#putting this in the tags every now and again; never tag as a ship

[star-stages]

Protect💛💙

[sophistired18]

No one talk to me. I fell in love.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Teenage Dirtbag

Mapi Leon x Ingrid Engen x Teen!Reader

Summary: Ingrid just doesn't understand you

Mapi had never met you before.

She's met the rest of the Engen family. She's met the family pets. But you'd never been around she visited with Ingrid, like your family had put you as far away as possible when she met them.

Like you were something to be ashamed of.

It's a bit of a bad first impression to make when you're shipped from your boarding school, back home and then straight over to Spain to live with her and Ingrid.

She doesn't even get to introduce herself before Ingrid's laying into you.

"Again?" She demands as soon as you're safely in the back seat of the car," Expelled...again?"

"It's not a big deal," You mutter, slouching in your seat and pulling your hood over your head.

"Not a big deal...Not a big deal?! You've been kicked out of school! You've been kicked out of the house! Oh, but it's not a big deal?!"

Mapi's never seen Ingrid so angry before but you're taking it like a champ, looking out the window and generally ignoring your sister even as she snaps at you.

"Are you done?" You ask in the most bored tone you can manage.

Ingrid takes a breath. "Ye-" She catches sight of you in the rear view mirror and whips around to face you. "Is that a hickey?!"

"Do we have to do this?" You groan," You ask me if I've got a hickey. I give you an answer you don't like. You yell. Can we just skip to the bit after you scold me?"

Ingrid's practically bubbling in rage sitting in the passenger seat and Mapi's left scrambling trying to diffuse the tension.

"So..." She says eventually," You like football?" It's a weak redirection but it gets an amused scoff out of Ingrid as she rolls her eyes.

"I'm not into exercising willingly," Is your answer," It's alright from a distance. Even better when a girl's doing it."

Ingrid groans louder now and swats at your knees but it's teasing and it's like all of her anger from earlier has melted away. "Don't," She says warningly though a hint of amusement is still present in her voice," There'll be none of that here. You're here to focus and to study and to better your grades."

You send her a lopsided smile. "How am I supposed to improve perfection?"

It's that evening after you've retreated to your room that Ingrid is left in a slump over your grades and your truancy records.

"I don't get it," She says to Mapi," She misses almost every class but she has perfect marks. It's like she doesn't even have to try."

Mapi shrugs. "Maybe she doesn't," Is her response," Some people just get school better than others. To be honest, if it's this easy then that's probably why she never turns up."

"And the hickies?"

"She's hormonal?" Mapi doesn't really have an answer to that as she's handed your transcript.

"And this?"

Ingrid slides Mapi a picture. It's of one of this out buildings that every school has that they swear is temporary but never go unused.

"That's..."

Mapi stares at the side of the building. She stares at the colours on the wall, at the way they weave expertly in and out of each other. She stares at the shading and the light.

"I know," Ingrid says, her face all scrunched up and Mapi gets the idea that they're not on the same page.

"It's brilliant."

"It's disrespectful."

They both spoke at the same time. They exchange a confused look with each other before turning their gazes back to study the picture.

It's clearly spray paint, the mural that you've done on the side of one of your school buildings. Usually, Mapi would see tags on railway lines out of spray paint. But, somehow, your mural is hyper realistic (Mapi would even go so far as to say photorealistic).

It's...Well Mapi doesn't quite have the words to explain it.

"I'd love to see what she could do with a pencil."

"Mapi!" Ingrid hisses," Don't encourage her!"

"No, no," Mapi backtracks quickly," I get it, totally. She shouldn't have done it there. It's wrong and it's bad but Ingrid! Look at it! People dream of having talent like that!"

For the entire night and the coming days after, Mapi thinks about the mural you did it on your school.

She ends up asking Ingrid for your Instagram during the lunch break at training. Ingrid gives it to her with a confused look.

"If you're going to use it to try and work out where this behaviour is coming from, it's useless," Ingrid says with a defeated sigh," I've already gone through it all."

That wasn't what Mapi was planning to do at all so she just offers Ingrid a little smile and a promise to see what she could find. To her disappointment, no more of your artwork has been posted on your main account.

She scrolls through your following list, all the way to the bottom, to find an account that she's positive is your secret one. Its username is a bunch of random letters followed by dot-art and its profile picture is the mural on the side of your school building.

Mapi feels like she's hit the jackpot as she scrolls through it (feeling pleased with herself when she notices a bunch of your school friends follow this account too so it must be you). You've got hundreds of posts up, detailing murals you've done around your hometown and your school. There's a few still life drawings and a huge oil paint piece on a massive canvas. There's an image of a drawing that's clearly done in pen on someone's arm.

It's photorealistic just like your spray paint piece and, if you were older, Mapi would probably beg you to be her tattoo artist.

When she and Ingrid get back to the house, you're napping at the kitchen table.

Ingrid swears under her breath, rousing you from your sleep. "I told you to do your school work," She says.

You shrug. "I did." You shove your notepad towards her. "It's not my fault that it's not difficult."

"You've done the bare minimum."

You shrug. "I'm not into doing more than I have to."

The tension in the air is practically electric as you both stare each other down.

"Lose the attitude," Ingrid says," I'm trying to help you here. Mum and Dad won't let you back home until you clean your act up."

You mutter something under your breath and Ingrid goes rigid.

"Don't say that!" She snaps," They want what's best for you! We want what's best for you!"

"They want what's best for them!" You snap back. In the few weeks that Mapi's known you, you're the most laidback teenager she's ever met. You've never once really bit back at Ingrid, no matter how hard she pushed you.

Ingrid's tough love had seemed to be working. You napped regularly, yes, but you got all of your schoolwork done. You don't come home with hickeys and no strange murals have appeared in Barcelona by your hands.

She must have hit a sore spot for you.

"You're smart," Ingrid says," You're so smart and I don't understand why you don't apply yourself more! If you worked properly, you could graduate early and be at university already!"

"There's nothing at university that interests me," You mutter," It's a waste of time."

"It's not a waste of time!" Ingrid retorts," What are you going to do when you finish school, huh? Do you even have a plan?!"

Mapi sees your eyes dart to where your sketchpad sits a few feet away. She can see the cogs turning in your head.

You stay silent.

Ingrid sighs, hands clenched into two shaking fists. "I love you," She says," But you need to get yourself together." She shoves your papers right back at you.

"I've already finished it!"

"You've done the bare minimum." She swipes your sketchbook off of the table. "Sit down. Do it properly."

"Give it back!"

Ingrid's tall and, even though she's your sister, she's still tall enough to hold your book over her head so you can't reach it. "You get it back when you do your work properly."

"Give it!"

"No!"

"Ingrid, hand it over!"

"Do your work!"

"Urgh! I hate you!"

"Well, too bad. Because I love you!"

You slump into the seat with a scream that makes Mapi's ears ring a bit but you grab your pen and start on your schoolwork again.

"Come on," Mapi says softly, drawing Ingrid into their bedroom and shutting the door.

Ingrid throws your sketchbook onto the bed and paces, pulling at her hair in frustration.

"What-What did she say?" Mapi asks, her mind playing that moment when Ingrid went stiff over and over again.

"She said that she wished Mum and Dad got rid of her when they had the chance...you know...when she was..."

"Oh."

"Yeah, oh." Ingrid groans. "I-I just don't understand her! She's so smart! She has her pick of everywhere! Mum and Dad can get her into medical school! It's like she has no ambition!"

Mapi types into her phone. "Have you considered that, maybe, going to medical school and university isn't exactly for her? I mean, you went straight into football."

Ingrid sighs, the tension draining somewhat from her body. "Mapi...It's different. I had a passion for football even when I was younger. I practiced every day. I knew what I wanted."

"She practices something every day," Mapi replies," And she's so good at it. Honestly, Ingrid, it's a little annoying that you and your family haven't noticed."

She turns her phone around, to a post on your secret Instagram account. It's tagged as a city a few hours away from your old boarding school.

On the side of a crumbling house is a spray paint mural of Norway's women's team. It's got everyone on it, photorealistic like all of your other murals. Ingrid's in the middle though, beaming a smile that you can see reaches her eyes.

"What?" The real Ingrid asks, brow furrowed.

"Your sister did that," Mapi says," She's done a lot of them." She grabs your sketchbook and flicks though it. You'd shown her all of your pieces a few days ago when she asked to see them. "Ingrid, she's so good."

Ingrid flips through your book. There's pencil drawings in there. There's watercolour and acrylic and oil. There's a pastel study of your cat back home and an inked version of Bagheera. There's a stunning piece in charcoal of you and Ingrid when you were younger.

Her fingers hover over your squishy baby cheeks, like she could reach into the picture and touch them.

The next few pages have pictures of your own arm with tattoo designs wrapping around them.

"Ingrid, she's so talented," Mapi says," And, yeah, maybe she shouldn't skip class or leave her work to the last minute but she's found something she's passionate about and loves. How would you feel if your parents didn't support you in your football and made you go to medical school?"

Ingrid wipes the tears out of her eyes when she flicks to the last picture you've drawn. It was from last week, when she rewarded you for doing all your work before the weekend with ice cream. You had taken a picture with Mapi and Ingrid, tongue poking out and cheeks pressed together.

You've replicated it perfectly on the page and scrawled a little heart at the bottom along with your signature.

"Jona...Jona said they're looking for someone to do a mural on the back wall of the Johan Cruyff," She says eventually, flipping the book closed," We...Er...We..."

"I'll call Jona," Mapi assures her," Go and save your sister from work she's already finished."

Like Mapi said, you've already finished all of your work and you're sitting stubbornly at the kitchen table, rolling a piece of lint between your fingers.

You're taken completely off guard when Ingrid pulls you in for a hug. Usually, it takes an hour or two for her to calm down after yelling at you.

"I love you," She says as she pulls away, cradling your face as tears run down her face," I love you so much."

"Ingrid? What's going on?"

"I love you," She says," And I want what's best for you. If you promise me that you'll try just a bit harder in school then I swear, I'll make everything better."

"Seriously, you're freaking me out here. What's going on?"

Map appears over Ingrid's shoulder with a dopey smile. "You should thank your sister. She's just sorted you out with a job."

"A job? Ingrid, no offence, but you don't even like me out of your sight. I can barely get by in Spanish. You want me to get a job too?"

"The Estadi Johan Cruyff needs a mural done-"

"Several murals," Mapi cuts in.

"-And you're doing them."

You blink in shock before a grin splits your face wide open. "Seriously? Are you joking?"

"Keep trying hard," Ingrid says," And I'm sure me and Mapi can sort you out with so much more."

[novaursa]

The Chains We Break

- Summary: Otto Hightower comes to negotiate the release of his son. Daemon does not humor him. But you and your sister are dragons as well, who answer to neither gods or men.

- Paring: Gwanye Hightower/trag!reader/one-sided Daemon Targaryen

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is younger sister of Rhaenyra and was bonded with Silverwing. These events happen right after The Flames We Share. If you want to read all parts before this one in chronological order, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mild 13+ (chapters that follow will be rated higher)

- Word count: 4 580

- Tag(s): @deniixlovezelda @duck-duck-goose2 @aadu2173 @sachaa-ff

You sit beside your sister, your gaze cast toward the window where the distant waves of the sea crash against the shores of Dragonstone. The sunlight, filtered through heavy clouds, is gentle on your skin as the salt air brushes your face. The wounds you sustained at Rook’s Rest have begun to heal—your body mending faster than your spirit. Every breath still carries a phantom ache, reminding you of how you fell from Silverwing’s back, the cries of dragons echoing in your ears as death nearly claimed you.

Rhaenyra sits close, her face etched with remorse. She hasn’t been the same since Rook’s Rest, the burden of guilt gnawing at her. You see it in the way her fingers fidget, how she can’t meet your eyes for long before looking away. She’s your sister—your queen—and you know the weight she carries. But you do not hold her responsible for the choices that led to that fateful battle. It was war, and war spares no one, even the innocent.

“I should have never let you go,” Rhaenyra whispers, her voice thick with regret. “It should have been Rhaenys. Not you. It was my decision that put you in harm’s way.”

“Rhaenyra,” you reply, your tone soft but firm. “You did what you thought was right. We cannot turn back time, nor can we carry blame that doesn’t belong. It was my choice, too. And I would do it again, even knowing the cost.”

Your words hang in the air, but they do little to soothe her troubled heart. The silence stretches, heavy with unspoken thoughts, until you find the courage to speak what has truly been gnawing at you.

“Gwayne Hightower,” you begin, lifting your eyes to meet hers. “You must release him from the dungeons.”

Rhaenyra’s expression tightens at the name. The guilt in her eyes shifts to something more conflicted, more political. “It isn’t as simple as that, Y/N. He betrayed his own House, his blood, to bring you back here. Daemon—”

“Daemon,” you interrupt, bitterness lacing your tone despite your attempt to remain calm. “Daemon has imprisoned him, forbade me from even setting foot near the dungeons. He practically bought the loyalty of the guards to keep me away! But you are the Queen, Rhaenyra. Daemon may be my husband, but you hold the power.”

Rhaenyra’s brow furrows, and for a moment, the sister you know peeks through the layers of the ruler she has become. “And if I were to free him, what then? Daemon will see it as defiance. You know how he is—he will not take kindly to having his authority challenged, even by me.”

Your heart aches at the thought of Gwayne, alone and confined, after all he sacrificed for you. A man who went against everything he was raised to believe to save you from certain death, only to be thrown into a cell by the very people he saved you for. “He did not deserve this. He did what he did for me, and now he is paying the price. Rhaenyra, please. He doesn’t deserve to rot in those dungeons. He saved my life.”

Before she can respond, Grand Maester Gerardys enters, his expression grim. “Your Grace,” he says with a deep bow. “A ship bearing the banners of Aegon II has docked in the harbor. Prince Daemon has gone to meet them, with his men.”

Rhaenyra stiffens, but your thoughts drift to Daemon, and what this meeting could mean. Your gaze darkens at the thought of your husband—how he holds Gwayne’s fate in his hands. He’s always been a tempestuous man, fierce and unyielding. The very traits that once drew you to him now feel like iron chains wrapped around your heart.

You watch as Gerardys takes his leave, the room falling silent once more. “Daemon may be the one to hold him prisoner, but I will not let this stand,” you murmur, more to yourself than to Rhaenyra. The decision settles like a stone in your chest. You have to do something. You owe Gwayne that much.

Daemon strides down the rocky path that leads toward the harbor, his cloak snapping in the breeze. The sea roars beneath, a fitting backdrop to the turmoil within his mind. His steps are sure, his presence commanding as always, but there is a tension between his shoulders—an unease that’s hard to shake. Vaeron, your son, walks beside him, mirroring his posture. Boy’s gaze is distant, his thoughts clearly elsewhere, but he keeps stride with Daemon, a silent observer to the storm brewing within.

“Remember what I’ve taught you,” Daemon says, his voice low but carrying authority. “In these dealings, never let them see weakness. We do not bend to those who would see us destroyed.”

Vaeron nods, but his thoughts are torn. He has spent his life idolizing Daemon, the man he believed to be his father. But now that illusion is shattered, replaced by the knowledge that his true father sits rotting in the dungeons beneath their feet. The revelation has left him conflicted, struggling to reconcile the man he loves with the man who has imprisoned his blood.

“What will you do with him?” Vaeron asks, his voice careful, testing the waters.

Daemon’s eyes flicker with a dangerous light. “With Otto Hightower? Or with the man who abandoned his oaths to save your mother?”

“The latter,” Vaeron clarifies, though he knows the question risks Daemon’s ire.

Daemon’s expression hardens. “Gwayne Hightower is a traitor, no matter his reasons. He made his choice when he turned his back on the Greens. Such a man is not to be trusted lightly.”

“And yet he saved her,” Vaeron says, his voice dropping. “Would you have let her die, had he not intervened?”

Daemon’s steps slow, and he turns to face Vaeron, his eyes narrowing. “Mind your tongue, boy. There are things you do not understand.”

“I understand enough,” Vaeron counters, his voice tinged with defiance. “You taught me that loyalty is everything. But Gwayne’s loyalty was to her, not to a cause, not to a side in this war. Can you not see the worth in that?”

Daemon’s jaw clenches, his patience fraying. “You forget yourself, Vaeron. This war is not a matter of sentiment. Your mother’s survival matters because of what she represents—our family, our claim. If you think Gwayne Hightower acted out of love, then you are as naive as you are young.”

Vaeron’s hands curl into fists at his sides, but he keeps his emotions in check. This is the man who raised him, who taught him strength, yet in this moment, all he feels is a cold distance between them. Daemon sees only the war, the struggle for power. But Vaeron sees something else—something more human in the man who risked everything for his mother.

As they near the harbor, the banners of Aegon II come into view, and with them, Otto Hightower’s grim countenance. Daemon’s focus sharpens, his thoughts already turning to the game of strategy ahead. Vaeron falls silent, but in his heart, the conflict festers. 

The wind whips through the banners of Aegon II as they flutter in the sharp sea breeze, the air thick with tension. Otto Hightower stands at the head of his retinue, his face carved from stone, the faintest flicker of unease buried deep within his shrewd eyes. He is older now, his hair nearly all grey, but the calculating sharpness in his gaze has not dulled. Daemon approaches with that characteristic swagger, a predator prowling toward prey, flanked by his guards and with Vaeron at his side. The contrast between them is stark—Daemon, vibrant in his ruthlessness, while Otto wears the weariness of his long-fought battles.

Otto speaks first, his voice carrying the authority of years spent in the small council chamber, dictating the fates of lesser men. "Prince Daemon, I come on behalf of my King to negotiate the release of my son, Ser Gwayne Hightower."

Daemon’s lips curl into a mocking smile. "Negotiate?" He laughs, the sound rough and laced with dark humor. "You truly believe you are in any position to negotiate, old man? What is it that you offer in exchange for a traitor? Perhaps another decrepit stronghold that falls to ruin as we speak?"

Otto's jaw tightens, but he remains composed, his voice cool. "You underestimate what Gwayne’s return means to the Greens. A gesture of goodwill in such tumultuous times could open pathways you might find advantageous."

Daemon’s amusement only grows, his eyes gleaming with wicked delight. "Goodwill? From you? That’s as valuable as a beggar’s coin. Come now, Otto, surely you didn’t travel all this way just to insult my intelligence. Speak plainly, before I grow bored and send you back to King’s Landing with nothing more than salt air in your lungs."

Vaeron stands to the side, his gaze flicking between the two men. Inside, a storm churns. He has known Daemon’s temper his whole life, the simmering cruelty always ready to break the surface. Yet today, that same temperament is turned toward negotiations that directly concern the man who is his true father. The words spoken twist in his mind—‘traitor,’ ‘exchange,’ as if Gwayne were nothing more than a pawn to be bartered, his life subject to whims and strategies. Vaeron keeps his expression neutral, as Daemon taught him, but beneath it all, the confusion gnaws at him.

Otto, sensing that he must tread carefully, adjusts his approach. "You dismiss too quickly what might be gained from a show of mercy, Prince Daemon. Your position, while strong, is not unassailable. A trade, even a gesture, could ease the tension between our forces. And you would gain much in return for sparing Gwayne’s life."

Daemon narrows his eyes, his amusement slipping away, replaced by cold calculation. "And what is it that you think I desire so much that I would let a Hightower return to his family? More land? An empty promise of peace? We both know that Gwayne’s life is worth more to you than any temporary truce you could offer."

Otto’s voice drops lower, becoming the tone of a man who has orchestrated more than one coup from the shadows. "There are things we could discuss—terms that could shift the tide of this war, perhaps even ending it in a way that leaves the realm less fractured. Aegon is willing to be reasonable if it means preserving our shared interests."

Daemon’s smile returns, this time sharper, more dangerous. "You think I care for shared interests? I care only for victory—unquestionable, complete. I care for the destruction of every man, woman, and child who stands between me and that victory. Gwayne’s life is a grain of sand on that battlefield. You know it, and so do I. The only reason he breathes is because my wife begged me not to have his head on a spike the moment he arrived on Dragonstone."

Vaeron stiffens, eyes fixed on Daemon’s profile, a silent witness to the deep ruthlessness within the man he once saw only as a hero. But now, he sees the cracks—how Daemon views everyone as a piece to be sacrificed for his goals, no matter the cost to their souls. He swallows hard, forcing his voice to remain steady. "And what of mercy, Father? Does it not hold any value in this war? Or is it all to be blood and fire until none are left standing?"

Daemon turns sharply to regard Vaeron, his expression unreadable, a flash of something indiscernible crossing his eyes. "Mercy is for the weak, boy. Those who offer it do so only when they have nothing left to give. Do you believe Gwayne deserves mercy for betraying his family, his House, for a fleeting moment of sentiment?"

Vaeron meets Daemon’s gaze, unflinching. "I believe that loyalty beyond reason deserves acknowledgment. Even in war, there are choices that define a man. He chose her—he chose my mother. If that is treason, then perhaps we are all traitors in our own ways."

Daemon studies his son with a shrewd gaze, weighing those words. The silence stretches until Otto steps forward, seizing the opening Vaeron has created.

“Let me look upon my son, Prince Daemon. Let me see the man who has caused this… conflict. If nothing else, I would know whether the man I seek to retrieve is worth the trouble. Bring him up from those dungeons, and if you wish, you can watch as I confront what my son has become.”

The corners of Daemon’s mouth twitch upward in a grin that holds no mirth, only cold amusement. “Very well, Otto. I’ll indulge this request. Let you see what has become of the son you so poorly raised. But do not mistake this for mercy, nor a sign of weakness.”

He turns to one of his men, gesturing with a flick of his hand. “Bring him up, but keep him chained. Let his father see what the consequences are for those who betray their kin for a moment’s folly.”

As the command is relayed, Otto’s mask of composure remains intact, but there is something strained in the tightness around his mouth. Vaeron watches, his heart pounding, knowing that soon he will come face-to-face once more with the man who has haunted his thoughts since learning the truth. The man who is more than just his mother’s savior but is also the father he never knew.

The minutes stretch painfully, each one heavy with anticipation. The creak of footsteps echoes through the stone as the guards finally return, dragging Gwayne Hightower from the depths. The man who emerges is a shadow of the knight he once was—his face gaunt, his clothes tattered, and his once-proud bearing diminished beneath the weight of his chains. But despite his disheveled state, there is a spark in Gwayne’s eyes, a defiance that has not been extinguished.

Otto’s gaze is icy, but there is a flicker of something—regret, perhaps, or shame—as he regards the man before him. “You’ve disgraced us all, Gwayne. For what? For a woman who was never yours to protect?”

Gwayne’s voice is hoarse from disuse, but it still carries strength. “For a woman worth more than all the crowns and thrones in the world. If that is a disgrace, then so be it.”

Daemon’s laughter rings out, cold and mocking. “Hear that, Otto? Even chained and broken, he clings to his foolish convictions. This is what you came for—this pathetic display of misguided loyalty.”

Vaeron watches the exchange, torn between anger and a deep, aching sadness. The man before him is no longer the fearsome knight from the stories but a father who sacrificed everything for a fleeting chance to save someone he loved. The realization sinks in like a stone—this war, this endless cycle of violence, leaves no room for anything as simple as honor or love. It’s all twisted, corrupted by the ambitions of those who claim to know best.

The tension in the air crackles like the distant storm clouds gathering over the horizon. Gwayne Hightower stands before his father, closer now than he has been in years, his once-strong frame worn by weeks of confinement. He walks with a limp, the weight of chains dragging at his wrists, but there is still a pride in his bearing, a defiant spark that refuses to die.

Daemon watches the exchange with a calculating smile, his eyes flicking between father and son, delighting in the bitter reunion. 

Otto closes the distance, gripping Gwayne by the arm with a roughness that belies the controlled facade he wears. The old man’s eyes burn with a fury tempered by long years of cold, strategic thinking. “Have you lost your mind, Gwayne?” he hisses, his voice low, sharp as a dagger’s edge. “All your life, you’ve chased after her like some lovesick fool. You could never accept that Viserys refused your suit, that she was never meant for you!”

Gwayne’s expression barely shifts, but the muscle in his jaw twitches, a hint of the rage he has long kept buried beneath duty and restraint. He leans closer, ignoring the sting of Otto’s grip, and murmurs, his voice so low only his father can hear, “The boy standing next to Daemon is my son, Father. And that is all that matters now. My fate is inconsequential.”

Otto’s eyes widen, his breath catching as though he has been struck. For a moment, his iron composure fractures, disbelief and horror warring on his face. He releases Gwayne, recoiling as if the revelation has physically burned him. His gaze snaps toward Vaeron, the truth now laid bare, searing into him like a brand. The boy—no, the young man—is not just the child of Daemon’s wife; he is a Hightower. His grandson.

Vaeron meets Otto’s gaze briefly, not fully understanding what has just transpired but sensing the seismic shift in the atmosphere. Daemon notices the exchange and narrows his eyes, his amusement giving way to suspicion. His grip tightens on the hilt of his sword, as if ready to end this farce with a single stroke.

Otto recovers quickly, his face once again a mask of practiced indifference, but there is a tremor in his voice when he speaks, barely contained. “You’ve doomed us all, Gwayne. Do you have any idea what you’ve done? You threw away everything—your name, your family’s honor, for what? To save a woman who could never be yours? A child you will never truly claim?”

Gwayne’s gaze is steady, unflinching. “I would do it again, Father. A thousand times over if it meant protecting her and our son. You can call me mad, you can brand me a traitor, but I regret nothing.”

Otto’s eyes darken as he processes the full scope of what has been revealed. He turns slowly to Daemon, who watches him with the cold eyes of a dragon ready to pounce. Otto studies Vaeron with renewed interest, seeing him now not just as a pawn but as a potential key to unraveling this web. He tries to capitalize on this revelation, his voice taking on a more calculated tone. “It seems, Prince Daemon, that the boy you’ve raised as your own has more complicated parentage than we knew. Perhaps this presents an opportunity—one that—”

Daemon’s face hardens instantly, his lips curling into a snarl. “Do not presume to speak of him as a bargaining chip, Hightower. I care nothing for your intrigues, nor do I care for whatever misguided sentiment your son clings to.” He steps forward, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper. “You came for your son, and I’ve given you this moment to see the disgrace he has become. But do not mistake this for weakness. Gwayne Hightower is nothing more than a broken tool, and I’ve no use for broken things.”

Otto opens his mouth to argue, but the steel in Daemon’s eyes leaves no room for discussion. He knows better than to push further when the dragon’s teeth are bared. Reluctantly, he pulls back, the wheels of strategy already turning in his mind, but knowing this is not the moment to press.

Daemon turns sharply to his guards. “Take him back to the dungeons. Let him rot where he belongs.”

The guards move swiftly, seizing Gwayne by the arms. Before they drag him away, Gwayne locks eyes with Vaeron one last time, a silent exchange passing between them. There is no plea for understanding, no attempt at explaining what words cannot convey. Just a look—a father recognizing his son, and a son realizing the depth of what was sacrificed for him.

The confrontation ends not in bloodshed, but with Daemon’s final, sardonic remark. “You’ve seen your son, Otto. Now crawl back to King’s Landing and tell your king that mercy is the last thing you’ll ever find on Dragonstone.”

Otto holds his gaze for a moment longer, then turns on his heel, a man who has measured his options and found them lacking. As he departs, Gwayne is dragged back toward the dungeons, his chains rattling with every step. 

In that instant, Vaeron knows that the next time they meet, it will not be as strangers, but as something far more complicated—something that even Daemon may not be able to control.

The clinking of chains and the rough shuffling of boots against stone echo through the courtyard as Gwayne is dragged back toward the dungeons. His face is set in grim determination, resigned to his fate, yet his eyes still hold that spark—the fire of a man who has found something more precious than victory in war. The guards are silent, their expressions hard and unreadable, loyal to their prince’s orders, despite whatever inner conflict they may harbor.

But as they round a corner, the way is blocked. Standing firm are Rhaenyra and you, their Queen and her sister. The two women’s presence immediately shifts the air, tension snapping taut like a drawn bowstring. The guards pause, uncertain, as their gazes flicker between Rhaenyra’s command and the one issued earlier by Daemon.

Rhaenyra’s voice rings out, clear and commanding. “Release him to Otto Hightower. He is to leave Dragonstone at once.”

The guards stiffen, the weight of conflicting orders hanging heavy on their shoulders. “Your Grace,” one of them ventures, his voice laced with hesitation, “Prince Daemon’s orders were clear. Ser Gwayne is not to be released.”

You step forward, eyes blazing with resolve. “And who is your Queen? Who commands this keep? You will do as she says or face the consequences. Daemon’s orders hold no weight when the Queen herself speaks.”

There’s a moment of palpable tension as the guards exchange uncertain glances. But the authority in Rhaenyra’s gaze, coupled with your fierce insistence, finally breaks their hesitation. They nod reluctantly and begin to unshackle Gwayne, their hands shaking slightly as they fumble with the locks.

Gwayne breathes out a quiet sigh, rubbing his wrists where the heavy manacles have left raw marks. He looks to you, a softness in his gaze that defies the bleakness of the situation. You step closer, the world around you narrowing to just the two of you in that instant. His eyes hold yours, and in them, you see the unspoken words, the regret, the love, and the inevitable farewell.

“This is not the end,” Gwayne murmurs, his voice rough but steady, his eyes gleaming with quiet intensity. “If my nephew has any mercy left in him, I will find a way to return. But if not… know that protecting you was worth everything. Every sacrifice.”

You reach out, your hand trembling slightly, resting it against his chest where you can feel the steady, yet faint, beat of his heart. “You’re the only reason I’m alive, Gwayne. You risked everything for me, and I won’t forget it. No matter what happens next.”

He leans in, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, and whispers, “Remember me, Y/N. And if this war ever ends, perhaps fate will be kinder to us in another life.”

Your eyes sting with unshed tears, but you manage a faint smile, brushing your thumb gently over his cheek in a rare display of affection. “I will. I promise.”

Before either of you can say more, the guards hastily usher him toward the docks, anxious to see him gone before Daemon can intervene. Gwayne casts one last lingering glance over his shoulder, a look full of unspoken promises and finality, before he is led away.

As they escort him down the winding paths toward the ship, the sails already being unfurled, Daemon and Vaeron catch sight of the commotion from a distance. Daemon’s eyes narrow dangerously as he realizes what is happening. His fury builds like a storm, the anger practically radiating off him as he strides toward the scene, Vaeron following, his own emotions churning in the wake of what has transpired.

As Gwayne passes by Daemon, their eyes lock for a brief moment. Gwayne’s lips twitch into a faint, knowing smirk—one that speaks volumes, a silent challenge, as if to say, You didn’t win this time. It’s a gesture that only fuels Daemon’s rage, the dragon within him rearing its head.

Daemon’s hand tightens on the hilt of Dark Sister, his knuckles white with fury, but before he can draw it, Gwayne is gone, escorted swiftly onto the ship where Otto waits with grim satisfaction. The gangplank is raised, and the ship begins to pull away from the harbor, sails billowing as it heads back toward the horizon.

With the Hightower entourage retreating, Daemon’s fury turns on Rhaenyra and you. He storms up to the two of you, his eyes blazing, voice like thunder. “What in the name of all the gods are you doing, woman? Do you realize what you’ve just done?”

Rhaenyra stands her ground, unyielding, her chin lifted defiantly. “I did what was right, Daemon. Ser Gwayne Hightower saved my sister’s life at Rook’s Rest, and I will not be the one to condemn him to rot in chains for it. Let the Greens decide his fate now. It’s no longer our concern.”

Daemon’s glare shifts from Rhaenyra to you, his gaze scorching with silent accusation. The promise of a reckoning lingers in his eyes, a vow that this conversation between you and him is far from over. But he turns back to Rhaenyra, the anger in his voice uncontainable. “You’ve weakened our position, Rhaenyra. Do you not see what this act of so-called mercy has cost us? We hold every advantage, and now you hand them back one of their own, giving them hope when we should be crushing it.”

Rhaenyra’s voice remains steady, firm in her conviction. “Hope may be our enemy, but I will not sacrifice decency for the sake of cruelty. This war has already claimed enough souls—if showing mercy weakens us in your eyes, then so be it. But I will not let this conflict strip us of our humanity.”

Daemon’s eyes flash dangerously, his rage palpable, but even in his fury, he knows better than to challenge her publicly. The exchange bristles with barely restrained venom, both of them locked in a clash of wills, neither willing to yield. But it’s clear that this is a rift that will not be easily mended.

Vaeron, who has watched it all unfold in silence, feels a small surge of triumph swell in his chest. For the first time, his mother acted on her own terms, free from Daemon’s influence. The knowledge that Gwayne is safe, at least for now, is a balm to his inner turmoil. Yet, even in his moment of quiet victory, he knows that the repercussions of this day will ripple far beyond the shores of Dragonstone.

Daemon finally steps back, his gaze returning to you, the promise of confrontation lingering like smoke in the air. “This is not over,” he hisses, his words directed more at you than at Rhaenyra. Then, without another word, he turns and stalks off, his rage still burning as he disappears from view.

The ship grows smaller on the horizon, taking with it the man who dared defy every loyalty, every oath, for the sake of love. And in that moment, you know that whatever happens next, the war has shifted—not because of power or strategy, but because of the choices made out of love and loyalty. Choices that may very well reshape the fate of everyone involved.

[ateliersss]

Blooming Family Part 4 - He Shall Prevail

Pairing: Yautja x Fem!Reader Summary: In your past life on earth, when someone would ask you how you managed your job as a nurse with the occasional death of a mother during birth, you told them that you never took it too personal because you would never find yourself in their position. Then why were you now so adamant on giving your life for your pup? Cross-posted on AO3: here Warnings: English isn't my first language Word Count: 5,497 Part 1: here Part 2: here Part 3: here Masterlist

⇨ Hey, guys! I‘m back to writing. 6 months and 16 exams later, I finally found time to continue my now called “Blooming Family” series. You have no idea how much I missed it.

⇨ Though I have to say, this will probably be the end of this series. Probably. I got rid of every idea about our little family in those four parts and I don’t believe I can offer much more dramatic and exciting plot.

⇨ BUT! I already announced a Prequel on how Mi'ytiar and the Reader meet. I’m still working on it and the process is going smoothly for now. This means, this is definitely not the end of our story, so stay tuned!

⇨ Want to join the tag list?

 

The metallic smell of human blood that usually made him wallow in delight, now made him feel sick. The feeling of human blood on his skin which usually sent a rush of excitement down his spine, now made him want to cut off any part of his body that made contact with it. The sight of him tearing a human apart — hurting it, killing it — that usually sated his predatory nature, now made him want to gouge his eyes out.

Blood flowed as he cut you, his beloved one, open under Cahrein’s watchful eyes. The red fluid coated first his claws and fingertips, then his fingers completely, and before he knew it his whole hand when he started to reach into you.

Your small, beautiful body, which he had worshipped more times than he could count, had long grown numb, unmoving, lifeless. Your big, gorgeous eyes that had held so much love for him were closed, sparing him to witness the moment should the spark within them extinguish.

He wouldn’t let that happen, he was sure of it. He just needed time to close the long, precise cut and get the blood that was stashed somewhere here on the ship. He knew how to stitch you together, God knows how many times he had to do it when you were on your hunting trips together, though it was never this kind of wound.

But Mi'ytiar, your oh so loving and attentive mate, had done something quite unusual for his species.

With no profound knowledge of births, let alone human births, he witnessed the act of giving life for the very first time when you had been pregnant with Akail. Even without any previous experience, he just knew that Yautja births were quite different from human ones. Their Females wouldn’t have suffered that much from pain during labor and because of that, his already devoting stance towards you seemed to reach new heights when you fought like a warrior on your very own battlefield. He was impressed just as he was scared.

So, when Cahrein had confirmed your suspicions on being pregnant again, Mi'ytiar did what every father on earth would and should do when a baby was on its way: he prepared himself. Mostly Cahrein showed and taught him the necessities who had studied the human anatomy when you arrived on Yautja Prime for the first time — leader's orders. And because there had never been a human in their clan or anywhere near it, he had to travel some time to the nearest one whose location he knew.

That’s how Cahrein learned and that’s how he was able to brief his clan leader.

You didn’t know, but if you did, you once again would not fathom how lucky you were, because how many Yautja out there with a human by their side for whatever purpose would put that much effort into them? Would any of them sit down and listen to their healer drone about the function of the ovaries? Would any of them waste their time, instead of just finding a replacement? Would they be here when the chance of saving you was like catching mist with bare hands?

Mi'ytiar did, a leader nonetheless.

And when he felt it wasn’t enough, he did his very own research on earth. Stalking through hospitals, invisible of course, thanks to the Cloak camouflaging his massive form and hiding him from the human eye, he was taking everything in. He observed the humans dressed in white and dark blue clothes scurry around before he decided to follow one around.

At nighttime, it was much easier when the staff thinned out. This way he had a better chance to explore the hospital and find his way to the infant ward, discovering it by chance. Fourteen see-through cribs were standing in two rows inside the ward. Fourteen tiny human babies were lying inside, sound asleep.

So that’s what they looked like.

For a moment he thought about being human himself. Not for his own appearance, but for the possibility of having a pup who looked more like you, his love. You were such a beautiful creature, but sadly your genes were practically drowned out by his.

At daytime, he was lucky to watch five women deliver their babies. Four of them did it the natural way while the fifth woman decided willing to do a c-section. Obviously unaware of what would happen in a few years, he gained very useful knowledge that day.

That’s how Mi'ytiar learned and that’s how he located the pup in your womb so fast and pulled it out.

He tried not to let himself get lost in the sight of the newborn, squirming and screeching. As much as he wanted to admire the little boy, another paragon created by you, there was a more pressing matter at hand.

He gingerly placed the flailing pup down on the cold glass surface of the table and against your body, snuggled between your motionless arm and your side. With the greatest care, he angled his son’s head to rest against your shoulder and moved your arm so it would keep him in place.

Mi'ytiar wasted no time in turning the Medicomp upside down and finding the needed surgical tools much faster that way. Thankfully he hadn’t discovered anything wrong once the pup was free, no suspicious rupture or tear that needed stitching. He was deaf to Cahrein’s words as he fixed the cut with wound clamps and started to mix a gel that was able to close a wound of any kind, size or depth.

When he was sure the gel was painstakingly spread on the already healing cut, he grabbed the syringe with the purple-ish fluid and inserted its needle in the crook of your unoccupied arm. There was a 50-50 chance that it would work on you. Sxánxik would close all internal damage and increase blood cell production in case of severe blood loss, though he didn’t know if it would work on human blood. But there was still a chance since your DNA had evolved through years of infusions of Yautja blood.

“You should get her blood.” Cahrein’s voice finally found its way into his consciousness.

“Can’t leave.” Mi'ytiar growled, his eyes focused on the shallow movement of your chest, scared it would stop the second they would stray from you.

“You need to. There is no guarantee sxánxik works.” Cahrein pressed, growing restless at his leader’s tunnel vision.

He knew he didn't know what was going through Mi'ytiar’s mind, and if he said he knew how he was feeling at that moment, he would be lying. It was obvious to anyone that ever laid eyes on the Life-mated pair that there was a unique and special bond between the two. Yautja were caring despite common belief, but even the most affectionate and compassionate of their species would never come close to the emotions your human heart held for your Yautja. Adding the influence you had on Mi'ytiar, it seemed to be fated.

Soulmates, Cahrein believed you had called the both of you when you told him about certain fairytales your mother had read to you when you were a child. Though you had said it in a joking way, telling him it was something hopeless romantics believed in, he could see it in your eyes that there was some kind of hope there.

“Sometimes two people are destined for each other.”

Your human nonsense would always make him scoff in amusement, until there was living and breathing proof of you being meant for his leader. Two proofs now, to be exact. When you were able to give Mi'ytiar his long-denied offspring where their Females had failed, Cahrein started to be less derogatory about superstitions on earth.

“Fine.” Mi'ytiar snarled, hitting the glass surface of the holo-map table on each side of your thighs with closed fists, only hearing a splintering sound as he pushed himself away.

When he returned, the overwhelming sight of your body made him freeze in the doorway when the automatic doors opened. He tried to not tighten his grip around the blood bag in his hand, tried not to let his claws pierce holes into it and spill the red liquid.

You were lying there, paler than you had been moments ago. Where he had positioned your arm so your pup was safely tucked at your side, the other one was lying along the length of your body. Just as your spread legs were dangling down the table, your hand was loosely hanging down where it had previously been grasping the edge in pain.

“Mi'ytiar.”

Cahrein’s voice was once again pulling him out of his own head before he could drown in dark thoughts.

“I prepare your home for your return.” The healer told him when Mi'ytiar covered your naked lower body with one of your blankets that you always kept on the ship.

When Cahrein received no response from his leader, who was too busy getting the blood into your veins before filling syringes with his own to inject it into you, he made the usual farewell gesture and his holo-image dissolved.

As soon as Mi'ytiar could assess you as stable, he took his newborn — he was so tiny, Mi'ytiar was able to hold him with one hand as he fit so easily in his entire palm — and placed him in the crook of his arm, the upper body of his son pressed against his bicep. The typical instinct of a Yautja pup to hold on made his son immediately cling to him.

With a heavy heart at leaving you alone once again, he went through the ship to take the pup to its sleeping place in the sleeping quarters. Digging out more of the cushions and covers you had stashed away, he created a makeshift crib so his son wouldn’t move in a fatal position or roll out of the pod by accident. When he was sure he could leave him alone for a moment, he put the pup down and returned to you.

You were still in the same unconscious state he had left you. With a pained, sorrowful purr he lifted you up and into his arms, the almost empty blood bag held up by his hand. The sight of you like this was hurting him more than any wound he ever got from an enemy.

Back in the sleeping quarters, Mi'ytiar put you down in the pod where the two of you would usually rest. And where the little one was probably conceived, he thought with his eyes looking over at the pup.

Since the ship was not equipped with the necessary medical supplies and equipment, he had to make do with what was available to him. All he could do now was let you sleep and heal. Should the sxánxik not do its job, his blood would do.

To distract himself — because looking down at the device around his left arm, the journey back home would take another hour — he picked his newborn pup up and started to rock him softly. He remembered your reaction when you had seen him do it for the first time with Akail, scolding him for hurling the pup around. Your words.

Trying to not let his amusement show too much on his face, he had explained to you that Yautja babies, even when they were mere minutes old, were quite sturdy. They could endure more than you would think and you had learned that in the following five years. To put it simple, Akail had been a menace when he wasn’t a complete mama’s boy. He had wanted to explore; first your home, then the clan grounds, and then the whole planet.

Mi'ytiar let out a chuckle-like rumble at the memory of an eager Akail running around, dodging his mother’s arms that tried to keep him inside your home and from running around in the village. He had watched you both with mirth in his eyes, but regretted it the second a grumbling laugh left his mouth. If it had been possible, he would have dropped dead when you glared at him with a very nasty look. Wincing inwardly, he pulled his figurative tail between his legs and came to your aid, grabbing Akail by the nape and lifting him up. Then you had looked at your son with a I’m-very-disappointed-in-you expression on your face and this time it was the pup that winced (Mi'ytiar almost too, if he was being honest).

Like father, like son.

This one will be just as in love with his mother as his father and older brother were, he was sure of it.

Warm, soft and bright.

Those were the things you noticed first even with your eyes closed.

The next thing your brain registered was that you could move every part of your body, although a little sluggish, when you wiggled your toes, and clenched and unclenched your hands. You were relieved that whatever happened to you hadn’t paralyzed you.

Blinking, you opened your eyes and with a blurry vision, the very first thing you saw was a familiar, but somehow unfamiliar metal pole that looked like an IV stand.

But that couldn’t be. You should be the only human thing on Yautja Prime, so why…

“You awake.”

You slowly turned your head in the direction of the voice. You could only make out a dark, tall figure standing in the doorway, though not tall enough to be your mate.

“Cahrein?” You murmured.

“Mhm.”

Said Yaujta entered the room to inspect the stand, tapping the bag with a clear substance inside. He traced the tube attached to it with a sharp claw to the point where it was connected to the needle in your arm. 

“Fascinating I must say.”

“What is this? Why is it here?” You asked and tried to get up, hoping the fatigue would wear off faster in an upright position.

With a deep rumble and a clicking of his mandibles, Cahrein gently pushed you back down. “The great Mi’ytiar always made sure you had everything you need should medical emergency arise.”

“He did?”

Cahrein nodded with his head. “He traveled to ooman world to get whatever you need every time oomans developed their creations.”

You looked at the healer who now inspected the red bag filled with your blood.

When you started to be more involved in the life of the Yautja, the possibility of getting hurt grew. It wasn’t likely as your mate never let you do anything that could cause even a bruise. Well except, of course, mating with him. 

When your already drawn blood expired, you would go to Cahrein so he could take new one for emergencies while you sat in Mi'ytiar’s lap, his purring and his hands caressing you calming you down. Despite being a former nurse you hated needles.

“How...” You coughed, your voice hoarse from not being used. “How long was I… asleep?”

“Six days.”

“That long?” You whispered to yourself in disbelief.

You settled back into the soft cushions of your nest, watching the healer adjust the blood bag as if there was the perfect angle for it to hang. Ever the perfectionist. 

You carefully lifted the arm with the needle inside while you grabbed a black woolen blanket to pull it over your body, somehow feeling cold despite the fire burning. 

Doing so, you dragged your heavy-feeling arm over your stomach.

Your flat stomach.

You jumped up from your lying position, ignoring the stabbing headache. 

Cahrein turned around, only needing to take one big step to be by your side, and was ready to scold you for going against your doctor’s orders, but his words were dying on his tongue when you ripped the piece of clothing you were wearing open. Immediately he averted his eyes and turned his back to you. 

You may be his patient right now, but he had no death wish. Sure, he had seen parts of you in his role as the healer, but only with permission and in attendance of your mate. And said mate definitely didn’t need to be in the room to witness his human being exposed in front of someone who wasn’t him to install that deep-rooting respect (and maybe even slight fear) in Cahrein. 

You were oblivious to the internal battle of Cahrein who was fighting against the urge to make sure you weren’t overexerting yourself and the fact that he couldn’t do so without having to look at you. Instead, you were frantically tracing the faint scar across your stomach with shaky hands.

Baby…

Where was your baby?

Where was it?!

The maternal instincts were almost animalistic as they made you heave, your lungs starting to struggle to take in air.

It had been here, inside your belly, carried under your heart…

Why wasn’t it here?

It should be… it should be…

Cahrein was really tempted to turn around when he listened to your breath getting more and more irritated and uneven. When he heard suspicious rustling, he spun around and grabbed the nearest cover to put it on you — the blanket you had wanted to snuggle into. 

“Calm, (Y/N), calm.” He purred as he pushed you back onto the nest when you tried to crawl out of it. 

“My pup, my pup. Where is my pup?” You squeaked.

You were digging your nails into his skin, scratching it without leaving much damage. You weren't really a challenge to him. You were still weak from the blood loss and the week of bed rest. Had it been a female Yautja, Cahrein would have probably been dead by now. They were just as territorial and protective of their pups as you were right now.

“He is fine. He is with his father.” He soothed you and tried to push you onto your back and into the nest. "I will call for him."

Still shaking, you ceased your resistance a little, allowing Cahrein to let go of you. Despite everything screaming inside of you to fight your way to your pup, your body in its state wouldn't even make it out of the room. So you settled down but kept your nerves on edge.

You were taking deep breaths in and out as you strained every muscle to prop yourself up into a sitting position, your legs tangled and angled to the side.

Tugging on the soft fabric of the blanket draped over you, you looked around the room. It was just like you remembered — all four walls made of smooth obsidian-like stone, the large window from the floor up to the ceiling behind your nest giving you the perfect view of the jungle-like valley beneath you by the cliff where the village was located on, the build-in shelves that mostly displayed your mate's most valued trophies, but also some of your possessions from your old home on earth like your books and your favorite pot plant, the futuristic wardrobe Mi'ytiar had made for you when he kept gifting you fabrics, feathers, fur, leather and such so you could make yourself clothes with the help of the Females.

It was home.

As your eyes swept over the room from left to right, they stopped when they spotted the small, wooden crib next to the nest. It had been Akail‘s when he was a newborn pup. It was lovingly and thoughtfully crafted by Mi’ytiar, while you had carved accents, patterns, and little figures into it.

Sure, Yautja Females had their own, traditional way of taking care of their pups, but you were human and your baby was partly human, so you wanted at least a little human influence in raising it. It‘s the only way you knew and were able to do it. Mi’tyiar let you take the reins since he had no prior knowledge himself. He was a first-time father and would just follow your instructions when you needed assistance. 

That led to you unknowingly breaking a custom. Usually, at this age, the Female was raising the pup alone. The Male was barely involved during that time and would only take over when it was time for the pup to train as a Youngblood. 

Mi’ytiar, on the other hand, the ever-loving father, was there by your side for every of Akail’s wobbly steps, incoherent mumble and mandible click. If he was human, you fondly mused, he would be that kind of a parent who would take photos and videos of even the most random event and unnecessary thing their baby did.

He was such a fierce and strong leader, callous and ruthless when the situation required it, a brutish savage if he was challenged, but when it came to his little family he was so soft and gentle like any human father or husband.

While you were spacing out, resisting the urge to reach over to the crib and check if the bedding was still warm, signs of a little life sleeping in it, you didn’t notice the newcomers in your room.

“Yawne...” A voice sounded far away before you started blinking, refocusing yourself.

Your eyes snapped to the now much larger form standing in the entrance of the room holding a small, wiggling bundle in his arms, cradling it to his chest. His yellow eyes were solely on you, looking at you in disbelief as if he thought they were deceiving him. 

Mi'ytiar pushed the bundle in his arms into those of Cahrein, who you barely registered walking in behind your mate, and made his way over to you in a few quick strides. Your eyes were fixed onto the thing your whole being was screaming for the most, but when Mi'ytiar cupped your cheeks with both of his hands, your whole attention was on him — your mate, the love of your life, your sun and your moon.

“Tahní.” You breathed and put your hands on his, craving his warm skin closer to you.

He moved forward and gently put his forehead to yours, purring loudly into the otherwise silent room. 

“I thought I lose you. I thought you die. Again.” He grumbled, his eyes closed.

You lifted your head and placed a few kisses on the skin of his forehead. 

“I‘m a fighter. I thought you knew that by now.” You chuckled, your voice hoarse.

Mi'ytiar grumbled again, not appreciating you making jokes when you had been on the brink of life and death.

“What happened?” You asked and pulled away to finally look at him. 

Mi'ytiar — and you really had no nicer word to describe it — looked horrible. If Yautja were able to develop bags under their eyes, he definitely would have some. He looked beyond tired. There was a devastated, but also relieved look in his eyes, you had no problem deciphering the reason behind it. 

“I only remember how my water broke… how you carried me back to the ship… and the call with Cahrein.” You mumbled as you tried to recall any memory you had stored in the back of your mind.

It was all blurry and tangled and you had no idea what happened when. The only thing you remembered with conviction was the pain. When the contractions started in that forest, it was far more manageable than the pain at Akail‘s birth. But when the labor was taking longer than it was normal, it got almost unbearable.

“What happened? How did he…” You trailed off as you glanced past Mi'ytiar and to Cahrein who was rocking the whiny bundle in his arm to calm it down.

“Mi'ytiar, please.” You begged as you looked back at him, pleading with your eyes. “Please give him to me. I need to… I need to…”

The distress your body was emitting almost made him shrink away. 

“Cahrein.” Mi'ytiar grunted and reached out.

Cahrein, who was struggling a little with the fussing pup in his care, careful not to accidentally drop it, made his way over to his leader. He would be lying if said he didn’t feel at least some relief when the restless pup left his arms. The last thing he wanted to do was sending you further down a spiral of frantic worry about your baby. He had seen enough Females going rogue for lesser reasons and experience showed to never stand between a mother and their pup. It was the last mistake you would make.

Mi'ytiar purred softly at the bundle before he turned back to you and offered it for you to take it. You eagerly engulfed it in your arms and the second you had a hold on it, the fussing pup settled down.

“Leave.” Mi'ytiar ordered gruffly when you started to push down the only cover your body had, not taking his eyes off his son and his mate.

Cahrein bowed his head and quickly took his leave. He would talk about anything medical and the further necessary bed rest another time.

You didn’t notice him leaving, too busy freeing your newborn son of the baby blanket that was practically drowning him.

You had knitted it when you were six months pregnant with Akail. He had been obsessed with it as long as he was a tiny pup.

Back when you were a nurse, some mothers had excitedly told you about all the preparations they had done before the baby was due. One of them had brought wool, knitting needles, and a half-finished blanket to her appointments. She had explained to you how she learned knitting only for her baby, so she could make all this stuff for it.

It was a sweet memory.

Mi'ytiar, of course, went on a trip back to earth and got you anything and everything you wanted and needed, even more than you originally needed in hopes his offerings would please you. And you hadn’t even needed to use much persuasion. Looking up at him with those big eyes of yours while rubbing the prominent baby bump was enough to prepare a ship and fly to your home planet the next day.

Sweet, sweet memories.

You were humming as Mi'ytiar crawled on the nest behind you, setting the blanket you had shrugged off to the side, and pulled you on his lap. He wrapped his arms around you and watched over your shoulder as you cradled your pup against your bare chest. You sighed in contentment when you could feel your son’s skin against your own, like it’s the final thing you needed to reassure you that you were actually here, that he was real.

Without the baby blanket covering him, you finally got a good look at your son. And god, you didn’t know you could fall in love a third time in your life.

He was perfect.

Unlike his big brother, he was the carbon copy of his father. While Akail did look like his father, having the same color scheme as him, the patterns were of opposite colors. His younger brother, on the other hand, didn’t only have the same color pallet as his father, but the patterns of his skin were colored just the same as Mi'ytiar‘s. Otherwise, he didn’t look much different from Akail when he had been a newborn — the same numbs on his head where his dreads would grow, the same thin and undeveloped mandibles around his mouth, the same arms and legs.

He was about the size of a human baby. It was incredible to think how big in size and height he would grow in the coming years.

You inspected every aspect of his tiny body, your fingers gliding over his torso and limbs, admiring every centimeter of him.

“You were right.” Mi'ytiar suddenly said. “He was in abnormal position. He was stuck.”

You stilled for a moment before you continued to coo at your baby.

“You begged me to get him out and I did. I cut in you and you…” He trailed off and grunted at his wavering voice. “You stopped moving when I pulled pup out. You were gone.”

“No.” You interrupted him and turned your upper body to look at him. “If I was gone, I wouldn’t be here with you. With him.” You moved your arms with your turned torso, so his son was back in his sight. “I wouldn’t be here to tell you how happy I am, to tell you how glad I am that you handled it so well. You saved his life. And mine too.”

You shifted your pup into one arm to reach up and place your hand on his cheek. You didn’t even need to pull him in for him to move closer and put his forehead once again against yours, closing your eyes. Since his anatomy made it impossible to actually kiss him, you decided that forehead-against-forehead was an acceptable compensation. Although it wasn’t anything special, it felt so intimate with him that you didn’t really miss the ability to kiss your partner.

“I’m here. I’m alive. I’m not going anywhere, Mi'ytiar.” You told him softly, rubbing your skin against his like a cat. “Thanks to you I’m able to continue to breathe, to walk and talk. Thanks to you I’m able to continue to love you and live my life with you, my strong and handsome mate, and our pups.”

You had so many other things to say to him, but you started to choke on your words. Tears were dripping down your cheeks.

You opened your eyes when you felt something rough rub the skin under them and saw him wiping away the tears with his thumb. His other hand came up and its thumb did the same with the tears coming from your other eye. Mi'ytiar looked fondly down at you, his head cocked to the side.

“Thank you so much.” You mumbled, your voice a little shaky, and buried your face into his chest.

Mi'ytiar clicked his mandibles softly and carefully pulled you closer, making sure to not crush the pup between your bodies.

“Anything for you.” He purred.

He felt the wetness dripping from your eyes to your cheeks and down on his chest ease after a while. And when you lifted your head to look up at him, you gave him one of those dazzling, soft smiles he loved so much.

Mi'ytiar wanted to reach out again, wanted to pull you closer and snuggle his face into the crook of your neck to smell your sweet, familiar scent he missed so much. But sadly a certain someone demanded your attention more loudly.

The pup in your arms started to fuss again, causing you to use both arms again to hold him tight against you. Shushing him, you nestled him in the crook of your neck and stroked his back.

Mi'ytiar let out a displeased grunt before he could stop himself, glaring at his son being in a place where he wanted to be just a moment ago.

You, of course, didn’t miss your mate fixing the pup with a dismayed look and you immediately knew why. This wasn’t your first baby after all.

“Mi'ytiar, don’t tell me you’re jealous again.” You grinned up at him, not even trying to hide your amusement.

“‘M not.” He grunted.

“You are.”

“Not.”

“Mhm.” You hummed, unconvinced, raising an eyebrow. “Just as you were not jealous when Akail was occupying my boobs as a pillow for a year? Or when I tried breastfeeding with him? Or when he challenged you every time you came near me even though he just had learned to walk? Or when he-”

To silence you, he bit down into your throat and you immediately went slack. It was a somewhat trained reaction every time he would do that. Where a human would shut you up with a kiss, your mate bit you. A show of dominance, without a question, and you would lie if you said it didn’t turn you on. The moan that would have proofed it had almost slipped from your lips.

“Not jealous.” Mi'ytiar insisted gruffly and licked over the bite mark.

“Fine, fine.” You mumbled, still a little dazed from his little display of power.

The two of you stayed silent for a while. The only sound was the occasional chittering and cooing of your son, who was looking up at his parents with his big, pale yellow eyes. They would grow more intense in color in no time.

“Did you already name him?” You asked and giggled when your pup tried to snatch up your finger with which you were drawing patterns in the air, moving it around in front of his face.

You watched as your pup finally caught your pointer finger and inserted it into his mouth. You laughed when you felt his gums chew on it. His teeth would develop only in a few weeks.

“The name you chose.” Mi'ytiar grunted softly.

You hummed in understanding and snuggled your face into the side of your son‘s head.

“Hi, Toyah.”

Tag List

⇨ Hey guys, despite having only some requests to be tagged in this part, I wanted to tag any and everyone who ever left a comment on one or more parts of this series. I'm seriously so thankful, you have no idea. Thank you so much for showing interest and voicing it. Thank you so much for your kind words that kept me motivated to continue this story. But, as I said at the beginning, this is not the end of Mi'ytiar, so lets hope we see each other on more of my works in the future!

@lil-lilacwitch, @zaky-ller, @eternalmoonshineofahopelessfan, @haleypearce @montybooks,

@ailujsenutna, @rorrika, @h0n3y-l3m0n05, @mahirublue, @00justanolive00,

@mortuaconjuga, @victor-rose, @screechingenemy18, @thewitchesofart, @skibbiescoober,

@pyreemo, @han-sirentell, @dd122004dd, @milkzze, @wildaces,

@serendipitous-fernweh, @misspendragonsworld, @bunnymysteriously, @ladygrimmx, @thelrina,

@quaritcxswifewh0re, @imaginarydreams, @vintage-bumblebee, @blaxkmagix, @beelievit,

@blmcd57110, @mythirdlife235, @the-artistic-devotee, @jojooasis, @pipocfamily,

@bimboreader, @noname2246, @sawendel, @being-worthy, @xcol2sblog,

@panpandeep00, @maxismp1, @bastet222, @candyladycry, @crowleysthings

[rationaliity]

reunion | dr ratio x gn. reader ( 18+ )

this is !! actually kinda cute !! best friends to lovers ! literally its not obvious that they want each other until two paragraphs before the sex, so.. sorry about that, teehee. but i just thought that the bickering was cute and i left subtle clues that they wanted each other. tags : finger-fucking, penetration, pretty vanilla sex, reader's intimate area is only described as a ' hole ', best friends to lovers, mutual pining, loving sex, missionary position. ratio is kind of ooc here but who cares its cute. word count : 3700 on the dot.

everyone has their natural opposite, someone that they involuntarily gravitate towards even though they're so very different. and for dr. ratio, that person who was his natural opposite, his twin flame, was you. you were his best friend, his closest companion, even though you could be.. unique sometimes. everyone within the intelligentsia guild knew your schedule by now, and that you would come down once every three months to spend a week with the guild and veritas, and, for those weeks, veritas would be the most alive that anyone would see him.

" veritas ! " you yelled, running down the ship runway towards the entrance of the intelligentsia guild ship, your luggage in your hands rolling behind you. " dear veritas ratio, i am here ! "

veritas arched an eyebrow, barely surprised at your enthusiastic greeting. he always wanted to maintain an air of indifference, but here he was, waiting for you at the end of the dock anyway. " always the dramatic one, " he says, feigning exasperation as he called out to you, " how delightful it is to see you again, despite the chaos you bring with you. "

you dropped your suitcase mid run as you bolted up to him, wrapping your arms around him and laughing, quite literally running into his arms. " how is my best friend ? how has the guild been treating you ? ah, these last three months have been quite the storm ! we simply must catch up soon, the moment i put my things away in my room ! also... me ? dramatic ? are you sure we're talking about the same person ? i have never been known to be dramatic in the slightest. "

you feigned hurt as you pulled away from him, dramatically clutching your chest as you overdramatized your words, " my dear veritas, you wound me with your accusations. i have never been known to dabble in theatre. i am always and will always be a very serious and put together individual. "

veritas suppressed a sigh, his hand instinctually coming to grab the small of your back as you pulled away from him, keeping you in his hold for a moment longer, although he looked away, pretending to be offended by unable to hide the warmth in his eyes. " you're not dramatic ? perhaps i have to reevaluate my accusations, " he chuckles lightly, meeting your gaze. " your room awaits you as always. "

your free hand reached up to his face, taking his chin in your hand as you tilted his head, examining him thoroughly. " you haven't been sleeping well, " you pointed out, your tone a mix between disappointment and worry. " has the guild been overworking you ? do you need me to have a word with your seniors ? you mustn't neglect your health, you know. you have dark circles under your eyes, and your eyeliner is smudged slightly. "

veritas paused, caught off guard with your concern for him, but ultimately brushing it off as inconsequential. after all, he was taking care of himself, just a little overworked right now. " thank you for your concern, but i assure you, i do not require coddling. however, i suppose i should pay attention to my appearance, for your sake. "

" perhaps you should ! definitely for my sake ! i would simply combust on the spot if i found out my dear veritas was being overworked ! what would i do if you had no energy to enduring my yapping ? what would i do if you could no longer ground me, and allowed me to run amok with all of my terribly genius ideas ? " you pulled away from him while you talked, reaching for your luggage that you had left behind, your mouth running pretty constantly now that you were in his presence again. " why, the world would be turned into a chaotic mess ! there would be no order, only me running around with enough glitter and balloons to send you into a heart attack !"

" as you can see, if you're tired, this is surely the future that will come true. you must keep yourself healthy, for the sake of the world, you see ! " you laughed as you walked with him inside of the intelligentsia guild, your voice echoing in the otherwise quiet hallways.

" i'm certain the world would crumble without me, " veritas agreed, unable to maintain his stoic demeanor amidst your infectious laughter, " an apocalypse brought by your hand.. quite the disastrous scenario. " he shook his head at your antics, subtly grabbing your suitcase from your fingers, although his gesture did not go unnoticed by you. " the universe needs me to prevent such a fate. "

as you walked, a few people nodded to the two of you, each one getting an excited wave from you, as if you were a puppy excited to see so many people you knew within the same area. a member greeted the two of them, breaking the unspoken rule, and unprepared for it. " ah, you're back within the guild ! " he greeted warmly, stopping the two of you in your tracks.

you smiled at him, your hands behind your back as you spoke. " yes ! i absolutely must bring some color to this monotonous guild ! it's a pleasure to be back, as always. however, at the moment, i'm spending some quality time with my dearest veritas, so i will have to cause mayhem around the guild another time. " your words stung, no matter how gently you spoke them. you always prioritized spending time with veritas above all else, even if that meant turning other people's attention down. after all, you only got to see him once every three months, you had to make this time count.

" o-oh ! my apologies, i'm sorry for the interruption, " the man sulked off, embarrassment coloring his cheeks as he left the two of you alone. veritas didn't say anything, already well aware of where your loyalties lay, although it didn't stop him from holding an air of pride within him.

" perhaps we can find a balance between your chaos and my order during his trip, " veritas suggested as you walked, giving you a playful nudge. he opened the door of your room for you, letting you walk in first. as you settled into the room, you collapsed onto the bed dramatically. this room had became your home away from home, a place that you felt truly comfortable in. meanwhile, veritas settled into a chair, crossing his legs, watching you with a discerning gaze.

" ah, it's so good to be home ! " you whined, pulling a pillow from the bed into your arms, snuggling with it against your chest. " i have been running around like a dog ! world after world, to every corner of the universe, it seems ! " you looked over to veritas, unable to hide your smile, although you were trying to act depressed. " but i suppose i can't be too mad at it, since i enjoy it. what about you, my dearest ? how are your students treating you ? have you been letting more than 3% graduate this year, or is your strictness the focus of the class still ? "

with your attention on him, he feigned sympathy for you, listening intently. his lips twitched into a smile at your dramatization, unable to resist poking fun at you. " oh, the hardships of exploring the universe. truly, a terrible fate, " he deadpans, his voice holding no hint of amusement, although you had gotten used to his dry humor by now. he leaned back, his voice holding a hint of his usual demeanor.

" my students always struggle to meet my expectations. however, a diligent student shall always prosper under my guidance. "

" ah ! perhaps i should take a visit during one of your lectures ? i could whip the students into shape, you never know ! " you teased, rolling onto your tummy, your arms folding underneath your head as you looked up at him, kicking your feet.

he chuckled, raising an eyebrow at your suggestion. " i fear your interference might only worsen matters. they wouldn't stand a chance against you, " he seemed to miss the spark in your eyes until it was too late. your hand reached out, gently grabbing his from his spot in his chair, pulling him until he stood up and got closer to the bed.

" sit, veritas, " you commanded gently, patting the bed with your free hand next to you. " you are far too away. " you picked yourself up to face him properly, on your knees on the edge of the bed as you pulled him into a brief hug, which he reciprocated almost immediately after a moment's hesitation. " i missed you, veritas. these last three months have made it feel like forever since i was back in the intelligentsia guild. "

veritas relaxed into your embrace, his arms curling around you, the tension in his body easing. " indeed, the last three months have dragged on without you. your absence is palpable in my life. i'm.. glad to have you back, even if only for a little while. " he pulled away from your hold, his eyes searching yours, the sincerity in his voice unmistakable.

you couldn't help but laugh a little bit, your gaze soft as you admired your best friend. " ah, the great veritas ratio, renowned doctor and scholar of the cosmos, and yet, his best friend is not a scholar, nor a doctor, and i have only graduated once, unlike my dear veritas who's graduated over eight times. we are so different, and yet, he can't ever seem to shake me off of his tail. a pity, really, or is it ? i think i keep things interesting here. you would get bored if i wasn't here to occupy you, surely. "

" indeed, i find myself eternally cursed with your companionship, " veritas quipped, a note of fondness in the jest as his hand moved from your back to your cheek, gently caressing it with his thumb as he held the side of your face. you nuzzled into his touch almost immediately, your eyes closed. " a fate worse than death, no doubt. yet somehow, i survive. "

this is always how it goes: you make it back, and within the hour, the two of you trap yourselves in the bedroom to share in each other's presence to alleviate the stress of being away from one another for so long. both of you yield to the familiar routine, your bodies responding instinctively to the invitation. your world shrinks to the confines of the bedroom, to his arms, and to this moment.

you hesitated, your gaze flickering down to his lips as you looked at him, but you quickly looked back into his eyes, your words soft as you laughed. " ah ! consider me your own personal devil, keeping you forever by my side. "

you were just friends, right ?

so why were his lips on yours before you could recognize what was happening ? and why were you melting into the kiss, your arms keeping his body close to yours, your kiss deepening, his hands finding purchase on your hips, anchoring you to him. you reveled in the fire ignited by your passion, causing you to gently moan against his lips.

" ver-veritas- " you moaned out against his lips, your eyes fluttering closed as you allowed him to kiss you like this, a kiss that started off smooth and gentle, but got rougher as it progressed, more needy, more desperate. until your lips were sloppily smashed together, your hands grabbing at his vest, hands bunching up in the fabric. his robe slipped off of his shoulders and now hung lazily at his waist, just waiting for him to take his belt off so he could take it all off.

veritas took this time to grab you and push you onto your back on the bed, your legs spread willingly, inviting him closer. his assertiveness surprises you, but you welcome it wholeheartedly, the change in situations so swift that it threw you for a loop. had he seen you look at his lips so briefly ? what was getting into this man ? you did not take veritas for the kind of man to lose his control, and yet here he was, hovering on top of you, his body trapping yours.

he calls your name, his voice thick with emotion, betraying his usual persona. he gazes at you, his eyes mirroring his actions, the want in his eyes obvious. " i'm.. unable to escape you, indeed. but it's a gravitational pull that i find myself willingly falling into. you drive me mad. in ways i'm sure you find delightful. " his fingers trail down your sides, lingering on your hips, holding you firmly, his fingers digging into your body slightly. " let me have you. please. "

everything froze for you, and yet, you relented power to him, more than a little glad to be under his command. you were used to being the one in control during your day to day life - you're loud, commanding, and you have a million opinions that you need to voice. you were a chatterbox, and had a penchant for the love of doing stuff a little on the wild side.

there was only one person who could ever properly control you, properly tame you. he was veritas ratio, your best friend. you trusted him with your life, so you knew you were safe in his command. " mm- veritas, " you whispered softly, your fingers working on his vest, pulling it off of his body, your hands now roaming his naked torso, admiring the muscles underneath your fingertips. " you sure do know how to make a person want you, you know that ? " you teased, picking your head up from the pillow to trail kisses down his neck, " or perhaps, it's just me ? "

veritas' breath hitches, a hint of satisfaction coloring his tone. " its you, " he admitted, his hands working to undo his belt, letting his robes completely fall off of his body, the fabric being thrown onto the floor below you, before he started to work on your clothes, peeling off each layer with a haste that left you breathless. his hands roamed freely now, mapping your body with reverence.

" for tonight, you are mine, " veritas whispered, his proclamation of your body left in the air. " in every sense of the word. i want you, i want to lose myself in you. " he leaned down, each word punctuated by a kiss on your collarbone. " just as i've lost myself in countless debates and lectures, you are my focus. my obsession. "

you may be navigating new waters together, but it felt like a natural progression, the passion filling both of you up completely, pushing you past the brink. amidst the laughter and subtle flirtation, neither of you were even aware of the desires building up between the two of you until it spilled over. each touch, each whispered word, carried the weight of your connection. he pressed a tender kiss to your shoulder, relishing in the feel of your skin under his lips. " shall we proceed, or do you wish to draw this out further ? "

the two of you were completely naked now, your clothing long forgotten. you were reveling in the rushed, needy connection the two of you shared. you pulled him closer into another kiss, your hips bucking up into his hand as it hovered over your vulnerable hole. " you're the only one i want to do with with, veritas. please, you can.. take me, if you would like. please, touch me. " you pleaded, your voice cracking, showcasing the needy, desperate person underneath all of your confidence. now that you were done with the theatrics, your need for him was on display. you were striped bare, both physically and emotionally.

" please, " you whimpered, your hips bucking up again to meet his hand, hoping for just a little friction. " i need you to fuck me, veritas. i need to feel you inside of me. "

" how could i deny you ? " veritas whispered back, his breath hitched at your plea. he dipped a single digit into your warm and willing hole, his finger moving slowly at first, testing your readiness for him. then, he picked up the pace gradually, adding a second digit as he began a rhythm. you moaned, throwing your head back in pleasure as he finally gave you a taste of what you so desperately craved.

" please, " you urged once more, your pleas falling on receptive ears, although you weren't sure what you were asking for this time. yet, there's no rush in his movements, every caress of his calculated to heighten your desire further. your walls contracted around his fingers, so tight that it was hard for him to even thrust his finger inside of you, your body warm and inviting.

" your reactions make me.. greedy for more, " he admitted, his fingers deep inside of you, drawing another round of moans from you as you felt the familiar coil build up within your tummy. your heart pounds, synching with his rhythmic thrusts as he fucked your hole with his fingers. " you're ready for me, aren't you ? " veritas asked, his voice laced with expectation as you nodded helplessly.

you spread your legs for him willingly, pulling your knees up to your chest, giving him the perfect access to your body. " please, fuck me, veritas. " you begged, giving him enthusiastic consent to continue and pleasure you both, hissing as he withdrew his fingers. he positioned himself properly in between your legs, his gaze fixed on your face, as he guided himself into your hole.

you whimpered, your eyes rolling back as he entered you inch by inch, slowly penetrating you. his cock was so much bigger than your fingers, and it stretched you out as far as you could take it, your walls constricting around him, as if to milk his orgasm out of him immediately. " fuck..! fuck, you feel so good inside of me, veritas ! " you cried out.

veritas holds still for a moment, letting you adjust to his size, fighting the urge to thrust wildly. " relax, darling, " he instructs, his voice firm but gentle, " let me ease into you properly. "

as he finally sheathes himself inside of you completely, you couldn't help but grab at his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin. " f-fuck- " you cried out, as his hips began a slow roll, each movement calculated, as if he were afraid of hurting you.

" control, veritas, " he whispered to himself as if he needed a reminder, his breath ragged, " don't lose control yet. "

your eyes followed the path of his body as his cock disappeared into you, and then resurfaced. veritas struggled to maintain control, his fingers digging into your thighs, keeping them pressed against your chest and spread for him. " our bodies were made for each other, " veritas' possession of you was clear, and you didn't argue with him, knowing he was right.

each thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure through your body as you writhed underneath him, " you fill me up so, so nicely, veritas, " you gasped as he fucked you gently. you knew he was trying hard to control himself, desperate not to lose himself in you, but you had already long gave up control, and you wanted him to as well. " i-i want you to fuck me so hard i'm seeing stars, veritas. please, " you begged, moans slipping from your lips with every thrust of his.

veritas' breathing becomes erratic, your pleas for roughness seeping into his mind, breaking down his barriers. " oh, fuck- " he groans, his voice low and gruff, " what have you done to me ? " without warning, his hips piston faster, his movements becoming more forceful. you asked to be fucked stupid, and he's all too eager to oblige.

" fu-fuck..! just like that, veritas ! " you cried out, your body responding to his new pace, his thrusts becoming sharper. with each thrust inside of you, your moans grew louder, fueling your mutual desires. you felt the coil build up again, threatening to spill over at any moment. your entire body tensed at the prospect of an orgasm, your mind going hazy as you lost yourself in his body.

" does this satisfy you ? " he breaths against your skin, his voice laden with lust, as you nod eagerly, unable to manage a coherent sentence, " i'm almost there, please. just hold on a bit longer. " he could feel you nearing the precipice. your bodies move in sync, your connection electric as you adjusted to each other's needs, learning each other's bodies like you knew each other's minds.

" ready for me, darling ? " veritas leaned forward, spreading your legs further apart so he had access to your face, his lips pressing against yours in a sloppy kiss. " i'm so close- fuck- "

your body responded eagerly, your back arching towards him, and you whimpered against his lips, your mouth open to let him kiss you, drooling slightly. " i- i am too, veri- fill me up, make me yours..! " you couldn't hold on anymore, your orgasm exploding inside of you, causing you to moan helplessly against him, your bodies becoming one entirely. he couldn't control himself anymore, his hips meeting yours as his eyes shut for a moment, his jaw clenching, wanting to prolong this for as long as possible, but he couldn't hold it back anymore.

" i- fuck, " he growled, pulling out of you, his hand dropping from your thigh to his cock, stroking himself for a moment as he milked his orgasm out of himself, his cum splattering all over your stomach and chest, his chest rising and falling as he caught his breath, both of you finally coming back down from the high of being with each other in such an intimate way.

" ve-veri.. " you whispered a little, your legs dropping down, hurting from where they had been bent so far for so long. you both knew what this meant, and for the first time in a really long time, you were at a loss for words. you had no idea what to say to him, how to even approach the conversation that the two of you were going to undoubtedly need.

but somehow, you weren't worried. this was veritas, this felt natural. he leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss on your cheek. " let's discuss it after our bath, no ? i believe we have a lot to talk about. "

sure. you could handle a bath with veritas.

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook

𝐒𝐞𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐀𝐧𝐱𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐲 | Part 3

How is he going to pull himself out of this one, when the signs all point to one thing?

Tags/Warnings: Game Designer!Jungkook, Non Idol AU, established relationship, Angst [Tags will be different for every part!]

Length: 1k Words

There is no taglist for this fic.

Collab with @euphoricfilter ! 💜

-> Masterlist

A/N: hitting you with the double angst spicy meal today yum yum yum

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

Going out without Jungkook isn't really fun at all- especially not when you're mad at him, and didn't even plan on going out anyways.

But you've been hoping at least a little bit deep down that it would help him realize that you're not gonna just stay home and be his maid all day- something that apparently had become his new reality. And when you come back home, there's hope- the lights are still on, bedroom door open as well. Has he been waiting? Is he gonna apologize for once?

You technically learned to always expect the unexpected with him during your relationship, but nothing could've prepared you for the sight you're witnessing inside the shared room- because he's fast asleep, snuggled beneath the covers as if there's nothing wrong at all.

The crushing devastation of that alone, the fact that he can just sleep while you've always stayed up, mind unable to rest if he's not in sight or near you, just too much to handle. You've got half a mind to just throw him out the bed, but he's got his weight and amount of hours in the gym on his side- it'd be too much of a hassle, and right now, you really don't want to deal with him any longer. So you just turn off the lights, take some blankets, and close the door to make yourself comfortable on the couch for tonight instead.

You just can't take this anymore.

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

The next morning he's out already, having left you a note in messy handwriting about something needing to be shipped out, so he'd be back later today after bringing the packages to the post office. There's a wonky looking crying face drawn next to a 'sorry for last night', and you just crumple up the note to throw it into the trash, since that's all his words are to you at this point.

There has to be a reason he's acting like that- and you want to figure it out, even if you don't like what you'll discover.

Booting up his pc would take way too long since you're not sure how long he's gonna be out- and you also feel a little bad about invading his privacy like that, so you instead occupy yourself with putting the blankets away and at least making yourself late breakfast. But the laptop on the kitchen counter, left by him probably in a hurry, is too enticing to ignore.

It's still on standby too, blinking light on the side taunting you to open it up.

Giving into temptation, you open it- just to be faced with a screen that tells you it's locked by the main administrator. A passcode? Since when did he have that?

Jungkook and you have never really hidden anything from one another. He knows the passcode to your phone, and he even has your fingerprint and face-ID saved on his own- so why the sudden secrecy? It's clear from yesterday that he's keeping something from you, and you're not sure how to feel about that. Is he..

no. He wouldn't. Right?

Then again, he really just went from having sex almost daily and clinging to you at random times a day to zero libido and no interest whatsoever- so there must be something going on. Is he getting his fill somewhere else? Has he found someone who can love him better than you?

"I'm ba- oh?" He looks at you like the deer caught in the headlights same eyes and all, frozen in his spot as he caught you in the act, your angry face and stance obviously signaling your unhappiness still. Well, what did he think was going to happen? That you'd just accept his antics and not ask any questions? That some pancakes from your favorite place down the street are just gonna solve the situation he himself has been creating?

....a little. But he's not that stupid.

You storm off without a word, as he sighs and runs a hand over his face, putting the pancakes on the kitchen counter to instead shower first, needing to get his head free and reset his body so he can figure out a way to at least pacify your rage for now. He's so close to finally getting it done- you'll just have to wait a little longer, and he's gonna make it all worth it.

But to you, his shower doesn't look like just a need for a physical reset- it just seems to add color to your worst fear that's been brewing beneath your skin, poisoning the blood in your veins.

And when you take his phone from the bed, you're slapped right across the face again- as the phone doesn't recognize it at all, the password you're tapping in wrong just as much, causing the phone to vibrate and demand a proper input. This is stupid. Why is he suddenly hiding his every move it feels like? It can't be anything other than that- and yet you want to think it's not it. That he's not this heartless. He's always been a romantic and obsessed with true love- granted, his idea of romance was a little odd, but it was still uniquely his, and always honest and genuine.

He used to care about you so much. Where did that go?

When he steps out the shower, the round eyes make an appearance again, body running ice cold at the sight of you sitting on his bed with his phone in your hand. Fuck- what's he going to do now?

"Since when did you change your passcode?" You want to know, voice a lot more fragile than you hoped it would be. You don't want to seem so weak in front of him now. You want to scream and yell, in fact. Punch his stupid pretty face until he feels just as hurt as you do in this moment.

His lips part, but he's not saying anything.

"And since when did you lock your laptop?" You ask, but still- he doesn't give you an answer at all as he instead nervously licks his lips, and plays with the piercings.

And then, his phone vibrates- and it shows that he's not been as thorough in hiding as he thought he was. Because the messages and notifications are still displayed. And this message makes your stomach drop as you read it.

[Maria: Alright, I'm so excited! Next time let's d...]

[pokeshippingweek]

POKESHIPPING WEEK 2024!

It's that time again, pokeshippers!

Last year, we announced that the format of Pokeshipping Week - one theme per day - was getting retired. We also said that we'd still put on a celebration of some kind going forward. Well, the time is here, and I'm happy to announce that we are planning a pokeshipping zine...next year!

If you'll forgive the bait-and-switch there, we have seriously talked about doing a zine, but time got away from us this summer. So, while we do hope to tackle that undertaking in 2025, for this year, we're planning what you might call an open Pokeshipping Week!

How does it work, you ask? Simple: over the years, you all have submitted a lot of potential themes for Pokeshipping Week. For every seven that got chosen each year, plenty were left behind. Well, now you can fill November 1 to 7 with art, fics, AMVs, GIFs, graphics, etc., all about our favorite Poke-couple, using any seven you'd like from the unused themes list.

Any and all contributions are welcome, and if they're tagged #pokeshipping week 2024, we'll reblog them here and on the main @pokeshipping blog. Besides Tumblr, we’ll keep our eyes out for the tag on Twitter and DeviantART for artwork, for fanfics on FF.Net and AO3, and for AMVs on YouTube (no NSFW, please).

The full list of unused themes (from years 2020 through 2023) is below the "Read More" break. Use, combine, and create as your heart desires, and we'll see you November 1!

A bad fight A day in the life  A never-ending road A ship full of shippers Alola sunset scene Amusement park Anime characters meet their game/manga counterparts Anniversary Art classes together/Drawing each other Ash and Misty in Sinnoh Ash’s hat Avatar: The Last Airbender AU Birthdays  Breakup Cameran Palace ball (as in Movie 8) Celebrating Celebrities Champions/Masters  Cheerleader Misty Childhood sweethearts Chocolate Comfort during a natural disaster Comforting each other Competition Confiding in one another Cooking disaster Costumes Criminal/Detective Crossover Crossover with game/manga-verse D&D Dealing with Team Rocket’s teasing in “A Scare in the Air” Dewpider/Araquanid Different hairstyle Disaster dates  Disney AU Double dating Elder years  Elders Ash and Misty Evolution Fairy tales/Fantasy AU Fankids Fireworks First day on the job Food Fortune-telling/foresight Game of Thrones AU Giving advice to a younger generation Grey hair Gym leader Ash/beginner Misty Halloween/horror/ghost story Hanahaki disease Handkerchief Happily Ever After/Fairy Tales Hiding Hogwarts AU Horizons Hot tub/Hot springs If Ash heard Misty’s Song If Ash or Misty weren’t from Kanto If Ash started his journey at 16 or older If Ash’s journey had ended after winning the Indigo League (in season 1) If Misty caught Lapras If one came from another region If their parents met If they didn’t meet on Ash’s first day In-universe Pokéshippers Intimacy Japanese-style confessional love letter JRPG AU (ie, Final Fantasy, Dragon Quest, Monster Hunter, etc.) Karaoke Ladybug and Chat Noir Last goodbyes Learning a different language Lost Pikachu Love Letter  Love triangle Lovers across the multiverse Lovestruck (if Ash acted like Brock) Meeting the parents/relatives Mewtwo Strikes Back alternate ending Misty and other Pokégirls discuss their loved ones together Misty meets Goh and Chloe Misty overcoming her fear of Bug-types Misty the coordinator Misty’s Bug-type phobia Mixtape/playlist  Mystery dungeon Nervous Ash  Never have I ever Other Pokemon games AU (Detective Pikachu/Pokemon Masters/etc) Out of their element  Overprotective Misty  Perspective of Oak Ranch Pokémon on their relationship Photo shoot Pirates Plot twist Pokemon daycare Pokémon Mystery Dungeon AU PokéNav communication/Video calling Possessed/evil Misty Pregnancy/Birth Pro-gamers Puberty Reappearance of Ash’s father and/or Misty’s parents Regency Era Romance  Return to Orange Islands Romeo and Juliet Sci-fi AU Scuba diving Secret identity/superhero AU Slow Slumber party Spies AU Stargazing Studio Ghibli AU Sunshine and Rain  Superhero AU Swimming lessons Sygna suits Tabletop RPG AU Taller (height differences)  Tauros ranchers Ash and Misty Time capsule Training together Umbrella Vacation Visiting Oak’s ranch  Water and electricity/water and fire What if Ash didn’t take Misty’s bike? Yoga together Z-ring/Mega Stone

[sugarcoatedstarkey]

Tear stained pillow case

Pairings- Drew Starkey x Fem!reader

Summary- reader is in a long distance relationship with Drew and the constant shipping of him with his cast mate (Odessa) and hate get to her.

Warnings- Angst, yelling, swearing, a smidge of domestic abuse, cheating.

A/n: to the anon who requested a sad Drew fic, I’m sorry this isn’t the best. I hope I kind of got what you were looking for but I need to work on my angst! Please send me a message when you read this xxx

“YOU, you can’t keep going on like this?!” You shouted; anger bled through your veins. You felt sick, the bile rising in your throat. “You’ve got to be fucking joking me!”.

The nerve of your boyfriend, he spends months away from home. Spends every waking minute with his co-star Odessa, he kisses his co-star off screen and he’s the one who can’t keep going on?!

“Yes Y/N” Drew begins to argue, you cut him off by throwing his pillow at him. He doesn't even flinch, his face screwed up in anger. “No Drew, I’m not fucking done” you yell, you look crazy.

You look like the crazy jealous girlfriend his fans had painted you out to be, and you had every right to be.

“You don’t get to put this shit on me Drew, YOU KISSED HER!”.

-Previously-

You couldn’t take it anymore; his face was all over your FYP. You were stupid enough to create a TikTok account, scrolling endlessly and searching the tags for your boyfriend Drew.

You knew what you would see, thirst traps and edits of him and his cast mate Odessa. Edits of the sex scenes they had to film, everyone shipping them together. You were trying to make yourself hurt, you sat there reading the comments. Reading the hateful things they said about you, the words cutting you like tiny knives.

Ugly

Not good enough for Drew

She’s not even famous

Fat

You were ugly crying at this point, unsure why you put yourself through the pain day in day out. Drew had told you a handful of times not to go searching for these things, to pretend like the fans didn’t exist.

But how could he expect you to pretend? He was famous and there was no hiding it. He had been away for 3 months now; you had a routine of face timing every night around 6pm, but tonight was different. He had an event. An event with Odessa.

“GOD Y/N! What are you doing?!” You shouted, staring up at the ceiling. You roughly rubbed your face, your mascara smearing under your eyes. The tears didn’t stop falling down your cheeks. “STOP!” You ordered yourself, but it only made it worse.

Hyperventilating at this stage, gripping the blankets under you. Pressing your face into the white pillowcase, you were pathetic. A pathetic mess. You were so glad Drew was 12 hours away, there was no chance he’d walk through the doors and see you right now.

You hated that you were being so jealous, you knew he loved you. He adored you. Whenever someone tries to hint at him and Odessa in interviews, he always mentions you, you’re all over his Instagram.

You had never met Odessa; you never had the opportunity to. You did think that meeting her might make you feel less jealous, seeing how they act together in person and not from stupid TikTok clips that were edited purely to make people think they were together.

Your phone ringing cuts your crying short, you sit up quickly and reached for your phone. Seeing his face flash on the screen had you nervous, your skin clammy and heart racing.

You wiped away as much mascara as possible and dimmed the bedside lamp, pressing answer on the screen. His smile appearing on your screen moments later, he was in dark room with a small yellow overhead light.

“Hi baby” he grinned; you could see the glimmer in his eyes. You wanted to burst out crying again but instead you dig your fingernails in your thigh and gave him a fake smile. “Hey baby” you whispered, worried your voice would be husky from all the screaming and crying.

“Why is it so dark?” He questioned, his eyes darting around the screen as though he was trying to look over your shoulder. You shrugged and moved to lay on your stomach. “Going to bed early” your voice cracked, and you quickly hid it behind a cough, you could see a shift in his face.

“What’s wrong babe?” He questions, his eyebrows crease together. He looks over his phone for a second and mouths ‘hold on’ and his eyes dart back to you on the screen. “Nothing, I’m okay. You need to go babe, we can talk later” you smile, brushing him off, you wanted to go back to your sob fess.

“Your lying” he states, his features have hardened. You know he doesn’t like it when you keep things from him, he likes you to be open about your feelings. But right now, you didn’t have the energy to discuss why you were spending your Saturday night crying in bed at 6pm.

“Babe, we can talk about it when your home” “No, tell me now”

“Drew!” His eyes dart over his phone again and he lets out an exasperated sigh, he runs his hand over his face and squeezes the bridge of him nose.

It’s as though you can see the tension building in his shoulder blades, you so badly wanted to be there to offer him comfort. You wanted to be the one to rub his shoulders and whisper ‘you got this’

“Okay, I’ve got to go. I’ll call you tomorrow”.

He ends the call without an I love you, that just sets you off again and you spend the next 2 hours crying your eyes out until you pass out against his pillow.

—-

When you awaken the next morning, you’ve rolled over onto Drew’s side of the bed. Squeezing his pillow tightly against your body. Breathing in his scent that barely lingered anymore.

“Such a loser” you mumble to yourself; you reach for your phone that’s hidden under the blankets.

No notifications

You let out a defeated sigh and make yourself get ready for the day; you had planned to clean the apartment. Drew would be home in a few days, and you wanted him to come home to some normality.

And that’s exactly how you spent your Sunday, cleaning and staying off your phone. It was much harder to do the latter, you were itching to call Drew.

You usually sent texts back and forth every day, sent a couple of pics and just tried not to go crazy without one another. You had hoped listening to music and keeping you busy would stop the incessant thoughts that were flying around your head.

But you found yourself battling with your thoughts more than listening to the music. By the time nightfall came you had scrubbed every corner of the apartment. You had lit a candle in the living room and taken a seat when your phone lit up, the music travelling through the empty room.

You answer, plastering a smile on your face. He gives you a soft smile, he’s dressed in a green button up. The button up you had brought him for his birthday, you loved that colour oh him.

“Hey babe” you both say at the same time, letting out a chuckle at the two of you being awkward around each other. “How are you?” You ask, eyes flickering around the screen.

You can’t see much from where he is sat, you can hear voices and assume he’s just got back from the poguelandia event. You don’t even realise he hasn’t answered, too focused on who’s voice you can hear so close to the phone.

That’s when you look back at him, he’s not even looking at the phone. He’s looking over it again, mourning something and rolling his eyes.

“Why are you acting strange?”

“I’m not?”

“Okay.. why do you keep looking over the phone?”

“Oh, just watching something”

I’m that moment you knew something was going on, Drew always gave you his undivided attention even when he was mad. You didn’t like this, it made you feel sick again.

You were so sick of feeling unwell and anxious. “I’m going to bed”

Drew nods his head and finally looks at you, you press the end call button. You didn’t want to look at his face, you didn’t want to hear his voice. You wouldn’t be able to handle not hearing I love you back. It was easier this way.

You don’t know why you do it, but you don’t go to bed. Instead, you go searching on tiktok again. And that’s where you see it, the videos from poguelandia.

How close he and Odessa are, the way she dances with him. The whispering, the walking close together. You knew it, you just needed confirmation. He liked her, he didn’t want to be with you anymore and that’s why he’s distancing himself.

The tears don’t come though, your body seems to go into denial. Your stomach still unsettled, and your mouth feels dry but you place your phone on the counter and stare at the wall.

- 2 days dater -

“Hey, babe” you’re aroused from sleep, somebody shaking your arms. You jump, gripping the blankets around your chest. “Oh, it’s you”.

“Don’t seem so happy to see me?”

You don’t answer him, instead you stare at him. He takes a seat at the edge of the bed; he smells like the cologne you had brought him for his birthday.

He showered and is dressed in jeans and an oversized white shirt, hair a little messy since he’s growing it out for a project. “I missed you” Drew smiles, it’s a fake smile. You can tell them apart now.

He moves to give you a kiss, but you press your palm to his shoulder, giving your head a small shake.

You’re not dressed for an argument, so you pull yourself to stand and grab an oversized shirt. Not really sure if it’s one of yours or Drew’s but it really didn’t matter at the time.

“What’s wrong babe?” He questions, pulling himself to stand. He towers over you, making you feel small. The tough exterior you had been working on, crumbling slowly.

“Stop calling me babe... just, tell me the truth Drew”.

You don’t even need to clarify what you’re talking about; he runs a palm down his face. He begins to pace the bedroom floor; you had hoped he would deny it.

“I knew it”.

“It was a kiss” Drew states, your heart breaks. You feel as though you can physically hear the cracking of your heart, the bile rises in your throat and the tears pierce your tear ducts begging to be released.

“W-what?” You whisper, your voice wobbles. Your hands shaking as you move to hold yourself against the desk chair. You needed stability or you’d fall to your knees.

“I kissed Odessa, the night of poguelandia”

Your nails carve deep crescent moons into the wooden chair, your chest rising and falling heavier as you try to calm yourself down.

You can’t let yourself fall apart in front of him, he didn’t deserve to see you crumble.

“What the fuck Drew?” You yell, but your voice cracks and you slam your palm over your mouth to stop the hysterics from starting.

Turning your body so you’re not looking at him as the tears cascade down the apples of your cheeks, biting harshly on the skin of your lip. The familiar metallic taste fill your senses.

“It meant nothing”

“FUCK OFF with it meant nothing, why did you do it then?!”

This just seems to set him off, igniting something inside of him that he’s been holding onto for a long time. He’s stepping towards you and you’re taking steps back.

You’re back meeting the wall as he towers over you once more, making you feel smaller than you were. “Because Y/N, you’ve been acting weird. You’ve been distant and quiet; you’ve been making me feel bad for having a career”.

His voice is low and threatening, his hand hits at the wall behind you. You push on his chest, making him stumble back slightly.

“No Drew, I would NEVER make you feel bad for your career choice. However, I would distance myself so that I wasn’t sitting at home crying over you every night, missing you. Wishing I was with you, do you know how hard it is for me?!” You cry, you poke at his chest with your pointer finger. His larger hand grabbing yours to stop you from doing it.

You fight against him until he drops your hand, and you step away from him, your cheeks burnt red with frustration.

“How hard you’ve got it? What about me Y/N? Why is it always about you? I’m the one having to leave, do you know how hard that is on me?”

You shake your head, of course he was turning this all back around to the two of your issues. Acting as though kissing Odessa was okay, that it was just something he needed to do to forget about the issue at home.

“Don’t, don’t bring up all this. You kissed another woman; this is on you. Yea we have problems, every couple does. Yeah, we all have it hard, doesn’t make it okay for you to kiss your co-star” you shout.

You grab your phone; you don’t know why you want to add fuel to the fire. You’re on tiktok before you can rationalise with your brain, the second you’re on the app. The videos are there waiting.

“You see the shit that I have to deal with, go on, watch it”.

You throw the phone across the bed, his eyes falling to the screen of the iPhone. The video loops over the two of them dancing and whispering at the event, you can see him swallow harshly.

“This is a fan editing videos- “Drew begins to argue, and you let out a grunt of frustration, running your hands through your messy bed head.

“I can’t keep going on like this”

“YOU, you can’t keep going on like this?!” You shouted; anger bled through your veins. You felt sick, the bile rising in your throat. “You’ve got to be fucking joking me!”.

The nerve of your boyfriend, he spends months away from home. Spends every waking minute with his co-star Odessa, he kisses his co-star off screen and he’s the one who can’t keep going on?!

“Yes Y/N” Drew begins to argue, you cut him off by throwing his pillow at him. He doesn't even flinch, his face screwed up in anger. “No Drew, I’m not fucking done” you yell, you look crazy.

You knew you looked like the crazy jealous girlfriend his fans had painted you out to be, and you had every right to be. Your boyfriend of three years had kissed someone who wasn’t you and it wasn’t for a movie.

“You don’t get to put this shit on me Drew, YOU KISSED HER!” You cry, you can’t stop the tears now. You’re hyperventilating again, pressing the palms of your hands into your eyes.

He’s stepping around the bed and pulling you against his chest, you want to fight against him. You want to tell him to get out of the apartment.

But you also want to beg him to stay, beg him to stop seeing Odessa. Beg him to start fresh with you, move on and be happy.

“This is the end, isn’t it?” He questions, you pull away from him slightly. Mascara pooling in your lower lashes, you probably should have washed that off before you went to bed.

“It has to be” you breath, tears begin to fall from his own eyes. This only makes you hysterical, sobbing into his chest as he holds you tighter. You don’t even want him to let go.

“I’ll always love you Y/N, I’ll always think about you when I walk past a bookstore or see those fancy chocolate donuts in the bakery down town” he whispers, his lips are pressed against your hair. His grip is tight around your body, he doesn’t want to let go either.

“I was lucky enough to love you, I’ll always remember that” You whisper, tears fall harder as you look at one another.

“Oh.. if we are doing the right thing, why does it hurt so much?”

“I don’t know”

His thumb wipes away the tears on your cheek, pressing his forehead to yours. You let him kiss you one last time. His lips are soft, and they feel like they always do, they were made for you.

“I should go... I’m so sorry Y/N, truly so sorry”.

You watch him leave, you wait for the front door to close and that’s when you let yourself fall. Knees meeting the hardwood floor, the draft from under the bedroom door kiss your toes. You let out a gut-wrenching sob, praying he would come back and fight.

Taglist- @novxturient @kookypogue111

Part 2

[wwinterwitch]

new vows – din djarin x gn!reader

summary: the first time din ever removed his helmet in front of you

pairing: din djarin x gn!reader (no pronouns used)

word count: 2.5k

warnings and tags: fluff and angst + good ending, insecure!din, established relationship, kissing, the helmet's removed, doesn't follow the plot of the show at all (it's just din, reader and grogu being a happy family)

author's note: oof i hate how this turned out but my best friend read it and told me to post it so here we are, i hope it doesn't suck as much as i think it does

a reblog and/or comment on my posts really help me out as a content creator so thank you in advance if you take the time to do either!

navigation | pedro's characters masterlist | star wars masterlist

Din was observing you and Grogu from the entrance of the Razor Crest, arms crossed across his chest as he leaned against one of the walls of the ship. He smiles to himself when he hears the child giggling after you put a flower at the top of his little head, immediately reaching out with some difficulty to grab a flower from the ground and offering it to you.

"Thank you, Grogu. It's very pretty!" you say to the baby, who looked absolutely thrilled to realize you liked his gift. 

The kid stands from the ground, lifting both of his arms as a sign that he wants to be carried. Already familiar with the gesture, you quickly lift him up from the ground before laying on your back in the middle of the landscape filled with lilac and light pink flowers. The baby giggles again, holding onto you as you both lay there.

Din's smile fades just enough shortly after that when the inevitable thought pops in his head again. That annoying and sudden thought that always makes an appearance during the day. 

At first he didn't mind, finding ways to always push it away before it got to him. However, it's been more and more frequent these past couple of days and it's becoming a bad habit he seems unable to control at this point, and it's starting to really annoy him.

His mind is filled with all these doubts and insecurities. Not only because of the content of what he's thinking, but because it's completely impossible to push it away now. Almost like an avalanche, it falls down the mountain at a rapid, devastating speed and it only seems to get bigger as minutes pass. It destroys everything in its way. In this case, the prime and only victim is Din.

Perhaps the worst part is that it always ruins what should be pleasant moments. If Grogu is looking up at him from the ground begging to be carried, the thought is there. Whenever you wrap your arms around him or grab his hand when the two of you are exploring yet a new planet, it's there. Even when he's trying to sleep right next to you, hearing the faint sounds of the baby already asleep, you can bet that thought will be there to torture him.

Because all of those little moments he shares with his partner and son remind him of the fact that neither of them even know who he is. Sure, they know how he is, but not who.

Every touch is not really a touch, it's just skin brushing against a uniform. Every exchange has a helmet hiding his features. They can hear him laugh, but they don't see his eyes squinting just enough and the smile that adorns his face. They can hear him remind them of his never-ending love for them, but they don't get to look into his eyes as he says it.

And it hurts because his mind has tricked him to believe none of those moments are real. Because they've never seen the man that claims to care for them so much, none of it is genuine. It's just touching a uniform and hearing empty words coming from a helmet. It almost makes him feel like a droid rather than a human, leaving him longing for that real connection. 

He knows he probably shouldn't, but he craves that actual contact, which is something he never felt before you two showed up in his life. 

Being a Mandalorian and living by their code was easy. He never even considered breaking his vow because nothing and no one was ever worth it. What could possibly be more important than this? That's what he would always ask himself and he wasn't able to come up with an answer– until you and Grogu showed up.

Now that you two are here, it's obvious to him that his priorities have changed. He wants to commit to an entirely new code. To prove his undying fidelity to his family and make a vow to the two of you.

But that brings another set of insecurities that make this entire situation a lot more difficult for him. As much as he needs to truly feel connected to you, he's terrified of what that connection means. It's obvious that in order to obtain that, he needs to take off his uniform. Most precisely, his helmet– which is something he has never done in front of anyone. Ever.

So that's when his mind is yet again filled with negative thoughts. What if you don't like what's under the helmet? What if you already have a picture of him in your head and he disappoints you because he looks nothing like it? What if you suddenly don't love him anymore because he's not what you expected at all? And what if Grogu rejects him too? He couldn't deal with either of you not liking what has been hiding underneath all the Beskar.

That's the complicated mess that's been haunting him for a few weeks. That inner struggle he has tried to keep hidden from the two of you. Should the helmet stay on despite being an obstacle to reach the depths of connection he needs to have with his family, or should he remove it and risk rejection? Is it better to settle or search for more?

He feels pathetic. The supposedly fearless bounty hunter is terrified of even thinking about taking a risk. Going on adventures used to be a lifestyle. Now, the mere idea of it is enough to fill his mind with self-doubt, making it almost impossible for him to make a decision.

He thought about it later that day when the three of you were already inside the Razor Crest and getting ready to go to bed, really considering his options and trying to create different outcomes to this hypothetical conversation that kept playing inside his head.

You were telling Grogu a bedtime story when Din joined the two of you. He sat on the bed and listened to you speak as he watched the baby, who was struggling to keep his eyes open at that point, holding onto the little blanket covering his body. 

By the time the story was over, Grogu was already completely asleep. You carefully brushed his face with your pointer finger in an affectionate manner, smiling down at him before focusing on Din.

"Ready to go to bed?" you asked.

"You'll tell me a bedtime story too?"

The comment made you laugh. "I think you're a little old for bedtime stories."

"Ouch. I'm not old."

"I said a little old," you quickly correct, putting both of your hands on his shoulders. He quickly lifted a hand that was resting on your hip a few seconds later. "Not the same as just old."

You smile down at him as he gently caresses you from your hip all the way down your thigh before his gloved fingers trails back up. Your smile inevitably takes him to the dark corners of his mind again because he knows you won't be able to see him smiling back at you.

His next words came out very impulsively. "Can we talk?"

Evidently, you were a little concerned after hearing that given the tone he used. "Is there something wrong?"

"I've just been thinking a lot lately...there's something that's been bothering me and it won't leave my head."

"Okay..." you said, trying to be receptive to what he was saying but still having no idea of what's going on.

"Neither of you know what I look like," he decides to simply confess. Why would he try to over explain something that is actually quite easy to say? "And I've never...you know, actually touched you," he adds, his helmet titling towards his hand still resting on your hip, hinting at the glove covering it.

"I mean, yes...but that's because you're a Mandalorian. It's what your people do, right?"

Din nods after your words. "It's part of our code, but...I don't know. It's been bothering me because lately this entire uniform feels like an obstacle. I still feel like it's a part of me but...it also stands in between us."

"I've told you how I feel about the suit," you quickly say in a soft, reassuring voice. "I don't mind it one bit."

"I know, I know. This isn't because of something you did or said," Din explains. "I guess my priorities have changed."

"You mean...?"

"I mean, I care more about connecting with you than with my traditions. I've started to question things I never took a second to consider before you and Grogu showed up. I want to be able to touch you– really touch you. And I want to look at you and talk to you. Not through a visor and a modulator," he further explains, feeling like a weight is lifted off his shoulders. "I don't need to be a Mandalorian when I'm with you two. I just need to be Din."

"Oh, darling," you start affectionately, feeling so incredibly in love with the man sitting in front of you. "Whatever it is that you want and need, I'll support you no matter what. Helmet or no helmet, you're still the guy I fell in love with."

"Really?" he asks with evident worry.

"Of course," you immediately reassure him.

"I guess it took me too long to talk about this because...well, I didn't know if you'd like what's underneath the uniform."

"Din," you call in a very serious voice, hoping that'll hint just how much you mean your next words. "I love you so much. I love you because you're the kindest man I've ever met. You're loyal, passionate, brave...and you care so much about me and Grogu. I could stay here and mention a trillion things about you that make me fall in love with you every single day. You're the one I want to spend the rest of my life with and nothing in this world is ever going to change what I feel."

He was quiet for what felt like forever, simply staring up at you while you held the helmet in between your hands so you could stare directly at his visor where his eyes should be. 

"You can't see it but I'm smiling, by the way. This is a good silence," he offers, which immediately makes you laugh.

"Is it okay if I take it off and see that smile for myself?"

He hesitated before answering. "Are you sure you won't change your mind?"

"I promise I won't change my mind."

There was another pause before he finally answered. "Okay..."

You start to remove his helmet in a gentle, slow manner. If he wanted to stop you, he could at any second. You really didn't want to rush it because you still wanted to give him a chance to back down if he wanted to. 

The fact that he wears the helmet all day in front of you has never been an issue. You fell in love with the person he is, whatever he looks like couldn't possibly matter any less to you. That love is not going anywhere. Ever.

It looks like Din is confident in his decision because he doesn't stop you at any point. He continues to keep one of his hands attached to your hip and the other rests on his lap for a few seconds until he uses it to help you completely remove his helmet.

Still holding it with both of your hands, you look down to admire his face. You can tell by his expression that he's terrified as he stares back at you, impatient for any hint of rejection. He was still expecting to see the disappointment all across your features before you take a step back from him and reveal he's nothing like what you expected.

But that disappointment never appeared. Instead, he's relieved to see the smile forming on your face before you leave the helmet next to him on the bed, immediately reaching out to grab his face.

Din practically melts under your touch, closing his eyes and focusing on just how good it feels to have your skin touching him for the very first time. The way your soft fingers trace his cheeks before they move down to his jaw...it feels like absolute heaven.

And you take your time with that. Your digits explote his features as if contemplating them wasn't enough. You needed to touch every inch of his face in order to truly appreciate what's in front of you. 

The most beautiful sight ever. The man you love so much, looking even more handsome than you could've ever predicted. From his soft brown eyes to the hint of a beard, he's so perfect you can't believe you're seriously this lucky.

"So?" he dares to ask. Hearing his voice without the modulator for the very first time almost made you feel goosebumps all over your body. How is this man so pretty?

You could've just said that. You could've stood there and told him over and over how pretty he is, but it didn't feel like it was enough. No words would ever begin to explain the admiration you have for this man, even before you knew what he looked like.

After feeling his skin for the very first time, you could only crave more. It was probably that inefficiency of words and the need for more contact that made you lean down and kiss him for the very first time.

He kissed you back instantly, the grip on your hip tightening just enough as he completely gave in to you.

It was evident you were his first kiss, but that detail couldn't be any more insignificant right now. His lack of experience didn't bother you. All you could think about is how lucky and happy you are to have him as your partner.

The kiss lasted for a few more seconds before you pulled away, failing to hide your smile when you saw his face. It was evident he was already missing the way your lips feel against his. 

You stare at him again for a bit, caressing his flushed cheeks, before you finally decide to speak. "Does that answer your question?" Din was still too lost in his thoughts to reply out loud, so he simply nodded. His reaction after your first kiss made you giggle, and you swore right there that you've never felt happier in your life. "Good. I'd like to kiss you again if that's okay."

Another nod, this time looking more desperate, was all you needed to kiss him again. You got more comfortable as you sat on his lap, knowing you'll be there kissing him for a bit, feeling his arms wrap around your lower back to keep you close as soon as you sat down.

And as he holds you in his arms, he knows he made the right choice, silently vowing to be yours for as long as you allow him to.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for asking someone not to make my art about a ship I hate?

This happened a couple months ago, but I’m still kinda unsure if I handled it correctly.

Basic rundown of events: I posted some art of a character on their own in the evening, and when I woke up the next morning, someone had reblogged with an addition about a ship that’s a big notp for me. I messaged them to ask they delete it as politely as possible, because people had been interacting with that version of the post specifically and it made me uncomfortable. They responded by saying I was being immature and needed to learn not to police what other people do on the internet. We exchanged a couple more messages, and I tried to explain my position my throughly. Neither of us was overtly hostile or anything, but I felt extremely talked down to by their tone of voice. After our conversation, we both blocked each other, and that was that. They never did delete their addition.

Why I think I might be TA: we weren’t exactly friends or anything. Neither of us followed each other. I’d seen them around in the fandom, and they’d reblogged some of my art in the past, but I think messaging someone I didn’t know instead of just blocking them might have been a bit of an overreach. Plus the ship in question is canon, and not particularly controversial or anything, so most people in the fandom probably wouldn’t have minded.

On the other hand, the ship being so unavoidable is a big part of the reason it upset me so much. It’s hard for me to exist in this fandom without having to see it constantly, and I don’t even ever mention the other character in it for fear of this exact thing happening. I’ve had people be assholes on my posts about the ship I prefer, or go out of their way to interpret my romantic posts about them platonically, or add tags to my art about how they only like my ship as backstory and not endgame. I don’t want to have to put a disclaimer every single time I post about this fandom. I just want to enjoy the things I like without being negative all the time. Which is why I figured messaging privately was more polite than making a stink where everyone could see. I specifically mentioned that I knew they wouldn’t have known and wasn’t mad.

No one actually ended up reblogging their addition, which is also a strike against me, but I got a lot of likes on specifically that version of the post, which made me scared they were going to. I hated the idea of having to turn off reblogs on a piece I’d worked pretty fucking hard on because a version I found so upsetting was in circulation. If it was just tags, I’d have blocked, but it being an addition is different. I don’t think asking people not to make my posts about it is “policing what other people do on the internet”. You’re in MY house, on MY post with MY art I spent hours on. Making additions to art posts already seems somewhat rude to me, that’s just not something you do, but I guess that’s a matter of the corner of tumblr culture you’re used it.

Also, their response felt very aggressive and condescending. They implied I was, like, a kid, and I do think I’m somewhat younger than them, but the only information about my age in my bio at the time was that I’m an adult, so it felt like a rude assumption. My age doesn’t have anything to do with it.

Again, though, I do absolutely see how my initial message could read as entitled. During the rest of our messaging, I did lose my temper a little bit at one point; I said something about how I’ve had to deal with shit in this fandom before, and I don’t remember the exact words since, again, we both blocked each other, but I know I swore at them. That might’ve come across as more aggressive than I wanted, and probably didn’t exactly help deescalate. (Can’t say for sure, I don’t have their side of the story)

Like I said, this situation was a bit ago now, but it upset me pretty bad at the time, and I’m still not entirely sure who’s in the wrong. So, AITA?

(Also to get ahead of this: please don’t make this about shipcourse in the comments. It’s not about that. They and I have similar opinions on that discourse from what I’ve gathered anyway. Thanks.)

What are these acronyms?

[diazsdimples]

bucktommy + "To be fair, that wasn't the stupidest thing I could've done"

"To be fair, that wasn't the stupidest thing I could've done," Buck pants as he leans against the cool, brick wall. He pulls off his helmet and runs his fingers through his hair, knowing he's likely smeared soot all over his face. The building is still smouldering behind them, but Eddie and Ravi both have the hoses directed towards the flames. It's under control. Tommy looks like he could explode. His boyfriend is usually very calm and level headed, perfect traits for a first responder, but right now he looks set to rip Buck's head off. "Wasn't the stupidest - you could have - Evan, are you fucking kidding me?" Eddie and Ravi's heads turn towards the outburst and Buck winces, not wanting their first proper fight as a couple to be on full display for all their coworkers to witness. He grabs Tommy's arm and pulls him around the side of the building, away from any flapping ears. "Tommy, it's okay, I'm fine. She's fine. We're fine," he reassures Tommy as he reaches into the pocket of his turnout and pulls out the reason behind his sudden expedition into a burning building without a second's thought. The kitten is tiny in his hands, her fur rumpled and soot smudges over the beautiful, white coat. When the little girl he and Tommy had pulled from the building had said her kitten was still stuck inside the inferno, Buck hadn't hesitated before sprinting back into the building, not even with Bobby, Tommy and Eddie all yelling at him. He just hadn't anticipated Tommy to follow him back in. "Yeah but you could have been not fine! I agreed to help this shift as a favour to Bobby, not so I could get a front row seat to my boyfriend burning alive!" Buck swallows thickly and transfers the kitten into one hand so he can reach out to cup Tommy's face with the other. Tommy doesn't meet his eye, instead looking resolutely behind Buck. His jaw ticks as Buck strokes along his cheekbone with his thumb. "Tommy, I-I'm not going to burn alive. I was just gonna get her and come right back," he explains. Tommy's got to understand, right? Buck's a professional, he'd never do anything to put himself in any real danger. If he thought he couldn't get to the kitten before the building collapsed or got too hot then he would never have set foot in it. Tommy finally meets Buck's eyes then, and Buck is alarmed to see that his eyes are swimming behind a film of tears. Fuck, he's really fucked up here hasn't he? "Tommy, I-" "I can't lose you, Evan," Tommy cuts in, circling a hand around Buck's wrist and lowering his hand from Tommy's jaw. "Not like that." Buck swallows again, and he must tighten his grip on the kitten because she lets out a pitiful meow, her tiny tongue rasping against his glove as she licks at him. "I'm sorry," he whispers, hanging his head as the gravity of the situation washes over him. Tommy thought he was going to lose Buck. Tommy thought Buck was going to die. "I didn't mean to scare you." Tommy curls his fingers under Buck's chin and lifts his head, forcing eye contact. "I know you didn't, I just - baby, you mean so much to me," Tommy says, his voice raw and choked with emotion as he searches Buck's face, his eyes drinking in every inch of Buck as if he's worried it's the last time he'll be able to see him again. "Please, please don't ever do that again." "I won't, Tommy, I swear I won't," Buck promises, and he leans forwards to kiss Tommy softly. Tommy responds instantly, wrapping his arm around Buck's waist and pulling him close. Their lips move in tandem with one another, Tommy running his tongue along the seam of Buck's lips until he opens, and Buck licking back in apology. "Hey," Buck says as they pull away, resting their foreheads together. "I love you." Tommy huffs out a small laugh and kisses Buck again, lighter this time but no less emotionally charged. "I love you too."

Send me a ship and a sentence and I'll finish it!

(once again tagging @theotherbuckley)

[riahreadz]

Okay ideal Teen Wolf fanfic pack Take 2! 🎬 Sterek✨️

If Derek is Alpha, then obviously Stiles is Pack Mom and Alpha Mate.

All the good fics have Peter as a good little wolf or at least relatively good to the Hale Pack whilst protecting them doing some dirty work as the Left Hand. Peter and Stiles, as best friends, 🤌🏼✨️ is just t it's golden. Derek honestly gets scared when they team up - he knows it'll never end well, especially if Erica is involved. Peter supplies Stiles with all the family heirloom books and artifacts or from his own personal collections.

Stiles just has a habit of collecting Hales, first Derek, then Peter, Cora, and even Malia.

And in the rarity that I read a fic where Ell isn't Stiles's son well Stiles took one look at the kid (maybe before he even knew Eli was Derek's) and filed him under Lost (Hale) PuppyTM Derek is particularly fond of Stiles's seemingly sixth sense when it comes to protecting the Hales. Despite also yelling at the younger man who can't get it through his thick skull that putting himself in the line of danger won't help Derek losing him anymore than losing another Hale.

Somewhere along the way, Peter gets back together with Chris cause, yes, they dated as teens with an unfortunate near 20-year pause due to the Argent/Hale shit show extravaganza. They are raising their teen/young adult daughters Allison and Malia as sisters - bonus points if Jackson and Malia are twins.

Now I can't for some reason ever really see Allison and Isaac being romantically involved after her death and resurrection. Usually, Stiles figures some way to bring her back,and going forward, she gets back with Scott, Issac becomes dependent on Chris as a father figure, so Allison and Issac are just good friends once she's back. OR he sees Derek as a brother or father figure kinda situation being the Alpha that originally turned him, and skips over the emotional attachment to Chris all together.

Malia and Kira make for an interesting side ship that I never saw coming but a cute addition lol

Boyd and Erica are mates, obviously. Erica is a little shit just like Stiles and especially teaming up with Stiles, but Boyd balances her crazy. Crazy fun that iS.

I do love a good fic with Cora being involved. The dynamic of her and Derek finding their footing once again as siblings just makes me super emotional, okay? Plus, Cora and Isaac make for a good couple/mates.

Given that I love a good bad friend Scott fic, Isaac has pulled away from following Scott like a lost puppy. His lost puppy status belongs to Cora or Derek, depending on whose good side he's trying to get on that day. But back to Scott - his main roll usually is to tear down Stiles or attempt to anyway. Usually, Allison is there to gather his wits back together and reel him back into being a good friend. I'im game with a good redemption arc for him, but it ain't required.

Lydia and Stiles make a good team, and she makes a damn good motivational ass kicker when Stiles needs one, which is usually at least once in every fic, let's be honest. She's either with Jackson or just a bad ass that doesn't need a partner to ground her. Jackson is still an asshole - it's why we love him. But he and Stiles develop a pretty decent friendship when they bond over healing from losing control from the Kanima and Void. He'd kill to protect Stiles. They all would. He's with Lydia, Danny, or Ethan.

Now we can't forget Sheriff Stilinski, rather his name is Noah or John, he's a big player in this pack. Despite being only human, he has a lot of sway when it comes to this rag-tag group of puppies and puppy adjacents. Derek and him make for a good team in the fics. Derek is a deputy. Or just the Sheriff adopting Derek as an unofficial Stilinski once he realizes his son won't ever let go of the Hales but especially one Derek Hale - plus it's easier to expain to his across-the-street-neighbor that Derek is family rather than filter through the panicked 911 calls of astrange man in a black leather jacket climbing once again through his son's bedroom window. Cause the Hales don't know how to use front doors - a trait they passed along to the whole pack like a worst kept secret family tradition.

Oh, and it's recently been brought to my attention that the Sheriff is in a secret relationship with his deputy Jordan and eventually gets exposed by Stiles seeing them on a date. Bonus points if it turns into a double date. Didn't know I needed this one until I needed it. However, I'm down for seeing him with Melissa or even a thropple with Chris and Peter. If he's with Melissa, then Scott has to have a redemption arc, or he was the good best friend/step brother all along.

And last but certainly not least, Eli Hale or shall I say Eli Stilinski-Hale or Hale-Stilinski? Doesn't matter as long as we all can agree that Elis Stiles's son. l'm not picky on whether it's adoption, mpreg, or Stiles and Derek got together after Eliwas born. Stiles. Is. Eli's. Father.

If some of this seems repeated from my Steter Ideal Pack - well, that's cause it is, lol. I wrote this first but finished Steter before Sterek. I'll probably rewrite this cause it's rushed, but I need to get it out to link for my Secret Santa in the Sterek Exchange.

✋️🛑 Now, all of this is just my personal preference on fics I've read. A lot of these obviously stray from the actual character on the show but 🤷🏻‍♀️ show canon meet 🫱🏻‍🫲🏽 one person's fanfic canon. All respect and rights for the cast and crew in bringing these characters to life, though. Also, I'm not saying that I won't read fics that don't include this stuff - like I've mentioned just some stuff I've read over the years and liked. ✋️🛑

[ladynoirjuly]

Ladynoir July 2023 is almost here! We are very excited for this year’s event and hope you all are ready to create some content since we are missing it in canon right now! Super huge thanks again to one of our mods @chocoluckchipz for making this amazing calendar (with some assist from @ladyofthenoodle)!

The Ladynoir July discord server came up with and voted on this year’s prompts. If you would like to be part of the prompt selection process in the future, or if you just want to hang out in a quiet, salt-free server that loves Ladynoir, feel free to reach out for an invite in DMs.

To participate in this event, use the prompts (also written out below the cut) during the month of July to create art, fic, gifs, music, cosplay, anything you want! Just be sure to @ this blog and use the tag #ladynoirjuly2023. You do not have to do the prompts in order, nor do you have to do all of them. Do as many or as few as you’d like, and, most importantly, don’t forget to have fun!

That being said, please keep in mind a few rules:

1. This is a salt-free event. Please keep all of your submissions free of heavy critique/bashing of the show/characters/ships.

2. Please keep your submissions centred around Ladynoir. You may include other corners of the Lovesquare, but the majority of the work should be revolving around Ladynoir.

3. This event is open to people of all ages. NSFW submissions are allowed, but please put them under a Read More and tag appropriately.

4. Have fun!

Works that do not adhere to these rules will not be reblogged.

If your work hasn’t been reblogged within 48 hours, please, check if you’ve mentioned this blog in your post ( @ladynoirjuly​ ) AND tagged your work with #ladynoirjuly2023. If everything is in order but your work was still not reblogged, please, reach out to the mod team. We’ll do our bests not to miss anyone, but sometimes things slip through.

We can’t wait to see what you all come up with this year!

Wedding Bells

Emergency Contact

Truth or Dare

Cards

Shooting Stars

That Costume Suits You

My Boyfriend vs Your Girlfriend

In Another Life

I Lied

Trust Fall

Don’t Let Go

Trapped

In the Dark

Lingering Touch

Shared Dreams

Rewrite the Stars

Roses

Sunrise

Vigilante

Undercover

Masquerade

Entangled

If I Never Saw You Again

Out of Time

In the Rain

Oh… oh.

Name

You Still Have Me

Back to Back

Against the World

In Every Universe

[killerpancakeburger]

The wizard is dead

Pairing: Rolan x f!Reader/Tav ("She" is used to refer to the Reader twice)

Summary: You didn’t expect to end the party celebrating Ketheric's final death at the Last Light Inn making out with a certain wizard. And least of all you certainly weren't expecting to meet him again in Baldur's Gate...

Tags: Enemies to lovers speedrun, angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, protective! Tav, insecure! Tav, Astarion ships it and never stfu.

Warnings: swearing, alcohol mention, canon violence and death, spoilers for Acts 2 and 3 obvsly.

A/N: Making Rolan blush as much as possible. If you too felt murderous upon seeing his bruises, this is the fic for you!

“...up. Get up. Urgh. Get the fuck up.”

An exasperated, familiar voice pierced progressively the depths of your sleep. Didn’t mean you wanted to wake up, though. You felt deliciously drowsy and ready to plunge right back into the pit of slumber.

You grumbled in protest in response to the voice and submerged your head with your pillow.

The voice emitted a grunt of aggravation following your shenanigans. 

“I can’t believe Karlack put up with this every morning…”

Something suddenly started to shove you repeatedly at waist level, and you identified the something as a foot.

You rolled over to escape, in vain.

“Go away, Astarion”, you whined, muffled by your pillow.

“Oh! She talks!” commented the vampire sarcastically. “Maybe now she will deign to join us for breakfast!”

“Why are you even here?”, you lamented. “Where’s Karlach? I want Karlach.”

It was your morning ritual since your hellish friend recovered her ability to touch without burning. She’d wake you up with a bones-crushing hug, some physical affection welcomed by both of you. In comparison to her, Astarion was cold and sharp, bodily and verbally. 

“I wanted to be the first to congratulate you, darling.”

He wasn’t making any effort to conceal the enjoyment in his voice, and a bad feeling arose within you, wondering what could amuse him so early in the morning. Suffice to say, Astarion was not a morning person. 

Thankfully, he kept talking without needing to ask him to.

“So congratulations for shagging the wizard last night! It was the most entertaining spectacle of the party, no doubt.”

“Gale…?” You asked, filled with confusion. You enjoyed his company but neither of you ever showed interest of the romantic… or sexual… sort in the other.

“Ugh”, sighed exaggeratedly Astarion, like it was the dumbest thing he’s ever heard in two hundred years, “no, not Gale.” The name sounded like an insult. You could hear the spawn roll his eyes.

“The stuck-up tiefling! The wannabe apprentice! What was his name again…?”

All torpor is abruptly ejected from your body with the power of a cannonball. You sit up brutally, wound up like a bowstring. 

“Rolan!?” The name erupted from your mouth way louder than you intended. Luckily, Astarion didn’t pay attention as he slammed his fist against his palm in satisfaction. 

“Yes! That haughty little… Anyway! You two gave the Inn one hell of a show, making out in front of everybody. I have to thank you for that, really, it was getting sooo boring.”

He was looking at you with the content smile of a cat who caught the mouse. You stared back with incredulity, dumbfounded. 

“You’re lying.”

“Why, darling, I would never”, he retorted smugly, putting a hand on his chest with pretended affliction, like he was wounded by your accusation. 

You wanted to stand your ground and believe that he was lying, but something in his smugness, more assured than when he was deceiving people, told you that he wasn’t.

“The whole Inn saw you, so you could ask anyone for confirmation, really. They all cheered by the way. Obviously his siblings were the loudest of the bunch…”

You covered your ears in denial. Never again you would drink that much.

“You even managed to make him dance. Well, dragged him there, really. Details. He had two left feet, so that was… endearing.”

He pronounced “endearing” the same way he called you naive that one time, and you knew that he held himself back from using a more… colorful adjective.

“Shut up”, you pleaded with Astarion. “I don’t want to hear anything more.”

He chuckled with derision. 

“Me shutting up won’t change reality, dear.”

“What are you guys doing?”

Karlach’s booming voice startled you. Astarion, on the contrary, greeted her appearance with a mischievous smile, seeing another occasion to poke fun at you.

“We were just remembering yesterday night and the boldness of our heartbreaker of a leader. It was fun, wasn’t it Karlach?”

“Oh yeah!” immediately agreed the tiefling, completely missing the horror on your face and your silent plea to not add to Astarion’s pestering. “You guys were really going at it. Didn’t see it coming but what matters is that you’re happy.”

A radiant and sincere smile was adorning her lips. You covered your blushing face in embarrassment, grunting in shame and frustration with yourself.

“Karlach, if I ever drink this much again, just knock me out.”

“I mean, if you’re sure… but there’s nothing to be ashamed of, you know. Everyone is very supportive of you both.” she added, unsure of why you looked so down. 

“You don’t understand”, you whined.

As she was about to ask for explanations, the sound of someone clearing their throat interrupted your conversation. All three of you turned your gaze to Wyll, who had a tense smile - or grimace, you weren’t sure - on his face, and seemed like he wanted to be anywhere but here.

“Ahrem. Lae’zel wanted me to let you know that if you don’t show up in the next three seconds, she would add you to the menu.”

Suddenly all thoughts of yesterday evening were forgotten as you three scrambled towards the campfire.

⚡⚡⚡

As your little band resumed their journey towards Baldur’s Gate, you resolved to use that time to put order in your memories from last evening and in your relationship with Rolan. 

Your memories were gradually resurfacing, hand in hand with a pounding headache. 

Despite Astarion and Karlach’s statements, you still couldn’t believe that you kissed Rolan. Not that the idea repulsed you - far from it, actually. The man was pretty, and he was even prettier when he wasn’t busy yelling at you. However, the idea that he let you put your lips anywhere on him was laughable. 

You proceeded to rewind all your memories with the self-assured wizard, trying to find the key to decipher what was an enigma to you. 

Truth be told, you didn’t remember much from your first meeting in the Grove. Except for his shooting match with Lia, which was impossible to miss once inside the shelter, you remembered him vaguely as a pompous character whose every statement dripped with snobbishness and bravado, so much that it felt like he was trying to convince himself rather than his audience. Despite the airs he was giving himself, you caught him later during the tiefling party putting on a magic show simply to please his siblings, and the heartwarming display disconcerted you as much as it amused you. 

The moment when you met him again in the Last Light Inn, on the other hand, was burned into your memory. He had once again caught your attention by his yelling. However, as you approached out of concern for the kids tending to the bar, the yelling quickly turned on you. You were ready to let it go - after all, if you weren’t in such a hurry to get rid of the parasite inside your head, you too would have drowned your sorrows in alcohol and lashed out at well-meaning strangers - until he accused you of being responsible for his siblings’ kidnapping by the cultists. 

All your restraint snapped at those words, like a rubber band too stretched. 

How did he dare? After everything you’ve done, after all the shit you’ve been through - and were still going through. You weren’t even expecting any thanks, you just wanted to be left alone. As if you malevolently sneaked inside Cal and Lia’s mind to trick them into doing your bidding. As if they weren’t both adults capable of making their own decisions.

A little voice in the back of your head whispered that he was blaming you because he was blaming himself, that rejecting the fault on someone else was the only way he found to contain the pain and guilt that were threatening to engulf him, but you ignored it. Understanding his reasons didn’t make you a doormat.

Karlach had to bodily restrain you as you were about to punch him in the face.

“Then stop whining and do something about it yourself, since I only make things worse.” you spat with as much venom you muster, leaving the Inn to find a training dummy to take out your vexation on. His shouts still reached you though.

“Oh, I will! I don’t need your help, and I don’t need your pity!”

You had almost forgotten the incident until you stumbled upon Rolan on your way to Moonrise, in the middle of the shadows. He was largely outnumbered and doomed to a certain death if your group didn’t happen to pass this way completely randomly. 

Once the shadows were taken care of, you pinched the bridge of your nose in bewilderment. Did he have a deathwish or something?

“Gods damn it all. I can do nothing right - not a damn thing.”

His shoulders were shaking in frustration and anger. However, something in the tone of his voice made you feel quite different from the last time you met him. You weren’t irritated, no. You felt… sorrow. For him. Thankfully, he wasn’t aware of your emotions, keeping his eyes on the ground, stubbornly refusing to meet your gaze.

He was more furious at himself than at you this time. There was also a dose of embarrassment in the mix, after failing to rescue his siblings on his own. This display of vulnerability was the antipodes of his usual self-assured behavior, to such an extent that you wondered if the shadows were making you hear things. 

“Please tell me you weren’t looking for Moonrise”, escaped your mouth before you could stop it, realizing that he very probably wouldn’t be any happier to see you now than last time.

He snapped back immediately - of course he did.

“So what if I was? Cal and Lia could be there!”

You were about to retort that getting himself killed on the way there would help no one, Cal and Lia least of all, before the last thing you told him suddenly came back to you. A cold shiver ran down your back, as you wondered with horror if he was here because of your words. You never expected him to take your remark seriously. In the heat of the moment, you had wanted to hurt him, but you had never intended to send him to die alone in those cursed lands. Unease pooled in your stomach and a sharp pang of guilt twisted your heart. You gritted your teeth in frustration. Rolan kept ranting, oblivious to your inner turmoil, which was probably for the best.

“Instead I found myself cornered by shadow-fiends and in need of rescue. From you, of all bloody people.”

That last remark was meant as a jab at you, however it failed at riling you up. How could it have, when his voice trembled like he was about to shed tears? He was finally looking at you, and the heartfelt dejection painted on his features made you want to hold him in your arms more than anything else. You quickly pushed that urge aside, though - there was no doubt in your mind that your attempt at comfort would be unwelcome, to say the least. You probably wouldn’t like it either if the roles were reversed. You two weren’t close enough for this.

Nonetheless, you tried to bring him solace through your words, keeping your tone as neutral as possible:

“You were trying to help your family - you’re too hard on yourself.”

But your efforts seemed to have the opposite effect, as he retorted in an uncharastically acerbic tone:

“Or not hard enough.”

Both his words and his timber made a shiver of dread run through you. There was something terribly final in them, that made you reconsider your thoughts about him having a death wish.

But you were nothing to him, except an hindrance, and as he bid you farewell and walked away, you simply watched him, feeling bitterly powerless, wishing that he at least made it back safely to the Last Light Inn.

Following the defeat of Ketheric Thorm and the eradication of the shadow curse, Jaheira and the Harpers had organized a celebration at the Last Light Inn the night before your departure for Baldur’s Gate. The respite was welcome for your whole party. You really needed a break before taking up the arms against two more gods. Alcohol flew freely. Former prisoners were reuniting with their loved ones. Fighters numbed their wounds and the deceased’s sacrifice was honored. 

As part of the acclaimed saviors, you were making your mandatory runs around the inn before you could slip away to a quiet and peaceful corner. It was during that errand that, once again, you walked in on Rolan and his siblings screaming at each other. You sighed, passing a hand over your tired face, somehow knowing that it would be up to you, once again, to play mediator. 

You downed your drink and approached, waiting for your opportunity to interfere into the conversation. Noticing an opening, you slipped innocently, nose in your tankard:

“Rolan was in a bad state without the two of you.”

The swiftness at which the situation defused itself would have almost made you chuckle if it hadn’t been that serious. Hearing Rolan state that his struggle didn’t matter made you frown but you bit your tongue. Truly that man had serious insecurity issues under all that boasting. But just like in the shadows, it was none of your business.

Having played your role, you mumbled a “don’t mention it” to Cal who was thanking you, and took your leave. Or at least you had started to, until Rolan’s voice interrupted you.

“Wait.”

You turned around out of curiosity, an inquisitive eyebrow raised, not sure if you were the one being addressed. Rolan was staring at you right into your eyes, erasing your previous doubt. Gods, had his yellow gaze always been that hard to hold? 

As soon as he saw he had your attention, he started talking. And what he had to say took you completely aback.

“I’ve lashed out at you, drunkenly and otherwise, and you helped anyway.”

You held back from clarifying that you saved him from the shadows because he happened to be in the way. And that you saved Cal and Lia because… they were in the way too. You were gonna release the Moontower’s prisoners anyway, that Rolan’s siblings had been part of them was just a coincidence. However this little speech seemed to cost Rolan, which was understandable, so you kept your mouth shut.

“You didn’t deserve that - I’m sorry. And thank you.”

You opened your eyes wide - receiving an apology wasn’t on your todo list today. Least of all from someone as proud as Rolan. Even more mind-bending, he gave you a genuine smile. You were so focused on his face that it didn’t occur to you to refuse the money he offered.

Later in the night, as you were still processing his unhoped for change of demeanor, and were a fair bit tipsy, you ended up passing him a new bottle of Arabellan Dry - who gave it to you? Who told you it was Rolan’s favorite’s wine? And that you should give it to him? You had no idea. Not noticing the wine at first, he teased you:

“I’ve thanked you once already. Don’t be greedy.”

Between his taunting words, his open smile, his beautiful eyes sparkling with mirth, and the realization that he was laughing with you, something inside you snapped. Suddenly you had butterflies in your stomach, weakness in your knees, and he looked like the prettiest man you’ve ever seen. You laughed heartily, before smiling frankly, noting that he looked - pleasantly? - surprised at your reaction, not expecting an audience that easy to entertain. 

You remembered talking back to him, settling yourself in a spot nearby, sharing that bottle… But for the life of you, you couldn’t remember that pretended kiss. Did you actually manage to make him blush during the night or was it just the wine?

After reflecting over everything, you still felt as much - if not more - mortified. There was no way Rolan felt happy about making a spectacle of himself in front of so many people - and in front of his siblings, least of all. Those two must have had a field day deriding their eldest. As for the kiss, it must have been a result of the alcohol and the proximity. You didn’t get a lot of opportunities for… physical affection since the beginning of your tadpole adventure, and you could easily imagine that Rolan must not have been getting a lot of action either, between fleeing the Grove, dealing with the cultists, losing his siblings and enduring the shadow curse. 

You could only imagine that after such a disaster, Rolan must be back to hating you. 

You sighed deeply, to the point of attracting the questioning looks of some of your companions walking by your side, before shaking your head in resolve. It was just one, regrettable evening. As long as you didn’t run into Rolan again, you could put it behind you. And what were the chances of coming across him in Baldur’s Gate anyway? 

⚡⚡⚡

High, apparently. Or at least high enough to make you eat your words.

Your merry band had just crossed the doors of some fancy magic shop that took up residence in a lavish tower. You were originally there to confront the man who had put a price on Aylin’s head. Whatever his intentions were with her, they couldn’t be good. Adding wizards’ characteristic hubris and what Ketheric Thorn previously inflicted to the Aasimar together, you quickly came to the conclusion that he sought to cage her and thereby attain immortality. Your purpose was therefore simple: explain in no uncertain terms to Ramazith’s tower’s new owner that he could - should -  kiss goodbye his delusions of eternal life, and, if he proved to be too stubborn to be reasoned with, deal with him in such a way that he wouldn’t be an issue anymore for your winged friend. 

However all Selune’s daughter-related considerations went out the window when you laid eyes upon the shopkeeper at the counter. Somehow the tiefling who had haunted your thoughts for weeks and made you recoil in embarrassment at night, when you were left alone with yourself, forced to cope with the memories of your last meeting, was standing right in front of you. Worse, he noticed you, and the natural blush of his infernal skin miserably failed to hide the vivid flush of his cheeks. Like his reflection in a mirror, you could distinctly feel your own face blaze fiercely. 

It lasted a minute or an eternity, you had no idea, until you were brutally ejected from your trance at the view of the bruises covering his face. Rolan had been so severely pummeled that purple had become the prevailing color on his visage. Ice-cold, overpowering fury spread across your veins and possessed you to swiftly close the gap between the two of you. 

Consumed by anger, you raised a hand to graze his tumefied skin. 

“Who did this to you? I’ll fucking kill them.”

You felt a slight pang of remorse upon seeing him struggle to not back away from you after you charged at him like a ram. His tail had started to sway wildly at your approach. 

However Rolan rapidly proceeded to regain his composure, as he always did. Coughing in his fist - maybe a desperate attempt to hide his still glowingly red cheeks, or simply a way to offer himself a moment to get a grip -, he answered you, way too nonchalantly for your taste. 

“Nothing- ahrem… nothing for you to worry about.”

His reply stinged. Bitterly. After all that you’ve been through together, he still didn’t trust you. Or he was still resolutely convinced that he had to endure every tribulation alone - you sincerely doubted that Lia and Cal wouldn’t have thrown a fit upon his appearance. 

You didn’t know which of those two possibilities hurt more. 

The righteous wrath inside you disappeared, like extinguished by a bucket of icy water, replaced by a chilling insight - it was utterly useless to fight for him when he wouldn’t stand up for himself. And, more importantly, if he didn’t consider you close enough to him to ask your help, then it was time for you to move on. 

“You suck at lying, you know that?” You felt obligated to point out.

As he was about to object, you continued.

“But you’re right. If you still don’t need my sanctimonious help, I’ll just go about my day. Sorry for the trouble.”

Immediately after spatting those words, you found your outburst childish, but you couldn’t take it back. You began to storm off, determined to fully focus on the wannabe-immortal wizard problem, but a clawed hand grabbing your forearm ended your departure.

“Wait-” 

You whirled around, losing more and more patience. 

“What.”

Rolan sighed, but not in a way that sounded like this was a chore to him. He sighed like one does to give themselves courage before overcoming adversity. The words had left his lips before he could even think them; before he could contemplate their effect on you. Being self-reliant and showing no weaknesses had become an automatic reflex forged by a life of survival. He couldn’t shrug it off overnight - but you were the first person who made him want to try.  

He then compelled himself to look you straight in the eye.

“Don’t lea- I mean, I didn’t mean to…Urgh… Gods damn it… it’s Lorroakan.”

You stared back at him, split between the newfound joy of him confiding in you, and the confusion of hearing his confession.

“Lorrowho?” You asked, slightly tilting your head in puzzlement.

 The name didn’t ring a bell for you, but according to your companions’ exasperated grunts in your back, it certainly did for them.

“The tower’s newest owner”, helpfully prompted Gale behind you. “So-called greatest wizard of the Sword Coast, aspiring to subjugate Dame Aylin, took our friend here as his apprentice?”

“Oooh! That guy!”, you exclaimed. “Well that’s perfect! We were going to kick his ass anyway!”

You could have announced to Rolan that you were planning to fight a dragon with your bare hands, he probably would have gazed at you the same way.

“By the way, Rolan, you can let go now”, you added with a pointed look towards his hand still squeezing your arm.

He let go like he got burned, cheeks reddening again, swore in hellish and apologized. You assured him it was fine. 

“Can you share anything that would help us take down Lorra… Larro… whatever-his-name-his?”

The tiefling straightened up, clearly in his element. 

“Mast- Lorroakan has four Myrmidons.”

He seemed about to carry on on the subject, but stopped in front of your confounded expression.

“Myrmiwhat?”

The apprentice wizard opened his mouth to start an informed lecture about the properties of Myrmidons, before closing it and pinching the bridge of his nose, frustrated by your ignorance.

“Nevermind, I can make this simple for you.”

Feeling insulted, you proceeded to join your hands and excessively flutter your eyelashes to mimic a swooning admirer. 

“Why, thank you Master Rolan! You are ever so generous to us simpletons!”

The aforenamed choked a bit at that, but you were not sure if it was in reaction to your ridiculous antics or to being called “master”.

“As I was saying, Myrmidons are very powerful elementals. You shouldn’t underestimate them.”

You acquiesced with a nod of your head before turning to your Party.

“Let’s get going then.”

“Should we not fetch the Asimaar?” inquired Astarion, observing his nails with detachment. “Not that I particularly care, but with how strongly this concerns her, she may come after us if we keep her out of this.”

You replied without missing a beat, having already pondered the question. 

“No, I want to spare her that.”

The Vampire Spawn let out one of those unhinged little laughs he had a knack for, blending contempt and incredulity. 

“I must have misheard you - spare her? The cutthroat demigod who mercilessly crushes her enemies under her boot? That’s who you want to spare?”

You had expected that kind of reaction, but that didn’t mean you had to like it.

“That’s not what I meant” you grunted, aggravated by the elf’s taunting. “Of course she can take care of herself. But just because she can, doesn’t mean she has to. Dealing with relentless creeps who get off on the idea of breaking you, body and spirit, it’s exhausting, speaking from experience. I couldn’t imagine doing it for centuries. We can provide her a brief respite. If she takes it the wrong way, I’ll deal with the fallout.”

Astarion shrugged, satisfied with your answer since it sheltered him from consequences. The others agreed with nods of the head.

Rolan gave you the directions to reach Lorroakan before adding, frowning:

“Be careful. He has a beastly temper.”

The recommendation made you snicker. Before the tiefling could take offense, you brought your face closer to his, lifting his chin with your index, a wolfish smile stretching your lips. 

“I highly doubt that sorry excuse for a wizard is in any way a beast. But fear not, pretty boy, I’ll show you what beastly really means.”

Whistles and sniggers could be heard from behind you, demonstrating the maturity of your traveling companions. Meanwhile Rolan’s face somehow managed to turn even redder than when you both met again moments ago, and his attempts to come up with a rebuttal resulted only in stuttering. 

Benevolently, you did not comment, careful to not overstep his boundaries too much, and changed the subject, rising an inquisitive eyebrow:

“Are you not coming with us?”

He cleared his throat to give himself a semblance of composure.

“I guess I should, if only to make sure you lot do not ravage the tower on your rampage.”

You smirked a little at his efforts to appear indifferent, but refrained from making any remark, content with his participation.

As you made your way towards your target, Astarion sneaked by your side, a mocking smile adorning his lips. You mentally braced yourself for the jibe that wouldn’t fail to come.

“I figured out why you didn’t want to bring Aylin on our little excursion, darling.”

“Oh really.” you replied with the most blasé tone you could muster.

Unfortunately, your lack of concern didn’t seem to deter your vampiric ally at all.

“You want to keep your prey for yourself. To be the one to slaughter the Master Wizard. You should have seen your face earlier when you threw a fit over Rolan’s bruises, I thought you were going to bite.”

“So what? Is that a problem?”

“Quite the opposite, really. I’m planning to revel in the show. Let’s hope for you that the little wizard is of the same mind, uh?” 

You told him to mind his own business and he just laughed. 

Your group crossed the magic portal, entering Lorroakan’s lavish office only to stumble upon the deplorable spectacle that was the supposed great wizard sadistically torturing his servant for his questionable experimentations. Thankfully, your noteworthy arrival put an end to the loathsome display as the red-haired wizard dismissed his domestic and his mechanical construction.

“I see no Nightsong. Surely you wouldn’t have entered my tower without the Nightsong in hand. Surely my worthless apprentice wouldn’t have allowed you to waste my time.”

That last remark made your blood boil as surely as it did earlier when you laid eyes upon Rolan’s contused face. You gritted your teeth, plastering on a fake smile, before giving the man a taste of his own scorn by ignoring him completely and ostensibly turning towards Rolan.

“Is that the pathetic excuse that serves as your mentor?”

The apprentice wizard spared a glance at Lorroakan who was suffocating with indignation before focusing on you.

“... Yes, he is.”

“Great! Would have been so awkward to kill the wrong guy!”

Bestowing your most bloodthirsty smile on your foe, you made a point to talk over his outraged diatribe.

“There’s only two things you should know, really. First : you will never get your hands on the Nightsong. Second : I’m going to kill you, and I’m going to enjoy it.” 

Having said your piece, you unsheathed your weapon as the wizard invoked his Myrmidons, and the battle began.

⚡⚡⚡

Standing over Lorroakan’s battered body, you made sure that he was in too much pain to ramble again. Rolan came to stand beside you, the shock on his face telling you that he had a hard time believing what he was seeing.

You looked at him inquisitively.

“Wanna do the honors?”, you suggested, referring to the final blow. 

As he remained motionless and speechless, you started to worry you had said the wrong thing, but suddenly his expression turned resolute and he nodded. 

You distanced yourself from the two wizards, not fancying getting caught in a spell’s blast. Rolan uttered his incantation with force - detono.

With a mixture of astonishment and awe, you watched Lorroakan’s body get hurled across the room and through the nearest window in a cacophony of shattering glass. You leaned through the destroyed window to glimpse at the mangled corpse before turning to Rolan with a low whistle.

“So much for not ravaging the tower, uh-”

You found yourself unable to finish your clever quip as your favorite tiefling grabbed you by the collar and crushed his lips against yours. The motion was brutal and clumsy, to the point that you briefly wondered if he was trying to kiss you or punch you in the lips… with his lips.

Barely leaving you enough time to reciprocate the gesture, Rolan withdrew, a wild look in eyes, panting slightly. Did he forget to breathe during…?

“You-”

“This is all your fault!”

You gaped at him in uncomfortable silence, immobile, truly at a loss for words. What in the nine hells did you do this time, again?

One hand released your clothing as Rolan covered half his face with it in consternation. 

“And to think I promised myself I wouldn’t lash out at you again… Do you see how I lose my composure in your presence? Every. Bloody. Time. It’s infuriating.” He sighed.

You crossed your arms, staring at his piercing yellow eyes.

“Riiight.” 

He had at least the tact to appear marginally embarrassed under your scrutinizing gaze.

“Not a day has passed since Last Light Inn where you weren’t on my mind.” he admitted, albeit begrudgingly, rubbing his neck in bashfulness, and unable to meet your eyes.

Your eyes widened at the confession. This was a surprise, although a pleasant one.

“You… you don’t hate me for it?”

It was his turn to stare in astonishment.

“For what…?”

“You made a spectacle of yourself in front of the whole Inn because of me…”

“Please, I’m not tone-deaf enough to not acknowledge my own responsibility in this. We both had… a lot… to drink.”

“Oh… Well, in that case… I’ve been thinking about you too. Since the Inn.”

It was only fair to come clean too after he made the first move, which must have definitely cost him and his pride.

“Oh.”

There you were, two blushing idiots staring at their own feet in embarrassment, not knowing what to do with yourselves. That is, until you remembered what started all of this, and you raised your head so suddenly Rolan got startled.

“We need to heal your face.”

He chuckled openly at that, but instead of taking offense, seeing him happy spread warmth in your chest.

“You should heal yourself first, ô mighty hero. You’re in way worse shape than I am.”

You frowned and grabbed his face to inspect his bruises closer.

“Being injured is second-nature for me. I don’t think you can say the same. Are you hurt anywhere else?”

He took hold of your hips in response. A derisive smile stretched his lips.

“What a poorly concealed way to get me to undress.”

“How dare you”, you protested, scandalized. “imply that my benevolence is anything but proper?”

“Maybe I wish it wasn’t.”

Before you could ask for clarification, he kissed you.

“Rolan…”

“Mmh…”

Again.

“I was serious about healing you…”

“Mh.”

And again.

You grabbed his robes and shoved him against the closest bookshelf in a drastic attempt to put some space between your bodies. The action didn’t seem to deter him at all, if anything it added fuel to the fire, as you could feel his claws even through your clothes. To make matters worse, you quickly realized that getting away was impossible with how tight his tail was coiled around your thigh. 

All your worries disappeared however as a very familiar voice could be heard from somewhere on the floor underneath. Rolan definitely heard it too as he looked in its direction with a mixture of dread and annoyance. 

You couldn’t discern entirely what Lia was saying, but the words “Rolan” and “Lorroakan” were definitely part of it.

You looked at Rolan with an unequivocal expression.

“We should go to them… and reassure them that you’re not dead or something.”

The new master of the tower threw his hands up in surrender, rolling his eyes in exasperation.

“Fine, fine!”

“Also, we’re going to fall to our deaths in the stairs if you don’t keep your tail to yourself, Mister…”

Rolan dashed off in the direction of the stairs, grumbling about siblings and lack of privacy, not without grabbing your hand in passing. 

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook

RE:Birth | TEASER

He's just a vulture, searching for scraps to survive, when he finds more than he could've ever thought of finding. This could turn his whole life around- but can he really do this?

Tags/Warnings: Post apocalypse AU, Alien AU, Alien!Jungkook, Human!Reader, Angst, Fluff, Adult Themes, mild Violence and Blood, mentions of death, sci-fi, romance

Wordcount: ???

There is no taglist for this fic.

-> Masterlist

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━.~°👽°~.━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

In none of Namjoon's notes he'd given him had he ever mentioned just how overemotional and irrational humans can be.

Where are you?! He didn't mean to say the things he did- but he also never could've imagined that you'd run off like that, at the dead of night, with nowhere else to go. You don't know anything about him nor his feelings towards you, so why do you act like you do just because you saw him with someone he doesn't even know?

He just talked to her. Said goodbye to her after he'd sold her a significant amount of scrap metal. But apparently, humans must be absolutely behind in cognitive function to just make up secenarios that didn't even happen.

Did all this time spent with him not give you a clear picture of what he wants you both to have? Where the nights spent together at his home not enough proof of his devotion to you? How much more do you need from him to realize that he doesn't just see you as some roommate, or pet to take care of?

He's walking past the streets with the felines you always loved to pet despite them being technically feral creatures. They all look at him, glowing eyes in the dark alleyway following him as if they judge his every move. As if they put the blame on him.

He's so frustrated. He's told you he loves you over and over and over again- how can you believe now that he'd just jump to someone else at sight for no reason at all?

Or is that even the reason you ran off?

Now that he thinks about it more, he does realize there was a strange smell of fear in his apartment.

He has to get you back, one way or another. Because if he doesn't find you, someone else will- and without your typical disguise, people will instantly realize what you are- and once you're at the institute, he can't help you anymore. He can't get you back, can't bring you and him to Echos just like he promised he would.

Where could you be?

It's in the middle of the street at Ainum-Square that he realizes where he instinctively ran to- and his suspicions might just be correct. he's your partner. He knows you. So of course his body would lead him here.

To the wreckage of the evacuation ship, where he first found you.