#Return of my beloved General Studies reader!!!
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Yandere! Toshinori Yagi General Profile
Yandere! Toshinori Yagi x fem! reader
Tw: kidnapping, stalking, manipulation, mentions of assault (not by Toshinori), very, very slight infantilization, Toshinori has a thing for your pubic hair, this actually came out quite sad because Toshinori has some confidence issues, fem reader, MDNI
I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy!
DARLING PROFILE:
Caring
All of Toshinori’s life, he’s been the one wanting to save others, putting his life on the line just constantly in order to save a life. He’s used to quite literally being the hero, the one caring for and making sure others around him are safe, healthy, out of harm’s way.
And while he chose to be a hero, chose to live that life, there’s a certain amount of charm that the idea of a partner who wants to care for him has.
He doesn’t need to be coddled or treated like a toddler, but he can’t deny the way his heart melts when his darling asks him how he’s feeling, when they press their hand again his forehead to check if he’s running a temperature, when he sees them fret over making him dinner or preparing a bath for him.
It’s undeniably cute, and Toshinori lives for the domesticity of it - having someone looking out for him is such a new concept, something that makes his entire chest tight as a blush stains his cheeks, and he honestly feels his love only deepen when his darling showcases this side of their personality.
He loves it, and although he can’t protect his beloved as much as he used to be able to, he’ll still do everything in his power to return the sentiment.
Open Minded
While being a pro hero isn’t the most unconventional profession, it’s still something that a lot of civilians see as other, something completely different from themselves.
Heroes are similar to gods in society, and while Toshinori has most definitely lived up to the meaning of the name, he can’t deny the wish to be treated as someone completely normal, to just be seen as himself, the human who still struggles with getting his washing machine to thoroughly distribute the soap.
Having a darling who is able to understand that Toshinori isn’t just some buff, strong and constantly smiling mass of a man would be extremely attractive to him - he wants his darling to love him for who he is off the battlefield as well.
He wants his darling to be someone he can use as a refuge, to tie him back to civilian life, to understand the real Toshinori Yagi.
A darling who is more open minded about hero culture and realistic about who heroes are is something that he absolutely needs - he doesn’t want someone who only likes him because of his persona in battles.
Just as he loves his darling for every part of who they are, he’d love to be given the same treatment.
Passionate
Even from a young age Toshinori knew what he wanted to be. He’s understood that his calling is for heroism, that saving people will be his future, and he’s worked hard to live his dream, to become who he’s always wanted to be.
As a result, he tends to gravitate towards those who have a similar love in their life - of course, he doesn’t expect everyone to know what they want to be, what they want to get out of life, and who they want to be, but a darling that has a hobby or two that they really truly love is something that Toshinori adores.
The hobby itself doesn’t matter - it could be cooking, playing an instrument, a sport, even studying some outlandish subject that only a few people know of; it doesn’t matter because his darling loves it, and therefore he loves it as well.
Once he realizes that his beloved has something they truly care about, Toshinori will go out of his way to learn about said hobby, to hone skills and try to understand what exactly about it that draws in his partner, that catches their attention so wholly and completely.
And really, as he watches his beloved devote their precious time to it, he can only dream of the day when they’re devoted that much effort and attention to him, just as he does.
Because really, his darling may have a hobby as a passion, Toshinori has something much different - his beloved.
Friendly
Despite his larger than life persona within the public eye, Toshinori himself is actually quite shy. Of course, he still talks to others, regularly puts himself into social situations, but he doesn’t feel especially confident in his abilities to charm others, to talk to people he doesn’t know especially well.
And while he’s had time to master those skills, a darling who is naturally more friendly and willing to start conversations with others is incredibly inspiring to him.
Toshinori genuinely believes that his darling is someone who he should admire, should be inspired by, should strive to be more like, and their ability to simply strike up a conversation is endlessly amazing to him.
Not only does he admire this about his darling, but there is also a certain relief that comes with this trait - while he isn’t a bad conversationalist per se, it’s a massive weight off of his shoulders to know that the brunt of the work won’t fall onto him, that he won’t have to carry the conversation or keep it running. He likes knowing that his darling wants to talk to him, that they want to spend time with him and get to know him.
It makes his heart melt and his throat feel dry, but with every question that slips from his darling’s lips that he’d give anything to feel against his own, he only falls deeper and deeper in love.
GENERAL YANDERE TRAITS:
Clingy
Toshinori has always found his identity through his status as a hero, as a protector of the people and symbol of peace. And now that he’s essentially ended all his relevance as a hero, he’s lost - what is his purpose?
He’s just a regular man now, unable to help those who need it, unable to do really anything with that frail body he’s left with. He’s angry, really, and finds himself lost in the sense of knowing who he is - but you, sweet little you, give him purpose.
Being around you makes him feel important, like he has a purpose, like there’s a reason for him to still be living and breathing even if he can’t be a hero anymore.
Toshinori craves you, the way that you fill a strange void in his heart he wasn’t even aware existed through all the years of stress and being a hero, and he’s found that being around you and seeing you is the only way to help quell some of the intensity burning in his chest, the overwhelming urge to be with you becoming too much to bear much too often.
However, despite the intensity and depth of his feelings for you, approaching you is an entirely different story. In general, Toshinori doesn’t have a whole lot of romantic experience to fall back on when it comes to approaching you. He is, in a sense, as awkward as a love struck teenage boy – he has no idea how to flirt, how to woo you and make you flustered and embarrassed and smiling up at him, looking up through those lashes with those eyes he could spend hours gazing into.
In all honesty, he has a tendency to freeze up when he’s talking to you, spouting nonsense with a stutter and shoving the words out of his mouth before he can really think of what he’s saying, leading him to realize mid-way through that what was originally supposed to be a smooth, sweet compliment of you look very beautiful today, the strong color of your shirt really brings out your eyes has turned into a stuttered mess of your eyes are so strong, do you wear them like your shirt?
It is, in a sense, absolutely mortifying for Toshinori to be around you, because without fail he ends up looking like a fool, and yet he can’t bring himself to pull away from you no matter how hard he tries. Toshinori quickly realizes that having your attention and smile directed at him are all he really needs, that he’s completely content with simply being by your side, spending time with you and showering you in every ounce of his love possible, even if it comes out a bit differently than he’s originally intended it to.
And so, as time passes he slowly begins inserting himself into more of your plans, wanting to meet up and hang out, chat, have coffee or see a movie, go out for dinner or even spend a night at his place, because he wants you to see him as someone you can be comfortable around, that you’re willing to let into your life.
And yet, as desperate as he is to have you in his grasp, to be with you every moment of the day, he knows it’s not possible – yet, but he needs to be patient. He knows you aren’t ready to let him hold and kiss you, to wake up in his bed in his arms every morning, to wear that pretty golden ring on your finger, to let him grasp onto you and moan in your ear while he fucks you gently, slowly, purposefully.
He comes up with other ways to help try to fill the lonely hole in his heart; collections of candid photos of you, taken from outside the various windows of your home, each and every photograph making his heart warm, a soft smile playing on his lips as he traces the outline of your face, your body, imagining being there with you while you cook, clean or just lay around on the couch.
He has a few small Ziploc bags full of your hair, taken from the walls of your shower or your hairbrush, which he’ll often idly hold in his pocket and mess with when he’s feeling lonely, but by far his favorite way of pretending you’re by his side is through the many, many recordings of your voice he’s collected.
He loves to hear you speaking – your voice sends pleasurable little shivers down his spine, making his entire body relax as he places the headphones over his ears, your lovely words lulling him into a sense of tranquility.
He’d felt a bit guilty at first, wondering if recording you without your knowledge was a violation of your privacy, but after the first time, he gives up on my conscience and decides that it’s okay because it’s him, the former hero, and he’d never do anything with ill intent towards you.
And so, after that first very choppy recording taken from the pocket of his jeans while he talked to you, he shyly asks Izuku to teach him how to edit videos and audios, and his pupil, ever eager to help out, shows him all kinds of fancy settings and graphics on Toshinori’s laptop, even if it takes the older man a good while to get the hang of it.
His favorite recordings are the ones of you saying his name, or complimenting him. Because you know him as Toshinori rather than All Might, the way your voice whispers to him that he’s so cool, your dad jokes are top notch Toshi, never fails to make him blush and clutch the clump of your hair tighter to his chest, cuddling with his pillow and feeling himself become even more desperate for your touch, to be with you and get to love you.
When he can’t sleep, he’s listening to your voice talk about your day, how you saw the cutest puppy on the way to work, making Toshinori’s eyes flutter shut and dream of the both of you with your own puppy running around your future home. He wants your attention all the time, and while he’s too awkward and nervous around you to really ask for it, he’ll latch onto any ounce you give him, greedily begging for more and more until you find yourself giving absolutely everything to him.
But don’t worry – after all, Toshinori will absolutely return the favor; you get his everything, too.
Protective
Years of seeing the horrible atrocities that humankind are capable of has molded Toshinori into a sort of paranoid mess when it comes to the safety of those close to him.
He loves you, so much so that it hurts, and the idea of you having to come face to face with any of the horrible, disgusting people he’s fought over the years is enough to have him blindly reaching for you, clutching you tightly with your face buried into his chest and his arms wrapped around you, hoping that another layer of physical protection will be enough to keep you safe.
He’s answered too many calls that ended with death, pain, injury, disaster that he can’t not imagine what might happen to you, the paranoia slowly beginning to eat him alive as the months roll by, fear pushing him into crossing boundaries he never would have all in the name of your safety.
With the retirement of his hero career, Toshinori honestly feels a bit useless – he’s no longer able to be in his muscle form, only the lanky, skinny man he’s always disliked, and while you’ve never make any sort of comment about him being less-than when he’s in his natural state, it doesn’t stop him from being hyper aware that he isn’t nearly as powerful now, that if push came to shove, he likely wouldn’t be able to stop any villain from hurting you.
The idea is fucking terrifying – capable of sending him into a panic attack, his palms growing sweaty and tears forming in his eyes as his mind floods with images of you bloody and broken, crying and screaming, dying in his arms.
And so, Toshinori does the only thing he can; buying everything he can to make sure that you’re safe, healthy, and that you’ll never have so much as a paper cut. He’s investing in the latest, cutting-edge security cameras and systems, rigging the entire house with booby traps for any outsiders. (And traps that, inadvertently, keep you inside.) Floodlights that are hyper sensitive line the property, along with at least ten different styles of locks on each door (yes, even some of the ones between rooms on the inside of the house have them as well, if only because there’s really just no reason for you to venture into the basement, or for you to venture into the second bathroom where he keeps all the shaving razors and medications and things that could hurt you).
There are passcodes at every step of the way, and all of the windows are made of bullet proof glass. He has a lot of money left laying around from being the number one for so many years, and Toshinori has absolutely no problem spending it this way, spending it on keeping you safe and sound.
He doesn’t mean to, but quickly you’ll begin to feel like you’re incompetent once you’re under his rule; you can’t have anything smaller than a walnut, out of fear that you’ll choke. You aren’t allowed to shower alone, because he’s scared that you’ll somehow hurt yourself or slip and fall on the tile.
(He’ll never force you to let him actually into the shower with you, but he’ll always be standing in the doorway or sitting on the closed toilet seat, twiddling his thumbs and talking softly to you, so quietly you can barely hear him over the sound of rushing water.)
You aren’t allowed to sleep unless he’s knocked on your door and heard you respond, his voice calling through the wood and wishing you pleasant dreams (oftentimes he’ll stare longingly at the painted white wood, pressing a soft kiss against it and whispering something about you being so beautiful, I’m so lucky aren’t I that makes you frown and sink into your blankets on the other side, guilt slowly eating away at you).
It comes from a good place, honestly – he wants to spoil you and make you happy beyond belief, and he genuinely believes that by showing you how much he cares and investing in your safety to such an intense degree, that he’s showcasing his dedication to you, his devotion to making sure that you’re his sweet little girlfriend (he wishes wife someday, though he won’t push you)l, his lovely partner that he’d do absolutely anything for.
And really, while the knee pads and helmet he makes you wear when you’ve been particularly clumsy are demeaning and something you hate at first, slowly you’ll come to be okay with it, to maybe even enjoy it; after all, no matter how loving – or lack thereof – your friends and family were, they’re nothing compared to Toshinori, when compared to how he pampers you, how he treats you like a queen.
He buys you anything and everything you want, all with that blush sporting his cheeks while he shyly hugs you from behind, and isn’t it the least you could do to just let him take care of you?
Would it really be so wrong to just give in?
Lucid
Again, despite his lackluster romantic life, Toshinori is aware that there’s something amiss about his feelings for you. He knows something is wrong with the way he grows to slowly depend on you, how his every thought begins revolving around you, how he only starts to feel good and happy when you’re near him.
It’s wrong, and at first he does genuinely try to fight it - it’s not fair to you or him to develop such overbearing, scary feelings. It’s wrong and, dare he say it, even a bit villainous - except, he’s not doing anything that bad, right?
He’s not planning on hurting you (the thought makes him physically ill), or kidnapping you (he does, eventually, but only because he’s pushed into a corner and he has no choice - he hopes you’ll understand, one day), or anything else he’s had to read case files of for so many years.
He’s not a monster - you’ll never be touched without your consent, or treated as subhuman, or neglected. And so, while he is initially ashamed of the way he feels for you, eventually he grows less embarrassed and disgusted with himself, eventually even managing to convince himself that he’s just doing what’s best for you.
He’s accepted the fact that his love for you isn’t going away, and as such you’re essentially just a big, red, walking target for any of his enemies to exploit, and isn’t it better for him to embrace every instinct he has to protect you?
Isn’t it better for him to allow the obsessive, disturbing feelings to bloom and grow?
He still feels a bit guilty about it, but slowly habits begin slipping through the cracks; occasionally driving by your house or apartment, blue eyes appraising the property to make sure everything is normal - your windows are closed, blinds drawn, front door shut, good.
Then, once that isn’t enough, he’s trailing you on his days off, acting as your shadow just to make sure you get from one place to another safely, without any danger befalling you.
He’s careful to stay out of your sight, making sure you never spot him, so that you never get the idea that he’s stalking you, so that you don’t grow scared of him.
Once that isn’t enough, he’s actually entering your home, making sure to leave no trace of his presence, making sure he doesn’t touch anything or leave it askew for you to notice.
He doesn’t want you to be paranoid or suspect that someone’s been in your home, and he only ever enters when you’re not home - he absolutely cannot have you catching him in the act, accusing him of all kinds of perverted, disgusting things (which aren’t that far from the truth, but he still doesn’t think he could take hearing it from you).
He’s slowly indulging himself, allowing himself a bit more leeway, slowly loosening up the leash he’d kept himself tightly on. It’s hard, at first, to allow himself to take just a bit more, to give into his less savory side, but as time passes he grows less and less worried, more and more desperate to fulfill his role as your protector, and hopefully someday your lover.
He likes to think of himself as having a decent amount of self control, but where you’re concerned, he’s utterly lost - he’s a slave to his own desires, and while he tries to control it and tame it, eventually it gets the better of him. But, fortunately for him, you don’t know until it’s much, much too late.
To you, he’s just Toshinori, the awkward, sweet man you’ve come to know as a friend, as someone who always leaves you thoughtful gifts and insists on letting him pay for your meals, for your favorite flowers, even for jewelry you’ve been keeping an eye on. You’re not quite sure whether he’s just bad at making friends, or if he’s interested in you (the nervous eye contact and shying away from your touch makes you think he’s just a friend, and while the thought disappoints you, you’ve accepted it), but regardless, you’re happy that he’s in your life.
(Really, the only reason he shies away from your touch is because any unwanted touching is the one hard and fast line he will draw - he absolutely will not touch you without your consent, and even if you were to reach out and grab his hand, he still automatically jerks away, if only because he’s scared that once he touches you, he’ll never stop.)
He hides his true intentions very well, but eventually that facade will shatter - when danger comes knocking, or something happens that forces Toshinori to abduct you in order to protect you. Only then will you realize the depth of his feelings for you, the raw desperation he holds for you.
It’s scary and overwhelming and you’ll hate him for as long as you can manage, but eventually Toshinori will win you over, if only because he knows what he’s done is wrong. He knows, and the apologies that tumble from his lips while a few tears roll down his cheeks will make it hard to stay truly mad at him, and eventually you’ll crumble, too.
Eventually, Toshinori will get what he’s always wanted - you, by his side, safe and sound and in love with him. Even if he is a monster.
DEALING WITH RIVALS:
Because Toshinori’s romantic feelings for you form in full once he’s retired from hero work, jealousy is something that he deals with very, very frequently.
He’s painfully aware that in his normal form, there’s nothing that he deems especially attractive or unique about himself – he’s lanky, tall, angular, someone that he knows wouldn’t get a passing glance on the street. He knows that he’s not especially charming with women, that he isn’t some romance god, someone that makes relationships and dating and love look like a piece of cake, that he’s just bad at being the dreamy suitor.
He knows he’s not a young prince charming, that his age and looks and the trauma he’s suffered from so many years of pressure and violence make him damaged goods. And because of his hyper-awareness about his physical and mental ‘shortcomings’, Toshinori is constantly plagued by thoughts about you finding someone else, someone better, cooler, more handsome, more secure, not a disgraced hero, as he can’t help but see himself.
He’s already prone to poor self confidence, but once you’re thrown into the mix? You, who is so pretty, smart, kind, wonderful, amazing, a dream come true, so out of his league…
His insecurities and worries about not being good enough for you only amplify, made that much stronger as he loses more and more of his One for All abilities.
And so, the minute that he sees you show even remote interest in another man, he’s immediately deciding that maybe you’d be better off with this person, that you could thrive and do so much better with them – they won’t hold you back like he would, they wouldn’t force you to settle so heavily like he would. It’s an unhealthy mindset and Toshinori knows this, but he just can’t help himself.
He’s so in love with you, so sure that you’re something perfect and something that he doesn’t deserve in the slightest, and yet you’re something that he wants so fucking bad.
It’s a constant mental battle between letting you find someone better for you, or giving into the selfish desires constantly eating away at him, and in all honesty it’s agonizing, the realization that he’s never wanted something as desperately as he’s wanted you. You’re like his last life line; his hero career is over, having been ripped away from him, and yet you’re still here, someone who likes Toshirnori for Toshinori, not because he’s All Might.
Which is why, as he internally flounders, he ultimately decides to not interfere – you’re your own person, a person he loves with every fiber of his being, but a person nonetheless. And besides, how heroic could he really be if he was limiting your romantic potential and your happiness by not letting you find someone better? How can he pretend to even entertain the notion of him being more than just a creepy, desperate freak if he doesn’t let you live your own life, even if watching tears him to pieces?
And so, as he spots you talking to the man with brown hair and eyes, an easy smile on his face as he looks at you, Toshinori’s heart is immediately breaking.
You’re so pretty; hair rustling in the breeze of the afternoon air, your eyes sparkling as you laugh at the man’s joke, the bags of groceries in your arms looking so domestic and cute and oversized for you.
You’re perfection, utterly and purely, and as the man continues to speak with you, Toshinori’s confidence fades by the second, pushing what little there was to begin with to essentially nothing. He’s nervously tapping his fingers against his leg, gnawing at his lip and mentally listing all the things about this stranger that are better than him - he’s more muscular, his hair is more tamed and styled, his voice isn’t as raspy.
Toshinori frowns, biting his lip as he watches the interaction. It’s not long, a few more remarks passed between the two of you that get both of you laughing, but every second feels like agony to him. It’s not until you walk away from the man with a smile on your face that he exhales sharply, realizing he hadn’t even been breathing.
His fist is balled up so tightly that crescent shapes sit on his palms, the pressure of his nails against his skin nearly drawing blood. He’s quick to follow you home, slinking behind you, his mind whirring with possibilities.
Were you interested in that man? Toshinori doesn’t make you laugh as much as that man had, maybe you found funny men more attractive.
Had you gotten the man’s number, or had you given yours? Just the thought leaves a sour taste in his mouth, worry eating away at him.
He’ll do some research later into the man’s identity, checking his criminal record and seeing if anything sinister appears in his files. When you reach your apartment, Toshinori reluctantly peels away, watching with longing in his eyes as you step into the building, heavy grocery bags juggling in your arms as you open the door.
That night, he sits in front of his computer, the blue light washing over his face as he pours through hero databases, running the man’s description through and finding him, scouring through every single government document just to make sure there’s nothing incriminating in them. (He can’t tell if he’s disappointed or relieved when nothing raises a red flag - the man seems like an upstanding citizen.)
The thought sticks in his head, replaying the memory of you laughing so freely up until a few days later, when your weekly coffee date with Toshinori rolls around.
He’s noticeably quiet, just kind of looking at you and absentmindedly nodding along or giving one word answers, until you eventually confront him. He winces and tells you it’s nothing to worry about, only that he’d seen reports of rates of assault going up lately. It’s not technically a lie, just a very exaggerated version of the truth.
But it does the trick - you stiffen up, worry evident on your expression as you tell him you’d met a man the other day that was very friendly - too friendly, you admit, and something in Toshinori perks up. The disdain in your voice gets him feeling dangerously hopeful, and as you sigh and slump slightly in your chair, telling him that you think you might want to hold off on meeting anyone until this area of the city gets a bit safer, he can’t help but bounce his leg slightly in anticipation.
Thank god, you obviously weren’t considering seeing this stranger again - his chest feels light, airy, as if a sudden weight were lifted off his heart. He feels bad, truly, as he watches you switch topics to talk about your job, but he can’t help it - he’d been obsessing over whether you were seriously considering the man as a potential partner, something that made his gut churn and his head feel dizzy.
He’s happy that you’ll remain single for the time being; you may not be interested in Toshinori, but at least you’re not interested in anyone else.
That’s all he can ask for, really. It would be selfish to wish for anything more - no matter how desperately he does.
TAKING HIS DARLING AWAY:
He really, really doesn’t want to resort to kidnapping you. He’s already on the cuff about everything else he’s doing to you, and to steal you away without your consent would present a line he desperately doesn’t want to cross.
Besides, you would hate him - you’d think he was a monster, a horrible, disgusting pervert, a villain. Kidnapping you would label him as the very thing he’s dedicated his life to eradicating, and although he loves you dearly, overwhelmingly, pathetically, the crushing guilt and weight of how you would see him would be too much.
And so, Toshinori holds out on relocating you for as long as he possibly can, and god is it difficult. Every morning that he wakes up with an aching back, chest pain centered around his scar, or even just fatigue, he wonders if he’d be able to protect you today.
He’ll stand in front of the mirror with a towel around his face, hair wet from the shower he just finished, eyes appraising his form.
He’s not as strong as he used to be; two fingers come up to poke at the muscles of his biceps, and a frown sits on his lips.
If someone were to attack you, could he stop them? If you were taken by a villain, could he really save you?
He grimaces but sighs, knowing the answer is no, but still thoroughly unwilling to take action and keep you in the nice little room he’s got prepared just in case. He holds himself off, always rationalizing it to himself that yes, you could fall victim to some heinous crime, but if he were to kidnap you, he’d be that heinous crime.
And this logic works for quite some time - enough time to let his paranoia grow, the fear and anticipation in his chest slowly reaching up into his throat and strangling him, making it hard to eat or sleep or even breath.
He’s watching news reports on recent villains attacks with shaking fingers and his lip between his teeth, worry eating away at every inch of his body until one day he finally snaps - it’s a minor accident, really, one that could’ve happened to anybody.
Someone was mugged, and you’d been in the area, running some errands. They’d stolen the woman’s purse, and as they were running away, they’d looked over their gilder and managed to run right into you. You both fell to the ground, and Toshinori - from his spot twenty feet behind you, trailing you in what he hoped was an inconspicuous manner - watched as the thief barked out an apology and pushed against you to push himself forward, continuing his mad scramble away from the woman now chasing him.
You’d stumbled down again, landing with a slightly pained noise, and something in that moment had Toshinori gasping, a hand clutched to his chest.
You were hurt.
Nothing serious, just a scrape or two on your knee and adrenaline in your veins, but still. He’d let you get hurt, while he was standing by, not doing a single fucking thing to stop it.
And so, as he rushed forward to help you up, gently smiling at you while you asked what had just happened, he decides he’s waited long enough. You may think of him as the villain, deciding he’s a poor excuse of a man and an even worse hero, but he just can’t see you hurt again.
He can’t fail you.
In general, two sides of Toshinori war once he’s got you under his rule. He’s clingy, yes, his dependence on you only growing tenfold once he’s got you under his care. He wants to be with you always, constantly, to not let a moment go by where you aren’t at least within his sight.
And yet, Toshinori tries to give you space once he’s stolen you away. He knows what he’s done is wrong, and while he desperately hopes it isn’t the case, he would understand if you hate him for the rest of your life. He tries to stay away from you, only invading your personal space when absolutely necessary, and leaving you to your own devices in your own separate bedroom within the confines of his modest home.
However, in his heart, he wants nothing more than absolute domestic bliss with you. Because of his tumultuous childhood once receiving One for All, he never really got to experience anything resembling first love or even romance in general, and he’s always harbored this desire to have own partner, a woman to come home to and cuddle and fall asleep next to. It’s a thought that’s always been in the back of his mind, drifting into his thoughts often throughout his career but always getting pushed back down - though never forgotten.
And so, while he doesn’t force you into anything you don’t want to do (aside from staying inside his home), Toshinori secretly yearns for the point in time where he can wrap his arms around you, when he can feel your soft lips press a welcome home kiss against his cheek at the front doorway.
He’s anxiously dreaming of the day when you’ll gently grab his hand and lead him to bed (the bed you now share, you having decided it was high time to get rid of the lonely, cold mattress you’d been sleeping on and join him), snuggling up into his side and letting his palm press into your stomach and pull you back closer to him.
He wants you to help him cook, playing soft crooning love songs in the background while you stir and he chops, occasionally glancing at each other and smiling.
He just wants your love, so very much, but he understands that he has to be patient and let you grow to love him first.
And it’s painful, staying away from you, but he does it - though he’s always hovering near your door (you always keep it closed, not wanting him to come into the only room you can partially call your own), eyes darting to the stagnant wood every few minutes. He’s keeping his ears open to hear for any sounds, always ready to rush in and aid you if necessary, aching to be seen as a hero in your eyes.
He takes good care of you, all things considered - there’s a steaming tray of your favorite breakfast foods waiting outside your door after he hears you rustling about in the mornings, a rapt knock on the wood and a soft good morning darling, your food is ready accompanying it. He’ll let you eat in your room, not forcing you to join him at the dining table, content to see your head quickly appear in the crack between the door and the frame, hands grabbing the tray while you glance at him and then away.
Honestly, that interaction (and the same routine with dinner) is probably all he’ll see of you the whole day - you spend all your time in your room, and while it’s not ideal for Toshinori, it’s better than you ignoring him while you’re in his presence, fighting him or yelling hurtful things at him.
He’s making sure the bathroom adjoining your room is stocked full of the nicest smelling shampoos and soaps (all your favorite scents - coincidentally, now his favorite scents, too) and all the items necessary for your skin and hair care.
(He doesn’t keep anything sharp in there, however; he trusts you, but not enough to know you won’t try something with a razor, or that you won’t just trim your nails with the nail clippers. Besides, he’ll never, ever tell you, but he sort of likes your body hair - in his fantasies, the first time you two get intimate, you’d ideally not have shaved in quite some time, the tufts of hair making that wonderful mound between your legs look so womanly and inviting and primal.)
He won’t force affection onto you, but eventually you will come around, whether you want to or not.
You will become lonely, fighting the urge to venture past your room and interact even just a bit with your captor. After all, in order to even catch Toshinori’s attention in the first place you had to have been friends - and fairly close ones, at that.
Somewhere in your heart you know he’s a good man, and even though he’d managed to hide his hero persona from you for an impressively long time, you’d trusted him with your life - so what’s changed? Yes, he’s shown yet another side of him that you hadn’t expected, but was he really so bad? After all, he knows much better than you all the danger in the world - maybe he really is doing you a favor by keeping you locked up, safe and sound from the scum that rot society.
Maybe he really does love you - which is why, one morning, you emerge from your room, tapping him on the shoulder and asking if he’d like any coffee, because you’re making some for yourself and you remember how much he loves vanilla lattes…Toshinori can only gape at you, his jaw physically dropped, before quickly composing himself, eyes darting around your face as if he were committing the details to memory, a slow nod of his head and a stuttered y-yes, thank you making you pad off to the coffee pot by the sink.
Eventually, you will cave, and although he still treats you with too much care and protectiveness, you’ll probably end up happy with him - after all, he’d do anything to see you smile, even if it meant destroying himself.
PUNISHMENTS:
Punishing you is absolutely out of the question. There is no possible situation that could push Toshinori to discipline you, much less hurt you - god no, just the thought has him feeling sick enough to vomit, the pit in his stomach only sinking deeper and deeper as flashes of you bloody, crying and bruised swim through his mind.
You’ll never be running the risk of getting in trouble with him, and frankly it’s incredibly difficult to even get him mad at you. He seems to have unlimited patience when it comes to you; you could attempt to escape every day for months and he’d only tiredly sigh, gently grabbing your waist and pulling you back from the front door, telling you to stop clawing at the door, look at how your nails are bleeding.
You could yell at him every time you see him, calling him horrible names and demeaning him and he’d only softly frown, nodding his head and telling you that you’re right, I am a monster, but your food will get cold if you don’t eat soon. You could punch him, kick him, slap him and he’d only dodge out of your way, knowing that although he may be slower and weaker in this form, he’s still got fighting instincts, and he will outlast you, so he’ll just let you keep going until you get your fill.
Honestly, you’ll be the one getting mad when you act out; he just doesn’t ever seem to be affected by anything you do, never lashing out at you or hurting you or doing really anything. He just takes everything, his face carefully neutral or definitively sad, making you uncomfortable to look at him. It’s infuriating, if only because you want to get a rise out of him, to establish him as a monster, a freak, a creep for all the things he’s done to you.
You want him to be worse than he is for having stalked you, kidnapped you, photographed you without your knowledge, for spending months dreaming of you and wringing himself dry to the thought of you. It’ll fuck with your head that he’s not locked you in some dingy basement, that he isn’t touching you or hurting you or anything even remotely as sinister.
It’ll anger you that he’s being kind, caring, taking better care of you than you yourself ever did - he’s being good, and while it doesn’t erase the fact that he did all those things to you before stealing you away, the image you’ve created of him being an unhinged bastard will slowly crack. The cracks will be small, growing in number until the entire image shatters, breaking apart and showing you that Toshinori really just wants you.
The cracks are little favors he does for you here and there that you never asked for; buying your favorite snacks and leaving them outside your door, even though you’re sure you didn’t ask for them nor tell him your favorites. It’s scary that he knows your favorite chip and ice cream flavors, but it’s a small comfort to have them, nonetheless.
He’s doing all your laundry, cycling through clean clothing that’s soft and smells like lemons and rosemary and leaving them folded neatly outside your door, all so that you don’t spend your time in the same stinking set of clothing.
(It’s a bit scary that he knows your size for everything from sock to shirts to panties, but you’re grateful enough for clean clothing that you can’t complain.) He’s treating you well, and you hate it - why can’t he be the freak you’ve convinced yourself he is? It’s wrong, and you wish it weren’t the case, but it’s who Toshinori is, and the longer you’re with him the more you’ll realize that.
Yes, he’s a monster, but only for you.
Toshinori is awoken by low, thudding sounds, uneven and coming from outside his bedroom. Immediately he’s sitting up in bed, wild eyes glancing all around to locate the source of the sound, and soon he’s scrambling up, the sheets nearly getting tangled in his haste to exit.
He’s not wearing a shirt, only a pair of navy blue boxers sitting low on his hips as he yanks open the door and rushes through his home, following the noise with a sinking feeling in his heart. Where are you?
Soon he’s answering that question, seeing you by the windows in the living room, nightclothes hanging haphazardly on your frame as you ram your side into the glass again, hissing under your breath at the sting. No cracks have formed, and your eyes are all red and teary, as if you’re about to cry in frustration.
Toshinori gulps, rushing forward until he’s about two feet away from you. His hands are outstretched as if to grab you, but his fingers twitch as he stops himself, fighting the instinct because he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable. His chest is burning, because it’s obvious what you’re trying to do.
You’re trying to escape, hoping to break the window and jump out - nevermind that it’s a three story drop, his condo not ground floor, and you’d most definitely break something on the way down. It’s also obvious that you aren’t going to be successful; who knows how long you’ve been going at this, and not a single blemish taints the glass. You’ll end up hurting yourself before you hurt the glass.
You’ve frozen now that he’s here, and you slowly back away from him, your chest rising and falling so quickly that it makes him nervous, eyes darting between his wildly. Darling, please, stop.
He begs, his voice strained, and you only shake your head. No, no I have - I have to, I have to leave, please Toshinori!
He can’t help the shiver that rolls through him at the sound of his name on your tongue, but you only back up further, until you run into the wall, looking at him like he’s crazy. You’ll hurt yourself, he tells you, taking a deep breath. Look at your elbow, there’s bruises. Please, darling, it’s not working, please.
He’s pleading with you, but you won’t listen - you want to, the dull throbbing in your elbow is begging you to, but you can’t. You can’t, not if you want to hold onto the last scraps of your sanity, the part of you that’s urging you to fight this whole situation refusing to be silenced. And so you shake your head again, sliding down the wall until you’re sitting on the floor, hands clutching at your arms.
No, please, I need to leave. You’re whispering, and Toshinori has to strain his ears just to hear you.
He comes closer, cautiously, crouching down in front of you to be eye level and not intimidate you. Please darling, it’s safe here. It’s not, out there. I know you’re not happy here, and I wish that weren’t the case, but you have to stay. I know you hate it, I know you hate me, but please, let me keep you safe.
You’re shaking your head again, mind spinning, totally unsure of how you’re feeling. No, you mumble, your lips moving before you can think. I don’t hate you.
Both your eyes and his go wide at your words, and one of your hands comes up to smack over your mouth, complete shock making your legs tremble. You weren’t sure why you said that, but Toshinori could only stare at you, lips parted and his fingers twitching.
I - I don’t, you start, unsure of what you’re about to say. You don’t know how you feel, where this is coming from, or why it feels like the truth, like you really don’t hate him. You should, you know you should, and yet you can’t find it in yourself to conjure up any hate, no harmful words popping into your mind.
Toshinori swallows, hard, and slowly shuffles forward, placing his palm on your arm. You jerk, and for a moment he considers pulling his hand away, but then you’re covering his hand with your own, still not meeting his gaze.
Why don’t I hate you? It’s all you can whisper out, tears forming in your eyes, but Toshinori slowly moves forward, wrapping his arms around you, nearly sobbing from happiness as you hesitantly return the hug.
He stays with you for a long time, letting you cry into his shoulder, letting your grip grow tighter and tighter around him, until he’s eventually helping you up, leading you to the kitchen and fixing you a warm bowl of noodles, not saying anything or pushing you to speak either. He can’t, not when he’s practically brimming with excitement - you’ve never let him hug you like that before, and he can’t stop replaying the way you felt in his arms, how soft and warm you were, even if you were crying.
He won’t push you to explain anything to him, but as you slowly open up to him the next few days, not flinching away from his touch or ignoring his words, he can only sigh and bite his lip, ecstatic that he’s finally, finally making progress with you.
Maybe all those domestic dreams are closer than he thought - maybe you’d let him hold your hand now, or let him tuck your hair behind your ear, or let him press a soft, chaste kiss against your cheek.
Maybe you even love him now.
OVERALL DANGER:
4/10
Honestly, the only way that Toshinori presents any danger to you is by kidnapping you. Otherwise, he’s less than harmful - sure, he’s obsessed with you, hopelessly devoted to seeing you smile and making you happy, but is that really such a crime?
Is it evil to want to spend time with you, to crave your presence, to live for the small, fleeting touches you give his shoulders or hands?
Toshinori feels immense guilt for his feelings towards you, viewing himself as a monster, a freak, a poor excuse for a man for being so hyper fixated on you and crossing all sorts of boundaries that are there for a reason, but he can only deny himself for so long.
He’s a hero, but not perfect; everyone has their limit, and Toshinori will slowly creep towards his through a photograph here, a picked lock there, until he’s eventually got you unconscious on the bed of his spare room, panic sitting heavy in his chest because oh god, you’re going to hate him and never, ever want him in the way he wants you.
It’s a slow crawl into obsession for him, but he’s in too deep, his feelings for you simply too strong for him to pull away - so he compromises and tries to make the best of the situation, hoping that the sincerity of his feelings and his devotion to your happiness and care will make up for the stalking, the watching you sleep, the knocking you out with the chloroform soaked rag.
He’s hoping, perhaps naively, that one day you’ll forgive him - and really, you will. Whether you want to or not. Because while Toshinori has in fact betrayed you in more ways than one, he’ll manage to worm his way into your heart, his awkward charm and genuine yearning for you eventually winning you over.
After all, how can you say no to the only person who really seems to care for you? How can you deny him when he’s got that hopeful look in his eye, those clammy, nervous palms and his stuttered murmur of your name?
You just can’t, so really it’s in your best interest to give up trying. It’s easier for both of you that way.
#yandere bnha#yandere mha#yandere all might#yandere toshinori yagi#_lee's profiles#_bnha#_toshinori yagi
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A Lesson In Service
Masterlist || Chapter 2
Chapter Summary: In 1880 you are hired as the governess of Lord Dalgliesh's children. When you meet your employer after months of already being in his employment you feel a strange change in your position. It's terrible when we discover the people we are expected to trust are as wicked and evil as the devil
Pairing: Lord!Henry Dalgliesh x Governess!reader
Chapter Warnings: 18+ Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Dubious Consent, Indimidation, Drugging, Implied infidelity, implied sex trafficking/solicitating, Implied sexual abuse, manipulation, blackmail, Victorian era period typical sexism.
Word Count: 8.5k
Author Notes: My dream cast is Henry Cavill as Lord Henry Dalgliesh. Colin Firth as Colin Fowler. Cillian Murphy as Cillian Walsh. Ben Barnes as Benjamin Byrnes. Natalie Viscuso as Natalia Naclerio Tom Hiddleston as Tom Ransome. Smut is next chapter.
Inspiring Song: “How many miles to Babylon.” child's lullaby
London, England 1888, Saturday 14th January. 18:45pm.
A loud crack of thunder rattled the windows to the study where a man sat back cradling a glass of scotch.
Henry Dalgliesh was most incredibly not a kind or purely generous gentleman. Long ago he’d learnt to accept the rude whispers about his behaviour, he believed being bothered by comments made by those lower than he in title was pointless prattle to even hear. Thank God for his large fortune, physical attractiveness and major title that allowed him to spend, whore, drink, gamble, and travel to wherever he dared to venture.
A shine of lightening defined the shadows of his chiselled jaw, his presence was forever intimidating. A wicked smirk laced across his devious face; he raised his scotch and toasted the frozen grin of his past wife’s portrait over the fireplace. Her painted golden locks shining as bright as they did when cascaded over their marriage bed, and her casket.
The late lady Natalia Dalgliesh or rather Naclerio, the unfaithful wench, had often accused him of being a cold and a selfish monster. He chuckled to himself at the memory of her tears along with her cruel tone. She was right. But what of she? At constant, a needy bitch in heat? A nymphomaniac? For her, was he not enough? Henry truly had tried with Natalia, at least for a time he forced himself to be what she had envisioned.
He huffed and set his drink aside on his desk.
Sweet Natalia, goodness was she a darling piece. She obviously used her own innocent beauty to gain the attention of anything that could mount her. Henry did wonder, where did he go wrong? Was his size not to her desire? Was her appetite craving another type of bodily position he did not know? How was he not satisfactory? She should’ve known better than to marry him knowing full well he was not a man of pure affections.
In the end however he would forever remember her vile speech about how she had never loved him not that he cared- and that he was not even the legitimate father of their two darling children. Just like now he experienced a swirl of nausea in the pit of his stomach and a burning headache to his temple.
He lifted the scotch and pelted it at the painting, glass and alcohol splattered across her face down her neck and into her bosom he ever so missed. Her expression mocked him, that smile, the same lips that tricked him into losing fifteen years of valuable time.
He hated her.
Henry bit his lip and snarled, “Good riddance, you selfish cunt...you should count yourself lucky...Lucky it wasn’t my own hand that ended you.” Tears filled his eyes. His bottom lip trembled.
And sometimes, he missed her.
A whole year had went by. The four seasons changing back into the one that began his torment. Little Marianne and Michael, his beloved children had been sorely neglected for so long he knew it was time to return home. After the exposure of their false parentage, he felt an agony in even them knowing that their faces were of no spawn of his, Henry admitted he needed to man up and care for what his stupid wife left behind.
Yes, it was now time for the Earl of Jersey to return home to his estate of Radier Manor.
He buried his face into his hands and sighed, before plucking up the unopened envelope by his desk.
Radier Manor Jersey, England 1888, Monday 9 April. 01:30 pm.
On a canvas was a very artistic image of a charcoal vase of flowers. Leaves and petals shaded in nothing but strategic black strokes. You were delicately scraping the black drawing charcoal across the white papers when the intruding house keeper Mrs Sharpe simmered inside the children’s nursery.
The wrinkled prude sneered distinctively towards the you and you lessons to the two children, sitting on either side of you. Her dark greying hair appeared a little to tightly pinned today. Her thin lips slightly redder than normal...your eyes tried not to strain at the possibility of rogue on her cheeks. You forced a kind grin at her arrival.
“Miss Y/L/N,” Mrs Sharpe scowled, “I’m to inform you that you are required downstairs to the masters’ study immediately. He has just officially arrived and desires the attention of all new staff in his study, now,” her lips tightened whilst looking you up and down, “Oh! And do...I pray- make yourself a little presentable.”
The callously spoken crone tapped her cheek in reference to the black marks covering your face and rolled her eyes in annoyance as she spun sharply around to leave.
Your forced grin fell once the elder woman noisily stalked out of the room with her keys rattling away on the hip of her chain.
Rubbing your hands clean on your art apron you then turned and smiled to the two younglings in your care.
A pair of twins aged eight years old with dark reddish hair and similar features. The boy beheld blue eyes while his sister gained a pair of hazel.
“Well, my little darlings, I suppose our lesson in art must be placed on wait until tomorrow? I shall see you at supper and tomorrow we shall continue our art lesson but with watercolours instead.” You smiled at an excited Michael who unpinned the scribbly mess and Mary, who perched over her own work of rose sketching. Black smudges covered little Mickey’s hand who had given up his attempt of drawing daffodils and went by a creative approach of squiggly lines and stick figures of those in the household.
Nanny Nettle who sat in the corner of the room, polishing the children’s shoes chuckled, “Sharpe doesn’t make no move to hide her ill feelings towards you.”
You sighed, shrugged and looked to the elderly scots woman with a look of despair written across your face, “Mrs Nettle, I don’t understand,” You started to pack up the art equipment into a small supply chest and carried the box of art equipment to the children’s bookshelf, putting them away. Michael folded his picture to his chest while his sister placed her art on her miniature duchess.
While you folded the canvas stands the woman with her twinkling milky eyes observed you with an amused curl in her lip.
“I have been governess here for most of the winter and this spring, but Mrs Sharpe still treats me like a unwanted pest- I have done naught but share my kindness, my patience and my help around the estate: I mean really? What have I done to upset her so?” You approached the nanny and sat at her feet wiping your face with the corner of your apron of any black marks.
The children went and washed their small hands in the basin and hung their aprons on a wall hook.
“What have you done to offend her, lass?” Nanny Nettle grinned and shook her head, pausing her polishing she reassuringly patted the young woman’s cheek.
“I gather it be that she didn’t have a say in your employment to the household dear. That cow likes having everything under her control,” She cackled suddenly, “O’ course, it also don’t help that her nephew Thomas, that footmen who likes to smoke in the barn, can’t seem to keep his eyes off your chest when you waddle pass, acting like a drooling dog he does.”
You gawked and quickly fled to Mary’s side, holding her ears, if you had another hand you would’ve covered Mickey’s too.
You softly hissed with a flushed face, “Please Mrs Nettle, I must request you keep a decorum of respectful language in front of the children. And furthermore,” you flushed, “I don’t appreciate your jesting since I’ve never seen Mr Ransome acting so beastly as that. He is a gentleman.”
The older woman chuckled at your sweet innocent alarm and shrugged, “Alright, I’m merely explain’ why that housekeeper
‘Hoity Toity’ has it out for you, dear.”
You sighed and released the confused Mary who was very curious about why her Nanny compared her father’s footman to a puppy. In the end of her mind boggling, the girl went to sit on her bed and play with her doll she had come to name Antoinette.
The Nanny pointed her wrinkled finger at the door and then jabbed it back at the you, “Best be off downstairs Governess, the master don’t like to be kept waiting. He’s not known for his patience, lord knows I couldn’t teach it to him.”
Breath hitching, you nodded vigorously and hung the apron on the hook before you fled outside the nursery, down the hall to the stair case. You hurriedly descended the stairs while you prayed desperately that the Earl of Jersey did not take the same disliking to you that housekeeper Sharpe had. Fixing your hair into what you deemed suitable, you skated passed the kitchens.
It was honestly a miracle you had this position. You were a newly officialised governess just starting out in your first family, becoming employed on your first letter of recommendation written as a favour by a friend of your late father, Lord Colin Fowler. You desperately vowed to help the children grow fruitfully and improve intelligence majorly. Your wages were above the average at fifty pounds a year, including the free house boarding and food.
You knew there would be a time and day where you would need to ask or at least thank your employer for his generosity. You had worried that when you would meet him, he would see you for what you really were...a country mouse with only the capacity to teach what little you knew in the arts and literature.
Biting your lip, you decided all you wanted in this world was acceptance. And you truly needed the lord of the estate to accept you; Your father’s debt rested heavily on your shoulders at the moment. Your mother died a few days after the birth of your little sister Odette, and your father was a tremendously poor loser in gambling poker. He’d left you and Odette with a cough that killed him along with no money or respectable station in society.
At only a young age of eighteen, you’d been forced to leave the quiet life of the pastures in the south for the employment of the east. Boarding the ship out to this island was the most scary thing you had to partake. And in fact you had casted your bowls over the sides of the rocking boat more than twice.
Your twelve year old sister Odette was thankfully now in the custody of the kind and charitable Lord Fowler who only required a monthly fee to care for her which you were utterly grateful for. It was unfortunate though that even after the auctioning of your family cottage and small farm, plus your exuberant wages was still not enough to entirely pay the debts Mr Y/L/N left. If you were not so frugal with the expenses of books and dresses you owned, you wouldn’t be getting by and that terrified you.
‘Do not fall front you silly girl’, you mentally scolded, ‘if you muck up it’ll be Odette to pay for it.’
Reaching the closed door of the Earl’s study, you stood frozen and hesitated from twisting the door handle. Mentally and physically prepping yourself, you straightened your back and held your head high- but not too high to present too confident in a man’s presence, let alone an Earl.
Quickly you checked your hair again and the hairpins that secured it down in the ‘appropriate style’. Your hands you then noticed trembled, ‘goodness why am I so nervous!?’ your shaky fingers pressed down on your dark navy skirt.
You bit your lip and self-assuredly nodded, finally lifting your hand up to the wood and serving three slight taps. The door opened wide, behind it was Mr Cillian Walsh, the house’s head butler and supposedly personal keeper to the Lord Dalgliesh.
The butler gave you a grand smile, he was one of the most friendliest of the staff here in Radier
Manor. He was the one to first welcome you when you had gotten off the boat many moons ago. And Cillian was extremely helpful and kind, especially when it came to the children. He was the one to inform the little dears of their father’s planned return.
“Miss Y/N, do come in,” he whispered and fondly winked, “His lordship is eager to meet you.”
He stepped aside and bowed his head a little to you. Stepping into the study for the first time, you noticed another young man waiting inside. He clearly was another new employee of the household.
And in front of him was an extremely handsome male.
You had seen his painting in the drawing room but it was nothing compared to his true form. The Earl was sitting behind his large desk and when you walked into the room you witnessed him rise at your entrance. Y/N’s eyes widened. The painting depicted him with an image of late forties but now you gathered his age to be somewhere in his middle thirties or early forties. The painter had drastically aged him. His chiselled jawline and thin lips romanticised his face along with his soft brown curls falling like gentle swirls down his cheek.
What the painting hadn’t entailed too was his height. By god he would have put Goliath to shame giant. You had never met such a broad and tall man in your life. Your eyes widened as he slowly bowed his head to you respectfully.
Snugly fitted to his muscular frame was a black waistcoat that matched his deep blue eyes. It wasn’t hard to say you felt a tickle of attraction to this man. On his left hand a gold band entrapped his finger.
‘That’s right, he was a married man’.
You swallowed quietly and moved to stand beside the younger stranger with a leaner appearance, and dashing mid length Jett black hair.
The Earls gaze was dominating. His aura intensely intimidating. And it was all pinned directly onto you...poor thing. Butterflies fluttered in your stomach as the Earl’s eyes paused in front of you.
You kept your eyes low under his cool regard and fought to stand still and not fidget.
“Good day, it is my desire to formally welcome you both to Radier Manor despite the unfortunate obvious that one of you has been in my care for a few months already,” your employer said glancing your way while he stepped forward from behind his desk, “As I am sure you must already know, I am Henry Dalgliesh, the Earl of Jersey.”
Cillian gestured his white gloves hand to you while clearing his throat, “My lord, this is Miss Y/N
Y/L/N, the new governess.”
You curtsied too low and before it was too late you almost tripped yourself onto his shoes when his heavy hand caught your shoulder. A rush of blood dusted your face from nervous embarrassment. You wobbled back onto your feet and softly apologised for your clumsiness, eyes staring at his shoes.
Unseen by you, Henry smirked. Holding his palm out to you, you gently laid her own clammy own into his hand. He bent his head, his eyes set on your heated face while his oh so very soft lips pressed against the hot skin of your fingers, “Miss Y/L/N, It is a pleasure to make your official acquaintance after all this time.”
His facial expression was unreadable, only that he appeared to be kind and polite…
‘Oh goodness, he smells divine, like baked biscuits!’
The butler cleared his throat again, “and here Sir, is Mr Benjamin Byrnes, the secretary from Wimbledon.”
Cillian continued to inform the master about his benefits for this particular Secretary but you were too distracted by the Earls penetrating eyes that had refused to stop staring you down. Your heart pounded against your chest, you felt like you body was being dragged towards him despite being completely still and unmoving. Your eyes locked for a painfully wonderful eternity.
You exhaled gratefully when the Cillian led you and the secretary out of the study after Henry shook Benjamin’s hand and allowed the you both to remain employment. You felt weak and tired by your first encounter. After all you never expected to experience such an debilitating presence.
Radier Manor Jersey, England 1888, Monday 9 April. 18:30 pm.
That night Lord Henry didn’t make his appearance at supper, he was too busy under some account, which sourly upset the children who missed their father greatly.
And when said that they were upset, they were very, very disappointed. The twins had become woeful and unpleasantly behaved, deciding to ignore their food and gossip about what their father had done while he was away.
Marianne was mature and stated confidently that he was a business man perform business duties, when asked what duties they were she was unable to answer.
Michael on the other hand was a wild imagination. He was certain that his father had been away fighting criminals and bringing justice to the realm. He stabbed his mutton and exclaimed it was how he believed his father ran a sword through wicked men.
As Cillian passed with a tray to take to the masters study he paused and pinched Michaels cheek, before commanding the boy eat his dinner lest it turned totally cold.
After dinner concluded Nanny Nettle took them back to the nursery to ready for bed...
But as you were making your way down to the servant quarters where your room laid, you were nearly knocked over by a hurling body that flung itself back when it collided with your strong body.
You rubbed your belly with a light groan and looked dow at the floor and baring witness to one of your students.
Michael’s shirt front had a large wet spot. His red face was scrunched up, puffy crying eyes spilled tears and down his nose and chin was a trail of snot and drool. His little fists clenched and unclenched while he continued to wipe his face on his soaked sleeves. He was crying loudly.
Shockingly he stood up and collided into you but this time clung to you and held up his hands in silent pleas. Between tears he was clearly crying out sentences that were incoherent. You carefully pieced together what was wrong when you managed to hear, “Papa”.
Sighing you bent onto your knees and cupped under his armpits and lifted him up onto your hip and held him close, rocking him softly. He reminded you in that moment of your sister Odette who cried when your father died. You patted his back, he was a baby missing his parents. You rocked him as he clung to your shoulders.
The little boy sobbed into your neck and held onto you like you were a life anchor.
“O’Mickey dear, hush now, hush,” You gently cooed as you walked him to the nursery which conveniently was just down the hallway.
Your heels clicked to the thudding of the nursemaids’ feet just as she called around the corner “Michael! Where are you, Lad!? There you are!” She puffed, following her was Marianne who also looked to have been crying with the red hue of her eyes.
You turned to Mrs Nettle and smiled sadly, “I think someone won’t be letting go anytime soon,” just as you said this, Michael tightened his grasp on her blouse and shoved his head deeper into your neck, “Shall I put the children to bed?”
The Nanny looked slightly shocked at the offer, her grey brows raised and jaw dropped before sputtering “O’ course lass, I’ll get their nightclothes.”
As she tried to walk pass you into their bedroom, you reached out and touched her hunching shoulder. You knew the children needed a female figure who was frankly a lot younger than Mrs Nettle, sixty five years younger perhaps.
“Please Mrs Nettle, I can manage. Come Marianne, time for bed,” You held out a hand to the girl that tilted her head and bit her lip, reaching out to grab at your hand.
After bidding the Nanny a good night the three of you went inside.
Closing the door behind them, you softly sighed and brushed through Michael’s auburn curls with your fingers trying to sooth him a little more as his crying dialled down to sniffles. Slowly you sat on his bed, Marianne sat on hers across you both.
“Mary darling,” you gentle asked, rubbing her brothers back, “Could you please fetch yours and your brother’s night clothes?”
“Yes Miss Y/L/N,” She sniffled and smiled sweetly before hurrying off to the draws and closet.
Eventually you detached little Michael from your body and laid him down on the mattress. You quickly undressed the boy and soothingly brushed his wet cheeks with your thumbs. When
Marianne came back with the clothes, you made it your sole duty to ready them for bedtime.
The two hadn’t seen their father in over a year is what you had heard through the staff and on the day of lord Henry’ return he is ‘too busy’ for them?
You beckoned Marianne closer, you slipped off Marianne’s skirts and slipped over her head her long white nightgown. Marianne mumbled as she tugged her night dress on, “Pap- I mean Father, he did not want to wish us a good night and,” she choked, her little lips started to wobble, “Mrs
Sharpe smacked Michael across the cheek when he would not obey to leave.”
You gasped and brought her into your arms. While holding her close, you heard her ask on the brink of a sob, “Does he not really love us?”
‘What kind of man would act such a way ’, you grumbled to yourself, ‘and here I thought he was a very good looking man inside as he was outside. He’s unkindly neglectful of the family who missed and love him dearly.’
Then you sighed, ‘maybe he’s an extremely important man concerning business matters. He does after all own land on which now is booming with tourists.’
“I am sure your father loves you dearly Marianne,” you cooed and rubbed her back as she hiccuped.
Buttoning up his night shirt and wiping his wet face with his sleeve cuff, Michael had calmed down completely.
Turning her around to undo her braids, Marianne asked, “Miss Y/L/N? Can you…can you please sing to me and Mickey?”
Your fingers froze in Marianne’s hair. Such a request was endearing to you but was it too intimate? The girl turned around and forced herself into a hug between you . It was Marianne’s teary eyes that forced you to cave in.
“I can Mary,” you assured and pinched her shoulder playfully, “After you’re in bed.”
A bright grin returned to the little girls face. She and Michael eagerly clambered into their beds, diving beneath the covers.
You tucked the blankets of both their beds and made sure their sheets rested up to their chins. Then you laid Antoinette the dolly beside Mary on her pillow and picked up a toy solider off the floor, setting it on the bed side table next to little Michael. The two children gazed up to you awaiting their lullaby from their governess.
Carefully you knelt onto the floor and turned down the kerosene lamp on their shared bedside draw. Humming first and slowly slipping into song, you sang…
“How many miles to Babylon? Three score miles and ten.” They smiled and gasped lightly, happy and content.
“Can I get there by candle-light? Yes and back again.”
The little ones nuzzled into their pillows and smiled at you after sneaking a glance at each other almost as though they were keeping a secret with one another.
“If your heels are nimble and light, three more miles and ten, you may get there by candle-light there and back again.” You kissed each of their foreheads and tapped their noses softly.
“King and Queen of Cantelon, How many miles to Babylon?”
You stood and went to the curtains and drew them open, up in the night sky was a full moon shining down on them.
“Eight and eight, and another eight. Will I get there by candle-light?”
Coming back to the children, kneeling next to them you noticed Michaels mouth open wide and yawn silently. His eyes shut lose and his yawn lift his lips softly parted. Exhaustion took him first.
“If your horse be sprite and good and your spurs be bright.”
You continued to the last line of the diddy as you observed Marianne’s lashes fluttering down.
“How many soldiers there have been? More than yee dare come and see."
You laid your hands over both their belly's and rubbed small circles into them.
"How many miles to Babylon? Three more miles and ten. Can I get there by candle-light? Yes and back again."
Their chests lifted up and down with the steady slumber they fell into.
You whispered the final line, "Yes and back agaaiiinn."
It was such a sweet sight. You knew deep in your heart you loved them, for such little bodies they had such big hearts. From the moment you arrived they had been nothing but joyful creatures and to see them distraught so terribly by their father and housekeeper broke your heart. You smiled and rose from the floor to kiss both of their little foreheads again. Each softly moaned in their sleep and turned their heads into the pillows away from your sweet kisses.
Turning the kerosene down completely, You walked out of the nursery into the door way and carefully closed the door behind you. You prayed it wasn’t too loud to wake them up.
The sound of movement caught your attention away from the nursery, your eyes viewed a slight shadow moving through a door way at the end of the hall. For a moment you clenched the front of your blouse in fear of any ghosts.
‘Must be a servant cleaning one last room.’
You had no fear and no knowledge of any existing dangers. You decided to not worry, after all you were clearly safe and just needed to go to bed. You were tired from a day of work and meeting the formidable master of the manor.
Radier Manor Jersey, England 1888, Monday 9 April. 18:56 pm.
You retreated to the quiet sanctuary of your room. Located on the same floor as the laundry parlour but its door was opposite the wall. You were still grateful for your given room, since it was bigger than your own cottage one on the farm you sold off, not only that but the bed mattress was so comfortable that most morning you’d lay there and pray it was Sunday so you didn’t have to rise up and sleep in until the afternoon church service in town. In fact the only issue with your room was the lack of warmth with no fireplace.
Stripping down to nakedness you ripped over your head your cotton nightgown before unpinning your hair. Placing each pin onto the duchess and scratching your scalp you sighed and preceded to slink into your bed. You shut your eyes preparing for the world of being governess another day. Though after turning and tossing beneath the covers that provided the tiniest of warmth for another hour, you huffed and flung the sheets away. Sleep just wasn’t an option tonight.
It was like an itch as your mind trailed off in recalling all the activities of the day and vaguely came to remember the meeting with his lordship. O’ how he had kissed your hand in his study. The odd sensation of butterflies returned to your belly. Your thumb rubbed over the spot where his lips had touched.
‘Did he kiss every young ladies hand like that? Surely not? I should perhaps be offended by such impropriety...what would his wife have thought? He should still be in mourning, as should I...o’ he is a Earl after all...and he’s paying you plenty good, don’t be ungrateful over a light kiss on your hand.’
It was scandalous if thought long and hard about. But maybe that’s how lord’s greeted women of any standing.
You giggled to yourself as you imagined a scene of that wrinkly dragon Mrs Sharpe getting her paws kissed by the Earl. You imagined he would be very displeased doing so while the old beastly woman would salivate! What a lark!
Radier Manor Jersey, England 1888, Monday 9 April. 22:13 pm.
Knowing you were never going to sleep any time soon, your stomach made a faint murmur.
You believed that Mr Mikkelsen the cook wouldn’t mind if you went into the kitchen and snuck out a warm glass of milk and one of his sweet baked treats, surely that would aid this sleepless night? You rose from the bed with a sigh. Covering yourself with a wrapper that laid on the bar at the foot of the bed.
Making your way out of your room and through the halls that lead to the kitchen, your bare feet padded quietly across the carpet of the sitting room. You graciously were thankful for the moonlight that lit up the home through the unclosed curtains.
Your eyes casted to the wall above the unlit fireplace. His painting hung large and proud. The artwork held no candle to his true masculine beauty but might resemble his figure in another ten years. The moon truly reflected the blue eyes that lay on the canvas; they seemed to watch your every movement and with the stern frown brushed on his lips he didn’t look very pleased with your late awakening.
You tried not to think to hardly on your imagination.
Tiptoeing across the main entrance hall you sighed, finally you’d arrived. The wooden door was inches away from your fingertips, awaiting the moment you’d push it open; but something wasn’t right… Since a prickling sensation that trailed from the top of your skull, down your spine and through your legs suddenly sparked.
“Is it regular that you would wander about your employers home alone in the dark at night? Or is it just mine that’s so much more intriguing?”
Biting back a squeal of fright, you wheeled around to find that behind you was the Earl who had caught you attempting to sneak in the kitchen. His form was relaxed against the stair rail as he glared you down like a naughty child with arms folded across his chest similar to that of a displeased parent. Lord Henry body was basking in nothing but the light of the moon. His coat and cravat were long gone, his dark blue banyan draped over his shoulders and tied around his waist.
His height frightened you and made you feel inexplicitly tiny as a mouse.
This was your second meeting and now you realised how much you possibly looked like a dirty
thief.
You bit your lip and wrapped your arms around yourself nervously. It suddenly was obvious how immodest you appeared in your night garments, wandering about the house. You felt your breath quicken.
‘God, please don’t let him sack me’, you prayed.
You were already beyond humiliated and flustered at the extreme inappropriateness of being alone with the Earl in nothing but both your night wardrobe, you just couldn’t figure out how to politely flee back to your own room without walking around him.
You stammered “M-my Lord, please forgive me I had trouble sleeping an-and thought to get a glass of warm milk.” ‘Honesty is the best policy!’ your face screwed up into an embarrassed contortion, “Please do pardon and excuse my intrusion, I shall make way and return to my room immediately.”
You lifted a hand to your face and shielded your eyes away from Henry. Making movement to step around his tall form, you took your chance to escape, alas it was all in vain as the Earl’s large hand shot out and stole at your wrist. A high gasp drop from your parted lips. His grip not to rough but stern and strong. He was not making any notion to harm you, just to stop you from leaving his presence.
His warm liquid voice dripped out into your ears “Miss Y/L/N, please wait,” He pleaded in voice, his sapphire eyes mourned “I beg you not to leave under my sudden arrival.”
You bit your lip at the sight of his face- the hardness of his features fell away, replaced by a soft graceful smike as he quietly murmured, “It is not the first time one has found themselves awake in the night within search of Chef Mikkelsen’s delicious biscuits. Will you not sit for a moment with me?” he opened the kitchen door and gestured for you to enter.
You felt a gigantic wave of relief. Though the effects of shock were still attached to your body when all you could reply with was a scared hum.
Henry ventured into the pantry. You ventured around the table in the middle of the kitchen and looked around the spices that hung above the windows.
When his lordship came out with a tin box and two tea saucers, he noticed how his governess was standing in the middle of the kitchen looking rather…lost.
Clearing his throat he gathered your attention, “Miss Y/L/N please, do sit,” gesturing towards the chairs at the kitchen table, and graciously you sat in the chair when he dragged one out.
Laying the tin of biscuits down and placing the saucers in front of you, he fled to the cool room and collected a jug of milk. The stove unfortunately had been put out hours ago and the attempt to reheat it would take longer than desired.
He sighed, “I’m afraid only cold milk is available Miss Y/L/N.” He poured the ivory liquid into a rose painted china tea cup.
“Thank you nonetheless sir,” you politely smiled and accepted the cup into your hand. Laying your lips on the cup, you took a slight sip of the milk.
Your eyes widened, ‘this milk is phenomenon!’ Taking another small sip you hummed happily,
“Your milk must be sweeter here one the Island.”
It was lighter than cream but contained a watery consistency. Something edged the final flavour, it was eerily sweet like sugar or honey. The milk might’ve been cold to the lips but it was surprisingly warm in your belly.
Sitting down in front of you the Lord’s eyes were wide, “You haven’t tasted our milk? After all this time?” he jokingly gasped.
You shook your head. The past many weeks was too hectic for you to simply sit down and have a cup of tea or a glass of milk. You were too concerned for Odette’s wellbeing and support along with the Dalgliesh children’s education.
Your afternoons were busied with the planning of the next day. And even for the past three Sundays, you had caught sleep in bed and made sure your room was tidy and that you were ready for Mrs Sharpe intruding as she was known to do so well.
The callous woman carried all the house keys on a large ring, so despite locking your door, your privacy would still be breeched. Henry threw his head back and laughed.
Your glanced between him and the kitchen door. He was so loud! What if someone saw you like this with him ? It would be the island scandal!
It didn’t matter...
For a man possibly ten to twenty years older than you, he was very charming and boyish; his smile made suddenly made you swoon. You grinned stupidly.
Lord Henry finally settled himself and paused, swallowing down a biscuit, and glanced over at you.
“Will you not have some of the biscuits? They’re sublime,” His long fingers hooked around the edge of the tin and held it out to her.
You shook your head again with all your meek sweetness, “Oh no, my lord, you enjoy it.”
You felt you had overstepped your place and should be humble when it came to his offers.
However a little growl from your middle betrayed your motives.
The Earl let loose another hearty laugh and stole a biscuit to give to you. Biscuit in hand reached out towards you.
Still you refused the offer knowing you should’ve removed yourself from that improper and intimate scenery, you whined “No, my lord, please I ca-“
The Earl smirked and shoved the treat into your talking lips, which caused you to stop midsentence and avoid not choking on the sweet biscuit. A light gag escaped you.
The crumbs rubbed rough on your throat and you wanted to be mad at the Lord but knew not to step that boundary, ‘you got yourself into this mess stupid girl.’
“You’ll come to learn soon that I don’t take to hearing the word ‘No’ kindly Miss Y/L/N.” He flashed her a smile filled with bright whites, proud of his actions.
‘He’s rude and childish!’
A great prickling of hairs on the back of your neck rose up, something was telling you to be afraid of Henry. ‘But he only force fed you a biscuit calm down- if anything be grateful.’
“Now drink the rest of your milk, dear,” he said, pushing the cup up to your crumb covered lips.
You instantly sat back and away from his long claw like fingers, you now just wanted to go back to bed. Sculling down the sweet milk and hastily standing, you moved the chair back into place and waddled over to the sink.
You spoke respectfully but a slight tremble ran through your hands, “I should- um, I think it best I bid you a good night, my lord.”
‘Something is definitely not right, I shouldn’t be here…goodness Y/N don’t be such a scaredy cat!’ you chided yourself. Shaking your head slightly you told yourself firmly, ‘everyone knows full well that the gentry are an odd lot from time to time. He is just being friendly.’
Henry stood to attention and caught you again by the wrist before you could even lay the dishes into the sink. He had excellent aim for wrists it would appear. Providing you his uneasy smirk, he dragged you back in front of him. A single digit cupped your chin and wiped up to your parted gasping lips. Moving his finger away, he deliberately showed you the white spill of sweetness he’d caught on the corner of your mouth. His long tongue flicked out and licked up the drip before completely sucking his finger in front of you.
You gasped. ‘Too friendly, for a man of his standing; is he…with me? No, he can’t be flirting. Great scot girl, get a hold of yourself. Act not like the impute girls of your age, be a mature woman! Goodness! Why would he ever think like that? The man just lost his beloved wife a year ago.’
His hand holding your arm released and dug into the pocket of his over-night coat.
He tutted you softly “Come with me, I have an urgency to question and acquaint myself better with you.”
A hand twirled around your back and softly shoved you forward and guided you into the dark cold drawing room.
‘Is he escorting me back to my living space?’
Suddenly, he froze, his palm left your back and gestured to the lounge. You glanced behind back and up to your employer “Sir?”
“Sit,” he sharply directed followed by a lengthy spaced cough, “Please Miss Y/L/N,” he added “I desire to inquire about the children.”
You blinked under his intense stare, slowly you sat down in the lounge. You slowly drawled, “The children, my lord?”
Sitting down across from you, the Earl rubbed his hands, his brows raised followed by a light chuckle, “Yes Miss Y/L/N, the ones I am paying you to educate?” his fingers laced together.
….Marianne and Michael. So now he showed his care and interest of them?
You flushed and uneasily smiled, you felt like an utter fool, “Of course, my lord. They are doing exceptionally well. They have taken a joy to writing their own stories, they’ve demonstrated great imaginations.”
He didn’t seem too interested in what his children enjoyed that was obvious from his bodily reaction lacking any bright eyes or head perks. “I see...” He bit his lip and sighed, his face lifted to the fireplace. He looked at his portrait and snidely snickered to himself.
Scratching his chin he looked back to you, “Tell me, Miss Y/L/N, are you very tired?”
“Actually, my lord, I-“
“Miss Y/L/N. I have a few brief questions regarding the children, if you do not mind.” He asked as he lit some of the candles with a box of matched from the desk draws.
‘The children, not his children? For a lord he should learn how to speak correctly.’
You gripped the top of your wrapper collar with icy hands and uneasily shuffled. You just wanted to go to bed and sleep, but Henry pursued you further more even after you asked if they might continue the conversation at breakfast in the morning.
He release a wicked chuckled that bewildered you. ‘He’s mad!’
The Earl tossed a leg over one of his knees, he sat back and relaxed, “Now, now, I would prefer to keep this frank, quick and confidential between two adults…”
He turned his head away briefly before he leant forward into your face, his hot breath blew down on your cheeks and eyes as he tilted his head.
His dark eyes turned hot and frightening, he purred, “Do you fear me, Miss Y/L/N?”
As expected if not planned, You lurched back and gasped. Your cheeks heated up. The blue light of the moon shown on his profile. He looked like a painting of Lucifer you’d seen in a children’s bible. His mesmerising features were both terrifying and attractive to you.
You shook your head, trying to stand up straight and tall. You felt silly and embarrassed in yourself for being so flushed.
‘Except…Why would he ask me that? Does he want me to know my place, have I overstepped my glass standings too openly?’ you truly hadn’t meant to upset him enough to try and upset you in return.
“I don’t understand, my lord,” you nervously huffed, “I believed we were talking about Miss
Marianne and Mr Michael?”
You turned your head to the side away from his eyes that squinted and lips that frowned. He moved forward, resting his hands either side of your arms on the lounge. His body heat surrounded you, his banyan and your wrapper folded against each other. Silk against cotton brushing softly.
“S-sir, you come too close, please sit back.”
Henry leant into your ear and hissed in a threatening tone, “Perhaps you will learn to tolerate my ways in time, Miss Y/L/N, as my children learn from you.”
Now you were properly scared. Your chest heaved up and down. He might’ve just as well told you that he was going to throw you down the grand stair case. You were petrified and paralysed.
“Indeed but I beg you to remain civil, I am- I am most happy to inform you of their accomplishments.”
Henry smugly smiled and hummed, leaning away from your unprepared body. He clapped his hands lightly and licked his teeth. He was a hungry looking man, a man looking to conquer in war.
“Yes, I suppose you’re correct Governess,” he continued in his cheerier tone, “We must discuss the children, Miss Y/L/N. Please do tell me of their achievements in your lessons? Do they work hard? I want to hear your curriculum and methods of teaching since you seem to have difficulty understanding respect of your superiors.”
‘Difficulty understanding respect of my superiors?!’
You tightly swallowed and faced him. You wanted to bluntly tell him he was a terrible father and a rude man. Instead, you submissively answered every question he asked. Most questions he asked related to their French lessons, dancing, mathematics and literature.
“Où avez-vous appris à parler français?” Where did you learn to speak French? He asked suddenly in French. It caught you off guard his snap in transition to the language.
You curled your lips in and politely replied, “Mon père m’a appris” my father taught me.
He smirked and his brows raised, he slowly nodded, “Par exemple, un enseignant?” was he a teacher?
You smiled and shook your head. A small flush came to your cheeks
“Il devient marchand et propriétaire terrien.” He was a merchant and landowner, you gently explained. Your father was a travelling man and left he farm and cottage to you and your mother while he was away. And when your mother died, you took care of little Odette and father remained to work a little more in England instead of sailing off for months to India and China.
You felt your mouth grow incredibly dry and your lips numb. Your vision became spotty and the room swayed. You tried to stand to your feet and almost fell over onto him again like you had this morning.
“Je m’excuse,” you weakly slurred, “je suis fatiguée.” Excuse me, I am very tired.
You needed to go to bed. It was far too late for this meeting in the night that could wait till the morning.
Just before you could tell him any of this, your eyes rolled to the back of your head. You fell ungracefully to the floor and weakly collapsed.
The earl smiled while whispering ‘timber’ with a tiny whistle and left you to fall hard, but winced at the loud thud. Your wrapper tie became loose and fell away to reveal your scantily clad night gown.
You were still awake. Unable to move unable to understand what was happening. Why your body would not rise and why you were just so incredibly tired. The last thing you saw was the earls looming shadowing silhouette and his deep voice humming a familiar tune.
"How many miles to Babylon..." He smiled and cocked his head to the side as he watched your poor confused gaze flutter shut.
With your eyes closed and your lips parted and your arms perfectly lain above your head, he believe you were a grand depiction of a goddess offering her life to a sacrifice.
He dug into the pocket of his banyan again, while this time he pulled out a tiny vial the size of his thumb. Henry hummed the merry lullaby as he twirled it around his fingers. It was just too easy to slip it into something as milk.
"How many miles to Babylon? Three more miles and ten. Can I get there by candle-light?" He smirked, "No and ne'er again."
He believed it to be remarkable that you would fall unconscious so easily under the influence of his drug induced milk. He worried you would cease sipping after your exclamation on the sweetness.
While poor little you was trusting him to be a gentleman…but it was part of that old scally-wag Colin Fowler’s plan, sending the girl here to be his governess.
London, England 1888, Saturday 14th January. 19:03pm.
Yes, it was now time for the Earl of Jersey to return home to his estate of Radier Manor.
He buried his face into his hands and sighed, before plucking up the unopened envelope by his desk. From the side of his desk Henry ripped open a draw and collected a letter pen. Cutting the mail open, he plucked out the parchment and glued his eyes to the words that lay before him.
My dear friend Henry Dalgliesh,
It has been over a year since your dear Natalia passed and from our last meeting you had asked whether I could provide you one of my girls for your taste in desire. I wonderfully inform you that I have discovered something much more exceedingly pleasurable in the realm of succulent kittens, consider it a gift for the favour I owed you.
I have come across two young ladies from a small farm down south, they’re virgins and as pure as snow they come. Their names are Y/N and Odette Y/L/N from Bristol. Little Odette, I will be keeping under my hand for a few more years as the dear is not ripe yet only eleven or twelve I believe; the cusp of womanhood my friend, but her older sister; a true English rose is perfect for the reaping. After the misfortune of their father’s death whom was a gambling friend of mine, the girls are in a river of debt.
For every month I will expect a “payment” from Y/N to “support her sister” despite us both knowing I don’t really need anything to care for the little dear. I suggest you use the debt against her.
Do teach the girl some manners Henry, she’s polite and innocent but completely lacking in true submission. Make her cry, beg, squeal- break her, bend her, fuck her; whatever you do, don’t kill her. Henry, do not waste my gift, use her as you want and give her back when you’re finished. I have sent her your way as a governess for your children. She should be there in a week. Sincerely,
Lord C.F.
Henry sat back and proceeded to scrunch up the news into a ball of paper, casting it into the fire. He watched the flames engulf and swallow down the evidence of his ever interesting desire. He smirked and looked back up to the painting of Natalia and laughed at her face.
“I look forward to a nice new toy darling, don’t you?” Henry threw his feet up onto his desk and folded his hands behind his head, “I am sure you do, bloody harlot.” His eyes gleamed yellow as hellfire in the reflection of the burning letter.
Yes, it was now time for the Earl of Jersey to return home to his estate of Radier Manor.
Radier Manor Jersey, England 1888, Monday 9Th April. 22:28 pm.
“That worked rather well, bit too quickly for my liking though, however extremely effective,” He muttered to himself as he pocketed it back and bent onto one knee to hover above you.
His eyes travelled your the lines of your form that he was observing from the moment he discovered your shy presence around the estates home.
He slid closer, pressing his nose to your forehead to inhale the sweet scent or your hair and skin. His eyes fluttered as his lips gasped, his cock twitched. He caressed your soft cheek with his knuckled. His eyes scanning down to your entrapped bosom.
‘I wonder if she would taste better than she smells.’
With a solidary eye to the open area down through the drawing room into the dining room, he sighed and drew you closer. If anyone caught him, he would kill them. His hand softly rubbed your forehead, which cause you to react in a subtle moan.
‘Could she be as innocent as she seemed? Is this a mistake? Should I still do this?’ Henry dared ask himself. His eyes narrowed and he consi-
- Wait… Excuse me? Hello, reader, are you holding onto hope he’s gracious and kind? It’s because you think those are Henry’ thoughts don’t you? Well, I’m afraid you’re dearly mistaken. You see, it isn’t one of those stories....romance, no; here we feed on lust, blood and blackmail. Now that’s been cleared up, back to the story, where were we? He scares you, he drugs you, ah yes here we are-
Henry tucked his hands and arms beneath your fragile body and lifted you up onto his hip, his lust pressing harshly into your waist. He blew out the candle and fled. You were his prize being glided to the forbidden room, the room he considered very special indeed.....
Helplines:
If you are a victim of sexual abuse, assault or domestic violence or know someone who is please reach out to these links that share helpline services, phone numbers or emails. Consent and respect is important in every relationship whether between friends, family or even strangers.
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#henry cavill x y/n#henry cavill x ofc#henry cavill x you#henry cavill x reader#A Lesson in Service#henry cavill#henry cavill x female reader#sherlock holmes x poc!reader#sherlock holmes x you#enola holmes sherlock holmes#henry sherlock holmes#henry sherlock#dead dove do not eat#dead dove fic#dark!henry cavill#dark!sherlock holmes#ALIS
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PAMARTHE ARC 3: HIREACH (HIGH-RAWK)
A/N: It has been a hot minute. I've been so busy with life and writing my novel that before I knew it, seven months have passed since I last updated my beloved story. I've felt the absence greatly. Through the difficulties in writing a manuscript, editing and the general breakdowns that go with it, I've longed to return to the story where my entire heart and soul lives. A terrible bout of writers block was only cured by returning to Stitches, and I cannot tell you how happy I am to be back. I can't promise updates will be as regular as they once were given my commitments to publishing, but I want to assure you all, this story is not abandoned. It never will be.
NOTE! If you'd like to keep up to date on the publication of A Sensual Summoning, you can follow me on tiktok @racheljroman, all my links are there -3-
Word Count: 13k.
Pairing: Din Djarin/Fem!Reader
Rating: 18+ (NO Minors)
Warings: Mentions of smut, general adult conversation, nothing too graphic for once. Mainly lore and world-building as I enjoyed playing in my sandbox for a while lmao.
Stitches Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Companion Guides
“We’ve slept in smaller.”
Din Djarin was not an optimist.
The fact he was trying to be one now told you just how dire the situation really was. Either that, or he needed to check the vision technology in his helmet if he thought for even a second you’d both be able to fit in your childhood bed.
Night had well and truly fallen by the time Din carried you back from Buck’s Cove, and lethargy from the day’s activities brought home the fact that you hadn’t decided where to sleep yet.
The first logical answer was your old room. That was safe, expected. You should’ve known it wouldn’t work when Din made the room shrink by simply stepping through the door. He paced the area curiously, evidently trying not to snoop beyond anything that was already visible, which wasn’t much.
Airy tones with dark blue accents lined the metal inlays of furniture. The built-in shelves taking up half your wall space were crammed full of datapads, ranging from medical journals and behemoth anatomy texts, to the passing interests you had over the years that demanded research to satiate your ever growing curiosity.
Your small desk space sat beside the shelves, unassuming and modest for the alter it once represented. Studying to get into a highly competitive medical program as a teenager and then later, to relearn medicine through the lens of combat and triage before joining the Rebellion. So much had come from the time you spent hunched over that desk.
You watched Din’s gloved fingers trace over the surface of it now, pausing in his movement. Your heart seized, forgetting your current predicament, and you wondered briefly if he recognized the significance of the desk too.
What did he have to compare it to, you wondered. A training ring where he built his strength and stamina in order to bear the weight of his beskar? An armorers anvil that crafted the weapons of his Creed? How curious it was that both your life training – in medicine and weaponry alike – brought you to the same place. A battlefield.
Dropping your gaze back to the bed in question, you allowed him to continue his silent perusal in peace.
This bed was made for one person, namely; a child. It was fine when you were growing up, even as a young adult because it was just you. But throwing in a warrior like Din? He was big in every sense of the word, from his towering height to the breadth of his wide shoulders. You couldn’t even be sure the bed was long enough for a man like him. There was simply no way he’d fit.
“There’s always the floor,” he suggested gruffly upon returning to your side.
Though it was Din that said it, he didn’t sound overly enthusiastic at the idea of you sleeping on the ground. Not after what had just happened on the beach between you.
His hand, possessive and heavy, settled low on your towel-covered back. His heat bled into you immediately, your skin flushed from more than just the shower you’d both shared. His…affection in the aftermath of your release wasn’t new, but Stars, it felt different.
Maybe it was because you’d let him fuck your ass for the first time. It was still tender, a little achy but oh so satisfying when it jolted you with a phantom throb of how big he’d felt inside you.
The warrior had been stubborn, bundling you up in his arms to carry you back up those steep steps to the house. He’d carefully washed your skin of abrasive sand under the hot spray of the shower. Reverently. Working his way over every part of your body with unhurried strokes and heated kisses to your mouth and jaw as he did so. His hands never felt so soft as when they massaged soap into your tangled hair, rinsing it meticulously despite having no vision with the lights off.
It felt sacred. Purposeful. Like every action was another promise spoken in touch instead of words.
You’d never known the human body to be divine before then. A miracle, yes, but never divine. You’d seen people survive horrific accidents, overcome terrible injuries and recover from illnesses that had ravaged their immune systems and organs. But years spent weighing, measuring and observing every bodily component infinite times over removed any sense of mystery from it, and mystery – at least in your mind – was the essence of divinity.
But in that shower, as the Mandalorian worshipped every inch of you in the wake of your trust in letting him fuck you where no man had before, you realized everything you knew was superficial. A dimly lit corner of a shadowed room you had no idea was so huge. It was terrifying and exhilarating and not unlike being in love, now that you thought about it.
He’d left your heart squishy and soft without even realizing it. That might explain why you weren’t content to sleep on the floor the way you had been for the last year. You didn’t want that here. You wanted something…new for him to experience, something better. You wanted him to feel the way you had in that shower, even if it was only in the form of a soft mattress.
“No,” you said eventually, “come with me.”
Adjusting your towel to tuck the corner over your cleavage more securely, you dropped the other to wrap around his larger hand. He grunted, letting you lead him out of the bedroom and down the hallway to the back of the house. His pace slowed when he realized where you were bringing him.
“That room…?”
“…Has a bed big enough for the two of us,” you finished for him, recognizing his reluctance.
It wouldn’t have been hard for him to piece together that it was your parents room when he cleared the house earlier in the day. Whether his reluctance was out of respect for them – Llyrian rest their souls – or worry for the effect it might have on you, the sentiment was well meaning. But if you continued to skirt around the borders of your old life, refusing to enter it and tiptoeing over landmines of your own creation, your time here would be miserable.
This was your house, however uncomfortable the thought still made you. The master bedroom was where you wanted to sleep with your warrior. Not on the floor, or on a cramped single bed.
“I promise the mattress will be worth it,” you tempted him with a small smile and a squeeze to his hand.
Din cocked is head silently, his arm stretched between you where you stood a few steps ahead of him. His larger grip swallowed the size of your hand and with a long inhale, he relented, jerking his chin up for you to continue on.
With the shutters still closed across the wall of transparisteel overlooking the sea, the room became cozier under the golden glow of the light you flicked on. The bed, sitting in the center of the room, had been stripped of any linens, but the preservation shield had guarded the mattress and pillows well. You were nearly certain your mother kept an extra comforter in the trunk at the end of the bed for colder nights.
Maker, you hadn’t been in here for what felt like an eternity, since the day you left for the Rebellion. How tightly you’d hugged your mother as you both sat at the end of the bed, trying to stop the tears from falling when you felt hers stain your shoulder.
A small lump formed in the back of your throat at the memory, long buried and painful from how neglected it was. But you were tired, and the impact of the memory was less severe than it probably would’ve been had you come in here hours before. Thank Llyrian for small mercies.
Unlike in your bedroom, Din didn’t stray from where he stood. He waited and watched as the mist in your eyes warmed with lucidity when you shoved the memory away and walked around the edge of the bed to check the trunk for a blanket. Aha! You knew it. Thick and insulating, the maroon comforter was technically for winter, but it was better than nothing.
You tossed it one-handed onto the bed, the other still holding your towel. It was a miserable throw, the blanket a little heavier than you were expecting, so half of it ended up falling off the edge pitifully.
“Should I add hoverball to the list of things you’re bad at?” Din deadpanned, lightening the moon with his dry wit instantly.
You laughed sarcastically and you could hear the smile in the snort he released when he bent down to gather the comforter and toss it back up onto the bed. He stalled momentarily when he did, crouching down to get a better look at whatever caught his attention.
“What are these carvings?” he asked, glancing up when you made your way around to him.
Like the dining table your father had painstakingly sculpted for your mother when they got married, the bed carried his mark too. Void of external attributes of clan life, there were no leaping stags or regal lions to be found. Instead, fluid lines with minimal – yet deliberate – patterns followed the length of the base up to an untouched headboard of solid white wood.
“These are Llyrian’s waves,” you pointed out the sharper, stronger lines and then to the softer swells that intersected the waves, “and these are the winds of Amhra. Pamarthen deities.” You tagged on for Din’s benefit to a grunt of understanding from the Mandalorian.
The bed was for a couple. The wind and waves symbolic of Llyrian and Amhra’s eternal love brought to life. You convinced yourself it didn’t mean anything because Din wasn’t a part of the culture, the significance was null and void…right?
“There’s a lot of skill in the craftsmanship,” he hummed, “metal this dense is hard to work with.”
Pride bloomed in your chest at the comment, a smile spreading on your lips unwittingly. You nodded in agreement.
“My father was very skilled when it came to metalwork,” you told him, a hint of shyness you hadn’t been expecting to feel blossoming in your tone.
Din stood back to his full height, immediately dwarfing you with how close he was.
“Something tells me your father wouldn’t be happy about this,” he rumbled, his arm folding around your waist intimately, the towel loosening dangerously at being disturbed.
“Why do you say that?” you asked quietly, coy as he took a half-step closer. Even with all the space this new room afforded you, he still chose to be as close to you as if you were both still crammed in the Razor Crest.
You didn’t drop your gaze from his visor at the brush of his leather-clad fingers across the top of your towel. You held his hidden eyes when the tips of his fingers dipped behind where you’d tucked the soft material at your cleavage. He didn’t answer you, the impassivity of his helmet not concealing the smirk you knew lurked behind it. You could practically taste it curling against your lips the way you had so many times as he pulled whimpers and moans from you effortlessly.
Hooking his finger into the pylweave cotton, your towel fell down your body to pool at your feet and you stood bare before him once again. Freshly showered and still glowing from your release not long ago, your stomach clenched as you watched him watch you.
His head tipped to the side and you could feel the moment his eyes broke contact with yours to drop down your face and neck. Over your breasts where tight nipples peaked under his gaze. Across your stomach and the hips he loved to grab whether he was fucking you or not. Down between your thighs that shifted and squeezed together subconsciously at the intoxicating…exhibitionism of being perceived so fully, so hungrily by this man.
Din took his time, drinking his fill of your body in the light before he reached back a hand to plunge the bedroom back into darkness. Sight was one thing, but it could never surpass the ecstasy of taste for a man who spent so much of his life deprived of it.
The heavy clunk of his helmet on the bedside table set your heart racing before he dropped his mouth to your ear hotly, “Does any father like the man who defiles his daughter?” he whispered, his facial hair rasping over your sensitive skin and making you shiver pleasantly.
His hands fell to your hips then, turning you with him so that when he sat back on the bed, you could straddle him.
“Do you defile me, Din Djarin?” you sighed, his mouth finding the line of your clavicle to kiss and lick slowly.
“Every fucking day, kitten…” he growled into your skin, his words muffled from his reluctance to part from where he was sucking a nice new mark into your collarbone, “and when I’m asleep, I defile you in my dreams too.”
His answer had your stomach flipping, the savagery of the word turning you on far more than you anticipated it could. There was a sense of taboo around it, that you shouldn’t want it the way you did. But you wanted him to ruin you, you wanted to be fucked and filled and stained until you were fit for no one else but him. You wondered how long it’d take for his hand to find its way between your legs to see just how wet it had made you.
“In your dreams too?” you whispered, eyes rolling closed at the thought while Din lost himself in your scent and taste.
“Mhm… The things I do to you…the things I want to do to you,” he muttered, pausing on a groan when your fingers found their way into his hair, still wet from the shower.
When his lips dropped to wrap around one of your nipples, your head fell back on a gasp, pushing your breasts further into his face.
“You can,” you heard yourself exhale, dragging your nails down to the back of his neck, “you can do all of it.”
Whatever he read in your words stalled him, his muscles tensing with a hum of raw power. Releasing your nipple, he lifted his head to crash his lips to yours, dominating your mouth with an aggressive desperation that left you breathless. Or maybe that was just his tongue that plundered your mouth. Either way, you were dizzy and panting by the time he flipped you onto the mattress to settle between your legs.
“One day, kitten…one day.”
You woke up a few hours later, disoriented by the lack of engine noises and generators you were accustomed to on the Razor Crest. Din’s armored chest to your back, his steady breathing and the weight of his arm draped over your waist told you the warrior hadn’t sensed the same clatter that dragged you from sleep.
Maybe it was the bed that was too soft in comparison to the floor of the ship. Perhaps it was because you weren’t used to the roar of waves crashing against the cliffs anymore. Or maybe, it was instinct that compelled you to extract yourself from the warmth of Din’s hold in the middle of the night.
The comforter fell to your waist when you sat up, exposing your nudity and the sudden change in temperature tempted you to snuggle back into Din’s arms. He had opted to keep his armor on while he slept, at least for tonight. A planet was far more dangerous to his anonymity than hyperspace and you could appreciate it would take him time to understand you wouldn’t be disturbed this far north.
A shiver wracked you when your bare feet met the cool floor. Unlike the frigidity of space, a coastal night chill was more damp than it was cold. It could seep into skin and the cracks of buildings and while not nearly as cold as space or Maldo Kreis, it could cheat the mind into believing it was for a split second.
You reached blindly for the bag you packed, pulling one of the shirts you pilfered from Din out to wear under your short cape on the way to the door. Your bleary, sleep-laden mind was still trying to convince you to go back to bed though, providing erotic images of you crawling back up Din’s body, removing his helmet to kiss his…
A blank space fractured the realism of the dream and you refocused on the door.
No.
The solid wall of reluctance that rose in your mind startled you with its force, and your hand froze on the button. Pressing it open anyway, the hiss of the door sliding open sounded much too loud, but a quick check over your shoulder showed Din on his back, helmet turned towards where you’d been sleeping.
Padding down the hallway in an uncanny caricature of your past life, you came up to what was once Rhydian’s room with an unfounded trepidation that grew and grew and grew the longer you stood there.
Heart hammering, your consciousness returned with greater clarity as worry eclipsed fatigue. Fear of something dark and malicious waiting just on the other side of the door. It was an illogical instinct that demanded you check on the little bogwing for…some reason. For your own peace of mind, at least. But now that you were here, you were afraid.
This was ridiculous. You were being ridiculous. Was this how irrational all mothers felt when it came to their children?
You shook the thought out of your mind, sliding the door open into a darkness that unnerved you. None of the shutters had been opened yet, for both Din’s sake and for the added protection fortified durasteel gave when children were quite literally being stolen from their beds.
A stone sank in the pit of your stomach, nausea surfacing when the source of your worry revealed itself. You hadn’t even considered the danger you’d be inadvertently placing the child in by coming here. Admittedly, he was in constant danger from the imps who sought the power he possessed, but that wasn’t the point.
How could you be so…thoughtless?
You’d been so wrapped up in coming home yourself, that you hadn’t properly weighed the possible effect it might have on the little alien you loved more than anything.
Your eyes strained frantically in the darkness, picking out the small form at the top of Rhydian’s bed. Your shoulders sagged with a gust of relief. He was still there – of course he was – he was okay. Even with the worst of your concern abated, you walked over to sit at the side of the bed. You didn’t want to leave him just yet, the tension in your body still needing time to dissipate fully before you could even think about sleeping again.
He usually wasn’t so far away, even though he was just down the hall.
You stroked over the base of the ear sticking out from under the blankets, his other ear folded under his cheek while little snores left him. Completely zonked. After a while, weariness began to creep back up on you as the adrenaline subsided, your limbs heavy. It would be dawn soon, a new day with more unknowns lurking around familiar corners.
It wasn’t even a thought before you were laying down on the pillow beside the little bogwing, the faint scent of stale, mixed cologne squeezing your heart as you gently adjusted the child. He squalled quietly at being disturbed, half-conscious before he snuggled back to sleep against your chest and your heart settled.
Just an hour, that’s all you needed. Just an hour, then you could go back to your own bed.
It wasn’t an hour. It wasn’t even two.
Indeed, it was the sound of the ocean that pulled Din to consciousness hours later rather than you moving in your sleep. Filaments of his dream mingled with the noise, merging with the mythosaurs roar and confusing the warrior to whether he was awake yet or not.
All his muscles felt…loose. Achy. It was likely down to the fact he’d slept in his armor for the first time in ages, but the soft, firm mattress beneath him suggested otherwise. A comfortable bed highlighted aches a less forgiving surface – namely the floor – masked with its hardness. On the one hand, he was disconcerted by the comfort, but on the other hand, his muscles never felt so relaxed.
That was until he noticed you weren’t there.
At first, Din guessed it was because the bed was so big. In the Razor Crest, there was very little wiggle room for either of you on the single sleep mat you used. The bed you’d slept in last night was made for couples. Big enough for a man his size to fully enjoy his woman – in every position – without being impeded, while also allowing him to hold you close whenever he wanted. With all that extra space, he assumed you’d simply rolled over onto your stomach.
But when a searching hand found only the cold mattress and an empty blanket, he knew you’d been out of bed for longer than a few minutes to use the fresher.
His eyes snapped open, confirming your absence and his fingers curled into the rich maroon comforter he covered you with after slowly working you over the edge and filling you with his seed hours before. Sitting up, he groaned inaudibly under his helmet as his back complained at the change in sleeping arrangements. Part of him thought the mattress too soft, that he’d fall through it and never stop falling. He’d get used to it eventually, he hoped.
Your bag lay open at the side of the bed when he swung his legs over it, rolling his neck and shoulders to shake them out of their squishy state of relaxation. His shirt was missing – of course it was, the little thief – so he knew he wouldn’t find you wandering the house naked, unfortunately.
He had an inclination as to where you were and, after using the fresher himself, decided to go see if he was right.
Before he left the darkened room, he paused at the access button and instead pressed the button beside it. The shutters groaned behind him, from disuse and stiffness, but still parted slowly. They allowed early morning sunlight to pierce the sliver of transparisteel that only grew the farther the shutters opened until Din was standing at the edge of the world.
Taking a moment to appreciate the view, Din approached the transparisteel. On the second floor, the ground and cliffs were hidden. Only the endless stretch of sparkling ocean was visible from here. Back however many thousands of years, when space travel was only a dream and people were confined to the planet they were born on, Din could easily imagine that a sight like this was as awe-inspiring as the cosmos.
No wonder your people revered ocean gods.
Letting the sun soak the bedroom in much needed light and warmth, Din left to go and find you.
His first instinct had been correct, as usual. You were with the child in the room the little womprat had commandeered the day before. The one with all the helmets, distinctly more masculine than your childhood bedroom. A brother? Din didn’t want to ask where he was, knowing it wasn’t likely to be a happy answer.
The image of you both sleeping though, tugged at something low in his stomach. A yearning for a reality like this. Such things were perilous to dwell on, especially for a man like him. A Mandalorian. But he couldn’t deny that something tectonic had shifted in your relationship. Something that made imagining such things, roots and family and connection, so much easier.
It was a change so drastic, yet so silent, that it blindsided the warrior for a moment.
He sat on the edge of the bed now, unwilling to disturb the peaceful scene while mindlessly stroking the back of your calf that was exposed when you turned over onto your side. The muffled sensation of leather on your warm skin made him want to remove his glove altogether to feel that silky softness skin to skin, but in that moment, you stirred.
Yawning deeply – Maker, you must’ve been tired – you stretched with a feline arch, your arms over your head and a sound so candidly seductive, Din had to yank the chain on his resolve tighter.
Horny fucker, he mentally chastised himself. The kid was here. Not in his hover-pram, but quite literally sleeping in the bed with you. He couldn’t be giving into base desires just because his sex drive didn’t know when to quit whenever he was around you.
“Morning, kitten,” he rasped instead, noting the bleary smile of a woman not yet fully awake on your lips. One without the burdens you carried every day. Innocent. The vision was only solidified further by the content little noise you made in response, dropping your hand to his thigh plate.
“Mm, hey,” you sighed, voice deliciously thick from sleep, “sorry, I had to check on him last night…must’ve fallen back asleep.”
He wasn’t surprised.
Your bond with the kid was strong, as deep as any blood connection someone could have with a child. The simple fact of the child sleeping in a different room compared to the Razor Crest would be an adjustment for you both.
“It was a long day,” he agreed, squeezing the back of your thigh as his hand roamed back down behind your knee.
Groaning, you stretched again, disturbing the green alien beside you who grizzled awake.
“It’s gonna be a long one today too, I feel.”
You sat up, Din’s eyes drawn helplessly down to the way your stomach crunched easily beneath his shirt. Another intrusive thought, of how your stomach might look swollen and round, rose in his mind. Eyes heavy, he was far slower in banishing that thought away than the others when he lifted a hand to brush away errant strands of hair from your face.
“The Commander said your alor wouldn’t be back until tomorrow, right?”
“Mhm,” you confirmed, your attention more happily preoccupied with greeting the child as you picked him up to kiss the top of his head and let him wrap a clawed hand in the length of your hair, “gives us time to do a little digging ourselves, don’t you think?”
He couldn’t fault your logic.
Din didn’t know how politics on Pamarthe worked, but your alor seemed powerful and would likely be taking charge of any and all attempts to find the children. Your parallel investigation of Jedi activity would have to work around that stalwart force.
You let the child down so he could crawl haphazardly over to him, scaling the height of his thigh to gurgle happily at the stoic warrior.
“Morning, kid,” he stroked over one wrinkly ear while he half-listened to your stream of consciousness.
Your mind truly was an incredible thing. Having just woken up, he could practically hear the gears starting up and whirring to life, running until they were at maximum capacity as you plotted and planned how to make the most of the day. All the while sat cross-legged on the bed in an oversized shirt and your hair a mess from his hands.
You never looked more beautiful.
“No.”
You rolled your eyes in exasperation at Din’s blunt response.
He was sat at the dining table, back to the wall with his blaster parts laid out in front of him. He was – needlessly in your opinion – cleaning his weapons. Again. You didn’t think there was another blaster in the entire galaxy in more pristine condition, than Din Djarin’s. Even during your Rebellion years, you didn’t think you ever saw a soldier take such care of his weapons. You cleaned your own blaster more than you used to, granted, but it was nothing in comparison to the Mandalorian.
“Good talk,” you huffed, passing him by on the way to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water.
There was the dull sound of him placing the piece he was cleaning back on the table. Quick as a serpent, his arm banded around your waist from behind to pull you back onto an armored thigh. You yelped, surprised by his speed and the strength of that forearm that kept you a willing prisoner against his hard chest.
“Okay, wait.”
His words rumbled through you, vibrating from beneath his chest plate and down your spine like perfectly polished river rocks caught in the current, “Ask me again.”
You really tried not to be charmed by his attempt to be more communicative. You really did. But he was trying, and that softened the edges of your impatience to nothing more than a fiore bun; round and squishy.
You puffed an exhale, your hand dropping to his forearm instinctively to keep it there.
“I think we’d get more done today if we split up,” you repeated the statement that initially had him refusing before you finished speaking, “you can go bring the Razor Crest to the hanger here, and I can go into town with the kid to pick up supplies we desperately need if we’re going to be staying here.”
Din grunted, his malcontent palpable as his fingers flexed into the soft flesh at your waist.
“There’s no need to split up for that.”
That was better than a no, at least.
“Isn’t there?” you frowned, wriggling within his hold to sit across his lap instead, better able to look into that achingly familiar T-visor, “You can use the jetpack to get to Stag Seaport way quicker by yourself than going the long way around on the speeders. I can do some digging while I’m in town without the spectacle of a Mandalorian distracting every doe that crosses our path from telling me what they know.”
Din’s ears pricked, you could tell by the slightest tilt of his helmet. His hearing was as sharp as his eyesight down the scope of a blaster, you should’ve known he’d pick up on it.
“Oh?”
The word escaped him in a purr. A deep gravel that, to any normal person, would sound like a growl. But that was just Din. Even his purrs were intimidating. You didn’t react, you’d only dig yourself deeper.
“Does, hm.” He hummed, running a wide-palmed hand up from your knee along the side of your thigh casually, “Do I detect a hint of jealousy in my kitten?”
Colour burst across your cheeks, heating them with the immediate mortification of being caught reacting so emotionally to such a harmless statement. You spluttered, rolling your shoulders back with indignant pride even as you sat preening on the lap of a man who could make you beg with the crook of a finger.
“That’s not what I meant,” you sniffed, looking down your nose.
Not entirely, anyway.
You weren’t the jealous type, but you were possessive. Pamarthen women, especially Carria does, were ridiculously attractive. As feminine and ethereal as the woodland creatures they were likened to. Flirting, casual sex, harems…they were all common aspects of Carria culture that might catch an off-worlder, namely a Mandalorian, off guard.
While Din might only be interested in you, his mere presence would set tongues wagging.
He was a warrior. He walked like it was big – it was – commanded a room like he knew what to do with it – he did – and wordlessly made lesser men submit like he could fuck their women better than them.
He could.
He was everything a Carria woman looked for. Stars, he was everything a Macteer woman looked for, and they were notorious for seeking only the strongest attributes in a mate. She-wolves were a force to be reckoned with at the best of times, they needed someone who wouldn’t crumble when they flashed their fangs.
“Mm…even if it was,” Din’s hand stopped at your hip, pulling your attention back fully to him when he lifted it to cup your jaw firmly and forced your eyes to remain helplessly on his visor where he could see the truth, “does are too skittish for me. I like my woman to roar, even if it is only a meow at times.”
How dare your stomach flutter at that.
You swatted his shoulder, nothing in the way of him seeing the fluster on your face with the grip he kept on your jaw. Damnable man. The chuckle he released was as warm as it was filthy. He knew exactly what he was doing to you, exactly what turned you on. Then his hand shifted to the back of your neck in a gesture more gentle – but no less possessive – so he could drop his forehead to yours silently.
Your cheeks still hot from his teasing, you tried to appear stern.
“I do not meow.”
How the comparison Biran made nearly two years ago stuck still boggled your mind. But the affection with which the Mandalorian crooned kitten to you was indescribable in its intimacy. Sometimes, you almost liked the sound of it better than your name, if only because he was the only one who called you it.
“You sure?” he teased, “I’m nearly certain that’s the sound I hear when you’re bossing me around.”
He tightened his hold around you pre-emptively in case you really did live up to your nickname and claw him to shreds. When your jaw fell to the floor, aghast, he couldn’t prevent the laugh from bursting under his helmet at your expression.
“That’s so rude!” you crowed, disbelief at your lovers audacity making the entire thing funnier as a laugh of your own threatened to escape your lips. You pressed them tight together to stop it. You needed to have some dignity.
His foresight had been correct – damn him – and when you squirmed to try and stand with what you considered righteous fury, his arms stopped you from doing much more than wriggling pathetically on his lap.
So much for your dramatic exit.
“Easy, kitten…” Laughter still lacing his tone, the breathy drop of his voice stalled you with its sudden heat, “keep moving like that, and we’ll get nothing done today.”
Oh.
You became aware of the slightly hardening length under you. Both your pussy and ass throbbed with awareness. He’d been inside both the night before on the shores of the sea. Stars, he hadn’t even filled your ass entirely before you came. You could only imagine what it’d be like when you were able to take him fully without restraint.
Your throat suddenly dry, you swallowed. A low growl – one you felt more than heard – rose in Din’s chest. It was like your thoughts were playing in a holovid for him to see, his intuition uncanny. Maker, you were insatiable these last few days, both of you. Which was saying something. But as much as you wanted him to bend you over the dining table to go for round three, you had work to do.
A sneaky idea rose in your mind then, and you wiggled your ass again experimentally. His grip tightened immediately, a warning snarl rumbling in his chest. Biting down into the pillow of your bottom lip, you dropped your hand deliberately to the front of his flight suit.
Din’s growl of your name was a rare second warning. The last one you would get. Anything after that would be a well-deserved punishment.
“Mmh?” you hummed airily, your fingers tiptoeing lightly over the semi-hard shape of him. Not enough that he’d feel much under the thick duraweave, but enough to tease him the way he’d been tormenting you all morning.
“You know…” you continued seductively, nudging your nose into the carved cheek of his helmet and basking in the shuddering exhale you heard coming from under the lip, “if we split up, we can get back to this much, much quicker…”
“You sly fucking…” Din growled in realization, outmaneuvered by your strategy. He couldn’t keep the faint hint of pride at the way you’d seamlessly manipulated the situation to get your own way out of his tone, though. What could you say? You weren’t a one-trick-pony, and seduction was an art form you eagerly indulged in all your life.
He didn’t even finish his sentence, sighing with a clunk as his helmet fell back against the wall in defeat. You didn’t think it was premature to give yourself another point in the tally, honestly you deserved two just for style.
“Fine. Fine,” he relented, releasing his grip on you and swatting your ass when you stood from his lap victorious, “we do it your way.”
With a bounce in your step, you continued on your way to the kitchen, flashing him a bright smile over your shoulder. He looked about as flustered as his armor would allow, and it turned your grin cheeky knowing you were the cause of it,
“There, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”
Leaning back in the chair, Din’s posture shifted arrogantly. His legs spread, you could easily make out the hard bulge of his cock straining against his flight suit and just like that, your fleeting moment of control evaporated.
“Not as hard as I’m going to fuck you the moment we get back, ner baruur.”
You were right, as usual.
Using his Rising Phoenix cut the time it took to get to the spaceport almost by half. Your advice to follow the coastline, across the white cliff faces that cascaded down into the waves beneath, ensured he didn’t get lost amidst the disorienting scale of the sea or the confusing labyrinth of hills and forestry.
Small fishing vessels rocked gently on the water, Din’s helmet picking up the occasional shout from one of the men on board to another. Hauling great nets of silver-toned fish onto the deck, a line of conservation droids immediately began sorting through the catch rapidly. Finding egg-bearing females, the young, or other species that accidentally got caught up in the net and tossing them back into the ocean.
He wouldn’t be surprised if fish from that catch ended up in your possession when they made it to the fishmongers. You liked seafood, he recalled. You were always in a good mood on the rare occasion he landed on a planet that had any semblance of water on it, knowing it meant fresh fish for once. You’d been buying fish that day on Mynock before he made the journey to Arvala-7.
Din snorted under his helmet, dark eyes turning back the direction he was flying.
To think, he planned to avoid you. Fearing he’d end up in a sarlacc pit or something equally disastrous given how up until that point, your paths only ever crossed when he was injured. Din didn’t fear much then, bar his helmet being removed or dishonoring his Creed, and part of him now wondered if what he feared had been the feelings you nudged awake inside him.
Back then, they were nothing close to what they were now. Maker, it took months to even find his way to your bed, but those first encounters were like the first cracks of a crater before a volcanic eruption. An inevitability. There was nothing he could’ve done to stop it.
Fishing boats were eventually replaced by great vessels on their way to and from the seaport. What looked like several airship carriers sat docked on the horizon, flanking your clan’s territory with an impenetrable strength he found staggering. For one clan to possess all this…
Pamarthen clans were evidently much, much larger than Mandalorian clans. Perhaps, before the Great Purge of Mandalore, it looked similar, but he’d been too young, too…focused on his training on Concordia to notice.
He steered clear from landing directly in front of the Razor Crest, however more convenient it might have been. The area was technically an active spaceport and Din didn’t want to gamble of his abilities to outmaneuver X-Wings and cargo ships.
Instead, he landed at the foot of the bridge that connected the big island to the ports. It was a bit of a walk across, both durasteel bridges made for industry with a size to match. He could stretch his legs though, and casually observe those who passed him. In his line of work, he never knew who he might see or what odd behavior he might notice that would lead him to who he was hunting.
The Mandalorian didn’t quite know what he was looking for when it came to the Jedi, truth be told. Not someone who looked like the child, but something that embodied…magic? He didn’t fucking know. What did magicians look like? Did they wear cloaks and hoods? Did they levitate instead of walk? How was he supposed to tell the difference?
Wait.
A group of people passed Din on the other bridge and his eyes were immediately transfixed. They weren’t levitating, but everything else about them looked straight out of the mental image Din had been using this entire time.
Three figures, hooded and cloaked in coarseweave robes of a deep red, walked unhurriedly behind two armed soldiers. Their blaster rifles held to their chest on standby, they were donned in black combat gear and what looked to be dense, black chainmail covering their heads. The links fell like water down to their chest and possessed no discernible features – no eye sockets or mouthpiece – bar the way the mail settled over their faces. The peak of a nose and curve of a forehead, nothing else.
Was this the way outsiders saw Mandalorians? Surely not. His helmet concealed his appearance but gave him a name, a purpose. Those mail masks looked like they were made to wash away the identity of anyone who wore one. They didn’t look real.
These guys were just…walking around. After looking for so long, Din always assumed sorcerers existed the way the Tribe had; secretly. They might not even be sorcerers, but these guys looked like they knew shit about magic, and that was as close as he’d gotten since his journey began.
It was probably why his next move wasn’t as calculated as it usually would’ve been.
“Hey, you.”
Din called across the wide open space between the bridges, the audience roar of the water beneath turning the space into an arena. He approached the edge of his side slowly as both faceless guards turned, placing themselves between him and their charges.
He held up a hand in peace, the other hovering over the butt of his blaster should he need to draw it quickly. Neither guard lifted their weapon but kept them tucked to their chest, the barrel pointed down. Ready.
“A Mandalorian? On Pamarthe?” A voice rose in Basic from the group.
One of the guards jerked his head marginally, not expecting one of the robed men to speak. With some reluctance, he stood half a step to the side for the one who spoke to get a better look at him. Even with just a hood, the thickness of the material shadowed the man’s deeply wrinkled face effectively.
“In full regalia too, how rare.”
An uncomfortable feeling surfaced in Din’s stomach, like he was a wild, exotic creature kept in captivity by Core planets for their inhabitants to ogle and stare at.
Whatever assumption Din had about these men and their secrecy, was wiped clean when the one who spoke pulled his hood down, revealing an elderly human man with stringy, grey hair combed back from severe, heavy brows. His charcoal eyes set Din on edge, a strike of lightning tensing his spine with instinctive awareness.
“I have some questions for you,” Din responded, ignoring the obvious appreciation the man had for his armor. This was nothing new for a Mandalorian.
The two figures that remained hooded looked towards each other, unfazed by his words. The man with the unnerving eyes arched one of those thick brows, thin lips twisting into some semblance of a smirk.
“I understand you’re not from here, Mando,” he explained slowly, raising Din’s hackles from the condescension in his tone, “and whoever sent for you has obviously given you a wasted journey, I fear. But we are not questioned by anyone.”
“That’s about to change,” Din retorted, he’d had bounties like this before. Big fishes in small ponds that shit themselves the moment he struck back. He didn’t need to waste actual energy into scaring people, their spines were usually brittle enough to snap from a growl.
But something about these people did unnerve the Mandalorian. The way he knew not to underestimate the reinforcements gang affiliates could call to overwhelm him with sheer numbers rather than skill. They obviously knew that too, because the grin never left the robed man’s face.
He merely reached back to pull his hood back over his head, a leer of contempt shining in those flat, black eyes when he turned back the way the group had been walking before Din interrupted, “We shall see about that, Mandalorian.”
One guard kept him in his sights, flanking the rear as his companion led the group away. He didn’t turn back around until they were some distance away and even then, Din knew their muscles must be tense in anticipation for him to strike.
Part of him wanted to. To force them into submission and answer the questions he had. Two guards were nothing to a warrior of Din’s caliber and they knew it too. But something stopped him. There had been observers to this exchange, passers-by who slowed to watch and Din realized by their hushed whispers that he’d done something wrong.
One such person actually approached him, the whelp with the crush. Bryn.
“Mister, Mister Mando—” came the thickly accented greeting.
Maker give him strength.
Din’s eyes flickered to the boy, even as his helmet remained trained on the group slowly growing smaller the farther they walked away. When Bryn waved a hand in front of his visor though, thinking he hadn’t heard him, Din’s impatience won out, and he growled, grabbing the boy’s wrist to yank down.
“What?”
“Ow, ow ow—” Bryn complained from where Din had twisted his wrist subconsciously. The warrior released him with a click of his tongue, annoyed, “By Llyrian, you’re strong. Though, I’d expect nothing else from a Mandalorian…given the stories, but—”
“What is it, boy?” Din interrupted.
“I—well, I’d be careful with the Sentinels,” Bryn frowned, looking out towards the group Din had been contemplating jumping, “They’re a law onto themselves here, not a good idea to get on their bad side.”
The Sentinels…where had he heard that name before?
“I can handle myself, kid.”
Bryn’s hazel eyes widened at the perceived offence he’d caused Din, waving a hand in front of him, “Of course!” He mumbled something in Pamarthen, a rapid string of words Din couldn’t understand before rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, “I don’t know how to explain in Basic, but even the rhaer has limited power over them.”
Din arched a brow, unseeing to the boy who only had his stoic, unmoving helmet to go by. Now that was surprising. The same leader who had fleets of airship carriers and land far as they eye could see was not wholly in charge of certain people who lived on it? That was something he would have to ask you about later.
“I get it,” Din rumbled, Bryn still valiantly trying to describe such a niche topic in his second language, “thanks.” He tagged to the end, frowning when the young man smiled. Had Din ever been this green? This insufferably…hopeful?
Unlikely.
Bryn was young, likely only eighteen or nineteen years old. He hadn’t seen a fraction of the horrors someone even ten years his senior would have.
“No problem, Mister Mando,” Bryn puffed his chest, proud of himself.
“Just Mando, is fine,” The Mandalorian sighed, feeling a headache coming along already and desperately wishing he could remove his helmet to pinch the bridge of his nose in an attempt to stave it off.
"Mando, wizard." Bryn nodded, “What’s brought you back here so soon? Did you find Commander Carria last night? He came looking for you, but you’d already left by then. I told him you’d planned to go to the Tipsy Hart since I said that’s where I thought he would be but obviously not, since he showed up at the spaceport—”
“Picking up my ship,” he grunted in a desperate attempt to stop the talking and turned back towards the spaceport.
Was this what Din had to look forward to when the kid started talking? Thank the Maker he seemed to age at a snail’s pace so he’d have a few years before that hopefully started. His thoughts screeched to a halt, a mudhorn colliding with him when he remembered it didn’t matter when the kid spoke, he was going to be with his own kind, not Din.
It soured his humor further, and when Bryn took it upon himself to walk with him, Din almost took it out on the poor kid. But the realization that he wouldn’t experience the child talking the way Bryn was now softened the warrior marginally, enough to not shoot him.
“The Razor Crest, right? She’s very old,” Bryn continued conversationally.
Huh. Maybe he would shoot him after all. Did he speak so candidly about everything on his mind? Din wouldn’t like to know how women reacted if he told them exactly what was on his mind the way he was to the warrior now.
“Never call a woman old, kid,” Din heard himself say as they walked into the makeshift hanger where the Razor Crest sat, “Whether she’s a ship or the girl you marry.”
“Oh,” Bryn replied quietly, mulling his words against whatever it was that took up the mind of a boy his age.
Sex. Usually sex.
Din snorted, what was his excuse then? Age evidently didn’t matter, when a man had a woman like you in his bed night after night. How could he not think about your body, your sounds, your pussy squeezing every drop of come from him whenever he got the chance?
“No wonder Llysa got mad at me when I said she was too old to learn how to pilot a Mantaris…” he mused to himself, scratching the back of his head where two delicate braids met the tie that held his hair in a messy tail.
Oh boy.
Din stopped by his ship, typing in a code on his vambrace to drop the shields and open the ramp. The kid was a disaster and even worse, he had no idea he was. There was a call in Pamarthen from across the harbor and while Din couldn’t understand most of it, he recognized Bryn’s name.
The boy shouted something back jovially despite the impatience in the other man’s voice.
“I gotta get to work, but it was nice seeing you again Mis—Mando.”
Din dipped his head in acknowledgement, watching as Bryn started jogging in the direction the voice came from. Something compelled him to speak though, an effect that Pamarthens seemed to have on the warrior.
“Bryn,” Din called, partially hoping the kid wouldn’t hear him. No such luck. He looked over his shoulder at the Mandalorian, slowing down and Din snorted to himself. Annoying as he was, there was something refreshing about Bryn. While he hadn’t seen the terrors you or he had in the war, he represented a new hope for a future untouched by what happened.
“Encourage that girl to learn,” he rasped, dipping into the pot of knowledge he’d accumulated from you, one that grew larger by the day, “don’t underestimate her.”
Confusion crossed Bryn’s face and he wondered briefly if his words had fallen on deaf ears, but after a moment, an unguarded smile lit his face and the boy nodded. With a lazy salute as a parting thanks, Bryn left on his way back to work and despite not getting any information from the Sentinels, Din didn’t feel the entire journey had been a waste.
It had been far too long since you and the child went on your own adventure together.
Fallow Ridge was the perfect spot for it.
You could’ve taken him to a village closer to the house, but that far north didn’t see much traffic and information would be harder to come by. Fallow Ridge was more central, about an hour away by speeder and boasted some of the best bakeries on the island. Located just off the main artery of roads leading to the Seat, it wasn’t uncommon to see members of other clans passing through on their journeys.
After Din had taken off to Stag Seaport and double checking your comms still worked in case he needed to find you, you bundled the little alien into his brown satchel and were off.
You hadn’t been lying to Din when you said you’d need to pick up supplies. No one had lived in your house for over six years and apart from the things Kyr left for you, there was little more than mothballs and dust in the cupboards. Not to mention clothes. After Din had unceremoniously ripped one of your two remaining pairs of pants last night, you were in desperate need of new ones.
Parking your speeder just outside the low stone wall that marked the perimeter of town, you nodded politely in greeting to a group of young pilots half-dressed in the pants of their flight suits, sleeveless undershirts displaying the antlers of their Mark proudly against tanned skin. You wondered if you knew them, they looked young enough to have been children when you left – like Bryn – so the changes would’ve been drastic enough for you to be uncertain.
Cobblestone buildings sat on mismatched levels across the uneven terrain. Some further up on hills where small paths branched off from the main street, while only the roofs of other houses could be seen from where they were situated further down an incline.
The kid was mesmerized as the bustle of daily life overwhelmed his senses. A hum of chatter, welcoming and lively, mingled with the sounds of trade as people shopped, gossiped and generally appeared untouched by the ravages of a post-war universe.
But the scars could still be seen, quiet as they may be.
Absent figures, a disparity in the number of people your age compared to older generations, more cybernetic prosthetics than before from both the bombardment and returning rebels. Even the prices in the transparisteel of shops were higher than you remembered, significantly higher. But that’s what happened when you had a destroyed spaceport; trade became complicated and therefore, expensive.
“What do you say, cutie?” you looked down at your hip where the child was babbling happily with distracted grabs to anything and everything he wanted to explore, “Food or clothes first?”
It was a redundant question, the second the word ‘food’ left your mouth, his large eyes were sparkling with an excited coo.
“Good idea, maybe we can grab more fiore buns before they sell out for the day too.”
His ears wiggled eagerly, the memory of his small mouth blue from the berry jam inside the buns last night making you laugh quietly to yourself. You weren’t the only one who was a fan of them. Even Din seemed to enjoy the uniquely tart flavor, opting for a second without needing much convincing.
You wandered from stall to store, taking advantage of the freshness that came from an agricultural planet. The bakery – thankfully – still had fiore buns coming out of the oven and, after a sample, you left with a baker’s dozen. The kid complained when you stopped him from crawling into the bag to get at them, knowing there’d be none left if you gave him an inch.
When you got to the grocers – for preserved foods you were more familiar with on ships and other planets – you were suddenly struck by the reality that you weren’t on another planet, or on a ship. You were…here.
An emotion surfaced in you, one you weren’t able to translate into Basic. Hireach. A Pamarthen term with no real translation that was used to express both homesickness and nostalgia. It was a complex mix of melancholy and happiness, grief and yearning for something that still existed but was irrevocably changed.
You felt it as you followed familiar paths that were missing…something, and no matter how hard you tried to put your finger on it, the answer seemed to get more and more tangled, more indefinable.
It wasn’t necessarily a bad emotion, nor was it indicative of any great tragedy. Truly, to experience hireach was only possible when you had good memories attached to it. Hireach illuminated the irreverence of time, how your former life now fit like a shirt much too small. How it strained across your shoulders and back, not painful but…uncomfortable. No matter how much you rolled your shoulders and tugged at the material, it never seemed to sit right anymore.
“Hullo?”
You were shaken back to the present by the shopkeeper behind the counter. A bag of supplies between you, the woman looked at you with a mixture of confusion and caution.
“Sorry, I was klicks away, how much did you say?” you reeled off, scrambling on autopilot to regain your footing in the conversation instead of how strange it all looked and felt.
“Forty-seven credits total,” the woman smiled, the action tight and somewhat forced.
That was certainly different, but you couldn’t blame her for being mistrustful. With everything going on, it was no wonder people were on edge. Speaking of…
“Terrible business, isn’t it? The children.”
The seamless slip into what some might call ‘gossiping’ was familiar territory for the shop-owner, and it thawed the suspicion you’d garnered from your spacy attitude. Her shoulders relaxed and with a morose expression, she nodded.
“Aye, the poor wee things. May Amhra guide them home.”
“Amhra guide them,” you echoed distractedly, glancing around the shop.
“If she can’t, then the rhaer will,” the shopkeeper nodded confidently, ringing up the credits you handed to her and talking about your childhood friend as though he were a god among men, “I don’t think there’s a man on this planet more determined to find them.”
Her confidence in Kyr comforted you. Hopefully, the rest of Clan Carria held the same sentiment. It was one thing to be perceived as a ruler, but it was better still to be seen as a guardian. And Kyr Carria was the embodiment of the lone stag watching over his herd; silent, observative, strong.
Who else did that sound like…
“I’m sure he’s doing everything he can,” you added to the conversation diplomatically.
“Lot of lions coming through these parts too, looking for Skyla,” she handed you your change, “and nothing against them personally, but where was that urgency when our fawns went missing?”
There was an edge of frustration in the woman’s tone, her brows furrowing with a downturn of her lips. The friendship between Clan Carria and Clan Leyghin was strong, but it wasn’t immune to skepticism and misgivings. Skyla Leyghin’s disappearance was treated differently because she wasdifferent. Regardless of how equally tragic it was for any child to go missing, the only daughter and heir to the most steadfast clan on the planet was a devastating blow.
“Hopefully, with so many people looking for her, they’ll find the others too,” you navigated the statement carefully, empathizing with her annoyance but put in an awkward situation of being tied to both clans intimately.
She mulled over your words, nodding curtly in response, “What chance do any of those wee fawns have, if they’re only a secondary thought?”
It was your turn to pause, considering her rather…wise observation. Uncomfortable as it might be, you couldn’t deny the truth behind it.
“Kyr cares, they’re not second in his eyes,” you said by way of answering because truthfully, you didn’t know how to answer her. She was right, and it made you more uncomfortable as both a medic and as someone who now knew what it was to love a child. It had always been this way though, but absence from your planet had enlightened you to the reality that you didn’t agree with it.
“I believe it’s Rhaer Kyr to us,” the shopkeeper corrected you coolly, her eyes turning suspicious momentarily, likely contemplating either your view on him or relationship to him, “we don’t all address him so familiarly anymore, keep that in mind.”
Bantha balls.
He was just Kyr the last time you were here, he’d always been just Kyr. But he wasn’t, was he? He was descended from gods, if the stories were to be believed. He now sat as ruler of Clan Carria, one of the most powerful clans on Pamarthe. He was never just anything, you had simply lived your life so close to the sun that the light and heat became normal.
For the first time, you experienced a burn for flying too close to it.
“Right…” you trailed awkwardly before giving your thanks to the shopkeeper, parting with her as politely as possible as you left the store.
The child was getting fussy in the satchel by the time you dropped everything off in your speeders saddlebags, bored and you figured there wasn’t any harm in letting him stretch his little legs.
“Wanna walk for a bit?” you asked, lifting him out to place on the ground beside you. You could do with a slower pace for a while.
After stopping by a small media store on a whim that – thankfully – had different holovids of Moray and Faz than the one the child already had, you spotted two pylbucks and their riders walking down the main street.
Their fur a beautiful copper color, ivory horns curled back from their heads. One had a splodge of white in the middle of its head carriage, and the other a splatter of white over its left eye. They must have been by the same sire. Powerful bipedal legs with ivory talons similar to their horns clicked along the stone with every step and the child was utterly enthralled by them as they grew bigger and bigger the closer they came.
These weren’t just regular pylbucks either, these were bred with a specific purpose in mind. Intimidation and control. War. That meant the men riding them were guards themselves, dressed casually as one held the reins loosely in one hand while he carved something. His pylbuck shook its head with a grunt, short mane catching the sunlight. The rider – unperturbed – looked up from his work and leaned down to pat the long, wide neck of his mount affectionately.
You, however, were more curiously distracted by the striped tattoo where Carria antlers usually were around the bicep. With a variety of lengths and width, the double-loop emulated the stripes of an apex predator.
Pamarthen lions.
These were some of Attycus’ men.
“You’re far from the Hearth,” you exclaimed pleasantly as you came within earshot of the two soldiers.
“Quickest way to the Snags,” the younger of the two men called back, bringing his pylbuck to a halt beside you and flashing you with an easy smile.
“To the search party?” you asked, inattentive to the soldiers smile. These two might have more information.
“Aye,” the second soldier stated, “we’re part of their relief.”
Kyr was due to return tomorrow, that made sense. To have a relief party though, meant they’d had no luck in finding the children thus far, which wasn’t likely to change by morning. You tried not to let your disappointment sink into despair at the thought.
“Has there been any news?” you ventured to ask, perhaps a little too nosily but you’d never gotten anything in life from sitting pretty and passive.
The soldiers appeared amiable though, and you didn’t feel the need to be totally on your guard around them. The older of the two, a handsome man with long blonde hair streaked with silver sat up straighter in his saddle where he’d been reclined as he whittled something small and beige in his hand.
“Nothing yet, miss.” His grey eyes followed the child as he waddled closer to his mount and tried to reach for one of the pylbucks’ short, raised front legs, “It’s like they’ve all just vanished into thin air.”
“How is that possible…” you wondered aloud, crossing your arms at the paradox of the situation.
“That’s the scary part,” the younger soldier added, propping his heel up on the saddle easily to rest his elbow on it, “it shouldn’t be possible.”
“Aye, but there were cases like this before,” the blonde mentioned, dismissing the younger man’s quizzical look, “during the first Galactic war, lots of kids all over the galaxy went missing inexplicably.”
“Yeah, but that was a war,” his partner answered with some impatience, as if this wasn’t the first time it had been brought up, “and it wasn’t just kids, people in general were never heard from again. Killed in combat, sold to the Hutts…there were more ways to go missing than trees in Siodam’s Forest.”
You listened intently, taking a leaf out of Din’s book and gathering more information by observing and absorbing than inserting yourself into the conversation. You had to agree with the younger soldier, it was like comparing Gungans and the Naboo; they were nothing alike. The situation during the Galactic war was widespread, and indiscriminate. What was happening now was intentional, calculated.
“Careful,” you crouched to scoop the child up when one of the pylbucks noticed the little menace tugging at the fur closest to its talons, causing the creature to try shake the tickle away.
Your movement pulled the soldiers attention back to you from where they were debating the situation amongst themselves. The younger of the two frowned in confusion, glancing between the child and you and likely trying to reconcile the logic behind the pairing. The older man merely smiled, crow’s feet and laughter lines revealing themselves on his features.
“Don’t let that cub out of your sight, miss,” he rubbed his unknown craft on the rough leather of his thigh to polish it of any splinters before leaning down from his pylbuck to hand it to the kid, “both our clans have lost enough already.”
The child eagerly took whatever the man gifted him and when you caught sight of the roughly whittled lioness mid-stride, you were reminded of all the good that had been overshadowed by your apprehension in coming home. Where men defended their lands with the same knife they use to craft toys for children.
The little bogwing was enamored with his lioness, keeping her clutched tight in his small hand and babbling incomprehensibly at the soldier who listened attentively. He must have been a father himself, his patience that of a parent willing to listen to the same thing over and over.
“Thank you,” you translated, running a hand gently over the top of the bogwing’s head, “may Siodam lead you down safe paths.”
Both soldiers dipped their heads graciously at your words and with a nudge of their heels into the side of their mounts, they took off again. The child waved happily after the men, shaking his new toy in hand. They left you in a far happier mood than you were when leaving the grocers, light refracted kindness banishing the shadows momentarily.
Walking with a lighter step, you veered down one of the paths off the main street. You only had to untangle the lioness twice from where the child had somehow managed to get it wrapped in your hair. You were still extracting a few strands as you bumped the door open into a little known boutique hidden amongst the glades. Sewn by Saeda.
It sold the most comfortable, most flattering pants you’d ever owned. There was some witchcraft in the way the material shaped your ass and thighs, and you’d happily thank Saeda for selling her soul in order to procure it.
A bell – ancient and unusual – rang overhead with a gentle tinkle.
A woman looked up from her work at the noise, flashing you with a welcoming smile as she draped the measuring tape she’d been using around her exposed neck. Shiny, onyx hair was gathered in a messy nest atop her head and flyaway strands framed her face in a way that was usually carefully crafted by stylists, but you knew immediately was natural.
She was a beautiful woman. Olive skin practically glowing with deep, moss green eyes rimmed in thick, dark lashes. When she stood, you wondered if she had any bones at all, and wasn’t just pure, fluid energy with how effortlessly graceful she was.
“Welcome! Is this your first time here?” she asked pleasantly, her accent difficult to place, but likely from the more southern archipelago. Where the clans of Olvaer and Tahru resided.
“The first in a long, long time,” you admitted on a chuckle, letting the child down once you were certain he was preoccupied with his lioness and wouldn’t get into anything he wasn’t supposed to.
“Ah, you were probably expecting to see Saeda,” the woman sounded somewhat apologetic, “she’s semi-retired now, so I help out a few times a week. You can call me Zyra.”
It would be easy to dislike Zyra simply for being beautiful. Maker, you’d faced enough prejudice and contempt in your field for the same reason over the years. But there was something inviting about the woman, something genuine in the way she spoke. She inspired trust, whether it was in fashion advice or something deeper. She was probably one hell of a saleswoman, that was for sure.
You offered your name in return, a moment of recognition flashing across her eyes before it vanished and she moved around the counter to help you.
“What can I do for you and this adorable little guy today?” she asked, her question making you glance around the store that was teeming with selection. More than you’d seen in a long time. For so long, scrubs, a uniform and more practical clothes were all you wore, it was what you were comfortable with.
“Honestly? I’ve had more clothes destroyed in the last few months than I ever grew out of as a child,” you admitted, the atmosphere Zyra created in the shop making you feel equal parts at ease and confident.
Her brows rose, a sparkle of curiosity lighting her eyes, “For only good reasons, I hope?”
Yeah, you liked Zyra. No banthashit and with a sense of humor. The flush on your cheeks was answer enough, the other woman clapping her hands together once with an excited thrill.
“I know it’s contradictory as someone who makes clothes, but when a man rips them off…” She fanned her face lightly, her skin flushed.
You snorted, making your way over to a table where a variety of sizes and colors of the pants you wanted were neatly folded.
“Okay, yes—but I literally have one pair of pants left,” you complained, laughter lacing your tone as the ridiculousness of the situation made you giggle. You had just met this woman, and yet here you both were, talking about how you liked it when men tore your clothes off.
“Good!” Zyra sniffed from the other side of the table where she was checking for your size without even needing to ask you it, “That keeps me in business, give him my thanks!”
You both burst out into peals of laughter, the small store filled with the noise and you were infinitely grateful that there was only the two of you. Anyone else who walked in would think you both lunatics.
“Actually, I have just the thing for it—” she clicked her fingers while you were wiping the corner of your eyes from getting into a kink of laughter for the last few minutes, “wait here.”
Your brows furrowed lightly when Zyra disappeared in a flurry to the back of the shop, leaving you with the child who was sitting on a small stack of pants you picked out, patting the soft material. His ears were drooping, a clear indication that the day was catching up on him and your new clothes were tempting him to make them his bed.
When Zyra returned though, you hoped he had dozed off with the way your lips parted and face heated at what she brought out.
Could it even be considered clothes? Of course not, you chided yourself, it was underwear. Beautiful underwear, but definitely not something to be worn outside the bedroom. It would be a travesty to cover it up with clothes.
The sensual black set was beautiful enough on its own, classic and understated, but your eyes were drawn immediately to the delicate silver chains that looped in loose layers down the halter-neck of the bra and beneath the bust. You could practically feel the coolness of the metal on your skin, how good it would feel when you were overheated from lust.
But that wasn’t the thing that made you blush, your mind emptying. The matching suspenders were shaped to define and exaggerate your hips and thighs, and it reminded you of something you were certain wasn’t on Zyra or Saeda’s mind when they made it.
Your holster. Namely, the one Din gave you. The same one that drove him feral every time you wore it. Maker, the man had fucked you a few times when you were wearing nothing else. Made of the same black lace and chains, you reached forward to trace one of the silver hoops, mesmerized.
It had been a long time since you wore anything remotely like this, not since you enlisted. There’d never been a reason and then, there’d never been an opportunity.
“Well?”
You jumped when Zyra spoke, the excitement in her voice hushed with anticipation when she saw you admiring the set. Blushing, you dismissed the idea of buying it. You didn’t need it. Maker, you never ended up wearing much at all where Din was concerned, and he wasn’t a man who needed a visual aid to get horny.
Your pitiful excuses fell on deaf ears as Zyra hooked her arm around yours to lead you to a floor length mirror. You could’ve dug your heels in, but your resistance was paper-thin, and you followed her.
“Feeling beautiful is as good a reason as any to spend credits,” she explained, placing the hanging set in front of your body so you might get an idea of how you’d look in it. She didn’t need to, you were honest enough with yourself to know you’d look good in it.
“But if you do need another reason, there’s only two for why a woman buys this set, in particular.” Zyra continued, piquing your curiosity as she handed you the set for you to feel how unbelievably soft it was beneath the lace.
“Oh?” you prodded.
“Either it’s for a man who’s lucky to have you and needs to be reminded of that fact,” she smiled over her shoulder at you on your way to where the child was snoozing on your stack of clothes, “or it’s for a man who knows he is, and deserves to be rewarded.”
Well.
You smiled at her, recognizing you’d discovered a friend in this new landscape of your old life which was a far rarer find than a set of beautiful lingerie.
“How can I argue with that logic?”
Missing.
Missing.
MISSING.
Dirt kicked up and staining strong legs. Pacing, pacing, pacing but no one. Not there. Gone.
GONE.
You heard the screech before you saw it, coming up to the house at twilight. The setting sun cast a low light that mixed with purple shadows on the land and turned it into a dream. Or a nightmare.
The noise pierced the skies, sending flocks of nesting birds out of trees. It was like a dying animal, or an enraged one. A primal scream of anger that made your eardrums quake with pain and woke the child from where he slept on your lap.
And there it was, racing across the fields of nerfs grazing in the distance at a speed unnatural even for the species it looked to be.
A pylbuck.
Notes
Llyrian – Pamarthen god of the sea.
Amhra – Pamarthen goddess of the wind and weather, wife of Llyrian.
Maldo Kreis – a terrestrial ice-covered planet where Din crashed the Razor Crest in Part 1 of the New Republic Arc, and in S2E2 of canon lore.
Rhydian – readers older brother who died during the Battle of Malastare in 4ABY.
Hoverball – an intergalactic sport I liken to baseball. I had initially wanted to use get’shuk as the sport Din referenced given it is a Mandalorian sport (similar to rugby) but given that reader was unlikely to know what it was, would make poor Din’s joke fall like a lead balloon. We couldn’t have that.
Fiore buns – a sweet roll filled with bright blue jam and glazed with milk and honey.
Clan Macteer – one of the three sister clans of Macteer (the barrow wolf), Blayd (the maned wolf) and Shunak (the fiore fox). Did you know! The Fiore fox which represents Clan Shunak was called as such because of the blue that tips its ears and tail, allowing it to hide amongst the fiore without being seen
Conservation-droids – something of my own creation, though I’m certain something similar exists somewhere in the lore!
Sentinels – druidic sect of Pamarthen culture, more to come on these guys.
Mantaris – short for a Mantaris-class amphibious medium transport, this iconic ship capable of adapting to atmospheric flight, realspace and underwater. Developed through a co-operative effort between the Naboo and the Gungans to colonise aquatic moons in their orbit, I have transplanted a similar type of ship onto Pamarthe given it is also a predominantly aquatic planet. Quick note, the Mantaris is one of my favourite ships in the entire SW lore! It’s design is beautiful and the creativity behind it truly added something wonderful to the visuals of The Phantom Menace.
Kyr Carria – leader of Clan Carria, around 8-10 years older than reader who knew him growing up due to the friendship between his younger brother Kai, and readers brother, Rhydian. This friendship became something more briefly when reader was around nineteen.
Hireach – I took inspiration for this term from the beautiful Welsh word hiraeth that I learned many years ago in school. It carries mostly the same multi-layered meaning. It’s been described as a combination of homesickness, longing, nostalgia and yearning for a home you cannot return to, no longer exists or maybe never was. It can encompass grief or sadness for who you once were or what you lost. All tied in to the losses of your home not the same as you once remember it. It’s honestly one of the most beautiful words I’ve ever come across.
Moray and Faz – A holoshow cartoon for children. I have assumed that it was popular around the time of, or just before, Stitches as it’s recorded in lore that Han Solo used to let his son, Ben, watch it.
Pylbucks – these are ungulate creatures of my own creation while taking inspiration from the many, many variations throughout SW lore. The closest in appearance, and thus in name, are the kybucks native to Kashyyyk. Master Yoda famously owned several kybucks over his long life, and was known to have an affinity with them.
The Hearth of the Lion – the seat of power for Clan Leyghin, one of three lone peaks dotted across the Pamarthen landscape.
The Snags – nickname given to The Grey Wildlands by locals. An impenetrable area of Siodam’s Forest where speeders, ships and even humans struggle to pierce. A single mile can feel like ten with branches grabbing hold of your skin and clothes, slowing you down and concealing your path.
Clan Olvaer – clan of the solar bear located in the south-eastern islands, more tropical and sandy than the more stormy, rocky islands of the north.
Clan Tahru – clan of the tahg, a horned bovine, similar to a water buffalo.
#djarinsbeskar writes#din djarin x reader#din djarin smut#din djarin x you#din djarin#the mandalorian#the mandalorian x reader#stitches#the mandalorian fanfic#the mandalorian smut#mando x reader#mando x you#the mandalorian x you#din djarin fanfiction#star wars smut#mando smut#pedro pascal#pedro pascal fanfic
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If requests are open and you don't mind, could I have Murtagh, Roran, Arya and/or Eragon's reaction to a chubby!SO being oblivious to their advances?
Hi there! Here on this blog, I always have whether or not requests are open right in the bio. :)
~~~
Murtagh had returned to your home. Finally. By dragon magic and fire — he missed you. To be comfortable in an environment enough to discard his boots upon entry was still new for the Dragon Rider. Yet he would never complain. Definitely not. He had another reason never to complain.
There, curled up in bed with a book was no one other than his love, you. Nose deep in the book even as Murtagh walked closer.
“You’re early,” you smiled, eyes peering up at him.
“I have my reasons.” He pressed his lips to your cheek, softer than his own. He kissed your shoulder then, hidden by a night shirt.
“Tired?”
“Not yet.”
You turned a page and asked, “Did you want to read with me?”
“Perhaps later?” Murtagh kissed your shoulder again while letting his fingers roam the curves of your hip and thigh. “We could do something else?”
“We could paint.” You suggested, looking over to him.
A frown creased his features.
“What? I liked your last painting. You could be an artist too, Murtagh.”
Sighing, Murtagh flopped onto the bed.
“What’s the matter?” You set the book aside to comb your fingers through his dark locks.
“Nothing…”
. . .
Eragon wiped the sweat from his brow. A common occurrence while tending the crops. More so that he had finished what needed doing. It had been a long morning.
Satisfied, the Dragon Rider stretched his arms over his head. He would do well with a short rest. Some time to himself if he could.
Brown eyes caught sight of his partner sitting under the shade of a tree. His companion and love who he would do practically anything for.
Eragon could rest later.
Walking up to his beloved, he was greeted by your soft smile. A wonderful sight.
“All finished?” You asked, handing over a container of water.
“Finished working in the soil? Yes.” Eragon swallowed a generous amount of water. “Thank you. I needed a drink.”
“You might also need to wash up.”
He hummed briefly in acknowledgement and promptly sat down beside you. Brown eyes roamed over your content expression and down your curves in affection. Still hot from work, Eragon felt a growing excitement in his belly. A thought lingering in passion.
“Are you busy?” Eragon inquired, index finger tracing around your wrist. “You could use water as well.”
“I’m enjoying the breeze.” You stated and closed your eyes.
Leaning in, Eragon lightly pressed his lips to the contour of your ear. “You could enjoy the water,” he whispered.
“I wasn’t digging out weeds and playing with earthworms.”
He nipped your ear.
“Hey.”
“I need to bathe and I think,” Eragon placed his other hand on your thigh, “you should keep me company.”
“You’ve taken baths by yourself before.” You opened your eyes and turned to give him a quizzical look. “Do you need me to test the temperature again?”
Moving his hands to his lap, the Dragon Rider sighed, defeated.
“No.” He pulled at an innocent blade of grass.
“Then go bathe.” You patted his knee.
“Fine.” Eragon pouted.
. . .
I feel like Roran might actually say something or be much more forward. I don’t know how, but he might.
Arya… I don’t really know how she’d react, maybe just really look at her partner. Studying them or something.
~~~
(If you love my writings and want to support me, I have a Ko-Fi where you can buy me a coffee. I would be eternally grateful.
Best wishes and happy reading.)
~~~~~
DreamerDragon Tags:
Inheritance Cycle Tags: @shewhobreathesfire @emburbaguette
**Let me know if you would like to be tagged in insert readers, either through replies, ask, or message.**
#eragon reaction#murtagh reaction#eragon shadeslayer#murtagh morzanson#eragon x reader#murtagh x reader#arya#roran stronghammer#request#the inheritance cycle#the world of eragon#where dreamers go
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Fragment of a Memory (Scaramouche/Wanderer x F!Reader) | Chapter 1
Synopsis: The Teyvat Empire has fallen and split into seven kingdoms. In the serene electro kingdom, Inazuma – resides the crown prince of the original empire, Kabukimono. At a young age, he was introduced to the newly chosen crown princess of the Kingdom of Liyue, Princess Ningjing. Over the years, the prince has grown fond of the princess and later on asked her hand in marriage. This strengthens the political ties between Inazuma and Liyue amidst a faltering peace treaty among the seven nations. Alas, it only took a matter of time until a war broke out ultimately ending the life of the beloved princess. Devastated, Kabukimono vows to protect Ningjing in another life.
In the year 2023, over a thousand years after the Teyvatian War, Celestia – formerly known as Teyvat – was a flourishing country. Y/N, a 21-year-old college student studying Psychology, cross paths with Kunikuzushi. He is not the most positive person for lack of a better word. But what happens if suddenly as each day passes, a fragment of a memory that feels familiar returns to you?
And you are not the only one.
Chapter Warning: Swearing
Book Masterlist | General Masterlist
Book Playlist
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A loud thud can be heard from across the room. Everyone drew their attention to the source of the sound and to no one's surprise, it was just Scaramouche. He threw a book at Xiao. The mint green-haired man maintained a deadpan face as he slowly returns to what he was doing prior to getting thrown at.
“Scara, could you PLEASE – for the love of God – calm the fuck down. Why did you throw the book at Xiao?” Y/N sighs as she walks over.
“All I did was tell him that if he wants to live up to his degree, he should quit his temper” Xiao mutters while resting his chin on the palm of his hand; eyes still locked on the book he seems engrossed in.
“So much for majoring in psychology” Lumine’s giggles were abruptly stopped by her twin, Aether, slapping her shoulder.
Scaramouche scoffs and gives everyone the middle finger before storming off. Y/N asks Xiao if his head was okay but Xiao just lets out a small ‘mhm’. She massages her temple and lets out a quiet frustrated groan. Annoyed yet concerned for Xiao, Y/N walks out of the classroom and makes her way to the clinic to grab an ice pack. As she passes the food court, she noticed a familiar purple-haired figure struggling with the vending machine. She leans on the wall nearby watching him like a hawk anticipating what he will do next. He pulls his sleeves up and tilts the vending machine forward, his drink was stuck. Y/N stifles a laugh as she walks over and gives a small pat on his shoulder. Scaramouche was startled but regained his composure quickly. He adjusted the vending machine back upright and as he was about to leave; Y/N pulls the hood of his hoodie back.
“Your drink?” She points at the still-stuck drink.
“Well Sherlock, it's clearly stuck.” He rolls his eyes crossing his arms in the process.
Y/N scans the food court for any student or staff. She looks at Scaramouche in the eyes and brings her index finger up to her lips. She reaches behind the vending machine and grabs ahold of a key that was left there. She unlocks the machine door, takes his drink out, and hands it to him. She swiftly puts the key back where it belonged leaving no trace.
“Wow, an actual thief.” He stares at her with disbelief.
“Oh come on, it's not like you didn’t pay for it. Before you say anything, I do pay for my drinks too.”
“No one would suspect a thing though if you just steal.”
“I have morals, Scara.” You press a few buttons on the vending machine after slipping a mora bill through the slot, treating yourself to a drink as well.
“If you say so.” He shrugs as he pulled the tab of his drink making an audible hiss sound.
“You know, you’re gonna have to fix that temper of yours if you want to make it through the course let alone the school year.” You pulled a random chair nearby and took a seat as you twist the cap of your drink.
“Can’t help it.”
“Well, you obviously can’t with a mindset like that.” You retort.
“Have you submitted the paper for our group already?” He ignores your statement.
“Are you seriously changing the topic right now? And no I haven’t”
“Then get to it.” He walks off.
You stare at him in disbelief as he disappears from your sight as soon as he makes a right turn. You feel a hand pushing your jaw upwards gently which startled you. You look to your right and it was Tartaglia. He was still wearing his basketball jersey meaning he just finished his varsity training.
“Stop gawking at him like a goldfish, girlie” He jokes.
You swat his hand away and pinch your nose as tight as possible, “You actually reek.”
Tartaglia puts a hand over his chest and expresses an offended scoff, “Excuse me, it is a product of my HARD WORK”
You roll your eyes and push him toward the direction of the locker room with your index finger. He looks back at you and lets out a pout. He actually looks like a dog and you hate it. You let out a sigh and decide you will walk him to the locker room. He lets out a goofy smile and slings an arm around your shoulder, still obviously wet with his sweat.
“Don’t get the wrong idea, the clinic just so happens to be in the same general direction” You clarify.
“What are you doing in the clinic? Did you get hurt or something? Do you want me to carry you?” He teases as he bends down in front of you gesturing you to ride his back. You walk past him pretending he didn’t exist anymore.
“Oh come on, I was just kidding!” He runs back to your side again without the arm around your shoulders.
“Scara threw a book at Xiao.”
“Sad”
“I got worried because it was a hard-bound book too”
“Double sad”
“Could you just shut the fuck up?” You flick his temple, enjoying the sound of him letting out an ‘ouch’.
After dropping him off at the locker room, you made your way to the clinic. You requested an icepack from the nurse and walked back to the room just in time before the bell. You gave Xiao the ice pack before returning to your seat. Classes were the same, nothing interesting, and the occasional pop quiz here and there. You stare at the notes you had taken during each class and skim through each one as a sort of review. Every so often, you would glance at your phone to check the time.
“That’s odd…” You thought to yourself. It's stuck at 3:33 pm.
You take a look around and noticed that everyone is gone. Your heart rate quickens out of both fear and confusion. You leave the classroom only to find nothing but empty halls. Your head starts to ache, making you drop down to the ground while grasping your head. All of a sudden, an image? No, a memory appears in your mind.
“Princess, this is Prince Kabukimono. Think of him as your playdate!”
Kabukimono? Why does his name sound so familiar…
“Salutations Prince Kakukimono!” A little girl smiles cheerfully.
“It’s Kabukimono, but greetings Princess Ningjing.” The little boy, a prince, sticks out a hand for the princess to shake.
The memory was interrupted by loud chattering mixed with murmurs and whispers. You look up and found yourself in the middle of the school building entrance on your knees. You quickly prop yourself up and run back to your classroom. You check your phone, 4:26 pm. As you arrived back at your classroom, you packed your notes and laptop. You bid your friends goodbye and ran back to your dorm. You didn’t brush off the event a while ago so quickly, you were concerned.
“What was that…” You set up your laptop and did a quick search. You typed in ‘Kabukimono’ and analyzed the results. He was the last prince of the Inayue Dynasty – a dynasty wherein the kingdom of Inazuma and Liyue merged due to a political marriage. You took out a notebook and jot down what you just read and what you can still recall from the memory that you just saw. You then searched ‘Ningjing’ and lo and behold, she was also a real person. She was the last princess of the Inayue Dynasty as well. Her death, however, was a tragic one. During a war that prompted the Teyvatian war soon after, she was shot by an arrow to the heart. She was then laid to rest on Mt. Narukami. Her husband – the prince – was also laid to rest next to her. His cause of death was unknown.
You rest against the backrest of your chair and let out a deep exhale. You quickly made safe assumptions in your mind.
Yes, they are real people.
Yes, you did see a possible memory of them and no, you are not so sure if that is how they exactly met.
Yes, you are intrigued…too intrigued.
Ruffling your hair, you stand up and plop onto the bed. Being too tired from today’s events, you didn’t bother to change your clothes and immediately fall asleep. Instead of seeing darkness from closing your eyes, you were engulfed in a bright light. You rub your eyes to adjust your vision. As your eyes focus, you found yourself in a large garden. Cherry blossom leaves dancing in the wind, the sound of a small stream nearby caressing your ears, and a beautiful red gazebo with two children writing on a piece of paper and a woman who you believe resembles that of a shrine maiden next to them. She had pink locks complimented by her soothing voice.
“Your Highness Ningjing, this is how you write-” The shrine maiden’s hand was wrapped around the small hand of the little girl, ready to teach her how to write. She was interrupted by the said little girl pouting.
“Miss Miko, please don’t call me ‘Your Highness’ just call me Princess or Ningjing!”
“My apologies, Yo- Princess…it is, however, royal protocol to address you as such.”
“It's just the three of us here no need to worry!” The little girl lets out a wide smile.
“That is noted, Princess” Miko affirmed.
The scene then fades to white and then to black. A loud sound blares through your ears, it was your alarm.
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Next Chapter
#scaramouche modern au#reincarnation#genshin fanfic#genshin impact#wanderer x reader#wanderer#scaramouche x reader#scaramouche#scaramouche royal au
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But among classical writers, it is Ovid (43 B.C.–A.D. 18) whose satirical use of parrots proves most outrageous and enduring. This use occurs in the sixth poem of book 2 of his Amores: a sixty-two-line elegy for the death of his girlfriend’s rose-ringed parakeet. Beginning the exercise in a heroic vein, Ovid summons all feathered creatures to join in the obsequies for Corinna’s pet: Parrot, winged mimic from the dawn-lands of India, has died: come in flocks, ye birds, to his funeral. Come, pious poultry, and beat your breasts with your wings, and rend your tender cheeks with the unyielding claw… As for the Ismarian tyrant’s crime, which you, Philomela, lament, that same lament has been satisfied in its own time; turn now to the sad last rites of a rare bird. Your cause of grief for Itys is great, but it is ancient history. (2.6.1–4, 7–10; my translation).
Both Ovid’s occasion and his tone here suggest mockery. Certainly—to compare early things with late—that is how the same subject matter functions in Evelyn Waugh’s gleeful trashing of all things American, The Loved One (1948). Waugh’s protagonist, the English expatriate Dennis Barlow, embraces a career as a pet undertaker in Los Angeles, which career culminates in a parrot funeral reminiscent of Ovid’s elegy: “Mr. Joyboy would have an open casket. I advised against it and, after all, I know. I’ve studied the business. An open casket is all right for dogs and cats who lie down and curl up naturally. But parrots don’t. They look absurd with a head on a pillow. But I came up against a blank wall of snobbery” (140). Waugh’s humor arises from the discordant juxtaposition of human obsequies with pet care, and this is what Ovid offers us as well, two thousand years earlier.
Moreover Ovid—like Persius with his Pegasean nectar—is clearly engaged in literary parody. And in Ovid’s case, the literary victim has a name. By composing a dirge for the death of his beloved Lesbia’s pet sparrow, Catullus (c. 58–55 B.C.) influenced generations of Roman love-poets to come with his tender evocation of intimate feelings: “Lament, o Venuses and cupids, and whoever is most charming among men. My girlfriend’s sparrow is dead, that sparrow, my girlfriend’s delight, whom she loved more than her eyes…. It now travels by an obscure way to that place from which no one knows how to return” (3.1–5, 11–12; my translation). This kind of tremulous emotion, however, could not have been farther from Ovid’s approach to love and sex. Where Catullus and his imitators leave the reader “convinced of the sincerity and the seriousness of their love and their bitterness at finding that [its] fulfillment is impossible” (Du Quesnay 7), Ovid seems to relish the role of the lover, which he presents not as an emotional abyss but as a game of seduction.
Against this background his grief for Corinna’s parrot sounds derisive rather than genuine, marking the distance between his experience and his predecessors’ innocence. For instance, Ovid’s language is a little too grandiose, a little too exaggerated, for the sentiments it conveys. Catullus keeps his verses strictly in the personal register, describing Lesbia’s feelings for her sparrow and recalling her behavior with it in intimate detail: “For it was sweet as honey and knew her as well as a girl knows her mother, nor would it move from her bosom, but hopping about this way and that it would chirp to its mistress alone” (3.6–10). Ovid, by contrast, presents the loss of Corinna’s parrot as an event of epic magnitude, grander than Philomela’s rape or Procne’s murder of her own son, Itys. (Likewise, he compares the bird’s proverbial friendship with the turtle-dove to Pylades’ friendship with Orestes.) As Catullus understands, the relationship between a pet bird and its owner is too fragile a subject to sustain the weight of heroic allusions. For a poet intent upon making that relationship look ridiculous, however, such allusions are perfectly chosen.
Nor does Ovid simply inflate Catullus’ diction. He also exaggerates the structure of his poem so that where Catullus offers a delicate eighteen-line lyric, Ovid responds with a full-scale formal elegy. This extends from a call to the proper mourners (“Come, pious poultry”), through an outburst against divine injustice (“The best things are often carried off by greedy hands” [2.6.39]), to a death-bed (death-perch?) scene in which the expiring bird, sensing that its hour is at hand (or at wing?), squawks out a desolate “Corinna, farewell!” (2.6.48). This moment of high bathos, in turn, gives way to a formal consolation in which the parrot finds its place in Elysium, within “a grove of black ilex” (2.6.49) designated as “the good birds’ home” (2.6.51). As the classicist John Ferguson has remarked of Ovid’s poem, “the whole thing is amusing and utterly unfeeling” (353). It’s also brilliantly pitched, employing the death of a natural mimic as the occasion for a barbed exercise in literary mimicry.
Even so, Ovid handles his subject so deftly as to leave many readers doubtful of his insincerity. Even a near-contemporary of Ovid seems to have taken his poem quite seriously. I refer in this case to the poet Statius (c. A.D. 40–96), who produced his own parrot-elegy (Silvae 2.4) in obvious (but to my mind misguided) imitation of the master. Silvae 2.4 bewails the demise of a parrot belonging to Statius’ patron Atedius Melior, and this shift away from parody turns his poem into a fawning thing. Yet his obsequiousness extends still further, for the poem is not just a token of respect to Statius’ patron, but also, in a way, an act of literary ancestor-worship. Imitating Ovid as he does, Statius abandons the attitude of irreverence essential to satire, and he replaces it with a bookish kind of bowing and scraping: Flock hither all ye scholar fowl, to whom Nature has given the noble privilege of speech; let the bird of Phoebus [the raven] beat his breast, and the starling, that repeats by heart the sayings it has heard, and magpies transformed in the Aonian contest [the maidens who challenged the Muses and were turned into magpies], and the partridge, that joins and reiterates the words it echoes, and the sister that laments forlorn in her Bistonian bower [Philomela]: mourn all together and bear your dead kinsman to the flames. (2.4.16–23)
In Statius, the parrot has ceased to be a vehicle for satire and has become once again an instrument of flattery, including the sincere form of flattery born of imitation. For poets, as for natural historians, the bird remains both a servile and a transcendent creature. Efforts to fix its meaning in one category or the other seem hopeless.
from Parrot Culture: Our 2500-Year-Long Fascination with the World's Most Talkative Bird by Bruce Thomas Boehrer.
#OVID AND CATULLUS UNDERSTANDERS PLEASE INTERACT#i love this book#ovid#catullus#parrots#ancient rome#statius#evelyn waugh#sorry this post is too long i know but i need people who truly Get catullus and ovid to comment on how it compares the two!!! hello#tagamemnon
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Welcome Back
Hi everyone ! It's my ! Koko.
First of all, I want to send my sincerest and very very very very belated wishes to women on Women's Day. March 8 was also a special day for me because it was my birthday, and I am already 23 years old. (I feel old…)
As a resolution for myself on this birthday, I want to start writing again. I miss it, besides, I really miss this place.
Well... Yes, namely I am returning but with small steps. As you can see, I have revoked the ability to make requests to me. I have accumulated some requests and some for a long time. I really remember them and promise to do them. To begin with, I want to focus on writing outstanding requests. When I get back on track, I will probably rewrite the masterlist and restore the ability to send requests. So, I ask you to be a little more patient. I am slowly getting used to writing again and fighting my creative block.
Why have I been away for so long? Well, I would say studies and practical classes, however…. To be honest, I neglected my health a lot. During the last session of exams I was accompanied by a lot of stress, so I isolated myself from my friends and spent most of my time studying. Because of this, I neglected my mental health and had no desire or energy for anything for a long time. I neglected myself terribly and through bad habits, lack of exercise, I ended up in the hospital. It gave me motivation to take better care of myself. I can say that I am slowly embracing all the things, related to studies and work, also my well-being, is already doing better. Now I'm learning to write again, which is sometimes not easy, as I temporarily struggle with creative block and look for inspiration for new ideas. However, for my birthday, I decided to get back to what I love to do. Also my dear friends. Once again, I ask for your patience. I have not forgotten your requests.
Of course, the current formats, will continue to be present, but I would like to diversify this blog. There are a few things I'd like to do, beyond the further rows I'm doing such as:
First of all, I would like to expand my work with new versions of fan-made Danganronpa and new fandoms. Currently I was thinking about Disventure Camp, Hazbin Hotel and Helluvaboss, Galactik Football but everything in its own time.
Rankings - Through the rankings, I would like to present a bit of my point of view on characters, storylines, themes and the like.
Ship Discussions - In this overview, I'd like to address, one of the fandom's more beloved thing, that is, about ships. Ships with a particular character will be discussed, and I will try, to discuss completely frankly and without wrapping my head around it.
More headcanons - I have a large number of spontaneous ideas that are not suitable for own books. It would be nice to finally put them to use.
PS.
Even less official news. The idea for two short stories has been on my mind for some time. The first book would be a harem in the Disventure Camp universe. I have a friend with whom we are big fans of Disventure Camp, and we once discussed the fact that there isn't much "x-reader" fan fiction from that production. Generally, it's supposed to be a harem. It's not exactly my fairy tale, but somehow I let myself be persuaded and when I have a free moment I create an outline for this project.
The second idea is also a loose short story from the Hazbin Hotel universe. The plot of the series is not so important in what I write. I want to focus more on my OC's relationships with other characters. This project is already some time old, and it was only somewhere in the last few weeks that I started to plan it out more thoroughly. I hope something will come out of it.
So that's all from my side for the moment. I wish you a nice day/afternoon/evening/night. And I'll see you again, hopefully soon.
Over and out.
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Feelings on Canvas (A Twst Headcanon)
Characters: Malleus, Idia and Azul
Rated: SFW/General Audiences
Author’s Notes: Hello! Sure, that’s cute. I hope you enjoy your read.
(Requests for this event are now closed, dear readers. Thank you to all those who participated.)
Malleus is rather surprised by the unexpected present, received under your anxious, hopeful watch. Eyes drifting towards the image of him penciled in deep green and vivid obsidian, as he inquires, “Is this your work?”
Before falling into contemplative silence following a quiet hum. Rising worry bubbling within, with each moment he lets pass, verdant gaze fixated upon the drawing in hand. But what Malleus is doing is admiring the work you put into the piece, having often intimately observed the works of the court’s artists back within Briar Valley and knows of the precious work put to perfect each piece. At long last, he speaks, “Did you, by stroke of chance, happen to sketch this on our last meeting?” A pleased smile spreading across his face, so incredibly beautiful, it has you mesmerised for a moment. And when you nod, “Thank you, child of man. I shall cherish it well.” And you can tell he means it. “Now, as for an offering in return...”
Azul studies the portrait with keen, assessing eyes, rendered speechless for several moments by your thoughtful gift. Being one never to expect ‘favors’ without probing thoroughly for any and all strings attached to the dealing, he still grapples with the idea of accepting your kindness, not as a price for affections but because he is loved, by you. A faint flush, barely discernible, settling across his face when that shrewd gaze catches the fine detail and care put into the lines of the finished product. He's no art appraiser by any means but years spent on scrutinizing goods for authenticity and superior quality have gifted him with the ability to appreciate fine work, and yours he certainly does find value in, sentimental, and monetary, were you to wish to set up a booth at Mostro lounge and earn your rightful keep. He graciously accepts your present, taking mental note to repay his beloved’s favor ten-fold, even if you do not ask for it. The kind and compassionate Sea Witch’s teachings aren’t one he’s going to discard this easy.
“Woah, it’s a superior 2D SSR character Idia-san. With his own kitty familiar. Hey, can I kiss those God Hands?” is Idia’s response to your present. He recalls how you sat in listening to his groans over gaming avatars some losers on the internet had that were better than any of his. Your boyfriend being an expert at all things involving machines and programming but art being the one subject he’s miserably poor at. His happiness is almost over the top, his smiles as wide as perhaps you’ve only seen, when Idia’s around cats and that reaction alone feels worth your efforts. Even as Idia turns around to input codes, once the digital copy of your art’s plugged in, muttering something along the lines of, “Alright, you sorry noobs, guess who’s gonna wipe the floor with your asses? Yeah, Idia-sama right here with his high-spec girlfriend is who, heeeeeeeeheh.” Beckoning you over to watch a successful annihilation of all abyss levels on his current game.
End Notes: Thank you for reading!
° View my master list. °
#twst malleus#twst azul#twst idia#malleus draconia x reader#azul ashengrotto x reader#idia shroud x reader#twst fanfic#twisted wonderland fanfiction#twst x reader#twst x mc#malleus x mc#azul x mc#idia x mc#scribble offerings!#janussary#you are so queu(t)e
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She Truly Was || Muzan Kibustsuji x F!Reader
Summary: Enmu helps Muzan remember you.
SFW // Fluff with small amounts of Angst
Word Count: 4626
WARNINGS: *slight Mugen Train spoilers*, slight mentions of implied sexual activity, obsessive(?) behavior, Muzan is soft for one person only, some angst, mentions of injury, mentions of blood, I also barely proofread this lol
A/N: I've had this in my head for a while and decided to write it down. This is largely just a compilation of scenarios I made in my head to fall asleep at night when I was stressing over exams and stuff, all loosely thrown together with a plot. This is my first time writing for demon slayer, so please be patient! I also am basing a lot of my info about the characters on s1 of the anime, some of the manga, and the wiki. I apologize if something isn't accurate. tldr; I just think he's neat.
~~
Despite having lived through thousands of years with hundreds of stormy nights in the midst, Muzan Kibutsuji never learned to appreciate them.
Something about nights like those in Japan just never sat right with the demon. It wasn't that they were too dreary, not at all. Life as a demon was plenty dreary. On the other hand, it wasn't that they were to lively either. No one ever went out on stormy nights; demon or not. Perhaps it was just because the rain was another reminder of the singularity that was being a demon. The poignant pitter patter just seemed to have a way of whispering to whoever heard it, telling them the most unpleasant yet quiet truths of their lives.
After Muzan's bloody meeting with the lower moons, he had told Enmu his task Muzan had planned for the pitiful, weaker demon. Although he had doubts that Enmu could hear him over the sound of the weaker demon's screams of pain from the blood he gave, Muzan was pleasantly surprised when Enmu understood the orders the first time around. Seeing as though it would cause trouble if the lower moon started to go around bragging about his newfound power and job, Muzan decided it would be best to keep a crimson eye on the demon.
This is what led to the scene before Muzan now.
Muzan had taken Enmu back to one of his many properties scattered across Japan, this one being tucked away in a lush, quiet forest in the middle of seemingly nowhere. The lower moon had not said a word throughout the entire journey there, and still refused to say anything now. Most likely out of fear.
Although it had been a long day of wrangling the lesser worms he called pawns (or "moons" if he was generous), Muzan did not want to show any weakness towards Enmu by resting. To busy himself, Muzan decided to do the tedious work the humans have him do in the job he took to please his human wife.
That insufferable woman.
With his bowler hat placed on his desk, Muzan had taken a seat in his large, leather chair, ordering Enmu to stand at the edge of the desk and face the opposite way. And, for extra edge, he was not to say or do anything.
It had been about two hours since then. The room was filled with only the sounds of Muzan's writing and the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner.
Although he ordered it to be that way, Muzan was already sick of it.
Peering his red eyes up from the papers scrawled below him, Muzan fixated his bone-chilling gaze upon the back of Enmu's head. Muzan could see the corners of the lower moon's mouth turned upwards as he faced the wall, presenting himself with an expression of dumb content.
Freak.
Enmu was definately a curious specimen. So eager to die, yet so eager to please Muzan. The demon lord would have been confused if he were not who he was.
Perhaps it was his own boredom setting in, perhaps it was because he wanted to feed his already gargantuan ego, or perhaps it was just because he was tired, Muzan decided to speak up.
"Tell me," Muzan said, his deep, smooth voice making Enmu perk up slightly, "Why is it that are you so loyal to me?"
Enmu took this as an opportunity to finally move, but not without some caution. The lower demon only turned his neck towards Muzan, along with a tilt of his shoulder. Muzan noted the disobedience of orders, but decided to let it slide this time.
The rain must have told him to be generous that night.
"Why, Master Kibustsuji," Enmu said, a faint blush adorning his cheeks, "It is because I am so delighted to be in your presence, and have my power be of service to you."
The demon lord felt his jaw clench at this, his red eyes peering up at the lower moon from under his abyssal lashes. Although Enmu had an... odd, way of putting things, Muzan always did like it when someone stroked his ego, even if all they ever said was the same banter over and over again. He was nearly perfection, afterall.
Muzan sat quietly and pondered Enmu's response for a second, before formulating his own.
"Your power, as you put it," Muzan said, his voice firm, "What is it?"
Enmu's grin widened, "Dream Manipulation, Master. I can enter, manipulate, or control anyone's dreams however I want to. I can use it to kill from the inside, eating a person spirit first and body second. I can also put people to sleep."
Muzan wasn't necessarily impressed by this, but he wasn't disappointed either. An ordinary power, really. Nothing that could ever rival his own.
However...
Muzan's gaze flickered down to the surface of his desk. A flicker of a long lost yet not forgotten feeling bubbled deep inside of his being. A mere spark of light, really, a piece of warmth he felt from long ago, lost to the wayside by the vestiges of time.
It was something Muzan thought he would never experience again.
Dream manipulation, huh?
It might be worth a try.
Muzan looked back up to Enmu, sharpening his gaze, "Tell me, are you able to give... pleasant dreams?"
Enmu was surprised to hear this come from Muzan to say the absolute least. He took this as another opportunity to disobey orders and turn to Muzan again, this time fully and whole-heartedly. The lower moon looked right into those blood red eyes, looking for any sign of a rare flicker of humor or joking.
Muzan's gaze was serious, poised as ever.
Muzan was being for real.
Taking a pause to swallow, Enmu allowed his soft smirk to return to his gray, pale face.
"Why," the lower moon retorted, "I can, Master, yes."
Muzan eyed the lesser demon for a good second at his response.
This move was risky. It could damage his image. Yet, if he was to do this with any of his pawns, he would do it with Enmu. Enmu seemed to have no intent on harming Muzan or his image in any way; he was far too loyal for that.
Besides, if someone were to question the might of Muzan, he could just prove them wrong.
Muzan leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other and lacing his fingers together, wrapping them around his knee. His icy gaze still on Enmu, he spoke again.
"I wish to see a pleasant dream."
Muzan nearly rolled his eyes when he saw just how wide Enmu's grin had gotten and just how flushed his face got.
It was repulsive.
But, if it meant what Muzan thought it would mean...
It was worth stomaching.
After a breif moment used to compose himself, Enmu's smile faded to normal again. He pulled up the sleeves to his coat.
"I will give you a dream where you will experience the happiest days of your life over again, Master Kibutsuji," the lower moon stated, "Is this to your liking or would you prefer something else?"
"No," Muzan stated flatly, "That is fine."
Perfect, even.
Enmu smiled widely one last time, holding out his arm and pointing it at the demon lord.
"Sweet dreams, my lord." Was the last thing Muzan heard before falling into a deep, deep sleep.
~~
"Muzan..."
Despite his blood demon art being so much weaker than his, Muzan wasn't quite ready for just how Enmu put him into a dream like that. Muzan's headache had grown ten-fold now, and he could feel that his face was scrunched.
"Muzan..."
Slowly but surely regaining his full consciousness, Muzan could first feel that he was in different clothes than what he had been wearing before. These ones were lighter, softer, and much more airy than his normal suit. Squinting open his crimson eyes, he saw that he was in what appeared to be a long, dark, flowing kimono.
The second thing Muzan could feel was that it was rather cool where he was, and that he appeared to be lying on the ground. Sifting his weight slowly, he could then feel that his head was lain upon what felt like two soft, plush pillows firmly squished together.
The third thing, however, took him a little longer to discern quite that it was. At first, he thought it was a pair of chopsticks running across his scalp over and over again. Upon, further thought, however, Muzan was further snapped back into awareness.
Those were not chopsticks.
Those were fingers.
All too familiar fingers.
"Muzan..!"
Muzan felt a stir deep down inside of him. He recognized this feeling, this touch, this warmth. It had been so, so long since he had felt like this. How long was it again? It had to be an eternity ago. An eternity wrapped within all time time in the world.
Muzan was speechless. Muzan couldn't move. Muzan was struck from deep within, and nothing in the world could ever compare to its blow.
"Muzan!"
Although the calling of the demon's lord name had been going on for some time now, he was just now able to respond.
Tilting his chin upwards towards the voice's source, Muzan nearly fell to bits right then and there. If he was someone else, he would have wept deep, earnest tears at the very sight of the being above him. For everything and nothing surrounded him as he studied the bright, radiant face above him, and nothing else seemed to exist other than that smile.
Other than her.
Her.
Oh, her, her, her.
His beloved. His sun, moon and stars. The ground beneath his feet and the air around him. His joy and love, his woes and sorrow. His fears and excitement. His warmth and his cold.
You.
You were really here.
"I was wondering if you were ever gonna wake up," you said, a faint laugh behind your voice, "You were out for so long!"
This scene was all too familiar to Muzan. He had replayed it in his head countless times, as if it were the only record left in the world.
He knew what this day was, and he knew all of your lines.
How could he ever forget?
Every moment he had ever spent with you had been a blessing.
Right now, his head was cradled in your lap, your soft, delicate fingers combing through his hair oh so gently as he had slept. It was deep into the night, and ordinarily Muzan would not be sleeping at this time. However, your touch was just so relaxing to him.
Everything about you was.
Today, you and him had spent the night wandering through the garden of your home together, chatting about anything and everything. It was only about two months into your relationship with Muzan. Muzan had first come to your home with the intention of eating everyone within the residence, but once he saw your face, watched you, saw your heart, your spirit, your you, he just couldn't.
He just...
couldn't.
You were human, yes.
But Muzan didn't care.
He was in love with you.
Muzan had yet to tell you the truth about him, however.
But that could come later.
"Muzan, are you alright?" He heard your voice echo again, snapping him out of his trance. He saw your face painted with worry, making his own features soften.
His darling angel. If only you knew just how much it pained him to see you with anything other than a smile.
Muzan reached his hand upwards, steadily maneuvering his fingers to brush your hair behind your ear and cup your warm cheek. He was shocked at how real you felt, shocked at just how similar it felt to all those years ago.
Perhaps Muzan had to give Enmu a reward.
The demon lord caressed your cheek gingerly with his cold, calloused thumb, savoring in just how warm your flesh was compared to his. For the first time in what felt like eons, Muzan felt a smile adorn his handsome features. Not one put on just to appease the humans around him, but genuine. The type of smile only you got to see.
Only you.
"I'm more than alright, my darling." He responded, his voice soft and warm, without the normal venom he gives to his subordinates. A voice reserved restrictively for you.
Finally, you let a soft grin come over your heavenly face again, making all seven of Muzan's hearts swell.
"I'm sorry if I woke you up," you said, "But it's about to be dawn soon. I don't want you to get a burn, so let's go in the house again, okay?"
Ah yes, the lie Muzan told you. He, of course, couldn't be with you in the sunlight (as much as he wanted to). So he had told you that he had a rare disorder that made him extra prone to sunburns and heatstroke.
Just something to keep you safe from the truth.
His soft smile still adorning his features, Muzan gave you a nod as he slid his head off of your lap. Since you were on your knees, you were quicker to stand than him. Brushing off your kimono quickly, you offered one of your hands to Muzan to help him stand, of which he gladly took. He had long since forgotted just how perfectly your hand fit into his, along with how radiant your kimono made you look.
Once he was back on his feet, Muzan couldn't help but to hold your arms, holding you a few feet away from him to simply admire you for a moment, his crimson eyes doing laps around your face and body.
You were perfect to him.
Every single thing about you was without flaw in his eyes. Not one curve of your body was too shallow or too wide. Not one strand of your hair was misplaced or without poise. Not one feature on your face took away from your radiant beauty. And you had not one bad bone inside of your body.
Muzan was never one to believe in angels.
However, if anyone in any part of the world were to tell him that you were one of them, straight from the heavens themselves,
He would believe them.
~~
As soon as Muzan stepped through the door, his hand in your own, the scene before him changed in one giant, peaceful flash of white light.
Before him now was no longer the house that he had shared with you all those years ago. Now, in its place, was a beautiful, lush springtime garden, all dredged under the cover of the night. It was not devoid of light, however. There were a few lanterns afloat in the water of the stream, as well as some within the structure of the small bridge that went over top of it. Flowers adorned every nook and cranny of the space, and the occasional insect or bird would make a brief appearance.
A small slice of paradise, just for you and Muzan Kibutsuji.
Fearing that you were no longer by his side, Muzan turned his head. His fears were quickly subsided when he saw you there next to him. Your delicate hands were placed on the railing of the bridge, and your eyes were fixated on the calm water below, almost as if it were a window into the heavens above. There was a small smile plastered on your face, and the delicate lights illuminated each of your features so perfectly.
Muzan knew this night.
This was the night he told you the truth.
The truth about him, about his "condition", about where he went for days on end, about why he couldn't walk with you in the sun, about everything.
This was the one night Muzan had ever felt fear.
"Is it really true, Muzan?" You asked, your gaze still fixated on the water below, "Are you really a demon?"
Muzan felt his lips part in small surprise. Even though he had replayed this night time and time again in his mind, it felt as if this were all happening for the first time over again.
Enmu really was good at this.
Muzan wet his lips before responding, setting his gaze on your precious, beautiful face and refusing to move it, "Yes, my love. It is true. I would not lie to you about this, I..."
A pause to collect this thoughts, before he could continue, "I kept it from you to protect you, (Y/N). I did not want any harm to come to you. My darling, I... I love you. My love for you knows no bounds. You are the stars that shine at night, and you are the shining moon above. Each time I look upon you, all I can stand to think of is how deep my love for you runs. I... I need you, (Y/N). I do not wish for you to be frightened of me, my angel. I would never, not ever harm you, nor let any harm come to you."
You still weren't looking at Muzan, yet your smile had yet to falter. Muzan felt a bubble of nervousness in his gut. Although he knew your response to his words already, even thinking of this moment never failed to make his stomach churn. He hoped his words to you were enough. He doubted that he had ever said anything more truthful in his entire life.
After a long pause of silence between the two of you, you closed your eyes and widened your smile. Then, you opened your eyes again, finally turning to face your lover. You looked Muzan right in the eyes, seemingly unfazed that you were standing so dangerously close to the most powerful being alive.
You were so brave.
Your heart was so big.
Muzan felt so overwhelmed.
"Muzan," you said, your cheeks dusting a light pink.
What you said next to him, Muzan could never get out of his head, never forget. No matter how much he tried, he would never not ever forget your words in that moment.
Within that one short, simple phrase, the king of demons fell in love all over again.
"I've always known."
~~
Another flash within his crimson eyes, and the scene had changed again. Nighttime again, of course, but this time within the confines of the bedroom you and Muzan shared. Both you and Muzan were nude, sans the blanket that covered the lower half of your forms. Muzan was on his back, one strong arm wrapped around you, the other cradling the back of his head. Your legs were intertwined with his, and your hair and hands were sprawled out on top of his lean, muscular chest.
Muzan knew this night as well.
It was his most loved night with you, but also his most dreaded.
How cruel fate was.
Stroking your back with the tips of his fingers, Muzan stared up at the ceiling above the two of you. Your body was flush against his, and as warm as ever. He wondered to himself if he was making you cold. If he was, you didn't seem to mind.
After a long period of savoring the silence between you and him, you softly snorted out a cute, soft giggle. This made Muzan angle his chin downward to look at the top of your head.
"What is it?" He questioned.
You giggled again, tilting your head up to look at him. Smiling, you turned your body to lay on top of the demon king, your breasts smushing against his own. Instinctively, Muzan laid his hands on your hips, rubbing small circles into them as he held you in place.
"I just find it funny that even though you profess to have so much stamina, you get tired after only two rounds." You explained to him, a playful mischievousness in your tone and eyes.
Muzan breathed out a smile, reaching up a clawed hand to brush your hair out of your face.
"As I recall it, you were the one complaining it was too much." He quipped back.
You snorted, "As if that ever stopped you before."
The demon let out a soft chuckle, leaning forward to give you a kiss on the forehead. Muzan couldn't remember ever laughing so genuinely before you came along. You truly were the light of his life. You filled his days with the sunlight he had long since forgotten, as well with the warmth no other demon could ever have.
He loved you.
He loved you he loved you he loved you.
And he still did.
He watched as you dropped your gaze to his chest, running your fingers along the flesh.
"Muzan..." you said, your voice more serious than before, "I've been thinking a lot lately..."
The demon king hummed, brushing more hair from your face.
"What has been on your mind, my love?" He asked.
You paused for a second before continuing on. Muzan could practically see the gears turning in your head.
"Well, I... I'm not getting any younger, you know, and I've been thinking. I... I really love you, Muzan. You're the only person I can imagine myself being with for the rest of my life. The other day, I was in town, and I saw the cutest family ever with a husband and a wife and two adorable little children, and it made me think..."
You looked up at him again, giving him a soft smile.
"What if we were to have a family of our own?"
Muzan could feel the same sense of joy, love, and pride in his chest as he did this same moment all those years ago. In this moment, he had never felt closer to you before, nor could you recall ever looking more beautiful.
He wanted nothing more than to be a family with you for the rest of eternity.
"Darling, you know what that would mean, correct?" He questioned you. He had told you long before that demons could only have offspring with other demons, for a demon baby would eat its human mother from the inside and kill her. It was gruesome, and had originally made you cringe at the thought. Muzan had thought your reaction was quite cute.
"Yes, yes, I know," you answered, "and I'd be ready for it. Even if I'm a demon, and even if I can never go out in the sun again or live normally ever again, I'd be happy knowing I got to be with you and our baby for the rest of time."
Muzan gave you a smile in return, his long, white fangs flashing in the light of the night. Leaning forward, he kissed you upon your soft, warms lips, gently pulling you closer to him.
This was one of the thousands of reasons why he loved you.
You were always so sweet, so kind and optimistic. He would admit, he did have a soft spot for you and you alone. But he didn't care. You were worth it. You were worth every single piece of money on planet earth. You were worth the sun the moon and the stars, and all the planets here and beyond. You were worth any injury, any heartache, and any trial or tribulation in the world.
The king of the demons unquestionably, unfathomably, undeniably, adored you.
Pulling gently away from the kiss, Muzan looked deep into your eyes, right past your pupils and looked right into your soul, your very being.
"I would want nothing more, my sunlight."
If Muzan could turn back the hands of time, he would have kept you here with him for the rest of everything and beyond.
For he did not know then that was the last kiss you and him would share.
~~
Another flash, and Muzan was no longer greeted with a visage of the past. Much to his dismay, the demon was now greeted with the sight of his office, with a smiling Enmu creepily watching him from across his desk.
What a fucking freakshow.
Taking in a breath of air through his nose, Muzan sat up tall in his chair again, rubbing the bridge of his nose with this thumb and pointer finger.
You were gone again. You were again nothing up a memory, a whisper of a time from the past.
Muzan could hardly bare it.
He had felt you, held you near him.
And just as fast as you came back, you were gone again.
This was a pain almost too hard to bear.
How long was he asleep for? Muzan really didn't care how long it was.
No amount of time with you was enough.
"Did you have the pleasant dream you wished for, Master?" Enmu asked the demon king. The lesser moon was lucky Muzan was in a somewhat good mood that day.
"Yes." Muzan replied simply, closing his eyes to rub them with his thumb, "Excellent work."
Enmu's smile widened at this, his cheeks turning pink again.
"Why, thank you, Master." He responded, his excitement prevalent in his voice.
Enmu really was a special one.
After composing himself again, Muzan scooted his chair forward up to his desk, fixing his gaze back onto his work sprawled out below.
Muzan just wanted to be alone again after that. He had been alone for years now, but he wanted Enmu out of the room. Although he could have easily ordered it to be so, he again did not want to show any weakness to the lower moon.
Christ on a bike. Muzan was so fucking stubborn.
He remembered all the times you nagged him for it.
Oh, what he would give to have you nag him one last time.
After a long bout of silence, the lesser demon decided to speak up again. He turned his head over his shoulder again to Muzan, trying to sound as naieve and innocent as possible.
"Master," Enmu said, "Where is she now?"
Muzan stopped his movements and glared up at Enmu with a venomous glare. How dare he even refer to you. You were so far above him, how dare Enmu even think to invoke your name.
Though Muzan wanted to kill the other demon right on the spot, he decided against it. He still wanted to see how Enmu would do on his mission. Also, Muzan had to admit that he did feel lighter and more generous after his dream with you. And he supposed it was fair that Enmu had his questions.
Feeling nice, Muzan decided to entertain Enmu's question.
Shifting his gaze back to the papers below, Muzan replied.
"Gone." he said, "The night she asked about a family was the last night I saw her alive. The next day, a group of slayers found her and our house. They knew who she was and that she was human, but killed her anyway. All in attempt to get to me. I found her in a pool of her own blood, limp and cold. The slayers died that same night."
Enmu's smile faded at this, his face taking on a look of shock. Closing his lips into a tight line, Enmu looked away, out of a quiet unconscious respect. Everything made so much more sense to Enmu now. Why the demon king was the way he was, his hatred for slayers, his cold-hearted, murderous nature.
It all clicked into place.
"I... I am sorry for your loss, Master." He said, his voice quieter than normal, "She seemed like a lovely woman."
Muzan peered up at the back of Enmu's head. Through his thick, black lashes.
"Yes..." Muzan said.
"She truly was."
#demon slayer#kny fanfic#kny x reader#kimetsu no yaiba muzan#kimestsu no yaiba#demon slayer x y/n#demon slayer x you#demon slayer x reader#muzan kibutsuji#muzan kibutsuji x reader
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you suck at crushes
College!Yangyang x College!Reader x College!Renjun
summary: Renjun wants to help you get with Yangyang who wants to help you couple up with Renjun but they’re both annoying, maybe one less than the other
word count: 4.2k
(warnings: swearing, mentions of food) ((lmk if I missed anything))
Taglist! @lanadreamie
A/N: I hope you guys enjoy!! I swear reader ends up with only one guy I just don’t want to give away the ending and I know the summary is ass
-
God it was like the beams of sunshine just followed him around. Providing him with a natural spotlight that only worked to draw your attention to him even more than usual. The voices around you faded into background noise, and everything else besides him became so fuzzy you could only focus on the one and only- Liu Yangyang.
“Hello?” “Y/N!” “Are you listening to us?” Someone gripped your shoulder and shook you until you were out of your Yangyang-induced-haze. “Huh? Oh yeah… totally.” You answered with absolutely no idea about the conversation happening at the very table you sat at.
Your friends snorted, teasing and making fun of you. A kissing noise, a high pitched teasing exclamation of the man of the hour’s name, and some playful elbows being jabbed into your side. When they finally stopped with the teasing and they actually filled you in you were able to answer some questions about the times at the library.
You slipped into your seat in your geology class, a poor choice on your behalf and quite frankly the school for describing it as something that would be ‘fun and exciting.’ What a total load of BS that was. The professor was an old man that went on and on about his days in the field 40 years ago and rambled on and on about subjects that were 70% of the time not on the tests. However, the one and only bright side was that you had your favorite distraction in this class, Yangyang.
How could one person asking a question about the tectonic plates or the striations on a stupid rock be so attractive? He made it possible.
“Staring yet again?” An annoying voice asked quietly, just inches from your ear.
“Who are you?” You asked annoyed.
“Y/N, that isn’t funny anymore. Not the first time you did it and not the hundreds of times after that. We lived on the same street for years before you decided to follow me here.” He answered with a huff.
“Renjun, will you just go away? You know I’m no good at this so go bother someone else.” You replied. You took your eyes off Yangyang, gave Renjun a quick glare, and focused back on the lab work in front of you. Something stupid about hills or some moutain. Wasn’t this class supposed to be about rocks?
“I don’t need help, I came to help you. We’re friends- shhhh.” Renjun started, quickly shutting you up before you could interrupt. “I can help you with this lab and help you win over your beloved Yangyang.”
You sent him a quizzical look. In all the years you had known Renjun he had never been this... generous- always wanting something in return. “He and I are friends, he’s been super annoying lately and complaining about some final project we decided to do together, but we have months to do it. If I help you guys get together in order to distract him, then he can stop bothering me about that final project. It’s a win-win-win situation.” He explained.
Well, that made a lot of sense. “What do you even have in mind? Yangyang and I don’t talk like we used to, how could we go from strangers to dating in just a couple months.”
“Don’t underestimate yourself. You were the person to show him around school when he was the new kid all those years ago when we were kids, you’re in better standing than you think. We all went to the same school, we already know each other, we all have this class, and I’m not going to let this fail because I do not fail. If I have to hear about the final project one more time I will rip all the hair off his head, three strands at a time.” Renjun pouted.
“You sound completely crazy-”
“If you two need some help all you have to do is ask, I don’t need you two to argue and disrupt the class. Mr. Liu, since you seem to have a good understanding of the assignment, would you mind helping them out?” The professor called out.
You and Renjun sent each other incredulous looks, were you really talking that loudly? “It’s earlier than expected, but don’t worry I got this,” Renjun whispered.
“You know if you guys had just spoken quietly, I could have left early but here I am. You can’t do anything without me can you?” Yangyang teased Renjun.
“Oh, it wasn’t me. Y/N here is just so stupid, I was trying to explain the lab and it’s like all my words go in one ear and out the other. Maybe you can explain better than I can.” Renjun gestured toward you wildly.
You immediately went to defend yourself but stopped when instead, Yangyang came to your defense. “Y/N isn’t stupid like you Injun, if you wanted some attention you didn’t have to bother someone innocent.”
Your face felt so hot, god this attention was too much to handle so suddenly. It was as if Renjun had thrown you into the deep end of a pool when you had just learned about the entire concept of swimming itself. If this was his attempt at getting you and Yangyang together you were now questioning the entire idea. It was just too much to handle so suddenly.
Yangyang quickly went on to explain the idea of the lab, giving you some tips to make the work easier and how it connected to past lessons. “Do you understand it a little more now?” He asked you.
You hissed when someone stomped on your foot beneath the table. Your eyes met Renjun’s while he discreetly shook his head, seemingly trying to send you some kind of message. But it seemed whatever he was sending was received because you quickly caught on, answering, “Oh uh, this whole class has actually been a bit more difficult than I anticipated, and you seem to have a way better understanding than I do. Would you be willing to maybe meet up sometime and just help a little more?”
“I’m free on Wednesday afternoons, let’s exchange numbers so maybe we can find out what you struggle the most with and what time works for you. Renjun are you coming too, you seemed to get the lab when I explained it,” Yangyang replied.
Renjun answered with a simple nod, sending Yangyang on his way for the remainder of the class. He was quiet the rest of the time, still sitting beside you. When the class was over he looked over at you, “This is going to be so much easier than I thought.”
-
Some point in the week after class you had all decided on the meeting place and time. Some little cafe just off campus after Yangyang was done with his last class of the day. He said the coffee was good and it wasn’t even expensive, to which Renjun was quick to add that they had friends working there so they got discounts.
Renjun insisted on meeting you a little earlier to go over the details of the plan he had finally come up with. The plan mainly consisted of you just catching up with Yangyang, which would then progress to just the two of you hanging out, then bam! Dating! Much easier said than done you were quick to point out. His plan was just an idea with no details. Like what do you talk about? How do you make him like you? What kinds of things does he like? Could he even like you romantically?
“He actually mentioned to me that he was happy to talk to you again, so I have very high hopes. That was one conversation with him that was not about the final. Just have some hope.” Renjun shrugged.
“You make this sound so simple, but you are not the one risking being embarrassed by telling the guy you’ve had a crush on since you were 10 about your feelings and having even less of a relationship than you’ve had for the past like 6 years.” You huffed.
“Since you were 10? That’s a little embarrassing.” Renjun let out.
Ever since you were kids it was like Renjun knew the exact words and actions to push your every button. Always getting on your nerves and getting under your skin. It was foolish of you to believe that he had matured enough to not tease you, even in your 20s and even in college. Huang Renjun sucked.
You brought your hands up to his neck, fully ready to wrap your hands around his neck and just squeeze- just enough pressure for him to get the idea to just shut up. But of course, that would be unacceptable in public and even less appropriate seeing as Yangyang had come right up to the table before you could do so. You improvised, changing your intended action of a throat squeeze to a nice hug, arms wrapped tightly around Renjun’s shoulders. You smiled brightly, tilting your head away from Yangyang so your lips were right beside Renjun’s ear, “I can go another 10 years buddy, learn to shut your damn mouth. I for one know how to follow through with my threats and will actually pull your hairs from your head- Yangyang, so good to see you!”
Yangyang looked between the both of you curiously, side by side, one with a bright, beaming smile and the other flushed, scared look on their face. He shook it off and pulled out his study materials while making small talk.
By the end of the study session you felt more confident in your geology skills and your chances with Yangyang. He had gotten exponentially cooler as he got older than the kid you met all those years ago. Sure, he was still chaotic and sarcastic, even still a little dramatic, but it nonetheless made your heart skip a beat, just like the first time you laid eyes on him.
-
Over the next few weeks Renjun slowly stopped coming to the study sessions. He always had some excuse or another, that neither you or Yangyang ever really questioned. In those few weeks you and Yangyang had grown closer as friends, texting each other about more than just class, checking in on each other, sending stupid memes and tiktoks, even a few inside jokes.
But of course, Renjun had to have his time too. Instead of just texting you, he would make conversation anytime he saw you on campus, even going as far as asking you to hang out when he wanted to know what was going on. Every night without fail, he would FaceTime you for at least an hour and a half to ask for very detailed updates which at some point became you two just talking about your days in general. He liked to judge your every decision, giving his own input on even minor things like the seat you sat in for a class he didn’t even have. He said his life lacked drama so he needed to live vicariously through his friends.
“I know we usually meet at the cafe, but even with that discount I really shouldn’t be spending all that money there every week. Do you mind if we meet at mine this week? I promise my roommate buys enough snacks to feed the whole complex and he makes me clean the place every week.” Yangyang suggested about a month and a half into your studying arrangement.
You of course agreed, you’d be crazy to not want to go to your crush’s home, just the two of you- alone, and talking about… rocks.
So when the next week came and Wednesday afternoon rolled around, you found yourself standing right outside your crush’s door, fist raised to knock. You were so nervous, just being alone with him in his home! This wasn’t the cafe where you had other people around, where you knew where things were, close to your home. No, this was his house, and that made you beyond nervous.
He pulled the door open, a wide smile on his face as he welcomed you in. He set your things at his kitchen table and gave you a short tour of the home. “My roommate will be back later tonight, but he made us some food if we get hungry later,” He told you while he brought out his own supplies, once again ready to conquer your weekly study session.
And even though you did at one point struggle very much with the subject, this particular topic seemed easier to understand. So after even correcting Yangyang a few times, the study session became more of a hang out session. So casual that you even answered Renjun’s texts, chuckling at him freaking out in all caps because you were in Yangyang’s home.
“No, but Renjun did that last time we hung out too! We were in public, like full on glass of water spilled across the table and he got so red,” you laughed recalling the memory from just a few weeks ago after watching Yangyang do the same.
Then just a few minutes later when you were both watching TV you mumbled, “I think Renjun would like this show. This is on Netflix right?”
Yangyang being the smart kid that he is, had pieces coming together in his mind, ideas that he wasn’t even sure if you knew yet. He was going to make this happen.
-
Renjun sat in front of Yangyang, a month before the end of the semester, finally working on the final project. Which, thanks to you, had not been mentioned even once since you and Yangyang started hanging out until a week ago.
After finishing his part for the day Yangyang leaned back in his chair, sighed and smiled. “I think I’m going to ask Sua from our history class out.”
Renjun choked on his drink, did Yangyang really have to pick the exact moment he took a sip of his drink to tell him this? He cleared his throat, “Since when do you like her?”
Yangyang shrugged nonchalantly, explaining that Sua worked at the cafe he was always at and at some point they just kind of hit it off.
Renjun nodded, a little excessively. In his head he was trying to figure out what the hell to do. He knew you liked Yangyang and how hurt you would be if Yangyang suddenly had a girlfriend. At this moment, you were the only thing on Renjun’s mind. “Really? I actually thought you and Y/N might be a really good match, and you guys obviously get along well.” He replied.
Yangyang hid his smirk by taking a sip of his drink, “I don’t know, Y/N is really just much more of a friend than anything. Like don’t get me wrong Y/N is cool, but I see Sua more romantically.”
Before Renjun even had time to process his words and think of the consequences, he suddenly blurted out, “Well, Y/N likes you- and has liked you since we were kids. You have to think about more feelings than just your own Yangyang. Think of Y/N.”
“Like you think about Y/N?” Yangyang replied. Renjun tilted his head in confusion, trying to understand what Yangyang was talking about.
“I know you never grew out of that crush you had in middle school- it’s that cute childhood neighbors to lovers thing. I know that whole plan you made so I could finally pay attention to Y/N, and while I admit it worked, because Y/N is a cool friend, this plan didn’t work the way you wanted it to. I see the way you look at Y/N and every time we hang out that’s all you can talk about. I’m smarter than you Injun, I know.”
Renjun flushed, these were emotions that he had buried deep down years ago. In just two months Yangyang had uncovered and brought his emotions to light. Emotions that had at one point been disguised as that annoying 13 year old kid that would bother you to your wit’s end and now evolved to Renjun putting your emotions before his own. Days that were once filled with him tugging on your hair or tapping on your shoulder and looking away as if it weren’t him, had now become days of texting or facetiming you regularly just to catch up like he had wanted.
“I think you should tell Y/N how you feel, don’t underestimate your chances.” Yangyang told Renjun as they made their way out of the cafe.
-
When Yangyang told you that he knew you liked him, that he wasn’t interested, that he was actually going to date Sua from his history class, you thought you would be more upset. Embarrassed that he knew you liked him all this time, angry that he didn’t tell you earlier, or heartbroken that your crush of almost 10 years didn’t like you like you liked him. But you weren’t. You weren’t embarrassed, or angry, or heartbroken. You felt fine, it felt like he was just telling you what he ate for lunch. “Okay, so how do you tell the difference between these crystals again?” You replied with a nod.
“And I know you like Renjun.” He added quietly.
You looked up suddenly, eyes wide with shock, “What?”
“Come on Y/N, I think this whole ‘Renjun annoys me to no end’ is just a ploy. Whenever we hang out he’s all you talk about, you guys FaceTime like every night, right? You smile every time he texts you, and even though you play it off as ironic shit-posting- those stories you always post with all the hearts and cheesy ass captions stopped being a joke at some point. You may not have realized it but even with Renjun as just a friend to you now, he means more to you than I do.”
You huffed, crossing your arms across your chest, “You know you’re smarter than you look, but I really don’t like you psychoanalyzing me.”
He laughed loudly, “So what are you going to do about it?”
“I don’t exactly have a good record with crushes, obviously. I don’t know what to do now,” you quietly answered, “Anyway this seems like a good ending point, we’ll meet one more time before the final right? Just text me if you need anything alright?”
Before Yangyang could even stop you or try to reassure you, you were hastily packing up your things and out the door. How was he going to get the two of you together now?
-
It seemed that mother nature seemed to understand the tornado of emotions that were happening for you and Renjun, though you both had no idea about one another, what had started off as a gorgeous spring day had become a dark and rainy spring night. Even Yangyang laid in his bed, unable to sleep as he remembered that he had failed to mention or even plan out- that neither of you knew you liked each other. That would have been nice to know, but it was a little too late for that now seeing as it was like two in the morning.
If you liked Renjun, which it sounded like you did, according to Yangyang and the more you thought about it, it really felt like you did. Not some surface level ‘I like to admire you from afar for 10 years’ crush but rather a ‘I like you and want to spend time with you and I’d hate to see you smile at anyone else like you smile at me and possibly fall in love.’ You sat straight up in bed, flashes of the lightning outside lit your room up, did you just think about falling in love with Renjun? Before you could process anymore thoughts you pulled on a coat and some shoes, grabbing the umbrella you kept by the door. You had to tell Renjun how you felt.
Stepping out of your apartment complex, you thanked the love gods for allowing Renjun to live just a few blocks away from each other and not across town. There was no doubt in your mind that by the time you reached him, you would be soaked to the bone, but you had to do this. There was no point in keeping this crush to yourself just for nothing, you had to take the risk and just hope for the best. Best case scenario, you get a boyfriend, and worst case, well then you don’t talk to him for another few years and every time you see him your heart feels like it's being stomped on. You know, something that could become a regular feeling.
You hurried through the storm, dodging large puddles while trying your best to stay beneath the awnings of the buildings. You stopped at a light, looking out into the rain to see just how much further you had until you got to Renjun’s place. But instead you focused on the sight of someone rushing through the rain to get to the opposite end of the crosswalk. You squinted through the downpour, realizing that the person at the other end of the crosswalk was “Renjun?”
You rushed toward him, lucky that there were no cars at this hour of the night to dodge. He ran forward, meeting you in the middle, pulling your hand forward so that the umbrella covered you both. “What are you doing out here?” He asked you loudly so you could hear him over the rain.
“I was coming to see you,” you started, meeting his eyes that told you he was waiting to hear more, “Renjun I like you. I really like you. I don’t smile, or laugh, or feel happy or even feel annoyed with anyone else like I feel when I’m with you. I want to be happy and date you, use your stupid plans to plan dates for us. I don’t want anyone else but you.”
“God, you don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say that. I’ve had a crush on you since middle school, you don’t know how happy this makes me.” He beamed, using his free hand to cup your cheek.
His hands were wet, and his fingers were cold as they cupped your warm cheek. “Are you gonna kiss me or what?” You asked.
He surged forward, lips meeting your own in a passionate kiss as your eyes fluttered shut. Your lips moved against his own, wrapping your free arm around his neck to pull him closer. He let his other arm fall to bring you closer by the waist, deepening the kiss. With one arm holding up the umbrella you decided to just fuck it, dropping the umbrella you placed your hand at the back of his neck.
A sudden honk made the two of you jump apart, rushing back to the end of the crosswalk to avoid getting hit by an angry driver.
“You crazy kids! Living your movie moment! I did it!” You heard a voice yell over the pounding rain.
“Yangyang?” Both you and Renjun called out upon catching sight of Yangyang leaning out his car window.
He smiled, gesturing for the two of you to get in the car. You both shuffled into the backseat, hands held close and sitting side by side to warm each other up after being out in the horrible weather for so long. You were both shivering, teeth chattering, and lips nearly blue from the cold.
“Aren’t you guys glad I meddled? I mean look at you guys, all cute and cuddled up after your adorable kiss in the rain.” Yangyang giddily smiled as he shook some of the water out of hair.
“Can you just take us back to mine, I’d like to get dry so we don’t get sick. If that’s ok with you,” Renjun asked, whispering the last bit to you.
You nodded, squeezing his hand reassuringly. Yangyang nodded, putting the car in drive, chatting your ears off about how happy he was that the plan worked even when he didn’t plan well considering he forgot to mention that you liked each other. He told you both that he was on his way to Renjun’s to tell him that you liked him and force him to FaceTime you and confess.
He pulled up in front of the apartment complex, turning to give you a cocky smirk before you could even get out of the car or thank him for the ride, “So is Injun a good kisser?”
“This whole car ride made me realize how much you suck, seriously. I clearly made the right choice, so I hope and pray for your sake Sua has a mountain of patience, like you never shut up- ever. Thank you for the ride.” You ranted angrily before you made your way out of the car.
Yangyang’s jaw fell in fake offense, “You sure know how to pick ‘em Renjun.”
But he wasn’t met with the shocked face he thought he would see, he was instead met with a dazed, lovesick look. “Yeah I do, I might be in love.”
#kpop imagines#kpop scenarios#kpop au#kpop reactions#nct#nct dream#nct dream imagines#nct dream fic#nct dream x reader#nct imagines#nct scenarios#nct fluff#nct au#nct x reader#renjun fluff#renjun imagines#Renjun Scenarios#renjun x reader#renjun fic
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The Choosing
Pairing: Daichi x f!reader (ft. Captain Squad <3 and Sakusa)
WC: 3.2k
Genre/Warnings: Crack/Bad Humor, Smut, Romance, Reverse Harem, Royalty AU!, mention or hints of size kink, exhibitionism, creampie, breeding kink, dick and ball worship, you’re perverted and gross
Summary: You are the Princess of the Kingdom of YoreNaym and you need to choose a husband.
Repost from my main because I say so. Lee... :gru: i miss u
Also, no beta we die like Daichi.
It’s a tradition carried through many, many generations that the daughters of nobility from the Kingdom of YoreNaym must choose a suitor from the eligible bachelors from the neighboring kingdoms. It’s a show of kinship to the other kingdoms and also a means of securing peace.
At some point, everyone’s sister’s cousin’s second uncle’s sworn brother’s adopted daughter’s nephew twice-removed will be related and connect back to the Kingdom of YoreNaym. In short, the blood of this kingdom’s daughters unite the lands. No incest, there’s enough genetic diversity, if you will. And because you are also a princess of this kingdom, it’s your turn. Yay.
While growing up, you hear the elders say that the youngsters should be grateful that they have the agency to at least pick a suitor. They spin their looms and cackle, reminiscing that, “Back in our days, we didn’t get to have a choice. Our elders appointed a spouse for us from whichever kingdom had a suitor. Unlike you girls who get to choose, ungrateful wenches…”
Does it really matter? It’s just the false pretense of choice, isn’t it? At the end of the day the selection of eligible bachelors are all chosen ahead of time, deemed worthy, and then after the initial picking, you are just allowed to pick. It doesn’t matter who you choose, any one of them will fit the criteria. Maybe you’ll just close your eyes and pick one randomly. Can you actually say, “I’ll choose my own hand and marry myself.”
That’s pretty brave, hell yea that’s a main character move right there. Speaking of which, who are the eligible bachelors you can choose from today? It’s practically your engagement day, yet you really haven’t been paying any attention at all.
“Hey,” you whisper, lifting the curtain of the palanquin. A maid quickly answers to your beckon.
“Yes, my lady?”
“Who are the candidates today again? You have a...list or brochure of sorts?”
“Just a moment, my lady, I’ll retrieve the scroll for you.”
You open the scroll and peruse the contents. Huh, all the neighboring kingdoms are going all out this year. There’s the Kingdoms of Nekoma, Inarizaki, Fukurodani, Aoba Johsai, Shiratorizawa...Wow, even Johzenji and Nohebi have candidates? Funny, all of these are all presenting their crown princes too. As they should, you are the most beloved princess of the Kingdom of YoreNaym, and the suitor you choose will bring you back as a blessing to his kingdom. It’s a total bummer that the Kingdom of Itachiyama isn’t participating this year. Sakusa’s crown prince succession is next year! You have heard so many swoon worthy stories about that princeling, even paid handsome amounts of money for paparazzi paintings of the beautiful man. No one will find out that the princess of YoreNaym actually hoards little pictures of Prince Sakusa in her panties drawers. It’s a shame you aren’t picking your husband next year.
There’s one more Kingdom on the list that surprises you. Kingdom of Karasuno, or more commonly referred to as the Kingdom of “Fallen Crows”. According to legends, they used to be quite a prosperous kingdom, but after a few generations of inept leadership, a drought, and poor trade economy...the Kingdom has mostly faded into obscurity. It’s been years since a suitor candidate has been offered. So who is it?
“Sawamura Daichi,” you whisper to yourself, “Interesting.”
The festival ground outdoors is especially grand. There are a huge number of tables prepared off to the side for guests. Trays of food, fruits and wine are provided for every single guest in attendance. You are led by the attendants to the temporary throne seat as the guest of honor. As you make your way to the throne, all the guests stand up to acknowledge your entrance. It’s so pressuring and a part of you wishes you can just dig a hole and bury yourself on the spot. You don’t even want to think about how many eyes are on you. They are all just jealous because, really. Take my word for it, I’m the narrator.
When you take a seat, the guests reseat themselves. A shaman comes to the center stage and bows to you.
“My lady, the time is auspicious, let us commence the Festival of Unity. At this time, I’ll be introducing the eligible bachelors from neighboring kingdoms near and far. They have passed the arduous tests and come as the best to offer in asking for your hand. Each of the suitors will present to you with a talent or skill, as to show you their excellence. After the demonstrations, you will be allowed to take your pick. Whereupon you will—”
“Okay, I get it! They will participate in a talent show, we clap, and I choose a husband, I got it!” You snap, cutting the shaman’s words off. Your patience is wearing thin.
A number of guests can be heard mumbling in the crowds, probably commenting on your behavior. Your eyes scan the guests, you can care less. Judgmental eyes, scheming eyes, lecherous eyes, disgusting eyes....Your gaze meeting with a pair of eyes that are absolutely blank. Wait, not blank as in emotionless. Non-judgemental? The opposite of unkind? Dare you say, polite? He gives you a smile and returns to taking a sip from his goblet. You scan his clothing up and down to look for his family crest. Black and orange. A crow. Karasuno.
Your thoughts are jumbled as an increasing amount of questions fill your mind. He? Karasuno? That Kingdom of Fallen Crows? You barely hear the shaman announce the first candidate.
“Bokuto Koutarou from Kingdom of Fukurodani.” Bokuto is a very large, very well built man. He is wearing his family crest of an owl across his back proudly. You can tell his chest is incredibly broad, the bulge of his big tiddies stretch the tight shirt he’s in. If you squint hard enough, you can maybe see the outline of his nipples through the training shirt, but maybe that’s just your perverted imagination too. Bokuto comes to the center stage and greets you.
“Hey! I’ll uh, demonstrate my strength to you, my lady.” He easily picks up a huge hunk of metal and lifts it with ease above his head. Damn beefiness, those arms of his. Seeing the bulges flex when he flexes has you dreaming of mouth along that delicious flesh. And when he pins you down under his massive body? Ooh, if this is the first demonstration, you’re excited to see the whole lineup today. Gasps and murmurs can be heard in the crowd. Bokuto grins and drops the load on the ground. You can almost feel the tremors beneath your feet. Truly, a herculean feat.
“Thank you, Bokuto, I have seen your demonstration and all those here are witnesses.”
Bokuto’s demonstration is a showy start of the competition for your hand. The shaman announces the next candidate. “Ushijima Wakatoshi from the Kingdom of Shiratorizawa.”
Ushijima walks up to the stage exuding the regal aura of nobility; a byproduct of his strict upbringing. The twin crests of an eagle decorate his shoulder pads. His expression is quite cold, but there’s a saying, “it’s always the quiet ones.” You lick your lips and study him some more.
“Greeting to the princess,” he says with a deep bow. “I also bring a demonstration of my martial prowess.” Ushijima takes off the bow and quiver of arrows from his back and nods at his attendant who then catapults three apples high up into the air. Everyone’s eyes follow the trajectory of the objects, squinting to see what’s happening. No way.
Ushijima draws the bow back and calmly shoots one arrow, perfectly spearing the three fruits along the shaft. The crowd bursts into cheers. You also find your tight grip on armrest loosening, the tension from the scene dissipating in a moment. Ushijima’s calmness, accuracy, decision-making...he would make a very suitable partner for sure. Co-workers of sorts, that is.
You know your marriage carries a lot of weight politically and the fate of the whole universe will rest on your decision. Maybe not the whole universe, but close enough. But, marital bliss is important too right? Is Ushijima the right choice? There are still many more candidates, it’ll be best not to make a rash decision. Your gaze wanders over back to the Karasuno prince who is clapping earnestly for Ushijima’s performance. He’s acknowledging a rival’s strength, you think to yourself. Well, that’s certainly a rare but admirable trait. A confident man, he is.
After Ushijima’s demonstration, Oikawa Tooru’s enchanting musical performance offers a much desired change of pace. The rhythm and melody from his zither carries both the energy of fortitude as well as a graceful spirit. Quite stunning, but just not quite the musical vibe you’re feeling at the moment. Bummer, maybe a different day, really. Could be friends?
Kuroo Tetsurou from the Kingdom of Nekoma offers a particularly memorable performance too. Kuroo comes to the center stage with a trough filled with flames. Everyone is at a loss as to what is going on. Kuroo flashes you a grin before taking out a few pouches containing some powders. In a poof, the flames burst alive with colors blending blues and purples. And moments later yellows and greens, even reds. No one has ever seen fire change color like so.
“Witchcraft!” someone gasps.
“No it must be alchemy. Dangerous craft,” another adds.
Kuroo bows to you. “My lady, this is called chemistry, a discipline of science.”
Kuroo’s smiles teeter on the edge of flirtations and you cannot deny that your heart flutters just slightly when you see his crooked grin. He’s intelligent, humorous, and attractive. Definitely also a contender. A union with him might be fun. And especially when you see Kuroo run a hand through his messy, black locks and give you a piercing gaze, you almost wonder if this is the feeling of chemistry. It feels like you are naked under his seductive, golden eyes, completely submitted to his will and absolutely drugged. And you fear that if he sends you another one of his grins, you’ll come untouched. Dangerous, send him off immediately.
“Thank you, Kuroo, I have seen your demonstration and all those here are witnesses.”
After Kuroo, many more candidates also come to the center stage for their demonstrations. Kita Shinsuke from the Kingdom of Inarizaki composes and recites poetry on the spot. His literary talents and mastery of public speech move a very large crowd of the literati officials. Kita is a charismatic leader and commands confidence. But he doesn’t seem to be the best fit. Your brain says ‘yes’, but your coochie just isn’t feeling it. The nerve signals say no.
Terushima Yuuji demonstrates a one-man comedy show, but his storytelling skills, although humorous, fall just a little short after Kita’s. Had Terushima been slotted for a different position, perhaps he would make a stronger impact.
Daishou Suguru. Interesting. But tongue itself will eventually get boring too.
A few more candidates demonstrate their talents to you. Most of them fail to impress you at all. Your blank expression is more than enough to make a few almost shit their pants or cry on the way they exit the stage. It’s really not their fault, you’re just a bit tired after seeing so many performances and demonstrations. You are just trying to find the best fit after all. It’s your duty and responsibility as the muthereffing princess of the Kingdom of YoreNaym.
“Sawamura Daichi from the Kingdom of Karasuno.”
The crowd is silent as Daichi stands up from his seat and makes his way to the center. His shoulder is relaxed and his head is held high. He doesn’t have the large build of Bokuto nor is he decked out in regal fabrics like Ushijima. His hair is simple and clean. His expression is polite and pleasant. Amongst the sea of beautiful and talented men, Daichi is like an ordinary seashell buried in the sand. But like how too many bites of dessert beckon the simplicity of water, Daichi’s humble presence makes him stand out in particular.
Daichi bows deeply. “I send my deepest regards to the princess. I am Sawamura Daichi from the Kingdom of Karasuno.”
“Please rise, Sawamura. What demonstration do you bring to me today?”
“My lady, I have nothing showy in particular. I only bring myself. And please feel free to call me Daichi.” You can feel his piercing gaze on you, confident and assertive. So he has some guts. It beckons you to submit, but you bite back. Grrrrr.
“Just yourself? That’s quite cocky of you Daichi. Others bring talents and demonstrations of qualities that make them fit as my suitor. What do you have to offer for me to choose you? Or is that something you are not looking for at all?”
“Karasuno,” Daichi begins, “Karasuno is a good kingdom. For many years long ago, our people have suffered greatly and we have gained a poor moniker. However, for the last few years, the kingdom has made significant progress and improvements. Alongside my brethren and officers of my court,” Daichi gestures to his entourage sitting off to the side, “We have come a long way. ”
“You tell me much about your home, Daichi, but what about you?”
Daichi pauses for a moment to collect his thoughts. He is well aware of the pressures you are putting on him, testing his convictions to the limit. You are a princess after all, so it’s only natural that you test his qualifications. Diachi swallows his nerves and faces your confrontation head on.
“I come to tell you the truth, my lady. I cannot hide these facts about myself or my kingdom. I am truthful, honest, but I have an unshaken belief that my kingdom will prosper because I have my closest and trusted with me. Each of them have their talents and strengths. Karasuno is a band with a bit of everything, and we’re family.”
You inwardly sigh. It seems like Daichi won’t be completely living up your hopes. At first you thought that his confident yet humble demeanor must hide something. Something incredible, because he can sit back and freely applaud other men for their talents. Something remarkable because he doesn’t feel the need to jump out in front of others. Something big. Very big.
“I don’t doubt your family’s bond or strength, but I am here to choose a suitor, a husband in layman's terms. So, I suppose that—”
“Wait,” Daichi cries out, and gestures towards his Karasuno brethren.
A tangerine head jumps up and brings out a scroll. He skips a few steps towards you and passes the document over to the shaman who brings it to you.
“My resume, if you will, my lady. I have no other talents but what is shown there.”
You glance at Daichi, studying him closely. From his clenched fist, you can tell that even in this moment, he’s a bit shaken and nervous. You undo the ties on the scroll and unravel the contents.
All eyes are fixed on you, trying to decipher every microexpression you make. The slight widened eyes, the twitch of the brow. The slight part of the lips and the deep breathes from you trying to calm the invisible fire that’s building in your core. It’s big. If the resume is accurate, Daichi’s demeanor truly is hiding a beast. A massive, humongous, schlong. Finer than any specimen you have seen in banned pictorial books you read and hide under your massive princess bed.
The sheer size and girth of the XL 2d image is rendered in X-TRA fine detail. You brush a finger onto the parchment, tracing the lines depicting the veins running along the shaft. You gulp, rubbing your finger down what is drawn as a big, swollen tip that’s glistening. Artists these days are so detail-oriented, it looks as if precum is just dripping from the tip and shimmering. So realistic, you just want to take it all into your mouth. To gag or to choke. Neither are a question.
The balls, those massive balls that are the storehouses for an endless supply of fresh cum. Organics from the finest the kingdom has to offer. Precious jewels hanging at the base, ripe for your licking. It looks so juicy and plump and you want nothing more than to rub your cheeks, cooing at how cute they are.
You know it’s good. It better be good if the painting is depicting something this sumptuous. If this is the real deal, then you really have nailed the jackpot and secured a brilliant future for yourself. Marital bliss. Bedroom adventures. Bedroom adventures where he’ll fulfill every nightmarish fantasy you ever have. It’ll be hard at first, your cunt’s so tight and he’s so big! But it’s okay, you’ll take him like the royal princess you are because the Kingdom of YoreNaym raises whores and sluts only!
No scratch that. Coital activities can take place anywhere. Maybe you’ll cockwarm him while the two of you hear what the morning court has to say about the affairs of the kingdom. Maybe you’ll find yourself tumbling around in the garden after a cute game of hide and seek, skirt hiked up, as he fucks a grass stain into your back! Okay. That might not be the best idea. Perhaps just once. For novelty’s sake.
But hear me out, when you are sneaking into the kitchen for some snacks, he’ll pin you on the large baker’s table and just take you right there to fuck his babies into your womb. His cock pumping into you as the table creaks and shakes from his thunderous movements. He’ll fill you to the brim with copious amounts of his hot cum, heaps and heaps of them, just like the baker fills the buns with cream custard in the most obscene fashion ever. Watch your belly rise and bulge up like pastries in the oven. Oooh cummies.
You sigh and squirm in the seats as you continue examining the masterpiece of a dick. You feel your heartbeat racing wildly as if you are caught tinkling in the castle fountain. It’s unknown if you ever did that, by the way. Just saying, your memory is failing you just a tad. But oh gosh, you’re wet already. The slick pooling between your folds is just soaking through your princess panties; the ones in the drawer where you keep all your secret prince Sakusa drawings heehee. But Sakusa’s pretty face aside, you are now face to face with the most magnificent dick pic you’ll ever receive. Not really unsolicited, but damn work of art. Literally.
The crowd is silent when you clear your throat and roll up the scroll, taking extra care to not let anyone else touch your new precious treasure. You lean forward and perceive Daichi. Daichi gives you a cocky grin, showing his teeth. Slightly stained with the wine, but it’s just temporary. It doesn’t matter as long as the real deal is...well, real.
Daichi catches your eyes wandering to the outline of the bulge between his legs. The glorious dickprint that he’s casually showing to everyone present. It puts Herculean Bokuto to shame, Ushijima into a blushing mess. Kuroo nearly snorts his colored powders. Daishou’s tongue hangs out and dries. Oikawa is sent to the medics. Kita no longer waxes poetry about the weather. Terushima leaves the party early.
Daichi is smug and casually asks, “My lady, would you like to examine the goods? I am a pure man and would not carelessly offer tastes to anyone. But you are a princess of the Kingdom of YoreNaym. You can have a sampling before you commit. Satisfaction guaranteed.”
#haikyuu smut#hq smut#daichi smut#daichi x reader smut#daichi x reader#did y'all see kazooli's post on fetishizing fictional men and their fictional dicks and balls?#this is my answer#forever a princess of yorenaym#you can be too if you want#emi.freshtea#ch daichi#🍵.daichi
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Tease (2/2)
Our beloved reader was fed up with the lack of attention from a certain Grand Admiral. To force his hand, she decided to send some pictures to tempt him while he was away, but things didn't quite go as they were planned. Now, we see the aftermath of those events.
Tease (1/2) link here in case you haven't read it!!
Pairing: Grand Admiral Thrawn x f!reader
Rating: Explicit (18+ only) Minors DNI
Tags/warnings (for part 1): lingerie, m@sturbation, dom/sub relationship, y'all this is filth, oral sex (f receiving), p in v sex (please practice safe sex irl), authority kink
Word count: 4k (I got a little... ok, a lot... carried away)
bat in’a- beautiful one
ch'eo ch'itiseb- my sweet
ch’eo vir- my dear
cseo cssah bat- so very beautiful
cseo ch’itrico- so hungry
cseo tsaco- so tight
You had known that you were in trouble, but you realized the true extent of how completely and utterly kriffed you were on the morning Thrawn returned to the Chimaera.
Clue number one: he didn’t spare you as much as a single glance when he entered the bridge. Usually, Thrawn would make a point to have at least one small moment of inconspicuous eye contact as a greeting, but not today. Today he didn’t spare so much as a glance in your general direction.
The second clue was far more direct; a simple note sent through the encrypted channel.
Wear it tonight.
Some small part of you hoped the video would finally push the calm, distinguished Grand Admiral over the edge. He was always a generous lover, that being somewhat of a massive understatement, but you could tell he was holding something back. During your most intimate moments, you could see it. Something sharp, dark, and glittering rose to the surface, and Thrawn pushed it away every time.
What would Thrawn be like if he fully let go? That thought sent delicious shivers down your spine, and his final audio message played on repeat in your head.
“Ch’eo ch’itiseb, you know you really shouldn’t tease me like this.”
Thrawn’s voice was normally a seductive purr, but that audio message…. It embodied the dark edge of him you had been longing to experience.
You felt your core clench as you desperately tried to re-focus on the screen in front of you, but an all-too-familiar presence suddenly appeared behind you. All of your racing thoughts screeched to a halt as that same smooth voice you were fantasizing about was now whispering in your ear. “Bat in’a….”
Thrawn’s warm breath was caressing your neck, raising goosebumps, and sending a chill down your spine. Your breath hitched almost imperceptively as he continued, “I see your gift fit you well; it certainly does seem like you enjoyed it.”
Your lover’s reflection was showcased on the darkened computer screen you were so intently studying. His eyes were half-lidded and blazing with barely contained desire. The knowledge that all the bridge officers were obliviously going about their duties while the most powerful man on the ship was leaned over and whispering sinful things in your ear was almost too much to handle. You had no choice but to blush and avert your gaze so you could keep some shreds of your dignity intact.
“Y… Yes, Grand Admiral. I did.” You may have been flustered, but you were feeling coy enough to tease him slightly. A “yes, sir” would have been sufficient, but you knew full well what Thrawn felt when you called him by his full title.
As if on cue, a growl so quiet and low you barely heard it emanated from the man behind you. Thrawn’s usual soft tone sharpened; the mysterious darkness resurfaced, and his perfect Imperial presentation cracked in half. The accent he worked so hard to conceal, the same one you loved to tease out of him, now marred his words. “Careful, Commander, if you want to be able to walk tomorrow, I suggest you close that pretty little mouth.”
Your mouth shut so fast on reflex that your teeth clacked together. His tone was utterly predatory; Thrawn, usually so prim and composed, sounded like he was moments away from ordering everyone off the bridge so he could fuck you now. But, stars, you’d be lying if you said you weren’t fantasizing about it now.
Your naked body flushed with desire, pressed up against the icy cold transparisteel of the viewport, and presented to the galaxy by your lover. Thrawn commanding your body as masterfully as he does his flagship, pushing you right up to the edge of completion before withdrawing, edging you over and over again until you can barely stand on your own. His muscular body pinning you in place against the wall, hell-bent on making you rely only on him for support, as he fucks you mercilessly from behind. Thrawn’s thick, ridged cock splitting you open and hitting spots so deep you see new stars appear in the galaxy with every thrust. The curved transparisteel to your side showing a perfect reflection of your bodies intertwining as Thrawn pulls your head aside to kiss and nip at your neck……..
Your blush turned at least three shades deeper as you shoved the thoughts aside. Thank the stars that most of the officers were gathered around a terminal on the other side of the bridge, or they would undoubtedly know exactly what was occurring between the Grand Admiral of the Imperial Navy and his Commander.
Like flipping a switch, Thrawn’s cool, Imperial tone resurfaced in an instant. “Apologies, ch’eo ch’itiseb, I have distracted you from your duties for too long.
Wordlessly, you watched him straighten, pick an invisible speck of lint off his already pristine jacket, and resume his usual impassive expression. The blue bastard had the nerve to walk away and leave you flustered in the middle of the command bridge as if nothing had even happened. As he walked away, you saw the barest hint of a smirk ghost across his face. He wasn’t sorry at all.
-----------
The rest of the day crawled by. Thrawn obviously had some plan for the evening, but not knowing the details meant the suspense was absolutely eating you alive. You managed to slog through the rest of your day without any major inconveniences, but as soon as it ended, you nearly ran to your quarters to prepare.
After showering and letting your hair dry, you turned your attention to what you would wear. Of course, Thrawn’s request that you wear the lacy, red set was a given, but you couldn’t exactly walk down the hallways of the Chimaera in that. You decided that it would be best for your trip to Thrawn’s office to seem like it was purely one of the extra duties you were finishing. You put on one of your looser fitting uniforms, hoping to hide the lines of the lingerie, and tied your hair back into its usual bun before leaving.
When you finally arrived at Thrawn’s office, the door slid open with a cool hiss of hydraulics as soon as you reached for your comm. You laughed softly to yourself. Well, he was definitely anticipating my arrival.
As you stepped through the door, you saw Thrawn’s back as he leaned over his desk. He seemed to be watching something quite intently, and as you kept walking forward, you began to hear hints of quiet audio. Before you reached his side, Thrawn paused what he was watching and turned his head to acknowledge you. A dangerous smile played across his lips, “Commander, I was hoping you’d be here soon. You are just in time for my favorite part.”
You raised an eyebrow and shot him a questioning glance, “What… what do you mean?”
His smile widened enough to show off his pointed teeth, “I do believe you should know exactly what I’m referring to because you played a starring role in it, ch'eo ch'itiseb.”
At that moment, you felt your soul leave your body. Kriffing sith hells, he saved it.
You didn’t think it was possible for his smug smile to get any bigger, but it did. “Oh, bat in’a, of course, I would save something so… artfully done.”
Thrawn stepped aside, and you were greeted by a projection of your video displayed between the other holos of priceless artwork on his desk. It was stopped at a very particular moment; you reclined on his bed with your legs spread open. One hand rested on your thigh, and the other was settled on your chest.
You opened your mouth to say something, but before you could, Thrawn hit a button, and the video continued to play. Breathlessly, you watched as your head lolled to the side, and Thrawn’s name left your lips in a broken moan. One of your hands pushed the lace aside to slip two fingers deep inside your cunt, and the other rolled a peaked nipple between your fingers.
A pang of lust immediately overcame any embarrassment you felt in the moment as you realized exactly what Thrawn must’ve felt when watching the video. Even though you had intended for the circumstance to be slightly different, it must’ve absolutely killed him to be away from you for that night and the several days following it.
Before you could react, Thrawn had closed the remaining distance and pinned your back against the wall. He leaned in to lavish his attention on the shell of your ear and whispered, “Naughty little thing….. teasing a Grand Admiral of the Imperial Navy like that. I could’ve canceled the trip to come back and fuck you, but then I would have been giving in. You obviously need to learn a lesson in patience.”
One of his powerful hands pulled your wrists above your head and roughly pinned them to the wall. A gasp fell from your open lips and your legs involuntarily clenched together as your cunt throbbed with desire. Watching the video had already lit a familiar fire in you, but now you could feel your arousal beginning to soak the thin, lacy material of your panties. Thrawn’s already wicked smile turned feral, and he forced his thigh between your legs. He grabbed your jaw and tilted your face up to look at him.
“Ch'eo ch'itiseb,” he cooed, “you don’t get any relief quite yet. You were so eager to tease me with that video, but now it’s my turn. Tonight, I get to take my time with you.”
As if to prove his point, Thrawn flexed and shifted his muscular thigh, so a hard ridge of muscle lined up perfectly with your clit. “It’s what you deserve, after all, for trying to tease me. You looked drunk with your own imagined power, writhing in my bed and begging for me…..”
All you could do was whimper at his sinful words as he tilted your face to the side again. You let out a low groan as Thrawn pulled the collar of your uniform aside and lavished all of his attention at the juncture of your neck and shoulder, taking turns sucking and kissing until he had left a noticeable mark. He hummed in approval at his work before trailing a line of kisses up the column of your neck, only to immediately double back and follow the line with his tongue.
Thrawn was the definition of commanding as he gazed down on you, already keening from his touch. He clicked his tongue in a mockingly disapproving manner as he moved his hand to trace the outline of the hickey. “Such a needy little whore for me. Maybe I should mark you up, so everyone knows you’re taken.”
He trailed a long, graceful finger up the side of your neck as if deciding exactly where to claim you next before stopping at the tender pulse point below your jaw. “I think here, to start.”
Another breathless whimper left your mouth as you tried to grind against his thigh, searching desperately for any purchase you could find, but Thrawn just pushed you harder into the wall, leaving you unable to move at all. “A visible mark on a pretty thing like you will have the whole ship wondering who owns this precious cunt.”
Thrawn paused to capture your lips in an all-consuming kiss that further ignited the flame burning deep in your core. By now, your panties were completely soaked through; arousal was beginning to trail down your leg, and your lover hadn’t even taken your clothes off yet.
The barest hint of the friction you were desperate for and his sinful words made you melt further into his embrace as you made another futile attempt to grind against his thigh. “P-Please… Thrawn... I need you to touch me. Take my clothes off. Anything.”
His silken voice was infuriatingly smooth, and it was apparent Thrawn was enjoying his revenge. “Well, bat in’a, you begged so sweetly for me, and now here I am. You’re going to get everything you asked for, but I decide how much you get and when to give it. Maybe my little dove will know better than to tease me after her own lesson in patience is completed.”
Thrawn swiftly stepped backward, and your knees crumpled at the sudden lack of support. He reached out and gracefully caught you; one of his strong arms wrapped around your waist, and you felt the other behind your knees. Before you even fully realized it, your lover had quite literally swept you off your feet and was carrying you towards his private quarters. Thrawn’s burning eyes met your lust-addled gaze, and his smug smile returned, “Already weak at the knees for me, ch’eo vir?”
You opened your mouth to respond, but at that moment, your back hit the silken black sheets of his bed. If the unexpected fall hadn’t taken your breath away, the sight of Thrawn’s powerful form leaning over you absolutely would’ve. Even fully clothed, you could see the hard lines of his muscles shift and move beneath his uniform. His arousal was becoming more apparent by the second as his thick cock strained against the fabric of his pants. You wanted to feel its heavy weight in your mouth so badly you had to bite your bottom lip to stifle a moan.
Thrawn curled his long fingers beneath your chin and traced his thumb over your plush lips, “Open your pretty little mouth for me; I want to hear every single sweet sound you make tonight.”
When you complied, he slipped the calloused digit inside to rest on top of your tongue. You met his gaze again as you licked up the underside of his thumb before briefly closing your mouth to suck on it.
Thrawn let out a groan that trailed off into a low growl. Removing his thumb, he leaned down for another kiss. The first brush of his lips was almost reverent in its gentleness, but that soon gave way to searing passion. Thrawn’s hunger for you seemed to grow as his teeth nipped at your bottom lip, seeking permission to deepen your embrace. You yielded to him completely, hands reaching to cup Thrawn’s face as his soft, breathy moans mixed with your own until he pulled away.
“Thrawn…..” you protested at the sudden loss of contact.
“You would do well to remember that tonight is about you learning patience,” he admonished as his fingers sought the closure of your uniform. “For now, I wish to see you.”
The air in his bedroom seemed to fill with electricity as he slowly undid your uniform jacket. Every so often, his fingers would barely graze your skin as they worked away at the fastenings, raising goosebumps and sending a thrill down your spine at the anticipation of each touch.
As soon as the last clasp fell open, Thrawn leaned back to admire you. “Look at you….” his tone of voice was reverent as he trailed his fingers across your décolletage, “cseo cssah bat.”
You arched into his touch, encouraging him to remove the rest of your uniform. Thrawn tossed the clothing unceremoniously to the side and pulled the pins from your hair, letting it fall and frame your face. One of his hands reached down to tangle itself in your hair. “You look just like you did in the video,” he cooed, “tell me, are you as hungry for my touch now?”
“Yesyes, please, Thrawn. Please touch me,” you pleaded.
His red eyes blazed at the desire in your voice, “remove my clothes, then.”
You eagerly started to unfasten his white uniform shirt, drawing a short chuckle from the normally reserved Chiss. “Cseo ch’itrico...”
Each exposed inch of Thrawn’s beautiful skin spurred the movement of your hands until his jacket lay open and his muscular chest was on full display. Now, it was finally your turn to touch him. Your fingers trailed hungrily down the center of his chest over hard lines of muscle and old scars to hook into the waistband of his pants. Finally, he shrugged the jacket off and threw it to the side to join the growing pile of clothes.
In one fluid motion, Thrawn pulled you up and into his lap. Being this close to him was absolutely intoxicating; the chill of his quarters combined with the warmth of his body and his deep, masculine scent was enough to send your head reeling. His hands continued their previous mission, trailing over your body, studying you as he would any of the priceless art pieces he was so fond of. They paid special attention to your breasts, rubbing your peaked nipples through the fabric. You couldn’t help but whimper at the delicious sensation, “mmmmhThrawn…..”
“Does that feel good?” he murmured into your ear before rolling his hips upwards, driving his erection against your core. You cried out in pleasure as he leaned forward to press a searing kiss on the soft swell of your breast. Your hands sought purchase in his hair as he bit the tender spot before soothing the sting with his tongue, leaving yet another mark on you.
Thrawn’s hand trailed down to drag two fingers over your clothed cunt, growling in approval as he discovered the thin garment was already completely soaked. He moved the strip of lace aside and repeated the movement before circling your clit, drawing more desperate cries from you. All the teasing combined with the anticipation from earlier already had you nearing your first orgasm. Then, without warning, Thrawn thrust two fingers deep inside, and you shattered with his name on your lips.
He let out his own moan at the sensation of your cunt milking his fingers as he fucked you through your orgasm. “Needy little thing, how many times are you going to cum for me tonight?”
Thrawn held his fingers up for you to see. Stars, your arousal was dripping down them. “Commander, you made a mess. It’s only proper you should clean up after yourself.” The mock-disapproval was back in his voice as he pressed them to your lips.
Your cheeks flushed at his words as you took the fingers into your mouth and sucked them clean. Thrawn leaned in for another kiss, “Don’t worry, I’ll have my own taste soon enough.”
He laid you back down and moved to kneel at the base of the bed, pulling your hips to the edge. You slid easily through the silken sheets, grasping them for stability as you felt Thrawn’s hot breath on the inside of your thigh. Once again, he languidly pressed open-mouthed kisses to the soft skin before sucking deep bruises into the tender flesh, murmuring quiet praises in Cheunh between each one. The kisses trailed higher and higher until his mouth was pressed intently against your soaked core.
He gently sucked at your clit before sliding his tongue in to taste you. Your grip on the sheets tightened as he devoured you like a starving man, drinking you in and bring you closer and closer to ruin as he held your hips in an iron grip. You ground against his mouth, desperately chasing your second orgasm as he returned to sucking your clit. He let out a low growl of approval at your desperation, and the vibrating sensation on his lips pushed you screaming over the edge.
Again, Thrawn fucked you through your orgasm before raising his face to look you in the eyes. The calm, composed Grand Admiral was long gone. Pieces of his dark hair had fallen into his face, which shined with your arousal. His red eyes were half-lidded but smoldering with unrestrained lust. “You’ll give me another,” he demanded, returning his attention to your cunt.
For the second time that night, he pushed two fingers deep inside, seeking the spongy spot that would turn you into even more of an incoherent mess. You whined at the feeling of overstimulation, but you were just as hungry for him as he was for you. Thrawn moved back up to ravish your neck with more kisses while he slipped a third finger inside. The wet sounds they made would have been deeply embarrassing to you under any other circumstance, but the noises only encouraged your lover. “Tell me, ch’eo ch’itiseb, were you this wet when it was your own fingers inside of you?”
He gave a particularly rough thrust and grinned wickedly, “I don’t recall your cunt being this musical in the video.”
You were in such a blissful, fucked-out state that it was nearly impossible to form any words, but somehow you managed to speak, “Thrawnnnnn…. pleasepleaseplease…... need you inside me now.”
It was altogether too much. You came hard, soaking the sheets underneath you and drawing a pleased growl from Thrawn.
This time, he withdrew his fingers immediately, leaving your cunt spasming in his absence. Again, you protested weakly, but the sight of him finally removing his pants immediately stopped your complaints. It was a sight you’d never tire of, one you could appreciate even when you were this far gone. Thrawn was breathtaking; his lithe, muscular body had been sculpted from a lifetime of training and discipline. His cock was equally beautiful, large and thick, with pronounced ridges running along the side. He looked like a figure from one of his paintings as he walked towards you, a god of war hell-bent on making you his greatest conquest.
All need for words was long gone as he returned to the bed. Thrawn was as desperate as you; he ripped through the thin, lacy material in his way and trailed his cock along your slit, coating it with your combined arousal. He entered you in one swift movement, and the word fell away. You felt the delicious stretch of him, teasing the line between pleasure and pain as he began to fuck you at a relentless pace. With each snap of hips, yours rose to match the pace, and you saw stars. Thrawn tangled his hands in your hair and pulled you into an all-consuming kiss. He greedily captured each moan, every sigh that fell from your lips. Your fourth orgasm was quickly on the way, and you could tell that your lover wasn’t far behind.
All of the earlier teasings seemed to have affected him as much as they affected you. Thrawn pulled your hips upwards, and the new angle sent him deeper and deeper with each thrust. You felt this tip of his cock hit so incredibly far inside that it sent you reeling as the sound of your lovemaking filled the room. The lingering pleasures from all your previous orgasms were piling on top of each other, driving you closer and closer to a final climax that you were sure would leave you unable to walk tomorrow. Thrawn locked his gaze with yours, watching tears of pleasure run down your face. “So… close….. I can feel you, cseo tsaco -so tight- around me. Cum for me once more,” he commanded with the barest hint of desperation in his voice.
That was all the encouragement you needed before the most intense orgasm of your entire life swept over you. You bit down hard on the juncture of Thrawn’s neck and shoulder to keep from screaming his name loudly enough to tell the entire crew of the Chimaera exactly what was happening. He exhaled sharply as he continued to ride out your orgasm, but the feeling of your cunt greedily clenching around his cock was too much. Thrawn came with a groan, coating your walls with his seed as his pace slowed to a halt.
Your spent bodies fell on the bed together in the afterglow. Thrawn remained inside of you, and you enjoyed the closeness as you felt him soften. He pulled you into a tight embrace, placing a tender kiss on your temple as he softly smiled. “I missed you too, bat in’a.”
Tagging some friends: @pala-din-djarin @handbaskethell @mittheresabosen @pretty-with-andorian-shingles @bluecynadi @ele-millennial-weirdo @mysticalgalaxysalad @rebelpitstop @jedi-mando @tibbietibbs @rexsjaigeyes @anna-the-godkiller @erinsusername @myevilmouse
#thrawn#grand admiral thrawn#mitt'raw'nuruodo#thrawn fanfiction#thrawn x reader#thrawn x female!reader#thrawn x fem!reader#thrawn x you#thrawn x f!reader
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Maybe Jotaro, Risotto, Prosciutto, Bruno and Leone friendship HCs with a fem friend thats llike your generic dumbass but they are just like a soft dumbass, she is just too cute to get mad at no matter how stupid she is. So basically a smol sweet dumbass that just radiate baby energy. Like she just runs up to them saying she want to show them something cool and its just a pretty rock but she looks so happy xjsbkss 💖
Pure of heart, dumb of ass fem!friend with Jotaro, Risotto, Prosciutto, Bruno and Abbacchio HC’s
sfw // fem reader
lemme just say, reader is baby and that’s valid 🥰this is so adorably pure ugh ya done killed me anon 🥺💖✨(can very much relate tho, glad my friends put up with my dumb antics)
Jotaro:
“Why am I friends with you again? Yare yare...” A phrase you’ll hear every time you’re hanging out with this tall bastard. He’ll tease you for being a bit of a dumbass but is incredibly drawn to how kind, sweet and absolutely thoughtful you are.
You remind him of Josuke and Okuyasu which only makes him like you even more. And the added cuteness-factor made him admit to himself he does indeed love cute things, no matter how adamantly he denies it to you.
His favourite thing to do is bring you along to the beach for field research, knowing just how wide eyed and giddy you get when you’re allowed to collect shells and rocks or even poke a jellyfish. You seem very good at spotting irregularities in your surroundings, making quite the good assistant to Dr. Kujo.
You’re even allowed to help with lab research, studying petri dishes filled with algae as you excitedly point out a very important detail he hadn’t noticed yet, too tired from working such long hours. Sometimes you’re quite the genius without even trying.
More than anything he loves the amount of lightness you bring to his life, his studies and general headspace take a large toll on him. Any relief is a welcome one.
He’ll often find himself smiling at the thought of hanging out again, staring at the collection of trinkets he keeps in a cute little Hello Kitty box you once gave him, which rests on his nightstand as a reminder that it can’t hurt to adapt your lifestyle of mindless giddy; even just the tiniest bit.
Risotto:
Being close friends with Risotto seems a bit impossible without being in his squad, he’s very insistent at keeping outsiders of Passione more than an arm-length away. Good thing that the stoic man is your capo, phew!
He’s apprehensive at first, not really sure why the soft round pebble you brought him reminded you of the man as he studied the mineral, admiring its softness. “It’s like you! Soft and worn down, but very sturdy and unbreakable.” smiling sweetly at him, excitedly awaiting a response.
What was this new feeling of being appreciated and cared for? Risotto’s never really experienced a friendship so pure. He’ll quietly thank you for the pebble and keeps it on his desk, staring in awe as he’s reminded of your kind words every time he spots it.
He knows the others like to tease you for not always being aware of general human knowledge, shooting them an intense glare as a warning to keep any rude comments or jokes to themselves.
Your friendship consists of him mostly listening to you, quietly taking in all the stories you divulge- so full of excitement, telling him facts you picked up somewhere; the source of these often containing varying levels of credibility. He won’t correct you though. (unless it’s something that might actually endanger you)
He values your friendship so.much. He’s not used to being treated so kindly, receiving random gifts, being praised for a job well done, having someone who doesn’t judge him in the slightest. He’ll do whatever he needs to keep you safe, from others and yourself, along with trying to return your kindness and care. (he tries his best and it’s so cute)
(you guys hold hands for safety when you’re out in the city... just saying, it’s adorable)
Prosciutto:
Prosciutto has a chronic case of “caring older brother disease”. Will need to hold himself back from tying your shoelaces for you, the man knows you can do it it yourself but it’s just taking sooo long.
Just like Risotto, you’d have to be a team member to get close to him in any way. Good thing he recruited you ;)
It’s a bit hard to make him open up about anything personal. You feel like he knows everything about you, while you barely know a thing. When he sees your pouty lip and begging gaze that is way too cute to deny, he’ll cave. Perhaps finally realising it’s alright to lean on others.
He’ll still struggle with continuing the openness, but find relief in your loyalty and understanding. The way you intently listen to his troubles, there to hold his hand if he ever needs it, it makes his heart hurt to know how sweet and gentle you are.
Will keep you and Pesci separate during missions, he’s already getting a migraine from imaging everything that could go wrong without his guidance.
For someone who’s a little more on the dense side, you make up for it in emotional intelligence. Whenever you see how stressed he tends to get, eye twitching without even realising while his shoulders hunch together in discomfort, you come over to hug him. It’s something he had to get used to, the small gesture always calming him down enough to keep going.
Does not appreciate you slipping cute trinkets in his suit pocket. Especially not after finding a snail that one time. You’ve been forbidden from leaving pocket gifts since the incident.
Bruno:
It concerns Bruno just how clueless you can be from time to time. That one time they almost left you behind on a busy station with no cellphone because you found a coin on the ground made him realise you need some extra supervision.
He’s not the type to hold you back from doing things that are guaranteed to result in disaster (unless it’s literally deadly), he wants you to experience the consequences of your own actions.
You do make him hold back his laughter when you try out a stupid idea you know has failed in the past, but change your methods slightly to hope for better results. And you know what? Now he’s curious too.
The man has a weird sense of humour that sometimes even surprises you. He’ll copy your habit of picking up strange trinkets or rocks and asks you to compare findings with him. Like trading marbles, he’ll barter with a smirk.
“Mhh, if you give me that cute shell and that pointy rock... I’ll give you this keychain.” His alluring offer making you question if you’re getting swindled or not. “Hey! That shell is at least worth two stickers!” He’ll heartily laugh at your reply, a mischievous smile while thinking over the trade. “Ok, two stickers and a pebble then.”
With a firm handshake the deal goes through. The rest of the gang never knows how to respond, staring in amazement as their grown-ass capo barters with their grown-ass teammate. He loves being silly with you and forgetting all the pressures of life for just a moment.
Bruno takes his time opening up to you, but finds your presence so comforting it becomes very easy to trust you. As a vital part of his team he finds it important to be able to lean on each other for support and is glad you offer him just as much trust and loyalty.
Abbacchio:
Will never admit he can’t live without you anymore. You’ve become the shining beacon of assumed happiness the man never thought existed. He knows you won’t always be go-lucky and have your own troubles and struggles but admires how you handle them.
Don’t get me wrong, he’ll still gladly tease you for your occasional (well, more like frequent) stupidity. He’ll let you know with a big huff you should smarten up; “Read a book that doesn’t have pictures in it for once.”
He’ll be the first to correct any wrong info you’ve been given, unless he thinks it’s funny. Like when Mista made you believe you needed to order dessert at Libeccio or they’ll kick you out for breaking their beloved rule. It’s only when he saw the panic in your eyes when you finished your main course one day -too full for any sweets to come- that he assured you it was a dumb joke. (he’ll put all the blame on Mista)
Abbacchio seems to tether to people who have a positive influence on him without even realising, it won’t be obvious to him, but just like with his loyalty and admiration for Bruno, he’ll make sure you know it once he finds out.
Not that it’s a bad thing, his need to cling to anything that might help him stay afloat just needs to stay healthy. You didn’t even realise your effect on him, you were too busy trying to figure out a way to turn that scowl into that smirk.
After gifting him a handmade friendship bracelet that had the shortened versions of your names spelled on it, he hugged you. So tightly it was suffocating, you were shocked since he’s never been the touchy type. “Leone! I can’t breathe...” He’ll let go after the complaint but that look on his face will never leave your memory. The face of being loved unconditionally by choice, no matter how unworthy he might think himself of it.
#cozy request#physical affection from friends? it's more likely than u think#jjba x reader#jotaro x reader#risotto x reader#prosciutto x reader#bruno x reader#abbacchio x reader#jjba headcanons#jjba imagines#jotaro kujo#risotto nero#prosciutto#bruno bucciarati#leone abbacchio
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Deal? - Remus LupinxDaughter!Reader
Hi! :)
Deal? (Part 1) | Oh, darling... (Part 2) | I’ll be by your side (Part 3)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Please note:
1: I don’t own any of the gifs used, nor any already established characters, so credit to the authors and original creators - You have done a phenomenal job :)
2: English is not my native language, as I was born and raised in Sweden. I have, however, studied English for almost a decade, so I don’t think it’ll be a problem, I just thought I’d let you know ;)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You probably already knew this, but still XD
(Y/N) - Your name
(Y/N/N) - Your nickname
(Y/H/L) - Your hair length
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I swear, my next story won’t be about Umbridge XD
Word count: ≈ 2300
Warnings: Umbridge, angst, slight swearing
Enjoy!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“I do not wish to criticise the ways of the school, however you have been exposed to some rather irresponsible wizards in this class, very irresponsible indeed - not to mention” the toadlike professor threw a dark glance at a sandy haired student and smirked evilly, “extremely dangerous half breeds”.
The student in question raised her hand angrily, and glared at Professor Umbridge. “Yes?” the teacher smiled sweetly, “miss… Lupin, am I correct?”
“Yes, (Y/N)!” she began, “but that’s besides the point. Look, I know what you’re doing, but Professor Lupin was the best DADA teacher we’ve ever had, and I’d be more than happy to bet everything I own on that being quite a common opinion in this classroom!”
Most of her fellow classmates nodded furiously, and the young girl turned her head towards her professor, who immediately cleared her throat and declared: “Well, I’m afraid simply being a beloved teacher doesn’t really matter, dear. Werewolves are still extremely dangerous creatures. They are beasts that are undeserving of respect and that should not be allowed to be part of our fine wizard community. They are uncontrollable, and highly likely to injure or possibly kill young witches and wizards, including their own children.”
She flashed a cruel, yet pleased, smirk as (Y/N) furiously stood up, despite Hermione desperately trying to force her down.
“You have NO IDEA what you’re talking about!?” she whispered angrily, her nails digging into her palms as her fists clenched. “You have probably never even met one of these so called ‘half breeds’, have you? No, you were most likely just told some bizarre stories containing more lies and made up facts than truths, and decided to put that worthless ‘knowledge’ - if you can even call it that - to use by spreading rumors and destroying the lives of innocent people.”
Umbridge looked frantic, and was about to speak up, but (Y/N) got there first. “I despise people who look down on others. People who claim to be better than everyone else. People like you. You certainly don’t deserve respect!”
She took a deep breath, and was about to continue when Umbridge’s shrill voice forced her to stay quiet. “That’s quite enough! Detention, miss Lupin. The rest of the week, five fifteen, don’t be late”.
***
A few hours later, (Y/N) made her way back to Umbridge’s office. She knew her friends had wanted to talk to her, but she had done her absolute best to avoid them all afternoon. She simply didn’t feel like explaining to them why she had done what she did. She’d gladly do it again though. Her father was the kindest, wisest, most incredible person she had ever met. He had done everything in his power to give her a good childhood, and no one had the right to insult him. She’d defend him to her last breath if that’s what it would come down to.
She knocked on the door carefully, and pushed it open when she heard a shrill, terrifying voice sing a sweet “come in”.
“Oh, miss Lupin, almost late I see!” she said arrogantly. (Y/N) didn’t have time to answer before her teacher continued. “Sit down.”
***
The detentions went on for another four days before Umbridge told her she didn’t have to come back the following evening, but that she better hold her tongue unless she longed for more. (Y/N) tried to keep that in mind, but still lost her cool a few more times before the end of the semester. However, the Christmas holidays were approaching, and though her red, swollen hand caused her to worry slightly, the idea of seeing her dad and godfather caused her enough joy to tip her mood over to “mainly happy”.
She stepped off the train with her friends, and immediately spotted her father on the platform.
“Dad!!” she shouted, and threw her scratched arms around his constantly scarred torso. “Merlin, I’ve missed you so much”. She buried her head in his shoulder, simply enjoying the feeling of love and safety that he somehow instantly gave off.
“Hello, darling!” he said gently, returning the bone-crushing hug. “I missed you too, believe me…”
(Y/N) wanted to stay like that forever, but eventually let go as she intended to at least try to keep her… problems… hidden. She had never really been able to keep secrets from her dad, and therefore didn’t want to do anything he would consider “out of the ordinary”. If she did, he’d figure it out, or persuade her to tell him everything within minutes, and she knew he’d feel guilty if he realized what she had done for him. She understood perfectly well that the scars on her hand were deep enough to be visible for the rest of her life, and that nothing she would say could convince Remus Lupin that it was not his fault. She was left with one option: He could not, under any circumstances, know. Ever.
They carried her trunk together, and walked a few feet behind the rest of the gang.
“So?”, her father inquired, “How are things? You all doing okay?”
“I suppose”, she answered, “Our new DADA teacher is quite a daft prick though.”
“(Y/N/N)!”, he muttered sternly, casually trying to hide a smile, “Are you sure that’s the right word? Sounds rather rough, doesn’t it?”
The witch shrugged. “No, I think it fits rather nicely. It’s almost as if she’s trying her very best to prevent us from learning anything helpful…”
“That’s… well, that doesn’t sound very promising, does it?”
“No, hence the slightly offensive description… But enough about her, how are you? Had any company while I was gone?”
The older wizard smiled, easily noticing the tone of his daughter’s voice switch into a far more joyful, energetic one - One he knew and loved!
“Oh yes, I’ve spent quite a bit of time at headquarters, and Sirius essentially isn’t allowed anywhere else, so we’ve done a lot of catching up. There is, believe it or not, a lot to talk about after 12 years without seeing each other, so it’s been very nice.” He turned to her, smiled even broader and added a quick “But I’ve still missed you.”, before quickening his pace to catch up with the others.
***
Later that night, (Y/N), Remus, Harry and Sirius were sat in the living room of number 12 Grimmauld Place. Harry and Sirius were playing catch with an old snitch they had found in the house, lazily throwing it back and forth. (Y/N) lay on a sofa, a thick leather bound book tightly clutched in her hands and her head resting on her fathers lap. He was deeply invested in A Guide to Medieval Sorcery, and father and daughter were simply enjoying a nice, calm evening.
All of a sudden, Sirius grabbed the snitch, sat up straight and reached out towards his godson.
“Harry, what’s that on your hand?”
The dark haired boy pulled the sleeves of his jumper further down and mumbled a quiet “nothing”.
“Sure, let me see then”
“No, it’s fine, don’t worry abo…”
Harry didn’t get the chance to finish his sentence, as Sirius had risen from his seat and forcefully grabbed his left hand. The slightly faded “I must not tell lies” was still readable, and Harry winced as the look on his godfather’s face went from composed to furious in a matter of seconds.
“Who?”
“Sirius, I…”
“WHO?!”
By this time, both Remus and (Y/N) had put their books down, and were carefully observing the “argument”.
“It’s our new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, Umbridge. She’s quite generous when it comes to giving detentions. But mine’s really not that bad now. It barely hurts anymore…”
“That’s totally barbaric!? Moony, we have to…”
“Harry”, Remus interrupted his old friend with a worried look on his face, “What do you mean by ‘quite generous’?”
His heart practically skipped a beat when he felt his daughter shift uncomfortably, however it was Harry who answered.
“‘m quite sure half the Gryffindors have been to her office at least once by now. Even when you’re not really doing anything wrong, she’ll make up a ‘reasonable’ excuse…”
As Harry spoke, (Y/N) had unconsciously been pulling the sleeves of her jumper closer to her fingertips. Remus obviously noticed and made eye contact with Harry, nodding discreetly towards his daughter as if to ask if she too had… well… yeah? Harry closed his eyes, knowing full well how his friend wanted to hide her scars from her dad. It had taken hours of convincing before she had even let him, Ron and Hermione see, and he understood why she didn’t want Lupin to know. He did, however, not like the idea of lying to his former professor, and nodded slightly.
Remus closed his eyes looking simultaneously sad and angered, sat up straight and muttered “(Y/N/N)?”
The young witch took a deep breath and was about to move away from her dad, but he was faster and quickly grabbed her hand. He was very gentle, but she flinched anyways, as her last detention had taken place only a week prior.
“(Y/N/N)”, he repeated, “show me”
“Dad”, she mumbled quietly, “‘tis fine, don’t worry”
“(Y/N)!” His voice sounded far sterner now, “I’m serious. C’mere”
“No, I don’t want…”
“It’s not a question of whether or not you want to, Love”, Sirius explained before his friend could think of a response. “Show your dad.”
“But…”
“(Y/N/N)”, Harry mumbled, “Just… just do it”
“No! I can handle it! Stop making it sound like I’m too weak to do so!”
She felt a tear escape her eye, and stood up to leave the room when Remus waved his wand and locked the door.
Taking yet another deep breath, his daughter turned around, made her way across the room, pulled her left sleeve up and slammed her scarred hand down on the table for the other three to see.
“There! You happy now?!”
A flood of tears were streaming down her face, as her dad, godfather and best friend leant closer and read seven deep-red, awful, heart wrenching words:
***
I must not defend filthy half breeds
***
Remus put his head in his hands and stood up, while Sirius moved closer to his goddaughter and pulled her into a tight hug. Harry joined the embrace and comfortingly rubbed her back.
“why? Why (Y/N/N)?”, her father whispered quietly, his voice barely audible.
“I… I couldn’t…She… sorry…”
The usually calm, collected girl was completely lost for words. Shaking. She had no clue what to say, all she knew was that she had to let her dad know that she was sorry. Sorry for making him feel guilty. Sorry for causing him so much pain. Sorry for not being strong enough.
She walked over to him and noticed heavy, wet tears on his face too. Carefully she wrapped her arms around him, and together they sank down onto the cold floor. They sat there for what felt like hours before Remus finally spoke up, repeating his previous question.
“Why, darling?”
She met his sad gaze and collected her thoughts before quietly whispering “She keeps saying horrible things - pure lies - and she’s enjoying it. She’s throwing insults my way every chance she gets. If I don’t stand up and fight, everyone will think she’s right, and she’s not. Nothing will ever change unless someone works for it, and as soon as that someone backs down, they’ve lost. I’m not having that.”
He looks back at her, his eyes full of pride. “What did I ever do to deserve you?”
“You mean besides being the most phenomenal dad imaginable?”
He chuckled softly, ruffled her (Y/H/L) hair and held his hand out. (Y/N) slowly placed her hand on her father’s and shifted her gaze towards the floor as he examined the neatly written letters. With a worried expression on his face, he grabbed his wand and moved it back and forth over the scars while quietly muttering a few carefully chosen words. The pain immediately became more endurable, and after putting his wand away the older wizard grabbed his daughter’s shoulders gently, and looked at her in a sad, yet determined way.
“(Y/N/N), as honourable as your intentions are, please don’t do this for me. I’m not going to tell you to back down, but if you’re going to keep it up, don’t let it…” He paused, trying to find the right words. “I can’t stand the thought of you getting injured because of me. I’m not wo…”
“Yes, you are! Stop saying that! I’ll be a bit more selective, if that’s what you want, but don’t you dare tell me not to fight for you. You are my dad, my only family, and there is not a single person on this planet less deserving of disrespect, insults and hate. Dad, you’re amazing, and I’m not letting her fool people into thinking you’re not.”
After a moment of silence, a quiet, “I still don’t like it…”, escaped his lips.
“I know.” She sighed, “That’s why I originally didn’t plan on telling you.”
(Y/N) was fiddling with her fingers, not quite meeting her fathers warm gaze, when she suddenly sat up and said, “Let’s make a deal? I promise to choose my fights more wisely, and in return, you won’t blame yourself for the consequences of said choices? Sounds fair, doesn’t it?”
Her father sighed, but reluctantly answered, “Fine, as long as you promise me one more thing.”
“Hmm?”
“You won’t hide scars or pain from me ever again, no matter whether it’s physical or mental, okay? You’ll let me know, and let me help, always!”
She held her right hand out, her dad shook it and they shared a smile. This time, a true, pure one that actually reached their identically green eyes.
“Deal!”
~ L
Part 2 Oh, darling...
Masterlist
#remus lupin x daughter reader#hp imagine#remus lupin x daughter#Harry Potter#remus lupin#sirius black#order of the phoenix#imagine#remus lupin imagine#story#hp one shot#HP#harry#harry potter x friend#sirius black x goddaughter#sirius black x reader#remus lupin x reader#harry potter x reader
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Painter’s Hands and Guatemalan Coffee: Part 4
the ackerman influence
Pairing/setting: Levi Ackerman x Female!Reader, modern!college!AU
Summary: When you catch your idiot boyfriend cheating, your grumpy roommate is there to pick up the pieces and watch your back as you toe a carefully drawn line in the metaphorical sand.
Word Count: 3.5k
Warnings: consumption of alcohol and weed products, intoxication, swearing, pretty dang fluffy
AN: SURPRISE BITCHES it’s out tonight!! An infinite thank you belongs to my beloved @ghostlightprincess for her keen eye for editing and swoon-worthy compliments and encouragements. Seriously, this chapter is dedicated entirely to her. I hope y’all enjoy!! I hope y’all appreciate the love I gave Sasha this chapter because........reasons. Pleease feel free to come scream/squeal/chat in my DMs or askbox! In love with you all<3 ~valkyrie
(read part 3 here)
“Here, thisun ‘sblue!” Hange slurs as she passes you yet another shot glass with Greek letters etched on the side.
“Mmm, I like blue,” you giggle, then clink your shot with hers before you both tip your heads back to pour the liquor down your throats. It tastes inexplicably like turquoise, and you laugh loudly over the thumping dance music in approval.
The poor freshman charged with staffing the drinks table eyes the pair of you skeptically. “Maybe you two should slow down, you seem like you’ve had enough—”
You round on him, offense written across your face. He’s definitely right, but you aren’t exactly gonna let some pimply, snot-nosed teen tell you how to drink. “Woah, Nelly, this ain’t cocktail hour, this is fuckin’ Greek row an’ I won’t have your judgment,” you waggle a finger in his general direction for emphasis, “harsh my vibe.”
“You tell ‘em, girlfriend,” Hange approves vaguely, hanging off your shoulder.
The freshman holds his hands up in defeat, amused. “No judgment.”
You nod once.
“C’mon, Han, let’s see if we can find the snacks.”
“Pleeeeeeease…”
You turn away from the drinks table to do just that, angling towards where you remember the kitchen to be — honestly, this frat is huge — and set off through the crowd. Hange trails after you, fingers tangled with yours like they have been all night, yammering on about something you can’t be bothered to follow.
“‘Scuse us, comin’ through, on a mission!” You push past jostling bodies until you reach the far wall and lean against it for the last leg of your epic journey to the fluorescent lights of the kitchen.
Someone calls your name and you look up through squinted eyes to see Sasha leaned up against the counter by the fridge, bowl of chips in her arms and dab pen tucked behind her ear. She’s dressed casually, sweatpants and DIY cropped t-shirt contrasting your jeans and flashy top.
“Sasha! My love! My dearest, sweetest darling!” You stretch your arms wide towards her, Hange jolting forward where you’re connected. “We come in search of snacks.”
Sasha laughs and lazily deposits her bowl on the counter, stepping forward to stabilize you both with a hand on your shoulder. “You’ve come to the right place, my friends.”
She steers you both to sit at the island, wedging you between the only other two people in the kitchen. You vaguely recognize them as soccer players on the university team: a shaggy-haired brunette and a tall blonde. Sasha passes you her dab pen before ambling over to the pantry. You take a hit, then pass it to Hange, who’s looking much better now that she’s sitting down.
“Sash, these your friends?” the blonde asks, peering down at you through red-rimmed hazel eyes. You pluck the pen out of Hange’s limp grasp and offer it to him in greeting, along with a drunk smile. He takes it and grins back.
“Yep,” Sasha confirms with half her body still stuck into the pantry. “It’s the mad scientist one and the architect.”
“Almost architect,” you correct. “Not official until I have my degree! Although, I will agree, Han’s a mad scientist.” You poke her in the side and she swats you away with an eye roll.
“Oh,” the brunette soccer player pipes up from Hange’s other side, now looking at you curiously as well. He’s also high, startling green eyes hooded and posture relaxed. “So you’re Braun’s ex.”
You hide your shudder of distaste by turning back to take a drag off the pen. “Please don’t tell me that’s all I’m known for,” you sigh out with a cloud of smoke.
“Eren, don’t be an ass.” Sasha finally returns with a box of chocolate pretzels and a bag of hot Cheetos. “Pick your poison, hot stuff,” she offers each in turn. You ponder for a second, then reach for the Cheetos. “That’s Eren—” she points to the brunette, who raises a lazy hand “—and that’s Jean—” the blonde reaches for the pretzels. Sasha makes an offended noise and cradles them to her chest.
You introduce both yourself and Hange while Sasha plays defense against Jean’s long reach.
“Sorry,” Eren apologizes to you, leaning over Hange to grab some Cheetos. “I heard what he did to you. Really shitty.” His tone is casual, but the way he’s practically pinning you in place with his eyes makes you twitch.
“Puh-lease,” Hange pulls out the word, long and sarcastic. “‘Twas more than shitty, what that douche did. I’d’ve wrung him out to dry, but she didn’t—”
You cut her off with a sharp poke to her side. “Drop it, Han, I don’t wanna think about it.”
“But— ooh!” She’s sufficiently distracted when you shove your food in front of her face.
“Sorry,” Eren apologizes again.
“S’okay,” you sigh and take another drag, then hold the pen out to him in a peace offering. He smiles slowly and takes it.
“You guys staying over? There’s plenty of room in the basement, and friends of Sasha’s are always welcome.” It’s Jean who offers, returning to his seat beside you with a singular pretzel for his trouble.
“Hmm, might be nice,” Hange muses, but you’re already shaking your head.
“Thank you, but my roommate’d probably have a conniption if I wasn’t home in the morning.”
Hange actually snorts at this, then starts coughing violently because of the hot Cheeto dust suddenly up her nose. You pat her back in mild concern.
“What, they got a stick up their ass or something?” Eren asks.
“Or something. Levi’s just protective.”
“Levi?” Eren’s eyes are suddenly wide, almost fearful. “Levi Ackerman?”
“Yeah.” Your tone edges on defensive. “Why?”
He takes a hit and shrugs before answering. “He’s just my foster sister’s cousin. Interesting family.”
“Oh, you mean Mikasa?” You didn’t know exactly how they were related, but she’d helped Levi move in and it had struck you how eerily similar they were in disposition.
“Yeah, Mikasa. She’s around here somewhere…” As though by magic, he turns to look over his shoulder just as Mikasa and another blonde boy you don’t recognize mosey in from the hallway. She’s leaning down to catch his soft words and he’s talking with his hands, stalling as his eyes light on the little group in the kitchen.
“Oh, hey guys,” he greets.
“Armiiiin,” Eren greets with a genuine smile. “Come meet some new friends.”
The pair rounds the kitchen island, Armin allowing Eren to pull him in by the arm and Mikasa going to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Sasha.
“I know you,” Hange pipes up, tilting her head to observe Armin. “You’re in the sophomore biochem class I TA for. Arlert, right?”
Armin ducks his head in a nod. “Yep. Professor LaBelle is a wonder, I had a great time this semester.”
“She is, isn’t she?” Hange’s grin is almost slipping to the dangerous side of intrigued. “I graded your final paper, by the way, and just between us, you set the grade curve.”
He blushes red but his eyes shine with something akin to satisfaction. “Really? That’s a relief, it was a bear to write.”
Eren leans back behind Hange to gesture to you, looking across the kitchen at his foster sister. “Mikasa, this is—”
“—Levi’s roommate,” they say at the same time.
“I know.” Her dark eyes regard you interestedly. “Hi, again,” she greets, saying your name even though she’s maybe heard it once in her life.
“Hi!” You give a small wave.
“What, uh, what,” Jean clears his throat and you look up at him to catch a blush staining across his cheeks and nose. He’s looking at Mikasa. “What’re you guys up to in the basement?”
“We were just going to start a movie, Connie’s setting up the projector,” Mikasa says, eyes flicking from you to Eren. “Wanted to see if you guys wanted to join.”
Jean stands suddenly, his stool rocking from the force of it. “Y-yeah, we’ll join!” Sasha hides a snicker behind her hand.
Eren stands, too, between Armin and Hange, who are still chatting. He looks down at you and says your name like a question. “You coming?”
You find yourself shaking your head again. “I’m so crossed, I think if I even look at a couch I’ll fall asleep. And I, uh,” you yawn, slipping your phone out of a back pocket to check the time. 12:11 AM. “I should be getting home.”
It’s earlier than when you would normally call it quits, but suddenly all you can think about is going home and falling into Levi’s clean, soft-smelling sheets. Plus, it’s the Saturday preceding finals week and tonight was only meant to blow off steam between intense days of studying.
“You stayin’?” You bump Hange with your shoulder, and she looks around at you with wide eyes as though she forgot you were there.
“Hmm?”
“You stayin’ for the movie?”
“We’re watching It: Chapter Two,” Armin supplies, eyes crinkled in excitement.
Hange’s eyes grow impossibly wider behind her glasses and she grabs your elbow a little too hard. “You wouldn’t mind, right? I’ve been meaning to watch it.”
You smile and shake your head. “Wouldn’t mind at all. You stay, I’ll call an Uber.”
The whole group starts migrating in the lazy way drunk and high people do: Mikasa helps Sasha with the snacks; Eren and Jean grab canned drinks from the fridge; Armin and Hange gravitate towards the door, talking fast with words you’ve never heard before. You stay sitting at the island, tapping away at your phone to order a car.
When you stand to find the front door, your high hits you from behind like a fuckin’ baseball bat and you sway dangerously. You whistle through your teeth, low and soft, planting a hand on the counter. Sasha looks over at you in concern, her arms full.
“You okay, babe?”
“Yeah, I just… what is in that dab pen?”
She laughs, head tilting back. “Good shit, right? Got that one new last week.”
“For real…” you trail off, getting your bearings.
“Here,” Mikasa starts, piling even more food into Sasha’s arms, “I’ll walk you out. Levi would skin me if he knew I didn’t make sure your driver’s not an ax murderer.”
Normally, you’d protest, but the room really is starting to spin.
“Okay,” you sigh and allow her to hook your arm through hers. She’s surprisingly solid, and you find yourself leaning heavily into her. “How’re you still sober?”
“I don’t drink or smoke,” she answers, gently pushing past Armin standing in the doorway. “Doesn’t affect me, anyway, so it’d just be a waste of money.”
“Huh,” you grunt, then twist to wave to the group. “Night, everyone.”
A replying chorus of “goodnight” chases you and Mikasa through the dark foyer littered with drunken party-goers.
“Oh, wait,” she pauses with a hand on the doorknob. “Did you bring a jacket?”
“Oh,” you wrinkle your nose and think back to getting ready in the afternoon. It had been unseasonably warm and your coat didn’t match your outfit. “No, I didn’t bring one.”
Mikasa gives you an odd look and deposits you by the door. “I’ll be right back.”
Your body feels light as you lean back, tucking your hands into your armpits so they don’t float away. Your eye catches on movement in the dark shadows by the staircase and you squint, trying to see who’s there. It takes a second, but you eventually make out a pair of people, well… making out. They’re completely absorbed in each other, bodies impossibly close and you giggle quietly to yourself before your stomach rolls. No, don’t think about… too late.
You shut your eyes tight and turn away from the couple to lean sideways against the wall. The image is too similar, too gut-punchingly familiar.
“Didn’t mean what? Didn’t mean to stick your tongue down my best friend’s throat? Didn’t mean to practically fuck your best friend’s girlfriend in public?”
The biting words and stuttered apologies are still rolling around in your head when Mikasa comes back, thick puffer coat in hand. She hands it to you and you mutter a subdued “thanks,” twitching to dislodge the dull pain that’s settled in your ribs.
“It’s Eren’s, but he won’t mind. He doesn’t wear this one a lot, and you can just give it back next time we see you.”
“Right,” you nod, head moving a little too easily as you slip your arms in and fumble with the zipper. The faux fur around the hood tickles your face as Mikasa flips it up over your head. She’s clearly experienced in the art of taking care of intoxicated people.
Outside, you’re grateful you bundled up because the temperature has dropped significantly since the afternoon. Chilly December wind bites at your face and you bury your hands in coat pockets to save them from the same fate. Your fingers brush against something cold and metallic, and before you know it you’re pulling out a fistful of crumby objects: a super plus tampon, the packaging split down the side; two “for her pleasure” condoms; and, inexplicably, a Hot Wheels matchbox car. An ugly snort escapes your nose and Mikasa looks over at you in alarm. You raise up your fist and she chuckles through her nose as well. Squinting in the dim light of a flickering streetlamp, you find the expiration date on the condoms to be several months ago, so you lean over to a convenient trash can and toss both them and the tampon. The matchbox car returns to the pocket. Who knows, maybe Eren’ll miss it if it’s gone.
Mikasa doesn’t look affected by the cold, only winding her red scarf more securely around her neck as you both quietly wait on the sidewalk for your Uber. A quick glance at the app tells you that it’s three minutes away.
“Are you and Levi close?” You find yourself asking into the night sounds of Greek Row on a Saturday night.
You almost think she doesn’t hear you over the sound of a group spilling out of a neighboring sorority, but then she answers.
“Not particularly. We didn’t grow up together and only connected because of Uncle Kenny a couple years ago.” Her tone is light and casual as she talks about her family, as though you should know who Uncle Kenny is. Should I know who Uncle Kenny is?
“Oh,” is all you can think to say.
“We may not be close,” she starts again, eyeing you closely, “but I think we’re very similar. And I can tell he cares a lot about you.”
“Oh. Right.” Your palms are suddenly sweaty in your pockets.
“He may not show it,” her tone is careful, “But he does.”
You smile faintly and kick your boot against the curb. “He does show it, in his own way. He’s been really good to me.” Somehow, it’s easy to talk about this to Mikasa, even when you get all stuttery and weird having an identical conversation with Hange. Maybe it’s the drugs and alcohol, or maybe it’s because there’s not a hint of judgment in Mikasa’s eyes. Either way, it feels good to speak your feelings into the world.
“Good.” She nods and follows your gaze to where you’re still scuffing the curb. “Some unsolicited advice for you: if you ever want anything besides mutual pining to come out of it, you need to be really obvious. Or make the first move outright.”
This makes you stutter and wring your hands, she just puts it so bluntly. “R-right, the first move…. Oh, I think that’s my car.”
“What’s the license plate number we’re looking for?”
You read it out from the app while Mikasa steps to the back of the blue sedan that just pulled up. She nods, confirming it’s the same, then circles to the driver’s side window, which is cracked open.
“Hi,” you greet the driver, a blonde woman in her late twenties, and confirm her name matches the one in the app before sliding into the back seat. Mikasa leans down to murmur something to her and she nods, glancing back at you in the rearview mirror.
“G’night, Mikasa,” you call out the window. “Thanks for everything. And tell Eren thanks for the jacket.”
She waves as the car pulls away. You settle into the quiet hum of the car and let your mind wander.
Mutual pining. Make the first move outright….
—
“Mikasa texted me,” Levi says by way of greeting as you stumble out of the car and thank your driver. He’s leaning on a lamp post outside your apartment building when your Uber pulls up, jacket and boots pulled on over flannel pajamas.
“Levi, stand ominously on the sidewalk often?” you ask, dragging out his name long and sing-song.
“Only for you, kid.” He loops an arm around your waist and steers you towards the entryway
“Not a kid,” you grumble, masking the stutter of your heart at his usual pet name for you. Somewhere in the last couple of weeks, it’s gained a weightier significance, at least to you. It’s endearing and a little distancing and charged all at once and it makes your head spin as you climb the stairs up to your floor.
At your door, Levi unlocks it while you drift slowly in a circle next to him, trying to expend the sudden nervous energy you’ve gained in his presence.
The first move, first move, first move… Mutual pining. Mutual.
“What are you muttering about?”
You hadn’t realized you were thinking out loud.
“Nothing,” you say quickly and pass through the door he’s holding open for you. Your momentum carries you farther than you mean to go, and he catches you by the elbow, reeling you back to the coat rack by the door.
“Whose jacket is that?” He shrugs off his own and eyes the faux fur around your face skeptically.
You fumble with the zipper for a second before he sighs and reaches for it himself, stepping into your space. His face is so close to yours you can feel his breath ghosting over your collarbone as he unzips the jacket.
“Eren’s,” you finally answer. “Look.” You pull the matchbox car out of its pocket and show it to Levi with a wide grin. He stares at it for a second, then the tiniest smile twitches onto his lips.
“He’s a weird kid.” It’s almost fond, with an undertone of exasperation.
“You know him?”
“Yeah, he’s in the art department, too. Graphic design major, marketing minor. I TAed his freshman seminar last year.” Levi slips the coat off your shoulders as he speaks, then hangs it by the loop next to his.
“Ah, that makes sense,” you muse, wandering farther into the apartment. “He looked terrified when I mentioned you. What’d you do to those poor freshmen?”
“Nothing they didn’t deserve.”
“...ominous,” you hiss, your eyes wide as you let him gently push you into your room. The nervous energy hasn’t quite been expended, and you find your hands wringing with it. Suddenly, you’re rambling about your night as he sits you down on your bed among the laundry that’s taken residence there in its disuse. The stupid song they played at the first frat; Sasha’s excellent food; the blue mystery shot.
“It tasted like turquoise, I swear, Levi! It was like magic!” Your eyes are wide, insistent as you lean forward into his space.
“How does something taste like turquoise?” He ducks his head to avoid your face, fingers untying the knotted laces of your boots.
“You’re the artist, you tell me.”
“I don’t eat my paint.”
“Not even once? Not gonna lie, your paint looks very tasty, sometimes…”
“Are you always this annoying when you’re high?” He tugs the second boot off your foot as you let yourself fall back onto your bed.
“Come on, you love me,” you crow to the ceiling. Mutual pining.
Levi mutters something under his breath.
“What?”
“Nothing. Where do you keep your pajamas?” He stands and looks around your room.
“Middle drawer, left side,” you direct, lazily motioning to your dresser with an arm. Your eyes flutter shut as you listen to Levi pick his way across the floor and slide the drawer open.
Normally, you can get yourself in bed after a night out just fine. Normally, you slip into the apartment making as little noise as possible, and fall into bed without Levi even waking up. But it feels nice to have his steady hands on you when it feels like your organs might start floating apart at any second. It’s anchoring and reassuring and you can feel the safety of being near him lulling you into a doze.
Come on, you love me.
You shoot up to sitting, mind whirling and chest tight. “L-Levi?”
“What.”
“D-do…” Do you love me? “Do you think I’m pretty?” It feels petty in your mouth and you immediately regret the words, but it would be worse to try and take them back, so you just bite your lip and look down at the floor.
A hand plops onto the top of your head. Levi’s gray eyes meet yours, soft with something you can’t describe, when he tilts your head up. He’s quiet for a moment, then reaches his other hand to thumb your bottom lip out from between your teeth.
“I think you’re very pretty.”
--
(read part 5 here)
#levi ackerman x reader#levi ackerman x female!reader#attack on titan fanfic#aot fanfic#shingeki no kyojin fanfic#snk fanfic#aot x reader#snk x reader#levi ackerman#hange zoe#sasha braus#eren jaeger#jean kirschtein#armin arlert#mikasa ackerman#swearing#alcohol#weed#intoxication#painter's hands and guatemalan coffee#the ackerman influence#queue!!#valkyrie writes
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Title: Liham para sa ‘yo, Dekada 70 (A Letter for you, Year ‘70) — An entry to @lumpiang-toge ‘s event.
Pairing: Jean Kirstein x Reader
Content Warning: Activism, Pure Angst, Disappearing Persons, Mentions of Death, Marcos regime AU. WRITTEN IN ENGLISH
A/n: I wrote this to raise awareness about happenings in my country. Right now, redtagging has been a problem for the Filipino society especially that the Anti terror law has been approved. I wrote this with the intention to let people know how dangerous redtagging is.
general masterlist || event details
To my beloved Y/n,
45 years, 3 months, and 18 days.
It’s been decades— even scores since the last time I saw you. You were as beautiful as the vast skies and your round eyes sparkle brightly as the sun. You were a gem— as strong as a rare stone but your heart was soft just like your skin. Your smile... it’s always been haunting me, Y/n. The image of you has been burning since the last time we met in the streets of Mendiola— where both of us would walk around the university belt area.
To become a writer, that’s what you’ve been dreaming of all these years, am I right? Those poems, rhymes, and songs that you’ve made for me years ago... I’ve kept them all with me. Remember the song you used to sing for me?
Sa pagsapit ng dilim
Ako'y naghihintay pa rin
Sa iyong maagang pagdating
[As darkness closes in,
I am still longing
For your early return]
Now, I know how it actually feels, my dearest. Because until now, I’m still waiting for you. I’m waiting for your love— your touch, your kisses, your voice, your presence. But it seems that I don’t have that much time anymore. I was diagnosed with bone cancer and I only have few months to live. I can’t believe that I’m actually dying in my early 60s— but I lived a meaningful life. Anyway, I still wrote this letter to keep myself sane in the span of few months. Who knows? I may meet you again on the other side.
Y/n L/n— your name sounds bittersweet whenever I speak of it. It sounds great— but my heart feels like crying. No, not just my heart— but my whole being breaks down at the thought of you.
You were your family’s living trophy— when we were in high school, you walked out of the stage with medals and awards. You left the stage with a heartwarming valedictory speech that left your parents crying. The graduation was memorable; but still, I couldn’t forget our high school prom. You were wearing a long blue gown back then— and you looked stunning. My voice disappeared the moment I saw you— but I was happy that you approached me. You even asked me out on the dance floor with you.
I couldn’t be happier when we reached college. You got into you dream school, the top University in the country. Well, I also got into one of the highest universities. Still, I was happy for you. Both of us hugged each other and out of joy and shock, you kissed me on my cheek. Your face was sparked with excitement as you stood outside of the university hall.
Oh, how I wished I could have stopped you back then.
As you attended the university, you became more outspoken of your political thoughts— even becoming a student leader and joining an underground activist group; something that was very dangerous during that time as I have heard of my fellow students getting killed for attending protests against the government. My heart shivers whenever I think of that time we talked about it— when I convinced you to quit. Believe it or not, but I tried to convince you not for my own sake, Y/n— but yours.
“Can’t you quit? You know being an activist is illegal, right? What will happen to me? To us?”
“I’m so sorry, Jean. But my heart is for the people; for the common good. I cannot just think of myself— because there are people who need me.”
It wasn’t too long after that conversation when suddenly, you were declared as a missing person— Y/n L/n, age of 19, missing since November 19, 1975. No one knows why you have disappeared— but the last time where people saw you was in the streets of Maginhawa— few days after you published your editorial paper about the regime; the leadership; and your hatred for its unjust treatment to the people.
I wasn’t stupid. I knew what happened to you— and my heart carries the guilt until this day; I was so angry with the destructive system— the chaotic system that took me away from you; the harsh system that has been making not just the both of us— but also the people to suffer.
My heart was filled with fury as I remember your sweet and smiling eyes while we held hands in the streets of Intramuros, eating our favorite street foods. It’s not your fault, my pretty Y/n— but the system— the tyrannical leadership of the administration is what swept you away from my arms. I was filled with anger that time— and until now, I carry that anger deep within me.
Two years later— I graduated and still, your body was not found. No one knows where you disappeared to and my heart still ached for you. I remember carrying my college diploma and my graduation cap while I was in the streets of Binondo— our first date. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have the motivation to study and to graduate so I did this in your loving memory.
But I almost wept because all I see is you— your soul, the bustling atmosphere of the place, everything just reminded me of you. You used to love this place, am I right?
If only you knew that your sacrifices weren’t placed in vain, you would be more than happy. In the span of few years, our tyrannical leader was ousted; and it was done by who? By the people that you’ve dedicated your life with. That time, I already had a family with a woman named Pieck Finger— and we had a son which I named Marco. Remember the conversation we had before?
“If we had a child, what would you name them?”
“Marco... or maybe, Isabel? Gabriela? I don’t know.”
“Wow, maybe we could have three children and use those three.”
“Maybe, it could happen one day.”
My marriage with Pieck was normal— I loved her and our only son wholeheartedly. He went to good schools and I provided for everything that both of them needed. Pieck was a good wife too— she loved and showered our son with affection that they deserve. We were a normal family. We had our ups and downs too; but those memories made our bond closer to each other.
Still, there was a hole in my heart— a big hole that could be only be fixed and filled by you, Y/n.
Years have passed and our environment has evolved— perhaps, if you were here right now, you would have loved high-tech gadgets such as laptops and cellphones. The youth, nowadays, are becoming more progressive and they also like to engage in politics. You would have liked it here, Y/n. But for now, you must rest in peace. You must treasure yourself now— for your mission is done. You’ve done your part and fought for the people, my pretty heroine— Y/n.
I still love you, Y/n. And that love is not going to change anytime soon— whether we or we don’t meet in the other side. You’ll always be my lovely woman— my compassionate woman who always had her heart out for the poor, weak, and outcasted.
There’s nothing more beautiful than a woman— you, whose heart is as big as the sun and whose intentions are pure as the fresh water coming from the bamboo plants in the mountains.
I’m hoping to see you soon.
Lovingly yours,
Jean Kirstein
[a/n: ok maybe starting next week, i’ll go back to writing my SMAUs, just took a break because university was taking its toll on me ;-;]
#attack on titan#aot x reader#shingeki no kyojin#aot modern au#snk x reader#aot headcanons#filipino#philippines#filipino au#jean kirstein#jean x reader#aot jean#aot#snk#jean kirstein x reader#jean kirstein x y/n#jean x y/n#🇵🇭 — piliin mo ako
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