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cloversnstrawberries · 2 months ago

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For your christmas catalouge, the nightmare one with age range 3-5 years for alastors kid? If kidnapping is the plot maybe the child could cry for their papa Alastor and his Shadow to save them?

"dream / nightmare" plantonic!father!yandere!alastor & young child!gn!reader ! !

[2024 christmas/holiday event, entry 1]

event post ! | event masterlist !

description; You don't remember a lot about you and your papa's life before this, before you were confined to a mansion that looked like something right out of a fairytale. Not while you're awake, at least. And when you're asleep, what memories do surface, you think are so twisted and disfigured that they're hardly memories at all-- just nightmares, nightmares that your papa is more than happy to comfort you about, even when they become more and more frequent.

additional notes; helloo!!! i don't have much to say on this one, but i really like how it came out, and thank you so much for participating in my event!! :D

warnings; possessiveness, overprotectiveness, nightmares/night terrors, extreme fear and distress, manipulation, gaslighting, induced amnesia, Reader is very unaware of what's happening to them, kidnapping, very brief mentions/implied child death (of reader), mentions/descriptions of serial killings, murder, violence, dead bodies, and if i missed anything, please let me know !! i hope you enjoy :]]

w/c; 3.9k

You don't remember having these many nightmares before. Sometimes, you would have nightmares, but they were barely anything in comparison to what you experienced now.

Maybe it had something to do with you turning into a fairytale creature-- something you used to dream about so much as you read your storybooks. You were a little deer, a fawn, papa says it's called. With white spots covering your shoulders, back, and face like little freckles-- and big, fluffy ears with a big, fluffy deer tail to match.

Papa says you're a faun-- with a U, not a W. It's like a satyr, something you read about in a few storybooks before-- but with a deer instead of a goat. It was confusing, you don't know why the words had to be so similar. It made it confusing to learn the difference.

It's not... you don't hate being a faun, but you miss what you had to leave behind when you became this fairytale creature. You miss going to school, and your friends, and walking around the French Quarter with your papa holding your hand.

You can't go outside at all anymore, no matter how much you beg, no matter how many times you cry and whine and scream that you just want outside for a minute! That's all you need! You just want to feel the sun again, or see the moon, or-- or feel the wind against your hair,

There were no windows. You'd explored as much as you could of the mansion-- you have no way to tell if you've explored every possible nook and cranny, but you're pretty sure you got most of it explored.

It was pretty-- like something out of a dream, your room was so big and had a loft and stars hanging above you; they twinkled like they were real. You had all the toys you could ask for, and could do whatever you liked-- no longer needing to go to school.

But... every single hallway, every room (that wasn't locked, which got further and fewer between as you got to higher and higher floors. The mansion seemed to go on forever...), and any possible place you'd assume there to be a window,

There just... never was. It felt wrong. It made you stressed and anxious. Papa says it was to protect you from 'prying eyes', mean people that would steal you away from him because you're just that special.

"Papa, can I ask you something?" You said, tugging on his sleeve as he read a big fancy book without a pretty picture on the front, resting on a big fancy armchair in the... uhm, parlor room, you think he said it was. It was just a big, fancy living room is how he explained it. You never understood why you two's new house had different types of living rooms. It felt like a waste.

Papa looked away from his book and down at you, one of his own big, fluffy deer ears went down, and he tilted his head. You would've giggled at it-- usually you did, but you had much more important things to focus on. You think papa noticed it, that you didn't giggle when he tilted his head. He looked a little worried, but still tried his best to smile as he responded, "I don't know, dearest. Can you?"

You huffed, cheeks puffing out as you crossed your arms across your chest. You gave your best effort at glaring at papa, trying to make him realize that you were being serious. That you weren't in the mood for joking right now.

He waited for a few seconds, before his big grin-- with big, sharp teeth that he said he had so he could protect you-- dropped to a small little smile. You don't think he looked very happy, but he kept smiling anyways. He straightened his neck and pulled his ears back to their usual position. "Alright, alright. What is it that has you so cross, my dear?"

"Why aren't there any windows?" and papa's eyes went wide, but he tried to laugh it off. He plucked his bookmark from the side table right next to him, placing it in his book before shutting it and placing it on the side table. He leaned over, arms outstretched. He would do this, when he had to have hard talks with you, he'd pull you up into his lap and cradle you. Softly tell you, in the gentlest terms possible, why things are the way they are.

You weren't having it that time around, taking a stop back and holding your arms tighter over your chest. Your cheeks puffed out more-- you're sure you looked like a chipmunk by that point, and it must've looked really funny, but papa didn't seem to notice it.

He looked hurt when you backed away from him, and you instantly felt bad. You wanted to quickly apologize and jump up onto his lap, let him hold you and comfort you as he told you the cruel truth.

Papa sighed, then leaned back in his chair. He looked tense, his shoulders held straight, his hands resting in his lap-- grabbing each other rather hard, enough to where his fingers were pressing indents into the skin of his other hand.

"Well," Papa started off with, and you knew he was trying to stall. Trying to make you change your mind-- either on the question you'd asked, or whether or not you wanted to stay standing.

You didn't give in, willing all possibly stubborness to rise to the surface. It was so hard, looking up at Papa when he looked so sad-- and because of you,

But you needed answers, and the best way to get the most out of him was to make sure you knew you were really, really serious on this.

You can draw him a picture later, as an apology. He always loves when you make him art, anything-- even if it's just a random house you'd never seen before, or a little cat you wish you had named Lola.

"I told you it's dangerous outside, didn't I?" And you nodded slowly, trying to figure out what he meant "I'm not going to run out of the windows! I'm not that dumb!", and papa laughed a little. He shook his head, before focusing his entire attention onto you again, softly saying "No, no, I know you won't. I never said that was the problem."

You tilted your head this time, little ears flopping along with the movement of it. There was no need to ask another question, because papa quickly continued-- he leaned forward a little, but didn't make a grab for you.

"Windows aren't one sided, my dear. That means people can look inside, just like you can look outside. You might not even know they are, and that's when they'll strike."

You swallowed the lump in your throat... you didn't like this tone, you didn't like how papa's smile was growing to a grin again-- but it was wrong, really, really wrong. For the first time, you felt on edge around your papa. "...Who will? Who will strike?" You squeaked out, and papa leaned closer-- he looked so mean, with that big, scary smile of his.

At that moment, for just a split second, the man before you didn't seem like your papa. You'd grown used to his new ears, and his sharp teeth and bright red hair-- but something was really off, but it wasn't obvious enough for you to be able to point it out for sure.

"The hunters, with their big, scary guns. Or trappers, with their constricting nets-- they'll creak open the window, or break the glass-- and then," Papa shot his hands forward, closed fists opening in a sudden movement that made you stumble back, and fall on your butt.

"Bam! you're trapped in a snare, or a bullet lodged into your arm." You started shaking. Papa... you'd never seen him act like this before-- but as soon as it came, this new, scary papa left and the papa you knew and loved was back.

His eyes soft as he looked down at you, and gingerly extended his arms again, beckoning you forward and into his embrace. You were in no position to deny it, quickly scrambling up from where you'd fallen on the floor, and all but jumping onto his lap.

He wrapped his arms around you, large and warm and comforting-- and held you close to his chest as the waterworks began, tears just falling and falling and falling from you eyes as your sniffled and hiccupped, finally able to get out a little "Pl-please d-don-n't do that ag-g-ain... It scar-red me," before devolving back into shapeless sobs, tremors wracking your tiny frame.

Then, a soft, gentle hand brushed the hair from your eyes, and settled under your chin; tilting your head up, making you look papa in the eye. He was back to normal, no trace of that scary man who'd replaced him for a little bit. "I know, my dear. I'm sorry for scaring you, but I need you to understand that, no matter how extreme it may seem, everything is to protect you." He gently tapped your cheek three times, signaling you to pay closer to attention to his words "You understand that, don't you? That all I want to do is protect you?"

Without any other possible reason to why he does what he does, you nodded, and he tucked your head back against his chest-- hand now smoothing through your hair, calmingly. "There we go. What I do may seem silly and useless to you, but trust me, I have my reasons... I just don't want you hurt, little fawn."

You weren't sure if you were supposed to respond to that, but you did anyway-- a timid, small little nod against his chest, that he acknowledged with a soft little chuckle. You two stayed liked that until you fell asleep, cradled against his chest.

After that, you tried you best not to ask any questions about why most of the rooms upstairs were locked, or why you never say anyone else but you two-- things you'd thought over a lot, and always came up empty-handed. But never dared to ask papa, not after that time you asked about the windows.

Sometimes, when you have nightmares, you're back to how you were when you lived in New Orleans. You're not a fawn-- or a faun, anymore. You're just regular, plain old you,

And sometimes, you're how you are now. A mythical creature that hunters and circus ringleaders and scientists all want to capture for their own bad purposes. Nightmares where you're a mythical creature aren't as prevalent at the ones where you're back in New Orleans,

The New Orleans were always so much scarier, because they always felt so much more real. Like they could've actually happened-- you feel the hands around your throat, hear the woman screaming at you that her baby was dead-- that her son was gone, and if she couldn't have him, then the one who took him couldn't have you.

It felt more like a memory, more than the ones where you were a little fawn with pretty, shimmering white angel wings-- and a glowing halo. You had won. You were always called a winner, but you don't really know what you had won,

Those nightmares always ended with one of two things-- black, inky tendrils sprouting from the cloud-like ground below you, and wrapping around your torso; grabbing you, pulling you down. You screamed, but no one around knew what to do, and then-- right before your head was pulled below the cloud-like ground, and someone was reaching for your outstretched arms, you'd wake up.

You never knew the ending of that dream, if you were pulled down or helped up. You don't know if it matters much either way.

The second one, you couldn't remember very well. You never did, all you knew is that it was different. That a big, big monster with scary eyes and long, razor-thin limbs was hunched over you. Black drool dripping onto you as you tried to melt into the clouds below you. Its voice was distorted, and you never remembered exactly what it said.

It sounded relieved, you think. Saying something about... about how he'd never lose you again, how you were his precious little child, and how you would never go a day without... without whatever it was, again. It hurt to try and think about what exactly it called itself. You think it started with a "P", but you were never sure.

But this night, you had a new dream. And this dreams was so bad. It was so awful-- you weren't really... apart of the dream. You were like a ghost, but you couldn't fly. You didn't look like a ghost-- didn't feel like one, but nobody seemed to notice you.

Voices whispered into your ear, begging you to run, to leave-- you couldn't turn your head to look at them, maybe frozen in fear; you'd catch glimpses of what you think the whispers belonged to. Long, stretched out faces stuck in a forever scream. Some of them looked like animals, or toys, or something like that-- and some looked entirely human.

They whisper that they will try as best they can to help you, that you were just a little baby. You didn't deserve this, you deserved to be back in heaven-- with your wings fluttering on your back and your halo hung above your head. Urging you to run, to escape the Radio Demon;

There's a demon after me? you tried to say, but you found you couldn't speak. Couldn't move your mouth, couldn't vocalize anything-- couldn't so much as twitch a finger.

You'd never had a nightmare like this before.

You hope you'd never have it again.

"No, but he's with you." The voices whispered, as if they heard what you had to say-- but you hadn't spoken. Can you read my mind? You asked, but they don't reply to it.

"Look, look over there." A voice calls, and it sounds... familiar. It sounds like one of your friends older brothers, the one that'd tease and terrorize you when you came over-- he'd even cut your hair once.

He was 13 when he left. You didn't think people could move away without their family when they were that young, but no one ever explained more. They just said he wasn't with them anymore.

They held a party, where everyone dressed in black and brought flowers to a special place-- like a park, your friends mom had explained to you. She looked like she was about to cry.

You weren't invited to the party, and neither was your friend. She stayed at your house that night, and neither of you really knew what'd happened.

Without any input of your own, your head turned to the side-- someone was walking down the street, a woman with clicky heels and the really fancy see-through tights that Papa said you could wear when you got older. She had a mink on, you never liked when people wore them. But it must've meant she had a lot of money...

She was walking quickly, glancing behind her a lot. You don't know why, not until someone else came into view-- a man, a man with a big overcoat and very quiet steps,

A woman's voice called next, saying "Look closely. Look very closely at the man." She sounded a little... snobbish, you think Papa called it. It's when someone thinks they're better than you for no real reason, and they usually aren't.

It was really dark, the woman started walking faster, she kept looking back-- she couldn't run very well in those heels. She tripped over a crack in the road. You remember that crack very well, having tripped over it yourself a couple times-- but papa was always there to catch you before you fell onto the pavement.

The man didn't speed up-- he walked really fast anyways, he had really, really long legs; you still couldn't see his face, but you saw, as he got closer, he pulled a knife from his pocket--

"Oh, come now Marjorie, don't be like that! Didn't you want a walk through the bayou? So we could bond?"

It was your papa. His face came into the light as he held the knife to the woman's throat and grabbed her by the hair-- it looked like it hurt a lot. He pulled her up by it, and kept the knife at her throat. "No--!" She cried out, sounding like the snobby voice that told you to look very closely-- but the man-- papa, held the blade closer to her throat. You saw red beading up around where the knife touched her neck.

"As I recall, you said you wanted to get to know me, yes? So you could mother my child-- because, obviously, I'm not doing well enough on my own?" He sounded so mean. It didn't sound like your papa. It sounded like whatever had replaced him that time you asked about the windows in your new home.

His hand curled tighter around her hair, and she started to cry, as the fake-papa leaned closer, and he looked like he was about to kiss her-- but he stopped right before doing it. "What was it you said, thinking you'd make it into my good graces? That every child needs a mother? Hm?"

The lady, Marjorie, shook her head. Maybe she was refusing to answer, or denying she ever said that. Fake-papa's eyes got crueler, and he started dragging her away. "Oh, it's too late for that. You can't just shake your head and think you'll get out of this! How childish."

You wanted to cry, but not a single muscle in your face would-- could move. The voices cried out "Follow, you have to follow--" and your feet began moving on your own, but finally-- you could move a little. Clamp your eyes shut and scream in your head, yell No! No, this isn't real! I wanna wake up! I want my papa!

The things around you began to panic, and when you opened your eyes-- you finally saw them in full.

You never want to remember them. How they looked, how their bodies were contorted and all wrong, how wisps of shadows flew off of them; like the little helpers papa uses sometimes.

"I want my dad! I don't want to be here anymore!" You yelled-- finally able to speak, and the world around you seemed to crumble in on itself. The things shrieked, afraid-- screaming at one enough, all scrambling up into the sky,

Or where the sky would've been, had been a few moments before.

"We're gonna be in so much trouble..." One of the younger sounding voices wailed, and another screamed at them, saying "Shut your trap and get up! We have to be out before he comes and--"

You woke up, already crying-- papa was shaking you awake, he looked so scared. That made it even worse-- his eyes so wide, wider than you'd ever seen before. He looked... he looked angry, but not at you-- he looked like he was worried for you, but under that, was the anger.

You were smart enough to realize the anger wasn't at you.

He was calling your name, and as one big, shuddering sob fell out, you jumped at him-- wrapping your arms around his waist and pressing your face to his chest. Terrified.

"I-I had, It--" You could barely think, barely put together your thoughts on what nightmare you just had-- much less talk about it. Papa shushed you, and pulled you close. "It's okay, you're alright. Nothing will hurt you, not while I'm here."

Usually, that helped a lot. But you cried even harder-- your tiny hands fisting his silk sleepshirt as you wept against it. Silk was so delicate-- you were definitely staining it with your tears and snot, but papa didn't seem to care.

He picked you up, then got up on your bed, resting his back against the headboard, he laid you on top of himself, your head resting atop his chest. One hand absent-mindingly played with you hair, smoothing it, fixing it, whatever was his fancy in that moment-- and the other was resting on your back, and he pat your back every so often to bring you back to the now-- to the fact you weren't in that nightmare anymore, that he was with you.

You were safe.

Half of you didn't feel like you were, the half that believed the nightmare to be true-- but your more logical side won out. Papa wouldn't do that. It was just... just your brain messing with you. It's worrying for you, that you dreamt of such violence.

It made you feel guilty, like your own mind had turned against the man who single-handingly raised you, with such loving, despite having such a busy life; he always made room for you.

Once you'd calmed down enough, you tried to speak again. Usually, especially with dreams this bad (though, this is a new record-- but there'd been very bad ones before), he'd ask or encourage you to tell him about it, even if it was vague.

This time, when you tried to do it out of your own choice, he hushed you. He'd never done that before-- but all he said was "You don't need to tell me, it's alright. If you still want to, you can tell me in the morning. Just relax for now, I'm here. You're safe." His hand stopped so much playing with your hair as it was pushing your face to his chest, and you got the point.

You didn't know why he'd really done thought-- other than for comfort, your darling, innocent little mind couldn't even conceptualize the very idea of your father having any ulterior motive,

that he would've hide your face in his chest, so you wouldn't happen to look up and catch the way his grin stretched inhumanely-- how his pupils were shifting between dials and not, before he finally gave in and just let them stay as dials. You could see the slight green glow out of the very corner of your eye, but you didn't question it. Didn't even notice the heavy, menacing sounding static--

You were just about to fall asleep by that point, and when you did, Alastor continued to hold you. As he held you, he thought of ways to punish those fools for what they'd tried to pull, scaring you so badly. Acting like they were trying to help you.

You didn't need help, especially not from them. You had him, after all-- and he'd protect you, forever and always. There was never a moment where he wouldn't do so, wouldn't drop everything to come rescue you-- or comfort you in a time of need.

In part, he supposes it's his fault for giving the Shadows such lax restraints... little more than his words and threats holding them from interacting with you on a deeper level than he explicitly allowed;

He'd be sure to fix that, but after you wake up. And after he's made you breakfast, your favorite-- he believes this situation drastically calls for it.

#yandere alastor #yandere x reader #platonic yandere #yandere hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel #platonic yandere x reader #yandere alastor x reader #platonic yandere alastor #child!reader #gn!reader #requests open #!! holiday catalogue event 2024 !!#my writing

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nemo-in-wonderland · 17 days ago

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ROBYN "HIRAETH" GOODFELLOW | ARCHFEY BARDLOCK | HALF SEA ELF

Name: Robyn Goodfellow

Nickname: Hiraeth. It was her human mother’s name. She took it as her own after returning from the Feywild and uses it as her performing name to honour her memory after having lost her to the whims of time.

Title: “The Silvertongued Saltimbanco”

Alias: Puck (it was the name Oberon used for her during her time in the Feywild. Her Patron grew fond of it and that’s how she is known at the Seelie Court. She doesn’t seem to particularly appreciate it, but she knows better than to contradict either Oberon or Titania).

Age: 33 years old (albeit, she woud be over 150 years old, due to having spent approximately three years in the Feywild, at the Seelie Court, where time flows differently compared to the Material Plane. She was actually born in 1292 DR - Year of the Wandering Waves).

Birthplace: Hiraeth was born in the waters of Deepwater Harbour of Waterdeep, in the sea elf hamlet of T'Quession.

Hometown: Waterdeep, the City of Splendours

Current Residence: Before the events of Baldur’s Gate 3, Hiraeth was travelling around the planes with the Witchlight Carnival, where she performed as Trapezist and Aerial Artist. After the events of Baldur’s Gate 3 and after fulfilling her pact with Oberon, she went back home to Waterdeep with Gale.

Alignment: Chaotic Good

Race: Half-Sea Elf

Class: Archfey Warlock/ Bard

Profession/job: Saltimbanco and Trapezist.

Visual particular traits: Underneath the Fey Glamour she casts upon herself to appear as a normal Elf, Hiraeth hides the scales, fins and gills that would be a dead give away of her sea elven heritage. She is not particularly comfortable in showing them around, at least on the Material Plane. In the Feywild, she doesn’t care as much and goes around without any glamour covering her features.

Scent: Evening Primrose, Pansies, Moonflower and Honeysuckle. Hawtorn as well.

Colours/symbols associated with: The Colour of the Astral Sea; Her flute, carved by Damh himself, twin to his own, from which she never parts ways; the mist in an autumnal forest at dusk; A bush filled with blossoming pansies, in all the shades of blue, violet and pink; the dust that fall of a butterfly’s wings; the beauty of the crushing waves during a storm; the glittering of fireflies all round a meadow;

Languages: Thanks to her time spent in the Feywild and subsequently, travelling with the Witchlight Circus and her own inclination to pick up languages easily, Hiraeth can speak an incredible amount of languages. She is fluent in Sylvan, Faun, Elvish (Sea Elvish) and Common. She is also conversational in Sylph, Merman Language and Selkie and, while travelling with Azriel, Asra and Dorothea, she is learning Infernal and Druidic as well.

Accent?: She retaines no Waterdhavian accent from the small time she spent with her mother and father, before ending up in the Feywild, and her current accent is influenced by Damh’s own. So she generally speaks with a strong Sylvan accent.

Tropes they embody: “Fish out of water”, “The Charmer”, Plucky Comic Relief”, “Eternal Youth”, “The Fair Folk”, “Broken Bird”, “Manic Pixie Dream Girl”, “The Rebel”, “The Eternal Optimist”, “The Trickster”, “Hidden Depth”, “Badass Adorable”, “Beware the Nice Ones”, “Cloud Cuckoo Lander”, “Cute Bruiser”, “Deadpan Snarker”, “Bunny-Ears Lawyer”, “Didn’t think this through”, “Exact Words”, “Obfuscating Insanity”, “Eccentric Artist” “Everyone Calls Him Barkeep”, “Non Sequitur”, “Daddy’s girl”, “Fourth-Wall Observer”, “Cheshire Cat Grin”, “O.O.C. Is Serious Business”, “The Prankster”, “Fey-Driven Talents”, “Undying Loyalty”.

Personality: Charismatic, Enchanting, Imaginative, Assertive, Natural Flair for the Dramatic, Sweet as Sugar, Enthusiastic, Kind Hearted, Mischievous, Witty, Whimsical, Happy-go-lucky, Determinate, Resilient, Spontaneous, Eccentric, Fey-Touched, Thoughtful, Can be apathetic, Far too forward, lack any type of filter, uncautious, erratic, disorganized, sometimes she appears detached from reality, as if she was living in two places at the same time. It took Gale a while to realize that it can take a while before she comes back to their reality. Whenever she is “back”, all she could say is that whenever the music of the flutes starts, she has to follow.

Detailed Backstory: Hiraeth - née Robyn Goodfellow - was an Half-Sea Elf, born from the union of her human mother, Hiraeth Dantathur Goodfellow, and a Marel Sea Elf, Aeren Maenenrid, of the noble house Maenenrid, one of the founder family of Mareliar.

Her father was a respected warrior among the Aquatic Elves society, known for his prowess in battle, the merciless ferocity he displayed against the enemies of his people and his utmost devotion to the Goddess Umberlee; her mother, instead, was a kind but spunky human woman and a renowned travelling bard in Waterdeep, known for being able to compose and play the most beautiful songs, dedicated to the Goddess Selune, despite being completely blind.

They met by chance while she was touring in Cormyr with her itinerary band: she was singing in Dragonmere and he happened to listen upon her, while patrolling the shores. There was something in the way that human sang, something in the way her notes would touch part of his heart in a manner unknown even to himself. Before long, Aeren found himself absolutely smitten by her and her singing, and approached her, with all intention of getting to know her. Hiraeth Dantathur, on her end, was also incredibly curious about this suitor of hers, albeit unaware about his maritime persuasion.

Nevertheless, their love soon blossomed over time, and evolved in a forbidden relationship, for Aeren had been promised, in an arranged marriage, and betrothed to another Marel Elf, Nessa Aveantius. Aeren could not bear the thought of giving up his sweet human love, and decided - despite dreading the idea - to travel through dry land and leave the Sea of Fallen Stars behind, heading instead with Hiraeth Dantathur to her hometown, the City of Splendors, Waterdeep.

Here, they would settle down in the harbour, where Aeren would make contact with the local population of Sea Elves and offer his skills and experience as defender of the underwater hamlet of T'Quession, and not long after this, their only daughter, Robyn, was born.

Joyful and mischievous, little Robyn spent more time underwater than she did on land, swimming and diving deep in the harbour, where she would play with the children of the Sea Elves of T’Quession.

Whenever her mother would manage to catch Robyn and actually make her sit still for a little while, she would bring her to the same woods where her father, a druid and acolyte of the Feywild Gods, raised a stone circle and standing stone; there, she would teach Robyn how to play the flute in honour of Damh and Titania, Oberon ad Verenestra, and would talk for hours about all the stories her own papa would tell her about the Feywild.

Fascinated, Robyn would start to look forward to these little moments with her mother, and would start bringing small gifts of food to leave within the stone circle, as an offering to the old Sylvan Gods.

Their happy days, however, would soon come to a close, for Nessa Aveantius, Aeren’s intented, with sorrow at first and then scorn at the news that her future husband would renounce their future life for a human woman, did all in her power to find them and take back the happiness that was stolen from her.

So, one day, five years from Aeren and Hiraeth Dantathur’s arrival at Waterdeep, the assassins sent by Nessa would find the small family and enact the long awaited revenge of the scorned elf-woman.

Aeren fought like a shark, trying to defend both Hiraeth and Robyn, but unprepared as he was, he lost Hiraeth to the assassins’ daggers before he had the chance to even embrace his own trident. Knowing Nessa and her vindictive temper , Aeren knew that the assassins’s aim was not just the woman he had loved, but also the child that they had sired together, so to forever erase the offense brought by his betrayal.

He screamed for little Robyn to run, run, run, as far and as fast as the breeze allowed her, and to never look back, for if she did, she was lost.

Robyn, covered in her mother’s own blood and absolutely terrified in her pain, fled the small cottage, trying to put as much distance between the assassins and herself. She let her feet guide her down the path, drowning in pure terror as she tried to keep the last thoughts of her mother’s life away from her mind.

Back into her mother’s glade, she found her grandfather’s circle of stone, and without looking back, she crossed through the dolmen, and kept running until her legs gave out ad she couldn’t even breathe anymore.

So terrified she was of her pursuers, that she hadn’t even noticed that the forest around her was not the wood that bordered the clearing, and without a second thought, she would find a small cavity in one of the trees nearby, climbing inside and hiding away.

She didn’t remember how long she had spent inside the tree, trembling and whimpering at every single sound, but it was not long before exhaustation would take her and she would fall into a deep, almost impenetrable sleep.

Nightmare after nightmare would followed her through her slumbering, chasing and stalking her like a pack of rabid dogs that would not let her rest, reliving the moment her mother’s eyes - blind from childhood - would truly never see life ever again; recalling her father’s blood running from the wound on his head and his distraught scream of admonishment to run for her life.

Nightmare after nightmare after nightmare that paralyzed Robyn into a spiral of horrors, until gentle music found its way within her mind and quelled some of those atrocities.

When she opened her eyes, trying to figure out where she was, she found a stranger looking at her with curiousity.

He didn’t resemble any man she ever saw in her life: small in stature, with skin the colour of the branches of the tree around her, auburn hair with golden filigree and eyes as dark as a starless night, he appeared to be around the same age as her papa, but at the same time, something about his bearing made him appear as old as the mountains she once read about in one of her mother’s book.

That man was Damh, son of Titania and Oberon and the old Patron God Robyn’s maternal family worshipped when alive.

Without any question, for he had witnessed what had happened to her, he took young Robyn with him, and brought her to the Summer Court, Titania’s domain, where she would reside for the following three years.

Damh would plead his mother to allow him to keep the child around, for her family was among the few that still worshipped him, and a great tragedy had befallen them all. Titania would agree to her son’s wish, moved to profound pity at the predicament the child had found herself into, but she had one condition for her son: to never let the mortal child wander the Summer Court whenever Oberon was around; the Green Lord was not fond of mortals, after Titania’s own tryst with a mortal man a few decades earlier, and she knew that, even if time had passed, he still resented her for it.

And so little Robyn was left under the gentle - if unorthodox- cares of Damh, who treated her with kind compassion and saw in her an acolyte and a student to whom impart the knowledge of the Feywild and of the Sylvan Gods of Old.

The sadness in Robyn’s heart lingered for a while, with her thoughts always leading her back to the Harbour of Waterdeep, where her life had started and finished at the same time. But time and reality in the Feywild was fickle, and soon her memories started to dim. As Damh would often explain to her, whenever she asked why she couldn’t answer questions about her past anymore, “ The Feywild makes you forget. The longer you linger here, child, the more of you will be lost to the Faerie”.

With forgetfulness, came a quenching of the sorrow that was strangling her heart, and each day that sorrow would relent its grip, leaving Robyn in relative peace, as she followed Damh around from one adventure to the other, exploring all the Feywild far and wild, as she slowly forgot about everything that was “before”.

But the Green Lord, who dominated over the Summer Court, couldn’t be kept oblivious for long, and a fatal day, Robyn, now a child of almost eight years of age, stumbled upon him while looking for Queen Titania and Damh.

As much as the sight of a mortal child walking his Court despite his explicit ban on allowing mortals to enter that sacred ground was enough to anger Oberon, nothing could rival the fury he felt when he discovered that his own son and wife had concealed Robyn from his knowledge.

Knowing that he couldn’t do anything to hurt either Titania nor Damh, Oberon decided to take his revenge onto the child that had dared stroll around his Court, and bound young Robyn into a pact with him: Robyn was tricked by Oberon into giving her name to him, in exchange of powers that altered reality for her victims, leaving her unable to distinguish dreams from reality. Robyn believed that she was agreeing to a harmless promise to bring joy and merriment, after so much sorrow, and to also contribute to protect beautiful dreams, but instead, she was unwittingly caught into Oberon and Titania’s quarrel, born out of Oberon’s jealousy toward the favour his wife had once shown to a mortal through dreams and visions.

Because of this, Robyn’s mind would be perpetually torn between the dream realm and reality, with no way of controlling either in the way she wanted. She would experience vivid, often terrifying dreams of her “victims”, dreams that intruded upon her consciousness, causing her to lose track of time and space and leaving her fractured, as if she her own conscience was divided from her own soul. Her perception of reality was often distorted, leading to experience hallucinations, with sudden mood swings, and uncontrollable bursts of magic that she had no way to predict. She might find herself acting out dreams in reality or slipping into a dream state without warning and her sanity would always be at constant risk as she battled the chaotic thoughts and impulses that bombarded her mind.

Unaware of all the consequences that would come from trading away her name, Robyn would then be sent once more to the Mortal Plane, now carrying the alias of "Puck", but not before Titania bestowed a blessing and a protection upon the young child, to allow her to retain, at least partially, a sense of the reality around her. It was also Titania’s blessing that would put her on the path of a young Gale Dekarios, causing the two to actually become friends.

Gale and Robyn knew each other since childhood, when Morena Dekarios welcomed her in their household for a while. They were close friends, with Robyn being enamoured of the way he practiced Magic and him being absolutely enthralled by her stories of the Feywild and also immensely happy to have someone that looked up to him and didn’t think him bizarre. They would often spend their days together, playing tags around the docks together or putting themselves in trouble, with Robyn being the culprit and instigator, most of the time, sweet Gale always ready to play with her and poor Tara trying her best to look over the two children so that they would not end up in trouble. Sometimes, whenever Gale would ask her to, Robyn would recount about all her adventures in the Feywild with Damh, and all the wondrous places she explored during her time there (something that Morena didn’t truly believe possible, but would always refrain from letting her thoughts known, so not shatter Robyn’s belief).

But, whenever she tried to recount anything connected to Oberon or anything connected to the pact she agreed to as a child, she always felt her mind grow as foggy as an early morning on the Tor that acted as a barrier between the Court of Summer and the Court of Autumn, and could feel her own mind break in two, in the “here” and “there”.

Curious about such predicament, Gale would not hesitate one moment to find his way into Blackstaff Academy and learn whatever he could on the topic, but alas his efforts, albeit commendable, would always result in nothing.

Still, stubborn as ever, Gale would not give up on his friend - on whom he had started to harbour a crush - and promised Robyn that he would find a way to retrieve all her memories.

A year after Robyn had “unofficially” joined the Dekarios household, Robyn and Gale would find their way to the Harbour, busy as they were in , able to only remember glimpses of her life before entering the Feywild, found her way to the old, small sea-side cottage her father had built for their family, and once there, she found it empty, sacked and left at the merciless whims of time.

A small tombstone laid not that farther away, and drawn by it, Robyn found where her mother’s last resting place was. The sight dislodged some of the memories she believed forgotten, with glimpses of what happened on the fatal day when the assassins from her father’s tribe came to bring ruin and devastation.

And it was more than she could bear, as those memories started to cascade without respite. But the memories were not the only thing that brought dread to her heart: the date on the small tombstone had left her bereft, for how was it possible that two hundred years had passed from that day?

She was only nine years old: how could it be?

Confused and terrorized about who she was, what she was, what she had agreed to when she gave her name to Oberon, she felt her mind fractur even more,and before she could stop herself, she started spiraling, which caused her to unleash some of the untamed powers that Oberon gave her.

It wasn’t the first time it happened, but whenever she couldnt’ bridle them in the Feywild, Damh had always been there to help stabilize herself before her outburst of magic could cause havoc.

It was not the case that time, and she ended up hurting Gale, a possibility that had always terrified her ever since she met the sweet boy.

Even more frightened now, she brought Gale back home, where Morena and Tara would tend to his wound, imploring Morena’s forgiveness for what happened, and swearing it had been an accident. The young woman would forgive Robyn, and Gale as well would be all patched up without lasting consequences, but Robyn could not forgive herself.

What would happen if she would spiral again? What would happen if she couldn’t keep her powers under control, now that Damh was not with her?

Invain was the reassurance that all was forgiven and that they would all try to find a way to help her: Robyn felt too dangerous to be around others, especially around Morena, Gale and Tara, that had treated her like one of their own, without ever asking anything from her.

That very night, despite the profound sadness she felt in leaving the people that had welcomed her in their life and gave her a semblance of normalcy, she decided to run away from the Dekarios household, and to run away from Waterdeep entirely, leaving her hometown behind in the hope that, by putting some distance between herself ad her past, she would not spiral anymore and would not cause any more accidents.

Not daring to find her way into the Feywild again for fear that more centuries would pass, she spent a few years as a urchin in Baldur’s Gate, where she would survive from people’s charity, conning the Patriars and dipping into their fat purses.

It was at 13 years of age, while she was busy performing a rather daring move to enter inside one the Patriars’ manor to steal some jewelry - Szarr, was the name - that Robyn was caught by Mr. Witch and Mr. Light, the two proprietors of the Witchlight Carnival, and impressed by the was the girl seemed almost to levitate on air, they offered her a job at their circus.

Robyn - now Hiraeth, in honour of her mother - accepted and became part of the Circus, travelling around the various Planes with the troupe, until that fated day in the year 1492 DR, where she was abducted by a Nautiloid and tadpoled.

Most treasured possession: The charms she carries around her waist: a gift from Damh from her first time she crossed the Fey Crossroad into the Feywild, she carries it with her at all times. It’s what allows her to not age (and die from it) every time she travel from the Feywild to the Material Plane. Another one is an ocarina made out of seashell that she had with her the day she was lead into the Feywild by Damh. It was the only thing that she was able to grab before doing as her father told her to and run for safety. Another possession she has, that she never parts with, is an enchanted lantern that Dorothea gifted her, when they met in Neverwinter. After hearing Hiraeth’s affliction about her “not belonging anywhere”, Dorothea enchanted a lantern for her that would lit up in her hour of needs and lead her to her true home, when in doubts.

Sexual and/or romantic situation: After sharing part of their childhood together, and after reuniting when both of them got tadpoled, Hiraeth fell in love with Gale with such profound sentiment, it finally gave her the resolve -and the hope- that she would be able to get out of her contract with Oberon and would finally be able to be whole once more.

Favourite place: The Court of Under the Stars. Once, as a child, during her residency in the Feywild, Hiraeth and Damh went adventuring together, and Damh managed to sneak them both inside, by traversing the portal that lies where the River Styx touches Yggdrasil. They shouldn’t have had access to the Plane where the Court resides, but Queen Morwel was indebted to Damh, and to return the favour, allowed for them to pass through the portals unscathered and to travel around the realm freely just that one time. Here, Hiraeth experienced something that marked her forever, when she saw the eternal twilight that enveloped The Court. She felt the same peace she felt when looking at the stars and the moon when she was a child, basking in Selune’s embrace. It left her with a sense of peace that she never experienced again.

What makes them happiest: Swimming. Oh, how she adores swimming, feeling the sensation of flying through waters deep and low alike, breaching the surface only to dive back, as a dolphin would do when playing with his brethern. After reuniting with her papa, she is learning to appreciate her Sea Elf heritage more and more, as a way for her to reconnect to that part of her past that she thought lost forever.

What makes them angriest: Hiraeth is an extremely tranquil and unfazed woman, with her head in the clouds more often than not, and it’s incredibly difficult angering her. However, there are few things that make her go absolute insane with ire, her mother’s death being the easiest to trigger her. It took her a remarkable long time to find back all her memories of her and what happened that day, and that her father was not at direct fault, but instead he was the reason that Hiraeth was able to save herself.

Another thing that makes her immensely irate, this time with herself, is how she was so easily coherced into giving away her name - and therefore, her truest self- to Oberon to become his Vassal of Chaos in both the Material Plane and the Dreamscape of Mortals. She will never be able to be called “Robyn” again, never to be able to be one and whole again, long as she doesn’t fullfill her pact with him, and she berates herself every single day for it. Over time, she has come to suspect that this is also one of the reasons why she feels like she is slowly going insane: she exists in two places at the same time, the Feywild, where her truest self exists, and the Material Plane, where she navigates around as “Puck”, an husk and servant to Oberon’s whims. She also suspects that it’s Titania and Damh’s protection that’s helping her not slip further and further away into madness.

What makes them laugh: Damh, of all people. He was always the reason she was able to be safe and sound in the Feywild for so long, as a child, whenever she was scared or lonely, and would always come up with silly ideas to make her laugh and make her forget her troubles. She suspects that he extended his benevolence to her out of guilt for what his father did to her, but she always appreciated his constant attempt to render her days lighter and filled with laughters.

Also, she *loves* to pull all sorts of pranks on people: she lives for it, and she is extremely good at it.

Biggest secret: Her biggest secret is not truly one per se, but rather her biggest shame: while she bears her mother’s name, she has no memory of her at all. As Damh himself would put it “The Feywild makes you forget, and soonern rather than later, all your memories are lost into the mist of time”. And this was exactly what happened to her. She also feels her mind doesn’t work as it should, after the long years she spent in the Feywild under Oberon’s influence and she does her best to hide this behind her eccentric behaviour, albeit, sometimes, she feels herself slipping more into insanity.

Obsession: Getting back her name and her mental sanity. She wants to be able to feel whole again, to not feel fragmented, to be able to recognize what it’s real and what it’s not, what is and not broken in half anymore. She doesn’t know if she will ever be able to obtain the latter, but she knows that only by getting back the former, she will have the confirmation to her doubts.

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Omg am dead and I finally managed to finish Hiraeth's bio FML.

I am so happy to be able to post this on the day that I finished the gameplay as wel, it was so emotional.

I hope you will enjoy this!

--Nemo

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template by @arcandoria; abridged profile template by @lairofsentinel)

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #OC:Hiraeth Goodfellow #Gale Dekarios #gale of waterdeep #gale x tav #my oc #my art #Nemo Draws #Nemo Writes #dnd #oc lore

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b00kdiary · 1 year ago

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Euphoria | Ithan Holstrom

Ithan Holstrom x Plus Size Reader

Where Y/N finds herself needing to be reminded just how desirable she is, and Ithan Holstrom is more than willing to show her. Here's to all my thick, fat, plus-size girlies who want some SJM men love too xo

Warnings: mature themes (18 +) swearing, body-image issues, eventual smut and the Ithan being utterly infatuated with his thick, beautiful lady.

MASTERLIST

I stared, unblinking, as Ruhn Danaan, Crown Prince of the Valbaran Fae, kissed his way down the neck of a gorgeous and dark-skinned Faun. I trailed my gaze along as he sucked and bit gently against her soft skin and perfect bone structure, the Faun's eyes closed, her face a mirror of lust and bliss.

The grip I had on my glass tightened and I willed myself not the shatter it, to not draw attention to myself, to how jealous and seething I was.

The fluorescent lights inside the White Raven danced over the two of them, highlighting their ungodly beauty as they danced and rocked against each other to the beat of music. My chest tightened at the way Ruhn's arms wrapped so effortlessly around her slim waist, resting against the perfectly flat length of her stomach, revealed by her cropped bralette.

She was lovely by most standards and typical of the kind of females Ruhn was seen with- tall with small breasts and a small, yet nice ass and petite enough that there wasn't a single place that sat out or rubbed or curved too much.

Unlike me.

I swallowed down the lump in my throat, taking a long indulgent sip of my drink to drive away the dryness and the sorrow. It was hard not to trail my mind into those uncharted, dark waters, the kind of scary, hollow place of insecurity where I could pick myself apart and rip any sense of security I had to pieces.

Because unlike that Faun, who had turned now, her toned back facing me as Ruhn kissed her, kissed her with so much passion and need that it made me feel sick. Unlike her, I was not petite or skinny and I did not look like the kind of girl that Ruhn Danaan desired.

"You're glaring, Y/N." A deep voice interrupted my pity party and snapped me back into this room, away from all the meanest, cruellest thoughts I had of myself.

I turned, levelling out my eyes and surprise-filled me when I met with honey-brown eyes and a smile that could melt a girl's heart and drop her panties.

My lip kicked up as I took in the golden-brown soft waves of hair and tan sun-kissed skin, my gaze moved down, over the acres of strong, corded muscle that was further accentuated by the form-fitting t-shirt he wore.

"Ithan Holstrom," I mused, cocking my head at him, and seeing his lip tilt into a lazy smile "You're the last person I expected to see here, I didn't think this was your kind of scene."

"It's not, not really but," He shrugged, glancing over his broad shoulder to where a few wolves sat gathered around a table "But the pack forced me."

"You don't strike me as the type of guy who can be forced to do anything," I raised a brow, tossing a long strand of hair over my shoulder and felt Ithan's eyes track each movement. "Don't try and hide it, you came here for a good time, a good fuck maybe?"

He chuckled at my playful words, the sound rough and heady, running over me and prickling my skin. I forced myself to breathe as he stepped closer, close enough that his hard chest brushed against my breasts, and I felt the warmth and scent of him.

"Is that what you came for?" He asked, though his words weren't a question, not as he looked over my head, his stare pointed, straight to where Ruhn and that Faun stood "Or were you planning to glare at Ruhn Danaan all night, hoping he'd notice you?"

"Don't be a prick," I scowled, my lip curling and I pushed at his chest, hearing a rough bark of laughter escape him as he saw the fire burning in my eyes " I might be pining after Ruhn, but it's no different to how you trailed after Bryce like a lost puppy all these years, Holstrom."

His eyes darkened at that- those honeyed pupils shadowing into a starless night sky. Bryce was a sore topic still, even after two years and I felt guilt gnaw at me, hating myself for mentioning her, for the way that smile tilted down now.

"Bryce didn't want me, I knew she didn't," Ithan gritted back, his jaw locked and his eyes hard "Ruhn might want you, he could want you as badly as you want him, you're just too scared to find out."

"I'm not scared," I said defensively, crossing my arms over my chest, and yet again, I didn't miss how his steely gaze fell, something sparking in them as my top lowered and revealed my ample cleavage. I clear my throat, ignoring the twist in my gut "I'm just realistic, I know Ruhn's type, I've seen his type and I know I'm not it."

"His type?" Ithan mused, raising a dark, thick brow at me "What? Gorgeous? Desirable? No, you're definitely not his type." It was sarcastically drawled, accompanied by a sassy eye roll and it was the least serious I had seen Ithan in years- since Connor died.

"Try petite, skinny and perfect," I snort, but my voice isn't as joking as I would like, it's heavier, weighed down by the reality of the words.

"Bullshit, Y/N," Ithan scowls, and the way his eyes glared out in protest, in defence, it was as if he was furious at me for even saying what I did. "If Ruhn fucking Danaan thinks you're not perfect then he's a bigger asshole than I already thought he was."

I felt my face heat, my body turning hot and needy at his words, at the honesty and conviction behind them. He stepped closer, close enough that I smelt the mint and alcohol on his warm breath, and a fire sparked in my core- and I didn't step back.

"You think I'm perfect?" I whispered, my voice hoarse and shaking slightly. I couldn't stop staring into his eyes, couldn't stop watching the lust roil in them, darkening them by each second, we inched closer, drawn together like magnets. "Don't fuck with me Ithan, I mean it."

"Y/N, while you were busy glaring down Danaan and the Faun," Ithan said, his voice slipping into a low timbre, the gruffness clawing over my nerves and making me breathless "I was staring at you."

"You were?" My voice was softer than I wanted it to be, but my defences were wearing down. I had always found Ithan attractive, always wondered what he would be like as more than a friend. And as his hand snaked around my waist, large, veined, and ringed, and slowly dragged me to him, I knew that those feelings hadn't faded with time.

"You might not believe me, but I was staring at you, alongside damn near every other male in this room, Y/N," Ithan muttered, his face inches from mine and when his nose brushed against my cheek, my eyes fluttered. "If you had just looked around you, you would have seen how many wanted you- and how could they not?"

I felt his hand trail down my back and sides, over the rolls and curves of flesh, and I felt nauseous, hating that he could feel it. But he growled, a purely animal sound, his fingers digging into my flesh as if he was holding himself back as if touching me brought him to the edge of his control.

"Ithan," I swallowed, steeling my spine, and forcing back the fierceness and power I was used to wielding with men, "I'm not Bryce Quinlan."

"And I'm not Ruhn Danaan," He shot back immediately, his lip quirking "But that doesn't change the fact that I fucking want you, and I know you want me too."

I inhaled a shaky, long breath, my throat drying out at his words and at all the sinful, dirty images that flashed through my mind, filthy enough that I had to clench my thighs shut.

"Let's walk to yours, no cab," I say hoarsely, ignoring the way he grinned as I grabbed his hand and began dragging him to the exit. He followed dutifully, his fingers interlocking with mine, his thumb brushing soothing, soft strokes against my palm.

"Why?" He laughed, his brow raising at me as I glanced over my shoulder and I didn't miss the way my body ignited, striking, and burning as his gaze trailed over my skin.

"Because I can't promise I won't ride you in the back seat," I said honestly, gnawing on my lip as my eyes met his over my shoulder "And I don't want the night to end before it's even begun."

"Fuck," Ithan swore, low and dirty, and I could smell his arousal.

Just like I knew he could smell mine.

***

We walked through The Wolves Den with ease, silent and quick-paced as we waded through each corridor and climbed floor after floor.

Ithan had wanted to take the lift straight to his floor and had been so on edge that he looked as if he might have taken me against the wall in the goddamn lobby if I had given him the say-so. But I wanted him at breaking point, wanted that wolf inside him to come out clawing, biting and roaring.

So instead, we walked, each second that passed and the silence that stretched drawing the tension tauter and tauter, and I could feel my blood thrum in anticipation. Ithan looked over at me as we walked down the final corridor- and the smirk he wore, the knowing gleam in his eyes, told me everything he wanted to do.

"You have got to be kidding me, Ithan," A voice declared, female and high-pitched, loud enough that it grated against my senses and had both of us coming to a reluctant halt. I eyed the fifth door, which happened to be Ithan's room, with need. "Bringing the trash home?"

"Watch it, Amelie," Ithan growled, his eyes tapering in warning as he turned to glare at the dark-haired, golden-eyed female before him. His pack member- and a total hateful bitch.

"Why? Scared I'll scare away your whore for the night?" She snorted, her arms folding over her chest as she looked at me, amusement and cruelty gleaming in her eyes. I saw her stare trail between us, taking in our interlocked hands, the way our arousals wafted in the air, and she scowled.

Jealous, that much was obvious.

"Hey, Ithan?" I mused, glancing sideways at him, and smiling sweetly. He rose a brow at me, confused and half-amused. "Are the walls here thin?" I stared pointedly, past Amelie, to the open door at her side, number four- right next to Ithan's.

Ithan seemed to catch onto my thought trail and chuckled lowly, nodding his head "Very thin."

"Amelie," I smirked, my hand trailing up Ithan's muscled chest as he punched in the code and pushed open his room door, "When you touch yourself tonight, imagining that Ithan's fucking you and not me, don't be too loud- Ithan might hear it and go limp."

"You fucking-" Her eyes burned, and so did her cheeks, outrage and embarrassment filling her as she stepped toward me.

"Have a good night, I know I will." I winked and Ithan's laughter flittered over to me, caressing my skin like a phantom touch. The door clicked shut behind me, and suddenly, Amelie was gone, and it was just me and him, in his room, together, and alone.

"I don't think I've ever seen Amelie that red before, she's not used to being put in her place like that," Ithan noted, his eyes dancing with amusement as he leaned against the back of his sofa "She's not going to let that go, you know?"

"Amelie's a neurotic, insecure bitch," I scowl, walking a few tentative steps further into his room, "She can get fucked, I couldn't care less."

Ithan doesn't say anything else, remaining silent as my gaze lifts and washes over his room. I take in the four bare walls and the simple brown sofa, glass table and TV, a large double bed at the furthest wall and a chest of drawers and a matching wardrobe at its side.

"Not what you were expecting?" Ithan asked, cocking his head to the side as he observed my expression. I pursed my lips, looking over his folded arms, the way the muscles bulged, and I swallowed.

"I'm not sure what I expected," I say honestly, my voice quiet and when I slowly began to walk over to Ithan, I felt the tension in the air go taut. I paused, standing just before where he sat on the sofa's back, looking at me with a wry smile. "Were you being honest when you said that the walls are thin?"

"I was," He chuckled, revealing two sharp canines on either side of his upper teeth and I shivered at the sight of them. I imagined them against my skin, teasing, scrapping, and biting and I clenched my hands. "Were you being honest when you said you would be having a good night?"

I smiled at the heat in his eyes, at the way we were so close, yet we didn't touch not in one single place, and I knew he was holding out, restraining himself from grabbing on to me, just as I was.

"I plan to have a good night," I say, cocking my head in challenge "But really, it's up to you how good of a night for me it is."

One second, I'm standing before Ithan, smirking, cocky as I watch the lust burning in his eyes, and then the next, his fingers are wrapping around my throat, his ring digging into my jugular as he pulls me to him.

I groan as his mouth collides with mine and my body shakes at the heady, desperate way his lips move against me, tasting me, devouring me, taking me like it's his last night on Midgard. I melted into the strength and solidity of him, his hand at my throat, the firm pressure there, making my body turn weak.

Ithan's lips move against me, deep, languished strokes that fan the embers sparking in my stomach and I dig my nails into his chest, curling my fingers around the fabric of his t-shirt, needing to tether myself to him, to keep myself upright.

I whimper at the feeling of his left hand descending my body, his fingers gripping against every bit of flesh and curve with need, all the way from the top of my spine to the curve of my ass, and he groans as he cups me, the flesh spilling out and soft against his palm.

“Bed, now,” I pull back, my faces only inches from his and we’re both panting wildly, lust and need dancing in our gazes, like a mirror.

“Hm, not sure I’m a fan of being told what to do in my own place, sweetheart,” Ithan smirks, and my eyes flutter as he draws me closer, biting and suckling against my neck, the feeling of his canines against my skin driving me crazy. “Why don’t you try again?”

“Stop trying to be an alpha male, Ithan,” I manage to grit out, desperately trying to force down the moans that threaten to slip past my lips, but his mouth and tongue against my hot skin make it so hard. “We both know you’re really just a puppy- ah-“

A squeal escapes me as both of Ithan’s arms wrap around me, hooking under my ass and there’s a whoosh of air as he yanks me up into his arms, so fast my heart lurches and I’m locking my legs around his waist and holding onto his t-shirt so tightly I’m surprised it didn’t tear.

“You’re far too coherent right now,” Ithan grumbles and fuck if the sound of it doesn’t go straight between my legs. I hold onto him tighter as he begins to carry me over to bed, looking as if my weight is less than nothing to him right now. “I’m going to need to fix that.”

“Please do,” I whisper, tossing my hair from my face and bringing my lips back against his, slower, deeper, the hardness and ridges of his body brushing against my breasts feeling so good and the long, thick length rubbing against my thigh feels even better.

Ithan smirks against my lips as we thump against the bed and true to his word, Ithan drops me on the bed, so hard and fast I grunt at the impact, my body and tits bouncing as I land on my ass. The sight makes him smile, and the way he towers over me, looking like some kind of God has every nerve in my burning.

“You’re fucking incredible,” He mutters, and the honey in his eyes is gone, melted into the darkest chocolate, the kind that told me every filthy, heady, dirty thing he wanted to do to me. I leaned back on my palms as he rested a knee on the mattress, lowering his pleased face down to mine. “But I bet you’d look even better without all the clothes.”

His hand snakes around to the zip at the back of my top and fuck, fuck, fuck- I freeze.

“Or not?” He mutters, a crease forming between his brows at the way my body physically locks up and his hand immediately stops, resting flat against my back, his thumb rubbing softly to soothe me. “We don’t have to do that if you don’t want-“

“No, no-“ I shake my head, clearing my throat as I bring a hand to cup his jaw, loving the way he melts into the touch, “It was just a habit, a muscle memory reaction- No, trust me, I want to, I want you, Ithan.”

“Good, because I want you too, Y/N,” He mutters, smiling as he brings his mouth down, but he doesn’t pull at the zipper, instead he kisses me, tastes me, and enjoys me, and my hands curl into the root of his hair, glad for that moment of reprieve.

I can tell he’s being sweet because he is sweet, and now that he knows I’m hesitating, he won’t make the next move until he’s sure I’m ready- and I am, I am so fucking ready.

I pull back from him, my eyes locking with his and the room is so silent, deadly silent, as I draw my hand back and ever so slowly tug down the zipper to my top. The sound is almost sensual, making Ithan’s face darken, in anticipation, in feral lust.

I gnaw on my lip as the zipper pulls free and still keeping my eyes on his, I draw the top forward, down my arms, every movement deliberate until the fabric is discarded on the floor beside us. Ithan says nothing as he stares down at me, as he stares down at my bare chest, my breasts heavy and aching and I’ve never been gladder that I chose not to wear a bra.

His Adam’s apple bobs and the breath seizes in my lungs as his cold hand traces across my back, around to my chest and he groans, low and deep, the second his hand cups around my breast. I gasp as he kneads the flesh, his fingers slowly and deliberately tugging on my pebbled nipple.

“Ithan,” I growl, I can’t help it, he’s staring at me, looking like he wants to devour me, but he hasn’t bloody moved. “Do something, for Cthona’s sake.”

“So needy,” He croons, and I nearly sigh when he leans forward again and pushes me back to lay flat against the mattress. My body shivered as he climbed onto the bed, his large figure moving to hover over me, and I felt almost small in comparison to him, a feeling that was unfamiliar to me.

He kissed lower down my neck, his mouth inching closer as his hand kneaded my breast, rolling the sensitive bud between his fingers and tugging gently igniting so many sparks that I couldn't even speak, merely moaning breathlessly with each sure touch.

I gasped when his head ducked, his eyes shielded by the strands of hair that fell forward as he plucked one nipple into his mouth. My back arched and my fingers dug into his shoulders hard enough to hurt as the raw feeling of his tongue and teeth teased me.

“Ithan,” I moaned when he began biting against my nipple, not too hard, but firm enough that I felt the shock go through every nerve ending, sparking, burning, and throbbing, so hard I felt it in my core.

My head spins as Ithan begins shifting lower, and I cringe when he begins trailing his hands down my stomach, instantly thinking over every roll and stretch mark and flesh that was there- not that he seemed to mind. No, he kissed against the skin, trailing his tongue languidly down, just as infatuated as he had been before.

The tension in the air is thick as Ithan runs his calloused hands down the side of my thick thighs, kneading the flesh and teasing the material of my skirt, his intentions obvious. And with the ache beginning to become unbearable between my legs, I don’t hesitate to lift my hips, glad when he immediately hooks his fingers into the top of my skirt- pulling it and my underwear down in one go.

It’s almost amusing how quickly he discards the excess material over his shoulder, so transfixed on the sight of my naked body before him, sprawled out and burning from the intensity of his gaze.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” He groans, his voice hoarse and the tightness coiling in my chest eases as he runs his hand up my thighs, feeling the cellulite and stretch marks and grins as he spread my legs apart for him to come between.

My heart races in anticipation as he sinks down below my parted thighs, his eyes burning with satisfaction as he comes level to my core, and the urge to clamp my legs shut fills me- which he seems to sense, if his strong grip on either side of my thigh, keeping spread wide apart is any indication.

I feel his hot breath against my most sensitive part and just when I feel like the seconds are dragging into minutes, making me fidgety and restless, I gasp at the feeling of his tongue flicking against my clit, soft and probing, coaxing out quiet moans from me.

“That’s it,” Ithan purrs and the sound vibrates against my core, making me clench my fingers into the duvet under me for purchase. Ithan seems encouraged by my moans, his tongue lapping against my clit in long languish strokes that draw pleasure from me in waves. “Taste so fucking good.”

He grins against me, cocky, sure, and under any other circumstances I’d hate it, but right now, I can’t find it in me. Instead, I reach down, lacing my fingers through his soft hair, tugging, yanking, and scratching, coaxing Ithan to give me more- which he happily does.

“Fuck, oh my-“ Two fingers prod my wet entrance, and the sound is so lewd as he quickly stuffs the two digits inside me, stretching me in the most perfect yet painful way, especially when he curls those two digits, hitting a spot that has me seeing stars.

“There we go,” Ithan coaxes softly, feeling my body start to vibrate and writhe, that pool of pleasure building and building within me, plummeting fast and harder as he fucks his fingers in and out steadily, in tandem with the smooth agile movement of his tongue against my clit. “There we go, such a good girl.”

I cry out, trembling and moaning as a white-hot blaze burns through me, starting at my core and running into my thighs and stomach, all the way down to my toes. I pant, my head fogging with the overwhelming blanket of pleasure that Ithan’s smothered me with.

Ithan groans, his teeth tugging at my sore clit before he eventually lets go, his fingers slipping out of me with ease. I exhale harshly at the loss of contact, sagging back as the euphoria dies down and my body settles into calm again.

Ithan ascends my body, a shit-eating grin on his wet lips and I don’t have time to even speak before he captures my mouth in his, pushing his tongue deep into me, letting me taste myself.

“How’s that for a puppy, sweetheart?” He mutters, biting my bottom lip and I roll my eyes at the sheer masculine satisfaction in his voice, in those bright eyes as he stares at me.

“Don’t be an arrogant prick,” I snipe back, ignoring Ithan’s laughter as I place either hand on his shoulder and the surprise that lights his face as I yank him down onto the bed beside me, flipping us so that I’m straddling him, makes me grin. “I’m still in charge, Ithan.”

“If this is you being in charge, I’m not fucking complaining,” He smirks lazily, his voice heavy with lust as he leans back, his eyes oh so slowly trailing across my body atop his, looking like the cat that got the cream as he enjoys every inch of me.

I smile, soft, as I run my hands against the seam of his t-shirt, my thumbs hooking under the material and slowly dragging it up- revealing inch after inch of tan, smooth skin, so much corded muscle it makes me hot. Ithan easily helps, and it’s not long before the material is over his head and thrown to the ever-growing pile of clothes on his floor.

I drag my core against the front seam of Ithan’s jeans, and our groans mix in the air at the feeling of his hard length brushing against me. I don’t waste any time, Ithan’s eyes never leaving me as I move my hands to the front of his jeans, my fingers fumbling against the button and zipper, almost desperate as I open them, tugging the materials down just a little.

“Shit,” I mutter, my eyes widening as Ithan’s hard cock slips out, breaking free and slapping back against his stomach. Ithan snorts at my reaction, at the sheer surprise on my face at the size of him, and my cheeks heat in embarrassment as he smiles at me. “Shut up.”

“Fuck, Y/N,” His eyes flutter as I grip my hand around his hard length, my fingers struggling to find purchase as I palm up and down, every moan and gasp that escapes him egging me on. “You’re fucking killing me here, sweetheart.”

“Poor puppy,” I tease, smirking and Ithan’s canines expose in warning, his hands coming to either side of my hips, and when he slowly lifts me up, dragging me closer to him, I prepare myself for the feeling of him inside me.

“Shit, shit,” I moan as Ithan’s cock brushes my entrance and I ever so slowly sink down, down, down, until he’s stretching me like he’s going to break me in two, until his tip brushes something far and deep inside me.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” Ithan swears, his fingers digging into the flesh of my hips and thighs so tightly, I can feel the cut of his nails.

I flutter my eyes as the burn soon seeps into pleasure and we both suck in a gasp of air when I drag up, so deliberate and slow, all the way to the tip, before slamming back down, hard and fast. Ithan swears, his chest rising and falling so fast as I do it again and again, his cock slipping against my wet core like it was made for me.

“Ithan, oh-“ I whimper as I ride up and down his cock, alternating between fast, hard strokes and long, slow ones, Ithan’s hands at my hips guiding me along, helping me chase after the relief, and I know I won’t last long, not with the cord within me tightening so perfectly.

“Look at you riding my cock so well,” Ithan praises roughly, his teeth gritted as he pants and moans every time he sinks into me, and when my eyes lock with his, I’ve never felt more seen, more desired in my life. “Look at those tits bouncing, fuck, taking me so good Y/N.”

He ruts his hips up to meet me, the sound of him fucking in and out of me, so wild and demanding, is like music in the room, mixing with our moans, our low curses, and the way our hands wander over each other, unable to get enough.

My fingers scratch against Ithan’s chest and abs, my body starting to shake and weaken at how good it feels, how he’s hitting against a spot that makes my insides turn to mush, again and again. Ithan must sense my fatigue, sense my head spinning, because he grabs me, and within seconds, we’ve flipped over and he’s on top of me now.

His hand guides my thighs around his hips and my eyes roll, my back arches, as he sinks in even deeper and I whimper into his lips, into his mouth at the brutal pace he sets, slamming into me again and again, unrelenting, and merciless, so fucking good I can’t catch my breath.

My eyes flutter open as Ithan’s hand wraps around my throat, pressing firmly on either side of my neck and when my eyes meet his when I see the burning, commanding, domineering power behind them, it’s like something in me rips in two.

He hits a spot, some magic, fathomless spot inside me and it all shatters to pieces like glass.

“Ithan, I’m-“ I cry out, black dots blurring my vision and my body bucking and writhing against his hard muscles as release ripples over me like a tidal wave. Ithan grunts as I clench around him, suffocating his cock inside me, the orgasm hitting me and lasting longer than I’ve ever had.

“That’s it, that’s fucking it,” Ithan whispers, panting against my lips, and I feel his movements become sloppier, more erratic, more careless, driven to the edge by me coming around him. “Everyone in the whole fucking Dens gonna know whose making you feel this good.”

I whimper at the filthy words he grunts into my ear, my body trembling with the aftermath of my orgasm, edged on by the way Ithan still fucked in and out of me, chasing his own high and when his forehead rests against mine and he groans, guttural and heady and low, I know he’s found it.

The sound he makes, the growl that escapes him, reverberates through the whole damn room and my body is aching as he comes to a gradual stop inside me, our sweaty, panting bodies, melting into each other as we climb down from our peaks.

Ithan groans as he slowly slips out of me, the feeling of his warm cum leaking from me and dripping down my skin making me blush, and the small smirk that lines his lips as he inches back to look at me tells me he finds it both amusing and adorable.

“I can feel your cum leaking down my thigh,” I breathe and Ithan's eyes flutter, rolling as he laughs, burying his face into my neck dramatically, as if I were completely ruining him.

“Keep saying shit like that, Y/N and I might just have to chain you to this bed,” Ithan mutters against my skin, kissing and nibbling across my neck and jaw before he meets my lips again, kissing me sweetly as if memorising the taste and feel of me.

“After that, I’m tempted to let you, Ithan,” I grin, sighing as he rests his weight on top of me, his arms on either side making sure not to crush me, but the warmth and touch is welcome.

“Are you still thinking about Ruhn Danaan?” He muses, cocking his head, and the honey has returned back to his eyes, that smile turning boyish and soft again as he stares down at me.

“No,” I say simply, honestly, dragging my hand up his chest and neck, before settling against his jaw, my thumb drawing lines across the hard ridge there. “Are you still thinking about Bryce Quinlan?”

“Definitely not,” He smiles, earnest and firm and the sight makes my entire body heat again.

“Good,” I let my eyes darken, letting him see just what I was thinking as I wrap a leg around his hip, drawing his hardening cock back down against me- and he grins with feral delight at the action. “Because I haven’t quite gotten you out of my system yet, Puppy.”

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@mis-lil-red @hyemishii @assaultsofthought @starswholistenanddreamsanswered

#sarah j maas #sjm books #crescent city #crescent city smut #ithan holstrom #ithan holstrom x reader #ithan holstrom smut #ithan holstrom x plus size reader #smut #plus size reader #plus size smut #plus size y/n #acotar #tog fanfic

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late-to-the-party-81 · 1 month ago

Text

Shifting Sands

AN:Hey folks - I had a horny dream and this was born. Absolutely not sorry in the slightest.

In this AU, shifters of all types are known even if they aren’t prevalent, including some subsets where the person has special abilities, but doesn’t actually shift into another creature. This includes our reader, who carries ‘Princess’ genes.

You couldn’t really argue, the state you were in. And you did agree that you probably needed to be checked over and have your bike assessed as well. So, with nothing really to do until

And if you want to know what I was imagining for Lloyd’s ahem then check out this link (ignore the colours, or not 🤭). Be warned, it’s obviously NSFW.

Also, this is un-beta'd so apologies for any typos or sentences that don't make sense.

Mood board by me, dividers by @firefly-graphics

Join my tag list here

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Summary: Being a Princess is wonderful, but unfortunately trying to find your Prince isn’t. However, a chance encounter leads you into a relationship with a man who is like no Prince you’ve ever met.the paramedics arrived, you watched as the man paced up and down, phone pressed to his ear.

He was tall. And lean. But you had the feeling that under those faun chino’s and pale blue polo shirt lurked solid muscles, especially when he briefly turned his back to you and you could see the way his pants tightened over his ass. Jeez, you could bounce a penny off it.

Relationship:Dark! Lloyd Hansen x Female Reader

Word Count: 4.4k

CW: Meet-Ugly, Minor RTA, Minor Injury, Naive Reader, Explicit Sexual content, Oral Sex (F receiving), Vaginal Sex, Sting in the tale, Identity reveal, Knotting, Non-Con, Kidnap, Breeding kink, Monster fucking.

You were fifteen when you and your parents realised you had one of the legendary genes. Small animals suddenly lost their fear of you - at first following you and then climbing on you. The birds would sing with you and mammals would bring you things you needed but couldn’t reach, seemingly mind readers. That’s when Mom and Dad sat you down and really explained the world to you. You were a Princess.

At one point, genes like yours had been abundant in the population, an offshoot of those that could cause shifting, but like with your wolf and bear counterparts, the years had dwindled their prevalence. However, unlike them, you couldn’t physically transform (as much as your teenage self had hoped you could change your looks, weight and hair into something more aesthetically pleasing) but you did have strange skills that marked you as different. The animal thing was the main one, but your singing voice had improved overnight, and strangely, your crafting ability had gone from non-existent to May Morris levels. Also those with compatible genes, like the Prince gene found you very attractive and could pick you easily out of a crowd. Men who were Princes found themselves with enhanced hand-eye coordination and an affinity with dogs, horses and hunting birds. Unfortunately, such adroitness didn’t stop them from being absolute douche-bags.

“And then,” drawled Matthew, the latest Prince to invite you out on a date, “I spoke to his boss and got him fired. I mean, who did he think he was? Telling me I couldn’t park my car there, like I was some ‘normy’.” His pouty lips twisted up into a sneer that made him look as unattractive as he sounded.

Your own mouth twisted up, but into a facsimile of a smile, and you nodded noncommittally. You’d learnt the hard way that spurned Princes were not pleasant, and you were glad you’d insisted on meeting him here at a restaurant away from your normal stomping ground. Once you left, you could send him a brush off text and block him. He didn’t know where you lived and you weren’t reliant on him to get back there. You might be a Princess, but you were also a modern, independent woman.

Matthew talked about himself some more, and you feigned interest, making the right noises to keep his fragile ego intact, but inside you were counting down the minutes until you could bring this evening to an end. You weren’t even going to order dessert, because you’d decided you didn’t want to spend more time in his company than necessary. You were starting to lose hope that there were any good princes out there, because this was the fourth date you’d been on in as many months and all of them had been washouts, each Prince more interested in the sound of his own voice and waxing lyrical about his superiority than anything you had to say.

WIth your plates cleared and the check requested, Matthew didn’t really argue when you insisted on paying your share, probably because he was a tightwad. You said goodbye to him at the table, an awkward affair where you had to turn your head to direct his cool, wet kiss to your cheek and not your mouth, and then once he left you retrieved your holdall from the coat check.

You ducked into the washroom to change, and came out in your bike leathers. Who needed to be able to ride a horse when you could sit astride something with multiple horse-power? You passed a moustachioed man going in the opposite direction, and let a smirk touch your lips as he did a double-take and almost walked into the door frame. That reaction never got old.

Outside, you stuffed your hold-all, now containing your dress, shoes and tiny purse, into one of the fixed panniers, before straddling your metallic steed. It was mere moments work to put your helmet and gloves on, before double checking your mirrors and starting the engine. It purred between your legs, powerful and mean, and with a kick to the stand and a twist of the accelerator, you were pulling away into the night.

You were happy to note that traffic was light. Crowded city streets often felt more dangerous than the freeway. Traffic jams made car drivers angry and careless, and you tended to avoid riding when it was rush hour if you could.

You pulled up at a stop light, glad this night was almost over and that you’d soon be able to change into your pajamas and settle down with a tub of B&J before hitting the hay. The light turned to green and you’d just slipped the clutch and started moving when it all happened.

A car - electric you guessed later from the lack of sound it made - came up behind you from further down the street, travelling at way over the speed limit. It didn’t move out wide to give you space, or slowdown, and as it passed, far too close, you flinched. Your knee-jerk reaction caused you to wobble atop your bike. You tried to correct it, but you were already too off-balance.

It all happened so fast, but also in slow-motion at the same time, and you suddenly found yourself lying half on, half off the sidewalk, stars spinning in your vision. You breathed a sigh of relief at the fact you’d managed to kick away from your bike as you went over so you weren’t trapped under it, but regretted the instinctive movement as pain shot through your ribs. Yeah, some were definitely bruised, maybe even cracked, from the way you’d landed on the curb.

You pushed up, gingerly, onto your elbows and cursed as your head span and whiteness filled your vision. You didn’t have the time to deal with a concussion. However, a heartbeat later you realised that wasn’t your brain reacting, there actually were lights pointed at you. Your dazed brain finally registered the sound of a car engine and the world rushed back in.

There was a man on his knees next to you, an arm stretched out toward you as if to slow your journey back to upright.

“… you…quite…-mble…”

His voice was muffled by your helmet, although you were finding it hard to concentrate on what he was saying because your gaze was stuck on the thick, familiar-looking mustache sitting on his top lip.

Ignoring his hand, you pushed yourself into a sitting position, wincing at the pain in your side, and removed your helmet.

“Not sure you should be doing that, Princess,” came the gruff rebuke.

You shot the man with a side-eyed glare. “I’m fine.” However, moving more in an attempt to get to your feet took your breath away and you immediately slumped back down. “Okay, maybe I’m not fine.”

“I’m gonna call an ambulance,” Moustache man stated. “You need to be checked out. I’ll call a tow company, as well. Get your bike looked over.”

Your brow furrowed and you did some mental math. If you shifted some money from one account to another, and put some of the cost on your credit card you might be able to afford it all. Stupid asshole driver.

Your rescuer seems to understand the reason for your sour expression. “Don’t worry that pretty head of yours. I’ve got cash to burn. Much prefer to let you have some than the IRS.” He gave you a wink and stepped back, dragging his phone from his back pocket and started to make his calls.

You couldn’t really argue, the state you were in. And you did agree that you probably needed to be checked over and have your bike assessed as well. So, with nothing really to do until the paramedics arrived, you watched as the man paced up and down, phone pressed to his ear.

His hair was short, faded at the back and sides, and dirty blonde in colour, the same as his over the top moustache. As he talked, throwing glances your way, he gesticulated with his free hand. His fingers were long and tapered, and there was a ring decorating each knuckle. A man with money, and one who wasn’t afraid to flash it, either.

You finally looked over at his car, unsurprised to see a white Porsche. You giggled as you thought about how much he’d have to fold himself to get in and out of the thing, and then winced. Damn ribs.

Having ended his calls, he came back over and crouched down next to you. “How’re you doing, Princess? Only a few minutes and we’ll be getting you checked out.” His eyebrows gave a mischievous waggle and you couldn’t hold back a very un -ladylike snort, followed by a sharp intake of breath.

”Don’t make me laugh,” you wheezed. “And don’t call me ‘Princess’.”

”Why not? It’s what you are. Clocked you outside the bathroom back at the restaurant, and knew what you were almost immediately, even if it was your leathers that piqued my initial interest. You’re certainly a different sort of Princess.”

”That I am,” you confirmed. “And I don’t think I’ve ever met a Prince like you. But that explains the car, the jewellery, your demeanor.” You gesticulated up and down his body.

”Ouch,” he said with a smirk as he pulled a cigarette from a golden holder in his pocket. “You don’t pull any punches do you? I like it. And I can confirm that you’ve never met anyone like me, Princess. The name’s Lloyd.” He held his hand out towards you. “Lloyd Hansen, and I’m gonna change your world.”

Outside of paying for your medical bills and the repair of your bike, you hadn’t put much stock in what Lloyd had stated so confidently. However, here you were, at a restaurant far fancier than any you’d been to previously, and considering this was your third date with Lloyd, it seemed he knew how to keep upping the ante.

The first date you’d agreed to as a thank you. Your ribs had only been bruised and your co-pay had covered most of that, but your bike was another story. It had needed significant repairs to the paint work and the front wheel realigned. Lloyd wouldn’t hear of taking any of your money, but had asked if you’d mind joining him for a meal, just so he could assure himself that you were recovered.

That you could manage. Sitting through tedious meals with pompous Princes was your special skill after all, however you’d been pleasantly surprised.

First off, while Lloyd was firm in his interactions with servers, he didn’t command in a rude, entitled manner. In fact, he even smiled. And that same politeness extended to you as well, from little things like taking your coat and settling you in your chair, to actually asking you questions about yourself and listening to your replies. In fact, his only resemblance to the other Princes you’d met was how immaculately turned out he was, and you had to admit that the way the low light glinted off his chunky gold jewellery was quite pretty.

With your bike in the shop and your ribs still healing, your first date had ended without your traditional change into bike leather and with Lloyd standing with you outside the restaurant waiting for your cab. He hadn’t argued, or tried to cajole you into letting him drive you home, and you liked him all the more for it. And when the cab arrived and he opened the door for you, you found yourself standing up on your toes to press a kiss to his cheek before ducking down inside. As it pulled away, you couldn’t help but look out the rear window and watch him standing at the curb until you turned a corner. All of this meant that when you received a text from him later in the week, asking if you’d like to join him for dinner again, you found yourself unable to say now. He definitely wasn’t like any Prince you’d met before.

This second date was just as enjoyable as the first and you even found yourself flirting a little, something you didn’t normally do. You stayed for dessert, laughing lowly with Lloyd as you fed each other bites of the sweet treats in front of you both, and even leaning across, your napkin in hand, to swipe a little bit of cream off those bristles. This time, when he’d walked you outside to wait for your ride home, he kept your arm tucked in the crook of his, your body pulled close to his side, and you felt twitchy - nervous - but not in an unpleasant way, where you were looking for ways to escape, but more because there was a heat suffusing your body and a fluttering in your stomach. When he held the door for you, you went for broke, aiming your goodnight kiss onto his plump lips and discovering that his moustache wasn’t prickly like you’d imagined, but actually quite soft.

You’d only lightly brushed your lips against his before stepping back, not wanting to come off as pushy or desperate, but before you could climb into the cab, Lloyds hand had reached out, cupped your cheek and drawn you back to him for a longer, deeper kiss, his tongue playing at the seam of your lips, although not moving between them. When he broke it, moving back to give you space, you’d felt a little dizzy, and found yourself pressing your fingertips to your mouth, as if you could transfer the tingling feeling to them.

”Until next time, Princess,” Lloyd had smirked affectionately, before lighting a cigarette and you hadn’t been able to stop your brain replaying that kiss for the next several hours. You swore you even dreamt about it that night.

The invitation for ‘next time’ came only two days later, and you didn’t hesitate, smiling to yourself like a teenager as you texted him back to accept. Giddy with excitement, you’d even agreed to let Lloyd pick you up, despite the fact that your bike was now as good as new. When he arrived on the sidewalk outside your small apartment you found out you’d been right about how he looked getting in and out of Porsche, but you’d managed to wrangle your giggle into just a knowing smile.

Now, sitting here, in this opulent restaurant, a string quartet playing and champagne on the table, you felt every inch a Princess of old, even if the Prince opposite you was somewhat unconventional in his appearance and demeanour. However, Lloyd was as attentive and charming as ever, smiling at you with eyes alight with humour and making sure you were happy and content. He turned the flirting up a notch, making you giggle and turn your head into your shoulder to avoid his too knowing gaze.

”You really are something else, Princess,” he said as he observed you over the rim of his wine glass. “Funny. Intelligent. Fiercely independent. And beautiful too, of course. No idea how someone hasn’t snapped you up already?”

You chuckled, lowly. “Have you met other Princes? Obnoxious isn’t the word. Present company accepted.”

Lloyd laughed along with you. “You’re not wrong. And I’m sorry to say, I probably have my moments. But not too many, I hope. I wouldn’t want to disappoint you.” His leg brushed against your’s under the table, the heat of it burning through his pant leg and your pantyhose. You didn’t move your leg away.

“You haven’t so far,” you teased, a smile curling your lips. “And if I’m something else, you’re other-worldly. You’re just so… so… hot!” You rested your elbow on the table, cupping your chin in your hand, regarding him just as hard as he was looking at you. It felt as though you were on the edge of something, fear of the unknown making adrenaline course through your veins. But it was a good fear, one that felt invigorating. Inviting. Did you dare to take the next step? His eyes bore into yours, deep and cerulean, waiting - waiting for your move.

Dragging your gaze from his, you took in the whole of him. His lean power. His muscled and no-doubt powerful arms. You knew what his ass looked like within his pants and couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to grab hold of it, naked. You’d even become enamoured of that stupid moustache, fantasising after that kiss about how it would feel against other parts of your body.

It took all of your self control not to squirm in your seat as you once again met his eyes, your decision made.

“Wanna get out of here?”

Your back arched and your hands fisted the sheets as your body spasmed from the pleasure washing through it.

It had been inevitable that you’d end up here. Both of you had known what you were offering with the question you’d asked. Lloyd’s expression had barely changed as you’d spoken, other than the raising of one eyebrow. He’d calmly requested the check, throwing a wad of cash, that probably vastly exceeded the cost of your meal, onto the table as soon as your waiter returned. Then, without one change to his normal, gentlemanly behaviour, he’d helped you out of your chair, into your coat and guided you out to his car.

“Where to, Princess?” You were glad he was asking you, seemingly not wanting to pressure you into something you didn’t want, but you’d made your decision.

“Show me your place, Lloyd. I wanna see if it’s as amazing as I’ve imagined.”

He’d grinned at that, before putting the Porsche in gear and peeling away from the sidewalk. And if you’d thought his driving was fast, that was nothing compared to what happened once you finally got to his penthouse. As soon as the door had shut behind you, Lloyd had wrapped you in his arms and kissed you, passionately, and you’d answered in kind, as eager for what was to come as he apparently was.

You hadn’t even realised how he’d been steering you towards his bedroom until your knees hit the back of the mattress and you tumbled down onto it. Grinning devilishly, Lloyd had pulled his shirt off over his head, baring his smooth, tattooed chest and gold necklace. Your fingers itched to trace over every single line of ink, but he’d joined you on the bed a moment later, his body covering yours and kissing you once again as his hands slid between your legs and up under your skirt. Your pantyhose had only provided a momentary barrier, solved by Lloyd ripping them up the middle before pushing your underwear to the side so that he had unfettered access to your core.

He’d swallowed the whine you let out as he sunk two fingers into you, and you felt the coolness of his rings as they pressed against your heated flesh. His thumb had rubbed circles on your clit and you’d immediately began to twitch under him. Fuck. Had anyone ever gotten you this hot, this quick? When he’d dragged his lips from yours, it was to trail down your throat, your collarbone and then the swell of your breasts. Your dress had still covered the rest of you, but he’d by-passed it so that his mouth could join his fingers.

You’d like to say that the reason you’d been so noisy while he ate you was because you’d been secure in the knowledge that no-one else could hear, but that would have attributed you with more awareness than you’d actually had. Your world had narrowed, drastically, to only include the man feasting between your legs and how he was torturing your body with absolute bliss.

When your twitching subsided, and your moans had turned to ragged pants, Lloyd raised his head. “Fucking delicious, Princess.” His hand wiped over his moustache, which appeared to be soaked in your juices. Stepping back, he toe’d off his shoes, and you watched him lazily with hooded eyes as he pushed down his pants. It was hard to miss how his cock pressed against the inside of his black briefs, and your stomach flipped as you realised just how fucking big it was. He was back in an instant though, distracting you from your concern with more kisses and busy fingers that separated you from clothes at lightning speed.

“You ready to become mine, Princess?” He shimmied out of his underwear and you felt him land hot and heavy against your inner thigh.

“Please,” you whimpered, your body apparently desperate for him. You canted your hips so that his cock shifted to lay over your sodden folds. “I need you.” His own hips moved in return, slicking himself up on the mess that coated you.

“Music to my ears.”

Lloyd’s hand moved between you, guiding himself into you, and as his thick length began its slow breach of your pussy, your eyes rolled back, a deep moan leaving your throat. “Oh, god!” He was going to split you apart. You were gonna die, but fuck what a way to go. You clasped his forearms, your nails curling into the taught muscle, as his hips moved gently back and forth to help carve out a space inside you for himself.

“So fucking tight, Princess. You’re gonna strangle my cock.” Lloyd let out his own groan as he finally bottomed out, letting his head hang for a moment as sucked in sharp breaths before meeting your gaze with his bright blue one. “I’m gonna fucking wreck you and you’re gonna love it.”

His hips snapped and you cried out at the sensation. Then he did again, and again, setting up a brutal pace that left you dizzy. Your vision went hazy only able to focus on the swirls of ink over his left pectoral, the creature adorning his skin almost looking alive as Lloyd flexed and moved above you.

“So fucking beautiful,” he mumbled out from above you. “Knew I had to have you, from the moment I saw you.” He changed the angle of his thrusts and fireworks exploded across your vision. “So good, the way you’re taking me, but I can’t wait to see your face when I give you even more.”

You tried to focus your gaze on his face but he must have been fucking you stupid, because it looked as though smoke were coming out of his mouth, but he never smoked around you, and there was no cigarette in the vicinity. It must be the lighting, you decided, especially as his skin was also now looking strange. You reached out your hand towards his neck, where he seemed to have a tattoo that you hadn’t noticed before, some kind of scales.

Just then, despite how full your pussy was already feeling, it seemed as though Lloyds cock swelled even bigger. You looked up at him, confused and in a bit of discomfort, and your breath caught in your throat.

“L-lloyd. What’s going on? Your eyes!” You were scared now, because instead of round, human pupils, his eyes now sported vertical slits. His grinned back down at you, predatory now, a look you didn’t recognise, and smoke curled out from between his lips. You tried to scrabble back, tried to get out from under him, but he clamped one be-ringed finger down on your shoulder, holding you in place as he continued to thrust and his cock continued to grow.

“Stop!” You cried out. “Let me go.”

“Sorry, Princess. I can’t do that. Once I collect something it stays right here. Afraid it’s what I do.” His hips continued to move, his ardour not affected at all by your attempt to get away.

You beat your fists on his chest and tried to buck him off you, but it was as though his weight had increased along with all the other changes that seemed to be happening. It was as you were having that thought that clarity hit you. How could you have been so stupid? So naive?

“You lied to me! You’re not a Prince at all.”

“Aawwww, Princess,” he drawled, condescendingly. “I never said I was. You made the assumption and I didn’t bother to correct you. But Princes aren’t the only creatures that can spot a Princess. It was also laughingly easy to arrange our little meet-cute. A quick phonecall was all it took.” As he spoke, his body continued to alter - his fingernails growing and turning into talons, his flesh shifting into scales that glittered in the low lights. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. You’ll like living here with me. I have lots of pretty things in my hoard for you to look at, and, in time, you’ll be round and full of my babies. That’ll keep you occupied.” Another sharp thrust had you crying out again as the pain mingled with the pleasure he was still able to wring from your body. He nuzzled at your throat, a seemingly tender gesture at odds with the way he was fucking you. “And I can make it good for you, too. You’re going to love it when I knot you. Your cunt is going to spasm so hard and cream over me. Be good for me, Princess. Almost there. Almost…”

Each move his body made caused waves of sensations to flood yours, despite the fact you wished it wasn’t so, his ridged and scaled cock rubbing you oh-so-right, even as tears of fear fell from your eyes. Lloyds tongue snuck out from between his lips, longer now and forked, and lapped them up. You sobbed as you felt your orgasm approaching. You didn’t want it, didn’t want Lloyd to have the satisfaction, but it wouldn’t be denied.

The monster above you roared into his climax, his throat glowing as if lit up from the inside by fire, and as his knot popped, locking him into you, you screamed through your own eye-watering pleasure. Your combined cries echoed in your ears as your vision started to turn black, and as you let yourself sink into the escape of unconsciousness you wondered if you’d ever escape the dragon’s clutches.

Tag list: @christywrites, @alexakeyloveloki, @doasyoudesireandlive, @goldylions,

@nicoline1998enilocin, @king814318, @blackhawkfanatic, @scram1326,

@steviebbboi @km-ffluv, @wheezy-stucky, @kmc1989,

@kombatfather1796 and because you seemed interested, @chrissymbod

#lloyd hansen fanfiction #lloyd hansen x reader #lloyd hansen smut #dark lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x you

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ponpox · 1 year ago

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I started drawing a lot of fauns and trolls etc to experiment with depicting different body types, body fat, body hair etc mostly so I could internally feel acceptance of things like that... For myself. Anyway turns out I have PCOS explaining why I'm so hairy... Among other things. It's not important or anything but I had no idea and somehow it's nice to know. I'd just like to thank my fauns and my trolls and my goblins. They have been very emotionally important to me for years and will continue to be.

#faun #my art #art tag #personal

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hybbart · 2 months ago

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HELLO i am a HUGE fan of your beautiful fawn designs!! If you don't mind me asking, how do come up with such unique designs?? They're seriously so cool omg

Thank you! When you draw a specific creature a lot you tend to wind up finding ways to make separate designs unique. (As a pokemon, digimon, warriors, gundam, and animal fan, and former league fan, it probably isn't all that surprising that I like having a large quantity of all different types of little guys)

Well a lot of it is just things I've learned while focusing on character design, but there's a couple of things that are easy to mix and match. The easiest thing to do when working with a lot of the same creature is find the things that are easiest to mix and match, like a paper doll. I'm not going to talk about sillhouettes because I don't know how to spell it, and everyone talks about that. What I'm gonna talk about is information density. The best, most unique designs are information dense. This is how an artist can make a character whose entire shtick is being generic and not standing out still come off as unique and identifiable.

Basic things most characters have is: Shape language, colour palette, facial features, posture, texture, height, weight, fat, and muscle.

Easy enough. Texture's the one I'd want to talk about the most. When I make a character I think about it a lot. Specifically for fauns I think about their fur and hair, because they have both. Hair can have a lot of different textures on its own based on thickness and curliness, but in art you can add even more varieties. If I have to characters with thin slightly curly hair but I want one to look more regal or elegant while the other is more of a gremlin then I'm going to texture those differently, to give the impression one is wilder or more coarse to make the gremlin look more gremlin-y, or I can use symbolism like imitating the aesthetic of the curls you see in old lettering and heraldry to make the elegant one seem more so by association. Making something gravity defining or weighing it down, like curtains. Something airy can make a character more ethereal and energetic, while something heavily draped can feel melancholic and worn. Both create a very pretty aesthetic. I use shape language here too, like as mention above with heraldry. squared even hairs, bouncy round hair, spiky hair- these all use shape language to convey texture, and texture can convey information.

Also for body types and builds... a lot goes into the build a character has. This isn't a video game with simple sliders, you can give a character strong legs and noodly arms, and fat takes different forms and distributes unevenly based on many factors. A thing I think not a lot of people think about is that muscles and fat can be "cut", using pressure. The belly of someone who wears low rise pants and someone who wears high rise pants is going to be different. Even if two characters are both body builders, they could be hyperfocused on different things and looks. Natural wrinkles like that found in some cat breeds for elasticity of skin and those found on some dog breeds that are the result of breeding specific features and other animals who use wrinkles as nutrients storage, look different from not only each other but also wrinkles from age, weight loss, and exhaustion. Thinking about these things and how to convey those differences is an easy was to make two characters with wrinkles look different and convey more information.

For fauns one of the things I think about first is what species are they based off? My personal rule is Fauns are even-toed ungulates and satyrs are odd-toed ungulates, so when I draw a faun I often think about a particular species or mythical creature. Sometimes I mix and match certain things, or only utilize specific features. Sometimes I don't use a reference at all, but this is a good place to start usually. Different species can give you ideas for different types of hooves, horns/antlers, eyes, build, fur, tails, ears, and even teeth. Every species usually has some unique qualities that can be adapted onto a faun to draw inspiration from.

I work backwards on this one, but personality can help you design a character. Usually I design a character and build a personality based off what I've drawn, but doing it the other way around is very effective if you're having troubles. This includes subverting the expected for a character of such a personality. A good example of that is Cure Nyammy and Cure Lillian, who have droopy and sharp eyes respectively, but but Nyammy is the one with the cool, sharp, elegant air and Lillian is the shy, awkward, cute one.

Another things is alterations. The most common alterations to a character is a physical quirk, like a floppy ear, a mutation, like and extra set of horns, a special ability, like flight, or a disability, like a missing arm. For Jimmy I gave him a cowlick because i thought it fit with his ditzier qualities, bird theme, and ranch theme. In raau I also gave him lung damage as a reference to coal mines and canaries and how he and Tango met ind double life, a breathing tube to show he has access to medical technology and support despite the setting, and I changed his eye design to something similar to a sonar's rings to express the fact he sees sound, all of which allows him to be distinct from my regular Jimmy.

And last but not least, you can make two identical characters look completely different with fashion. This includes clothing, accessories, hairstyles, makeup, paint, tattoos, inventory... Any external modifications.

The important thing about design is to not make it hollow features, basically. I mean, you can't do whatever you want of course, sparkle dog is an aesthetic for a reason, but when you draw you have to deliberately draw every line so you might as well take the time to think about why you're drawing it there or that way. My fauns tend to have very similar body types a lot of the time, but I can still use everything else to make them stand out from each other anyways.

Also, it's art, there's no limit to what you can do to give your character unique designs! And I mean this in a very Studio Shaft/Gumball/Spiderverse type way. I've have character I've made distinct by straight up giving them different styles of shading or line work or brushes or layering. I've written character povs where the character never uses pronouns and only uses names, or a character who specifies exact numbers with numbers regardless, or even entirely different fonts, to convey qualities about them. Utilize your medium to its full potential (when appropriate, of course. and if its ocs/personal art, its always appropriate.)

#ask #long post

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