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kneelingshadowsalome · 8 months

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FATUM NOS IUNGEBIT 1/4

(König x F!Reader)

Summary: You have seen him in your dreams. The seer has divined his coming. But nothing has prepared you for witnessing him in the flesh. (Historical AU where König fights for the Roman Empire in an auxiliary unit, finds a cute barbarian woman and decides to keep her as his own.) Word count: 5.3 k Tags/warnings: 18+ ONLY. Spoils of war/enemies to lovers trope, graphic depictions of violence, historical gruesomeness, pining, odd banter, mixed feelings, romantic fluff, dubcon cuddling, eventual smut. Captor/captive dynamic. König is a brutal warrior... and a gentle giant. A/N: Lol what now? König dual wields 2 swords, goes Mike Tyson on his enemies, teaches his captive girl constellations in German, cuddles her and feeds her grapes, buuut mainly just tries to get into her pants (which historically did not exist at the time) A bit of a slow burn, but don't worry, they'll bang eventually ^^

AD 90, somewhere in the untamed frontiers of the Roman Empire…

The end of the world is here.

Not only have the crops failed for two years in a row, making chieftains beggars and beggars food for the fish, but now there are rumours that the god of war has arrived to destroy the land. The accursed Romans had turned their eagle gaze back to your land after years of sending their troops elsewhere, making it seem like they were not interested in your distant land after all. Untamed, they called it, harsh and barren and therefore inferior – your lush, abundant, beautiful land. No doubt they spat on it in their war councils because your roads were not paved, because your crops and villages were modest, and the women sometimes fought alongside men. Their storytellers immortalized false tales about you, calling you barbarians, but the only barbarians you could think of were the Romans themselves – crude, filthy and boorish creatures, drowning in wine and shit in their cities.

Rumours started to get fat and distressed when the troops approached your village. They said there was a giant at the head of the army, that the Romans followed a Titan's son who loved to eat men, torture women and impale children. They said he didn't accept proper food but preferred to eat his fallen enemies, washed his weapons with the blood of children, and split captured women apart with his cock, as long and sharp as his sword. They told that the Titan ordered his soldiers to poison the wells and destroy the growing crops with salt and vinegar. The rumours said that his tent was bigger than any chieftain's house and that he still struggled to stand at full height inside it.

Even the land itself seemed to bow before him. Good weather followed his conquest wherever he went; ambushes failed, scouts got caught and tortured, exposing more villages to pillage and ruin. Your brother told you to flee the village, but how could you survive without your clansmen? You didn't know how to hunt; you barely knew how to fish. Your task in the village was to gather clams from the shore, dye wool and help the old Seer. How long could you survive on sorrels and clams alone?

. . .

The old woman calls you to see her on the brink of war, and tells you to prepare for a ceremonial offering. Two horses, black as night if possible, brown at the very least, to appease the Great Mother of the Earth and quench her thirst for blood. If the Mother is satisfied with your offering, She will perhaps stop the approaching army or convince the Titan to leave your village alone.

She does a small rite before you, and you need to stay with her through her visions. You hate the smell of the leaves she burns, and try to cover your nose with your tunic to prevent breathing in the bitter fumes. The seer looks like she’s just lying herself down to sleep, but it’s always a burden when the spirits arrive and she starts to talk. You turn your back on her to coax them to rise: a mortal stare annoys the chthonic ones. You nearly fall asleep too as you wait, wanting nothing more than to go back to your own hut and have a good night’s sleep. Perhaps because you’re lousy tonight, and less vigilant as you should be, the spirits arrive sooner than either of you thought.

“He’s strong,” the seer croaks from the earthen bed, and you fight the urge to turn around and peek at the old woman, currently in the clutches of spirits.

“Invincible… Hungry... The horses…won’t suffice…”

She drifts someplace else, and you try to memorize every word, every intonation, as cryptic or as simple as they are, for later interpretation.

“I see you,” she says in a slightly more cheerful tone, which is odd because the old woman is never happy or satisfied, no matter how bright the sun shines or how much food there is in the storages and pits.

“Me?” You dare to speak even though you’re not allowed to disturb the spirits. You could slap yourself for blurting out a single word, but luckily, the hungry ones don’t attack you for your insolence.

“You.. will be his downfall,” she speaks as if you are having a conversation here. “Be there. When he arrives.”

“...Be there? Why?” You dare to utter again, more concerned about what the Mother implies than the potential fury of some lowly earthen spirits. You haven’t got the faintest clue about what She might be suggesting. Why do you have to participate in the battle? How can you be there without getting killed? You’re not a warrior… The Mother has it all wrong.

Suddenly, you curse the night, you curse the whole day, knowing your brother’s late proposal was perhaps a warning, a hint from the gods to leave, and leave quickly.

The old woman laughs dryly on the ground - the throaty, outright sick cackle makes you flinch.

You don’t like this... You don’t like this at all.

“Mother. What must I do?” You demand to know, thinking about how all the gods, spirits, old women, and Titans should go to hell.

“Become a tree,” the old woman offers as if it’s the easiest thing to do. “A flower. Me...”

. . .

You become a marten first, then a bird. Then perhaps a tree.

You climb a spruce and wait there. You wait until the sunrise; you wait until noon. You wait until you see the glint of the Roman spearheads and hear the sound of their march.

You’ve dreamed of the Titan ever since you left the seer’s hut. You’ve dreamed of him slaying everyone in the village; you’ve dreamed of him driving a thick spear into the ground and grabbing you with an intent to raise you into the air and impale you on it. You’ve dreamed of him behind you, above you, inside you. You wake up one morning only to see that half of the people have left. You don’t know where they have gone, and you can’t follow them even if you did because the old woman waits for you in front of her hut and gives you a nod the instant you walk into another beautiful, sunny day.

That’s why you’ve turned into a branch in a tree, but for what purpose, you have no idea. You can’t understand why you must be here to witness the world’s end.

Your men scream and shout and roar as they crash into the thick forest of spears. The enemy is silent: it’s eerie, how the world burns and falls into ruin around you, people are screaming; everyone who has a soul and a heart is screaming for Mother as they die, but the men behind the Roman shields refuse to emit a sound. They don’t curse or shout or summon their gods; they simply stand their ground and pant mist into the air as wave after wave of men break on their shields and die before their feet. Somebody loses his spear because it gets stuck between your clansman’s ribs, but the Roman simply draws his sword in its stead: it’s the only sound among the pitched wails that cut through the forest – the cold, clear ring of a gladius being pulled from its sheath.

That is why you flinch at the sound of the first shout, a brutish command that sends all the shields to the side, only to present more shields: the Romans switch positions in their formation as if they’re not even human beings like the rest of you, just a single enormous creature made of iron and leather and bone, operating it's flat forest of weapons.

And then you see him: the giant of your dreams, the hungry titan everyone has told you about. He rises from the tide of helmets like a summoned god, concealed as one of the soldiers and only now revealing his true nature. He stands at least two heads taller than the rest, pushes his own soldiers to the side and breaks out of the formation these vicious Romans love so much. You knew he would be strong and big, but you didn't know he refused to show his face… You wonder what kind of a monster hides behind the black cloth with nothing but two eye holes ripped on it. As if this man needed the additional effort to stand out from other soldiers...

He's like a God of War, just like the survivors said: his armour is of Roman design, but the amount of metal that had to be scraped together to cover this man's shoulders and chest must've demanded a fortune in gold. He doesn't seem to care about the Roman ways, however: he throws his shield away as soon as he's out of the cumbersome formation as if he has carried it only as a decoration up until this point. He draws another sword in its stead – if any other man did such a stupid thing, traded his shield for a weapon, you would snort. But not now.

Standing between the Romans and your clansmen like a challenge, a threat, a deity, even the men possessed by the seer's blood spells hesitate to approach him. But when they do, the god unleashes carnage: the first warrior gets his stomach slashed open, and the two thick swords look like toothpicks when wielded by this man. A stomach wound is a gruesome, slow way to die - but just before the warrior's entrails spill to dangle between his feet, the brute grants him mercy by sweeping his head off with a single blow of his gladius.

A roar finally rises from your enemy: they cheer Death on as the head of your neighbour meets the mud next. The soil is already soaked in blood, but the Mother is hungry still. The forest booms with Her bloodlust as the god moves around like a slow tempest of muscle, metal and darkness: he breaks every Roman rule by fighting as his own man instead of demeaning himself as one of them, a lowly part of this odd metal beast before you. He sends a limb flying in the air with a swing of a sword; he uses the same weapon as a bludgeon to bash in someone's skull. He crushes a man's chest simply by sinking down onto one knee, breaking bone, tendon and flesh to splinters as a whole ribcage gets crushed under his massive weight.

Warriors flee before him, they fall under the combined wrath of the Mother and the Titan's sword. The dead seem to fall eternally, along with your heart, before meeting the ground with a hollow thud.

Your chieftain is among the last men standing, meeting this unstoppable foe with admirable courage. Not having succumbed to the spells of bloodlust in years, he meets his death as a seasoned but old warrior. With his fighting years behind him, your chief doesn't have a chance against this man, but you have to grant the beast a feather's worth of honour, because he recognizes your chieftain as the veteran he is and salutes him with his sword. Then he proceeds with the bloodbath: flinging your leader's sword and axe easily to the side, he walks straight into his arms like he would into a hug, grabs him by the waist, and raises him into the air like he's nothing but a child.

Your scream never leaves your lungs as you watch how the Titan raises the draping cloth from his face, just enough to sink his teeth into your beloved chieftain’s neck. The noise that erupts from your elder is not that of a man but a tortured animal. It’s not from this world, what you witness next: the giant tears a hunk of flesh from your chief like he’s a piece of roasted meat. Blood streams forth, his screams fade away all too slowly, and you hear your own weak wail in the air as the Titan lets go of the heap that used to be a strong male and a wise leader.

Your chieftain is dead; his essence spills to the earth in spurts to appease the God of War, who spits blood and flesh to the ground, making you gag into the cold spring air.

Then he raises his swords towards the sun, and the forest erupts into a roar with him: the thundering, ear-splitting cheer from his warriors makes the very earth quake beneath your tree. It seems to shake the branches of the forest, and before you know it, the giant’s howl of triumph breaks the one you’re curled around, and you fall, fall, fall into the mud beneath you.

You're not a tree anymore. No: you’re very much a human woman there in the dirt as the sound of shouting ceases like a distant dream.

And he turns.

Death turns.

Mother always said you were a curious creature, which is perhaps why you search for his eyes, even though you should be running. She also said you were a smart one, which is why you know that running is futile. Your limbs wouldn’t carry you far anyway. It is a cruel joke from the gods to have what little strength you have left pour out of you into the ground and up to the feet of the enemy who is already strong, both in body and in will.

The Titan looks at you with genuine wonder, a curiosity that surpasses your own. To your odd thrill, you find that his eyes are blue: the same blue of the sea which you used to collect delicious clams from.

The soldiers behind him shift with lust – their gear clinks as they devour you with unbridled hunger. The Titan is the only one who looks at you like you’re simply a cute little squirrel who happened to fall from a tree right there at his feet. Then his eyes drop to your breasts, and the familiar hunger that lives in men gives the ocean of his eyes a clouded look. When his stare finds yours again, he's a different man: the treacherous beast of your dreams.

You had hoped for a swift death… Violent but quick. But it’s clear that it’s not death he has in store for you as he takes a step towards you. It’s not a quick nor a slow death; it’s not death at all, because–

No.

You’d rather have your arms torn off and fed to the Romans rather than have him thrust the sword between his legs, his third weapon, inside you. If you’re going to die screaming, it will not happen on your back; you will not amuse this beast with your womanhood and tears.

You scramble forward to pick up something, anything: a bronze dirk from a fallen warrior. The giant’s eyes fall on the sad excuse of a weapon, then on the sorry excuse of you. He thinks you’re planning to fight him with that thing, and the corners of his eyes crease a little from the prospect of having to subdue you. You’re proving to be quite the entertainment, and you curse those eyes, looking so kind and lively when just moments ago, the same eyes were inhuman and possessed. His are the eyes of a wayfarer, a wanderer, not a soldier: you catch a hint of sadness in them and curse again.

He’s not human, you remind yourself and show him what actual humans are made of. What women are made of. You give him another name, Giant, because you’ve always feared giants and hated the stories about them. Dumb and reckless creatures they are, stupid destroyers who always place their trust in their size. You never meant to fight him, and he only catches up on it as you turn the dagger towards yourself and guide it to point straight at your heart.

You will be his downfall, just like the seer said.

“Nein–Warte,” the Giant speaks his first words, surprisingly soft to belong to a man like him.

The sorrow in his stare consumes you in full now. It gushes forth like a tide, causing your breath and hands to shake when they need to be stern. You straighten your spine, jut your chin forward, and call for Mother: you don’t even know if you’re yelling for your bearer, or the Great Mother, or the earth that gives life to all. Perhaps you call them all to gather around and witness your sacrifice, higher in price than any of the Titan’s offerings combined. The blood you’re about to spill onto the soil will surely appease the land and raise it to arms to finally fight against this beast.

He says something else just before you pull the blade back to strike it into your chest, and you curse for the third time in your mind: giants aren’t supposed to move that fast; they aren’t supposed to interfere in your last ritual.

But the worst of it is that even when he finally subdues you, even as he wrestles the blade away from you, he ends up drawing a large gash on his forearm… As if he is trying his best to protect you from accidentally cutting yourself.

. . .

You are brought to his tent, screaming.

It’s not as big as a chieftain’s house; it’s barely the size of yours. But it is larger than the tents you saw when you got carried there: as a spitting, screeching, hissing package of what these brutes would no doubt consider a true barbarian woman with uncivilized manners and a fuckable cunt. They will talk about you around their campfires tonight: about you getting broken in by their true commander. It’s enough to satisfy them for now: to imagine their champion to fuck you bloody and sore. And who knows: perhaps they’ll receive the scraps if the Titan gets tired of you.

The precious dagger is somewhere in the mud, probably trampled there like it’s nothing but a piece of worthless metal. Your own trampling is only about to begin as the Giant marches into his abode and sends the men away, giving you uneasy looks in the process, perhaps checking if any of them had enough time to have a go at you. Luckily for him, you’re in the same condition as he left you: legs together, safe and pretty, because he bound them with a rope along with your hands. You are nothing but a delivery, thrown on the floor of dirt and a few animal skins. He just nods at you, happy to acknowledge that you are untouched by the others, as if it would somehow be worse for you to be raped by ten of those petite men than be raped by him: a cruel, bloodthirsty Giant with a giant cock.

Your ankles and wrists get sore as you watch him doff his armour. He takes off the helmet, the belted straps, the segmented plates of his shoulder guards and the heavy Roman cuirass. The gods have truly favoured this man, not only gifting him tremendous height but insurmountable strength too. His muscles are large and lean and quiver with latent power as he moves; his back is so broad it almost competes with the wide mouth of the tent. He doesn’t seem to suffer from the cold either, but he keeps his mask on for whatever ghastly reason. Even if there is a monster under that mask, his body speaks of virility: he’s a man in his prime, a giant at his strongest, making you feel like an elf, a tiny little creature in the feet of this man who must be descended from titans indeed.

You continue to watch as he washes his hands in a small basin, cleans his mouth and neck, too. You reckon the water in that bowl is blood red and dark when he finally dries himself with a white cloth. He stands before you in nothing but his mask and the dark red tunic he had under the armour. He ties it from the waist with a simple leather belt, and it only now makes sense to you why Roman soldiers dye their clothes red: you’re pretty sure you can still see the darker spots on the hem of that tunic, the ones that used to be the lifeblood of your clansmen and kin.

He has the audacity to ask you - wordlessly - to clean his wound, the one you caused him. He sets you free from your bounds, and you are given fresh water and another cloth. He even opens a smallish wooden box of salve that has a familiar smell to it: pine tar and honey, used by your people to treat minor wounds and prevent bad spirits from getting into the wound. You wonder how he even knows about such a balm: is this warrior a Roman at all, or is he some odd creature hauled from the edges of the world to fight for them? You wonder if he has made the salve himself, extracted the tar from the pine and foraged the wax and honey himself, then cursed with his coarse language when he got stung by multiple bees…

You drive away the thoughts that threaten to make this brute human by snorting at his injury. The damage he gave to himself when he tried to guide the blade away from you at the price of his own blood.

It still troubles you that he did it. Even a tiny wound like this can bring any man down if it starts to fester. The cold winds and rains of spring can easily get into the gash and make it rot.

The idea of this giant being forced to his knees because of some filthy dagger wielded by a squirrel of a woman makes you smile inside. It would be a fitting fate for this man. But the vision also makes your heart sting. The thought of him dying of a simple flesh wound, alone and far away from his home, makes your heart grow kinder than it should.

You decide there is nothing you can do but treat his arm, strong and scarred from previous battles. He sits down while you get to stay on the ground, and you try to ignore it that your face is now level with his groin. He sits with a wide spread in those powerful thighs, and you wonder if it's because the rumours about his cock are true. You keep your eyes everywhere else except the hem of that tunic and what's going on under there. He purrs at your touch, making it clear that it doesn't need much more than your soft fingertips to get him hard after a triumphant day on the field of battle.

The wound is not deep, but you clean it carefully, trying to ignore the way his eyes seem to bore into you as you take care of him. Your hand is somewhat steady as you treat the damage with the nice-smelling salve, but you flinch as his hand suddenly meets your cheek. You look up at him, heart plummeting, thighs instinctively pressing together from the gentle way with which he cups your face.

“Schön,” he says, again with a tender voice and an adoring, almost worshipful stare. You don’t have a clue what he’s saying, but you know now for sure that it's not the tongue of the Romans he speaks. The scent of pines and bees lingers between you as he brushes a thumb over your lower lip. You are weak enough to give him a breath, a helpless, hot little exhale that meets his hand like a gift.

“Schön wie eine Fee,” he rumbles, sounding intoxicated or like he's under a spell of sleep.

“What the hell are you saying,” you whisper in your own tongue: just a meek little sputter, a tiny, horrified breath, but the giant’s eyes narrow with a smile.

“Sie redet,” he says happily, and your shoulders sink – you are on the verge of screaming from frustration alone. Whatever you do seems to only amuse this man, and you snap your mouth shut. Your cheeks heat up with recurring waves of odd fever. The ground beneath your shins is all but warm, and yet you feel warm all over: a dangerous sign, you know, and oddly tied to the peculiar bodings you have seen all week.

Because there have been many omens in the air lately.

It’s just that none of them were portents of war.

The cranes started to mate early this year, and you have found a lot of clams from the shore every day. Even your brother encountered a boar with nine piglets; everyone celebrated him as some holy man who had seen the Great Mother when he returned to the village that day. The wind started to blow from south soon after, and the moon has grown along with your womb: this morning, on the brink of war, you woke up wet and restless.

All the omens speak of fertility, of growth, of a new cycle and of birth: of spring and life. There��s nothing about death and decay, nothing except what the people have told you about… him. The death himself. The war god.

“König,” he says as if he can hear your thoughts and wishes to correct them. You look up and see he’s pointing to himself, or rather, holding his hand over his heart. You fight the urge to scoff at the gesture. As if this beast had a heart…

“König,” he repeats the word and pats his chest, and you realize he’s trying to tell you his name. You wrinkle your nose in distaste, and he smiles. It’s easy to tell when he does, even with the cloth that covers his face: you can see the joy clearly from his eyes, the boyish grin that must be occurring under that mask.

“Du?” He points at you next, inquisitive. He has an odd way of pointing: with two fingers, slightly crooked, and you understand very well what he’s asking of you. You refuse to tell him your name, however, settling for pouting a lip at him next. The smile in his eyes only deepens.

“Fee,” he pokes you gently on the shoulder and leans back in his odd Roman chair, seemingly content with having now named you.

And Mother was right: you are curious, so incredibly curious to know what this beast has chosen to call you and why. Are you a rat to him…? Some bird? Perhaps simply a girl?

He is so pleased with your conversation that he pours himself some wine and drinks the whole cup with one gulp. Great, you sigh inside your head, a beast and a drunkard. He pours another cup and tries to offer it to you, and when you don’t make a move to grab the clay mug, he brings it to your lips. You entertain him with a tiny sip: you’ve heard of wine and know that Romans are fond of it, but you have never tasted it yourself.

The tart, bitter flavour almost makes you cough. You thought wine was supposed to be sweet: everyone always describes it as something like milk or honey or juice from an overripe apple. It very much is not, and you almost choke on it and then make a wry face at your captor. He - König - only laughs. It’s another thing that catches you off guard: first those boyish, sad eyes and now this hearty, grown man’s laugh. You have proved to be such an amusement to him that he doesn’t force you to drink any more wine and enjoys the rest of it himself.

Then he rises and makes you shrink from him again, towers above you for a moment, and looks at you with that warm curiosity that makes your heart race.

“Müde?”

He tilts his head, the bag of darkness shifts, the blue eyes behold you fondly, and for some reason, you whimper an answer to yet another question you can’t even understand. He takes your little squeak as a yes and falls to crouch before you, then raises a massive hand to the leather strings that keep your demure little dress up.

To your horror, he pulls the knotted tangle open before you can stop him. Your dress falls from your shoulders and drops to pool around you, and you simply and verily stop breathing.

His eyes wash over you, he examines every little part of exposed skin like an entire treasure chest has suddenly opened before him. You pray to all the gods that he would find it in his heart to be gentle tonight. Your nipples perk up – from the cold or from his stare, you don’t know.

The rough callous of his palm meets your breast and encloses it in warm support. He cups you, weighs you like he would a fruit, and then he squeezes you, rather hard, too: a deliberate attempt to make you squeal again. He replies to your pathetic mewl with an approving rumble, and you look up at him with all the helpless tenderness of the Mother, hoping that Her gentle pleas might persuade this man not to hurt you.

“Please don’t,” you whisper, and his eyes dart to your mouth, to your eyes, then back to your lips again. He immediately softens his touch. Then he lifts you from inside your poor dress, picks you up like you weigh nothing at all, and carries you to his broad bed, the sturdiest you have ever seen.

This man feels like the strangest of fates, like a hopeless destiny, as he sets you on the skins and straw mattress, right next to your fluttering heart. Your insides ache as he undresses before you, entirely without shame. He’s hard under the tunic he rips off and tosses on the cold ground. Your eyes are glued to the legendary cock you’ve heard so much about, the cock that splits women apart: and it’s true that it's huge. It resembles the ones you’ve seen on horses, not on men, and your thighs are glued together as he comes next to you while that pale, monstrous cock sways long and heavy between his thighs. He moves you around a little, and you squeal from how weak you feel: weak as a mouse as he covers you with one of those rich furs he has in plenty on the bed. Then crawls under it too, right next to you.

Your heart almost wrenches itself out of your chest as a strong arm pulls you against him: the swell of your ass meets his thighs, solid and broad like treetrunks, and your lower back meets the hot, almost too hot horse cock. It starts to leak and throb against your skin the instant your flesh is pressed against his. You try not to whimper and moan as the Giant, König, curls around you like you two have always done this.

He takes a long, earnest inhale from your neck and hair, rumbles deeply and contently, and tightens his grip. Apparently, you smell and feel good…

You wait and wait to be plundered and raped, but König only settles for holding you tightly, like you’re a children’s toy made of the softest straw and purest undyed wool. You relax slowly, and he purrs against your back, starts to fondle your breasts, ardently, until your body betrays you and you find yourself wet again; he squeezes and squishes your teats slowly, approvingly, then pinches your nipple once before finally falling into a heavy, deep sleep.

…

Please forgive your author for any historical inaccuracies and other silly things you find facepalmable <3 During this time König would've probably spoken some form of Old Saxon but since I'm not a TOLKIEN we have to settle for modern-day German here. I don't have a taglist for this fic so please check my pinned masterlist for future updates.

Translations

Nein, warte - No, wait

Schön - Beautiful

Schön wie eine Fee - Beautiful as a fairy

Sie redet - She talks

Du? - You?

Müde? - Tired?

#könig fanfiction #könig x reader #könig x you #könig #könig cod #konig x reader #könig smut #könig fluff #historical au #Roman soldier!König #könig x female reader

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theblueflower05 · 1 year

Text

Just a Little Taste

A/N: Welp. Somehow my breeding/breastfeeding kinks manifested themselves into a story. I wrote this sky high on painkillers and I am a little in love with the whole premise. @tiredmamaissy -I hope more than anything that you enjoy this. You deserve all of the goodness on this site. Your Masterlist is my personal spank bank lol

Word Count: 3k+

Warnings: This story is Filthy. Smut with very little plot. Breastfeeding. Pussy Eating. Slight mommy kink if you squint. Very pregnant reader getting pleasured, because pregnant beings can still be sexual. Aged up!Neteyam

You are responsible for cultivating your own online experience, please do not interact if any of these tags are triggering to you. Minors DNI.

Summary: You’re eight months pregnant with Neteyams child, and after a long day, you both need a little relief. Neteyam x Human! Reader

"Sugar, Honey, Iced Tea

Bumble-bee on the scene.

Yeah, I'd give up my bakery to have a piece of your pie"

- See You Again, Tyler the Creator ft Kali Uchis

Life in the village is always busy. Constantly bustling with life and movement as everyone; human scientist, Avatar and Na’vi alike, rush to keep things afloat.

High Camp is so different then Home Tree had been, the rage of war adding a constant edge to long days and restless nights. You miss the comfort of a slow life, of hazy days down in the jungle. The jagged cliffs of the Hallelujah Mountains still don’t quite feel like home to you.

Still, you go about your daily duties.

Being a Pandoran raised human had always given you a different insight, the two massively different cultures you we’re brought up in clashing and mending to create a skill set that was like no other- it had taken many years of painful trial and error to find your place within the Omiticaya, but healing had always come naturally.

Both holistic and surgical alike. You’d spent years shadowing Mo’at and learning the ancient herbal ways of the people, while well as taking advantage of the many PHD toting scientist back at Hell’s Gate. Medicine had no boundaries, was a way for you to feel close to both sides of yourself. To broach the gap between human and clansman.

You find your skills being needed more than ever. The ever constant raids against the RDA means your hands are rarely idle, forever in movement as you tend to the wounded. Some days you sit in the big Healers Tent with Mo’at and the other Taskarem, and others you’re in the makeshift Medi Bay, which is really more of an Avatar Pod Trailer turned OR, with the handful of human surgeons.

The long hours spent on your feet leave you sore and exhausted, but you have to pull your weight.

Even if said weight is far heavier than usual as of late-

“Y/N” you’re broken out of your thoughts by Max- as he enters the trailer with a holo-tab in hand and a concerned look in his dark eyes “What are you still doing here?”

“I was just finishing up inventory- our antibiotic stock is back way up. Jake was right, those helicopter raids were more than worth it” you’d sorted out the tiny vials of vital medicine by hand, not wanting any to be misplaced or mislabeled.

“You don't think maybe you should head home?” He continues and you sigh.

You miss your tent, and the soft bed of furs that lay inside the secure warm flaps. And the man that waits for you inside of the patchwork leather walls-

“I’m fine” you assure. And really, you are.

It's a fact you have to keep reminding people of.

Yes, you’re as big as a Strumbeast, but you are no less competent. No less able bodied.

Pregnancy is one of the most natural parts of life, a base staple in all’s existence. There are plenty of pregnant Omiticaya women who were expected to play their roles, even as the battle raged outside the safety of the mountain cave system.

It was the nature of your pregnancy that was more…fragile then average. Inside your womb grew a child that would be the first of it’s kind. A scientific mystery: no one had even known it was possible for Na’vi and humans to procreate.

And yet all of the evidence now lies under your shirt. Your stomach round and pronounced, full of growing life.

Full of the love between you and the Olo’eyktan’s eldest son.

Neteyam had left his permanent mark on you. Had part of himself growing inside of you. The thoughts we’re enough to make your knees buckle if you focused on them too hard.

“You’ve been here since 6am, you really should get some rest. Take one of the empty bunks if you want. Have you checked your blood pressure-”

You’re a grown woman. You’re not going to huff and puff and roll your eyes, but fuck, do you want to.

Everyone was so overbearing lately.

Norm and Max we’re constantly breathing down your neck; “The baby has a different growth rate then a human child, we need to monitor the way that your body is responding” Followed closely by Jake who watches you with sharp eagle like eyes and Neytiri, who used to all but ignore your presence, constantly checking in on you throughout the day. Mo’at’s always poking and prodigy, and Kiri almost always has her hands on you in some way shape or form.

You are glad for the support, happy that this baby would be so loved.

But really, you missed being treated like the competent, independent woman you knew you we’re.

“My blood pressure is fine. I thought since we ruled out preeclampsia we weren’t going to worry about it anymore” you know that it’s not going to silence his worry, but still. You can try.

Max goes on one of his science mambo jumbo spiels, and by the end of it you’re waddling out of the lab and back to your hut, annoyed as shit but placating your pseudo father figure all the same. Only a month and a half mor of this and then things could go back to normal.

Everything had just…changed so quickly.

You 're a caretaker by nature. Caring for others is easy, feels right. You’d tucked the much older scientists into bed when you we’re just a pre-teen. Made dinners. Looked out for Spider and the other Sully’s-

And the role reversal still didn't quite sit right with you. Your control freak ways didn't do well with not being the one in charge- you’d been stripped of your title so to speak. You we’re supposed to relax into your new role, enjoy being doted over before the nine month’s we’re over.

You and Neteyam’s shared tent is in the centered in the cave, close to his families, but standing on its own. As private as anyone could get in the busy, close quartered camp. The walls of the hut are familiar, adorned with your combined belongings. Cozy and familiar.

You shimmy free of your confining bra, step out of your cargo pants, then toe off your boots, releasing your swollen sock covered feet with a groan before collapsing into your well loved bed, the soft blankets and familiar scent of your mate lulling you into a deep state of peace.

It’s kind of wild how quickly you can fall asleep these days. Growing a little person from scratch tends to burn a lot of energy and the moment you relax, you’re out like a light.

You don't wake up, even when the horns are sounded for the return of the War Party.

Not when Neteyam makes his way through the camp and enters the tent. He’s wearty, grime covered and hunched over. He only softens when he sees you, tucked safely, into his bed. Your eyes still closed and face still scrunched up as he strips out of his battle band and shin covers. He’s quiet, washing off with the large freshwater basin in the corner before making his way over to his much-missed bed mat.

It isn't until he's crawled under the blankets and wiggled his way as close to you as possible that you begin to stir. His large cat like snout nuzzles into the vulnerable crevice of your neck, chuffing hot breaths against the smooth skin.

You’re not upset at him for waking you up, a drowsy half alert smile stretches over your lips as your hands run up his strong back. Gently working the tense muscles.

He gets so greedy when he comes back from the War runs. He needs to be comforted, to be held and you are all too willing to comply.

Everyone else infantiles you now, and yeah, Neteyam could get a little intense and overprotective, but your relationship had always worked because you were the one person in all of Pandora that babied the future chief.

He was such a sweet man, with so much responsibility on his plate. You loved nothing more than holding him in your arms. Letting him release any and all tension because you had him. You, a tiny soft skinned human, were the barrier between him and the ruthless world.

You’d be such a great mother to his children. His hind brain purrs at the thought. That even through all of the controversy, he knows he’d chosen the right mate. Little and fierce, he hopes the baby is just like you.

“Are you okay?” You ask, tone hushed in the darkness of the tent. The only light coming from the small dying embers of the firepit in the center of the space. Hypnotic shadows dance along the canvas walls and Neteyam's breathing grows shallow as he sinks into it.

The way you smell. The way your heart beats, strong against his cheek. The way your plump body feels so good under his wandering hands. He hadn't been okay, just moments ago. He was delirious, so sick of the fighting that he felt ill with it.

But how could any of those bad feelings exist when he had you waiting for him? Ready to welcome him into your body, your heart, your mind. He doesn't think he could survive without knowing the solace of your love.

“I’m okay, narlor(beauty). Just missed you” he mutters, still trying to dig his face deeper into your skin. He wants to escape inside of you, you chuckle at his futile attempts to mend you both into one entity. His large palms rest against your bloated belly, tenderly and your heart flutters “Missed you both so much”

Being so loved is overwhelming.

You wouldn't have it any other way.

“I missed you, my sweet baby. I missed you all day” you assure him with the words you know he needs to hear. “Our son here thought it would be fun to jump on his sa’nok’s bladder all day. It was like was playing the wokau(pendulum drum) all day long- I spent hours in running back and forth to the bathroom”

Neteyam's laugh is deep and rich. Thoroughly pleased to listen to your stories of your day, eager to hear every minute detail. Desperate to drown out visions of blood and gun smoke with your voice.

“Ah, you have to be nice to your momma, little one” he chastises the bump, raising your shirt over your head, wanting that flimsy barrier gone. His lips trail over the tight skin of your bulging belly as he speaks to his child.

Your son, still safe inside your soft body, knows his fathers voice already. Recognizes that slightly accented cadence, and squirms inside of you happily.

Neteyam usually speaks strictly in Na’vi to your unborn child-

“He needs to know the language of our people, first and foremost”

-he’ll spend hours whispering his mother tongue into your flesh. It always leaves you boneless and shaking. Feeling so special and cared for. Na’vi, though your second language, is familiar to you. You’re fluent in the language- but fuck. The way your mate speaks it is the most beautiful thing. It’s musical, he tells sprawling stories with his colorful words.

There is one English he’s very fond of though. Every time it leaves his plush mouth it makes you grin, sharp. Knowingly.

“Are you gonna be nice to momma, Neteyam?” you question him after a while. His ears quirk, swiveling on his head and his tale flicks once, in obvious excitement.

You know what he’s wanted, ever since he woke you up by nuzzling at your chest. Ever since he peeled off your top and left your heavy breasts bare. Did he think you missed the way his golden gaze would flick to them, eyeing them hungrily.

He needs this as much as you do, but as usual, your sweet boy is too selfless to ask. Won't trouble you with his wants unless you bring it up first.

You reach for his big hand that rests on your belly, and drag it to where you need him. His palm enveloping your tits, the rough callus’s catching on your sensitive nipple just right-

Your pregnancy had been different than regular humanoid pregnancies. Your body worked hard, thrown into overdrive in an attempt to keep up with the fast growing fetus in your womb. You’d started lactating months ago, far earlier then normal. Your breasts firm, full with milk. Ready to feed the child that had not yet come into the world.

At first it had been both painful and embarrassing. You had no child to drink what you were producing and the other breastfeeding women in the tribe we’re hesitant to feed their babies your tawtute(human) milk. Already over emotional due to the hormone change, you’d wept at the fact that you had no one to give what your body readily made.

The fact that you couldn't be a bigger part of your community due to your human heritage, combined with the intense pain that came from having backed up ducts had been too much,

Eventually you’d turned to Neteyam, both your eyes and shirt soaking wet. Begged him to help you. And of course, as always, he did.

It should be awkward, or shameful- but connecting with him on any level is something you cherish. Why would this be any different?

“I’m always nice to you, aren't I, love?” Neteyam gruffs as he gently works at the breast in his hands. Its firm and full of milk, his mouth waters “Do they hurt again?”

“Mhmm” you whine pathetically, and you’re not lying. The skin of your chest is now marred by stretch marks and you’d had to stuff precious, hard to come by toilet paper down your bra all day to keep them from spilling over “They’re so full, Nete”

“Oh” He hums, thumbing at your nipple “Poor momma, I’ll help you. Don't worry” his lips are wet against your skin as he kisses his way to your breast, his tongue peeking out to circle your puffy nipple. A pearlescent drop of milk tops the rosy bud and he groans as it hits his taste buds.

He tells you that you taste good, often. The juices of your pussy, your spit soaked kisses. He’s always been greedy for it, his tongue bullying its way into your holes, desperate for your essence. Your milk is just as delicious as the rest of you.

It quickly goes from kitten licking, wide wet stripes against your pebbled nipple to sucking your big breast as far into his mouth as he could. Careful of his fangs as he gorges himself on your flesh.

He’s loudly appreciative as he suckles on your nipple. Grunting and humming and moaning at the flavor. Your arms come around him, cradling his head to your bosom because it feels so good. Having him this close, knowing that he'd do anything to take care of you. That he truly loved the way you tasted-

Many people thought you and Neteyam would never last. It was lust, they’d claim. Curiosity. A childhood friendship that would fizzle out eventually. Na’vi needed Tsaheylu, it was the lifeblood of all their relationships. Why would the much desired future Olo’eyktan stay with you if he couldn't even properly bond you?

While you couldn't deny that there we’re doubt filled moments that you yourself wondered why he’d chosen you and stayed so loyal to you…you still felt your own form of connection to him. While you’d love to make that sacred bond with him, you didn't feel any less close to your mate.

You never thought that you could be so intertwined with another being.

As Neteyam takes his fill from your breast, you massage the base of his Kuru, firm enough that it makes him hiss. You have no special braid of your own, but he’s always been very free with his when it comes to you.

You can do with as you please. Stroke it. Lick it. Massage it. Hell, he’d even let you touch glowing pink tendrils at the end of it before. Let you feel his exposed nerves, so vulnerable and raw in your hands that he had shed tears as you explored.

Nothing was taboo in your relationship. There was no space undiscovered between you.

Your bodies we’re so very different, and yet you knew his like the back of your hand. All of the strong muscles and hard sinew. The cobalt expanse of his skin didn't have one blemish that you haven't memorized. You could point out his striped pattern in a sea of other Na’vi.

And he knows you right back.

Loves to dig his fingers into your doughy hips, into your pillowy thighs. Your wide ass and ample chest. He loves your form, goes crazy for all of your alien curves. He never cared for your human modesty, he’d wanted to part your ass cheeks and stare at plump of your pussy for as long as he could remember. Wanted to strip you of all of those clothes and just stare.

The fact that he gets to do just that, for the rest of your lives, is his favorite, favorite thing.

You watch him eagerly as he slowly nurses. You can't get enough of the sight of him, his hollowed cheeks, the bob of his throat as he swallows your free flowing milk. He's so strong, his muscles flex in the dim light. All of that strength, and yet he’s so very gentle with you, his rough tongue laving at your sore buds every couple minutes. Soothing and tickling you all the same.

You giggle at a particularly quick swipe, letting out a small squeal as Neteyam’s tongue plays with the flesh in his mouth. His eyes peek open, glittering with mirth and low boiling heat as he meets your gaze. Whin his lips split into a smile, a dribble of translucent white milk escapes. Trickles down from the corners of his lips.

Heat pulses between your legs and you know he can smell how aroused you are.

Neteyam has always been able to turn you on without even trying. A well spoken word, or even a pointed look could get you running your thighs together. All desperate to get him alone and put your hands all over him.

You hate that you cant kiss him the way you want to, your Exo Mask, while necessary to your survival can be suck a fucking menace sometimes.

Your thumb traces his lips, the ones you want pressed against your own so bad. You rub the spilled milk from his chin. Cleaning him up in a way that's so simple, and so beyond erotic.

He breaks eye contact first, like he just can't look at you anymore. His brows all scrunched up, his chest raising and falling rapidly. He releases your sloppy nipple, completely covered in his saliva, and presses his face against the damp skin. Making a sound of distress.

Your fingernails skritch at his scalp, tangled in his many braids “What is it, baby?”

“I wanna fuck you so bad. Eywa, do you even smell yourself, Y/N? So good. I have to-”

“Yeah, yeah, okay” You nod, agreeing blindly. He can have whatever he wants.

“Fuck you hard, though. Gotta pound you. I know I shouldn't but it’ll be alright, huh? Won't hurt the baby?” his face is still buried in your skin, you cant even see his expression as he pleads for your pussy. It makes you so hot.

You push at his chest, needing him to get off of you for just a moment. He’s heavy as shit, a dead weight- doesn't really move until you're pouting and demanding for him to just give you a little space.

Enough that you can wiggle out of your panties and spread your thighs wide for him. Your swollen, sticky pussy on display for your mate.

His nostrils flare, and his thin tail whips wildly behind him.

When he swings your thick thighs up onto his broad shoulders, you let out a low, appreciative moan.

“Such a good boy for momma” you praise him the way the people praise the Great Mother. The cradle of your thighs a sanctuary where you both come to worship.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Welp, I should be finishing up Part Three of First Love/Late Spring or plotting out future installments of The Sweetest Sylaung, but here I am writing nursing filth. Lol I truly have zero regrets, this story was so very self fulfilling(even though it partially came from a request). I hope you guys enjoyed though

As mentioned many times before, requests are currently open. Please send in all that good shit. I could use a good distraction from real life!

#neteyam smut #neteyam x reader #neteyam x human reader #neteyam sully smut #aged up neteyam #Neteyam x pregnant reader

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nrdmssgs · 1 year

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I'm crazy and this is mainly based off my oc, but yn is prices adopted daughter that works with him, and the read is like 22-24 and price is supposed to be 45, and he kept it a secret because he's want to protect yn. I wanna see how the 141/könig reaction, can be romantic or platonic don't care lol, yes i know it's stupidly specific, but I'm stupidly specific.

The reader being Prices adopted daughter (part1)

Masterlist

Summary: you are Johns adopted daughter. This is how different members of the 141 find out about that and how they react.

AN: Hi! I'm almost through with this absolutely beautiful request! I've decided to split it into two parts, I really hope, you don't mind. I've kept it all really platonic and very comforting, and I just wanted to express my gratitude for such a wholesome request! Two important remarks: 1. My interpretation of your OC has turned to be a bisexual person. 2. The order in which the characters appear in the story does not affect their proximity to the main character in any way. This is simply the order in which the characters learned that she was Price's adopted daughter. She loves them all the same) I will, of course, tag you in the second part!!

There were four important names in your life. In your darkest hours, you kept repeating them in your mind. They were so much more than just colleagues, teachers, friends… they all were your family.

John

You were the oldest in your group in an orphanage. Others came and went, but not you. It happened so that you had to grow up ahead of time, get used to the fact that adults more often wanted to adopt babies. But you accepted this world and the rules. You never thought of it as some kind of noble mission, but you took care of your younger friends, worried about them, rejoiced with them. Whenever someone from your group left the shelter forever, you are separated from your friend, but at the same time rejoiced. Caregivers jokingly called you “the Keeper” sometimes, as you cared for other kids as much as a director of the orphanage.

So when one day one of your teachers came up to you after class and said, "There's someone here who wants to meet you," and pointed to a man standing in the doorway, you were confused. The teacher led you to a stranger, and he squatted down so that your eyes were on the same level. "Hi. I'm John." He held out his hand, but noticing your uncertainty, lowered it and smiled warmly at you.

You hit it off quickly. John asked you a lot about life at the orphanage, about your interests. He himself turned out to be an incredibly interesting person: he visited all the corners of the world that you heard about on TV. John told you about jungles and canyons, about villages where all the roads were just small bridges thrown over the water, about ghost towns where it is so cold in winter that the steam from the mouth immediately turns into snow. Your stories seemed not that big to you. What is the story of how you and your friends fed a bumblebee worth compared to John's travels? You were embarrassed by this and quickly reduced such conversations to stories about your younger friends. What if he likes someone and takes one of them home?

“You seem to care for all of them dearly.” Johns looks on the horizon as you two sit on the bench. “You have it in you, kid. Willingness to help, to stand up for them. I see it clearly. Teach me to be like that, will ya?”

You look at him with big eyes full of disbelief. What can you teach him, an adult? Are you used to everyone teaching you something...

"I'm not doing anything special..." You look high into the sky above you. "Well, when any of them is very sad, I hug him with all my might. Maybe you can try to do the same and become like me?"

"Hug with all my might?" John chuckles. "Yes, Simon will be impressed..." But then he sees your worried stare and encourages you, "Hey, that's great advice! I'll try it. But I think, it's now time for you to have dinner, and for me to go home. Don`worry, kid, I promise to come in a week and update you on my progress!"

You do not believe that this man will return, so you try not to wait for him. Most often, adults come back for babies. You remember it. But he comes back a week later. Then he visits you again and again.

Then you end up visiting him. John has a whole house with a backyard! You build a bird feeders together, play board games late into the night, and even go hiking.

These are the best days of your life, and when it's time to go back to the orphanage, you turn your back on John and hide your tears, so he won't notice. "Hold on just a little longer, kid. I'll sort it out soon," he says, and puts a hand on your shoulder.

Whenever he takes you to his house, he gives you something: a plushie or a book or some clothes. But you never took those gifts to your orphanage because you were afraid that one day he would simply stop coming, disappear from your life, and all these trinkets would remind you of him. This little biter habit of yours broke Johns heart over and over again. You were still a child, but you were already afraid to get attached to someone.

One day he takes you back to his house once again. After an evening with cocoa and a board game, he hands you a simple envelope. "This is something very important. Take a look. I need your opinion on it." You are confused, but still open the envelope and start reading the document, that was inside it. You can hardly make out the text, overloaded with terms you are unfamiliar with. And then, little by little, understanding comes to you and the letters begin to blur before your watering eyes.

“Is… is it? I…” You try to say anything, but words fail you. So you jump off your chair and run to John. He barely has time to move away from the table when you do not even hug him - you cling to him with such force, as if your life depended on it. You've always tried to hide your tears in front of him, but now they're rolling and rolling down your face. John hugs you back and pats your head to comfort you. “It's ok, it's ok, I got you. You're gonna be ok, little one. We're gonna be ok. Not ok even - we're gonna be good. Together.” His voice is soft and quiet.

Simon

“I'll need you to take the mask off this time. Don't want you to scare anyone in m`house.” Ghost grants John a side eye and scoffs. “John Price lives alone no more?” John nods and continues to drive silently. Initially, Ghost was supposed to visit Captains house just for business, but now he is tormented by curiosity. “Someone trustworthy?” Ghosts voice is still muffled with the mask. “The most trustworthy person out there,” John smiles and Simon takes the mask off. Ghost enters the house before Price, who lingered at the trunk in search of something. Simon hears joyful kids voice. "John is back!" A girl of about twelve years of age runs down the stairs with a loud clatter. But when she sees Simon, she stops in her tracks. Price often leaves for some time, and she is already used to the fact that strangers often appear in the house: Johns relatives, acquaintances who look after the child while he is away. But Simons menacing appearance made her dumbfounded. She takes a tiny step back when Price's voice comes from the street. “It's ok, kid. This is mister Riley, he's my colleague and friend.” Both Ghost and the girl look at each other startled, not knowing what to say. John finally comes into the house and defuses the situation. "Look who we met on the way home," he says, and hands the girl a plush tiger cub. Her face immediately changes and she happily skips to John.

At dinner, she sits her new toy next to her and bombards Price with questions about his work and stories about what she has been doing in his absence. Simon looks from her to John and remembers how the captain stayed in his office until late at night, endlessly filling out some forms a couple of years ago. Ghost thought it had to do with work, but when he once offered to help Price with this paperwork, John refused with strange zeal. And now Ghost sees, what was it all about. And it all was hella worth it: she was the nicest, most well-behaved and happiest kid, Simon seen in a while.

When they finished their dinner, the girl grinned conspiratorially. "Hey John! Guess what." And before Price could even react, she burst out impatiently and with ill-concealed delight: "I made your favorite dessert!"

"You? Or was it Aunt Meg?" John smirks and Simon realizes he's never seen the captain so happy before. "No, it's definitely me this time! She was just… looking out!"

Price walks into the kitchen and an awkward silence spreads across the living room. Although it seems that only Simon feels awkward - the girl stares at his tattoos with the most sincere interest. "Ehm, so you... love animals?" Ghost squints at the toy tiger cub. The girl smiles broadly and nods, never taking her eyes off Simon's arms. "Do you maybe… want to be a veterinarian when you grow up?" Simon continues this awkward conversation. "No!" She looks up at him and continues loudly, "When I grow up - I want to be a soldier like John!" The shrill sound of spoons and forks scattering across the floor comes from the kitchen.

“Soldier… I thought, kids in her age were supposed to want to become… I don't know, pop stars? Princesses? Figure skaters?” rants Price later that evening, when the girl is already sleeping and he and Simon are standing on a backyard.

“She doesn't want to become any soldier. She wants to be 'a soldier like John'. You are her hero, Captain.” Simon chuckles, masking the fact, that he envies Price a bit. The undisguised delight with which the girl looks at John, her admiration for even the simplest, most trivial of his stories… No money could buy that.

Ghost visited Prices house throughout several next years, and every time he gradually became more comfortable around the girl. In some time, they could hang out together without any awkwardness. She brought her homework down to the big table in a living room and asked Simon to tell her stories about his work with John. Of course Simon tried not to mention anything too disturbing, but it was difficult, and the stories came out short and inconsistent. But she still thrived on them. “Seems like you are quite good at what you do!” She sounds almost as exited as when she talks to John. “Quite good? Lieutenant Ghost is the legend, kid,” comments Price, entering the room. Little do John and Simon know, this was the exact moment, that predetermined the girl's life for years to come. Now she had not just one, but two heroes and a dream: to become like them.

A few years later, which flew by for Simon like a few days, he and John were already present at her oath. Of the two, Ghost, who kept aloof from the others, seemed the calmer. John seemed to be worried about everything: because his daughter was one of the shortest in her formation, because of the bad weather and the fact that she was about to get wet, because of the form "which was of much better quality back in his time" ... But when she got out of line, when she began to recite the text of the oath, Simon shuddered inwardly. Price's daughter, this little dear miracle, who had been running around the house what seemed like just yesterday in funny pajamas, was reciting the oath... Ghost couldn't believe it.

And when she, with burning eyes and a happy blush on her face, ran up to them and saluted with the words "Captain, Lieutenant", Simon felt his eyes tingle. He left her alone with John so that they could share this very special moment. But a few minutes later he heard her hurried steps and she lightly squeezed his arm in a short friendly hug. "Starting your service with insubordination?" Simon scolded her, but in fact it was one of the brightest, happiest moments of his life. He never thought that someone else's adopted child could become so important to him.

Johnny

“Let go!” The fabric of Soaps T-shirt was stretched, and the seams began to crackle dangerously, ready to burst. "Johnny, cut it out!" - your voice echoed between the gray walls of the neighboring buildings of your base. You tried to work things out quietly, but with Soap, that's impossible. If he decides something, it's as good as done.

You try to hold him by force, but it's not so easy: to a greater extent, it's not your hands that clutched at his T-shirt that stop him, but the risk of ruining that T-shirt forever.

"Hey Soap! The hell is going on here?" Price's voice sounds so close that both you and Johnny flinch and turn around at the same time. "She's holding me by force! And you still ask me what happened?" Soap sounds fierce, but his posture shifts, and he unconsciously shields you from Price, who is looking from him to you.

"Sorry, Captain. It's all right, the Sergeant and I were just joking." You answer, turning away from Price. But nothing ever escapes John. He walks around Soap, catches up with you and looks into your eyes. "You've been crying." It's not even a question, it's a statement. Price sees your reddened eyes, swollen eyelids. He also knows that you almost never cry. You want to be a good soldier so much, you look up to him and Ghost, you never let your emotions get the better of you. But if something brings you to tears... Something or someone... It's really bad.

“Gonna ask it once…” Prices eyes pierce right through the mask of dumb jolliness, you desperately try to put on. “What happened?” You try to come with anything, but your best shot just sounds pathetic “It's just an allergy, Captain…”

“Allergy my ass…” - Price walks around you and comes back to Soap. “Ok, Sergeant, let's see if you have anything better for me… Same question, I'm waiting.”

You look at Soap with a mute pleading, but he does not notice this, his eyes are riveted to Price. “She was dumped today. I wanted to find the bastard and have a word with him.” Soaps voice is still harsh from your fight. You shut your eyes and let go of his T-shirt at last. Price slowly exhales. You know that sound. A quiet long exhalation, a harbinger of a storm. “Who?” - Johns` voice sounds cold and distant.

“Your guess is as good as mine. She doesn't tell, so I was heading to the barracks to find out myself.” Soap finally looks at you, his gaze is absolutely fierce, as if rejecting you was some kind of personal insult to him.

Price turns around to you once more. One word is enough for him to express both a question and an ominous threat. “Name.” You shake your head, not daring to look up at him.

John clearly doesn't want so sound menacing to you. And if Soap wasn't around, Price would already wrap you in a tight embrace to hide you from your own pain. But the fact, that someone dared to hurt, to reject you, his little treasure (and it doesn't matter, that the last night you turned 22), makes his blood boil with rage. Of course, he is overprotective as your father, but he believes, it's you, who deserves to choose partners, and they just have to be eternally happy and grateful for your attention. You understand, that your problems have just doubled up… Now both Soap and Price are waiting for you to drop the name, and every next moment of silence seems to only make it worse.

“I need the name, kid. Now, there won't be any fights, we'll just talk. Nice and calmly… And if that bloody moron just happens to slip and fall on the Sergeant's fist - I may not notice …” your Captains` voice was quiet, menacingly quiet. Johnny didn't look any friendlier, his posture was tense and his eyes - furious. You bite your tongue, afraid to say a word. “As you wish. Off to the barracks we head then,” commands Price, and they walk past you.

In a fit of desperation, you take off and rush after them. "Wait! There's no need to 'talk' to anyone, please... It was Sarah... from the office."

They both stop in their tracks and look at each other. This... changed a lot. Of course, they still care about you and want to help, but now, obviously, they will have to reconsider their plans. Soap looks completely lost, Price checks time and rises his gaze back at you.

"In two hours, both of you. My office." Johns` voice is echoing in your head as they both leave you alone. It's hard to even roughly imagine what awaits you and why John also needed Soap. Perhaps the Captain just wanted to lecture you about relationships at work, and so he invited Johnny, who had several... similar experiences.

But when you and Soap meet on the threshold of Price's office at the appointed time, the captain silently nods to his desk with three empty glasses and a flask. The rest of the evening, these two vied with each other to tell you about different failures in their personal lives. At first you feel awkward, but gradually you relax. Some stories make you sigh sadly, others are so funny that you almost choke with laughter. Little by little, you're feeling less pain from being dumped. Yes, maybe you didn't get someone, you wanted, but you have John and Johnny, who are not embarrassed to tell you the most silly and sad personal stories, just to make you feel less alone even in such a situation.

When you leave Price's office, both you and Johnny's faces are flushed with constant laughter. He puts his hand on your shoulder and says: “Hey, don`ya spend y`tears on that dafty, ok? She lost more than you today! We'll find you a nice lass or lad, that papa Price approves of!” You almost fall over in surprise. Nobody but Ghost knew that Price had ever adopted you. Here at the military base, you and Price were just colleagues.

"What, you think m`blind?" Soap stops and stares at you. "The captain takes care of everyone in his own way, but arranging something like this... The last time, I was in a similar situation - the man just filled me up with paperwork so that I had no energy left for anything else." When he puts it that way, it darts to be obvious to you too: you may kept your secrets, but the way you and Price cared for each other was sometimes on the surface. “Johnny… I don't know, how to put it right, but we really try to keep it…”

“Keep just to yourselves? Dinae worry, I get it.” He smirks. “Price is protecting you and so will I from now on. So, ma mouths shut.”

And Johnny keeps his word: he never mentions how you are related to Price, never publicly reminisces about that evening at Captains office. And he also starts a whole operation to find and select the perfect candidate for you, but that's a whole another story.

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mangekyuou · 3 months

Note

Straw Hats x Fem reader platonic! This just popped into my head after watching ATLA! What if S/O, who’s mute, owned a pet messenger bird? No, scratch that, a pet messenger hawk? Sharp-looking, intelligent, and fast, he’s her pet companion that she takes care of sweetly and kindly. He can deliver messages to anyone around the world! I’m surprised that One Piece didn’t have a pet parrot, besides Karoo. HCs?

★ WITH A MUTE CREWMATE WHO HAS A PET MESSENGER HAWK! headcanons ★

── featuring. the strawhats.

── cw. gn!reader. no pronouns used. platonic. mentions of your hawk fighting zoro and sanji lol. not proofread.

── notepad. this has been sitting in my inbox SO LONG. IM SO SORRY. i really hope this reaches the og anon.

accidentally crossing paths with the new rag-tag group of hotshot pirates that were becoming a thorn in the side of the marines was unexpected. becoming a trusted member almost overnight was even more so

you are welcomed with open arms by your new family. well, you and your vigilant and protective hawk that was always perched on your shoulder, ready to snap at the hands of your new and still unfamiliar crewmates if they got to get too close to you

luffy, friendly and touchy as he can be, seems to be your hawk's main victim of the pecking. he never learns

outside of steering clear away from your violent friend with wings, the straw hats do everything in their power to ensure you are comfortable. never will you ever feel left out with them

they make sure to always include you in conversations, even if you don't want to contribute to them

they learn other ways to communicate with you, whether it is handing you a pen and a pad to write on, or starting to learn sign language. whatever makes you the most comfortable

your crewmates have an unintentional habit of checking for you the moment you are no longer in their line of sight

nami is the worst about it. she can't even count the number of times she almost had a heart attack thinking you were gone because she didn't see you for more than five seconds, before smothering you in big sister hugs and scolding you to never do it again

franky is the second worst about it. the one time the two of you went on a mission to find supplies in a village, he got distracted and kept walking, not noticing that you stopped a while ago. when he turned around and you were nowhere to be found, he was losing it. he called for you all over the village before falling to his knees in despair and crying a river before you returned having already found the supplies. he swore if he wasn't already crying he would have cried tears of joy when he saw you again

the straw hats find your pet hawk and the bond that the two of you share is very cool. to demonstrate their intelligence, you write a letter to your family back home and send your hawk on its way. when the bird returns a day later with another letter when its journey should have taken them weeks, the straw hats are in amazement

every now and then they ask your permission to send letters to their loved ones, even though you've told them several times that they don't need permission

it was just getting your hawk to like them is a whole other thing

your hawk absolutely loves chopper and robin. when they are not near you, they are perched on the top of chopper's hat, watching the reindeer do his tasks, while feeding them snacks in between.

while with robin, your hawk is comfortable enough to snuggle into her lap and fall asleep as they do with you while she reads on the deck of the sunny. you're starting to think they love her more than they love you

but you need more than two hands to count the number of times your hawk has left a few of your crewmates full of scratches due to being irritated by them, mostly zoro and sanji because of their "stupid bird" comments

well what can you do, the bird has a mind of its own

MANGEKYOU 2024 ── do not copy, repost, or translate my works onto this platform or any other !

#☆ — MY LOVE MINE ALL MINE.#one piece #the strawhats #the straw hats #strawhats #strawhat pirates #strawhats x reader #straw hats x reader #one piece oneshots #one piece scenarios #one piece imagines #one piece headcanons

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cameronspecial · 7 months

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Drew x girlfriend. He’s famous, lives in a big town, she lives in a village far away (which he stays at all the time) and doesn’t have any socials.

Drew has posted pictures of them holding hands (nothing more just to keep privacy) and his fans are getting crazy cause they don’t know who she is. One day they notice a ring on her finger in one of the pictures and they get even more crazy and he’s just like “they’ll never guess who you are, it’s like i can keep you to myself forever and I love it” and she says something like “you already get to keep me to yourself forever silly” and wiggle her newly wed finger in his face lol.

His Forever

Pairing: Drew Starkey x Reader

Warnings: N/A

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 0.3K

A/N: I hope you don't mind me testing out social media au with this because I thought it was perfect for this.

Masterlist

Liked by madelyncline, madisonbaileybabe, and 1, 734, 976 others

drewstarkey put your hand in mine. you know i want to be with you all the time

Comments:

madelyncline I want her to be mine 😍

→ madisonbaileybabe nah, she’s mine!

obxobsessedgirl OMG who is she???

drewsnumber1love It is so clear he is smitten with her.

Liked by rudeth, carlaciagrant, and 1, 208, 429 others

drewstarkey 📚

Comments:

bringmedrew Why does he never tag her????

→ drewmybae ikr, I can’t find her in his following

→ drewbear Let her have her privacy, guys

carlaciagrant Mother is so smart. We stan.

rudeth You are so in love, it’s gross

Liked by hichasestokes, brooke_starkey, and 2, 315, 680 others

drewstarkey ♥️

Comments:

brooke_starkey love my new sil 😘

→ drewstarkey she says she loves you too

→ detectivedrew yo!!!! Maybe she doesn’t have insta.

drewsmyman No! He’s off the market now 🙁

hichasestokes congrats man

Drew laughs at the comments on his current post. His fans love Y/N, yet they have no idea who she is and he truly does enjoy the anonymity of who she is. It means he gets to keep his slice of heaven to himself. When he started acting, he moved out to LA because it just made sense job-wise, but he found himself constantly coming back to Asheville, North Carolina. Of course, he missed his home state; however, the real reason to go back to NC is Y/N Y/L/N. The love of his life. She is the most down-to-earth and in-the-moment person he has ever met. At a concert, she is the only one singing along without her phone in the air, recording the show. During dates, she isn’t buried in her phone or obsessed with taking pictures of everything because she has no social media to post them on. She lets him be their photographer because she knows he will keep their private moments, private. He found love and that is with her.

She looks up from her notebook with a questioning look. “What’s so funny, Baby?” she inquires, getting up to look over his shoulder at his phone. He shows her the comments questioning who she is, “They’ll never guess who you are. It’s awesome. It’s like I can keep you to myself forever and I love it. My secret slice of heaven.” He brings her to his side by her waist, kissing her as she giggles at his words. “You already get to keep me to yourself forever, Silly. So I certainly hope you are keeping my forever because I don’t plan on giving you back,” she teases. His heart does a flip every time he sees the new ring on her finger, “God, I love that ring. You are so right. We can be each other’s forever. I love you.” “I love you too. Do you want to head to the beach?” she asks, heading to get her bathing suit out of her luggage. It’s their honeymoon, so of course, he is going to go swimming with his amazing wife.

#drew starkey #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey x female reader #drew starkey x y/n #drew starkey x you #drew starkey one shot #drew starkey fanfiction #drew starkey imagine #drew starkey social media au #drew starkey instagram au #social media au #instagram au

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wispforever · 7 months

Text

Some thoughts on Itachi

So, I've seen a lot of comments circulating about my tags on this post, and I'm intrigued at the interest. I didn't expect it, as I see much more pigeonholing of Itachi's character than honest to god analysis. No hate- I'm no stranger to Kishimoto's writing. Some of his characters were unfortunately butchered or never given the chance to be developed properly, and Itachi is most certainly no exception. That said, I like to grant him a bit more nuance than I see on most blogs. I think people get a little wrapped up in the supposed "moral implications" of exploring how Itachi was also a victim of the system, as well as someone who victimized many people. But it's silly to equate character analysis and context consideration with condoning genocide.

I have a good laugh every once and a while at the metaphorical gymnastics people do in order to stay in the good graces of a bunch of internet trolls who are just Waiting for any opportunity to tell you you love murder and think it's delicious just because you made a post exploring a character's background. Media is grey; it's layered and wonderfully complex. There are many wrongs and rights in every story, and many wrongs and rights within those wrongs and rights. That's what I love about Naruto. Often times it's really too much like real life. Instead of people being black and white, right or wrong, bad or good- they're usually in a tough situation, trying their best and falling short, don't have all of the information, acting with good intentions or acting on what they believe will bring about a lesser evil, and then end up hurting others.

But it is much easier to assign blame and move on. A so-called bad person will always be the perfect scapegoat for issues bigger than them. In Itachi's case, the fascist government in the Leaf. It's easier to say Itachi could have just refused and decided not to be involved, than to recognize that like almost every other character in the narrative, he was under extreme duress, living in a military state. He was a child whose existence, along with all the other children and adults in the Leaf, was only valuable as long as he could serve as a tool for the war machine in the shinobi world's fucked up political system. And saying this is not the same as saying he was not capable of better decisions or that everything that he did thereafter or in general should not be read critically or subject to hypothetical consequences. It is the same as a saying his actions cannot be fully understood without complete context, and the themes of Naruto will never come through if every villain is just "evil" with no further nuance. And it would be boring too LOL

That said, I love to think about Itachi's situation back then. The ages in Naruto are a bit muddled, a little inconsistent, subject to change and interpretation, but Itachi was a child when he murdered everyone in the Uchiha compound. Most sources say he was 13. It should go without saying that someone so young isn't capable of the same decision-making or critical thinking as say, a 30-year-old, someone whose brain is finished developing and has much more experience on Earth.

Itachi's experience at this point in his life is informed by his age, and it's obviously informed by his childhood, as he has no other place from which to draw conclusions. Itachi grew up in a warring state. He saw people die and was subject to extreme violence in his formative years. To make matters worse, he was taught that war was inevitable and the only thing he could do to guard against it was kill others before they got the chance to kill him (threaten the village). Thusly, Itachi internalized at a very young age that what was in his power was to minimize damage (to himself, to his village, and to the world). What was not in his power was to stop this violence entirely (by adopting a critical mindset and going against fascist powers).

A part of this I think people often forget is that Itachi has absolutely nowhere to adopt this mindset FROM, as even though his father and the other members of the Uchiha clan seek equity in the Leaf, if they were to overthrow the Hokage and create a new system, it would still presumably center around the same ideals (minus, of course, the oppression of the Uchiha as a group). Fugaku is the head of the Uchiha clan at this time. As someone who imposed near impossible performance-related expectations on both of his sons, and withheld love and affection whenever they came up short (so often that it was at the cost of having any considerable emotional bond with either of them), there is absolutely no good reason to believe that Fugaku would reform the Leaf using a non-fascist ideology. And if he did, there is no good reason to believe that he would be some kind of visionary LMAO

This is important to remember because when it comes down to Itachi's decision to either kill everyone in the Uchiha compound and his family, or be part of the coup that would overthrow the Leaf, some people treat it as though it's a choice between fascism and non-fascism, which it most certainly is not. And if it was, Itachi, as a child who had grown up immersed in this ideology, would not be able to appreciate the difference. This context allows us to understand further what Itachi was really weighing in that moment. Accounting for his young age and limited worldview, the only valuable difference in this moment to Itachi was the amount of bloodshed that he would "allow" to happen. Essentially, he sees the options as follows:

Either give in to Danzo and kill everyone in the Uchiha compound, or facilitate a coup where the current government is (hopefully) overthrown and risk starting another war.

Here, Itachi pauses. He has known war. He knows how it affects children, adults, families, and whole nations. The peace he's living in currently is bought with blood, but it's the only peace he's ever known. The alternative is horrifying. And a war in this context, Itachi likely thinks, would be his fault, as he has now been put in the position to "prevent" it. Danzo and the whole shinobi system have groomed him into thinking so. Itachi, at age 13, cannot understand that there would be no war; it exists only as leverage for Danzo's argument at this point. His sensitivities are being played on.

Fugaku, though he is not the same as Danzo, offers about as much help as he does (that being none). Fugaku has no interest in avoiding war; if a war breaks out, it's justified because it will still mean his clan will no longer be living in oppression. This idea is valid, as fascist systems and discrimination can only cease to exist when we rise up against them; unfortunately, this most often calls for righteous violence, as the oppressive powers will not be moved with peaceful shows (not to mention they are willing to go to extreme lengths to avoid losing their hold on the people they have crushing power over, i.e. the Uchiha massacre). But Fugaku has no words to explain this to Itachi, who fears the worst and further fears being responsible for the worst. All he does is act as if it's a moral failing that his 13-year-old son is unwilling to stage a coup, which he believes could mark the abrupt end of a peace that's only just begun.

That said, let it be known that Itachi does appreciate this situation with SOME nuance, though it isn't of the kind that might have enabled him to see he was being manipulated. He at the very least understands that Danzo is a warmonger and oppresses those he fears (the Uchiha). He understands that the rights of his clan have been sorely disrespected, and that the issue needs correction. He understands the anger of his friends and family. This is why it takes him much deliberation before he can even come close to making a decision. He plays both sides right up until the end, listening to Danzo, as well as Fugaku and Shisui, paying attention to the current atmosphere in the Leaf as he tries to decide.

It is something he doesn't want to do. Here's where I get to the part I put in the tags of my drawing.

In this situation, it's almost worthless to write an analysis about Itachi's feelings at this time, his understanding of what was actually going on, his loyalty to his clan or his loyalty to the Leaf, because really, he could not grasp it. He was never prepared for this. He never knew he would be asked to make a decision he could only understand as "your family or the world?"

Itachi was put in a position that had no happy ending. There was no decision he could make that would not hurt. That could not result in a cataclysm that split him right down the middle. There was no version of this story that a 13-year-old could carry out thinking "I have done the right thing."

And that's the important part. Both sides asked him to make this decision, and so both sides are guilty of placing an immeasurable pressure on a child who should never have been put in such a position. Regardless of ideology, regardless of price, regardless of oppression or loyalty or devotion or any other thing- someone else should have made this decision for Itachi. Someone else should have been responsible. An adult, at the very least. Someone who COULD understand the implications of both options. Someone who COULD go forward and appreciate the evil of fascism and know that a coup was necessary. Itachi was never capable of such a thing. If he made the "wrong" decision, than every child who can't explain to you what a fascist government in a military state looks like and explain what the difference is between a hate crime and resisting a hateful power, is also wrong. Here is the nuance. These are things a 13-year-old in this universe cannot be expected to understand unless they are taught. And Itachi had no teacher. Quite the opposite. There were only forces pressing him from both sides, saying "choose."

Had his father done this for him, had Shisui been in this position, had any other adult Uchiha acting as a spy been put to this task, it would be a much different narrative. But of course, it had to be Itachi, who Danzo knew he could manipulate. It had to be a child, someone skilled enough to do the job, but inexperienced enough, afraid enough, to be willing to sacrifice everything they had to see the mission through. Someone you could whisper "greater good" to and have them hand over their well being on a plate. Someone who didn't understand they had the power and strength to destroy the system threatening them.

On a narrative level, Itachi exists to illustrate this point. How young people are systematically indoctrinated to serve a greater purpose, be it under a specific government, religion, or otherwise. We see it in real life fascism, in real life cults. There's no mistake. It isn't an accident that Itachi's story begins like this.

Which brings me to the rest of his life. The reason I drew the picture in the post referenced at the top. Itachi's character is a bit of a mystery the rest of the anime. Be that because of bad writing or an intentional omission, his motives, thoughts, and opinions are largely left ambiguous. However, there are still a few moments that interest me as far as the implications of his development.

When Itachi first comes back to the Leaf village, he faces Kakashi. On the one hand, this could simply be a narrative tool- the big bad meets the big good. He takes Kakashi out of commission! The first rogue shinobi we see who is able to defeat the pillar of the Leaf, the Copy Ninja, and without even breaking a sweat!

On the other hand, I find the brutality of Itachi's attack very intriguing. Again, it could be the tough guy act, but he's able to keep three jonin busy easily using standard genjutsu (with the help of Kisame). It wouldn't be a stretch to say that using the tsukuyomi is overkill, and at a considerable price, we learn later.

Why then would Itachi, who has been shown to have excellent battle intelligence, who is strategic to a fault, be willing to jeopardize his health among other things just to... scare the Leaf? Make sure Kakashi wouldn't be a nuisance in the future? Sure, the last one would make collecting Naruto less complicated, but they dispatched Kakashi easily enough, and surely Jiraiya, who Naruto was with at the time, would pose a bigger problem than Kakashi.

It doesn't make strategic sense, which makes me wonder if Itachi has a special animosity toward Kakashi. Being his superior in the ANBU before the Uchiha massacre, someone who was willing to conduct surveillance of the Uchiha compound without question, Kakashi could have become a symbol of the indifference of the Leaf for Itachi. He could very well have been a reminder of the inoperable position Itachi was put in when he was still a child, and Kakashi, of course, was an adult. Another adult who did nothing. Noticed nothing. Did not help Itachi.

And while I'm certain that Kakashi would have taken severe issue with the goings on in the Leaf at that time, judging by his reaction when he finds out the truth in Shippuden, Itachi knows him only by what he did then. Facilitated surveillance of the Uchiha compound, was a supportive superior, but nothing greater. A bystander whose compassion, while well meaning, was entirely unhelpful.

I don't think it's far fetched that Itachi fucking crucified Kakashi because he was so angry at what being in the Leaf did to him. At some point, as he got older, he realized how terrible it was. He realized there were people like him. Children who were "born killers". Pawns in the game of the shinobi powers.

After leaving the village, Itachi joins the Akatsuki, who are also seeking peace through war (another story). He is supposed to spy for them, but doesn't follow through in any enthusiastic way (that we're shown). He works alone for quite some time, or else with a group (briefly he was shown with Conan and Kakuzu). He is partners with Orochimaru before he's expelled from the Akatsuki. He is partners with one of the Seven Swordsmen of the Mist. He grows up and meets many people, sees lots of stories unfold. He learns that he isn't in a minority. Many shinobi are just like him.

And then, as an adult, he is partnered with Kisame, who he finds excellent camaraderie with because of their similar backgrounds. We see in this relationship that he understands what happened to him and what he did enough to acknowledge that, while neither of them are monsters, as many people say, they are human. And humans make mistakes. Humans are complicated. Wrong and right and wrong and right. They understand each other, and Itachi understands more clearly what the world puts these children up to. What it forces shinobi to become. That it isn't all his fault, but he still did it. And so he is responsible. He appears to be able to live with that.

But when he returns to the Leaf, those feelings bubble up. He hates the Leaf. He hates that system. He hates what he did. Maybe he even hates being a shinobi, how his excellence was weaponized, how being an Uchiha doomed him and his clan. And for what?

Itachi is played as a character who is only sensible, only logical, only interested in practical things, has nothing to express. But the way he behaves toward Kakashi in that moment bares all his grief and anger. I just like to think about it. We have so few moments where we get to see Itachi genuinely. The fight with Kakashi, the Sasuke/Deidara fight, his thoughtful moments with Kisame. Just makes me wonder what could've been if Itachi's story had gone a little differently.

Anyway, if anyone would like me to expand on any points or has additional thoughts, feel free to hop in my ask box or leave a comment. Thanks for the interest, I love to talk.

#this is wisp #itachi uchiha #analysis

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jayteacups · 9 months

Text

Levi Week Day 3: Shy & Blushing | Affections & Fondness

@leviweek2023

To celebrate your second anniversary together, Levi takes you to see the beach for the first time.

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x fem!Reader

Tags and warnings: Back on my soft Levi agenda :3 Fluff, established relationship, canonverse, civilian!Reader, takes place a short while after the beach scene in S3. Mild NSFW (very brief descriptions of oral sex, F receiving). Mild as it may be, I still don't want minors interacting.

Word count: 3.5k

A/N: So I haven’t written anything in a while but this event is helping me get over my writer’s block little by little! I missed the first two days sadly, and this is also a day late, but I wanted to at least get something done for Day 3 lol. This is based off a really cute dream I had a few months ago about a beach date with Levi, but I never got around to writing it, so this was the perfect chance to finally put it into words. I am absolutely incapable of writing anything other than soft sappiness lol. Hope you guys enjoy reading!

Before today, the biggest body of water you’ve ever seen was the lazy, winding river that runs right down the middle of your home village, where all the merchant boats come in, where all the kids go to play in the sweltering heat of the summer. You practically grew up in the river. It is a second home to you.

And yet it doesn’t hold a candle to the ocean in the slightest.

Miles and miles of pure blue stretch out far beyond the naked eye, the rolling waves on the horizon glinting as they catch the sun’s rays. Untouched by mankind, there is a serene quiet to the air, punctured only by the splash of water making land and the occasional bird cry.

Such a place could only ever exist in myth, or so you thought.

“It’s like something out of a fairytale,” you whisper in awe.

You feel Levi’s eyes on you from behind. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “Yeah, it is.”

The two of you are coming up on your two-year anniversary as lovers, and the Survey Corps’ last expedition to the coastline a couple months ago had inspired him to take you out to the beach to celebrate. He had wanted to show you it’s raw, untouched beauty, before the infrastructure development plans are put into motion.

The way the dry sand shifts under your bare feet catches you off guard. Soft, warm and pliant, which isn’t what you expected at all. The sensation makes you giggle. You can’t help but lean over and touch the sand with your hands, picking a handful of it up and letting the tiny grains slip through your fingers.

“Beware of the sand.” Levi says next to you ominously, taking off his forest-green cloak. “Before you know it, it gets everywhere.” He’s decked out in full uniform and gear. Even though Paradis Island has been declared clear of titans, Levi refuses to take any chances.

You look over your shoulder back at your lover, grinning giddily. “Guess we’ll just have to wash it off in the ocean, then,” you declare, heading right towards the sea. Gone is the soreness from days of camping and riding through endless grasslands, your arms clenched like a vice around Levi’s waist as you tremble atop his horse, feeling all too exposed without the safety of the Walls. Only curiosity and joy remain, propelling your feet towards the water.

“Shit—wait, don’t go too far,” Levi calls. You turn back. The reins on his horse are gathered in one hand, both of your cloaks and your shoes in the other. “I’m going to set us up under that tree over there. It’s hot and Mercy needs some shade.”

You tilt your head. “Okay. Need a hand?” You reach for your shoes and cloak to carry them yourself, but he shakes his head.

“It’s fine, I got it. Besides, I can tell you’re practically shitting yourself with excitement to go frolic around.”

“Mm.”

“So you can go ahead. Just not too deep, I know you can swim but the waves might be stronger than you think. And watch out for poisonous shit and don’t pick any sea creatures up. Hange got stung by this weird-ass blob called a jellyfish because they got too cocky after picking up several non-poisonous things despite me telling them every five seconds to not do that, and their hands were covered in welts for a fortnight.” Revulsion passes across his face for a moment as he recalls the memory.

Confused, you frown. He hasn’t told you this story yet. “What’s a jellyfish?”

“Fuck if I know. That’s what Arlert said they were called. Just watch out.” He leans forward and kisses your cheek tenderly. As he pulls away, you notice his ears are flushed. How cute.

“Alright, alright.” You laugh, and follow it up with a kiss to his cheek. “I’ll be careful. Come join me soon, yeah?”

The slightest of soft smiles graces his face as he nods, before you turn around and jog back towards the sea, lifting your skirt above your knees.

The sand grows colder, wetter, firmer under your feet, a change that rips another joyous laugh out of you. As you approach, the sea moves forward, as if to greet you, and a small wave splashes gently over your feet. You giggle.

“Hello, ocean,” you murmur, kicking the water to gently splash it back. “It’s nice to meet you too.”

A quick scan of the shallows revealed no sea critters. Bummer, you were hoping to at least see what a jellyfish looked like—what kind of an explanation is ‘weird-ass blob’?—but you suppose not seeing one is better than an accidental sting. Lifting your skirts up higher, you wade deeper into the ocean until the water reaches your thighs before looking back at the shore.

On the beach, Levi spreads out his spare cloak as a mat underneath a tree. Next to him, his horse, Mercy, sits and takes a well-deserved rest in the shade after a long journey. He then strips himself of his jacket and boots, before folding them neatly into a pile next to your camping packs. He does the same for your cloak and footwear that you’d discarded carelessly earlier, too caught up in excitement. As he loosens his cravat, Levi’s head turns back towards the sea, evidently looking for you, and offers you a little wave.

You wave back enthusiastically. “Come join me!” You call. As fun as frolicking in the water sounds, you don’t want to do it all by yourself.

Another handful of minutes is spent taking off his gear and straps, before he walks out towards the sea. You wait excitedly, as he slows to a stop, just a hair’s breadth away from where the water stops.

Levi rolls up his trouser legs and tentatively tests out the waters with the tip of his toe.

You grin.

“Don’t laugh.”

You purse your lips. “Not laughing.” He’s just so endearing.

He was like this too with the river near the Queen’s Orphanage, where you work as a teacher. One day, Historia took the orphans to the riverbank to play and invited Levi Squad to spend the day off there with her. You’d waded into the water and beckoned him to follow, only to find him standing hesitantly on the riverbank, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. There aren’t many rivers and lakes down in that shithole where I grew up, are there? I can’t swim to save my shitty life, you remember him saying. Eventually, you’d coaxed him into standing ankle-deep in the river, and he’d ended up watching over the children that didn’t want to venture any deeper either. After all, they had all come from the same place he did. On expeditions and even now on this camping trip, Levi uses a bucket and rag to wash instead of submerging himself in rivers or lakes like everybody else does.

“It’s okay.” You say reassuringly. “It’s hardly any different from standing in the river.”

He gives you a very familiar look of exasperation. “Give me a break. I didn’t get into the ocean when I was here with the others, and I still can’t fucking swim.”

“That’s fine. We don’t have to go any further than knee-deep.”

He nods. Despite that, Levi still lingers with his toes barely in the water. Slowly, you get the feeling that his hesitation has nothing to do with his inability to swim.

You purse your lips, holding in a laugh. “I see. You’re scared of jellyfishes, aren’t you?”

He blinks, deadpan. “You’re hilarious. I’m not scared of jellyfishes.”

Your face splits into a grin. “Yes you are.”

“I am not. This is ridiculous.”

“If a jellyfish was to show up right now, what would you do? Hide behind me?”

“If a jellyfish was to show up right now, you’d be the one hiding behind me, just like you do whenever there’s a spider in the house.” Levi crosses his arms and gives nothing away with his expression, but his ears are turning redder by the second.

You give him a teasing look. “Sure, sure.” And even if you did end up being scared of a jellyfish, you know Levi would help you without a second thought. Just like he does with the spiders. “You know, I still have no idea what a jellyfish is. How would I hide behind you if I don’t know what I’m supposed to be hiding from? What even are they?”

“Freaky little fuckers, that’s what they are,” he grouses.

“Okay, well, we’re not going to let a stupid freaky sea creature ruin our fun, yeah? We know that they exist now, and since you’ve seen one, you know what to look out for.” You hold out a hand. “We’ll be okay.”

Levi’s eyes drops towards your hand, clearly debating on whether or not he should take it. He’d been too shy to show any sort of physical affection towards you when Historia and his subordinates were also present, even though everybody was off-duty that day.

Now, though, there is nobody watching.

Just how the both of you like it.

Levi searches your face for a moment, before he quickly snatches up your hands, and takes another step into the water. A new wave rolls in, harder than the rest, and crashes against both of your calves, soaking the hems of his trousers and your skirt.

“See? All fine.”

Still holding onto your hand so tightly his knuckles begin to whiten, Levi scans the waters with narrowed eyes. “Mm hm.”

This won’t do. He’s still far too tense, far too on edge. What you wouldn’t give for him to be able to relax without feeling guilty about it. Concerned, you squeeze his hand.

“Hey. How about we get out of the ocean for a bit? You said we were going to stay here tomorrow for the actual anniversary too, so there’s absolutely no rush. For now, we can walk along the beach as far down as possible and then back up here again. The sun looks like it’s going to set soon too, so it won’t be too hot for us. You won’t have to worry about leaving Mercy alone for a short while, she won’t overheat.”

Bit by bit, the tension seeps out of him as he considers your offer. He squeezes your hand back.

You smile. “Let’s go.”

———

As you walk along the beach, two bright red, shelled creatures make you yelp as they abruptly cutting the two of you off in your tracks, scuttling sideways. You also come across the occasional pretty seashell that Levi offers to hold in his pocket, before eventually stumbling across a strange mass washed up on the sand.

Levi flings an arm in front of you. “Stop.”

“What the—” Realisation strikes you quickly. “Is that a jellyfish?”

He nods stiffly.

“So that’s what it looks like… well, you’re right. It is a weird-ass blob.”

“This one’s triple the size of the one Hange picked up.” Levi informs you in a whisper.

“Um, is it dead? It’s not meant to be out of the water, is it?”

“Don’t know. Don’t think so.” Levi looks back out at the sea, tugging on your hand slightly as he slowly inches backwards. The sun is beginning to set. “Should probably turn back anyway.”

“We could just walk around the poor thing, if you want to keep going.” You offer him a reassuring smile. “But I don’t mind either way.”

He shakes his head, the tugging on your hand growing stronger. “It’s been too long since I’ve fed Mercy. And the sun is setting; we need to set up our tent before dark. Come on, let’s go.”

He’d fed his horse not long ago, but you just suppress a smile of endearment and let Levi eagerly steer you away from the beached jellyfish. You squeeze his hand in comfort, and he squeezes back in thanks.

As the sun sets, the sky burns. Above you lies every shade of red, orange and yellow imaginable. The sight is gorgeous.

But not more so than Levi himself.

You’ve always attested to his beauty, though he’s always quick to say otherwise. But if he could see himself today, alight from the sunset glow, you aren’t sure even he could deny that whatever higher forces are out there took their time shaping every feature of his to perfection.

And he says he’s the lucky one.

As the two of you walk, hand in hand, you both gradually drift sideways towards the ocean, until the two of you walk ankle-deep in water, feeling the sand get drawn in and out under your feet as the ocean ebbs and flows.

Despite his nerves from earlier, Levi had chosen to walk on your left side, the side exposed to the big expanse of ocean. Content to stroll in silence, to simply take in this beautiful feat of nature around you, you notice Levi looking out to the sea every now and then, admiring how the light glints off the waves. Even the curve of his cheek—which is all you can see when his head is turned away from you like this—just fills you with an inexplicable joy. As Levi looks back in front of him to see how much farther the two of you have to walk, you notice his expression is softer, content. Dare you say it: he’s happy.

“It’s really nice seeing you like this.” You murmur, voice barely audible above the breeze.

He looks back at you. “Hm? Like what?”

“Like you’re at peace.”

His breath hitches. At a loss for words, Levi’s pinky curls around yours as he looks back out at the ocean for a moment.

“I have you to thank for that.”

The words are accompanied with an awkward clearing of his throat and a blush so undeniable he could not possibly pin it on the reddish glow of the sunset.

“The last time I was here, it wasn’t like this. It was… All I could think about was…”

He pauses, exhaling harshly, as his feet come to a stop. You come around to face him, taking his other hand. In times like these, you’ve found it’s best to not say anything, to give him the room to gather his words. It’s hard for him to express his feelings and thoughts, and from the small glimpses of his past he’s revealed to you, it’s not difficult to see why. There is no room for vulnerability in the life he leads. And yet, he tries for you. You’re so incredibly proud of him, beyond what your own words could ever express.

“Hange and my squad were having the time of their lives. Armin’s dream to reach the ocean came true. But all I could think about was how everybody who didn’t live to see the ocean should have been there to see it. How much they would’ve loved this place, just like you do.” He swallows thickly. “Then Eren, that brat, he… he goes and ruins the mood for everybody else. He goes and reminds us all of what awaits on the other side of the ocean. As if we could ever forget.”

You remember reading the article about it in the papers. How your blood had gone cold. How faint you felt at the realisation that everything Levi and his comrades fought for, shed blood for, offered up their hearts and lives for, had been for a truth uglier than anyone could possibly imagine.

No. It’s not like you could forget either.

“And if that wasn’t enough, he goes and contemplates what it will take to finally reach the freedom he thought was beyond the ocean. Doesn’t take a genius to figure out what his first thought was.”

You feel sick to your stomach. The hurt and shock on your face must be clear as day to him, for Levi shakes his head and pulls you in closer to him, a hand rubbing your back.

“Fuck, I shouldn’t have told you that,” he says quietly. “Sorry. I just… before today, that was my first and last time seeing the ocean. This time… this time is better.” Voicing it makes him blush once more. He looks away again. “Much better.”

Reeling from his words, all you can do is bridge the gap and pull him in close for a hug. Inside, there is a sinking, sickening feeling that things are only going to get worse for the Survey Corps from now on.

You close your eyes. “I wish this could all be over,” you mumble into his shoulder. He’s warm under your touch. “You must be so tired.”

In response, he holds you tighter, his body melting into yours, and sighs.

———

On your way back, you feel Levi taking quick, stolen glances at you when you’re looking elsewhere. Every time you turn back to look at him, he’s whipped his head in the opposite direction and is looking out at the ocean, presumably to hide his blush.

You grin to yourself, and look in the opposite direction. Beyond the sand lies a more firm, grassy area with those unfamiliar-looking trees just like the ones you left Mercy under. You and Levi quickly agree that once you get back, you’ll go a little further inland to set up camp, since he’s wanting to avoid getting sand in the tent.

In your mind, you replace a patch of the grassland with a cosy cottage facing out towards the sea. You can almost hear the sounds of joyous laughter being carried by the wind: yours, Levi’s, and perhaps a third voice, much younger, much less burdened by the weight of the world.

The two of you make it back to where you started with still some daylight to spare. You give Mercy some water, and prepare dinner from the packed rations, whilst Levi, having proven himself capable since he does this every time he goes on an expedition, walks a little further inland and puts up the tent.

The moment you two crawl inside and lay down your sleeping bags, Levi presses a searing kiss to your lips. It isn’t long before his head is between your thighs, bringing you to the edge. Always willing to give. Your fingers weave through his silken hair, and tears of pleasure—tears only Levi has ever managed to draw from you—sting at the corner of your eyes.

When you come, he comes—untouched. And after the two of you gather yourselves and clean up, he’s looking at you ever so fondly, like he will never get the chance to look at you again.

“If I could give you the world,” you say, pulling him closer (it will never be close enough), “I would.”

“I don’t want the world,” he mumbles, leaning down to kiss you, “I never have. I want you.”

———

Long after you’ve fallen into slumber, Levi lies awake, mind racing.

I want you.

He means it in every sense.

Out on the beach, walking beside you and admiring your breathtaking radiance, he’d come to a realisation he should’ve come to a long time ago: he wants to marry you. The question had lingered at the tip of his tongue the entire way back, but he had managed to hold back on asking you right there and then by looking away, catching his breath, letting his burning face cool with the breeze. He couldn’t let himself ask you in that moment. If he was going to ask you to spend the rest of your life with him, he was going to do it properly, with a ring that shines as brightly as you do.

It’s kind of ironic, how this entire trip to celebrate your two-year anniversary as lovers, would’ve been the perfect time to propose, yet he’d been too slow to realise it until now. He decides that the moment he gets back to the Walls, he’s visiting the nearest jewellers.

He’s always been that way, Levi supposes. It had taken him years after your first meeting at that teashop to tell you how he’d felt, and he almost never told you at all. For so long, he had been convinced this could never be in the cards for him. Everybody he has ever loved meets the same tragic fate, and he’s scared that one day, you will too.

But if you ever do meet that fate, he knows in his heart of hearts he will never regret loving you.

He reaches over to pick up his pocket watch. It’s dark inside the tent, but his eyes have always been keen, and he can make out the positions of the hands.

Fifteen seconds to midnight.

He takes a moment to look down at you in fondness. Your cheek is squished against his chest, soft lips parted to let out slow and deep breaths, your arm loosely draped over his side, legs entangled with his.

Ten seconds to midnight.

He dares to mouth the words. Will you marry me?

As if in response, you snuggle up closer to him with a sleepy sigh.

Three, two, one.

“Happy anniversary,” Levi whispers, heart full, and closes his eyes.

Masterlist

#leviweek2023 #levi x reader #levi x you #levi x y/n #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x you #levi ackerman x y/n #aot x reader #snk x reader #levi ackerman fluff #m/dni

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mixelation · 2 months

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thoughts on itadei, itakisa, and itasaku? and i guess any other popular itachi ships that are not currently coming to mind for me lol

ItaDei

Love it. Have written tens of thousands of words about it. It's sort of a frustrating ship to write because they're both assholes about their own feelings (and I don't think Itachi in canon... has a lot of thoughts on Deidara), but Deidara has an extremely canonical gay melt down over Itachi, so I feel like there's a lot of ridiculousness to explore. The fact that they're both criminal villain ninja means there's a lot of room for understanding that other ships might not have. Yes, Deidara blows buildings up with people inside, what of it? He's not like "ooh aah you monster!!" over the Uchiha Massacre. And I like that they both have wildly different, but demonstrably lethal/successful, attitudes towards problem solving. Like I think they cover a lot of each other's flaws while also making each other worse, you know?

Since it's "brutally honest" opinion time, I will add a complaint I haven't made in a while. I hate the way a good chunk of fandom writes Deidara in mlm ships. For some reason, people like to make him a naive uwu bean to play the "feminine" role. Stop that, it's boring and OOC.

ItaKisa

This is a ship I don't really mind but also don't find super compelling. I'm not a big Kisame fan-- like he's fine, I like writing and reading about him fine-- but he's not one of my favorite Akatsuki members. I don't filter on ItaKisa but the tag won't make me NOT click a fic. I could be compelled to write it if I had an idea for it. I do prefer exploring their relationship from a more platonic angle. Kisame is most interesting to me when he's the guy dealing with Itachi's bullshit 24/7 and somehow still thriving.

ItaSaku

My original OTP!!!!!! Okay so I think they're super compatible and HERE'S WHY--

Basically I think Itachi is someone who has idealized romance in a way where he has an extensive very bland fantasy about nice Konoha girls who let him have the most bland vanilla hetersosexual marriage of all time. He wants the culturally appropriate equivalent of a white picket fence. Would he actually be happy with this? No, obviously not, but Itachi also thinks he's a pacifist.

Meanwhile Sakura is a violent maniac who is trying her hardest to BE that nice Konoha girl. They indulge each other's insane fantasies about it. Itachi looks at Sakura and is like: "oh yes, the perfect Konoha kunoichi, the student of the Hokage and Hatake Kakashi, a healer with the face of an angel--" But if his ability for self-analysis were 2% better he would realize his favorite Sakura moments are all like "ripped a man in half" and "brought that same man back from the brink of death to interrogate him." He is ready to lay back and let Sakura live out her own fantasy of Fixing the tragic S-ranked missing-nin WITH HER LOVE because that is also what Itachi wants. Ignore that the village is on fire, please

Other Itachi Ships

Let's see.... every once in a while I get intrigued by the idea of Kakashi/Itachi, but I have never hit on anything there that I really like. I'm fine with Shisui/Itachi, but I don't think Shisui has enough of a canon presence for me to go really feral over it like I would ItaSaku or ItaDei. I'm intrigued by some other Itachi/Akatsuki ships although I don't think any of them are popular. For example, I think Itachi and Sasori would clash horribly in that they're both assholes in similar directions, and this would make SasoItaDei a beautiful trashfire for Deidara specifically.

I've written some Itachi-Karin interactions that I thought were fun so I think ItaKarin could be interesting. Ummm..... OH! I regularly forget Izumi even exists. Sorry, Izumi.

#ask meme answer #ninja nonsense

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zynxwrite · 1 year

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Wait this is the first thing I have ever requested lol. Could you please write a romantic peice for aonung, the reader is a sully (surprise surprise I can't think of anything else) and maybe just do something when him and reader sneak out at night and he's being really flirty but the reader is being a little oblivious and maybe it ends with some kisses 👀. Idk it's completely fine if you do not like this idea but just wanna let you know that I love your writing so please keep up the amazing work

pairings ❰ ao'nung x m!reader

fish boy asked you sneak out with him to 'hunt' and a little something something

warning: short writing, aonung himself

I made it an x male reader (I hope you don't mind since you didn't mention a gender for the reader) and yes i misread the word oblivious as obvious lol, still I hope you like this plot with a change of the word.

special tag bc I can: @nerdyglasess

The ocean water was lovely this evening. While the chilly wind blew along the shore, it was shimmering and twirling with the star's reflections. All but one person were capable of falling asleep listening to the sounds of the night.

You were the only member of your family awake at this late hour because it was late at night. Your hands were moving with each touch as you made the reef baskets with shells throughout by hand. You were the toruk makto's oldest son. Even if you weren't asked to be responsible, you still had to.

Crafting fascinating things on a regular basis would calm and relax you, especially at night. As you worked, the glorious stars would watch you as you created anything really.

While you were focused on weaving a basket, your sense didn't bother to look at your surroundings as you thought that everyone was asleep due to how late it was.

You assumed as much, however you were unaware that a figure was stealthily approaching you from behind as your hands shifted the shells into placement. Even humming a melody before this person could distract you.

"Uhm, hey-" an unexpected voice startled you, but you didn't have time to scream as you spun your torso around and raised your fists to strike something, or someone, that frightened you out.

After the attack, you looked down and noticed that Ao'nung, whose face you had just smacked, had his hands outstretched as you prepared to deliver another punch. You groan as you withdraw your fists.

You raise his body and pull his prominent ears as you lead him outside the cottage, abandoning your hand-woven baskets and your peacefuly sleeping family behind. While walking to whatever you were going to, Ao'nung moves to escape your grasp as it is freezing outside in the beachside village, his breath frosting over in the billowing air.

“What the hell was that?! You almost had me waking the entire village. Do not ever to that again or next time I will rip out your ears the next time you do that.” You hissed as the boy with teal skin fixed his posture with his ears down, understanding of what you were saying. You sigh while you allow him a minute to respond to your question as it appears he was tongue-tied. He mumbled an ‘I’m sorry’ which you did not catch as the wind was singing.

“I wanted to uh- ask you on uh....” As you stand in front of him, he fumbles with his hands as he tries to think of a sentence to say in response to your glance.

“I wanted to ask you if you would wanna come hunt a- big fish.. with me?” He grinned awkwardly at you as you stood there with a cringe-inducing expression on your face. As he continued to fidget with his hands in expectation of your response, you appeared to notice a reddish tint appearing on his cheeks.

So this is what this was all about huh. You shrugged your shoulders and a mischievous smile, almost a smirk, formed on your lips. You now finally know why this fish boy has been less of a tease on you, while he was extreme to your siblings.

“well of course I can, lead the way, warrior.” Your response to him is delivered while you attempt to avoid sounding sarcastic. His anxious eyes are now pierced by stars from above.

Both of you mimicked the sound of an Ilu for them to be summoned.

The both of you were guided to a sea-plant field by the stingray-like creatures. The corals' varied lights provided the opportunity for you to see underwater at night. You and your dear frenemie, Ao'nung have organized a race before traveling to the hunting destination.

You both descend underwater as you paddle with your ilu, the bubbles from your dive following you both as you disappear in the waves. You roll your eyes as your orbs saw that Ao’nung was already ahead of you, He’s a show off at anyways, he’s just annoying.

You and he have engaged in just few battle of races, but now you are both at your destined location. You already understood that this place was not related to ginormous fishes or hunting. It was a stone-lined cavern filled with brilliant colors of light that shined brilliant at night. cute.

“So, uh- I think we kinda got the wrong location” He attempts to conceal the fact that the explanation for sneaking out was unrelated to hunting. It was about another topic, something he was keeping from you.

While you were waiting for the appropriate moment, you simply played with the tone and ignored his comment. He was looking at you, perhaps zoning out, as you made a short circle around the coven with your hands on your hips.

You gave the boy a lingering glance before stopping your brief tour of this wonderful cavern. “Now, what is the actual reason why you brought me here, fish lips?” going back to his direction, his eyes met yours.

He had switched from his awkward body postures to those that were the reverse; he was now back to his ego personality. He was aware that you would have immediately learned the truth thanks to your sharp intelligence.

“You smart, smart tree hugger.” He chuckled while giving you that look. This guy really be flirting with you right now? Of course you were not gonna let him dominate you, you’re [name] sully, the eldest son of the man that came from a star.

nuts, he was the one who did it first. His lips met yours, Saying you were stunned is not so understating the situation. Instead of kissing back, you simply waited for him to realize what he was in fact doing.

“aw, I was supposed to do that. You scxawng” You said as he pulled your lips away from his. You gave him a look that he could recognize, your eyes were a sign of yes to a question.

“Let’s.. stay for a bit, I like the sound of waves. My [name].” You grinned as you knew where he got that reference from. You just hope for one thing, that his parents would agree with you being his mate.

You two casually relaxed in peace while soaking in the outside waves. Aonung took hold of your hand, your five fingers hugging his four. Who would’ve thought that a forest person could ever be with a reef person? You two love birds would solve that.

“you’re still a bitch tho”

#aonung #aonung x reader #ao'nung #aonung x male reader #avatar x reader #x reader #avatar the way of water #the way of water #avatar 2009 #avatar #atwow #━ zynxwrite

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a-little-bit-of-ravioli · 5 months

Text

20 questions for fic writers

Tagged by @the-real-azalea-scroggs! Had to wait until I was of my phone because doing these is a nightmare on mobile lmao

1. How many works do you have on A03?

18 as of a few days ago!

2. What's your total A03 word count?

157,937! Which is. Only a fraction of the word count in my Docs folder. Be prepared.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

I mainly write for The Legend of Zelda; specifically Linked Universe! In fact, that's all that's posted on my Ao3 currently, since my fall into that fandom began with me uploading there! Pre-Ao3 I wrote for Black Cat (Anime/Manga), Megaman NT Warrior, various Pokémon things, Assassin's Creed, Yugioh, Final Fantasy XIV and Octopath Traveler! Some of these I still write privately, but I haven't gotten around to re-posting any.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Whistling on Deaf Ears - My longest fic on Ao3, focusing on Wild and Twilight's friendship and how good intentions can lead to disaster.

Iconoclasm - Warriors deals with the room full of portraits in Cia's palace. The Chain also deals with it, but with a bit more fire.

Deserving - Twilight finally tells Rusl that he was the wolf in the village during TP, but that also means dealing with some heavier topics. Colin half overhears them and forms his own conclusions.

Something Greater - The start of the "Hyrule can see magical auras" series! In this one we deal with Legend and his many rings.

Ocean Magic - Mermaid Legend and Zora Time have a race and then fight one of the Big Octos from WW! Fun times.

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Every single one!! I love comments, they give me an excuse to ramble about my fic more!! I am always down to ramble about every single insignificant detail of any line and/or section. If you ever want more background info about one of my fics, look to the comments!

So please, I adore comments, I treat them like treasures, not responding to them would be a CRIME.

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

There's no contest; Inevitable, my (so far) only MCD fic.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Hmmm, that's hard to quantify. I usually try to end fics on a hopeful note regardless. I'd say possibly either Deserving, where Twilight reconnects with his family, or Shimmering Blue, Striking White, where Time meets the Fierce Deity settled down on Satori Mountain and they both get closure.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Thankfully, no! I've been blessed with mostly amazing and patient readers, even when my upload schedule isn't the best.

9. Do you write smut?

No, not really. I've attempted it, but I'm too asexual for it lol

10. Do you write crossovers?

Very, very rarely. Mostly privately, and only very specific ones. Only a single one has had an actual plot, so far (more on that one in question 15!).

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Nope!

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Also a nope! I tend to write for smaller fandoms, where these things don't tend to happen a lot!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I have! But it's been a while. Over a decade, in fact! I tried to find the fic to link it here, but it was on the German fanfic website fanfiktion.de, and my friend who posted it back then must have deactivated her account, because it's nowhere to be seen (I still have the Word file though!). It was a Multi-Crossover that started as an RP in a forum, and we took turns turning the RP into prose one chapter each. "If a Hero Turns to Dark" was its title. We were edgy teenagers.

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

Hissssss. Bad question. Shoo. They are all equally important!!

But it's probably TenRose from Doctor Who.

15. What's the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

One of the very few crossovers I've ever worked on; a crossover fic between Assassin's Creed and Doctor Who, that I have mapped out in both chronological and timeline order, and yes, those are different. I only ever wrote about a quarter of it, since my primary audience of it disappeared when we graduated. I doubt I'll ever pick it back up properly, and if I do it'll probably go through heavy rewrites first since it's so old. Finishing it is a nice thought, but realistically, after 9 years it'll never be high priority enough for it to actually happen.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Dialogue, especially arguments, and emotional impact. I've been told I do really well making characters feel alive and believable! Also I like to believe I'm decent at setting a scene and giving it the vibe I want it to have!

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I struggle with dialogue tags when nothing much is happening besides the talking. I always feel it's too bland, and fall back on the same phrases. My scene transitions could use some work too.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I've done this with Japanese phrases, because I was a massive weeb. Usually I followed them up with their own translations, though; I'm not the biggest fan of footnote translations, unless they are properly linked to. Simple dialogue tags are my favourite way of indicating a language switch.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Black Cat the Manga/Anime! It's a series about an assassin turned bounty hunter trying to live a life separate from his murdery past, but getting dragged back into things by still wanting to avenge his best friend's death. The series has a special place in my heart and my bookshelf, it left an imprint on 13-year-old me that will never leave.

20. Favourite fic you've ever written?

Probably Jailbreak, uncharacteristically enough! It's one of the only fics I never got stuck in once. Writing it was a great feeling from start to finish. I love writing all of my fics, but that was a special few days.

Tagging @ahrva @nowhere-to-go-but-down @silvercaptain24 and @aeghina! And anyone who wants to do it, really, go wild

#rav rambles #rav writes #ask game #linked universe #thank you Aza I rambled a lot lmao #rambling is cathartic sometimes #I had a good time!

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melpherno · 2 months

Text

Under the Maple Tree

Archmage ! Clarence x reader

Tags: fluff, cuddling; a lot of cuddling, post-Godheim, post-Epilogue.

Word count: 2.1 k !

Ao3 link [🍁]

A/N: this does not end in angst; in fact, it doesn't even have a molecule of angst, trust me. I'm doing the impossible for us delulu Archmage simps because, at this point, "Archmage" and "Angst" have become one lol. Enjoy~

The land of Godheim welcomed autumn again.

This time, instead of walking alone through the maple grooves on the outskirts of Maple Ridge, the little painter was blessed with the company of the Archmage. Hand in hand, they continued towards their unpredicted destination. Usually, Clarence would prefer to make a thoroughly thought-out itinerary before embarking on such a long journey, however, ever since the little painter joined his side – he had allowed her to take him wherever she pleased; a gift to her, after waiting for him for, perhaps, almost an aeon; a pledge to her that he'd always follow her footsteps, and never depart from her ever again.

Throughout the journey, Clarence seemed to be submerged in his never-ending thoughts; forever worrying about his little painter. He still wondered why the little painter had chosen him; out of all of the people she might’ve met travelling across space and time – why him? What did he ever do in his outstretched life that made her love him so ardently, so genuinely, without holding a single grudge against him for all he had done?

The little painter, on the other hand, simply enjoyed the autumn scenery of Godheim. She had rarely seen such beauty in this land, let alone that one time when the Archmage made her witness the variety of seasons here; besides that, this felt special; now that she was truly here – walking through the maple forest, admiring the trees with bright red leaves embellishing them all, and taking in the crunching sound that followed with every step she took that brought an indescribable satisfaction to her ears. The soft afternoon sunlight illuminated the path before them, glinting through the leaves, as they endeavoured forth.

Soon after, the little painter perked up after having caught a glimpse of a river's bank – this could be a perfect time to sit down after trekking nonstop for about three hours. She even wondered how Clarence could even walk without breaking a sweat for this long; he didn't go on walks in the spatiotemporal gap now, did he? The little painter finally turned to look at Clarence, who seemed solemn; a neutral yet detached look on his face, as if he was pondering something.

The little painter finally called out, “Hey, Clarence, I see a river up ahead. Care to take a break?”

Clarence was startled out of his reveries, his eyes widened slightly as his steps came to an abrupt halt upon hearing his saviour's voice, however, his surprise didn't last long as he turned to face her with that same neutral expression once again. “Didn't we just take a break?”

“That was three hours ago!” The little painter argued, her loud voice echoing through the woods, wavering amidst the mildly blowing wind of late autumn. Despite all the time they had passed being separated, the little painter didn't seem to change at all; she still had that fierce spirit and enthusiasm that graced her personality – a stark contrast to the Archmage's usual collected self, almost resembling a stoic sentinel.

Clarence sighed, shaking his head slightly before responding with a strained smile, “Sure. Don't take too long. We need to reach the village before evening.”

Without wasting a moment, the little painter jogged towards the river bank, taking a moment to appreciate the view. It was serene, rather idyllic even, with the gentle blow of wind that made the branches of the maple trees sway, making a few leaves flutter midair as they fell onto the slightly murky water of the river. The little painter felt slightly disappointed, now that she couldn't keep a painting of this scenery without her painting supplies around. However, with the thought of conjuring up painting supplies with magic, she turned to ask for her lover's assistance, only to find him near one of the maple trees – entertaining himself with a flock of birds as they flew down to sit on his shoulders, and one brown bird even rested upon his palm.

These were only a few birds; the little painter recalled the last time they took a stoppage at a quaint village in the northwest. After having a short snack moment upon the little painter’s insistence, Clarence decided to feed the critters some leftover pieces of bread – only to find out that, after a few moments, he was surrounded by the cattle and critters of the entire village. The Archmage, despite his imposing and stoic nature, was favoured by all sorts of animals.

A rather adorable trait, the little painter mused.

She slowly approached the Archmage, trying to eavesdrop on whatever he was mumbling to the little birds. Upon reaching him, she could only make out some of his hushed whispers: “I feel … calm.”

Clarence smiled softly as a bird pecked at his fingers, completely unaware of all the perilous magic his hands could create. He continued in the same gentle tone, “Whenever I'm with her, I feel content; as if I couldn't be happier.” The little painter then noticed his expression become somewhat solemn, his smile dropping ever so slightly. “Though, I'm unsure whether I could ever make myself happy. But, I'm certain, she can.”

The little painter could feel a smile inevitably creeping up her face as she went a few steps closer to the Archmage. “What are you talking about?”

Hearing her voice once again, Clarence visibly flinched, disturbing the birds as they flew away in fear. He turned around, avoided the girl's teasing little stare and replied in a curt tone, “Nothing.”

“Oh, is that so?” The little painter said with a snicker. “I thought I heard you saying something… about me?”

“Well–” Clarence was about to retort, but he stopped to find proper excuses. “...”

The little painter continued to smile even more, now that she had defeated Clarence in this little banter of theirs. She then looked around, trying to find a place to sit down and enjoy the scenery around them. After a few moments, she asked, “Do you want to sit down over there for a moment?”

“I do not wish to be rude, but,” Clarence responded, after regaining his usual indifferent composure, in a flat tone, “that'll only be a waste of time. We need to reach the village before the sun sets.”

“Oh, come on, Clarence. Just five minutes?” The little painter tried her best to persuade the Archmage, even so, she tried to tug at his sleeves – seemed like she still had that childlike innocence she had since the day they departed; thinking about it made the Archmage hesitate with his words slightly.

He thought for words to dissuade the painter with, but, failed miserably as his fondness for her and affinity towards nature beckoned him to give in to the earthly pleasures for once. “Very well.”

The little painter then grabbed his hand, and almost dragged him towards the spot she had chosen and sat down on the grass under one of the maple trees. The Archmage, without finding any other words to object with, made himself sit down beside her. Clarence looked around to notice the view, and as expected, the little painter had chosen the most beautiful perspectives – he should've expected this from an artist like her, who had to find beauty in the rarest places. He noticed how peaceful the forestries on the other side of the river looked, how the sunlight reflected on the streams of water, and how, out of all places – where he felt the most calm at was the places the little painter chose herself.

“You know, Clarence,” the little painter started, shifting closer to the Archmage, her shoulder brushing against his arm, “this moment reminds me of something…”

“Of what, may I ask?” His voice remained soft as he asked, almost like a whisper, only for the little painter to hear.

“Of that dream, you once showed me.” She looked up to face him, noticing how the afternoon light glinted on the monocle resting on his right eye. “An opportunity to experience the different seasons of Godheim.”

He hummed, approving the little painter's comment. “And how do you feel now?”

“Better than ever,” she said, trailing her fingers down his arm to grasp at his hand – oh, what a tease; that simple action made the Archmage look away, a futile attempt to hide the evident blush growing on his face. Thereafter, sensing the Archmage's shyness, the little painter wrapped her other arm around his body to pull him closer; and to that, the little painter felt the man stiffen more than ever. This was, perhaps, for the Archmage, the first time to ever experience her warm embrace. He did hold her within his arms once; in the spatiotemporal gap, before they were destined to depart – but, this time, it felt unique; the embrace now bore a feeling that was unknown to the Archmage – something that he never had experienced before in his long riverbed of life. He welcomed this exceptional feeling that harboured no sense of resentment or melancholy within it. However, he still didn't give into the sensation just yet, and the little painter frowned upon noticing his hesitance.

“Clarence,” the little painter said, “it's all right. You can relax.”

Well, certainly, the Archmage couldn't make himself relax to this newly found feeling, nevertheless, he attempted to lean against the bark of the tree, his hands shivering in the late autumn breeze as he wrapped his arms around the little painter to bring her closer even more. The little painter happily leaned her head against her lover's shoulder, letting out a pleased hum when she closed her eyes. She felt happy; no conflict, no tears falling, no bloodshed – simply the gentle monotony of a peaceful life to accompany the two lovers forward. Perhaps this was the life the little painter traversed through worlds for; and perhaps, to enjoy the simplicity of this moment, the Archmage had to sacrifice himself for. But, they were both content, that at least their sacrifices were not in vain – that fate had finally blessed them with happiness.

Under the maple tree, Clarence held his lover in his arms again, looking down at her resting figure with a gentle smile on his face. He raised a hand and brought it towards the little painter's face, and gently pinched her cheek. The little painter shot open her eyes; of all the possible outcomes from this scenario, she hadn't expected Clarence to pull such a playful and rather childish act on her.

“Clarence,” she said, followed by a soft laugh. “Why'd you do that?”

“There was something on your face,” Clarence replied.

The little painter knew that was a lie. She only smiled, deciding to give him a payback; with a swift move, she grabbed his monocle and brought it to her face, to examine it. However, due to the chain being attached behind Clarence's ear, it only brought him closer to the little painter.

Now, face to face, being mere inches apart from the little painter’s lips, Clarence blushed furiously. The little painter on the other hand, was slightly startled by the result of her mischievous misconduct, but she didn't mind it much – after all, her intentions were to make the Archmage flustered. When Clarence was about to apologise and pull away, uttering some sort of excuse, he was cut off by the little painter pulling him closer; being surprised once again as he felt the little painter's lips being upon his. And then, it felt like the flow of time had stopped, the only thing that ever mattered to him at that moment was her; his beloved saviour – a blessing from the stars. Clarence was no less stiff than a stone then, refusing to move his lips to the rhythm of the little painter’s as she continued to press her lips against the Archmage's chapped ones. The little painter, upon noticing Clarence’s unease, decided to save this man from his misery.

After they broke the kiss, the little painter took the moment to inspect Clarence's reaction: his eyes avoiding hers, cheeks covered with a faint red tint, and breathing heavily – also, she couldn't help noticing how sweet and more humble he seemed compared to his usual stoic self. He smiled faintly once more, sighing before he hid his face within the crook of the little painter's neck, softly nuzzling against her. The little painter, giggling to herself, ran a hand through Clarence's long hair, while the other hand softly rubbed his back – rubbing circles and tracing little hearts upon the fabric of his coat. She then said in a teasing tone, “Clarence, aren't five minutes over yet?”

The little painter felt the Archmage shift a little, letting out an exasperated sigh; seemed like the little painter's plan worked, Clarence was successfully persuaded.

“I hope you wouldn't mind if we were to spend five more minutes like this?” He mumbled against her fabric of clothes.

“Sure,” she responded with a smile. “Perhaps five more minutes won't hurt.”

Therefore, the two lovers remained under the shade of the maple tree, experiencing the warmth of each other’s embraces for what felt like an eternity.

#this took so long to upload due to the layout ahkshd #♡. mel's archive // elegant brushstrokes.#lovebrush chronicles #lovebrush chronicles x reader #clarence clayden #lbc x reader #godheim clarence #clarence x reader

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