#thank you for all the love for my translations this year!
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.01: FRANKENSTEIN
As the adopted daughter of Tony Stark, your role becomes even more twisted and entangled when you meet and fall in love with one James Barnes. Unbeknownst to you, your world is about to flip upside down.
Bucky x Stark!Reader
Word Count: 2,466
*this was an anon request*
A/N: I decided to make this a mini series and I hope you don't mind that I took some creative liberty with the concept!
Since you discovered you were adopted, you took it upon yourself to try and discover who you really were. You didn’t hold it against your father, keeping your adoption secret from you for so long. When your powers first appeared, that should’ve been your first clue that you were different. First it was the voices in your head, hearing conversations from buildings across the street. Then the telekinesis made itself known, accidentally throwing and breaking objects in fits of anger. As you grew, you felt more and more volatile. That at any moment you could burst. So you left. Telling your father you were going to find your birth mother. In typical Stark fashion, he sent you all the intel he could gather on who she was.
“I’m sorry I lied.” He said, giving you a hug.
“I understand. I’ll be in touch.” You said.
And with that, you boarded the next plane to Bucharest. Romania was the last known location of your birth mother. That was all Tony could dig up, everything else on the woman appeared to be lost to time. With your backpack and a whole lot of guts, you stepped off the plane and went to where she was last seen.
An old apartment building, badly in need of some repairs but still rather charming. You went over the basic Romanian in your head, only what you needed to get by. The woman at the front desk looked you up and down,
“Excuse me, I am looking for someone who used to live here, Mariana was her name.” You spoke in very broken Romanian. The woman stared at you with squinted eyes.
“I’m sorry my Romanian is bad, but please I just need to know where she is.” You tried again, holding up the copy of the address and the name that Tony had provided you.
“No english.” The woman grumbled, going back to her administrative duties.
“Please, I need your help. I have to find her.” You pleaded, the woman waved her hands to dismiss you.
"Ma’am, she is looking for someone that lived here.” A man’s voice speaking perfect Romanian startled you. You turned around to see who it was and was struck by his appearance. Tall, handsome with clear blue eyes and long brown hair. You noticed he was wearing gloves and carrying a plastic bag full of fresh plums. The woman responded to him in the same grumpy tone,
“She’s asking the name of the woman you’re looking for.” The man looked at you and you felt yourself dumbfounded. Clearing your throat you answered,
“Uh, her name was Mariana she used to live here. I just want to know where she went.” You answered, cursing yourself from being so easily distracted by an attractive man. You watched him as he translated your words to the woman who grumbled something back to him.
“She said no one by that name has lived here for at least three years.” He said, and you sighed.
“Does she know where she went?” You asked and the man translated. The woman muttered something to him before turning around to retreat into her office. The man sighed and turned to you,
“I’m sorry, she said she doesn’t know.”
You ran an exasperated hand through your hair and folded the copy of the address back up and slid it into your backpack.
“Thanks for the help.” You waved, adjusting the straps of the backpack and moving to walk back out of the building. You were almost out the door when the man called to you,
“Who is it you’re looking for, exactly?” He asked, “I-if you don’t mind me asking.” He added as he fidgeted with his fingers.
“Uh, she’s my birth mother and this was the last place she was.” You answered. The man nodded,
“What are you going to do now?” He inquired.
“I guess start back at square one. Try to see the city while I’m here.” You shrugged and he nodded again.
“Well, thanks again for the translating.” You turned and walked out of the building, before you could get halfway down the side walk, you heard the man call out.
“Hey, do you have a place to stay?” He asked, jogging up to you.
“No, but I’m sure I can find a hotel or something.” You said.
“Don’t worry about it, I got her to spare a room for you if you wanted it. No one really lives in this old building anyways.” He offered, with a flash of a smirk.
“Except you.” You teased, and he looked down at his feet bashfully.
“Look, I can help you find your mother, if you want.” He stated, taking you off guard. “I’m sort of good at finding people.”
“What are you like a private detective or something?” You joked.
“Something like that. Only if you want my help.”
You paused for a moment to think. A man you don’t know was offering his services to help you find your birth mother, the same man who stepped in and helped you with your broken Romanian. The smarter part of you would’ve turned and run but you were desperate. And, if things turned out bad you did have an arsenal at your disposal.
“Can you teach me any Romanian?” You asked with a smile and he flashed one of his own.
“Sure.”
The woman gave you a key to a room just down the hall from the man. He walked you to your door,
“Thanks again, uh’ You pointed at him,
“Ah, James you can call me James.”
You nodded,
“Thanks James, I’m Y/N.”
“Anytime, Y/N. Get some rest, I’ll see you tomorrow.” With that he walked off to his room and you unlocked yours. It was small and nothing compared to the place you had back in New York thanks to your father. But it was cozy and you didn’t mind the intimacy that came with it.
That night, you were plagued with a horrific nightmare. Faces you knew well and some you only recognized, tearing each other apart. So much violence, friends turned on each other. Your father lying on the ground covered in blood. When you awoke, your room was trashed. As if someone had come in and tore through the place but nothing was missing. Then it dawned on you, your powers. Once they seemed to be only be triggered by anger but now, perhaps that nightmare caused you to have an episode while you were unconscious. God. You hoped no one heard you and that the damage remained contained to your room.
When you were dressed, you stepped out of your room to see James doing the same. He flashed a smile as he walked towards you.
“I was on my way to get coffee, if you want to join me.” He offered. He showed no sign of knowing what happened last night, and there seemed to be no damage anywhere else that you could see.
“Sure, that sounds great actually.”
The coffee shop was only a few blocks down from the apartment building. James bought you both coffee which you insisted he didn’t have to. Outside, you found a quiet place to sit down away from the other patrons.
“Did you sleep well?” He asked.
“What?” You looked at him with surprise, did he hear you after all?
“I just meant it’s a new place and I know sometimes it can be hard to sleep.” He assured, seeing he’d caused you some sort of unease. You shook your head,
“Oh, uh, yeah I slept fine. Thanks.” You took a sip of your latte and cursed your paranoia. A moment of silence passed between you.
“So, what are you doing out here?” You asked,
“Just traveling, seeing Europe.” He answered somewhat nervously. You don’t know why but it felt like he was hiding something. Which to be fair you couldn’t judge since you were doing the same.
“Where are you from? You speak perfect Romanian but I just can’t shake the feeling that you’re American like me.” You continued and James smirked,
“You got me. I was born in Brooklyn.” He admitted.
“I knew it.” You chuckled, taking another sip of coffee.
“And you? Where are you from?” He asked.
“Manhattan. At least that’s where I spent a lot of my life.” You answered and he nodded.
“Right. Do you know why you’re mother would’ve been here?” He wondered. You shrugged,
“No idea. There’s no record of her except for that address, everything else seems to have been lost.”
“Did you ever think maybe it was destroyed on purpose?” James asked, and you blinked in surprise. You hadn’t even considered the idea that someone had purposely destroyed all records of your mothers existence.
“No, I hadn’t thought of that. I’m not sure why someone would.” You said, but you knew exactly why. If you were as powerful as you are now you could only imagine she was just as powerful if not more. But who would do such a thing?
“Believe me, people do things for reasons you may never understand.” James said. You nodded, he was right after all. But even if you might never understand why, you needed to know who.
“Is there anything else you know about her? Anything at all.” You shook your head,
“Not much, my father mentioned she might’ve been on the run but he wasn’t sure from what or where.”
“Is he your birth father or?” James wondered.
“No, he adopted me when I was three. I didn’t know any better than so I thought he was my real father. He acted like it. I wish he was.” You admitted with sigh. James nodded.
“Well, knowing she might’ve been on the run is a good lead. I know some places she might’ve gone.”
“You’ve been on the run?” You asked, bringing your cup of coffee up to your lips.
“Maybe once or twice.” He huffed.
“Thanks again, for all of your help. You don’t even know me but it really means a lot. I owe you.” You admitted and James pursed his lips into a small smile.
“You’re company is payment enough.”
The blush crept up on your cheeks no matter how much you tried to hide it. You finished your coffee and headed James walked you back to the apartment, saying he was going to investigate one of those places. You asked to come along but he insisted it wasn’t the type of place you would want to be.
Later that evening, you heard a soft knock on your door. Looking through the small peep hole you saw James waiting outside patiently. For a moment you studied his features, the way he looked around him like he was expecting someone to appear. “I hope she’s not asleep.” You hadn’t meant to, but sometimes unintentionally you could hear others thoughts. Even though you normally would try to block them out, you were terribly curious about this man. And something in you knew he was more than he seemed. “Don’t mess up, Bucky. Maybe this is the only chance you got at normalcy.”
You opened the door and his eyes brightened,
“Uh, hi. Hope I didn’t disturb you.” He said awkwardly.
“No, I was just lost in thought, how did it go?” You asked. Putting that mental block back so more of his thoughts would creep through. You stepped aside to allow him entrance into your apartment,
“Uh, not bad.” He hesitated a moment before taking the cue and entering.
“Did you find something?” You asked eagerly.
“Kind of, someone there had seen someone named Mariana there a while back.” James answered.
“What else did they say about her?”
“That she seemed paranoid, like someone was after her and if she stopped too long she’d be found.” He said.
“Did she ever mention who? Or what?” You inquired, gesturing for him to take a seatr at the small kitchen table. James shook his head and sat down,
“They didn’t know who was coming after her. However.” James paused as you sat down across from him, anticipating his next words.
“They did say a group of men, like bounty hunters, came in asking about her not long after she left.” He finished and you took in a deep breath, letting it out slowly.
“That would make sense why her records were destroyed, someone doesn’t want her to be found.” You surmised.
“Y/N.” James hesitated before he spoke again. “Are you sure you don’t know any reason why someone would try to erase her?”
You did know. It wasn’t a certain answer but it was the most logical one. But should you tell him? Does he deserve to know the truth of who you are? How you struggle daily to keep your powers under control. How you felt like a ticking time bomb waiting to explode.
“Y/N?” He asked again and you snapped yourself back out of your thoughts. Looking into his eyes, you saw something you hadn’t seen before. Past the tiredness you saw pain, intense pain. And do you decided to tell the truth,
“I haven’t been completely honest with you.” You started, your eyes shifting to your hands fidgeting on the table.
“When I was little, something happened to me. I could start hearing peoples thoughts, voices in my head fighting for dominance.” You paused, looking up to see James watching you intently but you didn’t sense any judgement.
“Then I started being able to move things without touching them. I’d broken a lot of glass and antiques on accident. As I grew I was able to get it under control a little better but sometimes when I’m unconscious or angry I can’t keep it at bay. It’s like a monster inside me at all times just waiting to be let out.” You finished, still nervously fidgeting with your fingers as you waited for him to leave or curse at you for being a mutant and hiding the danger. Instead, he took took the glove on his left hand off, revealing a gleaming metal hand.
“I know what that feels like. To feel like a monster, like theres someone else living inside you.” His voice trembled slightly as he flexed the metal fingers. You reached out to place your hand on his, the cool metal stinging your warm hand. He looked at you with surprise, no one had held that hand. That hand had brought nothing but pain and suffering. But he didn’t pull away from your touch,
“I’m sorry.” You said, moving your hand back. James shook his head,
“Don’t be sorry. One day, I’ll tell you about how I got it.”
“I’m glad I met you, James.” You smiled solemnly.
“I’m glad I met you.”
#bucky barnes#marvel fanfiction#bucky barnes fanfic#bucky barnes fanfiction#sebastian stan#buckybarnes#sebastianstan#bucky barnes x reader#bucky x reader#bucky x you
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could i request emily x polyglot!reader? someone finds out r can speak multiple languages, so naturally derek challenges her and em to see who can speak the most languages
so emily and r get into a language competition (?) and the 2 make a bet of whoever wins, gets a special prize from the loser *wink wonk* pls? it starts with innocent foreign banyer then ends up gettin dirtier if that makes sense? top!em pls 😊
thank u for reading, if ur not comfortable its all good! :D
hi anon!! thank you for the request <3 this is a super good idea, i was very excited to write it. it kind of morphed from your request a bit, but the main idea is still there. i do want to specify that i am by no means fluent or even proficient in any of the languages used in this fic (besides english 😭) because let’s be real— 4 years of spanish did *not* stick with me, so i used quite a bit of google translate. you might want to keep it handy too! i hope you enjoy :)
p.s. this is my first fic in a very very long time, please be kind <3
love language
emily prentiss x fem!reader
rating: 18+ MDNI
warnings: smut, cursing, oral (r receiving), fingering, dom!emily, i think that’s it?
w.c.: 1.3k
It was a long day for the members of the BAU. Back-to-back-to-back cases on short amounts of sleep were starting to wear on the team, and it didn’t help that the current case was stumping them.
“Oh, look at this, guys,” Morgan says, showing a picture from the newest crime scene. “Looks like there’s some writing in another language.”
You drop your head into your hands, taking a deep breath as you try to reset yourself and focus on the case.
“Looks like French, where’s Emily?” JJ asks.
You study the picture for a second before speaking up. “Dire la vérité— tell the truth.”
Morgan’s eyes cut to you. “Y/N, you speak French? And really, where is Prentiss?”
You’re about to respond as the door opens and Emily walks in from the bathroom. “Emily, did you know Y/N speaks French?”
Her face is surprised. “Huh. I didn’t. What else are you keeping from us?” She jokes.
Your eyebrows raise and you smile. “I speak a little bit more than French,” you say, not wanting to brag.
“What other languages do you speak?” Reid asks curiously.
“Well, French, and also Spanish, German, and Italian. Mostly Romance languages,” you say.
“Here’s a challenge,” Derek says. “Which one of you can speak in a different language for the longest?”
“¿Cómo no sabía que eras políglota?” Emily asks, effectively starting the competition.
“Nunca surgió en la conversación,” you respond plainly.
She laughs. “¡Podríamos haber estado teniendo conversaciones secretas todo este tiempo!”
“¿Qué tipo de conversaciones secretas te gustaría tener, Prentiss?” You say, raising an eyebrow.
She blushes slightly, flustered. She switches to French, trying to keep you on your toes. “Eh bien, je ne sais pas. Des trucs qu'on ne veut pas que Morgan écoute.” Her eyes flit to Morgan’s as she mentions him and he looks confused.
“What are the two of you talking about? And what are you saying about me?” He asks, looking between you and Emily.
You let out a small chuckle. “Tu ne veux juste pas que Derek m'entende te traiter de jolie et qu'il devienne jaloux, hmm?”
“This is all well and good, but shouldn’t we be getting back to the case?” Reid interjects.
“Yes, definitely,” you say, straightening your hair and pulling yourself back into focus mode.
After some more discussion on the use of a foreign language at the crime scene, the team decides to break for lunch. You take a quick trip to the bathroom and end up washing your hands at the same time as Emily.
“So, what was that?” She asks.
You’re caught off guard. “What was what?”
“You think I’m pretty,” she replies. “You told me I’m pretty in French. What was that about?”
You stammer a bit. “Well, I do think you’re pretty, Emily. I think you’re beautiful,” you admit.
“It’s interesting,” she says, stepping closer to you and placing a hand on your waist. “You speak three romance languages, and while it’s not the same meaning, you picked the most romantic language to compliment me in. Even if I couldn’t tell from the long glances and the way your heart is pounding right now, that alone would’ve told me what I’m pretty sure I know,” she finishes, looking you dead in the eyes.
Her hand is heavy on your waist and your mind is racing. “And what do you know?”
Emily’s other hand trails from your shoulder to your jaw and pulls your chin up so you’re forced to look in her eyes. “You have feelings for me,” she states.
You hold her gaze for a second. “I hate profilers.” There’s a noticeable tension between the two of you before Emily smirks at you. You feel yourself inching closer to her and then you’re pressing your lips to hers. She reciprocates the kiss without hesitation, and you feel her hands pull you in by your hips.
The kiss gets broken and Emily rests her forehead on yours as you catch your breath. Your eyes meet and you share a smile. “Embrasse-moi encore, s'il te plaît,” you say softly.
“Oui chérie,” she replies, already leaning into kiss you again. Her lips meet yours in a passionate kiss and she pushes you up against the door of the bathroom. She flips the lock of the door. Emily doesn’t want anyone interrupting.
Emily’s breath was warm against your neck as she kissed the tender skin. Pulling the collar of your shirt aside, she sucks a deep purple mark into your collar bone, drawing soft whines from you. “Shhh baby, don’t want the others to hear you, right?” She says, kissing the skin she marked soothingly.
She switches languages again and whispers in your ear. “¿Que quieres, hermosa?”
You meet her eyes and can feel the lust practically radiating off of Emily. “Want you to touch me,” you respond.
Within seconds, she’s on the floor in front of you, unzipping your slacks. Her fingers trace you through your panties. “You’re soaked, baby,” she says.
“For you,” you say, bracing your hands on the wall behind you as she teases you.
Emily pulls your panties down and rests your leg on her shoulder as her fingers find your clit. It’s almost electric, the way she rubs tight circles into the bundle of nerves. “Emily,” you moan out her name.
Her ministrations stop, causing you to whine out again at the loss of contact. “What did I tell you? Not a sound, or I’ll stop completely.”
You nod, covering your mouth with one hand as Emily runs her tongue through your wet cunt. She groans at the taste. “You’re fucking delicious,” she says, voice deep and dripping with arousal. It’s nearly impossible to stay quiet as her lips close around your clit, teeth gently scraping, making your legs tremble.
Your hands find a home tangled in Emily’s hair as you hold her face close. Her tongue slides back from your clit to your entrance. Your teeth clamp down against your lower lip as Emily’s tongue plunges inside of you. Her face is wet with your slick as she tongue fucks you, the sight alone bringing you close to the edge.
Emily then licks back through your cunt, sucking on your clit as she pushes a finger inside of you. Clouded in pleasure, you can’t focus on anything except the need to cum as she adds another finger and your walls are clenching around her. “Squeezing me so good baby, you want to cum?” she asks.
Your head nods frantically. “Yes— please, wanna cum,” you say breathily.
Emily curls her fingers up to press against that spongy spot inside of you. “Cum for me,” she commands, returning to suck at your clit as she hits your G-spot over and over again.
Your body shakes as she sends you over the edge of your orgasm. Her name is falling from your lips in a quiet whisper as you soak her fingers and face.
“You did so good for me,” she says, standing up and kissing your temple.
Catching your breath feels difficult, but you begin to fix your clothes and look presentable.
“Это было так хорошо, озорная девчонка,” Emily says, fixing her lipstick in the bathroom mirror.
“You may have just rocked my world, Prentiss, but I did not gain the ability to speak Russian,” you laugh.
The two of you make eye contact in the mirror, which starts you both up laughing, when a knock sounds from the door. You freeze, flushing in embarrassment.
Emily unlocks the bathroom door, opens it, and finds an impatient JJ awaiting you. “What are the two of you doing? We have an unsub to catch,” she says, turning around and heading back to the rest of the team.
Emily throws you a wink and follows after JJ.
You’re pretty positive this isn’t going to be a one-time thing.
#emily prentiss smut#emily prentiss x reader#emily prentiss x you#emily prentiss x y/n#emily prentiss fanfiction#emily prentiss#criminal minds#emily prentiss cm#emily prentiss criminal minds#criminal minds fanfiction#criminal minds smut
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Always back to you - Chp.4
Pairing: Minho x m!Reader (mention of 3racha)
Word Count: 7000
Summary: Minho gets a call from his ex-wife, asking to meet Minjun. Hesitating, he agrees to the meeting but not without you by his side. You both find your way around each other as the boundaries between friendship and love dissolve more and more...
Warnings/Tags: fluff, single dad!min, angst, domestic shit, emotional hurt!comfort, panic attack,
A/N: Thank you for all the love for the story and little Minjun so far. I hope you enjoy this chapter, some of you have been waiting for what happens here hehe🖤
PART THREE | PART FIVE (coming soon)
do not repost, translate, or plagiarize my works in any way here or on other platforms. ©️writingforstraykids 2024 -
The steady rhythmic sound of a knife chopping vegetables abruptly halts as the sharp, insistent ring of Minho’s phone pierces through the quiet kitchen atmosphere. Minho's hand stills, a sense of dread creeping up his spine as he stares at the caller ID. What?
Minho glances out of the window quickly, seeing you and Minjun still playing peacefully outside. His eyes wander back to his phone and it takes everything in him to take it into his hand, his thumb hovering over the screen. He takes a deep breath before picking up the phone. "Hello?"
"Minho, it's Yejun," comes the voice on the other end, unmistakable and unexpectedly calm. The sound of his ex-wife's voice, not heard in conversations for years, is enough to make his heart skip a beat.
"Hi, Yejun...What's up?" Minho manages to keep his voice steady, though his grip on the phone tightens.
"I’ve been thinking. It’s been a long time, and I want to meet Minjun. I want to see our son," she says.
Minho feels as if the floor dropped from beneath him. The request comes as a shock, reopening a chapter of his life he thought had been firmly closed. He leans heavily against the kitchen counter, trying to gather his thoughts. "I...that’s quite sudden. I’m not sure that’s a good idea," he replies, the discomfort clear in his voice.
"I know it’s sudden, Minho. I just want to be a part of his life," she says.
“Mhm,” he hums sourly, feeling nothing but defensiveness bubbling up in him.
“What’s that supposed to mean, huh?” she asks sharply and Minho closes his eyes, swallowing down the memories that flood his brain at that tone.
“Means I wonder what makes you think you can leave and then come back once he’s old enough to do a lot on his own,” he says, chewing on his lower lip.
“It’s my right to see him, Min,” she says.
“Don’t,” Minho says firmly. “Don’t even start claiming it’s your right to meet him. You left him once he was old enough to drink from the bottle. You have absolutely no right to demand anything.”
“Gosh, Min, still so emotional, hm?” she groans and Minho puts his phone on speaker, slamming it down on the table and mocking her quietly. Her laugh rings in his ears as she starts talking again. “I want to meet him. If he doesn’t like me, I’ll go.”
“Gosh, Yejun, still taking the easy way out, hm?” he gives back dryly, bracing himself at the table. “Why now?”
“As you said, he’s easy to handle now. I’m curious,” she says.
“Curious…If you meet him, I’m there every damn second, you hear me?” he asks, and she agrees reluctantly. “If you hurt my son in any way, I’m taking him home, and that’s the last you saw of him.”
“Relax,” she snorts. “I’ll be in Seoul next week from Monday until Friday. Let’s meet up then.”
Minho agrees hesitantly, ending the call with a heavy sigh. As soon as he puts the phone down, a wave of nausea sweeps over him, his hand flying to his stomach as if to quell the rising sickness. Pacing the kitchen, he feels his mind race with worries about the past getting back at him, about the potential destruction of Minjun’s more or less stable but happy life.
You get back inside to refill Minjun’s water bottle as he quickly uses the bathroom in the meantime. You find Minho in the kitchen, his face pale, bracing himself on the table. "Minho? What’s wrong? You look sick," you ask worriedly. “You’re feeling dizzy again?”
Hearing your voice seems to ground him momentarily. He looks up at you with a mixture of fear and uncertainty. "That was Yejun," he manages to say, his voice a whisper of distress. "She wants to meet Minjun. She says she wants to be part of his life."
Your expression shifts from concern to shock. You’ve heard of her, of course, the woman who had left Minho to raise Minjun alone and caused much of his earlier heartache when you met him. "Oh, Minho," you murmur, stepping next to him. “What are you going to do?"
"I don’t know," Minho admits, his voice shaky. "Part of me thinks maybe it’s good if Minjun knows his mother. But another part...I can’t bear the thought. What if she leaves again? What if she hurts him? I can’t let Minjun go through that."
You nod, understanding his inner conflict. "This is tough, but whatever decision you make, I’m here. You’re not alone in this, Minho."
Minho looks into your eyes, finding peace in your unwavering support. Taking a deep breath, he tries to calm his racing heart. "Can you... Can you just hold me for a minute?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. He doesn’t know why he’s suddenly asking for that, but somehow, it feels right.
Without hesitation, you wrap your arms around him, pulling him close. Minho buries his face in your shoulder, allowing himself to feel vulnerable, to accept the comfort being offered. As they stand there, Minho feels a tiny fragment of his anxiety ebb away, the warmth and steadiness of your embrace lending him strength.
After a long moment, Minho steps back slightly. "Thank you, Y/nnie. For being here," he says, his voice thick with gratitude.
"Always," you reply, squeezing his hand.
Minho feels a little steadier, bolstered by your support. "Would you...come with me to meet her? I think I might need someone there, just in case. I uh…I don’t know how it’ll be seeing her again and everything."
"Of course, Minho. I'll be there," you reply gently.
-
The day of the meeting arrives with a tense air. Minho is quiet as you both drive to the cafe where the meeting with Yejun is scheduled. Every now and then, he glances at Minjun in the rearview mirror, who is blissfully unaware of the gravity of the situation, chatting excitedly about the new game you had taught him. He seemed excited to meet his mother, which was the only reason Minho decided to let them.
As you arrive and find Yejun already there, a chill runs down Minho’s spine. She looks different, yet somehow the same, and his stomach tightens as he watches her wave them over with a bright, practiced smile. Minjun gently tugs at his jeans, as always when meeting new people. He’s glad to have something to hold onto as he picks him up and soothingly pats his back.
You stay close to them, looking at Yejun curiously. You had never felt the need to look up old pictures of Minho and her, so you had no idea what she looked like…and looking at her makes you realize she’s stunningly beautiful. Her dark, long curls frame her perfect face, skin smooth and accentuating her bright eyes. A red dress hugs her body in all the right places, and she looks delicate but elegant. God, no wonder Minho had a hard time getting over that. Getting closer, you realize Minjun must’ve inherited the freckles covering her nose, as well as the curly texture of his hair.
"Minho, it's been too long," Yejun greets, standing to embrace him swiftly. She presses a short kiss onto his cheek that has Minho tensing up, eyes widening. Ah, lovely.
"Yejun," he nods, taking a few steps back, then turns to you. "This is Y/nnie."
"Nice to meet you," you say, offering a polite smile, though you feel the undercurrents of tension.
“And that’s..?” she asks, glancing at Minjun.
“Oh for fucks sake,” Minho mutters quietly making Minjun giggle and cover his mouth with his little hand.
“Bad word, Daddy!” he protests, making you smirk.
“That’s some kid I stole on the way here,” Minho rolls his eyes at her. “That’s Minjun…obviously.”
“Oh…you’ve gotten big,” she nods, looking at Minjun curiously.
“Well he was six months old when you left, go figure,” Minho says patiently, with a fake calm smile on his face. “Minjunnie, say hi to your mother.”
Minjun frowns at her softly before looking up at Minho. “Daddy? Mum who ran away?” he asks and you have trouble biting back a laugh at her perplexed face.
“Mhm, that one,” Minho nods, pulling himself out a chair. “She wants to talk to you, so be nice, buddy.”
“Okay,” he nods, getting comfortable in his own chair, blinking at her curiously.
The conversation starts with trivialities, Yejun asking about Minjun's interests. But soon, she shifts the topic to her life in the US, describing her home, the parks, and the schools that she says would be wonderful for Minjun once he’s old enough.
Minjun listens, wide-eyed, clearly taken with the idea of such places. "Can I see them, Daddy? Can I visit her in America?" he asks, looking excitedly between Minho and Yejun.
Minho feels a pang in his heart at the words, his fear creeping back as he watches his son’s enthusiasm. He tries to keep his voice even. "We'll see, buddy. We're just talking right now."
Yejun leans forward, her tone persuasive. "I have a great life there, Minjun. You could have your own room, a big yard to play in... I'd love to show you around."
Minho feels sick watching the scene unfold, his hands clenched under the table. You notice his discomfort and place a reassuring hand on his knee. As the meeting draws to an end, Minho is quiet, lost in thought as Yejun makes plans to visit Minjun again. "Let’s take it slow, one step at a time," Minho finally says, not committing to anything more.
On the drive back, Minjun chats happily about the things his mother had told him, while Minho remains silent, his expression drawn.
Once home, Minho retreats to the kitchen, his movements sluggish, each step seeming to weigh heavily on him. You watch as he leans against the counter, his face pale and his eyes distant. Concerned, you approach him, your hand gently touching his arm. "Minho?" you call softly, trying to get his attention.
He looks up, his eyes meeting yours, and there's an unspoken plea for comfort. The day had drained him, dredging up past pains and uncertainties about the future. "I just... I don't know if I did the right thing today," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. "What if she convinces him? What if he wants to go with her?"
You understand the turmoil he's in. The possibility of Minjun wanting to leave with Yejun is his worst nightmare coming true. Stepping closer, you wrap your arms around him, offering him a silent reassurance. "Minho, you're an incredible father. Minjun knows that. Whatever Yejun says or does, it won't change the bond you two have."
Minho rests his forehead against your shoulder, his breath shaky. "I hope you're right," he murmurs. "It's just hard not to feel threatened, to feel like everything we have could be disrupted by her return."
"It's understandable to feel that way," you reply, holding him tighter. "But remember, Minjun loves you. He's grown up with you. That connection, those memories, they're not easily broken or forgotten. You're his dad, the one who's been there for him every single day."
As you speak, Minho's tension begins to ease. He pulls back slightly, looking into your eyes, searching for the certainty he so desperately needs. Seeing the sincerity in your gaze, a small smile begins to form on his lips. "Thank you, Y/nnie," he says. "For being here, for supporting me through this."
"Always," you reply, smiling back.
The kitchen is quiet for a moment, the only sound being the soft ticking of the clock on the wall. Minho seems to ponder your words, letting them sink in. Gradually, the anxious lines on his face smooth out, replaced by a more resolute expression. "I won't let her take him away," he states, more to himself than to you. "I'll do whatever it takes to keep Minjun with me."
"And I'll help you," you assure him.
As the evening sets in, you and Minho prepare dinner together, the earlier tension melting away into a comfortable routine. Minjun joins you, chatting excitedly about his day, blissfully unaware of the complex emotions his father has been grappling with. Watching Minho laugh and interact with his son, you feel a profound sense of admiration and love for him.
Later, as you sit down to eat, the atmosphere is light, filled with Minjun’s laughter and stories. Minho looks over at you, a silent gratitude in his gaze. Despite the challenges, he knows he isn't alone. With you by his side, he feels ready to handle whatever may come.
That night, after Minjun has gone to bed, you and Minho find yourselves on the couch, a comfortable silence enveloping you. Minho leans his head on your shoulder, his earlier fears now calmed by your presence and the peaceful end to the day.
"Today was hard," he admits quietly.
"It was," you agree. "But you got through it. And you’ll get through whatever else comes your way."
-
Minho stands silently in the middle of the living room, the soft hum of the evening settling around him. The faint laughter and shouts of children playing outside drifts through the open window, a stark contrast to the turmoil brewing inside him. His hands tremble slightly as he turns over a small toy that Minjun had left on the couch—a constant reminder of his responsibilities, his fears, and his deep-seated insecurities about being a father. Minjun is staying with Felix and Chan for a few hours and you'll visit to work through a few important aspects of his schedule.
The weight of his thoughts and the relentless pressure he placed on himself were reaching a boiling point. The room feels smaller, the walls closing in as each of Minjun’s innocent questions from earlier that day echoed in his head, “Are you happy, Daddy? Does Yejun like me? Can I go to America?” The questions are simple, filled with the childlike curiosity of his young son, yet to Minho, they are a reflection of his deepest fears—is he truly enough?
The anxiety that had been simmering throughout the day suddenly surges, a tidal wave crashing over him with suffocating force. His breathing becomes shallow, each inhale sharp and unsatisfying. His heart races uncontrollably, pounding against his ribs as if trying to escape. The room spins, and a nauseous feeling tightens in his gut. He's having a panic attack, the intense fear of failing his son overwhelming him completely.
Just then, you walk in. You stop in track at the sight of Minho, his face pale, his body tense and trembling. Dropping your bag, you rush over. “Minho! What’s happening?” Your voice is laced with concern as you reach out to steady him, your hands gripping his arms.
“I...I can’t breathe properly,” Minho gasps out, his voice shaky. “I feel like I’m not enough for him...like I’m going to fail him.”
You quickly lead him to the sofa, helping him to sit down. “Look at me, Minho. Follow my breathing, okay? In and out, slowly,” you instruct him gently, demonstrating deep, steady breaths.
Minho tries to mimic your breathing, focusing on the rise and fall of your chest. Gradually, his own breaths begin to deepen, the tight grip of fear around his chest loosening slightly with each exhale. You don't let go, your presence a calming force in the storm of his panic.
After a few minutes, as the initial wave of panic begins to subside, Minho feels exhaustion seep into his bones, replacing the adrenaline that had surged through him just moments before. He leans back against the sofa, his eyes closing briefly in fatigue.
“You’re doing great, Minho. Just keep breathing like that,” you murmur, your voice a soothing balm. “You are enough for Minjun, more than enough. You’re an incredible father.”
Tears prick at Minho’s eyes as he listens to your affirmations. “I’m scared,” he admits, his voice a broken whisper. “What if it’s not true? What if I’m not what he needs?”
You shift closer, your side pressing against his, a silent offer of solidarity. “Minho, look at everything you’ve done for him. He adores you. Your fear doesn’t define your reality. You are exactly what Minjun needs because you love him, and you show up every day for him, even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard.”
The sincerity in your words, the warmth of your body next to his, it all pierces through the fog of Minho’s anxiety, reaching a part of him that he kept walled off from everyone else. He turns to look at you, really look, seeing not just a friend but someone who has come to mean so much more to him.
Without thinking, driven by the emotions swirling within him and the need to be closer to the one person who seemed to understand him completely, Minho leans in. You hesitate, leaning in a little before you both stop for me a moment. Then you meet halfway, your lips touching in a kiss that is soft and hesitant at first but quickly deepened with shared urgency and emotion. But as seconds pass, the kiss deepens, driven by a mixture of long-suppressed desires and the comforting familiarity that has grown between you over countless shared moments.
All that matters is the here and now—the warmth of your lips against his, the gentle exploration that grows bolder with each passing moment. Your hands move to cup Minho’s face, your touch tender yet assured, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss until it is all-consuming.
Minho’s hands find their way around you, pulling you in, his heart pounding against his chest. The kiss grows more desperate, a silent confession of the feelings that had been simmering beneath the surface for so long. Your breaths mingle, quick and shaky, as the kiss ignites a fire within you both, a blaze that seems to fill the voids you had both carried inside.
But as the intensity of your embrace grows, so does a creeping fear in the back of Minho’s mind. His heart, scarred from past hurts and losses, begins to recoil at the vulnerability he is exposing himself to. The memory of his past, of being left alone when he had dared to love openly, surges forward, casting a shadow over the warmth he feels.
Your hands trace the line of Minho's jaw, gentle yet insistent, pulling him closer. Minho responds in kind, his hands finding the small of your back, pressing you together. The kiss grows more fervent, more desperate, as if you're trying to communicate every unspoken word, every suppressed emotion through this single act.
As your breath quickens, Minho’s emotions swirl chaotically—a blend of exhilaration and deep-seated fear. The intensity of your connection right here is something he hasn't allowed himself to fully experience for a long time, not since his heart had been guarded against such vulnerabilities.
Suddenly, the weight of his past, the memories of abandonment, and the fear of experiencing such profound loss again surge to the forefront of his mind. It is overwhelming the way these fears claw their way up, threatening to overshadow the warmth and safety he had just been reveling in.
With a sudden intake of breath, Minho’s hands still, and he pulls back slightly, breaking the kiss. His heart is racing, not just with the passion of the moment but also with a creeping dread that he might be setting himself up for another heartbreak. His chest heaves as he tries to steady his breathing, his eyes wide and vulnerable as he meets your concerned gaze.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice choked with a mixture of fear and regret. “I... I need a moment.”
Your face is a mixture of worry and understanding. You reach out, brushing a trembling hand against Minho’s cheek. “It’s okay, Minho. We don’t have to rush anything. I’m here, okay?”
Minho nods, feeling a lump form in his throat. He is terrified, not of the kiss or the connection but of what it signifies. To let someone in so completely was to risk being torn apart again. And yet, as he looks into your eyes, he sees a reflection of something pure and steady—a commitment not just to the joy of their relationship but to the struggles, too.
Minho takes a deep breath, each inhale laced with the scent of your skin, a reminder of the now. “I just... I’m scared of losing myself, of losing Minjun, of being left alone again if this... if we don’t work out,” he confesses, his voice barely a whisper amidst the quiet of the room.
Your expression softens, your eyes filling with empathy. “Minho, love doesn’t come with guarantees, but not giving ourselves the chance to experience it fully is a guarantee of regret. I don’t know what the future holds, but I promise to be by your side through the highs and the lows. You’re not alone anymore, and you won’t be.”
These words, gentle and reassuring, seem to stitch up the raw edges of Minho’s fears slowly. He allows himself to lean into you, feeling the solidity of your presence. “Thank you,” he murmurs, allowing himself to feel the full extent of his vulnerability.
“Thank you for not running,” you say, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. The tension begins to dissipate, replaced by a cautious hope.
“Thank you for staying,” Minho shakes his head gently.
You smile, your hand squeezing Minho’s. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,” you assure him. You lean forward, pressing a soft kiss to Minho’s forehead, a simple gesture that holds a depth of meaning.
Minho allows himself to be held, his head resting against your shoulder, feeling the steady beat of your heart against his cheek. It is comforting, grounding. Slowly, his breathing evens out, the immediate panic subsiding under the gentle rhythm of your assurances.
“You mean a lot to me, Y/nnie,” Minho confesses, pulling back slightly to look at you. “I don’t want to lose you, not because of my fears.”
You smile, your hands sliding down to grasp his. “And you won’t lose me. I care about you, Minho. We’ll face this together, okay? Step by step.”
“Okay,” Minho agrees, squeezing your hands. “Step by step.”
The moment is tender, a delicate truce between Minho’s fears and the possibilities that lie ahead. You stay like that for a while, simply holding each other, finding comfort in the presence of one another.
When it is time for you to leave, Minho finds himself not wanting to let go. The goodbye is lingering, filled with the promise of soon and more. You leave him with a smile, and Minho watches from the doorway, feeling a mixture of contentment and longing.
That night, as Minho lies in bed, Minjun peacefully asleep next to him, he thinks about the kiss - the way it had made him feel alive, the way it had scared him. He touches his lips, still feeling the ghost of your touch. The fear is still there, a quiet whisper in the back of his mind, but it is slowly being overshadowed by a stronger, more insistent feeling: hope.
He knows the road ahead will be fraught with challenges, but for the first time in a long while, Minho feels ready to face them. With you by his side, he isn't just facing the future; he is stepping into it, one kiss, one conversation, one promise at a time.
-
Minho nervously ties Minjun’s shoelaces, hoping his attentive little boy can’t see the anxiety written all over his face. He gently takes Minjun’s small hands into his and searches his eyes. “Minjunnie?” he asks softly.
“What, Daddy?” his son asks curiously.
“Daddy loves you a lot, okay?” he asks, and Minjun nods contently. “I’m sorry I can’t always be there, I’ll try to get better.”
“It’s okay,” he says, gently patting his father’s head.
Minho giggles at him and pulls him into his lap. “I will always love you, okay? No matter what happens.”
“Always?” he asks softly, and Minho nods firmly. “Always come back?”
Minho cups his face, smiling at him encouragingly. “I’ll always come back to you, buddy.”
“Good,” he smiles brightly. “Yejun now?” he asks, and Minho nods.
“Yeah,” he says, almost feeling a little ashamed for being so relieved about Minjun not calling her his mother.
You open the door, glancing inside. “You two are ready to go?” you ask. “I’ll drop you off at the café, make sure everything’s in place at the location for the shoot, and then come back. I won’t be gone longer than ten minutes, it’s on the other side of the road.”
“Sounds good,” Minho nods, subconsciously chewing on his lower lip. He pushes himself back up and meeting your eyes, you can tell he needs a hug.
“Come here,” you say gently, opening your arms for him. Minho laughs weakly and hugs you tightly, fingers gripping the fabric of your shirt. “It’ll be okay,” you tell him, earning a timid hum in return.
“Daddy?” Minjun frowns up at you two worriedly.
Minho leaves your warm embrace, picking him up. “I’m okay,” he assures him, his one hand finding yours. Your fingers intertwine almost naturally, and you can feel his hand tremble in yours a little.
“Liar,” Minjun says softly, not even sounding like he’s judging him for it.
Minho chuckles weakly and searches your eyes. “Minjunnie? You really like Y/nnie, right?” he asks, watching you with a gentle smile.
“No,” he shakes his head, making your heart sink for a moment. “I love Y/nnie, Daddy.”
You both laugh softly, and you gently poke his cheek. “I love you too, Minjunnie…and I care a lot about your Daddy too.”
“I…I love Y/nnie too,” Minho says quietly, and your world stops turning for a few seconds.
“What?” you ask just as quietly, swallowing hard as tears brim Minho’s soft chocolate eyes.
“I love you, Y/nnie,” he tells you again, a little less shaky this time. “I do,” he says as if he has to reassure you both he put it into words.
“I love you too, Minho,” you whisper happily, your heart warming. Minho squeezes your hand, searching your eyes timidly. You don’t think much, closing the distance between you two and kissing him softly. Minho sighs quietly, feeling at ease here in the moment of kissing you.
Minjun squeals making you break apart again. “Eww, but yay,” he says with wide eyes, making you giggle.
“Okay, let's go,” you laugh and gently shove Minho out of the room.
You drive them to the café and Minho shares another quick kiss with you before getting out. You quickly cross the street to check the set, hoping it won't take long.
-
The tension in the air is thick as Yejun sits across from Minho at a small, brightly lit café in the heart of Seoul. The noise of the bustling city outside does little to fill the silence that hangs between them. Minho watches her observantly as she tries to talk to Minjun, who’s busy coloring in the book she gifted him earlier.
"Minjun, you would love it in America," Yejun begins, her voice infused with excitement. "We have huge parks, and there are so many fun things you can do. There's Disneyland, with all the rides and characters you love."
Minjun's eyes light up at the mention of Disneyland, but his smile falters as he glances sideways at Minho, who sits silently, his expression unreadable. "Can Daddy come with us?" Minjun asks innocently, his voice tinged with hope.
Yejun’s smile tightens slightly. "No, it would just be you and me. But think of all the adventures we’ll have!"
Minjun’s face falls. "But I want Daddy...and Y/nnie," he ads, his small voice growing firmer. "I want them."
Yejun’s patience began to crumble. "Minjun, I’m your mother. I have a wonderful life set up for us in America. You need to think about what I’m offering you."
Minho, who has been quietly observing the exchange, sees the confusion and distress growing on Minjun’s face. "Yejun, that's enough," he interjects calmly. "You’re overwhelming him. He’s only a child."
Yejun turns her gaze to Minho, her eyes flashing with irritation. "You have no right to keep him from me, Minho! You’ve turned him against me, huh? You stole my son!"
The accusation stings, and Minho’s voice grows stern. "Yejun, I haven’t stolen anyone. I’ve been here for Minjun every single day since he was born. He’s my son too, and I have been his only parent for years."
“Well, I’m his mother and-”
Tears well up in Minjun's eyes as the tension rises. He can tell his father is upset and trying not to show it, he may be young but he knows him well. The woman opposite him glares at him and he doesn’t like that at all. "You're not my mum, Y/nnie is!" he cries out, the emotional toll of the conversation beginning to show. "Y/nnie plays with me. Y/nnie makes me food. Y/nnie cuddles me!"
Yejun blinks, her face contorted with a mix of shock and disgust. "Y/nnie? That babysitter? You think he's a better mother than me?”
“Yes,” he says stubbornly, staring down at his coloring book again.
“Minho, what the fuck have you done with this child?” she asks frustratedly.
Minho reaches out, taking Minjun’s hand in his, providing a comforting touch. "Y/nnie has been here for him. What Minjun is trying to say is that family isn’t just about blood; it’s about who cares for you, who’s there for you."
Yejun’s anger flares, and she stands abruptly, her chair scraping loudly against the floor. "He is my son, and you’ve turned him into this...this weak, dependent child clinging to a man who has no business raising him!"
Minjun’s tears spill over, and he buries his face in Minho’s side, sobbing. Minho wraps his arms around his son protectively. "He is not weak. He’s a child, Yejun. And you’re upsetting him."
“I can’t believe you’re letting his babysitter take my role!” she protests loudly.
“That babysitter is my boyfriend,” Minho says firmly. Technically, the two of you aren't there yet but he couldn't care less right now. “So you better watch your mouth now.”
“Really? Dating a man?” she scoffs. “Did I break your heart so much you’re too scared to face another woman?” she spits out.
“What?” Minho almost chokes on his breath.
“You’re stupid,” Minjun states, pouting at her through tears. He doesn’t like how she’s talking about the two most important people in his life. “Daddy loves Y/nnie. Not you.”
“You’re coming with me now, if you like it or not!” she says firmly, reaching out for him.
"Don’t touch him," you snap, your voice icy as you move to block her path. "You need to leave, Yejun. You’re only causing him distress." You can’t believe what you got back to here.
Yejun stares at you, her anger boiling over. "He’s my son, not yours! You have no right—"
"He's not your son!" Minho interrupts firmly, standing up to face her, his voice echoing in the small space. "Not if you can’t see the damage you’re doing right now. Minjun has made his choice!"
“Not my mummy,” Minjun agrees. Still clinging to Minho, he peeks out and yells in his small, fierce voice, "Go away! I don’t want you! I want Daddy and Y/nnie!"
The raw honesty in Minjun’s voice seems to hit Yejun hard. For a moment, her resolve wavers, her features softening as she looks at her son. But the bitterness and resentment are too deep, her expression hardening once again.
“You’re disgusting,” she says toward Minho who stares at her quietly. “One day, he’ll leave you just like he left me,” she tells Minjun, who whimpers, clinging to him.
“You’re such a bitch,” you tell her and stare her down until she storms off. “You forgot your stuff!” you call out for her and she spins around, stomping back to get it.
“Fuck you.” With that, she turns sharply and storms out of the café, leaving behind a heavy silence.
Minho kneels down, wiping the tears from Minjun’s cheeks. "It’s okay, buddy. She’s gone now. You’re safe," he murmurs, his voice soothing.
Minjun sniffles, nodding as he leans into Minho’s embrace. "Stay with me, Daddy. Stay with Y/nnie."
"We will, Minjun. We’re not going anywhere," Minho reassures him. “Always back to you, remember my sweet boy?”
“Yes, Daddy,” he nods bravely.
-
Back at the company Minho walks straight to Chan's studio, telling you to go and get some snacks with Minjun first. He closes the door behind himself and starts cursing as soon as it clicks shut. “I swear that woman is insane! I don't know what the fuck I saw in her but it's gone!”
Chan slowly pulls off his headphones and Jisung clicks his pen, blinking at Minho worriedly. “Mate, what happened?” Chan asks gently.
“Yejun happened!” Minho snaps. “She just tried to pull Minjun away from me so he'd go with her! She called him a weak, clingy child for wanting to stay with me!”
“Okay, take a deep breath,” Chan says soothingly.
“I don't feel like taking a deep breath right now,” he says fuming with anger.
Changbin picks up a pillow and throws it at him. “Scream into that for a moment. Let it all out. You haven't told us much but I suspect Minjun needs his father to be calm now.” Minho blinks at them stunned before doing as they say, his scream getting muffled by the pillow. “Better?”
“A little,” he nods, making them all laugh. Minho flops down onto the sofa between Changbin and Jisung, huffing softly. Then he tells them about everything that happened, all of them growing quiet, exchanging shocked glances.
“Not to be that type of person but..I never liked her,” Jisung snorts and Minho hums agreeingly.
“I know…but I wouldn't want to miss the time I had with her. I'd miss my little boy,” he sighs and rubs his face.
“If she starts causing trouble you let me know, alright?” Chan asks. “Everyone of us can tell whoever needs to know that you've always been there for him and raised him well so far.”
“Thanks, hyung,” he smiles gently, looking up as the door opens and you and Minjun enter the room. Minjun runs up to everyone handing them their favorite snack and smiles proudly at the many encouragement he gets. Minho scoots over and pats the space next to himself, gently tapping your hand to make you sit.
“Can I talk to you for a second?” you ask and Minho nods, getting up quickly.
As soon as you leave the room Minjun climbs into Chan's lap and nibbles on his chocolate. “Exciting day?” Chan asks gently.
“No. Yejun’s a bitch,” he announces dryly. Chan bites back a laugh and Jisung nods proudly.
“Woah, that's a strong word,” Changbin laughs. “Did your daddy teach you that?”
“No, Y/nnie,” he tells them.
“You like staying with your daddy more, right?” Chan asks amused.
“And Y/nnie,” he nods happily. “Y/nnie and Daddy.”
“Yeah? Y/nnie stays with you a lot,” Jisung agrees.
“Daddy loves Y/nnie.”
“Loves?” he asks curiously.
Minjun nods and leans up to Chan, kissing his cheek. “They did that.”
Chan giggles, exchanging a glance with his friends. “They kissed?” he asks curiously.
“Mhm,” he nods and continues munching his chocolate. “But not there,” he says, pointing at Chan's cheek.
“No?” Chan asks stunned.
“No. Like uncle Lix and you,” he announces making the whole room go silent.
“You mean here?” Chan asks, pointing at his lips.
“Yes,” Minjun nods. “Y/nnie is my new mum.”
“That's so cute,” Jisung whispers, smiling at him adoringly.
The door opens and you two are back from your short talk about everything that happened. You sense something's off, judging by the way the three are glancing from Minho to you and back again. “Minjunnie, are you ready to go home?” you ask him. “Daddy has to work but he'll come later.”
“Work?” Minjun asks heartbreakingly timid.
“I'm sorry, baby,” Minho tries, swallowing hard as Minjun climbs off Chan's lap and walks over to him, his small face scrunching up. Minho scoops him up, hugging him tightly. "I'll be back before you know it, okay? And Y/nnie will be with you," he reassures, glancing over at you with a grateful smile.
Minjun seems somewhat calmed by this, nestling his head against Minho's shoulder. "Promise?" he mumbles, his voice muffled.
"I promise, buddy," Minho affirms, pressing a kiss to his son's hair.
You can't help but feel a pang of warmth at the scene, your heart swelling at the depth of their bond. As you prepare to leave with Minjun, Minho sets him down, adjusting his little backpack and smoothing down his hair.
"Be good for Y/nnie, okay?" Minho instructs, kneeling to be eye level with Minjun.
"I will," Minjun nods solemnly, then looks up at you with those big, trusting eyes. "Let's go, Y/nnie."
As you lead Minjun out of the studio, his hand in yours, you glance back to see Minho watching you both, a mix of love and a tinge of sorrow in his eyes. It's clear how torn he feels, the duties of his work pulling him away from moments he cherishes with his son.
Back at Minho’s house, the evening unfolds with a quiet kind of normalcy. Minjun plays with his toys in the living room, occasionally chatting about things he remembers from the day or asking questions about what tomorrow might bring. You keep your answers light and reassuring, mindful of the emotional turmoil he’s endured.
Later, while Minjun is absorbed in a cartoon, you step into the kitchen to prepare a simple dinner, your thoughts wandering back to Minho. The way he had leaned into your kiss, the vulnerability he showed—it all painted a picture of a man deeply in love but equally scared of the implications. Your heart aches for him, wishing there was more you could do to ease his fears.
As you set the table, Minjun comes running into the kitchen, his earlier worries seemingly forgotten in the wake of his current excitement about the cartoon.
"Y/nnie, did you see? The superhero saved everyone!" he exclaims, his eyes sparkling.
"I saw that, buddy. It was pretty cool, wasn’t it?" you smile, lifting him onto a chair.
"Yeah! I wanna be like that," Minjun declares, his chest puffing out proudly.
"I think you're already a hero, Minjun. You know that?" you say, ruffling his hair.
He giggles, beaming up at you. "Really?"
"Really," you affirm, serving him his dinner.
Dinner passes with playful chatter, and soon it's time for Minjun's bedtime. As you tuck him into bed, he hugs his beloved bunny.
"Daddy comes home soon?" Minjun’s voice is small, tinged with the weight of his earlier tears.
"He promised, didn’t he? And your daddy always keeps his promises," you reassure him, smoothing down the blanket. “Did you know your daddy's animal of the group is a bunny?”
Minjun nods proudly. “Yes.”
“There are plushies of his bunny, just like yours here. Would you like one?” you ask gently and Minjun nods with wide eyes. “Then you can cuddle it if he's not here.”
Minjun nods contently, curling up with the plushie. "Night, Y/nnie."
"Goodnight, Minjun. Sweet dreams," you whisper, turning off the light and leaving the door slightly ajar.
Once Minjun is asleep, you sink onto the couch, the quiet of the house settling around you. You're startled by the sound of the front door opening—Minho is home.
He looks exhausted, the lines of his face deeper, his eyes shadowed. But when he sees you, a smile, tired yet genuine, crosses his lips.
"Hey," he greets softly, dropping his keys into the bowl by the door.
"Hey," you reply, standing to meet him. "Rough day?"
"You could say that," Minho sighs, pulling you into a hug. It's a long, tight embrace, one that speaks volumes.
As you pull back, you hold his gaze. "Talk to me," you encourage.3
Minho shakes his head slightly, a weary chuckle escaping him. "Just the usual chaos. But coming back to this—coming back to you—it helps more than you might think."
Your heart skips a beat at his words, the simplicity of his statement underscoring the depth of your growing bond. "I'm glad," you murmur, your hands resting on his arms.
"We didn't get much time earlier... to talk about... us," Minho hesitates, searching your face for signs of what you might be feeling.
"No, we didn’t," you agree, feeling the momentous weight of the conversation that looms between you. "But we’re here now. We can talk."
Minho nods, taking a deep breath. "I meant what I said earlier, before everything with Yejun. I love you, Y/nnie. I know it’s complicated, and I know my life is... a lot. But I want you in it, in every way."
The earnestness in his voice, the open vulnerability—he’s offering you his heart, and it’s yours to take. You smile, your decision clear. "I love you too, Minho. And I’m in this. All of it, with you," you say.
The relief that washes over Minho's face is evident. He pulls you close again, his lips finding yours in a kiss that seals the promise of a future together, come what may. In that moment, wrapped up in each other, the challenges that lie ahead seem manageable. With love as your anchor, you both feel ready to face whatever comes next, together.
PART THREE | PART FIVE (coming soon)
MASTERLISTS | PROMPT LIST | GUIDELINES
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English translation: Miha Guštin - Gušti before the silver wedding
(I thought it would be fun to try and translate this article that Maks shared on his ig story, so here it is. BIG thank you to @kurooscoffee for correction and helpful advice <3)
Miha Guštin - Gušti before the silver wedding
With Chantal, they will celebrate 25 years of marriage
For a musician Miha Guštin - Gušti, it’s a year of jubilees. In his professional life, he’s celebrating 40 years of his career, in his private life, 25 years of marriage. The former, he’ll celebrate on the 19th of September with a concert called Moje sanje, moj planet (My dreams, my planet) in Križanke, but he still doesn’t know when and where he will celebrate the second one with his wife Chantal.
“We have no serious plans for now. On one hand I would like to have a big party with all our friends and family, because it coincides with my concert in Križanke, but we will most likely go on a nice romantic trip later, somewhere warm and calm,” Gušti told us during the promotion of his new album titled Ljubezen osvobaja (Love frees/sets you free).
At home, everything is becoming more and more calm as well. “Kris moved out two years ago, Maks is planning to move out in September. Thankfully, we have a very loud dog named Apple,” told us Chantal, laughing. Despite all that, they still remain very connected. Their conversations always revolve around music, because they are all involved in it. Kris, as is known, creates music with the band Joker Out, their daughter Maja has also her band herself, Chantal is the PR representative for SonicTribe and Maks often deals with visual work or works backstage.
“Maks is now finishing secondary media school and plans to continue studying in the field of film. Not right now, but later. For now, he’s going to take a little break and relax a bit. He has worked, and still is working, very hard. He helped with all the music videos that Joker Out made with Mark Pirc, he was also there for Neisha's music video and for the recording of the MRFY concert. He also works a lot as a roadie and travels a lot with the Jokers as part of the support crew.
Our daughter Maja is 14 years old and last year she started to play the guitar. She has the same teacher that Kris had, Matej Mršnik, and she’s progressing really nicely. She also has a school band. There are four girls: Maja sings and plays the guitar, then there is a drummer, bassist and another guitarist. In June, they will have their first performance at valeta*”, Chantal told us.
*valeta: farewell party for kids in the last year of elementary school (aged 14-15).
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Escapism 🍂
18+ Minotaur x Gender Neutral Reader
(Size difference, Breeding, reader has afab anatomy)
DogWitch Notes: Thank you guys for the love on my last story! It makes me so happy to know people are enjoying my work :) this one has a little more build up but it might call for multiple chapters?
Summary: The library is off limits after dark but knowledge waits for no one. Besides, reading mythology is much more immersive at night. So immersive, in fact, that the breath on the back of your neck feels very, very real.
You had been crouching behind the bookshelf for so long now your legs were starting to loose feeling. Finally, though, the university librarian had finished making his checks and began turning out the lights. He was an anxious looking man in his thirties and you felt a little bad deceiving him like this- after all, it was him that had given you the book in the first place. But the tome was a relic that couldn’t leave the library to be read in your dorm room and you were so desperate to finish it. So, since stealing seemed a bit dramatic, you would have to settle for trespassing. You heard the large wooden door echo closed and dragged yourself from your hiding place, book still clutched to your chest. Your eyes took some time to adjust to the darkness as you dug around in your pocket for your lighter. Slivers of moonlight through the window seemed to die in the shadows of the towering book cases. They looked almost identical to the grand towers of the university in the darkness and the chill in the air gave you the feeling of walking through the streets at night.
Lighter in hand, you slowly navigated the corridors to find your much beloved reading corner and lit the candles you had left there. The little corner of light looked so cozy and you smiled as you gathered yourself up in the blanket you had bought and settled down in the old armchair with your book. The title ‘Portentum Complexus’ was embossed in gold into deep red leather. Much of the writing was still in the original Latin and you had been taking your time to carefully translate. However there were passages written in English, seemingly added by a scholar years later as well as beautiful etched illustrations. From all of these pieces, you had managed to put together a tale of a strange beast, roaming the land to find his lost lover. There had been a great war between worlds and the beast was trying to bring life back to his realm. Though the creature was described as being a hulking monster, triple the size of any man, covered in corse hair, obsidian black horns and pointed hooves; he still had a gentle feel about him. There was a sadness in the Latin passages that didn’t seem to properly translate into English. Perhaps that was why previous scholars hadn’t bothered to do so. But you poured over them, wanting to find the words to understand this creature who everyone, bar the monsters of his realm, was so afraid of. Your heart hurt for him a little; after all, he was looking for his love, he must feel so alone.
So this was how you intended to spend your night, curled up on the moth bitten armchair reading about lamenting fictional creatures. University was certainly the right choice. You flicked to the last English passage you had been studying. The beast had been captured by a human army and, not wishing to harm them by fighting back, had ended up bound by thick ropes in the king’s dungeon.
‘The corse binding bit into his soft flesh as he cried out into the empty corridors. He cried for his love, for his mate. He cried for them to find him in this cold and lonesome maze. His sorrow echoed from the cold stone and surrounded him.’
A sudden noise broke you from your immersion. It sounded like the lowing of cattle, strange since you were in the city centre. It was quickly replaced by the constant groaning of the ancient building before you could pay it much mind. The library was surprisingly noisy at night.
‘The beast cried until his throat was horse and even the reflection of his own voice left him alone. He feared he was to die here in the darkness. He spoke a silent prayer to the gods that his love might be safe. His chest heaved against its restraints as the monster resigned himself to his fate.’
Again came that noise, closer now, and sounding more laboured. You looked around but saw nothing in the darkness. Your mind must be playing tricks, you knew you shouldn’t really be here after all.
‘Movement. Movement in the darkness. The beast stirred and strained to see who approached him. Staring, wide eyed and loving through the bars of his captivity there stood…’
The words cut off back into Latin. You sighed and contemplated packing in for the night, translating seemed a tiresome chore at this hour. But something kept you going, call it intellectual curiosity. You needed to know what happened to the monster you had grown so fond of. Slowly but surely, word by word, you uncovered each sentence.
‘His love. His love had come to rescue him. They picked at the lock and made their way inside. The beast stared in disbelief. After all this time, all this searching, his love had been the one to find him. They approached with caution, unsure whether they recognised their mate after all these years. “Please, do not be afraid my heart, it is me.”’
The voice startled you. You read the words but they seemed to come from behind you. You turned again but again saw nothing but empty corridors through towering shelves. Perhaps your love of escapism had just left you with a very vivid imagination.
‘His love came forward, running their hands over the restrains that bound their lover. With a deft hand and a sharp blade, they began to cut through the rope. The beast sighed in relief as the pressure on his chest was released.’
The back of your neck tingled as a warm gust of air blew through the library. You could not shake the feeling you were being watched now but the story had you too gripped to care.
‘Like felled serpents, the ropes lay limp on the stone floor and the beast rose up from his stupor. He towered above his lover but they were not afraid. They knew he could not hurt them nor anyone else. They were bound together by fate and they would always find their way back to one another.
“My love. My heart. Please, I have craved for you endlessly. Let me hold you and make you mine once more.”’
Without warning you were pulled into a sudden embrace that knocked the air from your lungs. In your confusion, you did not even scream as large hands pulled you bodily from your chair. You were suddenly being held against a wall of corse fur, inhaling the bitter sweet of hay and sweat. You look up to see, towering over you in the candle-kissed half light, a great Minotaur.
He held you flush to his soft, strong chest as though you weighed nothing at all. His breath was hot on your skin and as a rough, black tongue ran up your neck making you shiver. “My mate…” The creature’s voice was low and surrounded you just as fully as his embrace, “How I’ve longed for this.” With one sweep of his arm, the Minotaur sent your books and papers fluttering to the ground. You had to crane your neck to gaze up at him as he placed you down on the desk; his dark eyes bore into you with such deep lust that you couldn’t help a pang of arousal coursing through your body. Nobody had ever looked at you this way. The great beast stood tall over you, taking in your body like he wanted to consume every part. You felt then, something hot and heavy resting next to your thigh. Your face flushed red and you had to look away for a moment, suddenly finding yourself embarrassed as the obscenity of the situation dawned on you. The creatures cock was longer than your thigh and just as thick. It made sense with the rest of his towering form but you were suddenly feeling very exposed under the beast’s hungry glare. He seemed to notice your hesitation and cupped your face in his palm, tilting your head to look at him. “Do you fear me?” Despite it all, you shook your head. Embarrassed? Yes. But not afraid.
“I shall endeavour to be as gentle as I can. You are to bear my calfs after all, it is my duty to treat you well.”
Before his words could register, the creatures head was between your thighs. He had ripped away the fabric there and his thick, rough tongue was lapping at your folds like a man starved. A cry of pleasure escaped your lips as you threw back your head. Your thighs clenched around his head, seemingly spurring him on. His tongue began to push deeper, curling inside you and igniting every nerve in your body. A single finger, large enough that you could wrap your hand around it, began to toy with your clit, rolling in gentle circles as you struggled to hold back wanton moans. He seemed to revel in the sounds you made, thrusting his tongue deeper inside with every whine of pleasure until you were rocking your hips desperately against his snout.
You were sure you were about faint from the overwhelming sensation of it all when the creature finally pulled his head back to see his work. You were a drooling mess against the table, slick and stretched open all for him. Still not open enough to take him inside you. A chuckle echoed above you, as though he had read your panicked look. “No, not here. Once we are home, my love, I will have you completely. But for now…” He picked you up with one hand around your waist, the other positioning his cock beneath you. “For now I have other ways to fill you.”
He began pulling you up his length, fucking in between your thighs and coating himself in your slick. He groaned deeply as he used your body to pleasure himself as if you truly belonged to him alone. You couldn’t help but let out your own whimpers of pleasure as your clit rubbed against his rough skin, getting wetter with every thrust. You found yourself wishing he were inside you, his scent, his growls, it all seemed so right, so familiar and you wanted to belong to this great beast that had captured you. You pressed your thighs together as tight as you could as he man-handled like you were nothing more than a toy made just for him. “That’s it, just like that..” he groaned. The muscles under the creature’s soft belly tightened and you knew he was close. “When we’re home I’m going to keep you full every minute of the day. I’ve spent too long without you. I’m going to hold you on my cock and fill you with my calfs until you’re stretched and moulded to my shape. No one else will be able to have you. You’re mine.” Without warning, he pinned you back to the desk and pressed his engorged tip against your entrance, stretching you around him. He let out a deep, echoing growl as he released inside you, filling you so much that you felt his cum leaking out of you and down your thighs.
The Minotaur didn’t seem satisfied to let this happen. He ran his fingers over your thigh and pushed the residue back inside you, fucking it deep into your stomach. You cried out with each thrust of his fingers, rocking your hips and riding out your waves of pleasure. It felt so good to be full of him.
You stayed there a while as he kissed and lapped at your skin, nuzzling into your neck and plugging you full with his fingers. He mumbled under his breath sweet nothings about how he would take you home, back where you belong. How he would keep you full and satisfied in every way. How you would give him such strong and beautiful young. How life would be so sweet now that his mate had been found. You tried to focus on his words, but they bought such a familiar peace that you found yourself lulled into sleep, breathing him in as you snuggled into his warm fur.
“That’s it my love, rest now. I will find you again soon”
***
It was the librarian who found you in the morning. He had gotten some idea of what was going to happen that night but was honestly surprised by the sheer amount of fluid involved. He tried his best to keep his eyes shut as he threw your blanket over your body and placed you back in your reading chair. The book he had lent you was open on the floor, displaying an etching of the Minotaur and his lover in an intimate embrace. The librarian quickly pushed it shut, not wanting to be anymore invasive into your private life. He thought about waking you, there were so many things he needed to tell you before the creature came back to claim his mate. But for now, you looked so peaceful.
He locked the library door, flipping the sign to closed and letting you get your rest.
DogWitch notes: a part two may be in order if you like??
#monster x reader#monster nsft#monster imagine#nsft#monster smut#monster fucker#minotaur x human#minotaur x reader#monster x human#size difference#smut#minotaur
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Tempered in the Fire - Part Four
See the Series Masterlist for complete content warnings, historical event information, and series notes.
Cross-posted to AO3. Follow my writing blog @ladameecrit and turn on notifications for updates.
Pairing: Blacksmith!Din Djarin x F! Reader
Summary: Ireland, almost a decade after the rebellion of 1798. You are an unusual woman: married, but alone; a widow, with no certainty her husband is dead. When your local blacksmith is badly injured in an accident and unable to work, you have no choice but to travel to the next forge, run by a man of few words whose uncertain origins and dark complexion make him stand out among the locals. You are immediately intrigued by this mysterious, taciturn figure - and the striking little boy he’s taken as his apprentice.
Word Count: 7.1k
Rating: Explicit; 18+ MDNI (chapter; series)
Content (chapter specific): Blacksmith!Din AU; historical setting; angst; smut; violence; unprotected PiV sex; oral sex (F and M receiving); racist (anti-Traveller) language; period-typical misogyny; references to domestic physical, emotional, and sexual abuse; references to family loss and death; abusive and derogatory language; strong language.
Translations for the Irish language provided throughout as needed, though I have not translated mo chuisle as a term of endearment (it literally means 'my pulse', more usually used as 'my love').
A/N: I am so, so sorry for the gap between chapters here and am grateful to the readers who've been so patient! Thanks, too, as ever, to @paulmescal-s for working through the gnarlier bits of this story with me and being such a great sort-of beta.
In the future, after many years had passed, you would find it hard to remember exactly how much time you had together, at the forge, before the hard reality came knocking at your door. Those days and nights of domestic happiness could never have been enough.
By day, you keep house, sew, and bake. Each morning, you do some basic reading and writing with Gró, or take the little boy around the hedgerows and trees at the boundary of the property, teaching him the names of plants and animals. Din had explained your presence to him, and he beamed every morning when his father carried him down the attic ladder and he saw you again.
Din, so used to being the lone adult in the household, insists on contributing to the routine: cooking, cleaning, setting the fire. It feels so natural, so right - and yet a blade dangles over this strange little found family, ready to drop at any moment.
Each evening, Din readies Gró for bed, sometimes bathing his son in a tin bath in front of the fire while you tell him a story by way of distraction. It has quickly become a highlight of the blacksmith’s day, these moments where he watches as you make his beloved boy squeal with laughter, or hold his rapt attention with the twists and turns of a tale.
They were content and settled, this clan of two. But Din couldn’t help the daydreams about a clan of three that sometimes flashed through his mind.
He took every opportunity he could to touch you throughout the day. A squeeze of your hand at the breakfast table as Gró drained his cup of milk. A discreet kiss to your cheek as he made his way into the forge for his morning’s work. A gentle caress of your waist as he passes you while you’re laying the table for the main meal, taken in the middle of the day.
With Gró settled and asleep in the loft, the two of you moved more hastily in the evenings, now, to sort the things for breakfast and smother the fire. The sooner the chores were done, after all, the sooner you could shed your clothes and climb into his bed together.
The nervous caution of your first time together soon dissipated as you grew more familiar with each other, more in tune with each other’s needs and desires. For all his inexperience and your difficult past, the two of you are perfectly-matched lovers. The feeling of Din’s broad body on yours, glistening with sweat, begins to exorcise the demons of the past. You ride him on top, one hand intertwined with his as he squeezes your breasts and watches you come. He slips his cock inside you one morning as you’re lying together, your back pressed to his chest, and fucks you slowly and carefully until you’re both coming quietly, mouths pushed into the pillows. One evening, he was even too impatient for bed, hitching up your skirts and taking you over the heavy wooden table, hand pressed against your mouth as you whined against his palm.
“I want to learn you,” Din whispered one night, easing your long shift off so that you were completely bare, lying alongside his own naked body.
You traced your fingertips along the softness of his lips. “Learn me?”
His strong, clever fingers roamed over you as he nodded. “Learn you. Know you, all of you.” He squeezed your tits softly, sucking gently on each nipple. “Commit you to memory. How you feel, how you fit together. Do you like this?”
You wound your fingers through his messy curls and nodded. He followed the curves of your body with his broad, calloused hands, moving over your waist and holding your hips firmly as he reverently kissed your belly. He took his time, hands memorising the exact shape and volume of your form.
“You are a beauty, mo chuisle,” he murmured, dark eyes looking up at you from between your legs. “So lovely and soft and warm.”
His fingers pressed into the meat of your thighs as he mapped you out, and you felt the wetness between your legs as your hips bucked upwards, legs parting instinctively.
“Can I…see, mo chuisle?” Din’s palm grazed over the hair covering your mound. “See you…see you here?”
“Of course, my darling.” You opened your legs wider for him, watching as his eyes grew round in awe, before darkening with lust. He reached for his cock, whimpering a little as he stroked himself.
“That’s beautiful.” He had shifted his head closer to your centre, his expression a little bashful. “I’d like to kiss you here. Would that be alright?”
“Please, darling,” you hissed. “Put your mouth on me.”
“I’ve never…” He exhaled nervously as he settled between your legs, fingers already playing with your wet folds. “Never even thought of this, but…”
You ran your fingers through his hair and smiled, understanding what he was trying to say. “You’ll know just what to do, love.”
This was new to you, too, though you had heard of men doing it to their girls, especially if they were not meant to lie together. Your friend Mary had, just prior to her marriage, confided in you that she and her betrothed had found a way to sate their passions without the risk of her falling pregnant before the wedding.
“The mouth is a great thing, all the same,” she’d said, dangling her bare feet in the cool water of the local river on a warm summer day as the two of you lazed on the grassy bank, skirts hitched to your knees. She had explained the mechanisms of it to you, chuckling at your sceptical expression.
“Just wait, girleen. Just you wait and see.”
Now Din’s soft, plush lips were pressed against your slit, tongue tasting your wetness, and you finally understood what she meant. It was heaven: the way his lips brushed against the little bundle of nerves and made your whole body convulse with pleasure, the sensation of his patchy beard against your thighs, how he began to slip his tongue in and out of you. His grunts and moans vibrated against your core and you came hard against him, giggling when you saw the slick glistening all over his smiling face.
In the nights to come, you returned the favour, languidly sucking and licking at his perfect cock while he held your head in place with his broad hands, hips bucking up against you as he groaned with sheer pleasure.
You paused, reminding him that he needed to be quieter, before slipping his cock between your lips again. “‘S not my fault, mo chuisle,” he panted, eyes locked on how his hard length disappeared into your pretty mouth. “Feels far too good.”
As he came in your mouth for the first time, you’d looked up at his beautiful face, release and pleasure and affection written on every part of it, and begged whatever deity might listen to let you stay here forever.
Din is more comfortable showing his feelings through actions, physical gestures, than words. Little by little, though, you notice him opening up more, saying more. Not that he’d ever be what you could consider a talker.
One night, nestled together, you ask him to tell you about himself.
"I want to hear your story, Din.” The comforting caress of your hand against his face makes him smile softly.
"I don’t know what there is to tell.”
You cuddle closer to him, enjoying the feel of his solid frame against you. “Well, I don’t know much about your family, for one…”
He shifts a little in bed and for an instant you worry you have overstepped the mark.
“It’s not a very happy story, mo chuisle, but if you want to know…”
A kiss to the expanse of broad, tanned chest exposed at the neck of his nightshirt. “I want to know. If you want to tell me.”
He finds your hand and presses it to his chest, seeking reassurance in your familiar touch, and taking a deep breath before he begins to whisper his story to you.
"I’m a travelling person. I don’t know where I was born - other than that it was probably somewhere towards the west of the country, on a campsite. I have - had - an older sister, a younger brother. Lived off the money from whatever work my father could get - fixing pots and pans, mostly, sometimes farm labour, depending on the season.”
"A hard living.”
He nods, bringing the back of your hand to his lips. “Hard, but loving.” He inhales deeply, again, before continuing.
"We were never really wanted anywhere. Moved on, camps disturbed, even attacked, sometimes. We learned quickly how to hide at the first sign of trouble.”
He closes his eyes, a flash of sorrow crossing his beautiful features in the moonlight coming through the little cottage window. “I suppose that’s what saved me.”
For a few moments, Din is quiet.
“We had camped on land that was part of some big estate, belonging to Lord somebody or other. The usual situation. My father and a couple of our other men went fishing the first day and poaching the first night, to get us some food. I can still see the scales of the big salmon he caught, glinting in the firelight as my mother cleaned it.”
"A feast.”
He nods, a little smile on his lips at the memory, before his features darken again. “But not our feast to take. The lord’s feast, by virtue of the land being given to him by some far-off king.” He shakes his head ruefully.
"I was coming back with some cans of water the next morning when I heard shouting. The glimpses of red moving towards the camp - the yeomanry. The landlord set them on us, and they gave us no quarter. When some of our men and women tried to defend our few possessions, they - well, they turned violent.”
You hold him close, feeling the anguish in his breathing.
"I saw my father fall, killed by a blow to the head with the butt of a yeoman’s musket. My mother caught a glimpse of me, roared at me to run, to hide, and to my eternal shame I did just that. I didn’t go to them. I ran.”
"She wanted you to live, Din. She was saving you.”
He swallows hard, audible in the stillness of the night.
“The local priest found me a couple of days later, still carrying the empty can. I’d hidden in a ditch, ate blackberries to survive. He arranged for the local blacksmith and his wife to take me in, train me as an apprentice.”
He pauses again. You realise this is the most he’s probably ever said to you in one go.
“When the time came, I took to the roads myself, honing the craft before I could set up on my own. I wasn’t long back when the priest called, saying a cousin in the east knew of an empty forge in need of a good smith.”
"And that’s how you came here?”
Din nods. “That’s how I came to be here.”
You venture a sensitive question. “Din… what happened to your mother, your siblings?”
"Poorhouse. No other choice.”
Silence.
"I didn’t know where they’d gone. So much sickness in those godforsaken places…”
Another pause.
”My brother died first. Then my sister, and then my mother.”
Your voice is tiny, barely a whisper. “Did you… see them?”
"By the time we found out what poorhouse they were in… it was too late.”
Tears prick at your eyes, and you do your best not to let them fall. This is his story, his grief, not yours. Instead, you shift up the bed a little, still holding his warm body close, and lean in to caress and kiss him.
There’s a wet, salty tang on his cheek. You kiss away the silent tear.
For a moment, you think of what Din told you about how he came to adopt Gró: his unwillingness to let the boy go to a poorhouse or orphanage, his desire to protect and train the child, just as he himself had once been taken in by the smith and his wife. Just as he, himself, had once been a lost little boy.
You press your lips to the messy curls at the crown of his head.
There are times when you almost forget that you’re not really meant to be here, so natural and right does it feel. And then you are jolted back, reluctantly, to a reality where you are still technically the wife of a violent, cruel man who could claim you at any moment.
That afternoon, you hear the sound of horses approaching and immediately disappear up to the loft, as usual, until you know it’s safe to descend. You listen attentively as the door opens and breathe a sigh of relief when Gró’s delighted little voice greets Peigí, here on one of her regular visits. You hear Din enter the cottage from the forge, chatting companionably to his old friend, and make for the ladder.
You’re a few rungs down when you hear a second, less familiar voice.
“So where is she, Din?”
He stutters, the panic evident in his voice. You wonder if you can make it back to the loft.
Too late.
Father Carthy hears the sound of your skirts and turns, greeting you by name in grave tones.
“You might as well come and join us, my child.”
Peigí’s gaze is apologetic as you climb down the ladder and move to join the little cluster of adults, Din having sent Gró outside to play. You stand beside him, arms wrapped protectively over your body, resisting the urge to reach for his hand.
“I’m sorry, girleen.” Peigí wrings her hands, expression anxious and sorrowful. “Father came to see me today before I left for the forge, I couldn’t turn him out.”
You meet Father Carthy’s eyes with a look of defiance, straightening yourself to your full height, silently demanding an explanation.
“I am not here to force you home. I know your…situation.” The priest exhales deeply, fingers fiddling with the little black buttons on his long robes. “And between us and the wall and the Lord Almighty, if that kind of cruelty and abandonment was grounds for annulment… well.”
The back of Din’s hand brushes almost imperceptibly against yours.
“But you are still a married woman, and…” The cleric sighs apologetically. “My child, you were seen here. Out in the back field, with the boy. And if I’ve heard it, and people are talking, then it’s only a matter of time before -”
You interject in a low, steady voice. “Before Searlas finds out where I am.”
The priest nods sadly. “That’s why I came here. Why I came with Peigí, specifically. We… have a suggestion.” He looks expectantly at Peigí, who offers you an encouraging smile as she nods in agreement.
“My sister, Rosie - she’s in the next county, big farm, spinster, plenty of space and could do with the help. You could stay there for a bit and then come home to your own place - until they change the garrison, surely, or that wastrel Searlas can be warned off…”
You bite your lip, mulling it over.
“I mean, maybe he’s not going to come looking for me.”
Peigí and the priest exchange a concerned glance. The cleric clasps his hands together and looks at you sympathetically.
“The thing is… I have eyes and ears, as it were, in the barracks, and in the public house preferred by the garrison. I didn’t want to tell you, my dear, in case it frightened you - but he has been talking about you.” He purses his lips, almost afraid to tell you the truth. “He has openly talked about finding you, about… claiming you. And if he finds out you’ve been staying here, with a bachelor - think of your reputation, my child.”
You let out an involuntary sob, and Peigí places a comforting hand on your arm. “I think you need to be gone tomorrow, girleen. At the latest. I’m sorry, I know it’s awful quick, but…”
For the first time, Din speaks. His voice is low, controlled, serious.
“But you - I mean, she must be kept safe.” He looks at you, dark eyes full of care and concern. “If you want to stay, I will keep you safe. I promise.”
There’s nothing more you want in the world than to throw your arms around him and let him protect you, just as you long to protect him from the sorrows of his past. But his description of the day he lost his parents echoes in your mind, as does the tension that crackled in the air the day the soldiers were at the forge. You cannot - will not - bring that down on him again, nor on Gró.
“Din, if I stay here I fear that none of us will be safe. Not you, not me, not Gró. I couldn’t take that risk, my d-” You catch yourself just in time. “I mean, my dear friend.”
Peigí’s wise, inquisitive eyes dart between you and Din, and she emits a low, intrigued hum.
Din exhales in frustration. “I said I would keep you safe, here. I mean it.”
Father Carthy places a paternal hand on Din’s shoulder, expression gentle but resigned. “She’s right, Din, and you know it. Apart from her own reputation - you don’t want a troop of redcoats landing on the doorstep, do you? Think of your home, your livelihood - your son.”
The blacksmith’s expression is defiant, but you can see the reality of the situation dawning on him as the light fades from his beautiful eyes. He nods, silent, a hand twisting at the soft, worn leather of his apron.
“Early as we can after dawn tomorrow, then?” Peigí squeezes your hand as she waits for your answer.
You cannot bring yourself to look at Din as you nod in agreement.
It is still bright outside, just about, when Gró is settled for bed and the dinner things cleared and tidied away. You have packed up your saddlebags in silence, fighting the tears that threaten to fall at any moment.
Din’s broad hand reaches around your waist as he moves past you, pulling you close to him. He nuzzles into the crook of your neck, kissing the delicate skin.
“Can we take a little walk, mo chuisle? Before night falls?”
You face him, tracing the line of his jaw with your fingers. “A little one. Don’t forget there’s a little boy asleep in the loft, we can’t go too far.”
He presses his lips to your fingertips before kissing you on the forehead.
You walk hand in hand in the dusk, wandering through the field at the back of the forge towards the old oak tree that stands at the boundary of the property. Din is quiet - even quieter than usual, just casting occasional glances in your direction and squeezing your hand with a gentle smile.
In the shadow of the oak, he kisses you deeply, pressing your body against the tree as he holds your face in his big, strong hands.
“I don’t want to go, Din.”
“I don’t want you to go, mo chuisle.” He kisses you again, chastely, and looks in your eyes. A question hovers on the tip of his tongue.
“Tell me, my darling.”
He holds your hands, grounding himself a little in your comforting touch.
“I want you to take Gró to Peigí’s sister’s. Please.”
Even in the half-light, he can read the shock on your face.
“Oh, Din, I… I couldn’t. I couldn’t see the two of you parted, he’d be lost without you and you without him and-”
He shakes his head firmly. “I have to keep you safe - both of you. And if a gang of redcoats turned up and it was just me and him…”
He saw his father die.
“He’s your son.”
Din nods. “He is. And I can’t leave him alone again.”
He lost his entire family.
“He might not want to leave with me.”
“I’ve explained it to him. He knows it’s not forever, he understands the reasons why.” You catch a glimpse of his smile, a beacon of hope in the twilight.
“Mo chuisle, you’re the closest thing he has to a mother in this world.”
You hold each other close through the night, afraid to sleep lest you miss a single second of this time together.
Din tucks his face into the side of your neck, inhaling your scent deeply and softly kissing the exposed skin of your shoulders. You wind your fingers through his hair, trying to memorise the rhythm of his heartbeat and his breath.
"You should sleep, mo chuisle,” he whispers against your body. “Tomorrow will be a hard one.”
"Says you,” you whisper in return, enough to elicit a muffled chuckle from the blacksmith.
He pulls away to look you in the eye, fingers mapping the shape of your features. Even in the low light, you can see how his beautiful eyes glisten: this strong and stoic man, fighting the tears that threaten to fall.
You take his hand and guide it down your body, pausing to hitch up your shift and open your legs. You inhale sharply as his fingers find your pussy, well-practiced now from nights and early mornings spent pleasuring you.
With a shift of your hips you roll onto your back, bringing Din on top of you. You pause to take in the sight, suppressing the gnawing feeling that this might well be the last time. The glint in his dark eyes. The moonlight illuminating his features. The feeling of his strong, broad body above you, perfectly positioned between your thighs.
“Make love to me, Din.”
He does so slowly, carefully, anchoring himself with one hand on your hip and the other still caressing the side of your face. You kiss as he fucks you, your whines absorbed by his soft mouth. No man had ever made you come before Din, you muse, as your cunt pulses around him and you near the edge. No man had ever made you feel like this - not just physically, but emotionally, too. Sex was presented to you before your marriage as a duty, not a pleasure. With Din, though, lovemaking felt like the most beautiful, natural expression of the spiritual connection that existed between the two of you.
You come almost simultaneously, Din groaning into your shoulder as he fills you with his seed, you biting your lip to stop yourself from crying out. Still inside you, he kisses you, over and over, your hands trailing through his wavy brown locks and fingers grazing against the rough, patchy stubble of his jaw.
For a moment, you think he’s about to say something. But all he does is kiss you.
It’s still dark outside when you wake, but there’s a comforting glow inside the cottage. You sit up in bed, turning to see Din stoking a small fire in the hearth. He has lit the lamp on the mantle, its flickering yellow flame casting light and shadow through the glass.
You dress quickly, shivering as your body adjusts to the colder air after the warmth of your shared bed, and cross the room to the little cupboard that holds the few pieces of crockery Din owns. By the time he has climbed the attic ladder to rouse the boy, you’ve set the table for a simple breakfast of bread, butter, and the last of the jam you’d brought with you.
Gró’s fair hair peeks over his father’s broad shoulder as Din carries him down the ladder. The little boy is still half-asleep, eyes still closed and nestled into the blacksmith’s frame. Din carefully slides him into his usual seat at the table, ruffling his son’s hair as Gró rubs his eyes and yawns.
“I think some bread and jam will help wake you up, hmmm?” You take a couple of slices of bread from the dish and place them on the boy’s little plate, before pushing the jar of jam in his direction. His dark eyes widen as he looks at you, astonished. This is a rare treat, indeed: usually it’s you or Din who spreads the sweet conserve on his bread, as Gró is liable to be heavy-handed. But this is not a day for rules or restrictions.
“You can have as much as you like, little one.”
The tears threaten at the sight of Gró enthusiastically scraping the jam out of the earthenware pot, a huge smile on his face as he spoons it liberally onto the soda bread. He takes a huge bite and hums delightedly, before turning to you and beaming. The little boy already has blobs of jam on his cheeks and nose, and the sight makes you chuckle.
Din returns to the main room carrying a small knapsack containing Gró’s things. He places it alongside your saddlebags before he joins the two of you at the table, giving your hand a squeeze that, you suspect, is intended to reassure him as much as it is you. He keeps a smile on his face, keeps his tone cheery and light, even as his eyes glisten with tears.
You are saddling Réaltín in the dawn light when Peigí appears down the lane, wrapped in a rough brown cloak and riding her small grey mount. She dismounts swiftly and nods to you.
“All set?”
“I think so. I left the two on their own for a little bit, just to… well, you know.” You swallow hard and look in the direction of the forge. “It’ll be hard for them.”
Peigí hums in agreement. “Aye, ’twill. But Din’s right. And hopefully that bollocks of a so-called husband will be out of the picture soon enough and you can come home. The prick.”
You can’t help but chuckle at the venom in her tone. “Hopefully. I’m awful grateful to you and your sister, Peigí. I mean, maybe we’re being overly cautious, but…”
She shakes her head, russet curls bouncing. “Not a bit of it. You can never tell with a fucker like that.” The cottage door opens, and Din appears, Gró securely held in his strong arms.
“And there’s the best boy in all of Ireland!” Peigí races over, taking the knapsack and planting a kiss on Gró’s cheek. “We should probably get going, girleen.”
She tactfully retreats to the horses, giving you, Din, and Gró some space to say your goodbyes. You feel the blacksmith’s broad arm snake around your waist, uncaring as to whether Peigí saw the affectionate gesture - or, more likely, all too aware that she knew exactly what was going on.
The little boy brings a hand up to touch his father’s handsome face, big eyes scanning Din’s features as if he’s committing them to memory.
“Ná bíodh eagla ort, grá mo chroí.” [Don’t be afraid, love] The blacksmith smiles, but he’s fighting back the tears as he kisses his son’s golden hair. Instinctively, you rest your head on Din’s shoulder, trying to keep your own emotions in check.
Gró’s dark eyes fill with tears and his father comforts him with cuddles. “You’ll have a lovely time on the farm, won’t you? And you’ll look after her while you’re on your visit.” He looks at you, and you nod, smiling at Gró.
“Of course he will. He’s a big, brave lad.” The little boy grins at the praise before flinging his arms around Din’s neck for a final tight hug.
“Be good, and take this.” Din reaches into his pocket to produce a small, silvery chain, evidently made by his own hands. A metal disc dangles from it, and you realise that Din has engraved it with his son’s name. He places it over the boy’s head, smiling at Gró as he picks up the pendant and coos at the shiny object.
“We should get going, lads.” Peigí’s voice carries in the still of the early morning, and Din passes his son to you. Gró nuzzles against you, still holding on to the little pendant that hangs from his neck.
Din’s long fingers find your hand and press something into your palm. He leans in to kiss your cheek. His voice, warm but wavering with emotion, whispers in your ear.
“Is tú mo ghrá thú, mo chuisle.” [You are my love, my darling.]
You stifle the sob that’s rising in your chest.
“I love you too, Din.”
Peigí’s sister Rosie shares her sister’s hardy, forthright personality and her tightly curled auburn hair, but not a lot else. Where Peigí is small, Rosie is tall; where Peigí is talkative and open, Rosie is quiet and reserved. Still, her welcome is genuine, her home comfortable, and you feel at ease from the moment you cross the threshold after a long day’s journey to some semblance of sanctuary.
You retire quickly once you’ve been fed and watered, Peigí sharing with Rosie while you and Gró make do with a settle bed. The little boy falls asleep almost immediately, and you gently kiss his soft cheek, willing him to know that it comes from his father, too.
With the household abed, you can finally look again at Din’s parting gift to you: a chain and pendant, similar to Gró’s. Where the little boy’s bears his name, however, yours carries a symbol, evidently engraved into the metal by the blacksmith himself. Three interconnected spirals - an ancient symbol, one that you recognise from a dolmen tomb that stands in a field not far from your birthplace, one that people in the locality have long speculated about.
Father Carthy would say it is a symbol of the Holy Trinity: three divine beings in one, a sign of early Christians in Ireland. But the storytellers in the townland say it’s far older than any church, its meaning lost to the mists of time.
You trace the three spirals with your fingertip in the darkness. Three as one. For you, that is meaning enough.
He was alone for a long time, Din reminds himself - alone before you, alone even before Gró. He can be alone again.
That said, though, there’s being alone and not knowing anything different, and being alone now. He still automatically goes to the foot of the attic ladder every morning, ready to wake his little boy. He hides the bowl and cup Gró usually uses, because the sight of them makes his heart ache. He throws himself into his work, distracting himself with glowing-hot metal.
And then there is your absence. He had never lived with a woman, not like this; never shared his bed night after night, never loved like this. For the first few days, he wakes with a start when he reaches for your warm, soft body and realises you’re not there.
He tries not to think about the reality of the situation: the fact that, even if you were to return home tomorrow, you could never be together, at least not while Searlas lived. There are nights when, alone in his bed and desperate for the embrace of your arms, violence tempts Din. In his younger years, he might already have taken matters into his own hands.
As the days and weeks tick by with no sign of your so-called husband, and no word from Father Carthy, the blacksmith reminds himself to be patient - and not to fall into complacency. He had never really lost that sense of looking over his shoulder: from childhood, from the rebellion, and now he felt glad of it. No one from the community mentions you to him, though he knows they must have heard by now that you had been hiding from Searlas at the forge. He does his repairs as usual, driving into the village with his pony and trap to return items and collect others, pulling his kerchief over his face as he makes his way through the main street lest he spy a troop of redcoats.
One of the regular customers asks about Gró when he’s returning her extra-large soup pan, newly mended. Din hesitates, but keeps his expression steady.
“He’s spending time with some…cousins,” he explains. “On a farm. It’ll be good for him, he’ll learn from the experience.”
The woman doesn’t ask further, pays up, and retreats back into her little house as Din turns his horse and cart for home. As he gathers speed, he hears a voice calling his name. Father Carthy, clad in his long black cassock and wearing a broad-brimmed hat, is waving to him from the end of the laneway that leads to the chapel.
“Could you spare me a few moments, Din? Follow me up to the parish house.”
The priest’s house is a decently-sized cottage, larger but not too dissimilar to the majority of the dwellings in the village. Father Carthy might be responsible for the majority of the believers in the community, but his is not the “established” church, the official church of the state and gentry, and as such his home is a far cry from the grand, double-fronted manse occupied by the vicar who tends to the local worthies. Even the location of the chapel, tucked off a narrow laneway behind the main street, is a testament to the lower status of this particular branch of religion.
Din enters, taking off his hat and kerchief, and follows the cleric’s gesture to take a seat near the hearth. Father Carthy does the same, pulling his chair closer to Din.
“I have news. I haven’t been able to find a way to dissuade Searlas from seeking her out, but a little bird tells me that they’re going to change the troops again in a week or so. The current crop has been…rowdy.” The priest purses his lips, mulling over the stories he has heard of public drunkenness, fighting, and even soldiers nonchalantly carousing with women in the pubs and on the street. He decides not to give Din too many of the gory details.
“So they’re going to be sent elsewhere, split up. Clonmel, I heard, for some, and Castlebar for others. Maybe a few to Cork. There’s ructions, as you can imagine - a rare thing to break up a regiment - but…”
Din meets the priest’s meaningful gaze. “But…he would be gone.”
Father Carthy nods. “It’s not a solution, not forever, but it at least would let her come home to her own place again, and Gró home to you. You were right to send the boy with her, too - who knows what might have happened had he come knocking?”
Din closes his eyes and furrows his brow at the priest’s turn of phrase: “her own place”. It was a reminder of the truth, that you were not - and could not be - his.
Father Carthy gets to his feet, a signal to Din that it was time to go. “In the meantime, I’m going to look more closely into the canon law around annulment. I’m not hopeful, but maybe she might be able to build a case for it. He did abandon her, after all. Anyway -” he opens the door, and Din exits “- it would free her, at least, from the threat of him.”
The blacksmith thanks Father Carthy as he saddles up to head back to the forge, his heart lighter than it had been in weeks. On the road home, Din smiles to himself as he thinks about seeing Gró again, holding his little boy in his arms, watching you give him an extra spoonful of jam at breakfast, tucking him in to sleep at night. He thinks about your eyes, your smile; the feeling and taste of your mouth; the scent of your skin.
No matter what, he promises himself, no matter the rules or the law or whatever a piece of paper might say: he’ll kiss you again, hold you, take you to bed, and show you how much he missed you.
A couple of days later, as dusk settles, Din lights the lamp and finishes clearing away his lone dinner bowl and mug. Anticipation courses through him as he thinks about seeing two - no, three - places set for the evening meal again. Soon. Soon, they’ll be home.
He yawns and stretches, a hand reaching up to scratch his wavy, dark locks. It had been a hard day in the forge: a run of horses that needed to be shod, urgent repairs, and the difficulty of managing the work itself as well as the bellows and the fire, all by himself. An early night, he decides, might be in order.
He’s in his shirt and breeches when he hears the sound. A horse, its footfall cautious and uncertain, as though it had not been down the laneway before. A rider, barking commands and swearing at the animal. Din pulls his kerchief from his pocket and fastens it around his face before climbing swiftly up the attic ladder. His hand reaches into the thatch, on the other side of the house from Gró’s little bed, and retrieves a pike, smaller in design than the ones he’d hammered by the dozen in 1798 but no less lethal in the right hands. He grips the pike in his right hand, hidden from view while he opens the door with his left.
The rider struggles off his horse, evidently drunk. His scarlet tunic is unmistakable. The light from the cottage illuminates his features: pale, washed-out complexion; unhappy mouth set in a miserable line; hard blue eyes that offered nothing but coldness.
“Where the fuck is she, then, the stupid fucking bitch?”
Din’s fist tightens around the pike, but he holds his ground, still peering around the door. “Who is it? Who are you?”
Searlas swaggers drunkenly towards the house. “I know you’re a tinker, but you don’t have to play thick with me. You know who I am.” He beats his chest, peacocking as he nears Din’s threshold. “I’m a soldier of the fucking crown, so I am. And I’m here for what’s mine.”
He pokes Din’s broad chest, seeming a little startled at how solid the blacksmith actually is. Searlas’s watery eyes meet Din’s stern gaze.
“So… where the fuck is she?”
“Whoever you’re after,” Din says, maintaining the same tone he’s used throughout the encounter so far, “they’re not here. I live alone.”
Searlas pushes Din in frustration, and Din recoils a little at the stench of cheap poitín from the other, smaller man. “I know she’s fucking here. The whole fucking place knows.” He steps back and starts to roar upwards, as if addressing you in an attic hiding place.
“Did you not think I’d find you? You’re that fucking stupid, you would think that. I’m here now, time to go home. You’re mine, remember?” He shakes his fist, swaying a little.
“She’s not here. And even if she was, why do you care so much now? You left her on her own for years, apart from all the other things you did to her.”
Searlas stares at Din, a look of disgust on his face. “So you do know her? She’s full of shit, so she is. Full of lies. Not to be trusted.”
He wheels around again, almost losing his balance completely this time. “You were seen, you lying cunt!”
Din’s fingers clench and release over and over around the pike. He swallows the urge to run this miserable fucker through.
The soldier looks at him through glassy, drunken eyes. “She’s mine, see. And I think I want to take what’s mine. Time she was taught a lesson.” He roars the last word, as if hoping you’ll hear him and emerge.
The blacksmith edges out slightly and stands firmer, broader, in his front door. Searlas stares at him accusingly.
“D’you fuck her?”
Din holds his body and face completely still, focusing on the grip of the pike and his breathing.
“I said, did you fuck her? Did you fuck my wife?”
Din takes a deep breath. “Do you have the right to call her your wife, after what you did?”
Searlas’s jaw drops in astonishment. Din knew that he was just a bog-standard Irish Catholic soldier signed up for cannon fodder like all the others, but it was clear that the other man believed his uniform made him one of the “betters”, no matter what.
“What did you say to me?”
“I said, do you have the right to call her your wife?”
Searlas almost growls with drunken fury. “I have the right to call her whatever I fucking like.” Din notices his fist tightening by his side and steels himself as the other man approaches, menacingly.
“I’ll call her what I fucking like,” Searlas repeats, “including calling her what she is. A slut. A liar. A frigid, barren, useless excuse for a woman. And now? She’s filthy, tinker’s whore. That’s all she is. A stupid, ugly, disgusting tinker’s whore.”
The speed with which Din moves takes the soldier by surprise, as does the bright flash of the pike’s blade as it reflects the moonlight. The blacksmith uses the long handle first, roaring as he beats Searlas away with some well-placed blows. He moves with agility and confidence as the soldier fumbles in his sleeves for a weapon, and produces a narrow switchblade dagger.
“I’ll fucking show you, tinker,” he roars, the poitín giving him an exaggerated confidence. “I’ll skin you alive, fucking another man’s wife.”
He lunges at Din, but a swift, measured flick of the pike’s bladed end knocks the dagger to the ground and tears a hole in the scarlet tunic. Now Din presses his advantage, driving Searlas back to his horse.
“Get out of here and leave her alone. Forever. Don’t you ever come near her again.”
A more sober man would have cut and run, and would do so wisely. But Searlas’s selfishness combined with his drunkenness made for a terrible cocktail of aggression and abuse.
“And what will you do, tinker? They should have hanged every last one of you rebel scum in ‘98. Pity that scalp wasn’t ripped from your skull with a pitchcap.” He pats his thighs, as if seeking another blade. “You couldn’t defend yourselves then, why do you think you could stand up to the king’s army now?” He cocks his head and looks at Din, eyes menacing.
“Or are you just that desperate to defend a thick, useless slut like my wife?”
The grunting, the roars, and the sickening sound of a strong, sturdy fist meeting flesh and bone resonate in the stillness of the twilight. And then another sound, louder still: the unmistakable thud of a man’s body hitting the cold ground.
#tempered in the fire fic#pedro pascal characters#pedro pascal character fanfiction#din djarin au#blacksmith!din djarin#blacksmith!din djarin x f!reader#din djarin fanfiction#historical AU#the mandalorian AU#the mandalorian fanfiction#pedrostories#the mandalorian#din djarin#tempered fic
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Ooh! I’d love to hear about your head canon of Arthur speaking French if you don’t mind sharing!
For Sure! Thank you for asking!!
My headcanon is that Arthur's maternal grandparents were french immigrants and while Arthur's maman Beatrice is fluent in English she grew up primarily speaking French, so French is her first language and the one she has more confidence in speaking.
(Yes, Beatrice was totally the poor belaboured kid that had to act as a translator for her parents whose English skills were much worse than hers)
So, since Arthur's dad Lyle didn't have much of anything to do with Arthur while Arthur was in his formative years, Arthur's first language is also French because Beatrice preferred to use her mother-tongue when speaking with her baby.
This also, of course, means that Arthur did have a french accent when he was young, but after his maman's death Lyle didn't approve of Arthur not speaking 'plain English' and he worked hard to get rid of it.
Thus Arthur is fully fluent in conversational French.
This is also why Dutch and Hosea had to teach him to read after they met. Arthur learned to read from his maman, who learned to read from her parents, who only read and wrote in French. Arthur of course didn't tell the Odd Couple that he was already fully literate, just not literate in English. First because he'd learned that letting people think you're dumber than you are is never a bad thing, and then later because he was too deep into the lie to correct it.
Hosea did catch him in the act one day when he was sweet talking the horses (because he knew far more sweet pet-names in french) and Hosea cut him a deal. Hosea could mostly hold up his end of a conversation in french, but he was by no means fluent and lack of use only made him more rusty, so if Arthur would agree to talk with him in french once in a while when asked Hosea wouldn't tell Dutch.
Arthur agreed and Hosea kept his promise. No doubt saving Arthur from the innumerable hijinks Dutch would think up to take advantage of Arthur's polyglossal ways.
Arthur leaves notes for Hosea in French if he doesn't want Dutch or John (especially john) reading them. Dutch nearly caught on once because he knows Hosea speaks french and thus did assume that Hosea wrote the note, but the note didn't quite look like Hosea's writing. Hosea said that he'd just written it in a hurry, and Arthur took it upon himself to master mimicing Hosea's handwriting.
Hosea still finds it both funny and disconcerting to find notes that look exactly like he wrote them when he most definitely didn't. It's given him quite a few memory-loss scares when the notes are too vague or about common things that he could feasibly have wanted to note down to remember later.
Whoops that ran far longer than I meant it to, but it does hit all the highnotes of my Arthur speaks French headcanon. Thank you again for asking, I adore getting to rant about my unfounded brainchildren.
The fact that John is canonically learning to write in French has only solidified this particular idea, it's also a really fun coincidence.
#rdr2#ccghastly#red dead redemption 2#arthur morgan#hosea mathews#dutch van der linde#beatrice morgan#ccg chats
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Throat
Neck
Manga: 「光が死んだ夏」 The Summer Hikaru Died
So, uh, this is what I've been working on while Atom, the laptop, was under repair. It's my latest favorite thing. I mean, favorite enough to make me draw something. And I almost never draw; even if I do, it's always just triangles (which made it in, anyway. Hikaru's body, you see?).
I'm not good at art (understatement), but I genuinely adore this story and the characters—that somehow translates into me doing strange things like this!
Of course, it's because someone-I-shall-not-name strong-armed I mean encouraged me to draw this thing, and then another-someone-I-shall-not-name told me to keep at it. I also strangely found myself quite zealous about finishing the piece too. Took me a week, and at least 5 out of 7 days were used on that eldritch meat tendrils. Yea, I know. I am slow. In more ways than one, ahahhaha!
Oh. As usual: I snuck in some details in there. It's kinda a Lyndisian trait to do this. The detail is only visible in Neck, due to the black background. The alt description gives the answer away, though.
Ah, this shit is getting animated! I can't wait to watch it with the first someone-I-shall-not-name!!! But I hate it when a year goes by too quickly...
The manga is really good. I really love it, even if I failed to see the love part of Boys' Love. All I can see was "the kind of friendship I lowkey desire." Ah, but I also just like the philosophical themes in it. And the horror. The ghosts here are very cute.
Thank you for looking at what I cooked.
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Garp and his three Godly Grandsons
It had been months since Kolby and Helmepo became his students. They both were exceptional. Koby was ignorant of that mark of Tsuisu left on him.
"Koby, do you know of the ancient gods of the world?" Garp questioned across the Wei Chi boared
"Not all of them, sir." Koby siad "I know there are multiple. But the one I'm fermilar with is Nika."
It was understandable. The kid was trapped for 2 years on a pirateship. Nika was an obvious choice for a situation like his.
Garp thought of his own mark that all three of the little rascals admitted to doing, but some instinct said there could only be one. His bet was that Astrus did it.
"Well, they are more than Myth Koby." Garp fished in his drawer for the gift Sabo left in his quarters. Without saying hello again.
"This is a collection of their mythos it helps to be at least familiar of their stories."
"Thank you, Sir." Acepted the book.
"Don't let anyone else read it." Garp warned
When he finally encountered the runaway Luffy, he saw the moment Koby entered Luffy's sight.
Luffy shouted in the ancient tongue. Garp wouldn't be surprised if it translated to (Tsuitsu you theif )or (bastard ). Luffy wrapped his stretchy limbs around Koby wailing.
Garp sighed. " Luffy yes I know your brother marked him. Now will you just let go." He grabbed Luffy by the scruff.
"But Koby was going to be Mine" Luffy wailed.
"Not another god scuffle," Garp groaned " don't attack your brother for this Luffy. we can't have another Storm like the one you and that other kid had over Shanks."
"Koby!"
Fist of Love!
Luffy stopped crying. Clutching his head but had released his student.
"Old Man what was that for?" Luffy accused.
"Scram before I have to arrest you Brat!"
.~°~.
It was close to a month latter when Astrus appeared on his ship. Feet kicked up on his table. Shackled.
"what's this I hear about Sabo swippeing a mark from Luffy?" Ace said. Unbothered by the chains around him.
"Ace please go back to the Cell. I can't deal with you slipping out."
"Come on Gramps tell me The details "
"How did you come to this information?" Garp said. Knowing that there was no messenger god running around. As far as he knew.
"Jimbe mentioned that the Revolutionary's God was smug about something."
Garp growled hiding his face in his hands. "Promised me you won't get into a fight over this with your brothers."
"Shit, it's That bad."
"Yes, I would rather not experience what two of you can do, with your gathered powers." The event he was talking about was long before he reunited Nika with his elder brothers. It was when Nika and Kanato fought over Shanks and his crew. A giant storm picked up where they were. That was with them confined to the bodies of children and Minor miracles. Garp really didn't want to find out what fully functional Gods could do.
" Fine I promise I won't fight my younger brothers over this." Ace swore holding his followers sign of promise.
"It's my new student. He arrived at his conscription post with Luffy. But at some point before I arrived. Sabo marked him. " Garp said.
"Once someone is marked there's not much to fight over. Unless their multi attuned. Then it's a matter of persuasion to shift the mark from one to their preference." Ace shrugged "Has there been any Gifts delivered?"
"Yes a book on Mythology of you all, and A sun pendant from Nika." Garp said.
Ace grinned wickedly. Producing a small book on star navigation. From nowhere.
" Give that to your student." Then the God of the Stars vanished. Laughter remaining behind.
"Roger you're a Bastard that left me to deal with your consequences" Garp groaned.
Yet he loved his Grandsons. That also happened to be millennia older than him. They were all Gods after all.
First
#my writing#asl god au#asl brothers#portgas d ace#monkey d. luffy#monkey d garp#headcannons#sabo one piece#Ace is getting in on his brother's Mark on Koby because it's funny#brothers being brothers#mentions of Uta#uta one piece#Nika's recovery was delayed because he faught Kanato over marking Shanks#Luffy has ADHD#he forgets to do important things sometimes#garp knows his grandsons are gods#vice admiral garp#Gods are no joke.
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I posted 63 times in 2022
11 posts created (17%)
52 posts reblogged (83%)
Blogs I reblogged the most:
@lunarharp
@fayegumi
@chocopetite
@ihateornithologists
@royalavera
I tagged 58 of my posts in 2022
Only 8% of my posts had no tags
#artspiration - 40 posts
#takarazuka - 36 posts
#digital art - 19 posts
#fanart - 10 posts
#baddy - 7 posts
#takarazuka revue - 5 posts
#elisabeth - 5 posts
#elisabeth das musical - 5 posts
#yuzuka rei - 5 posts
#my translations - 4 posts
Longest Tag: 109 characters
#ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
My Top Posts in 2022:
#5
Flower Troupe Survey! The Best of Yuzuka Rei (PART 2)
The Troupe Survey is a current segment in the TakarazukaGRAPH magazine in which each month a different troupe is given a survey on their Top Star and a selection of their answers are printed in the magazine.
There are 4 parts to this article:
1. The things about (Top Star) that have made a big impression on us
2. Stage: Shows or scenes which have stayed in our hearts
3. We want to see (Top Star) as a…
4. The (Top Star) Awards
(The Top Star gives out special awards to troupe members)
As this article is so long I will be publishing the translation in parts!
You can read part 1 here
Part 2 is under the cut!
Part 2: Stage - What Shows or Scenes have remained in your heart?
1st place, 23 votes: “Boys over Flowers” (2019)
Miharu Ayu: The fight scenes she has against Sakurako (played by Oto Kurisu) and Rui (played by Seino Asuka). I always love seeing Yuzuka in fight scenes but this show was extra special because they were staged as fistfights, which is pretty rare for Takarazuka and made the otokoyaku even more masculine! Seeing her using her whole body to protect Tsukushi (played by Shoroki Mirei) really moved me.
Takasho Mizuki: Domyouji (Yuzuka)’s dance during the song Metamorphoses. I have no other words for it other than that it’s the definition of coolness.
See the full post
26 notes - Posted January 18, 2022
#4
Flower Troupe Survey! The Best of Yuzuka Rei (PART 3)
The Troupe Survey is a current segment in the TakarazukaGRAPH magazine in which each month a different troupe is given a survey on their Top Star and a selection of their answers are printed in the magazine.
There are 4 parts to this article:
1. The things about (Top Star) that have made a big impression on us
2. Stage: Shows or scenes which have stayed in our hearts
3. We want to see (Top Star) as a…
4. The (Top Star) Awards
(The Top Star gives out special awards to troupe members)
As this article is so long I will be publishing the translation in parts!
You can read part 3 under the cut!
Part 3: We want to see Yuzuka Rei as a…
First Place, 9 votes: A Teacher
Haryu Mitsuki: In rehearsals, I often see her politely teaching Madoka (Hoshikaze Madoka, Top Musumeyaku) and giving advice to the younger actresses in a soft and gentle voice. So I think that if she was a teacher she would pick up on her students' weaknesses and kindly teach them how to overcome them! And maybe during break time, she’d play dodgeball and other games with her students?!
Tsubasa Anju: If Yuzuka was my teacher I would give it my all and study so that she would give me her praise! And I would never sleep during class (laughs).
Yuzuka’s Comment: Being a school teacher must be a very hard job to do, but maybe if I could teach something completely unrelated to the performing arts it would feel like a hobby. For example, how much I enjoyed history classes at school always depended on what period was being taught. Also, I always found it exciting how the structure of each class would change based on the period we were studying. So I think it would be fun if I could teach with some pizazz like they do in high school dramas and films.
Second Place, 8 votes: A Pilot
Hina Ririka: I’d have heart-eyes if I saw her as a handsome pilot!!! She would definitely be the number one most popular of them all!!
Serina Ei: When I saw her on the national tour pulling along her case as she walked, I thought she would definitely look amazing wearing a pilot's uniform and pulling a carry-along suitcase!!
Yuzuka’s comment: It would be cool to have an impressive job like that wouldn’t it? I’ve often thought about how wonderful it would be to speak fluent English and get to go back and forth between loads of different countries like international flight attendants do. I haven’t done anything to qualify for a job like that though! (laughs)
See the full post
27 notes - Posted February 1, 2022
#3
Toho Elisabeth 2022: Der Tod Comparision Analysis
After years of being a fan, I finally had the opportunity to see Elisabeth live for the first time this autumn. Me and a friend managed to defeat the odds and nab tickets for not just one but two dates, each with a different Der Tod (It's customary for most Toho musicals to have double, triple, or sometimes quadruple casts of its principal characters in their musicals). It was such a fantastic opportunity to see different actors' interpretations of such an iconic character, and seeing as the last Toho-beth was not filmed and previous recordings have not included every cast member, I thought I'd write up a report here for those curious!
Both Tods, Furukawa Yuta (Silver Tod) and Yamazaki Ikusaburo (Purple Tod) brought new and interesting things to the character that I’m really excited to discuss!
See the full post
40 notes - Posted November 10, 2022
#2
ZuCasino, Yuzuka Rei: October 2022
Long time no translations! It's been a busy year but I finally found the time to finish an interview that I really really love, I hope you are able to understand more about Rei with this sweet Q&A!
ZuCasino is a current segment in Takarazuka Graph magazine where prominent otokoyaku get interviewed via a series of casino-style games and questions. October was with Yuzuka Rei.
I've tried something a little different this time around where the first time an actress's name is mentioned I link her takawiki page. I've also done translation notes as I go rather than putting them all at the end. Let me know if you find this helpful or just too much. Without further ado, enjoy!
Part 1: Episode Roulette
We challenged Yuzuka Rei to play our Episode Roulette game!
(Rei has been given a roulette wheel, each section has a topic of conversation, whichever she lands on she has to answer)
See the full post
46 notes - Posted December 18, 2022
My #1 post of 2022
Flower Troupe Survey! The Best of Yuzuka Rei (PART 1)
The Troupe Survey is a current segment in the TakarazukaGRAPH magazine in which each month a different troupe is given a survey on their Top Star and a selection of their answers are printed in the magazine.
There are 4 parts to this article:
1. The things about (Top Star) that have made a big impression on us
2. Stage: Shows or scenes which have stayed in our hearts
3. We want to see (Top Star) as a...
4. The (Top Star) Awards
(The Top Star gives out special awards to troupe members)
As this article is so long I will be publishing the translation in parts!
You can read part 1 under the cut!
The Flower Troupe Survey! The Best of Yuzuka Rei
We carried out a survey asking all the members of the flower troupe questions about Rei’s charm!
Part 1: The things about Yuzuka that have made a big impression on us!
Wataru Hibiki:When she goes off-script her feelings and thoughts are naturally expressed. You can feel it in both plays and revues. I’m always secretly looking forward to the speeches she gives on the first day and the last day of a production because we get to hear her express her feelings honestly to all of us.
Yuzuka’s comment:That’s something I care a lot about so I’m really happy to hear that. Even when I have things planned to say, I make sure to not forget what's most important to me when I speak.
Mikaze Maira:
When she gives her name on Takarazuka Sky Stage and says “I’m the Flower Troupe’s Yuzuka Rei”. Ahh her AURA! Her NATURAL SEX APPEAL! Oh! She's...The! Cool! Beauty!!! She makes my heart beat faster (laughs).
See the full post
48 notes - Posted January 8, 2022
Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →
#tumblr2022#year in review#my 2022 tumblr year in review#your tumblr year in review#thank you for all the love for my translations this year!#hopefully i can keep it up next year!#blahblog#becca blogs
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Okay so thanks to some random digging through the katai tags, I found out that there is indeed a Kunikida and Katai short story called "Kunikida and Katai's Magnificent Days". Translation and links to other novels can be found here (many thanks to the OP who collected these and the translator).
Anyway, now I'm thinking too much about their friendship dynamic and so I'm sharing some of my favorite moments of the short story below the cut (spoilers in the reacts and the tags)
Me...I would like to live like Katai, thanks.
Can we talk about how Kunikida drove himself and his friend to the ocean on a whim because of his dead eyes? I....
Okay but can we talk about this exception to his ideals on the basis of friendship thing? Sure it's humorous but...hi???
Let's also talk about how Katai supports Kunikida and his fight for ideals and yet still points out how unrealistic they are, kinda like Dazai did. But Katai is WITH him and behind him even if he can't join the fight and that makes me FEEL THINGS.
This explains so much of why Atsushi was considered a bit of an outlier. It does make me wonder what kind of things Kunikida had to witness when it was just Ranpo, Yosano, and Fukuzawa...calling Katai of all people boring compared to them...
THEIR WHOLESOMENESS IS TOO MUCH FOR ME...just look at that?? And below, too...
AHDHRGEJDBRHEHB. Their friendship...the way that they make each other's world a kinder and softer place. Just....I love it and I'm not even joking. Yes, there is shipping and everything but tell me you don't want a pure friendship just like this? An inseparable bond that supports each other even if you can't fully adhere to the other's beliefs and a friendship that makes a harsh reality a place where your ideals and beliefs are worth fighting for (or maybe against).
I'm cry laughing at this because, again, it was JUST Ranpo and Yosano and Fukuzawa along with Katai and Kunikida. I seriously want a prequel novel exploring the kinds of insane shenanigans they went through. And kudos I guess for the female/male friendship portrayed at the end? Sort of? I don't know...he's such a disaster. I want to be Katai.
-
IN CONCLUSION
I love it. Underrated friendship. Literally the most wholesome canon duo, sorry Ranpo and Poe/Ranpo and Yosano/Atsushi and Kyouka. Laughing at how it went from 'guy tries to set up friend on a date' to a discussion on the survival of the fittest philosophy and how it clashes against the illusions of society.
I need more about them
#tumblr ate up my first draft so all my additional comments to the og reacts are lost 😭#but it's fine because just...THEIR FRIENDSHIP YOU GUYS#but MAN I LOVE THEM SO MUCH#and they've known each other for ten years at this point and this was before dazai and during azure king...#so they like...knew each other since age 8 or 9 maybe 10??#its the way they understand each other and their unbreakable bond#SERIOUSLY out of all the duos they have so much potential...this quiet comfort in each other and support and the like#however they're a wholesome and nonmessy duo unlike most of the others so maybe leave it alone...#katai was almost odasakued i mean#also katai is such a disaster???#'let me get rich cause im bored' and then proceeds to almost get assassinated#no wonder he hates the mafia as the story says#once again im gonna throw cookies and love at the translator#and thank you to the OP who linked it!!#kunikida and katai my LOVES#bsd#bungo stray dogs#bungou stray dogs#bsd musings#bsd kunikida#bsd katai#kunikida and katai's magnificent days#spitting nonsense#humor#sort of?#light novel things#im just counting short stories as lns....#guys we need a kunikida and katai light novel...and a pre-dazai post yosano recruitment light novel#anyway these boys are the most valid partnership canon just doesnt make them partners cause they lack the angsty hostility#like ability and dynamic wise they seriously would work SO well
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if i’ve spent egregious amounts of time reading fics or just put in stupid time in the fandom i’m counting it as a brainrot so
pokemon
sailor moon/dbz
sonic
batman/harley quinn
naruto
anything CLAMP
fruits basket
detective conan
super smash bros/anything nintendo
shugo chara
reborn
hetalia
free
the hobbit
marvel
bnha
voltron
hypmic
daiya no ace
twst
ORV
slam dunk
#this is vee speaking#this wasn’t difficult i think i just struggled on what i should include lol#like i struggled with deciding if i wanted to include batman but ultimately went yeah#because harley quinn and amy from sonic were twin hammer wielding gals who loved so thoroughly it changed me as a kid LOL#those two and misty from pkmn define the type of girls i stan thanks saturday morning cartoons lol#a lot of these run concurrently if you couldn’t tell tho lol like i have been sharing so much brain space while hypmic has been my main#and some of these have given me the some of the worst years of my life lmao#the hetalia phase was fun but the fandom is the reason i run this blog so minimally lol#i’m excited for the shugo chara sequel but i also despise her love interests esp now that i’m not her age anymore lmao#fck vld like actually and thank you hypmic for saving me from it lmao#and i’m actually having a great time with slam dunk lol it’s just so brutal the series is 33 years old lol#which means i have no outlet for how down bad i am for A SIDE CHARACTER in the series (tho he’s very popular in the modern fandom lol)#and i’ve been using google translate to read fics since the series blew up in seasia and all the fics are in chinese LOL#it’s such a fun and new experience since the eng fanbase is nonexistent but it’s frustrating that the eng fanbase is nonexistent lmao
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I gave Charlotte a Collingwood premiership teddy bear for Christmas and she liked it when she opened it but when it was time to pack up her presents and go home, she took the teddy from the bag, put it on the couch and said "I don't want this" like rude?????? IT'S GOT A MAGPIE ON IT, CHARLOTTE, YOU HAVE TO LIKE IT
#thank God there's another one coming#will have to do better with the next child#maybe just have a child of my own that's a better idea#corrupt my own child#sigh#Charlotte still had a bit of a cold yesterday and she hated when someone came and wiped her nose/face#Charlotte come on you need your face wiped#Santa brought her a sack of presents and apparently when she got to the end of it she asked 'where's the presents'#my parents got her a kids toolbox and duplo thing which she desperately wanted to open then and there#her uncle got her some books#she's very spoilt#dunno if her maternal grandparents got her anything but also they don't celebrate Christmas it's just another day for them#they prefer chopsticks for their roast dinner#they said (translated by Charlotte's mum) that it was a lovely meal and that they'll invited us around for Chinese New year#it's difficult to talk to them#my Nana tried but like it's all just smiles and nods like are they just being polite or they're just shy or#how much is being understood??? i don't know#i don't even understand how bilingual works
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BEEN READING TOO MANY RESEARCH PAPERS LATELY. keep forgetting how much i love actual books i need book recs stat
#rusty speaks#fucking love research books. reading carol j clover's book on horror movies rn#next is 'when brooklyn was queer' bc i started that lkke a year ago & never finished#last is the new jim crow which ive read bits & pieces of but i finally have an actual copy i got at the eastern state museum#pressing flowers between the pages of all my books while i wait to read them i feel so fun & indie & in control of my lide#* life#BOOK I JUST GOT THOUGH. its fiction i missed fiction so much#its translated from japanese i forget the name but its about these boys obsessed with a jpop idol to the point of murder & its very.#trying to describe the way its written. its so VIVID like it makes me feel sick i like it so much its so poetic & PRESENT#last non research-related (whats the fucking name for that genre of books) book i read was like. bad vampire romance#i LOVE the library. everyone say thank you library for the trashy vampire romance books
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so american ✢ max verstappen
pairing: max verstappen x singer!reader
warnings: none; just some silly shit, some swearing, google translate dutch, max's home race is belgium and not the netherlands for timeline related reasons
summary: y/n is teasing way too many things at once…..can the fans keep up?
author's note: this is NOT an original concept i am aware of this. but this hasn’t left my brain in days. i’ve got a very specific vision so let me cook. i know i haven't posted on here in over a year but i've returned an f1 fan. enjoy!
yourname added to their story!
liked by delwatergap, maxverstappen1, and 3,491,842 others
yourname: i think i'm in love with montreal. sorry i’ve been so off the grid but i am Loving Life so hard. so much inspo in my life rn. will talk soon i promise. love u all bunches 🫶🏼🌷
ynsbestfriend: hey queen you have done it again!
-> yourname: ugh i love you so bad
user1: UM BAE WHOS THAT IN THE LAST SLIDE?
-> yourname: beats me!
-> user1: i do not trust you.
lilymhe: hiiiii pretty girl
-> yourname: stop im blushinggggg
user2: i fear she’s in her lover girl era
-> user3: girl help im so fucking scared right now what’s happening
user4: so does any of this have to do with your story from yesterday??????
*liked by yourname.*
maxverstappen1 added to their story!
yourname added to their story!
liked by honeymoon, danielricciardo, and 3,572,679 others
yourname: life's been a beach lately. clearly i've been loathing my time in spain ://///
user5: IS THAT MAX
-> user6: no bc it HAS to be
heidiberger_: Loved spending the week with you! 🤍
-> yourname: same!!!!!! let's do it again sometime 🥰
-> user6: NOT DANNY RIC'S GF COMMENTING?????? AND LILY MUNI HE ON HER LAST POST???????
user6: no bc even if her and max were dating and she's been traveling with him why have we not seen her in the paddock
-> user7: to throw us off our rhythm????
-> user8: what if they debut at his home race in spa ijbol
liked by landonorris, taylorswift, and 4,683,892 others.
tagged: maxverstappen1, redbullracing, and ynsbestfriend
yourname: hahaha felt like dropping 2 things at once on u guys LOLLLLLLLL. thank u to redbullracing, spagrandprix, and the city of spa for letting me and my friends crash the race the other week to film the “so american” music video, and to maxie for winning in ur home country. it was so fucking special to be there supporting u. i love u baby!
ps. another thank u to max for thinking i'm the funniest person in the world and making fun of my americanness for as long as i've known him (which is quite a while).
enjoy this tune guys. it's urs forever and i hope u love it as much as i love the person it's about 🫶🏼 🇧🇪 🇳🇱 TU DU DU DU!!!!!
user9: OH NMY GOD I FUCKING KNEW I SAW U IN THE GARAGE
ynsbestfriend: thanks for letting me third wheel mommy
-> yourname: no one else i'd rather drag along!!!
danielricciardo: Welcome to the family! Song's a banger although I can't believe it's actually about Max of all people 🤢 GROSS!!
-> yourname: jealousy is a disease danny.
user10: i actually cannot fathom this this is so me core
alexandramalsaintmleux: I am so glad to know you! Your happiness is everything 🩷
liked by sabrinacarpenter, carlossainz55, and 4,783,522 others.
tagged: yourname and ynsfriend
maxverstappen1: Spent a week away in New England with my talented, gorgeous girl. Loved getting away and experiencing America through her eyes! Consider me an honorary American now! Also, stream “So American” wherever you choose. It's about me 😉
yourname: does this mean i can stop hiding in the garage now???
landonorris: Happy for you mate! Love the song as well yourname 🤍
-> yourname: awe thank u lando 🥺 i got more to show u when i see u next!!!!!!
redbullracing: ❤️💙
user11: MAX IS IN HIS LOVER BOY ERA
danielricciardo: How many more times can you say American?
liked by charles_leclerc, chappellroan, and 3,694,849 others
tagged: maxverstappen1
yourname: nothing like celebrating the best 2 weeks of my life than showing my boy around ye olde stomping grounds #soamerican
liamlawson30: This is so American of him
-> yourname: like he fits in so well!
lydianight: u'll have him in the american flag board shorts in no time
-> yourname: baby steps :///
user11: she really is in her lover girl era 🥺
clairo: did you take him to the chipotle that is also a historic landmark downtown??
-> yourname: dude of COURSE i did. he said it was "interesting"
yourname added to their story!
#formula 1 x reader#f1 x reader#f1 imagine#formula one x reader#f1 smau#max verstappen x reader#max verstappen x you#max verstappen imagine#max verstappen#mv1 x reader#f1 texts#f1 fanfic#f1 social media au
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Chasing Cars | Masterpost (jjk)
☆summary: when your brother goes to study on a semester abroad, your life collides with his best friend Jeon Jungkook, who's coincidentally your roommate. Will you survive the collision, or will you crumble into dust?
☆status: on-going (next update: May 31st, 2024)
☆pairings: brother's best friend!Jungkook x younger sister!female reader, Hoseok x female reader, Namjoon x OC, Jin x OC, Jimin x OC, Taehyung x OC and others.
☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI, some chapters have mature content)
☆genre: forbidden love?au, college!au, slice of life!au, smut, angst (as usual a lot of it), fluff
☆total word count: 184k (lmao my fingers slipped)
☆a/n: I got the idea for this fic just a little over a year ago, following a power outage that lasted for a few days where I live and Jungkook's live where he kept coming back with different outfits (the white dress shirt hit me right in the gut). It took me a long time to write, as I was working on multiple other projects at the same time, but I am so so happy to be ready to share this baby with you guys <3
☆Thank you to @moonleeai and @jessikahathaway for beta-ing this monster <3 (and for all your encouragement and support)
☆And a special thank you to @wintaerbaer and @btsborahaee for encouraging me and supporting me whenever I screamed to you about this fic
☆add yourself to the taglist here!
☆discord server link here!
☆☆☆☆☆
If I lay here
If I just lay here
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?
Chasing Cars, Snow Patrol
☆☆☆☆☆
➳Teaser (Jungkook pov): the day he met you (1.1k)
You fucking touch her, you're dead.
➳Chapter one: when the Incident happens (11.8k)
Jungkook is Tae's best friend.
➳Chapter two: when Jungkook teases you (10.2k)
You know I hate that nickname.
➳Chapter three: when Valentine's Day happens (13.1k)
You know, Taehyung doesn’t have to know everything.
➳Chapter four: when you and Jeon Jungkook clash (9.5k)
I was just going to say that we should keep this between us.
➳Chapter five: when you have to go back to reality (12.1k)
We just pretend nothing happened, no?
➳Chapter six: when Jungkook hosts his friends over (9.6k)
I really want to kiss you right now.
➳Chapter seven: when doubt makes you question everything (15k)
Why do you want to believe the worst of me so bad?
➳Chapter eight: when secrets are unveiled in New York (13.5k)
I want you.
➳Chapter nine: when a party makes Jungkook jealous (11.2k)
You make me insane.
➳Chapter ten: when time slips through your fingers (10.1k)
I don’t want to lose you, peach.
➳Chapter eleven: when Jungkook visits Taehyung in Paris (8.4k)
Can’t wait for you to be back.
➳Chapter twelve: when it breaks (7.3k)
I can’t be with you.
➳Chapter thirteen: when it's too late (8.9k)
I have to talk to him.
➳Chapter fourteen: when the truth comes out (12.2k)
We never told each other how we felt.
➳Chapter fifteen: when you find your way back to Jungkook (7.4k)
You came?
➳Chapter sixteen: when Jungkook takes you out on a date (8.9k)
I think I was waiting for you my whole life.
➳Chapter seventeen: when forever awaits you (9k)
Getting to love you is the most beautiful thing that’s ever happened to me.
Drabbles in Jungkook's pov (might add more as the story goes on)
➳Drabble 1: Valentine's Day (1.1k)
We should have hung out like this before.
➳Drabble 2: the engagement party (453)
Have fun while it lasts.
➳Drabble 3: after a call in Paris (596)
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
➳Drabble 4: a conversation with his mother (644)
Nothing strengthens a man more than heartbreak.
➳Drabble 5: a conversation with Taehyung (1.1k)
It’s never been like that with her.
☆☆☆☆☆
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#chasing cars masterpost#jungkook smut#jungkook angst#jungkook fluff#jungkook x you#jungkook x reader#jungkook fic#jungkook#jjk smut#jjk angst#jjk fluff#jjk x you#jjk x reader#jjk fic#jjk#jeon jungkook#chasing cars#chasing cars series
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