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jaylaxies · 1 month

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INTO YOU

PAIRING: jay x fem!reader

GENRE/CW: smut, unprotected sex, slight gun play, mentions of smoking, usage of nicknames, fingering, pussy slapping, breeding, enemies to possible lovers.

SYNOPSIS: everyone knows that your families hate each other, being the biggest rivals in terms of business, however, you both don’t seem to care much about it.

WC: 1.9k

WARNING: 18+ content, minors dni

A/N: hihi, loves! happy jay birth <3 i had to write something for my man cmon, i hope you guys will like it :3 (not proofread) all likes, comments, reblogs and feedbacks are highly appreciated! iloveyou all <33

Blinding chandelier lights, fancy gowns, fake laughs paired with endless supply of sparkly champagne. Countless camera flashes, and an even faker demeanor as the guests pose and show their best game.

It was yet another weekend; yet another charity ball organized by someone so filthy rich, who didn’t mean to do any charity, but rather, put up a façade well enough simply to expand their business connections.

You watched it unfold from afar, like always, judging everyone as you swirled the drink in the delicate glass which rested on your fingertips, looking for something , or rather, someone to appear and get this boring excuse of an event going.

Your family was close with the Kims, meaning, you’d probably, just probably spend your night with no drama at all, not expecting the Kims to invite the family which is your so-called rival.

So you decided to mingle along, putting on your sweetest smile as you strolled through the big ball room, the slit in your dress allowing the cold air to grace your legs in the otherwise warm room, until it didn’t.

The warmth of a hand encasing your wrist was enough for you to stop, the scent itself was a giveaway of the identity of the one who stopped you in the middle of the crowded floor, a sly smile draping your face with his action.

“Getting into a party without an invitation is rude, don’t you think?” You asked.

He scoffed, which came out as a breathy laugh, “that is exactly why I made sure that Mr. Kim would deliver the invitation personally to me,” he clicked his tongue.

You rolled your eyes, turning your head to the side, looking right into his dark eyes before giving him a once over, almost in a condescending manner as if you were judging his entire existence.

He had another one of his proud smirks plastered on his face, specs perched on his strong, pointy nose, his lips the perfect shade of pinkish-red, resonating perfectly with his melanin. Clad in a black tuxedo, he stood there as if he was the most important man in the room.

Park Jongseong.

“That desperate for what? A party?” You clicked your tongue as a challenge.

His hand only shifted from your wrist to your waist, pulling you closer to his chest effortlessly, earning a gasp out of you, “for a party, yes. You know it, princess.”

That’s exactly when you heard a louder gasp as you pushed him away. Your mother dearest had spotted his mother in the crowd, both of them coming along to meet right where you were standing.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Your mom asked, trying to put on a fake smile so as to not alarm others.

“We were invited, of course,” the lady spoke up, a sick smile on her face.

“Or yet, begged Mr. Kim to be invited here,” you smiled back, looking at Jay right after, who was only amused.

But none of your family members were amused as they scowled, “stay the fuck away from her,” your mother said, pulling you back from Jay.

“Ask her to stay away from my son,” Mrs. Park spat, pulling Jay back.

“Who even wants to be with him?” You scrutinized him again with a bored expression.

“You do, princess,” he winked, making you scoff in disbelief as he said it in front of your mother.

“Shut up!” Your mother said, having had enough.

You both had the corner of your lips upturned by the time your mothers pulled you away, far from each other, his eyes shining as you bit your lip.

Your mom was frustrated and it showed, especially when she reached out to your father, filling him in with the events of what happened a few minutes back.

However, you didn’t care, simply getting away from your family as you started roaming around yet again, patting your thigh gently to feel your gun in its holster—something you kept for safety.

Everyone around you did.

The party didn’t feel as boring anymore, not when you got out of the main ballroom, opening the door towards the secluded balcony; which you were sure would be empty.

And you were right. It was small, secluded, facing the grand gardens of the villa, two big vintage lamps keeping the balcony well illuminated as you took out the cigarette you had hidden in your pocket along with your heart shaped lighter.

A dress with pockets? A blessing from the lords.

Holding the stick between your glossed up lips, you flicked the lighter, bringing it closer to the cigarette as it burned, your eyes closing the second you inhaled the smoke, using your middle and index finger to hold it away as you leaned against the cold marble wall.

Park Jongseong.

Your wrist still burned from when he gripped it, your waist still feeling the warmth of his hand as your silk down did nothing to hide your figure. You found yourself thinking about him again, the proximity was enough for his scent to invade your senses.

Your body became hyper aware as you found yourself close to the similar scent again.

“Smoking is bad for your health, princess,” he spoke, his deep voice sending a shiver down your spine.

You smiled, not opening your eyes as you lifted your hand to take another puff of smoke, only for Jay to snatch it up, standing right in front of you, his free hand gripping your chin, your eyes opening to find his face inches away from you.

“Getting too bold, are we now?” He asked.

“Maybe,” you shrugged, challenging him.

“Yeah. I don’t fuck you for one night and you turn into a fucking brat? Is that how you want it, princess? Want me to fuck some manners into you?” He came even closer, turning his head to take the cigarette between his lips, breathing the smoke in before he threw it away.

Grabbing your chin harder, he tilted your head ever so slightly, causing you to gasp and open your mouth, dazed.

He blew the smoke into your mouth and you inhaled it all in, blowing it out of your nose while not breaking eye contact, another shiver running down your body as his fingertips traced your thigh, inching upwards to where your holster was.

“Jay—” you breathed out, biting your bottom lip.

“Shh, princess. Who would even want me, right? I’ll show you exactly how much you need me,” he chuckled, his lips touching your ear.

He was quick to get your gun out, your mind too blank as you were sandwiched between him and the wall. The cold muzzle of the gun was pressed against your inner thigh now.

“Please,” you begged.

“Please what?” He urged you to speak up, the slit of your dress allowing him to graze it up your thigh and near your panties which were starting to get wet.

“I want—” you started and he only pressed the gun right on your clothed cunt, your eyes closing again, your body felt as if it was on fire, a low whine leaving your mouth.

“Say it, princess,” he groaned, his lips near the corner of your mouth.

“I want you, I—I need you,” you managed to speak up, your whimpers were enough for his cock to start hardening, even more now that his body was pressed against your.

He moved the gun in slow circles, your wetness dripping down on it till it reached his hands, as you held on to his arm for support, not being able to stand straight.

“See? It wasn’t too hard, was it?” He asked, pressing the gun right where your hole was, stuffing it in slightly through your panties, your whines turning into moans as he grabbed your jaw again, “never forget that you belong to me,” was all he said before pulling you in a deep, rushed kiss.

His free hand held on to your wrist, curling his fingers around it hard, his teeth nibbling on your lips before he spit in your mouth, not wasting a second before he shoved his tongue in your mouth.

You could barely breathe, whimpering out his name desperately, trying to move your hips to get even a fraction of more friction from the gun.

“That’s it baby, keep making those noises for me, yeah?” He spoke in between the kisses, finally having had enough of the gun as he kept it aside.

It didn’t take him a second to push your panties to the side, covering his fingers in your dripping juices as you bit back a moan, which didn’t last for long as he stuffed you full of his fingers, making you lose control of the last bit of your sanity.

Your wetness was enough for his fingers to slide in easily, which wasn’t enough for Jay as he curled them inside you, “tell me who you belong to, princess?”

“You—you.” Your eyes watered as you moaned it out, and he slapped your cunt right that second, your eyes rolling back at the pain which felt more like pleasure than anything else, your breathing hitched as he did so again before he stuffed three of his fingers into you again, fucking you deeper than ever while kissing your neck, harsh enough for it to bruise later.

He had been going at it for minutes and yet it felt like mere seconds before he took his fingers out, licking them and turning you around, your cheek resting on the cold wall.

As much as he wanted to tear your dress off, he didn’t do that, and you could feel your tears streaming down your face, frustrated as he stopped right before you were about to cum, your cunt clenching around nothing as you heard him undo his belt.

You knew his cock was thick and veiny, but it still shocked you, especially when he lined up his cock to your entrance, rubbing his tip, soaking it with your wetness which dripped down your thighs. You could barely breathe anymore, especially when his cock slid right in with how wet you were, reaching the deepest spots in you, his big hand spanking your ass right as he bottomed out.

Broken moans were all that your mouth could let out by now, along with his name, which you kept on repeating like a broken record.

His thrusts were brutal, almost as if he was using you like a doll and you were simply taking it like you were meant to.

It felt too good.

“Such a good girl, you’re taking me so well.”

The way your pussy sucked him in was driving Jay crazy as he groaned near your ear, biting your shoulder right after, his balls slamming against your ass and he didn’t bother slowing down, not when you were clenching around him like that.

He held you up, knowing that your legs couldn’t keep you up anymore, not when your mind was blank and you were crying, begging for release.

“Cum for me, princess,” he whispered, pinching your nipples as you let out another moan, which sounded like a scream with how frustrated you were, his thrusts getting faster and faster.

“I’ll fill you up good, yeah? Gonna keep my cum in your cunt?” He asked, his voice even deeper as he hit your g-spot.

You nodded, letting out a broken yes in reply, which was all it took for your eyes to close again, your legs shaking as Jay filled you up the very second you came all around his cock, creaming it beautifully in the essence of your unadulterated pleasure.

“You were right,” you breathed out, holding on to him.

“Yeah?” He asked.

“Yeah. I need you, always.”

THANK YOU FOR READING!

TAGLIST: @jaeminvore @macaroonff @ajayke-reads @en-myworld @lunalovesstories @jayzdaze @deobitifull @celeste-hoon @mari-oclock @kpoprhia @ikeuizm @woniebae @lalalalawon @blessedcursd @skzenhalove @heesuncore @seuomo @kyurizeu @haechan-nahceah @tobiosbbyghorl @jezzebear @jaehoonii @itsgivingitalian @bunhoons @hyacandoit @ma-riiii @addictedtohobi @heeliopheelia @haanigurl @dopedels @kaykay11sworld

permanent taglist open! comment or send an ask to be added!

#enhypen hard hours #enhypen smut #jay smut #enha smut #enha hard hours #enhypen scenarios #enhypen #kpop smut #fic : into you

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bedoballoons · 8 months

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Yandere Tighnari, Venti, lyney, Freminet and Aether finding out Reader isn't really into short guys They're into someone bigger and taller {{Itto For Aether, Alhaitham for Tighnari, Nevillete for both Lyney and Freminet and Zhongli for Venti}}

I READ THIS AND WAS LIKE YESSSSSS!!! (As a short person I find this hilarious and your idea is literally genius!) I hope you enjoy and thank you so much for your request!

─⊰⁠⊹ฺ✿𝔾𝕖𝕟𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕟 ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕔𝕒𝕟𝕠𝕟𝕤⊰⁠⊹ฺ✿─

{༻~Just not that into short bois~༺}

CW: Yandere themes!, characters are obsessive to the point of wanting to harm others so they can't take you, unrequited love, intense jealousy, mild angst! Lyney makes Neuvillette disappear! Also this is much longer than I meant it to be...what can I say, I like yanderes!

(Includes: Lyney, Tighnari, Venti, Freminet, and Aether!)

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

𑁍༄Lyney:

Lyney had been told no many times in his life,in fact he couldn't even count how many people said he could never be a famous magician...and yet he'd proved every single one of them wrong. He simply couldn't stand not working towards something everyone else claimed was impossible, because in his eyes anything was possible, so when you confided in him about your feelings towards Neuvillette and stated that you found him more charming because of his height, even going so far as to mention you didn't really like short men as much...he just couldn't give up so easily.

He was madly in love with you, to the point it had become more than obsession, he'd seek you out anytime he'd left his home and any show he'd make sure to wink at you the moment his eyes met yours, he was so head over heels for you that he was physically unable to think about anyone or anything else. This also meant he wouldn't let anyone take you...especially just because they were taller...absolutely not.

So for his next show he planned something extra special, a magic trick truly wonderful in everyway...and as the crowd cheered, watching in awe when the box that had contained the chief of justice disappeared before their very eyes...none of them were aware he wouldn't show back up again...at least not for along while. Not until Lyney had found a way to make you love him, not until you...the most precious beautiful thing in all the world...was his.

𑁍༄Tighnari:

Tighnari stood next to you, his ears drooping with regret as he watched you flirt away with Alhaitham, his tall muscular figure drawing you to him like a moth to a flame...making you completely forget about the one who'd brought you together in the first place. It was like some cruel trick of fate...especially considering Tighnari had planned to confess his feelings for you that same day...and now it seemed like it would do no good..

He tapped your shoulder, not waiting for your response as he intertwined his hand with yours, pulling you away from Alhaitham as quickly as possible...and silently hoping you'd leave the whole situation at that. You on the other hand were not so happy with him, wanting desperately to continue your conversation with the handsome scribe..., "Tighnari what was that about? I was really getting along with-" He put a gloved finger to your lips, making you go quiet, his heart racing as he looked deep into your eyes.

"I love you...so much. I can't even really wrap my head around my feelings because they are so intense...it's like I need you just to keep going...like you're the thing I simply cannot live without. Even the air I breathe isn't as important as you are...." His confession was a bit much to say the least and adding to it was the kiss he placed on your forehead, causing you to jerk away from him.

"I'm sorry...but I don't feel that way for you..." Your words spilled out before you could stop them, your heart racing with fear at the change in his mannerisms...he didn't even respond...he just stood there...like he was plotting something and you...were about to find out just how crazy his love for you actually was.

𑁍༄Venti:

"I actually do have feelings for someone."

The second those words left your lips Ventis heart began to race, his mind clouded over with thoughts of you confessing to him and telling him you loved him...it was all he wanted. No, it was all he needed! He tried his best to calm himself down, taking a sip of wine before responding like someone who was completely clueless of the others feelings would, "Oh ho ho and who would that lucky person be hmm?"

A blush coated your cheeks followed by a sweet flustered smile that could make even Lord Barbatos swoon and boy was he...until you answered, "I like Mr. Zhongli~" You giggled nervously, not noticing how pale Venti went the second he heard the name...how the part of the wine bottle he'd been holding had shattered, much like his heart...you didn't even notice the hurt tone of his voice when he asked, "What does that old blockhead have that I don't?"

The question definitely took you by surprise, but you assumed he wasn't being serious and decided to answer truthfully, "Well he's a bit more refined...and I like his voice, but most of all he's so tall! I'm sorry Venti but I just can't imagine myself with someone...so tiny." The anemo archon was speechless...hatred seeping into his very being and jealousy getting the better of him. He stood up without another word and left, leaving you wondering what had happened...

𑁍༄Freminet:

Freminet was completely silent, his face bright red and burning with a rage he'd never felt before, his hands barely able to keep steady as jealousy ate away at his once calm heart heart. All he wanted was you...your love, that sweet smile that he craved to see everyday, but here you were, sitting Infront of him with this doe eyed look on your face as you fawned all over none other than the chief of justice. Mentioning more than once how tall and handsome he was, how incredible it would to have a man like him around.

"Enough."

You paused mid sentence, caught off guard by the amount of malice in his once kind sweet voice, watching as he stood up from his seat, your mouth slightly agape. You'd never seen him like this before...so angry and confident, it was scary...yet also a little exciting. After a moment of silence you'd worked up the courage to say something...but you didn't even manage to get a single word out as he grabbed the front of your shirt and pulled you harshly towards him, making you let out nothing more than a sharp gasp.

Your face went red, pure shock displaying itself on your features as he leaned in closer, his light purple eyes seemingly staring into your soul as his whispers grazed your ear, sending a shiver down your spine, "Hush now my love...you don't need him...I promise~"

𑁍༄Aether:

Aether was always there to help someone, so reliable in fact, that everyone called on him whenever there was a issue and including you, after all he'd saved you from many close calls...even saving your life a few times in the process and for that you were incredibly grateful, but alas you were still not in love with him. He on the other hand couldn't get enough of you, he just wanted to be near you all the time...be your hero and love you like nobody else ever could.

He...however wasn't the only person who could save someone and when the friendly neighborhood oni stepped in to save you, Aether was anything but pleased... especially when he saw the difference in how you acted. Yes your gratitude was the same...but you'd gotten all flustered at the onis impressive figure, touching the large man's chest while your face heated with such a strong blush and everyone around you cheered him on.

Aether was more than a little upset, suddenly understanding that he clearly wasn't your type and that he probably would never be, he just couldn't stand it! How could you, the person he'd do absolutely anything for...be so enraptured by someone else...just because they were bigger than him. No, he wouldn't let it stand, he'd fight for you, even if it meant doing things he could regret later on...it didn't matter, not anymore. You were all he cared about...all that mattered.

Just. You.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚Have a nice day*⁠.⁠✧

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that-student-that-has-homework · 3 months

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Portgas D. Ace Headcanons 01

Excuse me Oda-sensei, but that 40 year old Ace is simply criminal. Thank you so much for blessing us with him

Anyway! Have some Husband!Ace headcanons For more Ace content please head to my Tumblr MasterList

Ace is, respectfully, a huge simp for his wife

To the extent that the Whitebeard crew straight up jokingly awarded him with a “Biggest Wife Simp” Award

They made it look official and had Whitebeard sign it and everything. There's even a stamp.

Ace has it framed and hung proudly on the wall next to your bachelor’s degree / college diploma / degree in general.

I feel like despite his own personal insecurities, Ace still manages to be an amazing father

I imagine Ace originally setting out for like one or two kiddos at most (because y'know...what if he's not good enough) and ending up with 3 or 4 kids

Thing is, that’s both your faults.

Ace is tender and goofy with his kids, and he’s so friggin caring: to the extent that…well wouldn’t it be neat to see him with maybe another 2 or 3 kiddos of his own?

(Your husband is hot okay?)

In his case, he swears you have a unique glow about you when you’re pregnant. But more than that when he sees you with your first born, he suddenly wants a big family with you.

I imagine his kids are an eldest son, then his princess, then the youngest boy who takes after his uncle Luffy.

His kids aren’t parentified. He keeps his issues far, far, away from them. Besides, he’s got you by his side.

He was dedicated to making sure they got as much playtime as possible.

He heard about learning through play, and he is DEDICATED to doing that as much as possible

Ace’s kids are spoiled with affection, but not spoiled brats.

While it’s true he’d give them the world, he’d rather let them go get it themselves.

For example: when they asked for a tree house, he gave them the greenlight immediately.

But they had to build it themselves.

It was a super fun project lasting a little over two months with the whole family involved.

Oh and the Whitebeard crew helped too.

It took a while to get the design down initially, then the shopping logistics and whatnot (they used a lot of math here - see education via play)

Building the thing took maybe a weekend or two because the Whitebeard Crew and even the Strawhats came over to help

(It was mostly Franky and Usopp doing work, Sanji was cooking with Thatch)

Uncle Luffy was not allowed near the construction zone after an accident.

They almost destroyed the tree house with their partying once

Ace’s kids were not happy and no one was allowed in the backyard for the rest of the night

He makes sure they have proper manners and self-defense skills

You had to help out here, no lie.

He admitted he needed your help, especially after a dinner with Garp where Makino tagged along to see Ace again

He puts all of his kids into martial arts classes

especially his princess - he’s so proud of her when she beats up bullies

He’s not great at discipline though to be honest. He probably goes about it similarly to Garp.

Ace will not tolerate any of his kids being nasty to their mother. No matter the phase.

You will have to hold him back if you want to let them get their frustration off their chest.

He’ll let them talk, but you’ll have to keep a hand on him somewhere, his arm, his hand, his knee, his shoulder, his back and rub soothing circles

Let’s just say, “talk shit, get hit,” is Ace’s attitude towards anyone being demeaning towards you (more so with adults, not his kids, but that's why they get a scolding)

"Ace my love" (he melts every time you call him that) "the kids’ll start thinking you love me more than them if you do that"

"My kids won’t disrespect their mother though!"

"They’re just venting darling, and when they say or do something that violates my boundaries, I'll be sure to reinforce it. Lead by example right?"

If they ever feel like pissing Ace off for fun they can just say something kinda not nice about you and he'll get mad and they'll flee from him giggling like the little gremlins they are

Ace is veeeeeeeeerry physically affectionate and he isn’t shy about it at all.

At gatherings with the Whitebeard family, he will gladly seat you in his lap, he will happily hug you as you are seated.

His arm is on your waist most of the time.

They tease him to make him tone it down, he does not.

He, in fact, dials it up. Turns up the heat lol.

You have kids? Not in front of them? What do you mean, not in front of the kids? It’s important they know just how much he loves their mama!

So he will continue to be playful with his hugs and kisses and other displays of affection.

It’s nothing too over the top. Just hugs and quick pecks wherever.

Your entire head is fair game for his smooches, your arms (he loves kissing your pulse and then making eye contact, sneaky guy that he is), your shoulders.

Maybe lifting you and spinning you around. Cuddles. Little bites.

He will play-wrestle his kids to “fight” them over getting to cuddle you, and then he’ll just put all his weight on all of you in a group cuddle

Just to let you know, your kids also receive all the warmth and love of his affections.

When his sons are still tiny and adorable, he smooches them all over. The kisses grow less frequent as they grow older, but the hugs do not stop.

Oh no, hugs galore.

Ace still pecks his little princess on her forehead though

When they’re all under ten he’ll wrap them in a hug (after he chased them down and caught them so they’re laughing and screaming) and start smooching their cheeks while they laugh and try to get out of his grasp

Also yes she’s his princess, but that girl has no problem throwing a fully grown man twice her size around, he made sure of it.

I reiterate: Ace is not remotely shy about displays of affection

Like his eldest could have a friend over, and Ace would still launch a full scale hug attack using the rest of his troops (daughter/youngest)

It's complete with screeching, screaming, and a lot of laughter

His kids used to get teased for it, but it didn’t take more than a few conversations for them to instead jeer at the kids that teased them.

"You’re all jealous your parents don’t love you like ours do"

"How sad, your parents don't hug and kiss you"

Their dad, grandpa, uncle - uncles really, are all gremlins - it's in their DNA

The kids are really physically affectionate with each other as a result

Deadass they’ll be kicking the shit out of each other one second and the next they’ll be all cuddled and huddled up playing Mario Kart or something

Ace is his kids’ hero.

His sons aspire to have his level of fitness.

His daughter, when she’s older, uses him as a standard for dating

You're relieved

Ace is touched and a touch nervous, because he is aware of his shortcomings, though he works hard to keep improving

Of course when you look at him, a twinkle in your eyes, and tell him, “I’m so proud of her, I’m so proud of you!” He feels better

When you continue: “if she can find a guy like you, who cherishes her as much as you cherish me, I’d be so happy.”

Ace loves you so much he swears

#portgas d ace x reader #portgas ace x reader #portgas ace x you #one piece x reader #one piece x you #portgas d ace x you #portgas d ace fluff #portgas d ace #portgas d ace fanfic #one piece fanfiction #one piece #ace one piece

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tarjapearce · 29 days

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Like Me Pt. 2

Tarzan! Miguel O'Hara x Scientist ! Reader

Art by Rendraws21 on X

WARNINGS: Mildly suggestive, power dynamics, emotional distress, endangering situations, Kraven being an asshole.

Summary: Your savior proves himself to be very much real.

A|N: Hope you like! I know you're waiting smut. Just bare with it! ;w; Reblogs and feedback are always welcome ❤️

Previous Miguelverse Main Masterlist

Kraven didn't dally and ordered the camp to be settled. The spot was rather good. A prime source of water and food next to you all, soil sturdy and perfect for withstanding the hard hammering of the tools that nailed the bases for the tents.

And after hours of bickering, russian cursing, more work and the crew doctor patching your arm up, the camp was settled and food served.

Each bite not only felt heavenly, but was scarfed down. You couldn't care less if Peter looked your way, mildly disgusted and surprised of your manners, or rather the lack of them while eating.

It was the least you deserved after surviving a ship sinking, getting lost in the jungle, being chased by a giant Jaguar and a man that left more questions than answers.

Who was he? More important, How had he survived all these years on his own?

After a second plate and extra slices of bread, one of the men approached and announced the readiness of your tent. One of the things you asked in your contract. To have your own, cause as much as you trusted Peter, there was nothing better than to have your own space and privacy in the midst of an unhealthy amount of testosterone surrounding you.

"We've eaten, replenished, and blah blah. What happened?" Peter mumbled while picking his and your plate together.

You shook your head softly as another crew member passed by. You didn't trust them, and Kraven had proved to be unpredictable.

One minute he cared for his crew and the other he was leaving you to fend for yourselves. But as long as you did your job, you wouldn't be part of the russian's guessing dangerous games.

"Kraven said we'd have to make do with the little tools we have. He spent a good time of the day trying to get some signal for the radio."

"Any luck?"

"None so far." Peter mumbled as he took your things inside your tent.

A hammock was the bed, a few boxes and other storage things were placed in a corner. A chalkboard and your investigation books in another corner and against all odds, a little broken mirror that acted as a poor attempt of a vanity ontop of another wooden box. Your hairbrush rested next to it. Whoever arranged it, at least had the consideration to make it as comfortable looking as possible.

In total, you had a couple of shirts and skirts left to use. The rest remained on the sea, floating and drifting away with unknown course.

Peter excused to go change himself and you seized the chance to do the same. Catching a cold in the jungle wasn't in your priorities list. Not with reduced medicine and victuals.

You put on a dry set and combed your hair out as much as you could. Peter joined you a couple of minutes later.

The fire cracked and sparked alive as the crew surrounded it. The day had been chaotic at best and everyone tried to soothe the nerves in their own way. Some drank, others sang, others talked and soon Kraven joined.

Others simply went to sleep. Too tired to keep up after a well deserved meal.

"So..." Peter started while sitting before you, a rag and some tubs on his hands. He was cleaning the remaining pieces of your equipment.

"Promise me you won't talk to anyone about this. And I mean it, Parker."

"I'm a geologist, not a snitch."

"I'm... kinda scared of what might happen if Kraven finds out"

"Now you're scaring me. What happened back there?"

"I know... who killed the beast Kraven is skinning." A gulp rolled down your throat upon remembering the lurid scene displaying before your eyes

"Wait... you said, who?"

A nod from you and Peter paled.

"We're not alone, that's for sure."

Peter rubbed his hands against his face, an exasperated groan escaped him.

"He's taller than Kraven."

"Bullshit." Peter mumbled almost immediate, surprised at your words.

"I'm not bullshittin' you Parker!" You had to hush your voice and soon grabbed a sketch notebook and begun tracing and drawing.

"He's freaking tall, long hair and he's naked. Well, not naked but a loincloth is everything but clothes if you think about it."

Peter frowned suspiciously as his hand pressed on your skin, to see if your body temperature had increased. Jungle fever was one of the worst things a human could suffer when away from their homeland. Cause he refused to believe anything of the nonsense that came out of your mouth was true.

A man taller than Sergei? Impossible. He was tall, but Sergei had been one of the tallest and well built men he had ever came across with.

"What are you doing?" You pushed his hands away and frowned.

"I'm sorry, I do want to believe you but.."

"I'm telling you the truth, Pete! He had... This... red hue on his eyes and fangs!"

"Fangs?" The incredulity in Peter couldn't be hidden the more he listened to your apparent rave.

"He's fucking strong, Pete. He was holding that beast by his tail! and then fought body to body against it! and He's so damn touchy. No respect for personal space!."

"And what? He smashed the jaguar to death and then kissed you?"

"Yes!" You nodded but quickly frowned when Peter tittered on his seat, unable to keep the mirth away.

"Why are you laughing?!"

"I'm sorry. You know we've been friends since college, but you seriously can't expect me to believe that, Dally."

A short for Dalhberg. The surname that put your name out in the researcher's map in London, upon discovering and naming another type of daisy and named it after you. The Dalhberg Daisy.

"You believe in the freaking Queen but refuse to believe in this?"

"I believe in the Queen's acquisitive power, nothing else. Cause I've seen it!" He explained, skeptical.

You showed him the sketch and shoved it to his hands.

"Look at that! That's exactly how he looks like!"

Peter sighed and raked over his eyes on the semi-crumpled paper sheet. Sharp features, a strong jaw and deep eyes.

"Yeah, a haircut would make him look better though." he chuckled, "Look, I know it's been a long day for us... let's rest, ok? We've got another tomorrow."

With a frown you removed the sketchbook away and tossed it on the makeshift vanity.

"He's real." you pointed at the sketchbook

"Okay, okay. He's real. We can discuss it all tomorrow when we're less tired, alright?" He held your shoulders, trying to ease your rising anger.

But you quickly removed his hands from you, hurt that your best friend didn't believe you. "Whatever. Goodnight."

Peter left with a defeated sigh and soon you cuddled in your hammock.

"I know he's real." With a huff, you pushed the pillow closer to your face, letting the day's weight to finally crash on you.

-----

The loud bangs of a gunshot echoed through the bright blue skies, frightening any local fauna that rested comfortably, like you, that nearly fell out the hammock from the initial jumpscare.

With a heavy exhale, and rub of your eyes you geared up for the day.

This time Kraven was thoughtful enough to give you a weapon. A small knife with enough sharp to slice and dice through anything weak enough to perish under the blade.

And soon everyone gathered to the morning structions. Kraven split up the crew in three parts. The first group of men would go to the beach to recover as much equipment as they could. The second group would be in charge to set up traps and hunt down for food. And the third one, meaning Peter, you, two more men and himself would go explore and study the jungle in order to gain any sort of information of new potential species.

You carried a small backpack, filled with your sketchbook, pencils, some essay and sample tubes and some snacks in case Kraven decided to return until dinner time.

And after a quick breakfast of oatmeal and fruits, everyone left.

Peter walked behind Sergei, guiding the group whenever the mercenary asked him to. You were in the middle as the other two men trailed with their guns behind.

Morning slowly poured into hours. Tortuous, running at the speed of a snail. Each breathing felt like adding more to the waiting, bringing your nerves to a much annoyed stance.

But it quickly melted away upon finding your first discovery.

The grass laid pressed in a circular pattern on the ground. The leaves were placed strategically, as if used as cushions in great amounts. A couple of fruit carcasses laid next to them. Discarded and forgotten.

"Look at that" The excitement in your voice beyond evident. You crouched to see if there was any other clues to your growing suspicion.

Kraven and Peter stopped upon you crouching to the floor.

"What is it?" Kraven pulled his gun from it's holster and walked over you.

"These are nests!"

"Nests?" His brow quirked and you nodded vigorously, to then count the spots. Around six in total.

"You know what that means? They live in packs! Gorillas live in packs!"

"About damn time we found something." Kraven nodded, pleased as he helped you up to then mark a spot in his map.

"Good job, Dalhberg."

Praised the mercenary before moving.

When the sun got high enough and Peter discovered some other findings like rare minerals, the group decided to take a break nearby a lake.

The five of you sat down and ate whatever thing you got left from breakfast.

Once you were done, you took your backpack, pencil and sketchbook with you.

"Where are you going?" Kraven grumbled after gulping down the water from his canteen.

"Saw some specimens of plants Id like to register. Won't take long."

"You better return as soon as possible, understood?"

The mercenary warned and you nodded while walking away from the tree. Excited to partake in the things you were brought and paid to do.

Your first specimen was a moss plant, then a new type of orchid. A fish, some birds and more plants. Even though you studied everything alive, the plants were your speciality.

You put the little backpack in a a nearby trunk as you sat down to draw yet another orchid. The place seemed flooding with them.

Engrossed beyond wits to notice you had drifted off a bit too far from the group and a little too late a baboon sniffing and ransacking your backpack.

"H-Hey! Hey! -The baboon took the backpack away, excited and driven by the tinkling within "Get back here!"

The animal hopped on the trees before you could catch it, with graceful and effortless agility, to finally stop to a sturdy looking and serpent-like shaped trunk above the middle of a swamp.

As much as you wanted to let the monkey get away with it all, you didn't want to face Kraven's anger for losing the last bit of equipment and delay the investigation. You didn't know when the next ship would arrive. None did actually.

It's hoots and chirping only increased the more things he pulled out of your backpack. The tubs shattered as they fell off.

"Stop it!" you shrieked while hopping onto the trunk with wobbly and uneven steps.

The monkey hooted louder until it started shrieking, as if mocking you whenever your balance failed and you were forced to crawl over the top.

"God, I swear... if I catch you, I'm so making an article on how annoying you are!"

The baboon just screeched at your silly threat once more before leaving your backpack pending from a twig as he jumped way through the stretched branches that favored him like open arms, with your bag of seeds.

Your breath hitched when the trunk creaked and some cracking around the base perked up your ears.

Shit.

You couldn't stop and return crawling from where you came from, not when the backpack was oh so close to be reached and your nightmare to be over.

With a deep breath, you crawled closer and closer. Paused breaths turned controlled, but quickly grunted when the hem of your skirt stuck in a jagged branch.

"No, no" You whined and pulled away, the trunk creaked harder and you immediately hugged the trunk.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck-" with a firm yet calculated yank, you ripped the fabric away, freeing yourself although losing a good chunk of front coverage.

A thunderous crack made your breath hitch and you moved forward as the trunk stuttered midair. It was then your eyes actually considered the generous and dangerous distance from your position to the murky water. But the backpack dangling before you, edged you to take a risky decision.

Or you took the backpack and threw it on land, hoping to take the least damage as possible or jumping to that other branch to avoid falling to the water.

None of them happened as the tree dipped forward, and with a dying groan, the cracks widened, tearing the feeble base of the trunk, unable to support your weight any longer.

As in slow motion, you saw the murky water closer and closer and closer, until nothing but darkness swallowed you whole. Cold and muddy water hit you, suffocating your body with enraged water that fought hard to drown you.

Your hands were the only thing that made it out as they failed. The sub aquatic flora begun their tangling in your boots and legs, pulling you down.

Your lungs burned as some water seeped through, the backpack sunk deeper and deeper. Like a sacrifice in exchange of your life. Because a strong pair of tanned hands pulled you with a powerful yank by the forearm, out of the water before death and crocodiles owned it.

Your head too dizzy to actually understand what was happening. Your eyes could only see the landscape sliding smoothy underneath your feet, like if you were flying.

Am I dead? Dead people don't fly, do they?

You shrieked as soon as your eyes looked upwards. Powerful and solid thighs held tightly on the growing vines, that spurted from underneath the gigantic trees, as one of his hand took your arm gently to suddenly pull you up in the air and catch you in his arms.

Your instincts told you to hold onto him as the other survival mode blared with danger alarms. The massive wall of solid muscles he had for a body was warm, full of scars and plush hair that did nothing but welcome your dizzy head on his chest.

The man quirked a brow at your sudden state. He frowned and quickly got over the foliage of a tree, before the pouring rain trapped you both.

You were put with ease against the solid and definitely not rotting trunk, and your body lurched to the side to expell away the swallowed water, clearing your airways.

A firm slap from his hand made your lungs to finally get some air as you gasped and coughed, all the while he watched you curiously.

You were drenched, against a tree, clothes sticking way too intimately against your shivering body, breathing like you were a first born, raged and fast. Lungs burned less.

Eyes finally widened when recognizing the man before you. Some fresh scars littered his Greek-god type physique.

"T-Thank you." You mumbled through clattering teeth and forced yourself to take a deep inhale to control the rising anxiety.

He grunted and approached. One of his hands slid gently under your chin to take a hold of your cheek. Your head instinctively melted into his heavenly body heat, and your eyes dared to shut for a minute. Relishing in the irradiating warmth his calloused hands provided.

He's so warm.

As if sensing the good deed, the man rubbed his hands on your cold arms, mindful of the patches around your arm, a couple of times before going back up to your cheeks and neck.

You gasped as soon as his hands were placed on your chest. His hands gently palming your breast but quickly let them go upon feeling your hardened nipples. You quickly covered your chest

He watched his hands, as if inspecting them for any damage when he felt the hardened nub, to then return to your arms, prying them away from your chest.

"Wait!"

You shrieked and he took both of your wrists with one hand and hovered them above your head, squishing them against the tree, softly. His eyes raked and took in every feature of you, before stopping at your chest again.

Your breath hitched as he slid the other hand inside your shirt. Cheeks turned impossibly warmer when he took one of your breasts and pulled it out of their confinements.

He examinated the perky mound with puppy wonder-like curiosity and then looked down his own chest. He frowned. His didn't swell like yours did.

"Wh-What are you doi-" you bit your lip as he poked your nipple, sniffed it and licked it. Earning a short mewl from you.

The sound startled him and he let you go.

"T- That's not a polite thing to do!"

You quickly put the breast back and swung your hand to slap him. You had to admit his reflexes were something else cause it caught it before it collided against his face.

"How dare you?!" You struggled to let your hand go, but stopped your outburst when his eyes watched your hands and brought them before his ever curious face.

His own hand reached up, and placed itself before yours, comparing the stretched and long digits against your smaller ones. They weren't the same size, that was much true, but the texture and lines he had were the same on yours.

His eyes shone brighter than any bewilderment. His mind had finally clicked together at the sudden epiphany that flooded his brain.

You were like him.

He pursed his lips before letting out an excited grunt. He backed away to create enough space for his arms to move freely.

He pointed to himself and spoke with the deepest yet excited voice he could manage.

"Miguel."

Your eyes went wide and you approached. He tried again while pointing at his chest.

"Mi guel."

"Miguel." His nose flared proudly and his throat grunted happily.

"Oh! I see!"

His ears perked up upon hearing your name.

"OhIsee!" He repeated.

But you quickly corrected him, with your name as you pointed to yourself and then called his name as you pointed at him.

A buttery crawl rolled down your spine as he mumbled your name.

"Exactly." you smiled.

He cupped your face again and mumbled your name once more. However, the sound of a gunshot tearing through the skies disrupted his attention from you and stood at the edge of the branch.

"Kraven" You gasped. Completely forgetting about him and the group.

Oh no...

Trouble was a tiny word of the deep neck shit you were into. Another shot rippled through, frightening the birds in the ratio.

"Kraven!" He repeated, excited.

Extraordinary. There wasn't any word to describe him better. He took you back, trapping you in between his muscular thighs and swinging through vines.

The more you approached the camp, the clearer you saw this massive black and brown spots moving away from the settlement.

Your hearth thumped with violence upon finally standing before a small group of gorillas, sniffing and hooting softly upon seeing Miguel.

Your savior wasted no time in pulling you closer to them. You shook your head, rightfully frightened.

"No, no, no wait!"

The gorillas huffed to then sniff your head, your clothes. Some even pulled at your hair softly, others examinated the clothes you were in.

Another gunshot echoed closely this time and it was loud enough to spook out the beasts out that pulled Miguel with them. You could only watch him, wide eyed, expectant. But he left.

"Miguel..."

----

Kraven wasn't one for losing his temper with women. But you, had the annoying ability to make his patiece turn to dust in the least opportunes of moments.

"I asked you, where the fuck have you been?!"

He dragged you to the center of the crew and threw you on the floor.

"I told you, I almost drowned! Why do you think I'm like this?!"

Kraven spat a few words in his native language under his breath and grunted

"You lost your equipment, didn't you?"

"I... I tried to get it back but I almost drown in the swamp, Sergei!" you explained with nothing but the truth

"You can't swim, don't you bullshit me.!"

"I'm telling you the truth!"

"Then how you survived!?"

Peter frowned as he looked at you.

"I was saved. Ok? A man saved me!"

"A man?"

"He's... Not like us. He's taller than you and he saved me!" you kept pressing, hoping the angered mercenary understood that you didn't do anything in purpose to upset him.

"He knows how to swing through the vines! And dropped me here! His name is Miguel. "

Everyone stared with derision at you and Peter seemed concerned you stuck with your story so bad to the point of risking your own neck and reputation.

Kraven' brows furrowed into a scowl and soon he pulled his revolver out and pointed at you.

Your face turned to panic, as your hands rose shakily.

"A savage named Miguel helped you?"

"He did! Otherwise you'd still be looking for me."

Kraven snorted without removing the gun's aim from your body.

"Funny you think I'd waste my resources to look up for a stupid woman like you."

"Please, you have to believe me! I saw gorillas around the camp!"

Kraven removed the safety pin from the revolver, as if peeved you'd waste his time and resources into being an idiot and not doing your work as he required.

Time was ticking and he still had no news, and for you to be fantasizing about savages and doing stupid things such as endangering yourself had proved you weren't reliable.

"You're not reliable, anymore, Dahlberg."

"No! Sergei listen to me-"

He pointed the gun once more to you "I can't keep unreliable people within my crew."

"I'm not lying!" You pleaded with all your might and tears in your eyes, "Miguel is-"

Before Sergei could push the tip of his revolver on your head and shoot, the earth underneath rumbled, as Miguel fell in between you.

Real.

Kraven stepped back as the imaginary savage was now fully standing before him. His head had to crane up to meet his burning ember eyes.

Miguel's lips snarled at him, showing his fangs and beating his chest. A clear challenge for him to fight him.

A collective round of gasps echoed through the men, but when Miguel bared his teeth, they all pulled their guns and pointed at him

"Stop!" You yelled and quickly scrambled to your feet to take Miguel's hand and shake your head with determination.

"Don't hurt him!"

Peter immediately got himself before you and rose his arms, showing he was no armed.

"I'm sure we can reach an agreement here without filling eachother with bullets, gentlemen"

"Shut up, Parker!" Sergei seethed and with a deep flare of his nose, pointed the gun at Miguel again, but Peter grabbed the weapon and the shot tore through the air again.

"Kraven" Miguel grumbled at the gun shot sound.

Said mercenary could only watch him, nonplussed for a moment. While you, again, stood your ground before the behemoth of a man. Attempting your best at protecting him.

"Have... we met before?" Kravinoff spoke confused.

"I told you he could speak! And he is real!"

Miguel remained glued at your side. Everyone slowly put their weapons down as Kraven approached to take a proper look at Miguel, fascinated by his sheer size and build.

Peter had to admit, that it was the last time he'd ever doubt your words.

"You said you had seen gorillas?"

Again, you nodded and Miguel repeated the word.

"Miguel knows them. He could help us."

"Help us? The man barely understand us, but... It's better than nothing I suppose."

Sergei scrunched his face in confusion as Miguel took strands of your hair and sniffed them, his senses awakening in pure adrenaline. Throat grunted approvingly.

"Yeah... kind of understand the personal space thing now." Peter cleared his throat behind you. The rest kept looking to see but quickly were dismissed by their leader.

"Oh, shut up." You grumbled nervously as Miguel pulled your head to his chest once more, to listen to his powerful heartbeats.

"Yeah, it's very very nice." You chuckled nervously with a soft flush creeping your cheek.

"Nice." He repeated.

Kraven could only watch but if he was the link towards the gorillas, he'd seize the chance in every way he could.

"He's way smarter than you think."

"We're running against time, how would he understand us, Dhalberg?"

Miguel moved to inspect Kraven, mimicking his gestures effortlessly. Earning a giggle from you.

"Leave that to me."

-------

Taglist:

@yhrlocalcyprus @nommingonfood @literatiastray @call-me-nyxx @gennirose @loonalockley @danubliat @marit332 @beabfleab @l3lazeit @lililapuce @prollyanvycchi @huehuehuehuehehe @nanamiscunt @ncj2837ndjcj @leviswifey-act62 @migueloharacumslut @migshusben @freehentai @animequeen4

@del-ightfulling @angel-of-the-moons

#t writes✨#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #atsv miguel #Miguelverse #tarzan au

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her-devils-advocate · 3 months

Text

Selfish risks

pairings: Levi Ackerman x (GN!) reader

genre: domestic fluff

summary: In the peaceful downtime spent together, Levi decides to risk asking an important question.

word count: 1,435

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54159382

The Scout headquarters is silent, most of the survey corps members have already taken themselves off to bed, greedily getting as much rest as possible before the next mission creeps up on them. Everyone has been working hard, with both training sessions and squad meetings running longer and longer each day, almost as if each scout could sense something approaching.

The wind howls outside the stone structure, rustling the leaves and causing the windows to rattle. You shiver despite the loud crackling of the fireplace inside your office, the amber flames fighting to keep the chill away.

The warmth and ambient sounds of nature do their best to lull you to sleep, exhaustion tugging on your eyelids as you force yourself to work through the night. A bad habit that you had picked up from a certain captain.

Your relationship with him over the years within the scouts had caused a few of his mannerisms to rub off onto you, for better or for worse. You’ve found that the recruits you are tasked to train tend to listen to you more after you picked up Levi’s “don’t test me” expression. However, you have caught yourself clicking your tongue in displeasure a lot more as well, much to the amusement of all those nearby to pick up on it.

The frantic scribbling of your pen grows louder as you try to rush the piles of paperwork towering before you. A small rumble breaks the silence as your stomach protests, unhappy with the dedication to the mountain of paper causing you to skip dinner accidentally.

You are so engulfed in the moment that you almost miss the gentle creaking of the door. You raise your head only to be met with tired silver eyes cutting through the shadows of the room.

Levi slowly shuts the door before pausing, simply watching you sign your name and toss the pen to the side, ignoring the halfhearted glare thrown your way as it rolls across the desk and onto the floor with a small clatter.

You stare at him for a moment, waiting for the small lecture about making a mess, even if it is in your own space. A lecture that, surprisingly, never comes.

"Shouldn't you be sleeping?" He says instead, his voice is gentle, yet you can sense the small reprimand within his words.

"Curfew doesn't apply to squad leaders and higher, I thought you knew that?" You shoot him a playful smirk that only grows with the withering look you get in response.

"That's not what I meant and you know it."

"I know, there's just... so much to get through and I figured I would power through most of it while you were in the meeting with Erwin and Hange. Which seemed like a good plan considering how long it took."

Levi lets out a long sigh as he walks towards the armchair by the fire, flopping down onto the worn fabric. You smile at the sight, at how carefree and unguarded he lets himself be around you.

A sight some could never think to imagine when it comes to the aloof captain, but you know him better than most.

You get up from the desk, groaning slightly as your muscles scream in defiance. A sign that you have been cooped up on the uncomfortable wooden chair for far too long. The sound causes Levi's head to snap in your direction, only relaxing again when he notices you are in no real pain.

The sight makes you smile, even with everything he has to handle within the Survey Corps, he still always makes sure to look out for you as well. Even when he doesn’t need to.

His eyes track your every movement and you see a myriad of emotions swirling through them: exhaustion, concern, wonder, adoration and love all mix with the flickering amber of the fire within the gunmetal of his eyes.

He shuffles to try and give you some space beside him in the small armchair, only to frown in frustration and pull you into his arms instead. You rest your head in the crook of his neck, straddling his lap as you bring your hand up to run through his silky hair.

"Interesting meeting?" You whisper into his neck, not wanting to break the peace that has settled over you both. Something you both rarely get to cherish, yet heavily deserve.

The only reply you get is a small hum, he tightens his grip around you and peppers your shoulder with small kisses.

"Four-eyes has a new experiment they want to try out. Apparently, it's fundamental that Erwin lets them capture more titans for it." Levi says with a small grumble, his voice slightly muffled by your shoulder, clearly unhappy to remember what had held up the already late meeting for so long.

You go to open your mouth to speak, only for his low voice to cut you off instantly.

"And no, you're not helping them with whatever shitty plan they have in mind. You need to stop letting them drag you into their schemes so easily." He punctuates his words with a small flick to the centre of your forehead.

You let out a light laugh, the action sending a shiver across Levi's skin.

"How did you know I was going to suggest helping Hange?"

"I know you too well."

"That you do." You kiss his jawline, slowly moving towards his lips, leaving a trail of feather-light kisses as you do. He sighs when your lips finally meet his own, his eyes flickering shut briefly as you part.

"Marry me."

Your eyes widen briefly, shock and excitement rushing through you, you are almost certain you had misheard him if it weren't for the slightest blush covering his cheeks and the determined look in his eyes.

"Is that an order, Captain?"

He huffs out a small laugh, his eyes flicking up briefly before he reveals a small ring from the pocket of his jacket. A proud green jewel sits atop the thin silver band, your breath catches as it glints in the firelight.

"I could make it one if you wanted. I got fed up of waiting for some perfect moment or whatever that traditional bullshit is. There are no perfect moments in this world, not when titans could eat us at any moment." He pauses for a moment, his usually stoic voice faltering with emotions as he tries to hide his face from your unwavering gaze.

"Or so I thought until you made me experience peace in these moments with you. Then I realised that every moment where we are alive together is a perfect one."

You stare at him with wide eyes, not noticing the stream of tears running down your cheeks until you feel his calloused hand brush them away with a softness you couldn't begin to imagine.

"The thought of having someone to lose scares me, but you've made me realise that marriage or not, loving you has been a risk I've been taking for a while now. Might as well make you officially mine while we have the chance."

You let out a watery giggle as your hands dance along the fabric of his shirt, smoothing out any creases that dare to cling to him.

"You know, most marriage proposals don't have the implications of a horrible death woven into them."

"That's clearly where the poor fuckers are going wrong then."

Levi's eyes are soft as he watches you, his lips finally quirking up into a small smile as you let out an undignified snort at his comment.

"Yes, I will marry you."

You don't miss the way his shoulders drop with relief, nor the genuine joy that shines through his eyes. He delicately takes the hand you wordlessly offer him, taking his time to slide the ring onto your finger.

“Good, I want to risk being selfish. Just this once.”

You beam at his words, heart heavy as you place a soft kiss onto his lips before throwing your arms around his neck to pull him as close as possible. His arms quickly wrap around your lower back as he holds you tightly, his head resting against your chest.

He can almost sense the approaching comment from the way you jiggle with pure, albeit restrained laughter.

“Is it green to match our capes? Don’t get me wrong, love, you choose very well. A fact I’m sure you already know, but…is that the reason?” “Shut up.”

The laugh you give him in response warms both of your hearts more than the now-dying fire could manage.

#♥. writing #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman #aot x reader #levi ackerman x you #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan #aot #snk #this is the first time i've written Levi and the man makes me nervous to do so!

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satvruu · 4 months

Text

ೀ how they hug you

rewritten and reposted of my hc set from my old blog @/star-puff! thank you to all my old dedications as well as my new ones @kurooppi @wyllsravengard for making my return to this fandom possible <3

feedback is very appreciated!

ft. yuuji, megumi, gojo, getou, nanami

itadori yuuji embraces you warmly, fondly, sunlight streaming through the window and scattering over your bare skin. it's someplace safe and comforting, enveloped in his arms like he's taken it upon himself to protect you from everything horrible in the world; he is your knight, he is your shield, your safe haven to escape to, no matter how many wounds he will endure in the process. ("yuuji," you whisper, a hand coming up to rest gently on his arm. he bleeds desperation. "i'm okay, i promise." yuuji squeezes you tighter, trembling, and you wonder what you can do to make it true for him, too.) he holds you for far too long for it to be anything casual, but you can't really complain about it anyway—it's better this than to witness the alternative. after all, what is the sun without a place to hold its warmth; what becomes of a hero when they fail to protect the things that matter most?

fushigurou megumi comes to you slow, steady, a ripple of water in the pond. you coax him out gently, holding your arms out before wrapping them around him. his breath hitches (always, no matter how many times he tries to hide it) and his body stiffens, arms frozen at his sides. but slowly, surely, your head buried in his chest, megumi's arms begin to wrap around you in a manner you can only describe as tender—as if you could break if he held onto you too tight. (truthfully, megumi thinks he's just afraid. the jujutsu world is a dangerous one, after all, even to those who only know of it by name. megumi has lost too many people, and you're the one person he can't afford to lose.) he flinches at the thought, pulling away. you draw yourself closer in him, instead. moonlight behind the clouds, you'd gladly hold onto this night forever if it meant megumi was by your side.

gojo satoru is known as many things—a child prodigy, the strongest, a boy-god making his presence known on the lowly earth, but to you, he is simply just obnoxious. satoru makes it a spectacle each time he sees you: hollering, gallivanting, draping himself over you with his long limbs and impossible-to-miss frame. you huff and complain and uselessly try to drag yourself away from him each time, but satoru hooks onto you and refuses to let you go, nuzzling his face into yours. (they're mine, the action screams, a blaring warning to anyone unfortunate enough to get caught in the collateral. you've been too caught up in your irritation of him to notice this, of course, and you're certainly not someone who would take the explicit meaning of it kindly, but satoru finds that he doesn't really care. not when he has more important things to attend to.) gojo satoru is many things, but the one thing he absolutely isn't is someone who can share.

getou suguru smells of sandalwood incense, a musky amber you think you could identify blind. sometimes, you think you remember a different suguru, a kinder suguru, one that had easier things to worry about, a brighter look in his eyes, an easier weight to his gait. if you think back far enough, you suppose it might have been because he had somebody else by his side to keep it that way, a brighter light shining next to him to keep the darkness at bay. (but that was a long time ago. now, suguru is the one left to be lit by the fire, stuck in the ashes of his own kin for a future little understand. you're not sure who is to blame for that anymore.) you're not the light that can save him—no one can be, not anymore. when suguru reaches out to you, rare vulnerability bubbling over in a way you can only describe as drowning—as crumbling—the only thing you can do is curl yourself next to him in the incense burner, smearing yourself in the ash.

nanami kento thinks you need this, especially after a long, hard day. the melting comes slow: his hands on your back, gentle pats and quiet whispers of comfort as he rests his chin on your head. and then comes everything else. his hands slot perfectly into the dip of your back, the small of your waist, thumbs rubbing small circles over the fabric of your clothes, and in the eyes of no one but yourselves, the two of you begin to sway back and forth to a quiet melody nanami begins to hum. you cling onto the fabric of his shirt, trying to memorie the smell of his cologne, the rumble of his voice, the warmth of his arms. (it's too much, to have a memory of a future that will inevitably happen. you almost want to cry. don't go, you want to say, a lump in your throat, wishing for the impossible. don't go.) and still, selfish as you are, nanami hugs you like you're slow dancing in the dark.

#jjk x reader #jjk imagines #jjk headcanons #itadori x reader #itadori yuuji x reader #fushiguro megumi x reader #megumi x reader #fushiguro x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #getou x reader #geto x reader #geto suguru x reader #suguru geto x reader #nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #yuuji x reader #yuji x reader

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shirefantasies · 5 months

Note

How would the fellowship, Thorin, Fili, Kili, Haldir, Arwen and Eomer react to someone they like who always calls everyone by cute names like ‘love’, ‘babe’, ‘hon’, ‘darling’ etc.

Oooh, good question! I’m going to split this up into LoTR & The Hobbit imagines for the whole casts if that’s all right 😄

LoTR Characters When You Call Everyone Pet Names

Aragorn

His favorite part of your habit, in all honesty, is other people’s reactions. The first time you do it to him he sort of quirks up a brow, but others take it more extremely, offense or otherwise. He gets protective, though, if those others respond taking it too far. He’ll step in front of you if they start flirting with you or try to touch you unbidden even if you’re just friends at that point. No matter who in his group that is, unacceptable. At the use of a regular name slid into the flows of your conversation, something akin to "Oh, honey, you have no idea", his lips quirk up and privately he wonders if you’ve ever meant it.

Legolas

Your first meeting is you brushing past him at Rivendell with an "Excuse me, darling". Needless to say he stares after you with wide eyes because you must know him, but from where? Then you greet Elrond with an enthusiastic "Sweetheart, how I have missed you", and while the Lord of Imladris appears aware of the affront, he is also amused. Clearly this is simply your manner. Because of this, he accepts it without much overthought, though your pet names never fail to bring a smile to the elf prince's lips.

Boromir

The kindness you show him almost breaks him- is he worthy of your honeyed words? "Easy, dear heart, the troubles you carry are not even your own, are they?" The part of him tempted to lash out almost wins, but at the end of the day, you are right. All he can do is shake his head. He's heard you say call such sweet names before, but alongside your other words they pierce his heart like nothing before. He bids you sit by his side. "Wish me to speak or to listen?" You ask, and that is when Boromir knows he has fallen for you.

Gimli

"Who are you calling sweetheart, darling?" Offended as he may be, Gimli also takes it as a challenge of sorts, leaning in closer with smug satisfaction. It becomes a sort of tension for you both, an odd banter of affectionate nicknames tossed out even with the bloodiest challenges. "Cut his head off, Gimli darling!" "Wouldn't dream of doing any less, dear!" Gimli begins getting offended as your habit pops out with others, asking you pointedly what you think you're doing calling the elf sweetheart. "What's he done to earn that, eh?" Leaning in, your noses almost brushing, you give him a smile dripping with smug mock-sweetness. "I thought you didn't enjoy being called that." "Well," he crosses his arms stubbornly, eyes falling away from yours, "I suppose I've gotten used to it now."

Frodo

"Frodo, my sweet, please eat just a bit more for me, I worry so." Frodo's heart does a somersault- he's made sure notice of your habit by now, heard you speak your darlings and sweethearts aplenty. You often said it to tease the others when spirits were light or when you cared for them, but that was not all. The words my sweet were reserved for him. Everyone else got a plethora, it seemed, but him, and it vexed him in the best way possible, twisting his heart like nothing else. The sound of it was like a balm to Frodo, and he dared hope it held the meaning he dearly wished it to, for he was too shy to ask it of you just yet.

Sam

“Sam, love, pass me the ladle, if you please.” Samwise, thinking his heart might burst from his chest and run right up to you, pauses, speaks carefully. “What was that?” He asks, your name falling softly, almost delicately, from his lips. He’d heard the way you tease people before, usually addressing them as ‘my dear’. This was something else. The smile you gave him in response, too, was practically enough to kill him- could you tell? “I just asked if I might borrow the ladle, love.” Yep, the jig was up now.

Merry

“It’s got to be some sort of custom.” “That or you’ll be very, very wrong.” You arched a private brow over Merry and Pippin’s back-and-forth whispering, but thought nothing more of it until your next interaction with the blonde hobbit. “Merry, sweetheart, what are you doing?” Looking up from his knife, he held up a small chunk of wood with a strangely cocky grin. “Just a bit of whittling, dear.” Something about the roguish look he gave you, the confidence with which he adopted your habit, had your heart fluttering; you faltered a bit in your response before you sat at his side. Unbeknownst to you, he was elbowing Pippin triumphantly on the other side.

Pippin

His heart soars the first time he hears you call him honey. No matter what attacks you or what happens that day, day made. Then he hears you saying "No put that down, Merry sweetheart" and it all comes crashing to the ground because he’d gotten it into his head that he was special- was he wrong? He had to have been. When the words so easily pass between your lips again, this time in the form of '"Gimli dear, let me see that", hurt mingles with realization of your manner- that is just how you are. Moments pass, thoughts drifting by as clouds deciding whether or not to storm, before Pippin makes up his mind: he'll make known his interest, try everything he can until he truly does stand out.

Faramir

Publicly he barely humors it, trying to keep a tough face when his seniors or especially his father are present. Privately? It amuses him. Pleases his heart to see one with light spirits in the face of everything. Your ways make you something of an anchor, a reminder why he does the things that he does. You make Faramir laugh and he knows Boromir enjoys your company too- the three of you together form an escape that reminds Faramir of his younger days. And perhaps that happiness you always brings him has slowly metamorphosed, glimmering with hope every time you call him dear.

Eomer

This man, a military leader, and you call him honey? Eomer is shaken up honestly. He can’t even be annoyed because he’s too busy freezing with a slight frown upon his face. Wits coming back about him, he opens his mouth to question you, ask in his blunt way why you address him so... then you turn around and call his sister my dearest and oh, perhaps he was truly overthinking it. He laughs it off, swears to put it out of his head...but the mental image of you calling him a name of endearment plays over and over again whether he wills it or not.

Haldir

“And what has our precious jewel brought to us now?” Since discovering Haldir bristled a bit at your little names, you had decided to find the most ridiculous ones possible for the marchwarden. It worked every time, too, judging by the furrow of his brow. “They go to the Lady of Lórien,” he replied simply, not to be goaded so easily. The man he seemed to know the best, the ranger, exchanged looks of amusement with you. “And what do you have to say for yourself, my dear?” You asked the man. Just as you suspected, Haldir’s expression darkened a bit further- perhaps he had gotten a bit more used to his names than he let on. At that, you couldn’t help a chuckle and a smirk.

Eowyn

Though she may not voice it, she is questioning of your ways at first because she has firsthand experience of people using words as weapons, saying whatever they can to influence others’ will. So sure, call her dear but you will get nothing of her she does not want to give. The day this changes is actually when you call her brother a pet name and he’s shocked and the wide look in her eyes has both of you laughing in a way you usually do not. She envies your carefree ways and from that moment on enjoys basking in them. It is impossible to help the way her heart gives a little flutter whenever a 'dear' or 'my darling' is directed her way, however...

Arwen

The surprise she fixes you with upon playfully addressing her as ‘my pretty’ encourages you, if you are being honest. It’s a pleasant look, flattered and floored, that you think a lady like Arwen deserves to make again and again. As a result, while everyone else gets a casual darling or dear, you make it your mission to fluster Arwen as much as possible. “Ah, treasure, how has this day treated you so far?” She flushes. “…Well, I say. Thank you. And I wish you to know that you are no less than you say I am. The way you speak to me? It can also be said of yourself.”

Elrond

You are caring. Parental. As a father of three, Elrond appreciates the way you speak gently and warmly. Assist his healed patients with soft whispers of be free of your pain, dear heart. As he granted you leave to use his name rather than My Lord you still slip up at times…until it becomes quite the opposite and a good night, dear slips from your lips upon parting for the evening. Elrond accepts and assures your every apology with an affectionate smile, shocking himself with the realization that his feelings for you are much stronger than he had allowed himself awareness of.

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cordyce · 1 year

Text

BY YOUR HANDS ALONE

neteyam sully x gn!reader

notes: this is silly & overtly fluffy & all over the place if i am completely honest rn. neteyam is a little flustered & probably ooc. sorry :’)

"there you are."

"here i am," you mirror back instantly, hardly sparing a glance up at the far too familiar voice as your fingers continue to work at chopping up some vegetables. it's a busy day—a momentous day. there is no time to waste.

"let me help," neteyam offers, already making moves to steal your knife from you as he steps to your side.

but you weave it away from his grasp, nudge him back with your shoulder and point the knife at him as you address him. "aht, don't think so," you differ, then continue your slicing. "besides, don't you have your own tasks to get to, mr. mighty warrior?"

days like this require a lot of preparation; everyone chipping in and doing their part so that it all gets done and runs smoothly. if even one person slacks off, it could cause a rift in sanctified plans. and that simply wouldn’t do. no, it would not.

"i have completed all of them, actually," he retorts, but he shrivels when you narrow your eyes up at him. "okay, almost all of them."

you scoff, let your pupils meet your sockets with a roll as you pry the truth out of him. of course, one of the most important days of the year and it is now that neteyam chooses to have an irresponsible whim. you aren’t sure what you’re gonna do with him.

"your mother will have your tail if she finds one thing out of place for tonight, you know this." it isn't necessarily a warning, but there is some tip-off in your tone. "you must get everything done."

neteyam hums, leans his hip against the raised wood that you are using as a makeshift counter. he says nothing, simply watches you. takes into account how you dice up the vegetables in front of you diligently before sliding them to the side with your knife and moving onto the next ones. his stare is driving you crazy—no one works well under pressure, after all.

it causes you to have a slight blunder; a misstep. you cut a pattern a tad too fast and send a slice of root tumbling towards the ground. neteyam's instincts are superb, quick, and he catches it before it hits the dirt. mumbling a thank you under your breath as he places it back on the tray, you find the heir before you still not making a move to speak.

you aren't sure why it unnerves you so.

"what do you have left to complete?" it's not the question you want to ask, but 'what the hell do you keep staring at?' doesn't sound quite as nice. so you settle on it.

you take a pause, a breath, to turn to him. throughout the years you have seen the eldest sully child wear many expressions. ones tainted by smiles, irritation, pride, devotion—but this one has you tipping your head in the most peculiar way.

because timidness is not something you think you've ever seen don the strong features of neteyam sully.

he carries himself with such an air of confidence; shoulders pressed back and chin held high—not arrogant, but undaunted. he does not shift gaze unless he is avoiding scoldings and he does not suck in his cheek unless he is fighting frustration. so, you wonder, what could possibly have his face contorted in such a reticent manner. if you did not know any better, you’d almost call his demeanor a rendition of shy. but that seems rather uncharacteristic of him, doesn’t it?

"ah—are you sure you don't need help with that?" he's deflecting, brushing off your inquiry like he hasn't heard it. and you can't decide whether you find that amusing or concerning.

he's making way for your knife again and you twist your arm to hold it out of his reach behind you. you eye him carefully, flit your gaze all around him to pick up on anything that you can that would explain his behavior.

"tell me." it's not an order, you aren't demanding, but neteyam nods his head like he's respondent of such.

"my father told me i needed a, uhm," he stutters, licks his lips, like he's tripping over his own tongue. and it's undeniable the way you see his ears twitch. "for the celebration tonight. i need a.."

"a what, neteyam?" you press, cock your brow up at him. you don't think you've ever seen him like this. never witnessed him so.. "you need a what?"

"a.. date."

so fidgety.

"a date?" you repeat with widening eyes.

"no, no not a—not a date really but i need someone for the—“

"the staining ceremony.” you finish for him, continue his sentence because with all his blubbering you aren’t sure he’ll ever spit it out.

he nods curtly.

the celebration tonight is for all the young warriors who have proved themselves throughout the calendar year as being strong willed and great protectors of the clan. neteyam, of course, is one of them. has been since he earned the right to be titled as such. so perhaps it should have clicked in your head that he’d be searching for a partner for the staining ceremony portion of the night.

but a part of you—if you’re being completely honest with yourself—just figured he had one already. events like this take weeks of planning; most warriors find their artisan a fortnight in advance. because it cannot just be anyone.

the partner one chooses for the staining ceremony must be someone with whom they feel a connection. some of the older warriors choose their mates. some of the youngest choose their mother or father. some settle for siblings. others, in brazen acts of outstretched hands, choose a mate unbonded; one who they harbor feelings for but have yet to seal such in the eyes of Eywa.

you cannot lie and say you had not pondered over who neteyam’s choice would be. a part of you thought he would pick kiri—they have always been so close and she has been his partner for such ceremony before. but, you are not deaf to the murmurs of your village, you are not ignorant of what has been passed from mouth to ear of all that will listen. there have been other… prospects who have been suggested to neteyam for this special commemoration.

your name has not been among them.

“well,” you continue, tear your eyes away from him and get back to the task at hand. there is no need to dwell on such things and fall behind. you have just one more batch of greens after this to prepare then you will be done and can walk away from all this. “if you’re here to ask my opinion on who your choice should be, i’m not sure i will prove to be much help.”

a shut down; a cut off. you’d like this conversation to be over as soon as possible because it’s making your fingers itch. you’re offering him a gateway to close the topic off.

but he doesn’t seem to get the memo.

“no,” he chuckles, now, and you can tell he’s shaking his head out of the corner of your eye. it’s breathy; like he’s punched it out of his chest and finally broken past the barrier of whatever flusteredness had him trapped before. “that’s not why i came to find you.”

“if it’s to convince kiri to sacrifice herself to do it for you again this year, i’m not game for that either.” you don’t understand why his laughter leaves you agitated, why this whole situation has caused an odd twisting in your gut.

“that won’t be necessary,” he disputes, “i do not need kiri to be my partner this year.”

your fingers fumble, your slicing stutters. “oh?” and you want to kick yourself for how your voice hitches. you clear your throat, bite the corner of your lip that neteyam can’t see. “convince some other poor soul to do it for you? is it zuy’nik? i know she presented you a kill from her hunt recently.”

neteyam hums. “no. i have not chosen zuy’nik.”

you grip your knife harder, focus carefully on the blade as you chop down on a bundle of leaves. your throat is dry, your heart is thundering. you feel silly.

“sënuul, then?” you question, do your best to sound as disinterested as possible even though your chest is burning to know who could be lucky enough to have been picked by the heir himself. “i hear many young warriors wish for her. they say she has delicate hands.”

your hands—in contrast—have grown tense; your chops near erratic. being this worked up over a man who is not your mate seems so futile, so nonsensical. if your mother were here to see you now she’d call you childish.

but is it so childish to want things your heart yearns for?

“while that may be true,” neteyam agrees with the sentiment, and that makes your stomach lurch, “it is not sënuul either.”

“then who is it? who could you possibly—“

a hand covering yours has you cutting yourself off. neteyam’s palm melds over your knuckles; stops your unsafe cutting and stills your wrist’s movements. before you can even bring yourself to look at him, calloused fingers are hooking around your chin. swiveling your head around, you have no choice but to meet his gaze. and it is not averting, not twinkling with tepidness like it was before. you think, for a moment, that’s because he’s passed the feeling onto you.

“i do not wish for any other partner in this clan.” and his voice does not waver, does not stumble, now. you swallow as you listen. “i came here to ask if you would do me the honors, for tonight.”

your tongue feels like cotton; the fuzz of it floating to your brain to make everything go static. this is.. not what you had expected.

you had expected to follow neytiri’s orders for preparing the food for the meals that would be shared. you had expected to dress yourself in the ceremonial clothing and jewelry you keep for these special occasions. you had expected to stand around the edges of the circle during the opening dance, serve food to the elders, and sit with a content tight smile as you watched kiri declare neteyam’s war paint for the third year in a row before the true celebration began.

you had not expected yourself to be standing face to face with neteyam, ears twitching embarrassingly sporadic, as he asks you to join him in one of the most intimate and important events of a warrior’s life.

and you suppose you can use that element of surprise as the reason why you find yourself a tad bit speechless while you nod dumbly. a wide grin cracks across his face, curves up his cheeks as he lets out another breathy laugh.

“thank you,” he murmurs, and he still hasn’t let go of your chin. “i was worried i would not get the chance to ask you in time. i was pushing it, but i tried to get all my other duties done as fast as i could.”

now that, the mention of time, finally knocks you out of your little lovesick trance.

“hey, wait,” you huff, shove at his chest lightly with your free hand. “you should have asked me sooner! i should have already had your stain pattern planned out, and—and now i have to go get all of your paints and i didn’t factor in the time for that. you’re terrible!”

“ah, i’m not terrible. i am sure you can just wing it,” he waves off, simpers like this is funny.

“wing it?” you gape at him. because he genuinely cannot be serious. “this will be your war paint pattern for the rest of the year. if it’s bad then you will be stuck with it. you want me just to wing that?!”

“why not? i have faith in you, i’ve put myself into your hands.” and it’s meant to playful, you know this, but the way he’s looking at you proves his words hold their full weight regardless. “don’t be mad at me.”

“oh, i’m mad,” you retort, brush him away as you get back to slicing because now you really do not have the time for distractions. “i cannot believe you have waited until last minute.”

“would you like me to ask someone else?” he queries, and you whip your head over to level him with a glare. “i mean, i am sure sënuul would be honored to be the partner of the future olo’eyktan.”

“you know, i liked you better when you were sputtering and nervous,” you spit back, retract your attention once again. “terrible. truly terrible.”

“ah, do not be mad at me,” he levels again, “what can i do to have you forgive me?”

“nothing. you will never be forgiven.” with no hesitation, but also no malice. your bite holds no venom, and your cheeks are still warm. such hypocrisy you spew.

“nothing?” he questions, and you don’t even have to see his face to know he is smiling. there he is again; the neteyam who holds his chin up high and taunts his brother into mindless games to prove his worth. you admire this neteyam; love this neteyam.

this neteyam grabs your face and tugs you forward before you can think of another mindless rebuttal to spout.

the kiss is light but fervent, and if you were a poetic person you might just say that his lips taste like future promises you already intend to keep. the fight drains from your body and you find no urge to bring it back. this neteyam seems to know how to quell you, how to dispel your frustration and wipe away your grievances like fogged up glass. so easy, so effortlessly.

he pulls away languidly, breath puffing against your lips. "forgive me?" he asks again, and you find yourself nodding before he even finishes the question.

he turns your head to peck your cheek then drops his hands to finally successfully steal the knife still held in yours. you tip your head, blinking through the daze to inquire what he's doing.

"i can finish that, you know."

"i know," he answers, then flashes you a crooked grin that has your stomach twisting in a way far different than before. "but don't you think you should start planning how you want to trail your hands over me?"

and, oh. part of you wants to hit him for that. but part of you wants to tug him in by the neckpiece he dons and get him to shut up by an alternative method.

as you reach forward to run your hand ever so heedlessly up his chest, a faux illusion of planning your mapping, you think you might just settle on the latter.

likes & reblogs appreciated !

#this is for my sweet matcha first and foremost <3 i hope u like it !#also i TOTALLY made up this entire celebration thing LMAO #i jus thought it was a cool idea and super cute sooo #also. i rlly hope u don’t think neteyam is too ooc bc he is a bit. flustered here #BUT SJDHDN AHHH ENJOY #neteyam x you #neteyam x na'vi!reader #neteyam x reader #neteyam sully x reader #neteyam drabble #neteyam fluff #avatar x reader #atwow x reader #atwow fluff #avatar fluff #neteyam sully fluff

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brucewaynehater101 · 14 days

Note

Brainrotting again

Ever read "A Thirteen Year Old's Fake ID" by OneoftheUnknown on ao3 ???

*cracks knuckles*

Lets take this idea and run away with it

Unreliable Narration, I choose you!

. · • ★ • · .

Tim—simply put—loves too much

Loves his parents too much to expose their neglect

Too much to do something as scandalous as get caught photographing Batman and Robin

Tim loves the Batman and Robins he's dreamed up too much to not follow him at night, not photograph them, not become Batman's Leash after Jason's passing so as to preserve the hope they symbolize, preserve the childhood hero he's loved for so long

Tim loves his parents too much to be caught being affiliated with Batman, even to the Dark Knight

Timothy Drake never becomes Robin after all . . .

Alvin does!

Alvin works desperately to drag Batman out of the pit of despair he is trapped within and spreading, works to become the most efficent co-worker, and works to build the paper trail that disproves any possibility of fraud

Wigs, contacts, makeup, civilian wear, hobby and even personality that differ dramatically from Drake and Draper are the cherries on top

. · • ★ • · .

Drake is perfect for his family name, and Draper is the idealized Robin who's light preserves the Night and Justice that is Batman

Yes, it is a pain concocting a personality which is the perfect Robin yet detestable enough to go unmourned, such a personality born of an upbringing that would stand up to scrutiny is such an impossible task for anybody not a Drake

Tim is confident he's done it. Once Alvin's no longer entrusted with the burden of Batman's Robin Leash, a Young Justice member, and a hero all around, nobody will gave a damn if he vanishes

[Jason's attack on Titan Towers, Damian's murder attempts, the constant calling of Replacement, his Sweet Sixteen, Dick taking away Robin and ruining his reputation in the hero community, nobody believing that Bruce is alive

Bart and Kon's deaths, the cloning he attempted in his G R I E F which will only serve to soil Draper's name further once it leaks at the press of a button]

All of that, all of that were utterly perfect moments, perfect to lash out in ways that would make Alvin detested more and more

The clock was ticking.

He is a leach of a cast over a long healed limb

. · • ★ • · .

Alvin hates Damian and Jason and Dick to the ends of the Earth. The first two tried to kill him, the third took away the Robin he wrongly thought belonged to him and he stole Red Robin just to be petty

He left a note saying he's only proving them wrong in Bruce being dead just to spite them

Alfred is the only person he is respectful at all too

He doesn't get paid enough

Alvin tried to ignore that giggling fighting to be made at the thought of Batman's accomplice having to suffer through all this

This feeling that's been there since his sixteenth

. · • ★ • · .

Hating the Bats? That's Alvin's job. Timothy knows it's irrational

Jason dug himself out of his grave and was trained in the very same cult as Damian. Batman picked his murderer over Jason

They're traumatized in ways he can't even summarize. The family's they should trust have done horrible jobs at helping the heal, going as far as to exacerbate their issues

It's not just wrong, but inhumane to wish they were Perfect Victims

Alvin is only half right whenever he demands—yuck! have some manners—apologies

. · • ★ • · .

Awful as it sounds, BruceQuest couldn't have come at a more perfect time, a hero on his high horse, insisting against his betters on running away to prove them wrong, a rebellious stint below his age

So what if he died with the League of Assassins after proving Bruce alive and bringing him back?

Everything is right with the Bats again

. · • ★ • · .

Tim hates the Bats more than anything

He knows it's irrational. Declaring in his heart that he hates is for older adults. He can't help it

When Batman disappeared and his family was scrambling to pick up the pieces, he set eyes upon Bruce's side

Who would take up the CEO mantle? Who could be trusted with the family name that swayed Gotham's civilians and Dark Knights?

In the end, with Alvin declared a madman, they could only rely on Timothy Drake, set to inherit Drake Industries following his parent's death and Uncle's adoption of him

Not that the family would ever know it. Not that they needed to know it

It became easier wrangling being a vigilante and CEO, as well as two identities when one of them was dead

Not that he stopped being a vigilante. They're just never gonna show up on the field

But try as he might, he couldn't put the Batfamily quite back together as Alvin wanted

Bruce won't let him step down from being a CEO

. · • ★ • · .

Brucie insisted on a dinner between family and CEO

It makes sense. None as well. Nothing is suspicious of Tim Drake minus his youth

"You have another brother? Where is he?" He hadn't heard of another adoption yet

"He died asshole." Draper? Why would they still speak of him like one of their own?

But then again, he died

He wasn't Jason Todd dead, but rather a "Don't Speak Ill of the Dead" dead

. · • ★ • · .

It's kind of funny how Brucie—no, Batman—seemed to not tell the family how Tim requested to resign multiple times.

But the family was traumatized by his own hand. They needed something to stand against, to become a cohesive family unit. Bonds forged from pressure are a powerful, powerful thing

He can testify I'm so sorry Kon and Bart and Cassie and—

. · • ★ • · .

If Tim were a civilian through and through, he'd say it's fucked how Batman still employs manipulation to make sure family progress stays up

Then again, he has to find some kind of way

It's Batman

. · • ★ • · .

Tim miscalculated

Tim miscalculated sooo, so fucking much

. · • ★ • · .

Nothing but good things to say about the departed Alvin in interviews

A shrine—a shrine!!—in memory of Alvin

Talks and discussing he gathers on his computers regarding the family includes talks about how horribly they mistreated Alvin comparing him to Damian and Jason?!

Alvin had a working and antagonistic relationship with the heros. Timothy Drake was purely professional. Tim Drake's relationships are exclusively parasocial and delusional

And he's trapped the Bats in parasocial relationships with a boy not even real

. · • ★ • · .

Tim wants to be sick

He calls in sick

'Suck it Batman'

. · • ★ • · .

Only after dying is Alvin getting the love Timothy Drake is above wanting for

It doesn't make any sense

. · • ★ • · .

Tim Drake wants to step down from Wayne Enterprises all together, to cut all contact—being a CEO has been such a strain, with Bruce refusing my nephew's several requests to step down—and have his Fake Uncle move them away from Gotham for both of their own mental health

Somewhere he won't fear the Bat's finding him

Bruce refusing his requests are the perfect excuses to go as far as to cut contact with the world—

Tim Drake knows his heart belongs to Gotham

. · • ★ • · .

Tim Drake hates the Waynes and Batfamily to the ends of the earth

There are exceptions. Steph and Barbara, Cass and Duke, and—

. · • ★ • · .

Jack and Janet love archeology too much

Tim, his own family

Dead or Alive

Thus is the way of Drake

Have I ever read "A Thirteen Year Old's Fake ID"? Perhaps.

In all jest, I am so so glad you liked it. To see something inspired off something I wrote is so heartwarming.

Ngl, I like that your version bashes on Bruce a bit more than mine did.

I like to think that Tim, in these AUs, would be pissed about a shrine to Alvin. Part of him would be so angry that they built a shrine to a person they didn't even know. They didn't know Alvin was just a fake identity. They didn't care enough to find out. Yet, they want to make a physical demonstration of their guilt and call it a mourner's monument?

Two more points I like about your AU are the ways Tim separates himself from "Alvin" and how he built Alvin's personality specifically to be a slightly disliked coworker. It's distressing and disheartening (in the best ways) to think of a younger Tim desperately trying not to hate the Bats for what they did to Alvin. It wasn't him, it wasn't Tim, so it shouldn't matter, right? He can still love them?

An older Tim knows better.

#dc comics #tim drake #dc universe #dc au #thank you for the ask!!!!

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strawberrystepmom · 1 month

Text

gojo x f!reader. pop star au. reader is smaller than he is in size and stature and has back dimples. | divider thanks to cafekitsune, wc 691

“Turn it off!”

It’s not often that you raise your voice in such a shrill manner considering your vocal cords need to be kept as pristine as possible for the sake of your career yet it is completely necessary at this moment. The backing track cuts out and the dozen backup dancers behind you cease their movements, all except for the man with his hands dangerously low on your hips.

Satoru Gojo, known mononymously as GOJO since hitting it big in your country a few years ago, rests his big palms on either side of your waist and his thumbs dig into the plushness of your lower back, mapping out the dips he knows indicate pretty little dimples rising just above the waistband of your sweatpants.

Heat stirs dangerously in your belly when he squeezes his thumbs against said dimples and you whip your head around to face him.

“Get your hands in a more appropriate place.”

You spit over your shoulder, careful to move your microphone away from your mouth lest someone overhear the terse exchange.

Satoru simply chuckles and leans forward, bending his tall frame to be within earshot of your far smaller one.

“You agreed to this choreography, is there a problem?”

A scoff is all you give him in response, folding your arms over your chest. The backup dancers take advantage of the break they’ve been given unexpectedly and disperse to grab some water and check their phones, leaving you and Satoru completely alone in the dance studio you booked for the evening.

For a moment, you wish everyone would have stayed and even more so as he lowers himself to your shoulder, resting his chin on it.

“That’s the most tame part of this whole thing anyway.” His voice is full of mischief, something you’ve learned is perpetually true about him. “Did you forget about what happens when I tell you my feels are for reals?”

All too aware of how the dance is supposed to work when he’s asserting his feelings. You attempt to move though your burgeoning but uncertain feelings work against your instincts and you remain anchored in place, his hands slowly tilting your hips backwards toward his pelvis. Satoru moves your hips in a wide circle, your ass brushing against his crotch.

“You haven’t forgotten what we do next, right? When I tell you that you’ll never have to wonder where I’m spending the night?”

Unfortunately, you have not forgotten how his hand is supposed to slide from your hip to the space between your breast and ribs, inching its way up to your face to tilt it in his direction while his nose traces up the side of your neck to finish the song face to face and gyrating together.

“No, I haven’t but it’s in your best interest not to demonstrate it right now.”

Footsteps fill the studio, dancers returning from break and the choreographer following after them with a flat expression on his face.

“Are we ready to get back to work or do you two need a few minutes?”

You glance downward and see your hips pushed against Gojo, his head dangling over your shoulder carelessly as if it belongs there, and he answers before you can open your mouth to speak.

“Nah, we’re good. Roll back from the last verse and we can handle it.”

Inhaling sharply, you stiffen your posture and he squeezes your hips in his hands. You hum a warning but he ignores it, situating his thumbs back in those delicious dimples.

“Let’s do our best.”

The mocking lilt of his voice fills you with annoyance though you do your best to hide it, falling into your best temptress smile while glancing at your reflections in the mirrored wall across from you.

He’s smirking right back at you while the music blasts back through the speakers and his hand begins to trail up your side, lips gently tickling your neck as he mouths the words to his new single.

You exhale quickly and grit your teeth. This is only run through one on what is almost definitely about to be a very long night.

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #kendall writes

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akoyaxs · 6 months

Text

Tì'eylan Teaser ✮ Pairing: Aonung x fem!human!reader ✮ Trope: Friends to lovers ✮ Tags: mentions of sexual partners, talk of sex, size difference, fluff (no smut YET)

──────⊱⁜⊰──────

“Tell me,” he says with a small, ponderous frown, as though something had just occurred to him, though you knew this look perfectly well to guess what he was about to say was not some casual thought that slid nonchalantly into his mind. “How have you been taking care of yourself?”

You look wearily up from your beadings to squint at him – all stretched out and full of lazy curiousity on the woven mat of your marui. This is how you often spent the warm afternoons in Awa’atlu; you beading or mixing herbs or cooking or something actually useful, while your friend bothers you.

You were still too weary of actually swimming with people, surrounded by beautiful, tall, slim, lithe na’vi girls, and although Aonung had tried to convince you a million times, those bikinis you brought with you remained secretly stowed away deep in the darkest parts of your marui.

Sometimes at night, you would slip out the walkway of your marui into the cool ocean below, but careful that there’s no one around to see. At least it meant na’vi were absolutely shocked to say the least when they saw just how curvy human bodies could get without your flowy clothing.

“What are you on about?” you sigh. “I’m perfectly healt-”

“I meant physically,” Aonung says casually. “Maintaining yourself sexually.”

Oh.

Your friend did have a habit of being carelessly blunt in his manners, but that was one thing that managed to take you by surprise.

“What do you think?” you laugh, throwing off your disconcertion and far too used to your friend - and all na’vi really - disregard for topics very much taboo for humans to be thrown off by the quite personal question.

“Well…” he shifts closer to gage your expression, a small furrow creasing his brow. “You are the only tawtute here, and I’m sure even your kind have sexual needs that must be met. So how…”

“Do I cope when I get horny?” you finished, raising your brows and wrinkling your nose at him. Aonung nods, throat looking a little tight but otherwise unbothered by the delicacy a conversation like this should typically have. “What sort of answer are you looking for, Aonung?”

He blinks, then shakes his head in a puppyish way and you grin.

“I don’t just take care of myself on my own, if that’s what you’re wondering,” you answer elusively.

You never told Aonung the truth. The truth that you have no shortage of Metkayina men offering to deal with your sexual desires, lost in their own curiosity of human-na’vi sexual experimentation.

And you’d be lying if you pretended you weren’t attracted to them. How could you not be?

Na’vi were nine to ten feet of practically pure muscle, cloaked in beautiful, smooth blue skin and glimmering with pretty glowing tahnì. They were slim and wire, agile and graceful in their movements and talented beyond anything a human could ever possibly possess.

So, discreetly, you would indulge in all sorts of capers. It was, admittedly, a lot of fun.

Sometimes you’d be offered pretty little gifts, clumsily complimented on your human looks and talents, or even simply carried away in heated moments of pleasure and experimentation.

But here was Aonung, nearly your best friend at this point, who just heard your vague answer to his curious question.

You can physically see the moment the connotation of your words sinks into his thick skull, and his eyes widen large as Pandora and his lips part in shock.

“Oh, don’t look so surprised,” you grin, flicking him on the shoulder. “You didn’t expect me to sit all tight and pretty and alone while practically stranded on an island of mega hot people, did you?”

Aonung looks as though he very much did expect that, or at least the thought of you fucking other members of his clan had certainly never crossed his mind. In fact, he looks nothing short of stupefied as he stares at you.

“Who?” he demands, an unmistakable scowl settling over his face.

“Really?” you laugh, rolling your eyes. “Like I’d tell you?”

“Why not?” he asks sullenly, muscles tense and jaw clenched.

“Because I know you, Aonung,” you smile. “And I know how you act around Tsireya with Lo’ak, and I don’t need your stupid ass scaring away my possible companions.”

“Companions,” he grunts with derisive amusement, before his scowl fixes once again and he furrows his brow once more. “You do know I do not see you as a sister, right?”

“Yeah well… don’t tell me that if I share who I’ve been with that you won’t get mad at them.”

Aonung pauses, and you can see he recognises your point; at the slightest mention of a name, Aonung would be up with the guy pinned up bruised and bloodied.

“So you like na’vi then?” Aonung questions. “Even though we’re double your height and could throw you twenty feet?”

“On the contrary,” you say with a sly, amusing grin, “that’s exactly what I like.”

When Aonung’s face slackens a little in shock, you laugh openly and shake your head.

“But who cares if I like na’vi- they’re hot and muscly, so it’s totally justified in my opinion!” you say with a wide, shameless grin. “The real question is why the guys were attracted to me – if humans are so small and weak looking or whatever else you giants think of us, then why would they want to fuck me?”

“That really is a whole other question,” Aonung sighs, rolling his eyes as though you’re being stupid. “But be honest, what do you think of me-”

He’s cut off by your pillow smacking him heavily in the face, and resurfaces to find your little frown a foot away from his.

“Hey, I was honest with you,” you scowl. “If you don’t want me going back to thinking you’re an absolute dick again- leave it.”

And he does, reluctantly.

All afternoon you can see him itching to question you more about it, burning with the desire to find out who you had been with, still shocked by the revelation that you fucked around with people in his clan, and he never even knew.

But he knows better than to push you, so he stays quiet, watching you work quietly.

──────⊱⁜⊰──────

@hadesbabygurl @wavesarchive @kqlopsia @tadomikiku @ntymavtr @mommyanddadskiller @thehoneymushroomhealer @tsireyax @integers @tiyawnyana @whatevenisagrapefruit @oakbuggy @sunsetviper @blue-slxt @simplyawh0re@yootvi @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @vminlvxr @elegantfankidsoul @blue-slxt @neteyamssyulang @theunfortunateplace @lala-1516 @strongheartneteyam @kiskso @deadpool15 @vampirefilmlover @tysirya @universal-s1ut Please let me know if you'd also like to be added to the taglist :)

#avatar fanfiction #aonung x reader #aonung fic #aonung fanfiction #avatar smut #aonung x female reader #avatar #avatar fandom #avatar the way of water #aonung #avatar x human reader #aonung x human #aonung x human reader #enemies to friends to lovers #friends to lovers #jealousy #possessiveness #teaser

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transmutationisms · 11 months

Note

serious question but do you personally believe there is a way to approach psychiatry in a way that uplifts and upholds patient autonomy and wellness or is the entire trade essentially fucked haha. Btw this is an ask coming from a 3rd year med student—with a background of severe mental illness—who is considering a residency in psychiatry after receiving life-saving care in high school pertaining to said conditions. (I have peers who have been involuntarily hospitalized and treated horribly in psych wards, with approaches i patently disagree with, but was lucky not to experience. I don’t like modern american medicine’s approach to mental illness; “throw pills” at it to “make it go away” ie. a problem of overprescribing, inadequate and non-holistic approach to mental health, and i feel a lot of that can be attributed to the capitalistic framework. I also def agree with you that so much of what can be considered normal human responses to traumatic events/normal human suffering can be unnecessarily pathologized—a great example being the whole “chemical imbalances in the brain is the ONLY reason why im like this” argument that ive unfortunately fallen hard for when i was younger and am still currently dismantling within myself…and like dont even get me started on this field’s history of demonizing POC, women, LGBT, etc). Like i deeply love my psych rotations so far, and i utterly feel in my gut that this is the manner in which i would like to help people—a lot of whom are just like me—but im wondering if there is a way to reconcile these aspects in a way that one can feel morally okay participating within such an imperfect system, in ur opinion… ngghhhhhh i just want to be a good doctor to my patients…

(ps i love all ur writing and analysis on succession!! big fan mwah <333)

i don't mean to sound unduly pissy at you, specifically, but i do have to say: every single time i've talked about antipsych or broader criticism of medicine on this website, i immediately get a wave of responses like this, from doctors/nurses/psychs/students of the above, asking me to, like, reassure them that they're not doing something immoral or un-communist or whatever by having or pursuing these jobs. and it's honestly frustrating. why is it that these conversations get re-framed around this particular line of inquiry and medical ego-soothing? why is it that when i say "the medical encounter is not structured to protect patient autonomy or well-being," so many people hear something more along the lines of "doctors are mean and i wish they were nicer"? why is it that it's impossible to discuss the philosophical and structural violence of academic and clinical medicine without it becoming a referendum on the individual morality of doctors?

i'm choosing to read you in good faith because i think it's possible to re-re-frame this line of questioning to demonstrate to you the sorts of critiques and inquiries i find more interesting and more conducive to patient autonomy and liberation. so, let me pick apart a few lines of this ask.

"is the entire trade essentially fucked?"

if you're thinking of trying to 'reform' the project of medical psychology within existing infrastructures and institutions, then yeah, it's fucked. if you're still assuming that affective distress can only be 'treated' within this medical apparatus (despite, again, no psychiatric dx satisfying any pathologist's understanding of a 'disease' ie an aberration from 'normal' physiological functioning) then you're not challenging the things that actually make psychiatry violent. you're simply fantasising about making the violence nicer.

"I don’t like modern american medicine’s approach to mental illness; “throw pills” at it to “make it go away” ie. a problem of overprescribing, inadequate and non-holistic approach to mental health, and i feel a lot of that can be attributed to the capitalistic framework."

i hate when i talk about psychotropic drugs being marketed to patients using lies like the chemical imbalance myth, and then pushed on patients—including through outright force—by psychiatrists, and the discussion gets re-framed as one about 'overprescribing'. my problem is not with people taking drugs. i am, in fact, so pro-drugs that i think even the ones administered in a clinical setting sometimes have value. my issue is with, again, the provision of misleading or outright false information, the use of force and coercion to put patients on such drugs in order to force social conformity and employability, and the general model of medicine and medical psychology that assumes patients ought to be passive recipients of medical enlightenment rather than active participants in their own treatment who are given the agency to decide when and how to engage with any form of curative or meliorative intervention.

'holistic' medicine and psychiatry do not solve this problem! they are not a paradigm shift because they continue to locate expertise and epistemological authority with the credentialed physician, and to position patients as too sick, stupid, or helpless to do anything but receive and comply with the medical interventions. there are certainly psychotropic drugs that are demonstrably more harmful than others (antipsychotics, for example), and some that are demonstrably prescribed to patients who do not benefit from them and are even harmed by them. conversely, there are certainly forms of intervention besides pharmaceuticals that people may find helpful. but my general critique here is aimed less at haggling over specific methods of intervention, and more at the ideological and philosophical tenets of medicine that cause any interventions to be imposed by force or coercion on patients, then framed as being 'for their own good'. were suffering people given the information and autonomy to actually choose whether and how to engage in any kind of intervention, some might still choose drugs! my position here is not one of moralising drugs, but making the act of taking them one that is freely chosen and available as an option without relying on physician determination of a patient's interests over their own assessment of their needs and wants.

"so much of what can be considered normal human responses to traumatic events/normal human suffering can be unnecessarily pathologized"

true, but don't misunderstand me as saying that drugs or any other form of intervention should be forcibly withheld from those who do want them and are made fully aware of what risks and harms seeking them could entail. again, this would still be an authoritarian model; my critique is aimed at increasing patient autonomy, not at creating equally authoritarian and empowered doctors who just have slightly different treatment philosophies.

"dont even get me started on this field’s history of demonizing POC, women, LGBT, etc"

ok, framing this as "demonisation" tells me that you're not understanding that, again, this is a systemic and structural critique. it is certainly true that a great many doctors currently are, and have historically have been, outright racist, trans/misogynist, ableist, and so on. framing this as a problem of a well-intentioned discipline being corrupted by some assholes is getting it backwards. medicine attracts prejudiced people, not to mention strengthens and promotes these prejudices in its entire training and practice infrastructures, because of its underlying philosophical orientation toward enforcing 'normality' as defined by 18th-century statistics and 19th-century human sciences that explicitly place white, cis, able-bodied european men as the normal ideal that everyone else is inferior to or failing to live up to. doctors who really nicely tell you that you're too fat are still using bmi charts that come from the statistical anthropometry of adolphe quételet and the flawed actuarial calculations of metlife insurance. doctors who really nicely deny you access to transition surgery are still operating under a paradigm that gives the practitioner authority over expressions and embodiments of gender. the issue isn't 'demonisation', it's that medicine and psychiatry explicitly attempt to render judgments about who and what is 'normal' and therefore socially 'healthy', and enforce those standards on patients. this is not a promotion of patient well-being, but of social conformity.

"i deeply love my psych rotations so far, and i utterly feel in my gut that this is the manner in which i would like to help people"

let me ask you a few questions. you say that you like your psych rotations... but how do your patients feel about them? is their autonomy protected? are they in treatment by free choice, and free to leave any time they wish? are they treated as human beings with full self-determination? if you witnessed a situation in which a patient was coerced or forced into a certain treatment, or in which you were not sure whether they were consenting with full knowledge or freedom, would you feel empowered to intervene? or would doing so threaten your career by exposing you to anger and retaliation from your higher-ups? what higher-ups will you be exposed to as a resident, and then as a practicing physician? could you practice in a way that committed fully, 100%, to patient autonomy if you were working at someone else's practice, or in a hospital or clinic? could you, according to current medical guidelines, even if you had your own practice?

when you say "this is the manner in which i would like to help people", what do you mean by "this"? can you define your philosophy of treatment, and the relationship and power dynamic you want to have with any future patients? is it one in which you hold authority over them and see yourself as determining what's in their 'best interests', even over their own expressed wishes? have you connected with patient advocates, psych survivors (other than your friends), and radical psychiatrists and anti-psychiatrists who may espouse heterodox treatment philosophies that you could consider? do you think such philosophies are sufficient for protecting patient autonomy and well-being, or are they still models that position the physician's judgment and authority over that of the patient?

"im wondering if there is a way to reconcile these aspects in a way that one can feel morally okay participating within such an imperfect system"

and here is the crux of the problem with this entire ask. you are wondering how to sleep at night, if you are participating in a career you find morally distasteful. where, though, do your patients enter into that equation? do you worry about how they sleep at night, after having interacted with a system of social violence that may very well have traumatised them under the guise of providing help? why does your own guilty conscience worry you more than violations of your patients' bodies, minds, and basic self-determination?

i can't tell you whether your career path is morally acceptable to you. i don't think this type of guilt or self-flagellation is fruitful and i don't think it helps protect patients. i don't, frankly, have a handy roadmap sitting around for creating a new system of medicine and health care that rests on patient autonomy. affective distress is real, and is not something we should have to bear alone or with the risk of having violence inflicted upon us. what you need to ask yourself is: how does the medical model and establishment serve people experiencing such distress? how does it perpetuate violence against them? and how do you see yourself countering, or perpetuating, such violence as someone operating within this discipline? what would it mean to be a 'good' actor within a violent system, if you do indeed believe that such a thing is ontologically possible?

#sorry for LONG ASS POST #psychiatry

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therealcocoshady · 2 months

Text

Dating Marshall Mathers HCs - Love languages edition

Author’s Note : Hey Stans 🥰. I am a sucker for Eminem Headcanons so I decided to give it a shot ☺️. Let me know what kind of HCs you’d like 👀. These HCs are based from the vibe I get from him, from his music, appearances or interviews - I might be wrong though, or you might disagree. Or not ? Either way, let me know what you think ❤️

Acts of service

On some things, he is a bit old-fashioned and he will see some things as « his job ». He knows you can carry your bags or put that Ikea shelf together yourself. Doesn’t mean you have to.

Absolute gentleman. Contrary to what he says he has manners. He just doesn’t overdo it.

He is pissed when you ask for someone else’s help instead of his

« Why didn’t you ask me ? »

Also annoyed when you don’t ask for anything at all

That being said, he hates asking for help

As much as possible, he will do his best to make your life easier with small gestures like :

Picking you up at the airport // Driving you to and from work if he can

Having your favorite food delivered to you when he is not there and he knows you are too lazy/tired/sick to cook

Taking care of you when you are sick, tired or simply having a bad day

Making sure his pantry is stocked with your favorite drinks and beverages

He enjoys helping you when you are cooking/cleaning…

Once he is comfortable around your place he will even do it unprompted

Gifts

Might be his least favorite love language

He enjoys giving gifts far more than he likes receiving them

He is very hard to shop for anyway

What do you get for a man who has the means to get everything he wants for himself ?

He is grateful for gifts but he is not really the materialistic type

He low-key doesn’t believe he deserves gifts anyway

When he gives you a gift, you can expect it to be meaningful and thoughtful

He pays a lot of attention to details

Or it can be something you mentioned you needed

Big, expensive gifts are for special occasions

Just because he has the means doesn’t mean he will gift you a Chanel bag on a random Thursday. Sorry.

When he splurges, he doesn’t half-ass it but it doesn’t happen too often either

Before he buys you something expensive, you have to be together for a while

Trying to win a woman over by spending money on her ? Yeah, not for him. He is too scared of gold-diggers.

Also, if you have a fight, he might try to suck up to you with a gift or a bouquet even though he is the first to criticize how shallow gifts can be

When he is away and doesn’t see you for a while, he might arrange for a surprise delivery, to make you smile and also make sure you don’t forget about him (as if it were possible)

Physical touch

He is a bit guarded at first, so much so that you start doubting that he actually likes you (« Surely, he would have made a move by now… » - nope that man is just slow)

If he actually likes you, he makes it a point to behave like a gentleman and he will try and pick the best time for a first kiss or even simply holding your hand for the first time

Great kisser.

Not a big fan of public displays of affection (for obvious reasons)

If the two of you are ever spotted together, people might mistake you for a member of his team because he will not even get caught holding your hand

That’s partly because he values your privacy at least as much as his - he doesn’t want his girl to get harassed or bothered

However, when it’s just the two of you, he is all over you

Whenever the two of you spend time together, he enjoys having physical contact with you, even if it’s just holding your hand while watching a movie

Definitely makes up for his busy schedule with physical touch.

Quality time

Probably his love language of choice

Overall, he is really mindful of your schedule and appreciates that you respect his

If you don’t, it’s not going to work between the two of you anyway

Most of the time, he is punctual and he will not show up late to one of your dates

If it happens, he will profusely apologize and make it up to you

Might get a little pissed if you do (but he knows that girls will be girls and you are most likely late because you wanted to be extra pretty for him)

He has a hectic schedule but he if he loves you he will make time for you

Him making time for you is actually one of the telltale signs he actually cares about you

If you are as busy as him, he really appreciates that you manage to make time for him

No phones rule during your dates

Like, seriously, it’s a huge red flag for him if his date spends too much time on her phone instead of enjoying the moment

Speaking of phones… He doesn’t text you too much. Instead, he tries to find moments when he can call you and have an actual conversation.

When you are talking, you have his full attention

He pays attention to everything you say and and do, even when it doesn’t seem like it

He remembers everything

He enjoys hearing you talk about things you are passionate about

If it’s something he is not too familiar with, he asks questions and he might even make an effort to do some research of his own, just so he can keep up with you

And in turn, he really appreciates if you do the same

Doesn’t seem like it at first, but he actually enjoys a good conversation. Even if you’re gorgeous, if you’re not interesting… Hard pass.

He also gets really talkative if he’s talking about a topic he is passionate about. Like hip-hop culture, pop culture, sports… He will talk your ears off. And he likes talking about it with you.

Even better if you are able to have an actual debate with him. He might not agree with you but he respects someone who can stand their ground and have actual valid arguments.

Because you might not be able to spend too much time together sometimes, he will do his best to make your dates special

As your relationship evolves, he includes you in some more mundane activities, just to enjoy more of your company

Don’t expect to spend too much time at the studio with him. He keeps his work and personal life separate.

That being said, he might invite you to spend time with him there once or twice. And it means a lot.

Words of affirmations

We all know this man has a way with words

When he praises you or compliments you, he means it

A perk of dating a dictionary nerd : he chooses his words carefully

Never a dull compliment

He is a great motivator : when he encourages you and tells you you can do it, you actually start believing that you can

He is good when It comes to giving words of affirmation but receiving them ? Nope.

When you compliment him, he gets a bit awkward and doesn’t know how to react

That being said, he enjoys it

Compliments he enjoys the most are not necessarily the ones about his professional skills or physical appearance but genuinely about his character

Any fan could tell him he is a great rapper or that he looks good. But having his girl tell him what an amazing person she thinks he is and being specific about it ? YES.

Basically, just show him that you care about him (the real him)

With how guarded he is, it might be some time before he actually says « I love you »

It might not come with a big declaration either. Just « I love you ». Simple.

Definitely catches you off guard the first time he says it, with a super casual tone.

However, when he says it, he means it

He leaves you small notes, too

#eminem #marshall mathers #slim shady #eminem fanfiction #eminem x reader #marshall mathers imagine #marshall mathers x reader #eminem imagine #eminem fluff #eminem headcanons #marshall mathers headcanons

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ninchen1909 · 1 year

Text

The wrong groom

Pairing: Ivar the boneless x female reader

Word count: ~ 2.500

Hey,

this is the first time I write for a Vikings character. Also English isn‘t my first language, so I apologize in advance for possible mistakes.

I hope you have a great day!

Warnings: mention of killing disabled children, mention of alcohol, kind of arranged marriage but also not

"How can you ask this of me father?" you turn to him angrily, your dress swinging elegantly around your body. All of your father's advisors look at the floor, not daring to say a word. Even the priest, who always follows your father like a faithful, obedient dog, stands before you with his head bowed.

"How can you ask me to marry one of these barbarians, they stand for all that we despise. How in God's holy name can you ask me to marry one of these sinners?"

Your face is flushed red with rage, your hands clenched into tight fists. You have always been different from all the other princesses you have known. You never let anyone tell you to shut up and you always stood up for your convictions. At some point your parents realized that they could never chastise you and made a deal with you to control your temper at least in front of visitors and other nobles.

"You must do it my beloved daughter, for our kingdom, for our freedom and for our people."

Tears well up in your eyes, whether from anger or sadness you can't quite tell yourself. A few days ago, you were simply the princess of one of the smaller kingdoms in England, never attracting the interest of the Northmen until they suddenly and without warning attacked your city. Half of your army have already been killed and it is almost certain that your city could not withstand another attack.

"But why me father, why not Sophie, you've wanted to marry her off for a long time, she's older and wiser than me." Your tone has by now lost its sharpness, desperation winning out over fear.

"Sophie does not have your strength, my child, she would perish in their world, but you can become stronger in it." The look in your father's eyes becomes softer, you even think you can recognize pity in it.

"Do I even have a chance of getting out of this unmarried?" your father shakes his head, a defeated sigh escaping your throat.

"They are already on their way to us, King Ragnar with his sons and some retainers, we will discuss the details at a feast today."

"May I at least know the name of my intended?" you cross your arms stubbornly in front of your chest, a behavior for which other princesses would have experienced great suffering, but your father has to suppress a smirk.

"Prince Sigurd"

A few hours later, the feast is in full swing, together with your sister, your father, and his closest confidants, you sit on a raised table in the back of the Great Hall.

Your appetite has left after a closer observation of the Nordic table manners. Disgusted, your mouth tightens as you see them talking with their mouths full and not seeming to understand the meaning of cutlery at all. The wine flows in streams and soon you realize that they seem to be able to hold more alcohol than the men in your town.

All evening you feel the eyes of one of Ragnar's sons on you, you know from the description your father gave you of your future husband that it is not Sigurd. Crutches are leaning against the wooden bench next to him and his attentive, alert eyes follow your every move. His dark brown hair, like the hair of the other Northmen is worked into beautiful braided hairstyles. Your father seems to be able to interpret your gaze clearly, as unobtrusively as possible, he leans in your direction and whispers to you:

"This is Ivar, he is the youngest son of Ragnar and according to stories also by far the most bloodthirsty and brutal among the brothers. So stay away from him."

A silent nod is your answer, but to your own dismay, your father's words don't repulse you, but rather make the interest in Ivar grow in you. During the whole time, his ice-blue eyes are constantly directed at you, even when you look directly at him, he does not avert his gaze from you, but gives you an arrogant smile, much to your astonishment.

Throughout the evening, your eyes meet again and again, and each time anew goose bumps cover your body, the dangerous aura that surrounds him captivates you, and as if automatically, your hand finds its way to the cross that hangs around your neck, you clasp it tightly with your fist.

The festivity goes on like all the previous ones. Everyone gets drunk and all the noble, God-fearing men, as time passes and alcohol consumption increases, look for a young woman for the night, who in no way resembles their spouse.

With your father's consent, you get up from the table as inconspicuously as you can and leave the hall almost in a hurry. You hold up the skirt of your dress to get ahead faster and so you walk quickly straight towards the stables.

Your entrance is accompanied by the excited neighing and nervous scraping of hooves as you make your way as quietly as possible to the last stall. In it stands your most faithful friend in the kingdom, the only one you don't have to worry about betraying you. Carefully you push the latch aside and enter the box with slow steps. Dark, loyal eyes beam at you as you lovingly bury the flat of your hand on the snow-white fur.

"Greetings, my old friend," you carefully lean your forehead against his and close your eyes, the smell of fresh hay rising to your nostrils, and for the first time this evening, you seem to be able to breathe properly. You tenderly stroke your horse's nostrils as you hear a steady clacking sound in the front of the stable. With a jerk, you turn around, prepared to spot the potential danger and fight back if necessary.

However, you would never have expected to meet the person who is now standing in front of you. You watch as he moves slowly but smoothly toward one of the hay bales and drops onto it, his crutches leaning next to him within reach. Now he looks at you through his thick lashes. The sky-blue of his eyes makes you shiver pleasantly and for a brief moment you think your legs would give out their service and make you fall uncomfortably to the ground. Quickly you try to hide this.

"What are you doing here my prince, shouldn't you be out in the hall getting drunk with the other men and lusting after the women?"

You yourself are taken aback by your direct words, but you don't let this show. Unlike expected, your words do not make him angry, but rather seem to amuse him. For a short time later, a raucous, throaty laugh fills the stables.

"You're different little raven, aren't you? Most of the other princesses I know are obedient and well-behaved, but you carry the fire of Freya in you." An arrogant but also admiring smile spreads on Ivar's face.

"You are also different from most people I know, because most people I know have two functioning legs and can actually walk of their own free will."

no sooner have you said these words than you regret them. You never wanted to be someone who limited others only to physical attributes. His smile begins to stiffen and the playful spark has also disappeared from his eyes.

"I guess you're right about that little raven" you notice him reach for his crutch and tense his upper body to hoist himself up. You hurry to place a hand on his forearm, an apologetic expression coming to your face.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that. It's just you they don't get many people like you, most of you are..." you dare not finish the sentence, which Ivar takes from you though.

".... Killed or left for dead. I know."

Under your hand you notice how his muscles relax again and Ivar seems to loosen up again. An uncomfortable silence spreads over you, only the scraping of hooves and the flaring of nostrils can be heard around you.

"You said before that I had the fire of Freya in me."

With a nod, Ivar indicates for you to continue talking.

"Who is Freya?"

a slight smile spreads across his face after your question and he leans a little further towards you.

"One of our goddesses, especially in times of war we think of her and make sacrifices to be in her favor."

"So you're comparing me to a goddess who brings death and disaster to people?"

you raise an eyebrow.

"Believe me that is an honor, she is one of our Most Favored Gods, but if it soothes your Christian heart, she is also the Goddess of Marriage and Love."

Slightly you nod to yourself as you soak up this knowledge.

"You said Freya is one of your gods, who else do you make sacrifices for?"

Ivar looks into your face trying to find some form of dishonesty there, however the only thing Ivar can discern there is genuine curiosity.

Eagerly, you listen to his soothing voice as he tells you about the father of the gods, Odin, Thor, Loki, and all the others gods.

After the feast, King Ragnar has decided to stay with his whole troupe until your and Sigurd's wedding, so that you can then sail back with them to their homeland and a new life.

Against all expectations, you spend most of your time with Ivar instead of your future husband. You realize that none of the stories do justice to Ivar's character, at least not when he is with you. Of course, you recognize his gruff, sometimes even sadistic manner when he is with other people. With you, however, he is tender and attentive, always giving you his complete attention and patiently explaining everything you want to know. He tells you stories of his adventures and of what awaits you in your new home.

With each passing day you notice how your feelings for Ivar increase and your interest in Sigurd decreases until it finally ceases to exist, each day your heart yearns more for the man with the crippled legs. Never does he treat you as if you were beneath him. Every day he tells you stories about his travels, his homeland and his gods and to your own amazement he listens attentively to your stories about your god. After only a few days you realize that his mere presence makes you happy, every day you wake up in anticipation of spending your day with him. And he seems to feel the same way. In all this time Sigurd never once seeks your company, nor does he make any effort to get to know you better. Ivar even more so.

Three days before the wedding you can't take it anymore, you have to stand by your feelings or you will be unhappy for the rest of your life.

With quick steps you make your way to the throne room with one hand grasping the skirt of your dress so as not to trip without knocking you push open the heavy wooden door and look into the astonished faces of your father and King Ragnar.

"Daughter, how dare you..."

"Father, please forgive the intrusion, however, I need to talk to you about something that has been depriving me of sleep for several nights now."

At your words, your father's features soften and his voice loses some of its original sharpness.

"Speak then, my daughter."

"I don't want to marry Sigurd, I don't think we're right for each other either..."

Your father interrupts you, before you can finish your sentence.

“You are going to marry one of King Ragnars sons, that’s not something I’m going to debate with you, daughter.”

“Yes father I know and I’m going to marry one of his sons, just not Sigurd..”

Your father sinks back into his chair, your eyes briefly fall on the King of the Northmen, his bright blue eyes patterning you with interest.

"Why don't you want to marry my son Sigurd, he's a good man".

The Northman squints his eyes slightly, eagerly waiting for your answer.

"I do not question that he is a good man, however I have the impression that we would not be good for each other."

"And why do you think that?"

Ragnar rises from his chair and walks toward you with slow steps, his eyes not leaving yours for a second. Nervousness rises in you, but you try to suppress it with all your might.

"And I want to hear the real reason."

"With all due respect King Ragnar, I am not under the impression that Prince Sigurd is interested in finding a wife and starting a family. Besides, I don't think I have the physical attributes your son desires in a partner."

A smile creeps onto his lips, while your father is shocked and enraged by your bluntness.

“Daughter, how dare you to speak to King Rag..”

“Fair enough…”

The Northman interrupts your father without sparing him so much as a glance.

…..which one of my sons do you want to marry princess (y/n)?“

“Prince Ivar, my king”

The shocked gasp of you father fills the thronroom and even king Ragnar seems surprised by your demand.

“I noticed on our first day here, that you weren’t really found of him, so what changed?”

“That’s true, at first I was scared of him, I heard many stories about how brutal and violent he can be and to be honest I don’t doubt that for a second. But as I spend time with him, he showed me, what I believe is the real him. He is soft and caring with me, he lifts up my spirit every time I see him. And he never gave me the feeling like I was inferior to him because of my gender. He is smart and a excellent strategiest, I wasn’t lucky enough to see him fight so far. But from what I heard, he is a outstanding warrior too. And I would be honored to become his wife.”

After your speech you lower your head slightly, not daring to look at your father, a short but intense silence falls over the three of you. It feels like an eternity, until you hear King Ragnars loud an clear voice.

“Then so be it.”

#ivar the boneless #vikings #ivar x reader #vikings ivar #ivar fluff #ivar ragnarsson #ivar x princess reader #ivar the boneless x reader #vikings imagine #vikings x reader

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inbabylontheywept · 11 months

Text

"I will solve you if I must."

Arkinot knew what humans looked like. They were half his size, soft, pink, and easily bullied. He knew this because he’d spent the last two weeks terrifying a team of human diplomats sent to negotiate trade deals. It was something of a science to him at this point: Small but weak species sends in their diplomats, he spends a week or two terrifying them in close quarters, then he offers them some dogshit trade deals in exchange for getting to leave early. They take the deal, he gets richer, and in a manner of speaking, the universe becomes a better place. Being a coward was the kind of thing that really should be taxed, and he liked to think of his negotiation style as exactly that: A coward tax.

Still, that was far dominating his thoughts at the moment. The conundrum his brain was struggling to untangle was that he knew what a human looked like, and the thing in front of him was not a human. It wore human robes, but underneath the robes, it appeared to be a tank that someone had glued several monitors to. Maybe even an antennae of some kind. It was such a chaotic jumble that it was almost funny. The one part of it that really seemed to be going too far was the badge sewn into the front designating it as an official diplomat.

He stepped a few feet closer to inspect the possible art piece. He barely had begun to reach his hand forward to lift the tent sized robe when a mechanical claw pushed forward and clasped around his arm, painless but implacable.

“What the fuck-”

He didn’t hear the voice from the thing, nor did he hear it in his mind, as he’d felt with some of the telepathic races. The voice of this abomination felt like it was being physically projected directly inside his own ear, as if its mouth was just a fraction of a centimeter away from his ear drum.

“Arkinot.”

He threw up. The words weren’t loud but they seemed to have some kind of disproportionate effect on his balancing organs. The world was sent spinning and he could barely tell up from down. A second bolt of pain blossomed, this time from the back of his head. It took him a good moment to realize that he’d fallen flat on his back. He didn’t know a simple sound could cause so much damage.

And then it continued.

“You make threats you have no ability to back up. You will learn.”

Even with his senses scrambled, he could feel something cold and metallic pressed into his hand. He was too incoherent to guess what.

He wasn’t sure if the voice retracted from his ear out of pity, or because it knew that it had proved its point, but he was grateful to hear the rest of the message without feeling like someone was trying to jam stakes into his brain.

“A copy has already been sent to your high command. Your ‘diplomacy’ has already been bypassed. This is simply a personal education on the nature of human violence. Summon me when you understand.”

He rolled over to see the thing lurching down the hall. Even in his disoriented state, he could see something human in it, something imperceptibly satisfied with the message it had delivered. Part of him wondered if there was some small lump of flesh buried deep inside that horror, or if it was just mind made metal, an engram with form.

Perhaps sensing his gaze, it paused. It didn’t turn around, but he doubted that its vision was as limited as eyes were. The voice projected forward again, mercifully short of his ear, but still too close for comfort. He could almost imagine the hot breath of it bouncing off his face, mere millimeters away from his face.

“I will know when you are done. Do not make me find you.”

---

It had taken him half an hour to work up the will to pull himself up from his pool of stale vomit, and another ten minutes to stagger back to his cabin. He’d needed to lean against the wall for the entire walk back. He was genuinely concerned that his balance had been permanently damaged.

He did his first inspection of the object he’d been gifted. It was, technically, a data slate, but that was somewhat akin to calling a reactor a steam engine. The specs on it didn’t even make sense to him. What the hell was an exaHz? What was a Bekenstein limit? How could storage be at 137% of it? Couldn’t be much of a limit if it went over 100.

The device seemed to recognize it was being inspected and raised a query of its own.

User: Arkinot?

He nodded dumbly. The slate whirred for a few seconds, genuinely struggling to process what it was about to do.

And then it began.

---

Arkinot stumbled out of the room seventeen hours later. He wasn’t terrified. He’d run out of the emotional energy needed to feel fear after the first two hours of calm, methodical instruction presented to him by the dataslate.

He had learned about the nature of human violence. It was no hot blooded slaughter, no prayer of eternal vengeance. It was an industrial event to them, something to be mass produced until the market flooded over and peace became the new commodity of choice.

And they could do that. Easily. He’d seen blueprints for factories that built factories that built factories. Replicating swarms of mining bots.

The smallest time vs. production curve he’d seen was for their assault cruisers, and it was still a fourth order polynomial. If for some reason they needed to wage war for over a year, they could feasibly consume more than 30% of the mass of their first three industrial worlds.

And they had more than forty left in reserve.

He’d assume earlier that he was arguing from a position of strength because they didn’t have an active armada. He realized that the reason they hadn’t bothered was because they’d be able to produce one as large as his entire species fleet in under 48 hours.

His balance was back. He barely noticed. He followed the same path he had before, noticed in an offhanded way that the vomit had been cleaned. The human diplomat must have called that in. He certainly hadn’t.

He was now in the human section of the station, and while he could sense a wariness in the steps of the pink things around him, it was hardly the full blown fear he’d managed to instill just 24 hours before. They knew that they’d managed to summon a stronger predator than him.

He knew it too.

The door that he’d been summoned to was a repurposed garage. He supposed nothing else would fit someone so large. He knocked twice on the corrugated steel before it began to roll up.

The robes were gone. Still no visible flesh, but at least with all the machinery in sight he had a better idea of what he was looking at. He still didn't see any pink skin there, but he didn't have to when he could see rack after rack of eletroneural interfaces.

So there was a brain in there. A human brain. Probably very little else.

A faint twitch of its insectoid legs gave away its impatience. Ah. So it was waiting for him to speak.

“You didn’t need… Damn. How large was that presentation?”

The voice was almost offhanded in its response.

“208 yottabytes.”

Arkinot’s brain skipped over the scale of that number. It was absurdly massive. Apparently, everything that the humans really put their minds to turned absurdly massive.

“You didn’t need 208 yottabytes to say that you could kick our asses.”

The faint twitching gave away, replaced by an uncanny stillness. It wasn’t the frozen stiffness of a robot, it was the tense, rigid posture of someone showing a considerable amount of restraint.

“No. You certainly didn’t when you said that to us. What I needed 208 yottabytes for was showing you how I would ‘kick your asses.’ It is worth considering how much scarier that is than your empty words.”

There was a brief noise, like rustling through the speaker, and he realized that the machine had done the purely auditory equivalent of taking a breath. The action was somehow more unsettling than the purely mechanical affect he’d seen before. It made him realize just how close any of the other soft pink things running around the halls were to becoming something like this, something that could crush him with a thought.

His thoughts were interrupted by the man-machine’s closing words, tired but dangerous.

“Do not threaten our diplomats again. It is their job to be patient. It is my job to solve problems. I will solve you if I must.”

That same tired voice spoke again, millimeters from his ear.

“Now, don't let me detain you.”

He did what any sane sapient would do.

He ran.

#hfy #humanity fuck yeah #humans are space oddities #science fiction #scifi #humans are space orcs #creative writing #writing #cybernetics

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