#to make sure they fit the climate here

[headspace-hotel]

I am so perplexed at why all the books I had growing up characterized the Southeastern USA as a "temperate" climate when the standard classification lists even Kentucky as humid subtropical. It seems like sources that assume a USA perspective are more likely to describe the climate as temperate.

I have endless frustration with how our environment has been shoved into boxes it doesn't really fit into. Parts of the ecosystem that don't fit the familiar categorization have been forgotten.

Large areas of the USA were oak savannas, but everyone thinks savannas are exotic environments somewhere else. The Southeastern USA had BAMBOO FORESTS and almost no one knows they existed.

Webpages sometimes describe Arundinaria gigantea as a "bamboo-like plant." But it is a true bamboo! The Southeast has bamboo, passion fruits, pawpaws, and lots of broad-leaved evergreens. Just from wandering around on Google Earth and seeing comparisons, Savannah, Georgia LOOKS way more similar to tropical nations than it does to like. Vermont. Or anywhere in Europe.

I'm not imagining this, am I? And I feel so sure it has to do with colonialism. I don't have any hard evidence but when I read texts about post-colonial thought as well as primary sources from the colonial era, I definitely see that there is a way Europeans thought of tropical biomes as savage and barbaric, and temperate biomes as good and Normal, and there was definitely an attempt to force the land to conform to European expectations and agricultural practices, like they very much did try to make this continent into another Europe in terms of plant and animal life.

I just know that I was so boggled to learn that the whole southeast is technically humid subtropical because i distinctly remember books telling that the subtropical area was like. half of Florida. And then I was like "wait. of course it is. Even up here in Kentucky winter daytime temperatures are mostly above freezing. Alabama is in the same latitude as Iran."

It's like, something about making the climate and ecosystem seem Normal in comparison to something else

[homunculus-argument]

I was born and raised American, but with everything that's happened over the past few years I've been considering moving to another country. but I don't know if this is just "the grass is greener". Not sure if this really fits with your blog, but as someone from Europe what's your attitude towards living in the US?

I've visited there a handful of times and most of my thoughts are "damn bitch, y'all really live like this?" People in Finland like to complain about the climate, the taxes, and how stingy the welfare systems are (if you currently rely on them) or how costly they are (if you're currently not relying on them), but honestly most of the time that's because people are used to having it so good, or don't really have a perspective of how bad everyone would be doing without the infrastructure that everything runs on.

Sure, nowhere is perfect, and there's always room for improvement, but honestly the people I've met in the US only really seem to think that their system is good because they've never been anywhere else and don't know any better.

Mostly it's stuff that you'd never think about if you hadn't been to both places, like being able to trust that tap water is drinkable or that you can safely walk/bike to wherever you need to go. The US really doesn't have the kind of ability to just hang out in public places, just walking to the town and sitting on benches. Having public parks and libraries isn't really the same if you can't just walk there, and you genuinely need a car to go anywhere.

I moan and lament a lot about how the winters here are hard to endure - at the darkest time of the year the sun rises at 9 and sets before 5 pm - but I wouldn't move from here just because of that, mainly because of how reliably everything is structured here. Sure, it's all run with funds from relatively high taxes, but that is a self-feeding loop on its own. The tax-paying workforce isn't a disposable resource that's wrung dry once and tossed out when it's broken, but even when you're just another cog in the machine, you're one that's maintained, not replaced if broken.

I had a lot of breakdowns when I was younger, largely due to depression and other mental issues I had due to the undiagnosed ADHD. When I started breaking down at work in my old factory job, they couldn't just fire me on the spot because of the workers' union fought tooth and nail to make sure that you can't throw people out for getting sick, and mental illness is treated no different from other health issues. I was allowed to take two years off work in order to study into a career I thought would fit me better. That didn't turn out well either, but I was still allowed to bounce back and forth between odd jobs, sick leave, and studying - all on government pensions during the spots when I wasn't working a wage - until I found the right diagnosis, the right medications, and the right job.

It's not a hyperbole to say that I owe my life to the ample and studry social welfare systems that Finland has in place. Sure, you're just another brick in the wall, a cog in the machine, but if you keep breaking down, it takes a long time until they completely give up on you if you can somehow make them believe that you're trying, because it's cheaper for the tax system to figure out how to make you fit into the machine than just toss you out. A human being is an expensive investment and if getting you to the right job, education, diagnosis, medication or even arranged housing is what it takes to get your ass back into the workforce, they'll at least try.

I'm perfectly happy to pay the taxes here to fund the system that helped me onto my feet when I was in no condition to function, and to support the people who never do recover, find their place, or be able to support themselves on their own. And I can live with the peace of mind that even if I fall apart again, that safety net is still there. It's brutal, pragmatic, and regards your health and welfare as a means to an end - to get you working and paying taxes again - but they still do prioritise your welfare. Cogs are cheaper to maintain than replace.

[adragonprinceswhore]

The Commune l modern!cult leader Aemond x Reader

Prev I Next I Series Masterlist

Chapter II: Reconnecting

Summary: Feeling lost in life and depressed by your stressful job, you decide to visit your aunt Helaena and uncle Aemond at their new home out in the country.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI. AFAB reader, she/her pronouns. This fic contains dark themes such as; descriptions of depression, manipulation, coercion, noncon/dubcon, and incest. Please mind the tags for each chapter. This chapter contains coercion, noncon/dubcon, fingering, and incest (reader is Rhaenyra's daughter)

Word Count: 3800

A/N: Let's go 🤠

Dividers by Saradika

After quickly being introduced to some of the residents, you retreat to the room Helaena and Aemond had assigned to you. Exhausted from being bombarded with impressions, you collapse on your bed and find uninterrupted sleep for the first time in months.

You wake up to the sun illuminating your room, a low knocking sound by your door. As you slowly realise where you are, you hear Helaena call you from the outside, informing you that breakfast would be served in a few minutes. 

You get up and move to the basin placed in the corner of your room. You splash some water on your face, checking your groggy reflection. You notice that the heavy bags that had seemed to be a permanent feature of yours had faded slightly, and you looked better and brighter than you had in a long time. Mood elevated, you move to throw on a flowy, knee-length skirt and a linen blouse, self-speculating that something loose-fitting would match the late-summer climate. 

The air outside was crisp but the sun provided warmth as it made contact with your skin. You notice that the residents of the small community had gathered by a long, wooden table placed in the middle of a field not far away from where you stood. You quickly make your way there, spotting Helaena. Her eyes light up as she sees you approach, greeting you with a wide smile.

“We always have breakfast together”, she explains as people move around you swiftly, placing plates of bread, yoghurt, pastries, fresh fruit and vegetables on the massive table. You spot Aemond by the end of the table. He glances at you quickly and gives you a small smile and a nod before he returns to his previously stoic state, observing the residents while they prepare for breakfast. Helaena reappears next to you, arms wrapped around 5 glass vases filled with wildflowers. You help her place them on the table, admiring how beautiful it all looks. 

The commune has a simplistic aesthetic; most rooms only occupied by whatever furniture was necessary; tables, chairs and beds made out of wood. Yet there was a beauty to it you’d hardly seen before, an appreciation for simple charm often lost in the hectic mess of cities like Oldtown or King’s Landing. 

You take a seat next to Helaena, eavesdropping to pick up what those around you discuss. Though most are seated by now, no one moves to touch the various plates filled to the brim with mouth-watering food. You look over at the end of the long table and notice Aemond standing, hands clasped behind his back. He softly clears his throat and the scattered chatter dissolves immediately, all eyes move to watch the tall, silver-haired man standing before them. 

“Good morning. I hope you all slept well and feel ready for a day of prosperity”, Aemond starts, eye flickering across the table to acknowledge everyone present. Most of the residents are older than both you and Aemond, you even heard that a handful of them used to be his professors back in King’s Landing. You still weren’t sure how he’d managed to get them all to move out here, but as he speaks, you notice how intensely everyone observes him, taking in every word that leaves his lips.

“Let us pray”, he orders, and each one of your tablemates bring their hands up to clasp over their empty plates, closing their eyes. Aemond sends you a look you can’t really decipher but you assume he wants you to partake in the prayer, so you lower your head and clasp your hands together as well. 

Aemond pays tribute to all seven faces of the new god before thanking all residents for attending, voice calm and steady. 

As the prayers end, everyone digs in. You feel unsure of what to try; everything looks so good. Helaena makes the decision for you, grabbing your plate and loading bread and various spreads and toppings for you to try. “You’ll love this”, she urges as she places the plate in front of you, lilac eyes eagerly watching you.

She is right. Everything tastes divine and you eat until you feel like your stomach is about to burst, stuffing yourself to the brim.

You try to partake in some small-talk with the people close to you at the massive table. Next to you sits Jayne, a woman you’d guess to be in her early fifties with sun-kissed skin and kind, brown eyes. She tells you about her tasks at the commune, mainly growing herbs and flowers. She shoots a quick glance at a dark-haired woman sitting by Aemond further down the table, explaining that she grows and tends to various plants which are grown at the request of the woman she’s observing; Alys. 

After breakfast you offer to help collect and wash up the dishes, feeling a strong need to be useful as you see all residents retreat to their respective tasks for the day. As you circle the outside table with an already overfilled tray in your hands, you sense a tall figure appear beside you. 

“Would you like to go for a walk?”

You look to the side and see Aemond standing there. He is wearing a dress shirt and dark slacks today as well but his hair is left untied, cascading down his shoulders and reflecting the light of the sun. He offers you a timid smile as he asks, mimicking the way he used to look when he was younger, a stark contrast to how he appeared during breakfast; authoritative and intimidating.

You return his smile and nod. Perhaps a walk would do you good. 

He instructs one of the residents to take over your work and they do so without protest. You send them an apologetic look and mumble a ‘thank you’ as you follow Aemond who’s already set sight on the small path leading away from the settlement and towards the compact trees of the surrounding forest. 

You walk in silence, basking in the lovely scenery surrounding you. The light green trees almost seem to shimmer in the sun and as you make your way into the forest, you spot a small river, it’s surface reflecting the lush greenery of the leaves.  

“How is life in Oldtown? Has my uncle been giving you a hard time?”, Aemond asks, eye looking forward as he breaks the silence. You swallow and mentally prepare yourself before answering, not wanting to let him in on how miserable you’ve been.

“Yeah it’s been interesting, a lot of new changes but I’m hanging in there”, you answer, and despite your attempt at sounding casual, sadness is still prevalent in your voice. Aemond abruptly halts and turns to you, eye boring into yours as he contemplatively licks his lips. 

“There is no need for that here”, he states, voice suddenly sterner than before.

“What do you mean?”, you question, feeling yourself grow embarrassed over how easily he sees through your fake cheeriness. Your cheeks grow hot, your palms feel clammy.

“You don’t need to lie to me. It’s only us here, I won’t judge you”, he replies, maintaining the intense eye contact between the two of you. 

It feels like a dam bursts within you, something finally snapping and your sight turns blurry. Any attempts you’ve made to appear strong have failed and all that is left is the truth; that you're miserable. 

You feel your throat close up and you desperately try to swallow before answering.

“I h-, have been feeling a bit, ehm, lost”, you admit, and as you finally utter the words, admitting to yourself and confiding in him that you feel disoriented, tears spill out of the corners of your eyes. You try to take deep breaths to soothe yourself and regain some control over your emotions, but it is far harder said than done and any attempt you make results in you feeling worse. Why can’t you pull yourself together?

Aemond regards you for a moment, allowing you time to process everything that you’re feeling before he places a hand on your upper arm, gently dragging his fingers over the fabric of your blouse. 

“You’re allowed to feel lost”, he looks into your eyes and there is something there, a tenderness you haven’t seen since you were both much younger. 

You can’t stop the tears from flowing now as you weakly nod at his words, the knot in your throat leaving you unable to properly answer him. His seeing eye is so gentle as it gazes into yours, making you feel understood without saying anything. 

“Many of us here felt lost, hopeless even. But the community we’ve built allowed us to reconnect with our inner selves; helped us feel happier”, he explains, the hand that had been on your arm coming up to experimentally stroke your cheek. You lean into his touch by reflex, relishing in the feeling of his warm hand on your wet cheek. 

“You don’t have to pretend here, not with me”

As he speaks you move closer to him, pressing your body against his and wrapping your arms around his torso, hugging him closely, just like you did so many times in your childhood. He understands what you need immediately and hugs you back, holding you against his chest as he softly strokes your hair. And despite the agony in your chest and the lump in your throat, you feel wonderful, escaping in his warm embrace to momentarily forget all your sorrows.  

You stay frozen like that for a while, bodies interlocked with each other as Aemond lets you cry. He doesn't say anything, continuously stroking your hair. It feels emancipating; crying your heart out in the arms of your uncle. 

As your tears dry up, you gently push yourself away from Aemond’s embrace and run the back of your hand over your cheeks in an attempt to remove some of the wetness. Aemond’s eye still looks gentle as he regards you. 

“I know that life is not always what you thought it’d be and leaving home is scary. But you’re with family now. Me and Hel are so pleased that you’re here with us”

You smile at him, murmuring a quiet ‘thank you’ as he motions for you to carry on with your walk. 

You continue to talk and catch up on what’s been going on in your lives since you last met. Aemond tells you about his research project; how he believes that modern capitalism renders people mere objects utilised for profit by companies, consequently leaving them lacking agency and without a belief in higher powers, generating a generation of depressed, lost souls. 

You take in everything he’s saying, he speaks with such confidence that you feel yourself agreeing instantaneously. You also felt like an object at work; a machine there to execute tasks, without any possibility to dictate your work days. 

You listen to him so intensively that you do not even realise you’re back at the commune. What sounds like a fight in hushed voices pulls you away from your conversation with Aemond as you look up to search for where the voices are coming from. 

You see one of the residents you had breakfast with, Jayne, kneel down in front of Alys, grasping at her apron and pleading to her in a quiet, desperate voice, “I didn't mean to, please believe me!”

Shocked, you look over at Aemond who suddenly looks stern, wrinkles forming between his eyebrows, eye set on the scene in front of you. As you open your mouth to ask him what's going on, he grabs your arm and promptly leads you into the Sept, closing the door behind you. 

“Helaena will meet you here, she wanted to show you her insect farm. Do not leave until she collects you.”, he commands, voice stoic but intimidating, leaving no room for argument. Before you have a chance to reply he quickly opens the door and leaves. 

You spend the afternoon with Helaena, exploring her insect farm and listening to her tell you of all the benefits the farm has brought to the commune. Afterwards, you try to make yourself useful, offering to help some of the residents while they prepare the large outdoor dining space for supper. 

You begin chatting with one of the younger people there, a man who appears to be in his early 20’s called Jon. He tells you about how he met Aemond. As part of his PhD programme, Aemond held some lectures for first-year students, and Jon had attended his class on international conflict and crisis. They’d started talking outside of Aemond’s lectures and found that they had much in common, especially in regards to their world-views. Aemond had mentioned his wish to move out of the city with his sister, and Jon was intrigued in an instance. 

You continued to talk to Jon, finding him easy to chat with and surprisingly funny; throwing in jokes here and there. Feeling yourself relaxing and growing more comfortable, you decide to pry a bit, confiding in Jon.

“I wasn’t brought up with the faith, so I have to ask. Why did you decide to build a large Sept in a small settlement like this?”, you ask as you help Jon place cutlery by the plates on the table. He visibly stiffens at your question and look up from the table to meet your eyes. 

“You don’t know?”, he replies, face genuinely surprised and eyes wide. Before you get a chance to answer, a husky voice interrupts your discussion. 

“Jon! How lovely of you to entertain our guest”

The woman who you’ve learned goes by Alys appears, emerald eyes locking with yours as you turn to face her.

“I’m Alys, it is so nice to meet you”, she continues as she gives you a practised smile. Her face looks far from how harsh it had appeared when Jayne had been kneeling before her. 

You try to smile back at her, telling her your name though you suspect she already knows exactly who you are. You look over at Jon who appears stiff and nervous, hands fidgeting with a fork. 

“I believe Aemond wants to see you, in his office”, Alys sight does not leave Jon as her eyes bore into him, but you both know she is addressing you. You can’t come up with anything to say or do, anxious to find out what it was that Aemond wanted from you and desperate to get away from the intense silent fight that was going on between Jon and Alys before your eyes. You shoot Jon a quick apologetic glance before moving toward the Sept, leaving him with Alys. 

You know that Aemonds office is located behind the large altar in the Sept and as you approach, you feel yourself grown more nervous. You quickly try to run your sweaty palms over your skirt before raising one hand and softly rapping your knuckles against the heavy wood door. 

Aemond calls for you to come in and you enter, standing awkwardly at the door. What did he want with you? Had you overstepped when you spoke with Jon? Or would he let you in on what had happened between Alys and Jayne when you came back from your walk? Something about the commune and Aemond made you incredibly nervous, but you were unable to pin-point what it was that reduced you to a mess of nerves. 

Your eyes kept flicking up at Aemond and down at the floor. You couldn’t maintain eye contact with him, his stare was too fiery. 

“I heard you offered to help Jon prepare supper?”, he inquires. His voice is completely devoid of any emotions, making your uneasiness grow. He had an eerie calmness to him that did little to soothe you; rather, it made you grow more anxious. 

“Yes, I only helped him by bringing out plates and such”, you rushedly explain, words pouring out of your mouth. “I am so sorry if I overstepped or made a mistake, that wasn’t my intention”. 

Aemond beckons you over, pushing his chair from where it’s placed by the desk, holding out his hand. You grab it without a second thought and he begins stroking his thumb over the back of your palm, looking up at you,  sympathy evident in his gaze. 

“Why did you assist him?”, he asks softly and you answer that you just wanted to be helpful, that you’re still new here and don’t know where you’re needed.  

Aemond hums and leans back in his chair, hand still holding yours. 

“You shouldn’t do other peoples chores for them. Everyone here has responsibilities that they should conduct in solitude”, he explains and you nod, though you can’t understand the harm in helping someone with a menial task such as setting the table for supper. 

“Don’t worry, no one is upset with you”, he adds to reassure you that you haven’t wronged anyone, probably sensing the stiffness in your body. You feel yourself relaxing slightly as you let out a breath you didn’t realise you were holding. 

Aemond looks you over and his gaze stops at your shoulders, noticing the strain there.

“You are still so tense”, he notes and you hum. Stress, working at a desk for over 40 hours per week and lack of sleep had left your body in a constant rigid state.

“Come here”, he commands as he tugs at your arm unexpectedly, making you stumble forward. His other hand comes up to wrap around your waist, placing you on his thigh. 

He looks into your eyes and the close proximity makes you slightly uncomfortable. 

“You’ve always been so nervous; anxious since we were young”, he says as the hand that had been holding yours travels down to rest on your clothed thigh. The arm he has around you midriff tightens as if he’s expecting you to move away.

“Let me help you relax”, he offers, voice soft, hand slowly tracing patterns on your leg. You do not know what he means by it, but you trust him; he always makes you feel better. 

You stay put on his lap and he takes that as permission to continue, letting his hand travel down to where your skirt ends, fingers caressing your knee. You feel a breath get caught in your throat as his hand moves upwards, slinking in under the fabric of your  skirt; warm palm softly touching the smooth skin of your thigh. Aemond lets out a sigh at the contact and you suddenly feel uneasy, squirming in his grip. 

“Aemond, what are you doing?”, you ask, voice slightly panicked. His arm tightens around your waist as you try to move, hand continuing its path up your skirt. 

“Didn’t it feel liberating to ease the pressure from within when you cried in my arms earlier?”, he inquires and you look at him puzzled. He still appears stoic but the pupil of his eye is blown wide, enveloping his iris. 

“Let me take care of you. Just relax”, he commands as his hand reaches the apex of your thighs, index finger coming up to touch your bundle of nerves over your underwear experimentally. 

You gasp and try to squirm out of his hold again but he is much stronger, body rigid as he holds you. His head comes down to rest in the crock of your neck as he shushes you. His fingers continue their slow massage over your underwear and you feel yourself grow wetter from his attention. 

Your body has frozen, your mind likewise. Although you know it’s wrong, you let yourself lean into the pleasure Aemond is providing you. You feel yourself drift away, your mind letting go of your sensibleness; Aemond consuming you. 

When his fingers travel to the edge of your underwear,  sliding underneath, it’s like a bucket of cold water is poured over you and you regain consciousness, bringing your hand up to try and push his away. 

“Aemond we can’t do this, don’t-”, you plead, embarrassed by the fact that you can feel the evidential stickiness of your arousal between your legs. 

Aemond tuts at you and pushes his fingers to make contact with the skin of your cunt, delighted at the wetness that greets him. 

“You want this. You need this. Be a good girl for me and let it happen”, he speaks quietly into your neck and you feel lost for words, not knowing what to reply. 

You sit in his lap stiffly and as you're about to utter a coherent reply, his fingers circle your clit, making you let out a startled moan.

Aemond chuckles against your skin before pressing a light kiss to your neck. “I knew you’d like it”, he taunts and you feel your cheeks sear with shame. 

The conflicting feelings storming inside you did little to hinder the arousal you were experiencing. As his fingers travel down to your entrance, you again feel your common sense slip away and pleasure overtaking you. He gathers some of the wetness from your entrance and brings it back up to your clit, making you sigh in pleasure again. 

He positions his hand so that the heel of his palm is right by your bundle of nerves, leaving his fingers free to tease your entrance. He stays like that for a while, teasing you while pressing his palm against your clit. As your senses leave you, you feel the pleasure build inside of you at a rapid pace. 

He slowly sinks two fingers inside and you cannot contain the loud moan that escapes you, grabbing his arm with both hands. You grip him tightly but cannot bring yourself to pry his hand away like you’d tried before, the pleasure too overpowering. 

As he sets a steady pace, palm pushing against your clit and fingers continuously finding the rough patch within you. You feel something tightening inside and you urgently want him to continue, breathing heavily. You can sense Aemond’s breath growing laboured against your neck as well, giving it his all as he holds you in place and pleasures you. 

You bit your lip to not let more moans slip out as pleasure begins to consume you.

Why did it feel so good?

Your walls began to contract against Aemond’s fingers as your peak approached you, and you could hear him encouraging you to let go.

As you do, you let out a pleasured cry, soaking his fingers as your body stiffened while pleasure shoots through you; travelling from your lower stomach to your chest and out to your limbs. Your body slumps against Aemond and he moves his face out from the crook of your neck, lips ghosting over the shell of your ear as he whispers,

“Good girl”

A/N: Thank you for reading babes! I hope you enjoyed it, if you did, please consider leaving a like, comment or reblog!

Tag list: @moonlightfoxx @daenerysqueenofhearts @heimtathurs @qyburnsghost @kazuyatokue @chainsawsangel @mandiiblanche @beautifulsweetschaos @shygardengalaxy @angelicmars2 @croatianprinceza @fan-goddess @youraverageaemondsimp @madelynwal @kimmiecub @tssf-imagines @toodlesxcuddles @shesjustanothergeek @persephonerinyes @the-common-cowgirl

#mind the tags #dark!fic #prince aemond targaryen #modern!aemond #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x you #dark aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond x fem!reader #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen drabble #aemond fanfiction #aemond fic #house of the dragon fanfic #hotd fanfic #aemond stannies #aemond x oc #aemond targaryen x oc #prince aemond #my fics #dark!aemond targaryen x reader #dark aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x reader

[eoieopda]

all my dreamin' | hjs

all my dreamin' is only put to shame / and darlin', all my dreamin' has only been given a name / but it came easy, darlin' / as natural as another leg around you in the bed frame.

pairing: joshua hong x reader summary: your LA boyfriend wasn't built for midwest winters. ⇢ insp. by hozier's "to someone from a warm climate (uiscefhuarithe)" type: one-shot | fluff 'n smut wc: only 2.5k! au: established relationship rating: 18+ (minors do not have my consent to interact) cw: afab! and american!reader; cuddling (👀) for warmth; gropin’ and grindin’; k*ss*ng; slow, unprotected morning sex; p in v penetration. a/n: i love two (2) men — andrew hozier byrne and hong jisoo. idk what else you want me to say, lol. barely proofread (sorry!) 🔞 MINORS WHO INTERACT WITH ME AND/OR MY CONTENT WILL BE BLOCKED, WHETHER OR NOT THE CONTENT IS NSFW. I’M AN ADULT WRITING EXCLUSIVELY FOR OTHER ADULTS.

Slatted shades don’t stand much of a chance against the blinding white outside your window. It seeps through the cracks, sunshine refracting harshly off of knee-deep snow and stinging eyes that haven’t yet consented to opening fully. 

Even though that laser-focused beam of light hits you between your eyebrows, it’s not the reason you’re awake in the first place. The real reason is next to you with his head ducked under the covers, rubbing his flannel-coated legs together like he’s trying to start a fire.

“Cricket?” You mumble. 

Still heavy with sleep you didn’t get enough of, your head lolls to the side. If your boyfriend was still topside, you’d be nose to nose; but he’s not, and he doesn’t seem to hear you from inside the cocoon he’s made for himself. 

A little louder, your gravelly voice makes a second attempt. “Are you alive under there?”

“No,” comes the world’s most pitiful whimper from somewhere near your rib cage.

You don’t know what you expected.

With a muffled grunt of effort, you pull the edge of the covers away from your chin and wiggle your way down. In the half-light, you can’t make out Joshua’s face in its entirety. His sweatshirt strings are pulled tight and knotted, hiding most of his features from the air his breath has already started to make hot. All that’s left is the tip of his nose, one eye, and a single, loose wave between the two.

There’s also a hint of a frown in there somewhere when he peeps, “I’m cold.”

You shift even further until he’s within swaddling distance. Wrapping one leg over his topmost thigh, you pull him closer and allow him to nestle his face into the spot below your chin. From where he’s hiding, he can’t see you smirking. It’s for the best, really.

“Hi, Cold.”

“Don’t.”

You don’t listen. Instead, you snicker, more to yourself than him, “I’m Dad.”

Joshua lets out a long groan in reply, but that’s no surprise; you’re huddled so closely together that you felt it building in his chest. 

When it grows quiet again, and you’re no longer laughing at your own joke, the two of you each deflate against each other. Yesterday’s journey from LAX was exhausting in and of itself, and the several-hour leap in time hasn’t made things any easier since you landed. Neither has the weather surrounding your family’s cabin, although you’re faring much better than Joshua is.

His groggy voice comes out of nowhere, startling you. “I don’t know why people live here on purpose.”

From the sound of it, he’s already halfway back to sleep. His arm slips over your waist and pulls you closer, and you get the sneaking suspicion that he’d slip into the front of your sweatshirt if he thought for sure that he could fit. Frankly, you’re shocked he hasn’t tried. His clinginess increases exponentially when he’s exhausted.

“The midwest isn’t a choice; it’s a consequence,” you sigh. “I think being born here was a penance for crimes I committed in a past life.”

Without opening his eyes, Joshua mumbles, “Bleak.”

“Bleak indeed, cricket.”

The third time really must be the charm. Joshua snorts, much too tired to laugh any harder than that, and asks, “Does that mean what I think it means?”

Biting back a smile, you tilt your head backwards enough to kiss his forehead — what little you can see of it, anyway.

“That your self-warming violin legs kept me up all night?” Your amusement only grows when you peek down at him and find him glaring up at you. “Yes. Yes, it does.”

Lower lip poking out, he scrunches his eyebrows. As offended as he pretends to be, he can’t hide that ever-present twinkle in his eyes. “You could have saved me, you know,” he sniffs.

You mimic his tone with a smirk. “I turned the thermostat up as high as it goes, you know.”

The most you get out of him is a grunt acknowledging that he heard you. Normally, you’d accept this lack of retort as a demurrer, but then you feel his cold fingertips slink below the waistband of your sleep shorts, chilling the bare skin at your hip bone; and it finally hits you.

The thermostat wasn’t the remedy Joshua had been praying for.

As you untie the strings of his sweatshirt hood, you tell yourself that it’s retaliation that motivates your movements — paying him back for his freezing hands by exposing his face to equally cold air. That’s bullshit, though, and you know it. The truth is that you can’t card your fingers through hair that’s covered in thick, grey fabric.

You can’t steal kisses from hidden lips, either.

When Joshua’s mouth is finally on yours, you giggle without meaning to because he still tastes like last night’s spearmint toothpaste. You’d love to tease him for it, but your mind goes blank before you can try. He licks into your mouth, and your snark turns into a breathy little moan instead; he swallows it eagerly, smiling against your lips.

Pinch me. I’m dreaming.

The sudden snap of your elastic waistband against the small of your back makes you jolt. You pull back, lips swollen and kiss-bitten, and balk. He doesn’t give you the opportunity to scold him, however.

“You’re insane for wearing shorts when it’s this cold,” Joshua insists. When you don’t bother to justify your decision — you’re not as much of a freeze baby as he is — he nips at your bottom lip. “I’m grateful, though. They’re easier to work around.”

You’re grateful that his hands have gotten warmer, the longer they cling to you, but you don’t say as much out loud — your body responds for you. His fingers knead into the flesh of your ass, and you roll your hips forward, chasing friction. You find it easily; it’s growing thicker by the second.

“Shit, sweetheart.” He’s still so tired that his words come out slurred — adorable — yet rough around the edges, which drives you the slightest bit wild. “Please do that again.”

“You just want me to do all the work.” You nudge the tip of his nose with yours. The sharp contrast in temperature isn’t lost on you; in fact, you adore it. His sensitivity to cold is one of a million endearing things about him. “Isn’t that right, cricket?” 

The half-expectant, half-sheepish look Joshua sends you confirms that yes, he does. But he asked nicely, and this isn’t on the shortlist of things you wouldn’t do for him, so you grant his wish without complaint.

It’s more than a little bit pathetic that such a lazy motion — a fully-clothed one, at that — makes you both moan in tandem. It’s haphazard, the way your fumbling fingers reach for the knot of his waistband. Your motor skills are still asleep, it seems, making an easy task infinitely more difficult. It only gets worse, the more frustrated you get.

You snag a fingernail on the stubborn flannel and hiss, “Jesus.”

“It’s pronounced Jisoo,” he supplies unhelpfully. 

To avoid the consequences of that quip, Joshua ducks his head down to leave a smattering of lazy kisses along the length of your neck. Whatever you might’ve clapped back with is replaced with a relieved sigh when the drawstrings’ vice grip on one another finally gives. 

Tugging unsuccessfully at the waistband in your hands, you pout. “Help.”

With the way he whines, you’d think you asked him to move a mountain. 

Melodramatically, Joshua’s head drops sideways. It lands with a muffled thump against the scrunched-up comforter that still surrounds you. He doesn’t move another muscle until you open your mouth to nag him; still frowning, still uncoordinated, his hands take the place of yours. His hips lift just enough for him to shimmy his pajama pants down — just enough to provide access.

You roll your eyes at his refusal to undress any further, but before he can remind you of how cold he is, you catch him by the mouth. Successfully placated, Joshua accepts your lips on his with an appreciative hum. That sound transforms into something bordering a groan when your hand claims his length and starts stroking him slowly.

Just like that, Joshua melts under your touch, like putty molding to your frame. His leaking cock is the exception; the only part of him that seems awake enough to beg for you. He’s throbbing in your hand and — once again — you can’t help but laugh. 

Joshua’s incredulous eyes widen, silently demanding an explanation. 

“Some of you is warm,” you offer with a cheeky grin. To ease that wrinkle between his brows, you envelope the crown of his cock with your palm and roll your wrist. The gentle squeeze prompts him to grind forward into your fist, making your stomach flip. “Must be thawing out a little bit.”

“Not fair,” he says, even though he’s moaning with screwed-shut eyes. “Can’t tease me until I’m adequately caffeinated. The Keurig is a million miles away.”

It’s one room over. 

The cabin you’ve borrowed from your parents is a mere six-hundred square feet.

You digress.

The prospect of coffee makes it even harder to fight off the urge to yawn, but you manage to do so. You manage to shimmy even closer to him, too, until the only barrier left is a thin layer of damp cotton. It’s his hand that drops down now to push it aside, making you shiver; and it’s him looking at you through half-lidded eyes that stokes the fire simmering in your belly.

“C’mere, sweetheart,” Joshua whispers. 

If his words weren’t invitation enough, the come hither motion of his fingers is. The brush of his fingertips against your clit is so enticing that you decide right then and there to follow wherever he leads. 

You’re the one melting when the tip of his cock replaces his fingers, flicking over that same spot, then gliding through your slicked folds. Each pass pulls another needy sigh right out of you. He takes every little sound he can tease out of you, as if he’s collecting them. 

When the target switches to your entrance, however, you go silent. Your fingers grip the sleeve of his sweatshirt, your forehead drops to lean against his, and your gasp dies on your tongue. It comes out of Joshua’s mouth instead, spearmint breath cooling as it fans across your face.

He might never say so out loud, but this is his favorite way to fuck you — holding you close against him, holding eye contact, holding his eagerness back to slide into you slowly. When he watches your breath catch, his pupils dilate; and he licks his lips, as if he tastes the moans you can’t quite vocalize.

For what it’s worth, you love him like this, too. Him and the drag of his cock; the way it makes pleasure course through you like molasses. The way he capitalizes on the angle of your leg draped over his hip, tilting up to graze your g-spot with a dizzying precision.

As hard as you try, you can’t think of anything better than this. There’s nothing as perfect as his hand’s light hold on your ass cheek, guiding you up and down his length; so fucking deep, but in no rush at all.

Mornings were made to be spent tangled up with him.

“Do you hear that?” Joshua murmurs against your lips. You thread your fingers through his hair and nod, whimpering as you cling to him even tighter. 

How could you not? 

Your arousal floods with every languid thrust, and you know without looking that he’s completely coated in you. And if his satisfied smirk tells you anything, it’s that he can feel you dripping from his shaft down to his balls. You have no reason to doubt it; your inner thighs are a mess.

Joshua takes his hand off your ass just to hitch your leg even higher up on his side. Immediately, you see stars. You can’t even articulate how fucking incredible it feels, having him this deep, so you kiss him with more desperation than you ever have; and you hope he can guess how close you are to unraveling.

It’s impossible to say whether he can read your mind or just your body, but Joshua picks up the pace ever so slightly. As he does, there’s a subtle swirl to his hips when he thrusts into you that has every one of your synapses lighting up like a switchboard. 

“Fuck,” is your eloquent, shuddered response. 

It’s the best you can offer when you're falling apart like this, clenching tightly around him to push you both closer to the edge. No better off, Joshua seems like he’s barely surviving the way your cunt grips him. His voice sounds as shaky as you feel: 

“I l-love it when you do that.” 

To prove it, he flicks his tongue along your bottom lip and begs you to open up for him. You comply automatically, earning a pleased hum from him that tingles down your spine.

You’d kiss him like this all day if you could, but the wildfire burning through the pit of your abdomen is becoming impossible to fight. Ironic, you think, given how completely you’ve soaked through your sleep shorts and how much you’re shivering.

Involuntarily, your head tilts backwards as the pleasure blooms. Joshua traps your bottom lip between his teeth — not hard enough to hurt, but firmly enough to keep you from disappearing. You know him; you know how much he loves to watch your pupils blow when you cum all over him, and that dead-set determination is crystal clear in the way he fights to keep his heavy-lidded eyes open.

He loses that battle mere seconds after your choked gasp, when your walls flutter around him and you start trembling. He’s twitching inside of you, release spilling, and now he’s the one who starts to laugh.

“What?” You’re still floating somewhere in the stratosphere, but you manage to snort, landing a playful swat on his bare hip. He doesn’t react at all, but you massage your palm into his flesh to soothe him anyway. “What’s so funny?”

In a sudden burst of energy, Joshua’s hands fly up to grab the comforter resting over your heads. With a grunt, he flings it off of you both, thrusting your unsuspecting body into cold air. He doesn’t even notice your startled yelp.

“So hot in there,” he pants. For emphasis, he runs the back of his hand over his forehead. He wasn’t lying; there’s a faint sheen of sweat on his knuckles when he pulls them away again. “Jesus. It’s like a fucking sauna.”

You reach out to unstick a strand of hair from his slicked skin, then you let your arm flop limply back against the pillows. Grinning, you tease, “I thought it was pronounced Jisoo.”

#joshua hong #joshua smut #svt #svt smut #joshua x reader #joshua fluff #svt fluff #joshua imagines #joshua scenarios #svt imagines #svt scenarios #svt fic #seventeen smut #seventeen fluff #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #hong jisoo #shua #jade writes #re: all my dreamin' #kvanity #seventeen

[nor-4]

Soooo Anxious

Oscar Diaz x Reader

It's been a really hot day the degree keeps increasing definitely because of climate change, those damn uncaring did this if only they cared more about the earth.

Good thing you are nice enough to make a Popsicles and snacks for everyone outside since they nag oscar to hang out and fix Oscar's car.

"God why is it so hot outside, I think I'm about to evaporate." Jamal squealed as he roughly swing the fan around, "Boy if you don't shut your mouth I wi-" Oscar was cutted off when you slam the door with you foot as you carry a tray of foods with both of your hands.

"Oh cesar you didn't told me you will be having your friends over." You said luckily you have more popsicles inside as you didn't include Jamal and the others on the list, "I didn't even know, they just passed by." Cesar stated receiving a smack from monse.

"Who's that?? She's so hot.." Jamal whispered as he scooted over to cesar as he eye you up and down, "I know right." Ruby popped out out of nowhere they arrived with him here but they just forgot him.

"If I were you I will not even say that." Cesar said as he catch a glimpse of his brother giving a side eye on Jamal and Ruby. He for sure knew what they said.

"Monse, Jasmine, dear I'm so happy you guys are here." you happily squealed as you walk near cesar to do a beso with monse and jasmine. Monse is like a little sister for you, you are the first person she run to everytime she has this girl problems, same goes jasmine. You are just old to be their sister, a sister that will have a girls night with them.

As for jamal and ruby they were quietly waiting for you to approach them and also do a beso on them but instead you just shook their hands, even though they are still grateful.

"Good thing i made more popsicles, wait.." As you started walking again inside as the two horny boys watch you walk with agape mouth, looking at your clothing which really fit your body. It will for sure make every man's hungry eyes full.

"Oy cesar, what this little friends of your staring for." Oscar said standing up from sitting on the small chair he own to use everytime he fix his wheels. "What who's staring, hey monse stop staring it's bad." jamal said nervously slapping over monse's arms earning a slap back from her.

"Been telling them that." cesar just shrugged walking to get a popsicle since heat have been bothering him since this morning, "You little putas better stop eye fucking my girl before i pull them out." oscar threatened as he started washing his hands so he can eat.

"Stop acting like a bitch in heat now oscar." You scolded as you handed out the popsicles on everyone, "Come on ma I'm just saying." oscar sighed in defeat.

Cesar still can't believe on how you can scold over oscar, he knows scolding on him is not a thing he would even tolerate. But look at you, you just make everything so peaceful by shutting oscar up.

"Here baby sit infront of the fan, it's been really smoking hot lately." Oscar offered quickly as he plugged the electric fan that jamal didn't even know it's there until oscar plugged it, "Thank you darling." You thanked as you touch his bicep after sitting on the chair.

"God she sound so hot, i wish she would call me that." ruby murmured as they sat comfortably infront of them watching oscar reach for a chair from God knows where and sat beside you.

"I swear this kids better stop looking at your boobs" oscar murmured as he stared back at jamal and ruby who was to focused on you, to shut oscar up from saying something about violent stuff you started feeding him with fries you made because you were craving.

"You made this? It's really good." jasmine asked as she almost choked from swallowing it all the way without even chewing it, good thing monse has a heavy hands to slap Jasmine's back.

"Yes i did, thank you.." You said it made you a bit shy but you love it when someone praises your cooking skills, "Do you want a drink monse? I heard the temperature will get higher later, you need to be hydrated." Cesar asked as he placed a hand on monse's shoulder.

"Yes please." Monse said as cesar quickly stood up to get a drink on the kitchen, "Get my queen some too" oscar commanded as you smack his face.

"You're being too cringe you know."

"Come on, i cannot care for my girl now?"

"Do you want me to tie your hair up?" Oscar asked again but this time more sincere than his sarcadm earlier, "Yes please baby, thank you." You said as your back faced oscar to tie your hair up.

It took a long time for oscar to learn on how to tie your hair so everytime it's getting hot you wouldn't even need to do an effort to tie your hair, plus oscar always carry two of your hair ties on his wrist just in case you forgot one.

After tying your hair up he kissed you shoulder like a light weight of feather which made both of you giggled like a high school teenagers as you face him, oscar used to be a not so affectionate significant others. But by the time being on a relationship with you he learned that it's very important to do, it's his favorite language of love.

He loves to touch you feel you in his hands, to hug you on a cold night, to hold you when you feel sad, to hold you and make you know that nothing can really change his love for you.

Another thing is he used his confidence to compliment you every second, to assure you, to tell you how much he loves you how much you meant to him.

"God I've never been more jealous in my life.." ruby murmured as he sadly munch on his burger.

#oscar diaz smut #oscar diaz x reader #oscar diaz #on my block #on my block x reader #spooky x reader #spooky smut

[mistydeyes]

Hello! How would the task force 141 members and los vaqueros react(?) to a fem reader who is a lot like Ghost? By that I mean in terms of appearance (I hc him as a blonde with blue eyes) and personality. I imagine that others would think that Ghost has a twin sister who he never mentioned. Feel free to ignore if it's too specific or anything.

I happen to be similar to Simon in terms of my appearance (although his appearance is hc'd) and even my name. My name's Simona (⁠´⁠-⁠﹏⁠-⁠`⁠；⁠)

anon plz that’s so funny ur genderbent simon! I loved this request and had a lot of fun with it :) Peep the little pharmacist cameo in Soap’s part!

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊

You’re the newest addition to the 141, a joint decision by Laswell and Captain Price. You came from selection and were known for your specialties in sniping from near-impossible distances and your silent takedowns. You gained the name, Bones, based on how you left your many enemies lying at your feet. When you first met the team, you didn’t think much about your resemblance to the Lieutenant but loved some of their reactions (to most to least shocked).

Price

The captain is relatively unfazed. He picked you based on your merit and your lengthy resume. The recommendations about your takedowns on the field and weapons handling were a nice touch. He can’t deny the resemblance when Laswell first brings you to the team. You shook his hand confidently and he looked into your blue eyes, one’s that suspiciously resembled Ghost’s. “Nice to meet you,” he responded, “heard they call you Bones.” You nodded in response and he led you to meet the team. He appreciated your quiet demeanor, you’d offer a much-needed reprieve to his other chatty sergeants. “You’ll fit in well here, Sergeant,” he said and introduced you to the rest of his squad. Throughout the entire Graves and Hassan fiasco, he keeps his conspiracies quiet. That is until he celebrates with Laswell and the rest of the 141 and drunkenly asks her, “So how did you track down Simon’s sister?”

Alejandro

Similar to Price, Alejandro could’ve cared less. When he greets you, Soap, and Ghost as you get off the plane, he just assumes the resemblance is a coincidence. Throughout your time in Las Alma’s, you didn’t make much conversation and listened to his and Ghost’s orders intently. It wasn’t until the pestering of Rudy and seeing your sniping style during the Dark Water mission that makes him think you might be related. As you provided overwatch on the oil rig, he takes this time to ask. “Hey, can I ask you a quick question, Bones?” he whispers as your eyes are focused through the scope. “Sure Colonel, what do you want to know?” you respond. “Are you and Ghost related?” he asks bluntly and you can’t help but laugh. “No Alejandro, I promise you we aren’t,” you say and he never follows up, having his answer.

Rudy

Now we’re getting to the more shocked reactions. When Rudy sees you exiting the plane into the Las Almas heat, he can’t help but look at both you and Ghost. Something about your quiet and commanding demeanor to your blonde hair and blue eyes, makes him suspicious. Especially when he sees your light eyelashes, he just can feel in his heart that you and Ghost are related. He eyes you in the backseat, wedged in between Soap and Ghost, as they talk about the interesting political climate of the town. He even makes sure to lock eyes with you when he says that Ghost fits perfectly in the town. He just wants to ask if you’re his sibling, even his twin, but Alejandro stops him from prying. When he sees your sniping skills on the field, he comments to Alejandro, “Todo lo que necesita es una máscara.”

Translation

“Todo lo que necesita es una máscara” - “All she needs is a mask”

Gaz

When you first walked onto the base to meet the team, Gaz did a double take. While you didn’t have a mask obscuring your face, your light eyelashes and blue eyes were uncanny. He immediately looked at Ghost and accused him of using his familial ties to get you on his unit. He was embarrassed when his Lieutenant reprimanded him for the accusation and said you weren’t related. He tries to drop it but a part of his brain keeps him from letting it go. Eventually, as you are sitting on the plane to Chicago, he asks you personally. “Hey Bones, I just have to know before we die,” he begins to ask and you laugh a little at his nihilism. “Spit it out Gaz, stop being such a pessimist,” you reply and eye the man. “Are you sure your mum never shagged Ghost’s dad?” he asks. Before he has time to say anything more, you quickly deliver a punch to his shoulder which shuts him up.

Soap

Despite the verbal beatdown Gaz got, Soap still has a conspiracy theory that you’re Ghost’s twin. In fact, he even gets in trouble when he tries to convince the pharmacist to relinquish your medical file and family history. “Just ask them yourself, Sergeant, and stop asking me to violate HIPAA!” she yelled before kicking him out of the pharmacy. Despite all this, Soap will try to put all the pieces together about you and your “sibling.” He is relentless during the slow days at the base and on surveillance missions. “Are you SURE you weren’t separated by birth?” he pestered you on the comms. You rolled your eyes and looked as Ghost as you saw the Scotsman navigate El Sin Nombre’s base. “Shut up MacTavish!” you growled back and he stopped. At least for that day. You and Ghost take great care when you’re sent to spar with him. But be warned, he will make sure to note your clear similar fighting styles.

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊

Bonus! Ghost

Of course Ghost had heard of you, he likes to keep tabs on rising talent in the SAS. He tried to suppress the surprise when he finally saw you in person. He couldn’t deny that the rumors of your relation had some merit. Regardless, he kept this surprise secret and did his best to keep his team and the Los Vaqueros in line. But when he fell asleep at night, he would feel a pang of hurt as your face flashed in his mind. Why did you have to look like his late mother?

#task force 141 x reader #task force 141 #cod x reader #call of duty modern warfare #cod mwii #modern warfare 2 #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #call of duty #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #gaz x reader #soap x reader #price x reader #kyle garrick x reader #john price x reader #Johnny mactavish x reader #mw2 imagine #madebyizzie #izzie is writing

[fluff-n-cookies]

hey, can I ask the reader to be Aizawa's daughter, but she lives with her mother in another country, so when the reader gets into a fight, her mother sends her to live with Aizawa, but she forgets to tell him, so y/ n arrives and says "hey dad, surprise?"

I'm so sorry for responding late, I just been so caught up with school, but sure! (p.s. I'm not sure if you wanted oneshots or headcanons so I did headcanons. sorry about that. and I'm also heacanoning this reader as socially awkward, sorry about that too.) reader is a teen in this!

WARNINGS MENTION OF BOOBS NOTHING GRAPHIC JUST MINETA.

first off, reader is besties with Present Mic and definitely told Mic to tell Aizawa she was coming, but did Mic Do that? NO!

he probably drove you back to UA from the airport and just barged in yelling "BITCH (Aizawa) GUESS WHAT" "what do you want Mic?" "no, guess!"

okay parting away from the crack, Aizawa and you are both dying of embarrassment since Aizawa is teaching a CLASS RIGHT NOW.

So Aizawa is Infuriated since first he knows you hate being put on in the spotlight so he does scold Mic about it while all might handle class 1A's training.

eventually you two do get to talk one on one and the moment after you say "hey dad, surprise?" he just collapses on the closest surface and replies "goddamn it you're too cute to be mad at."

please tell him about every single detail of your trip it makes him so happy. he wants to know you trust him with this information and it makes him feel like he's getting just a bit closer to you. even the bad things that make you cry like a bad break up or an argument with your mom, it just makes him want to comfort you more.

tries to get you some of your favorite snacks from your country so you feel at home.

if you feel out of place in Japan since the majority of us are probably not Japanese and probably do not meet beauty expectations, he encourages you to keep being yourself instead of trying to fit in like everyone else.

1A GIRL SQUAD MAKEOVER! 1A GIRL SQUAD MAKEOVER!

these girls are doing your nails and practically interrogating you about your life in your country.

Momo wants to know ALL the customs and ALL the history, HECK TEACH HER YOUR WHOLE LANGUGE.

Mina DEMANDS TO KNOW YOUR LOVE LIFE AND ALLLLL THE DRAMA.

Tsu, Ochako, and Hagakure are just happy to be there, and Jiro is incharge of music.

they are also the ones protecting you from Mineta so try and stick with them.

now here, Shoto and Tenya are in a silent battle over your love and Mineta and Kaminari are fighting over your Boobs.

Shoto helps control the temperature in your room so it seems more like the climate your used to in your country.

while Iida is purposely taking a languge class that you speak and having you translate it for him so he knows he's doing it correctly. (he knows he is but he just wants to hear your voice.)

OH DON"T GET ME STARTED ON AIZAWA FAM

shinsou automatically switches to brother mode, please let him show you his cat plushes and favorite animes, it just makes him so happy.

Eri HAS to have a sleep over with you at one point, you're like an older sister to her (MOVE ASIDE HADO-)

speaking with Toshinori in english if you come from an english speaking country.

Thank you for requesting and I hope to see you in my inbox again soon!

#yandere aizawa #shouta aizawa #aizawa x reader #mha #bnha #bnha x reader #platonic aizawa #yandere aizawa x reader

[contentloadinggg]

January Blues - Hozier

Author’s Note: Y’all I finally did it. We’re going to pretend it’s still January so this fits. But it’s finally here 🙏. Thanks to my bestie lunaritessane Who’s input made this fic a whole lot better. I love you💚. (Literally, like their beta reading was just delicious.)

Summary: Andrew is feeling down, you make him feel better. Gender neutral!reader. (3k words)

⚠️Warnings⚠️: Smut! Smut turned weirdly poetic sometimes?. Kinda Switch!Andrew, sub vibes at the beginning, soft dom vibes later. Descriptive descriptions of Andrew’s long dick. (I have a problem)

This is a work fiction and is not a reflection of who Hozier is.

Inspired by:

“Well you cured my January Blues, yeah, you made it all alright.”

Fic under the cut💙, 18+ only, you’ve been warned.

The further Ireland dipped into the depths of winter, the more Andrew’s mood dropped. Reflecting the rainy, washed-out climate outside the frosty windows of his house. It hardly even snowed this winter, just a cold rain that somehow made his mood worse. Logically, he knew it was likely that the lack of sun on his already pale skin was what had him wallowing. But alas, no amount of tea and books seemed to make him feel any better. So that’s why he’d given up by this point. Gaze zoned out past the pages of his novel and tea now cold on the coffee table. His mind clouded like the gathering storm outside.

“Andy?”

A gentle call of his name had Andrew startled. Usually he would’ve noticed your presence by the sound of your footsteps, but he’d been too far into his head to notice.

“Yes, darling?”

He asked, the tone of his voice reflecting yours in its quiet manner.

“I’m just wondering if you’re alright? I’ve called your name a few times and you haven’t answered.”

You replied. Despite keeping your voice light, he can tell by the slight frown and the furrow of your eyebrows you’re more concerned than you're letting on. Sighing deeply with resignation, he closes the book with a soft snap and sets it aside. 

“I’m just feeling… I’m not sure. Down, I suppose.”

He answers, voice tainted with melancholy. You look even more concerned. A part of him wishes he didn’t worry you over trivial things. But how could he ever resist your questioning of his well-being?

You walk over to him and sit down on the arm of the chair. Running a hand into the long curls of his hair to scratch at his scalp. He hums and closes his eyes, leaning back into your soothing touch.

“Anything I can do to help?’

You ask and he breathes out through his nose with a shake of his head.

“Not sure there’s much you can do, but… stay?”

Andrew replies, aware his tone sounds dangerously close to needy. But you only smile and nod. Sating any insecurities he has as you continue to massage his scalp. 

He hums contently once more, letting his head rest against your hand. The warm light of the room throws shadows over his face and the pale lines of his neck. Shrouding the valleys in darkness and the highlights with warmth. Turning the sharpness of his cheekbones all the more prominent if that's possible. 

Leaning down, you leave a few kisses over his cheekbones. The feeling of warm breath against his face forces a smile to his lips. He turns his head, capturing your lips against his. Your kiss is like a balm on his apathy, replacing it with passion. Your free hand cups the side of his face. Feeling the gentle scratch of facial hair against your palm that’s also felt on your chin. The feeling lures you closer. Pressing into the space between his and your bodies until you’re straddling one of his legs. Lost in the velvety sensation of lips and tongues against each other. You break it off first. Ignited with one simple idea. 

“Let me make you feel better, yeah?”

You prompt, in a lowered, raspier voice. He looks up at you with blown pupils, green irises dark. Shining hot in the orange light from the lamp. He breathes out. Like he can’t believe you’re real. And nods eagerly.

“Please… do what you’d like.”

His breathless agreement makes you smile and melt a bit, moving his head to get access to his throat. A soft sound leaves his mouth as you kiss over the thin skin. Breath hitching when your tongue follows along the groves of his veins. He’s so goddamn sensitive. He has to hold back a few noises, the heat of your breathing brushing over his neck. Goosebumps appear over his arms. He’s becoming more and more aware of your every move.

Andrew lets out a loud groan that he quickly cuts off in embarrassment. A response to the dragging of your teeth over the base of his neck where it meets his shoulder. The skin beneath your lips flushes a pink color. You snicker in response to the noise, and he huffs in irritation.

“It’s okay, I wanna hear you. I wanna know you’re enjoying it. You sound absolutely gorgeous, but that’s no surprise.”

You murmur to him, rubbing his side to subdue his unease. You know he’s listening because the muscles relax beneath your hand. He lets out another moan as you nibble, turning the skin a pale red.

It’s not long before you’ve scattered similar-looking bites over his neck. By the time you’re getting his sweater off Andrew is breathing a little heavier, sweat building on the back of his flushed neck. 

His chest stutters watching you sink to your knees in front of the armchair. Eyes hooded and darkened.

“Just lie back, baby, and I’ll cure all those blues.”

You direct, and he does as you say. His mouth is too dry to try and come up with a sassy reply to your somewhat cheesy line. Not like that would matter anyway. All thought disappears from his head when your mouth lands on his chest. Kissing, licking, sucking down his sternum. Your lips wrapping around one of his nipples has him debating whether or not to beg for mercy. Airless moans slip from his lips without time nor thought to stop them. 

“Fuckin’ Hell, darling. That’s so good.”

Andrew hisses, voice rough, Irish accent thickened, words a little slurred. His hands running into your hair. Using whatever is there to try and get a grip. Large palms grasping at the back of your skull. He can’t help but pull when you tug on his nipple, forcing a quiet moan from your lips.

“Shit, sorry.”

He apologizes in a way that would sound regretful if it wasn’t husky with arousal. You laugh in response to him jerking under your mouth when you suck softly. Your way of telling him it’s okay. 

After giving Andrew’s nipple a bit more attention, just to hear him whine a few more times. And then start slowly kissing down his stomach. Feeling every little twitch and breath beneath your mouth. 

“Darling, please, please, stop teasing.”

There it is, the pleads for mercy. He’s practically whimpering. His voice becomes tight. A struggle for control. You grant his wish, hands moving to his belt. There’s a large bulge beneath his jeans, straining against the fabric. God, that must be uncomfortable, you can feel the heat from here. 

Eventually, with a bit of moving around, you manage to pull his jeans and boxers off. Freeing his cock from the confines of his clothes. It arches up towards his stomach with a surprising stiffness, considering you haven’t even been touching him for that long. He’s decently above average in length. To the point it burns a little to take, but not ridiculously so. The tip is a deep red, swelled with a desperation to be touched. 

Andrew shoots a hand from your hair to the arm of the chair. Gripping it with a hiss when he feels the brush of your breath over the sensitive skin. His cock twitches, the two prominent veins along the bottom throbbing. You decide not to make him wait any longer. Wrapping a hand around the shaft. Andrew looks down at you with hungry eyes alight with reverence, studying your every move. 

“God- fucking, yes.”

Andrew gasps in pleasured relief, a moan quickly following when you start stroking the length of his shaft, giving every inch an equal amount of attention. Just barely touching the tip to tease him. To watch his cravings become unbearable. At first, he accepts the simple touch, relishing in finally having friction on his cock. However, it soon becomes too little and he starts rocking his hips into your hand, eager for more. Slender thighs flexing with the movement. Light shining over his jutting hip bones. He’s absolutely stunning from this angle, chest heaving as he squirms. A thin sheen of sweat glistening over the bridge of his nose and high cheekbones. A stark contrast to the darkness of his neatly trimmed beard. 

“Babe-”

Andrew starts, his words sounding more like a gasp of breath. 

“Fine, I’ll be nice.” 

You relent, not wanting to torture him too much. Dragging your hand over the weeping head, Andrew moans and sinks his fingernails into the arm of the chair. His other hand cupping the back of your neck, trying his best not to grip or pull. You circle your thumb around the very tip of his cock, over the most sensitive glands. Andrew practically whimpers because of it. Legs jerking, he throws his head back. Eyes squeezed shut. Showing off all those pink love bites you left over his throat.

“Yes, just like that. Keep going.”

Andrew manages in that sweet, unsteady voice. It’s like he can’t get enough air into his lungs, caught between moaning and whining. He thrusts his hips into your hand which moves up and down the entire length of his dick. A focused attention with a twist of your wrist over the head. Andrew isn’t the only one getting impatient. You’re interested in doing much more than just a handjob. 

So, when your impatience gets to be too much, you duck your head and take the tip of his cock into your mouth. Causing a high-pitched noise of surprise from the man above. There’s an even sharper noise as you press your tongue against the bottom and suck. Pulling precum from his eagerness. The tangy and sharp taste coating your tastebuds, sticking to your tongue. It fills your senses, nearly overwhelming the musky scent of Andrew’s arousal. 

“Let me see your eyes, please. Look at me.”

Andrew urges, his voice higher than normal. Looking up at him, his eyes meet yours. And he responds like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen in his life. His lips parted, looking down at you with warmth in his eyes. His entire dick throbbing with your gaze on his. 

“God, you’re so gorgeous, sweetheart.”

He gasps out. His hand letting go of the armchair and brushing the hair away from your face. So he can see all of you properly. 

“So, so pretty down there.”

Andrew continues in a murmur, the pleasure of seeing you drives his ecstasy even higher. He gently moves slightly further into your mouth, hungry for more of the warm pleasure, more than what your hand is giving him. You welcome him, slowly working his cock deeper into your mouth. Jaw stretching to accommodate until it nearly aches. Your tongue cradles the underside. 

He moans lowly, running fingers over your scalp. The warm and wet feeling of your mouth wrapping around his cock causes his entire body to shiver. Pleasure bolting up his spine. He nearly becomes lightheaded with the rush of blood, cheeks flushing a bright red against the paleness of the rest of his skin. 

The more you take, the more difficult it is to breathe. Andrew stops you for a moment,  letting you take a breath. He caresses your jaw with the backs of his fingers, helping it relax out. 

“Just go slow, breathe through your nose.”

He speaks in a calmly commanding voice. Forcing you to stay in your moment of pause for a few seconds longer before letting you continue. You follow his introductions and breathe through your nose, taking measured breaths as you sink further. Until tears gather in your eyes when the tip of his cock brushes the back of your throat. Pushing at your gag reflex. 

A pleasured rumble sounds in Andrew’s chest. Vibrating back through your bones. He continues stroking your jaw, making sure you can take every inch.  

“That’s good. You’re doing so well, baby. Start moving if you want.”

Andrew says, trying his best to keep his composure so his desire doesn’t get the better of him. It nearly does when you start moving achingly slow up and down the length of his dick. Your mouth is so consumingly tempting, hot and wet and just perfect. Both a gift and a curse. Luring Andrew to near madness with how good it feels. He’s speechless, wordless. Stuck in this version of heaven. You’ve got him absolutely hooked. Even more so when you start to move faster. Suck harder. Letting saliva drip down your chin and glisten on your skin the way it does on his cock.  

“Fuck, I’ll never get enough of this. Your so skilled, so absolutely, fucking wonderful.”

He groans behind his clenched teeth. Resisting the urge to bury himself even deeper into your mouth. You struggle to move faster. Gagging on his cock when it hits your reflex. Andrew looks down at you, noticing your struggle. He gently pulls on your hair. Guiding you off his cock.

“It’s alright, let me help you, okay?”

He asks, but it’s less of a suggestion and more of a command if you want to keep going. You nod in agreement. 

“Yeah, okay.”

Andrew takes a careful hold of your hair, holding your head in place as he brings his hips closer to your mouth. The tip of his cock brushes your lips, it’s so red it’s almost purple. Eager and more than ready to slip back into your mouth.

“Ready?”

He asks one more time and you answer affirmatively again. He accepts this and nudges his dick slowly past your parted lips. Guiding himself back into the heat of your mouth. It’s wet, soft and very, very hot. He waits a moment for you to get used to it once more. Before starting to move. Using your hair to move you up and down. His hips rocking forwards into your mouth. His breath hitching as he feels your teeth gaze him. His thighs clasp either side of your head, knees almost on top of your shoulders.

“That’s it, let me help you. Just like this.”

Andrew praises in a tone that does nothing to conceal how good it feels. Carefully thrusting his cock in and out of your already sore throat. You’re so sweet, letting him do this. Willing to take apart every piece of him and put it back together. It’s something only you can do for him. Yet he’s sure you could do it for anyone. 

“God, that’s just right. You’re doing such a good job. You’re an angel.”

He manages, voice trembling. He rocks his hips faster. Guiding you to suck harder. Feeling every ridge moving back and forth across your tongue. The head is just barely nudging the back of your throat. Andrew is gasping, moaning above you like he’s never experienced something quite so amazing in his life. Something beyond any man’s wildest dreams.

His cock twitches in your mouth. His ecstasy reaching higher and higher. To the point his thighs are trembling, skin highlighted pink with exertion (is that how you spell it? idk). You look up at him. Admiring the way his features are painted with pleasure. His eyebrows furrowed and his eyes squeezed shut. His long hair is messy and falling into his flushed face. There’s strands sticking to the sides of his face and neck with the thin sheen of sweat on his skin. Droplets slide down his collarbones and disappear into his sweater. 

He jerks his cock a little deeper on accident. Coming closer and closer to his finish. Causing you to gag. He opens his eyes with an apology on his lip. But you grasp his hips, pulling him closer. You shove down your gag reflex so you can take him all the way. Tears gathering on your waterline. He takes the hint with widened eyes of surprise and adoration. Carefully thrusting his cock into the depths of your throat, he groans loudly with pleasure. Both hands sinking into and grabbing on your hair. 

Your nose brushes his pelvis. The smell of musk filling your nose. An almost sweet, earthy scent coming from him. You make eye contact through blurry eyes. Andrew’s breath stutters, his legs tensing by the sides of your head. 

“Fuck- darling, so good. I’m gonna- shit. I’m gonna cum in your mouth. Do you want that? Do you want me to cum into your mouth?”

He asks, his words broken and stuttering. Almost failing at forming a sentence entirely. You nod the best you can. Tears and spit running down your face. He moans at your agreement. Somehow feeling hotter and even more aroused by it. 

Andrew thrusts his hips into your mouth. Pushing how much you can take as he chases his high. It’s not more than a minute of nearly reckless movements before he’s cumming into your mouth just as he said he would. His back arching into it as his legs shudder. He moans loudly from the bottom of his chest. His mouth hanging open. Head thrown back with his eyes rolled back into his skull. Shooting warm, thick cum into your mouth. The salty and bitter taste overwhelming your senses, but one you could taste over and over again. You groan around his cock. Causing his legs to jump as he feels the vibrations. 

He pants, remaining motionless in his recovery. His brain needed a moment to recover before piecing itself back together and pulling out of your mouth. There’s a lopsided, still half-gone smile on his face as he looks down at you. Humming happily as you swallow his cum. 

“You’re so amazing, baby.”

Andrew compliments breathlessly. Moving his hands to cup your cheeks and brush the tears away.

“I’m so, so proud of you. Come on, get off your knees.”

The tenderness of his voice is so beautiful. His actions even more so, helping you up off the floor. And positioning you on one of his thighs. 

“Are you okay? I wasn’t too rough with you?” 

He questions, his worries calming when you shake your head. Still recovering yourself.

“Good… can I return the favor?”

Thank you so much for reading my first fic 🫶, any constructive criticism is appreciated. I’m going to go do the school work I’ve been procrastinating over to do this instead now. Hopefully, the next fic won’t take over a month to write and I’ll be more active.

-Thad 💚

#fanfiction #andrew hozier byrne #Andrew Hozier Byrne x reader #Hozier x reader #smut #fluff #rpf #I wrote this with one hand #if you know what I mean #Andrew is a sexy little shit #Spotify #Hozier smut

[beiq2y]

NEW YEAR’S KISS¡! ❞

❀——————❀——————❀——————❀

❀——————❀——————❀——————❀ ༊*·˚ Warnings - they kiss lol, bachira follows u arnd 😭 not in a creepy way tho!

༊*·˚ Characters - isagi, bachira, rin and sae!

❀——————❀——————❀——————❀

ISAGI has been waiting for u! Just like the wonderful best friend he is, isagi will be by your side the entire party. Making sure no one spikes your drink, ensuring no creeps are staring at you weird, and most importantly of all, keeping your lips for him and only him. When the time comes he turns you to face him gently, nervously fidgeting with his fingers as he looks you in the eye. 

five. 

“ i guess there’s no one else around here but us, huh?” isagi murmers, giving a nervous giggle as you simply smile back

four. 

“ well; i supposed i wouldn’t be against my best friend stealing my first kiss” you beam, grinning as you lean in closer

three. 

isagi can smell you everywhere, the scent of your perfume filling his senses and intoxicating him. it makes him sweat, nervous to make the next move, you’re just so.. you! so perfect and so sweet, the thought of even touching you making his guts twist and turn. 

two.

you lean in closer and he thinks, “this really wasn’t how it was supposed to go..” he was supposed to be the one in charge, the handsome prince charming who would sweep you off your feet and capture you in his arms before claiming your lips as his. So.. why were you the one taking the lead instead?

one. 

isagi barely has anytime to think before you wrap your arms around his neck, giving him a quick peck on his lips before pulling away, a teasing smirk gracing your face. 

Instead of feeling euphoric and over the moon like he imagined himself to be, isagi’s flustered state quickly transitions to disappointment and then confusion. were first kisses usually this.. anti climatic? 

but as he stares at your slightly rosy cheeks and small fidgety movements, isagi can’t help but bring out his ego. 

it didnt matter if this one was quick, there would be more in the future. much, much longer ones, and he would ensure to savour them all. after all, a new year meant change, right?

❀——————❀——————❀——————❀

BACHIRA chases you around. he needs to be your first kiss, he has to be! he watches you from afar(not in a creepy way ofc), following your every move and occasionally making small talk - after all, he needed to make sure you liked him enough too! he strikes while the iron is hot, leading you to a place where he’s certain you’ll be alone, just in time for the new year to begin. 

five. 

now that you were here, bachira doesn’t know what to do. he had never included a reason for dragging you to a secluded corner in his little plan, and now that you were with him,, well it was just a bit awkward, he would say.

four.

surprisingly enough, you don’t seem to be too opposed to his antics, tagging along almost as if you were grateful to be in this position, never even questioning his motive. if bachira didn’t know any better, he was sure that was what he would’ve assumed, from that gleam in your eyes to the pinkness of your cheeks.

three. 

three seconds left on the clock. at this point, there was no turning back, might as well follow through with his plan! he gives you a close-eyed smile, knowing that if he couldn’t see you, it would at least make some of his nerves go away. 

two. 

he opens his eyes after a while, giving himself a moment to take in all your beauty - the way your dress perfectly outlines your body, the body that would fit oh-so perfectly in his hands. the way your hair had been done perfectly, looking so smooth and silky that he would give up all the money in his possession to run his hands through them. and your makeup, so well done by those delicate hands of your’s, and he can’t help but wonder if your lipstick would leave a stain after the kiss. he would look good with some lipstick, wouldn’t he?

one. 

the clock hit 12 and before he could even think about making a move, you leaned in, looking him straight in the eyes as you gave him a quick peck on the lips. With that, you were quick to dash, leaving a slightly confused and very red Bachira behind, 

Oh well, a little more chasing without hurt, he supposes.

❀——————❀——————❀——————❀

RIN would be tricked into it. It had been pretty obvious that the boy had been crushing on you, HARD. With the way he stared at you in the hallways, to the look in his eyes when you were mentioned, there was no other way to describe it. So when isagi and bachira realised New Years was coming, they crafted a plan to get the two of you together.

Five.

Both you and rin were still slightly flustered from suddenly being trapped in a room together. Who would’ve expected that a casual talk with bachira would lead to a dark isolated room, before being ditched to fend for yourself when Rin itoshi showed up? It was almost the new year, and you would be lying if you said you weren’t wishing for rin to be your new year’s kiss. But the fear that he may have had someone else on his mind, that your feelings weren’t reciprocated held you back from looking for him, and stealing that kiss right off his lips. But maybe like this, you would have a chance!

Four.

“Rin, um if you don’t mind, could you possibly be my new year’s kiss? The door here is locked and i.. well I really wanted to have a new year’s kiss yk? Start the year right and all” you blurted out, a nervous grin appearing on your face. It wasn’t the best excuse, but with only 4 minutes on the clock, you simply had to make do with what you had.

Three.

To your surprise, he nodded, almost without hesitation. Could it be that.. he wanted this as badly as you did? You didn’t want to get your hopes up but just the notion of it set your heart ablaze, a sudden burst of confidence warming you from your head to your feet.

Two. 

To say he was elated would be an understatement, to rin, this is practically a dream come true! At this moment and this moment only, as rin looks your form up and down, he just might be willing to throw away his pride and thank his two um, friends for giving him this opportunity.

One. 

Rin’s still too out of his head to realise the clock’s hit twelve when you go up on your tippy toes, cupping his face in your palm and you press a kiss to his lips. ”she’s gentle and warm,” rin thinks as he reaches out for you when you pull away, desperate for more. Now that he’s had a taste of you, rin itoshi simply can’t get enough. And you’ll let him pull you back for as many kisses as he pleases.

❀——————❀——————❀——————❀

SAE would be next to you simply by luck! Now it’s no surprise that Sae itoshi the prodigy and japan’s national treasure would be surrounded by girls on new year’s date, an unspoken battle between them to steal his kiss on the start of every year. Unluckily for them, Sae has seen this coming from miles away, and before anyone can notice, he quickly slips away from the crowd of girls starting to surround him.

Five, 

There are only 5 minutes left on the clock when Sae thinks he’s finally safe, seeking shelter at the poolside, currently vacant of any people. Well, at least that’s what he thinks. All feelings of false security from before had come crashing down when he saw a tuff of hair across the pool from the corner of his eye. Sae cursed under his breath and was about to dip when suddenly, he heard a silent “Sae?”. 

Four.

Sae thinks he’s dreaming, after all, it wasn’t uncommon for him to hear your saccharine voice ringing through his head even at the most random of times. However, just to check, he whips his head around and there you are. The dazed look on your face quickly transitions to a smile and he feels one start to form on his face as well, after all, if there was one person he wouldn’t mind kissing, it would be you.

Three.

Sae starts to make his way to you, all the while checking that there was no one else around to disturb the two of you. It would be fine if someone stole his kiss but he didn’t think he could handle it if he saw some other rando connect his lips with yours. Just the thought alone made him pick up the pace, taking larger steps and reaching you in record time.

Two.

Sae hardly has time to catch his breath before you hold his hand in yours and he has to use every inch of his self control to resist blushing a bright crimson red. the feel of your smooth porcelain like skin against his calloused hand and the bright smile of your face makes him light up, a soft smile adorning his features.

One.

Seeing that the clock had struck twelve, Sae quickly gathers his composure as he begins to ask, “Can I ki-“ before he can finish his sentence, the auburn haired man is cut off by a small peck on his lips but before you can let go, he wraps his hand around the back of your head and pulls you closer, while your hand wraps around his neck.

Well, this year certainly started off with a blast.

❀——————❀——————❀——————❀

A/n: hello everyone! Happy new year 🎆 I hope 2023’s been treating u all well 🫶 also this most likely will not have a part 2 lest someone asks for one but I hope u enjoyed it! It really was so tiring writing this in a day 😭 I’m last min cramming my hw rn btw bc sch starts in 2 days, so I’m sorry if I’m not very active here. Still, I hope u all had a great hols and a very good 2023 💗 also I’m once again begging for people to interact w me, I don’t bite I promise

tags : @noheartsfromsie , @geeerage , @enraa-ged (ily pookies i hope y’all have the best year)

©beiq2y 2k23 (wow not used to that) on tumblr, pls do not steal or repost my works! 

#beiq2y #blue lock x reader #blue lock headcanons #isagi x reader #bachira x reader #rin itoshi x reader #itoshi rin x reader #itoshi Sae x reader #Sae itoshi x reader #Sae fluff #Isagi fluff #bachira fluff #rin fluff #blue lock hcs

[cinnamonest]

//breeding, very heavy focus on impreg + pregnancy/motherhood stuff, sort of in conjunction with [this post] as well as [this post]

Happy (one day belated) Mother's Day, let's celebrate the joys of motherhood :)

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

Childe has no concept of a small family. At least, not of it being acceptable.

It's part of the culture of certain nations' rural areas, Snezhnaya being one of them. Everyone in the rural, smaller town regions strives to have big families. Maybe it originates from a rougher climate leading to a need for ensuring the survival of one's lineage, or something like that, but regardless, for Snezhnayan men, having a lot of kids is one of those masculine pride things, and by contrast, not having lots of kids is unthinkable, shameful even.

So, of course, he's long since decided on having a large family. He's wanted it for so long, but his work has prevented him from following the other tradition that rural areas and smaller towns in all nations are known for... you know, marrying and starting to have kids practically the millisecond one reaches adulthood.

He's young, sure, most people would think him too young for that sort of thing, but in his mind, he's grown up seeing people marrying and starting families at very young ages to be normal, expected. Which means he's missing out on what he's more or less entitled to. He knows from visits home that all the kids he grew up with are already marrying and having kids at his own age. But is he going to let his position stop him? Of course not. So, truthfully, he had this in the back of his mind for some time, and he just so happened to take the opportunity that presented itself.

In other words, you were just in the wrong place, at the wrong time, and just so happened to not only fit a list of physical preferences that caught the wrong person's eye, but also just happened to be so defiant, so resistant, and far too often cold and mean. Perhaps if you hadn't been, he might have left you alone. If you had just entertained his fantasies, even in word only, he might have had a bit of pity on you, felt a shred of guilt at the thought of tearing you away from your life.

How ironic that a defense mechanism you intended to deter him, would have ignited the very urges you wanted to extinguish, an unintended consequence of applying normal tactics to a sick mind.

But regardless, you just happened to meet, and thus now you're here. That's what he tells you, after whisking you away and bringing you to live with him, constantly pulled from one dark room to another between his room on the ship, Fatui bases, hotels in various regions, and every other place he spends the night. Not with that exact wording of course, no, he's got that excitable, almost childish romanticized view of things, he portrays it as aligned fates, that you were destined to cross paths at the right time.

It's part of one big long spiel you get. The whole you're going to stay here and nothing you can do will change that part is spoken very quickly and nonchalantly, while he treats the other parts with much more importance, namely his intentions for the future.

That being, you're going to have a big family and have lots of his kids. That you'll be a mother. He says it very happily, like you're a young just-married couple or something, like the living scenario you have is normal, like you're here of your own volition.

It does take you by surprise at first — you had thought you were being taken as more of a sex slave than anything, but quickly find you're being treated more like a spouse, in a... really odd way. That, too, is done with a blissful but casual attitude, as if he's almost unaware of the gravity of the crime being inherently committed by having you here... although you suppose people like him are more or less above the law. He announces his arrival when he returns each day, is very affectionate towards you, laughs off any hostility from you as if it's a grumpy little kitten making a fuss, not a human being with a very justified reason for vitriol.

He's very transparent and straightforward with you, it's not like he's trying to slowly ease you into it or enact his wishes without telling you what will happen, no. No deception. No avoidance of the topic. And not a single shred of willingness to compromise.

No consideration of how you may feel about that matter. It's not a discussion, it's telling you. Merely communicating information that is already set in stone. The information is laid on you so fast and suddenly that your mind is left reeling. First you're forcibly fucked and dragged here, now you're being told it's permanent and oh by the way get ready to start the rest of your life as some mother-slave-wife amalgamation?

It's too much for you to handle. What's even more baffling is that even as you protest, he just blows it off like it's nothing, like this isn't an incredibly grave, serious ordeal.

B-but... I don't want--

Ah, you think that now, but you'll be happy, promise.

But... but you can't just do this to me!

Yeah? What are you gonna do to stop me? Haha....

That all still doesn't give you quite the same extent of nausea compared to the next set of information you're given.

Even if you were familiar with the cultural norm, you didn't realize the sheer extent. You knew he had like, what, six or seven siblings? That strikes you as a large number, so it fits with what you're aware of regarding the norm.

You didn't realize that was an average number to them. Not until he told you so, in the midst of his ramblings about your future, when you gathered the courage to ask what he means by "big" when the words big family come out of his mouth.

He pauses, looks up pensively. Well, anything less than five is small, he says, anything from five to eight is about the median, and anything above that is when you finally get to be considered to be "above average". So his family, with seven or eight or so kids total, is kind of in the middle, about average, in his own words.

But he wants a big family. So, you know, gotta at least hit double digits.

He says it very casually, like it's no big deal. He's too excited to notice the look on your face, at least not for a few seconds, finally turning to you after realizing your stunned silence.

Mm? Something wrong?

...That... that's... I can't...

But your protests are quickly brushed off again. Sure you can. Your body is perfectly capable, so what would be stopping you? You're just worrying too much. Don't think about it so much, just... lay back and let it happen.

In most regional cultures of any nation, people do tend to at least plan families — they save up a bit first to make sure they have enough money, they calculate the gap between when they have a first and second child, often not wanting to wait too long so that the children will have more time and similarity to bond, but not so soon that the added responsibility overwhelms the parents.

That's not something that crosses his mind. He has no reason to worry about finances, sure, but he also pays no mind to questions like is this really an environment to raise a kid in? Is the tsaritsa okay with that? Where will they stay?

Eh... that's all stuff that can be dealt with another time. He tends to take the philosophy of crossing bridges when he gets to them. Baby-planning later, baby-making now.

And nothing you can say deters him. Yes you'll be a good mom (don't worry, he'll make sure you behave exactly like he thinks a good mother should), yes you'll be fine, the Fatui has some of the best doctors in the world, so you'll be great health-wise, actually. Yes he has the resources.

And no, he's not waiting. You have this weird insistence on this idea that you should have a period of time where you just... aren't even trying to have kids. Is that normal, where you're from? Do people really get together, get married and live together and not immediately start trying for a baby? Won't that detract from the maximum number of kids you can have in the end? Then why would anyone do that?  When he asks that very question, though, you don't really have a good answer, to him at least. You can't just rush something like that, is what you say.

But... of course you can? That's what he's trying to do, rush it so you can go ahead and get a head start and have more and more kids in the future. It's like talking to a brick wall. He cannot process, cannot fathom how people can exist for whom making as many offspring as possible isn't the number one priority in life. Well, whatever, it seems you just have these weird cultural ideas you're not going to let go of, so there's no point in trying to reason with you.

His determination is somewhat obsessive. Even when he's inside you, hips bouncing off the back of your thighs, he keeps talking about it, words slurring as he mumbles something about putting a baby in you, knocking you up, so on and so on, all the while, gripping at your hips and making sure to slam all the way in as far as possible when he finally cums inside you. Maybe he's already accomplished that, who knows, but he has to just keep trying until it's certain, so you only get a few minutes of respite before starting back again.

No condoms. No pulling out, even though you beg for him to do so. Whimpering and pulling at his hair, pushing at his chest, all night long, over and over.

N-not yet, please, I'm not ready, I can't...

Your pleas are partially just for the very sake of not wanting that, but of course, there's also the fact that you realize it will be a death sentence to any hope of escaping him. You've been looking for ways to do it since you were dragged here a day or so ago, you can't let this inhibit you. You just need some more time, just a little bit of time...

You don't get that time.

It doesn't take long. He's young and virile, so, perhaps that's why you don't even get a single cycle from the time you get brought to him. The realization hits you like a punch to the stomach. At first, you don't say anything, deciding not to bring the matter up unless he does, partially out of your own denial, and partially because seeing him get inevitably excited will irritate you.

Apparently, they must have some rather atrocious reproductive education out in rural Teyvat too (or, rather, you realize it's probably just fine, and it's more the fact that he probably paid no attention), seeing as he had no idea that that is the standard tell, instead asking you hey, is there a way you can tell if you're pregnant? Do you just wait for your stomach to get bigger or...? and thus, you had to reluctantly explain that.

You can sort of see the gears turning in that otherwise empty head of his. You've been here two months now... you haven't bled at all in that time (he would know, he's been fucking you multiple times a day)... so that means...? You can practically see his eyes light up before he reaches out and wraps his arms around you. He's ecstatic for the rest of the night, won't shut up about all the things you're going to do. You feel sick.

Not that this information in any way impedes him from continuing to empty his balls in you on a daily basis, no. It doesn't slow down in the slightest. In fact, you were sort of hoping he would get turned off the further along you got, since you know that happens with a lot of guys... but not him. No, if anything, you're pretty sure you have more rounds per day the further along you are, sometimes he'll just look you up and down, staring at your belly for a few moments with a haze in his eyes before more or less dragging you over to bed -- and it's not like you can resist much, you're all wobbly as it is...

And, of course, any negativity from you is shut down on the spot. At first, he mistakes it for nervousness -- don't worry! It'll be fine! He can recite those words with ease, over and over, telling you to just not worry about it is his default answer to any concern you have. But once you start getting a bit more openly negative, making it clear it's an attitude issue from you, and finally crossing a line when you outright state you never wanted this, and thereby implying the most heartless and callous thing he can conceive of, that you're going to be resentful of him and your child... it's one of the few times you ever see him not all smiles and sunshine about the whole thing. A complete change of expression, face going dark, eyes narrowing. He grabs your jaw with a grip so firm it hurts.

Don't say that.

It's one of the few times you've seen him so serious and firm. It makes your heart skip a beat.

But almost as soon as he says it, he's back to being cheery... ah, you're just grumpy because you're hormonal and all that. You're lucky he has thick skin. Besides, you're too cute to take your grouchiness seriously, haha... what's that look for...?

And soon, you find yourself in a state of dissociation, having to process and accept reality once you have a living, breathing infant in your arms. It's not until that moment that the reality truly sets in, that you can feel your fate being sealed, that you realize this is actually, genuinely the beginning of the rest of your life.

You try not to dwell on that.

It's hard not to, though, considering that you barely get any time to rest, being pestered each day with questions of how many more days left until the doctor said you can have sex again?? Because he's suffering and miserable. He was devastated to find out you can't go back to it in less than 24 hours, no one ever told him about that part. And you don't even seem to sympathize with him, are you heartless? Yes you gave birth five days ago and he's been very loving and taking care of you and all but haven't you thought at all about how this is affecting him? Yes you sucked him off because the whining was getting annoying but it's not the same, he needs pussy you don't understand, why are you looking at him like you're mad— did you just say "weeks?" As in plural? As in more than one week? Surely you didn't mean that, it can't be that long, right? Why aren't you saying anything. It can't be that long, it can't—

So he fucks you like a man starved when you finally give a green light. It does burn a bit, after having gone a while without getting so ruthlessly stretched and pounded as he always does to you. You're pretty sure he doesn't know his own strength, doesn't realize the sheer intensity of the force with which he grips your hips and arms and throat and presses your face into the mattress and fucks into you with such strength the whole bed creaks as it rocks back and forth. You'll be covered in bruises and sore spots in the morning, just from the grip.

And you notice the way his fingernails dig into your hips, holding your bodies as close as possible, the closer and closer you both get. You feel a sense of dread. You try to reach up and tap on his arm.

D-don't cum inside, it's too soon... I need more time, I'm not ready yet, please—

Just a little bit of time, just some time to feel like you can finally breathe, but once again, you don't get that time.

Shh... don't think about it... just focus on how good it feels, okay?

You whimper, but you're incapable of pushing him off, only able to make soft little sounds of protest when he stops fully inside, making sure not a drop goes to waste when he stuffs you with cum. He stays inside you for some time, not pulling out so as to prevent any from spilling. Just like he did before. And he holds you, rubs your back, says soothing little mumbled things about how you worry too much while you sniffle and tremble.

And then there's two.

He does take quite a bit of pride in it. That applies when you're alone too, he likes to lay his head on your stomach laying in bed and will just relax there for a while, grinning like an idiot. But it applies to others too; it's somewhat of an ego boost to have other people see what he views as an accomplishment. He likes showing you off in general, but he's especially happy to parade you around whenever you're very heavily swollen up. It's some sort of ego thing, you guess.

He likes getting to show off the kids too, a testament to a sort of success. It's a very simple-minded sort of pride, almost humorously so, you often think to yourself. A simplistic mentality of look at these! I made these!, almost a childish pridefulness.

Which, frankly, gets on your last nerve, how he loves to run around forcing his reluctant and rather annoyed coworkers to look at his offspring and listen to him ramble, so beamingly proud of the kid that you carried and you birthed and you care for and you feed and bathe and put to sleep, so proud of their existence as if he did anything to contribute to said existence other than being a sperm depository.

And then there's three, and then there's four, and then you get the special blessing of two at once. You think to yourself with bitter humorousness that you're over halfway to the set standard. And then there's another... and another... the realization even strikes you, a few years in, that since beginning your "new life," you've spent more time pregnant than not pregnant, information that you spend far too long taking in the weight of.

It's an incredibly awkward living situation — you basically were granted what used to be a few interconnected rooms they'd house a few bunk-bed-fuls of soliders in, turned into a sort of apartment-esque dwelling. It's where you carry out most of your tasks and live your life. You never get a break, always getting another one pumped into you as soon as it's physically possible again.

With him gone most of the days, and you having no job to speak of, you've essentially taken on a housewife role, and spend most of your day caring for the increasing number of offspring, each and every one of which, to your dismay, quickly proves to have inherited a rambunctious, hotheaded, and far too energetic nature. You will reluctantly admit, he does actually help you out quite a bit when he can, and genuinely enjoys doing so. You suppose you can admit he's actually more involved and enthusiastically helpful than a lot of fathers are... you don't give him the satisfaction of such praise, though.

Still, he's just gone for most of the day on most days, so you have to do it by yourself, or enlist whichever unfortunate newbie soldier has not yet learned to not go wandering around that one area, lest they be roped into helping out that poor slave-mother-girl that lives in that section with all those energetic kids, so they try to warn newcomers... still, some actually still offer to help, if nothing but out of pity.

Most of the time, though, it's just you and the ever-increasing number of children. You felt bad the first time you called one by the wrong name. They all look so much alike — and each one is so close together in age to the next immediate older and younger one — that you get confused sometimes, and it quickly becomes a habit, but they're quick to correct you. And you do end up loving them — you suppose that's just instinct — but sometimes... it's just too much. You can't get a spare second. You feel exhausted.

You're constantly moving, taking care of something. This one fell and scraped his knee and comes crying and blubbering to you, and you're still bandaging that up and mumbling words of comfort when you get a tug on your sleeve from behind you — Mama, I'm hungry — and you barely finish saying just a minute, I'll get you something before another one is calling for you from another room — MamaaaaAAAAAA — and soon you're holding one in each arm (a more difficult task than usual considering you're heavily pregnant again), waddling over to go check on the one that called you, and then another one comes softly shuffling over with a look what I found!, and you know it's going to be something very simple like a cool-shaped rock or leaf like always, but you don't want to hurt the poor thing's feelings and want him to be happy so you stand there smiling and feigning interest and awe and pretending it's the neatest thing ever while your arms start to tremble from the strain of holding two heavy sacks of flesh in each arm -- still trying to soothingly bounce the sniffling one up and down a bit -- and the other one is saying something but you can't make it out because three of them are talking at the same time and oh god where's the fifth and sixth ones because you told them to hang on when you went to bandage the first one and now you don't see either one and is the seventh one still asleep where you left him or not and you start to panic and -- hang on just a second, ______ -- no, I-I mean, ______ -- no, wait, uh... which one are...you're -- uh --

You feel like you're going insane. Each and every day wears you out in full.

When you finally get that rare, wonderful moment in which you can get all of them asleep at once, finally go lay down to try and get a much needed rest yourself... you always seems to have such precise timing, you barely close your eyes before the door opens and you get the announcement that your lover who you certainly must have missed is home, and what do you know, everything is so quiet, this gives you two an opportunity to make another one!

The only downside for him is that sometimes, the existing offspring have a habit of interrupting the sibling-making process... so, sometimes some poor underling (rather, usually, they need at least two or three to control them all) gets saddled with a command to entertain and herd the harbinger's offspring when he takes a day off, giving you two a day to yourselves... not to go out or anything, no. You usually spend the entirety of those days in bed, going at it like rabbits again and again.

And again. And again. Sometimes you get summoned by some underling to follow because his superior needs you for "something important," which you both know is just getting fucked over a desk or in a hallway closet because he has needs you know, and it's torture to have to wait until he can come back for the evening. Stuffs you full of cum and rests his head on your chest for a moment to recharge (they're so nice, all soft and swollen, more or less perpetually so these days), before sending you back, promising to hurry and come back for the night as soon as possible.

Oh, and you don't even get the respite of having him gone at times whenever he has to go abroad. No, he brings you with him... yes, all of you. He insisted, and eventually the few authorities above him gave in and now reserve a few extra rooms all next to each other on the ships and hotels. You don't mind that too much. It's basically just a vacation for the lot of you, and that's what you tell the kids it is too... at least they're more easily entertained than usual by looking out the window, which gives you chances to rest.

Ajax likes those trips too. He's usually more worked up and frustrated by the end of the day, and what better way to blow that steam off than to come back and breed your wife-pet again and again? He smiles when he tells you you should use these trips to set a new goal of making at least one kid in every nation. You know better than to think it's a joke.

When the people you're allowed to interact with and meet ask you how many children you have, you often have to pause and recall what number you're on now. Regardless, the answer always makes people's jaws drop. At least most of them know not to ask you why, since they seem to be well aware it's not a choice on your part. Sometimes people commend you for it, say something about how it must be so hard. Your eye twitches. You have no idea. Haha.

Everything happened so fast, the full weight of it all doesn't really dawn on you until one day, for seemingly no reason. Woken up in the early morning by crying, the same way you're woken up roughly 9 out of 10 mornings, groggily shuffling out of bed, tending to whatever the issue is before shuffling back to bed... you catch a glimpse of yourself in the window, the dark circles under your eyes, and for once, the rare sight of yourself not heavily swollen up. Still, your face is exhausted, the sort that sleep can't fix.

The reality of it settles in — you've been so busy with everything happening, you never really got to process how much time has passed, how deep into this life you've settled... you supposed in the back of your head, even after accepting the current reality, you kept this mentality that you'd still find a way out one day, but in that moment, you realize all too late that that will never happen. Even if you had the chance — and looking back, it occurs to you now you've had many chances to run — you could never bring yourself to abandon them... you get the sense that's part of his intention. It's just never really settled in in full until this moment.

Still, all you can do is stand there, trying to despair, but almost too numb to do so... you let out a heavy sigh and let yourself fall back into bed, pulling a blanket back over you and settling back into the warmth. Your weight falling onto the mattress makes it bounce a bit, causing your bedmate to stir, groggily moving closer to you, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you close.

He murmurs something asking you if the kid is okay, you say yes, and then it moves onto asking what time it is, you say you don't know but it's definitely not time to get up just yet... on it goes, both of you with your eyes closed and words coming out groggy and mumbled. You can almost sort of enjoy the soft tenderness of the moment, if you forget a lot of what went into this life you live.

The exchange draws quiet after a moment, and you begin to drift back off to sleep, slowly breathing in and out in time with the rising and falling of the chest pressed to your back. You're just about to slip into slumber once again when you feel the arm wrapped around you move, hand coming to rest on your hip and slowly trail down your thigh.

Hey, I want another baby....

#chlde rambling while holding a human infant up like the baby lion harassing the other harbngers with the existence of his offspring #the tsritsa has had to specify that asking if anyone has anything important to share at meetings does not include personal life updates #and/or forcing coworkers to look at baby photos #also i realize its criminal that i didnt have a momcon post for mothers day but i had to get this thought out #rest assured ill be back on the momcon agenda soon #.ch

[ddarker-dreams]

“Scara, can I have a hug? Don’t look at me like that…I just really need it right now, okay? It’s the least you can do.”

It takes every ounce of strength in his artificial being not to tackle you in an embrace right then and there.

His jaw is set so tight it might as well have been wired shut — sheer willpower keeping him stationary. He tells his stupid, totally not lovesick brain to focus, heeding his commands instead of caving into primal urges that he thought himself above before he met you. The Balladeer has a reputation to maintain. When you’re a Harbinger, there are eyes and ears everywhere, the Tsaritsa’s loyal little goons always eager to report back. 

Scaramouche can’t afford to look weak, but that’s exactly what you make him. 

“... I will consider your request,” his voice sounds strained, even to his ears. “In the meantime, do be mindful of your— oof!"

You must’ve seen fit to take matters into your own hands (or arms, in this instance), securing yourself around him and squeezing tight. He isn’t sure what’s warmer in that moment; his face or your body wrapped in a winter coat to combat the Snezhnayan climate. He has to chew on his lip to stop himself from whimpering when you tuck your head into his neck. 

His fingers twitch by his side, his arms hanging limp and useless, eyes wide blown. 

You’re so close you feel so good smell so good— 

He reciprocates your embrace, holding you like you’d vanish if he ever let go. It’s different than when you struggle against him. This is infinitely better. He could stay here for hours, days even, if not for your pesky mortal interferences like needing to ‘eat’ or ‘sleep’. 

There’s a barely perceptible rustle in the distance that he has no trouble picking up on, while you remain none the wiser. He fights back a scoff at this newfound knowledge. Her Majesty should really invest in better personnel. Now that the nuisance has given themselves away, he can dispatch of them later.

For now, though, he’s going to take everything you’re offering him and maybe some more.

#yandere scaramouche x reader #yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere x reader #interactions #my stuff #answered #Anonymous

[bonefall]

Don’t know if this is the right place to ask, but could you talk more about zoos? I’ve seen many people say that zoos are inherently exploitative and that we should instead focus on advocating for wildlife preserves, etc., but I’m not sure what to think of that. You seem to know a lot about wildlife protection, so what’s your opinion on this?

There are folks faaaar better than myself to talk about the issues of zoos specifically and I'll try to toss in some sources so you can go and learn more, but let me try and explain my mindset here.

Summary of my opinion on this: BOTH of these things can be poorly managed, and I broadly support both. They should exist in tandem. I am pro-accredited zoo and am extremely sensitive towards misinformation. I also do think the best place for animals to be is in their natural environment, but nature "preserves" aren't inherently perfect. They can also be prone to the capitalist (and colonialist) pressures that less informed people believe they're somehow immune to.

Because of the goal of my project being to make the setting of WC accurate to Northwestern England, my research is based on UK laws, ecology, and conservation programs.

On Zoos

On Nature Reserves

An Aside on Fortress Conservation

On Zoos

The legal definition of a Zoo in the UK (because that is what BB's ecological education is based around), as defined by the Zoo Licensing Act of 1981 (ZLA), is a "place where wild animals are kept for exhibition to the public," excluding circuses and pet shops (which are covered by different laws.)

This applies equally to private, for-profit zoos, as well as zoos run by wildlife charities and conservation organizations. Profit does not define a zoo. If there's a place trying to tell you it's not a zoo but a "sanctuary" or a "wildlife park," but you can still go visit and see captive wild animals, even if it's totally free, it's a marketing trick. Legally that is still a zoo in the UK.

(for fellow Americans; OUR definition is broader, more patchwork because we are 50 little countries in a trenchcoat, and can include collections of animals not displayed to the public.)

That said, there's a HUGE difference between Chester Zoo, run by the North of England Zoological Society, which personally holds the studbooks for maintaining the genetic diversity of 10 endangered species, has 134 captive breeding projects, cultivates 265 threatened plant species, and sends its members as consultants to United Nations conferences on climate change, and Sam Tiddles' Personal Zebra Pit.

Sam Tiddles' Personal Zebra Pit ONLY has to worry about the UK government. There's another standard zoos can hold themselves to if they want to get serious about conservation like Chester Zoo; Accreditation. There are two major zoo organizations in the UK, BIAZA and EAZA.

(Americans may wonder about AZA; that's ours. AZA, EAZA, and BIAZA are all members of the World Association of Aquariums and Zoos, or WAZA, but they are all individual organizations.)

A zoo going for EAZA's "accreditation" has to undergo an entire year of evaluation to make sure they fit the strict standards, and renewal is ongoing. You don't just earn it once. You have to keep your animal welfare up-to-date and in compliance or you will lose it.

The benefit of joining with an accredited org is that it puts the zoo into a huge network of other organizations. They work together for various conservation efforts.

There are DOZENS of species that were prevented from going extinct, and are being reintroduced back to their habitats, because of the work done by zoos. The scimitar-horned oryx, takhi, California condor, the Galapagos tortoise, etc. Some of these WERE extinct in the wild and wouldn't BE here if it hadn't been for zoos!

The San Diego zoo is preventing the last remaining hawaiian crows from embracing oblivion right now, a species for which SO LITTLE of its wild behavior is known they had to write the book on caring for them, and Chester zoo worked in tandem with the Uganda Wildlife Authority to provide tech and funding towards breakthroughs in surveying wild pangolins.

Don't get me wrong;

MOST zoos are not accredited,

nor is accreditation is REQUIRED to make a good zoo,

nor does it automatically PROVE nothing bad has happened in the zoo,

There are a lot more Sam Tiddles' Personal Zebra Pits than there are Chester Zoos.

That's worth talking about! We SHOULD be having conversations on things like,

Is it appropriate to keep and breed difficult, social megafauna, like elephants or cetaceans? What does the data say? Are there any circumstances where that would be okay, IF the data does confirm we can never provide enough space or stimulation to perfectly meet those species' needs?

How can we improve animal welfare for private zoos? Should we tighten up regulations on who can start or run one (yes)? Are there enough inspectors (no)?

Do those smaller zoos meaningfully contribute to better conservation? How do we know if they are properly educating their visitors? Can we prove this one way or the other?

Who watches the watchmen? Accreditation societies hold themselves accountable. Do these organizations truly have enough transparency?

(I don't agree with Born Free's ultimate conclusion that we should "phase out" zoos, but you should always understand the opposing arguments)

But bottom line of my opinion is; Good zoos are deeply important, and they have a tangible benefit to wildlife conservation. Anyone who tries to tell you that "zoos are inherently unethical" either knows very little about zoos or real conservation work, or... is hiding some deeper, more batshit take, like "having wild animals in any kind of captivity is unlawful imprisonment."

(you'll also get a lot more work done in regulating the exotic animal trade in the UK if you go after private owners, btw. zoos have nothing to do with how lax those laws are.)

Anyway I'm a funny cat blog about battle kitties, and the stuff I do for BB is to educate about the ecosystem of Northern England. If you want to know more about zoos, debunking misconceptions, and critiques from someone with more personal experience, go talk to @why-animals-do-the-thing!

Keep in mind though, again, they talk about American zoos, where this post was written with the UK in mind.

(and even then, England specifically. ALL UK members and also the Isle of Man have differences in their laws.)

(If anyone has other zoo education tumblr blogs in mind, especially if they are European, lmk and I'll edit this post)

On Nature Reserves

Remember how broad the legal definition of a zoo actually was? Same thing over here. A "nature reserve" in the UK is a broad, unofficial generic term for several things. It doesn't inherently involve statutory protection, either, meaning there's some situations where there's no laws to hold anyone accountable for damage

These are the "nature reserve" types relevant to my project; (NOTE: Ramsar sites, SACs, and SPAs are EU-related and honestly, I do not know how Brexit has effected them, if at all, so I won't be explaining something I don't understand.)

Local Wildlife Site (LWS) Selected via scientific survey and managed locally, connecting wildlife habitats together and keeping nature close to home. VERY important... and yet, incredibly prone to destruction because there aren't good reporting processes in place. Whenever a report comes out every few years, the Wildlife Trust says it often only gets data for 15% of all their registered sites, and 12% get destroyed in that timeframe.

Local Nature Reserve (LNR) A site that can be declared by a district or county council, if proven to have geographic, educational, biodiversity, or recreational value. The local authority manages this, BUT, the landowner can remain in control of the property and "lease" it out (and boy oh boy, landowners do some RIDICULOUS things)

National Nature Reserve (NNR) This is probably closest to what you think of when someone says "nature reserve." Designated by Natural England to protect significant habitat ranges and geographic formations, but still usually operates in tandem with private land owners who must get consent if they want to do something potentially damaging to the NNR.

Site of Special Scientific Interest (SSSI) (pronounced Triple S-I) A conservation designation for a particular place, assessed and defined by Natural England for its biological or geographic significance. SSSIs are protected areas, and often become the basis for NNRs, LNRs, Ramsar sites, SACs, SPAs, etc.

So you probably noticed that 3/4 of those needed to have the private ownership problem mentioned right in the summary, and it doesn't end there. Even fully government-managed NNRs and SSSIs work with the private sectors of forestry, tourism, and recreation.

We live under Capitalism; EVERYTHING has a profit motive, not just zoos.

I brushed over some of those factors in my Moorland Research Notes and DESPERATELY tried to stay succinct with them, but it was hard. The things that can happen to skirt around the UK's laws protecting wildlife could make an entire season of Monty Python sketches.

Protestors can angrily oppose felling silver birch (a "weed" in this context which can change the ecosystem) because it made a hike less 'pretty' and they don't understand heath management.

Management can be reluctant to ban dogs and horses for fear of backlash, even as they turn heath to sward before our eyes.

Reserves can be owned by Count Bloodsnurt who thinks crashing through the forest with a pack of dogs to exhaust an animal to death is a profitable traditional British passtime.

Or you can literally just pretend that you accidentally chased a deer for several hours and then killed it while innocently sending your baying hounds down a trail. (NOTE: I am pro-hunting, but not pro-animal cruelty.)

The Forestry Commission can slobber enthusiastically while replacing endangered wildlife habitats with non-native, invasive sitka spruce plantations, pretending most trees are equal while conveniently prioritizing profitable timber species.

I have STORIES to tell about the absolute Looney Tunes bullshit that's going on between conservationists and rich assholes who want to sell grouse hunting access, but I'll leave it at this fascinating tidbit about air guns and mannequins which are "totally, absolutely there for no nefarious reason at all, certainly not to prevent marsh harriers from nesting in an area where they also keep winding up mysteriously killed in illegal snares, no no no"

BUT. Since Nature Reserve isn't a hard defined legal concept, and any organization could get involved in local conservation in the UK, and just about anyone or anything could own one... IT'S CHESTER ZOO WITH THE STEEL CHAIR!!

They received a grant in 2021 to restore habitat to a stretch of 10 miles extending outside of their borders, working with TONS of other entities such as local government and conservation charities in the process. There's now 6,000 square meters of restored meadow, an orchard, new ponds, and maintained reedbeds, because of them.

It isn't just Chester Zoo, either. It's all over the UK. Durrel Wildlife, which runs Jersey Zoo, just acquired 18,500 acres to rewild in Perthshire. Citizen Zoo is working with the Beaver Trust to bring beavers back to London and is always looking for volunteers to help with their river projects, and the Edinburgh Zoo is equipped with gene labs being used to monitor and analyze the remaining populations of non-hybrid Scottish Wildcats.

The point being,

Nature preserves have problems too. They are not magical fairy kingdoms that you put up a fence around and then declare you Saved Nature Hooray! They need to be protected. They need to be continuously assessed. They are prone to capitalist pressures just like everything else on this hell planet. Go talk to my boy Karl he'll give you a hug about it.

"Nature Preserves" are NOT an "alternative" to zoos and vice versa. They do not do the same thing. A zoo is a center of education and wildlife research which displays exotic animals. A nature preserve is a parcel of native ecosystem. We need LOTS of nature preserves and we need them well-managed ASAP.

We could never just "replace" zoos with nature preserves, and we're nowhere near the amount of protected ecosystem space to start thinking of scaling back animals in captivity. Until King Arthur comes out of hibernation to save Britain, that's the world we live in.

An Aside

My project and my research is based on the isle of Great Britain. The more I learn about the ecosystems that are naturally found there, the more venomously I reject the old lie, "humans are a blight."

YOU are an animal. You're a big one, too. You know what the role of big animals in an ecosystem are? Change. Elephants knock over trees, wolves alter the course of rivers, bison fertilize the plains from coast-to-coast. In Great Britain, that's what hominids have done for 900,000 years, their populations ebbing and flowing with every ice age.

Early farming created the moors and grazing sheep and cattle maintain it, hosting hundreds of specialist species. Every old-growth forest has signs of ancient coppicing and pollarding, which create havens for wildlife when well-managed. Corn cockle evolved as a mimic of wheat seeds, so farmers would plant it over and over within their fields.

This garbage idea that humans are somehow "separate" from or "above" nature is poison. It's not true ANYWHERE.

It contributes to an idea that our very presence is somehow damaging to natural spaces, and to "protect" it, we have to completely leave it alone. NO! Absolutely NOT! There are places where we have to limit harvesting and foot traffic, but humans ALWAYS lived in nature.

Even the ecosystems that this mindset comes from rejects it, but this shit doesn't JUST get applied to British people who become alienated and disconnected from their surroundings to the point where they don't know what silver birch does.

It's DEADLY for the indigenous people who protect 80% of our most important ecosystems.

It's a weapon against the Maasai people, stopped from hunting or growing crops on their own land. It's violence for 9 San hunters shot at by a helicopter with a "kill poachers on-sight" policy, as one of the world's LARGEST diamond mines operates in the same motherfucking park. The Havasupai people are kept out of the Grand Canyon that they managed for generations because they might "collect too many nuts" and starve squirrels, Dukha reindeer herders suddenly get banned from chopping wood or fishing, and watch wolves decimate their animals in the absence of their herding dogs.

It's nightmare after nightmare of human displacement in the name of "conservation."

That all ties back to that mindset. This idea that nature is pure, "pristine," and should be totally untouched. There are some starting to call it Fortress Conservation.

You can't begin to understand the criticisms of modern conservation without acknowledging that we are still living under the influence of capitalism and colonialism. Those who fixate on speaking for "animals/nature/trees who don't have a voice" often seem to have no interest in the indigenous people who do.

Listen. There's no simple answer; and the solution will vary for each region.

Again, my project is within the UK, one of the most ecologically devastated areas in the world. There are bad zoos that the law allows a pass. There are incredible zoos that are vital to conservation, in and outside of the country. There's not enough nature preserves. The best ones that exist are often exploited for profit.

I hope that my silly little blog sparks an interest in a handful of people to understand more about their own local ecosystems, and teaches folks about the unique beauty even within a place as "boring" as England.

But, my straightforward statement is that I have no patience for nonconstructive, broad zoo slander that lumps together ALL of them, and open contempt for anyone who tries to sell nature preserves like a perfect, morally superior "alternative." We need them BOTH right now, and we need to acknowledge that zoos AND preserves have legal and ethical issues that aren't openly talked about.

#ALSO THAT GUIDE IVE BEEN WORKING ON IS DONE #Im just waiting for the input of the sensitivity readers bc I made a whole section on-- #How ableis m might express in the different clans #And part of it became a thunder-callout post lmaooooo #Also this zoo doc has been sitting competed in my drafts for a while #All this to say that uh. I hope the strange place they visit in the upcoming se is not a zoo :J #I will hit it with a golf club if it is <3 #Leaning heavily towards the 'oh no two DEMIGODS ended up in a zoo' idea #Which is objectively funnier #And you know what else is objectively funny. When these posts break orbit and then ppl are surprised that i am a kitty cat blog #Hal. It's about Cats. #Bone Babble

[alwaysshallow]

— because of you

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x gn!reader

Special "anniversary" with your best friend. (3,1 k)

AO3 version

Category and prompt: roommates/neighbors + "we're not just friends, and you know it"

A/N: Glad to participate in GazFest! To many more like this! @glitterypirateduck

"Got some sugar, neighbor?" you see him, all smiling with empty cup in his hand, when you open the door right after someone knocked.

That certain someone? Kyle motherfucking Garrick, your neighbor. God only know what encouraged him to move in here after two years you did. Your reason to move from UK to Italy? Promotion of work, you were supposed to take care of team – bigger than you had back in the UK, way, way bigger. It felt like a dream coming true, you always wanted something like this, to be… appreciated, that was the good word to that. It would be a dumb from you if you'd decline such a good offer.

It was a success, after all. You could tell after a month. What's more to it, you liked your new place. Not only because it was still Europe (God forbid moving to the USA), but the climate here was just idyllic. Yours, so to speak, even if it was your first visit in that country. People here, their attitude, just matched yours perfectly. It took a few months to adjust to siestas, sure, but overall, you couldn't imagine what other country in Europe would fit you so much.

It was a bit hard to be fluent in Italian, you weren't the best, but after two years you could definitely name yourself almost fluent. It helped that you had to deal with native speakers, not only in work (even if you mostly spoke English here) but around you. With a small smile, you always liked to visit your local store, where the old lady was chatting with you about gossips going around town.

Moving on to your best friend… and his reason. You don't know his reason. His life is mostly military, and being called to go back to work in sick hours, like two in the morning; so being in the UK made more sense than anything else, really. Yet, after two years, when he "visited" you, it was a visit with four big suitcases, and the biggest grin ever. What's more to it, he just happened to find an apartment literally next to you, which you thought was almost impossible.

Like, it was really clogged with people building, and he just found it? What's more to it, you always knew who is going to move in since you are best friends with the owner. You couldn't brush off the feeling that military really helped in things like that.

"Sugar? What, are you baking somethin'?" you raise your eyebrow, trying to tease him a bit. He chuckles, then walks in, so you can close the door after him.

"You know it" he winked. "I mean, gotta celebrate things, yeah?" he nudges you, as he searches for sugar in your kitchen cupboards, making your confusion even more evident right now. Kyle seems to notice that because he lets out a chuckle, and stops his moves for a moment. "'m making you confused, love?"

"I mean, what's to celebrate?" you ask. "Your birthday is in a few months, mine already was two months ago. So, you have some sneaky business here, Mr. Garrick" you muse, the corner of your lip twitching.

Your neighbor laughs, when he takes a cup of sugar, and hides the package swiftly, before turning to you with sneaky smirk.

"You really don't know?"

You roll your eyes, amused.

"Kyle, if I wouldn't know any better, I would think I'm a lousy husband that forgot our anniversary, or something." you joke, tilting your head to the side, when you try to scan his face, in order to find a clue, or an answer to your question.

Nothing here, but pure amusement. Damn his military for that, really – before, your best friend was like an open book to you. You could even make him confess to lying, and it was more than amusing, when he tried to avoid your eye contact.

After military, that high school boy was still here, but more confident, more… hell, was it possible to say more hot? You thought about Kyle like that, obviously, even if nothing official happened between you two, besides a few kisses when you were drunk, but he got even more hot. Standing his ground, giving judgy looks to anyone who seemed sketchy to him.

And, it was a lie about a few kisses. There was a lot of them, not only when you were drunk, but even the morning after that. It was a simple fact that you can't forget about Kyle Garrick's hands, nor lips. Everyone who experienced, just knew.

Nothing besides kisses happened between you two, though – the boundary was here, obviously because you were best friends, nothing else. At least, best friends in theory, practice was a bit… different, considering that best friends usually didn't kiss, or held each other gazes like you two.

"I'm gonna be here for two months straight. Consider this, special gift" he smiles, tugging a strand of your hair behind your ear. "And, you're kinda a lousy husband, though."

"Oh, I am?" you laugh, as you look straight into his sparkling eyes. "I'm pretending I didn't hear that. Two fucking months? You better not joke about things like that." you grin, hugging him tightly. "Venice is waiting for us, then. I promised that I'm gonna take you there for a whole ass week, and now I have an occasion to do that."

"Mm, of course. Just tell me when" he wraps his arms around you, looking down at you. "And, you are. Three years since we kissed, and you don't remember anniversaries like that?"

Your face flush in a second when he says that; before that, none of you mentioned things like that. It was easier to… forget those moments of weakness between you two than talk about them. In your mind, it would only complicate between you two, and you didn't want that, considering… basically everything about your lives.

You were best friends, but maybe you wouldn't get along as lovers? Things like that happened, and you would hate to lose him. He was with you since highschool, so now it was seventh year of your friendship, and it was long. Kyle Garrick was your rock, someone you could count on. So, naturally, you were scared to do things that would go beyond friendship. Next thing, him being in military, it would be… hard, to do things long distance, even if you were willing to try.

And, probably most important point of all – you were only kissing. It's not like he would suddenly have feelings for you, when he continued to do that without confessing, right?

"We kissed a lot. So, forgive me for that" you manage to mumble, looking away for a second, what makes him laugh.

"'Suppose you're right, but we haven't kissed in a while" he nods slowly, still looking into your eyes. "But, I remember that. Party in your parents' house, we were sitting right by the pool. Rings a bell?"

You open your mouth a little.

How, the fuck, he remembers that?

He was wasted. At least, you thought he was wasted, so he wouldn't remember anything. You both laughed about your mutual friend stupidity, where he mixed pure vodka, wine and beer; he vomited like a cat. The rest of your friends were taking care of him, and you two were completely out of people sight, chit-chatting about literally everything. It was fun, it was just pure back then, and somehow, you two got… closer.

Way closer than you ever imagined to be with him – his gaze was on your lips, and his responses got shorter, as he was into something else than a conversation. Before you could say anything, he grabbed your chin, and kissed you, hard, like he was a starved man.

And there was no way that you wouldn't respond to this; you returned the kiss, your hand grasping his thigh for support. This didn't last long though, as your kiss was interrupted by Kelly that asked for help in cleaning the house – so, naturally, you went to help her.

He acted like nothing happened the next day though, so you acted like this too, in order to not make this awkward.

Now, it seemed like he remembers everything.

"I thought…"

He scoffs.

"Just because I don't talk about it, doesn't mean I don't remember." he murmurs, tilting his head to the side. "In general we don't talk about those kisses, yeah? I noticed."

"It's hard to not notice that" you quip, and that makes him roll his pretty eyes with a smile. "What? I'm just sayin'!"

"Yeah. And I'm sometimes wondering why are we not talking about it."

"Well" you chuckle, looking away for a moment. "Mostly, we're friends, Kyle. So, if I'm the one that has to guess, it's probably because we don't want to… Ruin it. What we have" you explain, in the probably simplest words possible. "And sometimes, kissing just… happens. Mostly when we're drunk."

He raises his eyebrow though, looking at you with shocked expression, like he wants you to say it again because he can't quite believe it.

"We're not just friends, and you know it. We haven't been for a while" he shrugs, and he makes it sound like it's the most obvious thing in the whole world. "You don't want to admit it, but we're not just friends."

"So, friends with benefits, then? Or friends who occasionally kiss?" you raise your eyebrow too, mimicking him.

"What? No, I didn't-"

"-because the last time I checked, you haven't asked me out or anything. It's not like I don't want to admit it, you're not admitting it either."

Garrick takes a breath and he grips your waist tight. Even if it's uncomfortable, it had to be said; you don't want to call it anything, but friends, trying to grasp onto that last strings of pure friendship, before…

Before what?

So many possibilities what could grow out of it.

"Why do you think I moved here?" he asks, so suddenly that you blink a few times, as he catches you off-guard.

"What?"

"Answer me." his tone is firm, like he demands an answer.

"I don't know. Maybe you had enough of boring UK, so you've decided to copy your best friend?"

He gives you a polite look; he seems amused despite it, though.

"Because of you. I moved here, because of you."

You can't help but feel stupid right now, when he tells you that. It seems like the simplest reason why he is here in the first place; because of you. Yet, that vision seemed funny every time when you've thought about it, so it wasn't an option to you. More of a… wild imagination.

To this moment, at least. Kyle Garrick was nothing but proving you a point, that you were mistaken in so many parts of your life that you wonder what else you could be wrong.

"I wanted to do this for a while, but you know how military is. Constantly being sent to places, not having even time for yourself to think. Not even to mention finding somewhere to live near you in Italy." he shakes his head to himself, before he looks at you, once again.

His gaze is full of… emotions. Positive ones; hope, happiness, something that makes you feel at peace, and makes you feel excited in the same time. It's such an indescribable feeling, when you look at him, and he shows it all. Heart on his sleeve.

"My point is. Always wanted to do something with… this" he points at you and him. "Ask you out, whatever that would help us go through this, but the time wasn't right. Either you had a date with someone, or you just were busy, or I was deployed, it's…" he laughs, not quite believing how everything was against you two; you join him in that.

"I would cancel date for you, and you know it, Kyle" you whisper, smiling softly.

"Well, I didn't know that back then, pardon" he nudges you playfully, making you sit on the couch with him; specifically, on his lap. "Someone pretty like you ain't exactly my league, you know."

You let out a huff.

It is irritating to even hear that he could really think that way; does that man ever looks in the mirror? Kyle, in your eyes at least, is the equivalent of beauty, and maybe, just maybe you are a little biased, but everyone would tell him this. Little wrinkles around his adorable eyes that he had always when he smiled, or his perfectly shaped face, like a work of Michael Angelo. The smile that he was known for. Smile that you love. Smile that makes your heart melt every time, and every bad thought is brushed immediately. His delicate hands that despite his tough work in military, always brought you comfort.

For fuck's sake, you can even write a whole essay about his body and lips, but in a soft moment like you two have right now, it wouldn't be something appropriate.

"I would say otherwise." you shrug, your thumb caressing the side of his face. His facial hair grew a little since the last time that you saw him, so it stings a little, but you don't mind that.

"Well, you don't get to say things like that, pretty." he sticks out his tongue, and you automatically roll your eyes. "Boys were jealous, you know? Of those letters you sent to me. Every time we got to pick up our mail, I had something. They asked if I bribed you to do this or something." he chuckles.

It makes your heart flutter; you indeed were writing to him, every time that he was deployed and you knew where to write, with hope that's gonna be delivered to him. It was like a conversation over a phone that rarely happened, so letters became your friend, when you could write down every little thing you wanted to say to him. Old fashioned? Much so, but it's easier than trying to call him, no?

Sometimes you thought you could easier get to call the Pope than Kyle – and with letters, you had more certainty that he will get everything, sooner or later.

And, you wouldn't forget so many things if you would write them before waiting on call with your best friend.

"Well, proud to say I wasn't bribed. Only missed your annoying ass."

Kyle grins widely, nodding.

"That's what I told 'em. And, other thing."

You raise your eyebrow.

"Other thing?"

He, once again, nods.

"That I want to take you out on a date. Real one, when I'll have time. And, I have now." he added quickly, like you were about to interrupt him. "So, I'm asking you, love, do you want to go out with me? On a real deal thingy, without… acting, like we are only friends. We are not."

You can't help but laugh; this man had you in chokehold for a good time right now, and now, you are just finding out that he actually told his friends that he wants to… take you out? When the time is right? Hell, it felt like a Keeping Up With Kardashians episode, not your life. Mostly because you don't have so much luck with your love life, nor with friends becoming your lovers, yet…

Yet, Kyle was the exception to it all. Sweet one because when he was looking you with those innocent eyes, you were on the cloud nine. All smiling, like an idiot that won the lottery.

It was kinda this way.

"I want to, yeah."

And you can't even add anything else if you want to… because just like the first time, Kyle grabs your chin, and kisses you. Hungrily, like he was afraid that someone would take you from him, even if it's impossible.

Your heart almost jumps out of your chest, when he smiles against your lips because you're the happiest person alive. Kissing him feels like observing the fireworks on the night sky when you were a kid; mesmerizing, addicting, making you want more of that sweet poison. It's almost amusing how long you've waited for another kiss to happen – his lips belonged on yours, and that was a fact.

The only difference between that kiss and the others?

You know that you will go out on a date, you know that both of you are willing to try to make something out of this friendship, other than a "friendly" kisses.

It makes your heart go wild, honestly. Younger you wouldn't believe that, not in a million years; younger version would probably laugh at you, thinking you're making a joke. What is beautiful about this situation is the fact that Kyle Garrick, Gaz for his comrades, was more serious about this date than about anything in his life.

"So what you had in mind to bake? Before we got a little… carried away." you ask, when your forehead is against his after this little make-out session.

At first, Kyle looks at you like he doesn't know about you are talking about, at all. Before you could answer, his face lights up, and he lets out a little ooh.

"Well." he laughs. "I don't know. I lied."

"You lied?" you raise your eyebrow, holding back a laugh that lingers on your tongue. "Sugar was the main reason you came here in the first place, loverboy."

"Loverboy, huh?" he smirks, as he kisses your cheek a few times, lovingly. It's like he wants you addicted to him already, even if he doesn't say it out loud. You just know. "Yeah, I lied, love. Needed a reason to see you and have this conversation, honestly."

"You could just tell me that we needed to talk. I really thought that you're gonna bake something and you'd share, ya know?" you tease, kissing the tip of his nose.

"Mmm, it wouldn't have that dramatic effect, if I'm bein' honest with you." he shrugs, and that makes you grin, widely. "What do you want to eat, though? Cookies seems good to bake together, if you're hungry."

"Mmm… cookies. Chip chocolate ones?" you suggest, knowing that this man just loves them to the core.

"Yes. Abso-fucking-lutely." he points at you, and then, practically runs to the kitchen, with you in his arms, bridal style.

And when you observe how he prepares everything, you think how lucky you got to have a best friend like that. Best friend who gets excited on the thought of chocolate chip cookies, when you just made out five minutes earlier.

Best friend that was on the way to be your lover, now.

#gazfest #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle garrick #kyle gaz garrick mw2 #kyle gaz garrick fluff #kyle gaz garrick #cod #cod x reader #friends to lovers #kyle garrick x you #mw2 #call of duty gaz #call of duty

[discokicks]

BOLT FROM THE BLUE - ROY KENT.

PART ONE of ACES AT THE WATER'S EDGE.

(series masterlist!) (series playlist!) (AO3!)

pairing: roy kent x fem!reader (no use of y/n!)

summary: with the departure of afc richmond’s wonderkid, the club is desperately on the hunt for a new coach. luckily for them, you’ve just been wrongfully terminated from your position over at west ham. however, with your outlook on the football world tainted and massive hesitation due to your past with a particular member of their coaching staff, you’re less than convinced about the job. but, that same member may just be the one to convince you.

word count & rating: 8.7k, R (too many roy kent 'fucks' to be pg-13)

chapter warnings: whole lotta swearing (it’s a roy kent fic, do i even have to say it?), talk of workplace misconduct, allusions to (no descriptions of) sexual harassment, roy and the reader are long-lost bickering, angsty enemies with a past, reader is a former team usa player and present coach, author is american (sorry </3)

author’s note! hello hello. so happy to have you here. welcome to my first tumblr fic. certainly not my first fic ever, but first fic on here! hooray! for the sake of this fic, we’re going to pretend like the coaching career of the reader is actually possible in the current misogynistic world football climate. it’ll be fun to fantasize. also, this takes place in s3, and reader is earlyish/midish thirties. also also, i know next to nothing about football/soccer and haven’t played since i was 10, but i’m doing my research! hope you enjoy and love u all tons. -mags

PRESENT DAY. (AUGUST 2023)

Your ex-boss's ex-wife is currently standing outside of your apartment and somehow, that’s not the most surprising thing to happen this week.

While yes, of course, seeing Rebecca Walton on your front steps at nine-thirty on a Thursday morning is shocking, the numbness that’s been coursing through your body since Monday takes some of the edge off.

She’s right before you, clutching her purse tightly, dressed in a fitted trench coat and aggressively expensive heels. Everything about her contrasts the four-sizes-too-big sweatshirt you’re sporting with the age-old pajama shorts with embroidered soccer balls that you’ve been rotting away in for the last three days. When your eyes finally meet once more and you see she’s been sizing you up just as you’ve been doing to her, she plasters on a wide, practiced smile.

“Hello,” Rebecca says. Her smile doesn’t falter.

You blink at her. “Hi.”

She motions to your door and you feel your hand tighten on the knob. “May I come in?”

Your lips part in a way that you’re sure makes you look like a moron. “Like, into my house?” you ask, head whipping to look at the current warzone state of your living room.

Rebecca’s smile gets slightly more genuine. “If that’s alright?”

The shock of her standing before you seems to have worn off, because you find yourself shutting the door slightly. “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea.”

“It’s nothing—”

“Look, if you’re here to get me to talk to that Independent journalist who’s called me like, three times asking for a perspective on Rupert for his book or whatever, I’m really not interested.” Your frustration is clearly peaking through your typically reserved manner, and frankly, you’re not in any mood to mask it.

She doesn’t seem to mind. “Who? Trent?” You nod at Rebecca’s furrowed brows. “Oh God, no. We barely want him writing that thing anyway.”

Well, okay. “Then why—”

Rebecca motions to the door again. “May I?”

You suppose if she’s being so insistent about entering your home, it’s her funeral. You step back to allow her in, and the second she sees your living room, she seems to regret it. When she turns to face you, you can’t help the way your brows shoot up, everything about your demeanor saying I told you so. “The kitchen’s cleaner,” you tell her, nodding in its direction.

“Wonderful,” she says as she follows you through the hall. Her next question is hesitant. “So, is all this—”

“The result of getting fired on Monday?” you finish for her, turning to meet her gaze as you stand at your counter. Her eyes read pity and part of you already wants to kick her out. The other part of you wants to hug her. “Yeah. Things, uh…”

As you trail off, you realize something. That thing in her eyes isn’t pity. It’s empathy. Rebecca, more than anyone, knows Rupert. She knows how much of an asshole he is. She knows how special he can make you feel, only to have the rug ripped out from under you moments later. She knows what it feels like to be wronged by him. She knows.

Through your silence, you think she recognizes the sudden shift in tension as your expression morphs into something less hard, and you allow yourself a moment of vulnerability. “Things haven’t been great over here.”

Any sort of practice in Rebecca’s smile completely fades and is replaced with something more compassionate. “I can only imagine.”

You nod, crossing your arms over your chest. While the initial discomfort has passed, the awkwardness still lingers and you realize that you have literally no idea why she’s in your apartment. “Can I… offer you coffee? Or, uh, tea?” you ask.

“Oh, no,” she replies. “Thank you though.”

“You sure?” you try again. “I taught myself how to make an insane shaken espresso during my ACL recovery. Mastered it over the years.”

“Mastered it?”

You shrug. “It was either that or alcoholism. Chose the path less traveled by most washed-up athletes.”

Rebecca’s lips twitch upward. “Oh, what the hell. Why not?”

“Great,” you say, turning to your cabinet to grab your bag of coffee beans. Now for the moment of truth. “And while I get that together…” You stand on your tiptoes to reach the bag. “You’ve gotta tell me what you’re doing here.”

For a moment, you think she’s going to feed you some joke or some bullshit answer. You glance over your shoulder to watch her mouth even open to do so. But she suddenly decides against it.

And you drop the bag of coffee beans and have to stabilize yourself against the counter as she says, “I’m here to offer you a job.”

A job? She wants to give you a job at Richmond? She can’t be serious. Out of all the things that floated through your mind when you opened the door, this was the last thing you thought possible. A job. She’s here to offer you a job.

It has to be a pity offer. That’s where the pity of it all went. But no one knows about what actually happened, you remind yourself. She just knows you were suddenly let go. Well, then it’s just a revenge offer. Some petty thing to get back at Rupert. As much as you want to think that you’d be on board with that, you had no interest in being some sort of piece in the game.

You’re staring blankly at Rebecca as your mind goes to war, certain that you look like even more of an idiot than you did when you let her in. There’s a small pool of coffee beans sitting on your counter. But you can’t find it in you to care. A job. She’s here to offer you a job.

Rebecca suddenly clears her throat. “Is everything alri—”

“Why the fuck do you want to give me a job?” Is what comes out of your mouth, head too far gone to consider a filter. A smirk appears on her face at your words. “Sorry, I just… I don’t get it.”

She looks at you for a moment, taking a solemn pause to evaluate exactly what it is she wants to say. Her eyes flash to your embroidered soccer shorts peeking out from beneath your sweatshirt, then to the plethora of sport-themed mugs hanging beneath the cabinets in your kitchen, then to the framed photo you keep on the wall of your team’s 2015 World Cup win.

“Because,” she finally lands on, “when I see that the new, passionate, wildly qualified West Ham coach is suddenly fired less than two months after she begins, seemingly out of nowhere…” It’s her turn to trail off, and she shrugs. “Something tells me it wasn’t just leadership differences.”

You look away from her as she drops the famous press-release line. Discomfort floods your body as you remember Rupert’s smarmy smile when he asked for your badge. “No,” you say softly. “It wasn’t.”

Rebecca nods, as if her suspicions were confirmed. “Now, I don’t know what happened,” she tells you, “and I don’t expect to know. But as I said, you’re wildly qualified. You were a remarkable talent on the field and more so as a coach. Four Uni championships in a six-year career isn’t just impressive, it’s unheard of.”

You pause your coffee bean cleanup at that. Your brows shoot up and a wry smile crosses your lips. “You know my college coaching stats?”

Rebecca stares at you for a moment. Then, “Not until this week,” she admits quickly, forcing you to bite back a laugh. “But my coaching staff knew. Sang your praises.”

A pit forms in your stomach as you realize exactly who’s a part of that staff. Bull-fucking-shit he sang your praises. You think you’d despise him more if he had.

Attempting to brush off your sudden uneasiness, you try your hand at a joke while measuring out the beans. “Well, two-thirds of them are American, so I guess that makes sense.”

Rebecca chuckled. “Well, Roy Kent doesn’t say much of anything, but you did get a—’” She cuts herself off to make an affirmative-sounding grunt. You’re so thrown off by this that you almost forget to smile at her impression of him. “Which, you know, is about as close to singing as he gets.”

That it is. Because you do know. And that’s Roy code for ‘trying to be normal about this, but dear God, never speak about her to me again.’ You hope the mere mention of your name made him run out of the room. That the idea of you potentially joining the team keeps him up at night.

(The last three days haven’t been good for your dramatics either.)

A sigh escapes your lips and you avert your eyes. There’s an air of embarrassment as you shift uncomfortably. “This is going to be loud, sorry,” you apologize, turning the grinder on. You make a general estimation that this is what your brain would currently sound like if someone decided to listen in. After a moment, the machine turns off, but you don’t turn back to Rebecca. “Would this be a coaching offer?”

“I wouldn’t want you to be anything else,” Rebecca responds. Her tone shifts slightly as she looks at you. “Unless there’s—”

“No,” you say, shaking your head. “There’s nothing else I’d want.” You shift again. “I just…”

Rebecca watches as you trail off. You still haven’t looked at her, focused solely on your espresso task at hand. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting when she arrived at your home, but it certainly wasn’t this. Every time she’d seen you, whether it was on the field, blowing past defenders with impossible efficiency, or coaching your college girls in a way that commanded respect despite the seemingly ever-present smile on your face, there’d always been this confidence about you.

An admirable sense of ego. A love and passion for the game that made every young girl want to wear the number 14. A spirit that made everyone look upon you fondly. A pleasure to be around, and an honor to work with.

Rebecca was now staring at what she presumed to be the shell of the woman she’d heard about. A woman distracting herself from the discomfort of this conversation with coffee-making, afraid of her own shadow. And as you spoke, she knew her assumptions were correct.

“Listen,” you manage to get out. You’ve already tamped the grounds and had returned to the big, fancy espresso machine bought for you long ago by a former friend. “I appreciate you coming over here, but…”

“But?” Rebecca questions.

The words feel dry in your mouth and you have to push them out. “I think I’m done with it.”

It’s Rebecca’s turn to blink at you dumbly. “Done with what?” she asks. “With coaching?”

Shame floods your body. “With soccer,” you reply weakly. That look remained on Rebecca’s face. “Football. Whatever. Whatever you want to call it, I’m done with it.” You turn to stable yourself on the countertop once more as the coffee begins to brew. “It’s just— I’ve spent the majority of my life doing this one thing. I’ve done the Olympic gold thing, I’ve won a World Cup, I’ve won college championships, I’ve been…” Your eyes shut, shoulders sagging. “I’ve just been. And I thought I could go a step further. Break a ceiling or whatever. I thought I was ready for it. And then everything I’ve worked for is fucking destroyed by some douchebag, diva athlete who doesn’t know how to keep his dick in his—”

You raise your hand to your mouth as if that’ll keep it all in, and you realize you’re shaking. You don’t have to turn around to know how Rebecca’s looking at you. “So, yeah,” you finish lamely. “I’m done. It was ruined for me. And I don’t want to go back.”

Rebecca says nothing for a long while. Taking everything you said in, drawing her conclusions, whatever. You grip the granite countertop and it feels cool beneath your fingers. Your eyes open when you finally hear her respond.

“You’re letting him win,” she tells you, voice soft. Slightly broken. Like she knows the feeling.

When you do turn back to her, Rebecca’s sitting at your breakfast bar with her hands folded together, anger poorly concealed. But it’s not anger at you, it’s just anger.

But then you start to feel angry. “I’m not letting him win,” you insist.

“You are,” she replies. Before you can let your temper get the best of you, she continues. “They’re calling you emotional, you know? They’re saying that the ’leadership problems’ were you just being abrasive. Joking that they should have never let a woman into the league because of the drama. Apparently, women can’t handle AFC-level coaching.”

You swallow. “I know,” you say. “I’ve seen it.”

“Who do you think’s pushing that narrative?” she asks.

It’s a rhetorical question, but you still feel like giving an answer. “Basement-dwelling losers who barely made their intramural leagues?”

It’s then that Rebecca smiles for real. It’s like she’s seen a flash of the woman she’s heard about and she couldn’t be more pleased. She makes a noise of agreement, then continues. “This is what he wants. He wants you to feel like this. He wants you to quit.” Her gaze bores into yours with an intensity that doesn’t allow you to look away. “If you give it all up, he wins. He beats you and he’s got another name under his belt. He doesn’t deserve your name.” Rebecca’s index finger jabs in your direction. “Don’t allow him to fucking win.”

The passion in her words is what gets you. Your throat clenches as you feel your eyes start to burn, knowing that everything she said had some amount of truth in it. There’s a frustration that rises in your chest that you don’t know how to handle.

You were letting him win. He took away your career and then threatened your reputation. He made you take the blame for everything. He allowed this to be ruined for you and played an active part in ensuring it. And here you were, cowering in fear at the notion of this small man.

She’s right, and the espresso has finished brewing.

You know she’s right. Rebecca knows she’s right. So, as you stand in your kitchen, fighting an inward battle that’s got you on the verge of tears, your scared, stupid, frustrated little brain can only think of one more thing to say as you pour the coffee over ice.

“Even if you were right—” you begin, not ready to admit that just yet, “—even if you were, and even if I did want to join Richmond, I refuse to work with Roy Kent.”

This takes Rebecca completely by surprise. She shifts back in her chair, eyes wide despite the drawing of her brows. “R-Roy?” she sputters. “Our Roy Kent?”

The word our tells you that he’s been embraced by the club and isn’t going anywhere. Not that you had expected him to. He’d clearly nested well into the team and had taken his coaching position in stride. Just like you said he would years ago.

“Yeah,” you say shortly. “That one.”

Rebecca’s expression remains the same. ”But he’s… I—” She cuts herself off with a question. “—but why?”

A mirthless grin crosses your lips, head shaking like you don’t have the energy to get into it all. “That’s an answer you should probably hear from him.”

Rebecca looks as though she’s trying to make sense of all of this. You want to wish her luck. Because you’ve been doing the same thing for eight years. “I understand he can be a bit… coarse. And intimidating. And hot-headed. But he really is—”

“I don’t care what he is,” you tell her with the most polite, tight-lipped smile you can muster up. “I know who he was. And I’m not interested in working with him.” The words leave your mouth with a bit more venom than anticipated and guilt floods your body. “But thank you for the offer.”

The Richmond owner continues to stare at you while you shake the coffee, still puzzled, but slowly coming to the realization that she’s not going to change your mind. At least not now. Maybe not ever.

She figures that trying to convince you to do anything would be pointless. Your stubbornness had made you a star on the field and had clearly transferred off of it. She supposed it made sense that you and Roy had apparently butted heads.

So, reading the room, Rebecca nods at you and stands from the stool behind your breakfast bar. “Alright,” she says, a somber, apologetic smile on her face. “Message received. Loud and clear.” You watched as she turned and began to fumble inside her purse, placing a white card on the bar when she’d found it. “But… please. Consider it. The offer’s good for the next couple of days. And I… I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t think that you’d be an asset to our team. I truly mean that.”

There’s a genuine lilt in her voice that makes you believe her. Whether or not this was a pity offer, or if she just want to scoop you up to get back at Rupert, she really did want you with the team. You’re rational enough to know that there’s some merit in that.

“Thank you,” you say again, offering a truer smile this time around. You hold up the espresso. “Now, do you have a milk preference? Because I’ve got them all.”

Rebecca Walton left your apartment with the best fucking shaken espresso she’s ever had in her life and a phone held up to her ear.

“Hi, babes,” greeted the voice on the other line, cheery as ever. “I can’t remember the last time you called me this early. Not that I’m complain—”

Rebecca abruptly cut off her friend’s rambling by saying your name. “How the fuck does she know Roy and why the fuck is he the reason she won’t work for Richmond?”

Uncharacteristically, Keeley Jones went silent. Rebecca heard the static from the other end. And then, very quiet, and wildly serious, Keeley said, “Oh, fuck.”

The words made Rebecca stop in her tracks in the middle of the street. “What?”

“You want her to be the new Richmond coach?” Keeley asked, sounding a whole lot like she just scrambled to sit up in bed.

“I just left her apartment. She rejected the offer and sent me on my way with the best coffee I’ve ever had in my life,” she replied. “I want to be bitter about it, but it’s too fucking good.”

“Yeah, got it, she’s a fucking barista on top of being an Ace.” Rebecca wanted to ask about how frantic her best friend is right now, but didn’t get the chance. “Did Roy know you were doing this? Asking her, I mean?”

“He did. I asked him about her,” Rebecca answered. “And he grunted at me. Generally, that’s Roy Kent for ‘go on with it.’”

“Oh, that stupid, fucking self-sabotaging prick,” Keeley muttered. “Of-fucking-course he did. Put yourself in this kind of situation instead of dealing with your emotions like a normal fucking human, good on you, Roy—”

“Keeley.” The rambling stopped once more. “What happened?”

The other line was momentarily silent. Then Keeley sighed, long and heavy. “Well, I don’t know it all,” she began. Her voice was soft. “But I know they knew each other a while back. Like ten years ago, when they were both still playing.” Keeley sighed once more. “But he said he, uh… apparently fucked her over somehow. Didn’t get into it or say what he did, but I think it was pretty bad. And then she got back at him for it and fucked him over. And it… really messed him up. Like, totally broke his heart.”

Rebecca stepped out of the way of someone passing by. “Broke his heart?” she asked, eyes closing at the implication of that. “Were they—”

“I don’t know. He didn’t say. He wasn’t exactly open about it. Which I thought was weird because he became pretty open about everything else,” Keeley said. “All I know is that whatever it was, it ended ugly. And that they haven’t spoken to each other since.”

Whatever Rebecca had been expecting, it surely wasn’t that. “Oh,” she said lightly.

Keeley hummed in uncomfortable agreement. “Maybe I’m reading too far into it,” she continued. “Maybe it wasn’t like that. But, he… never talked about anyone like that. Or, y’know, refused to talk about anyone like that. And you know Roy.” Rebecca said nothing, leaving Keeley to ask the million-dollar question. “Are you sure you want to follow through with this?”

“I want her. She’s the only feasible prospect I’ve liked who hasn’t been a fucking twat so far.” Rebecca’s voice was sure. Final. “And I won’t allow for another woman to be quietly taken down because of Rupert. Especially not if what I think happened actually did happen.”

“Well, then babe,” Keeley said, “I think you might need to have a chat with your coaches.”

Then, as Rebecca stood on the edge of the sidewalk, picturing the look on her coaches’ faces as she prepared to integrate Roy Kent, the gravity of the situation hit her like a freight train. “Oh, fuck.”

“ROY FUCKING KENT!”

The entire locker room froze at the voice of Rebecca Walton echoing down the hall, each click of her heels sounding as dangerous as the next. Immediately, all eyes are were on Roy. From Kitman Will to Coach Ted Lasso himself. Not a word was said and Rebecca’s stomping started to sound like a death march.

But when she rounded the corner into the Coaches’ Office with a fire in her eyes that screamed run; that’s when Roy started to sweat.

Immediately, a million things ran through his mind. He wondered if this was about his break-up with Keeley, then realized that she was the one who wanted a break from him, so Rebecca’s got no reason to be mad about that. Had he said something stupid to a reporter? Been photographed poorly? Did something come up in a tabloid from his past? Roy wished he could identify one singular thing he’d done back then in poor taste, but he had a fucking laundry list.

Beard quickly jumped up from his chair to shut the door to the locker room so that the team couldn’t hear whatever was about to unfold in this godforsaken office, and pulled the blinds too. He heard the beginnings of an objection from the boys as they began to race to the window, and sent them all a look before the shade fell.

Rebecca walked further into the office, eyes never leaving Roy’s. If she weren’t so fucking mad, she figured she’d bask in the fact that she was able to make the great, big, scary Roy Kent nervous, but she was currently seeing red. She decided she’d reflect on that later.

“I had a fascinating conversation this morning with a prospective coach,” she finally said, voice eerily calm. “Your name came up. A lot.”

Roy didn’t dare say a word. He wasn’t even sure if he could. Thankfully, Ted chimed in. “Well, Boss, we’ve got a lot of those. Would you mind narrowing down which one you talked to?”

But Roy doesn’t need it to be narrowed down. There’s only one name that’s been floated around that could possibly have garnered this reaction and level of anger. But his stomach sank further as a wild smile crossed Rebecca’s lips.

“Oh, just our Ace Olympic gold-medalist, World Cup-winning, four-time college coaching champion, West-Ham-hating top prospect,” she said, gaze pinning Roy to the wall. “Who apparently has not only been fucked over by Rupert but has also been fucked over by our own Roy Kent.”

All eyes flashed to Roy in surprise. Rebecca hadn’t been lying. Roy hadn’t objected to her name being considered as seriously as it was, and had given absolutely no indication to anyone in the room that there could potentially be conflict with this hire.

“Oh,” Ted said. “Well, that’s a bit of an issue.”

Roy looked at Rebecca evenly. “What did she say?”

“Nothing,” she replied, knowing that that was the very issue. “She just said she refused to work with you. Told me to ask you for the details.”

Roy nearly scoffed. God, that was really fucking like you, wasn’t it? Somehow making his life harder without scorching him alive, leaving him to be the one to burn himself down. Because you could if you wanted to. You could burn him to the ground if you chose.

(And you had. But he wasn’t sure what was stopping you from doing it again.)

He eyed Rebecca, knowing his boss and the way she thinks. There was a piece of him that was curious as to whether or not she’d drop the bomb in front of Beard and Lasso. “And what did Keeley tell you?”

That seemed to take his boss by surprise for a moment. But, as she caught on, it was made clear that she had the intention of saving his ass. For now. “Nothing that you didn’t tell her yourself,” Rebecca said. “Which was pretty much nothing.”

That was true too. There wasn’t much he hadn’t told Keeley, but he drew the line at you. Not only would Keeley look at him differently if she knew the truth, but you were just… too hard to talk about. Way too hard for him.

Which is why when Rebecca threw her hands up in question, desperation in her eyes as she asks, “So, what the fuck did you do to our prospective coach?”, Roy had to calm himself for a moment.

Between his rapidly increasing heartbeat and freshly clammy hands, Roy knew he had to figure out a way to not appear one hundred percent, completely freaked out about this. Besides his vague talks with Keeley, he can’t remember the last time he spoke about you. In fact, he’s not sure he’d ever spoken about you. And he certainly wasn’t in any headspace to do it now.

So, Roy being who he was, looked at the expectant expressions of his coaching staff (and Trent fucking Crimm, who he still couldn’t believe had managed to weasel his way into the club) and sighed. He knew he couldn’t be as intentionally vague with his explanation, especially now that the careers of those he knew and respected were in the mix, but he sure as hell was going to try.

“We—” Roy’s voice came out gruff and he cleared his throat with the roll of his eyes. “We knew each other a while back. I met her at the London Olympics. We were… fucking friends. For a while. And then we weren’t.” Roy shrugged, as if that would get rid of the discomfort he felt. He still hadn’t made eye contact with anyone. “I did some shit I’m not proud of. I hurt her and then she fucking hurt me. We haven’t talked since.”

Rebecca crossed her arms over her chest. “Exactly how long haven’t you spoken for?”

Exactly? Roy knows exactly how long. He could tell her the exact fucking day. But that was neither here nor there.

“I don’t know,” he chose to answer. He’d never faked indifference well. “Couple of years? Eight, nine?”

Beard pursed his lips in confusion. “And you didn’t think to… mention this conflict of interest?”

He’d taken the words right out of Rebecca’s mouth. “Or tell me there was an issue so I didn’t look like an idiot?”

“There’s no fucking conflict of interest!” Roy shouted. Rebecca’s brows rose dangerously at the tone and volume of his voice, forcing him to take a moment to collect himself. His voice was more even as he said, “I didn’t fucking say anything because I didn’t think it was important because we’re fucking adults and I didn’t want to be the fucking reason she didn’t—”

Roy’s words died in his throat, chest heaving as he forced himself to stop short. He finally looked up, glancing between his colleagues. He tilted his head back as he realized that each of them were trying to figure out whether or not to believe him.

He was telling the truth. He hadn’t said one lie. They just didn’t get it. And he wouldn’t allow them to get it. Not yet, at least.

“Well,” Rebecca said after a beat, “inadvertently or not, you are the reason she’s not joining the team.”

(Those words alone sting Roy in a way he wasn’t prepared for.)

Rebecca wasn’t done. “But I want her, Roy. More than anyone we’ve seen. She’s the best we’ve had a chance with so far. And if I have to go with another coach or one of those pricks we interviewed because of that?” She shook her head as if the idea repulsed her, then pointed squarely at Roy. “Fix this.”

His jaw went slack. “Fix— How the fuck am I supposed to fix it?”

Roy was shocked to find that Ted had his back. “I’m with Roy on this one, boss,” he said hesitantly. Rebecca blinked at him in surprise. “I want her too. I’m all for having this Ace up our sleeve. But this all seems like a lot to be fixed overnight.”

“Send her flowers, send her a singing telegram, get on your fucking hands and knees and beg— I don’t care how you do it! Just try!” Rebecca’s gaze had turned back to Roy, this time a bit more pleading. “Please. Fix it.”

And with that, Rebecca left the office, leaving two coaches and a journalist staring at Roy Kent.

This was the worst day of his life. It had to be. He’d never prepared himself to see you again because he was convinced that there was no probability it would happen. Selfishly, he’d figured that you coaching here wasn’t a true possibility, not because of any sort of lack of skill, but because some other team would scoop you up. But it was happening. This was a reality and Roy was sure he’d died and finally gone to hell.

And now he was expected to fix this? To interact with you? To potentially see and speak to you again? He was going to fucking throw up.

With this settling in, Roy released a deep, shuddering breath, heartbeat ringing in his ears. “Fuuuuuck,” he muttered, grabbing his keys from his desk and storming out of the room.

And then there were three. Ted broke the silence with a question directed at Trent. “Y'all have singing telegrams over here?”

Trent nodded. “Oh, yes. And I’m sure they’re just as awful as American ones.”

As Ted hummed in agreement, Beard narrowed his eyes at how his best friend’s attention was back on the open laptop in front of him. “You looking up where to get one?” he asked.

“Oh, yeah,” Ted replied, eyes glued to the screen.

Beard got up from his chair. “Move over.”

Roy Kent is standing on your doorstep, and somehow that’s not the most surprising thing to happen to you all week.

However, you are surprised. So much so that the second you see him, a mix of red-hot anger and panic run through your veins, making you instantly slam the door in his face. Tragically, he’s quick enough to slip his foot between the door and the frame, not allowing you to keep him out. You see him grimace through the slit.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters. “That’s a fucking heavy door.”

“Yeah?” you ask, continuing to push on the door like a five-year-old. “Surprised your reflexes were fast enough to pull that one off, Grandpa.” You glance down and do the math. “With your bad leg, too. Impressive.”

You see him wince at the pressure. “If you keep pushing on that door, we’re going to have an actual fucking problem.”

“Ooh, I’m so scared,” you reply. “Do I get a headstart when you have to pop the knee back in?”

Roy grunts. “I think it’s fair game with that ACL.”

You push harder on the door.

Roy’s had enough. His weird, Superman strength peaks through as he holds out an arm to push back, making you stumble slightly. “Can you fucking… stop?” His voice strains on that last word, finally opening the door enough to free his foot and keep it open. You know him well enough to know that trying to push back is useless. However, as you hide yourself behind it, your hand remains on the door, just in case.

“How the fuck do you know where I live?”

“I frequent the West Ham directory,” he answers dryly. You move to push on the door once more, but he speaks before you can. “I fucking texted Rebecca. She somehow knew.”

While you were also weirded out about how Rebecca knew your address, her presence was much less off putting than the man’s before you. If he’d texted Rebecca about you, that meant you’d been talked about. Which meant that Rebecca had confronted Roy about your conflict. Which meant that he was here to…

The implication of it unnerves you. But still, you ask, “Why are you here?”

“I just want to talk,” he replies.

You scoff. “Well, we talked. I’m good for another ten years.”

It’s then that he says your name. Your actual name. Not your last name, or your number, or the stupid nickname he used to call you. And it’s said so softly. So much more gentle than you ever remember his voice being. It straight-up ambushes you, and the remainder of the grip you have on the door fades.

“Please,” he says in that same way. “Give me five minutes.” You rest your forehead on the door, wanting nothing more than to shut it in his face again and walk away. “Five minutes, and then you can tell me to fuck off.”

You’re not sure what makes you do it. You’re not sure why your resolve suddenly crumbles and you start to consider his words. Maybe it’s because you’re still surprised to see him. Maybe it’s because you’re exhausted from this last week. Or maybe it’s because you’ve spent the last four hours mulling over Rebecca’s offer and have realized you may actually want this.

Whatever it is, you groan dramatically, say something that sounds a whole lot like fine, fucking fine to Roy, and open your door all the way to really look at him for the first time in eight years.

The sight of you seems to catch him as off guard as he does for you. He looks older, years more mature than the last time you saw him. But it’s not just in the face. His entire presence seems matured. Healed. It’s jarring.

He’s well-groomed, a vast contrast to the guy you met back in 2012, but similar to the man you left in 2015. It’s just more so. Everything about him is… more. More well-polished. More striking. The TV spots you’ve seen don’t do him justice.

(You mentally kick yourself for even thinking that and immediately feel like you need to wash your hands.)

The dark Richmond Coaching shirt he wears nearly blends in with his eyes, but you swear they’ve gotten lighter. However, the intensity of his stare hasn’t changed. And that’s the first thing you notice as you realize he’s been doing the same sort of evaluation to you.

However, that stare stays on the stupid embroidered soccer ball shorts you now really wish you’d changed out of after Rebecca had left. There’s a ghost of a smile on his face as he says, “I can’t believe you still have those fucking shorts.”

A sudden, overwhelming feeling of… something washes over you and you can feel tears prick at your eyes. Because you don’t know what to say to that, and because you’re not sure you can respond to that in any sort of way, you cross your arms over your chest. It takes everything in you to keep your gaze on him. “Five minutes,” you tell him.

Roy seems to snap out of whatever headspace he was in, any trace of humor disappearing. Instead, he straightens up, rolls his shoulders back, and clears his throat. He’s standing as if he’s about to make a grand speech, and it leads you to believe he’s rehearsed this. You may have laughed at him if you weren’t anticipating whatever the hell was about to come.

So, as Roy opens his mouth, you brace yourself for impact and wait.

And wait.

And wait.

But nothing seems to come out. He’s stuck there, like he’s frozen in time, as if he’s some sort of animatronic that’s glitching out. You glance around to double-check that the trees on your street are still blowing in the wind.

Your head tilts, and you awkwardly press your lips together. “I think you’ve got four minutes now.”

Roy glares at you. “Can you just fucking—” He cuts himself off, pointing to his G-Wagon that’s parked outside of your apartment. “I spent two fucking hours in that car figuring out how I was going to fucking do this and then another hour outside of your fucking flat trying to work up the nerve to knock on your fucking door, so can you just shut the fuck up?”

Your hands go up in surrender. “Okay, okay,” you say lightly. Then, you mutter, “You just like, gave yourself a time limit and—”

When he grits out your name, you raise your hands higher and shut your mouth.

A good thirty seconds go by before he finally says, “You played for how many years?”

You blink at him. That’s his big opening line? He knows how long you played— “Seven?”

“Yeah, I fucking know you played professionally for seven. How long overall?”

You have to think about it for a moment. “Since I was three,” you answer. “So, twenty-five years.”

“And how long did you coach?”

He knows this too, but you assume he’s doing it to prove a point. “Six,” you grumble, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Six,” he repeats. “That’s over thirty years you’ve devoted your life to football. Three fucking decades. That’s your entire fucking life.”

That same frustration you felt when Rebecca was talking to you this morning rears its ugly head. “What’s your point?”

Roy doesn’t think he could roll his eyes any harder. “My point is,” he says, “you’ve been in this game for three decades. Why?”

“W-why?” you stammer, staring at him like he’s insane. Nobody’s ever asked you that before. “What do you mean why?”

Roy returns the look. “There’s gotta be a reason you’ve been doing this shit for thirty years. Why?”

“I don’t know,” you answer, shaking your head. “Because I’m good at it? Because it’s literally all that I’m good at? Because it’s all that I’ve ever known? I don’t—”

“No,” he says firmly, and for a moment, as he steps forward, you think he’s going to grab you by the shoulders in the way he used to. To get you out of your head and focus on him. Thankfully, he doesn’t. “Fucking nobody does anything for that long just because they’re good at it. That can’t be the only reason.”

As he stares at you expectantly, you start to understand his train of thought. What he’s trying to get you to admit. What all of this has been about since you first kicked a ball at three years old. What allowed you to sport the number 14 for twenty-five years. Because it’s only ever been about one thing, and he, more than anyone, gets it.

So, as your shoulders slouch and your head bows slightly in an annoyed sort of surrender, he knows he’s got you. Roy fucking Kent, anger-management case study and hothead of the millennium, has got you. And he’s showcasing the type of speech and traits and breakthrough abilities that told you eight years ago that he’d be a fantastic coach. Not that he believed you. Or took it very well, for that matter.

Then, you hear his voice again. And this time, it’s a bit softer. As if there’s a fraction of a smile on his face. “So, why the fuck have you been playing this game for thirty years, you stupid fucking Yank?”

The nostalgia of the name hits you like a bus, and you’re thankful you’re leaning on the doorframe because you truly may have stumbled over. However, there’s no time to dwell on that. You’ve got an answer ready and it takes everything in you not to smile.

A heavy, labored, dramatic sigh escapes you, and you open your eyes to look at him. “Because I love it.”

“Because you fucking love it,” he echoes, and that fraction of a smile you heard in his voice happens to be hidden amongst his perpetual scowl. He takes a step closer to you, pointing at you and tapping on your shoulder. “Don’t you dare let that prick take that away from you.”

You bite the inside of your cheek and look away from him. He’s right. Just like Rebecca, he’s right. You hate that he’s right, but he’s right. It’s been years since you’ve seen him be right, but it hasn’t gotten any less annoying.

You think back to what Rebecca said this morning. Don’t let him win. You didn’t want to. There was actually nothing less that you wanted than to allow him to have that sort of power over you.

But still, the fear lingers. It sits in your stomach and churns it. He said he’d ruin you. Turn the world against you. It’d be your word against the club’s and more importantly, your word against football darling and West Ham star, Tom MacDonald’s.

(“Sure, you can go public with it,” Rupert had told you, basking in the anger written in your expression. “But to be completely honest, love, I’m not sure anyone’s going to believe you.” He shrugged. “Only female coach in the league suddenly crying sexual harassment after she’s been fired? Seems a bit convenient to me, don’t you think?”)

You don’t mean for your voice to be as small as it is when you say, “But what if I’m actually done?”

Vulnerability’s never been something you’ve embraced, especially with your career path, and you hate the way you sound. Weak. Timid. Afraid. As you meet his gaze once again, you realize that you hate the way that Roy’s looking at you even more.

“You’re the furthest thing from done. Done hasn’t ever been a word in your fucking vocabulary,” he tells you. There’s no room for argument. “You wanna know why?” You shrug at him in response, cueing him to continue. “Because unfortunately, I fucking know you. And I know the only time you’d ever be done with this sport is when you’re fucking dead.”

This time, you do allow yourself to smile. It’s small and humorous— a tight-lipped agreement, but it’s enough for Roy to know he’s gotten through. You want to laugh, partly because you know he’s right, partly because you can’t fucking believe that you’re smiling at him, but you’re strong enough to keep that in.

“So, yeah. Don’t let that prick kill you. Don’t let any prick keep you out of this game. Especially coaching.” Roy shakes his head, pausing for a beat, as if he’s making an effort to say, “You’re too… fucking good.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Took a lot to get that one out, huh?”

Roy’s quick with a response. “You’re lucky you got it at all.”

You scowl, but there’s not much in it. You’re used to that type of compliment from him. If you can even call it that. Still, the familiarity of it makes you the most uncomfortable you’ve been all day.

However, you’re distracted by one thing. Don’t let any prick keep you out of the game. He’s said it so casually, like he’d actually meant it. As if he had no sense of irony about it. It boils your blood and stirs something ugly in you.

That feeling prompts you to meet his gaze. “What if one of those pricks is right in front of me?”

For the first time all night, his stoic expression falters, as if that was the last thing he’d ever expected you to say. It was only a fraction of a second. A blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moment.

But you hadn’t missed it. You’d seen the Tin Man facade crumble, even for just a second. You’d seen the hurt in his eyes, the regret. You’d celebrate it if it didn’t make you feel so unexpectedly awful.

He abruptly clears his throat with a solemn nod. “Well,” he says gruffly. ”Then don’t let me take that away either."

You look away from him, because you know that’s all you can do right now. Your mind’s racing a million miles an hour, thinking about him, about Rupert and West Ham and Tom MacDonald, and about the Richmond job. There’s a piece of you that wants to believe that everything that had happened this week was leading to this. To seeing him again, to being offered to work with him, to gain an opportunity for redemption in more ways than one.

But the more logical piece of you knows that’s all bullshit. And it’s that thought that puts you back in a more comfortable headspace.

“You know I can’t forgive you for what you did,” you tell him, meeting his eyes once more. The weight of your words is heavy on your shoulders and you lean against your doorframe again. “I won’t forgive you.”

Roy nods stiffly. “I know,” he says. “And I can’t forgive you.”

You return his nod in understanding. “I know.”

His gaze leaves yours for a moment, like he’s trying to figure out how to phrase what he wants to say next. How to work up the courage to do so.

“But if—” Roy’s voice comes out strained and he clears his throat. “If this is something you want, this coaching thing at Richmond, then I…” He looks at you and all you can see is sincerity. You hate it. “It’ll be professional. Civil. I won’t let there be any issues or… fucking whatever.”

He appears to be just as bad at this as he was when you last saw him. You bite the inside of your cheek to hold in your laughter. By the way his face becomes instantaneously annoyed, you can tell he’s noticed.

You’re already talking before he can retract his statement. “How’s the team?”

If he’s offended by you not thanking him for doing the bare fucking minimum, he doesn’t show it, and takes your change in topic in stride. “Good,” he replies. “Pretty fucking good. We’re still trying to figure some shit out when it comes to—”

“No,” you interrupt him. “I’ve seen you guys play. I know you’re good. I mean—” Your throat suddenly gets tight, a pit of anxiety forming in your stomach completely out of nowhere. A shaky breath leaves your lips. “The team. The guys. Are they…?”

Roy catches on. “They’re good lads,” he says, his voice telling you that it’s not a statement, but a fact. “Some of the best I’ve ever played with. Easy to coach too.”

Your brow quirks up. “Easy?”

“If two fucking clowns from Oklahoma and fucking… me are saying they’re easy,” he says, looking at you with intent as he trails off.

That same pit of anxiety bubbles up once more. “And, uh… Jamie Tartt? Is he—?” Roy’s brow furrows. “I’ve just heard some less-than-great things. Him being the star and all. Football darling or whatever. Are they true?”

Your over-explanation of the Richmond striker makes Roy narrow his eyes in suspicion. He opens his mouth to question it, but then realizes it’s you. There had to be some personal reason for you to bring it up. Whatever issue it was, he knew he was no longer personal enough with you to ask.

“He was a prick,” Roy finally settles on. “Now he’s less of a prick.”

The fond look in Roy’s eyes tells you that he’s warmed up to Jamie more than he’s letting on, and it puts you at ease. You nod in acknowledgment. Silence fills the air between you two, neither of you knowing what else to say.

You think about the team you’ve watched quietly on TV, studying up for your rivalry games with them when you were preparing to coach at West Ham. You think about your prospective coaching staff and the vitriol you heard in Nathan Shelley’s voice when you asked him about Ted Lasso. You think about the job and what evidently comes with it.

But most importantly, you think about the potential of this new position and the potential of this new beginning.

And while you’ve got questions, you realize they’re all for yourself. Not for Roy.

You’re out of questions and he’s out of time. Way out of time.

You remember this as you rock back on your heels. “I think you’ve gone over your five minutes.”

Roy looks at you expectantly. “Are you going to tell me to fuck off?”

“You? Absolutely,” you tell him, earning yet another eye roll. “But Richmond?” You pause, trying to ignore just how quietly hopeful he now looks. You sigh, shoulders slumping. “Tell Rebecca I’ll consider it.”

Roy releases a relieved, thankful breath, nodding at you. “Good,” he says.

You nod back at him. “Wouldn’t want you to spend another three hours in your car trying to figure out how you’re gonna break the bad news to her.”

That eye roll returns, but there’s a bit of levity in it. He looks at you for a moment longer, biting the inside of his cheek like he's contemplating saying something else. Your brows furrow in interest, and as soon as they do, he seems to decide against it.

Roy turns to go down your steps with a shake of his head. “Get out of those fucking shorts and stop your wallowing, Fourteen,” he throws behind him as he walks away. “And clean your fucking flat!”

Glancing behind you, your jaw drops in outrage as you realize there’s no way in hell he saw your warzone living room from where he was standing. “You can’t even see into my apartment!”

He doesn’t turn around when he says, “I don’t need to see! I just fucking know you.”

You manage to suppress the urge to actually yell at him to fuck off at that, and instead choose to live with the wildly strange and undefinable feeling that overtakes your body, one that doesn’t dissolve until you watch him speed off down your street.

This fucking week, man.

You shut your door and turn to face your living room, a newfound disgust for the vile state that it’s in. Your lips curls up and you sigh, walking into your kitchen to grab a trash bag, making a plan of action for the night as you shake it out.

You replay your first conversation with Roy in eight years as you tidy up your apartment. You make a mental pros and cons list of the Richmond job as you take the longest, most necessary shower of your life. You chuckle to yourself at the idea of Rupert and Tom’s faces if they were to see that you’d been picked up by Richmond.

You sleep well for the first night in three days, on clean sheets, in clean pajamas, embroidered soccer ball shorts joining your dirty laundry.

You’re bounding into your kitchen at nine the next morning to grab Rebecca’s card that you left on your counter, brewing an espresso as you call her.

#roy kent #ted lasso #roy kent x reader #roy kent fanfiction #roy kent fic #roy kent x you #ted lasso fanfiction #aatwe #the one who can't walk up stairs #aces

[whatitsdecending]

Chokehold

Vessel x Reader x Noah Sebastian

Something you never expected to find yourself in was a threesome between a man you were casually having sex with and someone you’d never met before.

A/N: if people like this I have ideas to continue it, so do let me know;)

Word Count: 3.7k

Content warning: voyeurism, threesomes, domination, exhibitionism

—————————

The day had gone by slowly, another festival built-up in the middle of nowhere housing thousands of people that attended. It was hot, hotter than normal for this time of year. At least you think it was, you weren’t exactly from Virginia and this climate was a little different from what you were used to.

You did your best to ignore the blistering heat beating down on you from the sun as you worked on unpacking the stage equipment for the band you were a roadie for; Bad Omens, a group of four guys who make some of the best damn music you’ve heard in a long time.

You enjoyed your job, being able to travel around and get exposed to new music or the same stuff you’ve loved for years. There were times where it made you debate whether it was the right fit for you or not, but usually those rough patches turned into the best thing you could ever imagine.

The band quickly befriended you, as they did with the other roadies, but one member was particularly fond of you. Noah Sebastian, the lead singer of the band. He had the voice of a siren and the presence of a lion on stage, but behind the scenes it was a much different story. Behind that stage presence was the kindest man you know, a man who’s been taking care of you, mentally and physically.

It wasn’t anything serious between the two of you, just quick hookups here and there that took care of any built up tension you had. He was good at it and has learned every little thing that makes you squirm beneath his touch, he had your body mapped out in his mind by the second hookup. Watching him on stage always did something to you, the small heat built up in your stomach and a blush rising to your cheeks every time he’d sneak a glance over to you on the side of the stage.

You weren’t sure if anyone had caught on yet, you’d nervously laugh when someone made a joke about you and Noah but it’d always end there, never going further than just a joke to them. And that’s exactly how you want it to stay.

“Working hard or hardly working?” The voice you’d come to be absolutely enthralled with broke through your thoughts. He towered over you, blocking the sun that had been shining down on you for a while and casting his shadow over you.

“I’ve been working hard for too long, actually.” You respond with a sarcastic smile, grabbing the next box to bring over to the techs. He trailed after you and said a quick hello to the techs getting Jolly’s gear prepped early.

“You got time to sneak away for a bit?” Noah whispered as you walked back towards the trailer that held all the equipment. Your heart skipped a beat at his words, it’s been a while since you and Noah were able to sneak away from everyone, and you had to admit you were due for alone time with him.

“I think I’ve done enough, not much left to unload anyways.” You say, motioning to the much smaller load of equipment left in the trailer than what had been there two hours ago.

“Perfect.” A smile tugged at his lips as turned around and walked towards the building that had the dressing rooms set up inside. The chill of the AC on full blast sent a shiver through your body, goosebumps rising on your skin as you entered the building. You followed Noah through the building, admiring the different band names plastered on different doors or on a makeshift tent in the building. You hoped he wasn’t taking you to a random tent that looked like it would fall over in two seconds.

The breath of relief that left your body when Noah stopped outside a door with the band’s name on it, right at the end of the hallway and was in a bit more of a private area than the rest of the rooms. He slowly opened the door, taking a quick peek inside and then motioning for you to come in.

The room was empty besides two couches and a mirror on the wall set-up as a makeup station for performers. It wasn’t that large of a room, just enough to fit the necessities for a dressing room. But it would do.

“Not that bad compared to other dressing rooms you’ve had.” You broke the silence, leaving Noah to snort in response. “Now we gotta make this pretty quick, I got in trouble last time we snuck around.”

“You know I can get you out of any trouble with the crew, right?” Noah’s voice was low as he came up to you, resting his hands on your hips.

“I’m aware, but I don’t want you to keep pulling favors out of your ass for me.” You say as his face lowered down to place gentle kisses along the exposed skin of your collarbone.

“I don’t mind,” he says between kisses. “Besides, it lets me take care of you for longer.” His hands slowly glide up along the curves of your waist, gently moving your shirt up and exposing your skin. His touch warmed your now freezing body, the sweat from before now dried and left you to shiver in the cold of the room. “You’re so damn beautiful.” He muttered softly as he kissed up your neck, trailing slowly to your lips.

Noah’s lips made contact with yours with a soft intent, not wanting to push you into anything too aggressive right away. He knew what worked best for you and letting it build was the way to make you as aroused as possible. He slowly turned you to now face the opposite direction, assuming he was going to use that to push you into the wall.

He slowly parted away from your lips, smirking as you whined about the loss of contact. His eyes sparkled as you stared up at him, wondering what exactly was going on in that beautiful mind of his.

“Have you ever met my friend Vessel before?” Noah’s voice was low as he nodded beyond your shoulder, causing you to take a glance at the man who had been standing behind you. Vessel, you knew he was the singer from Sleep Token, yet the man who stood behind you was not the man you would’ve recognized to be Vessel.

He stood leaning against the wall, his arms crossed against his bare chest. You didn’t recognize him at first because he was out of character, no mask, hood or black paint to disguise himself from your eyes. He was breathtakingly beautiful, someone you certainly didn’t expect to see at this time.

“Keep going darling, I’m just here to observe.” His voice was deep and thick with the British accent everyone knew he had, but had never heard it before. The way he spoke caused you to turn back around to face Noah, who has taken the opportunity to push his lips back against yours. The small fire that burned deep within you had suddenly turned ablaze, the idea of Vessel just watching as Noah dominated your mouth with his.

You could feel yourself grow increasingly wet as Noah’s hands rested on your hips, pulling them closer to his body until you were pressed up against him. The feeling of his hardened cock pushing against your abdomen through his sweats almost made you drop right then and there, but something made you stop.

His hands started on the small of your back, slowly feeling their way along the curves of your body. The feeling of his breath dancing across your skin made you shiver, his hand moved your hair away from your neck and he began to lay gentle kisses along the nape of your neck.

A small moan escaped from your lips as Noah began to leave the same small kisses along the other side of your neck. Vessel’s hand found its way to rest just underneath your breasts, using that leverage to push his body against yours.

There you stood, pressed between these men who will soon have all the access they want to your body. A small uncertainty crept through your mind despite how desperate you came out to be for the two of them. This small uncertainty made you squeeze Noah’s arm softly, indicating you needed him to stop for a moment.

“Everything okay?” He asked softly, his eyes filled with slight worry. You felt Vessel pull back and take a small step away from you, no longer keeping you pinned against the two of them.

“I’m fine.. it’s just-” you stared at Noah’s hand resting on your hip. “What exactly are you two thinking of doing with me? Is there something new I should prepare for that you and I never do together?”

Noah glanced at Vessel, then back to you. “I genuinely thought it’d be a little more fun with another person joining us, I realize now I definitely should’ve asked you beforehand.”

“I can leave now if you’d like, Y/N. No worries darling.” Vessel spoke, placing a kiss on the back of your head. Before he could get out of your reach you swiftly turned around and grabbed his hand, pulling him back to you and pressing your lips against his. “Your mind seems to change very quickly.” He muttered into your lips, tangling his fingers into your hair and pressing your lips against his once again.

“Well, I guess I’ll just take a seat. Y/N, show Vessel what makes you so addicting.” Noah’s voice trailed away as he sat down on one of the couches. A small moan rumbled from deep in you, vibrating against Vessel’s lips.

“I like to be in control love, I hope you don’t mind.” His voice was a gentle whisper as he pushed your bangs behind your ear. His fingers brushing against your skin allowed goosebumps to surface and sent a shiver down your spine.

“That’s just what I like.” Was all you mustered before Vessel had his hands on the underside of your thighs and lifted you up. Your legs instinctively wrapped tightly around his waist as he carried you to the counter, the clanging of items falling to the floor as he swiped his arm to clear space for you.

He placed you on the counter, pressing his body into your core so your legs stayed apart. His lips attacked your neck like a hungry animal, nipping around every once in a while eager to leave his mark on you.

You glanced over to where Noah sat, his eyes were fixated on the performance in front of him. You could tell how turned on he was by the obvious outline of his cock against the material of his pants. As you stared, you waited for his eyes to connect with yours, that thought alone made you even more wet.

“God I need these off.” Vessel groaned, snapping your attention back to him as he pulled at your shorts. You lifted yourself up a little to allow him to pull the shorts off your body. He kept himself sat on his knees after taking them off, glancing at you with eyes that almost seemed to be begging you to let him fuck you like a toy. His hands slowly roamed around your legs, traveling upwards to your center. The anticipation made your heart race more and more every inch.

His lips pressed gently against the inside of your thigh as he kept his eyes on yours. The way he looked at you as if you were his prey and he’d finally caught you, planning his next move with every waking moment of time that passed by. He wanted you, he was desperate for you.

His fingers trailed along the fabric of your panties, toying with the edge of the material against your skin. You hissed every time his fingers dipped underneath them and brushed against your slick, receiving a low chuckle from him each time.

“You desperate girl, how long has it been since Noah has touched you?” His fingers traced along the inside of your thigh, teasing you once again.

“A week?” The answer escaped as a moan when the cool breeze of the AC hit your wet core and Vessel’s thumb pressed against your clit. “Oh my fucking god..” He deepened the pressure and started slowly moving his thumb in circles, the low wave of pleasure hitting your body. He noticed how your body moved underneath his touch, making sure to memorize every touch that made you squirm.

His large hands wrapped underneath your thighs and gripped them tightly, pulling you closer to his face. His breath moved gently against your slick skin as he drew closer to closing the space between your bodies. His large eyes were fixated on your face, watching every expression that came across it as his lips made contact.

“Doesn’t she just taste wonderful?” Noah’s voice broke through the sounds of your moaning, bringing your attention to him. It didn’t last long before Vessel vibrated his response directly onto your clit, his head nodding to add to the sensation. You moaned loudly and it echoed around the room, Vessel’s way of eating you out was so much different than how Noah did it. This new method being used on you was driving you insane, Noah was a bit more gentle and slow with you, only picking up his pace when you begged for it. But Vessel? It was more animalistic how he ate you, his tongue and lips coordinated well together to stimulate your clit and send you into overdrive.

“Holy fuck, Vessel.” You groaned, the familiar pit building in your abdomen. “I’m going to c-“ He moved his face away from your core right as you said that, a whine escaping from you. “What was that for?”

He smirked at you and wiped his face. “Just warming you up darling.” He glanced over his shoulder at Noah, getting a nod of approval from him. There must’ve been some kind of agreement between the two of them for all this, something that definitely took a little bit of planning by the way they’ve become so coordinated through this experience.

“Turn around for him baby, keep your eyes focused on me in that mirror.” Noah says in a demanding tone. You followed exactly what he said, your eyes never leaving him in the reflection of the mirror. Vessel’s hand pressed on the middle of your back, pushing you forward so you were now bent over the counter. The feeling of his tip sliding between your folds and through your slick made you place your hand against the mirror.

“You should probably keep your hand there darling,” Vessel says as his cock pushes into you. “Wouldn’t want you to go against Noah’s wishes.” The feeling of him stretching your walls was intense, his cock was similar to Noah’s but had a bit more girth to it. “Fuck you’re so tight.” He grunts as he begins to thrust slowly, the movement leaving your jaw slack and tears forming in your eyes.

“God you look so beautiful like that baby, taking Vessel’s cock like the good girl that you are.” Noah spoke as he watched your facial expressions through the mirror. His hand hesitated around the outline of his cock, seeming to want to relieve himself as Vessel pleases you. But he never ends up touching himself.

Vessel’s hands gripped tightly on your hips as he picked up the pace of his thrusts. He wasn’t wrong about needing to keep your hand on the mirror, it really helped you to keep the focus on Noah while he pounds you from behind. The room was filled with the sound of skin slapping together, the cry of moans coming from you and Vessel was harmonious in a way and a beautiful sound to your ears.

The pit was forming again and you wondered if he was going to let you cum this time around. “Vessel you gonna let me cum now?” You breathlessly ask, hoping he’d start thrusting even harder into you to send you over the edge.

But he had something else in mind.

He stopped thrusting into you and wrapped his long arms around your waist, picking you up and carrying you over to the couch. Noah was now standing, his eyes entranced on the sight of you in the grasps of another man. Vessel laid back against the couch holding you tight on his chest with one hand while the other moved to put his cock back in you. This new position allowed for him to reach your g-spot, the pleasurable ache that ran through you each time his cock hit it was enough to make your body squirm.

“I cannot resist myself anymore, Y/N. You’re too damn addicting.” Noah says kneeling down onto the floor, his face only inches away from your pulsing core. “I just… can’t keep watching…” He planted kisses around your clit between his words, your hips buck at every touch his lips left. “Vessel treating you good baby?” You nodded. “Are you desperate for my touch now?” A whine escaped your lips as you nodded again. He chuckled, knowing if he had the control left he’d sit and watch you beg for him, but at this point he needed to taste you.

His lips pressed onto your clit, parting to let his tongue roam around the bud. It was so sensitive from the stimulation happening below, that Noah adding his tongue to the mix made you feel insane. “Oh my fucking god!” You cried out, gripping Vessel’s arm that he kept wrapped around you. “I’m going to cum guys, I can’t-“

“Hold out a little longer darling, let's cum together.” Vessel whispered in your ear, his thrusts hitting you at a quicker pace than he’d been doing.

“I can’t, fuck!” Your hand found Noah’s hair and gripped tightly.

“Yes, you can.” Vessel’s voice was becoming breathy as he drew closer to his release. “All the pent up orgasms from before, you’ll be able to let them go now, let it go darling.” His permission granted you to finally let go what you’ve been needing, the waves of pleasure practically blinding you. You moaned loudly as your legs shook like mad, this was an orgasm you’ve never experienced before. The warm feeling of Vessel’s cum filling you as your orgasm hit its peak was a kind of sensation you’d never had, but certainly one you’d want again.

As you came down from your high you opened your eyes to see Noah staring at the two of you, a look of admiration in his eyes. “You did so good, baby.” He placed a gentle kiss on your inner thigh, pushing himself off the couch to grab a towel. Vessel lifted you off his lap and set you down on the couch, taking in the mess he made.

“You alright, darling?” He chuckled lightly. “A lot just happened all at once huh?”

“I think I need a nap.” You managed to muster out, watching Noah as he came back with the towel he’d dampened with a bottle of water. He gently cleaned up the mess between your legs left by Vessel, letting the cool towel relax the intense sensation leftover.

“I’d love to stick around for that, but my band is probably wondering where I’ve wandered off to.” Vessel said as he put his clothes back on, a smirk creeping on his face. “Hopefully your nap doesn’t last too long, I’d love to see you side stage for my set later.”

“Oh I’ll definitely be there, just let me rest my legs.” You sighed as you were still trying to process everything.

“Right.” Vessel leaned down and kissed your forehead. “Get some rest darling.” You watched as he exited the room, Noah closing the door behind him. He searched around for your underwear and shorts, eventually finding them and helping you get dressed.

“You don’t have to help me, you never put my clothes back on.” You say as he finishes buttoning your shorts back up.

“I know, I just felt like I needed to give you a hand after all that.” He smiled. “Thank you for agreeing to it, that’s something I kind of always wanted.”

“Really? You like to watch other men fuck your own fuck buddy?” You placed your hand in your back pocket, feeling a piece of paper that wasn’t there before. You already knew who left it so you decided to keep it there until you were alone.

“You can say that I guess.” Noah chuckled. “Well, I gotta go start warming up. Are you gonna take a nap here or on the bus?”

“Mm, probably here I am a little exhausted from that. Plus my hips hurt.” You laid back on the couch, feeling the warmth leftover from Vessel’s body laying there beforehand.

“Okay, I’ll see you later to catch Sleep Token’s set. Have a good nap.” He began to leave but stopped in his tracks. “I’ll just let the crew know you’ve got a migraine from the heat and that’s why you’re not helping for the show.” You gave him a thumbs up and he returned the gesture. He left the room, the sound of his footsteps echoing down the hallway as he walked away. You reached into your pocket for the piece of paper, unfolding it quickly as curiosity racked your mind.

Vessel left you his phone number and a small note that read:

Darling, please give me a call whenever you get the chance. Would love to have a one on one with you sometime, call me and we’ll make arrangements for that.

XOXO, Ves

The idea of being with just Vessel made your heart race in excitement. You quickly added him to your list of contacts, waiting to call him later since he was busy now. You wonder what Noah would think about this, if he’d get jealous or not care that you would hook up with Vessel again without him there.

Whatever he’d think, you couldn’t care less. It was just absent minded fucking, right?

#noah sebastian #vessel #bad omens #sleep token #noah sebastian fic #vessel fic

[foxilayde]

100 from the smut prompts is very OTTR Leto hehehehe

[thank you for the prompt, Scout! I had so much fun with this one!]

100. “You’re still so needy, even after I just fucked you”

Needy [OTTR Leto Atreides x Fem!Reader]

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: 18+ ONLY smut

When you’d first seen the bedroom where you and Leto would be spending the holidays with his family, his childhood bedroom, you laughed. You thought it was a joke. Until Leto set your suitcase on the floor, kissed the side of your head, and said, “we’re gonna be real cozy, baby.” It wasn’t so much the room itself, with it’s old posters, track and field trophies, and his mother’s sewing table in the corner. It was the bed. A twin bed. Fitted with flannel sheets and a comforter so small that you weren’t sure it would even cover the two of you.

“We’re sleeping here?” You point worriedly to the bed, eyes shooting wide.

Leto hisses and looks over his shoulder, checking to make sure his mother didn’t hear the affronted tone to your voice from the kitchen where she was cooking a welcome home meal for her apparently prodigal son. You’d never seen anyone greeted with as many kisses and tears, crossing herself and thanking various saints for Leto materializing for his holiday stay.

Leto closes the door quietly, and puts his hands on his hips. “There a problem?”

God, you don’t want to start fighting. What kind of impression would that be? A helluva way to introduce yourself to the Atreides clan gathered together downstairs.

You blink down at the bed, doing mental math, trying to envision what sleeping positions the two of you would have to hold in order to not fall off either side of the mattress.

“No.” You say with a smile, placing a hand on his heart and kissing his cheek. “Looks cozy.”

Leto scrunches his nose in agitation and sighs. “We’ll try it tonight and if it’s bad we’ll get a hotel nearby.”

You nod.

“It’ll break ma’s heart of course. She went through all this trouble—“

“Leto, it’ll be great.” You reassure him, rubbing the back of his black cashmere sweater, giving him a peck on the nose. “Let’s go downstairs, you have to introduce me to everyone.” You grin in earnest this time. You really are excited to meet his family, and warmly honored that he wants you to, and that his mother— without even knowing you— insisted you stay the full week in her house, amidst all the commotion and joyful bustle of so many family and friends celebrating together.

Leto’s eyes soften and he glances back at the bed, “I swear that thing was a lot bigger when I was 18.”

You laugh, hugging him close to you, “thank you for brining me, Leto.”

Leto hums, burying his face in your hair, rubbing your back firmly, “thanks for kicking my ass about going home for the holidays, baby. This’ll be nice. And if it’s not—“

“A hotel, yeah I know.”

—————-

It ends up being very nice. Much nicer than you anticipated, not only have you been ingratiated into the Atreides family with open arms (Leto’s sisters were downright haranguing him for not having proposed to you yet), but the sleeping situation isn’t horrible at all, in fact, its downright cozy. Just like he’d said it would be.

It’s a snowy week in Jersey, a climate that neither of you are accustomed to at your costal home in California, but it’s toasty inside the glowing home, and the heat rises to the top floor where Leto’s room is. Plus the heat of both of you, snuggled cozy in the small bed under the flannel sheets, it’s comforting in a way you’ve never known in your oversized king bed by the sea. Sure, there’s no Egyptian cotton sheets, no down comforter, but there’s also no balcony for Leto to escape to for his cigarette, no way for either of you to scoot to a respective side if you get in a ‘mood’. He holds you close, in his arms, your legs tucked together. He can kiss parts of you without moving much. He whispers how much he loves you, loves seeing you with his family, he strokes your arm, your side, your back, with the tips of his fingers until you’re lulled to sleep. And after so much socializing every day, so much food and drink and nieces and nephews running around, you sleep like a rock through the night.

On the fifth night, instead of assuming your position as the little spoon like you have been the previous four nights, you slip in between the sheets and lay down on your side in bed and face him, stroking his beard. You love that he grows it out in the colder seasons, it suits his face so well. He looks so utterly soft and domestic in his white sleep shirt, no gold gazelle shades or silk button down. You study his face in the low lights provided by the Christmas bulbs outside the window that glow softly through the frosted glass. You try to see the boy his mother showed you in the photo albums the day before. He’s usually so hard and gruff, it’s hard to do, but when his eyes turn up in question at your inspection, you can see him in there in the warm brown depths. You grin, biting your lower lip.

Leto shakes his head softly, grinning back at you, “I know that look, little miss.”

“What look?!” You whisper, scooting closer into his embrace, giggling at his expression and stroking his beard lightly.

“I know that look. You’re thinking naughty thoughts.” Leto pinches your side and you nearly yelp from the tickling, you would have too, if you weren’t acutely aware of his mother’s room being on the other side of the wall.

You slap his chest as best you can in such close proximity, but the lack of leverage only makes your hand cling to his pec in a needy way and Leto glances down at it. “She’s gettin frisky.” He sighs somewhat dramatically in a put upon way, grabbing your hand and kissing the tips of your fingers, “I shouldn’t be so surprised. You’ve been without daddy’s cock for what, 72 hours now? Baby must be starving.”

He’s such a self-satisfied tease, taking total mirth in your affronted expression, encircling your wrist in his palm while you try your best to take a good playful whack at his chest.

“For your information, it’s been… over a hundred hours.”

“That so? Well I trust you to keep score on the t-minus how long its been since you’ve cum, needy, needy baby.”

“You love that I’m needy,” you lay the sultry eyes on him, “because you love giving me what I need.”

Leto’s eyes go dumb for half a second and he loosens his grip on your wrists, allowing you to maneuver your hands around his broad shoulders, gently guiding his body to easily roll over your own.

“Oh yeah? And what does baby need, huh?” He rubs his nose against yours, he’s smiling so big his teeth are showing and you know from experience he won’t so much as kiss you until you tell him. Explicitly.

“I need,” You hear a floorboard creek from somewhere down the hallway. Jesus, the last thing you need is for someone to overhear what you’re about to say to your boyfriend. You put your mouth up next to Leto’s ear and whisper, “I need your big cock inside me.” You tug the lobe of his ear gently between your teeth.

Leto groans in approval, kissing you messily as you both work to rid yourselves of all sleep attire.

“You gotta be quiet, baby,” Leto says between kisses. Your moan of agreement is sharp and needy against his lips and probably already louder than you should be judging by the way Leto chuckles against your lips.

It’s not as though you’re a loud person, or have been historically or anything, you’ve never been a ‘screamer’, but with Leto? Let’s just say the man has been known to pull unholy sounds out of you with nothing but his lips, tongue, and two well-placed fingers. The man just does something to you. Those fingers make their way between your naked bodies to the heat between your legs, swiping at your already substantial wetness.

“Fuck. Baby. So fucking wet. You been horny for me all evening or what?”

You moan again, pursing your lips closed you try your best to reign in your expression of pleasure, nodding. “Yeah. Need you.”

Leto plants his forehead against yours and uses the wetness from your pussy to stroke his cock, teasing your folds with his tip, earning a barely stifled moan from you to his delight.

“What was it, baby? What got you so worked up that you’re that fucking wet for me, huh?” He’s taking far to much pleasure in teasing you, letting his cock notch in and slide up, rubbing your clit with the underside of his cock. “Tell me, baby. Tell me and I’ll give it to you, give you what you need.”

You’re so ravenously horny at this point you don’t care if he knows exactly what it was this evening that was making you hot and bothered. “Seeing you with Joey and Nicky, with the boys, how good you are with them, how… how, oh fuck, how good of a uncle you are, what a good dad you’d be.”

That stops him cold for the flash of an instant, forehead on yours, panting heavily above you. He warms to it almost instantly, running a hand from your hip bone all the way up to your cheek, making you shiver audibly in the process. “That right, baby? Mmmm, fuck, that what you want? Want me to make you a mommy, huh?”

You gasp at the combination of his phrasing and the dark look in in his eyes. You can’t tell if he’s teasing or if he’s taking it in earnest, calling your bluff like he so often does at any and all detriment to himself just to prove a point.

Leto slides home and your replying moan is unquestionably too loud for comfort because Leto covers your mouth with his palm, scooting deep into you and whispering, “What did I say, huh? Shhhh.” He replaces his hand with his mouth and fucks into you slowly, but not without force. Enough force to make the bed squeak softly underneath your hips. You grab him by his backside, fingers divoting the warm flesh of his ass, drawing him further into your throbbing cunt.

Leto’s lips against yours are working twofold in containing both the sounds of your pleasure and his own. You feed them to each other, one hand on the back of his head, one on his ass and maybe its the fact that this is Vacation Sex, or that you haven’t had each other in a handful of days, but Leto is more vocal than usual and struggling, like you, to reign it in. You can feel it in the hunch of his shoulders, the crease in his brow, in the way he wrestles between fucking the way he wants to and straining to mitigate the sounds of the creaky old headboard and squeaky wire box spring beneath you.

All he can do is give it to you hard and slow, easing into every thrust, never making a move that would surprise you enough to punch a shriek into the silent night air.

When you break the kiss to tell him, “I’m close, I’m close, I’— I’m—“

He groans, pained by restriction, burying his face into your neck and galloping into you at as unhurried a pace as he can while still maintaining the effort of “keeping quiet”. Leto can feel when you’re on the brink and he covers your mouth with his palm again, biting into your shoulder to stave off his own orgasm til yours is complete. Your toes curl into the warm flannel sheet and you try your damndest to keep your whine as silent as possible, Leto fucking you steadily through your climax. It goes on for what feels like minutes, the heat through your veins, the tension and shakes, the suffocating feeling of your moans barricaded behind Leto’s palm, as if trapping all the noise inside of you is keeping your pleasure from spilling out at the same time and instead you have to take the force of it in little sips, prolonging the whole experience, thrust by measured thrust.

Leto lets go and cums the moment you start to sag under him, having sufficiently fucked you through the waves of your pleasure. He pushes deep inside of you and kisses your trembling lips, his own mouth beginning to stutter with satisfaction. His eyelids flutter a bit and everything from his breathing to the relaxing of his brow and shoulders reads like utter blissful relief. You kiss him on the warming pink apples of his bearded cheek.

Leto rolls over, taking you with him to rest comfortably on his chest. He kisses your fingertips tiredly and you marvel at his beauty from the pillow of his chest, from his hawklike angular face to the sturdiness of his body under your own.

He scratches and strokes your back as you nuzzle into him, kissing his warm, slightly perspiring neck, and sucking little marks where no one but you will see. Your hand rests comfortably on his softening, sticky cock. You curl and unfurl your fingers, gently stroking his sac. You suck a little mark in the valley of his chest and squeeze your hand a little more forcefully around him, earning a rumble from the chest under your lips.

“You’re still so needy, even after I just fucked you.”

His voice is deeper than usual. You prop your chin on his chest to gaze into his black glittering eyes. You are needy for him. You can’t deny it, there’d be no point. But that’s why you work, isn’t it? You need him and he needs to be needed. He relies on your reliance as much as you rely on, well, him. You’re half fucking tempted to trade in your California King for a twin bed the second you get home, because this has just been utter heaven being wrapped up in him like this. There’s no space on earth small enough to accommodate the amount of space that you don’t want in between the two of you.

You scoot yourself even closer to him, he welcomes the intrusion, grabbing your hips like he dares you to try and leave his embrace.

“Yes, Leto. I always need you.”

And he can’t fuck the neediness out of you, but he can sure try.

End

#OTTR Leto Atreides #Off To The Races Leto Atreides #x reader #x you #Oscar Isaac characters