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nametakensff · 4 months

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Revelation (D/isco E/lysium, M/M)

Okay. Follow up fic to 'Suggestible'! two of three down - this one ended up at 5.6K

H/arry remembers that he has a certain interest in sneezing after K/im has an allergic reaction to dust

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Content:

M/M (one-sided so far), past M/F, cold sneezes, sneezing from dust allergies, sympathetic sneezes, H/arry has a sneezing fetish, spray, stifles, sneezing into handkerchiefs, masturbation, PIV sex (past), sneezing while hiding, sneezing into someone's hand, little bit of voyeurism, embarrassment/humiliation, H/arry lowkey realises he is bisexual

CW: drug and alcohol mentions, self-hatred, H/arry is a general mess

NB - like the last fic, please don't read if you plan on playing the game and don't want certain elements of it spoiled!

NSFW af, Minors DNI Please!

“…etective. Detective. Harry.”

You stir, groaning as a soft voice awakens you from another restless sleep. Looking up, you see Lieutenant Kitsuragi sitting on the edge of your bed. He looks down at you – he does not smile, but his face is patient and calm. You realise that he has been gently jostling your shoulder, and the motion combined with his voice has pulled you out of the inky depths of primordial slumber. The one bleary eye you have opened locks with one of his own – now he smiles at you. It is a warm smile.

“Finally, you’re awake. I was starting to think no amount of shaking would stir you.”

He sounds amused. You struggle to remember why the Lieutenant is sat here, in your room, waking you up like a personal alarm clock. The arrangement these past few days had been to meet downstairs in the morning. An explanation for the change eludes you.

“How are you feeling?”

You groan. A garbling, miserable and melodramatic groan like a recalcitrant teenager being roused for school. The Lieutenant’s warm expression darkens ever so slightly. He sighs.

“That bad, hm? I was hoping some sleep would do you good, but…”

He trails off, looking troubled. You blink, stupidly, and focus all your might in an attempt to remember. It seems to be all you ever do these days. This time, however, your alcohol-pickled brain actually pulls through. A nap. You’ve been catching a cold, and it had finally proved too much for you. Kim said that he would wake you up. It all comes flooding back at once – including the graphic and picture-perfect memory of Lieutenant Kim Kitsuragi sneezing. Just thinking about the sight and sound of it begins to rouse you more than a cup of the strongest, most bitter coffee the hostel has to offer could ever manage.

You feel suddenly, entirely insecure. You had been sneezing – loudly, frequently, all over the place. As you push yourself up in bed, you fight to suppress a blush. Kim stands and regards you behind his glasses, offering an outstretched hand. You look up at him and accept it, letting him pull you to your feet. He is stronger than you expected for his lithe, slender build. Your wrist seems almost twice as thick as his own. He looks at you, one eyebrow raised in question as he takes in your burning face.

“Detective, do you have a fever?”

Fuck. Nice one, Harry. You manage to compose yourself. It’s just the hangover, you tell him. He looks only partially convinced.

“Right. If you say so.”

The raised eyebrow stays there, and he shrugs almost imperceptibly. You head into the bathroom and quickly splash your face with water – from the bathtub faucet. The sink remains irreparably damaged as a result of your drug-fuelled bender. Over the sound of the water, you tell the Lieutenant you’re feeling much better – and it’s true. The tickle appears to have receded to more of a low-grade buzz. The cold sea air had clearly irritated you something fierce. After your nap, you can tell that you are still unwell – but it is minor, and certainly doesn’t make you feel much worse than you already did before.

“That’s good, detective. I’m glad to hear it.”

Kim smiles at you as you walk back into the bedroom. He means it, as well. Relief is practically plastered on his face. He would very much like to return to the case. You want to return to it yourself – get this fucking mess over with and remember who you are so that you can decide whether to drink yourself into oblivion or not.

Lieutenant Kitsuragi tells you that he will meet you on the ground floor in a matter of minutes – he needs to retrieve some things from his room. You go ahead and stand awkwardly near the bar once you’re downstairs – far enough away that you do not have to look Garte in the eye. You suddenly feel the tickle threatening to return. You press one forefinger firmly under your flaring nostrils – miraculously, this works. You do not sneeze, although you feel as though you soon might.

Kim joins you and the pair of you make your way outside. The Lieutenant lets you lead. You have a few ideas of where you ought to go next – you will try Klaasje later this evening, after a few more affairs. But first, you feel the need to empower yourself. You are tired of feeling like a loser. You refuse to submit to the cold in your nose. You are not the kind of man to let physical suffering beat you down – emotional, no doubt. But physically, you are stalwart. You are a fitness king – or, you have feeling you used to be, despite the unfortunate beer gut. You don’t know where this thought comes from, but you know it to be true. You remember the abandoned gym in the doomed commercial area – especially that heavily weighted barbell. It beckons to you and your machismo. You feel like you should be able to lift it – no, you can lift it. You will lift it. You jog ahead, leading Kim en route through the bookshop. You ignore the wary glances Plaisance directs towards you, clutching the totem at her neck as if you yourself are one of the evil spirits she so fears.

You walk into the gym. Dust motes spin and spiral through the air in the rays of the setting sun. They seem almost to dance as even the slightest motion of movement stirs them. You stride towards the weights. As you look down at them, positioning your feet in an optimum stance, your ears perk up at a small sound. It isn’t terribly loud, but it is intrusive in the otherwise silent room. You realise with a mixture of pleasure and dismay that Kim is sniffling. You want to look at his face so badly. You want to watch his nostrils twitch and flare. You still don’t understand these desires. With all your effort, you fight the urge to stare and wrap your palms around the cool metal of the barbell, gripping it tight.

Now this feels familiar. This feels practiced. You feel your muscles coil and tense in preparation of the lift. It is exhilarating. You take one last breath, and - you’re doing it! You’re lifting the weights above your head with nary a tremble. Perfect form. You are a muscle god.

You eventually drop the weights with a solid thud – they almost bounce on the floor, a testament to how heavy they are. The floor, caked so heavily in dust that the original colouring is almost imperceptible, shudders with the disturbance. Two clouds of dust arise, the plumes quickly dissipating into the surrounding air. The dancing dust motes spiral faster in the beams of light.

You look towards Kim with a cocky grin. Yes, Lieutenant. How do you like those apples? You are delighted to see that his lips have quirked up in a slight smile of admiration.

“Impressive form, Lieutenant Double-Yefreitor.”

He uses your full title – a sign of respect. And you have earned it, buddy. You are the man. You feel confidence surging through you. You are going to solve this case. You’re going to solve this case so hard. You allow yourself to stand there a second longer, hands on hips and chest puffed out. It feels good to bask. Your morale soars.

“Okay, whilst that was definitely something, we should get ba-hh! Back t’to-!”

Your eyes are fixed on the Lieutenant at once. Those earlier sniffles appear to have done very little to quell whatever irritation is plaguing him. It dawns on you as you stare openly at Kim – the way his expression crumples, mouth opening in a yawn of irritation and eyes squinting closed – that it is incredibly dusty in this room. You had noticed this, of course – but what you did not notice, so distracted by your own drive to flex some serious muscle, was the effect it was having on your fellow officer. But you’ve noticed now. You continue to stare, watching as the Lieutenant falls to pieces in front of you.

A soft gasp graces the air as Lieutenant Kitsuragi inhales one final breath to fuel his sneezing. As before, he contracts into the protective half-cover of a raised fist. It is just far enough away from his face that you can still make out the flare of his nostrils, the way his mouth clamps stubbornly shut as the sneeze rocks his slender frame. He does it again, in just the same fashion as the first.

“hH’Ddt’ch!! H’Ngxttch!!”

Oh, but they sound so tickly. He has managed to bite them into submission – something that you find yourself continuously impressed by. This time, however, it sounds as though he is barely keeping it together. The furrowing of his brow and the clench in his jaw bely the intense effort he has to put into maintaining even this small amount of composure. Your mouth is dry in moments, and your stomach flips. You don’t think that even a gunshot could pull you out of your mesmerised gawking.

“Hohhh…”

Kim straightens up with a shuddering exhalation. Whilst he is finished for the moment, you see that he keeps a crooked finger pressed under his damp, twitching nostrils. It looks as though he will sneeze again very soon. You swallow – it is more of an audible gulp. You fight off another blush. These intense physical reactions require constant and taxing damage control. He squeezes his eyes shut, hard, then blinks reflexively several times. You notice that the whites of his eyes are suddenly quite pink. Bloodshot. By the looks of it, the Lieutenant is irrevocably, terribly allergic to dust. You try not to swoon as the realisation dawns on you.

“My apologies, detective. I’m allergic to the dust. It’s not normally this bad, but-!”

His expression crumples all at once. You continue to stare at him, ears burning as your mind loops this enticing confession, spoken with such dismay and desperation in the Lieutenant’s sultry accent. You cannot look away from the flared ellipses of his nostrils. The angry stretch of them is almost unrecognisable from their resting state. It is captivating.

The Lieutenant suddenly spins round, facing away from you. You are disappointed, and then deeply worried at the depths of this disappointment. You bury these thoughts and allow yourself to watch Kim’s shuddering back as he sneezes two more times.

“Hhupt’TSCHhh’uu!! HahDD’TZSCHHhht!!”

You cannot help yourself – you utter a small grunt as the sound of those unrestrained sneezes sucker punch you in the gut. You did not have to see the Lieutenant’s face to know they had been somewhat…productive. The spraying sound of them conjures the image of a fine aerosol bursting out from between Kim’s clenched teeth. You wish you could feel that spray on your skin.

Wait. What?

What the fuck??

All at once, it dawns on you. You like this. You like sneezing. Sneezing makes your cock hard. Sneezing makes you cum.

Of all the things to remember, why this? And why now? The Lieutenant is righting himself with an exhausted sigh. To your delight, you also hear him mutter an angry little ‘fuck’ under his breath.

Okay, Harry. You need to pull yourself together. You are moments away from sporting a solid erection the likes of which this world has never seen. Kim is an expert detective, and he will put two and two together immediately. You have to distract yourself. You try and think of Garte in lingerie. You try and think of dead puppies. House fires. World hunger.

These attempts to steer your mind away from this shocking revelation fail. Miserably. Your head is flooded with memories, coming at you one after another after another. You remember fucking her – you don’t remember who she is, just that it is her. You remember your sex, sometimes fumbling and over all too soon, sometimes languid and god-damn transcendental. You know, somehow, that you did not tell her about it. The sneezing thing. But you remember the sensation of her pussy contracting around your cock as she sneezed beautifully, all over your shoulder and catching the side of your face. You remember coming in luxurious waves, groaning loudly enough to make her jump before she was coming herself, gasping as you continued to fuck her right through it.

That memory used to be a fond one, you sense. An often revisited one as you took your cock in hand. Right now, it causes nothing but blinding pain – and an unfortunate erection. You thank whatever powers that may be that you decided to wear your long RCM patrol coat.

Even as you flounder, attempting to process the emotional pain these returning fragments of the past inflict upon you, your aching heart pounding in your chest – you watch as the Lieutenant yanks his handkerchief from his pocket and sneezes into it.

“hH-MPTschhh!! Ohh, mon dieu…”

He shudders with it. You hear the incredulity in his voice once the sneeze has torn its way through him, violently jostling him with its all-encompassing power. He is just as surprised by his own nuclear reaction to the dust as you are. This only makes your traitorous erection grow harder. You grit your teeth.

Another sneeze from the Lieutenant finally urges you to move. Do something, say anything, for the love of God. Kim is recovering from the sneeze, gasping into the handkerchief he clutches desperately to his face like a lifeline. You realise he will only continue to sneeze and sneeze if you do not get him out of this dusty death trap of a room. What you really want to do is unzip the fly of your trousers and go to town as the Lieutenant puts on a show for you. This is the stupidest thought you have had all day.

You make up your mind. Precariously holding the Tare bag in front of your straining trousers, you march up to the Lieutenant and wrap your arm around his slender waist, standing hip to hip. He understands instinctively that you are coming to his rescue; he reaches with one shaky arm to grip at the fabric of your coat between your shoulder blades. You tell him you’re getting him out of here, and to hold on tight.

He nods and attempts to apologise but is interrupted by yet another sneeze. He had foolishly lowered his handkerchief to address you and is unable to catch it in time. It is upon him so quickly that he only just manages to turn away from you. You shouldn’t be watching him, not if you want to gain some element of control over your burgeoning hard-on. But you do anyway. You see the cloud of delicate spray glitter briefly in the rays of sunlight before dissipating just as quickly as it appeared. You somehow manage not to cum in your pants and start guiding the Lieutenant out of the dusty gym, out of the bookshop. You gruffly mutter over your shoulder to an inquiring Plaisance that you have the situation under control. You are irritated that she called out to you at all – you do not want Kim to be more embarrassed than the flushed tips of his ears indicate he already is.

You manage to march him towards his Kineema as he continues to sneeze, opening the door for him and sitting him down while he recovers. You rub his back for a moment. He does not offer any resistance. The dust was definitely the source of his suffering, if you needed any further confirmation. (You did not.) He is already winding down, his breathing returning to normal. He is now able to take in measured breaths that do not immediately trigger further sneezes. You regard him in this sorry state. You think that a few days ago, when you first met the Lieutenant, it might have pleased you to see such a chink in his armour. But now, you feel no such enjoyment. You are happy that with the winding down of sneezes, so too has your erection wilted. The Lieutenant clears his throat. You stand awkwardly and wait for him to speak.

“I’m so sorry, detective.”

The embarrassment makes his voice thick. Or maybe it’s the congestion. Either way, you are saddened to hear it. You assure him that he has nothing to apologise for. You cannot bring yourself to bless him right now. You ask him how he is feeling. He sighs and removes his glasses. His eyes are overflowing with allergic tears. He swipes them away with the edge of one gloved finger.

“Much better now that we are out of there. That was really…something.”

It sure fucking was, you think. You ask him why he didn’t tell you he was allergic. You never would have dragged him back there, you insist. You sound embarrassingly emotional. Pull yourself together, Harry.

“It’s okay, really. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but I didn’t think it would matter. I don’t normally react quite so – obtrusively.”

He blows his nose in the handkerchief. The productive sound of it makes you squirm.

“Sorry, again. I wonder if I’m coming down with your cold after all.”

Fuck. You cannot stand to hear him talk like that. The thought of the Lieutenant sneezing helplessly from a cold in his nose is so erotic you almost moan. This is insane. You can hardly believe it is happening. Luckily, Lieutenant Kitsuragi is too pre-occupied tending to his nose to notice your discomfort. In a few quick moments, he is climbing out of the Kineema and standing beside you on the road. You marvel at his capability to get his shit together in such a small matter of time. It is a talent all on its own.

You suddenly wonder again at the intensity of the Lieutenant’s allergic reaction. You have both wandered round the dusty interior of the doomed commercial district several times before, and you didn’t hear so much as a sniffle from your partner. Although your weightlifting efforts uprooted a great deal of dust in the gym, it didn’t stand to reason that Kim hadn’t been exposed to just as much cumulatively over a longer period of time prior. You know you shouldn’t invite further conversation regarding the topic – not when you have only just managed to calm your enthusiastic genitals. You know this.

Why didn’t you react that way yesterday, you ask anyway - we were in there for longer, and you seemed fine.

“It’s an interesting point, honestly. I’m not too sure I understand it myself.”

He seems just as curious as you – it’s endearing on him, that inquisitive expression. His pink nose is unbearably cute. You choose one of his eyes to focus on instead and don’t look away.

“I’m probably still sensitive from earlier today. Sneezing begets more sneezing. The dust was just my limit.”

An excellent deduction from the Lieutenant. Your cock threatens to twitch in your pants. You manage to offer a soft, companionable laugh in return. You joke that it is nice to be offering support for once instead of receiving it. You only consider after you’ve spoken that this might offend Lieutenant KItsuragi. You hold your breath. He smiles at you and offers a friendly, breathy laugh of his own. Your heart flutters in your chest. It is okay. You have avoided a sexual crisis and seemingly improved your relationship with Kim. This is good.

“This reminds me of an experience I had right at the start of my Lieutenancy.”

Oh, god. So now he chooses to open up to you. You had thought you were out of the woods, but no dice. Unlike earlier in the day, the Lieutenant now actively wants to discuss his sneezing with you. You wonder if breaking as spectacularly as he did in front of you has removed any hesitancy to call attention to his nasal sensitivity. You want to cut him off. Quick - spin around and shout at some unknown entity in alarm! Distract him!

You are too late. He is disclosing this story to you whether you like it or not.

“I was assigned to a case with a previous partner, around 4 years ago now. We were tasked with infiltrating and shutting down a local narcotics ring. It wasn’t an especially prodigious one, but certainly difficult enough to penetrate that we spent months gaining the trust of some lower-level ring members. We finally managed to gain entry to one of the main buildings of their organisation. My partner secured an electronic key card for us to return in the evening.”

You nod your head as you listen. Okay. This is a standard police story. Nothing of note. Yet.

“We managed to sneak in undetected – but the building was not as empty as we had previously been led to believe. We were foolish to think it would be as unguarded as our connection had informed us, but anyway. We heard footsteps behind us – and saw the light of a torch skimming across the wall near our heads. We had to find somewhere to hide right away – we stupidly were not wearing bulletproof vests, another terrible mistake. There was a room to our immediate left and the door was unlocked.”

You swallow. You think you can sense what is coming next.

“It turns out this room was a small storage closet – and a very unkempt one at that. There was barely enough room for us to stand beside each other amongst the shelves. It was more of a one-man only space.”

God. You watch as he smiles ruefully at the memory. You are almost sweating with anticipation.

“We had no choice but to stand chest to chest. He was a little taller than I, luckily not too big – otherwise the squeeze would have been painful. Anyway, we could hear the guard patrolling the corridor. It seemed he was taking his time, but it didn’t sound like he was actively opening doors to explore the rooms. We were incredibly lucky. I shudder to think of how badly the entire affair could have ended up. Such lack of foresight on both our parts. He’s getting closer to the closet and we’re holding our breath. But, detective, you have to understand - this was possibly the dustiest room I have ever stood foot in before. It had nothing on that gym.”

You swallow, but your mouth is so dry it does nothing for you. Kim doesn’t seem to notice.

“He’s getting closer, and I realise that I’m going to sneeze. It was the most insistent tickle, my god. My eyes were streaming, and we’d only been in there for a minute at most. I could not speak up and inform my partner – it was too risky, and the guard was too close. I couldn’t move my hands – they were stuck, wedged up against the shelves. My partner, though, he was perceptive. He told me later he could feel the change in my breathing due to our close proximity. His hands were pressed between us – he managed to free one just in time to press it over my nose and mouth.”

Oh. Oh no. Your erection is back. It is swiftly filling with blood, and there is nothing you can do about it. The tare bag returns to its place in front of you.

“I sneezed so many times I genuinely thought I would stop breathing. My head was spinning. It was unbelievable. I was trying my absolute best to keep as quiet as I could, and my partner’s hand was clamped down hard enough that it was almost silent. That was quick thinking on his part.”

He mentions this previous partner with an undisguised air of admiration. You feel, for a moment, quite jealous. You want him to go on.

“Eventually, the guard passes us by. We waited another couple of minutes, just in case. I was dizzy from the lack of oxygen – it was that horrendous. We squirmed our way out of the closet at last. It took another twenty minutes for the sneezing to subside completely, but otherwise we got the pictures and other incriminating evidence we needed, and returned with a SWAT team the following day. All in all, a success. I apologised profusely to my partner – I wanted to buy him new gloves. You understand, I had made…quite a mess. But he told me not to worry. He was very kind.”

He looks at you straight on. Try not to panic.

“As you have been to me. Thank you, detective.”

The Lieutenant smiles warmly at you. You wish you could fully appreciate the gravity of this moment – his gratitude towards you, and his willingness to share such an embarrassing story. But your mind is elsewhere – and your cock is throbbing. You cannot get the image of the Lieutenant Kim Kitsuragi having the sneezing fit to end all sneezing fits, pressed up against the body of another man and trapped in a tiny little closet, out of your head. Not at all, you do manage to say. You smile back, though you are sure it looks strained.

“Luckily, unlike with him, I have managed to avoid sneezing on you. Let’s see how long I can keep that up.”

He is joking – you can tell by the playful lilt in his melodic voice. It is definitely a joke. But to you, it is also a tease. To your perverted constitution, it is a flirtatious promise of sorts that he will fail. You are almost floored by an intense wave of arousal. Your cock is at full mast.

You have to get out of here. You have to do something. You mumble to Kim that you have forgotten some tool or other in your room – you’ll be back as quickly as possible, and then you can really continue with the investigation. The Lieutenant nods his head, buying into your story but clearly a little confused at the frantic cadence you are unable to keep out of your voice.

You run. You have never run with an erection before. It is challenging. But you manage it. You race into the hostel, up the stairs, into your room. You slam the door shut behind you, not even bothering to make your way to the bed. You lean back against the wooden surface, unzipping your pants with as much care as you can manage. You take out your cock, the thick phallus resting in the familiar grip of your right palm. You regard it for a moment. You are a big man, and it is proportionate. Both thick and long, and in your current state of extreme arousal, leaking from its reddened tip.

You start to pump it, milking it with your fingers and teasing the head on an upstroke. You may have forgotten most of who you are but your body remembers this instinctually. You have had decades of practice. It does not take you long until you are panting with pleasure, writhing into your own grip on shaky knees.

Your eyes screw shut. You do not want to think. You just want to feel. You fight to keep your mind blank, but it is no use. You first conjure up that familiar, painful, wonderful memory of Her, but you have to stop. You cannot do this now. Your mind continues to wander, and it is of no surprise to you that you settle on a fantasy of the Lieutenant. You replay his story in his head, so painfully erotic. Suddenly, you are right there with him. It is you pressed up against him in that dusty closet, catching his sneezes in your palm. Except you aren’t wearing any gloves, and the fantasy is so vivid that you can practically feel the sensation of the repeated baptisms against your skin. You have slotted a strong thigh between his own. You imagine the weight of his own cock and balls as you start to grind against his hip.

You are so close now. You can virtually taste your orgasm at this point. You continue to stroke yourself, hard and fast. Your legs start to buckle under the mounting pleasure. In your mind, the Lieutenant sneezes over and over. You picture his desperate, tortured expression, his shuddering body, his gasps and moans. The Kim in your fantasy groans in response to your thrusting. He cannot get enough of you. “Harry, please-!” He cries out for you.

The thought of him begging for you is the final straw. All at once you are coming. You whimper with each throb and pulse, ejaculating freely onto the carpet in front of you. The intensity of it surprises you – you sense that you are normally lucky to achieve the weakest drizzle of an orgasm under such circumstances. Hungover, stressed and unwell. But it feels fantastic. It feels like a revelation.

At last, the pleasure subsides. You slide down the door and onto your ass, gasping like an asthmatic as you struggle to ground yourself. You sit for a couple of moments longer, the wilting dick in your hand drooling cum down your knuckles.

Okay, Lieutenant Double-Yefreitor Du Bois. Pull yourself together. You have just masturbated to the thought of sneezing fetish closet sex with a man you met only several days earlier. This is far from the worst thing you have done, but it is certainly somewhat of a novelty. Do you even find Lieutenant Kitsuragi attractive? You suppose you do. It doesn’t feel anything like being attracted to a woman. Different, but not…bad. Look at you, taking this in your stride. Maybe there is hope for you yet, grandpa.

You walk on slightly shaky legs to the bathroom and clean up briskly. You return with a wad of damp toilet paper to clean up the mess you have made on the carpet. You shudder to think of the room’s upholstery under a blue light.

The orgasm has cleared your mind. You feel refreshed. This post-orgasmic serenity is something you have not experienced in a very long time. Normally, you feel nothing but shame and a deep sense of profound loneliness. Perhaps you should have tried jerking yourself to the thought of men sneezing years ago. Nice, Harry. It’s good to see you joking with yourself.

You make your way back outside to Kim. He smiles at you as you approach. He does not ask you about the tool you are obviously not carrying back with you. If he doesn’t address it, neither will you.

“Okay. Ready to get back to the case, Lieutenant Double-Yefreitor?”

You are. You are about to tell him as much. But then…you feel it. The tickle. It has lingered in the background, waiting to strike - but it is back.

You have only just regained your composure. You cannot allow the tickle to crest. You hold your breath. You squeeze your hands into fists, nails biting into your palms. You are trying so hard. But it is not meant to be. No matter what you do, it is too strong. Your nostrils flare to capacity in a matter of seconds. You are going to sneeze.

You spin around as you inhale that definitive gasp of air to fuel the sneeze. It is a deep gasp – the sneeze it precedes will be another monstrous explosion. You let it happen. In all honesty, it feels great – the sensation as it overwhelms you combined with your post-orgasm buzz is a veritable headrush.

“HHAAEEESHHHHHUuuu!!!”

Luckily, it is just the one. You shiver. Such a delicious release. You cannot allow yourself to bask in it, though. You turn around, apologising as you do so. You lay your eyes on the Lieutenant. A mixture of both dismay and arousal pulse through you as the…’suggestibility’ of your sneeze appears to trigger Lieutenant Kitsuragi all over again. You watch helplessly as he trembles, sneezing thrice into his raised fist. He seems to have regained the ability to strangle them into submission once more.

“Hh’dDDT-!! H’Gxt!! Igk’t!!”

Your spent cock twitches in your pants with each little sneeze. If you were a younger man, maybe just 10 years or so, you are certain your erection would be back in full swing almost immediately. You thank god that you are an aging, washed-up drunk. This is perhaps the first time you have ever done so.

Kim looks at you, rubbing a gloved finger under his dampened nostrils. He takes in the bewildered, guilty expression on your face. The absurdity of the moment renders him temporarily speechless, and then he is laughing. It is a charming laugh – a little more raucous than you had expected from him. He is an enigmatic man full of surprises. You cannot help but laugh a little yourself. You are mortified, but fuck if this isn’t the most ridiculous thing to happen to you yet over these past few days of strange occurrences.

“We’re a miserable sight, officer. I doubt we’ll get through this investigation with our reputations intact.”

You scoff at that, remind him that you couldn’t possibly tarnish yours more if you tried.

“Don’t doubt yourself, Lieutenant Du Bois. You may exceed both of our expectations yet.”

Sarcastic bastard. You tell him to fuck off, which makes him smile – that subtle quirking of his lips again. You decide to head to the Frittte Kiosk to pick up some things – tissues, mostly. Maybe some antihistamines for Kim. You mention this to him.

“That might do me some good. I’m beginning to believe I’m allergic to this entire case.”

He is joking, again. It is good-natured, but for the sake of your dignity, you wish he would stop. You scoff at him. Bullshit, Lieutenant.

“I’m not allergic to that, at least. I can handle a great deal of it.”

Ain’t that the truth. You smirk, making your way into Frittte and hoping that your earlier orgasm is enough to tide you over for the rest of the day. More sneezing is inevitable. You are unsure whether this is a blessing or a curse.

#nametakenfic #d/isco e/lysium #sneeze fic #sneeze kink #snz fet #snz kink #snz fucker #snzblr #sneeze fucker

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just-j-really · 4 months

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Unsoulmates part four (a new hope)

Masterpost

Hob texts Morpheus two days after he and Audrey break up, because he's got two tickets to a ballet and absolutely no use for them anymore. He'd offered them to Gwen, first, but her girlfriend (her soulmate, actually, her soulmate she'd met at a Ren Faire in a moment out of a fairytale, complete with a kiss-print soulmark on the back of her hand) has even less interest in ballet than Hob does. And he knows bringing it up to any of his other friends will only get him concerned questions about why he keeps doing this to himself, wouldn't he be happier if he stopped actively avoiding his One True Love.

So offering them to Morpheus, who hasn't spoken to him in a month but probably won't do that, is the best option by default.

Shockingly, Morpheus replies. He even offers to meet Hob at the White Horse, a pub they'd frequented back when they were still sort of talking, to pick up the tickets.

Even more shockingly, Morpheus is already at a table when Hob arrives at the pub four nights later, like he's planning to sit and talk with Hob. Like before.

Hob is not entirely sure how he feels about that, but he's also running on maybe three hours of sleep, and the chair next to Morpheus looks extremely inviting, so he lets himself topple into it.

"If you ask me how I'm doing I'm going to get up and leave," he warns Morpheus, leaning back against the headrest and closing his eyes. He might just take a nap here. It's been impossible to fall asleep, these past few days, without the warmth of someone else in bed with him. And it's so easy, lying there with the tangible reminder of how alone he is, to let his thoughts spiral into why didn't she stay why didn't she even consider it wasn't it worth it?

But here, with the warmth and the noise of people around him and this unbelievably comfortable armchair, an uneasy half-doze starts to overtake him. He's drifting, wondering where in the world Morpheus found an armchair, when a soft tapping noise drags him back to reality.

When he opens his eyes, Morpheus is sliding a beer across the table to him. He doesn't say anything, just looks at Hob levelly, and Hob thinks that's why, why he opens his mouth to say thanks, what comes out instead is a cracking, "Do you know what it's like, having people congratulate you for having your heart ripped out?"

His voice sounds even worse than he feels.

Morpheus inclines his head at Hob in that familiar little nod; go on, I'm listening.

It's a small kindness, but it still makes Hob feel like his chest is cracking in half.

"Everyone acts like it's fine. Like it's a good thing. 'Yeah it hurts now but at least you'll stop wasting your life, at least now you'll find the person you were meant for.'"

He takes a breath. Takes a drink. "Nevermind that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her."

And then the whole story is spilling out of him, in an out-of-order slurry: the moment it happened- Audrey gesturing wildly as they ducked through the concert crowd, hand in hand; her stunned little gasp as her arm bumped another emphatic gesture-er; they way he'd stood there, confused, still holding Audrey's hand, while she and her soulmate stared longingly into each other's eyes.

The way she'd yes-anded even his stupidest bits, the way they'd had their own shared language of in-jokes, the way conversations with her were a dance and she always knew the next step.

The way, within a week, she'd scrubbed herself out of his life entirely, like she needed to fake her death to start her new life with The One.

"And- and I knew marriage wasn't happening, right?" he finds himself saying, some time and several drinks later. "Fuckin nobody marries their not-soulmate, which is STUPID. It's so stupid, remind me to tell you how stupid it is. But I thought. I thought we- I thought there was something. Something good. I thought maybe we could last."

The sentence gets much too wobbly at the end, and Hob swipes a hand roughly over his eyes.

"What did you want, then?" Morpheus asks.

Hob glares at him.

"If not marriage," Morpheus says, as though clarity were the problem there. He seems... sincere, though. Like he's actually asking the question, not trying to nudge Hob into an epiphany about the futility of his life goals. Hob's heard the second thing enough to know what it sounds like. And Morpheus has that- look, on his face. The Hob-is-an-insect look, but not. It's... it's like if that look were kinder, more genuine. More vulnerable.

So for what may be the first time, when asked that question, Hob actually considers his answer before responding. "I dunno what I wanted," he says. "I just want- I want someone to choose me. Not have me forced on them."

Morpheus stares at him. Studies him. As though the secret of life itself has somehow been hidden in Hob's face.

Hob stares back, pinned. Entranced. A little confused.

"You know," he says, after a moment, "I'm not actually a bug."

Morpheus sighs. "Come on," he says, "Let's get you home."

Despite Hob's insistence that he is fine, really, just a little tipsy and a lot heartsick and sleep deprived, Morpheus does walk him home.

Hob only remembers the tickets when they reach his building, and only then someone had stuck a sticker of a dancer to the back of a lamppost. "Here," he says, rooting around in his jacket pocket until he finds the envelope, and handing it over, "At least someone will get use out of them."

Morpheus stares at the envelope like he's never seen one before.

When he looks up at Hob, his eyes are glistening with tears. "Are you," he asks, quietly. He pauses for a long time, long enough that Hob starts to wonder if he'd handed over the wrong envelope, and then wonder what deeply tragic envelopes he could possibly have been carrying around.

"Are you going to look for your soulmate now?" Morpheus asks. His voice is as even, almost soothing, as ever.

He's looking at Hob as though the wrong answer will be his death sentence.

"Are you kidding me?" Hob asks. Despite everything, he finds himself grinning. "Never. The love of my life is out there, somewhere, I'm not going to discount them for something stupid like soulmates."

Morpheus smiles.

Truly smiles, for the first time that Hob has seen. It's a lovely expression, soft, hesitant, but so genuinely, contagiously delighted. And Hob knows, with the same bone-deep certainty as his disbelief in soulmates, that he'd protect that smile at all costs.

"Also," he says, because there's not much protection he can offer right not but there is always the shining, thrilling possibility of coaxing another smile out of Morpheus tonight, "I'm starving. Do you want to get dinner?"

#dreamling #unsoulmates au #my fic #an earlier draft referred to Morpheus' smile as 'the stray kitten of facial expressions' and while that is an objectively true descriptor #it is not the one Hob would use in that moment

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an-angel-in-the-garden · 8 months

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The ABC's with Xiao

Hello Hello! It's my best friend's birthday~ So like last year I thought I would make a little something for her. This time with another best boy Xiao instead of Grimmjow. Please enjoy!

A ctivities - What do they like to do with their s/o? How do they spend their free time with them?

Xiao is a simple man at heart who really likes peace and quiet. It's not often that he can just rest so his favorite thing to do with you is relax, maybe take a nap in the sun or just hear you talk about your day

B eauty - What do they admire about their s/o? What do they think is beautiful about them?

The honest answer is that Xiao admires everything about you from your head to your toes. He adores you for you but if he really had to pick just one thing it would be your eyes. No matter the color or shape to him they are beautiful, with those eyes you see the world and you see him. Not as the vigilant yaksha but as Xiao

C omfort - How would they help their s/o when they feel down/have a panic attack etc.?

He is a very awkward person who's never been the best at dealing with people and even now that holds true. With somewhat stiff hands Xiao offers you a warm blanket and hug. He shares a plate of his favorite almond tofu and maybe even sings you song he heard until you can calm down

D reams - How do they picture their future with their s/o?

Because of his karmic debt Xiao tries not to think of the future. In his eyes it's better to just let himself enjoy what he has now then think about what he could get or lose. Still he does hope you'll spend forever by his side

E qual - Are they the dominant one in the relationship, or rather passive?

Xiao is very passive. For the most part you stand on even ground but when it comes to planning or wanting to go out you need to be the one to set things up as Xiao is more then content with lazing around when he can

F ight - Would they be easy to forgive their s/o? How are they fighting?

He tries so hard to avoid fighting with you all together so whenever it does happen he sulks off by himself in hopes of not making it worse. Unless it was a truly horrible fight Xiao forgives you the moment you want to make up

G ratitude - How grateful are they in general? Are they aware of what their s/o is doing for them?

Xiao is grateful for everything you do for him, from just asking how he's holding up to making him something for dinner or planning a date. He loves everything you do for him

H onesty - Do they have secrets they hide from their s/o? Or do they share everything?

Nothing is ever kept hidden from you. Once the two of begin to date Xiao doesn't want to hide things from you, he likes knowing that someones on his side no matter his past

I nspiration - Did their s/o change them somehow, or the other way around? Like trying out new things or helped them overcome personal problems?

You both change each other for the better. Xiao was unsocial and scared of ever getting close to others but with you nothing feels too frightening. In the same way he's helped you get stronger and more confidant

J ealousy - Do they get jealous easily? How do they deal with it?

Secretly, Xiao gets very jealous. Due to his withdrawn nature he often stays in the background and has to watch as you go about your day, interacting with all kinds of people and making friends. It makes him feel like he's going mad but he doesn't want to cause a scene so instead he waits for when it is just the two of you cuddling up. where can remind himself that you picked him and only him

K iss - Are they a good kisser? What was the first kiss like?

A terrible kisser at first who get better the longer you're together. The first kiss was sweet. A little awkward sure, a learning curve you had to overcome together but it was the mark of something new

L ove Confession - How would they confess to their s/o?

It's a silent confession. More spoken through actions than words. Xiao will give up everything if it means saving you and that alone is a confession but it was him letting you see him at his lowest point that said the most, a silent " I need you here with me. Always."

M arriage - Do they want to get married? How do they propose? What would the marriage be like?

Xiao isn't really the type to care about something like marriage. In his eyes it's not needed to show you love someone but if you ever wanted to he would be okay with it.

N icknames - What do they call their s/o?

Just your name. He likes your name and sees no reason to call you anything else. Perhaps once he called you his haven but it won't be often

O n Cloud Nine - What are they like when they are in love? Is it obvious for others? How do they express their feelings?

Xiao is one of the most obvious when it comes to being in love. Everyone can see it, his eyes grow softer, he comes a little more talkative when you're the subject of conversation and of course there's the ever present blush when you stand near him despite his warnings. Though he's never been good at expressing it Xiao loves you more than words could say and at this point all of Liyue knows

P DA - Are they upfront about their relationship? Do they brag with their s/o in front of others? Or are they rather shy to kiss etc. when others are watching?

He's such a blushy boy. Xiao doesn't enjoy the attention of others on him so PDA makes him very embarrassed and unsure of what to do. A kiss the cheek and maybe some handholding is the most he can handle lest he combust

Q uirk - Some random ability they have that's beneficial in a relationship.

No matter where you are, just call his name and he'll rush to your side. The winds of Liyue will always be ready to lend you a hand. Plus a free room at the inn!

R omance - How romantic are they? What would they do to make their s/o happy? Cliché or rather creative?

Not the most romantic. He wants to make you the happiest you can be by his side but he's never had someone this close before so he's not really sure how to do it. His love is silent but always present its just sometimes hard to see

S upport - Are they helping their s/o achieve their goals? Do they believe in them?

Out of everyone in the world Xiao believes in you the most now. He thinks you're amazing no matter your struggles and will want to help you when he can to see you achieve your dreams, he's also gonna be there to catch you if you fall

T hrill - Do they need to try out new things to spice out your relationship? Or do they prefer a certain routine?

Routine is something Xiao comes to be fond of with you. His life is full of danger from both the battles he fights and his own past so when you settle down and find something that works for you both it always leaves him feeling warm and fuzzy

U nderstanding - How good do they know their partner? Are they empathetic?

He's not really empathetic but he will try his best to understand your line of thinking. He is however really good at remembering things about you. From the small things you mention in passing to the important things you share with him nothing is forgotten

V alue - How important is the relationship to them? What is it’s worth in comparison to other things in their life?

The only thing that could really mean more than you in his life is the nation he swore to protect. This is his home and though it may no longer be led by the man that saved him it's still important to him. Though he'd rather die than ever have to chose one

W ild Card - A random Fluff Headcanon.

You called him XiaoXaio once and it nearly broke him. He never gets used to your affection and when he's feeling down it makes him just a little happier to hear you call him that

X OXO - Are they very affectionate? Do they love to kiss and cuddle?

Most definitely a cuddle monster. He's a starving man for love and attention once you get him past the first feelings of awkwardness. Though Xiao isn't very good at asking for any of it he does crave it

Y earning - How will they cope when they're missing their partner?

He leaves a lot when demons are roaming around so missing you has become normal. From time to time he can be gone for days or even weeks on end. Plus you sometimes leave to travel for a month or so. He just goes back to the Vigilant Yaksha during these times. Closed off and cold though anyone who sees past the mask knows he's just sulking

Z eal - Are they willing to go to great lengths for the relationship? If so, what kind of?

Xiao will do anything for you and your relationship. Whether it's giving his own life or limb, to fighting hordes of enemies. He'll break his vow of interacting with other humans for you or dote on you when you're ill. For you nothing is too much

AND THAT'S A WRAP! I got it done on time! I really hope you like it @bird-brained-plague-doctor. Another year has passed and there's plenty more to come so lets enjoy it to the fullest! Credit to @snk-warriors as that's where I got this list from. Thank you all for reading. Have a good day or night~ Lilly

#reader imagine #x reader #reader insert #reader x #genshin imagines #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact imagines #xiao x reader

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corazondebeskar-reads · 5 months

Text

well it's love, make it hurt - epilogue

well it's love, make it hurt series

epilogue: I will never make another promise (without you)

series masterlist | prev chapter |

dom!Din Djarin x sub!f!reader

Words: 4.6k

Summary: You and Din travel in your quest to reunite the baby with his people and to seek out the Tribe.

Warnings: bdsm, d/s dynamics, enthusiastic consent, preestablished safeword etc, dom!din djarin x sub!reader, soft din djarin, din djarin is a good dad, vaginal sex, communication, major life decisions, author plays god with the timelines (sorry), canon adjacent?, canon divergence?, no use of y/n, tooth-rotting fluff, they deserve it, you deserve it

also on ao3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

9 ABY - Winter

“Alor,” Din says, bowing his head.

“Din Djarin,” she says. “You have an aruetti with you.”

You’ve known her for twenty seconds, and you’re in awe. Her voice is strong and unwavering, demanding attention. And, respectfully, she looks badass. You had never seen another Mandalorian, and from what Din had told you, you assumed they all looked similar.

But she looks every inch a queen.

“She wants to swear the Creed,” Din says.

The Armorer gives you her full attention now, having only spared you a glance before. “Does she wish to speak for herself?”

“Yes, ma’am. It’s true. I would like to learn to walk the way of the Mand’alor, if you’ll have me.” You try to keep your spine straight and your head up, not to hide away from the appraising stare.

“Hmm,” she turns her helmet back to Din. “Is this the hunter you spoke of before?”

“Yes, alor. She is a very skilled and honorable fighter.”

“Well,” you interrupt, face heating from his praise. “I don’t know about skilled. I’m not formally trained, but I’d be honored to really learn.”

They both look at you now, and you wish you hadn’t spoken. But if you’re going to do this, you know you can’t allow cowardice to rule any part of you anymore.

And you want this. With or without Din. You’re surprised a little, now that you’re here, and it’s a real possibility, by the ferociousness of your desire.

The first choice you had ever really made for yourself was asking him to work with you. The second was leaving him.

This will be the defining moment for the rest of your life, you think.

She nods. “It is settled. You will continue on your quest to Corvus,” she says to Din. “You,” she turns, “will remain here and train. When he returns, you will be ready to begin an apprenticeship to earn your beskar’gam.”

“I can train her,” Din says, shifting uncomfortably. He didn’t imagine you’d be separated. Not when he’d only just gotten you back.

“No. Paz will train her. You will continue on your mission in the morning.”

Din doesn’t like it. You don’t need him to say it; it’s written in the sharp lines of his shoulders and tapping of his thumb against his thigh. You catch his anxious hand and thread your fingers between his, bringing it up to your lips.

“It’ll be okay,” you say. You’re back on the Crest, though they had offered you both lodging. But given that they were living in a small cave system, there wasn’t likely to be any privacy. And you really wanted some privacy.

Din sighs but uses your linked hands to tug you into his lap. You settle with your thighs spread over him, wrapping your arms around his neck.

You press your forehead to his helmet. “I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”

He doesn’t say it, but you know he’s remembering that you promised last time, too. His arms wrap around your waist, bare hands skimming up the back of your shirt.

Even his touch feels sad, so you go in for the kill. “I love you, Din.”

His grasp tightens, the sudden press of his nails drawing a gasp from you. “I love you too, cyare.”

Hearing you say it still makes his heart catch on something sharp and intoxicating. Even after the day you left Batuu, when he finally fucked you in the bunk on the Crest again, right where you belonged, and you had sobbed it over and over while he teased you for hours.

He thinks maybe you need a repeat of that to hold you over while he’s gone. When he says as much, you shudder and rock your hips against him.

“Actually,” he says, sliding his hands to your hips. “You just keep doing that for now.”

It doesn’t take long before you’re practically panting. You’ve shifted so your aching cunt is dragging over the armor on his right thigh, hands clenched in his cowl while you whine.

“What a little slut,” he muses. “Look at you. So desperate you’d fuck anything, huh?”

You shake your head.

“No? If I told you to go get yourself off on the edge of the table, would you do it?”

“Fuck,” you gasp. “Yes, sir.”

“So I’m right, then.”

“No. Wouldn’t f-fuck anything. Just anything you want.”

He moans, hips pushing up and jostling you.

You try to take advantage of it and shift to rub against his crotch, but he tightens his grip and laughs. “Nice try, sweetheart. But I know you’re always desperate for my cock. I want to see you crying to cum just from this.”

He gets his wish soon. You’re already on the edge of begging, and his words just make it worse. “Please,” you whine. “Please just let me have it.”

He withdraws a hand from your shirt and smacks your ass. “I gave you an answer.”

“Ah, fuck, please.”

He can sense the shift in your tone. “Please what, cyar’ika?”

“Please, more.”

Instead of teasing you, he simply shifts you over his lap. He makes sure your cunt can still grind against the edge of his armor before he yanks your pants down over your ass and gives it a hard slap.

“This what you wanted?” He asks, striking you again.

“Yes, please, sir,” you cry, squirming and digging your hands around his calf to hold steady.

He delivers a few more blows and pauses to rub a soothing hand where your skin is already hot. “You beg so prettily. Do it again.”

And there it goes. He grins, feral behind the helmet, as fat tears well up and spill over onto your cheeks.

“Please, please hit me. Please, I’ve been so good. I want to be good.”

He hits hard enough this time that you have to bite your hand to swallow the scream. “You are good,” he murmurs between strikes. “You’re my good girl. I’ve got you.”

He spanks you until the tears run dry. By that time, you’re not squirming or struggling in his grasp. You’ve calmed, floating away in the safety of his cruel, caring hands. Your breathing is deep and easy, though he knows you’re awake by the soft moans.

“Look at the mess you’ve made,” he says, tugging you up by the hair. “Get down and clean it up.”

When you sink to your knees, he can see the faraway look in your eyes and soft contentment in the slight upturn of your lips. You lean forward and obediently lick his thigh plate clean of your arousal, eyes on him the whole time.

“Fuck, pretty girl. C’mere, I need your cunt.”

He’s not sure you’ve ever been this deep in subspace before. You don’t jump and scramble to obey, but lick your lips clean and slowly climb up into his lap, holding onto his shoulders carefully as he peels your pants off the rest of the way. You watch as he pulls his cock out with glazed eyes and an open, aching mouth.

He considers letting you suck it for a moment, given how you’re looking at him like a sweet to be devoured. But he runs a finger through your dripping folds, and the low keen it draws from you changes his mind.

You scoot forward when he taps your leg, looking right into the visor as you hover over him.

He gives you a nod, and you sink down slowly, shoulders curling back and eyes rolling closed as you take your fill. He brings a hand up to your neck, and you lean your head back, arching to give him better access.

There are no words to be said, now. No teasing or taunting, no begging or crying. He tightens the hand around your throat when he starts to fuck up into you, his other hand holding you steady by the hip.

Your lips part, tingling as he slowly cuts off the blood flow. Soft, wavering gasps leak out, but you couldn’t make a sound if you wanted to. He brings his other hand to your face and slides his thumb into your open mouth.

You close your lips around it, trying to suck even though it feels like you’re struggling for air. He curls the other fingers around your jaw, releasing your throat only to drag that hand down to your clit and start to unravel you.

You whine when he pulls his thumb from your mouth, only for it to stutter when he pinches your nipple between his finger and the wet digit. He tugs on it, his breath catching as you arch and press your chest into his hand, not to run from the pain but to offer more, more, more. To pour yourself out in his basin and let him soak you up as he pleases.

It’s a gift he could never refuse, so he lets up on his soft strokes to your clit and indulges in the soft moans and sweet cries you make when he torments your breasts, and the way you get tighter and wetter around him.

A particularly cruel pinch finally tears a plea from you on a whisper.

“Yes,” he growls, and holds you to him through your climax by the tight clamp of his fingers on your nipples. The pain that blossoms when you jerk against his grip uncontrollably pushes you into a second orgasm from the crest of the first.

“Fuck yes, give it to me. Give me everything,” he huffs, bucking into your spasming cunt. When your cries turn a little sharp, he eases up and rubs his thumbs soothingly over your aching nipples before pulling you against his chest.

You cling onto him, face buried in his cowl as he bounces you, cock buried deep with each staccato thrust.

After he fills you, he keeps you there, seated on his cock, with his cum slowly leaking as he softens. He cups your head where it rests against him and savors the way the silent ship is filled with peace.

You’re blinking sleepily, but he doesn’t have the willpower to move to the bunk, content to stay here on the bench with you dozing in his arms.

Your bodies regret it in the morning, but it’s hard to care when the warmth and safety overpower the aches in your neck and back. You share a rinse in the refresher, chaste until it isn’t. After the kid wakes up, you play with him for a few minutes until the sun is finally breaking the horizon, and you know you have to go.

Din offers to walk you in, to stay until you’re settled, but you shake your head. At the top of the ramp, you stop him with a hand to his chest. You slide both hands up to his shoulders, and he settles his on your waist, bringing your foreheads together.

While he’s distracted with the kiss, you unlatch his cloak from around his shoulders. He pulls back, head tilted.

“What’re you up to?”

You grin, folding your prize in your arms. “Just helping myself to a blanket.”

He laughs and pulls you in close, savoring the feeling and hoping it holds him over until he can return.

“Be safe,” you whisper, trying not to tear up.

“Kick Paz’s ass,” he whispers back.

It works. The laughter chases away your sadness, and you press a kiss to his helmet before turning to walk down the ramp.

When you get to the mouth of the cavern, you turn and wave. Din has the baby in his arms, both of them waving back as the ramp raises.

You thought it would be harder. But you smile while you watch the Crest ascend. Your chest feels tight but warm, and you turn to face your new adventure.

Three Weeks Later

You’re sitting on the floor of the large cavern, the sandy floor cushioning your aching tailbone. Your flightsuit is drenched in sweat beneath the weighted flak vest you’ve been living in.

Technically, Paz said to wear it during training, but you’ve been trying to acclimate to what life will be like with armor. He hasn’t commented, but you think he approves of your choice.

His booming voice echoes in the chamber. “Two minutes and we begin again.”

You nod, still trying to regulate your breathing. You sip carefully from the canteen and wonder, as you do with every spare moment, how Din and the baby are. If they’ve found a Jedi. Or a jetii, you suppose.

“What does cyar’ika mean?” you say suddenly. Paz has been teaching you Mando’a while you train, but it hasn’t occurred to you to ask.

You would have rather asked Din, but you forgot your commlink on the Crest. It’s made the days a little harder than you anticipated.

Paz laughs. Your face and ears burn, and you wish you hadn’t said anything.

“Is that what my vod calls you?” he says.

“Sometimes.” You do not like the tone of his voice.

“I’m not laughing at you, vod’ika. Just at how soft he’s gone.”

You scowl.

“It means sweetheart,” he finally explains.

You burn even hotter.

“What about cyare?” You ask, turning your humiliation into determination. And your brain backpedals. “Vod’ika?”

“Cyare is the base for cyar’ika. What do you think it means?”

“Oh! So… I’m going to guess ‘big sweetheart’ isn’t it. It’s like a more serious nickname?’”

“Exactly. It’s probably closest to ‘beloved.’ And then vod’ika would be…?”

“Little brother? Or, well, little sister?”

“Very good,” he says. His praise warms you, but in a much different way than Din’s.

You think back over the words. “Oh,” you say.

“What?”

You hadn’t meant to be speaking to Paz or out loud at all. “You called me vod’ika.”

Somehow, you find that more surprising than the revelation that Din has been calling you his beloved.

“Yes,” he says.

“I haven’t sworn the Creed yet.”

“No matter. You will. And Djarin is my vod, no matter how irritating he is, so anyone who is to be his riduur is my vod, too.”

“Riduur?”

“Spouse. Wife,” he says.

That slows your brain like molasses. “I don’t know about that,” you say with a forced chuckle.

“Regardless. You’re doing well and will make a strong addition to our tribe. This is the Way.”

“This is the Way,” you can’t help but agree.

“Enough resting. Pick up your weapon,” he says gruffly, readying himself to spar with you once more.

You grab the bevii’ragir and use it to pull yourself to your feet.

It’s late afternoon when your lesson is interrupted.

“I call next challenger.”

You turn immediately to the voice like a flower to the sun, grinning and dodging Paz’s spear.

Din meets you halfway and pulls you to him. You slide your arms under his to wrap up around his shoulders, pressing a kiss to his beskar’ta before burying your face in his cowl.

“You take good care of my girl, vod?”

“Your girl can take care of herself,” Paz rumbles, suddenly close. He puts a hand on Din’s shoulder near where you’re clinging to him and shakes a little before pulling back.

“Yeah, she can,” Din says, voice thick with adoration. You lift your head to meet his and realize the next time you do this, the next time you share a mirshmure’cya, you’ll be in a helmet.

As if he can tell what you’re thinking, he asks if you’re ready. He’s addressing you, but Paz answers.

“She’s been ready. You’re late.”

Din watches the hopeful smile blossom across your face. Not the one that makes him want to grab you by the shoulders and beg you to stop being surprised by being loved, but one that tells him you might just be starting to understand.

“Did you go easy on him, ner kar’ta?” he teases, thrilled to be rewarded by your laugh.

He leaves your side only to go collect Grogu from the Armorer, who was fitting him with beskar chainmail forged from the spear he brought home.

They find you on the shore after. The kid toddles over excitedly, eager to show off his new, shiny shirt. You coo over it and praise him, but the smile doesn’t reach your eyes.

He sits down next to you, watching as Grogu torments the tiny, shimmering purple fish in the shallows. “You know,” he starts.

“I’m not changing my mind,” you interrupt. “I don’t know why I’m so nervous, but I want this. It’s… it’s a good fear, I think.”

“Spoken like a true Mandalorian,” he says. “Courage can’t exist without fear.”

“You sound like him when you say that,” you tease.

He rolls his eyes, helmet to the sky for a moment. “We did grow up together.”

“I know. He said you were a parasite that never left him alone.”

“I should have come home faster. Leaving you with him was a mistake,” he grumbles. He fills you in about the village, then. About Elsbeth and Ahsoka Tano. About her refusal to train Grogu.

“She can’t train him because he loves you too much? That’s the cutest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“I don’t want to be an obstacle for him.”

“He’s a baby! He needs a father far more than he needs whatever lonely life they live.”

He loves the sentiment. He does. But you both know he’ll continue on this quest until it’s completed, one way or another. And you know you’ll follow him wherever it takes him.

At dusk, as you kneel in the shallows, the pull of the gentle waves sink you into the sand bit by bit. It’s not a long ceremony; it’s perfectly Mandalorian in its succinct and practical nature. But you can feel the heaviness. It pulls you down faster than the water, and you let it fill the gaps between the sinew of your ribcage.

When your alor places the helmet upon you, the first things you see through your new eyes are Din and the baby, waiting for you to come back to shore.

“This is gonna take some getting used to,” you say as you shift around, trying to figure out the right arrangement of pillows to support your neck in spite of the helmet.

“What if it didn’t have to?” Din says.

“What do you mean?”

“Marry me.”

You sit up and turn to face him. “You're serious?”

He sits up and switches on the light. “Completely.” For the first time, he has no idea what you’re feeling or thinking. You’re holding very still but without seeing your face… this must be how you felt all this time.

“You’re serious,” you whisper. Your modulator barely picks it up.

“I am. Marry me, cyare.”

“Okay.”

“‘Okay’? That’s it?”

You roll your eyes, but it doesn’t translate. You haven’t adapted to exaggerating your body language yet. “Yes, Din. Of course.”

“Right now.”

“Right now?!”

“Did Paz teach you anything about riduurok?”

“Just that it means marriage.”

“I ask him to do one thing,” he grumbles.

“Hang on, what? You asked Paz to teach me about Mandalorian marriages?”

“Yes, that shabuir.”

“Oh. You—you actually planned this,” you say. “This isn’t impulsive. You planned on proposing to me in bed.”

“I planned on proposing to you once we were home. You’re the one who went to bed right away.”

“Okay.”

“Okay, what?”

“Okay, right now. Marry me right now.” You can’t believe you’re saying it. Or maybe you can. Because it’s Din. It’s always been Din. “How does it work?”

“It’s just us. There are vows. And then, we share ourselves with one another. Then we can know each other completely.”

“Teach me.”

So he does. He shows you the words and their meanings; he shows you the ways he’s been giving you his heart and making room for yours.

You leave the words open on the datapad so you can see them. Somehow, you’ve ended up in his lap, inches from each other. The vows are easy, the decision so painfully obvious you don’t have a single doubt. The Mando’a tumbles from your lips slowly, in harmony with him.

Mhi solus tome. Of course you are one together. That’s never been a question.

Mhi solus dar’tome. It had been true even when it wasn’t. You were one while apart, if only in that you held each other in your hearts for all those years. But it had been enough.

Mhi me’dinui an. There wasn’t a thing between you left unshared now.

Mhi ba’juri verde. Din may have his doubts about Grogu’s future, but you know he loves him. Unconditionally, eternally. And maybe, someday, you’ll share that love with more.

You rip your helmet off without hesitation. It’s easy still, for you.

Later, you’ll grow accustomed to its heft and the way only your aliit can see the you beneath. Later, you’ll appreciate better what it takes for Din to do the same.

“You’re beautiful,” he says.

You roll your eyes. “You saw me three hours ago.”

“You’re beautiful every time I see you.”

Your face burns, but you don’t have to be embarrassed for long. In fact, you stop thinking about it immediately as he raises his hands to the bottom of his helmet.

You squeeze your eyes shut automatically.

He sees you once he’s removed it and huffs a breath. “Cyare, open your eyes.”

“It feels wrong,” you say.

“Ner riduur. You are mine and I am yours. Please open your eyes.”

You do. Your heart is thundering, a painful clench in your chest. You lean back, cupping his face in your hands.

No words come. All you can do is stare, lips parted, greedily taking in every piece of him. Your fingers follow your eyes, brushing through his dark curls and tracing the curve of his cheek.

He’s barely breathing, staring up at you with big, beautiful brown eyes, wetness starting to well.

“Din,” you breathe.

“Hi,” he says softly, cheeks flushing.

You gasp, lips curling into a pleased grin. “You’re so cute when you blush.”

He’s never felt so unmoored. The flush spreads as he tries to bear your focus.

“I thought it would be weirder. To see your face,” you say, running a thumb over his chapped lips, fingers stroking the scruff of his chin. “Your helmet has always been you, to me. I was afraid this would be like seeing a stranger. But it’s not. I know you. Ni kar’tayli darasuum.”

He whispers it back, pressing a kiss to your thumb before leaning against the wall.

Your brow furrows, and you fix him with an outraged glare.

“What?” he asks, and you almost get distracted by the way his eyes widen and mouth opens with bewilderment.

“You used to call me ner kar’ta.”

“I still do.”

“No, I mean, you started calling me your heart so long ago.”

“You weren’t ready. But I couldn’t help it. Couldn’t change that it was true.” He sees the sadness creeping in and cups your cheek. “It was worth the wait, ner kar’ta. Would you like your gift now?”

You know he’s trying to distract you, but it works anyway. “A gift? For what?”

“For our riduurok, silly girl.”

It’s your turn to flush, ears burning. “That’s not fair. I didn’t know I was going to have a husband to get a gift for.”

He shakes his head, a fond smile on his face. A smile you can see. It’s a world-shattering feeling.

He rifles around for a moment and then offers you something shiny and very familiar.

The pauldron is unpainted silver, the same as his, with a mudhorn on the front. It’s shaped a little differently, a little longer and narrower. A better fit for your shoulder.

You reach out and run your fingers over the signet.

“Din,” you choke through the tight grip of your throat. “But… I didn’t earn it yet.”

“But I did. We’re a clan of three, now. As my riduur, this is yours to bear.”

You almost start to sob, but the tears are held off by a sudden realization.

“Did everyone know we were getting married but me?”

He shrugs. “Guess so.”

Your indignant laugh breaks into another sob, tears finally falling free.

He wipes them away with his thumbs, the pauldron abandoned on the bed. “Hey, save those tears for later,” he murmurs.

It has the desired effect. Your eyes widen, and your hips grind against him just a fraction. “You know how most people celebrate a marriage?”

“We aren’t most people, cyar’ika. We’re Mandalorians.”

It’s still weird to hear yourself referred to as a Mandalorian. But it sinks under your skin and spreads euphoria through your veins. It feels right, like your whole life you’ve been following a starmap to this moment.

“Well, how do we celebrate a marriage then?”

He smirks. “We fuck.”

“Right now?” you ask, making a show of batting your lashes and delighting in the way his eyes darken and lips part. “Please, sir?”

You could always sense the change, before. The way the air shifted. But it was another thing entirely to watch him become the predator. There’s a glint in his eye, a curve to his lips that wracks you with shivers.

His hand slides up to wrap around your throat. “Yeah, sweetheart? You want to get fucked by your riduur? Going to let me take what’s mine?”

“Oh fuck,” you whisper. Your heart is pounding, and from the way his smirk grows, you know he can feel it under the clench of his fingers. They twitch a little tighter, and you’re already feeling lightheaded.

He eases up after a moment, withdrawing his hand just to bring it across your face in a harsh slap. “Have you forgotten how to be my good girl? Answer me when I speak to you.”

When you open your mouth to try, all that comes out is a moan. He slaps you again, grabbing you roughly by the throat after and pulling you closer.

“Yes,” you finally gasp, “yes, please, sir.”

“Please, what?”

“Please fuck me. Please take what’s yours.”

“And what’s mine to take?”

“Everything.”

His lips press against yours in a crash of teeth and flesh. He bites his way into your mouth, pushing you down on your back with the force of his kiss. Your legs are still wrapped around his hips and his cock presses against your panties.

“Wait,” he gasps into your mouth. “I have another gift.”

“Can’t it wait? Can’t you let me get you something first?”

“No, cyare, this isn’t a present for my riduur.”

“No?” Your voice has gone small, soft.

“No, sweetheart. It’s for my pretty little slut.”

You flush, and he sits up, reaching over to the shelf for a box. Inside is a thin chain that almost looks like beskar.

You watch him watch you with starving eyes, a hunger that seeps into your skin where his gaze lands. “But I like my collar,” you whisper.

“I know, I do too. This is a little different. It’s thin enough to lay under your cowl without being seen.”

“Oh.”

“You don’t have to wear it all the time. But when you want to, when you’ll let me have you outside of this, I’d like you to.”

It goes against that rule, your one big rule, from so long ago. Nothing outside the ship could come back in, and vice versa.

You find it doesn’t bother you, now. Not if you can have that little reminder, not if you can feel his love physically all the time.

You know he’d never take advantage, never try to control you in a fight. He didn’t need to, anyway, not with the way you moved and worked as one.

“Yes, sir.”

😭thank you, thank you, thank you, I love you. see you on dec. 21 for the Life Day Special ft. our favorite clan of three.

*title from "Set Phasers to Stun" by Taking Back Sunday

#din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fic #din djarin x f!reader #mando x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x you #mando x you #dom din djarin #make it hurt verse #din djarin fic

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salty-croissants · 6 months

Note

Can you do headcanons for Rayman with a Sally type of s/o from the nightmare before Christmas?,Like a reader that tries to tell him about Eden and all of that but even if he doesn’t listen she still stays by his side and loves him nonetheless pretty please :)

Thank you for the request !

As a big Nightmare Before Christmas fan , I found this scenario to be very neat :D

I tried to integrate a few personality traits of Sally in the reader , I hope it worked !

Details : use of gender neutral reader ;

friends to lovers ;

no warnings needed , other than a few swear words at the end

One of the many things you’ve always admired about Rayman is the sheer passion he always put in his dream of hosting his very own show :

you have been watching his hard work for years , all his sacrifices … and all the difficult times he went through .

Being so different from everyone else made him an easy target for people’s derision and prejudices , and for the longest time Rayman felt like no one would’ve ever accepted him for who he really was …

Until he met you .

You were the first person who showed Rayman kindness , and let’s just say he will never be able to forget that :

you always seemed genuinely interested in what he was doing , never once shunning him for his appearance and even offering him words of advice and encouragement …

< Another failure … I thought this time was going to be different … can’t believe I was so stupid … >

< Rayman , you’re not stupid . I know it’s tough , but people will understand your talent someday …

You just have to be patient . >

He was truly grateful for your friendship , and it’s also thanks to you if he managed to get through it all and get where he is today .

Even tough he’s now the voice of Eden , Rayman hasn’t forgotten about you and all that you’ve done for him , and whenever he’s not too busy with his shows he loves to spend time with you , happy to have a chance to get his mind off of work :

your presence is just so soothing … your kindness and eagerness to listen to him always manages to put his mind at ease , and sometimes he can’t help but wonder what would it be like if the two of you became … something more .

< You mean a lot to me y/n , you know ? I think I might be … uh … >

< Yes , Ray … ? >

< … heh … oh , it’s nothing , don’t worry about it . I’m just tired … >

Little does he know that you feel the exact same way , however every time you try to say it out loud the anxiety of getting rejected , or worse , making your long time friend uncomfortable has always stopped you from doing so …

Much like Rayman .

… but the day you eventually discovered Eden’s plans and just how much they have been using Rayman for their propaganda , everything changed .

You felt horrible to know that the people who promised to help him make his dream come true were just doing that to cover the many dark realities they were trying so hard to keep hidden from everyone , and you knew that you had to tell him somehow …

Of course , it didn’t exactly go well .

< Please - I know this sounds crazy , but you have to believe me !

The Board of Directors aren’t who you think they are … I would never lie about something so serious to you , Rayman , you know that , right … ? >

< *sigh* … y/n , I …

I’m sorry , but that just isn’t … possible . Sure , the Directors are pretty strict about a few things , but they wouldn’t do that to me … I’m their star . >

< But - >

< Please , let’s not talk about this anymore … I know you mean well , but I think it’s just a bunch of … really well made fake news .

I gotta go study my next script , just … try to forget about it , okay ? >

You were admittedly pretty hurt by Rayman’s lack of trust in you … but maybe you just needed to think of a better way to explain everything to him .

You only want him to be alright … it’s for his own good …

Despite everything , you still remained by his side , comforting him after the disastrous interview with Red and reminding him to come visit you if he ever needed help … Well , one day you were surprised to find an unannounced Rayman outside your door , wearing a coat and with a terrified expression on his face that you’ve never seen before …

It was enough to make you very concerned .

< Woah - come in Ray … are you okay ?

Did … something else happen ? >

The moment he heard you lock the door , was the moment he finally broke down :

You watch him take a few steps in your direction , locking you in a tight embrace while sobbing right next to your ear …

< y-y/n … I’m sorry , I’m just … I-I’m so sorry … ! >

After a second of shock , you hug him back , confused but most importantly worried .

< Ray … what’s wrong ? If you let me know I can try to help you … >

< You were right … you were right about e-everything … I went talk to the frog , and he showed me … I-I saw … >

Rayman tries to take a deep breath to calm himself down … to no avail .

< I saw what those bastards did … using my f-face … oh god … i-it’s so bad , and if I just listened to you I would’ve known sooner … I’m such a fucking idiot … will … will you ever be able to forgive me … ? >

You have to admit , it’s all still very confusing to listen to , but as soon as he stops talking you place your hands on his cheeks , gently wiping away his tears .

< Of course I forgive you . I understand , it really wasn’t an easy truth to come to terms with …

I just want you to know that no matter what happens , I’m always going to be on your side , Rayman , because … you mean a lot to me too . I just wasn’t able to say it before … >

You both stare into each other’s eyes , before you realize that you’ve been doing that for a bit too long and stand up , your cheeks blushing a little …

< A-anyway , um … since you’re here I could get you something to drink , so maybe we can sit and talk about what happened a bit more calmly … if that’s okay with you , of course ! >

Rayman can’t help but smile in front of how cute you are , and after a few more deep breaths he starts feeling a bit less overwhelmed .

< Yeah … yeah , that’d be great . >

#captain laserhawk #x reader #captain lazerhawk rayman #rayman #rayman x reader #gender neutral reader

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fandom-monium · 2 years

Text

BFB AU - Willow

BFB AU | BFB!Hunter

Yall thought I was done with this au?? Not even close :D so heres more headcanons, this time of BFB!Willow:

You probably think Willow has more things on her mind than boys.

And you’d be right. Boys are the last thing on her mind.

It’s the start of her first year of high school and already she’s dreading it, having been registered for a track she couldn’t care less about. And as days turn to weeks, she feels like she’s suffocating, watching her peers in the same track excel while she struggles to even meet the standards. It hurts, and her self-confidence withers.

She’s really just Half-Wit Willow, isn’t she.

But then the science fair is announced, and that’s when she panics.

Everyone in Hexside’s STEM magnets is participating, probably doing detailed presentations on the latest technological advances, demonstrating their knowledge with beakers and flasks, or showcasing their senior projects to their professors. And what does she have to show for her first semester?? Nothing.

There’s the familiar steady clack of boots coming up behind her, and she refuses to meet her eyes as Amity strides past her like she doesn’t exist. The only indication she notices her: a scoff at Willow’s empty, project-less hands. She can practically hear Amity’s snide comment, Seriously? Not even a a half-assed trifold display board with googled information??

She wants to cry. She’s going to cry. Tears build at the corner of her eyes, but she purses her lips and restrains herself, pink cheeks puffing up from the effort. No crying. No Weeping Willow today.

Then she feels a hand on her shoulder, gentle and kind, and Willow tenses, whirling around, and for a second she thinks Amity turned back to comfort her.

Of course not.

It’s the new girl.

Luz, she recalls. They’ve haven’t talked yet; she transferred late into the semester, something about moving complications, and by then everyone had already formed their cliques, old and new.

But after she calms down, Luz asks if they can partner up for the science fair, brightly yet meekly offering her assistance, and she’s desperate, tired of being Half-Wit Willow or Weeping Willow. Tired of coming in dead last to her classmates. And here’s this stranger offering their help, and the only way to get into Hexside is you have to be good, may it be at everything or one thing.

So she accepts, needing the extra mind and hands. Hunkered down in the school library, the next two weeks are filled with stress and anxiety and the most fun she’s ever had at school. Willow was terrified that this cheery, optimistic girl was too good to be true. That Luz would realize that Willow is the worst of her class and abandon her for another group. Luz is so friendly, she could if she wanted. Yet she doesn’t, supporting Willow as they bounce off ideas and bring Willow’s vision to life. At some point, she introduces Gus to Luz, and he’ll drop by as they work for moral support.

On the day of the fair, they get a ribbon on their project on self-sustaining ecosystems, complete with a beautiful glass terrarium brought to you by Willow, and it’s so impressive Principal Bump offers her to immediately switch tracks.

Though their deal was a matter of convenience, it’s the start of a beautiful, life-long friendship.

Willow is so excited to switch tracks she starts wearing green leggings to match the uniform green neck tie for the rest of the semester.

Having come to her senses, she drops the leggings and opts for high sock or tights by the next semester.

Now, she knows Luz has a brother. She knows, but it’s not something that just comes up in conversation. All she does know is that he’s a grade above them and he’s super smart, according to Luz.

Unknowingly, she’s caught glimpses of him out in the halls, and Willow immediately sours, seeing Hunter amicably chatting with the Blight twins. Oh. He’s friends with Amity’s siblings. Any chance of befriending the new kid (her best friend’s brother) flies out the window.

Until that day, the first time she went to Luz and Hunter’s house.

Now she wants to talk to her new friend!! To the boy who doesn’t belong to one track because he loves knowledge too much to specialize in one thing. To the boy who will listen to her babble about her plants like they’re people without complaint. To the boy with the slightly hooked nose, tooth gap, cool piercings, and dark circles under his eyes. To Hunter. Even if they don’t have a lot in common.

Like her dads, Willow is also a fan of roller derby, and while it’s not as popular as rugby in Bonesborough, she decides she start her own team second semester.

Soft and round as she looks, she’s a lot stronger than most of her classmates, a result of her training to be a competent roller derby captain. A combination of weightlifting and running, she’s got the strength and stamina to lead her team!

(Hunter runs the same trails as her. Coincidence??)

But on the day of their first game, which will determine if the school will fund their team or not, her team is down one player.

Luz, who came to support her and Hexside, shoves Hunter (who came after hearing Willow is going to be there) towards her and volunteers him, to his mortification.

Well, at least they have more to talk about.

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bihanspookies · 9 days

Text

Fine Lines

Summary: A time skip of five months since Alora and JJ have been secretly meeting up and the lines of their boundaries are starting to blur.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅••❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

Five months have gone by since Alora decided to make seeing JJ a sort of regular thing. They agreed to not do it every week, being sure to not see each other on the same day as last, careful to leave different sized gaps in between meetings.

But they always met at the bar.

JJ was usually there first; ordering their drinks and happily sitting in their booth waiting for the Black Dragon merc to show up. Trying to not stare at the door, anxiously bouncing his prosthetic leg while he scopes out for that familiar head of hair and those frosty eyes.

Five months they’ve been doing this and every time he’s afraid that she won’t show. Not because he doesn’t trust her— because anything could happen to her in the blink of an eye and he would have no idea about it until it was probably too late.

So every second he spends waiting is torture for him, like water in his lungs that prevents him from breathing until he sees her step through the bar door.

And once she does, everything feels alright.

It’s like second nature at this point, their eyes automatically locking with one another when she comes into the bar, the faintest hint of a smile on her lips as she crosses the room. Wordlessly, he holds out her drink once she’s close enough, his smile growing as she takes it and downs it in one go.

Before, by this point, she would’ve been tense still— dropping into the booth and nervously tapping her fingers on the tabletop. She would’ve been stiff in her posture and kept darting her gaze from him to the door, fearful that someone would recognize her and she’d have to fight her way out.

But now? She plops down with ease, shrugging her jacket off and tossing it next to her while attempting to reach for JJ’s drink. He snatches it away, mock surprise on his face before throwing it down the hatch and slamming the glass on the table. Alora scoffs, eyes rolling dramatically before she turns and flags down Sandy, holding up two fingers and then turning her attention to JJ.

Her shoulders are still a bit rigid and every once in a while she does glance around the room to spot any familiar faces.

But so far her uneasiness hasn’t come true and JJ waits for the day she can fully relax without having to cast a fearful glance over her shoulder.

“You seem to be in a good mood.” Alora remarks, leaning back against her seat and crossing her arms over her chest lightly. Sandy comes over and puts their drinks down, offering JJ a wink before departing back to the bar top.

“Course I am. You’re here.” His smile is soft, fingers wrapping around his glass and preparing to bring it to his lips.

It’s comments like these that send Alora’s heart rate through the roof, lighting the tips of her nerves in a white fire that burns bright like a falling star. She fights to keep her face steady, JJ’s smile growing as he studies her pretty features. In typical Alora nature she rolls her eyes, grabbing her glass to give herself something to do.

“Wait wait now hold on—“ He leans forward and holds his drink out to her, giving a small gesture with it. Alora lifts and clinks her cup to JJ’s, the small chime easing her out of her nerves the smallest bit.

It races back up when JJ’s finger extends and brushes over her the entire underside of her pinky before they depart glasses. He smiles over the rim as he drinks, enjoying the brief contact of her warm skin against his. Alora quickly swallows hers, being cautious into not shattering the glass once she places it on the table.

“Yeah you seem to be in a real fucking good mood.” She mutters under her breath, her mouth twitching and threatening to form into a smile. JJ’s chuckles, nodding in agreement. He casts his eyes across the bar, taking in the other patrons that are also here.

Alora takes the opportunity to look at his side profile, as she’s done discreetly so many times before. She finds herself lost in the gorgeous color of his eyes— always reminding her of a crisp autumn leaf that’s being shined on by a ray of sunlight. Her gaze trails down the length of his nose, admiring the prominent feature that she finds herself looking at often.

His mouth is something she finds herself thinking about way more than she’d like to admit, his lips so pink and inviting, surrounded by that beard that she’s been curious about touching.

She doesn’t even realize that her head has tilted, features softening until JJ is raising an eyebrow and waving his hand in her face.

“Did you hear me?” He asks with a laugh.

Alora blinks out of her daze, fixing her posture and furrowing her eyebrows together.

“What?” It comes out harsher than intended.

He laughs again, shaking his head and jutting his thumb to the dart board.

“Wanna play?”

A few drinks and rounds later, JJ is officially feeling buzzed from all the alcohol, laughing more and getting braver and braver with his touches to Alora. He ‘accidentally’ bumps knees and elbows more times than he can count, letting his fingers skim across hers whenever he finds the opportunity to do so.

It doesn’t go unnoticed, Alora finding herself allowing more of them to go by without a reprimand. It wouldn’t be the first time things have gotten like this but usually JJ stops himself from letting it go any further, chugging water to clear his head and to not mess things up with her.

She knows that their fine line between being ‘friends’ and something else is thinning, unsure of how to deal with it all. JJ’s handsome obviously, not to mention sweet, charming, kind and…

On the complete opposite side of the law that she is.

They’re sitting back down at the booth, JJ’s legs extended out and locking her foot in between his. His elbows rest on the worn table in front of him, chin set upon his knuckles as he smiles tipsily at Alora.

Silence falls between them as the bar hums with activity, the clatter of pool balls and the idle chatter blending together with the music that carries from the battered jukebox in the corner. Alora traces the rim of her glass with one slender finger, focusing on the bar lights that dance in the rippling liquor. A new song shuffles onto the jukebox and JJ snaps his head up, eyes gleaming with something Alora can’t quite place.

The lyrics warble through the air and JJ bobs his head, his lips set in an attempt to keep the lyrics trapped behind his teeth.

It's late in the evening

She's wondering what clothes to wear

She puts on her makeup

And brushes her long blonde hair

Alora wrinkles her nose at the cheesy love song and JJ chuckles, fingers rapping on the table in time to the gentle beat.

And then she asks me, "Do I look alright?"

And I say, "Yes, you look wonderful tonight"

Alora looks back to JJ who is staring a hard line right through her; her face heats under his gaze, but she can’t seem to look away. He extends a hand, palm up and cocks his head in question.

“Dance?”

She almost laughs out loud at the request. He has finally lost his damn mind, clearly, but he’s not wavering, hand still held out waiting.

“C’mon, sweetheart-” the pet name makes her heart do a somersault, “Nobody knows us here.”

Alora chews the inside of her cheek; his request is so out of her depth, so beyond her comfort level that she can’t even conjure a venom-laced retort. Still, JJ smiles from across the table, head tilted to the side and hazel eyes locked on her.

It feels as if someone else is piloting her body. Alora pulls desperately at the emergency brake in her mind, but her hand extends and falls into his all the same, soft fingers brushing against his calloused ones. Stop, she urges herself, panicked brain battling desperately against her fluttering heart.

JJ’s grin widens when her hand hits his; he’s suddenly overtaken with the urge to kiss the back of it, but he resists, afraid of throwing away what he’s managed to accomplish. He moves from the booth, fingers closing around hers to pull her along with him as he makes his way toward the small dance floor.

It feels so natural to lace his fingers with hers. His free arm loops high around her waist, hesitant as she tenses for a moment at the unfamiliar contact. JJ glances down at her and smiles reassuringly, his own confidence suddenly rattled by her closeness- he can see every detail in her face- the scars, the faint freckles, and the true beauty of her eyes.

JJ swallows thickly and shakes his head to clear it before finding a rhythm with Alora, his feet still recalling the movement, even after all the years since he’s danced. To his surprise, she follows his lead, letting him guide them in broad swaths across the faded wooden floor. The other patrons watch in amusement as they dance, a few of them offering wolfish whistles and exaggerated claps.

Alora can hear none of it, her mind is too busy thrumming with the sound of her pulse as it races through her veins and pounds in her ears. JJ is so close that she can see the fine lines in his face and the small patches of gray at his temples. If she focuses, she can feel his heartbeat thudding away in his chest pressed close to hers.

“You really are pretty,” JJ practically whispers, his hazel eyes softening as they find her icy blues.

“And you talk too much.”

He chuckles at that, face breaking into a smile that almost makes her return it. She comes so tantalizingly close, dances agonizingly on the edge, but forces it back down. Alora feels as if she’s losing control of the situation, but she can’t seem to stop the ride, her body unwilling to shove him away and sprint for the door.

The song lulls to a close and fades out, leaving the two of them in the middle of the dance floor, feet now still and gazes locked. JJ squeezes his fingers in hers and his lips part, just barely, eyes fixed so steadily on hers that it feels as if he might burn a hole through her.

He wants to kiss her. God, does he want to kiss her. His mind is on fire with the idea- he would cup her face, lean down, brush his nose against hers-

The bright lights that signal closing time flare to life and Alora uses the momentary distraction to put distance between them, her heart hammering away at her ribcage. She’d almost fucking kissed him. She needs to get out, and fast.

She bolts for the booth to grab her jacket and JJ follows, stumbling over his words. She slings her jacket on and makes for the door with him hot on her heels. She hears him swear as he remembers he still has to pay, fumbling for his wallet in his jeans and thrusting a $100 bill into Sandy’s hands before sprinting through the door after Alora.

“Alora!” JJ calls after her; her form is already growing smaller under the orange glow of the street lights, “Please-”

Alora stops, fists balled at her sides, but she doesn’t turn toward him. She no longer trusts herself, is afraid that if she looks at him, she won’t be able to turn back. The line is no longer thin, it’s almost nonexistent. JJ reaches her and she can hear his heavy breaths as he comes to a stop just a few feet away from her back. She closes her eyes, exhaling shakily, but she still doesn’t turn to face him.

“Please,” JJ says again; there’s a wavering edge to his voice that makes Alora’s chest tighten, just a little, “I don’t…I didn’t mean to cross a line.”

You didn’t, she thinks with a jolt.

Alora finally turns to face him, her gaze cast downward at the cracked concrete at her feet. JJ’s hands flex at his sides, the desire to reach out and grab her shoulder burning through him like a live wire.

Her lips part but nothing comes out, her words stuck in her throat because she has no fucking idea what to say. It’s all unfamiliar territory to her, this song and dance completely out of her zone and she has no clue how to navigate it.

JJ patiently waits for her to speak, swallowing hard as he watches the storm form in her eyes from the internal struggle she’s facing right now. In the short time he’s known her, he's never seen her so frazzled, a different kind of fear in her eyes.

Alora takes a deep breath, takes a deep breath, feeling the way her heart pounds in her chest and finally looks up at JJ.

“You didn’t cross a line.” Her tone is low- steady and even but he catches the way she focuses on not letting it shake. She runs her hand through the loose strands of hair framing her face and pushes them back, holding them as she thinks of what to say next.

“I-“ She scoffs, hand coming down and hitting lightly against her thigh.

A part of her is screaming to get the hell out of there, to scramble away from the hole she’s dug herself before she falls in and can’t get out.

But another part just wants to throw it all to the wind, to say fuck it and allow herself to have this one small moment of freedom.

To run right into JJ’s arms and kiss him, lock her hands behind his neck and breathe in the scent of his cologne so deep that it fills and makes a home for itself within her lungs.

“I’ll see you next Thursday.”

She spins on her heel quickly to avoid seeing the way his heart breaks, tugging her jacket tight as she picks up the pace.

JJ’s arm hangs in midair, a poor pathetic attempt at stopping her from running away once again. He could scream right now, pull out his hair and kick over the trash can for just how utterly stupid he feels right now.

Five months down the drain he thinks. Gone within the blink of an eye and vanishing in the wind- just like her.

It takes a moment for her words to sink in, a jolt in his heart when he realizes exactly what she said.

“See you next Thursday.” He repeats to himself quietly, a small sigh of relief coming from him when he registers the promise.

—-

It’s nearly closing time and JJ sits at their booth with two glasses of Everclear, full and untouched. He sighs for the umpteenth time, looking at the door once more before returning his gaze back to his drink.

Alora hasn’t shown and if she hasn’t by now then…

JJ’s first instinct is to think the worst; that Kano caught wind of her and where she was really going. Probably made an example out of her, shot his laser right through—

He groans audibly and shakes his head, turning to look for Sandy and wave her down. He doesn’t need his potential last memory of Alora to be gruesome, preferring to deal with the heartache that she’s still alive rather than six feet under.

“No pretty girl, huh?” Sandy says with a sad smile, placing his bill on the tabletop. JJ quietly sucks his teeth, thumbing through the folded cash in his pocket before giving Sandy a crisp $50 bill.

“Now honey, you know damn well these two drinks ain’t cost nearly $50.” She smirks, plucking the bill from his fingertips.

“I know,” He smiles up at her, gathering his jacket and standing up.

“Thanks for taking care of us, Sandy.” His arms slip through the sleeves, a heavy sigh through his nose with one final smile before he departs towards the door.

It’s happened once or twice, Alora not showing up and sending a panic through JJ. They usually just meet the upcoming Saturday since that was their regular before but he wasn’t so sure that was the case now, not with how things went last week.

JJ walks towards his truck, gaze to the ground and so absorbed in his thoughts that he doesn’t see Alora leaning against the passenger side, arms crossed and drumming her fingers on herself. He stops once he notices her, eyes going wide and mouth opening to say something but she puts her hand up to stop him.

“You’re not dead—“ He can’t help himself from saying it, the relief flooding through his body like a tidal wave. Alora’s face scrunches up at his statement, straightening her posture and unfolding her arms.

“No I’m not dead—“

“So why didn’t… why didn’t you come inside?” He steps closer, nearly toe to toe with her boots. “Thought somethin’ happened to you.”

Alora locks eyes with him, rehearsing her words that she’s been thinking about since the moment she left last week. She draws in a deep breath through her nose, giving a weak shrug of her shoulders.

“Was scared.” She whispers so softly under her breath, fingers playing with a loose thread on her pants.

JJ feels the silence between them fill his ears, the idle chatter of people coming and going fading into nothing as he replays her words in his head.

“Of me?” He keeps the same volume, afraid to shatter the glass bubble they’ve blown around themselves to give them this one moment. She shakes her head, feeling her insides twist and turn, a mute pounding in her ears as she takes in the worried look of him.

“Of this. Us.”

Naturally his body fills with dread, his heart turning to lead within himself. But then her words sink in and something starts to shift in JJ’s body in that moment; her quiet demeanor, the nervous ticks, the subdued look in those pretty blue eyes that he’s come to get lost in. It all clicks together at once for JJ.

JJ knows Alora is frightened at the possibility of being caught with him, that much is obvious. But as he replays last week's events in his head, remembering the subtle changes in her face, the minuscule way her fingers flexed around his, the minor adjustment to tilt her head upward…

It’s amazing how quickly his fear melts away, how the anxiety and stress of the situation morphs into something warm and lighthearted.

She had wanted to kiss him.

Alora notices a twinkle in his eye and cocks her head to the side as a muscle ticks in his slow progressing smile.

“It’s dangerous JJ—“

“You like me.” He grins, placing his hands on his hips, a bit of a smug demeanor taking over now.

JJ nearly wants to laugh when her eyebrows knit together, scoffing and recrossing her arms across her chest.

“You’re a fucking idiot.”

And there it is.

JJ points a finger at her with an open mouth grin, his heart now bashing against his ribcage for an entirely different reason.

He thought he’d scare her off with his actions, stacks on stacks of worry that he screwed up big time. Only to realize that she isn’t necessarily scared of him.

She’s afraid of her growing feelings for him.

“Ah! You’re cursing. You only really curse when you’re upset and given the situation—��

“Shut the hell up, Mitchell—“ She growls, pushing his finger out her face.

“I think it’s safe to say,”

“Stop it!”

“That you!”

She puts a hand on his chest when he takes that final step closer, his rapidly beating heart nearly matching hers. skyrocketing when he leans down a bit closer.

“Like me.”

It’s like white noise in her ears, drowning out everything else and forcing her to focus on him; the crinkles in the corners of his eyes, the gray patches in his hair, those hazel eyes sparkling with mischief.

“I do not.” Alora hisses through her teeth, curling her fingers into the material of his shirt. The scent of his cologne infiltrates her, nearly making her eyes flutter shut. She remembers how just last week she wanted that same smell to fill her lungs. JJ reaches a hand and tentatively brushes a lock of her hair behind her ears, letting his fingers linger on her jawline.

“I meant every word I’ve ever said to you; you’re so fuckin’ pretty, sweetheart.” He whispers so softly, trailing his touch under her chin and taking a gentle hold of it. Alora takes a shaky breath, tightening her fingers into his shirt to hold her steady.

She’s at a loss for words, swallowing to quench her dry throat. Her other hand rests on the truck behind her, the cool metal a welcomed contrast against her skin.

“Can I kiss you?”

The tenderness of his voice makes her feel lightheaded, causes her features to soften up and her body feel fuzzy.

“Please.”

She can barely recognize her own voice, the desperate plea and such a difference to her usual harsh demeanor. She doesn’t get time to dwell on it because JJ lets out a sigh of relief before pressing his lips against hers.

His fingers slide further back, threading into her hair and slightly messing up her braid. She doesn’t care right now, too engrossed in the softness of his lips and the way his beard scratches just right against her cheeks; just as she imagined.

He’s gentle with her, taking care to not lose himself in their kiss but god does he want to, it’s everything he ever pictured.

He pulls away, just enough to keep their noses touching, slipping his hand out of her hair and caressing his fingertips along her jaw once more. Alora opens her eyes (when did she even close them?) and feels the last bit of her breath hitch in her throat when she sees just how blown JJ’s pupils are.

“Been dreaming of that for awhile…” He whispers, smoothing his thumb up and down her flushed skin, his other hand coming to cup her hip. Alora lets go of his shirt, now wrinkled from how clenched her fist was around the material.

“I couldn’t tell.” She remarks with a swallow, her throat clicking as she tries to fall back into her sarcastic demeanor to ease her nerves.

There’s a few beats of silence between them, JJ admiring Alora’s details more closely. He noticed them last week, but now he’s really taking in the sprinkle of freckles across her nose. He wants to kiss them, leave his mark over every single dot and any other marks that she might have on her body.

“Can’t believe an old man like me has you so flustered, sweetheart.” He snickers, moving his hand to clasp the back of her neck. Alora rolls her eyes and sucks her teeth, giving a weak hit to his chest.

“You are not old…” She mutters, the heat increasing on her cheeks and spreading down to her neck. He laughs through his nose and massages where he has his fingers, the fond smile on his lips making Alora’s heart skip a beat.

“But I have you flustered?” He’s being cheeky now, putting his forehead against hers and running his other hand up and down her hip. Alora tenses her jaw, sending another light hit to his chest with no actual hurt behind it.

“Shut up,” She grunts. JJ gives a playful squeeze to her hip, ready to interject. “And just kiss me again.” She cuts him off, her lips already tingling from the anticipation of feeling him once more.

His grin grows impossibly bigger, curling his knuckle underneath her chin.

“Yes ma’am.” He dips again, pouring everything he can into their second kiss, wrapping his hands tighter around her body.

Tonight he has her finally, and he never wants to let go.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

JJ: @chadillacboseman

#yEEEEHAAAWWW PARDNER!!!!!!!!!!!l #the Bull and the battering Ram #mk jj #mk alora #mk oc #hotshot

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un-local · 1 year

Note

Howdy, friend, have you heard the cut dialogue (Rogier's part is at 2:48) for 'dreambrew'? We have Stratek to thank for this gem.

Rogier's dialogue offers insight into his personality, namely his facade. If the Tarnished offers the dreambrew to Rogier after he becomes afflicted by Deathblight, he tersely says, "No, thank you. I don't need your pity." Then he catches himself, saying, "...Sorry. You were only trying to be nice. It would be my pleasure to take it."

I honestly kind of hesitate to call Rogier's affability a facade, implying a manipulative motive, but I would not go so far as to say it isn't something of a pretense. Concealing his "anger, grief, regret, [and] fear" may be his way of grasping for control, to keep intact the man he was before.

Our Tarnished becomes dear to Rogier, and Fia glimpses that bond ("[D]ear Rogier began to weep as he spoke..."/"I heard that you lent a hand to dear Rogier. He seemed positively elated."/"You truly are a champion. To dear Rogier, and myself, too."). He becomes very attached to us, though he holds himself back and only shares his elation in private with Fia. He is ""abed"" with her, so maybe his inhibitions slacken during that time.

Rogier, *clenches fist* accept our friendship.

I had not seen this before. Holy shit. Sorry for the late reply, but I ended up writing an essay about this, whoops. I’ve tried to segment my thoughts here into semi-coherent segments. Read at your own peril, I suppose.

First, I’ll preface with this:

This game doesn’t have NPC models that emote facially, which is a major factor our brains use to interpret meaning. Without it, the interpretations available to us about these characters are innumerable—I’ll give you mine, but there’s a whole lot more out there. There’s a good chance what I get from this game isn’t gonna fit perfectly into what anyone else will get, and that’s half the fun.

(In Rogier’s case, I think having facial expression would be wildly helpful in figuring him out—particularly in the discrepancies between what he says versus the look on his face as he says it. But alas. It’s not in the cards for us. Life goes on.)

Now. Back to your regularly scheduled programming of “Madwoman Screams Into the Void Over Pixels, Part 48478456”

[1: IS THE FACADE MANIPULATION? ]

I don’t think Rogier’s cordiality is manipulative either—at least, not intentionally so. I think he just doesn’t like to rock the boat. In terms of social interactions, he takes the path of least resistance: saying whatever the situation calls for to keep that pleasant, distant civility that he seems to work best in. (The most obvious example of this being his line about “telling a good lie when I need to” in reference to keeping D in the dark about his aims.)

Although Rogier conceals much of his true feelings and self, I wouldn’t characterize him as maliciously deceitful. But I would say there are times where—despite his good intentions—his facade crosses the line from “politeness” into the more dubious territory of “lying by omission,” or even just plain lying.

(I think to him, there are times when the ends justify the means. But that’s another post.)

[ 2: WHY THE FACADE? ]

Now, this facade does help ingratiate him to others, and presumably helps grease the wheels on this whole “exploration of death” business, but I don’t think that’s why he does it.

If I had to hazard a guess: He’s got a strong aversion to emotional vulnerability, plain and simple.

According to his set: “Rogier spent his entire life behaving with utter detachment. No one noticed the anger, grief, regret, or fear that existed along with it.”

“His entire life.” So it’s an aversion that seems to have long predated his interactions with the Tarnished, or even his time in The Lands Between as a whole. (He does mention first coming to TLB in his initial interaction, implying he’s from elsewhere. Most Tarnished seem to be outsiders, coming to TLB only after rising from death, according to Miyazaki.)

(Image from this post by yournextflame)

I think what you said—that Rogier conceals his emotions and clings to decorum/indifference as a way of grasping for control—is right on the money.

[ 3: CONTROL OVER WHAT?]

Rogier is plagued by “anger, grief, regret, and fear. Those are all very strong emotions that, when expressed, aren’t usually done so subtly. For him to have control over his demeanor is for him to have control over himself.

I’m gonna go out on a limb and speak from personal experience here: keeping that tempest inside feels vital to keeping it from wreaking havoc—especially on the things closest to you. But eventually, it gets to a point where any (conspicuous, non-casual) expression of emotion can feel like losing control. A breach in the dam, if you will. A little lets a lot out.

(I’d wager there’s a strong connection between him “keeping the mask on” and “dignity” in his mind.)

But keeping your cool that much, for that long, is alienating. Which eventually changes the homeostasis that you want to maintain:

“I can’t let them see me break,” (A momentary slip, embarrassing, but can be recovered from)

Turns into:

“I can’t let them get close enough to see how broken I am.” (A permanent, shameful state of being.)

Under that mindset of the latter, the new imperative is to keep people from being close at all. It demands “utter detachment,” if you will.

[ Quick Aside: ] Obviously, the two examples above are cognitive distortions. But the emotional impact of those thoughts real. Consider how saying “ha, that was foolish of me” is much easier to bounce back from than saying “I am stupid.” The wording, over time, can change the way you see yourself, which in turn can alter your behavior. It’s a tough loop to be stuck in.

It’s worth noting that, in the long run, this kind of detachment can actually weaken the barriers that you desperately feel like you need to maintain.

Eventually, any closeness with anyone is just begging for emotional catastrophe. (“If anyone comes close to me, I will break.”)

I think his relations with Fia (whatever they are) only serves to emphasize this. But more on that later.

[ 4: HOW THE CUT DIALOGUE FITS INTO THIS ]

"...Sorry. You were only trying to be nice.”

The delivery of that line is what stands out to me—when I first heard it, it didn’t sound like that was a good thing in his eyes. Which I think given the above, makes sense. The Tarnished’s kindness has serious potential to upend the delicate balance that he’s worked so hard to maintain.

(Perceived kindness, I should say. The Dreambrew was supposedly meant to allow the player to see the secrets of the one who drinks it.)

“It would be my pleasure to take it."

This line sounds like he’s giving a lot of effort to be polite and gratuitous, but I’m inclined to think there’s more facade here than truth. Maybe to other people it sounds like genuine appreciation, but in all honesty, it sounds like someone switching into Customer Service voice to me.

But it’s like I said: there’s many possible interpretations. Have a few:

“This is a pity-gift, and this well-intentioned Tarnished is getting on my nerves.”

“This might not be a pity-gift, and that is unfathomable to me. This well-intentioned Tarnished is growing on me and THAT’S getting on my nerves.”

“I was wrong to dismiss this as a pity-gift, and the kind gesture of this well-intentioned Tarnished is genuinely moving to me.”

Or, it’s not that complicated, and the tone is just a result of his general worsening condition. Reader’s pick.

I will say, depending on how much the player has done for him at the time of giving him the Dreambrew, I think there’s a decent argument for the middle. As in, the distance is getting harder to maintain on account of his growing affinity/respect/etc for the Tarnished.

(I suppose it would be nice for it to be the 3rd one—just a genuine, earnest appreciation, accepting of friendship—but I’m… cynical. That’s not to say the Tarnished doesn’t break the ice with him—I think they definitely do break a fair amount of it. I just think some habits are very hard to unlearn.)

[ 5: FIA’S LINES ABOUT ROGIER ]

Fia, after Rogier is injured: “My dear... Have you ever heard of black knifeprints? Dear Rogier likes to talk of it when abed… […] These grand affairs are hardly my forté… But dear Rogier began to weep as he spoke… In truth I've heard tell from someone else, about the black knifeprints that fascinate dear Rogier so.”

Fia, after the Knifeprint is given to Rogier: "I heard that you lent a hand to dear Rogier. He seemed positively elated. You truly are a champion. To dear Rogier, and myself, too."

Oh boy. There sure are a lot of implications there!

I have a LOT of thoughts on these implications. I’ll post about those separately, once I get my thoughts on the matter wrangled into something coherent. In the meantime, let me try to break down my thoughts on the above lines specifically.

“You truly are a champion. To dear Rogier, and myself, too."

Like I said, I’m cynical. I’ve always taken that line about being a “champion” to them both as like, Fia being flattering. Not lying—because even when she tricks the player into setting up the circumstances for D’s death, she never outright lies. (“[...] It must have a special place in the owner's heart.”)

I always imagined she had ulterior motives there, even if she was speaking truthfully.

I saw it like this: the player helped Rogier, which benefits Fia, if she can get the cursemark from him somehow. So her high praise seemed, to me, a way to keep the player doing what they’re doing. This isn’t anything I have evidence for though, just the impression I got.

I do think that Fia knows Rogier well enough to speak to how much the Knifeprint meant to him. He might not ever intend to get too sappy with the Tarnished about it, but Fia knows him well enough to feel like she can speak on his behalf.

(Is that something he would’ve wanted her to do? Eh. I’d imagine not, personally.)

Now, did Rogier ever directly say to Fia that the Tarnished was a champion? Or was it just something Fia knew on account of knowing Rogier’s character/dedication to his goals?

I always assumed it was the latter. But there’s plenty of possibility he’s closer to Fia than he ever is with the player, especially when he knows he’s nearing his end. (The fact that he mentions D, but never Fia, makes me question that though. But he is a very private guy, so it’s anyone’s guess.)

“Dear Rogier likes to talk of it when abed [...] But dear Rogier began to weep as he spoke…”

Remember what I said earlier about isolation weakening emotional barriers, setting the stage for complete Emotional Catastrophe?

Fia got close, and he fucking broke. It probably didn’t take much on her part either. A little prodding and few well-placed questions, and the house of cards came down spectacularly.

I can’t imagine his emotional expression there was voluntary, given the premises of this insane thesis.

Additionally, this does mesh well with the fact that he never mentions anything about Fia to the player, despite the cursemark that they both seek. (And the fact that Fia says plenty about him.) It’s probably a sore spot.

[ Quick Aside: ] What was Rogier doing with Fia, if he’s so detached to everyone? Well, I imagine he had ulterior motives of his own, what with him exploring Death and all that. He was expecting to smoothtalk his way into some lead on the cursemark’s location, probably. Free embrace? Sure, why not. But he wasn’t going in there expecting to have any kind of real connection with Fia. So when she found the chink in his armor, it was a break he REALLY wasn’t ready for.

[ FINAL THOUGHTS ]

TLDR: Rogier's internal state can be roughly summed up as:

He's allergic to emotional vulnerability, and the facade he wears is more a reflex now than an active choice. By the end, the balance is getting very hard for him to maintain. Oof.

So yeah. Cut dialogue. It does shed a little light on the elusive inner workings of the Roundtable Hold’s second biggest nerd. (Certainly the more tolerable one. lol.)

Also. What was the secret he keeps, Fromsoft? Don’t tease me like this, I have an action/adventure canon-divergence longfic to write! You can’t do this to me Fromsoft!!!

Loreminers please please please k;sdjfkadsfjs

(Or maybe don’t. I’m too deep into drafting Still Waters. If my characterization gets majorly canonballed, I think I'd rather just quit lmao) Also, Also. On first listening, that “I’ll try anything once!” line fucking sent me for some reason, I was not expecting that. 10/10 game of the year

Okay, okay. Now I’m done. To anyone who’s made it this far, have a dog gif? I don’t know how to end posts.

#SORRY I TOOK SO LONG head too full of thoughts. you know how it is #hare answers #hare ‘meta’#hare posts #rogier #elden ring #yeah. ill put this shit in the tag this is the most coherent ive been in a while #sorcerer rogier #ive been fighting with tumblrs fucking formatting for like 20 minutes ive had it. posting

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blot-squisher · 5 months

Note

SFW alphabet for Quentin

Ooof, sorry this took over a month! Life got a little wild!

SFW Alphabet Ask Meme for Surviving the Game for Quentin Smith

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?) Quentin will probably be a bit awkward at first, but he likes to be physical with his affection. Holding hands while walking, leaning on one another if you're sitting somewhere, and just being close to one another in general.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?) Offer the poor perpetually sleep deprived thing an energy drink and you'll be instant friends. He's quiet a lot and mumbles way too often, but he's a good listener and will speak up when he's got something to say.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?) He loves to cuddle, but can be shy about it at first. Start small, leaning on him or laying your head in his lap, and in no time you'll be snuggled up together any time the opportunity arises.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?) Quentin would love to settle down someday, someplace far from his hometown and the nightmares associated with it. He can cook... ramen. And hot pockets. And toast. Don't ask about cleaning. His bedroom floor hasn't seen the light of day in years.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?) He'd try to find someplace private to talk to you, and tell you directly what was going on.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?) Finding someone to spend the rest of his life with would be a dream come true.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?) Quentin is usually pretty soft spoken, preferring to avoid conflict altogether if possible. That doesn't mean he won't fight if he has too, but he prefers to use his brain over his fists.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?) Quentin really only allows or offers hugs to people he likes and trusts. When he does hug, they're warm and soft.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?) It'll take a while, not because he doesn't feel it, but because he's too shy to say it. He'll probably start saying it too quietly for you to hear, until you either catch it or he builds up the courage to say it louder.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?) He only really gets jealous if he thinks someone is knowingly trying to make a move on his partner.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss their partner? Where do they like to be kissed?) Shy, a little inexperienced at first, but eager and a fast learner.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?) Quentin is pretty nervous around kids. They're small and loud and make him somewhat anxious.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?) Quiet, incredibly early, and with a whole lot of coffee.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?) Probably playing video games until the earliest hours of the morning with a growing pile of empty energy drink cans nearby.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?) Quentin is pretty closed off about his past, not really interested or eager to rehash and explain his past connections to a Known Slasher or his time in the Entity's Realm.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?) Quentin is pretty laid back and generally patient despite the lack of sleep. The main thing that gets under his skin is people who refuse to listen when others have something to say.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about their partner? Do they remember every little detail they mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?) Remembering the details is incredibly important. Without that, it can be difficult to differentiate between what's real and what's not...

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in their relationship?) Being able to fall asleep and dream of you instead of having more nightmares. Waking up beside you was a definite bonus.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect their partner? How would they like to be protected?) Quentin is very protective over the people he loves and will do anything within his power to try to keep them safe. As long as you stand by him when he's the one who needs help, he couldn't ask for more.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?) He'll definitely try his best! It's the thought that counts, right?

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?) Due to his sleeping habits (or lack there of) he sometimes forgets to eat, or will start to make food then forget it's there...

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?) As long as he's taken a shower recently and his clothes don't smell, he's ready to go.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without their partner?) Maybe not incomplete, but very sad. It is possible for him to get even quieter and more closed off.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.) He can and will fall asleep with his eyes open. Sometimes standing up. It's led to more than a few instances of other Survivors starting a full blown conversation, only to realize he's totally checked out and not hearing a thing when he doesn't answer...

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?) He's not fond of stripes. Especially horizontal stripes. Just avoid wearing stripes and you should be fine.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habit of theirs?) Sleep is dangerous and should be avoided at all costs. When he does sleep, DO NOT wake him up. He will take an adrenaline fueled swing at you. The others figured that out pretty fast when Leon got knocked out cold. Now they always send David (King) to wake him up. If he wakes up on his own, don't be surprised if he spends a few minutes figuring out if he's really awake or not...

#sfw alphabet #surviving the game #quentin smith #a nightmare on elm street #q&a #writing thoughts #character study

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mwahkazu · 29 days

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hi mae! i used to write quite a bit, but i stopped after a while due to burnout but here i am again lmao

anyways, if you're okay with it, could you give some writing tips/how you do your writing process? dw if you don't want to or just can't explain it! :D

hi anon! oof…you’re experience actually brought back some flashbacks for me LMAO i went through the exact same thing a couple years back! ended up losing motivation/burnout, left and then came back for a second attempt 😅

i’ll do my best to offer you what i can and things that i found helpful to get back into the groove of writing <3

( long post ahead )

writing tips:

the first thing i heavily suggest is to just write. don’t focus too much on things like grammar, whether the story flows well, dialogue, or anything just write whatever comes to mind. you can worry about those things afterwards once you’re editing and revising!

along with that do some rough drafts! i know we all hated that stuff so much when we wrote essays and stuff for school but believe me having drafts truly does help when writing a story

if you dont like how one story turned out DONT DELETE IT. save it and come back to it another time! maybe you didn’t like how it flowed but you really liked that one dialogue or description you wrote and perhaps want to build a story based off of that or add it to a current wip

decide on what it is you want to write! maybe you just want to have a blog strictly centered around one character or person, write smau’s, oneshots, hcs, etc. or maybe even a culmination of everything! all of these are considered writing and will always have an audience wanting to read them on here

one of the main reasons my burnout happened was because i gave myself too much work and a schedule. i know some authors like to have a schedules for their work but i honestly found it very pressuring which resulted in my uploading works i wasn’t proud of or that were rushed :((

write whenever you feel like it! remember that you’re your own boss on here! there’s no problem with updating once every month or every other day. writing takes time. i assure you your blog isn’t going anywhere if you leave it or take a break from writing for a couple of days

at the same time you also need to know your limits as a writer. don’t feel the need to constantly be uploading fics every single day! that’s one of the main reasons writers on here sometimes abandon their blogs or series. ofc if you’re able to handle doing so then by all means go for it. but i know for most it’s taxing and leads to a lot of burnouts and lack of motiviation

so take your time. if you have an idea for a series or story plan it out first and then once you’ve got a good idea of how you want everything to play out then you can upload it!

don’t feel ashamed about looking up things online! i for one am constantly looking up ways to describe certain things like emotion, expressions, scenes, etc. ( insert me typing “synonyms for (word)” 😭 ). it just goes to show you want to improve your writing and make it more interesting!

writing is all about trial and error. there is no wrong or right way of doing it. i know when it comes to tumblr, getting your fics recognized and read by others can be very hard with the algorithm and such relying heavily on reblogs which most fics struggle to gain a lot of as people just opt for just liking.

but please don’t be discouraged by how many notes your works receive! as long as you stay consistent and true to your writing it’s bound to reach others and receive the recognition it deserves <3

writing process:

as for my writing process it’s a bit all over the place lol

a lot of my stories/smaus i come up with due to being inspired by something! whether it’s from a song, a prompt/dialogue starter i found on pinterest, a movie/anime show, aus/tropes, or sometimes having a random thought like “what if character a and character b were this and that”

but once i have an idea i start planning it out! i recently made the transition of planning out my writing from google docs to notion and omg… it’s become a life saver i highly recommend using notion as a way to plan out your fics snd such

everything is just so organized, there are templates online to use that you can add personal touches/adjustments to to really make it your own!

usually when i come up with a fic idea i already have a character in mind that i would like to do it for but if you dont have one or are struggling to decide, pick at random my friend LMAO ik a lot of my moots sometimes use a character wheel or random pick generator online to decide on characters and from what i’ve seen it helps them a lot😭

when planning out my fics i dont focus too heavily on every little detail. it’s called the planning stage for a reason. i just focus on the major points i want to make sure i hit, write out certain ideas i have in mind for a specific scene or dialogue sequence, character/world building and all that good stuff

creating a playlist for the story also helps me a lot too! really establishes the mood of the story and even gives me some additional inspo/support! one thing i recently started doing is finding a playlist on youtube that fits the mood of my story and then opening another yt tab and searching for ambience sound and playing them both at the same time lol ( trust the process )

once i feel satisfied with my planning i move on to the writing ( the most dreadful part of all /lh ). as i mentioned in the writing tips section, i just write whatever comes to mind and keep going until i get stumped or run out of ideas

if i hit that point i take a break and focus on doing other things like working on another piece or doing something outside of writing ( cough playing stardew valley ) or talking to my lovely moots <3

this is also considered a writing tip but take breaks! i cannot stress this enough. don’t spend hours just writing! take breaks in between, distract yourself with something else. sometimes your mind just needs a break from writing for a bit.

#꒰ ✉️ ꒱ ︵ 𝙪𝙣𝙨𝙞𝙜𝙣𝙚𝙙 𝙘𝙚𝙘𝙞𝙡𝙞𝙖 .ᐟ #going to leave it at an abrupt ending because i dont know what else to say😭#it’s important to remember that these are just my tips and processes that i found works well for me everyone has their own preferences ..#and different way to approach their writing which are just as valid! it’s all about finding what works for you #apologies for the long post and any spelling mistakes i typed all this from my phone 🥲#HOPE THIS HELPS ANON !! feel free to reach out for any more questions <3

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spyridonya · 1 year

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Kadira and the Hand of the Inheritor! 👀 I know she views him as a mentor, I'm still very curious - or for that very reason.

Send me an OC + an alternate love interest for them and I’ll tell you what I think of the idea

This. This is my super indulgent OTP. I forced them to be mentor and mentee with a touch of 'Kadee sees him as a Friend :D' to keep me from thinking too much about it. But? Now I can.

I think a romance could be possible, but not within the game's framing. Kadira places the Hand on a high pedestal and doesn't feel worthy enough for anything like that until Act 4.

However, the Hand finds Kadira… far different from the champions and hosts he's allied himself with prior. The General of Vengeance is not a soft Lord, there's no compassion in his righteousness despite wanting the greater good. While Iomedae is far more gentle in comparison, she is a war goddess and one of valor and gives little compassion.

And then there's Kadira, who is infused with compassion. She's protective and 'passive' in her righteousness. It's fascinating. He doubts just a little because she's so fragile. Obviously, that's why he's there to help her! She goes to him often, talks to him often, and has so many questions. It never occurs to him to ask the tiny tiefling questions. She's sweet, lovely, and foolish in her own way in the Hand's eyes. He hates the idea this Crusade is thrust upon her, even if she does handle such a task marvelously. Kadira basks in his genuine admiration of her, not so much as minding his condensation as knowing he's an Outsider and she's... a little odd.

In Ac4 4, they're both knocked off her pedestal and the Hand is knocked off his. Kadira forgives him, far quicker than he forgives himself, but she doesn't seem the same way again. He's flawed, just like anyone else. He was never too good for her. Not that should matter! Not at all.

Goatboy kidnaps him and she holds her righteous fury in check. She knows exactly that Baphomet is smarter than he and will never come out to play again without casting powerful spells. And how will that help the Hand? Her fury comes later, after the game.

In canon, forgiving the Hand means he returns with an untroubled soul. In this self indulgence, the Hand is awed that Kadira has given him compassion and he questions on what it means to be good. He knows that Ragithel would have slaughtered him, he knows that Iomedae left him for the greater good. But Kadira did not, after all his doubts and frankly, his unspoken condensation.

He doesn't return as Iomedae's hand because he realizes he still needs to figure out the nature of good and his narrow views.

It's after the world wound is closed that a unarmored Hand visits Kadira as she tries to figure out what to do with the remains of Sarkoris, sincerely offering help, and she accepts his help. They're equals. They see each other as real and true and not the ideal.

But the affection they had for one another during the crusade makes remarkable seeds that grow strong and true. It takes a while for them to realize they're in love, but isn't love the most remarkable thing about goodness?

#answered ask #dmagedgoods #character: knight commander kadira #character: hand of the inheritor

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kiljoius-writes · 1 year

Text

Everything Goes Away, Sometimes

AO3 | FFN

Full YOTP Series Found Here

Paring: Hinata Hyūga x Kiba Inuzuka

Summary: Person A is the main character, and they pine after Person B. Person B pines after Person C. Person C pines after Person D. Eventually, Person B sees Person A is perfect for them. Person A gets the happy ending.

Sometimes, Person A just…isn’t perfect for Person B.

Sometimes Person C is perfect for them.

March Prompt: Fresh Starts

Word Count: 5k

Rating: E for smut

Chapter 1/2

It’s a strange kind of pain that she’s only known from movies, television, novels.

But those always end up the same.

Person A is the main character, and they pine after Person B. Person B pines after Person C. Person C pines after Person D. Eventually, Person B sees Person A is perfect for them. Person A gets the happy ending.

Hinata is Person A. Sometimes she feels selfish for thinking that way, but in her reality, it’s true.

Unfortunately, this isn’t fantasy. This is her reality. And sometimes, Person B never realizes that Person A is perfect for them.

And sometimes, Person A just…isn’t perfect for Person B.

Sometimes Person C is perfect for them.

So as Hinata watches Naruto sweep his Person C into a romantic kiss during their wedding, she doesn’t feel much.

She resigned herself long ago to this reality.

It shouldn’t be surprising for Hinata to find herself waking up in Kiba’s bed, at this point. She’s been here for months.

No, it’s not a good feeling. It’s a terrible feeling, in fact. She doesn’t like feeling like a user, but she knows she is. She’s using her best friend, and she can’t even really explain what drove her to do so.

As she sits up with his sheets covering her, she feels guilty when she smells something delicious coming from outside of the room.

He’s always been this way. Always been there for her in her time of need, no matter what that need is. There to listen, let her cry, let her sleep in his bed, hold her hand while she goes to get her boosters, change her bandages, make her food when he notices that she’s not eating—and he always knows when she’s not eating.

So she’s not surprised when he slides his way in with a plate of food ready for her.

She struggles to smile but still does because he deserves at least that.

“Morning, sunshine,” he greets her as he sets a plate in front of her.

“Thank you, Kiba,” she whispers, frowning at the plate.

Kiba looks at her and she feels his eyes on her cheek. She doesn’t move to pick up the utensils, just stares at the eggs, rice, and sausage. It’s lovely food, but her stomach doesn’t want it. He wedges a finger under her thigh and wiggles it to nudge her. “Just one bite of each thing. That’s all I’m asking. And all the water.”

Hinata looks up at his pointed finger, then at the water he placed next to her. She heaves a deep breath because she wants to tell him to stop caring so much about her, but she can’t. She simply nods, and with a shaky hand, reaches out for the chopsticks and slots them between her fingers. Her eyes feel unfocused as she shakily pulls some eggs to her lips, and she whines quietly when they slip between the sticks.

“Here,” he whispers, taking the chopsticks from her to get her another bite.

It’s far too sweet of a gesture than she deserves, but he does it anyway. He always does.

Hinata reluctantly opens her mouth for the food and tries to keep back the nausea that makes her want to immediately spit it out. She chews, slowly, glancing up to find him with those worried eyes. He sets the chopsticks down and reaches over her to grab the water, then offers it. She accepts and sips it.

“That was good,” he tells her, affectionately.

She hates how sweet he is, sometimes. And she knows, she knows it’s terrible of her to hate it.

“Can I lay down for a little longer?” she asks, quietly, mooning her eyes up at him.

She already knows he’ll say yes, so his eager nod of his head isn’t surprising. He pulls the plate from her and lets her squish back into the bed, pulling the blanket up to her chin. He lays next to her, carefully grabbing a piece of sausage and pulling it up. “I can feed you like this, too.”

“Mmm…” she mumbles, pouty. He smiles at her and she wishes it wasn’t so easy to give in to him. She opens her lips and lets him feed her, again.

His fingers land on her cheek and rub little circles there. No one outside of Hinata can really understand how gentle Kiba is, because it seems he’s only this way with her. “You don’t have to have any rice if it’s too much.”

Hinata sighs, quietly. She should be able to have one bite of egg, one bite of sausage, and one bite of rice without problem. But Kiba knows. He always knows. “Thank you…”

“I have to go,” he mumbles, sounding regretful as he pulls the plate up and sets it on the stand next to him, then scoots towards her. She lets him wedge his hand under her waist, hardly squirming now and lets herself be pulled into him. “At least a few days…but I meal prepped some stuff for you.”

“I’ll eat,” she promises a lie.

He’s quiet, and she knows why. He doesn’t believe her. After a few moments, he whispers back, “I asked Shino to drop by and check on you.”

And here begins the fight she always initiates. “You don’t trust me.”

“I don’t,” he responds, frankly.

“You hate me,” she continues, her words wet as she says them, a sob bubbling in her. “You think I’m—”

“I love you,” he shushes her with the words, words he’s said so many times, “I love you, Hinata. Shino does, too. And…sometimes, I just wish you could see how much.”

Hinata whines into Kiba’s shirt as he presses her face into it. It’s a pathetic whine, one that precedes a dramatic sob, because she doesn’t feel like she can handle this. These kind words that threaten to tear apart her heart.

“If I come back from a mission to you dead, I’ll kill myself.”

That’s how the sobs start. “Don’t say that.”

“Tell me you won’t die while I’m gone.”

“Stop it.”

“You stop it.”

Hinata hiccups, ugly and sad. She buries her face into his chest and he pulls her in close. “I won’t die.”

“I wish I could believe that,” he sighs against the crown of her head and it only makes her sobs worse.

He holds her for another hour before she falls back asleep.

Kiba resents being out in the field lately. He has no choice, he has to make money somehow, especially since he took up Hinata as his charge. Shino offers to help him out with money, and gods knows he’s got plenty of it, but Kiba’s pride is too big and he’ll never accept it.

It’s been this way for three months since Naruto officially got engaged. When Hanabi came to him, pleading him for help, he immediately knew this was what his life was gonna end up being. Taking care of Hinata, like he always had. Outwardly, he’d never tell anyone that it drained him. But it did. Mental health issues were not a joke and hers weren’t funny at all. Kiba admitted he probably had something wrong in his head, too (their whole graduating class had to), but he was the humorous type of mentally ill.

No, Hinata was the depressed, quit eating, wither away kind of mentally ill. It was like this after Neji died, too, but that only lasted about a month. Then another year went by and that dumb blond idiot got engaged and she collapsed again. Kiba would never, ever tell her to her face that this whole thing was pathetic. Naruto never had any responsibility to reciprocate her feelings, even though Kiba would be the first to threaten to kick his ass if he didn’t.

But he knew that wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair to trap a guy like that, and he certainly wouldn’t want to be trapped like that.

Except that he was trapped. It’s what his mom and Hana told him after the first month of keeping her in his home. That she’s managed to trap him, instead. That stung because, before this, his mom and sister liked Hinata. Hana even called her ‘sister.’ So it hurt to see her sink so far that not even his sister could offer her sympathy anymore.

But Kiba always could and always would. It was his fatal flaw, he figured. Not even Shino could put up with this shit.

He just loved her so fucking much. So much it hurt. It hurt him in ways he didn’t know he could hurt. Every time he went out on a long mission, he returned with this awful bundle of anxiety in his chest that he’d open his bedroom door and find her lifeless body. Because she didn’t eat or drink water, or found someone to give her pills, or just straight up closed all her chakra points. He wasn’t sure what she was capable of, and he sure as hell did not want to find out, not at all.

He hadn’t seen her smile once in the last three months. Not a real one, anyway. She was still her kind self and tried to muster a smile once in a while for him, but it was always painful and fake. Like it physically hurt her face to move the muscles up.

So when he arrives back in the Leaf with Lee and Sai, they already know he’s not going to join them to do the report. No one questions it anymore; everyone knows the awful state Hinata’s in. Most people don’t even bother to ask him how he’s doing because he’s lost his cool one too many times telling people to mind their fucking business.

He bolts to his apartment, inhaling deeply until he can make out her perfume—it’s fresh, and he breathes a sigh of relief. Shino would never let her wither away, but that doesn’t mean he’s not going to worry.

He unlocks and throws open the door, finding her sitting at the dining table with her head in her arms. Quietly, he steps towards her and then hears the tiniest of snores, and it’s one of the few things that can bring him a smile these days. It somewhat reminds him of how they were before all this bullshit, and he really does hate to ruin it but knows she’ll be sore if she stays this way. Gently, he tucks an arm under her armpits and the other under her legs and sees her eyelashes flutter open.

Even with tear stains on her face, she’s pretty. It hurts his heart to think about.

“Mission okay?” she asks, quietly, lolling her head against his chest. She hasn’t put up a fight with him in a long time.

“Boring as hell,” he mumbles back, carrying her to his bed. He lowers her into it and watches as she immediately tucks into a ball, reaching for his hand. He smiles a strained smile and lets her take it and pull him in.

“I missed you…” she whispers as he sits on the edge of the bed.

He wants to call her a liar but doesn’t, just ignores it. “I gotta shower, I still got all the mission junk on me.”

“Leave me again,” she sighs, pulling her hand away and his stomach contorts. He never realized just how manipulative his once sweet teammate could be.

With a little sigh, he falls back into bed and lets her nestle up into him. It’s a position she’s gotten comfortable with since she started staying here. She refused any physical touch for about a month, then her brain flipped a switch and she did a 180, now she’s clingy as all get out. He doesn’t mind perse, he liked touching her and being touched by her, but it all feels wrong with how they’re going about it.

A few years ago, his teenage self would have been absolutely elated to have Hinata in his bed. Now he’s just sad.

Her body molds to his and he wraps her up in her arms because it’s usually one of the few times she doesn’t start crying. That’s not always true, but it’s true often enough. He pulls her close, feeling bad that she has to breathe in all the dirt and musk from the mission, but not too bad, since she insisted. Slowly, her fingers start to work their way under his shirt and he has to keep back a little groan, one that, if he let it escape, would be a mix of arousal and frustration.

He feels himself tighten up as her fingers scrape against his abdomen and he reaches down to take her wrist. She looks up at him with those big, pale eyes and familiar frown. He frowns back at the way her eyes start to water, and he reaches out to brush the tears. She leans her cheek into his hand and he knows he’s done for already. So he flips her around and makes short work of pulling off her shirt and sweatpants (she barely wears anything else anymore) and she just lets him.

He climbs out of bed to undress, the task not nearly as neat and tidy as her clothing because he has to mess with buckles, ties, and dirt. He grumbles something incoherent as he looks at his dirty hands, then starts to walk to the bathroom. He hears her whine behind him and it actually gets a chuckle out of him. “Don’t be gross, Hina.”

“I don’t mind,” her soft voice calls back to him as he quickly lathers his hands, rinses, then dries them. He stumbles out of his pants before he crashes into the bed next to her, and he doesn’t even kiss her before his mouth is on her chest.

Kiba will admit that he’s just a man. He knows in the back of his mind that this is wrong and that he’s taking advantage of Hinata, but she’s taking advantage of him, too, and that makes it okay in his mind. He knows he’s being taken advantage of, and so does she. It’s a sad, silent agreement.

He slides his hand down her stomach until he reaches between her legs, then immediately slides his fingers there. She’s not aroused at all, yet, so he pulls away to get lube from the drawer. She gasps quietly when he squeezes some out onto her, and he smiles at that. Those little noises are some of the better ones she makes, and it’s one of the few things that brings him comfort these days. He slides his hand back down, met with a much more inviting set of lips, and slides a finger inside of her.

She threads her fingers into his hair and pushes his mouth further against her breast, arching into him, and he lets her. Sex between the two of them is mostly about her, anyway. He usually has a hard time getting off, knowing what he knows and what this is, so he just focuses on her and her orgasm. Besides, her moans and pants are nice noises and he likes to hear them. Under different circumstances, he’d be proud of how well he’s gotten to know her body, how it responds, and what she likes.

He works her orgasm from her with curled fingers, thumb circling into her clit, and his tongue lathing along her nipple. When he feels her body go limp under him, he slows his pace until he pulls his fingers from her, and that’s when he finally relents and scoots up to kiss her panting mouth.

“Make love to me,” she whispers into his mouth, and he groans for it. He wants to shower but does like the way her body feels around him and when she asks like that, it’s hard to say no. It’s not asking to have sex or being told to fuck her like some other women have asked of him. And even though Kiba isn’t sure if Hinata loves him, he knows he loves her. So really, he is making love to her.

Like always, he obliges her request and wraps his elbow under one of her knees, pulling her open and her body easily complies. He presses the head to her entrance, watching as her jaw goes slack and her eyes shut. He presses his lips to hers as he pushes himself inside, and sighs into her. He’ll shamelessly admit that, even if he can’t come, being inside of her is comforting. Lets him know she’s still real, warm and open, soft and pliant.

Kiba never thought he’d be having sex with Hinata Hyuga, but here they were, and it was under circumstances his younger self would call him pathetic for. Oh well. He resigned himself to this a long time ago. As long as it kept her around, he’d indulge in all of her requests.

But he really does want a shower, so he speeds it along. She’s a little more giving today, her fingernails pressing into his back, her hips lifting with his, returning his kisses with her own, soft moans falling out of her, and he’s able to come inside of her. He groans into her neck and buries himself in her, feels the arch of her feet wrap around his ankles as he does. He breathes her in, and even though he knows it’s gross because she probably hasn’t showered in days, he still likes her smell.

“Well, since I’ve got you like this,” he mumbles into her skin, rolling over so she’s on top of him, “might as well both shower.”

“I don’t want to,” she sighs, head dropping forward into his collarbone. He snorts and scoots off the bed while holding her up with one arm. It’s sad, but she’s lost a lot of weight in the last few months and he doesn’t even struggle to keep her up when she wraps her arms and legs around him.

He carries her to the bathroom so he can take care of her like he’s been doing.

One of the few things Hinata still does without being prodded by Kiba (or sometimes Shino) to do is sit outside. Kiba gets annoyed because he wants her to sit outside while the sun is up so she can get some vitamin D, but she only does when the sun isn’t out. After it sets or before it rises is when she chooses to lay in the grass if the mood strikes her. It’s where she is when Kiba comes storming out of his apartment and throws a pack of pills next to her.

“I’m gonna try to be nice about this,” he starts, but his glare is anything but nice. She casts lazy eyes up at him, then glances at the pill pack. She frowns.

Right, those.

“And maybe it’s my fault—maybe it’s my fault not making sure you were taking them, or-or not just using a condom or whatever, but—”

“Doctor says I probably can’t get pregnant right now anyway,” she whispers, turning her head from him. She hears his breath catch at the words.

“I…we’ll circle back to what that means, but it doesn’t matter, Hina.” She feels him next to her when he drops to his knees, hovering over her. “If there’s a chance, it’s—you know. Irresponsible as shit. Neither of us is in any position to have a kid, ‘specially you—”

“You don’t think I’m aware?” Hinata asks, not looking at him. The tears well up again as she pulls the collar of her sweater over her chin.

Kiba sighs next to her. “You know what I mean…”

Hinata does know what he means. She’s well aware of what she is. A complete and utter trainwreck of a mess. The worst part is, she doesn’t even know why she’s like this or how to fix it. All she knows is she feels better when Kiba has his arms around her or when he’s loving her. It’s the only time she knows some semblance of peace.

Outwardly, the reason is obvious. Her brother's dead, her dad hates her, her relationship with her sister is strained, and the only man she’s ever been in love with doesn’t love her. When Kiba began moving her things into his apartment, her father didn’t even bat an eye and Hinata’s sad to admit that it hurt. She’s just waiting for the day Ko shows up on his doorstep to take her back to get her caged bird seal, and then the inevitable drama and fighting between Kiba and whoever’s trying to give it to her.

Hinata doesn’t care. Sometimes she considers just going to get herself branded just to get the anxiety of the inevitable out of the way. Go while Kiba’s on a mission, a longer one, so it had time to heal before he gets back and it’s not as shocking. She knows he’ll lose his shit, but at least it will be done, and they can move on.

Move on to…whatever, she supposes. Nothing at all, really. Sleep. Be force-fed food. Initiate intimacy so she can feel something. Lay in the grass.

Hinata stares up at the crescent moon above and considers getting up and walking away. This is a hard conversation and Kiba usually doesn’t pressure her into hard conversations. He’s always been kind (or maybe soft) like that, or maybe he was just scared of upsetting her. So maybe she should take this conversation more seriously, because it’s obviously difficult for him, too.

But she’s not in a good state of mind, so she gets up.

“What are you doing?” he questions her and she doesn’t look up to see him.

“Going to bed,” she responds, simply, walking towards the door. It’s his bed, but it’s mostly hers, now. She says, quietly, “you can join me if you want.”

She hears him groan behind her. She wonders if she’ll get away with it this time. “Hina!”

She bites her lips together as she hears him come up behind her, then grabs her shoulder to push her back into the wall. She doesn’t resist and drops her eyes to the ground as he leans over her. She asks, “what will you do?”

“I—” She hears the way he stutters on his own words. She should feel guilty but doesn’t. His index and thumb cup her chin and force her head up, but she simply casts her eyes away. “Look at me.”

“Stop it,” she whispers, clenching her teeth together. He moves his head to her line of sight, and she breathes out a tired exhale, meeting his eyes. They’re big and upset and that’s what makes her feel guilty. “What?”

“What are you trying to do?” he asks, letting her take his wrist and pull his hand down. He leans it up on the wall over her so he’s towering over her. He’s shirtless right now, in nothing except a pair of loose sweatpants, and she can feel his skin radiating heat off into her. He had probably been working out before this. She shakes her head. “Don’t give me that. What? You want a baby or something?”

“What woman doesn’t?” she asks back, blinking up at him.

He frowns. “You.”

“Don’t assume,” she responds, schooling a look of indifference. His lips part as he processes her words.

“You think it’ll fix this?” he questions, quietly. Her eyes drop again. “Babies don’t fix a fucked up mind.”

“You’re so cruel to me,” she whispers, pulling her hands up to each other to wring together. He grabs at them and she watches him pull them to his lips, breath hot on them.

“I love you.”

She wishes she believed him, but she doesn’t. She doesn’t think anyone can love her. If Naruto can’t, no one can. “Then get me pregnant.”

A pause sits before he mutters, “fuck.”

She reaches up to press her palms against his pectorals, digging her fingertips in, searching for that look of lust she knows how to draw out.

Really, she’s not even sure why she’s saying all this. She doesn’t care if she gets pregnant. She’d probably prefer not to be but figured it was just another thing for her to be a disappointment for.

Maybe it would fix things. Kiba’s never been the brightest crayon in the toolbox. Who was he to make a call about this anyway? Maybe having another life to give love to would jog something in her heart.

Hinata tries to push away the thought that she’s incapable of loving anything, anymore.

His face is so mean when it’s glaring. She looks down to see his hands slide up her elbows until his fingers lace around her wrists, then pulls her hands from his chest. He pushes the wrists into the wall behind her, above her head. She bites her lip as she meets his eyes, glazed over with want once again, and lets him lean down to latch his lips on the crook of her neck.

She sighs out, knowing she’s pushed him into something he wasn’t running to, but doesn’t care, because she feels like she’s won. She arches her back so her chest presses against his and feels him return the movement, abdomen digging into hers.

“You know what words like that do?” he asks into her skin, and she hums for him to continue. “Create regret.”

“Stop it,” she breathes out, closing her eyes as he releases her wrists, leaving her leaning up against the wall. Her hands drop in front of her and she looks down at them. They’re shaking worse than normal, which is to say they’re out of control. Feeling the tears sting at her lower eyelids and that horrible tightness in her chest, she follows after him to the bedroom while pulling off her sweater. He’s rummaging in his dresser for a shirt, and she flops backward onto the bed, bare-chested. She sees him look over his shoulder and his eyes roll.

“You stop it,” he mumbles, and she whines, quietly, because she wants him to stop being upset with her. She shimmies out of her sweatpants, and he turns back around with a shirt in hand, then frowns at her nearly nude form.

And because she knows he’s weak for her when she’s needy, and that he’s not a paladin of morality, he drops the shirt and tugs the tie of his sweatpants. They fall around his hips and she bites her lips together, moons her eyes up at him. He crawls into bed like she knew he would and flips her onto her stomach. She sighs quietly as his fingers wrap around her hips to pull her up and her panties down, then his tongue is on her from behind. She shivers at the slick feel.

Hinata never once thought she’d be in this position. When she imagined sex, she thought of Naruto. Naruto cradling his body up against hers, speaking sweetly to her, telling her how much he wants her to have his baby, all that sickly romantic stuff that’s supposed to happen when you’re madly, deeply in love with someone, like he was supposed to be with her like she was with him. But now, she’s pleading Kiba to get her pregnant in some desperate attempt to have another human she can love and will love her unconditionally. On her hands and knees, letting him go down on her, hoping he’ll fuck her to sleep.

He's good at it, she’ll admit. She doesn’t like to think about Kiba being with other women but reasons it has to be true. She knows it’s selfish to expect him to be monogamous to her, especially during the years she chased Naruto, but she feels possessive over him. He’s told her before he’s only ever had eyes for her, but she wonders if he’s ever said that to anyone else. She figures he must have.

He must be irritated with her because he doesn’t bring her to orgasm first. Usually, he’ll eat her out or finger her until she has tears on her lashes, but today, he simply gets her wet and malleable, then he’s back up on his knees. She moans out as she feels him press into her, and she buries her face in the sheets. Despite it all, he’s gentle with her, and while one hand guides her hip, the other slides around her front and rests on her throat. It doesn’t squeeze, but his thumb caresses her carotid.

She flexes around him intentionally and hears him panting against her back. It’s one of the few sensations she still likes, the way his breath feels like her skin. Feeling his groan vibrate through his body against her. The roughness of his fingertips, his fangs on her neck, all of those things that happen in those dirty novels the adults read from that the kids would steal glances from.

Now they were the adults, and Hinata wonders just how unhealthy it is for her to become so sexual with what was undoubtedly deep depression.

His hand releases her throat and snakes back to grab her other hip, pulling her roughly against him, and she feels him twitch, his release coming quickly. Her cheek pushes further into the cushion as he lets her go, but he doesn’t let her rest. He circles his arms around her waist and hoists her up like he always does, and takes her to the bathroom.

She wraps herself around him easily, a position she’s gotten used to, and buries her face in his neck, the tears falling freely.

#wow this is angsty #not a happy fic at all #kibahina #kiba inuzuka #inuzuka kiba #kiba #hinata hyuga #hinata hyuuga #hyuga hinata #hyuuga hinata #hinata #naruto #naruto fanfic #kibahina fanfic #yotp #year of the otp

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