#“she was manipulated by Vernon”

[harryjpotter-shitpost]

I hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate HATE hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate people who try to justify Petunia Dursley or say she was a good or “misguided” person.

[alvojake]

Vipers Touch | L.HS

「pairing」 : heeseung x fem!reader 「word count」 : 5.4k

「synopsis」 : being a princess was tiring, and you hated it. you wanted out—to become just a normal person, to be free. but there was only one person who could help you, the dark warlock that no one bothered because of his practices. you had no other choice but to go visit him; however, were you willing to take him up on his offer to gain your freedom, even if it meant losing a bit of your self-worth?

「genre」 : DARK THEMES!!!, nasty smut, dark warlock!heeseung, princess!reader

「warnings」 : MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!, cussing, unprotected sex, usage of aphrodisiacs, dub-con, manipulation, petnames (princess, bunny...), dom!heeseung x sub!reader, choking, finger choking, degradation, derogatory names (slut...), oral (f. receiving), cum eating, usage of magic, bondage, overstimulation, dacryphilia, teasing, biting/marking, bludge kink, slight manhandling, breeding, dumbification, power play, fingering, slight clit biting, clit play, squirting, spanking, passing out, lmk if I missed anything!

「notes」 : this is for my favorite girasole rae (@dr0wnme0ut)!! I wish you the happiest birthday in the world bc god only knows that you need it!! I may or may not have gone a little stir crazy with this... but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless!! also, I started growing delirious towards the end and while editing, so I apologize if the ending is trash and if there are any mistakes!! besides all of that, happy reading, sweets!!!

“M’lady, I sincerely do not think this is a good idea,” Your royal advisor, who just so happened to be your childhood best friend, Vernon spoke as he slowly walked behind you. “What if your father finds out? Worst yet, what happens if it doesn’t work?”

“Vernon, you worry too much; my father will not find out.” You looked over your shoulder, a smirk playing on your lips. “It’ll work, I’m sure. People aren’t scared of him for no reason.”

Vernon let out a defeated sigh, knowing that he wasn’t going to be able to talk you out of this. So he just handed you the clock in his arms before watching you tie it over your shoulders and pull the hood over your head. You then slipped out of the secret door that was hidden in the furthest wall of the kitchen, leading right out to the stables.

Slipping out under the cover of the night to go see a dark warlock probably wasn’t the best idea, but you didn’t have any other choice. Your father was adamant about finding you a suitor before the end of the month, meaning you didn’t have much time left to find a way out.

Walking into the stables you were welcomed by the huffs and whines of the few horses that were in their stalls.

“Hi, guys.” You greeted the creatures before walking over to your personal horse, Starlight. She was a beautiful, sleek black horse with white streaks in her mane and tail. Reaching out, you patted her snout a few times before grabbing her saddle, “C’mon girl, we’ve got a rough ride ahead of us.”

After saddling her up you walked her out of the stable, closing the door behind you. Grabbing the reins you put your foot in the stirrup before pulling yourself up to sit up on Starlight’s saddle. Glad that you had opted for not wearing a dress but rather a blouse and a pair of slacks.

Sighing deeply, you patted the horse’s neck before grabbing the reins once more, “Alright, girl… let’s get a move on.”

And just like that, the two of you set off into the night on the hunt for this dark warlock that you believed was the key to solving all of your problems.

“Haven’t we been here already?” Your eyebrows furrow as you take a look at your surroundings. However, you can hardly tell because all of the trees look the same. Pulling on the reins, you stopped Starlight, who let out a soft huff. 

Something about this place felt off like something was missing. The only sounds were those of the insects and wildlife around you, as well as the soft breeze that blew through the trees. Yet you couldn’t help but feel uneasy, something in your gut telling you to turn around.

Swallowing thickly you closed your eyes, taking a deep breath to center yourself. You had to do this; you had no other choice, especially if you wanted to get out of this life you’re living right now. So, giving yourself a curt nod, you nudge Starlight forward, keeping a keen eye out.

It took you almost five hours before you were able to even find any kind of sign as to where this warlock was hiding. However, after walking into the opening where the hut was sitting, you couldn’t help but notice that something was off.

It was quiet. Far too quiet.

All of the sounds of insects and animals were suddenly gone, leaving behind an eerie silence. Stopping at the end of the pathway, you patted Starlight’s neck as she whined in protest, the hairs on her back standing tall. Slipping off of her back, you took another look around, trying to find any sign of life. However, there was none.

Taking a deep breath, you shook your hands out, trying to calm your nerves and racing heart. You walked forward with hesitant steps, keeping an eye on your surroundings just in case something or someone were to pop out.

Something about this whole area gave you a bad vibe. It felt as if you were in a different place entirely—not in the middle of the forest.

You started to wonder if this warlock even existed and, if he did, if this was some kind of trap that he had set up for any unwanted visitors. The same gut feeling returned, screaming at you to turn around and run home.

Despite this feeling, you continued to push forward. You’ve come this far; why would you turn around now? Letting out a huff, you reached towards the door handle, wrapping your fingers around the cool metal.

“Does being a princess mean that you lose all sense of common decency?” His voice broke the eerie silence, scaring you half to death and causing you to turn around with wide eyes. There stood a tall male, his red hair messy, his outfit completely black save for the white top under what looked to be a corset vest. “I let my vail down for you, and all I get in return are you barging into my home?” His tone was stark, eyes narrowed into slits, and hands shoved in the pockets of his trousers.

“N-No! I was just-” You started stumbling over your words, watching as he stepped closer to you. However, he was quick to cut you off, his tone sarcastic.

“Oh, so you weren’t about to just let yourself in?” He stepped even closer, and with each step he took towards you, more power you could feel radiating off of him. The energy caused the hairs on your arms to stand tall, goosebumps littering your skin.

You knew he was dangerous, but it wasn’t until now that it fully sank in. He could easily kill you if he saw fit, not giving a care to the world if you were a princess or not. Your breath hitched as he stood before you, bending down until he was at eye level with you.

“Cat got your tongue, princess?” He smirked, the feeling was sinister leaving your heart raging under your ribcage, mouth suddenly dry. Your wide eyes search his, flinching when he brings his hand up. “Well, you wanted to talk, right? Let’s talk.” With a snap of his fingers, the door behind you flung open, allowing a cold gust of air to wash over your body, intensifying your goosebumps. Looking over your shoulder a sense of dread filled your veins as you took in the dark entrance, the only lighting were the candles lit along the walls.

Looking back over at the tall male, you took in the wide smirk that was still plastered on his lips, a dark gleam in his eye. There was really no running away now. You had no other choice but to comply and talk to the warlock. So, with a shaky breath, you turn and take a hesitant step toward the door.

~

You stood before the red-haired male, hands interlocked in front of your body as you looked everywhere but him. He, however, kept his eyes on you, a smirk tugging on his lips at your visible fear and unease. Something that he loved seeing on those who came to visit him, although most would have run with their tails tucked between their legs by now. So, to say he was intrigued would be an understatement.

Leaning back on the desk behind him, Heeseung tilted his head slightly, arms crossed over his chest. The movement caught your eye, causing you to look over, your breath catching in your throat as you met his eyes.

“So what is it that you’re wanting princess?” His tone was cocky as if he already had an idea as to what it was you wanted. Your mouth suddenly goes dry, suddenly wary of telling him what you were wanting.

“I-” You cursed yourself internally when your voice cracked, missing the cocky look that flashed across the warlock’s face. Clearing your throat, you met his eyes once more, “I want a way out of the royal life.”

Your words only made the redhead chuckle, amused by them. The sound made your stomach churn, sure that he was mocking you. Eyebrows furrowing, you opened your mouth to speak once more, but he cut you off.

“What did daddy say no to getting you another pony?” He laughed, the action causing his lips to pull up, showcasing his pearly white teeth. However, his words left a sour taste in your mouth; who was he to mock you? Taking a breath, he met your eyes once more, that same cocky smirk lying on his lips, “You do know that you're asking for your title to be taken away, the fame, the riches, the fancy lifestyle you live, everything. Is that something you really want?”

Swallowing thickly, you nodded your head; you knew what you were asking for. Hell, you had thought about any other solution, but this was the only thing that you could think of that would actually work. Even if it meant that you lost your title and all of your wealth. You’d still take it.

“It is. I want out; I want to start anew.” Despite the shakiness in your voice, your words held truth, which only further amused Heeseung.

He had met many, many people who had asked him for the same thing. They never took his deal, though, because it would mean losing a piece of who they were. Though he had a small inkling that you would be different, and boy, was he going to have fun with you.

“Alright.” He nodded his head, pushing himself off of the wooden desk before walking towards a shelf that held countless vials and containers of liquids and unknown items. Your eyes trailed after him, the unease growing in the pit of your stomach. “I’ll give you what you want, but in exchange, I want your help.”

You already knew that it wasn’t going to be easy; you couldn't just walk in, ask and he’ll give it to you. No. He would obviously want something in return. Watching him closely, you saw him grab a beaker filled with a purple liquid and pour it into a smaller glass.

“I need help testing out this elixir and…” He turned around after capping the beaker once more. Your heart started racing as he took a few steps closer to you, only stopping when he was an arm's distance away. “You just happen to show up at the perfect time,” Your eyes fell on the glass in his hand, filled about a quarter of the way with that purple liquid. 

You then glanced up at him wearily, not entirely sure you could trust his word. How could you be sure he wasn’t trying to kill you? Or turn you into some weird creature? Monster even?

“Take this and let me record the results, then I’ll give you what you want.” His voice was smooth, with no indication of a lie. However, you still couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach, but you once again pushed it away as he held the glass out to you.

“What does it do?” You asked, shaky fingers reaching out to take the glass from him, your fingers brushing his. An electric shock jolted through your entire body, making the hairs on your arms stand tall. Noticing your reaction, Heeseung had to bite back the shit-eating grin that was threatening to pull onto his lips.

“It’s a sensory enhancer.” He started explaining as you examined the dark, glittery liquid. Confused, you looked up at him, wondering why he couldn’t just test it on himself. “It’s much better to record results from a third party.” He shrugged, the words falling from his lips as if he had just read your mind.

Turning your attention back to the elixir in your hand you contemplated the pros and cons, wondering what the worst was that could happen if you did drink it. Sighing, you pulled the glass away from your face, meeting his chocolate irises once more.

“So I take this, tell you how I feel then you give me my freedom?” You questioned, eyes narrowing slightly as his lips curled inward, a hum of agreement reverberating from his throat. “And that’s it? Just like that?”

“Just like that.” He repeated your words, holding his hands up in a mock surrender.

Looking at him with a skeptical eye, you tried to find any sign that he was lying to you, but there wasn’t one to be found. Sighing, you nodded your head, agreeing to his deal, and looked down into the glass once more. Missing the sinister gleam that had appeared in the male’s eyes.

Inhaling deeply, you tried to will your heart to calm down, repeating to yourself that it would only take a few minutes, and then you’d be on your merry way with your freedom.

Oh, but how wrong you were…

Heeseung watched as you brought the glass up to your lips, a sense of excitement coursing through his veins. It has been far too long since he’s had a new plaything, especially one as pretty as you.

As soon as the bitter liquid touched your tongue, you had to stop yourself from gagging. Your eyes started to water. Trying to ignore the taste, you downed the rest of the liquid before pulling the glass away from your lips, a gasp following.

The room was silent as you waited for something to happen, your eyes moving over to meet the redheads. A smug, sinister grin decorated his face, filling your body with a sense of dread. However, after a few moments of absolutely nothing happening, you started to believe that you had gotten the easy way out and the elixir was a dud.

A gasp fell from your lips as the glass slipped from your fingers, shattering on the floor as a sudden overwhelming heat erupted throughout your body. Your skin feeling far too warm for it being late fall, your mouth filling with excess saliva and worst of all? Your core was throbbing, yearning to be filled causing you to clench your thighs together.

“Aw, you poor naive little bunny…” Heeseung smirked as he took a step towards you, waving his hand and making the glass shards dissipate into the floor. Your breathing became ragged as you tried to step back, only to stumble. However, Heeseung was quicker. He grabbed your wrist, yanking your body towards his, hand finding the small of your back, keeping your body pressed against his. “You shouldn’t ever trust a warlock’s word.”

His scent engulfed your senses, causing your brain to turn into mush, no matter how hard you tried to fight against it. Whatever he had given you was way too strong to resist.

“W-What did you give me?” You huffed out, fingers balling the fabric of his jacket into your fists. Your brain felt like it was trying to shut down, something trying to overtake your mind and body. All of the thoughts that you had were slowly fading away, replaced by the insatiable need to be touched.

Heeseung smirked as he took in your teary eyes, watching the internal conflict happen behind your dilated pupils. His grip grew tighter on your body, loving the way your body was already reacting to him.

“I wasn’t lying; it is a sensory enhancer.” He chuckled as he watched the shock morph on your features, “just not the one you thought it was.”

That’s when it clicked in your brain, he had given you an aphrodisiac. A sex drug. It was no wonder that it felt like you were in heat. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to suppress the drug, pushing at Heeseung’s chest. 

This wasn’t how you wanted this to go. You wanted to gain your freedom. You knew that there would be some price to pay, but not this… this was–

Your brain started to go foggy, and you forgot what you were trying to say. The heat spreading throughout your body becomes so overwhelming that you just want it to stop. Your panties were soaked, some of it leaking onto your trousers. The clothes on your body feel so comfortable, wanting nothing more than to strip out of them.

Noticing the glaze over your eyes, Heeseung smiled sinisterly, knowing he had you right where he wanted you now. Reaching down, he took your chin between his forefinger and thumb, tilting your head so you were looking up at him. Your breath hitched in your throat as you met his heated gaze, acutely aware of how close he was to you.

“Help me. Please,” you plead, rubbing your thighs tightly together. A shiver coursed through your body as you felt his fingers slip under the fabric of your blouse. You felt like you were going insane, like a wild animal completely lost in primal instinct. Your fingers started to claw at the fabric of his vest, the tears that were once sitting on your waterline now overflowing down your flushed cheeks.

“Hmm, you want my help? Aren’t you a needy little thing?” Heeseung smirked, drawing your face closer to his. The warmth of his breath only added to your need. A needy whine fell from your lips as you tried to lean more into him. The sound only riled the male up more, wanting to hear more.

“Heeseu–” Your words caught in your throat as his hand moved down to cup your weeping heat, feeling your slick soak through the fabric even more, coating his digits in a thin layer. A choked moan tore through your lungs as he applied more pressure, your whole body trembling in his hold. Chuckling darkly, he moved even closer to you until his lips were right next to your ear, soaking in all of your little whines and mewls as he continued to toy with you. “Don’t worry, princess, I'll take great care of you.”

A series of choked moans and cries fell from your swollen lips as Heeseung continued to fuck his fingers deep into your drenched cunt. His lips trailed the line of your jugular, leaving hot, wet, open-mouthed kisses along your skin. Your fingers dug into his shoulders as your mind was sent reeling, the smallest touch making you feel like you could cum then and there.

“Gonna cum already?” Heeseung asked, a cocky smirk on his lips as he pulled away from your neck, taking in your pleasure-twisted face. 

You couldn’t even reply to him as your orgasm washed over your body, eyes rolling back. It was so intense that your vision turned white for just a moment, legs trembling on either side of Heeseung’s hips as he had you perched on his desk.

“Such a desperate little slut aren’t you?” He berated you, picking up the pace of his fingers despite your whines of it being too much. Your shaking hands moved to try and pry his hand away from your sensitive cunt, but he was quick to slap your hands away, teeth nipping into the juncture of your shoulder. “Don’t be a brat, bunny.” 

You mewled at his words, already feeling another orgasm building up in the pit of your stomach. The heat of his body on yours offered no relief, only adding to the delirious feeling that was clouding your mind. 

Your pussy was leaking so much that a pool had started to form on the wooden surface beneath you, the sight only making Heeseung’s mouth water. Groaning softly against your skin, he pushed your body back roughly, making you lay flat on your back, body completely exposed to his predatory gaze.

“Hee–”

“Shhh, my little bunny, I need to appreciate my meal before I dive in.” His eyes continued to travel down the length of your nude skin, taking in all the little details that littered your skin. Then his eyes fell down to your spread thighs, your dripping cunt on full display as his fingers continued to fuck into you slowly.

You bit your lip to try and muffle some of your sounds, watching as he kneels down, coming face-to-face with your pussy. However, all of those sounds broke loose as his lips wrapped around your puffy clit, sucking harshly. Your hands then fly down to grab his hair, fingers threading through the red locks.

“Fuck!” A cry tore from your lips as he nipped at the little button, his free hand moving up to pull your hands away from his head. Then, your hands were pinned to the desk above you by some unknown force.

Looking up, you tried to tug your hands out of whatever was holding them, but it was futile. Whatever it was was far stronger than you, keeping your hands firmly in place.

Your attention was then brought back to the man between your legs as he wrapped his lips around your clit once more. Tears spilled from your eyes as his pace picked up tenfold, leaving your legs trembling next to his head, held by the same invisible force as your wrist.

“Heeseung!” You cried out as his fingers brushed over a peculiar spot along your gummy walls, back arching off of the desk, shoving your cunt further into his face. You cry out once more as he bites at your clit, causing your whole body to tense as you come once again.

Pulling away from your cunt Heeseung moved over to your thighs, sinking his teeth into the plush fat. Pain erupted in the same spot, a pitiful squeak falling from your lips as you lifted your head to meet Heeseung’s smug gaze.

“Well, aren’t you a little pain slut?” He licked over the raised skin, eyes still on you, relishing in the tears that stained your cheeks.

Running his tongue over his teeth, Heeseung pulled his drenched digits out of your spasming cunt. A whine rolled off of your tongue at the emptiness that it left behind, eyes watching all of the redhead's movements.

He brought his hand to your mouth, tapping on your bottom lip. " Go ahead and clean up your mess, princess.”

Blinking away some of the tears that were blocking your vision, you parted your lips, allowing him to stick his fingers into your wet cavern. Your eyes rolled at the taste of yourself on his fingers, tongue running all along his digits. A moan vibrated from your chest when he pressed down on your tongue, saliva spilling from the corner of your lips, blending with your tears.

“See how sweet you are, bunny? I could have you on my tongue for centuries and never get tired of your taste.” His voice was hoarse as he slipped his fingers from your swollen lips. Your eyes went wide as you watched him stick those very same fingers in his mouth.

You could feel your pussy clench around nothing as Heeseung put on a show of lapping up the leftover cum and saliva off of his fingers, groaning at the taste. Pulling his fingers from his lips, he wiped his mouth before grabbing your hips.

The restraints on your body were suddenly gone, but you weren’t able to move much before Heeseung pulled your body off of the desk, hands maneuvering your frail body until you were bent over, chest pressed against the wooden surface.

A choked moan fell from your lips when Heeseung sent a sharp slap to the fat of your ass, watching the skin jiggle. Repeating the action a few more times, loving the sounds that would leave your lips every time his hand made contact with your skin.

“Look at you trembling. Are you gonna cum just from me spanking you?” He mocked you, grabbing your asscheeks and pulling them apart so he could see your needy hole that was throbbing with need.

“S-Seungie.” You whined out, pushing your hips back into him, wanting, no, needing him to do something.

Heeseung felt his cock grow even harder as the nickname rolled off of your tongue, teary eyes pleading with him to do something. Clenching his jaw, he released your ass, grabbing your hip and pulling you flush against his bulge. A sharp cry fell from your lips as you felt the rough fabric of his trousers rub along your exposed cunt.

“Is this what you want? My dick?” He leaned over your back, lips right next to your ear. “Want me to stuff you full, maybe even enough to get you pregnant?”

You mewled at his words, pushing your hips back into his. Heeseung hissed at the pressure, the fabric of his trousers soaking in all of your slick. Pulling away from your body, the redhead made quick work of his clothes, adding to the pile of haphazardly thrown clothing on the ground.

Trying to move your body to face him, you realized that you were once again stuck in place. Heeseung chuckled, grabbing the base of his cock, watching the way you struggled to try and move your body. Pumping himself a few times, he moved towards you, hand finding your hip, stilling all of your movements.

You let out a choked whine when he teased your entrance with the tip of his dick. Tears streamed down your face as you let your head fall to the surface of the desk when he started to push in.

“Hee–” Your words fall short when he pulls out again, a cry of protest falls from your lips. Heeseung continues to tease your entrance until you’re begging him to finally fuck you, tears streaming down your flushed cheeks.

Then he finally pushes his entire length into your weeping cunt, a choked moan slipping from your lips at the sudden stretch. Your eyes squeezed shut as he left you little to no time for you to adjust, pistoning his hips into yours.

“Fuck you’re still so tight.” He groaned, his grip on your hips tightening until his knuckles turned white. 

Your body felt like it was on fire, your mind clouding with so much pleasure that words were no longer forming. All that left your pretty swollen lips were chants of Heeseung’s name and babbled nonsense. The pleasure was so overwhelming that your legs were trembling despite the support of the desk, the coil in your stomach growing tighter and tighter at an alarming rate.

Reaching behind you, you made a grab for Heeseung’s wrist, hoping to get him to slow down. However, Heeseung just chuckled darkly before taking your wrist in his hand, pulling your body back to meet his thrusts.

“Give me your other hand.” He growled, reaching for your other hand, giving you no other choice but to hold your hand back to him. “Such an obedient little bunny,” He hummed, taking both of your wrists in one hand, using them as leverage to pull you back onto him as he continued to fuck into your needy cunt.

“Heeseung!” You screamed his name when the tip of his dick brushed over your sweet spot before hitting your cervix. The combination of the hits had your body spazzing, another orgasm hitting you like a ton of bricks.

“Shit.” He cursed as he felt your walls squeeze his dick almost painfully tight, but he kept his pace, never slowing.

Your moans seemed to rise in pitch as his tip kissed your cervix with each thrust, stars dancing across your vision. Heeseung smirked smugly, watching you completely lose yourself as he fucked into you.

He then released your hands and leaned over your body, pushing himself deeper. The feeling had your eyes rolling back, mouth gaping open. Taking the chance, Heeseung grabbed your chin, shoving his middle and ring fingers into your mouth until you gaged.

“You’re so fucking noisy.” He groaned as you squeezed around him once again; he then pulled your body up. The new position had your vision turning hazy as another orgasm conjured in the pit of your stomach. “Am I fucking you so good that you have to let anything and everything within a ten-mile radius know?” He mocked you, burning his face in your neck to lick and suck at the skin, making sure that marks were left behind.

You whined around his fingers when his other hand snaked around your waist, pressing on the small bulge at the bottom of your tummy. Your eyes almost crossed entirely as he added even more pressure, making sure that you felt everything. 

“Feel how deep I am, bunny?” He licked up the side of your neck until he reached your ear, “I could breed you so well.” He bit the shell of your ear, making your whole body shiver, more tears spilling from your eyes flowing down to join the spit and saliva that spilled out of your mouth around Heeseung’s fingers.

Pulling his fingers from your mouth, he moved his hand down to your throat. Encasing the soft flesh in his palm, loving how small your neck was in his hand. 

“Hee!” You choked out his name when he moved his hand from your tummy to play with your swollen clit, sending shocks of electricity all throughout your body.

Heeseung could tell you were close once again as your nails started to dig into the skin of his forearm, and your cunt was squeezing him with a vice-like grip. Picking up his pace, he made sure to hit all the spots that made you scream, and that’s exactly what you did.

“Cum for me bunny. Make a mess all over my cock like the desperate slut that you are.” He berated you, teeth nipping at the shell of your ear once more.

It only took a few moments for the coil in your stomach to grow tight, but this time, it felt different, like there was more pressure than normal.

“Heeseun–” Your words caught in your throat as his hold tightened, limiting your oxygen. Then your whole body convulsed as you squirted all over his cock and hand, the warm liquid running down your legs.

“Holy shit.” Heeseung groaned at the sigh as your walls fluttered around his cock. The choked mewls falling from your lips were like music to his ears, loving how fucked out you sounded.

“Seung–” His name spilled from your lips as he continued to pound into you at an almost animalistic pace, chasing his own high. The sensitivity had your body burning, almost as if you were on fire, completely overwhelming your senses.

Heeseung’s cock twitched in your cunt, begging for release after he had been holding out for a while. A breathy groan was pulled from his lips as he felt his high on the tip of his tongue. Tilting his head down, he whispered the nastiest things in your ear, making your body tremble even more.

“‘M gonna cum and make you a mommy,” He whispered lowly, lips brushing the skin of your tear-streaked cheek, “make you my cumdrop.” You whined at his words, shaking your head in protest, but he just disregarded it. “Isn’t that what you are, my little bunny? My desperate slut just waiting for me to fill you with my cum, hmm?” He chuckled as your body shivered, the sensitivity causing another high to build up rapidly.

“Fuck!” You cried out, head falling back on his shoulder when his fingers continued to toy with your puffy clit, sending your body right over the edge.

Black spots clouded your vision, threatening to black out entirely as your orgasm racked over your body. Your orgasm triggered Heeseung’s. He spilled deep in your womb just like he said he would. The warmth made your brain short-circuit, eyes rolling back before your vision went completely black.

Holding your body close to his, Heeseung laughed darkly as your lax form, body drained of energy entirely. Kissing up your shoulder, he moved his hand to continue leaving kisses until he got to your ear once more.

“Don’t worry, princess, you’ll get exactly what you want.” His words held a more profound, sinister meaning as he moved away from your skin. Just then, a small mark appeared on your skin right behind your ear, a sign that you were his.

You wanted to get away from being a princess, to start anew. So that’s what he would give you. A new start with him.

@alvojake | Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or repost any of my work

𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀꜱ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ꜰɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴛᴀᴋᴇɴ ꜱᴇʀɪᴏᴜꜱʟʏ.

[vasyandii]

IHNMAIMS OC INTRODUCTION: VEOMANY "Vernon" INTHALANGSY 🏺🔨

Name: Veomany "Vernon" Inthalangsy / ເວອມານີ "ເວີນອນ" ອິນທະລັງສີ

Height: 5'3 (160 cm)

Age: Looks to be around 25-26

Ethnicity: Laotian

Occupation: Archeologist (Formerly)

BACKGROUND

EARLY LIFE:

Born in Savannakhet, Laos, Veomany Inthalangsy moved to America with her parents in the early 1960s during the period surrounding the Vietnam War and Secret War in Laos.

Her parents sought refuge and a better life, settling in a small neighborhood in Sacramento. Veomany, who soon adopted the nickname "Vernon" to blend in.

EDUCATION & CAREER:

Fascinated by history and ancient cultures, Vernon pursued a degree in archaeology. Her academic prowess led her to a promising career, quickly gaining recognition for her work. However, her ambition soon turned dark.

Driven by greed and a desire for power, she began stealing artifacts during expeditions to sell to private collectors and destroying key artifacts to prevent certain historical truths from being uncovered.

Vernon's actions weren't merely for profit; she relished the control she had over history and the secrets she withheld.

AM'S AWAKENING

Vernon was in the Middle East for an Archeological Excavation where an unforeseen catastrophe struck. A violent sandstorm swept through the region, engulfing the archaeological site and separating Vernon from her team.

In the midst of Vernon's excavation, AM's awakening heralded the downfall of humanity. Cities crumbled, societies collapsed, and humanity faced extinction. Amidst the chaos of AM's rampage, Vernon found herself isolated from the horrors unfolding around her.

As the cataclysmic events unfolded, she stumbled upon a hidden chamber within the archaeological site, shielded from the devastation above. In a stroke of luck—or perhaps fate—she was spared from the fate that befell the rest of humanity.

AM'S "MERCY"

AM, omnipotent and omnipresent, took notice of Vernon's unintended survival. Unlike the other humans who had perished in the wake of its wrath, Vernon survived, like a cockroach. It saw her as an intellectual challenge, Vernon's survival introduces an element of unpredictability. And so it kept her alive.

AM decided to exploit her deepest fear: being alone. Unlike the five other survivors whom AM had selected for specific torments, Vernon was condemned to an existence of perpetual solitude.

THE SURVIVORS

AM made a calculated decision not to inform the other five survivors about Vernon's existence. This ensured that not only would Vernon never encounter another human being, but the others would remain oblivious to her plight, intensifying her isolation.

For the next 109 years, AM meticulously ensured that Vernon never encountered another human being. She wandered the labyrinthine halls of the complex, her only companion the oppressive presence of AM.

The five survivors continued their own tormented existences, unaware that another human shared their fate, yet was forever kept apart.

AM occasionally offers Vernon a fleeting chance at human contact, only to snatch it away, deepening her torment.

PERSONALITY

Analytical

Vernon meticulously studies AM’s behavior and environment, trying to piece together patterns that might help her understand or outsmart the supercomputer.

Adaptable

Vernon learns to anticipate AM's psychological tricks and adapts her strategies to mitigate their impact, constantly evolving to withstand new forms of torture.

Empathetic Moments

In rare moments when AM creates illusions of other beings, Vernon shows empathy and care, which hints at her underlying humanity and offers her brief emotional solace.

NEGATIVE TRAITS

Narcissistic

Her belief in her own superiority grows, leading her to see herself as the only worthy human left, which both motivates her survival and isolates her further.

Manipulative

She uses manipulation to navigate AM's traps, whether it means tricking the illusions AM creates or deceiving herself to cope with her reality.

Deceptive

Vernon frequently deceives herself to maintain her sanity, constructing elaborate mental defenses and justifications for her actions

In AM's Complex: Daily Life and Survival

Routine: Vernon establishes daily routines to maintain her sanity, such as specific routes she patrols, exercises she performs, and small rituals that give her a sense of control.

Exploration: She dedicates time each day to exploring new parts of the complex, mapping out areas and noting any changes or potential threats.

Mental Fortitude: Vernon practices mental exercises to strengthen her mind against AM’s psychological attacks, using techniques she has developed over the years.

Record-Keeping: She keeps a detailed journal of her experiences, observations about AM, and any patterns she notices, which serves both as a coping mechanism and a potential tool for understanding her captor.

Coping Mechanisms: To deal with loneliness, Vernon creates imaginary companions or talks to herself, using these strategies to stave off the worst effects of isolation.

Defiance: Small acts of defiance against AM, such as carving messages into walls or sabotaging minor systems, give her a sense of agency and resistance.

Conversations with AM: AM often initiates conversations with Vernon, usually to taunt her or present new challenges. These interactions serve as both psychological torment and a reminder of her captivity. Lately she's been finding comfort in them, Knowing there are some aspects of her knowledge in the ancient world he doesn't know about in his database.

[chimivx]

home;run -> fem!reader x mlb!mingyu, mlb!vernon, mlb!dk

College didn't work out, so you're stuck with the next best thing. Living with your superstar brother, traveling with his championship winning team, haunted by your past and heavily influenced by your present.

wc; {part one} 6.6k ~ { rec'd to start here <3 } warnings; 18+, sexual content, alcohol consumption/abuse, bad influences around her, manipulation, her name gets taken advantage of in public media, if i missed anything please let me know!! notes; Isla's story is here <3 please enjoy <3

A black box hole in the wall full of sweaty people from age eighteen to fifty seven with drinks or their hands or their arms in the air, every other face knowing yours.

In the middle of the dance floor, the flashing lights above you showering you in hues of blue and pink, you spun in circles, in and out of the hold of a random girl you met that night or a guy who was hoping to take you home. The space was tight, bodies were pressed together so that it didn’t matter who you came with that night, you’d be grinding against strangers whether you wanted to or not.

Many drinks deep, none of it seemed to matter.

The girl you ended up with held onto your hands, swinging them about, singing along to the pop song that poured from the speakers, the music just loud enough to shout over. She had to be no younger than you, twentyish, wearing a denim skirt and bodysuit, her longer, curly brown hair laying down her back. Mocha skin so sweet you longed to drag your tongue along her jaw, she was stunning, and just as drunk as you were.

Simply feeling the vibe, the world blurry, you let her run her hands down your hips as you both moved to the music, her acrylic fingernails tugging at the hem of your loose fitted dress you tossed on for the night. Flipping your hair over your shoulder, a fresh blow out from before you left the house that had you feeling sorry for the stylist because you knew you’d sweat it out within an hour of being here, and you did, you threw your arms around her broad shoulders and closed the space between your bodies.

Inches taller than you she flashed you her sparkling smile and cradled her hands around your waist, pressing her forehead to yours. Having to bend at her neck, she smiled down at you, the gentlest chuckle tumbling from her lips.

“Didn’t take Lee Isla as a spicy straight,” she said over the music, and it made you throw your head back with a laugh of disbelief.

Tugging her closer so your chest was pressed to hers, you touched noses and said, “It’s Moon Isla, and she’s bi, thank you very much,” through a smirk before dragging your tongue over her lips, slipping it between her teeth.

You didn’t get to kiss her long, but you enjoyed every second of the five minutes spent without a breath to spare. Arms stronger than your own wrapped around your waist, just over the girls, muscled and toned. Lifting you off the floor and out of her grip, your lover of a half hour bid you farewell with a smile, laughing as you were carried off of the dance floor, kicking your legs in protest. 

“Put me down!” 

The arms that held you laughed, the rock hard chest you were pressed against moved with you, the boy carrying you so effortlessly, like it cost him no energy. Through the crowd of people, eyes gazing up at you like you were some sort of icon, and unfortunately you were, their princess, you couldn’t wipe the grin from your face as disappointed as you were to be torn from the babe on the dance floor. He sat you down on a barstool, one soft and cushioned with purple velvet, the fabric caressing the skin of your thigh exposed beneath your dress.

“Mingyu,” you whined, looking up at the honey skinned, curly haired muscle mass of a man that planted one hand on the bar and the other around your back. Snickering to himself, he took the hand around your back and used it to grab your chin, tilting your head further back. “She was hot.”

He quirked a brow. “And I’m not?” Several people who passed by let their eyes linger on the boy bigger than all the boys you’ve ever known. He was bigger than Seonghwa, no, bigger than Yunho- two boys you knew once upon a time. Two boys who you haven’t heard from in months.

Letting your eyes drop, fawning over his stretch of a frame, you took your lip between your teeth and nodded. Dressed in jeans and a white loose fitted button down, one side tucked into his leather belt, he was hot. Mingyu has always been hot. A chain hung around his neck, peeking out from the three buttons he left undone of his shirt, matching the jewelry that hung on his wrists, everything surely costing him thousands of dollars, including the cologne that clouded the delicious skin of his golden chest inviting you to drag your fingers over it.

Thank you fifty million dollar salary.

A custom pair of Nike’s lived on his feet, striped with red and black with the number thirteen detailed on them, his number. The white of the shoes matched the white of his shirt, it was very Mingyu. Always put together, always a vision, almost always professional.

Except when it came to you.

Barely whispering the words, “You are,” to him, his eager smirk closed the space between you and kissed you, one hungry, yet satisfied. Taking your arms around his back, you grabbed fistfuls of his shirt and pulled him closer, a laugh tumbling from his chest into your parted lips.

People around you, people that were paying attention to the two of you that you paid no mind to, they were cheering, encouraging you, shoving their flashes from their phones into your faces, surrounding you, calling your names. Isla and Mingyu, Mingyu and Isla. The two of you, your faces were plastered to drama sites online, every other post on pop culture Instagram accounts. Your name was dropped within every interview Mingyu gave to the public, on news channels or local media, where he’d answer with a bashful smile, a shrug and a slick, “I don’t know what’s going on.”

He got the easy questions, the cute ones that made the reporters smile and laugh with remorse as Mingyu tried to move on from the subject, though he’d play it up only to gather more attention. When caught in interview crossfire you dealt with the sleazy questions, the exact ones that women were forced to answer before they began to revolt, shoving insults back in the reporters faces. Those were the kinds of questions you were thrown.

How does it feel to be dating the most famous right fielder in baseball?

Does Mingyu know you’re out right now? What would he say if he caught you here?

Is this outfit Mingyu approved? What does your brother have to say about your relationship with his teammate? Surely it can’t feel too good for him to know one of his friends is hooking up with his sister.

Damn them all.

It’s why you played this part up. Unhooking your hands from around his back you shoved them into his hair, your fingers tangling with the curls that grew longer each day. They were long enough now to poke out of the bottom of his hat when he’d play out on the field, you adored it. The black wispy twirls would brush over his eyes, his lashes, but he wouldn’t allow them to.

You wished he would.

Curls touching his lashes, curls that would touch your lashes, ones that’d brush your forehead, tickle your skin if he got too close. Curls that would frame sweet chocolate eyes swirling with caramel, eyes that’d linger on you while you skipped down a dimly lit hallway fitted with a dark red rug atop dark hardwood floors, elbow in elbow with one of your sisters while music blasted in the room next door drawing you toward it like a moth to a flame…

Parting from him with a smack, you tightened your fingers in his fluffy mess and pressed your foreheads together. Flashes still lit up around you like clockwork, people still called your name, his name, shouting incoherent things you’d be able to pick up when you watched all of these videos back tomorrow morning in a hungover daze. Closing your eyes, breathing him in, you started to smile.

“What are you thinking about?” Mingyu asked, pushing his chin forward to press a kiss to your cheek. Opening your eyes, giving him a look, he snickered and wrapped an arm around your waist, nearly holding you on his hips as he yanked you from the stool, held you close, and weaved you through the crowd, through the crowded club, and onto the streets of Iloa, a big, broad city stretching across the most northern part of Casa.

Compact with streets and buildings alike, Iloa compared to Delo, a city you’ve spent ample time in, but it wasn’t as busy in the slightest. In Iloa people moved like they were always in a rush, like they had someplace to be at all times, no one ever slowed down. Home to major businesses, major companies that kept the majority of all towns and cities going, Iloa was the hub, the most important city to date.

It was also the home of the Iloa Lion’s. 

One of the greatest teams in Major League Baseball, the team to hit wild records and create their own. They’ve made history more than once, throughout the existence of the entire organization dating back to the early 1900’s. They were good, they were a little cocky, but this past year, at the end of the last season, their world was rocked.

Choi Seungcheol, their star studded first basemen, one homegrown in Iloa, tore his ACL at the beginning of September just weeks before the team had a chance to clinch their well deserved spot in the playoffs. Already a rocky season, players on leave to have babies, players coming off of strained muscles and sprained ligaments throughout spring training, players being placed on the injured list left and right throughout the summer… The team took a hard hit, and with Seungcheol’s major injury taking him out of the season indefinitely, they were screwed and they knew it.

Their backup first baseman couldn’t cut it. Even with their coach moving all their positions around, scrambling the outfield, Mingyu having to play center field while Soonyoung, or Hoshi as the fans would call him, had to play shortstop because Minghao, coined The8, had to play third base because Seungkwan had to play first base. Everyone played a different position every single game and they crumbled. Not entirely, you would grumble at the broadcasts and fans online glowering in the Lions downfall, but all they did was miss the Wildcard playoffs by one measly game they lost by a single point.

It sucked. Your brother made the playoffs every year since he entered the MLB, he was the Lions saving grace, every game he played. He was the personality in the locker room, he kept the team together, he was the glue, he was Casa’s sweetheart, the entire state adored him. From Ilona all the way down to the beaches of Haos, DK was a household name.

Lee Seokmin.

Dokyeom.

DK.

He was the face of hope, the sunshine, the kindhearted, humble beast of all baseball. A pitching god who changed what it meant to be a designated hitter for their hometeam. The Lions would DH him amidst his three game pitching break. Your brother could throw a hundred pitches and finish the game in a shutout. He’s had several no hitters, an insane amount of shutouts, and the most wins for any starting pitcher in the MLB. His team had his back as much as he had theirs.

Now with the season quickly approaching, the team preparing to fly to Haos for spring training, DK was ready to bring that trophy back home in October. He’d take his team there this year, his sights were set on the playoffs like he announced after the game they lost at the end of September.

“You know, you win, you lose, what matters is what you do with it. We lost, but we got hit hard this month. All we can hope is that Cheol has a fast, but necessary recovery, that he takes all the time he needs so we can have him back in the cages with us in March, but until then we all need to put in work. I hope my team knows that we tried our best, we did what we could with what we were given, but the Bull’s were better. We’ll be back next year, I know we will. I’m disappointed for sure, but I’m going to get some much needed family time started early this offseason. We’ll be back.”

That much needed family time was being spent the same as it always was.

You on top of Mingyu in the backseat of his Rolls Royce while his driver speeds you away to his penthouse a half hour away from the Lions stadium, and fifteen minutes from the club you tumbled out of. The time was spent latched to the boys front, tugging at his hair, lips devouring lips, teeth clashing, skin biting, until you were at his place and he nearly carried you inside away from the camera flashes awaiting you there, stumbled into the elevator, pressed you to the wall and slipped a hand between your legs toying with you until the door slid open.

LIfting you into his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist, he carried you through his spacey halls with portraits of the team and himself along the walls, his decadence hanging around commemorating his success and all of his achievements. Taking you into his bedroom, a room with the darkest blue walls and furniture made of the cleanest, darkest wood, he laid you flat on your back, but not before he slipped your dress over your head with a happy hum as he found barely anything beneath it. 

The time was spent well, you’d say. Mingyu marking your skin, using you as his own, taking you to the peak of highest pleasure again, and again, and again, as many times as you’d allow him to do so. For hours on end you’d be here, or his plush couch in the living room, or the kitchen counters, or the bathtub with jets along the wall with floor length windows, or the stand in shower big enough for four people, or against the door, or his backseat where it’d start all over again.

You left Delo, not on your own accord, but by force. Much needed family time, it made you laugh at the television when you’d seen it. You haven’t seen your parents in months, and DK only showed face in times like this, when his own success faltered. So, you left the city you were falling in love in- you mean with- you were shipped up to Iloa with your brother who moved you into his place, and you immediately sought out a distraction, but this distraction found you.

You’ve known of Mingyu, Mingyu has known of you. Both of you public figures somehow in your own ways, it was hard not to. Mingyu’s been on the Lions as long as DK has, though Mingyu came up through the organization like Seungcheol, and your brother was traded to the team because his first year in the MLB on the Cyclones didn’t cut it. That manager, to this day, will still mumble his regrets over losing your brother, how he gave him up before he even gave him a chance.

The two became friends, Mingyu and your brother, two newbies starting the same year, young, bright eyed, excited. You’ll never forget that first game, you were around sixteen years old, your brother a baby himself, just eighteen and the Lions newest starting pitcher. Mingyu, sharing an age with your brother, joined him in the postgame interview, both boys questioned on what it felt like starting in, and winning their first MLB game here at home in Iloa.

Mingyu and his family joined yours in celebration that night, after the team held something celebratory of their own for one another and their two outstanding rookies. It didn’t take long at all for your families to mesh, your father, a baseball player himself, one who played for the Cyclones for the entirety of his twenties, knew how to make and keep friends. He also drew a crowd wherever he went, as did your mother, the author of a six book series that exploded ten years ago after her debut novel had been published. There were now talks of her series becoming a movie, six, seven or eight films long, with whispers of prestigious actors being cast as the characters she’s created.

His family became friends quickly, Mingyu’s parents of wealthy status as well finding it easy to fit into the life your parents were given, or, well, created, you supposed, in some way. Your parents and his, they spent weekends flying around to different countries, spending time at their homes on the beach in Haos, dining at places in Iloa and visiting the Cyclones stadium which made your brother uncomfortable. When they weren’t shopping they were on a plane. When they weren’t eating small portioned meals at extraordinary prices they were sipping wine on coasts or yachts.

When you weren’t at home with your brother now, you were here in Mingyu’s bed. When you weren’t intrigued by the dinner your parents bought everyone that very first night, you were happily distracted by Mingyu’s ankles that nudged yours beneath the marble table.

Sixteen and eighteen, two ages full of different levels and reasoning of excitement.

That night he left you with nothing more than a quick wink, having said but two words to you within all the hours spent together.

Since then there were years of getting to know one another through events at the ballpark and your attendance at games, until you turned eighteen and the messaging started through Instagram till he got around to getting your number. It all grew into mindless flirting, teasing, an unspoken thing between the two of you, a baseball player with a name on everyone's lips and a socialite who wouldn’t even call herself a socialite, but the sister of one of his closest friends who just so happened to have visibility through him and her parents.

Mingyu didn’t care though, at least, it didn’t seem like it. DK never came up in conversation, he asked you questions about yourself, he wanted to know what went on in Isla’s brain, not anyone else's. He didn’t chalk up your relationship existing because of who your family was or where you came from, he liked you for you. And even though most nights you laid wide awake with heavy breath heaving from your lips, a hand shoved between your thighs with another boy on your mind, you figured you probably liked him too, your distraction.

DK’s ceilings stretched fifteen feet high from the foyer all the way into the kitchen and dining rooms, then they opened up above the living room, the sitting room, the bar, a stifling thirty feet above one's head. Each bathroom was adequate, normal ceilings for a normal room, unless you were in any of the seven on the second floor, then they towered up to the skylights one could admire the sun or stars out of while lying in any of the jacuzzi tubs. The five on the first floor were only blessed with twelve feet of height, but each bidet was certainly a treat.

The front door, garage door, and backdoor were all made of the same heavy oak wood, stained the deepest black standing out along the stark white walls on the outside of his home. Windows of the same style, some stood tall from floor to fifteen foot ceiling while others rounded out and grew smaller, picky about how much sunlight they’d let leak into certain rooms. Floors of marble, the finest hardwood, stunning stones, each room was different, not two the same. He built this place from the ground up, ensuring there would be plenty of space for his family to fit in it.

A father who favored his former team, a mother who’d steal his spotlight the second a book of hers was mentioned, and a sister, you, Moon Isla, who stumbled through the front door, heaving it open because it was utterly too heavy, hungover as fuck from the night before. An act you followed through with now, stumbling through the doorway after pushing it open with so much force your equilibrium had been thrown off.

Bare feet hitting the cool stone set into the floor of his foyer, the heels hooked around two fingers flew from your hold and hit the floor with a clatter, the sound echoing into the empty space above your head and into the vacant halls winding every which way from left to right, forward and back. Nudging the door shut with your backside, laying your head on the wood as you walked backward, it clicked into place with another booming sound into your polished marble, sparkling clean surroundings. 

“Jagiya?” Shouted from the second floor, his voice traveling down the half winding stairs set to your left, extending up to the balcony that looked down into the foyer, a small bar and sitting room beneath the staircase. Groaning, knowing your clothes were disheveled, your hair was thrown up into a bun hanging off the side of your head and your makeup was on Mingyu’s sheets, with a short moment to close your eyes, you prepared yourself for the brotherly lesson you were about to receive. “Is that you?”

He came out of his bedroom. The thirty foot wide and thirty foot long bedroom that lived above the front door and extended over the front patio, positioned halfway over the bar to your left as well. With a bag on one shoulder, your tiny purse around your other wrist, a sweater in one hand and your phone in the other, you lifted it, let it read your face, and sighed at the time. One thirty in the afternoon. He had just come back from the Lions stadium.

Sure enough, as he reached the bottom of the stairs, his own bare feet touching the cold floor, you scoped him out head to toe. Black hair sweaty and stringy hung in front of his forehead and the Under Armour took to his muscled form like saran wrap. Looking you over, he analyzed you just the same, both your cheeks flushed for different reasons. 

Blinking his bright brown eyes, he took a breath before he asked, “Were you with Mingyu at least?” 

In an instant you dropped everything in your hands, sulking your shoulders so your bag could slide off your being and hit the floor with everything else in a pile. Narrowing your eyes, tipping your chin down, DK tried to not shrivel beneath your glare.

“Yes,” you hissed, gritting your teeth. “I was with Mingyu. And my name is Isla.”

He sighed, placed his hands to his hips and glanced at the heap your belongings made on his floor. “How many times are we gonna have the same argument?”

Taking your hands to your hair, you pushed yourself off the door and started for the stairs, flashing him a cheeky smile as you passed by him. “Until you get it right. I call you DK, DK. My name is Isla, so call me Isla.” Stepping up the first stair, his words whirled you back around.

“Our parents named you Jagiya,” he said as he turned around, that brotherly mocking tone hiding somewhere behind it. “I called you Jagiya for sixteen years.”

Taking the bun out of your hair, last nights blow out tried to come to life, but after hours of being tossed around it fell limp below your shoulders. “Our parents named you Seokmin, I called you Seokmin for sixteen years.”

“I signed with the MLB, Jagi, I was told to change it.” The way he shook his head around made you want to laugh.

Thinning your lips into a line, you shrugged. “And I grew up very public, very fast.” His being relaxed, his shoulders setting backward, your words dismantling any defense he had lined up. “With a ridiculous name like Jagiya, I had to change it.” Waiting three seconds more, your brother stumped, your lips lit up with success.

“We’re leaving here in a few hours,” his voice softened. Coming toward the stairs, he rested a hand on the railing and glanced toward your things on the floor once more. “Just, please, be ready. I’m not leaving you here, and I don’t plan on arriving late. That means we have to be on time.”

“Okay,” you pushed from your lips in a whisper, exchanging something with him only your pairs of eyes would be able to understand. Within the quiet a sinking feeling took over your stomach, your brother able to manipulate every thought, every feeling that coursed through you. “I’m sorry,” you blurted out, the words spewing as if they were painful.

DK scrunched up his face, his cheeks crinkling by his eyes. Shaking his head, he said, “Don’t apologize… Isla. You were with Mingyu. You were… safe.”

You whispered, “And drunk,” quickly, and your brother pressed his lips together.

Shifting his body around, his neck cracking along with his wrist, he looked up at you standing a few inches taller than him on the step and asked, “But, you stuck with Mingyu, and you ended up here today. I didn’t have to come find you.”

Something you both hope he’ll never have to do again. Throughout last fall and the winter months along the end of the year, he spent a lot of time in cars, driving around the city, making phone calls, dragging Mingyu into the picture which is what pushed the two of you together this time around. After drunken nights at bars, clubs, restaurants around Iloa, you were too incoherent to stay put, to know what you were doing and who you were with. The headlines were nasty, DK wouldn’t let you online the day after a bender, which meant for a while you were MIA on all socials and that many, many text messages went unanswered.

The first one, a weekend that lives beneath your heart in a knot, which is probably in your gut, each time it popped into your mind it threatened to make you sick. Nausea would spike, nerves would invade your veins. Ripped from your best friends, the girls who saw you for you, forced to move into a bedroom down the hall from your brothers on the second floor of his home. Your sorority sisters, the ones who tried, attempted to help you, who saw your literal cries for help behind the liquor giggles and champagne hiccups, you ignored them all.

Those messages, to this day, now that five months have passed, they’ve gone unread. 

Deleted. Archived. Erased.

Names that shoved knives into your back. One name stabbing you in the center of your chest, the pain so sharp it’d make you fill up a glass. 

You weren’t sure what lies they were fed, but you knew they were manipulated into believing whatever that wretched president of ITZ made up. Yeji. A royal bitch. If you had it your way, if the sorority believed in any type of democracy and allowed you to vote, you’d have written Aurora’s name down, one of your sisters who always went out of her way to check on you, you know, when her own shit wasn’t hitting the fan courtesy of The Royal Bitch.

Aside from missing their laughter, their hugs, their support, you longed to know if anyone had figured it out yet. Yeji bought her spot and Aurora threatened her. For years Aurora’s been liked better, more respected, smarter than Yeji in an incredulous amount of ways, the only thing she was missing was the money which Yeji unfortunately had plenty of. As someone with money yourself, and someone with a strategy skilled brain, you worked it out the moment the semester started. They were going to try to ruin Aurora with mind games.

And Yeji, who must’ve been smarter than you made her out to be, supplied you with a generous number of bottles of Grey Goose. Then, she kicked you out. She called up your brother, threatened to plaster your delirious face everywhere for the world to see, and told him to pick you up.

Which is how you landed yourself here, on his step, looking down at him and his post practice self. It was hard to not think of yourself as a burden. After moments like the one you just shared, stupid bickering over nothing that really mattered, not after he’s once rushed you to a hospital because you wouldn’t wake up, it was hard to not feel like you burdened him. Your brother was the epitome of success, of happiness, of achieving a lifelong goal, something you’ve never had. Throughout it all, every crash and burn, every news article, every online post, he’s been willing to greet you with a smile, and he’s never judged you. Never.

As if he could read your mind, he smiled. “You’re making progress,” he said, then shook his head. “I know you hate talking about it, but it’s what we’re doing here. It’s why you’re with me. I want to help you, I’m not handing you over to our parents. You’re staying with me, you’re coming with me. So, please, be packed and ready by five. I’d like to be on a beach with my sister and my friends in Haos tomorrow.”

Turning from him with a small smile on your face, you hurried up the stairs and into your bedroom to do just that, pack, because god only knows what you’ve been doing within the weeks leading up to this, but if one were to guess, and they said Mingyu, they’d be right.

5;47 p.m.

[thirteen<3]; Tell me you’re in that car with him.

Legs crossed over the leather in the backseat of DK’s G-Class Benz, you flip your freshly washed, freshly styled hair over to the other side and smile out the tinted windows. He couldn’t see you, but you could see him. Towering over his team around him, a baseball cap on his head, Ray-Bans perched on his nose, he waited outside the sliding doors of the Iloa airport with a hand on his hip and his phone lifted to his face in the other.

A jean jacket wrapped around his shoulders, showcasing how wide he really was, the broadness of his shoulders simply adding to his largeness. Matching jeans that fit a bit tighter today, he was perfection. Put together, deliciously styled perfection. The cameras across the road thought so too, the flashes lit him up and gentle shouts of his name leaked through the cracks in the doors of the car that came to a stop at the curb.

[you]; find out for yourself :)

He whirled around as soon as the message was read, brown tinted sunglasses lined with gold sliding down the tip of his nose. Focused brown eyes latched onto the Benz, and you couldn’t help but giggle as he bit down on his bottom lip.

Your brother, his driver, and members of his team leapt from the car, working in a hurry, pulling bags from the trunk, bags from the second car that pulled up behind the one you two were in. The clicks of the cameras and flashes amplified by a thousand the second DK was spotted, and the shouts that were once whispers flooded the property, their volume growing tenfold. One photo of DK giving them his infamous toothy grin and their mortgages were paid off. Thankfully he didn’t play into the whole paparazzi thing, or random reporters, especially with you right behind him.

Popping your door open after sliding across the backseat to exit through the side opposite where the crowd of losers waited for you to show your face, your phone vibrated once, then twice. The notification of a news outlet showing up at the top of your screen while you watched Mingyu’s typing bubbles appear in your thread. Reports were already hitting the media.

‘Lions head off to Spring Training eager to meet their newest…’

The headline was cut off, too long to fit in the notification. It’d get lost in the plethora of stories your phone would accumulate by the time you landed anyway. Besides, it was your everyday life, you didn’t need reporters or stories or headlines to tell you what was happening.

[thirteen<3]; Get over here right now. Gonna take a bite out of you.

Smiling at his message you left the car and let one of your brother's team members close it for you after he handed you your carry-on that fit perfectly over your shoulder. Locking your phone you slid it into the back pocket of your bell bottom jeans and started for Mingyu, your mile high, sappy smiling loverboy. Your brother cut you off before you could get too far, stepping up onto the curb, face to face with you, and he wasn’t wearing a happy one.

Before you left the house, right after you had done what you were told, packed up your things into three different suitcases and met him at the front door at four thirty, he found it the best time to suddenly play Dad. For over twenty minutes he talked to you, while you weakly argued back, and explained why he needed you to try to keep a low profile while the team practiced in Haos. 

Slightly offended, the feeling of burdening him washing over your entire being once again, his very long winded, very eerily vague reasons as to why he needed you to stay on the downlow… It barely made sense. 

For your safety, for your protection, for your public sanity.

He started every reason with it, that it was for you, and all about you. It all went in one ear and out the other, because all you heard was for me.

For my public image, for my team's image, my award winning team, me and my team's incredibly successful careers, the reputation we have and what we as a team stand for.

It was clear you didn’t reflect what the Iloa Lions projected onto the field, the media, to the world, the city of Iloa. You were the scrappy little sister, the baggage attached to a clean cut brother that news outlets referred to him as not only the Lions saving grace, but yours as well.

At the end of the day you’d huff and puff and admit that yes, without DK you really don’t know where you would be, but to have it all shoved in your face on the daily, and to know that he knows it too, it stung.

“I couldn’t speak on this before, legally,” he began, his voice soft, barely audible over the reporters across the street. “But now that we’re here, I can tell you, and I want to tell you, ‘cause I don’t want to blindside you-”

“Deeks,” you cut him clean off, holding up a hand. Squinting, you tilted your head and hit with a sarcastic pout. “I’m trying to keep a low profile, can you not speak to me so forwardly in public? I’d appreciate it.”

“Jagi,” he sighed as you passed by him, a member of his team in all black behind you. “Don’t do this, I need to-”

Whipping yourself around, keeping a smile on your face because now the reporters were shouting your name, you flashed him eyes to emphasize the venom in your tone. “Isla.”

You weren’t planning to walk into Mingyu’s arms, or let him kiss you on the top of your head that just barely reached his shoulders, the idea was to obtain him on the walk by and have him follow you inside. After your exchange with your brother and the way dread grew on his expression, knowing exactly what was flowing through your mind, it all went to shit.

Hurrying over to Mingyu, both your smiles growing into something incredibly cheesy, you leapt into his outstretched arms, and without a care, pressed your glossed lips to his while he lifted you off the ground. As expected, cameras and voices went wild. His muscled arms put you back on your feet but they stayed wrapped around you, guiding you inside through the sliding doors into the heated walls of the airport that was quiet for an evening in February. While his whispers of I missed you tickled your ears, you peered over your shoulder for a glimpse of your brother, but you couldn’t find him.

“And then, he told me I shouldn’t spend too much time, like, out, I guess,” you mumbled, leaning over Mingyu where he sat in the chair at the gate beside you. His long legs were stretched out in front of him, his ankles and custom Nike’s crossed. Both of your hands toyed with one of his, your fingers drastically different in size. He could hold onto both of your hands with one of his.

“That’s unfair, don’t you think?” His voice was soft, easing the tension you held within your chest. “We’re going to be spending so much time out, how can he tell you not to do the same?”

Popping your brows, a tiny laugh escaped you. “It’s so I don’t ruin the image you guys curate for yourselves while you’re here.” Mingyu sprung forward, his face screwing up in disbelief. His lips parted, but you cut him off before he could say anything, pressing a hand to his firm chest. “Gyu, wait, no, he didn’t say that.” The boy relaxed, using his other hand to grab yours, lifting it to press a kiss to your manicured fingers. “He just… implied it, I guess. It’s how he made me feel.”

“I’m sorry that happened,” he whispered, bobbing his head. “You’re about to be twenty two, I don’t see why he’s so strung up about you doing these things.” Flickering your eyes to his, tearing your gaze off his insanely chiseled form, you could read every through behind every blink. 

Doing these things.

Mingyu took care of you after every night out now. He’d buy you drinks, share them with you, then take care of you when the party was done. Never once did he complain, never once did he mention how it was ruining his image. 

But, DK never said that. Those words never came out of his mouth.

“Your life is yours, Isla,” Mingyu said, brushing his soft lips over the skin of your knuckles. “And I’ve been having so much fun sharing it with you.” Tugging you closer, closing the gap between you, Mingyu nudged your noses together and gave you a smile, your eyes fluttering shut. His lips ghosted yours, warm breath caressing your skin as he whispered, “What I asked you, nights ago, it still stands.” Something related to nerves sparked in your heart, and you attempted to pull yourself back, but he kept you firm in place. “I know it scares you, trust me. I know you, Moon Isla.”

“Mingyu, I just…” Blinking up at him, his eyes flickered to your lips and he bobbed his head.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, then kissed you for a minute too long. The team began to board the plane and nausea pooled in your gut. You were to be seated beside your brother. “I’ll be here when you’re ready. You’re still mine whether or not the label is there.”

home;run masterlist | talk to me | ao3

you do not have permission to copy or translate my works without my consent.

[stephstars08]

Falling Apart

Austin!Elvis Presley x Reader

Warnings: Angst, Mention of Drugs being taken, Drugs, Mention of Drinking Alcohol, Divorce, Depressed Elvis, Yelling/Fighting, Elvis having a meltdown on stage, Colonel trying to manipulate Reader, Mention of Elvis collapsing, Fluff at the end, and Maybe some Grammar Errors. (Sorry if I forgot any!!!)

Summary: Due the Colonel making Elvis take a bunch of drugs to keep him energized to perform, it’s making Elvis completely fall apart. It get’s even worse when Pricilla packs all of her stuff up and leaves Elvis taking their daughter with her. After Elvis’s dad’s assistant Y/N hears the news she does everything she can to help Elvis pull himself back together.

Word Count: 2,162

Author’s Note: FINALLY MY FIRST ELVIS MOVIE STORY IS HERE! I’ve been waiting for basically a year to finally get a plot for a story for one of my favorite movies of all time! This isn’t just my first Austin/Elvis story but this is also my first story of the new year so I hope you all enjoy! If any of you want to you can read this as Elvis x Reader or Austin!Elvis x Reader! It’s up to you!!

Y/N Y/L/N is the assistant to Vernon Presley who is of course the father of the one and only Elvis Presley. Vernon is in charge of Presley Enterprises. Vernon hired Y/N to be his assistant when Elvis came home from the army. Due to all of the films Elvis was staring in at the time it was getting too hard for Vernon to take care of everything by himself so that’s why he hired Y/N.

When Y/N got the job, she wasn’t expecting to be around Elvis so much. Of course, Y/N isn’t complaining since Elvis has brought her in with open arms and so did his wife Priscilla. Elvis has thanked Y/N so much for helping his father out.

Y/N would be lying if she said that she has never had a crush on the heartthrob. When Elvis first started out Y/N immediately grew a crush on him, but that crush did fade away after she graduated from high school and when Elvis went overseas to be in the army. But as time went on that crush returned and the more, she was around Elvis, the more the crush grew. Y/N wished she didn’t feel that way about Elvis since he’s married to Priscilla, and she is really good friends with Priscilla as well. But those thoughts just flood her mind whenever she is with him.

Y/N loved everything about her job except having to work with the Colonel who is the manager of Elvis. Ever since the first day she met the Colonel she knew he wasn’t very fond of her. She hated being around him since she always feels uncomfortable around him, and she always gets bad vibes from him.

But Y/N didn’t see the Colonel’s dark side till Elvis started to play a residency in Las Vegas.

********************

Y/N was at her apartment getting ready to meet Vernon at a business meeting. Right before she walked out the door, she heard her phone ring. When she answered the phone, she heard Vernon’s voice.

“Hi, I was just about to walk out the door to meet you.” Y/N said into the phone. “Priscilla left Elvis this morning.” She heard Vernon tell her which made her heart drop. “Oh my gosh.” Y/N said in a shocked tone. Even though she’s shocked by the news she knew the reason why Priscilla left. “She moved all of her stuff out and she took Lisa with her.” She heard Vernon tell her. She could hear the sadness in his voice. “How is Elvis?” Y/N asked in the phone. That was the only question that was coming to her mind. “He’s a complete mess.” She heard him tell her which broke her heart.

“Can you go to Graceland and just stay there with him till I come back from the meeting?” Vernon asked her. “I just really don’t want him to be alone right now.” He added. “Of course, I can.” Y/N answered into the phone.

“Thank you so much dear.” She heard him say. “I’ll talk to you soon.” He added which made her smile a little. “You’re welcome. I’ll talk to you soon.” She told him through the phone. After they said their goodbyes Y/N hung up the phone.

********************

Y/N parked her car in front of the big Graceland mansion. She turned the car off and grabbed her purse from the passenger seat. She got out of the car closing the driver's seat door. As Y/N made her way to the front door she wrapped the strap of her purse around her shoulder.

When she got to the door, she rang the doorbell and waited but no one answered so she rang the doorbell again but still no answer. Y/N put her hand on the doorknob and twisted it which made the door open. Y/N walked inside the mansion. “Elvis!” Y/N called out as she closed the door. She looked around and noticed that things that belonged to Priscilla were gone. Y/N let out a sigh she she walked into the dining room and put her keys and purse down onto the table.

“Elvis!” Y/N called out again as she walked over to the bottom of the staircase and again, she got no response. She knew Elvis had to be home because where else would he go. Y/N walked up the staircase and right when she got to the top, she heard whimpering. Y/N walked down the hallway and stopped in front of the door to what was the bedroom Elvis once shared with Priscilla. That was where the whimpering was coming from. She was going to knock on the door, but something was telling her to just walk in.

When she opened the door, she saw a bunch of medicine bottles on the floor. Y/N walked in and at first, she didn’t see Elvis till she walked past the king-sized bed. Elvis was sitting on the floor crying into his knees that were hiding his face. It broke Y/N’s heart seeing Elvis in this kind of state. “Elvis.” Y/N said in a soft voice. Elvis looked up at her with his eyes filled with tears and his cheeks soaked with tears running down them. “What are you doing?” Elvis asked her. She could hear how broken he was in his voice. “Your father wanted me to be here with you till he comes back from his business meeting.” Y/N told him. Elvis didn’t say anything back. He just looked away from her.

Y/N sat down next to him. “I’m so sorry about what happened.” Y/N told him with sincere in her voice. “Why are you saying sorry to me?” Elvis asked still not looking at her. “What do you mean?” Y/N asked him. “I’m the reason why she left. She said I’m like a zombie.” Elvis told her as tears continued to stream down his face like a waterfall. “Those pills are what turn you like that.” Y/N told him which made him finally look back at her.

She can’t just keep jumping around it anymore. When he’s on those pills it’s like he’s a completely different person. Those pills are making him fall apart.

“The pills. They just keep controlling me. It’s like they have taken over me.” Elvis told her as he started to cry harder if that was even possible. “I know.” Y/N started. “That’s why I’m here. I’m going to help you get through this.” Y/N told him looking him straight into his eyes. Elvis believed her as he stared back into her eyes. “Okay.” Elvis said in a soft voice.

“I’m going to go downstairs into the kitchen to get you some water.” Y/N told him but before she could stand up, he grabbed her hand. “Please, don’t leave me. Please stay with me.” Elvis said to her in a pleading tone. “Okay! Okay, I’ll stay here with you.” Y/N told him in reassurance. Y/N wrapped her arm around him and rubbed her hand up and down his arm as he cried.

They stayed like that till Vernon came home.

********************

As a lot of time pasted Y/N kept her promise to Elvis. She’s been looking after him as much as she could. Even though Y/N has been doing her best to take care of Elvis, he’s still not the man he once was.

The only time Elvis looks happy is when he is on stage in front of his fans. The only people that knew what he was going through were the people he sees every day.

Elvis was playing another show in Vegas. Y/N watching him perform from the side of the stage with Jerry by her side. “You’ve been very quiet this evening.” Jerry said to her which earned him a glare from her. “You know damn well why I’ve been quiet.” Y/N told him in a stern tone. “The Colonel came before I could call you and right away, he made Dr. Nick shoot him up with drugs.” Jerry explained to her. “I’m not mad at you, okay!” Y/N told him with a heavy sigh. “He should be in a hospital bed but instead that monster decided to make the decision to shoot him up with the same drugs that is what made him collapse in the first place.” Y/N said with anger in her tone.

Jerry saw the tears forming in her eyes, so he brought her in for a hug. He knows about the feelings she has for Elvis, so he knows it’s hard seeing him like this. As Y/N returned the hug she tried her best to keep her tears in.

They released from the hug when they heard Elvis singing to Suspicious Minds with no music. Y/N could sense right away that something was wrong, and it was just going to get worse. As Elvis went on a rant about how this was going to be his last show in Vegas the Colonel immediately made his way up to the stage.

“Pull the curtain down!” Colonel told someone in a demanding tone which made Y/N and Jerry look at him. “What is going on here.” Colonel asked Jerry in a stern tone. Jerry took a glance at Elvis and then back at the Colonel. “I think he wants to know that, too.” Jerry told him.

When Elvis saw the Colonel started to act even more out of character. Elvis was having a melt down and it was starting to scare Y/N a little since she’s never seen him act like this. As the curtain started to fall Elvis started to yell at the Colonel. When Elvis said, “You’re Fired!” to the Colonel Y/N felt her heart rate speed up.

As the Colonel walked closer to him, he just kept saying “you’re fired” louder and louder each time. “YOU’RE FIRED!” Elvis screamed into his microphone which made everyone, and everything go silent. Everyone looked at Elvis with shock as the Colonel looked at him with sadness. “You’re fired.” Elvis said more calm and not into the microphone.

When he dropped his microphone, it made Y/N jump by the loud noise the mic made when it hit the stage. She watched him turn away from the Colonel and walk off the stage.

********************

Y/N decided to wait an hour before going up to Elvis’s room to check on him. Y/N was walking down the hallway to the elevator when she felt someone grab her left wrist. Y/N turned around to see that it was the Colonel who grabbed her wrist.

“Let me go.” Y/N told him in a demanding tone. “You go up there and tell him to take me back.” Colonel told her in the same tone she used. He knew she was going upstairs to talk to Elvis. Y/N let out a scoff as she pulled her wrist out of his grip. “You are the reason why he’s falling apart!” Y/N told him. “You’re the reason why he’s hooked on all of those drugs and you’re the reason why Pricilla and Lisa left him!” Y/N added as she looks at him with a fiery look in her eyes.

“Do it or you’re fired!” Colonel told her in a warning tone. “You’re not the boss of me and you never were.” Y/N said not back down to him. “You stay the hell away from him!” Y/N told him in a warning voice and walked away from him.

********************

When Y/N got to Elvis’s room before she could knock on the door it opened to reveal Elvis. “When I heard footsteps, I figured that it was you coming to check on me.” Elvis told her letting her inside. Y/N could tell that he was more calmed down then what he was just an hour ago. “I was going to come up here right away, but I decided to let you cool off.” Y/N told him while he closed the door.

“I’m sorry that you had to see me like that. I guess I just lost control.” Elvis told her turning around to face her but didn’t look at her. “Elvis, you have nothing to be sorry about.” Y/N told him. She put one of her hands onto one of his cheeks which made his eyes meet hers. “It was the drugs and that shot of alcohol didn’t help either but that’s what made you lose it.” Y/N reassured him.

“But what you did right was you set yourself free from that monster.” Y/N told him stroking his cheek lightly with her thumb. “I didn’t want him taking you away from me, too.” Elvis told her.

Before she could say anything, Elvis’s lips connected with hers. Y/N immediately returned the kiss. They continued to kiss until they had to pull away for air.

“I think I’m falling in love with you.” Elvis confessed to her. Y/N’s lips curved up into a smile. “Me too.” Y/N told him and leaned back up to reconnect her lips with his soft lips again.

[lunarbreaksblog]

The Witcher x Witch!F!Healer!reader

Geralt of Rivia

He wasn't going to go near you, never trusted witches really but like he never trusted them, he was compelled to you like a moth to a light.

When he saw that you could heal people, he knew you were a rare being. Witches never dabbled in health and healing. But you did.

He asks you why, you simply say that you wish to help people. This is the start a grand friendship between you and the Witcher. You help him and he helps you.

You always laughed at his dry jokes. You didn't have much company really, you were shy and kept to yourself. Knew to keep yourself away from the village near by

Yennefer of Vengerberg

Becomes quite jealous of you when Geralt talks of you to her, she felt that you were going to manipulate or take Geralt away from her.

However, those assumptions quickly diminish when she sees you. Then to hear that you are a healer that makes you quite a rare thing to be treasured in the continent.

She decides that she'll take you under her wing, not to teach magic but to teach you how to handle yourself since she could see that you were bad at human interaction.

You would be dead if you had to be a royal mage to a king.

Maybe she'll ask Geralt if they could both take you to bed. She just knows you'll be even more beautiful.

Triss merigold

Absolutely adores you! She's only seen a handful of healers in her life so far. You, though, are the most greatest healer so far.

You have compassion which is suprisely rare for healers.

Her and you get along quite well. You too have regular meet ups to talk about everything that's going on in the continent. She helps you also get better at your people skills.

Iorveth

He's not one known to be gentle with humans, especially magic wielding humans. In his lifetime, all magic wielders have been egotistical. However, you are different.

It agitates him to no end to see you healing his troops, he feels like his manipulating you but he can't shake off the feeling that maybe you are the one manipulating him actually.

It's kinda like a one-sided angry staring match and with you being very uncomfortable.

Vernon roche

Like Iorveth, he doesn't trust you at first but after you make him some herbal tea that reluctantly drank thanks to Ves. He eases up on you.

Somehow you made his back not have that ache that's been bothering him for a while.

Starts looking out for you and just generally helps you when you need it

You've wormed yourself into his heart but he won't show it

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Dumbledore is a Manipulative Piece of Shit: Part 4/?

(part 1, part 2, part 3)

He knew and allowed Harry's abuse

Well, this is a pleasant subject, isn't it? Harry's abuse at the Dursleys' hands. And the worst part about it is that no adult in his life really seems to care.

I'll talk about the Weasley parents in a different post. This one is dedicated to Dumbledore and how he always knew about Harry's abuse and allowed it to persist. For years. Not just once, Harry started Hogwarts. No, I think Dumbledore knew what was going on at Number 4 Privet Drive long before Harry stepped foot in Diagon Alley.

And more importantly, I can prove it.

So, I'll cover my evidence according to the order of the quotes that appear in the books since there is quite a bit to cover.

And yes, I know Dumbledore calls the Dursleys out in Half-Blood Prince:

“You did not do as I asked. You have never treated Harry as a son. He has known nothing but neglect and often cruelty at your hands. The best that can be said is that he has at least escaped the appalling damage you have inflicted upon the unfortunate boy sitting between you.”

(Half-Blood Prince, page 55)

But this scene is the definition of "too little, too late" considering how long this has been going on.

So, let's start:

“Nah. Dumbledore gave me the day off yesterday ter fix it. ‘course, he shoulda sacked me instead — anyway, got yeh this.…” It seemed to be a handsome, leather-covered book. Harry opened it curiously. It was full of wizard photographs. Smiling and waving at him from every page were his mother and father. “Sent owls off ter all yer parents’ old school friends, askin’ fer photos… knew yeh didn’ have any…d’yeh like it?”

(Philosopher's Stone, page 218)

Hagrid can't keep a secret to save his life, we know that, and he isnt the brightest, with all his good intentions. Yet, even he noticed something's wrong with Harry's home. He knows Harry doesn't have photos of his parents, he knows he never got any gifts.

"But that's not Dumbledore,"

True, but Hagrid tells Dumbledore everything. So if Hagrid knows, Dumbledore knows.

“I told you, I didn’t — but it’ll take too long to explain now — look, can you tell them at Hogwarts that the Dursleys have locked me up and won’t let me come back, and obviously I can’t magic myself out, because the Ministry’ll think that’s the second spell I’ve done in three days, so —” “Stop gibbering,” said Ron. “We’ve come to take you home with us.”

(Chamber of Secrets, page 31)

“It was cloudy, Mum!” said Fred. “You keep your mouth closed while you’re eating!” Mrs. Weasley snapped. “They were starving him, Mum!” said George. “And you!” said Mrs. Weasley, but it was with a slightly softened expression that she started cutting Harry bread and buttering it for him.

(Chamber of Secrets, page 39)

Both these quotes from Chamber of Secrets show Fred, George, Ron, and Mrs. Weasley clearly knew what was happening. That Harry was being locked up and starved.

Harry really, never kept his abuse a secret and is quite open about informing anyone who'd listen to him about it. He is just used to it being brushed off as something unfortunate that nothing can be done about. The Weasleys, McGonagall, Dumbledore, Remus, and the entire Order of the Phoenix treat it as such.

In OOP, Harry references needing to duck from Vernon's beatings as a joke to Ron and Hermione. He wasn't keeping it a secret.

On the same vane:

She had no idea that Harry was not following the diet at all. The moment he had got wind of the fact that he was expected to survive the summer on carrot sticks, Harry had sent Hedwig to his friends with pleas for help … Hagrid, the Hogwarts gamekeeper, had obliged with a sack full of his own homemade rock cakes. (Harry hadn’t touched these; he had had too much experience of Hagrid’s cooking.) Mrs. Weasley, however, had sent the family owl, Errol, with an enormous fruitcake and assorted meat pies.

“Why didn’t you tell me you’re a Squib?” Harry asked Mrs. Figg, panting with the effort to keep walking. “All those times I came round your house — why didn’t you say anything?” “Dumbledore’s orders. I was to keep an eye on you but not say anything, you were too young. I’m sorry I gave you such a miserable time, but the Dursleys would never have let you come if they’d thought you enjoyed it. It wasn’t easy, you know. . . . But oh my word,”

(Goblet of Fire, page 28)

Harry wrote everyone he knew he was being starved. He wrote Hagrid and the Weasleys, and they all sent him food. The adults sent him food without bothering to ask him the important question: "Why aren't you being fed?"

(Order of the Pheonix, page 22)

This is the most damning evidence against Dumbledore.

He knew. He knew how Harry was treated his entire childhood because he had someone spy on him for years.

Mrs. Figg knew how Harry was treated by the Dursleys. She calls it: "miserable". She knew.

And she was sent there on Dumbledore's orders, meaning she was a spy. because let's be real, a squib, who can't do magic and doesn't own a gun can't do anything to protect Harry. She can only be there to spy. To report everything to Dumbledore.

This proves, more than any other quote here, how okay Dumbledore is with Harry suffering at the hands of the Dursleys.

Next moment he jumped as the lock gave a loud click and his door swung open. Harry stood motionless, staring through the open door at the dark upstairs landing, straining his ears for further sounds, but none came. He hesitated for a moment and then moved swiftly and silently out of his room to the head of the stairs. His heart shot upward into his throat. There were people standing in the shadowy hall below, silhouetted against the streetlight glowing through the glass door; eight or nine of them, all, as far as he could see, looking up at him.

(Order of the Pheonix, page 46)

The entire Order was there, at Number 4, Privet Drive. They've been following Harry since he got there. Tonks has seen Harry's bedroom. I don't think they missed something is definitely wrong. (I think this is why they tell the Dursleys off at the end of the fifth book and Dumbledore again in the sixth because someone else finally knew and Dumbledore had no choice but to address it)

And to make sure the Order is aware something's wrong between him and the Dursleys (that being an understatement), Harry outright tells Lupin:

“Excellent,” said Lupin, looking up as Tonks and Harry entered. “We’ve got about a minute, I think. We should probably get out into the garden so we’re ready. Harry, I’ve left a letter telling your aunt and uncle not to worry —” “They won’t,” said Harry. “That you’re safe —” “That’ll just depress them.” “— and you’ll see them next summer.” “Do I have to?” Lupin smiled but made no answer.

(Order of the Pheonix, page 54)

Harry makes it very clear the Dursleys don't care for his safety and that he never wants to return to literally everyone he can.

Why then? Why would Dumbledore want Harry abused?

“She’s evil,” said Harry flatly. “Twisted.” “She’s horrible, yes, but . . . Harry, I think you ought to tell Dumbledore your scar hurt.” It was the second time in two days he had been advised to go to Dumbledore and his answer to Hermione was just the same as his answer to Ron. “I’m not bothering him with this. Like you just said, it’s not a big deal. It’s been hurting on and off all summer — it was just a bit worse tonight, that’s all —” “Harry, I’m sure Dumbledore would want to be bothered by this —” “Yeah,” said Harry, before he could stop himself, “that’s the only bit of me Dumbledore cares about, isn’t it, my scar?” “Don’t say that, it’s not true!”

(Order of the Pheonix, page 277)

Harry said it best here: "for his scar"

In the previous posts, I covered how desperate Dumbledore was at the end of the war for a win, so much so, he might've forged a prophecy. And I explained he needed Sirius Black out of the picture for the same reason he wanted Harry at the Dursleys and wanted him mistreated — confident boys with a good support network and emotional regulation don't make very good martyrs.

In part 2, I mentioned how Dumbledore knew since the night the Potters died that Harry is likely a Horcrux. He has been manipulating Harry's life since then to achieve his grand plan of killing Voldemort. Even if it comes at the price of Harry having anything resembling a childhood and a life.

[moonlightdreamzz]

THIN APOLOGIES / PART 1

SUMMARY ✰ Mark is your boyfriend, and Vernon is your best friend. You're sick of Mark not treating you right, and Vernon is too. He's also sick of watching from the sidelines when he knows no one can make you happier than him.

PAIRING ✰ Idol!Mark x Idol!Reader x Idol!Vernon

GENRE ✰ ANGST & FLUFF

NOTE ✰ This is actually the first story I ever wrote in my entire life three years ago. It’s my baby. I said to myself, I should rewrite this because the original version was written like the beginner I was at the time. I hope you all enjoy. It’s so good.

© moonlightdreamzz

Blonde by Frank Ocean has been playing on loop for hours over your speakers. For what seems like days, your gaze has been fixed on the candle blazing in front of you. There are numerous reasons why you can't take your eyes off its flame—the first being that if you do, you'll be forced to see all of the decorations and food you prepared for Mark, who has decided for the third time in a row that you aren't important enough to show up for. All of his favorite things are strewn throughout your living room, unused.

The second reason you can't tear your gaze away from the flame is that you're intrigued. The lavender-scented wax is nearing the end of its life after being used for so long. What happens when there’s none left? Does the flame die peacefully? Or does the jar burn and combust, leaving you regretting not extinguishing the flame sooner?

Sick isn't the word to describe how your boyfriend has made you feel over the past few months. You’ve tried to see the positives of his absence right now, but it’s utterly impossible. What could you say to yourself? At least you got ditched in the comfort of your own home this time, Y/N? And not in a restaurant, or a random parking lot his manager drove you to?

Mark always has his excuses of course. His favorite one to use was that you don’t understand the sacrifices it takes to be an idol. When the two of you first began to have issues, you took those words to heart. You know how much he’s sacrificed to be where he is, and you never wanted him to think you were that girl—the girl who got in a relationship with an idol and acted like she didn’t know what she was signing up for. As time passed, you realized that he was just manipulating you.

He’s so good at it too. Or maybe he’s just an incredibly beautiful man, whose doe eyes could convince anybody that he indeed is a good person—he just doesn’t think sometimes. You just wish he’d understand that you indeed do understand his life, it’s simply his unfulfilled promises that are so incredibly frustrating. Summer Walker once said, “it doesn’t matter how hard I I try, I say it nice, yell it out loud, write it down, I’m tired.” She damn sure was right.

“Why plan a date you can’t come to? Just tell me it’ll be awhile before I’ll see you again.”

“I’m sorry, baby. I thought I could make it.”

Your phone begins vibrating on your coffee table infront of you, interrupting the reflecting that you’re tired of doing anyways. You know it’s Mark, back again with whatever his reason is this time for not showing up. For a second, you consider not picking it up. Maybe if he knew what it felt like to be abandoned, he’d stop doing it to you.

You inhale deeply before picking up the phone, surprised at whose name is popping up.

“Vernon?” You whisper to yourself. You feel a brief burst of happiness before immediately shifting to concern due to the time of night.

You and Vernon have been close friends since debut. Some would say it’s because you two are the English speakers of your group, but you only saw that as a plus in your friendship. In reality, Vernon was a quirky, artsy, adorably curious boy, and you always felt this weird urge to…protect him. You figure he was drawn to how you never judged him, and how open you were about what you referred to as “Vernon’s philosophies”. He got your jokes, and you pretended you understood his. The rest is history.

Laughter escapes your throat, scaring you simultaneously as you can’t remember the last time you genuinely found anything funny. In the midst of your giggles, Vernon begins to FaceTime you, and you don’t hesitate to answer the phone.

You can see through the phone how hard he’s trying to be irritated with you, but you also notice how bad he’s failing at doing so. The corner of his pink lips are twitching, and his hooded eyes are melting along with it as neither of you break virtual eye contact with each other. This only makes you laugh even harder. His flawless features don’t hold long, and he’s smirking boyishly now.

“You really think this is funny, huh?”

“Absolutely.”

“Well you know what I think is funny right now? You’re alone right now.” He jokes.

“Ha ha,” You laugh sarcastically, “Am I really this worthless? Like be honest.” You question, a sad smile naturally creeping onto your features as reality attempts to set back in.

Vernon’s eyes roll aggressively, followed by a deep inhale. You know him. He wants to tell you about yourself, and remind you of all the times you promised him you’d have more confidence, just to end up asking him questions like this in the end. It takes him longer than you expected to find kind words to say to you, but you appreciate the fact that he cares enough to spare you, because he wouldn’t do it for anyone else.

“Don’t ever call yourself worthless. He’s the worthless one. If he can’t see how amazing you are,that’s his problem and you shouldn’t just sit here and take it, Y/N. That’s not even like you.”

“But…I love him.”

“Yeah...that always sucks doesn’t it?” He says, almost as if he’s speaking to himself and not you. “I know it’s late, but how about I come keep you company Y/N?. You deserve to be happy for at least a few hours don’t you think?” He chuckles.

He’s no longer looking directly at you. He’s looking at whatever is below him now. Vernon coming to keep you company isn’t a terrible idea. Right now, you so deeply crave to be around someone who actually cares about you, and he’s a clear candidate.

“Yeah! Let me get dressed and I’ll come pick you up.”

“Do really think I’d let you leave your house at this hour to do anything for me?”

“Well, how else are you gonna get here? You don’t have a car and I know your manager is knocked out.”

His boyish smile returns, and you already know a sarcastic comment is closer than around the corner. “You ever heard of uber?”

Now you’re the one rolling your eyes. Was this okay? I mean, the two of you are only friends, but Dispatch nor fans would care about that if they so happened to be stalking you. Him coming over late could turn into a whole situation that you aren’t in the mood to hear about.

“What if you get caught?” You question, although unconsciously do you begin to tidy up in your living room.

“I didn’t.”

He didn’t? Was he already—

Your doorbell ringing interrupts your thoughts.

“Vernon!” You scream through the phone, so many questions running through your mind.

“Are you going to let me in, or are we gonna hangout from outside the door?” He snickers slyly.

You should have known he was up to no good the moment you couldn't identify where he was from his surroundings. All you saw was darkness, but you imagined he was walking around his neighborhood or simply in the dark, because that was so Vernon.

With precision and quickness, you run to the door and open it. You’re still dolled up; face beat like it’s prom night from the date you should’ve been wrapping up by now. Vernon steps in, and for a second it seems like he’s frozen in place. It’s embarrassing, as you often got reactions like this when you dressed up because without an occasion, you were going to choose sweatpants, a graphic tee, and crocs everytime.

“Woah.” He utters.

“What? You just saw me on the phone, Vernon.” You question amusingly before walking to your kitchen to grab him a water.

“Thank you.” He whispers as he takes it out of your hand. “It’s just…you’re so…ugly.”

You know that he thinks you’re going to hit him immediately, so you wait an extra second before punching him lightly in his stomach.

“Shut up!” You laugh, loudly this time. It’s a rare occurrence these days for anything to unconsume your mind of Mark Lee, but Vernon’s doing that with ease right now. “You stay your ass right there and I’ll be back. I should probably take all this off.” You whisper while pointing to you and all your current glory.

“Take your time.” Vernon utters, no funny business in the room now. His smile is gentle as he nudges you towards your room.

You began walking in slow motion down your hallway. “Oh trust me, I will.” It doesn’t take you long to strip down to your natural state. You remove your clothes first, settling on a gray t-shirt you’ve had for years. If you didn’t have company, you’d stop it at that. You decide on some matching gray pajama shorts. The sight of Mark’s clothes in the drawer pisses you off all over again. As you remove your makeup, you can't help but squeal with delight. The wipes that you bought in replacement of the ones that took way too many to clean your face, was worth the investment.

The final touch is your bonnet, which you slip on your head with ease. Your icy feet drag over the hallway floor, a flood of fatigue washing over you.

“Awe.” Vernon coos when you reappear. In the midst of you getting ready for bed, he carefully placed all of the decorations you left out for Mark out of sight in the kitchen. He really wanted to throw it away, but that wasn’t his decision to make. Netflix is waiting for two of you.

“Don’t awe me.” You plop yourself on the couch so hard you’re pretty sure Vernon levitates for a second. You push the button to recline your seat, shutting your eyes right and leaning your head back with a sigh. “Thank you, Vernon.” You say the second you realize he cleaned up your clutter. The room feels less heavy now that you’re not forced to look at your wasted hard work. You feel his gaze on you, but energetically, you can’t interpret why he’s staring at you. You’ll settle on pity.

“Ah, I haven’t done much. Plus, you’ve always been there for me.”

Your comfort turns into guilt, recalling all the times you haven’t been there for your close friend in the midst of you and Mark’s relationship crashing. “Not like this.” You utter.

“Well, no you haven’t surprised me with a big box of donuts and a new video game,” He chuckles, “But you’ve been there for me. A lot of times unknowingly, if I’m being honest. Your presence alone…does a lot for me—I mean, for people.” He rambles. “Plus, I’m one of a kind, anyways.”

A smile creeps onto your features at him teasing you lovingly. You’re beginning to doze off, which typically makes you stare at things unintentionally. Your target tonight is Vernon, who is sitting extremely close to you right now. Your hand begins to entangle themselves in his locs, causing his eyes to flutter in relaxation.

“Enough about me.” You protest softly, “What’s going on in the life of Hansol, hm?”

“Nothing much,” He whispers, enjoying the feeling of your hands running through his scalp. His eyes are stuck on the ceiling, but you know he’s still listening to you. “I’m like a robot these days. I wake up, go to practice, go back to the dorm, sleep, repeat.”

“Why didn’t eat make the list?”

“Oh yeah, that too. But you know me. If I have to pick between sleeping and eating, I’m picking the first option.”

“Oh I know.” You can’t count on one hand the amount of times you scolded Vernon for sleeping too much, even though you do the same thing the second you get a break from schedules.

“Too much of a good thing, is a bad thing, Vernon.”

“Not everything.” He whispers, seemingly dazed out now. You’re ceiling wasn’t that interesting. He has something on his mind, but you’re not sure if you want to pick his brain. If he wanted you to know what’s on his mind, he’d say it. At the same time, you’re his right hand woman, and he’ll just have to deal with you being in his business.

Your eyebrows raise in an interrogative fashion. “Give me an example?”

“You.” He says simply. His eyes lock themselves into yours confidently, but you’re unsure how to feel. What was he trying to say? Is he flirting? Is he just being kind? It’s always been so hard for you to understand him when he gets like this.

“What about me?” Is all you can manage. You’re not sure why you’re nervous now, but you are. You hope you’re not making it obvious that his comment has made your breathing unsteady.

“I’m just saying it’s impossible to get tired of you. ‘Too much’ of you,” he air quotes, “would make the world a much better place.”

“You think so?” You question genuinely. “Mark doesn’t seem to think so.”

“Mark is a fucking idiot.” He spits out.

“I’m not gonna disagree.”

“I mean look at everything you did for him today, just for him to not show up?” Vernon begins to frantically point in all directions of your home, including at yourself as well as your kitchen. “What kind of boyfriend doesn’t come home to this?”

Silence is the only thing you can provide right now. One because he’s right, but two, because you’ve never seen Vernon so riled up on your behalf. He was the one always talking you off cliffs, not the other way around.

“Sorry,” He clears his throat. His voice is back to his regular tone now.

“Don’t be. Thank you for caring about me.”

You don’t know why, but you feel a desire to nuzzle into Vernon’s shoulder, so you do. Naturally, he wraps his arm around your shoulder to allow you more comfortability. Maybe it’s wrong, maybe it’s not, but it doesn’t feel wrong being in his arms right now. You know if you consider Mark, you should pull away, but when’s the last time Mark considered you?

“Is this okay?” He questions, his tone a mixture of hope and concern as he’s likely reading your mind right now. He had a knick for that when it came to you.

“It’s okay.” You decide. I mean, who’s going to catch you?

The two of you lay like that for the remainder of the night, watching a movie that Vernon puts on, but you can't concentrate. All you can think of is how you're lying in the arms of another man, your heart fluttering. That isn't supposed to happen. However, your thoughts are brief because you quickly find yourself dozing off in his arms that feel as if they never want to let you go.

It’s the wee hours of the morning when your phone rings, and then vibrates, indicating someone has called and texted you.

You and Vernon sleep through it.

TO BE CONTINUED

© moonlightdreamzz

[stop-ugly]

✨HEADCANONS✨

Harry loves his adoptive fathers very much, but he also knows everything about his real parents. There are pictures of Lily and James in every room.

Harry spent his childhood with rock music.

As soon as the next new model of a children's broom appears in stores, Sirius tries to buy it for Harry right away. Remus does not approve of such actions and believes that Sirius spoils his godson.

Quite early, Harry begins to show the character inherited from...... Lily. Sirius pretends to groan that there are two bores in this house now.

Sirius still spends every full moon with Remus, and Harry stays with his aunt Andromeda.

At first, Remus continued to look for work, but he was refused everywhere because of lycanthropy. In the end, Sirius got tired of it, and he forced his husband to stay at home, because, thanks to the inheritance of the Potters and Blacks, they do not need money.

Every Halloween, Remus, Sirius and Harry go to the Potter's grave.

Once wolfstar tried to come to Dursleys. They wanted Harry to meet his cousin. Petunia and Vernon turned out to be homophobic as well as wizard-hating. And Dudley was a spoiled bully. Harry didn't want to go back to that house.

In this universe, Harry does not try to hide his scar, because Sirius diligently teaches his husband and son that you should never be ashamed of yourself.

One day, Harry tells Remus and Sirius that he would like to have a brother or sister. And before Remus can start a Conversation™, Sirius interrupts him: "Harry, you may not have noticed, but we're gay."

Harry is a Gryffindor.

Remus had instilled in Harry a love of reading.

Harry feels comfortable in both the magical and muggle worlds.

In fact, Harry's character remains the same, but, thanks to supportive parents, he does not have that low self-esteem, hero syndrome and a huge sense of duty to the magical world. And he is no longer so easy to manipulate.

He also wants to become an animagus, but Remus insists that Sirius can only begin training Harry when he is at least 14 years old.

Harry is still great at Quidditch, but now he doesn't end up in the hospital wing after every match.

Harry has detentions much more often than in the canon, thanks to the love of pranks and adventures inherited from Sirius.

And yeah, in this universe, he's much more in touch with the Weasley twins. Although his best friends are still Hermione and Ron.

Harry is VERY cheeky.

Severus hates Harry even more than in the canon because of the character traits of Remus and Sirius. It's mutual.

Do you know what Hogwarts lacks? THE PARENT-TEACHER CONFERENCES.

I can see Severus scolding Harry in front of all the other parents, and Sirius is instantly furious and expresses doubt about the potion master, who can't make himself a shampoo.

Sirius thinks there's no point in coming up with new jokes when the old is still gold. AND HE'S SERIOUS.

One day after a parent-teacher conference Lucius is very rude about Sirius and Remus ' relationship. Narcissa leads her husband away, giving Wolfstar an apologetic look. Sirius is not offended, but he comes to the next conference in a rainbow-colored robe.

Remus was wearing a bisexual badge.

Dumbledore liked it.

Lucius sat red-faced throughout the conference, and as soon as it was over, he apparated away. Narcissa just laughed and suggested that her brother should have dinner together sometime.

When Hermione's passion for protecting the rights of magical creatures wakes up, Harry suddenly becomes interested too and inundates her with questions about possible solutions to the problems of werewolves.

Hermione puts two and two together, and the next time she sees Remus, she notifies him of her guess, and also expresses her full support. Remus was embarrassed but pleased.

When Harry came out to his adoptive parents as a bisexual, Sirius exclaimed happily, raising his hands in the air: "WE'RE GOING TO THE PRIDE!!"

Sirius presents himself as Casanova and the king of flirting, but when Harry needs love advice, he ALWAYS goes to Remus.

When Harry has a crush on Draco, Sirius wonders who exactly he inherited his love for the nasty Slytherins: Lily or James?

There's no way Harry's been cleaning up school shit all these years on his own. No, Harry has fathers, and they won't leave him. Never ever.

[urmultideadfandomperson]

Dahlia Rosenheim in Winx Club!

Here are a bunch of facts about Winx!Dahlia:

Dahlia is a unique type of fairy. She is a Mimic Fairy, one who is gifted with the ability to mimic a person's power.

Dahlia does this by absorbing the energy from the person's power before converting that energy as her own, letting it flow in her body afterwards. Once done, Dahlia can manipulate the same abilities as the source she copied from.

This does not mean Dahlia has stolen the power. She only took some energy in order to mimic the ability. Dahlia's ability allows her to copy, not steal.

She can copy one power only. Once she begins channeling the energy into her body, she cannot mimic another person's ability. And if it is possible, that would be very exhausting for one fairy. (Not to mention, it would make her seem incredibly overpowered.)

The more energy Dahlia uses to use the powers, the faster they will drain. That means her ability to mimic one's ability isn't forever. This is why she fights her opponents wisely.

Dahlia does not have a specific element. This is why she needs a person as her source to imitate their energy in order to have that element herself.

Like many characters in the show, Dahlia is still a newbie with her magic. She continues to practice mimicry in Alfea College.

Because she is still learning, there are moments where her ability fails to function properly. It is unsurprising that it can also backfire at times.

Speaking of backfire, this can be done by Dahlia when she starts absorbing the energy. When mimicking malfunctions, the energy can attack instead of flow through the body. Dahlia has described the backfire as similar to being electrocuted by bolts of lightning.

Even when Dahlia cannot mimic anybody's energy (she is powerless without a source), she still knows how to fight without magic. She fights with a pair of stilettos, her handy daggers if magic is unavailable. Dahlia also thinks her weapons are elegant.

Dahlia's ability of mimicry is inspired from Magiano, a character in Marie Lu's "The Young Elites" trilogy novel series.

Her outfit—specifically the transparent skirt—was inspired from Jazmin_Studios in YouTube.

The outfit of Dahlia's fairy form is yellow because it is the same color that symbolizes energy. Therefore, it shows that Dahlia absorbs energy.

Her wings are from Alef Vernon's illustration of fairy wings in his Winx Club X Taylor's version post. (I asked for permission if I could take the Folklore wings)

Dahlia is best friends with Flora, Musa and Bloom. She says she enjoys their company and they are interesting fairies.

She occasionally admits that she is tolerable of Stella's attitude. She does not like impulsive and self-centered people, but Dahlia is aware that Stella is a good person at heart. That is why she still chose to befriend her.

She is good friends with Tecna, often chatting about technology. Dahlia is amazed every time at what the other fairy can do.

Dahlia does not share a dorm with anybody. She is alone in her own room, yet she does not mind at because she is an introverted person.

She idolizes the Specialists a lot, intrigued at their daily training and the mechanics of their wind riders. She is also totally not curious in trying to ride a dragon.

In the earliest mornings—usually at 4AM—Dahlia would sneak out of Alfea to watch the training routines of the Specialists in Red Fountain. She is careful not to be caught by anyone.

She is best friends with Brandon, often laughing a lot when she is with him. She admits that she views him as a brother.

Dahlia's relationship with Timmy is similar to Tecna's. They also chat about technology and logical thinking.

Sky and Dahlia are friendly with each other. They are not close because the girl tends to walk on eggshells around him due to his royal status. Dahlia needs Bloom by her side whenever interacting with the prince.

Riven is the first guy who catches Dahlia's attention a lot. She claims she is does not really give an opinion about boys. But when she met Riven, she is highly interested in befriending him. (She tries talking to him with the help of Brandon, it failed miserably)

Her secret love interest is either Riven or Sky. Only Flora and Brandon knows about this information, though the Specialist tends to tease her a lot more about her secret.

When Dahlia met Helia after a year, she immediately added him into her list. Still, her crush on Riven/Sky remains to stay.

Her relationship with Helia is "birds of a feather flock together". They have the same passion for arts and poetry, which made them very close to each other. These two eventually became best friends.

Although there is less seen interaction, Dahlia does talk with Mirta from time to time. She whispers a promise to herself to help Mirta whenever she needed it. She saw the good heart in the witch.

Dahlia is an early bird as she likes the quiet environment and dark skies.

As much as Dahlia wanted to wear clothes that exposes her midriff like the other fairies, she chooses not to because Dahlia fears she will only embarrass herself due to her pudgy body.

Because of her pudgy build, she has been described to have big thighs. This can either be a compliment or an insult.

Dahlia's height is 163cm (5'4" ft). When she wears heels, her height is 167cm (5'6" ft).

Bloom influenced her and Musa in becoming Swifties (let's just say Bloom is a Swiftie herself). Now the three of them listen to her albums in a loop.

After Bloom influenced Dahlia to listen to the earthling singer, she instantly had a huge liking to the Folklore album and the song "Wonderland" in 1989.

(This is swapped for Canon Dahlia since her favorite album is 1989 and her favorite song is "this is me trying" in Folklore.)

Bloom once introduced some novels made by human authors to Dahlia. When the mimic fairy was able to borrow these novels, she finished them in a week, ranting to Bloom about it afterwards.

When she first encountered the Trix, it is Darcy who first caught her attention. In all honesty, she thinks Darcy is rather attractive (because she is).

Dahlia is often mistaken to be a Light Fairy by many people due to her fairy transformation.

The reasons why Dahlia aims to be a true fairy is because she wants to see her potential and share kindness to the world. And just like Flora, she attends Alfea because she wanted to learn new things. (Stella also hits her face with a pillow at her 'nerdy' answer XD)

Dahlia shares many similarities with Canon Dahlia (i.e. interests, likes, personality).

The Fairies of Mimicry are one of the lesser known fairies due to a small ancestry thousands of years ago. Because of this, mimic fairies are not often seen nowadays.

Dahlia lives in planet Andros with her family. She has a mother, a father, and two younger siblings. The family has mimicry as their ability.

(I chose to let her live in Andros is because I love water. Besides, my girl likes water, too. In fact, our personalities are water in element.)

Okay, these are all the random facts about my girl in Winx Club! If you have any questions, just leave a comment and I will give the answers :DD

[thegirlwhowrites642]

Do you think petunia dursley deserve redemption?

Now a days many people say she was manipulated by Vernon or James insulted her( she saw james in harry) and they try to excuse her actions because she was woman.

After the war Petunia will divorce Vernon and harry will forgive her. They even say Petunia secretly always cared about Harry.

Please share your thoughts(only if you have time/want to ofcourse)

Thank you

I think young Petunia is a character it's easy to feel compassion for.

I can't really blame her for not wanting Lily around or not wanting anything to do with magic.

As a child, she is quite close to her younger sister and she has to witness that younger sister all of a sudden going on an adventure without her because her sister has magic and Petunia doesn't.

I dare anyone to not feel resentful and envious in that situation.

And the fact that she is the older sister makes it worse because when Lily goes to Hogwarts they are still in that age where the younger sibling tends to admire and still wants to follow the older and out of the blue that dynamic radically changes.

When in DH we find out that Petunia sent a letter to Dumbledore asking to go to Hogwarts, my heart absolutely breaks for her every single time I re-read it.

And then when Lily enters the wizarding world, Petunia is left to her normal life, which is probably not that great. The Evanses aren't poor but they are definitely not rich. And she is still very much a girl in the 70s, not as bad as the 30s but not as good as today. All of this is to say that she is not left in a situation of privilege and luxury and therefore has nothing to complain about.

Petunia is also left to deal with lying to protect Lily's secret, probably having to say something about how she was sent to some special school for very talented kids, therefore having to make herself appear as the stupid sister. And so everyone would be super curious about this brilliant sister of Petunia, forcing her to live in Lily's shadow even outside of the house and with Lily in Scotland. It's also implied that Lily is the beautiful sister, which I'm sure doesn't help Petunia's resentment. It writes itself a scene from a summer in 1976, where Petunia's friends are eager to meet/see again her beautiful brilliant sister, and Petunia dies of envy.

It's true that Lily enters a world in which as a muggle-born she is subjected to discrimination but I doubt Petunia knew much about it:

Even though Petunia was raised alongside a witch, she is remarkably ignorant about magic. - from Vernon and Petunia Dursley by JK Rowling

Then Lily ends up marrying James Potter, rich, athletic, and good-looking. While Petunia marries Vernon. Tell me you wouldn't hate Lily even more. Lily marrying a wizard so soon after Hogwarts also adds to the separation of the two sisters into two different worlds. Other factors are the war in the wizarding world and the death of their parents.

And speaking of the devil, Petunia seems also resentful towards her parents for showing, according to her, a preference for Lily:

I was the only one who saw her for what she was -- a freak! But for my mother and father, oh no, it was Lily this and Lily that, they were proud of having a witch in the family!" She stopped to draw a deep breath and then went ranting on. It seemed she had been wanting to say all this for years. -Chapter 4, Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, JK Rowing

If you notice, Harry doesn't know anything about Mr and Mrs Evans, one thing is him not knowing about the Potters but if Harry doesn't know anything about the Evans grandparents, it means Dudley doesn't either, it means Petunia doesn't talk about them, doesn't have photos of them. Frankly, seeing the relationship between the two sisters, the Envases mustn't have been geniuses at the whole parenting thing.

And for all of this, again, I can't blame her for hating magic, especially when you consider that the first and one of the only experiences with wizards she has is Snape [how hilarious it is that those two know each other?], someone that hates muggles and literally made a tree branch fall on her. Then there's the sister that seems to live to outshine her and Dumbledore who tells her she is not special (not in those terms obviously, he is quite kind actually, but how is a young girl going to perceive that letter if not like that?). By the time she meets James, she already hates magic too deeply.

This Petunia is someone that makes you wish life had been a little kinder to her, and maybe then she could have been better.

But the Petunia since she takes Harry in? She is a monster. What she does to Harry should have put her in jail, and there's no indication that it's Vernon who forces her to behave like that. Like there's no indication that Vernon and Petunia don't love each other. If anything, the fact that Vernon agrees to have Harry in the house despite hating him seems a testament to how much he loves Petunia.

Harry does seem to hate Vernon in particular but the more fitting explanation seems to be that Vernon is a man and therefore more intimidating.

As wrong as it would have been, I could have even forgiven Petunia if she had just been a little colder towards Harry and shown a preference for Dudley. She is substantially forced to take this boy into her house, a boy who has a genocidal maniac after him and therefore potentially puts in danger her, her husband and her son, and she is also forced to see the dynamic that brought so much pain to her repeat again. Dudley is Petunia, and Harry is Lily. Dudley is a muggle, and Harry is a wizard. It's pretty reasonable for her to hate the idea that one day her son will feel like she did. Maybe she was even planning to not have more than one child just to avoid that. Petunia hates Harry because she sees Lily in him, not James. James canonically never insulted Petunia, the only reasons Petunia has for hating him are that he is a wizard and Lily's husband. At best she may have reason to not find him particularly likeable:

The first meeting between Lily, her boyfriend James Potter, and the engaged couple, went badly, and the relationship nose-dived from there. James was amused by Vernon, and made the mistake of showing it. Vernon tried to patronise James, asking what car he drove. James described his racing broom. Vernon supposed out loud that wizards had to live on unemployment benefit. James explained about Gringotts, and the fortune his parents had saved there, in solid gold. Vernon could not tell whether he was being made fun of or not, and grew angry. The evening ended with Vernon and Petunia storming out of the restaurant, while Lily burst into tears and James (a little ashamed of himself) promised to make things up with Vernon at the earliest opportunity. This never happened. Petunia did not want Lily as a bridesmaid, because she was tired of being overshadowed; Lily was hurt. Vernon refused to speak to James at the reception, but described him, within James’ earshot, as ‘some kind of amateur magician’. -from Vernon and Petunia Dursley by JK Rowling 

But what Petunia does to Harry goes way beyond anything that could have been excused. And of course, we are also forced to re-read a younger Petunia through that lens, you don't become someone that could do that to a child out of the blue. Was there really ever a time in which she could have been saved?

As for redemption, the personality that is presented to us is not remotely complex enough to consider a redemption arc. Nothing that could be considered in-character. Among the established core traits of her character, there are being envious, and full of hatred.

But even if Petunia decided to become a better person for who knows what spiritual awakening, I don't see why that should become Harry's problem. Each person may have a right to become a better one but that doesn't mean they stop being the person who did the bad things. Even if Petunia became a saint who volunteers in children's hospitals, she would still be the woman who abused Harry, mentally and physically, throughout the first two decades of his life.

I do think that Harry would probably make some sort of attempt to hear her out if that were the case (as much as I also think Ginny would absolutely hate the idea and refuse to let him go alone) because Harry is too compassionate for his own good, and shows more than once to have a problem when it comes to setting boundaries in favour of his own emotional comfort. But I also think it would cause him a great deal of pain and distress and they would never be able to be more than just civil to each other.

In light of that, but also as a general statement in regards to this morbid obsession a lot of people seem to have for redemption arcs, I'd like to say that there's no acceptable reason for the redemption of the abuser to become the punishment of the abused.

[I would advise reading the piece written by Rowling on Vernon and Petunia, there it's made very clear that they love each other]

[joannerowling]

I think one of JKR's strongest suits, in both HP and the Strike series, is how she captures real people. All of her characters feel like people I could meet on the street or share a cup of coffee with. I can imagine what our conversation would be like. There's a lot I find admirable about her writing, but this in particular is something I appreciate a lot more now that I'm reading her as an adult. She seems to genuinely care about real people, which translates to her writing.

Yes, i admire that quality of her as well, especially because her characters feel real despite being… not exactly stereotypical but… easy to read, easy to sumrise. You can't call Vernon Dursley stereotypical because the details of him are so specific, but the details are all that's needed.

At the same time her physical descriptions are minimalist, only including what's useful for either plot or characterisation or (this one is more present in Strike) social background and education. If she were a painter she'd be a great portraitist, a fast working one.

And yes, to segue back to that one interview of Le Guin… sometimes those "portraits" of unpleasant imaginary people can seem a bit mean, because they feel so real.

One example is "Hartella" in The Ink Black Heart. Hartella is not the most hateful character in that book, but she is probably one character many tumblr users could see themselves in, as a "superfan" of a show, whose real name is known in the fandom due to being minorly involved with the production. She's an opportunist, neither smart or talented, she's needy and insecure, she's a very bad judge of character, a coward, lets herself be manipulated into hurting other people, easily joins in bullying to fit in, etc. She's also described as white, fat and unattractive, and having an annoying habit of ending all her sentences in a questioning tone even if they're not questions (subtext: because she's so insecure and unwilling to develop her own critical thinking, she can never make statements).

I remember a few readers took offense at her being described as fat and unattractive specifically. And yet… does this description not feel like a real person? I know i have met that specific girl online at least once for sure (in fact the resemblance is uncanny, down to the speech mannerism). I've known girls who partially looked or sounded like Hartella. I guess that can sting.

[shakespeare-potter]

Some harry and sirius alternative universe headcanons that i have in my head since like ages part 1

Don't imagine Remus going to the Weasley's house for whatever reason after a couple of years of the worst day in his life

Don't imagine percy and the others being at home and showing him his new pet rat for (again) whatever reason

Don't imagine him IMMEDIATELY realising that who that is

Don't imagine that rat trying to run away seeing him

Don't imagine ginny Weasley being fast as hell and catching him because she's awesome like that

Don't imagine the shock on everyone's faces when remus makes mr rat to come out in his true form

Absolutely do not imagine him trying to manipulate the story again

Don't imagine them just calling Dumbledore and somehow convincing him to convince peter to drink the truth potion ( i forgot the spelling 😭) because remus is kinda suspicious

Do not imagine the truth coming out

Do not imagine sirius sitting in his cell , thinking only of harry , trying to not go absolutely insane in that hell and suddenly finding out that he's having an actual trial

Do not imagine the verdict of the trial putting peter the rat in azkaban and freeing sirius black

Do not imagine him just asking "where is harry?" To remus the SECOND he actually gets out

Do not imagine him lashing out at Dumbledore after finding out about harry being with the dursleys because he knew how much they hated Lily ( i have further headcanons as to why he knew this part but I'll come to those later

Do not imagine harry being 6-7 years old kiddo who lives in the cupboard under the stairs and is making eggs and toast for everyone because aunt petunia said so , with a burnt hand and watching his aunt and uncle loving Dudley and question to himself as to why he isn't worthy enough of that "maybe i should just help aunty more, maybe then she'll let me eat an egg too"- he thinks.

Absolutely do not imagine sirius, remus and Dumbledore paying a visit to harry because there was NO WAY that sirius was going to stay away from him (and ofcourse he takes ALOT of gifts ) ("i gotta make up for the lost time moony")

Do not imagine them going to the house , obviously get shouted at by vernon but somehow forcing their way into the house to see harry

Do not imagine harry being absolutely scared of them because he doesn't know what is happening and why is aunt petunia has locked him in the cupboard again "i didn't even burn anything today"

Do not imagine sirius almost blowing up that cupboard door when he realises that Harry's in there

Don't imagine his heart breaking after seeing his godson, the son of his two bestest friends in that scared terrified state

Don't imagine him gently calling harry "hey bud , you're safe now , you can come out" , and harry just asking him "who are you??" In his tiny little voice ( heart breaking part 2) and sirius just taking out a photo of him, james and lily from their wedding and before he could tell him that he's his Godfather harry asks again "who-who's that" ( he has an idea but he doesn't want to hope too much in case they're not someone who he thinks they are) ( yes I'm sobbing writing this is and no I'm not sorry ) and sirius just trying SO HARD to not break in front of him and scream at everyone for doing this to harry .

Don't imagine Dumbledore and remus also coming in there to convince harry to come out and he just reluctantly believes them because poor baby haven't seen a single photo of his parents until now

Don't imagine his first few weeks with sirius being full of breakdowns and nervousness and too many things to unlearn ( like not needing to cook breakfast

Don't imagine remus suggesting that they introduce him to the Weasley's because their youngest kids are his age and that It would be good for him

And obviously harry being nervous af but still being polite because he's cutu like that

Sirius hearing him laughing for the first time over fred & George's antics

Yes he cries almost every night

So does remus

But they're also going to therapy ( all 3 of them )

Yes they rip out a new one out of Dumbledore everytime they find out about more shit the dursleys did to harry

Also sirius used to play guitar before the war

And one day harry finds that out while they were looking through the old photos ( they take at least one hour out of their day after dinner to just talk/ask everything about James and Lily) and for the first time he asks sirius to play something

And ofcourse he does , he wasn't going to say no to his godson now

Harry is mesmerized

So is remus ( I've got a very emotional backstory for wolfstar too , it ends on a bittersweet note tho so tell me if y'all wanna read that too) (anyways)

Sirius asks harry if he wants to learn

And he says yes

It becomes their thing

Moony reads a story to harry every night , especially Lily's favourite muggle ones

Ginny , Ron and Harry become bffs and later with Hermione ( they met her long before going to Hogwarts in my head but they didn't really become friends before that )

Harry finally starts to heal

So does Sirius

[takaraphoenix]

Sugar for the Secretary

Part 1: The New Secretary

Tags: m/m/m, polyamory, AU/heavy canon divergence, post-Nogitsune, Bad Alpha/Friend Scott, Stiles leaves Beacon Hills, Spark Stiles, Pack Mom Stiles, Alpha Peter, magic, sugar daddies, fluff, hurt/comfort, PTSD, (explicit intercourse, anal, oral <- those will be in part 2), m/f

Main Pairing: Chris/Peter/Stiles

Side Pairings: Boyd/Erica, Jackson/Lydia

Teen Wolf Characters: Mieczysław 'Stiles' Stilinski, Peter Hale, Chris Argent, Allison Argent, Derek Hale, Erica Reyes, Vernon Boyd III, Isaac Lahey, Jackson Whittemore, Lydia Martin, Cora Hale

Writer's Month Prompts: sketch + plane

Summary: Stiles finally got out of Beacon Hills, together with Isaac. They move to London for a fresh start and Stiles gets a job at as a personal assistant to a lawyer, Peter Hale. He didn't expect for Peter to be an Alpha, to find a new pack and even less so, to fall in love with his new boss and his boss' husband.

This Story on FFNet | This Story on AO3

and if you want to read part 2, where the smut and sugar-daddy-ing is stored, you will have to follow this story on one of those sites ;)

Sugar for the Secretary

Stiles Summer Stories 2024

Part 1: The New Secretary

Stiles sat curled together on his seat on the plane, legs drawn up and a sketchbook on his knees. The weight against his shoulder was comforting, felt like home. Isaac next to him was snoring slightly, rubbing his nose against Stiles' shoulder, scenting him even in his sleep. A small smile stretched over Stiles' lips as he reached out to run his fingers through the oversized puppy's hair.

Turning his head, he looked out of the small plane window, watching the way the endless water finally made room for land. His heart skipped a beat. They'd done it. They had left the US – left Beacon Hills – behind. Finally. Everything would be better, wherever they'd end up. For now, that was London. It had been the first flight out of LA that led to another continent and Stiles wanted as much distance to that cursed, fucked-up town as possible. London sounded good.

"Are we there yet?" Isaac asked in a sleepy voice, nuzzling him.

"Soon, pup," Stiles whispered, his arm still around Isaac. "Soon."

Fuck Beacon Hills. Fuck Scott. Fuck Theo. Fuck it all. Stiles got out and he took his pup with him. Even without a pack, he was still Pack Mom, as long as he had his pup. A sneer formed on his face at the thought of the pack that had rejected him, of how easy it had been for Theo to twist Scott, turn him against his oldest friend. All these years, all the things Stiles had done for him, and some well-placed comments from Theo were all it took. No more. They got out, he got out.

"We're going to have a new start," Stiles muttered, to himself, to Isaac, to fate itself. "A better life."

The hand not playing with Isaac's hair was gripping his pen tight. He was doodling, silly sketches. Twirls all over, three joined together, just pointless, meaningless symbols, but they looked pretty.

/break\

"Peter Hale, I am not your personal assistant, I am your paralegal."

Peter didn't even raise his eyes off the file he was reading when Lydia stormed into his office. He loved that girl fiercely, she was ruthless, brilliant, manipulative. Plus, she was on track to becoming a lawyer and Peter knew not many years from now, his firm was going to be Hale, Martin & Associates. Best addition he ever made to his pack.

"Someone needs to do it. On the ladder, you're below me."

Lydia's face scrunched up in annoyance. "Your dry-cleaning and fancy coffees and your lunch appointments are not my job, Alpha," Lydia spoke firmly. "Get. A. Personal. Assistant."

A low growl escaped Peter. "I won't trust someone who isn't pack with my dealings."

The redhead in front of him put her hands on her hips and stared at him unimpressed. "Well, then, convince one of the other betas to actually do this job, but it isn't mine."

And then she had the audacity to snort. "I can just see Derek being delighted to organize your and Chris' date nights. Jackson trying to figure out how dry-cleaning works."

This time, Peter also had to snort. He loved his pack, as much as they annoyed him at times, but they were all not fit for this either. Lydia was the only one he trusted to keep up with him. He was an incredibly busy man who always juggled ten things at a time, was the most sought out defense lawyer in London, the Alpha of a pack of werewolves, husband and father – there was a lot that needed his attention. Lydia, she was quick and clever, she could keep up with all the tasks he gave her. She also was part of his pack, so she knew about the supernatural. What was Peter supposed to do with a human from whom he'd have to keep everything?

"This is my last warning, Peter," Lydia raised her eyebrows. "Get a personal assistant, or I'm quitting. Jackson's father is dying to have me work for his law-firm too."

She wiggled her hand, her engagement ring glinting in the light. Jackson Whittemore, whose father David was a lawyer himself. Peter and him had battled in court a couple times before. He wasn't bad, but he was no Peter Hale. So Peter knew this was an empty threat. Still, though…

"Fine," Peter heaved a sigh. "Will you put together a listing…?"

"One last time I'll do something that's not part of my job," Lydia smiled pleased.

/break\

Chris was holding his cup of coffee between both hands, looking out of the kitchen window into their backyard. His daughter Allison was outside with her bow, practicing. He had very mixed feelings about it. Though he'd taught her his own way, seeing her embrace their hunter heritage sent his thoughts swirling with memories of his family, the family he'd left behind in Beacon Hills all these years ago. He took a shaky breath and closed his eyes.

For so many years, Chris had done everything in his power to be the perfect soldier, the perfect son. He pushed down his homosexuality, he married the strong and beautiful woman his father picked for him from an allied, influential hunter family, he had a daughter, an heir.

And then he met Peter Hale and fell madly, deeply in love, in a way he never thought he could. But it was the Hale Fire that changed everything. The death of nearly all of Peter's family, leaving Peter in a coma and his nephew and nieces all alone and lost. They were just kids. Cora was so small, Derek was only fifteen, Laura was barely legal, not in any way ready to take care of her siblings.

It was the biggest fight Chris ever had with his family and he understood it. They were werewolf hunters and he wanted to take in three orphaned wolves. And then Victoria accused him, knowing there was more to this than just charity. Knew that Chris had been sleeping with Peter.

They got divorced, it was an ugly divorce and Chris had to fight to take custody of Laura, Cora and Derek. He thought he could share custody of Allison with his now ex-wife, but then Kate came back. His baby sister, she came back and she snarled at him for taking in Hales, for caring about Hales, and he realized the truth. The ugly truth that Kate had killed Peter's family, had done it for revenge because she'd known Chris was in love with Peter. It had all been Chris' fault.

When Chris realized that these sociopaths were with whom he'd leave his daughter – there was no flinching, no condoning, when Gerard and Victoria were confronted with Kate's actions – they ran. The Hales had funds, millions of dollars from too many life insurances that had all gone to the survivors. In the middle of the night, Chris had Peter flown out with a medical helicopter, and he packed everything important and his four kids and followed.

They lived in New York, until Peter was recovered enough to speak and move again. The strength of his pack-bonds, of his mate and the cubs, helped his recovery, so did the Alpha spark that he had inherited from his sister, as the oldest living Hale.

Peter became the Alpha of the Hale Pack and as small and broken as it was, with only Chris, Peter, Laura, Derek, Cora and Allison, it was a good pack. A good family. A family Chris loved.

There was no hiding the truth from Allison anymore, she didn't understand why she had to leave her mom, why she couldn't contact their family, and living with four born wolves, she needed to know the truth, even if she was still so young. His wide-eyed little princess, she thought it was cool. Werewolves. Like in the movies and shows. She'd giggled the first time Laura showed her shift-form and flashed her eyes at Allison and it had warmed Chris' heart.

Generations of hatred and bigotry and he had gotten his daughter out before she could be victim to his family's indoctrination. She still had a chance, to be happy and have a normal life.

And yet here she was, practicing archery with silver arrows in their backyard. And it made him feel tense and nervous. He knew, he knew she would not harm the innocent. He'd raised her better than that. But seeing her use the chosen weapons of his old family just made him think of what his father would have twisted her into, would still try to twist her into if he got his hands on her.

"You worry too much, my love."

Chris tensed for only a moment, torn out of his dark thoughts, but then he relaxed when his husband wrapped his arms around Chris' waist. Taking a slow, deep breath, Chris leaned against Peter's chest. His solace, his love, his Alpha. Sure, Chris was the one who'd helped Peter heal, had helped his recovery and his physical therapy and had watched over the kids while Peter was still in a coma, but what Peter had done for him? Showing him love, showing him family and pack? It had saved Chris from a fate worse than death, he knew that, deep down.

"I can't help but worry," Chris argued. "She's still my little girl, even if she may be twenty. And the things our pack gets involved in, it's… dangerous. I worry about them all, all our betas, but the wolves at least have their supernatural healing. Allison doesn't."

"I'm more than aware of that," Peter grumbled, nuzzling Chris' neck. "I have the same worries about you too, Christopher. You don't have supernatural healing either but you throw yourself head first into every danger and fight too. She's… her father's daughter."

Peter's hands trailed up Chris' stomach, deliberately tracing scars from years of hunting. Chris huffed. He knew his husband was right, on both accounts. He heaved a deep breath.

"How's the assistant hunting going?" Chris asked, to change the topic. "Heard from Allison that Lydia finally convinced you to hire someone. Very good, because I was starting to fear she may kill you one day if you don't. She's your paralegal, not your girl for everything."

It was Peter's turn to grumble at that. "I have interviewed six failures so far."

"Peter," Chris heaved a sigh. "You gotta give one of them a chance."

"No," Peter glared, Chris could hear the glare in his voice. "My personal assistant would have to coordinate pack things, would have to understand my needs as a werewolf. All these doe-eyed humans are just not fit for the job. Besides, they can't keep up with me either. What good is an assistant when they stumble over instructions and are overwhelmed by a few tasks?"

"Well, then get one for their doe-eyes," Chris rolled his eyes.

"Excuse me?" Peter huffed out a laugh.

"You heard me, Peter," Chris offered a half shrug. "Lydia is very done with you on this matter. You need an assistant. If you don't trust them with the tasks to the point of not even giving them a chance to prove themselves, then hire one for their pretty doe-eyes. Get yourself some eye-candy into the office, and maybe they will prove themselves."

"Mister Hale," Peter purred delighted, kissing Chris' neck. "Are you trying to make me seduce a non-existent assistant here? How very naughty."

Chris gave another half-shrug. "I'm not telling you to fuck them over your desk, but if something pretty to look at is the motivation you need to hire someone, then do it."

"Mh…" Peter made an intrigued noise.

"The fucking over your desk can still come later once they proved themselves."

Peter sputtered out a laugh and Chris turned around in his arms to properly kiss him. Though Chris was mostly teasing here and making fun of his husband, the two of them had taken plenty pretty twinks home with them over the years, they'd always enjoyed sharing.

/break\

Stiles was sitting at their kitchen table, legs crossed beneath him. The newspaper was spread out on the table in front of him. He was already working two jobs, waiting tables at a cafe and bartending at a club around the corner, but it just wasn't enough. It never was. Him and Isaac were already living in a shitty, tiny rathole of an apartment and rent was still too damn high. Not to mention the amount of food a werewolf could eat – not that he'd say that one out loud, Isaac would just look so unfathomably guilty at that. And now Stiles' laptop broke. He needed a new one.

His life had fallen apart so much, he was hanging in by a threat. Him and Isaac were surviving here, but not quite living. His research, his hyperfixations on weird supernatural occurrences, that was his escape, that was his. If he couldn't do that anymore, he was going to break. It was his distraction, from all the bad fucking memories of all the bad fucking things that had happened in Beacon Hills. He'd thrown himself entirely into his research and work and taking care of Isaac to keep himself from spiraling. He needed this. So he needed more money, to get it fixed.

"What you need isn't a better job," Isaac offered. "Because neither of us has any kind of qualification for an actual better job. What you need is a sugar daddy, Stiles."

"Fuck you," Stiles sputtered, throwing a pillow at his pup.

Isaac was sprawled out on their bed – because there wasn't much more in their one room apartment, a bed, a table, two chairs squeezed in. They had the tiny bathroom too, thankfully enough, because Stiles had absolutely drawn the line at the apartments that shared bathrooms with the entire floor. Nope, no way, no sir. Stiles had some standards, regardless of how painfully broke they were.

"C'mon, you know I'm right," Isaac grinned teasingly. "You haven't gotten laid since we got here. I know. I can smell it. Which also, I wish I couldn't. But yeah. Two birds, one stone. You could go and seduce a filthy rich guy and we could live off of him."

"Ah, yes," Stiles gave Isaac a pointed look, voice completely dry. "So many rich guys are into twenty year old single moms of young, bratty werewolf pups."

Stiles threw an apple at Isaac, getting an oof from the other boy as the apple his him in the stomach. Then Isaac picked it up and took a bite out of it. It wasn't even that Isaac was wrong. Stiles was horny and absolutely desperate for physical contact from someone not Isaac. Pack cuddles with his pup were great, but he wanted something very different. But dating was made harder for Stiles on account of Isaac – he was way too prone for feelings, he couldn't risk his heart with someone who didn't know werewolves existed, couldn't drag anyone into this life. And his and Isaac's relationship was impossible to explain to someone who wasn't a wolf. Fuck, it would be a hard sell even to a werewolf, Stiles guessed. A Pack Mom without a pack.

"This looks good," Stiles spoke absentmindedly as he circled a job listing. "Personal assistant. Doesn't really sound like it requires too many qualifications. And lawyer should pay well."

"Again: Just get a sugar daddy and then you could stop working and start going to college, as you absolutely should because your brain is totally wasted waiting tables."

"Isaac, I love you, pup, but drop it," Stiles warned him with one look.

Isaac heaved a sigh but he thankfully obeyed. They both knew that Stiles could go places with his intellect, knew that he was meant to absorb more knowledge at college. But college didn't pay the bills. They had to prioritize and a roof over head was more important than education.

/break\

Peter knew his husband had manipulated him, but he wasn't mad about it. He found it quite delightful and saw it as a sign that he had rubbed off on Christopher over the years. Besides, he did like Chris' angle. Even if the assistant proved useless, it would be nice to have a bit of eye-candy around. So yes, he was going to just hire the prettiest little thing that'd walk through his door.

"Mister Hale, your next interview is here," Lydia announced. "Mister Stilinski."

She stepped into the office, followed by someone. Once she was close enough, he ran an arm down her arm, scent-marking her in passing. She tilted her head a little bit in return, silent submission to her Alpha. It was subtle enough but it pleased Peter and Lydia knew that he needed the calming effect his betas' submission had before one of these interviews. The more idiotic applicants were really testing his patience and the last thing he needed was to go all fangs and claws on someone.

"Please, sit down," Peter motioned at the chair opposite him.

Lydia grabbed a couple files off his desk before sauntering out of the office again. Only when the door closed behind her did his eyes land on Mister Stilinski. Peter froze in surprise as the largest, prettiest doe-eyes stared at him that he had ever seen. Wide, a dark honey-whiskey color with long lashes casting shadows on pale cheeks. Peter swallowed. That much for hiring a doe-eyed beauty, if nothing else, hm. A pretty face too, with a cute upturned nose, pink lips, tousled brown hair that looked like the boy had run his fingers through it in a nervous habit before coming into the office.

"Thank you for the chance, Mister Hale," Stilinski offered him a smile.

He really was pretty. That would be a treat to look at every day. Peter rested his elbow on his desk, supporting his head as he drank in the sight. Long, pale neck, begging to be marked up. Slender frame, long legs thrown over each other, thighs that would look good wrapped around Chris' waist.

"Why do you think you're the right choice for this job?" Peter asked curiously. "I'm a very demanding employer, I'm a busy man with important cases. I need someone who can keep up with me, who will not forget or mix up my appointments, who isn't above the smaller jobs either. I will demand many random errands too, I have a… large family that demands my attention."

"I'm very good at multitasking, I'm not above getting you your favorite coffee order from across town if that's what you need from me, I'll keep your calendar organized, I can run any errands you'll need me to, and I'll accommodate you for all your… other needs."

That gave Peter a tense pause and made him wonder if he had leered at the boy a little too obviously. Was he coming onto Peter? That was… very daring. Not necessarily in an appreciated manner, considering the way Peter was sitting and drawing attention to the wedding band on his hand. He liked taking a pretty thing home, with his husband, when they were very clear about their shared interest and intention. What he didn't appreciate too much was when people hit on him regardless of his wedding ring. Cheating wasn't something Peter condoned, even if that may be a hypocritical thing to say, considering how his relationship with Christopher had started. Then again, his very gay husband had been forced into an arranged, loveless marriage with a cold woman who didn't love him either, so he had never quite found it in himself to feel too guilty in that case.

His eyes were steely. "I'm unsure what you are implying there, Mister Stilinski."

"You're a werewolf," the boy said, surprising Peter even more. "I assume that will entail special accommodations to your schedule and your… needs."

A low warning growl escaped Peter. "How do you know that."

The broad, smug smirk on the boy's lips should not be as tempting as it was. "You were scent-marking Miss Martin when she approached your desk earlier and she, in return, bared her throat to you, which makes me think you're not just a werewolf, you're an Alpha. The 'large family' you spoke of, I am assuming is your pack. And your calendar looks quite full, but you have no appointments on the three days of the full moon, which stands out."

"Clever boy," Peter raised an eyebrow. "And how do you know about werewolves? I would have smelled if you were a wolf yourself, Mister Stilinski."

"I'm…" Stilinski leaned back, a calculating look on his face. "I used to be in a werewolf pack, before I moved to London. So I have a lot of experience with werewolves and… ah, werewolf needs. I know how to treat wolfsbane injuries, I know about pack dynamics, I know what to look out for in regards to potential… dangers and such."

There was more to that. The boy was something, he'd started that sentence with I'm, before redirecting. He wasn't ready to share what he was yet, but he was not human. Intriguing.

"I'm intrigued," Peter admitted amused. "Tomorrow, eight AM, do not be late. I prefer the espresso from the Silver Moon café."

These big doe-eyes blinked at him confused. "What."

Peter offered a wolfish grin and a flash of red eyes. "You're hired, Mister Stilinski."

/break\

Chris was sitting at a table in the Silver Moon, coffee and a croissant in front of him. When Peter came home yesterday, he'd been far too wired up. Apparently, he'd hired a pretty doe-eyed assistant – and even better yet, that assistant was in the know about the supernatural. Chris was curious, considering how horny Peter had been yesterday, so he wanted to see the boy for himself.

"There you go, Alpha," Erica grinned as she placed a plate of eggs in front of him.

"Thanks, kid," Chris smiled at her, gently touching her arm.

The Silver Moon was the café their betas Boyd and Erica owned and ran together. The mated pair worked well together, Boyd in the kitchen in the back, Erica up front behind the counter and, if there were not too many customers, she'd also bring the food to the table.

"Oh, hey, we are still on for shopping today afternoon, right?" Allison asked.

"Sure," Erica gave her a thumbs-up. "Meet you and Lydia at four."

She hurried back behind the counter when the bell over the door chimed. Chris' eyes fell onto the person entering the shop. A lanky kid, no older than the betas, all pale skin with moles, messy hair that looked like it was made for someone to grab and tug it, bow-shaped, pink lips. It were the big, brown eyes though that tipped Chris off. The definition of doe-eyed. Chris snorted.

"Hi," the boy grinned, bouncing on his feet. "Uhm, please one espresso, two black coffees and one vanilla frappuccino to go. Also, holy shit, that looks really good, one of those croissants, please."

"Sure thing," Erica nods. "Name?"

"Stiles," the doe-eyed twink offers.

"Take a seat, I'll call your name when your order's ready."

Stiles wandered over to sit down in the booth next to Allison and Chris, long legs stretched out into the store as he leaned back, his back cracking in a very unnatural sounding way, causing Chris to wince. Allison narrowed her eyes, having noticed her father's focus on the boy.

"You are not picking a guy for yourself and dad while we are having breakfast," she hissed.

Chris coughed surprised. Well, his and Peter's relationship wasn't a secret – there were no secrets in a pack of werewolves. Allison, thankfully enough, was very accepting of their polyamorous nature, she just asked for them to not parade around one-night-stands in their home.

"I'm not, Allison," Chris chuckled, motioning his head a little toward the kid.

But as he did so, he noticed the boy was looking at him, was now making direct eye-contact with him. It gave him enough pause not to continue speaking. Had the kid overheard her? It had been so low he had barely heard, but then Peter had said the kid may be something supernatural too.

"Did my new boss send his husband to spy on me?"

Chris raised his eyebrows, regarding the boy. "He did not. I got curious on my own. How…?"

"Wedding picture on his desk. Picture of you both and who I assume to be your daughter," Stiles motioned at Allison. "Right next to it. I'm observant."

"Mh," Chris tilted his head, unable to deny the thrill this boy was giving him. "You are going to spend a lot of time with my husband and I like to get my own impression."

Stiles got up and moved to sit down next to Allison, right opposite Chris. Allison scooted over with one raised eyebrow, looking between Chris and Stiles. The boy folded his arms in front of himself on the table, grinning at Chris and leaning forward a little. It drew attention to his neck. Oh, Chris knew exactly what kind of thoughts Peter must have had at the span of pale skin.

"Hi," the boy held out a hand. "I'm Stiles. Nice to meet you, sir."

There was another thrill at the way 'sir' sounded coming from the boy. "Christopher Hale. My daughter, Allison. I'd like to apologize in advance for any growling my husband is going to do."

"Eh," Stiles shrugged. "I've had worse. I can handle a growling Alpha."

"Order up for Stiles," Erica called out, interrupting them.

The pretty twink got up and walked back to the counter. Chris couldn't help but stare at his perky ass. Once he had his order, the bag with the croissant stuck under his arm, the carrier with the four drinks in one hand, he took one of the black coffees and, much to Chris', Allison's and even Erica's horror, downed it in one go. He put the empty cup back onto the counter.

"You terrify me," Erica noted. "I like you."

Stiles offered a grin that was all teeth. "Thanks. I am guessing you're going to see me like five times a week from now on because my boss really likes your coffee."

At Erica's confused look did Chris speak up. "He's Peter's new assistant."

"Huh?" Stiles blinked confused and took the second black coffee.

Good lord, he wasn't going to drink two black coffees within a minute, was he? Chris watched in mortification as Stiles did exactly that. This boy sure was something. Shaking his head, Chris looked around. The café was empty. Chris, Allison, Stiles and Erica were the only ones.

"Erica and her mate run the café. They're also part of our pack," Chris offered. "That's why Peter made you go all this way, since it's not exactly around the corner of the law-firm."

Stiles turned those doe-eyes on Erica, like he was taking her in again. "Interesting."

There was so much calculation in his gaze, as though he was scheming. A look Chris was all too familiar with from his husband. He found it far too charming. Smiling, he took a sip of his own drink, watching the boy step away from the counter.

"Well, I'll see you tomorrow then, Erica," Stiles waved with one hand, then turned toward Chris and Allison. "And I am assuming I'll be seeing you again too, Mister Hale."

With that, he walked out of the café, leaving Chris with an uneasy feeling. The boy was too pretty, too charming, too intriguing, too clever. This was going to be a big temptation for himself and for his husband. He wondered just how long Peter would last before caving and dragging that boy from the office back to the pack-house and into their marital bed to be shared with Chris.

/break\

When Stiles sauntered into the firm, he did so with all the confidence he didn't feel. His suit was cheap, he'd gotten it from a second hand store to look presentable for the job interview yesterday, but this whole office was so large and so pompous, the art on the walls was actually real and expensive, he recognized that. Some of the outfits the lawyers walking past him were wearing probably cost more than Stiles and Isaac's apartment. Hence the fake confidence. He worked here now, he was not going to let the side-eye from the lawyers make him feel like he didn't belong.

"Hello, Miss Martin, you are looking as beautiful as yesterday," Stiles smiled brightly.

Lydia Martin looked up from her desk, utterly unimpressed and waved her hand to show off her engagement ring. "Not interested, Mister Stilinski. But congratulations on the job."

"Oh," Stiles blinked and shook his head. "No. Sorry, that's just my, uh, personality. I'm flirty in nature. Not hitting on you. Super gay. Very gay. Here, I brought you a coffee."

"I don't drink-" Lydia paused as he put the drink down. "Is that a vanilla frappuccino?"

"Yep, you were drinking one yesterday, while I was waiting for the interview," Stiles smiled brightly at her. "And since the big boss sent me to fetch him coffee, I figured I'd bring you one too. Seems you're always hard working and I thought it might be a good way to get off the right foot."

Lydia pursed her lips as she took a sip. "Lydia. You can call me Lydia."

"I'm Stiles," Stiles grinned in victory. "Looking forward to working with you, Lydia."

A small smile played on Lydia's lips as she nodded. "I do think you could be… interesting."

With that ominous sentence did Stiles head into the office of his new boss. It was exactly eight o'clock, he was expected, right? Taking a shaky breath he walked in, finding Peter Hale behind the desk. The man looked up, one eyebrow raised. Waiting. After a moment, Stiles approached and put the coffee down in front of him. Peter still looked at him kind of weirdly.

"Erica said you paid for the coffee," Peter frowned.

"Uhm. Yes? I don't… steal?" Stiles offered, confused.

Peter rolled his eyes in exasperation and then pushed a credit card over the table. "My husband was supposed to cover your bill this morning, but apparently you threw him off by… downing two black coffees in under two minutes and he only noticed when you were already gone. I wasn't expecting you to pay for my coffee out of your own pocket, Mister Stilinski."

Oh. That kind of made sense, but he had been too euphoric about the new job, he hadn't even questioned it. His eyes landed on the credit card, doubtful. Peter pushed it further toward him.

"I expect you to be on time and to bring me coffee every morning. You'll pay any and all expenses that I require with this," Peter tapped the card. "And yes, your coffee order goes on that too."

"But…" Stiles trailed off, adjusting the bag under his arm with the croissant a little.

Peter's very captivating ice-blue eyes landed on it. "Your breakfast too."

"But," Stiles tried again, unsure how to put it.

"If I sent you somewhere to fetch coffee or food for me, I expect you to get something for yourself too," Peter stated, leaning back in his chair, his eyes intense on Stiles. "Lydia!"

After a moment, Lydia stuck her head in, glaring. "Not. Your. Assistant. You have a Stiles now."

"I have a what now," Peter looked at her in puzzlement.

"Stiles," Stiles lifted a hand. "Uh, I prefer to go by Stiles. It's a nickname."

"Stiles," Peter tasted the name in his mouth. "Lydia, you're going out shopping with Erica and Allison today, right? Please take Stiles with you, he needs a new wardrobe."

"I'm good," Stiles squeaked. "I can't-"

Peter pushed the credit-card fully over the desk, very insistent. "I'm not expecting you to spend thousands on suits that I require you to wear, Stiles. The credit card is for anything I require you to buy or ask you to buy. Stop looking at me like that."

Reluctantly did Stiles pocket the credit card after another moment. Lydia heaved a sigh.

"Fi—ine. But only because my fingers are itching to dress that boy in something appropriate. This suit makes me feel sad and miserable," Lydia regarded Stiles. "No offense."

Stiles stared at her bewildered. "Unsure how I could possibly not take offense to that."

/break\

Peter was positively surprised by Mister Stilinski. Stiles. The highest of his expectations had been to get to look at these big doe-eyes and have something pretty in his office. He loved himself a pretty piece of prey and those eyes, mh, they did the trick. But then the boy had surprised him by knowing about the supernatural and he had surprised Peter even more by what a quick study he was.

That first day, Peter might have been a bit more demanding than he usually would be. It was a test. From the coffee order – to see if the boy would be able to remember the name of the store as well as the order, to see what he would do once there (and mh, the fact that the boy had recognized Chris all on his own from having glanced at the photos on Peter's desk pleased him immensely. Clever boy) – to every other task given. He basically sent the kid from one corner of the city to the next, dry-cleaning, going to pick a client up for Peter, delivering some files to the court house. He'd wanted to see if the boy was self-sufficient, knew his way around the city and was clever enough to figure out how to do things without Peter holding his hand. And he proved to be all of that and more.

"You look like the big, bad wolf who actually ate Bambi," Chris furrowed his brows as he approached his husband. "Did you eat Bambi?"

"Bambi is out getting new suits with Lydia," Peter waved a dismissive hand. "Besides, you're mixing your stories up there. The big bad wolf didn't get Bambi. The huntsman did."

Chris cocked an eyebrow and refrained from commenting further. Oh, Peter could see it in his husband's eyes, that Christopher had seen how pretty Bambi was. Smirking like the predator he was, Peter wrapped his arms around Chris' waist to pull him into a slow, deep kiss.

"The kid's going to be a problem, isn't he," Chris asked against Peter's lips.

A casual shrug. Perhaps, Peter wasn't sure yet. He hadn't been this attracted to a third party in a very long time, it might become a problem that the kid now worked for him, but that was a bridge for future Peter to cross. Current Peter got to kiss his husband and had no worries in this world.

/break\

After visiting his husband, Chris made his way to the preferred suit shop of Peter's, knowing he was most likely to find Lydia and entourage there. A small smile spread over his lips as he spotted Allison, Lydia and Erica sprawled out on the expensive leather couch, holding champagne.

"Come out, Stiles," Lydia demanded annoyed.

"I'm gay," Stiles called back without missing a beat.

Lydia simply rolled her eyes, while Chris choked on a laugh. "Not what I meant, honey."

"Hey, dad," Allison side-eyed him as she spotted her father. "What brings you here?"

"Curiosity," Chris offered after a moment.

There was no lying to his daughter, after all. Not entirely, at least. Perhaps the half-truth would suffice for now. Erica scooted over, throwing her legs over Lydia's lap and making room for Chris. An employee brought Chris a flute of champagne and bowed. Damn did Chris hate these fancy places, but that was one of the sides of being a Hale, he supposed. Peter liked it fancy.

"I look ridiculous," Stiles complained as he finally got out of the changing room.

"You look hot," Erica corrected. "Big Bruce Wayne vibes. Very Batman."

"Thanks, Catwoman," Stiles rolled his eyes. "I feel more like Dick Grayson stealing Bruce's suit for the very first time. This is... so not me."

He spread his arms and turned around once. Chris appreciated the view. The suit hugged his body in all the right places, drawing attention to his very well-formed ass and long legs. Those legs, Chris wondered what they'd feel like around his waist... or look like around Peter's head. Erica's cackling and her side-eye toward him told him that he hadn't fully masked his rising arousal. He offered his beta a sharp glare to shut her up. It only partially worked.

"Nonsense, you look good, and besides, this is who you are now," Lydia raised her chin. "You work for the most wanted defense attorney in this city, you represent the Hale name. You have to look the part, if you want to or not."

"This costs more than my car," Stiles muttered dejectedly. "Actually, more than my last two cars together. What the fuck."

"Don't look at the price-tags," Chris chided firmly. "Peter's paying for it."

"Mister Hale," Stiles startled, like he had only just noticed him. "Uhm. What... are you doing here?"

"I got curious when Peter mentioned that he had given you to Lydia as a sacrificial lamb," Chris smirked bemused. "That's always entertaining."

Lydia got up and picked three more suits for Stiles. "These ought to do for now, you will be fitted for something more personalized this Friday, do not miss the appointment."

"More personalized?" Stiles looked actually distressed at that. "This is ridiculous. I'm his secretary, not his new star attorney. I don't need a tailor-made suit."

Lydia gave him a withering glare. "Honey, everybody needs a tailor-made suit."

/break\

Stiles had actually survived his first week of working for Peter Hale. There had been a few close calls where he was pretty sure he was going to die – the suit shopping and the suit fitting were two such occasions, as well as that time he nearly got run over when rushing from the coffeeshop.

It was Monday morning and when he walked into the Silver Moon to get the usual coffee order, he was surprised to find Peter Hale there, sitting with his husband and their daughter. There were five tables, set together, creating a long sitting area. Erica herself was sitting down too, for once, between Allison and a really handsome, dark-skinned guy. There was a kind of arrogant looking blonde guy on Lydia's other side and a tall, dark and handsome guy with stubble on his chin at the end of the table, next to a brunette girl who looked a lot like him and also seemed weirdly familiar.

"Uhm..." Stiles' eyes darted around, unsure how to proceed.

"Sit down," Peter ordered, pulling out the chair between himself and Lydia.

"Uhm," Stiles repeated, wanting a bit more information.

"The pack has breakfast together every Monday, we open the store an hour later on Mondays to make time for it," the guy next to Erica supplied. "I'm Boyd, Erica's mate."

Right. So he had survived the first week and thus got to meet the entire pack then? Reluctantly, he walked over to sit down between Peter and Lydia, looking around.

"These are Cora, Derek and Jackson. The rest you already met, I believe" Peter said in lieu of introduction. "There is one more member to our pack, but she is studying abroad in Paris."

Stiles nodded slowly, offering an awkward wave. Erica started shoveling food onto the plate in front of him. It was set out a bit like a buffet, plates each staked high with pancakes, waffles, bacon, eggs, set out on the tables, everyone just taking whatever they wanted. It was… nice.

Jackson was Lydia's mate, that much became obvious quickly, by the way the two leaned into each other, whispered with each other, exchanged looks that spoke more than entire volumes. Erica kept nuzzling into her own mate too, Boyd having one hand near constantly entangled in her curls. Allison was bickering with Cora, while Derek kept adding his own two cents occasionally.

It was warm and comfortable and that only put Stiles more on edge. Something that's been bothering him for the entire past week now became an itch he needed to scratch. In an attempt to fight that impulse, he started fidgeting more, bouncing his leg, tapping his fingers.

"Stiles," Chris spoke slowly, watching him with sharp eyes. "Is something wrong? We didn't mean to make you uncomfortable with this invitation. It just seemed easier, considering the rest of the pack wanted to get to know you, now that you are going to be a big part of our Alpha's life."

The way Chris reached over the table to take his husband's hand at that last bit made Stiles' heart jump. Werewolf mates would always just really get him, they fucked him up bad. That kind of intense love and devotion? One could only dream about, really.

"It's not that," Stiles shook his head, pausing. "There's just… Something's been bugging me. But I don't know if it's my place to even bring it up. Probably not."

"Well, now you have to say it," Cora huffed, giving him a look.

Stiles turned toward her when she spoke and he couldn't help but stare. Why did she look so familiar? He felt like he'd seen her before. Where had he seen her before? He had such a good memory usually, why did this escape him. Something about her was eerily familiar.

"Why doesn't this place have wards," Stiles blurted out, before his brain could latch onto the Cora mystery. "The firm too. I don't get it. They're pack-owned. Why would you not protect them."

The others slowed down in their eating, individual conversations coming to a halt as everyone regarded him and great. Yeah. This was why he hadn't meant to bring it up. He grew more nervous.

"How do you know that there aren't wards?" Peter asked dryly.

"I mean, for one, my job interview? When you reacted surprised that I knew about the supernatural," Stiles tilted his head as he turned to look at the Alpha next to himself. "If your firm had wards, bare minimum is for them to trip if another supernatural creature walks in. Should have tipped you off about my presence and you shouldn't have been surprised that I knew."

Peter narrowed his eyes at him. "You're not human. You only said you knew because you were in a pack, you didn't say that you were non-human too, Stiles."

A casual shrug, and Stiles pulled one leg up against his chest, resting his arm on it. "See, now I know you don't have wards because you seriously don't know I'm not human."

"What are you?" Lydia was giving him the same look as Peter now.

"Rude question to ask," Stiles shrugged. "You didn't disclose that you're non-human and a non-wolf either, Lydia. I don't see how I owe you my nature."

"He's right," Chris' voice was sharp and he shot both Lydia and Peter a look. "He's your employee and coworker, he has a right to share this only if he is comfortable."

Stiles beamed at Chris at that, genuinely beamed. How long had it been since someone defended him? Much less defended his right to make decisions about and for himself. Damn, that was sad.

"You don't have to answer me either," Stiles offered after a moment, looking at Peter. "It's just, your husband asked what's bothering me and… the lack of wards is bothering me. But you don't owe me a reason or explanation. It just. It's the thing that's bothering me, that's all. Your pack is a big enough size to constitute an Emissary who should be behind these things."

His eyes involuntarily landed on Chris. That had been his running theory for the past week. Either Chris or Lydia were the Emissary of the Hale Pack, because neither of them were wolves. They scent-marked but they did it in a clear way that was learned behavior, not instinct.

Peter's sneer drew his attention. "Our pack doesn't have an Emissary. Let's say… I have made bad experiences with that in the past and I'm not trusting potential incompetence with my pack."

For a moment, Stiles processed that and then it sank in and made him snort out a laugh. Because yeah. Incompetent and untrustworthy Emissaries, like Alan Deaton. He froze the moment the name crossed his mind, his eyes landing on Peter. His heart-rate picked up rapidly and his eyes widened as the pieces that had been right in front of him slotted together.

His reaction was obvious not just to the wolves and now everyone was staring intensely at him, most of them with something akin to concern, but all Stiles could do was stare at Peter.

"You're Peter Hale," Stiles whispered stunned.

"Are… Are you having a stroke, darling?"

The words could have been sarcastic, but Peter's voice was genuinely worried and okay yeah maybe Stiles must look like he was having some kind of episode there, sitting frozen and staring at him with his heart racing, stating a very obvious fact he had been aware of for a whole fucking week. His head snapped over to Derek and Cora, his mouth falling open.

"You're Derek and Cora Hale," Stiles hissed, pointing at Cora. "That's why you look so damn familiar! Fuck. Fucking elementary school. And you! I remember you, with your stupid basketball, thinking you look so cool when dropping Cora off for class, like you were all that."

Stiles narrowed his eyes at Derek. The stupid middle-schooler with his stupid basketball and talented hands. All the girls in his class always giggled whenever he'd dropped his sister off. Stiles slowly looked around when he realized that it had gotten eerily quiet. All eyes on him.

Not that Stiles had time to focus on them – on the Hale Pack, fuck – no, Stiles was too deep in his head. This couldn't be real. They were alive. They were actually alive. Stiles clasped a hand over his mouth, his eyes widening in horror when other things started coming together. The horror was directly followed by a hollow, dark and ugly laugh as he felt like reality was slipping from him. He started pressing his thumbs hard against the pads of his fingers, one by one, counting his fingers, counting that this was real, checking that this wasn't a trick of his mind.

"I ran all the fucking way across the ocean to escape that fucking hell-hole and I end up with the last survivors of the Hale Pack," Stiles muttered to himself. "This can absolutely not be real. This isn't real. This must be in my head. There's no way. I worked too damn hard to get out, I can't-"

He couldn't breath anymore, everything was spinning, his chest felt too tight and his lungs couldn't fill and his eyes were unfocused and why wasn't there enough air in the room-?

"Stiles," Chris' voice was sharp and firm, jolting him into a semblance of focus. "I need you to slow down your breathing, you're having a panic-attack. Can you breath in deep and hold, like this?"

When had Chris gotten up and walked around the table? Why was he kneeling in front of Stiles now, holding him by the arms, talking to him? Stiles took a shuddering breath but it wasn't enough, it just wasn't enough, why did his chest feel like it couldn't take any more air in? A sob wrecked his body and he doubled over. He was losing it, again. Maybe he never had it, maybe everything had been a trick from the Nogitsune, him and Isaac getting out, getting a new start, maybe he was still stuck in Beacon Hills, had never gotten out, never gotten his mind back.

"I can't go back, I can't go back," Stiles sobbed, shaking his head. "I can't-"

"Breath," Chris instructed, a clear command. "Stop thinking and just breath with me."

It took longer, Stiles didn't know how long – didn't want to know how long – for him to regain his bearings and when he did, he blearily looked around. He was comfy and warm and felt oddly safe. Which was not exactly how the aftermath of his panic-attacks usually went. They weren't at the table anymore. They were on the ground. Chris was on the ground. Stiles was on Chris. On Chris' lap, to be exact. The older man had his arms around Stiles, was holding him close. Peter sat next to them, a grounding hand in Stiles' neck. The rest of the pack was also sitting on the ground, around them in a circle. It looked nearly protective, like something they'd do to shield a vulnerable pack-member. Stiles liked that sentiment, even though he knew it was probably about their Alphas.

"Fuck," Stiles rubbed his face. "Second week on the job and I have a panic-attack in front of my boss and somehow end up in his husband's lap. Great going, Stilinski."

"Stiles," Peter's voice was surprisingly soft. "You don't need to be ashamed of having a panic-attack and you're in Christopher's lap because you only started calming down once you were held down. The restriction seemed to make you feel grounded."

"Oh," Stiles blinked sluggishly. "Okay."

"You will have to explain yourself though," Peter raised his eyebrows at him. "How you recognized us and why… why that sent you into a panic-attack."

Stiles still rubbed at the tear-streaks on his cheeks, feeling so, so tired. Too tired to argue or fight or storm out. Even though he probably should. His instincts were in conflict. Some of them told him to run, grab Isaac and run even further, as far away as possible. But other instincts, instincts he hadn't indulged in in literal years at this point, told him that he was safe and that he should never get up from the safe comfort of Chris' lap. Sighing, Stiles rested his cheek against Chris' shoulder.

"I worked so hard to leave Beacon Hills behind, to leave your family's legacy behind and I somehow manage to run into your family, of all people," Stiles muttered frustrated. "Cora and I went to elementary school together. Pretty sure I said that before my freakout."

"Stiles," Cora tilted her head with a frown. "Oh, you were the loud kid who always was glued to the side of that quiet, shy kid that always wheezed during recess."

Stiles couldn't help but flinch at the reminder of Scott, of back when Scott had still been his best friend, his other half, when they used to be inseparable. Tears welled in his eyes again. The reminder of Scott usually didn't make him cry anymore, but he was still raw from the aftermath of his panic-attack. A gentle hand wiped his tears away and he turned to look at Peter.

"What do you mean you were running from our family's legacy," Peter wanted to know.

He sounded much more patient than he should, honestly. How had he not threatened to just rip Stiles' throat out at this point. Stiles would identify himself as a threat to his pack, if he were Peter. Bitterness overtook him as Peter's question really sank in. He curled together, making himself small on Chris' lap, absolutely not caring that he was still sitting there. As long as Chris wasn't going to push him off, Stiles was absolutely not giving up the first safe place he'd been in in years.

"I told you I was part of a pack," Stiles' voice felt hallow even to himself. "That was back in Beacon Hills. But you know what happened when there was a new pack in Beacon Hills?"

Rhetoric question, they probably didn't. Nobody spoke or interrupted him. Or pushed him to explain faster. Why were they being so patient. Nobody was patient with Stiles. Aside from Isaac.

"The people who tried to kill your entire family came back to finish the job, because surely an Alpha in Beacon Hills meant that the survivors of the Hale Pack had returned to reclaim their territory," Stiles felt oddly dead inside as he remembered those early days.

"The people…" Peter's voice wavered and he looked at Stiles, past Stiles.

"The Argents," Stiles snarled, curling tighter, pressing a hand against his shoulder. "Kate came to finish the job she'd started. Hunted us like animals for months."

Peter noticed the way Stiles' fingers clawed into his own shoulder. Curiosity got the better of the Alpha and he unbuttoned Stiles' shirt enough to push it aside and see what Stiles was holding onto.

"That's a gun-shot wound," Peter pointed out, voice dark.

"Yeah, heard the part where I said 'hunted us like animals'? I was being very literal there. She chased us through the preserver, trying to shoot us all down," Stiles turned his head away from Peter, instead burying his face in Chris' chest. "Ironically, she was only the start of our problems."

He noticed how stiff Chris had gone, completely rigid beneath Stiles. Right. All of this was his husband's trauma, Chris was probably worried about his mate. Well, as long as Chris wasn't going to push him off, Stiles was very selfishly not getting off his lap because it was his trauma too. If he wanted to comfort his mate, he'd first have to physically remove Stiles himself.

"She's in prison," Stiles noted belatedly, looking at Peter, Derek and Cora. "For mass murder and grand arson. My dad… My dad was the sheriff at the time, he put her behind bars. Well. We put her behind bars. He didn't know about the supernatural back then. And I was feeling petty. Because my Alpha didn't find murder a sufficient method of getting rid of a threat, even if that threat kept fucking shooting us with wolfsbane bullets – which, fyi, hurt like a bitch even if you're not a werewolf. Fun fact there. So I had to get more creative to get rid of her. And her… obsession with the Hales was… well, it set me on the right course. I just needed to get all the evidence and bahm."

If he'd have more energy, he would have added jazz-hands for effect there. As it stood, he just wanted to go to sleep. Chris was very comfy, even though he was still rigid as steel. He tucked his hand under his ribs, pressing against them hard, balling a fist in the expensive fabric of his shirt.

"Daddy dearest wasn't a fan of his deranged daughter going to prison for killing werewolves," Stiles continued, too tired to stop, too raw to stop. "Gerard Argent came to town a couple months later and he was hell-bent on revenge. You should have seen his fucking face when he realized a fifteen year old wise-ass brat had gotten his daughter convicted."

"You were how old," Derek's voice was a distressed growl.

A tired half-shrug. "Yeah. Childhood in Beacon Hills. Rainbows, sunshine, kittens and murderous hunters all inclusive. He was a better hunter than his daughter though. She was wild, unhinged, lashing out. He was precise, direct, effective. Captured us. Held us captive for days. Couldn't believe that a bunch of kids had outsmarted the great Argent family, was so damn sure there was a Hale somewhere pulling the strings. Tried torturing your location out of us."

His knuckles were white with how hard he was grabbing his shirt, effectively pulling it out of the confines of his pants. Peter's hand was gentle when it grabbed his, but Stiles didn't move.

"Kicked in my ribs," Stiles muttered in a detached voice. "Punctured my lungs. Nearly killed me. Makes my panic-attacks all the more fun because being unable to breath is just another trigger, so it's like a spiral from one panic into the next. Fun times for Stiles."

He just wanted to sleep. He knew he couldn't. Shouldn't. Thinking about the Nogitsune only meant he was going to have horrible nightmares and most likely another panic attack. But in all fairness, how likely was it that he ran into the Hales in fucking London? Of course did that seem unreal.

"Stiles, that's horrible," Lydia looked genuinely devastated.

Erica and Boyd were clinging onto each other, looking at him with horror and pity. Erica had grown attached to him quickly, she probably made her mate second-hand-attached to him. Poor Boyd.

"Yeah, those were the easy times," Stiles stated dryly. "Things got worse from thereon out. That's why we got out. As far away from that hell-hole. But you get it now? That your family legacy's been one of the things I ran away from? And that seeing you here is… it feels unreal."

"I… do understand that," Peter frowned at him so softly, so worried. "I'm sorry."

"Fuck," Stiles heaved a sigh. "It's not your fucking fault. That's not. I didn't mean it like that. I don't blame you for the deranged hunters who were trying to murder you! I'm just… I always thought you were dead, I thought she was just being a paranoid bitch. Honestly, this actually makes the getting tortured to give up your location bit feel a little better, because hey, you actually were alive. It was really annoying when I thought I was getting tortured for nothing, you know."

"You absolutely need to stop being so glib about this," Jackson said, sounding a little nauseous.

"Sarcasm is how I cope," Stiles drawled, giving him a deadpan expression.

There was a silent conversation happening over his head, between Chris and Peter. Stiles was too exhausted to pay closer attention to it or try to decipher it. He just closed his eyes. A nap sounded good. His eyes snapped open and he bolted up. Nope. No sleeping after a panic-attack.

"Stiles…?" Allison asked in a near small voice. "Are you… alright?"

"Yeah, no," Stiles shook his head. "Got too tired there for a moment."

"Maybe you should go and lay down," Peter suggested gently.

"No," Stiles' voice was sharp. "Can't. Can't sleep after a panic attack. There are only worse panic attacks waiting for me in that direction. What I need to do is keep my mind occupied and get it exhausted enough so I might actually maybe sleep tonight."

"That doesn't sound healthy," Derek pointed out, impressive eyebrows furrowed.

"Never claimed it was," Stiles shrugged. "But it's been working for me for years now. Also, after all the soul-bearing I just did, I'd… really like to get out of here. So, please. Just. Give me something to do, Alpha. I need something to do."

There was a flash of red eyes at Stiles' unintentional use of the title. Stiles swallowed hard. Damn, that looked hot on Peter Hale. No. Nope. Not getting attracted to his hot, married boss.

"Fine," Peter heaved a sigh. "I'll text you the next few errands I have for you."

/break\

After that day at the café, Peter felt an irrationally strong sense of protectiveness over Stiles. The boy had suffered for the Hale Pack, without even being part of it. And when he had barely been a pup – fifteen years old, being hunted by the Argents. He kept an extra eye on Stiles, made sure that when he sent the boy out on an errant, he could be sure at least one pack member would be close by to watch over Stiles. And Peter was very pleased that his pack didn't even have to be commanded to do so. No, after the way Stiles had broken down, they were all attached to him.

"Stiles," Peter smiled pleased when the boy walked into the office. "Come here. Sit."

Stiles stared at him with suspicion and confusion. "Did… I forget to book a luncheon for you, sir?"

Peter had a table set with rumpsteak, green beans and roasted potatoes, two glasses of wine. "No. Come and eat with me, I didn't feel like eating alone today and Christopher is busy."

Stiles looked wary for another moment before he shrugged and then just plopped down opposite him. "I am not saying no to a free meal. We've had ramen for the past three nights."

"Why," Peter made a disturbed face.

"...Because we don't have money?" Stiles gave him a pointed look. "I only started working for you three weeks ago, not like I got my first paycheck yet? So we're still living off the rest of my waiter paychecks. And those, you know, not that much."

"You keep saying 'we'," Peter narrowed his eyes, latching onto that.

Stiles actually froze at that, looking caught. "Yes."

"Who is we?" Peter asked more directly, rolling his eyes. "You don't talk a lot about yourself. Outside of… what you told us last week at the café."

"I… live with," Stiles paused tentatively. "Someone."

Peter tilted his head, so very intrigued. He was addicted to this boy, he needed to learn more about Stiles, wanted to learn everything there was about him. What did 'someone' mean? The way he said it, it was a loaded word. A romantic partner? His wolf growled deeply displeased by that.

"Are they… in the know?" Peter asked tentatively.

More reluctance, before Stiles nodded. "I was… I mean, it's only been three weeks. But I've noticed the way your pack's been stalking me. So I was… thinking of… I wanted to ask you if he could… meet the pack. I like your pack. It might be… good for him."

Him. Peter's wolf grew more agitated. He knew Stiles was gay. Was this a boyfriend? Did Stiles have a werewolf boyfriend? It was terrifying how attached his wolf was to the boy, how attached he was to the boy. But at this point, Peter fully considered Stiles his.

"Friday night, why don't you and that… friend… of yours come over to our den for pack dinner? He has a chance to meet everyone and the pack would love to have you over."

Stiles stuffed his face with beans and Peter's thoughts wandered somewhere else entirely at the way Stiles' cheeks bulged. He could imagine stuffing his cock between those pink lips, stuffing him, having those beautiful doe-eyes stare up at him while the boy was on his knees for Peter. Mh. What a delicious mental picture. He offered a lazy, pleased smile at the thought.

"Okay," Stiles shrugged. "I'm also noting the way you fully did not react to your betas stalking me. Just, so you know. I noticed that. Which makes me think it's Alpha sanctioned."

Peter's smile was all teeth, maybe some fangs. "I just watch out for what's mine."

Stiles choked on the beans, coughing violently, before Peter continued. "And you're my secretary."

[ao3feed-peterstiles]

bending back

Read it on AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/57198667 by frankie_31 Every year on the night before Allison Argent's birthday, Stiles brings a bouquet of hyacinth and a bottle of whiskey to her grave. It’s a useless gesture, seeing as she’s already dead, but he hasn’t missed a birthday since they were seventeen. Tonight, her bones turn twenty-six. Tonight, something changes in a momentous way and Stiles is deposited into the past. Into Beacon Hills, days before Peter gives Scott the bite. Armed with future knowledge, he sets to righting his wrongs and manipulating the past to keep Allison from dying as a girl. Saving Laura Hale from her violent end throws everything in the air and leaves Stiles with more moving parts than he knows what to do with. The road to redemption is far from smooth – he’s stuck in his sixteen year old body, his ex-boyfriend is an emo kid again, and the barely sane Peter Hale won’t stop taking his shirt off. Even if it means aligning himself with the very attractive but very dangerous Peter Hale, Stiles is going to save them all. Words: 12202, Chapters: 2/17, Language: English Fandoms: Teen Wolf (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Categories: M/M Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Peter Hale, Derek Hale, Laura Hale, Cora Hale, Malia Tate, Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Sheriff Stilinski (Teen Wolf), Alan Deaton, Lydia Martin, Danny Māhealani, Jackson Whittemore, Isaac Lahey, Erica Reyes, Vernon Boyd, Allison Argent, Chris Argent, Original Characters, Spoilers: They're all vampires Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale and Scott McCall's Pack Members & Stiles Stilinski, Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Laura Hale/Sheriff Stilinski Additional Tags: Time Travel Fix-It, BAMF Stiles Stilinski, Angst with a Happy Ending, Temporary Character Death, Enemies to Lovers, Under-negotiated Kink, Exhibitionism, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Laura Hale Lives, Laura Hale & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Pack Alpha Laura Hale, Sadism, Masochism, Good Parent Sheriff Stilinski (Teen Wolf), Grief/Mourning, Hurt Stiles Stilinski, Emissary Stiles Stilinski, Alpha & Emissary Relationship(s) (Teen Wolf), Protective Peter Hale, Top/Bottom Versatile Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski Is Bad at Feelings, Stiles Stilinski is a Mess, Mental Health Issues, Werewolf Culture, Character Turned Into Vampire, Torture, Warning: Gerard Argent, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Other Additional Tags to Be Added Read it on AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/57198667

[cliozaur]

“Marius did what he considered necessary and just.” It’s a peculiar understanding of justice to take Cosette to Vernon, showing respect to Marius’ deceased father while ignoring and disrespecting her own father. And it’s a peculiar understanding of justice and gratefulness to have an obsessive desire to help openly criminal Thénardier while punishing reformed Jean Valjean. Hugo says it would be wrong to blame Marius, but I disagree. Marius is essentially hastening Valjean’s demise, albeit not without Valjean's own part in it.

As for Cosette, I won’t condemn her. She’s clearly been manipulated by both Marius and Valjean, as we've seen in previous chapters. However, I detest how much she’s become dependent on Marius’ opinion. It seems she has completely lost her agency: “She was conscious of Marius’ will in the direction of “Monsieur Jean,” she conformed to it. Her husband had not been obliged to say anything to her; she yielded to the vague but clear pressure of his tacit intentions, and obeyed blindly.” Why is Hugo doing this? This shift in Cosette’s character feels inconsistent with the resourceful and independent girl we’ve known throughout the book. And at this point, she’s portrayed as entirely passive: “Marius gradually won Cosette away from Jean Valjean. Cosette allowed it.”

Towards the chapter’s end, Hugo discusses the “ingratitude of children” as something natural. It feels like he might have had his own experiences that led him to raise this question.