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artsartblog · 9 months

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In honor of the new year I’ll be posting the last art pieces I did of last year plus an art summary for the year.

First the art summary of 2023 because I felt like just giving an overview of what all I’ve made plus what I will be adding to this post. The first two are of my persona, her main art and her as a Fairy Pokémon Gym Leader (which was made for a discord server I’m in). March is of my Welcome Home oc that I haven’t made much art of, but I do have a piece I’m still working on since I’m not as hyperfixated on WH but still enjoy seeing art of it. April is of an AU version of my Marvel oc Molly (I know what I said in the og post with that art, but I’m considering it an AU version of Molly to just add to the different version I have of her). May is art of my TWEWY oc Kotone after she becomes a reaper. June is art of my FNaF oc Kelly in her new daycare uniform. July is art I made for my SU art blog, which is art of an AU I’m occasionally working on because I have too many ideas to ever commit to one thing lol. August is a redesign of my RC9GN oc Clarissa. September is art I made for a friend. October is art of my TADC oc Odette, who I’ve never posted on tumblr because I keep forget to lol. November is actually the outlier of everything on here because I technically started it years ago, but only finished it November 2023, so we’re just going to accept it into the bunch. December is art of an old oc that used to belong to a friend of mine, but she’s given him up to me since she doesn’t do art anymore and I couldn’t just separate him from his girlfriend (my oc Lucy). Plus he’s apart of the first ever oc universe I ever created (with my friend).

Now onto my latest unposted art!

First we have is Annalei! She is a character I made based on my friend. Originally it was a trio thing, but now it’s just a duo (because of drama I won’t get into on here since it’s the new year and we don’t need that drama again). Anyways, she is an angel who acts as the guardian angel of my character (who I haven’t drawn yet) Nikki. The two actually live together as roommates with Annalei trying to help guide Nikki down a path of good. I made this piece for my friend for Christmas because I thought she’d like it (she loved it). I don’t have a lot developed for this universe because of reasons, but I’ll eventually get around to developing it more.

Next we have Odette. She is my The Amazing Digital Circus oc I made after falling in love with the pilot of tadc. She is based off a ballerina music box I have that belonged to my mom, plus my childhood love of ballet, and ball jointed dolls (since tadc gives off a whole toy-box vibe). She named herself Odette because it was the one thing she could remember from the real world. Ironically, she is living her worst fear because she feared being forgotten by loved ones and everyone she ever cared about. She hates that she can’t remember anything about herself and tries her best to find a way out, but doesn’t think too hard on escaping since she doesn’t want to abstract. She actually tends to stay hidden from the others, Caine doesn’t actually know she’s there, but is aware of her room. The others know of her room, but Jax was the only one to ever meet her until Pomni arrived. The other few things she does remember is how to dance, draw and sing (mostly through muscle memory). Odette has a weird friendship with Jax, but she doesn’t mind. Especially since she has social anxiety and making new friends is really difficult for her (even more so now that she has no idea who she is). This helps her with becoming friends with Pomni since they’re both filled with anxiety and the desire to leave. Though Odette does her best to help Pomni out whenever she can, hoping that one of them could leave at the least. When she does first meet Pomni it was by accident on Pomni’s part. Odette had been dancing around in a place far enough away from the others, but close enough to still be able to see whatever adventure Caine has them all doing. The music playing drowned out any sound of someone approaching that Odette didn’t notice Pomni until the song ended and Pomni clapped at the performance, which caused Odette to freeze up and panic. Especially when she saw that it wasn’t Jax that found her. Luckily for the two of them this led to a friendship (one where Odette would do her best to protect Pomni from Jax’s pranks).

Next is of my Miraculous oc Dani. Maskerade (a play on mask and masquerade) is of akumatized Dani. The only reason for her getting akumatized is stress from her mother and everyone expecting her to be someone she’s not. Despite being a miraculous holder she would struggle with being akumatized because she knows that she’s just stressed out and there are ways to fix what she’s dealing with, but as a teenager trying to get her mother to just listen and understand her is difficult. Sometimes turning into a villain helps with getting the point across. Vespbee is Dani if she was the holder of the bee miraculous. I honestly went a little overboard with her hair, but I love it so much. Not much to say on it because it’s just a literal what if situation. Dark Swan is if Swanette got akumatized. It’s less likely to happen compared to Maskerade, but still possible because even as Swanette Dani has her doubts as a hero. Especially when she hears all the comments on how she’ll never be better than Ladybug and Cat Noir, not that she really cares but it hurts to be compared to other heroes. She’d be pretty dangerous because she’d be able to break away from Hawkmoth’s control and be an independent villain of her own control, which wouldn’t seem that bad but with her unlimited use of her abilities is not good. Especially because her miraculous ability is using her feathers to normally just brings out the best of person (like a trait or ability/talent), but an akumatized version of that brings out the worst in people and can bring out an animalistic/monstrous version of the person (practically turning them into a monstrous creature). Since she doesn’t have any goal other than proving that “yeah I’ll never be like Ladybug and Cat Noir”, which makes it even more difficult for Ladybug and Cat Noir to stop her. (She’s basically an eviler version of Hawkmoth)

Next we have is an AU idea I had for my DC oc Grace Kyle/Wayne (aka Catgirl).

This AU idea started out as “What if Catgirl died trying to become a vigilante like Batman to get closer to him in hopes of being able to tell him that they’re related?”, then turned into Grace swapping places with Jason and being the one to die instead. I plan of drawing what she looks like after being brought back to life as Crimson Cat (a name she gave herself) that has been trained under Talia al Ghul since Grace didn’t have any proper training to be a vigilante in the first place. Now alive she works on tracking down who killed her and getting revenge. It’s still a wip of an idea, but I think it’d be fun because of messing around with the personalities of characters. Plus angst for both Bruce and Selina.

Next we have the designs for my TMNT universe turtles. It’s a mix of 2012!turtles and rise!turtles, but with different turtles. Idk what else to say about them since I’m still working on that whole universe.

I’m adding this purely because I really love this design. This is Ozul Nightingale, otherwise known as the Boogeyman or Shadow Man, in his shadow/monster form. He’s the villain of my universe called Different Paths. He has the abilities to cause people to experience nightmares, slowly corrupting people into beings called shadow monsters, and brining out the true darkness in people. He was sealed away by The Council to save others from his powers. When he was sealed away he was put into an eternal sleep that could be broken by the blood of a pure-blooded shadow witch (a witch who is descended from Ozul that can perform shadow magic). To keep watch over him and prevent anyone from waking him a powerful witch, his wife, was placed as his guard, but over time she slowly became corrupted and became known as the Shadow Witch (who is the baddie for the most part of Different Paths). I haven’t drawn his human form yet, but I plan on doing it eventually. (Along with redesigning the main characters)

Next we have Barry and Aria. They’re just fun characters I made that are children of tumblr sexymen/women (Dr. Drakken and Shego). No, they are not related, but they do act like cousins to each other and we’re raised together by Drakken and Shego.

Lastly is my love Digger. He is being reworked because I’m basing him off of memory, but making him more my own. He is a ghoul demon creature that works in a graveyard. He’s a pretty chill guy and dating my oc Lucy (who is the long lost vampire princess). His family is a royal demon family that has constantly been at war with the royal vampire family because of things that happened in the past. However, Digger honestly doesn’t care about all of that and enjoys spending time working in the graveyard. He especially doesn’t react negatively like other demons (that aren’t in his immediate family) would expect him to react when finding out that his girlfriend is the long lost vampire princess (especially since it’s a big change for Lucy, who group up believing she was a weird witch girl that just was better with certain dark magic compared than other witches). He loves his girlfriend so much that her being from the “rival” family (it’s more the vampires that hate the demons) just means that they’ll be together forever. (Also he lets her paint his nails because it’s the only reminder of her that he’s willing to get dirty while he’s working). I do eventually plan of the two getting married, but that’s a future me thing to deal with.

That concludes all the art from 2023!!!! I hopefully will get around to posting more art on here than I normally do. I hope you look forward to it! Anyways, I hope you all have a wonderful year! Remember stay creative!

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rxin3akamallory · 1 year

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Magril Ref Sheet WIP

So I’m currently working on this ref sheet on Magril but it’s been taking a little bit because she wears different outfits and/or has a different appearance depending on the event/film/media

It feels like I’ve been playing dress up with her for the past couple days while drawing the outfits, it’s kinda fun despite it taking a while

The video below is a little sneak peek without showing too much because I wanted to give it a proper reveal once done

And for reference, here’s the list of outfits/looks I’m gonna provide:

Halfworld [Done]

Ravager Garb (Because former Ravager) [Done]

Vol. 1/T.V. Series (Default) [Done]

Vol. 1/T.V. Series (Second Variant) [Done]

Vol 2. (And possibly Infinity War too but I haven’t decided yet) [Done]

Night Wear/Southern Nights scene (just because I love the pajamas I gave her!) [WIP]

Holiday Special [WIP]

Vol. 3 (Casual) [WIP]

Vol. 3 (Guardian Suit) [WIP]

I also wanna do a separate smaller ref sheet for her weapon(s). I was gonna include it in this ref sheet but I have no room now, plus it would be jarring if they were both clashed together.

But yeah for those who want context because I haven’t drawn Magril with her weapon recently, it’s normal default state is a baton with a couple buttons.

Depending on which one, the baton can transform into a pole arm, a whip, and later on between Vol. 1 and 2, Rocket adds a scythe to the mechanics.

Magril is one of the most physically agile of the Guardians, her metallic/endoskeleton like tail is one of the biggest examples. When I was making Magril I researched to see if it was true that opossums can hang upside down for long periods of time or even sleep upside down. Irl they can hang upside down but not for long periods of time. Magril’s tail as well as her waist, hip, spine and skull modifications, makes it easier for her to tolerate being upside down for long periods of time, so she doesn’t experience things like blood rush.

Her pole arm/vault pole is able to get her into the air and away from enemy obstacles without the need for rocket boots. Magril can also use it in combat in a similar vein to a bokken, or a wooden sword. She can use her whip like a normal whip but when she’s in the air after vault poleing or launching herself off where she was hanging on from via her tail, her whip sort of act like the spider webs someone like Peter Parker would use to travel, but more manual and aren’t actual webs that can stick to anything, like Miguel O’Hara from Across the Spiderverse for example.

Magril’s scythe was included as an upgrade, thanks to Rocket. He gave her baton that upgrade because as much as he agreed her whip and pole arm were effective in combat, just a whip and a pole arm weren’t enough combative strength compared to something like Gamora’s sword or Quill’s element blasters.

Rocket also wanted to make up for how he treated her in Vol. 1 after reuniting with her, and because mf’s in love with her but he doesn’t tell Magril until after he realizes his feelings and after they became official. She thought that was very sweet but also funny of him to do as a means to make amends, but hey, it worked!

But anyways ok ok I ranted LONG ENOUGH here, I just wanted to give a preview of the WIP before I finish this! I hope I don’t end up taking eons to finish this istg ;-;

☆彡 @raccoonfallsharder

#digital arwork #art #oc art #oc #guardians of the galaxy #gotg #guardians of the galaxy oc #gotg oc #self insert oc #magril gotg #magril opossum

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materassassino · 2 years

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Cynosure

I have a huge backlog of ficlets I haven’t yet posted, so I’m going to do that now because I think we need some good things!

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Cynosure (noun): a person or thing that is the centre of attention or admiration.

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He draws attention like he’s the centre of the galaxy. He is radiant, a solar flare, black and gold and glorious, and Din has never felt more inadequate and unworthy of standing beside this man. He’s just a fool who would be king, out of place in his beskar. Luke is soft, beautiful, suited to glittering lights and merriment in a way Din simply is not, could never be, and all eyes are upon him as soon as they enter the room. And why wouldn’t they be? It’s not like Din can look away either.

He fully expects to simply blend into the background, all – deserved – attention drawn to Luke, but people won’t stop attempting to talk to him. He answers in polite monosyllables which Luke then steps in to translate into something vaguely more diplomatic. Someone even asks him to dance, which he declines in stammering bewilderment. Luke stifles his laughter when the would-be dance partner wanders off, looking miserable.

“What?” Din asks. Luke shakes his head, grinning like sunshine, and, oh, Din wishes he could kiss that smile right then and there, devour it and hold it inside his heart until the galaxy implodes on itself.

“You’re popular, tonight,” Luke says fondly. Din snorts.

“I don’t know why, when you’re here,” he mutters, folding his arms and glowering at the milling crowd for not having good enough taste (not that they can see it, but he hopes they sense it). Luke takes a sip of something sparkling from a tall glass.

“They’ve seen me before,” he says. “I’m nothing special.”

Din scoffs again. “Bantha crap,” he says. “You outshine everyone in this room.”

Luke turns pink. He slips closer, trailing a finger along the edge of Din’s cuirass, following the shape of the kar’ta beskar. “And you think you don’t?” he replies.

Din frowns, helmet cocked to the side in confusion. “What do I have to offer?”

“To them? Very little. To me? Take a guess.” Luke takes a long, pointed swig of his drink, a gesture more suited to a seedy cantina than a shiny gala.

Din is silent for a moment. Luke’s gaze burns, full of hot, dark promise, and Din suddenly feels immensely hot under all his layers. He tugs at his collar.

“Point taken,” he rasps. Attention is something he abhors, but if it’s Luke, then… it’s different. He doesn’t mind being at the centre of Luke's orbit in the slightest.

“We should dance,” Luke says suddenly. “Really give them something to stare at.”

The back of Din’s neck burns. They’ve been practicing, Leia his intransigent dancing master – one of Korkie Kryze’s many, less than stellar ideas – but the idea of actually doing so, in front of hundreds of people, is mortifying.

That’s when he notices Luke is laughing. He curls his hand around Din’s arm, leans up to press a kiss to Din’s helmet.

“I’m only kidding,” he says. “I know you hate being stared at.” He glances behind them, over at the chrono above the bar, biting his lip. “I think we’ve been here long enough that we can sneak out without causing a galactic incident.”

Din doesn’t even hesitate. He takes Luke’s hand, strides confidently towards the door as Luke chuckles. After all, why would he want the stares of many when he can have the eyes, hands and heart of Luke Skywalker?

#star wars #dinluke #the mandalorian #din djarin #luke skywalker #pixie writes #i have a huge backlog of these so prepare for some ✨spam✨

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thefanficmonster · 3 years

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Fated

Karl Heisenberg x Autistic, Sound-sensitive Reader (Female)

Warnings: Swearing, Spoilers for RE8:Village, Noise sensitivity

Genre: Romance, Comfort

Summary: Not everyone could love a man like Heisenberg. But Y/N isn’t everyone, nor is she just anyone. She loves him as the whole package he is: murderous intentions, human experiments and all.

Requested by @phoenixofthevalley Hi dear! Here you go - the first fic I’ve ever written for Karl Heisenberg (first of many) and thank you so much for being my first ever Resident Evil 8 requester! Hope you enjoy the read! Feel free to correct me if I’ve described anything incorrectly or in an accidentally offensive manner. I have no intention of spreading hate or any type of misconception so I’d really appreciate the correction. Love, Vy ❤

Watching Karl get so excited over this grand plan of his - the destroying of Mother Miranda, his revenge - it all makes me feel uneasy. I can’t explain the feeling, mostly cause I’ve never felt it before, and I can’t quite describe it either. I don’t connect to people easily and I’ve always been told I’m the problem but I guess it took the right person to make me feel things I haven’t felt for no one else all my life.

“The weren’t worthy of your emotions, darling.“ Karl told me on one of the rare occasions when I opened up my mind to him. I felt his words wrap around me like a comforting embrace. For the first time in my life, I felt understood.

I think that’s what took me the longest to get used to - being understood, seen and validated. My opinions had never before been taken into account seriously, my personal boundaries were rarely respected by others and people always had a hard time dealing with how distant I can be. But what bothers me above all is how people refer to me as dramatic because of my sound sensitivity - something no one took seriously when I’d tell them about it.

Karl did though, surprising me to no end.

He respects that I like my personal space and prefer not being shown much affection, especially not physical. He understands that I have a hard time showing people affection myself. He goes out of his way to make sure I’m ok with whatever it is he’s doing, saying or suggesting. And I’m sure that if I were to ever tell someone about this, they wouldn’t believe me. That’s most definitely due to his rough exterior and intimidating appearance. Also probably because he comes off as downright selfish and rude when you first meet him, but getting to know him was a journey worth taking because I now know the real him. A trust me, his rough exterior and the softness of his true self have nothing in common. Although, he does claim that softness is only reserved for me.

With all that laid out, it’s completely understandable that I don’t want him going up against Mother Miranda. Thanks to Karl I’ve never had the displeasure of running into her, but I’ve heard countless stories of how powerful and downright terrifying that witch is. Bottom line: I don’t want Karl walking into something that’s the equivalent of suicide.

And I’ve finally decided to let him know exactly how I feel about it.

I’ve been sitting here, searching for my voice as I observe Karl in his deepest thinking space. He’s constantly in it, if you ask me - constantly thinking, looking for ways to make his innovations better, stronger, more powerful to add to his chances of victory against the sadistic ruler of this village. He was already at his desk when I walked in, hunched over dozens of drawings drawn with cut-edge precision yet in his mind they are probably not near good enough. In his mind, all he does is never good enough. He prides himself on this factory and what he’s produced thus far but he cannot stay proud of himself for very long, he constantly feels the need to better himself in order to remain worthy in his eyes. I wish I could change his mindset on those grounds but I know that my tries would be futile and pointless.

“Karl?“ I suddenly speak up, surprising both him and myself. I don’t know what I was thinking opening my mouth when I still have no idea how to go about this without making it seem like I don’t believe in him. That is in no way the case. I believe he can defeat her, if he cannot do it himself, his robo-army most certainly can. But I don’t want defeating her to cost him his life cause without him in mine I’m not sure what will be left of me.

He straightens up from where he’s been hunched over for the past God knows how many hours, rolling his shoulders and stretching his arms as her turns to look at me, his sunglasses capturing the white neon light in the office as he does so.

“What is it, darling? Something wrong?“ he takes a step towards me as I stand up and go to approach him.

“Actually...“ Suddenly, that thing he keeps in a safety cell just below this room starts going off with that annoying loud sound it makes. It’s always disturbed me, ever since it came to exist which was not so long ago considering it’s been his latest project. It not only terrifies me but triggers my sound sensitivity as do most of the machines in this forsaken factory.

I close my eyes tightly shut as I cover my ears with my hands, praying for the sound to go away as soon as possible because I can’t take it. It almost makes me physically nauseous and gives me vertigo, bringing me to the brink of tears because of its loudness and intensity, like it’s drilling right into my brain.

I can’t quite pinpoint the exact moment the sound went away because when faced with such a pain-inducing experience, my senses tend to tune out while I still remain conscious, but when my hearing returns I the only thing I’m able to hear is a steady heartbeat and a steady breathing.

“It’s ok, darling. You’re ok.“ I hear Karl’s quiet whisper, giving me peace and coaxing me into opening my eyes.

When I do so, I come to realize why the rest of the world has gone quiet. Why I’m suddenly so flooded with comfort like no one is able to bring me. No one but him. One of my ears is pressed up to his chest while the other is covered by his warm hand which travels up to move a strand of hair from my face and put it behind my ear as he repeats his soothing words like a chant, slowly starting to let go of me out of fear that he’s crossing a line. He’s always so wary about that and I’ll forever be grateful to him for it.

“Are you ok, sweetheart?“ His hands gently cup my cheeks, tilting my head so I can look him in the eyes - directly in the eyes, for he has ridden himself of his glasses. I’ve found he does that often when around me - removes his glasses. I once asked him why that is but the answer he gave me was vague, all the while a small smile played on his face. Guess he’s a bigger secret-keeper than I primarily thought. It doesn’t bother me really, I know the only secrets he keeps are the ones that would be a hazard for my safety if he exposed me to them, so I allow him his secrets and I keep some of my own to myself. It’s only fair, after all.

I nod, blinking up at him, “Yes, I’m ok. But...“ Now or never, girl. Now or never. “But if you want me to be honest, I will be.”

He looks baffled by my answer but he doesn’t falter, quickly regaining his composure before he replies, “Of course, dear. I always want you to be honest with me. What’s on your mind, what’s bothering you?“

Now “I haven’t been really ok for a while now.” I take his hands in mine, removing them from my cheeks but holding them firmly between us - a gesture that surprises me just as much as it shocks him. Never have I felt the need to be so close to someone. It may be momentary and temporary, but I refuse to dwell on that as I push forward with my argument, “I haven’t been ok since you told me about your plane. The whole thing with Mother Miranda and all that...” Not the time to be leaving me, words. I started this, I’ll finish it. “Look, Karl, I know you and your army can bring that witch to her demise but...”

“But what, Y/N? Tell me.“ He encourages me softly, his hands subtly tightening their hold on mine as if to keep me grounded, remind me he’s listening closely to every word I’m saying. Like he always does.

“But what if it doesn’t go as planned?“ I blurt out, biting my bottom lip nervously. It makes me anxious, being so honest and emotionally exposed. That’s so rare for me I doubt I’ll ever get used to it, but that’s the only way I have at least a fragment of a chance of convincing Karl to drop this. “What if things go south and you end up killed or turned into a monster or something else?“

The concern on his face washes away when he hears my words, getting replaced by a soft, consoling smile. I quickly look away, feeling that confession on my part was quite odd. I feel out of place but not uncomfortable, I don’t know how to explain it. It almost feels like relief, like I’ve finally gotten a huge boulder off my chest and I can finally breathe properly. But I can’t, not until I hear his reply. That smile should probably tell me something but it doesn’t - I won’t believe anything until I hear it come out of his mouth with my own two ears.

“Oh Y/N, darling, you won’t lose me. Ever.“ His thumb swipes across my knuckles soothingly, drawing abstract patterns on the skin of the back of my hand, “You never need to worry about me, hun, I ain’t going anywhere. No one can take me away from you or you away from me. Anyone who dares to try, well, bad things will happen to ‘em.“ He chuckles, easing the tension enough for me to able to look up at him again. When our eyes meet again, I see something I can’t name nor describe. All I know is that what he’s telling me is genuine and comes, “I’ll always be here, by your side, Y/N. I will always be here to shield you from anything and anyone. Any rogue lycan or any loud sound, I’ll be there to prevent it from reaching you. Never forget that. Ok?“

That urge to be have him close takes over me again. I think that somewhere in the back of my mind I see a clock ticking down, counting down the numbered hours we have together before he inevitably carries out his plan. As scary as that is, I think I can do nothing but accept it.

And so, that’s exactly what I do.

Wrapping my arms around him tenderly, enveloping him in the first hug I’ve ever given him - probably the first hug anyone has given him - I accept our fate, silently hoping it changes somewhere along the lines.

“Ok.“

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jadequeen88 · 4 years

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A Waitress’ Worst Nightmare

A/N: Written for the BNHA Degeneracy 9-5 collab! THIS IS 18+ MINORS DNI

Warnings: TW.sexual harassment, TW.oral(recieving), TW.degredation TW.nipple play, TW.Mommy kink

Pairing: busboy!Keigo, linecook!Dabi, f!waitress!Reader

You’re a college student just trying to get by. The biggest worry you should have right now is if you had enough time to finish that psych paper or when you were going to meet up with your calculus study group. Instead, you’ve got a much larger problem facing you...A problem that has permeated through every aspect of your life. Your coworkers were Grade-A-Assholes who decided making your life miserable was on the top of their to do lists.

You thought waitressing at the 24/7 diner downtown would be a breeze. Money was tight and since you were 21 and almost done with your undergrad, you wanted a little more financial independence. Little did you know when the owner hired you that you’d have to work alongside the two biggest shitheads in the city.

First there’s Keigo. To the untrained eye, he could almost seem charming. But you found out pretty quickly what a dick he was. He was working as a “busboy”, but in reality he didn’t do anything but flirt with every woman within his field of vision. Keigo would leave the tables a mess until there wasn’t a clean one left in your station and you’d be forced to do his job for him.

“What, babe? Stop getting your panties in a twist. I’m real busy these days. You know I’m practically running this place now.”

Oh yeah. How could you forget? He took every opportunity to remind you of that fact. Keigo’s dad happened to be buddies with the owner, garnering a sense of trust with the old man. He slowly weaseled his way into running day-to-day operations while the elderly owner stayed home most days.

Although the diner needed another busboy to pick up his slack, Keigo refused to tell the boss to hire another. You overheard a phone conversation between Keigo and your boss just last night:

“Nah, boss. We’ve got it covered here. No need to hire another busboy. The waitresses are just finding reasons to nag. Women, am I right?”

You were fuming.

***

As bad as Keigo was, his friend Dabi was exponentially worse. The line cook was, without a doubt, a drug dealer. The only motive he could possibly have for working there is having a place to do business with his “customers”(and of course, to help Keigo make your life a living hell). It clearly wasn’t because he needed the money since you’d seen his “friends” slip him generous wads of cash when they stopped by the restaurant. If cleaning up Keigo’s messes sucked, trying to put in customer’s orders with Dabi was pure torture.

“Eggs over easy instead of scrambled? I dunno, Princess. Sounds like it’ll be a pain in my ass. Whatcha gonna give me if I do it?”

Then he’d lick his lips with his long pierced tongue, leering at you over the counter. Gag... You wondered if that ever actually worked in his favor.

One semi-decent thing you can say about Keigo is that he’d never actually laid a finger on you. The same can’t be said for Dabi. You learned after your first day to wear shorts under the skirt of your uniform. You were behind the counter slicing lemons when he took his spatula and lifted the hem of your skirt. Before you realized what he was doing, he was calling out to his partner in crime.

“Fuuuuuck, Kei! Look at the ass on the new girl!”

You wondered what was going on until you felt a breeze and realized it was your ass that was on display. You’d slapped the spatula away and straightened your skirt, but not before they both got an eyeful of your black, lace panties. You cried for ten minutes in the bathroom after your shift that day.

***

The day you’d been dreading was finally upon you. No, it wasn’t a big test or project due... You had to ask off work for your cousin’s wedding. That meant dealing with Keigo (who was now in charge of making the schedule each week).

You squared your shoulders and went over what you would say over, and over in your head so you wouldn’t stumble over your words when you had to face him.

“I need to have Saturday off for my cousin’s wedding. I can work the Sunday morning shift instead.”

This was repeated on a loop in your brain as you walked down the darkened corridor towards the office. You let out a long sigh and gently rapped your knuckles against the wooden frame. The sound of shuffling and muffled voices seeped through the thin faux wood and a moment later, the door swung inward. The thick cloud of smoke and strong, skunky smell almost knocked you flat on your ass. Instead of seeing Keigo alone working on the schedule, you saw that he and Dabi were hotboxing in the small office.

Knowing they were back here getting high while you closed the diner by yourself was the last straw. You slam the door behind you and stomp forward to lean over the desk Keigo was propped up behind.

“Listen you shit heads!” you slammed you fists on the desk knocking over a jar of pens. “I am so fucking sick of slaving away in this shit hole while you two get high and fuck off back here. You’re going to let me have Saturday off or I swear to Christ, I’m calling the boss and spilling my guts! About the weed, the drug deals, the snarky remarks, the groping, EVERYTHING! I’ve had enough!”

There was a moment of silence then the two of them burst into a fit of laughter. In a blind fit of rage, you leap across the desk and grab Keigo by the throat. When you made contact and squeezed as hard as your small hand would allow, a whimper escaped his throat and his eyes rolled back.

Now it was your turn to laugh.

“Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me,” you gripped your fingers tightly again to see if you could pull any more sounds from him. He didn’t disappoint. This time it was a whimper followed by him nervously mumbling.

“Heh, Kid... Seriously, knock it off. This shit isn’t funny.”

Your eyes traveled down the front of his body and when they landed on the crotch of his baggy khakis, your suspicions were confirmed. This loser who acted like a certified pussy-slayer popped a boner just from you choking him.

You leaned in close to his face, using this as your chance to get revenge for all the hell he had put you through. “Aww little Keigo... Not used to being roughed up?” you cooed. “Dumb little baby Keigo...I bet if I kept this up, you’d come in your pants like a dirty slut, wouldn’t you?”

You felt movement over your shoulder and heard a deep chuckle. “Dude you’re so pathe-”

Dabi gasped as you grabbed him by the crotch with your free hand and squeezed. He was already hard. You met his eyes and see panic etched across his features. A sadistic grin spread across your mouth as you tightened your grip. His head fell back and let out a whimper almost as needy as Keigo’s.

“You’re both going to do exactly what I say or I swear, I will tell every girl you ever try to speak to what a couple of pathetic virgins you two are...”

***

“Ungh! Plea-please... Harder! I... I need more!”

*SMACK*

Your hand lands hard across the blonde’s face, drawing a pathetic whimper from his throat. He thrust his weeping cock along your shin whimpering, craving more pressure to relieve his suffering.

“You don’t get to tell me what you need, Keigo. Shut your fucking mouth and be grateful you get this much.”

You throw your head back against the office chair and hum as Dabi eats your cunt like it’s his last meal.

“Mmm... See Keigo? See what a good boy Dabi is being? He knows his stupid mouth is only meant for one thing... Making Mommy’s pussy feel good.”

The praise causes the dark haired man between your thighs to moan into your clit sending a pulse of pleasure through your lower body. The ball of his piercing circles your clit and you feel the familiar ache of an impending orgasm begin to tighten in your belly.

Keigo starts shoving Dabi away from you with a growl. “This is bullshit! I haven’t even had a chance yet!”

Dabi elbows him, ”Fuck off Kei! I almost had her finished off!”

Furious from being jerked back from the edge of your orgasm, you grab a fist full of blonde hair in one hand and black in the other. You pull their flushed faces up to look you in the eye.

“If you want to come at all, you will shut...the fuck...up... and get me off. Now”

Dabi wasted no time in diving back into your dripping slit, panting heavily while he ran his pierced tongue in and out of your swollen entrance. Keigo attacked your neck, whimpering as he planted sloppy kisses down your collarbone until his tongue was licking long stripes up you clothed nipple.

“I think you can do a little better than that, baby,’ you cooed into Keigo’s messy blonde tresses, sweetly tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. He took that as his cue to remove the clothing between your hardening bud and his hot, wet tongue.

Keigo latched onto your nipple, nursing it with vigor while he gently grazed his fingertips over the other. You heard him mumble something into the soft swell of your breast.

“Speak up,” you pull him away from your nipple with a pop, “I didn’t catch that...”

“I-I said... I...”

Your attention was drawn to the man between your legs as he began to suck down hard on your clit. The hand you had wrapped in Keigo’s hair tightened causing him to cry out.

“Mommy! Please! Wanna be your good boy! Wanna make Mommy come...” He sobs as he starts frantically licking and sucking your neglected nipple. This pushes you over the edge and your long awaited orgasm rushes over you.

After you come down from your high, you push them off and begin getting dressed while the two men you left on the floor look up at you with wide eyes.

Dabi, still panting from eating you so vigorously, chokes out a little half sob.

“But.. where are you goin? We did what you asked!”

“Yeah babe! what the fuck!”

You eyed both men and let the tension hang in the air before turning and walking to the door.

“Give me the whole weekend off. Then we’ll arrange something Monday,” you look over your shoulder, “As long as you don’t piss me off before then..”

You walk out of the office with the biggest grin you’ve had in a long time and feeling a lot more relaxed. Maybe this job was going to turn out better than you expected.

#bnha dabi #bnha smut #dabi x you #hawks x y/n #tw mommy kink #bnha eijiro kirishima #mha hawks #mha x reader #bnha reader insert #jade writes smut

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irondad-creator-awards · 3 years

Text

Winner Spotlight - broskepol

Today we’re talking to the wonderful @broskepol who so kindly agreed to answer our questions.

How did you get into Irondad? Ehh, I guess it was soon after the Infinity War was released in theaters. Well, actually I wasn't much into MCU when Infinity War came out, so I gladly caught all the spoilers, and that's when I heard that there is some really touching yet heartbreaking scene where Spider-Man turns into ash and Tony Stark's holding him at that moment. I thought like, ‘Hey does this mean marvel actually do try to make their viewers feel something for their characters?’ (lol I thought these were just meaningless blockbusters) (well actually they still are just meaningless blockbusters, but one of the best of their kind, you know) 'cuz that sounded like some really sincere thing in the plot. Later I decided to actually watch Infinity War myself (just for fun lol) and man I didn't expect to feel kinda sad at the end. I mean, as soon as the end credits started I thought ‘Damn, I wish I knew these characters better so I could actually feel something for losing them". And that's when I binge-watched the entire MCU for the first time and fell in love with these characters. Then suddenly came the toughest part - to wait till the Endgame release, because unlike Infinity War, I was ready and absolutely hyped up for it. And since the Irondad scene at the end of Infinity War was actually one of the most heartbreaking in the entire movie, I was so excited to wait and see how these two would reunite in Endgame. So, seeing them hug eventually was really heartwarming and satisfying (let's ignore what happened next, lol), so then I felt how many soft feelings I have for these two and how much I need them to be like father and son.

What’s your favorite Irondad scene? Would it be too obvious to say that the scene of them reuniting in Endgame is my favourite? But why the hell not? I absolutely love it.

When did you start drawing, and what inspired you to become an artist? I've been drawing for my entire life, literally. I cannot remember myself without this passion, it's something that's always been with me, so there wasn't really something special that "inspired" me to become an artist - it feels like I was simply born with the thought of becoming one in the future.

What do you enjoy about creating art the most? I like the chemistry between me, art, and the viewer. It goes like this - I felt something, I made a drawing based on that feeling or inspiration, and then the viewer felt the same way or even something new. I enjoy this process of emotion exchange - that's why I value the feedback so much, because I’m wondering what exactly did you feel or thought of when you saw my drawing. Also, art just makes me feel good. This is something I’m good enough at - and I’m certain about it. This fact gives me at least one reason to like myself a bit more than I do.

Which of your artworks are your favorite and why? And can you include a link/copy? Talking about Irondad - this one is my absolute favorite...

I've spent like a couple or three nights for making this, and sadly it didn't get that much attention as I wish it did (it's classic - the more time you spend on something - the less recognition you get at the end, this is just how life works, I’m used to it). I love its emotion and overall mood - it doesn't look like something I normally draw, this one is way more dramatic, if I can say so.

What's your favorite thing to draw? Oooh, I love sketching people - the poses, the emotions, different appearances.

What inspires your art now? Kinda tough question, since I haven't drawn much for myself for almost a year... One of my inspirations now is also my guilty pleasure - Genshin Impact, which I’m not proud of, but somehow this overhyped thing just makes me feel better and I kinda wanna sketch its characters just for fun. Also, I recently started watching Arcane and oh my, this style just makes me wanna DO ART. Moreover, I’ve recently been to a little tour with my family around Europe and seen quite a lot of incredibly beautiful landscapes, that just cannot escape my mind and I wanna create something based on this experience.

How did you feel to be a winner of the Awards last year? This was unexpected, but really pleasant, since my blog has already been inactive for quite some time at that moment. It was nice to know that people still remembered me and valued my art even though I wasn't posting anymore. That was nice!

Thank you so much @broskepol for sharing your talent and time with us xxx

#Irondad Creator Awards #Irondad and Spiderson #irondad #spider son #Iron Man #tony stark #spider-man #peter parker #please reblog

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gohyuck · 4 years

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pairing: head knight!jeno x monarch!reader (reader has genitals attributed to those considered biologically female but no pronouns are actually used)

genre: fluff, mild angst (they discuss an oncoming battle they must prepare for), smut (it’s mostly smut)

word count: 6.5k

warnings & notes (nonsexual): mentions of war/battle, mentions of injuries retained from past skirmishes, jeno is as tall as you need him to be in order to rest your head against his chest without leaning down, it’s kind of cheesy tbh they are disgustingly head-over-heels in love with each other, also a peryton is a fantasy creature that’s essentially a stag + a bird, also i know y’all must be tired of royalty aus but i swear this is almost pwp (except there’s context so there’s plot) so give it a chance (if you’re legal) i guess

warnings & notes (sexual): oral (giving and receiving for both parties), fingering (reader receives), spit kink (lmao sorry), general messiness honestly, mild knife kink (no blood drawn, he just uses a dagger to tear apart clothing), gratuitous usage of the name ‘lionheart’, jeno has a big dick because i cannot stop myself from doing that to y’all for some reason, some choking

special thanks to @moonlit-jeno @domjaehyun @waithyuck for reading parts of it/all of it beforehand!

the soft hours of twilight have their holds on you, chilling you to your bones even as you pull the heavy fur cape tighter around your body. you should’ve pulled something over your thin nightgown, you suppose, something to act as a middle layer between silk and skin and peryton fur, but it’s too late for that. you’re already out on your private balcony, overlooking a kingdom you’d do anything to see the sun rise on day after day.

far, far past the outskirts of your humble realm, barely visible to your own eye, an unsettlingly large camp of soldiers is finishing setting up camp for the night. you watch as tiny, tiny orange pinpricks - no doubt the fires they’d set to make food, to alert you of their presence - begin to get snuffed out. finally, they sleep.

if you were any worse of a person, of a ruler, you would send your army after them now, hours before the battle is set. perhaps, if you were any less selfish, you would do so regardless of keeping your status as a good and just monarch. if you were any less selfish, you would shake awake the love of your life and hand him his cape after shedding it from your shoulders. you would tell him to rouse his men and women, to arm them to their teeth, and to fight for what is right using means that are entirely wrong.

as if privy to your thoughts, your head knight stirs in the too-large bed behind you. you turn just in time to see him sit up and twist his body left, right, left as he stretches to rid himself of sleep. it’s too late - or maybe too early - for either of you to be awake. maybe you should have stayed within his warm embrace rather than gotten out of bed to size up the army of the kingdom of crithage.

even now, you can’t help but strategize, at least on a basic level. crithagians are unused to the cold of your beautiful - but often frigid - ekoria. they won’t expect your people to fall upon them from the icy cliffs that surround their camp, nor will they be able to see over the oncoming blizzard your royal sky-reader has predicted. she has not been incorrect in many, many years. ekorians have, over the years, grown accustomed to heavy snows, among other weather phenomenon, so your army’s visual acuity is not to be questioned.

that, and your troops are in the hands of the best warrior ekoria has ever had.

jeno. your jeno. your lionheart. you rein your thoughts in just as he pulls open the balcony door, closing it behind him with a soft click as he steps over the threshold separating in from out and warm from cold. goosebumps rise across his bare flesh the moment his skin meets air, and you don’t hesitate to slide his cape off and thrust it towards him, knowing full well that his arms will provide more than enough heat for you. he fastens it with ease, seeming slightly amused at how you’d been using it as a blanket, and gently grabs ahold of your wrist before pulling you into his chest and wrapping an arm around your waist. with his other hand, he takes a corner of his cape and wraps it around you, leaving you enveloped in both his hot-to-touch skin and the comforting fur.

“they’re out in the valley, aren’t they?” he finally murmurs, leaning to place his mouth against your ear. jeno’s voice is thick and sleep-ridden, still raspy in a way that settles around you, inside you, within you. you lean back slightly, raising a cold hand to rest against the tattoo of a lion that adorns his left pectoral, mane stretching up to his collarbone and encroaching on his bicep. the lion has a scar on its right cheek. you pull away more, eyes landing on the thin discolored line underneath your lover’s same eye.

it had been a longsword, meant to slash across your throat. jeno, with the speed of a star falling from grace and enough adrenaline to fuel a hundred men, had leapt across you in order to take it across the face. for crown and for country, bard’s songs later regaled of him. for you, he’d whispered to you that same night as you’d stitched him up, using the threading tactics you’d learned from the castle medic as a child. for you. always for you.

“my love?” jeno prods, and you realize you haven’t given his rhetorical question any acknowledgement. you hum, meeting his eyes with your own, and watch as he allows one corner of his mouth to turn up.

“they only just put out their fires.” you finally respond, moving to be against his chest again. you rest your head against the intricate ink against jeno’s skin, finally letting out a breath of what one might consider worry. the air that leaves your lungs manifests into wisps out in the cold world that surrounds you. your lionheart pulls you ever closer.

“you need not stress.” he says simply, and an outsider to your relationship would see no cohesion between your statement and his. still, you know precisely what jeno means, why he’s said what he’s said. you turn, pressing your lips against the lion’s forehead. above you, your own lion brushes his lips against your temple.

“i have an army, a kingdom, even, to worry about, and yet i only fear tomorrow for whatever outcome befalls one man.” you whisper, and even you are surprised to find tears catching in your throat. you do not cry easily, not when you know firsthand how cruel the world can be.

you only reign because your parents no longer breathe.

tomorrow’s battle could easily bleed into next year’s war, and while your kingdom is prepared for such a thing, your heart may not be. your people are not belligerent, and neither are you. crithage had been the one to throw the first stone, had sent word that if you refused to relinquish your throne and bow your head, they would aim the first arrow, draw the first blood. no tears had been shed then, not even when you’d paced around your bedchambers, reading and rereading the note signed with blood red ink until jeno had physically pulled it out of your tight grasp. you hadn’t cried, not even when he’d said that he was willing to die if it meant keeping crithage out of ekoria, out of the kingdom you’d both built from ground up after the war that had taken your parents, out of the home you’d created together.

“wherever you take us, i will follow. wherever you need me, i will lead.” he’d murmured the words against the lobe of your ear, standing beside and slightly behind your throne as you’d written out your reply to crithage in a room full of your advisors. nobody else had moved a muscle then, not even as you closed the envelope with hot wax and the royal seal.

you’d sent back a much, much shorter letter than their own in response.

a time and date for battle. nothing more and nothing less.

that had been so many months ago, so far away that the concept of time dissipates when you attempt to organize it in your harried mind. with a hostile army on your doorstep, everything suddenly feels far more real than it has before. your people have been evacuated, your troops have been trained. your lionheart is unafraid to the world, standing tall and proud at your side as he always has.

a sigh that starts from deep in jeno’s chest brings you back to the present. tomorrow is it, you’re reminded. crithage has seiged almost every other state between themselves and your beloved ekoria. if they get to you, they’ll have your head, raised high on a stake they’ll erect outside of the gates they’ll install to the place you call home. if they get to you, it means they’ll have gotten through jeno.

you can’t live in a world without him. it’s a dangerous attachment for a ruler to have, you’re well aware. if other kingdoms find out that your weakness is a person, one that lives and breathes, you’re not likely to ever see your love again.

it’s little comfort that jeno can’t live in a world without you, either.

“i worry about not being here, at the castle, to protect you,” he mumbles into your hair. “i know that you are perfectly capable, and that you’ll have your own faction of our knights with you, but i- it feels as if i’m about to open my chest and leave my naked heart unguarded, right there for any arrows to pierce.”

jeno’s confession is simple, beautiful in the way the most ornate of daggers are: that is, you feel as if he’s just dragged a sharp edge down the length of your sternum, taking you apart piece by piece. his words cage you in, force you deeper into your own head in a way you can’t afford, not right now.

“eloquent,” you hum, unable to resist teasing him even as the moment does not call for it. it’s to save yourself from your heavily beating heart. “it isn’t too late to make you my poet laureate, you know. no need to wield a sword tomorrow then.”

“and who would be your head knight then, hm? the current laureate? you want renjun to lead the charge against the crithagians? to be your lionheart?” your lover draws back to ensure that you can see his eyes, glimmering with mirth. renjun is an able man, and one of your best friends, but he is not the warrior jeno is.

nobody is the warrior that jeno is.

“such a foolish thing to say,” you smile up at him, lips folding from joking to earnest within moments. the merriment fades a little from jeno’s eyes at recognizing the change in your expressions. “you’re my only lionheart. always have been and always will be, even when you’re too old and gray and slow to be my head knight.”

“someone seems confident of that happening.” he says quietly, raising the hand at your waist to come up and rest over your own hand that lies against his chest. you swallow, your own spit feeling too heavy for you to stomach, your throat dry and scratchy.

“who else can have confidence of a victory rather than a monarch?” you ask, a smile that isn’t quite sad - but isn’t quite self-assured either - resting on your lips. jeno raises your hand to his lips, pressing one, two, three chaste kisses to the back and then repeating the pattern against your palm. he does not let go.

the two of you stand there for a stolen moment. you lay your head back against his chest, listening to the thundering of his heartbeat below the ink and skin and muscle and bone. he is real, and he is here.

he is real. he is here.

“the monarch’s lionheart, of course,” he murmurs, finally dropping your hand to reach back and push open the balcony door. “we only have four more strokes of time until i must go, my love. is this truly how you want to spend it?”

it’s evident that jeno no longer wants to mull over the what-ifs, not when he prefers living in the present more than anyone you’ve ever known. unsurprising, you suppose, for someone whose livelihood involves strategizing away his own mortality. you allow him to pull you back into your bedroom, immediately more comfortable when the door closes behind you, keeping you in with the body heat of your lover and the warmth of the crackling fire on the hearth in the corner of your room. jeno sheds the cape, draping it over the nearest chair, before bringing you back to his chest by placing his large hands against your waist.

it takes feeling his fingers against your skin through the thin silk of your slip to remember that jeno has nothing on. he’s always preferred to sleep naked, unlike you. though you hardly have any undergarments on, you at least wear a sheer gown most nights.

you’d ridden him passionately before bed, tiring both of you out in order to get any semblance of sleep. as your lionheart pulls you flush against him, though, it’s difficult to avoid the way his cock hardens against your hip once more. you want to quip about how jeno’s insatiable, but he trails a hand up, up over your body to swipe a thumb over one of your hardened nipples, and you can’t help the sigh that escapes through your prettily parted lips.

“will you get on the bed for me, love?” jeno’s voice is smoother now that he’s more awake, though you can’t help but miss the low growl that had come with the earlier rasp. he may be asking you a question, but you know that it’s an order in disguise. wordlessly, you step back, back, back until the wood of your bedframe presses against the soft plushness of the back of your thighs. jeno has not moved, choosing to stay put and appraise you instead. his eyes are hooded now, and as his gaze trails from your neck - he’d marked it up earlier, the kiss-bitten bruises not yet having faded from your skin - down to the curve of your chest, over the expanse of your thighs, he can’t help but reach one hand down to his dick, swiping two fingers over its head to collect his precum on his skin.

jeno says nothing else, makes no other move. it’s to give you an illusion of control, you suppose. not that you need one.

“should i rid myself of this, lionheart?” you ask, the words coming out breathier than intended. the nightgown leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination, and you’re sure he can even see the slick wetness that’s pooling against your inner thighs. jeno adores seeing your body more than anything, but the gown does not inhibit that.

it’s no surprise, then, when he shakes his head no, instead finally moving to stand at the edge of the bed, slotting himself between your thighs as they naturally move apart to fit him in. his clean hand slides up under your gown, resting just above your cunt, as he raises his other hand to your face.

“lie back, and open.” jeno states, no air of leniency about him anymore. you oblige, and your love leans over you, his dark gaze centered on your parted lips.

he lays his two precum-coated fingertips against your tongue, pressing in and then down and revelling when you don’t gag but instead run your tongue over his fingers, cleaning them off for him. you haven’t gagged in a long time, your reflexes getting used to him in the way the rest of you is. when he withdraws his hand, your mouth stays open, and jeno can’t help himself as he leans over you and, after gathering it in his own mouth for a moment, allows his own spit to fall from his own tongue and onto yours.

your eyes go wide at the action, and you know that he notices it even as he does not acknowledge it. even so, you don’t miss the smirk that crosses his face upon hearing your breath hitch. jeno has you in his palm.

satisfied, he stands, and you close your mouth and swallow a part of him with a part of you. jeno’s no longer looking at your face, but you can’t bring yourself to care, not when he’s ruching up your nightgown with growing hunger, not when he’s kneeling on the stone ground just to make himself eye-level with your pretty, pretty pussy.

“i took you hardly any time ago,” he murmurs, breath hot against your skin as his mouth nears where you so desperately need him. “and yet here you are, laid open once more, all for me. only for me.”

“always you, jeno, please - ” you can’t get any more words out, the air being pulled out of you as he dives in and circles your clit with his tongue, bringing his two spit-soaked fingers up to press into you with almost no resistance. your reaction is instantaneous, walls clenching like a vice around his fingers as he lays a filthy kiss against your bundle of nerves, hips jumping up only to be kept down by jeno’s other hand, pressing down against the bottom of your stomach.

“patience.” he pulls off of your clit just to growl the word out against the skin of your inner thigh, and the wet heat of his mouth directly against your flesh has you practically gasping out. when jeno sinks his teeth into your thigh as he’s often wont to do, you let out a full-bodied whine, the kind that starts in the back of your throat and rises up through the inner column of your neck, meant only for your lover’s ears. jeno laves his tongue over the marks he’s just created, as if to wash the pleasurable pain from your body.

he does not reattach his mouth to your core, choosing instead to fall back and watch, eyes trained, as he scissors you open. with hardly any warning rather than his gaze jumping up to meet your own momentarily, jeno presses his thumb into your clit, using your slick wetness to eliminate any raw friction as he rubs slow circles against your nerve endings. he’s never failed to bring you to the edge with ease, and now is no different. you’d be embarrassed at how easily you fall apart just from his simple simultaneous motions, in and on you, but it’s jeno, and he knows your body maybe even better than he knows his own.

keening, a loud, gasping wail, falls from your lips only for jeno to rise from his place in between your thighs and swallow your sounds with his open mouth, his clean hand coming up to cage you in against your sheets. the way you raise your arms to loop them around his neck is akin to the way a drowning man would grab on to a lifeline, and once he rises you pull him back into a longer, filthier kiss, where your teeth click against his and his tongue opens up your mouth the same way it feels like his touch opens up your body.

you feel as if you’re being flayed, as if hellfire is the only thing comparable to the heat against your skin. jeno steps closer, just by the tiniest bit, and you feel his hand - the one shining with your arousal - brush past your hip before he uses it to wet his cock with one, two, three firm strokes. copious amounts of precum arise from the tip before being pulled down against his flesh with expert downstrokes. your mouth waters as you watch.

“my mouth, lionheart, please?” you finally gain the courage to ask what is on your mind, sitting up on your elbows as you begin to slowly find your strength. your love raises an eyebrow, and not without reason: jeno is a big man, making even you - a literal monarch - feel small at times, and this does not end with his personality or his person: you have never been able to take all of him into your mouth. the ache borders on painful, frankly, and jeno himself refuses to harm you in that way.

“this, now, is about you.” he responds, and your heart cracks as you register that as a ‘no’. still, you speak again. you need him in your mouth, suddenly. it isn’t just a want. something has to anchor you to the here and now, it may as well be the head of his cock, heavy against your tongue.

“what is about me is about you as well,” you respond, and before he can lay his refusal down out flat, you slide onto the floor - warmer than expected - and tuck your heels behind your bare ass. “i need this. please.”

you’re directly in front of him now, face parallel to his strong thighs. jeno strokes up, squeezes tighter just below his frenulum, and you watch, struck, as precum beads at the tip and then splits into two streams, half sliding down his hard dick and the other slowly-but-surely falling to the ground, hardly a quarter of a step from one of your knees.

“give me your hand, then,” your knight murmurs from above you, drawing your gaze from his leaking cock up past the dainty curve of his lip to his hard eyes. “now.”

when you raise your hand up, you only put it up limply, unsure of what he means to do with the limb he’s asked for. your eyes must be swimming with questions, because jeno gives you a hint of a sweet, reassuring smile before allowing his expression to become stoic again… right before he grasps your given hand and straightens it out, gentler than expected from such a great warrior but harsher than he truly ever treats you.

he’s passionate. this demonstrates it.

before you can react, your body following your hand up off of your heels, though only slightly, as he yanks up your hand, jeno leans down and licks up your hand, from the bottom of your palm to the top, all while maintaining eye contact with you. he lets go, though you keep your hand raised, your gaze obviously dumbfounded.

“a dry hand would rub me raw,” he explains, though the smirk that’s tugging at one corner of his mouth shows that he finds your wide-eyed expression at least mildly amusing. “we do not want that, do we?”

it’s amazing how easily he can get you under his thumb when you give out orders that hold his life in the balance on a day-to-day basis. maybe that’s why he finds taking charge in private so easy. maybe it’s his way of evening your dynamic out. even now, as he asks you an innocent question with no hidden meaning or reaction, you find yourself shaking your head along enthusiastically. no, of course you don’t want to rub him raw. of course you and him don’t want that.

you raise the hand now deemed ‘not dry’ up as jeno watches, finally, finally wrapping your hand around it. your thumb and middle finger do not meet, no matter how tight you squeeze. your lover lets out a fulfilled groan at finally feeling a touch other than his own on his hard cock, and it’s a beautiful sound. you want more of it. you want more of him.

as if mesmerized, you lean closer, darting out your tongue to lick experimentally at his slit. he holds his breath, a large hand coming to rest lightly against the back of your head and base of your skull, waiting. you take this as a sign to stretch your lips wider, engulfing the entire tip of his cock in your hot mouth. his grip tightens in your hair, and, in return, you clench around nothing.

as you struggle to take more of jeno in your mouth, you do your best to stroke the rest of his cock with a tight enough grip to make him feel everything, but not tight to the point where you’re hurting him. regardless of how little you can take on your tongue - not your fault, by any means - jeno seems happy, barely able to stop himself from bucking up into the back of your throat. at this point, you’re essentially just warming his cock, so you pull off with a slick pop to look at him with slightly watery eyes. a string of precum and saliva connects your bottom lip and his tip, and when it breaks, you’re acutely aware of the mixture dripping down your chin and onto your nightgown. it’s no matter.

jeno’s thumb runs over your scalp, just above the bottom of your skull. you close your eyes momentarily to take in a deep breath.

“you can force yourself down my throat, you know,” your voice is raspy when you speak, eyes fluttering open almost drearily. “i’m not too delicate for it.”

there’s something simultaneously raw and pure about the way you speak, and jeno recognizes that your headspace has changed, just a little. your need truly is all-encompassing now. he must tread more delicately than usual.

there’s so much love, so much adoration in your wide-eyed gaze. he only wishes to return it with the same intensity and double the care.

“i know, love,” jeno responds, finally moving his hand in order to place two fingers under your chin. he tilts your face up, taking note of the way your eyes run over his tattoo before looking at his chin, then his jaw, then his nose, then his forehead, until, finally, you land on his eyes. you’re a tad bit unfocused, full of need, but that’s okay. you’ll always come back to him. he continues speaking. “you’re so strong. always so strong for me. that’s why you deserve to be rewarded, yes?”

“rewarded?” you’re confused, to say the least, though you do not dislike the direction jeno is suddenly moving towards. he only smiles, gentle and kind and good and yours. all yours.

“on the bed, (name).” he tilts his own head, jutting his chin towards the bed you’d slid off of earlier. you don’t hesitate to follow, pushing yourself up onto your feet and all but scrambling backwards to be seated against the soft mattress. the blankets are all haphazard and the pillows aren’t straight, but that’s the least of your worries right now. jeno gives no other orders, only stepping closer and, without warning, winding his arms underneath your thighs and propelling you backwards, causing you to land, back flat, in the center of your bed.

it had always felt inescapably large when you’d slept in it alone. now, it feels welcoming. safe.

“you’re ready for me, yes?” the tone of voice jeno uses is soft, even as his rough palms push apart your thighs. you nod, murmuring a small ‘yes’ once you realize he’s waiting for you to verbalize your thoughts. this is all jeno needs to climb onto the bed and move in between your spread legs, settling back on his calves as his hands smooth over your hip bones and waist. it’s evident that he’s bent on taking his time with you tonight, likely under the illusion that that is what you want.

it is not what you want. it is most definitely not what you need.

“i need you within me, lionheart,” one of your hands clutches at the sheets beneath you while you stretch the other towards your lover, imploring. “soon. now. please.”

“absolutely impatient,” jeno only chuckles in return, drawing an indignant whine forth from the base of your throat. he looks over your barely covered body once more before finally - almost in slowed motions as if to tease you further - rising up onto his knees. his hands stop moving against your skin, finally circling around the soft meat of your upper thighs. swiftly and fluidly, jeno pulls your body towards his, wrapping your legs around his own waist. his wet cock lies heavy against your pelvis, leaving slick precum against the apex of your thighs and the bottom of your stomach. he smirks. “is this what you wanted?”

the motion of being pulled into your knight had forced the air from your lungs in a surprised yelp, and the feeling of his warm skin - he’s always supplied so much heat, it baffles you to no end - against your own momentarily blanks your mind. jeno repeats his question twice, cocky grin growing with each utterance, before you nod vigorously and sputter out something vaguely affirmative. yes. yes, this is exactly what you wanted, exactly what you want.

you’ve been growing steadily wetter the longer your foreplay had drawn out, but jeno, ever-caring, still pulls back - his cock sliding against your thigh has you moaning - to slip two thick fingers into you, adding a third when he’s absolutely sure that you can take it. in no time at all, you’re grinding your clit against his rough palm, the friction absolutely heavenly. jeno makes no move to stop you, only gently forcing his fingers in deeper.

a fourth finger is added just as your abused clit can’t take anymore, and you spasm on his hand as you fall past the point of no return. your second orgasm of the night washes over you, and you can’t help the muted but harried gasps you let out as your hips buck up, driving your head back into the mattress. jeno draws his fingers out slowly, licking your essence off of them with practiced ease. once your body has calmed down, you can only let out a small whimper, still basking in the intensity you’ve just experienced.

jeno knows your limit, and knows damn well that you haven’t reached it yet. it’s because of this that, even as your walls are still clenching around nothing due to aftershocks that wrack your body, he places the fat head of his cock against your hole and slowly but surely slides in. the hands on your thighs move up to wrap around the sides of your waist, and his grip is bruising as he pushes deeper and deeper. even as he goes at a snail’s pace, you feel as if you’re being pulled apart only to be pieced back together again. you hold your breath.

jeno is halfway in when he realizes you still aren’t quite wet enough. he shifts slightly, carefully moving one of your legs up just a little bit higher, before swiping over your raw clit with a thumb he’s wetted with his own tongue. a moan flies forth from your mouth immediately, and a gush of wetness coats jeno’s cock anew as he circles over your bud with abandon. he’s finally free to surge forward and bury himself within your warm walls without fear of repercussions on your own body… so he does. the breath you’d been holding in is punched out of you, replaced with an honest-to-god wail. tears bud at the corners of your eyes at the stretch, falling as he pulls out almost entirely and slams into you again.

jeno does everything in his life in order to live up to the name you’ve given him: lionheart. he is just and loyal and thoughtful as an advisor, and analytical and fearsome and ruthless as a warrior. sex is where both sides of him meet. it is where he is not just the kingdom’s bravest knight, or the crown’s right-hand man. it is where he is your lionheart, and yours alone, where your souls intertwine at the place your bodies meet.

he notices how your hands come up to reach for him, leaning down so you can place one hand against his heart - against his tattoo - and throw the other one over his other shoulder. jeno’s nose is almost touching yours, though your bodies shift continuously as he keeps drawing back and driving his hips into yours with force.

he never ceases to make you feel full.

your walls grip his cock tightly, amplifying every movement jeno indulges you in. the slide is slick and wet and perfect, but it is not easy. the head of his dick catches on your clenched walls every time he pulls out just to slam back in, forcing you to feel him with everything you have. it’s exactly what you want.

he slows down his thrusting for a moment as he moves forward slightly, leaning closer still as he places one forearm against your head and raises his other hand to fondle your chest over your sheer clothing. somehow, this is no longer enough for you. jeno’s cock is fully sheathed within you as he swipes a thumb over one of your nipples, and the feeling of his skin pushing the cloth against one of your most sensitive areas has you shuddering in a way that causes you to squeeze even tighter around him. his hips stutter slightly, driving him impossibly deeper into you.

“jeno,” you rasp out, tongue heavy and dry. “my pillow. beneath my pillow.”

his eyes go wide as he processes what you’ve just said, his shallow thrusts slowing down. jeno gulps audibly.

“your- love, your dagger?”

“need you to touch me.” you respond, holding his gaze and watching it clear up from confused to comprehending you entirely. he pushes himself up from his forearm to his hand, sliding out of you in the same movement. you whine sadly at the loss of contact, but jeno mutters a good-natured ‘be quiet’ almost immediately.

“you know,” he starts, voice teasing, even as he pulls your dagger - black steel, quillions and hilt encrusted with blue jewels, black tempered glass at the pommel - out from beneath your pillow using the hand that had been fondling you earlier. he moves back down to his prior position, and your breath hitches as he presses the apex of the knife against the collar of your nightgown. “i’m already touching you.”

“more,” you moan out, the end of your word coming out almost breathlessly. one of your hands slides against his tattoo once more, as if feeling the lion will make it roar to life. “touch me more.”

jeno chuckles, albeit darker than he had been earlier, and digs the dagger into the cloth in front of it without any further ado. you hold your breath willfully this time, not wanting to actually nick yourself on the blade, as he moves down your body, cutting the sheer gown open down its direct center. your lionheart dots his lips against your flesh in a trail in his wake, scraping his teeth against your skin as he sees fit.

he leaves a quick, but filthy, kiss against your clit for good measure, eyes lighting up as you attempt to close your legs around his head on impulse, only to have them pushed apart even farther than before by his strong hands. once he gets to the hem of the slip, he throws your dagger somewhere on the stone floor - neither of you pay any heed to where it clatters - and rips it apart with his bare hands, hardly able to bear not feeling you around him for much longer.

before you can do anything or say anything or even think anything at all, your lover surges forward and presses himself back into you with a grunt that sounds almost like a growl. his hands knead at your thighs as he finds his rhythm with ease, pounding into you with practice as if you’re an art medium and he’s a skilled master. he’s everywhere, all around you and inside of you and in the air and in your skin, and it’s all you’ve ever wanted.

“touching - ha - touching you enough now?” he asks, resolve crumbling bit by bit as he fights to keep himself from tumbling over the cliff’s edge before you do. you can’t dignify him with a response, unable to do anything but claw at his back and pin yourself further against his chest as if it’ll make even more room for you in his heart than there already is. he doesn’t need a response, anyways. jeno already knows.

he knows just how close you are, too. just as close as he is. it’s because of this that jeno moves a hand up to curl around your throat just as he circles your clit with two fingers of the other hand, continuing to fuck into you at the same rate as best he can. with a sharp cry and the arching of your back off the bed, you clench around him for one final time before he comes to a halt, barely holding himself up over you as he releases within you with a shuddering, gasping groan.

moments pass, stretching into longer than they typically are. jeno takes care as he slides out of you, climbing onto the bed and flopping down next to you right after. the feeling of his release, sticky and wet against your inner thighs, is unpleasant at best, but you can’t bring yourself to clean up just yet. instead, you turn your head to your side, your nose immediately brushing against jeno’s sternum as you realize that he’s turned his entire body towards your own. he lets out an airy laugh at the sensation, pushing half of the sliced cloth off of your body in order to run a wide open palm down your naked side.

“good?” he speaks first, asking an arbitrary question. ‘good enough to make you forget?’ is what he means, knowing full well that you could never lose thought of what awaits the two of you. the sentiment is what’s important, though, and you let out an agreeable hum as a reply. the sex itself was great, of course. he’s well aware.

“sleep, lionheart,” you say just as silence attempts to cloak the two of you. “we must be ready soon, as it is.”

jeno gives you no response, and you do not require one from him. instead, he pulls you even closer into his chest as if doing so will protect you from the crithagians across your kingdom. his entire world rests between his arms. you are both tired enough that sleep forces your eyelids closed swifter than expected, and as you fall asleep to your lover’s slowed breathing and muted heartbeat, you can’t help but, just this once, allow your worries to slip off your body as your torn nightgown does.

just before the rise of the sun, jeno will have to get out of bed and clean you up as best he can before donning his clothing, his armor, and his cape. you’ll put his helmet upon his head, pull his visor down over his face after sharing a kiss that could be your last. it is always like this. jeno will rouse the army, you will dress and arm yourself, and meet with your own private troops.

as the sun begins to take its place in the morning sky, luckily opposite your gaze, jeno will lead his people into battle, riding his steed far, far from you. you will watch him go, but he will not look back. doing so is unfortunate luck at best. you’ve ingrained this into his mind.

you do not know whether he will be back or not.

you desperately need him to come back.

all of that will happen in due time, but now, you drift to dreamland, safe in the arms of the man you’ve sworn to be with until the end. he tightens his hold around you, and that is how you spend the night before battle, in total comfort and full of love. no matter what tomorrow brings, at least you have this now. at least you will always have this moment.

the lionheart and his liege. your lionheart and his love.

for now, you are at peace in the calm before the storm.

#first #five #tags #dont #work #jeno #jeno smut #jeno fluff #jeno angst #jeno x reader #nct jeno #nct smut #nct fluff #nct angst #nct dream smut #nct dream angst #nct dream fluff #nct dream

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drarrily-we-row-along · 3 years

Text

Day 61: Hurt

With just one look, Draco could tell that Harry's entire body ached.

He was walking slowly, gingerly, holding his body stiffly as though any unexpected jostling might cause more pain. "Oh, love," Draco whispered.

"It's fine," Harry said, glancing up at his words.

"Mmhmm," he hummed. "Are you actually hurt or just sore?"

Harry shook his head as he toed off his trainers, "Just sore."

"Are you hungry?" Draco asked.

The other man shook his head again, "Just tired, love."

He held out a hand and Harry's fingers slid through, "Come on," he murmured, leading him back to the bathroom where he'd already drawn a bath and added meadowsweet, sage, and chamomile.

Harry squeezed his hand, "Am I the last ingredient for your last potion of the night, then?" he teased gently.

Draco rolled his eyes as he helped to strip the other man out of his clothes and Harry sighed, hardly moving as Draco took his clothes off. "Into the tub, menace," he murmured, the tenderness in his voice belying his words.

"I love you," Harry said softly, eyes closed as he leaned against Draco's body for a moment, and the gift of vulnerability that Harry gave him made Draco's eyes sting.

"Come on, darling," he replied, "Into the tub." He helped him ease his body into the water, but Harry still hissed in pain as he settled.

(Read more below the cut)

Draco didn't say anything more, words could wait. He conjured a basin and gently removed the elastic from Harry's hair, letting his curls loose.

"You don't have to," Harry whispered, as though he could ever make Draco do a single thing he didn't want to do.

"I know," he said instead and Harry hummed, eyes sliding shut as Draco slowly combed his fingers through his hair, detangling the knots.

Once the knots were out he carefully washed the other man's hair, using a hair potion he'd made himself infused with chamomile and mint. "I like this one," Harry sighed.

"I know," Draco said, because he did. Harry loved anything that smelled like mint.

They were quiet as Draco washed his hair and Harry let the bath loosen up his muscles, and after a little while Draco said, "Alright, come on," and pressed a kiss to Harry's forehead, "to bed. I made up some of that salve to help you heal."

Harry groaned as he climbed out of the tub and Draco couldn't help but shake his head at the bruises that had risen to the surface of his skin while he was in the tub. Still, Draco held his tongue, he knew from experience that talking about it while Harry was still in pain would only lead to an argument, which was the last thing the other man needed when he was healing.

He helped him to dry off and led him into their bedroom, "Face down first," Draco instructed as he moved to the bureau to collect the jar of salve.

Harry grunted as he climbed onto the bed but did as he was told, and Draco joined him a few moments later and began massaging the balm into Harry's back and shoulders. He worked his way down his body all the way to his feet, watching with satisfaction as the tension drained from his husband's body until he was lying comfortably on the bed.

He presses a kiss to the back of Harry's neck, "Roll over."

With a little groan, Harry did as he was told, flopping gracelessly onto his back and Draco repeated the process, starting at his neck and chest, and working his way down to Harry's feet.

"Better?" he murmured and Harry nodded, eyes still closed. "Good," he said, pulling the blankets up over Harry before stripping himself out of his clothes and crawling in beside him.

In a well practiced ritual by this point, Harry rolled onto his side and Draco curled around him, drawing the other man's body back against his own.

Harry pulled Draco's arm around him a little tighter, bringing Draco's hand up to press a kiss to his knuckles with a sigh.

He was quiet for a long moment, letting Harry relax against him, letting their heartbeats sync up. "How close were you this time?" Draco whispered.

Harry didn't respond for long enough that Draco was debating asking again. "I always hear you," he said.

"That doesn't answer my ques-"

"You're the voice in the back of my mind every time I get sent out on mission," Harry pressed on and Draco fell silent, letting him speak. "And I always hear you telling me to be careful, that my life matters, too," he said, swallowing, "But I didn't get it until today."

Draco waited, brushing his thumb over the scar on Harry's chest.

"It was close," Harry whispered. "Way too close."

Draco's heart turned sideways in his chest, a spike of fear driving through him.

"And all I could think was that it wasn't worth dying for," Harry whispered. "That there are so many things I still want to do with you," he added. "There's so much life that I haven't gotten to live yet, that I've been too busy giving to everyone else to have myself." Harry held Draco's hand tighter, "And it's not fair to you," he said, "And it's not fair to me. We deserve more than this."

He pressed a kiss to Harry's shoulder, hardly daring to believe that he meant what he was saying.

"I'm sorry, Draco," he whispered. "For all that I have put you through, for all of the fear and the pain."

Not sure what to say, he simply squeezed Harry's hand and waited.

"I resigned," Harry managed after a moment. "I got back to the office and I couldn't understand how I had stayed so long."

"Really?" he whispered.

Harry nodded, "Let's take a trip," he said. "Let's go away for a whole month and spend time on beaches and at vineyards; let's stay in beautiful villas and cozy rooms. Let's do everything that I've always promised you we'd do some day." He brought Draco's hand up to his lips and kissed it. "Godric, I've been selfish; I've been so unfair to you."

"It's alright," Draco soothed. "You weren't being selfish."

"I was though," Harry protested. "You're my husband, I'm supposed to love, and cherish, and honor you," he said, "and I've ignored you. How can you ever forgive me?"

"Harry," he said softly, drawing back enough that he could nudge Harry onto his back so he could see his face. "You haven't ignored me. You said it yourself that you always hear my voice in the back of your mind. How could you if you ignored what I said?"

"Yes, but-"

"No buts," Draco said, placing a finger over Harry's lips, "It's my turn," he added. "You weren't ready," he said, "and that was okay. It was hard for me, watching you throw yourself into danger all the time, I won't lie, but I knew who I married."

Harry closed his eyes, face shrouded in shame.

"You are so good, Harry. So selfless. And I knew that when I married you, I love that about you, you know," he added.

A tear slid down Harry's cheek and Draco wiped it away.

"I love you, Harry James Potter-Malfoy," he said softly. "I love you so much that I just want you to love yourself half as much as I do. And for all that you love everyone else, you're not very good at loving yourself."

"I know," he whispered and that was more progress than Draco had ever let himself dream of seeing Harry make.

"Let's start in France," Draco said, letting the rest go; learning to love themselves was a journey they could go on together. Harry opened his eyes and blinked at him. "We own a villa by the ocean, you'll love it," he promised.

"You mean it?"

"Of course I do, love," he murmured, leaning down to press a kiss to Harry's lips. "It's a perfect place to start."

"Okay," Harry breathed.

"Okay," Draco affirmed.

Neither of them were perfect but maybe this was the beginning of learning to love their own imperfections.

----------------

Day 60: Heart | Day 62: Clothes

#100 drarry drabbles in 100 days #love #drarry drabbles #drarry ficlets #tenderness #drarry #healing #husbands #hurt/comfort

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neokogirlrites · 3 years

Text

Pussy eating- BeelxMc

A drawn out moan sounds through the twins bedroom. It all started as a half hearted joke when she came into the room, climbed up on a very confused Beel’s face and sat down while saying in a sing-songy voice, “Here is your meal, Beel.”

She expected him to be shy and blush at her antics, never did she guess he would actually take up her offer, grab her tighs to keep her from escaping and start mouthing at her clothed sex with a low moan.

Now here she was, panties pushed aside, soaking his face with her juices as he made a mess of her with his tongue. Hands pressed into Mc’s thighs, the warmth and sting from them a welcomed sensation as he refuses to let her move, not letting her get relief from anything but his tongue. His tongue drawing tight circles around her clit, hungry eyes peeking up at her as he gorges on her juices. Eyes closing in satisfaction as he takes in the taste and smell of her. He lets out a hum as he opens his mouth wide to suck up all of her juices, the action causes Mc to throw back her head to let out a whimper with curse.

“Please, Beel,” Mc pleads, legs shaking, mouth dropped, hands gripping his hair tightly. She is so close to being pushed over the edge, so close to release, and yet it isn’t enough.

A chuckle comes from below her, mirth shining in his eyes as he looks up at her, “Sorry, Mc, you just taste and smell so good. I could stay down here forever, never getting full, but feeling so satisfied, “He replies before taking a swipe at her soaking sex and pulling a shutter and another wine from her lips as he takes her engorged clit into his lips and sucking harshly.

Beel takes a couple more laps at Mc’s sex, before closing his eyes, diving in deeper and feasting on her wet and throbbing cunt, soft praises tumbling from his lips about how good she taste, making her cletch at the action. A gasp comes from her lips as she feels him insert one of his large fingers, slowly working that spot inside her that sends jolts through her body as he continues drawing tight yet slow circles around her clit with his tongue, pulling and sucking on it occasionally.

Mc let's her head fall back as she leans back to give his fingers more access and a better angle. Her walls tighten around his finger when her eyes fall on his clothed cock, rock hard and slightly thrusting in rhythm with his fingers. A moan coming from below her that makes a warmth pool in her stomach and her walls flutter at the sight of him so hard and needy from just eating her out. Her mouth drops, feeling him insert another finger, before picking up the pace of his ministry, as well as matching his thrust as well. A desperation can be felt from him, the need for relief finally getting to him.

“B-Beel, oh f-fuck,” Mc mouth drops open with a scream, hands grasping and tugging his hair for purchase, her body becoming stiff from being thrown over the edge. Her organism hits her hard, walls squeezing his fingers tightly as she cums all over his fingers and face for Beel to lap up happily. Gazing into each other's eyes as gasp comes from her as she comes down from her high. The sight finally snaps any resolve he has as he grabs her waist and flips her over, setting between her legs and pulling down his shorts just enough to free his throbbing erection.

“I still haven’t had my fill of you just yet,” Beel growls as he presses her legs to her chest, “I hope you're ready for more, baby.”

#obey me #lemon #smut #obey me shall we date #obey me beel x mc #obey me beel smut #obey me beelzebub #OM #Ns/fw #ao3fic #ao3 stuff #read on ao3 #ao3 author #fanfic #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer #kinktober 2021 #kinktober

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sovonight · 3 years

Text

bath

(sith au)

—

Bolts of lightning, white and silvery and raw and angry, clash on Cela’s skin like the skies of Malachor V. They flow down her neck with a fierce elegance, branch out across her back, then dip along her sides to join with faded stretch marks and older plebeian scars. Jaq could never forget his first glimpse of them, and even now this is the first thing his eyes catch on as he enters the refresher. Steam rises in the room, and yet Cela sits in the bath as though wanting for warmth, with her legs drawn up to her chest and her uninjured arm wrapped around them.

Her chin rests upon her knees, and her dark hair falls free. A few locks of it still twist and turn from phantom bindings that echo her usual bun, and drape across the shoulder facing him—where a bandage, clumsily bound, has already begun to unravel, dipping into the heated water.

"You have a kolto tank for a reason, you know," Jaq says.

"I know," Cela says, “This is enough.”

He knows that he should expect nothing more behind her words, but her soft tone leaves room for him to believe that some part of her prefers these quiet sessions with him, the same way he does. Without words, he retrieves the bottle of kolto from the side cabinet, already so used to the action that he knows how to slow the door as he turns away so that it closes without a sound. The bandage comes off easy; he cuts it away from her bruised flesh. He soaks a new one with kolto, cloth wound into a loose pad to serve as a sponge, and presses it to her wound. No flinch from her, not anymore, but he still hears her sharp intake of breath.

"You're really supposed to soak in this," Jaq says. "Or steal from someone."

"Steal?" Cela says, idly; she's talkative today.

"Steal... life," Jaq says, not sure of the actual term, if there is one. "Whatever you Sith call it, when you take what you need from others."

He's seen her draw blood in battle; both with her lightsaber and the Force, both spilling blood and taking it to strengthen herself. He's often wondered why she only does it then, and not now, when she's hurt, and he's right here—healthy, whole—for her to take.

"No," she says, vehement. "Not from you."

"Why, what's wrong with me?"

Does she find his very nature unclean; have all the ways in which he's dirtied his hands for her marked his presence in the Force; has he become less appealing than even the faceless bodies she drains without thought?

"I drain enough from you as it is."

"You mean my attention?" Jaq asks, with a teasing shadow of a smirk. “It’s freely given.” Sharp eyes, of sickly yellow swirled into dead black, lift to meet his.

"...Your time," Cela says. Her gaze dulls; she glances away. "That's long enough. You may leave me to my bath."

With a sound of assent, he gives the padding one last dose of kolto before binding it to her shoulder with proper bandages, winding them across her arm.

"You need to lift your head," Jaq says. "These need to go across your chest, too."

"They haven't had to before," Cela says.

"Yeah, but it's your shoulder this time," Jaq says. "Why do you think your rush job was falling off?"

Cela is silent. If he didn't know better, he'd say that the sliver of her cheek visible from behind the curtain of her hair is now dusted with pink.

"You don't have to hide," Jaq says, "I've seen it all before."

A sharp tilt of the head and her dark eyes meet his.

"I mean, not you," Jaq corrects hastily. "Just in general."

It's only flesh, and he has seen flesh before: marred by blood, marked with cruelty, dull, cold, and dead. This flesh should be no different. They say that among the veterans of Malachor V, the General walked out the deadest, as cold and unfeeling as the dark vacuum of space that yawns out at the edge of the known galaxy.

Still, his heart pounds in his chest, and only the thought that if he messes this up she might never rely on him like this again keeps his more embarrassing thoughts down. Perhaps it's because Jaq has never quite believed that Cela had died so completely there. Here, more than ever, he's aware of the warm blood in her veins; the thrumming power beneath her skin; the emotion that pours from her, that he so often walks in the wake of, the weight of which others find suffocating but that he finds familiar—comforting, even.

Cela lifts her head. She holds out her hand.

"The bandage," she says. "I will bring it around this side for you."

"Right," he says. "Makes sense."

As she takes it from him, helping him wind it as promised, he wishes it didn't make sense. It's not so much about the sight itself, really—he doesn't care as much as his false self claims to about the simple act of seeing her—but he'd thought that they'd grown close enough to.... Well, that they'd grown close.

Close. To the General. He almost scoffs; he doesn't know what he's thinking, anymore.

Moving through habit, he ties the bandage off, and caps the bottle of kolto. He's about to leave his place at her side, when she tugs on the fold of his sleeve.

"Wait," Cela says. "I have one more task for you."

"What is it?" Jaq says. He thinks, realistically, that she'll call on him for another hunt, another victim, or perhaps another obscure order that has something to do with the Force—but she does none of that.

She asks him to wash her hair.

"It is... difficult... with my shoulder," Cela explains, not looking at him, which he's grateful for, because even he doesn't know what kind of mixed-up expression has frozen on his face—but she doesn’t need to see him to hear his silence. "...Jaq?"

"Yeah," Jaq manages, pushing back thoughts of close, close, close, she’s asked this of me, "I'm on it."

"The battle clings to it still," Cela says, lifting a few strands of her hair in distaste. "I'm sorry it's not a more pleasant task."

"Cela," he says, trying not to say that there's little she could do to make herself distasteful to him, and that he hasn't yet found a limit to what he's willing to do for her anyway, "It doesn't matter."

Cela looks him in the eyes, and her gaze softens. He thinks he sees, for the slightest moment, the yellow in her dark irises fading to pure warmth.

"I know," she says. "There is no one else I would let stand in your place."

#sovo writes #sith exile au #jaq: why won't you drain my life force like you do with other guys :( | cela: ......#cela: you're irreplaceable | jaq: she's only saying that bc i'd literally do anything for her

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pascalpanic · 4 years

Note

Okay hi I’m back with an IDEA☄️

So. I’ve been thinking about how stubborn javi would be with his feelings. Like maybe he’s being messing around with this girl and he knows he has feelings for her and she knows it too but both of them are so stubborn so they go out of their way just getting under each other’s skin.

Like imagine they’re at a bar with steve and she’s just flirting around and dancing with guys all the while shooting him bedroom eyes and he’s just there BROODING AND ANGRY n Steve is just like “you guys are so insufferable” UGH

aaaaaaa i love this so much!! here we are:

Always Been Yours (Javier Peña x f!Reader)

Summary: Javier doesn’t take kindly to having his dance partner stolen from him.

W/C: 2.7k

Warnings: language, lots of bad flirting, mentions of sex and sexual topics but nothing too explicit, Javier is his own warning. alcohol and cigarettes.

A/N: ☄️ anon you have done it again!! this was so much fun to write I hope it’s what you were thinking!!

Restraint is one of Javier’s best qualities. He can hold back when he needs to, save his emotions until they’re all too much then channel them out by fucking or drinking them away. He does it often, in fact. Sometimes, that restraint is too strict. Javier never allows himself to relax, never allows himself the luxury of feeling the powerful emotions his mind creates.

This restraint can sometimes transfer over even when Javier doesn’t mean to. He wants to let loose, he really does, but he physically can’t most of the time. Contrary to the men at work who tell him he’s too impulsive, he’s an overthinker. He mentally runs every possible outcome of any situation he’s in. He just picks the more dangerous options sometimes.

Javier holds back his emotions even more when it comes to romance. He sleeps around quite a bit, does what he pleases with whomever he chooses. It’s not because he lacks feelings or attachment, it’s because he fears them both. He knows what he did to Lorraine hurt her immensely. He never wants to hurt someone again, and so he avoids romantic relationships.

He fell for you when he met you. It was as plain and simple as that. When you moved your cardboard box into the desk in the corner of his and Murphy’s bullpen, his eyes were drawn to you. You had such an elegant and beautiful walk, he noticed. Your head was held high, your hips swayed like you were dancing. When you shook his hand, when he felt your soft fingers in his calloused palm, he was fucked.

He flirted with you. Of course he did. That’s how Javier does things. The flirting was subtle and quiet, not loud and brash like he normally was. He told you he loved those earrings, that that blouse was really beautiful. It always tied back to how beautiful you were.

It escalated when he realized you were into him too. You’d flirt back shamelessly, telling him that you wished you were involved with the narcos so that he'd pay more attention to you. He’d shoot back that you weren’t looking right, because his eyes were always trained on you. Steve made a vomiting noise at that and left for more coffee. “You’re just jealous he’s flirting with me and not you, Murphy,” you called out after him. You looked back at Javi with a devilish grin, and he shot one back in return.

That’s how your relationship has been going this time. You’re down hard for Javier, completely entranced by him. When he talks about cases, you have a hard time listening. Your eyes trace his biceps, the way they bulge against the sleeves of his shirt. You make snarky comments just to see the fire in his eyes ignite again.

Javier really wants to ask you out, he does. But he fears it’s unprofessional. He fears that you just want to hook up with him, and he likes you too much to do something like that. He wants you fully, in an all-consuming way.

You really like him, but you fear the same from him. His reputation precedes him, and you know all about Javier’s habits. You know he sleeps with informants to get information in those quiet moments after the work is done. You know he flirts with anything in a skirt around the office, and has slept with a decent number of those women too. Javier is a tornado, tearing through women faster than they can recover. If that’s not enough for him, you know he loves to frequent certain brothels in the area. You notice the sneaking way some of the girls there will grab his arm and murmur something as he walks past, the way he’s far too into it for being on the job. They know him by name sometimes. He knows them too.

As much as you want to be with Javier, you don’t want to be with the womanizer. You want to be with him in the early hours of the morning, want to tighten his tie for him before you walk into work together. You want to make him laugh and want him to stay with you and hold you after the events of the night.

You’re practical though. That’s not really who Javier is. You know that as well as you know the man. You want him in any way you can get him, really. That means you’re willing to just sleep with him. You’d take a night with him over never touching him at all.

Drinks after work are a common occurrence for you, Steve, and Javier. All three of you need the assistance of alcohol to relax after the chaos that is working for the DEA. The two men order beers, and you order a strong cocktail the bar you frequent is known for.

Tonight is a rare night where Connie is out of town. You and Javier, the two single ones, demanded that the three of you absolutely must go to the club. It’s a Friday night, you got off work early for once, and you want to let loose. Steve reluctantly agreed, and now you’re sitting in the backseat while Steve drives you and Javier.

As you enter the club, the music is loud and the bass pounds. You whoop excitedly and wander into the dance floor. Steve and Javier find barstools and sit.

You return after that initial song ends, resting one arm on Javier’s shoulder. They ordered a drink for you, the one they know you love. “Aw, thank you guys,” you coo and rest your head on Steve’s shoulder.

“Jesus Christ, kid. You haven’t even had anything to drink yet and you’re acting like this?” The blonde scoffs and looks down at you.

You frown. “Steve, come on. It’s a Friday night, I’m with my favorite guy, and Javier is here too. How couldn’t I be this happy?”

Javier rolls his eyes at you. “Thanks for that, princesa,” he murmurs as he sips at his whiskey.

The three of you remain at the bar for a while, chatting and laughing. Eventually, a song comes on that you know Javier loves. “Alright, you big buzzkill,” you laugh and grab Javier’s strong bicep. “Come dance with me.”

Javi groans as he stands and sets down his glass. “Fine. Only because you look so good tonight,” he mumbles to you.

Once you reach the floor, his arms wrap around your waist and yours encircle his neck. His hips start moving against yours to the music and you shudder, bare arms prickling in the humid air of the club. You rest your face in the curve of his neck as you dance, both of you moving your feet in perfect time with the other.

He’s a wonderful dancer, you already knew, but something about it is extremely intimate. Your bodies, which have long desired the other’s, are flush against each other. He can feel your tits pressing into his chest and one of your hands slides up into his hair, toying with the waves it finds there. He uses all of the power he physically has to stop the blood from flowing straight to his dick.

“You’re good at this,” you mumble into his ear.

“Only because it’s you I’m dancing with.”

Your time in Javier’s arms doesn’t last long. You dance more separately now, one hand of his still on your waist. It all shifts when another man puts a hand on your hip and turns you his way. “Can I steal you away?” He asks. He’s handsome, dark hair and dark eyes. He’s tall, taller than Javi. You don’t want anyone but your DEA agent, but this presents a wonderful opportunity.

“Of course,” you nod and he twirls you into his arms, wrapping one arm around you and taking one of your hands in his.

Javier watches in disbelief at the ease the man had in taking you from him. You’re now pressed to this random man’s chest, one hand resting over his heart. You giggle at something he murmurs to you and your body is pressed tight against his.

Javier stalks off back to the bar, sitting back down next to Murphy and slamming his whiskey. “Another one,” he calls from the bartender, who has another glass tumbler sitting in front of the man in a matter of seconds.

He watched you from the bar with a growing fire in his eyes. The way your hips moved was like the spinning of a hypnotist’s wheel, drawing him in until he couldn’t look away. You were passed around from man to man, grinning and laughing the entire time. You were having fun, that much was clear, and it almost made Javier feel bad for the jealousy that burned a pit in his stomach. He lights a cigarette to dull the want he feels for you.

Your partner spins you around and you lock eyes with Javier. They’re trained on you, they have been the whole night. You smirk a little before continuing the turn, wrapping yourself into your partner’s chest as he pulls you along across the floor.

Steve rolls his eyes and downs the rest of his beer. “For the love of fuckin’ Christ, Peña. Either quit staring at her like that or go fuckin’ get her from that man.”

Javier glares back at Steve. “Shut the fuck up. You’re supposed to be my wingman, not to fucking yell at me.”

“You need to be yelled at. I am being your wingman. In my professional opinion, as a man who’s fucking married to a woman who played the hard-to-get deal, you need to go show her that you actually do like her or she’s gonna end up going home with that fucker.”

Steve always gives Javier the tough love he needs. He groans as he realizes that Steve is probably right. He needs to go do something now. You lock eyes with him and give him your best teasing smile, your eyes showing everything. You’re having fun, but if Javier comes and stops you, you’d let him do whatever the fuck he wants. “Come get me,” you mouth to the man before resting your head against your partner’s chest, laughing and swaying along with him.

Javier downs his second whiskey and stands. “Fuck it.”

“Atta boy,” Steve laughs and claps him on the back. “I’m telling you now, I’m not driving the two of you home if you’re gonna be making out in the backseat.”

Javier smirks and stubs out his cigarette in an ashtray on the bar. “I live close enough to walk.” He cracks his neck and makes his way out into the rainbow-colored chaos that is the crowded dance floor.

You’re hard to find in a sea of people, all of them twirling and moving. Some women have their heads on their partner’s chest, making it even harder to find you. Javier finds the last man who held you in his arms, the one wearing a green shirt. He’s got someone else now.

Javier is caught by surprise when two arms wrap around his neck and his naturally find their way to rest on the hips of the person: you. “Hey, Peña,” you grin at him, one hand resting on his chest. “Sorry I got pulled away.”

“No you’re fucking not,” the man laughs, moving you along to the music.

“I am,” you refute him, frowning a little. “I wanted to dance with you, but I figured I’d give the other guys a shot. Especially since you’re taking your sweet ass time with me.”

Javier’s eyes darken slightly. “They should’ve realized you’re mine.”

You look up at him, tilting your head and eyes narrowing. “Oh, I’m yours?”

He shakes his head. “We both can tell. You know that, know what’s between us.”

“No clue what you’re talking about.”

“Can I show you, then?” He offers.

You nod, scrunching your nose. “Do your worst, Javi.”

He cups the side of your face with one large hand and kisses you deeply. You gasp in surprise, even though you knew it was coming. It’s warm and perfect, Javier’s strong arms holding you in place.

The rest of the dance floor twirls and moves along, but you and Javier have stopped moving. Your feet are planted firmly to the ground, arms wrapped around him like an anchor point in a sea of people. He kisses you harder and you allow it, kissing him back just as deeply. He tastes like whiskey and you taste like the fruity cocktail you drank earlier. Normally, the two would taste awful combined, but it doesn’t matter because now it tastes like you and Javier and anything with him included is the most delicious thing you’ve ever had the pleasure of gracing your tastebuds.

He breaks away a moment later. “Can I buy you a drink?” He asks teasingly.

“Not if you want me in your bed tonight,” you flirt right back. You can feel the apples of your cheeks warming with a rush of blood from the kiss, from what you’re insinuating, from the alcohol and from the movement on the floor.

“I don’t. I just want you in my arms and maybe on my lips some more.”

You look up at him, truly astounded. “I thought you’d just want to fuck me and be done,” you admit honestly as you push back a strand of dark brown hair that fell into his face while the two of you moved.

“I don’t want that,” he shakes his head still breathless from the kiss. “I want you to be mine. I wanna take my time with you, and yeah I wanna fuck you, but I wanna date you properly and bring you flowers and walk you home late at night, and then I wanna rail you into the mattress so hard all you can feel is me. But that can wait. For now, I just wanna dance with you and tell you that I really like you. Have for a while now.”

You’re grinning ear to ear at his words. “Really?” You ask.

“No,” he deadpans. “I just said all that shit for fun.”

“Your sarcasm is really annoying when I’m trying to be sweet and sincere with you.”

He sighs. “Yes, really, princesa. I just want you to be mine.”

The grin on your face only widens, your heart in your eyes as you look at him. “You don’t need to want it. I’m already yours. Didn’t you say that?” The music changes into a new song, something slower and sultry. “Ooh, I love this one,” you sing to Javi, forcing him along so that the two of you are once again dancing. “I’ve always been yours, Javi,” you admit, your thumb softly tracing the side of his neck from where your hand rests on his shoulder. “Since the moment we met. I really like you.”

“I really like you too, dulzura,” he murmurs and kisses you again. It’s not all-consuming or hot and sloppy like the last one. It’s warm and chaste with only the purest of intentions, Javier’s hands gripping your waist a little softer.

He gets carried away by the way your lips meet his. One of his feet steps on your toes, exposed by the heels you’re wearing. “Fuck,” you cry and wince.

“Oh, shit, I’m so sorry,” he mumbles, instinctually taking a step back from you so that he can’t possibly do it again.

You smile up at him softly as the pain subsides. “It’s alright. Maybe we’ll just need to get you some dancing lessons,” you tease and pull him close again.

You spend the rest of the song like that, slowly swaying along. Javier’s arms wrap around your waist, and he softly kisses the side of your head a few times. Eventually, your head finds its way to his shoulder, where it rests as Javier quietly mumbles the lyrics of the song to you.

He’s not very good at it, and he’d be the first to admit it, but it’s beautiful when he’s soft and quiet. He’s doing it just for you, this quiet act of intimacy. You press a kiss to the skin of his neck when the song ends and he hums a chuckle. “My girl,” he murmurs and kisses you one last time. “Let’s go home.”

taglist:

@remmysbounty @mishasminion360 @softly-sad @blo0dangel @binarydanvvers @sleep-tight1 @apascalrascal @randomness501 @spideysimpossiblegirl @notabotiswear @pedro-pastel @sanchosammy @lv7867

#javier peña x reader #javier peña #javi peña #javi peña x reader #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #narcos fanfic #Narcos #narcos fanfiction #javier peña fanfiction #☄️ anon

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saphirered · 3 years

Note

Hey if you don’t mind could you write just a big fluffy Grog piece where I’m at right now I need me some Goliath cuddles 🖤🤍🖤🤍

Hope this turned out to your liking! 😘

There you are seated at your desk bend over stacks of books and paper scribbling as you go. You’ve been at this for more hours than you can count but you need to get this done. For your own sake because you don’t think you can handle another sleepless night just stuck thinking about this. Best to just get it over with. You’re hyper focused, driven by a lack of sleep. Everything around you as faded into the abyss, the scribbling of pen on paper drowning out the sounds of the world you. If no one comes to fetch you you’ll forget about breakfast, lunch, dinner, what time is it again? Nevermind. You’re almost done. Keep going!

Grog paces back and forth your door at the end of the hallway, book in one hand crumpled piece of paper encasing a feather quill that’s seen much better days. He takes a step closer in the direction of your chambers but refrains from taking another and goes back to pacing. He doesn’t want to disturb you. He knows you’re working on something important but you’ve been cooped up in your chambers for two days now and you haven’t come out to eat anything since lunch the day before. Two days is a long time to go without food and you surely haven’t had any Strongjaw Ale. He doesn’t know how you cope without.

“Hey big guy. Still hasn’t left the room?” Vax comes out of nowhere trying to jump scare the barbarian. Grog, although scared won’t admit it and play like it hadn’t affected him at all. Though, a keen ear could hear the grip on the quill tighten and crack. Unlucky for him Vax’ildan has keen ears. It doesn’t take a genius Vax worries for you too. It’s not healthy behaviour and you desperately need to eat something.

“Why don’t you go get something from the kitchen and bring them some food?” Vax had seen Grog’s pacing and moment of hesitation. He knows better than to play into his affections for you or whatever he’s doing with a book and piece of parchment filled with squiggly lines resembling letters.

“Yes. That is a good idea, I came up with myself but since you mention it, I think we are in agreement.” Grog holds his nose high. He should have thought of that himself but the half elf doesn’t know that, does he? Vax pats his arm. Totally pulled that off!

“Excuse me while I go get some food.” Grog excuses himself with the same attitude of a genius. Or at least a genius in his opinion. If he acts like this is his interpretation of a genius then what does he think you are? Vax doesn’t want to know and instead lets the goliath fetch you some much needed food.

Book and quill sticking out of his pocket, cask of ale under one arm and carrying a plate with a variety of things; mostly meats and things he’d actually seen you enjoy and knows you like. See? He can be a good listener! Grog approaches your door. Now how is he gonna knock? He knows you hate it when people just storm into your room. His arms are full. He’s got legs though. But what if he spills the ale? He’ll just gently bump into the door with his shoulder. Keyword; gently.

You hear a muffled knock on your door but you almost have this equation right! Just a little more. The knock returns a bit louder this time. You can’t snap out of it now! Almost! Another even louder knock more akin to something or someone slamming into your door. Ha! Success! You jump from your seat but are unsure if it’s because of your successful completion of your endeavour or because of the hulking goliath tumbling into your chambers.

Grog shoulder checks the door one more time and yes he’ll admit he might have been a tiny bit too rough as the door bursts open, he falls through. He allows the cask of ale to roll from his grasp and decides to save the plate of food. There you are jumping up from your seat nearly spilling a half drunken goblet but you too save it from spilling. You make eye contact with Grog and you burst out in laughter at the goliath quite literally presenting you a meal on his knees face inches away from the floor preventing a disaster.

“I brought you some food.” Grog states as he slowly gets up. He doesn’t dare look up at you yet both embarrassed and fearing he may have disturbed your work. When you walk around your desk over to him you take the tray from his hands. You nudge his arm, a thing you do to ask him to lean down a little, and when he does kiss his cheek. Immediately the worry disappears and the happy giddy Grog returns. He picks up the cask of ale as you guide him along to your desk and begin to clear the area to make space for the meal Grog brought.

Inspecting the contents presented on the fancy if not oversized platter, you notice they mainly contain meats which leaves you to think dinner but the waffles and fruits throw you off a little. Is this breakfast, lunch or dinner? You don’t know what to think. Grog takes one of the cups, the normal sized one first and fills it with ale presenting it to you. You accept it with a thank you pulling over a seat he could comfortably sit in.

You enjoy your meal, Grog having brought enough you tell him you’re not eating all of this alone so he better join in. You know he’d been eying that chicken, practically drooling. Grog fills you in on all the things you’ve missed in your uninterrupted work days. He may hype up some parts and underrate others, not mention some important things because he thinks they’re unimportant but you appreciate it nonetheless and enjoy the conversation. Grog gets more excited and loves every laugh and response you give hence him exaggerating some things knowing they’ll make you laugh.

Grog had forgotten the book, quill and parchment in his pocket until he adjusted his seating to be more comfortable and heard something creak, or more like crack and something tickle his bare stomach. He suppresses a giggle and you notice. Grog tries to move so the feather can’t tickle him but in doing so he makes it worse; the more he moves the more it tickles his side.

“Grog, is there something you need to share?” You question giving the goliath an opportunity to come clean about what the hell is up with him. You’re half suspecting some kind of prank from Vax or Scanlan to be the cause of this but you must admit you’re surprised when he pulls out a broken quill, crumpled piece of parchment and a book and puts them on the table. Grog looks down hiding his face from you as much as he can. You’re unsure if he’s embarrassed or nervous.

You grab the parchment and begin unfolding it. Grog squeaks quickly pressing his fingers to his lips. You give him a look. Eyes fall upon the parchment and you notice the top half as dwarvish while the second half is common. The lettering isn’t the neatest but it’s readable and has seen some practice. On the back you see everyone’s names written out, most misspelled but it’s clear they’re your names. There’s little drawings with each name some a bit juvenile to where you entertain the thought he might have drawn some inspiration from your satire ‘satyr’ friend… They are actually quite funny.

“Did you do this?” You ask as Grog is midway through eating his own fist in suspense.

“Yes.” It’s the tiniest squeak possible. You don’t know how that sound came out of the goliath’s mouth. You turn it over and return to the writing giving it a closer look.

“It says ‘can you teach me how to read please.’” Grog says awaiting your response.

“Why the sudden interest? I know Pike’s been working on dwarvish with you. Don’t you like her teachings?”

“No. I do. I just…. I’d like to… I want to read this.” Grog grabs the book and you read the title. It’s your favourite. It’s not an obscure story no one’s ever read. It’s a common fairytale collection you grew up with. No matter the age, everyone loves these stories, if anything they grow more interesting with age and the ability to comprehend them better.

“I like you and you like books so maybe if I got better at reading I could help you and you won’t have to spend your time alone working.” Grog admits and it makes your heart melt. You know how hard it is for Grog to read and write and to know he wants to learn more for you, is too much to bear. It makes you a bit emotional. You get up and walk around the desk engulfing the goliath in the biggest hug possible.

“Of course I’ll teach you, Grog. I’d love nothing more.” Happily his arms wrap around you and pull you even closer to where you’re lifted off your feet. You know this is a sign of happiness from the man.

“Really?” He chirps and you nod giving him a kiss to his cheek.

“Of course.” You smile. Grog releases you but sits you down on his lap grabbing the book.

“Can we start now?” He’s excited flipping to a random page in the book. He’s very glad there’s pictures in this one too. You begin explaining the fundamentals of the story hoping that context will make it easier for him to understand. Reading word for word is one thing so you try to make it easier so he doesn’t have to focus on deciphering what he’s reading about just yet and focus on the words.

It takes a good amount of time but you get through the first page. Grog’s aware you could have finished the whole book by the time he finished the first page but you don’t mind and are enjoying teaching him. The smile and kiss you give him ever time he finishes a paragraph makes him feel giddy on the inside. He knows you notice and makes you vow to never tell the others.

#critical role x reader #critrole x reader #vox machina x reader #grog x reader #critical role #vox machina

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true-blue-megamind · 3 years

Text

FAN THEORY SUPPOSITION SUNDAY: The Warden

SPOILER WARNING! It’s still a thing, and, if you haven’t yet, you still need to watch Megamind. (If you have seen it already, however, you need to see it again. Because it’s awesome.)

Yes, yes, the post is three days late this time. Real life has to take priority and such. So sue me. (Don’t really do that. LOL!)

For that same reason—or more accurately because this week has exhausted me—I will attempt to make this post shorter than usual. We’ll see how that goes. My money is on “not well.” LOL.

Anyway, today we’re going to look at a subject that often divides the Megamind fandom: the Warden and his relationship with Megamind. There are several fan theories—I mean, suppositions—surrounding this, but I’m going to be focusing on a few of the main ones.

The first of these is that the Warden was actually a father figure to Megamind when he was young, allowing him to be raised in jail not out of cruelty or disinterest, but because it was the only way to keep him safe from shadowy government agencies that otherwise would have performed all sorts of experiments on the blue alien. This both accounts for why a child would be allowed to grow up in what is clearly a high-security prison for dangerous adult criminals—something that, admittedly, needs some sort of explanation—and fits with widely accepted sci-fi and comic book tropes. (From Area 51 to mysterious “Men in Black” type organizations, fiction is full of government agencies created to study extraterrestrial life and technology.) Some even go so far as to suggest that the Warden may have tried to adopt Megamind officially, but was blocked from doing so by these same entities. On top of this, such an idea also offers room to re-imagine the Warden as a much more interesting, complex, and sympathetic character. Indeed, there has been some excellent fan fiction written about this pseudo-parental relationship.

Art: Fathers And Sons Day by tabbydragon

There is some evidence to support this. The first is that, although the Warden behaves harshly toward Megamind in the “jail-break” scene near the beginning of the film, Megamind himself seems to be trying to engage in a playful exchange: pranking the older man, wishing him a good morning, and even teasing him. While some say that this is simply Megamind’s personality as well as his determination to always appear indominable, others suggest that, perhaps, the blue man is trying to recapture a lost amiability between himself and the prison Warden. It is possible that, when he was younger and less villainous, Megamind might have exchanged friendly jokes and greetings with the man in charge of the jail he called home. It has even been suggested that the Warden is so hard on the blue man at the beginning of the film not because he hates Megamind, but because Megamind’s life choices have hurt and alienated his father figure. This idea finds some support in the facts that, when Megamind leaves jail to confront Titan, the Warden wished him good luck, and at the end of the movie, that same man seems genuinely happy as he watches the television broadcast of his one-time prisoner being named Defender of Metro City. Finally, there is some evidence from the comics which, although not truly considered canon, as I’ve mentioned before, do offer some material for fan theories. In the “episode” entitled Bad Minion! Bad! Megamind runs into the Warden in a bar, and the latter offers the former advice. There is certainly a somewhat fatherly feel to the scene.

The second theory is exactly the opposite: that the Warden either did not care for or outright disliked the former supervillain. Unfortunately, as fun as the Warden/Father Figure concept is, this second, darker idea has far stronger evidence to support it in the film itself. (Try not to hate me, everyone.) These clues range from the obvious to the subtle, but there are quite a few of them to be found.

During the first scene in which we see Warden interact with Megamind, he doesn’t behave like an angry, disappointed father—at least not a good one. He isn’t merely surly toward Megamind; he is absolutely nasty. The Warden verbally condemns the alien, telling him that he’ll “always be a villain,” and essentially steals what he believes is a gift for the blue man, even taunting him by saying: “I think I’ll keep it!” This hardly seems like the actions of someone who once felt any sort of affection for the extraterrestrial. That same portion of the movie holds another clue as well: the screens monitoring Megamind’s brain activity. Indeed, in original concept art for the film, the system appears both more invasive and more nightmarish. It seems that, far from protecting Megamind, the Warden may have actually allowed him to be experimented upon.

Next, there is the newspaper article at the beginning of the title sequence, which bears the headline “Hometown Boy Makes Bad.” It’s hard to see what the paper says, of course, even if you bother to really notice it, but luckily for us Liz (Demishock) wrote a wonderfully thorough blog post which, among other things, provides a transcript of the “news story.” In it, the Warden is quoted as referring to young Megamind as a born villain as well as abnormal.

You don't know this kid. I've watched the little criminal since he was in diapers. This kid is just a bad seed. I've got experienced, hardened criminals in here who are afraid of him - I mean, have you seen the size of his head?… It's not like he's a normal kid… I mean, have you gotten a good look at his gigantic blue head? I don't know where you come from, but where I come it's just not right.

Granted, there seems to be some truth to what the Warden is saying, as the article also mentions that Megamind, who can hardly have been more than seven years old at the time, has basically been put into solitary confinement for the safety of other prisoners following an unnamed incident, adding that the other inmates “refused to point fingers for fear of retaliation.” (This fits with the fan theory that young Megamind would have had to both fight and develop a fearsome reputation in order to protect himself. You can read more about that in the post How Strong is Megamind?) However, the Warden seems to dwell a lot on the fact that Megamind looks alien, and he displays an obvious dislike for the young boy.

Finally, there is evidence hidden in the school scene, although it’s easy to miss. In an amazing two-part video series, Megamind: A City of Deception. YouTuber The Theorizer illustrates several hidden clues about Megamind’s early life and how it it led him to embrace villainy. (I will very likely write another post going into more detail about that at a later date.) One thing that The Theorizer discovered is a seemingly innocuous detail in the background during the popcorn scene. Take a moment to examine the images below. Look closely at the blackboard and you’ll see a paper cut out of a school bus. Look even more closely at that and you’ll find something odd: the bus is full of crayon-drawn children except for one figure: an adult male, riding in the back of the bus, who looks suspiciously like the Warden as he appears at the beginning of the film.

In a movie where so much attention is given to small things—I mean, seriously, the animation team actually went through the trouble to write a news story for a paper that was on the screen less than ten seconds—this cannot possibly be a coincidence. (You can learn more about the artists’ amazing dedication to detail in my post What’s Hidden in the Animation?) Although it is vaguely possible that Megamind, painfully aware of how much his appearance was despised, chose to draw the Warden’s face instead of his own, most fans believe there is a darker reason for this oddity.

Think about it: the Li’l Gifted School for Li’l Gifted Kids is built close by a jail with a strangely similar name: Metro City Prison for the Criminally Gifted. It’s clearly a small academy, yet the only two known aliens in the city—who, by the way, have extremely different social backgrounds—both just happen to attend there. And now the prison warden appears to be somehow involved with the elementary school? It’s bizarre. Add to this the fact that the young alien adopted by a privileged family—a boy who possessed super-strength and laser vision—seemed inclined to be a bully, (as is made obvious by the kickball scene,) and a disturbing fan theory emerges. Adults realized that Wayne Smith, the child who would eventually become Metro Man, might prove dangerous if left unchecked, and came up with a plan to turn him into a hero instead. Wayne was showered with praise, conditioning him to seek public approval, but a superhero needs a nemesis. The strange-looking, unwanted blue boy who’d already been labeled a criminal would have seemed like the obvious choice. If this is true, then Megamind was purposefully, albeit covertly, groomed to become a supervillain from a young age, and the Warden played a major role in doing that.

So there you have it. Two competing fan theories concerning the Warden’s connection with Megamind. Both have some evidence supporting them, and there are fans who are firmly dedicated to one or the other. Which is true? Did the Warden care for Megamind like a son but distance himself when the boy turned to villainy? Or did he judge and despise Megamind but come around to liking him when he finally realized what sort of person the blue man was deep down? The fact is that those questions can be argued for hours on end. No matter which of these suppositions you prefer, however, the mere fact that even a minor supporting character is complex enough to offer room for this debate speaks to the impressive amount of work and devotion that went into creating this amazing animated film.

#Megamind #Megamind movie #Megamind fan theory #fan theory #fan theories #fanon #Warden #the Warden #connection #relationship #relationships

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