do you have any tips on seducing a beloved mutual (affectionate)?
Don't get it twisted y'all, @ferrame did the seducing. I was in oblivious lesbian hell. She sent me an illustrated love letter sprayed with her own perfume and I was like "she probably just means this as a friend though"
From the next chapter of my money’s on you, the politics AU! Currently very much unbeta’d but with thanks to @djeli-beybi who chatted me through this plot thread when I had a random angst about it a couple of weeks ago 😅💕
Interview transcript: Westeros Broadcasting Corporation, Radio4: Political Thinking with Pycelle Maesterson.
Portion: Interview with Mister Jaime Lannister, of the Official Opposition
Pycelle Maesterson: If you’ll permit me to say, Mr Lannister, you are better prepared than many I interview from your professional cohort. Indeed, better than when you were still a member of your former party.
Jaime Lannister: I am, aren’t I? I wish I could take all the credit. Some goes to — ah, but why pretend when you know my record? My preparedness is thanks to Saph. The party’s excellent lead policy wonk, and the person tasked with bringing me into the fold. She took to it with alacrity. And I was just as ready, of course.
Maesterson: Of course. I had believed I was well acquainted with the Progressive Alliance wonks. But I do not recall a Saph…?
Lannister: Short for sapphire. It’s a nickname. Saph originates from Tarth —
Maesterson: Ah yes, the Sapphire Isle. Famed for the colour of its waters.
Lannister: The very same. Saph’s eyes match the colour of those self-same astonishing waters. Though her glare is impressive: stern enough to tame a bear.
Maesterson: [a pause] Mr Lannister… Do understand I rarely engage in trifling speculation. But there had been some rumours circulating of romance in your life. Could this be…?
Lannister: [laughs] No. I’m far too busy for that. I work hard representing my constituency and holding the government’s feet to the fire. This is more an attempt to — butter up an exacting instructor. Speaking of whom, I imagine Ms Tarth is already drafting a strongly worded email the longer I discuss her and not our party’s excellent policy on the Health Service. Catelyn Stark has committed…
Beautiful banner by the very talented @scoundrels-in-love
featuring: naoya zenin x fem!reader
synopsis: you’re a high-end hair stylist, and one of your best clients has the hots for you
word count: 3.8k
contents: n/sfw, 2nd person pov, no use of y/n, misogyny, naoya is his own warning, reader has a bf but they break up before naoya makes a move, titplay, fingering, unprotected sex, tit slapping, degradation, semi-public, creampie
a/n: whoops. This was supposed to be a short headcanony drabble about what it would be like to be naoya’s colorist and it morphed into a smut one-shot i guess. Asdflkjjhajsdk
masterlist
⟢ Naoya Zenin is the type to professionally maintain his bleached hair at an expensive salon. His appearance is tied to status for him, so cheap bleach that fries his hair is out of the question. He grew up wealthy and expects high-end grooming; he wants an appointment-only salon where he gets a quiet, private room and sees the same excellent stylist every time.
⟢ He gets his roots touched up every 3-4 weeks like clockwork and pays extra for expensive toning shampoo to maintain the exact shade and hue he wants. He’d probably lose his mind if someone pointed out his root growth, so he stays very much on top of it. And he refuses to let anyone except his stylist touch his hair.
⟢ The lucky stylist in question? You.
⟢ At first, Naoya is frankly displeased that the stylist he requested is a woman. He demanded the most in-demand senior stylist at the salon with the most prestigious client list, and lo and behold, you were the one who appeared.
⟢ “You’re the senior stylist?” he asks, with thinly-veiled condescension. It’s not that he doesn’t think a woman isn’t suited to serve him professionally. He just doubts your abilities and makes it clear he’s going to be scrutinizing your every move. If you somehow prove excellent at your job, well, he’ll ultimately tolerate you. For pragmatic reasons, obviously.
⟢ There’s a very transparent evaluation phase he puts you through where he tests your competence. And to his mild surprise, you are as good as your reputation suggests.
⟢ You handle his consultation with the right mix of confidence and deference. You treat him the way a VIP client ought to be treated. And you don’t waste his time.
⟢ Turns out, you do actually know what you’re doing. It doesn’t hurt his pride to admit that. Naoya can concede that it isn’t out of the realm of possibility for a woman to be good at styling hair.
⟢ It takes a handful of visits, but eventually he’s got standing appointments booked with you for months in advance. He’s stingy with his praise. When he does compliment you, it’s arrogantly framed. “Don’t want someone else to butcher it.”
⟢ You have clients who like to yap, some who you can even chat with like you’re lifelong friends. Others are practically silent. Naoya Zenin likes to listen to himself talk.
⟢ Mostly, he talks at you about things you find inane. He likes to humblebrag and name-drop and complain about people he finds incompetent. He enjoys having a captive audience and thrives on being listened to.
⟢ In the beginning, you respond when you need to and mostly stick to the professional salon service script: “Would you like another drink?” “Is this temperature okay?” “Can you tilt your head a little?”
⟢ Meanwhile, you’re internally rolling your eyes at the stuff he says. But you’re a professional, so you know how to handle difficult clients and just let him talk without directly challenging him.
⟢ Instead, you remember certain details he mentions for his next appointment and try to anticipate his needs and preferences. As a result, he’ll keep talking because he assumes you’re impressed by him (like everyone else).
⟢ Eventually, deep down, some part of Naoya realizes he’s fallen into a bit of a trap. Namely, if he manages to cross a line or burn that bridge, he’d be losing your services. And sure, he could go out and find a new stylist, but you already know his exact bleach formula, he’d have to explain his hair history to someone new, and he’d be taking a chance on that somebody overprocessing his hair and making him look bad for weeks.
⟢ It’s not him making excuses; it’s just not ideal in the slightest. And to be honest, it scares him a little straight.
⟢ So, Naoya keeps it to himself whenever you shows up to his appointments looking especially slutty. He honestly wonders how your boyfriend lets you out of the house like that. Plunging necklines, body-hugging tops, tight little pencil skirts.
⟢ You’re obviously not wife material for a Zenin, not dressing like that. But that’s not necessarily a reason why he can’t appreciate the view. Neither is the fact that you’re taken. It’s really just that he’s not sure if you’re one of those sensitive women who can’t take a joke or would get all up in arms about a misplaced comment.
⟢ Thing is, though, you’ve got eyes. It’s hilariously easy to tell, despite his best efforts, when Naoya is pretending not to ogle your tits through the gap in your blouse as you lean forward to check his roots.
⟢ You never comment on it because, as sad as it is to admit, you’ve had more egregious clients in the past—creeps who got grabby or tried to follow you to the station that had to be outright banned from the salon.
⟢ Plus, if you’re being honest, you actually finds Naoya a little entertaining. You’ve long gotten used to being little more than professional wallpaper for the rich and spoiled, so Naoya’s particular flavor of pretty-boy entitlement isn’t the worst you’ve had.
⟢ He may be arrogant, but he tips well and (most importantly) always, always books through you, no matter how many weeks in advance. He’s loyal to his own convenience, which, for a stylist, is as much as one can hope for.
⟢ As months go by, the dynamic between you starts to actually get more familiar. It’s not friendly, exactly, but it is dry and comfortable.
⟢ Naoya lets this happen because you seem to know where to draw the line still. You’ll insert a few remarks while you work like, “Your hair grows fast. You shouldn’t have waited so long this time.” And he’ll throw out a comment like, “What is it your boyfriend does again? He ain’t a bum, is he?”
⟢ You learn quickly that he enjoys these little jabs and expects you to volley back. “He’s a bartender. I think that counts as a real job.”
⟢ “Tch. As long as he ain’t living off your tips.”
⟢ Things go on like this for a while, and it just works.
⟢ Then, about a year and a half after going blond, Naoya gets the phone call from the salon. It’s the receptionist calling very apologetically to say his appointments from here on out will have to be switched to a new stylist. At first, he can only pause silently as the words process. Then, he tersely asks why.
⟢ “She’s leaving. Personal reasons,” the receptionist tells him nervously. Typical of a high-end salon to keep things vague. But it’s not good enough for Naoya.
⟢ “She sick or somethin’? When is she coming back?”
⟢ Again, the receptionist demurs. So, Naoya hangs up and makes his way to the salon to find the answers himself.
⟢ The receptionist blanches a little when she sees Naoya striding in just before close. He ignores the nervous little bow she offers and is halfway through the salon already before she can even protest, scanning for signs of you.
⟢ The receptionist is sputtering behind him, trying to keep up, but Naoya’s not about to let some flustered desk girl slow him down. He wants answers, and he plans on getting them.
⟢ The first thing he notices when he reaches the back is that the lights are on in the private room in the back. He doesn’t knock. He just swings the door open and is immediately greeted by the sight of you sweeping up after your last client.
⟢ You’re not in your usual form-fitting clothes, instead opting for a baggy sweatshirt and modest skirt. Your feet are clad in an old beat-up pair of tennis shoes rather than the customary heels, and your hair is down today, a little messy.
⟢ You look up, a bit startled before quickly recognizing him, and offering the receptionist a small smile. “It’s alright, Ichika. You can close up. I’ll finish here soon.”
⟢ The receptionist hesitates, but she seems relieved to have an excuse to bolt. Her heels click quickly away down the hall, and then it’s just the two of you in the quiet, fluorescent-lit room.
⟢ Naoya’s not used to seeing you like this. No lipstick, no cleavage, no tight skirt. He stares for a bit as you lean the broom against the counter and dust your hands off with his brows drawn together, as if trying to reconcile this version of you with the one he’s used to. "Didn't know they let you dress like that here.”
⟢ You reply in a tone that somewhat betrays your exhaustion that, if you’re being honest, you prefer to dress comfortably like this. “It was my boyfriend who wanted me to dress like that all the time. Well, ex-boyfriend now.”
⟢ Naoya continues to stare from where he’s still standing in the doorway, not quite understanding. But then, it clicks. “You’re quitting this place ‘cause of that idiot?”
⟢ You cough and look away, carefully explaining that you’d been dumped and kicked out of the apartment. “I’m staying with a friend for now, but I can’t impose forever. I’ll be moving back in with my folks in Inabe.”
⟢ Naoya scoffs. “So, that’s it? You’re just ditching your whole client list and running home?”
⟢ You laugh and try to sound breezy as you reply. “It’s not like I have a choice. I can’t afford Kyoto rent on my own, not without someone to split it with. And the commute would be insane. That’s just how it goes sometimes.”
⟢ Naoya’s livid. In his mind, you’re throwing away something valuable—your position, your clientele—and sacrificing status for personal feelings. Now, he’s just expected to lose someone who knows how to handle his shit? Whose expertise he’s come to depend on? It’s unacceptable.
⟢ He steps into the room, shutting the door behind him. “Were you even going to tell me personally if I never came in? I always knew that guy was a damned loser, and now, it’s directly inconveniencing me.”
⟢ You can’t help but bark out a laugh at that. Because of course, he’s more concerned with how your breakup affects him. “You’re not the only client who’s upset. Anyway, I left your bleach formula in your client notes for whoever takes over.”
⟢ He really goes off on you after that. “I ain’t risking some random turning me orange. Didn’t I tell you not to let that bitch bum off your tips? Maybe if you listened, you could afford your own fuckin’ place. It ain’t enough that he made you dress like a damn whore all the time but now he gets to screw you over, too?”
⟢ Your annoyance flares. You don’t hold back on your retort and match his energy, because how dare he speak to you that way? “I didn’t hear you complaining about how I dressed while you were in my chair, staring at my tits! Besides, I’m not gonna beg him to take me back just because you want me to touch up your hair.”
⟢ Naoya just sneers down his nose at you. He can’t believe he wasted all that energy holding himself back just to avoid accidentally offending you, and now, he feels like it barely matters since you’re leaving anyway. So, he doesn’t bother filtering himself. “I don’t want him to take you back, moron. And if you must know, I prefer you like this. That dumbass ex of yours was actually stupid if he got off letting other men look at what should’ve been his.”
⟢ You roll your eyes, feeling your cheeks warm with some mix of irritation and something else. “Oh, so now you’re gonna tell me how a woman should dress huh? Well, save it. It’s not your business anyway.”
⟢ Naoya presses forward confidently, until you have no choice but to back into the counter. “I’m just sayin’,” he drawls. “That guy clearly didn’t know what to do with you.” His eyes rove over your form without shame, and you can practically feel the weight of it on your prickling skin. “I mean, he was really okay with you being around real high-status men?”
⟢ You scoff. “What, like you?”
⟢ Naoya’s grin is sharp and mean. “Damn right. I wouldn’t trust you around a guy like me.”
⟢ Stubbornly, you lift your chin, but your fluster is painfully obvious even under the shitty fluorescent lights. “Guess it’s a good thing you’re not my boyfriend, then.”
⟢ He laughs lowly and leans in until you can smell his expensive cologne and the faintest trace of salt. “If you were mine,” he murmurs, “I wouldn’t let anyone else get within a mile of you.”
⟢ “That sounds exhausting,” you huff, trying to keep your voice from wavering. “I don’t need some jealous freak breathing down my neck.”
⟢ His hand comes up deliberately, and tugs at the hem of your sweatshirt. “You’re full of shit. You like it.”
⟢ You bat his hand away out of reflex, but it’s a weak motion with barely any conviction behind it. Naoya’s standing so close now that you have to tip your chin up to meet his eyes. He clicks his teeth.
⟢ “You’re not denying it.”
⟢ Your pulse patters a little faster. “Maybe I just put up with it because you tip better than the other creeps.”
⟢ He smirks, shifting his hand under the sweatshirt and splaying it wide over your bare stomach. "Don't kid yourself. If that was the case, you’d have gotten me banned already. You could, if you wanted to.”
⟢ Fuck, he’s right. You can’t even argue, and he knows it. The next thing you know, Naoya’s on you, one hand on the back of your neck, roughly tilting you as his mouth crashes against yours.
⟢ It’s actually shameful, realizing how much you wanted this. How much you wanted the distraction from your whirlwind of emotions, the rough handling, Naoya himself.
⟢ You suck in a startled gasp, and he takes full advantage, tongue sliding in greedily. He takes from you demandingly, pinning you against the counter’s edge until you have nowhere to go. Your hands move on their own, curling urgently into the front of his shirt.
⟢ “Knew it,” he breathes smugly before tearing your sweatshirt up over your head and making short work of the bra underneath. Fuck, he’s been dreaming about your tits for months, and now that he’s got them bared in the harsh light, they’re even better than the fantasy. “You got pretty tits, ya know that?”
⟢ It’s honestly unbelievable, how perfect they feel in his hands, soft and perked to attention from the cool air. Naoya doesn’t waste time easing into it, harshly palming your breasts, flicking his thumb across the nipples until they stiffen tight. He likes the way you gasp and squirm as he teases you mercilessly, giving your nipples a sharp little twist just to hear you squeal. “You’re a sensitive little thing, ain’t you? Guess your ex wasn’t giving you what you need.”
⟢ You can barely bite out a breathy, “Asshole,” before he ducks his head and closes his mouth around one nipple. Naoya rolls your other nipple between his fingers while sucking hard, teeth scraping. You’re almost certain he’s not even concerned with making you feel good; he’s playing with your tits for his own pleasure, not yours. But fuck, you’re wet already, heat pooling between your legs, and throbbing hard.
⟢ Naoya’s greedy as hell and fixated, biting at the soft flesh until you’re arching into him, sucking hard enough to leave marks. It’s almost agonizing how good it feels.
⟢ Just when you think you can hardly stand it anymore, he’s dragging you off the counter by the hips and toward the chair. Skirt hiked up haphazardly around your thighs, he settles you atop his lap, straddling his legs, only to continue his assault on your chest once it's closer to eye-level with him. His tongue lashes your nipple as you grasp his shoulders, keening and mewling at the sensations.
⟢ “Fuck, these fucking tits,” Naoya groans, shoving his hand between your thighs and hooking his fingers into your panties to yank them aside. You shudder as he slides his digits through your folds. “Your pussy’s already this soaked?”
⟢ He grins as he works you between your legs, using your own slick to stroke along your slit and circle your clit. When he shoves two fingers into you, he does it without warning, and your thighs spasm around his hand, face flaming. “Fuckin’ hell, you’re tight. Bet your ex never made you drip like this.”
⟢ You can only moan needily, clinging to him as he fingers you. The stretch is thick and perfect, exactly what you’re starved for. Naoya fucks his fingers in deep, chuckling at how you grind down against him, chasing that friction while he’s still got you by the tits.
⟢ He wants to see them bounce while you fuck yourself on his cock. He can’t help it. The idea nearly makes him delirious. He’s already hard, straining in the front of his expensive slacks, cock pulsing every time you moan or writhe against his hand. “Look at you, making a mess all over me. You want it so bad, don’t you? Like a needy little slut.”
⟢ Naoya all but rips open his belt and zipper and pulls his cock free. You practically choke at the sight of it, thick and flushed and already leaking. He fists it, gliding the head through the abundant wetness of your arousal. “C’mon, let’s see if you ride as good as you moan for me.”
⟢ He lines himself up and tugs you down without ceremony, making you sink onto him in one brutal stroke. The stretch is so intense and searing, all you can do is gasp and wriggle on top of him, nails biting into his shoulders.
⟢ Naoya grunts, eating up the sight of you split open and trembling on his cock. “Stop squirming and take it. Fuckin’ take all of it.”
⟢ Your hips move on their own, despite the burn, despite the all-encompassing fullness. You bounce on his cock like a woman possessed, making the blunt head of his cock drag against a spot inside you that makes you see stars.
⟢ “Oh, look at you. Panting like a bitch in heat. You really need it, huh? Acting like you don’t want a man bossing you around, but you love it. Can feel you clenching on my cock.”
⟢ His eyes are glued to your tits as your body rolls desperately over him, watching them jostle with every slap of skin. He kneads them and pushes them together just to watch the soft flesh spill between his fingers.
⟢ “Mmnh, fuck.” You finally find your voice, feverish from the sweet overstimulation. “You’re such a dick.”
⟢ Naoya just grins up at you wolfishly and slaps your tit. His palm cracks against the sensitive flesh, making you yelp. Your back arches, the sting blooming and radiating straight to your core. He drinks in the shock and pleasure mingling in your expression and does it again, harder this time, enough to make you whimper.
⟢ “Shit, you like that, don’t you?” he rasps. “Knew you’d be good. Bet you want me to mess you up, yeah? Want me to ruin you for anyone else?”
⟢ You groan and ride him harder. The chair creaks beneath you, and the room turns cramped and torrid. Your movements drive his cockhead into that delicious, spongy spot inside you over and over again, working in tandem with the ache of Naoya’s teasing.
⟢ When your orgasm slams into you, you nearly sob as a blinding rush of pleasure floods you from the inside out. Your cunt cinches so tight around Naoya’s cock it rips a long groan from his throat. “Holy shit—oh my god, Naoya—fuck—”
⟢ “Yeah, that’s it,” he goads in response. “Squeeze my cock just like that.”
⟢ He grabs your hips then and starts thrusting up into you before you can even come down from your climax. “Where do you want me?”
⟢ “Inside,” you answer deliriously. It’s safe, but it’s still absurdly inappropriate. Though, you figure that particular ship has sailed. “Want you to come inside.”
⟢ Naoya laughs. “Yeah? That’s what you want, huh? Want me to fill you up like a good little whore. Then, you better work for it.”
⟢ You whine but comply on instinct, resting the weight of your top half against him for leverage so you can bounce your ass against him. You fuck your swollen little cunt on Naoya’s steel-hard length with as much strength as you can muster as he watches you, pleased.
⟢ “Ngh, good fuckin’ girl. God, just like that. You got it in you, huh? Knew you’d fuck yourself stupid if I gave you the chance.”
⟢ You moan loud enough that if anyone was left in the salon, they’d definitely hear, slamming down on him with abandon. When your thighs are so sore from riding him that you’re not sure how much longer you can hold on to the rhythm, Naoya buries himself deep and cums in you with a broken swear.
⟢ You collapse in relief against his chest and shiver on top of him as he empties himself inside in thick, hot pulses. He lets you stay there while his breaths come in ragged, enjoying the feeling of your tits pressed to him. The moment either of you moves, he knows the mess between your legs will start to leak, so for now, he keeps you crushed to him, rubbing circles into the sore flesh of your ass.
⟢ “You’re bein’ underpaid here, ya know,” he says eventually. “This place ain’t paying you enough if you’re their best stylist.”
⟢ You look at him, surprised. He’s let his head tip back, exposing the corded muscle of his throat and the beautifully sharp line of his jaw. Naoya peers down at you and raises one well-groomed brow. “Why do you care?” you ask.
⟢ “Don’t worry about it. Just find an apartment here in Kyoto. You can start charging me double if you want. I don’t care.”
⟢ You let out an incredulous laugh. “You’re ridiculous. You’re only saying that because you don't wanna risk getting stuck with someone who’ll make you look like a cantaloupe.”
⟢ “Don’t test me,” he warns. “If you leave, what’re you gonna do? Give perms to old ladies in the countryside? I’ll hunt you down in Inabe myself.”
⟢ You bite the inside of your cheek, fighting the urge to laugh again. He’s completely insane. You’re too wary to delude yourself into thinking Naoya Zenin would want you to stay out of any real kindness or sentimentality. At best, he thinks he can throw money at an inconvenience and make it go away. At worst, he wants to keep you around as a fucktoy. And fuck if you can’t even decide if you mind one bit…
// fluff. mind you, i love LOOVVEEE this hc. subtle jabber slander?? healer & gn reader. not proof-read cuz its 1 am and i cant let my eyes open any longer. might be ooc too!! 0.7k words.
everyone knows zanka nijiku as the calm cleaner.
the tuff, nonchalant one in the akuta team.
and somehow, those acts melt away immediately when you come to his life.
yeah, he didn’t expect that either.
but he couldn’t deny the way his heart stuttered when you touched him gently like a wounded puppy.
“what happened this time?” you asked, guiding him to sit on the bed.
he grunted as he sat on the mattress, the latex swallowed him a little, his back pressed against the pillow with closed eyes. “that guy jabber.”
you made a knowing sound. “that noisy guy with a big ass claw?” you asked once more, earning a tiny humored snort and a slow nod from the other boy.
you started the usual healing ritual—sensing the wound first, giving them a light pressure with your palms to heal them slowly but surely.
“he’s strong, all right. but he's annoying.”
“who? jabber?”
“mhm.”
“mn, yeah. seems like it.”
it’s almost like an everyday routine.
you worked at the cleaners headquarter’s hospital, always minding your own business (and only locked in when there’s an emergency situation).
meanwhile, zanka liked to sneak into your workspace—mostly when it’s empty—just to check on you, or ask you to grab lunch together.
or simply to chat about what you like, or about stupid things that happened to him.
or after long missions; zanka always came in first, whining while clinging on your side, with simple bruises or small cuts—nothing too life threatening
you knew he was a strong and genius guy.
and you weren’t shy to tell him that.
“i’m glad it isn’t anything dangerous.” you murmured as you stepped back, watching the handiwork you just finished. “alright, you’re doing great. bet enjin’s proud of your work.”
that earned a cute, tiny blush on his cheek.
“it’s… nothing.” he'd try to dismiss, maintaining his composed face as you bit back a giggle at his tone.
yeah, that tone. the one that clearly shows how flustered he’s getting.
he shifted just a little, his body facing yours. “you’re doing a good job too—”
“hah! don’t even start,” you scoffed, “i just chant a stupid healing spell while you fight with your staff for your life out there. we are not the same.”
the actual thing is—
you don’t want him to ignore and dodge your compliment.
you wanted him to know that he wasn’t worthless like what he thought.
that succeeded, thankfully. just the slightest.
look how red his cheeks are!
you slipped out a giggle, daring yourself to pinch him on the waist. “wh— hey!” he yelped, “what was that for?”
“for being strong. and adorable.”
…
silence.
the kind of silence that screamed i’m offended.
“i’m leaving.” zanka grabbed his lovely assistant, stomping on the floor with an obvious red face now.
you rapidly pull the back of his collar, definitely not choking him. “the payment?”
he turned, slowly. deadpan. “… haha. tell me you’re joking right now.”
“my service ain’t for free, baby. even if it’s my own boyfriend.”
…
a long, dramatic sigh.
he reached for his wallet.
you clicked your tongue in disapproval. “who said i wanted money?” you watched his confused face twisted into something hopeful.
you simply pointed at your cheek, blinking cutely; the kind that made him visibly gagged up.
but managed to melt his heart into puddle.
he looked around for a second, and after making sure no one’s around (or going to enter the hospital suddenly), he leaned closer.
and kiss!
you beamed.
“payment successful!” you cheerfully declared, your legs swinging in delight. “don’t forget to come back again!”
zanka doesn't even look back as he approached the exit.
but god, he was smiling like an idiot.
bonus:
“why is zanka’s smile seem so…” rudo commented as he peeked out from the door. riyo followed.
“ugh. he’s being a lovesick guy again. i should tell enjin about this.”
“lovesick…? oh— he has a—?!”
she shrugged with a grin. “i know. shocking, right?”
“idiots. i can hear you two.”
(a/n: hi.. its been a while.. i know my writing sucks now but enjoy c':)
synopsis: some fluff headcanons on how our dear dunk would adore the love of his life.
tags: fluff, giver!dunk, hurt/comfort, flustered!dunk, duncan is down bad, no exact descriptions of reader, little egg makes an appearance, mutual pining, two idiots in love, established relationship.
word count: 1.1k
based on this request. gif credits to rightful owner. [inbox/requests: open]
a/n: ahhhh i love dunk so damn much! i completed this within an hour because my fingers just couldn’t stop typing words lol. enjoy! likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated. english isn’t my first language. <3
Dunk would definitely be an acts of service kind of guy. I would even go to the extent of saying he would try to make the impossible possible.
You want something to drink? Take his flask. You want a new horse? Ser Duncan himself would go and fetch you one. Can’t sleep comfortably? He’ll make sure you are potentially sacrificing his own rest.
Speaking of sacrifices, I feel like Dunk would do anything to protect you. To be more specific, he’d give his life for you. All he’s ever wanted was to be the best man he could. Therefore, he’d rather sacrifice his life to extend yours.
I feel like Duncan is so giving. Like whenever he goes hunting he makes sure to give you the biggest portion regardless of your complaints that he’s not taking care of himself enough.
Essentially, you have gotten upset at him before for being so generous and kind to you. Meanwhile, you feel useless, despite Dunk constantly reassuring you that you’re all he’s ever needed.
Most times, whenever you feel under the weather or any chance Dunk gets, he just loves to throw you on his lap and wrap his arms around you. And kiss you everywhere he can while doing so.
Our lovely knight is not good at expressing his feelings. Not because he’s afraid he might seem too vulnerable or non masculine, but because Dunk has trouble with his words. Mostly he feels like his brain is moving faster than his mouth and he doesn’t want to say something that you might take differently than he intended.
And when that happens, Duncan apologises like crazy. He hates whenever you get upset at him and he’ll mainly submit to apologising. Sometimes, maybe with gestures rather than words.
Dunk is pretty shy. He’s not a big fan of PDA, but only on the occasion that he becomes possessive towards you. Merely when another man dares to look at you in a way he’s noticed sick men stare at women throughout his life.
As much as Duncan never admits it, he is a big fan of your voice and certainly the words that come out of your mouth. Dunk is a big fan for your praises and pet names, it feels like everytime you do such a thing he’s encouraged to be a better man. Even if his entire face gets red when you utter sweet phrases to him.
“My handsome knight.”, “Look at you Dunk, all strong and sweet to me.”, “You could never look ugly. Even with mud and dirt on your face.” And yet, he always brushes off these compliments humbly.
“I’m no knight, love.”, “I do what I can, my lady.”, “Lying is a sin, my lady.” Always rejecting your compliments because otherwise he will explode from your verbal affection. Even so, he has the tendency to be formal at times when it’s not required. Always calling you “my lady” as a term of good manners. Even if you've kissed that pretty mouth of his numerous times.
If you’re noble, Dunk won’t easily stop using your title when speaking to you. As he still considers himself so incredibly lucky to be adored by someone so gracious and elegant as you. “With all due respect, princess, I don’t know why you’re wasting time with a lad like me.” He’ll occasionally say, and you just have to flirt with him a bit more to get him to touch his lips on yours to remind him once again why he couldn’t be more perfect for you.
Now! I want to go back to the request in my inbox and talk about Duncan being mainly a little spoon; and I honestly couldn’t agree more.
Poor silly Dunk wants to be babied sometimes, and this trait of his connects to him enjoying being praised by you. He’ll settle in his tent with his back facing you, lightly asleep, and your eyes inspect his strong back. Tracing softly all different kinds of shapes on it.
Thinking about how your Dunk sometimes might be in need of your touch. As he makes sure to properly kiss you and touch all over your body during the time you spend together.
So you just slowly wrap your arms around his wide waist, feeling him subconsciously snuggle into your touch, lifting the corners of your mouth softly.
So the times he’s the big spoon decreases, since you both noticed how much he likes to feel your touch—a comfort sense of his—even when he's deeply asleep.
On a profound level, Dunk is such a romantic. I think he’d be the type to pick out flowers for you, memorize tiny details about you, provide you things to remember him by and to set up little date-like activities for you somewhere full of nature.
Duncan is the type of lover to take you to observe stunning natural sights and have very complex conversations. Pouring his soul into them and only then allowing you to witness the events he’s been through to become Ser Duncan the Tall.
Egg loves to tease him about you, especially when the little boy catches Duncan rambling about you without noticing. When little Egg calls him out Duncan grins like an idiot because he loves bragging off about you loving him.
So at some point and after, Egg calls you his “parents” in front of the both of you. And it took everything Duncan had in him not to shut the boy’s mouth, as the tall man was about to lose his sanity due to his flustered state. You giggling loudly at the entire situation, wasn’t helping him either.
In addition, despite your utter adoration for this man, another thing you found adorable for him to do is dance. Duncan looks so out of his element trying to move his long limbs to the beat of the music and you just can’t help but want to throw your arms around him and squeeze him whole. Tell him how endearing he looks even in such a state and teach him a few steps so your knight could dance with you. An agreement you both came to settle with as he is willing to feel you glued to his body under any circumstance. Sometimes, it feels like that’s his life purpose. To hold you and cherish you like you deserve, at all times.
If he could, I think Duncan would associate himself with the saying, “To be loved, is to be seen.”, he would be so intrigued by this combination of words that he’d later on make it his mission to live by it. To see you for all you are and love you for every single quality you contain.
In conclusion, whoever comes to be loved by this man, is the exact definition of a lucky person. This man is undoubtedly a giver in every way. :)
