojo’s fashion… must be a little chaotic. [requested!]

pairings: gojo x f!reader [married]

contents: pure fluff, girl-dad!gojo :) | wc: 930

my masterlist! | my requests are OPEN!

Gojo tiptoed around the kitchen with the grace of a rampaging elephant. His wild white hair seemed to have a mind of its own, adding to the general chaos that surrounded him. He was trying to do a nice gesture for you, and nothing will get in his way, not even his own lack of culinary skills.

Little Airi, a two-year-old bundle of joy and mini-Gojo, was perched on the kitchen counter, happily making an (artistic) mess with flour and sugar on the surface with her little hands. She giggled, resembling a pocket-sized version of her father, right down to the snow white hair, the mischievous glint in her eyes and the way she seemed to be fully charged with energy all the time.

Gojo, wearing his blindfold for 'professionalism' reasons, was attempting to crack eggs both in a rush and with dramatic flair, but ended up sending shells flying in every direction. Airi clapped her tiny hands, unaware of the kitchen mayhem she was contributing to.

Satoru smiled at his little baby, seeing a hint of your smile in little Airi’s face, she looked just like you, sometimes, but most if not all the time, little Airi was all him. Even now, when they're supposed to be preparing you a nice surprise but are downright creating chaos.

Suddenly, the unmistakable scent of burnt toast wafted through the air, and Gojo froze for a few seconds, realizing he might be losing control of the situation. He glanced at Airi, who was now happily smearing jam on a piece of pancake with her own little sticky hands, well, she was happy and away from the fire, all good.

"Uh-oh. Well, who doesn't love a bit of extra crunch?" He mumbles to himself as he removes the other pancake from the heat, aware that it's more of a... semi burnt pancake.

The kitchen door creaked open, and you, the birthday girl, walked in completely unsuspecting, rubbing your eyes from sleepiness, however an expression of amused confusion quickly took over your features.— you had woken up to the other side of your bed empty, which made you pout a bit, however that had soon changed by the muffled sounds of Airi’s little giggles and whatever ramble left Goru's mouth. — which prompted you here, to witness this cute moment.

"What kind of culinary circus is happening here?" You asked in amusement.

As Gojo valiantly attempted to rescue a pan from the clutches of overcooking, Airi presented you with a lopsided pancake. "’appy birfday, Mommy!"

You couldn't help but chuckle at the adorable mess unfolding before you, walking closer to the counter where little Airi was sitting down, as her little hands immediately made a 'grabby hands' gesture for you to pick her up.

Gojo, grinned like this chaotic deliver was planned all along, and turned to face you. "Happy birthday, love! Airi and I are just preparing a breakfast surprise, or as I like to call it, controlled chaos."

You raised an eyebrow with an amused expression, taking in the whimsical kitchen scene, an unnatural amount of dirty dishes all around, a mess of flour and sugar, and some cracked eggs by the side.

"Thank you, honey. And… Controlled chaos? Is that a new cooking technique?" You inquired as you picked up the baby and cradled her in your arms; she hid her head in the crook of your neck as her messy white hair tickled your skin.

"Absolutely! Cutting-edge stuff, really." Gojo muses, walking closer to you and your daughter, wrapping his long arm around both, leaning down to kiss her little forehead.

"Well, it's certainly a... unique surprise," you muse, tickling your little girl's side, making her giggle. "Thank you, my little chef. And you, Mr. Gojo, for this unforgettable start to my day."

“You are absolutely welcome, Mrs. Gojo.” Satoru grinned, leaning down to kiss you, his lips softly met yours in an affectionate gesture, the kiss was slow and filled with love, which admittedly he would've prolonged a bit more if little Airi hadn't patted his cheek with her jam smeared little fingers.

Gojo pulled back from the interrupted kiss, a playful whine escaping him as he shot Airi an exaggerated pout.

"Hey, little interrupter, Daddy was having a moment there." he chuckled, wiping a bit of jam from his cheek and smearing it playfully on her tiny nose.

Airi, seemingly unfazed, grinned innocently, her little head still comfortably resting on the crook of your neck. "Mommy mine!"

You chuckled, patting Gojo on the shoulder "Looks like you've got some competition for my affection, baby."

Gojo, not one to be easily deterred, leaned in close to the baby girl, a twinkle in his eye. "Airi, did you know I met your mom first? That means I can kiss her whenever I want."

Her eyes widened in curiosity, and before Gojo could continue with whatever questionable commentary he had in mind, you swiftly intervened. You shot your husband a look that warned him against taking the banter too far, and he paused, sighing dramatically.

"Alright, alright, I'll behave. For now," he conceded, and you gave him a mock stern look, shaking your head in amusement. "But just know, I have a whole repertoire of embarrassing stories waiting for Airi when she's older."

You rolled your eyes with a smile— Satoru wrapped his arms around you both as Airi giggles happy, and you realized that, despite the chaos, these were the moments that made your little family so uniquely charming, even surrounded by burnt toasts, lopsided pancakes and sticky fingers.

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stevebabey · 1 year

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let the kisses linger

word count: 3.3k summary: Steve Harrington is not your boyfriend, not yet. So far you’ve had a couple sweet kisses and an infuriating amount of dates spent with him making you nervous. Now, you just want to kiss him like you mean it, more than a peck, and maybe ask him to be your boyfriend while you do it. Steve beats you to it, on both counts. [cheeky tiny makeout + gn!reader (but r is mentioned to wear a bikini) + first relationship!reader]

It starts with a touch.

You’ve come to learn it always does with Steve. Fingers skirting along any bare skin he can find, drawing a line on your waist when just a sliver is exposed. Along the ridge of your neck, curling his hand to rest against your shoulder. His fingertips tease at your neck, feather-soft touches that can make you shiver if you’re not expecting it.

You think he does it just to see the goosebumps that trail in the wake of his touch. From the way he always grins, like the cat that got the cream, you’re probably right.

Steve can’t help it. You’re so responsive.

Maybe it’s because it’s new, this thing between you and Steve — you’ve been on a couple dates together after a string of painfully obvious flirtations over the Family Video counter that Robin had been forced to witness. You’ve just not quite sealed the deal yet.

However, even though Steve’s had more girlfriends than he can count on one hand, this part? Never gets old.

The electricity. The dance, the build-up; getting to see how you react when you’re not quite expecting him to be as close and touchy as he is.

He adores all of it. The delightful shudder you give when he slips his fingers into your hair, gifting a soft scratch along your scalp when you two had gotten cozy during a film. Your gloriously warm cheeks give you away even though Steve can read exactly when you’re nervous.

You’re utterly precious to him — and Steve wouldn’t exchange your shy smiles, flushed cheeks, or your nervous little reactions that are all because of him, for anything in the world.

Maybe it’s because you’re new to this.

First date, first time holding hands, first kiss — you’ve given them all to Steve. With the seriousness he takes them all, wholly prepared to blow your expectations out of the water, you feel you can trust them with him.

But even with trust, there’s no quelling the sticky nervousness that runs free beneath your skin when his hands begin to wander.

At first, it made you freeze. Not sure how to relax under hands that just want to hold you, touch you, just cos’ they can.

You think it took, maybe, a whole hour for you to relax and let yourself slump against Steve on your fourth date, curled up together on the couch. You think Steve knew of your nervousness and thanked him silently for his nonchalance at your stiffness. Not one comment was made.

You had relaxed into his side eventually. Steve, of course, had then gone and wrapped an arm around you and pulled you back into his chest and you’d gone straight back to tensed up.

His arms were wound around your middle, hands resting on your tummy and you hadn’t a clue on how you were supposed to be calm about it. You had mentally cursed his pretty hands, and his warm arms, and prayed to whoever was listening to grant you some semblance of strength.

And then, the bastard had leaned down, lips ghosting the shell of your ear, and whispered, “Y’can relax, sweetheart.”

You could practically hear the grin, cursing how you tensed up more — and forced yourself to melt against him. His arms tightened, pulling you closer as if this had been his plan all along. Steve’s chuckle wouldn’t have been audible if you hadn’t been so close to him.

Yeah, he definitely knew how nervous he made you.

The difference between then and now? Now, you want his wandering touch. Steve had been so sweet and good in the beginning, a little bit of teasing to watch you blush and squirm, and then he’d back off. Make sure you were actually comfortable.

You’re not sure you’ll shake the nerves with him — it’s just a Steve thing. He’s gorgeous, you’re nervous, the sky is blue, yadda yadda.

But how do you send a different message — tell him that he’s started a hunger in you that’s not quite satisfied with fleeting touches — when all you can do is shiver and blush when he puts his hands on you?

However you do, you need to figure it out, like, stat.

Today, in the blistering swell of summer, it’s getting near unbearable. At the Harrington house, Steve’s invited the party around for a bit of a pool party and you think you might die if you get to see him shirtless for any longer without getting your hands on him.

Steve’s meanly decided to forgo his shirt. It leaves him walking around in only slightly too short swim shorts and a smirk that says he knows exactly what he’s doing.

You get a tasty eyeful of his warm tan skin on display through the patio doors, your eyes tracking each mole on his skin. He’s scooping the pool free of leaves and you honestly feel like this is the start of some shitty porno with you lusting over the pool-boy. You’re fairly sure he knows you’re staring which makes it worse. He’s evil.

The muscles in his back ripple as he cleans, biceps bulging deliciously and you might seriously start drooling at the sight—how did you get him to go out with you, again?

“You’re drooling.”

Beside you in the kitchen, big sunglasses pushing back her fringe, Robin manages to startle you with her silent appearance. You jump just a bit, tearing your eyes away from Steve — you hadn’t heard her approach.

Your hand flies to your mouth, wiping fast. Embarrassment flushes up when you swipe at nothing and Robin cackles at the sight.

You roll your eyes but it does little to deter the heat in your face.

“I’m just messing with ya,” She nudges her shoulder against yours, her grin looking far too cheeky for your liking. Like she could read into every thought that had just been streaming through your head. You silently hope not.

“I wasn’t- there was no drooling.” You say, the conviction in your voice weakening with each word.

Robin wrinkles her nose. “That was a lie of epic proportions. You so were.”

You pout a bit, embarrassment still shining through. Robin just grins further and adjusts her sunglasses. She heads to the fridge, pulls it open, and plucks out some orange juice, beginning to drink from the bottle.

“No shame.” She says lightly, between a gulp, then reconsiders after a moment, her eyes bright. “Okay, a little shame — you looked ready to jump him right here and now.”

Your face might rival the sun in heat right now.

“But he’s your boyfriend, isn’t he?” It comes out a bit gargled from the juice she’s yet to swallow. Boyfriend comes out like bwoyfend. She continues after a swallow. “If anyone’s allowed to ogle, it’d be you, no?”

Uh oh. The B-word. The not-yet official name that you’re not sure you’re allowed to use in reference to Steve just yet.

“Um,” you cough a bit, wondering if you can skirt around the question. Yes some part of you sings, because you really really want him to be. You have to scold yourself for fibbing, even if it’s only in your head. Robin takes another swig, her eyes still on you.

“Not exactly.” You admit sheepishly, a hand coming up to rub the back of your neck. “We haven’t— he hasn’t- it’s not like that. Yet.”

Robin grins as she watches you fumble for words, screwing the cap back on the OJ. She leans her hip against the countertop, casting a glance out the window.

You go to follow her look and then think the better of it, focusing back on Robin. Like you need your blush to get any more fierce.

“Dingus is being stupid. He probably just needs a nudge.” Her eyes spy the thin cherry-red strap of your bikini, peeking out beneath your cotton shirt. “I’m sure that bikini will do the trick.”

She seems to hear herself, her eyes widening a moment later, slipping into a raspy ramble you know well. “Though, it should be said I totally believe Steve likes you for your personality. He’s not like— he wouldn’t just- he’s a multi-faceted man with many many layers!”

It all bursts out a bit frantic, so very Robin. You’re both amused at her insistence that Steve doesn’t just view you as eye-candy and grateful for the way she’s managed to melt off some of your nerves, huffing a small laugh at her dramatics.

“Who is?” Steve asks, voice cutting into the conversation.

You startle a moment, surprised. He’s standing in the doorway that leads out to the pool, both arms stretched above his head to grasp the top of the door frame, leaning into it. You can’t help the way your gaze instantly draws up along his arms, far too fixated on the delicious show of his muscles to properly focus on answering his question.

“Certainly not you, dingus.” Robin comments, already clocking the hazed expression on your face. She recognizes the same absurd flirting face on Steve she’d become far too familiar with at Scoops and takes her cue, orange juice in hand.

“People arrive in like 5 minutes, just remember!” The knowing in her tone makes you consider blushing again, just to be ashamed of how quickly she had read you for filth.

Steve certainly seems to know too. He drops his arms, waltzing in to meet you in the kitchen and you will yourself not to step back when he comes a little closer than expected.

“This is a nice little number,” he murmurs, voice low. His eyes are trained on your shoulder and before you ask what he means, his hand comes up, fingers toying with the strap of your bikini. Where his skin meets yours, fire streaks beneath it, like a connecting point of static electricity.

“You think?” You ask a little breathier than you’re intending. It nearly makes you scrunch your face up in cringe, feeling a familiar glow in your cheeks.

You don’t, only because when Steve nods, teeth scraping his bottom lip for a moment and eyes wandering over your face, he looks a little lovestruck. Like he can’t believe you’re real.

His other hand comes up, both his palms resting on your shoulders and he trails them down your arms lightly, soft touches, til both your hands are in his.

“Come show me out in the sunlight?” He asks, cocking his head back out to the pool. His hands tug you ever-so-slightly. You can’t help but oblige, letting him pull you out, barely holding back your smile as he does.

There’s just something about when he touches you. Steve Harrington is a man all about touch and you’ve been going crazy finding out just how touchy he can get when you’re the one in his heart.

You amble out onto the tiles behind him and squint just a bit at the change in lighting, the bright rays of midday casting down onto the backyard. It’s mildly warm out, balmy, and with just a hint of a breeze that ruffles your shirt for a moment.

Steve’s feet move nimbly to suddenly redirect you both — walking you both against the side of the house, til your back presses against the wall. You’re just out of view of the sliding doors, and you’d be foolish to think it’s not by design. Come show me out in the sunlight? His words echo in your head, inciting a familiar warmth in your cheeks.

“Steve—?”

“I’m gonna kiss you now if that’s okay,” He breathes, voice suddenly a lot heavier than it had been inside. Like it might actually ache inside if he doesn’t get his lips against your skin — like perhaps your lips held the antidote to a poison that was making his blood sing for your touch.

One of his hands releases your own to travel up, curling along your jaw, fingertips sliding into your hair. His eyes are still drinking in every detail of your face, affection mixed with something darker conveyed across his features.

His fingers caress along your scalp, thumb along your neck, tantalizing touches that you’re sure he’s not even aware he’s doing. But still, he doesn’t kiss you, waiting for a yes. God, he’s sweet.

Especially considering the answer is a huge fat unanimous yes.

It’s been a yes since the moment you saw him today. It’s been a thousand yes’ piling up in the weeks of seeing him, building up from the first time you kissed him and somehow bit his lip and he had only laughed and soothed it against your own.

Your yes has been growing inside you, the desire to kiss him like you mean it and leave him pink in the face and pretty.

It only takes one tiny please falling off your lips for Steve to close the gap, his lips brushing against yours. He kisses you, gentle for a moment - til a hunger overtakes and the kisses quickly turn hot and fast.

There’s urgency coiled up beneath your skin and it bursts to the surface at his kiss, the feeling you’ve been desperately craving. Steve gives you what you want gladly.

His grip in your hair tightens slightly, his kiss turning a little more fierce, and you keen and eagerly return it. His other hand has found your waist, startling a small gasp out of you when his warm palm covers your hip and bring you closer. His lips break away, just enough to take in some air and let you breath a moment, then he dives back in.

Kissing Steve, you’re quickly learning, is pure delirium.

His lips are soft and greedy and he steals kisses as quick as you can give them. There’s a quiet hum in the back of his throat, borderline a groan — and when you remember your hands, moving them from awkwardly hovering at your side to cup his face, fingers delving into his hair, the groan breaks free.

“You,” He pauses his attack of affection, lips still an inch from yours. Your eyes blink open, not aware of when they had closed. Steve’s scanning your face, looking for something, lips already pinker from your kisses. “You good? Not too much f’you?”

Your heart pounds a little faster at his care. His attentive gaze tracks your emotions to make sure he hasn’t pushed you too far, that you’re not overwhelmed by the affection. He’s so fucking nice.

You are overwhelmed, just a bit. It’s impossible not to when Steve kisses the way he does; so sweet, and like he envies anything that’s ever touched your lips. It’s pure passion, in a way you can’t even begin to describe.

The heat under your skin burns hotter. The places he touches you — his fingers in your hair, his hand on your waist, the press of his body against yours — all glow gloriously warm. Steve looks so stupidly hot, you nearly want to whine aloud about how unfair it is.

His chest is heaving a bit, a flush up his neck, his hair tousled from your grip on it. In the buttery sunlight, he’s golden and the same moles you had been staring at not 10 minutes ago look even more divine this close. You want to kiss each one, connect them with a press of your lips, and leave little marks of your own.

You want to devour him; you start and answer his question, with another kiss.

Steve’s surprise is only shown in his parted lips, a small gasp swallowed in the kiss, and you take it as an invitation, a hot swipe of your tongue across his lower lip. You take it between your own, a ghost of a nibble that makes him shudder delightfully beneath you.

Steve kisses back fervently and just when you think you’ve got the rhythm, sighing into his mouth, he pulls back. You make a noise of dissatisfaction and he chuckles lowly at it.

You don’t even get a moment to ask what’s wrong, your eyes still comfortably closed as Steve stays close, pressing his forehead down against yours. In a raspy whisper, just for you, he says, “Be mine?”

Your eyes fly open at that, some pocket of air whooshing out your lungs. He’s watching you intently, caramel eyes that give away his nervousness even if his voice hadn’t wavered. This close, you can see a smattering of freckles that dot his nose and you swear, inside your chest, your heart just sighs. He’s so pretty it hurts.

You’ve only been awed silence for a few seconds before his nose nudges yours, hand on your waist pulling you even closer. Before you can find your words, he asks it again— in between peppering soft kisses up the side of your face. “Be mine, please?”

“You- You wanna be my boyfriend?” You ask, not meaning to sound so disbelieving.

A nervous laugh titters out as you lean in closer instinctively. Your heart feels as though it’s going to beat out of your chest, as wild as a hummingbird’s wings, and it makes you grin— your lips curl up involuntarily, completely unable to help the way you beam.

“Of course,” Steve laughs lightly, nuzzling his nose against yours. Then, because he seems to have a pattern of being awfully repetitive today, his voice turns softer, all sincere when he whispers, “Of course.”

Damn him. Every time you think you’re close to settling those butterflies, to biting back the nerves that make your spine tingle, he swoops in and one-ups himself — does or says something else stupidly romantic so that all you can is grin like a dope.

You’re not proud of the giddy little noise that slips out of you when you nod excitedly, cheeks already starting to ache from how wide your grin is. You sink your teeth into your bottom lip, trying to stop smiling enough to kiss him again but Steve doesn’t bother waiting. The next kiss is a bit fumbled, both of you smiling too much to properly kiss but one or two more softens your smiles.

You kiss him hard, remember your hands and tug him close, closer, he’s not close enough — a pleased hum comes from your boyfriend’s throat and even the word in your mind makes you smile too much to keep kissing him.

A sharp rap against the sliding doors makes you whip your head to the side, both you and Steve looking perfectly guilty of being caught in your makeout. Slightly swollen lips, bitten and pink, on the both of you, not to mention the close proximity of the pair of you pressed against the house.

“Ahem,” Robin clears her throat from where she stands, out from the doorway since she had come looking for you. “Guests are arriving if you’d cared to notice.”

Part of you droops, entirely fixated on stealing a thousand kisses from Steve and maybe leaving a few marks of your own. His disappointed huff, barely audible, lets you know Steve is well on the same page as you.

Extracting yourself from his arms, you press him back with your fingertips planted in the middle of his chest. Steve turns back to you, groans aloud like he’s about to complain, and it just furthers your smile into a smirk.

“Plenty of time for that later,” You say, still sounding too giddy to come out as confident as you’re aiming for. Internally, some part of you sings, glad you’re finally confident enough in yourself that you verge from skittish nerves into playful teasing.

Your fingers on his chest twitch, walking up to the line of his collarbones and lingering on the base of his throat. Steve watches you closely, gaze a little hungrier than before, and then he huffs again, playfully slapping your hand away from his chest.

“Oh my god, I’ve created a monster!” He covers his face dramatically and throws his head back, egged on by the laughter that escapes you. The expanse of his throat is bared, hot tan skin that is begging to be littered with love bites. You take the thought and bookmark it, for later.

“C’mon then, boyfriend.” You say, just ‘cos you can. Steve grins. Your chest burns beautifully, in a way you never want to quench.

Besides, you can quell that hunger later. He is your boyfriend now, after all.

#SLAYYYBOOOO this was fun to write #i think i say that with every piece but #I WANNA MAKEOUT POOLSIDE WITH MISTER STEVE HARRINGTON #this was written originally to write a makeout and then it kinda got too long by the time i reached the makeout lmao #oh well #[inserts bernie sanders meme] I Am Once Again Asking Is It Coherent & Does It Flow #i knooooo that i have to write in batches but it always irks me cos im NEVER exactly in the same brain #anyways bleh who cares bout that #actually i do Blease give me Feedback #would u like more of this? more of the angsty stuff?#ruby writes #ruby writes steve #steve harrington #steve #harrington #steve x reader #steve x yn #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x yn #steve fic #steve harrington fic #steve harrington imagine #steve imagine #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things imagine #steve harrington oneshot #POSTED AT 11.11 BABEY

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anantaru · 2 years

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𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗜𝗥 𝗞𝗜𝗡𝗞𝗦 !

˖˚˳⊹ their kinks headcanons feat. ayato : childe : itto : zhongli : xiao : kaeya : kazuha : diluc : albedo x fem! reader

˖˚˳⊹ warnings: nsfw : different descriptions of kinks but none are dubcon/noncon

orgasm control/denial with ayato because there's nothing he relishes in more than being in total control over situations, including your body. Formost he's using edging as a way to increase the intensity of your climax and he'll be even more proud of himself if he makes you squirt. "what's wrong? y'want to cum that bad?" your whining was taken as an answer as he's slowly moving towards you, prancing circles around your needy clit faster. The slick in between your legs started pooling all over your thighs, coating his fingers but ayato doesn't even think of stopping now. Gritting your teeth you cry out screaming as the pleasure finally hit you after he denied your orgasm for what seemed like three times already, "you're so good." he coos, "so obedient." while rubbing your juices around your abused folds to soon after plunge into you with his cock.

spit kink with childe because he thinks there's nothing more exhilarating than seeing you choke on his spit. He pulls himself on you after eating you out, hovering over your face with a leaking amount of your slick that was wide spread over his rosy cheeks. "Open up." he'll coo but ends up prying your mouth open with his thumb himself, slowly inserting his finger to push down on your tongue, a bulb of spit running past his lips and hitting the back of your throat almost perfectly. And the way his facial expression changed after you swallowed it for him, glancing at you in an almost a perverted way. "fuck, i need you." he breathed against the shell of your ear, a small whine leaking out of his throat once he finally plunged himself into you.

sex outdoors with itto because he's itto. that's it. He loves feeling his heart race even faster whenever he fucks you in a back alley, where someone could spot the both of you any moment if he isn't carefully enough. He paused for a second to hiss at your warm cunt clenching him, the familiar sensation rushed through him again, a combination of adrenaline that made his blood quicken and electricity that made his skin tingle when he heard voices slowly getting louder where the both of you were. "gotta finish this up quickly baby, or they'll catch us." itto's thumb placed on your clit for added relief as your anxiety got pushed back by the lust consuming your body, his lips connecting to your chest and leaving wet kisses as they brushed past your perky nipples, whimpering as he suckled on the skin.

size kink with zhongli because it's not his fault that he can never properly fit inside your small, tiny hole. "What's wrong? did i not prepare you enough today?" you cried out harder at his whispery words, needy hiccups bubbling out your throat as you desperately nodded your head at him. "I'll help you out a little then." he coos against your heated cheeks, placing his thumb against your swollen clit, pushing down. hard. In combination with this, zhongli slowly tried to slide his heavy cock past your walls again. He watched the facial expressions you made once he nested himself inside, almost angelic sounding as you whined at the big stretch and the way he hit all those right spots inside of you.

marking you up with xiao because he thinks that's the only way in showing everyone you're already claimed and belong to him, only him. The moment his lips would brush against your neck, he'd notice the jerk your body made, chest rising and falling when he continues to slide his lips across the fragile skin, "you're always so sensitive" you could feel him smirk against your collarbone as he slowly teased you with his sharp teeth before his needy lips attached themselves to your neck again. You'd throw your arms around him for support while he sucked on your flesh, pulling the air out of his lungs as he let passionate hickies appear on your body. Xiao's lips practically becoming one with your skin as a raw pop filling the air, him smiling against you. <3

teasing with kaeya because he's a witty asshole and wants to see you squirm before actually giving you any pleasure. And he's determined. "aww darling, don't disappoint me now." he smirked while rubbing your abused clit, adding another finger down to your pussy made you gush even more. You couldn't form any words anymore, only being able to cry out, whimpering to him on how bad you needed his cock inside of you, and kaeya knew how much you wanted to cum by him now since he's been playing with you for at least an hour straight. "Come on, you can cum now, it's okay." you thought he was joking at first but after opening your eyes and seeing his dead serious expression, you knew he wanted you to cum right here right now, barely without any touch. witty asshole.

dom/sub with kazuha because it's all about giving for him, he'd rarely want you to do any work and rather pleasure you instead. That's why sometimes you'd take the lead and make him whine underneath your touches, and kazuha would lie to himself if he'd say he doesn't enjoy it. Because he in fact, loved whenever you spoiled him like that. Kazuha wasn't sure if he was still breathing and even if he did, breathing wouldn't honestly be enough if anything, small pants slipping through his swollen lips, turning agape whenever you'd suck from his shaft up until reaching the top of his cock, slowly nuckeling around his tip and rolling your tongue out to give it small kitty licks. "wanna make you feel good but wanna cum too." he whines and it’s like a a pinch goes through your heart, his sweet words and who would you be to deny it to him any longer?

light bondage with diluc because there's something so arousing to him whenever he's got your hands tied up behind your back while rutting into you without any care in the world. He'll never go overboard though, the last thing he'd want is to hurt you in any way. His fingertips making your body move in awe as he played with the soft flesh of your body, tightening his grip on your hands and pushing you down further into the mattress. Dilucs body shivered violently while leaning over you in a state of pleasure to keep his balance, his balls slapping at your ass and the white liquid collecting in between your bodies when he pulled back his hard cock to cum all over your back, letting out the probably most beautiful moan you've heard in your life.

mutual masturbation with albedo because he adores observing your body and it's reactions to yourself pleasuring you while he's doing the exact same in front of you. "'m so hard." albedo takes his cock in his hand, breathing out slowly when he started pumping himself in front of your cunt, you following suit immediately and pushing a finger in and out of your tiny hole. Your thighs were quivering from the soft air brushing through your body, the obscene noises forming out of your throat and bouncing off the walls with such ease just added to the pleasure you felt when albedo slowly collected your slick with the crown of his cock, rubbing harder and groaning at the sight before him, "add another finger."

do not! share, copy or repost my work. ✎ ©ANANTARU 2022

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blossom-works · 7 months

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Dad Duties

» Kylian is thankful for his niece and nephew because they prepared him for fatherhood. He knows how to change diapers and how to be patient. Kylian likes to think that he has always been good with kids, but taking care of his own child is something new and grand.

» His time as an uncle did not prepare him for the other things though. Did you know that a baby's first poop when they come out of the womb is called meconium? Cause Kylian certainly didn't know. He freaked out when he saw the tar-like substance in the tiny diaper. You were a bit freaked out too so you asked your nurse.

» The footballer did learn how to change a diaper fast and efficiently. Seriously, his son is like a squirt gun. You have no idea when he chooses to fire it.

» As a joke, you put Matthew in a ninja turtle beanie and turtle shell blanket. Kylian found it so cute that he took a picture and set it as his new wallpaper.

» The first few nights were horrible though. Kylian thought that all Matthew needed was a new diaper and some milk to go back to bed. Oh, how wrong he was. Babies apparently like to stay up for a while before going back to sleep.

» Since you chose to breastfeed Matthew, Kylian feels bad that he can't really do anything during the night. When you're up feeding your son, you might as well change his diaper too. Kylian does tell you to wake him up to put Matthew to sleep, but sometimes you don't listen.

» Baby's first bath went horribly wrong. In Kylian's mind, he thought that he could bathe Matthew as he did with his niece and nephew when they were little. Kylian did not realize that Matthew's first couple of baths needed to be sponge baths because of the umbilical cord. The leftover part needs to dry so it can basically pop off. When you told Kylian this, he kind of just froze in a "Oh shit" type of way.

» Kylian also had no idea how to do a sponge bath for a baby. Help.

» You and Kylian tried breastmilk for the first time too. Don't ask how that happened.

» It takes you and Kylian about two weeks to find some kind of a routine for Matthew. After that, parenting got easier.

» Matthew grew a lot after his first month of being home. He got longer and weighed a little more. It astonishes Kylian at how fast his son is growing. He wishes he could go back to when he first came home with his baby.

» Kylian's family came climbing into your home when Matthew was three weeks old. They were practically fighting to see who gets to hold him first.

» Wilfriend ends up winning and he doesn't let go of his grandson. Fayza has to scold her ex-husband to let everyone else get a turn...Then she hogged Matthew.

» Malisa gave you a lot of pointers as a new mom. Your sisters are back in America so it's good to have someone with you to guide you. Even if they live in the country next to you.

» One time when Matthew was five months old, Kylian asked you to bring him over to the club to meet his teammates. None of them have seen Matthew in person, so imagine a bunch of dudes leering over a baby. Kylian stood on the sidelines with his chest puffed with pride.

» One of Kylian's teammates held Matthew up and aided the kid in making a goal. It was all fun and games until Kylian got upset that he didn't assist with his son's first goal. He got over it eventually when you told Kylian that he could teach Matthew how to score goals better than anyone cause his dad is Kylian Mbappe.

» When you were pregnant with Matthew, you and Kylian agreed to raise your family as humbly as possible. Similar to Gordon Ramsey, when they get to a certain age, your kids will have to either pay for themselves if they want to travel or just not travel at all. They will also be prohibited from using Kylian's private jet when they reach a certain age too.

» Allowances are allowed but to an extent. You really have to be the enforcer on this. Allowance is earned when the kids do their house chores. No chores done, no money given. You forbid Kylian from giving his kids more money than they should be given. Really, you have to be strict on this with your kids and your husband.

» Oh, and as soon as the kids are legally allowed to work, no more allowances. No argument. If they really want something they better work for it. You and Kylian had a similar upbringing so you know the value of money and how to use it responsibly. You want to teach those same values to your children.

» You have to limit Kylian's options for presents though. Sure it's their birthdays and it's Christmas, but don't give the kids a freaking life-size playhouse. Presents are always reasonable and a few of those presents are name brands. If Kylian wants to give the kids something name-branded, it has to pass through you.

» To say Kylian is excited to teach his son how to play football is an understatement. When Matthew was only a couple of months old, Kylian bought a kid's football net and ball. He really wants his son(s) to love the sport and have at least one play professionally. If they don't then so be it. Kylian at least wants to plant the seed.

» At some point, Matthew becomes fascinated with ears. He is either touching his or someone else's ears. He will pull and rub his hands all over the body part.

» His first Father's Day was an emotional one for Kylian. In Spain, Father's Day is always celebrated on March 19th. Matthew is only seven months old so you came up with a cute craft. Using paint you made a shoeprint on one of Kylian's shoes and another on top of it with Matthew's footprint. Next to is a sentence that says, "Following in your footsteps".

» You did all of that while Matthew was napping so he wouldn't be fussy and mess everything up. Smart mom brain.

» Kylian refuses to let the media see Matthew until he is at least one. The first time the world got to see Matthew's face was when Kylian brought him to do the traditional player escort. Matthew stayed with you in the stands after that.

» Matthew was certainly scared when he entered the pitch with his dad. The loud cheering and flashing lights were overwhelming to the boy. He cried on Kylian's shoulder. Kylian was able to calm his son down a little by distracting Matthew with his hands.

» Kylian loves being a father. He has always wanted to be a father and now he is one. It has been a great joy to witness his son grow from inside of you to outside of you. There are certainly things Kylian can do better about his parenting skills. Maybe he can convince you to have another one so Kylian can perfect his parenting skills?

#fanfiction #x reader #football #kylian x reader #mbappe x reader #kylian mbappe x reader #kylian mbappe imagine #football imagine #reader insert #dad!kylian mbappe

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rin-fukuroi · 4 months

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𝐋𝐨𝐨𝐤, 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮! [𝐍𝐞𝐮𝐯𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞]

Please do not translate or publish my works without my permission.

The originals of my works can be read here

Fandom: Genshin Impact

Pairings: Neuvillette x fem!reader

Warnings: just a little funny fluff~

▶• ılıılıılıılıılıılı. Aimer - Kataomoi

Note: English is not my native language, so I apologize if there are errors in the text qq

Happy birthday, the cutest otter in the whole Fontaine (っ˘з(˘⌣˘ ) ♡

You are peacefully turning over the page of your book, lounging in an armchair, when the sound of a door opening and quiet footsteps comes from the hallway. You barely have time to close the book, as your beloved, always calm and collected husband appears on the threshold with two large bags in both hands.

For a moment, he just stands there in the doorway, just like you in the chair, blinking in puzzlement, looking into Neuvillette's mother-of-pearl eyes.

— Neuvi… what is this?

Judex follows your gaze, noticing that you are nodding towards the packages, and raises his eyebrows, returning again to the puzzled expression on your face as you put the book down in the corner of the chair, across which you are sprawled, dangling your legs from the armrest.

— These are gifts.

— Gifts?

— Yes. There's water there.

You open your mouth a little, just looking at your husband in disbelief for a second.

— Did they present you water?

— Yes.

— Two bags of water?

— Yes. Is something wrong?

You turn over, sitting up straight, deciding that such a serious conversation isn't worth continuing in such a relaxed position.

— Why do we need two bags of water, Neuvi? — you sigh, raising an eyebrow.

— But it's all from different places and has different tastes. Isn't it amazing that you don't even have to travel around Teyvat to enjoy the exquisite taste of water, unique in each region? Everallin managed to get water from Natlan from somewhere, and…

— Okay, okay, I get it, — you chuckle softly, getting up from your chair to go to Neuvillette and take the bags of precious gifts from him, leaving them on the table standing not far from the two of you. Then you hurriedly pull out a drawer, taking out something small that you immediately hide behind your back, coming closer to your lover with a playful smile, all the while watching you with a degree of wariness. — You're just going to fall over from what a cool gift I've prepared for you! I swear, even the water from Celestia can't compare to this.

«Will I fall? Is it something dangerous?..»

— Well, I suppose you understand, I'll gladly accept anything from you, Y/N, — Neuvillette clears his throat, nervously adjusting the jabot* on his neck.

— M-m, no, this is something special, you will definitely like it, — you close your eyes, proudly lifting your head and smirking smugly.

Neuvillette almost felt a cold drop of sweat roll down his forehead before you finally abruptly extend your hand from behind your back forward, thrusting it right under the slightly frightened man's nose… Is that an otter?

You peek out from behind a small stuffed toy, lightly pressing on the belly of a blue-white otter holding a pink shell in she's hands, meeting Neuvillette's completely confused gaze, examining the object in your hand.

— Look, it's just like you!

The otter's tiny black eyes look at Neuvillette, and Neuvillette looks at them, continuing to remain silent before still casting an anxious glance at you.

— Me? Are you sure?

— Of course! When I first saw her, I thought that I couldn't find a more perfect gift. Come on, take it!

The Chief Justice hesitantly takes the gift from your hand, giving the stuffed otter one last puzzled look. You could literally hear the spinning gears creaking in his head as he repeated your action and pressed on the soft belly of the toy, which caused your melodious laughter, which finally pulled Neuvillette out of deep thought. No sooner had the man raised his head than your lips gently pressed against his cheek, and your palms rested on Neuvillette's hands, clutching your little gift.

— Happy birthday, Neuvi.

He's definitely very lucky to connect his life with a girl like you.

*jabot is a finishing element for decorating the neckline of a blouse, dress or men's shirt in the form of frills, flounces or ruffles made of fabric or lace running down the chest (or just these little ruffles on the collar of a Neuvillette:D).

#headcanons #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin drabbles #genshin x you #neuvillette #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette x you #neuvillette fluff #genshin fluff #fluff

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your-friendly-sociopath · 11 months

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I had an idea for a platonic alastor x reader fic (parent child relationship). Hc format.

His Fawn

During your life you lived with Alastor

He had found you abandoned as a child in an alley

For story purposes you were an escaped mafia child

Bc he has morals he took you in instead of letting you die

From then on he raised you as his own

Totally became a platonic yandere cus we don't see enough of that from him

A total overprotective parent, but in a sweet way

Never tells you of his murderous secret

Knows you'll run away if he tells you

As you grow up the only people he lets you meet are Husk and Mimzy (idk if Niffty and Rosie are from his time period)

If you do fall in love and he finds out be prepared to find them dead on the news

Rarely ever lets you leave the house

Eventually someone finds out that Alastor is a murderer and kidnaps you as a form of revenge

When alastor finds out he is furious and goes in a murderous rage

We he finds you you've been killed by the kidnappers

He's super desperate so he uses voodoo magic or something to bind your soul to his

Boom your in hell

Anyways Alastor finds your kidnappers and kills them yay

Back to you

You end up on hell, a tiny Fawn demon with cute ears, tail, everything

Tiny shadows from Alastor keep you safe before Alastor arrives

By now you've found out his dark secret and try to stay away from him when he arrives

Mostly out of fear

When he does arrives he hunts you down and keeps you trapped in his cabin/house/mansion (idk) in the middle of nowhere

Now that you know who he truly is you're super scared of him

Eventually you do escape and find charlie and vaggie (before they got angle dust) and join them at the happy hotel

Alastor does find out where you are but can't get to you bc charlie

He spends a while trying to find a good excuse to get you

You spend a few months with them and have become a recluse to society

When Angle comes you two become besties

Angle helps you out of your shell

Cue to present day

When alastor visits the hotel you are out in a shopping trip for more food and shit

When you arrive you see Husk passed out drunk, you panic knowing your demented deer dad is there

Then out of nowhere ☁️poof☁️

Alastor shows up right behind you and hugs you close to his chest in relief

Can't kidnap you again bc charlie is protecting you

So Alastor stays to watch over you for as long as it takes

And if you leave the hotel then he gonna kidnap you again

So your trapped

Yay

"I have you back, don't worry my dear, I'll make sure nothing can ever harm you again."

#platonic alastor x reader #platonic yandere alastor #platonic yandere alastor x reader #yandere alastor x reader #yandere alastor #platonic alastor #we dont see enough of platonic deer daddy #must fix that #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel

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crookednachogalaxy · 10 months

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thinking about bowuigi like i always do, and im kinda noticing how a majority of media has bowser pursuing luigi for a relationship and... it makes sense???

now dont get me wrong - bowser is brash, he is bold, he is confident, and maybe even arrogant at times. he's the fearsome king of the koopas, he is not afraid to take what is his. his affections are loud because he is loud, and that's why it makes sense.

but what about luigi pursuing a relationship first?

first things first, i am not talking about luigi developing feelings first or something. i specifically mean luigi actively pursuing bowser romantically regardless of whether bowser has feelings for him.

that means taking him out on dates, giving him gifts, bonding with his loved ones, all the stops one pulls to get and keep another's romantic interest.

i want luigi to give him flowers. bowser has just won a really tough tennis match in the tournament they're taking part in, and luigi decides this is perfect moment to give him the flower bouquet he's prepared. so one moment bowser is desperately chugging water as if it's the last drop he'll ever drink, and the next there is this little plumber boy standing in front of him who he's pretty sure he beat up once and has definitely forgotten the name of.

and he's holding the flowers up, saying he did so great in his match and they're for him - and bowser almost wants to laugh. he wants to laugh because flowers are weak, and pathetic, and for soft-shelled koopas which HE'S NOT. but this tiny human's entire body is shaking, the smile on his face is steadfast, and he's looking at bowser as if he hung the stars and the moon in the sky, and something about it just makes his brain short-circuit for reasons he cant understand yet.

i want luigi to plan dates for him and bowser. picnics and fancy dinners and homemade dinners, amusement parks, private kart racing, watching the stars and/or the sunset. i want luigi fretting and overthinking on what bowser likes to do and how to invite him. i want luigi to forget any and all thoughts when bowser steps into the room. mario has war flashbacks about where he went wrong when raising luigi, while said plumber is looking across peach's ballroom with hearts in his eyes.

i want bowser to not realize he's going on dates with luigi. that he's seeing him every week at this point, that even kamek raises an eyebrow when he calls luigi his friend. he always comes home feeling great about himself after seeing luigi, because the human showers him in compliments, attends to his every wish. it takes him a while to realize that luigi isnt just stroking his ego, but that he genuinely likes bowser, and once he starts listening to what luigi actually compliments him on? he's stunned at how deeply his affection runs.

luigi complimemts him on the way he rules with fairness and respect. on the way he prides himself in his history and culture, how he seeks to uplift and celebrate it. he compliments him on his bond with his children, what a good father he is to them. luigi says things that bowser never even noticed in himself, things he didnt think anyone would ever see.

he compliments him on the things that make him him, he makes an effort to spend time and foster bonds with his children, giving each the time and sincerity they deserve. he is there to calm bowser when he's stressed or angry, comforts him when he's sad, never judging him for his faults or feelings. he makes an effort to know and love bowser for who he is. at some point it becomes hard to imagine what a life without luigi looks like.

and most importantly, he still has that first flower bouquet luigi gave him, next to the others of its kind, the plants kept alive by magic, the notes written on display, and the gifts he's given show they're well used.

i just really like the thought of luigi being the one to take these steps, to pursue a romantic love despite the fear that his body evidently likes to show, despite the racing thoughts that make him wanna believe its a worthless endeavour. let him be the one to actively take these steps, be the one to take bowser's hand with a smile and a kiss, be the one to walk him home when they were out later than they intended to be. its a mental image i very much enjoy

#bowuigi #luigi #bowser #bowser x luigi #luigi x bowser #let luigi be a gentleman #pulling out bowsers chair #kissing his hand #let bowser see how important his children are to luigi #let luigi take bowser on dates #it just makes me AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

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the-darklings · 2 years

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──𝐭𝐨𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐢 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐞 [𝐈𝐈.]

summary: “When the end comes, turn me into stardust, Dream Lord.”

pairing: dream of the endless x f!reader

wc: 2.1k

warnings: Dream is still Dream ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

notes: thank you so much to everyone for your warm feedback on part 1 & enjoy!!!

part one | series masterlist | ao3 |

PART TWO: YEAR 200-300

“That’s eerie, Dream.”

“When finished, they will be a nightmare.”

He does that often. Speak as if certain things should be obvious. You’ve learned by now he’s not being patronising. Dream is simply ancient. These things are apparent to him. Sometimes it makes you wonder if he, himself, forgets you’re a human who—even with such long existence—still understands scarce little about this universe.

“Yeah, but teeth for eyes?” you pose, circling. Blackened beach sand crunches beneath your soles. The only sound in the otherwise remote landscape. “Pretty sure that would make anyone cry and run. Do the teeth chatter? Will they? You see them coming because the quiet chatter gives them away. Chomp, chomp.”

A laugh tickles from your chest, saturating the air. Dream peers in your direction from the corner of his eye, permitting the moment of blitheness. Perhaps he noticed the exhausted creases around your eyes or the listless way you followed after him when he informed you he planned to spend the afternoon crafting new dreams and nightmares. A long, painful journey to return here now lies behind you.

“Nightmares are mirrors,” Dream rumbles, his head slanting as he examines the barebone frame of the soon-to-be nightmare. “They are as necessary as dreams. They challenge and reveal. They’re lessons in bravery and vulnerability.”

You settle beside him, eyeing the teeth and the subtle horror woven into being right before you. “So you prefer creating nightmares over dreams?”

Does that then indicate he prefers being the King of Nightmare Realms to being the Dream King?

“I have no preference.” No hitch in pitch, but after two hundred and forty years, you know better than to hope you can unravel a tell so effortlessly. Instead, you seek his face, that piercing stare, crafting even while he speaks. Raw creation, supercharging the air with energy you’re still too young, too novice in your existence, to fully comprehend—he’s endless, pouring from himself into the universe, and you’re a lone atom held in his gravity. “The Dreaming, the waking world, dreams and nightmares. Everything is a scale. I merely balance it.”

You ghost your palm over the nightmare’s shell, your head lowering. An odd, pained smile twists your mouth, tilting downward soon after.

“We must be nothing to you,” you whisper in pained realisation, avoiding looking his way. “We’re so tiny that you don’t even see us. We die in a blink for you, and ten more take our place in a breath.”

How could anyone hold his attention? It’s no wonder Dream is so closed-off, so wrapped up in his duty and rules, in his seclusion.

His hand appears in your peripheral, grazing over the empty shell, matter sewing itself together where his pale fingers travel. Dream Lord doesn’t look your way, nor you his when he speaks:

“On the contrary, Wanderer, I see you perfectly well.”

Your feet shuffle. Dream slants his body in your direction, no more than lackadaisical observation, and you scowl at him.

"I'm not nervous." You've repeated the affirmation several times now but to no avail. Dream Lord appears no less convinced by your words despite how adamant you've been. Heaving the deepest sigh you can muster up, you let your shoulders droop. "Okay, fine. I'm nervous. I know you said as long as you're here, your guests can't be harmed, but I'm about to see two gods meet."

This time, Dream turns his entirely in your direction. Around you, Dream’s subjects bustle in preparation. It’s not every day another Endless visits the Dreaming. It’s all exceedingly formal and showy, more human than you might have expected, and it worries you because you’re not a subject under Dream’s protection. You’re a stray, a bad omen, and it’s discomforting to be in the presence of beings that make you feel abhorrent in your own skin.

"I am not God. I'm the Endless." Dream's dark hair hangs over his forehead, almost covering his eyes, his words pitched low; each one reverberates against your spine with a thrum. "We are older than your gods. We were birthed with this universe, and we'll be the last beings when the universe goes silent. You perceive me as a man of flesh and blood, but it is not so rudimentary, Wanderer. My siblings and I exist outside the bounds of your human comprehension."

You ruminate over his words, picking each one apart in your mind. A realisation settles in your chest, one that leaves you frowning and sad. “So one day you’ll be the last?”

“Death will be the last,” Dream replies. You get a distinct impression that he’s not concerned about such a thing or that he, too, may cease to exist one day. “When we are gone, she will kiss this universe to sleep.”

She will kiss this universe to sleep. You've run into Death occasionally, but you silently agree. She's kind enough to love a dead universe as much as one overflowing with life.

“Can I ask for a favour if I’m still around?” Your own voice has lowered as well. Pale purple light from the glass-stained windows inside the throne room washes over Dream Lord’s sharp features when he glances your way. Silent and patient. “When the end comes, turn me into stardust, Dream Lord.”

Dream is unmoving beside you. “Stardust?” he echoes softly.

“Yeah,” you say with a crooked grin. “That way, I’ll be free for all eternity.”

“You think me callous.”

Direct much?

Stride rigid and jaw tense, you mutter a quiet, “No, I didn’t say that.”

Dream keeps pace easily, seemingly half morphing into the ground, gliding along as his black coat flutters behind him. “You do not need to.”

Can a cursed human be cursed again? Surely giving him a rude gesture would result in something similar.

The castle entrance looms ahead, and you step outside, fresh wildflowers and cotton candy air expanding your lungs. Gates of Horn and Ivory loom on the distant horizon, dreams and nightmares weaving around the portals to the mortal lands. Gatekeepers loom above the castle, watchfully guarding the heart of the Dreaming. For once, the magnificence of Dream's kingdom does little to quell your ire.

You halt, pivoting sharply on your heels to face him. Several dreams scuttle from sight when they spot you and Dream together. It’s sad that they skitter away, fearful of overstepping a line Dream never permits them to tread.

“I just think…” You chew on your tongue, fading off. Inhaling deeply, you hold it in your lungs, shaking your head. “It doesn’t matter.”

He appears more caught off guard by your reluctant mutter, by your backing down, where you would usually shout your thoughts, than anything else.

“You refuse to speak your mind?” he wonders.

He really doesn’t see it. This realm craves his love, attention, and approval, yet he’s so cold to them. It’s not from disinterest or insensitivity, but there’s such a yawning distance between him and the creatures inhabiting the Dreaming. It’s painful as it is frustrating. It’s not your business. You learned with swift brutality what happens when you try to meddle and force your misplaced wisdom onto others. Nothing good. Your bruised body and soul are a testament to that.

Losing this, losing the Dreaming, would break you. It’s the only place you’ve ever felt safe in. The only place where your scars throb less and doubts flee your mind—a place where you can rest and not fear for yourself.

“This is your domain,” you acknowledge. “You let me drop by, and I love the Dreaming. It’s… it’s very dear to me. Lucienne, Merv, Abel and Cain, and yes, even you. I don’t want to lose that because I said something you don’t like to hear.”

It’s stupid. You’re so stupid. Your words taste juvenile and fatuous. Why would an Endless care for what you think? What are you but bones to him? Another soul worn down by the weight on your shoulders.

Dream takes a single stride closer, and the infinity flows with him. Perpetually grave, potent with his calm presence—he’s suffocating, he’s so stupid, he’s magnificent. “I invite honesty.”

You’re not sure whether to cry or laugh. “Do you?”

Something more honed shapes Dream’s face, neutralising his previous focus and reshaping it into something venerable and all-powerful despite his outward neutrality. You nape tingles. “Your meaning?”

“Oh, as if you don’t know,” you scoff under your breath, marching away from him, your shoulders bunching up again. “Corinthian may be dangerous, but wanting freedom is not a crime. If you just talked with him openly—”

Dream’s voice is a powerful rasp behind you. “That is not his function.”

No change in his intonation, but the ground beneath your feet seems to tremble. Your knees lock momentarily. You refuse to let him see the falter, forcing yourself to keep moving, away, better that than a fight—

Maybe you're foolhardy, or possibly because you were there when Dream created Corinthian, but you can't stand down. You're still awfully and unashamedly human despite Dream's numerous hints that it's ebbing from you, that beating human heart.

You’re halfway across the stone bridge leading to and fro the castle when you draw to another stop.

“You’re right. It isn’t.” Your words come out subdued, each word slipping with an imploring edge. “But it doesn’t mean he, or anyone else, is wrong for wanting to be free.”

Turning, you risk a step closer, then another, continuing gently, “You told me decades ago that you see me. But do you really, Dream? You love them, but you don’t see them. Not really. You created them. To them, you’re everything, but you don’t try to understand their wishes or fears. Because understanding them means letting them close.”

The ruby around his neck glows faintly. You’re not sure what it means, if anything. “You speak of… empathy.”

You exhale. “Yes.”

A flicker sparks and flees from his gaze, leaving that stony composure behind. He leans slightly closer as if he’s about to share a great secret with you.

“I’m neither man nor God, Wanderer.” Silky, composed reminder. “I’m not here to be cruel nor kind. I simply am. And you will do well to remember the difference.”

His coat rustles, phantom feathers fissling through the air, and then he’s gone.

Your head lifts towards the sky. Sunny, blue expanse moments prior has been replaced by heavy, low-hanging clouds. Bruised purple, swollen, and above else, you infer distantly, lonely.

He began with the first dream.

For Morpheus, the universe was once a cold, desolate, ravenous void bar his family. Then came dreams. His duty, a shining purpose, and with it, sense. Belonging. An endless stream of human consciousness resting curled in his hands. Warm and purring, a living feline, coiling and expanding, and to contain it, to nurture it, he built a kingdom. The waking world has grown with age. Mortals have come far since the First People, gaining speed with their innovation, compelled forth by their sheer, unbridled imagination.

Stumbling and young, concerned with their short lives.

Well, not all of them.

He’s on his throne, Lucienne reading updates from the dossier, her voice smooth and firm, when he senses it. A ripple in the Dreaming. The fabric—sand, rocks, trees, air, and water—forming his realm, loosening to make an entrance. What once felt so wrong three hundred years ago is now familiar and anticipated.

Wanderer.

You had not visited in five years after your last dissent. With time you will view the cosmos in similar light he does. He is certain. This return is but proof. The curse will drag you through the ages, and fragments already lost after three hundred years will only increase in volume. Order is what keeps the universe turning and its inhabitants breathing. Everything in this vast cosmos has a purpose, especially for him and his own.

There’s a crackling zap in the air. Morpheus gets a lungful of the sheer power output that is you dragging from one place in the boundless universe to another, then stillness.

Coruscate light from glass-stained windows behind his throne illuminates your frame, several paces away from where Lucienne stands.

His librarian’s quiet gasp alerts Morpheus that something is terribly wrong.

He stretches to his full height. Your grin is lopsided; warm, lips wobbling, stained with black liquid, not blood.

“Hey, Dream.”

Duller, unfailingly affectionate but disturbingly scratchy with pain.

The Dreaming contorts around him viciously, and he’s at the bottom of the dais in a single step. Just as you tip forward, collapsing right into him.

an: hope you enjoyed part 2, let me know any thoughts you may have!!!

#the sandman #dream x reader #morpheus x reader #dream of the endless #fic: today i bury you in me

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crazyforteyam · 1 year

Text

Metkayina Tales (part one) -

Catch My Breath

Neteyam x f!Metkayina reader summary : After Sully's family arrived at Metkayina for seeking sanctuary, Neteyam couldn't help himself as he is completely smitten by you. warnings : none, Neteyam being shy and goofy, Lo'ak being Lo'ak lol word count : 4,5k notes : all characters are aged up (18+) inspired by this song series masterlist

“Mother, wait!”

Your voice breaks out of the tense between Ronal and Neytiri. The crowd began to split and you walked between them. At a glance, you looked like the other Metkayina girl. But as soon as you walk, it is clear that you have several physical differences.

Your skin color is turquoise, but it appears lighter than the other. Instead of black, your long wavy hair is filled with dark brown, with the half top braided and the rest just hanging effortlessly. A dark green tattoo is located outside your outer eye and your forehead. Big dark blue pendant hanging between your collarbone, connected to your shell-like top, and a tiny pocket tied to your hips.

It is clear that you radiate a different aura from the other Metkayina. The clan has its eyes glued on your presence, and the Sully family is not an excuse.

Especially the oldest Sully son, Neteyam. He noticed directly that you are alluring and his heart fluttered at that moment. You smiled at the Sully family, and Jake greets you. His family followed him and you returned their greetings. You walk straight to your parents, Ronal and Tonowari.

“What is it, Y/N?” Your mom asked.

“Mom, I saw them, when I was praying to Eywa,”

“What did you see?”

“Their arrival. Besides, it’s the tradition to preserve uturu,”

“Are you sure?” Tsahik seems in disbelief.

“Never been so sure before,” You answered clearly, there was no doubt in your voice, and your eyes radiate honesty. As the first Olo’eyktan’s child, you have an important position in the clan and sure your words can’t be ignored.

Tsahik's eyes shifted to Olo’eyktan. They looked at each other and finally made a decision.

“The Sully family will stay with us. They will be like babies, so teach them the way of the ocean, to prevent them from being useless,”

A relieved feeling appear on Jake’s face, as he said “Thank you.”

Olo’eyktan continued his speech as he points at you, Aonung, and Tsireya.

“This is my children. Y/N, Ao’nung, and Tsireya. They will show your children what to do.”

Ao’nung confronted his father while Tsireya greeted the Sullys. You, however, still in your position, smiled at the Sully family as your gaze meet them one by one.

As the Sully family passes by, you look at your father and asked, “Dad, what about tomorrow’s plan? Will the celebration still be held?”

“Of course,” Tonowari answered and his body shifted into yours. “Tomorrow, you must spread the invitation to all the people. For today, prepared the equipment,”

“Okay, dad,” you replied, and went back to your pod.

As you walked, you can see that Sully family's arrival created a new atmosphere at Awa’atlu. Children began to approach Tuk, but their mom pull them back. The adults murmured, and many eyes observed the way forest Navi looks, especially with their dark blue skin and a small tail. You walk past those people and enter your pod.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Sully’s stick together,”

You can hear their voice, and as you want to enter Sully’s pod, you seek permission.

“Excuse me, am I bothering you? I want to deliver the news, from the Olo’eyktan,”

When you said that, six pairs of yellow eyes shifted their glance at you.

Jake said, “Not at all, Y/N. What is the news?”

“Tonight, we will have a celebration. A tradition, actually. And as you are all now part of Metkayina, so you all are invited. Olo’eyktan will be happy if you all come.”

“Of course, thank you for your invitation. My family and I will attend,” Jake replied with a smile on his face.

“Where is the location, of this celebration?” A deep voice breaks the silence. On the right side of Jake, it is Neteyam, the older son who is asking. He is the tallest child for sure, with long braided hair and a broad figure. His head tilted when he looked at you, like studying your expressions.

“At the Hope Cove. It's where we usually held a party. Also, there will be some traditions too. Our sacred tales. And you can taste our finest food.” You answered him with a slight smile, then he said thank you. You look at the rest of the family, but it seems like no one wants to speak again. So you take a step back.

“Okay, pardon me, I have to leave. There are still plenty of people to be told.” You smiled and wave to them goodbye as you leave their pod.

Jake then went with Neytiri, while Tuk and Kiri followed them. So it remained Lo’ak and Neteyam alone. Lo’ak then looked at his brother.

Several minutes ago, it is Neteyam who teased Lo’ak about how he must behave at this new home. But now he found Neteyam's eyes glued to you, how your body walks, your hair swings, and how you smile when you spread the news to other people. His gaze never left your figure. Lo’ak raised his eyebrow upon noticing his brother's new attitude.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That night, Hope Cave was filled with decorations. The celebrations started, and everybody sat in a circle, including the Sully family, who was trying to blend in with the locals. In the middle of the circle is the Olo’eyktan family. People chatted with each other. The Olo’eyktan himself, Tonowari, cleared his throat and then his voice echoed in the cave, silencing everyone.

“Tonight, we celebrate the birth of Y/N. My eldest daughter, a gift from Eywa to Metkayina. Years ago, when I and Ronal haven’t been blessed with children, we prayed to Eywa, seeking a way out to save an heir to this clan. Months passed, and the Great Mother finally showed us Her Greatness.

When our Tsahik is praying in her pod, suddenly a baby arose from the sea, a beautiful baby girl. Eywa gave her several physical differences, but I bear no mind. Her birth remarks a new hope and grace for Metkayina. As long as we have her, our clan is safe for sure. She is a miracle, the goddess incarnation, one that cares deeply for others!”

You walked in from behind the circle, and a blush appeared on your cheek. Your father always says the sweetest thing. Your body is decorated with beautiful jewels. Thousands of pairs of eyes looking at you while your feet stepped toward him, and he held your hand.

“Let’s pray for Eywa for the peace and prosperity She has bestowed upon our clan!”

Tsahik then stood up and sing a tune, a hymn of worship to Eywa. The crowd followed her, and the cave then slowly filled with a bioluminescent glow, shone from the dome and ground. The glow then faded away as the hymn stopped.

“This is amazing,” Lo’ak who is sitting next to Neteyam, chuckled in amazement.

“Yes,” Neteyam agreed.

“She is amazing, I think?” Lo’ak pointed with his eyes, to the person who Neteyam laid his eyes on. He couldn’t get his eyes off you, who is now sitting beside Olo’eyktan in the middle of the circle. Your brown hair seems to glow in the dark and radiates warmness, looks so different from another. Lo’ak smirked, he catches his brother looking at you, again.

“Seems like the mighty warrior has a crush on someone,”

“Lo’ak,” Neteyam warned in a deep tone. “Don’t tease me now,”

“Oh, I won’t. Besides, I agree with you. The girls here are gorgeous, bro,” Lo’ak whispered, and he then smiled at the other girl. Tsireya, the other chief’s daughter. She lowered her head, blushing shyly after seeing Lo’ak.

Neteyam rolled his eyes. His brother is such a rizz master.

Olo’eyktan raised his hands as he spoke again, continuing the traditions.

“Now, let my daughter bless us with the blessed water. Come, Y/N,”

You step forward, and you bring an antique bottle in your hand, filled with water that was blessed before by Tsahik. As usual, your job is to sprinkle the water on everyone's face, say their name, and a short prayer to Eywa. Starting from your family, then the rest of the clan. As now the Sullys are part of the clan, so you did the same to them, making a way toward them slowly.

“Bro, she’s coming. Get ready,” Lo’ak elbowed his brother.

“Ssh,” Neteyam mumbled.

You finally stand in front of the Sullys. Jake is the first, he says thank you, while Neytiri nodded in response. Neteyam is next, as he is the older child. He gulped nervously, feeling butterflies in his stomach. You stand in front of him, and he feels his legs weakened like turned into jelly.

“What is your name?” Your soft voice sounds like a melody to him.

“Neteyam,” He answered. His eyes sparkled when he look at you.

“Neteyam,” You repeat his name, then sprinkled the sacred water into his face and said the prayer. Neteyam wants to respond so badly, but his tongue like tied inside. Instead of thank you, he slipped out some gibberish sound. You raised your eyebrow, but then you chuckled. He shook his head helplessly and finally found his voice, “T-thank you, Y/N,”

Lo’ak instantly laughed but he covers his mouth when he saw Neytiri glare at him. But she can see that something is happening with Neteyam, and she shared a knowing look with Jake. Kiri rolled her eyes and Tuk seems smitten by you also. You smiled at Neteyam, then passes to bless the other siblings. Tuk is happy, she giggled when the water sprinkled into her face. When the ritual finished, you walked back to your father. Then Olo’eyktan declared, “Now it’s time for dancing and feast! Enjoy, everybody!”

The crowd stood up, and some of them walked in pairs, ready for dancing, as the music started to play. While the others approached the food served on top of the longleaf.

“Bro, what was that?” Now Lo’ak finally can laugh out loud, shooking his head in disbelief. Neteyam didn’t respond anything, his hand rubbed the back of his neck as he lowered his blushed face, feeling completely shy and idiot.

“You like her, don’t you?” Lo’ak asked him again.

“Stop it, skxawng,” his brother grumbled, but Lo’ak keep talking. “You know, you should ask her for a dance. Make a move, bro!” Lo’ak hand patted Neteyam's arm, trying to give him some courage. Then he saw Tsireya, and he approached her in a glance, talking with her, completely forgetting about his brother.

Neteyam shook his head, realizing how different is Lo’ak from himself. But a slight smile curled on his lips then. Maybe he can approach you and talk to you? His eyes trying to find you. But it’s hard, with all the people moving and talking.

Finally, he saw you, sitting on a rock alone. He walked to you, but then a man approached you first, his hands reaching yours. That man looks fine with toned body and tattoo around his arm, clearly one of the Metkayina’s warriors. You accepted his offer, and dance with him. Neteyam sighed. He waited for you to finish your dance with the man, but then another man also approached you again.

Neteyam frowned, he finally gets back to his family, while Kiri and Tuk are trying some food. He sat beside them, but sometimes he steal a glance in your direction. He feels so insecure inside. Who is he, thinking to be able to dance with the prettiest girl in Metkayina? He even couldn’t talk clearly to you. He is not a Metkayina warrior, he is just a newcomer. You’re out of his league. Maybe he has to bury his feeling inside.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Neteyam grumbled as he took a step outside his family’s pod. His lips are bleeding, and his elbow and knuckles are injured due to his previous fight with Ao’nung and his skxawng bunch. But the physical pain remains nothing to a thing deeper inside. He feels tired and exhausted.

Since he was born, there are so many things that he has to carry on his shoulder. He remembers he trained hard to be the future Oloyektan with his father, and then suddenly his family have to move to this reef clan. Neteyam feels puzzled when he left the forest, as he loves it dearly. He loves to hunt with his bow, climb the trees, and fly with his ikran.

Honestly, he finds the sea nauseating. Everything is so different, and he always prefers to ride an ikran rather than ilu or tsurak. Flying is his favorite thing to do, not swimming. But the sad truth is, being the oldest son, Neteyam must always put the other's needs above his. He always covers all his feeling deep inside. Kiri and Tuk already showed some dislike for the sea and Neteyam could not burden his parents by showing that he hates the sea too. Lo’ak always makes trouble, and it frustrated him.

Metkayina people are always either judging, mocking, or bullying his family. Neteyam walked fast between the villages, his shoulder is tense and there is a crease on his forehead. People looked at him but he didn’t pay any attention. He keeps walking until reaches the end of the Awa’atlu village. It is a beautiful coast actually, with the sun meeting the sea and palm tree leaves waves. But Neteyam’s mood is still ruined, and he shoves a stone into the sea in anger.

“Ow!” The stone hit somebody who is swimming down the sea, and Neteyam began to panic. He dipped his feet into the water and reached the sound. You emerged from the water right in front of him, with an annoyed face and your hand rubbing the back of your head.

Neteyam's eyes widened, he never thought that he will hit you, his crush. Actually, the only thing about the reef people that he finds amusing is you, but with you busy with Tsahik training with Ronal makes he rarely sees you. To meet you in this condition is kinda embarrassing for him.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I shoved the stone recklessly, and I don’t know you were swimming down there. Is it hurt?” Neteyam asked softly and came to you.

You scowled and sighed. “Luckily for you, the stone didn't hit my head directly. It just went through the back of my head.”

“Let me check your head,” Neteyam walked passes you, and now he is behind you. He places his hand gently at the back of your head then he sighed in relief. “There is no injury,”

“Yes,” You responded, and turn around, now facing Neteyam.

You are not annoyed anymore. Honestly, you were quite touched by how responsible and gentle he was. You can feel that he completely feels sorry. Then your eyes saw his lips, the bleed was still there. Also, his elbow and knuckles are wounded.

“Actually, it is you that injured. What happened?” Your brow furrowed at the sight of the blood on his lips and you held his fingers closely, examining the wound at his knuckles.

Neteyam pulled his fingers from yours as he spoke, “It’s okay. Nothing to worry about,”

“Neteyam, I am tsakarem, Tsahik in training, a healer. I will clean and take care of your wound,” you replied.

“No, truly. I will take care of myself,” Neteyam wears a slight smile on his face.

You shook your head. “No. A healer doesn't leave without healing an injured person. Come with me.”

Your hand grips his fingers tightly. Neteyam couldn’t move at your action, so he followed you to the beach and you both sit facing each other. You began to wash the wound on his knuckles and elbow, and put some paste on it. The paste is always there, inside a little pocket hanging on your waist. And for Neteyam’s lips, you washed them with a small cloth. Then you pat the cloth gently to get rid of the blood.

Without your knowledge, Neteyam feels very nervous yet happy, very different from the moments before when he was angry. Now here is he, sitting at the beach with you taking care of his wounds. His eyes follow your movement, as they can’t hide the admiration he feels for you. Relax man, he whispers to himself.

“Done,” You finished your job, but you are still curious. “So, how did you get hurt?”

Neteyam cleared his throat. If he tells you the truth, will you believe him? Especially about Ao’nung behavior. “It’s nothing. I slipped on the edge of slippery rock,”

You chuckled. “Don’t lie to me. This kind of wound is caused by either fighting or collision.”

Neteyam sighed in defeat. “Sorry. Actually, I was fighting with some Metkayina boys. They mocked Kiri. I tried to break them up, but Lo’ak is still angry so he punched the boys.” He shrugs. “So I don't have any other chance than to join the fight. Until my father came,”

You realize that he didn’t mention the doer. “Who were the boys?”

He looked at you as he try to gather all the courage inside him. He wants to lie, knowing that you are Ao’nung’s older sister and he doesn’t want to make the conditions worsened. It's already worse with Lo’ak attacked on Ao’nung.

But when he saw your eyes, he couldn't do anything. It's like all his strength weakened when he saw your light blue eyes, similar to the ocean. He knows it's not wise to leave himself so open, but he is hopeless anyway. Finally, he began to talk, “Ao’nung, and some of his friends. But I didn’t know all their name.”

You took a deep breath. “It’s okay. Ao’nung could be reckless sometimes. I’m sorry for his bad behavior,”

“I’m sorry for Lo’ak’s behavior too. He gets angry easily,” Neteyam reciprocated.

Unexpectedly to him, you laughed. The confusion spread on his face as you talked, “Look at us. Older siblings always have to take the blame. You know, Ao’nung is such a mischievous boy. He once took all the strings and needles from my mom’s room, as he want to make a necklace. Then he created a necklace similar to mine and put it on my mom’s table along with the stuff he stole before, so she thought it was me who was guilty. She scolded me, but Eywa blessed me as Ao’nung’s short hair was left in the needle. Then he gets his punishment, not to touch strings and needles for a month.”

Neteyam rejoiced and was no longer nervous, he laughed at your story. “Similar to mine. Lo’ak want to go in the middle of war while we were instructed just to be a spotter above. I took the blame, but my dad still banned him from flying on his ikran. Poor Lo’ak, he cried almost every night,”

You giggled. “Our brothers are stupid, yes. But I think we will still love them, are we?”

“Yes,” Neteyem nodded. A warm feeling entered his chest. Moments ago, he feel that no one will ever relate to his condition. But now he found someone who is sharing the same burden, at least to one similar condition, older siblings who always have to put an eye on their reckless younger brother. His lips curled in a smile, he was no longer feeling pain.

“By the way. I want to cook some meals. Would you care to join me? You must be hungry after fighting” You offered him.

Neteyam shook his head. But then a growling sound came from his stomach. You burst into a laugh again, “You are hungry indeed,” and Neteyam accepted your invitation, with a sheepish smile on his face.

It seems that Eywa always makes him look embarrassed in front of you. Or, maybe this is his destiny indeed? Neteyam thought that as you both went to your pod.

You entered your pod. It was small but cozy, connected with a larger pod on the right, your family pod, the largest in the village, consisting of all the Tsahik and Oloyektan pieces of equipment.

But your own is filled with your belongings only, some healer's stuff, a bed, and a small kitchen. Neteyam also notices a bottle full of gold liquid, sealed in a box, which looks like it’s important stuff. You see his face filled with curiosity when he saw the bottles, so you approached him.

“It’s our sacred water, called tsarki. Very powerful, it can heal any person whatever their conditions are. It’s very rare to get, and my mother always reminds me to use it in a crucial moments only. So, I keep it safe in my box,” you explained to him, as he nodded.

You went to the kitchen as he sat on the carpet. You bring the food, the grilled fish. Both of you eat, and he praises your cooking. After eating, suddenly a woman appears in your pod, with a baby in her arms. Panic can be seen on her face.

“Y/N, can you help me? My son, Ihaka, is ill. He has trouble breathing. I tried to go to Tsahik, but Olo’eyktan said that she is still on the ocean, and ordered me to go to you instead,”

“Of course,” you smiled, trying to calm her, as you carried the baby, “Let me see him,”

At a glance, Ihaka seems like a normal baby, but if you observe the way he is breathing, it’s clear that he has a problem there. You lay down Ihaka and took some massage oil. You start to massage his upper body, with your hands on his shoulders, making gentle strokes towards his chest. He is still coughing, but the pain seemed to have lessened. You bring him close to your chest. His eyes finally closed in sleep, and you put him again on the bed.

“There he is,” you smiled at his mother, and continue your words, “I’ll give you some potions, and he must drink it every day, to help cure his problem,” His mother nodded in pleasure. But when you step towards your medicine stuff, Ihaka is awake again. You reach him again, but Neteyam asked, “Can I help? I know some tricks to keep baby asleep,”

Ihaka’s mother seems hesitant, but you were curious. You nodded and give him permission. Neteyam carried Ihaka's tiny body in his arms, as his hands caress his cheek gently. Neteyam then sang a song, that seems like a lullaby tune. He sang it slowly, brushing the hair on Ihaka's forehead and gently swinging him. You never heard the lullaby before, but it seems to work on Ihaka. He closed his eyes again, sleeping soundly, even snoring softly.

You raised your eyebrow, “Seems like you are an expert with babies,”

Neteyam grinned, as he speak in a low voice, avoiding waking Ihaka, “I have 3 siblings, what do you expect?” then he put Ihaka back again on his mother’s arm. You gave her Ihaka’s medicines, and she expresses her gratitude by saying lots of thank you, bowed for you and Neteyam, and leaving your pod.

“It was beautiful, the lullaby you sang before,” you now speak to Neteyam, as a new feeling crawls inside you, impressed by him.

Neteyam chuckled, “My mom always sings that song when she put her children to sleep. As I’m the oldest, she taught me a lot about handling babies, so I can help her just in case,”

“That’s very nice,” you replied. “You’re a good big bro for sure,”

Neteyam blushed hearing your compliments, feels like he is on cloud nine. He couldn’t believe that his crush is saying sweet things to him! He couldn’t stop smiling when he walked back home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tomorrow, he came again to your pod. You both are sitting face to face. It is afternoon time, the sun shone lazily and the wind blows gently into your room, making your room curtains made of seashells rub against each other and create a melodious sound.

"Tell me a story about your parents," You asked Neteyam, as you grip his hands. You spend this day with Neteyam listening to your story about how your day went with the Tsahik training. So in exchange, you want him to tell the stories about his people.

Neteyam quirked his eyebrow.

"My parents? The Toruk Makto thing? I think you already know it,"

You rolled your eyes. He noticed a few of your hair strands fell on your face as you did that.

"Not the Toruk Makto stuff. Tell me their story far before it, right from when your dad visited Pandora for the first time."

"Ow." Neteyam realized as he questioned, "You sure? It's quite a long story,"

You nodded, and then he started talking again.

"When I was still a kid, my family always gathered in our hammock and embraced each other. I remember my mom telling a story about when she first met my father. He is still a dream walker, spending his last hour trying to run away from thanator with his shirt ripped, and a few scratches on his body.

On the opposite, mom is ready to shoot him with her arrow. Nevertheless, a sign of Atokirina landing at her bow prevented her. Later, when he is attacked by viper-wolfes, mom saved him, although she is still displeased with his presence. But father said that it’s love at the first sight," Neteyam stopped, a big grin created on his face. "Such a dad joke. Little does he know, that Eywa destined them to be together, right from their first meeting."

And so, Neteyam tells the whole story of the dynamics of his parent's relationship, which seems like enemies to lovers' journey. Jake faces many difficulties and choices, which side is he on? But sure Eywa gave her a path, as Jake decided to lead the war against RDA, and return with victory. In the end, Jake is converted into his Navi body and started a family with Neytiri, the woman that he truly loves.

You sighed. "It's a beautiful story."

"Thank you," Neteyam responded. "I always think that my dad is a lover, he is willing to risk everything to be with my mom. While my mom is a fighter, she fought against her parent's view to be with him, and also fight to protect the clan,"

"No," You cut him. He seems confused, and then you spoke again. "You can't separate a lover and a fighter. If you're a lover, you have to be a fighter. Because if you don't fight for your love, what kind of love do you have?"

Neteyam doesn't say a word in response, but you feel his eyes fixated on yours. As you tilt your head and try to question him, you realized that his eyes are shining, with a yellow and green glow with a gentle look. You can't help yourself as you drown in his eyes and keep staring back at him, as he gives you a smile.

"You're right." Finally, he breaks the silence, but his gaze still fell on your face as he spoke again. "A lover must fight for who they love."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

notes : to be continued soon! :D

this is my first attempt to write fanfiction and english isn't my first language. i'll be very happy if you leave a reaction, lmk what you think of my writings! :)

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makeyoumine69 · 1 year

Note

Hello, sweet 😘

26 point, size kink, creampie, name...baby doll

Thank you so much for your request, I hope you like it! 💕💕💕

— NSFW; [MASTERLIST]; [1k Followers Celebration Masterlist]

That evening, Patrick was about to come back from his business trip, and you had been preparing for his return all day, because you couldn't wait to see your beloved husband; you missed him so much.

Although Bateman promised not to be late, it was almost midnight, and he still hadn't returned. A little sad, you decided to go to sleep, reassuring yourself that he would definitely be home in the morning.

Sniffling quietly, you slept in his big bed, which felt so cold and empty without him, when suddenly the cold air ran down your exposed thighs, but then it was replaced by something warm, even hot. Jolting on your stomach, you exhaled with a choked gasp as you dreamed of Patrick, imagining his scorching breath and his hot tongue sliding along your swollen folds, playing with your small, sensitive nub. God, it felt like heaven.

"Mmm, Babydoll…"

You awoke immediately, almost shrieking at the sound of his husky, sexy voice near your ear. "Patty… Patrick? You're back."

"Yes, sugar," Bateman murmured, leaving a sloppy kiss on your shoulder and pressing you against the bed with his massive muscles. "Sorry I'm late, but I'm here now, and ... I'm going to show you how much I've missed you, babe."

There was no chance to resist him, because the next second after he said that he covered you completely from above like a shield, you found yourself so tiny and little under him that your heart fluttered, and your insides tightened with unspoken need.

"Aa-ahh, Daddy!" You whimpered as he thrust into your soaking pussy, holding you firmly by your waist.

"Fuck, I was thinking about it the whole time." Patrick groaned in a raspy voice before he leaned down to wrap his arms around you, hugging you like a shell.

It didn't take long for his pounding to get rougher and deeper; you tried to stifle your wild moans by hiding your face in the pillows, but Bateman didn't like it, and soon you were squealing as his big palm slapped your ass, burning your delicate skin.

"Mmm-Daddy…"

"Don't hold yourself, Babydoll, arg-ghhh… I want to hear how good I make you feel," he smacked your butt again, drinking in all your pitiful whimpering, which in combination with the slapping sounds your bodies were making, felt like a fucking miracle. "Ah-fuck … do you want to cum, (Y/N)?"

Bateman asked you as he noticed how tightly your inner walls encircled him, spurring him on to fuck you harder into the mattresses.

"Y-Yes … Patrick, please, mmm," you begged him, clinging to his strong arms. "Oh … Gosh, I'm so c-close …"

"I know, honey, I got you." Patrick whispered into your ear and slid his palm under your bodies to brush against your feverish clit.

The moment his long fingers began to rub it in circular movements, you exploded like a firework, shaking uncontrollably, but his huge form held you down so securely that you had no choice but to writhe beneath him as your orgasm hit you hard.

"Good girl." Smirking, Bateman gave you some time to work through your climax before planting a loving kiss on your forehead, and you knew exactly what would happen next.

Breathing heavily, Patrick nuzzled your neck as he rammed into you mercilessly, trapping you underneath him and not letting you move, your little body rocking every time his solid hips met yours. With your eyes closed, you desperately clutched the pillow, feeling his full sac slapping against your ass while his thick cock was hitting all the right spots inside your womb.

"You like it when I fuck you like this? Yeah, you do ..." he groaned, wrapping his arms around your neck and slamming into you from above. "Babydoll ... gonna pump you so full, f-fuck …"

Trembling, you clawed at his biceps, letting him kiss you hard on your lips as he reached his high, spilling his warm cum into your throbbing channel, pinning you down so you wouldn't waste a drop.

#american psycho #patrick bateman x reader #patrick bateman imagine #patrick bateman #patrick bateman x female reader #patrick bateman x you #slasher x reader #slashers x reader #slasher x you #slasher smut #patrick bateman smut #patrick bateman headcanon #christian bale smut #christian bale x reader #patrick bateman reader #christian bale

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tamurilofrivendell · 1 year

Text

The Dragon | part 1 | Thranduil x Reader

{Part One} {Part Two} {Part Three} {Part Four} read on AO3

Pairing: Thranduil x Female Reader

Summary: You found a dragon egg and secretly kept it but when Thranduil inevitably finds out, after the egg has hatched, he is beyond furious and the tentative thread that has grown between you both is at risk of being severed forever.

Content etc: Angst. Threat of violence. Mutual pining/assumed unrequited feelings etc. Angry Thranduil.

tags: @firelightinferno, @achromaticerebus, @coopsgirl, @birbixo0912, @desert-fern, @ancient-rime

The forest was quiet. Too quiet, a fact which only increased your anxiety. You could practically hear your heart hammering away inside your chest, as though it were threatening to burst. Your feet carried you along, careful step by careful step, staying on high alert. The guards wouldn’t be too far behind and you had to lead them far enough away to make sure they didn’t find him. They would destroy him and you just couldn’t let them do that. He was just an innocent, he hadn’t done anything wrong!

It had all started almost a year ago. In this exact forest, not too far from where you were now strangely enough, on a night as similarly dark as this one.

You had snuck out of the kingdom for one of your little walks. It wasn’t really allowed due to how dark the forest had become over the last years. The spiders were getting bolder. The air was heavy and thick. Orcs had been seen. The plant-life was being smothered. The trees were sad.

This was no longer the Greenwood of old.

Still, the freedom was something you couldn’t quite give up. You took a dagger, just in case, and stayed as close to the gates as you could. But you strayed a little too far this particular night and that’s when you found it, half-buried at the base of a large tree.

It was unmistakably an egg, though of what creature you didn’t have a single clue. It was unlike any bird egg you had ever seen before. You don’t know what really possessed you but you felt like you had to help. It must have fallen out of its nest or something and you couldn’t leave it here, to get crushed or eaten. There were all sorts of beasts out here, enemies, and this was just.... defenceless. A baby.

So you took it. You smuggled it into your chamber, made it a warm and comfortable nest in the bottom drawer of your dresser, and promised to look after it until it hatched. It was quite easy to hide, nobody seemed any the wiser... until it hatched months later, of course. Then the utter panic set in.

A dragon. This was a dragon egg.

The little creature had broken through the thick shell after about twenty minutes, during which you kept silent vigil, preparing for whatever little animal would reveal itself to you. However, nothing could have prepared you for this. You immediately felt fear, your mind becoming thick with it. It was going to kill you! You had brought a monster into the halls of the woodland realm and it was going murder you and then turn its sights on the rest of these halls!

However, instead of immediately setting you ablaze, the little animal had regarded you with severe curiosity before stumbling towards you on wobbly little legs and nudging your hand with its tiny snout. You gaped at it, watching as it blinked up at you with wide, trusting eyes. It didn’t... look evil. It didn’t... act evil.

Your panic subsided slowly as you watched the tiny dragon and you decided that you would allow it to stay with you for the night instead of casting it out into the cold - though you didn’t sleep a wink that night, unable to fully shake your worry, despite the dragon curling up into a little ball on your pillow.

───────────────────────────────────

One night turned into two weeks which turned into three months, and still you kept the dragon in your chamber.

You became more and more attached to the little animal the longer you spent in its presence. You grew to love him, even, as the months passed by. He was attached to you too, if the joy he expressed whenever you wandered back into the room or spent time with him was anything to go by. He would sit with you while you read or wrote and you would play with him and smuggle him food. You named him Aegnor and he kept you company as well as bringing you some small comfort. It was nice to have a companion.

However, it soon became apparent that being closed away in your chamber all the time, spacious though it may be, would just not do for much longer. Aegnor was obviously craving the outdoors - to stretch his wings and breathe the fresh air.

So, not wanting to deprive him, you began to smuggle him out of your chambers and into the forest. You took him most often at night and never too far, though far enough away that the danger of being caught wasn’t so high. Sometimes you would take him down to the forest river and sit along the bank while he explored and stretched his little legs.

It had been here that an elf on patrol had found you. There had been a long moment where you had both just stared at each other. He tried to make sense of what he was seeing and you tried to figure out what you were supposed to do. The sound of his horn piercing the air, summoning more guards, had forced you out of your trance. You had snatched Aegnor from the ground and took off running, an arrow whizzing by your ear as you vanished beyond the treeline.

An arrow! They were shooting at you!

You could hear them in the distance. They had gathered quickly and the king had probably been informed by now. A flash of fear spiked through you at that thought but you banished it quickly, needing to keep your focus. You reached a tall, thick tree and placed Aegnor high up on the branches.

“Climb to the top!” You told him. He gave you an unhappy look but you would not budge, urging him to obey you. “You must climb to the top and stay there until I come back for you! Promise me.”

The little dragon looked very uneasy but he acquiesced and quickly clambered high up into the tree and out of sight. You watched him go, praying he would do as he was told, and then you turned and took off running.

It felt like you were running for hours, though it couldn’t have been, but no matter how far you went you could still hear the sounds of the pursuit behind you. They were closing in and you felt fear... fear in regards to these elves you had known practically your whole life. You could hardly believe it.

What you had done, however, would be treated as an act of treason. Dragons were enemies... especially to the Elvenking.

Turning on your heel, you took a sharp left, deciding that you would go deeper into the forest. You had practically forgotten about the dangers of the wood itself, thinking only of your panic and your need to get away, to hide. Maybe you could outrun them and then come back for Aegnor and... and what? Leave Mirkwood? The thought caused your heart to feel heavy. So, so heavy. Yet, you could not give up that little creature to be murdered. You just couldn’t.

Your thoughts were so loud that you didn’t hear it until it was too late. Eight large legs descended upon you, knocking you to the ground. You only just managed to roll slightly to the right to avoid its stinger. You had dropped your dagger somewhere back near the river and you were drained and distracted. A strong, disgusting limb held you in place as it readied for another attack and you could only squeeze your eyes shut and wait, and pray that Aegnor would get away safe.

Then a blade came swinging down through the dark, slicing through the foul creature’s flesh. The spider let out an ear-piercing screech as its legs were separated from its body and the life seeped out of it. You felt a thick liquid splattering across your clothing and your cheek and you let out a screech of your own as you rolled away, scrambling around on the forest floor.

When you opened your eyes, your fear grew tenfold, as you stared up along a silver sword, meeting the furious gaze of the Elvenking himself.

“Where is it?” He hissed, forgoing any discussion of whether or not you were well. You were still breathing, that was enough.

You found that you could not answer, merely staring back at him, able only to focus upon the cold dread you could feel flooding through your entire being.

When you did not speak, Thranduil’s gaze hardened and his voice dropped to a level even more dangerous than you would have thought possible. “Where. Is. It?”

“You...” You paused, swallowing hard against the lump that had formed in your throat. “You will have to kill me, my king... I will not give him up to be slaughtered.”

Thranduil blinked, unable to hide his surprise for just a moment before he recovered, but it was long enough for you to have seen it. “You would choose this... this creature... over me?” His voice was hard but you could just about tell that he was hurt.

“You don’t understand!” You began, wondering if you could plead and beseech your way to an explanation, find some way to make him understand. “Please, I-”

“Understand?” Thranduil cut you off before you could get any further. He was not interested in your placations and lies. “I do not understand?!” His tone was ice as he took a step forward, the tip of his sword pressing into your chest. “Begging will not get you out of this.” There was a pause, during which he scanned your face, before he spoke again. “...how could you?” For just a second you saw raw vulnerability, there and gone so quickly you were unsure this time whether or not you were just seeing what you wanted to see. “How dare you!” The fire raged through his veins once more as he fought the urge to run you through with his blade.

You stayed quiet this time, unable to meet his eyes any longer. The forest was deathly silent. You could no longer hear the advancing soldiers and you wondered if they had taken a wrong turn that took them away from you, or if Thranduil had sent them back to the halls so he could deal with you himself.

The thought sent a shudder right through you.

The corners of Thranduil’s mouth pulled into the smallest, yet most evil smirk you had ever seen grace his expression, as if he had read your mind. His gaze never faltered and you felt as though you were facing down your greatest enemy... which was a far cry from how you had felt about him the previous day.

The silence stretched out and you found yourself wishing that he would just get it over with. If he was going to kill you, you wanted him to do it now, get it over and done with. He would not cease his search for Aegnor, you knew that, but you hoped that the little dragon would be clever enough to flee this forest. Maybe head for the mountains or find a kind soul who would take him in and care for him until he was a little bigger. He was still so little, after all.

Suddenly, Thranduil’s fingers closed around your upper arm in a harsh grip as he hauled you to your feet and began dragging you back through the tangled branches of Mirkwood. You winced at the feel of his nails digging into your skin but you did your best to conceal any discomfort. He wouldn’t care, after all.

“You will rot in the dungeons until you tell me where this thing is.” He snarled, dragging you behind him so quickly that you could barely keep yourself upright. He didn’t care... or at least that’s what he told himself. Thranduil was beside himself with rage but he was also full of sorrow and grief.

The two of you had started off as any other in his kingdom. King and Subject. Over time, mostly during celebrations and festivals and chance encounters, you’d both become something more. Friendly, then friends. Over time, his feelings for you had grown into something past friendship. He could never tell you, of course. His kingdom aside, Thranduil didn’t believe his feelings could be returned and he could handle them alone. Having you in his life and grappling unrequited feelings was better than not having you in his life at all. Your laughter had brightened his days. Your presence had comforted him in his darkest moments.

...and yet.

This was such a betrayal. He couldn’t believe you had done this. To the realm... to him. You were one of the few who had seen the scars he bore from facing down one of those beasts long ago. He had shown you, and you had shed tears for him. You had held him while the memory took him in its violent grip. You had stayed with him while he fell asleep. You hadn’t turned your back on him.

What a lie.

───────────────────────────────────

You were kept in a cell for two weeks before you saw Thranduil again. He came striding into the dungeon, his robes flowing behind him. His sword was at his side and his crown was on his head.

This was it, you thought. This was the day he had finally come to kill you.

You couldn’t have predicted that, from within the folds of his cloak, he would produce Aegnor. You cried out as you looked upon the little dragon. You couldn’t help it. He was all bound up and a sort of muzzle held his jaw in place. He looked upset but he mostly looked like he didn’t really understand what was happening.

“It looks like we did not need you after all.” Thranduil broke the silence, holding the animal out in front of him, his eyes fixed upon your face.

Aegnor wriggled in his grasp but Thranduil only tightened his grip, still staring at you. His skin crawled being this close to it and he was thankful it was so small.

“Thranduil, this is insane!” You couldn’t stop the words leaving your mouth as you looked back at him, not bothering to hide your distress. You knew what he was doing by bringing Aegnor down here, by parading the creature in front of you, showing you how he had subdued it. “You’re hurting him!”

“Do you have any idea the damage these beasts can inflict?” Thranduil glared at you. “I have seen dragons lay low entire villages! I have seen the destruction, the utter ruin, that they leave in their wake! Have you forgotten, little one, the damage that has been left upon my own skin?!”

His voice had continued to rise in volume as he spoke and, as he spat the final words out, he threw Aegnor forward onto the ground. The little dragon fell against the bars of your cell and, before Thranduil could do anything, you’d snaked your arms between the bars and caught hold of him, pulling him into the cell with you.

“No, Thranduil, I have not forgotten.” You said, tears stinging your eyes as you carefully but frantically worked at the ropes binding Aegnor and released his jaw. Your gaze never left Thranduil, who was staring at you like he wished to rip you apart. “How could I?! But-”

“But! Nothing!” He thundered, storming towards the cell and flinging the door open, ripping it from its hinges in his anger.

Aegnor had slipped from your grasp and was attempting to waddle away but, in the same moment that Thranduil drew his sword to end the dragon, you snatched the creature back up and drew it to your chest. Thranduil’s sword came swinging down through the air and you squeezed your eyes shut, shielding the dragon as best you could. You expected to feel the sting of steel as it pierced your flesh but nothing happened.

Thranduil had brought his weapon down with the intention of slaying the dragon once and for all. Then you had gotten in the way, curling yourself around the animal in such a way that meant killing it would kill you. He had fully intended to do it... he thought so, at least. He was so angry. Yet, he didn’t. Thranduil watched you slowly open your eyes as he hovered in the space above you, sword pointed directly over your heart, where the warmth of the dragon was clutched in your protective hold. He was breathing heavily and he looked so angry. He felt so angry. And yet he found that he just couldn’t do it. He hesitated and in that hesitation he knew he wasn’t going to kill you. He would have done it already.

“How could you do this to us?” He asked then, his voice quieter than even he had expected. He felt vulnerable again and he hated it. He hated that he had let you so close, hated that you were affecting him in this way, hated that you had betrayed him, hated that thing in your arms.

“Thranduil...” His name left your lips in a whisper and he felt his heart crack. He moved, forcing himself away from you, coming to a stop in the entrance of the cell, his back up against the bars as he sat there fighting to get himself back under control.

You moved slowly, still a bit terrified, but you could see that Thranduil was grappling with something. You could see that, for this moment at least, he wasn’t trying to run you through with his sword despite the grip he still had on it.

Aegnor wiggled out of your grip then and blinked at the king in confusion, tilting his little head as he regarded the elf. He stayed close to you, feeling unsafe, but because you did not attempt to flee, he stayed there.

“Run if you are going to run.” Thranduil muttered. “You will not get far.” Though he would not be the one chasing you this time. He just couldn’t do it anymore.

Tears spilled down your cheeks as you gave Aegnor a resassuring little pet and then crawled to close the distance between you and Thranduil just a little bit. “Where would I go?”

Thranduil shook his head but he didn’t speak. It was like the fight had gone out of him very suddenly, all the rage bubbling over into a large waterfall of sorrow that had drowned him and he had not yet resurfaced.

“Please, Thranduil, look at me.”

Nothing. No response. No movement. It was as if he did not even hear you.

“I did not do this to hurt you.” You continued, shifting just a little bit closer.

That roused him a little and he turned his head just slightly. “Do not take me for a fool, little one.” He muttered, frowning as he glared back at you. “Do not act as though you are clueless. Do not act innocent. You knew what this would do. You knew that this would, indeed, hurt me.”

You blinked as a fresh wave of tears spilled down your cheeks and you reached a hand out to him but he immediately held up a hand and shook his head, pinning you with a dark look. “Do not touch me.”

It stung a little more than you wanted to admit and you lowered your gaze to the floor. “If you would just let me explain...”

“What is there to explain? You brought a dragon into my realm.” His gaze moved past you for a moment, falling on Aegnor, his expression wary. Though, he had to admit, he had expected it to try and attack by now.

You turned to look over your shoulder, following his gaze to the little dragon before turning back to Thranduil. “He is just a baby.”

Thranduil blinked his attention back to you then, shaking his head as he lifted his hand and ghosted the backs of his fingers against your cheek despite his earlier protest at touching. “It will not be so little forever.”

Your opened your eyes, which had closed briefly at his touch. “I was going to let him go somewhere, though. When... when he was big enough to look after himself.” You murmured, still feeling as though anything you said could send him over the edge again. Which was probably accurate. “I didn’t know he was a dragon when I brought him inside...” You whispered, ignoring Thranduil’s look of disbelief. “It was just an egg.”

“It does not matter, you should have told me.” He said coldly, dropping his hand from your face and turning his head again, looking away from you. “I thought we were closer than that...” He didn’t know whether or not he had intended to say those words out loud but they were out there regardless and he couldn’t take them back.

You stared at him, surprised. You blinked and more tears traced their way down your face. For years and years you had buried your feelings towards Thranduil. He was the king! It was improper. It could never be. You were grateful enough to have been able to become his friend and you had soon settled upon keeping him in your life by whatever means. If you could not love him, you would settle for having his friendship and it would be enough.

“We are.” You said softly.

Thranduil’s eyes flashed as he looked back at you. “No. Evidently, we are not.”

This caused you to cry even harder. Thranduil almost moved to comfort you, out of habit, but he held himself firm and forced himself to once more look away from you. Aegnor didn’t like your distress and he moved then, walking forward and nudging your arm gently with his little nose.

Thranduil had shifted again, his grip tightening on his sword the second the dragon moved. He was staring at the creature, his knuckles white.

“He will not hurt you.” You whispered, but Thranduil only shook his head. He didn’t believe you.

You sighed softly, turning away from Thranduil a little so you could pay attention to Aegnor. “It’s alright.” You told him, gently petting the little scales of his head and neck. He nuzzled closer, though you didn’t miss his hesitant look at the king, remembering the way he had been bound and thrown around. “Aegnor...” You said gently, drawing the dragon’s attention again. “Do not be afraid.”

“What would the dragon have to be afraid of?” Thranduil asked harshly, his gaze flickering from Aegnor to you.

You turned your head again, your attention moving back to Thranduil with a soft frown on your face. “You.”

You said it as if it was the most obvious thing in the world and yet it had not crossed Thranduil’s mind. His hard expression melted suddenly into one of complete surprise. “He is afraid of... me?”

Now it was your turn to be surprised because it was the first time Thranduil had spoken of Aegnor as a he and not an it.

You nodded. “Yes, of course he is. Think about it, he... he was born here and it’s my fault but he couldn’t know that he wasn’t allowed. He liked his little life, exploring and growing and learning... and all of a sudden he is running for his life and we are separated and then you... you have him captured and tied up and... and then...”

Thranduil held up his hand then because he didn’t want to hear any more. His eyes were fixed upon the dragon, still more than a little wary, but you could see slight understanding beginning to dawn in his eyes as his mind began working. He had been thinking of this little creature as a dragon - a large, dangerous, fire-breathing monster. He had been focused only upon his own fear, his own terror, the nightmares from his past. Yet, what sat before him was a baby, he couldn’t deny that. It had no experience of the world, of the corruption, it couldn’t even speak yet from what he could tell. Now that he studied it, it did look a little scared... wary, at the least. And it had not attacked, not even in retaliation when his soldiers had caught it hiding in the trees, or when he had ordered it bound and muzzled. When he had nearly slaughtered it - and you - with his sword.

Suddenly, Thranduil stood, swinging his sword through the air but instead of bringing it down through flesh, he sheathed it. Then, he held his hand out to you to help you up from the floor. You hesitated just briefly and he understood why, but then you took his hand and he pulled you to your feet. For a brief moment, you both stood there, looking back at each other in silence, and then he let go of you and stepped away.

“Bring him with you.” He gestured towards Aegnor as he turned on his heel and moved towards the stairs to exit the dungeons.

“What are you going to do with him?” You asked as you reached down to gather Aegnor into your arms, full of apprehension.

Thranduil stopped at the bottom of the staircase and said nothing for a long moment. You stood in fear, waiting for him to tell you he was going to have the poor thing put to death, but he didn’t.

“I do not know.” He admitted, glancing over his shoulder. “You and I will have to figure it out together.”

Then he was swiftly ascending the stairs, leaving you blinking after him in surprise. You recovered quickly, following him as you kept Aegnor held firmly against you, hurrying to catch up to the king.

Hope began to blossom within you as you followed, staring at the back of his head the whole way. Maybe this could be salvaged. Maybe Aegnor could be saved, set free somewhere he would be happy. Maybe Thranduil would not hate you forever.

Up ahead, Thranduil walked with his head held high, none of his inner turmoil showing outwardly as he led you towards his private rooms.

You had not yet realised it, but Thranduil did not hate you even now, after all of this. Quite the opposite.

His love for you was the reason your words had had any effect on him. His love for you was the reason you still had the dragon in your possession. His love for you was the reason you had not lost your life. His love for you was the reason that, at some point, he would forgive you.

He didn’t know what was going to happen with the dragon but he knew that, for this moment at least, it wasn’t a threat to him. There was a lot to work through and a lot to figure out but he felt the faint blooming of hope that, in the end, you would both find a way to make this alright.

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