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sordidmusings · 4 months

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Fixing What Ifs (Mihawk x F!Reader)

A/N: For this ancient request (told you they are not forgotten just severely neglected 💀). I really hope I captured the type of scene you were looking for! Debating on writing a follow up smut because sex as the culmination of pining?? That's that good good right there that is. Bless up to @fanaticsnail for cheering me while writing this, would've very much struggled without you love bug 🤍🤍🤍

Listening to: Prove Your Love - Fleetwood Mac, Go Slowly - Radiohead, Love Song - Lesley Duncan

Word Count: ~4.5k

Warnings: Fem!reader, a gratuitous amount of mutual pining, kind of bantering?, Mihawk leans opla in that he has such sass, a few flashback scenes, Mihawk is a Man who does not know how to deal with being in love, but he’s trying like a lot, I mean he even kisses your wrist, probably idiots in love, there's one brief allusion to Buggy cuz I Need Him

Snippet:

“You say that as if we’re too old to have options.” He spoke quite steadily, but you noticed his golden eyes flicking to you, ravenously seeking your reaction. You knew he was trying to cover at least a little; your equal skills in observation were a beauty and a bane to him. It was your favorite source of bickering, giving you many lines to smile at when you were stuck in lonely nights tracking targets.

“You are in your forties,” you teased. Again, you took a sip to think. You meant to find some words to match his characteristic tone (“Joints still working well enough to properly share a bed?”), but instead what came out was “though you’ve aged better than I imagined in our twenties”. You blamed that you had finally looked over and taken in his face, sculpted angles all alive and aglow in the torch-light. There was also that defined chest that he maddeningly always insisted on showing everyone. You probably would too, looking like that.

“You should know by now I always exceed expectation,” Mihawk said without a hint of gloating, just simply stating an absolute fact.

“There’s still many places I’ve yet to see that proven,” you responded, words coy and teasing but smile easy and affectionate. Mihawk would need much more intimacy before he admitted how that smile stalled his thoughts. You would need much more boldness before you let him know you noticed when you managed to halt his breath.

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

“I’ve chosen another I want you to try. Push your glass this way,” Mihawk prompted gently. Years of knowing him let you pick up the hints of eagerness hidden under his usual drawl.

You watched Mihawk’s hands and forearms work as he opened another bottle to share. He had foregone his coat tonight, instead draping himself with a well-cut white shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows and buttons undone to below his sternum, of course. Toned muscle danced under his skin with every twist and turn, leading you to great distraction throughout the process of him serving you. After enjoying the sculpt of his large hand while it gripped the full bottle to pour your glass, you changed your attention to the luxurious material of his shirt, fluttering over his chest and playing against tanned skin and his heavy gold cross. You wished you could find an excuse to pull at that hem, testing the softness of the material and making it reveal more for you.

The dark green bottle thumping back down on the bartop brought your attention away from your companion and back to your refreshed drink. You did feel a bit guilty that Mihawk’s description of the new wine was going near completely ignored (you at least caught the words “barrel-aged”, flattered he remembered your offhand comment about that preference from months ago). You just couldn’t get yourself to pay attention; your mind was swimming through multiple years at once any time it wasn’t grounded by his visage. Wistfulness had a stranglehold on you tonight, keeping you locked between painful yearning and bittersweet nostalgia. The comfort of hearing his smooth voice accompanied by the quietly unfolding lives of every stranger in the bar did reach you, however. You took solace in that while you went for your first sip.

“You’re much quieter than usual,” Mihawk prodded with dry displeasure. That displeasure was interrupted when he got to enjoy your usual show of flicking your tongue out to lick your glass and then your lips upon the first taste.

You took another, much longer sip of your drink to delay the need to respond. It was an easy choice of diversion; the wine was exquisite as always. You’d tell him as much if you were more in the mood for the gloating, simpering glow he’d get from earning a stroke to his ego from you.

“I thought you’d like that,” you offered quietly. You swept a fingertip around the slick rim of your glass, mindless in your feeling and seeing and doing. This absent state let Mihawk watch for every detail of the action to better imagine how that trailing fingertip would feel against his skin.

“Clearly you’re not as observant as you think,” he dug back, this time with much more amusement warming his voice, yet not quite enough to completely melt the snideness out.

Despite yourself, you smiled. Years of rivalry softened you to affection. Over those years of pushing yourselves and each other, bitterness became respect, respect became comradery, and comradery became admiration. In you, that admiration had long bloomed into devotion, petals bursting open in a stalwart stand against his consistent frigid air. Some days they withered, but then he would reach to you, hearten you, or defend you in a way that would have new buds growing more and more numerous until you had a field that could withstand winter's chill, turning to ice sculptures in each frost instead of decaying pulp.

“I blame your wines,” you chuckled, still taking yet another sip despite the accusation. “They have me stuck reminiscing.”

“I’d advise against that; it’s a trying endeavor. Wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself,” Mihawk teased, doing a great job of masking his fondness with wry wit. He did venture to expose his curiosity, however. “Where and when does your mind have you trapped?”

“Our first meeting.”

Mihawk barely managed to keep from choking on his wine. He didn’t want to tip you off on how much that memory affected him. And it would be a shame to waste such an expensive drink.

“Why would you be thinking of that ridiculous affair?” There goes the effort at keeping you in the dark.

“What?” you asked with mock shock. “The only thing that was ridiculous was how little you trusted the top marksman to do her job.”

“You didn’t exactly scream competency,” Mihawk defended, hiding his fluster behind rudeness and the rim of his glass. The dim lighting of the bar would have hid it for him anyway; the few torch chandeliers did wonders for turning him to a living Baroque painting, but they were known for their shadows more than their breadth of hues.

“That is one thing you always did have on me,” you relented easily, more set on imagining the immaculately groomed and glaring warlord who first saw you than needing to keep a score with his modern counterpart at your side.

~ ~ ~ ••• ~ ~ ~

“They asked for me for a reason, you’re more useful elsewhere.”

“I’m useful everywhere you’ll find,” he dismissed easily, as sure of that fact as in the rising of the sun each day. You were a hard one to shake, but the way his namesake hawk’s eyes cut through you had you feeling exposed and vulnerable. It had you needing to make him just as small as the little pieces his endlessly picking gaze had shredded you into.

“Then go be useful as something other than my shadow. Some of us are actually working.” Even in your exasperation fueled anger, you sounded more like you were asking than telling. The ease with which he commanded was yet another skill you’d spotted on him so quickly in these few days together that had you feeling out of your league. You were beginning to think he took great joy in your mounting discomfort with the way he hovered around, always looking for another soft spot to peck at.

“You’ve been laying at this spot for days, Viper, with nothing to show for it,” Mihawk said, phrasing the truth quite unfairly. Viper was the code-name gifted to you in your work; the snakes could sit still as the dead for weeks, waiting for the one moment that prey finally crossed their path. That same dedication was what he was attempting to disturb now. “I could have rooted the rats out within the hour of mission's start.”

“Then it’s a good thing this task is mine and not yours,” you spat back, finally finding the will to sound truly mean. There was much you were uncertain of but your methods were a strong sense of pride and no one got to question them. “I’m sure the trafficking victims would do really well avoiding harm in the slaughter you’d start. They are known for being battle-ready after all; I’m sure they’re just playing victim right now so they can partake in a song-worthy escape and claim their glory.”

“You think I have no skill to guard and fight at the same time?”

“I think it’s not worth the risk to innocents just to feed one man’s insatiable ego,” you grumbled, spreading yourself out on your familiar and beloved blanket to begin this day’s long watch. You lined one eye with the one-of-a-kind scope of your rifle, taking comfort in settling into your power. “Better to wait until they show themselves and pick them off from miles away, letting them panic at the suddenness of death from a foe they’ll never see.”

Your memory never granted you Mihawk’s perspective on your first job together. You never figured out that he was hovering not from hatred of your perceived incompetence but an uncontrollable need to have you in his sight. He’d never had to contend with such an impulse before and found himself completely at the mercy of its whims. Garp was not happy with the freshly titled Warlord; he was meant to be helping eradicate the rebel legion that had taken this island over to ravage it for resources (humans included), not keep checking out their prized sniper like he’s a fifteen year old with his first female fixation.

~ ~ ~ ••• ~ ~ ~

“Surely I can be of much more entertainment to you in the present than in whatever foggy memories you have,” Mihawk said, successfully bringing you back to him.

“Yes you can,” you admitted with too much authenticity and affection for your tastes to just leave that flavor in the ari. After a moment of thought, you softly bumped your shoulder with his and added, “You’re practically a whole circus over there, how ever could I look away?”

You didn’t expect the long and tired sigh to deflate the man next to you, leaving his upper body draped on the bar. The sound seemed to have come from so deep in his lungs that it was born from his very soul.

“Please keep all talk of circuses and especially clowns to a minimum,” Mihawk pleaded into his forearms. He lifted head to look at you with one of the grouchiest and most sour faces you’d seen on him in a long time, before plopping it back into his arms. The whole thing was only made more endearing with the way the bar had pushed his hat askew.

“What’s with that look?” you laughed. “You usually save that one for Shanks.”

“I wish it was Shanks,” he grumbled petulantly. Your laughter always brightened him back up and he longed to turn and see the beauty of it on your face, but instead chose to keep to his brooding to prolong the sound just that much more.

If it wouldn’t send him up the wall, you would have told him how much you adored when his brooding turned pouty. It sapped him of his persistent decorum and made him feel closer - more touchable. The slouch it brought out in him always had you valiantly fighting the urge to wrap his curved chest in a firm hug. It was unfair how perfectly suited for one he looked, resting his elbows on the bar and opening him and his luxury shirt and his warm skin up for your reaching hands and arms. You shook your head after a mourning sigh and took another sip of heady wine.

“I wish it was Shanks too. It’s been too long since I’ve seen him.” The soft spot you always showed for the Red Haired Pirates only threatened to drag Mihawk’s mood low again. It was amended slightly by your cute, happy gasp before you said, “We should go visit them soon! I’ve got a bigger chunk of free time after the next two months.”

Mihawk was always amazed by how easily tiny little gestures from you perked him back up and got his heart leaping. All you did was choose to say “we”. He wished and wished that it was always “we”, but he’d take what he could get. Even if it meant dealing with the usual treatment whenever you were both with Shanks and his crew.

~ ~ ~ ••• ~ ~ ~

Mihawk was not fond of the look Shanks was sending his way. It was all too smarmy, built on equal parts smugness and giddiness. Disgusting.

“You dog! When I tried to imagine what could have the unshakable Dracule Mihawk off his game I never would’ve guessed it was our dear Viper,” Shanks teased cheerily, bumping his shoulder into the rigid one of the swordsman next to him. Mihawk was affronted - he nearly spilled his drink from Shanks’ boorish behavior.

“Didn’t know she was yours,” Mihawk grumbled, attempting to sidestep Shanks’ prompts to have him speak his infatuation aloud.

Shanks was fighting poorly to hold in his laughter; Mihawk was absolutely sulking while he watched Yasopp teach you more gun spinning tricks. You and the sharpshooter were always all joy and play, easily finding common ground in marksmanship but with the added fun of showing your separate specializations to each other. Each bout of laughter from your direction brought another brooding line to Mihawk’s furrowed brow. This standoffish air was his habitual defense against the raw ache he’d been tending to since the two of you met.

Every time I try to play, I end up wounding her, he lamented. Why can I not earn your laughter?

~ ~ ~ ••• ~ ~ ~

Mihawk lightly shook himself of the memory. On instinct, he turned to look at you and found you already looking at him but not really seeing him. He quietly huffed through his nose at losing you again to your own mind. He decided to give you a moment before getting to the bottom of whatever it was that had you in your funk. Beyond selfishly wanting your rapt attention, he was worried for you. You were prone to take pause and think long, especially when in quiet company, but you seemed truly lost in your own mind, taken against your will.

Mihawk’s accurate read on you was more proof of the years tentatively building rapport with each other. That intimacy you shared, which lacked the intimacy you so craved, was what had you held hostage in one of the many examples of your entwining lives.

~ ~ ~ ••• ~ ~ ~

The quiet in the air was broken only by Mihawk’s calm breathing, his occasional quiet sips of today’s wine, and the gentle rustle of a turning page. Your own breathing was silent, having gone so long and smooth it was imperceptible due to an instinct trained in so no need of your body could get in the way of your shot. Luckily, your targets were always at such a great distance that Mihawk’s casual lounging would never alert them that they were being hunted.

“It’s been twelve hours since you’ve eaten,” Mihawk told you in a bored tone, eyes never leaving the pages of his book. You made to ignore him and continue your work, but he had never been able to stand your attention off of him for long. “Almost three since you’ve taken a sip of water.”

“Sorry, Mom, I’m a bit busy at the moment,” you mumbled back evenly. You had long lost the majority of your bitterness toward his nitpicking, instead just glad he was around and saying anything to you.

“If I was your mother, I would’ve commanded you to just let me take the target out in the first place so we could leave this boring island,” Mihawk complained.

“You really gonna take a swing at them from two miles off?” you asked, smiling as you imagined the chaos wrought from such an action. It would be a catastrophe, but it would also give you quite the show. Over your time knowing him, you’d seen Mihawk’s innate beauty and untouchable prowess countless times, but it was never enough to sate you.

“You’re not the only one who can hit a target from that distance,” Mihawk reminded you and you hoped you weren't imagining the tone of a smirk shaping his voice.

“Yeah, but I’m the only one of us who won’t cause a tsunami in the process,” you giggled at him.

Again, your diligence robbed you of the chance to see the poignant longing overtaking Mihawk’s face when he smiled at you. He relished every step he’d gotten closer to being the source of your joy.

~ ~ ~ ••• ~ ~ ~

“You’ve disappeared again,” Mihawk complained after sending a haughty tut your way.

You offered an apologetic smile and were happy that he accepted it readily. All those memories, years of feeling, and liquid courage built a full storm inside of you until you knew you needed to allow yourself some time in the eye of it. Being surrounded by the roaring weather would be nerve-wracking but you hoped the calm at the center helped protect you from those shredding winds. You blew a heavy sigh over your drink, refusing to look from its dark, blooded tint when you asked, “Have you ever wondered what it would’ve been like if we were together?”

He didn’t answer right away. Usually Mihawk was a man who was quick with his words, as sure in speed and precision with their strike as he was with that of his sword. You respected that sureness and bold weaponizing of his thoughts, but you deeply appreciated that, with you, he would take the time to truly parse his words when he felt the need. It suited your nature better; your patience was as legendary as your ability to shoot the wings from a fly that was miles off from the end of your rifle.

“You should know by now I always exceed expectation,” Mihawk said without a hint of gloating, just simply stating an absolute fact.

“Mihawk, my dearest adversary and cherished… friend,” you hesitated on the word, never having claimed him as such to his face before. He rewarded your bravery with a gentle bump of his knee against yours and with the bare fondness that began softening his stare. “We have been playing this game, dancing this dance, for decades now. Am I really meant to believe that one question changes everything?”

“The right question can,” he asserted immediately. He opened his mouth to continue, but for once you were the one striking quick with your words.

“You are a man who does not hesitate,” you accused, staring cuttingly into his focused gaze, not backing down at the way it became shielded. “If you want something you take it.”

“And?” Mihawk prompted, tone the most biting it's been all night.

“And,” you repeated. “And…”

You sighed in defeat and turned back to your drink, closing yourself away. He was more than smart enough to know where you were going with that, but he insisted on making you be the one to say it. You wouldn’t allow him to make you insult yourself, especially after you had ventured to bring up the tenuous topic in the first place. If he refused to argue or even acknowledge your conclusions, then you’d let your drink be the friend to assuage those old hurts. The echoed sigh to your side did little to move you from your new stake out with your wounds and your wine.

Mihawk pinched the bridge of his nose, resisting the urge to call you foolish so his own mind would stop branding him with that word. He had been ever vigilant of you throughout the years, not only in an effort to soak you in every moment he could, but also to latch on the moment he noticed you offering him a true opening. You had finally bared your throat to him and he had managed to fail at your final test to check that he would not stoop to bite - that he would only beg to kiss.

While taking his next sip of wine, Mihawk extended an olive branch in the form of a thigh pressed firmly into yours. He was barely able to keep in the frustrated growl that pressed at his chest when you shifted yourself away. You did turn your eyes to him out of curiosity, however, but he missed the look completely, too busy reassembling himself. It let you watch carefully as the flaming lights turned his hat’s extravagant feather amber in their glow when he lifted it off his head to place on the bartop. It let him run his fingers back through his thick black curls, trying to shake his disappointment off with the teasing of his strands.

He looked over at you and finally caught on to your observing. Mihawk let his regret pour over his face, even letting his lips twitch into a momentary, rueful smile. You replied with a tired smile of your own. In the end, it turned sweet and loving; a bad habit of yours with the swordsman. You pressed your thigh back to his.

In a rare show of humility, propelled by the heat of your thigh warming his and the sweet crinkles your smile brought to your eyes (Just for me, he thought with doting greed), Mihawk took your hand and bowed himself low to touch his forehead to your knuckles. His thumb soothed gentle circles into it while he stayed lowered to you for a few long breaths. He was eager to enjoy the feeling of your skin and the decadent scent of your perfume, strong now with the proximity of your wrist. You had chosen something sultry and heady with its deep notes of orchid and amber and wood, all calling to him until he acted with thought a millisecond behind instinct.

He flipped your hand over, slowly and gently, cradling it palm up in his large hand. Still stooped, he had to move scant inches to brush the tip of his nose across the thin skin on the inside of your wrist, savoring the pull of your perfume going deep into his lungs and leading his mind to a content haze. He sealed the small caress with a feathery brush of his lips over your pulse, wishing he could make himself press harder to feel your heart thump against his lips. He longed to know if it raced with the same jumping cantor as his.

When he sat back up he was met with a vision from his dreams. You had fully turned your face to him and it was lit with a deep flush made more rosy in the fire-cast light of the bar. No ambient chatter nor clinking cutlery could keep his ears from delighting in the hitch of your breath in and the contented sigh out. Another smile indulged him, this one easily crowned his favorite with its happy chuckle, pressing cheeks, and bare affection.

“I am a man who takes what I want,” Mihawk confirmed your words delicately. He continued to hold your hand, now enfolding it in both of his. You felt bright tingling shooting from the contact and the press of your thighs. They made you twenty again, staring down the most handsome and insipidly arrogant man you’d ever met and cursing your heart for its clear choice. “I take what I want, not who I want. People aren’t for the taking, little viper.”

You laughed at the title, never feeling it sat quite right. You felt you wore it well at work only. The imagery it brought up of femme fatales and their hypnotizing looks and lethal wit made you feel like a young girl cloaked ill-fittingly in her mother’s best event wear, barely able to peek your head out of the wool coat dwarfing you. Mihawk noted your discomfort with the title throughout the years but never found the proper words to have you see that all who said it were reverent when they saw how well the word wrapped over you.

“What if-” again you hesitate. You scrunch your face in anger at your nature, but before Mihawk had time to bring a hand to your face and soothe it back into a smile, you force out the words. “What if I am for the taking?”

Mihawk’s thumbs stopped their massaging and you felt his thigh jump to tense against your own. Staring into his widening eyes and how they glowed so beautifully - too beautifully to be within your reach - you immediately wished you could suck the words right back into your lungs. You made it this far though, so you instead worried at your lip and clung your hand onto Mihawk’s stalled hold.

Finally, he unfroze.

“For the night only?” Mihawk probed, wanting answers but worrying about making you close off again.

“Do you only want the night?” You tossed back to him, unwilling to turn this propositioning into a confession of the long years you have built a deep and sturdy love for him, no matter your attempts to welcome others into its halls.

“What I want,” Mihawk said, gentle and deliberate in coloring his tone with humble honestly, “is to be what you want.”

You were taken aback by the confession, but you were even more awed by the look he was giving you. He was still slightly stooped, broad shoulders gently curved and bent towards you, pulled down under the need to lower himself below you but body still gravitating towards you with the magnetism he’s been weak to since you first crossed paths. Framed by those shoulders and his wild curls, Mihawk looked to you with the sadly tinted longing you had felt seize you in his presence all this time. While the furrow of his brow and glimmer of his eyes had your brain buzzing with more hope than you’d dare let it host before, your chest squeezed at the conflict you saw in him; you knew that torment in your very bones.

“You always have been,” you whispered on a trembling breath. Mihawk’s eyes went wild for a moment where his whole body tensed and you felt his urge to pounce on you steal the oxygen from the room. He thanked the gods for a majority of his life spent learning control and restraint, while he got himself in order and pressed the firm kiss he’d longed for to your wrist instead.

“Come with me,” Mihawk commanded through lips still pressed to your skin, though it was the closest you’d heard him to begging in your entire life.

You let yourself partake in a longtime wish by moving your other hand to card your fingers back into his thick hair, happy to find that it was just as soft as you had imagined. Their trailing came back around to have your palm cup his jaw. He leaned into the touch, tickling your hand with the rub of his precise facial hair when he allowed himself one small nuzzle into your loving hold. That hand guided him up to meet your eyes so he could see the love you held for him finally displayed openly in all its abundance.

“Wherever you ask me to, I will go,” you promised.

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

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short-honey-badger · 5 months

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Peppermint Tea 11

Alright. So this part is pretty plot heavy, I would think? I hope you enjoy the direction I've got planned, and if you have any suggestions I would gladly hear them!

Warnings! Kissing and some heavy petting? It's not too graphic. Mihawk is sad.

Masterlist

For once, you are the first one awake the next morning. Your eyes crack open to the delightful sight of your lover? Boyfriend? You still don't know which term you prefer. But he looks beautiful while asleep, his usually pinched scowl relaxed and peaceful in his sleep. You take in his handsome features, to his sharp jaw and immaculate facial hair.

This man has become so much to you in what feels like such a small amount of time. It feels more like you have known Dracule for your entire life, not the measly three months that have actually passed. And maybe you have, the more you think about it, and if your dreams have anything to say about it.

After that first time, you've had similar dreams since. Sometimes, they aren't as bad. Sometimes it will be you and that same young man. He would grace you with a smile and promise that everything would be okay. That he wouldn't allow what mother and father agreed to happen. You still don't really know what he means, and the dreams always slip away before you can examine them.

Other times, it would be storming, the wind and sea raging as you and the boy struggled to sail through the crashing waves. Those ones were the worst, for you had eaten a devil fruit, and the ocean hated those who had betrayed her trust. Those dreams made you wake up in a sweat, the name of the young man on your lips, but unsaid, you still couldn't remember it.

But no matter what, you would always see a familiar sword and a wide brimmed hat with its white feather. You know who they belong to now, especially now that the owner in question lay in the bed with you. But why would he be showing up in such odd dreams? Did Dracule know something about you? Something that could connect you to your past that you have long forgotten?

The thought made you uneasy, and you did not like it.

Mihawk moves in his sleep, the arm that he had wrapped around your waist tugging you closer, “Stop thinking so hard, Angel,” he grumbles and his rough voice had your stomach doing flips, “Go back to sleep.”

A quiet sigh leaves your nose, and you close your eyes to do as he says. This lasts all for ten seconds before you open your eyes again, frowning as you shift to get comfortable. You try again, and still, sleep does not come. You squirm a little more and press your cold nose into his chest to block out what little light is streaming through the window.

Despite being much more comfortable, your mind will not calm and thoughts race. You find yourself shifting again, brow scrunching up, and you close to giving up when Dracule suddenly grabs you and rolls so that he lays on top of you.

You shiver when his hot breath ghosts over your neck and ear, “What's got you so restless, Dear one?” Mihawk demands and presses soft kisses to the skin right below Your ear. You gasp and clutch his shoulders, eyes fluttering at how nice it feels to have him press you into the bed.

“I keep having these dreams,” you begin and hiss when Dracule nips you a little harsher than usual, “But they feel like memories. And I see you every time.” You admit and Mihawk chuckles darkly, and you can feel it rumble through his chest.

“Dreaming about me?” Dracule teases and leans up to rest on his elbows, looking at where he has you trapped beneath him, and frowns when he realizes that you look serious. He shifts to his back, taking you with him so that you lay splayed over his chest.

“Do you want to tell me about them?” Mihawk asks, teasing tone from earlier gone and replaced by one of care and gentle encouragement. He rubs circles into the exposed skin of your back where your sleep shirt has risen up and hums in content when he feels your weight settle over him.

You think about his offer. You aren't sure what kind of answer Dracule could give you if you told him about your dreams, but you didn't want to keep anything from him, either. So, quietly, you tell him of your first dream. About running, the cities and fields of your home burning. The young man who carried you through the destruction of the island. It's hard to recall details, but you do your best to describe the symbol that you'd seen many of the attackers wearing. And finally, of seeing his sword with the literal cross guard and his hat.

The moment that you had described Big Mom's jolly Roger, an awful foreboding feeling had begun to creep in. Dracule knows what you are talking about. A time when he had been still young enough to make foolish, quick decisions that he would later on regret. How could this have happened? How did you survive?

Dracule tightens his hold on you, and his angel snuggles into his chest like he wasn't the savage who hadn't helped destroy her home.

Thankfully, you don't seem to find anything amiss with him, instead turning to look up at Dracule with sleepy eyes full of adoration.

“I know it's a long shot, but you wouldn't happen to know anything about it, would you?” You say, voice wavering and unsure. You blush and loom away, “I know it's kinda dumb since they are just dreams, but they feel so real.”

Dracule Hawkeye Mihawk decided then and there that this would be the only lie that he would ever tell you, for he leaned in and kissed your brow, “I'm sorry, Darling. I'm afraid I don't know anything about that.”

You nod easily, “I figured so, but I just wanted to make sure,” you place a soft kiss to his chest and Mihawk's heart aches in a way that he has never felt before. He isn't in the habit of feeling guilty, but right now? If you asked the warlord for anything, he would move the world to do it for you. For how could he not, when he was part of the reason you were stuck on this island?

Mihawk hums in response. He needs to distract you from this line of thought you seem to be stuck in, so he changes tactics. His hands press more fully into your plush skin, the innocent touches becoming a bit more forceful. Your hands flex against his chest, and Dracule takes that as permission to continue.

“Don't think about them, sweet thing. You are here, with me, now. And I am not going anywhere.” Mihawk swears quietly and grasps your hips, adjusting you so that you sit on his lap, legs resting on either side of his waist. Your face is scarlet, frost creeping along your arms, and Dracule rubs your exposed thighs in a soothing manner.

You nod quickly, eagerly. You don't want him to ever leave you, and would go with him if you could. But just the thought of leaving your island sends fear striking down your back and a voice shouting at you that you can never ever leave for your safety.

Dracule smirks up at you, “I'm glad we've come to an agreement, then,” he draws and tugs you down by your sleep shirt. You fall forward and catch yourself on the bed, and Mihawk leans in to capture your lips in a kiss that makes you forget about the less than pleasant memories.

The warlord sweeps his hands under your shirt, hands finding your nipples with ease and gently rolling the buds between his thumb and forefinger. You keen into his mouth, and Mihawk slips his tongue inside at the first opportunity.

He plays with you until your hips jerk against his own, and your eyes fly open when you feel the hard length of Dracule, separated by the thin fabric of both of your underwear. His hand finds your hips again, and he pulls you down as he rolls his own hips up, grinding up into your delectable heat.

The friction has you whining, eyes clenching shut as Dracule does it again and again. The man under you licks into your mouth, rhythm unhurried as he gives you a pleasure that you have not experienced before. He doesn't stop, and the heat in your lower stomach coils so tightly that it suddenly snaps, leaving you crying out and burying your face in the crook of his neck. Everything feels over sensitive, and it takes you longer than what it should to catch your breath.

Dracule says nothing, allowing you to come down from your high. His cock twitches from where it's still pressed between your legs, and it takes all of his willpower to not remove the offending layer so that he could feel how soft he knew you would be.

The pirate grits his teeth when you move, sitting up so that you can look down at him. He is flushed, chest a light pink under the thick hair that grows there. He watches as you lick your lips, eyes going half lidded, “What about you?” You murmur softly and meet his heavy gaze.

Just as Dracule was about to suggest something rather lewd, a loud whining came from outside the bedroom. Your expression drops, and Dracule can't help the sigh he lets out as he drops his head into the pillow. This would not be the first time that Hank has ruined the mood, and it definitely would not be the last.

“Go on, sweet thing. I'll meet you in the kitchen for breakfast,” Dracule assures you, and you lean down to steal a kiss from his lips before you slide off his lap. You dress quickly in a pair of leggings, but leave your sleep shirt unchanged for now.

He watches you disappear and then slings an arm over his eyes. He needed to think, your admission about your dreams, no memories, had shaken him. Mihawk knew who you were, at least he had a good idea of who anyway, and if Big Mom ever found out if you were still alive, Mihawk isn't sure if even he could save you from her wrath and the rest of her monstrous family.

@writingmysanity @kenkenmaaa @foggyturtleknightangel @browneyedhufflepuff @djbumblebee @goth-mami-writer @myradiaz

#fanfic #one piece #reader insert #fluff #dracule mihawk #hawkeye mihawk #mihawk x reader #opla mihawk #op mihawk #opla mihawk x reader #mihawk x y/n #mihawk x you #Peppermint Tea #plot is hard #plot is happening

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dreams-and-drabbles · 1 year

Note

hi can u do cyno with hate/jealous smut? ( like theyre rivals and cyno sees some guy flirting with reader so he puts her in her place…idk 😭

-xoxo, 🥟

[🥟] Welcome back, anon!! I’d be more than happy to write this for you!!! The jealous trope is always a fun one, hehe! Sorry for the late answer, and I hope you have a lovely week!!

((Minors DO NOT INTERACT!!! ))

Cyno wasn’t particularly interested in many things. He did enjoy Genius Invokation TCG, and perhaps the occasional blend of yogurt, rice, meat, and dried nuts, all roasted up into something delectable…

In fact, the thought of food was what had brought Cyno to his current location in the first place. He’d been hungry and had planned to eat—

What he hadn’t planned on, was the sight of [F/N] —

She was as annoyingly bright as always, and it seemed as though she’d brought company—

Now, Cyno had no problem with bright people. [F/N], however—

Well, she was the type to use that brightness to deflect. That was what irritated Cyno when it came to her...

Throughout all the time he had spent with her in past, [F/N] had never once been honest with him. She’d never once voiced her opinion, instead opting to follow the lead of whatever he chose to do— She’d always said ‘you choose’ whenever he asked her for her input, and that—

That had annoyed him to no end…

More so, the way she seemed to draw others in.

She was bright, so of course there would be those that flocked towards her—

“What would you prefer, [F/N]~? “

“I think I’d like some curry—“

Cyno’s eyes narrowed, and he exhaled sharply.

Was it just a him thing, then?

She was perfectly capable of making her own decisions with others, so why wasn’t she in his company?

‘I’m not intimidated by you.’

She’d said that, before her first assignment with the Matra. He’d had high hopes, then—

[F/N] proved to be incredibly skilled, and for a time—

Cyno was sure she’d come close to his position, but she’d suddenly stopped training as hard as she’d been.

She fell behind, and Cyno…?

He’d earned his title.

Still, the interaction between the two was grating on him in a way he hadn’t expected..

Against all logical reason, he wanted it to stop.

Really, all he needed to do was show himself…

That was generally all it took for someone to back off.

…General-ly…

He’d have to keep that one in mind.

Cyno’s eyes narrowed on the two, before finally he made his decision.

“[F/N],” he greeted, his gaze taking in her surprised expression.

The man beside her stiffened, awkwardly smiling at her, before scurrying off.

Cyno withheld the urge to smile as the man left—

What was wrong with him today?

[F/N] always had a knack for getting under his skin…

[F/N] huffed, her gaze trailing to the man’s retreating figure.

“No fun. He was actually kind of cute, you know?” She muttered, her gaze petulant.

Cyno scowled, “Is that so? By what definition ?”

[F/N] blinked up at him, her lips parted in shock.

“Huh..?” She muttered, her response unintelligible.

Cyno stepped a bit closer, leaning slightly over the table.

“For example, if he’s cute— How would you classify me?” He asked, his tone holding a slight edge.

[F/N]’s eyes widened, and to his surprise her cheeks flared with color.

“You…? You’re asking me? Gosh…You’re…you’re untouchable. Most everyone thinks you’re attractive, but no one can touch you. It’s like you live in a different world.”

Cyno’s eyes narrowed at [F/N]’s response and he extended his hand.

[F/N]’s eyes widened, and she grabbed his palm, studying it with her hands.

Cyno withheld the urge to chuckle at her response.

“Your theory was wrong. Well, partially. I only let a particular few touch me…”

[F/N] withdrew her hand, her cheeks tinged pink. “Oh…? I’m one of those few? Then does tha mean you…want to…?”

Cyno’s lips quirked upwards, “I want to teach you a lesson. You’re horrible at communication.”

[F/N] scowled, her cheeks tinged pink.

“That’s rude..! You’re the one who’s horrible at communicating… Plus, we’re in public!!”

Cyno raised a brow, “You’re the one shouting and insinuating things…”

[F/N] scowled, averting her gaze.

Cyno offered her a small nod, heading back towards the front of the line to order. He paused, briefly, glancing back at her with a small smile.

“If you are interested in that lesson, however… I’ll be staying at the base this evening.”

With that, Cyno ordered his food and returned to the base. He finished his meal, before looking over the newest list of marks. He’d finally gotten an idea of the next potential site when a knock resounded on his door.

His brow twitched and he swung the door open with a sigh.

[F/N] stood at the door, her cheeks tinged pink. Cyno examined her face closely, noticing the slight sheen to her lips.

She’d fixed herself up…

That was actually rather cute.

“So…That lesson…?” She mumbled, her gaze downcast.

That wouldn’t do…

Cyno cupped her cheek in his palm, bringing her face closer to his.

“Lesson one… Make eye contact when you’re speaking to others.”

Cyno spoke, noticing with satisfaction the way her cheeks flared at their proximity.

“That’s-! You’re-!”

She exclaimed, and Cyno smirked, before pressing his lips against her’s. He pulled her inside the room, breaking the kiss and closing the door. He glanced at her, a small smile on his face.

“Lesson two… Don’t interrupt a conversation, especially if you’re speaking to a superior…”

[F/N]’s cheeks burned and she looked down.

Cyno closed the distance between them, his eyes narrowed. “What was lesson one again?”

[F/N]’s gaze trailed to his, and crimson hues met [e/c].

“Eye contact…” She mumbled, her lips pursed into a small pout.

Cyno nodded, a smirk slipping onto his face.

“Good. Now, for lesson three… Honesty is a virtue. Will you trust me?”

[F/N]’s cheeks burned, “Yes. I’ll trust you, Cyno.”

Cyno smiled, leaning over [F/N] and pressing his lips to her cheek. His breath fanned out against her cheek as he spoke.

“Lesson four… The ability to complete a task. Strip.”

[F/N]’s eyes widened and she chuckled a bit breathlessly, before pulling off her top and unfastening her bra. She slipped off her bottoms soon after, her gaze trailing to Cyno. She was about to ask him what he was going to do, when she processed the fact that he was already naked, a familiar container in his hand.

“How on Tevyat…?”

Cyno chuckled, “It’s a bit easier when you don’t typically wear a top.”

[F/N] nodded, biting her lip.

That was fair, she supposed.

“What’s lesson number five..?”

She asked, her tone soft.

Cyno’s eyes narrowed and he caught her wrist, pulling her close to him.

“Tone control…” He responded, his tone less harsh than it had been.

[F/N]’s eyes widened and she nodded, a bit of excitement coursing through her—

Cyno wrapped a hand around her waist, pulling her towards him, before coming down on her hard—

[F/N] let out a light whimper at the force of which Cyno was pressing up against her.

She knew he was strong, but this was—!!

“Ah… Shit…” She huffed, digging her nails into Cyno’s skin. The General Mahamatra jerked forwards, his thighs pressing against her—

Shit. She could barely manage to process.

They were toned—

“Do we need a lesson on language..?”

Cyno asked, his tone raspy as he pushed himself even closer, his hips thrusting lightly against her form.

[F/N] gasped, biting back the foul word that came to mine.

“No…Keep teaching me…this one…”

She huffed, her tone higher than before.

“Manners first. Say please.” Cyno rasped, his thrusts quickening.

[F/N] keened, her cheeks flaring with warmth.

“Please…” She muttered, her voice shaky.

Cyno pushed further, adjusting his position slightly, before slowing to a more rhythmic pace.

“Good girl.” He praised, his voice deep, before thrusting harshly against her form.

[F/N] gasped, her eyes widening as a flush of heat spread throughout her form—

Cyno continued to thrust against her, and she bit her lip trying to hold in a moan—

They were still at the base.

Holy shit. They were still at the base—

“C-Cyno what if someone hears…?”

[F/N] huffed out, and the thrusts paused momentarily.

“There is a reason I said tone control…”

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #thanks for the ask!#send asks #genshin reader insert #genshin smut #cyno smut #cyno x reader #female reader

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essektheylyss · 2 years

Text

wiki trivia on Caleb's page reminded me that Caleb claimed he didn't have a favorite color, so have a ficlet:

The disguise lately has been a wood elf with warmly-tanned skin and an angular face, and Caleb has enjoyed, as he always does with a new disguise, finding the places the features underneath push through.

The one he has noticed the most in this disguise, that he has looked for whenever Essek’s tone takes on the warm, dry cadence that tends to pair with it, is a particular smile that curls the corners of his mouth and nothing else. It is generally accompanied by lashing verbal wit, to various extents, and Caleb likes to watch it spread on his face.

They are in a sweet shop this afternoon, Caleb browsing through several buckets of saltwater taffy while Essek orders several cupcakes for the two of them, and a few more for him to bring to Jester and Fjord when he visits them tomorrow.

“That is all for the half dozen, I think,” he says, peering over the counter, and then points to a set of sweets under the glass with one delicate finger. His fingers have become rather less delicate than they used to be, but never as calloused and worn as Caleb had allowed his own to become on the road. “And two of those, if you would be so kind.”

“We’ve got those with a couple of frosting colors,” the shopkeep grins. “What’s your favorite color?”

Essek hums lightly, and Caleb turns to see the curl of his lips out of the corner of his eye. “I think I am partial to colors other than these, but I will take the blue,” he says, and his smile widens. “But orange for my partner.”

Caleb freezes. He leaves the barrels of taffy to step into a place at Essek’s side, and leans over him. “Orange?”

Essek fixes him with that small, amused smile. “Of course. That is your favorite color.”

“I don’t have a favorite color.”

A wrinkle ripples into Essek’s brow. “What?”

Caleb blinks at him. Essek is far too clever to not have understood his comment, but he’s looking back with bemusement. “I mean, orange is satisfactory, but—”

“Caleb,” Essek snorts. “I have borrowed four different orange sweaters from you since last week when I arrived.”

“I have many sweaters. I think you are talking about your own preferences.”

“I know you have many sweaters,” he agrees, speaking a bit slowly, as though Caleb is the one being bewildering, but Essek leans in to drop his voice, “and I primarily borrow those that you wear most often, because they smell of you.”

Caleb stares at him for a long moment, his brain catching up, and finally—

“Caleb Widogast, have you not realized because you simply tend toward orange as a default?”

“I—“ His eyes drift to the amber stud in Essek’s earlobe, a gift from him several years ago. Absent of the disguise, it contrasts sharply—beautifully—against his skin. “I suppose I do have a favorite color.”

“I am glad to have prompted this moment of enlightenment,” Essek says wryly, and brushes a thumb across Caleb’s jaw. “And I am very excited to have the opportunity to recount the story to the Lavorres tomorrow.”

“That is rude,” Caleb murmurs absently. He is still rather dazed at being known, and Essek laughs.

“Don’t worry,” he replies, and winks. The smile reminds Caleb of the features underneath, but he suddenly has an impulse to ask what else Essek could say about him that he has not known, if it might earn him a wink again. “I think you will find that this has only been a secret to you.”

#critical role #shadowgast #caleb widogast #essek thelyss #cr fic #this also brought to you by the time I mentioned my spouse's favorite berry was blackberry #and he was like '.......I didn't realize I had a favorite berry but.... you're right? /what/'#anyway iirc caleb said this under zone of truth influence too so it's funny if he believes it and simply. does Not realize lol #cuz he just does it unconsciously

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dib-thing-wannabe · 8 months

Text

The Villain's Untold Moldings - Chapter One

next>>>

(Quickly, two things before y'all start reading this-

This doesn't mean that I'm quitting with my cu au content, I just needed to write this as it came to me at night and I have to share it with everyone else, so consider it more as a side project then anything else.

In this fanfic, Robot does not have his canon look, but instead has the Robot human (?) design made by @taxlthomas (Or @itsalldownhillfromherehoney because idk which to tag as they are the same person). This is something that I feel is important to mention as I don't think anyone could take it as seriously as I imagine it to be, so please check out their artwork before reading this if you don't know what it looks like. As I'm already tagging people, I'd also like to thank @genderlessjacky who helped me with the name of this fanfic!

Other than that, enjoy this!)

(Edit: I should mention that when I make more chapters, they will be featured on my pinned post, though I'm not tagging my pinned with the pj masks tags.)

Memory log 1 - Date: Sept. 7, 2005 - Time: 12:01

I turned on for the first time ever. I scanned the room I was in, standing on my charging pod, when the scan stopped as I laid my robotic eyes on a man. He had raven colored hair, fair skin, green eyes, and he was wearing a lab coat covered in oil. He seemed proud, yet tired.

"Hello, Robot. You may call me Mr. Mecano, or if you'd prefer, Master. I'm the one who made you!" He told me in a prideful tone.

"Hello, Master." I replied with, only having a monotone voice at the time.

He looked at me again, motioning me to follow him as he exits the room. I, of course, follow him. His house was much bigger than it looked from the charging pod, it was clear that he had the money to spend. I saw other robots around the place as I followed him, though they were much smaller than me and didn't do much.

We eventually made it to what is called a living room, with a large couch in the middle of it.

"Go ahead, sit down for a moment! I need to grab some people before I can tell you what your current purpose is!" Mr. Mecano told me, holding his hand towards the couch. I sat down on it as he exited the room.

After some time, I heard a female voice nearby. "Hunny, are you sure it's going to be safe? I mean, his body that you reused was originally made to harm any trespassers! Who knows how gentle he could get!" She spoke up.

"Dear, trust me, I have made the necessary adjustments to his physical body to be able to be as gentle as a mouse. And, before you even think about his coding, I took out anything that could harm someone who may be innocent!" He told her reassuringly.

She let out a soft sigh before telling him, "Okay, I believe you. I don't have any reason not to."

He walks back in with the woman trailing behind him, holding something wrapped in a blanket in her arms. The woman had long brown hair with a white streak in it, more tanned skin compared to Mr. Mecano yet it's still pale, blue eyes, and she was wearing a long nightgown, despite it being noon.

"Robot, this is my wife! You may call her Mrs. Mecano, or you may also call her Master!" He announced lovingly, wrapping his arm around her shoulder.

"Hello Ma'am."

"... You know what, that works too!" He began walking towards me again, now with his wife in tow, as she is clearly nervous.

He gently grabs what's in her arms as he speaks in a soft yet energetic tone. "Now I can tell you what your purpose is!"

He walks closer to me until he is basically towering over me, as he begins to show me what's in the blanket.

"This is our son. His name is Romeo Mecano. He was born on August 31 of this year. You see, I need to continue to work so that my family and I can continue to live comfortably, but the baby still needs to be cared for, as my dear wife is having too many troubles recovering from his birth to safely take care of him without any assistance. Your job is to care for Romeo when neither of us can, and to make sure that whatever happens, he would never be harmed."

I nod my head as I looked closer at what was in the blanket. Sure enough, it was a baby. A sleeping baby with the same raven hair his father had, yet has the white streak in his hair that his mother passed down to him.

"Here, try and hold him! You're going to need to do it a lot anyway!" He said with a light in his eyes, as Mrs. Mecano bit her finger out of nervousness. I hold my arms out in what I had believed to be the correct way. He placed the child in my arms, and I just held my arms like that.

He chuckled before speaking again. "Robot, you are holding a small human being, not a platter! Don't be scared, gently bring him towards your chest more!"

After a moment of processing, I then held him similarly to how they held him. "Is this good, Master?"

"It's great! See, you just powered on, yet you're already learning all the necessities!" He cried out in a joyful manner, clearly more proud then ever.

He began conversing with his wife, but my memory doesn't remember their exact conversation, as I was paying full attention to Romeo at this point. I can only recall that Mr. Mecano was reassuring her that their son was safe in my hands and that he wouldn't ever make something that would hurt either one of them. I began to hold him in a way where he was facing me, my hands under his little armpits. After a few seconds, I held him near my chest, his tiny head resting on my shoulder as one of my hands gently cups it, and the other held his scrunched up body. My Master quickly took notice of this, and he only chuckled and said, "Yeah, he's going to be safe and sound."

The rest of the day was Mr. and Mrs. Mecano teaching me what to do during what situations, how to care for the child, how to care for wounds, ect. When Romeo finally woke up, he had icey blue eyes, though they told me that his eyes would darken overtime, but will most likely stay blue.

Memory log 7 - Date: Sept. 15, 2005 - Time: 20:21

A week has passed since I was first introduced to everything. Today I noticed that Mr. Mecano started acting strangely. Normally he works on other inventions and sells them, and tries to spend every spare second he could with either his wife, or if he's awake, Romeo. Meaning that I see him around ten to twenty times a day other then when he is in his workshop. Today though, I had only seen him once outside of his workshop, and it's already dark out. It was as if he was trying to avoid them today, especially his son, who he usually coddles every time he lays eyes on him.

As I was patrolling the house, something I normally do when not given a task to complete, Mrs. Mecano approached me.

"... Hey, Robot? Can you tell me something?" Her voice was filled with worries and woe's as she asked me this.

"Of course, Ma'am."

"Do you think that my husband has been acting... strange, today? I mean, I don't think that this is a bad thing, but I need a second opinion on it."

I stood silent for a moment, trying to find the words to tell her that I agree with her without her feeling anymore worried. "Yes Ma'am, I do. Though I believe it's nothing to worry about just yet. I saw that he didn't get as much sleep as he normally does last night, so there is a great chance that is what's causing him to act strangely."

".. Yeah, you're probably right. Though just in case, I'm going to talk to him about it. If Romeo wakes up, please watch him for me until I'm done."

This caught me off guard, as she doesn't like it when it's only me and Romeo together alone. I believe she's either starting to finally trust me, or she's too worried about her husband to think properly.

"Of course, Ma'am."

She let out a sigh of relief before speaking again.

"Thank you, Robot." She then began heading downstairs towards the workshop.

She didn't say a word to me as she went back to her bedroom two hours later, so I am guessing she wasn't able to get anything out of him. Romeo is growing rather fond of me, so I don't think he mind the fact that he had seen me more than he had seen his dad today.

Memory log 13 - Date: Sept. 21, 2005 - Time: 15:34

Mr. and Mrs. Mecano have been agruing for what has felt like non-stop today so far. After he started randomly distancing himself from his family, Mrs. Mecano has been trying to talk to him more and more about it, yet he's been practically pushing her away. This is what seems to be their first ever argument in their entire relationship. I began standing near the doorway of their bedroom, as the tention began rising between them.

"Oh my GOD, WHY WON'T YOU GET THE FUCK OFF MY BACK?! I AM WORKING MY ASS TO PROVIDE FOR EVERYTHING AND EVERYONE, AND THIS IS THE THANKS I GET FOR IT!?" His voiced boomed through the house.

"H-Hunny, please!! I'm not trying to be overbearing, I'm j-just getting worried! You have never acted like this before!!!" She yelled back, holding in tears as she tries to talk to him.

"OH, PLEASE! YOU ARE ALWAYS GETTING WORRIED ABOUT SOMETHING THAT I DO, EVEN WHEN I TELL YOU THAT EVERYTHING IS FINE, BUT NOOOOOO! SOMETHING IS TERRIBLY WRONG WITH EVERY SINGLE FUCKING THING I DO!!"

"SIMON!!" Her voice strained, now with tears rolling down her face. This is the first time I have ever heard her call him anything other than his nickname.

Now they are in a full on shouting match, throwing accusations at one another, from cheating to lying about their past. Clearly, this is turning into something much more serious than it once was.

Suddenly, I heard Romeo crying from his crib, so hesitantly, I go to tend for him while they continue to scream at one another.

I quickly go into his room and shut the door behind me, trying not to let him hear the yelling from his parents. Yes, he may be a baby who wouldn't have a clue what was happening, but that doesn't mean that it wouldn't effect him. Thankfully, they made his room soundproof, so he couldn't hear them at all as long as we stayed inside his nursery.

"Shhhhhhhh, shhhhhhhhh, hey, hey hey, it's okay, it's okay." I softly spoke to him, as I scooped him up into my arms. "Don't cry, don't cry, you are okay, you are going to be okay."

After a few minutes of shushing him and patting his back gently, he eventually stopped crying, but he clearly still wasn't happy. I held him up to my face level, and start mimicking his cooing noises that he normally makes when he's happy. After a few seconds, he starts making the noises back.

"Yaaay! There you go, now who's a happy boy? Who's a happy bouncing baby boy~?"

He started getting louder with his cooing as I did this, reaching his tiny hands to me.

"Yes, you are! You are just a happy boy!"

I stayed with Romeo for a few more hours in his room, taking care of him. He seems to have me as his favorite 'person' in this household, especially lately, where I have had to take sole care of him as his parents argue, like they have been for the past week. I only left him alone after around 15 minutes of him being asleep. It's now 20:57, and his parents seem to have finally stopped with their bickering and gone to bed.

Memory log 14 - Date: Sept. 22, 2005 - Time: 02:31

I woke up from my charging pod as my internal sensors started going off.

*DANGER! DANGER! DANGER! A PERSON IN THE PREMISES HAS BEEN GRAVELY INJURED!*

Quickly, I get off of the pod and start scanning the area for the person who had gotten hurt.

After a few minutes of scanning the area, I finally had found who it was. It was... Mrs. Mecano. She was laying at the bottom of the steps, bleeding out. She had been shot in the stomach.

As I walked up to her, about to try and stop the bleeding before I called an ambulance, she started talking in a strained and tired voice.

"D-don't.. help me y-yet-" She coughed between her words, blood spilling out of her throat. "G-get.. m-my son.."

"Romeo? You want me to get Romeo?"

"H-he-" she coughed again, now speaking in more urgency. "I fear.. that h-he is next..."

As I realized what she was talking about, I nodded my head and quickly began rushing to his nursery. Who could in their right mind go and shoot a child after shooting their mother? Especially a baby, who could have never done any wrong to any person ever. I gained sight of the nursery door, and it was wide open. Quickly, I ran over and looked inside. A figure was standing above the crib... with a gun. Pointing. At. Romeo.

*TARGET ACQUIRED*

My arm extended from the doorway to the figure, wrapping itself around his arm, making the gun in his hand now aim to the floor. Before I can think, I lifted the arm it was intangled in, and threw it from where it was standing to the railing behind me, causing a giant crack sound to be made. I looked at the figure, now behind me..

"... Master?"

He groaned before speaking, struggling to get up on his feet, using the almost broken railing to lift himself up.

"WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU DO THAT, YOU STUPID ROBOT?! DON'T YOU SEE THAT YOU'RE MASTER IS TRYING TO KILL THAT ANNOYING LITTLE SHI-"

Before he could finish his sentence, I covered his mouth from behind him, having a tight grip on his face as I silenced him. I began talking lowly and slowly, as if I was growling as I spoke.

"I did that because you told me to. You said that my purpose was to take care of Romeo when neither of you could, and to make sure that whatever happens, he would never be harmed. But you. You tried to kill him after almost killing your wife." I moved his head towards the downstairs, facing him to Mrs. Mecano's close to lifeless body. "I may not experience the same emotions or have the same 'morals' as humans do, but I am disappointed in your actions. You are the biggest monster that this town has probably ever seen."

I let go of him entirely, having his full body weight fall onto the railing.

"Now, if you can behave and control your emotions, I'll go and make sure that you didn't hurt your child over a silly argument that wasn't even involving him."

I walk over to the crib and look down. There he is... the sweet baby boy, safe and sound, just sleeping. Unaware of the event that just occurred.

Now that I know that he isn't hurt, I can now call an ambulance and the police for Mrs. Mecano-

*BAM*

The sound of a gunshot going off filled the homes silence, and soon after, Romeo began crying, having woken up by the sudden noise and getting scared. I turned around to face the man with the gun, and-

... he shot himself. His body is laying on the ground, now lifeless. He must have realized what he had done, and what he was about to do next, and out of sudden grief and shock, he shot his brains out.

Okay, okay, there is no way they can be able to save him, but Mrs. Mecano still has potential to be saved. I can still call the ambulance for her, and then everything else will be fine-

"Sorry, your call wasn't able to reach the person you were trying to contact, please check your connection or try dialing a different number-"

"What?? Why would I not be able to call 911?"

I redialed the number, thinking it had to be some sort of mistake.

"Sorry, your call wasn't able to reach the person you were trying to contact, please check your connection or try dialing a different number-"

"Come on!!"

I check outside of the window, and there is no lights on. Anywhere. Not in the streets, not in anyone's windows, no where were lights on. Then I remembered something that made everything click.

They turned the cities power off. They turned it off because the wires connected to everything were getting faulty and too dangerous to not replace. There was a city wide announcement about it a few days ago, and Mr. Mecano knew that. He knew that, and that's why he shot himself. Because he shot his wife, the love of his existence, and there was nothing no one could do to save her.

I realized that Romeo was still crying heavily, with his poor little voice going hoarse. I quickly scooped him up again, and held him close.

I whispered quietly to him, trying to calm him down. "Shhhhhhhh, shhhhh, it's okay, you're okay, you are going to be fine.. I'll make sure of it..."

I headed downstairs towards my now late Masters workshop with Romeo in my arms, desperate to find something, anything, that could help me out with this situation. As I opened the door, my sensors started going off again.

*DANGER! DANGER! DANGER! TOXIC FUMES IN THE AIR! DANGEROUS TO HUMANS AND ANIMALS!*

I quickly closed the door to the workshop, backing away from it as I held Romeo closer to my chest. He wasn't acting like this because he was stressed, or tired, or covering up for something else. He was poisoned while in his workshop. A gas leak broke out and he didn't realize it until it was too late.

I ran out of the house, trying not to get Romeo harmed with the gases as well, because they were bound to spread to the rest of the house overtime. I ran out to the backyard, where I found the ship. The flying ship Mr. Mecano made in case of an 'emergency'. It was to live in, and it could go anywhere in the world given enough power. Thankfully, it had full power and it wasn't going to run out of it for at least twenty years. I board it with Romeo still in my arms, a little fussy but much better than before. I didn't start flying it, as there wasn't a place where Romeo can rest in it. I sat down on the couch in what I believe was the living room of the machine.

What do I do? It's not like I know how to take care of children older than three years old, and I still need a charging pod, yet I don't detect one in here. He can't go back in there, there's too many dangers for a baby to live in there. What to do, what to do...

I held him close to me still, as he fell asleep on my chest.

... I can worry about that tomorrow, I have plenty of power to last through the night.

Memory log 3,663 - Date: Sept. 19, 2015 - Time: 01:42

I was sitting down on the couch, in the living room of the flying machine, charging. When suddenly, I heard a slam from the metal door connected to the living room.

Romeo walked through it, mumbling to himself.

"Stupid PJ masks, ruining my plans for no reason other than 'beINg GoOd'! UUUGH!!"

"Still having trouble figuring out a new plan, Master?"

"No!.. well, yeah. But come on!! It was my greatest plan yet! But noooo! Those PJ Masks need to stop it! AAAAGH, I HATE THEM, I HATE THEM, I HATE THEM!!" He screamed out, stomping his feet out of frustration.

"I know, I know. Want a hug to let all your frustrations out?" I told him, holding out an arm to him.

Romeo scoffs before speaking in an annoyed tone. "No! What am I, a baby?!"

I continue to hold my arm out to him, closing my eyes. After a few seconds of silence, he quickly crawled into my arms, and begins to reach his arms out to me.

I chuckled softly before picking him up higher. "Thought so, Master. C'mere."

"Quiet, Robot.." He whispered in an embarrassed voice.

I placed him on my chest, where his head rested on my shoulder. He hugged me back, letting out a soft sigh as he let his full body weight on me. I caressed the back of his head and ran my fingers through his hair as I begin to hum.

After a few minutes, Romeo is fast asleep on me, fully relaxed.

To think that you were able to fit in my hands at one point, yet now, doing the same thing that I did when I first met you, you've truly gotten so much bigger..

#pj masks romeo #pj masks #Romeo Mecano #Pj masks robot #Help idk what else I should tag this as-#romeo pj masks #Robot PJ Masks

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waitingonavision · 1 year

Photo

Moisés “Mo” Bondia! Official OC Info Post

Age: 55 (his age during the film)

Gender: AMAB/male (cis); he/him pronouns

Height: 5’6” (170 cm)

Physical description: Has glasses with oval frames, medium brown skin tone, and dark curly hair (3A?) with a puff on the front right side and grey streaks on the both sides; bearded. Wide-set eyes, broad nose; he’s lightly freckled on his cheeks and has dimples.

Dresses no differently than the townspeople but does wear a Sephardic style kippah (aka a yarmulke; photo is for reference) on his head. He’s on the chubby side, with round cheeks and a little double chin.

His clothing palette consists of goldish-browns and blues.

More art and info under the cut!

I’m still trying to tweak his clothing style...

Personality: Mostly soft-spoken but has a bit of a mischievous/joking streak; very dorky sense of humor. Patient for the most part; has a calm, deliberate way of speaking. On the guarded side–vigilant around new people, though he tries to be as open and friendly as possible. Has a poor sense of direction.

Enjoys wine (the doofy jokes really come out when drunk) and singing (but is bad at it). He is a big Jewish nerd™. His family escaped with their chumash (the Torah/Five Books of Moses), a prayer book or two, and a few other things.

His name, Bondia, means “good day” (from the Hebrew surname, Yom Tov). It’s shaped his outlook on life, despite, or because of, the trauma of his childhood–he was five when he and his parents fled the bandits (at the beginning of Encanto).

Background [cw for parental death and depression]: Moisés and his parents, Ester (mother) and Jonás (father), have been in the Encanto since its creation. His parents both passed away by the time he’s in his mid-late 20s. Because he’s really the only Jew in the Encanto, he feels like the odd one out (in that sense, he has a kinship with Bruno and, to an extent, Mirabel). The townspeople get along with him, despite his differences.

Ester’s and Jonás’ deaths occurred one after the other and hit Mo very hard, and he went through a period of depression and, just, not taking care of himself very well. He wasn’t always chubby (fairly average build in his teens and early twenties), and actually lost an unhealthy amount of weight after his parents’ deaths but eventually recovered–he’s able to sympathize with Bruno in this way. He is body confident and prefers himself chubby.

Relationship with the Madrigals and others: After the Madrigals discover Judaica among their heirlooms/possessions, Mo falls into the role of a rabbi and helps the family explore their Jewish ancestry and reclaim that part of their identity. He worries about his motivation (e.g., having more Jews around will make him less lonely, is that why he’s doing what he’s doing?) and wonders if the Madrigals, especially Bruno, are actually interested (he is/they are).

Bruno becomes Mo’s study partner. Mo helps Bruno through the conversion process, doing his best to offer support when Bruno struggles with guilt over leaving Catholicism. They are not romantically involved, though I’ve toyed with the idea of a queerplatonic relationship. (Mo is likely panromantic and maybe ace.)

He and the Padre have an odd friendship. They spar over theology and general religion a lot, getting into intense debates, yet they can be seen chatting companionably at the bar(?)/other places.

Other info: Works as the Encanto’s calligrapher. He knows Spanish and Hebrew, and maybe some Ladino (Judeo-Spanish). There are a lot of challenges to being Jewish in the Encanto, but he and eventually the Madrigals make it work.

He likes flowers and sketching landscapes.

Pokémon AU info: He has a bunch of Litwick that hang out around him (8, + 1 shiny) and provide light on Shabbat. Also trains a Bramblin that eventually evolves into a Brambleghast, a Golurk, and a Smeargle. He picks up a stray Mareep.

The Litwick are a reference to a menorah. Bramblin reminds me of the burning bush, so I gave it to Mo. Golurk seems to be based on the Golem of Prague from Jewish legend. Smeargle reflects his work as a calligrapher. And Mareep because Moses is a shepherd in the Torah.

Appearances:

my fic, “A Time for Building”

this art post/compilation of Encanto OCs by @cheetee

other random bits of info via asks

#encanto #encanto oc #moisés bondia #jewish madrigals #my writing #my art #stuff i've posted #mobo bobo #(his other nickname ig)#i *will* learn how to color someday lol

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therealnightcity · 10 months

Note

Wardrobe for Hiro & Stature for Ares & Bling for Avi? :]

Character asks for @spicyraeman ☺️🌸🌸

Hiro:

Wardrobe: How big is your character's wardrobe? Do they wear things threadbare, or can they afford new clothes often? Are they any good at mending and repairing their own clothing?

Hiro's wardrobe is bigger than it should be, and it's immediately clear that a lot of his additional income goes to clothing. He's good at trying to find good deals, and cheaper sources (as well as some creative borrowing from friends and gigs) but it's still something he does to unwind. Although he has more than is strictly necessary, it's clear that he has pieces that are well-loved, and worn in at the edges. He'll wear clothing until it's too tattered to keep wearing, or until he needs to downsize and then tries to re-home or donate when possible. If he's not going to get use out of it, he likes seeing other people happy with their 'new' things. He's not good at sewing beyond the very basics, so he'd usually look elsewhere for assistance with anything more complicated then sewing a button back on, or repairing a small tear. He doesn't have the biggest budget but he knows how to style things and make them look expensive.

Ares:

Stature: What's your OC's body type? How tall are they? Do they wear clothing to accentuate their look or do they try to mask it?

Ares struggles finding clothing that fits her. She's very tall (6'3/191cm) and muscular, and fairly flat-chested. Dresses seldom fill out well, unless they have a halter she can adjust and she'd sooner just wear shorts or pants. She's usually not self-conscious, and likes her body for the most part, but can't deny she feels a little long-limbed and gangly, especially next to people in Night City, or those who are very petitie. She's happy with her figure, she's not soft curves, which are their own appeal but she's toned, and likes that she feels strong. Ares wears what feels comfortable to her, even if it's not the most current, and usually goes for simple over trends--sturdy jeans and boots, flannel, a weathered leather jacket, hair tied up, ect. She usually has a pair of goggles on hand, both for work and the frequent sandstorms, as well as a respirator shoved in her workbag. She frequently dresses in layeres, enough that she can cover up from the sun, or keep herself warm in the evenings, or take it off as necessary. She's not afraid to show off her arms/tattoos, or a strip of skin peeking out from her tank top, but it's less deliberate than Hiro, and if others find it attractive, it's just an added bonus. She wears what makes her happy, and not to appease.

Avi:

Bling: What jewelry does your OC wear? Does it have any meaning?

Avi prefers a sleek, pared back look. He has a single silver stud in his right ear, simply because he enjoys the aesthetic of it. It accentuates his facial cyberware well, and brings out the color of it. Although most of his cyberware is for function, it doubles as being aesthetically pleasing, and there's a couple that are chiefly for looks, even if he'd never admit it. Later additions to his collection are a pair of cufflinks and a ring, sentimental value that he's tight-lipped on. He has a number of less precious pieces that he wears if he's concerned about harm coming to the others. He's not about huge statements but small, tasteful ones that hint at money.

#character asks #cyberpunk 2077 #character headcanons #oc: hiro oda #oc: ares tanner #oc: avi kaiba #thanks for asking!! Always so appreciated 🥰🥰#cyberpunk ocs

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bardic-inspo · 5 months

Note

4, 18, 35, & 36 from the Tav asks :3

Eyy thank you!! <3 Answering for Naomi.

[Baldur's Gate III Tav Ask Game]

4. How did you choose your Tav’s name, if you gave them a unique one?

It was just a vibe! I looked at the box where I had to fill in a name, and it just sort of sprang into my brain. I later learned its origins are Hebrew, with a meaning of pleasant/gentle/sweet. She can certainly be those things when she chooses to be. I could see Astarion maybe teasing that she's named for the way she tastes.😏

18. Who is your Tav’s biggest rival?

Gale. Naomi being a bard, her approach to spellcasting is so wildly different than Gale's. It starts out well intentioned. He cautions her against certain spells. He thinks he's coaching, guiding, and even protecting. Naomi starts to think he's just an ass and will proceed to cast the flashiest, most over-the-top crap she can come up with at the next opportunity. Wrap up some unrequited romantic feelings in there, Astarion being observant to this and taking opportunity to rub salt in the wound now and then for funsies, and it starts to get tense and catty.

What starts as a good-natured 'I'll-show-you' sort of thing spirals into something more toxic over time.

35. How does your Tav react to wearing the Wavemother’s robe?

How do they react to their partner wearing it?

Hehehe, well. I think Naomi would love wearing it -- it makes her feel hot, her skin tone is pale sort of bluish lilac color, so aesthetically, she's rocking the mermaid look. And of course Astarion is drop-dead gorgeous in anything, but it looks incredible on him, too.

I think Astarion would just lavish compliments on her. They grow more and more over the top and more and more filthy until he's annoyed anyone around them into giving them privacy. Naomi would play a bit coy, like 'oh, this old thing I found? No big deal' but she's not really hiding that she's eating up the attention.

On the flip side, I think Astarion would be nearly begging for that sort of praise from her if he was the one wearing it. Naomi knows exactly what he wants and as much as she loves him in the outfit, she loves seeing him sweat in it even more. She'd give him the barest scraps ("you look...nice.") but with all of the bedroom eyes and feathery light, plausibly deniable touches until he's all hot and bothered and at the end of his patience. It ends with one them yanking the other into a hard smooch and then the game is up.

36. What is your Tav’s favorite type of environment? Like in a tavern, a library, out in the wilderness, underground, etc.

Naomi loves a city. Sightseeing and people-watching especially. She's fine playing the role a bard is supposed to, and becoming the center of attention, but really, her favorite is just to notice people going about their business and make little observations of all those unique, different, separate lives going on around her. She was so excited to see Baldur's Gate for the first time before the mindflayers ruined it! She feels a bit strange seeing it later, and thinking about how many bad memories Astarion has in those same streets. It tempers her excitement for that specific place a bit.

Even though she mostly prefers to travel on the surface, going back to the underdark showed her that she does actually get homesick here and there. She enjoyed having knowledge about the place the rest of the party didn't have, and being able to feel valuable/in her element.

#Naomi Tavriel #ask game #tav bg3

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eastwoof · 1 year

Text

Joisey Boisey: Local Homestead Edition

Hi again everyone. Mod Spit here. Uhhhh, guess who has two thumbs and ended up seeing Jersey Boys again? This guy! So, in honor of the complete and utter bullshit I did last time as a means of filler, here’s my ramblings on a local production of Jersey Boys.

Friendly disclaimer like last time: Please know all these silly comments are said with as much love as humanly possible. I respect all these actors and the hard work they put into performing this show each night. Any seemingly negative opinions/commentary are in no way meant to bash the actors as they do not reflect their actual talents and abilities. So without further ado…

Pre-Show:

I dressed up for this event. Why did I do this.

And by that, I mean I walked in with a red blazer and tie because I wanted to be immersed. IMMERSED, I tell you.

Also wow, they’re gonna perform on a stage that I did community theater on. That’s crazy.

Oh my god the set is so cool. (I wonder how they’re gonna do the lamppost.)

Edit: There was no lamppost :(

Why do people bring their little children to this show they’re going to start calling you an asshole

Act I:

OH MY GODDD.

“CES SOIRÉES-LA” WAS SO SEXY AND BRIGHT. I WAS HOOKED FROM THE START. AMEN

For a local theater, the set is really, really good!! For example, there’s no giant screen agressively telling me the season (nor a gregariously big lamppost), but wow. Top tier professional production.

Tommy is the most stereotypical Italian man I have ever seen. I want him to spit on me and murder me with a spoon. Please.

He’s also the tallest out of the four of them?? Which is something I didn’t expect to enjoy as much as I do.

Frankie is so bubbly and animated!! He’s so cute. AND he’s tiny!! I love him.

But oh my god please,, stay still,, a bit sir. You’re sweating so much. Sir. You must be so tired. SIR. CALM DOWN--

It also seems to be causing a bit of strain on his voice. I hope he’s okay :(

On the bright side his guy liner is 😩👌

BOB IS SUCH A COCKY AND CONFIDENT PIECE OF SHIT. THEY REALLY SAID “FUCK UWU BOB. HE’S TALENTED AND A HOE AND HE KNOWS IT.”

Also his tone? So smooth. I wish my skin was that smooth. “Cry for Me” was so hot. When I pray, that’s the voice I wish I had.

NICK. OH MY GOD. A GOOD NICK. I... I CAN’T BELIEVE IT. I’M-- HAVE I DIED?

His comedic timing? Magnificent. Do I pity him? No. Do I want him to step on me? Absolutely. Does he beat Mark Edwards though? I’m sorry, but no. (The day someone changes my mind about Mr. Edwards, I’ll make a whole separate post, and the world will probably implode. Despite that, I prefer this Nick a million times more than Blonde British Massi™️.)

“I Go Ape” was so awkwardly funny for absolutely no reason. I love it. Hank went, “..HAHA YEAH!” as he handed everyone the suit jackets.

Gyp’s mic tape came off during “My Mother’s Eyes,” and I loved watching it dangle from his face during his aggressive sobbing.

“AN ANGEL CRIED”. HAL TOOK THE OPTION UP AT THE END. AND. ALSO. DURING “OH WHAT A NIGHT”. WHAT. THE HELL. HOW IS HIS VOICE NOT BROKEN. IS HE OKAY? HE IS SO GOOD. MURDER ME.

Loraine’s actress is very cute. I’ll update y’all.

Act II:

They all did their own special pose during the beginning of “Big Man…” and tbh I thought I was watching an anime opening.

OKAY. I LOVE NICK. I LOVE HIM SO MUCH. aaaAAAAAHHHH—

HIS MONOLOGUE. It gave me secondhand embarrassment in the best way possible. Everyone’s trying to talk about the IMPORTANT MATTER, and he’s over here WHINING about Tommy being a little BITCH.

His monologue just gets increasingly louder until he shouts “TEN YEARS.” then he pauses and delicately plops into his chair to sit all politely. He looks like the cat meme. It’s so goofy.

Also, Nick being on the brink of tears when he mentions how he can’t see hotel soap.

The audience loudly groaned once Tommy said “half a mil,” and it made my heart happy.

Bob was the only one with a toilet during the jail scene, so seeing everyone dramatically draped over their chairs while he’s all scrunched up on the can was hilarious.

Okay, so Frankie being a hyperactive beyblade was definitely necessary here. He needs a place to put all that energy. HE RAN WITH IT.

“Beggin’” had sexy spins. “C’mon Marianne”? Exquisite. But then he starts doing whole ballet turns during “Working My Way…”??? Like, okay, Nutcracker and Swan Lake. I see you.

Bob’s smirk when he says, “What makes you think they liked you before?” 🥴✨💕

LORAINE. SHE IS SO CUTE. AND INCREDIBLE. I usually don’t pay as much attention as I should to her character, but this time my eyes were practically GLUED to her. Her leaving Frankie broke my heart into pieces. She deserves the world.

Oh, and sickness is cured. They all enunciate so hard, that they’re constantly spitting like camels. I love theater.

And now, the cast:

Frankie Valli: Ben Bogen

Tommy DeVito: Alec Michael Ryan

Nick Massi: Matthew Amira

Bob Gaudio: Michael Notardonato

Joe Pesci: Gianni Palmarini

Barry Belson: David Lamarr

Gyp DeCarlo: Peter McClung

Lorraine: Madeline Canfield

Mary Delgado: Abigail Sparrow

Francine: Hannah Jane

Norm Waxman: Rhys Williams

Bob Crewe: Aidan Cole

Hank Majewski: Jack Baylis

#jersey boys #musicals #musical theater #musical #frankie valli #bob gaudio #tommy devito #nick massi #mod spit

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torchsart · 11 months

Text

ok ur definitely gonna have 2 click on this for quality purposes but um. official oc redesign :) if u follow my main u mightve heard of this guy! i was gonna make a megapost of oc facts there but i might as well put them here

kofi

basic info

his birthday is july 23rd!

works as security for a popular nightclub & isnt afraid to be rougher with more rowdy or unsavory patrons

has contact with one or more dangerous groups who he sends the sleaziest customers to. they are later seen heavily bruised and some allegedly missing. dante denies any involvement

he likes dressing in dark, neutral tones but often decorates with dark reds, black, and greys

his favorite color is sanguine red! hates yellow for no reason

farsighted & thinks his glasses get in the way but is too squeamish to wear contacts (hates having things in his eyes)

smokes cigarettes on occasion if hes particularly stressed/upset or after a tough fight. may do it socially if he enjoys the company

interests

enjoys riling random people up to taunt them into starting fights with him. never throws the first punch or explicitly asks for a fight to claim plausible deniability. prefers street fighting for the lack of regulations

big interest in woodwork, primarily whittling. has abt a dozen small figures he whittled himself. occasionally works on larger projects like making new furniture. can be persuaded into commissioned work

collects pocket knives, often for backup in case a fight goes south but the more decorative ones are just for show

works out fairly frequently, focused on building & maintaining strength & stamina

heavily prefers hot tea to coffee. will drink coffee if he absolutely has to, but he hates the taste so he dilutes it with lots of cream, sugar, & other flavors. rarely adds things to his tea

personality

he tends to be cynical about most adults, but has an extreme soft spot for animals and small children. will go out of his way to aid an animal or child in need. does not want kids of his own, however

can be kind of hotheaded & rude at times, depending on the situation. usually pretty patient otherwise

believes in his morals very strongly & sticks to them with unwavering resolve. nearly impossible to change his mind on most things

introverted but definitely not shy. has a low social battery & gets irritable if he cant be alone to recharge

not good at showing anything he perceives to be vulnerability & has to trust someone a lot to let his guard down at all

similarly, not good at openly showing affection. he prefers to show it more subtly thru acts of service & spending time with people he cares about. he also tolerates & adapts to his loved ones means of showing affection, such as allowing his best friend, greyson, to be touchier than anyone else

misc trivia

has a a german shepherd named bruno who he personally helped rescue. after turning bruno over to a local rescue shelter, dante kept checking in on the recovery until he was ready to be adopted

will not walk bruno without a harness

has had his nose fractured at least twice. has also been hit in the face with a broken bottle at work, causing some of his facial scars

his other scars come from a variety of things such as fights, accidents from his dog, accidents from his housemates cat, & whittling & woodworking accidents. some are from trying to do knife tricks but he would never admit it

only eats ethically sourced animal products & refuses any he doesnt know the source of. also refuses to own genuine animal-skin products so all his stuff is artificial

swears a lot by habit. sometimes for emphasis but most of the time it just slips. makes an effort not to swear in front of kids

lives with his best friend, greyson. appreciates greysons sense of humor & shared fondness for animals. impressed by his sleight of hand & mask collection (greyson thinks dantes knife collection is cooler). teaches greyson how to whittle when they both have time (greyson just wants to make little animals)

greyson is a thief & dante doesnt respect the law enough to care abt his thefts as long as it doesnt affect him personally

#oc ref sheet #oc art #oc reference #oc redesign #oc artist #artist on tumblr #character art #my ocs #oc: dante #tagging for like. not fandom ocs is the hardest thing in the world #cw eye contact #cw scopophobia #cigarette ment #smoking ment #knife ment #ask to tag #torchs art #jun 2023 #id in alt text

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concernedlily · 2 years

Text

cousins wip pt 12

pt 1

pt 2

pt 3

pt 4

pt 5

pt 6

pt 7

pt 8

pt 9

pt 10

(note: now posted in slightly revised form up to the end of the tumblr pt 10 on AO3)

pt 11

He texts Gear the last report of his assigned tasks for the night and gratefully swipes a glass of champagne from a roving waiter.

Gambling isn’t his vice, not with what it did to his family - what he thought was his family. But he knows all the usual games and he plays a desultory couple of hands of vingt-et-un to give face to Khun Lawan, smiling and shrugging with good grace when the house wins.

He’s more than aware of Kinn, sitting at the poker tables drinking whisky, a lot of whisky, and losing big, if Pol’s entire lack of cool standing behind him can be believed. Porsche is more focused on the way that the flock of boys in his vicinity has discreetly reduced to one, at a separate table but with a Theerapanyakul bodyguard clearly now detailed to him. Porsche thinks he might even recognise him, from those nights playing driver to Kinn’s boys, before they’d become what they were to one another. He’s cute, slender and toned rather than muscled, high cheekbones and smooth skin and sweet-smiling full lips; easy for Kinn to throw around the way he likes, although he’d never seemed to have any problem picking Porsche up and putting him down under him and Porsche is far from slight.

Kinn turns on his stool and stares like he could feel Porsche thinking about him. Even across the casino his gaze is burning with desire and Porsche jerks his gaze away. He wants to freeze like a prey animal in the sights of a predator; fuck, he wants that, to be caught and overwhelmed with all that strength Kinn can bring to bed.

“Khun Porsche?” Khun Rittirong says, and Porsche blinks and looks around at the other newer member of the council, hovering at a respectful distance. “How are you enjoying the evening?”

“Fine,” Porsche says, distracted. “I mean, lovely, it’s lovely. Great for Khun Lawan’s business.”

There’s a flash of disdain in Rittirong’s eyes, quickly squashed. “There’s a private gaming room, as well. Have you seen it…?”

“No,” Porsche says, trying to work out if this is a come-on. The man reads as basely straight, casting greedy glances at the decorative pieces in tight dresses Khun Lawan has dotted around the place to get the men boastful and spending. “Let’s go.”

Rittirong leaves his guards outside, so Porsche does as well. Monti looks unhappy about it but Porsche has a gun on his chest and knives at his waist and ankle and Rittirong is older and moves like a man who’s enjoyed too much of his own product over the years; Porsche is confident he could take him.

The room is set up more like a private dance room at a strip club than a gaming room, all velvet furnishings and curtained walls; there is a tall gaming table, with a couple of unopened packs of cards and room for a croupier and six or seven bettors, but it’s empty.

“I don’t think I know this game,” Porsche says dryly.

“I can teach you the rules,” Rittirong says. There’s a small bar at one side of the room and he goes over to it and pours himself a brandy, waving the bottle at Porsche. Porsche tips his half-full glass at him like a distanced cheers. “You’re aware I was only recently elevated to my position. I think there’s a lot we both have to learn. Maybe, that we can learn together.”

“Is there,” Porsche says. He thinks he might have preferred the come-on. Rittirong has a conspiratorial air, and Porsche should let whatever is about to unfold happen, find out what he’s thinking and what he’s working, and why he thinks Porsche - thinks the minor family - are the ones to ask to get involved. But Porsche has never been one for politicking and manoeuvring, never been able to hold his temper or his mouth for a long game.

He slouches back up against the door and holds Rittirong’s gaze. “Say whatever you want to say.”

“To the point,” Rittirong says approvingly, and tilts his glass back at Porsche. “I like that I think we can work together, Khun Porsche. As I understand my family and the minor Theerapanyakul family worked together before.”

Porsche bites down on what he wants to do, which is throw his whole drink at the arsehole and demand to know what the fuck he means, with the broken shards of the glass if necessary. He can’t tell much, but he can smell bad news for Kinn, and this stinks of it.

“The minor family is happy to work with all of the advisor families,” he says. He’s groping towards something, pieces lining up in a picture he knows he should be able to see and can’t. Korn would be able to see it. Kinn and even Vegas could probably see it.

Rittirong knows he hasn’t grasped it, he can see it in the way the other man hides his impatience. Porsche firms up his jaw and straightens up slowly, uncurling his full height and strength, lifting his chin and stepping forward silkily, in a way that makes it as clear as he can he’s giving himself room to fight.This isn’t business, it’s the fucking mafia. What does Kinn do with people who displease him? He just shoots them the fuck dead.

“My family and the minor family were… particularly close,” he says delicately. “I think, perhaps, there were one or two deals in place…?”

“My predecessor died very suddenly and his son is still in recovery,” Porsche says, like everyone doesn’t know the main family is responsible for both. “We’re still working through the records. Is there something you were expecting that hasn’t happened?”

“So true, so unfortunate,” Rittirong says. “My family is similar, of course. A very sudden death.”

“It’s a shame to talk about such things at Khun Lawan’s special evening,” Porsche says. He pastes a big stupid smile on his face, like a puppy at a funeral. “If you could email me in the morning with any records -”

“Of course,” Rittirong interrupts him, with the thinnest most hateful smile on his face Porsche has ever seen. He clearly has no intention of putting anything in writing, is frustrated with Porsche for the suggestion although he’s not sure whether Porsche is messing with him or just that stupid.

The talk of records makes Porsche think of that income stream Red and his guys still haven’t managed to identify. Could Gun have had a deal on the side with Rittirong’s clan? It’s as good a guess as anything else.

The door opens with no knock or announcement. Rittirong turns towards it with a snarl on his face, his hand going under his jacket.

Kinn steps through and gives Porsche and Rittirong the same cool look. “Enjoying the evening?” he says.

“Very much,” Porsche says. Pol and a new guy have stepped in after Kinn, Monti and Main hurrying in after them, with Rittirong’s men trying to shove in too, not to be outdone. Porsche hands Pol his empty glass without looking, hoping his friend gets the message and just takes the damn thing without complaining he doesn’t work for Porsche. He can imagine in another life maybe he’d have taken Kinn’s hand right now to show he’s not up for carrying on the minor family’s side deals, that he’s Kinn’s to the bone; maybe leaned in for a soft kiss like it really is a social event.

Of course, if he’d still been with Kinn, if people had known, Rittirong wouldn’t have even tried this with him. At least this way the betrayals can come to light.

“Khun Kinn,” Rittirong says. “Khun Porsche and I were becoming better acquainted.”

“There’s many people here to meet. A wonderful turnout,” Kinn says levelly and Rittirong takes it as the dismissal it is, bowing to them both bitterly before he walks out, his back straight.

Kinn turns his head to watch him go, his expression dispassionate, then jerks it at the bodyguards. Pol and his colleague go, trying to shuffle Monti and Main along with them: Porsche is proud that they resist, don’t let themselves be budged until Porsche has given them a quick nod and a reassuring smile, dismissing them himself.

“Kinn -” he starts, and then he’s silenced by Kinn stepping forward, sending Porsche back if he doesn’t want to be thigh to belly to chest, crowding him against the wall.

“What happened?” Kinn says, and his face is the furthest thing from dispassionate now, stormy and raw. He lifts his hand and Porsche shivers as he puts his fingertips on Porsche’s throat, gently, feeling his pulse which is reacting so helplessly to his proximity, his thumb -

Rubbing away the careful makeup job on his neck. Kinn is bright with fear and anger as he reveals the marks of being choked, and it reminds Porsche irresistibly of the way he’d kissed Porsche’s throat with soft apology in that bathroom, right over where the long-healed bruises had been from Kinn choking him like Kinn could still see them there.

“It’s fine,” Porsche says softly. He reaches up and captures Kinn’s hand like he’s coaxing a wild animal. “I went to meet Kim, we had a disagreement, but it’s fine now.”

“Kim did this to you?” Kinn spits.

“It’s fine,” Porsche says again. “You should visit him sometime. That flat is horrible.”

“He doesn’t let us visit him there,” Kinn says. He sounds lost. His fingers curl around Porsche’s, although his gaze is still on Porsche’s throat, hungrily now that he’s convinced Porsche is safe.

“Maybe he’s waiting for you to not wait to be asked,” Porsche suggests. It’s so strange to him, to see distance like this between brothers, and it’s not his place but if he can give Kinn even a taste of the trust and easy love between him and Chay with his own brothers he wants Kinn to have that almost as much as he once wanted Kinn to have Porsche himself.

Kinn grimaces and on impulse Porsche pulls him into a hug. Kinn comes easily, so easily and gratefully, both of them holding each other without room for a wisp of breath between them the way they used to. It’s familiar and dear and Porsche clings tightly and breathes Kinn in, letting himself have this moment.

Kinn seems to understand it’s just comfort and when Porsche shifts a little in his arms he lets him go.

“What did Rittirong want?” he asks, when they’re straightening their suits and not looking one another in the eye.

“I think his family was paying Gun on the side,” Porsche says. “A lot, maybe. I need to talk to Gear.”

He can see questions and instructions brimming up in Kinn. “You’ll provide more detail when you have it,” is how all that ends up, and Porsche can hear in his voice the effort it’s taken him to squash it down, to let Porsche have the accountability of dealing with it his own way.

“Yes,” Porsche says, as simply and forcefully as he can.

“Okay,” Kinn says softly. He steps away abruptly and Porsche stays where he is against the wall, doesn’t follow. “Could you give me the room?” Kinn says over his shoulder, his hands on his hips, and Porsche shoves down the instinct to go back to him, touch him and hold him again and soothe him through it, gives him the room instead as he’d asked.

He leaves straight after that, without finding Khun Lawan; hopefully a big enough bouquet in the morning to congratulate her will soften the offence. He doesn’t think he can bear to be in a position to notice whether Kinn leaves alone.

***

“Don’t be surprised that she doesn’t talk,” Porsche says, and sighs. “Don’t be surprised by… anything weird she does, okay? She wants to see you. She’s just… not well.”

He’s more nervous about this meeting than Chay is. Chay smiles reassuringly at him, making Porsche feel terrible for making him do Porsche’s job, then fidgets with the neck of his collared shirt. Porsche hadn’t told him to dress up, has no idea if Namphueng even notices what anyone around her is wearing, but Chay had primped like he was getting ready for a holy day at temple.

“It’ll be fine, hia,” Chay says and Porsche sighs and again and pulls him into a hug.

“I know it will,” he murmurs, and strokes Chay’s hair the way he did when Chay was little, feeling off-balance and sentimental. “You’re a good kid. She’s going to be so proud to see how you’ve turned out.”

Chay’s smile is trembling a little when he pulls back and Porsche hands him the flowers he’d brought. “Ready?”

He calls out for their mother when he steps into the room, announcing them. He wonders if she can understand the appeal in his voice: don’t be too weird, not for Chay.

She’s standing by the windows to her small terrace when they round the corner past the bookshelves, and she looks beautiful in the light, like a painting of a mother come to life.

“Mae?” Chay says, all his bravery gone in the moment of seeing her for the first time since he was a tiny kid, his voice trembling, and Porsche aches with concern, watching her carefully from behind him to make sure she isn’t going to upset him.

“Do you want to hug her?” he says softly, and she doesn’t move away so he figures she doesn’t mind. He puts his hand on Chay’s shoulder to reassure him then gives him a little push, and Chay goes forward all in a scared rush, throwing himself at her like he’s still a kid rather than a wiry and pretty strong teenager. Their mum takes it though, catches him, and if she just rests her hands on Chay’s shoulders while he clings around her waist desperately Porsche thinks it’s good enough for a first visit. It’s bittersweet, watching Chay embraced by the mother he doesn’t remember, who was stolen from them for so many years, but Porsche is almost overwhelmed by relief and love for them both. It makes him fiercely determined to get the minor family into shape, safe enough he can bring them both to live with him. He wants their family so much, he wants them to be a family again.

Chay is crying when their mum lets him go, and smiling. Porsche pulls him into a side hug of his own, kissing his temple. Mum watches them with a softness in her eyes Porsche has never seen before. It feels like Porsche had dreamed about, lying in bed sleepless from worrying about the way he was looking after Chay, whether he was growing up with everything he needed, wondering whether his parents would be happy with him, proud of the way he was raising up their baby.

It’s hard to read his mum. He doesn’t like to assume he knows what she’s thinking, that the ways he would normally read people apply to her. But as he watches her watch him with Chay he feels like he might be seeing her be content.

She sits them down and serves them tea. Chay takes his politely, ducking his head over the steaming cup in his hands, and she smiles approvingly. Chay’s eyes shine, his innocent happiness at the maternal gesture filling Porsche’s heart.

“Chay, tell Mae about school,” Porsche prompts him gently, and listens as Chay talks stumblingly through the classes he’s going to take on his music course, the work he did to prepare, how much he’s looking forward to it. Porsche can hear the points where he’s clumsily talking around the truth, about Kim and about Kinn pulling strings to get him his place, and he regrets it even as the little part of him that’s starting to be always calculating notes that he needs to get Chay more comfortable with lying.

Mum watches him with that same soft look in her eyes, and she doesn’t talk, of course, or give Chay much reaction at all, but there’s a curve to her mouth and the couple of times Chay really falls over his words she even nods a little, encouraging him on. It’s the most engaged Porsche has seen her since the intense stress and emotion of that first meeting, and he nudges Chay and murmurs, “Do you want…?”

“Yeah,” Chay says back, bright-eyed and shy. “If you think she’ll like it.”

“Chay wondered if you’d like to hear one of his songs,” Porsche says to her and she inclines her head to them both gracefully.

Chay goes to get his guitar from the hall and Porsche slumps forward in his chair, taking a couple of deep breaths while he’s out of the room.

There’s a light touch to his wrist and he opens his eyes in surprise. She removes her hand when he does, sitting back with her upright posture, but the way she’s looking at him is different, like she likes that he’s there rather than just waiting for him to go away.

“He’s good,” he tells her, meaning to tell her about Chay’s music, but it comes out tremblingly, like asking her for reassurance, like - so much more, and he holds his breath until she nods, slowly, clearly.

“Hia?” Chay says, coming back into the room: he’s always been good at reading what’s going on around him.

“I was just telling her how good you are,” Porsche says, turning to him, wiping his eyes but smiling, and he sits back when their mum does to watch their kid play.

#kinnporsche #kinnporsche fic #my fic #like that through all eternity

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envihellbender · 1 year

Note

Potential child units of the male students in Black Eagle house in FE3H?

Fire Emblem: Three Houses - Next Generation

Hubert

Name: Ada (a way to honour Edelgard)

Class: Dark Mage / Dark Bishop

She has waist length black hair that’s mostly straight but ends in waves, pale green eyes with black rings underneath them from insomnia, and a soft, heart shaped face. She is extremely smiley and giggly, with a morbid sense of humour. This is often disconcerting to people. She’s a practical joker as well as fiendishly intelligent academically, but often struggles with her work ethic and physical activities such as running, horse riding, etc.

She has a sometimes difficult relationship with her father, he wishes for her to he as devoted to Edelgard’s children as he was to her but does not want to repeat his father’s mistakes… However he does not realise Ada wishes to find her own way and make her own decisions due to an independent streak. Ada plays many practical jokes on Hubert, or attempts to, and to everyone’s surprise Hubert does eventually retaliate and get into the spirit of things.

Ferdinand

Name: Oskar

Class: Thief / Assassin

He has blue eyes that clash greatly with his light ginger hair, and an olive skins tone. He’s tall and lanky, preferring to keep his hair short. He spent most of his childhood desperate to be a noble knight like his father but he was always too awkward, clumsy, and physically weak to do so. As a teenager he discovered his talents were in stealing, lockpicking, and swordplay. He’d often mischievously break into his parents’ room, take one or two random items and hide them somewhere else in the estate. He fancies himself as a Robin Hood type, stealing from criminals and the corrupt nobles and giving to the poor… this often doesn’t go as he intends however. He’s quite shy and socially awkward, he does try to make friends but it often doesn’t go very well. To Ferdinand’s horror, he detests tea and hot drinks.

He generally has a good relationship with Ferdinand but he constantly fears he’s a disappointment to his parents. Ferdinand is constantly scolding him for stealing and attempting to force him to be interested in politics to no avail. They do however bond over reading fiction and sparring.

Linhardt

Name: Freya

Class: Valkyrie

She has long green hair that she wears in a plait, pale skin, and dark blue eyes. She’s loud and boisterous, often preferring running around outside to reading inside. She has a lazy streak reminiscent of her father, but usually when it comes to things such as her being on kitchen duty and academic studies. She does however sleep quite late in the morning and go to bed in the early hours, similar to her father. She adores magic but hates the boring studying that is required, she is an extremely talented flyer, preferring that over anything else. She has a great love of animals meaning she has bonded quite strongly with her Pegasus. She does also love other creatures and is often trying to convince her parents to take in new pets or sneak them in under their nose. At last count she had two Pegasus, three horses, six cats, five dogs, and a trained falcon.

She generally has a very good relationship with her father despite him trying to find her tasks to distract her for long enough so he can nap and she won’t try to push him to do strenuous activities with her like hiking, Pegasus riding, sparring, and the like. She is often showing him new animals she’s found and he will find books on them so she can find out about them at length. Often she reads them after nudging and he tells her some interesting facts. This is the only time he can get her to read but they do bond over learning about animals, and also monsters.

Caspar

Name: Eike

Class: Wyvern Rider / Wyvern Lord

In appearance they are fairly similar to Caspar but with black hair, they are significantly more skittish than him though and a few inches taller. They do not enjoy fighting very much, and do everything they can to avoid Caspar intense training regime whilst Caspar is nonplussed as to why. They are very artistic, often painting and giving their creations to their loved ones. They prefer to stay out of military endeavours which their grandfather constantly disparages. Caspar doesn’t understand it but generally supports Eike’s decisions to avoid combat. One thing that does convince Eike to be involved however is being given a pet Wyvern that they adore. Their Wyvern is beyond spoiled, given the finest meats, and Eike spends more time with them than anyone else.

Generally their relationship with Caspar is good, they enjoy meal times with each other and have the same immense appetite. Caspar hangs every painting that Eike gives him on the walls of the estate and proudly shows any visitor they have. The only time they argue with each other is when Caspar pushes Eike into training or any military action. That is the only time soft spoken Eike shows any fury at all.

#fe3h #fe3h next generation #black eagles #hubert von vestra #envi writes #ferdinand von aegir #lindhart von hevring #Caspar bergliez #prompts #ninetimesthepain

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memphisfaith · 2 years

Text

Hearts of Lust: Chapter 16

Pairing Kim Namjoon X Reader

Genre: Collage!AU, Smut

Word Count: 1.2K

Warning: Cursing, mentions of smut, smut, consumption of alcohol, mentions of violence, violence, crack personality disorders, Chaotic energy.

Summary: College is any young adult's prime years, at least that's what Lee (y/n) and Kim Namjoon thought. The two are infamous for two reasons, by two very different crowds. Among the professors they are picture perfect students with perfect scores, attendance, and image. However, among the student body they're the very essence of lust with amazing bodies, sex appeal, and skill. The two, although strikingly similar, butt heads quite a bit with competitions of everything from grades to who can get a person to drop their pants the fastest. With the two of them ready to conquer the school year it's all a matter of Go Big or Home.

Yoongi dropped me off at my house to get ready. He told me he would text me when he knew where we were going. I didn't know how long I had until then so I took a shower and started to get ready.

I picked a pair of ripped jeans and an american rock and roll shirt. I paired the outfit with black heeled boot and a leather jacket. I spent a little more time as I let it air dry, I smiled as the air became a messy styled look.

Moving onto makeup I put on darker neutral tones to create a dark look but I used shiney skin tone on the inner lides. Winged eyeliner is a must, as well as red lipstick. With a few last touches of highlight and mascara I completed my makeup.

I picked through my jewelry and put on a few silver rings and a necklace that had a skeleton that dangles from the chain. Once my look was done I decided to finish any homework I might have and read a few chapters of the book I have to read for english.

I had made it a little past the halfway mark when Yoongi called and said we're having a night on the town. I couldn't help but feel excitement bubble up inside me. Yoongi pulled up in front of the house with Hoseok and Jimin in the car.

I sit in the back with Jimin as Yoongi drives us into town. He pulls into a parking garage next to a car that looks like Namjoon. Once we're all out and making our way down the street he pulls us into a restaurant.

Yoongi talks to the hostess and she leads us to the table that holds the rest of the misfits. "NOONA!" Tae and Kookie yell bolting up from their seats. "Aish, dont disturb other guests." I hush with a smile waving them off.

The two nod sheepishly before sitting back in their seats, a waiter then comes over and we all order our drinks. "So what's the plan?" I ask with a smirk, "I didn't know we even needed a plan." Jin muses as he leans back in his chair.

"Even better!" I laugh, "I call dibs on being paired with Jimin!" I call out. Eyes widen at my statement as I grin. "Why the kid," Yoongi scoffs, as if he's just been insulted. "Because we work better together. Namjoon and I may be able to match in skill but we don't don't know each other enough to have that kind of chemistry." I grin.

Yoongi shot me a look, "Well what about me?! I know you better than anyone else here!" He scoffs angrily. I only grin harder at his anger, "Yeah but you're not as shameless as Jimin when it comes to the things I plan to do tonight." I laugh.

Jimin's eyes widen as the rest of the group laughs at his expression "YAH! WHAT DO YOU MEAN SHAMELESS!" He snaps. I laugh harder at his outburst, "I -mean- that I prefer you to be my flirting buddy. You're as Bi as it gets Jimin, which means you're the best sidekick for me." I snicker.

Jimin huffs and slumps back into his seat but a smile soon spreads onto his face. "Does this mean you enjoy fucking me the most?" He grins leaning onto the table as one hand props his head up. The Cheshire like grin on his face getting wider.

I thought about it, "Probably," I muse as the table erupts into chaos. Jimins laugh being the loudest noise next to a screaming Yoongi. "How the hell does the mochi get placed above me?" Yoongi snaps.

"Me and you both know we only had sex for convenience. While it was good it didn't have that..." I trail looking for the word that I need. "Thrill." Namjoon offers, I snap my finger and point at him "YES! It didn't have the thrill that hookups have. It was more of no-pressure-causual sex." I explain.

Yoongi groans and slumps in his chair. "Then what about me?" Jin asks, "Mmm..." I huff crossing my arms to think. "I'd say sleeping with you is more mature. It's not a wild-like intense but it's intense in a way that makes you wonder just how old you are." I smirk.

"Are you calling me old?" He snaps, "In a good way!" I laugh holding my hands up in surrender. "Okay my turn since you like me best." Jimin grins smugly. I roll my eyes. "Having sex with you is a lot of things, which is why I like it so much. It can be fun, intense, quick, long, the list goes on." I list, "Not to mention you are like the BIGGEST switch in the world." I sigh dramatically.

Jimin's cheeks flush bright red, as our drinks come and we order our food. After the waiter leaves the conversation picks back up. "I mean I haven't slept with all of you like Namjoon but..." I laugh, "AH WAIT! I haven't slept with you -or- Jungkook." He defends.

"Like I said, all of you," I continue, "Wait so I don't count?" Jungkook spoke up. I sent Jungkook a small smile "Darling you've never counted to me or Namjoon. Just like I don't count to Namjoon and he doesn't count to me." I chim.

Jungkook makes an offended face before whiping over to give it to Namjoon who looks the other direction. Laughter breaks out among the other boys. "THAT'S NOT FAIR!" He complains, slamming his hands on the table.

"I agree, why do you and Namjoon not count each other?" Hoseok spoke up, "Because like Jungkook we know it'll never happen." I scoff, sipping on my drink. "Oh really?" Jin scoffs, "You think you'll never sleep with Namjoon." He laughs and looks over at Namjoon. Namjoon gave Jin a serious expression and Jin's laugh dies quickly and is replaced with shock.

"You can't be serious?" He asks over to Namjoon. "But—why?" Jimin asks, leaning over to Namjoon. "Can you imagine the damage we'd do if we did?" Namjoon asks with a grunt. The table goes quiet, "Good point," Taehyung spoke up before turning to me. "So why is Jungkook excluded?" He asks.

"Have you seen the way they interact? Jungkook is their baby." Yoongi quips. Jungkook sulks in his seat, "So? She treats me like her kid,"Taehyung rebuts. "That doesn't mean she'll sleep with you, I'm surprised she slept with Jimin in the first place. But then again, Jimin is an extremely sexual person so I'm not that suprised he roped her into it." Namjoon spoke up.

"But you've slept with me And Taehyung," Jimin butts in, "And do you remember why?" He drawls out rolling his head back with a sigh. A hard look places itself on Jimin's face and his eyes widen, "The dares!" He gasps in realization. Namjoon nodded, "I accept the fact I slept with you two but I'd rather take a group challenge than sleep with Jungkook," He sighs.

Jungkook looks complete and utterly defeated, "Not that you're not appealing sweetie, we just can't bring ourselves to ruin you, I'm surprised I managed to only sleep with Jimin. But if a being honest the only reason I sleep with him more than once is because he uses his sex appeal to catch me off guard." I sighed in annoyance.

Jimin grins and perks up with smugness at my confession. "So this means I have no chance?" Taehyung spoke up, "Not a chance in hell." I smile sweetly and he groans and slumps in his chair. With that final note our food comes out.

<---- Prev // Masterlist // Next ---->

#kim namjoon smut #kim namjoon x y/n #kim namjoon x you #kim namjoon x reader #kim seokjin #min yoongi #jung hoseok #park jimin #kim taehyung #jeon jungkook #ot7 #ot7 x reader #ot7 smut

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doppopoppo · 3 years

Text

|| Uramichi Daily Headcanon ||

|| Warnings: minor sexual harassment ||

|| Uramichi • Shy|F!Reader ||

Clubbing

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*💙

With the music blaring, more than what he was used to, Uramichi got a headache. He didn't even want to come here. He would much prefer their usual restaurant to drink. But Usahara being the annoying fool he is, dragged everyone to some club he frequents. Something about wanting to see the cute bartender. He should’ve just gone home.

Uramichi looked around the table. Utano was beyond drunk and complaining about her boyfriend. Iketeru was up on stage singing. He was drunk but still sounded good. Kumatani was busy trying to get Iketeru down from the stage. Usahara hitting on the bartender. The annoyed and exhausted man was busy smoking his cigarette, hoping he could go home soon.

“Look at those girls.” Uramichi heard Utano speak up, “oogling over Iketeru like that. Just cuz he’s got a nice voice and looks doesn’t mean shit!” He watched her complain and drop her head on the table. Probably crying.

Just as she said, he could see girls of all ages fawning over Iketeru. Some were even cooing at Kumatani, touched by his big brotherly gestures at Iketeru. Just how drunk was everyone tonight? He’ll get Usahara for this later. At least they’re having fun, well, most of them. Uramichi felt pity for Utano, but there was nothing he could do. So, he just gave a simple pat on her head to calm her down as she cried her soul out.

“Um, excuse me.” He heard a soft, meek voice near him.

Uramichi paid no mind. It was probably some conversation he was overhearing. Utano complained to him and wanted to know why her boyfriend still hasn't asked her to marry him. She’s been dropping hints. He felt awkward as he had no answer to it, considering he wasn’t close to either of them. He sighed, he’ll probably leave soon. But he feels bad leaving his friends drunk inside a club.

Uramichi felt a soft tap on his shoulder. He looked up to see a young girl, perhaps no older than 25. She looked to be very shy, a faint blush apparent on her <skin color> cheeks. She wasn’t looking at him either but at her fingers, which she was twiddling. “Um, hi there.” Her blush intensified.

It was the same voice as earlier. So, it belonged to her and it was directed at him. He wasn’t interested in getting with some girl he had just met in the club. “Listen, I’m not a cordial man. Nor am I interested.” He quickly rejected the girl. Plus, she deserves someone better than him anyways. He’s in his 30s already, she’s got time to find someone better or improve herself; unlike him.

“There ya are cutie!” He heard a gruff voice coming towards his table.

Utano had long passed out and his friends were still busy doing what they already were. Why is everyone so social in this club?

He can hear the girl mumbling and, was she shaking?

“Where’d ya go? I turn around an ya gone.” The man came up to the trembling girl.

She clung onto the hem of her dress. “I was looking for a friend.” He could hear the fear in her voice. “I couldn’t find them.” She whispered and turned away from Uramichi.

“‘s okay pretty lady. You’ve got me to keep you company tonight and the bed warm.” His hand slipped up to her waist. A sly and gross smile displayed on his face.

Uramichi saw the young girl flinch. He’s not sure if it’s the drinks rushing through his body, but he quickly got up. “You should lay your grimy hands off people who don’t want it on them.” He glared at the gruff man. “Especially not my girlfriend.” Uramichi wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her away from the man.

A gasp left the girl's mouth when she heard him. She stumbled back and felt his toned chest on her back. Despite smelling like cigarettes and alcohol, he was warm.

Uramichi now understood the situation. She wasn’t trying to hit on him or take him back to her place, vice versa. She was trying to protect herself from some man making inappropriate advancements on her. He didn’t like men like that one bit. The girl in his arms didn’t deserve this, no one did.

He could feel her trembling under his arm, so he pulled her closer. He slightly moved Utano to the side and had the girl sit next to his seat.

“Hey listen! She was the one asking for it!” The man defended his actions. “Dancing on the dance floor and swaying her hips.” He licked his lips.

Uramichi was disgusted.

“She was simply enjoying herself. In no sense was she asking for you, or anyone, to come talk to her.” He glared at the man. “She has me to come back to.” Uramichi smirked.

This was extremely out of character for him, but he couldn’t stand by and let someone get harassed. Not when she came to his table for help as well. The stranger, no longer interested, cursed him out. He knew he’d have no chances of winning in a fight against Uramichi. All those muscles weren’t just for show. He walked away, leaving the tree of them at the table.

“Thank you.” He heard her say behind him.

He was grateful she was unharmed. He gave her a fresh glass of water to cool down from the recent event.

“My name's Y/N.” She put her hand out to shake his. “Mines Uramichi.” He replied.

“Sorry to have bothered you and your girlfriend. You didn’t have to do that.” The girl was afraid to look up at him.

She’s right. He didn’t have to, “but it was the right thing to do. I’m glad you’re safe.” He shook her hands. ‘They’re soft.’ He thought to himself. Especially against his own rough palm. “Also,” he pointed to the passed out Utano, “not my girlfriend. Just a coworker. Out with coworkers after clocking out.” He explained and sat down next to her. She seems to have calmed down.

She made an ‘Ah’ face and apologized for the misunderstanding. She looked at him properly for the first time, ‘He’s handsome.’ she thought to herself. Right as she was about to excuse herself, Uramichi spoke up, “you’re free to stay with us at the table until you leave.” He proposed, “for safety measures.” She took him up on his offer and thanked him for his generosity. He reminded her of an older brother figure.

Usahara came back to their table, confused, yet happy, to see the unfamiliar, pretty girl. Right after him, Iketeru and Kumatani joined their table. They all had questioning looks. Uramichi explained what had happened and the girl kept saying thank you.

Kumatani scolded her for coming to a club alone late at night. Iketeru sang random tunes to lighten up the mood. Usahara attempted to flirt with her but Uramichi glared at him each time. Utano’s still passed out. From what he’s noted, she’s shy but gets along with others with ease. Maybe he’ll hang around a bit longer. It’ll be rude of him to not walk his “girlfriend” back home.

Author’s Note:

This came out better in my head, I swear! As a manga reader, I like to think Uramichi actually considers his coworkers his friends 🥺 Thank you for the requests so far! I see y’all thirsty for a specific person at the moment aye 👀 they should be up by the end of the week, be on the look out!

Also I wanted to thank you all for the support you have shown me so far 💜 it means a lot and truly does motivate me to continue writing. Feel free to DM me if you want someone to talk about the anime with XD

Enjoy!

#life lessons with uramichi #uramichi omota #uramichi omota headcanon #big brother uramichi #uramichi x reader #uramichi #daga iketeru #utano tadano #uramichi oniisan #kumatani mitsuo #anime x reader #omota uramichi #usahara tobikichi #uramichi getting annoyed at usahara

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miekasa · 3 years

Text

love talk

+ pairings: eren yeager + (fem) reader

+ genres and warnings: it’s not important that eren is a tattoo artist i just wanted to share bc i gave him tattoos here :’), fluff i think, smut/nsfw content, if you see a hint of eremin then no you don’t </2

+ word count: almost 2k, sickening innit luv

+ notes: yeah, still thinking about eren speaking german during sex bc he’s losing his mind hehe. i suppose this is the… softer version. might post another one later, who knows. and yes, i did almost name this pussy talk.

Unbeknownst to him, Eren Jaeger speaks three languages.

The first two are obvious, but English is his preferred language; the one you’ll find him speaking most often. It only makes sense, seeing as it’s what the overwhelming majority of people, media, and signs spew at him.

The second is more reserved; something you might assume given his name, but not know for sure unless you asked, or stuck around long enough to catch him rambling excitedly to Armin in German, with broken slang phrases of English interspersed. It’s fascinating—cute, moreover—the way he stumbles back and forth between both tongues; and the difference in tone between them. You’re not sure if your own bias is peeking through, but you’re certain Eren and Armin both sound a little… meaner in German; more sarcastic, at the very least—and you wouldn’t be surprised to find out they were talking shit the whole time.

Though, there is a special, reserved intonation to his mother tongue that shows itself when Eren’s around you. It doesn’t seem to be by choice—gone beyond comprehension that he’s forced to revert to grunted expressions and curses in a language foreign to his surroundings. You assume them to be curses; you never can confirm, and Eren seems to not even be aware of his switching in the heat of the moment, can never quite recall what he was saying to you.

There are times when he’s reduced to mere sounds, no comprehensible words between the hundreds of thousands he knows—only guttural moans, and breathy sighs, and he seems to not even be able to understand himself. You have to admit, it’s a bit of an ego boost to be able to fuck your boyfriend stupid in two languages.

And at first glance, Eren doesn’t seem like the type of guy to know about anything outside of himself. He doesn’t seem like the full-sleeve, three ear piercing, tattoo artist kinda kid; but Eren Jaeger speaks the language of pictures, of symbols, of images, that he is able to decipher and give meaning to upon creation. He’s got a penchant for art, and a vision bigger than himself, so it’s only right that he takes his knowledge and applies it in its most permanent form. The tattoos are more than a hobby for him—they’re an extension of himself, his art, his language; and his body is the only canvas fit enough to capture them.

So, here, with Eren laying on his back, chest exposed, arms bent for his hands to rest against your waist, you get to see the culmination of all the words and all the pictures, from all the languages he’s deemed important enough to find a place on his skin.

“Do all of your tattoos have a meaning?” you question, reaching your hand up to trace over the delicate waves that ride along his right collarbone.

“No,” Eren winces when you move—just enough of him to feel an ounce of friction inside of you, but not enough to give him what he wants. He wiggles himself a bit, desperate for something, “Not at all.”

It makes you chuckle, with a sort of disbelief, at both his words and his actions, “You get things tattooed on your body that don’t mean anything to you?”

Eren lets out a shaky breath, followed with a boyish smile. He blinks at you slowly, lids fluttering and hands gripping tightly at your body, “Learned that not everything has to have a deep meaning to want to keep it around,” he tells you, right palm moving to venture over your tummy, and up your sides, “Somethings you just love.”

You don’t miss the lilt in his voice on the word ‘love,’ but you play it off, rolling your eyes at his deliberately sweet affections, and then, gently, your hips, “Pretty poetic for something with no meaning.”

“Yeah, well, Armin taught me that,” Eren grits, hands fastening themselves at your hips again.

“You talk about Armin a lot when we’re in bed you know,” you taunt him, moving your fingers to trace over more of the tattoos that litter his right shoulder, “Something I should know about?”

Eren shivers at the feeling—of your fingertips on his skin, and what he swears was an intentional clench around him, “You don’t seem to mind.”

You smile at him, enjoying the contortions of his face when you run your hands down his chest, palms pressed lightly against his pelvic bone. Eren bends a knee, but does he best to remain still, and you can’t help but to chuckle. He looks pretty when he’s trying his best.

“I’m greedy,” you tell him, raising your hips, and pausing in your words as you slowly lower yourself back on to him.

“Trust me,” Eren scoffs, a façade to cover up his reddening cheeks and shaky thighs, “I know.”

He tries to move his hips up, desperate for something more; for you to fucking move, but, you keep your hips perfectly still. Instead, you reach your arms behind you, and onto Eren’s thighs, cementing them to the bed. He groans, his hands sliding down to your own thighs, fingertips digging into your flesh.

“And you called me greedy,” you huff, amused, as Eren rolls his eyes beneath you. When you’re sure he’s not going to move, you bring your arms back around, palms splayed on his stomach, “Relax. This is what you asked for, isn’t it?”

“Honestly, in an ideal world, this would be happening when I was playing COD, not when I was already impossibly hard with morning wood. And with a lot less teasing on your part.”

You have to laugh—genuinely giggle—at Eren’s blunt honesty. He’s unintentionally charming; another linguistic skill he seems unaware that he’s proficient in. You can tell he doesn’t understand the source of your amusement, but the look in his eyes, the twinkle in his irises lets you know he’s too far gone to even care.

“Call it a lesson in self-control,” you say, moving your hands to his sides in time with a shallow grind of your hips, “Besides, I’m admiring you.”

Eren keeps his hands anchored on your thighs, shivering at sensitivity of his dick coupled with your hands stroking over his pecs, “Lesson fucking learning—babe, fuck, please—”

“Shh—not yet,” you coo, and reach to pull his arms off of you, leaving you with room to admire his sleeve. You take pity on him, holding his right wrist with both of your hands, before slowly beginning to bounce on him.

Eren squirms, his free hand reaching to grab at the flesh of your ass, eyes blinking open to watch his cock be buried inside of you. The relief is instant—for the both of you—immediate groans and shallow profanities slipping past your lips as you build a steady pace to ride him.

“Tell—tell me what this one means,” you question slowly, keeping your right hand around his wrist, but using your left to point to the tattoo; a stylized line art of crossed wings.

“Some shit about freedom,” Eren grunts, fingers twitching, “Fuck, babe—more, please, I’ll—”

Eren cuts himself off with a whine, and you hiss yourself, lifting your body all the way to the tip, before lowering yourself again at an agonizingly slow pace. At this rate, you can feel everything; every vein on his shaft, every twitch of his cock. You feel Eren deep inside of you, even see where the bulge outlines your tummy.

You still yourself for just a second, catching your breath, anchoring yourself on Eren. You’re pretty far gone yourself, but you want more; for yourself, and for him. You do your best to stay coherent, slowly grinding atop of him, questioning him about another tattoo on his arm, ignoring the way his palm grips at your bicep. It’s a small one, with detailed Japanese characters that you can’t understand, but appreciate anyway; it’s one of your favorites, and you ask Eren about its meaning, clenching yourself around him as punctuation to your question.

Eren sucks air between his teeth, left hand pulling back to run his fingers through his hair, a grunted word in German falling from his lips. You smirk, but let him try to answer you.

“I don’t fucken’ know,” Eren grumbles, head thrashing from side to side, “It’s really fucken’ hard to remember anything—shit—like this. S’fucking torture.”

“Hm,” you hum, not satisfied; eager for more of Eren’s love language, “Tell me something in German, instead, then.”

But Eren can only babble beneath you; sounds incoherent in either language—reduced to desperate whines and grabby hands at your thighs, waist, boobs—anything. You lean forward, letting go of Eren’s tattooed wrist, and reaching to ghost your fingers over his lips.

“Come on, Eren, you’re usually so good at it when we do this,” you taunt him, words coated in sweetness that distract you from keeping up your pace, “Just want you to talk pretty to me. Tell me something, baby.”

Eren’s eyes travel from your fingertips, up your arm, neck, and to your face. When he meets your gaze something shifts; eyes heavy with want, and bitter with dissatisfaction.

So, he reaches for your extended hand, laces your fingers together, “Something like what?”

You wrap your fingers around his, then do the same with your left hand, “Anything.”

“Anything?”

“Yeah,” you affirm with a smile, finally satisfied.

Eren grunts, bending his right knee for leverage before he flips you over, hands still intertwined, but now pinned over your head, harshly pressed into the pillows below. He buries his head into the crook of your neck; licking a stripe along your collarbone, where you’d teased him minutes before. Then up, up, up, your neck to the shell of your ear, retreating downwards to suck on the skin just beneath your ear, nipping with pointed teeth.

Eren keeps his weight on you, the length of his cock sliding over your slick folds while he bites angry, red blotches into your skin—a kind of impermanent tattoo of his own making on your body. The friction is good, but not enough, and you wonder if Eren intends on teasing you as long as you’d done to him; but, he breathes heavy breaths up your neck again, before mumbling a series of foreign syllables into your ear.

He hovers over your face, satisfied by the daze in your eyes; the slight openness of your mouth. It’s you who looks dumbstruck now, a foreigner to his ministrations; and for once, he’s in control with his second tongue.

“What—what does that mean?” you finally ask, squeezing your eyes briefly when Eren teases the tip just past your entrance.

Eren chuckles, airy, gritty, and cocky all at once. He pushes his cock inside of you, balls deep, only to pull out almost all the way, before leaning forward just slightly, so that his bottom lip grazes over yours.

“It means I love you,” he whispers, hips bucking forward, “Try to remember that, ‘cause I swear I’m gonna fuck you stupid, baby.”

#aot x reader #snk x reader #eren x reader #eren yeager x reader #eren smut #eren jaeger x reader #levi x reader #aot smut #aot imagines #snk imagines #eren fluff

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