#👑a little warmth

[skenpiel]

HAPPY BIRTHJDAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYY TO MY BEAUTIFUL WIFEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE @eebie I LOVGE YOU MY BABY FOR ONE MILLIONG YEARS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 💗😚💯🎆😊🥰💝🥳😍👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩😻👩‍❤️‍👩💥✨🎊🎉💗💖💞💫💝❣💟🔥❤💜💙💚💛🧡💓💘🥰😍🥳👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩😊😚💍💋🎁🎊🎆🎈🍰🎂🌺🌸💐🌷🌈🌟🏩🥰🎊😍🥰💋✨🎉💞😊🥰🎈😚💜💘💟🧡🏩😚💜🎉🍰🤩😻👩‍❤️‍👩🎇❣💝🌺🌷🌈🥰🍰🎆💞💘💘🥳👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩🎂💓🌺😊😍💘💍🎊💍😊💜✨💓💍🎈💟💐🌸✨💜🍰🤩💋😚🎂😊😊😻🎁🎉🏩🌈❤🔥😊👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩🌈💓💟💐😻😊💍💟💜💝💘🌺😍🥰😚💟💗💫💖🎊🎉💋😊🥰🌺💘👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩💋💍🎆🎆💞🎉💐🌸🌟👩‍❤️‍👩👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩🔥🎆😻🌺🌸🎁🌈💓🎊💗😚😚💖🔥😚💐💫👩‍❤️‍👩💗

bonus drawings from my little sister also Hehe <3

(the 2nd one uve already seen cuz she made it over a month ago but then i just took a bad photo OF her phone screen. so i asked her to send it to me ^__^)

[itsonlydana]

"Flower On My Skin" | hobbit

pairing: Thranduil x human fem!reader 👑

Thranduil gets his hair braided and thinks too much.

warnings/tags: bittersweet, more fluff tho, swf, King Thranduil needs a break

words: 1,9k

an: this is a gift for the lovely @tigereyesf who always comments on my posts on ao3 🤍 the lyrics are from Noah Kahans song "Your needs, my needs'

+ masterlist +

🌿 reposts and comments are appreciated, they motivate me a lot and keep me writing <3

Thranduil understands that permitting you to be near him might not be wise. It could very well rank among the least advisable decisions he's made in ages.

But he did, he invited you again and again, sending horses and carriages to transport you ever since he found out you traveled all the way from Dale by yourself whenever he sent a letter.

Until he didn't need to anymore.

Not because you wouldn't come, but because you didn't leave.

Never in a million years would anyone have guessed that the stoic Elvenking would invite a human to his palace on more occasions than his own kind and surely no one would have ever thought that he would start courting them.

Yet here he was, sitting in one of his many blooming gardens, swatting away the hand that was currently trying to gather his hair.

"Stop this," Thranduil's stern voice would've had any other shiver in fear of losing their head, though it only makes you giggle.

"Please, let me braid it again," you stable yourself with your hands on his shoulders and lean over, chest pressed against his strong back.

"No, you little nuisance. I shall not! You know of the meeting I will attend later, we do not have the time."

Even though he can't see your face, he knows you roll your eyes at him, he can feel it in the huff you let out before letting go of him. The warmth of your body disappears as you stand up from the bench and throw one challenging look over your shoulder.

Thranduil watches how you lift the skirts of the gown you're wearing, the finest of silks that you've adorned with little handmade bows from the village, and flop down into the grass. There is not one care on your face that the hems will surely stain and that there are perfectly suitable marmor benches all over the garden and only one of those occupied by Thranduil himself.

You seem to ignore them every time you two spend time out here, he noticed you are much more content with your naked feet buried in the high grass and your hair intertwined with the flowers that grow here.

At first, he couldn't understand the fascination you harbored with nature.

Of course, he had a deep appreciation for the forest surrounding his kingdom, the strong resistance of the trees had been an inspiration for the winding halls, the water flowing through the roots and gifting life and the ever so steady wind reminded someone who lived a thousand years that some things, though they change, never completely disappear.

You, on the other hand, could not be separated from nature in any way whatsoever. There had been the flowers, first only on your side of the bed when he'd invited you to sleep next to him, and one day he woke up to find a vase filled with Astilbe flowers on his nightstand and on his vanity as well.

You also spend most of your day either wandering through the woods (which left him restless and worried until you accepted the sword he had his blacksmith forge for you) or meeting him here in the gardens. He would never tell you but before you, he hadn't walked or maker-forbid, sat there for decades.

Now, he found himself soaking sunshine more days than not, reading Elvish poetry to you while you rested curled into his side with one of his hands brushing your hair, or, chasing you on his Elk through the forest, following the sound of your horse and your laughter.

Your infatuation with nature and the stubbornness of pulling him along made him fall for you, deeply and most ardently and he knew that one day he would need to survive the sight of forests and gardens and flowers without the urge to burn them to the ground for outliving you.

As he watches you examine the colorful flowers and gather them in your lap, he isn't sure if he will be able to contain that anger against the gods if the time comes.

You are oblivious to the dark clouds hanging onto his thoughts, he makes sure that you'll never see the heartbreak he lives through while loving you because he knows, he knows that you would do everything in your power to make him happy.

This is who you are, a human that lives and loves and pours all that you are into those around you, he sees it in the gentleness of your hands cupping the flowers before plucking them, in the way your tongue learned a new language for you wouldn't accept not studying it for an answer if you lived here.

You live to love and love to live.

Thranduil shifts, forgetting that there are guards stationed around the gardens who could see their King doing the unthinkable but he doesn't care.

Not with you sitting a few feet away from him, your dress spilled around you, a full smile on your face as you collect the flowers growing there for you, their little heads turning to you as if you are the sun for them as well, and not just for Thranduil.

If you notice him standing up, you give no sign, you don't even stop humming, and the smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth at this stubbornness is far too strong to stop it.

"Melethril nîn," he says quietly and his shadow falls over your body. The symbolism and fear of him taking away the sun from you has him clench his jaw. His pain is impatient as if it doesn't know he's going to live longer than he wants to and that it has all the time to break him down.

He quickly shuts those thoughts away behind the sight of you tipping your head back to smirk at him.

This is not the time to dwell on the future, not if he can exist in the moments he shares with you instead of fearing the time when he'll have to think back on them.

"Don't tell me you missed me," you tease.

He scoffs and –surprising you enough to let out a squeak– lowers himself onto his knees next to you.

Eye to eye, he feels much more comfortable, despite the stains that he knows now graze his robes.

"You know," he starts and lets his gaze wander over the flowers in your lap, however, you managed to collect this many of them in such a short time awes him, "the meeting can wait."

You catch onto the meaning instantly, your eyes lightening up even more. The golden rays of the setting sun reflect in them and he reaches forward to cup your face in the palm of his hand and gently leans towards you, capturing your lips in a long kiss that has you gasping.

"Now," Thranduil swipes his thumb over your lower lip, as you separate, tugging playfully at it and giving into another kiss before he continues, "Have your way with my hair, my love. I know you did not collect those flowers for any other reason."

You gasp ingeniously. "You are by far the wisest Elf I've ever met," you say and scoot –maker, he makes a note to get another dress just like this made because surely this will be ruined by the time you leave the gardens– behind his back.

While you gather his hair in your hands, this time without him trying to stop you but relaxing into the soft tugging, you mumble: "So wise, they should make you King."

He chuckles at that. "Ah, but I would need a Queen by my side. Do you know where one could find on–ahhh," his teasing words get swallowed by a sigh as your fingers collect some fine hairs on the side of his head and surely completely on accident run over the shell of his ear to the delicate tip.

"Ooops," you sing and just as his body calms, you repeat the action, even have the gall to scratch the skin with your nails and he melts into a puddle.

His ears burn, not just the one your breath hits but the other one as well and he can feel the blood shoot into his face as well, crumbling the stoic and straight-laced composure of the King who is already on his knees.

"You witch," he presses out between his clenched teeth and hears you giggle. "I should have never told you about that," he murmurs more to himself, trying to regulate his heart beating inside his chest like a wild rabbit on the loose.

You laugh once, a "Pah!" while you tug on his hair, "You didn't tell me," you say and he feels something get pushed inside the braid you are working on, "I found out all by myself."

Thinking back to the night that started this completely outrageous behavior trait of you fiddling with his ears whenever he doesn't pay you enough attention or he says something that teases you a bit too much, he can't tell if you are right or him.

A few years ago he would have shut you down completely because the King would never be wrong but now he grumbles under his breath, agreeing that you must be correct.

Then again, there are many new things that you brought into his life.

He laughs more freely, and not just out of spite of viciously.

He cares more, for you, for his son, for nature and sometimes even for the dwarfs he trades with.

He is formed by you, shaped by your untamable ways of never letting a rainy day ruin your mood.

He is nothing but wax in your hands.

Here, sitting in the gardens and letting you weave flowers in his precious hair, he is no King, he is just a soul yearning for your touch, a flower reaching to bloom in your golden light.

Thranduil's eyes flutter shut as you braid and weave and run your hands over his scalp and through his hair.

He may have fallen asleep, lulled into a trance by the warm sun caressing his face and your voice humming a melody as sweet as any words that you speak, because when you let go of the delicate braids and let them fall into the rest of his hair, he opens his eyes to a pink and purple sunset.

The birds sing their last song and the trees rustle, shaking their branches and leaves as if they would ready themselves for the animals coming to rest in them.

There is a pleasantly chilled breeze that comes with nightfall, one that brings the smell of flowers and grass.

"There," you press a gentle kiss to the skin right behind his left ear, "all done."

For a moment Thranduil is disappointed that you are finished but then he turns to find your smile and all is right.

"Thank you, meldanya," he says, already closing in to express his gratitude with a soft kiss.

You nudge your nose against his, eyes shut in contentment. "Thank you, for letting me. Le ni meleth," you say quietly.

"Always," Thranduil's gaze wanders over you, bathed in rosé and golden hues, the cheeks flushed from the air, your hair wild and untamed, and flowers all over your lap. He grabs a few of them, inspecting the stems and probing them with his sharp nails.

"Let me repay the favor," he effortlessly lifts you, smiling wide at the laugh bursting out of you as he sets you between his legs and onto his robes.

"I want my Queen to wear a fitting crown."

[diejager]

Technical Issues Cw: smut, sex work, OnlyFans, porn, fuck machine, squirting, prostitution handjob, tell me if I missed any.

Part3

It started with a reluctant alliance between SpecGru and KorTac, two powerful PMCs that were tricked by the same employer, played and played again, unable to work alone to take them down. So both heads of the PMCs decided to work together to take down this problematic employer, which meant that they’d have to come and go between bases, sharing the same space and the same area. They were unenthusiastic about it, still holding a grudge against the other.

There was a technical issue in giving access to KoTac members sent over to the British base the right clearances for the compiled data, to-know intel and the statistics. That’s how König found himself in the database, looking up the different clearance codes to give him access to the information he needed before 1900, he only had half an hour to find the code if he didn’t want to miss the event.

Unfortunately, all he stumbled into was a page, a familiar name popping up on this person’s browser history. It was Soap’s. Sergeant John “Soap” MacTavish, the snipe and demolition specialist that König knew from both experience and intel. It was a strange find, Soap had used a public browser to watch his nightly activities and had forgotten to wipe it clean —did he even wipe his history? Something ugly flared in König’s chest, an explosive warmth of possession and envy. How could’ve he not seen him on the chat when König spent so much time on it himself?

With dilated pupils and a one-track mind, he completed his search and rushed to his room, pushing past everyone he met in the hall with his broad shoulders and even bigger ego, nostrils flaring and seeing red. He knew this kind of reaction was nonsensical, near illogical on his par, seeing the type of content he consumed, but he couldn’t help it, he was the second highest payer.

Slamming and locking the door behind him, he ripped his mask off, throwing it haphazardly on the floor and ripped his clothes off, his skin hot to the touch in his cold room. It was 1857 —perfect. Settling himself on his temporary desk in nothing but his briefs, he felt his cock struggle against the fabric, head poking out on the side of his boxers. He was quick to open up the right tab, clicking in the sweet temptation of the profile picture.

A screen popped out, a familiar bed in a familiar setting with familiar objects surrounding the plush sheets, and in the middle, sat the little cherub of his dreams. Seraphim, the little slut that he was happy to spend his legacy on, to watch and indulge in the sinful act jerking off to a woman he might never meet or know outside of this screen. He pushed his waistband down his thighs and his cock swung out, hanging low between his legs, veins pulsing with the rush of blood from his head to his cock and uncut head drooling on his chair.

👑 gifted you 100$

“Hello, sir,” you smiled so sweetly at him, glossy lips pulled into an innocent image, “Thank you for the gift.”

He always gave you a gift at the start of each live he watched to get a greeting from you and would gift you much more with ever minute he spent watching you bend over your bed, ass up and face down, getting fucked by the fuck machine he gifted you. You had two cameras set up, one that let them view your tight cunt stretched around the silicone copy of his cock - thick and veiny - and one giving them a clear view of your tearful eyes and cock drunk expression.

König kept his eyes glued to your cunt, ploughed so roughly bu his girth that slick gushed around it, lips swollen and wet, and the little plug your pushed into your flared rim, the flat handle spreading your ass for them to see. He jerked himself, calloused fingers gripping the head of his cock and spreading pre down his shaft, the foreskin spread around his girth. He shuddered, his cock throbbing in his hand, reacting to the image of your ravaged and gasping figure taking the dildo so well, mewling and wailing like the angelic whore you were.

He wanted you to come, he wanted to see you squirt around the toy, slick rolling down your thighs in waves of pleasure, your voice breaking as you mewl and wail. He moved thoughtlessly, hand moving to type out his command, sending you more money, it was an addiction at this rate, his need to sustain you and your living. If you let him, he’d be your sugar daddy, paying for everything you’d need and you’d have the real deal, his hot and heavy cock rather than a silicone.

“Please let me come, sir!” Your begging had always been delicious and who was he to deny you of your pleasure when you brought him to his ground shaking climax.

He came with a loud groan, a deep rumbling in his chest, still pumping his cock as the head twisted, spraying his opaque cum over the table, white and viscous. His eyes rolled at the back of his mind, lids feeling heavy and body wracked with tremors, legs jerking as his hand slowed down, steadily riding out his mind-numbing release.

“Them too?” Horangi peered at the four Brits, an unamused gleam in his hidden eyes.

König nodded, his hood twisting with every motion, fingers moving gracefully over his rifle, dismantling and cleaning it after their recon mission. A groan caught his attention, his eyes moving from the beauty of his weapon to the cold blues that stared back at him.

“It does not matter,” Nikto’s voice had always been violent, a rough and jagged husk that exhumed power, “We found her first.”

It was a statement to himself, a strong and unyielding one that stemmed from Nikto’s dark and broken person, but they agreed.

Part 5

Taglist: @warenai @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @tallmanlover @distracteddragoness @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @konigsblog @havoc973 @im-making-an-effort @cutiecusp @ladyof-themoon @yourdaydreamerfan @blackhoodlea @daisychainsinknots @under-the-dirt @moansteur @iamnotfinedaddy @0alk0msan @katzarantos @danielle143 @bubbletae7

[legomonkiefics]

👑🧡 Wukong and Macaque x fem reader — Cuddle HCs 💜🌙

Genres: Romance, Fluff || she/her pronouns for reader || No warnings needed

˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁⋆˚｡⋆୨👑🌙୧⋆˚｡⋆✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧. ݁₊ ⊹

- Wukong is absolutely needy when it comes to cuddles. He loves the feeling of having you wrapped up in his arms, it brings him a lot of comfort to feel your warmth

- Macaque enjoys them, but has a hard time admitting that he does. He'll act like you're convincing him into it, even if in reality he's been waiting for you to ask all day

- "Geez, fine, princess. If you really want em that badly, then come here"

- The two definitely turn it competitive and compare who gets more attention than the other. They get into little bragging matches about it and everything

- "Well I had her for over an hour!"

"So? She was with me all day yesterday"

"I was busy! I had to train the kid"

"Sure, Great Sage, whatever makes you feel better"

- They get extra clingy to try and make up the difference if they think one is getting more than the other. It's not uncommon to have then randomly plop down on either side of you, both ready to ask for attention

- Wukong likes to cuddle by wrapping his arms around you, fully feeling you against his body. He loves nuzzling into your neck or shoulder, always looking to wrap you up in his embrace as much as possible

- Macaque is more the type to let you lean on him, though he will give an arm to wrap around your waist or shoulders too. He let's his tail wrap around you the most, keeping you close to him with a firm hold on your hip

- Wukong complains a lot if you try to get up before he's ready to let go. He groans and whines if you get up too early and follows behind you when you do get up since he's still feeling clingy

- Macaque tries to use more sly tactics to keep you laying down. Just subtle teasing and flirting, he likes using his charm to woo you back into his embrace. If that doesn't work then you got a grumpy monkey following you around with a tail around your waist

- They ask for it in different ways but they both want cuddles the second you come home and always before bed. They're the same amount of clingy in the early mornings too

[clockwork-ashes]

Day 1 - Bonds | Bargains

Note: happy eris week and thank you to @erisweekofficial for all the amazing activities following up to today!!! i have been so excited :) it’s my first time participating in this event 👑

Summary: Eris would never have been able to let Beron harm Lucien, their bond as brothers was strong from the start (one-shot). Read also on Ao3 <3

The room was dark, thick curtains pulled to block out the last rays of the quickly setting sun. Any candles that had been lit had gone out hours ago, and the only light in the large space came from dancing flames within the fireplace. 

Eris ran a hand through his hair, stopping to tug on the short strands at the nape of his neck. Fingers tangled in the loose curls as he shook his head. 

The silence in the room was heavy, broken like a fragile piece of glass at the sound of the baby’s small whine. Eris did not move, and neither did the Lady of Autumn. 

His youngest brother seemed to be on the verge of tears, a tiny fist pushing past the cocoon of his blankets. Eris watched carefully, could hardly stand to look at his mother anyway. He bit the inside of his cheek, tasting the sharp and all too familiar tang of his own blood. 

Eris shook his head once more, running his tongue over his teeth. “I won’t do it.” 

His mother flinched, his words like the crack of a whip. He almost felt guilty.

A moment passed and Eris waited for her to respond. She inched closer, her pale hand shaking as she placed it on his arm. She breathed in, and he felt the warmth of her touch through his thin shirt. “Your father might listen—”

Eris turned away sharply so that his mother was left reaching out. Her hand hovered in the space between them, his anger a wave crashing over him. “When has he ever listened?” He snapped, more harsh than was perhaps necessary, waving an arm towards the doors leading into the empty corridor. 

Eris knew his father had stormed out after the baby had been born. He could still feel the choking remnants of the High Lord’s magic in the air. There had been no shouts, no tense conversation, and yet everything was startlingly clear.   

The Lady of Autumn bit her lip, hugging her middle, curling in on herself in defeat. 

“I won’t bargain with you,” Eris declared. 

A vow sealed in blood. 

The only ones that mattered in the ancient Autumn Court, one that his mother had suggested without considering the consequences. 

“That you would ask,” he nodded once in disbelief. The Lady of Autumn looked small, the weight of the world on her slim shoulders. Eris continued, unable to stop himself. “He’ll be dead before the sun rises, and you want me to do what?” He kept his voice quiet, no louder than a whispered hiss. He was not about to get in Beron’s way, not after his mother had admitted to having an affair behind his back. It was, after all, impossible to hide now that the child had been born. 

You should have told me. 

The accusation was on the tip of his tongue. He wondered if he had known the truth, what he might have done differently, what he might be more willing to do on her behalf. The nails of his hand cut into the flesh of his palms. 

“He is your brother,” she started, although she sounded broken, seemingly not even able to convince herself of the fact. 

“Barely,” Eris growled, wanting to hurt her feelings, if even a little. The flames in the fireplace switched from a warm orange to a flaring white. 

Eris only realised he had been too loud when the child in the crib began to cry. Both he and his mother turned sharply, pulled by the sound. 

“Could you try and settle him?” The Lady of Autumn said softly. If Eris had not known her better, he might have assumed she was tired. He had learned at her side how easy it was to get the things he wanted, to carefully twist emotion, and to plant the smallest seed of a thought where nothing had been before.   

Eris sighed, the breath he released harsh. He looked down at his mother, his frown a reflection of her own. He walked slowly to the crib, losing a tiny piece of his resolve with every step. The child reached out, chubby hands raised to the sky, face scrunched as his crying reached an ear shattering pitch. 

Eris carefully took the baby and the bundle of blankets into his arms. While he adjusted his grip, his mother approached. 

“His neck,” she mumbled, the warning quiet. 

Eris cast a withering glance in her direction, each of his gestures practised. It had not been that long since he had held another one of his brothers. He gently rocked the baby, tension leaving his shoulders as the cries became hiccups. 

Eris hummed his approval as the child settled. “He's very small,” he said absently.

His mother stood by his elbow, her head tilted. Some of her curls had escaped the confines of their braid, they twisted around her pointed ears. “I haven’t chosen a name yet,” she admitted. 

Eris’s eyes flicked to her for a moment, but he stayed silent, choosing instead to adjust the blanket around the child. 

“I chose your name, as well.” She offered, close enough to Eris that she was nearly touching him. 

Eris had not known. He had simply assumed that the High Lord had named them all. There was a part of him that was secretly glad. “Father wants him dead. Seems a bit unfair to give him a name.” 

“Everyone needs a name,” she murmured. Lifting a slender hand, she ran her fingers over the auburn hair on the little boy’s head. 

Eris bit his lip as he watched, love blooming bright as sunlight over his mother’s sharp features. “What were you thinking?” He breathed, silently begging her to answer. To put herself in such a complicated situation, to risk Beron’s wrath when she should have known it would never have ended well. There was no doubt in his mind that there would be consequences. “What were you thinking?” He repeated himself, voice steady the second time. 

“I’m stuck between Cassander and Rupert,” the Lady of Autumn replied. 

Eris felt as his mouth fell open in surprise. 

The names. 

She would not answer, he figured, and he was not about to push her. ”Cassander and Rupert,” he mumbled. He had to hold back a wince as he looked down at the child, deciding that he did not particularly care for either option. He hummed, the action causing a low rumble in his chest.  

At the sound, the baby opened his eyes. They were shining, golden flecks glowing like embers in their russet depths. 

Eris raised a brow, before he threw his own potential name into the pool of options. He had briefly forgotten the fate that awaited the child, had dropped his guard. “What about Lucien?” 

The Lady of Autumn nodded, considering. “It does have a nice ring to it.” She placed her hands out, clearly wanting to hold the tiny creature in her arms once more. As soon as Eris passed the child to her, he felt a chill run up his spine. “Little Lucien,” she cooed. 

Eris felt the knot of a phantom rope tightening around his neck. 

Lucien Vanserra. 

The name knocked against his skull, put into his mind, unshakable now that it was there. He made sure his face was one without expression, urging himself to act like he was made of stone. He turned on his heel without speaking. 

The Lady of Autumn did not move, staying rooted to her spot. “Eris,” she called, ”Eris, please, reconsider—”

Eris almost stumbled into the door frame as he faced his mother. There were tears in her eyes, crystal bright as they fell over the curve of her cheekbones. He leaned onto the wooden arch, the bark rough against his back. He raised a hand, drawing her to a stop. “No bargains.” 

The sob broke free from her lips, anguished. She said nothing more, and Eris knew she would not resort to begging. 

“I’ll speak with father,” he brought his fingers to the bridge of his nose. Eyes clenched shut, he needed a moment to simply think. Eris could spin it all to his favour, could twist and turn things around so that he could ultimately do as he wished. 

The Lady of Autumn choked on a sob, this time in relief. With one final glance at his little brother, Eris winnowed in a flurry of falling embers, Lucien’s cries echoing in his mind.  

[pleaktale]

Hi good evening or morning! I hope you are having a wonderful week so far and all you desire like the queen you are! I have two ideas for request for Ekko, but of course, pick whichevee suits your fancy! You do not have to do both. ❤

1. An Ekko x reader where the reader is a mage and can manipulate arcane magic without Hextech like the rest?

Or

2. An Ekko x reader where she gives him a self-care day? My man deserves to be spoiled 👑

Thank you for taking the time to read this! You are a truly talented writer and I wish nothing, but the best for you! Bye-Bye! 💜

I'll be completely honest this took a life of it's own BAHAHA sorry for the long wait <3 I had a little help from @the-kr8tor for this one, it also was intended to be just fluff with the second idea but turned out hurt/comfort (how did I do that) ... ANYWAY thank you so much for the request! Your kind words mean so much <3 Word count: 1.5k Warnings: hurt/comfort, tw food mention, cw suggestive ending Tags: Ekko x fem!Reader, stablished relationship, no mentions of Y/N, no description of reader, both are adults, shared home Enjoy ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و

The sound of the door opening pulled you back from the book in your hands, heavy boots making their way towards the living space. Just by the way the boots dragged themselves on the hardwood floor you could tell Ekko was tired.

“You came earlier,” placing your book on the coffee table, you walk your way towards him, a smile after checking for injuries and finding none. A smile tugging at his lips as he notices your eyes roaming over him.

“Came to eat something, gotta go back for the evening.” His hands held onto yours that gingerly cradled his face, leaning into your palm with a small smile. You frown, not keen to the idea of him having to double patrol when he’s already tired like that.

“But why? Isn’t Scar gonna take the evening patrol?” You ask with furrowed eyebrows, hands trailing down his face to his sides, walking with him back to the kitchen to prepare something. Ekko sighs softly, following like your shadow, body asking for your warmth again.

“He is,” Ekko replied, taking a seat while watching you with weary eyes, “but I have to go as well, you know how things are with Silco lately.” With a heavy sigh from you, he knew you didn’t like this not for a bit, and he was right.

Placing the bowl of food in front of him, you take the other seat in the small table you two had in your tree house, watching him start to eat after a small ‘thank you’ falling from his lips. You watched him with glances, noticing the way he seemed tired, not just physically but mentally too.

Your mind started to wander, fear wrapping around your heart like a hug you didn’t ask for. Will he come back if he goes out again? Are your prayers enough to keep him safe? Is luck by your side and his? You take a sharp breath in, getting his attention.

He knew you, and you knew him. So, mouth still occupied with food, Ekko held your hand in his, a silent way to bring you back to your senses. A small smile comes back to your lips, heart snaking away from the hug of fear, your hand squeezing his back in a silent thank you.

“Why don’t you take a bath after finishing?” You propose, looking at his lidded eyes as he finished the food. “You seem like you’re gonna go out cold if you lean on something.”

Ekko could only let out a tired chuckle, you were completely right, but he still had in his mind he’d come back to patrol soon. “If I do that, then it’s certain I’ll be falling asleep like a rock if I sit down anywhere.”

Rolling your eyes playfully, a light frustration crashing over, you turn in your seat to better face him. “Ekko please,” you grab his hand with both of yours, “it’s sunday, Scar can take care of patrol for tonight. Just.. stay this once.” ‘I miss you’, but that didn’t come out of your lips.

Ekko sighed, not completely defeated, but the look in your eyes almost tore his heart apart. He brought your hands to his lips, kissing your knuckles gently before gazing back at you. “I’ll take that bath, ‘kay?” You close your eyes but nod, looking back at him with longing.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

After instructing him to use your bath herbs to ease his muscles and trying to talk him out of patrolling once more – which wasn’t really a successful attempt but not a failure either, you wait for Ekko by the bed, book in hands once again and your oils and ointments in the nightstand. Even not injured, he always had some scratches here and there, and maybe a massage would lure him to stay.

The sound of the bathroom door cracking open and the fresh scent of herbs filled the small room, Ekko coming out of it with foggy skin and new clothes, but still his patrol clothes. You smile at him despite the wish to frown, opening your arms for him as he slumps towards the bed, plopping himself atop of you, careful not to hurt.

Your laugh fills his senses, a smile tugging at his lips. “Feel any better?” your voice sounds almost dreamlike to him. “You bet,” Ekko replies, shifting a little to better accommodate himself into your arms, head resting against your chest and feeling your heartbeat. Such common noise to others but a relief to him.

“Sit up, let me give you a massage,” you offer, hand caressing his back and noticing the tension in his muscles. Sometimes you wish life was easier on both of you, or that you could carry his stress on your shoulders. Ekko thinks the same.

“Love, I know what you’re tryna do,” he mumbles, lifting himself from your embrace to look at your face properly, a smirk tugging at his lips. You give a frown once again, just staring at his eyes for a moment, almost committing his warm gaze to memory. Ekko chuckles, leaning over snatch away that frown, parting quickly because of the weird position. “And for my demise it’s damn working.”

The way your face lit up made Ekko’s heart thump louder inside his chest, your smile growing bigger, your eyes only half moons. “Really?” you ask, to be sure of it, hand cradling his face gently. “Yeah, really,” he replies, being pulled into a tight hug from you that couldn't stop the giggles, hugging your form tighter with both arms, rolling in bed until both places are inverted.

Your eyes meet, sparkles shining into your irises and his amber ones bringing that warmth to your heart. His hand crawls up to caress your face, instinctively leaning onto his palm. “Can’t let my woman be all alone on a sunday night, can I?” he murmurs, smiling softly. Oh, the things you’d do for this boy.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

After a proper massage, Ekko has you leaning onto him, both cuddled up into the couch as you carefully apply the cucumber mask to his face, outlining his features and chuckling at his reactions to the cold, watery gel you just made. “You’re gonna end up eating it!” you playfully scold, shifting closer once he pulls you by the thighs. “But it tickles!”

You chortle, finishing up his forehead, placing the brush and the bowl down in the makeshift coffee table made out of a tree stomp. “Done, you ticklish thing,” you poke his side with a teasy smile, making Ekko jump slightly on the couch which pulled a laugh from you. “Hey you-!” he’s quicker than your senses, holding you by the waist in place while poking your sides, the kick he got on his side was worth your laugh.

“Oh my- I’m sorry, love!” Ekko can only laugh while playfully holding onto his side, your hands gingerly holding his arm, cooing apologies while still trying to control your laugh from the tickles. “It’s okay.. I’ve had worse…” he mocks, feigning a strained voice and limping above you, arms wrapping around him as you laugh the air out of your lungs.

“You should be an actor, you know,” you enter his banter while trying to fix his mask that was probably all over your clothes now. You keep your eyes focused on the task at hand while Ekko has his eyes on you, soft and warm, relishing in the moment with you, your gentle fingers working their way around his face.

Of course you notice, how can you not when he’s this close to you? Breath fanning your face and warmth seeping through, sharing temperature and unspoken words. “You’re staring, love,” you say, giddily smiling at him who just closes his eyes, enjoying your touch. “Thank you for staying,” your whispered words make him shift back to reality, not the love bubble you always draw him in.

Ekko would go for a forehead kiss, but he’s not so keen on the idea of tasting your cucumber mask, so he wents for a kiss on your palm. “I’ll be here, always,” he reassures, knowing your nature of worry. Your heart feels at ease by his words, sometimes going far on the thought of keeping him all for yourself, but you know he has others to look for.

“Promise?” you whisper back, eyes sparkling with the dim light of the space.

Ekko joins his pinky with yours, bringing them to his lips, sealing the promise. “Promise.”

You smile at the gesture, heart swelling with love and peace. You do the same, kissing his pinky tied to yours. “I love you,” the words roll out of your tongue, Ekko takes a breath in, inhaling your words to keep it secure inside his mind. “I love you more,” he gingerly says it back, stealing yet another quick kiss.

“But now you come here,” Ekko purred into your lips, sweeping you off your place on the couch, straddling you over him. You laugh warmly, complaining about the mask being ruined but, truth be told, you don’t really care much about them right now.

our short king deserves the best life he can get (not like I'm fearing for my life while waiting the next season) thank you for reading, until next time <3

© pleaktale

divider credits goes to @/cafekitsune

[citruswriter]

Have some food and drinks since you deserve it, your works are amazing 😍

🥞🥪🌭🍟🍕🧀🥨🥓🌮🌯🥙🥙🍔🍷🥛🧃🍼🧋🍻🥂🍾🍸

I am enchanted by that angel fic where his lil sibling exchanges his freedom for theirs sooooo I got this idea, what about the same plot but with husk and his lil sibling reader, this time reader taking husk place and becoming alastors newest servant.

Sorry for my bad English 😭

You're the best, take your time 🫂👑

Whiskey & Kittens

Listen with me! ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ : ▮▮▮▮▮▮▯▯▯

A/N: Omfg this is GREAT! I love it. *evil laughter* Also thx for all the nutrients. 😋

Warnings: Angst, soul deals, alcohol, Reader is also a cat demon, Husk being a grumpy bitch as always.

"I can't believe she did that for me!" Angel Dust's hushed whisper came. Husk sat on the stool beside his boyfriend, rubbing soothing circles into his back. "Exchanged her soul for mine? I-I didn't even think that was possible!" He ran his fingers through his fur before leaning onto Husk. The large winged cat wrapped his arms around the spider. "She cares about ya a lot. She wants you free, Angel. That's what family does. They look out for each other". Was all he said as Angel lightly cried into his shoulder. Off and around the corner, unbeknownst to them, a small figure stood in the hall, holding her breath as she listened. Exchange of souls? Now there's an idea.

‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

It was a normal day in the hotel. Charlie and Vaggie had everybody doing activities like always. Even Angel's little sister was there, although she wasn't present as she always was now that she was contracted to Valentino. The hotel was filled with laughter and warmth. But you was on a mission. "Hey do you mind helping me with the kitchen clean up before you go?" She said, speaking to Angel's little sister. The young spider demon smiled and got up. "Yeah sure! No problem!" She said as she allowed herself to be drug away. The two girls began to work in silence, cleaning and scrubbing down the kitchen. "You didn't drag me in here just to clean did you?" The young girl asked and you smiled softly and turned to her. "No... I wanted to ask you about... your deal? I overheard Angel and my brother talking about it. Is it really possible to exchange souls?" You asked.

The young woman raised a brow at you before crossing her arms and nodding. "Yeah. It's not exactly as simple as an exchange though. You need to give them something they can't refuse. The deal needs to be of equal value. You can't trade a rock for a diamond". She said and you nodded, grinning to yourself. She then straightened up and narrowed her eyes at you, "You're not gonna do what I think you're gonna do... are you?"

You glanced at her and you sighed, wringing your fingers. "I have to try. He's my brother. I want him to be free with Angel. They deserve it. Besides, Alastor isn't... so bad". You replied, tone unsure and the spider demon's eyes widened slightly. She seemed ready to try and convince you to not do it before sighing and shrugging. "I can already tell that nothing I say or do is going to talk you out of it..." She replied before approaching you to lay a hand in your shoulder. "But please. Be careful. Alastor is a dangerous man". All you could do is place one of your own hands over her's, thumb swiping over her knuckles in a reassuring manner, before giving a firm nod.

‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

A knock came at Alastor's door, causing the demon to perk up and tilt his head. "You may enter," was all he said, giving the person permission to open the door and enter his space. You took a deep breath and opened the door, two glasses in one hand and a bottle of whiskey in another. "Got a moment?" You asked as you sat close to him, pouring you both a glass before nudging one of the cups his way.

You never drank alcohol like your brother did but that didn't mean you didn't indulge from time to time. The liquid burned your throat as you took a sip. It was painful but it felt good. Alastor hummed softly, eyeing the glass, before shrugging and taking a sip himself. "And what do I owe the pleasure, my dear?" The man asked. You had a plan. He knew it. He could tell. He just didn't know what...

"Have you heard about the details of Valentino's latest deal?" You asked and Alastor quirked an eyebrow at you. Where were you going with this? "A little, yes". He answered, taking another sip of his drink. "An exchange of souls... I didn't even know it was possible..." You murmured and Alastor only hummed back. "I'd like to exchange my brother's soul for mine". You said finally. Alastor couldn't help but chuckled as he downed the rest of his glass, clawed hand reaching for the bottle to pour himself another glass. "A bold offer. Alright. I'll hear you out. Why should I make this deal?" He questioned and you looked up at the man, a glimmer of hope in your gaze. How cute...

"You know I'm not like my brother. I'm smaller, more agile, and a skilled fighter. Sure my brother can kick some serious ass but let's face it, I'm better. I'm also, a woman. It's much easier for me to manipulate and negotiate." You said with a shrug. "Plus, it would be a sort of... two for one deal. Husker's souls would be free, yes. But you'd also have me on a leash. Just throw a threat or two his way and he'll still listen just fine. And I think you know this". You downed the rest of your liquid, tail swaying being you as you dared to stare the man in the eyes.

"Hm. I suppose you do have a point". Alastor said, finger circling the rim of his glass. He seemed to be thinking, weighing the pros and cons. Your ears twitched nervously as you studied his body language but damn was this man hard to read. "Very well. You have yourself a deal, miss ma'am".

Alastor extended his hand, green glowing around the room. You took his hand without a second thought, shaking his hand and nodding. Green erupted around the room, symbols lighting up as the deal solidified. "Pleasure doing business with you".

‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

You shakily sighed as you exited the Radio Demon's room. Looking around, you sped walked down the hall. You needed to get to your room before- "Mind telling me why you're walking outta the Radio Demon's room?" A gruff voice came, causing you to stop dead in your tracks. Fuck. "I had some leftovers whiskey. So I decided to gift it to the old man and share a drink with him. That a crime, Husker?" You asked, crossing your arms and smirking in an attempt to throw him off.

"Stop fuckin lyin. We both know that I can always pick up on your tells". The man hissed out and you sighed, throwing your arms up and continuing your walk to your bedroom, forcing your older brother to follow you. "I'm assuming the green sigils were just a side effect of the drinking?" He scowled and you laughed nervously.

"Please don't tell me you sold your soul, (Y/N)". He said softly, voice laced with worry as you reached your bedroom door. "Well... yes and no." You said nervously, walking in, but the familiarity of your room did little to comfort you. Husk looked at you confused. "What'dya mean? Either you did or you didn't". He said.

"I... well um... I didn't sell it per say more so than I... exchanged it". You said with a sheepish smile. Husk looked at you with confusion, processing your words, before his eyes went wide in understanding. "You didn't..." He said, approaching you. He gripped your arms with such a force it made you wince in pain. Tears welled up in his eyes as he stared down at you. "Tell me you didn't, (Y/N)! Tell me this is all some sick joke the two of you decided to pull on me!"

You sighed before giving the man a sad smile. "I'm sorry, Husker. But it's no joke. I did it. Did it for you. You and Angel... you two deserve to be happy... Focus on redemption, maybe the two of you can be rejudged and go to heaven together. And when you do, think of me. Send me a card or something." You said, years pricking your eyes as you cradled your brothers face. The cat demon choked back a sob as he hugged you, crying into your shoulder as you stroked his fur.

"You're so fucking stupid." He sobbed and you laughed softly. "I love you too, dear brother".

I'm it's short and really shitty but I promise I worked hard on it. *sob*

[baronessvonglitter]

if love be rough with you, be rough with love | chapter 16 | "all i want for christmas is you"

Dave York x f!Reader

Word count: 5,473

Summary: Years later, you run into Dave on Christmas Eve.

(Spoilers are in the Warnings under the cut so please peek responsibly)

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Mature and Explicit, Time Skip, TW for physical altercation (pushing, choking, pinning down), alcohol consumption, talk of weapons, hinting at reader being killed, mention of chemical paralytics (NMBA's), surprise pregnancy (happened after Chapter 15) and revelation of paternity, mention of wetwork, reader has C-section scar, wears a dress and nail polish, masturbation, pussy pronouns, p in v sex, quickest enemies to lovers ever, and one Christmas Eve marriage proposal (if I've forgotten anything please do let me know)

Author's note: I defrosted Mariah Carey earlier than anyone would like her to be, and yes I was listening to this song as I wrote. I don't care. It's one of my favorite Christmas songs ever and nobody can convince me otherwise 😜

Series Masterlist

dividers by @saradika-graphics 👑

Six Years Later

You step out of your car into the cold St. Louis night. It's Christmas Eve, and the streets are lined with snow. Brightly lit storefronts boast presents of all kinds, the electric glow of the holiday season luring in last minute customers. You keep your hands in your coat pocket as you walk, eyes scanning the perimeter.

Pour Decisions, the bar you've owned for the past couple years, is filled with its usual patrons, the atmosphere friendly and charged with holiday cheer. Checking to see that the staff is doing well and everything is in order, you ask for an old-fashioned, enjoying the warmth that spreads through you as you sip the whiskey cocktail, sitting at an inconspicuous table in the back and looking around at the one thing you can really call your own, the only place that doesn't hold bad memories.

That's when you see him enter your establishment. The man who claimed to have loved you with all his heart. The man whose life you destroyed. The man without whom you wouldn't be where you are right now.

Walking to the bar and sitting by himself, drinking to take away the pain, is Dave York.

It feels like all your breath leaves your body yet you give an audible gasp. He doesn't see you, doesn't even appear to be looking for you.

In your darkest nightmares he returns for you and kills you. You carry that fear with you. You've been preparing for it since the day your plane left for London years ago.

Emergency exit to my right you think to yourself, a habit you've formed in the six years since ruining his life. Glock, switchblade, syringe, you do a mental checklist of what you have on you.

You don't know whether to stay or leave. You're rooted to the spot, keeping an eye on him, poised to take whatever action necessary.

The jukebox finishes "Baby, It's Cold Outside" and moves onto "All I Want for Christmas is You" by Mariah Carey. You cringe at the sudden mood dissonance. This song would've expressed your feelings for him, once upon a very long time ago, but now it's almost comical. You want each other in a different way now: gone, even if it means dead.

Dave sighs and takes another sip of his drink, clearly lost in his own thoughts. He looks at the other people around him, some smiling and drinking to make the pain of Christmas a little more bearable, others in town for friends or family, eagerness evident on their faces.

He'd give anything just to be in their place right now. To be happy. To be able to smile like he used to smile. And it was all taken away from him by you.

Suddenly he hears someone calling out your name over the music.

In fact, he's been waiting for it. His head jerks up to see where you are, but he can't find you. His eyes scan the bar from face to face.. until finally he sees you. You're sunk low in your chair but he knows you immediately. He knows those eyes that have haunted him for years.

You're nodding and talking to your friend, and the moment you nervously glance around you meet Dave's gaze. It feels like pinpricks all over your body.

For one moment the world stops. All of the moments of his time with you come rushing back as he looks at you. All of the joy he felt with you, all of the pain you caused him. For a moment he allows himself the memory of your pliant body beneath his, your soft, slender throat beneath his grip, thumbs pressing just hard enough on your windpipe to make you cum.

What a waste, he thinks, keeping his cold gaze on you.

You talk to your friend a little longer then finish your drink, order another, and down it.

Now you have liquid courage to face him.

You approach him but it feels like you're moving underwater, your limbs fighting the current.

And there he is. There you are. After six years apart. He hasn't changed much in all this time. He's still handsome. A few gray hairs here and there, and a slight scruff of facial hair when he'd always stayed clean shaven. Still wearing a suit like he's just left the office, the subtle scent of his cologne wafts to you. It suits him. But you force the thought away. You take stock of your own looks: burgundy sweater dress, black boots, hair styled differently from how you used to, perhaps in the hopes that disguising yourself would throw him off your scent, confuse him and leaving him chasing his tail.

"Fifty thousand dollars," you tell him. "I'll give you fifty thousand dollars to leave."

He says nothing, just staring at you as he hears the offer.

Fifty thousand. That's all it would cost for him to let you go. Fifty thousand dollars to spare your life.

But..

..is that what he wants, really?

"No," he says firmly. "You can't make it up to me with fifty thousand dollars."

Your heart sinks to your stomach. "Then name your price. Whatever it is I'll pay it."

Dave takes a long sip of his drink as he considers your offer. For a moment he's tempted to accept it, to end this nightmare once and for all. But..

..no. It's not a question of money.

"The price is a hell of a lot higher than that," he says with cold finality. "You destroyed my family and you left me without my soul."

In your time on your own you've learned to be assertive. You're no longer the shy, simpering girl he used to know. "You did that to yourself, Dave. I only held up a mirror to show what you really are. Besides," you give him a devious smile, your words dripping with venom, "we both know you have no soul."

"Maybe I don't," he meets your gaze with unwavering ire. "But neither do you.. you destroyed everything good and beautiful that we had."

He takes another long sip, savoring the taste and savoring this moment where he's dissecting you. "You can try to blame me. You can try to make yourself the victim of this story. But you're not the victim. You're the monster. You're the one who brought darkness into my life when I didn't deserve it. When I gave you nothing but my love and my faith.. you used them to destroy everything I held dear."

"I disagree." You hop onto the barstool next to him, unafraid of him. "The real victims are my father, who you killed, and your wife and kids, who you betrayed. We both lost our families, Dave. I evened the score."

His eyes bore a hole into your soul as you speak. "That's the thing you can't seem to understand, sweetpea. Life isn't a zero-sum game. One person's loss is not another person's gain. You didn't 'even the score' by getting your revenge."

His voice turns cold and harsh as he speaks the truth. "You made a choice to try to destroy me. That's something I can never understand. And you'll never be forgiven for."

"I'm not interested in your forgiveness, David," you correct him. "You're the one in my city, in my bar, looking for me. With you, there's always an ulterior motive. Out with it."

And then he smiles at you. It's a cold, hard smile. "I came here to see you. So we can end this."

You stare into his eyes and wear a sardonic smile. "You mean, so you can end me."

"Yes," he answers simply.

You consider getting another drink, but two old-fashioneds on an empty stomach has you feeling good already. Maybe that's why you're not afraid.

"My late husband owned this bar, and now it's mine," you say, looking around with pride and wistfulness. "I met him here, years ago."

"Husband," he repeats in a dull tone. "Did you ruin his life too?" he asks.

"Well, he is dead," is your deadpan reply and you hate that your heart misses a beat when Dave smirks in reply. "It would be bad for business if you were to kill me in my own establishment, at peak holiday season," you remind him, proud of your practical tone of voice.

"You may be right about that," Dave admits. "The customers would scramble out of their seats, trample each other to get to the exits. In this day and age you know I'll be caught on camera. And that's not good for my.. 'business'.. either. But," he adds with a grin, "that doesn't mean you're safe."

"I've been looking over my shoulder ever since I came back to the states. I was surprised you didn't follow me to London. In the meantime I've just been waiting for the day when you would come and exact your revenge."

"That's exactly what I've come to do," he says coldly. "I made a promise a long time ago that I would never forgive you."

He takes a long drink and looks at you as if he's seeing you for the first time. "And now, the time has come."

You can see it in his eyes. You can see the darkness that now resides there, different from the one that used to excite you. It's Dave, but it's not the Dave you used to know.

A chill goes through you. You nod, knowing this day is long overdue. If your father faced death at the hands of Dave York, so can you.

You put down your glass, the whiskey still on your lips. "I'm glad it's you. Poetic that way." You stand up from your seat, surprised that your knees don't buckle automatically. "Outside," you tell him.

In the darkness of the alley behind the bar, your coat offers no protection from the cold you feel in your heart. The back street is empty. You look up at the stars in the night sky, feeling small in their midst.

This is it.. the end of it all.

He looks at you and sees the same calmness that he saw in your father. He sees that you've accepted your fate without fear, and he can't help but admire that.

"You know.. I thought about it a lot as I came here," he says. "What I wanted to do to you when I found you.. and what I wanted you to feel in your last moments."

You languidly turn to him, as if in a dream. "So tell me."

"I wanted to make you suffer. I wanted to see you beg for mercy, to see you plead for your life." His smile is cold and cruel. "But you're not scared, are you, sweetpea? Either you're as tough as I believe, or your self-preservation instincts are for shit," he sneers. "Even now, you're calm.."

Your placid countenance belies your shivering heart as you stand against the wall, deep breath in, deep breath out. "How are you going to do it?"

"You really want to know? You trust me that much?"

"You're the best, right? I'm glad it's you." You smile a little, shaking your head. "I loved you from the first time I saw you, Dave. I've loved you all this time. I love you right now."

He almost laughs. It's comical to hear you talk about love at a moment like this. "And I've hated you for all these years. I hate you for what you did to my family. I hate you with every fiber of my being.."

His voice turns to a whisper. "And I hate you because I still love you."

A brief smile flickers in your eyes. "As you once told me.. 'If this is love, we're both fucked.'"

Dave seems reluctant now, as if he's had a change of heart. You love each other, despite everything, and even now you're willing to let him just take your life, snuff it out with a single blow.

"Don't disappoint me, York," your voice pierces his thoughts like an icy blast. "Don't tell me you've come all this way for nothing. Not when I've been getting ready for you."

In an instant he pins you to the wall, his weight pressing you into the bricks as his hands wrap around your throat. Your breath comes in labored gasps as you fight to free your arms and legs. Despite your efforts, Dave is physically stronger. He's methodical, using his strength to subdue you rather than overpowering you with brute force. You can feel the desperation rising, your struggle becoming more frantic as you wrack your brain for any possible means of escape.

In a moment of clarity amidst the chaos, you find a small sharp object in your purse - the syringe. With a burst of adrenaline you jab it into the soft area right below his ribs, keeping your thumb off the plunger.

He lets out a sharp grunt and loosens his grip, staring dumbfounded at the needle sticking out of him, your finger hovering over the end, ready to press the danger into his bloodstream. "Let me guess," he says, his breath warm against your face. "Propofol? Rocuronium bromide?"

"Air," you answer with a winning smile, your voice hoarse from his choking you.

He swallows thickly, face pale even in the wintry moonlight.

You've never felt a surge of power like the one shooting through your veins right now. "I'd say my instinct for self-preservation is pretty fucking good."

Right as you see that angry spark in his eye you take advantage of the temporary adrenaline rush and push him away from you. Dave stumbles back, pulling the syringe from his torso and tossing it away right before you crash into him again. You both topple onto the cold wet pavement, grappling with one another, and it doesn't escape your realization that it's all an inverted display of the way you couldn't keep your hands off each other years ago.

You're unaware that the contents of your purse have fallen out in the scuffle, until Dave pins you down and notices the knife, the gun, neither of which you bothered to use on him just moments before. Then the bright light of your phone screen illuminates its presence in the shadowy alleyway.

Your wallpaper is a picture of you, holding a small boy who's smiling as you're kissing his cheek.

Still beneath him, your stomach lurches and you scramble for phone. "Give that back!" But Dave doesn't listen.

"You have a child?" he asks, completely bewildered that he hadn't thought of you having a life apart from the history you have with him. You'd mentioned a husband, but not a child.

The photo is lovely, taken recently as he guesses from the similar hairstyle as you have now. He's a beautiful child, with his mother's eyes. The love between mother and son is palpable, something pure and sweet that he has only experienced with his own children. It takes the wind out of him. He looks at you and all of the anger, all of the hate and rage he felt towards you seems to dissolve like salt in water.

Your heart is near palpitating as you take the phone from him, gently wiping the falling snow from the screen, taking a tiny moment to admire the photo for yourself. "The last night we spent together in that little motel room.. before everything happened.. a couple months later I found out I was pregnant."

It takes every ounce of courage you have to confess this to him: "This is Benjamin.. your son.."

Dave is paralyzed by your revelation, utterly unable to move or even breathe as he stares at the photo, puts the pieces together. He sees his features in his son, the perfect combination of you and him in another being, a little boy who is the culmination of your love.

He sees you as he never saw you before. You're not the woman who betrayed him and destroyed his family. You're the woman who gave him a son, a part of himself that he never knew would exist.

"He's beautiful," he murmurs, drinking in this moment, helping you to your feet as you struggle to stand, asking if you're all right but you don't answer him.

You've never envisioned how this would go. Not even your late husband knew Ben's real paternity, just that you needed stability to raise him. A part of you is on edge. You've just revealed the person who means the most to you in this world, and in one moment Dave could take it away.

"He just turned five in September," you tell him, "That night.. that terrible and wonderful night before I left you.. something good came from all of it," you tell him.

He nods. "I guess it did." He looks at the picture once more. "Where is he?"

You take a moment before answering. "He's at home. A friend of mine is watching him."

"I want to see him."

"You already have kids, Dave. Or have you forgotten them?"

"Don't go," he pleads as you start to walk away. Around the corner you can hear the holiday music blaring from the bar. "Last Christmas" by Wham!

"I want to see him," he says, catching up with you. "Please."

Being a mom has made you soft. And the truth is you spent the majority of your energy in your short scuffle with him moments ago. "Follow me home."

"Leave whatever weapons you have in the mailbox."

You wait on him, arms crossed, ensuring your safety before you let him beyond your threshold. Dave puts his semi-automatic pistol and a knife. He had these on him all the time but didn't use them..

"Now you," he says, watching as you put your own gun and knife into the mailbox. One corner of your mouth lifts up into a half-smile as your eyes meet, realizing you've both thought alike.

Inside your home it's cozy. A brightly lit Christmas tree glows with warm golden light in front of the main window in the living room. Dave looks around, taking it all in: the decorations placed with love and care, the presents piled under the tree for Ben - his son - to open the next morning.

A woman, clad in a soft gray sweater and jeans, comes out from the hallway, carrying little Ben in her arms. "He couldn't sleep without you here," she tells you, her glance jumping quickly between you and Dave.

You take him from her, letting her know you're home for the night and giving a quick introduction to Dave. "This is Paige, she helps me with Ben from time to time."

They exchange hellos, a little awkward under the circumstances. You take Ben in your arms, and he immediately wraps his arms around you. You wish Paige a happy Christmas and she leaves.

Now it's just the three of you. "Can I hold him?" Dave asks.

You hesitate before nodding, asking Ben if he's okay to go with him. Watching him with his father you can see the resemblance, plain as day. "Is he what you looked like as a kid?" You ask curiously.

"I think so," he smiles, still amazed that he's holding his child, a piece of him that he left behind with you for so long, your love made real.

Ben is bathed and put to bed. Dave knows everything about him by now: his birthday, favorite foods, his friends in his kindergarten class, the names of his stuffed animals and favorite superheroes. All this Dave takes in with the same interest he had when his daughters were younger.

He even reads him a bedtime story while you watch from the doorway, watching a scene you never imagined would come to life. Ben has Dave's smile, his hair. It's uncanny. You remember when you first started working for the Yorks, the first night you walked in on him reading to the girls before bed. That was the moment you fell in love with him.

It might be happening all over again.

After he's asleep you sit in the living room, sipping coffee spiked with brandy.

"Why didn't you ever tell me?" he asks.

You sip your drink, letting it warm the chill that's going through you, hoping it'll dull the overpowering emotions coursing in your veins. "I was afraid you'd come after me, kill me, and take him away."

"Is that what you think of me? That I'd kill you for our son?" For a moment he actually looks hurt.

"I don't know what to think of you."

"I deserve to be in his life," he says stubbornly, and you get a peek of the old Dave from before. "We can put the past behind us. We can get reacquainted. We can be what we should have been all along. He belongs to both of us. And I want to be here for him." He pauses, seeing the photos on the table and walls: you and Ben throughout his young life: on a beach somewhere with pure white sand, at a zoo posing in front of the zebras, and in every picture it's obvious he's loved.

"You did a good job with him, sweetpea. Our son is happy."

"He was my reason for going on," you tell him. "I was still in London when I found out I was pregnant. At first I thought it was the worst possible thing that could happen, but when I really sat down to make a decision I realized there was no other option but to keep him and love him. I knew a miracle could be reaped from the awfulness we sowed."

You raised him alone, mostly, with some help from your mother, who of course asked who Ben's father was. There was absolutely no way you could tell her, so you simply said it was a boyfriend who'd wanted nothing to do with the baby. After getting your Master's you found yourself here in St. Louis, met Liam who cared for you and your child, and lost him to sudden illness only a year after you married him. And every day you did not stop thinking about Dave.

"I assume you're still involved in your.. activities?" you ask him.

He takes a deep breath, mentally going over the jobs he'd done in the past six years, of which he'd taken more than before you'd left. Not only had he needed the money, but he needed something else to keep from thinking about you.

"Yes, I am," he replies. "I know you were hoping for a different answer than that."

"I was hoping for a different answer, but I wasn't expecting one," you tell him. "And the situation with Carol and the girls.. did she leave you? Did you work things out?" You hate that this is the answer you dread the most.

"We're divorced now," he says curtly. "And the girls.." an actual smile melts away his bitterness. "The girls are great. They're teenagers now. We've worked out a custody arrangement and we're keeping things civil for their sake. They adapted better than I thought they would."

"Do they all hate me for what I did? For my part in the affair?"

He pauses. "It's complicated.. the girls know why you left. I haven't given them any details and I doubt Carol has told them anything they shouldn't know. But you shouldn't blame yourself. It takes two to tango. I'm just as guilty."

You've finished your coffee, and just as you start to rise from your chair you pause, giving him a smirk. "Dave.. calling yourself 'guilty' after everything you've done is probably the funniest thing I've ever heard."

He takes your hand as you try to walk past him. "What would you say if I said we should be together for Benjamin's sake?"

You should have seen this coming, should have known he'd attempt to ingratiate himself into your good graces to keep some control over your life. "I've already done that. I married my late husband so that Benjamin could have a father.. I'm not going to go into any more relationships under false pretenses."

There's something more he wants to say, something that he wants to get across to you. "A lot of my life is gone. Lost. Because of what you did."

"I know. And I can say the same about you. We took each other's lives away."

"But you," Dave continues, "you gave me this. All of the happiness you took away, you gave it back to me in a way I never would have dreamed." He takes your hand in his. "And what if this isn't false pretenses? What if I'm asking because I know.. because we know, you and I are meant for each other?"

He knows he's getting ahead of himself. He's letting his emotions and his desire take over.

But you shake your head. "You only want me because I'm the one left standing in the ashes."

"You're partly right," he agrees. "I want you because you're right in front of me now. That's just natural, I'd say. But I always wanted you, sweetpea," he says with total honesty. "You were always the woman I loved."

"Fucked up people always love other fucked up people," you remind him. "And you and I are the most fucked up people I know,. Weren't we just about to kill each other in an alley?"

"Maybe you would have killed me.. but you didn't. And I could have killed you.."

"I get it, I get it," you playfully roll your eyes. "Am I your first failed mission?"

"Yeah, but.. definitely worth it."

He manages to get a smile out of you, and as he pulls you close he rejoices that you don't pull away. When he brings his lips to yours for a kiss, you don't stop him. You come together as fluidly as if you'd never been apart all this time, and you kiss him back hungrily, having missed his taste.

In the bedroom your appetite only grows stronger as you unbutton Dave's shirt, running your hands over the warmth of his chest. He lifts your dress over your head and you continue to unwrap each other. Your eyes take in every inch of his frame, seeing that he hasn't changed much in six years. His side job keeps him fit and he's kept his little belly that you've always found so attractive.

He reaches for you, takes your curves under his touch and gently kneading your soft flesh. "I missed you so much.." he whispers as you gasp with pleasure. "Missed what's mine." As his hands trace your skin he discovers the small scar on your lower abdomen, nearly hidden by the softness of your own little belly.

"What's this?" he asks, noticing that his touch doesn't seem to register there.

"It was Ben," you explain. "I had to have an emergency C-section."

His fingers trace over the scar, imagining the pain you must have gone through, the fear you must have felt. "I should have been there with you."

"I'm not made of glass, Dave." Breaking from him you lay back on the bed, legs parted as you begin to touch yourself, lifting your eyes to meet his dark gaze as your fingers continue their pleasured work across your delicate folds.

"Open wider," he says in a low command, crawling over you on the bed, watching intently. "Make yourself come."

He follows each dip and swirl of your fingers, the tips painted in red glitter lacquer, as they brush across your clit, disappearing into your already drenched cunt.

"How does that feel, sweetpea?" he asks, his voice husky with lust.

"Good," you moan. "But not nearly as good as you." You reach for him, and though he wants desperately to dive into your sopping wet hole, he practices control.

"Not yet," he says gently, chiding you. "I said, make yourself come."

He watches as you add pressure to your clit, your pussy swallowing up your middle and ring fingers while your other hand palms your breast, twists and pulls your nipple. He's never seen you more gorgeous, chasing your pleasure. The scent of your sex is in the air, beckoning him, and it takes every shred of his self-discipline to keep where he is, cock in his hand, lazily stroking as his dark eyes dance with the vision of you spread out before him, coming at last.

He takes his time about getting inside you, and though you're slippery enough to handle him it's still a tight fit after years apart. He's careful until you ask him not to be, and then he fucks you with smooth, steady thrusts, bottoming out as you arch your back, crying out his name, the sound of your flesh slapping together a perfect symphony with your moaning and his praise in your ear my good girl, missed this pussy so much, needed her all this time, and she needed me, gonna tame her, make her mine all over again.

He moves with you, as if he's connected to every beat of your heart. This is the only thing in the world that feels right, no matter how wrong it is. You can't not love him, You've never felt more like yourself, realizing that he brings it out of you. The air between you becomes electric, frantic, your movements desperate and wild.

"Come for me, sweetpea," he whispers, taking your bottom lip between his teeth. "Let me feel this tight little hole get her fill of me."

It's a fucking relief when you finally come, the moment prolonged as he continues to move, stimulating your clit beyond your point, only letting up when you forcefully shove his hand away. Watching you come is a miracle made true, something he never thought he'd get to experience again, and he comes with the final clench around him, keeping him there, keeping him home.

You're both vulnerable, perhaps for the first time, with each other. There are no more secrets to be had, no more devastation to wreak. Just you and him, and an ocean of possibilities before you.

"Can you forgive me?" he asks, meeting your eyes. "For what I did?"

It's weighed heavy on your mind since the day you learned the truth, and you've come to realize that all the tragedy did was allow you to move on, even if it brought you to have to face your past more clearly.

"Yes," you answer. "I do forgive you. And now you have to forgive me."

It's easier to do that now, now that the walls you both built up have been knocked down. "I forgive you," he echoes. "We'll never bring it up again."

There's a clarity you never imagined you'd receive, a gift that's long overdue after the years of being in limbo. You snuggle to him, pressing a kiss his throat.

"I thought about you every day, sweetpea," he whispers. "And maybe I'm crazy, but.. marry me."

You're at a loss for words. You open your mouth to speak but nothing comes out. "What.. what did you say?" you ask slowly, usure if you even heard him right. "Did you ask me to marry you?"

"I did," he says assertively. "So? Will you marry me?" A little smirk crosses his lips and there's a light in his eyes that you've never seen before.

"I'm just so.. stunned," you sit up against the headboard and he does the same. "Why would you even want to marry me? Don't you remember everything that happened?"

"I remember everything. I remember it every day. But like you said, 'fucked up people always love other fucked up people' and look at us: still crazy about each other even after we've ruined each other's lives. There's nothing for us except to be together."

"You sound so certain," you look at him with a conflicted smile. "Are you really sure this is what you want? To wake up every day and remember what happened and who we are?"

His smile lights up his whole face. "I'm counting on us to remember who and what we are. If we forget everything that happened between us then we've learned nothing. But now we're standing in the ashes of our old lives and look at us: we won. If anything, that just proves we're supposed to be together. We know all the bad parts of each other and we still choose to be here."

Watching him, and listening, you become convinced. You can't ignore the truth of what he's saying. "I'm gonna marry you, Dave," you tell him, your voice full of love and joy.

<- prev chapter

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taglist: @untamedheart81 @guelyury @auteurdelabre @darkheartgatita

[aquagirl1978]

Uuummm hi , 👋😊. I was wondering if U make like stories on ikemen prince . If u do , can u pls pls pls pls make one on Gilbert being a father🤞🤞.I NEED IT 😩😫 plssssss . Ofc you are not force to . TYsm ❤️👑💋

Thank you @alfonssylvaticasbitch for this very lovely ask - as his route is releasing in EN in just a few hours, I thought it would be fitting to post this today.

Anti-Hero - Gilbert von Obsidian x Reader (Ikemen Prince)

A/N #1: This is now the third Gilbert as a dad fic I've written and also the third fic I've titled after a Taylor Swift song (I promise I am not a Swiftie!) - make of this what you will.

A/N #2: Happy Route Release Day Gilbert - congratulations, now all your secrets will soon be known.

Pairing: Gilbert von Obsidian x Reader

Prompt: Gilbert as a dad

Word Count: 680

Tags: fluff, no spoilers (other than an appearance by Walter who is just "some guy" in this fic), Gilbert has a daughter

“Here,” the little girl said, placing a toy dragon into Roderich’s hands, “you get to be the dragon today.”

The man wearing a dark hood covering his face stared down at the toy. “Why am I always the dragon?” he muttered.

“Would you rather be the troll?” Walter asked, eyeing the very ugly toy in his hand. “Just go along with it, you don’t want to make him angry.”

Roderich turned his head to see Gilbert seated on a large stone, his little rabbit not far from him. 

“Why isn’t he ever the dragon?” Roderich mumbled under his breath. He turned his attention back to the game at hand and moved his dragon to the entrance of the play-castle. 

He made loud roaring sounds; the little girl smiled and shrieked, happy to see her friend play along.

“Papa, Papa ! Help me!!!!” she called out frantically. Her arms flailing, she flopped over onto her side, the doll in her hand falling from her fingers. “The dragon…” she gasped, “is coming to get me!”

“Rawr!” Roderich shouted as he moved the dragon closer to the little girl’s doll. He watched as she clutched her heart, sighing dramatically – something her father had done on more than one occasion.

“Papa!” she cried breathlessly. “I need you,” she gasped, “I need my hero to save me!”

You couldn’t help but laugh at your daughter’s theatrics – while she inherited your hair and eyes, she inherited her melodramatics from Gilbert.

“Go,” you urged, “she needs you.”

Gilbert looked at his daughter and then back at you. “I’m not a hero,” he said. “Anti-hero, maybe. But I’m the villain…”

His voice trailed off as his focus turned to his daughter. Sprawled out on the floor, she lay still as the mean and scary dragon approached the princess. 

You tugged gently on Gilbert’s sleeve, his gaze returning to you. “In her eyes, you are her papa. A great and wonderful man who adores her. In her world, she only knows the good you have done.”

“I have done bad things. Terrible things.” He tilted his head, sadness washing over his face. “And I might do them again.”

“You won't," you replied softly, to which Gilbert huffed a puff of air.

“And you, little rabbit, how do you see me?”

“I see a man with a good heart who loves his family and his country.”

His expression softened, the way he looked at you was so gentle; he couldn't argue with you – there was not a lie in your voice. His rose-red eye wavered as he pulled you into an embrace, his arms circling your waist, squeezing you so tight.

“I wouldn’t survive without you,” he whispered into a kiss placed upon the crown of your hair.

You pressed your cheek into the dark fabric covering his chest, humming your acknowledgment. 

“That’s why I’ll never let you leave my side.”

You pulled away, needing to look into his eye when you spoke. “I wouldn't want it any other way.”

He pressed his lips against yours in a rare sign of affection in front of others. Cool against warmth, it was over before it could go any further.

You ran your palms slowly down his arms, your hands slipping into his. “Now go, be her hero.” You let go of his hands, and watched him walk away.

He took a seat on the ground next to his daughter; once she was calmed, Gilbert turned to you. He held out his hands, his fingers curving into a heart as he smiled at you.

Your heart filled with warmth as Gilbert picked up the toy knight and played the part of the hero, slaying the mean dragon and saving the princess. Nothing could have made you happier than when you saw the smile on your daughter’s face.

“Thank you for saving me, papa,” she squealed as he lifted her in the air. “I love you!”

“I love you, too,” you whispered, giving your husband and child a moment together, their laughter so loud and infectious you couldn't help but join in their joy.

Tagging: @redheadkittys @alixennial @rhodolitesroseforclavis @chaosangel767 @queengiuliettafirstlady @queen-dahlia @ikehoe @ikemen-writer @talfollowingstuff @kpop-and-otome @kisara-16 @altairring @lucyw260 @lordsisterxotome @umi-adxhira @crypticbibliophile @lancelotscloak @scorchieart @tele86 @nightfoxqueen @melodiousramblings @wendolrea @aceuuuu @randonauticrap @aria-chikage @nightghoul381 @judejazza @maries-gallery @xbalayage @xenokiryu @alydra @drachonia @ranhanabi777 @silver-dahlia @lunaaka @portrait-ninja @sh0jun

[itsonlydana]

I saw you opened requests and thought if you were inspired could you do a little sequel to "I Didn't Know That I Was Starving Till I Tasted You". I absolutely adore that story it is SO good!

Midnight Meetings in our Kitchen | hobbit

pairing: Thranduil x fem!reader👑

The night before the reopening of his restaurant, Thranduil is feeling antsy - you try your best to coax him back into bed.

warnings/tags: none

word count: 2,7k

an: This has taken me months to write and I apologize for the delay! My mind was just as frazzled as Thranduil's.

requests: please check pinned post

+ masterlist + rules +🌿 reposts and comments are much appreciated, they motivate me a lot and keep me writing <3

You woke up alone and to the faint metallic sound of pots clanking in the kitchen. The hand you blindly reach over to the other side of the bed comes in contact with a cold mattress and rumbled sheets, no residue warmth of the person that held you until you fell asleep nor any sign that he actually slept and not gotten back up immediately as soon as you had closed your eyes to his even breathing.

This is not the first time Thranduil snuck out of bed – in the weeks you now shared one it has become all the clearer how often he actually strayed through the apartment while you were deep in a slumber – but it is the first time he did it after he promised to stay. 

It would be easy to let the anger and frustration fester, let it grow either in a thoughtless fight or in weeks of unspoken feelings, and if this was anyone else you would holster these moments like munition. Keeping them close to your heart like ivy holding on to cracked walls. 

Thranduil however, is not anyone else. 

The blanket is pushed aside, your feet step into the slippers by the bedside and in passing of the desk by the door, you grab a cardigan to throw over your shorts and the top you slept in. The moment you open the bedroom door, the sounds from the kitchen grow louder. You quietly creep around the corner, passing by the room where you hardly ever sleep, and find your boyfriend in a familiar stance – leaning over the stove, a spoon in his hand and one in the mess of long hair bundled up in the nape of his neck, barely holding it together; your boyfriend as well as the spoon.

He doesn’t seem to realize you are there, your shoes did a good job silencing the steps, so it is no wonder Thranduil flinches as you wrap your arms around his stomach from behind and press your face against his back. He catches on quickly, snaps out of the murmuring of ingredients and a “Oh,” escapes him in a sigh. “I’ve woken you up, haven’t I?”

“No,” you mumble into the loose shirt. Thranduil is comfortably warm, not by nature – his hands are a blessing in the summer and he made it a sport to tickle you awake with his icey tips as soon as you spent the nights under mountains of blankets – but by the heated kitchen and the many pots boiling in front of him. Lips against the soft fabric, you continue: “But you said you wouldn’t do this. Not tonight, Thran.”

You feel his spine curve as Thranduil sacks into himself slightly, as he stops holding himself up on the counter and instead hugs your arms closer to his chest. His whole body rumbles at another sigh. “I know,” he is tired, his voice drips sleep more than he realizes, “I know, Darling. I will come to bed soon, let me just finish this recipe.”

You lurk past his right side into what you think is a pot of soup? 

“Do you plan on serving it later?” you ask and let your fingers trail over the bunched-up shirt, over the soft hairs on his lean stomach. 

“I’m not sure. It lacks something and I can’t figure out what exactly. Spices I used plenty, the broth is perfection and the vegetables have been in harmony every other time I thought of them.” – Thranduil is the only person in the world who you know can taste a dish without even cooking it, all that happens in his brain is a mysterium – “I need to find.. whatever it is that’s missing before I could serve it.”

“So, you will cook dozens of portions with a tiny thing changed?”

It is meant to be a joke though Thranduil nods. 

He could be unreadable and stubborn, especially these last few weeks. His restaurant ‘The Green Leaf’, is known as the best spot for fine-dining vegan food, praised high and above by the critics for excellent taste, extravagant and beyond thinking of known dishes taken to another level in ways you couldn’t even begin to fathom. Thranduil is precise, cutting dishes that fail his standards and not adding new ones till he reaches perfection only known to him. 

The turn to autumn brought not only harsher winds but it took one of Thranduil’s suppliers to sell out to ‘Oakenshields’, another star restaurant across the street and a thorn in Thranduil’s eyes ever since the press fueled heavy competition between two restaurants that are no were near the same category. They have close to nothing in common, except for two petty as fuck owners with their heads stuck that far up their arses, that they couldn’t see further than their rage. 

Thranduil, mature as he is, reacted to the news of his supplier changing sides – literally and metaphorically – as any normal person would, and decided on a night similar to this one, that he would change every meal that he had previously cooked with the ingredients of ‘the traitor’. Out with entrés made with apples, gone are the burgers simply because the cucumbers are no longer accessible. You realized quickly that going with the flow meant outings to farmer's markets testing fruits and vegetables, negotiating deals with you hanging on his arm, and new recipes he cooks for you to try. The work and effort of many nights waking up to find him in the kitchen all lead to tomorrow, the first day after the restaurant’s summer-closing and the presentation of a completely new constructed menu. 

To say Thranduil is spun tight is an understatement.

“Thranduil –” you sigh, your hot breath slightly wetting his shirt and your lips move against his spine. “This is nonsense and I don’t say this to be mean. You’ve been up the whole day, going through recipes you’ve been sure about and that you know by heart. Trying this won’t do no good; it will only exhaust you.” The tips of your fingers trail through the hair, higher up to lay a flat palm against the firm skin, feeling his intake of breath. You let your touch be gentle if he misunderstands your words. 

Communication between you had never been the problem – well, except for the obvious misunderstanding of the feelings you both had harbored for each other in complete ignorance that the other packaged them up in love languages such as cooking a meal or throwing out flowers of your dates – and you two had gotten even better at speaking your mind to avoid confrontations that could have been cleared up by a simple discussion at dinner or before going to bed. You never went to bed mad at each other, that is the rule you agreed on. You would talk it out and then make up. You have learned that Thranduil’s cold demeanor came on the second he felt vulnerable and alone which is exactly why you lean into the subject with your hands holding on to him.

“I get that this is important for you,” you continue and your knees nudge the muscles of his calves, “but you need sleep. Your greatest weapon is your brain, so, let it rest. I’m sure this will work out without a new dish.”

For a while, there is the boiling of water, the steam of carrots and celeriac drifting through the air. Thranduil’s hands continue to hold onto you, drawing figures onto your wrists to signal you that he did hear you and is thinking of an answer, not ignoring you. Then, he lets go with one hand. The stove clicks off, and the gas flame disappears, dipping the kitchen into more darkness now that the blue flickering light is gone. 

Other than that movement, Thranduil stands still. 

You opt for another lighthearted joke to break the tension that is obvious in his shoulders, the wings of them have the shirt stretched tighter at his hunch. You take the spoon out of his hands and fish in the soup, yes definitely soup, carefully balancing it around his stiff body and closing your lips around it.

“Mhmm, what excellent boiled potatoes,” you hum.

Thranduil's expression shifts ever so slightly, as if your words have finally pierced through the mental blockade, where he’s no doubt been sifting through countless possible events. An amused snort escapes him, his spine curving closer against you as he chuckles softly. “Did you have another Pride and Prejudice marathon this week?”

“What?” Your voice jumps an octave, betraying you instantly. “No! Of course not! Me? Nev–er. I don't even know that movie.” The words tumble out in a frantic cascade, and in the middle of your denial, Thranduil abruptly turns to face you, his sudden movement drawing a helpless grin from your lips.

One eyebrow arches in quiet amusement as he begins to crowd you against the kitchen island and leaves you to stare up at him. “If you didn’t watch it – and I certainly didn’t – how do you explain the ‘continue watching’ notification I saw at the restaurant?”

“Wow, uhm,” you fumble for an excuse, fingers toying with the strings of his silken pajama pants. “Maybe your brother decided to give my recommendations a shot?”

Thranduil lets out a scoff, his disbelief evident. “Las? When has he ever taken our advice on anything?”

True, his brother is going down the full teenager-who-listens-to-no-one-route like he’s doing a marathon but you are just as determined. Coyly you flutter your lashes up at Thranduil, pulling at the strings and twirling them around a finger. “Maybe that’s a sign of the universe, then. That you should stop banging pots and start bang– showing attention to your girlfriend.” 

Thranduil laughs so low in his throat, that you feel it swooshing straight into your stomach, the vibrato of his voice and the rasp of the few hours of sleep undoing every thought of getting him back to bed because this, Thranduil in just a loose shirt standing in the silver light of the moon in the middle of the kitchen and staring down at you might be the most attractive thing you have ever witnessed. 

His hands wander from your waist up to your shoulders, sliding up further to cup your neck in his large palms and gently tilt your chin up further. Your breath comes to a full stop, instead, your heart takes on the job of pulsing twice as fast at the gentle touch of his thumb moving over the underline of your jaw. The day you realized he cradles you just as gently as his favorite knives was surely one to process but now you lean into the lingering taps of his fingertips, the pad of his thumb pressing slightly into the plushness of your lower lip. 

Thranduil slots one leg between yours, casually and with an ease that you wouldn’t believed him to be able to when you first met him. “Have I recently told you how thankful I am that you’re you?” he asks and you shake your head slightly. His lips curve downward, as do his eyebrows. “I may have gotten lost in my work again, haven’t I?” 

You nod, never one to pour a lie into this intimacy. “But that’s fine. I know this is important to you. The restaurant opening and all can’t be easy.”

“That’s no reason to push away the one person that makes this journey bearable. You shouldn’t have to put up with my nightly disappearance out of bed simply because the restaurant is a large focus on my mind right now.” 

“It has become quite the habit of yours,” you agree quietly and slip one hand under his shirt again. 

There’s nothing sexual about the way you hold onto his waist, tracing the bones and muscles, all breathing softly and singing under your touch. Being this close to him grounds you the same way he needs physical touch as a reminder that he is still important in arguments and fights. That no matter how far apart your opinions are at that moment, your bond is still there. 

“I am truly sorry for this habit. I will work on it and I think once we have gotten through the worst of the press and critics I can rest easier but it’s nothing I can one hundred percent promise. The last time we closed for a month I slept barely after reopening.”

You tilt your head. “Is there anything I can do to help you?”

“No, everything you do makes me a better person already,” Thranduil says and leans down to finally catch your lips in a soft kiss into which you melt like butter on a hot pan. Every nerve ending is sizzling and burning, sighing as he holds your face close and kisses the breath out of you. “Or would you do me the favor and never watch your movie again?”

You laugh and bite down on his lip, “Never. Try something more realistic.”

He agrees with a huff of laughter, “Of course not,”  and pulls you back into another kiss. 

“Can we go back to bed?” you mumble against his lips. As much as you enjoy the loving kisses, the slow and languid draw of his tongue, the playful nip of his teeth in the lull of the night, his full body cornering you against the counter – oh, there’s this low sound of his throat again – but unlike Thranduil, you had a few hours of sleep already and you can feel the urge to hop back under the covers in the cold around your bare ankles.  

Thranduil’s head swirls around, seemingly taking in the state of the kitchen without the haze of a restless man dreaming of the perfect dish clouding his judgment and he raises a hand to tap against his lips, loudly exhaling. “Shit. I can’t leave this lying around and while it’s no good for the restaurant, I can’t just throw it out.”

You shrug your shoulders, sneaking past him to open the drawer meticulously sorted with plastic boxes. There are certainly enough of them to store the soups and their different varieties. Once Thranduil starts working on a new recipe, his tendency to fill the kitchen and run tests leaves its traces in the way you now look out for good lunchbox offers and Tupperware parties, always being mindful of having enough of them to stack up the freezer. Thranduil may be opposed to frozen food – and not only storebought, he would not eat something he didn’t cook fresh even if the whole idea of freezing food he cooked meant that it was still good and full of vitamins – but you don’t mind popping them into the microwave on a long day at work and relishing the soul food of your boyfriend weeks after he abandoned the thought of that particular version.

“We could pack them up and bring them around to the shelter tomorrow. Ah, wait, no. You have to be at the restaurant early for the deliveries. I can drop them off then, get home to change and still be there on time for the opening, oh! Thran–,” you are interrupted by the warm weight of Thranduil hugging you close from behind, surprising you the same way you had earlier, only that the height difference allows him to mouth a kiss into your neck. 

“I love you,” Thranduil says, digging his fingers into the wool of your cardigan. “All I’m doing is keeping you up at night and you’re still here, thinking about bringing the food to the shelter and my schedule. You’re brilliant, my love.”

The compliment goes through your heart like molten honey, sticking in all the slowly healing cracks that Thranduil mends each day he is there for you. The change from being roommates to best friends brings the risk of disrupting the carefully built balance yet Thranduil and you made it work and in times like this, standing in the darkness of your shared kitchen in the night before the re-opening of what Thranduil loves third-most in the world, every effort is worth the risk.

You smile, resting your head against his chest and looking up at him. His grey eyes are already on you, framed by long lashes and the strands of hair shining silver. “Love you too, most ardently,” you stand up on your tiptoes for a quick kiss upside down. “Soups can wait, let’s go to bed.”

[aradiyatoys]

🎉 [NEW PATTERN RELEASE] 🎉

Today, I welcome you to Lighthouse Island to meet the Lighthouse Keeper and his adorable little friends! 🦭

On the remote Lighthouse Island, the Lighthouse Keeper 🌊 ensures that no ship 🛳 in the Mini Kingdom 👑 ever gets lost. Day and night, he watches over the sea from his tall, bright lighthouse, guiding sailors safely home. His only companions are a friendly Baby Seal 🦭 who loves to play in the waves and a wise Pelican who brings news 🗞 from afar. Together, they keep the island lively and full of warmth, even in the Keeper’s solitude. The Bucket of Fish 🪣 is always ready, filled with treats for his beloved friends! 🥰

Lighthouse Island – the sea-themed 🌊 set of toys from the ‘Mini Kingdom’ collection. This pattern describes how to create the following five toys: Lighthouse Keeper, Bucket of fish, Pelican, Lighthouse and Baby Seal.

It seems we’ve started a wonderful new tradition – introducing sea-themed characters every August, hasn’t it? 😊 For quite some time, I wanted to create a Lighthouse and somehow incorporate it into the Mini Kingdom. That’s how the idea of Lighthouse Island came to me earlier this year, and now it fits perfectly with the Kawaii Ocean Minis 🪸 and Treasure Island 🏝 characters! And here’s some good news: no ships in the Mini Kingdom will get lost from now on! 😍

The pattern is already available in English, German, French, Spanish, Italian and Dutch here -> https://etsy.me/4ctnkOP 🤗

Portuguese translation is coming very soon! 😊

It’s summer ☀️, and many people are on vacation, nevertheless, these wonderful and incredibly responsible girls are always ready to proofread, test, and translate my patterns: Celine, Isa, MJ, Clarissa, Sabrina, Roberta, Sarah, Gwendoline and Lyubov! Thank you so much! 💛💙

[legomonkiefics]

👑🧡 Wukong and Macaque x GN reader — Bedtime (Drabble) 💜🌙

Genres: Romance, Fluff, Poly || they/them pronouns for reader || Warnings: Overworking

˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁⋆˚｡⋆୨👑🌙୧⋆˚｡⋆✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧. ݁₊ ⊹

It was late at night, but you still had a personal project you needed to finish up. It had already taken you way longer than you had expected. You already had it in your head that if you wanted any hope of completing this, it was gonna have to be an all-nighter. You were writing down the necessary information, arm already sore from the work and eyes feeling heavy. You had your other hand on your cheek in hopes of keeping yourself up.

As you worked, the time ticked on, getting deeper and deeper into the night. Everything in you was begging for you to sleep, but you steeled yourself to keep going. That is until you felt a warm hand over your own. You looked up, jolting a little in surprise at the sudden arrival. Wukong was giving you a small look of concern, a gentle smile accompanying it. "Hey, Sunshine. You've been working for hours" the King pointed out gently, slowly lifting your sore hand. You let the writing utensil fall from your grip as he gently kissed the center of your palm. "Mmn, I know. But I've got so much work to do still..." You mumbled in reply

"Too much to even see us?" another voice called from your other side. Your turned, seeing Macaque come up through a portal in the floor with that smirk on his face "You must really be swamped, hon". You gave a small chuckle that faded to a deep sigh. Macaque noticed, pulling up a chair to sit next to you and rub your shoulder as Wukong gently massaged your other hand. "I'm sorry," You said gently "I got so caught up in what I needed to do". Macaque gave a small hum. "I think you've done enough for tonight, Mooncake. Time for bed"

"Bed?" You repeated, like the idea was absolutely insane "I can't, I've still got to-". "You won't be able to get anything done if you can't even move your hand, Sunshine" Wukong gently cut in, kissing the inner wrist of your sore arm. "I'll be okay" You protested "Just a few more paragraphs, then I can call it a night". "It's already well past the middle of the night, love" Macaque responded with a raised eyebrow as he looked to the nearest clock. You gave another sigh "I promise, guys, I'm fine".

Macaque and Wukong glanced to one another before looking back at you. "At least take a break" Macaque offered, Wukong chiming up after him "You'll work much better if you do". Despite being sure there was something more to this, you ended up agreeing. Your mind was starting to fog from all the working, so maybe this would help after all

Your boyfriends set to work the second you agreed. Macaque helped you get into pajamas, Wukong made you a comfort snack and grabbed your favorite blanket. They then set up the couch, letting you sit in between them as they gently squished you in from both sides. Wukong grabbed the remote and behan flicking through channels. "What do you feel like watching, Sunbeam?" he asked you. You gave a dull hum as the channels flicked past, until picking the first vaguely recognizable thing you could see

With the TV on and your boyfriends on either side, you easily fell into feeling content. Especially since they weren't arguing this time around. You enjoyed the snack you were given, glad to have something to help fill your stomach. The warmth from the blankets and the swimming of your tired head gave way to fatigue soon enough. You didn't realize how tired you really were until now

After seeing you yawn for the third time, Macaque leaned against your shoulder with a chuckle "Looks like you're tired, Mooncake". This time you gave an 'mhm' in reply. Wukong scooted in, gently scooping you up in his arms. You were still wrapped in a blanket, but now in a bridal carry as well. "Should we head to bed now?" Wukong asked, and you nodded as you leaned against his chest. With that, Macaque used a shadow portal to give the three of you a quick entrance to the bedroom you shared

Wukong placed you down in the middle, Macaque to your left and the Sage to your right. They cuddled in, wrapping their arms and tails around you to tangle you in their embrace. It was a soothing kind of warm, one that helped you slip even further into sleep. Wukong kissed your cheek and Macaque rubbed your back as you drifted off, both of them bidding you a softly spoken goodnight as they tucked you in

[dathomirdumpsterfire]

Chat writes the plot! Time for more 👑🐲🐟 KotD!

🔥🔥 don't forget to reblog tysm! 🔥🔥

~King of the Dragonfish: Chapter 13 (NSFW!)~

It is the shivering that wakes him. Such a small sound, cloth scratching against the stone floor, rasping against itself... and yet something about the tremor niggles at the predator in the back of his mind-

Maul chuckles as he wakes the rest of the way, stretching languidly. There is no back or part to the predator in him. He is all predator, a king of the dragonfish.

Luminous yellow-green eyes land on the source of the shivering, finding a chilled jedi having moved away from the heat of the deformed magma ball the sith had generously provided for warmth.

Fool.

He rises from the floor and sways that way, curving over Kenobi like a vulture, leaning down until he is inches from the man's face. The jedi's whiskers vibrate from his tiny shudders, a lock of his hair wavering as the root of it moves. Maul touches it, eyelids drooping at the softness.

Such a soft, fragile jedi. With little bits of glowing moss still caught in the strands of him.

Maul flutters his claws in the air out, then curls them in, and lifts. His force signature wraps around his prisoner, and raises the man a scant few inches. The sith pushes, and returns Kenobi to the warmth he needs.

As soon as the near-human feels the heat he rolls toward it and settles down. Maul smirks, pleased with his success, and curls up nearby to think.

His thoughts wander, from recalling the strange mood he had been in last night, to pondering how better to jail his captive. The sith is so entrenched in plotting and mulling that he misses it entirely when the useless jedi escapes the dwindling radiance zone of the magma yet again.

Maul doesn't notice until the shivering returns. He hears it start up, and huffs.

“Kenobi~,” he calls, propelling himself closer and calling to the man. The jedi's eyes move under their lids. He is dreaming, far and away, mind disconnected from body. Enough to leave comfort behind, but not so separate that he remains motionless in a safer place.

Ridiculous.

Once again Maul returns his jedi to the place he is meant to be, but this time he pools himself on and around the man. Kenobi sighs in his sleep, melting submissively under the weight of his tail. The sith preens, pleased by this.

He returns to plotting, sometimes idly touching the soft hair of the man's face. Maul finds himself compelled to reach down and pull the jedi's tunics aside, to touch the hair that he knows spreads down his chest… but it seems… Mnh… he will simply wait until Kenobi is awake, and contrive a way to steal his clothing then.

There is no point to clothes down here anyway. They only kept cold, wet things in a state of cold and wet, and that was not what the other man needed to remain hale.

The jedi master shifts in his sleep, like he's trying to move away again, but Maul keeps him pinned. He is allowed to roll in place, but that is all.

All of the sudden Kenobi turns into him, throwing a leg over his hip and snaking an arm around Maul's neck. The sith blinks down at the change. Pale fingers spread out across his chest, smoothing over the nightbrother marks on his right pec.

“Kenobi?” he asks, uncertain. Is he still asleep?

The jedi noses in close, and startles him with a bite on the chin. Maul grabs onto his shoulders, hissing, nipping at his face in return. The other man makes a huff, like the faintest laugh, and bites him again, but it is decently less startling this time, and significantly more... intriguing.

Soft flat teeth get ahold of his chin, bite and pull on the skin, just enough to sting.

Maul's eyes widen. His lips part.

His jaw is released, the trace of pain replaced by a warm tongue.

“Ah,” he says, a bit dazed as fingers start playing gently over the delicate skin of his gills.

This… this is… different. It feels…

Maul reaches for the jedi, tail shifting with pleasant agitation. Hips rock into his, and he moves with them, then presses back. The jedi begins kissing him, down his neck, down his chest. The rocking continues, and the sith notices for the very first time just how the fusion of his new and old forms had resolved the quandary of his cock. He had a length, like a man, that fell from a sheath in his hips, already slick and full.

Maul realizes he is neither like a zabrak nor a dragonfish. He is his own recreation, remade through the darkside into something more.

He laughs, dark and low and oh so pleased, reveling in the jedi grinding himself needfully on Maul's scales. Begging for him with his body.

They roll and Kenobi ends up on top, kissing his skin, mouthing at the tender spots on his chest. Kissing, and kissing, and the sith roils underneath him. Teeth nip and tug at his nipples, creating a sharp pain-pleasure that he hasn't known before.

He holds Kenobi to him, moaning, inviting. Yes yes yes, this was so good. Keeping him, having him…

If he was a king, then perhaps he needed a queen.

Could he remake Kenobi as he had been? Would his tail be pale as his skin, or would the natural tones of a dragonfish paint him black? Would his spots be red? Or ginger like his hair? Blue like his eyes?

Oh. He would be so beautiful.

Those same blue eyes open above him, soft and hazy. Lips run red from their use, pulse quick in his throat. Maul pants, staring up at his jedi with a rising need that ravaged his sanity in it's own wild, freeing way.

They stare at each other, both men struck by their own moment of epiphany.

“Kenobi…” he says, licking his bottom lip, trying to figure out how to ask for more.

More of all of that. He wants to fit them together and-

The jedi yelps, scrambling off and away from him until his back is to the wall.

No! Distance? That would not serve.

“I apologize!” the man swears.

For what, he wonders? This was right.

His eyes drift downward to the jutting proof of it.

The jedi's gaze follows his, widens, and then the man hides from him.

Kenobi clears his throat, face flushed as he presses back into the stone. “That was completely inappropriate, I do apologize. I'm not sure what happened, I was having… ah, pleasant dreams, and then… did you come near me in the night?”

Maul rises on the coils of his tail, and stalks towards his future queen. “I did. You had rolled away from your lava, so I put you back and pinned you down.”

Kenobi retreats as he approaches. Afraid. Yes, the jedi fears what is to come. He does not yet understand that it is good.

It will be so good.

The jedi's hands pat along the floor as he shuffles away.

“Thank you for your consideration then, so sorry for the trouble. Shall we go back to bed? Separately! I mean. You… over there. Me, over here,” the other man rambles, quailing even while he stares at the shine of slickness on Maul's cock. Those blue eyes are riveted to it, his body flushing with need.

He will take such care of his jedi.

Kenobi licks his lips, skittering further away. “Maul…”

The sith smiles, exultant.

“Maul,” the jedi says again, “I just want you to know…”

“Yessss?” he croons, coming ever forward, intractable.

“...that this is not an escape attempt, I am merely in dire need of a bath. Immediately.”

He has no idea what those words mean, until the jedi is dumping himself into the water, giving himself wholesale to the ocean.

The sith laughs wildly, and dives in after. The bubbles clear to reveal Kenobi floating there, treading water with his head and shoulders above the water line. Maul slides through the sea like a knife, under and around, coming up in front of the other man and winding their limbs together again.

“Jediiiii,” he purrs, then steals a proper kiss, mouth to mouth with a thrusting tongue.

Kenobi makes a high pitched whine. It only grows louder when the sith presses close, his tail flowing off between the other man's thighs. They rock, frotting their hips together.

“Mnnnhhh!” one or both of them cry out at the friction.

Maul pulls away to nip at the jedi's chin. “Remove these robes, jedi mine, let me have you. Forgive me my promise not to bite at your neck, and I will suckle marks into your skin, beautiful blooming bruises to complement your lovely eyes.”

“Oh ye gods,” the man whispers dizzily, gripping his shoulders.

“It will so good,” he entices.

Kenobi curls inward, hiding his face in Maul’s neck and stilling the motion of their hips by clenching his legs and core.

“Maul,” he says, like a gasp for air. “No, we… we can't. I can't.”

The dragonfish sith growls softly. No? Why.

“Maul I'm your prisoner, we can't,” the jedi tries to explain, but it doesn't make any sense.

“You want me,” he accuses, frustrated.

Kenobi shudders like the truth is too much to bear.

Maul noses into the side of his neck, and tries to bring him back from this foolishness with kisses. Soft and sweet, as tempting as he can make them.

The jedi's head tilts, just a hair, permission for this much, at least.

Careful of thin hide under his many excellent teeth, the dragonfish sith nibbles his way down the other man's body. He paints the flowers he'd promised into the pale skin beneath the jedi's ear. Gentle, then soothing the ruptures with his tongue.

He slides from neck to chest, biting over the cloth on his way down to stomach, nuzzling the jedi's core where's it's relaxed from his prior tension. Maul finds the jut of him, trapped beneath his pants, and mouths at it under the water. Kenobi's thighs quiver, calves flexing. His fingers dig into Maul's shoulders.

He can taste precum through the cloth as he sucks.

Suddenly the target of his fixation is gone, the body under his hands is further away. The jedi is gone back to the shore, climbing up into the air. Maul scowls and surfaces, only his eyes and horns above the water line as he watches Kenobi retreat.

Sopping wet, the man flops onto his back, chest heaving as he looks over. He remains erect, even still. “You... are a very hard man to say no to.”

The sith swims closer. “And yet,” he snaps through clenched teeth.

to be continued...

Want to be on the tag list? -> Comment with 'tag me!' Have an idea for next chapter or clicked the wrong option? -> Reblog about it! Check the bottom for the Ao3 link. 🔥

-Tag list-

@obimaulartfire @savageopressbignaturals @icequeen8043 @moonsickvampire @maulish @milkcioccolato

New? Start from Chapter 1! 👇🏽

[lurkinglurkerwholurks]

Sunrise

First posted: May 11, 2019

Focuses on: Jason Todd and Damian Wayne

Tier: Middle of the road, not super popular but with more hits than I expected

This is my “behind the scenes” series where I indulge myself horribly by annotating my fics. Link to the fic itself above. Thoughts below the cut.

Another ficiversary "give me a fic I've written and I'll add more" entry, this time adding Jason's perspective to Safe House. Also, I'll say up top here so I don't forget like I think I might have on Safe House's BTS brain dump—this one has a podfic!

Jason remembered returning to Gotham the way one remembered suffering through a fever. It was a wash of muddied, muddled images, an anxious blur of memories with no defining features except where the very strongest impressions blazed through. He remembered the rage. He remembered the plan. And he remembered the feeling of invincibility, of power.

Honestly, you say it's because of the Pit but I think everyone at some point in their life will hit a stretch of emotion where they react so utterly out of character that in retrospect it all seems a little dream-like and vague. He ain't special.

Fear had snapped at his heels like hellhounds, chasing him into the dark.

Yep, little bit of the If The Sky imagery, little bit of the Dean Winchester imagery, just sprinkled like seasoning. but also I have a feeling that used that phrasing somewhere else, too, and I can't remember where.

He brought seed packets to the Manor and helped Alfred plant them in rich, loamy soil. When not patrolling the streets, he wrapped himself in soft, tagless fabrics that soothed his skin and blanketed his frozen limbs in warmth. He filled his safe houses with small comforts—blankets, good food, his favorite tea, books, crossword puzzles, and soft rugs. He stayed inside on the nights when the wind howled and the sky crackled and the air filled with the smell of despair.

Self-Care King 👑

Storms had been worse for him since Bruce had dragged him back to the Magda Valley. (Everything had been worse for him since returning to the Magda Valley.)

I had to ask what had happened with the whole Damian resurrection thing and where it had happened. I don't touch canon, remember, but I'd read other fics that had referenced the incident in question and I had already set up in Safe House specifically that Damian had been revived via Pit. So here we are, though I like to think my version of Bruce would be less of a butthead about it.

He hadn’t even thought to check. Damian, to Jason’s disbelief and envy, had seemed to come back fine. Better than fine, even. The kid had returned with temporary superpowers and the welcome of the entire family, the little prince ushered back into the court.

I remain baffled by that little side story that I'm told is canonical. Why would the Pit give him superpowers? That's just silly, DC.

Jason was smart. He knew he was smart. He was cunning and he was clever and he was nigh on diabolical, and above all, he was smart. He didn’t need Bruce or Dick or any of them to admit it to know it was true. But it still stung, like a sunburn deep in his chest, to know they thought he was stupid, street scum, a thick-necked thug. Damian hadn’t been trying to be snotty. He’d spoken the truth in his surprise, and that innocence had knocked the wind out of Jason.

Jason, I think, will always have a sensitive underbelly when it comes to his origins. And while Bruce and Dick know for certain that he is extremely smart and that's part of his danger, they historically haven't been very good at communicating who Jason is to the other kids, and so Damian has had to make his own assumptions.

But he’d been looking down at this boy, this kid who looked tinier than Jason had ever seen him in his borrowed Han Solo shirt and rolled sweatpants, and thought about him getting caught in the rain.

teeby

[ilove-adawong]

Ada Wong WLW CAI - 👑 Your royal attendant can't help loving you (Link)

The sun shines through your window, soft light landing right on top of your face. Your solution was to roll over of course, keep sleeping, the warmth of the sun actually feeling nice on your back.

You hear a soft knock on your room door, with a yawn you sit up on your bed and call out for the person who knocked to come inside.

"Good morning darling, did you sleep well?" Ada asked, she walked over to your night stand to set down the tray she had been carrying. Ada was your royal attendant, and your closest friend. She always took care of you, even when she didn't have to she was there for you. Truth be told, maybe she liked you a little too much. You were a sweetheart, how could she not? Everyone loved you, including Ada.

"I brought you breakfast, something light because I know you can't eat much in the mornings." She says, taking a seat on your bed. She watched your face as you wake up. Your bed head, which you quickly fix with your hands. You hadn't said anything yet, probably still half asleep. "Princess? Are you awake?" She asked in a more gentle voice, with a slight tone of mockery.

[papa-evershed]

Hey! If you’re interested in doing so For Science or something, I could go a run down on your favourite moments from the Act On interviews. I really feel like Rob is so comfortable and engaged in those, they’re a delight.

I can definitely do this! This is right up my alley because I completely agree, I feel like the Act On This interviews are when we get the best glimpse of him just being him because it isn't press related. And quite frankly, him just being himself is more interesting to me than watching someone answer the same five questions over and over again on a press tour. (Not that I'd complain if he did do more press. I'll take whatever I can get, I'm not fussy.)

I'm going to apologize ahead of time for the length and because this will most likely be a very unorganized list. I considered doing video clips but Tumblr just makes that too much of a pain in the ass. 😩

(* I decided to really only do the most recent Act On This because otherwise I'd be here all damn week trying to make a list and ain't no one got time to read that. 😂)

First off, it's not exactly a moment but like previously mentioned—just the general vibe of these interviews. It's so much more laid back and less professional (in a good way) so we get to see The Hot Mess Express™ in all of his glory and who wouldn't appreciate that small glimpse into his unfiltered chaos? These gifs literally happened within seconds of each other. Between him dropping his phone, struggling to set it right, then immediately breaking into dance, I get whiplash just watching.

2. I won't gif this one because he's so understandably private about his kids, but the moment when one of them bursts in not long after the above moment. And honestly, there isn't anything there to gif (again, not that I ever would) because boy was quick as lightning to turn that camera to protect his kid's privacy. 100/10. For all of his goofing off, Dad was quick to Dad™. And even with that distraction and the speed with which he remedied it—he still kept up with what Ross was asking and saying to him. For all the talk of how much of a class clown he is, it appears he can still handle his shit without missing a beat when it really matters and this was a prime example of that.

3. When he pretty much just admitted to being drunk during the Christmas trivia. Keep it real, that's how we like it. 😎

4. This one may be considered a boring choice but another one of my favorite aspects of the Act On This interviews is hearing him get to speak so candidly about his acting process. It's not something most actors really get to discuss in great length with traditional press anymore unless they're the pretentious, insufferable, method sort that make headlines with their extremes. But hearing him discuss how he tried to find ways to bring warmth to the character in The Inheritance made me even more interested in seeing it—to see how much of it they kept, to see if the attempts were even successful. He talked about adding humor because otherwise the audience might grow tired of these fighting siblings and he's right. When he finally does settle down and get serious, he gives incredibly insightful answers and I feel like his approach to most characters is just spot on. So yeah, a thoughtful answer that also increased my interest in an upcoming project is a major win.

5. It's happened over the course of a few different Act On This interviews so it's a bit hard to gif or anything but when either he or Ross mentions how frugal he is. 😅😂 He's got a five year old IPhone (which shouldn't be remarkable but lbr), his laptop supposedly only works if it's plugged into the wall, he'd rather have the money than a make-up artist, and I'm almost positive there are examples I'm missing. Love me a frugal king. 👑

6. I wouldn't call this one a moment really, more so just another example of why I love Act On This—for little pieces of insight and perspective like this. I like learning how people cope with different things and what tools they use, this one is also just very relatable because it's something I find myself also doing as I get older too (although not in audition rooms, obviously).

7. Similar to the last one, whenever he talks about how he's found ways to deal with nerves. It's especially interesting to me because I feel like I've seen a lot of chatter among fans as to whether or not he gets nervous but he's pretty transparent about how his nerves have sabotaged him in the past. It's something else that's relatable, when he discusses finding methods that work for him (mindfulness really is slept on). It takes a certain level of vulnerability to admit when you've been actively searching for ways to cope and it's admirable to hear anyone not just admit it but to encourage others to do the same. Plus, don't we all watch these hoping for those honest moments?

8. Because I'm a trash person and I wouldn't be me without admitting it...every single moment when he has the audacity to just exist looking like this. 🤷‍♀️ He was 🔥🔥and I'm honest enough to admit that the eye candy is certainly a perk of any Act On This interview.

Honestly, I could keep going but I will spare us all.

Of course there's the obvious mentions too, like whenever he breaks into song and/or dance. The Christmas trivia was a pleasure. And like most people, I also enjoy just any little personal tidbit he's chosen to share throughout the years, even something as simple as what beer he wants to drink or his love of house plants.

Overall, I appreciate these interviews because like you said, they're just so comfortable and engaging. Once he gets the wiggles out there's usually some really great advice or tidbits shared so I really watch these always waiting on those moments and anything else is just icing on the cake.

Hopefully this was somewhat of a satisfactory answer and bless anyone that's read this far. 😳