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woso-dreamzzz · 19 days

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Finally II

Natalia Guijarro (OC) x Hardersson!Reader

Hardersson x Daughter!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: You get interrupted

You gasp into Talia's mouth as she shoves you up against the door of your apartment.

She grins against your lips, tongue slipping into your mouth as one of her hands holds you by the jaw and the other tight around your hip.

"You're so hot," She whispers, leaning down to graze her teeth against your neck. She relishes in the little whimper you let out when she sucks a hickey into your skin.

You can't quite remember how you got from the bar to your apartment.

Your mind is completely consumed with Natalia as she sucks more insistenyly at your neck.

Your chest rises and falls like you've been doing sprints. You count yourself lucky that Prins has clearly gone to sleep in the spare room because you don't think you'd be able to look him in the eyes while Talia has you pinned against your own door.

Her tongue soothes the hicky she's made on your neck and you force her to unlatch by tugging at her hair, drawing her back so you can connect your lips again.

Somehow, you both end up on your sofa, you perched in her lap and Talia's hands keeping you steady.

"God," She says," Why did we wait to do this?"

You giggle, a very uncharacteristic sound coming from your lips. "Because you prefer me dumb and hot?"

Talia grins. "Oh, yeah." One hand leaves your waist to tug your head back, baring your neck to her. "That."

A frankly embarrassing whine rips from your throat as Talia tugs your hair and connects her lips to your collarbone and you're saved (or damned) by your phone ringing.

Talia disconnects from your neck with a wet pop as you scramble for your phone.

"H-Hello?"

"Why do you sound out of breath?" It's Morsa and your eyes go wide.

You stare at Talia, who just grins below you, one brow raised.

"I...er..." You're not quite sure what to say. "I was just out."

"Running in the middle of the night?" Morsa clicks her tongue. "I've told you before-"

She waffles on for a while and you let out a squeak as Talia rolls her hips under you.

"What was that?"

"Nothing!"

"Pernille!" You can hear Morsa yell. "Your daughter is lying to me again! Tell her to stop lying!"

"I'm not lying!" You say quickly.

"Then let's switch to a videocall."

Your eyes go wide and Talia rolls her hips again. You shove your hand against her chest to get her to stop.

"I...er..."

"Have you got someone there with you, princesse?" It's Momma now. Her tone is teasing and you get the feeling she knows exactly who is with you.

"Er...Yeah...Me and Natalia were just at a bar," You say and Talia grins up at you.

Momma laughs over the phone. "Were you having a bit of fun?"

You groan, leading forward and planting your face in Talia's neck. "Please stop talking."

You can hear Morsa gasp over the phone.

"What?! You were having sex?!"

"Magda, it's not a big deal."

"Not a big deal?! Sex?! Before marriage?!"

"Magda, we regularly have sex. We're not married yet."

"That's different! This is our baby we're talking about! She could end up pregnant!"

"Not unless Natalia has suddenly grown a dick."

There's silence for a moment before you have to tear the phone away from your ear.

"She's sleeping with Natalia?!"

You awkwardly clears your throat. "We're not sleeping together!"

Talia's grin sharpens.

"We're...er..."

"You're?" Momma teases.

"I invited her back because..."

"Because?"

"We were just out on a date, Miss Harder," Talia pipes up sweetly," Y/n invited me back for a coffee."

"Uh-huh." Momma doesn't sound like she believes her.

"I did!" You insist.

"Then why did you sound so out of breath."

"I was..." Your eyes catch movement in the hallway as Prins comes out. His tail wags furiously when he notices you and Talia, jumping up onto the sofa. "Playing around with Prins. I taught him a new trick."

"Sure." You can hear the smile in Momma's voice. "Have fun with your 'date', Princesse."

You groan. "Please stop talking."

#woso x reader #hardersson x reader #pernille harder x reader #pernille harder #magdalena eriksson x reader #magdalena eriksson #woso community #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso #the big adventures universe

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hoony2k · 4 months

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FAN BEHAVIOUR

Heeseung gets a call from cupid at a fan sign.

PAIRING: heeseung x latina! reader

GENRE: fluff, delusional hee

WARNINGS: despacito mention its heeseung what can i do

WORD COUNT: 1018

NOTE: I'm kind of ? about this like this was supposed to be a paragraph or two, I wasn't exactly sure how to represent mc as latina because generalising an entire ethnicity is strange and I didn't want to give reader a certain body type/hair type. But I do hope you enjoy!

requested masterlist

There is a certain system in each fan sign that Heeseung has committed to memory. Around 60 seconds per fan- give or take. If he thinks about it logically then he's bound to encounter fans that don't bias him, small talk and a cheesy smile while teasing them about their bias works unless they have a Heeseung-centric request.

When he meets his fans, he embodies confidence. Slips his fingers into theirs, with permission of course, waves their hands and asks if they've eaten, what song they loved, and gives a genuine compliment. Apart from saying whatever he feels at the moment, he keeps a list of what fans like the most. And no, he does not memorise fan comments like a syllabus-he only scrolls through them.

But for the first time, when you take the seat before him, Heeseung gets tongue-tied. Momentarily, his brain refuses to respond and all he can do is stare at you and the way your eyes crinkle as an exciting "hi!" escapes you.

Mouth dry and tongue no longer functioning, Heeseung prays you can speak Korean. Except your accent declares don't and suddenly he forgets every English lesson he's had with patient teacher Jake. You stare at him expectantly and the slow crease in your brow snaps him back into character.

"Hello," it's far too enthusiastic, to the point where it makes him want to wince externally but your smile is pleased, shoulders no longer tense and Heeseung pats himself on the back for doing a good job.

You hold out your hand sideways, anticipating a brief handshake but Heeseung turns your palm to rest into his larger hand. A small laugh escapes you and then you bring your poster forward for a signature.

His free hand uncaps the marker in a swift motion, he glances at the poster and on purpose signs a bit too close to Jay's hair. On the table, where your hand rests inside him, Heeseung notices the dark blue coating your nails and realises how good blue looks on him.

"Who's your bias?", he attempts to make small talk. His voice doesn't shake this time. Meeting pretty fans isn't new, but meeting pretty fans that make his knees wobble? Not often but Heeseung can't get off the adrenaline rush that occurs when it does.

When you don't answer after a beat, he looks up from the small note he's not too discreetly writing. Your gaze doesn't leave his and the playful tint in your eyes makes him feel things that he shouldn't because as the seconds go by his confidence is diminishing. Heeseung has never been the best at talking to pretty girls.

"Guess", you tease. You lift your palm (and his) and begin to wave it around. Heeseung's ears flush and before he can stutter, he shuts his mouth. It has to be him…right?

"Me?", he bites the bullet, marker tip pointed at himself. You reply with another smile, smaller but much more meaningful, mirthful.

A hand pushed the poster to the side to reveal a small Heeseung posing. Did you have his photocard?

You nod at his question, a bit shy, too subtle but Heeseung notices because he's been staring very closely, trying to memorise this moment with you and him before the staff tells you to move.

Drawing a heart on the back of his photocard and your expectant smile is all he needs to regain his confidence. He needs to make the most out of this experience, especially if he'll never see you again. He gazes back at you, shakes your arm and musters the most charming smile he can, "I'm your bias, Gracias".

He wonders if he should wink or if that would be an overkill. You laugh and squeeze his hand, clearly amused and entertained. A staff taps him on the shoulder, telling him to wrap it up and it pains him to imagine you leave so he continues, speaks far too quickly and jumbles over his words.

"No, no, you're good," you remind him, "I'm attending the concert soon!" He giggles like a school girl and you begin to stack your things as the girl next to you stands from her seat.

Next to his signature on the poster, a note catches your eye.

"You're my star <3" The writing is titled and rushed but still, you bit your lip to protect your heart from jumping out of your chest. Heeseung hasn't stopped admiring you, but he can't seem to meet your eyes as he observes how you quickly tuck a lock behind your ear after reading his note. It was a spontaneous action, who can blame him for falling for a pretty person?

The staff member returns and taps Heeseung on the shoulder, smiles at you and slowly you get up. Unwillingly, Heeseung allows you to pull your fingers out of his grip and he's already missing you. He doesn't need to, but he piles your merch and hands it to you. Another smile is sent his way, fingers intentionally brushing as you take your merch from him.

In those final seconds of the fan sign system, Heeseung commits to something he usually avoids. Commitments are promises, promises that can be fulfilled but their fulfilment is always uncertain. Sometimes things are just out of his control, yet he can't help himself, his body betraying his mind.

"The next time I sing Despacito, it's going to be for you".

His expectant gaze and promise staggers you for a moment, pausing you in the moment. Heeseung waits to hear your voice one more time, a wish to see you again dies on his lips when a large smile breaks on your face.

"I'll remember it", you make another promise and despite not knowing you personally he knows you will never break it.

In the final moments, Heeseung isn't sure if he'll ever see you in the crowd next time, lost in the sea of people. He's not sure if you'll attend another fan sign, if you'll still bias him in a few months but the small secret shared between you two makes him believe that you felt the connection as much as him.

Thank you for reading!

Please do not copy/translate/edit.

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whateveriwant · 3 months

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No thoughts, just Punk!Simon.

Punk!Simon who dresses like he shops exclusively at Hot Topic. We're talking band t-shirts, combat boots, leather anything he can get his hands on. His style is bold, accessories maximized, and his entire wardrobe can be condensed into one of three colors: black, gray, and dark gray.

Punk!Simon who likes to wear lots of jewelry. Thick chains, bulky rings, decorative pins pressed into his jackets. His pieces are mostly silver and always real, none of that fake, turn your skin green shit. Keep him far away from metal detectors because he will set them off.

Punk!Simon who listens to only the grungiest of grunge rock music. Ask him for recommendations and he's spouting off six or seven bands that are so underground they may as well reside in the Earth's mantle. Don't leave him in charge of the playlist when driving together unless you want a bad case of tinnitus for the next four hours.

Punk!Simon who’s tatted up to high heaven. You thought he only had his left sleeve done, until you saw him working out without his shirt on one day. Turns out it doesn't just stop at his shoulder, but continues downward, wrapping around his trunk like vines of black and gray ivy.

Punk!Simon who's sporting more than one set of piercings. You ask him how many he has and (with a smirk) he tells you six, and you try to take a mental tally of the ones you've seen. 1) eyebrow 2) industrial 3) nostril 4) snake bites 5) areolas 6) . . . 6) . . . . . Huh. Where's the sixth?

Punk!Simon who experiments with a little body modification. Not just the normal piercings and tattoos, but things many people would consider to be on the more extreme side. Stretched lobes, sharpened canines, . . . bifurcated tongue? 👀

Punk!Simon who, on an uncharacteristically unmasked day, grabs your attention as you enjoy a round of drinks with friends. One minute you were sitting there, chatting, just minding your business, and the next your gaze was locked onto Simon's tongue as it darted out from in between his plump lips. You tried not to let your eyes linger, but you couldn't help it. You'd never seen something like that before in person. A tongue split right down the center, cut with surgical precision from the looks of it. It had clearly been done on purpose, not an accident or deformity, but you hadn't expected to see it as you watched him lick away a bourbon droplet from the corner of his mouth. As you stare, said mouth then curves slyly, impish, into a grin just shy of wicked. The movement makes your eyes dart upwards, where they meet Simon's, and he's giving you a look that says one thing: Caught you.

With that taunting expression, Simon turns in his seat, plants his elbows on the table, and blocks out the rest of your group as he asks lowly, “Somethin’ the matter, sweet’eart?”

His tone makes you startle, eyes rounding in surprise, mouth fluttering open and closed like a flailing fish. “N-No, I was– I– You– I–”

“Wha's wrong?” His brow furrows, teasing. “Cat got your tongue?”

Oh, the bastard.

But the reminder has your gaze dropping back to his lips unthinkingly, almost like you secretly wish he'll grant you another peek for your sick fascination.

He doesn't, keeps that serpentine tongue tucked within the confines of his jaw, but it's like he can read your mind because his smile curves further, drawing even closer to you as he says, “Curious?”

It's like the rattling of a deadly snake's tail, the way he hisses out the question. It means to warn you of danger ahead, of expert predation, of total and utter annihilation should you let him take a bite.

You drag your eyes back up to his smoky ones, half expecting to find slitted pupils that speak of poison. There isn't, just a mirthful quirk to his brow, and a solitary nod is all you can offer him in return.

“‘S alright.” He tips his chin in encouragement. “Go on, then. Ask.”

Another glance to his lips as you rummage through the dense brush that entangles your brain. Plucking one of the first you find, you ask, “Does it hurt?” eyes moving back to his.

That earns a little chuckle from Simon, an even smaller shake of the head. “Not now that it's healed,” he tells you truthfully, cheek dimpled in amusement. A beat passes, him waiting for another of your questions, and when you don't conjure one up, he jokes, “That it?” Clearly, he expected a barrage.

You take a second, searching for another, then simply, “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why'd you do it?”

Simon raises his shoulder in a shrug. “Dunno. Wanted to do somethin’ fun; different I s’pose,” his reasoning is as carefree as his voice sounds. He leans back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. “Plus, ‘s more useful than you think,” he tacks on at the end, something mischievous glinting in his eye. Deception maybe. Bait definitely.

Useful, he says? You doubt it. Having a second tongue sounds like a burden honestly. You'd have to learn how to talk, eat, and drink all over again, just like when you were a small child. But if he said so, and with such confidence, then it begs the question: “How?”

How is having a second tongue useful?

Throughout your entire conversation, Simon's maintained steady eye contact with you, his focus never faltering from yours. But now, as your brow creases in confusion, Simon breaks away, lids lowering as he gazes down at the floor. He rolls a thought around his head for a moment, that cheeky look still etched into his face. When he huffs an amused breath through his nose, it only deepens his smirk that much more, and then slowly, painfully unrushed, his eyes rake up, up, up your body, until settling on yours once again.

The look he gives you now is dark, a grin like the devil’s as he peers up at you. The tip of his forked tongue pokes out as it makes another swipe across his bottom lip.

No thoughts, except for Punk!Simon who takes you back to his place and shows you just how useful two tongues can be.

#split tongue simon riley my beloved 🖤#simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost cod #cod x reader #call of duty x reader #cod mw2 #call of duty #modern warfare 2

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allfortheslay25 · 3 months

Note

i know you don’t draw them often or that they get a lot of development, but i wanted you to know, i would die for maya and ollie (and milo, but like he’s got a whole fic and stuff so he’s disqualified, but still loved) thank you 🩵

I would say Oliver and Maya both have development but it’s just not to the extent that Milo has because they weren’t made for fics🤔

But I’m so happy yall love them too and I really do want to draw them more I swear

Also here’s a wip I finished quickly for yall cuz of this :)

Oliver is clearly the superior artist because he got the basic shapes of his parents correct; Circle dad and Pencil dad

Milo always signs his name as MJ :)

He also struggles to color inside the lines

Oliver colors like he’s using the blood of his enemies

He also calls both of them dad but he learned their nicknames before he called either of them dad (Oliver really assumed their names were Drew and Rabbit)

Also it’s not obvious but Oliver did not draw them with armbands because his andreil don’t wear them anymore (only when it’s cold cuz scars sometimes ache in bad weather)

Maya has some ocd tendencies because she would have a meltdown if the coloring went outside the lines

Maya also knows to sign her name date and time for her drawings

Some fun facts:

- Oliver likes lavenders (flowers)

- Oliver started off very closed off and shy but as soon as he was comfortable, he was a menace

- Oliver’s birth mother was a drug addict

- Maya likes bitter things

- Maya doesn’t enjoy lots of physical contact unless it’s firm (which is not a problem from the Foxes/Andreil)

- Maya’s favorite cartoon growing up was My Little Pony but she wasn’t very enthusiastic about it

- Milo’s favorite sport (exy is top three) is baseball which he played in high school alongside exy

- Milo likes songs about love

- Milo became obsessed with Lucky Charms after Andrew introduced them to him

#aftg #all for the game #art #doodles #oc #oc art #milo josten #Maya Minyard #Oliver Minyard Josten #andreil #andreil kids #Minyard Josten kids #Minyard Josten siblings #miloverse

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marypaol · 9 days

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Copy Of A Copy

Draco Malfoy x fem!Reader

Summary: Whatever is drawn on your skin shows up on your soulmates skin.

Warnings: Annoyance, Draco being Draco, I honestly can’t think of anything let me know if you see something!

Note: I’ve been planning on writing this for so long and I’m finally doing so! Hope you guys enjoy. :)

Masterlist

Request Requirements

The pale fingers of the Slytherin carefully-but skillfully- chopped the ingredients for the Potion, trying to cut out the conversation of Potter and Weasley. They were clearly trying to keep their voices down but failing to do so due to Draco’s hearing abilities.

It was at that moment he wished he was temporarily deaf, so that he didn’t have to hear the bickering of Potter and wanna-be-Weasley.

“Haha! Look at Seamus, Malfoy.” Crabbe said, his big face scrunching up as his fat finger pointed to the clumsy boy across the room. Draco spared a glance, seeing the boy with a black face, looking into his potion helplessly as the explosion just occurred. Malfoy rolled his eyes, shooting Crabbe a glare before looking back to his task at hand.

But, when he glanced at his hand, he saw little flowers forming, the ink moist as whoever was drawing it was doing it in real time. Petal after petal appeared, forming a decent picture. He grumbled, grabbing the towel Seamus used to wipe his face and aggressively rubbed the skin, terribly smearing the ink on the back of his hand, the flowers mushing together, making it not look so decent anymore.

He flung the towel on the table beside him, and picked up the knife he placed down, going back to his previous actions.

“What now, Malfoy?” Goyle asked. Draco snarled.

“Stupid soulmate drawing on their skin again. Seriously, they can’t draw on a piece of parchment?” He complained, his chops becoming more harsh on the cutting board.

Goyle shrugged. “Unless they’re bored in class. What is it anyway? Little reminders?”

“No, course not! In fact, I’d rather it be that instead of rubbish drawings of dumb flowers! Look at that rubbish,” Draco started, repeating the word he said earlier with a bitter taste growing in his mouth. He showed the two boys what was left of the flowers on his hand. “Honestly, how ugly.”

The two boys agreed, but they had hints of smiles on their faces.

Draco noticed and barked. “What’s so funny, boys?”

The smiles dropped instantly on Goyle’s face but Crabbe still had a teasing glint in his eyes.

“Nothing, just that your soulmate draws on her skin.”

Draco squinted. “And what’s so funny about that? Enlighten me, I’d rather laugh than roll my eyes.”

Goyle shrugged. “Just that she must be doing it in purpose. Ya know, for you to see?”

Draco thought about it for a moment, ignoring the new lines forming on his hand.

“Why would I want to see this?” Draco wondered, irritation brewing inside him. “Especially on my hand, I don’t need it there, it’s annoying really.”

“You know how girls are. She’s desperate, man.” Crabbe jumped in, entering the conversation once he found out Draco wasn’t as upset as he thought.

Draco scoffed. “You know what, you’re right, Crabbe. She’s desperate for me. Doesn’t change the fact that it’s annoying and I don’t want it there.”

Draco then finally looked down at his hand, and this time he saw an eye with shading, the smooth strokes of eyelashes now forming on his skin. Once she was done, Draco saw more stokes forming above the eye, and, wondering what it is, leaned forward to see what she was drawing. It turned out to be an eyebrow, but the way the lines were drawn helped Draco see the direction the hairs were going in, adding detail to the drawing he didn’t know was needed.

He gripped the towel between his finger tips of his other hand, but he felt some sort of guilt eating at his chest for rubbing away such work. But he didn’t want to be walking around with silly eyes and eyebrows on his hand, so with unwanted shame brewing in his chest he rubbed the fabric on the back of his hand, the once was ink smearing, covering his skin in black.

The girl frowned deeply as she watched once more the drawings she made were harshly rubbed away. The ink from her quill was a black blob now once the person was satisfied enough. Satisfied that the pictures were gone.

Her heart sank in her stomach for an unknown reason.

Well, she knew the reason, she just didn’t want to admit to herself that what her soulmate was doing was effecting her in this way.

She shouldn’t be surprised that he rubbed them off; I mean, who wants to walk around the corridors with silly drawings on the back of their hand? She didn’t have a problem with it, but he clearly did.

After the last moment of Lupin’s lecture faded away with the bell she grumbly got up and out her things away, making her way to the bathroom to rub the ink off. (Despite the nonexistent problem with walking around with drawings on herself, she did have a problem with walking around with a big ink smear in their place.)

She bent over the sink, her bag discarded at her feet as she rubbed the skin, forming red marks in their wake. The ink slowly ran down the drain, her heart going down with it.

She wished her soulmate accepted her actions on showing she was there, existing, live and breathing, to assure them that someone out there wanted them. But was he just embarrassed? Did he not want her as much as she thought he did? Did he have an annoyance towards the whole soulmate concept?

She sure hoped not, because her want to show her love was strong, yet the want to receive it was even stronger.

She wanted someone to love.

That loved her right back.

Did he even want that?

“Any drawings today, Malfoy?” Crabbe asked, a soft chuckle escaping his big mouth. Draco snarled at the boy beside him, also glaring at Goyle who was making interesting-meaning quite disgusting- noises while he was eating the feast the house elves provided.

The boy who received the glare quickly composed himself, swallowing the large amount of whatever it was down his throat, a loud gulping sound heard around the table.

Draco glared again.

Finally he turned to the other boy who addressed him earlier and replied reluctantly.

“No. Thank goodness. I’ve been sick and tired of constantly having to distress my skin; honestly, the embarrassment of walking around with a red tomato colored hand.”

Crabbe agreed with a hum, in the middle of chewing. Draco definitely noticed him paying extra attention to the noises he was making, so he didn’t annoy Draco any further.

“Never mind that,” Draco said, pulling through Daily Prophet out of his robes, long pale fingers flipping the pages until he got to the one he wanted.

“Father’s in the paper, as always.” He said proudly, showing the two boys the picture of his father. “Oh! And look!” He added, chuckling madly as he pointed to the same article, the name ‘Arthur Weasley’ printed as it told a story about him.

“Ridiculous, honestly.” Malfoy muttered, shoving the paper to Goyle across the table since he was (according to Draco) taking too long to read it.

“Ugh, Care of Magical Creatures today.” Draco complained, looking at his schedule. “That silly Hagrid, honestly, I swear I’m going to die each time I attend his classes.”

Goyle swallowed again. “Seriously, how many times does he have to bring in a deadly creature that might chop my head off-”

“Well I would certainly enjoy that.” Draco snapped. Goyle’s cheeks turned pink.

“God this place has gone to the dogs.” Draco muttered, stuffing his schedule in his pocket, taking one last gulp of pumpkin juice, and storming out of the Hall, and without question, the two boys followed him.

“‘Ello! Please step dis way,” Hagrid said, large hands clapping together. Draco scoffed but reluctantly followed the orders.

“Taken’ care of- well more of lookin’ at interestin’ creatures today; take a step back now.” He warned. (Malfoy gladly stepped back)

The crates ended up being full of slimy creatures Draco ended up forgetting the name of, too busy trying to keep his fingers attacked to his hands. “Gross, Goyle you do it.” He said, handing the boy the food and watched as his friend gave the creature its supper, hands shaking nervously.

Draco looked around as Goyle did the work, folding his arms as he watched with amusement as the Gryffindors struggled to feed the animals.

He then spotted another Slytherin working alone, the back of her head the only thing visible when it came to her features near her face.

Two small braids were on either side of her head, easily blending with her hair but he could see the twisted strands in the sunlight much easier.

She turned so he saw her profile, and, from what he could see, her eyes were bright but hesitant, a look of disgust on her lips as she fed the creature. As soon as all the food was gone, she instantly dropped the tool she was using to handle the food and grabbed a rag, wiping her hands off even though she didn’t touch it or the animal.

It was then Draco saw it. The small detail on her left hand, as so his.

A patch of distressed skin was there, in the same exact shape as Draco’s. He found himself looking at his own hand, then at hers, and back at his once again to double check.

They matched.

Which means only one thing.

The girl that he’s never seen before, which was white surprising since he often told himself that he knew all the Slytherins, was his soulmate.

What was more surprising though was something much weirder and stranger. And that something was this:

The realization didn’t bother him one bit.

Tag list: @thatonepupkai @squishneon @buttersuaa @bxtchsimp @amayaaaxx @ssailormoonn @redvelvet103 @yasmine12xxx @youreyesareasprettyasstars

Thanks for liking the post! (I will also be tagging y’all in the Harry one- let me know if you changed your mind about it and don’t want to be tagged!) :)

#imagines #stories #x reader #draco lucius malfoy #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy x reader #draco x reader #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #draco malfoy #tom felton x reader #hogwarts #hogwarts imagine #draco imagines #soulmates #soulmates meeting #soulmate trope

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wordsvomit101 · 2 months

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April Fool Interaction

"..."

"… Sir, who are you?" Minhyeok tensely stared at the tall hunk with white hair standing in his room. The guy had two small horns that contrasted clearly with his short white hair, streaked with red, indicating that he was a devil. He wasn't wearing a shirt, exposing his upper half proudly adorned with minor scars and cuts, while his stomach was covered in a bandage. Clad in black attire and white boots with red patterns and belts reminded Minhyeok of the motorcycle gang fashion from Japan in the mid-1900s.

"His eyes are unnerving," they were eye-catching for sure, with black sclera and red irises featuring a cross in the middle of his black pupil, along with unrealistically long red lashes. Unless the other man was a really dedicated cosplayer.

A low chuckle from the devil got his attention back to the possibly dangerous matter at hand. Minhyeok's eyes quickly scanned his room for his baseball bat in case he needed to run or jump out of the nearest window. However, the good-looking home invader's youthful voice gave him a double take.

"Minhyeok! How can you not recognize your best friend Ppyong?!" the devil asked in an arrogant tone, yet still with a childish feel to his speech that was mortifyingly similar to a small red devil he used to talk to.

"… What?"

He wasn't sure if he was sober for this. He was quite sure he hadn't drunk any soju or alcoholic beverage last night when he was out with his friends at university.

"What's with the shocked face? Shouldn't you know it's me from a mile away?!" The handsome devil turned fully to him, his face marked with a boyish pout and a frown, his muscular arms crossed in front of his strong chest.

"… Nope" He wasn't willing to acknowledge this. The imagery between the small perverted red devil from before and this impressive-looking guy was too jarring to even think about.

He was about to close the door to his apartment and maybe take a walk somewhere else before his right arm was seized and dragged inside, with the door closed behind him. His back slammed into the door with a thud, the rugged bandaged arm slamming above his head. The looming presence made him look up to the devil who was currently kabedon-ing him.

"Hey, why are you running away?" Ppyong asked in a lower voice, his red brows now frowning seriously as he looked down upon Minhyeok. Normally, he would be more flustered by this kind of act from more assertive people who had tried to flirt with him before, but the flooding memories of the devil small enough to sit on his shoulder and the restroom incident from last time where the very same red lump kept harassing him for his semen, made this experience more perplexing than ever.

When he didn't answer, Ppyong only lowered his head, closing the distance between them. Minhyeok could scent the lemon caramel from his breath just by the gap alone. Minhyeok turned his head away with a blush, his heart beating uncomfortably loud in his chest.

"Miinnhhyyeeokk~" the devil said his name with a draw. Minhyeok shrunk a bit further, contemplating whether or not it was worth it to kick this fine man away from him.

"Hey! Minhyeok, why are you ignoring this great Ppyong? Did I do something wrong?" When Minhyeok tried to slither away, the white-haired devil only stopped his track with another muscular hand to his left side and a strong knee effectively blocking his other escape path, closing the space between them even further.

"This is bad…" He could feel the heat covering his entire face down to his neck, his palms pathetically sweaty and his grip on his backpack hardened.

He wasn't even hearing the barrage of questions the devil was throwing at him. "Do devils not have the concept of boundaries down there?!" He really wanted to smack away the toned chest and collarbones on his eye level and go outside to cool down from... whatever was happening right now.

That was until he heard a wet sniffle from Ppyong. When he looked up at the devil, tears had already pooled out from his pretty sharp eyes, and snot from his nose. His toned hands were now grabbing Minhyeok's shoulder.

"Minhyeok, you are not dying, are you?! I heard somewhere that humans become more quiet and avoidant when they near death!" The handsome guy opposite him was now yelling, his body trembling with tears and sadness.

"… Excuse me?"

"So you are dying?! NO! You can't die! If you do, who will give Miss Raon human energy?! And who will give me Fererere from now on?! You can't die now!" The devil was now hugging him tightly, and Minhyeok could feel the wetness of tears and disgusting snot on his shoulder and face. For some reason, it reminded him of Raon.

Thinking back to her calmed him down despite the sheer ridiculousness of the situation right now. He should calm Ppyong down first, then get the food, laundry, and his… fluid ready, and maybe chat for a bit before sending the guy back to Hell.

"Ppyong, calm down-"

"That's it! Humans have hospitals, right? Let's get you there before you suddenly drop dead!" Before Minhyeok could register what was happening, he was easily picked up in a princess carry.

"Huh? Wait, Ppyong!-"

With a swift and determined stride and Minhyeok secure in his arms, Ppyong leaped over the apartment railing, his powerful legs propelling him from rooftop to rooftop, his steps unexpectedly light.

As Minhyeok clung to Ppyong's shoulder for dear life, the rush of wind whipped past them, tousling his hair and sending a thrill coursing through his veins. It was as if they were slicing through the night air with effortless grace, defying gravity itself. The sensation was exhilarating, yet tinged with a hint of fear as they soared from one rooftop to the next.

The wind howled in his ears, bearing the faint tang of ozone and the muted roar of distant traffic. Buildings dissolved into a kaleidoscopic blur as they soared through the nocturnal sky. With each leap, Minhyeok's heart pounded in his chest, his breath catching in his throat as he struggled to keep pace with Ppyong's determined strides.

Amidst the chaos of their rooftop escapade, Ppyong's expression was one of grim determination, his features set in a steely resolve as he focused on their journey. There was no laughter or the loud voice of pride now, only the sound of footsteps echoing against the concrete as Ppyong raced against time to reach their destination. The weight of Ppyong's urgency hung heavy in the air, a stark reminder of the 'seriousness' of the situation, which, unfortunately, was a misunderstanding.

Minhyeok's mind raced, a mixture of terror and awe, as he witnessed Ppyong's extraordinary strength and agility. He desperately tried to talk some sense into Ppyong, pleading with him to reconsider their reckless journey. But Ppyong's determination was stubborn as a mule, his focus solely on reaching the hospital in time to save Minhyeok's life from whatever unknown illness he thought the human in his arms had in his mind.

Not having it anymore, Minhyeok shouted, "You stupid idiot! Do you even know where the hospital is?!" The dumb white hair devil even had the gall to look at him in annoyance when he shouted back.

"Of course, this great devil knows! Don't worry, Minhyeok, your best friend will have your life saved no matter what!" That would have sounded genuinely comforting if it was in a different context, but it was another story when Minhyeok was perfectly healthy and the devil was going nowhere near any of the hospitals in the city. He even passed several of them during his wild parkour maneuvering through the urban night.

The irony made Minhyeok question whether to laugh or cry at this point. So he shouted the money-winning question to the himbo carrying him, "Then where is it?!"

"It-…! Where… where are we now?" Now the devil stopped on the roof of a market somewhere in Gangnam-gu and looked around with a worried face. It was a feat beyond human capabilities, really, to be able to run and jump from roof to roof without breaking a sweat, several kilometers away from Minhyeok's apartment, and yet here they were, lost.

Minhyeok massaged his head heavily to ease his headache. Moments like these made him wonder if this was one of the things Raon had to deal with in Hell. If so, then he had to give it to her. He only met one devil, and in less than a day, he already felt drained.

His tired groaning must have affected the devil since he felt a flinch when he looked up. Ppyong's face was marred with guilt and tears, which were about to flow out of his pretty eyes again. It felt like he was looking at a sad puppy rather than a powerful devil. He guessed Ppyong was no different no matter the form he took on.

With habit's ease, he let his hand gently pat the soft white hair to calm the cute guy down. It unexpectedly worked, since Ppyong seemed to melt into his touch with each passing second.

"I'm not dying. I'm just shocked at how different you look, that's all. I'm sorry for not being upfront" Ppyong seemed like he was about to protest, but Minhyeok pressed on.

"Thank you for worrying about my health, but please make sure to ask first before you jump to a conclusion like this" The sad puppy look came back again, and Ppyong mumbled an apology in his youthful voice.

"Sorry, I was too excited and wanted to show you this form, but I was scared that you were hurt somewhere… Things have been rough lately in Gehenna… Will you forgive me?"

Minhyeok could only chuckle at the pleading sad eyes of the devil above him. He could see why Raon took a liking to devils like him. If they were honest like this, then no wonder.

"Can you get us down from here? I need to buy some groceries to make meals for you and Raon anyway. Once we are done, take me back to my apartment and wait for me to get the necessary things ready before you go"

Ppyong smiled brightly at him with an innocent gleam in his eyes, surprising Minhyeok when the devil hugged him tightly in his arms.

"Minhyeok! You're really a great guy, you know that?", he could feel the bulging muscle of the man from their close contact and it only embarrassed Minhyeok further.

"Yes, yes, okay. Now get us down and let me go afterward, okay? Also, button up your coat before we go in," he gave half-hearted slaps to Ppyong's chest, pulled himself away, and averted his eyes from the grinning devil.

"OK! Oh! And can you buy me some snacks too?"

"Sure, and tell me how Raon is doing while we're shopping."

#what in hell is bad #whb #whb minhyeok #whb ppyong #crack fic #crack ship #I have to do this #I can not NOT do this #minhyeok is aware he is bi in this #this is just a crack fic so don't take it too seriously #just a fun scenario I have for them

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levshany · 4 months

Text

how do I put this. Even those who actually track our blogs and are interested in our Aus can get a little confused about what's going on here. but I'll try to explain anyway

we already mentioned the crossover between Anarchists and Tandem and even DRAWED them once, back when Tandem was in development (and by the way, this crossover is canonical for both AUs). Now this story has been continued >:D

Here's some context: It so happened that the Colibri wanted to see what alternative timelines looked like and ran into the king and the jester. Phil was delighted with Colibri and wanted to flirt with them. Jester Collie was categorically against it. so he immediately possessed Phill and tried to fight Tandem. he didn’t succeed because his fusion with Phil is extremely unstable. and here we are

Initially, @angstyhikka and I just drew these three pages, but then @lasymit supported the idea and made a drabble which she allowed me to add to the post :3

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

"Let go, bitch! I'm not done with you yet!"

The savage creature desperately squirmed in Philip’s hands. It grabbed onto him, trying to either break free or, on the contrary, rush closer, glaring furiously and baring its shark teeth.

He held the clumsy, collapsing fusion at arm's length and looked at it with slight disgust. His tandem with the Collector was a strange but harmonious union. And what was writhing in front of them right now was the direct antipode of the word harmony.

“Well, I am,” he said distantly.

And with his other hand he grabbed the one sitting inside the demon’s body. Under the flesh soaked in titan blood, he felt a soft essence, like rubber or hot wax. The Collector from this universe felt completely different to the touch.

He stretched them, pulling them away from each other, disentangling them from each other. Paradoxically, bodies that should repel each other by the nature of their forces, like unipolar magnets, clung to each other very stubbornly. But Philip was still stronger with the power of the Collector in his hands, power which he clearly used better than the local... king of demons...

“Ouuuuch ouuuuch,” a boy in the robes of a jester, painted in red and black, shrank on the ground, wrapping his arms around his own chest.

He was not at all like his Collector. Philip had never seen his friend's material body before. But he knew he looked different. For some reason he knew this for sure.

"Who pulls a guy out like that!? Fuck!!", the now-green demon yelled nearby. And he clutched his head painfully.

What Idiots. They vomited three times while chasing him. Philip did them a favor by stopping this outrage.

Now these two were lying helplessly at his feet, groaning and gasping, trying to catch their breath and come to their senses. Now they are separated.

"What were you trying to achieve?" His question was almost rhetorical.

"It wasn’t me, it was all him!" like a child, pointing a sharp, protruding finger towards the Collector, the demon yelled. "I didn’t want to fight at all!"—here he gazed up at Philip with some strange look and batted his eyelashes expressively—"I wanted something else– something more interesting."

"Ohh fuck off, Maggie! You traitor!" came the shout from the red Collector. Philip silently decided to call him the Jester and the demon, by analogy, the King. Philip had already guessed his name. But he couldn’t bring himself to call this savage by that name. Not even in his mind.

He ignored the King's vague attempts to take a tempting pose while still lying on the ground and grinding his teeth from the headache. He turned to the Jester.

"So you're in charge?"

Judging by King's behavior, it would indeed be reckless to put him in charge. But, having always been the decision-maker when paired with the Collector, by right of being the adult, Philip is accustomed to his friend almost never taking the leading role unless circumstances require it. Like a couple of years ago...

“Nuh-uh,” the Jester raised himself up on his elbow and rubbed his chest, inhaling deeply, greedily. "We're bros! Equal rights and stuff."

And he twirled his funny yellow gloved hand in the air.

Something in the Jester’s words pricked Philip. He didn't fully understand what exactly.. Until the King said, in a dramatic whisper:

"I no longer have a brother. You’re dead to me!"

And Philip stood there, trying to remember that the air was not hard, dense lumps, that it did not clog in the throat and did not press in the chest with a dull phantom pain. Meanwhile these two idiots, after a couple moments of aggressive looks, laughed out loud.

“Yes, I would strangle such a brother,” the King squeezed out, wheezing and squinting through laughter, “with my own-"

And he bent over, swallowing the end of the sentence with a cough as the toe of a boot hit him in the stomach.

"Philip! Philip... They've had enough... He doesn't know what he's talking about."

Philip's cheek twitched.

"Ouch... bro, save me!" the King squeaked hoarsely.

And this completely infuriated Philip. He swung his foot again, this time at the face. But he was met by an elastic wall. And the ground under Colibri’s feet, along with all the space, suddenly curved.

If it weren't for years with the Collector in his head, he wouldn't have realized what happened. But now he clearly saw how a couple of dimensions were distorted, folding space into a loop. He suddenly found himself not between the King and the Jester, but at a considerable distance. And these two were already close together. The boy helped his “brother” get up from the ground; King was now leaning on Jester’s shoulders, clutching his stomach. Perhaps Philip miscalculated his strength a little. This happens sometimes... Especially when it comes to emotions.

“Hey! Hitting people who are down is against the rules,” the Jester frowned. "Give us a timeout!"

Philip felt his jaw tighten. How the nodules rolled across his face. But the flaring rage, as it often happened to him, went away as easily as it filled the air in his chest, leaving reddish streaks before his eyes and pulsating power in his fingertips.

“Get out of the way,” he let his hands glow slightly.

"Ohhhh, what about a last kiss, star boy?" the King whined, clinging to the Jester and trying to straighten up next to him, as if hoping to reach Philip from a distance of ten steps and still get the coveted—

A kiss? Seriously, what the hell? Philip directed a confused, irritated look that bore all these unspoken questions at the Jester. He awkwardly shrugged his sharp shoulders, caught in the King’s grip.

"Don’t be mad... Philip, right? Don't be mad at him, Philip. His Majesty has a reason to be an idiot. And he didn’t mean it out of malice about the ‘brother’ thing.”

Philip looked at the Jester more carefully. The collector in his head was silent. But Philip sensed something from him. Philip also noticed the King’s uncomprehending expression.

“What’s wrong with ‘brother’?” The King sounded surprised.

And then Philip understood. And his face froze.

Yes... yes, what need is there to remember such things? He himself tried to forget for a long time... If he succeeded, would he be the same now as the king in front of him?

Looking at this wretched shell of a “King” who’d forgotten everything important about himself and the loyal “Jester” still standing steadily at his side, the Collector in Philip’s head began to sob. They both, it seems, had the same thought. It’s scary to look at the reflection of a future that never happened.

The jester smiled at him guiltily- at both of them. And then he confidently and widely showed about fifty teeth to his King.

"People don’t like such familiarity, you fool! You can’t just kiss someone the first time you meet."

"But it's okay to fight them when you first meet?" Philip was indignant...

Yes, it's Philip. He cannot refuse to call this man by his own name. Philip himself could one day become such a “king.”

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also @kenku97 helped us with translation and added this comment, I gotta show it to you ;v;

"I thought “The collector in his head sobbed” needed more context for people who aren’t as tightly wrapped up in these AUs as we all are. To understand why Collie’s crying, you need to point out how Tandem Collie sees himself in the Jester. They’re both caring for a Philip who is forgetting himself and the people closest to him. Jester is living out Tandem Collie’s worst fear: what will happen when Philip can’t remember anything anymore? What will become of their friendship? And it’s bittersweet because the King and the Jester are still friends, even though the Jester basically had to start over from the beginning. Jester Collie is quietly carrying all of those memories inside his heart of a friend who has basically disappeared while still learning about and loving the brand new person his friend has become. It’s so sweet and so sad.😭"

that's pretty much all for now It’s hard to return to drawing after the holidays. and this is not even a new art you see, but last year’s. therefore this comic cannot be considered the first work of this year sadly

#Hikka said anarchist fusion looks like Jasper from SU and now I'm thinking about that one ep where Alexandrite and Malachite were fighting #“you to should spent some time apart” ehehehehehee #I love this possession thing #this concept is so fun to play with #tandem au #toh tandem au #anarchist au #toh anarchist au #the king and the jester #phill the demon king #collie the jester #phillip wittebane #toh phillip #toh collector #toh colibri #toh tandem #my art #my comic

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aemondtargaryenonlyfans · 9 months

Text

CHOPPERS.

Part 1 of The Devil You Know

Biker!Aemond Targaryen x fem!Reader

Today felt like the first calm shift you had in weeks… or at least that‘s what you thought until two unexpected guests stepped into Choppers.

WORDS: 3.3 K

WARNINGS: There's just too much testosterone in this chapter, mentions of injuries (cut lip), a bit of swearing, otherwise it‘s harmless

NOTES: Aemond seems a bit soft in this, BUT I can tell that’s not how he’s going to be all the time. Credit for the photo of Tommy with tatts goes to @/eatheruniverse. Dividers made by @firefly-graphics.

King’s Landing was the sort of place where you either had two houses or two jobs, and since you were currently wiping down the counter of Choppers and had no fancy–and ridiculously expensive–motorcycle parked in front of the bar, you clearly belonged to the latter.

The venue was busier than usual with several members of the Savage Dragons filling the tables and bar, and the smell of alcohol, cigarettes and leather hung thick in the air. Old school rock boomed off the jukebox in the corner, and the atmosphere was relaxed, making the shift one of the easiest you had in weeks.

At least that was what you thought until raised voices drew attention to one of the tables closest to the door, a familiar mop of brown hair involved and two other men you hadn’t seen that often before. In times like these, you were grateful to work with Cregan, because wherever that hunk of a man went, every turmoil was smothered within seconds.

When you turned around to meet his eyes from where he was drawing some beers, you merely had to wrinkle your nose with a ‘pretty please?’ leaving your lips to coax him from behind the counter.

“I’ll take care of it,” he sighed, and nodded towards the tap, “Need two more for Alyn and Addam. Could you, please?” Making a swift change, you took his place behind the tap, while he dried off his hands and threw the rag over his broad shoulder, walking around the counter.

“Cole! Lannister!” his deep voice rang out, perfectly audible despite the music still playing, “You fuckin’ know not to start shit on my shift. Get your asses outta here before they meet my foot.“ There had been a few encounters with them before, and each one had been won by Cregan.

Thanks to you working at the bar for quite some time now, your eyes managed to flicker between the scene unfolding in front of you and the tap, making sure not one drop of beer got spilled and the foam head was evenly and neither too thick nor too thin.

Even before Cregan reached their table, the men held their hands up in defeat, getting up to head towards the door.

“What are they even doing here? The posh lifestyle getting too boring?” you looked from Cregan and Jace to your friend Baela. She leaned over the counter, fishing for one of the beers you’d poured. You swatted her hand away, pulling the pints towards the edge of the counter, before crouching down to pull the first aid kit from the cabinet below.

“Well, technically, your father hasn’t banned them from entering the bar,” you noted, raising one eyebrow at her as you slid the kit across the counter toward Cregan so he could tend to the cut on Jace’s lip.

She slumped into the bar stool while you hurried around the counter with both beers in hand, sighing in an exaggerated manner, “Fuck, I know, I’ve been telling him for months now, but he’s not doing it.”

You meandered through the crowd of people and placed the pints in front of the silver haired brothers, walking back to get behind the counter again. “I don’t know what has happened between you, and I really don’t care, but just because your cousins left the gang and started their own doesn’t mean they should be banned,” you said, grabbing a rag to wipe off the tap. “They’re still your family, and the few members of Dracarys that come here have been nothing short of calm–unless they’re provoked by a certain someone.” You shamelessly glanced over to Jace, who just shrugged his shoulders.

“We don’t wanna have them here, and if that’s the only way to make it clear to them, I’ll keep going until they understand. They’re nothing but a bunch of elitist assholes,” the president retorted.

You’re just as elitist as they are, was the comeback you wanted to say but stifled by biting your tongue, because they were the ones kind of taking you in and accepting you in their gang, even though you didn’t own a motorcycle and weren’t a member of their tribe. You enjoyed the company of the Savage Dragons, and you’d been around Baela even before your first shift at Choppers, but they had no idea what it meant to grow up in King’s Landing’s lower class and to work for your money.

You handed Baela a freshly poured beer, throwing the rag over your shoulder in the same manner Cregan did before, who was already nursing a bourbon.

“Didn’t you come by motorcycle?”

“One does no harm,” he said, “besides, there's at least six hours left ‘till closing time.”

“How did I end up here?” you asked rhetorically, and pinched the bridge of your nose. Because you were looking for a new job, and Baela’s father was looking for a waitress.

Cregan smiled in a teasing manner, “Don’t you enjoy being a Dragon, sweetheart?”

You tilted your head to the side as you met his brown eyes, cocking an eyebrow at him. “Just because I work here with you,” you nod in his direction, referring to the cut-off that hung on the knob of the cabinet with various patches of flames and dragons sewn onto it, and their gang’s logo patched on the back, “and occasionally ride shotgun doesn’t mean I’m part of your gang. I don’t own a bike and never will.”

The bull of a man just raised his hands as if he didn’t mean to offend you, though the cheeky smirk he held on his lips made it clear he didn’t hold it against you. “Just teasin’, sugar, we know you aren’t.” Sometimes the nicknames he gave you came so random that they really made you blush, and totally not because you had a little crush on him. Cregan was barely three years older than you, but he somehow had upped his flirting game to the point he just radiated daddy vibes. And you didn’t want to know what he was up to when he wasn’t working or taking his Triumph out for a ride with the Dragons.

Hearing his name being called in the distance, you both looked up to meet the violet eyes of Alyn, who was holding up two fingers while pointing towards the two empty pints standing in front of them. Sometimes you wondered if they just chugged it the second the drinks were served.

“After you,” you mirrored his cheeky grin and extended your arm, pointing towards the tap.

The brunette scoffed and shook his head, but not in a derogatory manner. He trailed past you, while you seized the opportunity to clean some of the glasses that piled up on the countertop.

Jace went back to where some of his men were playing pool, the cut on his lip obvious enough you could still spot it even in the dim light of the bar.

“So, the flame between you two dying out already?” you asked Baela with a softer voice, not wanting to catch Cregan’s attention, lifting your head to look at her. When there didn’t come an answer right away, you pressed on. “Just surprised Creg had to patch him up, that’s all.”

She took a swig of her beer, putting the pint down and slightly bending over the counter to come closer toward you. “He’s just been acting so weird lately. I get that it’s not easy when your parents get a divorce, but everyone saw it coming… even Luke handles it better than he does.”

“Speaking of, where’s he anyways? Haven’t seen him in a while.”

“He’s in Driftmark with Rhae. Gramps needed some help in his workshop, and since dad’s busy with the new bar, Luke offered to drive her and stay there. They should be back by Saturday.”

You had to give it to Rhaena. Even though she didn’t own a motorcycle herself, she was mechanically inclined. Growing up with a father like Daemon, who was obsessed with motorcycles himself, she received all the support she needed on her way, and he taught her most of the things he knew, despite taking a step back from motorcycles and all things involved after their mother Laena got into an accident that nearly killed her.

At this point you just waited for the day she’d storm into Choppers and proclaim that Corlys Velaryon had bequeathed the workshop to her. You hoped for it to happen.

“Does he,” you nodded toward the Savage Dragon’s president, “want to stay with Rhaenrya or does he leave with Harwin?” You stored the glasses away and threw the rag aside, leaning back against the cabinet with your arms folded in front of your chest.

“I’m not sure, to be honest. He plans on buying an apartment in the city,” you raised your eyebrows at that, considering renting an apartment in King’s Landing already was expensive as hell, so, buying one was a whole other level. “And I can totally see Luke moving in with him, though.”

You nodded, and scoffed at the thought of the brothers sharing an apartment, considering Jace more often than not complained about his younger brother getting on his nerves. Perhaps moving out was his chance to get a taste of freedom and independence.

Your response was seized short when the loud chatter of the customers drowned into silence. Having got used to the background noise a long time ago, you picked up on it lacking the second it ceased.

There was a slight commotion at the front door, caused by the crowd of people parting to make place for whoever entered. It was a weird reaction, to say the least. The customers stepped aside when two silver haired men, clad in black jeans and matching leather jackets with a few patches covering the fronts and arms, stepped through the door and headed towards the counter.

You didn’t have to squint your eyes to make out that it was Aegon Targaryen, self proclaimed prince of the city and president of Dracarys. And though everyone kept a respectful distance from them, you knew it wasn’t because of him, but rather because of the much taller man that trailed behind him like his personal bodyguard, his serious expression seeming both domineering and threatening. You hadn’t heard much about Aemond Targaryen before, a total enigma to you, and while the brothers seemed like the epitome of the golden retriever and the black cat personalities, you knew better than to trust the first impression.

Aegon Targaryen was nothing short of ruthless and deceitful, the goofy and gullible demeanor only a mask he put on to fool people until he decided to show his true colors. The only thing that matched was his loyalty and protectiveness, always going the extra mile for his brothers and sister.

The only things you knew about Aemond were that he supposedly wore a sapphire in place of his left eye after he’d lost it in an accident, though the how and when was unknown and his left eye concealed with a black eyepatch, and that he was in no way inferior to Aegon, just as ruthless and if not even hot-tempered and fierce.

At least that’s what you had heard. You still had to experience their outbursts first hand yourself, most of the stories you‘d heard told by members of the Savage Dragons, or rather Jace, Luke and Creg. And sometimes even Baela told one or two stories, however, they never were as derogatory as the ones the others told.

“Now this is a rare visit,” your friend mumbled, glancing over at you with a raised eyebrow as she noticed your attention was solely fixed on them. Not even Jace’s ‘Look who has decided to bless us with their presence’ was able to reclaim your focus.

With every step the pair took toward you, you felt the air being knocked straight out of your lungs, your throat becoming incredibly tight, whereas another sensation built in the pit of your stomach–perhaps even at the apex between your legs. Only when you felt Baela’s hand under your chin, as if she meant to close your mouth–even though it wasn't opened–you figured you had been staring at them a bit too long and a bit too obvious, but something about his striking eye, chiseled jaw and intimidating aura felt alluring to you.

“Cousin,” Aegon’s gravelly voice rang out, acknowledging Baela.

“Aeg,” she said before looking over to the taller Targaryen, nodding. “Aemond.”

The air between them was thick with tension, and it almost made you cringe to the point you had to interfere. “What can I get you?” your voice was a tad more high pitched than usual, and from the corner of your eye you were able to spot the way your friend’s eyebrow raised in a manner that made clear she was judging you.

You tried your best to focus on Aegon, his blonde stubble, the loose curls and lavender eyes dreamy enough to get lost in but not at all enticing enough to outshine his younger brother.

For a split second, you glanced over to Aemond, looming over his brother and Baela, and you were certain you’d caught the hint of a blush covering his pale skin, running down his cheeks and getting lost under his neck tattoos.

“Daemon’s here, sweets?” he drawled, the pet name only topped by the flirty wink he shot you. Goosebumps prickled on your skin, though it had a completely different meaning and got an entirely different reaction from you than it did whenever Cregan called you something similar.

Speaking of, he had abandoned his place at Addam’s table–that man couldn’t do anything else than drinking and chatting while at work, and occasionally threw someone out of the bar–and trailed around the counter to stand behind you, towering over your small frame just like Aemond did with Aegon. “No,” he said coldly. Very unusual for him, you thought.

Instead of looking at the man behind you, Aegon kept his eyes neatly trained on you, a smile on his lips that seemed eerily faked, “Then we’ll have two of his special. Neat.” Daemon’s special, you raised your brows, that meant you had to open one of the ridiculously expensive bottles of Elijah Craig’s 18 year single barrel that were stored in the back just for this occasion.

“I’ll bring it to you, guys,” you said, glancing over your shoulder at Cregan, whose jaw was set to the point you feared for his teeth. Both men nodded and left to occupy one of the tables in the back–the one where two of their men had been expelled from before, to be precise.

“Leave it to me,” you warned, putting a hand on the expanse of his broad chest to make it clear it wasn’t even up to debate. “They haven’t done anything at all and you guys can’t think straight right now.”

While you fetched two tumblers and retrieved the bottle from the back, Baela had left her spot in front of the counter, walking over to the pool table to approach Jace. You supposed it had something to do with the way he held his hands balled to fists at his sides and his eyes all but burning through his uncle’s bodies. If looks could kill, Aegon and Aemond certainly would have perished straight away.

Perhaps she would finally manage to keep his rage at bay and stop him from doing anything stupid. Yet again.

Grabbing a tray, you served the drinks to them before cleaning their table from the remnants of their clan’s escapades, several empty pints and tumblers stacked upon it. It was difficult to keep your cool with both their eyes watching your every move, though the younger one seemed to not be able to tear his eye off your body instead, watching the way your black attire clung to your curves, the hem of your skirt high enough to expose most of your thighs and accentuate your legs.

“Need a hand?” It was Aemond speaking, catching you by surprise as you’d judged him to be more quiet-natured. His voice was just as gravelly as his brother’s, but at the same time smoother, if that even made sense. It crawled under your skin, but this time it was more pleasant.

You flashed him a sheepish smile, and weren’t able to meet his eye for long. “It’s alright,” you said, “I’ve carried a lot more than that.” The nod he returned made him appear just as sheepish as you were, and you were certain that if you’d stay just a minute longer, you wouldn’t be able to leave their table at all.

You were completely oblivious that Aegon’s and Aemond’s eyes weren’t the only ones watching even the slightest move you made, though they all captured a different motive behind them. If it was up to Jace, you would’ve perished with his uncle’s in that moment, and if it was up to the Targaryen brother’s, they would’ve kept you at their table just a bit longer–one wanting your company out of self-interest, while the other one just enjoyed to mess with the other side of the family.

You balanced the tray back to the bar, placing it on the countertop and allowing Cregan to clean the glasses this time around.

He looked utterly ridiculous. A hunk of a man, hunching his shoulders while cleaning a bunch of glasses and staring at the men they loathed with all their hearts for reasons you didn’t even know in the first place.

“You’re still aware I’m leaving early tonight, right?” you asked him, trying to get his mind off the matter at hand. “Or do you want me to stay to make sure everything goes well? Don’t want y’all to rip each other to shreds. It’d suck to clean that up tomorrow.” The chuckle you released was meant to ease the tension, though Cregan wasn’t really having any of it.

“No, it’s fine,” he eventually replied. “Take your time off, you’ve earned it. Need someone to bring you home?”

He half turned to look at you, the slight tilt of his head indicating he’d help you out and probably drive you home himself. “Came by car today,” you retrieved your keys from the back pocket of your denim skirt, dangling them in front of his face. “So, no worries.”

“Alright, have a nice evening,” he hummed, and moved to tend to another customer.

You walked around the corner but stopped once you passed it, turning to face him one last time. “And Cregan?” you asked, catching his attention, “Behave.”

“You know us, Y/N.”

“Exactly.”

Raising his hands in defeat, silently indicating that he’d try to keep his hands clean for the remainder of the night, you moved to approach Baela at the pool table. “I’m done for the night, Bae. See you tomorrow?”

She embraced you in a tight hug. “I’ll hit you up.“

“You’ll hear from me once I’ve cleaned up after you guys… again,” you teased and waved goodbye to everyone standing around the table.

As you passed the table with two of the most attractive men you’ve ever spotted before, a shiver ran up your spine, feeling like liquid fire. You tried to keep your eyes on the ground, not able to get lost in the piercing gaze of Aemond once again, but were forced to take notice of them when Aegon’s voice rang out. “Leaving already, sweets?” You nearly missed the way Aemond elbowed his brother at the mention of the irritating pet name.

Unable to speak, you merely bobbed your head once, heading toward the door. Aemond’s ‘What a shame’ could hardly be heard by anyone other than you and his brother, and it forced a blush onto your cheeks before you hurried out of the bar.

Unbeknownst to you, this wasn’t the last you’ve heard and seen of the seemingly notorious devil.

These are my face-claims for the other (kinda important) characters appearing in this series. Cregan, Baela, Jace and Aegon.

TDYK Taglist: @heimtathurs @croatianprincess @nina2697 @sirenangelroyal @malfoytargaryen @sophie-looks-at-stuff @thetaygaryen @wintrr13 @winter-soldier-101 @kyuupidwrites @boofy1998 @janejenny666 @thekinslayersswordhand @sagelovesreading @jiminie-08 @doublesparrows @at-a-rax-ia @fan-goddess @recorddust @tsujifreya @rhaenyrarp

General Taglist: @watercolorskyy @nothingqueens

Bold means I couldn't tag you.

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blueclownsworld · 2 months

Text

~Drawing your boyfriend Gojo Satoru~

"Stay still", you instructed as you continued sketching Gojo, your boyfriend, on the paper.

You had gotten the idea to draw him when you two were watching tv and you noticed how handsome he looked fresh from shower, wet white hair framing his face.

You decided you just had to draw him, especially since lately you had been practicing your skills on drawing hair. And who would be a better reference than your always so good looking boyfriend?

Literally anyone else than him, you soon figured. Gojo was too restless, constantly changing his position and talking right the moment you tried to sketch his lips.

"Boooring", he whined with pout, as dramatic as always. "Can't you just draw faster or something?"

"I am trying", you sighed and tried to speed up the process, knowing that too much rushing would affect the end result. "Just stay completely still for two minutes. 2 minutes, okay?"

"Fine.." he nodded and then stayed still like you asked to.

You quickly finished the sketch and then spoke "You're free to move now, I can draw the rest even if you're moving — unless you're jumping on the walls or something.."

A mischievous smirk spread on Gojo's face after your words, seems like he took them as a challenge. "And what if I do just that?"

"So you don't want extra kisses?" you asked innocently, knowing that your kisses were his weakness.

Gojo's eyes widened and he quickly answered to you "Ofcourse I do! What kind of question is that??"

"Then don't go running around and jumping on the walls until I finish this, hm?" you raised your eyebrows at him, noticing the defeat on his face.

"Unfair", he complained before listening to you and staying relatively still until you finished the drawing.

"Aaand all done", you announced and he immediately jumped from his seat, eager to see the result.

"Awww, I didn't know I look that handsome", he chuckled, clearly pleased by your art as he stared at it for a good while before asking "Do I get my kisses now?"

"You do, you do", you smiled and pulled him closer to you before starting to leave kisses all over his face, eventually getting to his lips.

And as your lips met with Gojo's, he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you closer to him. You buried your hands in his hair, caressing his scalp and pulling him even closer to you as the kiss continued. You two got lost in the kiss for a good while before needing to pull away to catch your breaths.

"You should draw me more often", Gojo whispered, his breath mixing with yours as he remained close to your face.

"Maybe I will", you smiled before leaning in for another kiss.

author's note: i have actually lately been practising the way i draw hair, i need him as my reference :(

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d34dxr0ses · 1 year

Text

|| Everlasting Ink ||

TattooArtist!Boyfriend!Xavier Thorpe x Fem!Reader -- Summary: You've always been Xavier's muse, inspiring and motivating his work, but right now he wants nothing more than for you to be his canvas for his most recent design. Warnings: MDNI/18+/Tattoo artist Xavier AU/Aged Up characters/Spice/Xavier giving reader a sternum tattoo/Kissing/Pet names (Angel;Babe;My love)/Pinch of Possessive!Xavier A/N: This is the first fic I'll be posting here, so I hope you guys like it! (Also this was written at 1am so apologies for any mistakes)^^

It had been 15 minutes since Xavier started looking at you, still cleaning and sterilizing his tattoo gun, and he has yet to look away. You were reading a book you had picked up from the library before you met up with your boyfriend in his art shed, that was hidden in the woods on Nevermore's campus. Though you were deeply invested in your book, you couldn't shake the feeling of his gaze, so you glanced up to meet his adoring eyes.

"What?" You laughed out, inspecting his face. He looked like a kid who was scared to ask his mom for some candy, but his eyes were much wider (lost in thought, clearly), and his cheeks slightly more red.

"I uh.." He cleared his throat and looked down at the cloth and tool in his hands, that he had been thoroughly wiping every inch for the past several minutes; before continuing "My love, and you can absolutely say no, but well- I finished a design that I've been working on, and I was hoping to tattoo it on you?" He placed his tattoo gun on the desk before quickly rummaging through all his papers before finding his sketch book.

You stood up from where you sat and approached his chair, wrapping your arms around his shoulders from behind as you stared at the drawing he flipped open too. You already knew you would probably have let him the moment he asked in such a sweet tone, but you were stunned by the piece. It was a fairly larger sternum tattoo, that would wrap around your chest and peak in between your boobs. The drawing had such intricate details, and little parts that made it appear that he had designed it just for you. Even the chest model he had drawn matched yours damn near perfectly.

"Xavier.. That's beautiful, I'd be honored to be you canvas." You said the last part in a fake, more proper sounding accent. His eyes lit up and his head snapped back so he was facing you. You could've swore that if he had a tail it would be wagging.

"Wait seriously? Like now? Can we do it now?" You could only imagine how long a piece like this would take, and it was already pretty late, but you had enough caffeinated drinks that you really didn't care, with the look he had stuck on his face you'd probably let him cover every inch of your body in his drawings, hiding your skin away in the ink.

That's where you sat now. Lying on your back, topless and staring at the drawing of your tattoo in his book. Your page. Sure, he had a lot of drawings of you, but this was different. It wasn't your face, your body, your hair. No, this was you. This was something that clearly showed that he took a great look into who you really were. Each line told its own story; then you noticed it, scattered throughout it was letters, unnoticeable unless you were specifically looking for it, letters that spelt out his name. A grin climbed onto your face, as closed the book, setting it on the desk closest to you. You looked down at the boy with long brown hair, who's bangs had now been tied back.

"Your name huh? Claiming me now?" Blood now rushed back to his face. It was a part of the design he had completely forgotten about. A part that he sketched out while thinking about you with his name stained onto your body, showing that you were truly his, and his alone.

"I forgot about that, babe I promise I wouldn't try to tattoo my name on you without perm-" but you cut him off. He was almost frantic, which was cute, but always led to him rambling on nervously for at least 10 minutes.

"I like it, its not like its in bold, neon ink, keep it. Please?" You added the please with a small whine for good measure, to make sure he wouldn't feel bad about it. He just nodded and started prepping you for the stencil.

This was your first tattoo, so you weren't exactly prepared for the cold liquid to be sprayed on your body, but when it was you couldn't help but flinch, which made your usually gentle boyfriend, push down slightly on your chest.

"Angel, I know you've never had this done, but for this I'm gonna need you to stay perfectly still once I get the gun out." His voice was stern and dry, a huge change in pace from the timid boy from a moment ago, but not an unwelcome one. You found it quite attractive the way he could switch back and forth like that. You just nodded, and went back to admiring him at work.

It had been several hours since he started the tattoo, it was decently painful, but at the same time felt really nice. You had finally adjusted to the way he was doing it, when he suddenly lifted the tool and stood up, readjusting himself. You thought he was just stretching after sitting uninterrupted for so long, but instead he moved onto the table where yo were, positioning his knees on either side of your hips, squeezing you gently to keep you in place. How flustered you were must've been clearly shown on your face because, still keeping the machine away from you, he leaned down and kissed you, you could feel his smirk in the kiss. He was loving this. You'd been watching him the entire time, not his work, but his face and body movement, and he knew it. He himself had a hard time keeping his eyes on his art. Your breasts were completely exposed to him, and he loved knowing that he was the only one allowed to see you like this.

He finally broke the kiss, giving you a moment to fix your breathing, and stop moving before returning to the tattoo.

It was nearing sunrise when the tattoo was done and yet you both still felt wide awake. He hadn't moved from his spot straddling your waist since he got there, ,but he did have to pin down your shoulder every so often when it tried to move on it's own. He was surprised that you didn't ask him to stop for a break at all. You were in a trance like state watching his every movement, but at the very least it kept you still. He brought his phone out and took a photo of "the tattoo" He told you, but you knew exactly why he was so precise with his angles.

#xavier thrope imagine #xavier thorpe #xavier x y/n #xavier x you #xavier thorpe x you #xavier thorpe wednesday #wednesday fanfiction #xavier thorpe AU #xavier thorpe x reader #xavier x reader #percy hynes white #wednesday characters x reader #wednesday netflix #xavier thorpe x fem!reader #percy hynes white x reader #minors dni

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ghouljams · 6 months

Note

Hey Ghoul ! I hope you’re doing well.

It’s not really an ask about your writing, but I wanted to know if you had received the last three asks I sent you ? They were about Keegan (maybe demon!AU ? I’m sorry, I don’t really remember), Roach (no specific headcanon idea, just that I loved the way your wrote him and needed to see more of your takes on him) and ghost!Ghost on Halloween (I think it was about how they would spend the night, like with movies or something).

I’m sorry I could not be more specific, I’m a bit scared of sharing my name in asks unless it is about writing about someone’s AU or headcanons, and I actually sent them quite a while ago (the last one was ghost!Ghost, I sent it on Halloween I think - and I think there was one with Fae!Price ?). I feel like Tumblr likes to eat some of the asks I send to people a lot, so I just wanted to make know if this devilish app had been naughty again. Feel free to ignore the ideas mentioned above, this is just about the Naughty Tumblr Check.

Anyway, I’m still melting every time I see a new post from you. Your last AU with Ghost (forgot the name, I’m not familiar with era at all and my memory is poop) is just *chef’s kiss*. I can’t help but think about Ghost having a few drinks and still getting annoyed at all the guys trying to hit on the reader, and just goes to stand in front of her like « I’ll fill your dance quota of the night. Dancefloor. Now. »

And he is not sorry about the broken fan, at all.

Lots of love and inspiration on you, Friend 💚

I have your asks love! I just have 160 asks and a million ideas in my brain all the time. I'm adoring Ghost as a period romance protagonist, what a dashing gentleman he is.

It's strange, you hardly even shiver when his shadow envelops you, though you see your friends clam up tight. The lothario kissing your hand pulls back abruptly and excuses himself. You make a mental note that your escort is good for something, as you turn to face him. He doesn't look happy, but when does he ever. Ghost holds out his hand.

"Dance card," He demands. You place it on his palm and he inspects it. You think you've done rather well for yourself all things considered. All first sons and no one less than a Count. He tugs a short pencil from his breast pocket and scratches it against the card quickly before drawing a neat line. He hands it back to you and takes your hand as you look to see what he's done now.

"Simon Riley" is dragged in tight cursive along the last of your openings.

"This is ridiculous," You tell him, "You can't-"

He tugs you close, his hand firm on the small of your back, and you realize you're already on the dance floor. Huh? What? How did that happen? You glance back at your friends who all look as surprised as you are, and Ghost spins you along with the music. He's a shockingly good dancer, coordinated and strong enough to corral you away from trying to lead. His hand moves over your back, keeping you just on the wrong side of what's proper. Too close. A few older women fan themselves with their eyes narrowed as you glide past.

Not that you notice, you're too busy watching Ghost. His eyes hold yours, challenging you to pull away, to find another partner. His grip on your hand is loose, but the one on your back tells you there's no escape. When the dance is over he lifts your gloved hand to his masked lips and somehow that covered kiss feels warmer than anything bare could ever compete with. You can feel his lips against your hand as clearly as you can see his eyes dropping respectfully. You never want to dance with anyone else.

Which is perfect because he's scratched out half your dance card.

#cod x reader #x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #ghost mw2 #simon riley cod #simon riley #ghost call of duty #ghost cod #f!reader #ghost x f!reader #austenian au #idk w hat to even tag this lmao #I have your asks I don't think my asks get eaten too often #i'm just a dragon hoarding asks

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1000sunnygo · 11 months

Text

The fun thing about long running series is that you can trace a character's narrative evolution in real time.

The Law we saw pre-timeskip clearly aimed for One Piece.

Unless it was an elaborated lie to his crewmates (which I guess is the in-series explanation at the moment), it's safe to assume that his D lineage and self assigned suicidal mission didn't exist as a concept back then. The goal is eventually re-established with a context.

While drawing, I assumed Kidd would become important, but I didn't think LAW would move forward like that. So it's youu?? 😱

Weekly serialization, it's a Wonderland.

Weekly serialization means adding oomph on micro scale. I have a particular theory extrapolated from this statement: Law's introduction in Punk Hazard wasn't planned at all.

It might sound far fetched for how integral Law is to Punk Hazard's plot. But it's not an uncommon event, and not just in One piece. Editors often suggest heavy changes to accommodate strong cliffhangers and quick surprises. Eleven supernova were created because early Shabondy lacked oomph, Law might have appeared in Punk Hazard for the same reason.

Even without Law, the straw hats would've anchored in Dressrosa to save Kanjurou, Zou to reunite with Raizo, and in Wano to escort their friends back home. Law just happened to have something going on in all of these places.

I think both Law and Kidd's post timeskip debut was planned to be in Wano arc. Law's competitive dynamic with Kidd and Luffy in Wano is more consistent with Shabondy than anything that came before.

Doflamingo was initially one of Kaido's strongest allies to be defeated within Wano country (confirmed in volume 98 SBS). It means Dressrosa was entirely different from what we got.

Given the similarity in their Jolly Roger, Oda may have always planned Law to be Doflamingo's ex-subordinate with a complicated history, keeping his and Doflamingo's conflict reserved for Wano. But Law was popular, resourceful and the story needed a boost after a monotonous Fishman Island arc. Thus, Law gets his early screentime that snowballs into a dramatic Dressrosa arc. I'm sure Oda didn't mind.

Tldr, I think this is how it went down: Oda decides that Kidd and Law would return and fight alongside Luffy in Wano -> Punk hazard is written and introduces Kinemon -> Punk Hazard falls bland and editor pesters Oda to bring Law early -> Law appears and proposes an alliance, so the plot is now directly chained to Wano -> Oda realizes ope ope makes a good device to explain Imu's immortality -> Oda makes Law a D as he's now connected to endgame plot.

Even if the theory above is wrong, it's a fact that Law was not a part of the bigger picture but became unexpectedly relevant. To work with him, Oda had to figure the smaller details of his personality slowly as the story progressed; such as his honesty and the suicidal tendency.

Law roped straw hats into his revenge scheme while deep down wanting them to leave Dressrosa safe and unharmed. But Law in the draft for this scene looks more... certain. Maybe Robin wasn't wrong to suspect Law after all.

I guess, by the time Oda actually reached the scene, the shadiness didn't suit his personality anymore. Corazon would not approve.

Wano Law was the best written Law. His personality was fully ironed out, not just the revived rivalry with Luffy-Kidd but also a reluctance to be nice while time and time proving it's mostly just talks. It's a mix of his personality traits that were decided at his very introduction and the later decided improvisations.

This post was getting too big and derailed so I had to cut it short lol. Maybe I'm reaching with my speculations but it was a fun topic to brainstorm about.

Edit: Here's a bit of extension of this theory.

#one piece #one piece manga #trafalgar law #trafalgar d. water law #is it meta or theory #I'm just very sleepy #one piece meta #one piece theory #eiichiro oda #monkey d. luffy #donquixote doflamingo #mine

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igotanidea · 10 months

Text

Bonding: Damian Wayne x sister!reader

Request: from the prompt list : 4: "Didn't know you liked being pinned to the ground this much

Warning: nothing, it;s just fun and fluff, most likely set in the WFA universe.

***

„What happened to you two?” Dick could barely hold back the terror in his voice upon watching his younger siblings. Jason however was not so considerate and straight forward started laughing at Y/N and Damian, the former with the nose swollen and red like a Rudolf and the latter with childish patches all over his forearms.

“Have you two escaped the circus? Sure as hell with such look you would fit there!” he let out a laugh so loud it captured the attention of no one else than Bruce, who became alerted in an instant. It wasn’t usual for Jason to be this happy and chuckling and it was …. suspicious.

Similar to Dick’s, his face dropped upon seeing his kids in such damaged state and just sighed deeply.

“What did you do?” he rubbed his forehead, looking up to the sky probably wondering what mistake did he make (well, the question should have been – what mistake didn’t he make?). Never before had he looked so fatherly, like when Y/N and Damian started their mischief.

Y/N was the middle child, younger than Dick and Jason, but older than Tim and Damian, but Bruce could swear that sometimes she acted like a literal five year old. Especially when any of her brothers started messing up with her things. Especially when Damian did. No one could ever tell what atrocities she could resort to when he grabbed something that wasn’t his.

“It was all his fault!” Y/N cried out, her voice muffled by the swollen nose and she sounded more like a wounded animal rather than a human being.

“I am beyond your level, Y/N and cannot be blamed for…..”

“SIT!” Bruce growled in desperation, but neither of his kids listened. If anything they started bantering even more.

“Not many parental successes on your account, right Bruce?” Jason mocked, but the oldest Wayne didn’t bother answering. Instead he grabbed Damian by the collar and yanked him back and in the air so his feet started dangling above the ground. Luckily Y/N was too tall to do that to her as well.

“This is derogatory” Damian crossed his arms and pouted, the funniest look of her brother making Y/N laugh loudly “put me down, father so I can kick her ass again and….”

“Again?” Bruce eyes focused on his youngest son “what do you mean, again?”

“Nothing!” Y/N chimed in, desperate to keep some kind of secret

“Oh, are you ashamed to admit you got beaten by me in the combat, dear sister?”

“Shut up you little rascal!” Y/N threw herself at him, but this time it was Dick who grabbed her and hold her back

“What did he do?” Grayson asked, knowing well enough how much of a menace Damian could be

“NOTHING!” the boy struggled against his father’s grip

“Who’s afraid to admit what now?!” Y/N smirked at him.

“Ok, that’s it” clearly it was Jason who lost patience first “talk or I’ll draw blood.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” His sister threw him a daring gaze

“Wanna try me, sis? You already got a swollen nose and I can bet that this guy you like…..”

“SHUT UP JASON!”

“wait, there’s a guy?” Bruce was confused “who is he? Why didn’t I met him? How much does he know about us?”

“Not the time, Bruce!”

“LET ME GO DICK!!”

“Sorry, sunshine can’t really do that. Unless you tell us what happened.”

“fine!” she hissed “fine! I’ll tell you!”

An hour ago

“DAMIAN WAYNE!” her voice echoed through the whole Wayne Manor and made the glassed windows shake. Honestly, how could no one in the family of vigilante hear that was beyond her. “you little piece of shit, where the hell are you!?”

“Have you called me sister?” Damian emerged from his room, looking nothing but innocent with the play-pretend smile. But Y/N knew better. She was fairly aware that he was skillful in using that Wayne gene trying to charm people. Too bad his eyes were glistening with mischief.

“You can’t play me, you demon.”

“Did something happened?” he titled his head in curiosity, observing his sister getting more and more angry. Oh, how entertaining it was to see her face get red, her fist clench. Fascinating how girl’s hormones worked.

But clearly, he underestimated Y/N. Yes, she was an emotional young woman surrounded by no less than four brothers, but she was also an adopted Wayne. And the realization of that fact made her calm down. Damian wanted her to get mad. Which meant he had some sort of plan.

“My little, sweet, wonderful, lovely brother.” She quickly changed the method of acting

“Huh?” Damian frowned, still not used to people acting nice towards him. This was…. unexpected. Y/N was clearly cunning and he had to be prepared.

“Tell me, did you happen to see my phone somewhere around?”

“No.” the answer was clearly too fast to be convincing.

“Really?” she smiled and looked over his shoulder inside his room. The perks of being taller and seeing more. “Then what is lying there on your desk?”

“That’s mine.”

“Damian…..” her voice became serious, her posture tensing “give it back to me. Now.”

“No.” he crossed arms, mimicking her position. Oh, they were both preparing for a fight, neither even beginning to consider the option of relenting. “does father know about your little crush?”

“YOU WERE READING MY TEXTS?!!?”

“Do you even realize in how much danger you put us because of your silly little….”

“AH!!” he did not get to finish the sentence when she went at him taking him by surprise. However, not enough of a surprise that he didn’t manage to step back. Instead of pining him to the ground she tripped and dashed into his room, immediately reaching towards the bed to grab her mobile, but Damian grabbed her arm and yanked her back.

“You little rascal!” she yelled, when they started a real Batman-style fight. “It’s mine!”

“it’s a violation of the rules!” he spat back “we’re not supposed to be in a relationship with civilians!”

“what would you know about relationships?!” Y/N blocked his punch, turning around and tripping him up. “you were raised by freaking assassins!”

“How bad we don’t get to choose family, right?” he hissed, falling on his back on the ground but immediately getting up and attacking her again.

Y/N was good, skilled and intuitive, but Damian was smaller and maybe a bit faster and that’s why she did not see it coming when he glanced off the mattress and landed on her back, trying to tackle her to the ground

“GET OFF ME!” she yelled trying to untangle his arms from her neck

“Not a chance!”

They were struggling so hard that at one point this fight moved towards the corridor and with just one wrong step they started falling down the stairs, still doing their best to damage one another. Damian was pulling at Y/N hair, while she covered his eyes in an attempt to blind him. It took a few minutes of weltering, grunting and dapping before they ended up at the base of the stairs.

“Auch…..” they both moaned in unison, their bones and bones already bruised and damaged. It really did hurt.

“HAHA! I won!” Damian yelled as he realized that the position in which they landed allowed him to sit on top of her sister, his weight holding her down.

“Get off me you idiot…..” she whined trying to push him away, but not succeeding at all.

“Didn't know you liked being pinned to the ground this much, Y/N” Damian laughed at her poor, week attempt to get rid of him.

“AH!” she cried out again and started waving her hands at him, Damian instantly started the same and now they were laying on the floor, with him still on top of her, acting like toddlers and emitting battle cries.

“MASTER DAMIAN! MISS Y/N!”

Shit.

Alfred.

The butler just sighed deeply, too used to many very strange views and behaviors around the manor. Too many to care and ask questions.

“Please get up from the floor. Miss Y/N, your nose is bleeding and as for you, Master Damian you got bloody scratches all over your arms.”

“Sorry Alfred.” They followed every word Alfred said to them and stood beside him with their heads hanging low.

“Let’s patch you two up.” Alfred motioned them towards the living room, gathering medical supplied on the way.

Now.

“And he gave you a animal shaped patch!” Jason laughed so hard he had to grab his belly, almost rolling of the couch

“Didn’t you hear a word, Jace? He took her phone! She had every right to be angry and act irrational…” Dick took his sister’s site

“Hm.” Bruce grunted

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but good job on being stealthy” Jason chucked towards Damian “normally it would be Tim to try and do such thing.”

“Are you taking his side now?” Y/N’s eyes went wide “I can’t believe….. ah!” sudden outburst made her nose bleed even more and she held the nearby cloth tighter to the bruised part of her face. “mhmmmhmhm” she mumbled grumpily

“Hm” Bruce grunted again

“Aren’t you gonna say something?” Dick turned towards his father in a bit of shock. Normally Bruce would be the one to punish them both for disobeying the rules of the Manor but now he was just sitting on the couch, his mind wondering elsewhere.

“no.”

“What?!” four pair of surprised eyes landed on him in pure disbelief of how he acted.

“Wouldn’t make any difference. Another day another fight. Just…. apologize to each other. I’m going to the batcave. Dick, Jason come with me.”

“The hell I’m going to ….” Jason started but the look in Bruce eyes made him relent. And that was how Y/N and Damian ended up alone in the living room, sitting next to each other, eyes on the floor.

“Does it hurt much?” he asked

“Not much more than yesterday. I’ll be fine. “ she shrugged like nothing happened “Do you think they know?”

“About what? Our secret plan to make them all crazy and take over the manor?”

“Pretty much, yes.”

“Not sure. Might need some more observation on the matter.”

“So….. we do it again tomorrow?” she smirked

“Oh, absolutely” he smiled back at her, eyes sparkling. It was always fun to fight with her.

“Then can I have my phone back?”

“Sure, I’ve seen all there was to see. “

“I hate you, Damian.” Y/N grinned looking at him

“I hate you too, sis.” He replied with a smirk

And just like that, they bumped their fists. All was good between them.

****

Meanwhile, Tim was hidden in the batcave, glued to the computer, not realizing anything of the events happening upstairs. He only raised his head once he heard Bruce, Dick and Jason entering.

“Did they do it again?” he asked seeing Bruce’s harrowed face, being enough of an answer “Ha! Life never gets boring with those two troublemakers around!”

#damian wayne x reader #damian wayne x batsis #damian wayne x you #batfamily x batsis #batboys x batsis

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suzukiblu · 4 months

Text

WIP excerpt for Lottie; a pocketful of Kons.

Bruce went to make a call and Dick went to call off work, because Tim getting a Pocket of not-Superman is concerning and going to require some all-hands-on-deck Bat-investigation, and Alfred went to get lunch started, because he’s a better man than any of them and a true hero to the people.

And Tim is currently sitting in the cave with a Pocket who still refuses to take off the cape, and since it's no masks in the manor, he's kind of stuck down here for now.

He wonders who this guy actually is, because while there are plenty of people out there who can shapeshift or whatever, a Pocket is supposed to reflect who they actually are. It's incredibly, incredibly rare for a Pocket to shapeshift at all, in fact, unless they're from a society or species where it's common from birth. Like–Martian Pockets shapeshift, apparently.

Do they show up shapeshifted, though? And then stay that way? Because that part–that part seems weird. Like, definitely weird.

Tim actually didn't even know he liked guys, but he hasn't even had time to deal with that weird internal realization because the specific guy that showed up is Superman. Like, not actually Superman, according to Bruce, and Bruce is usually right about these things, but . . .

Well, then who is he?

“You don’t make any sense,” Tim says, eyeing his Pocket. “Why do you look like Superman?”

“Rob!” his Pocket chirps happily, grinning up at him from his seat at the Pocket-sized tea table with a Pocket-sized plate of Alfred’s Pocket-sized cookies and a Pocket-sized rack of Pocket-sized clothes he is Pocket-sized ignoring. He doesn’t seem to like the tea and absolutely hates the clothes, but he definitely likes the cookies.

Tim probably should hurry up and name him, if only because he clearly does care about names and Tim doesn't want to upset him again. But also, it’s making him crazy to have a mystery right here and be completely unable to solve it. It’s not as if he can question a Pocket, especially not a brand-new one that only knows his name and his codename, and there’s not exactly any evidence to follow or anything, so . . .

So he doesn’t know, exactly.

Maybe he should just focus on what’s in front of him right now. Name his Pocket, get him settled in, talk him into some glasses. Maybe find him some more cookies, if the opportunity arises.

He just–doesn’t know what to do long-term here, he guesses. Taking home a full-grown adult Pocket isn’t exactly going to thrill his dad, for starters, especially because said adult is a man and Tim didn’t even know he wasn’t straight, much less ever tell him he wasn’t straight. And that’s ignoring how badly getting his Pocket out of the cape is going. And he just . . . he doesn’t know.

“I don’t even know what to name you,” he groans. “I don’t know who you are. I was supposed to know who my Pocket came from before I had to name them!”

His Pocket frowns, looking hurt. Tim immediately feels like an asshole. A Pocket turning up before you meet your soulmate is supposed to be a good thing, he knows. That’s what everybody says. It means the bond’s going to be stronger.

At least Superman he’s actually met a couple times. He knows absolutely nothing about whoever his Pocket actually is.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he tries, still feeling like an asshole. “I just–I don’t even know what you’re like. I want to think of a good name for you."

His Pocket looks a little mollified, but still smaller and quieter than he was acting before. Tim’s not sure if that’s because he sucks at this or because Bruce and Dick and Alfred are gone and he has fewer people to show off for. Whoever his Pocket is, they’re definitely a show-off. Just–very definitely.

Opposites attract, Tim guesses. The only time he shows off is when he’s trying to draw fire or provide a distraction.

He really expected to get to know his soulmate for a while before a Pocket ever showed up, assuming he ever got a Pocket at all. Probably a pretty long while, given how bad he is at getting close to people. A Pocket showing up out of nowhere before he’s even met the person they came from, when he has no idea who that person even is . . .

Well, that’s not something he’s planned for. Or been ready for. Or . . .

He wonders how close they’re going to be, if his Pocket showed up this early. Even if he walked upstairs right now and found his soulmate delivering a package at the door or something, which seems unlikely, it’s just–early.

Tim doesn’t know why he’d get a soulmate bond that strong. Like–why would he?

People don’t like him enough to have a bond like that with him.

“Sorry,” he mutters, and looks away from the Pocket of someone who doesn’t even know him yet, much less care that he exists.

“Rob?” his Pocket says, sounding concerned. Tim feels like an idiot and just–tries to concentrate on thinking of names. “S” ones, maybe. “S” is a place to start, no matter who his Pocket actually is. His best operating theory right now is Supergirl, actually, because she does have shapeshifting powers, doesn’t she? And also some identity issues, according to Bruce. And showing up as Superman actually might make sense for a Pocket that’d come from her, given she was partially based off him when she was created, so maybe . . .

“What about ‘Shift’ or ‘Shape’?” he suggests, looking back to his Pocket, who immediately makes a face at both ideas. “Alright, gonna take that as a no. Um . . . ‘Steel’? ‘Synapse’? I don’t know, ‘Stunt’?”

His Pocket keeps fucking pulling stunts, so it’s tempting, anyway. Or . . . her personality? If he/she is Supergirl, he means.

Does Supergirl actually have a gender identity, come to think? Is that a thing for shapeshifting protoplasmic lifeforms?

Hm. Worth looking into, maybe.

Tim’s Pocket looks considering about “Stunt”, but Tim’s interrupted from gauging his (or her) full reaction by Dick coming back down the stairs. He’s not in costume anymore, and has Red’s wheelchair cupped in one hand and Star floating over his opposite shoulder. Tim’s Pocket doesn’t seem interested in Dick’s arrival, but he chirps excitedly at the sight of Red and Star. Red clicks back and Star croons, flying over to hug him. He grins delightedly and hugs her back, nuzzling into her ridiculous amount of hair until he practically disappears in it.

“Any luck on the name?” Dick asks as he sets Red down next to the table and she wheels over to Tim’s Pocket too and punches him lightly in the hip before getting a hug of her own.

“He’s taking ‘Stunt’ under consideration, I think, though all things considered maybe I should’ve gone with ‘Stud’,” Tim says dryly, watching his Pocket take far too much pleasure in trying to hug Star and Red both at once while they avoid actually touching each other.

“Oh, buddy,” Dick says with absolute pity as Tim’s Pocket lights up in absolute glee.

“. . . fuck,” Tim realizes in dread, putting a hand over his face. Dick just pats his shoulder sympathetically.

“Rob! Tim! Tim-Rob!” his Pocket crows happily, abandoning Star and Red to zip over to him and hug him instead. Or try to, anyway. Mostly he ends up smushed against his face and chattering in thrilled Pocket talk as he tries to pull Tim’s hand down. Tim refuses to let him. He’s not going to acknowledge this problem. He’s going to ignore this problem. This problem does not exist as long as he’s safe behind his hand.

Unfortunately, Stud has super-strength, so that’s kind of a doomed effort there.

Tim has no idea how he’s supposed to explain this to Bruce.

#lottie #wip: a pocketful of kons #long post

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