#and got through that last fight fairly fast

[hs-killjam]

is it me or is Geppetto a bit easy to fight?

[whimsywho]

⋆ 𐙚 ̊. maybe, just maybe

the one where you mistake comfort for love, and maybes for promises. pairing: frat!lando x fem!reader note: if you've seen this on here before, no you haven't ᰔ

Pit pat pit, your shoes smack against the three steps up to the front door. True to his word, the door knob twists all the way and allows you into the sleepy house. You wish you could say you’d never seen the house like this, quiet and void of some sort of gathering. But that would be a lie because you have seen it this quiet. You’ve walked into the house many times before, quietly and secretly, always to meet the same boy. 

Lando doesn’t look up from his spot, leaning against the arm of the couch in the living room as he stares at whatever illuminates his phone screen. He’s clothed in a gray hoodie, hood pulled over his hair, and black sweatpants. You shut the door quietly behind you, whispering a soft hey as you take the short steps over to him. He finally looks up, smiling briefly before leaning down to peck your lips. 

It’s sickening how natural– how normal, it all feels. It shouldn’t. 

“How was your drive?” He asks, stuffing his phone in his pocket before slinging that same hand over you. His arm weighs warmly on your shoulders, pulling you into his side. 

“T’was okay…” you answer, looking up at him, “I think the pothole on University Drive got bigger.” 

He doesn’t return your gaze, acts as your eyes instead as he leads you through the house. But he smiles at your comment, wide enough that you can see the crinkles by his eyes. “Yeah… it probably did.” 

Lando’s arm slips from around you when you reach the foot of the stairs. He gets up about two steps before you follow behind him. Your footsteps are muffled into the carpeting, and there is a soft glow that comes from the second floor of the house. At the top of the steps, on the wall to the left sits the fraternity composite from the previous school year. Lando’s photo is on the fourth row, third from the right. He has a charming smile, and eyes that laugh. He looked so good. 

“When are you guys updating that?” Lando turns around when you ask, staring at the obscurely large photo framed on the wall. It takes a couple of seconds, you see the gears turning behind his green eyes. 

“Uh… maybe next week? Can’t remember when Pierre said it would be.” He rubs his eyes, fighting back a yawn before he waves you over to follow him. 

It’s a fairly quiet walk to his room. The house is fast asleep, though not necessarily dead silent. You can still hear shows playing and music changing behind the doors of each room. Each individual sleeping habit becomes clearer in the short walk to Lando’s room. 

His door is already opened, letting out cold air and the smell of alcohol and cologne. Calvin Klein – the same bottle of eau de toilette you bought him for his birthday last year. And Old Spice, though you have the deodorant stick left on the nightstand, cap off, to blame for that. You crinkle your nose at the scent, setting your bag down on his desk before slipping off your shoes. 

“Uh…” Lando rubs the top of his hoodie, pressing it down against his curly hair, “Sorry. I spilled vodka on my floor earlier. It still smells.” 

You hum, nodding as you walk across his room to close his deodorant. Lando reaches around you, swiping the tube as the cap clicks, walking it over to his dresser and placing it next to his rings and the cologne. He apologizes, cheeks hot and the tips of his ears red. 

His room is still as messy as you remember it. Laundry hanging precariously over the hamper and there are more empty hangers in his half opened closet than used ones. His letters are hanging over the back of his desk chair, and his bag is leaning against the leg of it. It’s zipped open showing off three crinkled papers and two folders. One red one, one blue one– both empty.  A bright orange t-shirt hangs out the side of it, just barely covering his black water bottle stuffed into the designated pocket. By his bed, his nightstand holds a lamp with no bulb and three vapes. His sheets are undone, obviously lived in and if you know Lando, you know he hasn’t made his bed in a week. 

“Why were you drinking in your room?” You finally ask, crawling onto the bed and over to your side of it. 

“Just because.” He shrugs, walking over to the door to push it shut. He pinches the lock between the side of his index finger and the pad of his thumb, twisting it locked. “Why, you want to take one?”

You scrunch your nose at the offer and it makes him laugh. “It’s three a.m.”

Lando smiles knowingly, hands coming up to grab onto the back of his hoodie. “We’ve done worse things,” He says, pulling the white material over his head, tossing it on the floor and leaving his torso bare. His finger flicks off the lights, but the room is still dimly lit by the warm streetlight outside his window. You watch him climb into bed, walking on his knees the short distance to you before he dips his head and presses a rough kiss against your lips. His hand holds your cheek, the ends of his fingers just dipping into your hair. 

You smile as you kiss him back, blowing an amused breath through your nose. “Almost like you miss me,” you tease between kisses. He laughs, breathy and smelling like minty toothpaste, as he pulls away. You can see the way he looks at you, eyes filled with a kind of fondness that makes your heart melt and believe in something just a little more. 

“I do miss you.” 

You give him a look, a playful non-believing one. Wide eyes, raised brows, and a puckered lip that asked him oh really? It makes him do another one of those breathless laughs as he adjusts himself in front of you, right arm taught to hold up his body while his left palm curves over your right knee, pushing it further from your left. 

“Let me show you how much I do.”  read more here

[vinnyvamppp]

Vinny, if you’re totally okay with it, can I pleaaase please request a smutty male reader x Dick Grayson (training together quickly escalates)? I thought Mark Grayson x male readers were hard to find, but oh my gosh, Dick Grayson ones are practically desolate (from what I could see. Honestly, I think I’ve only ever found two 😭). I’m extremely new to DC, so I’m hoping to contribute once I’m fairly acquainted with the media. 😤

Sorry for going off topic a bit. OTL If you’re okay with this request, I’d be thankful!

The Gloves Come Off

A/N: Don't apologize, feel free to let me know of your contribution later on! I'd love to support-- and this request is amazing. I WAS LITERALLY FOAMING AT THE MOUTH. Also, can you guys tell I was trying to show off my MMA knowledge? I’m so fucking corny, ignore me. (Fun Fact: I've trained in MMA since middle school and competed as a middleweight!)

Synopsis: Training with Dick Grayson was always intense, but when a spar spirals into something messier — something needy, and unforgiving, you learn just how well Nightwing reads a body under pressure. In the end, it’s not just your bodies on the line. It’s the way you come undone for each other — breathless and craving more.

Warnings: Mutual Masturbation, Sparring Tension, Switchy Power Dynamics (Reader's behalf), Desperation, Flirty Dialogue, Hands-on-Hands-On-Cocks Action, Overstimulation, My Attempt At Being In Character, "I'm fine" While Falling Apart, Non-Penetrative Smut, Anatomical Descriptions, etc.

Dick Grayson x Male!Reader

Word Count: 2.1k

“You’re holding back,” Dick muttered, circling you again, shirt stuck to his chest with sweat, knuckles still taped. You scoffed, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “So are you.” His smirk was sharp, tongue jutting out to wet his lips. “Yeah, but I’m prettier when I do it.”

He lunged forward, and this time you met him full force — fists clashing, boots scraping over the mat, sweat flying in the dampening air. It wasn’t even a real fight anymore, just blanketed tension. The kind that had been brewing since day one, coiled tight behind too-long glances and shared showers and those goddamn grins he gave you when you were too tired to throw another punch.

You barely get your forearms up in time to shield your face, a fast streak of blue and black filling your vision. Impact rocks through your frame as he crashes into you chest-first, arms locking around your waist. Instinct takes over as your legs snap up, hooking around his hips, thighs squeezing just above his belt — and suddenly you’ve got him. Trapped and breathing hard above you, the mat under your back was warm, still echoing with the scuffle of your last failed counter.

“Dirty trick,” he grunts, trying to shake you loose. “Effective,” you pant, fingers digging into his shoulders. He grunts— no, actually growls— and shifts. Posts his forearm beside your head, stacks his weight forward, and twists. Just like that, he slips free. That goddamn acrobat.

You barely hit your feet before the next combo’s coming: jab, cross, hook. You block the first two and shoulder-roll the third, but he’s already circling, pushing you back with tight footwork that leaves you nowhere to go. His glove brushes your jaw on the next pass. You snap out a low kick, hard and fast for most, but he catches it, spins, and sweeps your standing leg clean out from under you. The mat slams into your back, knocking the wind out of you again.

“Still think you’ve got me?” He huffs, kneeling beside your ribs, one knee brushing your side as he pins you there. His hair's plastered to his forehead, breath ragged, but smiling.

You grin up at him, flushed and winded. “Getting warmer.” He chuckled to himself, a huff of air leaving his nose. “I win again,” he said, voice smug but husky from the chase. There was a flush on his neck that had nothing to do with exercise.

Now he was above you, straddling your hips with a crooked grin and no plans to move. Even when your thighs shifted beneath him and your sweat-soaked into his undersuit. Despite his position, in combat and in bed, you were caged—and within his clutches willfully.

You could’ve pushed him off; you should've, but instead, you said, “Only because you cheat.” Dick’s brows lifted; his smirk flickered. “What, by being hot?” You blinked up at him. “...That’s not what I said.” He clicked his tongue, head tilting at your words. “That’s what you meant.”

His smile curled — a lazy, wolfish thing — and for a second neither of you moved. The sweat beaded at your temple. His groin pressed between your legs and God help you, you twitched under him. In that instant you could feel your soul clawing from your body—you sucked in a breath as if to keep it in.

Dick felt it, and his gaze dropped, but when it rose again, it was darker. His blue eyes catch yours, swimming with your reflection like he’s trying to memorize every line of you. His lashes lower just slightly — not shy, but weighted, like seduction worn soft and natural. His gaze trails over you slow as honey, warm and dragging, and when it lingers at your lips, his Adam’s apple gives the faintest, betraying bob.

“You hard?” he asked, just like that. You swallowed thickly. “You tell me.” He looked straight down and fuck — he grinned.

The gloves came off in seconds. There wasn’t a big decision, nor a careful lead-in or dramatic kiss. Just the sharp pull of elastic, the hot throb of your cock springing free, and the echo of breathless silence when he pulled his out to match you. He leaned in close enough for his breath to brush your lips, for your sweat to mix. His voice dropped an octave, holding a slight rasp now as he grunted.

Dick’s cock is heavy against your groin — flushed a deep pink, shaft thick, veined, and warm. It's the kind that stretches your palm when you wrap your hand around it. Not freakishly big—no, it’s worse: it’s perfect. Thick enough to make you gasp, long enough to have you hooked. And a happy trail, neat, clean, like the rest of him, but still masculine enough you could drown in it. God gave him acrobat's thighs and then got freaky with symmetry. This was so unfair.

You both stared in silence for a while, you, more or less marveling at the absolute trunk before you. And then— without warning— he spat into his hand, wrapped it around himself, and started jerking slowly. “Jesus,” you hissed, causing him to chuckle. “Been thinking about this for weeks,” he muttered, pumping lazy strokes from base to tip. “How you sound when you’re close. How you’d look touching yourself for me.”

You were already leaking. You wrapped your hand around your shaft and mirrored his rhythm, hips twitching upwards instinctively. “Yeah?” you said, voice rough like sandpaper. “What else?” Dick licked his lips, his gaze locked on your cock, your tensing abs, and the heat in your eyes. “Bet you edge yourself,” he said. “Hold it right at the brink. Fuck your hand like it’s not enough. ‘Cause it’s not. Not really.”

You groaned, thighs spreading wider. His eyes dipped lower. “You get this loud?” he asked, breath catching. “When you’re alone?”

“Louder,” you admitted. “When I think about you.” He moaned. Just short and guttural—like it was punched out of him.

He was watching you like it hurt—like every twitch of your wrist, every small sound you made, went straight to his spine. “God, you’re so hot,” he rasped. “Look at us.” You did. You flicked your eyes down to the slick, flushed length of him—the way it jumped in his hand, the way his abs clenched every time you moaned. “Bet if I just—” He reached over, wrapped his free hand around yours, and tightened your grip. It was firm but not painful, giving you just the right amount of pressure to make your toes curl and your balls tighten.

You nearly choked on it. “That’s how I’d do it,” he whispered, close enough to feel his breath. “If I had you under me.” His forehead hit yours. “Fucking ruin you.” He strokes himself slowly, showing you that he wants you to see exactly what’s yours. Every inch, every pulse. His hips meet each pump like it's not enough like he's been holding back for hours. "One little squeeze and you go all soft for me, huh? Knew you’d love this." He chuckled, that deep, rich sound that rattled your chest.

Keeping the pressure, you matched him, soft groans responding to one another as your legs stiffened beneath him. Your eyes followed his hand as if in a trance, following its every move. Your thumb circled the sensitive tip of your cock, spreading the pre-cum that had been leaking steadily. You gasped, eyelids twitching as your jaw ticked. The rough calluses of your palm scratched down the vein running the underside of your dick. It was uncontrollable—a sound between a groan and whine—scratched your vocals.

He tore it out of you, a raw gasp against his throat, coming, striping your stomach in white, hot spurts as your back arched and your hand went limp. You barely had time to breathe. Your release hit like a wave, rippling through you in hot, messy pulses, your hand slipping slack over your cock as your head tipped back and your hips jerked involuntarily. His pupils were blown wide as he watched you, utter satisfaction etched into his face, his grin twitching slightly, and his brows furrowed with restraint. You were done. Or you thought you were.

Until you felt him again — hands sliding over yours, warm, and his gaze relentless. You jolted, hand flexing before cupping your face, unable to control your limbs tensing in time with each shudder, your back bowed off the mat. "Dick—fuck—" He gripped both your spent cocks together—still twitching with the aftershocks of orgasm—and wrapped his hands over them tight, slick with both your cum and his pre, and started stroking again. Not gentle, just steady and intentional, trying to milk you for everything you had.

"C'mon," he rasped, breath hot against your jaw, hips barely moving as he pressed tighter to you. "You think I’m done with you already?" Your spine arched further with each stroke. Every nerve lit up again— raw, tender, and desperate. “Look at you,” he whispered, voice wrecked but still so fucking in control. “All that pretty moaning just to give up halfway? You're not tapping out yet, are you?” You can feel the heat of his body radiating off him as he looms over you, his chest pressed against yours. His breath comes out in ragged puffs, tickling your cheek as he watches your face intently. Every twitch, every moan, every flutter of your eyelashes seems to delight him.

Your whole body trembled, head burying into his flesh. The overstimulation was blistering—every pass of his palm over your now-sensitive head made your thighs twitch and made you whimper into his throat like you hated it and needed it all at once. His free hand skates down your side, over your hip, to grip your thigh and hitch it higher, a glute bridge. The new angle allows him to thrust against you with each stroke, his thick cock sliding against yours in a delicious friction that has you seeing stars.

His hands slid faster. The thick drag of slick foreskin against yours, both your cocks pressed together— his shaft twitching each time your breath hitched. "You feel that?" he murmured, lips brushing your ear. "That’s you. Getting hard again, even though you’re already wrung out. So greedy.” You gritted your teeth. "I—I can’t—" Your head shook vehemently, eyes losing focus, but you didn't want him to stop. Ever.

His thumb swirled the leaking head of your cock—wet, tender, throbbing—and you cried out, hips trying to pull back, but he chased you, matched every buck, every jolt like it only fed him more. You couldn’t run; you didn't want to, yet your body fought with every spark short-circuiting your brain. “I can feel you pulsing —you’re close again, aren’t you? Didn’t even last a minute.”

It was sudden. Your grip tightens under his thighs, fingers curling around the weight of his sack with slow, deliberate pressure, soft enough to tease, firm enough to make him flinch. Dick groans, hips twitching against your palm. “That’s a low blow,” he breathes, eyes glittering with the heat of a challenge.

“Revenge,” you mutter, cock twitching where he’s got you in a mirrored grip, his thumb rolling slow beneath your balls like he’s mapping every nerve. “You deserved worse.” His laugh breaks on a moan, head tipping back. “You’re evil.”

“Not yet,” you hiss, squeezing gently, just enough to make him buck. “But keep playing dumb and I’ll make you see stars.” He huffs, breathless, eyes narrowing as he returns the favor, coaxing a full-body shudder out of you, your feet slipping against rubber foam.

"Please," you gasped, desperate. His fingers tightened. "One more. You can give me one more. C’mon, baby. I know you can." He leaned down, lips brushing gently against your jaw and his back hunched. “F-Fuck—if you ask like that again, I’ll give you three.” You breathed. Sweat dripped down his chin, tickling your neck as it drizzled, his harsh gasps causing gooseflesh on your skin.

The obscene, wet, and haughty mix of cum caused wet squelches to cascade across walls, his wrist swiveling every so often around your tips as you practically melted beneath him. 1… 2… 3… 4… his rhythm switching every so often like a vibrator with multiple settings, reveling in every squirt that ruptured from your slit. The head of your cock bumps against his palm with each upstroke, sending jolts of electricity through your veins. Your body curved towards him as his feet dug into the mat to stabilize you both.

“That’s right. Let it build. Let it hurt a little. I want you to feel me tomorrow. I love how wrecked you sound.” You smirked between gasps at his words, “Good. Memorize it. I want that sound stuck in your head every time you jerk off alone.” He chuckled in response, teeth bared in a smile too shaky to be smug. His cock smears cum across your stomach as he grinds against you—the head dragging slick heat over your skin as his tongue trails over your Adam's apple. You can feel your orgasm building, your balls drawing up tight against your body. Your thighs start to tremble, your stomach clenching as you welcome your inevitable release. "Fuck—Dick, I'm going to—fuck, I'm gonna cum."

It was messy. Too fast. And absolutely perfect. His thumb finds your frenulum, rubbing tight circles around it as his strokes become erratic, chasing his own pleasure. You could feel his length throbbing against you, watching as it contracted in real-time. With a loud series of groans, his cock twitched as he cursed under his breath, jaw tight. His cum hit your stomach—warm and slick—but you barely flinched. Your eye simply twitched, vision whitening as your warm and sticky release joined him, your entire body shuddering and boneless as you stared blankly at the ceiling above.

His voice range from above moments later. “I could keep you like this all night. I’ll stop when your legs stop shaking. Deal?” “Deal. Do it. Unless all that stamina’s just for show.”

You might’ve jinxed yourself.

A/N: Dick really liked that dick, huh. (ALSO, I see why you requested this, I ran into AT LEAST six variations of this ask and all were fem reader. And… I’m def editing more into this, I just liked the request so much I pushed it out, sorry if it’s bad chat😭)

MasterList ོ༘₊⁺☀︎₊⁺⋆.˚

[marydoyouwrite]

Paint My Love

PAIRING: husband!mafia!doyoung, painter!reader (reader is a shy and awkward mess but she's also a softie who expresses herself well through art)

GENRE: smut; arranged marriage; a bit slow burn...?

SUMMARY: You've been married to Doyoung for almost a year now, no thanks to an arranged marriage planned by your families who only want what's 'best' for both of you. You and Doyoung barely meet, and when you do, he avoids you like the plague. Until one night he comes home and he asks you to stay as he eats dinner.

WARNINGS: Doyoung has a big cock, but this is fairly vanilla? Let me know!

5.3k word count

+++

You hear the door to your home opening as you dry the last dish you were washing. And this startles you because it's only past 7pm and your husband is already home.

Husband.

The thought of the term squeezes your heart for a little bit. Seeing each other like this is a moment you dread. Not because you hate him, but maybe because you really don't. You were okay with Doyoung and you thought, because both of you really didn't have a say in the marriage, that he would be too. But apparently not.

After your wedding, he went straight to his room and you had to fight the empty feeling you felt that night. Ever since, every chance encounter you had, either in the hallways, in the kitchen, or on the way out your house, ended up in avoidance. He wouldn't look at you, so much as breathe in your direction. And at first, it made your little heart sad. As someone who isn't really good at making the first move, you took his avoidance as a sign that he wants nothing to do with you.

But now, it bothers you a bit less. You made a schedule around the time he's not home so you wouldn't have to experience the awkward feeling. He's out of the house by 6 in the morning and usually comes home past 11 at night.

This time, you groan inwardly because he's home too early! When you hear him entering the kitchen, you note that there was a slight pause in his steps. Probably surprised to see you there. You don't face to greet him, instead, you focus on finishing the dishes so you can hurry back upstairs and lock yourself in your room.

But your plan is interrupted and you almost dropped the dish you were holding when he clears his throat.

"Sorry, but is there any food left?"

"Oh! Uhm, yeah. T-There's some in the fridge. I'll heat it up."

He nods his head a little bit. You probably responded a bit too fast there but your heart is racing. It was the first time he's ever talked to you. It would be a lie to say you weren't surprised at how deep his voice sounded.

You brisk-walked to the fridge and popped the pasta you cooked a while ago into the microwave. You bowed your head and started picking on your fingers. From behind your hair you moved your eyes to steal a glance at Doyoung just to see him looking at you, too.

You're surprised at the eye contact so you turn around and the microwave was just right on time to do its work. The pasta was ready. You carelessly grab it and put it in front of him. You also got some utensils along the way.

"Thank you, y/n."

And now, you awkwardly stand in front of him not sure about what to do. It wouldn't be rude to leave him, right? Or would it? It's not like you're friendly with each other!

Your thoughts make you hesitate and Doyoung notices it.

"Can you join me for a bit?"

And you're taken aback. You point at yourself to make sure he wants YOU to join him for a bit. And when he nods, you quickly grab the seat in front of him and sit down. Your back is straight and you don't know what to do with your hands. You are lost and you are a mess. You look at everything aside from him. Nobody can blame you. This is a scenario that's happened for the first time in almost a year.

Doyoung beaks the silence.

"Do I scare you?"

"No!"

And you choke on your own saliva before composing yourself and answering him again.

"I mean.. maybe just a little bit? We're not exactly on speaking terms."

This time when you answer him again, you get a chance to really look at him. He is the finest person you've ever laid your eyes on. He has a refined look with very distinct features. His eyes and nose are sharp but everything is balanced out by the softness on his cheeks and the light pink on his lips.

"I'm sorry to make you feel that way. It's my fault for always avoiding you. But trust that I'm the last person you should be afraid of."

Is this an opportunity to ask him? You're dying to know why he's avoided you from the beginning. But at the same time, you don't want to confirm anything that might make you more miserable than you already are. You eventually decide to be brave.

"Why though?

"Hmm?"

"W-Why do you avoid me..."

You look down and brace yourself for whatever his reasons are. You are fully prepared to be punched in the gut.

"I was just thinking you'd be more comfortable that way. I was partly the reason why you lost your freedom."

"Oh."

You slumped at his confession. All this time, you were lonely because he was trying to be considerate. And you don't know what to feel. You recall the nights you felt so lonely. You weren't a sociable person so you had very few friends, and the very few friends you had, weren't always in the country. Contrary to the expectation that daughters from rich families are socialities, you aren't. You preferred doing what you loved.

And being in an arranged marriage made you expect that you would somehow gain a new friend in the person of your husband. After all, you both had no choice. You thought maybe, you can be partners? But then, when he wasn't meeting your eyes and was trying his best to avoid you, you tell yourself that you can't push yourself on people. Creating connections was a choice, even if he was already your husband.

And then now you discover that Doyoung was just being considerate. How many nights of crying would you have avoided if you just made the first move instead of assuming? And how many nights of feeling alone would Doyoung have saved you from if he also didn't assume what you preferred?

So, oh. That was your dry ass response.

"Hey, what's wrong?"

"I wasn't comfortable. I was... lonely."

His eyes soften and he reaches out to you. It's as if the lowness in your voice and the slump on your shoulders made him understand what you felt.

"I'm sorry, Y/n. It was wrong of me to just avoid you all this time." He lifts your head gently. "I'll make it up to you. I hope I'm not too late to do that."

You hear the sincerity in his voice so you nod at him. You ignore the butterflies in your stomach because you don't want to hope too much.

"Let me just wash my plate and why don't I walk you to your room as a start?" He smiles a little bit and you mirror it.

"O-Okay." You made a mental note to fucking stop stammering.

"Did you cook the pasta?"

"Yeah, is it bad?"

"No, it tastes amazing. Thank you for dinner. I should come home early more often."

"If you can, then I'll always cook dinner enough for both of us."

"I'll look forward, then."

You stand beside him as he washes his plate and utensils. You have a lot of things you're curious about him but you don't want to rush anything. Since he's making it up with you, you guess you'll have more time to talk later on.

"You probably want to ask me a lot of things. You can ask me anything. You don't have to hesitate." He looks down to meet your eyes and you're the first to shy away.

"Okay, but later."

Doyoung just smiles in acknowledgment and puts everything back in the drying rack.

"Shall we?"

And both of you go upstairs to your rooms. It's not awkward walking side by side in silence. It's new, but not awkward. You feel him glancing at you every now and then but he doesn't say anything. It's okay though. You have a feeling that in time, you'll be really good friends.

You reach your room and he opens the door for you.

"Here you are."

"Here I am." You just look at each other for a few more seconds before you break eye contact, again, for the second time tonight. You smile at each other before saying good night.

"Good night, Doyoung."

"Good night, Y/n."

You race back to your bed side and you take your notebook out. Before sleeping, you want to list down some dishes you can cook now that Doyoung is also going to eat what you cooked.

You're not an expert but he said he liked the pasta, so you might be decent cook. Besides, you hated eating out if you could avoid it so you've been cooking for yourself since college.

While scribbling down some ideas, your thoughts drift back to Doyoung's face. How everything is so in harmony with each other. How it's nice to look at and probably nice to touch, too. Then, his lips. Before you know it, you fell asleep with his face the last thing you thought.

---

Doyoung wakes up early. Being in the mafia required him to do so. His work doesn't involve too much fighting. That was his friend's Taeyong's job. His was the business side of it all -- the numbers, analytics, risk calculations, negotiations, etc. Although when it came down to it, he never hesitated to pull the trigger.

Last night was one of the rare times he gets to come home early. It was a smooth week after closing a complicated deal with a Japanese arms dealer. And on the drive home, his mind flashed your image, like it would always do at random times. How could he not think of you? You were a mystery aside from, of course, being his wife.

He never talked to you. Never made it obvious he would steal some looks at you when you cross paths at home. But never did he approach you, afraid that you would run away from him. And god forbid you left him.

On your wedding day, he thought you were the most beautiful woman he ever saw. You were quiet and shy majority of the time but when you smiled, everything around you glowed. But he knew it was an arranged marriage you never wanted to happen. So he swore to make it bearable for you to stay with him.

This time, he wonders if you'd allow him to take a step closer to you.

He couldn't feel any lighter when he recalls how your conversation went last night. He wanted to punch himself when he learned that all this time, you've been lonely all by yourself. But he shrugs off the guilt and instead focuses on the part that you've let him make it up to you. He'll fight hell just to come home in time for dinner every night.

He finishes tucking in his shirt and considers going to your room to bid you farewell before going to the office. Of course you're still asleep. But it wouldn't be weird right? He's your husband after all.

He comes out of his room and goes to yours. He's a bit surprised to find you sleeping on your table and not on the bed. He thinks about how sore you'll feel when you wake up.

He walks to you and sees the open notebook beside you with a list of dishes you listed, and then crossed out, with beef stew encircled more than twice. He smiles at the thought and gets excited for the beef stew you'll cook later.

He gently carries you to your bed and tucks you in. He brushes your hair away from your face and stares at you for a few more minutes. He gently pats your hair before leaving you to get more sleep. He can't bring himself to kiss you. Not when he hasn't made it up to you, yet.

His only thought the whole day is dinner. With you.

---

You hum a random tune as you stir the pot of beef stew you decided to cook for dinner. You feel giddy and nervous at the same time. It's the first time you're having dinner with Doyoung. And of course, the both of you get to talk.

You had a really good day. Aside from the quick whiplash you had when you realized you were on your bed as you recall being on your table prior to falling asleep. But you shrugged it off thinking you transferred to your bed in the middle of the night.

You also had a productive one because you were in the process of completing your collection for your next exhibit which is in 8 months. It seems to be a long time, but your target is to finalize your line up, at least 6 months before your exhibit. And you've decided on your final piece. You were hesitant at first but then eventually decided to do it. It'll be a project that you'll pour your heart and soul into.

You hear Doyoung's car entering your garage and you're elated. The table is set and the stew is perfect. You turn off the fire and quickly run to the door. You don't quite care if Doyoung thinks you're desperate and too excited. Quite frankly, you are excited.

Doyoung opens the door and his eyes widen when he sees you in front of him.

"Hi!" you beam. He recovers from his surprise and he smiles back at you.

"Hi, y/n. It smells delicious here."

"Does it? I cooked beef stew." He looks at you knowingly with a glimmer in his eyes.

"Did you? Well, I looked forward to dinner the whole day."

"Really?"

"Really."

You help him with his coat and walk together to the kitchen. You get the pot of stew and place it on the pot holder in the middle of all the side dishes you bought from a nearby restaurant.

You look at Doyoung and you see his jaw dropped at the aesthetics of it all.

"This is what I've been missing?" You giggle a little bit before serving him some of the stew on his plate.

"Well, I don't cook like this for myself. But I can't let you eat plain dinner."

"I'd gladly eat anything you prepare. I hope preparing this didn't tire you out too much?"

"Nope! It was easy. Plus, the side dishes were from the restaurant at 4th street."

You look at him expectantly as he takes his first bite.

"No kidding, Y/n, but this is the best stew I ever had."

You smile at his words and start eating, too. Getting the beef perfectly tender was worth it!

"How was your day?"

"Oh, well, not much! I have an exhibit coming up in 8 months. I spent the whole afternoon planning my last piece."

"Wow, an exhibition. Do you have a theme for it already?"

The curiosity in Doyoung's voice made you sit straight. You don't get a chance to talk about your work that much. Only when it's time to address your audience do you get to do it. But now, your husband wants to know more about your work.

"Yes, the theme is going to be Syndesi. It's greek for connection."

"Why did you choose that for your theme?"

"Connection is usually what inspires me for my work. When something or uh, someone, makes me feel something, I'm inclined to immortalize it on canvass."

Doyoung looks at you for moment. "I hope I can get a ticket to see your exhibition. I heard it sells out fast."

You laugh at his remark and add, "Well you're in luck because I happen to have a privilege for a plus one."

Dinner goes by smoothly. You enjoy the conversations you had with Doyoung. He kept asking you questions he's curious about and you happily respond to everything.

"Leave it alone, I'll wash it!"

"Hey, you cooked dinner, of course I'll wash the dishes."

"You must be tired though! Why don't you let me? I really don't mind."

"It's okay, this should be quick. If you want you can stay here with me while I wash. Then, I'll walk you to your room again."

You like his idea. So you walk back to one of the stools and sit down as Doyoung folds his sleeves to start washing. For a moment, you allow yourself to admire him. His broad shoulders seem so dependable and his back so strong. You look at his arms and you wonder how it would feel like to be carried in them. You're embarassed at your thoughts so you clear your throat and decide to walk beside him.

"What's your favorite food?"

---

"What's your favorite food?"

Doyoung looks at you as you stand beside him. He's tried not to dwell too much on it but now that you're standing so close to him, he can't help but burn this image of you on his mind. You were wearing a university shirt that's sized so perfectly for you and a pair of red shorts that was too short for his comfort but perfect for his liking. The shirt was modest, and yet it hugged your breasts and your waist in a way that made him imagine lewd and terrible things.

"Doyoung?"

"Oh, yeah. I liked the beef stew you cooked tonight."

"Beef stew is your favorite?"

"Yeah, it is."

"Wow! I didn't know that? I got lucky, huh?"

He looks at you again and he can tell you for sure that he's the one who's lucky. His mind is back in the gutter when he notes how soft the skin on your thighs look. A perfect canvass waiting to be marked by him. He feels his cock getting hard at his thoughts so he quickly finishes washing the dishes so he can save himself from embarrasment.

"Let me tuck you in."

He walks you to your room and bids you good night. He badly needs to deal with the hard on that he brought upon himself.

"Thank you for dinner, Y/n. Good night." You smile at him with a smile that went straight to his balls.

"Good night, Doyoung."

If the smile wasn't enough, you gave him a quick hug before closing the door behind you.

It was going to be a long night.

---

Dinners with Doyoung were the highlight of your days. Before you knew it, 3 months have passed and you've grown closer to each other. He's become a friend you can rely on and you want to think you've also become that way for him.

Tonight, though, you can't cook. You're going to have to buy some take outs because you want to show him something. It's been 3 months since you also started working on the last piece for your exhibition and today's the day you planned to show it to Doyoung.

It took you a whole day to work on the finishing touches before finally being satisfied. You dont want to postpone showing this to Doyoung because today is a special day. It also works with your personal deadline for the exhibit, so nothing can stop you from showing it to him tonight.

You look at the clock and see that it's almost 7. You panic because you haven't ordered the take outs and you are a huge mess! Your hair is tied in a very messy bun with so many paint splatters on your shirt, arms, and thighs. Not very glamorous but you can't afford scolding yourself now. Not now that you already hear Doyoung's car parking!

You run out of your office and get to the door as fast as you can. You were panting when Doyoung came in and he is rightfully surprised to see you.

---

"Doyoung!"

He is shocked and awfully turned on while looking at you as you tried to catch your breath. Your hair was tucked in a bun and you were wearing a loose white shirt with shorts underneath, that he's not really sure about. Hard to say because your shirt went over whatever bottoms you had on. And fuck, he already thought you were pretty. But right now, you were gorgeous enough to make him lose his mind.

"Doyoung, I'm sorry I couldnt make dinner, I was rushing something!"

"Hey, its okay. We can do take outs. Want me to order?" You sigh in relief.

"I was just gonna ask you to! While waiting, I'm just gonna take a shower because I reek of paint and thinner."

"I got you. Take your time and leave the take outs to me."

"Thank you!"

You rush up to your room and he settles on the sofa. He dials a number and asks the person on the other line to deliver some good steak, wine, and sides to your home.

He replays how you looked like again. You were catching your breath and he's convinced he's turned into a lunatic because all he can think about is how pretty you would look like catching your breath under him as he fucked you senselessly.

He pinches the bridge of his nose and decides to take a quick cold shower and change into comfortable clothes too, as he waits for the food.

Doyoung comes down after showering just in time for the food's arrival. He fixes the table and gets everything ready for when you're done showering. And as he hears your footsteps descending down the stairs, he places the wine on the table.

"Steak and wine?! They still deliver at this time?"

"I called a friend."

"Really? He brought it that quick? It was barely an hour." Doyoung laughs.

"Well, he's a good friend. Let's eat?"

The whole dinner, Doyoung had to remind himself of self control. As usual, your conversations were pleasant. He's been laughing at your stories and you've been asking him questions you were curious about. This time, about the places he's been to.

But, hell, his limits are constantly being pushed. You were wearing a pink camisole top with silk pajamas. The camisole gave him a sweet little peek at the luscious top of your breasts. He knows that one of these days, he'll get sick from all the cold showers he's taking.

"Doyoung? Hello?"

"Uhm, yeah? Sorry I was thinking of something I left in the office."

"Oh is it important? Do you have to go back?" He notes the tinge of sadness in your voice.

"No, no. That's a tomorrow thing. Dont worry about it. What were you saying?"

"I wanted to show you something."

"Really? What is it?"

"Do you remember when I told you I was working on my last piece for the exhibit?"

"Yeah, of course I do."

"Well.. it's done!"

"It is? That's amazing! And are you going to show it to me?" you nod shyly.

"Would you like to see it now?

"I cant wait. Show me."

You stand from your seat and very slowly, you carefully took one of his fingers in your hand. You looked up at him as if asking if its okay to hold him like that. So he assures you by fully holding your hand.

You both go up and walk towards the last room which he knows to be your office. He never went inside as he treats it as one of your private spaces where you can be yourself. As you went inside the office, he sees a huge canvass in the middle covered by a gray cloth.

You leave him to walk towards the canvass. And slowly, you unveil the art work. As you reveal the final piece to your exhibit, he stiffens in awe. He is blown away.

Slowly he walks toward the huge canvass and stares at his eyes that was staring back at him. It was him. The final piece you were excited about, the art that you mentioned so many times, the painting that crowned your exhibit on connections -- was his face.

He can't begin to describe the swell in his heart. He feels out of breath. You have captured everything about him that he thought only a mirror can. Hell, this was better than a mirror. You captured a longing in his eyes that he thought he was able to hide from you.

"I wanted this to be the final piece because the connection I made with you is my favorite one. I h-hope thats okay."

He looks at you and takes quick strides to stand in front of you.

"Y/n.. will you let me kiss you." He sees you part your lips and your eyes widen a little bit, but you let him.

"Y-You can kiss me."

And he does. He kisses your lips with all the pent up passion he's kept within him.

---

Doyoung kisses you with so much passion.

You feel his tongue seeking entrance to your mouth and you welcome him. You part your lips very slightly and he takes his time to explore every inch of your mouth.

You feel feverish because of the kiss and your knees turn weak so you support yourself by holding on to his arms. You feel his hands roam at your back as he continues to kiss you.

You feel his lips travel down to your jaw until he reaches a sensitive spot on your neck. You close your eyes and moan his name as he sucks on the sensitive spot.

"Y/n, you have to forgive me. I might not be able to hold myself back tonight."

"I dont want you to hold back."

Your answer lights a fire in Doyoung and he carries you out of your office and into his room. He sets you down on his bed and attaches his lips to yours again. As he does, his hands roam around inside your camisole. His thumbs play on the skin just under your breasts.

"Arms up, baby."

And you comply. He discards your camisole and throws them somewhere on the floor. He looks at you like he is starved before he lowers himself to your chest. He takes your breasts in his two hands and fondle both of them gently.

"You're a fucking dream. They're beyond whatever I've imagined. "

He puts one of your nipples in his mouth and sucks on it while he fiddles the other one between his fingers.

"D-Doyoung, ahh."

He peers up at you before sucking on your other nipple. He plays with your breasts for a bit more before he lifts himself up. He looks at you and he is proud to have made the skin on your chest and your nipples look like a map of his love. He imagines his marks will show more visibly in the morning. And his chest swells with the thought that only he can make you look like this.

Doyoung takes the band of your pajamas between his fingers and pulls it down. He places a kiss on your core before removing the last piece of clothing that' preventing him from seeing the whole of you.

"So, beautiful, my wife. Open your legs for me."

And you do. You dont even feel shy anymore. As far as youre concerned, you're burning for this man in front of you.

"Good girl."

He kisses the inside of your thighs and using his index finger, he makes small circles on your skin. Slowly, he dips his head into your core and starts giving your slit some kitten licks before fully sucking on your clit. You arch your back at the sensation.

"A-ahh! Yes, oh, Doyoung!"

While sucking on your clit, Doyoung inserts a finger inside you and your hips buckle at the intrusion.

"So wet for me. So ready to take me in."

He inserts another and curls it to reach a delicious spot inside you that makes you scream a bit.

He continues to pump his fingers in and out of you as he looks up.

"Can you come for me, Y/n?"

"Y-Yes! Oh god, I-I'm almost... fuck, almost there."

"Let it out, angel."

And you don't need to be told twice. A powerful wave of orgasm hits you and Doyoung rides you through your high by continuously moving his fingers. He goes down on you again to lick the cum out of you.

"Delicious. You taste so sweet."

You catch your breath and realize that Doyoung hasn't removed a single piece of his clothing yet. But that's about to change. You prop yourself up using your elbows as he removes his shirt and discards his pajama.

As he does, his cock springs out in all its glory. You feel a cold sweat on your back as you see how huge your husband is. Not that you had a lot to compare it to. It's just that, you dont think it'll fit.

"Doyoung... will it fit?" Your husband chuckles at your evident nervousness.

"It will, angel. Can you relax for me now?"

You lay back down again and decide to trust Doyoung. He grabs your legs and spreads them wide open. He situates himself between you and grabs something from the drawer of his bedside. Before he gets to tear the packet of condom, you speak.

"N-No condom."

"I'm not opposed to having kids with you, y/n. But are you okay with getting pregnant immediately after tonight? Because it thats what you want, I'll make sure you do."

You almost rolled your eyes, but you don't. Instead, you shyly cover your face.

"I started taking the pill." Doyoung is shocked but his face breaks into a playful grin. And you cant blame him becuase you're not exactly on fucking terms. It only meant that you didnt consider fucking out of the question. It was very much in the question for you.

"I'll grill you more on that after."

"I'd like that, please."

Doyoung throws the condom behind him and he teases your entrance with the tip of his cock. He slowly eases inside of you and you tear up at the penetration.

"H-hurts..."

"I'm almost halfway, baby. Can you take it for me." You nod at him as he bottoms out inside of you. You take a deep breath at the burning pain.

"I have to move now, Y/n."

"Wait! N-not yet.."

"I promise it'll feel better." Doyoung starts to move inside of you. Very slowly at first and gradually picking up the pace. And he's right, it does feel better.

You make all sorts of noises and you're sure you've left a couple of nail marks on Doyoung's back. But you couldnt care less.

"F-fuck, you're so tight!"

One of Doyoung's hands press down on your stomach and you scream at the feeling.

"A-Ahh! Doyoung, faster please." He grabs hold of your waist a bit too tight that you know it'll leave a mark on you tomorrow morning.

"Shit! I feel you squeezing my cock, are you close, angel?"

"Y-Yes! Ahh.... ahh!"

Doyoung slams himself into you with more speed and strength. He puts his thumb over your clit and this sends you over the edge.

"I'm c-coming, Doyoung!"

"I'm close, too. Fuck! Come for me, Y/n."

And you do. You orgasmed so hard and Doyoung thrusts into you a few more times before you feel his hot cum fill your walls.

Doyoung doesnt let his weight crush you and instead he waits for while before he pulls out of you. You sigh at the loss of contact. Doyoung gives you a quick kiss on your forehead before he walks away for a little bit and comes back with a towellete to wipe the inside of your thighs.

After he cleans you up, he joins you in bed and hugs you to his chest. He covers both of you with a blanket and he brushes your the strands of hair that fell on your face.

He stares at you with a warm look before speaking again.

"Happy anniversary, Y/n."

"You knew?"

"I did."

You reach up to kiss him on the lips before snuggling closer to his chest.

"Happy anniversary, Doyoung."

"About the pills..."

You groan out loud, but you look forward to tomorrow.

---

a/n: Enjoy~!

[jsprnt]

meeting your boyfriend’s parents

arda güler x turkish! reader

A/N: based on this request, thank uu 🤍 my first arda fic!!

W/C: 2.175 (yes, I got ahead of myself)

"is this too much?"

you ask yourself, thoroughly examining your outfit in the mirror. you run your hands down the soft fabric, grunting in indecisiveness.

turning around, you're greeted by a huge pile of clothes on your bed. a combination of dresses, jeans and shirts crumpled up from the way you'd thrown them behind you, after trying them on.

jeans with a sweater, too hot.

a pair of trousers with a blouse, too formal.

a skirt with a cropped top, too much skin showing for a first meeting with your boyfriend's parents.

the weather was becoming warmer these days, so you also had to keep the fabric and thickness of the clothes in mind.

"fuck this.." you mumble, sitting on your bed, the clothes barely allowing you to see you pink bedding. you lay down, the clothes becoming your soft pillow, apart from the buttons on the items, digging into your neck and the back of your head.

you and arda have been together for a few months now. you had gotten acquainted with him through mutual friends when he had just transferred to real madrid.

at first, you were a little nervous, meeting new people was exactly your thing. though, your friends had convinced you to meet him, only due to the shared background you both had.

since arda was born, he'd never lived anywhere else other than türkiye. born and raised partially in the capital, ankara. only to move to istanbul to play at his childhood dream club, fenerbahçe.

the years had gone by fast, and when a huge opportunity came, he finally decided it was time for him to leave and move onto one of the biggest clubs in the world.

you had met arda at a small gathering, specifically a surprise birthday party you attend for one of your close friends. 

the night was full of fun games, karaoke, and the best of all the multiple 'halay' dance routines.

you'd found arda to be a very sweet person, the second you met him. the way he so gently shook your hand, and gave you the prettiest smile you'd ever seen on a boy, had you mesmerized instantly.

obviously, you knew who he was before you met him. it was unavoidable to not know who 'arda güler' was, especially as a turkish person.

growing up around adults who watched and played football religiously, you were definitely aware of the debate.

which football club is türkiye's biggest and best?

was it the 'lion's', galatasaray, who had won the league last year? or was it the 'yellow canaries', fenerbahçe, who were first on the 'Süper Lig's all-time table'?

some would even nominate the 'black eagles', beşiktaş as candidates.

since all three of these clubs are based in the eurasian city of istanbul, derbys were an absolute show every time.

the excitement, the nerves, the turkish anger issues revealing themselves when someone gets fouled, or the thrill of seeing players of the opposite team fight each other, after a highly emotional match at full-time.

to see arda right in front of you, after seeing him on tv all the time was incredibly weird. but, you got used to it fairly quickly after seeing how humble and kind he was to everyone around him, whether he knew them or not..

you rub your nose with your fingers, eyes itching from the amount of dust in your room. you pause your movements for a second, sniffing softly and looking at the sun shining through your window.

the combined actions finally allow you to sneeze, and you don't waste time before you stand up to and go open your windows.

you were supposed to be picked up in an hour, so you had to hurry up and choose something to wear.

you had already texted your friends asking for advice on how you should dress. it didn't help much though, because whatever they said you should wear, you'd change your mind about it last minute. finding an issue with the clothing items, and then having to chuck more clothes on your bed as you rummaged through your closet.

your mind becomes busy with getting distracted by the beautiful weather outside, and the neighborhood children playing and laughing together.

though, you immediately whip your head around when your phone goes off. processing and realizing the ringtone, the one you had specifically set for arda, you walk over.

you sigh in irritation as you look around for your phone, finally catching a glimpse of the white case, from underneath a single black sock.

you're entire demeanor shifts when you read the caller id, smiling to yourself when you pick up. propping the phone in position, against the alarm clock on your nightstand, so he can see you properly.

"aşkım?" (my love) he says, the sweet nickname falling off his lips. his phone incredibly close to his face, as he shifts and moves, from what you can see, his car.

"arda, why did you call?" you question, grinning when you can finally see his full face. he moves his arm, playing with his hair as he smiles back.

"just finished training, showered and I'm coming over right now.."

"right now?" you panic, pointing downwards with your finger to confirm. "right now? but I'm not ready yet- and you said be ready by 5:45.." you blurt, already getting up to your feet, eyes flickering around the room as you forget he's on the phone for a moment.

"hey, calm down.. we have a lot of time, I just thought I'd come over since I know you're nervous.."

you look back at the screen, brows furrowing in confusion.

"that’s very sweet, but you just gave me a heart attack.."

"I'm almost at your place, canım. (my life) don't worry.."

you nod back, your heart calming down slowly.

"I don't know what to wear.." you say, running a hand over your face.

"I'll help you, I'll be over in a minute.."

"okay.." you mumble, waving quickly before telling him you'll hang up and wait until he arrives.

your thoughts are interrupted by an annoying yell and then a scoff.

"y/n! the footballer is here!"

you chuckle at your brother's voice, it's undeniably funny how much he liked galatasaray. even though arda had almost transferred to real madrid months ago, from fenerbahçe, your younger brother had vowed not to like him ever since he heard about you two.

well, he did cave when you asked him if he'd come along to some real madrid matches..

"I'm coming.." you shout back, jumping when you come across your brother. he scoffs at you, hurriedly stomping up the stairs to probably bother your older brother.

"arda?" you question, smiling when you notice him in the living room. he looks up immediately, walking up to bring you into a tight hug.

"I've missed you, tatlım.." (my sweetie) he whispers against your ear, pressing a soft kiss to your temple.

you look at him, grinning from ear to ear. you hadn't seen him since he had left for an important match in a different country, so it was practically your catch up dinner too.

"I missed you too.." you reply, planting a kiss to his cheek. without waiting for him to say anything else, you drag him towards your bedroom, showing him the disaster.

"did a tornado visit your room, and should I be concerned?" he asks, squinting at the pile of clothes.

"I don't know what to wear.." you groan, throwing yourself onto your bed.

you watch arda walk closer, his hands reaching out to grab a slightly wrinkled floral blue dress.

"this one." he firmly states, turning around to grab a pair of white kitten heels from your shoe rack.

"and this.." he says, presenting the two items like a football shirt.

muscle memory, you guess.

you sit up, fixing your posture as you analyze the combination.

"that's not too much?" you ask, getting some hope.

"what do you mean? this is perfect, my parents would love it.."

he watches your unsure expression, placing the dress on your bed and the shoes on the floor.

"try it on for me, okay?" he asks, nudging your chin up, so he can look you in the eyes.

"I'll wait for you in the living room, maybe b/n will join me.."

minutes pass, and you've pulled the dress on successfully. fidgeting with the fabric, you smile, starting to feel satisfied. already thinking of what jewelry and other accessories you'll style the dress with.

hurrying up, you walk into the living room, surprised when you can actually see both your brothers sitting with your boyfriend. and it didn't look like either of them had said anything crazy to arda.

they looked, strangely happy and relaxed..

"what do you think?" you ask, raising your brows at the three boys.

you're bombarded by compliments, and almost gawk as your older brother calls you 'pretty'.

had arda replaced him with other person while you were getting dressed?

without much more thinking, you run back to your room. pulling on the rest of your accessories and fixing your appearance.

"I'm more scared of meeting your sister, than meeting your parents.." you confess, playing with the ring on arda's finger, looking up at where the driver is taking you.

"my sister's not going to kill you.." he chuckles, looking down at your intertwined fingers.

"still.."

you've heard the horror stories. girl's meeting their 'sister-in-law', only to find out how incredibly mean and protective they are about their younger brother.

deep inside, you knew his sister would be nice. he'd told you so many times about her wish of wanting to meet you.

it was just scary to meet three new people at once. especially those closest to your boyfriend. you had to get along, no questions asked.

you fidget with the bouquet of flowers in your hand. other hand intertwined with arda's, as you waited for his family to open the front door.

"hoşgeldiniz.." hearing the welcoming greeting in turkish you immediately tense up. arda seems to notice, looking at you and squeezing your hand reassuringly, before you step in.

you try to smile when you make eye contact with his mother, her loving arms coming to wrap around you. you greet each other with two, traditional kisses on each cheek, the worries in your heart slowly melting away.

you hand the flowers to her, and watch as the smile on her grow, an exact replica of your boyfriend’s smile..

you watch as arda hands his sister the gift bag in his hand, a kilogram of baklava.

you almost drool at the thought of having the dessert with a cup of turkish tea, but stop yourself before you get ahead of yourself.

it doesn't take long before you're all seated at the dinner table. having greeted all three of his family members with a lot of affection.

the atmosphere was friendly, warmer than you had dreamt of. but, you should've expected it, especially with how loving and caring your boyfriend is.

you admire all the different types of food prepared for dinner. eyes catching on the 'manti' you, oh-so- loved. you could describe them as little dumplings, instead of soup they were mixed in with yogurt, a sauce of tomato paste, and a lot of spices.

with how small they looked, you could guess it took a long time to make. not to forget, the other types of food. 'mercimek soup', 'olive-leaf sarma', and a colorful 'çoban' salad to refresh your palate.

you almost drooled at just the sight of the delicious array of food, and the way it tasted was a million times better.

"so, what city are your parents from?" arda's dad asks, the insanely predictable question every uncle asks when they notice you're turkish. only to magically always know your dad in some way or another.

"my mother is from c/n, and my father is from c/n.." you answer, making sure you answer with the perfect pronunciation.

"oh, back when I was younger- around arda’s age. I worked in c/n. we had worked hard for our bread and butter, sending money to the family was the most important thing back then.."

and without noticing, you'd passed the 'meeting my boyfriend's family test'.

only, because everyone at the table started complaining loudly, comfortable enough with you, already- to act like that. indicating they had all heard the story he was going to tell, a million times before.

you chuckle, smile pulling on your lips, as you feel arda's hand slip onto yours. his palm resting on the back of your hand, as he pats it reassuringly.

you glance at your boyfriend, his boxy smile showing, as he calms you down.

"don't listen to him, or he'll talk your ear off, y/n. let's talk about something else.." his sister chimes in, leaning forward to ask you something to save you from the talk.

this could definitely become something you could get used to..

[tadpolesonalgae]

Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You

Azriel x Third-oldest-archeron-sibling!reader

a/n: I was in the mood for a writing a heated argument that turns into an even hotter make-out session, but then it got slightly depressing so…

warning: slight angst but not much because I can’t take that emotionally :’)

word count: 3,888

-Part 2[*]-

“How was she today?”

You fight the urge to clench your jaw. The harsh snapping of your book is the limit to how far you’ll allow the leash on your anger to slip. Jealousy? Frustration? Whatever complicated nonsense he’s gotten you tangled up in.

“No hello? What about a how are you today?” You ask tersely. So much for keeping your emotions on a tight leash. His brow narrows a little—you don’t usually bubble over when he asks how your older sister is doing. “You weren’t practically bed-ridden for months,” he replies slowly, gauging your response carefully.

Instantly, guilt weighs in the pit of your stomach, and you look away quickly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you,” you soothe hastily. Gods, why did you say that to him? You’re trying to gain his favour, not make him think you’re an ungrateful, self-absorbed sister. “She was fine. We did some baking—well, Elain did some baking, I was reading something. It’s a new book, actually! Because I finished the last one, which was actually pretty good, but this one I think is set in the last war and…” you trail off when you notice the patient smile he’s giving you.

Right. He’s not interested in what book you’re reading, or how you spent the day. He’s not interested in you full stop. He’s interested in Elain. You fight the way disappointment wants to twist the edges of your mouth, instead plastering on a smile that you hope he reads as oops, look at me! There I go again, haha.

“Well,” you say, swallowing the lump in your throat, “she made some cupcakes—I think they were vanilla, and she put something that looked like jam inside. Really good. I’m sure she’d be happy for you to try one—if you ask,” you smile, adding in the details he wants to hear. For the Spymaster, he’s surprisingly open about his interest in Elain to you. But maybe that’s because you’re always so willing to answer any question you can for him.

“I’m glad,” he says, something glimmering in his hazel eyes. “And there were no silent spots? No abrupt changes?” You return your attention to the book in your hands, fingers running over the bound edges, “she was fine all the way. You never would have guessed everything she’s been through.” He hums, pleased with her progress. It’s a sound of contentment, from the back of his throat that you’re certain rumbles throughout his chest. It’s an effort to keep your attention on the book.

It’s been more than two years since the three of you were tossed into the Cauldron. Feyre and Rhysand are happy, Nesta’s made progress on healing herself and is now alarming in love with Cassian, Elain’s taking large steps in a good direction, too. You remember vividly the time when she would hardly utter a word for days, hardly shift her gaze from a strange spot in the middle-distance, how worried she made you and Nesta. And Feyre, obviously, but things were a little…strange at the time. They always had been.

You spent the first few months struggling to hold a meal down, often being wracked with spasms of anxiety and flushes of hot and cold. There was a time you would black out if you stood up too fast, and now you can hold down three meals a day without needing to run to the nearest latrine provided you don’t eat too quickly. You feel like yourself again, but fresher. You know you aren’t the same as you were, though. Not after the Cauldron, but you had no choice but to adapt. With eternity ahead of you, you couldn’t stand the thought of spending it weakened and frail—hardly capable of standing without feeling dizzy.

Maybe you are a little jealous that Elain’s getting all the attention. She’d always been the centre of Nesta’s attention, and while you were on fairly good terms with your oldest sister throughout your childhood, you were no competition for her sharp mind and sharper tongue. Feyre was the wild one, Elain the pretty one, Nesta the cunning one—then there was you.

What’s your place in your dysfunctional family?

“It’s good she seems to be steadily improving,” Azriel says, breaking you from your inner thoughts. You nod dutifully, agreeing with him. “She smiled for most of it, too,” you add, remembering how pleased she’d been when they came out how she wanted—after numerous attempts. “Though she was covered in flour—her hair was practically white!” You laugh fondly, covering your mouth with your hand.

A faint smile appears on his lips and, for just a moment, you let yourself pretend he’s smiling at the sound of your laugh.

But that’s all you have to report back to him, and even if you’ve pleased him, he’ll be finding an excuse to slip off now that he knows she’s been fine. You’ll admit, it’s difficult to remember she’s your sister when he so clearly would choose her over you. It’s not even a competition.

So you swallow your nerves, tuck your hands behind your back and peer up at him. “Hey, you read right?” You ask, keeping a pleasant smile on your lips—lest he think you’re too eager. He blinks out of whatever thought he was having, clearing his gaze as he looks down at you, then nods. “I’ve been known to pick up a book from time to time,” he answers. He’s in a good mood, it seems.

“Do you have a favourite?” You ask, tipping your head at a slight angle, appearing to look at the books stacked on the shelves. “I feel like I’ve been rereading the same story over and over again and want to try something else.”

“You’re asking me to pick just one?” He replies, quirking his brow. The smile that comes to your mouth isn’t as fake, or as controlled as you would like—it stretches your lips thin, showing the gaps either side of the top row of your teeth.

“Okay, give me a couple to have a nose at. So if one bores me to tears, I can pick up another,” you laugh gently, pulling the book tight to your chest, worried you’re showing too much. Does he know how your days often centre around whether he’ll seek you out? The too-short conversations that often revolve around your sister?

“Does Elain read?” He asks, tentatively, and it’s like a stone to your cheek. You clutch the book tighter to your chest, taking in a slow, quiet breath. “I can ask her? Subtly, of course,” you force a smile, fingers digging into the spine of the book. He shakes his head, “I’ll do it. I’d like to see how she’s doing for myself.”

You swallow the lump in your throat, “to be fair, she might be sick of them for how long she was in here last year. They might be an eyesore by now,” you laugh softly. But instead he frowns disapprovingly, like you shouldn’t be making jokes at her expense. And suddenly that urge appears, the urge to confront him about his behaviour—why he never talks to you for you.

“Azriel…?” You say, the smile slipping from your lips, though your make sure your eyes still sparkle a little, keeping them partially crinkled. But then you bite the inside of your lip, and the rest of the mask fades, leaving you raw, and more than a bit scared. If you overthink it, it’ll never get done.

“Why do you…I don’t feel like you ever…like we ever talk. Us,” you say, then flush at the word—so intimate. Us. “What do you mean?” He asks, standing sturdy before you. A seed of frustration sprouts within, but you push the irritation away. “I just…You’re always asking me about Elain.” His brow narrows a bit, and you want to take the words back.

“What else?”

You look up at him, all beauty and classical grace, and such unearthly, ethereal lines and angles to him you wish you knew how to paint like Feyre. “What do you mean, ‘what else’?” You ask, a little hurt.

“I mean, is there something else you want to talk about?” He asks, gently. Carefully.

My book would be nice. I’d like you to ask how I’m doing today, how I’m feeling, what I want to do.

“Something that doesn’t involve my sister, would be nice,” you laugh, giving him a smile that reads, can you really blame me for not wanting to talk about Elain all the time? He doesn’t smile like you’d hoped, but frowns. “Do you not like her?” He asks instead, “did something happen between you two?”

“No,” you say hurriedly. “No—nothing happened, we’re fine. Right as rain. It’s just…you always ask after her, and I feel like that’s the only reason you approach me.” You swallow, having begin to put the truth out there for him. “You seem fine talking about other things with Feyre and Nesta, but I can’t remember the last time we talked about something that wasn’t my sister, and I… I don’t really…” You trail off, watching him nervously.

His frown only deepens as he takes you in. “I’m asking out of concern for her well-being, you understand that, don’t you?” He asks.

“I know, I know, but…are you?” You reply, managing to reign in your wince at the blunt question. When he only looks at you without response, you push forward. “I mean, you…you like her, don’t you? That’s why you ask all these questions? Why you care more than the others do?” You say, fighting to keep your voice even as the words come out. “And there’s nothing wrong with that,” you quickly amend, “but, you know, it would be nice to talk to you for you. And you for me. And, you know, she does have a…mate, so, I just thought—”

“What did you think?”

You blink at the sharp tone, his eyes colder than before, more sealed off. Still, you square your shoulders, keeping the book tucked tight against your front. “Well, that, maybe, it would be better to try somewhere else? Instead of investing in someone who’s practically already taken?”

“She doesn’t love him.”

“I know she says that, but—”

“But nothing,” he says, brow narrowing. “The mating bond can’t force someone to fall in love. If she doesn’t want him, she doesn’t have to have him.”

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips as you shift on your feet beneath his penetrating gaze. “Feyre and Rhys worked out,” you manage, eyes flitting away from his, focusing on the book in your hands. “And she didn’t love him at first.” The paper’s old and crisp—worn with age. “Then Nesta and Cassian also got together, too,” you add, the pads of your fingers dragging over the pages, “and you saw what Nesta was like. How badly she was struggling. They didn’t look like they were going anywhere but destruction, but—”

“Are you done with the nosey speculation into other people’s relationships, or is that how you’ve found yourself filling your time?”

Again you blink at him, caught off guard by the ice in his tone. “I’m not saying it’s wrong to pursue her, Azriel,” you appease—try to. “I’m just saying maybe you could try looking…elsewhere, you know? Maybe try something with someone else? That won’t end badly?”

“You don’t know it will end badly,” he replies, all former warmth gone, no trace of it in his beautifully designed features. “It will for someone. Even if you and Elain do somehow end up together, what about Lucien? If it were Feyre and Rhys, or Nesta and Cass, would you think it okay for someone to try and separate them? When they were chosen to be together?”

“Bad pairings happen. Rhys’ parents are a fine example.”

“Yes, but they’re rather suited for one another, don’t you think?” You ask, pushing forward, “Elain’s always excelled at social events. She easily settles into the flow of conversation—she knows what to say, and how to act to put people at ease around her. And Lucien does the same. He knows how to draw ties between people where there seem to be none, just like her. He knows how to keep conversation flowing without pushing it, how to keep things at the right pace, just like her.”

“While you…” you pause, and his jaw tightens.

“Go on,” he says icily, “tell me why think I’m undeserving of her.”

“I don’t think its a case of deserving, Azriel,” you say quickly. “But you…well, you try to blend into any corner you can when there are more than three people in the room.”

His brow narrows, “I didn’t realise you’d been keeping tabs on me.”

“Yes, well, you’re the only one I’m interested in, so.” Your voice is soft, bladed, honed. Resigned. You lips press into a thin line as your eyes flicker away from his, too embarrassed to look even in his general vicinity. You had never anticipated laying your heart to bare to be so…scary? Terrifying?

Anti-climactic.

Admitted in such a quiet, understated way. As if he isn’t the first one you’ve ever felt so strongly for. As if he isn’t the first one who’s given you a vague understanding of why some women were so happy to do whatever their husbands told them. Why they were so happy to live in subservience, and why that’s not what it was.

“You think you’re deserving of me?” He asks, coldly. Shame and embarrassment heat your features, but you manage to shoot back, “do you think you’re deserving of her?” You cross your arms over your chest, trying to prevent yourself from being intimidated by his height, and muscle, and beauty, and overall damned attractiveness that makes you weak in the knees.

His upper lip twitches in a repressed snarl, anxiety spiking in your chest. “Answer my question,” he says, softly, an edge to his voice. You swallow, “answer mine.” You’ve never demanded something from someone before, but it’s out there now, and it feels surprisingly good to insist on something for yourself.

He regards you silently, and it takes a remarkable strength to stand still beneath his icy gaze—knowing that he’s judging what he’s seeing. Weighing if you’re worth his answer.

“I think I gave a hint of my interest for her,” he says, eyes glittering with something cold that you’re unaccustomed to have turned on yourself. “And she reciprocated with her own signs.” He stares you down, unyielding, and powerful, and you want to run and hide. “What about you?”

You purse your lips to keep them from trembling as heat crawls beneath your skin with humiliation. But—no. Get over it. Make it through. Survive something else. “I think I’m tired, and hurt from knowing that you only talk to me because you want to know how my sister is doing,” you confess, voice wobbling. “I think it’s cruel to continue asking after her when I so obviously answer every question you have just so you might pay me a little more attention.”

There’s no bite to your words, and they come out softer and weaker than you had expected. You feel tired, and drained. Eyelids heavy and heart rate spiking every other beat, numerous crescent shaped indentations on the heel of your palms.

“Maybe you’d be better off turning your affections somewhere they’d be appreciated,” he says, icily. Your heart aches, and it takes a few humiliating moments for you to gather yourself enough that you won’t burst into tears when you again find your voice. “That’s all you have to say?” You manage, fingers trembling behind your back.

“Maybe if you were even half the female she is, I’d be tempted to show a little interest,” he snarls softly, eyes glittering with cold rage.

It feels like a smack to the face, a punch to your stomach. Your eyes go wide, then blur, hot pressure building steadily. You dig your nails into the binding of your book, and move to walk past him—at least preserve what little dignity is still intact by refusing to let him see you cry. He already barely sees you as a woman, you won’t win any points with your blubbering. He wants a female, not a girl.

But he seems to realise what he’s said and turns, gripping your upper arm to keep you from leaving. You allow him to stop you, if only because demanding he let you go would show your tears. “I didn’t mean that,” he says quietly, and you can hear the pity in his voice. “I spoke in anger, I did not mean to upset—”

“Get those hands off me,” you snarl, turning on him with defensive ire blazing in your pupils. Rage fresh from the forges.

He recoils as if you burned him. Retreats a step.

“Not nice, is it? Targeting someone’s insecurity—rubbing salt into an open wound?” You snap, blinking away the tears and pulling your arm back to yourself. “Don’t come asking me for updates on Elain again. I don’t want to talk to you if your only interest is in getting between her legs.”

He’s silent for a moment, and you debate just running from the library—you can feel the storm in him brewing, and you’re not sure you’re ready for him. But he doesn’t wait for you to decide, because the storm breaks right then and there. “At least she has someone interested in getting her into bed,” he says softly, hazel piercing into you. “Can you say the same?”

Mortification flushes your skin, mouth parting in humiliation. “I—…This is inappropriate,” you hiss to hide your burning shame. Because no, it’s always been Elain and Nesta to be pursued. His eyes gleam, reading your thoughts clear as day in your expression. “Thought not.”

Pain twists viciously across your chest, heart strings being plucked within an inch of snapping—pulled taught around your throat. “If I’ve never taken a man to bed, it is not because I am unwanted. Rather that I would not waste my self nor my time on someone I was not sure about. That I did not want with everything I have,” you whisper hoarsely—the final layer stripped bare for him to slice and dissect.

But then he steps forward, and without thinking, you yield a step. He’s not perturbed, and takes another. “You admit you have no experience in bed, yet think you could handle me?” He snarls softly, wings flaring ever so slightly at his back, shadows thickening. “I don’t think it’s a matter of handling you, Azriel.” His name is a little more than a whisper from your mouth. One he tracks eagerly.

“No?” He asks, stepping forward again, slowly herding you. “Then what?” You swallow, trying to stand your ground, but the sense of him is so overpowering, he threatens to obliterate every ounce of your own self. “I think it would be a matter of learning. And if you think I’m unprepared, then Elain is definitely no better off, so that clearly isn’t your issue.”

“At least she’s shared the bed of a man before, at least she would know what to do.” You don’t correct him that you have, in fact, shared a bed with a male before. A few in fact, by this point. Nesta’s the bad influence. He steps forward again, and he’s towering over you, hazel glittering between his shadows. “At least she wouldn’t lose her head over the slightest touch.”

And then his hands have landed softly on your hips, and your head is silent. Only his touch on your body, his warmth on your skin, seeping into your clothes. Does he find your shape pleasing? Is he feeling this mind-numbing shock? The tingling at his fingertips where they’re pressing into you?

For a too-long moment you just stare at him, thoughts eddying about without a destination, floating throughout your conscious.

“Still in there?” He taunts quietly, pushing you back, turning you gently as he feels the heat radiating from your skin, the stiffness to your body beneath his touch. It’s only when a hard, wooden shelf digs into the base of your spine that you realise he’s pushed you against the case. You open your mouth—to say what, you don’t know. He beats you to it either way. “You want to prove you haven’t already lost your mind?” He says softly, voice like a lover’s touch. You can do nothing but stare at him, panting softly, completely at his mercy. “Tell me to stop, or I’ll keep going. Say no, and it finishes,” he murmurs, keeping you pressed tight between his hips and the book case. “But I think you’ve already lost.”

You blink up at him, hardly a thought behind your eyes.

In the back of your mind, you’re struggling frantically to decode his words, translate them into something that makes sense. And then his challenge clicks, and you take a sudden, deep breath. You need to tell him to stop, to show him you’re still in control of yourself—that you haven’t lost your head over the slightest touch.

But then his mouth latches over yours, tongue prying your lips apart, and your efforts of rebellion are washed away. You go all warm, and soft, and pliable in his hands, melting like butter as you coat him. His piercing hazel eyes lock with yours as his mouth slants, one hand rising to the curve of your spine, pulling you against his front.

How are you supposed to stand against him when he annihilates everything that you are with the softest brush of his fingers—fingers that are now tracing up the path of your spine, reaching that final notch as they tangle with delicious pressure in your hair. His gaze cuts into you as his tongue drags across your own, flicking at the roof of your mouth.

He’s utterly unruffled, and you feel like you’re on the verge of bursting into flame right there, setting him ablaze in the process.

But then you’re again subverting his expectations, your hands flying over his shoulders as you tilt your head to allow him deeper. The only sign of surprise he allows is a blink of his eyes, but you’re already lifting onto your tiptoes—the swell of your breasts dragging over his chest in a way you must’ve learned males like. But where would you have learned?

Your arms tighten, then your hips are pressing against him, and—you’re fighting back, he realises. And for the first time in a long, long time, he feels excitement flare deep inside him as you stride to meet him. No matter that you aren’t Elain: he’s hungry, and you can make your own decisions. If you want him to stop, you need only say the word, and he’ll be off you. But if you don’t…well, he’s not going to be the one who backs out first.

He has a damn point to prove—that you have no idea what you’re getting into with him.

Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb

[serpentface]

Hey bro you want some stew haha (Brakul at the age of 18 being hit on by what would soon become an off and on lover of three years, another herder from the neighboring Silde-Urbinnas tribe named Dirgrani.)

As a young unmarried man, Brakul had the responsibility of bringing his family's cattle up the mountain to their clan's summer pastures for grazing. He had been doing this since he was 14 and wasn't fond of it- Brakul heavily favored the comforts of home, and this was three months of living mostly on milk and dried bread, sleeping out in the cold, and squaring up against the occasional particularly intrepid hyena, all with nothing but cattle for company. He had a marriage engagement secured for when he returned in the fall, which he was fairly excited about as it would get him out of the task of summer herding for good.

He met Digrani up at pasture that year. Brakul had been seeing evidence that someone was trespassing on his clan's land and grazing cattle there, and finally encountered the culprit two weeks in. Dirgrani was friendly and charming, and Brakul was very, very easily persuaded out of chasing him off with a stick, instead agreeing to let him share the pasture.

The two of them struck up a friendly relationship, and would stop to chat and share food whenever they met up. Dirgrani, being a decade older and significantly more experienced, picked up on Brakul's sad wistful gazes and frequent excuses to disappear behind some rocks and jack off. Dirgani quickly went from casual flirtation to openly coming onto him. Brakul had a few prior sexual experiences with women but never someone he was actually attracted to, and he accepted these advances and got his shit absolutely rocked. The two stuck together for the rest of the season, meeting up every night to make camp together. When the time came to part ways, they agreed to join up again the next year and continue as they were. Brakul was thrilled at the prospect and completely and utterly head over heels enamored with the man.

Brakul broke off his engagement upon his return (very rudely at that, which caused problems for his clan) and put off any further attempts at getting hitched in favor of continuing his summer herding and seeing Dirgani again. This went on for two more years, with the two joining up in the pastures and seeing nothing of each other for the rest of the year. As time wore on, Brakul became fixated on the notion of working out some kind of arrangement where he could stay a bachelor and live with Dirgrani year-round. Marriage was a firm expectation of life and avoiding it as such would be highly frowned upon, but not unheard of. The Bict and Silde Urbinnas tribes had fairly good relations, and even if Brakul didn't contribute to his clan's wellbeing with the security of marriage, he figured could still provide through close connection to an ally.

His romantic outlook on the situation came to an end when Dirgrai firmly rejected this concept. It finally got through Brakul's head that Dirgrani had no such interest and was mostly just fucking him because he was there, decent company, willing and eager, and it helped pass the long days of boredom and loneliness up at pasture. Brakul handled this badly and blew up at him, and initiated a physical fight. He lost, badly, and Dirgrani stole all but one of his cattle in retribution and ditched. This was the last time they ever saw each other.

Brakul returned home heartbroken and humiliated and having to explain in detail to his extremely aggravated mother where the fuck their cows went. Feeling depressed and tremendously guilty, he finally conceded to courting Sirudan, a cattle-wealthy and dear childhood friend of his, and would marry her the following year.

This affair would continue to haunt his life for the next couple years. Brakul having strained some of his clan's key relations by playing fast and loose with his marriage proposals and then 'losing' all but one of his mother's cattle was already embarrassing, which was compounded by word that a Silde-Urbinnas man was bragging about having repeatedly fucked a younger Bict-Urbinnas herder (who was very enthusiastic about taking it 'like a woman'!) and effortlessly stolen his cattle. Most people in Brakul's life managed to put two and two together, which utterly humiliated him and felt impossible to live down.

Sirudan was a good friend to him and (though Very put off by all this) didn't hold his failures over his head, and encouraged him to just put it all behind him. But Brakul was scared to death by his wife's impending childbirth and haunted by memories of a time where he felt happy, in love, and with hopes of a fulfilling future. When he would later find himself in a friendship and burgeoning romance with a man who was genuinely enamored with him, he was fully primed to skip out on his wife and child, put absolutely Everything behind him, and chase after that possibility of a new life. And so it goes.

[luimagines]

Send Me a Sign

Another Commission!

They asked for deaf reader who ends up with the Chain, with only Legend knowing their version of sign at first and it spreads to the rest of the group. Along with their feelings.

Enjoy!

Masterlist

Contend under the cut!

This was a problem, but one you were accustomed to at this point.

You had found yourself in a new and strange location that looked like your home but was nothing of the sort. There were monsters that you have never seen before as you traveled quietly through the forest trail. At least, you had hoped you were silent. Given that you hadn’t seemed to attract their attention, you figured you were doing alright.

Until something else caught their attention and the whole world went sideways. Weapons and arrows were flying from all around as a group of young men charged at the hoard. You weren’t sure which direction the threat was coming from anymore. It could have been the men or it could have been the monsters- all you knew was that you had to make yourself scarce and fast before you got caught.

Just keep running, you told yourself. Finding a way to contact those people after the mess so you could figure out where you were and how to get back home was an afterthought.

You had all but crashed into one of them on the way to your escape. He was shorter than many of the people in your village and he had a stunning pick streak in his hair but that was all you had time to notice before you scrambled off of him. You quickly sign that you apologize for the collision but you don’t stay to explain anything or get an explanation.

You run away, taking a long way around the mess to keep an eye on the battle despite the distance.

Someone else catches you and waves you down. You feel a slight panic increase in your bloodstream- the adrenaline crash later might as well be world ending and you know it. You jog up to him signing quickly, hoping that he understands what you’re saying. 

You take a moment to see what he looks like. Another blond, blue eyes, face tattoos and wears a fur pelt. It’s not exactly a look you’re used to but he seems to pull it all together despite the strangeness. He certainly doesn’t look bad. You’re quick to notice his armor and weapons. If he was trying to hide them, he sucked at it. They were easily the most intimidating aspect of his entire outfit. You can tell that he’s equally checking you out and sizing you up. He doesn’t seem to immediately get aggressive though. Maybe your lack of weapons and armor help sell the fact that you were more or less ripped from your home. 

Before you can so much as get out a decent greeting, you can tell by the look on his face that he has no idea what you’re saying.

Familiar frustration bubbles up inside you- fighting with the adrenaline inside you for dominance.

Despite the awkward look on his face, he tries to sign back. 

Hope at last.

Only for you to not understand a single thing either.

With the little balloon popped before it could fully inflate, you sag with it and shake your head. You try signing again, slower, wondering if anything would stick. He pays rapt attention to your signals, very obviously trying to follow along.

He looks just as chest fallen and tries to sign back to you- but nothing sticks. His mouth is moving but you don’t recognize the words he’s trying to say. Well- that’s not entirely true. But you don’t think that banana, cat and fiddle claws are the actual words he put into the air.

Dread and awkward helplessness settles ungratefully into your stomach, sinking it further and further to the ground as more time passes.

The young man in front of you sighs and gestures for you to follow. He’s still talking but you’re not sure how to explain that you’re out of luck in that regard as well. However, you were fairly certain that instantly signing would have been a dead giveaway.

You follow him, hoping beyond hope that someone would be able to give you answers.

You end up seeing the earlier boy you ran into. His pink hair was unforgettable despite the chaos. You smile nervously and wave to him again. Given that his friend didn’t seem to understand you, you’re not sure if he understood you earlier.

The young men start talking amongst themselves while gesturing to you.

As much as you expected this at this point in your life, it didn’t make it any less annoying. It’s not like you were right there if anything, nevermind that you couldn’t participate in the conversation.

You crossed your arms, not wanting to be annoyed by their (unintentional) lack of manners.

Although, it seems that Mr. Fur Pelt was merely explaining that you sign because within moments they all took turns signing to you, trying to communicate.

You wanted to cry- but maybe that was the adrenaline crash you knew you were about to have.

You couldn’t understand them either.

Not a single thing.

Was this the universe’s cruel joke to you? To be surrounded by people who could sign but still be unable to communicate to you? 

How many years have passed with wondering what it would be like if everyone could sign? If everyone could talk to each no matter the boundary? 

Your heart twisted as you forced yourself to shake your head with each and every attempt they made. The boy with the pink hair stepped forward, going last out of this group of nine. You couldn’t tell what he was trying to say just as well as the others.

Still, at least with him, he still deserved an apology for virtually running him over.

‘I’m sorry about earlier. I was trying to get away from the fighting and didn’t see you.’ You bite your lip, not wanting to get your hopes up that he would understand you in return.

You see him go still and tilt his head. A beat passes. ‘No problem. It’s not like I saw you either.’

It felt like he had struck you in the face.

Your jaw goes slack before you feel yourself moving. Is it to hug him? Jump on him? Kiss him? You’re not so sure. You managed to reign yourself in before you invaded his personal space but the grin on your face was unmistakable. 

He knew. He knew! He knows your sign!

Feeling excited and safer with him in a moment, you explain your situation, throwing in your name for good measure- signing at the speed of light without care of being watched by the others.

‘I’m sorry you got dragged into this. Call me L-I-N-K in the meantime. Are you hurt anywhere?’ ‘Link’ smirks slightly as you shake your head. You notice another young man with brown hair and ruby sword strapped to his back huss around ‘Link’. He’s also talking quickly- but you can’t make out what he’s saying either.

The spoken language of this group must be different from the one back home as well.

One of the boys, who’s the shortest of them all, hands a small acorn looking nut towards you. You take it with a tilt of your head.

You have no idea what to do with it.

Shorty turns and all but demands ‘Link’ to explain it to you. Which he does. ‘It’s called a Jabbernut. If you eat it you’ll be able to understand us when we speak. It’ll make talking easier.’

That’s when you still.

Oh. They ate this weird magical thing and that’s why they seem to speak and understand each other, but their signing is all over the place. You bite your lip and shake your head, trying to hand it back.

Mr. Colorful takes it back with a confused look on his face. You sigh. ‘I’m deaf. It wouldn’t work on me anyway.’

‘LInk’ tenses up completely and quickly relates what you said to the rest of the group, at least you think that he does. They all seem to change their stance once the knowledge is out and you’re tempted to wage violence at the thought of the knowledge changing anything about this circumstance.

‘Link’ frowns and runs his hand through his hair, ruffling it roughly. He turns back to you. ‘Ok, not a problem. It’s not going to be easy but I’m sure we can figure something out. But seeing as you’re far away from home and in this mess with us- we think it would be better if you come along. Can you fight?’

And like that you no longer feel like fighting them on principle- if anything the fight is dashed from your reach. You’re suddenly very tired. ’Why do I have to fight?’

‘Monsters. We take them down constantly. It would be better if you could defend yourself in the meantime.’ ‘Link’ explains it simply. ‘It would just be easier for everyone if you could.’

You can’t argue with that logic but sadly you shake your head and tell him that no, you can’t fight. You pretty much just have the clothes on your back. If you had a weapon on you, they would have been able to see it. It’s not like you have any magical items either.

‘Link’ makes a displeased face and you know the feeling well. He gestures for you to wait a minute before he turns to the group, speaking to them about what you just told him no doubt. The eldest of them with a scar over his eye makes a point that you’re sure is about your lack of training. You can’t say that for certain but the way he’s keeping his only eye on you is vaguely unnerving all things considered.

It was one thing for Mr. Fur Pelt to size you up- this one feels more penetrating. This man has seen some stuff. And as the biggest man of the group, you don’t doubt for a second that he’s able and willing to flatten you in a heartbeat should you step out of line.

Another blond, with soft looking hair and a large blue scarf steps up and speaks some more, offering no doubt valid points as he sends you a charming smile.

You wave to ‘Link’ and tilt your head. ‘What are they saying?’

He seems a little embarrassed to play Translator if his pink cheeks are anything to go off on, but he turns to you again. He gives you his full attention, blocking off the others from his view so that it’s just you. ‘We’re talking about what to do in an emergency should we get into a really tight spot. It’s not like we would be able to shout at you and tell you what to do. But don’t worry too much about fighting. There’s enough of us to go around to have you covered.’

Strangely, his words help you feel a little better.

Deciding that it would be better to let them figure it out on their own and to simply follow their lead, you nod and figuratively take a step back from the conversation.

They talk rapidly, gesturing wildly with their hand in a way that is not like sign at all and more about just being emotional in general. Every time you manage to make eye contact with one of them, they smile at you. Bright and charming and alarmingly disarming.

‘Come. We’ll find an inn and spend the night in town.’ ‘Link’ gestures for you follow when they’re done discussing their future plans now that you’ve found yourself involved in what shenanigans have pulled you all from their home.

On the walk, ‘Link’ tells you about why they’re far from home as well as what they do and who they are. He tells you that they’re all named Link.

You are inclined to not believe him.

You tell him that and he laughs. It turns many heads of the group, cluing you in that it was louder than it looked like and by the looks on their faces, it wasn’t something he did often.

Somehow, you feel accomplished in making him laugh despite having barely met him an hour ago.

You get the inn where you’re able to have more conversations with. One of them gets the grand idea of getting paper and inks to write out to communicate but that’s also quickly dashed. No one seems to write in a way you could decipher and not a single one of them wrote the same way. You’re both intrigued and infuriated that it didn’t work. ‘Link’ said that they were all from different places, (hence the need for the Jabbernut,) but that didn’t make it any less annoying.

Although you were sure someone found it amusing. Someone potentially up above that was laughing at all your expenses. Surely even the Golden Goddesses got bored from time to time.

You would have found it amusing as well if you weren’t so desperate to get answers for yourself without having to rely on one person entirely. You’re quick to fit in with the group. Even though you can’t hear a word they say, you quickly get a good grasp of their personalities.

The youngest, who ‘Link’ told you was a pirate, aside from being named Link just like the rest of them, brought the paper and began drawing. He drew a house, the ocean, a boat in said ocean and three people. He pointed to one of them and pointed to himself.

It was his home and family.

Your heart warmed and you gestured for the pen. He happily gave it to you while you did the same. Slowly, and with a lot of guesswork on both of your sides, you learned a little more from them without the need for your current translator to step in and smooth out any wrinkles.

Days went by. Weeks went by. You grew comfortable enough around them and their antics that it didn’t seem to be so isolating that they couldn’t sign the way you knew how. They always tried to include you in said antics but given that their idea of fun seemed to be cutting down a tree and riding it as it was launched into the stratosphere, you were more content to watch them.

Suddenly, the one who you were told to call The Traveler walked up to you with a small smile on his face. He seemed nervous. You waved to him and patted the spot next to you. A universal invitation to sit next to you. Maybe that would ease him up a bit. You wondered what got him all worked up.

‘Thank you.’ He sat down.

‘Don’t worry about it.’ You waved him off and turned back to watch The Pirate and The Champion push each other around with large leaves they’ve seemed to have found.

‘They’re funny.’ The Traveler points to the two of them. ’They’re good people.’

‘I think so too.’ You freeze and turn to him, realizing what had just transpired. Your eyes widen and you grin, turning to him fully. ‘You can sign now!’

He laughs and nods his head. ‘The Veteran has been teaching me. I wanted to talk to you too.’

You want to hug him too, but something else catches your attention. ‘The Veteran? Who?’

He tilts his head and points to ‘Link’. ‘The Veteran. Him.’

You nod, understanding who he means now. ‘He just told me to call him L-I-N-K. So that’s all I know him as.’

The Traveler pouts. It’s a cute look on him. ‘We’re all L-I-N-K.’ Here he seems to struggle a little bit to get the signs out, not sure what shapes to make next. You wait patiently, not wanting to rush him or make him feel bad since he’s obviously been making an effort to get this far just to talk to you. ‘Can’t share name. It’s confusing.’

You smile. You think you understand what he’s trying to say. But then again, you’ve all been giving them different names in your head… Maybe you should stick a little closer to the names they have. Otherwise, The Traveler next to you wouldn’t know who you’re talking about now that he’s been learning.

Grinning at the fact that they’re weird for having the same name, you properly introduce yourself to him at last. He grins- brightening up the area around you instantly. It’s blinding.

‘Link’, The Veteran, walks up to you both and slings his arm around The Traveler. ‘Is this guy bothering you?’

It’s teasing and The Traveler seems to take mock offense to the accusation, elbowing his friends in the gut none too gently. The Vet doubles over a little bit before ruffling his friend’s hair vigorously.

You laugh and shake your head, feeling lighter than you have in a while.

It was the first of many.

It seemed that while you weren’t looking or paying attention, the rest of the group had badgered The Vet (something you still feel strange to call him when he introduced himself as Link) into teaching them all your signs so that they could communicate specifically with you.

It appeared that while you were busy trying to help the new learner with their signs as you both finally communicated, the Vet took that opportunity to begin teaching the next one and so one and forth until everyone was more or less proficient enough to have a conversation with you- having learned it all right under your nose.

Admittedly, you cried.

It was probably the sweetest thing anyone had ever done for you. 

However, they didn’t stop there and it certainly wasn’t the last sweet thing they did for you.

Before you knew it they would leave little things for you as gifts, even though you could never figure out who was leaving what in your little pack. 

Yes, pack. The boys insisted on giving you your own things even if it meant they all had to buy it with their own money. They had all but fought over who got to give you something shiny and new. It would have been more concerning if they had let you be around to see them try to out sneak each other.

That being said, you were still intrigued about who was giving you such pretty little things. Sometimes it would be a flower or a small gem. Other times it would be a piece of jewelry, like an earring or a ring- the occasional necklace and bracelet. You once found a very expensive looking matching jewelry set that you felt compelled to safeguard that no one had wanted to claim as their gift to you- even if you saw them give each other bombastic side eyes.

It appears that they didn’t even know who gave you that one.

You wore it the next day.

And even The Old Man told you you looked beautiful with them in his own quiet and stoic way. But you’ve grown up in the art of reading facial features and were quick to read his ever subtle smile. It was the highlight of your day.

It didn’t seem like much in the beginning of course. It wasn’t an everyday occurrence for you to receive a gift of sorts but you would have liked for someone to step up and claim ownership of all of this. There was enough to fill your pack to the brim and you had yet to give any of them a proper thank you.

The one they called Sky was willing to hear you out on the matter. He thought it was funny enough as it was, but your clear exasperation and exaggeration was more amusing for him in the interim. It annoyed you but you could see where he was coming from. If this was happening to any of the other boys and you knew you had a part in it (you couldn’t trust Sky with the idea that he was innocent), then you would have found it just as amusing.

You weren’t sure where he was taking you either. Sky had pulled you away from the group for a moment so you could both walk and talk. It was nice actually, being able to just be after all the chaos you and the group had gone through was nothing short of a miracle. And to spend it with Sky? 

You liked him. He was clearly a good guy. From what you could see, he had his head screwed on right. He was sensible and sensitive. He was quiet in a way that didn’t need sound to convey. But he still shared the need for shenanigans just as much as the rest of the group.

He eventually brought you to a small clearing where a small picnic blanket was already set up for the two of you. Your heart fluttered. 

This was unexpected.

But you weren’t entirely opposed to it. By the look on his face and the way he moved around, subtly trying to see your reaction to it, you could tell that he had put a lot of work into this and he was nervous to see if you would like it or not.

You loved it.

You both sat down quickly while Sky explained in a roundabout way what everything was. There was pumpkin soup among small cakes and teas. You’ve never had that before. Sky said that it was his favorite. You couldn’t wait to try it.

Only for someone else to find your little get away and start talking to Sky.

The Captain had his hands on his hips and didn’t look at all pleased about finding you both alone like this. He was talking quickly, looking only at Sky for a short moment. Something crosses his face in the middle of his tirade and he looks at you. He smiles apologetically at you and gestures to Sky. ‘We needed him for something. We were looking everywhere.’

Understanding him, Sky jumped to his feet, gesturing grander and with more passion behind his words. They’re not signing so you miss whatever they’re saying to each other but they’re not happy with one another. That much is clear.

You bite your lip and get up, feeling awkward about being left out of the contact behind this. You don’t want Sky to get in trouble though. You wave to get their attention once more. ‘I’m sorry. It’s my fault. We were just hanging up.’

Maybe taking some of the blame would soften this?

Sky instantly turns to you and shakes his head, waving his hands frantically before signing in a  way you can understand once more. ‘Don’t worry about that. This was my idea anyway. I should have cleared it first. Don’t feel too bad about it.’

Even though he currently gives The Captain the most bombastic side eye you’ve ever seen from Sky.

Warrior gives him an equally annoyed look but once again apologizes to you.

Sighing, you let them lead you back to the others- picnic forgotten about entirely.

Upon returning, the others were quick to jump onto Sky but you wouldn’t hear it- no pun intended. ‘Don’t even think about it! We were just hanging out!’

They calmed but you doubted they would continue behaving once you were out of the picture. It was strange. They got along as if they were closer than brothers. This must have been a big deal. Even stranger was that they hadn’t mentioned the problem to you. At least not directly.

You didn’t want to jump to familiar conclusions. These young men have been more than accommodating to you and being deaf hadn’t seemed to change anything like you had originally feared. So for them to be hiding something as subtle as this must mean they were planning something.

It still didn’t make sense though.

You vowed to keep a better eye on them after this.

Strangely, The Blacksmith was next. It wasn’t as secretive as a small picnic away from the group though. This time you were in the middle of Castle Town. You didn’t seem to catch whose it was but The Blacksmith seemed familiar with the place.

He all but dragged you to a local bakery and told you to pick whatever you wanted, it was on him. Surprised but delighted by the cakes and sweets and breads, you pointed out what you wanted. Part of you felt a little bad for choosing so many things, but you argued in your heart that you could share with the others and you would slip some rupees into The Blacksmith’s pack when he wasn’t looking to pay him back for going a little overboard in your excitement.

That done, The Blacksmith then led you to a park where he sat you both underneath a tree in the shade to go to town on the absolute haul you had just procured.

No one seemed to bother you both this time and the moment of peace was undisturbed until you all but ate the entire thing.

You ate until you were full and satisfied and so, so happy. ‘Thank you Smithy. This was just what I needed.’

He grinned and waved it off. ‘Consider it a thanks for putting up with us as much as you have. I know we can be as stubborn as mules.’

You grinned back. ‘No. I love hanging out with you guys. It’s been fun. Danger aside.’

‘We love you too.’

Something collided with the back of the Blacksmith’s head. He jumped up and threw it back with expert aim despite the fact he hadn’t seen it coming. Impressive.

It in turn, collided with the Vet’s hand. He caught it. Equally impressive.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t just one person to butt in between you and a friend. It appears the rest of the group was there to oversee this. All of them looked annoyed to some degree or another. Impatient would have been another excellent term for their posture and facial expressions.

You waved, albeit hesitantly. A bomb was about to go off and you knew it, but you weren’t sure if it was going to take you out in the process. ‘Hi. What’s up?”

‘First Sky and now The Blacksmith.’ The Vet all but scowled. ’Is anyone else going to get a chance to take you on a date before I get a chance?!’

You stilled, freezing on the spot.

The Rancher smacked him on the back of his head. Said Rancher turns to you and sighs. ‘Did The Blacksmight ask you to go with him? Is this a date?’

You blinked and turned to the young man next to you. ‘Is it?’

The Captain and The Traveler all but threw his hands up in exasperation.

The Blacksmith smiled sheepishly and shrugged. ‘Admittedly, I had hoped so. But I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. I was trying to play it by ear.’

You deadpan at his literal translation. ‘You realize that wouldn’t technically work, yes? Why didn’t you just say something?’

‘He did.’ The Pirate signs in the corner of your eye. You turn to him instantly with a tilt you heard. He takes it as his cue to continue. ‘Everyone has. Everyone has been trying to tell you. They weren’t exactly hiding it.’

You feel a blush overtake your face. You look back to each and every one of them in a new light. Shame crawls up your back at your apparent obliviousness but you manage to keep eye contact with the group.

‘I didn’t notice.’

‘We know.’ The Vet’s eye twitched. ‘But we didn’t want to put any pressure on you. It was just to see who you’d go for first and then back off.’

‘That’s a horrible way to go about that.’ You glared. It was tempting to cross your arms but that wouldn’t keep the conversation going. ‘It would have been impossible for me to figure that out. It’s not like I was getting any signals from any of you that you would have been interested!’

Is getting mad going to help this? Maybe not. But anger was easier to deal with than whatever else you were tempted to feel at this moment. Everyone appeared to be getting embarrassed about this in one way or another. You were suddenly very thankful to be having this conversation completely in sign, otherwise the very public would have been watching this with great interest no doubt.

Ignoring the blush on your face, you keep going. ‘I’m not a mind reader. A hint would’ve been nice. A direct sentence would be better. But since you all decided to be sneaky about it you could have at least given me a sign!’

‘That’s all we’ve been doing!’ The Traveler ruffled his hair roughly. ‘We’ve been giving you nothing but signs. Literally!’

You faltered a little, your embarrassment digging every fiber of your being into a deeper hole. Maybe that should have clued you in on that. It’s not like everyone with platonic intentions gives secret gifts, learns a whole new language, then tries to get one on one time with the person of their interest- Goodness, you probably should have been able to figure it out faster than this. But you somehow missed everything they all threw to your face. No wonder they seem annoyed when you go off with just one of them. No one signs anything for a long time and you realize that they’re waiting for you to reply. You bite your lip again and look at each of them. ‘...All of you?’

‘Pretty much.’ The Old Man smiles softly, taking a little bit of mercy on you. ‘It’s still your choice though. We can all back off and give you some time to think and come back to this conversation another time.’

You nod while the group seems to come to an agreement on this. They look at you with bright and bashful smiles. ‘We’ll wait for you to give us a sign this time.’

[xenyasplacex]

Baby Trapped — Chapter 1

Chris Sturniolo x Fem!OC

Summary: Chris is in a toxic relationship and the only thing keeping him there is his daughter.

warning- Toxic relationship, Miserable Chris, Shouting, Abuse, Physical Abuse, Talk of miscarriage

A/N : This is so bad it’s concerning but oh well, i’ll fix it later. Enjoy xx

I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION FOR MY WORK TO BE STOLEN, REPOSTED OR TRANSLATED

Prologue <—> Chapter 2

It all started on a quite joyful note. Nate was in town visiting the triplets and they had gone to a bar the night before he left back to Boston

“Alright,” Nate said over the loud music to Chris, looking around before spotting someone.

“I bet you $40 you can’t pick her up.” He said turning to Chris. 

Matt who was next to the pair laughed while shaking his head. “Her? i’m surprised she even got in here. I’ll bet you $60”

The girl was tall, not taller than Chris but still fairly tall, She had almost perfect skin with curls falling on her shoulders beautifully. She was definitely Chris’ type however it was rare that you saw Chris hit on a girl and even more rare that he hit on a girl and succeeded.

Chris turned to face his brother astonished, “What? You don’t think i can do it?” 

“Girl your age, not staring at you like you’re  a dancing monkey, that pretty. Good luck buddy.” Nick interjected before taking a sip of his drink.

“You know what,” Chris started, quickly downing his drink and stand up, “I think i will got talk to her.” 

That night a slightly Tipsy Chris went to talk to a very pretty girl, a girl that he didn’t know was actually as safe as poison. That night marked that everything changed. From that exchange of phone numbers led to a toxic relationship, an unplanned pregnancy and a whole load of problems that none of the triplets had even thought could happen.

To be completely honest it had all happened at an unusually fast pace. Within 2 months of talking they were together, the honeymoon period lasted for about a month before the relationship started to turn ugly. What used to be simple taps turned into being hit with hard object which turned into being left on the floor, bruised and bloody. After about 6 months Chris had tried to break up with her but he couldn’t. She threatened to stop eating, to cut herself, to kill herself, and even the possibility of her going through with these things because of chris was enough to make him stay. When he tried to leave again she made the same threats but Chris stood up for himself and that’s when she told him she was pregnant. That night was still foggy for Chris but after a few too many drinks, a couple of kisses, apologies and a plane ticket to vegas later, Chris woke up hung over and married, and 10 months later his daughter, Adriana was born.

Adriana was the one thing that kept him going all these years, the idea that he finally had a daughter to love and care for, a daughter that was all his, a daughter that loved him as he loved her. His daughter. He didn’t want to leave Aaliyah because he knew if he did she could be taken from him and that made him stay. It made him put up a fight. It made him strong.

It started when they came back from tour. Late. 

“Daddy!” Adriana cried out as Chris fell to the floor, Aaliyah stood over him.

“You were supposed to be back at 3 o’clock Christopher, 3!” She screamed adding more punched to his face.

It was currently 6. In all honestly, Chris had just come back from tour and their flight home had simply been delayed. However, in Aaliyah’s eyes Chris staying out late just meant that he was cheating and she couldn’t stand for him cheating. 

“Daddy!” Adriana cried again this time leaving her safe spot behind the door frame and coming to try and stop her mother. That had never happened before. Usually when Aaliyah went crazy on Chris she was like hide under her bed in her room and wait for Chris to come and and rock her to sleep saying everything was fine however this time things were different, Aaliyah was hitting harder and faster. Adriana has to protect her dad the way he protects her. It was only fair.

“Adrian get back!” Chris yelled as he watched his daughter toddle over to her mother. It was only when his wife’s elbow connected with his daughter’s nose that Chris fought back. He quickly grabbed Aaliyah by her arms and pushed her off him. Hard. Hard enough to knock her into a shelf that was near them and had some of the books fall on her.

In that moment Chris quickly got up, ignoring the immense pain he felt. He quickly picked his daughter up and ran downstairs to her room before locking them both in it. At that point Adriana was still crying saying her face hurt and Chris was trying to pack a bag of everything she needed. Her clothes, her night time dipears, her kindergarten uniform and her favourite stuffed animal, Jeff the 

giraffe. As he started shoving everything in a bag he heard Aaliyah starting to move so he quickly put his shoes on, put adrian’s shoes in his bag, picked her up and ran for the door before quickly putting her in her car seat and driving away from the house.

Chris was speeding, running red lights, cutting people off and breaking almost every rule of driving to get them away from the house but at that point he didn’t even care about himself, he needed to get Adriana out if there. After a while Chris finally parked his car at a Mcdonald’s around 20 minutes from his brother’s house. If she went straight there she would find him. He finally turned to his daughter who was still breathing heavily from how she had been crying. 

“Oh baby,” Chris said softly as he got out of the car and went over to the back of the car to pick her up and hug her tight. Adriana started crying into Chris’ shoulder again, gripping his hoodie tightly. Chris simply rocked her, humming soothing tunes and playing with her hair, the same things he used to do whenever Aaliyah would be destroying things around the house and so Adriana couldn’t sleep. Eventually, she stopped crying and was simply sniffling. 

“I’m sorry Adi I’m really sorry. I love you so much i’m sorry you saw that. How’s your nose huh?”

“Better”

“I’m sure it is you brave brave girl.” Chris said ticking her side finally making her giggle. “There we go, you’re laughing now.” He said happily before kissing her cheek. “Let’s get something to eat okay?”

“Chris?” Matt spoke through the phone gently, “Where are you?”

“I’m at Mcdonald’s, the one near your house,” Chris replied rubbing the exhaustion of his eyes. They had been at that mcdonald’s for no around 5 hours now and the realisation from what had haken had started to kick in. Now Adriana was asleep in her car seat and Chris was trying to stop his hands from shaking.

“Chris!” Nick yelled faintly before grabbing the phone from Matt. “Chris Aaliyah was just here, she’s left now but she was screaming that you left and she was going to go to the cops.” No. This couldn’t be happening. He only touched her to protect his child. If she went to the cops would they even believe him?

“Chris? Chris come here okay. Look Matts phone is about to die and i can’t find mine just come here and we’ll sort everything out okay? come here and we ca-“ Was the last thing Chris heard before thephone went dead.

Chris considered his options. He could go back and beg Aaliyah not to call the cops or he could go to his brothers house and keep him and his daughter safe.

“Adi’s asleep, she went out like a light.” Matt laughed quietly before joining his brothers on the couch.

“Chris, i know you don’t want to but you have to tell us what happened.” Nick explained as Chris rolled his eyes and got up from the couch.

“Nothing happed Nick, she’s just mourning that’s all.”

“Oh my gosh Chris I am so tired of you using that tired excuse every time she messes up. I understand losing a child can be hard.” Nick yelled before Chris cut him up.

“Shut up Nick, just shut up!”

“But if she’s doing something to you that’s so bad that you had to take your living child and run then you have to do something about it. Chris what if you need a lawyer?”

“Shut up, i said shut up!” Chris screamed, grabbing Nick by his collar.

“Wow wow Chris chill out, he’s just trying to help you.” Matt shouted trying to get in between the two. 

“Yeah well your help isn’t needed,” Chris said much quieter now letting go of Nicks collar, “my wife is mourning our child okay? And so am I.” Chris said sincerely before waking upstairs to find his daughter.

He didn’t mean to lash out at his brother, but it’s hard to do so when someone is in your head like that. Chris may not be sure if he truly did love Aaliyah but she was the mother of his only child and that was enough to make him protect her, even if it meant killing himself inside in the process.

He didn’t even remember falling asleep near his daughter, all he knew was the next morning he woke up to Aaliyah rubbing his back telling him to wake up so they could go home.

Caught. They were caught.

“Common babe, you go have breakfast with you brothers downstairs i’ll go get Adi ready okay?” She asked lovingly before pressing a soft kiss to his check and lips. 

Yes, the same woman who had been beating on him yesterday was know kissing him like nothing had happened. She was mean and manipulated by she was a pretty damn good actor.

Chris riddled downstairs where he heard Matt and Nick gossiping.

“He was about to sucker punch me in the mouth!”

“Nick, you said his wife should get over their dead son. I would’ve done the same.”

“I didn’t say it like that.”

“I’m sorry okay?” Chris said in the door frame causing his other triplet brothers to turn their heads and look at him. “I was in a bad room. I’m sorry for taking it out on you.”

“I’m sorry for what I said, but Chris, if she is doing something to you, you have to tell us. We can help you but we can only do that if you let us in. Please?” Nick begged.

Does he tell them what’s going on? Does he try to explain to them that they can’t let him leave with her. He has to. He has to save his child from her. From what she could do to her. Not only that but he had to save himself. He had to save himself from the pain this whole relationship had caused, he had to save himself from all the suffe-

“You ready to go babe.” Aaliyah whispered as she turned the corner, a sleeping child resting on her chest and her baby bag in another hand. 

“Yeah, yeah i am.” Chris stated quietly, watching as his brothers shoulders dropped and he looked down in defeat.

Chris quickly brought his brothers into a hug and whispered a quick ‘Thanks’ to them before the small family left the house. It was only when they got in the car the Aaliyah facade dropped and she turned to Chris with a serious face.

“Christopher, the next time you run of with my daughter after laying hand on me, i promise you i will go straight to the police, and take you to the cleaners. Are we clear?” She asked.

 Chris didn’t say anything, to shocked at her change in tone.

“I said are we clear?” She asked again, this time with our agitation in her voice. 

“Yes, we’re clear.” He replied quietly before staring the engine and pulling out the driveway.

That was his life, a woman who treated him horribly but who he still stayed with, because he had a child to protect, and if that meant protecting her mother as well then so be it.

Hehehe, Luv ya ~ Xenya

Chapter 2

[typewritingyip]

The Arcturus Missions

Part Twelve - Oddities

Part Eleven

———

Intergalactic news was fairly upkept, they might not have a 24 hour news channel or two, but they certainly kept the vast community in the know as much as they could. Yet, the universe is a vast place and there were many inhabited planets, planetoids, and space stations, so news did travel but it certainly no longer travels fast to the edges. 

Closures of Cybertronian space bridges were very notable, travel was now significantly longer and unauthorized bridges were far more common than they had been in centuries past. Smuggling was on the up-tick and the intergalactic council certainly wanted answers. 

The answers they got certainly were not the ones that they did want however. Quickly shutting down most connections with both Cybertron and Quintessa while they still could.

Civilizations prayed, others rioted, and several set about to prepare their own planets for invasion. Some pitied the unprepared and others anticipated their downfalls.

Everything kept moving and turning, eventually everyone adjusted to life as it was. 

—

Slowly, one by one, they each climbed from their suits anxiously. Sunstreaker had re-secured his helmet and visor which effectively closed him off, Sideswipe chose to remove his completely and fuss with his hair, Breakdown had gotten out and perched himself on his own mechs shoulder while Hound was the last one out and nearly fell straight to the floor. 

It was the first time in over two weeks they hadn’t been in a space shuttle or their mech suit and the evidence was apparent to Jazz, “Jeez, you all look terrible.” Hound pulled his visor away from his face, blinking slowly and struggling slightly with the orientation of it all. Everything was so much bigger when you weren’t in a suit, “Prowler set up the refresher with a spot for us to wash up, go ahead and take turns or whatever you all need to do.” Footsteps almost shook the room as Prowl moved over and had a seat, shifting Jazz to his shoulder with a practiced ease as he seemingly pulled a tablet from no-where. 

“Oh, I’m showering first.” Sunstreaker was already backing up towards the door Jazz had gestured to, “Like hell you are.” Sideswipe just missed tackling his brother as he took off through the opening door, “Damnit, get back here!” Once he was able to get back to his feet, he ran straight into the now closed door and banged on it for a second before sinking to the floor, “God, even millions of miles from home he’s insufferable,” “I heard that!” Sunstreaker’s muffled voice was still incredibly loud, “You were supposed to, you asshole.” With a sigh, Sideswipe pushes off the ground and walks away from the door, starting to wander, “Whose place is this anyway?” He scratched at his stubble covered jaw.

Jazz leaned forward slightly, “Technically, mine, but Prowler gets the most use out of it. He spends more time in Iacon than I do and this place is much closer to central than his place.” He leaned against the side of Prowl’s head, finally removing his own helmet and brushing a hand lightly through his hair. Prowl didn’t seem phased by any of this, focused entirely on his tablet, Hound nodded slowly and lowered himself to the floor uneasily; “Yeah, so this is the free apartment you just get for fighting the aliens from hell?” Jazz chuckles lightly, “Guess so.” It was all confusing and concerning in a way, Hound really couldn’t understand.

Glancing around, the space was huge but it was made to fit mechs not people. Hound had to keep reminding himself that they were the only people around. 

Taking a breath, Hound cleared his throat almost painfully, “So, why don’t you spend a ton of time in Iacon?” The word felt so foreign to him, almost getting stuck in his throat, “Cause the Prime asked me to fight the Quints. Hound, our suits were designed for this fight, we were designed for this fight. These guys, they weren’t.” Jazz activates the magnates in his boots and gloves, lowering himself down Prowl with a practiced ease, everything he seemed to do around Prowl had so much ease, “You agreed to stay.” “I agreed to stay because I can see you plan to, part of our mission was to find and recover you.” Hound takes a breath, starting to pace, “And they said they’ll launch our relay satellite which means at least the potential of communication with home.” Jazz froze once he was on the floor, staring, “You have a relay satellite?” “Yes, of course. It’s on the Odyssey.” Hound glanced back and paused, staring at Jazz and remembering why pilot selection had been so selective on who was compatible with the one way trip.

Nodding slightly, Hound pulls at his assistant suit briefly before sighing, “Ricochet is doing good.” Jazz seemed to deflate, sinking to the floor, Hound remembers Rico had a similar reaction when the connection had been lost all that time ago. It was hard, losing one friend and watching the other fall apart because of it, “Focused on the job, you know?” With a bit of a nod, Jazz leaned against Prowl’s leg, closing his eyes. Hound nodded again before turning away to give him some privacy. It was a lot to take in. All of this was a lot. 

—

The shower had been hot and the clothes were familiar as their assistant suits were being decontaminated inside their mechs, clearing the cockpits of foreign bodies and bacteria, it was a normal procedure that was usually done by clean up crews back home but they’d redesigned the suits to do it themselves for this mission. Jazz was still grumbling about it.

Hound was now sitting on the table in the center of the room, on a rug while Sideswipe continued to run what could best be described as a towel over his hair. Sunstreaker was pacing around the edge of the table, trying to get a good view of the room and Breakdown was actively tracking the location of the Odyssey. The sun that Cybertron orbited was already starting to go down when they were all clean and their suits decontaminating, “The shuttle is only a few klicks from here, so it’s likely they moved it last night or while we were on the transport here.” Breakdown was scrutinizing the screen, “Don’t worry about your ship, you’ll have access to it tomorrow.” Jazz was back up on Prowl’s shoulder, he too having showered and changed into entirely unfamiliar attire.

”Our food is on the shuttle, so are our clothes and other things.” Sideswipe finishes, sort of lamely, still rubbing at his hair with the not-towel and frowning deeply as it wasn’t getting any drier, “Don’t worry too much about that, I said I’ve got a garden.” Hound tilted his head slightly, “Here?” “Yeah, UV lamps and all.” Jazz taps the side of Prowl’s head and says something that they didn’t understand without the suits before Prowl got up. The floor shook lightly as he walked, sending the table shaking under the weight, “Oh god, I hate this.” Sunstreaker quickly plastered himself to the surface of the table, it shaking again as a door across the room opened and closed behind the pair.

Hound sighs slowly and rubs his face, “Alright, is it just me or is Jazz not worried about what we're worried about?” “Oh is he not? I didn’t notice.” Sideswipe leans his head against his hand and Breakdown nods a bit, scratching his jaw lightly, “He’s been here longer than we have and he didn’t have a shuttle full of supplies. He had to rely on those around him much faster.” With a huff, Hound shakes his head and stands, “He is crawling all over an alien like its normal,” “It could be normal for him, you never know.” Sunstreaker shrugs slightly, tugging at his hair a bit. It was frustrating, “Are we just supposed to accept the weird situation we’ve been thrown into then? Or are we actually going to do something about this.” Breakdown looks over, “We cannot recover the Odyssey without them and we can’t get the satellite pointed towards Earth without them either. We give it time, we try to adapt.” Hound took a breath and let it out, they were meant to be able to adapt.

With a slight shudder, a door across the apartment opened and Prowl came back through with Jazz still on his shoulder, who was holding a bin full of weird space plants. With a worried look, Hound patted at his pocket lightly for the protein bar he’d grabbed from his cockpit. Whatever this garden was, he wasn’t looking forward to the vibrantly colored things in Jazz’s grasp, “Alright, lunch, sort of.” He’s lowered to the table and sets the bin down, taking out several things, “Some of this stuff needs to be cooked, so we’ll save that for later.” Sunstreaker turned a little green and leaned towards his brother, “You know how I was shitting on the protein bars?” He kept his voice very quiet, “Yeah Sunny.” Sunstreaker nodded slowly, “I regret that now.” With a pat to his back, Sideswipe nodded, staring at a giant purple something.

Jazz smiled and lifted something neon green, “This, this tastes like, and I’m not joking. Like ice cream, but with the texture of beef jerky, it’s insane.” Sunstreaker dry heaved and Sideswipe turned away, gagging. Hound stared at Jazz like he’d grown a second head, “Is it good?” Jazz paused, “Not really, but it’s high in protein and some vitamins.” With a quick movement, Hound pulled the protein bar from his pocket and threw it right at Jazz’s face.

It hit dead on, smacking Jazz in the nose.

A moment ticked past, then another, before Jazz picked it up off the floor, “We’ll supplement the supplies we have on the Odyssey with the best of the food from your garden. We’ll eat the perishable stuff first, then save the non-perishables for missions.” Hound was speaking through grit teeth, his own stomach turning lightly at the weird sounding food. Breakdown was going through the box and pulls out something the size of a grapefruit that was brown and smooth on the outside, “What’s this?” He turns the sphere over in his hands lightly, Jazz looks over, still lightly holding the protein bar, “Ah, that is what I call green raspberries, the outside has to turn brown and hard before it’s ripe. Here.” Jazz was quick to pull a knife and gently take the strange fruit, before striking it and cracking it much like a coconut. 

Small green pea looking things fell out as he carefully held one hand out to Breakdown then the other to Hound. Staring at it, both men took it uneasily, the green was much more fluorescent then peas were, “It tastes like raspberries. Trust me. It’s got the same vitamins in it too.” Breakdown was the first to crack, even as Sunstreaker dry heaved again, pouring some into his hand and popping them into his mouth. Cringing, he slows it slowly, “It melts.” “Yeah, you get used to it.” Hound shifted slightly, still holding his, “Does it taste like raspberries?” He almost didn’t want the answer, but Breakdown was already getting his second handful, nods, so with a deep breath, Hound follows the older man's lead.

It did taste like raspberries and melted in your mouth like cotton candy, it almost felt refreshing like a drink. Smiling a bit, he looks to Jazz, “Alright, what other weird things do you have then?” Jazz grinned and picked up a giant squash looking thing which was dark purple, “You steam this and it cracks open, it has rice inside. Not literal rice, but it tastes and has the same texture as it. It’s a fantastic base.” Then he went on, lifting things up and showing it off as they all finally sat back down. Though Sunstreaker’s dry heaving continued over certain things such as the thing that looked like a literal lufa tasting like beef. 

They might not adapt well, but they would adapt.

—

By the time they were able to get back into their suits, several odd alien foods had been tried and enjoyed, though Sunstreaker had refused several and ate half of Jazz’s protein bar. In all honesty, they should be headed to sleep, to get the rest they would need, but there was too much to do. Check on the Odyssey and ensure their secret remained just that, a secret, as well as get the relay launched. There was supposedly a shuttle who would carry it up on his way out off the planet, or so Prowl had said.

When they hit the street, Bluestreak and Smokescreen returned to walk with them, clearly their guards even if they were being asked to be here. Mechanicals may look alike but they were from a different planet and were a different type of mechanical than the others. Hound was walking with Jazz, as the twins were talking the Prowl look alikes ears off, he sighed slightly as he looked around, “How did you get used to this? All of this?” He kept the general comm off, only using his external speakers, Jazz smiles a bit in the corner of his visual feed, “I had to survive. Adapt and survive. It’s the name of the game Hound.” Nodding slightly, Hound takes a breath, “I know, but there is a drastic difference in fighting aliens than working with ones.” He could tell Jazz was smirking without even looking, “These ones are a lot more like us then those ones. Sure, they're big and stuff, but look.” He gestures to the twins, who’d already mandated to drape themselves over who he thought was Bluestreak, “You get used to it. The suits for us, their a second skin. You can’t tell me you don’t feel more like yourself in your suit than out now, not after all this time.” 

Hound looked at Jazz, biting his lip before nodding and looking away, “When I’m not in it, I feel like, like,” “Like you’re not really yourself, that you’re missing something.” His hand comes down to rest on Hound’s shoulder, “We all know the feeling Hound. You’ll get used to it, working with these guys. Their soldiers like you were and some things about that just don’t change. They all take orders and follow the guidelines where they can and where they can’t,” Hound smiles a bit, “They make them up as they go along.” They shared a look, smiling at each other over the visual feed before looking back towards the front of the group and the streets of Iacon. 

Adapt to survive, come to understand who you were working with and work through the culture shock of it all. He may never be to where Jazz is, comfortable with using his magnets to crawl all over another mech, but he could certainly adjust to work with another army. A unit to work with, his team and those his team trusted, nodding a bit, he grins wickedly. A unit of those he thought were trustworthy and his team, some of the best pilots to ever use a suit were around him with some of the highest Quint kill counts out there, it wouldn’t take long at all. 

———

A/N

Wow, that took a minute. I meant to have this out yesterday, but I was still working on it at 10:30 last night. So I pushed it to this afternoon so I could have part of the next chapter finished before posting. 

I can’t believe I’ve written 12 parts of this, technically 13 with Arcturus Two now that I’m thinking about it. 

I’m living for all the tags in re-blogs and the comments, they truly are keeping me motivated in this. 

Next part might have a bit of a time skip, as I planned to do for this part, but I wanted to wrap up the whole apartment thing before going on to the fight and stuff. 

It won’t be that long of a skip and I will reference back to things that happened “off screen” I just have a hard time writing the awkward moments. Tense moments, I’m good, awkward, not so much. 

I really hope you’re all enjoying this as much as I am. 

Tags!

@lunarlei68 @whirlywhirlygig @loop-hole-319 @pixillandjester @alek-the-witch @not-a-moose-in-disguise @goddessofwind8water @neurologicalglitch @dersereblogger @pixel-transformers @mrcrayonofdoom @wireplaces @twilightfreefaller @original-blog-name-2 @devilangel657 @robbin-u @childofprimus @miniartistme @starwold @tea-enthusiasm @valeexpris606 @celticdoggo @bird599 @agentsquirrelsgotrobots @aquaioart @dimencreasatlas @thatwandercat

And once again thank you to @keferon for this amazing AU

[duckys-extra]

Chinese GP thoughts - it's basically my chance to yap

First I want to say does anyone else just absolutely adore the trophies for this race? I think it's stunning can't lie. Like one of my faves easily.

Starting with my boys

Edit: Wrote all this before disqualifications, my jaw is on the floor

McLaren

I mean just flawless from Oscar really. He had the upper hand all weekend, just seems more comfortable in the car. And honestly after last week he 100% deserved this redemption, like the universe owed him big time. I do have to say I think there was hesitation to let them fight after the first few laps not bc of team orders or nothing like that but more concern for tyres, they didn't really have the margin to work with for fighting and damaging tyres. Idk if Lando was in a position to really fight, obviously definitely not at the end. But Oscar was just on his own, he held that lead, the start was glorious from him. He really said "fuck off George" at that start and even really helped Lando get past.

Lando, honestly a solid race. But pretty nasty weekend, it got better as the weekend moved through and I suppose he did say last year "I'm not here to win sprint races" and he's sticking to that 🤣 I did lowkey expect a win from him because Lando was so strong on this track last year. But I did absolutely have a heart attack and doubt him keeping hat P2 with how fast George was gaining in that last lap. Thank god he kept it and we got the McLaren 1-2. Gotta hope the brake issue is a one time thing, not a reoccurring issue. I do think he wanted to fight for the win but also I was on his onboard the whole race, there was some sort of hint that they didn't want them really fighting. Not saying Oscar was protected but it did seem like there was hesitation and some coded messages referring back to the agreement pre-race.

Too early to call who has better odds from an objective point. But imo I do still think Lando has generally the upper hand and he won't be struggling on all tracks (I hope). If I do see people shouting that this race proves Oscar is better I may have to track down and jab people in the throat.

Haas

I just need to discuss them bc they were not spoken about nearly enough. Both in the points after last week they were last with no improvement in sight.

Bearman had me laughing when he kept saying "ciao" when he'd overtake. I mean his overtakes were also just great to see, I think it was very good to see him have a decent weekend after everyone was worrying about a bit of a repeat of a rookie coming in and crashing constantly. Redemption weekend 100% and it's great to see.

Ocon was moving in silence, or the broadcast just didn't cover him, but P7. I've always been a bit of an Ocon defender when it comes to him as a driver and his ability. Also not seeing any hostility between him and his teammate is a very nice thing to see. Ngl he's probably feeling much better about leaving Alpine for Haas this weekend compared to last weekend. My driver of the day for getting himself P7 ngl.

Mercedes

George is mr consistent rn. Credit where it's due, bc I had my doubts about Mercedes performance this year. I truly expected it to be a McLaren vs Ferrari show down but George is really rising to the challenge and I can't lie I think the dynamic of seeing what Merc is like without Lewis is a healthier and happier dynamic for all parties. Obviously we'll see how that goes once Kimi is out of his rookie year and they're in the new regs. Bc it is fairly obvious Kimi is considered the future and next champion for Mercedes even if George is consistent and getting those results for best of the rest.

Kimi, ngl idk how he got driver of the day. I mean by no means bad but I wouldn't say he was amazingly impressive today. He was there, started where he finished, kept himself in the points and out of trouble. I don't think he had a bad race, just an average one. I didn't really see much of him in a way that caught my attention. I do think there was more deserving drivers who should've got recognition even if it wasn't Ocon, I'd say either Oscar or Lando was deserving for their races. But good to see he's growing a fan favourite bc at the end of the day, that's a fan vote.

Red Bull

Max's back must be broken. Like literally. The amount he's carrying that team. Literally 100% of their points are his. And by some miracle he was flying at the end of that race, whether it was light fuel load, the hard tyres. Maybe a combination of both? Idk but like man is about to be a father, they should be easing their reliance on him not increasing it. I will say he does seem to be mentioning that he's happy and that he's happy outside the car which is the main thing...For me that is a red flag for Red Bull to look out for. If he's so happy outside the car, he might just decide to stop getting in the car.

Liam I mean I don't remember seeing him in the race aside from when Bearman overtook him. I will say I'm really starting to pity him every time I see an interview from him, he looks more and more beaten down. I do think he needs to stop making comments to the media, like Red Bull PR just need to be like "talk only about the driving, about the car, about the race or session. Stop talking about other teams, or drivers." Like they just need to implement that and essentially get him to stop running his mouth bc the more he does and the less we see in results from him. The hard it's going to get.

Seeing the way Red Bull is talking about him, the support is sort of minimal. They say he's a good driver, they blame the car but they're also saying "we need both drivers up there". I've heard this story before and the ending was harsh. Just watched Horner be asked about how much time Liam has and he didn't say "we've got this kid in the seat and we're keeping him" he confirmed time is limited.

Ferrari

Has Lewis been getting attitude lessons from Liam? This "I'll tell you when we swap" message was a bit of a joke, tbh. I know people want to defend Lewis but this attitude he's having is not it and he can try to defend it but he was holding Charles up so much. Within a matter of like 5 laps, Charles had a 2 second gap ahead of Lewis after he finally was allow to pass. That was with a damaged car. This is why I hate people getting ahead of themselves, yes Lewis had a mega performance in the sprint race but the truth is that doesn't account for much for a race. Idk maybe he's not enjoying that Ferrari aren't prioritising him but last year we saw the same thing with Merc when he'd hold George up and George had very apparent better pace. If he's going to hold his teammate up he has to get over himself and sending a message out like that. Ehhh no Lewis when you team tells you to swap positions and your teammate is half a second behind you, you fucking swap the position. Also wasn't a fan of him saying "Give me feedback" then proving that actually they had been giving him feedback bc he then followed that up by saying they'd already said that.

I will say idk whether I'd say the move to pit was smart. Either way Max was finishing P5 imo. The decision to pit just meant there wasn't a fight about it which would've used up tyres for Lewis in defending.

Charles, I mean damage on the first lap isn't great and he was at fault for that. I imagine he could've fought for p3 without it. Maybe not been successful but deffo fought for it. It's a hard call to make. I know people gonna say he was snappy on the radio but like he's snappy in a funny way that isn't really acting as an insult to the team. Also we know he's got an understanding with the team from 6 years of being there with them.

Lewis had a good weekend but I'm just not loving this attitude from him and him trying to justify it by deflecting onto other drivers and how they speak to their engineers. Ik he was misquoted as specifying Max, so I'm not going to dip into that. But I will just say I want to see Lewis regain his more respectful attitude bc Ferrari want him and he's start to become a bit of a dick towards them.

Brief over look of the rest

RB...horrendous luck. Neither incident that cost them their races was their fault in my opinion. Obvious great qualifying and Yuki got points in the sprint. It's just a shame. Hadjar just a victim of that incident.

Aston Martin, did feel for Fernando. Obvious the car is sitting steady in the midfield but that DNF wasn't his fault. Stroll...I think Brazil last year might've really been a wake up call for him. Bc he's kind of been on it for these races. Like out the points today but he's not disappointing anyone.

Sauber this track seemed to really not suit them in race form. I don't think it was representative, I hope not but we'll see. Haas made a strong come back so hopefully we can see that from them. Bortoleto obviously had that first lap incident, basically wrecked his race from there he was just sort of chasing the pack tbh.

Williams, kind of in no mans land. I want to see more from Carlos, I know he has better performance ability but I don't just want to blame the car bc obviously we're seeing better from Alex. I know it's the second race, I know Alex has the experience in a Williams. I know. But maybe I'm just sad I'm not seeing Carlos come out swinging and really showing us what we know he's capable of.

Alpine...Jack is a bit of a menace isn't he? 🤣 I suppose at least he finished the race. Gasly, similar to a lot of the midfielders he's just not very present so there's not much to go off of.

[subbing-for-clones]

The Defective Jedi

Chapter 1

Word count: 2.2k

Trigger Warnings: None really, just some fighting

Every day you tried to forget and yet almost every night you remembered. Wandering through the crystal caves of Ilum was horribly cold and felt so lonely. You were never particularly strong with the force but you always felt it. That connection between all things living and the energy it permeated, but when you entered the cave you felt, nothing. Why did you feel nothing?

You heard the other younglings yipping in happiness and laughing in triumph as one by one they found their kyber crystals and still, nothing called for you. Time was running out before the entrance became a wall of ice with no escape and even as a child you accepted defeat before you accepted death. You were the last to leave and the only one who was left empty handed. You would remember the disappointed look of Master Yoda forever, his eyes turned to the snow beneath his feet with a pained look before he looked back up at you.

It wasn’t long after that you were sent back home to Lothal. You had taken your parents pride and sullied it with failure and you don’t think they ever forgave you for it. It was true, you had failed before you even really got started. Your connection to the force just wasn’t strong enough to be a Jedi.

Still, you refused to let the connection go. You spent your formative years practicing the techniques you were able to learn in your short time studying under the jedi. Hours meditating every rotation searching for that warmth. You did find it; you could still feel it and so you taught yourself as much as you could.

Once you were able to venture out on your own you left Lothal and your parents’ resentment behind. Never really setting up a home; you joined a bounty hunter’s guild instead and used your abilities to become a fairly prolific hunter. It was during these years that all hell broke lose as war erupted all over the galaxy.

Only one year in and it wasn’t looking good. Hundreds of Jedi had fallen to the separatist forces and they needed help. This was when a desperate plea rang across the galaxy for the aid of anyone with force sensitive capabilities to come and join the fight for the republic. Whether it was out of the desire to help or need to prove yourself to the ones who threw you out you weren’t sure; still you answered their call.

You were tested and trained in a group of others with similar stories to your own under several rotating Jedi. At the end of your training, you were assigned to be exactly what you already were; a fighter. You were assigned to various squads as aid and back up; using your intuition, strategy skills and your fighting expertise on the battle field with the clones. You’d never hold a rank above a grunt but you didn’t care. Every victory was a curse on the Jedi for giving you up.

After months of rotating between battalions you were about to receive your permanent assignment. Clone Force 99, a rag tag team of four, apparently defective, clones. The irony didn’t escape you.

“Why are we getting a Jedi?” Hunter asked the hologram of Cody. The others standing back but still in view of the commander.

“She’s not a Jedi, she’s one of the force sensitives the Jedi asked to join the cause. She doesn’t hold rank over you, you’re still in charge.”

“I don’t like it.” Sneered Crosshair.

“Well, you don’t have much of a choice. The higher ups want these people sprinkled out through all the squads in case of a Sith attack. The Jedi worry about them rising up with the appearance of a few and quite frankly, no clone stands a chance agianst them. They can wipe out battalions.”

“When is she joining and for how long?” The Sergent was growing impatient and didn’t like the idea of a new member being added to their group.

“She’s waiting on Kamino for you now so you’ll meet her upon arrival, she’ll be with you until the war is over or until she runs as fast as she can away from you.” The commander had a small smirk on his face that Hunter mirrored. The idea of sending a Jedi, or whatever, running amused him.

            Once they touched down on Kamino three out of the four were sightly on edge with the exception or Wrecker who seemed rather excited. He was generally the most welcoming. The worry melted away as soon as they laid eyes on you. You really didn’t look like a Jedi at all. You looked like an operative. Instead of a robe you wore black armor and in the place of a lightsaber at your hip, you had a blaster and a large curved vibro-blade.

Crosshair couldn’t help but eye you up and down the armor looked good on you. You took each of them in once you took your helmet off and introduced yourself to your new companions, a dance you’ve done before. Wrecker was kind enough to grab the two crates of your belongings and load them onto the ship. There wasn’t much time for pleasantries before you received your first mission. You were to extract data from an outpost on Teth and upload it straight to Cody. Information about prisoners of war and where they were being held was your main objective. Anything else was an added bonus. You all loaded onto the ship after eating a hearty meal in the cafeteria.

In the back of the ship next to the bunks you unpacked a few things from your crates.

“Whatchya got there?” Wrecker asked excitedly.

“Ill eat a loth cat before I sleep in GAR issued blankets.” He laughed heartily at your response and left you to continue. You didn’t have any photos to hang or many personal items at all for that matter but that’s how you’ve lived for the last few years anyway.

            Once you were finished you made your way to the common area where the clones were discussing strategy. Quietly you took the empty seat between Tech and Crosshair. The outpost was situated in the middle of the jungle. Intel reported minimal guards as it wasn’t a main base but still enough that you all decided stealth was your best option.

            Once the plan had been formulated they all looked at you expectedly.

“What is it?” you asked.

“So why didn’t you become a Jedi?” Tech asked outright, Hunter elbowed him but didn’t faze the goggled soldier.

“I tried but, well they decided I wasn’t strong enough. I’m closer to the force than most people but not close enough to be a Jedi.”

“You’re defective like us!” Wrecker shouted with glee, earning an elbow from Hunter as well. You actually laughed a bit.

“Yeah, you could say that. I’ve used my abilities as a bounty hunter since I left Lothal until I joined the GAR.”

            Crosshair watched you out of the corner of his eye. You really weren’t what they thought you would be at all. You weren’t a religious zealot you were just someone trying to find their way in the galaxy like the rest of them. He admired that, the honesty too. You weren’t trying to be something you’re not.

            That night in hyperspace you tossed and turned in your new bunk. Nightmares from close calls on a hunt filled your mind. You were often reminded of the times you came close to getting killed before a mission. Eventually you gave up and made your way toward the cockpit. You enjoyed meditating under the blue streaking lights. You were surprised to see that someone had beat you to it. The lithe handsome sniper sat in the pilot’s chair cleaning his fire puncher and mouthing a tooth pick.

            He looked up at you slightly taken aback by your appearance. Quickly he composed himself and half waved his arm at the other seat as a silent invitation.

“Sorry for intruding, I just couldn’t sleep.”

“You’re not.”

You were starting to like the way words seemed to slither off his tongue. You nodded a thanks to him and turned to watch the stars soaring by at light speed. Both you sat in silence for a few minutes before he opened and shut his mouth, wanting to ask you something but Cross wasn’t sure if it was out of turn.

He mentally shrugged and asked, “So why did you join the GAR?”

“Is one part brave three parts fool a believable answer?”

“I doubt you’re a fool.”

“Well, we’ll see if you keep that opinion,” you chuckled and earned an upturn of the corner of his mouth.

“Honestly? I found it ironic that the Jedi needed our help now. I don’t hold too much resentment agianst them but I do want to prove myself as valuable. Besides, things make sense out here.”

“How so?” He turned in his chair to face you and put his rifle down for a moment. You glanced at him and shrugged your shoulders.

“There’s no confusion right now. We fight agianst Separatists and clankers. I’m sure there are good people on those planets but this is the side I chose to fight for so that’s what I’m going to do.”

Crosshair digested your words and offered “We didn’t get a choice.”

“If you did, what would you be doing?”

“That’s a difficult question to answer, I’ve never let myself be hypothetical like that before because there isn’t a choice. I.. We’re property of the GAR just like my rifle and this ship. Don’t tell Tech that though, it’s his ship in his mind.”

You giggled a bit at that and nodded your head in understanding.

“I spent so much time hunting and fighting bounties that this just seemed like a natural course of action. I can’t see myself doing anything else instead now.”

Crosshair picked up his fire puncher again and resumed cleaning it. You watched him for a while before turning back to the lights and closing your eyes. You reached out through the force trying to feel the Purgill you swore you heard. What you didn’t sense was Crosshair watching you intently.

            You were going over the mission plan one last time while Tech was putting down the ship a few clicks away from the objective point. The jungle terrain was difficult to get through but not too much of a problem. The closer you got the more the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end. Cross left your group close to the outpost to climb one of the giant trees for a better vantage point.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” you whispered to the Sergent.

He nodded in response, seemingly sensing something as well. The post was supposed to be guarded by droids with a few officers scattered throughout but something was off. No perimeter defense and no guards posted outside. Your group made their way around to a side door shown on the schematics and while Tech was overriding security, you Hunter and Wrecker kept watch. You could Feel Crosshair’s eyes on you and it gave you an overwhelming sense of security knowing he was watching over you.

            Three droids were posted on the inside of the door and as soon as you were in Wrecker crushed one agianst the wall, Hunter stabbed one in the chest and you took the last one’s head off with your long viroblade. Quickly you dashed in and made your way through the base looking for a data port. Tech found one on a lower level and plugged in, searching the database until he found what he needed.  

“It seems there are around fifty clones being held captive for questioning on a moon in the outer rim. There are also schematics for the spider droids here…” Tech prattled on interesting things he was downloading until Hunter shushed him and signaled for him to hurry up. That’s when the alarm sounded.

“We gotta go, now.” You stated with certainty. Trusting your instinct the boys packed up and started running back up to the way out. Once the door was insight, a wall of droids emerged and started firing at you. You fell back around a corner and started shooting them with your blaster looking for a weak point in the wall.

“Wrecker throw a smoke grenade,” Hunter barked.

“On it!” Wrecker tossed two creating a large fog that allowed you to step out, you reached out your hand and with a little struggle, used the force to loosen a wall panel until it flew into the side of the droid squad, pinning them to the opposite wall.

“HA HA NICE!” Wrecker shouted.

The four of you ran like hell out of the outpost to find several fallen droids, courtesy of the reliable sniper.

Once the five of you were back on the ship and Tech was taking off Wrecker was excitedly telling Crosshair how you threw a wall at a bunch of droids, taking out ten in one go. There seemed to be an impressed glint in his eye.

“That was good work back there,” Hunter told you sincerely. You smiled and thanked him, watching as the data was sent through encryption straight to Cody to do with as he saw fit.

Your first mission with the squad, a success you exchanged a smile with the sniper and sat in your victory.

[justauthoring]

"inumaki-senpai!"

god, did you have to call after him like that?

everything in him twists, a blooming sensation rumbling through him as he feels himself stuck in spot, warmth flooding his cheeks as he tries to push himself to turn. when he finally does, you're standing there with a bright smile, eyes twinkling and laughing as you wave him over.

with wobbly legs, he makes his way over.

"kelp."

"good news," you grin, all wide and giggling. "gojo-sensei assigned us to a mission together."

"mustard leaf?" he calls back, head tilting in confusion. he'd known he had a mission, but last he'd checked it wasn't supposed to be with you.

"maki-senpai got called into another mission," you explain, "i'm the closest to her fighting style so they pulled me in to cover for her." then, pausing at furrow of inumaki's brows, you move to add softly; "i hope that's alright."

panicked at your doubt, inumaki is quick to shake his head; "bonito flakes," he calls, shaking his head. he takes a step towards you, hand held out towards you in worry; "mustard leaf," he expresses, trying to get his meaning across.

the truth was this mission was labeled a grade two, a little below his skill set and probably the same for maki even if she'd been labelled grade four. it wasn't that inumaki didn't have faith in your abilities, it's just that missions rarely ever stayed the grade they were presented as and you'd only recently been recommended for grade three. plus, despite how skilled you may be, you were only a first year and fairly new to missions and fighting curses.

inumaki knew you were skilled. he knew you had talented that had only been touched on the surface. but he also knew you were new, just learning how to use your cursed technique to it's fullest potential and he worried this mission would be too much.

"oh," you mumble in realization. inumaki half expects you to be mad that he's doubting you, something he desperately isn't trying to do or, at the very least, be upset. but you aren't either and instead, you just smile, eyes twinkling with warmth as you send a thumbs up inumaki's way. "don't worry, inumaki-senpai! gojo-sensei briefed me beforehand and assured me to let you take the lead. plus, i trust you."

and honestly, inumaki can't deny the way his heart flutters at those words.

you... trust him?

him who can't even talk to you properly? who can't tell you how he feels in any normal way or express the things he wants in the way he wants to. he's never been able to have a proper conversation with anyone, let alone you, and yet you say the words with such undeniable confidence.

so, with that, he eases, feeling the tension in his shoulders wash away at the assurance that you know he'll keep you safe, and he grins, "salmon!"

-

his throat is burning.

he's coughed more blood then he's sure he's ever coughed.

but he couldn't stop, not now. you were losing energy, and fast, and a single look over his shoulder told him the curse you were fighting was far too strong for you; at least not in the state you were in.

and he still had the curse in front of him to deal with before he could even reach you.

patting his pockets, inumaki curses himself -- why hadn't he brought more throat medicine with him again? oh, that's right, because he'd thought two whole bottles would be enough.

clearly he was wrong.

a cry catches his attention, and with panic striking his whole body, inumaki glances back at you, terror making him freeze when he sees you thrown back, cradling your stomach and coughing as you struggle to stand.

there was no more time to waste. even if it killed him he wouldn't let you die here.

i trust you.

swallowing thickly and ignoring the burn in his throat, inumaki faces the curse in front of him once again, using every bit of his strength to muster the energy and call out; "explode."

he feels the effects of it immediately, his throat swelling with his own blood as his eyes twist in pain. everything hurts so bad. but hearing your whimper is enough to remind him he doesn't have the time, and he forces his legs to move, running to where you are. your eyes widen at the sight of him, and even more at the blood drooling down his chin.

"i-inumaki-senpai--"

"die!"

the words are too much. but he feels the anger at the curse for having hurt you, and the worry he'd felt when he'd first gotten separate from you to this moment that the word just slipped past his lips before he could stop himself and it works, because in a second the curse you'd been fighting is spasming and then crumbling and fading away, dying.

but then his vision is blurring and he's coughing, blood spitting from his mouth in an alarming rate that he realizes he's terrified but he can't say or do anything about it. his body slumps and he distantly hears you crying for him, before he's spun and sees you hovering over him, tears in your eyes, screaming for him.

"inumaki-senpai!"

but his eyes close in the next second.

-

when he opens them next, there's a weight on his lap.

he's confused, not sure where he is, before he recognizes the familiar ceiling of his dorm room and the relief of the fact that he's not dead like he thought he was for a second is all too welcoming.

and that weight--

sitting up, his eyes lower, widening in surprise when he sees you slumped over his bed, head in your arms, directly on his lap.

his cheeks burn red, embarrassment flooding him, until he realizes you're peacefully asleep, unaware of what's happening around you. and you look so cute, so blissfully unaware as you sleep away. he lets his eyes wander, taking you in completely, the guilty realization washing over him that you haven't left his bed what seems like a while.

"kelp."

he sets his hand on your shoulder, gently shaking you away (even if he'd like to look at your cute sleeping face longer).

you moan slightly at the sensation, eyes blinking, glancing around before settling on inumaki, awake and sitting up in his bed. it takes a second, a moment of nothing, before you're shooting forward, a gleeful 'inumaki-senpai!' leaving your lips as you wrap your arms firmly around his shoulders, knocking him back with a huff of surprise.

"you're awake!"

his hand falls on your back, still blushing, as you slowly pull away, meeting his eyes. then, as if realizing what you'd done, your eyes widen and you pull back, bright red.

"mustard leaf?"

"i-i'm sorry," you stutter out, waving your hands in your face, "i just... i was just excited to see you awake that i acted without thinking and--"

laughing lightly, inumaki takes your hand in his, halting your rambling and pulling your eyes back on him. you pause at the action, stilling as you meet his gaze, only for him to be smiling softly back at you.

"tuna." he mumbles, letting his eyes drift across you.

you flush under the gaze; "i'm okay," you assure, understanding his meaning. "you're the only one who got hurt... and it was because i wasn't strong enough..."

"bonito flakes," he argues, shaking his head.

i would do anything to protect you, he wants to say.

you just frown; "still... i'm so sorry, inumaki-senpai."

desperate for you to understand, inumaki pulls you forward by you arm gently, tugging you into his lap. you fall rather clumsily into him, awkwardly bent over his bed and inches away from his face, feeling your entire burn in response to suddenly being so close.

but inumaki doesn't let himself waver.

this is my chance.

he leans forward, pressing his lips against yours so... gently. your eyes widen at the action, unsure what to do as he expresses every emotion he's ever wanted to say in that moment, and you feel it. feel it in every way. feel the slight rumble of cursed energy from his lips as he kisses you, feeling yourself swoon at the fact that your crush is actually kissing you.

and when he pulls back, he just grins.

"inumaki-senpai..."

he pauses, looking around himself for a second before his eyes fall on what he needs, grabbing a pen and paper off his night table. he scribbles on it quickly before turning it to face you.

i like you.

and you giggle because how was that not clear from him kissing you?

but still, with warm cheeks and twinkling eyes, you smile;

"i like you too, inumaki-senpai."

[hestzhyen]

Chapter 70 Whelmed Posting

Subdued entry this time, dear void. And I'm back to form with a way-too-long yapfest.

Scans are too potato for me to TL the editor's notes this week, sorry. Might revisit when I can get a clean copy of the JP version.

TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter mentions a very sensitive topic happening in canon (toned down in EN) and I will be talking about it near the end. I'll have another warning reminder for those who'd rather skip that part.

White Purity Mechanics and a GILF(?)

Helloooo handsome.

Wasn't expecting to see this guy yet or get detailed mechanics for how the sword style he founded works in the middle of a fight, but hey, it's fine. I guess. Awkward time for that lore dump but powerscalers will surely be happy. I'm interested in the details myself as a world-building nerd.

Short summary of his name here: Shirakai Itsuo (白廻 逸夫), the master of the White Purity style. 白廻 (shirakai) could be roughly translated as "white game" and 逸夫 (itsuo) could be idle/elusive husband lol. At the very least, shira (白) means "white" so that's most likely where that part of the technique's name came from.

As for the rest of it...

居合白禊流 - read as Iai Byaku Gei Riyuu 居合 (Iai) is obvious, that's the type of move being executed here. We know that Byaku comes from the On reading of 白 [shira, "white"]. What are the last two? 禊 is misogi, a Shinto purification ritual; it also means ritual purification or ablutions in general, and/or "...the Japanese mountain ascetic* practice of ritual purification" (thanks, Wikipedia). 流 [riyuu] is simply "school" of method.

Anyway, Hokazono-sensei hit us in the face with a wall of technical terms for how this school works and I had to admit defeat until someone I trusted translated the yap page for it... dear God. Surely the official release will not mangle anything so I won't have to bother that friend for help with TL notes.

I've been thinking that Chihiro is essentially a DPS guy out of the "holy trinity" (DPS, Support, Tank) for a bit now. He's always been about hitting fast and hard without much room for error on his part if he unexpectedly gets hit in return. Thank you, Shirakai, for proving this dumb pet theory correct. Gotta Go Fast: The Move is all about being the fastest guy in the room because if you hit them first then they can't hit you back, right?

The difficulty of mastery part is pretty standard shounen to me in order to explain why someone can't just teach Chihiro how to use it the normal way. Two 18-year-olds picked up the style on their own fairly easily, so while I know we're supposed to see that as proof of how talented those guys are, it's not really anything special to me as a reader. It's unconventional and hard to use because it needs to be for the story more than anything else.

The real meat of this explanation was how changing the grip of the sword on the fly so quickly is ackshully a metaphor for being able to change your mindset. We are continuing the old vs. new themes with the sword style directly now, since Shirakai was mocked for trying to perfect this impracticably difficult Iai move. But the "new" won out in the end since he got the last laugh over all of his detractors. His distraction-free, flexible quick thinking outdid every traditional master that faced him, or so we can infer.

Shame the second coming of this fight left me wholly unimpressed outside of Iori.

(*If you don't want to look it up, then "ascetic" is similar to "austere" in meaning and is specifically for strict self-denial mostly for religious discipline, but can apply for personal discipline too.)

"Whatever," the Fight and Iori

All I could think of during this scene was the two of them chilling awkwardly as pleasant background music played.

I'm not really sold on this fight, honestly. All I'm thinking right now is "good, now that it's over maybe we can go back to the interesting stuff". The poses were cool and all but the theme just isn't hitting. We flew through the buildup to this confrontation and all we got out it was Chihiro winning again despite us being reminded that he's tired, pushing himself too hard, and that Hiruhiko's coming in much fresher and scarier after killing the master of a style.

Kagurabachi's biggest strength was doing character development, exploring core themes, and having sick fights at the same time. But ever since we took a sudden swing into this Iori subplot I've felt like the author is trying to speed run it as fast as possible.

Everything through chapter 59 was awesome. We took the time to introduce characters, set up plot points, threats, and motives, had spectacle fights to get insight into Chihiro's mindset- all the same great stuff that we'd all come to expect. Then we put all that on the back-burner for something related-but-different that wasn't exactly a welcome surprise.

The author primed us for Seitei War reveals and examining guilt as part of legacy. Then the he snapped our necks 90 degrees to witness this sideshow with geniuses, old vs. new, and another thematic foil to Chihiro. Iori was meant to glue this all together and strongly connect it to the main plot we left behind in chapter 59 but it didn't work. She's just a well-designed narrative device instead of a character and I'm still waiting for this stuff to finish so we can go back to what I thought the main event was.

And yet.

She did her best to save this arc.

I do love Iori. She's defending without killing, doing just enough to disfinger her enemies and get them out of the fight. Thanks to her example, Chihiro is able to choose a path that doesn't necessarily involve killing Hiruhiko to win. Yeah the clown is probably still going to be around (sadly for me), just hopefully in a less carnival side-show capacity and more as a proper enemy. Maybe even an object for redemption...

But this is probably going to be the foundation for Chihiro being able to redeem himself from guilt- choosing when to kill instead of thinking of it as the default option. She showed him the best swordplay comes from stilling the mind and heart to attack the reason the enemy bares their fangs, not necessarily slay them. Killing the reason they hold a sword is as effective as killing them but without all the murder stuff. Staying tuned to see if/when this comes back.

The Warning Section

Skip this if Hiruhiko's backstory reveal is not something you want to see a yap about.

The EN version toned it down but the JP and apparently some other languages are explicit. Let Hakuri protect you if you'd rather not read about a slightly different version of "assault"...

Hakuri buffer image for safety (it's super effective).

Alright. For anyone still here...

The FUCK was that about in Japanese?

In case the EN tones it down (bet they will): in the OG Japanese, the language used is very explicit: 手篭にしようと迫る成人男性を噛み殺した昼彦にとって

手篭め [tegome] is literally "rape/violation" and doesn't have any other connotations than what it says on the tin. So yeah. In canon, Hiruhiko was SA'd at 3 years old.

I'm very sensitive about how backstories involving CSA are used for personal reasons. The way it was used here for Hiruhiko did just about everything wrong, in my opinion. Completely wiped out the goodwill I had towards the author after how Hakuri's backstory was handled during the Rakuzaichi arc.

reinforced the stereotype of being SA'd as a child = deeply damaged/dangerous later in life

same-sex SA reinforced men as predators AND homophobic stereotypes

added with no context or buildup just for the easy shock value and pity points

I'm not okay with this at all. The nicest thing I can say is that it's used to explain the feral, bloodthirsty part of his nature and not the social ineptitude (which is probably a personality quirk and/or related to how he was raised). He's twisted but in a way that leans more towards empowerment through activating his survival instincts. Still not at all appreciated though.

100% of my hatred for this comes from my own struggles I'll admit. To see them reflected this poorly in a series I adore by an author I trusted to handle sensitive topics with care really did a number on me. I expected better from the author than to rely on negative stereotypes for this sort of thing and clearly I was wrong. That's my fault and I know better now.

It's fine to use CSA as part of a character's backstory but it needs to be treated with far more care than it was here.

If this had been applied to Chihiro, Hakuri, Iori, or any of the good guys instead I feel like it would have been fine. To show that even if it happens to you, it doesn't make you a bad person who can't function safely around others.

It also would have been fine if it was to show Hiruhiko's a true survivor that needed some help he probably didn't get afterwards- and that's what led him to be the freak he is. If Hiruhiko isn't dead after this chapter there's still time to get into that aspect, maybe even make a point that proper support makes all the difference in a person's outcomes after that kind of trauma. But even if that is the intent, dropping that sort of event without context is a terrible move.

To compare to other traumatic character backstories... basically, Hiruhiko's debut hint doesn't match up with the traumatic event behind it at all.

Chihiro

Give this boy all the hugs he can tolerate.

We see this early in chapter 2 and it's not really a surprise, since the premise of the story is that Chihiro is walking the bloody road of revenge. Something traumatic clearly happened to Kunishige due to the timeskip to "every morning I wake up with fresh hatred" Chihiro meeting Shiba alone on the train in chapter 1, so we were primed for this sort of thing. Batman origin story and all that.

Char

Protect her at all costs.

Char clued us in early on by appearing as a scruffy orphan in her debut chapter- whatever happened to her was not exactly pleasant. From there we slowly learned how she and her mom were experimented on, then separated forever. The logical flow of meeting her, seeing what happened, then watching Chihiro set her on the path to healing made sense. Thankfully she's going to be OK and she will never, ever have anything bad happen to her again (so help me God).

Hakuri

Someone give him all the love he's never had PLEASE.

I already wrote eight thousand words about how Hakuri's traumatic backstory was portrayed in a very realistic and hard-hitting way. The second thing we learn about him being that he "lost his family" five years ago while he's dripping soda out of his mouth on his lonesome was a good clue as to what happened, even if he and the author buried the lede on exactly how that happened and how bad he had it. He lost their love, twisted and manipulative as it was, and endured literal torture to try and earn it back until Ice Lady's suicide snapped him out of it. I honestly can't praise the writing for this character enough.

Iori

She chose her own path in the end...

Being dropped on us out of nowhere as Samura's daughter that everyone's forgotten about wasn't exactly a welcome surprise. But at least it let us know that she's got some difficult circumstances- which could have been expected since she's the daughter of the current arc boss to beat, but still. Her home was trashed and her dad abandoned her and we probably have more to see now that she's remembered everything. But all the reveals so far have been in line with the kind of trauma we'd expect to see given how she was introduced.

Hiruhiko

"Let's be friends, fellow murderer."

And then there's this guy.

Hakuri's the closest comparison to Hiruhiko in presentation with all the understatement going on. But we spent his intro to chapter 24 getting hints that there's something wrong with him that he wasn't talking about. Then we got context for his suicidal jump immediately afterwards, as well as even more hints that his issues go deeper than we've seen.

Hiruhiko's backstory had no build up to the reveal that he was SA'd as a toddler. We only knew he was a freaky, poorly socialised guy the same age as Chihiro who killed at the age of 3. Making us ask what circumstances would force and enable him to do such a thing was good- that's a decent hook to keep us interested in what his deal is while the immediate stuff is going on. Hokazono did it for all the other characters in this list too.

What flopped was the shocker reveal. That single line of "oh, he was assaulted by an adult man, anyway-" was pathetically delivered if it was meant to be an example of understatement. You cannot drop a heavy and sensitive backstory with no follow up. You cannot have it done by the omniscient narrator to launch into why he's such a battle genius.

The biggest problem really is that it's a convenient explanation more than something to explore like every other character's trauma was. When we got those horrific reveals, time was spent looking at them on the page and showing how it affected them. We saw Chihiro and Char crying and looking despondent, Hakuri internalising a harmful mindset about himself, now we've seen Iori pass out from the burden, waver, and will see more exploration of her difficult past to come.

But Hiruhiko, even if we do revisit this topic for him, got nothing except a long yap about what a genius of combat it made him. Nothing at all about his pain or the ramifications. If we still have more to learn about that incident then good, I fucking hope so. But it'll be too little to late for me. I don't know what I did to deserve the friends who helped pull me out of the tailspin this chapter caused, but I'm incredibly grateful to have them in my life.

So...

Current feelings. Also done after this, promise.

Hokazono-sensei isn't "cooked' or on a downswing, burning out early, deserving of being cancelled, or anything like that. I think we're just finally seeing the signs that he's a mangaka being serialised for the first time.

I still like the manga but I feel kind of isolated in being one of the apparent few that isn't having a good time with the story as it is right now. I've been waiting for the issues I've had with this arc to be resolved for a while but they seem to continue piling up. There will still be celebrations of hype moments and good writing but I'm not so keen on giving the author the benefit of the doubt any more.

I'm probably going to be more critical of the manga from hereon out so I don't mind if you unfollow me, dear void. I'm not above being a little anxious and upset when I see that folks have dropped me, but I also didn't start posting to gain a massive following. The idea was that I'd get my thoughts out there and hope a few folks were interested in what I had to say. That's happened and I don't want to chase validation through interaction numbers.

Right now I'm probably going to dial down the investment until either Hakuri comes back or we finally return to the Samura/Seitei War plotline. I feel like Hokazono tried to rush through this subplot with Iori and Hiruhiko as fast as he could to do just that, but that makes me ask a few questions.

What is the purpose of introducing Iori if we are trying to bumrush her big part of the story? Just to be a narrative tool? She's a contrast/compliment to Chihiro, a plot device, and a convenient excuse to get some fights on screen. But the execution was clumsy. It feels like she doesn't exist as a character herself but as a bundle of concepts to glue this arc's themes together and help the segue back into the main story.

Is this sort of thing going to happen every time the author wants to explore a new theme? Are we going to see Hakuri, Hiyuki, Shiba, Iori, and the rest shoved offscreen to introduce a new character tailor-made to explore things the way the author wants to instead of building on older ones? Hiyuki's a total unknown, why not use her? Why not give Shiba some screen time? I get that there are plans for them later on but frankly my patience has run out.

Are we going to see Chihiro running on fumes forever? Right now it doesn't seem like it matters that he's pushing himself too hard- he still got the better of Hiruhiko in round 2. I'm starting to get annoyed that we are being told Chihiro's exhausted, and sometimes shown it, but all of that goes out the window when it's time for him to look cool. Will this ever pay off in the narrative? If not, it's better to stop bringing it up so we stop thinking about it.

I'm still going to be here. I'm just not going to be glazing everything I like and hoping the things I don't like get better with future context any more. There's clear weaknesses in the writing that I can't overlook any longer. That said, I don't want each entry to become a negative rant, so moderation and objectivity as much as possible will be the name of the game.

Alright. If you got through all of this, thank you. Maybe see you next time if I'm still your cup of tea. If not, no hard feelings. Take care of yourself.

[gojos-thot-patrol]

Ryomen Sukuna, funny, “Oh, fuck, you’re a demon, aren’t you?!”

I like to think that Sukuna hates being called a demon on principal, so I quite enjoy this one lmao. this one is pretty cannon divergent as it, straight up breaks the rules of curses in jjk but...eh, I'm here for fun lmaoo.

Now Presenting...

starring: Ryomen Sukuna, who is Not A Demon, I'm telling you!!!

You weren’t sure of a lot of things in this world. You weren’t sure about what you wanted from life, or where it would take you. You weren't sure if you were reaching your full potential to find your true purpose, or if you even had one. You really weren’t sure how to do your taxes. But you were absolutely positive about one thing: Ryomen Sukuna wasn’t human. Probably. You didn’t really have any strong evidence to prove your theory, and you didn’t really know the details of what he would be if not human. But, it really did not make any sense for him to be human. 

Those were the thoughts going through your head as you sipped your drink and watched him. This fight was going a little too easy for him. You would think that a four on one fight would go in favor of the four, but not with Ryomen. When Brad (at least he looked like a Brad) bumped into you, Sukuna was eager to fight. When Brad called the Kyles (at least they all looked like Kyles) to his side, Sukuna was down right giddy. Now, it had been awhile since you last checked, but as far as you knew, most mortal beings weren’t absolutely stoked to be outnumbered in a fight.

 You watched from a safe distance as an audience formed around the fight, the back yard of this house party turning into a no rules MMA match. You saw how his arms flexed as he slammed one of the Kyles head into Brads, the blood shooting out of the victims noses from the impact. You noticed he was holding back. He was making sure no one saw him turn their skulls into cherry pie filling, least the cops get called. But what mortal man had the strength to smash someones head into red mist with their bare hands?

Brad collapsed to his knees after the attack, and with the pack leader down the other Kyles had no direction. Wanting to keep their blood firmly in their bodies, they scattered, like roaches when the kitchen light comes on. Only there was only two of them left, so it was fairly easy for Ryomen to grab one of the men and throw him into the other. The group of drunkards cheered at the brutal display of violence, but you couldn't help but wonder how he had moved to grab them that fast. Almost as if he had super speed. 

Once the job was clearly done, he jogged over to you, laughing with other party goers as they congratulated him on a job well done. “Hey, we gotta go,” He said, wrapping his arm around you while you finished your drink, “One of those assholes are for sure going to call their daddy to have em sue.” He joked. You nodded, throwing your cup into one of the outdoor trashcans. This wasn’t your scene anyway, you greatly preferred concerts- like the ones you actually met Ryomen at. But you came to these parties for him, and he came to them for the promise of violence that came with them. Or, maybe violence just followed Sukuna around. Either way.

“Yea, this place smells like piss and cheetos,” You said as you followed him out, “Kinda what I’d imagine a Call of Duty lobby would smell like in real life.”

“Makes sense, I’ve heard like four people talk about the “party ratio,” this place is full of incels.” He agreed.

“Why did we come here again?” You questioned as the two of you walked out of the house. 

“Free booze and free entertainment.” He grinned. The two of you walked to your car, but he got in the drivers seat. Which, yea fair, you were pretty slozzled at this point. You got in the front and handed him your keys. The two of you drove around with the windows down for awhile, no doubt to try and sober you up. It was quiet, but not awkwardly so. Don’t Fear the Reaper played softly on the radio, and you felt a strange peace. 

You looked at Ryomen, hair blowing in the wind while he smoked out of the window, singing along softly to the old song. There was something so strangely beautiful about him. His sharp face tattoos accentuating his sharp features, his muscular form highlighted gorgeously by moonlight. His (you’d like it noted for the record: supernaturally) red eyes looked almost gentle in the dim light. He looked at you and flashed you a breathtakingly sharp grin. 

“What?” He asked with a giggle too soft to come from him. He had almost a weird..glamor to him. Something that you had only read about in cheesy early 2000s paranormal romance novels. You know the ones, derivative Twilight knock offs focusing on shapeshifters and demi-gods, angels and-

Oh Motherfucker!

“Oh, fuck You’re a demon, aren’t you?!” You accused, sitting straighter in your seat. It wiped the grin off his face only to very quickly replace it with a look of confusion.

“What?” He asked, this time with less playful mirth and more genuine confusion, and maybe a little bit of offense for a little bit of spite. 

“You’re a demon!” You yelled again, “You’re super fast, super strong, super hot-”

“Thanks.” He interrupted,

“You’re a demon!” You shouted louder this time. 

“I’m not a demon Y/n.” He scoffed taking a drag from his cigarette, “Demons follow a judeo-christian definition of religion, which  is not real,” he rolled his eyes, “The concept of angels and demons, heaven and hell, it’s about as real as the concept of the easter bunny or inflation. It’s something entirely made up by humans for humans to make their lives harder and have an excuse to feel better than other humans. It’s not actually A thing.”

“Then what are you?!” You demanded, “You keep calling us humans, implying you’re not, so what are you!”

“I’m a curse.” He said it as if it was obvious, like he thought you knew. It kinda stunned you. You didn't expect to get a confession that easy. “I’m the King of Curses to be specific.” Ok, the pride and smugness he said that with definitely implied it should mean something to you. It didn’t.

“Is that like, being the lord of the flies?” You asked.

“No, I’m not a fucking demon!” He growled in frustration, “Those aren’t real, I’m a curse!”

“Well then, what’s a curse?”

“A curse is a spiritual being that’s essentially made entirely out of negative emotions. Fear, loss, loneliness, anger, all of it comes together to make us.” He explained quickly, as if it was all common sense.

“....So a demon?” You clarified. He hit his head on the steering wheel, one quick hit, before regaining his composure.

“No, not a demon.”

“It sounds like a demon.”

“Well it’s not!”

“Well whats the difference?”

“I’m real!” He snapped, finishing his cigarette and throwing it out the window. Which, fucking ick, that's littering.

“I don’t know man, that's kind of a weak difference,” You pointed out, “That's like saying that cake isn’t real because I made a sweet, fluffy, chocolate flavored bread covered with icing. Like, you can call it bread all you want, it’s still cake.” You argued, trying to point out the flaws in his argument.

“Cake is fundamentally different from bread, Y/n” He laughed to keep from crashing the car. Why did he keep you around again?

“Then what is the fundamental difference between demons and curses?! And don’t say religion, demons are found in countless religions and mythologies, Oni’s have been around way longer than christianity!” You demanded, pointing a finger at him with wide eyes so he knew you were serious.

“The fundamental difference is…it’s-” Oh shit, he was actually struggling to find a solid answer. “It’s different okay!” 

“Aww, baby, do you not want to admit you’re a demon?” You cooed, leaning in and pursing your lips at him in mock pity. He white knuckle gripped your steering wheel and refused to look at you.

“Talk to me in that tone of voice again and I’ll show you what a demon is.” He warned, low and dark. It sent a chill down your spine, sending your inner prey animal into an anxious tizzy. That deep primordial panic couldn’t distract you from the fact you won though.

“Ha! So you admit it! You are a demon!” You laughed.

“I didn’t admit anything!” He snapped.

“Yes you did, yes you did! How are you going to show me a demon if you’re not one, checkmate Atheist!” You sang between fits of giggles.

“You are the one person in the world that would keep fighting me after I threaten them, do you know that?” He sighed, shaking his head. He remembered why he kept you around. You were the only person left with the balls to challenge him.

“So you admit you’re a demon?” You asked, wanting the gold metal. He groaned.

“Yes! Fine! Sure! Whatever! In your incredibly small human experience and definitions, I suppose I could be considered something akin to a demon, I fucking guess! Are you happy now?! Is this what you want?!” He yelled. You grinned and nodded. 

“Yea, that’s all I wanted. We can drop it now.” You shrugged, relaxing into your seat again.

“Thank you, Jesus fuck,” Sukuna grumbled, using the opportunity of a stop sign to light another cigarette before driving again. There was a tense quite that fell over the car. For all of 2 minuets before you broke it.

“Can we go to What-a-burger?” You asked.

“Oh yea, I’m already on the way there.”

[astarionslittlejuicebox]

On Borrowed Time

Author: @astarionslittlejuicebox

Imagine: While the party traverses the Underdark, a fight takes an unexpected turn as Y/N falls during combat. How does the party react and feel when they realize their favorite traveling companion’s heart stops? 

Pairing: Astarion x F!Drow!Reader

Trigger warnings: Fluff, minor spoilers, suggestive themes, partying, language, mentions of death, mentions of fighting, blood, potentially graphic content

Word Count: 2280

Side Notes: Y/N = your name

The day had started off just fine as the entire party had been fortunate enough to navigate through the Underdark’s chaos and confusing tunnels just fine with the help of my knowledge from growing up in the Underdark. We had encountered a few exploding spores and some hook horrors, but the party was able to quickly handle all of the challenges. The party had done fairly well up until they were tasked to combat the duergar in the abandoned city by the myconid leader. Y/N, who had taken some damage during the battle with the hook horrors, told everyone they’d be fine after a short rest. 

Perhaps the chaos that ensued next could be blamed on too many people: Astarion was a bit trigger-happy, Karlach’s allergies made her sneeze at the most inopportune moment, Shadowheart was still positioning herself, and Y/N had (unknowingly) picked the wrong spot to be in. The second Astarion’s arrow released the same time Karlach’s sneeze alerted the duergar and the undead servants they had with them. As luck would have it, Y/N was the first face they saw, and the first person they targeted. Poor Y/N couldn’t get her bearings fast enough before they surrounded her. The rest of the party tried their best to get the attention off of their favorite wizard, but their attempts were futile as the duergar and undead laid attack after brutal attack. The duergar’s war hammers laid blow after merciless blow into the drow as the dead's claws ripped and tore at the young dark elf’s flesh. Astarion felt his heart stop as she called out his name before another relentless claw struck the drow and her body crumbled to the ground. While Astarion couldn’t see the blood, he could smell the sweet metallic aroma as it began to quickly fill the air. The vampire spawn would never admit it aloud, but the thought of Y/N not smiling at him or teasing him made Astarion feel a bit panicked as he barked at Shadowheart to get to the drow as he released another arrow into the eye of duergar who was posed to strike the fallen drow.

“I’ve got the duergar!” Karlach yelled before she dashed towards the group of enemies, and Shadowheart moved to try and get Y/N some healing. 

“Astarion, we have to get her out of there! If I heal her now, they’re just going to keep hitting her.” Shadowheart’s voice sounded as distressed as the group felt with their favorite party member down.

“I’m working on it.” Astarion growled back as Karlach slashed and killed two of the three duergar, clearing a path for Astarion to be able to reach Y/N. However, the group had not anticipated one of the undead deciding against attacking the fire-engulfed barbarian and opting for landing the killing blow to their drow instead. For a moment, the world moved in slow motion for the party as Karlach took a blow to the flank by the last remaining duergar and Astarion hesitated as his hearing had confirmed one of his worst fears: Y/N’s heart wasn’t rhythmically beating within her rib cage. The edges of Astarion’s vision turned red as he ran to slash at the undead who ended her life, but both of his attacks missed as tears blurred his vision. The vampire spawn cursed as frustration grew in his mind. Why had they not been more careful? The high elf thought to himself.

Thankfully, the other two party members were not as distracted as Astarion was at the moment because the flaming tiefling single-handedly finished the last duergar and the two undead servants, and Shadowheart pulled out her scroll of Revivify.

“Heads up, Astarion, she’s going to need you.” Shadowheart said as bright yellow light engulfed the drow’s body before Y/N suddenly appeared next to him, gasping for air and about to fall over. Astarion’s reflexes were faster as he caught her in his arms. He quickly gave her a look over, but the world seemed to stop when her ruby eyes met his gaze.

“Judging…” She started softly. “…by the look on your face…” The drow took another pained breath. “…and how I feel…” A grimace had graced the drow’s face before she could finish her sentence. 

“Hush now, darling. We can talk more once we are at camp.” Astarion’s reassuring voice came out ever-so-quietly. “Do you think you can walk?” He asked as Karlach and Shadowheart approached the pair. 

“You gave us quite the scare there, Y/N.” Karlach’s voice was not its usually chipper tone. “I’d offer to carry you, but I’m afraid it would hurt worse than the duergar.” This comment brought a small smile to the drow’s face. 

“I should be able to do so.” Y/N shuffled on her feet, but her knees gave out. Astarion was quick to support her weight. 

“Hasa-Evo.” Shadowheart said as she laid a hand on the drow’s bloody arm. Another rush of bright light surrounded the dark elf as some of the wounds magically closed. Some color had returned to the drow’s face as she straightened herself to stand on her own two feet. She gave the cleric a small smile.

“Thank you. I should be able to make it to camp now.” Even though the drow had appeared better, Astarion was still hesitant to remove his hand from her back or very far from reaching her. Turns out his instincts were right as the drow went to take a step and stumbled, and Astarion wrapped her in his embrace.

“I shall assist you, my dear. I’d rather not see you get any more injuries.” Astarion’s low voice made Y/N look him in the eyes before she whispered to him.

“Careful, Astarion, people might start to think you actually care about me.” Unbeknownst to Y/N, Astarion’s keen ears picked up the sound as her heart raced in her chest as she held his intense gaze. An unfamiliar emotion to Astarion had taken hold in the ruby eyes staring at him, but he shifted her in his arms to support her. 

“Let’s get you to camp.” Shadowheart said as she looked between the two elves then shared a knowing look with Karlach as the party set their course for camp.

The air at camp hung heavy with nothing but the sounds of the Underdark that night as Y/N tended to her wounds in her tent. Astarion, who had helped her to her tent, had retreated to his tent shortly afterward and had not come out since. This had left the rest of the party to sit quietly as Shadowheart and Karlach recalled the events for those fortunate enough to not be present during the combat. Everyone worried about their drow companion, but some people were worried about how their vampire spawn companion was coping with today’s events. Astarion thought he was smart and cunning—that no one could tell he was falling for their drow companion; however, Shadowheart and Karlach saw how he practically shattered when Y/N fell to the ground.  As much as the traveling party wanted to intervene, they knew that Y/N and Astarion would have to deal with the situation themselves.

Y/N did not leave her tent for most of the night, nor did many of her traveling companions bother her. Shadowheart had stopped by with a plate of warm food to check on how the drow’s wounds were doing. Although the cleric didn’t stay long, Y/N was grateful that they had stopped by, but the drow was worried about another one of her companions: Astarion. She just couldn’t shake the image of his heartbroken face when she came too, and it broke her heart. The wizard had high hopes that Astarion would come to see her tonight for his nightly taste, and she hoped to talk to him then about the whole situation. She cared deeply for the elf, but she had no idea how he felt about her. Only time would tell if he was coming to see her, so Y/N grabbed her newest novel and started reading.

The rest of the evening passed by quietly and uneventfully for the entire camp. After everyone had gone to bed for the night, Astarion emerged from his tent. The vampire spawn had been trying to distract himself from the entire situation and now was his time to emerge to a quiet camp, where no one could ask him any questions about how he felt regarding the day’s events. He did, however, want to check on his favorite traveling companion. As he neared Y/N’s tent though, he noticed the lights of her lanterns still flickering in her tent. Astarion ever-so-slightly lifted the corner of her tent cover and found his drow companion asleep with a book still in her hand as though she fell asleep while reading it. A small smile found its place on Astarion’s lips at the sight of her.

Could it be that she was trying to stay awake for me? He thought to himself, but movement from inside the tent caught his attention. Y/N’s limbs were jerking as if she was having a bad dream, and Astarion was about to take his leave when she jerked awake with panic evident on her face as she clutched her chest. 

“No!” She yelled before she opened her eyes and looked around frantically as if she expected a fight to be happening. Instead, she found the white-haired vampire at her tent flap. Astarion could see as the drow’s muscles physically relaxed, but he could hear how fast the organ in her chest was moving the blood in her veins. “Oh, Astarion, you scared me.” Judging by the look on the high elf’s face, he had been standing there long enough to know that was a lie. “Did you come to feed on me?”

“Yes, but I—“ Astarion’s gaze shifted slightly and he looked into the drow’s eyes. “—I also wanted to check on you and make sure that you were okay.” His words were spoken so softly that the drow’s ears almost missed the last half of his sentence. 

“I must’ve given you quite the scare today.” Y/N’s voice sounded remorseful, which made Astarion stare at her in disbelief. “I should’ve been more careful. I should’ve known they would go for that spot; I could’ve gone to the ledge—“ The pale elf’s lips on hers stopped the rambling coming from Y/N. A gentle hand moved some hair out of her face when he pulled back. 

“You couldn’t have known what was going to happen today.” His words were soft and reassuring as he stared intensely into her eyes. “The important thing is that you are still here. We still have to find the Grymforge and kill Nere, but you’re still here to do that. I would have a hard time finding another pet as dear as you.” Astarion watched Y/N’s worry melt off her face as a look of admiration settled on her face, and a small smile graced her lips.

“You’re right. I am still here.” Her eyes danced as they looked over Astarion’s face. “So are you. We’ve still got a lot of work ahead of us too, but I—“ The drow’s eyes paused their search as they landed on his lips before she looked back into his eyes. “—I am glad to have you by my side.” The vampire spawn felt his cheeks grow warm under her intense gaze. 

“I am glad to be here. Almost dying with you beats living with Cazador any day.” A lighthearted chuckle erupted from the drow and made the high elf smile. He was growing quite fond of the sound of her laughter. 

“I’m sure it does.” She smiled at him. “Thank you for coming to see me.” 

“Of course. I had to make sure my pet was faring okay.” Astarion smiled back at her as he gently brushed a strand of hair from her face. “I shall let you rest tonight, my dearest. But do me a favor? Try to keep your blood inside your body; it is harder to feed when it is outside where it belongs.” The ruby eyes of his drow companion rolled in their socket at his comment, but he was truly glad that she was okay. “I shall let you sleep tonight. You’ll need all your strength for tomorrow.” He went to stand up, but the drow gently grabbed his hand. 

“Can you…stay with me tonight?” She gingerly asked. “If you’re comfortable staying. I don’t want to—“

“How sweet. Of course I’ll stay with you, pet.” The smile the vampire spawn gave her made her heart do a somersault in her chest. Neither of them wanted to admit how nice it was to be in the presence of the other, but if how fast Y/N fell asleep told Astarion anything—it was that he himself was in serious trouble. He had planned to stay with her long enough for her to fall asleep, but he changed his mind the moment she snuggled into his side. Red eyes studied the sleeping drow with wariness.  Could it be that the vampire’s plan to seduce the drow was working? He thought to himself. It certainly appears so, then why doesn’t he just leave? He was only going to stay till she was asleep, but here she is cuddled into his side and all he feels is…peace…. Perhaps, while he was free of Cazador, he could enjoy the time he has with her. After all, isn’t everyone on borrowed time? With his mind made up, Astarion made himself comfortable and relished in the warmth that the woman next to him brought him—both in body heat and to his heart.