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Cronkri

Your name is Kankri Vantas, and the dream bubbles, you have come to realize, make absolutely close to no sense at all. It didn't take long to realize this, and you can't help but be used to peculiar situations by now. Still, you don't have any clue as to how this particular situation has taken place. You're feeling slightly triggered by the entire overwhelming oddness of what is going on, but for the sake of result of said situation, you have managed to do your breathing exercises and relax.

In your lap, looking as happy as ever, is a grub.

This grub was once your matesprit. (Maybe he still was? You don't know if he recalls his life. You wouldn't be surprised if he was just playing with you.)

The grub's name is Cronus Ampora, and currently, he's suckling on your finger, lapping at the milk with his tiny, sand-papery tongue. His underdeveloped earfins are spread wide away from his head, twitching as lets go, making impatient, hungry noises. You comply with his wishes, dipping your finger back into the saucer of milk on the coffee table and holding it in front of him again.

His little pincer-like hands grab onto your knuckles, tugging your finger closer as he happily purses his lips and starts sucking again. You smile and teasingly pull your fingertip out of his mouth, and he squeaks indignantly, hunger-driven anger in his large, watery eyes. You bite your lip to stifle a laugh, letting him curl himself around your hand, crawling into your palm and settling around your wrist as he nibbles and sucks.

You can't help but be reminded of the many times he's nibbled and bit at you in other ways (tw: sexual reminiscence) and you blush a gentle red, stroking the tufts of coarse black hair between his horns. He purrs happily around your fingertip, pulling away to look up at you and squeak quietly, scuttling along your arm curiously and burying his face under your sweater sleeve, making you laugh aloud.

He looks at you, surprised, and his horn catches on your sweater. He pulls away and takes a thread with him, sliding down off your arm to your thigh, then between your legs. "Cronus, stop it." You say admonishingly between giggles, being overly ticklish there.

The grub stays between your knees where he fell and ignores you, eyeing the gap to the saucer of warm milk on the table. "No." You say when he looks up pleadingly.

His eyes widen and he makes a pathetic whimper, cocking his head to the side sadly. "Oh, Cronus, don't look at me like that." You frown, trying not to let him feel your heart melting in his chest.

His pout intensifies, and you groan softly, scooping him up and placing him on the table. "Don't make a mess." You say firmly as he dives in.
You watch him fondly for a minute as he drinks, making happy noises, before turning and leaving to get a bed for him ready. You end up with a few towels and a sweater of yours, old enough to be frayed and used as sleeping material but not uncomfortable. You set it up on a corner of your shared soft rectangle sleeping platform, then return to him.

A gasp leaves your mouth when you re-enter the room and hear wailing. You haven't been gone more than five minutes and he's managed to overturn the bowl, get soaked in warm milk, and begin crying. When you realize he isn't hurt, you right the bowl before gathering him in your arms and rocking him gently against your shoulder. He murmurs quietly and hiccups, but by then, milk's seeped into the fibers of your sweater.

It will have to be clean, you know, and you carry Cronus (grub? Cro-grub? Grub-Cro?) to the hygieneblock. You turn the water on in the sink and plug it up, allowing it to fill a few inches of warm water before setting him in it. He squeals and splashes playful, turning about and making a mess. You sigh in exasperation and wait until he's finished before rolling up your sleeves and beginning to wash him. He throws a fit when you try to wash behind his earfins, and he bites you when you tut.

You begin a lecture on physical violence, but he's already snoozing in the palm of your hand, all dried off and cuddly. You pause, then sigh and carry him back to the respiteblock, carefully tucking him in before going to change your sweater. You're in the midst of doing so when a pair of strong, familiar arms settle around your waist, fingers splayed out over your bare stomach.

You choke on air and freeze as his voice lowers and speaks directly against the shell of your ear. "Hey, babe. Got anymore milk for me?"

It takes a second to relax, and you nod, sighing loudly. "Cronus, the only way to get it is if you unhand me. "

He laughs softly and kisses you on the cheek, spinning you around and hugging you close. "Thanks for taking care of me." He murmurs into your hair, kissing the crown of your head.

You smile and nuzzle against his shirt-less chest. "Of course. You're a very cute grub."

He laughs again, louder, and runs a hand down your back to nonchalantly grab a handful of your ass. You squeal and slap his shoulder when he tugs you closer, grinning sharkishly. "Cronus!" You shout, flushed bright red, but he only picks you up and hauls your legs around his waist.

"I gotta' make up for the few hours of me bein' small. Plus, cutie, you need a proper expression of gratitude." He purrs, and you chew on your bottom lip, knowing exactly what he means.
"V-Very well." You swallow and tilt your head to the side, inviting him to kiss you.

He does, deep and slow and gentle. You hum and kiss back, just as relaxed. Your arms snake around his neck, and he turns the both of you, walking you back into the respiteblock. It's only when he sets you down and climbs on top of you do you realize he's stark naked. You blush neon and hide your face, but he pulls your arms down and kisses you.

You find yourself swept up into him, the pleasure of enjoying your matesprit in his adult form. He goes from adorable and small and cuddly to dominating and twice your size and on top of you, kissing you fiercely, your legs up over your hips. He's working on the multitude of buttons on your high-waisted pants, and you can't help but just moan and relax and be his.

When he enters you, all you can do is move with him, leisurely and lovingly. You reach and then come down from your highs together, and you go back to making out. When you fall asleep in his arms, the last thing that registers with you is the sweater and towel curled up on the corner of the bed. You smile and drift off, holding tightly to one of Cronus' arms.

You're glad Cronus is yours, grub or not. He's cute both ways, after all.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/971666