#Mine is a play on the art of breaking something like a plate or a vase and putting it back together with gold

[gildedanxiety]

Bwomp bwomp :]

[ak319]

Lovesick Childhood friend x f!reader

Headcanon / Intro

Warnings: This story contains matriarchal themes, fem dom such as mpreg, fem dominated world, role reversal, and BXG pairing! Yes, it's a boy x girl, so don't interact if you are uncomfortable! Gonna have historical themes, little age gap (3 years) in terms of historical times, heavy angst, fluff, pining, and drama. The art is not mine, it's from Pinterest. Enjoy reading. ─ m.lists

"but you know what they say,

you can't help who you fall for

and you and I fell

like an early spring snow...."

─────────

1917

"Orsen, you’d better finish your food before you run off to play. Got it?"

"Yes, Papa!" Orsen nodded dutifully, but his gaze betrayed him, fixed on the window behind his father. His eight-year-old eyes sparkled with mischief as he struggled to suppress giggles. Out in the garden, you were pulling faces and breaking into an exaggerated, clumsy dance, clearly determined to make him laugh.

He had to finish his food quickly, before his father noticed anything. From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of you getting a light smack on the back of your head from your mother, the estate gardener, who scolded you for goofing off. Orsen bit his lip to stifle a grin.

Without a second thought, he wolfed down the rest of his meal. His father’s disapproving gaze burned into him as he muttered something about unmanly behavior and lack of etiquette. But Orsen didn’t care, not one bit. Ignoring the reprimands, he dashed out of the room when his plate was empty, proving his father right in the process.

But none of that mattered. He’d kept you waiting long enough already.

"Finally! You eat too slow and... way too much for someone the size of a squirrel," you teased, crossing your arms with a smirk.

That earned you a swift smack on the chest from Orsen, who clearly had plenty of energy to spare. Ah, so that’s where it all goes, you thought with a grin.

"COME ON! LET'S START WITH A GAME OF CHASE, THEN HIDE-AND-SEEK!"

"You’re on!" you replied with mock seriousness, already taking off before Orsen could fully process the challenge.

And just like that, playtime began. You were eleven, three years older than him, and yeah, yeah, people might wonder why you spent your afternoons running around with the eight-year-old son of Lady Isolde. Because you were made to since he needed a playmate. You didn’t mind and if you were being honest, it was fun.

"You're too slow, Orsen!" you call out, weaving between the trees with practiced ease.

"I'm not slow! You're just taller!" Orsen huffs, his golden hair flying behind him like a ribbon as he tries to catch up. His laughter rings out, light and carefree, as he nearly trips over a tree root.

"Excuses, excuses," you tease, pausing just long enough for him to barrel into you, both of you tumbling to the ground in a heap.

"I got you!" Orsen declares, his soft hands gripping your arms triumphantly a stark comparison to yours , rough from helping your mother around the estate with tasks.

"You tackled me, not tagged me!" you laugh, sitting up and brushing dirt off your knees. "That’s against the rules."

"There are no rules in chase," he replies matter-of-factly, flicking his long blond hair over his shoulder like some princeling—and it makes you snort.

"Fine. No rules, huh? Then how about this?" Without warning, you spring to your feet and scoop him up by the waist, spinning him around while he squeals with laughter.

"Put me down, you IDIOT! I’ll get you back for this!"

"Sure you will," you grin, finally setting him down. His face is red from laughing so hard, but he immediately points to the swing hanging from the old oak tree nearby.

"Your turn to push me!"

"Your turn? When was it my turn?" you ask, feigning exasperation but already making your way to the swing.

Orsen is already climbing onto it. You steady the ropes for him, watching as he gets comfortable, his small hands gripping tightly. "Ready?"

"Ready!"

With a firm push, you send the swing into motion, the wood creaking softly under Orsen’s weight. He leans back, his laughter filling the air as the wind tousles his golden locks. "Higher!" he demands, his voice bright and full of life.

"Careful, you’ll go flying straight into the bushes," you joke, though you give him another push, watching as his laughter spills into the air like music.

"And you’d rescue me," he counters, turning his head to flash you a grin.

"Obviously," you reply, rolling your eyes but smiling despite yourself. Or else your mother would make soup out of my bones if you even got a scratch.

"See? I’m safe as long as you’re here," he says, his voice lighter, softer, as the swing slows with the waning light. The golden glow of the setting sun paints him in warm hues, his hair a tousled mess, his cheeks pink from play.

You ruffle his hair as he climbs off the swing, earning an indignant squeak. "We should do this every day," he murmurs, looking up at you with those wide, trusting eyes that seem to hold the whole world.

"Yeah," you say quietly, a fond smile tugging at your lips. "Every day, Orsen."

And in that moment, you mean it.

1922

"Brother Orsen?" Rowan called, tugging at his older brother’s sleeve. "She’s calling for you."

Orsen, now 13, was sitting in front of his vanity, carefully sorting through his collection of accessories. He didn’t bother looking up, too absorbed in his task.

The 5-year-old huffed, folding his arms. "She’s calling you to play, not to do a fashion show."

"SHUSH! Rowan, come here for a second!" Orsen snapped, his tone light but firm. Rowan grumbled under his breath but walked over, clearly itching to be anywhere but here.

"Okay, so listen," Orsen began, lowering his voice even further as he picked up a necklace from his collection. "Which one should I wear?"

"Necklace?" Rowan blinked, his frustration barely contained. "You’re gonna wear a necklace to play?"

Orsen rolled his eyes dramatically. "Look, we are not playing instead (Y/N) is taking me out to see a play! To a theatre!"

Rowan’s expression softened at the mention of (Y/N)'s name. "A play? Really?"

"Yes, really!" Orsen grinned, his tone proud but slightly embarrassed. "It’s a big deal. I want to look my best."

Rowan exclaimed, his voice rising in disbelief before quickly quieting down. "B-but mama and papa aren’t home! They told us to stay inside the manor, and what about the stupid nanny? I’m so over him-"

"This is exactly what I’m telling you!" Orsen pleaded, his voice low but desperate. "Just cover up for me, please! And even if Elias finds out, he won’t get mad or tell anyone, I swear, but the other servants, they can’t know, got it?"

Rowan frowned, clearly conflicted. "Are you going on... what mama and papa go to? What’s it called... um... a date?"

Orsen’s ears turned bright red, and a warmth spread through him, making his heart race in an unfamiliar way. His hand paused mid-air, the necklace he was holding slipping slightly as his mind began to swirl. A date. Was it a date? His chest tightened, a fluttering sensation moving through him. He tried to push it down, telling himself it was ridiculous. It was just (Y/N). But still... the thought of being alone with her, of seeing her smile...of being beside her...sitting so close to her...

"Ugh, I-" Orsen’s voice faltered, and he cleared his throat, hoping Rowan wouldn’t notice the redness creeping up his neck. "It’s not a date, okay? Just... something like that."

Rowan raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it, but he sighed dramatically and crossed his arms. "Fine, fine, I’ll cover for you. But you owe me big time, Orsen."

Orsen smiled, his heart still racing. "Thanks, Rowan. You’re the best."

Rowan shot him a sly grin before walking out of the room. "Just don’t get caught, alright?"

Orsen watched him go, still feeling the heat of that unexpected moment, his thoughts full of the image of (Y/N) waiting for him. A date... He could only hope she saw it that way too.

The sunlight poured through the trees, casting long shadows on the garden path as you stood by the gate, tapping your foot impatiently. Orsen was late—again. You couldn’t help but smirk, leaning casually against the stone wall, arms crossed and eyes scanning the road ahead.

You had to admit, though, it was kind of cute how he always managed to show up just a little bit after you, acting like you weren’t already getting a head start on your impatience. He always had that timid, apologetic look on his face, but it was like he couldn't help it. It was endearing, even if it drove you crazy sometimes.

Finally, you spotted him.

When he saw you, his face broke into that shy smile, the one that always made your stomach flip, and you couldn’t stop yourself from teasing him.

“Took you long enough,” you called out with a cocky grin, straightening up as he came closer. “Did your vanity mirror take longer than usual?”

Orsen flushed, immediately looking down at the ground, his fingers nervously brushing at the edge of his shirt. He bit his lip, clearly flustered. “I-I wasn’t... I mean, I was just making sure I looked decent,” he mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper. "And...was just convincing Rowan to cover up."

“It’s fine,” you assured him, though you couldn’t stop the teasing note that slipped into your voice. “But I almost thought you weren’t going to show.”

He looked genuinely apologetic, his blue eyes wide and full of that quiet sincerity that always made your heart twist a little. “I wouldn’t leave you waiting, (Y/N),” he murmured, his hand tugging nervously at the sleeve of his shirt. “I promise.”

You felt the warmth in his words more than anything else, and it made your smile falter for just a second. Orsen was the kind of person who always tried to do the right thing, even when it wasn’t easy. He wasn’t like the other boys in the town, so confident and sure of themselves. No, Orsen was gentle, and careful, always thinking about others before himself. You could see that quiet, understanding gaze under his straw cartwheel hat , in the way he looked at you now.

“Well, if you’re sure,” you said, your voice softening, “we should probably get going before someone else notices, huh?”

“Yeah,” Orsen agreed, his expression turning a little more serious as he looked over his shoulder. He glanced up and down the street, making sure no one was watching, before taking a step closer to you. “Are you sure about this? I know it’s... a little risky.”

You hesitated, feeling the weight of your decision in the pit of your stomach, but when you looked at Orsen’s face, you felt a little lighter. There was no teasing now, no jokes, just his quiet concern, and for once, it made you feel like maybe this was worth it. You nodded.

“I’m sure,” you whispered back, then added with a hint of a smile, “It’ll be fun.”

“You really are...” He shook his head, his lips curving into a smile despite himself. “I don’t know how you do it.”

“Do what?” You raised an eyebrow, giving him a challenging look. “Make everything seem like it’s no big deal? Maybe because it’s not. And you’re going to learn that today.”

He hesitated for a moment, but when you stepped forward and grabbed his sleeve to pull him toward the playhouse, he followed without protest.

Orsen’s heart skipped a beat as your hand enveloped his, and the warmth of your touch sent a flutter of butterflies through him. His breath caught in his throat, and he couldn’t help but glance at you, his face turning a shade darker. He wasn’t sure why something as simple as you holding his hand made him feel so nervous, but it did. It wasn’t just the physical touch, it was the way you kept him close, guiding him gently, as if taking care of him.

You pulled him to the side of the sidewalk, positioning him on the inside to keep him safe from the traffic and the bustle of the crowd. He felt a sudden surge of warmth at how protective you were being, even if it was just a small gesture. His chest tightened in a way he couldn’t explain, and his steps faltered slightly as you kept him close to you, shielding him from the rest of the world.

His heart raced, faster than it should have, as his mind wandered to those quiet moments when you became reserved, especially during functions. When he told you he was going to one or whenever they were held at the estate, your demeanor always seemed to shift. He noticed the way your gaze would turn sharp and distant, your movements brisk and careful, as though you were trying to shrink away. He hated it.

He hated seeing you as just part of the crowd, working tirelessly around the estate, your hands busy with tasks instead of resting in his. Most of all, he hated the functions themselves. Because while you were stuck there, unspoken and unnoticed, he was dolled up, standing with the sons and daughters of elites, smiling politely in a world that felt hollow. And maybe… maybe you hated that too.

Maybe you hated seeing him like that, all pretty, polished, and mingling with other people, particularly the daughters of noble families, ones his parents made sure he was somewhat acquainted with. Maybe you thought he belonged in that world, with them, rather than here with you.

The thought made his steps falter. A pang of desperation hit him. If only you knew. If only you knew that no crowd, no daughter of any elite, could ever hold his attention like you did.

To him, it didn’t matter how the world saw you or him, what mattered was this. You, walking beside him. You, pulling him to the safer side of the sidewalk. You, shielding him, even when you didn’t know that he was already yours.

At the theatre gate, you hesitated briefly before pulling out the money, the ache in your chest barely masked by the small smile you gave. Each coin was hard-earned, saved from days of labor at the Elaris estate and neighboring homes. As you handed it over, Orsen stepped closer, his hand brushing lightly against yours for just an instant. The gesture was fleeting but warm, like a silent promise that you were not alone.

“(Y/N)... I know it’s not much, but-” He started to say, then hesitated, biting his lip. “I really appreciate you doing this. For both of us.”

You smiled at him, a little softer this time. “You don’t have to thank me, Orsen,” you said gently. “I want to do this.”

His eyes softened, and he looked away briefly, cheeks flushing just a bit. “You always know how to make me feel... better,” he muttered under his breath. I don’t know what I’d do without you.

You couldn’t help but smile at that, the sincerity in his voice catching you off guard. “Well, that's my job as your friend.” you replied, quietly. “I won’t go anywhere.”

He gave you a shy smile, more timid than usual. "I know..."

The moment passed quickly, but the quiet understanding between you both lingered as you walked into the theatre together, the world outside fading away. Orsen risked a glance at you, his gaze catching on the way the dim evening light outlined your sharp features. You looked so effortlessly composed, so handsome that it made his breath hitch for a moment. He felt a rush of warmth spread from his cheeks to the tips of his ears, his fingers brushing nervously against the ribbon under his chin as if it could steady him.

It didn’t matter that you were different. It didn’t matter that you came from different worlds. Right now, all that mattered was that you were both here, together, sharing this moment in time.

And for Orsen, that was enough.

── .✦

Orsen sat in his room, absentmindedly tracing patterns on the wooden desk, his mind still occupied with the discomfort that had settled over him the past few days. He hadn’t expected his body to feel like this, unfamiliar, heavy, and strange. The flow had come, just as his father and tutor had warned, but it didn’t make the experience any less confusing or jarring. He had kept to himself mostly, trying to adjust, trying to make sense of what it all meant.

A soft knock on the door broke his thoughts. He looked up quickly, his nerves suddenly tightening. His father, Lucan, stepped in, his posture rigid as always, his dark eyes scanning the room before landing on Orsen.

“Orsen,” Lucan began, his voice steady but tinged with an unfamiliar seriousness. "Wanted to talk about something, love."

Lucan stepped further into the room, his voice lowering, as if the matter was too delicate to say aloud in front of anyone else. “I and your mother think it’s time for you to stop... associating with (Y/N) for now.”

Orsen’s stomach twisted painfully. The words felt like a sharp blow to his chest, though he knew this was coming. His world, for the last few years, had been shared with (Y/N), the carefree days, the laughter, the moments when they were just two children playing in the garden or sneaking out to see a play. It was always natural, always easy, until now.

“Why?” Orsen’s voice cracked slightly, and he immediately regretted it, his cheeks burning as he stared down at the floor. “What did I do wrong? Wh-at did she do??”

Lucan sighed, a heavy sound that made Orsen feel smaller, as if he were a child again, needing to be controlled. "It’s not about you, Orsen. Your mother believes you should start focusing more on your responsibilities. You are no longer a child. Your a man and she...she's a woman. It’s time for you to stop playing games, stop seeking out... distractions."

Orsen felt his breath catch in his throat. Distractions. That’s how his parents saw (Y/N) now? His heart ached at the thought of never being able to run off and play with you again. It felt like the walls were closing in on him.

"You need to start preparing for your future," Lucan continued, not looking at Orsen directly, but at some point beyond him. “Your mother has plans for you, and she expects you to focus on your studies, your family name. No more distractions, Orsen. You’re growing into something much more than that."

The last words lingered in the air, and Orsen felt a sickening knot twist in his stomach. He wanted to argue, wanted to scream at the injustice of it all. Why should everything change now? But the words didn’t come. Instead, he simply nodded, his eyes brimming with the weight of it all.

Lucan turned to leave, but before he did, he paused at the door. “It’s for the best, son,” he said, his tone almost sympathetic. “I know it doesn’t feel like it now, but your mother’s decision is final.”

The door clicked shut behind him, and Orsen sat there, staring at the floor, his hands trembling. The world outside felt so far away now, like it was slipping through his fingers.

It was over. He couldn’t see (Y/N) anymore. He couldn’t run to her and find comfort in her presence. He couldn’t protect her or laugh with her. He was supposed to grow up. He was supposed to follow the path his family laid out for him, to grow into something else. To grow up for rather someone is more like it. To be a good man so that he can be a good husband...

But I’m not ready to let go, Orsen thought miserably. I can’t.

The evening had settled over the manor, but Orsen still hadn't left his room. He had feigned illness, citing exhaustion as the reason for his retreat, and, thankfully, his parents had bought it. His mother, as aloof as ever, didn’t press the matter too hard, but it was clear from the way she sent up his dinner that she wasn’t exactly pleased with him skipping meals. Nevertheless, they left him in solitude, and he barely touched the food. Just a few bites, enough to keep the appearance of complying with his parents' wishes.

You can't be with (Y/N) now...

The words circled in his mind like an endless loop, the cruel reminder of everything he’d just lost.

Society...

Family name...

And all that other bullshit...

Orsen couldn't suppress the bitter curses that slipped past his mental barriers, curses he'd only learned from you. Thanks to you, he had been exposed to the harsher truths of the world, the side that no one of his status was supposed to see, let alone understand. Without you, he would have remained ignorant, a sheltered boy in a world that seemed so far removed from the lives of people like you.

How could he just forget you? How could he ignore the way you made him feel so alive, so seen?

He wanted to lie to himself, to deny the truth, but it was becoming impossible. The feelings he had for you were not just those of a carefree childhood friendship. No, they had evolved into something far deeper, something he couldn’t bury beneath the expectations of his family and the rigid norms of society.

His mind swirled with the questions that had no answers. Had they told you? Did you know the news already? How would you have reacted?

Would you be heartbroken, too? Or would you simply move on, uncaring, as though he had never been a part of your life at all? After all, he was just the son of a lady of the manor, a wealthy, entitled boy. You, on the other hand, probably had your own circle, your own friends. Girls who shared your struggles, who truly understood your world in ways he never could.

The thought burned in his chest like a quiet, smoldering ache. Maybe there was even a boy among them, someone prettier, someone who fit into your life better than he ever could. Someone who could stand beside you without looking like a silly, awkward dreamer. The idea made his heart clench. He wanted to be everything you needed, but deep down, the fear whispered, what if you didn’t need him at all?

Orsen curled into himself, the loneliness settling over him like a suffocating weight. His heart ached with the thought of you, of how far apart he felt from you now. The girl who had been his closest friend, the one who had filled his life with laughter and mischief, now seemed like a distant memory, slipping through his fingers.

Would you even miss me? He couldn't stop the question from repeating itself.

But deep down, he knew the answer. You were strong, capable, too strong, too capable to be held back by someone like him. You had a life to live, a future that didn’t need him to make it complete. And he, a pampered boy who had always had everything handed to him, couldn’t keep up with that.

Still, his heart refused to listen to the logic of it all. It stubbornly clung to the hope that maybe, just maybe, there was a place for him in your life still.

But what if...

The thought was interrupted by a quiet sob he couldn’t suppress. His heart ached, and his tears fell unbidden, mixing with the confusion and sorrow that clouded his thoughts.

Just then, the soft patter of footsteps approached, and the door creaked open. Orsen barely registered the sound, too consumed by his own grief to notice at first. But when a small, tentative voice called out to him, it pierced through the fog of his sorrow.

“Orsen?” Rowan's voice was quiet, unsure.

Orsen didn't look up. He couldn't. Instead, he pulled his knees tighter to his chest, willing the tears to stop, though they kept coming. He didn’t want Rowan to see him like this. He was supposed to be the older brother, the one who protected him, the one who had all the answers. But now he felt like nothing more than a broken boy, helpless and alone.

Rowan, being much younger, didn't fully understand the weight of the situation, but he could sense the sadness in Orsen's hunched shoulders, in the way his older brother’s sobs shook his frame. Without hesitation, Rowan crossed the room and climbed onto the bed next to him, his small hands resting gently on Orsen’s arm.

"You’re not alone....You’ve still got me."

Orsen felt the warmth of Rowan’s hand, and it was enough to make him break down completely. The tears fell faster now, as if Rowan’s simple words had unlocked everything he had been holding in. He buried his face in his hands, trying to stifle the sobs, but it was useless. The pain was too much.

“I don’t know what to do, Rowan,” Orsen choked out between his sobs. “I... I don’t want to change. I don’t want to lose her. Why does everything have to be so... so different now?”

Rowan, though younger and not entirely understanding the complexities of the world they lived in, squeezed Orsen’s arm tighter. “Maybe it’s not forever,” he said quietly. “Maybe... maybe you can still be with (Y/N). You’re smart, Orsen. You’ll figure something out.”

Orsen let out a ragged breath, his body shaking as the tears slowly subsided. Rowan’s small voice, his unwavering support, gave him something to hold onto in that moment, something that felt like a lifeline.

“Thanks, Rowan,” Orsen whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "M-means a lot.."

Rowan smiled softly, his little hands patting Orsen’s arm as he snuggled closer. “You don’t have to. I’ll always be here, even when Mama and Papa tell you to stop playing with (Y/N). I'll always play with you!"

Orsen’s heart tightened. His little brother didn’t understand the full depth of what had just happened, but his words meant more than he could ever say. In this moment, Rowan was the one keeping him together, the one showing him that, even when everything seemed to fall apart, he wasn’t truly alone.

── .✦

He was perched at the balcony window, the cool breeze tousling his long, silky hair as he gazed out at the garden below. His fingers lightly gripped the edge of the windowsill as he watched you, working diligently on the grounds below.

You were cutting logs, a task far more physical than what Orsen was used to seeing you do. Your movements were strong, your muscles flexing with every swing of the axe, and it sent a strange flutter through his chest. His eyes followed the rhythm of your body, the way your arms tensed with the exertion. There was something undeniably powerful in the way you moved, a raw strength that both mesmerized and unsettled him.

Orsen swallowed hard, his heart skipping a beat as you wiped the sweat from your brow, revealing the determined glint in your eyes. His breath hitched in his throat as he couldn’t help but admire the way your body worked, every movement fluid and precise. The sight of you, the girl who had always been by his side, now growing into someone completely different, had his thoughts running wild.

Stop it, he told himself, gripping the windowsill a little tighter. This is wrong. She’s... His mind stumbled over the words, his heart desperately trying to calm the fluttering sensation that wouldn’t go away.

You didn’t seem to notice him at first, too focused on your task, but then, by some miracle, your eyes found his. For a moment, time seemed to stretch as your gaze locked onto his, and Orsen’s heart raced in his chest. There was something about the way you looked at him, a kind of unspoken acknowledgment as if you knew exactly what he was feeling without him saying a word.

He quickly forced himself to look away, his face flushing with heat, but not before giving a small, almost timid wave. His fingers, still gripping the windowsill, trembled slightly from the nervousness coursing through him.

You gave a quick wave back, then turned your attention back to the task at hand, but the simple exchange was enough to send a shiver of excitement through him. He leaned against the window frame, his chest tight with something he couldn’t quite name.

The quiet, pounding ache in his chest deepened. He was stuck, trapped behind this invisible barrier that kept him from stepping outside, from being close to you in the way he wanted. You, with your strength and duties, your hands working like they knew no other way of being. And him, trapped in this gilded cage, unable to touch you, talk to you.... to even get close.

His eyes followed your every movement, as if he could somehow close the gap between the two of you just by watching. The ache in his chest grew heavier, and the question hung in his mind like a dark cloud: Why am I feeling like this?

You didn’t even know, did you? Or maybe you did, but... what difference did it make? His hand tightened on the windowsill as he let out a quiet sigh. There was nothing he could do. Nothing he could say. Just... watch.

── .✦

The days passed slowly for Orsen after that encounter. Each morning, he would wake up with an uneasy knot in his stomach, knowing he couldn’t be near you. He could only watch you from his window, his heart aching with every glimpse of you working in the garden, your hands strong and graceful, yet out of his reach.

But then, one day, a small note arrived. It was discreet, slipped under the door to his room by Rowan, who seemed to have caught onto the secret in his own innocent way. Orsen unrolled the crumpled piece of paper, his heart pounding.

I see you watching me these days, Orsen. Are you going to keep staring, or are you finally going to talk to me? Don't be afraid...

Orsen stared at the words, a soft blush rising to his cheeks. You, you, had noticed. He carefully folded the note and tucked it into the pocket of his shirt before his parents could catch him with it. His heart raced, but there was a comfort in knowing you felt something too.

Over the next few weeks, the notes began to come more frequently. They were always passed through Rowan, always discreet, and always full of the teasing, playful energy that Orsen both craved and feared.

One evening, Orsen received another note. This one was a little longer than the others, the ink scrawled with hurried words.

I’m starting to think you’re too shy to talk to me in person, Orsen. It’s just a letter. Why don’t you send me one back? Are you really just going to end our friendship like this...? I am worried for you too...Please answer..

Orsen’s hands trembled slightly as he read the note. He had never written to anyone like this before. He had never had a reason to hide his words. But you, you made him feel things he couldn’t understand, things that burned and twisted inside him every time he thought about you. And now, you were asking for him to write.

The next afternoon, he couldn’t stand it anymore. Taking a deep breath, he took up his pen and began to write:

I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to talk to you, not like this. But I think about you. All the time. I can’t stop. But they said to...not to...I want to though. Every day...

It was simple, just a few words, but it felt like the world was contained in that tiny letter. He sealed it carefully, not wanting anyone to find it. Rowan, ever the accomplice, delivered it the next morning.

The day passed in anticipation, and soon, he received your reply.

So you're shy, huh? That’s alright, Orsen. But if you want to see me, if you want to talk to me... I’ll be in the garden tomorrow at noon. I’ll wait. They won't catch us. I promise.

Right... No one would know. It would just be you and him. Just like you promised.

That night, he barely slept, the thought of seeing you in the garden swirling in his mind. And as soon as the clock struck noon the next day, he snuck out of his room and slipped through the hallways of the manor, his heart thundering in his chest.

There, in the garden, you waited. The sun was high, and the breeze was soft. You were working again, your back turned to him as you cleared some weeds. His footsteps were quiet as he approached, but you heard them.

You turned around, your eyes meeting his. The playful glint in them was gone, replaced with something softer, something warmer.

“You came,” you said, smiling slightly. “I thought you might be too scared.”

Orsen’s face flushed, but he nodded, his heart racing in his chest. “I wasn’t sure… but I wanted to see you. I didn’t know how to say it.”

You stepped forward, closing the distance between you. “Well,” you said with a sly smile, “you’ve said it now.”

He swallowed hard, unsure of how to respond. But you didn’t give him time to think. You reached out and placed your hand on his arm, the touch sending a shock of warmth through him.

As he looked into your eyes, the teasing, playful energy that once defined their interactions was gone. Now, there was only a quiet understanding, a deep yearning that neither of them could ignore any longer.

Orsen’s breath caught in his throat. His body was still, heart racing, as you gently cupped his face, your thumb brushing the faint line of his jaw. His hands hovered at his sides, unsure what to do, but every part of him screamed to hold you.

"You’ve been so quiet, Orsen," you whispered, your voice softer than he’d ever heard it before. "What’s on your mind?"

The question hung in the air, but before Orsen could form a response, his gaze flickered to your lips. His heart skipped a beat, and without thinking, he leaned in...you did too. The world around them seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you, standing in the middle of the garden.

And then, as if drawn together by some invisible force, your lips met.

The kiss was hesitant at first, tender and shy like two people testing the waters of something new and forbidden. But it didn’t take long for the hesitance to melt away. Orsen's hands found their way to your collar, pulling you closer as if he could feel you slipping away with each passing second. Your hands gripped his slender waist holding him firmly in place as you lost yourself in the feeling of his soft plump lips.

The kiss deepened, and Orsen felt the weight of everything he had been holding back, the feelings, the longing, the fear of losing you, all come crashing down in that single moment. He wanted to say so much, but all he could do was hold onto you as if his life depended on it.

Finally, when they broke apart, Orsen was breathless, his forehead resting against yours. He opened his eyes to find you gazing down at him, your face flushed and your chest rising and falling in shallow breaths.

"I… I don’t know what to say," he murmured, his voice unsteady.

You smiled softly, running a finger across his jawline, as if reassuring him. "You don’t have to say anything."

But then, your expression shifted, and Orsen could see the uncertainty in your eyes. It was like a sudden weight had descended on you, something you couldn’t hold back any longer.

You pulled away slightly, looking away from him for the first time in their brief encounter.

"I have to tell you something," you said, your voice tinged with sadness. "I’ve been trying to avoid saying it, but you deserve to know."

Orsen’s heart clenched at the seriousness in your tone. "What is it? You’re scaring me."

You took a deep breath, your gaze returning to his. "I’m being...drafted into the army. I leave in two weeks for training."

Orsen's face drained of color. The words didn't fully sink in at first, but as they did, a chill ran through him. "What do you mean? You’re going away?"

"I have no choice," you said quietly, looking down at the ground. "I have to go. You know I always...wanted that and my mother wants it too. I passed the test. And will have to leave for...I don't know yet. Could be an...year."

The weight of her words hit him like a physical blow. He reached out instinctively, taking your hands in his, as if holding onto you could somehow change everything.

"But we just-" Orsen’s voice cracked. "We just… we just had a kiss. And now you’re leaving?"

You nodded, wiping the tear slipping down his cheek. "I never wanted this. I never wanted to hurt you. But I have no choice. This is what’s expected of me."

Orsen’s heart ached, but as he looked into your eyes, he knew there was nothing he could do to change it. The world was too big, too complicated, and he was just a rich boy who wasn’t allowed to have what he wanted.

He stepped back, releasing your hands, and turned his back to you. He couldn’t let you see the way his eyes were welling with tears.

He swallowed hard, struggling to keep his voice steady. "I didn’t even get to tell you, h-ow much I care about you. And now yo-u’re leaving."

You stepped closer again, gently touching his shoulder, your voice soft. "I care about you too, Orsen. But there’s nothing I can do. I’ll be back. I promise. It's not a big deal. Please...don't cry. I want to see you smile...before I leave...."

"But how long? What if we never-"

"We will," you whispered firmly. "When I come back, I’ll find you. We’ll figure this out, together."

Orsen turned to face you then, a smile weakly tugging at the corner of his lips despite the heaviness in his chest. "I’ll be waiting for you."

"I am doing this...for us. I---I have felt this way about you for very long...and I now know you did too. So... when I return," you said, your voice firm with conviction, "I’ll ask for your hand."

Orsen’s heart stopped for a second. The words you spoke were like a breath of fresh air in a world that had felt suffocating. But then, a cold, sinking feeling crept into his chest. He swallowed hard, his thoughts racing.

"I…" He shook his head, his voice faltering. "My mother… she’ll never allow it. I can’t-"

"Don’t worry about her," you cut him off gently. "When I return, we’ll figure it out. I’ll fight for us. I am not a coward. I won’t let anything stand in the way of what we have."

But Orsen’s mind was already racing, and despite the warmth your words brought, doubt gnawed at him. His mother, Isolde Elaris, a businesswoman, would never allow him to be with someone like you. She would never approve. And no matter how much he might want to be with you, he couldn’t ignore the reality of his world.

Still, as you gazed at him with such earnestness, he found himself nodding, almost against his will.

"I’ll be waiting for you, just like I said, promise. Be safe...for me...please (Y/N)...." Orsen whispered, his voice barely audible, but filled with all the hope he had left.

With that you pulled him into a warm embrace that seemed to melt all his worries, his hands gripping you like a lifeline.

1923

One year later...

You had returned.

A year of training had shaped you into someone different, not just physically, but in ways you couldn’t have imagined. At 17, you were a Junior Sergeant, a rank earned through sheer grit. You hadn’t just survived the grueling regimen; you had thrived in it. Yet, despite all that, none of it felt quite as important as the task ahead.

Convincing your mother had been no easy feat. It took more strength than any of your drills to get her to agree to accompany you today. But, in the end, she relented. She didn’t speak much as you both traveled, but the tension in the air was thick with her reservations.

You heard the standard protests from your parents.

"What if we get kicked out?!"

"There is no match between us and them."

"You’re saying she will marry her son only for him to live in the servant quarters of the manor?!"

"I just want to ask for his hand, not bring him here!" you snapped, your voice steady with the weight of your resolve. "Just an engagement, nothing more, until I’ve found my footing. My own house, where we can all live, where we’ll be happy."

Your words were filled with confidence that stemmed from the one thing that motivated you, the love you had for Orsen. It wasn’t about status, not about titles, or what others thought. It was about him. It was about making him happy, seeing him smile, and one day—maybe soon, building a family with him.

Your mother’s protests quieted as she looked at you, still skeptical but, perhaps, beginning to understand the depth of your determination.

"I will fight for him," you said softly, almost to yourself. "I’ll do whatever it takes."

Orsen’s breath hitched in his chest, his sweaty palm almost crushing his younger brother Rowan's. Both of them stood just outside the drawing room, where you and your mother were speaking with his parents. The air felt thick, heavy with the weight of what you had just said, and Orsen’s anxiety surged with each passing second of silence. He could barely comprehend it, you had said it. You had confessed your love, asking for his hand.

The silence was broken by a furious, sharp voice that made Orsen's heart drop into his stomach.

“ABSOLUTELY NOT! Who the fuck do you think you are?”

Isolde shot up from her seat, her eyes blazing with fury as she pointed an accusatory finger in your direction.

“YOU THINK YOU CAN COME HERE AND ASK FOR MY SON’S HAND, THE ONE WHOSE SINGLE SHOE COSTS MORE THAN YOUR ENTIRE QUARTERS?!” Her voice rang with disgust, the insult heavy in the air.

Orsen felt his knees threaten to give way. He had known his mother would react this way, hell, he had feared it. But hearing her say those words about you, about what you meant to him... It hurt more than he could have imagined.

"Love... love is not something that you weigh, Ms. Elaris." Your mother gripped your arm tightly as a warning, her fingers pressing into your skin as she tried to pull you away, her voice full of urgency. She muttered apologies under her breath, but you remained rooted to the spot, staring straight ahead. Isolde’s presence loomed closer, her fury palpable in the thick tension of the room.

"Oh really?" Isolde sneered, stepping forward with venom in her voice. "Well, your pathetic and nasty feelings towards my son WON'T KEEP HIM FED! IT WILL ONLY RUIN EVERYTHING ASSOCIATED WITH HIM, WHICH IS MY FUCKING NAME THAT I BUILT!"

Her words sliced through the air like a blade, but you stood your ground, not backing down, your voice steady despite the knot of anger rising in your throat. "You think I would have come here for something as trivial as commitment just to let him starve? We both love each other-"

"DON'T FUCKING SAY HIS NAME, YOU-" Isolde's face contorted with rage. Before you could even react, she struck you across the face, the sharp sting of her palm sending shockwaves through your head.

The sound of the smack echoed in the room, and it was all Orsen needed to hear. He couldn’t take it anymore.

"NO! MAMA! Don't hurt her!" His voice broke through the tension, desperate and raw. He dashed into the room, his eyes wide with panic and pain, his feet carrying him faster than his mind could catch up. The sight of you, standing there with a reddened cheek and your heart in turmoil, pushed him past his breaking point.

"Don’t you dare!" he cried out, trying to rush toward you, as his father stopped him.

Isolde turned to her husband, rage still boiling in her voice. "YOU LET THEM PLAY WHEN I TOLD YOU NOT TO!" she screamed. "See?! This is what it fucking results in!"

Orsen ignored her, his focus entirely on you, on the hurt she had caused, and the way it shattered him to see you suffer. He reached for you, but his father blocked his path, forcefully holding him back.

"NO! STOP!" Orsen sobbed, the sight of you being dragged away tearing him apart. His chest tightened, his heart breaking into a million pieces. All he could do was watch as his dreams of being with you, of having a future together, crumbled before him.

"At least think what your son wants! I promise to keep him happy even if it means working myself to death, just give me a chance Ms. Isolde! I'll be forever loyal to-"

Isolde’s voice rang out again, cruel and final. "I WON’T GIVE YOU MY SON IN A MILLION YEARS!" she spat. "Now go home. Pack your bags. GET FUCKING LOST FROM MY PROPERTY!"

The words struck like daggers, and Orsen could only stand there, his body wracked with sobs. The pain, the injustice, the helplessness, it all became too much. You were being dragged away, your love for him still so clear, and yet, everything was falling apart.

And as he watched you being forced from the manor, Orsen’s world seemed to collapse in on itself. He could feel every part of him breaking, every dream he had of a future with you slipping through his fingers like sand.....

Please be a nightmare...please be a nightmare.

Isolde stormed back into the manor, her fury still crackling in the air. "Lucan! Get him inside his room, and I don’t want to hear a single word about that pathetic woman! Neither the sobbing! You hear me?" She didn’t wait for an answer. Without another glance at her sons, she turned on her heel, the sound of her heels clicking sharply against the floor as she made her way toward her study, her anger still seething.

Lucan stood there for a moment, staring at the door his wife had slammed shut, the weight of his own helplessness pulling at his chest. He sighed heavily, then turned to Orsen, whose body trembled with the weight of everything that had just unfolded.

"Orsen..." Lucan’s voice was softer now, but laced with concern. He approached his son, his hand resting on his trembling shoulder. "My dear... calm yourself," he murmured, trying to comfort him as best he could. But it was clear that his own frustrations and regrets were too much for him to contain. "You really thought your mama would let this be? Why did you let yourself fall for her?" His tone was more accusatory than he realized, but it was clear that his anger wasn’t directed at his son, it was just a manifestation of his own disappointment.

Rowan, who had been silently watching the exchange, finally stepped forward. His small hands reached out for his brother, and with the innocence only a child could have, he whispered through his tears, "Orsen, please don’t be sad. I... I don’t like seeing you cry."

Lucan finally helped his son to his feet, though Orsen could barely stand on his own. The weight of his heartbreak was too much to bear, and he leaned heavily on his father, the pain in his chest threatening to crush him with every breath. Rowan followed close behind, his small hands trembling as they touched Orsen’s arm, trying to support him.

"I don’t... I can’t live without her," Orsen whispered, his voice barely audible, a tremble in every word. "Please... I’ll die... I’ll kill myself..." His words hung in the air, heavy with despair. And then, in a moment of overwhelming emotion, Orsen’s world faded to black, his body collapsing in his father’s arms as everything around him went silent.

── .✦

After you left, Orsen felt as though half of his soul had been ripped away, leaving him hollow and incomplete. Lucan had tried to convey this to his wife countless times, but Isolde was deaf to his pleas. She dismissed his concerns about their son with cold indifference, refusing to acknowledge the truth of what Orsen had become, a lovelorn boy consumed by grief. He withdrew from the world entirely, locking himself away in his room. Socializing, already a challenge for him, became impossible. And so, he painted. Over and over again, he painted you.

Each canvas bore your face, your smile, your essence. Every brushstroke was a desperate attempt to capture what he had lost. The paintings multiplied, filling his room with hauntingly beautiful reminders of a love he could no longer hold.

“This is getting out of hand!” Isolde’s shrill voice echoed through the manor as she stormed into the parlor. “I swear to God, if I see one more portrait of that bastard in my house-”

“STOP!” Lucan’s voice thundered, cutting through her tirade. “For God’s sake, Isolde, just stop! Can’t you see what you’ve done? My son, our son, has lost himself because of you! If only... if only you’d handled this with an ounce of discretion, with empathy! They were young and in love for God’s sake! She was young, and she did it, she came here, to us, and asked for his hand. What was her crime? Loving him? That’s not a sin!”

“Oh, it most certainly is!” Isolde snapped, her face flushed with fury. “She did commit a sin because how dare she even think she’s at par with us? How dare she believe she’s fit to be my daughter-in-law? She’s a nobody! And you-” she pointed an accusatory finger at Lucan, her voice trembling with rage, “you need to stop wallowing in pity with him and do your job as his father. Go up there and fix your son instead of standing here arguing with me, your wife! You failed to raise him properly! I want the best for him too! Do you think I’m his enemy?”

Lucan’s jaw tightened, his fists clenched at his sides, but before he could respond, Isolde pressed on, her tone sharp and resolute. “If you won’t act, then I will. I’ll find him a suitor. A proper one. Because clearly, you’re too busy sulking to see what’s best for him. There are plenty of well-established women, daughters of my partners--women who will treat him like the prince he is! Not like some charity case meant to be dragged down by a girl who doesn’t even belong in the same world as us.”

Lucan’s eyes burned with unshed tears, his voice breaking as he whispered, “And what do you think that will do to him, Isolde? You think parading someone else in front of him will make him forget her? You’ll break what little is left of him.”

But Isolde had already turned her back, dismissing his words with a wave of her hand as she walked toward the grand staircase. “You’ll see, Lucan. One day, he’ll thank me for saving him from her.”

However, Isolde’s plans always seemed to crumble before they even began. Every suitor she brought forward found her son either too meek, too detached, or, worse yet, eerily silent. He was almost ghost-like, his quietness mistaken for muteness by many. But it wasn’t silence, it was absence. Every fiber of Orsen’s being was consumed by you. His thin frame seemed weighed down by the memories he refused to let go of.

Because every part of his being was consumed by thoughts of you, his eyes replaying the memories, his hands yearning to be held by yours, his ears straining to hear your voice, his nose craving the faint trace of your scent, and his mind entirely consumed by you. His mind, utterly devoted to you, left no space for the present. How could he be anything but a shell of himself?

The embarrassment came soon enough. The rumors spread like wildfire after one particular incident---a disaster in Isolde’s eyes. Forced to interact with a suitor in private, Orsen, in his dazed and lovesick state, spoke only of you. Your name slipped from his lips like a prayer, every word dripping with longing and devotion. The suitor, bewildered and offended, left without a word. And that was it, Isolde’s perfect plan shattered yet again.

But the world outside was less forgiving.

A boy in love?

The son of Isolde Elaris in love?

And with a mere servant, no less? Tsk, tsk. So unruly...

No wonder he looks so wretched. Betrayed by a woman beneath him, perhaps?

Heard she’s in the army now. But poor as dirt, that explains why Isolde refused.

The whispers, the snide remarks, and the pitying glances reached Isolde’s ears, stoking her fury. But Orsen? He couldn’t care less about the rumors. Let them talk. Let them mock. None of it mattered to him.

His world had shrunk to the confines of his room, where his paintbrush brought you back to life in hues of longing and heartbreak. Your laughter echoed in the silent strokes of his art. Your touch lingered in every corner of his mind. Your memory was his solace and his torment.

He needed nothing else, just the faint traces of you that lingered in his heart. For him, they were enough.

"You destroyed your life for HER?! She isn’t coming back here, and neither am I ever going to accept her, so imprint that in your mind and fix yourself! Otherwise, we will be forced to move to another province."

SLAM!

The door rattled violently as Isolde stormed off, leaving the air thick with tension. All she ever did was talk, command, dictate, and talk some more. Orsen leaned his head back against the wall, letting out a dry, rueful chuckle. Her words barely scratched at the armor of his despair anymore.

"Does your mother always think she’s the empress of everything? Or does she just save that energy for me?"

He could still picture you folding your arms, feigning indignation while your eyes sparkled with mischief. Back then, you’d leaned closer, dropping your voice conspiratorially. "No offense, but I’m half-expecting her to declare a new tax just for looking at her wrong."

That teasing jab had made him laugh so hard he’d forgotten, for a moment, the weight of his world. He could still remember how your fingers used to drift into his hair without a thought, toying with the soft strands as if it were the most natural thing in the world. It always made his cheeks flush, though he never stopped you—he loved it, cherished every touch, every moment your attention lingered on him.

Now, his hands gripped the scissors, the metal glinting faintly under the dim light. His movements were sharp, almost desperate, as he cut through the alluring gold locks, yet there was an underlying tenderness to it, hesitant, like he was severing a connection to you. Gently, because you loved his hair. Aggressively, because he didn’t want anyone else to see it anymore. No suitors, no flattering remarks from his parents. No one deserved to notice him the way you had.

Even now, the memory of you was so vivid it felt like you were in the room with him. Almost. But not enough to fill the void you’d left behind. Nothing ever could.

Meanwhile, you, after being kicked out and shamed by Lady Elaris—were drowning in an unbearable mix of shame and guilt, especially in front of your parents, who were now homeless because of you and your foolish fantasy of being with her son. What were you thinking? Had you been so blind in your naive, reckless love that you lost sight of reality? Your parents should have been your first priority. Instead, you had risked their stability and comfort over a foolish dream.

Your heart broke the day your father had to sell his cherished marriage jewelry, pieces he had once treasured, because your single month’s salary, combined with your mother’s meager savings, wasn’t enough to afford even a modest one-room apartment. It was a moment that crushed you, made you see the depth of your mistakes, and yet, it also became the turning point.

At that moment, you made a promise. You vowed to repay them tenfold, no, a thousandfold, everything they had sacrificed because of you. That vow became your life’s focus, your unrelenting drive. There was no more room for silly infatuations, no place for childish fantasies. Only purpose.

1931

Over the years, countless letters were written by Orsen to you. Rowan, ever loyal, carried each one to the post office, just as he had done when they were boys. But you never wrote back. Not once. Each unanswered letter chipped away at Orsen's hope, leaving him to wrestle with the silence. In his heart, he could only fathom two reasons for your absence: either you had truly forgotten him, abandoned him, played with his heart, or you had simply given up on the dream.

Perhaps you kept the love a secret but he didn't. He kept it as an oath.

He thought it would be a love for the ages. But now, as the days turned into years, he realized he was the only one writing on…pages.

But why? No. No, you shouldn’t have. You promised to fight for him, didn’t you? You were the woman, you were supposed to fight for your love. He had fought for you, hadn’t he? So why didn’t you?

There were moments when resentment clawed at his heart, moments when he hated you for your silence. But his love always overcame it. A quiet voice within reminded him of the guilt and heartbreak he had seen in your eyes that last time, the moment you stood at the threshold of his home. No, he would tell himself, you didn’t betray me, did you?

And yet, the doubt lingered, cold and cruel. Was he really so...forgettable to you?

"BROTHER ORSEN! Orsen!" Rowan's voice trembled as he rushed inside his brother’s room, panic rising in his chest as he saw Orsen hunched over, lost in the sea of his own thoughts. He approached him gently, reaching out to steady him, but it was as if Orsen was made of glass, fragile and on the edge of shattering.

"I-... I did you hear the news...?" Rowan's voice quivered, unsure if he truly wanted to be the one to break this.

A slow, hesitant shake of Orsen's head was all Rowan received—what he had expected, but still, it hurt more than words could express.

"T-the... war is upon us... and..." Rowan’s voice faltered, breaking on the edge of that awful, cold truth. He didn’t need to say more. Orsen’s face went blank, his body slumping further, as if the weight of the world had just pressed him into the bed.

"War..." Orsen’s voice was barely a whisper. It wasn’t the war that had brought him to this point. It wasn’t the world outside that was destroying him. It was the war within, against the memories, the love, the haunting silence.

"Y-yes, brother. War, soldiers are being deployed to the western border... but don’t you worry, she’ll return, she’ll be fine-"

"But she won’t return to me..." Orsen’s words were choked, and Rowan felt his heart fracture as his brother's emerald eyes filled with unshed tears.

"No matter how many wars go by, Rowan..." Orsen’s voice quivered, his body shaking with the intensity of his pain, the weight of years of silence and waiting pressing down on him. "She won’t fight the war... for us. The one war that I was ready to die for."

Rowan’s heart ached, and he reached for Orsen immediately, his hand coming to rest gently over his brother’s lips as if to shield him from speaking the words that were tearing him apart. "Why do you always speak ill of yourself? It hurts me, Orsen. As much as I... support you and love you you need to stop destroying yourself over her."

Orsen’s hands trembled, and his voice broke as he whispered, almost desperately, "Rowan, my heart doesn’t stop! There’s always this voice... this voice that tells me she still feels something for me, that I still live in her heart, the same way mine beats for her. But it’s all I have left. The hope. The hope that she’ll come back... and maybe... maybe it will be enough."

Rowan's throat tightened, but he couldn’t speak, not with the agony in his brother’s voice. His own heart broke for him, but he couldn’t let Orsen sink deeper into the suffocating grief.

"Even if she returns..." Rowan’s voice faltered as he feared what the consequences would be. "Mother will-"

But Orsen cut him off, his voice low, almost too quiet to hear, "It won’t matter, Rowan. I’ve already lost her...I've lost...everything."

One year later...

After years of bloodshed and sacrifice, the town whispers of your return. At 25, you walk back into the place you once called home, no longer the wide-eyed girl who had left at 17, but a woman hardened by the brutal realities of war. Your uniform, now adorned with a sergeant's insignia, tells the story of your rise through the ranks, your resolve steeled by every battle fought and every friend lost. The air feels different, heavier, almost suffocating as you step through the town’s familiar streets, but your heart remains unyielding, barricaded from the past. Orsen’s letters are still tucked away, unopened, each one a reminder of a love you’ve forced yourself to forget. You’ve accepted it. You were never meant to be, and no amount of hope could change that now. The weight of those letters no longer tugs at you, not when you’ve fought and survived so much more.

Dear Orsen,

I know you’ve been waiting. I know you’ve sent me countless letters, filled with hope that I would somehow return to you, to the life we once dreamed of. But Orsen, I can’t. I’ve read every word you wrote, and yet I find myself unable to respond in the way you so desperately long for.

I wish things had been different. I wish I could turn back the clock and be the girl who ran away with you in her heart, the girl who believed love could conquer everything. But that girl no longer exists.

You were my first love, Orsen, and you will always hold a piece of my heart. But that piece is buried deep now, and I cannot let it resurface. You deserve more than the shadows of someone who cannot return your love. You deserve someone who can give you all the things I cannot.

Please, move on. I’ve had to. And though it breaks me to say this, I need you to as well. There are things we can’t undo, and I’ve learned that some battles are meant to be lost.

I wish you nothing but happiness, Orsen. Please find it, for both of us.

Yours,

(Y/N)

Orsen read the letter over and over again, the words blurring as his tears fell onto the paper. He could feel the weight of her words, the finality in them, but it didn’t matter. She was back. She had sent a response. That was all that mattered. He could still feel the flicker of hope inside him, despite the pain.

"See, Rowan?" Orsen's voice trembled, filled with a raw, desperate conviction. "She does care... she did come back! And she sent a response! After all these years, after everything..." His hands shook as he held the letter, his eyes wide with disbelief, as if the letter were some miraculous token of proof that his love had not been in vain.

Rowan stood still, watching his brother, his heart aching with the quiet sorrow that had always lived within Orsen. He had been there for all of it, the hopeless days, the constant painting, the letters, the belief that (Y/N) would return. But now, even with the letter in hand, he knew nothing would ever truly change for Orsen. The boy who loved her so deeply, so painfully, would never let go.

"Orsen-"

"I told you, Rowan!" Orsen interrupted, his eyes gleaming with an intensity that sent a chill down Rowan’s spine. He didn't even hear his brother’s voice, his focus solely on the canvas beneath him. He dashed to his desk, where he'd been working for hours, and pulled out the latest painting of her, his masterpiece.

He held the canvas in his arms like it was the most precious thing in the world. His hands, once trembling with uncertainty, now steadied as he placed a soft kiss onto the painting of her.

"I knew you would," he whispered into the stillness of the room, the words soft, almost a prayer. "I knew you would, (Y/N)... I knew you’d come back to me."

His lips brushed the painted figure as though it were real, as though he were holding her in his arms once more. He collapsed beside it, curling up against the canvas as though it were her embrace. The painting of (Y/N) became his only solace, his only love.

And though the letter told him to move on, to accept the impossible, Orsen couldn't. He wouldn't.

He would live in his world of painted memories, of moments stolen from time. If that was all he could have, then that was enough. His heart belonged to her, now and always.

Rowan sighed, a heavy, sorrowful breath, and sat beside his brother, not knowing how to save him from the pain that would never fade.

── .✦

The years had been kinder to you in some ways. You had finally earned the respect you'd dreamed of, built a stable life, and found a steady income. Your parents, once worried, once ashamed, were proud now. They had a bungalow, a car, and all the comforts that came with your hard work. Adrian was a good man, his steady smile and warm presence had become a source of quiet comfort. Your parents approved of him, and in public, he fit the role of what they had always envisioned for you.

You had met Adrian at one of the official functions after the war, an event meant to honor veterans and those who had served. He had approached you politely, a charming young man from a good family, well-educated, and well-spoken. It was easy to fall into a comfortable conversation with him. He was kind, and considerate, and seemed genuinely interested in your experiences, nothing too probing, nothing too personal, and a touch of flirty which you found attracted to. The connection had been easy, and effortless. Over time, he had become more of a presence in your life, someone to lean on, someone to rely on when the weight of the world felt too heavy.

But in the quiet moments, when you caught him smiling or when his gentle presence filled the room, you couldn't help but wonder what it would have been like if Orsen were here instead of him.

Had he listened to you? Had he chosen a different path? You had told him to move on, to find happiness elsewhere. But as you thought of him, still alone, still stubbornly clinging to something that had long since slipped away, you felt an overwhelming ache. You wondered if he was doing well if he had found peace, or if he was still trapped in the same loop of memories, the same quiet obsession that you had once shared.

The whispers that reached your ears spoke of his isolation. They called him a "spinster" in the most cruel terms, among their circle blaming him for wasting his life over a dream, for not letting go, and for refusing to welcome suitors. The town had forgotten the love he had once held for you, reduced it to mockery and judgment. And it stung more than you cared to admit. It wasn’t just the cruel words, they blamed him, not you. But you still felt the guilt gnaw at you. If only you could have done something differently. If only you hadn’t pushed him away if only you had stayed.

You wished things could have been different, so different. Sometimes, you would drive by the road that led to the Elaris estate, the place where it had all started, where it had all fallen apart. You grimaced each time, your mind filled with the memories of Isolde’s cold arrogance, her cruel insults hurled at your mother, the disdain that had torn everything apart. You would never forget the way she looked down on your family. Never forget the way her words had stung.

And yet, despite it all, the quiet moments still haunted you. Adrian was everything you had ever been told to want. He was good, stable, and kind. But whenever you saw that smile, whenever you felt his hand on yours, the image of Orsen would slip into your mind, and for a fleeting moment, you wondered, what if?

"Ready for the date, love?" you asked, a playful smile on your lips as you slid into the driver's seat of your sleek Packard coupe. Adrian hopped in beside you, his excitement palpable as he fastened his seatbelt. The polished chrome gleamed under the fading sunlight, reflecting your success.

"Ready as ever," Adrian grinned, leaning in for a quick peck before you revved the engine.

As you pulled out onto the road, Adrian’s eyes sparkled with energy. "Oh my God, baby! Look! An exhibition! We should totally go there!"

"But what about our reservation?"

"We can eat somewhere else," he said, his voice bubbling with excitement. "I'm in the mood to go there now! And it’s going to be fun!"

"As you say, doll," you laughed, making a sharp turn, and Adrian’s hand instinctively gripped your arm as the car glided smoothly along the streets.

The gallery was quiet when you both entered, the sound of hushed conversations echoing in the background. But as soon as you stepped through the door, you both stopped in your tracks.

Every single wall was covered in paintings. And what made your heart skip a beat, what made the air feel heavy, was that every single painting was of you. Each canvas captured a moment, an expression, an angle of you. The portraits were hauntingly familiar, your face, your eyes, your presence, all staring back at you in ways that felt too intimate, too familiar.

Adrian stood beside you, his mouth agape as his eyes darted between the paintings. "What the hell is this?" His voice trembled with confusion, but his gaze never left the artwork.

You didn’t respond, your heart pounding in your chest. The words caught in your throat as the reality of the situation sank in. How had this happened? Why had someone done this?

You felt the walls closing in, the weight of every portrait suffocating you. The paintings weren’t just of you, they were a testament to someone who had been watching, remembering, and never letting go. They were not just of your face, but in parts too but all those parts...made a story , the story you were all too familiar with.

The garden...

The swing...of you pushing a boy...you knew too well.

your eyes...

your lips nuzzling in golden hair...

you working in the garden but the painter drew it as they...were in some balcony...

Adrian looked at you, searching your face for an explanation. "Do you know who did this?"

You shook your head, your voice barely a whisper.

"Is this… is this really me?" you whispered, feeling a tremor in your voice.

Adrian stood beside you, studying the painting. He gave you a gentle nudge. “Of course, it’s you. Look at that, love. It’s beautiful. Who could capture you like that? It's like they’ve seen the real you.”

Your mind was however not registering his words as you turned your eyes to the next painting. Another portrait of you. And another.

The entire gallery was filled with paintings of you. Each one more personal than the last.

Your breath hitched. The familiar, almost painful pull of longing twisted in your chest. The artist, who could it be? Why was this happening? You didn't want to think it, but you knew deep down. You knew this was Orsen’s doing.

Adrian sensed your shift in mood, his brow furrowing in concern. “What’s going on? This... this doesn’t seem like you to be so quiet.”

You turned to him, the weight of the paintings and your tangled emotions making your heart ache. "It’s… it’s him. Orsen."

Adrian’s face softened in understanding, his eyes scanning the gallery around you. "I thought you'd told me you had moved on from him. That you had buried that part of your life."

“I did,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “I thought I had. But I didn’t expect this… to see him like this. To see him still... holding onto me."

Adrian studied you, his expression a mixture of concern and something softer, more understanding. He took your hand, gently guiding you towards the painting of you in the center of the room. “(Y/N), listen to me. This… this is what he’s been doing all this time. This is his heart, laid out on canvas. But you, you, need to follow yours now.”

Your heart raced as you turned to look at him. “I don’t know if I can,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “His mother… she ruined everything. I ruined everything.”

Adrian’s hand squeezed yours gently, and he looked you in the eyes, the sincerity in his expression unwavering. “But you’re not her, (Y/N). Don’t let her shadow stand in the way of what’s real. You feel it, don’t you? You feel that pull. The ache in your heart. You’ve never really let him go. He’s still there, inside you. Maybe it’s time to go to him. Maybe it’s time to follow your heart, before it’s too late. Be the woman you should be. For him."

You swallowed, the weight of his words sinking deep into your chest. Adrian’s eyes softened as he added, "Go to him, (Y/N). You owe it to yourself."

For a moment, you stood there, torn between the past and the future. But deep down, you knew what you had to do. Adrian was right. You had buried the love you shared with Orsen for too long, hidden behind walls of fear and shame. You couldn’t pretend anymore. The paintings were his way of reaching out to you, of showing you that he never stopped loving you, even when you were too proud or too afraid to admit it to yourself.

With a shaky breath, you turned to Adrian and smiled softly. “Thank you. I don’t know how to repay you.”

He smiled back, brushing a lock of hair from your face. “No need for that, love. Just be happy.”

After a comforting and final farewell with Adrian and dropping him you drove towards the Elaris estate. Your heart thudded in your chest, each beat louder than the last. You knew what was waiting for you. You knew that, despite all the years of pain and regret, Orsen was still out there, still holding onto you, waiting for you.

You didn’t know how you would face him, but you knew one thing for sure, you had to try.

When you arrived at the grand estate, it felt like stepping into the past. The familiar sight of the towering gates, the ivy-covered walls, all of it reminded you of everything you had left behind. Your hands trembled on the steering wheel, but you didn’t hesitate. You got out of the car and walked up to the grand doors, your heart heavy with the fear of what you might find.

Orsen’s mother answered the door, her face cold and dismissive as ever. “You’ve come back for more, have you? He’s upstairs, but don’t think this will end well.”

You didn’t respond. You didn’t need to. She could fuck herself.

Taking the stairs two at a time, you arrived at his door. You hesitated for just a moment before knocking.

"Orsen?" you whispered, your voice trembling with a mix of fear and hope. “Orsen, it’s me.”

For a long moment, there was silence. But then, the door creaked open, and there he stood, your Orsen. His eyes widened in shock as he saw you, standing there on his doorstep after all these years.

“You came,” he whispered, his voice breaking.

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest. “I came, Orsen....I did..."

The years between you didn’t matter anymore. The world outside could’ve been falling apart, but in that moment, all that mattered was him. And you. Together, at last.

Orsen’s voice trembled as he spoke those words, his hands shaking as he reached for you, his face painted with disbelief. "I never stopped loving you. I never gave up on us."

You stood frozen for a moment, your heart hammering in your chest, and then, without another thought, you stepped forward. The distance that had kept you apart for so long seemed to vanish as he collapsed into your arms.

Orsen's breath hitched as you wrapped your arms tightly around you, You could feel his tears against your neck, the way his body trembled as he let out a sob, quiet at first, but then growing louder, more desperate.

"I thought you were lost to me forever," he whispered between gasps, his voice cracking with emotion. "I tho-ught--I thought you would never come back."

You ran your fingers through his hair, pressing your cheek against the top of his head as he cried. His sobs were broken, painful, as if years of longing and heartache were finally being released. It hurt to see him like this, but it also made you realize just how much you had missed him, how deeply he had always felt for you.

"I’m here," you whispered softly, your voice barely audible, but the words felt like a promise. "I’m here, Orsen. I never wanted to leave you. I was a coward--a fucking coward...a bastard. That's what I am."

Orsen pulled back just slightly to look at you, his tear-streaked face full of vulnerability. He reached up to touch your face, your jawline, his fingertips brushing gently over your cheeks as though he couldn't quite believe you were really there.

"You... you never stopped loving me?" His voice was raw, a mix of hope and doubt.

"I never did, never" you said, your own tears starting to slip free. "I just... I was afraid. Of everything."

He shook his head, a soft smile breaking through the tears, though it was a broken one. "Yo-u are not a coward....you are my everything...I-I feel as if I can breathe ag-ain (Y/N)...I love you..."

"Oh Orsen..." You pulled him to your arms again as you both now sat on the carpeted floor. " I love you too. Always. I am so sorry.."

You hugged him tighter, your body pressed against his as he continued to sob in your arms, his tears soaking into your clothes, but you didn’t care. You held him, the warmth of his embrace grounding you, making you realize that all the pain, all the time spent apart, didn’t matter anymore. You were here now, together.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself cry, the tears falling freely as the weight of everything you had been carrying finally lifted. His arms were around you, and he was holding you so tightly, as though he would never let go again.

And in that moment, it felt like the world had stopped turning. All that mattered was the two of you, your past, your fears, your love, all of it was there, unfolding in his arms. Orsen had always been your home, and now, finally, you were both back where you belonged.

It didn’t matter that the world outside remained uncertain, that Isolde still cast her shadow over Orsen’s name, or that the whispers of the past lingered like unwanted ghosts. When you finally stood together with Orsen, hand in hand, the rest of the world fell away. You had spent too long apart, too long in the agony of wondering “what if,” but now, there were no more questions. No more waiting.

As Orsen stood beside you, the man who had loved you for all these years, he seemed almost too perfect to be real. His emerald eyes, the same ones that had once searched for you in the distance, now held you in a steady, comforting gaze.

“I thought I’d lost you,” he whispered to you as you exchanged vows, his voice thick with emotion. “I thought I was never going to feel your arms around me again, never hear you say my name.”

“You never lost me, Orsen,” you responded, your voice steady, but your heart thundering in your chest. "I was always here..."

And then, as if nothing else mattered, you sealed your promises to each other with a kiss that was as soft as the years you had spent apart, as fierce as the love you now shared.

The years of separation melted away in that one, perfect moment, and for the first time in a long while, the weight of your past was lighter. You had come back to each other, and that was all that truly mattered.

After the wedding, life settled into a quiet rhythm. You and Orsen moved into the bungalow. It wasn’t grand compared to where he came from, but it was nonetheless a heaven for him. Every room held a piece of you both, and slowly, you began to build a new life.

Orsen often found himself in the garden, his hands in the dirt, tending to the flowers that now bloomed as brightly as his heart. You would watch him from the kitchen window, leaning against the frame, a smile tugging at your lips as you admired the way he made everything seem so effortless. The way he painted in the garden. His laugh, when he caught sight of you watching, was soft and full of warmth.

At night, you would share simple dinners, just the two of you, with candles flickering in the dim light. Orsen would tell you stories of his of the times when he had been filled with hope and dreams, waiting for you to come back to him. You shared your own tales, of the war, of the triumphs and the losses, the people you met, and the battles you fought. And yes of course, talking about the memories of your childhood...the most cherished ones.

But the best moments, the ones you cherished the most, were the quiet ones. The evenings when Orsen would in your lap, his arm around your neck as he clung to you, as you both listened to the wind rustling through the trees, and the sound of crickets filling the air.

You never spoke of Isolde much. She remained a distant, bitter part of Orsen’s past. And while she still tried to cause trouble, trying to remind Orsen of what he “could have had,” you both knew that she no longer had a place in your life. She had lost him, and that was all that mattered. You had heard how she had suffered losses in her business and for Orsen and you, it seems like she was facing the consequences of her ego and stubbornness.

Sometimes, you would take walks through the town, just the two of you, your fingers intertwined, the sun setting in the distance. The people who had once whispered about your union now smiled, and you would catch the glint of admiration in their eyes. You had proven that love, even in the face of all odds, could survive.

One evening, as you both sat on the porch, the stars beginning to twinkle above, Orsen turned to you, his eyes soft and filled with a quiet happiness.

“Do you ever think about what could’ve been?” he asked, his voice just above a whisper.

You smiled and shook your head. “No. I think about now. I think about you and me. This. That’s enough for me.”

And Orsen, ever the poet, kissed you gently, his lips lingering on yours in a quiet promise that this love, this life, was all that mattered now.

The past was gone. The future was still unwritten, but you were both finally, truly together, and that was more than you had ever dared to dream.

In the warmth of each other’s arms, you knew, finally, that no matter what the world might throw your way, you had everything you needed. You had each other.

You did it. You fought for him...no, you both did, in fact you felt ashamed sometimes that it was Orsen who really did. He remained true to his word, his love.

Now none of the bitter past mattered. What mattered was that you two were now bound.

And that was enough.

── .✦

The sun had just begun to set, casting a warm golden glow over the bungalow, and the soft hum of evening filled the air. The days had stretched into years, and now, the soft patter of little feet echoed through the house.

The twins, Isla and Blair, were running around the garden, laughing as they chased each other between the rows of flowers that Orsen had lovingly tended. Isla’s bright curls bounced with each step, her fiery energy matching her mother’s, while Blair, a little more reserved, hid behind a bush before springing out with a playful shout. You couldn’t help but smile as you watched them, so full of life, so full of joy.

Orsen stood beside you, a proud smile on his face as he adjusted the collar of your shirt, though he couldn’t keep his eyes off the children for long.

"Think they'll ever slow down?" he asked, his voice warm, though laced with a hint of exhaustion.

You chuckled softly, resting your head on his shoulder. “Not as long as they have that energy. They're just like you at their age, honey."

"I was never that much trouble," Orsen said, feigning innocence, though his smile betrayed him.

You raised an eyebrow. "Oh? You want me to remind you about the treehouse incident?”

He laughed leaning back on your chest, the sound rich and full. "Alright, alright, maybe I was a bit much. But they’ve got your fire in them, that’s for sure. I see it every day. It’s like they’re part of both of us."

"You can say that again. Isla's already giving Rowan a run for his money with her mischief."

You then nuzzled the side of his soft and milky neck, feeling the warmth and peppered light kisses as he giggled. "And definitely got your streak of being a brat."

"Oh, shut up you..." His voice softened, looking up at you with a dreamy gaze. He cupped your jaw gently, his thumb brushing the line of your cheek as his eyes traced the lines of your face. "You know...this was my dream, and I would sacrifice everything a million times for this... for you."

You shook your head, smiling tenderly as you brought his soft hand to your lips. "You sacrificed enough. It's my time to do that." You kissed his forehead, feeling the heat of his skin and the quiet ache of love that swelled in your chest. He swore he melted right then and there, his heart swelling with emotion.

"I WANNA KISSHY TOO!" Isla’s voice broke the moment as she wobbled over, her little face scrunched with exaggerated impatience. You chuckled, easily scooping up your three-year-old daughter, her giggles filling the air as she flung her arms around your neck.

"Do you now?" You teased, smiling at her. "Then kisshies you get. And you too, little mister." With one swift motion, you scooped up Blair in your other arm, planting kisses all over both their little faces. Their giggles filled the space around you, a sweet symphony of innocence and love.

Orsen laughed softly, his eyes twinkling as he watched the scene unfold before him. The sight of you, his family, so full of life and laughter, was a dream he had never dared to speak aloud, one he was living every single day. He sighed in contentment, his heart swelling at the sight. It was everything he had hoped for and more.

All his art had come to life, and it was more beautiful than he could ever have imagined. Every brushstroke, every moment of uncertainty, had led to this, a home filled with love, with laughter, with a family bound by unspoken understanding, and, most importantly, by the love that had always been there.

© ak319. All rights reserved.

[jadeddangel]

I saw that u write poly stuff and my mind was inspired, maybe u could write something where adam and lute comfort reader because something happened and even a bit suggestive if u want:))

EEEE IM SO HAPPY I INSPIRED YOU!!

Lute x reader x Adam

"It's gonna be ok, beautiful"

Warnings: None

Art isn't mine and belongs to @.D4gm4rs on twt

The bed was cold even though it seemed like Adam and lute had left hours ago ,although it had only been 30 minutes. It was your day off.. you had finally gotten a break from everything. You were tired of souls coming to you for help for all these things that you couldn't possibly help with. The worst part of all, though was there was this angel that wouldn't leave you alone, he had been pretty much stalking you. He was trying to get you to go on dates to try and get you to hang out with him.

You were hesitant to tell Adam and lute scared Adam would over react and that lute wouldn't leave your side; you can imagine how surprised you were when they just gave you some love and left for work. And so here you were, alone, still laying in bed, you just wanted to sleep and stay here forever..

You must've fallen asleep cause when you woke up it was almost dark. With a sigh, you got up, tugging out of the bedroom and going to the kitchen to get dinner ready. You paused seeing that there was already a bag of food on the counter.. it was your favorite, and it even had your favorite drink.. you heard the tv running in the living room. You smiled and walked to the living room seeing 2 familiar tuffs of brown and white grey hair. You reached over and covered Adam's eyes from behind him. "Guess who?" You snickered a bit. Adam hummed a bit. "Is itttt my pretty girl?" Adam guessed, tilting his head up towards the ceiling so you could see his smile. You giggled and leaned down, giving him a kiss. "mhm.." You hummed against his hips. You pulled away brushing his hair back out of his face, you tilted your head to face lute, "there's my pretty girl" you mused leaning closer to her and giving her an Eskimo kiss before kissing her forehead. Lute smiled a bit. "Hi there, baby.. how was your day?" She asked sweetly. You climbed over the back of the couch to plop in between them. "It was as good as it could get with me sleeping all day" you laughed a bit. Lute played with your hair absent-mindedly while Adam tugged at the baggy pajama pants you were wearing. "You know I really like this color on you but maybe we should just take it off hm?" Adam hummed slowly slithering his hands up your thighs til he was holding onto the waist band of the pants. "Adam I will literally never make you ribs again if you take those off" you said curtly opening your eyes a bit to give him a glare. Adam huffed and pulled his hands away, crossing his arms over his chest and pouting like a toddler. You sighed a bit but decided not to deal with it, "Adam will you get the bag of food? Please? I'll give you head in the morning I promise" you bribed knowing he was going to fight you if you didn't offer. Before you could even finish the word head Adam was already up and grabbing the bag excitedly, "deal!", Adam even went the extra fucking mile and started making your plate for you while watching the movie that was barely getting any attention.

The night was relaxing, you and lute took a bath together cause Adam couldn't be trusted not to start something. Then it was onto dessert, another movie and cuddles. As promised in the morning before work you gave Adam head before he left. And you know what maybe it was good luck cause that day wasn't half bad.

You didnt know what happened(Adam and lute beat the shit out of the guy and talked to your boss about easing up on you) but that didn't matter and as long as everything kept going well it was always gonna be a good day.

[oldiesstationlover11607]

I need to google more creative/cringeworthy ways to start out these messages. I need more references…

Anyways, hello! It’s 💛. Your favorite annoying yellow heart emoji. Part 2 to Break The Cycle was soooooooo good. I just love the different perspective it gives to the process of joining the Banditos, how it may take some more time for some. You have an amazing gift when it comes to writing. I hope that you don’t stop, even if you write just for yourself.

So, because of your other Blurryface story, I have been on a Blurryface kick recently (it is currently fighting with my lore kick for dominance). So, the moment you’ve been waiting for 🎶🥁*drum roll*🥁🎶, I was wondering if could write a oneshot where Tyler/Blurryface is in an established relationship with the reader, but the reader doesn’t know about Blurryface. One day, Tyler starts acting weird and stuff (because, you know, Blurryface) and it gets to a point where the relationship is almost ruined. What can I say? I’m a sucker for angst. Though, I think you can make fluffy at the end. I know that this may be a bit of a jumbled request, but hopefully you can at least sort of get what I’m trying to say.

This may be too closely related to your other fic and, if that is the case, than you by no means need to write it if you do not want to. It’s all up to you as always.❤️

Alter Ego - Tyler Joseph/Blurryface x reader

Relationship: Tyler Joseph × Reader

Warnings: Blurryface/Tyler being awful

Word Count: 1533

A/N: No really sure if this is good. I started writing it and then realised that the Blurryface I was writing was more of a watered down version. Normally I write him as cocky and arrogant but I think for a first time interaction it Blurry would be just a mean version of Tyler. If you don't like it I can write another version but hopefully you do!

It had been a long day, a really long day. Josh and Debby had Tyler and I over so the boys could work on music and Debby and I could catch up. When we woke up that morning, Tyler had gently shaken me awake, asking me to get dressed so we could get there on time. Tyler drove us to Josh’s house so we could all eat breakfast together and when we arrived they were both still in their pjs. The day went well for Debby and I. She showed me around their house, we played around in the boxing ring, and baked cookies. When we sat down for dinner, Tyler looked stiff, like he was inside his head–and while he was typically the type of person to be introspective, something was off.

“So, how’s the songwriting going?” I asked, trying to break the ice. 

Tyler didn’t say a word and instead stared down at his plate, prompting Josh to speak for him. 

“It’s going okay, I think we’re just struggling to fit things together.” I understood more than anyone what it was like to have a creative block. While Tyler had figured out that music was his thing, I was still in the midst of finding mine. I’d tried music, writing, visual art, film–all of it. 

“Well I’m sure you guys will figure it out eventually, you always do,” I beamed. Tyler looked sick to his stomach, his fists clenched and skin pale. I mouthed a quick ‘are you okay?’ at him only to receive a tilt of his head, as if he was analyzing something.

“What about you Y/N, anything new in your world?” Josh asked, snapping me back. I always appreciated his interest in my life, it always felt like he cared–even when things weren’t the best. 

“Uh, music-wise I’ve been getting back into the groove of things. Oh and the podcast is going well,” I answered. I hadn’t told Tyler that I’d been working on music again, sneaking down to our basement studio at night. Tyler looked up from the table, his brows furrowed.

“You’ve been working on music?” he questioned. 

I nodded, biting the inside of my cheek, “Yeah, not much though.”

“Great,” he rolled his eyes. I looked at Josh who seemed concerned, his eyes broadcasting a message he had chosen to keep in his head instead of saying out loud. Clearly it wasn’t just me who found Tyler’s attitude offputting. I looked down at my watch, checking the time. 8:30, way later than we’d planned on staying. 

“We should be heading home soon, I’m exhausted,” I smiled softly. Josh nodded, getting up to clear the table and clean dishes. 

“We’re gonna stay the night, they’ve got a spare room,��� Tyler spoke, his voice croaky from singing. It came as a surprise to me that he’d already made a decision about our sleeping arrangements without talking to me, his girlfriend, the one he sleeps with every night. He was right though, they did have a spare room, but that didn’t mean I wanted to stay–I’d miss our own bed too much. However, I reluctantly agreed, too tired to continue fighting with someone who was already agitated–or at least it felt like he was. 

“Okay well I’m exhausted so I’m gonna go get changed,” I sighed. Debby kindly offered to show me to the room and let me borrow a pair of her pajamas.

“You know Y/N, you wouldn’t be so tired if you didn’t sneak into the studio at night,” Tyler spat. My jaw dropped. There was no way he’d just said that, let alone in front of our friends. The brushing sound Josh had been making while washing the dishes stopped suddenly. 

“Tyler, that's not fair,” he criticized. 

“Nothing is fair Josh,” Tyler rolled his eyes, “I’m just being realistic.” Josh dropped the dish he had been cleaning in the sink, a loud clanging noise sounding through the kitchen. He walked around the island and to the table where we were still sitting. 

“You need to watch it. If you want to leave and get him under control then go ahead, by all means. But don’t come into my house and treat the people I love like crap,” he threatened. I had no idea who the him Josh was referring to was but before I could ask questions, Debby grabbed my hand and led me into the guest room. She handed me pajamas, a twenty one pilots shirt and some red shorts. We could hear the loud hum of the boys shouting at each other as I got changed. 

“I just–I don’t know what’s gotten into him,” I sighed, tying my hair up as I finished getting dressed. Debby nodded, running a hand through her hair. 

“He’s probably just frustrated,” she suggested. 

I shook my head, “even when he’s frustrated he’s never spoken to me like that before.” Tyler often got frustrated and in his head when writing music, it was normal, but he had never snapped like that. After talking back and forth for an hour, Debby and I found ourselves sprawled across the bed sending tik toks back and forth–trust us to end up on our phones at the end of the day. I rested my head on a pillow, the navy blue case soft against my tired face. As my eyes started to get heavy there was a soft knock on the door, causing Debby and I to sit up simultaneously. 

“I’ll get it,” Debby announced, getting up and opening the door. Tyler stood there, his hair a mess and eyes bloodshot red. He looked terrible. 

“C-Can I talk to her?” I heard him mutter under his breath. Debby had a defensive look plastered on her face, her arms folded across her chest. I couldn’t tell if he was back for another round or if he was here to apologize. “Please?” She turned to look at me and I nodded tiredly. 

“You shouldn’t have to if you–” she started.

“It’s okay,” I called. She stepped aside and let Tyler into the room. 

“If you hurt her Tyler, I swear to god,” she threatened, pressing her finger into his chest. 

His head hung low as he nodded, “I know.” Debby was just like Josh, she would go to war and die for the people she loved–no wonder they were perfect for each other, not to mention she was the toughest person I knew. Tyler waited for her to leave the room. She looked back at me again, wanting to know that it was what I really wanted. I flashed her a tired smile, prompting her to leave us, closing the door behind her. Tyler moved to sit on the bed, reaching out to grab my hand, I pulled it away. 

“I–I’m so sorry Y/N,” he confessed. I looked down at his hands, he was gripping them tightly, trying desperately to fight their vigorous shaking. I’d never seen him shake that much, even when nervous for a show or sick. 

“Tyler,” I sighed, resting my hand onto his, slowing the shakes. 

“I have something to tell you.” He gently closed his eyes shut, taking a deep breath before continuing. “We’ve been together for a while and we’ve been through so much together. I just–I need to–I have to tell you.” He grabbed my hands, turning to properly face me. Now that I had the chance to properly look in his eyes I had noticed they were redder than normal. Not a hazel-like red but a rich, blood red. 

“Tell me what? I’m worried about you, your eyes look–” 

“Just let me finish. Please,” he interrupted and I nodded, letting him continue. “When I’m stressed or anxious or have any extreme negative emotions, there’s this guy who comes out. He’s like an alter ego except I don’t really have control over it. Blurryface, I call him.” He paused, taking a deep breath and stretching his neck as if it was hurting. “And he–he’s violent and mean, and it’s hard to snap out of it,” he whimpered, his breath shaky. “I–he got out tonight and whatever I said, I–I hurt you and it’s not okay. I’m sorry. I'm so sorry.” Tears welled in his eyes as he put his head in his hands. I felt terrible, awful even. 

“Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?” I asked, slipping my hand under his shirt to rub the warm skin on his back. 

“I was scared. Josh knows but he promised he wouldn’t say anything,” he sighed. I nodded. Of course he wouldn’t tell me, I’d be terrified too if there was another version of me that came out when I was stressed or angry. “He said that I needed to tell you, that’s why I’m here.” 

“Well I’m glad you’ve told me, now I can help you,” I said, wrapping myself around him. He brought his hand to cup my cheek, his eyes meeting mine–they were back to his regular brown color. I leant my forehead against his, pressing my lips gently against his. 

“I’m so glad you’re still here,” he smiled tiredly. 

“I’d never leave you Tyler. Blurryface or not, I love you.” 

//

Thanks for reading!

[rontra]

Can I ask how you hold your pen + tablet when you draw? (My wrists started hurting n I wanna figure out how to make it stop lol)

pardon any awkwardness in this post whether phrasing- or formatting-wise I’m typing it on my phone at like 8am HSBDBSB

I hold my pen in a pretty standard(???) grip like this

I sit at a desk (w a desktop computer) and do not use a screen tablet. So I try to keep a pretty upright posture. my tablet is laid firmly on my desk and I can look straight ahead while I draw, which is good for me (my neck/back can get sore easily)

However I do have wrist problems. I can’t always draw as much as I want to, and I often won’t “double dip” on strenuous activities (for example I usually decide whether to play a video game OR draw, and don’t do both on the same day)

(or I can only play specific games, like ones that are purely mouse-controlled (=opposite hand). You get the idea)

Without knowing your exact like, drawing setup and habits (and medical history for that matter) it’s hard to give specific like Hard Advice—but in general try to keep good posture (sit straight, try to use a seat with good lower back support, don’t hunch) and keep loosy goosy. try not to hold tension in your body if possible (including the fingers—hold your pencil loosely and don’t grip it tightly)

you might benefit from assessing How you draw and adapt certain parts to relieve how much work your wrist is doing (do you rest your hand on the drawing surface and rely entirely on wrist movements to draw curves/etc? Is it possible to raise your arm up from the desk and use your whole arm/elbow to draw larger gestures instead of causing repetitive strain to the wrist?)

(the settings in your art software—does your brush demand too much pen pressure? Can you adjust the pen pressure settings to respond better to a lighter touch? <- This was Huge for me!!!)

Do stretches before you begin. Take intermittent breaks to do stretches again while you draw. You can look up stretches for artists online!

If your wrists are already hurting then something is already wrong. You should be strictly resting whenever this happens and trying to minimize how much strain you put on your wrist, ideally until you feel no pain at all (and depending on how tender your wrist is, maybe a little after that too just for good measure). I use a wrist brace with a metal plate inside to keep my wrist as immobile as possible when I’m resting. If your problems persist like mine, a solid immobilizing brace is really a godsend. Don’t wear a brace while drawing, but put it on when you stop to rest (even if you don’t urgently feel any pain!)

The most hard to swallow advice—but also the most true—is that you should never work to the point of pain. This sucks, because sometimes I’m in a groove and a drawing is going really well and “if I just push through this slight discomfort the art will be finished and it’ll feel awesome”. This is The Deceiver. You never want to work until it hurts. If you (like me) tend to get caught up in the flow and find it hard to stop midway, get in the habit of checking in with yourself at a set interval (eg set a timer, or make up a rule based on your habits like “after every 2nd Monitor Youtube Video I half-watch while drawing, check to see how my wrist is feeling” (<- meee)) and if you feel discomfort or pain, you have to stop and rest

Getting into good habits NOW is the only way to protect your FUTURE wrist... So you have to bite this lemon for me and stop having fun when your wrist starts to complain. Which sucks a lot. But trust me HDNDBHS

Sorry if I sound like a big downer and/or a fussy worrywart but yknow. I have wrist problems that do prevent me from doing things I want to do sometimes and I hate to see it blooming in other artists 😭 take care of yourself anon!

I’m probably forgetting something because I’m very tired rn (and ironically my wrist hurts so I’m gonna put my phone down and sleep) but if possible you should ask a doctor to have a feel, and tell them any other symptoms (numbness, prickling, etc) if you have them. I’m not a doctor and idk what you have going on, but a wrist brace is pretty easy to acquire and wear, so I do generally recommend that!

Like tldr imo its about the preventatives (good habits like posture and taking breaks) and listening to your body (both during work and when resting in between work!). Wrist problems can get seriously bad if you don’t take measures to slow em down. Good luck! Take care of yourself!!!! 😭🫡

[fuckmeyer]

What about a snippet? As a treat. (You can and should say no if you aren't comfortable doing that. I'm just sooooooooo excited and curious to see the next book.)

sure! lil sniglet. as a treat. i always delete stuff, so i'm happy to share. though you might see a version of this make it into the final...

Eclipse AU

[a deleted draft in which Edward & Bells are getting tacos together on their first third-first date. warning: Come Nightfall spoilers.]

“I suppose, in keeping with the theme of our first dates, I should probably confess something to you.” Edward's smoldering amber eyes captured mine. “Isabella, I and my family are vampires.”

I feigned a gasp of surprise.

“What a coincidence,” I said. “I’m a vampire slayer.”

“I’ve killed. I’ve stolen. I’ve cheated. I’ve lied.”

“Me too. Except the stealing and the cheating.”

“Yes, but you’re a terrible liar, so the latter doesn’t count, either.”

I sipped my Coke. “The Volturi didn’t seem to think I was a terrible liar.”

After a beat, Edward burst into laughter.

Honestly, I wasn’t expecting this lightheartedness from him - another change of Edward’s during our separation, I supposed - but it set a grin on my face.

“How very sexy of you,” he purred.

“I know you’re a sucker for women who break the law.”

“I’m a sucker in general.”

My turn to laugh. “Good one.” He winked. “Y’know, all things considered, this night turned out better than I thought.”

“Seeing as how you stayed through the appetizers this time, I’m inclined to agree.”

Blushing, I glanced down at my remaining tacos. “In keeping with the theme of our first dates, does this mean I get to ask questions?”

“Ah, what is legally referred to as our One Conversation, wherein I disclose potentially sensitive information?” he said. I nodded. “You know I loathe this game.”

“I know.”

“But I’ll do it for you. Because I adore you.”

“Ditto.” I wiped my mouth with my napkin and threw it down on the plate like a gauntlet. “Ten for ten?”

“All right,” he said. “Hit me.”

We leaned back in our seats, studying each other.

I cleared my throat. “We’ll start off easy. Besides breaking the law, tell me, Mr. Cullen, what else do you enjoy doing in your free time?”

“Well,” he said, “I’m a musician. And a composer. You might be familiar with my work.”

“You write lullabies.”

“Among other things, yes. I also play the organ, harp, clavichord, harmonica, hurdy-gurdy—”

“The what?”

“A string instrument operated via hand crank. Similar in timbre to the bagpipes.” I blinked. “That counts as one of your questions, by the way.” Before I could protest, he added, “Recently, I picked up the violin.”

Poking the ice cubes in my Coke with my straw, I brightened. “You started playing violin?”

“Part of my emergency preparedness plan. If I ever need to challenge the devil to a fiddle contest in exchange for a soul, I need to be able to play something more advanced than ‘Hot Cross Buns.’ More importantly, performing has been helping me retrain my gift.” He paused. “Oh. I’m a mindreader, by the way. Did I mention that?”

“A vampire and a mindreader?”

“I know it’s a lot to process.”

“I’m processing. Go on.”

“Besides that,” he said, “I enjoy reading, listening to music, going to art museums, and constructing pyres using the torn limbs of my enemies.”

“Hot.”

“I know you’re a sucker for men who kill.”

“I’m a sucker in general,” I said, and sipped my Coke.

It took several beautiful moments for Edward and I to stop laughing.

[astroprompts]

✧ —𝐇𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐓𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐋 𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 [𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝟐]

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓'𝐃 𝐈 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐒

“You ready for more yet?”

“You haven't met him yet, you haven't had the chance.”

“The sun comes up and the world still spins.”

“Now the work at home begins.”

“So what'd I miss?”

“My home sweet home, I wanna give you a kiss.”

“I traveled the wide, wide world and came back to this.”

“I haven't even put my bags down yet.”

“I guess I better think of something to say.”

𝐂𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐓 𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 #𝟏

“We fought for these ideals, we shouldn't settle for less.”

“Oh, if the shoe fits, wear it.”

“It's too many damn pages for any man to understand!”

“Welcome to the present, we're running a real nation.”

“Don't lecture me about the war, you didn't fight in it!”

“You think I'm frightened of you, man?”

“Damn, you're in worse shape than the national debt is in.”

“Turn around, bend over, I'll show you where my shoe fits.”

“Such a blunder, sometimes it makes me wonder why I even bring the thunder.”

“You wanna pull yourself together?”

“They're being intransigent.”

“You have to find a compromise.”

“They don't have a plan, they just hate mine.”

𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐀 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊

“They think me Macbeth, ambition is my folly.”

“Do you have to live an ocean away?”

“Take a break.”

“There's a little surprise before supper and it cannot wait!”

“I'll be there in just a minute, save my plate.”

“Hey, our kid is pretty great.”

“Run away with us for the summer.”

“I've got so much on my plate.”

“We can all go stay with my father.”

“There's a lake I know in a nearby park.”

“You and I can go when the night gets dark.”

“In a letter I received from you two weeks ago, I noticed a comma in the middle of a phrase. It changed the meaning, did you intend this?”

“I'm coming home this summer at my sister's invitation.”

“I know you're very busy, I know your work's important.”

“You're not joining us? Wait--”

“I know I'll miss your face.”

“Screw your courage to the sticking place.”

“Take a break and get away.”

“If you take your time, you will make your mark.”

𝐒𝐀𝐘 𝐍𝐎 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒

“There's trouble in the air, you can smell it.”

“I hadn't slept in a week.”

“You've never seen a bastard orphan more in need of a break.”

“I know you are a man of honor.”

“I'm so sorry to bother you at home.”

“I don't know where to go, and I came here all alone.”

“I don't have the means to go on.”

“You're too kind, sir.”

“I don't know how to say no to this.”

“I wish I could say that was the last time.”

“Uh oh, you made the wrong sucker a cuckold.”

“Time to pay the piper for the pants you unbuckled.”

“So was your whole story a setup?”

“Stop crying, God dammit, get up!”

“I didn't know any better!”

“I am helpless, how could I do this?”

“Just give him what he wants and you can have me.”

“Whatever you want, if you pay.”

“How can I say no to this?”

“Nobody needs to know.”

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐌 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐈𝐓 𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐒

“I guess I'm gonna have to finally listen to you.”

“Well, hate the sin love the sinner.”

“Decisions are happening over dinner.”

“No one else was in the room where it happened.”

“No one really knows how the game is played.”

“I know you hate him, but let's hear what he has to say.”

“Maybe we could solve one problem with another.”

“Wouldn't you like to work a little closer to home?”

“We never really know what got discussed.”

“Click boom! Then it happened.”

“You got more than you gave.”

“When you got skin in the game, you stay in the game.”

“You don't get a win unless you play in the game.”

“I wanna build something that's gonna outlive me.”

“If you stand for nothing then what'll you fall for?”

“The art of the compromise, hold your nose and close your eyes.”

“We want our leaders to save the day, but we don't get a say in what they trade away.”

“We dream of a brand new start, but we dream in the dark for the most part.”

𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐘𝐋𝐄𝐑 𝐃𝐄𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐃

“Sometimes that's how it goes.”

“No one knows who you are or what you do.”

“They don't need to know me, they don't like you.”

“You'll always be adored by the things you create.”

“People think you're crooked.”

“I've always considered you a friend.”

“I swear your pride will be the death of us all.”

𝐂𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐓 𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 #𝟐

“The only person you have to convince is me.”

“Revolution is messy, but now is the time to stand.”

“He knows nothing of loyalty.”

“Everything he does betrays the ideals our nation.”

“You must be out of your GODDAMNED mind.”

“We're too fragile to start another fight.”

“Frankly it's a little disquieting you would let your ideals blind you to reality.”

“Have you an ounce of regret?”

“Before he was your, friend he was mine.”

“I bet you were quite a lawyer.”

𝐖𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐓𝐎𝐍 𝐎𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄

“Every action has an equal opposite reaction.”

“Try not to crack under the stress, we're breaking down like fractions.”

“We smack each other in the press, and we don't print retractions.”

“I get no satisfaction witnessing his fits of passion.”

“This prick is asking for someone to bring him to task.”

“I'll pull the trigger on him, someone load the gun and cock it.”

“If we don't stop it, we aid and abet it.”

“Well, somebody has to stand up to his mouth.”

“If there's a fire you're trying to douse, You can't put it out from inside the house.”

“Follow the money and see where it goes.”

𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄

“I wanna give you a word of warning.”

“I don't know what you heard, but whatever it is, [name] started it.”

“I need a favor.”

“Relax, have a drink with me.”

“Let's take a break tonight.”

“Pick up a pen, start writing.”

“I wanna talk about what I have learned.”

“You have to serve, you could continue to serve.”

“Your position is so unique.”

“Why do you have to say goodbye?”

𝐖𝐄 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖

“You are uniquely situated by virtue of your position.”

“Virtue is not a word I'd apply to this situation.”

“To seek financial gain, you stray from your sacred mission.”

“The evidence suggests you engaged in speculation.”

“I hope you saved some money for your daughter and son.”

“You don't even know what you're asking me to confess.”

“I don't have to tell you anything at all.”

“If I can prove that I never broke the law, do you promise not to tell another soul what you saw?”

“I may have mortally wounded my prospects, but my papers are orderly.”

“I never spent a cent that wasn't mine.”

“You sent the dogs after my scent, that's fine.”

“Yes, I have reason for shame. But I have not committed treason and sullied my good name.”

“As you can see, I have done nothing to provoke legal action.”

“Are my answers to your satisfaction?”

“How do I know you won't use this against me the next time we go toe to toe?”

“Rumors only grow.”

“We both know what we know.”

𝐇𝐔𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐄

“In the eye of a hurricane, there is quiet. For just a moment.”

“When I was seventeen, a hurricane destroyed my town.”

“I couldn't seem to die.”

“I wrote my way out.”

“I looked up, and the town had it's eyes on me.”

“Total strangers, moved to kindness by my story.”

“I wrote my way out of hell.”

“I wrote my way to revolution.”

“I was louder than the crack in the bell.”

“And when my prayers to God were met with indifference, I picked up a pen, I wrote my own deliverance.”

“I was twelve when my mother died.”

“I'll write my way out.”

“This is the eye of the hurricane.”

“This is the only way I can protect my legacy.”

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐒 𝐏𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐇𝐋𝐄𝐓

“Have you read this?”

“That's one less thing to worry about.”

“I came as soon as I heard.”

“All the way from London? Damn.”

“Thank god, someone who understands what I'm struggling here to do.”

“I'm not here for you.”

“I love my sister more than anything in this life.”

“I will choose her happiness over mine every time.”

“Put what we had aside.”

“You could never be satisfied.”

“God, I hope you're satisfied.”

“Hey, at least he was honest with our money.”

“You ever see somebody ruin their own life?”

𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐍

“I saved every letter you wrote me.”

“Be careful with that one, love.”

“When you were mine, the world seemed to burn.”

“In clearing your name, you have ruined our lives.”

“You've married an Icarus. He has flown too close to the sun.”

“You and your words, obsessed with your legacy.”

“Your sentences border on senseless.”

“The world has no right to my heart!”

“The world has no place in our bed.”

“They don't get to know what I said.”

“I'm burning the memories, burning the letters that might have redeemed you.”

“You forfeit all rights to my heart!”

“You forfeit your place in our bed. You'll sleep in your office instead.”

“I hope that you burn.”

𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐖 𝐔𝐒 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐘

“The scholars say I got the same virtuosity and brains as my pops.”

“I'm only nineteen, but my mind is older.”

“Gotta be my own man, like my father, but bolder.”

“I shoulder his legacy with pride.”

“He disparaged my father's legacy in front of a crowd.”

“I'm making my father proud.”

“God, you're a fox!”

“How 'bout when I get back, we all strip down to our socks?”

“Shh, I'm tryin' to watch the show!”

“Ya shoulda watched your mouth before you talked about my father.”

“I didn't say anything that wasn't true.”

“Your father's a scoundrel, and so, it seems, are you.”

“I don't fool around, I'm not your little schoolboy friends.”

“Well, see you on the dueling ground. That is, unless you wanna step outside and go now.”

“I doubt you would have let it slide, and I was not about to!”

“I came to ask you for advice, this is my very first duel.”

“They don't exactly cover this subject in boarding school.”

“Did your friends attempt to negotiate a peace?”

“He refused to apologize, we had to let the peace talks cease.”

“Everything is legal in New Jersey!”

“When the time comes, fire your weapon in the air.”

“But what if he decides to shoot? Then I'm a goner!”

“To take someone's life, that is something you can't shake.”

“Your mother can't take another heartbreak.”

“You don't want this young man's blood on your conscience.”

“Make me proud, son.”

“I'm a little nervous, but I can't show it.”

“You talk about my father, I cannot let it slide.”

“I'd rather skip the pleasantries, let's go.”

“The duel will commence after we count to ten.”

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐘 𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐄 (𝐑𝐄𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐄)

“Where's my son!?”

“He lost a lot of blood on the way over.”

“The bullet entered just above his hip and lodged in his right arm.”

“I'm doing everything I can, but the wound was already infected when he arrived.”

“You did everything just right.”

“Even before we got to ten, I was aiming for the sky.”

“Save your strength and stay alive.”

“Is he breathing? Is he going to survive this!?”

“Who did this!?”

“I'm so sorry for forgetting what you taught me.”

“You would put your hands on mine.”

𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐄𝐓 𝐔𝐏𝐓𝐎𝐖𝐍

“There are moments that the words don't reach.”

“There is suffering too terrible to name.”

“There are moments when you're in so deep, it feels easier to just swim down.”

“I never liked the quiet before.”

“You would like it uptown, it's quiet uptown.”

“They say he walks the length of the city.”

“You knock me out, I fall apart.”

“Look at where we are, look at where we started.”

“I know I don't deserve you, [name].”

“Hear me out, that would be enough.”

“If I could trade his life for mine, he'd be standing here right now.”

“I know there's no replacing what we've lost, and you need time.”

“Just let me stay here by your side. That would be enough.”

“There's a grace too powerful to name.”

“We push away what we can never understand.”

“We push away the unimaginable.”

“It's quiet uptown...”

“Forgiveness... Can you imagine?”

“They are going through the unimaginable.”

𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝟏𝟖𝟎𝟎

“Can we get back to politics?”

“I love the guy, but he's in traction.”

“He's not very forthcoming on any particular stances.”

“Ask him a question, it glances off. He obfuscates, he dances.”

“You need to change course, a key endorsement might redeem you.”

“You've created quite a stir, sir.”

“You're openly campaigning?”

“Honestly, it's kind of draining.”

“Is there anything you wouldn't do?”

“I'm chasing what I want. And y'know what? I learned that from you.”

“The people are asking to hear my voice.”

“I have never agreed with [name] once.”

“Congrats on a race well-run.”

“I look forward to our partnership.”

“You hear this guy?”

𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐀𝐍𝐓

“I am slow to anger, but I toe the line.”

“I look back on where I failed, and in every place I checked, the only common thread has been your disrespect.”

“If you've got something to say, name a time and place, face-to-face.”

“I have the honor to be your obedient servant.”

“I am not the reason no one trusts you.”

“I will not equivocate on my opinion, I have always worn it on my sleeve.”

“Even if I said what you think I said, you would need to cite a more specific grievance.”

“Here's an itemized list of thirty years of disagreements.”

“I don't wanna fight, but I won't apologize for doing what's right.”

“Careful how you proceed, good man.”

“Answer for the accusations I lay at your feet, or prepare to bleed.”

“I stand by what I said, every bit of it.”

“You stand only for yourself, it's what you do.”

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐄𝐍𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇

“I wish I could tell you what was happening in his brain.”

“My fellow soldiers'll tell you I'm a terrible shot.”

“It's him or me, the world will never be the same.”

“This man will not make an orphan of my daughter.”

“If I throw away my shot, is this how you'll remember me?”

“What is a legacy? It's planting seeds in a garden you never get to see.”

“Teach me how to say goodbye.”

“My love, take your time. I'll see you on the other side.”

“History obliterates. In every picture it paints, it paints me and all my mistakes.”

“I survived, but I paid for it.”

“Now I'm the villain in your history.”

“I was too young and blind to see.”

“I should have known the world was wide enough.”

𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐒, 𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐒, 𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘

“When you're gone, who remembers your name? Who keeps your flame, who tells your story?”

“I put myself back in the narrative.”

“I stopped wasting time on tears.”

“When I needed her most, she was right on time.”

“I ask myself, what would you do if you had more time?”

“You could have done so much more if you only had time.”

“When my time is up, have I done enough?”

“Oh, can I show you what I'm proudest of?”

“Will they tell my story?”

“I can't wait to see you again.”

“It's only a matter of time.”

[untaemedqueen]

Third Wheeling

CEO!Yoongi x Reader

Genre: Strangers to Lovers!AU, Angst, Fluff, Smut

Chapter 24.

Warnings (Updating Still): Smut, Cheating, Unexpected Pregnancy, Unfaithful, Emotional Damage, Love

A/N: Really really huge thank you to my queen @xjoonchildx​ for making me the newspaper clippings. I love them so much! This is one of my favorite chapters because of how fun it looks! And as always I couldn’t have done it without @ladyartemesia​ and @ppersonna​

Yoongi takes a deep breath, letting the September air fill his lungs. Who knew life could be so fucking trying?

He turns his head to you, hearing your soft footsteps down the marble stairs. He notices the small splotches of paint on your skin and it fills him with a sense of calm. You're a sight for sore eyes.

"My baby," he breathes, leaving his glass of whisky on the outdoor patio and walking back into the mansion to be with you.

"I'm all dirty," you mumble, picking at the dried paint on your hands.

"I can make you dirtier." your fiance quips and you give him a lopsided grin at his joke.

His joke doesn't match his mood and your eyebrows furrow as his arms wrap around you.

You know just how stressed he is. You know just how much his heart hurts everyday that Sera refuses to sign the divorce papers. It wouldn't be nearly as bad if you didn't seem to be growing more and more everyday.

His chin rests atop your head and he stares past you to the two marble staircases that lead up to either wing.

Even though Sera is no longer here and she's in the guest house with Jin and your dog, her ghost seems to haunt the CEO at every turn.

"I want to buy a new house." he grumbles, pulling away and looking down at you.

"Why?" you ask softly, running your hands lovingly over his arms.

"This house fills me with nothing but bad memories. I see the leech everywhere I turn… I hate that. I want a fresh start." he admits, caressing your distended sides.

You hum in agreement. "Is it too much for you right now? You have so much on your plate. Let's look for a house together when we get married," you suggest.

Just the thought of marrying you makes his heart flip inside of his chest. The thought of holding you in his arms everyday until his last is miraculous and special.

"When we buy the new house, you can decorate it any way you want." he promises.

"Oh, I plan on it." you reply, pulling him towards the stairs.

"Where are we going?" he asks curiously, letting you take him with you.

"You need a distraction, baby boy."

He shivers at your tone, how strict it is. A small smile spreads over his face as he trudges up the stairs with you. "Yes, Mistress. I do."

"Jin?!" Sera calls, dropping her bags down at the front of the guest house.

She promised him she'd try and she thinks she's doing well so far. She only complains thirty percent of the day which is a lot better than the eighty percent she's used to. She's even held her tongue a few times when Jin has told her he's going to hang out with Leena.

"I'm getting ready for work, mouse." he calls back from upstairs.

His velvet voice fills her with joy and she rushes up the stairs without a second thought.

"Can I come with you?" she begs, peeking into his bedroom.

His hands wrap and tug at his tie as he turns to her with a raised eyebrow.

"No. You're still married." he states as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

She scoffs gently, wrinkling her nose. There's something about how quick and dexterous his fingers are as he ties his tie that sends her stomach coiling.

He still hasn't had sex with her and he hasn't even kissed her after that fated day when she begged him to stay with her.

"Why not?" she whines softly, leaning against the door jamb.

Seokjin chuckles gently, rolling his eyes. "Because you won't sign the divorce papers, like a normal person." he announces.

"Why do you keep bringing it up?! It's always 'divorce this or divorce that,' aren't you tired of saying it yet?" the actress cries out.

Jin grabs his suit jacket, sighing so loudly that it scares the woman behind him.

"Yes, actually. I am tired of saying it. You should just do it."

"But why? It has nothing to do with you." she mumbles.

Turning to her, he tilts his head. "Yes it does. If you don't get divorced, I'm not staying with you. I'm not going to be the guy that makes another man a fucking cuckold. I don't want that, that's fucking disgusting. There's nothing for you in your marriage anymore. You don't get any money, you've been cut off, you don't love Yoongi, you don't even care! So why are you being so stubborn about signing a damn paper?"

She looks down at the floor, playing with the ends of her hair, not wanting to answer.

"Because you're spiteful," Jin answers for her, "but your spite is literally making my pregnant best friend sick. She's a nervous wreck because of you, Sera. I hate that. You have everything in the world you could possibly want. And you can't just sign a few fucking papers?"

Jin whistles for Gaesu as he squeezes past the actress in the doorway.

"I just-"

"You don't want to give up something because you're greedy. Yeah, I get it. You want others to be miserable because you've always been miserable your whole life," he turns to her, cupping her soft face and staring down into her amber eyes, "You don't need to continue to be an asshole. You need to focus on becoming a better fucking person. Not everything needs your input, sometimes you can just let everything go and you can start again on your own. Like now, you don't want to be with Yoongi, you want to be with me. And I see that you're trying, you're doing great so far. But I can only work with you as long as you work with me. And you still being married isn't working with me. It's the opposite."

She swallows thickly, looking up into his blazened mocha irises. He's so serious that it sends a shiver down her spine. When she whimpers gently, whether it's out of need or fear that he'll leave, he brushes his soft thumbs against the apples of her cheek.

"When you sign the papers, I'll sleep in your bed." he promises, pulling away.

She blinks once, twice, three times, watching him walk away from her.

Gaesu follows closely behind your best friend, excited to go to work with him.

"S-So I can't come to the club?!" she calls leaning over the banister.

"No, mouse, Leena will be there and I'm spending the night with her." Jin calls back, grabbing his car keys.

"What?! She touched you in front of me and you're just going to hang out with her again?!" she screams, hanging over the banister.

"One. Be careful, you might hurt yourself. And two, I'm sorry to break it to you but Leena has touched me so many times that her touch feels normal to me at this point. My best friend coming to hang out with me is perfectly fine. And what's more, her boyfriend will be there." your best friend calls back, opening the front door and leaving without another word.

"Fine. We'll see," Sera seethes through her teeth, walking towards her room.

Stepping into Miyoung's art studio, the natural light that bleeds through the glass ceiling really seems to highlight all of the paintings that line the walls.

"Well, if it isn't the famous artist in my very midst." Miyoung quips, stepping down the slightly curved staircase.

You smile up at the pretty woman, leaning against the wall with two coffee cups in hand.

You can see how Yoongi was always fond of Miyoung at a young age, she's beautiful and quirky with everything she does. Even her clothes scream unique and you love that.

The brown French beret that hangs from the side of her head and the long blue corduroy dress she has on screams artistry and you adore it.

"Brought you some coffee," you quip, holding up one.

"You shouldn't be drinking coffee, pregnant lady." she jeers, finally reaching the ground floor and wrapping her arms around you.

"Mine is decaf, thank you very much." you joke back, accepting the hug with open arms.

When you both turn to the walls of art where your paintings were, it's surprising to see the walls almost empty.

The people that walk to and fro with their hands respectfully behind their make your heart bloom with pride.

"Do you wanna know how much money you've made?" Miyoung whispers in your ear, a playful smile spreading on her face.

You roll your eyes, nudging her with your hip. "You know I don't care about that stuff."

"That's why you'll make tons of money." she murmurs back, earning a laugh from you.

People notice you easily when you laugh, turning to you with wide eyes. It's a bit strange to be recognized now because of the Dispatch pictures and it's even stranger when they begin to approach like they know you.

Yoongi's best friend from childhood doesn't stand for it for a second and within seconds she's fending them off with a polite smile.

"Pregnant women don't like to be crowded, if you have any questions about art, please come to me. I'm very in touch with the woman beside me." Miyoung announces, waving her hands for the people to move back.

When she shows you to the art gallery office, it feels like an out of body experience. "There were so many people." you breathe out, sitting down on the loveseat beside her large desk.

"You became famous pretty much overnight. What do you expect? People are salivating for more of your art." she announces, sipping her coffee.

It's such a bizarre thing to hear when you've only ever done painting as a hobby.

"Should I start making more art, you think?" you inquire, crossing your legs and leaning back into the comfy couch.

She hums, tilting her head. "No. I don't think so. I think you make people wait for more. Obviously not too long. But it's good to get people curious and excited for what you're going to do next, y'know? Finish the art for the mall and hotel. Have the baby and then start making more art. You've made millions of dollars on the thirty pieces you've released. That's enough to get people really excited for the next release."

You nod understandingly, letting your eyes drift over the two paintings you've created for her office.

"You're my most successful client ever. I'm proud of it." Miyoung says, making you giggle.

Your heart feels warm in her presence and you can understand why your fiance has always been fond of her. She's an amazing woman.

"Call Minho to help you get downstairs when you're ready."

"Is that necessary?" you quip, sipping your coffee.

"Of course! You're famous now." she gasps, leaning over her glass desk with a playful smile.

Yoongi sighs loudly, throwing his suit pants into his luggage.

He hasn't been able to relax for a single second. He can only pray that paparazzi in Japan aren't as desperate as Koreans.

Staring down at the multitude of watches that spin on their platforms, he gets lost in his worries.

You're giving birth in only three months time. How is he going to cope? What kind of father is he going to be? Is he going to live up to what he wants? Are you going to be proud of him?

He's so worried.

But he's more worried about the leech. When the fuck is she going to sign that goddamn paper?

He opted for platonic parting rather than suing, because it would be messier that way but Sera is so spiteful that he doesn't know what to expect. He knows Jin is trying his hardest to rein her in but who knows how long that will take. It's nerve wracking to say the least.

Yoongi's eyes flutter shut as your arms wrap around him like needy vines. The feeling of your rotund belly against his back has him sighing so softly it barely reaches your ears.

"How are the paintings coming?" he asks gently, turning around in your grasp to cup your face with both hands.

"They're almost finished." you reply, hugging him tightly.

He hums sweetly, letting his lips drift over your forehead. "Have you packed for Japan?" he murmurs, letting the sweet scent of your lavender shampoo enrapture his senses.

"I packed a little this morning, but I got caught up in my inspiration. I have to finish." you announce, putting your cheek to his bare chest.

The warmth of you against his body is so welcome during his time of uneasiness. "I'll help you pack. Just hold me for a little while. It feels good." your fiance breathes out, squeezing his eyes closed tighter.

You're so comfortable within his arms, you have no intention of moving. You can feel his rapid heartbeat and you know exactly why he's on edge but you don't bring it up.

Late nights in your post-coital glow, you've talked extensively about both of your worries and you've come to the realization that they're the same fears.

"I'm going to have to stay inside in Japan, aren't I?" you quip, looking up at him.

He snorts gently, putting his chin on the top of your head. "Probably yes. Does that upset you? I bought out the penthouse so there's a lot for you to do."

His voice is wrapped with guilt but you decide to not dwell on it. Just going somewhere with him is enough for you. You don't care if you have to stay inside, it'll be nice to leave the country for the first time with him by your side.

"Plus, y'know, soon you'll be too big to go anywhere. That's what the doctor said." he whispers.

You smile into his chest, accepting his soft voice. "I know. I'm happy to be going anywhere with you."

His thumb and index finger capture your chin, he tilts your head up so your eyes meet. It's so easy to fall into his mocha irises and the smile that spreads over your lips is so natural. When he bends down, your breath stutters in your throat and the feel of his lips on yours is something so sensational, there are no words that could describe this.

"I love you, little dove."

"I love you too."

Jin should have known Sera wouldn't take kindly to Leena showing up at the club. But he didn't think she would go so far as to show up to the club.

She looks completely terrifying sitting in her booth. She's alone and completely menacing. Even with all of the people around she can find Seokjin in a matter of seconds no matter where he goes and he doesn't know whether to find it attractive or completely scary.

"She's staring at you again," Leena quips, leaning deeper into Taehyung's embrace.

Seokjin hums in agreement, looking down at his Italian leather shoes.

"Just go talk to her or some shit. She's making me uncomfortable," Leena whines, nudging her best friend.

Jin looks over at the actress and he sighs loudly. Her eyes are narrowed at him and her lips are parted over the champagne glass in her hand.

When he stands, he can see her body go rigid with excitement.

"Good luck, bro." Taehyung laughs, kissing over his girlfriend's exposed shoulder.

It's a quick walk over to Sera's booth as Jin wades through the groups of people on the dance floor.

When he steps up to the platform, he can see how nervous she is.

"Why did you come? You know that's trouble." he chides her, sitting down in the booth.

"Because she was coming." she sneers, nodding her head to Leena.

The eye roll Jin gives is so severe that it sends chills down Sera's spine.

"You came all the way here, got snapped by the paparazzi, ordered thousands of dollars of alcohol, because you were jealous that Leena is here?! You're such a baby." he scoffs, pouring himself a glass of champagne.

"I just wanted to be here with you too," she admits meekly.

Jin looks her over before zipping up her dress to cover her exposed cleavage. "Behave tonight. Do you understand me, Kim Sera? I'm tired of having to worm my way out of awkward situations."

She nods gently and when she gets a small smile from him it makes her pride expand tenfold.

"Will you sleep in bed with me tonight?" she asks softly, sliding down the booth to be beside him.

He snorts gently, letting his arms expend over the top of the seat. "Not until you sign the papers. You know this. Don't push your luck." he chides, poking her cheek softly.

She pouts gently, looking down at the hem of her dress.

"All I have to do is sign the papers and you'll be with me?" she asks unsurely.

Jin hums in agreement, pushing some hair behind her ear. "All you have to do is free Yoongi from this marriage and you can have me." he promises.

Her cheeks puff out as she thinks, is anything ever really that simple? She's never found it to be so.

"I'll think about it." she breathes out.

That's good enough for Jin at the moment and for the first time in a long time he smiles widely at her. The expression is so blinding that her heart stutters in the recesses of her chest.

Yoongi is so completely thrilled when he throws both of your luggages to the penthouse floor.

"Wow," you breathe out, rushing over to the large windows.

Your fiance's smile is sweet and soft as he folds his arms, leaning against the gold wall.

The scenery that meets your eyes is indescribably beautiful. The way the gentle breeze in the Osaka air blows cherry blossom petals from their trees and the countless gardens that scatter the grounds below set such mysticality into your bones.

"There's an infinity pool up here for us. It's warm," Yoongi announces, walking towards you.

Your hand lands on your stomach as you watch the petals blow in the breeze. "This is beautiful," you say aloud.

The father of your child's lips are soft against the back of your neck and in your entrancement, you hadn't even heard him come close to you.

"You're beautiful. Anything for you, little dove." he promises, placing both of his hands on your stomach.

The stress seems to melt away as you stare out the window with your fiance behind you. His lips are soft and plush against the column of your neck and it wipes your mind completely blank.

When your fingers card through his hair, the gentle puft of air that warms your neck makes your legs weaker.

"I love you." Yoongi breathes.

There's nothing sexual about his touch, it's just pure passion that seems to bleed through his fingertips. But the feeling of him so close is so heavenly.

The soft classical music that plays throughout the large room is so peaceful and your worries float away for just a little while.

Next Chapter ------>

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[drabbles-mc]

Language

Neron ‘Creeper’ Vargas x F!Reader

@redpoodlern requested more Dad!Creeper and honestly I was more than happy to deliver on that haha. And thank you to @garbinge for always helping me pull together all of my ideas!

Warnings: language, mentions of alcohol, Creeper being a big ol’ softie with his kiddos

Word Count: 3k

A/N: This definitely takes place in the same universe as Like Father, Like Son because I’m a big fan of the family dynamic that I was sort of starting to build there. If no one has any objections that’s probably going to be my default HC for my future Dad!Creeper fics unless stated otherwise haha. I just love the idea of him with a pack of kids.

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The kids had one week off from school. One week. Seven days. Technically only five if you weren’t counting the weekend. You didn’t want to take the entire week off of work when you would be out on maternity leave in a couple more months, and as much as Creeper wanted you to be taking it easy, he said that if you really wanted save your time off for your leave, he would gladly keep the kids with him for the week.

“You and the guys can’t be doing,” you glanced around to make sure the kids weren’t in the room, “You and the guys can’t be doing serious club shit while they’re there, okay?” you knew that Creeper was always careful, but you also knew that some of the other men in the MC with him weren’t quite as cautious.

“Never, mama,” he leaned in and kissed your cheek, “Don’t worry. We’ll hold it down. It’s been a while since they got some time with their uncles, anyway.”

“Alright,” you nodded, taking a deep breath, “Go round up the gremlins, then,” you laughed, “They should each have their backpack with stuff in it.”

“Givin’ ‘em homework on their week off?” he chuckled.

You shook your head, “No, no. Just stuff to do if they get bored at the clubhouse. Coloring books, matchbox cars, whatever else they can fit in there.”

“Pfft,” he shook his head, “like we’ll ever let them get bored,” he let out a whistle, “Let’s go, homies! Time to roll out.”

Their footsteps thundered through the house as all three if them came booking it down the hall, each with their backpacks either on their shoulders or dangling from their hands. Both you and Creeper laughed at how excited they were to spend some time with their dad and their entire squad of uncles at the clubhouse.

“Which car you taking, baby?” you asked him.

“Just figured I’d take the van. It’s got all their stuff in it already.”

You smiled, nodding as you grabbed the keys off the counter and tossed them to him, “Alright, no doing donuts with it.”

He chuckled, “If they ask I won’t be able to tell them no,” he was about to say something else when his phone started going off in the pocket of his kutte. He reached and took it out, brows furrowing slightly as he answered, “Yea? Yea I’m about to head out. We’ll talk about it when I get there,” he shook his head slightly, “Alright yea,” with a huff he hung up the phone.

“All good?” you arched one eyebrow.

He nodded, “Yea. They act like I’m not gonna see them in twenty minutes. What the fuck is that important that it can’t wait?”

You shot him a glare, “Neron! Language, please.”

“Shit, sorry.”

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose.

He smiled sheepishly, stepping in close to give you a kiss, “I’m sorry, I love you, and I’ll call you later, mama.”

“Mhm,” you laughed as you playfully shoved him towards the door, “Tell the kids they gotta keep your boys in line.”

“They don’t even need me to tell ‘em.”

Very few things rivaled the excitement that the guys felt when they saw the minivan rolling into the scrapyard. Seconds after Creeper threw the van in park, all of the kids came sprinting out. His son leapt out of the passenger seat as his little sisters came tumbling out the back. It was quite the scene watching them walk up with their father, looking like quite the entourage all together.

“Wifey let you take the real whip today, huh?” Angel said with a laugh as he pulled Creeper into a hug.

He chuckled, ���Anything for the wolfpack,” Creeper watched as his kids made their rounds to say hi and hug each of the men that were outside the clubhouse waiting for them to arrive.

Angel looked over at the minivan, “Still can’t believe she let you put those fuckin’ stickers on there, bro,” he laughed.

“Yo,” he smacked Angel in the chest, “No swearin’ in front of the kids,” he paused, “What do you got against the stickers? I think they’re cool.”

“Guess I just never thought that your soccer mom van needed fake bullet holes.”

“That’s what keeps it from being a soccer mom van,” he tapped the side of his head with a knowing look, like he had cracked some sort of code.

“Right,” Angel laughed and shook his head before turning his attention to the kids, “Brandon! Get over here! Let’s see if you’re taller than me yet, dude.”

Creeper turned and saw that the twins were already trying to take Hank down to the ground—a goal that they’d had ever since they were little toddlers. Every time they saw him, they got closer and closer to being successful but they weren’t quite there yet. He had one hanging off of each arm as he tried to walk across the yard without falling over onto them. Creeper laughed as he watched the shenanigans unfold, and they’d only been there for about two minutes.

“Alex! Ava!” he shook his head slightly with a smile, “Give Uncle Hank a break, alright? The man has work to do.”

“They’ll be taking him to the ground soon enough, man,” EZ laughed as he let Hank struggle with the two little girls.

“Make sure you’re filming it,” Creeper responded with a laugh as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“How’s Y/N?” EZ asked.

“Pregnant,” he looked over at EZ and laughed, “Nah she’s good. Working this week, so we got some extra help around here.”

“She’s still working?”

He nodded, “Oh yea. She’ll work till the baby pops outta her,” he shook his head, “I don’t know how she fu—” he caught himself, “I got no clue how she does it, man.”

“Pregnancy one of those things you get better at the more you do it?”

He laughed, “Why don’t you ask her next time you see her?”

“Hard pass,” he shook his head, laughing.

Creeper was glad that he had an entire team of guys to help him try to tire them all out, because it wasn’t an easy task in the slightest. At one point he was fairly certain that he lost them in the depths of the scrapyard and when he did finally find them, they were running around and playing hide and seek where all the scrapped cars were kept. The only thing that kept him from having a heart attack at the sight of it was knowing that none of the cars had any glass left in them that the kids could cut themselves on. But the three of them had easily turned the scrapyard into their kingdom.

“C’mon, lunch time,” he called out to them and they all hesitated, not quite ready to give up the game. Creeper sighed, “Chucky made lunch for you guys.”

That was all it took. Their eyes lit up and the girls almost pushed their brother to the ground in an attempt to beat him back to the clubhouse. Creeper shook his head as he followed them, egging them all on.

“C’mon, B-Dawg, use those legs!” he called after his son with a laugh.

“Knees to chest, Brandon!” Angel joined in as he watched the three of them race up the steps of the clubhouse.

Soon enough, the three of them were all sat at one of the tables inside the clubhouse. Chucky beamed at them, “The Vargas Trio,” he brought their plates over, “I hear you’re keeping us company for the week.”

“Dad said we get to come every day,” Ava said as she shoveled a spoonful of food into her mouth.

“Eat first, then talk, lil mama,” Creeper chastised her with a small smile as he shook his head.

Creeper sat at the table with them, casually drinking his beer as he watched the three of them tuck into the lunch that Chucky had made for them. He knew that Chucky loved when the kids were around—he became the ultimate chef and babysitter once those kids set foot on the property. There wasn’t a single thing that he wouldn’t do for those kids and Creeper could tell just by the way that Chucky seemed so at peace as he watched them sitting around the table together.

“What d’you guys say?” he asked them as he nodded towards Chucky.

“Thank you, Uncle Chucky,” they all said in unison.

The warmest of smiles spread across Chucky’s face as he nodded, “The pleasure is all mine.”

By late in the afternoon, the kids were finally starting to run out of steam. The girls were sprawled out on the floor of the clubhouse, art supplies strewn everywhere as they worked through entire sketchbooks’ worth of paper with Chucky. Brandon had been lurking at a safe distance as he watched some of the guys work in the scrapyard. The idea of breaking things apart was intriguing for many reasons to an eight-year-old boy, but he always listened if one of the men said to back up or not touch something. Every now and then, though, Creeper would let him take a crack at something with the hammer and the excitement on his son’s face was contagious.

The two of them walked back into the clubhouse to get a couple water bottles for themselves and the rest of the guys outside. Creeper was behind the bar, handing them over to his son while also trying to get a good look at what Alex and Ava were up to with Chucky. He smiled at the way the three of them seemed to exist so peacefully together. He hoped that the twins would always get along as well as they seemed to so far.

There was the quiet snapping sound of a pencil point breaking, followed by Alex tossing it to the side and huffing, “Fuck that.”

The entire clubhouse fell silent. Creeper’s eyes went wide as his jaw dropped slightly and Chucky looked over to him, trying to figure out what he was supposed to say or do. Creeper set one last water bottle down on the surface of the bar before addressing the issue.

“Alex? You good, babygirl?”

“It’s like the bazillionth time my pencil has broken.”

He wanted to be amused but he knew that you’d kill him for not talking about the whole language issue, “Alright. I hear you. But…but you can’t be talkin’ like that. Where’d you even hear that, anyway?”

“You,” all three of his kids replied in unison.

He exhaled sharply through his nose as he pressed his lips together into a thin line, trying to figure out what the right way to go about this was, “Look,” he waved for his son to follow him as he walked over to his daughters, “You can’t be talkin’ like that, okay? Those are grownup words. Whatever you do,” he rested his hand on her shoulder gently, “Don’t say that in front of Mommy,” he looked amongst the three of them, “And if it slips, you tell her that Uncle Angel taught you that, alright?” they all nodded and he let out a tiny sigh of relief, “Good. Okay.”

That was the last thing he said about it as he nudged Brandon’s shoulder and they went back to collect up the water bottles and bring them outside. The girls went back to their drawings and Chucky decided that there was nothing left to do but follow suit.

“Uncle Chucky?” Alex asked without looking up from her paper.

“Yes, my dear?”

“Why don’t you talk like they do?” she continued to fill in the cartoon coloring page, “Daddy says they’re grownup words but I never hear you saying them.”

“Speaking like a grownup doesn’t interest me in the slightest,” he smiled at her before returning to his own paper.

It was a week filled with antics. The clubhouse was covered in coloring pages of every cartoon and Disney character you could possibly think of. All of the guys had gotten their nails painted by the twins at least once. Brandon got his own Romero Brothers work-shirt and now he never wanted to take it off. Every single member of the MC was tired in a way they never remembered being tired before. Nap time was something that everyone partook in, even the adults, because they all needed the rest.

You took a half day on Friday so you could spend some time with all of them at the clubhouse. You liked seeing the kids running around having a good time with the guys, and truthfully you missed the nights you’d stay late with Creeper there. Late-night partying hadn’t been something the two of you had done in a long time, but none of that compared to the sense of joy you felt as you heard your daughters very intensely explaining the entire plot of both Frozen movies to EZ, who sat and nodded along, a very serious look on his face.

You smiled, making your rounds to say hello to the guys before you made your way over to Creeper who was sitting at the bar. He smiled, standing up to place a kiss to your lips and then to your belly before offering you his seat. You took it without hesitation, always happy to be off your feet for a few minutes.

“How’s the week been?” you asked as you glanced around the clubhouse.

He nodded, “Good. The guys will be sleeping for a week straight once the kids go back to school,” he laughed.

You smiled, nodding, “I bet.”

“It’s been nice having them here. Keeps things from getting to serious.”

“Yea,” you chuckled, “I’d imagine that it’s a bit harder to have a serious argument when all of your tables are covered in drawings of Olaf and Moana, and everyone’s nails are painted hot pink.”

“I kinda like it,” he held his hand out for you to inspect, “But I think purple is more my color.”

You laugh, nodding, “Oh, for sure, baby.”

The two of you were chatting when all of a sudden you heard a series of thuds, followed by Ava softly, but very clearly, saying, “Fuck,” as she rubbed her skinned knee.

You looked over at your husband, staring daggers, “Neron, I swear to god if—”

“It wasn’t me, mama, I swear,” he held his hands up in surrender.

With a sigh you rose up from the stool and made your way over to your daughter. You looked at her knee—it was scraped but it wasn’t bleeding. She also wasn’t crying which was a good sign. You asked if she was alright and when she said yes, you asked your follow-up question, “Where’d you hear that word, sweetie? Because those aren’t words that you should be using.”

Creeper held his breath as he waited for her to respond. Ava looked at you, and with no hesitation she responded, “Uncle Angel.”

You whipped your head to look at the biker in question. His eyes were as wide as you’d ever seen them. He tried to sputter out a denial, some kind of defense, but he couldn’t string the words together. He couldn’t believe that he’d just been thrown under the bus like that, especially by the girl who not even an hour beforehand said that he was her favorite uncle.

Calmly, you rose to your feet and smoothed out your dress. Creeper recognized the look in your eye and he knew that Angel was in for it. He felt bad, but not bad enough to step in and tell you the truth of the matter. It was a little deal in the grand scheme of things, really.

“Baby,” Creeper called after you, “Baby I can handle—”

“It’s fine, Neron,” your tone was dangerously even, “I just wanna talk to Uncle Angel for a minute.”

He knew that that meant you did not want to talk, “Mama, really—”

“Bring the kids outside, please. We gotta start heading home anyway.”

At that point he knew that he wasn’t going to convince you. He scooped Alex in one arm and Ava in the other, “Alright, let’s go, babygirls,” he nudged Brandon gently towards the door, “C’mon, lil homie, let’s pack the car up.”

Once the clubhouse door shut behind them, you turned your full attention to Angel. You picked up a stray coloring book and rolled it the same way you would a newspaper, and smacked him with it, “Angel Reyes!”

“Ah,” he held his arms to block your swings, “Y/N, hear me out!”

“You will not,” you smacked him again, “be teaching my six-year-olds how to cuss,” you hit him with the book once more for good measure, “Got it? Pregnant or not I will beat your ass.”

He held his hands up in surrender, “Okay, okay. Sorry, querida. Didn’t realize that they picked things up so quick.”

You pointed the rolled up coloring book at him accusingly, “Better start realizing it.”

“Yes ma’am,” he nodded.

You looked at him for a few seconds before giving a nod of approval and dropping the book back onto the table, “Good. Alright then,” you stood on your tip-toes and kissed him on the cheek, “Glad we’re on the same page. I love you.”

“Love you too,” he shook his head slightly as he followed you out of the clubhouse.

He said goodbye to the three kids as they piled into the minivan before pulling Creeper to the side, “Why’d Ava snitch on me like that, bro?”

Creeper chuckled nervously, running his hand over his head, “About that. I…I might’ve told them to blame you if they slipped up in front of their mom.”

“What the fuck, Creep?”

“What? You tellin’ me you wouldn’t do the same shit?”

He paused for a moment before laughing, “Yea, probably. But still,” he gave him a light shove, “Messed up turning my own nieces and nephew against me like that.”

“Technically just turning their mom against you a little bit,” he chuckled.

“I feel like that’s worse.”

“It’s definitely worse,” Creeper clapped him on the shoulder, “Well. Better get ready. Next vacation is gonna be for the whole summer.”

Angel laughed as he hugged Creeper, “Can’t wait.”

[bubblesuga]

Turning Page - Part 1

Summary: Sometimes you find yourself in the right place at the right time and unknowingly, you fall in love. Min Yoongi certainly didn’t expect that when he met eyes with you one fateful night in late July. Nor did he expect to end up naked in your apartment while you drew his body.

w/c: 7,302 genre: struggling producer!yoongi au, new relationship, fluff, smut warnings: oral (m receiving), dom!yoongi, switch!reader, raw sex, spanking, reader has a praise kink, yoongi has a dirty mouth (but lets be honest, what else is new?), slight exhibitionism, jungkook is too nosy for his own good

It’s not often that you find yourself at a 24 hour diner in the middle of the night with an insane amount of papers splayed out in front of you as eat your waffles while answering emails and trying your hardest to copy the manuscripts sent to you but for some god-awful reason it’s happened to you on more than one occasion this week alone. 

The manuscript, which the author unabashedly decided to hand write instead of type in this day and age, was way too long and had way too much detail. Unfortunately for you, your boss only reads typed manuscripts and insisted that you copy every word and type it for her by Monday. You know for a fact that your boss is going to get three chapters into this absolute mess of a story and toss it but you have no choice but to listen to her. 

This is definitely not how you expected being an intern to go yet here you are, wondering and waiting for the day that you can move on and start your own company like you’ve wanted to for practically your entire life. 

“Can I get you a refill on your coffee?” A voice asks, and you glance up to see the waitress, an older woman with a smile that could light up a thousand suns. 

“Yes please,” you smile, holding out your mug to her as she pours directly from the pot, “thank you.” 

“No problem, I always see you working so hard so I figured you could use the energy boost.” she grins, patting your shoulder lightly as she begins to walk away and help the other few tables which also happen to be hosting tired college students and early risers or late sleepers. 

Without even realizing it, another half hour passes by you quickly. Your eyes burn, but you count the remaining pages and try to push through. Quickly though, your ears spot the sound of dishes clanking together and you can’t help but pull your attention in that direction. 

A man with blond hair and dark eyes is cleaning the table in front of you. He adorns an apron around his waist and a white t-shirt with black pants. The busboy wipes down the table, and you admire his side profile as he does so. His features are soft, a rounded nose and down-turned lips held almost in a pout. You have never come across a man so stunningly beautiful, it nearly causes your breath to be caught in your throat. 

You’re staring for so long that the man catches on to your watchful eye, glancing over in your direction with a raised eyebrow. You smile sheepishly, “Sorry.” 

The man smirks, shaking his head before hauling the bin of empty cups and plates towards the kitchen. Your heart sinks for a moment, but you shake the feeling to the best of your ability and try to finish typing. 

A few more moments pass, and you hear someone sitting across from you. You glance up and see the man sat across from you, apron gone and a black jacket now covering his torso. 

“Can I help you?” You question softly, clasping your hands together atop the table. 

He bites his bottom lip, “I feel like I should be asking you the same thing.” 

“Pardon?” 

“You were watching me earlier, just curious what was on your mind was all.” He shrugs, his hands stuffed into his hoodie pockets. 

You swallow, the way his eyes scan you causes your face to flush. Carefully, you stack up your papers and clean the table slightly while you try to think a way to dance around the answer to his question. He waits patiently, which only causes you to panic internally. 

“I was thinking that you would be nice to draw.” you finally settle on, and it’s true. He looks like a work of art, and you’d love to have had him as a model in your art class when you went to college. 

He doesn’t seem to expect that answer, his eyes widening slightly as his head tilts, “So draw me.” 

“Ah,” you immediately wave your hand dismissively, “I haven’t drawn in a couple years and I was never any good at it anyway.” 

He leans forward, mirroring your position from earlier, “But if that was your first thought then surely you still have an interest in it.” The smooth cadence of his tone intimidates you to no end, yet it entices you and pulls you in even more. How can a stranger hold so much power over you?

“I’ll tell you what,” you say after a moment, suddenly gaining a brush of confidence when you see a twinkle in his eye, “you come to my apartment tomorrow night and I’ll draw you.” 

“That sounds like a trap to murder me.” He remarks, a gummy grin stretching across his face and you have to hold back a small ‘awe’, your chest twisting at the sight. 

“You want to get drawn or not?” you bite back, just as teasingly. 

He shakes his head, a small chuckle leaving his pink lips, “Give me your phone.” 

You raise an eyebrow, reaching into your bag and pulling out your phone. You unlock it for him and he takes it immediately, keeping the screen just far enough away from you that you can’t see what he’s doing. Soon enough, he stands abruptly and sets your phone down onto the table.

He smirks, “Text me the address, I’ll be there.” 

The stranger wanders down the isle and towards the front door, and you watch in awe at his broad shoulders and shapely figure. Something about the way he carried himself made your mouth water. 

Breaking out of your trance, you quickly unlock your phone and and see a newly added contact. At the top of the screen is a simple ‘Yoongi ;)’ titling the contact. 

You blush, gnawing your bottom lip gently as he passes by the window and sends a wink your way.

~*~*~

He’s going to be here any moment. He’s going to walk through your door with his stupid fucking smirk and attractive eyes and he’s going to be in your living room, posing for a while so you can draw him. 

And you’re freaking out. 

After he left you immediately sent him your address, and since then the two of you have been talking non stop. It was mostly about small things, jobs, favorite foods and favorite colors... Although it may have only been a day, you feel like you know him pretty well. He’s funny and charismatic and oh so charming, no wonder you were so drawn in to his beauty because he’s gorgeous from the inside out. 

You haphazardly through your jackets and shoes into the closet by the front door, only recently becoming aware of how much clothes you leave strewn throughout your home. 

Just as you light a cinnamon scented candle in the center of the room, your doorbell rings. 

You rush over to the door and glance in the mirror to fluff your hair and wipe away any runny make up. Exhaling a deep breath, you open the door and greet Yoongi with a smile. 

“Hello.” you say simply, opening the door wider and motioning for Yoongi to come in. He’s dressed in a black button up and tight fitting black jeans, a stark contrast to his work attire. He carries with him a back pack and a bottle of whiskey. 

He notices the way you eye the bottle, and he flushes slightly, “I figured it could help with your nerves. A- and mine, because I’m a little nervous as well.” 

“Nervous?” you trudge into your living room with Yoongi following closely behind, “why are you nervous?” 

“Well, I’m not exactly sure if you expected this to be a nude drawing or not so I wore nice clothes but I’m also willing to take them off.” He scratches the bottom of his chin, watching as you set up the easel. 

You pause your movements, eyes widening, “N- nude?” 

“Yeah,” he chuckles, twisting open the bottle of whiskey, “isn’t that what you do in those fancy art classes? Draw nude people?” 

“I- I mean, we did,” you stutter, your throat going dry, “but they were always women because I went to an all female college.” 

“Ah, so you could use the practice,” he grins confidently, but it drops suddenly, “unless you’re uncomfortable with that. Then, fully clothed is fine with me.” 

The thought of being able to see the gorgeous man nude excited you more than you’d like to admit, and seeing as you two were in the safety and comfort of your own home, you had no problem with him doing it so long as he wanted to, and by the way his fingers are itching to undo the first button of his shirt, you figure he is. 

“Go ahead. You’re right, I can use the practice.” 

Yoongi smiles and with trembling fingers he begins to take his clothes off. As he does so, you focus on setting up the rest of your supplies. The charcoal set sits idly on the table beside you and you finally sit down with a sigh. 

As you turn your eyes back to Yoongi, you see that he is splayed across your couch with the bottle in hand. 

Holy fuck, his body is just as gorgeous as his face. He’s lean, but you can tell he definitely works out his arms and his legs are long, a pinkish tint holds itself to his skin and you’re unsure if he’s being shy or if the alcohol has already taken affect on him. Eventually you let your eyes land on his hips, his pelvis presenting itself neatly between his legs. It takes everything in you not to drop what you’re doing and let him fuck you into oblivion. 

“(Y/N)?” you hear, and you’re brought back to the current situation. Yoongi’s face holds a knowing smirk, and he leans forward to hand you the bottle of whiskey. 

You take it gratefully, your heart thudding harshly in your chest as you take a sip. 

“Is this position okay?” he questions, one leg bent at the knee and resting on the other one. His right arm rests extended on the back of the couch while his left hand plays dangerously close to his pelvis. 

“Y- yes.” you breathe, picking up your pencil and beginning the sketch. 

It doesn’t take long for you to get the basic sketch down, your love for drawing coming back in droves as Yoongi sits silently, watching your face as you continue to sketch across the paper. He smiles, your nose crinkling before you erase a line or your tongue poking out as your concentrating on a specific area. 

After a little bit of silence, you speak up, “Do you want me to draw, uhm,” you pause your sentence and gesture towards his hips, to which he responds with a little laugh. 

“My cock?” 

His use of the word shocks you a little bit, but you silently remind yourself that you are a grown woman and are completely capable of listening to a man talk about his anatomy, even when you’re immensely attracted to him and have to continually swallow the drool that threatens to fall from your mouth. 

“Yeah, your- your cock.” you nearly whisper, noticing the way his cock twitches slightly at your voice. 

Okay, he’s getting just as much enjoyment out of this as I am. 

“Yeah,” he chuckles, shifting a few inches, “I want you to draw my cock.” 

You nod, turning back to your drawing and beginning the last details. 

Yoongi doesn’t take his attention away from your face, gauging your reaction to his body. He likes the way you’re so attentive, and it’s taking everything in him not to harden, though he’s unsure how much longer he can hold off. 

His mind reels with the possibility of you riding him right on this couch. After spotting you at the restaurant he knew that he wanted you. It’s been far too long since he’s had sex, and his pickiness has become more and more evident, especially to his roommates. However, the moment he saw you, he could nearly imagine the way you would feel around him and when he saw you staring he knew that he was in the clear to come over and talk to you. 

This definitely wasn’t how he expected it to turn out but he has no complaints. 

“I’m almost done,” you murmur, your brow furrowed in concentration, “you can move now. All I have to do is shade a little.” 

Yoongi lets out a small breath, his fingers dancing across his hip bone as he lays comfortably on his back, “Do you need me to get dressed now?” 

You glance up, your face mostly hidden by the sketch pad, “If you would like to.” 

Slight disappointment hits Yoongi as he realizes that he’s not going to be able to touch you today. He sits up and reaches for his boxers, but you stop him. 

“Or you could give me a minute and I’ll undress too.” you say casually, shrugging as you pick up a black pen and sign the bottom of the drawing.

Yoongi’s jaw drops, and there’s no stopping it now. He instantly feels blood rush to his cock and watches intently while you spin the easel around and show him your work of art. 

Across the page, Yoongi sees himself displayed and detail lining every area of the sketch. He notices the way his eyes twinkle even in the drawing and if there were ever a time to think of himself as attractive, it would be now that he’s been drawn by you. 

“Do you like it?” you ask nervously.

Yoongi grins, “I love it.” 

“Good,” you whisper, and you stand up. You take a careful step over to him, and Yoongi doesn’t take his eyes away from you. As you’re about to slip your shirt over your head, he stops you. 

“Let me, please.” he begs gently, and you nod. He stands up quickly and hooks his fingers around the hem of your shirt. You lift your arms and allow him to slip the material over your head. His movements are slow, tantalizing and teasing you but also drawing you into him. 

He places his hand against your side, drawing small circles before leaning forward and pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. 

It lasts no more than a few seconds, but you instantly miss the contact. He smiles, his nose crinkling as he does so and your heart can be heard from inside your chest, singing as he looks you in the eyes. He unhooks your bra, tossing it to the side and suddenly his lips are back on yours. 

It’s much more feverish than before, the taste of the whiskey and his strawberry flavored lip balm mix together on your tongue. The combination is harmonious, and he tastes exactly like you thought he would. 

Suddenly, he grips your shorts and pants, slipping them down your legs and softly commanding you to step out of them. You steady yourself on his shoulders and do as he says, your legs trembling with anticipation. 

“Last chance to back out of this if you don’t want it.” Yoongi says, his hands cupping your jaw and using his thumb to swipe gently at your cheek. You smile, “I want this.” 

He nods, “On your knees.” 

You instantly listen, dropping to your knees in front of him and licking your lips hungrily at now being eye level with Yoongi’s now hard cock. He smirks, “You can touch.” 

You nod hesitantly, then reach forward and pump him up and down a few times. Instantly, Yoongi’s head falls backward and a moan falls from his lips, gloriously loud and deep. 

The sound sends tingles straight to your heat, and you tentatively stick your tongue out to lick the tip of his member. His hips flex and you open your mouth automatically to accept him into your mouth. He goes a little further than expected and you gag as you feel him hit the back of your throat. 

“’M sorry,” he moans, “fuck your throat feels so good.” 

He looked heavenly, sweat begins to line his forehead as you use your tongue on the underside of his cock, paying special attention to the pulsating vein. 

His hands gather your hair up in his hands, “There we go, wanna see your pretty face as you suck my cock.” 

Fuck. 

You take him as deep into your mouth as you possibly can and hold him there, moaning at his dirty mouth and feeling yourself grow wetter by the second. 

“Good girl,” he feels your hands begin to roam his torso, his muscles flexing beneath his fingertips, “gonna cum.” 

With that, you pop off of him and see his eyes fall to you incredulously. “I was gonna-” 

“I know,” you grin, “but wouldn’t it feel better inside of me?” 

“You are so fucking hot.” he says, pulling you up to his level and slamming his lips to yours. You tug him down as you fall onto the couch, his cock brushing ever-so-lightly between your legs and causing both of you to gasp. 

It doesn’t take Yoongi long to line himself up at your entrance, your legs wrapped carefully around his waist and guiding him in slowly. Yoongi watches the way your eyes roll backwards as he bottoms out, a moan falling from his lips as he steadies himself.

He had never felt as much pleasure than in this moment. 

The eroticism of the entire situation made everything feel more sensual. Despite barely knowing him, you felt a connection to him stronger than anyone ever before. The way his cock seems to fit perfectly within you, stroking and massaging your velvety walls, immediately has you reeling beneath him. 

“I’m not gonna last very long,” Yoongi starts, his arms shaking as he holds himself above you, “what can I do to help you out?” 

“That’s okay, just fuck me.” You gasp.

You feel him reach a point inside you that sends waves through your body, your back arching off the couch. Yoongi catches the way your breathing has grown ragged, and reaches his hand between the two of you. 

His thumb manages to find your clit, collecting your wetness and rubbing over it gently. His thrusts stay slow and steady, but even so you’re unable to hold back. As your orgasm approaches, you bring Yoongi down to your mouth and feel the way he nibbles at your bottom lip. Suddenly, he speeds his thrusts up and his thumb swipes fast and sloppy circles across your clit. 

You feel your breath catch in your throat as your orgasm washes over you, a mewl of content leaving your mouth as Yoongi soon follows after, strings of hot cum coating your walls and adding to the sensitivity of your heat. 

He collapses on top of you, his lips peppering kisses across your exposed chest while your hand caresses his hair. 

“I would have been able to last longer if you weren’t so fucking good at giving head.” Yoongi nearly whines, his chest heaving while he attempts to catch his breath. 

“It’s okay,” you smile, pushing his hair back and exposing his forehead, “we both got there in the end.” 

Yoongi shrugs, making no effort to move off of you as he buries himself in your chest, “If you hadn’t, I would have no problem making you cum on my tongue.” His words are slightly muffled by your breasts which only causes you to giggle. 

“Hm, I’m open to experiencing that on another day,” his lips turn up against your skin at your words, “but can I give you some pointers?” 

Yoongi’s head pops up, his eyes looking at you incredulously, “you just said that we both got there in the end, what more do I need to do?” 

“Be louder,” you whisper, his tone teasing, “I like when a man is vocal.” 

His eyes glare jokingly, “Okay, you’re on. I’ll be as loud as you want.” 

You giggle, pressing a light kiss to his nose and watching the way his face scrunch up at the contact. 

His chin rests on you, his thumb stroking your cheekbone, “I like you a lot.” 

“Are you basing this solely off of the fact that I made you cum?” 

“That plays a part in it,” he chuckles, “but I want to see you again for sure. You seem cool, and I’d really like to take you out to dinner some time.” 

“Ah,” you click your tongue, “we did it backwards.” 

Yoongi laughs, a melodic sound that instantly makes your heart speed up. 

The two of you lay there for a little bit, your hand stroking his hair as you talk about the most mundane tasks. He tells you a little bit about his job, how his friend owns the diner the two of you met at and Yoongi likes to help out every once in a while for some extra cash. 

His real passion lies in music, which is why he was so hellbent to see you make art again. He loves encouraging people to create, to take charge and express themselves in the purest forms. 

After what seems like hours, Yoongi hears his phone ding. With a groan of disapproval, he climbs off of you and reaches into his jeans for his phone. 

You situate yourself on your side, watching the way Yoongi runs a hand through his messy hair and checks his phone. 

“Seokjin wants me to come serve tonight,” he says with a sigh, “I’ll text you after I get off, yeah?” 

You nod, “I need to finish up some work anyway.”

Silently, Yoongi begins to dress himself for the first time since he entered your apartment. You pout visibly as he slips his boxers back on, standing up and following suit by dressing yourself as well. 

As soon as you’re both dressed, you carefully tear Yoongi’s drawing out of the sketch pad and reach out to hand it to him.

“You’re giving it to me?” He questions, taking it with a raised eyebrow. 

You nod, “I don’t feel right in keeping it.” 

He shakes his head, “You should keep it for a rainy day.” 

Your eyes turn to slits while you inspect the drawing. You quietly slip it back into the sketchbook while Yoongi lets out another laugh. 

You lead him back to the front door, your arms crossed over your chest. Different from previous hook ups, you didn’t feel dirty after everything that you did. Instead, you felt comforted by the fact that he didn’t just leave as soon as he finished. He seemed like he genuinely wanted to take care of you and that wasn’t something you came across often. 

As he shuts the door behind him, you can’t help but touch your lips while you remember the feeling of his. 

~*~*~

“Hey Seokjin,” Yoongi greets as he enters the diner through the back door. 

Seokjin flips some sauteed vegetables in a pan and glances over at his younger friend, “Hey Yoon-” he pauses, setting down the pan, “you got laid didn’t you?” 

Yoongi throws his head back, muttering a small ‘damn it’ knowing that he’s going to get grilled until Seokjin is happy with the amount of details he’s received. 

“Yeah I did.” he sighs. 

“Hm, well you don’t seem too happy about it. Was she awful or something?” 

Yoongi whips his head towards Seokjin, “What? No, god no. She was fantastic.” 

“Then why the long face?” 

“Because I had to leave her to come help you.” Yoongi shrugs, chuckling when he feels Seokjin shove him lightly. 

Shaking his head, Seokjin plates up the food while he talks to Yoongi, “Was it the cute editor you were talking about last night?” 

Yoongi feels a twinge of jealousy hit his chest when he hears Seokjin saw you too, but it’s quickly replaced with triumph once he realizes that he got to you first. 

“She’s an intern, not an editor quite yet, but yeah that’s her.” 

“Good man,” he praises, “does that mean you’re back on your game?” 

Yoongi scoffs, “Just because I fuck one girl doesn’t mean I’m immediately going to try and fuck every girl I’m attracted to again.” 

Sure, Yoongi admits he went through a phase of... being well known. Especially in college, Yoongi was known to be a man of many special talents. After a while of random hook ups and making girls scream his name, he lost interest. He assumed it was because he got bored of it, but now he’s realizing that he was much more interested in having a relationship. Ever since he realized that, he had been waiting for someone to fall into his lap. 

For some reason, the moment he saw you he felt some indescribable feeling that drew him to you. Like all that waiting had finally paid off and he needed to talk to the girl with laser focus and a cute smile. 

“Oh, so you like this girl?” Seokjin says, glancing at the screen as another order comes in. 

“Yeah, a lot. She’s an artist.” He grins, calling back from the locker room connected to the kitchen. 

“Awe, did she draw you a picture?” Seokjin coos, a loud laugh following his teasing words. 

Yoongi’s cheeks blush as he suddenly flashes back to the events of today, “Yeah, you could say that.” 

Seokjin glances into the locker room, “I’ll question further later, for now you need to go to section A and help out Hwasa because she is drowning in tickets.” 

“Yes sir!” Yoongi mocks a salute, walking out to the dining area. 

~*~*~

From: Yoongi (received 16:34)

Be ready in 20.  Dress comfortably.

Your jaw drops as you stare at your phone, rushing upward from your position on your couch with a bag of chips and blankets surrounding you. 

You glance your at your reflection in passing and practically run to the bathroom to comb your hair. 

It’s only been two weeks since the two of you met. Your comforted by the fact that your phone always has a good morning text and a good night text from Yoongi. The two of you have yet to have a dry conversation and even if Yoongi is stuck at work or working on one of his secret projects, he makes sure to send a text that he’ll respond as soon as he has the chance. 

Previously you had never had someone so attentive, especially even in just the talking stages. At one point he called you, his voice rough and laced with sleep but the entire time he seemed lively and excited to talk to you. Your heart swelled with adoration the entire time and you’re safe in thinking that Yoongi feels the same. 

Because you haven’t seen Yoongi since the day you drew him, you find yourself regularly looking at the drawing. 

For the first time in what seems like years, you felt proud of something you had created. A constant rut that collapsed in on you like a black hole, drowning you in a state of constant despair, disappeared in half a day. Since then, you’re brain is reeling with creative thought and you couldn’t wait to show Yoongi what you’ve been drawing in your free time. He encourages you in a way that makes you feel like you can be whatever you want to be. 

One thing you were most proud of was your self-portrait. Your legs laid spread in front of a mirror for hours while you tried to perfect a drawing for Yoongi, to give back since he allowed you to keep his. 

“Why do all my cute bras disappear when I need them most?” you whine outwardly, your phone dinging again. 

From Yoongi (received 16:48) 

Oops, I’m early. 

You smile. 

To Yoongi (sent 16:49) 

You’re lucky you’re cute Be out soon

Quickly, you slip on a simple blue laced bra and t-shirt with a red skirt. Hoping that you were still cute in your comfortable clothes, you let out a nervous breath and head to the door. You grab your sketch book before you lock your door, Yoongi’s car parked at the end of the breezeway. You spot him before he spots you, a black beanie adorned on his head with his gorgeous blond hair peaking out beneath. 

You open his door and Yoongi immediately puts his phone away, “Hey.” 

“Hi.” You greet, slipping your sketchbook into the back seat. Yoongi leans over the center console and holds your face in his hand, and he kisses you. 

It’s short and sweet, not as feverish as the first one you shared but it made you realize how quickly you had fallen victim to missing his kiss. 

“I have wanted to do that for weeks now.” He states as if he read your mind, his eyes closed in bliss. 

“Why’d it take you so long then?” You tease, kissing him again. 

Yoongi smirks, “Absence makes the heart grow fonder.” 

“Does that mean you’re fonder of me?” 

He watches you pull the seat belt over your torso before he responds, “Definitely, I was thinking about you last night before I went to bed.” 

You raise an eyebrow, “Oh?” 

“Mhm,” he hums, a hand moving over to rest on your knee while he backs out of the parking spot, “you’re very talented with your tongue, even in my dreams.” 

You don’t respond, instead you look down at his hand on your knee with a blush.

The drive consists of soft music playing of the speakers of Yoongi’s 2003 Kia. A choice of car you wouldn’t expect him to drive but it oddly fits his personality. It’s quiet and gets him just where he needs to be, a simple thing that Yoongi tells you he takes pride in. 

It isn’t a long drive, but you take the time to admire the way Yoongi looks as he drives. The windows are rolled down and soft summer air breezes throughout the car while you drive across the countryside. The evening sun shines across Yoongi’s face, those soft facial features that drew you in still prominent, his nose curling upward while he laughs at a joke you told. 

“Alright,” he says after about 15 minutes, “we’re here.” 

Yoongi parks near a beach, where you spot a group of people around a fire. You tilt your head, “Are we meeting your friends?” 

“Yeah, I hope that’s okay. It’s just a small get together to celebrate a friend’s promotion.” Yoongi scratches the back of his neck and lets out a nervous chuckle. 

You survey the crowd, cases of soju surrounding them while they laugh among each other. One of them seems to spot the car, waving at the two of you enthusiastically. 

Butterflies swarm in your stomach as you draw your bottom lip between your teeth, “Sure, I’d love to meet your friends.” 

Yoongi rushes to the other side of the car to open your door for you, wrapping his arm comfortingly around your shoulder while he leads you to the group. 

A log was left empty that had just enough room for the two of you. As you approach, Yoongi calls out, “Shut up everybody! This is (Y/N), be nice to her. I like her a lot,” instantly everyone quiets down, and Yoongi points to the tallest first man, “That’s Namjoon, Seokjin, Jungkook, Taehyung, Hoseok, and Jimin.” 

“Hyung, why’d you say my name last?” Jimin pouts, his voice already slightly slurred. You giggle, following Yoongi to the log. 

Namjoon reaches over, sticking his hand out, “It’s nice to meet the girl that Yoongi’s mentioned.” 

“Mentioned?” Jungkook scoffs, “He doesn’t shut up about you. You’re all he ever talks about and it takes a lot to get this man to stop talking about music.” 

Yoongi leans over and smacks his friend on the arm, his cheeks turning red at his admission. 

You giggle, “If it’s any consolation, I talk about Yoongi all the time too.” 

“Ah great, they’re both crazy about each other.” Seokjin jokes, a laugh unlike you had ever heard falling from his lips. His laugh causes you to laugh, and you quickly cover your mouth once you realize what you did. 

“Yah! She’s already making fun of my laugh!” Seokjin remarks, his bottom lip jutting outward cutely while Jimin shakes his head. 

“Take this and shut up.” Jimin reaches a drink out to Seokjin, who laughs and sends a wink your way to ease your mind. 

The night continues on gleefully, exchanging stories among each other and getting to know Yoongi’s friends - and Yoongi - more and more. 

At one point you could tell that Yoongi’s friends were grilling you in an attempt to see if you were a bad person. They were quite bad at it, though, seeing as Jungkook asked if you had ever killed a man and Taehyung was hellbent on trying to get you to say you liked country music. Though, you did admit that Carrie Underwood had a few good songs. Taehyung took this as a win and threw his hands up in victory while Namjoon told him to settle down. 

Now that you were more than a few drinks in, you listened intently to every story that the boys were telling. 

"Just wait until you hear about Yoongi’s parenting diary for Holly.” Hoseok spills, laughing so hard that he leans into Jimin who sits beside him. Jimin eyes disappear behind his smile, and everyone begins to chuckle. 

“No way!” you gape, turning to look at Yoongi who holds a beer tightly in his left and draws circles in your back with his right, “Min Yoongi, you never told me you were such a softy.” 

“I’m not a softy, I’m mean and scary,” Yoongi retaliates loudly, then he leans closer to your ear and whispers, “and I bite.” 

A chill runs down your spine and you immediately turn away, rubbing your hands together in an attempt to conceal your chill. Yoongi chuckles low enough for you to hear, his fingertips reaching beneath the base of your shirt and massaging gently. You didn’t realize how rough his fingertips were, callouses from hours of guitar playing evident on his hands. 

“Alright, children. I think it’s time for us to head out.” Yoongi says suddenly, interrupting a conversation between Hoseok and Namjoon. 

He stands and pulls you up with him. You smile and wave, “It was nice meeting you all.” 

“It was nice meeting you too,” Namjoon waves back to you, “excited to have you back around.” 

As you say goodbye to the rest and walk away, you hear a patter of footsteps walking behind the two of you. “Hyung! Can I get a ride?” 

Jungkook stumbles towards the two of you, and Yoongi glances at you in question. You shrug, “I don’t mind, it’s your car.” 

Yoongi waves Jungkook over, the three of you walking towards Yoongi’s small car. Yoongi opens the door for you, bowing gently and humming while he walks over to the drivers side. In the few short seconds that you and Jungkook were alone in the car, Jungkook leans forward and rests his head on the back of Yoongi’s seat. 

“I haven’t seen Yoongi this happy in a while,” he pats your shoulder, “thank you.” 

You don’t get the opportunity to respond as Yoongi opens the car door and hops in. You swallow, smiling and biting your lip. Your chest swells with the thought that Yoongi is just as affected by you as you are by him. 

The drive is quite, but suddenly Jungkook speaks up. 

“Is this yours, (Y/N)?”

You turn your head back and instantly your eyes widen, Jungkook glancing through your sketchpad. You spot the edge of your Yoongi drawing sticking out, Yoongi’s face visible but Jungkook had yet to spot it. 

“Y- yeah.” you say, praying that he stops flipping through the pages. Yoongi glances over to you, his eyes just as wide as yours. He simply shakes his head as if to say ‘stop him’. 

“These are really goo- oh! You drew Yoongi!” Jungkook’s fingers begin to pull at the piece of paper which causes you to unhook your seat belt and take the entire sketchbook out of Jungkook’s hands. 

He seems lost for a second, “Can I see the Yoongi drawing?” 

“No!” you and Yoongi respond simultaneously, panic lacing both of your voices while Yoongi pulls into an unfamiliar neighborhood. 

Jungkook raises an eyebrow, “You two doing something freaky?” 

Yoongi coughs, “I was just a model for (Y/N) to practice with.” 

“A nude model?” Jungkook asks in a sing-song voice, noticing the way you glance at Yoongi.

“Cool it with the questions, Kookie.” Yoongi scolds gently. 

“Hey, I don’t judge. I posed nude for a sculpting class once, those girls got to look at my bits for hours and I’m sure they enjoyed it as much as you enjoyed looking at Yoongi’s-” 

“Wow would you look at that, we’re home! Get the fuck out of my car.” Yoongi turns around, gesturing for Jungkook to exit. Jungkook holds a smirk on his face, “Be safe.” 

As soon as Jungkook gets out of the car, you release a breath you didn’t know you were holding in. Yoongi rests his head on the steering wheel, laughing quietly to himself in both embarrassment and joy. 

“Why did you have that drawing in the sketchbook?” He questions as he reverses out of the driveway. 

You shrug, “I don’t know... I just wanted to show you what I’ve been working on since that day.” 

“Like what?”

“A self portrait.” you shrug, opening the sketchbook and flipping to the most recently filled in page. You hold it up so Yoongi can glance at it while he drives, but you didn’t expect his eyes to bulge out of his head while he slams on the breaks and pulls off to the side of the neighborhood road. 

Instantly, he reaches and takes the book from you, his eyes scanning over the drawing repeatedly. 

“Gorgeous,” he breathes, “you’re so fucking gorgeous.” 

You smile gently, pointing your finger to your chest, “I drew my boobs more even than they actually are so I’m not that gorgeous.” 

Yoongi’s eyes turn to slits, “Well this is tainted now. How will I ever be able to hang this up when it’s not accurate to the real thing?” 

You giggle, pushing Yoongi’s shoulder gently. His joking tone diminishes once his eyes fall back on the drawing, the smile dropping from his face while his finger traces the curve of your hips. “Gorgeous...” he whispers again, “Fuck, I love this so much. Thank you.” 

He leans across the center console and presses a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth. 

That’s just not enough, though. 

You slip the sketchpad out of his hands and close it, “You want to see the real thing?” 

Your lack of touch from Yoongi these past couple weeks didn’t seem to bother you but now that you have him alone, you want to jump his bones. 

Yoongi doesn’t hesitate to nod, unhooking his seat belt and leaning his chair back a little bit. You grin, slipping the t-shirt over your head and pressing a harsh kiss against Yoongi’s lips. He welcomes your lips, drinking you in while his hands begin to roam your now bare skin. He slips his grip down to your thighs, pulling you over the center console and causing you straddle his thighs. 

Not breaking the kiss, you begin to grind yourself down onto Yoongi’s quick-hardening cock. He moans into the kiss, his hands kneading your ass roughly. You gasp when you feel his hand lay a hard smack against your ass, the sound resonating throughout the car and causing Yoongi to smirk. 

“Oh, you like being spanked?” he peppers kisses across your neck, “have you been a bad girl?” 

“Mhm,” you moan, “I’m your bad girl.” 

“That’s right,” Yoongi growls, spanking you once again, “my bad girl.” 

You toss your head back when you feel Yoongi’s hips begin to twist beneath you, his cock straining against the zipper of his jeans. You reach between the two of you, unzipping his jeans and threading his cock through the hole. 

Yoongi sucks in a breath through his teeth while your small hand pumps him up and down carefully. 

“No time,” Yoongi groans, “ride me.” 

You didn’t have to be told twice. 

The feeling of the slick between your legs was enough to show that you were ready, so Yoongi’s fingers push your panties to the side while he holds his cock and lines it up with your entrance. It doesn’t take long for him to slip inside, his hands gripping your hips and lifting you up and down while you moaned above him. 

“You like my cock, don’t you baby? You’re gonna cum so good for me, aren’t you?” His voice is gruff, the encouraging tone causing your body to jolt with pleasure. You nod quickly, your mouth opening to respond but the only noise to leave your throat was a whisper of his name. 

He feels the way your walls clamp down on him, leaning forward and nibbling across your breasts. “Fuck,” he curses while you speed your hips up, “your pussy feels so good around me.” 

Yoongi’s words cause your orgasm to creep up on you, his name falling from your lips like a mantra as you pulsate around him. Yoongi bears his teeth as he cums, growling low and deep while his fingers grip your hips hard, sure to leave bruises but you didn’t mind. 

You both sit for a moment while you catch your breath, Yoongi’s tongue licking a long stripe from your collarbones to your jawbone before he kisses your lips. 

“Did so good for me,” he rubs soothing circles in your burning thighs, “was I vocal enough for you?” 

You laugh, “Yes sir. Please keep it coming.” 

You both wince as he lifts you off of him, falling into the passenger seat and sighing happily. 

Your feet rest in his lap after the two of you are cleaned up, his hands gently massaging them while he tells you about a new song that he’s working on and how he hopes that someone will be interested. 

It’s then that you realize that this is going to extend past the need for sex, because the two of you were both genuinely interested in each other’s lives. He speaks animatedly about his interests and listens intently to yours. It doesn’t take you long to begin imagining waking up beside him every morning with the smell of coffee brewing in the kitchen. 

As he drops you off at your apartment for the night, Yoongi walks you to your doorstep.You unlock the door and turn to give him a goodbye kiss but he stops you, grabbing your hand and stroking across your knuckles. 

“So, do you think you’d be interested in being my girlfriend?” He asks nervously, “I- I wasn’t sure if you were just thinking of this as a friend with benefits situation so I figured I would ask before one of us gets hurt.” 

You nearly coo at the man, watching the way his eyes dance across his feet. 

You bring your arms around his neck and pull him down to your level, slamming a kiss onto his lips one more time. His hand grips the back of your shirt tightly, his tongue exploring your mouth while you lean against the wall. He pulls away with a grin, resting his forehead against yours. 

“Is that a yes?” 

You smile, “Of course.” 

[yourmcu]

Friday, I’m In Love

Pairings: Tony Stark x reader

Summary:

In which the reader is an Avenger and she just geeks out when she sees a bunch of musical instruments at the compound and Tony just fallsinlovewithherstraightaway because of her personality and music taste

Word count: 2,562

A/n: (moved to the end of the fic!)

Warnings: u have nothing to worry about :) fluff!

read it on ao3!

gif not mine! credits to the owner^^

“I’ll drop this off at your room before I hit the hay, Tony mentioned about giving you a tour of the place first.” Clint patted you on the arm and walked pass you with your bags.

You nodded and smiled, really appreciating his help. You’ve been sorting things out at your apartment with Clint all day. “Alright, thanks. I owe you one.” You heard him say something along the lines of ‘buy me donuts’ before he was out of sight.

“Agent L/N, you’re finally able to join us,” Tony gave you a playful smile, finishing his drink to walk over to you.

You were officially one of the avengers, and now officially moving in. It’s been a few months since you assisted the team on a particularly huge mission. It was not planned of course, after that you started helping out when they needed it, and they thought you’d fit right in.

“Tony,” you gave him a small nod and a kind smile. “And please, call me Y/N.” The billionaire then offered you a drink but you declined.

“Good, didn’t think you’d be much of a drinker,” Tony stated and gave you one of those charming looks that would literally sweep any girl right off her feet. “Has anybody told you that you’ve got pretty eyes?”

The comment surprised you but then again, you remembered who you were talking to. “Stark, if we’re going to be working together you better cut the crap.” You laughed.

Tony raised an eyebrow, thinking that you probably ran into Pepper first before coming up. The small talk led to Tony’s said compound tour. He was making jokes here and there, even revealing secrets about the others that you didn’t need to know about.

After some time the both of you reached the last floor, the one that had your bedroom. Tony was still talking but your  gaze was glued to the black, shiny piano out in the balcony. Why was something so grand and probably expensive doing in plain sight where someone could just swoop in and steal it?

“Earth to Y/N,” Tony waved a hand in front of your face. He stopped when you came back from your trance. “There you are. That’s a secluded, little balcony. It’s a great place to let off some steam or just to take a break for a while.”

“That’s nice,” you murmured. “You... uh, you play?”

Tony spun around to look at you again. “Play?”

“Yeah. The piano, I mean. It’s a good looking piano.” You admitted.

“Oh. That’s what you were ogling? For a second I thought I was a bad and boring tour guide,” he chuckled. “I wouldn’t say I do. It’s a specific model my mother used to own and...”

You waved him off and smiled lightly, not wanting him to explain further as you already understood. It might kill the mood. It’s been a while since you’ve run your fingers through a set of piano keys, you realized, but you were also shy to ask Tony if you could play it sometime.

“Alright, just call for Friday if you need anything, or call Friday to call me,” he joked when you finally reached your bedroom door. “After you settle maybe you could stop by the lab? I could really use your help for something - it’s in your area of expertise, you know?”

“Sure. Tomorrow’s good?”

“Sounds great.”

You nodded and thanked him for the tour, and he gave you a salute before walking away.

----

“Good morning, metal man.”

From inside the Iron Man suit, Tony turned around to see you leaning against the wall beside the door to the lab, a cheeky smile on your face, one cup of coffee in each hand. He was certain that he pulled another all nighter, not even realizing that it was morning until you greeted him.

Surprised by your presence, the iron helmet swiftly revealed his tired face, then he opened up the chest plate of his suit to get out of it completely. “Time?”

“It’s six. I didn’t think you’d be working this early,” but you noticed the circles around his eyes. “...or you didn’t stop since last night.”

“Nope.” Tony snatched one of the cups from your hand and gulped it down. His eyes slightly widened when he realized you snuck in some bourbon in there.

He also couldn’t help but look at your nightwear. Slightly shabby sweatpants and a large band shirt. Green Day, he noticed. They weren’t bad. Heck he could’ve sworn he heard one of their songs on the radio once.

“You said you needed me for something?” You recalled, walking over to his computer. You were an all in one package: you practiced a lot of fighting as a teenager, now you trained with Natasha or Steve, so you knew a decent amount of hand-to-hand combat. Originally you were supposed to major in arts, but switched to the science stuff, engineering, so you knew a thing or two about building things. You also took interest in coding. Plus, Fury admitted to like your wit, one of the reasons why he wasn’t against you joining the avengers.

Tony just wanted you to try and make the security systems around the compound more tight, more secure. He’d do it himself but he wanted to see what you can do. You were the newest part of the team, of course he’d be curious about you.

You pushed yourself away from his desk, humming at the green bar slowly filling up in the monitor. “That should take a while,” you crossed your legs and looked up at the genius billionaire. “You’re awfully quiet, Tony, I think you need some sleep.”

He rolled his eyes, smiling. “I’m getting back to work.”

“Hey no, I’m serious. You need to re-”

You cut yourself off when you saw a beautiful, six-stringed instrument that hung from the wall when you turned. Tony wondered why you abruptly stopped talking and looked at you.

You got up the chair and carefully removed the electric guitar from the wall. You cringed a bit when you felt the rusty strings on your fingertips. Clearly this hasn’t been played in a while.

But nonetheless, you thought it was beautiful.

“You’re looking at it like it’s the love of your life,” Tony pointed out.

“Do you not know what this is?” You gestured to the instrument. It was a Gibson, 1960 Les Paul - its color scheme being cherry red and black. It greatly reminded you of Brian May’s red special-

Anyway, you sat back down, running your hands through the fret board a couple times to get used to the rusty strings, also tuning some that were out of tune. Then you pulled out a small pick from your pocket.

“So you just carry around a plastic plectrum everywhere you go, huh?” Tony heaved himself up to sit on top of his desk in front of you.

Playing a few sets of chords made you reminisce about your high school years. You were the type that brought a guitar everyday to school back then. “It’s a habit,” you chuckled. “When did you start playing?”

“Oh, no. I just collect them. I know a chord or two but that’s it.”

You laughed. Of course, he was a billionaire. “I could teach you if you want.”

Tony crossed his arms and playfully raised an eyebrow. Is this your way of flirting with him, or was it just an innocent offer? “Why, you a professional or something?”

“No - well, if I stuck to my original career choice, I should be.” You shrugged.

“I’ll be the judge of that.” Tony made a mental note to himself to ask you more about that specific topic later on.

“Fine,” you giggled. “Name a band and I’ll play a song.”

He pretended to think. “Dunno, AC/DC.”

You slid your fingers up a bit to the higher frets to play the intro to ‘You Shook Me All Night Long’. It’s your personal favorite from that band. The guitar doesn’t sound as exciting as it is when it’s plugged in, but you manage to pull it off. You then played the opening riff a couple times then skipped to the chorus.

Tony watched your hand as you hummed along the chorus. It was a great song, yet simple chords, simple until you get to the solo part. He thought you played it beautifully but he’d never admit it to your face.

“C’mon, it was just one song, am I that good?” You teased when you saw a glint of amazement in his eyes.

“Please, anyone can play that song.” Tony rolled his eyes, grinning. Then he pointed to your shirt. “Green Day.”

You repositioned your hand on the frets, playing the fingerstyle to the band’s song ‘Minority’. “I’d never wear a band shirt if I didn’t know the band. That’s downright embarrassing.

“What’s your genre, Stark? I’m guessing a lotta rock?” You stopped playing for a bit to look at him.

“You could say that. But if I think it’s catchy then it’s going on my playlist,” Tony responded. “You can keep that guitar, by the way.”

You looked at him with wide eyes. “I can’t. This - this model is expensive. The brand’s expensive-”

“It’s three grand.” He told you like it didn’t matter to him.

“Exactly! It’s expensive!”

“Boss, Miss Romanoff is on her way down.” Friday’s voice rang throughout the room.

On cue, Natasha walked in wearing her usual sparring attire. “Y/N. You were supposed to meet me at the gym half an hour ago.”

You cursed, getting up and hanging the guitar back up the wall earning a glare from Tony. He really did want to give it to you. “Sorry, got caught up. Uh... I think it’s done, Tony,” you rambled and pointed at his computer, green bar already full. 

Natasha lingered at the door after you ran up to change. “I know you have a lot of those displayed around and I’m telling you, hide them.” She was referring to the guitar.

“Why?” Tony hopped off the desk and began working again.

“Mainly because she turns into a huge music geek, but I’m assuming you love it.”

----

Tony had a stressful time doing work one night. He’s in the middle of a suit upgrade and he just can’t seem to put it together right. Maybe he just needed a moment to breathe and relax.

So he went to the balcony, a glass of his preferred alcohol for the night in hand.

He wasn’t that surprised when he saw you in there too. After the first time you came over his lab you started coming over regularly, just to talk about random stuff, music and bands, assisting him with anything he needs assisting with. The both of you became close. You could catch and snap back whenever he made a smart remark, and when he would shamelessly flirt with you, you’d just play along, you don’t get insulted or take any of it too seriously. That’s probably why he likes you so much.

This time you sat in front of the piano, playing chords and doing random scales. Tony admired you quietly from the entrance of the balcony. You did look pretty peaceful humming along, he even found it adorable when your eyebrows furrowed when you accidentally hit a wrong note, sometimes you’d shake your head slightly.

You were definitely something else. As time passed, Tony realized his feelings for you only grew and grew. He even started listening to all the songs you recommended, which were all amazing, even though at first he wasn’t used to hearing songs without an electric guitar on full distortion.

“Sorry. It was just so tempting.” You giggled. You pat the vacant part of the piano seat next to you. Tony placed his drink on top of the piano before sitting down.

You began playing a new song and he was very much relaxed by it. He remembered that time he got to ask you why you didn’t grab the opportunity to play music professionally.

“Well why didn’t you?” Tony asked.

You shrugged, fiddling with his custom made Iron Man guitar. “People judged me. Told me I’d never make it as a musician, that it was just out of luck for the famous ones out there now. It’s fine honestly, I liked other stuff anyway. After that I started training, y’know, became a spy...”

“You know how The Cure’s ‘Friday I’m In Love’ is upbeat?” You asked as you transitioned to a new chord. Tony hummed. “I found a slow, piano version the other day and I... learned it. I think it’s pretty.”

“Let’s hear it.”

You smiled. You were always flattered when he wanted to hear you play songs.

Tony looked at your hands swiftly playing the piano keys, up to your face concentrating on what chord was next. You only learned it by ear, you were sure you’d mess up at some point.

“I don’t care if Monday’s blue,” you hummed. “Tuesday’s grey and Wednesday too...”

You believed your singing voice was shit, so you just did this thing where you hummed- but also sung the lyrics as you played. Tony believed differently though. He thought your voice was beautiful.

“Thursday, I don’t care about you... it’s Friday, I’m in love,” You glanced at Tony for a moment and then returned your attention to the piano keys when you saw that he’d been fully listening to you.

“Monday you could fall apart,” you fell into your own little world again, high-fiving yourself in your mind when you nailed that chord progression.

Whereas Tony was sure that he was falling for you as moments passed.

“Tuesday, Wednesday, break my heart...”

The way you sung that last part made him feel things. It was just so soft, warm, damn, he wanted to make a move now.

‘Do it! You won’t have a chance like this again.’ A voice inside his head told him.

“Thursday doesn’t even start, it’s-”

You did an entirely different chord, messing up the song. “Oh god, that was horrible.” You laughed, closing your eyes and putting your hands around your stomach to contain your laughter. “But it was a good version, don’t you th-”

When you went to look at Tony, you were immediately cut off by lips pressing to yours. He cupped both sides of your face to gently deepen the kiss. He didn’t want it to be forced but seeing as you weren’t pulling away and you started to kiss back, he didn’t stop.

You were shocked to say the least. It was so fucking cliche but it was happening. Tony Stark was kissing you, and you liked it. Well of course you did, who wouldn’t? Maybe because it felt like it had meaning, not because he’s just lusting for you. It felt like your heart was about to leap out of your chest and there were actual butterflies inside you.

“Friday, I’m in love.” Tony finished the lyric for you after he pulled away.

“Are - are you-”

“I might have to kiss you again just to shut you up.”

But this time you beat him to it. You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him, and you felt those darn butterflies again.

“It’s about time, sir.” Friday spoke.

----

so this is just a pure music-related imagine and also I’m sorry if you don’t like the band(s) mentioned (bc it’s an x reader), or have a different guitar preference, or play a different instrument or have a drastically different fav genre, etc.

(AND YES I THOUGHT THE TITLE WAS PERFECT FOR THIS SINCE IT’S A SONG AND HE HAS AN A.I NAMED FRIDAY)

[firstofficerwiggles]

Chapter 7: The Mando Games

Link to Chpt. 6, Link to Masterlist

Pairing: The Mandalorian x female reader

Rating: M/E, 18+ only

Warnings: SMUT, Flirty!Din, Jealous!Reader, swearing, kissing, fingering, helmet stays on, explicit description of unprotected sex (be safe in the real world please), canonical violence

Word count: 12.5K (another long one for you because I don’t know how to edit enough)

Author’s Note: We’re still on Angel One because I wasn’t done playing there. If you’re interested in the setting, I’ve based the historic part of the city on Toledo, Spain. Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy this chapter!

When you awake the next morning, it feels like you have had the best sleep of your life, despite spending so much of the night making love with Din. You feel utterly blissed out and although some of your muscles ache, it’s the most delicious feeling. You feel him stirring next to you, and you remind yourself that you have to wait to take off the sleep mask until you know it’s safe.

“Go-od morning, cyar’ika,” Din says through a yawn, “Gimme a minute to get the helmet.”

“Of course,” you reply stretching out in the bed, and as you do, your stomach lets out a loud growl. You’re embarrassed, especially as you hear Din laughing softly.

“Did you work up an appetite?” he asks, “I know I’m starving after all that activity.”

You blindly throw a pillow in the direction of his voice and he just laughs harder.

“Careful, my dear, you might break something,” he admonishes you playfully. You hear his footsteps come closer to you and something fluffy lands in your hands.

“You can take the mask off now,” Din says, his voice sounding modulated again and you know he has the helmet back on. You slide the satin mask off your head and store it safely in the nightstand and you see that he’s brought you one of the robes to wear. You’re just slipping it on when you hear a knock at the door. You’re getting ready to hop out of bed and answer it, when Din tells you,

“I’ll get it; no one else needs to see you like this but me.” He’s only half dressed in his trousers himself, but he throws on the other robe to answer the door.

His comment about your appearance makes you curious, so you get out of bed anyway but head to the large bathroom instead. In the mirror, you see a woman who looks well loved. Your hair is mussed, your lips are slightly swollen, and there are several marks, Din’s love bites, on your neck and chest. You smile back at your reflection and think you’ve never looked better.  

You hear the door close and so you head back out to see what that was all about and find Din in the sitting room area with a large cart laden with breakfast foods. Mistress Sigrid may be a bit much, but at least she’s a great hostess. You immediately dig in to the delicious spread as Din chuckles at your eagerness. You make a plate, flop down on the sofa, and turn yourself so you’re facing away from him.

“Go ahead and eat, Din, I know you’re hungry too,” you say, “I promise I won’t look.”

“I know, I trust you,” he says and you hear him get his own breakfast too.

You enjoy your food and the time spent chatting with Din about various other things last night. Turns out, he got a lot more information about the Jubilee from the men.

“Today there’s a sort of bazaar with arts and crafts and cultural demonstrations,” he’s telling you, “Trent promised to show us all the best booths.”

“That was nice of him,” you say.

“And there’s a big set up for this competition that they have amongst the women. Today they announce the challengers and then tomorrow the contest begins,” Din explains.

“I bet it will be entertaining to watch, the women here seem so skilled, it will probably be some type of combat contest or at least something athletic,” you speculate.

“There’s also an interesting prize system for it,” he lets of a huff of laughter, “Apparently the women get to choose the man they want for the night based on the order that they finish - so it’s a prime time for a woman to steal a guy she’s had her eye on.”

“What? That sounds so sexist, I mean towards men, which I know sounds weird, but, ew.” The idea just seems wrong to you, but then you think about how you’re only seeing this from your perspective and say, “But, I know I shouldn’t be judging their culture by my norms, and if this is what works for them, then so be it.”

“It seems odd to me too,” Din says, “But the men last night were pretty excited about it, it’s a pretty big honor to be selected by the winner for them.”

“Well at least we’ll just get to be spectators,” you say.

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

Once you’re ready for the day, you head back to the nursery to collect the child. He’s very excited to see you both and toddles over to you as quickly as his tiny legs will carry him. He’s clearly had a great time and is wearing a flower crown and a new beaded necklace.

“Hi buddy, look at you! I love your new accessories!” You say scooping him up. He leans in for a hug and then makes grabby hands towards Din. You hand him over, as Gregor is coming up to you with a little bundle.

“Your little one was such a dear and he played so well with the other children,” he tells you, “And he had a great time with arts and crafts, he’s just a little natural.”

You open up the bundle to find two more beaded necklaces, one in pinks and reds and the other in blues and greens.

“These are so pretty, buddy, did you make them?” you ask the child who is cooing happily at you. “Let me guess, is the pink one for me?” He coos and giggles and you drape the necklace over your head.

“And is the blue one mine, kiddo?” Din asks and again the child makes a happy sound and you help Din put on his new necklace.

“What a beautiful family!” Gregor gushes, “Let me get a holo of the three of you.” Dutifully, you pose for a few holos including a few that Gregor snaps with your holopad too.

As your little party makes its way out of the state residence to head to the bazaar, you find Trent with a group of his friends in the foyer. They are all dressed to impressed and are also sporting flower crowns today.

“Oh Princess and Mando, hi!” Trent greets you enthusiastically, and then with a cheeky grin, “Someone had a wonderful night last night, didn’t they? I noticed you two sneaking off in the middle of the show.”

You feel a touch embarrassed but Trent’s happy grin makes you giggle in spite of yourself and you just say, “Oh, I’d never kiss and tell.”

This seems to delight all of Trent’s friends and they giggle right along with you, and you notice a couple of them checking out Din’s marks on your neck that are still very visible. They exchange knowing glances and you give them a wink.

“See, I told you she was charming,” Trent says and then proceeds to introduce you to his friends. The men greet Din enthusiastically too, most of them having met him last night.

“Oh, but Mando, you don’t have a flower crown,” one of the men, Chad, says with a note of disappointment in his voice.

“Don’t worry there’s always some nice ones you can buy at the bazaar,” another man says.

With that, you all head out to explore and enjoy the day. It’s a beautifully sunny day with a nice light breeze and the scent of flowers and delicious food wafting through the air. You can hear festive music playing and the sound of many happy people already out and about enjoying their holiday. This part of the city is a historic district with many very old stone buildings close together and narrow cobblestone streets that wind through the buildings before ending in large plazas. Large red banners adorned with various symbols hang off most every window and balcony that you pass, and beautiful floral garlands are draped across the streets between the buildings. Each of the plazas are ringed with vendor booths and each plaza appears to adhere to a particular theme for the wares. Trent directs you to the floral plaza and a stand with many flower crowns. You’ve never seen such beautiful flowers and in such a variety of pretty colors.

“They look really nice, I’d love a flower crown too,” you say a touch wistfully, and the men dissolve into laughter at the idea. You look around and realize, “Oh, wait, they’re just for men, aren’t they?”

Din steps up to look at the crowns more carefully. You can’t imagine he’ll really buy one for himself, but then he asks you, “Which ones do you like?”

You let your fingers touch the soft petals of a particularly beautiful one with red and yellow flowers that catches your eye, “I like this one best,” you say.

“And what’s second best?” Din asks, and you look a touch surprised, but maybe he doesn’t care for the red and yellow? You look through the others and land on another lovely crown of purple and white blooms.

“This one is also lovely,” you say softly.

“We’ll take these two,” Din says to the vendor, handing him a small handful of credits. He then picks up the red and yellow crown and gently places it on your head, enjoying the look of surprise on your face, before plopping the purple crown on top of his helmet.

“You’re a princess, you should have a crown if you want it,” Din tells you.

“Thank you,” you say, beaming at him.

“It actually looks really pretty on you,” Trent says, “Who knows, maybe it could be a new trend?”

You continue to explore the bazaar and eventually you meet up with several of the mistresses that you met the night before. They eye your flower crown with a snicker, but you figure they were already laughing at you anyway so why should you care. The only one who doesn’t do this is Eira, who politely tells you that it looks nice, and you decide she’s your favorite out of all the women you’ve met here. Eira introduces you to her lover, Bradley, who is a quieter man than Trent and his friends, but very nice. They invite you and Din to join them for a drink at one of the tavern booths, and the four of you fall into a comfortable conversation.

After a bit, Eira tells you that it’s time to head to the main plaza because the day’s program is scheduled to begin soon. Arriving at the plaza, you see a stage and several grandstands set up around it. Most of the stands are already full, but Eira leads you to seats in one of the front rows that have been reserved.  

Mistress Sigrid walks out onto the stage to a podium that has been set up as a band plays a triumphant march. As the music swells, people stand and cheer. When the music ends, Sigrid welcomes you all,

“Hello, I hope you are all having a wonderful Jubilee of Astrid!”

“May she bless us!” the crowd replies enthusiastically.

“Please be seated as we begin our ceremonies,” she says.

What follows are a series of speeches about the importance of the holiday, the blessings of Astrid, and the prosperity that she is sure to bring each family. You’re only half listening and instead you let your mind wander to what it must be like to live in a place like this where you know you will celebrate together each year, a place where a family can spend a peaceful day together having fun. You look over at Din holding the child who is playing with the beads of Din’s necklace and you feel a pang of sadness in your heart. What would it be like if you could settle somewhere and have a real home, make friends, and spend time each day in plazas like this one? You know you’re letting your emotions get the best of you. After all, you haven’t even been together with Din for that long, so why are you picturing such a future already? Still though, now the image is in your mind.

“And of course, now we get to the main event,” Sigrid is saying, and you snap your attention back to her, “It’s time to announce the competition and challengers for Astrid’s Battle.”

“This year’s competition will consist of three rounds,” she announces, “In round one we have a test of agility, in round two, a challenge of intelligence, and then in round three, the show of strength. As each of our competitors finish a round, they will earn points based on the quality and speed in which they completed the tasks. Remember this means that even if someone doesn’t win any of the rounds, she could still end up the victor based on total points!”

The people around you cheer wildly and you do your best to applaud and look enthusiastic. Sigrid goes on to then introduce various women who come out on stage to receive cheers and take a bow. It isn’t until she gets to Mistress Lagertha when things unexpectedly take a nasty turn. Instead of coming out for just a bow, Lagertha heads to the podium.

“I am here to issue a special challenge, to our visiting princess.” Your head snaps up at her in alarm. “Your Highness, I dare you to compete for your Mando. If you should manage to place higher than me, then he’s yours, but if I out place you in the contest, he’s going home with me.”

You jump to your feet in utter shock at her audacity and you feel your body flood with anger. How dare she!

It is very quiet all of a sudden, as all eyes look to you. You try to reason with her at first, but your voice cannot hide your ire, “Mistress Lagertha, we are guests on your planet, and I regard this as highly unusual to request that I participate in this competition and that Mando be offered as a prize.”

“If you’re too scared to compete, then I’ll just take him now,” she smirks at you, openly mocking you in front of everyone.

You feel Din standing beside you, his body tense, and you know his fight mode is about to kick in, but that would be disastrous. You raise your head and give her the most intimidating glare you can muster, as you say, “Very well, I will accept on one condition, Mando is only a prize between you and me, no one else may compete for him.”

There is an immediate uproar at this and the crowd begins to gossip excitedly about this newest twist to the competition. Sigrid motions you to the stage, but before you can go, Din grabs your arm, “You don’t have to do this.”

“I think I do, unless we want more trouble,” you tell him and you make your way to the stage.

You are seething right now and you curse yourself for ever having thought of Lagertha as friendly. Your outrage makes you walk with intention and when you take the stage, you know you’re going to show these women that you might be smaller in stature than they are but you are still a powerful woman in your own right.

“Do we have an agreement?” you ask Lagertha your voice cold. It’s a tone you learned from your days with the Empire and from the way her eyes widen, you can tell it has an effect on Lagertha. She gives you a curt nod.

“I’ll need more of a guarantee, Mistress Sigrid, that no one else will compete for Mando.” You look at her with hard eyes, you may be wearing a flower crown, but the pretty, delicate princess is all gone.

“So you will join the competition? Compete for Mando’s affections?” Mistress Sigrid asks rather surprised.

“I will, but only if my stipulation is met,” you reply sharply.

“Very well, only yourself or Lagertha may claim Mando,” Sigrid confirms. She then turns to the crowd and announces you as the final competitor. You take a small bow like the others, but you keep your eyes trained on Din.

When you exit the stage both Din and Eira are there to meet you. Din takes you by the shoulder and brings you in close so he can speak directly in your ear,

“Are you certain you want to do this? We can just leave now, take our chances,” Din urges you.

“No one can find us here, this is the safest place for now,” you reason with him, “And if I need to play their game to help keep us here, then I will. No woman is just going to take you from me.” Din sees your eyes flash with that statement, and he feels humbled by the intensity of your affection for him. I don’t deserve her.

“I can help you prepare,” Eira is saying, “I’ve competed many times and honestly the competition doesn’t change much from year to year.”

“I would appreciate any help, Eira,” you reply, “And I can still beat Lagertha on total points, right?”

“Yes, that’s correct,” Eira confirms, “Let’s go back to our house and we can talk strategy.”

Din, the child, and you follow Eira and Bradley back to their home as she tells you about her experiences with Astrid’s Battle.

“The first two rounds will be tomorrow. The agility challenge is always some type of obstacle race, the obstacles change from year to year, but generally you have to have decent balance, be able to climb, and be light on your feet,” she explains.

“Your smaller size may give you an advantage there,” Din says encouragingly, “And I’ve seen you carry a tray a food, the child, and several of his toys around the Crest with no problem, so balance should also be a skill for you.”

“My best shot at earning points though is going to be the intelligence test,” you say, “What does that usually consist of?”

“Typically, it’s some type of really hard puzzle or riddle,” Eira tells you, “It’s a real challenge, but I know that Lagertha isn’t good at riddles, so you do stand a good chance there.”

“That would be right in my skillset, so I’ll hope for the best there.” You feel much more confident that you can do well on that section and if you’re fast enough it might be enough to keep you competitive with Lagertha.

“The part that worries me the most is the strength competition,” Eira is saying, “Because that is almost always hand-to-hand combat. It’s on the following day because it’s usually done in tournament style.”

“I’ve given her some training, but if she could spar with you, that would be helpful to see the fighting style you use here,” Din suggests.

For the next couple hours, you spar and practice with Eira and Din in the grassy area behind Eira’s house. The two of them give you various pointers about how to best hold your own and use your smaller size to your advantage. It’s good that Din’s training has focused on that too, because it doesn’t feel too foreign to you. At the very least, you feel like you won’t make a complete fool out of yourself thanks to their advice. Bradley has kindly been watching the child the whole time as they sit on the sidelines and cheer you on. There was a tense moment at first when Eira kept mysteriously falling down as she went to attack you, but thankfully, Din realized what was happening and hurried over to lower the little green hand. Eira just figured she had slipped on something and didn’t get suspicious.

When you’re taking a break, you pull the little one close to you and whisper in his ear, “I appreciate the help, buddy, but save it for the real competition in case I really need it.” You give him a kiss and he makes his happy, snuffly baby sounds.

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

Later that evening, you’re resting in your room back in the state residence. Din is insistent that you save all your energy for tomorrow, and while you know he’s right, you can’t help yourself from giving him suggestive looks anyway after the child is safely in his pram for the night.

“Cyar’ika, you’re supposed to be getting ready for bed,” he admonishes, “I don’t want to be a distraction.”

“You’re already a distraction,” you say playfully. Nevertheless, you know you could use more rest given that last night wasn’t exactly full of sleeping. So you head to the bathroom to brush your teeth and clean your face for the night. You’re starting at yourself in the mirror again, but this time doubt starts to creep in as you consider how much stronger and bigger Lagertha is. You have no idea how she might do in the intelligence competition, either.

When you come back to the bedroom, you ask Din, “Do you think I have any chance tomorrow?”

“Of course I do,” he insists strongly, “If I didn’t I’d already have you and the kiddo in hyperspace.”

He’s direct, and you know he means it. Your face must still show your doubt though, because he comes over and pulls you into his arms.

“Cyar’ika, you are going to be great. These women underestimate you; they’re too wrapped up in their own ideas of superiority to see who you really are.”

“Who I really am?” you repeat to him, wondering how he sees you.

“A brave, intelligent woman who knows how to survive,” Din says sincerely, “And the only one who can win this Mando’s affections.”

You hug him tighter to you as he says that and then you lean up to place a kiss on his helmet where his mouth would be.

“Close your eyes,” Din says, and when you do, he pushes up the helmet so he can lean in and take your lips in his. His kiss is tender and loving, and when he pulls away, you feel content again.

“You can open your eyes now.”

“Thank you, Din,” you say softly.

“For kissing you?” he asks, a little amused.

“For believing in me.”

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

You’re filled with anticipation and anxiety as you wait for your turn to begin the obstacle course in the agility portion of Astrid’s Battle. You’re thankful that Eira was able to brief you on this part because now it doesn’t seem quite so daunting. The course is set up with various sections where you must cross a narrow bridge or make your way over an unstable surface designed to test your balance. There are also several climbing walls to surmount, and a crawl through swampy, muddy area that you are not looking forward to completing. You have an advantage however, of being in the middle of the pack of competitors because you can watch the women who run the course before you and see how they attempt the obstacles. In some cases, there are two options for a path, and you’re quickly learning which path will be best for you. As each woman runs the course, two announcers provide a play-by-play of her progress and updates on the time. It seems like most women finish in around 15 minutes, but you can get time added to your clock as a penalty if you make a mistake on the course.

Suddenly it’s your turn to start and as you hear the buzzer sound, you jolt into action. As you’ve been watching the others, you pre-planned your route in your head and as you bound across the first obstacle, a net that makes you bounce as you run on it, you tell yourself to focus on the plan and to shut out any distractions. One thought keeps your legs pumping and your eyes sharp, she won’t take Din from me.

Din is sitting in the stands holding the child on his lap as he watches you compete. Maker, he’s not even in the competition but his heart is beating fast with nervous energy as he watches you on the course. He’s glad that Eira and Bradley are with him because these new friends seem just as invested in your success as he is. You’re doing really well on the balancing apparatuses, and each time you cross one, Din cheers out for you. But, you’re having less success with the climbing walls, as unfortunately with those, your shorter height gives you a disadvantage. You aren’t able to reach as far as the other women, so it takes you longer to get over each one. Still, each time you do, he’s so proud of you. You’re almost to the end of the course now and all that’s left is the muddy crawl. Din knows you’ll hate that part as one time the kid got himself and then you, covered in mud and it was clear you did not enjoy it. So when he sees you dive into the mud like it’s nothing, giving it your all, he feels honored that you’re trying so hard to win him. Of course, there’s no chance in hell he’s going to let Lagertha anywhere near him if she should happen to outscore you in the competition. However, he kept that to himself so that you would focus on doing your best with the challenges and not worrying about the ensuing fight that might be necessary.

Positively filthy, you push yourself off the ground and sprint as hard as you can towards the finish line. When you cross, your lungs are burning and you can hardly see with all mud on your face, but you smile as you hear the announcer state your time, 20 minutes and 38 seconds, a respectable time for someone who’s never competed in anything like this.

You head over to an area where outdoor showers have been set up so you can wash off the mud. The water is cool and refreshing as it runs over you, and you appreciate it, as you take in the moment, happy that this first part is finished. You’re wiping your face with a towel and when you can successfully see again, you look up to your favorite sight. Din and the little one come over to give you a hug and a Keldabe kiss.

“You did amazing, cyar��ika,” Din says his voice full of pride, “The announcers and everyone around us were really impressed too. You didn’t even get any penalties.”

“That’s good to hear, but I just hope it’s enough--” your statement gets cut off as you hear the announcers say Lagertha’s name excitedly.

“Yes, folks, it’s a new round one record for Mistress Lagertha at only 10 minutes and 32 seconds!”

Your heart drops at that news. She completed the course twice as fast as you did, and with a new record, she’s likely to be in first place going into the next part of the contest.

Din sees your expression and he leans down to tell you, “Don’t give up yet, I know she doesn’t have the brains to beat you in the next part.”

You look at him with wary eyes, “Maker, I hope not,” is all you can say.

After cleaning up, you’re ushered into a special lunch with the other competitors. Your completion time has placed you in the bottom half of the competitors, but you’re fortunate to see that you’re actually closer to the middle than you expected to be. There are several women with worse completion times because either they had many penalties or they were actually slower than you. It gives you a little bit of confidence as does the fact that many of the women have come up to congratulate you on making it this far.

“Well, look who’s still with us,” Lagertha strolls up to you as the luncheon is ending. She flanked by two friends taking a classic mean girl approach. It’s clear some things are universal no matter what planet you’re on.

“Congratulations on your record,” you say graciously. You know she wants to bait you into an argument, so you plan to stay cool and collected and deny her the satisfaction of seeing you upset. It’s a tactic you’ve seen Din use when people get mouthy with him.

“Why thank you! Aren’t you sweet?” She makes it sound like an insult. One of her friends rolls her eyes.

“I’m looking forward to the next round, I do enjoy an intellectual challenge,” you say with a smile on your face.

“Well, let’s just hope it’s something that your little head can handle,” she gives you a smirk as her friends snicker rudely. You’re getting really fed up with this elitist attitude they have.

Nonetheless, you swallow your anger and say, “Thanks.” But you know your eyes are showing your true feelings and it just seems to amuse her and her nasty friends all the more. You sigh, hold your head up high and just walk away from them heading into the room where the next round will be held. You hear shouts of laughter at your back but now it’s just fuel for your fire as you are determined to be outstanding in this next challenge.

You’re seated at a desk with a holopad and a camera designed to film you as you work on the puzzles and broadcast it on a large screen to the audience. It also allows the judges to see you in action and ensure that no cheating takes place. You feel more nervous than you anticipated because you didn’t think about everyone watching your every move.  But then you look over to the stands and see the flash of beskar, even though he’s across the room from you, you can feel Din’s energy like a lifeline reaching out to you. It calms you and although you’re nervous, you know you can handle this.

Mistress Sigrid comes out to start the second round and announce the puzzles. She looks right at you and gives you a small nod that you take as encouragement before she says, “Welcome everyone to Round Two of the Battle of Astrid! This year’s intellectual challenge will ask our competitors to decipher three messages written in three unique and puzzling styles. This year will be a real brain workout as our third message features a real code used during wartime. Competitors may ‘purchase’ hints to the puzzles in the form of time with a more useful hint costing more time. Are we ready to begin?”

Thank the fucking Maker! The second challenge is codebreaking! You can’t believe your luck and when Sigrid hits the buzzer to start the competition and the first puzzle appears on your screen, you have a huge smile on your face.

The first code is a simple substitution cipher and is the type of code that children use when they’re writing secret messages, and with the free hint providing the first substitution, there is no challenge for you at all. You solve the code in three minutes. When your holopad confirms that your answer is correct, the next puzzle is displayed. You hear an impressed sound come from the crowd around you along with the surprised voice of the announcer saying that you are already on to the second puzzle.

You feel your confidence soar as you quickly glance up and see that no one else is even close to solving. The second code is much more complex and on first review, you believe it to be a shift cipher where each letter of the alphabet is shifted down to a new position. As you work, you notice that the code is actually a clever collection of multiple shifts in sequence. It’s a great platform for building a code and one that you might choose to use. It takes more work, but you feel like you’re in your element and everything around you falls away as you break the message. You realize you’ve got it and hit your button to submit. Suddenly you hear a large cheer when your correct message is confirmed, and look up to see that you’ve completed this round in just about 20 minutes. Another quick look at the other screens and you can see that you are now light-years ahead of anyone else, and more importantly, Lagertha has only just started the second puzzle.

When the third encoded message is displayed on your screen, you almost laugh out loud. The wartime code that Sigrid mentioned is an Imperial code that you not only recognize, it’s one that you helped create. You identify your own special coding signature and everything. Again, you can’t believe your luck, and you think the Maker really must be smiling down on you today. It’s not even a challenge for you. It takes you five minutes to decode the message and that’s only because it was a fairly long paragraph. When you hit submit and the correct message is confirmed, no one can believe it. The audience goes absolutely wild and the judges come rushing over to review your work. The competition is paused for the other competitors so that everyone can verify the results. There are some angry shouts demanding to see your work. But after a quick review of your holopad, there’s no denying it, you are correct and you have won the round.

“In a stunning turn of events, we have an incredible new record for the intelligence challenge,” Mistress Sigrid announces to the stunned crowd. “For the first time ever, a woman has completed this round in less than 30 minutes. Princess, please take a bow.”

You stand and take your bow, feeling a rush of true success and luck, and for the first time today, you breathe a sigh of relief. You hurry over to sit with Din and the child so that you can watch the rest of the competition now that it has resumed.

“You were incredible, I had no idea you were that good,” Din tells you, “I mean, I knew you were smart, but, cyar’ika, that was outstanding.”

“I was good, but I was also extremely lucky,” you whisper to him, “I’ll explain later.” If anyone were to hear about how you were able to break the code so quickly, it might lead to allegations of cheating and who knows what other problems.

Eira and Bradley also express their admiration for your performance and Eira even throws her arms around you in a bear hug. You’re so grateful to have at least a few other people supporting you.

You watch the competition, mostly for Lagertha but also smugly curious to see how the women do with breaking your code. You know it’s petty, but when you see how much everyone is struggling with it, you feel an upwelling of pride within you. No one is able to make any progress at all without purchasing at least three hints. This feeling of superiority grows especially as you watch Lagertha purchase every possible hint, costing her precious time, and then still struggle to solve it. When she does eventually figure it out, her time comes in at just over four hours.

After the competition ends for the day, everyone is ushered into a special dinner where the rankings will be announced for tomorrow’s strength challenge. You sit nervously next to Din poking at your food and then feeding most of it to the baby. You pray that your unbeatable score in the intelligence challenge will garner you a great position for this final hurdle.

“Remember if you’ve placed high enough, you might only have to fight in a couple matches,” Eira explains, “Hell, with that score you pulled off in Round Two, you’re looking really great.” You know from her earlier coaching that a high score will put you into one of the higher rounds of the tournament automatically reducing the number of women you’ll need to take on in the strength competition.

Finally, Mistress Sigrid is at her podium next to a giant screen and is ready to reveal the results. You listen restlessly as she announces the competitors in reverse order from bottom to top finishers. You keep waiting to see your ranking, but it doesn’t seem to be coming. Shockingly, Lagertha’s name is revealed in sixth place, and then even more astonishingly, you listen as Sigrid declares that you have rocketed your way into second place.

“It is unprecedented to see such a meteoric rise in this battle, but I believe we all owe our off-world princess a round of applause for her cunning mind,” Sigrid praises you, and you nod blindly in your bewilderment.

“I can’t believe I pulled that off,” you say to Din.

“It’s great, because it means you’ll only have two fights at the most, because you automatically advance to the final four!” Eira practically squeals at you.

At the thought of the fights, your glow of success and hopefulness starts to fade and the reality of having to fight at least one if not two of these giant women settles on your shoulders. It must show on your face, because you feel Din lean in close to you and place a hand on your arm.

“Hey, don’t fret,” Din is saying to you, “Best case scenario, Lagertha is defeated in an earlier round and then you can just concede and come in fourth.”

“True, but there’s still a chance I have two matches that I need to win tomorrow, and I don’t know if I can even manage one,” you tell him honestly.

“Yes, you can, I know you can,” he replies and he takes your hand interlocking his fingers with yours. It’s a small gesture but it has an instant effect and you feel warmed by his faith in you.

When you return to your room, you look around and decide that maybe it will be a good idea to pack up your belongings, just in case you need to make a hasty exit from this place. Something is nagging at your mind, but you can’t figure out what it is. There’s just a feeling that something is going to go wrong. The packing serves as a good outlet for the uneasy energy that has taken over your body, but you don’t really have that much stuff and after it’s all organized, you turn your attention to the child. He likes to be rocked to sleep and so you start to do that, but then your frazzled nerves and racing mind turn rocking into pacing until Din steps in.

“Let me take him, cyar’ika,” he says gently, “You’re keeping him awake you’re moving so quickly.”

“Oh, I, I’m sorry,” you say sounding distracted.

“It’s ok,” he says as he reaches for the child, “You go get ready for bed.”

You listen to him and go through your nightly ablutions, but still there is something toying with the edge of your thoughts, something that you’re missing. When Din comes into the bedroom, you’re sitting straight up in bed nervously fidgeting with your fingers as you replay various moments from the day in your head.

“My love, you need to relax,” Din says with a soft sigh, “You’re getting yourself so worked up you’ll never sleep.”

“How did Sigrid get that code, Din?” you ask, having identified that as the primary source for your frustration.

“What do you mean?” he questions confused.

“You know how I said I got lucky in the code-breaking competition,” you say, “That third code was an Imperial Code, it was my code, or at least one that I helped create.”

“That’s why you solved it so quickly,” he realizes.

“Yes, but how did they get it, and how did they know how it worked in order to make into one of their puzzles?” This is the question that has been wracking your brain.

“I’m sure there’s an explanation, cyar’ika,” Din says calmly, trying to help you settle down, “Remember, the Rebellion had code-breakers too and it’s possible someone on their side broke that code.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you’re right,” you say, “And then maybe they made those documents public after the war?” It sounds possible, but your voice is still full of doubt and unease.

“Yes, it’s likely that’s what happened,” Din says. He looks at you for a long moment and then says, “Take off your nightgown and lie down on your stomach. I’m going to rub your back to help you relax.”

“I’m naked under this,” you say automatically, still distracted by your turbulent thoughts.

He chuckles, “Well, I was hoping that I’d get the privilege of seeing you naked again, but honestly this will just help me massage you better.”

“Oh right, of course,” you say, letting out a shaky laugh yourself as you pull off your nightgown and lie down.

You try to will yourself to relax as you feel his large, warm hands begin to sweep over the muscles of your back. His fingers knead into you and start to relieve the tension in your shoulders as he works out the little knots there. His hands move down your spine stretching and soothing the muscles. When he gets to the part of your lower back that always seems stiff, you let out a little moan as he helps relieve the pain there. He gently runs his hand over your bare backside and you feel a little spike of desire before he moves on to massage your thighs. He massages all down your legs, working out sore spots you didn’t realize you had. When he gets to your feet, you’re feeling so much better, you almost forget why you were so worked up.

“Turn over,” Din tells you. You comply, a little confused, but you figure he knows what he’s doing.

He keeps massaging your feet for a while longer, and then starts to move up your legs again. As he reaches your thighs again, he starts to nudge them apart and you watch as he climbs up on the bed. His touch starts to change and you realize he’s staring between your legs now and it’s turning you on.

“What are you doing, Din?” You have a pretty good idea, but you want to hear him say it.

“I’m going to make sure you’re completely relaxed, cyar’ika, the best way I know how,” he tells you with determination.

Now his hands are right on either side of your pussy and again he just stares for a moment before he lets his fingers begin to explore your most sensitive flesh.

“Do you like to look at me, Din?” you ask in a sultry voice.

“I love to look at you like this,” he says gruffly, “So beautiful when you’re open for me.” You hum your approval in response as his fingers apply more pressure and start to circle your entrance.

“You get so wet,” Din tells you, “I love how responsive you are to me.” He plunges his long middle finger of his right hand inside of you and you cry out softly at how good it feels. His left hand is now playing with your clit as two of his fingers roll and pinch it between them. Gently, he adds a second finger to the first one inside you, moving them in and out and swirling them around reaching deep within you. His motions are unhurried and you relax even more into his touch. Every so often, he crooks his fingers upward, making you moan out his name. It feels so good and his pace is so steady that the pleasure builds slowly and even as you know you’re reaching your climax, it feels like you are floating towards it rather than hurtling there like you usually do. This time it’s not a race for release; instead, it’s like he’s trying to draw it out of you as gradually as possible. When you do finally reach your peak, it is blissful and you moan his name out contentedly.

As your breathing returns to normal, you tell him, “You’re right, Din, I feel so much better, so relaxed.” Your mind is finally quiet, “Give me a few minutes and then I’ll help you feel good.”

“No, cyar’ika, this was all about you,” Din says gently, “I want you to close your eyes and go to sleep now.”

“You sure?” you ask, but you can’t deny you do feel very sleepy already.

“I’m positive,” he says. You feel him pull the blankets up around you and then he carefully places the sleep mask over your eyes. You hear the telltale sound of his helmet coming off and then you feel his soft lips against yours. When you settle back into your pillow, you feel drowsy and peaceful. When Din’s arms come around you and he pulls your body against his, you’re already drifting off.

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

The strength competition is a master class in hand-to-hand combat. You watch from the warm-up area with the other competitors, awed by how powerful and skilled these women are at their sport. You have only a shred of hope that you will be able to put up a good showing in the competition and you’re desperately wishing for someone else to take out Lagertha for you. So far though, she looks to be in her element. She fought off her first two challengers handily and while it gave you an opportunity to study her fighting style, it mostly just scared the pants off you. Now Lagertha just has one more woman to beat and if she does, you’ll have to fight her. At least she was randomly selected to be on your side of the tournament bracket, otherwise you’d have to be sure to advance to the final round and beat her there.

Din and the baby come over to stand with you, as you get ready to watch Lagertha’s next match. Din places his arm around your shoulders helping to calm you. You take the child into your arms, since you know his sweet presence with help you feel better too.

“Look, see how she drops her shoulder there,” Din points out, “That’s a good opportunity to land a painful hit.” You nod as you listen to his advice.

“Oh, and there, you see how she puts all her balance on her front foot when she throws that cross,” he shows you another weakness, “If you can kick at her other leg when she does that, you’ll knock her down for sure.”

You turn and look at him, really look him, as he’s still trying to coach you up until the last possible moment. As you watch him, a sense of happiness and calm comes over you. It dawns on you that Din will always be on your side, rooting for you, believing in you, and nothing will change that. He really is the best man you have ever known. You slide your arm around his waist and rest yourself against his body and you let his continued advise wash over you. No matter what happens, you know you are going to fight your heart out for him; it’s what he deserves.

You watch resigned as Lagertha defeats her opponent and you know the time has come. There’s a short break between the matches, so you have a few minutes with your guys before you have to step into the fighting ring.

“Thank you for all your help,” you say to Din as you pull his helmet down to meet your forehead, “I’m going to fight like hell for you.”

Then you shift your attention to the child on your hip, and turn him around so you’re facing each other. You look deep into his eyes, and whisper to him, “If you do end up helping, just try to be subtle, OK?” You lean down and give him a kiss on his forehead. He coos at you like he understands, and you cross your fingers that he won’t try to fling Lagertha across the arena.

“So, little princess, are you ready to get that butt kicked?” Lagertha jeers at you as you enter the ring.

“I’m ready to fight for Mando,” you tell her with determination, “He’ll never be yours. Besides, I doubt you’d even know what to do with him.”

“Oh you think you’re so clever, don’t you?” Lagertha snaps back at you, and maybe you hit a nerve.

You smirk at her as you reply, “I think the intelligence contest proved that yesterday already, or did you forget?”

Lagertha is seething at you now, “You little bitch, I’m going to destroy you.”

In getting her good and angry, you can see she’s throwing out her strategy and is going into blind attack mode. You think one more biting remark will really push her off her game and it might cause her to make a mistake. “At least I don’t have to win a man in a contest to make him mine,” you taunt her, your voice condescending.

Lagertha lunges at you before the buzzer has even sounded, but in her anger she telegraphs the move and you dodge her attack just as Din showed you. The referee for the match blows her whistle and signals a penalty for Lagertha.

“None of that!” the referee snaps, “Get back and wait for the buzzer!”

You can see that Lagertha is vibrating with anger and although you know it’s risky to keep making her mad, it is keeping her unbalanced and sloppy, so you wink at her and smirk in her direction.

When the buzzer sounds and the referee signals the start of combat, Lagertha charges at you again in her rage. You can see that all of her weight is leaning forward with her momentum and so you duck and throw out a kick to her knee that knocks her to the ground. You quickly move away from her though so she can’t grab you and pull you down too. She scrambles to her feet and then runs towards you again. This time she’s better prepared, and when you land a blow to her ankle, it merely trips her up but she doesn’t fall. You figure your best strategy is to keep moving and dodging her as much as possible in hope of tiring her out. Din had pointed out to you that she’s already fought several matches and that making her chase you would be difficult for her. You can hear the crowd cheering the more you bob and weave and land a few small blows. You’re not doing a lot of damage to her, but it does seem to slow her down at least, and so far, you managed from getting hit by her. The more you do this, you hear the crowd sound begin to shift. The spectators are starting to laugh. It must look pretty funny you realize as you land your little hits and then run away from this giantess.

“You’re going to pay for this,” Lagertha threatens you as she finally makes contact with your body, punching you hard in the side. You flail a bit but manage to keep your feet and try to dart away again, but she reaches out and grabs your wrist, hauling your body back up against hers. It’s almost the same exact position from when Din first started training you and the memory of that runs through your mind as you automatically fight her off exactly the way he taught you in that first ever lesson.

As he watches you successfully break away from Lagertha’s hold, Din feels incredibly proud. Everything you’re doing is what he trained you to do. Although he hates the fact that he can’t be the one to fight and protect you, the feeling of seeing what you’ve learned from him is gratifying in a way he never knew it could be. He winces as Lagertha manages to punch you in the shoulder, but then it turns to a shout of praise as you land a good kick to her hip. You’re fighting so hard for him that it makes his heart ache and, rather unexpectedly, it’s turning him on quite a lot. That is until Lagertha manages to knock you to the ground hard, so hard that you cry out in pain and Din feels sick. He can see Lagertha rearing up so that she can drop her full weight on top of you in a crushing blow, but then it’s like she’s stuck for a moment or is second-guessing her move. It that split second, you manage to roll over and swing your legs around hard, sweeping Lagertha’s feet, making her stumble and fall. You pop up onto your feet again, but blessedly Lagertha stays down. It isn’t until the referee is blowing the whistle that Din looks down and see the child’s hand extended.  

“Ok, that’s enough, kiddo,” Din says quietly to him, but he’s secretly pleased that the child helped you win.

You cannot believe what has happened as you stand there panting and swaying slightly on your feet. After the initial whistle blow, the referee came over to you and thrust your hand in the air, signaling that you were the winner of the match. But then, Lagertha finally made it to her feet and tried to hit you again, but ended up punching the referee. A small shouting match broke out at that and now the referee is conferring with the judges and Mistress Sigrid as Lagertha argues with them that something went wrong during the fight. You look over to Din and the child, and you can see that the little guy looks happy but rather sleepy, a sure sign of some force assistance. You hope nothing looked too out of the ordinary to the crowd.

“That’s enough, Lagertha,” Mistress Sigrid is saying angrily now, “Give it up! You challenged her and you lost; take it like a woman!”

You watch wide-eyed as Sigrid then comes over to you, raises your hand in the air again, and announces to the crowd, “The winner of this match!”

A sense of true relief washes over you and you feel tears of joy at your eyes. Knowing that the win isn’t entirely yours doesn’t bother you because you still fought hard, and you know that Lagertha can’t take Din away from you. You look around for him in the crowd again, but you don’t see him, and you’re starting to get concerned when suddenly he’s there in the ring with you, sweeping you up into his arms and spinning you around. He sets you down on your feet again as he brings his helmet down to your forehead and the two of you are oblivious to everyone else around you.

“You did it, cyar’ika,” Din tells you happily, his voice filled with admiration.

“I think I had a little help,” you whisper and then lean down and kiss the baby on the nose. He coos up at you softly and then slowly blinks his dark eyes.

“Ok, lovebirds, I think we know how this competition is going to end,” Sigrid is there chuckling as you finally pull away from Din’s embrace. “Technically you are supposed to fight Runa here in the final match of the competition.”

You see Runa standing there looking at you with respect and she says to you, “I’m not interested in your Mando, so if you want to concede, I’m happy to be the overall winner without another fight.”

“Yes, I wish to concede the next round and select Mando as my prize,” you state happily.

“Very well,” Sigrid says smiling big, “Congratulations on your performance and enjoy your prize!”

“Thank you, I will.”

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You emerge from the luxurious bathroom having had a restoring shower and a recovery drink with a healthy dose of bacta to heal your bruises from the fight. You feel like a new woman and the pride of your win is still pulsing through your veins along with lust for your Mandalorian. You hear Din in the bedroom now and he calls out to you,

“The kid’s asleep; he’s out for the night.” You figured as much since you know using his powers tends to tire him out quickly.

You drop the towel that was wrapped around your body and saunter out into the room naked. Din instantly drops what he’s doing and you know he’s starting at you. You smile suggestively at him and then make a show of looking him up and down.

“What are doing, cyar’ika?” he asks, he sounds aroused and entertained.

“Appreciating my prize,” you tell him saucily, “Get undressed so I can appreciate you even more.” So far, you’ve let him take the lead when it comes to the physical side of your relationship, but tonight you want to be in control. You wonder how far he’ll let you take it.

He tilts his helmet at you, as if to say, oh really?, but then he starts removing his armor as that black visor stays trained on you. This is a different side than you’ve shown him before and he likes it, so he’s eager to fulfill your request. As more of his layers are removed, you make little comments as he reveals his body to you. He stays quiet though; content to listen to your praise and suggestive remarks.

When the gloves come off, you say, “You have such nice strong hands, Din, and very skilled fingers.”

Then his cape, “I can still see the marks I made on your neck, do you remember how good that felt?”

Next is his shirt, “I love your big arms, they feel incredible when they’re wrapped around me. Oh and that gorgeous chest feels so good when I press against it.”

He leans down to remove his boots, this time you giggle, “I guess the big feet saying is true when it comes to you.”

Then his trousers are off, “Your thighs are so nice and thick, I wonder what it would be like to ride one.”

But then, his underwear slides down those thighs, “Oh, now that’s the prize I’m gonna ride.”

“Cyar’ika,” Din says his voice deep and gravely, and with that one word you can hear how turned on he is.

“Get on the bed and sit with your back against the headboard,” you tell him and watch as he moves quickly to comply. Watching him strip for you and ordering him about has you very turned on and you feel your wetness coating your inner thighs.

“I can see how wet you are from here,” Din tells you, “I like how turned on you get by just seeing me.”

You climb onto the bed and straddle Din’s legs with your own and his hands immediately come up to hold your waist. He tugs you down lightly but you stay up on your knees for now, wanting to tease him some more before you get too carried away.

“Touch my tits first,” you tell him and you reach to move his hands upward. His hands slide up your body to cup your breasts and then his fingers pinch and pull at your nipples teasing them into hard and needy little peaks. You let your head loll back and you push yourself further into his hands. You hold onto his arms and you gently let your hips become flush with his. You don’t let him enter you yet though, instead you just grind against him letting his hard cock brush through your wetness and rub against your clit in a delicious fashion. Din groans loudly at the contact and he bucks up into you in an attempt to create more friction.

“Not yet,” you say, “I want you to touch me more, first.” You lift back up off his hips, take his right hand from your chest, and guide it to your core.

“Make me come, Din, like only you can,” you order him and then you gasp as he pushes two fingers into you at once.

“Gladly, my princess,” he replies. Unlike his easy pace from the other day, this time his fingers plunder your tight passage, pushing in deeply without much warning. The swift invasion makes you cry out his name and you clench around him tightly. He rotates his hand so his thumb can circle your clit and your hips start to buck against him. You stare into the blackness of the visor and you know he’s watching your face even though you can’t see his eyes. There’s something about seeing that unreadable mask in front of you but hearing his harsh breathing that excites you even more.

“Yes, Din, yes, that’s it,” you moan out, as his fingers inside you focus on the spot that gives you the most pleasure. It feels so good that your thighs are starting to shake and you know you’re already close. He continues to pump his fingers in and out of you hard and fast while his other hand tweaks your sensitive nipple in a perfect blend of stimulation.

“Are you going to come for me, cyar’ika? You gonna soak my hand?” Din’s voice urges you on and you rock on his fingers drawing out the sensation as much as possible before you feel your internal muscles fluttering around him as you come apart with a shout of his name.

“That’s my good girl,” he says and you watch as his fingers disappear beneath the helmet so that he can lick them clean.

“I’m ready to fully claim my prize now,” you say with a wink as you reposition yourself over his cock.

“Yeah, you gonna take me now? Make me yours?” Din asks his voice laced with amusement and lust. He reaches down to hold himself in position for you.

“Mmm, yes, I’m going take you, all of you,” you reply as you slowly start to sink down on him. You draw out your descent, pulling up a little before sinking down again, each time going a little lower and taking more of him. You can see that Din’s trying to hold himself still, but as you get closer to taking all of him, he can’t resist thrusting up into you those last few inches until he’s fully inside of you. It feels so good and you grind yourself against his body. Your hands are on his chest helping support you and you stare into his visor hoping that you’re making eye contact with him.

“You’re mine, Din,” you tell him as you start to lift off him and then come back down. You glide up and down on his cock finishing it with a grind against him each time.

“Say it again, say I’m yours,” he says as you start to find a rhythm to your movements.

“You’re mine, Din, you’re mine,” you repeat and his hands come to your hips to urge you to move faster on him.

“Tell me I’m only yours,” he demands and he starts to match your movements, thrusting his hips up into you. He feels so huge in this position and when he surges upward into you, the feeling is sublime.

“Only mine, Din, you’re only mine,” you breathe out as you start to bounce faster on him, riding him harder, “No… other woman… can have you… only me.”

“That’s fucking right,” Din says and his hand finds your clit again, rubbing frantic circles around it, “Tell me again, don’t stop telling me.”

“You’re mine, you’re mine, you’re mine, you’re mine!” You can feel yourself galloping toward your release, and the more you call him yours, the more a primal need for him awakens within you. It makes the pleasure that much more intense and you feel yourself burning white hot from it. The flames within you build as you continue to cry out that he is yours until it is too much and the fire consumes you.

Din watches as you reach your peak. He relishes in seeing how beautiful you look in that moment and in hearing how you sound as you’re absolutely overcome by him. His strong arms wrap around you to hold you up as you slow your movements and become more relaxed. He takes advantage of your momentary pliant state to roll you over, so he can be on top now. He did enjoy having you ride him, but he needs to be able to really thrust into you now, the way he’s been thinking about all day. Din pulls your legs up to his shoulders before he enters you again, this new position allowing him to penetrate you deeper than before.

“Ah, Din! Yes, oh Maker, yes!” you shout out your approval competing with the wet, lewd sounds filling the air as he pistons into you. Your cunt is so tight around him, he almost feels like you’re pushing him out of you each time you clamp down hard around him. Din knows he won’t last long like this, but with the way you’re thrashing around underneath him now, he doesn’t think you’ll care.

“You f-fought so hard for me t- today,” Din tells you between thrusts, “So- so p-proud of you, m- my cyar’ika.”

You mewl when he says that and seem to clench around him even tighter. It makes him want to say it again,

“My cyar’ika, mine,” he repeats and it feels as though you become even wetter for him. It makes him increase his speed and now his hips are pounding against yours. He’s going much harder than he dared the first time you were together. It’s like something has come unleashed in him, a deep desire to show you how much you are his, how much he wants to be with you, needs to be with you. He watches as you arch your back and writhe up to meet his punishing thrusts, your head is thrown back as you let out a near constant string of moans and Din thinks he’s never seen a more gorgeous sight in his life. He feels himself get impossibly harder and he knows that he’s close to his climax, but he want you to get there again first.

“My cyar’ika… fuck, want you… want you to come again… t-touch yourself,” Din tells you and you immediately reach down to play with your clit. Your fingers move rapidly in tempo with his hips and you start to shudder.

“Ahh, DIN! Yes! DIN!” He loves the way you cry out his name when you come and as soon as you start to squeeze around him, he lets himself go, pumping his seed deep within you as he follows you into the ecstasy of release.

Din slowly pulls out of you and lowers your legs before collapsing next to you. He lies there for just a moment before rolling towards the nightstand and pulling out the sleep mask. When he comes back closer to you again, he reaches up to cradle your face with one of his hands and looks into your eyes.

“My love, even though we haven’t been together long, I want you to know there is no one that could ever take me away from you. I’m so proud of how well you did in the competition, but you have to know that I would never have gone with that woman. I mean it when I say I’m only yours. And you should know that I won’t let anyone take you from me either,” Din tells you, his words heartfelt. You feel tears prick at your eyes as your emotions flood your chest.

“I mean it too, Din, I am yours, and you have to know I’ll never stop fighting for you, for us, when I need to,” you reply and place your hand over his.

“Can I cover your eyes? If I don’t kiss you soon, I’m going to burst,” he says.

“Yes, please, I need to kiss you too, my darling Din.”

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In another part of the state residence, Mistress Sigrid sits in her office and stares at a flickering holo. The image must be at least 7 or 8 years old, but there’s no doubt in her mind now that it must be you. After seeing you for a few days in a row, she knows that even though it’s an old holo, you are the same woman, and although you might be passing yourself off as a princess now, your appearance hasn’t changed that much. Plus, after rigging the intelligence challenge to include that Imperial code, she knows for certain that you must be the woman that Commander Kerrick Hoven is seeking and for whom he is willing to hand over a fortune in credits. She punches a code into her comm device.

The image of a blond man with sharp eyes appears and speaks, “Mistress Sigrid, I hope this is confirmation of good news.”

“Yes, Commander Hoven, I am certain it is her.” Sigrid replies.

“She was able to break the code easily?” he asks.

Sigrid chuckles, “She took only 5 minutes to do it. That along with the holo you sent confirms that it must be her.”

“Only 5 minutes,” Kerrick repeats fondly, “Still my brilliant little doll. You said she’s pretending to be a princess and is cavorting with a Mandalorian? She always was one for lost causes.”

“Yes, well, he shouldn’t be any problem for my warriors. When will you be here to collect her and transfer the funds to my account?” Sigrid asks.

“We shall see you in five hours.” Kerrick ends the call and his image flickers out.

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It hasn’t been very long since you drifted off to sleep when you are jolted away by tiny claws grabbing at your face and a scared cry. You can feel that Din is at your back, his arm wrapped around your waist and his face buried into your hair, so you know it is safe to lift the sleep mask. When you do, you are met with the child’s highly distressed face.

“Buddy? What’s the matter? How did you get in here?” You have no idea what’s going on.

The child reaches his hands out to you and places them on either side of your face and suddenly your mind is filled with images. You see the interior of what looks to be an Imperial ship filled with storm troopers and other officers, then suddenly you are on the bridge of the cruiser looking at Kerrick in a commander’s uniform. He looks older than you remember and you can see that he is staring at a holo of you. You can’t tell what he’s saying but you can feel the threat that he poses and you are seized with the idea that you are in danger.

The child removes his hands and the images disappear. You heart is pounding and you have broken out in a cold sweat.

“Buddy, is that what’s happening? Is Kerrick after me?” you ask the child wildly even though you know he can’t respond. He just lets out more sad, whiny sounds and now you can hear Din starting to stir.

“What’s goin’ on? Middle of the night,” Din’s sleepy voice comes to you even as it’s still muffled by the pillows.

“Din, wake up, we have to leave, we have to leave right now.” Your voice is urgent but you keep it low so you won’t alert the rest of the household.

“What?” Din says confused.

“The child showed me Imperials coming after us, after me,” you tell him. You want to leap out of bed and start getting dressed but you know his helmet is still off and you won’t move until you know his creed is protected. “Please, put on your helmet.”

Din rolls away from you and you hear shuffling before he says, “Ok, turn around and tell me what’s going on.”

“I don’t know how he did it, but the child showed me a vision, it was Kerrick, only now he’s a commander and he was looking at a holo of me, and I could feel the danger, that we’re in danger.” Your words are coming out in a jumble but you do your best to explain.

“It could just be a bad dream, couldn’t it?” Din asks.

“How would the kid know about Kerrick? Please, Din, we have to leave, I know that we need to leave.”

“You’re right, cyar’ika, there’s no way the kid could know about your ex-lover, and if you feel that strongly we’ll go right now. It’s ok, don’t panic. I’ll protect you.”

You’re thankful that you have almost everything already packed and you hurry to pull on clothes. You collect the last few things you have strewn about the room before the three of you slink out into the corridor. Thankfully, no one is around and as you stealthily make your way back to the Razor Crest, you manage to avoid seeing anyone. It isn’t until Din takes off and you breach the atmosphere that you feel like you can breathe again. Din is working on putting in coordinates, when a pinging comes in on the long-range scanner.

“There’s an Imperial light cruiser closing in on Angel One,” he states gruffly and he quickly makes the jump to hyperspace.

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

“What do you mean she isn’t here? You fucking promised me!” Kerrick’s angry voice rings down the corridor from Mistress Sigrid’s office.

“I don’t know what happened, when my staff went to deliver their breakfast, they weren’t there,” Sigrid explains, embarrassed, “Then we discovered their ship was gone…”

“Such incompetence, no wonder you were of no use to the Empire during the war,” Kerrick sneers at her. He slams his fist down on her desk, “Fucking waste of fuel to come here! Five years of searching and I thought this time I’d finally found her.”

“Sir, they were able to give us some security footage of her. We have her initial interview when she arrived here, and recordings of her competing in some type of contest here.” An ensign brings Kerrick a holopad.

Kerrick brings up the interview footage first, when he sees Din and the child he pauses the images, “This child, she said he was hers?”

“Her ward, she said the Mando rescued him,” Sigrid replies.

“I know this child,” Kerrick says thoughtfully, “Moff Gideon is searching for him, and this must be the troublemaker Mando he spoke about.”

Kerrick looks back at the holopad and stares at your image on the screen. He touches the pad softly as he murmurs, “Still so beautiful, my doll, don’t worry, I’ll find you and bring you back to where you belong. I’ll rid you of that vile Mando and then we’ll be together again, just like it should be. We should have been together today, my doll, I’m sorry to disappoint you.”

Suddenly, he pulls out his blaster and shoots Sigrid in the heart before whipping around and stalking out of the room. “Come Ensign, we must contact Moff Gideon and see if we can’t pick up the trail of this Mandalorian.”

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

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Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this latest chapter. In case you’re wondering, yes, you did remember to grab the sleep masks before you fled ;-) Chapter 8

[tallyovie-writes]

Arsonists's Lullaby R.A.B.

SONGFIC

Summary: Regulus finds a soul like his in a person he would have never guessed

Author's note: unedited, after 3 exams, 1 am, please be kind I know it starts slow but there will be more parts

1.6k words

When I was a child, I heard voices

Some would sing and some would scream

You soon find you have few choices

I learned the voices died with me

At 5 years old, Regulus Arcturus Black learned that family did not always mean blood. He had yet to figure out the true meaning of the word, but he knew what he had was a dark echo of an utopist dream.

His childhood was dominated by a gray filter, muffling the sounds, numbing the emotions, stretching the minutes forever. On certain days, the lights grew darker, shadowing the world into almost black. Black like his name, black like the soul he will grow up to have. The ticking of the clocks were too loud, the walls too high, his mothers steps on the creaking stairs too firm in a world of doubt and uncertainty.

When I was a child, I'd sit for hours

Staring into open flame

Something in it had a power

Could barely tear my eyes away

Sometimes, for split seconds, burgundy took over the darkness. The lifelessness in the manor disappeared, and compensating for life's previous absence it channelled all of its heat into hate. Hate for an empty mother from Sirius, hate for a son who did not fit traditions from his mother.

Hate from Regulus, who possessed the survival instinct of laying low and keeping to himself but his brother did not. And Regulus resented him in these moments. For all the plates in million pieces, previously broken on the wall, for all the harsh words leaving their father's mouth, for all the clever little punishments their mother put them through. Them, because getting caught in the crossfire of a traditional Black "family" argument meant everyone's suffering.

It was a flame barely extinguishable. It meant the only display of emotions aside from the rare brotherly moments he shared with Sirius.

Emotions lead to addiction. And if anger is the only feeling fuelled, darkness starts to grow.

All you have is your fire

And the place you need to reach

Don't you ever tame your demons

But always keep 'em on a leash

That fire burned a self preservation so deep in him, that Regulus recognized he needed power in order to make it in this world. Power to stay strong, make it through between his ambitious peers and most importantly to guard himself. The blatant, headstrong bravery Sirius took upon arriving at Hogwarts made school holidays a hellish wartime at home.

Regulus learned not to engage. The moment the edges of his self-made cell threatened to break, he carefully tucked in his emotions once again. He didn't want to cut out feeling at all, he deemed that too dangerous for his liking. No. He just didn't let his emotions get the best of him. A man ruled by his feelings is a terrifying sight. He mentally injected himself with an anaesthetic in public, and behind four walls he let himself carefully examine them. It wasn't easy. The tangled web of emotional strings, numbed most of the time, screamed for air. Screamed for understanding, for letting go, for caring. But he cut those last remaining ties with love the moment Sirius got sorted into Gryffindor.

When I was 16, my senses fooled me

Thought gasoline was on my clothes

I knew that something would always rule me

I knew the scent was mine alone

At 16 years old Regulus Arcturus Black saw a way in the darkness. He didn't dare call it a glimmer of hope. Hope was a privilege only offered to the good and divine, to the pure and just. He was neither, he thought.

Perhaps he was right. For now. But fate has a way of changing the tides and replacing the figures on the chessboard.

He has long lost the map to his emotions. They were carefully tucked away in a forgotten pocket somewhere around his heart, but as one man, he couldn't untangle them alone. Not like he wanted to.

His salvation arrived in the face of a charismatic leader. He had answers to Regulus's questions that he long sought to find. Ever since he was a child he associated power with stability and control over one's life, and this stranger offered power on a silver plate. He couldn't have been worse. Of course in hindsight, everything seems more clear.

But as he was shrouded in darkness, he chose to become a part of the dark as well.

All you have is your fire

And the place you need to reach

Don't you ever tame your demons

But always keep 'em on a leash

One of the main problems in Regulus's logic was that he thought that being a Death Eater would solve all of his insecurities and instability. At first it seemed to work, building a new world by idealistic wishes and getting rid of the dangers life proposed helped setting his nerves right. But as the curls of the smoke threatened to suffocate him, his decision pressed hard on his shoulder.

He knew there was no out of this. The Dark Lord's silver tongue has lost its magic, he could detect the empty lies, the manipulation, the sinister force. He could detect it, because it takes one to know another, and he was a master in the arts of manipulation and lying. Why wouldn't he be? He spent all of his childhood perfecting the image of the pureblood son his family wanted him to be. And he did not fail. Keeping it up during Hogwarts has become a natural instinct, but also demolished his true self.

What was the true soul of Regulus Arcturus Black?

When I was a man I thought it ended

When I knew love's perfect ache

But my peace has always depended

On all the ashes in my wake

He thought he would never find it out. But then you came along and wrecked his carefully planted walls. At first he hated you for that.

You were obnoxious and the true image of what a pureblood offspring should be. What he should be.

He would have never thought that someone could be a better liar and manipulator than him. Regulus needed years of careful examination to see the cracks in your armour and the rare slips in character. At first, he was sure that his mind was imagining things that were not there. After years of reading his slytherin peers, your occasional un-slytherin-like behaviour peaked his curiosity.

One day he was sitting at the Slytherin table when an idea struck. You didn't sit far away, so you had to be pulled into the conversation too.

"Snape!" Regulus called to the oily haired seventh year. "Heard He recruited you. You finally pulled your head out of your ass?"

Of course he has seen the err of his decision by now, so Regulus asked him this for two reasons.

One: he had to keep up appearances.

Two: he wanted to see how you reacted.

He had been spending the last few weeks noticing your subtle icks regarding certain subjects. So far his theory seemed to prove true.

On the outside an appraising look sat on your face.

But Regulus learned to discover the signs. And he was once again right as he noticed the tip of your ring finger hardly pushed against your thumb nail, leaving a mark. Subtle, but still a tell tale sign of someone who is not fully on board with the subject.

One day he decided to corner you.

"I know the game you are playing" he didn't mean to sound so threatening, but it came out like that.

A snake doesn't crack under pressure, so you looked him in the eye and let a sly smile spread across your face.

"Please, do enlighten me. What game am I playing? Or is it better if I ask which game of mine you are referring to? I am a busy woman."

He let your comment fly.

"I noticed the tip of your ring finger is bruised. I would bandage it. The past few weeks you must have been careless and cut it. Wouldn't want any infection, would you?" he looked deep into your eyes, transferring the other meaning of his words.

You knew what he meant. Lately, you spotted the Black boy's eyes on you. In the Great Hall, during classes, those grey orbs never left you. You thought he harbored a silly little crush on you. Now you realized your mistake. The question however remained. What will he do with this information?

You are getting careless, if I noticed, someone might too. Someone you wouldn't want to notice. His eyes said.

Your House was not meant for easy friendships. The rising of The Dark Lord supported a lot of back stabbings for meaningless praises, so you had to be careful.

With a last nod he turned his back on you and walked away, leaving you with only frustration and more questions. Could the Slytherin Silver Boy share your views? Maybe when Hell freezes over.

Regulus knew, he should have said; I know the game you are playing, because I am playing it too.

All you have is your fire

And the place you need to reach

Don't you ever tame your demons

But always keep 'em on a leash

Fate sat on her chair and watched the two young snakes step on their shared path. Neither of them knew yet what this little encounter will set into motion.

But Fate knew and mourned the loss of another great story that has not even started, but was already told.

She sipped her wine and caressed the head of one of her demons.

[sweetalnazar]

After an eternity, I updated!

CHAPTER 2: A HOUSE, A SHOP AND A HOME

Summary: After the defeat of the Devil, Aisha and Salim catch up on all they’ve missed, including the fate of the home once shared with Asra

4.3k words. Family Fluff/Feels, Emotional Hurt/Comfort. Tw for discussions of trauma and abandonment

Lowkey Mine/Asra/Muriel.

Other Notes:

- Mine uses she/they, but only ‘they’ in this setting. Asra alternates between ‘he’ and ‘they’

- 'Foreign' words are generally not italicized, to reflect the multilingual nature of the characters

––––

Chapter 1 || Read on AO3 || Tip Jar 🌟

Their home was no more.

In Aisha’s memory, on her street by the heart of Center City, was the little two-storey house squished between a bathhouse and an apothecary, the place she called home. 

The kebab stall down the street, the scent of smoked lamb drifting through the air as she passed it by on the way to the palace. The neighbour opposite her, who grew a rich garden on her balcony with her wife, and gave Aisha a flower each time they met. The sound of the neighbourhood children kicking balls in the streets and chasing each other in the evenings.

The creak of the door hinges that never agreed with Salim’s oils, no matter what formula he used. The colorful tapestries from their families, a parting gift, that decorated the walls, as well as the numerous paintings, from Salim’s hand, from Aisha’s, and of course, Asra’s. The music echoing through their house in the evenings, the strumming of her qanun and Asra’s little hand beating on the riq, Salim’s beautiful voice accompanying.

All of it, every single bit of the house that held all these memories, had been reduced to rubble and broken brick, just like the rest of their neighbourhood.

There was a year of powerful lightning storms in Vesuvia that had led to fire, and the crowded buildings smooshed together, unprepared for such a hazard, was like kindling in a fireplace. Flames engulfed everything in their path, and when they couldn’t, the burning buildings and structures collapsed on their neighbours, leading to almost their entire neighbourhood being destroyed. 

According to Asra, he and Muriel––one of his partners––had run away to the east docks during the blaze, closer to water where it was safer. When they returned, there was barely anything left of the neighbourhood, much less the house.

Salim gulped his tea down, to the point he started coughing. Aisha thumped him, once, before switching to alternating between patting and rubbing his back.

“T-that’s something, Asra,” he said, the shock still clear on his face.

“Haha, yeah…” Asra stared awkwardly at his own teacup.

“Revani anyone?” Mine interrupted, holding a plate of brown squares, topped with crushed walnuts and pistachios. “I got a really good recipe from Selasi, so me, Asra and Muriel tried making some.” 

Grateful for the interruption, all three at the table took a piece each.

It had been a month or so since the defeat of the Devil, the triumphant return of Asra and Mine, and at long last, Aisha and Salim were catching up on what they had missed since their disappearance almost two decades ago. 

The two of them had asked Asra to see their old home, the very first house they had moved in as young newly-weds ready to start their new life.

Instead, he had brought them to the magic shop.

He had gestured for them to sit in a corner of the shop, where a couch and armchairs surrounded a rickety table opposite the counter. While Salim and Aisha took the couch, he had taken an armchair, the one closer to his mother’s side.

With Mine perching on the armrest by his side, and Muriel––quiet as always––sitting by the counter, Asra began regaling the tale of the house’s fate; from the landlord kicking him out, to new tenants, to its demise.

While the palace had remained constant, almost assuring in how little it had changed, much of the city had transformed. 

The Coliseum cast shadows across Goldgrave, obstructing the view of the arts district and its colorful antics. Red Street, once the pride of the Heart District and the Count, had been abandoned. Meanwhile, the bustling Shopping District had turned sullen and gloomy, the overflowing waterways mirroring its new name of the Flooded District. 

Then there was the little island far off-shore that loomed on the edge of the city, a reminder of darker times. Even the land itself had not stayed the same, the ebony, almost black sands of Ash Beach now bleached gray by the remains of the deceased.

Everywhere she looked, there was nothing but change. 

Old stores and restaurants Aisha and Salim had frequented were long gone, the shops now on their fourth or fifth newest venture.There was almost no trace of the Vesuvia Aisha had come to love, the city she had stepped into for her first big project away from home; when she and Salim had been young, newly married and determined to prove their skill away from their families. 

Or at least away from Aisha’s family, the renowned Alnazar name. 

“Basbousa,” Salim spoke, breaking her train of thought. 

She stared down at the cake in hand. Below the brown crust was a familiar buttery yellow. 

“I thought I recognized the smell!” Salim went on, holding his piece up enthusiastically. 

“It’s a little burnt, sorry,” Mine apologized. “We weren’t sure how hot the oven needed to be, since well, none of us usually bake.”

As Salim and Mine continued making small talk, Aisha took a bite, and her eyes widened. 

“Orange blossom syrup,” she said, surprised.

“Just like you made it,” Asra said. He gestured to the cup of orange blossom syrup to the side. “Pour half the syrup while it’s hot––”

“And leave the rest for serving,” she finished. Her chest tightened, a little, and she smiled down at the small square cake.

“I––I didn’t actually remember the name,” Asra confessed. “People in Vesuvia call it ‘revani’, but I always called it the orange blossom cake. Or the cake with semolina butter.”

Aisha laughed. “I remember! You were always trying to eat the entire butter slab while we were baking.”

“What do you mean ‘trying’? They were halfway through their second slab when we caught them that one time,” Salim pointed out.

“Asra!” Mine exclaimed, staring at them with wide eyes. “You didn’t .”

“It tasted nice when I was little,” Asra shrugged. “I liked how the texture felt when I gnashed the butter between my teeth.”

From the counter, there was a snort, and Aisha could have sworn Muriel mumbled, “...typical” under his breath.

Meanwhile, Mine rose to their feet, taking a couple of cakes on their plate, and went over to the counter, squeezing Asra’s hand before they left.

Salim took a few more pieces, munching happily, and Aisha did the same, placing another square on her plate.

“Back to our original topic,” Aisha said, “what happened to the house after that?”

“Oh.” Asra stopped, putting down his plate and taking a quick gulp of tea. “Well, it was kind of abandoned for a long time. Until Melaka––that’s Mine’s aunt––came along.”

“Then…”

Asra nodded. “That’s right. She built the shop right over where the house was.” He leaned back in his chair, and pulled the shimmery curtains behind him away to reveal the view from the large open window.

At the back of the shop, hidden by the tall storefront and the surrounding walls, was a courtyard. Garments flapped gently in the breeze from the clotheslines in the center, the clothing all different sizes. To one side, there was a collection of beakers and jars, as well as larger rectangular containers. They were all filled with dirt, plants of various sizes and types sprouting from them.

“Is that––” Salim squinted, “––another building back there?”

“That’s the kitchen,” Mine said. 

“Our main kitchen,” Asra clarified. “It’s where we put the ice box and the big stove and everything. There’s a sitting room too, to eat together.”

Aisha blinked, playing over Asra’s last sentence in her mind.

Had that been an invitation?

“Oh, that’s where Lucia and Hayrünnisa used to live,” Salim said. “Nisa would always give you seeds when she saw you, Asra.” 

“Seeds?” Aisha said. “Didn’t she usually give them those little flower crowns and rings?”

Asra’s eyes darted down, looking sheepish.

“Oops, sorry, Asra. It was supposed to be a secret.”

“What was?” Mine said, leaning over the counter, their elbows almost at the edge. Muriel pulled them back, but they stayed standing, bouncing on the balls of their feet.

“I think we’ve heard enough about my childhood,” Asra said, red dusting his cheeks.

“No, we haven’t!” Mine said. “Right, Muriel?”

Muriel nodded. If Aisha hadn’t known any better, she would have said his smile was almost teasing.

“It’s not as embarrassing as you think it was, Asra,” Salim said. “It was very sweet in fact.”

Asra pursed his lips, looking conflicted.

Aisha reached out, slowly taking his hand in hers and squeezing it. Asra snapped his head to look at her, startled.

“Habibi, we don’t have to talk about it if you truly don’t want to,” she told him gently. “But I must admit...I would very much love to hear this little secret of yours.” 

Asra chuckled, squeezing her hand back before she released him. “OK, mom. I guess...it has been long enough.” 

“Tell us!” Mine said, bouncing faster now, the pink-tipped dark curls resting on their shoulders bouncing higher.

“..calm down,” Muriel muttered, almost fondly, as he placed a hand on their rotund hip and attempted to get them to sit.

“Now for the story,” Asra clapped his hands, his face still a little red as he began. “I saw er, Nisa––”

“Aunty Nisa,” Salim corrected.

“Yeah, Aunty Nisa was always giving you flowers, mom, and I, I wanted to do that too. A whole bouquet of flowers that I grew on my own.”

“You wanted to make a big balcony garden just like hers.” Salim shook his head. “It took a while to talk you down too.”

“It’s true,” Asra laughed. “Dad convinced me to start small. He would let me borrow the beakers and jars from your lab. We’d get some dirt and I’d put them on the ledge under my window where you couldn’t see.”

“So that’s where all our equipment went!” Aisha said, smiling at her husband. She placed an arm around his shoulder, pressing herself closer. “And here I was, half-convinced you were melting them down for some explosive new experiment.”

“Aisha, I would never.”

She gave him a knowing look.

“...without telling you first, that is.”

“That is true. I do dislike not being privy to the workings of your beautiful mind, ya qalbi.”

“Of course, ya a’youni. How could I ever do anything without my eyes to guide me so?”

For a while, there was silence, as Aisha and Salim gazed lovingly at each other, lost in the other’s eyes.

Up until Muriel cleared his throat, mumbling, “...Getting mushy must run in the family.”

“Shh, Muriel,” Mine whispered loudly, elbowing him. “It’s romantic . Let them be!”

“Anyway,” Asra said, “So that’s my little secret, mom. I hope you, er, liked it?”

“I loved it, habibi. Thank you, it was very sweet.”

“We should try that again.” Mine bounded up to the chair, settling on the armrest again. “Growing a flower garden. We could get a few more beakers––oh, a proper plant bed maybe? Portia has a great garden, we could ask her for tips and stuff!”

“That doesn’t sound like a bad idea. Um, I mean, if you’d like, mom and dad.”

Aisha blinked, confused for a moment, until the meaning clicked. “You want us to garden...together?”

“Only if you want to,” Asra quickly clarified. “It’s fine if you don’t, it really is.”

“Not at all, Asra,” Salim said. “I think that’s a lovely idea.”

Aisha nodded firmly.

Asra smiled, then faltered, looking down. Before either Salim or Aisha could ask him what was the matter, he had pulled Mine close, whispering into their ear.

They bobbed their head, before their attention turned to Aisha and Salim. “We were also wondering if the two of you wouldn’t mind joining us for dinner sometime. Yknow, once in a while, we could sit down around the table and um, just enjoy a family meal.”

“A little get-together sort of thing,” Asra added. “Nothing special.”

“Oh, but habibi, that is something special,” Aisha said. “We, we haven’t really had anything like that in a long time.”

“Y-you don’t have to––”

“We want to,” Aisha and Salim said simultaneously.

“Asra,” Aisha began, “We have missed so much, too much, of your life. Every moment we can share with you, even in the littlest ways, they are precious.”

“We can’t make up all that lost time,” Salim said. “But we are going to try and make the most of our present. We can only spend so long lamenting our losses. We want to move forward...with you, Asra, if possible.”

Asra’s eyes glistened in the soft sunlight filtering through the curtain, and Mine put an arm around him, a reassurance.

“There’s no rush, of course,” Aisha said. “We can go at your pace, as you like.”

“N-no, it’s not, it’s not that.”

He cleared his throat, wiping at the corner of his eye with his thumb. Mine undid one of the clothknots from their fingers and offered it, which Asra accepted and dabbed at his eyes.

“Muri, come over here,” Asra waved. “I want you to be closer for this.”

“...fine.” 

Muriel shuffled over, chair in hand, before placing it down next to Asra and taking a seat. There was another empty armchair, across from Asra, but it seemed both his partners wanted to stay close to him right now.

Asra took a deep breath, his thumb running over Mine’s knuckles, before he started speaking.

“Mom, dad, I, I spent a long time alone. It was...it wasn’t easy. I had Muri, but we barely got by, especially when we were younger.”

Aisha swallowed, one hand gripping the edges of her hijab as she braced her heart. Neither she nor Salim were not technically at fault, but nonetheless, how could she not feel pain or guilt or grief over what her child, her precious little one, had been forced to go through in the absence of his parents? 

How could she not feel responsible for the pain Asra had gone through?

“We had good times, Muri and I, but––but there were a lot of days that hurt. There were a lot of days that were painful and scary.” Another inhale, Mine squeezing his hand. “...But what hurt most of all was wondering if, if you had left me alone on purpose.”

“Asra,” Salim breathed, the shock in his tone mirroring Aisha’s own. “We would never.”

“I know. I know that now. But when I was little and afraid, I had no idea. You just suddenly never came home, and sometimes––sometimes I wondered if it was me. That I had done something wrong, or if there was something wrong with me that made you want to leave.”

Salim opened his mouth to speak, but Aisha raised a hand, wordlessly gesturing for him to wait. Asra still had more to say.

“For the longest time, I believed no one would stay for me.” Tears rolled down his cheeks, dropping into his lap like little pearls, and his lips quivered as he said, “Because you two didn’t stay.”

Asra closed his eyes, exhaling, while more tears dripped down. Muriel passed a handkerchief to Mine, who promptly wiped at Asra’s cheeks.

“T-thanks, Mine, Muri,” he mumbled.

After wiping away most of his tears, Asra raised his head, meeting Aisha and Salim’s gazes. 

“Mom, dad, it’s not your fault, but it took me a long time to let people in again. To actually let people love all of me, instead of keeping a part of myself out of their reach so I wouldn’t get hurt. I––I’m actually still afraid, of letting people in. What if they get tired of me? What if they don’t want me anymore? What then?”

Asra had every right to be angry, to be upset, but to Aisha’s astonishment, a smile spread across his face, his expression growing brighter with each word.

“But I don’t want to be held back by my fears anymore. Even if I am afraid, I––I still want to try. Mom, dad, I want to try at us being a family again. I know it won’t be easy, and I know there will be a lot of times where things don’t go the way we planned. Despite that...would you still want to try with me?”

“Of course,” Aisha and Salim answered immediately.

“Asra...you’ve been through so much,” Salim said. “I am so, so sorry for what we put you through. I know the situation was out of our control, but not a day goes by that we don’t regret leaving you alone. You were so young, we should have been there to protect you, to help you.”

“But we weren’t,” Aisha said, unballing her fist and letting her hijab fall back into place. “Habibi, your scars run deep, and neither our apologies or efforts are enough to heal each and every past hurt. You can be angry or bitter towards us, we both understand. Regardless, we will always love you.”

Salim nodded. “No matter what. We might disagree with each other, or argue until our voices go hoarse, or even hate each other for a time, but no matter what happens, our love will never change.”

“To put it simply,” Aisha said, “nothing would make us happier than to try together with you, Asra, to be a family again.”

Asra’s hands flew to his face and he doubled over in the chair, white curls touching his knees. 

“Asra?!” Mine and Muriel exclaimed, Muriel jumping to his feet to come closer.

Then, Asra lifted his head, and Aisha understood his reaction.

His cheeks were completely damp, tears flowing freely, along with snot running from his nose. His body quivered with soft sobs he was barely holding in, both his partners hugging him on either side. 

He had been such a messy crier as a child, and some things didn’t change. 

“I––I’m sorry, I’m just...I’m f––feeling a lot of things right now,” he managed to choke out, attempting a wobbly smile.  

“There, there,” Mine said, rubbing his back, while Muriel poured water into his teacup. 

Once he had calmed down, though his eyes were still watery, he continued.

“Thanks, mom, dad. Thank you….for everything. I, I never thought I would hear you say that and I just…”

Mine patted his shoulder. “There, there, sayang. We get it. Go at your own pace.”

He rested his head on their chest. “Thank you, dearheart. And you, Muri, love.”

Muriel grunted. He had gone back to sit down, but his chair had been moved closer, in case Asra needed quick comforting once more.

Aisha smiled. “Seems to me like you’ve certainly found many who love you dearly.”

“And I’m lucky for each and every one.”

“As we’re lucky to have you, Asra,” Salim said. “Thank you, habibi, for being the sweetest, kindest and loveliest child there ever was.”

He laughed weakly. “Dad, stop.”

“It is true though,” Aisha said. “Take my word for it, I’m never wrong.”

Asra chuckled and shook his head, affection clear in the gesture. “Mom, dad...I love you. So much.”

Aisha blinked, her vision becoming watery now. She leaned over, grasping Asra’s hand. 

Together, she and Salim said, “We love you too.”

The hours seemed to fly by as the conversation carried on, the edges of the blue sky starting to bleed orange soon enough. When Aisha pointed it out, Asra stammered out an invitation to stay for dinner tonight, and Mine jumped to their feet in excitement, suggesting all of them could even cook together.

Naturally, Aisha and Salim happily accepted.

When Asra asked what they would like to eat, Aisha took one look at her husband, and in unison, they answered, “Lamb fatteh!” 

In Zadithi tradition, fatteh was a celebratory dish of rice and toasted pita bread, piles of mutton crowning the top and accompanied by savory sauces. Around many parts of the country, it was the Mahrajan dish, for the Mahrajan Qurban, or the Mahrajan Saum. 

Aisha had many a happy memory of breaking her fast to a plate piled high with falafel and fatteh and roasted eggplant, family and friends and loved ones all around her, and she could not help but wish her child could also have such wonderful memories too, even if it was a little late.

By sunset, the shop’s kitchen was a mess of splatters and ingredients strewn about, rice sticking to Aisha's hijab while the dark curls of Salim's fringe had stains of tomato paste. Yet at the same time, there was laughter and chatter resounding throughout the whole building, never quiet for a single moment.

And despite the mess, the fatteh turned out beautifully, looking gorgeous as Salim and Muriel brought it out on its large dish, almost dominating the entire coffee table.

Asra closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. Quietly, he said, “I haven’t smelled this in years. It’s just as wonderful as I remember.” He opened his eyes, turning to his parents. “I could never find the recipe to make it just like yours.”

“It’s the eggplant,” Salim said, brushing the last of the rice off her hijab. “Your mother loves them.”

Aisha laughed. “It’s the best part. My abi would make it like that.”

“My...grandfather?"

She nodded, her gaze becoming wistful. “It’s been such a while since we’ve seen my family. Your family, Asra. We are planning to reconnect soon...if you would want to.”

Asra bit his lip.

“You don’t have to, habibi,” Salim quickly said. “They are your family regardless, but you don’t have to force yourself into anything.”

“I’ll think about it….but maybe, I would like to meet them. Someday.”

Beside Asra, Mine bumped his shoulder, done with tying Muriel's hair back into a ponytail. “Baby steps, love. Take your time,” they said.

On Asra's other side, Muriel nodded in agreement. With his bangs out of his face, Aisha could see the softness beneath his gruff exterior, the love reflected in the green of his irises as he gazed at his partners. Truly, her child was surrounded by such wonderful people.

“Mine’s right,” Aisha spoke. “You can take your time, Asra. Whether it’s finding your roots in Zadithi, or connecting with us here in Vesuvia, your family isn’t going anywhere.”

Asra’s smile was soft and small, but radiant. “Thanks, mom.”

“Speaking of, can we start digging in yet?” Mine piped up. “I’m starving, and this fatteh smells wayyy too good for just staring at it.”

The rest of the table guffawed, even Muriel chuckling under his breath.

“Dig in, everyone!” Salim said

After reciting a tasmiya, they all began their meal, scooping up piles of rice and bread and lamb and eggplant, drizzling their dishes with ladles of tomato sauce and garlic sauce. 

As Aisha was halfway through her plate, Muriel told Asra, “You never did finish the story about the house.”

Asra put down his fork, surprise clear on his face. “Huh? What did I leave out?”

“Why it took so long for this place to be built.”

Asra’s cheeks flushed at this, in a way Aisha was starting to recognize.

“Asra Alnazar,” she said, “what did you do this time?”

“ Nothing ,” he said, though his expression was sheepish. “Things just...took a while. No one wanted this palace until Melaka came along. Once she did, she bought this lot and the one behind, and well, she rebuilt.”

“Despite Asra’s best efforts,” Mine whispered to Muriel, grinning.

“What do you mean?” Aisha asked, ears sharp as ever, before turning to Asra. “Habibi, what do they mean?

The blush grew deeper, his cheeks aflame, and he looked away. 

“Go on, Asra,” Muriel said, a little quiet, but a small, teasing smile tugging on his usually downturned mouth. “Tell them all about the hauntings.”

“The what ?” Salim exclaimed.

Asra covered the lower half of his face with his hands, his cheeks aflame now. 

Mine cackled. “Go on, Asra. I’m sure your parents will love this.”

With a sigh, he relented. “So, dad, mom, after the landlord kicked me out, I may have been, well, scaring all the new tenants away.”

“With an actual ghost?” Salim said.

“N–no, that was just me, doing some magic. Playing some pranks.”

“Scaring every single resident half to death,” Mine said.

“And sending them scurrying out in the middle of the night,” Muriel added.

“Yes, that.” Asra cleared his throat, continuing in a quieter voice, “And I may have also...committed property damage after Melaka first moved in.”

“ What?! ” Aisha said, her voice going shrill, trying to keep the grin from spreading across her face. “Asra!”

“Don’t forget breaking and entering,” Muriel chimed in.

“Trespassing too~” Mine sang. “I’m surprised auntie didn’t curse you into a toad or something.”

Asra glanced from one partner to the other. “Tonight is just about dredging up my entire embarrassing history, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Mine and Muriel replied.

“And we’re enjoying every bit of it,” Mine said, Muriel bobbing his head as well.

“So what happened next?” Aisha interjected. “Were you caught by Miss Melaka?”

“Yep,” Muriel said.

“I was,” Asra admitted. “And then…”

The night passed with stories of past memories, both the ones Aisha and Salim knew, and those they didn’t. And while a part of Aisha’s heart still panged at how much she had missed, she couldn’t help the joy and delight blossoming in her chest.

Perhaps they could not take back the past.

But to be allowed to be a part of Asra’s present, to be able to learn about the sort of person her child used to be and the person he was now, it was a gift beyond measure. 

And to know that they were still a family, that he still had a place in his life for them after all these years?

It was beyond her wildest dreams.

––––

 Notes Disclaimer: I'm not Middle Eastern or Arab, and much of this is pulled from the internet as well as some of my own basic knowledge as a Malaysian Muslim. Please feel free to correct anything.

Qanun: A type of stringed instrument found across the Middle East, Asia, Africa and southeastern Europe. Riq: A type of tambourine and a traditional instrument in Arab music. It's the national musical instrument of Pakistan Revani/Basbousa: A type of sweet cake popular in the Middle East, and has many names Fatteh: A type of dish that is served differently depending on region. In Egypt, it is a type of feast meal

Abi (ابي): Arabic, from abu (أب)/father, meaning 'my father' Habibi (حبيبي): Arabic, from huub (حب)/love, meaning 'my love' Ya Qalbi (قلبي): Arabic, from qalb (قلب)/heart, meaning 'my heart' Ya A'youni (عيونى): Arabic, from a'in (عين)/eye, meaning 'my eyes', an affectionate petname. *Ya is a word often placed before names/nouns, ie 'Ya Aisha' or 'Ya Habibi'. The closest translation I understand is akin to saying "O Aisha", but not quite accurate

Mahrajan (مهرجان) : Arabic, meaning festival. Eid, the biggest celebrations of the Muslim world, can also translate to festival and in this story, Mahrajan is essentially fantasy!Eid. Mahrajan Qurban refers to Eid ul Adha, while Mahrajan Saum refers to Eid ul Fitri Tasmiya (تَسْمِيَّة): Arabic, a fantasy equivalent to the Basmala. In Muslim tradition, it is common to utter a Basmala before carrying out a task such as before eating

Clothknots: Mine has ADHD and to help with their forgetfulness, they often tie clothknots around their fingers to serve as reminders Sayang: Malay, meaning 'love'. Here, it's used as a petname

[kickingitwithkirk]

Greetings from Austin pt. III

Pairing: Alpha!Jensen Ackles x Alpha!Jared Padalecki x Omega!OFC

Summary: Jensen and Jared are at odds over a monumental decision that changes their lives in a way they couldn’t have envisioned.  

WC: 3825

Warnings: a/b/o, bisexuality, biphobia, homophobia, angst, cursing, self doubt, depression/anxiety, married life/disagreements, medical stuff, sexual dysfunction, infertility/surrogacy

*flirting, m/m oral sex, Jensen’s insecurities are coming out, Jared gets arrested, both get counseling

A/N: This part consists of several time jumps over four month period.

A/N II: Hey, sorry took me a way longer to get done than planned, rewrote Oct 23 a dozen times alone and hoping makes sense, trying to flesh out characters more and has some stuff that plays into story line in later parts.

Part II

Masterlist

@winchesterandbeyondbingo​​​​​​ square filled-Jensen Ackles

*Series Inspired by this art.

*no beta-all mistakes are mine

September 8th

7:30 am

Jensen was sitting in the makeup chair clenching his extra strong coffee container to help warm his hands. He’d spent a second, uncomfortable night in his trailer on location as Vancouver was having an unusual cold snap this time of year and with the covid restrictions the director decided that everyone needed to stay on site.

While he wasn’t happy about the weather, missing his own personal heater but at the same time grateful for a brief break from Jared now that they were heading towards the next phase of starting their family.

Jensen jokingly said they needed a code name since they were planning on keeping their plans a secret, even from their families, until the pups were born, playfully suggesting a cartoon from their childhoods.

Of course with Jared’s weird sense of humor, he loved it and started throwing ideas like operation: pound puppies.

“Penny for your thoughts.” Frieda said as she applied a concealer under his eyes to hide the dark smudges from not sleeping well.

“Huh?”

“You asked about my new job and haven’t heard anything I’ve said, wanna talk about it?”

“Sorry, not focusing very well today.”

“Yeah, we’re all feeling out of sorts with this being the last couple days.”

Jensen couldn’t believe he was down to his last two days of filming.

“Too bad this virus messed everything up, it would’ve been a hell of a send off if everybody could have been here.”

Alex and Misha had left right after they’d finished but Jim Beaver was back for the ending. It was only right for Bobby Singer to be there at the end, having been such a pivotal character in the brothers lives.

Frieda continues chatting about random things while finishing his makeup. A PA stuck his head in calling Jensen to the set. He stepped out of the trailer and smiled seeing his Baby sitting near the building being used as the exterior of Harvelle's Roadhouse.

***

September 12th

“Jen, I’m taking out the bags,” Jared calls out seconds before the apartment's front door shut.

Jensen was doing one last check around the place for any forgotten anything. Satisfied, he walked into the living room containing neatly marked boxes ready to be shipped back to Texas, relieved they had downsized from the big house Jared had years ago.

He stopped to gaze out the picture window when a pair of strong arms wrapped around his waist, molding his back to the muscular chest of his mate, who rested his chin on his shoulder quietly saying, “I’m gonna miss this view.” Jensen hummed in agreement tipping his head back as Jared nuzzled his neck.

“We need to get going if we’re gonna make Seattle by seven,” Jared softly muttered as they’d stood there for a few heartbeats longer before releasing him. They walked to the door and Jensen turned once more to gaze out the window at the view of Vancouver.

***

September 21st

“This has been a great trip but man, I’ll be glad to be in our own bed tonight.” Jared remarks as they drive past a green highway sign saying Austin 312.

“Can’t wait,” Jensen drowsily says having not slept much the last couple days. They had decided to road trip it back to Texas, stopping at a few places they had wanted to visit for awhile.

Jared somehow managed to finagal, okay so his mind numbing blow job combined with those lethal long fingers that always makes Jensen agree to anything got him a couple extra days in southern Colorado.

Jensen enjoyed the beautiful scenery and hiking in the mountains but hated camping out. Well, it wasn’t technically roughing it the way Jared liked but still.. a frigging yurt in late September?

Oy vay, what he did for love.

The sound of Jared singing along to some classic country song on the radio as he drove finally put Jensen completely out.

***

October 23rd

Turning from the open fridge with a puzzled expression on his face, Jared senses the same vague something he’s felt God knows how many times in the last couple months.

Shutting the door he walked over to the island counter where his husband was seated pushing his unfinished dinner around on his plate.

“Jen, what’s going on? Are you worried about the implantation? Dr. Rodgers said the embryos were healthy and optimistic the surrogate took this first try.”

What Jensen wants to ask, the question that’s plagued him since that day in August choosing their Omega surrogate...how the hell does he phrase it without upsetting Jared?

“Did you choose her because you knew she’d be the one I’d pick?”

Jensen slapped his hand over his mouth, eyes wide, disbelieving he blurted it out.

Jared worked to find a response squeaking an actual squeak before he could get control over his vocals, “That’s what I’ve been sensing!” Gripping the edge of the counter with his big hands, “Are you seriously going there again? I was honest about our interactions when I realized she was the one I knocked down at the clinic and FYI, you weren’t exactly in full control either Alpha!”

Jensen clenched his teeth at being reminded his inner need to be in control at all times slipped.

“I’ve racked my brains trying to figure it out how to ask something like that without upsetting you!” Jensen yells getting up and pacing around the kitchen.

Jared huffed, “So all this time instead of talking to me, you’ve conjured up some..”

“For the last two years I’ve gotten the sense you feel somethings missing, kept telling myself it’s your unfulfilled biology. But ever since you meet that Omega you’ve been.. I can’t explain it and now I’m second guessing our marriage Ja....” his rant abruptly cut off.

Jared’s eyes were glowing red, pinning him with an eerie wolf expression, the intensity disconcerting him. “I chose you, my husband, my soulmate, my everything!“ The words should have been reassuring but Jared’s voice was pitiless, something Jensen's never heard pass from his lips before.

Jared took a deep breath and with normalcy returning said, “I love you Jensen and I thought you understood, for me, in my mind, both of us having pups with the same donor means my offspring won’t be seen as just step relations but will grow up having strong familial ties with JJ, Arrow and Zeppelin.”

Jensen started to speak when a low, reverberating growl from Jared warning him not to interrupt.

“I consciously listened to my inner wolf when it came to choosing the person who is biologically the Om of our children and I,” Jared emphasizes tapping his chest with his long index finger, ”have no regrets but apparently you do.” Taking a deep breath Jared drops a non sequitur, ”The dogs need to be fed,” and walks away.

At the sound of Jared’s SUV leaving Jensen’s legs gave out and he drops to the floor curling up in a fetal position wrapping his arms over his head. Arlo and Koda laid down, one on each side, cocooning him between them.

***

Thanksgiving

“The kids are in a tryptophan coma,” Jensen announces as he walks in through the kitchen's back door. He had followed Danneel home afterwards helping get JJ and the twins cleaned up and put to bed, “they’ll be out till Monday.”

“Good, cause I’m dead on my feet,” Jared replies yawning while loading the dishwasher. It had been their turn to host the holiday with Danneel, the kids, Clif, Jared’s siblings and their broods.

“I told you to wait and I’d help finish the cleanup when I got back.” Jensen said as Jared started the machine.

“I figured you’d wanna stay awhile and be too tired and I didn’t want to deal with it tomorrow. All that’s left is to put the trash and recycling out, could you grab it?”

“On it,” Jensen picked up the bags walking around the side of the house dropping them into their designated receptacles.

When he came back in Jared was switching off the lights downstairs. They made their way up to the bedroom taking turns in the bath getting ready for bed.

Jensen was sitting with his back against the headboard checking his messages when Jared drops heavily next to him, “I plan on sleeping for the next three days.” He mutters resting his head against Jensen’s shoulder.

“Sounds good to me babe, I’m glad we didn’t schedule anything extra this weekend, be nice to spend some time alone.” He finishes wiggling his eyebrows.

“Hmm, do you remember last year's Thanksgiving?”

Jared closed the kitchen pantries door, pushing Jensen against it seductively lowering his fox slanted eyes huskily whispering, “I’m so fucking horny I need my dick you now.”

“Dude, we’re re in my sisters...“

“..you’ll have to be quiet,” Jared dove in for a deep, dirty kiss, grinding against Jensen until he was begging to be fucked.

“You’re the one who got us busted..oh fuck Jensen..so fucking tight..fuck..not gonna last..then later I get Mac saying it sounded like your dick...”

“Okay..buuut,” Jared tilts his head slowly running his tongue up the column of Jensen’s neck, “you gotta admit,” hand slipping under his sleep shirt, “our sex life,” long fingers tip toe up the smooth, freckled chest, pads teasing his left nipple as Jared nibbles on his earlobe, ”is never boring.”

Jensen groans, dropping his arm, still clinching the phone, tipping his head to expose more of his neck to Jared’s wondrous lips, enjoying the scratch of his short beard.

“I thought you were sleeping the next three days.”

Jared answers by removing his hand and straddling his husband's thick thighs taken the phone placing it on the nightstand and starts nibbling along the other side of Jensen’s sensitive neck, working his way to his slightly raised claim mark flattening his tongue licking the ultra sensitive spot that always drives his Alpha wild.

Jensen slides his hands up Jared’s back finding a grip in his shortened hair, unhappy about how much he’s cut off for Walker, unable to tangle his thick fingers into the soft tresses like he used to.

Finding a purchase he pulls hard making Jared groan at the pleasurable sensation tips his head back till it’s the perfect angle for Jensen to run his tongue across those candy pink lips, teasing them open to grant him access, continues teasing, alternating between caressing Jared’s tongue with his and sucking on his lips.

Moaning, Jared rocks his hips seeking friction, breaks their kissing long enough to work Jensen's sleep shirt off. They end up wrestling a few moments before Jared tosses it as Jensen’s lips attack his more desperately.

Tapping Jared’s thigh, Jensen rolls them kneeling between sleep pant clad legs watching as Jared reaches up gripping the strategically placed bar in their custom made headboard with both hands, his pecs flexing in anticipation of what’s to come.

Not breaking eye contact Jensen bends forward, his lips a hair's breadth from Jared’s, slowly slides backwards hovering, caressing the acres of golden skin beneath him with only his warm breath, pausing to hook his fingers in the pants waistband and pulling them with him as he continues journeying south.

Slowly making his way back north he leaves wet, open mouth kisses along the now naked, extra long, muscular legs he loves, sucking on the insides of both thighs, nipping hard enough to leave marks before arriving at his designated stop.

He hasn’t even touched Jared’s beautiful cock yet it’s fully engorged, resting against his flat stomach vigorously leaking precome. Jensen dips his tongue into his bellybutton lapping up the liquid collecting in it, cause fuck, he’s loves how more sweet than salty Jared’s always tasted.

Hips rolling Jared rubs his cockhead against Jensen’s tongue and he kitten licks the dribbling slit before resting his head on Jared’s lower stomach and wrapping his lips around the velvety head.

Shifting his grip on the bar Jared’s makes nonsensical noises, toes curling at the mixed sensations of his mates silky beard tickling his lower regions while sucking on his cockhead, alternates swirling his tongue over the nerves underneath and teasing his slit sending spikes of pleasure radiating through him.

After all these years Jared’s still amazed at Jensen’s knowledge of his body, his ability to keep him on the edge of not enough for however long he’s in the mood to play.

“..pleease...need to cum...got to..so fucking..uhh..Alpha!”

Raising up on a forearm Jensen starts bobbing up and down his shaft, pausing briefly on each downward pass, working his throat open to take Jared further in until he’s nose deep in dark, trimmed pubic hair. Holding his mate's substantial cock in his throat swallows around him as Jared’s knot inflates, pushing his jaws apart till it’s too much.

Letting the knot slip out from between his plump lips Jensen wraps a hand firmly around it and starts vigorously bobbing drawing out a litany of obscene noises, feels Jared’s balls drawing up and backs off swallowing the warm, thick, spurting liquid.

Leisurely licking until Jared hissed, too sensitive for anymore kisses the tip one last time crawls back up the bed searching for his pillow and face plants on it.

“Dude, you’ve finally sucked out my last brain cell.”

Purring deep in his chest, Jensen gives Jared a self satisfied smirk, who mutters, “wasn’t trying to give you a bigger head.”

Rolling onto his side Jensen displays his turgid cock needing attention, “okay, he’s the bigger head,” Jared concedes reaching down running his fingers over the weeping tip, wetting them with precome spreads it over the shaft firmly fisting Jensen’s pulsing thickness, moving his hand up and down excruciatingly slowly.

“So,” his honeyed voice lowers an octave watching Jensen dissolving into a breathy mess, “how does he want me?”

Jensen opens his mouth to answer when a phone rings. Glaring over his shoulder, “not mine,” he growls. Still stroking him Jared stretches for his, “it’s the clinic..hello? Dr. Rodgers, hey, how are you sir?” He lets go sitting up against the headboard.

Why’s the doctor calling them at such an odd time, on a holiday no less?

Jared's brow wrinkles before he turns to Jensen, eyes sparkling breaks out his wondrous smile making his dimples pop.

“Jensen, she’s pregnant!”

Jared's practically bouncing on their bed like he’s on a massive sugar high discussing what comes next with the doctor. Jensen feels his erection rapidly diminishing, gets up heading into the bath and turns on the shower.

Climbing in he crosses his arms against the far wall, resting his forehead against them closing his eyes as hot water bounces across his broad shoulders.

Jensen knows he should be elated. Jared’s getting the pup (or pups) he’s desired for years and the possibility of being a father himself again. Instead, his heart seized up in conflict.

***

After that god awful argument in October he ended up at Josh’s, who confessed his mate and him were seeing a counselor because they were having marital issues too. Spending the night drinking and reflecting Jensen came home the next morning to a still angry Jared cause he didn’t know where the fuck his husband was all night.

Filling him in about his talk with Josh, Jared seemed somewhat mollified but a few nights later...

Walker star Jared Padalecki arrested near the one year anniversary of Stereotype bar altercation.

· Jared Padalecki was arrested once again in Austin, Texas, early Sunday morning on one count of public intoxication…

When he got released Jared sat Jensen down pleading with him to sit in on his next therapy session, saying they couldn’t keep going on like this, it was tearing him apart.

He wants..no..needs Jensen to completely open up, stop trying to protect him and discuss what’s going on in his head, what he’s really feeling.

Jared’s therapist started off informing both of them he wasn’t a marriage counselor but after a brief conversation with Jared knew the situation was having a detrimental impact on his mental health.

He listened to them separately, then together, about their observations and thoughts on each other’s behaviors came up with a hypothesis:

Since Jared’s last depressive episode, his random thoughts/emotions were feeding more into Jensen’s deep seated insecurities over his mate’s open, flirtatious personality and how he perceives others attraction/interactions to him.

And now Jared’s inner wolf is demonstrating an intense attraction to an Omega, something never encountered before with past preferences in Beta females, with this new dynamic Jensen didn’t know how to handle it.

Jensen opened and closed his mouth several times sputtering before saying this was complete bullshit and stormed out.

***

Lost in thought Jensen didn’t notice his husband stepping into the open shower stall until his considerable frame was blocking the water, Jared’s voice drew him out of his musings.

“I can hear you thinking clear in the other room.”

Cupped Jensen’s face between his large hands he gazed into those spring colored eyes that captured his heart the moment he looked into them years ago, “Hey, no matter what happens next, we’re good.”

***

December 16th

Jared was sitting in his chair chatting with Lindsey and Keegan while the crew was finishing setting up for the next scene when his phone rang. He didn’t recognize the number but excuses himself, stepping away for some privacy answering.

“Hey, everything okay?” Lindsay asked after he hung up, concerned by the visible tension rolling off the big Alpha.

“Umm..I don’t know, I need to make another call...” Jared said, waving the phone, “yeah, let us know if you need anything.” Keegan says and Jared nodded his thanks.

The phone rang three times, “Hey Clif, I need a favor.”

***

December 19th

Clif pulled the SUV into the parking lot, “Are you sure this is the right place?” Jared inquires looking around taking in the old motel located in a very questionable area of Austin.

“This is the name the guy mentioned.” Clif replied, getting out heading for the office. Couple minutes later he climbed back in, “the manager said the laundry out back.” He started the vehicle and drove to the rear of the property.

Clif got out again and knocked on the building's door. An older Hispanic woman answered engaging him in a brief conversation before stepping back inside.

Clif nodded to Jared and as he got out of the vehicle that piquant scent hit him seconds before the door reopened. The person he’d spent days searching for froze in the doorway upon seeing him.

***

December 22nd

Jensen, claiming out of the Uber, grabbed his bag thanking the driver, walked up the front stone pathway relieved to be home from L. A. after a hopefully final costume fitting for his new role as Soldier Boy, this flying back and forth every week for the last couple months had gotten old real quick and he was looking forward to enjoying the holidays at home.

Jared’s parents were coming tomorrow and staying for a few days as was Danneel and their pups. Josh said he was still planning on dropping by a few hours Christmas Day since he and Mac were scheduled to spend most of the holiday with their parents.

Jensen felt that mixture of anger and sadness he got thinking about his parents. He was raised in their church and though he never believed in it, respected their choice.

Too bad they couldn’t reciprocate.

***

Alan and Donna belonged to an ultra conservative church. The foundations of child rearing was to be found in the good book and in the Ackles household-spare the rod, spoil the child-was gospel.

When they were growing up neither parent was the physically or emotionally demonstrative type, only showing their offspring a reserved affection, especially in public.

The saving grace was their Beta nanny who gave them unconditional love, especially Jensen, who was shy as a child already knowing he was different from his siblings. She instilled the confidence in them to discover who they truly were inside and encouraged Jensen to come out before moving to California.

Shortly after graduating he told his family about his bisexuality and his boyfriend was moving to L.A. with him.

Alan and Donna tried to stop him. He was to go to their pastor and confess his transgressions, beg forgiveness for his sins against the church and its teachings, threatening to pull the agreed upon six month financial support while he auditioned for parts before going to college if it didn’t work out.

Jensen refused, packed up, took his boyfriend and left. He got his first break shortly after and quickly learned Hollywood didn’t care what his sexual orientation was as long as he kept it behind closed doors.

His management agency decided early on to promote Jensen as the good guy/boyfriend type. They also set him up on dates to events with many up and coming female artists of the time. He had no problem playing along when he wasn’t actually dating a woman.

His big break came on the CW. After co-starring in a couple series for the network he was offered the chance to be a lead in a new series created by Eric Kripke.

At the audition he met former Gilmore Girls heartthrob, Jared Padalecki, flashing his infectious smile, dimples for days and the most beautiful, incredible color shifting eyes Jensen’s ever seen, he was done for.

Jensen might not have his biological parents in his life anymore but his now in-laws, the complete opposite of the Ackles, helped fill that hole.

It’s easy to see where Jared’s personality comes from. His Om, Sherrie, is overly affectionate, excessively physical and verbal with everyone she considers family, biological or not.

The first time he accompanied Jared home on a holiday break Jensen was literally bowled over by the five foot nothing Omega and instantly became part of her brood.

***

Barley getting the front door open Jensen is hit with the piquant scent of orange blossoms and spices he couldn’t quite place.

Dropping his carry-on bag in the foyer he followed the scent further into the house. Arlo sat up near the large picture windows facing the backyard where he and Koda are napping and gets up coming over to greet him.

“Hey big guy, where’s daddy at?” Jensen asked rubbing around his ears like he liked having thought Jared would still be on set before the holiday break.

He heads towards the kitchen where the scent seems to be coming from, “Babe is that coffee shop back open, what’s it called, has those sweet rolls you're obsessed with..” he abruptly stopped and blinks not believing what was in front of him.

More accurately who was in front of him.

“Babe is in his office and dinner will be ready in twenty.”

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE?”

***

tbc

GFA: @babypink224221 @waywardjoy​ @let-me-luve-you​ @all-4-wincest

SPN: @donnaintx​ @lyarr24

Sam/Jared @idreamofplaid​

Dean/Jensen: @flamencodiva​

[rallamajoop]

The Witcher: The Games vs the Books part 2 – Characters and Accents

So, I've already talked at length about the relationship between the Witcher books and games, but how well they captured individual characters is its whole own subject – and you’d better believe I have enough thoughts on it for a whole extra post.

Andrej Sapkowski's skill for creating vivid and engaging characters really is so much of what brings the books to life, and no matter how much work an adaptation might put into worldbuilding and plot, it's the characters you've really got to nail to get the long-time fans on board. Especially when you’ve done what the games have, framing themselves as a direct continuation of Sapkowski's story. Nothing invites comparison to your source material like basically forcing fans to read the original novels to understand even half the backstory alluded to in-game. 

So how did they do? I can only offer my opinion – characterisation is necessarily going to be a lot more subjective than just telling you what plot points the games contradicted outright – but like any fan, I have opinions in plenty.

Of the main cast, I feel Yennefer is the character they've captured the best. They've done just as well with some supporting players – I have no real complaints about Dijkstra or Phillipa, for example, who are favourites of mine in both games and books. For the main players though, Geralt and Regis seem to be the ones who's differences I'm most inclined to forgive, whereas I don't feel like they've done Ciri justice at all. Book!Geralt is much less of a smartarse, for one thing, whereas Book!Ciri is much more of one. But if we're talking about the differences, I’m afraid we really need to start with Dandelion.

Dandelion

For all the genuinely good work the games do with characters, old and new, I don't think I can overstate what a disservice the they've done Dandelion, who I could not stand in TW3, but is now one of my favourite book!verse characters. Alas, Dandelion is a prime example of something the Witcher games really don't do well: camp. Being the archtypical bard, Dandelion is about as flamboyant as any enthusiastically-heterosexual man can be: you should be able to spot this guy by body language alone, he should be flouncing around and he should talk like a spoiled noble auditioning for Shakespeare. Book!Dandelion is over-the-top and ridiculous and just so much fun, and I loved him well before I'd even really gotten into the rest of the books around him.

Here's just a bit of dialogue from one of his first appearances, to give you a sense of how he and Geralt play off each other.

The  bard  seized  the  fingerboard  of  his  lute  and  plucked  the strings vigorously. ‘How would you prefer it, in verse or in normal speech?’ ‘Normal speech.’ ‘As you please,’ Dandelion said, not putting his lute down. ‘Listen then, noble  gentlemen,  to  what occurred  a  week  ago  near  the  free  town  of Barefield. ‘Twas thus, that at the crack of dawn, when the rising sun had barely tinged pink the shrouds of mist hanging pendent above the meadows—’ ‘It was supposed to be normal speech,’ Geralt reminded him. ‘Isn’t it? Very well, very well. I understand. Concise, without metaphors. A dragon alighted on the pastures outside Barefield.’

Though TW3's Dandelion certainly looks the part, you have to go hunting through art from the Gwent cards to find much that comes close to really capturing his personality (see left pic below – though even there, a Dandelion who'd voluntarily break his treasured lute is a very hard sell). Though a lot of fanart does better (right-below – credit goes to Tatiana Ortaliz).

But as poorly as the games capture his flamboyance, they're not that much better when it comes to taking him seriously. TW3 left me thinking he was all talk and no substance; the books make abundantly clear that he really is renowned enough to be welcome in courts across the continent. Though he often overestimates what he can talk himself out of, he isn’t stupid either: he's lectured at Oxenfurt, spied for Dijkstra, and then there are the moments where the frivolous playboy mask slips and you realise he's sometimes much better at understanding people and relationships than Geralt will ever be (which is honestly kind of funny considering how many of Dandelion’s relationships end with plates being thrown at him from an upper story). He's not at all above mocking Geralt when he deserves it either (and especially his personal and relationship issues) – Geralt will happily mock him right back.

We never do learn how they became friends (I'm pretty sure the incident listed in the wiki is just the date of their first expedition together, not their first meeting), but Geralt just doesn't form lasting friendships or romances with anyone he can't have an intelligent conversation with. And Dandelion is a damn good friend to Geralt – one who, despite being a helpless, squishy little bard, will keep Geralt's secrets under torture, or will follow him into Nilfgaard in the middle of a war simply because you don't let a friend make a trip like that alone. (Seriously, I don’t ship it nearly as much as some, but hot damn there is some material in here if you do.) In short, it's basically inconceivable that he'd leave an amnesic Geralt wandering around Vizima alone, as he does in the first Witcher game – which is the kind of thing I can mostly forgive as a gameplay conceit, only it doesn’t really get better from there.

He’s also supposed to be blond, something I don’t think is technically specified until fairly late in the novels, but 100% what I’d been picturing since his first description as a man in a colourful bonnet with cornflower-blue eyes (let’s face it: Dandelion’s hair isn’t the only thing about him that screams ‘blond’). It’s a shame no-one from the games to the show to the novels’ cover artists seem to have noticed – but at least there are some fanartists out there who were paying attention (credit for these goes to Asphaloth, Ghostcupdraws, Hvit-ravn (tumblr deleted), 94355 and itsmespicaa).

As for the games? Well, I cannot speak to how Dandelion came across in the original Polish, but I think it speaks worlds about the priorities of the English version that they didn’t even bother to cast someone with a halfway-decent singing voice as their master bard. There are isolated moments of dialogue that come close to sounding like book!Dandelion– mostly in Witcher 2, which comes closer to capturing the spirit of the books than either 1 or 3, or his attempts to convince his captor he's a disguised noble when you rescue him TW3 – but his voice actor is just painfully ill-suited to the role.

Geralt

Geralt fares much better than Dandelion, though he’s still a little hard to square with the Geralt of the books. Book!Geralt spends a lot more time sulking, just to begin with: he sulks because his job is complicated and gets him no respect, and because the world is unjust and unfair – and, most of all, he sulks because Yennefer has dumped him again. He also gets mocked for sulking, and usually deserves it. Book!Geralt is generally a lot more taciturn and a less prone to making smart comments just to have something to say – arguably because in book!Geralt's world, making smart comments often ends at the gallows, or at least with some corrupt official making your life much harder. Book!Geralt's world kind of sucks, and he's just got to put up with it.

As much as he often plays into the expectations of being an uneducated monster hunter, he's also got a more of an intellectual streak than you’d guess. He may prefer to stay out of politics (because damnit, his job is to save people from monsters, not people who are monsters), but he attended school at Nenneke's temple and has even taken classes at Oxenfurt academy, and there's a lot of thoughtful nuance to his opinions – his speech to Ciri about why he can't in good conscience take a stronger stance against the Scoiata'el contains a wealth of historical perspective, just for one example. Even his smart comments tend to be, well, somewhat smarter in the books.

Book!Geralt’s explicitly a lot younger than Yennefer – around 50 is the usual estimate, falling far short of the 100-ish the games suggest (the scandal of having a man fall for – gasp! – an older woman clearly didn’t bother Sapkowski one bit). You don’t see nearly as much "I'm getting too old for this" from book!Geralt, who's really not that old by witcher standards, and is apparently still hunting monsters long into his future. I'm also a little annoyed by the way they play off his hatred of portals like he's a grumpy old man who doesn't like mobile phones, when his distrust originally came from having seen the gruesome deaths that result when portals go wrong. This is not to say Book!Geralt lacks other ordinary human flaws, however – twice in the last two books of the main saga, he gets severely sidetracked after his ego gets the better of him (in the adulation he receives after being knighted, then after arriving in Toussaint), and it's quite some time before he properly gets back on track for that whole rescuing-Ciri thing again. He’s also pretty hopeless when it comes to romance and relationships – breaking things off gracefully is really not in his skillset.

So why does game!Geralt not bother me more? Well, he's the main player character of a game franchise, and one who has to carry the experience largely solo. Some adjustments for genre are pretty much inevitable in that position. He's certainly fared better than Meve, for example, who's been softened far more from her book characterisation for her PC role in Thronebreaker. Then there's the whole amnesia thing – it's easy to believe that sort of experience would change a man – and if he doesn't sulk so much as he used to, maybe he's grown up a bit. Geralt's also in many ways the straight-man of Sapkowski's Witcher universe – there largely as the reliable centre for other, louder personalities to play off. But I expect the real bottom line here is that I do still like game!Geralt enough to forgive him a lot of what he lacks.

The books never do describe Geralt as being very attractive – something book-based fanart often tries to reflect. The point has been made before that the rather-alien-looking Geralt of the first game (left pic above) is probably a lot closer to his book-description. However, the main distinguishing factor you’ll see in book-based fanart is probably the ubiquitous headband, which genuinely is what book!Geralt wears to make his hair behave (the example on the right above comes from Diana Novich).

All that said, if Sapkowski really wants me to believe that nearly so many women are eager to jump into bed with him, I’m going to have to shallowly assume our witnesses are unreliable on this front, and Geralt is at least as attractive as Witcher 3′s take on him. Nothing else makes sense. *g*

Regis

Regis varies mostly in that book!Regis is a lot more smug, sometimes verging on obnoxious – and a lot keener to make fun of Geralt (who generally deserves it). But then, Regis is old and wise and superpowered enough to dance rings around most everyone else – can you blame him? By Blood and Wine, Regis' overconfidence has been recently smacked down hard after his near-death-experience at the hands of Vilgefortz, and that kind of thing could knock some chips off anyone's shoulder. Throw in the fact that with Dettlaff, we have a situation not even Regis could make light of, and the changes to game!Regis make a certain amount of sense.

I do feel it's a bit of a shame that the vocal direction didn't work just a little bit harder to capture some of Regis' smugger side, or emphasise that his long-winded philosophising on human behaviour is supposed to sound a bit pretentious. This is actually something I suspect they were going for a few times in the script, but which didn't come through in the dialogue quite the way it was meant to. Still, again, I'm sure I'm biased by the fact that I like game!Regis far too much to find much fault in what they've done with him. They've done a lovely job capturing his friendship with Geralt too.

Looks-wise, there's a tendency in book-based art to portray Regis with long hair (even some pre-Blood-and-Wine Gwent art did so – see the two pics on the left above, from Gwent and early B&W concepts. The right-most pic is cover art from the books). I couldn't rightly tell you where long-haired-Regis comes from, though – perhaps it's described more explicitly in the original Polish, or perhaps it comes up in passing in some passage I've forgotten, though it may just as well just be a fannish meme.

The books do describe him as looking rather like a tax collector, slim, middle-aged, with an aquiline nose, prone to wearing black, and his hair as 'greying' or 'grey streaked', so presumably somewhat younger-looking than the game would have it. The hammer-horror-esque sideburns are likewise a game-verse addition, though I do like the look they went with – it's distinct from Geralt in a way that making him another long-grey-haired man wouldn't have been, and that's probably the point.

Being the hopeless Regis fan I am, I have quite the folder full of different fanart takes on book!Regis, so have a selection – art here is by gellihana-art, justanor, greysmartwolf, Nastyaskaya, NatalyLanier, beidak, natalliel, ellaine and afternoon63. For what it’s worth, I feel beidak’s (bottom pic, second from the left) comes the closest to what I’d have pictured personally, based on how he’s first described.

Ciri

I find it much harder to rationalise the changes to game!Ciri, who I didn't exactly dislike, but found stuck too close to the role of generic-macguffin-girl-who-just-wants-to-be-normal to be very interesting. Having read the books, not only do I much prefer book!Ciri, I'm not sure I can emphasize enough how much the game did NOT prepare me for utter gauntlet of whump and misery that girl survives in the last four titles. Book!Ciri is a character who works for me mostly because of the same flaws the game mostly strips her free of – TW3 makes some token noise about how you can't tell her what to do, but she’s an utter little royal brat when we first meet book!Ciri, and it’s so much of what brings her to life. She throws herself into her witcher training with the enthusiasm of a kid going completely native, but still revels in getting to be girly for a change when Triss first arrives at Kaer Morhen. She hates Yennefer at first, but soon bonds with her just as strongly as she ever did with Geralt, picking up some of Yennfer’s haughty mannerisms along the way. And then she gets thrown through a portal and lost in the distant wilderness, and the whole world comes down on her head.

The build up to the first time Ciri actually has to kill someone is intense... and things only get worse from there. Steadily. For another couple of novels at a stretch. Seriously, a major caveat that pretty much has to go into any rec for these books (and I will absolutely rec these books) is that Ciri's story gets heavy. So heavy one finds oneself using phrases like, "that time that one guy died of his wounds on top of her while semi-consensually feeling her up was honestly one of the less traumatic incidents in the period."

By the end of the novels, Ciri has nearly died of thirst, been beaten, tied up, dragged around the country as a prisoner, run with bandits and killed innocent people for the fun of it, done fantasy-cocaine and got a tattoo, fought off more than one attempted rape, been drugged, lain for multiple nights next to an impotent elf who completely fails to impregnate her, watched the bodies of her friends and girlfriend being mutilated in front of her, and did I mention where she got that scar? She has survived hell, and it is absolutely a testament to her own strength that she somehow comes through it and puts herself back together at the end. When Geralt finally arrives to rescue her, what matters most isn't that her ordeal is over, but that she finally knows she hasn’t been abandoned by everyone who’d ever loved her after all.

The Ciri of the books is fierce and wild and arrogant, but she's learned her morals from the best, and she holds onto them until she can't, then picks them back up again when she can, and above all she survives. For all that her story turns arguably too much of the last two books into a slog of misery, oh boy does it pay off at the end. And that's probably about as much as I can say about her Big Moment in the last book without spoiling too much, so suffice to say that by the end of the saga, Geralt has pretty much become a supporting character in Ciri's story, not the other way around. (Seriously, you’d be surprised how few chapters of the last two books he’s actually in.)

Finding art which captures the aspects of Ciri’s character and history which are missing from the game has turned out to be pretty hard, though the fanart above from her bandit phase takes a decent crack at it (credit to Loles Romero and NastyaSkaya). I do rather like that one shot of her on horseback beside her girlfriend too, which comes from Denis Gordeev’s illustrations for the novels (below).

How much of this does TW3 get across with her portrayal in the game? Well, she's still pretty headstrong, I guess. And they let you give a 'sorry, I like girls' answer in one bit of dialogue, so they remembered her girlfriend existed. That's nice. But game!Ciri still has a kind of wide-eyed innocence that book!Ciri lost years ago, while book!Ciri is a little force of nature in ways the games hardly even hint at, and that's a really shameful loss.

You'd think, with a character so young, it ought to be easier to imagine she's simply grown up since we saw her last, but so much of what's changed about Ciri feels like a step back rather than forwards. I can shrug off Geralt and Regis' differences and still enjoy their game-verse-selves, but Ciri leaves me genuinely disappointed.

I’d say the official art that comes closest to capturing book!Ciri is that one portrait of her as a very grumpy young child (right above). Some of the early concept art (left above) feels a little more like it has her attitude, though she’s rather too yellow-blonde – not to mention too pretty. I think it also bears pointing out that Ciri isn’t really supposed to be the kind of beauty she is in the game – even before she gets what’s meant to be a seriously ugly and disfiguring scar. (Fanart below by justanor and bobolip)

But of course, the male gamer fanbase can’t be expected to give a fuck about a girl they wouldn’t want to fuck, so game!Ciri must be generically gorgeous. Le sigh.

Triss

I suppose I should at least touch on Triss, too, though she's a very odd case. She's so out of character in the first Witcher game that I am wryly amused that the biggest thing they arguably do get right is that taking advantage of Geralt the moment he showed up with amnesia is... pretty well in-character for her (look, I gotta be honest here, I'm not much of a fan of Triss in any of her incarnations).

The second game does a much better job with her – she actually feels like book!Triss, she has some good dialogue, we're finally dealing with some of her conflicted loyalties to the Lodge and to Geralt – though by the third, her characterisation has been so softened into “the nice one” that none of that potentially meaty conflict is ever resolved, or even really mentioned. Perhaps there's more buried in the Triss-romance path, which I've never bothered with, but the writers seem to have just given up on dealing with anything that might make her look less than wholly sympathetic. Heck, we hardly even get a clear statement about why she and Geralt broke up between Witchers 2 and 3.

Even speaking as such a not-a-fan of Triss, I promise there is more they could've done with the character the books give us. There's her ongoing trauma in from the Battle of Sodden, where she was injured so badly she was memorialised as one the dead: the 14th of the hill. There's her furious impatience with the neutrality of both the witchers and the Lodge: Triss has fought and died for a cause, and is ready to do so again. The second game sort of gets into this, but by and large, the games really aren't up to tackling the moral complexity of having such a theoretically-sympathetic character as Triss, who was still broadly willing to go along with the Lodge's plans to pair Ciri off and get her pregnant as soon as possible – her own wishes be damned. No, instead, Triss has conveniently left the Lodge before the rest of them go spiraling into abject villainy in the second game, clearing all that messy grey stuff out of the conflict.

Of course, the really big unresolved plot point still hanging over book!Triss is how badly she needs to terms with the fact Geralt's just Not That Into Her, and never has been – but since the games want Triss to be a serious romantic option, that's definitely not getting the resolution it could've used.

Book!Triss also pointedly avoids any outfit with a plunging neckline because her chest is covered with the ugly scars she received in the Battle of Sodden, something the games did not have the guts to reproduce. In a more confusing note, the books do consistently describe her hair as 'chestnut', which we'd usually think of as meaning 'brown' – though it turns out the games actually may not have been wrong to make her a redhead, since in Poland 'chestnut hair' apparently mean dark red hair (google some pictures of actual chestnuts, and you'll see why). Still, the firy-red-haired Triss of TW3 who wears nothing but plunging necklines remains a bit of a stretch, however you slice it. Once again, TW2 gets her best (and I must say, gave her the nicest outfit) – though even here she's conspicuously unscarred in all her sex scenes.

(Leftmost pic above is official Witcher 2 art, whereas Triss-with-scars fanart comes to us – once again – from nastyaskaya)

Shani

Shani sort of falls into a similar category as Triss as someone who isn't terribly well-served by any of her appearances, given that both exist in the first game largely to compete for Geralt's attentions. But I can't honestly say I find Shani’s portrayal in the Hearts of Stone expansion to be much better – the degree to which either version exists solely to fall all over Geralt is a bit painful, especially given that their relationship in the books is limited to a single, undramatic hook-up. Book!Shani really only appears in a couple of chapters: we meet her as a medical student friend of Dandelion's, who's been surreptitiously selling pilfered university supplies to fund her degree, then later see her again in the final book, where she proves herself as a battlefield medic during the climactic Battle of Brenna. She's pragmatic to a fault, and I really can't see her as the type who needs Geralt to point out to her that her patient is dead, for example, or who'd subject a guy with Geralt's problems to such an extended feelings-dump as you'll get out of her during the wedding.

Shani is a reasonably logical book-character to bring back, if only because she’s one of those who explicitly survives the ending, but for my money, "serious contender for Geralt's affections" is just not a role she works in.

Anna Henrietta

The duchess of Toussaint, Anna Henrietta, is another case who differs more from her book counterpart than you might think. In the books, the duchess is by far the least competent of the (pleasantly many and) various female leaders and rulers we meet – she comes across as rather young and naive, and every bit as absurd as everyone else in the ridiculous fairy-tale duchy she rules. She is, for example, most displeased to learn that Nilfgaard's war against the north is ongoing (something her courtiers have carefully avoided mentioning in her presence), because she'd long since sent the Emperor a stern note demanding he brought it to an end. She promptly has one of her ministers sent to the tower for misinforming her, and demands the others prepare an even sterner note for the emperor, which will surely do the job.

After Dandelion (inevitably) cheats on her, she has him repeatedly sent to the gallows, only to change her mind and send him a reprieve at the very last minute each time. Picture yourself a much younger and prettier version of the Queen of Hearts from Alice in Wonderland, and you've about got her general vibe.

Blood and Wine sort of waves at this part of her character when she first speaks about Dandelion, and again in suggesting there's a widespread feeling she lacks compassion, and once more as she proves utterly immovable on the subject of her sister. But the generally sensible and insightful woman you deal with for most of the main story is a far cry from her book-verse characterisation. That’s a bit of a shame, because I feel like there's a lot more they could have done to blend the two versions of her. Still, it’s hard to argue the duchess we get suits the story being told around her.

Other characters

Much as I love Yennefer, Dijkstra and Phillipa, I don't really have much more to say about them because I feel the games have done such a good job. The Yennefer of the books gets to show a lot more depth and complexity simply because she has more scenes and more space in which to do so, but when ‘there isn’t more of her’ is your biggest complaint, the game is officially doing pretty well. I could certainly gripe her about how “dresses in black and white” seems to have been taken as “dresses in black with maybe a trace of white trim”, or how Yennefer and Triss seem to be the only sorceresses in the world capable of wearing pants, when Phillipa (just for one) is in sensible men’s clothing the very first time we meet her, but that’s getting into serious nitpicking territory.

(Not that Yen can’t look amazing in outfits with more white – art by Emily Caroll, theclashofqueens, BarbaraRosiak, and cosplay by greatqueenlina)

Vesimir, Lambert and Eskel, Geralt's fellow witchers from the School of the Wolf, fall into a similar category for me – though we spend far less time with them in the books, everything we see of them in the games feels like a fairly logical extension of their book-roles. Vesimir is somewhat over-played as the old fogey, and his death is painfully cliched, but the impact on the characters and Kaer Morhen still hits home – and the games do some especially great work expanding Lambert into a much more complex character. To my mind, the only shame is that more of the book-original characters didn't get the same treatment.

Who have I missed? There's Avallac'h, of course, but I think I've got him pretty well covered by that last post. Zoltan, perhaps inevitably, has had his personality largely flattened into 'generic dwarf', with nothing better to do than hang around Geralt and Dandelion. You wouldn't know Book!Zoltan was apparently incapable of turning away women and children in need, for example – even human women and children with the chronic inability to say thankyou for his help. Or that he eventually admits to Geralt that the luggage he and his friends are carrying comes from a decidedly unsavoury source for such a supposedly charitable, upstanding guy. Yes, even Zoltan gets to be a morally complicated character in the books – who knew?

Speaking of dwarves, pleased as I am that Yarpen Zigren gets remembered in TW2, he's an odd one to talk about, since even in the books, he appears to have had a substantial personality transplant between his two main appearances. Yarpen’s a largely comedic figure in The Bounds of Reason short story, where he cheerfully admits to having considered letting his men knock down a particularly pompous aristocrat and piss all over him to teach him a lesson, but he’s evolved into a studious voice of reason against the scoiata'el by Blood of Elves. TW2 doesn't do a particularly good job of capturing either version, which I suspect probably bothered me more than most people – I liked the later book-incarnation of Yarpen immensely (and not even just because he's one of few ever to really call Triss out on just how much she needs to stop misreading Geralt's friendship as anything more than it is). His chapter in Blood of Elves packs a hell of a punch.

On the subject of accents

I do have to wonder if I'd have warmed up to characters like Triss, Shani and Dandelion (or even Letho) more if they'd only had halfway decent voice actors. It's not just that none are exactly leading the talent at the acting part of the job, it's that their American accents stick out in TW3 like a sore thumb.

Geralt mostly gets away his own US accent by dint of being the very first character we meet, so we've gotten used to the way he talks long before we notice how he stands out – hell, maybe that's just how they talk down in Rivia (hilariously, book!Geralt eventually reveals he's not even from Rivia, but simply picked the place and taught himself the accent so he could feel a bit less like the abandoned foundling he is, which only gives us yet more excuse for why his accent might sound a bit weird). More importantly, Geralt is meant to stand out, to be the outsider wherever he goes, so having him sound like no-one else fits the character.

But neither Triss or Dandelion are "of Rivia", and by the time they show up we've had dozens of hours in a game where literally everyone else sounds British, or Scottish, or Irish, or vaguely-eastern-European in the case of the Nilfgaardians. So why do these weirdos sound like no-one else on the continent?

The short answer seems to be that every character with an American accent in TW3 is someone who had an American accent in at least one of the previous games, which were way looser with their casting and had enough incidental American accents around that they didn't stand out. Clearly, by TW3, consistency with prior games has been prioritised over consistency with literally anything else we’re hearing.

Gaetan is an exception to the rule as the only new character (at least that I caught) with an American accent – presumably because between Geralt, Eskel, Lambert, Berengar, and Letho (and cohorts), some sort of 'witchers have American accents' rule has been pretty well established (another random American-accented witcher shows up in Thronebreaker, just to underline the point). We're going to mostly ignore Jad Karadin here, since his British accent is presumably a recent affectation to go with his new identity, and so makes sense.

This still doesn't really work though, since Letho’s school is all the way down in Nilfgaard (land of the Eastern European accents), while the oldest witcher from Kaer Morhen (Vesimir) is the one guy with a British accent. He sounds nothing like any of his students, despite the fact he's logically the guy they ought to have learned their accents from. So the logic falls in a heap however you slice it, and I'm thrown right out of the game.

With TW3 as your intro to the series, it feels almost as if characters like Triss and Dandelion have been assigned American accents because they're just too important to be saddled with the same pedestrian British accents as everyone else, which did nothing to endear them to me. The only one I eventually warmed up to was Lambert, and then only because he's just such a bitter asshole that he eventually goes full circle and comes out the other side (somewhere around when you've heard his miserable backstory, then gotten drunk together and told him how much you love him, man). Gaetan similarly snuck in under the same clause – American accents clearly work better for me in this series when attached to characters you're supposed to find pretty insufferable on first impressions.

Some final notes

To conclude, it seems only fair to throw in a quick nod to some of the more memorable book-characters who don't appear in the games. Neither Mother Nenneke (Geralt's sort-of-surrogate mother) or Vissena (Geralt's biological mother) ever appear either, alas – Vissena doesn't even merit so much as a Gwent card, which seems quite the wasted opportunity.

Milva, Cahir and Angouleme – the three remaining companions of Geralt’s who died alongside Regis but who were not so easily resurrected – naturally don’t appear. But nor are even really mentioned in all the games, which seems rather less than they deserve after giving their lives to Geralt's cause.

Cahir and Angouleme do at least have pretty badass Gwent cards to their names, though I am properly offended that Milva (who has the dubious honour of being my very favourite book character who doesn't ever appear in the games) is stuck with a card of her freaking death scene – which not only gets the scene wrong (believe me, there was no grimacing and gripping the arrow buried shallowly in her chest for poor Milva), but doesn't even bother to get her hair the right colour, for fuck’s sake. Basically, Milva was a stone cold badass and absolutely deserves better. #justice4milva

One can only guess how I'd have felt about some of these characters had I read the books before playing the games – I am obviously biased towards forgiving changes to characters whom I liked in their game incarnations, regardless of how they compare. Still, I think it does speak wonders that there still all these characters who suddenly made sense only after I'd met them in the books.

Even if only for Dandelion and Ciri, I can only dream of seeing a bit more of the book-original characterisations make it into the collective fannish consciousness. There's nothing wrong with getting into the canon purely based on the show or the games, but having read Sapkowski's novels, it's no longer any mystery how they spawned this massive franchise. That the saga wasn’t even fully available in English until well after Witcher 3 was released – a solid couple of decades late, and long after it had already been translated into Russian, French, German, Spanish and more – is a real shame. For once, it’s us in the anglophone world who’ve been missing out: these books deserve so much more than to be thought of as a footnote to the games or the show.