#Pebble Thrown In Water

[sehtoast]

Fabric Fantasy (Homelander x gn!Reader Smut)

18+ | blow job, blow job through underwear, sublander, nipple play, gender neutral reader | Fic Directory

He’s like jell-o in your hands.  But, then again, when isn’t he?

Homelander’s soft, choked breaths bring a wicked smile to your face.  It’s so easy to get him like this. You just have to push the right buttons.  

You have to know what makes the man-made god tick.

All you had to do was wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him silly, tell him how much you love him and want to take care of him.  Let your hand slide down his hip, tug at his belt a little, cup him through his suit.  First he smiles, ever the greedy little thing he is for your attention.  Then, he whines.  It’s so soft and quiet that it’s the vibrations of his little noises against your tongue that give it away.  It’s the perfect hint that he’s chosen to be soft, to let you lead and take him wherever you desire.  Bed, couch, floor– anywhere at all.

You opt to have him sit on the edge of his bed, pants and boots kicked away to spread his legs all pretty for you.  You smooth your hands up and down the insides of his thighs, watching them flex with restraint.  He stutters in his movements to remove the top of his suit when you slide the tip of your finger under the leg opening of his briefs, stroking along the junction of his groin and thigh.

This time his cock jumps within its confines.

You watch his fists ball in the sheets, gripping to obey the little no-touching rule you’d put in place before this began.  His chest heaves with anticipation, nipples hard and aching for your tongue.

You trail your hands up to thumb at them, mouth watering at the way he arches into your touch.  His eyes flutter shut and the picture perfect look of tortured bliss etches into his face– mouth agape, brows knit.  His breaths give way to soft, quiet moans.

You pinch at each bud, giving the gentlest tug that leaves him mewling. “Y’like that, pretty boy?”  You ask with a devious grin. 

 Your answer comes in a desperate nod and he scoots closer to the edge of the bed, leaning down toward you, giving you even more access to him.  With your face that much closer, you release a bud and lean in to swipe your tongue over it.

“A-Ah…” he breathes.  His chest rises and falls with panted, needy gasps the more you work him.  Each variation in touch sends him reeling and you can hear the sheets pop and tear under his unrelenting grip.  

You press the tip of your tongue to the peak of his nipple, circling it softly, and–

“Shit!” He gasps at the resounding rip. You smirk around his pebbled flesh as you listen to him scramble for purchase once more.  His self control for following your rule was pristine but not so much for preserving his surroundings.  “I’m– ah, fuck… M’sorry,” he whines, head thrown back.  Homelander’s legs curl around you and his hips rock forward the slightest bit as if seeking to grind against your midsection.

Ever the merciful lover, you smooth your hands down his sides, brushing softly over the waistband of his briefs to cup between his legs.  He hisses at the first touch, desperate beyond measure and only getting worse as you switch to suckle his other bud.

From the corner of your eye, you watch a hand come up, fingers flexing the moment he catches himself about to be bad.  For his behavior, you begin to play with him through his underwear while reveling in the heated rise and fall of his chest.

Your nose drags through tufts of hair with every kiss you pepper over the expanse of his chest, down and down, all the way to his navel.

Pop, goes another stitch in the sheets.  It’s as if each thread’s snapping serves to tell you how fractured his control is.  How terribly he needs to reach out and grasp your head and direct you to where he needs you most.

Your name falls from his lips between pleas.

“I just– I need–” he pants, pupils blown wide.  “I need you to–”

But you already know just the thing, and you’re nuzzling his cock through his briefs before he can even finish his sentence.

“Oh god…”

His moans turn to mewls and pitchy keens the second your lips press against the fabric covering the head.  Your hands slide up and down his thighs, nails gliding friction for that extra little touch that never fails to drive him wild.

“Please, please, please…”

You let your tongue drag over the eagle patterned fabric, each design an odd little friction of its own against your wet muscle as you lave every inch of him.  Up and up, you move until you reach the tip again, and you jut your tongue out further to press hot against him before wrapping your lips around it.

You can feel how his legs shift and raise around you, one still hooked around your lower back to keep you good and close despite how it shakes. He’s on the brink and you know full well that the slightest change would send him hurtling over the edge. You feel every tensing of his muscles, each time his calf hardens before another press of it against your back urges you to take more, to do so much more.

This time, you suckle hard.  His whole body lurches forward.

“Christ, oh fuck! Fuck!” 

The taste of him seeps through his briefs.  You suckle each spurt as he comes, milking such sweet, precious sounds of bliss from him– your own little private concerto of love and release.  The leg around your back pulls you even closer and two hands finally rise to clutch at your head, fingers threading through your hair silently pleading and thanking all at once.  Homelander is breaking your rule, but he just can’t help himself.

“I– ffuuu… oh god, fuck…” 

You let off the tip and press kisses to every inch of his covered shaft, peppering them up the curve of his abdomen, between the dip of his pecs, all the way up his neck and to the corner of his mouth.  He pants hot and heavy against your lips, moaning almost pathetically at how sweetly you peck at him.

His hands roam everywhere.  It’s as if he means to take you in with the only part of himself not lost to the hazy bliss of his release.  He grips your waist, snakes his hands up your back, kneads your shoulders, presses his forehead to yours.  Anywhere and everywhere he can touch you, any part of you he can hold on to, he takes.

You coax him onto the bed and help him settle in just right to allow for your leg to slot between his, your thigh pressed nice and snug to the dampened groin of his briefs.  He gives a weak whine at the pressure and nuzzles closer, burying his face in the crook of your neck to hide whatever other weak noises you may yet wring from him.

You know he’ll take you apart later. The lazy rocks of his hips all but confirm it. Bit by bit, he’ll return your love tenfold for hours on end.  But that comes after.

After you dance your fingertips up and down the length of his back.  After you press dozens of kisses to his brow.  

After you make sure he knows, without a doubt, that you love him to the moon and back.  Hell– further, actually. Until then, he is soft and sweet in your arms.

And frankly?  There’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

[ostropest]

Remember this impressive skill?

And remember Avatrice switzerland training session?

If not for the running on water accident, they would have trained phasing through the thrown objects next. That's what those pebbles Bea was fidgeting with were for.

[sunaluvs]

♡ tags: afab + gn reader, highly suggestive so 18+ MDNI, showering, readers implied to be shorter than meguru but this is a timeskip so he can be 7ft if u wish, fluff.

♡ a/n: i haven't written anything in 2 years and this is disgustingly self indulgent. unfortunately this mans rotting my brain and i am weak. i wrote this in a daze

Through your light humming and the spray of water, the sound of a door flinging open rings clear through your apartment.

“I’m home baby!” Bachira’s voice booms through your home, the sound winding through the small space left open in the bathroom’s door, the thud of a bag and shuffle of feet following his words.

“Welcome home!” you call back, rinsing the last of the shampoo out of your hair.

You hear him do a little jog towards the bathroom, socked feet thumping against the floor, before his voice calls, “Coming in!”

That’s all the warning you get before your door is thrown open, the sounds of your boyfriend singing your name and the shuffle of his clothes bringing a small smile to your lips.

“How was your day, baby?” you ask, grabbing your bottle of conditioner and squeezing a bit onto your palm.

“Fun as always, I experimented with a few new moves,” he replies, excitement clear in his voice. “My shoulders are busted though, feels like they’re gonna fall off. I’m convinced it’s because you didn’t kiss them before I left this morning.”

You snort, rolling your eyes as you massage the conditioner into your hair, “Oh yeah, definitely, it couldn’t possibly be due to the rigorous training you do every single day.”

“Nope,” he quips, whipping the shower curtain open with a shit-eating grin, stepping in the stream of water in all his naked glory. “It’s not every single day, I get a break on the weekends.”

You hum in reply, lazily dragging your eyes down your boyfriend’s physique, the results of all his hard work. It’s all prominent muscle and compact strength, sharp, defined abs and a strong core, hulking thighs you’ve had the delightful pleasure of sitting on (and between), packing power you’ve seen used to launch countless balls precisely and ruthlessly across fields. The shape of him, embraced with golden sun-kissed skin from the summer sky, is made almost lewd with the addition of water dripping over his body, glistening and moist and trailing deliciously down to his co—

“Eyes up here baby,” he sings, stepping closer to your heating body and bringing his face lower to meet your gaze head-on, beaming at the hazy appreciation clear on your features. “You stare any harder and I’ll start getting shy,” he teases.

That snaps your eyes back into focus, and you snort incredulously, “Oh please, you haven’t known shame since you popped out of the womb. I could fill an address book with all the people who’ve seen your dick.”

He giggles and brings his hands to your hips, gliding over the wet skin, and pulls you slightly out of the water’s stream. “I’ll learn some just for you, baby.”

“Hmm, as long as you don’t suddenly start getting shy on me,” you hum, tipping your head to look at his playful expression. “You can have some shame with everyone else, though. In fact, I am requesting that you do.”

“Anything for you, honey,” he grins, pulling your chest flush against his and dipping his head to kiss you. It’s slow and lazy, wet with the lingering water on your face, his tongue licking your bottom lip like he’s savouring the feel of every crease beneath it. Bachira drags it out as he always does, but doesn’t escalate it, keeping it slow and steady as his hands slip over the soft curves of your body, caressing your waist, thumbing along your rib cage, dipping beneath the swell of your breast. Being out of the water and subjected to his teasing touches pebbles your nipples, and you release a sigh into his willing mouth. Your skin shivers, nectarous arousal gradually trickling into your gut, but there’s no urge to hasten the moment along. For a man always on the move, always looking for the next goal and next game to win, being the one Bachira slows down for is not something you take for granted. You savour every easy breath and satisfied hum he lets out against your lips and lean into his precious, languid warmth.

It’s only when his fingers lightly flick your nipples that you break apart, a string of spit connecting your lips, remaining close enough for your noses to touch fleetingly and your warm breaths to gather in the space between you. His honeyed eyes, typically bright and wide and wild, settle transfixed and heavy-lidded on yours, his gaze no less intense and singularly focused on you. It’s overwhelming sometimes to have all the world’s devotion directed sacredly at you like this, brilliant and irresistible and all-consuming. Bachira never goes halfway at anything, not at his football or his principles, and least of all you. He is persistently and overwhelmingly fierce with his adoration, an ebullient fire that never stops consuming. You’ve never loved the sting of a burn more.

“Getting a little handsy there, ain'tcha,” you murmur, thumbing softly at the grin that spreads on his lips.

“Jus’ playing with my food a bit.”

“Never learned your manners, did you?” you breathe, goosebumps rising on the skin of your thigh as it brushes against his dick, thick and slowly hardening.

“Think I just lose ‘em all with you,” he laughs breathily, the sound hanging adoringly in the steam as he rests his forehead against yours. “Missed you so much today. Every day. Wish I could pack you up in my training bag and take you everywhere with me.”

You huff, bringing your arms around his shoulders and tilting your head to the side, “You don’t think staying home would be easier?”

The words give him pause, eyes fixed on yours as he opens and closes his mouth. His eyebrows furrow. The heat of the moment dissipates as your boyfriend gives your question a genuine thought.

“I mean, yeah? But—well. What about practice then? I don’t think that’d be very productive to my progress and today was actually kinda huge in terms of breakthroughs, I was finally able to get a handle o—”

You burst into giggles at the bewildered expression on his face, torn up at the choice you’ve apparently forced him to make. 

“I’m just playing, baby,” you grin back at him, squishing his cheeks and puckering his lips, cooing, “I’d never be so mean and make you choose.”

He heaves a dramatic breath of relief, planting his face on your shoulders and whining, “You’re being mean now! I almost had a heart attack.”

Your chest feels full to bursting with affection. “Aww, my little honey bee, my sweet baby angel, sorry for forgetting how fragile my sensitive darling is—”

He groans and shakes his head, and you delight in the pout you can feel pressing into your skin, “You’re a bully,” he mumbles, pressing impossibly closer to you, wrapping his arms tightly around your middle.

“I don’t know what you mean, I love you, sweetheart,” you laugh back at him, kissing the top of his dampening head.

His pout transforms into kisses along your shoulder as he hums, moving along the lines of your collarbones. “Yeah?” he breathes against your skin, lips curving up. “You love me?”

“Uhuh.” You indulge him, fingers playing with the hair curling at his nape. “Love you so much, Meguru. Makes me feel kinda crazy sometimes.” 

You feel the soft smile he was pressing into your skin transform into a grin, his eyes no doubt twinkling and bright with delight. “It does?”

“It does,” you repeat, using your hold on his hair to pull his face up from where it rested against your collarbones. Just as you thought, his eyes glisten with infatuation, little crescent moons as he beams up at you with a dopey smile. Your breath catches in your throat at the stunning sight, profound adoration sitting in his faint smile lines and the wrinkles at the corner of his eyes, earnestly dripping like syrup from his voice.

“I make you feel crazy? In love? Really?” he breathes, bringing his face close enough to yours for his warm breath to fan across your lips. “Say it again. Say it, I wanna hear it.”

And who are you to deny Bachira Meguru anything?

“I love you so much, baby,” you murmur, rubbing the tip of your nose against his damp cheek. “Always make me feel so crazy, so full of your love.”

“Again,” he tries to demand, but it’s a plea, you know. A supplication, a prayer to bear witness to the fire blazing with ardour in your chest, one that burns divinely for the man in front of you. His eyes are impossibly bright, drowning you in their sea of sunny reverence, and you know that he, too, would happily walk into the sting of your own flames.

“Feels like I can’t breathe sometimes.”

“Again.”

“Can’t think properly when it comes to you.”

“Again.”

“I love you, Meguru.”

“Again.”

[facioleeknow]

How to treat your hardworking boyfriend • Bang Chan

Chan is working hard so you decide to surprise him on valentine’s day ;)

Wc: 708 Genre: smut 18+ ONLY

Tw: smut, mommy kink, subby chan, sex in a bathtub, unprotected sex, creampie, face cumshot, cum eating

Part of my Valentine's day collab!

The light from the candles danced on the white walls of the bathroom. The water shone and glimmered, the soft foam swayed lightly in the tub as you dipped your hand and gently stirred the warm water.

Chan felt lightheaded and not only because the room was full of steam. It clang to his skin, like a stuffy warm blanket. In front of him was the most spectacular sight he had ever laid eyes upon. 

You sat on the edge of the tub, body clad in a skimpy red lingerie. A heart cutout exposed almost your whole tits, giving easy access to your chest and uncovered more skin for him to gawk at. It was a fairly simple two piece, a thong and a corset top but it made Chan salivate and whine at the sight, his jeans becoming deliciously tight.

“I take it this is a fitting valentine's present?” you giggled. Chan swore he ascended to heaven. He couldn't even answer, he just gulped and nodded enthusiastically.

“Come in silly,” you urged, giggling again at his shy antics.

Chan widened his eyes and swiftly threw off his socks and his shirt. His trembling hands then  started fumbling with his belt and he let out an annoyed sigh at the garment.

“Stop, come here I wanna do it.”

Chan raised his head and nearly passed out at the sight. You had entered and now sat in the tub, the lace clinged to your skin deliciously, your nipples pebbled for him to see.

Your hands reached out and touched his legs. Chan let out a heavy sigh at the feeling. 

His belt was undone in seconds and his pants pulled down in mere moments. His boxers had a big wet spot from where his precum was leaking from his fat hard cock. You pulled them down as well.

His cock was now free, precum leaking onto the edge of the tub. Your hand wrapped around it and started stroking him slowly. Chan moaned loudly.

“Are you close already baby?” you taunted him. He didn't care, and he was close, your sight alone in that lingerie was enough to make him bust. He nodded simply and shut his eyes.

“Eyes on me pretty boy,” you ordered. Your hand started to pick up speed, until the only thing you could hear in the room were the slick noises you were making and Chan’s pornographic moans.

“Do you want to cum on my face, baby boy?” 

Chan felt his balls tighten, you knew the effect that nickname had on him. The force of his orgasm almost made him scream. White hot ropes painted your face prettily.

Chan looked at you like you were a goddess but soon widened his eyes once again and felt his dick get hard, when you scooped up his cum with your middle finger and then pressed it down on your tongue. A moan escaped your lips.

“Get in the tub my love.” Chan wasted no time in climbing inside the bathtub and sitting down in the hot water, his dick painfully hard again. Your legs trapped him at the edge of the tub, his back pressed against the white porcelain.

“Can I bounce on you baby, please?” you moaned in his ear.

“You can do whatever you want to me,” he answered breathlessly. The effect you had on him was insane.

Pulling your panties to the side, you wasted no time and fully sat on him. 

“So full,” you whimpered. You knew how much Chan liked it when you praised and talked dirty to him.

Your movements were quick, his dick pushed against your g spot at every thrust, your clit rubbed against his pelvis. 

“Channie,” you whined against. Your boyfriend was completely fucked out, head thrown back and mouth wide open, it was a sinful scene.

It didn't take long for him to cum again. His seed shot inside you and dripped down his shaft. Your hand reached your joined bodies and started rubbing quick circles on your clit. 

Chan's hand gripped the bathtub tightly as you overstimulated him. 

“Please mommy, come for me,” he whimpered. It didn't take long for you to cum after that, your juices mixed with his.

“Happy Valentines day, my love”

[wing-ed-thing]

Foul Creature (Tobirama x Reader) Chapter IX

Synopsis: The territory between the Uchiha and the Senju dwindles by the day. And in an era where social lines have been blurred, and new clan heads have been chosen, you're stuck between a scorned lover and a man who relentlessly pursues your hand in marriage. You don't have much time before you're forced to confront the sins of your past.

Word Count: 6.8k

Tags/Warnings: Warning for dark themes ahead, including tags for blood and descriptions of gore. Fem!Uchiha!Reader. Please consult AO3 for more specific warnings.

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII Part VIII Part IX Part X Part XI

Notes: Hopefully we can wrap all this up soon... god willing... but hey this piece finally has somewhat of a direction (?) now.

An Uchiha warrior with a fatal wound should give his life in a suicide attack, but not Izuna. No, the brother of Madara would not die a warrior’s death on the battlefield. Instead, the Uchiha retreated from their path to the northern shoulder, surrendering the territory to the Senju in a victory their rivals would call “The Conquering of King’s Neck.”

The Uchiha returned suddenly, earlier than they should have, and having lost great numbers. Madara did not use the village gates but shot right over the sharpened walls like a deranged comet falling from the sky. He carried Izuna’s body in his arms, holding his brother close to his chest. Both were covered in blood and heavy wounds. They had been the first to arrive, heralding in the news of their defeat without a single word of it uttered.

Madara shouted for medical assistance loud enough to startle the entire settlement, and in a blur of confusion, agony, and chaos, Izuna was brought to a doctor, and the two brothers were sealed inside a private room as quickly as the commotion had started.

The entire village stirred to life with urgency. People emerged from their cottages and herded their children out of the street as the rest of the battalion emerged from the forest and trudged toward the front gates.

The men who had stayed behind rushed the injured to the hospital and hurried around the newly returned soldiers to assist in treating their wounds. Women gathered water from the well, ready to help receive the weary soldiers. 

Most injured warriors were gathered in one large room and treated on cots side by side, but not Izuna. Even in the sunlight, gathered citizens could see Madara’s hulking form pace back and forth from inside their private room.

No one else was allowed in except for the best physician in the village, who was currently facing the brunt of Madara’s furious rage. You could hear the clattering of furniture and thrown items hitting the mat floor from down the road. 

You clutched your medicine pack, shouting and shoving through the crowd as you approached the triage.

“Make way for the apothecary!” 

You came running as soon as you received word. The medics who went to the scene before you had their own medical packs with prepared remedies within them, but if the medics were to perform treatments on such a large group of men, they would need all the medicines they could get. 

Madara had, after all, forbidden you from creating more heavy-duty remedies in anticipation of a victory for the Uchiha. He told you that fast-acting cures would be all that would be needed and did not discriminate when it came to potency. The high ground belonged to the Uchiha, and Madara himself formulated their strategy for the ambush. But Madara was left with little more than the taste of defeat and bloodied hands after the battle. 

You hurried across the dirt path, the dry pebbles and earth making hurried scratching noises below the soles of your sandals. You clutched your oversized medicinal bag. The material wasn’t strong enough to carry the number of remedies you had shoved haphazardly inside. Your eyes were set on the treatment center where the soldiers were being taken. The little time you had was crucial for saving as many lives as you could.

Time seemed to slow as you ran past the paper door leading to Izuna’s private room, and you failed to notice the large hand that shot out from inside until it had grasped the back of your robes and pulled you in. 

You were thrown onto the woven matt floor with barely enough time to break your fall, let alone catch your compilation of medicines. You skidded against the hard surface, ripping the cloth on your shoulder as the fabric folded under you with the motion. Your arms wrapped against your oversized pack, and the glass bottles rattled against one another as you held them close to your chest.

Madara stood over you: hulking, broad, impeding, and crazed, but still as he slowly slid the paper door shut. His palm splayed out in the middle of the door, leaving a streak of crimson across the delicate white material. The air dried the red color into a muddy rust.

An unmoving, pale hand appeared in your peripheral. You scrambled to your knees, grip still clutching your medicinal bag. You hardly recognized Izuna as he lay in front of you.

All color had drained from his cheeks, but you could hardly pay attention to the grayness of his skin in the face of the massive open wound across his stomach. Izuna bled all colors of red, his gash like a gruesome flower clawing out of his torso and streaking across the room. His chest heaved up and down at an inhumanly slow pace, pumping a wheezing sound out of his throat with every strangled breath. Everything smelled of blood, and what used to be an entirely white room was marred with ghastly streaks of gore. 

The doctor worked frantically over him, but even looking at Izuna for a second told you all that you needed to know. His wound was already decorated with herbal remedies, the leaves and ground flower buds a stark, soft contrast to the wet, oozing gash that churned just below. The colors illuminated with an effervescent glow under the light of the doctor’s healing jutsu. 

Izuna’s head fell to the side toward you, your name dripping from his lips in a voice hardly above a whisper. You scrambled to his side, shedding your bag, and scooping his hand up in yours without a thought. 

“Izuna—!” 

Your heart sank into the pits of your stomach, and your face felt numb. Tears flooded your waterline as your pulse started to drum in your ears. One of your hands, now sporting a few streaks of blood that you didn’t notice, came over your mouth in mortified shock.

But even so, Izuna gazed at you fondly. His eyes were lidded, pain written across his face, but he did his best to grasp onto you weakly. You stared widely down at his giant wound, almost hypnotized by the terrible sight of it, before returning to Izuna’s face. Your hand dropped back down to your lap and joined the other in morphing over his palm. 

Your lips parted, but no sound left them. They wavered in the bitter-smelling air as an ugly sound stalled in your throat. You didn’t have it in you to tell him that it all would be okay. He wouldn’t have believed you anyway.

“I do not know what to say…” Your voice came out in a breathless hiss, your lips crinkling upwards as your brows creased together into two wavy lines. 

“I apologize…” Izuna was barely audible, and his words held an incoherent rasp. “The words I spoke to you last were most regretful… and most dishonorable…”

“Izuna, do not speak like this!” Your scolding was less than a whisper.

You looked at the doctor, whose eyes were already on you. Wordlessly, he confirmed your fearful thoughts.

Izuna wasn’t going to—

“How does he appear?” Madara implored. “I demand you tell me. Tell me that you deem him treatable with your remedies!”

Izuna gave your hand a light squeeze. When you looked down at him, two tears fell right onto his blood-stained clothing.

His other hand slowly rose, shaking as he brought it to his face. It stopped, trembling over his neck as Izuna raised his pointer finger. He brought it over his lips. 

The sound of your name boomed across the paper room.

“Why do you fall silent? You are able to revive him, are you not?” Madara thundered frantically. “You told me! You told me of your chakra remedies!” Madara’s hand shot out from behind you but missed your shoulder as his fingers grasped about wildly. You could feel the force of his motion in the air as the slight breeze of his movement rattled the hair behind your ear.

He made another grab for you, and you turned to grasp him by the shoulders as if you were taking a bull by its horns, dropping Izuna’s hand in the process. The metal of Madara’s armor was dirty and solid, pinching your fingers as you tried to keep him at bay as he lunged. He ranted something incoherent, nearly knocking you back into Izuna. Your core tensed, trying to keep yourself from falling back onto Izuna’s open torso as you tried to fight Madara away. 

“Madara, this is madness!” you shouted directly into his face. Your arms were beginning to shake under the weight of him, the locking of your joints being the only thing keeping Madara from pinning you down in his deranged rampage. But the fear and confusion in your gaze immediately widened as you met his gray irises. “Madara! Your eyes!”

“Clan Head, that is enough!” The doctor had since stood, stepping over Izuna’s body to ram into Madara with his shoulder. Your limbs were granted relief as the two of them stumbled back, nearly punching a hole in the paper wall. 

The doctor was not as large of a man as Madara, but he held his own against Madara’s unrestrained rage. His shoulder dug into the right side of Madara’s chest, and the doctor used all his weight to keep him from charging. But he was ultimately not enough to keep Madara restrained. 

Madara shoved him back with a violent push to the doctor’s chest.

“Who are you to cease treatment on my brother?! Who are you to attack your Clan Head— I’ll have you banished for your indiscretion—!”

“Madara, that is enough!” You shot to your feet, placing yourself between the two men. One of your palms splayed across Madara’s chest plate. He continued to scream over your head, gesturing pointedly somewhere behind you. Tears streamed down his face as his skin scrunched up in rage. — “Madara!”

— “You dare to impede me? My younger brother lies dying before my very eyes, and I cannot even see his face! And you dare stand against me when Izuna’s chakra weakens! You are traitors! You are traitors to the Uchiha; I will have you banished and then hunt you down myself— why do you refuse to help my brother? —”

— “Madara, please, I implore you to listen—”

Madara’s hand whipped across your face with enough force to make your ears ring. You fell to the ground with a heavy thud, the power of Madara’s strike making you almost spin as you went down. Your hand shot to your nose, which had begun to bleed. Your blood mixed with Izuna’s.

“Madara, that is enough…” Izuna began to sit up somewhere behind you. He groaned in pain, almost collapsing as he propped himself on one elbow. The doctor was already beside him, urging him to lie back down. But the sound of Izuna’s voice appeared to be enough to sate Madara’s mounting rage. He visibly melted, perking up as he tried to pinpoint where Izuna’s voice came from with a rapid gesture of his head. 

You were lost, hypnotized by the red that dripped from your nose and onto your hand. The droplets were thick and hot, only diluted by the tears of disbelief that seemed to fall in sheets from your eyes. You struggled to gather yourself as Madara knelt by Izuna’s side. 

“We will find a way,” Madara insisted with certainty. He nodded several times, taking up the straps of your medicine pack in his hand. He rooted around in it, searching for powder. “There is an ointment crafted for deep wounds—!”

“It is too late, Madara.” Izuna collapsed back onto his cot. A sharp hiss of pain tore from his throat. Izuna grabbed at his brother’s sleeve, willing him to come closer with his little remaining strength. The hold he had on Madara’s clothes was a death grip. “You must listen to me.”

Madara bowed like a child in prayer, lending his ear to Izuna’s lips. He crouched on his knees, hair cascading over his brother’s pale face as he blindly clung onto any part of Izuna he could reach. Izuna’s voice, perhaps meant only for Madara, faded in and out.

“For the good and future of the clan, you must not fall victim to Hashirama Senju’s trickery… promise me, I…” You could barely hear him. You hovered just behind Madara, sitting with your knees tucked under you and the fabric that made up the skirt of your robes balled in your fists. You tucked your chin to your chest. Hot tears continued to dribble down your face.

Your head spun, unable to listen to Izuna’s words even if you tried. You became lost in yourself, only resurfacing to reality when the sound of your name rang across the room. It was the doctor.

One moment, Izuna was speaking to Madara, and then the next—

“We will be performing an ocular transplant,” the doctor said. “Are you able to assist?” His grave gaze bore into you.

Your mouth gaped. You shook your head in disbelief. You turned toward Madara, who couldn't see you.

“You are taking his eyes?” you asked accusingly. Your tone held a harsh snap. “Are you so obsessed with battle that you dare take the sharingan of your own brother—?”

“Enough.” Izuna’s voice somehow found its way out of his throat. Just barely. His tired eyes met yours. “I forfeit them willingly… for the sake of the clan.” Izuna’s lids fluttered closed, even as you continued to stare. A new wave of tears welled in your vision. You were growing sick of weeping.

“For the sake of the clan…” you repeated, a part of you hoping that if you spoke the words, they would make better sense to you. You didn’t have to yield advanced jutsu to understand the implications of Madara obtaining Izuna’s eyes. With the Senju closing in, you knew there were few other choices.

Madara, the leader of the Uchiha, had exhausted his mangekyo sharingan. Izuna, the second strongest fighter in the clan, was fading quickly as he lay before you. And while the Uchiha had more than formidable soldiers, too many had been defeated in the ambush, and the rest had been injured during their retreat. It was truly up to Madara to protect you now.

Izuna spoke your name again. It would be the final time he would do so.

“I implore you… please, do not deprive me of my final wish,” he said weakly, the frailty of his words a stark contrast to the unfair burden he bestowed upon you. You glanced back toward the doctor. “I need you by my side.”

“I— I just make the medicine, although I— I…” You closed your eyes to shed more tears, but none fell. You tried to blink again, only to find your waterline dry. “I can administer some remedies.”

“The extra set of hands is more than plenty,” the doctor affirmed. “But we must make haste.”

Izuna’s hand found yours. His touch was cold. He gave your hand a weak squeeze.

*** 

It wasn’t enough to hang onto every moment you could. You tried to take him in during every second of the procedure, focusing so hard on being with Izuna for the dwindling amount of time you had left. You could feel the minutes slipping through your fingers. Your eyes searched every inch of him, trying to hang onto the patches of snowy white skin between the dirt and red stains. Izuna was here now, and you pulled a single moment into a thousand.

And when it was done, and Izuna was dead, you sat back on your calves. Madara lay to your left, his face bandaged with wrappings adorned with healing herbs. And Izuna rested to your right.

He had passed just moments before, long before the doctor had left the room. A thin sheet rested over his head, extending down to his blood-stained boots. But even as he lay such a short distance away, all presence of him had been vanquished from the room. The form under the cloth was an object, a thing taking a shape that certainly wasn’t Izuna. 

Your skin was taut from all your weeping. The tears still came in bursts, but the muscles in your face felt fatigued by it all. Any noise from the outside sounded muffled. Even Madara’s heavy breathing didn’t make it to your ears. 

You could see the light from the sun behind the paper walls. You stared blankly at the random swipes and spatters of red that dotted the room, staining the light eggshell color of all the fixtures. 

You lay down between them, letting your body go limp for the first time that morning. Some medics had since taken your bag of extra medication to use outside. The commotion in the village seemed to have dwindled some. You let your eyes fall closed. Exhaustion had grown so great in your head that your lack of energy made you wired. Your thoughts ran across your brain on their own, and you could do little to stop them.

You could sense that Madara was about to speak even before he parted his lips. He breathed in, taking a familiar pause before his voice dared to break through the silence in the room. 

“Your resentment radiates off of you like fire.”

In one of his final acts of life, Izuna had sated Madara’s rage, leaving his brother in this world quiet and pensive. Madara had been eerily silent. 

You let your eyes open lazily. They traced the outline of Izuna’s face beneath the cotton sheet.

“Now is hardly the time, Madara,” you muttered. 

“But it is true.”

You didn’t answer. You shepherded the silence back into the air, hoping that your ignorance of him would be enough. You couldn’t handle his talk in the face of your bubbling and agitated emotions. 

“It is true—"

“Silence, Madara,” you snapped, your words lashing across the silent atmosphere you tried to curate. You held your arms close to your chest, nuzzling your cheek into the side of one of your hands. You curled farther in on yourself, only isolating Madara more. “Izuna just...”

“He is passed,” Madara rumbled solemnly with all the clarity of the world. You cast your gaze to the light just outside the paper doors. It looked warm. “And you believe it should have been me in his place.”

“I said no such thing.” Your face was tired and puffy.

“You would be right.”

“Cease with your grandstanding—” You sat up, propping yourself on your palm as you faced Izuna’s body. You could barely keep yourself from collapsing from the mental exhaustion alone. — “It is inappropriate at a time like this.” You could feel the sting of tears shocking the nerves behind your nose, yet your eyes remained dry. “Why must you make these things so difficult?”

“I am making the death of my own brother difficult?” He sat up somewhere behind you.

“Do not twist my words. Timing has never been your strong suit, Madara.” You also rose to sit up straight, now sitting cross-legged near Izuna’s knees.  

“You believe that I am not in grief?” He held a thundering bite to his words, although even the slightest increase in volume sounded like a storm within the context of the hauntingly quiet room. “Do you believe that I do not feel deep despair over one who I have loved so dearly?” 

“You were not the only one who cherished Izuna!” You snapped around, knees hitting the opposite side of the mat floor. “Of all the times where you must be a fool, Madara! Why must it be now? Why must it have been this past visit to my apothecary? Why must it have been on the battlefield where you could have saved him a hundred times over, and yet you condemn yourself to play the fool!”

You weren’t used to seeing Madara’s face bandaged. He looked like a ghost, sitting upright where he was with his legs outstretched before him. Even blinded, you could almost feel his gaze boring into yours.

When he spoke, his voice was low.

“I am well aware,” he growled, trailing a tense silence in his wake. Madara sat up farther, and it wasn’t until the faint shadow of his large form eclipsed half of your face that you realized how quickly he bridged the gap between the two of you. “I am not blind enough to reflect on my hubris, nor am I blind enough to recognize my own twisted nature in my jealousy.”

You found yourself once again face to face with bandaged eyes, hypnotized by the infinity of cloth strips layered over each other. You took in every fold, watching where blood slowly seeped through the fibers. And perhaps if it had been a more tender moment and if you had loved Madara more, you might have tenderly taken hold of his jaw. But instead, you sat, slowly sobering up to the reality of what just occurred a few moments prior as your face was contorted by a demon of despair. 

Your resolve imploded.

“A mere reflection is hardly recompense,” you hissed, your voice coming out as barely a whisper. “How must it feel to have sacrificed your only living blood and continue to prove yourself so fruitless in your rivalry with Hashirama Senju? You have no excuse for your arrogance!” You steadily grew in volume, suddenly finding yourself standing. “So lost in your fruitless rivalry with him, you have indeed been left blind, with your flesh newly broken and easily swayed heart—no, you do not view clearly enough the hubris in your ways! You are a soft man, Madara!”

The tears came back all at once. You shed them like a waterfall as the wind caught in your throat. You gasped for air, hiccupping and choking all at once as the words tumbled from your lips. 

“Izuna—" You could hardly get his name out between gasps. “He—! Izuna, he thought—!” 

And perhaps if Madara had loved you more, he would have done something other than take the brunt of your broken rambling in silence. To him, that was gesture enough. To you, it was an indulgence in self-pity.

He let you leave, and no one stopped to question you as you quickly pushed through the crowd of people back to the apothecary. Although things seemed to have settled compared to the roaring chaos that captivated the late morning, people still milled around, collecting food and fluttering around the loved ones who were fortunate enough to make it home. 

You needed more time to analyze things. You honed in on the apothecary doors, barreling through them without regard for the medics coming in and out. 

You said little aside from your curt and adamant wish not to be disturbed before retreating into your loft at the far end of the apothecary. You curled in on yourself for what would feel like days, wrapping your cotton sheets around you as you buried yourself further from the world. 

The tears seemed to flow without you completely now, soaking the fabric of your pillow to create a wet circle just below your ear. Your thoughts ran on without you, and your heart ached from what felt like a hole sliced clean through it. The grief rested over you like a blanket, coating you from head to foot in numbing density. You would stay like that for what felt like days, unaware of what was happening outside. 

And the world would turn upside down, disrupting the mundanity you were trying so desperately to cultivate. 

When you weren’t lying in bed, you spent your hours lazily picking at things in your garden. In the rare moments of mustered energy, you would bathe and tend to your hair— more out of a necessity for maintenance than anything else. 

You didn’t even know that Madara had left until he returned. And when he returned to the village, he did not seek you out. Instead, a member of Madara’s council visited you at the apothecary. 

A young man with a severe face around Izuna’s age, he stood with his back erect on the porch behind the apothecary. You sat in your herb garden, absentmindedly fiddling with a particularly large flower blossom as a small collection of random herbs sat in a basket at your hip. He had called out to you in that militant voice that soldiers tended to use. You had hummed in response.

“There is a truce,” he said. “The Uchiha and the Senju have agreed to unite.” 

***

There were so many questions that the village hall overflowed with people. Members of the Uchiha even stood outside, hoping to catch an explanation. 

Madara and what was left of his council sat before the crowd, still adorned in their light wrappings from the Conquering of King’s Neck and the second face-off Madara had apparently had with Hashirama Senju. The room chirped, filling with murmurs and speculation. But when Madara began to speak, all fell silent. 

“The time has come…”

You watched from just barely inside one of the wide doorframes. Madara stared straight ahead, his voice confident, stern, and sure. 

He held himself like a clan head.

“The time has come for wartime to end,” he announced, surveying the gathered crowd. “It is time to put a stop to a violence started long ago, one that has forced our children to pay the price for a conflict started by the fathers of our father’s fathers. For I challenge you to find me a soul in this room that has not been exhausted from war and the act of burial.”

The room remained eerily quiet. You stood on your toes, trying to catch a better view over a man’s shoulder.

“Let me do away with your primary concern; The Uchiha stand on the same ground as the Senju, as equals, and in collaboration with one another. Our combined power has the potential to create a village where all people shall live without fear of violence, and small hands may never know the handle of a kunai nor the weight of the metal. This is a thing that Hashirama and I agree upon, and as the leader of the Senju clan, he has agreed to honor our terms.” 

The room erupted in a low clamor, everyone wanting nothing more than for Madara’s words to be true. They held their questions high, finally breaking their collective silence at the mere mention of Hashirama Senju. 

The sound of his name struck your heart no differently, and before you could even think, you were a distance away from the meeting hall. Your spot by the door had filled in swiftly. You had one place to retreat, one sanctuary, and you hid yourself in the loft.

***

“I need you by my side.”

You thought it was cruel for Madara to use Izuna’s last words in such a way, but you doubted that Madara even remembered his brother’s last words to you. 

The meeting had adjourned late into the night. The people had many questions, at least, that’s what Madara would tell you later. You hadn’t needed him to tell you to believe it.

It startled you when lantern light from the street flooded through the open door of the apothecary. You sat up in your bed, already halfway between wakefulness and mental exhaustion that kept you from falling into a meaningful slumber. Madara always swung the door open wider than he needed, and aside from that, you could place his hulking form anywhere.

He waited wordlessly as you descended from your tower. You did so lazily.

“Are you ill?” you asked at the bottom of your set of steps that wasn’t quite a ladder or a proper set of stairs. “A physician would have an easier time tending to you than I. At the meeting, I do believe I saw—”

Madara pulled you close in an instant. Your sleep-addled mind had little time to process the action as you stumbled over your feet. Your face hit Madara’s chest. He had a strong scent to him, which, while not unpleasant, was as overpowering as the man. 

A sliver of light trickled in from where the door sat ajar. It cast a faint highlight around Madara’s figure. Your tired eyes traced the shadows that the faint glow created on the fabric of his sleeve. 

It felt out of place being in his arms like this. You weren’t used to him not wearing armor. You could feel it in the tension of your muscles and the awkwardness of not knowing how to touch him in return. You let him hold you, and yet, for how none of it felt right, there was an odd, fragile comfort that had never belonged to Madara before. 

Madara, who imposed himself in every space he ever stood and could never be found wearing not even a piece of armor, felt soft. 

“I need you by my side,” he had told you. You felt his cheek against your hair. “I need confidence that I am making the right decision.”

“Madara,” you spoke softly, pulling back to meet his gaze in the dimness. “How do you expect me to give guidance on these things? I am not—”

You stopped yourself right there, feeling foolish in less than an instant. Nothing but the chirp of insects outside disrupted the silence of the apothecary. It felt as if so much of your time with Madara was filled with silence. But Madara’s eyes held no judgment. 

“Izuna watches over us from the heavens, and I have thought little more than the day he passed and the terrible way I behaved toward you,” he said with a slow nod. His voice held the rich timber that it typically had. Madara brought a hand gingerly to the side of your face. His skin was rough and scarred. He spoke lowly, surprising you with more softness. “I would feel confident with you by my side. You need not labor yourself, nor would you have to speak a word… For you just to be would be enough.”

“What do you speak of, Madara?” 

Madara cast his gaze off to the side, his jaw tensing slightly. 

“Perhaps Izuna would think it weak of me to bring a woman to such prestigious negotiations…” He pulled back, taking his warmth with him. Madara turned with one hand on his hip and the other clasped over his face. 

“Of what do you speak?” You nearly choked on air. 

— “But what if said woman was close family? 

When Madara whipped back around, he did so in the middle of a thought he did not bother to share with you. You blinked a few times, letting your eyes flutter closed as you tried to gather your thoughts, and to your dismay, Madara didn’t speak a word in your silence. You stared at him for answers, prompting him to elaborate.

“Izuna should be by my side,” he finally said, perhaps a bit louder than he needed to have been. When he continued, he did so with a lowered tone. “Our parents passed when we were young. Izuna was my one and only brother, and he is now gone… And so, I implore you…”

Madara took in a sharp breath, not daring to speak the rest.

“Is that what we are now?” you asked. “You consider me family?”

A familiar silence once again took hold of the space between you.

“Is a wife not considered family?”

It was only due to a moment of shock that you let the question sit in the air.

You turned on your heel, your hands coming to your face as you shook your head with fatigue.

“Madara, must I remind you how terrible you are with time? —” 

Your name shot from his lips, as did a hand to your shoulder. 

— “Perhaps you should see a physician—”

“You are the closest thing I have!” Madara’s desperate cry halted all words on your tongue. He grabbed you hard enough to leave bruises, forcefully spinning you around as he moved forward, caging you against a nearby counter. His face was so close to yours, and when you looked deep into his eyes, you saw Izuna. 

“You and I have known each other for as long as I can remember,” he said with faintness. “Has it not always been you and I? Have you not always thought it was destiny how we have always been brought together like this?”

You couldn’t say why tears began prickling at your eyes. It felt as if anything could make you cry nowadays. Madara brought a hand back up to your face, skimming the wetness from your cheek. 

“Please—” It was the first time you heard Madara use such a word. — “I can assure you that things will improve, that I shall improve. Be with me by my side. I do not ask you to marry me tomorrow, but perhaps if you may see— perhaps you may come to see things as I see them.”

“You have always been one to set your expectations far too high.”

“Can you deny that we are as close as family? We have only each other.” Madara’s hand traveled down your arm to grasp your fingers in his. “I do not ask for your commitment. I ask only for the openness of your mind.”

Your eyes squeezed shut, and you breathed out a deep breath. Unconsciously, you leaned into him. Nothing made you feel right now.

“With your track record of anger and empty promises? What have we ever agreed upon?” Your words came out weakly as you met Madara’s gaze in the dimness again.

You wanted so desperately to stop staring into his eyes.

But… Izuna…

“You would have protested such things not too long ago. It all seems quite ridiculous, does it not?” You found yourself laughing, and Madara cracked a smile for the first time in a long while. 

It was thin-lipped and, indeed, did resemble a crack. The wrinkles that ripped across his face made him look young, a lot younger than he had been looking as of late. A small chuckle shook his chest and hardly made a sound in his throat. You let out a light laugh. What you said hasn’t been funny, nor was it meant to be. 

A handful of memories from when you were a teenager sat at the back of your mind, and perhaps if you tried not to think about them, they wouldn’t hold any importance. 

***

That had been a foolish thought in and of itself, and in the days following, you wondered why you had let Madara persuade you. You decided that he had beaten you down with sentiment and nostalgia, knowing that considering any other reason would only disturb what little peace of mind you had. 

It would have been wiser to give it all some thought. It would have been wiser to have turned Madara away in the first place rather than humoring his charged words, and yet, a part of you wanted to move forward. Even on your way to the neutral meeting ground, you wanted to be a part of the new dawn, spurred on by a nagging curiosity and a morbid sense of fate. 

Foolish. Foolish, with little sense to it at all!

You caught a glimpse of white, and you purposefully averted your eyes. Madara stood next to you, sporting his best robes as members of the Senju unfurled two banners to be hung. The amount of Uchiha who came in support of the agreement surprised you. Most of your settlement gathered somewhat behind you, still unsure what to make of the crowd of unarmed Senju directly ahead.

The two groups remained segregated for the most part, standing around awkwardly even as the banners featuring the Uchiha and Senju crests were hung side by side. You glanced to your left toward Madara, feeling the stuffiness and tension yourself. But Madara remained stoic and upright, hardly regarding you even as Hashirama approached.

“Today is a day for celebration! Why must everyone be so serious?”

And from the tales you had been told of Hashirama, he had not been what you expected him to be. He instantly spotted the two of you as he emerged from the crowd. His round, kind eyes seemed to glitter, along with the perfectly white teeth he bared with his smile. 

“Madara! My friend!” Hashirama, an already tall man, held his arms up. He only needed to take a few long strides before he was upon Madara, wrapping him up in a hug great enough to cause Madara to take a half step back. (You almost took a step back with him.) Just as quickly as Hashirama embraced him, he pulled back, planting his hands firmly on Madara’s shoulders. And Madara let him. “It is good to see you!”

Hashirama turned to you and positioned himself directly before you, eyes remaining as wide as his smile. 

“Madara, how could you not send notice that you would be bringing a goddess to smile upon the union of our clans?” He fell quickly into a deep bow as you gaped. You instinctually turned to look at Madara, a girlish grin of your own contorting your lips. Madara rolled his eyes with a knowing sigh. Hashirama returned to his full height. “You may call me Hashirama. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise,” you hummed, offering your name in return. “I hope you do not consider primary names informal as we have just met.”

Hashirama let out a boisterous laugh.

“Are you not all Uchiha as we are all Senju?” Hashirama chuckled, eyes drifting to the crowd of Senju for a moment before he did a double take. “Ah!” He turned back to you and Madara, gesturing to his right. “Speaking of Senju, might I present my brother, Tobirama.”

“Everything is prepared, brother, the people are waiting on you—” 

Tobirama’s gaze latched onto yours like a magnet, causing him to stop short just to Hashirama’s right as his mouth snapped shut instantly. Your jaw dropped, and you quickly clasped your lip closed to not bring attention to your light gasp. You prayed that neither Hashirama nor Madara, who stood between the two of you, noticed your out-of-place surprise. Hashirama seemed to breeze past the micro-interaction entirely as he spoke your name.

“This is my brother, Tobirama. Tobirama, this is…” You didn’t take your eyes off Tobirama’s red irises for a second, lost in the pounding that threatened to burst open your chest. You couldn’t stop yourself from moving. Your foot slid back, positioning you just behind Madara’s shoulder. Your hand tightly grasped the back of his sleeve.

Your movement didn’t escape Hashirama. When you looked back at him, you found his gaze anchored directly to the grip you held on Madara’s arm. You watched as his face seemed to droop, his broad smile wavering for a moment as an expression of what you could only describe as genuine sorrow swept over Hashirama’s face. It was a contortion so sincere that you almost felt bad for how your body reacted. But Hashirama recovered quickly as he faced Madara once again with a friendly smile. 

“... your wife, Madara?” 

You hadn’t realized that Hashirama was still talking. 

You and Madara gazed at each other simultaneously, expecting the other to answer, but instead, you found yourselves engaged in a silent, second-long debate.

“This is, uh,” Madara started, now as thrown off as you were. His forehead twitched as he glanced back toward you instinctually. 

“I am an…” You made the mistake of accidentally making eye contact with Tobirama once again. He stood stoically by Hashirama’s side, quietly awaiting an answer. Your panicked gaze once again darted between Hashirama and Madara, who didn’t appear to be in a rush to come to your aid. — “advisor.” You nodded with pseudo-certainty. “I am an advisor on the Uchiha council.”

Hashirama wasn’t allowed time to comment. 

“Pardon us.” Two members of the Senju tentatively approached your group. Hashirama pivoted a foot to acknowledge them.

“Yes, what is it?”

“All has been prepared for us to begin. We wait only on the two of you.” 

Hashirama turned to spare a half-glance over his shoulder.

“Ah, that is what you were here to notify me of, was it not? Telling me to quit my chatter, eh, Tobirama? Why did you not speak sooner?” Hashirama laughed. “Let us make haste and not leave the people waiting longer than they have already. I am certain that everyone would rather be at the banquet than listen to my dry speech!”

With Hashirama having decided to begin, you retreated to the Uchiha side of the crowd and Tobirama to the Senju.

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed, and supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

Notes: Hahaha would you believe that I forgot that healing jutsu existed for, perhaps, this entire fic?? I certainly wrote other things with healing jutsu. Hell, I’ve written whole stories centered on it, but this?? WHOOPS.

I thought to myself that I might add another section to this chapter but I saw that 6.8k and went hahahahaha nope!

My grammar checker no longer works on the document that this was originally written on, so I took the chapter and isolated it to do edits... resulting in weird indentation issues. Ah so goes the world...

@gracefulbumblebee @norasincubi @rahatake

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII Part VIII Part IX Part X Part XI

Edit: I think I’ll drop the next chapter when this one reaches 100 notes.

[oneforthemunny]

You are so good with angst!! If you feel like it: thong, but with Mafia!Eddie Oops, he forgot to mention a business associate was coming over with him

i'm guessing and went with smut as the genre like the one thong request with older!eddie haha! here's mafia!eddie <3 minors dni

You closed your eyes, the cool air from the many box fans you had piled in the room finally cooling you. The dogs laid out with their own. You knew they wanted to touch you, they always wants to be near you, but today you'd commanded them to the floor. It was too damn hot for anyone, anything to touch you.

Clothing included.

You found yourself shedding more and more clothes throughout the day until you were left in nothing but your thong. You ridded yourself of your tank top last, calling it quits for the day and retreating to Eddie's office- the coolest and sunless room in the house, dragging all the fans into there.

The air conditioning unit had stopped working yesterday evening, of course, in the middle of the heatwave that was terrorizing Hawkins right now. Eddie had told you he'd get it fixed, that someone would be there soon. That was this morning, hours ago, and they still hadn't shown up.

The front door opened, closing with a heavy thud that had the dogs up and at alert. "Baby?" Eddie's muffled voice called from downstairs.

Diablo let out a commanding bark, ears erect and pointed, nose touching the door. "In here," You groaned, too tired to move. Why would you? It was too hot to, and the fan felt so nice on your hot skin, finally comfortable for the first time all day.

"In my office?" Eddie's voice got closer. You didn't bother moving, not even opening your eyes, the cool air and hum of the fan lulling you.

The dogs barked in excitement when Eddie walked in, running around him. Eddie clicked, a demand for them to get back. "Did they not come and get it fixed?" Eddie asked.

"No," You groaned, a soft pout on your features. "It's so hot, Ed. I don't kno-"

"-Woah!"

"-Baby!" Eddie's hiss came after another voice, your eyes snapping open. Eddie's wide eyed meeting yours, a blush rising up his neck, Jeff standing behind him, back turned from you, undoubtedly with the same embarrassed expression.

"Eddie!" You squeaked, hands flying to cover your pebbled nipples. You squeezed your legs together, hoping to hide what the tiny thong didn't. "I-I didn't- You didn't tell me people were coming over!"

Eddie snatched the blanket off the arm of the couch, covering it over you. Your skin pricked with sweat at the thick cashmere laying over you, but you didn't dare move.

"Jeff, gimme a sec." Eddie nodded towards him.

Jeff muttered something, back still turned as she quickly left the room. Your body burned, both with the heat and from embarrassment.

"Why do you not have any clothes on?" Eddie lifted a brow, voice dropping lowly when Jeff shut the door.

"I was hot!" You squeaked. "I didn't know people were coming over!"

"What about the air conditioning guy?" Eddie frowned at you, a dark, possessive look clouding over him.

"You said he wouldn't come in the house, and I didn't need to answer the door!" You countered, glaring at him lightly. "That's why I came in your office with all the fans, because I knew- Well, I thought, no one would come in here."

Eddie's face softened, a small huff leaving his lips. His hair was pulled back, curls frizzy from the heat. He had opted for a short sleeve shirt today, still black, but silk, the top buttons undone.

"My clothes are over there." You nodded towards the arm chair, where you'd lazily thrown your tank top and tiny cotton shorts.

Eddie walked over, switching your clothes for the blanket. You slipped the tank top over your head, the cotton clinging to your clammy skin. Maybe you'd have a cool bath instead, soak in the cold water and finally cool down.

Eddie lazily folded the blanket back, eyes watching you through a half lidded gaze. "When'd you get those?" He hummed, eyes lingering over your tiny, lacy thong. "That's new."

Your skin pricked with heat, excited, flushed, a little embarrassed still. "Last week," You muttered, looking up at him carefully. "When Nancy and I went shopping. I saw them and thought they were cute."

Eddie hummed. "Very cute." His lips twitched in a grin. "Keep 'em on for me, ok? I'm gonna try and get rid of Jeff. Send him to go get that lazy fucking asshole to fix this air conditioning." He huffed in annoyance.

You rolled your eyes gently. "Yeah? And do what? It's way too hot to have sex right now, Eddie. I'm already boiling."

Eddie grinned wickedly, eyes darkening in a way that made you shiver, body kissed in goosebumps. "I think I can find a way for us to cool down." He hummed, gaze rolling over your frame again. "Stay here. I'll be right back."

Eddie returned with his own shirt off, a champagne bucket filled with ice in his hands. The blanket was spread on the floor this time, fans still pointed all around you, before Eddie stripped you back down to nothing but the thong, dragging the ice over your nipples, down your sternum, holding it between his teeth when he drug it up the inside of your thighs leaving you shivering in its wake.

[zombieplaygrounds]

cw: jealous! simon x soldier! reader, oral sex, foreplay no intercourse, implied age gap, throat training ish, etc

You really are just the unluckiest gal, the captivation of Simon's greedy attention. Couldn't say no to your legendary lieutenant - not that you wanted to anyways. Liked having his special attention; whole ordeal probably started off so sweet. You absolutely admired, wanted to make him proud in any way possible, on the field, and off. You - so easy to manipulate into dropping to your knees, all rowdy with adrenaline from your first few missions with him. Hot blood of a puppish recruit.

Had to throat train you, teach you to keep that jaw slackened while he bobbed your head for you. Whimpers vibrating all around his cock from the hot walls of your throat, tongue desperately offering stimulation for him - you wanted to please him so badly. And you looked so pretty begging for it, drove Simon crazy, made his eyes roll back and his body limp against the wall. By then, your eyes had watered with sloppy tears that streamed down your cheeks, Simon's thumb reaching off to rub it off, bringing it to his mouth to taste your salty pleas.

"S.. Simon." You'd croak so softly, strands of drool dribbled on your lips, vision blurred and light headed. Oh, what he'd give to see you painted.

You knew better than expect that occurrence to be a one time thing - you weren't that dumb. Not like the other soldiers implied, that you were just some air headed solider, best as canon fodder. Maybe that was why Simon used you with such ease, releasing the grip he had on your hair after he came down your throat, wiping off his cum from your lips and letting you lick it right off his finger; all these just because you were too dumb to say no. Too desperate to not beg for his attention, come back into his embrace when someone was too mean to you.

A proper brat you were. Impossible for Simon to imagine himself actually loving you. Then came the time Johnny approached you, devious smirk, arms crossed and listening to you yap about your day, wagging your tail for other men. Oh, you were such a whore - should really know better than to let other men talk to you. Especially men like Johnny, who had already imagined you whining with his cock bullied into you.

Later that day you would have quickly graduated from suckling the cum from Simon's cock to letting him fuck you. Dragged into his own personal quarters and thrown on to the bed, a yelp emitting from you on impact. You sat up, quickly, head tilting dumbly, "Si, what's wrong?"

God, you were so dumb, so oblivious. It made Simon growl with something furious, something jealous. His palm pressing in to his own face for relief of his expression. He was good at masking his emotions, good at hiding what he thought, but when he was with you it all went to shit. And fuck, nothing irked him more.

His touch was gentle, experienced, undressing you and watching goosebumps form on your flesh from the exposure, your nipples pebbled and fun for him to pinch, flick, tug. Yet, Simon's words were still harsh, furrowed brows as he rumbled out, "So ye like, MacTavish, mm?"

You'd shake your head rapidly, your bottom lip quivering a bit while Simon's free hand rubbed away at the nervy nub between your thighs. Already wet - like a whore. Simon laughed to himself, a cold and cruel laugh as he continued with his little touches, mapping out your body in a lazy rove. "S'okay, lovely, can wag your tail for these other men. Bet they get you real wet, make you think some dirty stuff. Can feel it from how wet this cute, little cunt is. Just remember.."

Simon trailed for a moment, leaning close to whisper softly in your ear, "Simon owns ya."

[pedge-page]

Plushies 3 - Cluster

The plushies continue!! Follows Puppy

Joel Miller x F!Reader - everyone takes a bath! And introducing Teddy Jr

Plushies Series Masterlist

Can be read as stand-alone

Warnings: unprotected sex, bathtub sex, stuffed animal humping, language, pet names, Daddy kink, squriting, derogatory names (lots of slut/slutty), one mention of reader's period

18 + ONLY

-

Joel was staying over the night again, kissing down your neck as you led him to the bedroom. You plopped down on the duvet, reaching to undo his jeans as he stared down at you with dark eyes. He fell down on top of you, bringing your lips back to his.

"Little pussy needy all day, huh? Just dying to get me in your bed already," he breathed against your neck, licking at your pulse and down the v neck of your shirt to nip at the top of your breasts.

You tug his hair back up to you to swallow his insaitable tongue. His fingers intertwine with yours as he dragged them over the sheets, above your head to keep them pinned.

His brows furrowed, pulling away. He looked above you at the rest of the bed. "Where are they?"

You're left breathless, wondering why he had stopped. "What?"

Joel leaned up away from you, scanning the rest of the room. There was a disturbing lack of certain somethings that he had gotten so used to seeing and throwing off your bed (and occasionally playing with.) "The..." he started squeezing his hand like pumping a air press, looking for the word.

"....plushies?"

He nodded.

"They're taking a bath."

He looked back down at you. "They're what?"

You giggled, pushing him off you and leading him hand in hand to the bathroom.

Joel followed you skeptically. As you drew open the shower curtains, he stared down with absolutely nothing flowing through his mind.

"See?"

Indeed he did see. A shit ton of sopping wet stuffed animals shoved in your bathtub soaking in a water like it was the Olympic water dancing team.

"Wh—just." He held out his hand in a stop-gesture. "Why?"

"They're taking a bath, Joel."

He blinked at your completely serious face. "Baby, we need to have a serious discusion about your mental state over these things."

"Joel they're DIRTY. Plus my in-unit washer can't handle bulk items so I gotta wash all pillows and blankets and ... them, in here."

Both physically wash and spiritually: a sort of purification too with the horny adventures you had been sharing with them because of Joel.

Joel's eyes were glued to the happy sea of colors, dead eyes mixed smily faces swirling around in the water, beckoning him.

He rubbed his thumb over hip tip lip, his tongue ghosting the trail. "Strip."

"Excuse me?"

"Strip, dirty girl. You need a cleanin', too," he said, pulling the edge of your shirt over your head.

"Joel, I'm not..."

"Shut the fuck up and get in the tub."

You zipped your lips and followed his command on instinct. Joel watched you hungrily while slowly pulling his jeans down. Once you were both naked, he titled his head towards the tub. "Get in," he smirked.

Jaw clenching, you do as you're told dipped your toes in. Luckily the water was still warm since you had just thrown them in there before Joel came over. You wiggled between the heavy plushies that were floating around before submerging your lower half fully. Joel scooted in behind you so that his hard cock was resting right against your lower back.

"Joel , this tub isn't exactly a two seater."

He ignored you and stroked your hair possesively, kissing the back of your head with his eyes closed. He began rubbing your shoulders and neck, making you lean further against him in comfort. "Feel good, baby?"

You hummed contently. His callous hands continued their soft rub over your neck, collarbone, shoulders, arms, down to chest and finally settling on your breasts, cupping them in his massive palms with a firm squeeze. His thumbs flicked against your pebbled nipples, the whiskers of his face dancing along your cheek as he kissed and sucked.

You moaned lowly, rolling your head. "Senitive."

"Mmm I know, you get like this before your period huh? This little body needs a spa day, angel." The constant press of Joel's chest against your back and the heavy plushies floating around you felt soothing like a full body massage.

Joel seizes a small beanie baby snake from the tub and drapes it over your face, covering your eyes. "Joel, what the f—"

"Shhhhh. Let me relax you."

He continued to press his fingers all over your wet body, over the valley of your breasts, down your naval, swirling his fingertips over your belly before lightly dragging back with his nails.

He fished one soaked animal and placed it on your chest, then another on your thighs and stomach. You feel the weight of their water soaked fullness pressing against you.

"They're all so wet, honey." His fingers slipped lower until they were inching to the insides of your thighs. He patted the little fat of it twice, signaling you to lift it up and spread. His warm hand wrapped around your calf and placed it over the edge of the tub, exposing your cunt under the water.

His digits pressed into you pussy, making you hiss. "Haaaahhh, wet down here too?" His tsked you.

"'S just the water."

"Baby girl, I can feel the difference. Your little pussy is gushin'." You couldn't see him, but you could feel his hot breath against your wet skin, prickles of his beard brushing your cheek, his nose nudging your ear. "'M just tryin to relax you. Don't know why you're gettin' all turned on from your little friends in the bath with you. Horny little thing."

Your hand went around his wrist as he swirled your swollen clit, teasingly dipping just his fingertips into your hole.

"Want it, daddy," you piped, turning to kiss the tip of his nose.

You whined when his hand left the space between your legs, but it was quickly followed by a loud moan when you felt something soft replace it. He dragged your favorite teddy bear between your legs, rubbing your pussy against it, the hard eyes occasionally slipping betwen your folds and nudging your clit. "Someone's here to play with you."

Yoy bit your lower lip, rocking your hips against the solid press of the drenched plushie. Of course it's this one, the bear Joel bought you on your first Valentines together. You could feel the distinct ridge of its patterned dotted nose. Each movement of his hand chruned through the water, punching into you with small humps and flat palmed rubs through the heavy fabric. The added weight of the ones on top of you heightened your senses all over.

He watched from your neck, the way your chest seized and stutted at each breath, tits jiggling against the two plushies he has planted there, the water pouring from them and dripping over your body back into the pool below. He kept one hand resting firmly on your spread knee so that it stayed over the lip of the tub, keeping you spayed out and pliant for his view.

He had almost forgetting ache of his cock, straining uncomfortably against your back. "Sit up," he whispered. You obliged, lifting your butt up from the bottom of the tub just enough so that he could position himself right below you, his member pressing right at your hole.

The snake plush and others fell off your body as you glanced down, waiting for the inevitably drop on to his perfect cock. "Daddy," you warned.

"Take your seat."

You slid down on his cock, head thrown back over his shoulder as he filled your guts.

"Perfect fuckin' fit, tight pussy needed Daddy's fat fucking cock, didn't she?"

Before you could begin bouncing, Joel grabbed a few wet plushes and began dragging them over your body like a sponge, rubbing over your sensitive nubs and down between where you two are joined. You started grinding down on him, hands on the wall and lip of the tub to keep you steady as you impaled yourself.

He pressed your teddy bear between your spread legs, rubbing it against your clit while he fucked up into you. "Whole family watchin' you get dirty, baby."

Thr obscene sound of the water splashing from his movements filled the air. You watched their beady eyes conveinently float to all stare directly at you while Joel pumped you over his length.

"P-please don't say it like that."

He smiled behind his back, pushing the face of the bear closer, its hard nose running along his moving length and your entrance. "Oh f-fuck, Teddy!"

"Tell Teddy you love him."

"I -I love you..."

"Teddy," Joel finishes. "The whole thing now." He continued to guide your waist with one hand up and down, slowing increasing your pace until his tip was smacking that sweet spot inside you he knew like the back of his hand.

"L-love—oh God yeah right there! Right there baby!! Fuck yes-love-- Love you-" you cried out as your orgasm approached—"I love you, Daddy!"

"Oh fuck—dirty fucking girl—ain't cleaning shit. Gonna fuckin wreck this slutty pussy with my cum. Like having Teddy rub his fuckin face on ya? Bet you use it when I'm not home, humping him between those gorgeous thighs, riding his face. Teddy ain't gonna fill your slutty pussy up with his cum like Daddy can."

He fisted the bear tightly, rubbing at ridiculous speeds against your clit, water sloshing back and forth in the tub. You tip toes stuttered to hold you up as your climax crashed, your moans echoing in the bathroom.

"That's it, that it sweet girl, cum on Teddy's face and Daddys cock, workin ya so good, sweetest little tight cunt ever." He continued to man handle you like a doll, fucking up into you with precision to get to his own orgasm while simultaneously extending yours.

He felt the familiar twitch inside you. "Oh shit, you gonna squirt? Nasty girl, always soakin her little plushies. Spray you fuckin pussy juiced all over them!"

You squeezed your eyes shut and let it out, Joel removing the bear so you could gush out over the heads of all your stuffed animals helplessly bobbing in the water.

Your legs give out, collapsing down on the full length of his dick as deep as possible, both of you gasping out suddenly as Joel's cock unexpectedly throbs, releasing his seed deep into your womb. "Holy—holy f-ffuckkkk" he wrapped his arms around your body, holding you tightly as he pumped his hips a few final times before fully emptying himself inside you.

You both breathed heavily, the ripples of water slowly fading to stillness.

"Bath water ain't gonna cut it now, babe. You're gonna need a priest and holy water to get these fuckers clean."

- -

This ones just a bit longer, Sorry!

Next: Teddy

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Depths 2

Warnings: non/dubcon, stalking and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: fisherman!Geralt of Rivia x artist!reader

Summary: your sleepy existence is thrown into chaos by a mysterious man.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

It's too rainy to paint but you hate to stay pent up. You pull on a coat and boots and head out with an umbrella. You might not get any work done but the lake will help soothe your nerves.

You come down the ragged path towards the dock and stop at the threshold of dirt and wood. You squint out at the dark shape bobbing on the water. The ship is whipped around in the wind, rocking dangerously on the foam. Still, it makes no advance towards shore.

The rain darts down like pellets. Small droplets that bounce off your coat but don't soak through. A spray speckles over your face as the fog rises across the lake. The boat's light turns on and glows in the distance.

Only then does the vessel redirect. You can hardly tell from your vantage. You shield your eyes from the rain as you try to zero in.

The rain lets up but the fog thickens around you. You stop just beyond the lap of the risen waves. Pebbles roll in the dirt and sticks float out with the tide.

The boat looms closer as it cuts a slow trawl through the water. You climb up on the dock and watch. You can only see the floating orb of light in the wall of mist.

You turn back and tramp down into the mud. It'll slow your return and the sooner your out of the musty air the better. You look back as the boat knocks against the dock, just as you reach the crest of the valley. 

The man with the white hair ties off on the post and throws out his ramp. His figure is obscured and he appears like a ghost in the fog. You're too far to see more than his faint silhouette. You set off and leave him behind with the churning waters.

The house is grim as you enter. You forgo the electric bulbs for a glass lantern. The ambiance flickers as a new spatter of rain begins. You steep a cup of tea and settle in with a book.

The lull coaxes you to sleep. You only wake as a sudden clatter comes from the rear of the house. You nearly roll of the sofa as you give a start. The novel falls to the floor as you sit up in the dark.

The wick's burnt itself out and the night has deepened outside. You get up and go to look out on the wooden deck. It could just be the wind. You don't see more than shadows. The only thing that hangs around are bears and deer. You'll leave them be.

You retreat and go to tidy up your cup and the book. You drag yourself a bed, dozy with the dampness thick around you.

The next morning is brighter but you have things to do. You load several paintings into your wooden wagon and head out for the main fare. It's a good trek away but you don't mind. The market stalls more than make up for the effort.

You stop at the post office first and send off the paintings to their buyers. Sales are enough to get by. Decent for the work done. Then you take your wagon off to the market for your usual haul.

You stop at the produce stand and pick out some healthy potatoes and onions, some berries too. You add some oats and flour to the wagon along the way, needing only some meat to get you by. 

You're drawn off course on your way to the butcher's stall. The shining scales lure you in and you browse the selection of trout. The man behind the stall frightens you as he growls in greeting.

"We don't have shrimp," the white-haired fisher states.

You didn't know he sold here but you suppose he has to offload the fish somehow.

"Oh, I wasn't... can I have two, please? They're pretty big." You smile. He narrows his eyes and unhooks two fish, wrapping them in paper and twine.

You ask how much and pay. You watch him as his golden eyes guide his hands. He accepts the money. 

"Quite the rain yesterday." You say.

He looks at you and returns your change.

"The waters must have been rough," you add. He shrugs. "Alright, well have a good day. See ya around."

You put the fish in the wagon and he clears his throat. "What are you painting?" He asks. You stop and face him again.

"Sorry?"

"You've got that easel. What do you paint?"

You smile again, "the water. The sun. It's beautiful out there, isn't it?"

He nods and grunts. "Dunno, I just look for the fish.”

You stand in silence. Unsure what else to do or say. You thank him again and drag your wagon onward. You stop at the butcher a few stands down. 

You glance back. The white-haired man stares after you for a moment then turns his back to you. He picks up a book and plops down on his stool. He's not much of a salesman but those fish will make a good filet.

[sharkenedfangs]

— ☆ “SPIRALLING CYCLE — I MEET YOU HERE, AGAIN.”

#. — synopsis. sleep, his initial intention, the original plan impulsively made ahead or so he had promised, but y’know, sleep can be a bitch sometimes and damn it all if he’ll ever truly receive it for real, this time.

#. — content warning! angst with some eventual comfort at the end, mentions of physical abuse here and there, substance abuse with alcohol, shit household overall, negative self-perception, a groggy whitney and a glimpse of his life through his own lens.

#. — word count? 2.5k

#. — extra extra! ashes snippets : “too embarrassing to vent about my problems, so why don’t I make blondie here, experience it instead? except all ends well with him and not with me.”

Dappled sunlight faintly seeping through the silken blinds, smoothly draped over the glassy windows to tenderly kiss at Whitney’s drooping eyelids, tiredly shut away from numerous attempts at resting. Sleep, his initial intention, the original plan impulsively made ahead or so he had promised, but y’know, sleep can be a bitch sometimes and damn it all if he’ll ever truly receive it for real, this time.

‘Course, today or specially last night, it hadn’t discreetly knocked at his awaiting door nor contentedly graced him with a visit of its own, therefore, here he is. Stupidly awake at the crack ass of dawn and consciously aware of the ticking clock signalling the approaching hour, dizzying, red lines mundanely staring back at him to readily showcase the eventual obligation he’s stubbornly set upon himself. Fuck. If he doesn’t soon get out of this shitty hellhole life has bitterly stuck him with, then the occasional pebbles clumsily thrown against his rattling bed window will be sure to stir the other bitch up.

Said bitch probably awkwardly sprawled along the used couch, rusty springs threatening to pop free underneath the stitched mattress due to the sheer pressure of their sleazy form resting atop of it. Beer bottle drunkenly discarded forth from their loose grasp, hanging limply below to paint a grimy picture he’s been greeted with time and time again. Just stinkin’ up the fuckin’ place at this point, but who’s he to make the shots on that? Bitter son of the house and he’s acutely familiar with what that position entails. Say the slightest word and he’ll be good to go explore the shadowed streets, end up at that shoddy brothel worst case scenario.

Takin’ all the damn space though, as it had been repetitively affirmed before, he should be fuckin’ near grateful he even possesses a space of his own — no matter how cramped it may well be. No matter how suffocating the bleak walls gradually narrowing in on his curled frame may be sickeningly tight around his dry throat.

Speaking of, he’s getting thirsty here and so are the impatiently growing, muffled shouts of his gang aimlessly straying along the bricked wall of his apartment, boringly kicking at chipped rocks to pass the excruciatingly long stretch of time he’s taking to get the fuck up. Fine. Dirtied blonde, messy haired boy here, s’got the message sent his way. Stifled groan easily slipping its way past his chapped lips, instinctively yearning for the nearest source of a fresh, preferably cold drink to quench his endless thirst annoyingly itching at the back of his throat. Old, dinky fridge’s gotta be somewhere here, fuck— the kitchen. Obviously, dipshit.

Becoming as dumb as the fuckers you hang out with which are the only dumbasses to mindlessly follow him along wherever he so pleases, huffing and puffing like a group of stray mutts pitifully pawing at its owners feet for some much needed attention. Well, they’re not receiving it anytime soon, far too preoccupied with searching for some fuckin’ water— shit, even beer will do, even if it sets him on the same level as that drunken piece of shit to be greedily swallowing down alcohol early in the morning.

Groggy footsteps steadily dragging him towards the stretched hallway, memory settling in thickly as per usual, his feet automatically straying away from the creaking floorboard he’s known to soundlessly creak beneath the slightest weight. Don’t wanna wake the fucker up— doesn’t have the patience nor probably the maturity to properly deal with ‘em face on, specially when the oddly warming sun has recently risen.

No, he’s not a goddamn coward, just too good of a bastard to waste his precious time he mostly spends on fooling around doin’ nothing. Anything will do as long as it isn’t spent in this stifling flat where recollection beckons him in turn and crappy guilt forcibly gnaws at the bruised flesh of his slouched back. Coward? No, he says — but, his subconsciousness subtly whispers out otherwise. Liar.

Marble set in stone, routine playing out as faithfully expected by the absentminded tugging of his sweats, idly scratching at his balls beneath the cotton material all the while reaching for whatever catches his eye in the flickering light. Stupid bulb that never got fixed is really gon’ have him punch the fuckin’ ceiling one day, knowing better than to do so, instead tentatively taking a swig of a cooling bottle of.. something. Definitely strong with how it pleasantly burns within the pit of his churning stomach, momentarily soothes the doubts away in his chattering mind. If only the intoxicatingly warm effects of alcohol were eternal— Scratch that. The blonde knows life would be shit regardless, but at least you get to be drunk while doin’ it.

Hell, if it kills him, all the more better actually. A sullying stain dreadfully misplaced upon this shit world now rightfully wiped away, like he had never existed to begin with, fuck. Everyone wins if the troubling delinquent causing problems ‘round town cleanly kicks the bucket off, randomly dies in some stinky ditch somewhere in the darker alleyways as God would’ve had fuckin’ intended anyway. If there is one, for that matter. Because at the end of the day, he’s just some boy with a troubled mind and split knuckles bloodied up from previous fights — don’t know which exactly, he’s lost count by now. And, this make-believe deity the deluded temple has carefully fabricated isn’t going to spare his ass one bit for the awful sins committed by him, or so the stuck-up nuns keep repeatedly preaching to him whenever they catch sight of dirty filth.

Walking further down the elongated hall— it’s funny, place isn’t even that damn big in comparison to the ones out on Danube Street, yet practically feels like it’s eating him out from the inside with every careful step taken. Get the fuck out, get the fuck out of here before he groggily wakes up, not that they’d possibly care for his absence or presence when it doesn’t mean two shits to ‘em if he fails school, but does he give a shit if Whitney so much as bothers ‘em in any shape or form. Intentionally or accidentally, he claims, all results in the same exact scenario. A purplish bruise painfully etched across his wobbly limbs, bound to leave a residing mark. Bloodied, fucked up nose trickling out scarlet stains for his tongue to messily swipe against later, taste the metallic residue in his mouth as reminder for his actions. Serves him right.

Having gotten the harsh lesson driven into him, body naturally adapting to seek an escape of any kind, finally pausing at the sight of the wooden door with the jiggling chain left unloosed. Fuck, didn’t even lock the damn door? Saves him the gruelling effort of having to deliberately sneak amongst the heap of dirtied laundry riddled onto the ground, notably remembering the fact he can’t go prancing around outside half-naked. When you forget one fuckin’ detail—

Sure, this is the town where you get repeatedly raped on a regular basis to the point where no local resident even bats an eye to the supposedly, morally wrong act — which they never actually take a stance against, fuck if he cares — however, last thing Whitney wants is to instantly draw attention to himself already as it is. Yeah, the urging temptation is there, shivering jolt passing throughout his spine at the mere thought, but he’s not in that particular mood. No, not right now. Blatantly ignoring the sickening sight of his bulge visibly straining against his sweats, hot, leaking tip staining the greying fabric a darker shade. Morning wood, he supposes. Or just cuz’ he’s the type of guy to get high off of received attention when intentionally done.

Great coping mechanism for that affection you’ve never received early as a child, huh? Fuckin’ shut up— Goddamnit.

No point in sleazing ‘round here any further, not with the increasingly apparent risk at hand and the selflessly given opportunity to make his escape for the day. As always, his hasty departure goes unnoticed for the entirety of the upcoming hours, weeks would be a plausible period of time too with how unimportant his mere presence is at the shit hole one would reluctantly call ‘home’. Shit, if it works in his favour, all the more better for him. Gets to roam as he so pleases all night and who’s gon’ stop him for it? Yeah, that’s right. Normalcy instilled within his mind that this is how it should be. A parent worried sick over his own rebellious child fooling along somewhere amongst the bustling streets filled with bums? Sure, like that’ll happen.

While you’re out here daydreaming over stupid shit, why don’t y’a throw some clothes on? Idiot.

What else to wear than a plain, white shirt, which he somehow isn’t directly in any possession of at the moment. Merely leaving him with the sole option to steal a flitting glance towards the limited closet shut at his side. Thing isn’t going to squeak too loud if he delicately opens it, right? Better fuckin’ not. It’s in the blonde’s inborn nature to be instinctively rough, though discretion is a useful skill he’s conveniently learned when stuck in sticky situations like these, specifically. Cautious palms placed against the hatch, soundlessly sliding the door open to give way to the few attires hidden in the confined space.

Ah, there it fuckin’ is. His scruffy leather jacket hung upon the metallic hook, sewed patches prominent around the torn edges of his sleeve from the wear and tear accumulated over the passing time. Shit quality, but it’s ultimately his alone to wear. And, fuck it if he’ll wear it with pride no matter how used it appears to the naked eye.

Swiftly slipping on the cheap garment before momentarily regarding the broken zipper loosely hanging at the hem of the leathered cloth. Thing just had to wordlessly give up on him at the crappiest of times with the seasons progressively shifting to a cooler weather, chilling breeze bound to have his bare frame subtly shivering underneath the thick material. Likewise, he’ll manage somehow. Doesn’t he always?

Maybe if it was any other day, he would’ve taken a second more to consciously scrutinize his sharp features dimly reflected in the dirtied mirror, visibly scowl back at the glassy surface displaying the very thing he hates to death— Not today, however. No, plan already dully simmering within the tight confines of his mind, action he willingly chose to take.

So scandalous in every sense of the word that stupid ol’ church boy Sydney here would’ve profusely reprimanded him of such wrongdoings, frantically swat away at the revolting notion he was fully ready to carry out. Hah, makes him unconsciously smirk to envision his shocked expression paired by the quivering squirms of his fist tightening around that annoying, red pen. ‘S it so ‘disgraceful’ to a goody-two shoes with an easygoing life like him?

Guess it’s time to openly show him what piles of shit like Whitney someday, end up at. Barely sparing one forgetful glimpse to the cluttered dump he has to regrettably live in, a flimsy goodbye that’s less of a ‘good-bye’ than a good riddance sort of gesture. He’s not one to be sentimental, regardless. That crap is for fuckin’ snotty losers like the tearful orphans he regularly corners in the shady alleyways near the orphanage, choked up pleads falling on deaf ears when his knuckles disgustingly crack against the beaten flesh. A means of distraction for what he’s gotta lamentably endure on the daily. If he’s gotta suffer then, might as well bring a goddamn couple of nosey brats down with him too. Shit excuse and he knows it, doesn’t stop him from doing it either way.

Rushing past the creaking door, forcibly slamming it shut solely to spite the surrounding neighbours sleepily soaking in the approaching dawn, jolt their dumbasses awake as he laughs it off with a resounding snicker and of course, not to forget— his boldened signature move of a straight ‘fuck you’ shot in the windows direction. Whoever may fuckin’ see it by chance, may they remember that snide grin and those golden locks of hair messily tumbling forth to obscure his gleaming eyes. Cocky boy causing trouble, the first name to be softly whispered when an incident occurs on the local streets, Whitney. Yeah, they better fuckin’ hammer that name into their hardened skulls. Yell it out to the goddamn world.

“Whitney! Hey! Over here!”

Fucking hell— He totally forgot those morons were still loyally waiting for his eventual arrival out here in this icy weather, freezing their asses off till’ he got out of the house or flat, whatever they call it. Fists snugly shoved in his pocket jeans, freshly lit cigarette already comfortably tucked between his lips to then appreciatively take a slow inhale of the fag before casually exhaling out a puff of smoke to meld with the cooling air.

“Fuckin’ idiots. You’re still here? Scram, I’m not in the mood.” Barely hiding the faintest traces of a smirk creeping on his lips at the sight of his gang appearing like a bunch of stray dogs without him in the middle, where he rightfully belongs. Fine, he’s in somewhat of a good mood right now. Why not play nice? “Whatever, you guys can come if you want. I don’t give two fucks either way, just don’t fuckin’ start with that dumb shit again from last time or I’ll dump your asses in the nearest river and watch you fuckers freeze to death.” Classic tactic of ‘I actually want you to come and if you don’t, I’ll kill y’a.’

Holding back the snicker that’d ease past him once they gleefully raise their heads to meet his serious gaze, implying that he isn’t joking— he means it. Really does.

“See, what’d I tell y’a? He’d be happy to see us—” One naively chirps up while the other simply smacks their head in retaliation, puffing and crossing their arms in turn. “Fuck off! If it weren’t for your genius idea to stand outside in the freezing cold, my hands wouldn’t be fucking turning blue by now, y’a cunt!”

“Oh, shut up! If you hadn’t complained the whole goddamn way then maybe—“

Usual banter ensuing as per usual, told those fuckers not to do it and they still do. Hah, what the hell did he expect in the end? Wistfully sighing out to his warning being plainly ignored, hands coming up to run along the golden strands of hair in an easing habit to soothe the headache he’s getting from merely listening to ‘em. Head drooping lowly in a half-assed attempt at covering his widening smile threatening to fuck the whole act up. Bunch of freaks, aren’t they? His gang, though.

Which he’ll never concede to, no. Can’t have ‘em know he’s secretly grateful for their constant presence and insistent tugging for him.

“Cmon, you morons. Pub’s still open till midnight and I’ve got a fuck ton of money to spend from that slut. Drinks are on me this time, you better be grateful I’m sparing y’a a penny.”

No, he can’t possibly admit the simple fact that they make the difficult things in his shitty life, slightly more bearable.

[dragonskulls]

Based on the variety among sea animals I decided to make some regional variations of the coast strikers (note that these are variations only, not entirely new quivers or clades). The dragons shown here would be the most “defined” archetype of each variety, showcasing most or all traits characteristic of said kind. They all share certain base features, like rudder shaped tails, gills, harpoon tongues, echolocation, double rows of teeth, and flat tail spines that can be detached and thrown. However, some traits change or are more common in each variety:

Deep water

Make up about 5% of the population, and inhabit the smaller communities in deeper ocean. The main activities here are algae and mollusk farming, as well as resource collection from the sea floor, both of which require a more long term stay –despite the dangers of sea serpents and other such beasts–. Slightly smaller than their cousins, they’re better equipped for the depths rather than for flying: shorter wings, webbed talons, very broad tails, and gills being more oxygen efficient, although their dart spines are usually less in quantity and shorter compared to inland dragons. Extra flippers and more fin tissue between spines is common, as well as larger eyes to take in more light. Their most notable trait, is that of translucence. Most commonly, it’s usually just wings and torsos that are see through, but different dragons showcase different levels of said trait, some being completely translucent in rare cases (of course, trading better camouflage for less armor). Coloration typically goes from dark colors similar to coastal strikers, black, red, or sometimes pale colors (the latter present usually in the populations living in the deepest available settlements). Rarely, some slight bioluminescence is present in transparent sections of the body.

Coastal

The representatives of the Roaring Coast quiver, being around 80% of their numbers. Sleek, tall but well muscled, they inhabit the sea side cliffs on the coast and some settlements in shallower waters. Extremely long and narrow wings are perfect for soaring for hours out at sea, with webbed back talons and a flattened tail making them adept swimmers. Their blade shaped spines are plenty and deadly when thrown, and offer some protection to their necks and backs. Fin tissue in between the spines is few or non existent. An odd ability most present in this variety, is the one of spitting ink. Manifesting itself as dark splotches in the throat, this ink is dense and quickly expanding underwater, and very sticky and thick on land, making it useful at deterring predators or confusing prey. Countershading is the standard regarding coloration, with light colors underneath and darker ones on top, the latter usually ranging from black, gray to washed out shades of blueish or purple hues which shine with more vivid highlights under the sun. Most common patterns are stripes or flecks. A perfect balance between the sea and land.

Inland

The remainder of the coast striker population, they live in the rivers and lakes on the edges of the Roaring Coast territory, further inland but still relatively close to the ocean. Shorter but more stout than coastal strikers, with medium length wings, broad whiskered snouts and narrower tails. Their spines are closer to the average AshWing, being more needle shaped rather than a flat blade. Their colors are similar to those of pebbles and gravel (more earthy tones) and messy patterns of spots, blotches, stripes and rosettes. Fin tissue is more similar to that of fish, making itself present more than in the coast variety but less than those of deep waters, as well as having some slight webbing in all talons. Some notable features are some splashes of brighter colors, and semi retractable barbs in limbs and backs –like those of catfish– which can sometimes inject painful venom. These last two traits are similar to the ones present in swamp lurkers; this could be the result of convergent evolution or cross breeding between clades, given the relative proximity of their territories

On a final note, characteristics mentioned here aren’t exclusive to each variety: there could be a coastal striker with slight translucence and barbs, a deep water striker with whiskers and ink, or an inland striker with full talon webbing and jet black scales. These are increasingly likely if one parent has said traits. Additionally, many times these varieties and traits are not so starkly differentiated as are the ones show here, usually being a mild mix between some

[lulublack90]

Prompt 27 - Drought

@wolfstarmicrofic June 27, word count 990

Previous part First part

He’d fallen asleep in Sirius’s arms. When he woke, the others had gone. It was just him and Sirius. 

“Hey, sweetheart, how you feeling?” Sirius asked as he stroked his fingers through Remus’s hair. He could have purred. It felt so good. He stretched his limbs, his joints popping. He opened his eyes to see Sirius watching him carefully.

“I’m good, need to stretch my legs though.” They felt a bit stiff after all the chores that morning and his afternoon nap. 

“That ties in nicely with what I had planned,” Sirius said mysteriously. Remus’s interest was piqued.

“What do you have planned?” Sirius sat up and pulled Remus up with him.

“Well, I promised you a nature walk to replace the one you’d missed.” Remus jumped out of bed, dragging Sirius with him. 

“Yes, please,” He said enthusiastically. Sirius chuckled. 

“Alright then, put on your shoes and let’s get going.”

Sirius led him down one of the narrow trails winding through the forest. Sirius bent down and showed him a carpet of white star-shaped flowers with shiny oval leaves. “This is wild garlic. Here smell,” Sirius rubbed the leaf between his fingers and a garlic scent filled the air. “It’s excellent to use for garlic bread, but don’t pick it if it’s flowered, it’s not as nice then,” 

They moved through the forest. Sirius pointed out different trees. “That one’s a yew. They used to make longbows out of it. Everything on the tree is incredibly poisonous, but apparently they use it for anti-cancer compounds. Beautiful trees, but yeah maybe don’t lick it,” Sirius threw his head back and laughed as he continued on pointing out a few small flowers hidden around the large ferns on the ground. 

They came upon a tinkling stream. Sirius slipped his shoes and socks off and walked into the water. “A few years ago there was a bad drought and this entire stream dried up. The lake was so low we were only allowed to kayak on it. That was the most boring summer we’ve ever had here.” Remus took his own shoes and socks off and let his feet slip into the cool water. 

It was bliss, he hadn’t realised how warm he’d gotten. “Come on,” Sirius took his hand and began walking along the stream. They walked in silence, Remus took in everything around him while keeping a close eye on where he placed his feet. The stream was crystal clear, but the bottom was littered with small pebbles and the odd large stone. “Just a bit further and we can rest,” Sirius told him. He had no idea how Sirius had known he was getting tired, but Remus had only just thought about it in his head and Sirius voiced it. 

The stream widened suddenly into a small pool. It was a lot deeper and he would have fallen in if Sirius hadn’t thrown out a hand to catch him. “Fancy a swim?” 

They quickly stripped to their boxers and Remus followed Sirius into the pool. It was freezing, but Sirius soon took his mind off it. He pulled Remus into his arms and balanced him on his knee. The water swirled around them. Remus swallowed. They’d been close before, but James had always come barging in before anything more could happen. But they were in the middle of the forest, away from everyone. He knew Sirius wouldn’t do more than he was comfortable with, but Remus felt ready to do a little bit more with him. 

Their lips met and suddenly Remus wasn’t the least bit cold. Sirius’s fingers trailed up his bare chest, tracing the scars. Remus relaxed into the touch, he didn’t think he’d trust anyone else to do what Sirius was doing. Sirius was the only one to touch his scars. He avoided them himself as much as possible. 

Sirius’s hand moved, and his fingers traced the line of his waistband, his eyes asking for permission. He felt a shiver run through him and he leaned back slightly, giving a small nod. He felt incredibly vulnerable but the trust he felt for Sirius outweighed it. 

Just then a clattering of breaking branches and thunderous footfalls broke them apart. A figure came hurling towards them surrounded by a swarm of bees. He jumped and plunged into the pool with them, engulfing them in water. They ducked down as the bees dissipated. The person who’d disturbed them bobbed into view from below the surface. 

“Hey guys, didn’t realise you were out here.” James beamed at them, pushing his sopping hair out of his eyes. 

“Potter! Where have you gone?” Snape called through the trees. 

“Over here, Sev, and look who I found,” He shouted back, waving his arms and spraying droplets of water over Remus and Sirius. Snape and Peter came into view. 

“Oh,” Snape stopped. “Didn’t realise you’d be.”

“Calm down, Sevy. We’re not naked.” Sirius sighed, exasperated. “What happened to you anyway?” Peter scuffed his boots into the earth. 

“It’s my fault,” He said sadly. “I tripped over and grabbed a branch to stop me from falling, but it broke off and bit a branch on the next tree over and upset a beehive. It fell next to James and they started chasing him,”

“Peter, when we get home I’m taking you to a priestess because there is no way you aren’t cursed,” Sirius grumbled. “Now if you don’t mind, Remus and I would like to get dressed, so clear off," Remus snorted with laughter as the others disappeared into the forest laughing about what James had managed to see before he dove into the pool. “Come on, then. The cook told me there was chocolate cake for pudding again and I know how much you love that.” Sirius clambered out of the pool and offered his hand to Remus. Remus hurried him along, there was no way he was missing out on that chocolate cake.

Next part

[leiawritesstories]

Mom, Please!

@throneofglassmicrofics August prompts "Lake" & "Splash"

Word count: ~1k if you squint 😂

Warnings: swearing, teenage antics, Rowan getting grey hairs from stress

Enjoy!!!

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

"I hear footsteps," Aelin mumbled, half-drowsy.

"Go back to sleep, Fireheart," Rowan mumbled back, burying his face in her hair. "It's probably just a rabbit or something."

"At---" She cracked her eyes open and stared at the fuzzy numbers on the clock across the bedroom. "One in the morning?"

"Mmmh, fine." Her husband attempted to push himself upright and flopped back into bed with a groan. "Dammit!"

She kissed his shoulder. "Don't throw your back out, old man. I'll go check on things." Aelin pushed herself out of bed and tucked the covers up over her sleepy, grumpy husband, who grumbled something about I'll show you a thrown-out back as she stepped into her slippers and crept out of their bedroom.

The hallway of the lakeside cabin was dark and silent, broken by strips of silvery moonlight filtering in through the skylights. Aelin came into the living room and paused, wondering why the hell the sliding door that led to the patio was cracked open. Had one of the kids forgotten to close it?

And there were those damn footsteps again.

Slowly, she crept up to the windows and nudged the curtain aside just enough to peer out and find---"Gods above, Mom!"

"Holy shit, Lana!" Aelin and her oldest daughter screeched at each other at the same time, and Aelin leapt back from the window as if it had slapped her, wishing she could scrub the sight of Lana and her boyfriend playing tonsil hockey out of her eyes. "Fucking hell," she groaned, rubbing at her eyes with both hands. "It's too damn late for this."

There was a rustling outside the house, and a very sheepish Lana snuck back inside through the patio door to find her mother sitting on the couch with her head buried in her hands. "Mom?" she ventured. "Are you...okay?"

Aelin grumbled something incoherent in reply.

Lana discreetly tugged her sweatshirt's hood up, relying on the shadows it cast over her neck. "Um, Mom?"

"I'm fine," Aelin mumbled. "Just gonna have to tell Yrene about this. You could've at least mentioned that Cal's family was here too."

"I didn't know he'd be here," Lana whispered, blushing an adorably bright pink. "He surprised me."

"Pebbles on your window and all that romantic shit?" Aelin teased.

Lana grinned, her smile a mirror of her mom's. "Yeah."

"Can't hardly blame you, then." Aelin stood up. "Well, I'm going to bed before your overbearing father decides I've been gone for too long and hurts himself trying to find his way down the hall in the dark. G'night, sweetheart."

Rowan, of course, was awake when she came back into the bedroom, fumbling for his glasses. "Stop that, buzzard."

He sighed and flopped back into bed. "Everything alright?"

"Yeah, just Lana and Cal tangling tongues out behind the patio." She turned onto her side and fluffed up her pillows.

Strangled wheezing erupted from Rowan, and Aelin flipped back over to rub her husband's back until his shock dissipated. "The fuck?" he croaked.

She chuckled and handed him his water. "You know, Lana's boyfriend?"

"I know who," Rowan grumbled. "When? How? Why?"

"Ro, honey, you really don't want me to answer any of that." She kissed his forehead. "Go back to sleep, love."

~

The summer sun shone brightly over the lake, and Aelin lounged comfortably in her chair, enjoying the warmth and the laughter surrounding her family.

"Owww! Get away from me!" The shrill shriek was accompanied by a pair of feet sprinting towards Aelin and a smaller body taking refuge behind her chair. "Mom, Bran keeps shooting his stupid water gun at my face!" It was Charlotte, their third child.

"It's not my fault you're afraid of your stupid lashes falling off!" Bran, who was nearly sixteen, yelled back at his younger sister.

Indignant, Charlotte gasped and stood up, planting her hands on her hips. At fourteen and a half, she was the most strongly opinionated of the Whitethorn kids, and she wasn't afraid to show it. "You take that back!" she demanded, and when Bran told her to make him, she picked up a nearby bucket and headed for him.

Aelin opened her eyes and watched her wildfire daughter dump a whole bucket of lake water over her oldest son's head, which resulted in him screaming like a little girl because a frog had happened to be in the bucket and had now found a new home in the back of Bran's swim trunks. She chuckled to herself.

"Kids these days," Lana fake-sighed as she walked past, three more baby frogs cradled carefully in her hands.

"Says the kid who snuck her boyfriend over in the middle of the night," Aelin deadpanned.

Lana's face went scarlet. "Mom, please! Everyone can hear!"

"Just like last night," Aelin added. She winked. "Uncle Fen would be so proud of you, sweetheart."

"Oh my gods," Lana groaned. "You're the---"

"Are those frogs?" A younger voice broke into the conversation, eager eyes peering at Lana's hands. Rielle Whitethorn, the older of the twins by three and a half minutes, jumped up, trying to see the little frogs as Lana put her hands up higher. "I wanna see the frogs, Lana!"

"Shhh!" Lana shot a look over towards where Bran and Charlotte had moved their water gun fight into the lake, joined by Cal and two of his brothers. "I'm gonna dump them on Bran's head." She winked at her little sister. "Wanna join?"

"Hell yeah!"

Aelin lowered her sunglasses. "Rielle Enna Whitethorn!"

"Sorry, Mom." Rielle was ten, and she and her twin brother Declan were like sponges around the older siblings that they idolized. She ran off, following Lana down to the lake, and Aelin watched with her smile hidden behind her book as the two of them crept up behind Bran and successfully released the frogs onto his head.

He howled and scrambled frantically, arms flailing, until he finally gave up and ducked beneath the water to get the frogs off of his head. Aelin snickered, beyond pleased that her children had inherited her fondness for fun little pranks.

Down in the lake, Cal slung his arm around Lana, and she rested her head on his shoulder and smirked up at him. He leaned down, whispered something in her ear that made her shake with laughter, and pressed his---

"Gods above," Aelin groaned, shoving her face into her book.

Not again.

~~~

TAGS:

@live-the-fangirl-life

@superspiritfestival

@thegreyj

@wordsafterhours

@elentiyawhitethorn

@mariaofdoranelle

@rowanaelinn

@house-of-galathynius

@tomtenadia

@julemmaes

@swankii-art-teacher

@charlizeed

@booknerdproblems

@earthtolinds

@goddess-aelin

@sweet-but-stormy

@clea-nightingale

@autumnbabylon

@llyncooljones

@silentquartz

@renxzs

@anarchiii

@fauna-flora11

[cumulo-ghoulll]

Beach Day HC 🏖️

Copia likes to treat his ghouls and ghoulettes to a little vacation every now and again. During the summer, the pack always begs for a beach day.

Dew spends as little time as physically possible in the sun as he complains that he needs to keep his skin as pale as possible. Once he's been chased down by Aether and soaked in suncream, he usually caves and spends the rest of the day sunning on the warmest rock he can find. By the end of the day, he's usually taken off his swim shorts and, once again, has to be chased down by Aether and wrapped in a towel.

Rain spends almost the whole day in the sea. He is a freshwater ghoul so he can't breathe under the sea as long as he usually can in the lake at the ministry. If the beach is empty he'll partially unglamour and swim quite far out. He loves hunting big fish in the deeper parts of the sea and bringing back his catches for Copia. The fish he brings back is normally cooked by Swiss for everyone to eat but Rain prefers to eat his raw.

Mountain likes to collect shells and seaweed and decorate his antlers with his finds. Copia brings a bag for Mount to put his pebbles and shells in. The best thing he ever got from the beach was a pearl Rain had brought back from the seabed. He does go for a little paddle in the sea for a few minutes but only of Rain is there too as Mountain is actually quite scared of the sea and drowning in particular.

Swiss is in charge of the barbeque and he loves it. He brings a ridiculous amount of hotdogs and burgers and ends up cooking Rain's fish too. When he's not cooking, he likes to soak up the sun, not as much as Dew but he likes it none the less. If Copia brings any floats, he gets Rain to drag him around on it as Rain is ridiculously fast in the water. Swiss usually ends up flying off whatever float he's being dragged around on. He also loves recreating "I've lost my diamond earring!!" with Phantom.

Aether is like the dad of the group and that definitely doesn't change at the beach. When he's not being buried by the ghoulettes or sleeping under an umbrella, he helps Phantom learn to swim. Aether's a great swimmer so he doesn't mind teaching Phantom. He does spend a ridiculous amount of time reinflating Phantom's armbands as the bug loves to deflate them. Aether takes the orders for ice cream as well and makes sure everyone gets the ice cream they want.

Phantom prefers to spend most of his time at the beach with the ghoulettes. He absolutely loves making massive and extravagant sand palaces and then jumping into them after. If he's not swimming with Aether, he likes to run around on the shore and more shallow areas of the sea. Phantom prefers to run on all fours still as he's still not completely used to walking upright because of how short of a time he's been Topside compared to everyone else. If Swiss and Copia are in the sea, he loves getting thrown between them (with Aether there to grab him if he doesn't make it all the way)

Cirrus and Cumulus are attached at the hip anyway and that doesn't change at the beach. Cirrus is almost constantly rubbing more sun lotion on Cumulus as she burns incredibly easily. They love playing with the bat and ball Copia brings but have to shout for Rain when the ball goes too far out. Cirrus loves tanning and literally times how long she's on one side for. Meanwhile, Cumulus sits at the edge of the shade with a parasol next to her. Cumulus is usually chugging a coke as well as she gets super dehydrated out in the sun and she has to force Cirrus to drink anything at all.

Aurora and Sunnie tend to hang around with Phantom. Sunnie helps him build his sand palace and Aurora is chief decorator (she has to collect shells to stick on the sides). All three of them usually sneak up to the freezer box while Aether is sleeping and take as many ice creams they can carry. Aurora likes to look around the rock pools and get Sunnie to tell her what the different creatures are.

Copia is usually asleep on his deckchair with his hat covering his face. Occasionally, he can be convinced to be buried in the sand by the ghouls but only if Aether is on standby to dig him out. As much as he loves taking his pack out to the beach, he gets a constant barrage of, "Papa, look!" "Copia! Look what I've got!" "Papa! Tell him to give me that back!" "Papa! You're not watching!!" "PAPA THERE'S SEA WATER IN MY EYES!!" "Copia? Have you seen my sunglasses?" "PAPA THAT CRAB JUST PINCHED MY BUTT!!" "PAPA I JUST GOT STUNG BY A JELLYFISH!! IM GOING TO DIE!!" "C? What's this?" "Copia there's sand in my mouth..." "Papa I just stepped on something sharp." "Papa I left my hat in the car!" "PAPA!! LOOK AT THIS FISH AHAHAHA I CAUGHT IT ALL BY MYSELF!!" "PAPA TAKE A PICTURE OF ME!!" "Copia? I've lost my goggles in the sea." "PAPA I JUST DROPPED MY ICE CREAM!! CAN I HAVE ANOTHER? WHAT DO YOU MEAN THERE'S NONE LEFT??" "PAPA!! DEW JUST SAID HE HOPES I GET EATEN BY A SHARK." "papa. jaws isn't real, right?" Copia usually leaves with a headache, a sunburn, and a bag of rocks and shells.

[moxfirefly]

We really don't see enough of protective Donnie and I would love to see him just snap a little if someone was bothering his S/O.

❝  i don’t like how they keep staring at me.   ❞

❝  what did you just say to them,  you little shit?  ❞

❝  see,  i woulda left it alone.  but you made them fucking cry.  so now you’re gonna lose your eyes.  ❞

[ SHELTER ]  for one muse to lean into the other’s side or hug them to seek comfort from a crowd or individual while in public. 

[ RESCUE ]  for one muse to intervene upon seeing a third party making the other one uncomfortable. 

Man it was hard trying to stay within the limit but I hope I gave you good prompts to work with! Can't wait to see what you come up with 🐢💜

*vibrates excitedly* unhinge Don? Oh friend YOU HAVE NO IDEA.

Somebody said Vern is the perfect scapegoat but why not have a little fun and have it be Casey this time 😏

Rated Mature cause Don’s gonna smack a bitch if he’s pushed.

You and Casey had never seen eye to eye, mostly because he came off as an arrogant prick.

And on good days he was just arrogant.

But tonight?

Well.

It was no secret that you had a couple of thoughts on New York’s finest, aka the cops.

One too many times had you seen their ‘shoot first ask questions later’ mindset in action. You’d seen excessive force, you’d seen the racism and mysogony. You felt and knew deep inside that if the day game where the guys were expendable that they be thrown under the metaphorical bus.

It never sat right with you.

So Casey had made a comment about work tonight and you hadn’t kicked on your filter and had retorted back with a snide comment about crooked cops and their ways. It had quite easily crawled its way up beneath Casey’s skin, he’d made a face and he had proceeded to give you the stink eye for the rest of the night.

Once dinner was put away and everyone went about the night time routine, Casey had continued to eye you with a scalding glare. You could tell he was itching to say something, it was frothing above the surface.

Donatello was on dishes duty and had caught the tail end of your comment towards Mikey.

“-I don’t like how he keeps staring at me” You placed the last of the left overs in containers and passed them off to Mikey.

Donnie had casted a look over his shoulder at Casey, who seem to be venting to Raphael about tonight’s little debate.

You found your way next to Donnie, resting your head against his bicep. He could tell you were bothered, while it was a sore subject it didn’t necessarily give Casey the right to cast daggers at you all evening.

“Are you alright?” He asked, careful to not drip too much concern in his tone. He felt your shrug, a sigh blown against his pebbled flesh. “Maybe I was too mean? I should apologize” You spoke softly, there was remorse in your tone. While you were right you also knew Casey was an alley, a friend.

Just as you made your mind up to at least let Casey know you knew he was on the guys side, everything went down the shitter.

Donnie saw you walk over and before you could extend a let ‘bygones be bygones’ apology, Casey had simply snapped at you. It was harsh, it was simply fucking mean. You stood stock still, shocked and taken aback.

Donnie shut off the sink, the clatter of a plate hitting the metal of the sink the one sound in the room. The rest watched in shock at what had just happened.

Donnie’s heavy footfalls alerted you he was there. He got between you and Casey, one look at your watering eyes as you stared at his boots was all he needed. He felt something boil inside of him, the very notion that somebody could make you cry, it was enough for that little part buried inside of him. That little part of him capable of unfathomable violence.

“What did you say to them, you little shit?” Don’s voice made you look up shocked at what he had said. You’d never heard him speak like that, and clearly Casey was just as surprised.

“Come on Don she’s been riding my ass about being some crooked cop! I know-“

“I never said you were crooked, Casey I was-”

“You might as fucking well did!”

His tone made you flinch and the embarrassed frustrated tears threatened to spill. It felt like a spotlight had been shone down upon you. Brought you back to those moments a parental figure would judge you and berate you.

A large hand wrapped around the scruff of Casey’s shirt. Casey eyes found themselves met with a pair of ones much, much angrier than his own. “See I woulda left it alone…” Donnie pushed Casey against the dinning table just as Raph’s desperate ‘Donnie no no no no’ came tumbling out of him. “But you made her fucking cry, so now you’re gonna lose your eyes”Casey honest to goodness yelped and nearly prayed when Raph got between them. “Case, the gym. Now. Don, walk it off, go” Raph’s hand patted Donnie’s plastron.

Casey had forgotten briefly just how tall Donnie was, just how menacing he could appear at his full height with a hand wrapped around one designed with the strength to cause a lot of damage. Donnie’s eyes didn’t acknowledge Raph’s presence, he let them stay on Casey. The silent threat was enough, and with a not so gentle shove he released Casey from his grip. A few items on the table cluttered down along with Casey’s balance and dignity.

Casey’s trembling eyes found yours.

You looked away.

Raph led him away to the home gym. Space and a cool down was the remedy for now.

You looked at Donnie’s back, there was a tremble to his hands and tension to his arms. You took a tentative step, hands grabbing his forearm before you leaned against his arm much like you’d done by the sink. It was enough to quiet his thoughts, his shaking hands to still. He looked down at his side, at the top of your head and sighed.

His arm wrapped itself around you, securely.

This was a side he never wanted you to see.

[skele-bunny]

ARUUUU water ghoul dew 🥺 water ghoul dewey talk pretty please gimme the droplet pleeeeease 🤲

FISHY TIME!!!!!! RRRAAAAAAA!!!!!!

Dew was the one who got Alpha into doing pushups with someone on his back. They had been roughhousing, and Dew managed to get on his back, just laughing up until Alpha pushed himself up. How Dewdrop clang so tightly each time Alpha did it, it just made him happy and low-key opened a new interest for him. He's also got into the habit of picking Dew up, kinda like how Delta does with Pebble. Was Dew's first topside as well, and his first mate!! While they don't renew their bond anymore, they still consider each other a mate unofficially. Alpha can't be around as much because of his sickness, but Dew always makes an attempt to see him as much as possible.

Delta had a really strong habit for otter holding Dewdrop when they swam together, and he didn't mind it. Just curled up wether floating or at the bottom of the lake resting so comfortably. They had a really strange relationship that went deeper than just mates, but didn't know how to label or process it. When Delta had his transition that went wacked, Dew felt like their connection had been severed so severely. Tried everything but nothing felt the same anymore. On a softer note, besides almost mauling each other first time they met, were super attached to the hips after. Two water ghouls in sync with their heat/rut is VERY loud and everyone had to deal with it LMAO. Always seen practicing together no matter what, and had to be in their own booth as when they'd sing, they'd cause too many accidents to those that passed by.

Sometimes when their schedules aligned, Dew and Pebble would sneak to the practice room and just run through setlists or simply have fun with their own sheet music they liked working on together. Pebble kept making the joke that they could pull of the two men in a trenchcoat trick and they attempted it once... Yeahh they ended up eating dirt when trying to go down stairs, but it was still funny to them wjsjdj. During swimming outings, they'd totem on Omega's shoulders and announced themselves as the kings of the lake. Of course until Omega decided it was time to flop backwards and make them all fall. Constantly seen curled up together during tour.

Aër was a strange one, to Dew. He never really talked or had much expression, but it was obvious when he'd get flustered easy. He'd just stare really hard whenever Dewdrop would talk to them, face turning red, and then quickly walk away. He figured out that, to spend time with Aër, it just had to be quiet. Maybe music, if he was lucky. Aër was really into knitting, so Dew would rest across the room reading a new book Papa had recommended him. A lot of their encounters were sexual, however. While Aër never really fucked Dew (he didn't with anyone), a LOT of toys were involved and it's the only times Aër would speak non-stop, saying things you'd never expect and it got Dew ALWAYS blushy and squirmy.

Before their relationship went sour, Omega was up there with Alpha. Dew would constantly peek into his study and quietly step in. It was a game to see if Omega could sense him or if he was too focused on his work. Scared him maybe 3 times, but usually before Dew could even get past the threshold; "Yes, little fish?" They read together a lot, and Dew would sometimes bring Omega agate from the lake with just the brightest smile and soso proud. There's be times Dew would lay on Omega's back and just ramble about whatever he wanted, as Omega enjoyed the pressure and always made for good company. Their tails always ended up intertwined.

Papa? PHEW. Could confuse them for siblings of you wanted to, sometimes. While Dew was quiet a lot, Terzo could very easily break that shell and they'd quickly match energy. Papa joined them for dinner one night, assisting to make it and he threw flour on Dew. Very quickly got a whole egg thrown back and a food war started until Alpha plucked both of them up, still attempting to throw jelly at each other while laughing. Terzo loOOVVED Dewdrop! Never seen him as an accident, "You were always meant to be my ghoul." Didn't like when higher-ups would bad talk him, and kept reminding that he was Papa and he wouldn't stand for his ghouls being mistreated. He'd give some of his old clothes to Dew that didn't fit anymore. Always made him SO happy.