#it’s a lot of things. it’s so many terrible things and terrible feelings. but above all it’s disheartening. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

llyfrenfys · 9 months

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I'd like to preface this with that this is a screenshot of a post I saw a few days ago in the #welsh tag and that the OP has since deleted this post, but the sentiment is something I'd like to address since I see a lot of parallels with this kind of thinking in other contexts, such as in LGBTQIA+ rights conversations.

So, the most obvious elephant in the room is the idea that Welsh is super widely spoken in Wales now and that it isn't in as much danger as other Celtic languages. This idea is wishful thinking at best and erases the very real danger that Welsh is in and that it could be lost just as easily as Irish or Scottish Gaelic. Cornish (which is related to Welsh) actually did die out and has had to be revived. To make a metaphor out of this, we classify languages on a scale of non-threatened to endangered in a similar way to how we classify species.

Here are the statuses of Welsh and Irish as of 2010 (above) and the statuses of Lions and Tigers (below).

On paper tigers are more 'in danger' than lions. But that does not mean that lions are suddenly not in danger at all. The little bracket above CR, EN and VU labels all of these classifications as threatened. It isn't (and definitely shouldn't) be a competition of 'who is most in danger' because you do not want the thing you care about (whether it be a species or a language) to be in danger.

To come back to the original screenshot "they* [Welsh speakers] have always had the means and the ways because the English didn't beat or slaughter them for speaking it"- on the most basic of levels, this is just incorrect. The Welsh Not was a wooden token hung around schoolchildren's necks if they spoke Welsh in school. If someone else spoke Welsh the Not would be hung around their neck. At the end of the school day, whoever was wearing the Not would be beaten and caned by their teachers. I needn't go into much detail but there have been concerted efforts to beat Welsh out of schoolchildren. With the lions vs tigers metaphor, making the claim Welsh speakers have never been beaten for speaking Welsh because they always had the means and ways, while Irish speakers were beaten and never had the means or ways is like claiming poachers have never shot lions, only tigers. Bottom line is, lions and tigers are both victim to poaching and both species have suffered as a result. Similarly, Welsh and Irish have both suffered language loss and both need conservation efforts in order to survive.

(*sidenote- the consistent use of 'them' and 'they' in the original post is definitely indicative of a 'us vs them' sentiment which is a deeply unhelpful attitude to have when it comes to endangered languages and the Celtic languages in particular)

I see parallels with LGBTQIA+ rights in this situation. When equal marriage came in for gay and lesbian couples in the UK in 2014, many allies began to act like gay rights had now been achieved and that gay issues had been done, they're solved. Except, they really weren't (and aren't). Progress has been made in Wales and undeniably Welsh is doing the best out of the living Celtic languages. But that doesn't mean Welsh has been saved or that full equality for Welsh speakers has been achieved. It very much hasn't. The sentiment of the post in the screenshot is not conducive to helping Irish or Scottish Gaelic. Putting down Welsh speakers and erasing Welsh-language history will not save Irish or Scottish Gaelic. Pretending Welsh has had it easy in some kind of lap of luxury is a deeply harmful and bogus claim.

I'll address the tags under the cut as this post is getting long.

To address the tags, personal feelings ≠ an accurate reading of a situation. Nor is it praxis, for that matter. Why is pride in Welsh different/less good than pride in Irish? Is it the assumed proximity to England? If so, that's a terrible claim to make. Not only that, but Scotland is also next to England- does that make pride in Scottish Gaelic the same as pride in Welsh according to this metric? It's a ludicrous thing to say and deeply insensitive to the needs of Scottish Gaelic and Welsh speakers, who cannot help any current or former proximity to England.

Additionally, proximity to England ≠ worse. I know it's a popular internet joke to hate on England because of English attempts to eradicate the Celtic languages, but when the joke becomes praxis, it does not help. England ≠ a place devoid of Celtic languages either. Many English counties near the Welsh border actually have communities of Welsh speakers, such as Oswestry (Croesoswallt) in Shropshire. Cornwall is also home to many speakers of revived Cornish. It does a disservice to Celtic speakers in England to insinuate that proximity to England taints or corrupts them somehow. This is how ethnonationalism starts and we ain't about that.

And "#it feels a little.... blehhhhh you were seen as sophisticated and english enough and you assimilated however the Irish and the Scots? #brutish animals that need to be culled". So, this is arguably one of the worst things to say about a Celtic language- or any threatened language in general. First of all, the 'you were seen as' - 'you' is very telling. The switch from 'them', 'they' to 'you' indicates that this sentiment is aimed at Welsh speakers directly. This was likely a subconscious thing that OP wasn't thinking about when they wrote this. But it does indicate unhealthy feelings of jealousy and bitterness unfairly directed at Welsh speakers, who are also struggling. This righteous anger at the decline of Irish and Scottish Gaelic would be better directed at efforts to help promote those languages- some useful things to get involved with are LearnGaelic, similar to DysguCymraeg but for Scottish Gaelic or supporting channels such as Irish channel TG4 by watching their programmes.

The idea that Welsh speakers were or are 'sophisticated and english enough' is insulting and carries with it a lot of baggage of how any of these assumptions came about. Welsh speakers were definitely not seen as sophisticated. Where Welsh was 'tolerated', it was treated as a curiosity, a relic of a bygone age. Classic museification which all Celtic languages and cultures suffer from as well. Welsh was not tolerated in any legal sense since 1535- with English becoming the only valid administrative language and the language of Welsh courts after England annexed Wales into its Kingdom. Monolingual Welsh speakers suddenly had no access to any legal representation, unless they learned English. This is no voluntary assimilation- it is an act of survival for many speakers of minoritised languages to 'assimilate' into the dominant culture, or else risk losing access to legal security and other kinds of infrastructure. You need only ask any non-native English speaker living in an Anglophone country what that process is like. Welsh people did not see English incursion as an opportunity to become 'sophisticated and english enough', they had to assimilate in order to survive.

The "Irish and the Scots? #brutish animals that need to be culled" is also painfully misrepresenting a very complex social and political process that unfolded over the span of hundreds of years. The phrasing itself of 'brutish animals that need to be culled' speaks to righteous anger at the damage done to these languages and cultures, but it reinforces negative stereotypes about the Irish and Scots themselves. It also is more complicated than a simple English hatred of anything non-Anglo, since the English conception of particularly the Irish changed a lot over the centuries. It was (and still is) rarely consistent with itself. See: the enemy is both strong and weak. The very earliest Celticists were by and large, Anglos or French.

Ernest Renan (1823-1892) for example, was an early French Celticist who published La Poésie des races celtiques (Poetry of the Celtic Races- English translation) in which he says:

"... we must search for the explanation of the chief features of the Celtic character. It has all the failings, and all the good qualities, of the solitary man; at once proud and timid, strong in feeling and feeble in action, at home free and unreserved, to the outside world awkward and embarrassed. It distrusts the foreigner, because it sees in him a being more refined than itself, who abuses its simplicity. Indifferent to the admiration of others, it asks only one thing, that it should be left to itself. It is before all else a domestic race, fitted for family life and fireside joys. In no other race has the bond of blood been stronger, or has it created more duties, or attached man to his fellow with so much breadth and depth"

Yeah. This guy (unsurprisingly) was a white supremacist. Note that this sentiment is being applied to all people considered Celtic by Renan- Irish, Welsh, Breton, Scottish, Cornish, Manx etc. None unscathed by the celtophobia of the day. In this period, Celticity was romanticised (yet disparaged at the same time). It is less 'brutish animals' and more 'archaic, time-frozen peoples' in this period. Of course, 'brutish animals' attitudes towards Celticity did still exist, but it is disingenuous to act as if it was this attitude alone which drove English celtophobia. Like many things, it is always more complicated and never clear cut as it might seem.

I'll bring this to a close shortly, but returning to OP's suggestion that the Welsh assimilated and the Scots and Irish did not, is also incorrect in that some Scots did have to assimilate to survive as well. The Statutes of Iona (1609) required Scottish Gaelic speaking Highland chiefs to send their sons away to be educated in Scots and/or English in Protestant schools. Many did as the statutes required, which led to further language loss in the Highlands of Scottish Gaelic. These are acts of survival- and not ones always taken willingly.

This has been a long post but it's one which I felt I wanted to address. There's no need for infighting between speakers of Celtic languages over who has it worse. There isn't any answer to that question, nor is it a good use of time or energy. All in all, the Celtic languages have suffered greatly over the years and its only just now that some of them are turning a corner. If you care about these languages, put your energy into something good. Only through active work will these languages be saved for generations to come.

#long post #lukes originals #cymraeg #gaelige #gaidhlig #Irish #Welsh #Scottish Gaelic #politik #not dictionary related #Celticist #Celtic Studies #This took a lot of energy to write so if you found this post useful please consider reblogging

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sanakimohara · 4 months

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This is my second ever ask in my 10 years of having Tumblr so please let me know if I’m saying this wrong or if this is rude 😅 but please could you do a felix or chan incredibly insanely darkly jealous a lot of breeding kink and rutting and c8ck dumb reader 😮‍💨😅😅 pretty please

“UNDER THE INFLUENCE” L. F.

Awe well I am honored to be your second ask here on tumble. I think I'll take Felix on this one...give him a bit more love in my post stream..

{ MDNI }

+++++++

Today was not supposed to end like this. You had no intention of being in a room alone with him -especially while you both were ‘working’- but here you are. Trembling and writhing as Felix had his fill of you.

It was a miracle that your makeup wasn’t smudged; thankfully, your hair wasn’t too messed up from its original wet and wavy look. No matter how many times Felix ran his fingers through it or if you pressed your head against the thin walls as shrouds of ecstasy hit you, it stayed modestly neat.

One less giveaway of what the two of you were getting up to in his dressing room.

“Felix…F-Felix th-that’s enough….Ahm!” You groan as quietly as possible, trying hard to not let anyone outside the room hear how amazing it feels to have your cunt devoured like there was no tomorrow. The blonde completely ignored your demand, swirling his tongue in quicker circles around your clit before delving into your dripping entrance.

He’d been at it for the past ten minutes at least, never letting you pull your hips away from his oddly rough grip, keeping your legs wide open as you sat on the -previously organized- makeup vanity. You felt terrible about doing such inappropriate things with a man you swore you’d never met all day.

All fucking day.

You’d refused to admit that Felix was your significant other to make the photo shoot between you and a male model less awkward. A small sacrifice you were both used to driving to keep your relationship concealed and stable, but for one reason or another, Felix felt a simmering rage when he heard you deny your ties to them.

He hated it so much that he’d been less approachable and friendly for the better part of the day.

The staff noticed Felix’s change, whispering about how on edge he was on and off camera-cordial to everyone like always- but noticeably annoyed. You’d seen it too, very concerned he wasn’t feeling well and convinced just checking on him during the staff hour-long lunch break wouldn’t do any harm to anyone.

Everyone except you.

Felix was not above taking his growing frustrations out on you. The instant you shut his dressing room door, he’d covered you, hands preemptively inching the bodice of your silk skirt to touch your bare skin underneath as he placed one fiery kiss on your lips after another. “Stop letting him touch what’s mine, angel,” he whispers into your parted lips, drinking in the immediate whimpers you let out in return.

“You can’t be serious, Lix. More than half of the shoot requires us to “

He rolled his eyes, smirking in disbelief at your attempt to reason with him, “Does it look like I fucking care. Either keep his hands off you, or I’ll ensure it myself.” The rare sight of anger adorned Felix’s gentle features, voice a rumbling whisper, and the combination propelled you into subspace within seconds. He was never this openly possessive. He’d pout or sulk if you didn’t give him attention occasionally, but this…

This was new.

It made you nervous under his gaze, rendering you speechless as he hugged you close, lips reconnecting to your own in another sequence of tender kisses as he walked you backward into the vanity. Your exposed back hit the mirror with a soft ‘thud’ and you flinched away from it. Felix brought you close to him, letting his warmth resolve your shivering and trailing his hands over the intricate details of your artistic bralette.

You pulled away, smiling proudly as Felix took a moment to admire your decorated breasts, eyes darkening with desire as you leaned back with a knowing smile on your face. “Like what you see, Liz?” You tease him, giggling softly as you turn your head to look at him through the reflection. He nods slowly, tongue poking one of his cheeks as he snakes an arm around your waist, closing the tiny gap between you two and effectively spreading your legs to frame his waist.

“You know I do, angel. Always will…” he mutters adoringly, placing a trail of heated kisses along your neck, shoulder, and finally, the curve of your breasts. He groaned in displeasure as he realized the material was intricately clasped, making it a hassle to remove and one less place on your body for him to play with.

Felix solves the dilemma quickly, licking a long stripe over each one before nipping at your skin until barely visible bruises are raised on your skin. Your face burned hot, lust seeping to panic as he marked what he knew to be his, and though it felt amazing, you knew he was inching you both towards exposure.

“Lix, please don’t…they’ll see those…mm,” you bit back a moan as he made another affliction, purposefully making it noticeable. You flinched against him, hands flying to claw into his shoulders, “That’s enough…” you moaned into his ear. The demand lost its edge as it slipped off your tongue, concern becoming a blur as Felix tangled a hand in your hair, pulling it so you had no choice but to let him stain your skin with as many love bites as he pleased.

Your brows knitted together as each one became more intense than the last, the arm around your waist holding you flush against him, adding to the mind-numbing pleasure he was inducing.

You tried one last time to reason with him, stuck in thralls of heat and logical thinking, “Felix…th-“

He cut you off immediately, devoid of any sympathy for your plight, and his authoritative tone made that abundantly clear.

“I don’t care,” he retorts, and you whine in response, “..But I do.”

Felix laughed dryly, inwardly amused by your signature pout but unsympathetic with your reasoning. “You shouldn’t,” he replies softly, bringing his hands to caress your face. You stared up at him lovingly, leering into his touch as he pecked your lips, the subtle hums of approval thundering in his chest, building the pool of heat in your core.

“I know, Lix….” You murmur into the kiss, feeling his hands drop to your thighs, giving them light-handed squeezes. You subconsciously roll your hips to get his touch closer to your dripping cunt. He smiles against your lips, chuckling at your eagerness and immediately giving in to you.

“Desperate little angel, aren’t we?” He teased you, discreetly slipping the many rings off his fingers as you nodded your head and let out a breathless “mhm” in response. Felix shifted your silky skirt to the side, draping the fabric off of your legs as he cupped your mound with one hand. He bit his plush bottom lip as your hips bucked into his hold. A sheer thong was the only thing keeping your soaked folds away from him, and he remedied the obstacle by pulling it to the side.

“Fuck…” you hiss as the cool air hits your exposed cunt, slick going ice cold as Felix prodded to skilled fingers past your entrance. “It’s a miracle you don’t have cum running down your leg, love. It must be so hard walking around this wet for me, yeah?” His voice carried so much weight, doubling down on your own pleasure as he fingered you at the slowest pace possible.

You were at a loss for words, thoughts, or any coherent reaction as he curled his fingers forward to hit your sweet spot. Felix wanted a verbal answer, not just the satisfying gratification your moans brought him, “Need to hear you, angel..or I’ll stop.” You shake your head in displeasure, blushing heavily as you rush a reply, words slurring into excited whimpers.

“Y-yes…s-Ahm….fuck Lix…y-yes you’re right….”

“Good girl…” he whispers, pumping his fingers faster and pressing your clit with the pad of his thumb. You yelp quietly, whining curses as a familiar tightening ramped up in your stomach, and you clenched around his fingers as a result.

Felix groaned vicariously, smirking wildly before withdrawing his hand. “N-no! Lix, please!” You nearly shout in agony at the loss of fullness, ready to cry as he drops to his knees, faking a frown as he comes face to face with your glittering core. “You’re being awfully loud for someone who doesn’t want to get caught, love.” His warm breath fans the slick entrance as he speaks, putting you in a daze that intensifies when he flicks his tongue against you.

“Don’t care anymore…jus’ wanna cum,” you mewl as he focuses on the task at hand, finding the rhythm to taste you with his tongue perfectly and urging you to cum in his mouth with every deliberate action.

His blonde hair tickled your thighs, low moans sending vibrations through you in waves and heightening the toll your climax took on you.

Felix refused to stop until your cunt was all he’d be able to savor for the rest of the day. You nearly fell forward on him in a state of elated exhaustion as he stood back up and kissed you deeply. Your eyes slid shut as the creaminess of your release and his spit seeped down your throat, a wanton moan spilling from you both as his tongue danced with yours, and your hands traveled up to grip his hair.

“Careful…” he grunts, the sound giving way to an altered whine. You pull the blonde strands harder, lips connecting to his jawline and making your own mark on his tan skin. He reaches for his belt, glad his outfit wasn’t nearly as complicated as your own, and a sigh of relief comes out as a sharp exhale through his nose the moment his cock springs free.

You smile against his skin, eyes trailing down to get a view of it, “You’re such a hypocrite,” you taunt him. Amused to see how affected Felix was by the mere thought of another man laying his hands on you.

He groans, muttering a semblance of disagreeable words before shoving you back with gentle force. The conjoined feeling of the cold mirror hitting your heated skin and the instantaneous contact of his throbbing shaft gliding up and down your glittery folds has your back arching as ripples of pleasure course through you.

Felix drops his head to the crook of your neck, a few strands of his hair ghosting your skin as he places featherlight kisses. “Lix..” you mumble lowly, unable to think straight as he breathes in your scent, his hands grazing down your spine as he does.

“Promise me he won’t touch you again,” he whispers in your ear, his hips pausing, the tip of his cock inching into you ever so slightly. You whined loudly, head lulling back as your brows furrowed in frustration, one hand slipping from his tousled hair to clasp around his throat. Every breath he took raised his Adam’s apple, your thumb gingerly baring down the muscle as you shook your head slowly.

“I can’t..please don’t make me,” you plead for a compromise, but Felix disregards the refusal, pushing into your cunt inch by inch, torturing the both of you with the long-awaited security your fluttering walls would impose on him. “Yes, yes you can…you will. Promise me, sweetheart. Open your pretty mouth and swear to me that you’re all mine..” Felix shifted between pleading and demanding, eyes flickering from your expression of pure ecstasy as he sunk all the way into you to the space where you two connected.

A train of thought no longer existed for you as he pulled out slowly, slamming back so harshly that the vanity quivered from the subtle force. Your mouth fell open, eyes rolling in earnest bewilderment the rougher Felix got. “Fucking answer me…,” he groans, burying his cock in you, and refusing to move until you stuttered out a response.

Work be dammed. Telling some random guy to keep his hands to himself for the next few hours paled in comparison to your need to cum….and was honestly a task you’d do whether Felix was coercing it out of you or not.

So, as much as you cared for professionalism…it’d have to take a backseat to whatever emotion he was dragging you into now.

“I. I promise it won’t happen again…I promise, Lix…” You didn’t care how pathetic you sounded, past the point of modesty and clinging to Felix for dear life as he picked up the pace of his thrusts. Your chest pressed into his, the intricate details on your bra chilling his burning skin and prompting him to hold you there with an arm snaking around your waist.

He fisted the sheer material of your skirt, almost ripping through it as he tugged it higher, nails digging into your skin possessively, and you winced in pain as he brought his lips to your ear again. “Hm, does it hurt, angel?” He asks, feigning concern, and the contrast of the sweet gesture amid brutality made your head spin endlessly. “Y-yes,” you huffed as a moan built in your throat, quickly slipping out as he shifted one of your legs up and around his lean waist. The adjusted angle drew a surprised cry from you, cunt gripping every ride and vein of his cock as he took advantage of the position. He was bruising your sweet spot with an intensity and speed you’d never experienced before.

Felix was generally endearingly romantic and rarely this aggressive with you. Seeing, well, witnessing this side of his character was an edge for you on its own.

You were surprised that you managed to hold out this long without cumming and even more taken aback by the steady stream of arousal pooling on the vanity beneath you. Felix noticed it too, cock twitching inside you as pride flooded his system, “You’re making such a mess, pretty girl… does it feel that good?” He grinned triumphantly when you nodded without hesitation, hips rolling to meet his thrusts at an even pace for as long as possible.

“Gorgeous, so…fucking gorgeous..” he praises your every reaction, running a hand down the expanse of your torso, stopping to press down where you could feel his cock the most. You blushed as the applied pressure emphasized exactly where Felix was inside you.

The coil in your core teetered on the verge of snapping, your hands disappearing underneath the hem of his designer dress shirt, and your manicured nails scratched into his toned torso. The simple action caused Felix to buck his hips and wrap his free hand in your hair as he brought you into an open-mouthed kiss. It was sloppy, void of any decency, as the both of you chased your high at the expense of the other.

You clawed at his skin, moaning louder as the knot in your stomach begged to loosen for the third time in a row. He stared into your dreamy gaze, reading the warning in them as he held your head close to his.

Felix wanted nothing more than to etch this very moment into your mind for the rest of the day -your life. The thought of you walking around, filled to the brim with his cum as you posed for one picture after the next plagued his conscious, and undid the last link of reason for him.

“Fuck this,” he snapped, brows furrowing with determination as he pulled out of you, and slid you off the vanity to bend you forward on it instead. Thankfully, you caught yourself in time, too dazed to stop him from kicking your legs apart, and reentering you from behind. “Felix…” you groan exasperatedly, shuddering as his cock stretched your cunt with ease, causing a thin drip arousal to slide down your inner thighs.

The blonde leaned over you, a hand resting on the curve of your back as he returned to his pace from earlier. Sweat starts to build on his tan skin, a concentrated expression adorning his angelic features as he pounded into you.

Blank.

Your mind was entirely blank the longer he bullied his cock against your sensitive womb and the tension mounting in your body multiples exponentially as he lowered himself to speak in your ear lowly.

“This is where you belong, angel. Just like this, with me, an no one else understand?”

You nodded weakly, fighting back tears as the urge to cum from the sound of his voice tempted you.

It’d only take one more possessive word from him -paired with that salacious smile on his face- to unravel you. Felix was at his end, too, eyes sliding close as the precision of his thirst became a tenuous blur.

“You think he’d use you this well, love?” He slurs the question, unintentionally pulling your hair as he snaps his hips harder. “No…”you sigh deliriously, reaching a hand to run through his hair and bring him in for a heated kiss, while the other latched against the mirror to hold you steady under his weight as the knot in your core spiraled loose.

“That’s it….angel, fuck, you feel so good…” Felix doesn’t even try to be discreet, zoned in on the way your cunt gushes on his cock, greedily taking the hot ropes of cum he releases. Oxygen alludes to you for a few seconds, an overbearing heat rushing through you and your body quivering in the aftershock.

You looked divine. Unreal even. That pleased smile on your lips as you giggled shamelessly only added to the glow you emitted in your shared highs.

“He won’t touch me again, Lix..” you panted softly, smiling more expansive as you clung to him tiredly and laid your head on his shoulder.

He understood then. Why he’d felt so stricken with jealousy over you the whole day. Yes, he loved you, but the underlying notion that no one else knew it angered him.

What good would it do him not to try and claim you, at least? If fucking you into the bliss of oblivion was what needed to be done….he could make that sacrifice.

Felix kissed the top of your head, grinning as you whined defeatedly as he shifted his hips to settle his cock further into you, “See, that wasn’t so hard to agree to, now was it, love?”

You pout, raising your head to glare at him playfully, “No….but now the stylists will have to cover me in two layers of foundation!”

Felix raised a brow, gently rolling his hips into again, and you melted underneath him at the overstimulation. “Who said we were done, angel?” He asks, smiling at your fucked out reflection shifting to a look of desperation. You opened your mouth to say something but the words died in your throat, replaced by a broken moan as he gradually pumped his length past your tender walls, spreading his cum over them, and edging you both to another round.

This was not how your day was supposed to go, but there was no fight left in you, and certainly not enough left to refuse being stuffed full with Felix’s cum for the next thirty minutes.

Felix chuckled at the sight of you accepting your fate, subconsciously rocking your hips back to meet his, and welcoming the oncoming warmth of his accumulating releases.

Maybe making him jealous could be your new favorite hobby….

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This one was fun. I'm kind of proud of how it came out too....my editing is getting better hehe.

[ BONUS CONTENT + ]

Credits to owner 🖤 FYI if I met him and he made a joke I’d start laughing the same way zendaya was cracking up everytime Tom holland opened his mouth….i mean how else am I gonna convince Felix he’s my soulmate lmao 🖤

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prosciuttoon · 7 days

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Toshiro/Shuro is overhated

(mirror of my thread on twitter)

ever wanted to talk abt something so bad but u have so many thoughts so u cant even begin to organize a sentence. thats me abt shuro and its why i cant give my thoughts on him. i NEED to get this out of my system bc its takign up so much memory in my brain i need that space for thinking.

so i was really surprised to find so much hate for him even tho he seems pretty normal and rational out of the whole cast. ive deducted that its mostly abt his laios fight and that the ppl who hate him probably had bad experiences w social cues and relationships w neurotypicals bc of that. theres no way to avoid it bc its pretty much Right In Your Face that laios is ND. but thats not the only factor in why their relationship is rocky. its also the culture barrier. u have to understand toshiro was raised as JAPANESE NOBILITY ofc he would be a little conservative

also culture shock. idk if u know this but jp culture is very Mind Your Own Business like a lot of other asian cultures . ofc hes gonna be weirded out by a stranger invading his space. also his names not even Shuro. its just yt ppl not pronouncing his name right and settling for whats easiest.

img src: fan translation by savaralyn2 , i think its from the adventurers bible Complete Edition bc i dont remember it in the old one

ok you get the gist of the culture aspect of it. lets go into the ND/NT clash aspect of it. yes i understand its pretty hurtful to never be told when youre acting inappropriately. i am autistic too lmao. but you have to understand that shiro is one guy and he even does realize that repressing things is one of his fatal flaws. again. asian culture. non confrontational. that sorta thing. but these are genuine frustrations. if i were him id be annoyed too but id speak out about it. set boundaries. bc im blunt. shiros not. he was taught crazy strict manners (hierarchies, respect, politeness, etc).

his problem isnt ableism its a culmination of culture barriers, how he was raised to behave, and terrible lack of communication as thing caused by "all of the above" plus he just generally keeps to himself a lot which means repressing frustrations that will explode leading to a pathetic fistfight while hes starved, exhausted, and dehydrated. also. if he was ableist he would hate laios. he doesnt hate laios. at the end of the day, they are friends. NT and ND ppl can be friends u know. there will be rifts (like their fight) but you just have to communicate misunderstandings. theyre gonna be fine lol

anyways that was my whole spiel abt it. i think i got everything out that i wanted to? my head still feels a little full so i may add more later when i remember something

also i think its a little unfair to rule out the possibility of laios and him just being 2 very different kinds of ND bc its very common for misunderstandings to occur even then. EVERYONE IS DIFFERENT BUT WE NEED TO COMMUNICATE TO UNDERSTAND EACH OTHER! but for the sake of interpreting the Fight as a commentary on NT social rules and ND frustration, ill say toshiros NT. will we ever know? hes so far in the sidelines... youd really have to dig in the extra content to see the intricacies of his character.... please give him a chance

#dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #toshiro nakamoto #shuro dungeon meshi

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reve-writes · 1 year

Text

—fixer upper. | alice in borderland chishiya shuntarō x reader.

you were shot. he helped you not bleed out to death. | set in s2 beginning of king of spades.

CHISHIYA WAS CUNNING AND SELF-PRESERVING. While it would've slightly hurt your feelings if he had left you, it would be very much in-character of him.

He cussed when the first spray of bullets was fired, finding cover. You cussed seconds later, leaning against a pillar, your hand hovering over a fresh bullet wound just above your hip bone.

"Fuck," you repeatedly said, trying to stay calm despite the adrenaline pumping through you. You needed to think of the different ways you could get to safety, away from the gun-crazed maniac.

"Can you move?" Chishiya asked, noticing the blooming blood on your jacket.

You closed your eyes, the pain was starting to sink in. "You go. I'll wait for the shooter to walk past and make a run for it."

He said nothing and for a terrible second, you thought you were actually alone. Having been in the Beach for quite a while, you weren't used to isolation. Your eyes shot open when you felt someone grab your hand.

"Can you walk?" He asked again, slinging your arm over his shoulders.

You stare at him blankly for a second. He asked again, with an annoyed click of his tongue. "Can you walk or not?"

"I can try," you answered, hobbling along the sidewalk with the silver-haired man. You hissed and cursed every time he pulled or pushed you swiftly to take cover.

"You're regretting it, huh? Should've left me," you teased, watching him as he frowned with effort.

"Stop talking and move faster."

Finally, he ducked under an apothecary, pulling you inside with him, waddling as far away from the doors and windows as possible. You hid behind the cash register counter while gunshots rang over and over again outside. Until, eventually the sound got quieter and disappeared.

Chishiya peeked over the counter. Still quiet. He gingerly stood up and walked quietly over around the counter.

"I have the shittiest luck," you complained. "Can't even die from the shot. Now I have to sit here and bleed to death in pain."

"On the contrary, I think your luck is keeping you alive," he replied, shuffling about between the shelves.

You shrugged, not that Chishiya could see it. "Maybe I'm lucky to be stuck with you then."

It was silent for a second and two and five.

"Are you—"

You interrupted him, "Because you're a med student! I didn't mean to make it weird."

"You remembered," he said, putting a handful of supplies next to you. Gauze, anesthetic, antiseptics. Sat facing you, Chishiya put on a pair of latex gloves.

"Take off your jacket."

"Huh?"

Still as expressionless as ever, he tugged on the bottom hem of your jacket. "Off."

You slid down the zipper awkwardly. Chishiya was completely professional while dressing your wound. You were staring at him, shamelessly, as his blood-slicked hand pressed against your torso.

Were his lashes always this long?

Chishiya knew he should have left you. Your plan most likely would have worked, assuming the shooter was trying to rack up as many victims as they could, you would've been safe hiding until they walked past.

However, seeing the blood slicking your clothes, he could feel himself tensing. He couldn't leave this to a probability. A dozen different scenarios went through his head—all of them with you, dead. At that moment, his caution was thrown in the wind. You couldn't die. Not there, not then.

He was so used to having you around him that the thought of you dying never really crossed his mind. Would he simply go on? Would he grieve? He didn't want to dwell on the thought. This was the one thing he didn't mind not knowing—what he would do after you.

"You'll be fine," Chishiya said finally, security the bandage around your torso. "Rest up."

"I'm fine now," you said stubbornly. You tried to push yourself off of the ground, but the room spun around you. You fell, lying down on the floor with your hand on your eyes, groaning.

"You lost a lot of blood. Get some rest."

When you woke up much later, there were a fresh, clean jacket, a bottle of water, and a couple cans of food by your side.

"How are you feeling?" He asked.

[ ]

#chishiya x reader #chishiya shuntaro x reader

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fictionalslvr · 9 months

Text

Part one. Part three.

SYNOPSIS:"Ghost" is your new neighbor in your apartment complex, everyone is afraid of him, but not you. You're the only one to be kind with him.

PAIRING: (Based of comic but that's not 100% canon) Simon Riley neighbor x F¡Reader

WORD COUNT:3.212k

WARNINGS: Fluffy, angst, mentions of blood, war, s.a (not directly) etc.

NOTES:There we go, back to the crying season. I literally cried while writing this one, so i really hope you guys like as much as i did. Remembering, this is the part two of this mini serie. And i HIGHLY recommend to listen to 'happier than ever' by Billie Eilish while reading this.

PREVIOUS PART

It’s been almost a month. Almost a month since Simon appeared at your door, he drinked some coffee with you, had a long talk that showed little things about him. And after he left your door to work, it’s been days since you don’t hear footsteps on the apartment above yours. You can’t help but worry, he said his work was hard, tiring and had big choices. You pace around your house, feeling a weird knot on your stomach, a strange sensation of anxiety consuming you, not seeing his eyes, hot hearing his chuckles, not smelling his unique scent…all of this makes you feel strange, he’s just a neighbor…right? So why are you feeling this way? He’s used to doing this, staying out, working and coming back, he’s fine that’s right. Then why couldn't your heart understand this?

The only thing keeping you calm is your little cat, her fluffy fur on your legs as she brushes herself against you, looking for some caress. You sit down on the couch and sigh, trying to think better and your cat jumps on your lap, purring while your fingers brush her fur gently. It’s almost like she can sense you’re not well at the moment, and tries her best to distract you.

—”You’re a smart kitten, no?” A sad smile flows out, and you can only breathe deep for a moment. You don't know why you’re feeling like this, he’s only your neighbor who’s a bit mysterious, you shouldn’t be worried about him. And yet, your last talk with him made you think all those days about him. He seems like someone who suffered a lot, even if he didn’t tell you what exactly. You can see it, his baggy eyes carrying a sad sparkle on it, like he saw so many things you can’t even imagine. Somehow, you appreciate his bravery, without even telling, you supposed that he suffered, only from his eyes.

He’s always using a balaclava, so there must be a reason for this. Maybe he’s insecure about his face, maybe he just wants to protect his identity for someone, or he just doesn't want people to read his emotions. If the last one is the answer, he’s terribly wrong, because only from his eyes, you could sense how this man carries a lot of weight on his shoulders.

Since when he moved in, you’re caught about his whole figure, everything about him was a mystery, like he can’t really trust anyone. You look around for a while, looking at the pictures on your home, you remember how Simon was staring at them non stop the last time you saw him, his eyes were painful to see, his eyes narrow to the frames as his eyebrows furrowed as your voice called his attention back. Something about family pictures made him perplexed.

It’s weird to say, but damn, you missed him. His raspy voice, his tall figure towering over yours, his short words, his eyes never leaving your face as you talk, he’s a great listener, you could say. Even without knowing much about him, you wanted to see him again, hear his voice, feel his scent, make eye contact, feel this weird human connection you two created quickly. You groan and roll your head back to the couch, staring at the ceiling while your mind don’t stop not even for a second, your mind filled with Simon and everything you noticed about him, like how calloused his hands are, how he seems to be a terrible sleeper, how he looks to hold himself back while he talks, scared he will expose more about his life, how he has a habit of shakes his legs every time, how his eyes don’t stop still, they’re always looking around, as if he’s making sure he’s safe. Every little detail that you could think of, you paid attention to him, like you never did before, you never was this detailed about someone, neither that interested about someone. He has something special, something that curls you up in his hands.

As for Simon? Being on a long mission wasn't that easy. Staying hours awake, the reason why he’s a terrible sleeper, sleeping in uncomfortable tents, thinking only about his objectives all day. It was awful, but, the only thing that reminded him he’s still human, is his friends, his teammates, the only ones he can say some dad jokes sometimes, the only ones who remind him he’s only doing his job, and nothing else, and somehow, that made him feel better. Knowing he’s not alone in this, that he’s not the only one making his hands dirty with blood, the only ones who made him feel less guilty for the blood dripping on his mask. Besides that, sometimes he caught himself thinking of his neighbor, the only one who had the courage to talk to him, that looked him in the eyes, that listened to his short talk, his voice and saw his miserable life. And yet, you don’t even know the whole story, if he did tell you…would you still smile at him? Would you still look him in the eyes? Would you still not be afraid of him? Would you still think he deserves to be loved? Because, he, himself, doesn't think he does. After all he did, all he passed through and lost, he didn't have a chance to be happy and live an ordinary life, he always had to remind how useless he was at protecting his family once, how he was a cowardly kid, how he suffered in dirty hands, how he felt used. Nothing more than a war machine, a big, strong and scary man that everyone frightens, that’s what he is, in his mind. As for you, such a gentle, kind and delicate woman…why would you listen to someone like him? He thinks he doesn’t deserve your kindness.

For now, there he is, stepping back to his apartment, his heavy boots making some noise as he's not even looking at the way he’s doing. It’s always like this when he’s back from a long mission, he felt like he was on automatic. His mask, a bit dirty like his gear, and he had some wounds too. He made his way on the halls, going to the elevator, it’s late, like 4AM.

And a soft voice calls for him before the elevator comes, the creaky wooden door behind him making noise.

—”Simon…?” —It’s your voice, he’s already used to that sweet melody. He doesn’t turn to face you, not wanting to scare you with his actual state.

—”Hello.” —Without noticing, you left a sigh of relief.

—”You’re back. I was worried.” —Your words make him disbelief, he turns to face you, and you can see a mask on his usual balaclava, his eyes widened as his pupils shake.

—”You shouldn’t.”

—”If I could control that. But I couldn't, and I'm happy you’re back." —His eyes fall to your figure, rubbing your eyes as you’re still sleepy, your pajamas from that day, and your voice sounds like honey.

—”What happened to you, Simon?”

—”I was working.”

—’Not this, these wounds…” — Realization crawls up to his mind, you shouldn’t be able to see him like this.

—”Shit.” — He mumbles under his breath and looks away. Your figure walks closer to him, it’s dark to see properly.

—”Please, come in. Let me take care of this for you.”

—”No need, I'm fine, thanks.” —How could he say no to your cute little eyes, looking up and down on his body, looking for every wound. Your fingers go to his arms, gently touching and pulling him inside your apartment. Without a word, he just follows, he could easily get rid of your hands on him, and he didn’t.

You close the door and make him sit on your couch, picking up a med kit in your kitchen, sitting beside him.

—”You’re not going to ask why I'm like this?”

—”Only if you want to say why.” — Your eyes meet him, looking for his approval before you lift up the sleeves of his gear, finding a very bad wound on it, how he wasn’t feeling the pain? He just nods, and you lift his sleeves gently. He loved how caring you are, always searching his approval for everything, even simple things like this. He loves how gentle you were towards a man like him.

—”Then…can we not?”

—”Of course, Simon.”

He always enjoyed how his name would sound in your tongue, in your voice. It made his heart skip a beat everytime. With caution, you clean up his wound, and he doesn't hisses, doesn't frown or groan, he just watches in silence, looking into your eyes all the time. Nothing matters now, not the pain, not the blood, no. Only you, and your kindness.

—”What were you doing awake?”

—”I wasn’t. I heard your footsteps.”

—”How did you know it was mine?”

—”I guessed. You’re the only one who would walk around at this time.” —His dark brown eyes were staring at your face, you looked so concentrated now, even while sleepy like this, you managed to do this. To take care of him.

—”Why are you doing this?”

—”Because I care about you, Simon.”

Those words, it’s been years since he heard it, seem unreal. Why would you care about him? What did he do to deserve such kindness? Is God finally hearing his prays he did when he was young? No, you’re only his neighbor, this is normal…right?

—”Why?”

—"Do i need a reason?" —He only looks away, his head nodding at your words. You were right, you don’t need reasons to do what you’re doing. Though, he really wanted you to have one. He needed you to have a reason to help a man like him.

A comfortable silence creeps in between both, it’s a silence that yells inside, so many questions on both sides, but no one wants to ask it. Simon looks on your window, the curtain flowing and showing the moon bright in the sky, giving him a feeling he never felt before…love, in its truest form, just pure love. Being taken care of like this, he doesn’t even know why he accepted this, normally he would ignore it and go to bed, sleeping only two hours or less. But you, have your gentle fingers wrapping his wound now, gently patching it with a gauze, you had some talent for this, he wondered…have you ever taken care of someone else? Because you seem to be used to this.

—”Well done.” —You mumbles under your breath, your eyelids blink slowly, you’re so sleepy…it’s adorable.

—”Thanks.” —Oh really? Is everything he can mumble after this help? He can’t express anything more than this. Honestly, he didn’t need to, his eyes locked with yours, your body painted with the moonlight and the dark blue sky, and you can see how he feels grateful for you. You smile gently.

—”No need to, I was just worried when I saw you like this.”

Simon sighs, taking off the skull mask on his covered face, leaving only his balaclava as you’re used to.

—”It’s normal for me to get back like this.”

—”With wounds?”

—”Not only on my body.”

—”You know you can’t live like this forever, right?”

—”I always did.”

—”And this will hurt you eventually, Simon. You can’t hide emotions and think everything is okay. They will overflow.”

—”You don’t know me well for this.” —Simon gets up from your couch, his voice getting rougher, and looks at your door. You felt a twist in your guts, he’s worried you might figure him out, because you’re already doing.

—”If you’re being kind only to know my past, forget it. I’m not a storyteller.”

—”Who told you I wanted this? I’m pretty sure it was yourself.” —Now it’s your time to get up and meet his eyes, his eyes can’t lie to you.

—”You’re tricking yourself with this, Simon.”

He hated this, how pretty you look while your skin sparkled with the moonlight, how your eyes made him nowhere to run, how you would read him like a book, even if you two don’t know for a long time.

—”You don’t know me enough to say that.”

—”Being cold won’t keep me away, if that's what you’re trying to do.”

The only thing Simon does is curse under the black silk on his face. He didn’t like to look so predictable, so vulnerable like this. But at the same time, he just wants to be taken care of by you, and only you, no one else. He stays silent for what seems like an eternity, there's nothing else to say. What would he do now? Being cold wasn't going to keep you away, and he knows he will only hurt you, and lose someone like you would be dumb. All of his thoughts were making him dizzy, it was too much, he didn’t feel like this in years, and now it just makes him confused, he doesn't know how to deal with this anymore.

—”Look, Simon, it’s okay. You don’t have to agree with what I say. I just want you to know that even if I don't know you too well, you’re already someone I care about.” —You whispered to him, this tone was enough to bring him back to reality. His heart skips a beat at your words, he didn’t deserve you. At least he doesn’t think so.

—”Do you even realize what you’re saying? I’m a stranger at your house. Aren’t you scared?”

—”Not of you.” —A cute smile spreads on your face, and poor Simon, he feels his legs weaker, his heart melt at the same second.

—”You’re crazy. I can’t understand you.”

He’s being genuine on this, he can’t understand how optimistic you are, how cute, pretty, kind you are. And damn, that hairs of yours, the smell makes him insane, he always tries his best to stay away.

—”And I can't understand you as well, we’re even now.” —Simon can’t help but chuckle in disbelief with your words. Oh God, why couldn’t he have a normal life…by your side if that’s possible?

—”Look, [name], I appreciate the help. I should go now, I already messed up your sleep too much.”

—”Wait…can’t you stay just until i sleep? I can’t go back to sleep alone now.”

—”Uhm…sure.” —He looks away, and you giggle. Quickly, you make your way to the couch again and make yourself comfortable there, laying your body and closing your eyes. He watched every movement, not really wanting to look like a perv or something, he wouldn’t ever want to make you embarrassed.

—”Goodnight, Simon.”

—”Night.” —Simon clears his throat, looking while you find a good position to sleep, you look so peaceful. Maybe having him around makes you feel this way. His eyes are glued to your face, so delicate and calm while you breath slowly, it was an adorable sight, he thought to himself. His thick accent was the last thing you heard before falling asleep, quicker than he thought you would. Simon looks around and sees a blanket on another couch, he takes it and gently puts it above your body, making you nuzzle into it as the cold breeze was a problem your sleeping figure didn’t know it needed help. “How stupid” he thinks to himself, he’s a war criminal, why the hell does he have a soft stop for a person he doesn’t even know the age? His strong arms could rip you apart, since you’re so fragile like this. Correcting himself, he could, but he couldn’t even think of doing it, you’re so delicate, he just wants to protect you, not the contrary. He sighs, and notices he’s been looking at your sleeping figure for a long while now. He walks to your door and holds the handle, but something curls on his legs before he can walk outside, it’s your kitten. That lazy female cat who decided to greet the man on his second visit here, her white and orange fur on his gear.

—”Bloody hell.” — Simon caught himself watching his tone for you, not wanting to wake you up. The little kitten meows while twirling around Simon’s legs, he sighs and rolls his eyes up, one hand holds his mask, the other rubs the cat’s chin with his gloves on, so rough, and yet, bent down to caress your cat.

—”Now…let me leave, lil’one.” — His strong accent keeps there, while he…whispers with your cat. He gets up and opens your wood creaky door with caution, giving a head nod to your cat and closing the door when he steps away.

It’s so hard to leave, to leave that warm, cozy, happy place. To meet his dark and cold home, he can only sigh with the thought. Why is it so hard to leave? Why is his heart throbbing? That’s stupid, he’s not a teenager anymore, he’s a grown ass man that can deal with his feelings, he thinks so. He’s only trying to fool himself into that idea, because he knows when he steps his foot inside his apartment, he will crave for the sound of your voice, your warmth and your damn smile, and mostly, your words. So well chosen like you know exactly what to say to make him fall. You’re clever enough for his rudeness. He knows you will be just below, living your life peacefully and he will get back to his miserable life, alone, with his bad thoughts. If only he was open to his own feelings, he would see how fucked up he is now. Already missing you and wanting to stay by your side. His delusional mind wanders to a life together, you would say him goodbye when he’s out for missions, calls him, send letters, and he would keep a photo of you on his pocket, only so when he’s not motivated, he looked at it and remembers why he’s there, to make you safe. He would come back to your arms and stay beside each other, you would see his face behind that balaclava and smile, knowing the real Simon, while he leaves Ghost on the job.

That’s when he comes back to earth, being on his balcony, his balaclava lifted up a little bit as he smokes, taking a puff of his cigarette and sending it back into the sky with a blow. The breeze makes him shiver even with his gear still on, and the thoughts consume himself.

—"I'm fucked up."— Simon realizes when his thoughts wanders too much. He tosses the cigarette on the floor, stepping on it as his raspy voice talks to himself. Going to bed at 6AM, and not even being able to sleep, because his heart decided to throb about someone he doesn’t even know well, his brain decides to play with his sanity once more. He can’t take this feeling growing inside of him, it’s weird. Simon stares at the ceiling, laying at bed, his hands caressing his chest as he feels pain inside, right on his heart. Not even his patched wound would hurt like this.

What is this feeling...is he...falling in love? You leave him in tatters. And even while he's thinking you're perfect, you still have your problems as well, he's not the only one broken, and he will discover this soon.

#fanfic #fictionalslvr #cod mw2 #cod x reader #cod mwii #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #ghost x you #ghost x y/n #ghost x female reader #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #angst #light angst

523 notes · View notes

ofallthingsnasty · 1 year

Text

capture kill

Pairing: M!Werewolf x F!Reader x M!Werewolf Tags: teratophilia, yandere, dead dove: do not eat, noncon, abduction, (attempted) forced impregnation, creampies, chubby reader Word count: 3.8k Summary: Two men are secretly fighting over you.

Unfortunately, you’re about to find out.

Note: This started out as some dialogue that popped into my head and it was a lot of fun to write out the dynamic between these two OCs! Please read the tags properly and enjoy. Requests are open!

You smell before you feel.

The air is ripe with motor oil and wood, just like your family's little shack during summer evenings. An almost musky note lies underneath, mixed with something metallic, rusty - old equipment, maybe? It’s quiet, the only thing you can hear is your own breathing, deep and constant. There is the occasional creak from the boards, expanding and moving against each other in the heat. The wall you're propped up against is hard but warm from the sun - it’s not a comfortable position and the moment you realize it, a familiar ache settles itself in your lower back, clearly a sign that you’ve spent a long time sitting like this.

Did you fall asleep hiding behind one of the shelves with a book in hand, enjoying a lazy summer evening?

It wouldn’t be the first time: The shack is the only place where you can truly be all by yourself - without any disruptions from your family, without anyone asking for you, without any chatter and the constant clatter of dishes or the static of the tv. You’ve always liked to hole up right here, seated on a cushion and with some snacks in hand. You’ve spent many quaint evenings like this, forgetting the world around you.

There is only one problem: You don't live anywhere near your parents' house anymore.

And you’re pretty sure that you were just enjoying your favorite iced drink at the cozy little café around the corner. The thought shocks you from the very last bits of sleep.

It’s dim around you. You can barely make out the rest of your body while an unnatural drowsiness still clings to your eyes - it seems to sit right on top of your lids, weighing down on them like a ton of bricks. You feel so incredibly groggy, as though you’d die if you didn’t fall back asleep this second. A small part of you fights against the feeling - it’s too easy, you think, to just simply give up. Something is off, something terrible churns your stomach around nothing but air.

Rolling up your head, you blink at the ceiling.

Green eyes peer back at you, big and apologetic. They're lined by silvery-white fur, between them a muzzle. Too high above you to be a dog, too broad. The thing is bipedal - more bear in body than canine, with disgustingly big paws that look like they could rip you limb from limb. It eyes you with something akin to curiosity, intelligence clear as day in its gaze.

You blink again, brain trying to catch up with your eyes.

And then it speaks. Awful, garbled words. “I’m so sorry, darling.”

You can’t help but scream.

Or at least you try to, because your mouth won’t open. Your lips are held together by something hard and sticky - duct tape, your mind numbly supplies as if it’s of dire importance.

The thing looks stunned - panicked, even, as far as you can tell from its eyes widening at your muffled protests and your head wildly swinging around.

“Yeah, yeah you’re sorry”, another voice cuts in, only making you thrash around harder. “We get it, you’re trying to save the romantic atmosphere or some shit.”

It comes from the corner of the shack, where a shadowy mass stands, postured leisurely against the wall. It is dark - but there is no doubt that it looks just like the wolf-man in front of you. You feel like you’re hallucinating. As if being abducted wasn’t something out of your worst nightmares already - these animals are so bizarre, your poor brain doesn’t know what to do with all of this information.

“Well, how do you expect me to go about it?”, the one in front of you hisses back, eyes not leaving you for a second.

“It definitely helped the whole fighting thing, dumbass”, the other thing snickers and the wolf-man growls at the mocking tone. “I told you we should have just done the deed when she was out cold.”

The sentence confirms all of your worst fears. You whimper against your makeshift gag, trying to suppress tears. The thing gives you what you think is supposed to be a sympathetic look but it only looks ghoulish on its canine face.

“That’s barbaric”, it says, voice thick with disgust. “Yeah, and this right here is the height of chivalry and romance”, the dark one chortles. “As always, you’re a fucking hoot.”

“Shut up.”

“Well- I’m sure, the missus would like an explanation. So quit yapping and do your little monologue, will you?” “Fuck you.”

It gives the other an irrated look and then takes a step forward. You flinch away from it, only to meet the wall behind you. An attempt at raising your hands in defense is foiled thick rope binding them together - you can only cower behind your forearms, fingers swiping, gripping wildly through the air with what you hope is enough to keep it at bay. The wolf-man looks almost sad at your motion but doesn’t back off - those giant paws wrap themselves around your shoulder with surprising gentleness as it crouches down, completely disregard your attempts at scratching it. The thing holds your gaze with big, sad eyes and takes a stuttering breath. It seems to want to say something but isn’t able to - and the fingers on your shoulder tighten themselves into the fabric of your shirt.

Then it says your name- and chokes up. “I can’t-”, it grits out. “I can’t say it-” “You’ve been preparing your shitty talk all the way up here, grow some fucking balls.”

It whines in response, the sound high and miserable. “She’s going to hate me for this.”

“Oh my god, shut up, Evan!”, the dark one snarls again. “She’s gonna hate you either way, believe me.” Evan. The name rings a faint bell even in your panic-ridden brain. Evan. The baker from your favorite little shop a few minutes down - who has the same green eyes to match this thing. A couple years younger than you and so very sweet like the pastries he bakes - you can hardly believe he is this monster. But clear as day, in front of your own two eyes, the wolf responds to his name and has his eyes - even his blond hair sort of matches its coat, if you squint. You thrash in Evan’s grasp, thoughts rushing through your head. You feel like you’re dreaming and dying at the same time - that thing can’t possibly be a human - and this situation can’t be real, either. It’s all too much, too fast. You’re starting to feel faint.

“I-”

“Fine. I’ll do it myself, cuck.” The other steps forward and you get a better look at him, even through the black and green spots that are sprinkled all over your vision - his dark fur is peppered with silvery streaks, his muzzle turning white from age. One of his canines is chipped and makes him look roughed up, makes him look scarier than he already is.

"You see, sweetheart - me and Evan over here are quite… interested in you. Tried to settle this issue for weeks. But then our alpha stepped in and came up with", he waves his paw around as if to show you something, "this."

"And now we're gonna fuck you and see which one knocks you up first, hm?"

You lose it. Whimpering against the duct tape, you throw your legs around, desperate to fight them off. Some animalistic part of your brain supplies you with the thought that just trying to scream no, no, no against your gag might make them spare you, might make them go away. But Evan doesn’t let up, he keeps his hands on you, heavy and warm.

"You scared her, fucking asshole!", he snarls, teeth bared and fur raised.

“She wasn't gonna like this either way, boy. Some woo-woo words and a little sap won't make her fall for you immediately.”

You thrash around helplessly, efforts futile against the monster holding you down.

"You had the chance to ask her out every damn day when she took her pretty little face to your shop. And didn’t you follow her home sometimes?”, the other one snickers, clearly delighted in picking on his mate.

It makes you stop dead in your tracks and you look at Evan with wide eyes, scared.

The darker one laughs. “Would you look at that. Did I tattle?”

By now Evan’s claws are buried in your shoulder. It hurts, even through the cotton of your t-shirt. Not even your whimpered protest seems to reach him. He looks positively murderous. “See, loverboy over here isn’t as innocent as he’d like you to think. Nasty little creeper, that one.”

“Shut up, Bill-”, Evan grits out.

Bill. Such a mundane name for a monster like him. Unlike Evan, it doesn’t ring a bell - but you’re sure he is a local just like the young bakery worker.

“That's enough”, Bill says, voice suddenly full of authority. “You’re only making this worse for her, boy.” The paw on your shoulder trembles. “At least let me go first.” His voice is nothing more than a whimper now, more reminiscent of a sad child than a fully grown man grotesquely stretched into the body of a wolf. He sounds absolutely pathetic like this and you’d pity him in any other situation.

Bill laughs, deep and ugly. It’s an almost dry chuckle that gets gradually louder. The atmosphere shifts to something more dangerous, more serious - gone is the playful teasing, now it sounds like he’s ready to rip Evan’s throat out with his bared fangs.

“I am your elder. I get to go first.”

Evan doesn’t respond. He just stares at your lap with an indecipherable expression.

“You hear me, boy? Hugh said this was the way to settle things. Trying to question your alpha?” The threat in his voice is clear. Evan finally opens his mouth. “No.”

“Good. Very good.”

He finally lets go of your shoulder and steps aside. Bill doesn’t waste any more time - you’re grabbed by your ankled and roughly pulled onto floor, helplessly flailing your bound hands through the air. He’s on you almost immediately, caging your head in with two thick arms. You can only stare up at him with pleading eyes, trying to beg him to stop with your expression alone.

“Sh, princess”, he says, almost gentle. He bows his head down and nudges the crown of your head. “I can play nice with you, you know? I just don’t like that little cuck over there”

His words do little to calm you.

Whimpering against the tape, you let tears spill freely. You just want to be home, in your bed - just anywhere but not here. “It’s okay”, he murmurs and licks them away with his rough tongue. “You’ll be fine. You’re a little fighter, I know you are.”

A growl sounds from the corner but Bill isn’t fazed. He caresses your face with one clawed finger and crinkles his eyes at you. It’s another attempt at a soothing gesture, another one that doesn’t work.

“Poor thing, hm? Let’s get this over with.”

You can barely cry in protest before he rips your shirt open with sheer force, digs his claws into the cotton like it’s butter. Your skin prickles with fear as he eyes you, soft form and all, like the finest cut of meat he’s ever seen. Gone is that almost-warm expression, that deceptively gentle touch. He’s back to his snickering, old self. “Cute bra, baby. Too bad it has to go.” And with that, Bill slashes the straps and rips the band away. Your torso is completely bare in a matter of seconds, leaving you to shiver on the rough wood, the scraps of your shirt barely shielding your back from the ground.

Evan groans from his place and the sound curdles your stomach.

“Just ignore him, baby”, Bill says and bares his teeth into a ghoulish smile above you. “He’ll have his turn but I’m gonna knock you up and keep you.” With another rip of elastic and cotton, he frees you from your pants. The floor is cold against your skin and you already can feel the splinters that are about to bury themselves into you - but it’s nothing compared to the terror awaiting you. “A little uncomfortable?”, he hums above you. “Sorry about that, babe. Gonna have to do for now.” He stuffs his whole snout into your bush and groans. The feeling is alien, his muzzle warm and wet and you shudder with it. “You smell divine.”

When he pulls back, his dick is unsheathed, hard already. He palms himself while he stares down at you, dark eyes enraptured by your form.

“You’re just-”, he grunts. “About the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen-”

He pinches the fat of your belly with a surprising gentleness, the sting tender.

“Look at you, all soft and round. So perfect for me.”

He leans over and kisses and bites your neck, your shoulder, even your jaw - gently, which only freaks you out more. He really won’t stop, will fuck you in a matter of minutes and you can’t do anything about it. You know you aren’t ready to take him and he is definitely bigger than average in this form. The dread that blooms in your stomach feels like a punch to your gut.

“Deep breaths, princess”, he rasps above you, able to read every single thought that flits through your head in your terror-filled eyes. “Nothing much you can do now.”

As sick as it is, it rings true somewhere deep in your panic-riddled brain. Bill shuffles around a little bit, without ever breaking eye contact. There is a warmth that touches your leg and you know exactly what it is - his cock rests heavy and hot on your skin. Slightly wet with pre-cum, it twitches between your thighs. You barely dare to peek down, not wanting to see what is about to happen.

“I’m gonna enjoy this.” Bill groans, buries his muzzle in your shoulder and pushes himself into you. He is incredibly thick and it burns. The feeling is unlike anything you’ve experienced before - raw fear for your life leaves you dry and clenched uncomfortably around his dick, making him snarl and hiss above you. You can feel your own tightness around him and fold your bound hands into nothing, fingernails digging themselves into your palms.

If only you had something to grasp, to make this more bearable. The only thing you can do now is grit your teeth and take it.

“Oh shit, princess”, he sighs, completely blissed out and without any regard for your pain. To your surprise, he bottoms out slowly and waits for you to adjust - or at least what he thinks adjusting is. You're still not ready when he finally starts fucking you in earnest, slow and deep.

"Fuck-", Bill grits out directly into your ear, his voice muffled. "You got the perfect cunt, baby. So fucking- tight."

You pay little mind to his words, too focused on the steady push and pull, on the dry stab of his cock.

“Knew it when I first saw you that you'd be perfect for me. And I'm gonna-”, he moans obscenely loud as your cunt flutters around him. “I’m gonna fuck you full of my pups- just wait-” The thought of being pregnant with this monster’s child almost makes you weep. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”, he groans, his pace picking up. “My cute little wife. That’s what you’ll be, princess.” The sentence earns him another threatening growl from Evan. He only laughs in response, deep and unspeakably ugly. “Yeah, you’ll be perfect-”, his hips crash into yours as he fucks you even faster, the sound vulgar and loud in the otherwise silent shack. “I’m gonna make sure that this little cuck will cry himself to sleep for the rest of his life. Gonna give you a bunch of brats-” It’s clear that he’s just rambling now, too entrenched in his own pleasure. But the thought still makes you still freeze in fear, the very possible future of being with his child terrifying. He’ll give you at least one, to claim you. Ruin you forever.

You clench around him in fear and he loses it - snarling, drooling and almost hollering above you, he fucks you so hard your head gets pushed into the wall again, every thrust bending your neck into an awkward angle.

You know he has to be close now and you’re grateful for it. One, two heartbeats pass as keeps pounding you so hard you know you’ll feel his dick in you for days to come.

“Oh- fuck”, he grits out as he buries himself into fully, the stretch making you bite your cheeks to bear the pain. “I’m gonna knock you up-” And then he’s spilling himself into you, the hot, wet feeling of his cum deep within you. Bill yelps and shouts as he empties himself into you, various curses and praise peppered in between the moans. It takes him a good minute to calm down again, to collect himself.

Still a little out of breath, he smiles down at you with almost sadistic glee as he licks the side of your sweaty face. “Come on, cuck. Time to get your sloppy seconds.” He’s on his legs in a heartbeat, still marveling at the mess he made just seconds ago. “You better do it quickly because my swimmers are already working their way up there”, Bill laughs and all but shoves Evan out of the way as he goes back to his place in the corner. “Have fun, boy.”

The younger man is by your side in an instant.

“It's okay, honey, it's okay”, he whispers, those big green eyes filled with tears. He tries to soothe you and strokes the top of your head but the gesture only freaks you out more. “This is all my fault, and I'm sorry, so sorry.”

The apology would have been a little more sincere if his dick wasn’t already poking your thigh.

“Oh, darling”, he sighs tearfully. “I’m so sorry it had to be like this- I just- ”, he starts but interrupts himself with a hiccup. “I swear, if I had talked to you sooner-” Not even the snicker from Bill’s corner can snap him out of it. “But I’m gonna make it right. You’ll see, I’m gonna make it up to you, darling”, he babbles on, his words only unsettling you more and more. “You’ll have to forgive me, yeah? You have to.”

He’s a goddamn lunatic.

You can’t help but look back at the older man, almost wanting him to intervene. Before you can make any eye contact, you’re pushed into a hairy chest by a tight hug. “I promise. But first, we’re gonna get through this”, Evan rumbles out above you, making the dread flare up again.

He wastes no time after that. You’re freed from his arms and placed on the ground - gently, but with unsteady hands. He looks as though he’s drooling above you, parting your legs and sniffing your belly with anticipation. His cock seems to be a little smaller than Bill’s, but considerably thicker - it bobs up and down as he licks your stomach, your tits and your neck, his tongue almost shy.

At least Bill’s cum serves as a lubricant, you think, as sick as it is. “My pretty girl”, he hums. “And soon all mine.”

And indeed, the stretch is almost bearable as he enters you. You’re glad he doesn’t reach as deep as Bill does because the speed at which he fucks you is sloppy and fast from the start - he pushes into you with so much need and desperation it knocks the air out of your lungs with every thrust.

“I love you”, he moans. “And we’re gonna- we’re gonna spend our lives together, yeah? I’m gonna take such good care of you-”

He’s talking himself into a frenzy, his words nothing but the lovesick rambles of a freak - they just make you feel more hollow. “Really love you, angel- oh-”

His muzzle opens and he kisses you over the duct tape, tongue pressed against the plastic and spit sliding down to the sides of your face. He doesn't seem to mind, not with the way he moves his jaw against your taped mouth, frantic and uncoordinated. It’s disgusting.

Unable to move away, you can only press your eyes together and let it run down your skin.

“You’ll love me too, I know it. Just know it-”, he pushes your hands onto your chest as a leverage to go even faster. “We were made for each other.” “We’ll forget about this and live happily ever after.” Now he sounds completely delusional.

His twisted little fantasy of domestic life with you only spurs him on, his moans getting more choppy and broken with every slap of his hips against yours. He seems to be a quicker shot than the older man, too hung up on his bizarre dreams and hopes. You thank whatever godly entity out there for it.

“Fuck- darling, I think I’m about to-”, he whines but doesn’t get any further before his orgasm rips through him.

You’re a proper mess now. The second load of cum feels obscene within you, all warm and sticky as it spills out around his dick and onto your quivering thighs. He fucks into you for another few, sloppy thrusts before he stops to catch his breath. Evan looks so calm suddenly - gone are the tears, the shakiness. He gently kisses the top of your head, the gesture tender.

“You lovebirds okay?”, Bill says, his voice suddenly quiet, higher.

Evan’s head snaps again, a weak growl telling the other to stop his teasing. You use the shift to peek up from underneath him, curious as to what changed. A naked man stands in that same corner in Bill’s stead, smoking a cigarette without a care in the world. Salt and pepper hair is fluffed up on his head, slightly greasy - your tired eyes have seen him once, you’re sure of it.

“Like what you’re seeing, babe?”, he grins and whistles out some smoke.

“Leave her be, Bill. She deserves some peace now.” He barks out a laugh, then takes another drag from his cigarette. “Yeah, yeah. I hear you.” Finally, Evan pulls out, forcing out an obscene amount of cum and fluids out of your abused cunt as he withdraws. It lands on the floor beneath you unceremoniously, the noise sickening. He caresses your stomach before he gets up, already contemplating how you’ll look like swollen with his child. “We’ll have to wait a little but she’ll stink like one of us soon”, Bill snickers at the sight, one chipped tooth just as pronounced as it is in his wolf form. He pats Evan on the shoulder in an almost brotherly fashion, both too worn out to fight anymore. Bill stomps out the cigarette with another sigh and stretches as though he is simply a little tired from a long day. He grins before holding the door open, the world outside already dark.

“Don’t worry, princess. We’ll be back tomorrow morning to make it stick.”

End note: And? Who would you pick? Maybe even both? Do tell me 👀💕

#yandere teratophilia #yandere terato #oc x reader #monster x reader #monster x human #werewolf x reader #OC: Bill #OC: Evan

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rosedom · 24 days

Note

Venti my beloved with A, D, I, K, M, V

Did I go to the max? Yes. Is it because Venti is literally my favorite and I'm madly in love with him? Also yes

-🌙

"you have summoned VENTI for the event . . ."

A/N : I AM MADLY IN LOVE WITH HIM TOO !! i can't believe this is my first drabble with him ,, i need to spoil my precious more . . .

✦ㅤㅤA = aftercare (what he’s like after sex, what he needs from his partner)

venti's the absolute SWEETEST during aftercare ,, no matter what happened—even if it's himself who's left all doe-legged and weak—, he'll fuss over you (but please fuss back, he deserves it !). he'll run his fingers through your hair, always needing to touch you in the aftermath. as you're busy running a damp cloth between his legs, he'll be humming, soft, a gentle melody that reminds you that he's here, that's he's happy. after sex, he's always happy, content: that's all you need.

well, that and a bath. it's not proper aftercare with venti if the two of you don't end up swaddled in the hot, bubbly water of a bathtub. he'll always end up in front of you, his back pressed to your chest with your own thighs bracketing his; he'll turn around, too, try n' bathe you and lather you up with softly scented soaps. it will be quiet between the two of you save for the gentle movements of the water and his quiet humming. bathtub cuddles until the water starts to get cold . . . then toweling each other off, dressing each other, and ultimately falling into bed with one another: all part of venti's ideal aftercare agenda.

✦ㅤㅤD = dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of his)

baggy pants and tight tights = perfect leeway to hide a plug. i don't even care: venti is SUCH a sweet lil' anal whore (in the best way possible). i'm not a fan of this word, but there's no other way i can describe how terribly he loves playing with his other hole. there's been many a time where he's kept a plug—small, for when he's out n' about—nice n' snug, a heavy weight in him that he feels as he lounges about. he won't wear it when others will be near, no; but for when he's around windrise? when he's out where nobody will find him? yeah<3

poor guy has definitely gone through a few too many boxer-briefs, tho, the most of them all ruined with his slick when he plays like this . . .

✦ㅤㅤI = intimacy (how is he during the moment? the romantic aspect !)

a poet in the streets and a poet in the sheets. though he may not be in charge, here, venti's still endearingly romantic. he's got an obsession with your heartbeat, too, always trying his damndest to press close to your chest to hear the steady—or labored, depending on if it's your cock thrusting up in him or your fingers—beating of your heart. and even when venti's half out of his mind with pleasure, he'll still find a way to murmur sweet nothings to you: it's all, "I'm—I'm so lucky to have you," and, "i love you, love y—mm !"

as long as he can hear you in any way, he's content: sex-loopy and happy in your arms.

✦ㅤㅤK = kink (one or more of his kinks)

i see a lot of fics talk about a worship kink, but i don't really see it in the way it's commonly portrayed . . . see venti as being a tease about it, of all things, but he would never say, "won't you worship your god?" he would never put himself above you in that way.

but i'm not done. no, not at all. really, he'd melt with body worship—the type he doesn't ask for, but the type you readily give. he'd flush so prettily if you kneel at his feet, tenderling holding and kissing up his tender calves; his blush'd spill down his throat and chest, body so pink in his embarrassment, as your kisses travel higher, higher. he revels in the body worship—only if it's of your own volition—, in the soft presses of your lips against his skin ! it's not a power play, in this way. it's a tender devotion—the same one he shares for you.

and, less poetic: size kink. this guy's body is simply so small. anybody would be large next to him, in him. there's jus' something about a deity's submission . . . somethin' so sweet to me <33

✦ㅤㅤM = motivation (what turns him on and really gets him going)

the littlest of things can get venti's heart beating, but the thing that gets him most, time and time again, is your voice. he's so used to being talkative, for holding up the conversations (which are in no way one-sided ! don't get me wrong ! venti and you are just like that yapper x listener duo<3), that whenever he hears your voice, he always gets lil' butterflies swarming in his belly, a small typhoon of love and lust. especially at night, when he's cuddled into your side as you're dozing off, and you're talking back to him in that sleepy n' raspy voice . . . mmm, you almost know not to talk past 10 because if you do, he'll definitely jump your bones.

he swears he could write sonnets about your voice alone—but, first, he needs you to fuck him silly !

✦ㅤㅤV = volume (how loud he is, what sounds does he make, etc.)

the absolute loudest in bed. you're making him feel good, and he wants to make damn sure you know it (and maybe half of mond while he's at it). it only makes sense that he'd be able to be played like an instrument at that. it's simple: different things make him make different sounds !

for example, suckling at his cock all soft n' sweet makes him gasp, makes each breath leave him shakily . . . his sounds of overstimulation are always hitching cries, these sweet things that come crawled out of his chest. and, god, he always makes the prettiest lil' whimpering whine when you slide in that first finger, right up to the knuckle in his quivering cunt. no sounds of his are truly comparable—they're all gorgeous in their own right, after all—, but my favorite may be the whine he does when you're fucking him, balls-deep and with your own cockhead bumpin' his g-spot, and you reach down to his taint, to his unused lil' hole, all empty n' twitching as his cunt gets all your attention ><

no matter what play you do—nipple, cock, cunt, ass, thigh-grinding, clothed, whatever—, venti is not secretive with his sounds. good thing he's the anemo archon; elsewise, you'd have to have three foot thick walls to prevent him from disturbing your neighbors.

i may have pushed forth my own kink agenda a bit too much . . . haha, oopsies. i'm starting to fall off in the intimacy category 'cos there's only so much i can say without being repetitive between each character/ask o(￣┰￣*)ゞ

6 APR. 2024, @rosedom, rosey .

#ㅤ✦【 EVENT 】#holy moly holy holy yhoylhlyyy barbatos #alphabet #sub genshin #genshin smut #sub venti #venti smut #dom reader #i'm probably gonna start slowing down on these and post some more of my normal fic format drabbles !#got an entirely self-indulgent omegaverse one to post to ao3 soon <3

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lincolndjarin · 9 months

Text

Best Kept Secret

chapter twenty one : te mirci't

ao3 link ✿ series masterlist ✩ main masterlist ✧

pairing : bodyguard!Din Djarin x afab!princess!reader

rating : 18+ mdni

word count : 9.0k

summary : reader does a lot of thinking, and a lot of expressing of said thoughts

warnings, etc. : language, angst, canon typical violence, smut smut smut smut, p in v smut, food play sort of kind of, din djarin nearly creams his pants over the concept of domesticity, sort of a dom/sub thing, switch!reader & switch!mando, din has a breeding kink and it's addressed, reader has like zero chill this chapter, dirty talk, men whimpering (hooray!), light bondage, use of handcuffs, unprotected sex

a/n : ik y'all are hype about breeding kink din but i'm gonna real quick say that i will not throw in like a surprise pregnancy in this fic, cause it hasn't been tagged with that thus far and sometimes it irks me when i'm knee deep in a fic and suddenly the reader is pregnant without warning and it wasn’t tagged,, so yeah. it would be different if i advertised this as a pregnancy fic from the get go but i didn't so i'm not gonna spring that on people. (reader could still potentially end up pregnant at the END of the fic (possibly maybe who knows) but there will not be any surprise pregnancy, sorry!) that's it lmao, just wanted to throw that out there.

“It means I love you.”

You aren’t entirely sure how long you stare at him, looking rather silly with your jaw practically on the floor.

How many times has he said it without you even knowing? How long has he loved you? Maker, your mind is racing as you try to recall when the first time he said it would have been.

You’ve already said it to him.

Albeit you didn’t realize what you were saying but you’d said those words to him. And hearing you say them had worked him up so much that he’d fucked you like it was his last night alive.

He doesn’t seem to have much to say now that he’s dropped that bomb on you. You just stare at each other in this blistering silence for an eternity. Until the smell of burning has you shooting out of bed, scrambling towards the oven as you grab the lone oven mit off the counter, removing the smoking baking trays quickly, propping open the single window above the sink and tossing the ruined cakes under the faucet.

“Kriff.” You lean up against the counter, staring at where he’s currently getting up from the bed to join you. Are you a terrible person if you just ignore it? Because currently the last thing you want to do is think about it. “I’m gonna start a new batch, I lost track of time with this one.” You whisper towards him, never actually meeting that thin black line of his helmet.

“You don’t have to say it back.” He whispers back to you, taking a seat at the table.

You know you don’t have to.

Honestly the pressure of having to say it is the least of your worries. The most troubling part of this situation is the question that now plagues you which is, do you love him?

You rinse out the last batch of batter from the bowl before starting a new one.

You’ve always been so hesitant with him. Even from the start. You wouldn’t let yourself think about him, then you wouldn’t let yourself feel for him, care for him, want him. At one point you wouldn’t even let yourself like him.

So to think about if you love him?

The only thing you’ve ever let yourself do is hate him. And you never even really did that.

“I didn’t mean to upset you.” He leans forward in his chair, his elbows resting on his knees.

Shit. You’ve been quiet for too long.

“I’m fine, sorry, just… upset about the cakes.” You both know it’s a lie. But neither of you says a thing. He just nods. You work in silence, willing your mind to think of anything else as you scrape the burnt cake tin off into the sink before refilling it with the new batch of batter. As you slide the tin into the oven you turn, unable to face him you turn your gaze elsewhere, to the single shelf in his home.

A few days ago when you were here it was covered in assorted pieces of metal and scrap. Now it’s mostly bare. In a desperate attempt to change the subject you walk over, picking up one of the few remaining scraps.

“What happened to all your stuff? You hold a small metal ball between your fingers as he walks up behind you, resting his head on your shoulder as he leans down. You feel the chill of beskar against your skin.

“I used it all.” He’s still being far too vague about all this and you frown, holding the ball up in front of his face.

“You forgot this piece.” He takes it from you as you say it, you don’t remember him taking his gloves off but they are, his bare hands holding it like it’s a precious gemstone.

“This isn’t a part of my secret project,” He murmurs, rolling the ball between his fingers. “this belonged to the kid.”

You have to remind yourself not to pry, that you promised yourself you’d let him talk about it on his own. His free hand snakes around your waist as he stares longingly at the metal piece, you say nothing, giving him the option to go on if he wants. After a brief moment of pause, he continues.

“I tried to buy him a proper toy. Just once. He used to play with this, I thought maybe he was just bored because we spent so much time on the Crest. On one of my jobs I stopped and got him this little stuffed frog toy.”

You think of the frog he picked up from the lake all those moons ago. A pang of sorrow in your chest.

Every time he talks about the kid it seems like he’s talking more to himself than to you, this time is no different. He adjusts himself, standing up straighter so his chin rests atop your head now. He sways you gently to a song that only he hears.

“He tried to eat the damn thing, I tried to explain that it wasn’t for eating but he didn’t seem to care. Once he realized I wasn’t gonna let him eat it he lost interest, threw it into the fresher and went off to find this again.” He sets the ball back onto the shelf and just holds you for a moment. Just when you’re about to reach down to touch the hand he’s resting on your stomach he speaks again, in a whisper, like he isn’t sure he wants you to hear what he’s saying. “I used to worry that he was bored. Spending so much time on the ship with just me, without any of the things a child usually grows up with.” His grip on your waist tightens. “I thought for the longest time that he’d be happier somewhere else. Now I wonder if maybe he was content with what we had.”

The more you let him talk out his feelings the more you realize that deep down Din is one thing above all.

Someone who doesn’t think he is deserving of love.

You turn around in his grip so you’re facing him and don’t hesitate to wrap your arms around his waist, holding him tight. You might not be ready to tell him you love him but that doesn’t mean you can’t show him that he is cared for. He doesn’t move for a moment but eventually holds you back.

He makes no effort to pull away so you don’t either. Staying like that until you have to get the cakes out of the oven before you burn another batch. He follows you in silence as you set the new batch on the table, he reaches for one and you smack his hand away.

“You’re gonna burn your hand, stop that. And I still need to frost them.”

You turn back to the book for the recipe, happy that the two of you seem to be in mutual agreement to not talk about the current situation. As you start pouring the sugar to make the icing you hear a hiss of air, on instinct you turn to face the noise, not realizing until it’s too late that you shouldn’t.

You should feel regret.

But Maker, how could you.

Your eyes fixed on the way he parts his plush lips to take the chunk of pastry he tore off into his mouth, his finger lingering on his bottom lip and that tongue. Darting out to lick his fingers clean. The way the corners of his mouth turn up ever so slightly. You know you shouldn’t look, he’s got the helmet pulled up just enough that you can see the tip of his nose which means he doesn’t even know you’re looking, there’s metal between his eyes and you. You can’t, this is so bad, shit. You just keep finding reasons to not look away, especially now that he’s smiling. You always thought his smile would be condescending, maybe a triumphant smirk, but it’s so… dorky. He’s got such a dopey grin.

Stars, he’s got a dimple.

Are you still breathing?

And you can finally see the facial hair you’ve only ever felt brush up against you. Surprisingly well kept, with a few small bare patches. You want nothing more than to lean forward and kiss each one of them but you’re quickly reminded of how bad this entire situation is as you hastily turn back around. Stirring the bowl in front of you, acting as if nothing happened. Only a few seconds after you’re facing the counter again do you hear the airlock reseal.

You hear a sharp inhale and a part of you worries he knows you accidentally looked but he hisses again before cursing.

“Fuck, that’s hot.” You can hear him breathing heavily through his mouth into the modulator.

Thank the gods.

“I warned you.” You chastise him, turning around and pouring a generous amount of the cinnamon sugar icing onto each of the cakes while they’re still hot so it absorbs into them. “These need to sit overnight in the conservator.”

“Okay, should I put them in now or when I get back tonight?”

You know what he’s really asking.

He wants to know if he’ll be staying with you or coming home alone.

The answer is obvious to you as you nudge the conservator open with your foot, sliding the tins onto one of the shelves.

“I’ll do this now since you won’t be around to. Should we go?” You slip your shoes back on, watching as a bit of tension leaves his shoulders.

“Sure.”

★

It’s a quiet walk back but it isn’t really uncomfortable. You just want to get him back to your room, where he’ll hopefully help you forget about this whole mess.

You waste no time when you get to your chambers. You drag him to the closet, struggling to remove his armor, carefully setting each piece on the floor while he simultaneously lifts your shirt up over your head. Once you have every piece of beskar removed, you find yourself tumbling to the floor as he practically tackles you into the blankets. Both of you fumble for the lamp until finally you manage to flip the switch and it’s like he can’t get the helmet off fast enough because in what feels like a single second, you’re shrouded in darkness, you hear the the sound of air, a thud onto the ground, and his lips are on yours.

You’re waiting for something more to happen, he’d been so urgent just a moment ago but now that you’re here he’s just kissing you.

Of course you aren’t complaining. Every kiss with him feels like a blessing from the Maker themself. You’re just a little surprised.

You had sort of hoped he had plans to ravage you solely for the purpose of distracting you from the question, still searing your every thought, demanding your attention. But instead he kisses you one last time before laying atop your chest, arms wrapped around you. You think about teasing him but there’s something cathartic about this. His willingness to just be with you without searching for more. So you let him.

And when he inevitably falls asleep, his monstrous snores filling the small space, you’re left alone with your thoughts.

Well, thought.

Do you love him?

Do you want to love him?

Loving him means too much.

You tangle your fingers in his curls, in an attempt to soothe yourself.

Loving him is complicated. It means you’ll have to finally answer the rest of the questions you don’t want to so much as think about.

Kids? Marriage? Kodo? Any sort of future.

Loving him puts him at risk.

He’s always been at risk. His choice to love you meant putting his life on the line. Everyday he wanted to be yours was a day that he could be dragged off by one of your husbands unlimited guard members and killed.

Loving him means understanding that you’re on a clock. A clock to get off of Naboo as quickly as possible, to somewhere far away to hunker down. To hide from the inevitable onslaught of search parties that would come after a missing royal.

They’d send bounty hunters.

Kodo doesn’t even like you, but if you ran off with the man he hired to protect you? He would stop at nothing to get you back. The thought of what he would do to Din when he inevitably found the two of you makes your blood run cold.

But you need to push those thoughts away. Yes, they are important but they shouldn’t impact your feelings. Because at the end of the day you either love him or you don’t.

And you can’t even seem to figure that out.

You’ve never been in love before, you don’t really have a frame of reference.

You’ve certainly never felt for anyone the way you feel for him.

Is that love?

If you weren’t already married would you have said it back?

You aren’t even really a wife at this point.

You’re a prisoner.

You aren’t sure when he woke up but he brings you back to reality with a kiss to your chest.

“You should be asleep, princess.” His voice is gravely, still thick with exhaustion. You run your hands along his vast shoulders in an attempt to soothe him back to sleep.

“So should you.” You whisper into the darkness, he hums softly in response.

It goes quiet again. His arms tighten around you and you know he remains awake, every so often he’ll place a chaste kiss to your breast.

Would it be cruel to bring it up again?

At this point he doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest that you didn’t reciprocate the sentiment and you can’t keep fighting these battles alone.

If you love each other, talking about these things is something you would do.

It might be nice. To not be alone with these thoughts for once.

“Din?”

He hums again in response. You feel the scratch of his stubble against your chest as his head turns in your direction.

You should let him sleep. Shut up and not bother him with this.

“What does love mean to you?”

It’s such a corny question but you really are curious.

“What did you say?” For a moment you’re worried you’ve upset him but his tone makes you think he genuinely didn’t hear you.

“What’s it like, to love someone?”

He chuckles softly and a wave of relief washes over you.

“That’s an awfully complicated question, cyare.”

“Okay, then, how did you know?” You purposefully avoid saying the words, “that you loved me.”

“It sort of snuck up on me. It started my first week with you, when being with you started feeling less like a job and more like an honor.”

Does he have to be so good with words? Even in this state, barely awake, he manages to be a goddamn poet.

“Eventually it got to a point where I couldn’t ignore it anymore.” He mumbles his words into your skin.

“When was that?”

“When you gave me a birthday.”

Right before he had ended things.

You don’t have to ask to know now that that's why he did it.

“And that was when you were sure?”

“Yes. That was when I knew I loved you.”

If he’s upset about you not saying it back he doesn’t make it known, he says it so casually.

“What does it feel like?” You run your fingers along the scar on the back of his head.

“It feels like being afraid. There is a certain vein of fear that I had never known prior to meeting the kid, when I los-“ He hesitates. “When he left, I didn’t think I’d ever feel that fear again.” He sighs. “When I met you I learned how to be afraid all over again.”

You sort of understand that feeling.

You felt it when you thought Kodo knew. And you felt it when you imagined Kodo’s reaction to your hypothetical children with Din.

You felt it just moments ago. When you asked yourself if you loved him.

“It’s like all the air leaves the room, replaced with terror. That terror eats away at everything until there’s nothing left.”

All you can think of is the night you found him in the hallway, and you’re certain you’ve never felt that level of fear.

“It’s not all fear though. I assume it’s different for everyone but the fear is only a part of it. For me it mostly feels like devotion and temptation. I know what it is to be devoted, for decades I followed my creed without question, and when I finally did abandon it, it was a matter of life and death, fueled by that fear.”

He sounds half asleep as he says it, like he’s telling himself a bedtime story, and you don’t dare interrupt.

“That’s how I feel about you, except in your case, nothing could make me question my devotion to you, not even a matter of life and death. And as far as temptation goes…” He laughs quietly to himself. “I was unfamiliar with that feeling before you.”

“Temptation?” You whisper to him.

“When will you understand what you are to me, sarad’ika?” He sits up a little, you can’t see him but you feel his nose bump against your jaw as he rests his face in the crook of your neck.

“I know how you feel about me, you tell me quite often.” You’re only half-joking.

“Not how I feel about you, what you are to me. You are so much more than the one I never meant to love, I swear you were created just to tempt me.” You let your hand rest on the nape of his neck as he absentmindedly brushes his lips up against your throat. “If you asked me to remove my helmet, I would.” He murmurs against your throat.

That’s a rather serious claim.

“You could have asked me from the moment I met you. It took time for me to realize I loved you but I have always, been sworn to you.” His fingers trail up and down your torso. “From the moment I first saw you, when you tried to remove my helmet, I promised myself that if you ever tried again, that I wouldn’t stop you.

Maker.

How the fuck do you respond to that?

“We can talk more in the morning. Get some sleep.” He kisses your temple and lays back down against your chest.

He can be annoyingly eloquent when he wants too. You can’t help but wish you were as capable of putting your feelings into words the way he does. Seriously, how are you supposed to top, “When I met you I learned how to be afraid all over again.”

Maybe tomorrow you could try and show him how much he means to you. Since you can’t seem to find the right thing to say, and even if you could he’s already asleep again, snoring at an ungodly volume like he didn’t just profess his profound love to you.

But talking to him helped, from how he describes it, you might just love him too.

★

This morning is much more coordinated than your last.

Din wakes you up before the girls arrive. You have plenty of time to pick out one of the simpler pink gowns in your collection, along with a matching pair of slippers. You leave him there with plenty of time to spare.

The girls don’t question it this time either. Neither of them tries to go into the closet and they waste no time dressing you. Lysa finds you a nice pink nightie from the dresser but you honestly aren’t all that thrilled about it this time around.

It’s getting harder and harder to care about this.

Being dressed up like a doll every day.

Din certainly doesn’t care about what you look like so why even bother at this point? You’re antsy to get back to him and you’re about to hastily thank and dismiss the girls as they finish but Elaine speaks first.

“Princess, would you join me for tea this morning?”

You have no logical reason to refuse and you do enjoy time spent with Elaine.

You just want to be with Din.

But you can’t tell her that.

“Certainly, shall I meet you in the gardens again?”

“I will see you there, my lady.” Both girls give you small bows before leaving. Only a few seconds after they’re gone the closet door opens and there stands your Mandalorian. He makes his way to you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close.

“Shall I escort you to the gardens, my lady?” He leans down a bit so your eyes are level with the line of his visor.

“Lead the way.”

It’s a short walk and you’re once again surprised by how quickly Elaine has set things up, a table and chairs wait for you in the gazebo.

“Do you think you could find something to do for a few minutes on your own?” You say quietly enough that you know only he can hear it as you approach.

He doesn’t respond but as you step into the gazebo he doesn’t follow you in, once you’re seated he walks off into the garden.

“Seems like things are better between the two of you?” She pours you a cup, making it the way you like it before handing you the saucer.

“Much better.” You smile as you take a sip.

“May I speak freely ma’am?” She sets her cup down and crosses her arms, staring at you. Her tone has gotten so serious so suddenly you’re a bit stunned.

“Of course.”

“Lysa and I stopped coming to help you undress in the evenings many moons ago, we stopped waiting for you to summon us.”

What a strange thing to say.

“Okay?” Is all you can manage, still unsure as to what she could possibly mean by that statement.

“Well, my lady, we just assumed you didn’t need the help anymore…” She stares at you expectantly but you’re still giving her a confused look. “You know…” Her eyebrows are raised but you just shake your head slowly, giving her a blank stare. “With getting undressed.”

Oh.

Not much you can really say about that, she’s right, and you hadn’t even noticed because someone else was undressing you. Still, she can’t expect you to outright admit that.

“I don’t need you to say a word, my lady, I just needed to talk to you, to warn you.” Something about her tone makes you shiver, even out here in the sun.

“About?”

“You’ve been reckless, princess.” You set your cup down.

“Spit it out Elaine, you’re making me nervous.” You laugh anxiously but her expression remains stern.

“Kodo won’t take your absence from dinner lightly. And you’ve been too blatant about your friendship with the Mandalorian. You should act with more caution.”

Well, you had wanted her to be blunt, you can’t be too shocked about that.

“He is not a man who takes kindly to disrespect. He will retaliate if you aren’t careful, that’s all.” You nod as she takes a sip of her tea.

That’s all she says on the subject, quickly moving on to another topic.

Her warning was genuine and you’re thankful for it but you push it from your mind. You will right this wrong and attend dinner with Kodo this week.

★

Tea is short after that.

You aren’t in the mood for small talk anymore, you just want to spend the rest of the day with Din.

You whisper a genuine thanks to her before she departs, and you rush over to where he stands in the flowers.

“Cabin?” He asks. Thankfully he doesn’t risk holding your hand in broad daylight but he lets his knuckles brush against yours.

“Cabin.” You follow him towards the pond and once you’re close enough he scoops you up into his arms to keep you out of the water. “Din! What if someone sees?” You whisper yell at him, eyes scanning the vacant gardens.

“This isn’t any less damning than you walking in on your own. Besides, no one’s around, promise.” He pushes open the door before setting you down, locking up behind the two of you. “I’ve lived here for long enough to know that nobody comes out this far except us. Now, what do you want for the rest of the day?” He kicks off his boots and you set your slippers next to them.

It’s past noon at this point, you have nothing planned.

“Do you want to just stay here? I think today I just want to stay here.” You walk over to the bed, lifting your skirt and taking a seat.

“Works for me, I’m going to get some chores done if you don’t mind.” He removes his gloves, tossing them on the table before kneeling beside the dresser.

“I don’t mind at all.” You scoot back a bit to rest against the wall, you’re actually quite curious to see what he’ll do, and you need time to think of how you’re going to show him how much he means to you.

You watch as he takes out different weapons and tech that you don’t recognize. He tosses his gloves to the side and starts methodically cleaning every item.

You’re sort of hypnotized by his attention to detail, it lets you think.

What does he like?

Green, you, the kid, classic ships.

None of those things can really show him how much he means to you though.

He’s setting different things aside as he finishes any maintenance required, every so often he looks up at you before returning to his work. You feel a little useless just sitting here so you get up to take the cakes out of the conservator.

Suddenly you have his attention.

You don’t dare say a word, letting him just observe in peace. He drops whatever he’s working on, you don’t look but you can feel his visor trained on you.

You take the tins out, setting them on the table before finding a dull knife. Each cake is small enough that you can fit your hands around each tin if you hold your fingers in the shape of a circle. You carve each cake out of its tin and he watches you intently the entire time, you can see him in your peripherals.

So he likes… watching you do a shitty job at taking cakes out of tins?

It’s crass but you go through the list of things that have worked him up before. Things you’ve said to get him to give you what you want during sex.

Two instances come to mind.

The time you unknowingly said I love you.

And then last night, when you told him he could finish inside you.

And now? Your head tilts up just in time to watch him adjust himself in his trousers before sheepishly tuning back to his work when you catch him watching you. It takes a second but eventually things start to click.

He likes watching you look at home in his cabin. He likes the intimate feeling of a simple life. Watching you bake, saying I love you, having kids.

Things a normal couple might do.

He tosses something up onto the bed, you stare at it for a moment as he starts putting other things back into the dresser.

Handcuffs.

Thick, padded, and metal.

You know he intends on using them on you but you act fast, hurrying over to him, taking his hand.

“What are you doing mesh’la?” He chuckles as you sit him down on the bed.

This is gonna be a shot in the dark, but if you’re confident enough, (and right) it’ll be worth it.

“Just, let me take care of you.”

“You already take care of me.” He insists, starting to get up but you firmly plant your hands on his shoulders, pushing him back down. Your plan is rapidly forming in your mind.

“I mean it, now stay put.” He sighs loudly but nods, tilting his head to the side in confusion. No sense in being coy, might as well be clear with your intentions to see if he’s actually into it. “Don’t be a baby, I know you get off on this kind of thing.” The moment you say it he scoffs but you’re already across the room, taking one of the little cakes and putting it onto a plate.

“Excuse me?” “His voice is already terribly defensive but you just laugh it off.

“You’re not the only one who can make observations. You think I didn’t notice the way your tone switched when I offered to bake for you?” He starts to argue but you cut him off. “And I’m definitely not going to ignore how quickly you came when I told you you could finish inside of me.” That surprisingly shuts him up. This might actually be the only time you’ve caught him so off guard that he doesn’t have a response.

You bring the plate over to the bed, setting it on his nightstand.

“You like domesticity.” You lean in to whisper to him. “You want me to take care of you, don’t you Mr. Tough Mandalorian?” You can’t gauge his reaction because of the helmet but you can gauge the tent in his pants perfectly fine.

“Djarin.” He certainly doesn’t sound stern now.

“Djarin?”

“Din Djarin.” You hadn’t even realized until just now that you didn’t know his last name.

You straddle one of his thighs, spreading his legs with your knees.

“Well then, let me take care of you, Din Djarin.” You like the way his name feels in your mouth and based on the way his cock twitches against your leg you’d reckon he does too.

He’s always been so open with you and you’ve always kept him at a distance.

Right here right now, if you weren’t dealing with the worst possible circumstances (your husband), you know that you’d tell him you love him, that you ache for him, that you know fear because of him. You know you love him. And you’re pretty sure he knows it too.

You just aren’t ready to say it.

So you’ll have to show it. (And maybe say a few things that you are ready to say.)

You love each other, at the end of the day you can’t keep censoring yourself when you think about him, he doesn’t deserve that.

You want to show him what he deserves.

You reach behind him and grab the cuffs. As you do his hands wrap around you to tug at your corset strings, an act that he’s getting rather good at.

“You gonna put those on for me, mesh’la?” He drawls. Once he’s loosened your corset enough so that you’ll be able slip out of it you lean back again.

“No.” You grin at him and he immediately shakes his head.

“Absolutely not.” He says the moment you start smiling.

“You’re always in charge, just let me be in charge, I’m doing this for you.” You grab one of his wrists but he easily pulls it away.

“You were in charge last time.”

True, but irrelevant.

“Do you love me?” You stick your bottom lip out a little.

“You’re terrible.”

“I know.” But it works, because when you grab his wrist again he doesn’t pull away.

“You know I can get out of these right? Very easily.” He says, watching you close the first cuff around his wrist, removing the belt around his torso and the one around his waist.

“I know that too, but you love me, so you’re going to leave them on until I take them off.

“This feels less like you’re taking care of me and more like I’m your prisoner.” He mumbles.

“Oh hush, you’d be happy either way.” Once again he seems at a loss for words as you cuff his other wrist, he sets his hands in his lap. You smooth out the fabric of his cowl before carefully removing it, folding it and walking it over to the table and setting it down. “I’ll make you a deal.” You say, turning back to face him. “If you don’t like it then I will stop and we can do this your way. But if you don’t then I will assume I was right, and you do want me to take care of you.” You straddle his thigh again and play with one of the releases on his chest plate.

“You’re being purposefully vague. What does taking care of me entail?” The impatience on his voice trails off as you start releasing his chestplate, finding the little locks, undoing them one by one.

“Well… I just think that you like certain things, and I think you’re too embarrassed to admit it.”

“What things?”

You click the last release and remove his chest plate, walking over to the dresser to set it down carefully before returning.

“You like that I baked for you.” You remove his gauntlets, setting them on his nightstand.

“Who wouldn’t like that?” You swear you almost hear him stutter.

“Oh but I think you really like it. Because you know I did it just for you.” You remove his pauldrons and kneel between his legs to remove the pieces of armor on his thighs. “You like when I hold you, you like seeing me here, in your home, in your bed.” You slide his remaining armor down his legs, setting them aside before standing again and spreading his thighs with your knees to slot yourself between them, your hands grip the edges of his helmet.

“Can I?” You whisper.

After a moment's hesitation he nods.

Your fingers snap the airlocks and you gently lift.

Before closing your eyes you allow yourself one peek.

You’re graced with a bashful smile, and you know that it’s okay, so you squeeze your eyes shut and completely remove the helmet, setting it on the bed beside him. Almost as if on instinct he leans forward and you feel his lips on yours as you gently push him back.

“Let me do it, Din.” You laugh softly. “You don’t have to do everything.” You lean forward this time, hands on either side of his face, running your tongue over that bottom lip you wish you could see. “I’m going to take my dress off.” You mumble into his mouth before pulling back, you turn around and quickly slide your gown down your body, you grab the plate on his bedside table before closing your eyes and turning back around. His restrained hands play with the front of your nightie.

“What are you-” His unfiltered voice is like warm honey, deep and raw, but you silence it by putting two fingers from your freehand to where you assume his mouth is. He starts to speak again so you gingerly slide your thumb between his lips and you hear any more questions he might have flicker out.

“Can you go more than five minutes without asking me a question?” The moment you say it his lips purse like he’s going to ask again, you place your thumb over his tongue. Once you’re certain he isn’t going to interrupt your actions again you remove your hand from his face and tear a chunk of the cake off of the plate. “Open.” You laugh softly as you bring your hand towards his mouth, he immediately starts to protest again but you take the opportunity to stuff the pastry into his mouth, you get lucky and actually manage to get it in on the first try.

If you’re being honest, you aren’t completely sure if this is going to work. You’re still acting on a hunch. A very presumptuous hunch, that deep down he wants nothing more than a quiet, soft life.

A home.

Unless of course you’re wrong. In that case you’re going to be rather embarrassed. Which is starting to be a worry as you realize he isn’t moving, two of your fingers just barely past his lips, he still hasn’t moved and you fell you nerves starting to get the best of you, just as you’re about to withdrawal and apologize for the entire silly affair, his lips close around your fingers. You can’t help but gasp at the feeling, accidentally taking a step back in surprise.

His fingers immediately grasp at what fabric they can on your undergarments, trying to pull you closer again. You’re about to say something smug, along the lines of “I told you so.” But you’re stopped dead in your tracks.

Because Maker, he whimpers.

You let him tug you back between his legs. The cold metal of the cuffs brushes against your thighs.

You reach down and tear off another chunk of the cake, his bound hands guide you back to his mouth, which you're shocked to find is still open as you gently feed him. This time you don't flinch back, his lips close around your fingers and his tongue licks them clean.

This is the temptation he spoke of.

You respect his creed. You’ve sort of taken your own creed, a vow to yourself not to look. But right now it takes all of your restraint to not look. Nothing could possibly make you happier than knowing what he must look like right now, lips wrapped around your fingers, trying to pull you closer.

But just like him, you resist those temptations, finally pulling your hand away.

“I told you I’d take care of you.” You whisper, a slight teasing edge to your voice.

“You’re a strange woman, sarad’ika.” He whispers back.

“So you don’t like this?” You tear off a piece for yourself, popping it into your mouth, feeling the icing coat your tongue. You bask in his silence before picking up the remaining pastry, gently feeding him, tossing the plate blindly onto the bed.

The only answer you need to your question is the way his tongue drags across your palm when he’s finished, you waste no time after that to push him down into the mattress. Letting your lips find his.

His mouth tastes just like it did the first time you kissed.

Vanilla.

His arms go over your head, trapping you in his embrace.

“Tell me I was right.” You pull back from him, grinning.

“I wouldn’t exactly go so far as to say that you were right.” His mouth latches to your chin, peppering a trail of kisses back up to your lips but you pull further back, as far as his arms will let you, eyes still shut.

“You’re a terrible liar, you know that right? Because about thirty seconds ago you were quite literally eating out of the palm of my hand.” He continues trying to kiss you to silence you but you keep turning your head to the side, he settles on your jaw eventually.

“That doesn’t prove anything, I’ve barely eaten anything today, maybe I was just hungry.” He mumbles against your skin.

“Mhmm, sure. Are you sure you don’t like playing house? I think you like imagining me as Mrs. Djarin.”

Whoops. Where the hell did that come from?

“Don’t say that.” His voice isn’t playful anymore as he sits up, keeping you in his lap.

“Kriff, I’m sorry Din, that was too fa-” You hear a metal thud behind you on the floor and his hands are no longer cuffed, they hold your waist now.

“If you don’t mean it, don't joke about that.” His breath is hot on your face and his grip on you tightens.

If you don’t mean it.

So you were right.

Your mind screams at you to be rational. You have a husband, there are a million reasons to apologize and to move on from this.

Stop using the husband that was forced upon you as an excuse.

You can’t keep holding back when it comes to Din. It isn’t fair to him. Not when he gives you everything.

“If I do mean it, can I joke about it?” Your voice is the quietest it’s been all day.

He takes your hands and brings them up to his face, so you can feel him nod.

“I’ll keep joking about it if you tell me I’m right. I’ll joke all night long.” You laugh a little as he brings one of your hands to his mouth so he can kiss your wrist.

“You’re right.”

You can’t help yourself.

“About?”

“I like this.” He drags his lips down your arm before dropping it. “I like when you take care of me.”

“Turn the lights off.” He doesn’t hesitate once you say it, the curtains are all already closed

Once the lights are off he flips you onto your back, you hear everything on the bed clatter to the floor as he tosses it aside.

His bed is lower than yours so his hands grab you by your hips, lifting your bottom half into the air a little, making you squeak in surprise.

“Tell me another joke.” He says under his breath as he spreads your legs so he can grind his still clothed erection against you.

“I thought you were going to let me take care of you?” You scoff at him, hearing his zipper.

“I am,” You gasp as he drops you back down onto the mattress, climbing on top of you. “I’m letting you tell me jokes.” You can practically hear his grin as he guides the blunt head of his cock into your folds. Lazily rubbing it against your clit and leaning down to whisper to you. “You started this with all your talk, is that all it was? Talk? I thought you said you meant it?”

You’re trying to remember how he got the upperhand so quickly but it’s hard to concentrate when he keeps nudging himself against your most sensitive spot.

Everything always happens so fast with him, just once you’d like to turn things around on him and have it work.

“I-I meant it.” Is all you really manage to get out, he brings his cock down a bit to tease your entrance, never actually pushing in. His voice has that condescending tone to it that tells you he’s willing to play this game for a while and you hadn’t really factored in just how aroused you’d get during your display a few minutes ago. You’re soaked and there’s a good chance he’s going to draw this out in retaliation. He swipes his tip back up to your clit, the both of you hiss in unison.

You still have one ace up your sleeve as you recall your conversation from last night.

“So you liked one of my offers?”

“I might have been interested in one of them”

One thing you know he wants.

“Come on, sarad’ika. Where are your jokes?” He chuckles against your skin as he kisses your shoulder.

“I was just trying to think of a baking joke. Can you give me a second?” You gasp out as his free hand reaches underneath you to squeeze your ass before coming up to rest on your hip.

“I know you can do better than a baking joke.” You can feel him grin against you now, his teeth lightly graze your shoulder.

“It’s a shame, you would have liked it.” He goes back to teasing your entrance, pressing himself into you just enough to make you squirm but not enough to actually be inside you. You try to shift your hips downwards but his hand keeps you pinned in place.

“I liked your jokes about Mrs. Djarin.”

It’s now or never.

“Well you liked my cooking as well, so I thought I’d make a joke about a bun in the oven, you’d like that wouldn’t you? Filling me u-”

His hips buck forward and his grip on you tightens to the point of a sharp pain. To seemingly both of your surprises, in an instant he’s buried nearly to the hilt in your heat.

“Maker, Din!” You’re gonna have a brand new set of bruises tomorrow.

“Sorry! I, fuck- sorry.” He’s grunting in your ear, not bothering with your shoulder anymore, burying his face into the pillow next to your head.

“Dank farrik, Din…” You’re reeling from the sudden motion, your head tilted back into the mattress. You need to catch your breath but the muffled groans coming from him distract you. The sting from the sudden stretch you're experiencing is quickly fading and you bring your hands up to his head, one resting in his hair and the other at the nape of his neck.

He wanted to make this a game so you’re going to play, and you’re going to win.

You’re still panting a little as you turn your head to the side so you can whisper into his ear.

“Stars Din, it’s that easy to get you worked up, huh?” His breathing is starting to level out, his grip on you lightens up. “I thought I was easy to rile up but look at you, all this just at the thought of a bun in the oven.”

He isn’t making noise anymore, he’s still against you, listening intently as you run a soothing hand down his spine and back up again.

“I can’t imagine what you’re going to be like when you actually get me pregnant.”

You’re surprised by your own words, like your brain is on auto-pilot and you can’t filter yourself but he fucking whines so you don’t care in the slightest. High pitched and needy, muffled by the pillow. His hips start slowly rocking into you and you bite back your moan, wanting to maintain your advantage.

You tangle your fingers into his hair, pulling his head out of the pillow, savoring the whimper that comes from his as you do.

“Oh come on, you can’t even handle the thought of it?” You breathe out the words and his head falls downwards as you release him, he bites your shoulder. “What does it for you?” He unclenches his jaw, starting to bury his face back into the pillow but you pull him back up again.

“Is it just the idea of finishing in me?”

He doesn’t answer, to be fair you’re barely holding it together either at this point.

“Or do you just want everyone to know I’m yours? Want everyone to see that you knocked me up?”

You get your answer with that because he’s trying to bury his face back into the pillow. A low wail leaves his lips as he frantically ruts into you. How quickly everything’s escalated has you hurtling towards your climax and you can tell by the desperate whine that leaves his lips as he presses them into your collar bone that he won’t be far behind.

“I know you can do better than that, Din.” You mock his tone from earlier but he’s unfazed, pounding into you until finally you can’t tease him anymore because he’s reduced you to gasps and moans.

It doesn’t take long after that.

One after the other.

You first, when his hand travels downwards, it takes only a few precise circles rubbed into your clit and your grip tightens in his hair, your walls flutter around him.

Just like that he’s going over the edge with you.

He pulls out, finishing on your stomach.

You shouldn’t feel upset but there's the tiniest bit of disappointment as you feel his cum against your skin.

He collapses onto the bed next to you, pulling you into his arms.

“I love you.” He presses a kiss into your hair.

“I know.”

★

You sit in the quiet dark for a long while, until finally, you have to ask.

“Do you actually want kids someday?” Your voice breaks the silence of the pitch-black room. “Little Djarin’s running around?”

He rolls over so he’s hovering above you now.

“Are you trying to start round two?” He chuckles, resting his forehead against yours, your nose bumps against his. “I’ll need a few more minutes before I can go again, sarad, but I can keep you occupied until then.” He kisses you quickly, already starting to move his mouth south but you stop him.

It’s so effortless right now. To be happy with him, in the darkness, pushing away thoughts of royal responsibilities. Letting yourself be with just Din, even if it’s brief.

“I’ll take that as a yes?” You ask.

“Yes. Someday.” He kisses your sternum, laying down on your chest.

“With me?”

“No, with Elaine.” You smack the back of his head when he says it, he laughs against your skin. “Yes, with you.”

You let him lay on top of you as you nod to yourself.

“Is it weird that everytime we have sex it turns into a competition?” He starts to laugh once more as you say it.

“It’s weird that you keep losing.”

You smack him again.

★

Your peaceful break from reality is brief, as always, as you sit up.

“We have to go. I can’t be out all night.” The last thing you want to do is return to your room right now, you want to stay here, the cabin feels more like home than any room in the castle ever has.

He seems as unhappy with this as you are. The two of you dress in silence once he flicks the lamp back on, you turn around until you hear him reattach his helmet.

You hold his hand on the walk back. You don’t have much to say right now, you’re certain at this point that you’ve made it clear that you love him.

That you just aren’t ready to say it.

And he doesn’t seem to mind.

You’re ready to just sleep. Your blanket nest seems more and more inviting the closer you get to the castle.

The two of you sneak in through the back entrance and as always the castle is quiet at night. You keep your hand in his as you make your way up the steps.

It isn’t until you get to the hallway where your chambers are located that you hear it.

A persistent banging sound and someone yelling incomprehensibly.

Din immediately drops your hand.

Neither of you speaks as you walk but he shifts himself so he’s walking ahead of you, as you get closer you recognize the distinct, nasally voice.

In the dim light of the hall you see Kodo, banging on your bedroom door.

“Wife, come now, you can’t ignore me, I’m your husband.” He hisses, you can smell the alcohol on him from here.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

“Kodo, are you okay?” You plaster on a faux look of concern as you approach, Din tries to put his hand up to stop you but you ignore it.

He turns to stare at you, his clothes are askew and he isn’t even wearing his crown.

“Wife! Where have you been?” He slurs, leaning in for a kiss that you sidestep, he doesn’t seem bothered by your rejection.

“I went on a walk.” You answer quickly and he takes hold of your waist, you try not to look too repulsed.

“You skipped dinner yesterday, dear wife.” He teeters a bit, leaning towards you as you again try to avoid his kiss but this time he holds you firmly in place, it’s sloppy and you have to wipe a bit of spit from your face after.

“I did, I wasn’t feeling well.” Your voice is getting smaller and smaller as you feel fear bubbling in your chest.

“Where are your guards?” There’s no respect in Din’s voice, no “your highness” or “your grace.” No one speaks to Kodo that way, not even you, but he’s too drunk to even notice.

“I dismissed them, as is customary when one is visiting his bride’s chambers.” Kodo lurches forward, his hands sloppily grope the fabric of your skirt and you make an audible groan of discomfort.

“We should get you back to your own chambers, come now dear husband.” You try to sound patient, you know he’s capable of violence and you don’t want to push him in this state.

“Why would we do that, wife? Come now, tonight I shall join you in bed. I missed you last night.” He hisses the words and you know he didn’t miss you in the slightest, this is a punishment.

This is what you get for disobeying.

For skipping your dinner with him.

This is the inevitable thing that has made you unable to tell Din you love him. This looming promise of Kodo.

There’s nothing you could possibly do right now to escape the fate before you. The fear you feel right now is certainly not the fear of love that Din described to you.

But that quickly changes.

You don’t get a chance to react as Din takes a step between you and Kodo, he doesn’t even wind up, he just drives his fist forward and you hear the sickening crunch of your husband's nose just before he slumps to the floor.

As you stare at Din, you know your fear has changed. His shoulders heaving, his rage fills the corridor as you listen to his ragged breaths through the modulator. He turns around to face you, but you just stare at his hand, where the evidence of this potentially deadly mistake is dripping down his fingertips. You have never been more terrified for another person's life the way you are right now for Din.

You’re mesmerized by the little speckles of your husband's blood, a stark contrast to the yellow fingertips of his gloves.

And suddenly it feels like all the air leaves the corridor as you finally look into his visor, you don’t see Din though, all you see is what they’re going to do to him for this.

I am no longer doing taglists so follow @lincolndjarinnotifs and turn on notifications to be notified when new chapters are posted !!

#lincolndjarin #the mandalorian #best kept secret #bks #din djarin #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian x you #din dijarin x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin fanfiction #mandalorian smut #din djarin smut

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dailyadventureprompts · 8 months

Text

The Mechanics of Baldur's Gate 3

As someone who's constantly tinkering with the mechanics of my favourite RPG, I LOVE a lot of what Larian has done with D&D; not only accurately translating the base system but improving upon in ways I never thought of.

Playing BG3 feels good, and I want to see how much of their work I can adapt for my own table. As such, here's a breakdown of a bunch of little tweaks they've made to 5e (taken from the bg3 wiki) and whether or not I think they're a good fit for regular pencil and paper d&d.

Shove is not a part of the attack action. It is a bonus action available to all characters. Shove only pushes the target back an amount that depends on the shover's strength and the target's weight. It normally does not knock them prone unless they are shoved off a high ledge.

This might be THE best design Larian implemented and is instantly going in my games. Bonus action shoving is such a natural addition to combat, gives so many more tactical options. My one protest is that I am NOT calculating the weight of every creature and object ( mainly because I'm terrible at guessing weights for things) so I'd go with the distance calculation based on the creature's size and con score.

Gaining inspiration based on backgrounds

Gee, a mechanical reward for roleplaying your character, one that's way more straight forward than the DM arbitrated "ideals, bonds, flaws," system. From now on I'm going to give each of my players an upfront " You gain inspiration when you ______" note on their character sheet based on their backgrounds.

The party is limited to two short rests per long rest. Short rests restore each ally's hit points by an amount equal to half their maximum HP (rounded down). There is no hit die rolling. Long rests require camp supplies, which are food items that must be looted or purchased. In towns you will be able to rest at an inn.

This is a mixed bag for me only because I like hitdie as a mechanical abstract and I don't want to see them removed. Tbh I wish more mechanics interacted with them and they were called something abstract like "stamina" or something. That said I ADORE the camp supplies idea because it not only gives you something minor to reward exploration with besides GP. On the otherhand tracking all those supplies without the game's inventory management would be tedious as hell so it'd need to be highly simplified.

I especially like the idea of limited short rests/supplies in larger survival based adventures where time isn't at a premium like it is inside a dungeon.

If you hide while not in a creature's sight cone, you automatically succeed. If you try to hide while in a creature's sight cone, you automatically fail. If you are hidden and enter a creature's sight cone, you must roll stealth against the creature's passive perception. This may be a straight roll, advantage, or disadvantage, based on the creature's senses and the level of lighting. Some creatures with different senses such as blindsight may follow different rules

Congrats on fixing stealth rolls Larian. No notes.

LOTS more opinions under the cut.

When a creature is at least 10 ft above their target and makes a ranged attack, they receive a +2 bonus to the attack roll due to high ground. When a creature is at least 10 ft below their target and makes a ranged attack, they receive a -2 penalty to the attack roll due to low ground.

This is fine, and quite inline with a lot of fixes I've seen for flanking rules. I'm fine with a little extra battlefield math in order to make moments of advantage (spending inspiration, reckless attacking etc) shine.

The game does not stop a character from casting a leveled spell with both an action and a bonus action

Mixed on this, on one hand I've played enough clerics to know how much it sucks to have to use your bonus action to do a necessary spell and then be stuck with a so-so cantrip or melee attack for standard. On the other hand there's some design balance issues at play here.

Help is an Action. This ability allows characters to aid an ally in combat and remove negative Conditions. Using the help action on a downed ally brings them back to 1 hit point and leaves them prone.

Love the idea of help doing multiple things AND being a solution to minor status conditions. and giving everyone the ability to help means I can be a lot more aggressive when it comes to knocking character to 0. if I had to further patch this, I'd say that this also allows for a medicine check to allow a creature to spend a hitdie when they're downed, or allows the helping character to make a "SNAP OUT OF IT, WE'RE YOUR FRIENDS" charisma roll for charmed allies.

Jumping is a bonus action which consumes 10 ft of movement speed. With a Strength score of 10 or below, a creature can jump 15 ft, and this increases by 5 ft for every two points in strength above 10. At 20 Str a creature may spend 10 ft of movement speed and a bonus action to jump, and can travel 35 ft effectively increasing the creature's movement speed by up to 25 feet.

This, combined with the prone rules (see below) is JUICY, as it allows for risk-reward battlefield mobility . That said I'd add some caveats/clarifications: The jump always succeeds in moving you, but if you're taking damage, jumping up or down more than 10ft, or into rough terrain you need to make an acrobatics check not to beef it and fall prone (ending your turn). Your jump is likewise a buffer for how far you can willingly fall before taking damage, but if you fall after your jump, you always land prone.

Weapon actions, 'nough said.

It's more complexity than I'd give to first time players but HOT DAMN if it isn't a great idea to give the martial characters some options instead of just making the same attacks over and over again. I've actually been sockpiling 3rd party versions of this for a while now and I can't wait to add them in.

All The conditions are great:

Blinded: In addition to the other effects, ranged attacks are limited to 15 ft range. Blinded creatures can also make opportunity attacks.

Frightened: Creatures which are frightened are unable to move at all (rather than being unable to move toward the source of their fear), unless the effect instead makes them "fearful" which gives them the frightened effect as well as making them flee.

Prone: Being prone gives disadvantage on Strength and Dexteritysaving throws, attacks against a prone creature have advantage out to a range of 10 ft rather than 5 ft, and ranged attacks against a prone creature do not have disadvantage. Your character cannot do anything while prone. Starting the turn while prone will cause you to automatically use half your movement to stand up. Becoming prone during your turn automatically ends your turn.

Wet: This is a new condition that prevents the character from burning (e.g. from Searing Smite) and grants resistance to fire damage, but also makes the creature vulnerable to lightning and cold damage

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #d&d mechanics #dnd homebrew #homebrew mechanic #dnd #dungeons and dragons #d&d #ttprg #pathfinder #yes I know I misspelled the title

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inbloomwriting · 10 months

Text

a calm surrender II Roy Kent

Plot: Roy doesn't love her. In fact, he finds her irritating above anything else. And yet he manages to tell her in so many different ways.

Pairing: Roy Kent x female reader

Warnings: A lot of swearing, mentions of food and alcohol. Reader takes Keeley's spot in some plot points - no disrepect to her though she's my favorite.

Notes: This is inspired by a "100 ways to say I love you" List. It’s 8.3k words, It's a big one.

Likes, reblogs, comments are all much appreciated. I am German. Sometimes I get the tense wrong or make mistakes. I am useless when it comes to punctuation. Go easy on me, please

"It's enough for this restless warrior Just to be with you"

Take my jacket, it’s cold & You can have half

She’s irritating. Everything about her manages to get under his skin. The way she’s always smiling that big radiant smile of hers or the perpetual scent of jasmine and vanilla that seems to follow her anywhere. She laughs too loud, she’s a terrible driver and even worse at parking. The music coming from the physio room is mostly cheesy 80s and 90s pop songs that make Roy want to give himself a lobotomy. She’s irritating in every which way you look at it — and maybe that’s the exact reason why Roy can’t keep himself from looking at her.

Tonight is no exception. For some inexplicable reason, his eyes manage to find her across the room and in the crowd, every single time without fail. It’s not like it’s a conscious choice on his part either. It just happens. That sparkly green dress of her’s just seems to call out to him like the damn light across the bay at the Buchanan’s dock.

And the worst part is that she noticed. She caught his eyes on her more than once, even had the audacity to smirk back at him. During the auction, for a small moment, he thought she might bid on him when her hand just barely twitched and her eyes held a sense of infinite mischief. She didn’t though and for a second he could feel a string of disappointment pull at his heart. Not because he wanted her to bid on him or anything, he just wasn’t particularly fond of the idea of having to spend time with Cheryl Barnaby.

He managed to find her across the room all night — except for right now. Everyone’s on the dance floor. Keeley, Jamie, Ted, even Beard. But not her.

No one’s paying attention to him right now, if he were to just slip out of here, no one will notice.

It’s not like he wanted to be here in the first place. Sure, raising money for underprivileged children is something honorable and he would never let his own disdain for overly glitzy social events get in the way of doing the right thing. Doesn’t mean he has to like it though.

Emptying his glass with one last sip he grabs his jacket from the back of the chair and steps out into the chilly air of a London night.

It’s funny, really, how the moment he stops searching, the green light calls back out to him and she steps into his vision. A glowing beacon of refuge, guiding ships through dark nights to safe shores.

The cold air nips at her skin, sharp and vicious and Roy doesn’t even have to get any closer to her to notice that she’s shivering. He can barely suppress the urge to roll his eyes at her. Of course, she’s cold, she’s only wearing the dress and some flimsy chiffon scarf thing around her shoulders. That’s gonna do fuck all to shelter her from the cold. Irritating. She’s so irritating.

The most irritating part though, is that he can’t help but slip out of his suit jacket. The most irritating part is that he can’t help but care.

“Take my jacket, it’s cold.”

There it is again, that smile of hers. The one he sees sometimes when he’s about to fall asleep. How ridiculous, he thinks, how foolish of him. How absurd it is to fall asleep to the image of a smile belonging to a girl that annoys him more than anything and anyone. (Except maybe Jamie).

“Are you — are you talking to me? Little old me? Are you being nice to me?”

“Jesus fuck, don’t make it weird. I’m always nice.”

She giggles and it’s bloody adorable. So adorable that a smile threatens to pull the corners of his lips upwards. See? Fucking irritating.

“You hardly talk more than 3 words to me when you’re in the physio room but — okay. If that’s your version of nice.”

“Take the jacket or not, I don’t care. I’ll let you freeze out here if you’re trying to be difficult. Means fuck all to me.”

That’s not true. They both know it. No matter how much Roy tries to deny or hide it, there is a soft heart buried inside the rough exterior. He just can’t risk showing that to everyone. Can’t have people getting the wrong ideas.

“No, please I — sorry I’m just — you make me nervous and when I’m nervous I talk a lot and then most of what comes out is just stupid nonsense or deflecting humor or something. I would really appreciate that jacket. It really is fucking freezing.”

Roy has been in the public eye for years now, he’s used to people being intimidated, nervous. Usually, it’s strangers though, people who don’t know him. Those that do, that work with him, usually lose that feeling pretty quickly.

“Why the fuck would I make you nervous?”

She just glances at him before turning her face back towards the street “Have you seen yourself?”

He’s not sure how to take that. Is it a compliment? Does she think he’s handsome? It’s not like it matters to him really. In fact, the thought that she might find him attractive is — say it with me — fucking irritating.

He contemplates asking her outright if this is something she does on purpose. If she’s deliberately trying to rile him up. The words are on the tip of his tongue when he notices her shiver once again and all that was on his mind vanishes against the desperate need to keep her warm.

“Jesus. Let me just — “

Jasmine. Vanilla. He smells it when he slips the jacket around her shoulders. He wonders if his jacket will smell like that, like her, when he gets it back. Wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. Not because it’s her or anything — just because it smells fantastic and Roy is not one to deny himself the simple pleasures in life.

“I really appreciate it, Roy.”

And the gratefulness with which she says it is not irritating at all. It’s endearing. It’s flutters-in-his-tummy kind of wonderful.

Instead of reacting like a normal, reasonable person with a simple “you're welcome”, he gives her one of his signature grunts. That’s as good a normal reasonable reaction as anyone can expect from him, really.

“What are you out here all by yourself for anyway? Trying to get kidnapped or something?”

“No,” there it is again, the giggle. Ugh. “ I’m waiting for my Uber. He’s — “She checks her phone, illuminating her face with the harsh blue light. He thinks she looks wonderful either way. Then scolds himself for thinking it. Some simple pleasures he has to deny himself. “ 12 minutes away.”

Roy isn’t quite certain whether or not he considers himself a good person. He tries to be, it’s a conscious effort each and every day. He helps out his sister, he gives in to all of Phoebe’s wishes even if it means having to play the princess yet again and never getting to be the dragon. He donates more money to charity than the press is aware of, leaves hefty tips whenever he goes out to eat and though he does swear a lot, he still tries to be polite if he can.

He tries to be a good person and a good person doesn’t let a woman wait outside in the cold dark night by herself. No matter how infuriating she is.

“Do you mind if I keep you company? Couldn’t live with myself if you got snatched up and I was the last person to see you alive.”

A laugh tumbles from her lips. A step up from a giggle and god does it send shockwaves through his traitorous heart.

“The press would have a field day if that happened. I can see the headlines, ‘Football legend Roy Kent involved in the disappearance of Richmond sports physio’ and then they use a picture of you from like 10 years ago with the really bad long hair that makes you look a little sketchy.”

“I didn’t look sketchy.”

“You looked a little sketchy.”

Roy glances at her through the corner of his eyes. She really is a dream in forest green, the sequins, and rhinestones reflecting the street lights like little kaleidoscopes. He’s almost certain he’ll dream in shades of green tonight. He’s sure he’ll see her smiling face.

“You look beautiful.”

The words fall from his lips before he can stop them and it makes him want to put his head through a wall. Fuck.

“Thank you —” she replies bashfully, “do you want some sausage roll?”

In all the scenarios running through his head of how this conversation could’ve gone, this is not one of the outcomes he expected.

“What?” he asks, one eyebrow raised in question.

“Do you want a part of my sausage roll?” she chuckles and pulls a brown paper bag from her sparkly clutch bag. “I wasn’t sure if they were gonna actually feed us or just serve us rich people portions so I brought backup. You can have half if you want.”

She breaks the flaky pastry in two and holds one piece out to him. Even her nails are painted to match the dress. If he was any worse a man he would risk it all for just one taste of her and whatever black magic she possesses that gets so deeply under his skin. He is a better man than that tough, so he settles for a taste of the sausage roll.

“You’re a strange woman”

“Strange or smart?”

Taking a bite from the sausage roll, buttery and flaky and greasy, he must admit she has a point.

“Bit of both.”

“I can live with that.”

Silence settles upon them, well as silent as a London night can be. It feels weirdly comfortable. No expectations to be someone or do something. Just her and the city and the fucking Greggs sausage roll.

And — Elton John?

“Oh, I love that song!”

A string of pink lights adorns the top of the rikshaw as it turns the corner, loudly blasting Can you feel the love tonight. The driver catches sight of them and Roy can’t suppress the annoyed groan slipping its way out.

“Good evening can I interest you lovebirds in a — “

“No, fuck off!”

Elton’s voice gets quieter and quieter as the startled driver rides his rickshaw further away and back into the inky black of the night.

Lovebirds, he called them lovebirds. Thought the two of them were anything other than acquaintances. People pushed together by circumstances and coincidence. As if anything between them could ever happen. She’s already getting under his skin, sticks around his thoughts, and ghosts through his head without him ever giving her permission to do so. She’s all he can think about lately and yes he knows it sounds repetitive but god it’s so damn irritating.

“I would’ve liked to hear the rest of the song.”

Roy scoffs “Figures.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

He turns to face her and, for the first time since he’s stepped out of the building and into this tiny bubble they’re sharing for just this fleeting moment, he looks at her. Really looks at her. With her sparkly dress and her lips painted a deep red like candy apples. With flakes of the pastry sticking to her lower lip and his jacket wrapped around her looking almost like this is where it’s always belonged.

He’s never had a heart attack before, he wonders if this is what it feels like.

“You play the worst fucking music when you’re working in the physio room.”

“Uh — are you insulting my taste in music? Are you really out here insulting the legend, sir Elton John? The Lion King soundtrack is a religious experience, okay?”

He hates that he can clearly tell by the glimmer of mischief in her eyes that she is joking more than anything. He shouldn’t be able to tell. Mere acquaintances can’t do shit like that.

“No, in fact, it’s a pretty fucking great movie. It came out when my sister was a kid though and I had to watch that shit a million times. You know how traumatizing it is having to watch Mufasa die over and over again?“

She grants him a look of understanding and shrugs her shoulders in agreement “At least it’s not Frozen, eh? “

“I have a 6-year-old niece.”

Roy Kent has a lot of things in his life that he takes pride in. His career and talent, all the hard work he put in to be where he is today. He takes pride in being a good brother and a loving uncle and maybe even a good friend and leader.

Making her let out a snort as she laughs at his Frozen-induced misery? That might be his proudest achievement to date.

“I’m glad you find my suffering amusing.”

“What can I say? You’re a funny guy, Roy Kent. So funny in fact that I almost bid on you at the auction.”

He wants to let out the most guttural scream in the existence of mankind. She can’t just go ahead and say stuff like that. Not when he is trying so hard to keep their interactions at the most basic level. Not when she already haunts his dreams. She’s irritating, Roy. Not charming or lovable or — beautiful. Or maybe she is all those things but most of all she’s annoying and infuriating and — oh he’s so fucked.

“Why didn’t you?”

“Oh, well I’m just a measly sports physician. Don’t get me wrong, it's good money but I don’t really earn quite enough to throw thousands of pounds at a man to have him spend time with me.”

He’d do it for free. Hate every second of it, naturally. But he’d do it for free.

Can’t tell her that though. Never. So once again he just grunts.

A silver Toyota pulls up to the curb, effectively bursting their little bubble of comfort as the driver leans down to look out the window. “You (Y/N) ?”

“Yes, that’s me.”

She makes a motion to slip out of the jacket, only for Roy to step in and hold it closed, keeping it in place, wrapped around her, and shielding her from the cold.

“Keep it,” his voice comes out all rough and husky. More than usual. It’s probably the jasmine scent getting to him, clouding his every sense. “Don’t want you to freeze on the way home. Just give it back another time.”

“Oh, okay. Well, thanks again. Goodnight, Roy.”

He opens the door for her and closes it softly once she’s settled into the car. Roy tries so hard to be a good man, a good person but in that moment all he wants to do is be a little bit worse, just a little bit. Just enough to rip the door open again, pull her out of the seat and kiss her stupid.

Instead, he wishes her a good night and sends her off before stepping out into the night himself. There is a smile playing on his lips all the way home and it’s so fucking irritating.

I was in the neighborhood & It’s okay I couldn’t sleep anyway

The door leading to her apartment is bright red and there is a little white sign and the picture of a dog with huge fucking ears that reminds him of Gizmo from the Gremlins. It says “Beware of the dog — might cuddle you to death.”

It’s cheesy as hell. He loves it.

He’s not quite sure how he ended up here. Losing is never fun. Feeling yourself slowly becoming unable to do the things you love, the things you were good at, and actively playing a part in your team losing? That’s absolutely mortifying.

Of all the places he could’ve gone, all the people he could’ve seen — he ends up in front of her door. Red and shiny like her lips that night.

It’s almost 1am and all things considered, this is a really dumb idea. She’s probably asleep and waking her up would be fucking rude. He should just go and forget this ever happened instead of knocking on her door in the middle of the night. That’s what the rational part of his brain tells him at least.

Roy was never really good at listening to the rational part of his brain.

Tiny barks, no doubt belonging to the dog on the sign, echo through the hallway before the door swings open just enough for (Y/N) to look at him with tired eyes.

“Roy?”

“I was in the neighborhood I — I didn’t mean to wake you. I’m sorry.”

It’s not a lie, really. He was in the neighborhood. He walked here specifically to knock on her door and see her.

“It’s okay, I couldn’t sleep anyway.”

Now that is most definitely a lie. Her eyes are sleepy, her hair disheveled and he can just about make out the pillow print on her cheek.

“Do you want to come in?”

He does. He shouldn’t but he really does.

The apartment is small but it feels cozy rather than cramped. The walls are lined with pictures, little reminders of happy moments and people she loves.

There’s one of him too, well him and Isaac and Sam and then her at the end of the line. He thinks it was taken at some get-together after a particularly hard-fought win. He likes to know that there’s a picture of him on her wall even if his appearance in the photo is probably more incidental than anything.

“I didn’t know you had a dog.”

It’s a stupid thing to say, there is so much he doesn’t know about her. He doesn’t know where she was born or if she has siblings or if she always wanted to be a physiotherapist. But there are things he does know, like the specific way she likes her coffee and that she always gets a snickerdoodle cookie from the bakery down the road from the stadium, every Wednesday without fail. How she scrunches up her nose when she’s frustrated and that she snorts when something makes her laugh really hard.

“His name is Yoda. He’s a papillon and also my best friend.”

“Don’t let Sam hear.”

“Oh, he’s also Sam’s best friend.”

Yoda, it’s a fitting name. He does look like a Yoda.

“So what brings you here, Roy? At uh — “ she glances towards her open kitchen and the digital clock on the microwave “ 1:04 am?”

Should’ve gotten his story straight before he came here. What is he supposed to say? I felt like proper shit and wanted to see your smile? Surely not.

So he blurts out the first thing that comes to his mind.

“Came to get my jacket back.”

Absolute dumbass.

“Your jacket? Oh uh. sure. Let me go get it.”

She regards him with confusion and curiosity, he can tell she’s not really buying his story.

“Or, if you aren’t in a rush, I was about to pop in a movie and pig out on some popcorn? Do you want to join me?”

This might be the first time he lets her see the smile she continues to put on his face.

“Fuck yeah, what are we watching?”

“Vernon is such a little bitch. Antagonizing fucking teenagers? What a loser."

“Right?,” (Y/N) agrees, taking a sip from her glass of rose before stuffing another handful of buttery popcorn into her mouth. “Bender needed someone to care, not just another adult yelling at him. "Such a loser. Hey, now that I think about it, you do give me John Bender vibes. All broody and mysterious.”

Roy just scoffs in response.

Her eyes fall onto his empty glass of wine resting on the little square table in front of the couch.

“You want a top-up?”

“No, I’m good. I should probably get going.”

He hates to admit it, it’s something he’ll take to the grave with him, but there’s something about rosé that gets to him. It makes him tipsy immediately. He doesn’t want to go home but the longer he stays the more he opens himself up to saying something stupid and fucking this up — whatever this is.

“Did you walk here?”

“Mmh.”

“Oh well I can’t in good conscience let you walk home, half a bottle of rosé in your system and dealing with all the emotions brought on by the breakfast club. Couldn’t live with myself if you got snatched up and I was the last person to see you alive”

Throwing his own words back at him should be infuriating, annoying. It isn’t. It’s lovely. She’s lovely.

“You can stay if you want. My couch isn’t the biggest but I think you’ll fit just fine.”

The sincerity in her eyes hits him like a dart to the chest. It’s something so simple as offering him her couch for the night but it means everything for a man who has grown so awfully accustomed to loneliness.

“If I stay, will you make me breakfast?”

“Fuck no”

Laughter fills the tiny living room and it takes him a second to realize it’s his own.

“I might be up for a Starbucks run tomorrow morning before work though.”

“Sounds great. I love peppermint lattes, those are fucking delicious.”

She grants him another smile as she gathers their glasses and the empty bottle and brings them to the kitchen before returning with a fluffy pink blanket for him. He thinks that smile could’ve just about killed him, thinks he might just die right here on her couch and it wouldn’t be so bad.

“Well goodnight, then. Hope you don’t mind Yoda”

The dog is curled up on Roy’s chest like a little bagel. It’s gonna be annoying later, he’s sure but hell will freeze over before he disturbs the little pup.

“That’s fine.”

“He snores, just thought you should know.”

“Makes two of us then, hope he doesn’t mind.”

Another laugh. Another tiny heart attack.

She’s by the door, just about to turn off the light and plunge the room into darkness, when she hesitates for a moment.

“Hey Roy,”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry you guys lost today and I — I can see you struggling but I just wanted you to know that it was not your fault. I need you to know that.”

The entire way here, he tried to make himself rationalize that. Make himself understand that losing is part of the game and that he did his best. But knowing your best might not be good enough anymore is a hard fucking pill to swallow.

Hearing her say that it’s not his fault, it takes the weight off for a moment. Not all the way, never all the way. But a tiny little bit and that’s a whole lot already.

“Goodnight, (Y/N).”

“Night, Roy.”

He falls asleep with the taste of rosé on his tongue, the snoring of a little dog in his ears, and the sight of her on his mind, all sleepy eyes and messy hair. She never looked better.

It looks good on you & I like your laugh

He’s positively buzzing with euphoria. They won, something no one thought was possible. They won and he scored the winning goal.

Spirits are high as the team and their friends have taken over the Karaoke place. Shots and drinks flow with no regard to the tab they’re raking up or the headache that awaits each of them tomorrow. None of that matters right now. Tonight is made for celebrating. Consequences don’t exist right here and now.

Rebecca burns the house down with her rendition of let it go and after a short intermission by Dani, singing a Spanish song that neither of them managed to join in with their non-existent knowledge of the language, the opening chords to another familiar song fill the room.

“Well, thanks for making us all look like amateurs, Rebecca,” (Y/N) says into the microphone as she takes her place on stage. Her words are laced with happiness and laughter and Roy thinks she must have him under some spell because he can’t manage to not smile when she’s around. It’s a bit ridiculous if he’s being honest.

“I will most definitely not be able to live up to that performance but I thought we could stay in the Disney bubble for a moment.”

Her eyes meet his across the room and when she winks at him it takes everything in him not to get up on stage and devour her. Fucking irritating.

“I know you all know this song so sing along if you feel like it. This one’s for you, John Bender.”

He knows it’s one of the cheesiest love songs ever, written for a movie about a cartoon lion. But sitting on the couch at the karaoke place surrounded by his team, having just scored a winning goal and listening to the girl that haunts his dreams sing straight to him and only him, he thinks Elton has a point. He can feel the love tonight. It’s in the smiles of his friends, and the voices coming together all chaotic and off-key singing along to the song. And there is love in her eyes, clear as day and undeniable.

“And can you feel the love tonight How it's laid to rest? It's enough to make kings and vagabonds Believe the very best”

The night is coming to an end, everyone’s found their way to their respective rooms — or whoever’s room they felt like staying at. Roy’s pretty sure he saw Rebecca’s friend enter Ted’s room but that’s none of his fucking business, is it?

“Okay, you can’t laugh though!” (Y/N)’s voice calls out from the bathroom and drifts towards the main part of the room where Roy is perched on the chair by the window.

This isn’t his room and really he knows he shouldn’t be here. But being alone right now sounded like proper torture. He wasn’t ready to leave this magical night behind yet. Not like this. Not when she sang to him and he had nothing to give her in return. So when she invited him to her room to watch yet another John Hughes movie on Netflix, he couldn’t do anything but accept.

“Are you sleeping in one of those weird fluffy onesies?”

“No, god no.”

“Then I don’t know why I’d laugh at you.”

When she steps into the room, he can see why she’d think he’d laugh at her choice of sleepwear. The white shirt looks not so white anymore, there is a hole at the bottom and a mysterious red stain by the collar. It doesn’t make him laugh though. It makes him fucking hard. Because that’s his name on the back of it. That’s a 2014 world cup Roy Kent England Jersey.

“Fuck me.”

He doesn't mean to let it slip but alcohol and euphoria have made his lips go loose.

“I knoooow, it’s embarrassing. I meant to bring something else but it’s just so comfortable.”

“It looks good on you.”

It does. He thought the green dress was it. Then he thought she looked absolutely adorable, all sleepy and natural. But this? This is the look that pushes him over the edge. This is everything.

“Yeah?” she asks and twirls around the room, not unlike Phoebe whenever Roy gifts her yet another new princess dress. He’s just such a sucker, can never say no when she asks him for something. “You just wait and see, I’ll steal your job soon enough.”

That makes him erupt into laughter yet again, he doesn’t think he’s laughed quite as much lately as when he is with her.

“I’ve seen you attempt to play before. I’m not worried.”

“I like your laugh,” she says, all warm eyes and wistful smile.

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

Something takes over, an invisible force pulling him to his feet and making him walk up to her. She’s leaning against the wall as he places one hand on her hip, the other on the wall next to her head. This shouldn’t be happening, he knows this. It’s dumb to believe that whatever tension there is between them can lead to anything. That’s just not in the cards for him no matter how much he wishes for it.

Girls like her don’t fall for boys like him. They never did, they never will.

“Roy Kent, you won today.”

Winning the game is the last thing on his mind right now. How could he ever think about winning right this moment when her hand is softly resting on his cheek and her nose gently nuzzling against his and the —

A knock on the door cuts through the moment making Roy let go and take a step back.

“Fucks sake.”

In his defense, Sam looks apologetic as he stands in front of the door, signature smile on his face. Good-natured and lovable. If this was any other moment Roy wouldn’t have been able to be mad at him. But this is that moment and he is a little pissed right now.

“Sorry I didn’t mean to disturb, I was just wondering if you had another phone charger. I can’t find mine and I know you always bring extra so — “

“Uh, yeah let me go get it real quick.” (Y/N) says and turns back towards the room.

Roy’s eyes connect with hers for a split second and it’s like a bucket of ice straight over his head. They both know whatever magical spell they had been under, it’s broken and gone and all that’s left now is a big old pile of what-ifs.

“It’s getting late, I should leave. Goodnight, (Y/N). Night, Sam.”

“We’ll reschedule, yeah?”

Tiny smile on his lips he nods his head in agreement.

He gets a soft “goodnight” in return and though he hates to admit it, the touch of her hand against his cheek lingers there all the way to his room and even further into his dreams.

Call me when you get home & We’ll figure it out

Rain pounds against the roof and windows like tiny bullets. A rainstorm has Richmond tight in its clutches so cruel and unforgiving the team can’t even train right now.

And yet for some reason Roy still finds himself in the workout room, trying to push himself to do just 5 more minutes on the treadmill. Just 5 more.

Actually, it’s not entirely true. He knows why he’s here. Part of him hopes that if he just pushes himself enough, he can overcome the pain in his leg and all the issues it causes. That if he just tries harder, he can go back to being the talented overachiever he used to be.

But it hurts. A sharp stabbing pain rushes through his knee forcing him to step off the treadmill. He hates this. In fact, it’s his worst fucking nightmare. Football is all he’s ever been good at, he can’t lose that. It’s his entire life.

If he’s not Roy the footballer, who is he? Some bloke named Roy with a dead career and no one to come home to? Now doesn’t that sound delightful?

"Roy?"

“Jesus, fuck!”

There she goes again giving him a heart attack, only this time it’s not because she’s being cute or anything.

“Oh shit, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

The smile on her face falls as she catches sight of him holding onto his knee. He can almost see the thoughts running through her head. She knows about his knee. If anyone knows how bad it is, it’s her. She told him not to overdo it. Said that would only make it worse.

He knows she has pity on him and he hates it. It’s irritating coming from everyone. Irritating and misplaced. Why would they pity him? It’s his own damn fault for not being good enough anymore.

But coming from her? That’s even worse. No one wants a guy that’s getting too old to do his job properly. That’s falling apart and breaking.

— Not that he wants her or anything. Oh, Roy, who are you trying to fool here? Of course, he wants her.

“Don’t look at me like that, I’m fine.”

She raises her eyebrow in disbelief, in that bratty way that drives him crazy.

“I said I’m fine, (Y/N).”

“I hear what you’re saying,” she says and comes to stand next to him, crossing her arms in defiance. “but I can also see the way you’re holding your knee and that face you’re making. You’re in pain, love.”

Love. He doesn’t hate how it sounds when she calls him that. Irritating for sure but also — sweet.

“I’ll be fine! What are you even doing here?”

He hasn’t seen a lot of her ever since the night in Liverpool and while part of him was quite glad about it because he honestly wasn’t sure whether or not to bring up whatever had or had not happened between them, another part of him had missed her smile desperately.

“I work here.”

“You’re a fucking smartass, aren’t you.”

“I try.”

Fuck, even when she’s being deliberately difficult she manages to pull a smirk from him.

“I had some paperwork to do but by the time I arrived here, the storm was so bad that now I have to wait for it to stop before I can drive home. I hate driving when it rains.”

“Oh you should,” Roy returns, nodding his head in agreement “You’re a horrible driver in the best of weather.”

She responds with a scandalized gasp and a hand placed on her heart in mock upset “I am not a horrible driver! Take that back.”

“It took you 18 minutes to park your car the other day. I know because I saw it, we all saw it. Boys took the time and had bets going. Jamie won 20 quid.”

“Wha — okay I’ll have to have a word with the guys, you’re ridiculous. But don’t think you can change the topic on me, Mister. Is your knee getting worse?”

Yes, and he fucking hates it. Can’t even say the words out loud because that feels like admitting defeat. And that’s a terrifying thing to do.

Fortunately for him, he doesn’t have to say anything. A look is all it takes and she nods her head in understanding.

“That’s okay, Roy. We’ll figure something out.”

We will figure something out. We as in him and her. Since pretty much the beginning of his professional career, Roy had admirers. People who would latch onto everything he did or said and hold him to abnormally high standards he would never be able to reach. They adored him but they also didn’t know him. She knows him even when he tries so hard to keep her at arm's length. She knows him and is still in his corner, still has his back. The only people who ever did that were his family.

It’s an unusual feeling but he really really likes it. Even if it’s a little terrifying.

“What if — “ he takes a deep breath, trying to form the words that weigh so heavy on his heart “What if I can’t go back to how it used to be? What if this is the end for me?”

“Do you want me to be honest or nice?”

“Lay it on me then.”

“Things might not get back to how they used to be and there’s not really much you can do about it other than learn to accept it and then figure out a new place for yourself.”

“Football is all I have.”

“That’s not true but even if it was there is so much more about it than just the players.”

She’s right but it’s still a bitter pill to swallow.

“…and with that smile of yours, you can always go into modeling. I’m sure they’re always looking for new faces in the toothpaste commercial business.”

“Oh fuck off.”

“See! There’s that smile I was talking about.”

“You’re fucking insufferable sometimes.”

She is. He adores it.

“Oh, but you like it — right?”

“What?”

“You do — like it? Like me?”

It’s the first time he’s seen her act insecure. She’s always so bubbly and happy and smiling, he hates that he put any doubt in her mind that he does anything but cherish her.

“You irritate me, woman. Drive me up the fucking wall, every day.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No! Don’t say sorry. I love it. I think you’re a fucking knockout. Best thing since sliced bread.”

He does, he truly does and it feels nice to say it out loud for once. To admit it to her and to himself. It feels nice when she comes closer and when she rests her arms around his neck and it feels fucking phenomenal when her nose brushes past his and he can almost feel her lips on his.

Almost.

That’s until her phone beeps and she pulls away altogether.

“Ah shit, I gotta go.”

“Fuck sake. The universe hates me.”

“The universe doesn’t hate you, Roy Kent. We just have bad timing. ”

He’s not convinced.

“What about the storm?”

“I think the rain stopped, listen.”

Roy hears nothing. Where raindrops were drumming against the roof and windows just minutes ago, there is silence. He’s never wished for a rainstorm to persist more than he does at that moment.

“Well, call me when you get home at least. Roads will still be wet.”

“Aw, Roy, are you worried about me?”

His lips say no, but his eyes and his smile tell a different story.

You can stay & Is this okay? Can I hold your hand?

This is it. This is the end. He’s seen this one coming for a while now but he tried so hard. He trained and pushed and it was all for nothing. They’re losing and his career as an active footballer is over for good.

The door to the locker room opens slowly, almost cautiously and he’s just about to yell and whoever dares to disturb him, when his head snaps up and he sees (Y/N) standing in the doorway.

“What are you doing here? Game is still going, you’re the fucking Physio.”

“Good thing there’s more than one of us. I have to make sure all my players are okay.”

I’m not okay. That’s what he wants to say. He wants to scream it from the rooftops. He’s not okay. He’s not sure he ever will be.

“Get out, (Y/N).”

She can’t see him like this. Defeated. Broken. Old.

Instead of listening to him, she sits down beside him and holds an ice pack to his injured knee.

“As a physio, I need to tell you that what you did was really stupid.”

He knows it was. It was a calculated risk he was willing to take and if nothing else, he kept Jamie from scoring and the fans appreciated it. That was all that mattered at that moment.

“But as a friend and Richmond fan, I think it was brilliant. I just wish you didn’t hurt yourself in the process.”

Silence settles over them and (Y/N) is just about to get back up when he grabs onto her arm and pulls her back down. “You can stay.”

“Okay.”

And for a long while they just sit. No words, no expectations. Just them.

Softly, almost like a whisper, he feels her touch against his hand, sliding her fingers between his.

“Is this okay? Can I hold your hand?”

It’s not okay. It’s phenomenal. It’s everything he could’ve wished for in that moment but never would’ve had the nerve to ask. It’s a promise that he isn’t alone in this. There is someone there holding his hand through the darkest of times.

A green light guiding him to safe shores.

“Don’t you fucking dare let go.”

Stay there, I’m coming to get you & I can't wait for tomorrow

Turns out, retiring from a successful football career does not mean you suddenly have a lot of free time. In fact, Roy doesn’t think he’s ever been this busy doing shit he doesn’t like.

Everyone wants an interview, a statement, a “what happens next”. It’s a lot of paperwork and contracts and shit he doesn’t care about. The point is, he’s fucking busy. So busy he hasn’t seen (Y/N) in quite a few days. Nothing has really changed since their moment in the locker room but somehow everything feels different.

It’s exactly 4:12 am when his phone rings. He almost doesn’t want to answer but calls at 4am usually mean bad news and he’d never forgive himself if something happened to his sister or Phoebe or (Y/N) or even (and he will deny this if you ask him about it) Jamie just because he couldn’t be bothered to answer his phone.

“Hello?”

“Royoooo.”

Oh. Oh!

A smirk pulls at his lips.

“(Y/N)?”

“Sorry —” she says and stops for a giggle “Sorry to wake you. I just — I was out with the girls and I didn’t plan on drinking but I did. They had a buy one get one free deal. It would be stupid to say no, right?”

“Right.”

"So, yeah."

“Go on. Didn’t just call me to tell me about the drinks, did you.”

“Oh, no. I just wanted to talk to you while I wait for my Uber. I miss you.”

“Do you?”

“So much!” her words are slow and slightly slurred. “Every fucking day. Like — god, I just wanna see your stupid handsome face.”

“It’s handsome, innit?”

“You have no idea! I just want to kiss you, so badly.”

Kiss him. She wants to kiss him. Sure, it almost happened twice but it’s still different hearing her outright say it. But then again, she’s drunk and by the time she wakes up tomorrow, she probably won’t remember half of what she’s saying right now.

“Where are you?”

“It’s that weird little bar around the corner from Sam’s restaurant. The one with the green door.”

“Go on and cancel that Uber.”

“Then how am I going to get home?”

“Stay there, I’m coming to get you.”

Roy isn’t quite certain whether or not he considers himself a good person. He tries to be, it’s a conscious effort each and every day. He tries to be a good person and a good person doesn’t let the woman he’s absolutely head over heels for wait outside in the cold dark night by herself. No matter how infuriating she is.

“Okay,” she agrees, a giggle slipping past her lips “Thank you. Can’t wait to see you.”

And though Roy had other plans for his weekend than picking up a drunk girl at 4 in the morning, he also can’t wait to see her.

“…and like it was mostly sugar, right? So I thought why not have another one. Turns out it was mostly vodka.”

“Who could’ve guessed.”

She’s cuddled up on his couch in one of his shirts looking into his eyes and retelling her night in vivid detail. Her story is slurred and a bit all over the place, blame it on her tipsy brain. It takes her forever to get to the point and when she does, the point doesn’t even make all that much sense. It doesn’t matter, he’d listen to her ramble forever if it meant he got to spend time with her wearing his shirt sitting on his couch — looking into his eyes.

“You’re going to feel like shit tomorrow.”

“I know,” she shrugs then scoots closer to him and wraps her arms around his “but you’re here so it’s only half as bad really.”

“If I’m feeling generous I’ll even make you breakfast.”

“You really are the dream, Roy Kent.”

She’s clawing at his chest, prying open his ribcage and burying herself where his heart used to be. Metaphorically speaking, of course.

“You have to stop saying shit like that. People are gonna think you’re in love with me or something.”

She pulls away slightly and looks up at him with those big eyes of hers before resting one hand on his cheek.

“Roy, I am. I thought you knew.”

He had a hunch, of course. Fostered a spark of hope in his heart that there could be something between them after all. But once you grow accustomed to loneliness it’s a little hard to let yourself believe.

“Do I need to show you to believe me?”

She pulls his face closer to hers and for a millisecond he wants to let go, but when he smells the alcohol on her breath he pulls back. This isn’t right.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“You’re off your tits. I’m not kissing you like this. Our first kiss is not going to be some inebriated tongue-wagging. You hear me? I’m a hopeless fucking romantic, that kiss is gonna be special. I’m gonna kiss you stupid.”

She bites her lips to suppress the smile from taking over.

“So if I were to ask again tomorrow, you’d say yes?”

“Mh.”

“Promise?”

“Yes.”

At that she snuggles further into his arms and rests her head against his shoulder, a content smile on her face as she closes her eyes.

“Oh, I can’t wait for tomorrow.”

He doesn’t admit it, but neither can he.

I think you're beautiful & I’ll meet you halfway

“Roy?”

Her voice echoes through his house as the eggs sizzle on the stove.

“Why is there a small child looking at me?”

“Phoebe, stop staring at her you little creep!”

“She’s so pretty.”

She has a point.

10 minutes later the girls join him in the kitchen, walking in hand in hand and big smiles on their faces. Seeing them get along makes his heart grow approximately 12 sizes. That being said, the two of them teaming up against him sounds like trouble to him. Good trouble though. Trouble he loves to deal with.

“Good morning, Roy.”

“Morning. Pheebs, go sit down, breakfast is almost ready.”

“Okay, Uncle Roy.”

Once she’s out of the immediate earshot he turns back towards (Y/N). Though she tried her best to conceal it, yesterday's makeup is still smudged around her eyes and her hair is a downright mess. She’s wearing his shirt though, standing barefoot in his kitchen after bonding with his niece.

Sometimes life is fucking sweet.

“Don’t look at me like that, I know I look like a mess.”

“I think you’re beautiful.”

“You’re delusional.”

“That’s not what you said last night. Think you called me the fucking dream if I recall correctly. Said you were in love with me.”

(Y/N) leans against the kitchen island, her hands flat against the countertop and her eyes trained on Roy.

“I did say that, didn’t I?”

“Yes.”

Roy mirrors her position, arms resting on the kitchen island across from her. God, she really is so beautiful.

“Remember what you said?”

“Do you?”

“You promised me something, Roy.”

Roy Kent doesn’t make promises lightly. He thinks there’s hardly anything quite as heartbreaking and awful as breaking a promise. He prides himself in keeping all the ones he’s made.

It’s only right to keep this one too.

“Phoebe,” he calls out to the little girl without moving his eyes away from (Y/N) for even a second “Blindfold!”

The 6-year-old slaps her tiny hands over her eyes obeying her uncle's orders with no hesitation and no questions asked. He’s proud of her. Silly little idiot.

Leaning across the counter, his lips almost reach (Y/N)’s. She’s so close. So close.

Only —

“Fuck, I can’t reach. My knee.”

There’s so much love in her eyes as she regards him. It almost knocks him out.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll meet you halfway,” She says and gets up on her tiptoes.

Across the counter their lips meet. There are no fireworks or butterflies or an angel choir singing. But there is her tasting of toothpaste and smelling his deodorant. Her and the feeling of belonging. Of comfort and domesticity and love. He loves this woman, undeniably and irrevocably.

It’s a great kiss. Fucking mindblowing. There is no need for rom-com-induced fairytale fantasies when you have the real thing and it is so much better than any story could ever be.

“Hey Roy,” she whispers against his lips as they come up for air.

“Hmm?”

“The eggs are burning.”

“Fuck!”

“You owe me a pound, Uncle Roy!”

Irritating! Both of them.

They’re his whole entire heart.

I love you & I love you

“I love you.”

It’s a normal fucking Tuesday when she says it for the first time. Really says it. Using those exact words. There’s nothing special about that day but with those words, she puts magic into it. The way she puts magic into his life every single day.

“Fuck you!”

“Sorry, what?”

She’s laughing. She’s always laughing and smiling that goddamn smile that makes him go all soft inside. Beautiful, lovely, knockout that she is.

“I said fuck you. I’ve been thinking about how to tell you all fucking week and here you go and say it first. You’re infuriating.”

Softly she rolls over so she’s resting on his chest, fingers softly tracing patterns into his skin.

“You’ve said it a million times before, Roy.”

“I love you, (Y/N).”

Can’t hurt to say it again.

“I know. I knew. I always knew. From the moment you gave me your jacket.”

Of course, she knew. She took one look at him and it was like she got a view straight into his soul. Straight into his heart with all the vices and virtues, all his triumphs and defeats. All the good and the bad.

How fucking irritating. He loves her for it.

#roy kent x reader #roy kent x female reader #roy kent x f!reader #roy kent x fem!reader #roy kent fanfic #roy kent fanfiction #roy kent imagine #roy kent imagines #ted lasso tv show fanfiction #inbloomwriting

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fandom-geek17 · 9 months

Text

Destined For More

Neteyam x Omatikaya!Reader

Synopsis: Being a close family friend of the Sully's, and Kiri's best friend, it was hard to be around Neteyam and not fall in love with him. Supressing those feelings were even harder, especially when his parents start pressuring him about finding a mate...

Rating: E MINORS DNI🔞🔞

Tags: Friends to lovers! Eventual smut! Semi public smut! P in V smut, Reader has a name, no use of Y/N

Vocabulary: Nantang (Viperwolf), Marui (Pods/tents), Skxawng (Moron), Tanhì (Bioluminescent freckles/stars)

Ages: Neteyam (21), reader (20), Kiri (20), Lo'ak (19), Tuk (13)

Can also be read on AO3

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3

“There child” Mo’at told you gently, standing over your shoulder as you crushed the herbs in the mortar. “Perfect.” You smiled to yourself. You were a decent healer, but hearing it from her directly meant everything. Kiri had always been the best healer, always would be, but you enjoyed the profession. Feeling like you could contribute with something else other than making clothes.

Alongside you and Kiri, there were two other healers in training, and everyone was currently busy helping a hunting party that had been attacked by a group of Nantang. None had been seriously injured, but there were a lot of bites and scratches to clean and bandage. They were lucky, it could have been worse. But since there were suddenly so many patients, the supply of medicines ran low. As Kiri and the other two worked on the patients, you were happy to sit in the corner, making more healing paste as fast as you could. The patients were an important part of being a healer, but the thing that had always interested you most was the science behind it. Discovering how new plants could optimize healing, which ones soothed pain, which ones killed bacteria. You had recently discovered that alternating the weaving pattern of the bandages caused more air to flow through without exposing the wounds to the elements. That way, it lessened the chance of infection.

“Emmy, can you pass me those?” Kiri asked, pointing to a pile of leaves next to you. She smiled in thanks as you gave them to her. Your real name was Emreyìte, meaning surviving daughter. It was a bit on the nose, but you liked it. You mother had labored for over two days to bring you into the world, and you nearly didn’t make it. The name was supposed to convey the strength you had already displayed coming into this world.

When you finished crushing the herbs, you put them in the water stewing above the fire. Stirring slowly, and evenly, the water slowly changed color. But it needed to steep for a little while longer. This particular mixture of herbs soothed pain very efficiently when boiled into a tea. But the taste wasn’t particularly pleasant, so you always added some sweetness in the hopes of counteracting the bitter taste. All the hunters were given a cup of the liquid to drink. They all grimaced badly, making you smile a little. It was terrible, but you were still experimenting with the recipe.

You all worked in quiet unison until all the hunters had been treated. It was well past the start of the communal dinner by then, evening setting in slowly. The other two healers went to get something to eat whilst Kiri helped Mo’at to her marui. You stayed behind to clean up. And also take inventory of how much of the supplies had been used. Hunger rumbled in your belly, but it would have to wait.

“Knock, knock” a voice murmured. A voice you knew all too well. Butterflies erupted in your stomach as your breath hitched.

You turned around and indeed. “Neteyam” you breathed. “What are you doing here?”

He shrugged, watching you with a small smile from under his eyelashes. “I saw all the other healers join the dinner, but not you. I figured you’d be here, too wrapped up in your research to eat again.” He held out a steaming bowl in front of you. “So I brought you this.”

The smell of Yerik stew filled your nostrils, making your stomach rumble again. Neteyam smirked, proving his point. “Thank you” you said, accepting his gift. But it was only when he stepped inside the hut properly that you noticed the wound on his shoulder, making you gasp slightly. “Neteyam, what happened to your shoulder?”

“Nothing! It’s fine, don’t worry about it” he assured you, but not very convincingly.

“That needs to be cleaned” you stated, setting the bowl aside. “What happened?” You looked at his expectantly until he finally caved, quirking his brow in your direction.

“I caught a tree branch during fighting practice” he admitted with a nonchalant tone. “It’s fine.”

“Did you clean it, at least?” you asked, observing the wound. You already knew the answer.

“Yes” Neteyam said.

“Well, not well enough. Sit! Does it hurt?”

“No.”

You quirked at eyebrow at him, your tail swishing impatiently.

“A bit.” Neteyam’s ears flicked as his eyes flitted between you and the bowl of Yerik stew. “Can you at least eat first? Waiting a couple of more minutes won’t kill me.” He smiled at you playfully. He was normally very reserved, the smiling Neteyam was usually saved for his family.

But you only huffed, filling a cup with the last of the tea from earlier. “Here, drink this while I eat.” As you sat down with your bowl of stew, Neteyam took a small gulp of the liquid in his cup. His brows furrowed but other than that, he did an okay job of hiding his disgust. But having known him since you were kids, you could tell when he hid the truth. “You can grimace, you know” you giggled over the bowl. “It won’t hurt my feelings. I know it’s disgusting.”

Neteyam hummed, only making a small grimace after his next sip. “It’s not the best” he admitted with a sheepish smile. “But it’s effective. And a lot better than the last time. You’re getting very good at this, experimenting with medicine.” You couldn’t help but blush at his praise.

But you had also just stuffed your mouth full of food, so the only answer he got was that damned blush you wished would go away. As soon as you finished the bowl, you go to work on his shoulder.

Your hand trembled slightly as it made contact with Neteyam’s warm skin, holding him steady while the other hand cleaned his wound with a cloth. Your hand rose and fell with each of his breaths, and you leaned in to see properly in the firelight. Eywa, he smelled so good. Always had. It was intoxicating, and also the reason why you never got too close to him.

Your family and the Sully family had been friends since forever, you and your brother grew up together with the Sully’s, but as your brother made lots of other friends, your only real friend was Kiri. Of course, Kiri came with Lo’ak, Spider and Tuk and they were great, like additional siblings. But they weren’t Neteyam. With his broad shoulders, gentle voice, infectious smile, kind heart and protective older brother demeanor, it was impossible to not gain a crush on him. That crush had lasted on and on since you were fourteen. At seventeen, even you had to admit to yourself that you had fallen in love with him. And how could you not? He was everything, had everything. He was the handsome son of the Olo'eyktan that all the women gazed after, giggled around and tried to flirt with. He was the dream you could never have. It had been clear over the years that he only saw you as a friend, as Kiri’s best friend. So you had become very good at dreaming in silence and later suppressing your feelings for the man sitting before you.

Dreams of exploring with him, laughing with him, him confessing his undying love for you and making you his mate. And also not so innocent dreams, dreams of being with him. Of him kissing you, running his hands all over your body, his mouth following suit, him pushing his cock deep into your pussy, joining his kuru with yours, finally creating that everlasting bond…

A hiss from the man in question broke you out of your train of thought. “Sorry” you whispered, your mouth and throat suddenly very dry.

“It’s okay” Neteyam whispered back. You could have sworn that his voice was deeper, throatier, but it disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. “It just stings a little.”

You nodded quietly and swallowed, desperately trying to regain some moisture in your mouth so you could get your voice back. Standing up, you took a deep breath that you hoped was subtle and went to get the Yalna bark mixture. This was exactly why you tried to avoid being too close to him. Every time those big golden orbs watched you intently or his smell surrounded you, thought and memories of your illicit fantasies caught up with you and you had to remember that Neteyam was destined for so much more than a healer who was more interested in playing with plants than helping her patients.

He was watching you right now, you could tell. His gaze burned at the back of your neck, but when you turned back around, he thankfully looked away. You had to say something, quickly. The longer you stayed quiet, more memories of last night flooded your brain. Those fantasies of him wrapping your legs around his neck before he-

“Why didn’t you come here before?” you blurt out, desperately avoiding eye contact, trying to calm the erratic beating of your heart.

Neteyam shrugged with his good shoulder, his eyes following the movement of you fingers as you dipped them in the mixture. “There were so many wounded hunters, thought you should prioritize them.”

You huffed at his stubbornness. “Skxawng” you muttered, trying to not take in how defined the muscles around his shoulder area were. “I al- we always have time for you” you corrected quickly. Please Eywa, don’t let him catch that slip up!

You dared a quick glance at his eyes, but you couldn’t read the expression there. He opened his mouth and closed it several times before speaking. “I’ll remember that” he breathed.

Quickly, you looked back down at his wound and shuffled closer to be able to apply the ointment. Too late you noticed that this position practically placed you between his legs. His knees rubbed against your waist as you leaned forward. Again, you placed one hand on his chest for support before rubbing your coated fingers over his wound.

A small groan left his lips. A groan that caused you to close your eyes and legs tighter together. Thank Eywa that your braids covered your face as you worked, if he saw the deep violet of your cheeks or your eyes that were more black than yellow, he’d probably bolt out and you’d have to dig yourself into a hole of embarrassment and stay there forever. There was nothing sexual about that groan! He was in pain, you reminded yourself. Still, all you could feel was the beating of your heart and the lightning bolts of pleasure going from your stomach to your core.

This was exactly why you needed to keep a safe distance from him! When there were other people around or you kept yourself at a respectable distance, it was easier to remember that all you would ever be was his friend. It made it easier to suppress everything.

As soon as you could, you bolted from your position as if you had just been burnt. Clearing your throat, you look away, letting your braids hide your face again. “Okay, you’re all set” you murmured under the guise of putting everything back at its rightful place.

You could hear Neteyam standing up behind you, shuffling about a little. “Thank you, Emreyìtre. I appreciate it.” It was so rare for someone to call you by your full name. It caused a flutter of your heart that made you feel both happy and sad at the same time. “Are you staying here long?”

Why did he want to know? Did it matter what you did? “Probably not” you answered slowly, finally turning around to face him. “We used up a lot of Mo’at’s supply today. I was going to forage some more for her so we can all start fresh tomorrow.”

“Now?” he questioned, gesturing to the setting sun outside of the tent. “It will be dark soon.”

You crossed your arms, tail swishing slightly. “So? I’m not afraid of the dark.”

Neteyam’s ears flicked upwards along with his tail. “I know” he smiled. “But I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

You sighed… You wanted to say something derogatory to distract him from the real reason you didn’t want him accompanying you. It’s not like you could tell him you wanted the alone time to cool off and maybe shoot a couple of arrows in between gathering. But when you looked into those hopeful, determined eyes of his, you couldn’t lie. Damn him! “Fine. As long as you remember that I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself then you can make yourself useful and help me carry everything.”

You thrusted a satchel bag into his hands. Neteyam snorted and slung it over his shoulder before accepting the large pile of smaller containers that you had woven for this very purpose. You gathered the same equipment for yourself before also armoring yourself with your daggers and bow and arrow.

As you walked, you tried to stay a couple of paces ahead of him, both to show him the way but also to give yourself some space to think. As eclipse slowly set in, his tanhì would illuminate more and more, creating that perfect canvas of speckled light. He had always been so beautiful in the dark, his features somehow more prominent than during the day. Over the years, you had spent many evenings around a campfire with him and his family. Carefully watching him out of the corner of your eye, you had decided that nighttime was his best look.

But you couldn’t think of that right now! If this was going to work, having him accompany you, then it couldn’t be awkward. You had to treat him the same way as you would anyone else helping you. And that meant no ogling! Hence why you were walking ahead of him.

Neteyam walked diligently behind you, not saying much, just following in your footsteps. Eventually you stopped in front of a clearing.

“Here” you pointed towards a patch of green. “See those plants with the rounded leaves?” He nodded, stepping closer to you to observe the plants. “Dig up the roots, clean them and put them in one container. As many as you can fit.”

“What do they do?” he asked curiously as he sunk down to his knees.

“They calm anxiousness” you answered immediately. “They can also help people sleep if prepared properly.”

As Neteyam worked on the roots, you used your knife to gather the same herbs you had boiled earlier today. Neteyam proved to excel at this, like everything else. He quickly filled the woven bag with roots and immediately asked for a new task. You set him to work as much as you could, both to get the work done faster and because you secretly wanted to see that pleased smile whenever he showed you his collection of plants. He was like one of those yellow canines Jake had showed you on a computer once. The ones that existed on earth. He had that same eagerness to please and do well.

It warmed your heart that he genuinely wanted to help. Yet you also had to remind yourself that this eagerness was not singled out for you. He probably wanted to help everyone with the same fervor. He was the next Olo’eyktan, after all. If the people were supposed to follow him, then he had to show he would be there for them with the same loyalty.

But as the evening went on, Neteyam followed you more and more, asking you to tell him about each and every plant you collected. And it was nice to have something to talk about. Something that you could sink into without feeling self-conscious. So, you happily shared your knowledge.

“See this one?” you sat down in front of a plant with thick, pointy stems and sharp edges. “Kiri and I discovered the use of it a while ago. It soothes burns, produces a cooling sensation.” You broke off a piece of the stem and cut it in half. A clear, gel-like liquid oozed out. You collected some on your fingers and you could swear you heard your foraging partner swallow. But before you had time to process whether he did, you reached for his arm to stroke some on it. “Feel that?” you smiled up at him.

“Yeah” he murmured before looking up at you. “That’s incredible.”

“I’m experimenting with it, to see if I can make turn it into an ointment somehow.”

Neteyam looked at you with hooded eyes. “If anyone can, it’s you.”

A blush spread across your cheeks. He had given you so many compliments tonight, it was hard to believe that this wasn’t one of your daydreams. Even harder when you observed the way his tanhì glowed in the moonlight, the way his braids fell to perfectly frame his face, his gentle smile, his golden eyes looking up at you from under his eyelashes again. The urge to be closer to him was overwhelming. Every fibre of your being longed for him, to feel his lips against yours. But you had to stay strong. He was forbidden territory. Kiri’s brother, the future clan leader, and most importantly; he wasn’t interested. And making any kind of move would ruin whatever it was that you two had.

So you cleared your throat and stood up. “After we get some of these, we should be set to head back” you said quietly, turning away from him.

The two of you quickly gathered the last plant and began walking back. But before you had gotten far you stumbled upon some of your favorite materials for making clothing. A small squeal of happiness left your lips as you bent down to scoop up some of the pebbles.

“Do these have a medical purpose?” Neteyam asked you curiously and picked some up himself.

“No” you admitted bashfully, placing the small white pebbles in your bag. “I use them to make beads and other decorations for my chest coverings.”

“Oh…” Neteyam’s eyes flitted downwards for a moment before he bent down to scoop some more pebbles into his hand to examine them further. “Is it hard to make beads out of them?”

“No” you shrugged. “Just time consuming.” Neteyam nodded slowly.

The two of you walked the rest of the way in silence. It had been such a nice evening and you desperately tried to remember that it was simply an outing between friends. You couldn’t get your hopes up over this one thing. He just came along to make sure you didn’t get lost out there…

“Hey” Neteyam stopped you with a hand on your elbow when the village appeared ahead. “Thank you for letting me come with you. I really needed to clear my head for a bit.”

Your ears perked in interest. “Oh?” His mood seemed to have dampened somewhat, judging by the way his eyes suddenly had darkened and his tail swished slightly when he looked at his family’s marui. “Can I ask why?” you probed gently. “Or is it too personal?” Whatever it was, a part of you really wanted, needed, to know.

Neteyam rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “Mom and dad have been trying to have a conversation with me for a couple of days. A conversation I don’t really want to have.” He looked at his home, his cheeks a bit more violet than usual. You nodded gently for him to continue. He cleared his throat and refused to meet your gaze. “They want me to start looking for a mate.”

And just like that, you could feel cracks appearing in your heart. “Oh…” you whispered, now avoiding his gaze, as well. You had always known this day would come, but mentally preparing and being slapped in the face with it were two entirely different things.

“And it’s not that I don’t want a mate” he added hurriedly. “I do. I just don’t want to be rushed into any big decisions. Whoever I mate with will have to burden a lot of responsibility and I don’t want to force that on anyone. I know what’s like to have so much responsibility thrust upon you that you didn’t ask for.”

You nodded slowly, blinking furiously. Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, but they had to stay away! You would not cry over the news that a friend was supposed to celebrate. Be supportive! “I’m sure whoever it will be will make a great tsahìk one day” you murmured, clutching your bag closer to your chest. “Since we’re here, I can take the bags to the healing hut.”

“I can help you with that!” Neteyam offered immediately, making you want to cry even more. But not now, not yet!

“No, no I’ll be fine” you lied, your voice a lot shakier than you would have liked. “Go home, Neteyam. I’m sure your parents are wondering where you are.” He reluctantly handed you the bag he was carrying. You gave him a forced smile. “Goodbye.”

You started to walk away before he could answer, desperate to get away. He called after you. “Goodbye Emmy!”

The tears finally spilled over. It felt like a ‘goodbye’ in more ways than one…

Let me know what you think!!!

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