#that includes how languages were spread n etc)

[kalijhomentethi]

guess who started rambling about runeterran languages—

[cougheemedicine]

Twisted Fairytales; Twisted Wonderland Fantasy!au - Prologue

Will include all main cast x GN!Reader

Summary: A nameless adventurer with an incredible amount of friends in high places. Each more infamous and conniving than the last. The things those friends are willing to do for you is only a glimpse of how a so-called "Nobody" ensnared the most powerful in the continent.

A/n: A little au I'm cooking up. Not entirely sure where this will go so I'm not going to put any warnings/specific content until I get the individual chapters out. If this goes anywhere I'll probably add Neige, Che’nya, Rollo, etc. I already have come ideas cooking up for them. Have fun, dear adventurer~ 〜(￣▽￣〜)

˜”*°•.•°*”˜

        Night Raven College. An incredibly prestigious academy, whose history goes so far back in time that only the oldest Fae of the Briar Valley can even begin to fathom the legacy that such a renowned institute holds, and whose reputation reaches even the darkest corners of the kingdom. Aristocratic families from all over the continent vie to send their children to study the art of magic in its' hallowed halls.

        You had attended such a college, once upon a time, though you are far from noble. You met the esteemed headmaster by chance one day, but you didn't know at the time. You had sold him a newspaper, and he grinned at you from under the beak of his mask and patted you on the head. He flipped a single gold coin into your shaking hands, it was the most money you had ever seen at the time. When you had turned around to thank him, more than ready to drop onto your knees and praise the dirt he walked on, he was gone. Leaving only a lone, ink-black feather in his wake.

        You can only assume he took pity on you. Some unclaimed, nameless child, too old to be taken in by an orphanage but too young to be sent off to the mines. In a village so small and far North it didn’t even have a name. The old crones of your small village would wax poetic about his benevolence and graciousness (only after they prattled on about his villainously handsome face). You couldn't even read, let alone weave illusions from incantations or summon a beast from a bubbling brew.

        But he appeared before you nonetheless, with a flurry of his feathered cape. He offered you his hand, that which dripped in gold, and swept you off to Night Raven College. Over the years he taught you everything you know now. He taught you how to paint and juggle, how to fluently read and speak every language used on the continent, even some more eccentric practices like how to identify cursed objects, how to weave certain sprigs of herbs together to create the most powerful warding charm, even which nerve to pinch to have any assailant drop unconscious instantly.

        While under the roof of Night Raven College, you met creatures from every walk of life. One could say you were popular, even. Everyone wanted to get to know the charge of the infamous headmaster Crowley. You grew close to many, some you would even call your friends. Some others, maybe more. But they led very different lives than you. Friendships fade, it's simply a way of life. Even if waving goodbye to them as they graduated and left you behind stung in a way you don't really wish to name.

        You stayed at the college longer than most. Not taking classes, simply acting as an errand runner for the headmaster as a way to repay him for guiding you to a much better path in life. But even he, past his grandeur and games, could see that you wished to spread your wings farther than the astronomy tower and botanical garden.

        With a final pat on your head, he sent you away to pave your own path. His name and the beautifully detailed dagger on your hip, an ivory crow head for the hilt, as your only weapons. On your own you ventured for more years, gaining wisdom from those you met on the way. You had all but forgotten your old friends from your school days. All until one fateful day.

        Sat on the edge of the cliff, you gazed down at the view below you. The sun was setting, painting the sky in vibrant hues. You were in your own world, leaning back on your arms and kicking your feet over the edge of the cliff. Until a shrill meow drew your attention elsewhere. A scruffy grey cat emerged from the undergrowth. Eyes too blue to be a normal feline blinking up at you. A black and white bow tied neatly around his neck. In his mouth was a letter, the envelope only the most ornate of finery. The crest on the wax stamp was that of a noble house.

        The cat curled up in your lap as you used your dagger to cut the envelop open. The parchment inside just as luxurious as what housed it. You scanned the words on the page, language so flowery and formal it may as well have been another language of it's own, but you got the message.

˜”*°•.•°*”˜

Where will you go first, dear adventurer?

Heartslabyul Manor, the home of the ruthlessly strict Grand Duke Riddle Rosehearts and his cronies. They say he bows to nobody but the queen himself.

Savanaclaw tavern, the home base of a ragtag group of mercenaries. Rumor has it their roguish leader, Leona, isn't of this land, and that his reputation is far from good where he’s from.

Octavinelle Gambling Den, a house of luxury and debauchery. The head, Master Azul, is said to be incredibly kind and benevolent. For the small price of your darkest secrets.

Scarabia Merchant's Guild, a travelling guild with gold flooding from every crack in their coffers. The ever-so-kind Master Kalim is said to only be the face of the guild. His servant is who really runs things.

Pomefiore palace, the main residence of the illustrious Queen of the region, Vil Schoenheit. His past is stained red, as is the story of how he managed to sit on the throne. But the people adore him, so what is there to see if not perfection?

Ignihyde tower, the hiding spot of the forsaken Lord Idia Shroud. Head chair of the Magic Council. His brilliance is said to be unparalleled, but people talk... and sources say he hid himself from society after committing a sin to magic itself.

Diasomnia castle, skeptics say that centuries ago, the old castle at the northern border was occupied by Fae royalty. Now it seems there's life in those haunted halls once more, for an air of regality hangs heavy in the fog surrounding the grand castle.

        Many a path to choose, and you have all the time in the world. But, even still, do you think it wise to keep them waiting?

        I wish you luck,

Choose wisely, my dear adventurer~

˜”*°•.•°*”˜

work belongs to @cougheemedicine, all forms of plagiarism, modifying, translating, reposting are not allowed.

[rillian4e]

Scaramouche x f!reader

cw: nsfw, modern au, dom!scaramouche, sub!reader, fem!reader, pet names, vaginal sex, cunnilingus, foul language, teasing, spanking etc...

summary: your annoying roommate Scaramouche is done with your little antics, and decides to teach you a little lesson.

a/n: This was a request sent as a submission which is why I can't include anon, hope you enjoy

your roommate Scaramouche has been getting on your nerves, constantly ignoring you when you tell him to do something, and never talking to you without swearing or calling you names. it was really too much for you—who was he to act like that? instead of confronting him and communicating, you set yourself on a plan to tease him relentlessly, maybe then he would regret being such a jerk.

but of course, nothing ever goes according to the plan perfectly. it was finally the day to set your plan to motion, purposely wearing a short mini skirt with a cute pink top, you knew Scaramouche would now be in his room gaming, so you went ahead and made some snacks for him to enjoy, you knocked on the door and entered when you heard "I'm busy, leave." ignoring the way he glared at you when you entered anyway, you went and placed the tray of snacks on his desk, you knew just how much he loved those snacks paired with his favorite bitter tea. "Did you get hit in the head or something?" at his question, you shook your head, smiling "Of course not, I simply thought it'd be nice to do something for my roommate." Scaramouche did not believe that, eyeing you suspiciously before turning to his game, mumbling a quick "whatever", it was a success, that was after all the needed step before the main part.

you then started doing even more sweet things for him, wearing pretty outfits and being affectionate as if you two didn't argue every single day before. Scaramouche caught on and asked you where you were going, "Have you found yourself some stupid boyfriend? You've been getting all dolled up recently, it's annoying." he exclaimed, looking at you who just smiled sweetly, avoiding the question.

The next stage was the most impossible, 'accidentally' having your things drop on the floor as you bent over to pick them up in front of your roommate, getting out of the shower while only having a towel around your body, and wearing revealing outfits. only an idiot wouldn't catch on that, Scaramouche was well aware of your little antics, he could hear you touching yourself in your room, the thin walls not helping the sounds travel to his room. the last straw for him was when you asked him to fetch your towel which you just so happened to have 'forgotten', instead of simply giving it to you, he pinned you to the wall in the bathroom, embarrassed that you were now naked—infront of your roommate who you absolutely hated, you tried to break free of his grip which only lead to him tightening his grip on your hands. "What are you trying to do, slut? Think I haven't got a clue on what you've been doing, hm?" he asked, looking down at you before he went in for a kiss which caught you off guard.

"Is this what you wanted? Want me to fuck you like the whore you are?" you felt flustered at his words, feeling aroused by the situation, a moan escaping your lips when you felt his knee pressed in-between your legs, he wasted no time in putting you on the nearest surface, forcefully spreading your legs apart, as he kneeled, holding your thighs, a smirk forming on his face at the sight of your dripping core. "Looks like someone was waiting for this, huh?" he asked, giving your cunt a spank which made you cry out.

before you could react, his tongue was inside your pussy, occasionally sucking on your puffy clit and giving it slaps when you tried closing your legs, he didn't care about how embarassed you were, diving his tongue inside your tight hole. "...fuck, you taste so good...", his cock was already aching hard, wanting your tight walls wrapped around his length, but before that he was going to make you beg.

as you were close to cumming all over his tongue, his movements stopped, "Wh‐ w-why did you stop?" you asked, confused as you looked at him, he seemed amused, not even hiding his grin, "Only good girls get to cum, not naughty slutty girls like you." was all he said, you could tell what his intention was, you frowned but gathered all your courage as you gazed down at him. "Scara...p-please...I really need it, s' badly... I'll do anything! Jus' please let me cum, I'll be a good girl...!" you tried your best convincing him, surprisingly he was satisfied with that, his tongue continuing to bring you to your climax. however, he didn't give you any time to calm down from your orgasm, instead pinning you on the counter, and freeing his shorts before plunginginh his cock deep inside your cunt, "Ha...so tight..." he groaned, pressing his face into your neck, his length stretched you out in two, something you haven't felt in so long, "Look at you, your hole is clenching around me, are you that happy that you finally got what you wanted?" He asked, chuckling lowly as he saw your expression, his rough and fast pace not changing even when tears formed in your eyes—Scaramouche was delighted at the feeling of your pussy being so warm, so wet and so, so tight, he's regretting that he didn't fuck you sooner. "Mmh... maybe I should have just done this earlier, yeah? Bet you dreamed of your roommate fucking your hole like this, if not, why else would I hear you moan and touch yourself when you know I'm just next room to you?" you couldn't respond to him, too dumb on his cock to form a sentence, you felt yourself cum on his cock, what irked you was that Scaramouche didn't bother slowing down his pace, instead only rutting with more force into your overestimulated cunt. "s' t-too much!" you cried out, looking at him for some sympathy but only earning a slap to your clit, "Shut up, you're gonna take it like a good fucktoy, like the big girl you are."

you were powerless to resist, only getting more turned on at his degrading words, gosh, you loved it when he was being mean to you. Maybe it wasn't so bad to have him as a roommate? you pondered the question, was it really that bad when he could fuck you so nicely, fill your womb full of his cum?

[xcaptain-winterx]

Gingerbread cookies

football player!Bucky Barnes x reader

summary: Your helpful football player decorates the gingerbread cookies for you while you sleep. Only problem is that your boyfriend has a better idea.

warnings: fluff, Bucky being a good boyfriend, Bucky being a horny boyfriend, cum, nsfw 18+, Alpine, pussy eating

a/n: English is not my first language, meaning you will probably find a lot of misspelling etc.. This is a fic for “Vee's holly jolly challenge” @sstan-hoe with the prompt “Before we go out…pull up that skirt real quick, baby”. Hope you like it and I hope you all have a great Christmas❤️🎄

Main Masterlist Bucky Barnes Masterlist

Bucky is walking out of the changing room, pulling his jacket tighter around him as the cold wind slaps him. He was supposed to have football practice until 5pm, but the sudden change of weather made them end earlier today. This decision was good because 10 minutes later the wind got brutal. Bucky makes his way back to his apartment, wanting to be back in the warmth as soon as possible. His phone starts to ring midway through his walk back home and he struggles for a second to get his phone out before finally managing to pull his phone out of the deeps of his pocket. A smile spreads out on his face as he sees that you are calling him.

“Hey, doll” Bucky says happily.

“Hey, baby” you say, sounding equally as happy. “I already assumed practice was going to end earlier today. How was it?”.

“It was good. I beat Steve today” he says proudly, remembering how defeated Steve looked as his best friend threw him across the field.

“Wow, that’s amazing, baby! Guess you deserve something special then, huh?”. Bucky bites his lap as he thinks about what you gave him last time you were proud of him, or more like what you did.

“I will be home in two minutes” Bucky says, speed walking down the streets and taking a shortcut. Just as Bucky is about to bring up a wish, including you in only his jersey, a noise in the background gathers his attention.

“What is that, doll?”.

“So” you begin “I actually called you because I wanted to ask you if you could make a quick stop at the supermarket and get some frosting”.

“Sure” Bucky immediately says and walks back in the other direction. “For what?”.

“Today is Yelena’s birthday and I want to make gingerbread cookies, but I ran out of frosting halfway. I still need to decorate twenty more cookies”. Bucky remembers the party. How couldn’t he? The whole football team is going and many more. Yelena and you know each other since you were about five and went together to the same schools. Meanwhile her sister Natasha was in Russia for some years.

“I thought we had enough frosting” Bucky says, remembering how went grocery shopping last week and even got more frosting than necessary.

“I thought so too, but we used quite a lot of frosting last night as we drunkenly built our gingerbread house” you say, while putting the last dozen of cookies in the oven.

Your parents came by yesterday morning before flying to England for the holidays and gifted you two some wine as an early Christmas present. Of course you two had to taste it, so you put on some nice music while Bucky lit the fireplace and then cuddled up to on the couch and opened the bottle. In no time the bottle was empty and you two dancing to Christmas music before Bucky had the brilliant idea to build a gingerbread house together, remembering you two bought a set. After some failed attempts to put it together, you two finally managed to do it and were able to decorate it. At that point, you still had enough frosting, but you wanted to do more decorations, so you took some of the frosting what was meant for the cookies.

In the end, you didn’t even use the frosting for decorating. Well, not for decorating a gingerbread house. Bucky thought it would be fun to decorate your body on the table and slowly lick the sweet scream off your body.

But the gingerbread house still looks good.

Bucky smiles back at the memory, remembering how much you two had and not only in the dirty kind.

“And now you want your lovely boyfriend to bring you some more frosting? Don’t you think you already have enough cookies?”

“Well, my lovely boyfriend, I think you can never have enough cookies and I may even spare you some if you get me some frosting” you say sweetly, secretly knowing you already got him wrapped around your fingers.

Bucky acts like he’s thinking for a second before replying. “Ok, but I want you to decorate MY cookies, especially for me. I want to take them with me to practice and rub under the boy’s noses that my girlfriend makes me cookies with personal messages”.

“You just want one that says ‘best dick’ or ‘careful big thing in pants alert’” you say laughing, imagining how he will show those cookies to Steve and Sam.

“You know me so good, doll” he says, smiling into his phone. “Alright, I will get you something, so you can finish decorating your cookies”.

“I love you, baby. Thank you so much. I will make you some hot chocolate, so you have something warm when you come home”.

“You are too good to me, doll. I love you” he says before saying goodbye. A wide grin appears on his face, while hanging up and putting his phone away. Instead of continuing his way to the supermarket, he turns around again and walks to their apartment.

Bucky wipes his snowy shoes on the doormat. He was almost home as it started snowing hard. Good, that the birthday party is inside.

He unlocks the door, and immediately a wave of warmness and the smell of fresh gingerbread hits him. He steps inside and is immediately greeted by your arms wrapping around his neck and pulling him down for a kiss. Bucky kisses you back, dropping his bag to lift you up, but before he can, you pull away from him.

“I’m so happy to see you, baby. Did you bring the frosting? The cookies are almost done” you run back to the kitchen, leaving him at the door. A soft white fur ball comes out of the bedroom upon hearing the front door open.

“Hey, Alpine” Bucky says as his little baby purrs against his legs, “I missed you too, girl”. He picks her up after removing his shoes, jacket and letting his bag drop on the small bench in the entryway. In the kitchen, he sees how productive you have been. On the counter are two batches with finished cookies, two with unfinished ones, and another batch is in the oven.

“Doll, how about you rest a bit and then get ready for the party while I finish the cookies? You need some rest” he walks closer, seeing how tired you are.

“But the cookies-“.

“I will get them out when they are done and put the frosting on them” Bucky says, giving you Alpine, who happily snuggles closer into the arms of her favorite human.

“James, you don’t have to do that. You just came home from practice and I already made you get the frosting. You don’t need to do more” you say as he leads you to your bedroom. Alpine jumps out of your arms as Bucky pulls back the blanket for you to lie down. She stretches before getting comfortable again in the warm bed she slept in before Bucky arrived. Alpine meows, waiting for you to join her.

Bucky picks you up bridal style, making you laugh. “What kind of boyfriend would I be if I made the love of my life overwork herself while I’m still full of energy” he says, laying you down on the bed and pulling the blanket tightly over you. Bucky chuckles as Alpine pops her head out from under the blanket.

“I love you, you know” you say and snuggle more into the warmth of the blanket.

“I know” Bucky grins before giving you a kiss, while murmuring a soft good night against your lips. He closes the door after walking out.

Once outside, he fist bumps the air. He can finally start with his plan. Bucky waits till the cookies are out of the oven before getting a big bowl and walking with it to the bathroom. A big grin is on his face as he closes the door.

“Merry fucking Christmas, doll”.

After you wake up and cuddled Alpine for another five minutes because your little baby wouldn’t stop complaining, you start to get ready for the party. Fixing your makeup in the mirror, you spot Alpine scratching the closed door. With a sigh, you walk over to her.

“No no no, baby. No, scratching the door!” you say and open the door, making her dash out and into the kitchen. You walk out after her, spotting your boyfriend leaning on the counter. Bucky lets out a hey as Alpine scratches his sweatpants and pushes her away with his foot.

When he turns his head around, he sees you standing there in a red dress. “Well, hello there, doll. Don’t you look pretty” he says, not moving from his spot, but giving you flirty smirk. You blush at his comment and walk over to him, noticing all the cookies decorated, though it’s a bit messy, and the frosting looks a bit too thin.

“Thank you for decorating them” you kiss his cheek “They look amazing”. It’s not a lie. You think they are pretty, even if they aren’t decorated the best.

Bucky smiles before he reaches for a cookie and holds it up to you, grinning. “Want a taste?”.

You nod and open your mouth for Bucky to put it in your mouth. You then take a big bite out of the cookie, not seeing how Bucky bites his lip.

The cookie doesn’t taste like you thought it would. Instead of being fully sweet, it’s more salty. At first, you think you added salt instead of sugar before you realize that it’s not the cookie that is salty. It doesn’t take a second for you to know what it is. You look at Bucky, seeing him with a seductive grin.

“You put your cum on the cookies!” you say with big eyes, staring at him with a shocked expression.

Bucky nods, looking so proud. He spent a long time in the bathroom until the bowl was full of his hot cum.

“Why?!” you ask, not believing that your boyfriend really did that. “They are for the party, baby!”

“And there are still enough. You baked so many before I even got here that had frosting on them” he replies and pulls you closer with his arm. “You said I can have some-“.

“But not so many!”

“There are still enough, doll” he kisses your cheek. “I made these extra for you”.

“Bucky, I can’t eat cum covered cookies, even if it’s yours” you say to which he only chuckles.

“You still ate this one though” he bites your neck “I know you like it”. At that, you blush and you two know he’s right. Bucky covers your neck in kisses.

“You are insane, Mr Barnes” you chuckle as Bucky purposely tickles you with his long stubbles.

“Insane in love with you” he looks in your eyes. “You know, I passed out three times for this shit. I’m surprised you didn’t hear me fall”.

You stare at him. “You passed out”.

“As I said, I’m insane in love with you”

“Aren’t you exhausted?” you ask, only now getting why he has to lean against the counter.

“A bit, but you know what I’m still able to do?”

“What?” you ask him as he lets go of you.

“Before we go out…pull up that skirt real quick, baby” he says. You bite your lip as you pull the front of your dress up. A soft moan leaves your lips as Bucky steps closer and runs his finger over your soaked panties.

“All this for me?”

“Yeah” you say with a shaky voice, watching as Bucky drops to his knees and moves your panties aside.

“Oh, doll, you are completely drenched. You really seem to like those cookies” Bucky says in a cocky voice. Before you can say something, he gives your pussy a lick, making you shut up. He picks you up effortlessly and sits you down on the free counter. Before he dives his face back to your pussy, he chases after Alpine and locks her in the bedroom, receiving some scratches while doing that, whispering under his breath how he is going to cut her nails.

Once back, he lays you down and removes your panties, stuffing them in his pockets and ignoring your hey.

“For later, doll” he says before lifting your legs on his shoulders. Bucky kisses down your leg until he finally reaches your pussy. He can see your slick and can feel himself get hard again. He perhaps passed out three times, but he will always be able to get hard for you.

“It’s only fair that I make you pass out now too” he says before finally starting to eat you out.

[hyah-lian]

flash thought here (also yes i am not capitalizing hyrule when referencing the land, but am for Hyrule the Link to make it a little clearer)

i see the headcanon a lot that Hyrule can’t read, or has very low literacy because of the state of his era and his circumstance of always on the run etc

I think Wild probably would too- either not read or be low literacy. Because of the 100 years passing (written word can change a lot so maybe it just changed so much from what he learned?), the whole pretty much dying thing and all the injuries and trauma from that, the memory erasure, etc

but also- like. most of the stuff in Wild’s hyrule, outside the castle and a few instances like books actually IN schools or like Purah’s n Robbie’s places or roadsigns (but thats also like for the player tbh but also its a flash idea headcanon so shush /lh), most of the written materials around are also VERY heavily illustrated. 

I think during the calamity and through the time passing, a lot of writing was lost, obviously, and people were spread out and cut off and its likely not everyone had a really good grasp on writing/reading/teaching because like, honestly, not everyone does period. Add on a heap of the world ending and chaos and seclusion and I think it makes it hard to have a standardized level of education.

SO, I think, especially after Link’s adventure in BOTW, that lots of drawings and illustrations are used to start open communication between pockets of people again and to rebuild the language and connect all the different dialects and other ways it evolved over the years in each little area, and to make things more accessible for everyone (i also hc it that botw hyrule is VERY focused on accessibility because damn baby; 100 years of tragedy, and good people with good hearts, and because i want to)

i think ‘Rulie and Wild would really enjoy being in Wild’s hyrule because it makes them feel more included in things that maybe sometimes goes over their heads because of differences in language across time, and the level they know from their experiences. And also I think they like to learn together and make their own copies of what the other Links read off for them that includes a lot more of the illustrations and setup from Wild’s hyrule.

this brought to you by something i did in stardew valley reminded me of the posters in breath of the wild that you can learn recipes off of, and how visual the game is. This is also a general BOTW headcanon thing too.

[thediamondgirl17]

Childe/Tartaglia x F! Pregnant Reader (Hc/Fic)

You know how many WIPs I have in my draft section? A lot, I also have a few requests I'm working on.

...But what am I doing instead?

Writing shit like this because I have had Tartaglia on the brain.

As always if you like this and want to request more of them feel free to do so!

Not proof read

SFW - Pg. 13 (but if your actually 13 then like what are you doing on my page?? Please save your innocence) May include mentions of miscarriages, cursing, suggestive language, blood, gore, etc. It's Childe, what did you expect? Also mentions of his real name just cuz it's easier to type than Tartaglia.

Tartaglia and yourself weren't necessarily trying to have a baby

But it wasn't like the two of you had been taking precautions on it either

He had expressed his desire for a big family, and you agreed

This happened during a very inappropriate time but that's a story for another day

Working with him in the Fatui even prior to your relationship just made things easy for you two to be near each other a lot

When you found out it was a bit surprising since you two had been quite active for literal months but you hadn't gotten pregnant before

For a few days you had felt utterly miserable after waking up. However, due to the fact that Ajax was a Harbinger, he was always either up and out of the house before you, or away on a trip to a different country. He had been gone for about a week in Liyue for some work. So of course he wouldn't have been there to notice the early signs of pregnancy in you.

After rolling yourself out of bed and feeling the cold Shneznyan floor under your feet, you adorned your usual Fatui wear, minus the face mask, and trudged your way to the Fatui headquarters, deciding to get checked out by one of the medics in case you were sick. The whole way there you had felt utterly miserable, abnormally cold, nauseous, hungry, tired, and sore. It was like every issue you ever had was just building up on you all at once.

"Good morning," You mumbled after practically stumbling into the building. You were met with unexcited 'Mornings' back, and went all the way up to the medic area in the building.

After explaining everything to the doctor, she had left with a clipboard full of information from your check up. She came back in with a smile and some papers she had just written out.

"Well, you aren't sick I can tell you that. However you are experiencing morning sickness." She said putting the papers down beside you.

"Are you telling me that I'm...?"

"Pregnant? Yes. It's still really early in your pregnancy, but everything checks out." She nodded a bit.

Now actually telling Ajax was a different thing all together

He came home about a week after you had found out about your little bun in the oven

You had decided to tell him at a time that was random and would catch him off guard

Even better, you had found a time when he was with some of his collogue Harbingers

"And what do we need to be doing now (Y/n)?" Signora asked looking down at her nails. Scaramouche was standing in the doorway with his arms crossed, Dottee was writing in a journal, and some of the other harbingers were just hanging about. Ajax was currently sparring with one of the other harbingers for fun.

"The Tsaritsa has ordered a meeting for all of you in about two hours, between now and then you need to submit copies of paperwork into the Recourse department to look over them." You flipped the page. Reading through a few of the Harbinger's schedules for the day so they would know what the outline looked like for the day. However a stupid smirk spread across your lips as you got to Ajax's schedule. "Okay, so this morning like everyone else you need to submit your papers, file a few documents, make sure to clean your desk area or appoint another member to do it, find time in your schedule to celebrate our pregnancy, then go to the meeting with the other harbingers-," You were about to keep reading the list as if nothing abnormal was on it, but glanced up just after you announced it.

Apparently his vision went off without him knowing, because a very tiny version of his whale jumped up from a puddle on the floor and splashed down soaking both you, him, and his sparring partner.

"What did you just say?" He asked tilting his head.

"You need to clean your-,"

"Not that," He spoke as if he was talking to one of his enemies. You just got a smug smile.

"Oh? Celebrating the pregnancy?"

"Are you...is this a joke?" He asked tossing his arm to the side, allowing his bow to dissipate.

"No...I have the documentations in my hand actually, I'd like you to review them-!" You yelped as you felt his arms wrap around you and his head fall into the crook of your neck. Of course the ginger haired man was embarrassed to be seen as this venerable in front of the harbingers, but how could he not? All of his dreams were coming true.

"Great, the human is carrying another human. Can we get on with this please?" Scaramouche grumbled.

Of course there was an argument over if you should still be coming into work or not

That was a whole thing that ended up very ugly

"And if someone walks into that building wanting to get revenge on the Fatui and I'm not there! Then what happens?! I loose both of you!" Ajax was getting frustrated.

"I told you I can take care of myself! I've kicked your ass in our spars before!" You yelled back, the pregnancy hormones making you more defensive than before. "I have a vision for a reason!"

"But not while you were pregnant! You are not coming to work again, end of story!" He said with his arms crossed over his chest.

"I'm going to work!" You shouted.

"I make plenty of money for the both of us!" He said with his voice slowly raising after each sentence.

"It's about fulfilling my duty as a member of the Fatui!"

"Oh is it? Fine, I'll have you demoted then! Oh you know what, why don't I just fire you then? I do have the power to do that." He laughed mockingly. And you paused, feeling your eyes well up.

"You wouldn't...," You hissed.

"It's just a job."

"I want to be with you...and d-do my part...," You tensed up and stormed out of the room.

It took a few hours before Ajax went into your shared bedroom and climbed into bed beside you. He rolled over so he was the big spoon and put his warm hand over your lower stomach.

"How about you just handle the paperwork?" He whispered. You nodded silently, tired and puffy from crying.

If you thought Ajax was protective of you BEFORE you are SEVERELY mistaken

He always makes sure there's at least one mirror maid and one skirmisher within earshot of you

He always personally escorts you everywhere, and if he can't do it he always appoints a different harbinger to

The day Scaramouche was appointed to you was...interesting

You were about four months pregnant now, with a slight bump. Heartburn had been your worst enemy this month, however Ajax would constantly reassure you:

"It just means the baby is going to have a lot of hair! Hopefully like mine!" He would always say it in heartburn fits you were having.

Ajax was off to Mondstat for the day to collect some papers and some information from a couple of poor unsuspecting people. So in return for Childe doing his dirty work for him, Scaramouche had agreed to watch over you for the day. The Balladeer was a very intimidating person, but after having worked closely with him for a while you didn't feel uncomfortable around him. However you did notice that his thin suspicious eyes would glance down at your stomach every now and then.

"Something wrong?"

"No." He states simply and paused a moment before speaking again. "How is that human surviving in your stomach acid?"

"Excuse me?"

"How is it alive?"

"...You aren't...serious are you?" You asked with furrowed eyebrows.

"Are you mocking me?"

"No it's just...you've never seen pregnancy before?"

"Of course I have human, do you know how old I am? Besides I spend my time researching battle plans and getting stronger. Why would I want to waste my precious time learning about the way a human grows another human." He stated before looking back down at the book he was reading.

It then hit you that he probably was never spoken to about this matter. Due to his history, at what point would someone have taught him this stuff? And suddenly you felt sympathy towards the purple haired harbinger.

"Here...," You sighed and dug around in your satchel through the many books on pregnancy, and pulled out the one that explained how the pregnancy worked. You handed it to him. Reluctantly he took it back from you and hmphed.

"When it comes out, will it be working here?" The Balladeer said with his arms crossed. "I don't want another Childe running amok."

"Do you really know nothing about babies and children?"

"Of course I do...,"

"So you know that they need to be watched until they are able to walk and talk?"

"You have to teach them how to walk and talk?" He asked with a disgusted look. You offered a small sigh and began guiding him through the process of raising children.

The day you first felt the baby kick was also quite fun

It was just a few days after your meeting with Scaramouche

It had also taken you by surprise

This was a very important meeting between some of the harbingers and some of the higher ranking Fatui soldiers. You were taking down notes from what was going on at the meeting. Signora and Dotte were debating over a stupid topic on Mondstat when you felt a sharp pain in your abdomen and fell forward onto the table a bit, catching yourself with your hands on the table.

Your eyes were wide and you were panting, all eyes landed on you, and Ajax was beside you as fast as lightning (you assumed he used his delusion) and put his hand on your back.

"What happened?" He asked.

"Fucker kicked me in the ribs." You panted and sat up straight again, leaning back in your chair. There was silence and then came a hardy laugh from around the table in multiple directions.

"A menace to society like it's father." Signora laughed, then went a bit quiet. "Still kicking?" She asked. You shut your eyes for a moment and jumped a bit at the next kick.

Immediately Ajax's hand was on your stomach as he felt the little kicks. His smile was small and soft as the baby mercilessly kicked at your stomach. He laughed a bit and shook his head.

"Looking for a fight...," Ajax pointed out, and you laughed a bit.

"May I feel?" Signora asked a bit out of the blue, however didn't look at you.

"Hurt her and I'll kill you." Childe said with a smile. The blonde just rolled her eyes and got up from her seat, running her cold hand over your stomach, earning another little kick from within you.

"Very feisty...," She chuckled a bit. You looked up at the Balladeer.

"Want to feel?"

"Why would I?" He shot back.

We all know that later on he asked to feel...

I think I'll make the "meeting the family," "making the baby," and "after having the baby," Things separately if you guys are interested

[drabbles-mc]

Handled

Juice Ortiz x F!Reader

Combining 2 Anonymous requests for this: I was wondering if you could do a Juice x female reader, where reader has been kidnapped by a rival gang and beaten for info, that she doesn't spill. And, in a sort of exchange, two men stab her in front of the sons, including her old man (Juice), and she instantly rages and just does some out of the blue ninja shit that they didn't even know she could do, and takes them out before dropping to the floor. & what if, we/you had a scenario where the reader drops into the splits to trip up two guys because they're charging her or something - literally don't mind which guy is for the pairing and whether fluff or stuff ensues. I kinda just want to see it written in your style. Like, "since when could she do that" and, etc.

Warnings: language, depictions of violence, blood, injuries, murder

Word Count: 2.1k

A/N: It’s been a hot minute since I’ve written a fight fic but I think I did alright! Had to throw in a little bit of Juice being a lil softy because it isn’t truly a Juice fic from me without it haha. Enjoy! xo

SOA Taglist: @mijop @adela-topaz-caelon @masterlistforimagines @garbinge​ @chibsytelford​ @xladymacbethx​ @i-just-read-stuff (If you want to be tagged in my fics don’t hesitate to reach out and let me know!)

You’d been put in a lot of compromising positions because of your proximity to the club. You’d been hauled in for questioning more times than you could count, and you’d gone toe-to-toe with a lot of people that you never wanted to have to cross paths with again. Being involved with the Sons meant you had to know how to defend yourself, because they weren’t always going to be around to do it for you. They might be your second family, and you might be someone’s old lady, but for you that was never an excuse to not be able to handle your own shit.

Long before you even knew who Juice Ortiz was, you were involved with Samcro. Growing up in Charming you couldn’t avoid knowing about them, and somewhere along the lines during your rebellious teenage years, you fell into the fold of the club and the community that surrounded it. You went from a silent presence, to a true friend of the MC, to an old lady. It was the wildest ride but you wouldn’t trade it for the world.

You remembered when Juice started prospecting—all smiles and full of jokes. If anyone had asked you for your opinion then, you would’ve said that the MC was going to chew him up and spit him out. But you would’ve been wrong, and in the midst of all the chaos the two of you ended up together. He was good for you, always kept you laughing. And you were good for him, too, helping him not spiral out and get ahead of himself—you kept him grounded. The bedlam was manageable when you faced it as a team.

All of that was running at hyper speed through your head as you found yourself bound to a chair in the back of an old warehouse. Being detained in an interrogation room at a police station was a stay at a five-star hotel compared to what you were going through now. It made you miss it. The metallic taste of blood coated the inside of your mouth. You spit it onto the concrete, staining it red. You mustered the deepest breath you could as you looked back up at the men who had taken you.

“I told you,” you shook your head, “I don’t know shit. And even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you,” you pulled against the restraints on your wrists, “I’m not a fucking rat.”

You felt another blow land to your stomach and you grunted, trying as hard as you could to bite back the pain. It was bad enough that you were stuck in this situation to begin with, you didn’t want to give any extra satisfaction of showing more pain than you had to. You were fidgeting and twisting your wrists relentlessly as you tried to loosen the binds. For a moment you thought that you were getting somewhere, but that sense of victory quickly got pushed to the side when you heard a clamoring coming from the other end of the warehouse. You had a feeling that you knew exactly who it was that was causing the ruckus, and you had never been so relieved to hear the yelling and cussing of some of your favorite men on the planet.

“Go!” one of the men shouted to the other, nodding in the direction of the noise, “Handle that. I’ll take care of her.”

As soon as the other man was a few strides away, you figured you weren’t going to have a better moment to try and catch him by surprise. You’d managed to wriggle one hand out of the rope that had previously been tied around it, and the slack gave you the opportunity to untangle the other. Your wrists were raw and bleeding but you didn’t care—you were closer to freedom than you’d been in hours.

You kept your hands behind your back and waited for the right moment. There was a gunshot and the man in front of you was visibly torn—not wanting to leave you unattended but also not wanting to leave his partner to face the gunfire alone. Neither them nor you even knew how many people the Sons had sent your way.

“Fuck,” he muttered and took one last look at you before taking off towards the chaos.

As soon as his back was turned you reached and freed your ankles. You stood up and ran at the man’s back. You leapt and threw your arms around his throat, choking him as you took him down to the ground. You collapsed on top of him, arms still tight around his neck as he attempted to elbow you off of him.

By that point, the two pockets of disarray found each other. You had no idea what had happened to the guys’ guns but there was no shooting as they approached you. You looked up for a moment to see your other assailant sprinting back towards you, and you assumed that he was being chased by at least Juice, if not someone else as well.

The split second made your grip falter just slightly, and the man underneath you flung his head backwards, hitting you directly in the nose. You cursed as it knocked you backwards, blood instantly beginning to gush out of your nose. You saw the man rising to his feet and you did as well, as quickly as you could manage.

The blood dripping from your nose completely faded from your mind as you assessed the situation in front of you. The man who had just given you your bloody nose reached down into his boot, pulling out a switchblade. You would’ve been lying if you said that it didn’t send a jolt of fear down your spine. Fighting two-to-one was difficult enough, but being outnumbered and one of them having a knife was pushing it even for you.

You stanced up, ready to fight and do whatever you had to do to survive. You were able to dodge a few blows from the man who was empty-handed, all the while keeping the knife in view. It was just a matter of time before the two of them closed in on you and you knew that, you were just trying to buy yourself enough time to get some backup.

There was a sharp pain in your side as you felt an arm wrap around your throat from behind. You screamed out in pain, eyes clenching shut for a moment as you tried to focus on anything besides the fact that you knew there was a blade sticking into your side.

When you opened your eyes you saw Juice and Chibs come crashing onto the scene. In all the time you’d known him, you had never seen Juice look so hurt, so angry as when he was taking in the scene in front of him. Just as he stepped in to try and help, you reached, yanking the knife out of your side and swinging your back to jam it into the thigh of the man behind you.

He grunted, grip on your throat tightening for only a moment before loosening as he leaned forward onto you. You took the brief moment of weakness to twist yourself and sweep his legs out from underneath him.

The other man ran at you and without thinking you dropped down, legs splitting as you tripped the man running at you. You swung your legs and body so that you were straddling the man you stabbed before you ripped the knife from his thigh and repeatedly sank it into his stomach and torso.

You were just about to turn around and finish the job when you were gripped tight by the back of your neck. You instinctively threw your elbow back and were rewarded with a cracking sound. Just as you spun your body around you saw that Chibs was already grabbing the man, pressing a knife to the base of his throat.

You weren’t sure if it was the relief of knowing you finally had a helping hand, or the blood loss from the stab wound in your side, but suddenly the tension began to disappear from your body. So much had happened in a matter of seconds that even you really couldn’t process it all. You stumbled a few steps before you felt Juice’s arms wrap around you to keep you from falling completely to the ground. You let him support your full body weight as you pressed your hand against the gash in your side.

“Get here faster next time,” you let out a humorless laugh as you shut your eyes, trying to ignore the searing pain that was spreading through your body.

“In our defense, love, you had it handled jus’ fine on yer own,” Chibs was walking towards you and Juice, wiping blood from the blade of his knife onto his jeans.

“Can we finish this conversation later?” Juice’s voice was dripping with concern as he tried to figure out the best way to help you move without making your injuries any worse.

“I’ll be fine,” you shook your head slightly, not expecting to feel so lightheaded.

“You ripped a knife out of your own body and killed somebody with it,” Juice couldn’t take his eyes off of your face that was streaked with sweat and blood, “and while seeing you Hulk out was shocking and impressive, you also did just about the dumbest thing you could do with a stab wound.”

“But it at least looked cool, right?”

He shook his head, “I can’t talk to you when you’re like this.”

You knew that his annoyance was rooted in concern. You would’ve been more concerned if they had shown up any later than they did. You weren’t going to heal up quickly by any means, but you’d survive. There was no doubt about that.

“I would’ve gotten that other guy too, you know,” you looked over at Chibs.

He chuckled as he stepped in, bracing the other side of you to help Juice assist you with walking, “I know. Just wanted in on the fun, that’s all. Next time I’ll leave it all to you.”

“There’s not gonna be a next time,” Juice shook his head, staring daggers at Chibs for even joking about the possibility.

“When yer all healed up, you’ll have to get the rest of us flexible enough to do that little drop and spin move ye did back there.”

You mustered what you could of a laugh as they helped you into the back of the van, “Liked that one, huh?”

“Will you stop making her talk?” Juice snapped.

Chibs held his hands up in mock surrender as he walked to the driver’s door, “Sorry. Jus’ didn’t know you were dating a lass who is a goddamn black belt.”

Juice stayed in the back with you, applying pressure to your side as he cradled your head in his lap. You could hear the unsteadiness in his breath as he tried to stay as calm as possible. He’d been in plenty of situations with bloodied and injured people before, but it was never you, it was never this bad. You reached and rested your hand on his knee, giving him a reassuring squeeze when you saw the sadness starting to creep into his eyes.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you tell him.

“Like what?”

“Like that,” you allowed yourself a small smile, “C’mon it’s gonna take more than a couple guys with some rope and a knife to do me in. I’m tougher than that.”

“I never said you weren’t tough.”

“I just feel like you should be a little more impressed, that’s all,” you laughed, immediately wincing once you did.

It got him to crack a small smile, “I’ll take the time to be impressed once you don’t have blood gushing out of your side or your face. Is that fair?”

“I guess,” you smiled, “I’d ask you to kiss me but I don’t think you want that right now.”

He dipped his head down, pressing his lips lightly against yours for a moment in a gentle kiss despite the blood all over your face, “That’s not to reward reckless behavior, you know.”

“All of our behavior is reckless,” you shook your head slightly.

“Oh sure,” Chibs piped up as he drove, “But I’m the one who was makin’ her talk.”

You smiled and Juice chuckled quietly. Both of you did fall into a comfortable silence after that, though. You listened to Chibs’ half of the conversation as he called to get medical help ready for you back at the clubhouse. You were just ready to get cleaned up. You could deal with the bandages and the stitches as long as you were able to take a shower and get the blood and grime off of you.

“I love you,” Juice’s voice was soft, “And I’m sor—”

You cut him off, “Just leave it at I love you.”

He smiled and you could see a little bit of the light return to his eyes, “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

[pascalpanic]

Sirenita (Marcus Moreno x f!Reader)

Summary: You and Marcus were supposed to have a wonderful long weekend to yourselves in his home. Your immune system has other plans.

W/C: 2.7k

Warnings: language, talk of having a cold and some of the gross details are included, talk of like mucus, sore throats, stomachaches etc. talk of sex and sexual flirting/innuendos.

A/N: I woke up this morning and have NO voice from a sore throat, after last night when I was researching Spanish terms of endearment and I found one to mean “little mermaid”... of course I had to write it! Thanks to @theteddylupinexperience and @sanchosammy for reading this one for me :)

There are very few things that you love more than long weekends. There’s a definitive list of the things you do: Marcus Moreno sits at the very top. He’s your everything, really, your comfort and warmth and all of your heart is hidden within his. The second-place title goes to Missy Moreno. The little girl is your best friend, and you are hers. She’s funny and whip-smart, and she loves you like a mother figure.

Fourth place seems like a fitting spot for long weekends. As much as you love them, there are three things you love more, even though two and three might sound contradictory. Number Three in your heart is long weekends with Marcus where Missy isn’t home.

Missy is at an age where she’d much rather be with friends than family during her free time. You understand the feeling, remembering your days of spending leisurely days with friends and seeing your parents only when you came home to sleep.

As much as you and Marcus both adore the little girl, you empathize. Marcus is surprisingly lenient with her, allowing her to go to friends’ houses or come to theirs whenever she’d like. There was a long time where Missy didn’t have any friends at all. He’s more than willing to let her make up for lost time. It makes his heart swell to see his little girl happy again.

This long weekend, a dreary three days in the middle of March, was supposed to be wonderful. Missy made plans to go with her friend’s family to their lake house a few hours away, and you and Marcus were more than willing to hold down the house while she was gone.

Weekends are always too short. They’re never enough time for you to properly adore Marcus, to cuddle and fuck and do things and sleep and hang around the house. The two days are filled with driving Missy places, shopping for groceries and meal prepping for the Morenos and their busy weeks. If you’re lucky enough for Missy to fall asleep earlier than the two of you, you can sneak in a round of lovemaking in Marcus’s ridiculously plush bed.

That’s why three days are perfect: you can finish everything you need to, and still have time to cuddle on your boyfriend’s strong chest, to watch movies and lay around for a while, recovering from your hectic lives. When Marcus’s daughter isn’t home, you can wander the house in your underwear, can fuck spontaneously on the couch or in the kitchen or in the shower. The two of you can pretend you’re responsibility-free and young again for a while.

That had been your plan for the weekend, complete with a large package of condoms that had been discreetly delivered to your house and hidden in Marcus’s nightstand. Thursday found you with drained energy and pounding in your temples. You took a mucus relief pill and hoped for the best. Much to your chagrin, you’d come home from work on Friday night with a nagging cough and a dripping nose, feeling utterly miserable. You’d helped Missy pack and sent her on her way to her friend’s lake house with a large bag of snacks you’d helped her shop for.

The cold evolved over the course of the night, leaving you a whimpering mess in Marcus’s arms. Marcus made the two of you hot chocolate with almond milk, insisting that dairy would only make you produce more of the slime plaguing you. He was right, and you’d cuddled and sipped your hot beverages while you watched a movie you’d been waiting to see when Missy wasn’t home. He pressed gentle kisses to your forehead, noting the heat radiating from your skin every time. If it ever felt warm, he’d insist you take your temperature again. The beeping of the little stick made you wince when you heard it now, but you were always relieved to find you didn’t have a fever.

You’d retired later than the two of you normally did, but it was still early in the night. As Marcus removed his glasses and set them on his nightstand, you cuddled into his chest and sighed. This was going to be a long night with your painful throat, and you hoped you wouldn’t wake Marcus.

It took a long time to fall asleep, despite Marcus’s steady breathing calming you. You’d got up and sat at the window, admiring the way the large tree in the Morenos’ backyard swayed and rustled with the gusts of wind. Marcus made the soft noises of a nightmare. He’s had many of them, too many, and it breaks your heart. You climbed back into bed and kissed at his neck and jaw just enough to wake him from the dream, then admired the rise and fall of his chest as he fell back asleep.

Around 2 A.M., you finally fell asleep.

-

When you wake in the morning, the Saturday sun filtering through the gauzy curtains you’d hung in the bedroom, Marcus is still deeply asleep. You roll over and take a deep gulp, taking inventory of the feelings in your body.

Your throat still stings, but nowhere near the level it hurt the past few days. That makes you sigh in relief. You still can’t breathe through one nostril, but that’s a minor effect. You yawn and attempt to pop your ears but they’re still too plugged.

The biggest issue you notice is in your stomach. It aches and churns, feeling just generally gross. You suppose the amount of your mucus in your stomach isn’t exactly helping your situation. Sighing again, you sit on the edge of the bed for a moment before standing next to it.

Marcus rolls over, frowning at the lack of your warmth, the emptiness in his arms. “Baby?” He asks, groggy and rough from sleep.

“Right here,” you say- or you try to. Your voice croaks from your throat, barely audible. Oh, shit.

Marcus opens his eyes as he looks over at you, frowning even deeper. “Are you okay?” he asks, sitting up and putting on his glasses. It’s a small relief to see that you’re right next to him and not visibly pained or distraught.

“Fine, yeah,” you say, but your hand flies to your throat, coughing and trying to clear it. You chuckle, the raspy and cracking voice sound filling the room.

Marcus laughs softly. “How do you feel?” He asks gently, taking one of your hands.

“Okay. Better, actually, but my voice is just…” you sigh at the strain of talking. “And my stomach feels like absolute shit.”

He frowns, pushing the covers off from his lap. “Well, you should eat something. Let’s get you some breakfast, huh? I’ll make you some toast,” he offers, standing up and pulling you alongside him as he begins to walk.

He’s warm, and you’re unbearably hot. “Sure,” you nod and scoot away from him. He looks at you with sad eyes and you offer an apologetic smile. “I’m just really warm, I’m sorry.”

Marcus’s eyes are filled with understanding and he nods. “You wanna take a cool shower and I’ll make you some breakfast?” He asks, just taking your hand instead.

“Please,” you smile and kiss his cheek. “I love you so much,” you whisper, finding that at least you can sound somewhat normal if you speak in such a low tone.

“Love you too, beautiful,” he chuckles and kisses the top of your head. “You’re like Ariel. Did some kind of mean sea witch steal your voice?” He asks teasingly, making you croak out a laugh.

“Just call me the little mermaid,” you sigh, swallowing and wincing at the pain.

“You know, that’s a nickname my dad called my mom when I was little. Sirenita. It literally means little mermaid,” he smiles down at you, placing a hand on each of your upper arms. “Go hop in the shower. It’ll feel good.”

You nod and obey, heading back in the bedroom and into the attached bathroom. You take a nice shower, and the cool water feels good on your warm skin. You turn up the heat a little and relish in the way the steam soothes your nose, makes everything feel just a little better. Once you’re done, you dry your hair and pull on a tank top and a pair of Marcus’s sweatpants, wandering downstairs.

Being Marcus, he’s made a gorgeous spread of food for you. There is toast and fruit, scrambled eggs, all kinds of foods. “Hi. I didn’t know how much flavor you could tolerate, so I just-”

He’s cut off when you throw your arms around him and kiss the side of his face. “Thank you,” you rasp out, squeezing him tight. “You’re the best man on Earth. How are you so cute?”

He’s about to respond but there’s a high pitched noise and he turns quickly, out of your arms. “Oh, I’m making tea for you too,” he tells you and kisses the bridge of your nose before he grabs the kettle from the stove.

“You literally just proved my point further,” you laugh and follow him along, wrapping your arms around him from behind. “I know we had all kinds of grand plans for this weekend, but I think we need to put today’s on hold.”

He smiles at the feeling, putting one hand atop of your arm. “Oh, I know. It’s alright. We’ve still got two more days,” he assures you and rubs your arm slowly with his strong hands, the other one pouring the kettle into two mugs with tea bags.

“God, I don’t deserve you,” you sigh and let go to stand next to him, pulling the tea bag and watching it bob in the water.

Marcus frowns, a few lines in his forehead. “Yes you do. You deserve everything I can do for you and more, mi sirenita,” he says softly, looking down at you. “And what you deserve today, especially with how you’re feeling, is rest. So I’ve made us an alternate plan.”

“Oh yeah?” You croak.

“You got it. The first part is that you don’t talk for the rest of the day. I’ll only ask you yes or no questions,” he tells you as he picks up the two mugs. “We’re just going to cuddle in bed or on the couch and binge watch that new series we’ve been meaning to watch. You’ll only get up to go to the bathroom, and I’ll get you everything else. My mom is going to bring some of her famous soup over later, she texted me, and we’ll have that for dinner. Does that sound good?”

You pout at him with big and loving eyes. “That’s so sweet,” you coo and reach for the mug of tea.

He pulls it back and raises an eyebrow, teasingly smiling. “Ah. No more talking starting… now. Does that sound good?” He repeats, holding the mugs far from your body. You nod and he grins, handing you the mug.

“Good.” Marcus kisses your head softly. “Alright, babe. You want honey and lemon in this?” He asks as he prepares his own tea.

Once again, you nod. Marcus never said anything about phones. You pull it from your pocket, and an automated voice speaks what you type for you.

“Marcus Moreno you are a little shit and I adore your cute butt,” a robotic voice vocalizes for you. He turns and you grin as you hold up the phone, giggling softly. You type in more words for it. “Hello Marcus it is me I am a cyborg now. Marcus Moreno has a cute ass and the world knows it because he is famous and I am eternally grateful for that.”

Marcus frowns. “Stop making that thing talk about my ass.”

“I am solely using this to objectify you now that you said that. Marcus Moreno has washboard abs and is really sexy. Marcus Moreno’s ass is squishier than it looks. The reason Marcus has such strong thighs is because he fucks like a machine. Marcus Moreno is a DILF.” You’re giggling uncontrollably now.

“Give me that goddamn thing, I swear to God,” he laughs and tries to steal it from you. You jerk it back with a squeal, and Marcus leans forward again to grab it. “You can’t run from me with that thing. It’s metal.”

You break your promise not to speak. “I can try!” You squeal and the Heroic lunges for you again. With a squeak, you take off into the living room, dodging around and running through the maze of the couch and coffee table.

You stumble a little, your arms waving in the air as you try to catch your balance. That’s the perfect moment, and the phone in your hand zips through the air and into Marcus’s palm. “Goddamnit,” you whine and flop down on the couch, lying on your back.

Marcus shakes his head but he’s smiling. “It was all cute until you called me a DILF.” He walks until he’s standing at your side.

“You are,” you grin up at him, voice crackling. “You’re a dad and I’d like to fuck you.”

Rolling his eyes, Marcus bends down and lifts you up, making you squeal again. “Jesus Christ,” he sighs, but you can practically hear the smile in his voice as he fireman-carries you to the kitchen. “I told you not to talk. I told you to relax. And what do you do?”

“Sorry,” you laugh, your face nearly pressed into his back as he holds you over his shoulder. “Couldn’t help it. It just sounded hilarious. I had to.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He sets you down and playfully smacks your ass, stealing a quick kiss before pulling a chair out from the table. “Eat.”

Shaking your head, you laugh. “I suppose that’s a good idea.” You grab a fork and scoop up some of the various foods. “I love you so much.

“No talking, little mermaid,” he reminds you, taking a sip from his cooled tea.

“I like that better in Spanish,” you murmur as you take a sip of the hot tea and sigh at the relief.

“What, you like sirenita?”

You smile and nod, going back to your vow of silence as you eat some of the breakfast. The two of you eat together quietly, in the comfortable lull that the two of you are so good at. Marcus isn’t a huge talker, and he appreciates a partner who can leave the silence in the air without needing to fill it. The quiet clanks of your metal utensils against the porcelain plates is enough.

You sigh when you finish your food, a wave of exhaustion coming over your body once more now that your stomach is settled and most things feel better than before. Marcus looks over at you and smiles. “Alright, Princess Ariel. Oh, does that make me Prince Eric?” He asks with a laugh.

You nod excitedly, trying not to speak, but you have to. “You look just like him.”

“First of all, no I do not, and second of all, no more talking.”

“I can make that decision,” you tease, though you know he’s doing it out of love. “You do. You’re tall and have pretty wavy dark hair and you’re ripped.”

“Missing the blue eyes.”

“I like brown better anyway,” you tell him with a lovestruck smile. You take the last sip of your tea, your eyes falling shut.

Marcus’s love would taste like tea, you think: warm honey, delicate flowers, spiced and flavorful herbs, earthy leaves, bright citrus, and warmth that soothes any ache you can possibly feel.

The weight of your eyelids is growing heavy, and Marcus can tell. “Well, mi amor,” he chuckles and stands. “You look tired.”

For once, you don’t disagree. “I am. I love you.”

“I love you too, sirenita. Let’s get you to bed.” Marcus carries you up the stairs as you nestle into his chest, sighing. There’s nowhere better than here.

-

taglist:

@remmysbounty @mishasminion360 @softly-sad @blo0dangel @binarydanvvers  @sleep-tight1 @apascalrascal @randomness501 @spideysimpossiblegirl @notabotiswear @pedro-pastel @sanchosammy @lv7867 @greeneyedblondie44 @hunnambabe @astoryisaloveaffair @emesispo @pedritobalmando @magikfanatic

[moosoobi]

Revelation

In the night: Chapter 1

T.Jeffy- Hamilton: the musical

Thomas’s interest in Y/N pulls him into a position he was previously blind to. They say every girl’s another mystery, but definitely not like this. Buckle your seatbelt Tommy, you’re in for a ride

Finally finished the first part of ITN (which is ironic since the moment I wrote this message I still haven’t finished it). I really hope I’m able to bring this story to life the way I want to and I hope y’all enjoy 😔💕. Here’s some stuff to expect:

Told from Thomas’s POV

Modern Au

College talk even though I’m literally in my second year of high school (so please bear with me) 

Ruh roh moments

Sorta weird POV/storytelling (I’m new to writing fics and stuff so this is definitely a learning opportunity) Also excuse my English errors: Though this is my only language, my school system seemed to fail in teaching me how to write

Word count: 6.7k (including separators) 

2 DISCLAIMERS:

TW: itty bitty angst, themes of injury/blood, etc. 

I’m not the best story writer, so after reading this chapter you may have many questions. Please keep in mind that this is one chapter out of (about) 10. Things that you may not understand in this chapter will most likely be explained in future chapters.

-Now Playing: In The Night by The Weeknd-

My God, she’s perfect 

     The way the sunlight reflects off of her glass skin. The sincerity in every word, every letter that she writes with her only pencil. To be that flawless, it’s a mystery to me. She takes a glance at me. Did she feel me staring? I duck down my head in embarrassment. 

“Jefferson, you oughta put that scholarship to good use”

     Professor Washington boomed to the entire class. I hear a fragment of her giggle. Her laugh is soft and naïve. I couldn't help but smile at the sound of her happiness.

     Washington is right, though. It's my first semester after I came back from my student exchange program over in France and I can already feel my sanity slipping. France was a beauty to visit, so many customs and cultures I wish I could be flourished in right now. 

     But there was one thing great about going to school in New York: I get to sit in a classroom with Y/N L/N. 

     I’ve never talked to her formally, at least not yet. She’s always sitting alone, never answers any questions, but Professor Washington makes the class acknowledge her perfect test scores and fascinating interpretations 

     As the bell rings I watch her stand swiftly. Is she in a rush? I can't help but watch as her hair is flung over her shoulder. She stuffs her notebooks and singular pencil into her burgundy-magenta backpack. Hey, at least she has good taste in color. 

I don’t think you understand

     She sits alone everyday during lunch, yet she never looks bothered. Her energy is so compelling to me. A feeling about her that I cannot comprehend, something that feels greater than my existence. I just got to know. 

“Thomas, you gotta work on staring at people less noticeable” James catches my attention by pointing his fork a little too close to my face. 

      I was staring? Again?

     I shake my head to snap back to reality

“The great Thomas Jefferson is interested in someone for longer than 30 seconds. I gonna be honest with you Thom, that’s impressing”

     I hear James laugh as he violently stabs a few pieces of pasta onto his fork. 

     James has been my best friend for as long as I can remember. We went to the same middle and high school down in Virginia, and just coincidentally ended up going to the same college in New York. 

     We’re always there for each other. I remember cheering for him at a high school assembly after he won a story writing challenge, he’s such a nerd. Then again, he had to drive me home a couple of times after I failed multiple driving tests.

     Back in high school, James was the Chess Club Champion, a title he always shoved down my throat. It’s no secret why, though. He’s really good at thinking things through, While I on the other hand tend to dive headfirst into the abyss.

“Shut it James” I sarcastically retort, taking a sip of the expensive chocolate milk which my scholarship supposedly pays for 

Hey, can I sit here?

     I talked to her during class. Her voice is angelic: Now, I’m not one to be religious and all, but that voice could get me on my knees praying for forgiveness. My ego couldn’t get me anywhere at all, as if she already knew my tactics, she knew my flirts, and how? I guess it just adds to her mystery.

“C'mon! that one works every time!” I whine

“Don't be so full of yourself Jefferson, I’ve heard them all before” A smile danced across her face

     She did, however, laugh at some of my remarks. It's good to know that she has a sense of humor. My jokes of Professor Washington’s shiny, bald head. The jokes of Professor Washington’s assistant, John Adams, who’s suspiciously absent considering he signed up for this job.

     Heck, I would even make fun of myself if it meant I got to hear that graceful laugh one more time- actually, that might be a little too far.

     Many days of giggling in class came after that day. I can see her starting to open up to my friends and I, like she’s spreading her wings and showing us the greatness that lies behind the social wall that she put up years ago. Even when we got in trouble for a little too much giggling in the back of the class, I sacrificed my own pride so she didn’t have to. Yes, I, Thee Thomas Jefferson, did that. 

---

     Even though I could see the social wall she put up, I knew one day Y/n would fall for my charming pick up lines, or maybe I just happened to have a lucky day:

“Y/N I need some a some help with my math homework” 

     Y/N glances over to me in concern. I fake a scared expression.

“Quick!” I swiftly grab her shoulder and shake her “What’s your phone number?”

     She playfully smacks my arm

---

     Obtaining her number felt like a rite of passage, like I’m important to her, like she wants me in her life. I couldn’t stop smiling that day, and of course James just had to make a comment on it. 

“Thomas, if you keep smiling like that I’m going to start thinking that your sick or something”

      James said as he shut my laptop, tired of waiting for me to pack my things.

“Now that's REAL ironic coming from you, James” 

      I raised an eyebrow as my laugh begins to come up my throat. I take my closed laptop and shove it somewhere into my backpack.

“Okay, leaving for a month in sophomore year just because of a little fever doesn’t make ‘being sick’ as part of my trade mark” 

     James playfully smacked the back of my head. Thankfully, my curls serve as protection, not just to make me sinfully handsome. James and I walk out of the freezing lecture hall and were hit with the crisp-coldness of New York.

     To the right of me I catch a glimpse of that eye catching burgundy-magenta backpack as it’s thrown into the trunk of a shiny, expensive car. My feet keep its motion as my head turns to see Y/N standing at the door of the car. 

“Yo, is that Y/N?” I hear James whisper behind me “and who’s that?” 

     My attention is suddenly drawn to the tall man walking around the car to open her door. His curly hair is pulled into a small bun and the smile he had on his face broke apart the stubble on his jaw. I furrow my eyebrows in confusion. 

“I’m just as clueless as you are”

     Keeping my glance on Y/N and the man, I watch as the man opens the door for her. My stomach turns as I watch Y/N smile back at him as she sits in the car. 

     For a split second, I swear I saw her shoot a soft glance at me. My feet almost stop in their tracks before I feel James’ hand yank me onto another pathway. 

“I’m all for you being head over heels, but we’re gonna be late to our study session with Angie” 

     Reality starts to set back into my head. 

“Right, lets dip.” 

---

“So little Tommy is Infatuated with this woman?”

     Angie’s eyes are piercing, and her luscious hair frames her face in a saintly manner. She slips off her baby pink coat to ease into her library seat. Her eyebrow raises as she takes a sip of her steaming coffee

     Of course James wouldn’t shut his mouth, especially around the notorious Angelica Schuyler.

     Angie’s pretty popular here, I find myself wondering why she has so many connections, yet it’s not just any reason(s) why she seems to be in the spotlight.

     1: She’s the oldest Schuyler. Her last name definitely got her places, not like I’m one to talk. Everyone seems to know her, not just at school, but all around New York City, and with her 5,000 Instagram followers, her first name’s starting to catch up with her last name in popularity

     2: Angie’s Daddy has money money. And that’s no secret when she decides to walk around campus with her designer handbags and shoes. I tend to think she always gets what she wants, but I know deep down, she’s never gonna be satisfied. Maybe it’s just a side effect of growing up with a silver spoon in your mouth

     And finally,

     3: Miss Schuyler here is Bold. She’s never afraid to put both me and James in our place. It’s almost as if she can’t be touched by anyone’s thoughts of her, then again the gossip in NYC is terribly insidious. With such grace and respect, Angelica is not afraid to throw your opinion into the ground.

“Yeah I swear, Jefferson would’ve gotten run over if I didn’t pull him onto the pathway” James attempted to tone down his laugh so the librarian wouldn’t stab him with those old, sharp eyes

“She-...”

For the first time, I didn’t know how to recoil

 “..Just caught me off guard.”. In an attempt to change the topic, I flipped through the pages of his textbook. 

Angelica and James shared an astonished glance at Thomas before looking at each other. I could hear James shrug and flipping open his textbook. I lift my head as I hear Angelica dig through her bag

“Alright let’s get started” Angie claps her hands together with determination

—-

     It’s been 2 hours of studying in the ghostly library. Unfortunately, I can’t avoid the talk forever.

“Hey Thomas, why don’t you invite her to our next study session?”

     Angelica smirked as she rudely shut my laptop. I desperately imagine the day where both James and Angelica leave me alone. I angrily glare up at her, but she has a good idea

“Actually, that’s not to bad of an idea” I ponder for a moment before retrieving my phone from my pocket

Thomas: Hey Y/N, u free this week?

     Hmm. Is this okay? Nah it’s too straight forward. I sigh as I deleted and retyped the message

Thomas: Greetings Ms. L/N, this is Mr. Jefferson from class. Would you delight me by partaking in a study session? 

What the heck Jefferson? I began to get frustrated from this nonsense. It’s just a text, why am I getting so anal over it?

Thomas: Hey Y/N, ds@insdas/19z7dnesdc-

     Angelica, who was watching me the entire time, snatched the phone from my hands. I attempted to protest, yet Angelica Schuyler knows how to hold her ground.

“Angie wh-” 

“I’ll do you a favor, Jefferson.” She said sternly. There was no way I was getting that phone back, heck, I would be lucky if I got it back in one piece

“Aaaaand sent!” I heard her squeal 

     Angelica suddenly tossed the phone to me and I fumbled it between my hands before I held it stably. I check to see the text that Angelica sent from my phone

Thomas: Hey this is Thomas from class, wanna come study with us at the library sometime?

Oh. It was that easy.

“Thanks Angie”

I shove my phone back in my pocket. Part of me was excited to have an excuse to text Y/N, yet I do wonder how awkward it would be if she rejected the offer. I mean, she already has the perfect grades, why would she need the extra help?

I start to rethink my decision.

—-

     It wasn’t until 11 pm at night until I got a reply from Y/N. Beforehand, I arrived at my apartment around 8 pm. As soon as my door shut, the room was filled with growls indicating my current problem: hunger. That could only be solved with one solution: microwavable mac and cheese. 

     My phone dinged while I was laying motionless on my bed. My apartment was right next to the street, and all I could hear was the busy streets of New York City.

     My eyes opened as I turned to my charging phone. 

Y/N: yeah I’m down :) just send a time and place and I’ll be on my way

     I was filled with joy, so much that I couldn’t wait another second to reply. 

Thomas: Alright, we meet at the library after our class. Can you make it? 

     Seeing the three dots jump melodically made my stomach feel as if two fairies were dancing throughout my body. Any second now, any second. ding!

Y/N: sounds good!

     I guess it’s settled, I get to hang out with the puzzling Y/N L/N, and maybe I’ll get to learn a bit more about her. But just because it’s a study session doesn’t mean I can’t show her what a southern gentleman looks like, and for the first time, I’m so excited to study

---

     James, Y/N, and I walk out of professor Washington’s class, laughing our asses off over some stupid joke. Everyone around us appears to be annoyed, especially with having to sit through almost two hours of my friends and I laughing in the back of the class, but it’s not like I care.

     Once we’re hit by the bitter cold of New York, my eyes are immediately drawn to that expensive car. So familiar and so faint in head, the memory of Y/N smiling as she hopped into his car replays in my brain.

“I’ll be back guys”

     Y/N excuses herself from the group before lightly jogging to the car. Her hair was graceful in the wind, and her burgundy-magenta backpack didn’t seem to weigh her down at all. For a split second, my brain acknowledges that mysterious man in the driver’s seat. There was a moment of awkward eye contact with him, his cold eyes pierced through me before my attention was drawn back to Y/N. She fixes her hair and jacket.

That was cute.

What?

     James and I watch Y/N before turning to each other. I suggest to James that we wait for her, show a little southern hospitality. Even though Y/N seems to be fond of this man, he gives off a mysterious vibe similar to Y/N’s, but I do not want to unravel that mystery at all.

     Seeing him throw a smirk at Y/N causes discomfort in my stomach. 

     Y/N comes prancing back to us, an embarrassed smile on her face. Behind her, that shiny, expensive car begins to drive away.

“My bad, I forgot to tell my roommate that I would be out late”

“That’s your roommate?” James asks, attempting to hide his curiosity and shock

“and he takes you home after class?” I interrupt briefly

Y/N nervously laughs before nodding “something like that, he just..”

     That pause was a little too long

“..doesn’t like me out of the house too late so he volunteers to drive me home all the time”

     I shrug it off before jumping at the feeling of James’ warm hands pulling Y/N and I to the direction of the library. Y/N and I look at him with confusion

“What? Angie doesn’t like when we’re late, remember?” James says, practically dragging us to the Library

—-

“Nice to meet you”

     Angelica and Y/N got along pretty well. I can tell Angie was happy to finally have a girl to hangout with rather than having to deal with me and James only. She’s already starting to resemble a sisterly figure to Y/N, then again, growing up with two sisters must’ve prepared Angie for this moment.

     I don’t hear much about the other Schuylers, but I am familiar with them. Angelica is the oldest, as we know. Her first sister, Eliza Sch- I’m pretty sure she got married, is the nicest person you’ll meet. Whoever won her surely must be worthy, because we all know people like me wouldn’t get anywhere near Eliza thanks to her older sister. Her youngest sister, Margarita Peggy Schuyler, is just like Angelica.

     Stubborn. As. Fuck.

     I’m confident that Angelica has taught her that philosophy since she was born. Anyway, Peggy is currently living her dreams in Southern California. Not sure what she does, but I’m sure she’s financially stable, she is a Schuyler after all.

     All of us struggle to not annoy the librarian, let alone the entire library. I watch as Y/N opens up, just a little more, to Angelica, James, and I.

     Hours pass as we clown around in the library. From actually completing class work to a small drawing competition between James and I, I was certainly having a good time, and so was everyone else.

     It was pleasing to see Y/N more laid back rather than how she acts in class. In front of Professor Washington she’s so ‘put together’ and organized, but surrounded by her friends she’s such an amazing person, her range in professionalism and humor is astounding.

     I can’t seem to ignore the fact that Angelica notices the way I look at Y/N. It’s definitely not in my strong suit to be ‘low key’, I’m known for dramatic entrances and stealing the spotlight. She smiles when I make eye contact with her, and I’m pretty sure it’s just her way of annoying me, but I can’t help the way I look at Y/N. She really is an angel sent down from heaven, disguised as a college student, and I’m just lucky enough to be her friend.

     I’m blind to her flaws. When I see her, I feel like a tourist glancing at the Mona Lisa, memorizing every curve of her face, the way her hair falls around her shoulders, and the way the library lighting reflects off of her glowing skin.

     What felt like a sledgehammer breaking a slab of fragile glass, I see Y/N’s phone light up. Even across the table I can read the word “Lafayette” off of her phone. I can’t lie, it surely sounds familiar.

     When she finally noticed her phone flash on, I feel her ease turn into worry, and it definitely didn’t go unnoticed by James, Angie, and I. She starts to pack away her books

“My bad guys, I really gotta go”

     Y/N said notably panicking. Her phone flashes once again, yet the only thing that seems to catch my eyes is the bold “7:30” spread across the top of her phone.

“Are you okay by yourself?” I asked, trying my best not to pry into her business

“Yeah, my roommates here to pick me up, I don’t want to make him wait” she tried to play it off, but I’m learning to see right through her

“Alright, see you next time Y/N” I shrug it off

     She sends my friends and I a quick smile before replying

“for sure”

     Angelica and James got back to work without saying a word, and I could tell they were waiting until she was gone to start teasing me. I eased back into my chair before flipping the pages of my notebook

     I watched as she shoved open the library door and disappeared into the darkness. She’s such a mystery, when I feel like she’s opening up, she just shuts the door and we’re back at square one. Though I do claim to love a good challenge, Y/N L/N, I will never understand you.

—-

     And that’s when it started. It wasn’t just one time where 7:30 was Y/N magic number, oh no, it was oddly consistent. I’m convinced that Y/N is some variation of Cinderella; her polite attitude and the beautiful little things she does without acknowledging it all vanish when the clock strikes 8:00, but that’s just one of many theories made by James.

     Another study session with James and Angelica, and Y/N’s flashing screen still compelled Y/N to leave the library without a trace. On some occasions we don’t even notice her escape, we just turn to see her seat empty and feel the faint wind from outside as the library door slowly closes.

     One day Angie bought us all tickets to see the preview to the newest, scariest movie I’ve ever watched. I was accompanied by Y/N, James, and Angie, yet their presences made it worse. Halfway through the bucket of popcorn and the movie, Y/N suddenly stood up and left after saying those 5 words. Before she left, I felt the warmth of her hands leave the place on my arm.

I never knew how addicting her warmth would be until it was already gone.

“Sorry guys, I gotta go” The weak smile on her face instantly resonated feelings of sympathy and understanding.

     From then on, Y/N and I grew closer as friends. We’d fool around at a local park before heading to campus, obviously sparking a few observations and remarks from James. I’d invite her to fancy dinners, or maybe even a small festival down the road from my apartment, yet her response would always be proven false at the moment she’d leave me and my thoughts at 7:30.

     But that hasn’t stopped me from attempting to hang out with her. Even on the days I wouldn’t have class with her we’d go out and get ice cream, study at the park, I guess you can say we’ve gone on a few ‘dates’ since our initial study session.

     Whenever we’re apart, I can feel every second expanding to its maximum capacity of time. I wouldn’t see her for a day and it will already feel like years since I’ve seen her. The days I do see her, time seems to maneuver a little too fast. When I recall hanging out with Y/N, all I can imagine is the feeling of floating above the clouds every time she and I made physical contact. Like a rock being dropped into still water, ever touch ripples throughout my body, sending shivers down my spine.

Truly incredible.

—-

     She doesn’t like to talk about her personal life, and I find that quite odd. I’m usually one to continue rambling every detail of every trait of mine, yet I find myself yearning to learn more about her. 

     We text every now and then when we’re outside of class, a little more to be considered ‘just friends’. There’s always a story which unravels just a little more of Y/N’s past, and she’s left me on my own to connect the dots. I must say, she’s definitely an interesting gal, but I know there’s more to discover. 

     She’s a native New Yorker, born and raised, surviving by splitting an intense rent with her mysterious room mate. Y/N doesn’t talk much of her family, other than faint memories of her mother single handedly raising her and her little brother, who I’m fairly unaware of.

     Going into college undecided, Y/N describes her want to learn more about herself before she’s able to make any life determining choices. I’ve noticed that her schedule seems like a labyrinth avoiding life problems and obstacles, so perhaps being placed in the same class coincidentally was just fate playing its part.

     Y/N loves to explain her dream for workless weekends, moments in the week where she just gets to sit back, close her eyes, and breathe a little. With finals starting to appear from thin air, I can’t blame her for a dream so far from reality.

     Even with the knowledge I hold of her, something never seems to change: her disappearances at 7:30.

It’s always that damn 7:30.

     7:30--the cliffhanger your favorite show leaves you desiring for more

     the end of a fun night of laughter and glee, wishing it lasted just a little longer 

     the off-set energy in a room when those around you know something you don’t. 

     As days, weeks, and months pass since my first text proposal to hang out at the library, Y/N and I become a little closer than just friends. It’s been obvious, especially to James and Angie, that Y/N is more than capable of holding my attention.

     Though James is worried that Y/N will just become ‘another girl’ to me, concerning my tomcat nature in the past, he can see the potential I see in her. I find myself wishing I did spend more time with her, maybe I just need to make a better effort.

     I’ll prove James and Angie wrong. 

     Filled with determination and confidence, in the midst of my silent room, I whip out my phone and direct my attention towards forming a text message for Y/N

Thomas: let’s get coffee sometime?

     Jefferson charm, don’t fail me now.

---

     Before I knew it, Y/N and I were feasting on exotic cheeses and aged wine in my New York apartment. I hit play on a random romcom which helps to fill the emptiness in my apartment and ironically the thin space between Y/N and I. 

     I have no idea how to make my move. Though I’m not aware of my competition, I imagine if Y/N could attract someone of My caliber, I should be well aware of the things she’s capable of. Originally I planned to court her-- I know, I know, I’m a man of tradition--yet after James caught on to my recognizable frustration, He suggested I go for it. 

     This is surprising on multiple occasions, especially since James possesses the ‘brains’ between the both of us. Being the chess club champion, ‘talk’ won’t aid you when you're struggling in a chess match. Just like how he meticulously plays chess, he examines my situation and provides his Virginian insight, or so he prefers to call it, and they always proceed the way his scheme describes. 

     I’ve adhered his advice to my life ever since we were kids, and when I didn’t, he’d simply reply with: 

“I told you so” 

     His smug smirk accompanied with a finger pointing to his temple would soon transform from clever to annoying. 

     I feel a vibration come from my pocket. Well, of course it’s not Y/N texting so must I really answer it? I pull out my phone despite my doubts and I can’t help but roll my eyes.

James: 👍

Speak of the Devil.

     But enough about James. I understand that both Y/N and I are mature college students, yet I still fear the disruption in our friendship I can provoke just by making my move. I’ve gotten this far; If she wasn’t interesting I’m sure she would’ve rejected me sooner. 

     She’s different, she’s unique, something about her that I just can’t place, but also something missing. Anyway, this is probably my best chance at shooting my shot at Y/N, and it’s too late now to back down. 

     As my lips part in an attempt to speak and make a move, Y/N’s motionless phone (currently laying undisturbed on my coffee table) suddenly brightens with the most obnoxious ringtone I’ve ever heard. The words “It’s 7:30!” flash on her screen, almost as if it was warning her rather than reminding her. 

“Y/N—” my eyes follow her body as she swiftly stands up

“I gotta g—” I watch as she attempts to grab her purse, yet her body is limited when I firmly grab her arm. She looks back to me with tiredness in her eyes.

     Part of me thought maybe, just maybe, Cinderella here wouldn’t have a curfew. That I somehow would be the exemption to this consistent confusion . But you can only daydream so far into the day until you’re pulled back into your reality

     Her entire demeanor seems like it was reconstructed after her alarm went off. Moments ago she was just enjoying tasty cheese and cheesy movies, and the worst part is, I have no idea why.

“Let me speak, darlin’”

     I stand up to avoid the way her eyes look down on me. I can’t stand that pitiful glare; she looks at me as if I’m a child incapable of understanding her situation, but she’s too stubborn to let me know. I’d be wise to use this time to make a move on different circumstances.

“Now, you’re always leaving at seven thirty..”

     Her sigh is almost enough to interrupt me

“..why’s that? Talk to me.”

     I maintain my eye contact before it’s abruptly broken. She looks everywhere but my eyes, and I wonder where in my apartment she would find an excuse, yet still manages to dodge the question.

“..you wouldn’t understand..” she scoffs almost intentionally, honestly scratching a part of my ego. I hate to admit she’s right, I really don’t understand what’s going on.

     I cock my head to the side. Where’s this coming from?

“Darlin’, I’m sure I’m a very understanding person—”

“—I need to leave”

     I could tell by the look of her face that she wasn’t trying to argue, but it’s inevitable.

“Why can’t you just tell me?..” I put my hands up as a sign of defeat, but I’m not giving up yet. “We’ve been friends for a while and you’re always leavin’ at seven—”

“I know! I know..” she removes my hand from her arm, clearly refusing to look up at me.

“Let’s just say..I got a job..?”

     Oh. That’s what this is all about? A job? She couldn’t spare at least an explanation for a part time gig?

“See? That wasn’t so hard”

“It’s..really embarrassing..” The glance she takes around the room makes me wonder if she’s really telling the truth. it’s not really my place to speculate, there’s no going back from this.

“It’s alright, it’s just a job after all” I claim, trying to get this conversation back on track

“This is exactly what I meant but ‘you wouldn’t understand’”

Huh?

“You don’t know what it feels like to have your life rely on minimum wage—” she sounds like she’s holding something back.

“Y/N wher—”

“A-and here you are makin’ me late for work” her eyes appear on the verge of crying.

“darlin’ look..”

“God, you’ve never had to work for anything in your life!”

Silence.

     Both of us refuse to speak. Y/N phone, still on the table, chimes again. “7:35” it said on its bright screen.

“Is that really how you feel?..” I take a step back to give her space. She still refuses to look at me.

     There’s no way she’d cause all this chaos just because of a job. And even if she believes I’ve piggy backed off of my name for my entire life, why would it matter to her?

“I..I should leave” before I could process what just happened, she swiftly tosses her phone into her bag and heads for the door.

“Y’know, I had a nice time..” was all I heard before the harsh shutting of my apartment door.

     And that was the end of it.

     My first thought after the door shut wasn’t to whip out my phone and attempt to text her, it certainly wasn’t to call James and inform him of his miscalculation, but instead to attend to the matter at hand. This cheese and wine won’t clean itself.

     And the night continued normally, as if nothing had ever taken place. I couldn’t help but microwave another cup of Mac and cheese to cope with what Y/N said. Nothin’ like a good meal to divert your attention away from your problems. But even a good cup of cheese and pasta can’t stop me from thinking’: 

Is that all I am to her?

A southern snob incapable of functioning without their father’s last name?

     After an introspective shower, and a few episodes of a random Netflix show, I’m finally alone with my thoughts and feelings. I lie in darkness, tussling and turning at every occasion, unable to extract her words from my mind. 

     If there’s someone whose opinion I care about the most, it’s Y/N L/N. I consider texting her at this very moment, yet I’m sure that I’m the last person she wants to talk to. The weight of my actions falls heavily onto my shoulders every minute, and there’s nothing I can do about it.

Give her space, Jefferson, and maybe you’ll be able to fix this tragedy. 

---

Knock! Knock! Knock!

     The knocks on my apartment door were enough to jerk my body back to consciousness. Sadly pulled from the warmth of my dreams, I’m hit with the cold, noisy reality of an average night here in New York.

Can my day get any worse?

     Coming straight from the depths of slumber, I take a few minutes to process reality. Maybe the knocks were in my head. Did I dream about someone knocking on my door? Perhaps it’s

The sun’s still not up yet, why am I?

     Groggily sitting up, I decide to check the time, yet it takes me multiple attempts to grab my phone in the dark before I catch a sight of the time.

2 am?!

     Who is so out of their minds so show up to my apartment at this time? Who do I know that would show up at this time?

James is too sensible for that,

Angie would never waste her time on me, for whatever reason,

And Y/N—

well.

I don’t know our circumstances right now.

     I debate whether or not I should answer the door. Perhaps it’s just rock that happened to hit the door of my apartment, and even if it is a person, I’m not aware of anyone so mad to show up in the middle of the night. it’s not worth my time.  

...

...

Knock! Knock! Knock!

     So much for ‘Not worth my time’. A groan is all my body can respond with while I gradually stand from the comfort of my bed. I grab the nearest shirt, which was draped over my desk chair, and scramble to put it on. Passing my cramped kitchen, my hands subconsciously flip on the nearest light switches, while my eyes struggle to comprehend the sudden light. 

     Before I reach the door, I couldn’t help but attempt to fix my hair. Just because someone happens to show up outside unannounced doesn’t mean I can’t present my best rendition of a southern gentleman. 

     And finally, through my fatigue and irritation, I’m finally urged to grab the doorknob and twist it open in one motion. 

“Uh, it’s two a.m. so I hope--” 

     I nervously scratch the back of my head, attempting to add spice to this awkward encounter. It wasn’t until my eyes caught sight of the blood dripping down her glass skin and the meeting of our eyes did I have any words

“Y/N?!?”  

     Her cold, pale, and hurt body would’ve hit the concrete floor if I had answered the door any later.

--- 

     And there she layed half colorless on my bed. Her smile was full of embarrassment and gratitude as I sat beside her, tending to the evident cuts and Injured areas of her body. “I hope I’m being a great house guest” she joked, causing her to laugh, yet hurting herself in the process. 

“Hey, Hey, Take it easy..” Y/N’s presence usually fills me with carefreeness, or perhaps stability, but for the first time I can’t help but react seriously. Her demeanor changed as she saw my retaliation to her joke. 

“I guess…” she looked down to her fragile body, a sigh released, seeming to be an attempt to calm down. “...I owe you an explanation for earlier. And especially for showing up at your place at 2 in the damn morning. ” 

     Thomas’ hands, full of wipes and hydrogen peroxide soaked cotton balls, froze in their tracks before he looked up at her, eager to listen and visibly confused. Y/N visibly winced as the cotton balls stuck to her cuts for longer than they should’ve, yet with Thomas’ reflexes at their all-time-max, he pulled them away with a worried expression.

“Explanation? You said you got a job, and I’m sorry for not respecting it..” I continued to clean her up, consensually of course, how could I call myself a gentleman if I were to act upon improper motives? 

“Again..” I utter quietly “..I didn’t know you felt that way, and I’m ashamed you feel that way” 

     I attach an ivory-colored band aid to her glass skin, careful not to damage it any further. I look up to her watching, pitiful eyes. “You were saying?” I reciprocate the attention to her, awaiting a so-called answer to come out of her mouth 

“I didn’t know where else to run to..” she attempted to sit up, lifting her weight off of my satin-covered sheets, yet quickly stopped when being hit with a wave of pain from her right shoulder 

     Though my first thought would’ve been ‘Damn it, my darn sheets are ruined’, it was quickly drawn to Y/N and her current problem 

“Y’know, I think an apology and explanation can wait, Y/N. you need a little sleep, it’s already three in the mornin’ for god’s sake” a small laugh erupts from her

    I sent her an assuring smile, trying to remind her that everything is always going to be okay in a Jefferson household. And surprisingly I received a smile in return, a smile of trust and security that I’ve never felt so glad to see. Of course, I wish I could’ve seen that smile under different circumstances, but I’ll work with what I got. 

     I stood from my beautiful satin sheets and reached for a hoodie on my swivel chair. (everything but your closet is a closet, change my mind) I braced for a cold night on my apartment couch while Y/N enjoys the warmth of my bed, but Y/N had other plans. 

“Wait- Thomas.” She said firmly 

     I turned tiredly to her direction, my arm already extended for the door, yet frozen in place as I awaited a response 

“Can you just..” she scoot herself over, as much as possible with her frail body “..hold me?” She watches me anxiously 

“I mean— you don’t have to b—” I didn’t hesitate at all to gently slide under the sheets of the bed. As soon as I turn to her direction, I can’t help but feel scared to touch her in fear of hurting her; my hands don’t know where to reside. “Where do I..” I’m truly perplexed 

     She giggled at my confusion and shyly grabbed my hand “I’m not so fragile you know” 

     She brought my hand up to the side of her head, and all I could process was the texture of the bandages under my fingertips. I don’t know what's going on, but I couldn’t just leave her out there. 

“..Right..” I wait for her eyes to close before I can even think about closing mine, and soon the texture of the bandages seem to melt onto my fingertips as I’m finally able to return to my slumber. 

“See you in the mornin’..” 

---

     I didn’t wake up until I felt the sun rays kissing my back through my so-called ‘blackout curtains’. Such a scam. The room seemed a little too quiet; I gently turned onto my other side just to find an empty bed. I consider the possibility of last night’s encounter with Y/N was all just some messed up dream, but when I saw the faint stains of blood on my sheets, I knew I was far from dreaming. 

     My body doesn’t want to move, and I’m stuck sitting up in my bed for another ten minutes. What the heck is going on? One minute she yells at me, then next thing I know she’s outside my apartment at 2 am. 

And that explanation. 

     I guess I was such a fool to think she wouldn’t continue to run away from this matter. My thoughts are interrupted by my buzzing phone. I know for sure that it’s not Y/N hittin up my phone right about now. 

James: Let’s try that new coffee place a few blocks from your apartment? 

     He really read my mind, or maybe it’s a response made from calculating my failure yesterday. But a distraction sounds tremendous. 

Thomas: bet. 

     I throw on a cleaner, more professional jacket, if such a thing exists, and swiftly get my feet out the door. Everything seems the same, as if nothing had taken place last night. The world still spins and I’m expected to spin with it. 

I don’t think I’m anywhere near capable of unraveling your mystery. 

Y/N L/N, I will never understand you.

[certifiedskywalker]

Falling in Love with Dyn Jarren (The Mandalorian) Would Include...

naniellesworld said:

Hi! Could I please request something about the Mandalorian? I would like a fluffy request between Dyn and a Fem!Reader. They cross paths for the first time and its attraction at first sight for them both. But they're both unused to these feelings and shy/clumsy. Thank you very much if you decide to write it and no problem if you don't.

Anonymous said:

The Mandalorian + fluff

I tried to make this as shy/awkward and fluffy as possible…it was hard because, for the most part, Dyn is very put together.

It started as a classic fairytale.

You were in a small town in the middle of nowhere…

...on a nowhere planet...in the middle of a nowhere star system…

Okay, so maybe more like a classic, sci-fi fairytale.

You had lived in the Outer Rim all your life.

You were used to people, smugglers, bounty hunters, dignitaries on the run, storming into your hometown looking for an escape.

But you had never seen a Mandalorian before.

You had never met anyone like Dyn Jarren before.

Dyn had never met anyone like you before.

When he walked into town and saw you by the local well, surrounded by children, Dyn’s impulse control (what little there was, to begin with) vanished.

He forgot about the bounty he was chasing

He forgot about the Guild

He forgot about The Way and the people he was raised by

All he knew was that he had to know you.

The children around you were murmuring until a ray of refracted sunlight danced across the ground.

If the kids hadn’t turned around and started to run towards the figure, you wouldn’t have seen him.

What first caught your eye was the shine from the Sun as the light glinted off his helmet and into your eye.

You would tell Dyn later that you didn’t experience love at first sight.

“You blinded me. I saw only you and then nothing.”

But, as I said, you only tell him that later.

When you took a step forward, the sunlight shifted and you saw who exactly had stolen the children’s attention.

You had heard of Mandalorians before.

The entire galaxy knew them to be fierce warriors

Soldiers skilled and ready to kill at a moment’s notice.

But there Dyn was, struggling to get through a mass of dirty, giggling children who were wholly enraptured by his presence.

The sight made you melt almost immediately.

All he wanted to do was get to you.

He didn’t care about the fact he was tasked with a bounty or the flood of kids around him.

The children around him spoke in a language that he didn’t understand.

“Sorry, excuse me. I’m trying to get through.”

His words went unheeded.

Children grabbed at the shiniest parts of his armor

Just when he was about to scare them off, he looked up and saw you again.

You told the children to leave in your native tongue.

A few of the kids stepped on Dyn’s boots as they scurried off 

It took all he had in him not to flinch

He was too caught up in your eyes.

He had never seen someone so beautiful before.

Before either of you had found your voice or figured out what you were going to say, you were standing in front of one another.

You peered into the eye-slits of his helmet, wondered if you looked hard enough that you could maybe see his eyes.

He wanted to say: “You’re beautiful.”

He wanted to say: “I don’t know where I am but, for the first time in a long time, I’m glad for that. Whatever this place is, it has you.”

He wanted to ask: “What is your name?”

He wanted to ask: “Why didn’t I find you sooner?”

He wanted to let his silenced heart speak.

But all he said was: “I...I don’t speak your language.”

Dyn’s habit of letting his mind do the talking was formed out of the need for self-preservation.

It came with benefits: being able to speak clearly to clients, strategic planning for capturing a bounty, etc.

It did not, however, help him in any way when it came to romance.

Romance….he had never thought of the word since he donned his beskar armor…

So why was he thinking about it now? You?

You were looking up at him with the widest eyes he had ever seen.

For a moment, Dyn was scared that he had scared you.

“I don’t mean to bring any trouble. I-”

“You’re looking for someone.”

Your use of the common tongue caught Dyn off guard.

He was relieved though, in more ways than one.

You didn’t catch, even subconsciously, the double entendre of your words.

He was a bounty hunter, that was clear from his garb and weapons.

He was looking for someone, legitimately….

….and he had found you.

“Yes, I am.”

Dyn felt a lump form in his throat as he spoke.

He coughed to clear it, the sound reverberating through his helmet as he pulled out a bounty puck from his pocket.

“Have you seen this man?”

You watched as the puck emitted a hologram of a young-looking Quarren.

“He arrived on this planet a few weeks ago with stolen cargo.”

“Why do you think he’s here?”

You gestured to the small apartments and dirt roads of your hometown.

“Small, isolated,” the Mandalorian’s voice made your stomach twist, “this place makes a good hiding spot.”

“Not good enough, apparently,” you pointed out.

A silence fell over the two of you.

Your cheeks warmed, too much so to blame solely on the Sun.

Dyn was relieved that you couldn’t see his face under his helmet.

“No, not good enough,” he said, finally breaking the sudden, and slightly embarrassing, tension.

You were staring at him.

He was staring at you.

The silence returned until you noticed that the children were starting to gather around once more.

“I can take you to our Council,” you said softly, turning your back to the Mandalorian so you could better ignore the fluttering feeling in your stomach. “They might know.”

The only thing about the Council of your small village was that none of them spoke the common tongue.

You were, by default, assigned at the Mandalorians personal translator. 

After he spoke, well you spoke, with the Council, you lead the Mandalorian to the accommodations the elders set aside for him.

“You have a nice home here.”

Dyn said it without thinking.

“It’s home,” you said, sparing a glance up at him.

He was tall and walked with a slight swagger that made you feel wholly out of his league.

Little did you know, Dyn was cursing himself inside.

He couldn’t let feelings get in the way of this job; not even feelings towards someone like you.

You stopped in front of the door of the small house the Mandalorian would be staying in. 

The man kept walking, and you watched him go for a few moments.

A smile spread along your lips as you wondered how a bounty hunter could afford to be so unobservant.

You laughed and spoke up: “This is where you’ll be staying.”

The Mandalorian turned around on his heels and started back towards you.

Dyn’s cheeks were burning and, once again, he was relieved that you couldn’t see his face.

“Sorry.”

“All is well.....”

You waited for him to give you his name, but instead, he just walked inside the house.

You frowned and followed him inside.

You needed to know his name…

...but you ended up tripping over the step.

Just as the sandstone porch of the house was filling your vision, you stopped falling.

You were pulled to your feet and, when you looked up, saw the shining, metal face of the Mandalorian’s helmet.

Okay, so he was observant...

“You alright?”

It felt like your skin was on fire.

“Y-Yes, thank you…”

Wordlessly, the Mandalorian lifted you to your feet and let his arms slip from your waist.

You started to miss the feeling of his body near yours the moment he pulled away.

He pushed through the door and you watched him go inside once more.

You stood on the front porch for a moment longer.

A giggle reached your ears and you turned around in a flash.

Children, three of them, were watching you.

You glared in their glare and threw your hands up to shoo them away.

They scurried off and you stepped away from the house.

For the rest of the day, you thought about the Mandalorian.

You wondered about what his name was and realized he didn’t know your name either.

You were both strangers to one another.

So why did you feel this way about him?

It was impossible to try to not think about him. 

Only when night fell did you feel some relief.

Some of the townspeople started a bonfire and the children were gathered around it.

They were dancing, setting tips of sticks into the flames until they had wands of burning embers to wave around.

For a moment, you forgot about the strange visitor and your evens stranger feelings for him.

That was until you tore your eyes from the flame and looked over to the right.

Just as it did in the sun, the Mandalorian’s helmet glinted in the light of the flames.

He was seemingly relaxed, watching the children play as he was leaning against a nearby tree.

You felt that feeling, the gut-twisting sensation again and you rose to your feet.

Nothing could stop you as you walked over to him.

As you grew closer to him, you slowed.

There was a few feet between you and the Mandalorian when you stopped.

A moment of silence passed before you snuck a glance.

Dyn was already staring at you, lost in thought and the vision of you. 

“Are you enjoying your stay?”

Your voice catches him off guard, but when he mets your gaze, he is set at ease.

“You could say that.”

More silence...tension...you shifted and looked back towards the children who still danced around the fire.

“I...I didn’t get your name.”

“I didn’t get yours.”

You looked back up at the man with a soft smile on your lips.

“Y/N.”

Dyn cocked his head to the side; let your name roll in his mind.

He wanted to say it was a good name; a pretty name; a name he wanted to hear over and over again.

“And you are?”

His breath caught in his throat.

All Dyn wanted to do was tell you.

He wanted to speak from his heart; that part of him that he had silenced long ago.

When was the last time he had told anyone his name?

You, in the quiet after your answer, gave him a small, knowing smile.

Reaching up, you placed a hand on his shoulder.

“You don’t have to tell me, stranger.”

Stranger?! Why stranger?! Why did you have to say it like that?!

Luckily, you could blame the heat rising in your cheeks on the nearby fire.

You turned your eyes towards the dancing children once more.

One little girl twirled about, light hair waving in the air behind her like streamers.

She tripped over her own feet and fell to the ground with sharp cry.

Before you could react, you saw the Mandalorian start towards the fallen child.

As he moved, you grabbed his arm.

“She-”

“Don’t worry,” you pointed towards the girl who was already back on her feet with the help of two other dancing kids.

Gently, you pulled the Mandalorian back. 

You could feel his arm relax, even under the thick cloth.

You had to make your hand let go of him, forced yourself to not lean into his warmth. 

“For a bounty hunter, you seem to be kind.”

“Bounty hunter’s can’t be kind?”

Your mouth parted in shock.

Were you being offensive or did he just make a joke?

“You’re the first one I met,” you mumbled, “so you tell me.”

“Most aren’t.”

“But you are,” you observed, gaze tracing the light that danced along the Mandalorian’s helmet.

Dyn was speechless; lost in the image of you cast in the glow of the flames. 

“I’m not,” he said softly. 

If he was nice, he wouldn’t be a bounty hunter.

You frowned and turned your eyes to the fire again. 

He wished he was nice.

He wanted to be nice for someone, for you.

“Dyn.”

You looked up at the masked man with wonder.

“That’s a good name,” you said and gave him a smile.

While the fire continued to burn into the night, you stayed by Dyn’s side.

Some tension, that unspoken connection, lingered between you left in the quiet.

You didn’t ask anything more about Dyn 

Nor did Dyn ask anything more about you.

In that moment, you were both perfect mysteries to each other.

As the fire died out and the children, Dyn walked you to your homestead.

It was small, closer to the edge of town as you were waiting to flee at a seconds notice.

When you both reached your front door, you stood idle on your porch.

Dyn was standing on one of the steps below you, putting you at equal height with him. 

Two questions balanced on the tip of your tongue.

The first was practical; a way to keep Dyn at your door for a little longer : “Any leads on your bounty?”

The second, more direct: “Do you want to come inside?”

You felt too nervous to ask the last question.

Your throat was going dry though, and you needed to say something.

“Any...do you want to come in?”

“Yes,” Dyn replied with as much surprise as yourself. 

His voice cracked a little with the answer, enough to make your heart beat a bit more wildly in your chest.

Inside, the tension mounted.

You were both standing, sneaking glances at each other. 

Neither of you knew what to do or say.

There were too many questions to ask, too many things you wanted to do and say. 

“This place...it’s peaceful.”

Dyn’s voice was unsteady, even you could pick up on it.

“Perhaps, after you collect, you should return.”

You licked your lip nervously and let your eyes fall to your shoes. 

“Would you want that? For me to come back?”

You lifted your gaze and nodded.

Slowly, you stepped towards him; so close in fact that you could feel his body heat.

“I would.”

“It wouldn’t be peaceful if I did.”

“Safe, it would be safe.”

“Perhaps,” Dyn said as he looked down at you.

“Perhaps.”

Before he knew it, Hell, before you knew it, your hands were reaching up to his helmet.

He grabbed your wrists softly, to stop you.

“No.”

“Sorry, I-”

“I want to. I can’t.”

“Why not?”

You didn’t have to peek under the helmet to see Dyn’s conflict.

His grip on your wrist tightened and you felt your heart sink as he lowered his head.

“It is The Way.”

“Then how do you eat?”

It was an innocent question, one that coaxed the smallest of chuckles from Dyn.

It was the first time he had laughed in a long time. 

“I take it off.”

“So you can, but I can’t see you?”

“Yes.”

The word shook as he spoke; almost as vulnerable as he felt. 

You nodded and let your wrists slip from his hands.

“On hold.”

You darted into your cramped bedroom and rummaged through the drawers holding your clothes. 

The search ended when your fingers tangled with the soft, viscose of your scarf.

When you pulled it out from under your clothes, you smiled at the magenta fabric.

You walked back into the main sitting area of your home. 

Dyn stood there, wholly on edge.

His shoulders were forward, his feet apart as he stood as still as a tree.

“Here,” you handed him the scarf and turned around.

“I…”

Dyn bit his tongue and took a breath. 

This was a dangerous game.

If you saw his face, even by accident, it would put you both at risk.

But it was a risk he was willing to take if you were.

He pulled off his gloves, set them aside and, with a gentleness that surprised you, Dyn tied the scarf over your eyes.

“Is it tight?”

You giggled at the question and shook your head, “no.”

Dyn felt a smile tug at the corner of his lips and moved his hands to his helmet.

The moment the cool night air, that wafted in from an open window, blew against his skin, he had to stifle the sigh of relief. 

You, on the other hand, were almost shaking with excitement...and nerves.

You barely knew this man.

And he was a bounty hunter.

It felt wrong doing this

But it felt so right when his hands tenderly grabbed at your shoulders to slowly spin you back around.

You realized then, he was as vulnerable as you were in that moment.

The fear melted away and you, tentatively, lifted a hand towards his face.

“May I?”

Dyn didn’t answer verbally; instead he leaned towards your open palm until his cheek brushed against your fingertips.

His skin was warm, surprisingly soft. 

You couldn’t stop the smile that spread along your lips and you traced your fingers up the side of Dyn’s face and into his thick hair. 

“Handsome.”

You didn’t even have to look at him.

Dyn, busy looking at you, fought every urge to rip the scarf from your face and stare into your eyes.

He learned that, while the helmet is his life, while the helmet keeps him safe, the dark shaded glass obscures true beauty.

“You blinded me,” you spoke softly into the quiet,  “I saw only you and then nothing.”

Dyn’s hands lifted then, cupped your jaw in a way that made you want to melt.

“That helmet of yours, keeps things from being seen.”

“It does,” the smallness of his own voice scared him.

Silence fell around you both once more in that natural way it did.

Words were only shared to stretch the time.

Time...he had little of it left on your homeworld.

The bounty would be found tomorrow and Dyn would leave to collect.

Would he come back?

He wasn’t sure, not yet, anyway.

What he was sure of, however, was how much he wanted to kiss you.

So he did.

There was no holding back, not anymore.

His lips were soft when he kissed you.

His hands almost cradled your face near his own and you let your own hands come to rest on his shoulders.

Your hands curled into fists around his cloak. 

Slowly, your head turned to the side and you surrendered wholly into Dyn’s touch.

Despite his lack of experience (which is none), Dyn is an amazing kisser.

He’s careful, guiding you along and, somehow, you end up on the large chair in your home. 

You’re both curled close together almost like, if you made yourselves shrink into one another, you could make the galaxy around you fade away.

But, sadly, that isn’t possible

And the morning comes eventually.

Dyn wakes before you, studies your features up close.

You’re asleep on his lap, the scarf still tied over your eyes.

Gingerly, Dyn unties the strip of fabric from your face.

Your eyes are shut tight, with your lips twitching every now and then.

Dyn selfishly hopes that you’re dreaming of him.

Dreaming of a day that he doesn’t have to pry himself from your still-sleeping form.

Dreaming of a day when you’re together; a day when he comes back to you.

When you wake, you’re alone on your chair.

There’s a piece of parchment on the table nearby.

You reach for it and unfold it.

Written in a rough scrawl is a language you don’t understand.

You don’t have to understand the language to know what it means.

“Perhaps.”

Perhaps, one day, you won’t have to dream of a life where Dyn can stay.

Perhaps.

[tipsydipsydo]

Request: "I was wondering if you can do a scenario with Poly OT7! BTS about their boyfriend (male reader) who is taller than them and everyone thinks they are a top, but is actually very shy and submissive. can be this a smut too ☺"

Requested by: @awkfanboy

Pairing: Dom! Poly OT7! x Sub! Taller! Reader

Gender of the reader: male

Word Count: 1.3k

Genre: a little bit of Comedy at the beginning, then Smut!

Warnings: Filthy Language + Dirty Talk; Polyamory; Dom-/Sub-Themes; Daddy-Kink; Sir-Kink; Petnames (Babyboy etc.); Soft Degrading(?)/Reprimand; Teasing; Mentions of Stereotypes, Sex Toys, Oral Sex and Mastubation

A/N: My first requested Scenario is written! whoop whoop~ And I know... that got a bit out of my hand, it's literally more a fic than a scenario... well... I'll see how it'll goes in the next time and where I'll set my maximum of the word count.

I hope you all will like it!🤗💕

Links:

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「© tipsydipsydo」

This following story is my intellectual property and belongs only to my blog tipsydipsydo.tumblr.com!

I’ll not accept any kind of reposting, stealing or using/editing my work!

That includes reposting my content on other social media platforms too, even when you link me as the original author.

Thank you.

“Arrg, I hate, hate, hate it! Why the fuck thinks everyone this shit always, just because I'm just a tiny bit smaller than the 'average' man and doesn't have 'this aura' like seemingly every goddamn other guy?! Yeah, I know, 'I'm way too cute for that'!”, curses Jimin and doesn't put the shopping bags full of groceries on the kitchen table as careful as he should do it.

You follow him with the other two bags in your hands, your head hanging low and you're chewing nervously in your lower lip. That you didn't say anything in this incident in the shop, Jimin will definitely don't let go you away with it and you will certainly getting something back for it tonight, if not immediately...

But this thought doesn't frighten you, rather an excited, maybe even a feeling of anticipation spreads in your stomach... Even though it was just a small misunderstanding, it was precisely this misunderstanding that kept pissing him off and he could get a complete outburst of anger.

"God, how I hate that everyone always has to think that just because I'm 'so small and looks so cute, they just can't imagine of anything else'! Shitty clichés! Namjoon and Jin hardly differ in height to you anyway, even when you're actually taller than them! And Yoongi? We have the same height and yet everyone seems to know that he is your dom! Probably because of his aura, which I don't have! Why do everyone think that I'm your sub?!" He seems to talk himself more and more into rage while he lovelessly firing the food into the fridge. Still, don't you dare to open your mouth and remind him that these things are groceries you still want to eat somehow.

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Jin and Yoongi leaning against the door frame. "Hm, Jimin? What happened? The same problem as always?" There is coming a dangerously deep growl from Jimin's throat, which gives you goosebumps on your whole body and you let your head hang even lower when he lays his intense gaze on you. Despite your size, you seem so submissive and Jimin so damn dominant even when he's shorter than you. Now everyone would recognize who is Dom and who is Sub here!

Jin grimaces as if he's in pain when he's watching Jimin, how carelessly he's putting the fruits into the fridge. "Jimin, let me unpack the rest of the groceries and go with Yoongi and Y/N into the living room. Tell the others what happened.” 

You don't miss the very satisfied smirk that appears on Jin's lips when you're looking at him. Oh fuck, you're going to have problems for your behavior... as different as every of your boyfriends are, but when it comes to the acceptance of their status as a Dom, they hold together mercilessly. 

When you walk into the living room, you feel like you are on the way to the Day of Judgement. When you walk through the door frame, you see all four other pairs of eyes curiously looking at you. Whatever they did before, reading a book, playing video games on TV or writing on new lyrics, they put down their work and focused their entire interest on you.

When your eyes meet Taehyung's, he raises one of his eyebrows in a damn sexy, arrogant manner and crosses his arms. "Hm, babyboy? What did you done to make your daddy so angry? Hm? Tell us!"

Now all six pairs of eyes turn on you and an uncomfortable silence returns to the room until you finally open your lips with bright red cheeks and tell in a shaky voice how it cames to the misunderstanding in the shop.

You went grocery shopping with Jimin today and on the way back you drove to the sexshop of your trust to buy lube again from the special brand, which is only sold in a few sex shops. While Jimin went to the shelf with the basics to get the lubricant, you liked it to stroll around in the shop and to look a bit for things that you could bought yourself to give your daddies a little pleasure...

At that moment a metal buttplug with a beautiful azure blue gem catched your interest. But suddenly there was a young man next to you who looked like a new employee of the shop and was enthusiastic, maybe a little too enthusiastic. Since Jimin and you were the only customers in the shop at that time, he assumed that you were a couple (which is more or less true...).

“This is a really nice buttplug, made out of the highest quality material! I bet with you, it will look wonderful in the butt of your little darling~ I can immediately see that you are his dom! Sweet in the streets, hard in the sheets, right?" 

And he didn't said that very quietly, after all you were the only customer in the store and maybe he thought he could make Jimin, as your sub, a little bit shy. Jimin's cheeks flushed red, but not out of embarrassment, but out of anger.

The last words come from your lips and you look like a kicked puppy, hardly dare to look into the eyes of your other Doms. Namjoon is the first to speak.

"Hm, Baby? Why didn't you immediately corrected the situation that the plug is for you and not for Jimin? That you wanted to choose a plug, to please your Daddy with that adorably gemmed buttplug in our sweet Babyboy's ass? Why did you put your Daddy in such an uncomfortable situation?"

"Was our big boy too shy to say he wanted the plug? Or did he just wanted to be a little bratty, after all, he knows how much Jimin hates it for being misinterpreted... You enjoy it when everyone thinks that you are his Dom... and not his whiny sub, right?~", Hoseok joins the lecturing and looks at you with a dark gaze over the border of his glasses. This look with his glasses that make your legs weak.

You want to explain everything, that this accident is not your fault but you're cutted off pretty quickly.

"I think our bratty babyboy should pay for his bad behavior... how about our Prince kneeling down in front of Jimin and giving him a blowjob? Let Jimin fuck his face until he has his cock deep in his throat? We all see how submissive our big boy is, taking that cock so well? I would really enjoy this sight and I think the others too, right?", says Jungkook with a cocky expression on his face, thighs spread open and rubbing his crotch with a dirty smirk on his lips. 

Your cheeks become crimson red, but you can't deny it, that the thought is turning you on to please Jimin on your knees like the good, decent boy you are and have all of your other doms behind you and watching you, how well you 'll take Jimin's cock deep into your throat. 

"Yes, Babyboy, do it. Your Sir is waiting to see you taking care of your Daddy's dick.", agrees Yoongi with a growling voice, sitting down in his throne-like wingchair and is about to unbuckles his belt.

"Oh fuck, baby... I love the sight of you being obedient to the maknaes...", sighs Jin from the doorframe, massaging shamelessly his own growning bulge.

Slowly you sink down on your knees, gulping when your in the same level with Jimins not so small bulge in his pants. You're getting so hard in your own jeans that it's difficult for you not to start whining. You never admit it to them, but you love it to do filthy things in front of all of them.

[alatismeni-theitsa]

Basically what happened was that someone put the sarcastic lore Olympus video another anon mentioned in a server im in and when I mentioned that I dont think that Lore Olympus is the best interpretation of H/P in part due to how non-greek the whole story was, the shit started. Excuses ranged from "Greek polytheism isn't exclusive to Greece" to " im not saying you're wrong but I know a lot of Greek polytheists" (I especially got mad at this one) to "it's an American story and the myths naturally reflect what Americans see in each other" to "many colonized places had Greek and Roman fetishized culture thrust upon them" and "American culture is deeply seeped in Greek myth and Greek polytheism is a thriving culture here" (send me the fuckin thesis) and then what really boiled me was their blatant shock at the fact that Zeus could *gasp* love Hera and be good to her. And then claimed they've read all sorts of myths for decades. Gems like "half of the heroes in Greek mythology aren't Hera's kids" like Ares and Hepheastos just don't exist ig. Then blaming me for getting angry and upset for all around being disrespectful to the gods. Thank fuck someone was on my side because I was just so fucking over it. God and all heavens above forbid you tell an American they got their history wrong and they're being disrespectful and hurtful in doing so. The worst part is that I tried to be polite through the whole thing. Tried. I dont know how I was coming off, but God fucking damn it i tried. Fucking hell, claiming that the need to study Greek mythos in your AP Us History class doesn't fucking mean it's baked into your culture. It made me so frustrated and now I can't even fathom talking to the people involved when they so staunchly defended something and claimed to be educated when it's obvious they weren't. I got an apology from a few people which I appreciated, but f u cking hell. Sorry for the long ask.

1) "Greek polytheism isn't exclusive to Greece" - Yeah SO? Does this make LO better? Does it negate the fact the planet knows only inaccurate/whatever Americanized movies about Greek mythology?

2) " im not saying you're wrong but I know a lot of Greek polytheists" SO??? You are allowed to have your own opinion! Plus, Greek polytheists can still be uneducated and follow practices they read in Percy Jackson and are used only to pop culture Americanized versions of how the gods are

3) "it's an American story and the myths naturally reflect what Americans see in each other" Nobody said those stories aren’t allowed to exist! The f-ing point is the Greco-Roman deities are treated like American property!“American story and the myths naturally reflect what Americans see in each other” it’s ALL THAT THE WORLD WATCHES. INCLUDING GREEKS.

Don’t they realize the US is an imperialist country or what? Those stories are everywhere and we are bored. If all you have to show is “Greek gods in US and Canada” x 1000 times and “The Greek gods used to show American social issues”x 1000 times just throw me into a bottomless pit already.

And then they have the nerve to say “but this is representation for you!” No, it isn't if you make Hera into a Karen and Zeus into Bill living in their mansion in Manhattan, showing no hint of my culture (OR Greek American culture) apart from some names and some basic powers! You might as well make them Egyptian gods and the script won’t change.

4) "many colonized places had Greek and Roman fetishized culture thrust upon them" How does that excuse the stupid stuff in LO?? What does a white woman in Australia have to do with how culture was forced to change in colonized cultures??

Why should Greeks see the disrespect of their figures because other countries promoting a *fetishized* image of their ancient culture to other countries they colonized? Why is the US continue to glorify that *fetishized* (as this person said) standard?

Plus, it’s not like Indigenous Americans or Africans from formerly colonized countries consider Zeus part of their culture. Yes, the philosophy of West European nations and certain standards were unfortunately forced upon them but they know the gods are not theirs! (As opposed to many formerly not colonized people in the US)

And if you speak with people from countries on this side of Atlantic which were colonized by France or England you will see they don't deem this mythology theirs! In most of these countries, the citizens merely know the basic stuff about Greek mythology. All they know comes from - you guessed it - American shows about Greek mythology!    

5) "American culture is deeply seeped in Greek myth and Greek polytheism is a thriving culture here" Okay just... what? 😂😂😂😂😂 I swear this fetishized version they accuse colonizers of spreading, they have it themselves and don't recognize it. It’s apparent, as they often see Greek mythology as “a thing of the White man” and want to “subvert” it to send a message. Meanwhile have they thought about how Greeks feel about this? Naaaah fuck dem Greeks. Who cares, it’s not like their culture is Greek any more, right? Who knows what language they speak nowadays these exotic people...

And “Greek polytheism is a thriving culture here”?? North America has hundreds of millions of people. The 500 internet friends you have who are in Greek polytheism is not even a fraction of that. 

“The need to study Greek mythos in your AP Us History class doesn't fucking mean it's baked into your culture.” I agree with your statement. Moreover, guess who fought to keep the heritage alive for thousands of years? Greeks. Copying manuscripts, analyzing ancient philosophy, protecting heritage monuments, songs, religious customs, etc. Do they think Greeks sat on their asses for a blank 2000 yrs??

Final thoughts:

Greek mythology aside, people who claim to know something when they are ignorant and they don’t offer to search for things they don't know, are immature and cause harm to whoever tries to argue with them. It’s good you got an apology from some, I am happy when people want to research something they don't know! 

But that server in general... doesn't seem very inclusive (ironically). And if you weren't a Greek (aka not perceived as oppressed in N. America xD) they would take you more seriously and they wouldn’t say “but I have other Mixed Brazilian friends who don't complain about the cultural misrepresentation!” I find it natural if you don't want to engage with them any more :/ See what is best for you 💙

[thediamondgirl17]

Alpha!Goshiki x Omega!Reader: That Day In The Gym (SFW) Part 3

Oh my goodness!! So many of you guys are enjoying these! That makes me super duper happy to hear! I even had someone ask to be added to the tag list! I have no clue how to make one of those but I will totally try! I’m sorry this one didn’t come out as fast as the other two. With the holidays coming around I found myself to be fairly busy- but, I shall continue on! Once again please let me know how you like my writing! And my ask box is (currently) open to new ideas, so don’t feel shy about asking! I apologize for this part being a bit shorter than the others! If you want a Part 4 just feel free to ask!  

Just incase you haven’t read these yet here is: Part 1  Part 2 and Part 4

Warnings: Strong language, implied sexual themes, implied depression, etc.

    One of the very last things you had remembered, was the sweet smell of lavender surrounding you whole. It came from all sides as his track jacket, adorned with his scent was thrown over you, and his chest pulled you in so close you thought you would drown in him. How long you had been crying for before you had eventually passed out from it all? You had no idea. All you knew was that you felt warm, safe, and welcomed in his arms. He was big compared to you and warm, his scent brought you comfort, while also allowing you to let everything out at once. It was...Intense. 

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    You laid in his chest for around three full minutes before passing out into his clutch. He gently rubbed his hands up and down your arms. Half of him was doing it to comfort you. The other half of him wanted to mark your clothes with his scent, For some reason in his Alpha mindset, it made sense that if you smelled like an Alpha then you would be treated well. Even in the end if it did or didn’t work, he let his instincts take over whatever he was currently doing, because he knew deep down, that his inner Alpha would be able to take care of such a distressed Omega. And that was his only goal right now. 

Make you better.

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    Shirabu looked and watched as you had passed out in the arms of the first year wing spiker. His eyebrows furrowed slightly, even though he was a Beta and didn’t really understand the whole scent thing, due to the fact that his nose wasn’t as sensitive as Alphas and Omegas, he couldn’t usually tell how someone was feeling from their smell. However, this was different, he was able to smell a very sour and unpleasant one at that, and it was emanating from you. The other Betas on the team, Sagae, Yunohama, and Soekawa, along with the coach contorted their faces at the sour scent,

    “You should take her to-” Shirabu was about to give Goshiki advice on what to do with you now that you were calm. However, he was cut off. 

    “Shut that fuck up.” Goshiki spat. He held you in his arms closer to him, if that was even possible. All Betas in the room, and Tendou looked away from him. He was an Alpha that gave them all a strict order, and the Alphas in the room backed off as well to give him space. Including Ushijima. 

    The purpled haired boy picked up your sleeping frame and kept his jacket around you. He turned and walked out of the gym to head down to the nurse to see if she could do anything for you. His eyes softened the moment he stepped out of the tense atmosphere of the gym and silently walked to the office. 

    “Tendou.” Ushijima said and turned to the red haired Omega. 

    “Yesssssss?” He cooed to the Apex Alpha. 

    “What do we do?” 

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    That night you woke up in one of the beds the nurse had in her office. You blinked a few times as the LED lights in the ceiling practically blinded you. You groaned softly and looked around the empty room. You were the only one in there, but the scent of warm lavender practically covered you like a blanket. You looked down only to see the white and purple colors of one of the track jackets that the boys have. ‘Goshiki’ You thought as you sat up and yawned a bit. 

    A few minutes later the nurse had come into the room and explained what had happened. You had to answer a couple of questions and do some light paperwork. However, once you were done, you got up and grabbed the track jacket. 

    “What happened to the boy who brought me here?” You asked her. 

    “He went back to his dorm. I’m sure you can return that to him when you see him again.” She said and put all of her paperwork into a file. 

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    The next morning, you got ready for early morning practice. You slipped on your purple sweatpants and white t-shirt and grabbed your gym bag. You sighed softly. ‘Should I really be going back? After the way they treated me? After breaking down like that? I don’t like I can face them...,’ You thought as you walked along slowly. You glanced up at the gym as you walked to it. ‘What? The lights are on..,’ You thought. You heard someone shush some others who you could hear mumbling through the door. Then you pushed it open. 

    Everyone on the team stood there and looked at you when you walked in. Some looked away, some looked like they didn’t care, and others just kind of stood there as if they had to. Coach Washijo stood in the front, and walked forward towards you. It was intimidating, so you tensed up, preparing to get yelled at for causing a commotion. However, it never came. 

    “Tendou is the first Omega I have ever let into this gym.” He stated simply. “So we all will not get everything on the first try with you.” He reached behind him and pulled up a Shiratroizawa volleyball track jacket, and it was your size. “Welcome to the team.” He said simply before walking away. Then Ushijima stepped forward and placed his hand on your head. 

    “Welcome to the pack.” He stated simply. Then he turned. “Let’s get to practice!” He said sternly. 

    You couldn’t help but tear up at this. ‘I’m part of the pack. They just didn’t know how to treat me...I get it now...They didn’t understand...’ You thought to yourself as you held the purple jacket out in front of you. A small smile crossed over your face and you slipped on the jacket and hummed happily. 

    ‘Good...She’s happy.’ Goshiki smiled softly and stared at you as you put on the coat and dwindled in your own thoughts. Seeing you smile made his heart flutter. It made him feel warm and happy. It was a feeling he couldn’t quite explain. He wanted to hold you close and protect you from everything, he wanted to kiss you, and court you. He has a soft blush as he thought about doing all those things. However, his thoughts were interrupted as a volleyball hit him in the back of the head. 

    “Ow!” He barked and turned around. “Who threw that?!” A couple members of the team snickered evilly. 

    “It shouldn’t matter who threw the ball, if you were paying attention, you would have gotten it.” Ushijima scolded in his usual tough act demeanor. 

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    The rest of the day went by fairly well for you. Your classes had gone good and you smiled and laughed with your friend as they talked to you. Every now and again you would get a dirty look from another Omega that wanted a spot on the volleyball team. Honestly though, you could not care less. As you walked into your final class of the day, there was something waiting for you on your desk. You reached over and picked up the small piece of paper. 

    ‘There’s 900 square feet in a volleyball court, and I would still find my way directly to you.’ And as you read it, you giggled at the cheesy line. The scent wafting off from the piece of paper was of warm vanilla, and your cheeks heated up as you realized who the note was from. You couldn’t help but feel your heart leap up into your throat. You gently slipped the note into your bag and waited for the rest of the day for practice. 

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    You had gotten to the gym before anyone else had as usual. You were making sure everything was ready when you heard the familiar sound of the gym doors opening and smiled as Goshiki walked in. Your cheeks were flushed but he had this confident look on his face. He walked over to you and crossed his arms. The purple haired boy smirked and held his head high, but there was no mistaking the pink tint on his cheeks. 

    “(F/N) (L-L/N)!” He said sternly. This made your cheeks turn pink and your body tense up a bit. “I-I would like to court you! A-and don’t try to stop me!” He said loudly. “B-because- I-I have my mind made up on it!” And as he spoke his cheeks turned more and more red. There was silence for a while, until your soft voice broke through the silence. 

    “I would love to be courted by you...,” You said softly with an equally pink face. You turned away from him. “I-I should get to work...,” You said quietly before heading into the storage room. And as you walked you heard voices come into the gym. 

    “Good job!” 

    “That’s how you do it!”

    “Proud of you!”

    And you couldn’t help the small smile that spread across your face. ‘What a nice day to be in the gym...,’  You thought. 

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    And from that moment on, every single day, Goshiki made sure to spend as much time around you, and spoiling you as he could. He would come early to practices, like he usually did, and talk with you. During lunch, he would stop by your class and drop off a special treat like a cookie, or chocolate, or something sweet for you to have. During your last period, there would always be something on your desk. There was always a cute note, a small gift, or something along those lines. Then during practice in the afternoon, the two of you would make awkward eye contact and blush a bit. And you could have sworn that Goshiki tried hitting the ball a little harder when you were watching. It wasn’t like you would mind that at all, it made you feel special.  

    However, it wasn’t like you weren’t doing anything for him. Even though you didn’t spoil him with gifts and things, he already felt spoiled. You had asked him about it one day while you were setting up the gym. It had been about a week since the whole ‘courting’ thing had started. 

    “Goshiki...,” You said softly sitting on the bench next to him. 

    “Yeah?” He asked turning to you and tilting his head. 

    “Do you want anything? I-I mean you do so much for me...Y-you’re spoiling me...so...,” You trailed off with a blush. You looked down at your lap with the same blush that was slowly spreading across your face. 

    “Nah...,” He said and leaned back a bit with a small smile and rested his hands on the back of his neck. His smile was more of a thoughtful one. “I just think it’s in my biology...,” He blushed a bit more and turned away from you. “Seeing you smile is payment enough...As long as your happy and pampered, then count me the same way.” This made your cheeks flush in embarrassment. 

    Now you were here, sitting in your dorm and looked down at your phone. Living in a dorm meant that you needed to ask permission to do anything outside the premises. With both your and Goshiki’s busy schedules with volleyball, trying to find a time for the two of you to go on your first date with each other proved to be a bit difficult, especially because you couldn’t exactly up and leave Shiratroizawa. You sighed in your chair and leaned back. After a few minutes, your phone buzzed. It was a message from Goshiki. 

    ‘Meet me in the soccer field in like 15 minutes.’ Was all that was written. You furrowed your eyebrows a bit in wonder of what he could want so late in the afternoon. However, you threw on some more presentable clothes than your school uniform and slipped on a sweatshirt, then you headed out of your dorm to the soccer field. 

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    After a few minutes of walking to the soccer field you saw something straight ahead. There were a few lights around something that you couldn’t exactly see. However, you continued forward to see what it was. As you got closer you were able to see everything clearly.

    There was a big dark green blanket laid out on the grass. On all four corners were fake candles that were lit up so that you could see everything else. There was a basket with your favorite fruits in it and some sparkling water. You chuckled a bit and sat down next to the purple haired boy. 

    “What’s all this?” You asked softly and looked over at him. 

    “W-well!-,” He said in a more matter-of-fact kind of voice. “I’ve been courting you for about two weeks now a-and, I-I wanted to...to...,” He trailed off with flushed cheeks. Even though it was dark outside and the stars were out, you could still tell that he was blushing. “To ask you to be my girlfriend!” He said loudly. Your eyes widened and your own cheeks flushed. “I-I really like you!” He said and turned to you, sitting on his knees. “Y-your like...one of the cutest Omegas I ever met...a-and you smell really nice...a-and you make me so nervous! E-Even though I’m pretty confident in m-myself!” He paused and got a bit close to your face. 

    “O-of course!” You replied and sat up, facing him as well. “I-I really like you...,” You whispered and looked down at your lap. 

    However, you felt a knuckle slip under your chin. It was callused and rough from all the abuse his hands went through during practice. That knuckle gently lifted your head so that it was tilted up. You quietly swallowed as his face got closer to yours. The closer your faces got, the warmer they became, and the heavier your eyes became. It was like this until you felt gentle lips graze across your own as if testing the waters. Your heart felt like it was going to pop out of your chest. And soon Goshiki felt more confident and kissed you fully. One of his fingers remained under your chin, and the other gently rested against your cheek. Your hands however and crawled up and wrapped around his neck. The kiss was a bit desperate from both of you, and filled with want. The scent of warm lavender along with your own scent mixed together in a cloud around the two of you. Goshiki broke away from you and blushed as he held your face in his hands. 

    “I love you Omega.” He said, adding on the ‘Omega’ to show you he really meant it. 

    “I love you too Alpha...,” You whispered before leaning in for another kiss underneath the light of the stars and moon. 

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Taglist: @officialfictionalwreck @stanwallpapers 

If you want to be added to the taglist just let me know and I will happily do that! 

[negans-wifeyy]

The Babysitter

Summary: Jeffrey Dean Morgan gets down and dirty with his babysitter. 

Pairing: Jeffrey Dean Morgan x Reader

Warning: Heavy smut, major negan vibes

Tags: Seduction, angry sex, older man/younger woman (the reader is 18 and in high school), mdom, sub!reader, teasing, oral sex(woman receiving), unprotected sex(oups), etc.

Word Count: 2398

A/N: The premise of this story was heavily inspired by an audio from the subreddit gonewildaudio. I’ll put the link in the comments since tumblr won’t allow me to publish anything with a NSFW link in it. If you haven’t discovered GWA yet, you’re welcome. Also, the story involves Hilary Burton portrayed as a shitty wife but it’s nothing against her or her actual marriage to JDM. I just needed to include her in it for the story to make sense. 

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Ever since you were little girl, you’ve lived next door to the Morgans who were known in your neighbourhood like the white picket fence family. Last year, much to everyone’s surprise, Mrs. Morgan separated from her husband, Jeffrey, and even move out of their house. Now that they shared custody of their two boys, you’ve become Mr. Morgan’s trustworthy babysitter on days where he was working late. Three times a week, you’d babysit his kids after high school. You went to a private school at the other end of town but you always made sure to arrive at his house on time to welcome the kids home. Their mother would always pick them up from kindergarten and dropped them off for you to watch them over the evening. Often times, you’d rush out of your last class without even having time to change from your uniform just to be punctual. Today was one of those times, except that it was now an hour past the hour that Mrs. Morgan would usually arrive with her children. She was very much late and you tried to call her multiple times, but got no answer. Concerned, you reached her husband to let him know about the situation.

"Hello?" Jeffrey answered over the sound of a loud car horn.

"Hi, Mr.Morgan" You said. "This is Y/N. Are you driving?”

“Oh hi Y/N, I am driving but you can talk if there’s an emergency."

"The boys aren’t home yet and I arrived about an hour ago. I called your wife on her cellphone several times but only got her voicemail" You informed him.

"That bitch" He muttered under his breath. "Listen, my phone is about to die but I left work early today so I’m on my way home now. I’ll be there in a few.”

“Alright see you soon” You said before hanging up.

Not even a couple minutes later, your very enraged neighbour storm in his house while you were waiting for him in the living room. He directly went to grab the home phone and furiously dialled his wife’s number. You were sitting on the couch and watched as he stood next to the kitchen counter angrier than you’ve seen him before.

"Hello Hilary?? Where the fuck are you?!" He shouted at her. You couldn’t pick up what she was saying back but you listened closely to the entire conversation. "The babysitter’s been waiting for you to drop off the kids since 4! [... ] We had a fucking deal, Wednesday to Friday, Y/N watches them until I get off of work! [...] Oh, so now you have a problem with our agreement?![...] This was your idea! This is all on you! You decided to move out after the divorce and take our children with you! I want to see my kids! [...] Of course I’m getting mad. You— Hilary? Hilary?? Hilary??!"

Jeffrey threw the phone on the floor breaking it into pieces. His face was all red and a vein popped up from his forehead from being so angry. You stood up a bit shaken by his actions and didn’t know whether to stay and calm him down or leave to let him cool off.

"I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to lash out like that" He apologized in a calmer tone."It’s just been hell lately trying to co-parent with Hilary. She wants to get full custody of the kids and is trying to make me look bad for leaving them with you during my nights that I’m supposed to spend with them."

"No need to apologize, I’m more sorry to hear about it. Are the kids ok?” You asked.

“Yeah, they’re fine. They’re with their mom and aren’t really aware of the drama”

“That’s good. And are you ok Mr.Morgan?”

“I have to be. But deep down though, I’m boiling inside and I just can’t believe she would do that! " He rose his voice yet again.

"She'll come around I’m sure about it." You tried to reassure him so he wouldn’t lose his temper again.

"No she won’t! That bitch is depriving me from seeing my boys and I bet her manipulative ass is gonna get away with it. I can’t believe I’m even getting mad right now! That’s exactly what she fucking wants!!" He vented to you letting out all of his repressed emotions. But, he wasn’t done yet. From the rage written all over his face, he was on the verge of really blowing up. "God I’m so... I’m so fucking pant up right now!!! I just.. I just need to pin someone down and fuck them hard until they come on my cock!!"

That was really unexpected. You were so stunned by the profanity of his statement that you stood in place wide-eyed, swallowing a huge lump in your throat. Any other person would be shocked by the obscene language that Jeffrey used but for you, it’s was surprisingly turning you on.

"I’m so sorry again, I can’t believe I said that out loud.” He said almost out of breath from yelling so much. “I hope I didn’t scare you?”

"Euh.. no. It’s ok don’t worry” You said as you cleared your throat.

"It’s just been so long ever since the divorce that I’ve... you know, done it. Our marriage was built on makeup sex from always fighting, so every time I get angry now, I can’t help getting aroused. And umm..." He declared before stopping briefly to walked around the counter and come closer to you. You were so nervous the more he closed the distance between you two. "It surely doesn’t help, when a young, attractive woman like you is dressed up in her cute schoolgirl uniform, calls me Mr.Morgan with an innocent voice and looks up at me with her dewy eyes."

He was now standing in front of you so closely and eyed you up and down like he desired you more than anything in the world. You could feel your heart pumping through your chest and your palms were sweating from the sexual tension building up. Plus, he was looking really handsome with the business suit he was wearing which turned you on even more. You’ve always been attracted to your neighbour but feared that your major age gap would be an issue for him. From the way you both stared deeply into each other’s eyes with lust and desire, you knew now that it wasn’t an issue at all. He moved his hand to your face, palming it and thumbing your bottom lip.

"You are so fucking gorgeous" Jeffrey said to you and all of the sudden, his lips crashed onto yours. He kissed you so passionately as he grabbed the back of your neck with one hand and cupped your ass with the other. "You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this"

"Me too. " You said with your hands laying on his chest. His heart was also beating really fast.

"You know, I’m 100% sure that my attraction to you is the reason why Hilary doesn’t want you babysitting the kids. She would always get jealous of the way I looked at you when you’d come over." He lowered his head to your neck to give it gentle kisses and continued to talk in between them. “I’ve always fantasized about having you and right now, I want you more than anything.”

The way he talked while sucking at all your sensitive spots, you couldn’t help yourself but moan gently. Jeffrey moved up to your earlobe to nibble it with his mouth.

“Here’s what’s going to happen.” He whispered into your ear with his raspy and dominant voice. “You’re gonna lay down on the couch and I’m going to lick your cunt until you cum all over my tongue. After that, I’m going to fuck you hard and fill you up with my cum. Are we understood?"

"Yes Mr.Morgan” You said to him, which made him smirk slightly in satisfaction.

"Good girl" He told you as he sat down on the couch. "I want you to take off all your clothes first. Slowly. "

You did as you were told by starting to unbutton your blouse. Jeffrey was eyeing your every move and he let his hand wander down to his dick that was rock hard through his pants. Then, you got rid of your skirt, leaving you in your bra and panties. Normally, you would have been really insecure stripping down in front of someone. But, by the way Jeffrey was touching himself and looking at you like you were the sexiest thing ever, you felt really comfortable. As soon as you took your bra down, he motioned to you with his finger to come closer.

"Sit on my lap baby girl" He demanded to you and you followed his order. "Now grind on it”

You whined your hips back and forth on his thigh and Jeffrey took advantage of your proximity to massage your breasts and take your nipples in his mouth. He nibbled and tugged on them which made you even more excited and grind on him faster. The friction on your clit was getting you closer to your climax.

"That’s it Y/N. Keep grinding your pretty little pussy on my thigh. I want you dripping from your wetness.”

“Oh god! I’m gonna cum!” You cried out as you almost reached orgasm.

“No, you’re not.” He spat at you and took you off of his lap. He pinned you down on your back and laid on top of you. His eyes were filled with rage and his hand was now wrapped around your neck. "You don’t get to cum until I tell you to. Do you understand?"

"Yes”. You responded softly.

“Yes who?” He demanded and squeeze his hand on your neck, choking you gently.

"Yes Mr.Morgan.” You managed to say out of breath.

“Good girl. Now let’s see how wet you are for me” He slid down the couch and spread your legs to settle in between them. Jeffrey cupped you sex over your panties to feel your wetness. “Wow, you are dripping. Am I making you this wet?”

“Ye-Yess Mr.Morgan." You breathed out heavily as he started to rub you slowly. You rocked your hips forward following the motion of his hand.

"Don’t get too eager now baby girl, I haven’t even tasted you yet.” Jeffrey stopped rubbing you to take your panties off. He kissed down your leg slowly and when his mouth got in front of your sex, your whole body squirmed in anticipation. But he wanted to keep teasing you and kissed your inner thighs instead. When he saw that you were getting more and more excited, he licked up the length of your slit before sucking gently on your throbbing clit. You arched your back in pleasure and Jeffrey stared up at you being completely intoxicated by his oral skills. As if eating you out wasn’t enough, he pushed two fingers inside of you without warning and curled them upward to rub against your g-spot.

“Oh fuck it feels so good!!” You gasped. "Keep going!”

You grabbed both the side of the couch and Jeffrey’s hair for balance. He devoured and finger fucked you more rapidly without breaking eye contact with you. You were on the verge of cumming but remembered that you weren’t allowed unless he told you to.

"Do you need to come baby girl?” He asked you.

“Yess!” You whined out desperate.

“Beg for it.” He demanded

“Pleeeease Mr.Morgan can I come?!” You pleaded.

"Come for me right now, all over my mouth and my fingers."

"Fuckk yesss!!! You screamed out loudly and your entire body convulsed from the intensity of your orgasm. As you were coming down from it, breathless, Jeffrey moved up to kiss you so you could taste yourself. His entire mouth and beard were drenched with your cum.

“I need to fuck you right now. I need to feel that tight little cunt clench around my cock. Are you ready baby?” Jeffrey declared to you. You nodded in response and reached down to unbuckle his belt. You grabbed his dick inside his briefs and stroke it gently.

"You are so big Mr.Morgan, I wonder if I could fit you all in my mouth” You told him amazed by his size. His lips were parted and he moaned softly from your touch and your dirty talk.

"Fuck. That would feel so good” He suddenly stopped your actions and grabbed both your hands to pin them on top of your head. “But you’ll get to suck my cock another time. Right now I need to be inside of you really badly.”

Jeffrey took his member in his hand and teased the tip up and down on your entrance before penetrating fully. You took every inch of his massive cock without any time to adjust as he rammed inside of you faster and faster. His rough strokes in your cunt were hitting all the right spots and you moaned louder than you’ve ever moaned before with any other men.

"Oh fuck yesss!! Don’t stop!" You screamed.

"Your pussy is so tight around my cock! Fuck!" He grunted ou loudly. He put his hand around your neck again to choke you as you were gasping for air. "Beg for my cum!" 

"Please!! I-I want you- oh fuck!" You tried to beg but failed due to the amazing sensations and Jeffrey’s hand around your throat.

"I said: beg for my cum!" He commanded you.

"C-Can you please cum inside of me while I come around your dick Mr.Morgan?!"

“Cum right now!”

Your body twitched, your toes curled and your eyes rolled back as you came harder than before. It felt like an out of body experience and not a few seconds later, Jeffrey came too.

“Oh fuck, I’m cumming!! Take my load deep in your tight cuuunnt!!" He moaned and filled your pussy with his cum.

He let go of your hands and neck and before he collapsed on top of you, you kissed him yet again still aching for more.

“That was amazing Y/N” He told you with a grin so wide, you could see his dimples form. “Why don’t you join me in my bedroom for the night? I am not quite with you baby girl."

"Yes Mr.Morgan." You eagerly responded and returned his grin with a cheeky smile.

[abardstale]

Eianurian Elvish 101

This will by no means be an exhaustive guide (hence the “101″), but I hope at the least you all find it interesting :)

Eianurian Elvish originated out of ancient Eianur, and was spread across the world as an indoctrinated language with the elves’ imperial conquests. After the fall of the empire its use decreased drastically, although many noble families, ethnic elven groups, scholars, and bards are still well-versed in the language.

Eianurian Elvish (just “Elvish” from this point on) is an S-O-V language with a limited set of consonants - D, F, H, L, M, N, S, R, V. Because of this, vocabulary relies on vowel clusters and multisyllabic words.

Below are a few examples of sentence structure, names, and vocabulary.

Sentence Structure

“Na mahar’il hal senlas.” = “I was once a dreamer.”

Na = I

mahar’il = dreamer [mahar = dream, -il = personifying conjugation]

hal = once

senlas = was [sen = to be, -las = past tense conjugation]

This is a simple Elvish sentence structure. As an S-O-V language, the subject (I) goes first, then the object (dreamer), and the sentence always ends with the verb (was). 

Here is another, more simple example:

“Nei ferin araelan.” = “We enter the shade.”

Nei = We

ferin = shade

araelan = enter [arae = to enter, -lan = present tense conjugation]

These sentences, of course, become more complex once you start to add adverbs, alternate conjugations, conjunctions, suffixes, etc. But I think this is enough for a 101 class :)

Names

Elvish names, just like names from modern cultures, enjoy a bit of liberty from the traditional grammar/spelling conventions of the parent language. Words may be smashed together, or melded together depending on the spelling. 

Typically in regular grammar, an apostrophe is only used to separate adjacent vowels from compounded words, or after a glide (L or R). With names, there’s a lot more liberty. A parent may choose to include or omit apostrophes based on their preference, but also according to how separate or blended they want the name to come across. 

Let’s look at two names from Amaran’s history: Edinorael and Han’maerani.

Edinorael = “Chosen Last” OR “Final Choice”

Edin = choice

ora = implies a double meaning

-ael = last/final

As you can see, a name like “Edinorael” lacks apostrophes, and shares the “a” from “ora” and “ael” instead of separating it as “a’a”. “Ora” is a unique speech modifier, as it implies that a phrase is meant to be read two ways - a marker that doesn’t really exist in modern English. All of these conventions give the effect of “Edinorael” as a single unit of a name, as opposed to a compound of words.

Han’maerani = “Forever Beloved”

Han = always

maerani = love

Han’maerani’s name is much more straightforward in its meaning. The apostrophe between “han” and “maerani” is unnecessary in conventional grammar - if this were used in a sentence, they would be separate words. However, the added apostrophe creates a cognitive pause/separation, even if it’s not vocalized. This creates an effect of reading the words literally, instead of as a single unit.

Below are the elven names that are suggested at character creation, and their meanings:

Felassa = “Tree-like”

Felas = tree

-sa = like

Haena = “Healer”

(This one just translates literally. “Haena” means “healer”)

Vallen = “Of the wind”

Val = wind

-len = of

Maharen = “In a dream”

Mahar = dream

-en = in

Vocabulary

Finally, I’ll just leave you guys with some vocabulary words. Again, not an extensive list, but simple things like pronouns, nouns, verbs, and verb tenses.

Pronouns:

Na = I

No = you

Nei = we

Noa = she

Noe = he

Noi = they

Ne = it

Nouns:

Avar = fight

Fala = center

Fena = death

Haele = warrior

Haeri = (the) People [used to refer to the Elven People]

Ren = air

Vaiali = (the) Gods [used to refer to the Gods as a whole]

(”Haeri” and “Vaiali” are special nouns that are always in plural form. Otherwise, plurality is denoted by an “i” suffix. [ex: Avari = fights, Fala’i = centers])

Verbs:

Avi = to go

Devi = to want

Laefe = to rise

Mar = to do

Veda = to see/look

Verbs always go at the end of the sentence. However, certain conjugations can allow them to reside in the middle (objectifying a verb, personifying a verb). However, a verb must always be conjugated - it cannot reside on its own.

Verb Conjugations:

-las = past tense

-lan = present tense

-lar = future tense

-il = personifying conjugation

(”veda’il” = “one who sees”)

-nen = objectifying conjugation

(”laefenen” = “the act of rising/ the rise”)

-va = command conjugation

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

But You Can Never Leave [Chapter 10: Premonitions]

Several weeks and depressive episodes later...I’m BACK! 😃

And guess what: we’re officially approximately halfway done with BYCNL! (There will probably be nineteen chapters total.)  

The Queen/BoRhap fandom is feeling extra quiet lately, so if you’re still out there I’d LOVE it if you dropped me a comment/message/etc to let me know! I appreciate you all so much and hope you are finding things that bring you happiness, fulfillment, and peace. 💜

Chapter summary: Roger makes a purchase, Freddie makes a friend, Y/N makes an unsettling discovery, John makes a bewildering request.

This series is a work of fiction, and is (very) loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

Song inspiration: Hotel California by The Eagles.

Chapter warnings: Language, babies (but not your babies...or are they?!).

Chapter list (and all my writing) available HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii​ @loveandbeloved29​ @killer-queen-xo​ @maggieroseevans​ @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark​ @im-an-adult-ish​ @queenlover05​ @someforeigntragedy​ @imtheinvisiblequeen​ @joemazzmatazz​ @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye​ @namelesslosers​ @inthegardensofourminds​ @deacyblues​ @youngpastafanmug​ @sleepretreat​ @hardyshoe​ @bramblesforbreakfast​ @sevenseasofcats​ @tensecondvacation​ @bookandband​ @queen-crue​ @jennyggggrrr​ @madeinheavxn​ @whatgoeson-itslate​ @brianssixpence​ @simonedk​ @herewegoagainniall​ @stardust-killer-queen​

Please yell at me if I forget to tag you! 😊

“Roger, this is too much.” Your sandals click on the marble tile floor, a sandy gold like the beaches of Ostia. You peer up at the winding staircase, the Tudor-style diamond windows, the chandelier dripping with crystals. “This is way, way, way too much.”

“There’s no such thing as too much,” he parries merrily. “And look!” He pulls back an armful of sheer white curtains that had obscured the backyard. “The pool has a slide!”

You smile because you have to; he’s so elated, so young. “Roger, baby, unless you’re planning to acquire a literal harem of women we will never have a use for six bedrooms.”

“Sure we will!” He counts on his rugged fingers. “There’s one for us, and one can be the guest bedroom for when my mother or your parents visit, and then there’s one for if Chrissie ever wises up and leaves that wanker Brian and requires a place to stay between husbands, and one for when John needs an escape from that mind-numbing domestic purgatory of his, and one for Freddie’s overflow cats...” Roger trails off. He’s lost track.  

“That still leaves one unnecessary bedroom.”

He grins. “One for Roger Junior.”

“Oh my god.”

“It’s a wonderful home for children,” the real estate agent chimes, flitting around rearranging pillows and dusting off tabletops. “Plenty of space to spread out in, lots of bedrooms, fenced-in yard, security gate, spectacular school district...and such a lovely garden to explore! Does your wife garden?” she asks Roger.

“Girlfriend,” he corrects. “And no, she’s thoroughly useless in the agricultural department.”

You laugh and shove him away. “I have other talents.”

“You certainly do.” He growls as he grips your waist, inhales you, bites playfully down your neck and collarbones. The real estate agent raises her eyebrows, but politely averts her gaze and pretends to check if an artificial fern needs watering.

It’s the downturn of August, 1976. The sun is glaring and hot and spills in through the windows, setting the metallic flecks in the marble floor alight. It makes you think of the Yellow Brick Road, of fantasies built piece by piece into truth. John and Veronica bought a house in Putney, Brian and Chrissie a far larger one in Chelsea, Freddie and Mary a posh flat in West Kensington. Roger has his heart set on nothing less than a Surrey mansion. On the rare occasion that Queen has been home since the start of the A Night At The Opera Tour, you and Roger stay in his shabby—dodgy, you remind yourself—old apartment and pack boxes late into the evening, giggling over all the random and ancient relics you stumble across, sticks of Freddie’s eyeliner and dust bunnies tangled in strands of Brian’s spiraled hair, crumpled up spheres of paper with excerpts of songs scrawled on them, fossilized crusts of grilled cheese sandwiches beneath the couch. Queen is preparing for a brief UK tour at the start of September, including a free concert in Hyde Park organized by entrepreneur Richard Branson. Then it’ll be back to the studio to record their next album, a highly anticipated album, an album that will make millions regardless of what’s on it; and what’s on it, in your humble and musically unlearned opinion, is pretty goddamn great.

“Seriously,” Roger prompts, quietly now. “Do you like it?”

“Of course I like it. I love it. I just don’t need it.”

He grins. “I know you don’t need it. But I do.”

“That list of yours is getting awfully long.”

“You have no idea. We haven’t even started on the exotic pet collection yet.”

“There’s a marvelous koi pond out in the backyard,” the real estate agent says. “You could add turtles, and frogs, and all different types of fish. I can recommend sturgeon, they have such an alluring primeval sort of look to them, and the shimmer on shubunkins is just delightful...”

“You heard the lady.” Rog stretches his right hand like he does when his arm bothers him, when the bone that will never fully heal aches like something ancient and irredeemable, like hunger, like unrequited love: fingertips sprayed outwards, then folded into his palm, then outwards again.

“Rog...I don’t know.”

“Come on, baby! It has everything. Roman-style master bath. Bedrooms with mirrors on the ceiling. Space for my own studio. Land. Enormous refrigerators. You’ll have abundant room for John’s drawings.”

“Ohhh, now that’s true.” John is always adding to your collection, slipping you sketches as the boys scurry around getting ready before a show, during songwriting sessions that last long after midnight, when the band and its expanding circle of friends and family gather for birthdays and holidays. You don’t ask him about You’re My Best Friend, or, come to think of it, any of his other songs. You don’t ask him how he feels about his new life as a husband and father. And in return, John doesn’t ask whether you’re ever going to marry Roger, if you even want to, if you worry about what the future holds. It’s a loaded peace, but a comfortable one. A safe one.

“It doesn’t bother you, does it?” Roger asks suddenly. “The girlfriend thing. The not-wife thing.”

“No,” you reply, smiling. “Of course not.” Roger isn’t someone who pens love letters, recites all the reasons why he cannot live without you, sings love songs. He rarely speaks of love at all. Roger is as he always is: all action, all energy, eyes forever looking forward. But he does love you; you’re sure he does. Everything he does bleeds with love.

“Good. Because there’s no one I’d rather acquire a harem and zoological park with.”

“Okay,” you relent. “But no lions or tigers or bears. I’m quite attached to your limbs, and you’ve come close enough to ruining them already.”

“Deal.” He taps the Canon that hangs from your shoulder by its strap. “We should document this momentous juncture. One day we can pull out the photo album and show Roger Junior. ‘Hey look kid, this was the day Mum and Dad bought the house you were conceived in.’”

You laugh, almost positive that Roger isn’t serious. “I can guarantee you that precisely zero percent of children would ever want to hear that.” Nevertheless, you ready the camera and hold it as far away as you can, the lens aimed towards you.

“Don’t forget to smile!” Roger trills in his high, victorious voice as he rests his chin in the dip of your collarbone.

You snap the photo. The flash bursts through the kitchen of the Surrey mansion, blinding you both. The artificial bluish light dissipates like smoke.

~~~~~~~~~~

His name is Laszlo, and he’s one of the most beautiful things you’ve ever seen...even when he’s not especially well-mannered.

Currently, Laszlo—an Eastern European moniker from somewhere in his mother’s comically vast family tree—is whimpering and squirming against Veronica’s chest as she pats his tiny back and sighs wearily. Veronica, ever the good Polish Catholic wife, is already pregnant again. Chrissie smirks triumphantly and puffs on a cigarette, her rings glimmering on her left hand, her dress violet and new and very expensive. Brian is lost in some deep intellectual conversation with Richard Branson, gesturing with his long nimble hands and nodding empathetically, his dark curls rustling in the breeze like the lithe branches of a willow tree.

“Thank god you’re here,” John calls as you and Roger approach. “Freddie is about to get this concert cancelled.”

“I’m about to make this concert fabulous, darling,” Freddie objects. “We need pyrotechnics, we need sparklers and explosions and fireworks!”

Mr. Branson shakes his head. “Can’t do it, Fred. The embers could travel and set the trees on fire.”

Freddie groans. “Tell him, Roger!”

Roger shrugs, grinning, resting his elbow on John’s shoulder. “I don’t know, maybe we shouldn’t burn down Hyde Park.”

“You’ll be under a huge orange canopy, right over there.” Mr. Branson motions with a sweep of his arm. “You can’t do anything aerial. Flashing lights, sure. Fog, sure. But no fire. No explosions. Oh, and there’s technically a noise ordinance, but we’re working out a deal so the city won’t enforce it on the day of the show.”

“Orange?!” Freddie squeals.

“How will the acoustics be in a tent?” Brian asks, troubled.

John smiles mischievously. “Yes, how dreadful if no one could hear the extraneous guitar solos.”

“I have a gong, Rich,” Roger says. “Everyone will be able to hear my gong, right?”

“Your gong?” Freddie whines. “What about my voice?!”

“I miss stadiums,” Roger grumbles. You exchange a knowing glance with Mary and Chris and Veronica, who is imploring Laszlo to take a bottle. Our boys are difficult, aren’t they?

“The acoustics will be fine,” Mr. Branson snaps. “The tent color will be fine. Everything will be fine. You don’t need any fucking fireworks. Please for the love of god just tell me what kind of sandwiches you want.”

“That’ll be an ordeal as well,” Chrissie quips, and you all laugh; even Laszlo perks up, stops wriggling, glimpses around the open green space with curious greyish eyes like John’s.

Some teenage employee carrying a tangle of cables trots over, sweat dripping down his flushed freckled cheeks. “Mr. Branson? There’s someone from the city here to see you.”

Richard Branson smacks his forehead. “Jesus christ. Okay, I’ll be right there. Hey, Steve, hey, have you seen Dom? Go find Dom and tell her to come over here, okay? Thanks.”

The teenage employee nods and disappears into a sea of bustling people ferrying equipment, fliers, chairs, messages.

“I’m so sorry about this,” Mr. Branson says. “These city bastards are out to crucify me. You’d think they’d be a little more grateful that Queen of all bands is willing to put on a free concert in their backyard, but alas. Hey, Dom, over here!”

He waves to a petite young woman with a glossy shock of black hair and olive Mediterranean skin. She’s wearing all yellow: shorts patterned with daffodils, a tank top the color of butter, a headband like a sunbeam. One of her trim arms is cradling a notebook; the other reaches out so she can shake hands with everyone. The gesture is courteous but somewhat unnatural.

“This,” Mr. Branson begins, “is my personal assistant Dominique. She’s wonderful, she’ll listen to all your pretentious tales of woe and do it with a smile, because she’s a true professional. Better yet, she’s going to ask you the tedious questions I was supposed to so you don’t have to wait for me to finish sparring with the city council. Okay? Okay. Have fun. I’ll be back.”

“It’s a pleasure,” Dom says placidly in a heavy French accent. So that’s why her handshake was off somehow, stilted and weak; the French usually kiss as a greeting. You choke back a snort as you imagine Veronica’s reaction to that. Mr. Branson stalks away muttering about litigious twats.

“Oh, aren’t you just darling!” Freddie circles Dom, admiring her outfit, her hair, her gold hoop earrings. He wafts his cigarette around flamboyantly, completely forgetting to smoke it. “The French are so tasteful, aren’t they? You simply must connect me with your stylist.”

“I would be happy to, Mr. Mercury. But regrettably, I am my own stylist.”

“Ahh!” Freddie exhales, enamored. Mary lifts Laszlo from Veronica’s tired arms and cradles him, tickles his nose, beams down into his fresh and inquisitive face.

Dom pulls a pen from her shirt pocket. “May I ask your sandwich preferences for the day of the show?”

She immediately receives four very different answers, and she raises an eyebrow, her pen hovering over the lined paper of her notebook.

“I’m so sorry about them,” Chrissie says, and Dom chuckles civilly.

“Ham and cheddar,” Freddie tells her, synthesizing the responses. “Bacon, fried fish, steak and onion jam...and something for Brian. Cucumber maybe. Could we get some cucumber sandwiches, dear?”

“You’re a vegetarian?” Dom asks Brian, jotting down notes.

“He’s morally superior to us in every way,” John sighs dreamily, and Rog and Freddie cackle.

“I’m not a strict vegetarian,” Bri clarifies. “But for the sake of the animals and the planet, I try to limit meat when I can.”

Roger adds: “And I order twice as much of it, just to spite him.”

Dominique leads Queen around the portion of Hyde Park where the concert will be held, runs through the itinerary, fields a litany of questions and complaints. And you decide that you like Dom; she’s professional and reserved, yes, but she’s also patient with Freddie, smiles at his jokes, compliments his black-and-yellow striped shirt (“We match, and you remind me of a...oh, what’s the word in English? That bug...it flies around buzzing...buzz buzz...a bee!”), asks him what he’s planning to wear to the show. She assuages Brian, listens to John, takes the time to chat with the women about children, makeup, homes, what it’s like to be in love with rock stars. But Dom mostly ignores Roger, dodges his grins, remains staunchly undazzled. And that would worry you—because Roger loves the chase, you know that firsthand—if he hadn’t already taught you how to trust him, how addictively flawless and exhilarating life with Roger Taylor could be.

When Laszlo begins to fuss in Mary’s grasp, you take your turn holding him; and he blinks up at you with eyes that are wide and clear and seeking, and you find yourself feeling like you always do when you’re around your godson: like maybe you have a stronger opinion about wanting children than you thought you did, like you can’t stop envisioning a baby with Roger’s eyes instead of John’s.

That evening—after leaving Hyde Park, after dinner, after drinks mixed out by the koi pond—as you doze in a sweltering bubble bath and steam curls through the air, you hear Roger’s voice floating from the kitchen downstairs. You rise out of the tub, towel yourself off, slip into a white silk robe as rivulets of bathwater slink down the back of your neck. You tread gingerly towards the kitchen, keep silent so you can hear, lurk in the shadows of the hallway with your palms pressed flat against the wallpaper.

“Hello, is Dominique Beyrand in?” Roger says into the kitchen phone. “I’ve been trying to track her down. Sure, I’ll wait. Thanks.” After a pause, he continues. “Hi, Dom! It’s Roger Taylor, from Queen. The irritating blond one. I was just wondering if you’d happened to stumble across my wallet since this afternoon, I seem to have misplaced it. Oh, you haven’t? Bloody hell. Well, thank you for taking my call. Aw, that’s so kind of you, I’m sure I’ll locate it eventually. I’ve got a terrible habit of losing things. Okay, thanks so much. Goodnight to you too. See you soon. Cheers.” He hangs the phone up as you step into the kitchen. His smile is bright and innocuous. “Hey, baby!”

“Who was that?” Your tone is similarly casual; or so you hope.

“Just Richard Branson’s assistant. That French woman Dominique. I can’t find my wallet and thought I might have left it at Hyde Park, but no dice. Oh well.”

Roger begins rummaging through the drawer full of business cards and address books, tapping his foot, humming to himself. And surely he isn’t trying to avoid my eyes. Your gaze skates over the marble countertop. There, by the refrigerator, just a few feet—a meter, you correct yourself to be properly British—from where Roger stands, is his black leather wallet.

“It’s right there, Rog,” you say, pointing. And now your voice isn’t so nonchalant.

Roger spins to check. “Oh my god, I completely missed it!” He snatches up the wallet with a celebratory chuckle. “I’m such a twit sometimes. You’re too fucking smart, you know that? You’re making me look bad.”

He rushes to you, takes your left hand, bites your knuckles lightly like he did outside Massachusetts General Hospital under dawn skies over two years ago. And then Roger whispers to you, nuzzling your neck scented with lavender soap and doubt.

“Let’s go to bed.”

~~~~~~~~~~

There’s a knock at the door. John is standing on the front porch of the Surrey house with his hands in his pockets and a vague sort of smile on his face. He’s in a black suit.

“Get ready,” he says. “Do your hair, throw on some earrings. Maybe the pearls Roger got you last Christmas. We’re going shopping.”

“Why do I need to look fancy to go shopping?”

John shrugs, feigning indifference; but the puckish glint in his eyes gives him away. Yet there’s something a little sad and weighty in them too, isn’t there?

Your own eyes narrow. “I’m onto you, bassist.”

He laughs as you tug teasingly at a lock of his downy hair. “You always are.”

John takes you to a dress shop on Bond Street where the corsets trickle with gemstones and the designers all have Italian names: Armani, Prada, Abate, Cerruti, Valentino, Biagiotti. He sinks into a leather chair just outside the fitting room and lights a cigarette, takes a long drag, points to you with the lit end.

“Go ahead. Go wild. It’s a blank check.”

“Really?!” You glance around the shop, your pulse racing. “But I don’t know the occasion. I don’t want to be underdressed or overdressed or whatever. Although I don’t think I’ve ever been overdressed in my life.”

“Yes, you can’t seem to shake those pragmatic service industry roots, can you?” Another drag. “You need a dress and matching shoes. Formal, but not too formal. Think a record company party. Elegant but exciting. Lots of sparkle. Slightly slutty, if you’re so inclined.”

“This is an unconventional bonding activity,” you tell John, trying to conceal your nerves.

“Love, this isn’t something you can fail at,” he says, gently now. “You’re going to look amazing no matter what. So just have fun with it. This isn’t a test. This is one of those adventures you’re always searching for.”

I can promise you that your life will never feel like a cage; that’s what Roger once told you. But maybe you don’t always want to be quite so free, so unmoored. “Okay. But you have to swear to give honest opinions. I don’t want to show up looking like a wombat because you were too nice to say anything.”

John just chuckles to himself, shakes his head, devours cigarette after cigarette.

With the assistance of one of the shop employees, you climb into a pastel pink dress with a full ruffled skirt, an emerald green dress with an empire waist and loose sheer sleeves, a shimmering metallic silvery dress with a form-fitting silhouette. John nods at all of them, wholeheartedly approves, defers to your judgment. He periodically consults his wristwatch as he taps his cigarettes on the rim of an ashtray, and deflects your questions when you ask him why. Then you step out of the fitting room—balanced on gold heels—in a white dress with a hem that hits just above your knees, a halter neckline, a slim keyhole down the center of your chest; and John’s cigarette tumbles out of his fingers.

“That’s the one,” he breathes, soaking it in. Then he asks the employee to cut off all the tags and whips out his wallet. “Toss your old clothes and shoes in a bag. We gotta catch a cab.”

“We’re going straight to the party?”

“We certainly are.”

“What the hell kind of ridiculously lame party starts at 3 p.m.?”

John smirks craftily. “The kind of party we’re going to. Let’s rock and roll, Florence Nightingale.”

John gives the taxi driver an address and you sail through the streets of London, splashing through shallow evaporating puddles, squinting when sunlight ricochets glaringly off the slick pavement. The taxi rolls to a stop outside of a grand stone building with columns and intricate carvings of leaves and flowers. The sign outside reads: Kensington and Chelsea Register Office.

You turn to John. “Who’s getting married?!”

He just smiles, a deep harbor of secrets.

“It’s Fred and Mary, right? Jesus christ, John, you can’t wear white to someone else’s wedding, Mary’s going to strangle me—”

“It’s not Mary’s wedding.”

Slowly, your jaw falls open. “No,” you whisper in disbelief.

John darts out of the taxi, jogs around to your side, and opens the door for you. You gape up at him senselessly, struggling to remember how to form sentences.

“John...this...this is some bizarre and elaborate joke, right?”

“Nope.” He offers his hand, helps you out of the taxi, leads you up the front steps of the Register Office. Inside, everyone is waiting: Freddie and Mary, Brian and Chrissie, Veronica with babbling baby Laszlo, Roger’s mother and sister...and Roger, of course, in his best black suit and bleached blond hair and trademark guaranteed-to-dazzle (unless of course you’re Dominique Beyrand) grin. He flies to you and takes your hands in his.

“You look incredible, baby.”

“Roger, what’s going on...?”

“Don’t freak out,” he commands, and instantly your panic vanishes. There’s a pink rose pinned to his lapel. “I know we don’t feel like we need to get married. I know we agree it doesn’t mean anything.” Is that still true? “So don’t think that this is about trying to trap you or control you or bullshit white picket fences or anything. And of course you can say no, I won’t be mad, no one will hold that against you, we can find some other reason to party. But the simple facts are that I’m a British national with a mansion and a plethora of perpetual royalties and you’re an American here on a work visa, and the law gets a bit thorny in this situation. And I want to make sure you’re taken care of if something happens to me. That you can carry out my wishes. That you can stay here with the band as long as you want to. So, I’ve got your passport and birth certificate and everything else we need...and some overly-enthusiastic witnesses. Are you cool with signing a piece of paper today?”

“Of course she bloody well is!” Freddie exclaims, and everyone laughs. Mary is carrying a basket full of champagne flutes, Chrissie several bottles of pink champagne, Roger’s sister a tub of ice. Brian has been entrusted to chronicle the event with your Canon. Veronica is more giddy than you’ve ever seen her, even more animated than she was at her own wedding. Well, I suppose she doesn’t have to worry about any illicit pregnancies or condemnatory great aunts this time around.

“Okay,” you tell Roger. And you wish you weren’t beaming so broadly your cheeks ache, because it feels a little pathetic to be this happy about an admittedly meaningless wedding. But it does make you happy, your general aversion towards conventionality be damned.

You sign papers and you toast glasses and you giggle uproariously in the lobby of the Register Office with the best friends you’ve ever had, guzzle pink champagne, pose for photos, take your turn holding Laszlo, kiss Roger beneath the stone arch of the centuries-old building.

It doesn’t mean anything, you remind yourself, suddenly very aware of the missing weight of a ring on your left hand. It doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t mean anything.

But you catch a few furtive glances between Chrissie and Bri, the twist of a frown on Freddie’s face when he thinks no one is watching, the distance in John’s shadowy eyes as he inhales champagne like air.

It doesn’t mean anything.