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apocalypse-shuffle · 7 months

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BRUCE WAYNE | BATMAN (generalized canon)

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“Staked Claim” (Bruce Wayne x Gn!Reader)

| Bruce and the Reader take stock of each other’s scars. That’s it, that’s the story.

| SFW, scar examination, poor expressions of emotion, fluff -vigilante!reader

| Pictures used are just for aesthetics and have no contextual meaning to the story. (Picture source: Batman V Superman: Dawn of Justice 2016 & Zack Snyder's Justice League 2021)

| 800+ words

The barely noticeable weight of the blanket shifts when you move under it. Soft cost-more-than-most-people’s-rent sheets gliding against your skin.

The muscles in your arm ache in tandem with you reaching up to rest your palm flat against the warmth of the owner of the bed you’re in.

“What about this one?”

You watch, genuinely taken for a second, the hairs on his arm stand at the feeling of your breath ghosting across his bicep.

He doesn’t waste a beat before he answers.

“Firefly,” rumbles right after you ask. Of course. Why would he need to think that hard about the marks on his person? They might not actively be on his mind but it’d be hard to forget a memory that’s physically staked its claim on your body.

Firefly made sense though. The scar tissue was as erratically placed as the pyromaniac’s own personality. It also, like many of his scars, has the added bonus of looking twice healed over. Considering Bruce’s clear allergen to sitting idle that doesn’t surprise you.

“Why the sudden interest?”

Laying on your side you shrug with the shoulder not attached to the arm you have braced on the bed. Bruce’s eyes have sparked with a level of interest that you’ve figured out means he’s reading you. Or trying to at least.

“I mean, there’s a lot. Why? You don’t want me to be curious?”

“Most people refrain from asking questions.”

The wry lilt he takes on has you scoffing while you drag your free hand down to his abdomen. The area’s so tense that when you push down the muscles stubbornly refuse to give.

“Most people are scared of hurting your feelings.”

“My feelings?” he grunts.

You sigh out an agreeing “Uh huh,” and press down more incessantly with your fingers. Still no give but you know he gets the message when he forces himself to relax with a heavy exhale. You grin. “Not that I don’t care about your feelings, of course. I just know that if you didn’t want to talk you wouldn’t.”

If you were a different person now would probably be the moment you’d lean in to brush a kiss to the pink tissue left behind from the burn, show Bruce the little bit of kindness he doesn’t often get. As it stands you only hum, hand already moving to the next mark. Already searching for another answer, brown skin stark against Bruce’s deathly pale.

As usual Bruce indulged you.

“You’re looking for yours.”

It’s not a question. You answer him like he’d posed one anyway.

“No,” you say, but when he grabs your hand - hard earned calluses rubbing against your own similarly worn skin - you don’t stop him.

The scarred patch of skin he directs you to is on the other side of his torso, out of sight from your angle, and when your fingers brush up against it you don’t hesitate to laugh. An amused puff of air hits cool skin and Bruce shivers minutely at your warmth.

You croon lowly at him and press a kiss over the spot on his chest your breath hit. Only when he lets out a grumble of a sigh, relaxing just that much more into the bed, do you press more firmly against the knot beneath your fingers.

“This was the poison arrowhead too, wasn’t it?”

Bruce doesn’t even react in any major way, just gives you an exasperated, even slightly amused look.

“If I’m remembering constantly having to reopen the wound to flush it out correctly, then yes.”

Another grin pulls at your lips, you move your head to press another lingering kiss to the side of his neck. It’s not an apology.

“Glad I could make a lasting impression,” you say and Bruce chuckles like that was at all a sane response in the way only someone else who went around the world doing what you both did would understand.

From where his left arm is wrapped around your waist Bruce slides his fingers low and then slides them backwards until the pads of his fingers make contact with a thick line of matted skin. He caresses his physical claim on you with his own brand of tenderness.

It’s your turn to shiver then. You can feel how Bruce smiles against your head; fingers pressing down more firmly on the scar.

“Batarang,” he whispers in your ear. He noses at your hairline and presses a kiss on your temple next and it’s all you can do to keep quiet.

That peace can only last for so long once your gazes meet.

Simultaneously the two of you burst into quiet breathless laughter, curling into each other’s spaces and bodies slotting into one another like you were cut from the same cloth then mercilessly separated but had finally, miraculously, found each other again.

Palm curling almost protectively over that mess of destroyed tissue on his pelvis - your mark - you smile the realist smile you have in months, lungs aching with laughter and a comfortable warmth settling just under your skin.

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed!!

btw: if you’d like to leave a comment I’d very much appreciate it! this is a sideblog tho so I won’t respond.

#bruce wayne #batman #black!reader #black y/n #bruce wayne x black!reader #bruce wayne x gn!reader #vigilante!reader #batman x black!reader #batman x gn!reader #bruce wayne imagine #batman imagine #bruce wayne x reader #batman x reader #black gn reader #x black!reader #gn!reader #bruce wayne fluff

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spacecowboyhotch · 5 months

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DISCLAIMERS: * indicates 18+/NSFW content. all readers are described as having dark/darker skin than the character they are shipped with. reader is also described as having curly hair, braids or locs depending on the fic.

Moonknight

One More Time

Sprite (black!nymph!oc)*

Mosaic Whispers (black!fem!oc)*

Narcos

Tied Together*

Criminal Minds

Moon River*

The Mandalorian

Ambrosial

Triple Frontier

The Dead Horse (santi garcia)

#x black reader #black reader #black fem reader #black!fem!reader #black gn reader #black!fem!oc #black oc #black female original character #moonknight fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfiction #narcos fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #triple frontier fanfiction #blog stuff

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kufflesdiamond · 7 months

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Incorrect Quotes [Ft Me and Friends!]

Black Yuu/Mc/Reader implied (Because I'm black!!!! and we need more.) Interpretation is up to you on some of these! Same au or different??

[ICQ: ITS TRUE BUT YOU SHOULDN'T SAY IT..]

Ortho reading Yuu's text to Idia: "Are you really sure or are you just saying that so you don't have to be in this conversation anymore like an introverted freak?"...

Yuu, struggling to not laugh: He had it coming.

[ICQ: WHAT A SWITCH UP.]

Ace talking of everyones height: Besides Riddle.

Riddle: Are you talking shit about me.

Ace: No Housewarden! 💗🦅

Ace whispering to Deuce: someone get their dog—

[ICQ: ITS FLOYDS FAULT]

Azul: Yuu, come close I have something REALLY important to tell you.

Yuu, backing away: No.. goodnight...

Azul, sweating: Please it's really important—

Yuu: I'm not talking to someone who says "squirt" in almost every sentence.

Azul, sweating more: THERE'S CONTEXT FOR THA—

[ICQ: PUNK ERA DEUCE COMMIT CRIME???]

Deuce clenching his fists: I want you to shut the fuck up.

Ace, as smug as ever: How about you get some bitches first?

Deuce: How about you get your GRADES up??

Ace: Jokes on you they are up!

Ace glancing at deuce: Higher up than your body count

Deuce: YOU...!? I have a high one!!!

Ace, jokingly: Murder is not what I meant.

Yuu & Grim looking over in silent shock:

Deuce, embarrassed: I'M NOT TALKING ABOUT MURDE—

[ICQ: YOU WON'T MEET ORTHO THAT WAY.]

Idia: I wonder how death feels like—

Yuu, tired of hearing this again: SHUT THE FUCK UP‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️🗣🗣🗣🗣🗣🦅🦅🦅🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥💯💯💯💯💯💯‼️‼️‼️

[ICQ: ITS NOT LIKE THE TIKTOK MEME]

Yuu typing: how to.. find out if... you like... your childhood... best friend....

Idia sliding in: Number one!

Ortho, teasingly: You like boysss!!!

Yuu: LEAVE ME ALONE YOU FUCKING DEMONS—

[ICQ: THIS IS EVERYDAY??]

Yuu falling flat on their face: oomph-

Kalim, laughing his ass off: THAT'S EXACTLY WHAT YOU GET!!!

Yuu: DON'T BULLY ME YOU GAY

Jamil: Average Ramshackle prefect L.

Yuu side eyeing them both: I hate you people.....

Kalim with a smug look: "you people".. That sounds...

Jamil: ...kinda racist, don't it?

Yuu: You are. so lucky there are people in this dorm otherwise I would've called you a SLUR.

Jamil, shrugging: L

Yuu: SHOVE THAT L UP YOUR ASS.

[ICQ: DONT EAT THA—]

Lilla: ...I want to eat a wall

Malleus: What??????

Lilla with a piece of wall in his hand: mmmm tasty

[ICQ: REAL????]

Jamil: Why are you so stupid... why didn't you just....

Kalim, crossing his arms: Says the stupid one!!

Yuu, placing their hands on their hips: Couldn't even do your own job right.. tsk tsk!!

Jamil: I look at you two and remember why I did what I did when I overbolted.

I lied most of these were hardly me and my FRIENDS and it was instead me and my alters but they were funny to me nonetheless ((no i wont give any context for any of these))

ICQ means 'Incorrect Quote' by the way!!

#◇ Kuffle Delivery!#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twst #twst incorrect quotes #incorrect quotes #black reader #Black gn reader #gn reader #long post #?

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holytrinitytoinfinity · 1 year

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ᶠⁱʳˢᵗ ᶠᵃⁿᶠⁱᶜ/ᵈʳᵃᵇᵇˡᵉ

ᵍᵉⁿᵈᵉʳ:ⁿᵘᵉᵗʳᵃˡ

ᶜʰᵃʳᵃᶜᵗᵉʳ:ᵃⁿʸ

ᵍᵉⁿʳᵉ:ᶠˡᵘᶠᶠ

ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ᴄʜʟʟɪɴɢ ᴏɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʙᴇᴅ sᴄʀᴏʟʟɪɴɢ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴘʜᴏɴᴇ ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ ғᴇʟᴛ ᴀ sᴜᴅᴅᴇɴ ᴡᴇɪɢʜᴛ sʜɪғᴛ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇᴅ, ᴀɴᴅ ғᴀᴍɪʟᴀʀ ᴀʀᴍs ᴡʀᴀᴘ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ. "ʜᴇʏ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ sᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀ" ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴄᴀʟᴍʟʏ sᴘᴇᴀᴋ. ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇ ᴀs ɪғ ᴍᴜsɪᴄ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴇᴀʀs. "ʜᴇʏ" ʏᴏᴜ ʀᴇᴘʟʏ sᴏᴍᴇᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴇxᴄɪᴛᴇᴅʟʏ. "ᴡʜᴀᴛᴄʜᴀ ᴅᴏɪɴ" ᴛʜᴇʏ ǫᴜᴇsᴛɪᴏɴ. "ɴᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ᴊᴜsᴛ sɪᴛᴛɪɴɢ ʜᴇʀᴇ...ᴋɪɴᴅ�� ʙᴏʀᴇᴅ." Yᴏᴜ sᴀʏ sʜɪғᴛɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴘᴏsᴛɪᴏɴ, ᴀɴᴅ ʙᴇɢɪɴɴɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ʟᴀʏ ᴏɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʙᴀᴄᴋ. ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴛʜᴇɴ ʟᴀʏ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ʜᴇᴀᴅ ᴏɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴄʜᴇsᴛ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴡʀᴀᴘ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴀʀᴍs ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴡᴀɪsᴛ. "ɪs ɪᴛ ᴄᴏᴏʟ ɪғ ɪ ᴋᴇᴇᴘ ʏᴀ ʜᴇʀᴇ ғᴏʀ ᴀ ᴍɪɴᴜᴛᴇ. I ᴊᴜsᴛ ʟɪᴋᴇ ʟᴀʏɪɴɢ ɪɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴀʀᴍs." ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴍᴜᴍʙʟᴇ sʟɪɢʜᴛʟʏ ᴡʜɪʟᴇ ᴅᴏᴢɪɴɢ ᴏғғ. "ʏᴇᴀʜ ʟɪᴋᴇ ɪ sᴀɪᴅ ɪᴍ ɴᴏᴛ-" ʏᴏᴜ ʙᴇɢɪɴ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ᴅɪsᴛʀᴀᴄᴛᴇᴅ ʙʏ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ sʟᴇᴇᴘɪɴɢ ғᴏʀᴍ. Yᴏᴜ ᴛʜᴇɴ sᴍɪʟᴇ sᴏғᴛʟʏ ʙᴇғᴏʀᴇ ᴘʟᴀʏɪɴɢ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ʜᴀɪʀ ǫᴜɪᴇᴛʟʏ.(ɪғ ᴛʜᴇʏ'ʀᴇ ʙᴀʟᴅ ᴛʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ʀᴜʙʙɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ʜᴇᴀᴅ ᴏʀ sᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ɪᴅᴋ) ᴀғᴛᴇʀ ᴀ ᴡʜɪʟᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴅ ᴜᴘ ᴅᴏᴢɪɴɢ ᴏғғ ᴀs ᴡᴇʟʟ.

⑅◍ˢᵉⁿᵈ ᵐᵉ ʳᵉᵠᵘᵉˢᵗˢ ᵖˡˢ◍⑅

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uhnomahlee · 2 years

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what happens when their partner/interest tells them to close their eyes pt. 1 // aot & fire force headcanon

pairings: aot x black plus-size gnc reader (ocs) & fire force x black plus-size gnc reader (ocs)

{mdni/f}

a/n: rushed dis out to feed yawl🤞🏿🐆benimaru, mikasa, levi, sasha coming sewn,,,enjoy🫡

hange

“okay!” they did as they were told, hands patting their lap as they waited for whatever it was itoro was preparing

they sniffed the air, trying to get a hint of the surprise—food perhaps? itaro had been on a baking high for the last week and a half, welcoming hange from work with the sweet scent of their delicacies

“what is it?” hange questioned with an innocent lilt, impatience slipping through. “i like the food you’ve been making! i like the weight i’ve been putting on!“ they chirped, searching for the presence of their lover

“if i could have just told you what it was, would there have been a reason to tell you to close your eyes and wait?” itoro’s sudden change in tone made hange bite their tongue, posture straightening

skin warming, hange squirmed around on the couch, fingers twiddling. “i…sorry.”

“it’s okay, i know you’re only curious.” itaro moved closer, gaze darting from the items in their hands to their partner

hange whipped their heads towards the direction they heard itaro approaching, heart banging against their chest as they awaited the next command

“go ahead and open your eyes, baby,” itoro spoke in a softer voice

hange raced to look at itoro, their stare dropping to the leather straps they were gripping

“i’ve just been thinking about how the version for your uniforms looked on you…” itaro felt their skin warm, fingers stroking the material. “so i made some new ones for us to use…if you want.”

“i do!” hange covered their mouth and chuckled. “sorry. I would like to.” they nudged their glasses, nearly about to jump from their seat. “so, do you want my clothes off now or…”

itaro held back a laugh. “you look like you’re about to attack me.”

“it’s just that our work has kept us away from each other for a while so i’m all revved up,” they responded. “so…we doing this right here or the bedroom?”

an idea popped into itoro’s head, making their lower abdomen churn

“take your pick.” a smile crept onto their lips

dazed by unbound horniness, hange leapt up and took off towards the bedroom, a trail of clothes left in their wake

hibana

“you’re not gonna bamboozle me and leave me sitting here alone again, are you?” hibana side-eyed ime, then looked down, measuring the distance that was between them since sitting down on the freshly cut grass

hibana just wanted a hint of affection from the newcomer and will strive until succession—no matter the embarrassment.

at least hibana could heal a bit with a dash of hangout time they were permitted before either were pulled away for a situation

she needs to stand up fr,,,but like for ime…????? we: 🛐🛐🛐. don’t ask

feigning a yawn, hibana stretched their arms upwards then out, letting them drop closer to ime, granting them a chance to scoot theirself closer

“what are you doing?” ime’s eyes were resting behind their dark glasses, body hunched over their bent knees and unmoving

hibana pursed their lips, freezing their movement. “we’re just sitting so far from each-”

“any closer and you’d be breathing on my shoulder. are you gonna close your eyes or keep that mouth running?”

“well if you’re going to just be rude and walk away, no.” hibana crossed their arms

“i won’t,” voice monotone, ime responded

hibana immediately shut their eyes, perking up at all the possible scenarios that could ensue

they’re too shy to do it with my eyes open? i didn’t know they were so timid. i was doubting myself. i am able to have that effect on them! i need to be more confident! hmph!

finding herself leaning into ime, hibana’s heart thumped as she fully immersed herself into the fantasy

“alright, open your eyes.” ime finally looked away from hibana, hiding their downturned smile while they scooted away

hibana’s lips formed a small pout. “what? are you sure?” they opened one eye, peeking at ime. “uh-you moved further away! you were going to leave me, i knew it.”

ime turned their face away from the warmth of the setting sun, adjusting their glasses with a quick nudge from their knuckle. “i wanted to know how much peaceful it would be if you were asleep instead of awake.”

*getting time to lewk at this lil cutie without them “ruining” the moment

“it’s true. i have a gorgeous resting face-”

“because you talk entirely too much when you’re conscious.”

hibana’s brows furrowed. “…were you imagining me asleep or dead?”

“don’t worry about it.”

tucking their hair behind their ear, hibana reimagined the scenario. “you were…thinking about me?”

“hibana…”

ymir

“no. why?” ymir quirked a brow, knowing they could’ve easily succumbed to the enthusiastic request

xasan rolled their eyes. “so i can smack you, obviously. just close ‘em!”

“…definitely not.”

employing their puppy eyes, xasan’s gaze feigned sorrow.

ymir fought the urge to look at their partner directly, holding their refreshment while looking in another direction

sighing ymir murmured, “i hate when you do that.”

xasan watched ymir close their eyes, sticking their tongue out in triumph while initiating a small dance in their seat

“keep doing that and watch.”

xasan pursed their lips and stopped moving, narrowing their eyes.

“or what?” they mouthed, one hundred percent sure ymir was not able to see

“you know my eyes are closed but assuming you talk back like you always love to do, i can stop playing your little game very quick.”

xasan’s grip tightened on the small package in their cardigan pocket, harboring their reaction to the tone of ymir’s threat

regathering their senses, they slipped the object out of their pocket, reaching across the table to set it in front of their partner

hearing the rustling from xasan’s movement, ymir’s impatience nearly triumphed in the battle to keep their vision blocked

“okay, you can open them now,” xasan chirped, fingers intertwining as their nerves began to set in

proceeding with their nonchalant act, ymir opened one eye, gaze darting to the gift on the table before landing on xasan

panic arose when ymir thought an anniversary or birthday had passed—but that couldn’t be true, they were usually the one to remind xasan of events they had forgotten

ymir didn’t do well with being given gifts out of nowhere—they mostly thrived on reciprocation in most aspects of their life

frozen, ymir responded, “i…didn’t get you anything.”

“that’s okay.” xasan was bright with anticipation, “look what’s inside,” they urged

“what’s inside?”

“ymir, just open it and you’ll see.”

“what kind of gift is it though,” they continued to probe, anxious

“baby…”

chest tightening, ymir put down their cup down, slender fingers skimming the wrapping paper. sitting up in the chair, they took the small package and ripped into it

ymir’s brows furrowed, jaw set as they cleared their throat. taking the small painted glass into their palms they let out a shuddery breath

xasan’s eyes widened, the unexpected reaction rendering them silent.

it was a small project only meant to mark the beginning of their art journey. at most they expected a small nod and compliment knowing a child could have done just the same, better even

but the tears?

now both of them crying

“it’s so pretty,” ymir sniffled, drying away their tears with the back of their hand. “look at our little hands holding each other. we’re just laying in a…in a field flowers.” they shook their head

“i’m glad you like it.” xasan caught their gaze and held it as a silence ensued in the presence of bountiful adoration

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twasday · 2 years

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IM BACKKK

School is back in session so I will be getting back onto writing !! I spent majority of my summer obsessing over Pedro Pascal and now, currently, it’s Aaron Hotchner from Criminal Minds. So if anyone wants me to write about The Mandalorian or Agent Whiskey from Kingsman Goldencircle speak now or forever hold your peace.

#male reader #gn reader #trans male reader #lgbtqiia+#lgbtq #i cant find enough fics to fulfill my need of pedro pascal so i will do it my fucking self #black reader #black male reader #black trans male #black gn reader #the mandalorian #din darjin #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x male reader #the mandalorian x male reader #the mandalorian x gn reader #aaron hotch #criminal minds

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in-som-niyah · 2 months

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Attentive!Jason who feels you toss and turn away from him in the night, signalling that something was wrong. He didn't know what, but upon feeling you curl into a ball, holding your stomach, it clicked.

Attentive!Jason who turns on his side to pull you back into his chest, hoping the warmth would soothe you enough to go back to a deeper sleep. Sighing sadly, he realizes that this time might be worse than he thought.

Attentive!Jason who kisses your hairline and slowly untangles himself from you in order to get up. He goes and puts the kettle on, fills a glass of water and brings your painkillers of choice, making a mental note of buying you more the next time he's out.

Attentive!Jason who sets the glass and painkillers on your nightstand, then slowly makes his way back into bed. Gently, he wakes you with kisses and firm strokes on your back, soothing some of the ache.

Attentive!Jason who, upon gently waking you, helps you to the bathroom to get cleaned up and take a hot shower.

Attentive!Jason who kisses your lips every time you try and apologize for ruining the sheets followed by a "no more tears querida, just let me take care of you"

Attentive!Jason that fills up your hot water bottle and a cup of herbal tea with extra honey just how you like it, and brings both items back to your room. He wraps the hot water bottle in a thin, fuzzy blanket, as to not burn you.

Attentive!Jason who puts your towel and clean pyjamas in the dryer for 5 minutes to warm them up for you before you get out of the shower.

Attentive!Jason who helps dress you when your shower is done, but leaving you to do what you need to privately. He just wants you safe and comfortable.

Attentive!Jason that guides you back to bed, not in a smothering and demeaning way, but just to make things easier on your aching joints.

Attentive!Jason that bundles you up snugly after you finish your tea, and reads to you to help you fall back asleep. The painkillers seem to be working, and he knows his voice soothes you.

Attentive!Jason that kisses your forehead and presses the hot water bottle to your sore abdomen once you begin to stir again, in effort to ease the tension.

Attentive!Jason who will, no matter what time it is, get up to get what you need. This boy is so madly in love with you, nothing you could ever need is too much for him. It doesn't matter if he just came back from a gruelling patrol, a fight with Bruce, or recovering from his own ailments. Jason Loverboy Todd is going to bring you tea at 4am. No complaints. No questions asked.

Attentive!Jason who secretly researches new ways to help you when you're hurting, always wanting to learn and improve.

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a/n: answered this ask that disappeared for some reason???? it was from some general attentive!jason hcs when reader was on their period/cramping but i genuinely have no idea where it went....

anyways time for bed its 2am

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hoshigray · 11 months

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Had the most random thought, but what if you caught Miguel by surprise and sneaked a kiss on the back of his neck when he's stressed out?

An: Don't mind me, just feeling soft for Miguel because he's corrupting my brain at the moment, lol. Also, wanted to write this to distract me from the fact Pleasurable Practice got smacked with a community label ffs. But, tysm for the love on that fic <33, and [MAYBE] I'll work on pt ii for next week! Thanks again, you lovelies, and enjoy!!

Edited Note: Also, here's an ATSV masterlist I made earlier for your convenience!!

Cw: Miguel x reader - fluff - stressed Miguel bc when is he not - you give him a kiss on the neck - pet names (amorcito/little love, mi alma/my soul; amor/my love) - just you and Miguel being adorbs and him being whipped hehe~

Wc: 902

"Aaaaaarrgh!!!"

You snap away from what you were doing to find where the noise came from. Not to your surprise, it's from your boyfriend — Miguel O'Hara, who's expressing his dismay by throwing another tray full of empty containers you got from the cafeteria.

The man is descending from his [godforsaken slow-ass] station, tapping his feet and huffing by the second. His brows are furrowed in anger, and he moves a hand to soothe his forehead with his fingers. When his post finally stops, he jumps down to sit on a chair and groans into his hands.

That was the third time this week. A villain was supposed to be captured and brought into the Spider Society to be sent back to their own universe; however, that was two days ago. And for some reason, this evil-doer has been hopping in and out of multiple universes. It's been a hassle for the other Spiders to grab hold of them; Lyla has to have eyes on them within every minute of every hour, and Miguel...Obviously, he would like to have this matter taken care of already.

You get up from where you're sitting and walk up behind Miguel, whose face is still covered by his hands with inaudible curses that you can tell are in Spanish. "You okay?"

The rise and fall of his broad shoulders entail a huge sigh seething out of his system. "No, mi amor." He frees his face only to rest his forehead with a hand propped by his leg. "This game of cat-and-mouse has been going on longer than necessary, got Spiders who're tired of the chase — I'm tired, yet there's more stuff piling up and—" He stops himself with another deep sigh, and you place your hands on his shoulders. "I just can't right now...."

All you can do is hum aimlessly while massaging his shoulders, his trapezius and deltoids tense with stress. You understand that a lot is going on for Miguel, giving him his space and letting him do what he does best: being a hero. But of course, being a superhero isn't all sunshine and rainbows, and you're bound to get hit with obstacles that'll hinder your progress. Annoyingly so, if you're a leader of an organization like your boyfriend.

Nevertheless, he's only one man, and you know he forgets this fact when he's too wrapped up in work. He's dedicated to protecting his peers, his home, and you. And although you appreciate the sentiment sincerely, you wish he'd remember to not go too hard on himself before he's burnt out.

You sigh through your nostrils, your hands kneading out any remnants of tension while Miguel indulges before storming back to work. That's when an idea hits you when your eyes land on the back ends of his hair, a smile creeping in slowly. Your hand brushes the lower tufts of his brown strands, and you lean down to press your soft lips on him after pulling his suit to expose his neck.

Immediately, Miguel goes rigid at the feeling of your lips on him. And his breath hitches when your hands wrap around him, pulling him closer to you as you lay your chin on top of his head (which you realize is a rare opportunity as he's taller than you).

"Mi lindo araña," You chuckle to yourself when you notice hints of red sneaking on the lobes of his ears. "The more you stress yourself, the more you look like a grouchy face."

"A grouchy face?" His tone holds slight confusion. "You've been hanging with Peter B. too much, amorcito." He shakes his head while you giggle, and you two sink into each other's presence for a little while, taking in the silence outside of the calming breaths Miguel takes. If he were to confess, it's as if almost all his fatigue has vanished into thin air when he's in your embrace. But he doesn't say anything — he doesn't have to. Because you already know.

You set your lips on his temple. "Feeling okay now?" His body vibrates from a tiny purr, and you remove yourself to stand up straight. "Alright then, I'm gonna go to the cafeteria to get something to share. Because you clearly need a snack. And while I'm gone, pick up that tray and those empty containers off the floor before Lyla has another reason to call you a 'grumpy man-child.'"

His face molds to a deep scowl from the mention of his pixelated peer's name-calling. "I am not a man-child."

You give him a look. "You kinda are."

"And what gives you that—"

"Muñeco," Miguel quickly refrains from arguing when you call him by his nickname, the name only you can use. "If you're not a man-child, why haven't you stood up and done what I asked yet?"

The man opens his mouth, yet no words dare leave. Reddish-brown eyes are honed in on your figure as you survey his reaction, and he exhales in defeat when he stands up from his chair. Your smile flourishes. "I'll be back," is what you say as you turn to exit his domain and head to the cafeteria.

Miguel watches you leave until you're out of his line of sight, unable to fight the twinge of his lips while he moves to pick up his mess like you instructed him to.

"Sólo tú puedes darme órdenes, mi alma."

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moonstruckme · 1 month

Note

hey mae! it’s been awhile since i’ve sent an ask but im always reading your work girl! i love how you write tbh. if you’re up to it do you think you could write something with poly marauders, where the reader has trouble eating and making themself eat due to poor appetite. my appetite really does come and go and ever since covid (maybe before) it’s like eating makes me feel revolted. sometimes i just don’t feel like eating bc of other things like depression, adhd, anxiety. i was just wondering if you could write something with the boys helping out the reader with finding out what sounds good, cooking, and eating if possible. sometimes having someone around to talk to and hang out with makes it so much easier to deal -🌶️

Hey Pepper, thank you sm! And thanks for being patient with me <3

cw: lack of appetite, mention of skipping meals

poly!marauders x gn!reader ♡ 1.1k words

The sun’s going down, the last dregs of its light spilling brilliant and golden over the book in your lap, and you can feel your boyfriends starting to get restless. Well, two of them.

“If we’re missing half the ingredients,” Sirius says, trailing James into the kitchen, “it’s not going to be any good.”

James only tsks. “Ye of little faith. That’s what improvisation is for.” He starts pulling things down from the cabinet.

“You’re not even going to glance at the recipe?”

“I don’t need to. I know the general vibe.”

“Help!” Sirius calls towards the living room. “He’s gone off the rails. Remus, come fix it.”

Remus turns around to look over the back of the sofa, his shoulder brushing yours as he does. He’s sitting right up against you despite the couch being empty, not that you mind. Remus is sort of like a cat that wants to be near you but not always to be pet. His touches are often like this, passive gestures like a hand on your head or his thigh pressed against yours. It works for you just fine; you can feel the affection bleeding into you from any point of contact.

“Don’t you think we should just eat out?” Sirius asks, tilting his head and doing that thing with his eyes that you all pretend doesn’t work on you.

Impressively, Remus keeps his face impassive. “I’m having leftover brussels sprouts,” he replies, “so it’s not really my concern. Anyway, James has a good history with not following recipes.”

“Exactly,” James says, grinning at Sirius, who scowls. But then he fixes his gaze on Remus. “So why are you having that, Rem? Have what I’m making.”

“Because they’re going to go bad, and I’m not hungry enough for a big meal.” The last part is said somewhat quieter, directed towards the living room as he turns back around and picks up his own book.

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see James frown, but he glances at Sirius and they seem to collectively decide not to push it. Remus’ appetite isn’t much better than yours. He has his better days, but it’s not uncommon for him not to feel up to what your other boyfriends would consider a whole meal or to eat only chocolate until Sirius hounds him into something more substantial.

James looks to you hopefully. “You’ll have some, won’t you sweetheart?”

You wince, hating to let him down, and from the look on James’ face he clocks the guilt in your expression before even you get a chance to say, “I don’t think I’m really up to it tonight, either.”

James deflates, but he’s clearly trying to put on a brave face. “That’s alright. I think I’ll just save it for another night, then.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, setting your book facedown on the armrest and turning around to face him more fully. “You could still make it and just put leftovers in the freezer. Maybe I’ll have some tomorrow.” You wince again as soon as you say it. No promises, though.

The smile James gives you is comforting if not totally satisfied. “It’s okay. I’ll just make it another time, it’s not a problem.”

You return his smile, close-lipped. Sirius is looking at you with narrowed eyes, arms crossed like he’s sizing you up.

“What are you going to eat?” he asks.

“Hm?”

“What are you going to have instead?” You hesitate, and he tilts his head knowingly, a piece of hair slipping from behind his ear to drape over his shoulder. “You need to have something, especially since you didn’t have lunch.”

From the kitchen, James looks at you. “You didn’t?”

“I just…don’t feel like it.” It’s a feeble argument even to your own ears, and the look Sirius gives you says that he thinks so, too.

“You can’t miss two meals,” he says obstinately. “Even Remus is having some brussels sprouts.”

You look to Remus to be offended at the even Remus comment, but he only shrugs. You’re on your own.

“What sounds good?” he asks you.

You try not to pout. “Nothing. Everything sounds gross.”

“C’mon, baby.” Sirius leans against the countertop. “It doesn’t have to be strictly dinner food, yeah? Just anything that sounds like you’d be willing to eat it.”

You think for a minute. Remus touches the back of his hand to your leg, knuckles soothing over the skin beside your knee.

“I guess…ice cream sounds okay,” you say hesitantly. “But I know that’s not exactly nutritious…”

“Would a milkshake be close enough?” James pipes up.

You shrug. “I guess.”

He grins. “I can do that for you, love. Just gimme a sec.”

James is a loud cook. You go back to your book while cabinet doors slam and the blender whirs and you hear a muffled “oh, shit” as something is undoubtedly dropped on the floor, but a minute later he’s bringing you a glass of something thick and chocolate-y looking. You smile at the added garnish of mint and a straw, reaching for it.

“Thanks, Jamie.”

He winks. “Anytime.”

Remus is the only one courteous enough not to obviously watch while you take a sip, and you feel your eyebrows raise as you look up at James.

“This is really good,” you say. He practically glows at the praise. “I didn’t even know we had chocolate ice cream.”

Sirius barks a laugh, and James’ smile widens.

“What?” you ask.

“We don’t,” he admits. “Will it ruin your appetite if I tell you it’s not actually ice cream?”

You shake your head, sucking at the straw. “I’m already drinking it, so.”

James beams. He really is looking very proud of himself. “It’s a protein shake. A pretty balanced meal, actually.”

“Nice!” You grin at him, taking another hearty slurp mostly because you know it’ll please him. “It’s perfect, thank you.”

“Gotta keep our sweetheart fed,” he says, bending down for a kiss. Sirius and Remus’ hums of approval nearly harmonize, and you and James share an elated look while they both do their best to pretend like it didn’t happen.

“Can I try?” Remus asks, and you tilt the cup towards him in invitation.

He wraps his lips around your straw, sipping hesitantly. He looks mildly impressed.

“Could you make me one of those too?”

From the look on James’ face, he’d be delighted to. “Course, love.” He plants a smacker on Remus’ cheek and nearly knocks Sirius over as he beelines for the kitchen.

“This is just excellent,” Sirius gripes, but you see the satisfaction in his expression. “Now that you two have blown up his ego, I’ll have to eat something he makes too.”

“Correct,” James says brightly. “And you should be so lucky.”

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apocalypse-shuffle · 7 months

Text

DICK GRAYSON | NIGHTWING (young justice animated)

────────────────────

“Intruder Alert” (Dick Grayson x Gn!Reader)

| Dick sneaks into your apartment after a rough night and the two of you end up scaring each other.

| SFW, false scare, reader has a panic attack, wound care

| Not canon complaint. (pic source: Young Justice animated series)

| 600+ words

When you walk into your apartment you allow yourself exactly two seconds of unease before inching your way right back out.

You might not be Bat levels of paranoid but you still hung around them enough to have picked up on a few things, however subconsciously.

Like the faint sound fabric makes when rubbed against and to stop and listen before you enter a room for breathing.

You feel kind of stupid not bothering to close the door. You’d already given yourself away with your key in the lock though, there was no need to do any more damage and let the possible intruder know that you were onto them so quickly.

You’ve carried yourself in a near daze down two flights of stairs before you remember you’re supposed to be calling someone. For a second something in you seizes up with the sting of humiliation as you tap on the saved name in your contacts, but you shove it off. You’d rather this be a false alarm and look a little foolish than you ignore what you picked up on and end up dead.

As you make your way to the lobby one step after the other the stairs that when you first started we’re perfectly clear are now blurry. Clearly the person hadn’t attacked you the moment the door opened so it wasn’t a rushed hit. So what the hell did you do to earn a calculated hit, one that wouldn’t happen until the door was closed and you felt safe?

You wipe at your eyes in an attempt to get rid of the blurriness but it doesn’t work. Jesus what the hell was going on?

Dick picks up on the fourth ring.

“Hey,” he says, voice tight. “I was just about to call you. What a coincidence.”

The way he says it doesn’t make it sound like a fun coincidence. You feel decidedly not fun right now though as you’re forced to stop when your legs buckle under you. You have to lean against the railing to stay on your feet.

Were you drugged? Did you release some type of gas into your system when you opened your door?

“Y/n, hey babe can you hear me! Where are you?”

“Um- I’m in the….is this line secure?”

“Of course.”

“I’m in the stairwell of my place. Third floor I think?”

“….oh?”

“Yeah. I opened my door and something was off so I left like you told me to do.”

Another longer pause before a muffled ‘shit’ and then: “…hold on I’m coming to get you.”

Turns out Dick had simply - though you didn’t see what was simple about him breaking into your 6th floor apartment with a sword wound - been in your place before you got there. You’d thought he was an intruder, and him the same of you, and you’d both freaked yourselves out in the process.

And now he’s pretzeled beside you examining the slash on his thigh, Nightwing suit laying behind him on the back of the couch with the medical kit unearthed from under your bathroom sink.

“Way to follow your instincts back there,” he’s saying. You only hum in acknowledgment, more caught up on the slash running along his calf and the way he’s bleeding all over one of your good towels.

“Why are your calves or thighs always fucked up when you come to me?”

Dick shrugs, makes a noncommittal sound. “I lead with my legs.”

“Mhm,” you cut him a look. “I like the way you almost gave me a panic attack by the way.”

He looks up at you then, blue eyes flashing with no small amount of embarrassment.

“I did not do that on purpose!”

NOTES: Short and to the point, Hope you enjoyed!!

I had to post something before the month ended so ta-da! This was really just me playing around with writing Dick on his own (more so with his YJ animated characterization) than anything.

btw: this is quite a short story, I know, but you can still write a lil comment if you want to.

#dick grayson #nightwing #black!reader #black y/n #dick grayson x black!reader #nightwing x black!reader #dick grayson x black!gn!reader #it’s actually 614 words but spare me #dick grayson x black reader #nightwing x black reader #dick grayson imagine #dick grayson x gn!reader #nightwing imagine #dick grayson fluff #gn!reader #black gn reader #dick grayson x gender neutral reader

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tvgals · 8 months

Text

connie has never had soft sex before.

connie’s used to everything being rough and hard. connie isn’t used to the way you softly treat him during sex, the way you two make love and not fuck. connie isn’t used to the way you roll your hips and whisper sweet nothings in his ear. he isn’t used to the way you kiss along his dick and press sweet kisses to the tip. he isn’t used to the way that he now cries when he has intimacy with you, how his crystal clear tears invade his eyes, falling down his face.

connie isn’t used to being loved. which is why he’s confused every time you make him breakfast, or every time you run him a hot bath, which you two sit in together and talk about the trial and errors of life.

basically, connie is a lover boy who isn’t used to being loved back.

#myatalks🫡#black reader #blkshoyo #connie x black y/n #connie x reader smut #connie x black reader #connie x you #connie x reader #aot x y/n #aot x black reader #aot x reader smut #aot x gn!reader #aot x gender neutral reader #aot x black y/n #aot x female reader #aot x chubby reader #aot x reader

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bluesidez · 18 days

Text

Can’t get Firefighter Miguel out of my head because of the Miggy discord.

content warning: nothing but fluff...for now 😗

word count: 1.3k, not proofread

Next ‧₊˚ ⋅ 𓐐𓎩 ‧₊˚ ⋅𓌉◯𓇋 Masterlist

Imagine you’re trying to get into baking or something and you’re not used to your oven AT ALL.

Cherry pies? Ruined.

Apple fritters? Apple crisps.

Chocolate chip cookies? Charcoal chip cookies.

Brownies? More like burnt brownie brittle.

Your process would be going so well until it was time to actually put your dessert in the oven and it was like your oven plotted against you.

You set the right temperatures. You pre-heated. You even placed things in the right part of the oven. How is it that everything goes wrong?

The only desserts that saw the light of day were the no-bake ones. You’re not sure how much more no-bake cheesecake you could take anymore.

The day that really sets it off is the day that you attempted to make a simple vanilla birthday cake. Your friend’s birthday was coming soon and you wanted to gift her one of those cute bento cakes.

Your icing is finished and delicious. You’ve been practicing the decorations all week and they were pretty cute! The cake just a few more minutes left to bake, then you could take it out to chill.

As you’re piping a bag of baby pink icing, you look up to see that the room is a little foggy. You turn in a panic and notice puffs creeping from the oven.

“No, no, no!!!” you cry as you turn to open it.

You can’t do anything but cough as a ton of smoke hits you in the face.

Your cake on fire. Orange and yellow light illuminating the oven.

You panic as the fire seems to grow brighter once it hits the air.

“Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god!”

Where was your fire extinguisher? You tried fanning at fire with a towel, but to no avail. You couldn’t even get to the knobs to switch the oven off.

You step back, terrified. You felt like sobbing watching the flames take over. Why aren’t the sprinklers on?

By the time you run out of your house, the fire alarm decides it can sing its tune. You call 911 with a shaky voice, hoping they can get here faster than your alarm decided to make itself known.

You stand outside peeking through your eyes as you could see the flames grow near your kitchen window.

Thankfully the firetruck makes it in time, the firefighters working quick to get inside.

One of them asks is anyone else inside and you shake your head no, thankful that it was just you.

It doesn’t take long for them to put it out and come back outside.

“Are you ok?,” one of them comes to ask you. You look up to this tall, dark, and handsome man. He’s sweating a bit obviously from the summer heat and the fire as he takes his helmet off. His hair is curly and dripping. You ogle him a bit, watching his chest move up and down.

“Do we need to call you an ambulance?” he says, placing a heavy hand on your shoulder.

“Oh! No! So sorry, I’m still a little…winded from everything,” you say, embarrassed.

“Ok, well as long as you’re fine. Do you mind telling me what you were doing?” he asks.

You cast your eyes down. Here was such a fine man standing before you and you had on pajamas and a frilly maid apron with flour splattered on top.

“I was trying to make a birthday cake. As we can see, it completely failed,” you reply. “I don’t know what happened. I followed every instruction. The oven was set at 350 degrees.”

He tilted his head at you as you whined away.

“Is this the first time that something like this has happen?”

You shake your head no, “This is the 3rd burnt dessert in a week.”

“Hm. Well I’ll have the crew here check it out.”

An hour and some change later, one of the firefighters tells you and the tall glass of water, who learn is a captain named Miguel, that you have a damaged gas line.

“You’re really lucky that you were only getting blackened sugar. One more cake and that could have been the end,” Miguel says to you with hand on his hip and another on your shoulder. “And also, never open the oven if there’s a fire. If this happens again, turn the oven off and wait until it dies down.”

You felt your head nodding, heart beating at how awkward everything felt.

Miguel looked down at you again, “Do you have anywhere you can stay over night? Or until I can get someone up here to get this gas fixed?”

“My grandma lives a couple of streets down,” you say, cheeks heated at his intense eye contact.

“Tell you what, how about you settle there for the night and I’ll come back personally to help you grab your belongings tomorrow morning?”

“That would be amazing! Thank you so much. I’m sorry for all of this,” you gesture to your house.

“It happens. Nothing you did here was your fault. Besides, I’m the captain. Fighting fires is what I do. Now, how about a ride in the truck to your grandma’s?”

You feel giddy when he practically pulls you in the truck. No seats are left so you have to settle for sitting on Miguel’s lap, heartbeat racing.

The other firefighters try to hide their smirks and snickers watching their captain hold you so softly in his arms. One big bump in the road has you clinging to him to not fall off.

You straighten back up, embarrassed by the little slip. Miguel chuckles at your actions.

You pretend not to hear their wolf whistles as he guides you to your grandma’s front door.

Miguel knocks firmly, waiting with you until she opens it.

She’s about to fuss at you for not stopping by sooner until she looks up at Miguel.

“And who is this?” she says, a bit shocked.

“My name is Captain O’Hara. I just wanted to drop your grandbaby off. Had a little baking accident.”

Your grandma listens to Miguel as he explains the situation calmly and professionally. It doesn’t stop her from fussing over you, grabbing and turning you to check for any damage.

“I’m ok grandma. I just have to stay here while my gas gets fixed.”

She thanks Miguel profusely, “Son, what’s your favorite food? I’ll have it made and sent down there for you.”

Miguel laughs heartily. You’re about to tell him he doesn’t have to answer that until he beats you to it.

“Whatever your specialty is, I’ll take it,” he says with a sweet smile on his face and holding your grandma’s hands.

“Cap! We gotta another fire at the college dorms. Someone burnt noodles in the microwave again,” a firefighter yells from truck.

“Well if you all can excuse me, duty calls!” he says and runs back to the truck.

“I can’t believe you burnt a cake! Haven’t I taught you better? And you know you’re making him that food, right?” your grandma says as you step inside.

“Grandma,” you say, affronted. “It was the oven, not me! And he might not want to even eat what I make after this.”

“Hmph,” she says, with a click of her tongue. “Well, you better get ready to use this kitchen here. You need that man as a husband.”

“Grandma.”

“I have some ham hocks in the freezer, some turnip and mustard greens. I think the church sent me some potatoes. We need to go to the store too. You gotta get him through his stomach.”

“Grandma!”

There was a silence as you and your grandma stared at each other.

“So are you thinking pork chops or catfish to go with the side dishes?” she said, grabbing a pencil and an empty envelope.

You just groaned and crumpled in your chair.

divider by: @benkeibear ❤️‍🔥

the grandma convo is heavily inspired by my own grandma lol. tagging @miguelhugger2099 @kit-and-wolfe @huniedeux @ugh-ok-fiyn because I want y’all to see this 😗

#love lab drabbles 💊#Firefighter!Miguel ❤️‍🔥#miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o’hara imagine #miguel o'hara imagine #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o’hara x gn!reader #miguel 2099 #spiderman 2099 au #spiderman 2099 x you #miguel o’hara x y/n #x black reader #miguel x black reader

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holytrinitytoinfinity · 1 year

Text

𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙷𝚘𝚕𝚢𝚃𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚢(𝙼𝚎)

𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐

ˢⁱⁿᶜᵉ ⁱ ᵃᵐ ᵃ ᵐⁱⁿᵒʳ ⁱ ᵈᵒ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵈᵒ ⁿˢᶠʷ

◈

▷𝙼𝚢 𝚝𝚢𝚙𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝

𝚄𝚗𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛'𝚜 𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚏𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚋𝚎 𝚗𝚞𝚎𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚕. 𝙰 𝚕𝚘𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚢 𝙵𝚊𝚗𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚜/𝙳𝚛𝚊𝚋𝚋𝚕𝚎𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚊 𝚙𝚘𝚌 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚗 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍.

◈

▷𝚂𝚑𝚘𝚠𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝

𝙱𝚘𝚔𝚞 𝙽𝚘 𝙷𝚎𝚛𝚘 𝙰𝚌𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚖𝚒𝚊

𝙹𝚞𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝𝚞 𝚔𝚊𝚒𝚜𝚎𝚗

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚊𝚠 𝙼𝚊𝚗

𝚂𝚙𝚢𝚡𝙵𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚢

𝙾𝚗𝚎 𝚙𝚞𝚗𝚌𝚑 𝚖𝚊𝚗

𝙰𝚝𝚝𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚒𝚝𝚊𝚗

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙾𝚠𝚕 𝙷𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚎

𝙵𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚢𝚃𝚊𝚒𝚕

𝙽𝚊𝚛𝚞𝚝𝚘

𝙸𝚗𝚞𝚢𝚊𝚜𝚑𝚊

𝚂𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛 𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙳𝚒𝚜𝚗𝚎𝚢 𝙿𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚜

𝙾.𝙺.𝙺.𝙾

𝙰𝚍𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎

𝚂𝚝𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚄𝚗𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚎

𝙳𝚎𝚜𝚌𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚜

𝙴𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝙰𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝙷𝚒𝚐𝚑

Umbrella academy

(𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑 𝚒𝚝 𝚜𝚘 𝚒 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚊 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚜𝚙 𝚘𝚗 𝚒𝚝)

◈

⫸𝙸 𝚆𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎

𝙳𝚛𝚊𝚋𝚋𝚕𝚎𝚜

𝙵𝚊𝚗𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚜

𝙵𝚕𝚞𝚏𝚏

𝙰𝚗𝚐𝚜𝚝

𝚅𝚒𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎(𝚊𝚜 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚜 𝚒𝚝 𝚒𝚜𝚗'𝚝 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚙𝚑𝚒𝚌 𝚘𝚛 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚙𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎)

𝚈𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚎

𝙰𝚞𝚜

⫸𝙸 𝚠𝚘𝚗𝚝 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎

𝙼𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚕 𝙳𝚒𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝙻𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝙳𝙸𝙳 𝚘𝚛 𝙰𝙿𝙳 𝚒 𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚛 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚕𝚎𝚍𝚐𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚢𝚙𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚕 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚜𝚘 𝚒 𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚝 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚏𝚢 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖

𝙿𝚎𝚍𝚘𝚙𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚊(𝚘𝚋𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚕𝚢)

𝙱𝚊𝚛𝚏/𝚂𝚌𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚢

𝚂𝚖𝚞𝚝(𝚒𝚖 𝚊 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕 𝚜𝚘 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚑)

𝙰𝚗𝚢𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚖 𝚘𝚏 𝚂𝙰

◈

⊡𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚊 𝚊𝚌𝚌𝚎𝚙𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚝𝚢𝚙𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝙷𝚘𝚖𝚘𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚋𝚒𝚊, 𝚜𝚎𝚡𝚒𝚜𝚖, 𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚒-𝚜𝚎𝚖𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚜𝚖, 𝙿𝚎𝚍𝚘𝚙𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚊, 𝙱𝚞𝚕𝚕𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚘𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚋𝚎 𝚊𝚌𝚌𝚎𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚍. 𝙸𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚒𝚜 𝚎𝚡𝚑𝚒𝚋𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚋𝚕𝚎𝚖 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚜𝚠𝚒𝚏𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚋𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚏.⊡

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◉°𝙰𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝙼𝚎°◉ 𝙸 𝚐𝚘 𝙱𝚢 𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚢/𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚖, 𝙸 𝙲𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝙶𝚞𝚊𝚝𝚊𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙰𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝙰𝚖𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜, 𝙿𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚢, 𝙸 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚊𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚜𝚘 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚢.

(ˡᵒᵒᵏ ᵃᵗ ᵐᵉ ᵘˢⁱⁿᵍ ᵇⁱᵍ ʷᵒʳᵈˢ ˡⁱᵏᵉ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ⁱᵍ ⁱ ᵃᵐ ᵃ ˡⁱˡ ⁱⁿᵗᵉˡˡᵃᵐᵃᵍᵉⁿᵗ, ᵃˡˢᵒ ᵐᵉˡᵃⁿⁱᵉ'ˢ ⁿᵉʷ ᵃˡᵇᵘᵐ ⁱˢ ᵍᵒⁿⁿᵃ ᵈʳᵒᵖ, ⁱ ᶜᵃⁿⁿᵒᵗ ʷᵃⁱᵗ!!!)

#request rules #anime x black!reader #denji x reader #denji x male reader #chainsaw man x poc reader #csm x poc reader #poc male reader #x poc reader #power csm x reader #black male reader #black fem reader #black reader #black gn reader

32 notes · View notes

kechiwrites · 6 months

Text

gentle touch

könig x massage therapist!reader kinktober countdown day 5 (body worship)

synopsis: oh, the military boys were your favourite.

wc: 2.8k

cw: massage therapist reader doing bad medical-ish practice, body worship, light sub!konig, mentions of edging, hand jobs, a little oral as a treat, biting, konig being petnamed as he should (honey), size kink, hints at touch starvation, groping, begging, uncut konig, afab!reader, no gendered pronouns or language.

author's note: i know his dick hex code and it's glorious. mdni.

He’s your last appointment of the day. And what a fucking day it had been, ten hours that should’ve been eight, cinnamon scented candles instead of eucalyptus, a rushed lunch because a client had shown up early, not taking “I’m on break” for an answer.

You knock on the faux bamboo door, waiting for your appointment to allow you entry. When he does, so quietly you almost miss it, you open the door, only for your eyes to land on a broad, strong back, still wrapped in a dark grey long sleeve. He turns slightly, just enough for you to see the thin stubble on his chin, cheek and jaw.

"Hello! I didn't catch you undressing did I?" This time he turns all the way around and you are sure your swallow is audible. Hell, you hope it's audible, you want this dude to know just how impressed you are with what you're seeing.

"No." He shakes his head, rubbing his aquiline nose against the inside of his wrist. It must’ve been broken once before, if the uneven bump on his bridge is anything to go by. Why is that hot? That shouldn’t be hot. You eat up the motion, eyes tracking every twitch or movement of his massive arms.

“Oh…" you're ogling him. You need to stop ogling him. "I actually need you to strip down.” The words burn on your tongue. You must say that a thousand times a work week, but this time, when you say it to him, it sounds…dirty. Like a shitty porn set up. Makes your clean white polo feel vacuum sealed to your skin. He takes a step towards you and you shudder a breath, tensing until you realize he’s getting closer to the lockers to your left.

He’s huge, you think, and when he still doesn’t look up at you, content to let the strands of dark brown hair, nearly black hair, hang in his face, you figure he’s shy too.

Cute.

“And you can use the towel to maintain modesty, Mr. König.” You get the inflection of his name wrong, you know because you’d googled it prior, held your phone to your ear in the staff washroom and listened to a soft spoken German man lilt it to you. There’s a hard ‘g’ on the end where it shouldn’t be, and you apologize, trying again to master it. “König.”

“Right.” He murmurs, “Just around my waist, yes?”

Or it could go on the floor and I could rub my clit on your abs.

“Yes, sir. Around your waist.”

You exit the room, closing it softly behind you. You figure you’ll use the few minutes you have to get a bottle of water, or a sedative. Something strong enough to bring you back down to your customary professional detachment.

When you return, he’s where you expect him to be. Face down on his stomach, his head in the cushioned hole. “S-sorry.” He speaks, voice muffled by his position. The apology comes immediately upon the sound of the door closing and you worry his large frame has cracked the massage table or something. You peer around him, looking for any chunks of polished wood or loose screws.

When you don’t find anything you realize he’s apologizing for his scars, the pit marks of bullets dug out in haste and healed with spite, lacerations haphazardly stitched, then redone a second time with the careful, practiced hands of a doctor in no rush.

“Oh, please don’t be. We get military boys all the time. Nothing I haven’t seen before.” You murmur, and it’s a lie of course. Not that you’ve seen scars, of course, you’ve seen some really storied skin in your time here, being near a base and all. No, it was the man who was an oddity. Mandy at the front desk told you that he’d had to duck through the front door.

His skin is also ultra pale in a way military men usually aren't. Near transparent, the sprawling blue lines of his veins thread underneath his skin, and you can see yourself getting distracted tracing some of the pathways with your fingers.

He hums, and you hope you’ve put him at ease a little bit. You haven’t even touched him yet and the tension in his back is glaring. Anxious people tended to hold a lot of stress, anxious soldiers? You’re just glad he’d booked a two hour instead of the customary hour and twenty.

The oil is cold straight from the bottle and you warm it between your palms before you make contact. He’s warm to the touch, bridging on hot, and he flinches when your hands meet his skin. “Was that too cold?” He groans, but doesn’t affirm or deny it, so you figure it must just be the contact. Slowly, you begin with his calves, tending to and pushing on knotted muscle and tense areas, working out kink after kink, soothing his compounded aches. The oil smoothes down his leg hair and you must be going insane because even that is hot to you. His thighs are even worse, strong and muscled and dimpled in the sweetest places. He shivers when your palms glide over his inner thighs, and he clenches them together when your fingers brush the hem of the towel shielding his ass from your greedy view. As quickly as it happens, he relaxes, murmuring another apology. You hum your own response, and push your thumb into an adorable cluster of moles you see just under the towel.

By the time you get to his lower back, König is almost purring, his gentle breathing often interrupted by drawn out, guttural moans. Whines and whimpers that make your blood hot. He’s holding the worst of his tension there, and you have to lean almost all your body weight into the motions of the massage. His hips jerk up and then down just as sharply when you crest your palm over her shoulder blades, and you don’t imagine the keening noise he makes as he grips the massage table. You’re used to military clients being a lot more stoic but it seems Mr. König is most assuredly not the sort. You reach his neck, framing his throat with your palms and using your thumbs to rub firm circles into his nape. His breath hitches and you find yourself cooing. “Breathe for me, I got you.” The soldier’s hips snap downward again, this time hard enough to shift the table beneath him. Which is more than enough to make you pause.

No.

It couldn’t be.

The soft music and sound of the water feature on the wall nearly drown out the curse König whispers, but you catch it, and can’t stop your lips from curling into a pleased little smile. This was just too good. You start to finish up his neck, brushing some of his hair out of the way so you can rub your fingertips into the skin just below his earlobes. You guide him to turn over and when he doesn’t respond, you wonder if he’d fallen asleep.

“Mr. König?”

He makes a wordless groaning noise low in his throat, laying motionless.

“I need you to turn over, honey.” You don’t even realize you’ve pet-named a grown man you don’t know. Which is just as well, because it seems to be what the soldier needs, and he rises from the table, clutching the towel in a tight fist to maintain his scant modesty.

You turn towards the side table, pouring more oil into your palm. When you return to face him, you witness why exactly he was so reluctant to face the ceiling.

He’s at least half-hard, a very noticeable ridge lifting his towel. You can’t stop staring at it, even though you know König is trying his best to ignore it. You circle around him, and begin at the foot of the table, going through the massage cycle again; feet, calves, thighs, arms. You zone out, following through your motions, listening to the man beneath groan and sigh his contentment. You reach his chest, spreading your hands over his pecs. They’re big, just like the rest of him, you think and it’s hard not to fucking drool on him. He’s firm but soft, still pleasantly warm, despite being exposed to slightly below room temperature air. He shifts again when you hit a stubborn knot right below his collarbone, and you pause to check in.

“Still good?”

His breathing is uneven, shuddering and laboured. His hands clench and relax from white knuckled fists.

“Yes.” he hisses through gritted teeth, and you’re worried he’s undoing every bit of relaxation you’ve tried to bring him. It’s painfully clear where the stress is coming from, hidden underneath a paltry white towel, the enticing elephant in the room. You put your hands back on him.

Still got 45 minutes left, after all.

You try your best not to look smug, and you fail miserably.

Every stroke and rub you perform across his chest makes his cock jerk and twitch under the towel. You can practically see the cloudy drops of precum that’d be beading as his tip. Your thumb nail skates across his pectoral and catches his nipple and the whine he makes is so sweet you just have to do it again. Soon, you’re barely massaging him, groping the poor man under the guise of your job. A weak grunt snaps you out of your reverie, and when you glance down his abdomen at that godforsaken towel, you can’t stop the quiet gasp of shock you release at his erection. “Ah, I’m so sorry. Very sorry” His flush spreads from his cheeks all the way down to his chest, a gorgeous stewed cherry colour that overwhelms the pale skin you’d worked into submission. His eyes are screwed shut when you can bear to drag your eyes from his cock to his face. His soft, pink mouth is pulled down at the corners, and the heavy, dark slashes of his eyebrows are furrowed together, creating a wrinkle between them you want to smooth out with a kiss.

“It happens all the time. Are you alright to continue?” Your voice is deceptively calm, serene and soft, when all you really want to do is snatch the towel off the battering ram he’d smuggled in here. Your blood thrums, and you ache at the sight of it, at the mere thought of the ungodly stretch he’d put you through.

You will yourself to keep your hands where they are, force yourself to look literally anywhere else. The faux waterfall ahead of you, the wireless speaker droning pleasant, melodic mood music, fuck, you even try staring at the dimmed light fixtures hanging from the ceiling. But every cry and whine forces your eyes down, tempts you to catalogue every inch of flushed skin and threaded muscle. You gnaw on your own lip, and find your hands drifting down, back around his abdomen. You’ve worked through the area already, there is no excuse to be down there, to slip your finger tips under the towel, to push your digits into the skin around his pelvis. “Is this okay?” You have the gall to ask, when you push your fingers lower still, and basically sign your own severance package. Oh but it’d be worth it, to get what you want, to make this big strong man sob with pleasure, to have his mouth on your throat while you stroked him to completion. The memory of his cock in your hand will keep you warm in the unemployment line.

König nods, turns his head towards you but doesn’t open his eyes. His hips cant upwards again, and his towel shifts, parting to reveal his angry, desperate hard-on. He raises a hand from the massage table, letting his mammoth paw land on your hip. He squeezes you, and exhales sharply through his nose when his thumb touches your bare skin, skating over your flesh underneath your work shirt. “Say it.” You mutter and his eyes crack open, just wide enough for you to spot the crystalline blue of his irises between his inky black lashes.

“Please.”

And that’s all you need.

He’s uncut, and the veins blanketing the length of his cock are visible under his foreskin. Pretty in a way you aren’t used to, a denser blush than the rest of his body, but still quite pale. It feels like your hand is moving in slow motion towards it, your fingers twitching in anticipation. The heat of his dick warms your skin before you even make contact, and when you do, wrapping your fingers around the root of it, your fingertips can’t touch. You press your lips together and try not to squeal happily, glee crinkling your eyes.

God is real and he’s an uncircumcised cock on a shy giant.

König’s erection is searingly hot. Soft skin and hard core, jerking in your palm, leaking steadily, nudging at your hand, insistent. Your brain is working full steam and connections necessary to utilize common sense are still not being made. Slowly, you tighten your hold on him, the weight of it is so imposing, you wouldn’t be surprised if imprints of the veiny surface were branded onto your hand once you withdrew. If you ever withdrew. You should fucking withdraw.

You do not withdraw. Instead, you slide your hand up slowly, choking up on the head of his cock before dragging your grip back down. You chance a glance up at his face, watching his Adam’s apple bob with each laboured swallow. The poor man’s jaw clenches and relaxes while you slide your palm over his flesh again and again. Somehow, he hardens further and your eyes widen impossibly larger, the pit of your stomach doing somersaults at the idea of where you want that thing to go, what you want it to do. You get fevered flashes of König bending you over the massage table in your mind, hands on your hips, rutting without sense or logic into you, so hard the surface scrapes against the floor, all while he sobs, his overwhelmed, overstimulated tears splashing against your back while he rearranged your insides. The head of his cock is exposed every time you slide your hand down towards his pelvis. By the third peek, you’re dragging the pointed end of your tongue over the tip of his dick, licking against his head, and coating your mouth with the taste of him. He grips at your side harder, his fingers digging into your hip as he chases the warmth of your mouth. He keens loud, almost mewling when you pull off him, using your spit to ease your hand’s path. By this point, your handiwork is audible, noisy and wet, König’s voice filling the small room. You use your free hand to guide his head to your chest, letting him bend toward you, press his nose into your tits while he begs for you to finish him.

“Are you gonna come, Mr. König?” You thread your fingers in his hair, letting your nails scratch against his scalp, drift down to his nape and up to his crown again.

“Yes, please, please. Fuck.” His voice is reedy and thin, and he wraps his arm around your waist, burying his face deeper in your chest. And then his whole body trembles, and his hips roll towards you, and for a fleeting minute you consider edging the poor bastard, sliding your hand completely off his cock and watching it twitch violently, uselessly in the air.

But he begs so sweetly. And his next session was already pre-booked.

The hand you kept on his head leaves his hair, and you rub the head of his cock with your flat open palm, jerking him off with firm, fast strokes. He bites down on the curve of your breast, and you’re grateful he still managed to retain enough brain cells to not break skin.

“Do it then. Come, honey.” You trill, feeling his tears wet your skin through your shirt. It’s almost instantaneous, so fast it’s kind of impressive. His body goes bowstring-tight, and he squeezes you so hard it almost hurts. Ropes of sticky white seed shoot from his cock, covering your hand and his spasming abdomen. You slide your hand up, milking just the first two inches of him through his orgasm, until he stops your movements himself, covering your hand with his own.

When you finally break contact, you stare at your hand for what feels like ages, thick beads of his cum rolling down your palm, sliding to your wrist. You extricate yourself from his hold, using your clean hand to brush his sweat damp hair from his forehead. You press that kiss you wanted to the space between his brows. Why start restraining yourself now? His body shivers periodically, and you turn to the sink, to wash your hands clean, clenching your own thighs together, his moans and sighs echoing in your mind. You turn to face him, grinning wide and cheery,

“So...I’ll see you next week?”

hoe, you are getting fired! at least you got a man outta it though.

support city girls who love gummy worms, reblog what you like.

find the rest of the masterlist here.

2K notes · View notes

uhnomahlee · 2 years

Text

living in their truth // aot headcanon

gendervoid!ymir x black plus-size gnc reader (oc name: xasan)

synopsis: ymir falls for a transfer

includes: suggestive tone (18+), fluff, brat!ymir, matchmaker!hitch, ymir’s a whore for tongue piercings, eren gets his ass rocked, etc.

{mdni/f}

a/n: I would like to think i proofread :3 enjoy

“they’re a transfer from the military police,” hitch stimulated the conversation imposed by a single name sasha mentioned

“who wants to transfer if not choosing this sector in the first place?”

“i heard there was another reason they were part of the military police instead of the survey corps,” continued hitch, stretching out her legs in a deep lunge. “something about the certain abilities for protecting historia. don’t ask how they got out that setup, that’s all the info i got.”

ymir uncrossed their arms readying theirself for the run. “who cares. are we starting or what?”

“we’re actually waiting on someone,” hitch responded, folding herself into another stretch

huffing, ymir looked into the distance at the mountains where the sun usually rose

“they need to hurry the fuck up before the sun even starts breathing over the mountains”

“or what”

“hitch why do you always provoke them?” mikasa interjected

sasha waved a hand in mikasa’s face. “shh. wait. let’s see which one gets choked out first.”

hitch’s narrowed eyes relaxed as she saw movement in her peripheral. raising a hand, they waved at the approaching figure

“xasan! good morning!”

ymir’s resting gaze had shifted slightly, inhale hitching then elongating

the reaction was caught by hitch as xasan moved toward the group, a wide smile on their face

“hello,” xasan greeted, “nice to meet you all, i am xasan”

“hello ja-san. i’m sasha.”

she tried her best. xasan chuckled at the pronounciation

as much as ymir tried to fight it, that rumble in their throat as they laughed made goosebumps decorate ymir’s skin

“i’m mikasa”

while the group chatted the newcomer up, ymir examined them from a distance

keeping their astonishment low key, they let their gaze roam their broad physique, admiring the dark brown skin that glistened even with the lack of light

while ymir had attempted to look away, xasan caught their eye. accessories decorating the two front strands of their locs swayed as their head swiveled

regardless of ymir’s quietness, xasan had spoken to them

“hello”

something glinted in their mouth, planted on their tongue

“are you chewing a piece of metal?” sasha asked, moving into xasan’s personal space as she squinted at their mouth

mikasa’s hand reached out and gripped the back of sasha’s shirt, yanking their body out of xasan’s face

xasan rolled out their tongue, displaying the metal stud piercing.

“cool,” sasha marveled.

ymir—still reeling from the interaction—channeled their embarrassment into an attitude, eager to distract theirself from the entirety of this individual

“you can look at it all you want later. let’s start already.”

hitch began, “don’t be rude-”

“they’re right,” xasan’s eyes drifted towards ymir as they moved toward them. “the sun should be peeking over the hills soon.”

the group agreed with enthusiasm

ymir would be like i…i think like that too. kiss me maybe?

nonchalant niggas falling for their opposites quick as hell ™️

meals turned into speculating opportunities

after being served their food, ymir would scour the room for the familiar golden hair accessories that decorated xasan’s short dreads, sitting on the opposite side of their own table to steal glances

though speculation was not only for ymir

hitch and sasha couldn’t help to murmur to each other while ymir was distracted with an attempt to see what bogus mission explanation xasan was explaining so loud this time

there was irritation gnawing at their nerves. why?

maybe they were being too loud—no, the entire setting was bustling

perhaps they had no consideration for those around them—wrong, the entire table they were sitting at paid close attention to their words while they marveled shamelessly

then xasan--out of proximity and friendliness— placed a hang on the shoulder of the person sitting next to them, a firm grip shaking the individual as they continued the dramatics of the story

the twinge in ymir’s chest and the diversion of their prominent stare was an unspoken tell-all

peeking in front of them, their eyes met hitch’s glimmering orbs an understanding look on her face, while sasha’s folded lips hid their smile, snickers, and suggestive gestures

after swallowing a piece of bread and meat, sasha spoke, “so ymir, hitch and i were thinking about inviting ja-san to hang out with us from now on. they’re really somethin’ else huh?”

ymir shrugged, contorting their face to give display of ‘why ask me, i wouldn’t fucking know’

“well are you okay with them being around? because it’s gonna happen a lot more now.” hitch out her elbows on the table, placing her head in the palm of her hand as she leaned closer across the table. “a lot more.”

“i’m okay with reaching down into your throats and taking out whatever keeps letting you talk,” ymir hissed, stabbing at their food

mikasa let out a snicker, covering their mouth in case food came out

hitch and sasha gave a subtle look to each other

“why the fuck are you all acting like this?” ymir couldn’t even get a bite in, the mood of their friends making them uneasy

“we love you.”

ymir flinched. “okay.”

so the group did exactly as promised and melded xasan into the group

the sum-up of the guys meeting them was an attempt to be friendly but failing

not showing interest in subtle advances by some of them, xasan punted them into the friend-zone, disregarding compliments

ymir would turn into a spirit of dark energy seething at how quick they closed in on xasan

when a sparring session was offered by eren after xasan explained the origin of their style, ymir rolled their eyes, scoffing loud enough for the rest of the group to hear

“somethin’ the matter?” sasha blurted out

“sasha i swear-”

ymir saw the first move made by xasan—a deflection of eren’s punch with a hit to his bicep, making his face contort in confusion and pain, their left hand flew in for an uppercut, frantically blocked by eren’s opposing arm

xasan’s mouth was moving as they dodged and threw hits, talking to eren with a smile on their face

what the hell are they doing? eren furrowed his brows, trying to concentrate on their fluid movements. i’ve never felt hits so heavy. what are their bones made out of, he thought, eyes darting around to guess where the next attack was instead of worrying about defense--he was exactly where xasan wanted him

“the ending really got me,” they chuckled “i actually ended up having a breakdown and tore a tree from the ground”

a multitude of kicks rained down on eren, xasan’s foot meeting the sides of his torso, arms, and legs

he tried to get a punch in, earning another deflection, a palm flying in towards his face and jutting his chin upwards.

“and the thing is i read it again right after i was done with it. maybe i do hate myself”

unbalanced, eren began stumbling backward until he fell on his ass, cheeks and tips of his ears reddening immediately

the group threw themselves into a fit of laughter

ymir on the hand was absolutely smitten

like they had the option to take this nigga out fully, but just played in his face

they liked the fact it didn’t take much to show their strength other than the fact it was already wafting off of them with their very presence

ymir blinked theirself out of their trance seeing xasan jog back to them

not the group, directly to ymir

ymir thought they had done something wrong, body growing rigid with a light sweat following. chewing the inside of their cheek they kept a hard stare fighting not to look away

ymir would have never in their life dared to approach them first. the sheer essence of romantic rejection made them physically gag

they have literally no thoughts when xasan is in their proximity

instead of complimenting them ymir just says outta pocket things. not even mean…just outta pocket

“you should’ve broken his face when you had the chance,” was the first thing to leave their mouth as xasan came up to them

the group erupted into another fit of laughter eavesdropping on the interaction

“i have the feeling there will be a rematch soon. i most definitely will be” xasan grinned, still panting

that was all ymir could muster up, mouth agape with nothing leaving it

“we should go for drinks later,” xasan offered, hands on their hips

ymir nodded absentmindedly, taking in the sweet musk that emanated from them.

“hello?” xasan waved in their face. “you okay ymir?”

blood rushed to ymir’s cheeks as they heard their name spoken with xasan’s accent

and they wanted to hear it again and again until fate teared them apart

hitch came up to the two to help out. “they would love to go. actually—this just came to mind—why don’t we make this a group outing? you seem to be mixing with the group well.”

“sounds good. i would love to poke around your personalities a bit more” their eyes didn’t even leave ymir as they said the statement

hitch bit back a smile. “ah yes. of course.” she nudged ymir and they were still unresponsive “um…ymir will be there too.”

xasan brightened. “let me know when we’re going? imma go wash up” they gave ymir’s arm a departing gentle pat before jogging toward the dorms

the further xasan got, the more ymir unfroze

“wow,” sasha began, walking up with connie, jean and mikasa “how was that for ya?”

“do not let me do anything stupid tonight” ymir grumbled

“huh?” hitch cupped her ear

“if you see me about to do something i wouldn’t normally do. stop me,” they explained further

“define ‘something you wouldn’t do’” hitch probed, the devil on her shoulder rubbing its hands

ymir looked to her, silent

pursing her lips, hitch sighed and slumped her shoulders. “why would you do something stupid. it’s just xasan? our friend” she was inducing a subtle confession

ymir bit their tongue, noticing everyone’s stare

“forget i said that” ymir backed away from the group, needing time alone. “if you’re all going to be weird let me just not say anything at all”

that night the group gathered in town, attending their favorite local tavern

ymir immediately saw the lack of xasan’s presence, looking around the sidewalk as they fiddled with their black long sleeve

“hitch should be coming with them in a bit” a voice answered the thoughts in ymir’s head

ymir looked to mikasa, their face heating up

a couple minutes later, the two did approach the tavern, chatting

ymir looked at xasan for second before escaping and entering the tavern for a drink

their warning from earlier would begin to make sense

the loud setting of the tavern mixed with the numbness of the alcohol did little to block xasan out

to ymir, they were a being of light with an everlasting glow

also their eyes could actually never leave them

the dance floor was xasan’s, every variant of beat was met with ease, rhythmic rolls of their body attracting all the eyes of the building

but they could care less

one thing ymir could admire about xasan--among the countless other factors--was the fact that they lived as they should. no shame. what was on their mind was said and they knew no one could take that right from them. ymir didn't need to analyze and try to break them down like they did with everyone else.

they just were

xasan’s eyes were closed. they used their limbs to their advantage telling a story with their moves. the foundation and fluidity of the moves matched their hand to hand combat style

the gold decor in their hair created glimmering streaks as they spun and flipped around

they contorted their body easily, kicking a leg over in a back bend then going into a cartwheel

staring in awe, ymir nearly brought their hand together to clap with everyone else, meeting sasha’s anticipating eyes

though very buzzed, they could still tell what their friends were up to, stifling the action by just rubbing their hands together

ymir poured theirself another cup from the table’s pitcher, downing it in one go

after a couple seconds, things became very different very quick

ymir was swaying slightly to the music, palms patting each other under the table

xasan even danced with a drink in their hand, chugging the liquid before slamming the cup on the table

they traveled over to the team’s table hand reaching out for sasha who was giddy, ready to get on the floor already

the group cheered for the two, clapping louder as they galloped around the open space, faces beaming with grins, laughter following. they spun and waltzed across the floor, stomping along to the rhythm

jaw clenched, ymir stood, not waiting for their balance to catch up.

“i’ll be back” they zigzagged to the corridor

just waited in the restroom until the song was over and everyone applauded

they were too drunk to deal with a very gorgeous looking xasan dance with other people

can ymir dance? no.

would they get on the dance floor by theirself? absolutely not.

if they had the chance to be in the arms of xasan, being led by their movements, bodies pressed to each other’s, would they accept the offer?

regardless of the answer, the sensation in ymir’s abdomen after the thought warped their mood entirely

groaning, they pushed the door open bumping into someone else

as soon as the scent hit them, ymir looked up at xasan, gulping down the large accumulation of spit in their mouth

they walked backwards allowing ymir out

“i was just looking for you” xasan spoke with a slight slur, deep smooth tone made it even worse for ymir when laced with the alcohol

mind blank. no thoughts. just staring. ymir breathed in, skin warming

that piercing created thoughts ymir had no busy thinking about

“how’s your night going so far?” they asked, leaning a shoulder onto the wall.

remember they resort to saying random shit

“it’s not my night,” they slurred “i don’t own that shit.”

xasan sputtered out a laugh putting a hand on ymir’s shoulder

their touch ignited ymir’s body

“and there it is. just as i thought. there is a possibility for you to be cuter than you already are”

ymir processed the statement. “are you talking about me being cute or you being cute? we can talk about you being cute that makes more sense. and it’s stuff we both think about, right?”

xasan diverted their gaze, chuckling softly “uh, yeah?”

when their eyes met again, xasan’s hand cupped ymir’s cheek, thumb brushing over the brown freckles

“i think about you, ymir.”

ymir cleared their throat. “i…we are d-developing a good friendshi-”

“i think about you in a lot of different ways” xasan spoke pointedly, thumb skimming ymir’s bottom lip. they stepped closer, leaning down a bit

“you’re okay with me touching you?”

“yes,” that answer was so quick. ymir was that close to adding a ‘please’ but bit the inside of their cheek

something in ymir snapped when xasan’s hand met the small of the back and pulled them in to their body, their warmth exchanging

“i’ve been waiting be alone with you since i asked you out earlier”

ymir closed their eyes, leaning into xasan’s hand on their cheek

they didn’t notice the small kiss they placed on their palm until xasan commented how cute they were bringing them back down to earth

“do not call me that shit.”

xasan rubbed along their spine, feigning a frown. “is that a challenge?”

ymir rolled their eyes, tensing when xasan’s hand gripped their jaw—not harsh. guiding

“i would not do that if i were you,” they whispered, gaze burning into ymir’s

that tone made ymir an absolute mess

ymir’s thinking ‘hmm attitude equals this? what will being a brat give me?’

bc ymir is definitely of brat essence please pay attention

“good thing you aren’t then.”

xasan glanced at their lips, before saying, “let’s join the others before we get in trouble.”

ymir agreed not wanting to hear anything from the group. “i’ll leave first.”

retracting their arms, ymir smoothed out their outfit, giving a small departing wave before walking back out into the main room

the noise unmuted as they separated from xasan

everyone looked to ymir as they sat down

mikasa smelled xasan’s unique fragrant all over them

“did you see xasan on your way out? everyone’s asking for them. even the band” hitch eyed ymir’s demeanor

ymir shrugged, pouring theirself another cup of beer

“go check yourself” they downed the drink

another tier of drunkenness had been reached

hitch narrowed her eyes until xasan came through the entryway, attention landing on ymir. they waved to the table while ymir poured another cup trying not to blatantly ask for their touch again

“where have you been?” hitch asked. looking between the two

“i drunk. i piss. a wonderful cycle on a night like this,” was xasan’s response

ymir laughed looking at hitch. “idiot”

“actually, ymir?” xasan placed their hands on the table

ymir straightened tf up

“can you pour me a cup?”

everyone went silent.

ymir never poured anyone else beer but their own no matter how many times someone asked. and for as long as they’ve known each other that was still the case

so when they saw their friend grab a clean cup from the middle of the table and pour xasan a cup with no rebuttal. no backlash. no nothing. they knew

ymir was one to do anything for their romantic interest. no hesitation. sober or not

“thank you” xasan took the drink with a sly smile

ymir raised their mug and hit it against xasan’s

simultaneous chug plus ymir’s heart eyes on their crush

after that drink it was all over for ymir’s memory

the next day, hungover, ymir kept to theirself in their bedroom until it was time for a meeting in the middle of the day

they just drank water and laid down in bed not remembering shit from the night before

when it was time for the meeting ymir rolled out of bed, stretching their body out with a guttural groan

“fuck” they stood up, rolling their shoulders back “shit. fuck this.”

they stumbled around the bedroom, gathering clean clothes to wear

a knock came to the door

“ymir! you up? we gotta go!” hitch yelled

ymir opened their door “shut the fuck up”

hitch handed them a steaming cup of mint tea

grunting a ‘thanks’ ymir took the cup and walked out of the room

hitch stayed silent, clearly wanting to ask something but just throwing glances at ymir

ymir sighed, brushing strands of hair from their face “what the hell are you looking at me for? somethin’ on my face?“

“how’d your night go?” she rushed out as they entered the room for the meeting

shrugging, ymir searched for the empty seats near their friends. “don’t remember much. didn’t throw up so that’s always a plus.” they narrowed their eyes as they sat down next to mikasa “and why are you asking me? with that tone?”

hitch raise her hands in innocence “just asking. saw another side of you is all”

mid-sip, ymir choked, coughing as quiet as they could while everyone settled in

the hell was that supposed to mean? they were supposed to be stopping them if they did something stupid not simply let it happen. but ymir should’ve known better with their mischievous asses

now ymir was racking their brain to figure out what the fuck happened, hating the fact they were left in the dark concerning their own drunken actions

the meeting began and as it did that sweet musk wafted into ymir’s nose, thoughts scrambling more than before

then everything began to fall into place

the alluring scent, the touches, that fucking piercing...but what was spoken? what was said?

what else was done?

“i had a fun time dancing with you last night,” their voice whispered from behind ymir, lips brushing their ear

ymir’s mouth dropped open, eyes widening, as their skin reddened immensely

“fuck”

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