#food wars crack
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Diplomacy & War: Pregnant Blake
Blake: (heavily pregnant, leans up against Yang) I love you.
Yang: I love you too!
Blake: You're without a doubt the best thing to have ever happened to me.
Yang: O-Oh... Um.. Thank you? I-I'm really not all that.
Blake: (slowly smooths her hand over Yang's stomach and holds her tenderly) You're all that and so much more. (fingers walk across Yang's thighs) You're kind, considerate, a giver through and through to a fault.
Yang: (looks down) .....You can't have the rest of my french fries.
Blake: Well, when diplomacy fails. (quickly grabs the plate of fries sitting on the coffee table and clones away)
Yang: HEY!!!! GET BACK HERE, YOU SEXY PREGNANT WOMAN!!!
#bumbleby#yang xiao long#blake belladonna#rwby#rwby crack post#rwby shitpost#pregnant blake#hungry blake#mama needs food#war is an extension of politics
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I once red about Kel-Dor eating fried shells and crabs in whole as a treat. It was interesting and i got hungry for some reason lmao
(Thank you @plokoonsdisapprovingeyebrows, @exosorcery, @dukeoftheblackstar for all precious headcanons)
Plo: (happy crunch)
Boost:
Boost: Is it tasty, sir?
Sinker: Of course it is tasty to him, idiot. He is enjoying.
Boost: I mean it is still tasty to us?
Sinker: Is it edible to us at first?
Plo: If you don't mind and can properly chew the hard shells, it is edible to you humans.
Boost: Can I have one, sir?
Plo: Of course. Be careful of the sharp pieces.
Sinker: I don't think it's a good idea...
Boost: (crunch)
Boost: Oh my Stars this is so great!!
Plo: Really? :)
Sinker: Wait, really? Excuse me sir can I have one too?
Sinker: (crunch)
Sinker:
Sinker: yuck(suffering with pale faces)
Boost: Hey, don't be rude! He shared his food to us!! You know what it means to share your food in Dorin!
Plo: No Sinker don't gulp down immediately, just thrown up in this nepkin. It is fine.
Plo: ...And they tell us they have no individuality.
#star wars#the clone wars#clone trooper boost#clone trooper sinker#plo koon#crunch#yum#i need a food#my crack
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Ahsoka Tano
🍊-🔧-🌻-🍈-💚-🍈-🌻-🔧-🍊
[🟢] Anyone not on our dni can reblog
[🟢] DNI if you’re a pedophile/variants, lgbt+phobe, n*zi, trump supporter, ableist, racist, people who ship incest or pedophilic ships, or others in our dni
#ahsoka tano fictive#star wars fictive#glow stims#keyboard stim#sticker#reflective#shiny#orange#food#clay cracking#tech#tech stims#space#planet#green#black#white#Hands
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@elegiies : Each tap of buttons produces his expression to become unreadable. With his pink tongue held tight between teeth, dark lenses illuminate as they slide down the tip of his nose. Then, his head tilts, one cheek puffing outwards comically like a squirrel storing its treasures. "Huuuuhh...!" the word leaves his mouth, elongated in the most drawn out effect, suddenly he swaps view of the digital screen. "Hey! This creature reminds me of you" the pink ball inhaling everything in its sight as he has to fight back his laughter, failing terribly at it. Azure hues glimmer with mischief as Satoru snickers, "If only you were pink && squishable"
ㅤ𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐈𝐑. The eternity of rejoicing spree of youth, laughter, and Summer wellspring in understanding unison of two anomalies wandering wast borders of concise lifetime. Sounds of rustling leaves in distant forest shrouded by coating morning mist signalized a moderate raise of wind, but it was still not enough and too hot to be hanging around in anything else than natural fabrics and flip-flops; let alone consume a thing. It reminded him of their common time in Okinawa. So he revised optimal alternative. Something light and nutrimental, taking only a few minutes to prepare on a deadly weapon -- frying pan.
Ever since Satoru began his hard training he would become quite restless. Despite his queer behavior, Suguru was slightly concerned with his new obsessive diet consisting mainly of sugar and snacks. Primarily the Curse Eater wasn't sure about the village name he was going to be sent to but before each of them would take their leave, he wanted to make sure Satoru eats at least some 'relatively' 'healthy' slice.
Although, he felt finally distracted from tightening darkness blooming in his chest whenever he remembered he has to go back, among non-Sorcerers and exorcise; over and ov- ...
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ... how utterly, terribly /𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠/.
Geto nearly bit back a quiver that would hang loose on his lip corner when someone (*who) woke up later re-joined him; and of course, he would detect the presence of his dearest friend even with a blindfold.
The albino mumbles something recognizable through increasing sizzles of the pan, so Suguru looks over his shoulder.
With how he scouts the Master of Six Eyes' comical output, his attention stands with click of heel, taking a moment to meander nearby and look properly at what another heartbeat to the same coin tried to show him.
Expression on Geto's face was quite a thing to see as if he has seen pipeweed for the first time. That until he came to conclusion that he wants his deadpan to look offended, so he poutily puckered lips in a pretentious duck face accompanied by a faint frown. His breathing evened out, but before he would listen any more closely ... Satoru was already doomed to face opposition.
" Beg your pardon? Since when you get to call me things without my say? " As if he was begging with sincerity for quiet admission or untangle the meaning. In all fact — it has taken a certain amount of glee to not laugh at these twisted mockeries, but his emotions betrays timbre of his tone and easy chuckle flows out.
His inquisitive self looks once more at console screen as if this time re-checking more properly.
" No, Satoru, it looks more like you, '' and it took him almost everything to make it sound flatly with rakish grin of his slip while toying with such implication all the while, " in terms of Pink & squishable. I take the credit for the rest. " Was he wrong at all? That would count only in terms of --, wait, what do these kids say nowadays? Ah, if only pink is the new black!
Now that he received from the situation a word that vast attacker have been quelled, it was now safe to pursue his seat spot and spare conscious melodrama with both plates of Savoury Crêpes reflexively placed on the table. Black glasses slide lower on Gojo's nose-bridge granting him nearly brisk glance at his own contoured reflection illuminated by grandeur duvet of crystalline blues that would sail him away and away into oblivious contemplation. He keeps looking for a solid moment and then switches at cutlery, opening soda can and pouring each of them full glass.
'' Tsch, you're lucky I can inhale in only curses! ''
A playful threat?
A playful threat ...
One could only hope not to take lightly presence of mind and demeanor of even pleasantries. After all, the guy with such coy demure at the other side of the table was prone to undercut chair leg when one expects it the least. If the Honored One ever tried to make sense of his unidentifiable expression, he would as well capture a small fragment of misdemeanor reflecting in nothingness of Suguru's dark eyes, and he would also know that whenever that would cross radar of his notice - future mischief was coming.
#elegiies#!Satoru#Muse: Geto#VERSE (past) : ⑆ㅤㅤㅤcracks in golden seal.#Geto vc: how dare you bring Kirby into our food fights —#{ Don't you think I don't see chu lurking about Mona !! (✧ ✧ ) *crack knuckles* HECK let's get this salt party started. }#{ Not me making this in fact worse ... terribly /worse/ like I always do and causing crepes to be his last meal with Satoru before leaving#next time he eats it would be with Mimiko and Nanako at Takeshita street. *SOBS* except they are sweet not salty. }#{ crepes -> is the new war }#反応‚ㅤ╱ 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎 reacted.
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First test of the new crockpot is chicken curry. There's currently about three hours of cook time left and the house is starting to smell delicious. Soon I'll have to go down and start the rice cooker (also the first time it's being used). I don't care that it's a hot day, curry and rice is one of the ultimate comfort foods.
#birdy's food experiments#i love using a crockpot for curry because it requires little effort and has never come out wrong#i also like how this one looks like a kettle#or as my partner says it looks like something out of star wars lol#it's super light weight and the bowl is cast iron so it's not supposed to crack as easily#yes new kitchen appliances make me very excited#I'm getting older and it's getting harder to do certain things so i like things that make life easier
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What do you get when the Saviour of the Wizarding World becomes dangerously bored, especially when the death of his godfather has already hit him seriously hard, and left to his own devices? Well, Draco Malfoy, the Death Eaters and Lord Voldemort are unfortunately going to find out soon enough!
Last read up to chapter 39 currently unfinshed.
#Harry Potter#Fanfiction#crack treated seriously#Muggle pranks#Guess that delivery truck color#The wolf pack is everything#Mr. Mupples the Pet Monster plushie#Teddy Ruxpin#Thalia the banana ball python#personalized t-shirts#Tom Riddle the Cabbage Patch doll#Morpheus the telekinetic owl#Prank wars#Muggle Food Delivery#No one is safe from Harry Pranking#Boglin punishments#ten pin bowling competition#Dippy the Diplodocus#Everybody hates Umbitch#Snape's insult remote#Personalized stickers and posters#Rabastan the Smoothie king#Harry coparents Mr. Mupples with Bella#Rookwood's Shadow Werepup Izzy#rabastan/Tyler Reed#Avior Avery/ Alice Ferrars#Corbin Yaxley/Tonks#Remus fucked up gets veggie chocolates#Reuniting the Black Sisters#A study in Death Eaters versus just Voldy for pranking material
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I’m not writing this out again so have a screenie.
I’m like prouder of this than I am my 100k oc series. Behold! My dumb brain!
#trash talks#coruscant guard#crack au#star wars fandom#fast food au#lolololol#I’m not sorry#star wars the clone wars#Star Wars but what if it was stupid
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@suchbrokenstars replied: "You were my brother, Anakin!" Obi-Wan pours the cereal and then the milk.
Anakin staring directly into Obi Wan's eyes as pours the milk straight into his bowl before the cereal.
#suchbrokenstars#shjdjdjsjsjsjdjdjd ofc obi wan does the normal way cause he is a NORMAL SANE PERSON#food cw#& go see a star war ( crack threads )
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Sea Cryptic! Danny AU- Pt.1
[Pt.2] [Pt.3] [Pt.4] [Pt.5][Pt.6][Pt.7]
As someone who lived in the middle of nowhere, Amity, the ocean both terrified and enthralled Danny Fenton.
The first time his parents took him to the beach, it was the middle of the day and he’d been stuck in the prototype GAV for hours upon hours on their “quick, ghost rumor hunting field trip.”
It wasn’t quick, and they caught exactly zero ghosts. When Danny saw the expanse of sand underneath the summer sun, he and Jazz both bounded out of the van like feral little monkeys. Danny and Jazz sprinted down the sand, their parents ambling behind them with their arms loaded up with towels, a first aid kit, and an ungodly amount of mildly ecto contaminated food that they already fought before getting onto the beach.
Danny had splashed into the water, yelped at the freezing temperature, and then promptly found a shell to keep. His mom taught him how to swim with the waves, having come from Surf City herself, and his dad taught Jazz how to dive.
It was a day full of fond memories, especially the memory of the Great War of Sand-Castle Crushing he and Jazz waged against each other.
They stuck around for the sunset, the ripples of colors and peacefulness that swept across the vast waters caught Danny in its hold.
He hadn’t forgotten that moment. Not even when he died.
After a particularly hard day as Phantom, Danny would fly to the coast and loose hours just sitting on the sand and watching the waves lap against the shore. And when those nights were clear? It felt like a slice of his own personal heaven, with the stars shining on his shoulders and the encompassing crash of the waves sheltering his heart.
And on some days, when being Danny left him frustrated, Danny would fly out to the coast and use his intangibility to walk beneath the waves. Near the coast, it’s cloudy with swirls of moving sand and disturbed waters. He walked, and walked, and floated and floated beneath the waters, taking contentment from the way the moonlight of his stars filtered through the water. He admired the way light would glint on the scales of fish and crustaceans alike as he floated beneath the surface. On those days, Danny would pick up trash and polluted things and bring them to shore, to place in the trash cans and all of the recycling cans. He picked up shells and decorated the beaches he frequented, because if it were decorated, perhaps people would refrain from chucking their waste into the sea.
Well, usually, it’d be trash.
Danny watched speechlessly, jaw cracked open just a smidge, as an explosion happened right over his head. The distortion of the water did not hide the fact that there were large chunks of plane pelting down at him, a different figure flying away from the explosion. Danny went invisible and intangible as large metal pieces plunged into his current water space.
“Gosh, people these days,” he huffed. “This is gonna take forever to…”
Danny trailed off, seeing a humanoid shape crash into the water, clearly unconscious. Danny didn’t hesitate before shooting towards the drowning person, glowing green and fully visible again. The stranger’s eyes- holy shit, that’s Batman- turned towards him before closing behind cracked open lenses. Batman slumped falling unconscious. That’s not good.
Danny rocketed out of the water with the vigilante in his arms. If it weren’t for his supernatural strength, there’s no way lanky teenage Danny would have been able to carry Batman’s grown ass built like a tank self to the shore. Likewise, if it weren’t for his strength, Danny wouldn’t have been able to start chest compressions through the layers of armor.
Danny leaned back with a sigh as Batman coughed out only a bit of water, because Danny hadn’t taken all that long to get to him, and held up his hands in a “I don’t have weapons” way as Batman whirled to him.
“Hi. Are you alright?” Danny asked, ectoplasm and instinctive ghost speak fuzzing his words a bit. Damn, Batman must have nearly died a lot. He’ll freak out about meeting Batman later.
“You saved me,” an awkward pause. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. The other guy went that way.”
Danny waved vaguely.
“…What are you?”
“Oh my god, Batman, you can’t just ask someone what they are!” He immediately replied, inwardly smacking himself for the joke. He watched Batman’s face, watching for any sign of discrimination against ghosts, or any sign the man had a sense of humor.
“…”
Neither, apparently, was the answer.
“Don’t worry about it. I’m just here to clean up the beaches. You humans really like to pollute the beaches. It’s quite rude, you know. That plane of yours, well, it’s not your fault,” he amended. “But it’s gonna damage sea life. And I don’t know if you’re in the habit, but please don’t litter on the beach or in the water, especially with your unconscious body. It’s tedious to clean.”
“…I see.”
“Stay. I’ll take out your plane. Make sure it doesn’t stay on the sand, alright?”
With that, Danny stood. Unaware of the way the moonlight lit up his hair like white flames and accentuated the sharp points of his ears, Danny turned away and flew back to the plane site, dragging the pieces up with ease.
Batman sat on the sand, likely exhausted from his fight, and watched him carry the pieces of the aircraft up.
“Here. All done. I gotta get going,” because Danny has school and this just lost him two hours. “Will you be alright?”
Batman nodded once, sharply.
“Good.” Danny went invisible, watching Batman sat up straighter, glancing around in a suddenly visible awareness. Oh, well. Tucker’s gonna freak out.
——
Three years later, Danny’s moved to Gotham for university.
And after midterm season, Danny went for a ghostly walk, but this time, in the waters surrounding Gotham.
When he surfaced, Batman was crouching on a lamp post, waiting for him.
“Oh, it’s you,” Danny said. “Hello. Did you know that people are polluting these waters with bodies too?”
“Yes,” Batman said, graveled voice resounding on the shipping containers around them.
“You should do something about that. Do you like places that are polluted?”
Batman sighed. “What are you?”
Danny hears a small, tinny voice by Batman’s ear, coming from a comm.
“Oh my god, B, you can’t just ask someone what they are!”
Mind flashing back to the night Danny drug a waterlogged Batman out of the ocean, Danny cracked a smile.
“Phantom,” he said, decisively. And, because this isn’t Amity anymore, “the Beach Clean Up crew from the flip side.”
——
Bruce, waking up on the sand: wtf
Bruce, seeing a child next to him who probably saved him: wtf (in “adoption”)
Bruce, seeing Danny’s skin glitter like stars, hair aflame, and pointy ears: wtf (in “I can adopt fae folk, right?”)
Bruce, seeing that Danny doesn’t leave any footprints: wtffff (detective mind goes brrrr)
——
Bruce, after Danny leaves: *donates 20 mil towards beach clean up efforts and anti-pollution causes*
——
Bruce’s Goggle Search History, documented by Oracle:
Sea spirits
Sea vampires
How to parent supernatural kids
How to thank your sea child
Are shells a good gift?
Ocean conservation efforts
Sea spirits that glitters under moonlight
Sea spirits that cleans up beaches
Wayne corporation waste disposal
Companies that dump trash into the sea
*outgoing call to Lucius Fox*
What is “mean girls”
——
Bruce, learning “current pop culture” from his kids:
Bruce, remembering the kid who saved him and realizing he’s probably as old as his own kids are: *adoption tendencies intensifies*
#batman#danny phantom#dc x dp#Danny picks Batman up like a waterlogged shoe#like this isn’t supposed to be in the sea#I live near a beach#please do not litter on a beach#I saw someone leave one of those plastic mesh bags for oranges and a seagul got stuck in it#beaches are precious#fight me#bamf danny phantom#bruce wayne#Bruce Wayne: I’ve seen a sea spirit#Danny Fenton: Batman is littering on the beach with his plane#dc x dp crossover#oracle#oh my god Batman you can’t just ask someone what they are#sea cryptic! danny AU
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“Yes. I must stop the war on food and bring peace back to the land... That is my mission!”
#When muses try to write(Dash commentary)#Muse: Haruhi#Shenanigans(Crack)#Meet the protagonist of the new naruto spin off series#Bootleg Food Wars
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CROSS
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*not proofread at all not even a little*
simon had finally, finally left you the fuck alone.
he’d been staying the night at your apartment for days on end, not that you minded. not really, at least.
you only started getting frustrated when you started getting… frustrated.
he’d left to go do some grocery shopping because you had “no fucking food in your house.” he needed to eat. sue him.
you played it casual, shrugging and throwing a sarcastic apology at him as he left. as soon as the door slammed shut, you were running to your bedroom and flinging open your nightstand drawer.
you grabbed your pink vibrator, a nice g-spot one.
this had to be quick. you’d never live it down if simon came home to see you in the midst of that. you got right to business, holding the power button until the familiar buzz overtook you.
you didn’t hear simon reentering. cheeky bastard only caused a ruckus when he was leaving.
“forgot it’s sunday love, shops are closed by now,” simon chuckled to himself. you didn’t respond, and you were nowhere to be seen. ah, your door was closed. you probably just wanted a nap.
simon approached, and his heart dropped when he heard cries of pain? he was immediately reaching for the door handle, but then the pain morphed into a sound he’d never heard you make. it was whinier than a cry of pain. it gave him pause.
“holy fuck! yes, yes, yes, yes!”
oh.
simon was totally not supposed to hear you climaxing.
he heard rustling behind the door and the squeak of your mattress as you got up. he’d memorized every creak the floor made and you were heading straight for him.
he took a few steps back as to hopefully look casual.
you opened your door with your eyes squeezed shut, arms reaching into the air as you stretched, shaking off the last bits of stress that washed away with your orgasm.
when you opened your eyes you were met with a rather stiff looking simon. why was he feeling so embarrassed? he’d gone to war for chrissakes and can’t handle just hearing the female orgasm?
luckily, you were completely oblivious.
“shops are closed. it’s sunday.” he repeated, more meekly this time.
“oh, okay. i’m sure there’s something in there. i’ll whip somethin’ up for you after i shower.”
you shoved past him and into the bathroom. the squeak of the shower head was mere background noise to all the thoughts racing through simon’s brain.
he stood paralyzed for at least two minutes.
the sliver of mussed sheets he could see through your cracked door was all too tempting.
he sat on your warm bed, and he swore he could smell you. he looked over at your nightstand. no. he shouldn’t. he can’t. that’d be wrong. so, so wrong.
andddd he’s reaching for the drawer.
he sees the toy, can see the slick on it from where you’d hastily shoved it back in just in case simon came home before you could clean it.
it was still warm. he looked at it, imagined the almost painful moans tearing from your throat. and he laughed. he laughed! the absolute gall of this man.
he’s sorry, it was just so small compared to him. he’d hate to imagine the struggle you’d go through taking him. he actually doesn’t hate it. he really loves it. loves it so much actually, all the blood in his entire giant body rushes right to his cock.
he leaves. immediately. he runs, literally runs, back to his apartment to rub one out. he returns to your apartment about an hour later with takeout in hand.
“didn’t want you to have to cook anything, love,” he lied. and you were none the wiser
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WorldBuilding Ask Game
Here is a little ask game for WorldBuilding in your WIP to pad out one country or all of them! Use it for yourself or ask a friend and spread some love. Focus on a particular section and have fun!
Geography
What does your world look like? What's the biome? Are there different ones?
Are there any oceans? If so, are they accessible? Are they a reliable source of travel and food?
Are there any rivers in your world? Any lakes? What's the longest river? Deepest lake?
Is there a safe supply of drinking water? If not, why not?
Are there mountains in your world? What's the highest one?
What is the weather like? How does this effect life?
What animals inhabit the world? What animals are indigenous or considered exotic?
What are some natural features your world is famous for? Is your world considered beautiful?
How many countries in your world?
How are countries divided? By natural lines or by agreements?
Population
What's the population like? Is it large or sparse?
Is there any factors in population density? Do more people live in a certain area more than elsewhere? Why is that?
Are there different peoples living in your world? If so, how do they get on?
How important is nationality? Are foreigners tolerated? Or are they unwelcome?
What countries get on? What countries hate one another?
Are there any important cities? Why are they important?
What's the architecture like? Are there any outside influences?
What's a typical building material? What's considered an expensive feature to include?
What is infrastructure like? Are roads and railways in good condition?
Is there public transport? Is it reliable?
Government
What system of government does your world adhere to? Is it popular?
Where is the seat of government?
Are there different governmental agencies?
Are there political parties? If so, what are their goals?
How much control does the government have over the average person?
Can your people vote? If not, why not? If so, who has/hasn't the right to?
Are there any parties or organisations that oppose the government?
How does the government crack down on sedition?
Are people allowed to criticise the government? If so, how? If not, how do they get around it?
How are laws made? Who makes them?
Is there any odd laws in your world?
What are some punishments to crime? Are they considered fair?
What crimes are unfathomable for the people?
Who handles justice? Is justice obtainable for all?
Are there any police? What's their reputation?
What role does the military play in your world?
Who controls the army? Head of state or government as a whole?
Is it considered a good career path?
Who can join the army? Are there any restrictions?
What is your world's stance on war? Are there any neutral parties? Or particularly warlike ones?
Commerce and Trade
How is trade done?
Is currency universal or dictated by region?
How is your economy going? What effects it?
What trade is your world known for?
What are some exports? What must your world import?
Are any goods considered luxurious?
What services are available in your world? What services are niche?
What sort of work is common? Is work readily available?
Who is expected to work?
Are workers treated fairly or unfairly?
Are there any ways workers are protected? If not, what are some consequences?
Is your world more reliant on technology or on labour?
Is agriculture possible in your world? If so what can your people grow?
How big is industry? What goods can your people make?
What resources can your country exploit?
What are some barriers to trade and commerce?
Is your nation known for quality? Or Quantity?
Who does your country trade with most often? Who do they boycott?
Are there any major ports in your country?
Are there any banned goods? If so, is there a black market for their purchase?
Society
How society expect one to behave in public? Are there different expectations for different people/genders/ranks?
Is there a social order? Can one move up the ranks?
Is there any considerations made on account of rank, gender, age or position?
What is considered a social faux pas?
Are there any gestures or actions that are considered rude or socially unforgivable?
What would utterly shock somebody to see somebody do?
What are some opinions that are normal for your world but can be considered subversive in real life?
How can one rise up the status ladder? Is there much trouble to do so?
What denotes a person's place in society?
How is life different in cities compared to life in the countryside?
Daily life
Where would someone go to buy their weekly shop? Is food easy to come by?
What would be the daily routine of the wealthy? The common man?
How is hygiene handled in your world? Where does one go to spruce up?
What would be some day to day tasks one might face?
What is the favoured means of travel?
Are there any problems in your world that could effect a daily routine? Potholes? Gigantic spiders? Acid rain?
What ammenties would an average person expect to have access to?
Where would one go if they are injured or ill? What's healthcare like?
Do people feel safe where they live? Are there any places somebody might face danger?
How do people communicate? Is it difficult? Why?
What do people do for fun? What's considered normal fun versus hedonistic?
What pastimes are common? What kind aren't?
Is education valued?
Is there access to education? If so, for who?
Are the population educated? If so to what extent?
Family Life
What is the typical family set up?
Is extended family important?
Who can be considered family? Who can't be?
Is marriage considered a duty? Or is it more of a personal choice?
Is divorce possible?
Can people adopt children?
What happens to orphaned children?
Are children important? If not, why not? If so, why?
What are some typical toys children play with?
What are some games children play with one another?
How is in charge of household chores?
Is there a hierarchy in families?
Are children expected to take on certain roles?
What is the living situation like between the different ranks? Are the roles different?
What's considered the proper way to raise a child?
Culture and Languages
Are there multiple cultures in your world? How do they differ? Do they mesh well together?
How are cultures similar? How are they different?
Are there any traditions in your world? How important is tradition?
What are some rituals your culture undertakes?
Are there any special days? Events?
What are some traditional values in your world? Does it effect daily life?
Are there traditional clothes for your world? Are they something somebody wears on a daily basis or just on occasion?
Are there any rules around what people can wear?
What would be considered formal dress? Casual dress?
What would happen if somebody wore the wrong clothes to an event?
What languages are spoken in your world? If so, how do they sound?
Are there any dialects? If so, how do they sound?
Are most people monolingual? Or bilingual? Or multilingual?
Are there any languages that are closely related?
What is considered a universal language?
Religion
Is religion a thing in your world?
Is religion a staple of life or just a small part?
Does religion affect politics, personal lives and affiliations?
Is your world sectarian? Or ruled by religion?
What are some influences religion has on daily life?
What sort of religion is it? Monotheistic? Polytheistic?
What are some myths your people believe in?
What common rituals does one undertake on a day to day basis?
How does one please a deity?
Where do your people pray? How do they?
What symbols would denote a follower of a certain belief system to a stranger?
What places or objects are considered sacred?
Are there religious orders? If so, who can join?
Is there tolerance or violence over religion? If so, between which faiths?
Food and Drink
What are some traditional dishes in your world?
What would be a basic diet for the common man?
What's considered a delicacy?
Is there a societal difference in diet? What are the factors that effect diet between classes?
Is there any influence from other cuisines? If not, why not? If so, to what extent?
What would a typical breakfast contain?
What would lunch be?
What would be a typical dinner?
What meals are served during the day?
What's considered a comfort food or drink?
Are there any restrictions on who can eat what or when?
Are there any banned foods?
What stance does your world take on alcohol? Is it legal? Can anybody consume it?
Are there any dining customs? Are traditions?
Is there a difference in formal meals or casual meals? If so, what's involved?
Are there any gestures or actions unacceptable at the dinner table?
How are guests treated at meals? If they are given deference, how so?
Are there certain rules about how one can prepare food?
Are there any restrictions on eating with certain people?
How is food generally prepared by?
History
Who are some notable figures from history?
Who founded the country?
Is history looked back on with fondness? Or do your people rather forget?
Are there any heroes in history? Any villains?
What are some highpoints in the history of your land?
What are some points of history nobody likes to speak about?
Does history effect your land, people, culture, language in the present? If so in what ways?
What historic monuments are still around in the present day? What has been lost?
How do people learn about history? Do they learn the truth? Or just an abridged version?
What's a historical event that is important to the story?
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FATUM NOS IUNGEBIT 4/4
König x F!Reader
Summary: You have seen him in your dreams. The seer has divined his coming. But nothing has prepared you for witnessing him in the flesh. (Historical AU where König fights for the Roman Empire, finds a cute barbarian woman and decides to keep her as his own.) Part 1 Part 2 Part 3
Word count: 10 k
Tags/warnings: 18+ ONLY. Spoils of war/enemies to lovers trope, graphic depictions of violence, historical gruesomeness, pining, odd banter, mixed feelings, romantic fluff, dubcon cuddling, eventual smut. Captor/captive dynamic. König is a brutal warrior... and a gentle giant.
A/N: Another long chapter, but it's the last one, so... Enjoy! ^^
The next night, you dream awake.
You didn’t want to sleep with your back turned against him, and König didn’t even need to scoop you into his arms. You went there by yourself, completely willingly. You were disappointed when he didn’t even try anything; he just fell asleep like a baby after the hangover that left him weak.
Your hand is on his chest, right over his heart, as you listen to his soft snore. It’s like the whole world has shrunk into this bed, like your entire life suddenly consists of him. You can’t even hear the birds, the occasional gust of wind, or the pair of sandals outside the tent going to a nightly pee. The only thing you can hear or see or feel is him.
His heart under your palm. His chest against your cheek. The slow, steady rise and fall of it, the push and pull of it like a tide. His leg, draped across your hip, enclosing you under a heavy body that clings to you like he never wants to let you go.
And…
No.
It’s too stupid.
“Love” is something bards sing about. There’s no time for it in the real world; lust brings people together, and they multiply like birds and beasts. They simply flock together for warmth, food and survival. Love is the property of dreams and songs, something that happened at the dawn of time but now only occurs in tales and plays. Surely, a mountain giant knows nothing about love… He just wants to stuff his cock inside you and alleviate the burn of his loins.
But his words still linger.
”I have fallen in love with you.”
You repeat them over and over again in your head, snuggling even closer to him, your heart flaring into a small bonfire when he squeezes you in return through sleep. The warmth spreads across your chest, it makes your toes tingle, and the tingles rise up to your head like ale, bringing tears to your eyes.
Why does he have to be like this…?
There’s a sudden crack of thunder outside, and it makes you startle and clutch him tighter. It’s soon followed by a downpour of rain, the weight of it like a blanket spreading across the land. The drops beat the tent with so much noise you fear the whole abode will collapse from the force of them.
Another crackle sends you to grip him with fear; a violent rip of lightning makes you bury your head in his neck. König mostly wakes up to your distress rather than the sounds of thunder and hail, rumbling softly to the crown of your head and drawing you closer to him. You’ve always been afraid of thunder because nothing can compete with the fury of the Sky Father. You whimper as another roar shakes the bed, the very earth beneath you, and the rain begins to beat the tent in full.
“Don’t be afraid, little one,” König mutters, unafraid and clearly about to fall back to sleep again. “Only sky father making love to his woman...”
His explanation of the horrible display of the sky god’s power wipes your mind blank for a moment. He uses the same name of the god as you, but the viewpoint is thoroughly foreign. Is this the sound of lovemaking to him?
“Safe here,” he squishes you against him until it’s difficult to breathe. Your heart is still beating in your chest as König falls asleep, the arms around you relaxing just enough to allow you to breathe again.
In the morning, you try to correct him on his strange thoughts about Sky Father. You tell him your people believe he’s fighting his enemies when it thunders, not… making love to anyone.
“Fighting or fucking,” he only shrugs. “Same noise.”
You open your mouth to explain the difference between fucking and lovemaking next, then decide it’s no use.
The weather is warm and the land is lush after the abundant rain. König takes you to a small stream and you risk to take a dip, delighted and relieved to have the opportunity for a quick wash. When you threaten to gut him when he sleeps if he takes a peek, König only laughs. Probably thinks it’s an exciting threat. Then he sits on the bank to work on a small piece of wood while you have your cold bath. He’s been carving it for a few days and has refused to show it to you, no matter how “nosy” you’ve been. It’s an unfinished piece, yes, but it still feels silly that a grown man is so secretive about a chunk of wood. You only now begin to understand that perhaps the statue of the Great Mother is not stolen. It’s not bought, and he hasn’t had it made. He carved it himself.
Shocked, you forget to keep an eye on him while you scrub and rub yourself in the stream. You never thought of him as a sculptor or even a carpenter, but apparently, some soldiers spend their leisure time in other activities than fucking and drinking and gambling.
Your hands meet the leather string of the necklace as you wash your hair, and you remember your vow. It makes your heart sink: it’s a beautiful day, the first of summer, and you have to let go of the loveliest thing König has ever given to you. You peek a glance at him: he’s looking so peaceful while carving the small figurine, with that signature smile his that always reveals itself through his eyes, warm and jovial, like he’s just a hunter or a fisherman having a break from a day of toil.
You strip yourself from the necklace and release it with a sullen breath. The spirits accept it hungrily, pulling it underwater the instant you let it go. The current carries it far away downstream, and you find your chin trembling, and not from cold. You have given your moonblood to Mother many, many times, but this gift is infinitely more valuable. Still, the most important thing is that the man you prayed for is alive and whistling happily on that bank.
And you’re not an oathbreaker… But König is.
When you rise from the water, he steals a glance. Actually, he stares at you like you’ve particularly asked him to never rip his eyes from you.
You pay the adoring beast no mind and rise from the stream with the pride of a queen, only to have it all robbed from you as you notice there are flowers placed there where you left your clothes. The crazy giant has actually plucked flowers for you.
It’s an odd thing to do because in your land, only children pick flowers. Usually, people give flowers to the gods. Or, mainly just to the Great Mother... It’s because She appreciates them.
And you also notice your old dress is not where you left it.
“Where is it?”
He extends his hands to the sides and shrugs, faking innocence so poorly that you don’t know if you want to shove or kiss him. You’re desperately trying to cover your womanhood from his searing stare – an attempt that, of course, makes your tits press together even more cutely than before. König doesn’t even know where to look when there’s so much of your sweetness on display.
This man is so stupid and childish and simply unbelievable; hiding your dress the instant you are vulnerable and in your thoughts. You look around you, then up, and notice that he’s thrown the dress over a pine branch far above your reach. Of course.
“You’re a bully,” you turn your accusing gaze to him, hands now slowly curling into fists by your side. You’re not even angry: you’re just feeling... hot, and frustrated, and embarrassed, having to stand here in bright daylight, dripping wet and about to have another tantrum while naked. You’re starting to suspect that he probably enjoys it when you get in a pet. Maybe it makes his cock hard: to watch you stomp your foot at him, especially if you do it without clothes.
“Bully?” His eyes smile at you like he’s the son of Sky Father himself.
“It’s someone who… who tortures people,” you blurt, a bit more dramatically than you initially meant to. He bursts into laughter and laughs for a long time, either because you just called him precisely what he is or because you called him a torturer for doing a silly prank.
“Ach… Well, you are pretty,” he says after surviving something that was veritably not meant as a joke. As if you being pretty is some kind of an excuse for doing this stupid, childish stunt...
His stare sweeps over you like you’re merely property, his eyes darting between your pouty face and the glistening sex between your legs now that you’ve blessedly moved your hands out of the way. Then he notices that something’s missing, that there is no necklace resting above your breasts anymore. He takes a step and raises a hand, and for the first time ever, you wouldn’t even dream of shying away from his touch. He brushes your bare neck with a silent question and brief hurt in his eyes.
Gods, he can’t think you got rid of it because you despised it, can he...?
“The river took it,” you explain quickly and with genuine regret. It’s a lie, but you can’t tell him the real reason it’s gone. You can’t confess that you had to sacrifice it for his safe return.
“I really liked it,” you whisper while looking him straight in the eyes, stomach heavy with both lies and the horrible, sweet truth. König recuperates surprisingly fast and nods slowly, the caress rising to your cheek to console you.
“Don’t worry. I can make you a new one,” he promises stoutly, and you bite your lip to prevent yourself from bursting into tears right there in front of him. “With wolf claws, if you like?”
“I don’t know… Sounds dangerous.”
“Hah. I kill my first wolf when I was fifteen.”
Your heart is bursting inside your chest – the songs of the bards never tell about someone being so goofy that you want to hug them until they stop speaking silly things.
“I’m sure you did,” your lips quiver with a whisper of a smile. König takes in every crumb of your affection like it’s a blessing from the Mother below: his shoulders draw back everytime he senses you are appreciative of him or admire his strength. He’s even more proud when he presents the small carving he’s been working on.
You’re now absolutely, vehemently sure that he has made the statue of the Great Mother himself. Because what you’re looking at is very similar to that statue, only far more detailed. The breasts and hips on this figurine are more proportional, and you could almost swear that the statue he just gave you is trying to depict you. It has your hair and your face, or then he has tried to capture the slightly pouting face of some other ungrateful woman. But you can’t shake the thought that you may very well be looking into your own eyes.
“For you,” he says above you, and you swallow tears for gods know how many times today. He even winks at you, incredibly playful, like this statue is now a cute little secret only you two know about.
“It’s–I didn’t know you… Uh. Thank you,” you stutter like a fool. You can’t ask if it’s you – you can’t ask a simple question because to hear his unabashed, proud answer would mean that you won’t be able to hold yourself back from kissing him.
You are starting to feel like… an idol of worship, almost.
He lavishes you with gifts and flowers, he feeds you grapes and wine, he brings you his bloodied loot and asks you to bless his sword. He honours your purity and respects your wishes not to be touched and pilfered.
What else are you if not a goddess?
Even the Mother in his satchel doesn’t get such fevered attention. He even carved a new statue for you. Of you.
Your senses become eagle-sharp as you realize just how much your suspicions are proving true. You think about the way he is always at your tits, as if calling forth good luck and abundance when he squeezes them every day and night. It’s almost like a ritual. Or how he tries to dress you in fine clothes, not just to show you around, but to make you feel appreciated. The way he protects and shelters you and lets you – no, demands you to – ride his horse while he exhausts himself on the road. How the selecting of the necklace now seems like a test, to prove whether you are a true goddess who favors a gift of bone and blood and amber over the pathetic shiny trinkets of men.
And the way he hasn’t touched other women all this time; no, because he doesn’t keep other goddesses...
Just you.
Only you.
…
He knows your tongue so well that you don’t practically need the translator anymore. König sends him away after you whisper in his ear that you don’t like him.
It’s another lie because what you really don’t like is how bothered he looks when forced into the company of you two. You don’t like the deep sighs and the weary looks he gives both you and your supposed lover who always insists that you sit on his lap even if there are other people in the tent. You don’t want to make the poor man uncomfortable, so you come up with a reason for König to send him away. It's quite apparent that you could ask for the moon and stars, and he’d figure out a way to give them to you.
When you ask him why, for the love of all the gods, does he even want to keep a Roman slave, he says it amuses him. You always thought it was an odd thing to do because you’ve never seen König spend time with his soldiers. He never gambles with them, never eats with them, never hunts with them. By separating himself from them he keeps up an illusion of himself as a walking, fighting myth who has forced half the world to its knees, and whose quirks are to keep a Roman slave and, now, a foreign fairy in his tent.
You start to understand that it's because he doesn’t feel like he belongs.
He doesn’t even want to belong. He doesn't make an effort to be a Roman even if, legally, you suppose he’s a citizen or at least a free man. You wonder if it’s his only weakness: being so different from everybody else.
You walk in and out of camp like a free woman with him. To the forest, to the stream, and one day, to the ocean, not too far from where you used to gather clams. If you walked the shoreline long enough, you would end up near your old village.
You spend your entire day there, collecting pink and white shells, giggling as König takes a dip in the shivering sea. He even throws the hood away before walking into the foaming waves. You have to hold your breath as he comes out because his face is the complete opposite of what you thought you would see. He has stern features and some prominent scars above his lip and crossing the bridge of his nose; there’s one above the left eye, and his nose has been broken at least two times. He looks mean and dangerous and suffering, it’s true, but you’re not scared at all. In fact, your embarrassingly wet while he furrows his brows and looks down at his feet, otherwise proud and happy in his skin but now suddenly concerned that you might not like what you see.
“Ugly?” He asks bluntly, with such distanced but sharp pain that your breath leaves you entirely. The vision of him might have frightened you on the first night, it’s true, but now, you only think he’s handsome. In a crude way, perhaps... But still handsome.
“No,” you shake your head slowly, never taking your eyes off him. König takes in air as if he has been granted a pardon from a horrible crime, and your heart hurts – is this the reason he has clung to that hood? To conceal some old scars and to appear more menacing to friends and enemies?
He’s stronger than ever as he walks to you, unclothed and smelling of seabreeze and salt, like he was just born from there, sired by the ocean and the wind. You ought to pray to Mother but you know it will do you no good. It’s a rotten joke to want a man who has massacred your people, the ones you used to call friend and neighbour and kin. You feel like you’re betraying the memory of your whole village by wanting to sleep with the enemy. The enemy who worships you; who looks at you like you’re a goddess when you lean back to watch the night sky come alive with indigo and stars. The enemy who teaches you their names in his own tongue...
He points you to the Head of the Serpent and the Smith’s Street, then to the Nail that holds the sky in place. You have your own names for the stars but you like it when he introduces them to you, clumsy and excited. When he shows you the long cock of the hero your people call Hunter, your cheeks heat up. You try to repeat the name in his tongue (whatever lewd, brash northern hero it may be), and it makes him happier than ever to hear you speak his words.
“König,” you ask him when he's shown you all the stars he knows. “Why do you fight…?”
He turns to look at you, perplexed, and you word the question differently.
“What do you want?”
“...What do I want?”
“Yes. In this life.”
His brows furrow as he starts to think, and your love for him only grows. Has no one ever asked him that before? Has he ever even given it a thought...?
He grabs a handful of grass and rips it from the ground, absentmindedly and deep in thought. He fiddles with it for a while, then throws it away, looking somewhere to the distant, generous sea.
“I want…children,” he says. “I want a home.”
König turns to look at you, so stern that it forces you take support from the earth beneath you.
“Home. Richtig?”
“Yes,” you whisper, “A–a home.”
But it can’t be...
It can’t.
It’s simply too crazy that the brutal, callous giant has been searching for a home all along. That the man who cuts off heads and spits out the flesh of his enemies is simply someone who has lost his home and has yearned back ever since. It’s too wild a thought that the Titan wants to raise a family and have many children.
“Don’t you have a home somewhere in Rome…?”
“It’s only a house.”
He fidgets with more grass, then turns back to you again with honest curiosity.
“Do you want children?”
“I…I don’t know.”
“Fee. You would be a good mother,” he determines right then and there, saying it so casually that you have no choice but to believe it. You want to change the topic, and quickly, now tugging at the grass yourself because you're feeling shy.
“König… What is Fee?”
“Fee is… They are small women? Live in trees. Or flowers. Or everywhere,” he gestures vaguely all around you.
“You mean fairies,” you whisper, and he shrugs. If you say so. But you know you're talking about the same thing: curious little earth spirits, lively and wild.
Your heart is burning; it’s scorching until there’s nothing left but sweet molten gold. Usually, this kind of burning has stirred in your chest when some old crone has told a good story at the fire during the turn of the year. Usually, you’ve felt this kind of thrill when you’ve heard the piper play for the forest during springtime, lulling the devious spirits back to the trees so that they wouldn’t enter lambs and goats and make them sick. You’ve only felt so alive when you’ve walked at the beach during midsummer with a desperate aching between your legs because you’ve felt so alone and yet so, so alive.
“They said you were a Titan,” you whisper, another hushed question on this night of nights. You feel like you’re having a conversation of the ages, even if it’s clumsy and plain. The night sky is blooming with stars, the sea is whispering its secrets, and there are so many unsaid things between you two, finally washing up on the shore. König is ripping out more tall grass, but only because he’s searching for the right words.
“No. No titan. Just king,” he shakes his head as if sorry that he has to disappoint you. “I was the king’s son. Before Rome came…”
He’s suffered the same fate as you then, a long, long time ago. You wonder where his people are now or if they are even alive anymore, if he is the last giant standing, the last remaining man of his folk from the mountains. If the ruins of his proud house have already turned to dirt and dust and soil, if his father’s head was left to rot on a Roman spear, his riches and wealth taken back to Rome as spoils and exchanged for wine and whores and slaves.
You can only imagine the fury and despair when a tall boy’s future and dreams crumbled into dust, to blood and tears and screams, to a tale that no one ever told.
“You’d make a great king,” you say, meaning it with all your heart. His whole face lights up with a smile; the sorrow is still present in his eyes, and you know the depth of its roots now. But the Romans never managed to kill his will to live.
“If I was king… I would choose you for my queen,” he says softly, and you thank the wind for drying an escapee tear that rolls out. Fate is shaking your ribcage like a rattle; the wind steals your tears like they’re a long-withheld gift.
He tells you his tale under the safety of the vast starry sky. It's only bits and pieces, but you understand enough from his clumsy words.
He tells you how he was brought to Rome as a slave, sold to the pits and how he rose to manhood and fame there. He fought in the great arenas you’ve heard so many gruesome tales about; he fought until he could buy his freedom. He forgot his people, his revenge, that he was a king. Not knowing what else to do, he took up arms again and became the thing he hated the most: a Roman soldier.
He tells you about a woman who can see things that have not yet happened. He asked this seer if there was anything else for him in this life but death; he would give any offering that was needed if only he could find more life instead. He had already given money and offerings to all the fertility goddesses of Rome, to no avail. He had carved a statue of Venus to attract love, but it didn’t work. So many times he had wanted to throw it in the sea. Until the woman who sees told him he would find what he was looking for in his next campaign. When he promised he’d come back to kill her if she lied, the old crone had only laughed at him.
The next day, he was discharged from his old unit and separated from those who spoke the same language as him. Everyone was afraid of an uprising that would have a giant at its head, so he was offered money and whores, even a position in politics, and lastly, a place in an elite unit with a better wage. They told him the troops were about to leave for the harsh frontier: a new campaign to bring glory to Rome. He chose the latter option immediately.
He turns to look at you. Bloodless, thin-lipped, shivering you.
“She said you would be pretty. Like a fairy.”
You hear the distant rumbling of the sea, endlessly soft. You feel the wind suddenly passing through the field, filling the cloak of a northern king who came all this way just for you. Even the stars are waiting for your next move.
“I…” you start, already breathless. “The necklace… König, I’m so sorry. I had to give it to Mother.”
“Mother?”
“To the gods. So that you wouldn’t die in battle.”
Realization dawns on his face, driving away all doubt and confusion. He’s just as pleased as the day he gave you all those gifts, if not even more so.
“You make sacrifice for me?”
“Yes,” you whisper. You can’t help it: a sob wrenches out of your chest as the first tears fall. “I’m sorry. I really liked it... I’m so sorry–”
König rises immediately, only to come to you and fall to a crouch. He draws you against his chest, your weeping face soon held right against his heart.
“Never say sorry,” he kisses your head, over and over again. “Never say sorry…”
The wind surrounds you both, soft and warm, as he rocks you back and forth. You hug him with all the strength a little fairy can muster, then raise your chin to look at him. You’re probably the most pathetic creature he has ever seen – you could swear there is no woman alive feeling as weak as you feel now. König cups your face gently, the look in his eyes that of a hunter who has finally caught up with his prey. Warm, merciful, loving.
“Fee… I can still taste you,” he says.
“I can still feel you,” you whisper back. A deer, felled. “But I don’t… I don’t like biting.”
“Biting…?”
“Teeth.”
“Ja. I noticed.”
It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. You would let him bite you anywhere and everywhere now. You would actually kill for it if he only laid his mouth on you...
You laugh with leftover tears in your eyes, and your giant smiles back at you, so endearing that you feel like it’s the first day of the rest of your life.
“Do you like bath?”
…
You ease into the warm, almost too warm water with a sigh.
The slaves have had to toil the better half of the evening to heat such a large body of water, and you can’t even begin to imagine where König has gotten the pretty little clay bathtub. It’s the largest pottery you have ever seen; far too small for a giant like him but just enough for a fairy woman like you.
You wash yourself languidly, feeling like the queen of the whole wide earth. Someone has even poured some of the scented oils into the bath, and you could cry from happiness as the sweet scents envelop you. You wonder if the wife of any chieftain has ever experienced such luxury and warmth.
König has the most pleased smile on his face when he sees how much you appreciate yet another gift of his. He pampers and spoils you so much that you threaten to turn into an overripe grape, too soft and sweet and juicy, unable to keep intact anymore. But there’s a price to be paid, apparently, as he watches you from across the tent, sitting in his chair and pulling back the tunic to reveal the the erection between his legs. It’s the biggest cock you've ever seen, and already standing tall and proud, like a soldier about to go to war.
Your lips part on their own; heat shoots between your legs so fast it knocks the breath out of you. He seems to love your attention and awe, because his cock gives a few pulls just from you staring at it. Pearl-white seed leaks out of the tip as he grabs it inside a strong fist and gives himself a few unhurried strokes.
“König…?”
You’re breathless, but he’s not: he’s breathing heavily in that chair, powerful thighs spread wide, stroking the thick weapon between his legs while you feel like fainting in your bath.
“When will torture end?”
He's dark, dark and done with patience, and you don't know how to answer such a question. You don't even know where to look.
“Hm? You like to torture men?”
“No,” you whisper, cheeks hot and cunt ridiculously wet.
“Yes you do. A little bully, hmm?”
“König–”
“I’ll show what happens to bullies.”
He lets himself go and rises from the chair. Your mind is of no use to you now: all you can do is stare at that thing between his legs, pointing towards you like a road sign.
He walks to you, cock and gaze equally heavy, and gets rid of his tunic. Then he gestures for you to rise from the tub. You’ve spent enough time there in his opinion, and the water is indeed turning unpleasantly cool – but if you go to him now, you won’t be able to fight him. Not when you’re in such a pleased, lax, purring state. Perhaps that was the whole idea...
You rise slowly, then step out carefully, taking support from the edge of the tub and from his shoulder – and still almost collapse all over him as you try to remain on your feet. He holds you upwards while you try to avoid the murder weapon between his legs, but your giant is not as shameful as you: he grabs your butt and guides you flush against him. You meet his chest with a gasp, the length of him now trapped between you two.
“Wait, I’m—I’m still wet,” you try to peep, but it’s no use. He sweeps you off your feet, no doubt with the intention of carrying you to the bed.
“I will lick you clean,” he looks at you like you’re already trapped, caught, and bled: such a weak little creature in his arms, trying to beg for mercy with its last dying breath. You cling to him as such, that’s for sure.
“Just... No biting. Please?” You whisper as he lays you on the bed.
“No biting,” he gives his valiant promise, accompanied with a confident flash of a smile.
Gods…
If he’d gotten rid of that stupid hood earlier, your legs would’ve been pudding. They would’ve been as far apart as the two villages east and west of here. That smile would have allowed him to infiltrate everything in between. Perhaps it’s a good thing he is not that clever…
“Oh gods–” you gasp as he shifts down and lowers himself for worship. His breath hits you first, and the next thing you feel are his lips – still smiling – then the gods-forsaken beast gives you a kiss.
“Oh–”
There is a sudden silence following your moans, then you hear soldiers bursting into laughter outside your tent. They’re warming themselves by the campfire, no doubt, sharing stories about war and women, and now they’ve heard the first mewls of surrender from their hero’s tent, after weeks of quarrelling.
Your cheeks heat up as one of the soldiers utters a hurried sentence and mentions König’s name, after which the merry crew booms to laughter again.
Gods take the Romans and their stupid, lewd jokes...
You try to concentrate on the warmly lit burgundy ceiling as König carries on without paying any attention to what’s happening outside. They could march into the tent and try their best to rip him off your cunt, but you doubt if they would get him to move an inch. He's simply that drunk on your taste.
You wonder if his chin is already covered in your juices because his kisses are open-mouthed and hungry – he even tries to push his tongue inside you. The man has absolutely no shame when he's buried down there, groaning with approval as you roll your hips. You're rutting his face as shyly as you possibly can, and it makes him purr and rumble with bliss. The noise he makes is enough to make you sing too, so filthy that it earns you a whistle from outside.
Shit... They probably think he's fucking and hurting you with his cock – a scary prospect, yes, but you'll have to cross that bridge when you get there – and they couldn't be more wrong. If they only knew what their champion is doing to his slave, lapping and sucking his disobedient woman like a starved dog...
“You like mouth?”
It’s hungry, so dark, the way he asks if you like what he’s doing to you. It’s not the mad lust of a drunken man from a few nights ago; it’s sober, fierce greed with a clear purpose behind it. Your fingers find his hair and tug at it weakly, not to cheer him on, but to take support from something relatively stable.
“Yes… Yes, just–"
“Gut,” he grins into your folds, coarse stubble scraping you deliciously raw. “I like this too. After I lick you enough, I will fuck you.”
Your fingers curl around his hair, giving him another involuntary tug.
Gods, make him stop talking... Just tie his tongue or something, make him shut up.
Please…
“I will bully you all night with cock. I know you will like. Hm?”
He prattles more nonsense in your cunt, and you can’t hear the men outside anymore. You can’t even see the lamps. You’re in a womb of pleasure, which is funny because there’s a grown man between your legs, dragging his tongue over your slit until you're shaking and crying on the bed. Yes, if this is a womb, you never want to leave...
And he’s not eloquent; you don’t even know what he is trying to do to you. He probably doesn’t know it himself. He’s not trying to fish for cues on what you like: he just does what he feels like doing, which is everything. He tries every single thing. He’s just happy to be down there, flicking and circling his tongue over your nub until you can’t take it anymore.
You're dangerously close, and rise halfway to push his head away because it’s just too much; it’s too much pleasure in one go. He gives you a husky laugh and fights your weak attempts to make him stop, the damned bastard. You’re too frail to resist him, and he knows too much already, repeating the torture until your hips buck up.
“Gut... Like that...?” He asks again, so eager to please that you have to stifle a sob.
“Yes... Yes, just like that,” you sigh while trying to stay in one piece.
“Guide me, little fairy,” he demands, excited like a young, hot recruit. Apparently it's no big deal for him to have his head tugged and shoved and dragged just for a woman's pleasure. It doesn't take away an ounce of his power to be your toy for a moment. Your sharp tongue has left you completely; it is you who is humbled as you guide him back to the right spot, jerking when he licks you just the way you wished.
It’s bad enough that you make a mess on his bed and moan like a paid woman, giving everyone in this camp a taste of what it sounds like when a giant bullies his fairy to the full. But can’t he keep his stupid, lovable mouth shut...
He’s making so much noise that you can both feel and hear him. His moans are hoarse, needy and deprived; they echo somewhere in your core, somewhere inside your most sensitive, aching place, just before he finds it, the right spot, and pushes his tongue inside you.
“Wait…” you gasp, convulsing on the bed now. What the hell does he think he’s—
“Wait—I’m…”
And then you cum, right into his mouth, with an arched back and quivering thighs, with such lewd sounds shooting out of your mouth that complete silence follows outside.
Whatever those soldiers had thought to happen here tonight, they clearly didn't expect to hear that… Nor the cries that follow, so nasty and wanton that König doesn't withdraw, not before you have clenched and cried your fill. He enjoys your peak to the last tremble, but you barely get to catch your breath before he leaves you. He doesn’t even give you a chance to caress his head as thanks for what he just did to you.
His mouth leaves you empty and cold as he rises, watching you like you're his best conquest. His cock is so hard it juts out, immovable like a rock and so intimidating that you stop breathing for a moment.
And he doesn't allow your breathless, shocked state go to waste: he grabs that horse cock and sets it on your flush, soaked lips, and pushes the head inside. More than just the head inside.
“Oh gods, oh fuck–”
Your legs are completely useless, falling to the side as he eases himself into you. He looks at you curiously, tilting his head when he hears you curse for the first time in his presence. More than just amused, he goes deeper still, delighted that he made you say a naughty word with his cock.
You can feel the stretch; you can feel every ridge, every vein, all his thickness filling you with purpose. You can do nothing but flutter your eyes as he takes you, finally, as his own.
And it must be some cruel joke of both Mother Earth and Father Sky that it prolongs whatever bliss he just gave you with his mouth. Your body won't stop having its pleasure; it welcomes him with a string of helpless whimpers. Even your cunt starts to squeeze him like it's the best thing in this world.
And he sees it. He feels it.
“Ja, little one. Time to fuck.”
He continues his journey inside, one massive palm landing on each side of your head as he leans over you.
“Einfach so… Trust me. Hmm?”
You only nod, completely silent and tame, waiting for him to give you more gifts. Mother knows this man is your downfall: your heart and soul are about to burst into flame when you look at him. You want him with your whole being; you want his love and praise so much you could cry.
“You want cock?”
“Yes,” you look up at him, eyes surely shining like stars. “Yes, yes, yes–”
“I will give you. Don’t worry.”
You sob as he withdraws, pulling the long, delicious cock almost completely out. He returns immediately when you whine from the loss. He feels so good, and so, so big… Fulfilling you entirely, every bit of you that was hollow and empty, every little space that needed loving is now his and filled with love.
“Verdammte… Götter, du bist zu eng,” he huffs and looks down as if to check if it’s true that he’s finally inside you. It could never fit in fully; you both probably knew that. But he’s trying his best.
“What does that mean?” You pant, impatient that he stopped moving.
“Too small... For me...” he laments. Or brags.
“Any woman is too small for you,” you mope underneath him, thinking about whether he has had women who have been able to take him fully in. Women who haven’t been “too small”.
König raises his eyes to you and smiles, revealing a row of white teeth, the scarred lip making his grin look pure and sweet even if he is a menacing man.
Stupid mountain giant… He's just proud of not being able to fit inside you. Your lower lip juts out with a pout, and the cock inside you responds immediately with a pulse. You can feel it — he's fucking excited about you getting angry at him again.
There is a flash of mischief in his eyes – darned bastard – just before he swoops down to attack your neck. Your tits get crushed under a solid chest as he nuzzles close to your ear and gives you lots of love and little bites. He starts to fuck you slowly, and there's nowhere you can escape now, nowhere you can flee his mouth or teeth or cock.
“König, you promised–”
“Aber… You are more tight this way?”
The breathless laugh that follows leaves you blinking. Of course he can feel the way you tighten around him every time he gives you a little bite.
“Gods, I hate you…” you whisper on his shoulder, thinking about biting him there in return. König laughs in your neck again – your threats of hate have long past lost their intimidating nature and are more like love confessions to him now. And perhaps that’s what they are.
He makes love to you hard and good, and it’s embarrassing, how you're about to cum again around his cock. You were supposed to have your revenge by showing him you have teeth too, but find yourself biting your lip instead, trying to tone down at least some of the filthy sounds that try to escape you.
He's not too rough, at least not yet, happy with listening to the poorly stifled whimpers that follow his every thrust. You thought he'd rail you like an animal, but he seems to settle for making love to you while biting and groping you all over. He savours every thrust like he savoured those grapes you fed him: slowly and intently, with passion instead of greed.
You're squeezing him with everything you have as he rocks you back to the edge. His grunting only make it all worse: he doesn't even try to be quiet and decent, and it's driving you to madness. Why does he have to be so noisy? Why does he have to fuck you so that everyone can hear just how good you feel?
Every soldier in this camp can hear both your moans, his hoarse ones and your weak ones, merging together until you do sound like animals in heat... You’re so wet that some of the men must hear the music of that, too. You never knew your cunt would be so hungry and needy, least of all for a man like him. You grip him as the waves approach, rich moans turning into pathetic little cries as his cock works you open.
“Again…?” He smiles a surprised laugh on your neck. The waves hit you before you can tell him to shut up.
The noise you make is even more obscene this time, and you barely catch a glimpse of his drowsy, victorious stare before your head falls back. You squeeze your eyes closed, trying to take in the most powerful orgasm and the most powerful cock of your life without having to see that stupid, happy face of your lovesick giant.
“Nein,” he grabs your jaw inside a huge but gentle hand. “Eyes open.”
He won't even let you cum in peace, but you do as you’re told, finding him watching you like a stormcloud or a god. He watches your every tremble, every whimper, every sigh. He sees the full-blown love in your eyes, and you wonder… Is this what the bards sing about in their stupid songs?
…Weakness?
Because your heart hurts and your eyes sting, your thighs tremble and your cunt is far too wet and open for him to plough. If this is love, it hurts; it burns far too sweet. It leaves you utterly weak.
“Little one is needy,” he comments softly on your second downfall.
“You’re the one who’s needy–”
Your already weak argument ends in a gasp as he reminds you who you belong to with another good, deep thrust.
“I will put a child in you,” he rumbles, a threat or a promise. “If we do this every night… You will have my child.”
“Then let’s do this every night,” you whisper beneath him, your own purr of a threat. As if you didn’t know how babies were made… To your silent joy, König stops to catch his breath or your words; you’re not entirely sure which. You decide to up the stakes, just to make him fall with you.
“And every morning too?”
“Ach, du kleine–” he crumbles, voice turning to dust from your innocent suggestion.
If you thought he was a little too in love with you before, the look on his face now is worth all the gold in the world. You could swear that your kind question is the sole reason for this man cumming on the spot. Perhaps your body is to blame for it too; he couldn't keep his paws off when you were being sulky and difficult, so how could he take it when you're pleased and loving and all puffed up?
You see the brief flash of vulnerability, the mortal fragility in his eyes just before he shoots his load with a painful-sounding groan. The sound that leaves him is a mixture of desperation and release – even giants can cry, you think as you watch how beautifully he comes undone. He makes sure his seed is sent deep inside you by burying his cock into you, as far as it can go; the intention behind it is so clear that you wouldn't be surprised if you got heavy with a child after this first time.
He falls on top of you after, drained and spent and body heaving from exertion. There’s no other sound in the night but the satisfied panting of you two: the soldiers outside are rendered silent by the sounds of true lovemaking, even the wind spirits are hushed tonight.
You’re completely filled, and with his cock still inside you, he’s preventing any precious seed from escaping. You’re only glad he’s too weak to move because you’d happily keep him here forever, inside and on top of you like this.
“You are pleased…?” He turns his head a little, sounding worried enough to make you hug him tight.
“Yes. Very much,” you whisper, and he moves to rise and look you in the eyes.
“Gut.”
It’s cute to be nose to nose like this with him, eyes locked together, lips only a hair’s breadth apart. He looks so intoxicated and happy without even being drunk that you break into a small laugh, eyes brimming with happy tears, the washing away of relief. He smiles too, then laughs with you.
The soldiers outside might think it an odd business: to make a woman moan and laugh with a cock. You were brought to this tent screaming, and he made you scream again, just not the way they thought.
The sound of your mutual laughter rises in the tent, up towards the heavens, surely making even the Sky Father smile above.
…
You do it every night, and every morning, too.
Sometimes, you do it during the day after bathing in the stream. After washing and playing in the water, you rush to the shore together, but König is always faster than you. He throws your dress away or holds it up above his head, far from your reach, smiling like the most innocent man in the world. He's far from innocent, though: his cock hangs heavy between his legs, swelling just from seeing you angry and flustered and wet.
“Bully,” you accuse, utterly in love and out of breath, earning you another attack of a love-hungry giant. You forget the dress when he kneels on the grass, kisses your stomach and your thighs, keeps you in place for his mouth with two strong arms and a love that turns your whole body weak.
“Pretty,” is the only thing he breathes as an answer before he scoops up your leg and spreads you open for his mouth.
Your head rolls back with a choked sigh, the drops on your skin dry on their own. Somehow, you end up on the grass with his mouth glued on you. The sun plays in your hair; it dances on your face as he gives you more and more until you know, you just know that if you do this every night and morning and day, you will definitely have his child.
He tells you his real name, his true name, the one his mother gave him. You moan it in his ear just before you cum around his length. Sometimes, it makes him purr; other times, it makes him grunt. Once, you hear a soft, pitched whine.
He’s more rough when you’re on your knees. You’re shy and wet when he commands you to prop yourself on your elbows and show him your cunt. He licks you from front to back, feasts on you until your breaths turn to shivers. You squeeze your eyes shut from how obscene the scene must look; you hope to all the gods the Roman slave won’t come to ask his travel guides back when König finally rises and takes a wide stance behind you. He sets himself on your opening and pushes in, fat and greedy.
You can only whimper as he starts the thrusts, starved and slow, picking up the pace and holding you in place by the hips when you approach the brink of another collapse. You fear you will lose your mind if he keeps doing this to you every day. The only thing you hear are the breathless, warm grunts of encouragement behind you.
“You can take it. You can take it. Already took it, little one…”
He won’t stop, not even as you cry out loud, the cock hitting you in places that make your legs nearly give in. He won’t stop even as tears brim, not even as you start to sound like a tortured animal; no, he just tightens his grip on your waist and pounds you harder. You cum with a moan that would make Roman whores blush, but your lover doesn’t mind at all. He cums right after you, with a roar that could raise the reverend dead from their mounds.
Afterwards, he’s gentle again. He gathers you in his arms like his most valuable possession, caressing and breathing you in, giving you a soft kiss behind your ear.
“You’re... mean,” you try to remember how to breathe as he gives you more of those hungry kisses. You already know he likes it when you’re so spent you don’t have the strength to squirm or fight him.
“Ja. And you become more nice when I bully you,” he whispers in your ear. “More calm… Less difficult.”
“Well, you don’t,” you turn inside his hold, eyes shining brighter than the stars or even the sun. “Crazy man…”
“You have robbed me of my sword and shield, it’s true. Robbed my heart too. Little thief.”
“Thief? You’re the one who stole me…!”
“And I’ll never let you go.”
You wriggle a hand to cup his face, meeting his eyes with such helplessness that it’s not even funny anymore. If he’s joking or playing with you now, you’ll kill him with his own swords.
“You promise?”
“I make a vow,” he declares ceremoniously, with a hand on his heart. But you doubt that he’s playing any games; you wonder if this man is even capable of lying or deception. You hug him so tight that he has to let out a grunt – surprised and pleased – after which you have to bury your face in his neck so that he won't see your tears.
“I am in love with you, Fee,” he whispers in your ear while caressing your hair, ever poetic for such a simple man. “Tell me. Do you like me too…?”
“Yes,” you breathe a half-cry, half-laugh in his neck. “Yes, you crazy giant. I like you too.”
You rise just enough to kiss him. It’s hungry and delivers everything you can’t say. You can’t tell him you love him; you simply can’t. You’re not ready for the painful happiness it would bring forth. He stabs you full of it anyway.
“I will never let you go. Never. Not when I finally found you, little one...”
…
Summer comes.
The camp moves lazily to its next destination, but when the next battle comes, König refuses to fight.
His soldiers blame you, of course. You have bewitched him with your softness, making him soft and spineless as well. It is unheard of that a warrior like him would fall like this: out of some woman’s underhanded spell rather than dying gloriously in the field by a barbarian blade or two. Even poison is considered better than this.
No one understands that there is no hex. The war is still being fought, this time inside his soul. It’s not just you preventing him from taking up arms; it’s something else, something old and deep-rooted you've managed to stir in him. Something ferocious, something that has been asleep for a long time, something that is far from all things soft.
You two sneak out from the camp after the bulk of the army has marched away. He takes you to the seaside again, to a wild, roaring shore. You laugh and bask in the sun, swim in the sea and eat the first berries of the season. You lie on the tall grass, naked as the day you were born: it's simply too hot to wear anything except your glowing skin. König starts to ask you peculiar questions while tracing the soft line of your spine.
He asks what kind of house you would like to live in, and tries to find out in a roundabout way if you would like to live in a forest or in the hills. You treasure the sound of waves, and König likes the sound of the wind in trees, but you both love steep hills and the open view of plains. You get the idea that he may want to retire somewhere in the near future.
He tells you he is not a good fisherman but can hunt everything that moves. He is good with a spear, with traps and the bow, and he’s tired of hunting humans who only wish to live in peace. The arena he could understand, but the war on foreign lands, not. And if you begin to swell with his offspring, the Roman encampment at war is the last place for a sweet little fairy like you. He asks what kind of village you used to live in and is somewhat sad to hear all the things you tell him. He says it sounds like home, the one he was taken from many years ago.
When you return to the camp, it’s like you two are a different species altogether, two wild animals who sneak from the gates back to the flock, back to being human, back to being caged and tamed and stunted. The grumpy, tired soldiers witness your wildness and happiness with sullen distaste. To them, your appetite for freedom is the filthiest, most treacherous thing in the world.
The commander of the troops summons König at his feet and threatens to flog him if he ever skips a battle again. He’s told that only barbarians ignore orders like this: at the turn of a whim or a woman or wind. If he doesn’t remember who he is, not the reckless murderer of his youth but a man reborn, a noble Roman citizen, he will risk descending into apathy and greed again. Was this the case, Rome will guide him back to fold again by the crack of a whip if it has to.
That night, you tell him that you love him. Wherever he goes, you will go. That night, when you’re lying in his arms, sweaty and spent and thoroughly happy, he speaks words so wild it shakes the whole tent with a wind.
“If I kill the soldiers, will you come with me?”
It’s only a mutter, a murmured, careful whisper, but it makes you rise to sit and place a hand on his chest for extra support.
“Kill the soldiers? You mean… Kill the Romans?”
“Ja. All of them.”
The shock quickly makes way to disbelief. Can such a thing even be done? He’s a giant, but he’s still just one man. But König doesn’t look restless at all; he looks like a man who has finally made a decision he should have made years ago. He looks like someone who is at peace with their soul.
"Where would we go?" You whisper weakly, unsure if he has given this enough thought or thought at all. It’s now the wanderer in him who speaks, the adventurer who fears nothing because he has already lost everything – and found the most precious, essential thing.
You. Himself…
Free will.
“Wherever you want.”
“What if you get killed…?”
“You take treasure and horse and go.”
…
Your mother always said that it's useless to sway a man if he has chosen to stand up and fight. She told you that the best you could do is go grab a sword and join him.
That is why you give him your blessing – your full, ardent blessing.
It makes him stronger than ever: were he to go out there with nothing but his skin, he would be victorious. The oak that hears your magnificent spell shivers from fear above you as you call down earth, fire and wind.
You call the spirits from below to guide his feet and make them swift and silent as a feather in the wind. You call down the lightning from the sky to accompany his sword as he deals his blows. You cloak him with the fury of the dead; they will smite down his enemies when they catch even a glimpse of him. You shroud him with the Mother's blessing so that he will be untouchable, unstoppable, invincible as he deals death among the Romans.
It’s a terrible spell; even the moon withdraws into a cloud when She hears it. Not even the lady of silver twilight dares to reveal this giant to the Romans as he’s about to descend upon them.
He rises with the power of fifteen men and gives you a kiss that nearly topples you. He smiles before he leaves you, and never looks back as he goes to do the deed of a legend.
You watch the massacre up from a hill. A safe distance from the camp, but close enough to see how König destroys a whole cohort by himself. The plant you mixed into the “reconciliation wine” he gave his soldiers and the commander before nightfall makes it laughably easy because most of the men are still half asleep when they burn inside their tents. The oil spilt on the dry dirt and linen roars aflame now with the help of the wind and earth spirits as König torches the camp. The occasional few soldiers that rise to meet him with fear in their stare are already broken by your spell before his swords impale them.
The old translator is the only Roman who wasn’t given a cup of foxglove wine because he was König’s slave, and now he can see that he is blessed among men. The God of War faces him with swords pointing to the ground, fury planting his feet wide, and it takes the old Roman a while to understand that he’s the only man who gets to walk out of this camp unharmed. As grumpy and unsociable as he is, you wish him good fortune on his future journeys, even utter a quick protection spell to shroud him as he leaves towards his destiny on enemy land.
The slave women, sober, confused, and free, run amock to gather weapons, cloaks, food, and valuables before escaping the camp. König doesn’t even notice them, and they pay little mind to the enraged god ramming through puny mortals because they’re too busy getting out of the burning castra.
How fitting it is that the only people escaping the hellfire are a few beaten women and an old, weak-calved Roman – every able-bodied soldier burns inside his tent or meets their end at your lover’s blade.
The wind spirits help spread the fire so eagerly that you begin to fear that König won’t make it out in time. You whisper prayers into your fist, curled around the Mother who has already given you so much. She has also taken away everything; like seasons, she has reaped and sown, but if she reaps your lover now, you will walk into the sea.
Mother is merciful and returns him to you, unharmed and glorious. He's the same ferocious beast you saw half a moon ago, and also the same ferocious man who was inside you this very morning. You see a god of war, and he sees the mother of life and death, perhaps, because his first words to you are a ripe offering.
“I avenged them all,” he says when he reaches you, thrumming with victory and smelling of smoke and ruin and blood.
He has been born again; he has walked to a new dawn through fire and death and returns to your arms like you two have known each other since the beginning of time. You’re not sure if he talks about his fallen ones or your fallen ones, or everyone who has fallen to these particular Roman spears. You’re not sure if this is his downfall because what you’re looking at is only the downfall of the Roman campaign on your lands. You and König are very much wild and spirited and free. If this is a downfall, it feels like being lifted towards the sky. You see in his eyes that he feels the same as you.
The whole world is new as you leave towards a new life. Sun rises, and takes years off your backs. You wash him in the sea and kiss the salt away from his lips, and it feels only right that he takes you on the grass after slaughtering your enemies.
You bury the statues and the bronze sword in your old village, long abandoned and thoroughly looted. The old woman is in her hut, dead as a stone, and she finally looks happy, with a calm little smile on her face and flowers in her hand. She looks like a young girl, almost, ready to meet the spring of her life.
"Ready for adventure, little one?" König smiles as he raises you to his horse. He takes direction from the sun while you look down at his happy, golden form – your god, your life, your love.
Your new beginning.
...
Translations:
Richtig? - Right?/Correct?
Einfach so - Just like that
Verdammte… Götter, du bist zu eng - Damn… Gods, you are tight
Aber… - But…
Ach du kleine… - Oh you little…
Scheisse - Shit/Fuck
#könig fanfiction#könig x reader#könig x you#könig x female reader#könig x fem reader#konig x reader#konig x you#historical au#Roman soldier!König#könig smut#könig fluff#könig imagine
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House Husband Danny
(Remember this post I made: Danny is a househusband. Well I decided to make it into a story) Crossposted from AO3. Here's a link
Location: Unknown, Date: Unknown
Three figures emerged from a glowing pit of green water, gasping for air as they dragged themselves out.
A man with dark skin was breathing heavily and went to shake the pale man with dark hair that was still unconscious. He paused as another hand was raised motioning for him to stop. He looked over at the women with long black hair.
“He’s tired, let him rest.” She said
“What are we going to do?” the woman merely smiled as she turned to fix the damp hair that was covering the unconscious man’s face.
“Simple… Danny will rest and heal…and we will live like the rulers we are.” She turned to look at her other partner.
“Yes… we will,” he confirmed as they both smiled while looking at their love.
Present Day
Danny hummed as he put away the newly washed dishes from dinner.
Ah, how nice it was to be in a home where the food didn’t come alive and try to declare war on him.
One less thing to worry about.
Now that dinner was eaten and leftovers were put away. He could focus on the package that came in the mail, he had been waiting for it for weeks.
Tucker and Sam had called ahead to say that they were working late.
What a shame.
Danny sat down in the living room and turned on the tv while cracking open the package.
“This is Lois Lane reporting for the Daily Planet! Breaking news as the Justice League members Superman and Wonder Woman are fighting off villains in Metropolis! They have been identified as the new villains: Upload and Nightshade. They made their first appearance known to the world a couple months ago- JIMMY LOOK OUT!”
The camera shook for a moment before stabilizing showing Superman was holding onto Lois Lane and Wonder Woman was holding onto the cameraman.
“It’s not safe here, please evacuate to a safer area.” Superman said before speeding off with Wonder Woman following close behind.
“Jimmy get a shot! That’s Nightshade!” the reporter said pointing to a large plant-like monster made of vines and thorns that was the size of a skyscraper. The cameraman zoomed in on the figure that was currently sitting on the monster’s shoulder. A woman with long black hair that appeared as if it was almost floating in an ethereal manner. She was a pale woman wearing a black skintight bodysuit with matching thigh high boots, black bandages were wrapped around her forearms while her hands lit up with a neon green energy along with her eyes. Nightshade smiled, turning to look straight into the direction of the camera before saying some words that the camera couldn’t pick up before humongous vines started filling up the camera’s screen, the sound of screaming could be heard before the feed was cut.
“That doesn’t look good,” Danny commented before turning back to the open package.
Ooh, that fabric did feel as soft as it was advertised! He better try it on to see it fit. He knew he checked the measurements before placing the order but still, mistakes always happened. He was also still a little hungry, perhaps some fruit from the fridge would be good.
It was a couple of minutes before the for the news to come back on. Danny sat down on the couch, sporting a plate of fruit with a side of whipped cream to dip it in. He plopped one into his mouth as the tv started airing the news again.
The camera lens managed to stay undamaged as the camera man and the reporter were taking cover behind the corner of a building focusing on the figure that was currently standing in front of a fallen Superman that was grimacing as the green light from the glowing rock in the figure’s gloved hand seemed to intensify. It also didn’t help that there appeared to be a set of special cuffs that were encasing the superheroes hands, forcing them together.
“And here I was thinking that defeating you couldn’t be that easy… well then again. Can’t expect a superhero to just not react to their greatest weakness. Kryptonite wasn’t really hard to track down who had a stash of these, it was even easier to take it. ” The figure was a man with dark skin with long dreadlocks and was wearing a visor that covered hi eyes from view. He wore a long coat with short sleeves letting people see the robotic gloves that went up all the way up his arms. The camera picked up a hum emanating from the robotic arms and crack of electricity.
“Why? Why are you doing this, Upload?” Superman said as he made to force himself to stand despite his bound hands.
“Hmm, wealth, fame, power, pettiness, destroying all the buildings I want without needing to pay for it, or maybe I just don’t like people who call themselves heroes,” Upload said as he moved to the side as Wonder Woman was thrown into a building.
“Truly, I thought they’d give more of a challenge,” Nightshade commented as the plant-monster then slammed a hand down onto Wonder Woman encasing the superhero in vines making it practically impossible for the woman to rip out of.
Danny hummed as he looked at the news.
He should probably help… he stuck a strawberry into his mouth.
“How do you think we should do this, Nightshade? Slowly and methodical, or fast and exciting?” Upload turned to look at Nightshade.
“Obviously, something with mo-“
RING! RING! RING!
The two supervillains looked towards each other. Upload taking out a phone from his pocket while Nightshade motioned for the plant monster to give her, her bag so she could take out her phone.
“Hello/Hello.” Thy said answering their phone in unison.
“You’re hungry?” Nightshade asked.
“We did say we were working late, you’re welcome to eat out if you want- huh? I mean, what are you wearing?” Upload said
The two paused and looked at each other.
“The thing you ordered a couple weeks ago?” Upload said, “the red one?”
“That’s made with silk?” Nightshade hands were clenching down onto her phone.
“And you’re eating,” Upload looked over at Nightshade.
“Strawberries and whipped cream,” She said.
Ding! Ding!
The two turned to their phone at having received a message. The villains looked at their phone and then to each other.
“We’ll be there in ten!” they said in unison before putting away their phones.
It happened quickly.
With a wave her hand, all of the plants started retreating back away from the superheroes while saying some words that the camera couldn ’t pick up and a portal opened right next to her.
Meanwhile Upload placed the kryptonite into a contain while hitting some buttons that were on his gloves and the cuffs that were on Superman unlocked and fell off the man ’s wrists.
Nightshade motioned for the now human-sized plant monster to walk through the portal while Upload was walking up to her.
“Wait! Where do you think you’re goin-” Wonder Woman and Superman held their ears as a loud sound echoed out a tool that Upload threw on the ground.
“Oh no! How dare you heroes foil our evil plan!” Nightshade said in a dead tone before grabbing Upload by his collar, “c’mon we gotta go!”
The two ran into the portal, disappearing out of sight, leaving nothing but the aftermath of the destruction of the fight they had with the two heroes.
“I’m sorry, what the heck just happened?!” Lois Lane said, turning to look at the camera.
Danny hummed as he turned off the tv and took his plate of food with him as he got off the couch.
He needed to get upstairs, after all, Sam and Tucker weren’t going to be working late after all.
The man sat himself into the master bedroom, it had a bed that was an Alaskan King size. Largest size of bed they could find, could easily fit a whole family of four on it. He didn’t even know beds came in that size.
Danny continued humming as he settled himself down in the middle of the bed. The sheets were made of Egyptian cotton. Ethically sourced, of course. Sam wouldn’t stand sleeping on something that was made by a company that destroyed the environment while simultaneously overworking and underpaying their employees. Tucker had come to the rescue, buying a set of sheets on his last trip from Egypt. They had to custom order it especially since their bed didn’t fit the common dimensions that mass production usually went by.
But he wasn’t complaining, the bed was really… nice.
He laid back against the pillows, wearing nothing but the little red number that came in the mail that day.
He dipped a strawberry into the whipped cream and took a bite out of it. Giving a hum as he enjoyed the taste. It was so nice not to have to worry about anything. No ghosts trying to kill him, no government agency trying to track him down to vivisect and kill him, no parents trying to shoot, vivisect, and kill him- Danny wondered if that was a normal amount of people to have to want to kill him.
Whatever, it didn’t matter anymore.
He smiled as he heard the sound of the front door being slammed open and shut followed by a furious pattering sound of feet going up the stairs. He hoped they’d taken their shoes off when they got in. He just vacuumed the house that afternoon.
The door to the bedroom opened with a bang as he saw Sam and Tucker, wearing their civilian clothing that they had clearly just thrown on with no thought of whether or not they should straighten out any of the clothes or at least to check if they put on their shirt inside out. It was a rule though, never bring work home, it always brought trouble. They had enough trouble dealing with ghosts to last a lifetime, let alone the afterlife.
“I’m hungry,” Danny said while taking a bite of a strawberry and licking off cream that caught on his lip. He could see them already looking at his mouth and trailing their eyes across the new article of clothing he was wearing.. The man curled his finger to motion for them to come closer.
“Come and feed me.” He smiled as his partners joined him in bed.
Ah, it was so nice when his partners didn’t work late nights.
#dp x dc#dp x dc au#dp x dc crossover#danny phantom x dc#dpxdc#dpxjustice league#everlasting trio#cross posted on ao3
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Handle With Care
Summary: You've had a truly awful day, luckily, your adoring boyfriend Minho is there to make it better. 2.5k words
Warnings: there's sex, but honestly it feels like someone accidentally got porn in my fluff so do with that what you will. reader is as gender neutral as physically possible. reader is also lowkey a crybaby, sorry but actually I'm not
Notes: Hello adoring public. It turns out, I can write fanfiction, and with the encouragement of Juno and Ems, I can also post it! There is a cat in this, she was inspired by a cat my family used to have and a cat my family currently has. They're both calico which I think explains everything you need to know about them.
There’s a lot you can say about the day you had today, and most of them start with sh- and end in -itty. You’re thinking on this as you dive head first onto the rough material of your couch, great for sitting, bad for face planting. You hear a scratching by your head and absentmindedly bat your cat away from the arm of the couch, mumbling something about how she has a perfectly good cat tree two feet away before resuming your completely justified sulking.
“Oh, hello. I didn’t hear you come home. How was your day?” There’s a voice above you and you can picture him in your mind's eye, leaning against the back of the couch as he stares at your limp form, probably eyeing the shoes you didn’t take off by the door. You mumble something half hearted in response and he huffs before the sound of walking hits your ears and all the breath leaves your body at once. He’s sitting on you. This motherfucker is sitting on you.
“Get off, Minho” You had to tilt your head to the side, it’s hard enough to breathe through couch fabric as is, much less when there’s a full grown man sitting on your back.
“You should answer people when they try to talk to you, jagiya.”
“You shouldn’t sit on people while they’re laying down, yeobo.” Your voice is a lot more acidic than his was and a twinge of guilt settles on you before it dissipates as he shifts and manages to place more weight on your back.
“Hmm. I guess we’re both doing things that we shouldn’t then. How tragic.” His voice is deadpan, and you still can’t see him from where your head is turned- your view is limited to the back of the couch and his arm in your periphery- but you can feel the dead stare he’s aiming at your skull. There’s a silence for a few moments while you engage in a war of attrition, neither of you willing to give up just yet, but it’s getting genuinely hard to breathe and your back is starting to hurt.
“It sucked, please get off.” He does, patting your back consolingly.
“See? Was that so hard?” He guides your head to his lap as you both sit back down, petting over your hair like he would his cats. “Tell me, what’s got my baby in such a tizzy?”
You grumble at him, rolling over to shove your face into his stomach, tired and petulant. He sighs softly, but keeps patting your head, so you know he’s mostly just doing it for show.
“That kind of day, hmm, jagi?” And you nod again. Honestly, it wasn’t much different from a normal day, it’s just that the right things managed to go very wrong and subsequently ruined your day in a way that has pressure forming behind your eyes and your voice cracking stupidly every time you try to talk.
You both sit for a while before he puts something on the TV and gently shoves your head off his lap.
“Hey-”
“Do you want the dinner I worked so hard on to go cold?” He has his hands on his hips in front of you and you laugh slightly at how funny he looks. He rolls his eyes and goes, coming back with two bowls of something before he forcefully sits you up and shoves it in your hands.
“Eat.”
“Yes, chef.”
The food is delicious, it always is when Minho cooks it, he’s got a talent for it you’ve never really seen firsthand, and you consider yourself truly blessed to be able to eat it as often as he’s able to make it for you. Still, gratefulness and taste aside, your day was shitty enough that every mouthful tastes like ash and turns to rot in your stomach, leaving you with an unsettling queasiness that shouldn’t ever be attributed to your boyfriend’s cooking. You’re shoving the contents around with a spoon before he huffs- a real one this time- and takes the bowl from you, setting it on the coffee table next to his own before he mutes the TV.
“Okay. Quite clearly something is wrong. What can I do to help you?” You think he knows, but you like that he asks anyway. Minho always asks, always lets you talk and sort out whatever’s going on before he tries to help. Even if your answer is a simple shake of the head, a simple, I don’t feel like it, become a mind reader, he always asks before he helps. Sometimes you wonder how he always knows what you need, others you just decide to not look a gift horse in the mouth.
You huff and your lip wobbles pathetically and he coos, slightly condescending.
“Crying already? I haven’t even done anything.” He’s teasing, but his hands are gentle as he pulls you into his lap, his hands are gentle as they find their way under your shirt, his mouth is gentle as it kisses down the side of your face to your neck.
“‘M sorry,” you’re not the biggest fan of crying, neither is he, but for different reasons. He’s not someone who’s brought to tears easily, you are, but there’s an inherent shame in it, you think. Something so embarrassing about getting worked up enough to start crying like a baby, and so as much and as often as you feel like crying, you don’t. This he also knows, because he knows everything.
“Aish, why are you sorry for? I didn’t tell you to apologize, did I?” He taps your cheek lightly, causing you to look up at him, he plants a kiss on your nose, then your mouth.
“Sweet thing, don’t worry about anything except for what I tell you to, okay?” And you nod and he smiles.
You’re not much for talking in times like these, everything is so sensitive and soft and talking feels like a cheese grater on this cloudlike moment so you don’t and he knows, so he doesn’t chide you for it. Usually, he would. He’d crack a hand down on your ass or grab a fistful of your hair and tell you that he asked you a question so he expects an answer, but that’s not what you need right now, so he doesn’t. He just kisses your jaw again before he puts both of his warm hands under your shirt and lets his fingers poke at your chest.
He always says his hands are small, but really, you wouldn’t be able to tell, not with the way he cups your chest in his hand and lets his thumb brush over your nipple, gentle and reverent. It’s not much, not as much as he usually gives you, but it’s enough to have your mouth dropping open with a gasp and your back arching into his hand, it’s enough to have him giggling softly at your reaction.
“Sensitive today?” He’s teasing again, as soft as he is right now, he’s still Minho, he still likes to poke fun. You huff, biting at his shoulder softly in retaliation and he lets you, pinching your nipple just this side of too much in retribution before one of his hands wanders down to your ass, groping and squishing the flesh. Your breath stutters in your chest as he pushes your hips forward onto his, friction sending sparks up your spine.
“Min-” You’re desperate and he hasn’t even done anything yet, not really. A few stray touches and you already feel yourself shattering to pieces in his grasp, you’re not afraid though, and not quite ashamed. He’ll take care of you, he always does.
He does it again, guides your hips forward until you’ve gotten the hint to keep going by yourself and you’re struck with the urge to kiss him, so you do, removing your head from the home it’s made on his shoulder and making a go at his mouth. It’s messy, your coordination shot already, and you almost smash your forehead into his nose before he catches your head with a laugh.
“Easy there. Bloody noses aren’t exactly sexy.” You disagree, he could make anything sexy, but you don’t have time to voice that thought as he pushes his mouth onto yours and lovingly shoves his tongue down your throat. The kiss is messy, they always are. However gentle he is, he can never seem to stop himself from kissing you until your face is covered in drool and spit, and if it were anyone else, you’d be mildly repulsed, but you like the way he looks at your mouth after it’s over, so you let it slide.
You pull away, chest burning and heaving and look at him before you still, eyes drawn to something by his head.
“Baby? What’s wrong?” You don’t answer, gaze still drawn away from him.
“There’s a little white girl staring at me.” He turns his head to the side and laughs as he comes face to face with your cat, her green eyes boring into him. He scratches her head affectionately and lets her headbutt him before your center of gravity is shifting drastically and you’re clinging onto him for dear life.
The bedroom door shuts before you’re very aware of it and suddenly there’s a mattress under your back and a Minho over your front and his hands are up your shirt again, this time shoving it off of you until your chest is bare. You shiver slightly from the cold and then there’s a blanket being shoved around your shoulders and you smile up at him. He knows you so well, he loves you so much and your eyes are welling with tears.
“Aigoo, my little crybaby. It’s just a blanket,” there’s a kiss on each of your cheek bones, “silly thing. Save your tears for when my cock is in you, hmm?” Your breath stutters again and your hands are tugging at his shirt until he takes it off, he laughs again when your hands immediately find his chest.
“I’m glad someone appreciates my hard work.”
“They’re nice boobs.” The sentence catches him off guard, makes him laugh hard enough that he loses his balance a little and his weight settles onto you more. It’s comforting, like a weighted blanket that can talk and walk and kiss you silly.
Then, his hands are under your bottoms, tugging them off your legs and you’re suddenly wearing nothing and he’s still in his pants, which you find disgustingly unfair. You reach down and tug on the hem off his sweats, pouting and huffing until he gets the message and tugs those off too.
“You just want to get me naked,” he starts. “I can’t believe you just want me for my body.” You nod cheekily in response and he smacks your shoulder.
“Yah! See if I’m ever nice to you again!” But he’s kissing your neck again as his hands guide your legs to cross over his hips before he’s touching you in a way that steals the breath from your lungs and makes your head tip back into the pillows.
“There we go. So pretty when you’re like this, hmm? So soft and sweet for me.” His fingers are in you now, pressing insistently against that spot that makes white splash in your vision and reflexively forces your legs shut. He grunts slightly as your thighs squeeze around his hips, pressure just this side of uncomfortable. He doesn’t say anything though, just keeps his pace steady inside you until you’re almost tipping over and he stops. You look at him with something akin to betrayal, fresh tears springing to your eyes, but before you can open your mouth to complain he’s sliding home and you don’t have enough air to say anything anyway.
He catches it though, rolls his eyes as he sees the way your attitude was about to flare up.
“What did I tell you earlier, jagiya? Don’t worry about anything unless I tell you to worry about it. I always take care of you, don’t I?” He does, he’s good to you like that. He sounds slightly out of breath already, unusual for him, but you don’t mind because it feels like you’re seconds away from God’s doorstep yourself.
His pace is slow and deep, bass knock steady even as you squirm under him. If this were a normal situation, he’d stop, hands gripping your hips unforgivingly until you stayed still, but this isn’t a normal situation so he lets you wiggle, only huffing in mild irritation before he leans down to kiss you again.
“You’re gonna knock us off the damn bed, baby.” But he doesn’t make any move to stop you, and you feel too good to really process his words anyway. You love him, you really do, and you’re struck with the overwhelming urge to tell him, to let him know, to make him know. You grip his shoulders tightly, nails digging in until he hisses and levels you with a glare, one that instantly softens when he meets your eyes.
“I love you,” it comes out of you as a sob, like it was wrenched from your vocal chords before you gave yourself permission to think it. “I love you so much.” You’re rambling now, repeating those three words over and over and Minho coos, hips faltering just slightly. He always goes weak when you tell him you love him, and you keep it in your back pocket like a weapon for the times that you’re in trouble.
“I love you, too, jagiya. ‘S that why you’re crying? Hmm? Love me so much it’s gotta spill out from your pretty eyes?” You nod in response, breath hitching from the pleasure and the tears and his hand drifts from its place on your hip to touch you again and you’re spilling liquid heat before you can really register what’s happening. You feel him inside you, too, insides suddenly molten warm but you’re floating too high for it to feel like it’s happening to you, like you’ve been temporarily ejected from your body.
When your soul settles back into your bones, Minho is laying next to you, staring at you with his wide eyes, you look over at him and smile.
“Is boba really worth it?” He looks confused at your question before you poke him on the eyelid and he laughs.
“Feel better?” You consider for a moment. Your teeth don’t feel like they’re too big for their sockets and your bones no longer feel itchy. You’re hungry, but mostly, your mind is quiet. There’s no overwhelming pressure behind your eyes and when you talk your voice cracks from sleep instead of from the force of choking back tears.
“Much. I’m hungry, though.” You give your best impression of puppy eyes at him and watch as his eyes roll to the back of his skull. You’ve been told that your pleading face looks mildly perturbing, but Minho always says you remind him of Soonie when you do it. It makes you feel slightly bad for Soonie, soon the cat isn’t going to be able to get anything off of Minho because you’ll have rendered him immune.
He comes back with your reheated bowl in one hand and your cat in the other.
“She screamed at me until I picked her up. Stood on my feet and hollered.” He winces slightly. “I should’ve put on boxers because she almost mistook my dick for a toy.”
#bee blurbs#ft.lino#lee know smut#lee know x reader#lee know x you#skz smut#skz x reader#skz x you#lee minho x reader#the last time i wrote fanfiction and posted it it was very mid langst so lets hope this is better#this is saved in my google docs as “Sorry to God and also Myself” btw
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