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florencemtrash · 6 months

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Flame, Shadow, Beast : Flame

Azriel x Reader x Eris

Summary: Years after Eris frees you from his father’s prison, you’ve managed to find a new love, new friends, and build a life for yourself in Autumn. But when a certain Shadowsinger stumbles upon your home, dragging in painful memories of betrayal and longing, you’ll have to face the things you left in the past and make choices about the future you want.

Warnings: Fluffy Eris x Reader and our favorite monster, Bryaxis, makes an appearance.

Flame, Shadow, Beast: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

It was a cruel irony that winning a war was the easiest part of ruling. Eris thought about it often, doubts invading his rare moments of quiet; Maybe he’d made a mistake. Maybe the lives of thousands of Autumn Court members - both those loyal to him and to his father - hadn’t been worth the weight of the crown now sitting on his head.

The wood and gold had been harvested from the body of one of the Old Gods to whom some of the rural folk still owed their ultimate allegiance; the rubies had come from a land beyond the western seas as a declaration of war back when they’d been ruled by a more ancient race of beings - the predecessors to the Blood Rubies the Summer Court was so fond of doling out. Eris wondered if he’d ever get used to carrying so much history on his body.

The sun had barely crested over the treetops, blanketing the forest floor with streams of liquid gold, when he came across your village. The first fae he saw - a female with short elk horns extending gracefully from her temples - nearly dropped her basket at the sight of him. Eris gently bowed his head in greeting and her face flushed as crimson as the red garment dye that stained her hands.

“My High Lord,” She breathed out, dropping to her knees despite the prickling straw that perpetually littered the roads.

Heads of varying shades of chestnut and scarlet appeared behind closed windows like candlights. During the harvest months everyone woke and slept with the sun.

One by one fae streamed out of their homes, each of them carrying tribute in the form of freshly baked bread, baskets of apples and peaches, sheepskin cloaks, and barrels of mead.

“Stand.” Eris gently commanded them as they fell to their knees, “We’re just passing through.” He could see the hesitation in their eyes. They feared disrespecting him.

Eight years of being High Lord and he had yet to perfect the delicate balance between distance and familiarity with his people.

Halvor coughed from beside him, eyes raised from beneath the shadow of his bronze helm.

Get off your horse and talk to them. His eyes said, repeating the mantra that you liked to say around the royal pair.

Eris understood and dismounted with grace and power. With his scarlet and gold riding cloak, flaming hair, and ruby crown he looked like the spirit of Autumn come to life - all sharp edges and burning stoicism. He was a living fire.

But fire could give warmth as much as pain - nurture and grow as much as it could raze the world to the ground. So Eris took his time to speak with the people. He sampled their mead and ale, complimented the pixies who wove threads of warm oranges, yellows, and reds with their nimble fingers, and visited the rolling fields of corn, barley, and wheat that waved in the brisk breeze. The gray-tinged sky above tasted of power and freedom.

Under Beron’s reign, the fruits of the fields would have fallen entirely under the purview of the High Lord with little remaining for the people who tended the long grasses. Now that they were allowed to own their own land and keep what was due to them, the air was lighter here, happier. It was the first harvest in a long time where they’d feel comfortable enough to celebrate properly.

The mask ebbed away, leaving him feeling lighter than he had in ages as he walked through a town.

A familiar face stared out from behind the small crowd that had gathered by the wheat fields. Talk of this year’s harvest festival rose in the air until everyone could taste the spiced rum, roasted pistachios, caramelized apples, and pumpkin with fresh cream on their tongues. It was still months away, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t get excited now.

Eris broke away - an easy task when they parted ways for him like a hot knife through butter - and approached your smiling figure.

“I was wondering what was taking you so long.” You said, clasping your hands behind your back and smiling at Eris.

“So you came all this way just to investigate?” Eris arched his brow. You were no stranger to these people (and much beloved), but you preferred to keep to your little cottage beyond the town.

“Surprisingly, yes. For you, I would come all this way. And,” You shook the small parcel in your arm, “For Aliona’s candles.”

He grinned and offered you his arm, which you accepted, and quietly began to walk back to where Halvor had been dutifully waiting with the horses… and taking more than a few samples of drinks from beside his stead.

“I also wanted to make sure he hadn’t killed you in your sleep yet.” You said, tilting your head towards his brother.

“Careful, Y/n.”

Halvor was the youngest of Autumn’s trueborn sons, and had grown to become Eris’s second over the course of the war and the years that followed. Cruelty was still hammered into his bones - a disfiguring mark left by their father - but disloyalty was not one of his many negative traits. He’d been the only one to come to Eris’s aid in the war, and subsequently the last of Eris’s brothers to survive. That counted for something in your book.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it seriously, but I could’ve poked fun in a better way.” You said softly, gently leaning into his side. He forgave you quickly. He could never stay angry at you - he wasn’t even sure it was possible.

Halvor tipped his head towards you, eyes the color of freshly brewed coffee staring at you with mischief.

“My Lady.” He said half-mockingly, sweeping out his arm into a shallow bow.

You rolled your eyes. “How many times have I told you not to call me that?”

“Why not? Is my brother not a good enough romp for you? If you want better company I could-”

Eris cut off his words with a growl of warning. Halvor only tipped his head back and laughed - a grating sound that eight years of peace under Eris’s rule still hadn’t managed to file away.

“We’ll be walking to her home from here.” Eris said, slipping into his High Lord voice, “Try and keep your distance and be on the lookout.” Halvor nodded, turning serious at the shift in his brother’s voice. There were countless enemies who would be happy to snatch the crown away from a new, as of yet untested, High Lord.

He followed obediently, keeping his distance as you and Eris both bade farewell to the townspeople.

You lived on a patch of land too far to even be considered the outskirts of town, but you were a familiar face to everyone. A healer by trade and Eris’s most trusted advisor and friend, you were the one they called upon in the dead of night when evil whispered nearby or sickness fell upon them.

Evaldre, they called you in one of the Old Tongues. The exact meaning had been lost to time, but it spoke of someone cherished and highly regarded. Some of the bold ones even went so far as to call you “Our High Lady.”

Ten years ago uttering those words would have meant the swift swing of a sword on one’s neck. If High Lord Eris knew of it, he never seemed to mind.

Bryaxis waited for you on your doorstep, pleasantly lounging in a patch of light and watching the gentle fall of crisp leaves from the trees above. Both Eris and Halvor’s horses groaned low in their throats, hooves pressing into the soil to stop before the clearing. Halvor whistled at them to move forward, but they refused.

“It’s that devil dog of yours,” Halvor said, dismounting and tying off the pair on a low hanging elm branch, “Makes them anxious.”

He whispered words of comfort to them, sliding his hands along their thick necks until they stopped bucking against the reins. Eris had his dogs and Halvor had his horses.

“He’ll stay inside then. Wouldn’t want you to have to walk back to the Forest House with your tail between your legs because you lost the horses.”

Eris smirked when Halvor threw an obscene gesture your way.

The dog in question, black as night with shining silver-blue eyes, stretched and nuzzled into your outstretched hand as you reached your front door, Eris following closely behind.

“Will you be long?” Halvor called out to Eris, raising his eyebrows suggestively with his hyena grin.

“Go home if you’re so impatient. I can make it back on my own.”

“I’ll wait til noon.” If Eris was finished by then, it would mean they took care of business… if Eris wasn’t finished by then, it would mean they were taking care of other business, business Halvor would do no good sticking around for. He snorted at the thought, then lost himself in imagining the other females he might be able to seduce back at the Forest House.

You both passed through the enchantments woven into the wood of your home, feeling a rush of power pour over you like water over stone.

Eris snapped his fingers and the candles you’d placed on your dining table and mantle burst to life, fluttering about like dancers. The fireplace followed suit, sending a wave of warmth throughout the house. Firelight bounced off the rich velvet and creams that adorned your home - a cleaner mimic of the Autumn lands that existed behind the walls and flooded in through the open windows.

The Forest House was a place of luxury, massive enough that it would take you an entire morning just to walk from one end to another, and filled to the brim with treasures of gold, bronze, and enough precious jewels to sink a ship. It was a palace fit for a High Lord. But this was a home, so he took off his crown and hung up his cloak.

“What happened to him?” Eris said, kneeling on the ground and giving Bryaxis a well-deserved scratch behind the ears. The millennia-old creature closed his eyes in satisfaction. “The last time I saw him he was a cat.”

You chuckled, bustling about in the kitchen for a tea set that would match and piling pastries on a plate. The smell of browned butter and strawberry rhubarb jam waltzed in the air.

“He’s been experimenting with new forms.” You said, smugness and pride warming your chest. Not so long after Eris had freed you from the mountain and given you a new home, Bryaxis had found you, drawn to your power. Twin bargain tattoos snaked up from the bridges of your feet to your ankles like vines up a trellis - the first promised that you would do no harm to one another in exchange for dual protection, the second allowed you to take a portion of his power, giving him to opportunity to mold his being into a form that could experience the world in a more physical sense.

Gone was the shapeless creature of shadow and nightmares. Enter Bryaxis the wolf-dog (and occasional housecat) who still radiated enough power to scare away any creature (wicked or otherwise) that dared to disturb the peace of their home. But he could curl up by the windows and watch the night sky uninhibited, and in his heart he was a creature of violence and simplicity in equal measure.

“I like this one better than the cat.” Eris said with a grin, for the monster had copied the shape of one of his prized hunting dogs. Bryaxis seemed to growl in appreciation when Eris straightened up.

He sighed in contentment, feeling the stress of his crown melt away when you wrapped your arms around his middle, burying your face in the crook of his neck and breathing in the scent of cedar, smoke, and cinnamon.

“Hello.” He murmured softly, turning in your arms and pressing his lips against your forehead.

“Hello.” You whispered, brushing your lips against his with a sigh, “I missed you. Where have you been all this time?” The finished reports on your desk, much like your empty bed, had been waiting patiently for Eris’s next visit.

He hesitated, pulling away to look at you. He brushed aside a few stray strands of hair that had fallen out of your braid. “The Night Court.”

You stiffened, “Keir?”

He shook his head, frowning, “Rhysand.”

You blinked, and he saw darkness pass through your eyes.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I wasn’t sure how you’d take it.”

Twelve years.

You’d been Beron’s prisoner for decades before. Then you’d escaped and managed a couple of years of peace. You’d found a home and a family… or so you thought. And then twelve years ago you’d been betrayed - handed back to the now deceased High Lord on a silver platter and trapped beneath the mountain for four years. It made your blood boil to think about the people who helped put you there.

“You’ve been dealing with them for years now,” You forced out in a diplomatic tone, “It’s good for you to have allies, especially strong ones like them.”

“Y/n-”

“You should've told me. I don’t want you to worry about my feelings when it comes to these things. Autumn comes first and-”

“I’ll always worry about you.” Eris said, tilting your chin up and catching the moisture gathering in your eyes that you’d furiously tried to blink away, “And there’s no choice between you and my Court. You belong here. To protect Autumn - to protect you - are the same thing, my love.”

Your cheeks burned at the careful way he spoke, the sincerity in his voice he reserved solely for you in moments like this.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you, Y/n. I promise it won't happen again."

Fury burned in his stomach, a continuation of the anger that had steadily been eating away at his patience during his visit to the Night Court. To see the Inner Circle look so safe and happy in the bubble they’d carved for themselves in Velaris, naive to the pain and suffering they’d caused you, had made him want to burn The House of Wind to the ground. Alliance be damned.

He hated them nearly as much as he had hated his own father.

“I don’t want to think about them.” You declared, setting your jaw and smoothing away the lines of anger that had formed on Eris’s forehead, “To hell with them.”

Eris smirked, loving the determination that settled in your eyes as you dragged him over to the living room and finished setting up the tea that had started to whistle on the stovetop. You would carve out a space for yourself in this world and be happy, even if it killed you.

“To hell with them.” He repeated.

Business and pleasure. The two were impossible for him to separate, which is why he cherished time spent with you. The pair of you spoke easily together, seamlessly transitioning from discussions of grain reports, treaties, and trade deals to banter about the Harvest Festival and the latest court gossip. Halvor was long gone, and Bryaxis off hunting, when the talking ceased and Eris found himself comfortably spread out on your velvet couch, shirt unbuttoned, and head resting in your lap as you wove your fingers through his hair.

He opened his eyes, lazy and slow, and quietly took in your features - the slope of your nose, the gentle curves of your cheeks and lips as you smiled at him, the contentment in your eyes that shifted into deep thought.

He waited for you to share them with him.

“I’ve been thinking about your proposal.” You said carefully and he froze beneath your hands.

“You-you have?” Eris swallowed and sat up, keeping his distance even as he dared to hope. You’d both been keeping your relationship secret, visiting each other under the guise of court business and court business only. It had certainly started out that way, but things had quickly shifted into something far more intimate and worthy of secrecy… Then Eris had asked if it could stop being so secret.

You nodded, searching his face for something more than the neutral mask every High Lord learned to master.

You moved onto his lap, laying your hands on the sides of his face as his eyes widened ever so slightly, “My answer is yes.”

“Yes?” He asked in disbelief.

Yes to living with him. Yes to going to court with him. Yes to showing the world that he was not alone in his duty. Yes to being by his side wherever either of you went.

No more hiding in this house on the outskirts. No more being afraid of what had happened in the past. No more loneliness.

“Yes.”

He shuddered under your touch and suddenly he was everywhere. His hands roamed the expanse of your back, pulling at the fabric of your bodice. Red locks as vivid as flame got knotted beneath your fingers, and his body pressed flush against yours, desperate for any contact as his chest continued to shake with laughter.

You stayed with him on that couch, neither of you wanting to bother with the effort of walking the extra twenty steps to your bedroom, as articles of clothing were hastily torn off and allowed to float onto the floor in crumples of fabric.

A growl from just outside your front door, low and gravelly enough to shake the ground, woke the two of you up. The sun was kissing the horizon on its way down, lateral rays of light streaming through the window and splashing onto the bookshelves and walls like gold paint. Eris groaned with displeasure, pulling you flush against his chest when you dared to draw yourself up on your arms to look at the door.

You giggled against him, pulling a rare smile from his lips when he felt your laughter.

He was all warmth and color beneath you as you shouted at Bryaxis to give you more time alone. He could practically hear the rolling of eyes with the huff that Bryaxis gave out. But he eventually trotted away to find a patch of soft grass from which to watch the sun set.

“It’s good to know a murderous beast like him still has a sense of humor.” Eris quipped, practically humming with pleasure when you melted into him. “You would know. You can be funny sometimes.”

“Sometimes?!”

“Sometimes!”

“You must give me more credit than that.”

“I will not.”

“You must. Your High Lord demands it.” Eris said, puffing out his chest and deepening his voice.

“Your High Lord demands it.” You parroted in a silly voice that made Eris chuckle and kiss you again.

You laid in the silence for as long as you could, until the sun was once again buried in the ground and the calls of the Forest House could not be ignored. With every piece of clothing Eris pulled back on his body, the vulnerable joy that came from being with you seemed to dim.

Was he a lovesick fool for asking you to come to court and be with him? Was the protection of a High Lord worth the dangers that came with it? Lucien had been the first of their brothers to fall in love and he had paid for it dearly. Sometimes Eris had nightmares that you would suffer the same fate.

Eris watched you as you laced up your bodice with quick fingers, fixed your hair, and smoothed your skirts. You looked heavenly in the light of the fire. You were everything he could have dreamed of and more… because you were real… and you loved him as fiercely as he loved you. Which meant he could lose you.

“Y/n.” He whispered your name like a prayer, drawing your attention. You drew close to him, pressing your forehead against his as he took a deep breath, “What you’re agreeing to… you know what it will mean, don’t you?”

You closed your eyes and nodded. This was no light decision and it was why you’d taken three months to come up with an answer for him.

“It will mean people will come for me, and never stop coming for me, just to hurt you and to hurt this Court.” Eris flinched, but you wouldn’t let him open his mouth to dissuade you. You’d given this much thought, and your decision was made.

“It will mean constant scrutiny from the other Lords and Ladies. A life spent in a house known for its history of cruelty and disloyalty. A life that will never fully be my own.”

Eris was beginning to think he’d truly made a terrible mistake in asking you to be with him. But before that cold mask of his could fall over his features, you grasped his face in yours hands and forced him to look at you.

“But it will also mean a chance to be with you. A chance to lead alongside the first person to give me a real home - a real family. A chance to continue to build and protect what I love. I love you, Eris, and I love Autumn, and I’ll be damned if I don’t protect what I love.”

Eris clenched his teeth, holding back the emotion that threatened to spill out like a ruptured damn.

“I won’t be like this at the Forest House.” He said, hating the truth of the words that fell off his tongue, “I won’t be able to show who I truly am when I’m around others, at least not for now. They’ll call you foolish, or cruel, or wicked for being with me. I can’t promise you an established and worthy court. I-”

“Then we’ll build it ourselves.” You said fiercely, pouring your power into the words, “We’ll build a new court, a new life for ourselves and everyone here. I know you’ll do everything you can to fix things, even if it breaks you.” You whispered the next words reverently against his lips, “Let me help you. Let me do it with you.”

Eris let the tears run rivers down his cheeks, even as he set his jaw, and stared resolutely into your eyes.

“Let’s do it then. Together.”

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

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Author's note:

*shouts from the mountaintops* I just want Eris to be happy! And I want him to have someone he trusts that can rule alongside him!

That's it. That's the note. Oh and let me know if you'd like to be tagged in future chapters.

Love,

Florence B.

Taglist: @nightless @mmb-09 @thesnugglingduck @cleverzonkwombatsludge @kemillyfreitas @logankemaek @the-sweet-psycho @a-frog-with-a-laptop @flameandshadowx @applerubyy

#eris x reader #azriel x reader #azriel x reader x eris #eris fluff #eris vanserra #eris x y/n #azriel x y/n #azriel shadowsinger #eris acotar #autumn #autumn court #night court #the night court #the inner circle #azriel angst #eris angst #acotar #acotar fanfiction #bryaxis

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bubuslutty · 9 months

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Pirate!Captain Price au (nsfw ver)

word count: 1.2k

tags: nsfw, f receiving, p in v, making out, spitting, skinny dipping, mentions of public sex (nobody gets caught tho)

warnings: kidnapping

a/n: I tend to go on a tangent with the story telling n lore instead of sticking to John fucking. ANWAY. I love him and if you also love him and have silly thoughts abt him and his boys, send me an ask, or comment, or reblog, whatever you want 💙

pirate!captain Price fucks like he's trying to kill you, with determination and pure hunger for it. He's a man on a mission, and nobody can stop him from getting what he wants.

Captain Price has wicked hips and a filthy walk, he's hot and he knows it. He's so comfortable in his skin, scars, fat, muscles, freckles and all. His movements are confident yet relaxed. He appears to be so sure of himself without doing anything, just standing there and people hate him for it. How infuriating is a man with such charm and confidence decided to become an outlaw, a pirate of all things.

So he knows how to use those hips, pounding his sweetheart on the mattress and making her wail and scream for him with how good he's making her feel.

pirate!captain Price has ridiculous core strenght, he could fuck his sweetheart for hours, rolling his hips against hers like he was born to fuck her. And he's so fucking filthy with it as well, "Too much for you? Should I slow down, sweetheart? hm?"

And slow down he does, rolling his hips deep deep in her guts, forcing her to listen to the filthy squelch that resonats in his Captain's cabin everytime their hips meet. And he has a dumb smile on his lips, obsessively watching where they meet between her legs.

And you better believe he'll kiss his pretty lady like he wanted to drink her up, he's nasty and it would be embarrassing to call what he's doing to her kissing, not even making out can cover how sinful he's with his mouth and tongue.

Pirate!Captain Price, when he's in a mood he'll even spit in her open mouth, holding her pretty face in his bigger, rough and scarred hand, then spitting right in her tongue, and he watches how her eyes roll at the back of her head and she moans loudly, swallowing his little offering.

He's also big on eating her out, be in his cabin, outside on the deck in the middle of the night under the stars, where anyone can catch them, or in a dark alleyway behind a pub. And because he has a beard, he likes to get it absolutely drenched and leave his sweetheart's inner thighs all red from the friction.

And he doesn't mind when she whines how much her inner thighs are bothering her, he just has a smug smile on his lips and apologizes with a coo, placing a wet kiss to her forehead and cheeks, and deep down he's not really sorry, but for his sweetheart, he'll coo and coddle until she melts over and over again in his arms.

Pirate!Captain Price barley kidnaps rich folks in exchange for ransom money from their rich family. If he has an excuse to dress his sweetheart in the finest of clothes, he would take it without hesitation.

So she's the one who sneaks in a ball, so she can later open the gates for them so they can sneak in, rob the place while everyone is busy dancing and then kidnap the wealthiest person in there.

And of course she's dressed in blue, John's favourite colour, the colour of the sky and the sea. Her dress is shiny, made out of silk and fabrics only found in far, far away countries, that even rich folks struggle to get, but not pirates, pirates can get their hands on anything if they tried hard enough.

She's wearing a layered blue gown, the sleeves long, with her whole neck, collarbone and a generous chunk of her chest exposed, and she looks so so beautiful, her hair half up, decorated with pearls and gold. And she's quickly stealing everyone's attention, coyly tucking a stray strand of hair behind one of her ears with a gloved hand.

She's invited to dance by many people, and she makes up elaborate stories about being a foreign Duchesse, laughing and giggling at stories and anecdotes she's been told, forgetting for a moment she was an outlaw, a criminal, who stabbed her to-be-husband right through the heart on their wedding day.

When the job is done, she returns to their ship on horseback, laughing in delight with John's men.

When the kidnappee is tied and locked in the basement, they sail away and celebrate with music and drinks of their own.

Sometime in the same night, Price's sweetheart is running and giggling on the ship, chased by Price, who's trying to catch her, still dressed like a dream. And she gasps and swoons when he catches her in his arms.

She acts like she's trying to fight him, wiggling in his arms and telling him, "Let me go, you pirate! I'm a woman of honor and dignity!"

Price tickles her and she laughs, trying to slip away, and he has his arms securely wrapped around her waist, breathing the perfume she sprayed on her neck in, sighing in pure bliss.

"You're mine now." He speaks against her naked shoulder, placing a wet kiss on the skin.

"I'm not yours! Let me go or the Royal Navy shall have you hung!" She threatened, turning in his arms and pushing his chest away.

"Hm, no. Finders keepers." He hums and pulls a string that kept her corset securely tied around her body, and when she felt it getting loose she squealed and crossed her arms over her chest, "John!"

"What? You'll be naked by sunrise, I'm just speeding this up." John says, shrugging while wearing a small smirk, "You've got a problem with that?"

"If that's the case, let me help." John's sweetheart says, wearing a smirk of her own and starts undressing right there on the deck, while his men are still having a party not far off, the only privacy they've had was the shadow of the Captain's cabin and nothing else.

"What are you doing?" John asks, looking over his shoulder and panicking a bit because as much as he enjoyed fucking his love where they could get caught, he still made sure nobody was around, and if someone happened to pass by, he'd use his body to shield her away. But this, this was madness, any of his boys would just turn around and see her standing there naked, glowing under the moonlight like a siren.

The only things she still had on was her pearl earrings and a necklace John gifted her a while back. "Come swim with me." She offered, smiling and still fucking standing there naked with her clothes a puddle to her feet.

John gulped and decided to just get naked as fast as possible while she watched him, and when he was done, she tiptoed to where he was standing, cupped his cheek and placed a kiss to his lips.

And before his fingertips could graze her skin, she pulled away and dived into the open cold sea.

Fuck this.

John dived right behind her, controlling his breathing and taking a deep breath when he resurfaced, his body freezing due to the cold water, but he knew his body would soon get used to it. He then felt arms hugging his shoulders from behind, and he grinned when his sweetheart kissed his cheeks with her cold plush lips.

"Did I just see Cap'ain and his bonnie jump in the sea naked?" Johnny said with a frown, cheeks pink due to how much he's drunk.

"Hm?" Simon hummed with his eyes closed next to him, leaning his head on his shoulder.

"Never mind." Johnny said and yawned, scratching his chin and leaning his head on Simon's.

tag list (pls ask to be added or removed): @obiwankenobis-lap @goapgrim @smalldemonlover @silviafantin15 @reveluving @bobastayhigh @originalsimp @h-leigh @gxldyjess @msdrpreist @chaoticevilbakugo @Lacunaanonymoused @whore4dilfs @canadianmilkbag @ahoeformando

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bitchyycapricorn · 1 year

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Almost There

Peter Parker x Ghost!Reader

Chapter One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Wordcount: 1.2K

Synopsis: Peter enters his apartment that night expecting to find an empty bed. But instead, he comes face to face with your transparent glowing figure.

Warnings: introduction fluff, angst, mentions of death and loss of family.

AN: not edited

Peter swung through his open window, allowing the breeze to carry him in. His limbs tired and his hair a sweaty mess under his mask. When he entered his room he expected to find it empty, not a figure of a girl on his bed, seemingly waiting patiently for his arrival. His eyes narrowed at the sight of you, unsure how you got into his 5th story apartment. He was also unsure of why you appeared to be transparent, your whole figure seemingly glowing in the moonlight. Peter took a step forward to the bed, about to speak before you broke the silence.

“You can see me can’t you?” Your voice was soft and soothing, barley above a whisper.

Peter hesitated to respond, unsure of what to make of your peculiar statement. Of course he could see you, why wouldn’t he be able to see you? “Yes?” Is all he managed to get out, still wracking his brain for some sort of answer.

“I’m surprised,” you reply wistfully, your gaze slowly lowering to the ground. “Most cannot, usually only the children.”

Peter hesitated again, still unsure of you words. It didn’t help that his eyes were playing trick on him. As your body shifted ever so slightly to better face him he could’ve swore you’re figure flickered. “Who are you?” He didn’t sound nearly as intimidating as he had hoped he would. Rather he sounded more nervous than anything.

“Y/N L/N, I died a few years ago in the elevator accident.” You averted your eyes, gaze focusing on the full moon outside rather than the boy in front of you.

Peter froze, your words seeping in. “You…died?” He had never felt so unsure of what he was saying as he did in this moment.

You looked back over to him, giving a small nod. “Yes, the elevator, it fell while I was inside. The impact killed me.” You dropped your gaze once more, this time focusing on his red bedsheets. “I’m kind of trapped here, I can’t exactly leave.” A frown settles on your face as you attempt to pick at Peter’s sheet, your fingers coming in and out of reality.

“I didn’t even know ghosts existed,” Peter replied honestly, focusing now on your fingers. You were able to freeze your body back into reality for some time, but it was exhausting and took away most of your energy. You look up at him once again, scanning his red and blue suit.

“Where do you go every night? You are never in bed, not like the last boy.” You frown.

Peter stepped towards you, finally removing his mask and tossing it onto his desk. Your eyes lock on his face, examining all of his features. You had only seen him from between the walls so far, and occasionally through the window while you were on the balcony. “I go on patrol,” Peter replied hesitantly. “I’m kinda Spider-Man.”

You cocked an eyebrow at him, “Spider-man?” You repeated.

“Like, I’m a superhero with super ability’s.”

A smile grazes your lips “Oh? So you are half spider?” You ask slowly.

“Well, yes and no. I have you know, like super strength and can climb walls and all my senses are really heightened.” Peter replies, struggling to explain exactly what he can do without sounding too strange.

A smile officially settles on your face as you consider his words. “So that is why you can see me. You have super sight. That is good, I have missed having company. My family moved after the accident, the memories too much for them.” Your frown returned, recalling the day your folks left.

“Could they not see you?” Peter asked, slightly thrown off that your family would just up and leave.

“People cannot normally see me. The exception is children. The little boy who lived here before, he was around five. I used to play with him everyday after school but then he moved. His parents were concerned that he was seeing things, which I suppose he technically was. It just hurts, I really cared for him and they took him away.” Tears would have been falling from your eyes if you had frozen yourself.

Peters eyes flickered down to the carpet as he played with his suit. “That’s really horrible, were they the last people who lived here?”

You nodded, going back to playing with the blanket between your fingers. “Yes, the man before that family was always drunk and yelling. He was very angry and often scared me, even if he could not see me.”

“Oh, that’s, I’m so sorry.” A frown had settled on Peter’s face as well. His heart hurt for your story, even if he was still freaked out that he had a ghost sitting on his bed in his room. Nothing about you would have made sense if it weren’t for everything he’s ever experienced with the Avengers, including going to space and fighting a purple alien.

Your eyes drifted back up to Peters, a sad smile on your face. “Won’t you join me…”

“Peter, Peter Parker.” He finished.

“I like the name Peter, won’t you come lay with me Peter? I’ve missed being near someone. And you’re always gone so late I rarely have a chance to come see you.”

Peter hesitates once again, feeling suddenly flustered by the fact you’d been waiting to lay with him. “You want to sleep with me?”

You nod, confused by his hesitation. “Yes, the young boy used to lay down next to me and we would tell each other stories before he fell asleep. His parents did not pay him much attention.” You feel your heart drop at the memory of the little boy you loved so dearly, wishing more than anything he would’ve been your son.

“I-I’ve just never had anyone share a bed with me before.” He replied honestly, still feeling alarmed by the thought.

“Oh, I do not have to if you are uncomfortable. It just helps,” You admit, suddenly feeling bad for requesting to lay next to Peter.

But Peter nods, deciding he would give it a try since you were merely a ghost after all. “Alright, let me get my pajamas on and I’ll join you.” Peter begins to strip out of his suit, expecting you to turn around as he did so. But your eyes stay glued to his muscular body, taking in how good he looked in that moment. It wasn’t until after Peter had his pajama pants and shirt on did he notice your longing gaze.

“I miss my body.”

“Were you staring the whole time?”Peter squeaked.

“Yes?” You watch as Peters face heats up a bright red in the moonlight. “Are you embarrassed? You look very good.”

Peter shuffles over to the bed at a loss for words. “Normally people don’t watch others change.”

“Oh, well yes I just, you started changing so fast.” You admit, crawling up onto his bed to get under to covers. Peter crawls in next to you, awkwardly laying there as you both settle in. You exert all your energy into making your body whole again, solidifying your body and appearance before cuddling up to Peter. He jumps slightly, shocked at the feeling of your cold but solid skin. “You’ll hold me won’t you? It’s been years since I’ve been held by someone else.”

Peter nods hesitantly, wrapping his arms around your body. “Goodnight Y/N,” he whispers, dozing off to sleep almost immediately.

“Goodnight Peter.”

When Peter wakes the next morning you’re gone. He can’t help wonder whether it was all some twisted dream or if he would be seeing you again that night.

+++

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infinitegalahad · 9 months

Text

AMERICAN PROMETHEUS AND HIS ATHENA - CHAPTER 4

Pairing: J. Robert Oppenheimer x Female Indentifying! Reader

Summary: The implication was subtle, yet the weight was felt. Your shoulder tensed as you pursed your lips, dropping your plate into the sink. You knew, and so did Robert. It was blatant.

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: Sorta poorly written smut (i'm a virgin guys it's very obvious my expiernece is well..smut) and praise kink and a slight virginity/purity kink.

Notes: Hardest part of posting this? The writing, naw. Finding the perfect hot gif of the father of the atomic bomb? Yah! Oh boy...folks, it's here! Baby's first actual smut. I know I sound like a broken record, but seriously y;all, your support is absolutely amazing thank you so much for it! You keep me not just writing, but happy and afloat. Today has been nuts, so I was glad I could get this out. It's my first smut, so sorry if it's not good. This is the last part of the first part of the series, Ch.5 will move more into Los Almos, the bomb, and Kitty and Jean. Trouble will start brewing in paradise, the drama is en route! As you can tell, cliffhangers are my kind of thing #imunwell

Taglist: @forgottenpeakywriter @queenshelby @kodzuvk

Taglist | Masterlist

Dinner is a mostly silent affair.

Minus the clattering of cutlery and soft puffs of cigarette smoke, you and Robert are silent. You notice the furtive gazes from Robert that scan your body. Crossing your legs and crumpling your napkin in your lap, you hope not to be noticed yet, at the same time, be noticed since the attention makes you feel aroused.

You take up your plate, and as you are about to wash it, you feel that Robert is going to speak, which he does.

“Your gift is upstairs in the bedroom if you wish to want it.”

The implication was subtle, yet the weight was felt. Your shoulder tensed as you pursed your lips, dropping your plate into the sink.

You knew, and so did he. It was blatant.

Once you finish washing your hands, you walk by Robert, refusing to look down at him. You want to look, but the heavy sensation in your lower area skips whenever you see him. You can feel his intense stare on your back as you walk by.

“I’ll be in the living room,” He says as if it’s a reminder.

You stop by the kitchen door and turn to look back, but you resist the burning desire.

The house is small enough to navigate, and you find yourself in Robert’s bedroom. It’s mundane and straightforward; a bed, a nightstand with books, and an ashtray, a dresser with cigarette boxes. Minus these menial things, there’s the pink satin bag from earlier on the edge of his bed. You walk over and sit down, grabbing the bag and taking out the paper.

It revealed a box, in which, in your arousal, you nearly tore up. Once you placed the box and bag down on the ground, you gently removed the surprise; lingerie.

It wasn’t really a surprise, but you pretended it to be such for the anticipation of it. The material is silk, and you make sure to be extremely careful with the material. The Lingerie is a satin navy two piece; a a sheer bralettle that would define your nipples and lacey knickers that could looked like they would barley cover your bum. Your thumb plays with the soft satin as your face goes red, knowing what will come between you and Robert.

Sliding into the soft material, you check yourself out in the material. It’s the most skin you have ever shown to a man. The shorts cling to your thighs, and the bralette accentuates your nipples. A close look and your privates were revealed, covered by a sheer sheet of satin. You loosen your hair and fluff in, anxiously rubbing your hands together; you didn’t want to keep for long, knowing that Robert was just as aroused as you were.

You slowly ascend down the stairs to the living room, illuminated by a fire that Robert lit while you were changing. A mesmerizing dance of flickering flames unfolds within the fireplace, casting a warm, comforting glow that envelops the room. You spot Robert on the couch, and he is reading the preface to one of the Greek myths you picked out in Sausalito.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, you step into the living room, the captivating ambiance of the dancing flames drawing you in like a moth to a gentle fire. The soft light casts an enchanting aura, accentuating the delicate features of the room and adding a touch of mystique to the moment. Your gaze finds Robert seated on the couch, engrossed on the preface of the Greek myth you had chosen in Sausalito. The flicker of firelight dances across his features, casting intriguing shadows that play upon his countenance.

As you take a cautious step forward, the sound of a closing book reaches your ears, causing a shiver to traverse your spine. The air feels charged with palpable energy as you wrap your arms around yourself, an instinctual gesture that adds to the allure of the scene you're entering.

Your steps are slow, deliberate, every movement conveying a mix of vulnerability and intent. Each footfall on the soft carpet is a rhythm that mirrors the steady beat of your heart, a drumroll leading up to the moment of connection. The distance between you and Robert seems to dissolve, leaving only the sensation of his magnetic pull.

As you draw nearer, the firelight and shadows play upon your form, casting alluring patterns upon your skin. His gaze roams your body, a smoldering intensity that ignites a spark of longing within you. The anticipation becomes a tangible force, binding you both in a shared unspoken understanding. The room seems to hold its breath, the air thick with a mixture of desire and the timeless allure of the moment.

Robert's attention is drawn away from the pages as he puts out his cigarette, acknowledging your presence with a glance that sends a ripple of warmth through your veins. His gaze meets yours, and the intensity within his eyes is like a current that pulls you closer, your heart pounding in response. The weight of his gaze is electrifying, and for a brief moment, he seems to hold his breath in awe, sharing the same desire that lingers in the air.

"My beauty," Robert breathed, his gaze tracing the contours of your form with an intensity that sends a flutter through your chest. His voice, a velvety timbre that seems to wrap around the very atmosphere, spills forth in a cascade of words that hold the power to mesmerize.

With a tender touch that speaks volumes, he gently removes your arms and puts them by your side, presenting your nearly nude body to him. His fingers envelop your skin in a caress that ignites a spark of warmth. As he holds your arms, his touch is both a physical reassurance and a silent proclamation of his admiration.

"Your presence is just as I imagined," he continues, his voice a whispered promise that hangs in the air, "it's like a beacon that draws me in. Raw beauty in his most natural form."

His grasp tightens, in which you bite your lip too. Your hand rest on his chest, unable to form coherent thoughts, lost within a hazy gaze of arousal.

“Oppie,” is all you manage with a soft breath equivalent to a moan, feeling like you could sink into his hold.

Robert holds you and guides you to the couch. Your hand remains in his as he picks up one of the myths to examine it.

“I began to read the preface of Hades and Persephone. I understand this one you were highly fond of,” Robert pronounced as he looked at you. For a brief second, his eyes once again captured your body, and he looked at you like you were an angel.

“Would you like to read this one?”

Gently smacking your lips together, you nod your head, “Yes. Quite frankly, I think it would best suit the current mood.”

Subtle communication is a form of love between you. Only you two can understand it. Despite its actual meaning not being viral, it echoes within the room between you two.

Something flickers in Robert’s eyes as he sits down on the couch, bringing you to sit on his lap. Curling up on his side as you rest on his thigh, you grab the book as he snakes his hands around your stomach. He takes a long breath and throws back his head, savoring your smooth skin. The side of your thigh feels something move within his pelvic part. You were not experienced, but you knew that was an erection. The sheer thought of his made you both nervous and excited. It had hit you that this was no longer a fantasy; it was very much indeed a reality.

You clear your throat and open the book, trying to distract from Robert’s not-so-private erection bumping into the outer part of your thigh. Robert lets out a long sigh and leans forward, his chin resting on your shoulder with his nose in your hair. As he sniffs your perfume, his hands draw those mindless patterns into your stomach, making you slightly shift your feet in excitement.

“Read to me,” He purred into your hair.

Biting your lip to contain a noise you were embarrassed to make, you open the book and begin reading with a slight stutter.

“It was a beautiful day like all the others in this land, the sun shone brightly in the sky, the hills were lush and green, and flowers blossomed from the earth. The lovely young maiden, Persephone, frolicked with her friends upon the hillside, as her mother Demeter sat near by, and her father Zeus peered down from the sky above. Laughter could be heard in between the young girls' whispered secrets, as they gathered handfuls of purple crocuses, royal blue irises and sweet-smelling hyacinths. Persephone thought to bring some to her mother, but was soon distracted by a vision of the most enchanting flower she had ever seen. It was a narcissus, the exact flower her father hoped that she would find. As she reached down to pluck it from its resting place, her feet began to tremble and the earth was split in two. Life for Persephone would never be the same again.”

Robert’s breath hitches against your ear. With one hand you hold the book and the other resting onto of Roberts, stroking his palm.

“From this gaping crevice in the ground emerged the awe-inspiring God of the Underworld, Hades, and before Persephone could even think to utter a word, she was whisked off her feet onto the God's golden chariot. As the crack of the whip upon his majestic horses brought her to her senses, she realized she was about to taken into the black depths from which he'd come. The thought of this brought terror to her heart, yet any screams of protest were soon lost within the darkness, as they descended quickly into the Underworld below.

“While Persephone's cries could not be heard above the ground, the pain in Demeter's heart quickly alerted her to the fact that something was terribly wrong. She searched high and low for her dear daughter, who had vanished from both the heavens and the earth. Consumed by depression over the loss of her child, she soon ceased to remember her worldly duties as Goddess of Grain and Growth. As she watched the plants wither and die all around her, she felt her own hopes begin to fade as well. At the same time, deep down in the realm of the dead, Hades hoped to explain his actions to the sweet Persephone. Professing his love, he told her of the plan her father helped deploy and begged her to stay and be his wife. Yet, Persephone longed for something more, the comforts of her mother's home and a view of the lush green grass and blue sky up above.”

Reading these words, a realization hits you. Something about this myth resonates not just with you, but with Robert. Hades and Persephone are death and regenration embodided. Is that what you and Robert are; death and life drawn together in your ever chaning world. The gifts, the flowers, the poemnegrates, the sweet nicknames, it was all to drag you in. At first you couldn’t bare accept. But now? You didn’t know if you agreed with your past self.

“Yet it didn't take long for Demeter's happiness to be replaced with rage, as she recalled the disappearance of her daughter. She flew to the home of Zeus and demanded that Persephone be found at once. She also questioned every immortal she could find and eventually uncovered Zeus' plot. In an attempt to appease Demeter's growing anger, he dispatched a messenger to retrieve their daughter from the depths.”

“Upon his entry to the Underworld, the messenger Hermes was amazed at what he found. Instead of finding a frail and fearful Persephone, he found a radiant and striking Queen of the Dead. She had adjusted well to her new position, saying she had even found her calling. The Goddess was now in charge of greeting the new arrivals and helping them adapt to their new life. While she wished to see her mother up above, she was torn by her desire to remain Hades' wife.”

Your past thoughts and sudden releevations were proven by the text. Your breath shudders as you feel one of Robert’s hand inch up your chest, similar to last time. Instead of siquriming, you sink within his hold. Your hand topples his as you guide him to your breast, letting his hand protrude on your linergie to gently caress and grasp your breast.

A moan escpaesd your lips as you lean back, feeling Robert squeeze your nipples. He calms his touch as he resorts to stroking the edge of your breast, letting you continue to the climax of the myth.

“Hoping to comfort Persephone in her confusion, Hades came to his Queen's side. He gently kissed her forehead and urged her, "Do not fret, eat instead from this fruit I know you will like." As she pressed the red pomegranate seeds to her lips, she listened to his words. He told her he would miss her very much, but her duties as a daughter mattered too. So, she climbed into the chariot and bid her husband farewell, as Hermes sped them off to the middle realm of mother earth, the home of her devoted mother.

You saw the last two paragraphs of the myth, also seeing Robert’s hand make it’s way down your stomach to your short. Your hand guides him slowly and gently to your womanhood.

“The flowers sang joyfully of her return, while her mother beamed with pride. Yet, the child that she had born and raised had changed while she was gone. She had grown into a goddess, one both beautiful and wise and the more that Demeter inquired about her experiences below, the more she came to worry that the life they knew was gone. She recalled a declaration Zeus had made from the heavens up above: in order for Persephone to return to the home and life she had known, the young goddess must be as pure as the day she left her mother's side. However, the ruby stain upon her lips spoke of the beauty's fate. Persephone had tasted of the fruit of life. It could not be erased.”

Robert buries his nose into your shoulder with his hand stopping at the edge of your pants. He hesitates, afraid to hurt you. But you know, and feel, that Robert would never do such a thing. You push his hand towards the waistband on your knickers, sliding Robert’s hand down your knickers and towards a place that no man was ever touched until now.

“Even so, Zeus loved his daughter too much to send her back to Hades without the hope of returning to her mother's abode above. So, each spring Persephone comes back with the flowers that pave her way, to tell the story of rebirth, hope and harmony. And each fall when she leaves again for the Underworld below, her mother mourns and winter comes, while she waits for her return. Yet, for Persephone there is no remorse. She looks forward to the time she spends as Hades' Queen and wife, and to guiding those who have lost their way to the next phase of their life.”

You let out a sigh and threw the book down. It blocked your view of Robert’s hand down your navy knickers. You hold his arm and go red, goosebumps hovering over your skin with his electric touch.

“Y/n, sweetling,” Robert coles into your ear. His fingers are like a ghost, hovering over the curls of your rapidly moistening vulva, waiting for your approval, “Speak to me. Tell me.”

“Robert,” You arch your head back to plant a peck on his forehead, “Please.”

“It will hurt since it’s your first. If it does, please tell me,” Robert, in his most vulnerable state, begs you.

You hum and bring your foreheads together, giving him the green light. “If it hurts, I rather it is with you, Robert. I wouldn’t want it to be anyone else.”

Your words made Robert choke on his breath as his hand traveled his way through your curls, finding your vulva. He circles the area around your finger, seeing you stretch back, digging a hand into the side of his salt and pepper hair. Placing a kiss on your cheek, his finger enters your clitoris.

Letting out a curse, you arch your back like a cat as you let out a noise you wouldn’t want anyone to hear but Robert.

“You’re so tight,” Robert says into your hair. His finger moves around, causing the nerves from your vaginal wall to give goosebumps of joy. He smirks as his hand on your stomach brings you back closer to him. “You kept it all for me to unwrap. How sweet of you.

“More,” You breath as you softly grind his thigh.

He hums and asks, “More?”

“More, please. Pretty please.”

Your beg makes him chuckle as you feel another finger circling around your clitoris.

“Another? Are you sure?”

Another shockwave rides up your body, making you rapidly nod your head. The second finger circles your hole, but Robert doesn’t insert it yet.

“Words, sweetling.”

“Yes, yes, please. Pleas-”

As the second finger enters your clitoris, you gasp and scrunch your toes and fingers, the ecstasy running through your veins.

“Oppie,” You moan his name, which makes his erection move below you. He fingered you for the next few minutes, a gentle rhythm dancing inside you. It hurts initially, but the pain subsides as Robert’s fingers mold to your insides. A creamy substance leaks from your vagina, covering Roberts’ and. He eventually removes his pale hand covered by a pale substance. You take his hand and bring it to your face, admiring what is your reaction for your desire and love for Robert.

“Can I?” You turn to Robert, looking at his cum over his fingers.

Robert’s breath hitches and he nods and leans back. He watches you suck on his finger, licking and inhaling the cum. He strokes your hair and leans back, soaking in the experience. Once you finish, he grabs your chin to admire you. Your faces and bodies are illuminated by the fire, which shows both of your burning desires for one another.

“You are a beautiful creature, y/n,” He confesses, wiping a bit of cum from your lip, dragging your lip down.

“You’re handsome,” You reply to his compliment by giving one to him. Your hand goes to the collar of his shirt, signaling for him to undress so you can truly get down to business.

The two of you help undress each other. As carefully as you put on the bralette and shorts, Robert slides them off and throws them onto the loveseat. You, too, help him undress; helping unbutton his shirt and unbuckle his belt. He slides down his pants and underwear, revealing his throbbing erection. It was a suprie to you, for such a slender spectre-looking man, his cock was large; fluids running down the tip. He’s got a faint trail of hair that goes up to his stomach, which makes your womanhood feel like a lush paradise.

Robert moves you in front of the far, far enough not to get burned but close enough to be warmed. He handles you with the delicacy of a china doll, resting your body on the carpet. Your arms fall behind you as his hand grabs one of yours, with the other resting on the indent of your waist. Robert climbs onto of you, sitting ontop of your area as he admires your body, a soft and genuine smile on his lips.

“Look at you,” He said in awe, “You are more beautiful than in my dreams. I knew you would be. Your simply perfect.”

“There is no true perfect person, Robert.” You blush and softly giggle.

“I’m afraid that is a lie, y/n. You are.”

His erect cock rest on the inner part of your thigh, edging towards your vagina.

“Are you sure you want this?” Robert asks, his tone still loving but also serious. For the first time this night, he looks hesitant. Scared, even, “Are you sure you want this to be with someone such as me?”

To soothe Robert’s nerves, you bring a hand to cup the side of his cheek. It’s a small physical touch that you known drives Robert mad. He sighs and leans into your touch, closing his eyes as he basks in your sweet touch.

“Of course, Robert. I want it to be you. I’ve wondered for so long of who it would be to do this. And Robert, well, it’s you. It’s always been you. I knew it when I first saw you. And now I want it more then ever. So Robert please, be the one to take me.” You gently confess.

He opens his eyes and covers your hand on his cheek.

“I’ll feed you my seed, Persephone,” Robert purred, a tint of possession to his voice, “And then? You’ll be mine.”

His member neared your wet vagina. He heistated, awaiitng for your nod.

You never had nodded faster in your life; it felt like you were dependent on the touch of his cock. Robert made sure to give you the thing you were most craved and wanted; which was him.

He fucks you infront of the fire. At first, it hurts. He’s very gentle, whispering kind words as you cry in both pleasure and pain. He slowly grinds against you as as you bury your hands into his hair, digging your nails deep through his hair. Robert cooes into your ear, calling you his deity and his Persephone. As he hungirly humps against you all while holding your hand and saying sweet words of pet names and reassurance, it leaves you to think.

Through the humping, moans, and grunts, the myth you could barely read earlier comes to mind. In your story, your Persephone, and he’s Hades. Like how Hades took Persephone from her world, Robert snatched you from your crowd at Berkeley. Not that you felt satisfied within it, but he took you every Friday and weekend into his home and world, keeping you among him and spoiling and adoring you as a way for you to fall in love with him. You did fall for him, but a part of you hesitated. Robert was thirty five and you were freshly eighteen. The age dfiference and power imbalance was more then evident.

But now, you were able to look past that.

Like Hades had done to Persephone, he gave her the seed to keep her to him.

Robert had done the same to you, his warm cum feeling inside of your aching stomach.

With a heavy exhale, Robert fell beside your, gathering you in his arms. He holds you close, and like it’s routine, return the favor and curl into him.

Hatomi was right; the theory of social change perfectly applies to you.

Time passes, and within that tie, you and Robert lay together nude in front of the fire. After cleaning you, he fetches one of your Greek Myths and a cigarette. The two of you share puffs from the cigarette as he reads the tale of Prometheus to you. Robert holds himself up with one arm, the other wrapped around your waist, his hand resting on your stomach. You stare into the fire, stroking his hand that rubs your stomach, listening to his velvety voice read the myth.

“After the Olympian gods emerged victorious, Zeus tasked Prometheus and Epimetheus with creating humans and giving them unique qualities. Epimetheus, meaning "afterthought," began distributing various attributes among the animals, giving each species-specific traits to survive in the world. However, when it came to humans, he had given away all the positive qualities to animals, leaving humans vulnerable and defenseless,” Robert read the paper as he stroked your hair, “Prometheus to intervene. He stole fire from the gods and gave it to humanity, along with other gifts such as knowledge, craftsmanship, and agriculture. Fire symbolized not only warmth and light but also technological advancement and the ability to cook food, which was crucial for human development. Prometheus shaped humanity out of clay or mud–”

A piece of wood falls in the fire, and you curl your knees into your stomach.

“–and Athena breathed life into his clay figures.”

#carrie writes #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy #cillian murphy imagine #cillian murphy fanfiction #j robert oppenheimer #oppenheimer x reader #j robert oppenheimer x reader #oppenheimer

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ebongawk · 4 months

Note

Oh, I'm so sorry, I didn't know! What about Eddie and Chrissy's first date?

His palms were sweaty.

Why the fuck were his palms sweaty?

He absently wiped them on his jeans, further crinkling the protective layer of plastic that was wrapped around the sparse bouquet he'd picked up from Bradley's when he stopped in for a pack of cigarettes. Cursing, Eddie set the damn thing in the passenger seat, scrubbing his hands against his pants and willing them to stop fucking leaking. Stop condensing or what the fuck ever.

It's one date, he told himself over and over. She agreed to one date. And sure, okay, maybe he didn't have, like, a plethora of experience regarding dates – he was more of a one-night-stand sorta guy. A meet-at-the-bar-and-have-a-quickie-in-the-back-of-his-van type of dude. Not really the type that girls took home to meet the folks. And that was fine. He wasn't really interested in the distraction of a girlfriend, and basically every girl he'd met didn't really catch his attention for longer than those quick, heated glances that extinguished when they, y'know, both got what they'd wanted.

But this wasn't every girl.

This was Chrissy.

And Chrissy had already held his attention for, like, significantly longer than the average Eddie Munson Experience. In that, instead of one night, he'd been thinking about her for the last two months.

(Or, y'know, the last six years, but he'd never admit that to anyone, living or dead. He could barley admit it to himself. And, shit, if that was the reason he didn't acknowledge girls outside of those single nights? What the fuck was wrong with his brain?)

So. Fuck. That was probably why his palms were sweaty. Nervous. Eddie didn't get nervous, though. He waltzed through life with the same seat-of-his-pants confidence that got his dad into all that trouble, but kept his focus on shit like music and his morally okay but ethically wrong pharmaceutical sales instead of, like, jacking cars. And, okay, maybe it'd gotten him into one or two silly situations, but he waltzed right out of them with that same confidence.

Nervous. Him? No way.

(Way.)

He'd been sitting outside her house for, like, five entire minutes so far. Trying to talk himself into going up and actually knocking on her door. Introducing himself to whoever answered – Chrissy had warned him about her mother's judgmental attitude, which was one hundred percent something Eddie could face. He'd watched enough Teen Beat movies to know the whole spiel – "Yes ma'am, I'm Eddie Munson, pleasure to meet you, I'm here to pick up Chrissy for our date, no ma'am, we're just going to the drive in and out for a bite, home by eleven, of course – but he couldn't shake hands with her parents when his palms were so goddamn sweaty.

A deep breath. Another. And Eddie grabbed the handle of his driver's side door and wrenched it open, stumbling from the safety of his van and barely remembering to grab the bouquet sitting sadly in his passenger seat.

He didn't remember the walk from street to front door. Just that, all at once, he was there, staring at this ornate wooden door in fucking Loch Nora with one of those fancy brass knockers. Opting instead for the doorbell, Eddie took a full step back, listening to the distant bustle of activity within the house.

It flew open all at once, and––

Holy shit.

Chrissy Cunningham.

Oh, she was so fucking beautiful. Her hair was down, hanging around her shoulders in subtle curls that framed her face. She'd done something different with her makeup, something he couldn't quite put his finger on. A different color, maybe, but it was hard to focus on when she gave him such a bright, excited smile. His favorite one – the one that made her eyes crinkle until all he could see was the subtle ocean storms glistening in the light that seemed to emanate from her.

God, he was in deep if he already had a favorite smile.

"Eddie!" she squealed, bouncing on her toes as she opened the door completely and let him step inside. "I'm just getting my shoes on, and then–– Oh!" Her hands clasped in front of her chest, she looked down at what he was holding with a soft gasp of surprise. "Are... Are those for me?"

Eddie followed her line of sight, startling at the crinkly paper still in his hands that he'd completely forgotten about.

"Oh, shit, uh, yeah!" he said, awkwardly holding the bouquet toward her. "Uh... Sorry. They're–– I mean, slim pickings at the Big Buy."

The smile that blossomed on her face was a soft, gentle thing. A gradual unfurling of lips and teeth that rivaled the petals she now held in her hands.

New contender for favorite smile.

"They're beautiful," she said, honesty bleeding in speckled sunlight through her tone. "Peonies are my favorite."

With loving, gentle hands, she brought the bouquet up to her nose and inhaled deeply, that same smile affixed to her face as her eyes fell closed.

He felt his knees go weak and had to lean against the doorframe so he didn't fall at her feet and beg to worship her.

"Give me just a second," she said, meeting his gaze. "I'll put these in water, and then we can go."

She took a step back, then hesitated. Instead closing the distance between them, her little hand resting on his arm as she popped up onto her toes and pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek.

"Thank you," she whispered before disappearing back into the house.

Oh, Christ. Oh, God. Nothing but television static between his ears during her brief absence. Trembling fingertips gently brushing against the warm dot on his cheek before he realized that his stupid palms were still stupid sweaty.

He held them against his pants until she came back, carrying the flowers in a vase that was way too nice for their sad state. It was set carefully on the foyer table before she slipped into her shoes.

"So I don't forget to take them up to my room when I get home," she told him by way of explanation. "Are we ready?"

Subtly brushing his hands against his pants again, he held one out to her.

"Yeah. Let's go."

And, holy shit, maybe it was all gonna work out. Maybe this wasn't just a crazy one-off situation, and maybe she was just as excited for this one date to evolve into an endless stream of dates as he was.

Because, when she took his hand, he realized that her palms were sweaty, too.

(ask meme)

#hellcheer #eddissy #eddie x chrissy #eddie munson #chrissy x eddie #stranger things #hellcheer drabble #chrissy cunningham #ebongawk ask #svvy2003 #thank you for understanding and asking again!#first date #hellcheer first date

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is-the-thing-actually-jewish · 26 days

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Okay i saw your answer on etrogs so it made me wonder: etrog vs rimon, which is more Jewish?? (I’m not actually invested in a definite answer, but I’m VERY invested in the debate)

Rating: HERE’S THE DEBATE YOU WANTED

Answering this question necessarily requires a working definition of what makes something “more” or “less” Jewish, and what that definition is results in several different answers with their corresponding justifications. Does “more Jewish” mean “more important to Judaism religiously”? Or “more important to Jewish culture?” Or “belonging uniquely to Jews as opposed to any other enthno-religious group?” So, here goes:

More religiously important: ETROG. The etrog, also known as the citron, is one of the four species critical to the celebration of the Festival of Sukkot. Leviticus 23:40 commands that “on the first day [of Sukkot] you shall take the product of hadar trees, branches of palm trees, boughs of leafy trees, and willows of the brook, and you shall rejoice before your God seven days.” “Hadar” translates to “splendor” or “beauty” and is traditionally read to refer to the etrog tree. Interestingly, the Jerusalem Talmud suggests the possibility that “hadar tree” could refer to pomegranates before dismissing it, as the pomegranate has a “beautiful fruit but not beautiful wood,” (or possibly vice versa, scribal texts disagree), whereas the etrog has both beautiful fruit and beautiful wood, along a beautiful scent. (Jerusalem Talmud Sukkah 3:5:2). All that aside, there is mitzvah d’orieta (a religious obligation directly from the Torah, as opposed to an obligation established by the rabbis, a mitzvah d’rabbanan) that requires the use of the etrog, whereas all religious use of the pomegranate, such as at a Tu B’shvat Seder or as a siman on Rosh HaShanah, have merely the force of minhag (religious custom, not law).

More important to Jewish culture: RIMON. Pomegranates feature in a huge amount of Jewish art, especially as decoration on pretty much any Jewish ritual item. You can find them on everything from ketubot (marriage contracts) to hanukkiot (hanukkah menorahs). I’ve seen pomegranate tallitot, pomegranate mezuzot, pomegranate tzedakah boxes, etc. Personally, in my house, we have four different pomegranate mezuzot, a pomegranate hand-washing cup for ritual handwashing, pomegranate candlesticks, a pomegranate kiddush cup, and, ironically enough, an etrog box decorated with— you guessed it— pomegranates. (I also have pomegranate earrings and pomegranate socks, thank you fiance) (At the time of this writing, this blog is also a Jewish thing decorated with pomegranates). A search for “pomegranate” on Judaica.com offers 197 results, whereas a search for “etrog” turns up 4 actual lulav and etrog sets, plus 13 decorative boxes designed to safely hold one’s etrog during sukkot and not as decoration at all.

Pomegranates are one of the seven species biblically associated with the land of Israel, along with wheat, barley, grapes, fig, olives, and dates (Deuteronomy 8:8)-- a list that does not include etrogim. They are also an important motif throughout Shir haShirim (Song of Songs), in which the lovers frequently compare each other’s beauty to that of a pomegranate. Pomegranates symbolize beauty, fertility, fecundity, mitzvot, and merit, as in the annual Rosh HaShanah wish that “our merits be as plentiful as the seeds of the pomegranate.” A common (though inaccurate) bit of folk wisdom gives the number of seeds in a pomegranate as 613, one for each of the commandments given in the Torah.

In a particularly entertaining digression in the Talmud (Bava Metzia 8a) in which the rabbis are comparing their physical attributes (yes, this means exactly what you think it does), the narrative voice pauses to explain that if you want to understand just how unbelievably gorgeous Rabbi Yochanan was, you should take a “silver goblet from the smithy and fill it with red pomegranate seeds and place a diadem of red roses upon the lip of the goblet, and position it between the sunlight and shade. That luster is a semblance of Rabbi Yoḥanan’s beauty.” Does this really support my thesis? As minor evidence at most, but I will seize any opportunity to share that description.

Meanwhile, the etrog does not appear as a symbol or decoration in and of itself, only in the context of Sukkot and the other three Sukkot species. You may indeed see an etrog on the Torah curtain in Tishrei or in a panel of stained glass in the synagogue… but you’ll only know it’s an etrog because it has the lulav right next to it, generally as part of an array of holiday-related symbols. (I do, in fact, also own an etrog earring, but just the one— the other one is a lulav, thank you sibling.) There are a plethora of midrashim on what exactly the etrog symbolizes, but always as part of a set. For example, it’s often associated with the heart, to go along with the palm frond’s spine, the myrtle’s mouth, and the willow’s eye. As my fiance put it, “If you see a pomegranate on something, there’s a decent chance it’s Jewish. But without the lulav, an etrog just looks like a lemon, and there’s nothing particularly Jewish about lemons.”

Belonging Uniquely to Jews: ETROG. The citron is widely agreed to be one of three “true” members of the citrus family, along with the mandarin and pomelo, with all others the results of hybridization. Archeological and primary-document research confirms that the citron originated in eastern India and southern China, and was found in Sumerian ruins dating from more than six thousand years ago. It is referenced in the Vajasaneiy Samhita, a compilation of Vedic religion texts, called Yajur-Veda (ca. 1200-1000 B.C.E), and early Greek and Latin writers describe the citron clearly, mentioning its use as an antidote to poisons and a way to ward off moths from one’s clothes.* However, a 2015 study found evidence that the diffusion of the citron throughout southern Italy and the surrounding region dated to the destruction of the Second Temple and subsequent Jewish diaspora. The study concludes that their results “evidence the special role played by Jews in the spread of the citron as the authentic sacred fruit used in their Tabernacles ritual.”* It is worth noting that there is a variety of citron known as “Buddha’s Hand” that may be used as offerings in Buddhist temples, but it looks so dramatically different from what we know as an etrog as to be a different item entirely (and, indeed, multiple rabbis have ruled that it should not be used for fulfilling the mitzvah). Thus, the etrog is inextricably and uniquely linked to Jews.

On the other side of the debate, pomegranates appear frequently in art, stories, and cultural artifacts throughout the world, particularly in the Middle and Near East. These stories range from the Ancient Greek myth of Hades and Persophone, whose consumption of pomegranate seeds kept her in the underworld for the winter each year, to a Buddhist legend of a child-eating/stealing demoness whom the Buddha convinced to only eat pomegranates and become a patron goddess of children. Greece, Armenia, and Azerbaijan, among others, consider the pomegranate to be one of their important symbols. Traditions regarding pomegranates abound, including a Greek custom of smashing a pomegranate on the new year for good luck. They are widely considered a symbol of fertility, abundance, and good luck, similarly to their symbolism in Judaism. In short, while Jews are very into pomegranates, so are a lot of other cultures.

*Gina Maruca, et al. “Religious and cultural significance of the citron (citrus medica L. ‘diamante’) from Calabria (South Italy): A biblical fruit of the mediterranean land.” Journal of Environmental Science and Engineering A, vol. 4, no. 4, 28 Apr. 2015, https://doi.org/10.17265/2162-5298/2015.04.006.

#jumblr #not a rating #we think we're funny #etrog #pomegranate

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panickingpansexuality · 1 year

Text

He's Back

Alex x GN Farmer

Alex is finally going pro so a deadbeat has decided to make themselves known.

It was a warm fall day, Alex, his grandparents, and you were outside fixing up the house for winter.

The gutters needed cleaned and there was a side of the house that could use a fresh coat of paint, and of course the leaves were everywhere.

You four were enjoying this time because this time by next year Alex would be going pro and instead of being by your side he'd be on the television.

Kent and Elliott had stopped by not too long after the work began and felt obligated to help out. Elliott was talking with Evelyn stuffing the leaves into garbage bags that looked like jack-o-lanterns.

Alex climbed down the ladder that Kent was holding and stopped to watch for a second as you painted the side of the house, he let out a low whistle.

"Think I'm refreshed."

You looked over at him and laughed, he hopped down the ladder and came up behind you and held you close.

"Five minutes break!" He called out.

"No way." You said trying to squirm away, "I'm almost done."

While you squirmed the brush slipped from your hands causing it to swing and smear some paint into Alexs' hand, you both looked at it for a moment before Alex wiped the paint on your cheek.

You gasped and he let you go just in time for you to chase him around the house with the brush.

Evelyn watched you two fondly as George yelled out to you both;

"Don't go spilling all that paint!"

The fun was cut short when a man stepped towards the house recognizing the two elders.

"Alex?" A voice called out.

Alex froze as he came around the house, he put his hand out to stop you from going further as if it was going to protect you from the sight unfolding in front of you.

A man stepped into view, he looked completely unfamiliar the only few things that may have looked somewhat familiar to you was maybe his nose and hair.

You gripped Alex's dark skinned hand and he squeezed yours in return.

"Who are you?" Kent questioned crossing his arms.

"Alex?" The man called again completely ignoring Kent. Evelyn placed a hand on her heart and went to stand beside her grandson. Elliott stood in front of you both to stop the man from getting any closer.

"Get the Hell out of this town!" George growled out. "Yer not welcomed here!"

"I have a right to see my son Mullner." The man growled out.

"I'm not your son." Alex said barley above a whisper.

"Look at you!" The man said standing just foot back from punching distance. "I saw your name in the Grid Ball line up and then when I looked it up to make sure it was you I saw you got married!"

Alex pushed you behind him like it was going to hide you. Gently you push Alexs' hand away and step forward.

"Your Alex's sperm donor?" You ask sweetly.

The man is taken aback by the term it give you time to continue.

"I didn't know it was national deadbeat day? Who knew that you folk like to show up out of nowhere and spread your bullshit? Now I've got three bombs on me (freshly made), and Kent and I both are armed so get off of the Mullners property before I bust them out."

Kent lets out a snort behind the man who is starring at you completely offended.

"Are-Are you going to let them talk to me like this?!" The man says starring at Alex. "Your own father?!"

"Alex is more of any man's son here than yours." Elliott said sharply. "Now from what I'm guessing you're only here because Alex is finally accomplishing his dreams, no thanks to you, so you're here to mooch off of his success. If you wanted to become his father you would've called long before this."

"Who the fuck is this dweeb?!" The man said to Elliott.

"This dweeb is one of the men who's had the privilege of being a father figure to Alex! Who's gotten to see him graduate, help him with homework, and each and everyone of us in this town showed up for at least one of his games! Now I suggest you go find one of your many other children thst you may have accidentally drunkenly conceived before we pull out our weapons."

Alex's biological father looked like he was going to explode with rage;

"IM HIS FATHER YOU FA-"

"You're not my fucking father!" Alex yells stepping beside you. "You left my mom and didn't even bother to show up for her fucking funeral! You're nothing but a trashy deadbeat and I know my partner's waiting for me to give the word to drop kick you to China. So what the hell do you want?"

"Son-" the man begins but stops when he sees Alex's stare. "Alex. I...I'm sorry I figured we should get to know each other. You're going pro now and you're gonna need your family behind you."

You and Alex look at each other with a knowing look before you pull out your sword from it's sheath.

"Get out." Kent says, the sound of a gun loading is all the man needs before high-tailing it away back to the bus stop.

You turn to your in-laws and promise to finish up tomorrow, Kent and Elliott nod and start to clean up for you while you take Alex home.

He's quiet for a while, until he gets back to the house and uses your axe, mumbling something about trees needing to be cleared.

You fix the both of you a cold drink before going outside to sit with him.

His shirt's off now, thrown on the bench, he's cursing as he shows the pine tree he's cutting down absolutely no mercy. It doesn't take long for it to fall and when it does Alex stands there panting, carefully you wrap your arms around him.

Alex releases a shuddering breath and turns to you, burying his head into your neck and starts to cry. Gut wrenching sons that sound so quiet it's most likely he's used to making them that small. Your arms wrap around him tighter as continues to cry, when he's finished you two sit on the bench and he drinks what you've brought out to him.

"You know," you say softly. "I think if Kent and I worked together, we could make a rocket to actually send him to China."

Alex laughs and interlocks your fingers together, he brings your hand to his lips.

"I love you." He says in a dry voice. "I swear when we have kids I'll never do that to you, I'll never leave I swear."

"Aw man that means I'm stuck with you for life?" You say in a sarcastic voice.

Alex looks over and sees your face split into a smile. He pulls you over into a fight hug and says; "Yup."

Looking up at him you place a peck on his lips.

"For life." He says.

"Promise?" You ask.

"Promise." He says.

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bonefall · 6 months

Note

Question! What are the main ingredients for tunnelbuns that could be used irl? They sound delicious

We've had a few folks who were making tunnelbuns, but I never did get any pictures of the completed concept. Anyway, the biggest part is making the dough, which has no yeast!

Here's an ingredient list, of the traditional ingredient + easy replacement

Coltsfoot Salt/normal table salt

Ground flour of rye, barley, wheat, or oat/all-purpose flour from any store

Canola oil

Heather twig (for stabilizing the ear loops)/Any twig

Rabbit meat/Any meat, chicken would be good to experiment with

Gravy

Lemmie know how it turns out if you finish it!

#bone babble #Tunnelbuns

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drowninghell · 1 year

Text

Just like a storm

Raphael x Fem reader

Jeez longtime no see folks! So sorry about falling off the face of the earth, life got in the way and I’ve been struggling to even write for fun! So here! Take my first piece in months, unedited but I hope you all enjoy! Have a nice day! 👍

Minors do not interact

Angst fluff

Unedited

The night was rough, there was a static like quality, the misty rain fell in torrents. Light enough that you barley felt it upon your face but heavy enough that within ten minutes, your clothes would be saturated. A gale weaponised the water and the dark clouds above were lit up like a tinder box. Vicious forks spanning out along the sky, jagged and angry in their movement . Then, the deep rumble that reverberated the world , the rumble that silenced the bolts of lightning.

“ I’m not doing this anymore.” His gruff voice was raised, loud enough to hear over the tail end of the thunder, loud enough that it felt as though her soulmate was screaming it at her. Physically recoiling. Tilting his head downward against the rain her turned away from her. He turned his back on her.

“ that’s it then? One fight and you are out, just like that?! Since when have you been such a coward! “ Rage coursed through her , strong enough to rival even that of the red clad terrapin. White light flashed across her face, illuminating her features, the features he was so besotted by. As quickly as the harsh light came , it faded.

Then came the rumble. Nose scrunched, Raphael turned around again. A sharp breath being inhaled, his brow knitting together, chest to chest he stared her down. “ I’m not a damn coward! “ his voice was riding just like that temper of his.

Clash , lightening struck.

“ are you sure about that! Running away! Not telling me what is going on? You can’t do this! You can’t do this to me!” She hissed. “ I ain’ doin this to ya I’m doing it for ya’” He mumbled, backing down. There was hurt flashing in his eye, hard to see with his scarred lip hooked into a snarl.

(Y/n)’s relationship with Raphael was young, around the nine / ten month stage. The stage where the newness has worn off, when the couple begins to mould together , see their differences and their ability to go the distance. Things where going great.They fitted each other. They didn’t have to grow into the relationship,they both slotted together like those missing pieces of a puzzle.

Until about a month ago. The woman was caught as collateral damage, roped into business with the soul purpose of hurting Raphael. The thoughts hummed through her head, how bad the beating she took was, how cold she was, how she had no idea how long she have been missing and mostly how she wasn’t even worried for herself, but for him. If something happened to her, she knew he’d never forgive himself. Her darling dearest would become consumed with anger, that boiling rage that motivated him so, it would eat him, leaving very little left of the man she’d fallen in love with. What a disservice to the world, to deprive the world of the man she fell in love with.

He backed off as soon as she was on the mend, as soon as the bruises faded and began to yellow, as soon as Donnie removed the stitches from her brow. She noticed it straight away, she tried to soothe his guilt, to temper it. Nothing worked. It got to the point he couldn’t even look at her. She confided in Leonardo and he confirmed her suspicions on the sudden distancing.

He started by ignoring texts and phone calls, ghosting her for days on end. Making plans anytime she came to see him.

Hence how they ended up here.

“ yes you fucking are! What are you so afraid of!” Her resolve was crumbling, that strong voice wobbling with the reality that she could lose him. “ raphael, please, don’t do this to me, to us.” Her voice quietening. His anger was crumbling too, his eyes widening as his brows raised. His lips in a down turned frown as he took a step back. Physically recoiling at her words. As though catching himself he pulled the brows down back over his eyes and turned in his heel. Walking away without a word, a hand splayed flat on the wall, ready to make his descent into the alley below.

“ I’ll never forgive you! “ she shouted, anger taking over reason, she loved him, adored him.

Those words made him stop. He could feel his heart drop into his stomach, he could feel the anxiety shaking his limbs, the tears burning behind his eyes.

He turned around then, relaxing that hurt with anger, like a hurt dog biting back. “ forgive me for what huh’? For takin’ care of ya, for doin’ What’s best for you!” His voice was loud, he was shouting at her now, the cracks in his tone didn’t go unnoticed as he stalked towards her.

“ no! For making me love you!” She screamed right back. Squaring up to him as he did her. Tears flowing freely.

He was silent for a moment as he stared at her, this was the first time she had said that. They where so easy going, both not really the” let’s define us “ type.

“ you nearly died.”

He said. He needed to let it go, all this anxiety and rage, the suspense and nerves he’s been bottling up. She stared at him, waiting for him to continue. There was a long pause, she opened her mouth to speak but was cut off. He had to take his time, to think before he spoke , to not just blurt it out.

“ you wanna’ know what I’m so afraid of , fine.” He began to pace, his head angled so he was looking at her.

“ I’m afraid that there is gonna be another time, another day and I won’t be able to get there.” His hands where restless by his side , fists clenching and relaxing repeatedly “ I’m afraid that just being associated with me is gonna get you killed” he shook his head, a large three digit hand wiping the rain from his face. “ I’m scared you are gonna get yourself killed being with me. It’s not a risk I’m willing ta’ make.” His accent heavy, the Brooklyn ringing strong.

“ well that’s not your decision to make.” She whispered , he still heard it. He felt

Unheard and he had To get his point across,, she moved to

Be right infront of him. She reached out and grabbed his hand, he

Didn’t move out of her grip. Instead his two hands came to cup her features. “

You Aren’t listening ta’ me! Y/n! I’m scared of everything, I’m scared to move! I’m

Scared to be away from you! I’m scared any time I know your in your apartment by yourself! I’m scared to be near you! And it’s your fault! I let you in! I don’t let people In, you knew this! “ he dropped his hands to his side, a tear dropped from his cheek. His antsy behaviour continued as he recommenced his pacing.

“ guess what Raphael! Nobody makes my decisions for me! No one! It’s my decision to be here , to be with you! “ she was so ardent, so passionate as she forced herself into his space. He looked looked down his nose into those tearful eyes. “ I can’t-“

“ no stop it! Stop it! I’m here, it’s not just You anymore, im here and I’m staying alright! You ain’t getting rid of me that easy alright darling.” Her face softened, standing on her toes she cupped his features, like he did hers. His big hands framing hers. His eyes so sorrowful, she smiled through the little tears pooling. “ I want this, I want you. Please have me. “ she whispered quietly. He said no more as he pulled her into his plastron, a tentative hand holding the back of her head as she melted into him.

Both their bodies relaxing with a long exhaled breaths, ridding the anxiety from their bodies , sinking into each other she let him lean down and scoop her off her feet. Just so the big bara could give her a proper squeeze. His insecurity of being a good protector snuffed out as he felt her return the squeeze, his heart swelling in his chest. Their lips found each other, it was slow and passionate, heavy and filled with salty tears. That argument had the, both thinking they could never be like this again, and god did they savour it.

#tmnt fanfiction #tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt x reader #raphael tmnt #tmnt bayverse #bayverse tmnt

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