#age gap art: not mine

[pezhead]

https://www.tumblr.com/pezhead/740414697775497216/httpswwwtumblrcompezhead738732528616292352d

dr donnie’s devastating discovery

🤣 Then Splinter comes home to find his sons crying cause Donnie's diagnosed everyone with cancer.

[soobvape]

been considering rp more and more recently

[pezhead]

✨❤️💕❤️💕❤️💕❤️💕❤️💕❤️💕❤️✨

I wanted to draw something cute and soft. So here pastels Donnie and Mikey from Age Gap Au by @pezhead

[felassan]

Sylvia Feketekuty: "To celebrate DA day, I've made a bluesky account that I'll keep active for a few days to talk about my work on Inqusition or Veilguard! After a few days I'll lock the account, because I'm not a social media person. Happy to talk until then though. I want to say straight off: the reception to Emmrich, Manfred, the Mourn Watch, and the Grand Necropolis has been heartwarming for all of us who worked on those people and places. Thank you all very much!" [source, two]

Rest of post under cut due to length and spoilers. [Post Two, Post Three]

Sylvia Feketekuty: "In the meantime, I do want to talk about a couple of things I saw floating around regarding Emmrich: 1. Emmrich being 52 or 50. I think people got 50 from data mining a character file, but we can't do a ranges in those files. As in, I couldn't input 50-60, it had to be a whole number. I put down 50 as an early ballpark, then went more accurate in later audition scripts. 2. Fifty-two is a old number I threw into an early document before his art or character was totally final. (And which caused another developer a headache because they thought it was accurate, I never updated it. Sorry about that.) 3. "Wait, how old is Emmrich then?" Once I saw his final character art, I felt more mid to late 50s. MAYBE early 60s. But unless we specifically state a character's age in the game, it's all malleable. I honestly would just adjust it to your impressions unless stated otherwise. 4. I've also seen comments on how weird it is for Emmrich to act like there's an age-gap in the romance if your Rook is around his age. And you're right. 5. The reason is because Rook WAS younger when those scenes were written and worked on. I felt it'd be odd if I never addressed the May-December aspect, especially as it hooks into some of Emmrich's worries. 6. By the time that shifted, it was really too late to change without catastrophic repercussions to the excellent cinematics and music and other things that depend on line delivery and timing. 7. To be clear: you can feel how you want about the age gap coming up at all! But that's how the discrepancy came about. 8. "Is there a way to reconcile Emmrich acting like my Rook is way younger than him if they're not?" Great question! I have several suggestions: -Accept it's an error. (True, but unexciting) -Emmrich considers a gap of 3-5 years scandalous. (Funny, albeit a bit cartoonish.) -The Mourn Watch has perfected swapping out organs, and Emmrich is nervously hiding that he's way older than he looks out of vanity. (Untrue, but funny.)" [source thread]

User in reply to point 6. above: "I'm personally glad it was too late to change because their argument about it is genuinely my favorite scene in the entire game! 😭💕 It's such an important moment to me" / Sylvia: "Thanks! That one was one where I was all sweatily trying to balance things out, with tone, with pacing, etc. Really glad it came together for you. (Cine and the actors did heroic things there to get it feeling just so!)" [source]

More snippets:

Emmrich's favorite ice cream flavor? Rum raisin [source]

Lots of people on the dev team shared the vision of having a bunch of gothic weirdness in that pocket of Thedas [source] (Necropolis/Nevarra)

Sylvia "especially liked writing the Mourn Watch origin, it was fun to write a fellow nerd for Emmrich to chat with" [source]

Sylvia poured some personal worries and fears into writing Emmrich [source]

On Vorgoth and their nature: "I'm a little leery of saying anything, partly because I'm cowardly avoiding publicly defining anything more until/if I ever need to. And partly because I did want them to be a fresh unknown. Sorry!" [source] "I'm glad you like Vorgoth, but I'm afraid I don't have much for you that isn't in the game. I deliberately wrote them so as to leave room, if we ever revisited them, or for Vorgoth to remain mysterious, if we did not. I'm sorry if that's not a very satisfying answer!" [source] "I will say, it was fun to throw in a few lines about Vorgoth's art collection. Their passion for it is sincere and deep. (I wanted all the Watchers to have a little non-death related hobby or interest, because they can be so singularly focused.)" [source]

Dwarven Mourn Watcher is a rare origin combo for Rook so Sylvia wanted to call it out [source]

On the outcomes of Emmrich's quest: "I tried really hard to make the options equally viable, and more up to the player's interpretation or preferences of what it would mean for Emmrich in their view. It's been interesting seeing reactions to it, which hinge sometimes on various single lines pushing people one way or another!" [source]

"The Grand Necropolis is always eager and ready for a new member of the Mourn Watch to grace its ranks." [source]

User: "I loved Emmrich's view on death and what his personal quest ultimately went on to say about the nature of death itself, and how the beauty of mortality lies in its impermanence and unpredictability." / Sylvia: "I really wanted to dig into those themes, and everyone in cine and art and level design and editing and the whole team honed in exactly on the vibe. The floral stuff especially, I was so thrilled when I played through the Memorial Gardens' with the art and lighting in." [source]

User: "I experience thanatophobia and that first conversation w/ Emmrich was so affirming and helped me describe my own anxiety to others" / Sylvia: "Thanks, the thanatophobia was, as you may've guessed, a personal experience for me too. I'm glad it was something that helped a little." [source] "I suspect that phobia is way more common than people think, and part of the reason Emmrich talks about it was to express that sentiment out loud. I find it helps sometimes just to acknowledge it." [source]

What languages does Emmrich speak other than Trade? "I think he'd be familiar with Tevene, since there's surely many, many old texts about magic written in that language. Kind of like a doctor that knows latin through their work. I also named that MW alphabet "tomb-script", though I'm not sure if it has a spoken component or not since it never came up in-game. If it does, he'd be able to speak that for sure." [source, two]

User: "Playing as a Mourn Watch Rook has been an absolute delight!!!" / Sylvia: "Thank you so much, I really liked writing those branches of the dialogue. Since Emmrich's so focused on necromancy, it was fun having a Rook who could be both casual and knowledgeable about it." [source]

User: "In your opinion, what outcome do you prefer for a romanced Emmrich (lich/non lich)?" / Sylvia: "Interesting question! To be honest, I'm afraid to answer it properly in case anyone takes my answer to be a canonical one. I really wanted either path to feel equally interesting/correct for whatever you decide fits your Rook's relationship with Emmrich. (We're also in the strange waters of meta-reasoning. I GAVE Emmrich his fear of death-Sorry Emmrich!-which makes me feel a little culpable for that, even though he's entirely fictional. And that might prey on my mind when trying to decide. A very odd experience!)" [source, two]

What music genres would Emmrich be into? "Classical music is very much playing to type for Emmrich, but I feel it's also correct. He'd enjoy a nice concerto or an organ recital. Or, if he's feeling daring, a bold new Orlesian opera! But I don't think his tastes are too outré in that area. That said, I saw someone post something like "Leave Emmrich alone, let him attend the Depeche Mode concert" while listening to Depeche Mode's "Violator", for the first time, which made me laugh. (Great album. If he could get over the shock of synths, Emmrich might enjoy "Waiting for the Night".)" [source, two]

When writing Emmrich the devs wanted to try and hit the gothic romance vibe [source]

Does Emmrich mix his own fragrance/cologne? Does he ever vary it by the season? "I think Emmrich goes to some of the many perfumers that have set up shop in Nevarra City around the Necropolis, just because he trusts their judgement and expertise. I hadn't considered him varying it by season, but that's very fun! I certainly think he has more than one bottle of scent." [source]

User: "How does Lich Emmrich have sex?" / Sylvia: "I don't mind the question! But my answer's a bit boring: I generally stay at arm's length on the more explicit romance stuff, just because if it's not stated or shown in-game, I don't want to bring in a canonical answer that might affect what people imagined. My general preference for romantic scenes that get physical is to leave blank space somewhere, so players can imagine what happens next. It's not the ONLY way to do it, I think there's legitimate artistic reasons to go more explicit. But that's how I approached Emmrich (and before him Josephine.)" [source, two]

User: "The scene with the fade glow where he touches your hand haunts me in the best way" / Sylvia: "Aw thank you. Our animators and audio people made that scene way better than I could've hoped! They took such care with everything there. I want to say that little eye-peep from Rook was added in by one of them, which was the perfect touch." [source]

User on Emmrich: "i’m curious whether you think he’d prefer dogs or cats (or both, or neither)" / Sylvia: "I think he'd consider cats and dogs a little too noisy and messy for his tastes. Not like a nice, quiet plant or skeleton! (Weirdly, I actually had a scrap of banter going over this exact subject at one point. It got tightened down to the exchange with Harding about the pig he used to hug when he was a kid.)" [source, two]

Sylvia was trying to tease Nevarra with the Tevinter Nights story Down Among the Dead Men [source]. "It was really fun to tease the Necropolis, so to speak, in TN, and I'm grateful we got to actually let players through its gates at last." [source]

User: "if Rook chooses to save Manfred and keep Emmrich mortal, what would Emmrich wish to become of his body once he did pass on?" / Sylvia: "Good question. I think he'd want to remain active and useful in death. A guide for other Mourn Watchers, or posted as a mystic guide somewhere dangerous, or perhaps an oracle in the library." [source]

User: "when and how was it decided that Emmrich would be romanceable? I remember reading that he would not be a romance option." / Sylvia: "I'm not sure where that came from, because I pitched him and then shortly after that we decided the entire cast was romanceable. That was fairly early on in the development of Veilguard, as I recall it. (Could've been a crossed wire?)" [source]

Trick Weekes: "Sylvia wrote the fantastic Emmrich "the Vol-carnage" Volkarin and everything that happens in Nevarra while dealing with a lead writer whose attitudes about corpses and undead are... not dissimilar from Taash's." [source] / Sylvia: "I still remember when you gave the very accurate feedback "I think we need to give players whose Rooks aren't into corpses some roleplaying choices to express this" and I was all "Ohhh yeaaaaaah." (Thank u Trick, you were right)" [source] / Trick: "Specifically, being able to express this without locking themselves out of the content! (For non-Sylvia folks) Given my issues with corpses, Emmrich as a whole was SUPER Not For Me, so I gave one caveat and then said, "For the rest of my critique, I will be impersonating his target audience." [source]

Sylvia on the secret origins of Manfred: "After I pitched Emmrich, I started jotting down notes and thoughts on his plots, his quirks, all that kind of stuff. It was very early on Veilguard, anything was still possible. We were chatting in the writer's room about it one day, and I think we'd just seen some early concept art for Emmrich. And our lead writer Trick Weekes joked that Emmrich looked like a man who'd have a skeleton named Manfred. And I laughed and went "Yeah he does!" And then I thought about it. It's wild in retrospect, but that one comment spurred a train of thought that led to the core of Emmrich's arc. He may've ended up a very different character without it! tl;dr: I stole it from Trick." [source, two, three, four]

"I got to play with a pretty free palette when defining the way Emmrich and the necromancers view death and spirits. But I tried to keep it within the confines of existing lore. That's one reason why that scene where Emmrich talks about Manfred to Harding goes into "the eternal question" of whether a soul actually returns with the dead or not. Nevarra has distinct beliefs, but I thought it'd be interesting if its people argue over their interpretations of those beliefs." [source, two]

"the other writers also suggested a bit later on that the big choice dig more into Emmrich's philosophies. Initially, it was more personally focused on his fears, which made it 'relatable' but pettier. Without that correction, I think it would've been weaker, I totally needed the team push." [source]

"I have a few guides to graveyard symbology, and it's so packed with references and meaning." [source]

User: "Did any of your own fears & experiences, make it into the writing of Emmrich? If yes, is it information you’re comfortable sharing with us? If it’s too personal to give any details, that’s fine as well. Also, across the other games, who do you think Emmrich will get along with best?" / Sylvia: "some of his fears are absolutely personal. The reflexive-compulsive panic over death is something I'm very familiar with, and I wanted to explore that through him. Because I suspected it was not uncommon, and worth examining. The question of who he'd get along with from the other games is surprisingly tough! Because without asking the other writers about their characters, I wouldn't know for sure. So I can only really speak to Josephine with surety. That said: -I think Josephine would be polite, and grow to like him, but would never entirely be over the ostentatious necromancy. -I think Emmrich meeting Sera would be the funniest match." [source, two, three]

"Peter Cushing was also one of my go-tos as an example of what I wanted Emmrich to be." [source]

"(Huge shout out to all the animators and level designers making Manfred run, quite literally. Like 95% of his personality lives in his movement, I think they nailed it.)" [source]

On Emmrich: "I tried to put a lot of passion and sincerity in his love for the dead, and I admit the Necropolis was THE big place I wanted to see in Thedas myself ever since reading about it in a codex." [source]

User: "Thank you for letting him have that cemetery dream date!" / Sylvia: "Having the date in the cemetery was one of the first things I wanted when thinking about the romance." [source]

"Josephine was the first time I was entrusted with a new character and a new romance at once, and that'll always be special to me." [source]

User: "How much input did you have in Emmrich's appearance in the podcast?" / Sylvia: "In the podcast, none myself. I believe it was handled by a third party but reviewed by a few people at BW, I don't know too much past that. (We did provide a descriptor and character rules. Stuff like "Emmrich never swears" and "always says amongst" and broader, more thematically useful things.)" [source]

User on Emmrich: "Are you planning any other external-media stories for him?" / Sylvia: "Thanks very much, The Flame Eternal has a special place in my heart for being the first time Emmrich got to be center stage in a story. (And very flattering to hear about the cross stitch. That's so cool!) I can't speak to any external-media plans, I'm afraid. That's not an implied hint about anything existing or not, it's just literally outside what I'm allowed to chat about. It'd be fun to do something like that again though!" [source, two]

"I must give full credit to Nick Borraine, Emmrich's voice actor. He got the compassion and tenderness the character needed right away." [source]

"And glad him being closer to your age resonated, I really wanted someone older out on an adventure. No reason that has to stop at any age IMO." [source]

User: "do the mourn watcher/nevarra in general raise their pets after they die to keep them around? like a dog skeleton with a whisp in it?" / Sylvia: "To be honest I hadn't thought out this one, but it's a very good question. I'm not sure how common that would be, or even if it's permitted to have pets running around the family crypt. (I definitely thing people would WANT to do it.) You know, I think I'm going to have to leave this one in the vague quantum foam of the future. I think I'd want to not only double check existing lore, but answer that in-game (or in a book or etc.) if we ever need to. (Hope that's not too much of a cop out. Sometimes I like to leave questions I'm not sure about alone, because until it's in an official game or story, it doesn't quite count.)" [source, two, three]

User: "as someone who shares emmrich's anxiety about mortality, getting to spend time with him, and in the grand necropolis and with the mourn watch, was genuinely soothing" / Sylvia: "Thank you, I'm glad he was a comfort. It's a familiar fear for me too, and I'd hoped he would connect that way with people very much." [source]

On the giant ribcage 'ceiling' in the Necropolis: "sadly, even I don't know all the mysteries of the Necropolis. (Which is to say it's a very cool bit of art but has no stated origin yet. Could be a large dragon, a giant...or something weirder!)" [source]

On TN story Luck in the Gardens: "It was nice change up, writing in first person and with someone so rascally. I've got an enduring affection for the Lords after writing Hollix, the scamp." [source]

User: "I just love his genuine enthusiasm for everything he does. If the other party members had fan clubs Emmrich would be the president of each and I love that for him" / Sylvia: "Thank you! I really wanted him to embody a kind of expansiveness and generosity of spirit, to stand in contrast to the eeriness of his abilities." [source]

User: "What was your inspiration for Josie?" / Sylvia: "My girl! When I came on to Inquisition, there'd already been work done on setting up the spine of the main plot, and figuring out the overall cast. But one of the advisors was a little murkier. It just said "Diplomat" on the white board. We knew we wanted someone in that position, but not who. So in a game where you were out exploring, killing demons, etc., but also had a big organization to run? I immediately wanted to make a Diplomat firmly there for you. Somebody you could hand the keys to the entire Inquisition to while you were out, and know it'd be in good hands. I also thought it'd be fun to have someone from Antiva, since that area wasn't covered yet by anyone in the cast. And I needed her to be polished, smooth, but heartfelt, because of that aforementioned trust. And that was the core of Josephine! Her voice actor, Allegra, brought her to life with such lovely charm, and hearing those early sessions also helped me further hone her tone." [source, two, three, four]

"Our music supervisor Ron Dazo hit it out of the park with Emmrich's music IMO. And so glad you liked Hezenkoss! Just very fun to write as a character." [source]

User: "Did any specific watcher raise MW Rook?" / Sylvia: "Good question! I kind of left that one alone because I wasn't sure if I wanted to let Rook define that themselves, or leave it open, and also I'd have wanted a full conversation on it. In the end that was a little out of scope so I left it unsaid. Which is to say that it COULD be Vorgoth who helped raise your Rook. And that stands until/unless we give a definitive answer (or let you choose from a range of answers) one day." [source, two]

"It was such a pleasure for all of us to finally get to explore the Necropolis, I am very glad we got to throw open the gates." [source]

User: "I was wondering if there were any Mourn Watch details you wished you had more time to explore? I was so struck by some of the ethical implications in your stories" / Sylvia: "Geeze, now that's a question. I mention it with Emmrich, but there's some resentment over the power the Watchers hold as THE mortalitasi of the Grand Necropolis, between them and the other orders. There's something to that situation I liked. There's also questions of how they select people for the order. What their standards are, how closely they work with benign spirits. And how they cultivate those relationships. How deep does that go? I also mentioned in a codex "the lives and bodies of those who tamper with the undead of the Necropolis are forfeit unto the Mourn Watch." which is pretty chilling. What's that punishment like, exactly? And in general, writing about anything weird or unexplained in the Necropolis brought me much enjoyment, and it would be fun to dig around how the Mourn Watch deals with (or what they want out of) all these mysteries and entities." [source, two, three, four]

"Geeking out with Emmrich about spooky stuff was a delight to write." [source]

"I liked writing someone older this time, it was something different for me and rewarding in some unexpectedly different ways. (And thanks especially for the nice words on DAtDM - I was very excited to introduce people to the Mourn Watch there!)" [source]

"Ah, tomb-script. I named it but it was our concept artists who went developed it with the hexagon shape-language of the Mourn Watch, which I loved. Conceptually: I think it's used purely an occult or sacred language. Something for the graves, or books on magic, but not everyday things." [source]

"Some trans people kindly offered their help with some feedback on some of the romance lines and others, which absolutely made them much better." [source]

"Trick Weekes actually wrote a ton of the banter where Emmrich inquires into qunari artifacts and customs, and Taash talks about what it was like to grow up under a scholar. I really dig the dynamic they unearthed between the two there." [source]

[littleprinces]

Day 12: Age Gap

Haerin x Male Reader

Kinkvember Day 12

She was sitting alone at a quaint coffee shop in Greenwich Village, her eyes scanning the crowd as she sipped her latte. She was new to the city and hadn't made many friends yet. As she looked up from her book, her gaze met mine. I was a 40-year-old man with a lean, muscular build, and I couldn't help but be drawn to her youthful charm.

"Excuse me," I said, leaning over her table. "I couldn't help but notice your book. Are you enjoying it?"

She looked up at me, a slight smile playing on her lips. "Yes, it's a classic. Have you read it?"

I nodded. "Many times. It's one of my favorites."

We spent the next hour talking about literature, art, and the city. Haerin was intelligent and witty, and I found myself increasingly drawn to her. As we left the coffee shop together, I suggested we continue our conversation over dinner. She agreed, and we walked to a nearby restaurant.

Over dinner, our conversation turned more personal. I learned about her dreams and aspirations, and she asked about my experiences in the city. The chemistry between us was palpable, and as the night wore on, I found myself wanting her more and more.

"You know," I said, leaning closer to her across the table, "I've really enjoyed our conversation tonight. But I have to admit, I'm finding it hard to concentrate on anything but you."

She blushed slightly, her eyes flickering with a mix of surprise and excitement. "Is that so?"

I nodded. "Yes. In fact, I think I'd like to see you again. And not just for dinner."

She raised an eyebrow, a playful smile on her lips. "Oh, really? And what did you have in mind?"

I leaned in, my voice low and husky. "I think you know what I'm talking about, Haerin."

She held my gaze for a moment before her eyes flicked down to my lips. "I think I do," she whispered.

The following week, Haerin came over to my apartment. As soon as she walked in, I could see the desire in her eyes. I poured us some wine, and we sat on the couch, our bodies close but not yet touching.

"You're beautiful, Haerin," I said, my hand reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "I've been thinking about you all day long."

She leaned into my touch, her eyes never leaving mine. "I've been thinking about you too," she admitted.

I leaned in and captured her lips in a soft, gentle kiss. She responded eagerly, her lips parting to allow my tongue to explore her mouth. Our kiss deepened, becoming more passionate and intense.

I broke away from her lips and trailed kisses down her neck, feeling her pulse quicken under my touch. She moaned softly, her head falling back to give me better access. I nipped at her earlobe, making her gasp.

"You taste so good," I murmured, my hand sliding up her thigh. "I want to taste more of you."

She shivered at my words, her breath coming in short gasps. I unbuttoned her blouse slowly, revealing her smooth, creamy skin. I leaned down and captured one of her nipples in my mouth, swirling my tongue around it before sucking gently.

"Oh, God," she moaned, her hands tangling in my hair. "That feels so good."

I switched to her other nipple, giving it the same attention. Haerin's body was on fire, her hips moving restlessly against mine. I could feel her heat through her jeans, and I knew she was ready for more.

I unbuttoned her jeans and slipped a hand inside, finding her wet and ready. I stroked her slowly, my fingers exploring her folds. She gasped and bucked against my hand, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

"You're so wet," I murmured, my voice thick with desire. "I can't wait to taste you."

I slid my fingers out of her and brought them to my lips, sucking them clean. Her eyes widened at the sight, and I could see the desire in them. I pushed her back onto the couch and slid down her body, my hands gripping her hips.

I hooked my fingers into her jeans and panties and pulled them down, revealing her glistening pussy. I leaned in and ran my tongue along her slit, tasting her sweetness. She moaned and arched her hips, giving me better access.

I licked and sucked at her clit, my tongue swirling around it before flicking it lightly. Haerin's moans grew louder, her hands gripping the couch cushions. I slipped two fingers inside her, curling them up to hit her G-spot.

"Oh, God, yes," she cried out, her hips moving in time with my fingers. "Right there, don't stop."

I kept up the pressure, my fingers moving in and out of her while my tongue worked her clit. Her breath came in short gasps, her body tensing as she neared the edge.

"I'm close," she panted. "So close."

I increased the pressure, my fingers moving faster and harder. Haerin cried out, her body convulsing as she came. I lapped up her juices, savoring her taste.

I stood up and undressed quickly, my cock rock hard and ready. Haerin watched me, her eyes filled with desire. I climbed on top of her, my cock poised at her entrance.

"Are you ready for me?" I asked, my voice gruff with desire.

She nodded, her eyes locking onto mine. "Yes," she whispered. "I'm ready."

I pushed into her slowly, giving her time to adjust to my size. She was tight and wet, her pussy gripping my cock like a velvet glove. I groaned at the sensation, my hips moving slowly at first before picking up speed.

"You feel so good," I grunted, my hips moving faster. "So tight and wet."

Haerin wrapped her legs around my waist, her hips moving in time with mine. "Faster," she begged. "Harder."

I obliged, my hips slamming into hers as I fucked her hard and fast. The sound of our bodies slapping together filled the room, our moans and cries echoing off the walls.

"Oh, God, yes," Haerin cried out. "Right there, don't stop."

I could feel my orgasm building, my cock throbbing inside her. I reached between us and rubbed her clit, my fingers moving in time with my hips. Haerin's eyes rolled back, her body tensing as she came again.

"I'm going to come," I groaned, my body tensing as I pushed into her one last time. "I'm going to fill you with my cum."

I came with a roar, my body shaking as I filled her with my seed. I collapsed on top of her, our bodies slick with sweat. I rolled off of her and pulled her into my arms, our bodies still joined.

"That was incredible," she whispered, her fingers tracing patterns on my chest.

I smiled, my eyes closed. "It was," I agreed. "And I'm not done with you yet."

We spent the rest of the night exploring each other's bodies, our passion and desire never waning. As the sun rose, we lay entwined in each other's arms, our bodies sated and satisfied.

[fable2]

Gale Dekarios sighted.

has anybody else tried romancing gale as an evil gnome or am I the only one experiencing this fever dream of an act 3

(in-game screenshot that always makes me laugh under the cut)

[candy69gurl]

I love your Noncon stories so much... like DAMNNNN..... CAN you please do a teacher gojo (Gojo sensei) x student female reader noncon???? Where she trusts Gojo so much but at the end of the day she ends up being raped by Gojo..... pleaseeeeeeeeeee 💗💗💗💗

Are you.. not weak?

Teacher Gojo x student f!reader

Warnings- 18+, dark, non/con, mentions of violence blood (fight with curse), age gap (both are adults), public sex, misuse of trust, loss of virginity, nipple play, fingering, blow job, sex against wall, use of nicknames (baby, sweetheart), mutliple orgasm, raw sex (cumming inside), clit slapping, breeding kink

wc - 4.5k

ART NOT MINE !

The curse swirls and coils, spewing putrid venom at you. You dive out of the way, just evading the devastating strike. The curse screeches and lunges at you again, this time successfully scratching your arm with its sharp claws. You flinch as the venom sears like molten fire against your flesh. The curse charges at you again, its teeth and talons hungry for your flesh. You manage to dodge the assault at the last second, but your stamina is swiftly dwindling.

The curse's venom has burned and left your arm raw. The flesh around the cut is already growing septic, and the pain is excruciating.

The venom rushes through your veins like boiling liquid pain, impairing your judgement and equilibrium. You can hardly stand owing to the shock and anguish. You grab your arm, attempting to stop the flow of blood.

You see the curse about to harm you again.

A-am i going to die?

Gojo's eyes widen as he realises the curse is hitting you. He moves at incredible speeds, appearing beside you in an instant. He pulls you out of the path, accepting the curse himself. His six eyes sparkle brightly as he confronts the curse with strong focus and determination. The curse roars in rage, lashing out at Gojo with its claws and teeth. Gojo does not let the strike hit him due to his infinity blocking any attack attempt to hurt him.

Gojo got the news that you not in your dorm so, so he hurries out to find you, his six eyes narrowing as he tries to figure out where you could possibly be. His cursed energy rises as he explores his surroundings, looking for your scent or any indication of where you could be. He dashes from place to place, looking for any trace of you.

When he sensed you, he dashed to where you were, taking in the sight of you fighting a special grade curse.

He notices that you are damaged, with a burn mark on your arm and venom pouring through your veins. Without hesitation, he utilises his Purple Hollow to break the Special Grade curse. His cursed energy coalesces in his palm as he aims a massive blast at the curse. The Purple hollow hits its target with lethal precision, incinerating the curse instantly. The force of the blast sends the curse flying back and leaves a massive crater behind. Gojo lets out a heavy breath in relief as the curse is no more.

Gojo immediately rushes over to your side, his six eyes scanning you for any potential injuries. He sees that you are unconscious, your breaths slow and shallow. He can see that the venom is still coursing through your veins and the skin around the wound is beginning to scab over. He grimaces in concern as he sees the extent of your injuries.

He softly grabs your arms, lifts you, and carries you on his shoulder.

What was she even thinking.. he sighs, and in a second, Gojo transports you to Shoko using his teleportation power, your limp and unconscious body on his shoulders.

Your eyes fluttered open, and the scene around you became fuzzy and unclear as you tried to make sense of it all.

You're laying in bed with your arm bandaged and a dull aching from your wounds.

You sit up slowly, trying to recall what happened.

Your eyes survey the room, and then to Gojo sitting next to your bed.

"S-sensei?"

He gets up and moves closer to you.

"How do you feel?" he says quietly, his voice full of concerm.

"Mf'ne," you reply.

He gives you a slight smile, his eyes still full with anxiety

"The venom has been neutralised, so your condition is stable for now." He informs you. "You still need to rest. That was a high-level curse.I can't believe you were able to put them off that long."

"Why were you fighting a special grade curse alone.......Do you realise how dangerous that is?"

His tone implies dismay.

"I-", you try to make up something quickly.

He notices the guilt and embarrassment on your face. "You were trying to prove something, weren't you?" 

He asks quietly.

You were up against Miwa, who was apparently a fan girl of Gojo. You failed miserably, failing to land a single hit on her throughout the entire match while she effortlessly evaded your attacks and countered you flawlessly. After the match, you overhear Gojo talking to Miwa.

Gojo: "You did well. Your technique is impressive, especially the way you used the environment to your advantage."

Miwa: "Thank you, sensei."

Gojo smiled at her.

Gojo: Keep this up and one day you will be able to the strongest sorcerer like me.

Miwa squealed and blushed, her face brightens.

You rolled your eyes and felt jealous and embarrassed. You felt determined to prove to GOJO that you're just as good, if not better than her so you decided to go and find a special grade curse to fight, alone.

You continue to roll your eyes as you recall what happened a few days earlier, still feeling envious and ashamed by your bad performance and how much Gojo complimented Miwa.

You snap back to reality and realise you're still in the infirmary bed. Your arm injuries continue to pain, and you feel fatigued and weak. Gojo is still sitting next to your bed, staring at you intently.

"I asked you something, Y/N," Gojo squints his eyes, and you can feel it through the blindfold.

"I-i, yes. I only wanted to prove myself that I am strong, and I failed."

Gojo sighs with disappointment.

"Trying to prove yourself by fighting a special grade curse alone.. that was reckless. It's just too dangerous." He looks at you with a mixture of concern and frustration in his eyes. "You're just lucky that I was able to find you in time before anything even worse happened."

"S-sorry.."

He shakes his head, still looking at you with concern.

"It's alright. Just... don't try to do something like this again, okay? If something happens to you, I can never forgive myself", his voice laced with a slight hint of amusement.

"h-huh?" He smiles slightly "I mean it. I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if anything bad happened to you." He pauses, his voice softening "You're my... favorite student after all"

He notices the blush on your cheeks and his smile widens. "Don't go blushing on me now", he teases, his voice laced with amusement.

He stops and gives you a serious look.

"You do understand that I'm saying this because I care about you, right?"

You nod without looking at his face.

"Just know that I'm constantly looking out for you and I will not allow anything bad to happen to you."

He pauses again, his face becoming more serious.

"I will keep my eyes on you."

You notice that Gojo has indeed been keeping a close watch over you. You can feel his eyes on you at all times, watching your every move and making sure you stay safe. He is also keeping an eye on who you talk to and what you do, making sure that you don't do anything foolish again.

He's been very vigilant and keeping a close eye on you, which makes you feel both secure and a bit uneasy at the same time.

Despite feeling somewhat uneasy, you trust Gojo and feel secure that he will protect you and keep you safe. You know that he is only doing this to make sure that you don't do anything foolish again, and ultimately you feel reassured by his watchful eyes.

It's true, you know that Gojo will come rushing to your rescue at the slightest indication of injury or discomfort. He's always keeping an eye on you and ready to act at any moment. His vigilance makes you feel both safe and loved, and you realize how lucky you are to have him. You know that he would do anything to protect and heal you.

The other sorcerers started noticing the strange behavior of Gojo. They found it odd that he began keeping a close eye on you and always watching out for you. They were wondering why he was doing this, as usually he doesn't bother about such small matters.

Whenever they pointed this out to him, he would give some reasons like "You're weak" and "You don't know what you are doing" which would make you angrily pout and say "I am not weak!", and "I know what I'm doing".

You are training with Yuji when something unexpected happens, and you find yourself in a lewd position with Yuji on top of you. Yuji fumbles over his own feet and falls on top of you, catching you both off guard. Both of you are flustered.

Just then, Gojo appears from nowhere. He sees you and Yuji in a very provocative position. He grabs Yuji's hoodie and pulls him off you.

"What you two are doing?" He notices Yuji blushing and stuttering, and you're still shaken and flustered by the situation.

"W-we were just t-training ..." Yuji stutters.

"Really. T-training is..." You also stutter, and you both appear flustered and embarrassed.

Suddenly, something explodes inside Gojo. At first, he thought it was just his annoyance with Yuji, but there was more to it. Fear or an unknown emotion he is not sure of it. He wanted to be your first choice, not anyone else.

Yuji says, "Uh.. I.. I have an important work.. I have to leave now." Yuji walks away with an awkward smile.

You both stand awkwardly, Gojo's expression unreadable. You avoid looking at him because you can feel his intense stare on you.

"Uh, I need to go somewhere," you suddenly say.

As you're about to leave, he says "You are not going anywhere."

"W-why not?"

"Because I said so. You are not going anywhere", his voice demmanding and angry He says with some intensity in that, his eyes are pinning you to your place.

" I-i don't understand why not ", you argue

"You don't need to understand."

You can see tension building up in his body, his muscles stiffening . He's acting weird than usual..... you cannot put your finger to it, but something's definitely wrong.

"Well , YOU CANT JUST ORDER ME AROUND LIKE THAT" you suddenly snap.

He stares at you with a fiery look, his eyes like daggers "Do not give me that attitude." His voice is laced with anger, he's clearly not in a good mood. He seems to be losing his patience with you.

"S-stop making fool of me infront of everyone."

He continues to stare at you for a minute, his rage rising

"Is that what you think?" He askss angrily, leaning closer to you while speaking.

You move back, now your back is against the wall of the Jujutsu High building

He appears to notice you leaning back and steps back slightly to give you some personal space. He's still looking at you with fierce eyes, and his voice remains keen as he speaks.

"I'm not making a fool of you in front of everyone. I'm just trying to protect you."

"I.. I don't need your protection"

He grimaces at that statement, his temper boiling up inside him once again. "Hah! You don't remember do you?", his voice harsh as he slams his hands on the wall trapping you against it. His voice is laced with anger as he speaks, he looks down at you. "You do not need my protection, then why the hell were you dying that day?", he growls.

"I.. am really grateful to you for that but that does not m-", you protest He interrupts you, his voice harsh.

"Shut up!" He's livid now, he takes off his blindfold with one hand and you can see his crystal blue, like diamond sword as he glares at you. "If you are really grateful why don't you show that to me?"

Your face shows confusion.

He's so close to you that you can feel his hot breath on your neck. He seems to be enjoying making you squirm, his eyes still filled with an intense look.  "Show me how grateful you are. Do I really need to spell it out for you?"

You try to push him away, but he holds his ground, not letting you go. You can feel his chest now against your body, heat radiating from him. He gives you a smirk as his hands move to hold your wrist, restraining you.

Your voice shake as you understand the situation you are in, "H-how am I gonna do that?"

"Hmmm..by giving me your virginity" he says with a hint of amusement in his voice .

Your eyes widen in fear and excitement, "Y-your joking."

His eyes are still intense and serious as he looks down on you. "Am I though?..."

"Sensei pls let me go", you plead, struggling.

"You wouldn’t wanna be on my bad side, sweetheart.” He grinned slyly, his grip tightening around her wrist. His breath ghosting across her cheek. He presses her against the wall more as his ears fill with her pondering heartbeats. “I will be gentle I promise..” His lips graze your earlobe gently, sending chills down your spine. 

"N-no please", your voice begging to let go.

“Hmm Don't you trust me Y/N? ” Gojo purs into your ear, his free hand roaming along your body, “I never intend to hurt you."

He releases his grip on your arms letting them fall down, and they shift to grab his shoulders to push him away. His hands cups your cheeks, squeezing them gently, keeping you close to his body. He chuckles darkly, a sinister look dancing in his eyes. “But don’t worry, I’ll make sure to give you what you need.”

He does not wait for your response, his hands already travelling down to your legs going up to your thighs under your uniform skirt. You bite your lower lip closing eyes "Aww, you like that, baby? That’s good.” His voice dripped with seduction as he continues upward, lingering on your thighs. Gojo can't help but chuckle softly, his mouth hovering above yours.

“Guess you ain’t as resistant as you pretend to be.” He leans in, his lips brushing against yours, seizing the opportunity to capture your lips with his own. His tongue darts out to taste you, claiming ownership of your mouth.  Gojo wants you, he needs you, and now he's taking you right here. His hands roam freely, exploring every inch of your lovely body. As the kiss intensified, he feels your submission within it. His hand moves up to cup your breast, kneading it gently through your clothes.

“Let me have you,” he growls his teeth gently grazing your bottom lip. His other hand slide down your side, cupping your ass and pulling you closer, the heat building up in your core is unmistakable. 

"P-please not here, w-what if someone-"

"Then you better not make any noise." He whispers against your lips. His hands shift, beginning to tug at the buttons of your uniform shirt.

“We’ll do this right, ok?” He says reassuringly, yet demanding obedience. He can't resist the urge anymore, his body screams for you, his soul desires you. He needs to make this moment last, to imprint it onto both your minds forever. He starts unbuttoning your uniform, revealing delicate skin beneath.Your eyes follow his hand movements. 

A gentle bite on your neck made you gasp softly; a rush of adrenaline filled the air. “Don’t worry baby, I’ll protect you from everything else.”

His voice was rough, almost animalistic in its hunger. He was determined to satisfy his primal urges. He unbottons all the bottons of your shirt.

You try to hide your exposed chest. 

Gojo's smirk widened as he feels you hiding yourself from him. "Don't do it.” He orders hoarsely, playing with the strap of your bra. "Don't you trust me?" 

You nod, tears threatening to spill out of your eyes.

He takes your hand which was hiding your breasts and kisses them gently. Pulling your bra up, he reveals your breasts, nipples hardening at his gaze. His thumbs brushed against your nipples, teasing them softly.  His hands travel down your waist, lifting your thigh up. His thumb rubbing against your clad clit.

You flinch at his touch, his lips curl up to an evil smile as he finds your neck again, nipping and sucking, marking you as his own.

  "Let me take care of you, baby." He pushes your undies aside, thrusting a finger inside you.

Your eyes shut close at his sudden thrust, "Aah, s-so sudden.." your one arm wrap itself around his neck and the other grabs his shoudler for balance.

"Your so wet yet you say you don't want this.. So Tight, ah" Gojo speaks, his voice low and husky. He adds another finger, stretching you wide. "You have no idea how much we both want this, Y/N. It's been killing me – waiting, watching you from a ar."

"nngh n-no more ssensei, c-cant stand"

Gojo's smirk grew bigger, his fingers moving inside you faster. “Can’t handle this, huh?” He chuckles darkly, thrusting his fingers deeper. "If you can't handle my fingers, how are you gonna handle my cock hm?"

"Pls I can't take anymore."

“You said you are not weak, why don't you try and prove it?” His voice was rough, his hips grinding against you. He hooks his finger on your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes.

"Hnghh-" you arch your body as his fingers move faster, hitting a spot that makes you whimper softly, your nails digging into his shoulder as you feel yourself reaching climax, he feels your walls tightening more. his other hand leaves your waist and grabs your breasts, squeezing them roughly, pinching and rolling your nipples slightly. His fingers curl inside you, and you cry out creaming with his fingers in you.

"Shh", he harshly covers your mouth, "you don't want people to see you like this do you?"

You shake your head frantically, as knees shake and you gradually collapse to the ground. He lets you collapse on ground as you breath after such an intense orgasm for the first time in your life.

“Easy, my little bird,” he coos, unbuckeling his belt pulling his erect shaft. “Open your mouth” 

Your eyes shift to his member to his face "W-what?"

"Don't make me repeat myself, Y/N." He says, his voice thick with lust. "Open your mouth if you don't want to get hurt when I fuck you with it." He repeats, his eyes boring into yours.

"I-its so big"

"Don't worry I will guide you through it" You slowly open your mouth, your eyes never leaving his. He smiles, his eyes filled with lust and desire. He slowly thrusts his cock into your mouth, feeling your tongue swirl around him. He moans softly, his fingers tangling in your hair protecting the back of your head, as he pushes your head against the wall. He thrusts deeper, feeling your gag reflex kick in.

He pulls back slightly, giving you a chance to breathe. He thrusts back in, feeling your throat constrict around him. He moans louder, his hands pulling your head closer to him. He thrusts faster, feeling your nose press against his stomach.

Gojo grins, "That's right, take it all." He groans, his hips pistoning harder, forcing you to take his full length. He slams into you, thrusting in and out of your mouth, his movements becoming erratic. He's so close, his eyes roll back in pleasure. His fingernails dig into your scalp, his balls slapping against your chin.

"Almost there..." he pulls out his dick before he can cum. "Mhm..Nah.. Not gonna cum in your mouth..", drools drip down your chin. You inhale as much air as possible "Good girl." He praises, his breath ragged. He picks you up with his hands beneath your thighs , he presses your legs tightly against the wall as he rubs himself against your wetness.

"D-dont go any further..", you protest.

“I promise I'll pull out if it hurts.” He says, his breath hot against your ear. He positions himself at your entrance, his tip sliding in easily. "I can never hurt you", he gives you a small peck on your lips, as he pushes himself for inside you.

"P-please it hurts .. Ahh.. p-pull it out"

"If you struggle more its gonna hurt you, so relax" He growls, his voice thick with lust. He pushes himself in, inch by inch.

Your body shakes with each inch he pushing inside you. Tears roll down your cheek, toes curling at the pain yet pleasure.

"You crying?" He asks with a teasing look in his face, his pace slowing down. "it won't hurt forever" He thrusts fully in you.

You body arches back against the wall.

"Just relax." He breathes, his hips rocking against you. "Feels good, doesn't it?" He asks, his dick sliding in and out of you rhythmically. He pumps you slowly at first, letting you adjust to the feeling.

Your mind is blank, your just taking everything he is giving to you. He starts thrusting faster, his grip on your hips tightens.

"You're so fucking good, baby. So tight and wet...” He pants, his eyes locked on yours. He slams himself inside you, your walls gripping his size. He bites his lower lip, trying not to release too soon. He slams against your womb, feeling you tighten around him. He kisses your forehead . "I'll cherish you forever, I'll protect you, promise". He holds your face with one hand, forcing you to look into his eyes. He leans down, his lips capturing yours. "I love you." He says between kisses.

"S-sensei hnghh .. a-ah .. l-love you too.. a-ah" Gojo groans, his thrusts becoming harder and rougher, You wrap your legs around his waist to feel him deeper.

"Hah! I knew you felt it too.." He thrusts harder, deep thrusts making you moan loudly. He grips your ass, making sure every inch goes in. "Tell me again! Tell me how much you love me!" He roars, one of his hand squeezed your breasts while the other was placed on the wall maintaining balance. His grip on your ass tightens as he feels his climax approaching.

“Love you!” You scream, your nails digging into his shoulders. "

"Yes! That's it!” He roars, his hips bucking wildly. He sucks on your breasts alternatively and fiercely, his teeth grazing your nipple.

“Fuck! Yes!” He releases, your breast with a lewd sound turning you around, pushing you against the wall, by your neck as he slams into you from the back

"Gon' cum", you whimper.

His dick slides in and out of you at a frenzied pace. He spanks your ass, causing you to yelp. He thrusts deeply, your walls milking him.

"Cum for me, baby!" He groans, his pace increasing. "Do it!" His voice tingling your ears as his thrusts getting more and more forceful. His nails dig into your skin as he nears his peak.

"mhm y-yes.. ah", you  cum, squeezing his dick so tightly that he can't help but moan His hips slowing down letting you relax before jerking and spilling inside you, filling your womb .

He collapses on top of you, catching his breath. "You're mine.. Now that I have take your virginity." He mutters, nuzzling your hair. "No one can take you away from me." He whispers, his heart racing.

He lifts away from you.. Your nails glide down the wall as your knees go weak and you collapse on the ground with your ass high up and his seed spilling out of you His cum dripping down your thighs "W-why did you cum inside?", your voice still shaken. He smirks, kneeling beside you, he cleans you up, his fingers running over your sensitive clit. "The way your walls were squeezing me. Seemed they didn't want to leave my dick alone mhm" He spreads your legs, admiring his work.

"Don't worry gon buy you emergency contraception" He laughs, shaking his head. "Though you would look good with my child" He slaps your cunt only to watch his seed drooling down and your walls clench around nothing.

"Let's go shall we? or you gon keep your ass high up in the air for me to invade you more"

You get up, glaring at him and try to walk but falls down but gojo holds before you fall. Gojo chuckles, holding your waist not letting you fall.

“You’re so cute when you try to be mad but fail, Y/N.” He says, smiling brightly. "Looks like you won't be able to walk for a few days huh" He says, helping you walk.

Yuji and Nobara notice you two approaching them, and Yuji's face lightens with amusement.

"Are you Okay Y/N?" Yuji smirks and raises his eyebrow.

Gojo shrugs. "Ahahahahahahaha.. She just fell down and I had to look out for her as I usually do"

Nobara rolls her eyes and whispers to Yuji, who giggles. "I wonder what happened here." She chuckles, crossing her arms.

Megumi looks at you with concern on his face.

Gojo snickers as he holds you tighter. "I told you she's fragile," he says, his arm draped around your shoulder.

You yell back at him "I AM NOT WEAKKK"

[pinkboaclub]

Professor Styles

Summery: Harry is your professor who also mentors you in the field you aspire to pursue. One night, while at his home, things go a little to far.

Words: 3k

Warnings: smut, teacher-student relationship (university-everyone is of age with no large age gap), alcohol consumption, fem!reader

“It asks us to ponder how we preserve the image of power, and what those images reveal about the societies that create them.” Professor Styles said, beginning to wrap up his lesson on Oliver Cromwell's death mask. “That’s all I have for you today.”

As everyone around you gathered their things and headed for the door, you took your time, collecting your supplies. You waited for a moment, knowing you needed to speak with Mr. Styles.

One of your male classmates was already engaged in conversation with him, asking a few last-minute questions before wishing him a good weekend and leaving the lecture hall. As the room emptied out, his eyes found yours, and he offered a small smile.

"Hi," you greeted him.

"Hello, Ms. Y/L/N," he replied, his tone warm and professional.

You hesitated for a moment before speaking again. "I just wanted to confirm that we're still on for tonight."

"Of course," He said, his smile widening. "I have a feeling we'll get very far."

To anyone else, overhearing a student and their professor engaged in such a conversation might raise some red flags, but in this context, it was strictly professional.

"Definitely," you replied, nodding. "I've already completed most of the pigment analysis. I just need you to review the results tonight."

"Sounds perfect. I'll see you tonight, then."

"See you tonight," you said, before turning and walking out of the lecture hall, the door closing softly behind you.

You had been working to become an art restorer, specifically taking paintings and reconstructing and restoring them. When Professor Styles had overheard you telling another student this, he offered to be your mentor, as he was very familiar in the field. So, for the past three months, you would come over to his home every Friday, learning and practicing to restore paintings.

That night, you sat on his couch, grabbing some of your research from your tote bag as Professor Styles—or Harry, as he preferred you to call him outside of class—grabbed you a glass of water.

“So, we can go over your pigment analysis,” He places the glass of water in front of you. “Also, I have a gift for you.”

“Oh, a gift? I wish I had gotten you something.” He chuckled at your remark, walking to his book shelf and pulling two large paintings from a portfolio bag leaning against it.

He held one painting in each hand and turned them around to reveal them to you. They were two old, beat up paintings that had severe chipping and cracks all over them, but they were absolutely gorgeous. A gold mine for a aspiring art restorer:

“Wow,” you leaned in closer as he walked toward you to give you a better look. “These are beautiful, what are they? Where did you get them?”

“Won them at an auction, someone’s great grandfather’s old painting, I thought they’d be perfect to practice on.” You had previously only worked on paintings you found at thrift stores, and that was before Harry even began mentoring you.

“They’re perfect, thank you, Harry.” You looked up at him, giving him a smile.

“Of course.” He returned the smile, a soft, appreciative look in his eyes. “Those are going to take a couple weeks to finish, but it will teach you a lot. Let’s go over what you have first.”

He placed the paintings back in their portfolio bag and sat beside you on the couch. As he rolled up his sleeve, you couldn’t help but notice the muscular forearms that were now on full display. The slight brush of his skin against yours every time he leaned in made your stomach flutter, and you quickly tried to focus on the task in front of you to keep your composure.

It would be a lie if you said you had never noticed Harry in a way that went beyond a professor or mentor. He was undeniably handsome—tall, charismatic, with a presence that filled the room. It had become harder to focus on anything but him, especially since you’d started talking more outside of your shared passion for art history.

After a random comment about his bookshelf one night, the two of you had ended up spending the rest of the night talking about music, literature, and sharing recommendations. Those conversations had brought you closer—far closer than you had anticipated—and, if you were being honest, had only made your feelings for him grow.

But you tried to push those thoughts aside, focusing on the task at hand.

"Let’s see what you’ve got," he said. You gathered the stack of research papers you’d compiled over the week from the coffee table and handed them to him. He had tasked you with studying the chemical compositions of paint from various historical periods. "This is great," he remarked, flipping through the pages. "This will also be incredibly useful for restoring those paintings." He said, pointing towards the paintings he just showed you. You took a sip from the glass of water he'd offered, the coolness easing the subtle nerves you felt around him.

The night continued with you two talking about your research, where to go from here, and the paintings he had given you.

As your conversation went on, it started to diverge from art. You now sat comfortably with a glass of red wine he had offered you, him sitting across from you, doing the same. The topics were easy and light until Harry shifted the conversation.

“So, how are things going in your other classes?” he asked, genuinely curious, his gaze focused on you with an intensity that made you pause.

You shrugged, the words coming out a little more candidly than you intended. “Pretty good. They can be hard to focus on sometimes.”

“Hard to focus?” Harry echoed, his eyebrows lifting slightly. “How so?”

You chuckled softly, the honesty feeling strangely liberating. “Mm, it’s just...not as interesting,” you admitted, almost laughing at the thought of telling one of your professors that your other classes sucked, though the red wine helped with that.

Harry didn’t seem offended or put off by your answer—in fact, he seemed more intrigued. “They’re still art classes, right? You don’t enjoy them?”

“I do. I definitely do,” you reassured him. “But, your class is definitely the best. I feel like it’s the only one where I’m actually moving toward my goal of becoming an art restorer.”

Harry nodded thoughtfully, a small smile playing on his lips as if he was flattered. “I get it. It’s hard when you’re taking a bunch of classes, and only one of them really feels like it’s leading you somewhere you want to go.”

You exhaled, relieved he didn’t think you were simply disinterested in your studies. “Yeah, exactly. I feel like the rest of them are just kind of...a filler.”

“Well,” he said, leaning back on the couch, “even the ones that don’t seem directly related to your goals still help build the foundation for what you want to do. You might not see it now, but everything connects in its own way.” He looked deeply into your eyes, making you nervous.

“I know,” you agreed, taking a small sip of wine to give you a moment to collect your thoughts. “I know, it’s just hard sometimes when I can’t see the bigger picture.”

Harry met your eyes with an understanding that made you feel like he genuinely saw you, not just as a student, but as someone working hard toward a future they were passionate about. “It’s okay to feel that way,” he said softly. “It’s part of the process. But it will all click, eventually.”

You felt a quiet connection in his words, the kind that seemed to resonate deeper than just the academic advice he'd offered. You hadn’t realized how much his reassurance meant to you until that moment. The wine made everything feel softer, and for a brief second, you let your guard down, your gaze lingering on his face.

Harry smiled gently, and there was a warmth in his expression that made you feel seen in a way you hadn’t quite expected. The conversation drifted back to more casual matters, but there was a new undercurrent to the air—an unspoken understanding between the two of you that made everything feel a little more…charged.

As the evening went on, the distance between the two of you seemed to shrink. Harry, though still maintaining his professional demeanor, seemed more at ease. You found yourself laughing more freely, your nerves slowly melting away. The way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled, how his voice softened when he spoke to you, it was all so comforting. You couldn't help but wonder if, just maybe, he felt some of the same magnetic pull you did.

At one point, you found yourself leaning a little closer to the table, showing him a particular section of your research. You didn’t mean to move so near, but the way you both reached for the papers at the same time brought your hands dangerously close. His fingers brushed against yours, and for a second, neither of you moved. It felt like time had stopped, like the world outside the house had disappeared.

His gaze flicked from your hand to your eyes, and you just looked at each other. His expression softened, the playful edge of the conversation shifted into something quieter, something more intimate.

"Ms. Y/N," he murmured, voice low, "you really are talented. I mean it." His voice was sincere, and the way he said your name made your heart beat quicker.

You swallowed, a little nervous but not wanting to back away from the moment. "Thank you, Harry. It means a lot coming from you." Your breath felt heavier as your heart raced and the intensity of his gaze made it hard to look away.

He hesitated for a second before his gaze dropped to your lips and you immediately felt a shift in the air. It was sudden and unexpected, yet somehow felt right. When he leaned into you, you couldn’t help but do the same, instinctively closing the space between you.

Then, before either of you could second-guess it, his lips brushed yours. It was quick, gentle and soft. For a moment you almost forget where you were, until you both pulled away.

You blinked, heart thudding loudly in your chest as you met his eyes, unsure of what to say, unsure of what had just happened. Harry looked just as surprised, his breath was heavy, though his expression was kind, almost apologetic. "I—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—"

"No," you cut him off, feeling a surge of warmth rush to your face. "It’s okay. I...I don’t know what that was." You stayed silent for a moment, though it felt like hours.

You both leaned in again, your lips colliding, faster and harder than the first. Though, this time, you didn’t stop. His hand went to your hip, pulling you closer to him as one of your hands went to his face and the other to his shoulder.

You both slowly leaned back, laying yourself on the couch as he hovered over you. He soon helped you out of your sweater, quickly pulling away from your lips, but immediately finding them again once your sweater was gone. His hands roamed your body as both of you got lost in each other.

Harry pulled away again, an almost shocked expression on his face.

“Is this okay? I’ll stop right now if you want me too, we can pretend this never happened, it won’t affect anyt-“ he hastily asked, but before he could continue, you kissed him again, giving him his answer. You definitely wanted this.

You tugged at his shirt, telling him to take it off, to which he complied. He begins to kiss down your shoulders before unbuttoning your pants.

“Professor,” you pulled him back up to your lips. You, your body, needed to skip the foreplay and get right to it, you were desperate for him. “I want you, now.” You said in between kisses.

He nodded his head, understanding what you were saying. He helped you out of your jeans and underwear before you helped him out of his.

His hand travels down, making sure you were prepped enough before he started. There was no question, you were sure you had never been this wet before. His hand traveled to your clit and began rubbing it.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful.” He admired your body before running his cock up and down your slick folds.

“Mm, Professor.” You moaned out with your eyes closed, taking in the very little pleasure he was giving you.

“Harry, baby,” He corrected you. “M’not sure how many times I’m going to have to remind you, darling.”

You smiled and nodded, but to be honest, you couldn’t think of anything else other than him pushing inside you as quickly as possible. When he finally did, you hadn’t realized how big he was, but had to get adjusted quickly.

"Can I move?" He asked as he pecked the corner of your mouth. You quickly nodded and wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him even closer. He kissed you again as he pulled out, leaving just the head inside before thrusting back in. You kissed each other as Harry rocked his hips into you, quickly slipping into a steady pace. He reached down to circle your clit as he kissed your neck and you gasped at the sensation.

Your moans felt like they never stopped as both or your body’s thrusted, being motivated by the built up sexual tension. His pace quickened, causing you to be louder, incoherently moaning and whimpering, which he loved. He looked down at you, taking in the pleasure you got from his cock.

“You’re so perfect, taking my cock so well.” He grabbed one of your legs, holding the back of your knee to get an angle where he could repeatedly hit your g-spot. “Do you know how long I’ve thought about this? How long have I had to watch you in class, pushing down any thoughts of doing exactly what I’m doing right now?”

You moaned out, acknowledging his confession. Every memory you had in his class came rushing back, every time you accidentally made eye contact, was he thinking abou fucking you then? When you purposely wore a skimpy outfit, did he notice?

As you felt your stomach tighten, your moans called out his name repeatedly. “I’m gonna cum soon Ha-” Before you could finish, speaking and cumming, he pulled out of you and looked back into your eyes.

“Need to see you ride me, is that okay?”

“Yes, yes.” You cried out, climbing on to straddle him. You both moved quickly, eager to please each other.

You lined yourself up with his cock, slowly lowering yourself onto him. His hands tightly hold your hips to keep you steady. You start moving up and down, your hands holding yourself up on his shoulders.

Harry watches you in awe, fascinated by your body moving up and down him, your breasts bouncing up and down, your back slightly arched, and your hair beautifully swaying around. Fascinated at how you still look angelic during such unholy activities. You moved your hips faster, looking down to see Harry appear and disappear inside of you.

Your mouth falls open as his cock hits your g-spot with every thrust and his hand moves to rub your clit. Your bounces started to become sloppy as your legs became weak, both from the repetitive movement and the pleasure.

Harry wrapped one of his hands behind your back, pushing you closer to his chest and letting you rest your head on his shoulder.

“Shh, I’ve got you, let me make you come.” He shifted his hips, gaining a better position before thrusting up into you.

“Fuck, Harry.” You grunted as his hips slammed into you, but his protective arm still held your back in place.

“I know, I know,” he turned his head towards your ear, holding his lips to it. “Let yourself cum, I wanna feel you squeeze my cock, darling.”

His sultry voice whispering in your ear was enough to send you over the edge.Your cunt pulsed around Harry as your climax hit you, sending him spiraling over the edge as well. You collapsed on top of him, your full body weight leaning into him and your head resting on his shoulder.

You both sat there, bodies sweating, chests rising up and down, saying nothing. You had almost forgotten where you were but, how could you? You were in your professor’s arms, sitting on his cock, coming down from an orgasm.

The words rang in your head again…until you lifted your head up, avoiding eye contact with Harry, despite his eyes trying to find yours. What if he hated you after this? What if this was the end of your relationship with him?

You lifted yourself up, slowly looking for your clothes. Harry, with a worried look on his face, did the same. Both of you put your clothes on, still saying nothing.

“I’m sorr-“

“That was very unprofe-“

You both spoke at the same time, then stayed silent.

“I’m sorry if I crossed a line. That was very unprofessional of me.” Harry spoke up, both of you finally locking eyes.

“It’s okay.” You whispered. “Uhm…I should go, though.” You grabbed your papers and your bag, slinging it over your shoulder and heading to the door.

Harry walked behind you, holding the door open, watching you begin to walk away.

“I am sorry, Y/N.” You turned back, not knowing what to say. You weren’t mad at him, at all. You were mad at yourself.

“See you on Monday, Mr. Styles.”

[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.

[pezhead]

✨💕✨💕✨💕✨💕✨💕✨💕✨💕✨

Okay, I drew another pastel boys from Age Gap Au by @pezhead

[pretty-little-mind33]

bsfd!James Potter x fem!reader

Summary: You'd kept your relationship with James a secret up until you couldn't anymore. Pt. 2 of Lavender Haze (might wanna read or you'll probably be confused <3)

Genre: Angsty hurt and comfort (smut-ish)

Warnings: fictional age-gap relationship (20f, 40m), heavy making out (fingering), swearing, getting caught, slut shaming, very angry!harry, protective!james

JAMES POTTER MASTERLIST

James sends you a look from across the room, the look, and your heart pounds. He is in the middle of a conversation with Remus Lupin, your old Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, and you suddenly find it very hard to concentrate on the conversation you're supposedly having with Hermione.

Three months. Your relationship with James had managed to stay a secret for three months, and you honestly don't know how.

"And so—Y/n? Are you even listening?" Hermione asks, looking at you suspiciously. Ron's arm is draped over her shoulders as he talks with Harry—and Harry, who is holding Ginny's hand.

You look at your friends. Fuck, you think, you must look so pathetically alone.

You answer Hermione quickly, "No, I'm sorry. I am listening," you smile and sneak a glance at James again. Huge mistake considering he's still wearing that look on his face; the one you've learned to read oh so well.

"Actually, I have to use the loo," you mutter, standing up. Hermione frowns, but she doesn't say a thing as you walk down the hallway.

When you reach the small bathroom, you open it and then shut it behind you quietly. You sit on the toilet, nails in your mouth as you wait. A few moments later, the door opens and someone way too familiar slides in. You stand. You feel like the air inside your chest has been ripped from you when he turns and your eyes meet his.

"Funny, it always starts with a bathroom," James jokes in a whisper, causing you to smile. In seconds, his lips are on yours, and he's hoisting you onto the tiny sink. "Bloody hell," he mutters when you subconsciously run your hand up and down his chest, clutching at his shirt.

"I missed you," you pout.

"You talked to me barely thirty minutes ago," he chuckles, "When you kicked my ass in wizard's chess, remember?"

"Yeah, but I mean I missed you like this," you say with a smirk and start to unbutton his shirt. "Mine," you clarify and kiss his cheek quickly. James smiles and dips his head as he nibbles on your exposed shoulder.

"Yours," he whispers and then continues in one breath, "You drive me absolutely insane, dressed in this mini dress," his hand rides the side of your dress up your thighs and then his hand reaches your middle. He looks at you sternly, and you send him a small wink, "No panties? What a naughty girl."

"Only for you," you moan and arch a little when you feel him suddenly ease one finger into you. Just one. One torturous finger that he teases you with. "James," you moan, holding onto his wrist and almost begging him to do something.

Just as his lips attach themselves to your neck and he begins to caress your clit, the latch to the bathroom lock suddenly clicks and the door opens. James's head snaps up too quickly, and he accidentally hits you in the nose. You yelp in pain.

"Dad?" Harry's voice cuts through the tension, and your stomach drops. Immediately, your arms cross over your chest as James spins around and shields you behind him.

"Merlin, get away from her!" Harry suddenly screams out and yanks his father out of the bathroom and into the small hallway.

Adjusting your dress, you rush to follow them and try to explain the situation. "Harry, it's okay! I wanted him," you blurt out as an attempt to calm Harry's anger, but it only makes the entire situation so much worse.

"You wanted my dad!?" Harry screams, and everyone in the living room turns their attention to you three. Your cheeks turn warm, and you're frozen in place. Harry looks distraught, while the guests just look confused, and you want to cry.

"Don't yell at her," James says firmly and frees himself from his son's grasp. He holds Harry's shoulder, taking on a more authoritative parental tone, "Calm down."

Harry just looks more furious. "You're fucking my best friend, and you're telling me to calm down?!!" he accuses, and your tears fall uncontrollably. "She's too young for you, you disgusting pervert," he insults his father as he slaps James's hand away from him.

James looks a mix of ashamed and annoyed. "Harry," he starts, but he's completely taken aback by the punch Harry lands on his cheek. Scared, you rush to James's side without thinking and clutch onto his arm.

"And you," Harry's murderous gaze lands on you this time, and he walks up, causing you to stumble back. "You fucking slut," he hisses, his words a little slurred from the drinks he'd had and full of anger even as Ginny's hand finds his to calm him down.

You feel like you've been punched. You know what you did was wrong—you know Harry has every right to be furious with you—but still, his words hurt.

"Oi!" James's voice booms and he grasps Harry's shoulder again, pushing him away from you. "Do not speak to her like that, you hear me?" he sounds stern, and he looks around the room at everyone staring, then at Harry.

"Take a walk outside. Now," James demands, and his gaze flickers to Hermione, Ron, and Ginny, silently asking them to bring Harry to the garden and have him take a few breaths.

You stand to the side, still crying as the world moves around you in slow motion. James's friends take this as a sign to leave, sending you sympathetic smiles as if they already knew anyway, but you don't focus on that as you lean against the wall and anxiously chew at your nails until blood drips from your finger.

"Hey," James whispers, his hand finding yours, and he brings your bleeding finger to his lips, sucking the blood to soothe you. "It's okay."

You shake your head. "No, it isn't okay, James."

James's shoulders tense, and he moves his hand to the side of your face. "Hey, shh, pretty girl, we wanted them all to know at some point, right?" he reminds you, alluding to the many late-night conversations you'd had over the last three months—conversations you assumed would always remain in the confines of James's bedroom.

You look up at James, and he looks deadly serious.

"Right?" he asks again, gently holding your cheeks in his hands as his thumb wipes away your tears.

You nod, and James rewards you with a kiss on your forehead. "Yeah, there's my good girl," he mutters and holds your cheek, kissing your cheek again. "He'll be fine," James says softly, mentioning Harry. You tense.

"He's my best friend," you whisper. "I don't want to lose him."

James runs his fingers through your hair. "You are not gonna lose him, my darling," he says, but he doesn't sound as sure as he'd like, and you can tell.

James decides he should speak to Harry first, which means you're left sitting on the couch in the living room, biting your nails until you draw blood while James is with his son in the garden.

"How long?" Ron speaks up, his voice strained and high-pitched. He's sitting on the floor across from you with Hermione, her hand in his lap. Ginny stands in the corner of the room, her arms crossed.

"Three months," you sniff and quickly add, "I didn't mean for this to happen—"

"Three months is an awfully long time, Y/n," Hermione interrupts, "and you didn't think to tell Harry?"

"He deserved to know," Ginny's voice sounds strained. She's clearly upset that her boyfriend is upset. It's understandable; you can't blame her.

"Of course I did! But, what was I supposed to say?" you exclaim, "Please, tell me, what's worse? - 'Hey, Harry, I’m fucking your dad,' or 'Hey, Harry, I'm in love with your dad?'"

The room instantly turns silent.

"In love?"

Your chest heaves. You bury your face in your hands. "Yeah," you squeak. "I don't know how it happened, it just did. And these feelings, I can't turn them off," you say, looking up at your friends. "I've tried," you add in a whisper.

Hermione looks understanding while Ginny grumbles something under her breath. She still isn't happy. Ron looks confused, but he decides against making a comment because Hermione is drawing soothing circles around his palm as a silent warning.

After a few moments longer, James walks into the room from the garden and he looks around the room at everyone. He looks a little exhausted, but he doesn't look sad or angry. He focuses his attention on you, smiling a little as he walks over and takes your hand, lifting you up. No one else speaks as they hold their breaths.

"Harry wants to talk to you," James informs you, his voice low. You can tell he wants to press a reassuring kiss to your forehead, but he's holding himself back. He chooses to squeeze your hand instead, nodding his head to the back door. You look at him, unsure, but you drop his hand anyway and walk to the door.

It's a warm evening, so when you walk outside onto the grass, you aren't very cold in your dress. Still, you wrap your arms around yourself for comfort and security as your heart sinks when you see Harry sitting on the cement steps, his hands in his hair. He hears you and looks behind him, not protesting when you sit next to him.

You feel the air on your skin as your mind races, and you think of something to say to him that doesn't sound stupid.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Harry breaks the tension, his voice strained.

There is that question again.

You pick nervously at your nails and answer honestly. "What could I have said to you to make this better?" you whisper.

"So you know it's fucked up," Harry deadpans.

Your eyes widen, and you bite your lip, holding your knees. "I mean, yes. I know it's not exactly ideal—but, I love him, Harry. I really love him, and I didn't mean for it to happen, it just—happened. I know I should have told you, but I didn't know how."

Harry is silent as he takes in your words. He's picking at his jeans, his jaw clenched. "You're my best friend, and he's my dad. It's messed up."

Your heart sinks.

"I– I don't want to lose you, Harry. And I can't lose him either. Please don't make me choose," you say, holding in tears, and for the first time, Harry looks at you and his gaze travels across your features.

"You'd choose him, wouldn't you?" Harry whispers, his voice shaky, "Because you love him, and he loves you. Bloody hell, he'd choose you over me too."

I shake my head. "Harry, no. Your dad loves you more than anyone. I don't think he'd choose me over you. No matter how much he loves me, he's always your dad first. If you gave him the ultimatum and said you didn't want him to date me, I think he would listen."

Harry sighs, shaking his head. "I'm not gonna do that, Y/n. We're adults. I'm not a kid anymore, and I can handle you dating my dad—or I will be able handle it with time—and I just wish someone would have told me because finding you like that in the bathroom was traumatizing."

"I know, I know. I'm sorry," you say quickly.

His expression turns serious again. "Promise me this wasn't a thing when we were in school because I—"

You cut him off and laugh. "Oh my god, no! Never! I know he didn't see me like that when we were younger, Harry. I promise. This is completely new, and I would never be with him if he had seen me like that as a kid," you say seriously.

"Yeah, he said the same," Harry says, and he sounds like he's made up his mind. His jaw ticks and he takes your hand as he pulls you in for a hug. You can still feel his apprehension around the situation but you can't complain.

"Listen, you're my best friend and as my best friend, all I want is your happiness but I need time. Time to wrap my head around all this—oh and I also need you to promise never to talk about anything that has to do with my dad in front of me?"

"I pinky swear," you say instantly, having no desire to have Harry know anything about your relationship with James.

Harry links pinkies with you and he seems satisfied by your answer. He stands to walk inside and you shake your head, silently telling him you want to stay outside a little longer. Harry nods his head and disappears into the house.

After a few minutes, your arms wrapped around your knees as you stare into the dimming light, you sense someone sitting beside you.

It's James. You can smell his cologne.

He turns and rests one hand on your knee, smiling when you lean into him instinctively. "Hi, lovely," he mumbles, moving you inside his side. "You did so good," he continues and kisses your cheek. "I love you. Everything is gonna be okay, mhm. Harry's gonna be fine." James reassures you.

You nod, feeling comforted by James's warmth, and you let out a relieved sigh.

"I like not having to hide anymore," you admit, your hands finding James's as you mindlessly play with his fingers. "It's nice."

James hums. "It is, isn't it?"

"Yeah," you look into his eyes and smile, "I really like it."

James's heart skips, and he leans down, capturing your lips in his for a moment, and all feels okay again.

[lanadelnegan]

Tattoo - part 2 (final)

Teacher!Negan x F!Reader

Summary: After your art teacher gives you a tattoo that will always remind you of him, he wants a matching one. But he wants you to give it to him.. while you "give it to him."

Warnings: 18+, smut, age-gap, p in v, blowjob, teacher-student relationship, giving Negan a tattoo while you ride him, (if teacher-student relationships and/or age-gaps are not your thing, please do not read.)

Part one here

Finally posting this after a century! Sorry it took so long. xx

“Are you insane?!” I stood with the tattoo gun in my hand, mouth dropped open as I watched him get comfortable on the leather couch. He sat shirtless with his legs spread perfectly apart.

“Probably.” He grinned, flashing his pretty teeth and deeply ingrained dimples that I've become obsessed with over the years.

“Seriously.. Negan.. I’ve never tattooed someone before, obviously, and-“

His head fell to the side as if he didn't want to hear my excuses. “You’ve taken my art class four times. More than any other student at that damn school. Did you learn anything, or were you too busy fantasizing about the teacher?" He smirked.

"... I didn't learn how to give someone a tattoo."

"No different than drawing, baby."

"I can barely do that." I shrugged. "Why did you even pass me?"

Negan let out a chuckle, leaning his head back against the couch for a moment. "I think we both know the answer to that." We both fell silent as I looked unsure about what he was asking me to do.

“I’ll start it. Would that make you feel better?” He asked. I nodded, knowing there’s no way I could do this by myself.

“Hand me that pen over there?” He nodded towards his desk. I grabbed a purple outline pen to give him and he took the cap off with his teeth before easily drawing the most perfect baseball bat I've ever seen on his chest right about his left nipple. He tossed the pen aside and started the tattoo gun, bringing it close to his chest.

“Stop.” I blurted. “You don’t have to do this.”

Negan scrunched his brows at me. “I don’t do anything I don’t wanna do, sweetheart.” He said before carving a small line over the purple outline on his skin, not flinching an ounce. He stopped after making a small mark on his skin, then handed me the tattoo gun while patting his lap for me to sit.

He can’t seriously want me to sit in his lap while I permanently mark his body.

“Take your clothes off first, baby. Give me something to look at while we do this.”

I sat the tattoo gun to the side before slowly undressing for him until I was completely bare and cold, shivering in front of him.

“Mm, so fucking beautiful.” He praised, seeing my perky nipples on display for him. I noticed the straining bulge in his pants before I even sat down. I straddled him carefully and settled into his lap while facing him, cautiously holding the tattoo gun in my hand.

“You got this, darlin’.” He encouraged me, probably because I looked like I could faint any second. Sitting in my hot teacher's lap and tattooing his chest wasn’t something I thought I'd ever do.

“What if-“ I started but he cut me off.

“I don’t care.” He said in almost a whisper. “You could draw little hearts and fuckin' butterflies all over me, and I wouldn’t care as long as you’re hovering that sweet pussy over me. The tat? Is the last thing on my mind right now, doll.”

With that, I brought it to his skin and began making a line before I could talk to myself out of it. I felt Negan’s eyes burning into me, and his face was close enough to mine for me to smell the mint and tobacco on his mouth. Negan let out a breath that resembled a moan when the needle tore through his flesh.

"Does it hurt?" I asked, continuing my surprisingly impressive line.

"No." His voice was hoarse and raspy. "Feels fucking good."

I felt the bulge in his pants grow bigger underneath me and wanted to grind against him but couldn't move without possibly messing up. Negan watched me intensely before I felt his hand drift down to my center. I shivered when he ran a finger through my wet slit and saw him smirk out of the corner of my eye.

"Negan. I need to be still. I'm not messing this up."

"Then be still, darlin'. Don't mind me." I heard the zipper of his pants and glanced at him, giving him a silent warning that whatever he was about to do wasn't a good idea.

Negan grabbed my wrist gently and I pulled my hand away from his chest as he lifted my hips slightly and guided me over his length. I sat down completely, taking him so deep that it hurt.

"Negan.." I moaned, and he moaned with me, keeping us still and not moving while his cock was all the way inside me.

"Finish what you started, baby." He said, gesturing to the tattoo gun still in my hand. Hesitantly I started again, going slower this time. I felt his cock twitch inside me when the needle hit his skin, and almost whimpered at how full he made me feel, pressing tightly into my walls.

"You never answered my question, doll."

"Hm?" I asked, focusing on the tattoo and trying to ignore the throbbing sensation in my cunt.

"Did you learn anything in my class?"

I smiled for a moment, thinking of a clever answer. "Of course. I learned that.. I wanted you. Safe to say I did more fantasizing than listening to you yap about art, although listening to your deep voice did help with the fantasies." I giggled.

"Yeah?" He asked, tightening his grip on my hips as he fought the urge to thrust his hips upwards. "What exactly did you fantasize about, doll?"

"So much. But.. my favorite was thinking of you bending me over your desk. Or sucking your cock underneath your desk while others were around and had no idea."

"Fuuck." Negan breathed out heavily as he rested his head back against the couch. "Keep going, baby. I want to hear more."

"I would always stare at the front of your pants."

"I noticed." He chuckled.

"And I'd imagine what it looked like. How big you were."

"Yeah? What do you think? Was it what you imagined?"

"Bigger." I said truthfully, getting close to being finished with the tattoo.

"Sweetheart, I need you to hurry the fuck up and finish. My dick is gonna fucking explode if I don't move soon."

"Already done." I pulled the gun back and smiled, admiring my work and being pleasantly surprised. "Take a look."

Negan ripped the gun out of my hand and tossed it on the floor. "Later. Bounce on my fuckin' dick, now." He said desperately as he adjusted himself lower on the couch.

I happily obeyed him, placing my hands on his shoulders, being careful not to touch his reddening pecs. It felt so good to finally move up and down on his cock, so I dropped my head back and rode him fast and hard while my tits bounced in his face.

Negan leaned forward and took my nipple into his mouth, slurping around it and groaning as I fucked him. I screamed out, knowing we were the only ones there and I could be as loud as I wanted.

"Fuuuck, baby." He said breathlessly, leaning back again and looking up at me. "You look so fuckin' pretty with my dick inside you." His thumb dug into my hips, brushing against my fresh tattoo that now matched his own.

"Negan! I'm gonna cum!" I cried out, letting my orgasm rip through me while my legs shook and collapsed until I sank all the way down on him again, not able to hold myself up.

"Goddamn! Look at the mess you made all over me." He said proudly and I looked down between us, seeing the pool of wetness where our bodies were connected.

"Sorry.." I said, blushing.

He hummed, looking up at you. "I don't believe you. Why don't you get on your knees and clean up your mess? Show daddy how sorry you are?"

He kissed me before I climbed off his lap and onto my knees in the floor, settling between his spread legs. His cock stood tall between his legs and I finally got a chance to admire it. Wrapping my hand around it, I stroked him slowly, studying every vein in his impressive length. I imagined the sight of this for so long, and I wanted to enjoy it.

Pushing his hard cock away, I dipped my head between his crotch and sucked one of his large balls into my mouth, moaning around it. Negan's leg twitched at the sudden sensitivity as he gently wrapped his hand in my hair.

"Shit, baby. Been awhile since someone's had my balls in their mouth. Forgot how - oh, fuck - how good it feels."

I gave the other one some attention before finally licking up his shaft until I reached the tip, wrapping my mouth firmly around his thick head. He tasted like a mix of my pussy and his precum and it was the most heavenly thing I had ever experienced. I savored it as I took him as far as I could in the back of my throat, gagging slightly before pulling back. I continued this for awhile, taking turns sucking and stroking him until my mouth was dripping with spit and his dick was soaked.

"Ohhh fuck, baby, you ready for my cum?" He said quickly, guiding my head back to his cock. He let out a loud, strained groan as I felt him empty himself down my throat. I moaned around him, not pulling away until every drop was swallowed.

Negan leaned down, wrapping his hand around my throat and pulling me towards him for a kiss. I slipped my tongue in his mouth, letting him taste us and his eyes fluttered shut.

"I should have failed you." He signed when he finally broke away from the kiss.

"What? Why?"

"Art won't be the same without you. I dunno if I want to teach anymore now that you're graduating."

"Don't be silly. You've always loved art."

Negan chuckled, pulling me into his lap again. "No.. I've always loved you."

Tag list: (let me know if you wanted to be added to my future negan fic tag list)

@loganlostitall @chaospossum @negansbabydoll66 @redqueenphoenix @n3g5nx @crustyweirdo @youngpersonaathletebear @sadgirlzluvdilfs @ilovebill-and-gustav @neganscumbucket @manipulatorpoem @im-a-goddamn-cat @raininhell @mahogany-cherry-wine @daryldixmedown @munsonslovergirl @sanctuaryforthelost @thelauraborealis @carlgrimesbbg @c3linesworld @blueheisenbergtragedy @startwinklekitty @darlingmadelinee @oceandeepthirst @jschlattsqtip @lavenderchai @sweetbutpsychobutsweet @neganswoman @n7crophiliac @cats-writing @alldevilsarehere90 @natykacenka @queermilfs @stasiaangelsinner @lupa-03 @sadgirlzluvdilfs @pamago-bb @javier-penas-wifexx420 @motelprincess444 @thatonefroggirl @myhappyplaceofstuff @darlingmadelinee @used2beee @easystreet07 @princess-23-xoxo @twdxtrevor

[dancingtotuyo]

Woman | Joel Miller x Reader

Complete, Rating: Mature/Explicit

Watch her take me by surprise

When she lets me call her mine

Do you ever really know?

Can you ever really know?

Summary: Joel Miller returns to Jackson bringing back memories and feelings from 20 years ago, but you refuse fall into the universe’s trap again. Your table is at capacity. Adding another chair will only kill you when they get taken away.

Tags: Joel Miller X Reader. Age Gap. smut. hurt/comfort. Life in Jackson. single parent. post season/part I. Mostly TV show canon compliant. TV show versions of characters. playing with the timeline. Tommy’s been in Jackson for a lot longer.

Warnings: descriptions of blood, gore, trauma. Grief & loss. Loss of a spouse. Violence. Smut/Explicit content. Panic attacks, depression, anxiety. MISC canon topics. Chapter specific warnings before each chapter.

Playlist - Updated with each chapter release

Part I

1. tame the ghosts in my head 2. a clouded mind and a heavy heart 3. pick up your clothes and curl your toes 4. walk with me, i think we’ll find a way 5. sleep the hours that i can't weep 6. play my bloody part 7. when she lets me call her mine

Before - A Woman Story

Five peeks into your life before Joel Miller reentered it, recommended to read in between Part I & II of Woman

Part II

8. a cry of my heart to see 9. the fear of what’s to come 10. hold you from the world and its curse drabble. what's that i see? 11. up from the dust, inconceivable love 12. love with urgency but not with haste

drabble. love will not break your heart but dismiss your fears

Part III

13.with grace in your heart and flowers in your hair 14.in the cold light i live to love and adore you 15.holding my breath for you epilogue. the ghosts that we knew

More Reading:

lover of the light Willa's third birthday

Summer of '03 The bridge: A scene that happen in every universe and also the point of divergence.

Landslide A no outbreak AU: Can you and Joel find each other when society stands tall, dictating what is and is not acceptable? Or will it keep you from one another?

Bonus Content:

Art commission based on chapter 12

[t0msvi4gra]

This might be weird and controversial but can you write like a smut scene where tom is like a teacher and he's a married man with children and stuff and there's like an age gap between him and the reader, who is rebellious and failing his subject. One day after tom has finished correcting the exams and noticed how she failed again he was completely fed up and called her to his office and she was wearing very provocative clothing (a mine skirt and a blouse that shows her cleavage) and she tries to flirt with tom to let her pass and at some point he gets really fed up and bends her over the table/spanks her and says stuff like "you dirty fucking slut", while lecturing her on her bad grades after that he fingers her but he doesn't all the way have sex with he cus he remembers his wife and shi but he just couldn't control himself

its not weird at all!! i promise my acc is a safe space for your fantasies or anything!!

AGE GAP | TOM KAULITZ X READER

warning: reader is 18, tom is 26

you have always been a good student, you’ve got good grades and you’ve turned in your work on time, but professor kaulitz’s class is challenging for you and you’ve really really tried.

but you turned in a test to him but the next day, tom asked to see you in his classroom.

“yes sir? you wanted to see me.” you ask hovering your books over your skirt. “yes please sit.” he says as he gets up and puts your test on your desk. “whats going on? why havent you been asking me for help? or your peers?” he asks softly but sternly.

“i dont know. im sorry. im trying i swear.” you say fidgeting with your fingers.

“so what i’m gonna have you do is stay after so we can go over the questions, then you can retake tomorrow in class okay?”

“but sir i cant-“ he cuts you off “doesnt matter you need to arrange that okay? you have your notes.” you reluctantly nod. “fine.”

you look up at him for a few seconds. you always found him hot… and the things he could do to you. you quickly stop thinking like that but you feel yourself getting wet. you shut your legs tighter together and you start to correct your test.

“whats wrong, honey?” he asks with mock innocence. “n-nothing, sir. just cold.” you gulp and he gets closer and he puts his hand on your thigh, his hand traveling up.

his hand reaches your panties. “come on, focus baby.” he says teasing you as he gently rubs your clit through your panties.

“s-so this- p-art me..means..” you get cut off my the feeling of his fingers on your clit. “means what baby?” he whispers in your ear. “means.. divide right?” you manage to say. “mhm… now solve it for me.” he says lowly and he puts your hands in your panties. “this is what happens when you dont put effort in my tests..” he whispers and he puts his hand in your panties and he inserts his fingers in you. “damn youre so wet.” he says as you throw your head back and he covers your mouth so no one would hear you. “shh shh…” he shushs you as you squirt a little and it drips on the floor and he pulls his fingers out.

“bend over my desk.” he commands as you get up and bend over his desk and he pushes pencils and papers off so you have room. “damn this tight ass… i bet that pussy is tight too huh?” he says almost jokingly.

“sir, dont you have a wife and 2 kids?” you ask innocently…

“mhm but shes a little slut anyway… all she does is cheat and get drunk everyday.. i bet your pussy is so much better.” he rubs your ass. “this is what you get for being a bad student.” he smacks your ass hard, leaving a red handprint and you yelp and he smacks you again. “shut the fuck up. you dont want to get caught do you?” he says pulling tour panties down. “no sir i dont.” you say muffling your voice.

“good.”

he bends down to lick at your pussy juices. “fuck yes, so good.. mmm” he moans against your pussy before coming back up and aiming his cock at your pussy from behind.

“you ready?” he asks before slamming into you. “tom! oh fu-“ he slaps your ass. “what the hell did i say about screaming?”

“s-s-sorry.. it feels so good..” you whimper, trying to suppress your moans.

youre parents call you. “st-stop.. my parents are calling.” he picks up the phone. “listen to how good your daughter feels.” he puts the mic to your mouth as you whimper. he chuckles and hangs up, pounding the fuck out of you. “youre such a bad fucking girl… such a bad slut…” he grabs your hips roughly.

“cum for me sweetheart.” he groans loudly.

“you can do it come on.” he pounds you harder as you squirt and cum all over his cock. “oh fuck yes, im cumming!” he yells out, not even bothering if he gets caught. he pulls out, watching his cum drip out of you.

he pulls his pants up and helps you to do the same.

“fuck that was amazing, baby.” he chuckles

“great now my parents are gonna ground me.” you sigh.

“oh shush you liked it.” he says with his hot accent. “maybe i did.” you shake from the pleasure.

“now you have to do those corrections okay? and wear something less showy.” he points to your cleavage.

[chlmtsdoll]

hi hi ly and ur stuff was wondering if you can do like a little wedding like yk those pics of mike at that wedding with his older art haircut, maybe them at a friends wedding idkk ly <3

Omg ily yesss this is cute <3 I was just rewatching Breakfast at Tiffany’s anddd watching the new season of Emily in Paris so I felt inspired to do something classy and romantic 🤍 this is perfecttt

FRANCE WITH ART

౨ৎ 18 + | age gap, older/sugar daddy!Art, younger/sugar baby!reader, needy art, petite!reader, a little angst, fluff !

“Isn’t she just a beauty?” you sighed out dreamily as you directed your camera to the dazzling city beyond you, panning to the Eiffel Tower that was looking just poised as ever sitting beyond the sunrise. No drowsiness or jet lag was going to keep you from taking in every second you could of the beauty and scenery as long as you were waking up in Paris, France.

You’d been up bright and early but snug in your robe. Hidden away in your suite at the Ritz. The penthouse-like hotel room was Arts sweet gesture to go all out for your comfortability as you were accompanying him on this get away for one of his long time tennis co-workers colossal wedding. Being in this city has always been like a dream to you. Especially now that you got to explore it with the man you were no stranger to showing how much you adored. And he had you glued to him as often as possible too.

You and Art had arrived a few days earlier just to see all the wonders and sight out all the romance spiraling around every fountain and podium. Art planned out everything. Taking you to all sorts of historical eloquent museums, the most upscale restaurants with jazzy night life surrounding the two of you, catching the tower sparkle at midnight. You walked Pont Alexandre hand in hand with the strawberry-blonde and kissed above the waters of Puente Marie.

You didn’t know if it had been the aroma of the city, or Arts way of brainwashing you into staying in his world of poshness and high class wonders forever, but it was like something straight out of a movie. He truly made you feel like the princess of all romance and desire — You even got to be sweetness to his arm when he brought you to a few tennis matches the capital held. With he glamour of vip seats and rosé meeting your lips as Art clutched your thigh in a way that said mine as he peered the tournament.

It was something about everyone knowing who he was and wanting him right then. The paps, starstruck fans, his wealthy tennis friends, all wanting the attention of the enamored man — his smile with dimples showing contrast to his gorgeous features as he signed autographs and took photos with girls and even women much older than you. He was truly a magnet with an essence of adoration for his life post his ex wife and more wealth than ever, pilling on to his retirement. He didn’t have a worry in the world but his ever lasting fame and all the while you, his young, beautiful and spoiled beat, girlfriend that got to look too pretty and absolutely pampered by his side at all times. You just couldn’t wait till after the tournaments, when Art would be buried snug in your sweet tight cunt before you had even rushed to get your shoes off and the door locked properly. The way the pending man kissed every inch of your body, merging his own with you. Pulling your hair in wistful ways, rough in his knuckles but with the upmost love and care as he sweet talked you through his own pent up fixation of you. Heavy thrusts to your soft little body — and when you’d scream his name out at way too late (or early) you knew that he was going to shower you in jewels the next day.

He loved it. And he knew you absolutely loved it.

Your wildness only he could contain kept him feeling young, and he would do absolutely any and everything for that feeling of your girlish youthful smile to never stop making his heart swell.

“I woke up earlier than usual today. The wedding is at noon, so I just ordered room service and had the loveliest breakfast.. Art went out a bit before I got up and he should be back soon I’m sure. I should get ready, but god. I could just live in this suite to be honest.” Your giggle was breezy as you talked to your phone. You loved recording vlogs of all the beautiful places you got to see — and well, you could quite tell people enjoyed seeing what the girlfriend of a international tennis superstar was up on the daily. So that’s exactly what you gave them.

Your expensive and perfect little life.

You had been perched out on the balcony with your hand fluffed cappuccino as you gazed out at the filled streets and soft echo of jazz from down the way when you heard the muffled noise of your suite door being unlatched “Princess?” Art muttered softly as he noticed you weren’t still tucked away in bed. A grin took upon the man’s lips before he called out a little louder. “Where’s my girl?”

When you heard his voice, your smile had gone from dazed to stir in a quick shift as you got on your feet to exit from the window out look to find the tall man standing by the door with hands full of upscale shopping bags. There was no time for him store them before you were wrapping your own much shorter body around his torso. Art chuckled delightfully as he moved to embrace you back in his warmth.

“Mmm, where have you been? I missed you.” Your eyes met his gleaming ones, looking up that the man while he now cupped your cheek. His eyes half perched with colors of brown in his blue, your lips were already inching to lay a solid kiss on his fond simple staring back into your orbs with all adoration— so Art picked you up and kissed you just as sweetly before setting you down again.

“Well.. I supposed you’d still been asleep by the time I got back — I went for a little shopping stroll. Got some pretty things for you baby.. go sit.” the blonde bent to kiss at your neck with a sly smirk as he inched for one of the satin handled bags and your face lit up all over again.

You noticed one bag, a specially tinted turquoise blue and you almost lost all composure right then as Art brought it to you. He opened up a delicate box from Tiffany & Co. and your eyes fell dream like immediately. In his hands were the sparkling silver jewels you’d had your eye on for a good while now, you sunk your teeth into your lips as Art watched your pupils dialing with a grin of his own.

“I don’t care if it’s a wedding that’s not yours. I want you to be decked out tonight, baby. I want everyone to know how opulent you are, and that you belong to me.” Art smirked as he took your wrists in his palms to lock to bracelet around your skin that had a royal ‘A’ initial engraved in it. No matter how much Art gave and gave to you, you were always left speechless by his thoughtful expressions of love for you.

“Oh my.. Art, it’s beautiful- - and it reminds me that your mine,” you gleamed. “I love it.”

Your soft sigh of pleasure was light as your cheeks began to ache with your beaming smile. But the gentleman didn’t just stop there. He still was picking up more bags that followed and you noticed the Chanel logo immediately by the tag of course.

“That’s not all.” He tittered before slipping a gorgeously designed box from the bag, even larger, your jaw became quite loose as the case landed in your palms. You felt like a kid getting exposed to an entire candy store and Art watched you rummage, still with grace, through the box itself — elegantly wrapped in light paper as you breathed out excitedly till your finger tips graced over the soft pink flap beneath. You couldn’t stop your squeal from echoing across the room.

“Oh my god.. baby!” You were gagging on gasps as you pulled out the bag and your eyes ran over the gold chain along with your hands. Art chuckled as you squealed in pleasure and it affirmed that he certainly picked the right choice.

“We have a day left and I just couldn’t go back to the states without you getting one — and you already have the black and white so you needed just the perfect pink one, right sweetheart?” Art sat beside you on the king sized bed with a fond smile on his lips as he observed you. His dimples showcased perfectly and you couldn’t help but pout in admiration of the man beside you. You set the bag to lounge a hug on Art that made him laugh, grasping your soft robe to pull you into his lap with ease. Your arms were tight around him, but lips go in for a smooch that had Art leaning into your touch quick. His eyes slowly fell closed in bliss just at the sweetness that you were. Proud he got to spoil you time and time again — but the best part being as you never took a second of it for what it could be. Him just being a typical man, taking up a fathering role in your life to buy you pretty thinks all so you’d end up on your knees for him. No. He genuinely wanted to lift you up. And you just loved and adored him, and that’s what he always strived for in the long run.

“How did I ever get so lucky ?” Your voice laced with sweetness and sympathetic tones as you look up at Art with your fawning doe eyes filled with gratitude. “Thank you.” You hid your smile under your bitten lip as your soft thumb graced over the man’s peachy ones and he just stared into you with all desire of your being.

“Course.” He rubbed the tip of his nose against your exposed neck in admiration before leaving a kiss there.

“Anything for you, love.”

You couldn’t have been more giddy as you finally made yourself get up from the alluring man’s lap, hand still in contact with his cheek.

“Now, I must show the vlog everything you got for me.” You implored with assertion, but nothing could drive away from your girlish giggle that escaped as you skipped for your phone to which Art leaned out of your way for you to grab with a soft chuckle. “Okay, you guys aren’t going to believe me when I show you what Art got me…” your stammering blush matched your excited high pitched tone, and Art had a wide and easy grin on his face — he loved watching your small figure pride around so bubbly just to talk to your phone. You really hadn’t had much else to do in your free time. There was no need to have your own career, certainly no grocery list, or even a worry for your future when at the forefront Art paid for literally every last necessity or just pure want that you needed.

All you were expected to do was be his pretty little thing — traveling around the world and occupying yourself only when he had been busy with tennis, so you had your vlogs. And you were more than happy with that as long as you got him.

Soon enough you were standing in the golden embroidered mirror of the deluxe French country styled bathroom, touching up your lipstick and hair. Your dress a soft silky pink to bring out your cherry colored lips. You tried your best truly not to move much to ruin the flow of your pin curls. You felt the most pretty and expressive you might ever had right now — and when Art Apr approached the door way of the room, he had to hold his breath for a moment just at the single sight of you. Unable to utter a word. He just viewed as he leaned there tall whist his button up just slightly undone, his chest being seen enough to make you peek at the blonde with a soft grin at his icy blues glancing over your own figure.

“What?” You titter softly as you acknowledge the man who now crossed his arms as his lips curved to show his nearly sparkling teeth,

“Nothing, you just look absolutely gorgeous is all.. I don’t know how you expect me to keep my composure all night in that, but it’s a special day, so I’ll allow it.” Art chuckled and you sighed into the marble counter top as you shook your head affectionately.

“Well, this is your work Mr. Donaldson. Everything I have on you got me.” You noted as you gave him a three-sixty of your heavenly body to which the man pulled his lip between his teeth not so subtlety.

“Mmm, your being mean.” Art groaned playfully as he leaned off the wall to grab your waist and pull you into him. Your face immediately got hot as you were pushed into his aroma, YSL cologne that you found all too sexy eluding off of him. “Your gonna be so adored tonight baby, maybe just as much as the bride herself.” The blonde inched into your ear with a rasps as he grasped your limbs in his hands gently and pressed you into his chest with flow. You nearly let his teasing pull you in — but you couldn’t fight the uproar of sudden thoughts in the back of your mind,

“I’m a little nervous for tonight.” You chuckled lightly. And Art kept his eyes beyond yours, with a slight furrow of his brow.

“How come ?”

“Well… I know a lot of your tennis friends are much older. With much older girlfriends.. and wives..” Your fingers went to toy coyly with Arts collar, and you glanced down while he already had been shaking his head as he noted your words. “They might- judge me. Because I’m much younger,”

“No. No, baby.. I know it’s a little different for you, versus me. You’ll always get the short end of the stick. I know.. but I promise no one’s gonna make you feel inadequate. At least not by me. And if you do get a look or two, fuck them. We’re in France. It’s a French wedding. We’re pretty on theme anyways.”

You couldn’t help but let out a laugh at his wit, he always knew how to get you out of any overthinking so quickly with his pure charm and sharp-wittedness. Your reaction made Art smile down at you as his eyes followed your pretty face.

“You’re right. Besides, they’ll all be looking at you anyways.”

“What ? Please,” Art groaned before he chuckled and raised your arm so he could spin you. “You’re breathtaking. You’re impossible to go unnoticed and you know it, sweets.” You giggled out as he spun back around to him and held you close with his admirable wealthy laugh filling the air.

“But.. really, you’re the expert, do you think I look okay? I think they cut my hair too short this season…” Art peered down at you blinking up at him through your lashes and you shook your head.

“No. It’s perfect, at least to me most importantly. You look so handsome.” You ran your fingers through the man’s shorter golden locks and he couldn’t help but feel a heat rising to his own at the way you observed him. Fingers fixing every last strand or detail on him, to then grazing his jawline. “Perfect, as always.” You grin.

Arts blue orbs hadn’t been able to pull away from the beauty that was you below him, you just looked absolutely otherworldly in that dress, all dolled up. He liked to tell himself it was all for him — if it weren’t for the wedding fever going around he’d certainly blame something in the air just noting him to lock you down quick. “God, you look so fucking good in that dress..” Art groaned with a huff before lifting you off your feet and meeting you with a kiss. You couldn’t help but half moan and half sigh into it after your soft gasp as the man swept you off your feet. His lips adorned yours, and you were so pushed by the way his hands leveraged your weight effortlessly to collide with him.

Smiling slyly between kisses you mutter “we only have an half an hour before the caravan picks us up, Art…”

he could of taken your breath away but you managed to get the words across even through Arts hungry kisses. (You’d have to touch up your lipstick, again. If not the rest of your attire soon after he’s been done with you.)

“Yeah ? I can work with that.” The tall blonde grinned as he carried you out into the bedroom and your giggled trailed not too far along behind you.

[colorfullyminded]

TLDR

Okay I cannot believe I'm about to go off like this, but this has been bothering me for awhile, and it's only making me more spiteful. I have been enjoying the influx of Billford art lately. Amazing, great wonderful. What I have Not been enjoying, is the absolute vitriol the Billdip fans have been getting since the influx of TBOB. I was a billdip shipper for awhile. Hell I was a billdip shipper when I was a Parapines shipper-- I liked shipping Dipper with boys. I was also like 14 or 15 at the time. Obviously, if you follow me now, you'll probably notice what my main ship for Dipper is. I grew out of Billdip, and moved on to Pinescone. I have been shipping Pinescone for 10 years. However, not once did I go around saying "Lol, glad I matured and became a better person and shipped something healthier", nor did I post in the billdip tag, condeming people for a fictional ship! And saying mine was better because it was less problematic.

"I'm really glad people stopped shipping Bill and Dipper together. Bill is a 1000 year old triangle demon, and Dipper is 13--" Stop. Repeat what you just said.

"Bill is 1000 year old triangle--"

Repeat that last word to me. "....triangle?" TRIANGLE! I'm sorry what?! This ship is already completely wild enough. You're getting mad at this fictional age gap-- AND BILL IS A FUCKING SHAPE! A FUCKING SHAPE! This ship was weird from the moment GO! And Billford isn't any better. IT'S STILL A SHIP WITH A FUCKING SHAPE! And you're going to sit on your high horse and look down on the Billdip community. On top of it-- they have an age gap too! Bill is still thousands of years old or whatever-- however long it's been, who knows? And Ford was in his 20s or so when he met Bill. That's still a huge, ridiculous age gap-- that Bill could easily use and manipulate; which he did....and then also caught feelings and became a sad ex, but that's beside the point~ Both of these ships are still insane. And again, the bigger thing I think people are just ignoring about these ships--is that Bill is a TRIANGLE! THREE LINES CONNECTED TOGETHER! And this is the hill you're going to die on? ...Cause apparently it's mine. First of all-- as many people pointed out-- Ford Pines did not exist until the second half of the final season. People couldn't ship Fordbill because there wasn't any Ford to introduce.

"Well, even before Ford, I never shipped Billdip! I always disliked it." ...Okay, that's totally fine. Not everyone needs to like or agree on the same ship. Lord knows there's probably people who don't really care for Pinescone either. There's a lot of popular ships that I can't stand. But I'm don't go into a ship tag I don't like, screaming to a void for self validation. I don't go around mocking other people for ships that they had in 2014-- or even still today! It doesn't matter! I did that when I was a kid-- and then realized that was rude, and it was better to just ignore the ships I didn't like and enjoy the ones that made me happy. And grow a community of kind, like minded friends. And listen, I am all for safe spaces and being able to block things that make you uncomfortable. I am not saying people who find the BillDip ship uncomfortable to be idiots or babies or overly sensitive-- or anything like that. I think if something makes you uncomfortable, that is okay and I think it's perfectly fine to blacklist a tag that you don't want to see. I also think it's imperative that people tag things as accurately as they can so people looking at your work can know if one of your pieces has a thing that they don't like-- and therefore can avoid. What I don't appreciate is the fanhate for this ship that is sprouting up like weeds. You can not like something, you can be disgusted by it (I have my Gravity Falls ships I can not stand, nor do I feel comfortable with), but attacking real people for a FICTIONAL SHIP-- two characters who are drawings on a piece of paper and can not be affected mentally, physically or emotionally by fanwork; who still retain the same shape after everything we put them through-- to the point that you send death threats, or threaten to Doxx, or just harass relentlessly, I have always found that more childish and disgusting. You are causing real world pain to people. Me fucking up Dipper Pines is not going to do anything to him-- because he doesn't actually exist. He's a cartoon character. I could squash him and stretch him in Wonka's taffy machine--- I could throw him mock speed at a wall and watch him explode on impact-- but he still exists. He's not dead; I can pick him up and dust him off, and If I wanted-- I could decide that eh, 'Not a scratch on him'. And I'd be right. Because he is a cartoon character, and I am just a fangirl. I can not change anything about him-- I have no ability to make anything I headcanon canon. And even if I was the original artist-- it doesn't change the fact that Dipper would still be nothing more than a creation. A construct of shapes; he can not be hurt or traumatized in a way that leads to real life consequences-- because he is not real. I am not a cartoon character. My friends are not cartoon characters. Artist and Writers who stay in their lane...are not cartoon characters. If you hurt us...it will linger. It will leave a scar. If you can not tell the difference between Fiction and Reality, then I think maybe media might be too much to handle-- and I think you need to really reevaluate yourself.

And just to vent some other things that i keep seeing that are frustrating: You can't claim the twins are only 13-- and then on August 31st go "Happy 20-something Birthday Mabel and Dipper!" And then proceed to drop a picture of them as adults. Well which is it? Do they age or not? Because Gravity Falls showed them canonically aging. If you think the twins age-- then you can't suddenly turn around and go, 'no you can't ship them-- Dipper is a child!' but you drew him as an adult. So sorry, it looks like you can't draw the twins grown up anymore. You claimed they're 13, so better draw them 13 forever--. Aged up stories and works exist for a reason, especially for a fan who grew up on the series. The characters might have grown up alongside them. It's not unlikely for a person to ship Billdip when Dipper is much older.

And on that note, for people who are like 'well older billdip is fine-- it's just people shipping him during the show that deserve to die.' Okay... and like I said, this rant is coming from a recent influx of Billford shippers spitting on Billdip shippers. You know? The TOXIC Old Man Yaoi!

You're still shipping something that is problematic. You are still shipping something twisted and wrong. And I am not judging you. I am here for this divorced arc. I am thriving. But you can't just pick and choose what is and isn't okay. And let me first off explain; if there is something that personally triggers you about a toxic ship, and you want to avoid that-- again, perfectly understandable. Perfectly reasonable. You are the makers of your content space. And I am not judging anyone for that. I want people to be safe. I want people to have a good time in fandom spaces. I want people to not have to deal with the things that upset them or frighten them, or disgust them. But you can not say one is fine, and one is not. They're both bad! They're both toxic. In real life, these ships would both be charged with serious crimes! And yes, there are some crimes that are worse than others, and if you asked me what I thought was more problematic-- I'd say Billdip-- but both of these ships are extreme, and severe in their problematic content. You are still consuming problematic content. If it's a personal thing, that's fine; avoid it. But don't sit there throwing stones from your glass house.