#HAPPY BIRTHDAY WIFE GRAVEL!!!

[netherfeildren]

My Whole Life : A Fear of God Story

(Joel Miller x OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary: The family celebrates Joel's birthday.

Content Warnings: Fluff and smut (like the fluffiest fluff ever); Miller Family Fun; Joel being overrun by wild little girls; Dirty old man & inappropriate groping; Established relationship; Joel Miller is a Wife Guy; Competence kink; Breastfeeding; Lactation kink; Oral sex (M! & F! receiving); Come eating; Pregnancy kink; Size difference; Daddy kink; Possessive behavior; PIV sex; Ass play; Romantic anal :) ; Body worship; Dirty talk; Pussy slapping; Over stimulation

Rating: Explicit 18+

A/N: Happy happy happy birthday to our bestest and most beautiful old man. This might just be some of the most ridiculous shit I’ve ever written, and it’s all for him :)

Word Count: 9.8K

Read on AO3

MY WHOLE LIFE

And you’ll always love me, won’t you?

Yes.

And the rain won’t make a difference?

No.

Ernest Hemingway, A Farewell To Arms

He’s still asleep. Laying on his side, bent elbow tucked beneath his smushed cheek, messy curls strewn across his pillow, overly long and floppy against his forehead. It’s time for a haircut, but he’s been distracted and busy lately, evading your managing fingers and scissors. The quilt is pulled up high over a thick shoulder, and that soft, full mouth is slightly parted, the near silent whistle of his breathing passing through each exhale. You close your eyes and listen for a moment. When you open again, you reach up to run the tip of your finger along the damp edge, and he puckers his lips slightly, mouthing at your exploration. Ah, awake then. You lean forward to press your mouth to his briefly, taking his breath into yourself. 

Tell me you love me, you whisper the words onto his tongue. 

“I love you, Birdie,” voice like falling stones; graveled, sluicing into your ears, eternally familiar. An everyday thing that’s a small miracle each time it’s whispered into the small shell. 

“Happy Birthday, Joel.�� And he finally opens his eyes, long lashes squeezing tight and spiky for a second before he blinks open, bleary with sleep. His half smile unfolds for you, slow and lazy, the lines around his eyes going deep and grooved, and your fingertips skim over the whiskered plane of his cheek, feeling the proof of his happiness around his eyes. Pulling his hand from beneath his cheek he reaches for you, skims the back of his hand down the front of your belly, undoing the buttons of  his old, worn to softness flannel as he goes. Backs of his knuckles following again, skimming down the soft swell, dipping into your navel, and then sneaking around your waist to pull you into himself. Belly to belly he sighs deep and rumbly, closes his eyes again, nods his head just a smidge, settling back into the pillow. “Thank you, sweetheart.” 

You know that if he could skip this day every year, he would. Sleep through the whole thing of it, erase it from history. You know that it’s endlessly painful, eternally terrible, and that even after almost three decades it never hurts any less. Five years now, you’ve been married, and you’ve tried to make every year as special as possible. Not necessarily peaceful, an unachievable thing in a house full of four loud and scrambling little girls, but always special, always infused with as much happiness as you can give him. 

The sallow purple light from early dawn seeps in through the sheer blue curtains over the wide bay window of your bedroom, and as he presses you to him, the course hair of his chest and belly rubs against the skin of your own stomach, your overly sensitive breasts, full and extra tender from nursing. You’d made his gift extra special last year, your last baby, little Connie, now nearing six months old. 

-

“Another one?”

“Well, baby, that’s what happens when your husband can’t keep his dick in his pants.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he sighs, head falling back on his neck as he runs his palm over his mouth, two fingers tucked into his belt. Dad pose.

“We’re getting a nanny, Joel. Someone to help us – you go out there and find anyone, I don’t care who. There’s too many of them, we’re being overtaken. And we can’t keep asking Ellie and Dina – they’ve got JJ now, they’re busy too. You’ve saddled us with a whole kindergarten here because you can’t seem to stop getting me pregnant,” voice hitching with equal measures of anxiety and happiness, and an overabundance of hormones and love. 

He sidles up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist to hug you tight to his chest, one of his hands coming up to squeeze your full, heavy breasts gently, you gasp, extra sensitive already. He coos right into the soft shell of your ear, “Poor Birdie. S’just so fun makin’ ‘em baby. Can’t help myself.”

You roll your eyes at him even though he can’t see, and you kind of want to claw at his face and rip all his clothes off, all at the same time. This is all his fault. All of your sense gone out the window, can’t get pregnant while you’re breastfeeding, as if you didn’t know better. Too desperate for your husband to be more careful. And now look at the two of you… 

Your ass perks up, grinds back into his already growing erection, fucking beautiful, he murmurs with his forehead resting on your shoulder to look down at you, palming your ass. His hands sweep over you in an arc, skimming the soft dips and contours of your skin. 

Then shyly, head tuning over your shoulder to press your temple to his forehead, “Are you happy?” Because you still just need to make sure, you still just need to hear it. 

“You’ve never given me the option to be anything else but, my love.”

-

He’d gotten up in the middle of the night when he’d heard her fussing, bringing the baby to you still half asleep, cuddling her tiny, pink form against his naked chest, so that you could nurse her back to sleep. He’d sat at the edge of the bed, big hand cupped at the back of your skull as he’d looked down on you feeding his child from your breast, the look in his eyes like nothing you’d ever imagined before him. The birth of your children had infused a sense of tenderness, an intimacy so acute it brought tears to your eyes if you thought about it too much, into your relationship that had made the two of you closer than ever. More in love with each other than you’d ever thought possible. 

The memory of your parents was worn and faded with time, but you remembered they’d always approached each other with a sort of comfortable respect. Never ones for overt displays of affection or physical intimacy. So you’d never expected that the love of a man like Joel Miller, stoic and reserved and brusque, could be like this; an overwhelming sort of thing, scalding and suffocating in a way you needed. 

His hand skims back to your chest, undoing the rest of your buttons to get at the warmth of your breasts, rough palm gently, gently cupping the full weight. The dry abrasion of calluses catching at your sensitive nipples, handling you with such care. A low rumble in his throat, eyes still closed, “Gimme another kiss, little bird. It’s my birthday,” he whispers before sliding forward, taking your mouth with his. He starts off slow, a soft brush of damp lips, before he takes your upper lip between his, pulling gently, his hand moving back and down now, cupping your lush bottom to pull you up and into himself. Your hands flutter over his chest, still after all this time, easily overwhelmed by the heat and feel of him. You never want it to end, you never want it to lessen. 

The sex is still filthy, but everything else is pure. 

You can feel the hardening heft of his cock under his boxers between the two of you, and you skim your hand down the length of his soft belly, fingers tucking beneath the elastic to run the backs of your knuckles against the burning hot skin there, feel the tickle of his hair. He makes another one of those deep sounds, warm and masculine and smelling faintly musky from sleep, and you bring your knee up against his hip, pushing further into his boxers to feel the rapidly thickening base of his cock against the back of your hand, you brush the pad of your thumb there and his kiss becomes hungrier. Bringing his palm to the nape of your neck he rolls the two of you over suddenly, trying to take charge, licking deep and wet into your mouth, pressing his now full-on erection into your cupping palm. “Taste so good, Birdie. Is my little cunt wet and ready for me?” 

“Joel–” you whisper, drawing your hand up to his shoulder to try and keep him at bay. His wet mouth moves down to your throat, cupping your breasts, pinching your nipples, settling more heavily between your spread thighs to grind his cock into your warmth. “We can’t,” you moan as his hot mouth pulls gently at your tit now, nipples dark and swollen. It’s been several hours since you’d nursed, and you feel the warmth of your milk as his tongue swirls around you. He groans, rough and hungry at the taste, bringing his knee up to lever himself over you, readying to rip your clothes off and take your cunt for himself, but as he moves to balance himself on one arm and knee while his other hand reaches for your panties, you press him off balance, dislodging him and rolling over as he goes, so that you’re left straddling the wide breadth of him. His eyes flash, provoked, and he jerks you forward, ripping the flannel off your shoulders so that your breasts are left bare and swinging heavily. With a rough grunt he bends his knees, shoving you up further on his stomach to wrap a big hand around your tit and bring it to his mouth. Mine, he growls, with your flesh in his mouth. He pulls on the taut peak again, another warm rush of your milk, his eyes locked on yours as he sucks from your nipple. It should be wrong, maybe it is, but like you’d said, the sex is still filthy, everything else is pure. 

“We can’t,” you whisper, carding your fingers through the long locks of his messy curls, the strands cool and soft at the ends, but hot and damp at the roots. You can feel your pulse thrumming at your throat, the insides of your wrists, the back of your knees. The slide of your wet cunt against his abdomen has the heat between the both of you ricocheting up to a sweltering dampness, and despite your protests, you moan as his hands roll you against him. “They’ll be up soon and banging on that door, you know it. Ellie and Dina can only hold them off for so long.” The girls had spent the night, not only so they could be here for birthday breakfast, but so that the two of you could spend a few extra peaceful moments in bed without three raucous monsters climbing in with you. 

“Don’t care – need you now.” He levers his head up off the pillow, following the swing of your breast until he can catch it with his mouth, teeth gently scraping across the bud. Joel, you whimper, lashes fluttering against your cheeks. He makes a self satisfied noise low in his throat, crushing you to himself and sucking hard on your skin, pulling a strangled moan from your throat. Trying to pull away, grabbing his marauding hands, you try to pin him down with your entire weight, small fingers clasping around the thick of his wrists and pressing them back into the pillows. The two of you pause to take each other in for a second, I love you, he mouths up at you, silent, eyes on fire. You can’t help the deep flush, trying to swallow your smile and shake your head at him in mock disapproval, pinning him harder. “That isn’t gonna work, little thing. Got the strength of a butterfly.”

“Shut up.” You lean forward, pressing your mouth to the thick bulge of his bicep, dragging your teeth across the swell. “You’re mine – I do what I want.” He gives you a soft, conceding laugh, and you press kisses along his shoulder, across his collarbone, letting the long tresses of your hair snake like water over his face, his chest, his stomach. Scooting down his belly to nuzzle at the springy hair covering his chest, little tongue darting out against his nipple, smiling at the sound of his soft gasp. Further, further down, kisses to his soft belly, thicker around the middle now, sympathy weight, he calls it. But he’s so strong, and so endless, and you need him so much. You wiggle between his legs, forcing him to spread his thick thighs to make space for you and nip at the sensitive inner slope there. Nuzzling his hairy limbs, you pause to look up at him, cheek resting there, feeling the restrained strength of his muscles. The two of you go quiet for a second, taking each other in, and there’s so much said in his gaze. He brings his hand to the crown of your head, cupping the small bowl of your skull in his palm, and smiles a little, a teasing crook of his eyebrow, and you can’t help but laugh, turning your face to hide your own smile in his thigh. 

“What’cha gonna do, baby?” Hmm, he croons down at you, sliding his fingers through your hair. You sneak your fingers below the waistband of his boxers again, tugging them down to free the straining, thick cock and heavy balls. You press a barely there kiss to the skin just beside the base and watch as his length jumps, flushed head starting to leak. You give him another wry look, and he runs his fingers along the line of your jaw, up the slope of your cheek bone, hot touch following the wing of your brow. It’s all soft caresses and the sort of comfort that only comes from knowing another person almost better than you know yourself. You finally bend down and press a kiss at the tip, opening your mouth to let your tongue flutter along the soft, spongey curve. He lets out a long, restrained breath through his nostrils, fingers still roaming along your face, through your hair as you start to take him deeper into your mouth, levering yourself up over his groin so that he has a better view of your breasts and hair dragging over his thighs. A desperate groan, and you smile around his cock, you know him too well. You drag the flat of your tongue along the ridged base, a swirl around the fat head, his hand cupped at the nape of your neck. You can feel the pulse and throb of him against your tongue, and you moan around him, fluttering lashes tickling your cheeks, you want to feel that pulse at the core of you, deep where he owns you. “Yeah, baby,” voice soft and strained, trying to swallow the sound of his own pleasure in the hollow quiet of your still sleeping home. “Hum a little song around daddy’s cock, little bird.” And your eyes flash hot and desperate up to his own. A wash of heat spreads from the crown of your head to the tips of your curling toes, backs of your knees smarting, pussy going tight and desperate as a knot. You wrap both hands around the length of him and focus your suctioning mouth at the head, moaning wantonly, twisting your palms around the slick spit left by your tongue. 

“Fuck, yes – yes, yes yes. That’s perfect, you’re doing so good, Birdie. Just like that.” He bears his teeth at you, a wash of color spreading across the crests of his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose. You slide your slick hands down to cup his balls and take him to the back of your throat, moaning ragged and choked around the too thick length, swallowing repeatedly, trying to breathe through your nose, eyes smarting and thighs clenching. His fingers twist in your hair painfully, and he swells almost impossibly bigger in your mouth. “Fuck, I’m gonna come. I’m gonna come, baby. Don’t swallow, don’t swallow.” He hasn’t stopped looking at you, eyes wide and frenzied. You pull back, squeezing his sack as he starts to spurt, thick and salty into your mouth. “Don’t swallow, lemme see. Gimme my birthday present, show me–” You pull away from his soaked cock, mouth sticky with semen, and present your tongue for him, the milky viscousness dripping sloppy while you continue to jack his still spitting length. He sits up suddenly, cock still fisted in your working hand to grip your jaw in his strong fingers. His eyes are filled with a sort of mania only you know how to bring out in him now that he’s been mostly tamed, and you bring your other hand up to your face, scooping the spurted drops of come on your cheeks onto your white splattered tongue. “Perfect fucking thing,” he growls. “You do what I say,” he gives your captured jaw a rough, little jostle. “Swallow now.” You close your mouth and obey, “Open again – lemme see,” sticking your now pink tongue out at him, he leans forward and licks into you, tasting himself. Filthy, filthy, filthy. I fucking love you, you can’t tell who says it, it doesn’t really matter. 

-

The farmhouse is a short ways outside of Jackson. He’d picked it after Lena was born, Kate and Clara had been two, and Connie would soon be on the way. The family needed more space, four children was a lot to manage, and he wanted his girls to have room to grow and play. You’d let him do as he pleased, and made the trek into the clinic every afternoon at first, but had taken on a partner two years ago, Jamie. She’d come to Jackson with her own medical background, and with four babies at home, the help was more than welcome. 

The house is old, but made of strong bones that Joel had painstakingly refurbished and now cared for meticulously. Filled with sturdy furniture he’d mostly made by hand, thick rugs and soft glowing lamps and books, books everywhere. And something else, something unknowable and invisible, but that was immediately obvious, nonetheless. A sort of love that was in such overabundance; it was an unbelievable sort of thing that a creature that had lived as he had could have ended up here, surrounded by all this goodness. Joel knows it is only because of you, all only your doing, his ending up here like this. 

As you step into the large dining and living space you stop abruptly, his chest bumping into your back, hands going to your hips to steady you. Your head cocks slowly to the side as you take in the new addition to the kitchen. “What’s that?” 

He presses his face into the warm, fragrant skin of your neck, smiling against the tender slope. “Made it for you.” It’s a kitchen table, long and thickly built, the warm oak color polished and cured to a glowing sheen. He’d snuck it in from the barn last night after you’d gone to sleep.

“It’s your birthday, you’re not supposed to be giving me gifts today.” He wraps his arms around your middle, his hand spanning across the soft swell of your postpartum belly. The change your carrying his children had wrought on your body was something that he’d not known would have such an effect of him. But the sight of you most days, wearing nothing but one of his oversized flannels, and his favorite itty bitty, pink, polka dotted panties. Swollen, leaking tits and the lush softness of your belly and hips underneath. Long hair, a tousled mess of a cloud around your head. Too fucking tempting. It brought out something not entirely civilized in him. How was he ever supposed to behave when you were prancing around your home together, surrounded by all your children, being the best mother the world had ever seen. Sometimes the urge to get you pregnant just one more time was almost irresistible. Soft and feminine and his, it did things to him, made him think unspeakable thoughts that he later acted out on you in explicit detail at night, in the privacy of your bedroom. Things had changed after the birth of your children, he had changed, in so many ways, in ways that Joel had never even thought possible. The intimacy, the closeness was something that he’d never even thought possible, something so vulnerable, so tender, his mind hadn’t had the capacity before this to imagine it. He’d never thought, never thought that he could love with an intensity like this, but you’d taught him so many things over the years. You taught him something new every single day. 

“It’s for me too,” he murmurs. “And giving you things makes me happy. Seein’ you happy makes me happy. This is my gift to myself.”

You’re quiet for a second, and he feels you tense and hiccup beneath his touch, trying not to cry. Finally, when you’re sure your voice won’t break, “Don’t be cheesy, old man.” But you turn in his arms, going up on your little toes to press your mouth to his, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck. He sighs into the kiss, tasting you slowly, savoring you, feels himself thickening again already, just at the feel and smell of you. When he pulls back to look down at you, sure enough, your eyes are wet and gleaming, a soft flush across your nose. “Thank you, I love it,” A small sniffle.

“Get in there,” he says gently. “Stop provokin’ me.” He gives your bottom a gentle squeeze before letting go. 

After he helps you get the girls up and settled, he goes on a long walk with Ellie and Kate, leaving you and Dina to hold down the fort for a while. Sydney, panting along Kate’s gangly, coltish side as they lope ahead of him and Ellie. The old Newfoundland had shown up one day on the front porch, mud and bramble slewn, Kate and Clara had brought her in, told them her name was Sydney, and that had been it, the dog had stayed. The hound, covered in a nearly unmanageable chocolate brown mane, had what he called an old disposition, much like him, Birdie liked to tease, but gentle and slow. The perfect animal to patiently accompany the girls along their misadventures, but large and astute enough to herd and protect when necessary. They liked to wander sometimes, disappearing at any moment, hiding and jumping out to scare the two of you in your frantic searches for them. Trouble the two of them, Kate and Clara together. Clara especially, mind sharp as a whip and an inclination for trouble she could have only gotten from him, if he was being honest. Kate was always the cooler, more level headed voice of the two of them, even at five, nearly six, years old. With those deep blue eyes, like shards of sea glass with the very power of the sun shining through. They’d slipped out of the house a few months ago behind his back, and after his mad search he’d found them wandering, hand in hand, towards the treeline. Short legs setting a slow and stunted pace, Sydney had been following closely at their heels, towering over the two small frames. At the sound of his approach, she’d turned back with an aggressive growl, ready to protect the two vulnerable creatures in her charge, but he’d settled her with a gentle, It’s just me, Syd, and the hound had gone tame and sedate once again. He’d trusted her with them unfailingly ever since. 

They were meandering slowly along one of his and Ellie’s favorite paths now, slowly, allowing for child and dog to pause and investigate at will, dew-covered spiderwebs, bright tufts of moss and old, rotted logs covered in bugs Kate begged him to let her bring home. 

“Mom gets scared. We don’t want that, do we?”

“Mom doesn’t get scared,” Kate says, scrunching her nose up at him. 

“It’s secretly him that gets scared, Katie. Don’t let him fool you,” Ellie tells her. They walk for close to an hour in mostly silence, their ritual of sorts, listening to the sound of the woods around them and Kate’s soft voice going on and on at Sydney, while the dog seemingly pays the closest and most attentive regard possible. The quiet walks, something that calls back to their long journeys all those years ago, a way to remind themselves of where they’d been and what they’d come to. 

“What do ya think?” She breaks the silence after they’ve turned back toward home and the breakfast waiting for them. 

“‘Bout what?” 

“Anything.”

He shakes his head, watching Kate’s short leap over a puddle, sighs long and deep, “Dunno – so many things. Nice walk–” He gives her a wry look out of the corner of his eye. 

They reach the edge of the woods and pause to watch Kate breaking into a run towards the house, Sydney matching her pace. “I think we did good, don’t you?” He knows she means everything, all of it. Lena, three years old, bursts out of the propped open front door of the house, Dina on her heels. “We kinda made it, didn’t we?”

“Yeah, kiddo. We did good.”

-

“I drew you a birthday picture, Daddy,” Clara tells him.

“C’mere, my angel. Let’s see it.” Sitting around the new kitchen table, he pulls her up into his lap, Lena following suit to scramble up as well. 

There are seven figures: you, drawn with long hair that reaches your feet, Kate, Clara, and Lena, respectively, what he assumes is baby Connie drawn as a miniscule figure eight at your feet, something that resembles a tumble-weed more than a dog, poor Syd, and then… someone drawn as a big circle, with an even bigger head on top. “Where’m I, baby?”

“Right there.” She points at the big, round thing, “I made him soft like you, Daddy.” And she pats his belly so affectionately, looking up at him with the biggest smile he’s ever seen, poor Syd – fuck, poor me, he thinks.

“Thanks, baby. I love it.” He squeezes her into his chest, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of her head. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees you bent over the kitchen counter trying to strangle yourself in a kitchen towel to muffle the sounds of your hysterical laughter. 

After scrambled eggs and hot breads with honey and jam, bacon and fruit and coffee, perfect girl that you are, you’d somehow gotten him a tin of beans as a birthday gift, you bring out what the girls call the pancake cake. A large, wide stack of the fluffiest buttermilk pancakes, all lathered in Dina’s whipped cream, and a mountainous heaping of bright red strawberries. He watches you, a thing akin to awe in his eyes as you set the red and white cloud down in front of him, you’d put on a soft blue dress, robins egg blue, with tiny lace cap sleeves that fluttered with your movements and made his stomach dip and swoop and ache to reach out and toy with them. 

“The berries were a gift,” you say with a pleased smile.

“Oh, was it Jeff?” The grocer, Dina asks. “He’s so nice.”

“Who?” Joel frowns.

“Jeff, he works at the market. He–” You pause, a laughing smile playing on your lips. “He wanted me to wish you a happy birthday, baby.” His scowl deepens, your own smile widening. 

As soon as the cake’s set in front of him there’s a chubby little hand sneaking forward to stick grubby fingers into the confection. “Lena,” looking down at her, and the hand is immediately snatched back. “Oh, the candles,” you remember as you’re about to take the seat next to him. 

“Left them in the back room, with the other stuff I brought,” Dina calls as you head to what’s used as a makeshift laundry room at the back of the house. He gets up quickly, a murmured, I’ll help you look, following you and flicking the door shut behind him, the echoing sound of snickers and Ellie’s hooting, mesmerized by the swish and flow of the blue fabric around your legs, and with a bone to pick.

“You’re not allowed to go to the market anymore.”

“Excuse me?”

“Take Ellie or Dina with you.” He pouts and scowls and fumes behind you as you rifle through the bags they’d brought with them.

“Excuse me?” You say again, voice soft and patient, infused with just a tinge of laughter. 

“You want me to say it again?” He steps forward, fingers ghosting through the ends of your long hair, hungry, possessive. “And who gave you permission to talk to other men?” And you snicker, not taking him seriously even a little bit. He wraps his arms around you, pressing you forward to squeeze your tits in his big hands, he’s obsessed, grinding his groin into the soft round of your ass. He drags his hands over the dips and contours of your body, squeezing lush curves as he goes, reaching to wrap around the delicate architecture of your jaw and pull your face around to look at him, taking in the beautiful heart shape of your mouth.

“Joel–” you chastise.

“Five minutes.”

“Behave, they’re gonna–”

“Don’t care. It’s my birthday.” He nuzzles your hair, searching for the small shell of your ear. “Just want a kiss, Birdie bird.”

“It’s never just a kiss with you,” but you turn in his arms anyways, pressing your mouth to his, licking into him before you’ve even fully got the words out. He gropes you, sliding a knee between your thighs to press against your mound and roll you against himself. Cupping the nape of your neck, he eats at you, sliding his tongue along yours. He can hear the desperate sound of his breath rattling in his own chest, and he slides his mouth down the slope of your neck, a soft nip to the tiny pulse there. He groans low in his chest, cock hard and straining against his jeans. “They takin’ them for the night, still?” He asks panting.

“They are,” voice a whimper, fingers twisting in his hair and tugging in frustration. You push him back by the shoulders, laughing gently, as you wiggle out from between his steaming, hard body and the counter. “Come on. Ellie’s gonna give you hell.” He braces his palms against the edge, head hanging trying to will his erection down and catch his breath. Jesus, Birdie. 

“Mama, why did Daddy go in there with you?” Clara’s little voice sounds as he steps back out into the kitchen behind you. 

“He was helping me–”

“They were making you another baby sister,” Ellie supplies unhelpfully, big fucking grin. Joel drags his thumb across his throat, staring daggers. 

“How do they do that?” Kate asks.

Ellie’s mouth opens, readying to worsen the situation, “Ellie–” Joel warns. 

Dina, ever the voice of reason, tells them patiently, “They write a letter to a stork, sweet. And then nine months later, he brings a baby.”

The girls are all quiet for a beat, digesting this newfound, eternally fascinating piece of information, until Kate says, in that solemn and level headed way of hers, hands primly set at the edge of the table, “I think the stork has come to our house too many times.”

Ellie cackles uncontrollably, Bridie’s giggle following suit, until the lot of them are caught in a net of laughter. Joel lets his head fall back, thumbs tucked at his belt, letting a long sigh out. “Jesus.”

“Jesus!” A little voice yells out in imitation. 

-

“What is a stork?”

“A bird,” Ellie provides. 

“Is that why mama is Birdie? Because she makes the baby come?”

“Yeah, baby. That’s why,” You tell Kate, smoothing a gentle hand over the crown of her bright blonde head. Inquisitive little thing. With your other hand you flick Ellie in the back of the head. Mother fucker, you mouth at her affronted look. 

“Father fucker,” she mouths back with a snicker. 

Once the candles are securely in the cake and lit, and Clara’s added her ever helpful, Mama, we need one thousand more candles, Daddy is so old, he nudges his head at you. “Come be a good girl, and sit on my lap,” he says quietly. You perch on the strong expanse of his thigh, one arm around the back of his neck, the other coming to entwine with the fingers of his hand at your waist, twisting the gold band of his ring round and round his finger. 

The girls sing Happy Birthday, Daddy, at the top of their lungs, and you watch him watch them, the clenching of his jaw, those fine little muscles that wrap around his mandible, fluttering as he grinds his back molars together, the ripple of his throat as he swallows again and again. The corners of his eyes go a little wet, tears lining the edges of those gorgeous hazel eyes as he stares into the flames of his birthday candles while the girls sing to him – off key, off harmony, so full of love. Clara clambers up onto his other knee midway through, plants herself on the endlessly strong surface of her father’s thigh, the safest place in the whole world. “Happy birthday, Daddy. I love you,” she whispers up at him, laying her little head on his shoulder, gazing at him with those same hazel green eyes that reflect his own image back at him, remind him of another little girl he’ll never stop missing, and he brings his hand up to cradle the back of her skull in his large palm, presses his lips to her forehead, love you so much, baby girl, whispered into her skin. Your first baby. His eyes fill further, and they flutter closed, trying to contain all that you know he’s feeling right now. Your hand on the back of his neck strokes softly at the overly long curls, soft and thick. You press your thumb into the notch of his skull, anchor yourself there, I’m here, I’m here, we are here together, look at all we have, and he turns to look at you, his cheek resting on your daughter's head. “Thank you,” he says, and you know that he means for all of it. 

Cheering squeals, laughter, and the padding rush of little feet over the floorboards as the rest of them start to run around the table, shrieking fills the air as they scramble over him, trying to climb up as well. He buries his face in your hair and shudders as he presses a tiny kiss to the soft lobe of your ear. Look at all we have. The whole world right here at our kitchen table. 

-

The birthday of a perfectly happy man is spent like this: a long breakfast with the woman of his dreams and all his daughters surrounding, a lazy afternoon, trying to doze on the deep, lumpy couch, intermittently interrupted by a knobby knee and a sharp little elbow to the gut or thigh, lunch and peach cream popsicles on the porch, watching the clouds, searching for shapes like treasures in the deep blue sky. 

He thinks of Sarah, as he lays there surrounded by her sisters. The sweet shape of her face, the dove green of her eyes surrounded by the thickest, darkest lashes he’s still ever seen to this day, Lena’s eyes are the exact same shade, the texture of her curly hair beneath his palm. Her memory is faded now, after so long, but he works it like a muscle in his mind every day, a staunch refusal to ever let her go. And no matter how far away he moves from that day, he still asks himself sometimes: How does one grapple with the loss of something that big, something that essential? He’s lived with a hole in his heart in the shape of a little girl for so long, decades, but now, with all of this surrounding him, he also has so many things that leave his heart so full he’s almost bursting with it. The two opposing feelings often leave him feeling bloated and without space within himself, and yet, he always finds another nook or cranny for more. Even when it’s left him tired, when his remembered past hangs over his head so that he feels, sometimes, like his edges are disjointed, not glued together symmetrically, you’re there to put him back to rights. 

And the memory will always be painful, it will never not hurt. It’ll never not be agony. But it’s easier now, to recall all the wonderful, all the good. Sometimes, he almost feels afraid of the intensity of this happiness, but in those moments, when that old fear returns you’re able to recognize even that, like everything else in his heart you know as well as your own, and you take him into your arms, reminding him that his whole life is right here in this house now, that you’ve saved him. 

“Look at the clouds, Daddy. There’s shapes.” 

Sprawled in the lush grass in front of the house, the three girls surrounding him. He presses a kiss to Lena’s soft curls, “Look at that one,” he says, “What d'ya see there?” 

“A bunny,” Kate says with all the self assurance of knowing she’s the eldest sister, and thus, the wisest. 

“A bunny? You sure?”

“Yes, Daddy. Don’t you see it?” Clara interjects. “He has big ears and funny whiskers just like yours.” Raucous giggles and screeches after that as they jump over and across him, with claims that he needs reminding how a bunny hops and leaps.  

Eventually, when they settle, Birdie brings out more cake, leaves the four of you to sit in a huddle criss-cross-apple-sauce and discuss the woes of kindergarten at the school house in town. 

“Mama told me I’m not allowed to bite,” Clara gives an exasperated huff, abandoning her cake to melt into the grass and crawl into his lap. “She bites a lot,” Kate adds. Irritated, pushing unruly curls out of her strawberry red face, “But– but I don’t like that Mama said that to me, Daddy,” she continues, looking at him very seriously, “I like to bite so much,” followed by the most conniving smile he’s ever seen, besides Ellie’s, blooming proudly across her angel sweet face. He’s forced to swallow his laugh and explain the merits of listening to her mother, something they must all do. When he turns back to look at Lena, she’s licking the spilled whipped cream out of the grass. They have to go inside for baths after that. 

At Kate’s behest, they have spaghetti and meatballs for dinner that night. Tommy, Maria and their son joining the family alongside Nancy, so that the table’s chock full of the people who care about him, all coming together to celebrate one more year of Joel’s life. By the end of the meal, he has all three girls perched on his lap, eating spaghetti off of his plate because, Daddy, it just tastes so much better from yours, obviously. He’s never been able to say no to them, and he isn’t about to start tonight, and you roll your eyes, but you also look at him with that gleam that tells him that if he asked you for another baby tonight, you’d probably not say no. They eat his food and yank on his hair and stab him with pointy sharp elbows in the ribs repeatedly, at one point someone sticks their finger up his nose, pulling his nostrils apart to look inside. 

“Daddy, why do you have so many hairs all over?”

“It’s so dark and scary in there, Daddy.”

Clara nods so fast her curls bounce up and down around her head, “I feel scared when I look up there,” green eyes wide. 

“What are they for, Daddy?”

Questions volleyed at him so fast he doesn’t have a chance to answer a single one of them. “If you eat spaghetti, will your boogers taste like spaghetti after?” Ellie, ever brilliant and helpful, suggests they try some to verify the theory.

“What is verify?” One asks.

“And what is seery?” Another calls. Birdie’s red in the face with laughter, and Joel feels very tired and very old and very ready to take his wife to bed. 

“A theory is when you think about something,” Tommy says, and gives him that look he’s wont to throw his way when he’s about to make fun of Joel for not being able to keep it in his pants and stop procreating. 

“And verify is to make sure,” Joel tells them.

“What is to make sure?”

“To know something.”

Kate nods solemnly, while Clara pauses, and then says, “I don’t think I know anything.” That worried sort of look only a five year old can get when an idea is just too big, crossing her little face.

Chuckles sound around the table, “That’s alright, sweetheart. Don’t you worry about it.”

-

As they say good night, the girls packed and ready to spend the night at Tommy and Maria’s, Ellie and Dina taking baby Connie, Ellie pokes and prods at you. 

“Would you quit, you little shit.”

“Dinner was nice, step mommy,” giving you a smarmy little smirk. 

“You know, I wanted to ask you something.”

“Oh?”

“It’s serious.” 

She cocks an eyebrow at you, “Spit it.”

“Well, I was wondering if you’re going through something right now? If you’re okay?”

“What? What do you mean?” Face twisted in confusion. 

You snicker, pulling on the ends of her recently shorn hair, “Then what’s up with the new fuck ass little bob you’ve got going on?” She slaps you away, swatting at your arms, reaching down to get at your thighs too. 

“Fuck you, mother fucker,” she laughs, trying to yank on your hair too. 

“Stop it. You have to respect me. I’m your step mother, remember?” 

“You’re so annoying.” You hear Joel call at the two of you to knock it off, but goes entirely ignored. 

“Poor Dina’s gotta look at this mess. Let her know if she ever needs to get away from it, she can come stay here any time she likes.” 

“I hate you,” she laughs, and you pull her in for a tight hug, another pinch to your side before she hugs you back. 

“Tough shit, I love you.” She squeezes you tight, grumbles a little before returning the sentiment. 

“Thank you,” she whispers into your shoulder, “For making him so fuckin’ happy.” You squeeze her tight as you can before she shoves you away, pretending not to sniffle and rolling her eyes at you. “Now stop being so fucking weird and sappy, and say good night to your football team.” 

-

“Blood Meridian again?” You ask him from where you’re standing at the kitchen island, snipping the ends of the flowers Nancy had brought with her and arranging them in a vase. “How many times’ve you read that?” He’s sitting on the sofa, facing you, reading glasses sitting crooked and bent on his nose from where someone’s little foot had crushed the frames. You watch the flicker of his gaze as he peeks at the page number, and then snaps the book shut. He never uses a bookmark, always just remembers. 

“Dunno–” big sigh, long stretch, “More than I can count now, I suppose.” He settles back into the couch, pushing his hips forward to slouch deep, tired, spreading his thighs wide, tempting you. You finish with the flowers, walking the vase to take center stage on the new table. At the far end of the table, right by your spot, he’s carved a tiny little sparrow into the surface of the oak. The etching so fine, so delicate, in comparison to the sight of him, big and brusque. It would be almost unbelievable to someone who didn’t know him as you do, who didn’t know the violence he’d endured to make him so gentle, someone who hadn’t watched him pull your newborn daughters from your own body, who hadn’t witnessed the incredible sight of him cradling those tiny little babies in his infinitely strong arms. You turn back to look at him over the hill of your shoulder, taking in the sight of him watching you, appraising your form. The slow rove of his eyes starting at your bare feet, moving up your legs as if his gaze was a physical manifestation of his hands on your skin, over the swell of your bottom, the slope of your spine, the fine crest of your shoulder, landing on your face. You can see his eyes moving over the planes of you, your chin, your mouth, cheeks, your eyes. He lands there, stays. You know he’ll be hard beneath his jeans when you go over to him. 

“C’mere – come sit on me,” voice soft and sultry. 

“Sit on you?”

“Mhmm, come tell me how much you love me.” He pats his thigh, and you move towards him slowly, shaking your head at him. 

“Needy.” You reach him, hitching your knee over his lap to straddle him, and he pulls you close and tight against his warm, wide chest.

“So needy.” He nuzzles into the fine tendrils of hair over your forehead, his breath hot and soft on your skin. “Need ya so much, Birdie.” A soft kiss to your temple, another to the flared end of your eyebrow, and you squirm on his lap, hot and restless and needy also, a fine thrumming ache flaring throughout the various pressure points in your body. Your throat, the inner curves of your elbows, the backs of your knees, deep in the pit of your belly. You feel weak and trembling, and he fills his hand with your hair, bringing it to his face and rubbing the soft curls against his cheek. “It’s time I take you to bed, isn’t it?” You hum against his collarbone, taking in the scent of his skin, fresh and clove-like, cedar sap and sage and Joel, you nod slowly against him. 

He runs a bath for the two of you, filling the deep clawfoot tub in the master bathroom. He’d outfitted the house from the get-go with the same system for electricity and water that Jackson ran on. And he pulls your clothes from you slowly, running rough, caressing hands over the sensitive slopes of your curves, gentle pinches and squeezes to the places he likes most which is all of you. When the two of you sink into the tub, he sits between your legs, wide back leaning back on your chest so that you can run your hands along the strong breadth of him. You taste the water off his skin and listen to the sound of him rumble and purr like some sort of overgrown wolf beneath your touch. 

“Did Clara tell you what happened at school yesterday?”

“Said you told her no more biting.”

“Did you tell you she punched some poor boy?”

“She did what?” He tenses, long fingers wrapping tightly around the circumference of your ankle in his lap.

“She called one of the boys in her class, and I quote, a little fucker, and then socked him in the nose.”

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Clara,” he sighs, laying his head back on your shoulder. “Why in the hell did she do that?”

“She’s your daughter.”

He hums as if he can’t bring himself to disagree with the reasoning. “Little fucker probably deserved it.”

“You’re not supposed to call children fuckers, Joel.” He grunts. “She also told him that her dad was going to beat up his dad.”

“Oh my God. I’m too old for this shit.”

“They’re heathens because of you. I hope you know this.”

“They ain’t heathens. They’re perfect.”

“You weren’t saying that last week when they painted your face blue.”

“Jesus, you’re right. Thought it was never comin’ off.” You snort, rolling your eyes at him, but hugging him closer. The best father anyone could ever want for their children, surely. “Gotta teach her how to throw a good punch,” he adds to himself. 

You wash each other’s hair after that, taking turns lathering each other up, rinsing out the suds, and when he’s finished with you, he carries you to bed. Lays you out like his own personal feast and tastes you everywhere. The pads of your water-wrinkled toes, the backs of your knees, the crest of each hip bone, cruelly bypassing the place you need him most. Dragging his mouth over your stomach, tongue savoring the silvery streaks left behind by the growth of your daughters inside of you, over your nipples, dark and swollen. His mouth rests at the notch of your throat lightly, and then, whispered against the moist spot he’d made with his tongue, “You’re the only dream I’ve ever had. You know that?” And you tell him that you do, you do know, your husband who is, in his own right, like a dream figure. 

Finally, taking pity on you, he slides down between your thighs, making room for the incredible breadth of his shoulders, and gently as possible spreads you apart with his thumbs, takes in the sight of your embarrassingly slick, untouched cunt. He blows a slow stream of cool air over your pulsing clit, and bends his head to lightly drag his tongue over the swollen bundle. And you’re going to cry, real, desperate tears. “Joel, please, don’t be mean.” But he’s never been very good at that.

“Oh, I know,” he tuts, “My poor baby. Been waitin’ all day haven’t you?” He’d purposely not made you come all day. This had been his plan all along, you know it. Another, light as air slip of his tongue, his mouth, sliding down to your leaking opening, mouthing against it, barely there. “You’ve made me the happiest man in the whole world, little bird. You know that?” And he licks your clit for real this time, the broad, flat of it pressing against you in one long, slow swipe. You can’t answer, ragged moan clawing up your throat. You reach for his dark head bent to your sex, one small foot propped against his thick shoulder to anchor yourself as he starts to eat you. Sucking hard and fast on your poor, throbbing clit, moving down to spear the strong muscle of his tongue into your pussy. You want more, you want his cock, you want it, you want it, you want it. He sucks the orgasm out of you, lapping and kissing at your cunt until you’re shuddering and shivering, clenching around that terrible, painful emptiness, leaking onto his tongue, and then surging up quickly. Massive fist around his cock, he presses the drooling head at your clit, teases you there slowly, watches the heave of your breasts as you struggle for breath. You bring your knees up, spread wider, inviting him in, and he notches the head slowly, giving you nothing more than the flared crown. He pauses there, thrusting shallowly, watching your swollen, red pussy swallow him, and head catching on the blushed rim, he spits, rubbing the flat of his fingers over the crest of your sex, the unsheathed length of his cock, and then presses in, in, in, in, all the way. You give a warbled whimper, trying to twist away, clawing at the sheets. You’ll never be used to it, never not enjoy the twinge of hurt when he gives you the whole thing. “Fuckin’ love it when you sing for me, little bird,” he moans. And he doesn’t give you a chance, doesn’t give you a second, he never does, setting a hard and brutal pace, riding your cunt like he owns it, because he does. 

He wraps his hand around the round of your breast, squeezing, but still careful of how sensitive you are, thumb flicking at the tender nipple, and you spread your legs wider, one hand hooking beneath the sweaty back of your knee to pull yourself open, your other hand reaching down to cup the swinging weight of his balls as he thrusts up into you. He bares his teeth at you, wide palm landing with a little snapping slap low on your pelvis to press down, feel himself from the outside as you squeeze his balls. He shakes his head at you, fire in his eyes, “You’re gonna end up pregnant again, Birdie,” voice chastising, a little like a threat.

You close your eyes, back arching to take him deeper, don’t care, you want to say. “N– no, noooo, can’t” you pant instead, “Can’t get pregnant – breastfeeding.”

“Yeah, that’s what you said last time, little girl.” He lets himself fall forward, the bone of his pelvis grinding against your clit, and your cunt goes tight and so, so fucking wet, throbbing and fluttering around him, trying to suck him deeper, working around the hard invasion as you start to come. His sweaty, steaming head falls to your breast, mouthing wetly, fucking you through it, just like that, he murmurs, my perfect girl. 

“Don’t– Don’t come in my pussy then.”

“No?” He slows his thrusts once he’s felt the trembling of your walls around him settle, lets his hips seesaw in and out slow and languorous, long provoking strokes. “Should I fill that sweet ass instead?” And despite the fierce blush that washes along the length of your body, you nod shyly at him, running your hands down his belly. The fact that he still possesses the ability to drive you to shyness after all this– “Say it, baby. I gotta hear it.” You flush impossibly deeper, little toes curling in humiliated excitement and lust.

“Please, daddy, please– I want it in my ass.” He pulls out suddenly, the lewd wet squelch of your cunt closing hungry around nothing. He spreads his fingers over the length of your sex, slick, gleaming cock, flushed so red it’s almost purple, veins pulsing along the length. “Gorgeous thing,” he murmurs as he starts to pet at your ass gently, thumb swiping, giving you light pressure, and then pushing in slowly, slowly. Your mouth falls open, gasping, eyes wide and wet and probably, definitely, a little pleading. “Lemme in, Birdie. Let me have this sweet little hole.” You nod, a marionette caught on his string, hips starting to hitch and follow the thrust of his invading thumb. “I’m gonna fill it with my come, and then watch it drip out of you. That what you want, baby?” Yes, yes. He pulls his thumb from you, slides his slick hand over your leaking sex again, and then fists his cock, the dull pressure of the wide head at your back entrance, pushing in slowly, making you feel the stretch and burn of it. Your fingers claw and scrape against his chest and abdomen, trying to pull him towards you, push him away, legs shifting restlessly at his sides until he’s buried to the hilt, heavy sac pressed against the curve of your bottom. Sweat slides in steaming rivulets down his temples, his neck, and a bright red flush moves across his chest and up his thick neck. You watch a violent shudder jerk through him, lashes fluttering closed, and then screwing shut tightly as he tries to control the rush of his oncoming orgasm. He runs his hands up your stomach, the dips of your waist and hips, wrapping around your breasts. “You’re doing so well, my little love.” He opens his eyes to take you in, pulls his hips back, and then pushes in again. “Taking my fat cock in this tiny hole. Look how messy and wet your greedy cunt is. You want me to fuck you here too?” He pulls your lips apart, wide, thrums at your swollen clit, and then starts to press a single finger slowly into your pussy. And oh, it’s too much, it’s too much, stretched and stuffed so full of him everywhere, the play of his fingers also on your clit, he starts to fuck your ass in hard, jolting thrusts, growling your name through clenched teeth. 

“Look at it,” he spits, “Look at where I’m fucking you open. Look at how you’re all fucking mine.” Your heart beating out of your chest, insides twisting and throbbing, you take in the sight of your blushed sex stretched to obscenity around him, his soaking fingers, two of them now, pressing slowly in and out of your cunt as he slams into your ass. You let your head fall back, “I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come – oh God.” You cross your arms over your face to hide the sight of your overwhelmed tears, and he pulls his fingers out to slap the top of your cunt in a single stinging swat that you feel reverberate in the place he’s impaling you with his cock. “Nuh uh, you let me look at that gorgeous face when you come all over me.”

I can’t, I can’t, I can’t – it’s too much. 

He doesn’t give you a choice. There’s never been much of that where he’s concerned. Everything below your navel goes painfully tight, white light streaking across your eyes as you twist and writhe beneath him, and he follows suit, starts to fill you in thick pulses, the heat of his spend coating your insides with a savage snarl of your name, the breath nearly knocked out of you with the intensity of your shared orgasm. He lets his weight fall over you, pressing you into the bed, massive body shivering and jerking, buried deep inside of you, and after the last spit of his cock, he pulls from you slowly, moaning softly and rolls the both of you over. Draping your listless form over his chest, arranging your limbs how he pleases. You shiver and feel the sweat cool along the slope of your spine, enjoy the tickle of your lashes catching in the coarse hair of his chest. You feel him play with the long tresses of your hair, draping them over his chest and shoulders, rubbing the smell of you against himself. Picking up the hand curled over his shoulder, he absently draws the backs of your fingers against the edge of his jaw and his ear, kissing and sucking on the soft tips. 

“Tell me you love me,” you tell him.

“I love you, Birdie.”

Birdie, Birdie, my Birdie.

“Tell me that you’ll always love me.”

“I’ll always love you. For the rest of my life, as long as I live, I’ll love you.”

-

Nights later, after the excitement of celebration has died down, and the family’s settled back into peaceful routine, you think about when you’d first realized you were pregnant with Clara, and how you’d worried the news would disturb the happiness and peace he’d fought so hard to find for so many years, terrified that in some way, you’d force him into a situation he didn’t want, wasn’t prepared for. Now, looking across your large bed, two dark, curly heads, another bright, blonde as a star, separating the two of you while he sleeps deep and peacefully, Connie in her crib at your side, you are once again, like so many other times, hit with the full appreciation for the miracle this family is, how wrong you were to ever worry about it being anything but. 

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

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[watermelonsugacry]

Hii! I don't know if i didn't check properly if you had written it, but when is their weddingggggggg, are the 1d members invited or is it an intimate gathering!?!?!?! i need to knowwwww!

Forevermore

A/N: SINCE 2010 ficmas day 5! sorry for the super late post again, im so bad at this lovies 😅 but she's finally here and probably one of my most favorite chapters in YNrry's story!!

SUMMARY: YN and Harry finally (and secretly) tie the knot in her hometown surrounded by their closest friends and family on their anniversary. Here is where they reminisce a couple of Christmases back when they officially became a couple along with some unexpected circumstances. (8.7k)

GENRE: 1dbandmember!yn

SINCE 2010 masterlist // ficmas 2022 masterlist

"YN!" The couple looks up towards the front door to see a very excited Penny on the porch. The two bark out a laugh as they see the woman with her hands in the air, her hips shimmying from side to side before making her way down the porch steps. YN meets her step mum halfway and they join each other in a tight warm embrace. 

After YN and Harry wrapped up their last shows of the year for their world tours, it was time to pack their things and fly over to Doncaster for their small, secret wedding. They’ve done their best acting work yet in keeping their engagement away from the public eye for almost a year and it was finally time to fulfill their promise to become husband and wife on their anniversary.

After some careful planning, the couple ultimately decided to have their wedding at the Tomlinson’s family home right in the backyard with a few selected guests outside of their immediate family members. 

"Hey mum," YN mumbles into the older woman's shoulder.

"Oh, it's so good to see you, my baby," Penny reaches out, gripping Harry's wrist to pull him into the group hug as well. YN’s stepmum has so many wonderful and cheerful qualities about her but the one thing that Harry loves the most about the love of his life's mum is that she never fails to make someone feel so welcomed.

"Ugh, you're here. You both are finally here. And you mister," Penny pulls back to shove a playful finger at Harry's chest. "I haven't seen enough of you in a hot minute."

“Been a bit busy with work and everything but never too busy for you, Pen,” He gives the older woman a charming smile. Penny squeals and pinches at Harry’s cheek.

“Yeh too sweet, can’t get enough of you!” Penny hooks her arm through with her daughter's and walks back towards the grand house, "Harry leave those bags there in the car. I'll have Louis and the boys come out and help you with that so if I see you carry them inside I'll smack yeh. Come on!"

As they walk up the rest of the gravel driveway, Harry can't help but think back and reminisce on the night he took YN to his mum's house for Christmas almost four years ago in 2019.

...

Harry opens YN’s car door as she carefully tries to take off her seatbelt while simultaneously trying to keep a homemade cookies bag from toppling over. 

While YN spent Christmas Eve/Louis’s birthday with the rest of the Tomlinson clan, aka her family, she couldn’t possibly deny Anne invitation to spend Christmas day with the Styles. It was a new experience for her spending this holiday away from her family, but she was more than happy to comply with her best friend’s mom’s wishes. 

After spending two months in Malibu earlier in the year, and after having having a much needed talk with Harry about their feelings for one another, they’re still trying to navigate how to go through with their acts of devotion towards one another. As much as it hurt the both of them to end their relationship once more, they decided to do the healthy thing for once and focus on themselves and their mental health first before pouring out everything they have toward someone else. 

It turns out that their crisp trepidation was too heavy to simply shake off so quickly.

Their friendship, however, could never be tossed aside.

When she closes her door with her hip, she can hear Harry close the backseat door and he holds the Christmas gifts they brought for the Styles family. Anne’s house reminded YN so much about her stepmum’s home: a tiny little cottage-like home with a vast amount of greenery surrounding the area. It instantly brings a smile on her face and makes her feel at home being away from home.

“Hey um,” YN looks up at Harry as they walk up his mother’s driveway. “I just want to say that I really appreciate you being here. I know you spend this time with your family so I just wanted to say that it means a lot that you’re here with me. You really didn’t have to.”

“Well, remember I’m only here for Anne,” YN jokingly reminds her friend.

“M’being serious though.”

“So am I.”

“YN,” Harry stops them as the reach the front door. Due to Harry's hands being full, she takes the liberty to reach out and ring the doorbell. “Look, before we go inside, there's something I need to tell you...”

“I’m all ears.”

“I-”

“YN!” Anne's voice breaks through the space and she’s instantly lighting up from the older woman’s energy. Anne wastes no time pulling her in for a hug while Harry is left hanging in nervousness. “Merry Christmas, hun.”

“Merry Christmas, Anne. It’s been so long,” YN says over her shoulder. She’s missed her so much more than she realized as she almost gets emotional at her embrace.

“Too long. It’s a crime that Harry doesn’t bring you along when he comes home,” The two women look over at Harry but YN notices how he quickly puts a smile on his face. She slightly furrows her eyebrows at his actions but before she can fully question him, Gemma comes out from the hallway and walks towards the three of them.

“Hey you,” Gemma immediately wraps her arms over YN’s shoulders.

“Hey Gem. How’ve you been?” The two of them sway quickly back and forth for a second before pulling away.

“Great now that you’re here. Hopefully my brother hasn’t been giving you much trouble,” Gemma says while nodding her head to Harry. When she looks back at Harry again, she sees his mum helping him with the gifts they brought. He looks up at her again as well and smiles a closed lipped smile, they kind where his dimples don’t dig into his cheeks in the way she likes. 

What’s up with him?

“Never. Oh—” YN quickly remembers the big ziploc bag in her hand. “Me mum made cookies earlier today and she wasn’t gonna let me come over here without bringing you all some.” 

“Aw, you all are too sweet. I love that pretty Penny to death,” Anne gushes as she takes the bag from her extended hand and beckens YN and her son to come further into the house. “Make yourself at home, YN. I’ll introduce you to the rest of the family and later we have some games we’re going to play. So bring your A-game, the Styles are very competitive—not like you don’t already know. Especially these two,” Anne points to her two children.

“Well m’not one for losing either, Annie, so they better have their guards up,” YN smirks and the two women pretend to be baffled before they all break out into chuckles. “And I will, thank you.” 

When Anne and Gemma both walk and disappear further into the home, YN turns to Harry and begins to take off her shoes. “You alright, babe? You look a little pale,” She puts the back of her hand to Harry's forehead just to make sure. Harry shakes his head and softly grasps her hand in his.

“Yes...well maybe? I dunno, really,” He lets out a nervous chuckle and it only makes her more concerned. “I just need to let you know that—”

“Uncle Harry!” A little boy YN recognizes to be one of Harry’s few nephews comes running up to the two of them and Harry is quick to put a bright smile back on.

“Hey, look at you! You’re so big now,” Harry wraps his arms around the back of the boy’s legs and lifts him up. “You’re a full-fledged adult now, aren’t yeh? Look at that mustache on your lip. See that, babe?”

“Oh yeah,” YN plays along with Harry’s teasing. “Might need a trim soon, for sure.”

The young boy laughs when Harry wiggles his fingers under the little boy’s armpits before setting him down. Soon after, the little boy is dragging his uncle further into the house and into the living room announcing how he needs to show him all of the new toys Santa brought him last night. When Harry gives her a shrug of his shoulder with yet another tight-lipped smile as he gets whisked away, she’s left wondering what he needs to tell her so badly.

...

When Harry trails behind his fiancée and her mum inside the Tomlinson house, the sound of chatting and commotion fills the spacious living room instantly. 

“Aunt YN!” A little carbon copy of Louis comes running to up YN and he tightly wraps his arms around her torso.

“Freddie! Aw you’re too big now, lad. Almost didn’t recognize yeh. How are you, little man?”

Harry happily looks on at how the Tomlinsons come up to hug and greet YN before they get to him. YN can’t help but coo when Lottie carries in her new baby, she does her secret handshakes with each of set of twins and warmly greets the older Tomlinson grandparents. As Harry finishes greeting Lottie’s boyfriend, he fondly looks at how her and Louis give each other a kiss on the cheek before staying in their embrace for a minute longer than she did for the others.

“Why didn’t no one tell me one of my favorite girls is finally here?” Anne quickly wraps her arms around YN as soon as she pulls away from her childhood best friend's hug. 

“Should I be offended that my mum hugged my fiancée first and not me?” Harry hurtfully yet playfully asks his old band mate.

“Deeply,” Louis jokes before pulling him in for a hug, patting him heavily on the back. “S’good to see you, man. Ready for the big day?”

“He’s been ready since he was practically sixteen,” Gemma interrupts with a sassy smile. “He’s gonna have to blow the dust off the paper he wrote his vows on from how long ago her wrote them—hey!” His sister laughs when he gives a playful (yet very real) shove to her head.

...

The night has been a blast so far. The Styles family were much like Penny and the Tomlinson’s in how family is at the core of their lives. After getting introduced to the few family members she didn’t know, they quickly accept her like they’ve known her all their lives.

Harry can see just how naturally good she is at everything. She wins over the grumpy grandparents who only seem to smile once a year and now has them doubled over in laughter. She’s a fierce competitor at all of their family games and doesn’t hold back from her brutal skills as she goes head to head with him over a play of some guessing game. When it’s time to set the table, she’s quickly removing herself from her close spot next to Harry to help Anne with anything she needs.

“Well, she certainly seems like a lovely girl,” Gemma says lowly once she’s slid on over next to her brother. “Very companion worthy.” When she sees him start to pinch worriedly at his bottom lip, she gives him a sympathetic smile, “Still haven’t told her yet, huh?”

“No, and neither will you.”

“You’re gonna have to tell her, H. You have to tell one of them or else it’s just gonna blow up in your face,” His older sister reasons. She’s right, and he knows that she’s right.

“I will,” Harry lowers his voice when he sees YN and his mum come out of the kitchen with plates of food in their hands as they go about setting up the dining room table behind him.

It startles him when he feels two hands on his shoulders and he feels a smile creep onto his face when he feels the side of YN’s face press up against his, “Dinner is officially served. Come on, your mum wants you to sit next to her, and I want to sit next to you.”

With a squeeze of his shoulders, Harry feels giddiness zip through him at her comment and ignores the knowing look his older sister gives him as he gets up from the couch.

...

As everyone gets settled in—mums hustling in the kitchen, little ones running every which way, and the older children talking among themselves in the living room—Louis and YN take a moment to sit outside together away from all the chaos. The backyard was essentially all set for tomorrow. As the two sit on one of the couches of the spacious backyard, in front of them sits two sections of seats, a walkway in the middle and an altar made of branches awaits at the end. The arch of the altar is filled with white flowers. 

The couple was thankful that the England weather was relatively warm this year as there was barely any snow in sight. 

As the two stare out at the set up, YN lets out a sigh, wrapping her arms around her legs and fidgets with the butterfly ring on her finger, “This is kind of surreal, yeh know? Like, after all this time we’re finally gonna do this,” YN huff out a giggle. “Remember when Harry gave this ring a couple of Christmases ago? Feels like ages away."

Louis offers his cigarette to her and she shakes her head to decline.

“That’s around the time he told me he had a crush on you.”

YN snaps her head towards her childhood best friend, “Whot! He told all those years ago?”

“S’not like it was a secret. He practically kissed the ground you walked on. It was pretty fookin’ obvious, love. You know...eh never mind.” Louis shakes his head with a smile and brings the white stick back to his lips, taking a long drag. 

“Oi! Y’can’t say that and then not say what you were going to say,” YN pushes at his shoulder. 

“I dunno why I even brought it up. Don’t know if I should even tell yeh,” YN raises her hand as a threat to hit his shoulder and he slightly cowards back with his hands raised. “Oi, alright, alright. It’s not even a big deal.”

“Y’making it seem that way though. Y’got me all nervous.”

“Well,” Louis tilts his head back as he blows the smoke out from his lungs. He scratches his eyebrow with his thumb with a sigh, “He’d kill me if he knew I was telling yeh this but...y’mum wasn’t the only one he asked for a blessing to marry you.” 

She furrows her eyebrows and tilts her head as she looks to her childhood best friend, her brother. 

“Are...are you sayin’ that Harry asked you as well?” 

Louis just gives her a small smile and silently nods down to himself, bringing his cigarette to his lips once more. 

In the next second, her eyes begin to water at Harry’s gesture. The fact that he went the extra mile to ask her childhood best friend—the man who she sees as an older brother—if he had approval to become her husband makes the love she has for her fiancé grow more and more. She turns her head to look behind her and through the sliding doors that see into the kitchen. 

Penny has Harry’s hands working on needing out a tough ball of cookie dough. He listens intently to her instructions as she pours various cookie toppings into different bowls. His own mum rummages around the kitchen as well, helping learn how to make her soon-to-be mother-in-law’s infamous chocolate chip cookies. 

It seems as though Harry must not be kneading the dough fast enough as her mum comes up behind him and aids his hands into the mix. YN can’t hear it from being outside but Harry’s face says it all as he begins to laugh at the playful action. His eyes crinkle and his dimples pop out as he lifts his shoulders in a fit of giggles. 

YN huff out a small laugh through her nose at the sight and she can’t stop the rogue tears that escape as she falls more in love with the man inside.

“M’happy for you, love,” When she turns her gaze back to Louis, he nods toward the house. “Harry he...he really loves you, YN. He’s gonna be a good husband. And if he isn’t, I’ll kick his arse.” 

YN can’t help but let out a watery laugh, wiping under her eyes before snuggling under his extended arm, “I believe you.” 

They both enjoy the quietness of the outdoors a little longer until they turn their heads to the sound of one of the doors sliding open.

“Auntie YN,” Freddie excitingly steps onto the porch, his cheeks turning pink by the second.

“Freddie, where’s yeh coat?” Louis scolds. 

“Sorry daddy but Grandma Penny said it's time for you to come inside or, or else you’re going to get sick,” The little boy with his father's eyes quickly explains before scurrying off inside.

“You coming inside, Lou?” YN asks, still stuck to his side. He gives her shoulder a squeeze and throws the bud of his cigarette into the grass. 

“Let’s go. Yeh know, you’re gonna be having to scold yeh own kids pretty soon.”

“One step at a time, Lou.”

...

It was safe to say that it’s been a good while since YN has had a home-cooked meal and Anne never fails to provide such delicious food—especially now as everyone feasts on their full plates. Harry’s mum sits at the head of the table, her two children sit in the next seats beside her and YN is seated happily next to Harry. As they all eat and chat away, YN puts a hand over her mouth to prevent food flying out from laughter at one of his uncle’s stories.

Throughout the dinner, her and Harry have been acting like they usually would any other time they’re together. Like when they were all sitting on the couch listening to funny (and embarrassing) stories about each family member, YN sat contently under the comfort of Harry’s arm draped over her shoulder. Or after a round of another guessing game, Harry takes her in his arms and gives her a spin after their team’s victory; boasting loudly and planting a friendly kiss on her cheek. 

Or like now as YN’s giggly body subconsciously leans over to Harry, he doesn’t think twice about putting a hand on her knee, leaning further into her as he lets out a laugh of how own. 

“And when I looked down, it was in my hand the entire time!” His uncle explains the ending to his amusing story and the table goes into another fit of laughter and chuckles. His aunt brings a clothed napkin to wipe under her eyes and playful smacks her husband’s shoulder. 

When YN looks to her best friend, they both shake their heads as giggles and chuckles push past their lips. She gives him the smile that always makes his knees weak and he’s never been more thankful to be sitting down at the sight. 

Anne looks over fondly to her son and YN next to her and can’t help but wave a hand excitedinly in front of her, “YN, dear. I’m so happy you came over for today. But you’ll have to excuse Uncle David over there, he’s a bit of a jokester.”

“Not at all,” YN dimisses with a reassuring wave of her hand. “My uncle Teddy is the same way. It’s nice to see that humorous uncles run in good families.”

It’s nearly impossible to not be in awe of the woman sitting next to him. She’s just so naturally good at everything, and much like her stepmum, she can always make a person feel welcomed, special even, with just one look.

“I’m just so happy that my son has finally brought his girlfriend over for Christmas,” Anne beams from her seat at the head of the table and YN’s fork squeaks against the china plate. Harry nearly chokes on the glass of wine in his hand and Gemma looks up at her the two across from her with wide eyes. The wind gets knocked out of YN as she failed to notice that he was seeing someone on the side, that she failed to notice the possible woman in the room...but another realization presses down on her chest. 

She can feel her best friend tense up next to her and it all makes sense now: Harry didn’t tell his mum that they weren’t together anymore. Harry’s mum was referring to YN.

YN thinks quickly and instead of politely correcting his mum or throwing out all of the questions racing in her mind, she smiles softly at Anne and says, “Thank you for having me.” When she turns her gaze to Harry, he sees him give her an appreciative smile, “M’really grateful to be here with all of you. I’m a very lucky person today.”

“I’m the lucky one,” Harry comments truthfully. He’s so grateful to not only have his best friend over for such a memorable day but for her not exposing him to his entire family on Christmas day. He removes the hand on her knee to bring her hand to mouth to place a kiss on her knuckles and the table looks onto them fondly.

Before Anne can get all teary-eyed over the sight, she puts on a loving smile and announces for everyone to continue to eat up before the food gets cold. As everyone dives back into their own conversations and the room is filled with chatter and silverware claking again, Harry leans over to whisper in YN’s ear.

“Thank you.” YN gives her friend a warm smile like he’s telling her something loving, partly because she feels for him and partly because his mum hasn’t taken her eyes off of them yet, “I can explain.”

“Later,” YN whisper back, interlocking her hand with his. “In the meantime, is yeh nose alright? Looks like wine sky-rocketed out from there from the news," She giggles behind her own glass and Harry falls more in love with her with every passing second.

...

As the night before their wedding day comes to fruition, everyone in the house was sent promptly to bed to be ready for tomorrow—especially the bride-to-be. Penny, Anne, Gemma, and Lottie all shooed Harry away from his fiancé and made sure YN was tucked into bed as soon as possible as she needs her beauty sleep before the most important day of her life. 

While Harry was shoved into a room of his own, he couldn’t stop tossing and turning. As excited as he is for the next day to arrive, he can’t seem to fall asleep without his love snuggled up next to him.

As the rest of the house is already in deep sleep, Harry pads his bare feet out of the guest room and makes his way into the kitchen. He knuckles at his eyes and reaches for the handle of the refrigerator. 

“Not gettin’ cold feet are yeh?” 

Harry nearly jumps out of his skin, quickly turning around to spot his fiancée sitting on top of the dining table. She holds back a laugh around the cookie in her mouth and he notices that she has a steaming mug sitting on the table by her hips. 

“Of course not. Been waiting forever for this day, think m’just too excited to sleep,” He makes his way over to her to stand inbetween her swinging legs. “What are you doing up?”

“Same here. Too jittery to wait until tomorrow,” YN keeps her gaze on the mug next to her as she dunks her stepmum’s homemade cookie in the hot chocolate as she bashfully says her next words. “Plus, I couldn’t really fall asleep without you with me so...”

It’s hard for the two of them not to be reminiscent of always meeting up back in the kitchen: from their two month trip in Jamaica, while making his second album in Malibu, when they officially became a couple in 2019—it all seems a little full circle.

"Will you be a good bride-to-be to your soon-to-be husband and let me have a bite?" He nods toward the chunky cookie in her hand with a grin, ultimately deciding that he can't tease her for her sleep comment because it's the same reasons he's up. He leans forwards when she offers him some but scoffs when she swerves it out of the way at the last second and into her mouth.

When she finishes her chewing, he hushes her laugh by pressing his lips to hers. He pulls her in closer by gripping her hips and she happily cards her fingers through his hair. When teases his fingers under the waistband of her sleep shorts, she pulls away with a giggle.

"Harry, baby we can't here," She whispers into the air as he begins to nibble down the side of her neck.

"Why not?" He mumbles onto her skin and the sound of his boyish whinnying makes her smile.

"Because, quite literally, our closest family members are all currently sleeping under this roof. Me mum can walk in on us. Or your mum. Or Louis-"

"They will walk in on us if you don't hush up," Harry points out and it makes his dimples dig into his cheeks when she giggles softly. "Don't you want me, baby?"

"I want you," YN mumbles shyly and it has him quickly bringing his mouth to hers again. She pulls him closer with a tug of his hair and he groans against her, a noise that has her shushing him just the same way he did to her.

They try to keep as quiet as they possibly can but it turns difficult when they can't stop giggling and hushing each other. Especially how she has to dig her face into his shoulder when he tugs their shorts just low enough until her can push inside her or being shushed when he has to stop to move the steaming mug of hot chocolate to the seat. He tells her to be quiet through a chuckle when she goes to lay her back against the hardwood table and she lets out a string of giggles when the table starts to creek from their movements. Her laughs turn into quiet moans and whimpers when he begins to pound into her and he brings his hand over her mouth as they both come undone.

After busting out the disinfecting bottle and vigorously wiping down the table, Harry escorts her back to her room.

“What?” YN questions when he sees Harry give her a lovesick smile, the same kind of smile that begins to tug one on her own lips.

“This is our last night with you being my fiancée.”

She hums out in agreement. It’s at this moment that she realizes that the scary feeling in her tummy for tomorrow isn’t necessarily out of fear, but excitement. All this time she thought she might be second-guessing herself, making herself think that she wasn’t good enough for Harry, that he deserves someone better. But this gooey twist in her stomach is from how giddy she feels, about how much he loves her. He wants her to be his wife, no one else.

She can’t help herself from stepping forward, placing a hand on Harry’s chest to lean up on the balls of her feet to gently press her lips to his.

“Good night, my fiancé,” She mumbles against his lips.

“Fuck, I can’t wait to make you my wife.”

“Until tomorrow, my love.”

He reluctantly pulls himself away from her with a deep sigh, “I’ll be waiting at the altar.”

“I’ll meet yeh there.”

“Good night, lovie.”

“Good night.”

YN giggles at how neither one of them makes an effort to move from their spots.

“You love me?” 

She barks out a laugh but quickly puts a hand over her mouth to muffle the contagious sound. He puts a warm hand over the one over her mouth while the other puts a finger to his lips, a dimpled smile already breaking out.

“I can’t stand you,” She teases in a whisper. “But of course I love you. Agree to marry you, didn’t I?”

“Damn right you did,” He boasts, walking backwards down the hall. “Good night, baby.” 

“Night,” YN bites her bottom lip to tame her smile and leans her head on the door frame. Before she can get her hand on the door, another giggle comes tumbling past her lips when he quickly makes his way over to her again to give her a loving kiss. He brings her left hand to his mouth to plant a kiss to the ring her gave her before forcing himself down the hall to the guest room.

...

Harry had his explanation ready. It was all planned out a rehearsed to a T, but now as he stands before YN’s awaiting eyes in his mum’s kitchen the next day, he loses all the words he knows.

Yesterday was packed with activities and fun and laughter that it was hard not to pull her away from all that and explain himself. He couldn’t be the cause of her loosing her bright smile as they play another guessing game with his family. He couldn’t be the one to interrupt her laughter while they assembled gingerbread houses.

And the one time he actually had the chance to pull her off to the side, his little nephew pointed out that they were under the misletoe. All of his worrying thoughts came to a stop when she looked up at him with a shrug of her shoulders as his family all had their eyes excitingly locked on them. How could he even think to hesitate when she was so willing and pliable in his hands as he cups her face and presses his lips to hers—their first kiss since they’ve split up a couple of months ago. It was a short and sweet kiss for the sake of his family standing before them but how he wished they were the only ones in the room.

And there certainly was no way he was going to wake her after she falls asleep with her head on his shoulder as the older cousins sit around the living room to watch Christmas movies. When everyone begins to file out of the living room wishin him good night, all he can really do is carefully manuver her so she’s between him and the back of the couch and drap a blanket over the two of them. His heart and the warm feeling inside his chest only grows when she blindly reaches out for him, pulling him close and tucking her head in the crook of his neck.

Now in the cold light of day, Harry has to face the music and explain why his mum thinks the two are still together after already being months apart.

“It’s...look I,” Harry takes in a deep breath. It was already hard enough to proper gather his thoughts at the sight of her alone so it was extremely difficult now under the circumstances. “I didn’t mean to lead her onto to anything, I promise. She was so happy when we were actually together and, and when we broke up, telling her wasn’t necessarily the first thing on my mind. I meant to tell her soon enough and it completely didn’t come to mind that she still thought that way when she invited you over for Christmas. I appreciate you playing along and I’m forever in you debt because of that but, I will tell her. I will tell her today and as much as it will hurt her, I can’t imagine how hard all this is hurting you.”

Harry lets out a deep sigh. He had everything planned and it all came to bite him back in the worst way.

"Hurting me?" YN questions and he's taken back when she gently takes a hold of his chin so his gaze meets hers. "You've been doing the complete opposite. Yeah, this is all a little weird given the situation and I might have been caught off guard but...I miss you. I've missed you for...I honestly don't think I ever stopped missing you. I've been meaning to tell you that I'm ready to be with you, officially, but there never seemed like a good time. And I completely understand if you're not ready to be with me yet or don't want to be with me at all-"

YN is silenced by Harry stepping forwards, cupping her cheeks and pressing his lips to hers.

When he pulls back, he's met with her beautiful eyes that are glazed over in confusion.

"Don't want to be with you at all?" Harry asks in disbelief. "Of course I want to be with you. There's never a day that goes by without me wanting to be with you, YN. I'm ready, I've been ready. No more bullshit or back-and-forth or confusion. I want you, plain and simple."

"I want you, too," YN beams before pulling him back into her.

The two have gone back and forth between being together and not being together over the past two years but this time it feels different, it feels right.

"Well, good morning to you too."

Anne's voice instantly has them pulling apart and taking a step away from each other, like a couple of teenagers caught in an obscene act. Harry's mum smiles warmly at the couple as she goes towards the stove, "Tea, anyone?"

Harry and YN tuck their lips in and one glance at one another has them beaming in embarrassment.

...

"Baby, you have to stop pacing." Penny softly comments from her spot on the dining table as watches her daughter walk back and forth. YN hasn't stopped twisting at the ring on her finger. She's not doing it in contemplation or regretting her decision for this day, it's just a nervous habit she's done ever since she can remember.

"Knock, knock. I’ve got a special delivery from—” Louis peaks his head in from the curtained sliding glass doors and stops in his tracks at the sight of his childhood best friend—his little sister—in front of him.

YN stands before him in her mermaid-style wedding dress. The sleeves are off the shoulder and the length of her dress stops right at the bottom of her feet. Her veils trails behind her and cascades down her back and onto the ground. Her make-up is done naturally and her hair is down and clipped out of her face. 

Tears threaten to escape his eyes but he sniffles them back as best he can, “Wow, YN. Yeh look...amazing.” 

“I don’t really feel amazing,” YN continues her pacing, holding her hands in front of her stomach as she continues to twist her ring and push down on her fingers with her thumbs. “I dunno why I can’t stop my mind from racing. I’m happy, so fookin' happy right now, but I just can’t stay still and, and I feel all nervous and what if I trip and fall while I’m walking down the isle. This all feels so—”

“Hey, hey. Take a breath alright,” Louis quickly steps over to her and places gentle hands on her bare shoulders. He non-verbally instructs her to take in deep breaths with him: in through his nose and out through his mouth. “S’normal for to feel like this, love. You’re happy and you love him and that’s all that matters. But if you don’t want to go through with this either, I’ll start the car up and we can go down and grab a burger, alright? No one can say anything about it.”

After a couple of breathes, YN opens her eyes and flicker them back and forth between his.

“I, I want to see him. Like, if he can just tell me that it’s all alright, that this is all fine or to just hug him or something...”

“Well, I may not be able to give yeh that, but he did tell me to give you this,” Louis grabs a piece of paper from his inner suit jacket, YN carefully unfolds the paper and nearly cries at the sight of her fiancé’s hand writing.

Everything will be alright, my love. I can practically hear you pacing from the outside the house and please stop twisting at your ring or craking your fingers. Your hands will be in mine soon enough. I’ll be waiting at the altar. I love you so much it hurts. Harry x. 

YN huffs out a laugh through her nose at how well he knows her. Harry wasn’t even told what she was doing, surely in hopes to not make him nervous but he knows her like the back of his hand. YN doesn’t even realize how her breathing as calmed down or how less jittery she feels from her anxiety earlier. She doesn’t even realize how big of a smile she has on her face until Louis takes her chin in between his fingers.

“She’s acting like he hung up the moon and stars by the way she’s smiling like that,” Louis jests and YN doesn’t even try her hand at a witty comeback.

“Thank you, Louis. I don’t think I’ve ever thanked you for everything you’ve done for me,” She says sincerely. “From when I was a little girl till now, you’ve taken care of me and looked out for me like a big brother should. You mean the world to me and I love you very much.”

With a tight lipped smile, he pulls YN into his arms before she can see his eyes begin to tear up. 

“There’s no need to thank meh. I’d gladly do it all over again if I had to.”

The three of them turn their attention to a knock on the sliding glass doors before Gemma steps in with an excited smile, "It’s time.”

...

YN can hear the infamous wedding music begin to play outside and she takes in a shaky breath. Penny puts a loving hand overher daughter's that are tightly gripping onto her bouquet and it instantly calms YN’s nerves. 

“Ready, my baby?” She gives her daughter the warmest smile, the smile that’s engraved into YN’s memory ever since she was a little girl. Penny was the only woman her no-good of a father brought home that actually acknowledged baby YN. Penny gave up her free, hippie lifestyle for one of a mother’s and it was a decision, a promise, she continues to fulfill every passing day since. She has been the parent, the provider, and the support that YN needed and YN is forever grateful for the woman standing beside her.

Penny has been more than two parents combined and so after giving her mum a nod, the glass doors slide open and the two woman begin their walk down the isle.

As YN takes her steps down to the altar, she spots the familiar faces around the small number of seats.

She passes by Mitch and Sarah as she’s slightly bouncing their baby boy in her arms.

She passes by the Tomlinson girls—the family she grew up with and calls her own.

She passes some of Harry’s close family members and holds back a giggle when Uncle David gives her two thumbs up.

She passes by the empty seats that were reserved for her two other bandmates who “couldn't make the trip” (an obvious outcome that the couple forshadowed yet still sent out the invitations nonetheless) but she smiles warmly when she sees her favorite blond lad. Niall smiles brightly at her before looking down at his shoes in hopes for her not to see the way he starts to tear up. 

She passes Anne and Gemma in the front row, both with loving looks lighting up their faces. Harry’s mum mouths that she looks so beautiful and puts a shaky hand over her heart. 

She passes Louis as he watches her with his lips tucked to the side to help stop himself from blubbering like a baby. He has been so calm, cool and collected during all of this but actually seeing his baby sister walk down the isle in her white dress is hitting him like a ton of bricks.

And lastly, she sees Harry standing before her at the end of the altar dressed in a simple yet classic tux, red-nosed and teary-eyed at the sight of his bride. When he meets her gaze, he quickly knuckles away the tears before giving her her favorite dimpled smile. He takes in a deep breath, unable to hold back the sob that racks through his chest.

With glossy eyes, Penny plants a gentle kiss to her daughter’s cheek before reaching out to place YN’s hand in Harry’s. He gives the older woman a kiss on her cheek, as well as a reassuring nod of his head as a nonverbal way of saying that he has her. After stepping up to face one another, Penny takes her place on the other side of the front row and as the ceremony begins, she seats herself next to the empty chair reserved for Jay.

...

“YN,” The officiant turns his attention over to the bride. “You may now read your vows.”

After Gemma hands YN the small piece of paper, she looks up to see her groom give her an encouraging smile.

“Harry," YN takes a shaky breath in and her vision already gets blurry. "Shit. Oh! Fook, I'm sorry. Shit! Ahh wait!" She puts a hand over her mouth as the audience laughs at her antics. Harry’s shoulders shake up by his ears and the outer corners of his eyes crinkle as he laughs.

"I love you," he leans over to plant a kiss on her cheek.

He lets out another laugh when she gives him an uneasy look of disbelief.

"Harry,” She starts again. “I don’t think there are words good enough to describe how much how I love you. You’ve shown me so many things, taught me so much about not only in life, but of myself. Before you, I wasn’t a very touchy-feely person. Now, I cannot go a day without one of your hugs. Before you, I couldn’t stand to listen to stupid love songs. Now, I’m constantly writing them about you. Before you, my world was seen in sepia. Now I see colors I never knew existed. You’re truly me best friend, the love of me life, and my soulmate. You understand me more than anyone else, more than myself sometimes. I can’t believe the day has come when we finish with the constantly changing labels of our relationship and finally settle it with husband and wife. I’ll never get tired of saying how much I love you and I can’t wait to start my forever with you.”

As soon as she finishes reading off of her tiny piece of paper, Harry steps forwards, cups her cheeks and plants a kiss to her lips. A couple of the men in the audience wolf and whistle loudly while the women playfully jab at them to quiet down. YN can’t help but giggle against her love’s lips, gripping onto the hands on her cheek before having to pull away.

“Harry, you may read your vows now.”

After calming his boyish smile, he takes his own piece of paper out of the inner pocket of his blazer and with a deep breath in, he begins to read his scribbled words.

“YN, it feels like I’ve been waiting my entire life to marry you. I knew I wanted you in my life when I first saw you at a Battle of the Bands competition when we were merely fifteen years old but I knew I wanted us to be more when we were put in a band a year later. We’ve gone through so many ups and downs over the past 12 years, and while it may have been frustrating at times, you were and always will be worth the wait. You’re my best friend and I truly cannot express how excited and happy I am to start this new chapter in our lives together as not just bandmates, secret lovers, blurry lines or merely as my best friend, but as husband and wife. I have loved you since 2010, now and forevermore.”

...

“Do you, YN YLN, take Harry Styles to be your lawfully wedded husband, to live together in matrimony, to love him, comfort him, honor and keep him, in sickness and in health, in sorrow and in joy, to have and to hold, from this day forward, as long as you both shall live?”

“I do,” YN beams as she slides the wedding band onto Harry’s finger.

“Do you, Harry Styles, take YN YLN to be your lawfully wedded wife, to live together in matrimony, to love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health, in sorrow and in joy, to have and to hold, from this day forward, as long as you both shall live?”

“I do,” Harry breathes out a smile, sliding the wedding band onto his love’s finger to finish off the last piece of their ceremony.

“By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. Harry, you may now kiss your bride.”

Harry doesn’t waste another second before he cups her jaw and smushes his lips to hers. He wraps his other arm around her back and YN grips onto the front flaps of his tux, pulling him in incredibly close. He leans her back and he can feel her smile against his lips.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I now present to you for the first time, Mr. and Mrs. Styles!”

...

“I dunno, H,” YN says, fidgeting with the rings on her fingers. Now that the two can confidently state that they’re officially together now, she’s scared that their relationship will be seen in the public eye. She knows that when they first started their on-and-off relationship two years ago, they kept it very low-key around their friends, in the studio and only later started to show PDA, but only to their close friends. They’ve managed to dodge past the questions and comments about them being an item for years but this was different. They’re officially a couple now.

The idea of going to a new year’s eve party and the fear of someone taking a picture of them while really doing anything can start a massive misunderstanding in their fandoms. The fans just knew.

“Jonny says that the people he invited were cool, only a handful of close friends,” It’s nice to know that Harry was also on board with keeping their relationship in the shadows. They’re very private people and keeping their personal lives out of the lights is something that they would like to keep. Harry grabs her fidgeting hands and holds them to his chest. “I think we deserve to enjoy more of our holiday before it’s over, don’t y’think?”

His words begin to process in her head as he clutches their hands together. His head bends down to kiss her knuckles, his thumb rubbing over the butterfly ring he gave her a couple of Christmases ago, and it almost made her knees give out. His head bobs a little as he moves to kiss each one. He lifts his eyes slightly to meet hers and she sighs deeply knowing he won.

“As long as I can kiss you whenever I want during the party then maybe it won’t be so bad,” She says, trying to fight the smile that creeps on her face. She’s still very paranoid about the party, but seeing Harry’s face light up at the sound of her agreeing was all it took for her to relax. 

Harry cups her face in his large hands and pressed his lips to hers. She instantly reacts by putting her hands on his waist and turning her head to the side to deepen the kiss. 

This feels right, it feels safe. Now that she’s told him what’s on her mind about their relationship, it’s as if everything seems too good to be true. She feels as if their new relationship is now stronger than whatever they had in the past with them both clear about their intentions, mentally in a better place, and their love for one another already well established.

Harry gently pushes her back until her back is touching the counter. As she feels his tongue slip past her lips, she grips the material of his hoodie around his waist in a silent plea for more.

“Let the girl breathe, will yeh,” Gemma's voice breaks their kiss. 

YN feels the blood rush up to her face and she covers her face in Harry's chest. She feels his arms wrap around her shoulders and his chest vibrates as he laughs. YN hopes it's directed toward his sister rather than her red face.

“Oi, you’re just pissed that your boyfriend doesn’t show you the same affection anymore,” Harry says to his older sister.

“Bogger off,” Gemma says with a laugh. “When you’re finished with your little snog fest can you please send her over to the living room. I’m currently losing charades to a seven year old and she’s my lucky charm.” 

“I’ll be there,” YN’s voice comes out muffled from being pressed against Harry's chest. Gemma gives Harry a nod and once he gives her one back in reassurance, she spins on her heel and exits the kitchen. "Why does this always happen?" YN asks with a shake of her head, confused about how they continue to get interrupted by their family members and it only makes a laugh tumble past Harry's lips.

...

The married couple sits side-by-side at the end of the long table set up in the backyard. Their mums sit on either side of their children while the rest of the family and friends sit down the line. Fairy lights blanket over the yard and it provides the most beautiful light over the small party celebration.

As the table is filled with the sound of chatter as everyone finishes up the pre-made home cooked meal, Harry has his arm draped over the back of YN’s chair where he’ll constantly lean over to her to whisper something in her ear or where she’ll ask to see his left hand again and hold it against hers to see their matching rings.

Louis gives Gemma a nod across from his spot on the table before standing up from his seat, clearing his throat as he taps a knife against his glass of champagne. The chatter begins to die down and soon enough everyone joins in on tapping their glass.

"This should be interesting," Harry whispers to his bride's ear and smiles when she lets out a giggle.

"Ello everyone. For the people who don't know, m'Louis—" Everyone chuckles since the only people invited were family members and close friends. Penny gives a smack to his arm before he continues. "As the best man, I'd like to give a little toast dedicated to the bride and groom. I've known Harry for over a decade and YN since she was practically in diapers. YN, you're like me little sister than anything. As annoying and frustrating as you can be sometimes—" The table laughs and YN has to resist from flipping off her childhood best friend. "—I love you so very much. Harry, I've witnessed more than anyone here how stupidly in love you are with YN. The amount of times I’ve watched these two idiots deny and hide their love from one another during our time in One Direction was truly excruciating to watch. Niall here can back me up on that. It’s that true, Nialler?” Louis lifts his glass towards their blonde friend who quickly nods his head and making the rest of the guests laugh.

“It was painful,” Niall agrees, leaning over to look at the marriage couple. “It even hurt me sometimes, you know?”

YN playfully rolls her eyes with a smile sitting on her lips while her husband pinches at his lips to keep his embarrassed smile at bay.

“But in all seriousness, seeing first hand how these two and fought and clawed their way through all the shit—” Penny smacks his arm once again at his vulgar language. “Sorry, sorry. Through all the obstacles that have thrown their way, their love prevailed through it all. Harry, I know you'll take good care of my sister...even if she stubbornly claims she doesn't need taking care of.”

The couple’s friends and family all make noises in agreement which makes YN playfully scoff at how fast and willing they all agreed. 

“I wish you lot the best and a very happy life together. To the bride and groom."

As everyone lifts their glass in the air, YN can’t help but give Louis a weary smile before blowing him a kiss and mouths that she loves him too.

"Alright, as the maid of honor, I also want to give a toast," Gemma is next to stand. "YN, I've always seen you as a sister and I'm so happy that it's officially offical. I feel that I shouldn’t really welcome you into the family because you’ve always been apart of the Styles family for as long as we’ve known you. Harry, my baby brother," Gemma tilts her head to the side, putting a hand over chest with her lips tucked inwards in hopes to tame her tears. "I'm so proud of all you've accomplished but I'm most happy that you've found your soulmate. You guys were truly made for one another and I could not imagine a more perfect couple."

Harry leans his head towards YN’s and the rest their temples against one another, closing their eyes for a second to live in the incredible bliss they both feel.

With a quick wipe to her watery cheeks, Gemma smiles and lifts up her glass, "You guys are going to continue to have a wonderful life together and yes, I’m calling dibs to be your baby’s godmother whenever the time comes.”

“Oi! Yeh can’t do that,” Louis defends. “That’s for them to pick. And it was gonna be me anyways.”

“I think it’s only fair we get to be the godparents since they’re the godparents of our little one,” Sarah pipes up from the side of the table.

“And what am I?” Niall raises his hands. “A roach?”

As the table begin to get rowdy, Harry waves his hands up while YN just holds her stomach as it begins to hurt from laughing so hard.

“Hey, woah!” He sliences the group. “We just got married, people. We’re not even pregnant. We’re not pregnant, right?” Harry asks his love and it only makes her laugh harder.

“No, no we’re not,” YN pressed the sides of her index fingers under her eyes from the giggly tears that managed to escape. “Oh my word, that was awesome. Gemma, please continue on with your toast before I bust at the seam.”

“As I was saying, we are all so happy for the two of you. You two will have a very happy together. To YN and Harry."

"To YN and Harry!"

"And without further ado, I'd like to invite you two to the dance floor to present your first dance as husband and wife."

And with that, Harry takes his wife’s hand in his as he leads her to the small designated dance area behind their table.

With a click on Gemma’s phone, At Last by Etta James begins to play out of the speakers somewhere behind them and everyone begins to gather around the small area. Their guests pull out their phones to capture the special moment but Harry pays no mind to them as he gently tugs her into him.

YN pulls him incredibly close to her, wrapping her arms tightly around the tops of his shoulders. Harry fully pulls her into him so that there is no space left between them. He digs his face into the crook of her neck and his blunt fingers press into the skin on her shoulders as they gently sway.

All else seems to fade away and it’s just the two of them together as they dance. It all seems so unreal, swaying with Harry—her husband—on their wedding day. Harry’s words the night before were unbelievably true in that he’s been waiting forever to marry this woman. 

Like he needs to make sure he isn’t dreaming, he pulls his face from her neck and sure enough, his breath is knocked out of his chest at the sight of her looking up at him like that, with her bright eyes and golden smile. He can’t help himself from leaning down to capture her lips with his, although a little difficult after a while as they can’t keep their smiles at bay any longer. 

After all the rollercoaster they’ve been on for the past twelve years, it seemed like this day would never come to be. Yet, as Harry mentioned in his vows, she was well worth the wait as he holds YN—his wife—in his arms. 

Thankfully he will never have to let her go as he gets to have her forevermore.

taglist:

@wobblymug @be-with-me-so-happily @ashtongivesmebutterflies @kiwiskiwiskiwi @darlingdesire @obsesseddd @hopefulwastelandcreation @cacapeepee @breezie-b00 @harrysfolklore @theekyliepage @sunshinemoonsposts @nervousspiderling @tbslonelyhes @tenaciousperfectionunknown @harrystylesrecs @certified-nalayak @itsjustsel @iknowyouthinkimbulletproof @gviosca @behindmygreyeyes @twobluejeans @allisonxmcu @theemeraldbutterfly @jean-love @marvellover-sam @b-reads-things @reveriehs @rach2602 @thurhomish @perrypughstyles @luvonstyles @mxltifxnd0m @teamspideyman @c00chiemonster @juiceboxrry @s8tellite @folklorehrry @illicithallways @claramllera @eunoiaax @hoya122 @nichmedder @sleutherclaw @gloriousmoneyrascalbiscuit @harianaswhore @teawithcyb0rgs @vrittivsanghavi @vc55bughead @futuristiccroissantlampsludge @onecrazydirectioner @valluvsu @itsgabbysblog @awkwardbisexuall @rosehel @sucker4angstt @isalove @diorchives @mrshiddlestyles02 @fdl305

[jadewolf22]

Hiiiii!! Could I request a Lady Jane and Wife Reader, with some domestic fluff (at least, as domestic as Lady Jane can get if you know what I mean). Maybe something like they've been apart for a really long time hunting bounties and manage to meet up for their anniversary or sm?

Happy Anniversary

Sub!Lady Jane x Dom!Fem!Reader

Warnings: Guns, mentions of extreme violence, mentions of scars, mentions of kidnapping/hunting children, smut, oral (J recieving), thigh riding (r recieving), fingering (J receiving), strap-on (J receiving), orgasm denial, ect… 

Summary: You give your lady a special gift for your first wedding anniversary.

A/n: Hi anon!! Thank you so much for the request! This is my first time ever writing for Lady Jane, so I hope I did her justice. I wasn’t sure if you wanted to include smut, but a married couple who hasn’t seen each other in a while probably wouldn’t be able to keep their hands off of each other…Word Count: 3,012

You couldn’t stop the sign that escaped your lips as you entered the threshold of your home, dropping your duffle bag and the bag of groceries you’d bought on the floor as you removed your jacket. The quaint little farmhouse that had been your childhood home was quiet, secluded by miles of dead fields and thick woodlands. You ran your fingertips over the bench along the wall, pleased to see that not too much dust had collected since your last stay. Work kept you away for weeks, sometimes months at a time and there was no one to stay and clean the place while you were gone. 

Moving away from the threshold and into the living room you smiled softly, taking a moment to walk around and glance at the multitude of pictures decorating the space. Most of the ones on the walls and bookcases were from your younger years; birthdays, vacations with your parents, school activities and accomplishments, holidays and such. But it was the ones above the hearth that you loved the most. Jane, your lady and beloved partner, wasn’t one for taking many photos so there were only a few on the mantle, and you cherished each one like they were diamonds; Your first date at the shooting range, one of her birthdays at the bar, your first Valentine's Day hunting in the woods, a few engagement photos taken while you were working a job together, and one of your wedding here one the farm placed at the centre of them all. It was your first anniversary today, exactly one year of pure happiness for the two of you despite the gruesome reality of your jobs as bounty hunters. 

The sound of tires against gravel drew you from your thoughts. You were sure you knew who it was but, just in case, you gripped the glock tusked into the waistband of your jeans as you moved to the window, peering out through the curtains. The sight of a gold car parking beside yours allowed you to relax, letting go of the weapon as you rushed back outside. You’d barely given Jane time to close her door before you were on her, strong, toned arms grabbing her by the waist and lifting her off the ground as you embraced the love of your life. A light chuckle left her lips, demanding that you set her down before she hugged you in return. 

“I missed you, my love.” you said breathily—lifting Jane off the ground was no easy feat, despite how strong you were—kissing her gently.

“And I, you.” she returned, cracking the smallest smile.

You couldn’t have stopped the large grin that spread across your face even if you wanted to, insisting that you take her things before escorting her into the house. Jane found it quite adorable how you insisted on pampering her with even the smallest tasks, such as carrying her luggage—granted, it was only two duffle bags, one filled with her guns and extra magazines. Once inside you added your own bag to the load and headed upstairs, setting the bags down on your bed before you pulled her to you and kissed her again, this one a little deeper than the last. 

“Happy anniversary, Jane.” you breathed.

“Is it our anniversary already?” she teased lightly, kissing your cheek, “My, does the time fly.”

“Indeed it does.” you agreed, moving away and beginning to unpack your bag. 

Jane did the same, the two of you unpacking in a comfortable silence. You’d missed her terribly, her presence alone helping to soothe the ache that had built up after a month apart. When you were both unpacked and her guns properly cleaned and stored away the two of you headed back downstairs, putting away the groceries and preparing dinner as you talked about your most recent jobs. Yours had been easy; a couple of greens that had escaped the compound two months back, but Jane’s had been far more difficult. She’d gotten stuck with a group of yellows who’d disappeared nearly a year ago and, apparently, they had put up quite a fight. You hated it when she took the more dangerous jobs, always afraid that one day, one of them might kill her. But you knew that Jane could hold her own and, the more dangerous the job, the better the pay. A part of you felt sorry for the kids the two of you hunted, but you knew the world was safer without them. Children with supernatural powers were a recipe for disaster.

When the food was ready the two of you sat down to eat, easily falling back into the domestic pattern you’d adopted. It was easy to push the exhaustion and anxiety of your jobs when you were like this, content and at peace in your little corner of the world. 

The meal was delicious, Jane's cooking far better than your own, and much more satisfying than the protein bars and canned food you lived off of while working. When you’d both finished, you took care of the dishes while Jane showered—despite how much you’d begged her to wait so you could join her. Once the dishes were done it was your turn to head upstairs, showering quickly and trading your dirty jeans and t-shirt for leggings and a tank top. Stepping out of the bathroom you found Jane stretched out on her side of the bed, damp brown hair cascading over her shoulders and a book in hand. You couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight of big-bad Lady Jane looking so utterly adorable and domestic in grey sweats and a baggy red t-shirt. 

She looked up from the book before you could hide your smile, muttering, “What?” as she set it aside.

“Nothing,” you shrugged, moving towards your side of the bed, “I’m just glad you’re home. You know how worried I get when you take jobs involving yellows.” 

Jane rolled her eyes at your protectiveness, mumbling, “At least they’re not reds or oranges.” sitting up as you fished through the drawer of your nightstand, producing a black box and smiling as you sat down, presenting it to her.

“Happy anniversary, my lady.”

She rolled her eyes again at the nickname, taking the box from you and opening it with a small gasp. Nestled inside was a golden glock, the handle engraved with little vines that made both of your initials. 

“It’s beautiful, y/n.” she whispered, looking up at you, “Where did you even—?”

“I have a friend who specialises in engraving guns.” you explained, trying to suppress just how happy her reaction made you, “I  swung by his place on my way back home… Is it safe to assume you like it?”

“I love it.” you knew she did, but hearing Jane say it aloud made you ten times happier, “My turn.”

She reached over to her nightstand, plucking a little red box off of it that you had, somehow, failed to notice earlier. A cheshire-like grin adorned her face as she handed the box to you, making you that much more excited to see what was inside. Nearly tearing off the lid, your eyes fell on the silver bracelet lying against the black velvet lining of the box. At first glance, it looked like a simple band but, upon picking it up, you noticed her name engraved on the inside. Smirking, you had her help you but the bracelet on, noticing just how snuggly it fit your wrist. You laughed, realising that her name would be temporarily branded onto your skin if you wore it for long enough—and you had no intention of ever taking it off. 

“It’s perfect.” you said softly, “Thank you.”

You leaned forward and kissed her again, smiling against her lips when her hand crept up your neck to thread itself in your hair. A groan escaped you when you felt her tug at your hair, making you kiss her that much harder as you grabbed her hips and pulled her across the bed to you, manoeuvring the both of you until you were straddling her waist in the middle of the bed without breaking the kiss. Jane whimpered a little as you manhandled her, her hands moving to the hem of your tank top and pulling it up your torso. You broke the kiss just long enough for her to pull the item over your head before your lips were attacking hers again, your leggings quickly following your shirt. Sliding your hands under her shirt, you gripped the waistband of her sweatpants, removing them and her underwear in one fluid motion. Her t-shirt was torn down the middle and haphazardly tossed somewhere in the room. 

You paused for a moment and sat up, marvelling at the beauty beneath you. God, she was a masterpiece. Ivory skin that seemed to glow in the dim evening light, pale freckles splattered across her chest and shoulders, icy blue eyes dark with want, thick, deep brown hair that seemed nearly black against the white sheets underneath her, and a perfectly toned body with small, perky breasts that were practically begging for attention. You growled, your lips and teeth abusing her neck and shoulders, leaving bite-marks and bruises for her to find for days after you were done with her while your hands palmed her breasts. Jane panted and squirmed beneath you, nails tearing down your back as he hand nestled itself in your hair again, tugging harshly and scratching at your scalp. 

“Please, y/n—God! I need you!” she whined, bucking her hips up towards you in search of some kind of friction.

“Miss me so much you’re needy already, hmm?” you teased, your mouth replacing one of your hands as you nipped harshly at her breast, causing Jane to release a low, near pornographic moan.

She opened her mouth to argue but, at that moment you plunged two fingers deep into her cunt and whatever she was about to say was replaced with a loud, broken moan. A steady string of “Ah, ah, ah”s fell from her lips as your digits pounded into her, your mouth moving to her other breast as your hand settled on her throat, squeezing gently. 

“Mh—feel so good, baby.” you muttered against her skin, slipping in a third finger when the first two began to move within her too easily. 

“Mph, please y/n, harder!” she cried as she felt her cunt streatch deliciously around your fingers, her nails digging painfully into your back and scalp as your digits slammed into her walls, “Yes! God, yes— Just like that—Ah!”

You tightened your grip on her throat a bit as you sat up, groaning at the sight of her cunt taking your fingers so deep that your wedding ring disappeared when you were fully inside of her, the titanium band coming out glistening with her arousal. Her cunt clenched around her fingers, her thighs tightening around your hand as she neared her climax but, just before she could fall over the edge, you pulled away. Jane went to complain, but the way your hand squeezed her throat in warning made her go silent. You licked your fingers clean, groaning at the taste of her on your skin. 

“Relax, baby. You’ll get what you want.” you assured, reaching into the drawer of your nightstand and retrieving your harness and favourite strap, “You’ve just gotta be patient.”

Jane bit her lip as she watched you attach the strap to your body. The black, 8-inch was not the largest she’d taken from you, but it was most certainly the thickest. She released a sound between a whine and a groan as you teased her with the tip, nearly screaming when you began to force it into her, your hand coming back to her throat. The silicone cock stretched her cunt to the point where Jane felt as if she was being split in two and she loved it, her body tightening as a searing heat spread through her as you buried the strap up to the hilt inside her, beads of sweat making Jane’s skin glisten. Once she gave you the go-ahead you set a harsh, ruthless pace, hard, deep strokes filling her cunt so well it was a wonder she didn’t cum right then. Your grunts and Jane’s screams filled the room and it was moments like this that you were especially grateful your house was in the middle of nowhere. No one but yourselves and the animals could hear you.

“Miss you so much, my lady,” you grunted as you thrust into her, one hand still on her throat, the other harshly gripping her hip, “Missed having your pretty little cunt stretched out around my cock—Fuck, baby, I missed you—!”

“M-missed you, t-too!” Jane stampered, her hands moving to your hips to help guide your thrusts, “Missed your touch—! M-missed you in me—Shit, y/n, please make me cum!! Wanna cum so bad—!”

“I know, baby. Just hold on a bit longer. You’re doing so well for me—” you praised as her hands moved from her hips, one grasping at the bedsheet, the other wrapping around your wrist. The black diamond on her wedding ring glinted in the light as her body jolted with each of your thrusts.

“Mmmh—Fuck, y/n! Please—please, keep going! ‘M so close—Shit, y/n! I-I’m—I’m gonna cum— pleasepleaseplease!”

“Just hold on a bit longer, baby.” you said, slowing down your movements just a bit and making Jane practically cry, “Just a bit more, my lady. You’re almost there.”

You removed your hand from her hip, sliding it down between her legs to rub gentle circles over her clit. Her whole body contracted with the added pleasure, shaking in desperate need of release.

“Y/N—!!”

“It’s okay, baby. I’ve got you. Cum for me.”

“F-f-f-FUCK—!” Jane finished with a loud scream, legs tightening around your hips, back arching off the bed. Stars exploded behind her eyes and, for a moment, she couldn’t see. Her body felt as if she were floating as she relaxed back into the mattress, brain fuzzy and her mouth numb, her throat already burning from screaming so much. You slowed down as she rode out her high, stopping completely and taking a moment to admire just how ethereal she looked like this, skin flushed and slick with sweat, her head thrown back in euphoria, eyes scrunched tight and jaw slack. Slowly so as not to jostle or startle her, you reached out and cupped her face, gently stroking your thumb against her cheek.

“You did such a good job, baby.” you praised, releasing her throat as her eyes opened, unfocused and her pupils blown out, “Come on back to me, my lady. That’s it. I’m gonna pull out now, okay?”

Jane mumbled out a hoarse, “okay” and you slowly pulled out of her, the strap coated in her release. You removed the toy from your body and threw it on top of your clothes to be cleaned later, bending over and placing gentle licks and kisses over her bruising neck as you moved to position yourself on her thigh. 

“My turn.” you husked, lowering yourself onto her thigh, “You just lay back and relax, baby.”

Jane sighed when she felt your slick core against her skin, whimpering a little as you began to rock yourself against her. Watching her unravel beneath you had made you so pent up that it didn’t take you long until you were nearing an orgasm, your breath laboured and thighs shaking.

“Mm, you feel so good against me,” you groaned in her ear, leaning forward and changing her head with your arm, practically laying on top of her as you rutted against her thigh, “So perfect. And all mine.” 

Jane whined, nodding frantically, heavy arms reaching up to wrap around your shoulders. WIth a final snap of your hips, you came, smearing your slick across her skin and you moaned against her shoulder. Sighing, you sat up and kissed her, your fingers dancing over her stomach. 

“Think you can take one more, my lady?” you asked gently, your tone making it clear that she had the choice of saying no, “I promise I’ll be gentle.”

Jane nodded and you smiled, kissing her again as you slid down her body, levelling your face with her soaked cunt. You licked a broad stripe up her slit, placing a gentle kiss to her clit, making Jane shudder. Smiling, you licked at her folds, slowly forcing your tongue deeper inside of her, your nose brushing against her bundle of nerves. Jane whimpered above you, hands threading into your hair to keep you in place. Still recovering from her past orgasm, it didn’t take you long to bring her to the edge again.

“P-please, y/n—” Jane muttered, tears slipping down her cheeks from the overwhelming pleasure, “uh-ah! I’m-I’m gonna—!”

“Go ahead, baby.” you whispered, plunging your tongue deep inside her. 

Jane came again with a shuddering moan, her release flooding your mouth and spilling down your chin. You lapped away at her release, cleaning her cunt with your tongue before moving up to kiss her again, sliding your tongue into her mouth so that she could taste herself on you. 

Pulling away, you climbed off of her, grabbed the strap, and padded off to the bathroom, cleaning yourself and the toy before returning with a warm washcloth, gently cleaning her thighs and burning folds. Taking the cloth and both of your clothes you set them in the hamper, handing her the water bottle on your nightstand as you set off all the lights except for your lamp. Once she’d drunk enough you helped her beneath the covers and crawled into bed beside her, covering her body with your own.

“Happy anniversary, Jane.” you muttered, kissing the back of her head. 

Jane hummed, releasing a large sigh before exhaustion overtook her and fell asleep. You smiled down at your wife, reaching behind you to shut off the lamp, welcoming the darkness as your eyes fluttered closed.

[txemrn]

Kāhāhā

💚 Happy Birthday, PeonieRose! 💚

Synopsis: Ethan and Tatum finally take a vacation to Hawaii! But even though they try to escape all reminders of the hospital, they're in for a bit of a kāhāhā, er, a surprise.

Word count: ~2477

Warnings: fairly fluffy; language; an innuendo; Ethan's grumpiness

A/N: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, @peonierose! You are such a ray of sunshine! I know I probably sound like a broken record, but seriously, that is the absolute best way to describe you. 🌞 Any chance I get to interact with you--even if it's just seeing one of your posts in passing, I can't help but feel your warmth and joy. I am so, so grateful that you are part of this community, and even more so, I am so grateful I get to call you friend. I hope you had the best 25th birthday ever! 😉 Sending you the warmest hugs, my OC sister! Love youuuuuu! 😘

A/N: This is an AU; some of the characters belong to our friends at Pixelberry; some of the characters belong to our birthday girl PR (who I am hoping will forgive me for attempting to write them 🤣). This work was not preread or beta'd; please excuse me errors.

~💚~

The peaceful morning sunrise blankets the island of Oahu with a warm pink glow. A gentle symphony of tranquil waves and the brush of palm fronds drift through the open balcony doors of the private beach-side bungalow. The soft fragrance of exotic florals infused with notes of the citrus sand pirouette across Ethan's face, the luxury of it all making him stir from his sleep.

Breathing in deeply, he contorts his bare body into an intense stretch, the tight burn sending pleasurable shocks through his nerves. With a heady growl in his chest, he lets out a yawn, relaxing back into his pillow. With his eyes fluttering close, he reaches over to the other side of the mattress, his fingertips searching for his wife.

He quickly sits up, noticing he was alone in bed. "Tate?" He calls out, a deep gravel in his throat. He looks around the room, but there is no evidence of her anywhere–that is until he hears soft mumbles coming from outside on the terrace. He climbs out of bed, cinching the sheet around his waist and saunters to the balcony.

Approaching the doorway, he sees that she's on the phone, a knee pulled up to her chest as she tosses her tangled tresses with her fingers. With a curious expression, he stealthily leans against the siding, crossing his arms as he intently watches his bride.

"... for about four minutes… uh-huh… right, and then it will play a little song… right… right…" Tatum gives a quiet, cordial laugh. Wearing her husband's waffle knit pajama top, she mindlessly fidgets with a loose thread at the hem as she continues to whisper. "I get it… thanks, again, Alan. Call me if he's still fussy after that bottle."

"We haven't even been gone for twenty-four hours–"

"Ethan!" Tatum startles, clenching her phone to her chest. She exhales a big breath, a faint blush tinting her cheeks.

"What are you doing?" He motions at the phone, his eyebrows furrowing. "We talked about this."

"I was… just… checking in," she feigns innocence.

"Tatum," Ethan sighs, slowly stalking to her chair, "we're supposed to be on vacation." He leans over her, their lips meeting in a tender kiss.

"We are on vacation–"

"And we trust Dad and the Aveiros with our son–"

"Yeah, but," she starts picking at her nails, "being on vacation doesn't mean we stop being parents, Ethan."

"I never said we stop," he leans up against the balustrade, folding his arms again. "Cord," a corner of his mouth curls as he stares out onto the beach. "Cord's my boy, my little bean sprout, he's… my everything. But, baby," he chuckles, blowing away a breath as he turns back to Tatum. "We need a break--especially you."

"I just miss him," Tatum twists her mouth, her eyes fixed on her husband’s crystal gaze. "It's weird. Our lives have changed so much since that little guy showed up."

"Almost eight months," Ethan smiles endearingly.

"But even before that," Tatum rubs her hands across the flat planes of her abdomen, "he was literally a part of me for nine months. I'm feeling a little…"

"Incomplete?"

Tatum shakes her head.  Standing up, she takes a step towards Ethan, wrapping her arms around his neck. "You complete me, Mr. Ramsey," she croons, "but I do feel like I'm missing something. I guess," she titters under her breath, "I have forgotten what it's like to just be me, to just do what I want without planning ahead, without worrying about diapers and pumping and naptimes.  I guess I'm having a hard time remembering life before Cord–ha!" she snorts, "B.C.! Get it?"

Ethan shakes his head before laughing to himself. "Well," his voice grows dark, "how about… I help you remember what it was like B.C.?"

"Yeah?" Tatum bites her bottom lip as her eyes train to Ethan's mouth. "And… how would you help me remember?"

Ethan wraps his arms around Tatum's waist, and without warning, he lifts her up, tossing her over his shoulder before giving her ass a firm swat.

"Ethan Jonah!" She squeals with glee before he jogs inside their bungalow.

—

Later that afternoon and feeling much more relaxed, the Ramseys decide to venture out and explore the island. Tatum slips on a smocked fuschia maxi dress with a pair of espadrilles and a floppy sun hat while Ethan dons a pair of khaki shorts with a sage green linen top, complete with his white Vans.

Casually walking hand-in-hand, they are drawn to the beautiful drumming of a group of Polynesian musicians outside an open market. They stop to admire the cultural beat, complete with awe-inducing twists and twirls of their mallets and several hula dancers with hypnotizing moves.  

Tatum playfully sways her hips to the music, Ethan smiling and nodding to the beat–that is until two of the dancers place a lei around his neck before pulling him reluctantly out of the crowd to dance with them.  He tries to maintain a stoic-look of displeasure, but as he looks back to his hysterical wife, he finally busts out laughing and starts to move his body clumsily along with the hula dancers.

When the dance comes to an end with a roaring applause, Ethan and Tatum stumble into each other, holding their aching bellies as they continue to laugh uncontrollably. It had been so long since they had been free of responsibilities, free of schedules and expectations, free to just be themselves as a couple.

Tatum hugs onto Ethan’s arm, their hands interlocking as they enter the open market. They stop at the different vendors, tasting new and exotic foods, watching local artisans design furniture, clothes and jewelry. One tent catches Ethan's eye with master carvers intricately cutting, sanding and sewing traditional Hawaiian weapons.

"These are really neat," Ethan cautiously holds up a knife, testing the sharpness of the blade. "What do you think? Cord's first knife," he jokes.

"Eh," Tatum swallows thickly, running her finger over an instrument with real shark teeth. "Maybe he should master his pincer grasp first. Or, I don't know, learn to walk?" They snicker between one another when suddenly, a colorful tent with art canvases catches Tatum's eye. "Rams, I'm going to look over there."

Already in a conversation with one of the craftsmen, Ethan nods while giving a wave to his wife.

Tatum moseys over to the tent, instantly taken aback by the artwork lined up along the walls and wooden easels. Brilliant splashes of color, expertly mixed and brushed, tell colorful secrets about the island.

"Aloha!"

Tatum looks deeper into the tent, noticing a young, beautiful blonde with gorgeous waves sitting at an art easel as she captures another story with her brush strokes. Tatum ducks into the canopy, noticing sculptures and stunning pieces of glass art everywhere.

"Aloha," Tatum smiles at the woman before turning back to look at all the beauty. "Did–did you create all of this?"

The young woman giggles, bowing her head coyly. "Yes, I did."

"It's exquisite work," Tatum continues to observe the various crafted pieces. "They're…" she stares off at a canvas with a kaleidoscope of colors forming waves crashing along the shoreline. "They're dreamy. "

"Well, thank you… Are you an art enthusiast?" The artist chuckles as she adds a new swipe of paint to her canvas.

"Oh," Tatum chuckles, "not really an enthusiast. I mean, I appreciate beauty when I see it." Tatum slows down, focusing on a stunning oceanic scene with iridescent jellyfish. She leans in, noticing the strokes and gradients of color.

"Hrmm," the blonde chuckles, putting down her paint brush. "Anyone that sees beauty in the world… is an artist." 

Placing a hand on the back of her chair while steadying herself with a grip on her easel, she cautiously stands, balancing herself onto her feet. Noticing the struggle out of the corner of her eye, Tatum looks over–and gasps into a smile. 

"Well, aren't you full of surprises!" Tatum titters, watching the young blonde place her hand on her heavily pregnant belly. "When are you due?"

"Oh gosh," she giggles, out of breath, "not for another seven weeks." Tatum's face drops, staring at her abdomen. "I know, I'm huge."

"What? No! I–I'm sorry," Tatum puts a hand over her face, "I didn't mean to make a face."

The blonde laughs harder, massaging her tummy. "Don't be. That's the reaction I normally get from people, and I don't blame them. I'm almost as wide as I am tall!" she jokes with a titter, "but I also don't get the chance to tell people there are two in there instead of one–"

"Twins?" Tatum’s eyes widen, her lips curling into a smile, "my goodness! Well, congratulations to you! And by the way," she becomes serious, "you look phenomenal."

She blushes, "thank you."

Tatum holds out her hand. "I'm Tatum."

The kind artist eagerly takes Tatum's hand. "Luna. Luna Auclair."

"Well, Luna Auclair," Tatum beams brightly, "is this your entire collection at the moment?"

"Not all of it," she twirls around, looking at her work. "I still have some pieces in storage, plus I have an art exhibit with some of my students tomorrow."

"You teach art, too?"

"Yes," Luna beams, "down at the university–"

"Tate?" Ethan calls from outside.

"I'm so sorry," Tatum holds up her hand apologetically to the interruption.  "In here, Rams!" Tatum shouts walking towards the entryway of the canopy.

Ethan struts inside the tent, his eyes instantly intrigued by the swirls of color and intricate placement of designs. "Wow," he whistles with his teeth. He takes off his sunglasses as he begins to focus on a few canvases.

"Aren't they extraordinary?" Tatum bumps up next to him, her attention swept away in the paintings. Ethan hums in approval as he steps in front of the same beach design she had checked out minutes ago. "Do you like it?"

Ethan's eyes stay focused on the art nodding his head. "I do. I really do."

Tatum looks back, but realizes Luna has stepped away. She turns to Ethan, linking his arm with hers. "How about," her voice is soft, "this piece in the study? Or maybe the guest room?"

"No."

Tatum's eyebrows crinkle. "No?"

"No," Ethan tilts his head to his wife, "the playroom." The corner of Tatum's mouth curls as her husband continues. "This… this is Cord." He grins as Tatum nods, brushing her pout against his lips.

"I'm sorry I had to leave you like that," Luna waddles back in, "my fiancé called to let me know he's coming by."

"Oh wonderful," Tatum claps her hands together in joy. "Oh, Rams, this is Luna. She painted all of these pieces... And even designed these sculptures."

"Aloha," she coyly greets as Ethan holds his hand for her to shake. 

"Aloha, Luna," he grins kindly. "Very nice work–"

"Nice?" Tatum playfully swats his arm, rolling her eyes at the younger blonde. "Don't believe him," she giggles. As she wraps her arm around his waist, he pulls her in by the shoulders.

"They are phenomenal," Ethan clarifies, "is it possible to have something shipped to the mainland?"

Luna nods. "You two vacationing?"

"Yes," Tatum answers. "We're from the East Coast."

"Oh wow," Luna's eyes widen, "a good ways from home–"

"Thank goodness," Ethan jokes under his breath. "I don't want to even look at something remotely related to work."

"Ethan is an administrator of sorts, a leader of our organization and," she glances at him innocently, "his patience gets tested. A lot. Plus, we haven't gone anywhere in…" Tatum looks curiously at Ethan.

He squints, looking up towards the sky as if calculating something in his head. "Eesh, well over a year. At least."

"No wonder you two got away," Luna shakes her head. "Your work sounds stressful."

Ethan looks at his wife, "That, and–" he smiles proudly, lacing his hand with hers, "we just had a baby."

"Awww!" Luna coos. "Boy or girl?"

"Boy."

Luna squeals. "Is he here?"

Tatum's face falls, Ethan squeezing her hand. "No, he's back home."

"Oh… I bet you miss him."

Tatum kindly smiles and nods. Ethan brushes his lips against her temple before answering. "We very much do… which is why… we are… looking at the art pieces."

"Right!" Luna chirps, snapping her fingers. "Is there something here that is speaking to you?"

Making their way around the showroom, Luna helps pick out a few canvases for Cord's playroom that also boast the essence of the Polynesian culture through the artwork. Returning to her clerical station in the tent, Luna begins carefully packing them up before pulling out paperwork.

"So, you said the East Coast," she starts filling out the document, "where specifically is this heading?"

"Boston."

"Oh my gosh, you're kidding me!" She giggles. "My fiancé–"

"Lunes?" A handsome voice calls out from behind the tent. "I gotcha a rainbow shaved ice."

Ethan feels a strange spike in his blood pressure, his expression falling with concern. "That voice," he mutters under his breath to Tatum. "I… I know that voice."

"Give me a second, B," Luna yells over her shoulder, tearing Ethan and Tatum away from their private conversation. "I'm with a customer." She turns her attention back to the transaction.  "Okay, now… where was I? Oh!"  She grabs a pen, "I just need your name–"

"Ethan Ramsey?"

Tatum and Ethan slowly look towards the voice, appearing behind the tarp before slowly turning to stare at one another.

Ethan gnashes his teeth in irritation, his jaw ticking.  There standing in front of him is an old thorn in his side from Edenbrook, Dr. Bryce Lahela. "We…" he growls softly, "are over five thousand miles away from home. How in the fuck–"

"Ethan, fix your face. Right now–"

"Oh my God!" Luna squeals, her bright eyes staring at Ethan. "You're the Dr. Ethan Ramsey?"

"You have got to be kidding me," Ethan groans. Tatum pinches his side in warning as Luna bounds towards him, shaking his hand emphatically again.

"I've heard so many amazing things about you, sir."

Ethan freezes. "You–you have?"  Tatum quirks an eyebrow, stifling a grin.

"Are you kidding me, Doc?" Bryce pipes up, slinking an arm around Luna.  "You and Tanaka helped shape my career, made me tougher. I took a lot of scary chances in residency, but… you always believed in me, had my back."

Silence falls over the tent. Bryce and Luna both stare happily at Ethan with wide, toothy smiles and stars in their eyes, making the old mentor feel even more awkward. He looks to Tatum, compassion written on her face as she casually nods towards the couple.

Ethan sighs. He extends his arm to shake Bryce's hand; but instead of leaving it at that, Ethan pulls Bryce into a hug, giving him a few pats on the back.

"It's good to see you again, Lahela."

~💚~

[johannstutt413]

“Hey you forgot about Gravel’s birthday.”

“No I didn’t see I have her present right here.”

“…This is a just a pile of cardboard with “I love Gravel on it.”

“Exactly she’ll love it.”

Happy birthday to Everyone’s Wife Senony ‘Gravel’ Arknights, I got her a Weiss/Schwarz trial deck.

[f1]

F1 race director handled Australian GP perfectly Alesi | RaceFans Round-up

In the round-up: Former Formula 1 driver Jean Alesi defends FIA race director Niels Wittich over his handling of the Australian Grand Prix. In brief Race director made right calls – Alesi After three red flags, two standing restarts and a multi-car crash, Wittich’s handling of Sunday’s race in Melbourne drew criticism from those who claimed the spectacle had taken priority over the sport. However Alesi is not among them. “I understand the impression of having seen a chaotic race but I don’t share the objections,” he told Corriere della Serra. “In my opinion, the race director applied the regulation perfectly.” While Mercedes said they were “very surprised” by Wittich’s decision to red-flag the race after Alexander Albon crashed at turn six, Alesi felt it was necessary. “On a track like the one in Melbourne, when gravel and other debris encroaches on the track, a red flag is a must,” he said. “As happened after the accidents involving Albon and Magnussen, after the collisions at the end. There are no alternatives and the risks for those who run are high.” ‘Webber’s hindsight is my foresight’ – Piastri Oscar Piastri admitted he doesn’t always see eye-to-eye with his manager Mark Webber, who eased his path into the sport where he raced for 12 years, winning nine races. “He’s incredibly good,” Piastri told Channel 4. “Obviously he’s been through my journey before, and especially now that I’m in F1, obviously he’s had an incredible career in F1 himself. He knows a lot of people in the paddock, pretty much everyone. “His hindsight is my foresight in some ways – he tells me all the time. Sometimes there’s a few decisions that maybe I don’t agree with but I always remember that he’s been here in my shoes before and there’s a very good reason why there’s some things he wants to do certain ways, which I’m incredibly grateful for.” Penske’s tribute to Lucy Foyt Roger Penske paid tribute to Lucy Foyt, the late wife of four-times Indianapolis 500 winner AJ Foyt, after she passed away earlier this week. “I have known AJ and Lucy Foyt nearly as long as I have been involved in racing,” said Penske. “So much of AJ’s racing success was rooted in the solid foundation of the love and support that Lucy provided for him throughout his career. “Racing can be a tough business, and AJ was not immune to the dangers drivers often face. It was Lucy who was always there to help AJ navigate through the hard times and get him back to his winning ways. “Most importantly, Lucy’s commitment to the Foyt family is her biggest legacy. Keeping the family connected allowed AJ to focus on being one of the greatest race car drivers of all time. I truly believe that it would have been hard for AJ to achieve all of his on-track success without Lucy. Our prayers and condolences are with AJ and the entire Foyt family.” Happy birthday! Happy birthday to Macleod, Josie Maunders, Bob and Rohnjaymiller! On this day in motorsport via RaceFans - Independent Motorsport Coverage https://www.racefans.net/

[your-highnessmarvel]

Always You

Requested by Anonymous: Do you think you could do a prompt where the reader is 20 years younger than Chris and of course happy ending, but he thinks he’s taking away her prime years when he really isn’t and there’s a temporary break before they get back together. (Non famous reader, met at a bar?) please and thank you!

AN: i was watching a star is born when i made this ahahaha so meeting in a bar is thematic here.

Warnings: language

*gif not mine

Enjoyed this and want more? Send in your requests!

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MASTERLIST

The door of the cab banged shut and you walked away without a last glance, your boots scuffing the gravel. You’d ended in some shit butt town off the border of Boston, and now you needed a drink. The guy you’d been seeing had just dumped you because “things were moving too fast”, and now you needed to drown your anger in some gin. 

The said bar - Jack’s Watering Hole - had a sign hanging off one hinge at the door that read “WE CARD ALL MINORS” and a LED sign flashing ladies night. Well, just your luck. 

This was not how you planned to spend your twentieth birthday night. 

The door opened and out came a draft of cigarette smoke and bad breath. You could barely see when you walked in, what with the low lighting and cloud of smoke curling around your leather jacket. Some guy at the bar turned on his rusty stool to stare at you, belly jutted out under a crumby grey wife-beater. 

There were two women in their thirties standing on six-inch heels by a shitty arcade game, giggling, swaying to the intrinsic music. A few lonely birds had flocked on the other side of the bar, staring into their beers. And a fellow with a Red Sox cap sitting alone in a booth, trying really hard not to stare at you but ultimately failing. 

You walked to the bar and ordered straight fucking gin because this was a shit night. 

“And give me whatever that guy sitting in the booth is having,” you added, watching as the bartender - who wore a sleeveless plaid - looked over your shoulder and shrugged. 

You clicked your nails on the bar as you waited, considering if what you were about to do was a good idea or the dumbest. Who knows? Serial killers are just about around every corner these days.

You took your gin and the stranger’s Budweiser - really? - and handed the bartender his money. You took a breath of good luck and twirled on your heel, headed towards the stranger.

He stared at you with open astonishment as you sat down right in front of him, smiling awkwardly, offering him his beer.

“Rough night?” you opened, mentally stabbing yourself for choosing such a cliche line. 

He smiled. Huffed. He had a full, brown beard that shadowed the bottom half of his jaw. A straight nose. Blue eyes. Handsome. What the hell was a J-Krew model doing in this asscrack of a town, in this bum fuck bar?

“Trying to be unnoticeable,” he said, grabbing the beer you offered him. 

You took of sip of gin. “Can’t really go unnoticed when you look like that,” you confessed. Maybe it was your ex’s betrayal or the lonely one hundred dollars sitting in your bank account or your left tire blowing out, but whatever it was that was giving you this much confidence, you loved it. 

“Look like what?” he asked. He tugged, nervously, at the seam of his black sweater sleeve. 

“Like a god,” you mumbled, dipping your lips into your drink.

“Well,” he laughed, “that’s officially the first time I’ve heard someone refer to me as a god.”

His smile was addicting. His laugh was close to dying over. 

You felt the pinch of attraction in your belly. “What do they refer to you as, then?”

He mimicked being in deep thought. “Hunk,” he said, pointing the tip of his beer at you. “Hollywood’s hottest single.”

Your face went hot. Flames were literally burning under your flesh. 

Hollywood?

“What?”

He smiled knowingly. 

“What?”

You scanned him briefly. He had the military-cut-out body type. The clear as a baby’s butt skin. The clothes with tags like Lacoste and Levi. 

Oh. 

Oh God.

“You’re...” you breathed out, finally putting two and two together. “My God. Chris fucking Evans.”

He threw his head back and laughed. “That’s a hell of an introduction,” he laughed. Holy Christ in Heaven, his laugh was like a waterfall of gold. 

Your face was hot. “I’m so sorry,” you said. “It barely registered. I’ve been having the shittiest week of my life.”

“Boyfriend?”

“Ex,” you corrected. “But also my boss smells like hotdog water. Oh, and my ex left a bunch of skidmarked underwear in my room. My left tire blew out. I can’t seem to save up any money. And I’m being kicked out of my apartment if I can’t get rid of my cat.”

Chris frowned, shaking his head. “Animals before anything,” he said, taking a sip. “I get that.”

“Yeah, as if I’d give away Looney Tunes for a three and a half with barely any hot water.”

“I know a few apartment blocks near my house that allow animals,” he said, slowly taking a sip. 

Your brow rose. “Am I about to know the super secret location of a celebrity’s house?”

Chris laughed. “If you want, you could come over for tea,” he suggested, cheeks pink.

Your mouth fell open. “You drink tea?”

“Of course.”

“We need to get married right away,” you deadpanned.

Chris roared with laughter, left-boob-grabbing and all. 

By the time the night ended, your number was in Chris’s phone and you were on your way to his house

TWO YEARS LATER

You took your bags from the bed, trying to keep the feeling of dread from crawling up and out of your throat.

“You’re okay?” he asked, sitting in the corner, elbows on his knees. 

You couldn’t look at him. You couldn’t comprehend the idea that he was letting you go, that you would never see him again. The hurt crawled through your ribs and bled into your lungs. 

“No,” you said, keeping a sob in your throat. “I just don’t...” you trailed off, sighing. 

Chris got up, smoothing his hands on his pants. “I just think it’s better this way,” he whispered.

Your eyes snapped to his, teary-eyed, cheeks blotchy. “Better?” you gritted. “Better!?”

“Y/N,” he said, calmly. “You’re twenty-two. I’m forty. Do you not see that I’m doing this for you?”

“Oh, right, the righteous older man,” you grumbled.

“No,” he sighed. “I’m just trying to not take away the best years of your life.”

“These were the best years of my life because of you!” you exclaimed, tears spilling hot over your cheeks. 

You saw the strain in his face, the strain to remain stoic. “You should be out with your friends, in bars, in clubs, staying out late and eating takeout half-asleep, drunk as hell. Not here at nine in the evening, curling up in a face mask with me. Not here, every night, reading.”

“God,” you groaned, throwing your hands up. “You really can’t see that this is what I want. You are what I want. I don’t care that I’m missing out. I don’t want to go out until 4 am, drunk off my ass, every night.”

Chris shook his head. 

You blew out a breath. “I see,” you whispered. “You’ve made up your mind.”

You picked up your bags, not letting him have the last word, and stormed out of his room, of his house, not even saying goodbye to Dodger.

SIX MONTHS LATER

“Ericka!” you called. No answer. “Ericka! Do you have my hair straightener!?”

You stormed across the flat, coming to your roommate’s door, knocking. 

“No! Go away!”

She wasn’t just your roommate, but also your best friend.

After Chris had all but broken your heart, she’d offered a place in her apartment. She’d also held you every night as you cried, stroking your hair. She’d also talked you out of calling Chris, or texting him, or sending him some cryptic letter with a bunch of cut-out magazine letters. 

“Oh my God, you have it!?” you yelled, storming into her room. She was running across her bed, the said item in her left hand. 

“NO, LEAVE!”

You ran across the room, trying to tackle her.

“GIVE IT BACK!”

Someone yelled. Ericka fell off the bed. She kicked you by accident in the ribs and you fell off the bed, knocking your head harshly against the floor. It made a sickening thud and you momentarily went blind.

Ericka yelled. “Oh my God!”

When you came too, you were strapped to stretcher, a paramedic telling you not to fall asleep. But you did. 

You don’t know how long you were out, but when you awaoke, there was a doctor there.

“Hello Miss,” she said, smiling broadly. “I’m just going to shine a light in your eyes, okay?” 

You nodded, groggy, looking around. 

She shone the light in your eyes, humming, seeming content and unalarmed by what she saw. 

“So looks like you had a little concussion from your fall,” she said. “We’ll keep you here overnight, just to make sure you’re all right.”

“Um, okay,” you muttered. “Can I get water?”

“Of course, I’ll send a nurse.” She got up. “Someone is here to see you. Are you willing?”

You frowned. It was probably Ericka. “Sure.”

But it wasn’t your best friend to walk into your room. 

And it’s at that moment, when Chris walked in, that you realized you were in a private room. You didn’t have that kind of money....

“Y/N,” Chris sighed, rushing to your bedside, his voice laced with worry. 

Your mouth moved, a rising tide of something coming up in your throat. God, even after six months, you were still so in love with him. 

His warm fingers grazed your cheek and you flinched, realizing you probably had a bruise. 

“God, I was so worried,” he said, eyes searching yours. “Does your head hurt?”

You sat up, straightening your neck. “Chris,” you said, tone harsh. You saw the way he inched away, hands going into his pockets. “You... you broke up with me. What are you doing here?”

The question hit. He put his hand to his mouth, sighing, sitting on the edge of the bed and hanging his head. 

“I didn’t... I didn’t break up with you. I just... set you free.” He sighed heavily, shaking his head slowly. “And I regret it. I wish I could take it back, Y/N.”

You frowned. “You... you set me free?”

Tears gathered behind your lashes.

When he rose his head and saw the tears, he reached out and wiped his thumb under your eye, stopping the fresh tears from staining your skin. 

“No,” he whispered, his own blue eyes glinting. “I was a complete idiot. I shouldn’t...” He didn’t dare finish that sentence.

“But you did,” you said, biting your lip. 

He looked up, breathing in, looking around the room. “So, how did you get in here?” he asked. “Did you forget how to walk down the stairs or something?”

You laughed. The surprised yourself and giggled. Then you thought twice and covered your mouth with your hand. 

Chris smiled softly. “Missed that,” he rasped. 

“I ran after Ericka cause she stole my hair straightener, then she kicked me in the ribs and I fell.”

Chris chuckled. “I remember how savage you get when your things are misplaced.”

You smiled, reminiscing on that time Chris did some cleaning and put your elastics in another drawer and you lost it. 

Chris reached out and tentatively took your hand. “Y/N, I just... I’ll leave right after, but I want you back.”

The admission was so raw, so honest and cold, that you just stared at him. 

“If that’s not what you want, I promise, I will walk out and you will never see me again.”

You nodded, biting your lip, eyes cast down to avoid shedding more tears. 

The bed dipped as Chris got to his feet, the smell of him lingering long after he’d left.

You dropped your head into your hands, sigh turning into a sob. 

A few minutes passed, your heart beating erratically in your chest. 

“Dammit,” you mumbled, grabbing your phone. 

You pressed on the contact info you still kept despite Ericka telling you to delete it. 

He picked up on the first ring. 

“Get back in here and help me get my hair done,” you ordered.

There was a soft chuckle. “Anything for you, baby,” Chris said, and you heard him laughing in the hallway.  

[notasapleasure]

Sunday six...and more

Inchoate

A couple of new chapters

Elizabeth pov, just a bit of characterisation I guess. I'm having a bit of a writing break from Inchoate right now, I need to get my enthusiasm back, but I've not forgotten our boys :') I'll be finishing this eventually, don't worry!

One of the many present band au Lymond wips

Draft of chapter 1(!) of the fic @erinaceina asked for ages ago where the characters celebrate the resignation of Thatcher at the close of 1990 (so about 1 year post-canon). Happy vignettes ended up being hard to get a purchase on though, so expect angst to creep in - these guys have a fair bit of a past after all.

In this chapter: Lymond/Philippa, Adam/Kate, Sibylla, Mariotta/Richard, their son Kevin, Slata Baba the dog, Talus the cat, Will Scott/Grizel, their many ginger children.

---

Anyone who could hold together the kind of career Francis Crawford, the artist known as Lymond, had managed to maintain was unlikely to be troubled by the organisation of a little party. Indeed, with one of Red Wedge's staunchest fundraisers onboard, a stalwart of Folk Against Fascism, a woman who had persuaded Elvis Costello and all of the Attractions to play her benefit shows, the matter shouldn't really have required more than a few phone calls to caterers and the setting up of some speakers.

Reality, however, had a tendency to complicate matters, particularly when friends and family were involved. Such complications were only compounded by the very public, deeply satsifying, disintegration of Margaret Thatcher's stranglehold on power.

The party being prepared had been planned in celebration of Christian Stewart's birthday, but had recently taken on a new mantle, at Christian's insistence, of a celebration of the end of Thatcher's career. All who knew Christian loved Christian and had wanted to help with the party anyway, but now spirits were even higher and St Mary's should have been a hive of activity.

Sibylla was there to decorate, as were Mariotta and Kevin; if Richard Crawford had, earlier that week, tried to suggest that Chris, being blind, was unlikely to appreciate Sibylla's flower-arranging skills, and that Francis and Philippa might prefer to set up the party in peace, he had been swiftly corrected. Chris appreciated the scent of Sibylla's bouquets and wreaths, and Mariotta had promised Kevin they'd make a pinata like he'd seen them do on Blue Peter. It was then universally agreed that Chris would enjoy, and excel at, whacking the stuffing out of a papier-mâché construction.

And then Kate was to be on hand to help prepare the food while Adam set up the sound-system, and Francis and Philippa themselves would not be driven from the kitchen when they had new recipes they wanted to try out on their guests.

Yet it was two hours before the party and the estate at St Mary's was a scene devoid of people, messy with incomplete activities.

The doors of the great grey building were open to the dreich November day, letting turf-warmed air out and inviting mizzle to settle on the tiles in the entranceways. A black cat sat imperious on the front doorstep, blinking at the four wheel drive that had pulled up on the drive and twitching its tail and ears at the sound crunching gravel. The cat's yellow eyes narrowed as the Land Rover decanted its passengers. It did not move when the lanky driver strode towards the front door and yelled for the master of the house, but when the cat noticed the noisy knot of children emerging from the back-seat its fur fluffed up and it turned on the lintel to trot away into the house.

"Talus, fetch Francis for us!" Will Scott instructed the animal as it disappeared. He squinted into the hallway and shrugged at his wife.

"I'll start unloading, will I?" Grizel, a baby held in one arm, gestured to the boot.

"Naw, woman," Will leaned on the doorframe, mindful of his muddy boots in a way Grizel never saw him be at home. "I'll go round back and see if they're in the kitchen."

He tramped round the edge of the building, peering through windows as he went.

In a front room over-stuffed with furniture that had been evicted from other locations in order to make space for recording studios, a project had been abandoned mid-way through. There was a washing basin filled with a murky mix of PVA glue and water, a stack of sacrificial newspapers, and a papier-mâché doll shaped around a part-inflated balloon and some old toilet rolls. Cat hair clung to the drying mix of paper and glue and sprinkled the surface of the liquid in the bowl, and the hand-prints of a small person, sticky from glue and dark from newspaper ink, stained the stone around the fireplace.

At the back door, muddy foot-prints tracked from vegetable patch to patio to kitchen. A bucket of evergreen sprigs, twisted willow branches, and dried teasel heads stood sentinel by the unappreciated boot-scraper; leylandii and pine and rosemary leaned drunkenly against one another, drooping beneath the weight of accumulated mist. Damp newspapers laid down to protect the lino had been crumpled and torn underfoot, and potato peelings filled the sink. Flour scattered on the kitchen table had powdered the floor like a light fall of snow, and cake batter waited patiently for someone to place it into the oven. The counter-top was covered in sprigs of dried lavender and citrus pieces.

"Philippa?" Will bellowed into the house. "Francis?"

A window above him opened and a mop of blond hair appeared, a broad smile beneath it. "Marigold! Come on up - Richard's on the telly."

Will squinted. "I've got whisky from my da' in the boot first, where d'ye want it?" his accent broadened as he hollered.

Francis disappeared inside to consult with someone, and then his head popped out again. "We'll arrange that in a moment, make yourself tea and come up. He's really doing a rather good job..." Francis peered back inside as he spoke, evidently still half-focussed on the TV broadcast.

"I've got the wife and kids..." Will protested.

"Bring them too - d'you hear that, Kevin? Walt, Jeanie, Jack and little Frankie are here!" And with that, Francis disappeared inside again and the window shut.

Grizel rounded the corner of the house with a question on her features, a baby in her arms, and the other three children trailing scrappily after her.

Will sighed and stepped into the kitchen, gesturing for her to follow.

"Tea?"

The room upstairs was the clearest indicator that the house had far too much space for one couple alone to fill. It wasn't a study or a bedroom, nor even a store room or a music room. It was just a TV room - and it could have done with some of the furniture from downstairs moving up to fill it.

Inside, the master of the house and his young wife sat contentedly on beanbags, their nephew and sister-in-law seated likewise to one side, their enormous black dog, newly imported from Russia, to the other. Adam Blacklock and Sibylla Crawford sat in the only two chairs, and Kate Somerville perched precariously on the arm of Adam's seat. A jumble of muddy boots was piled in the hallway outside the room - to which Will added his grubby timberlands - and on the TV set Richard Crawford, MP, discussed the ongoing infighting among the Conservative government with a careful mask of professional amity.

Grizel frowned at something he said as she followed Will in. "But I thought the old witch was gone?"

"To the living I am gone ... To the faithful I have never left," Francis quoted with biting contempt and brittle amusement in his eyes.

"She stood down as leader," Philippa informed Grizel. "And won't run again to keep her place. But she's still PM until they choose a new one."

Grizel made a sound of disgust and waved at Sibylla to keep her seat as the older woman went to rise. She kicked an unoccupied beanbag over the floor to settle by the big dog, who flinched at the unexpected movement and the sound of the stuffing rustling, and got up, tail between her legs, head down, to hide behind Philippa and Francis.

"Och, hound, I'm sorry. But you're a great feartie, look at the size o'ye!" Grizel flumped down, baby Frankie still held close to her ample chest, still blissfully unconcerned with all that was going on around him.

Philippa scratched Slata Baba's ears as the dog settled again with a groan, her enormous head laid between Philippa and Francis and her eyebrows twitching plaintively as though asking her owners why there were suddenly so many strangers in her house. "She's getting better, but I think tonight we'll leave her in the study, don't you agree, Francis?"

Lymond's long fingers stroked the top of the dog's skull and he smiled down at her. "Yes, I think so. She might not be happy to share the house with old Sym."

"I can't believe Chris still has him," Will shook his head, passing Grizel a mug of tea and easing himself down onto a large cushion next to her. The scar tissue in his side pulled stiff, as it always did when he bent or twisted too far. He grunted like Slata Baba had done when she settled, and it did not go unnoticed by his wife who, Will knew, would add it to the dossier of things to bring up should he ever be foolish enough to suggest joining Lymond on tour again.

"I think Chris guides Sym these days," Sibylla said drily. "Mind you, he was never the most accomplished of service dogs."

Kate turned to Adam and some unspoken agreement passed between them. "Actually, Adam and I have arranged to take her to the centre at Tollgate. She's coming to stay at Flaw Valleys after this, and from there we're going to meet some newly graduated guide dogs this week."

"Oh Kate, puppies?" Philippa turned to her mother.

"No...highly trained working dogs," Kate corrected her, hiding her smile badly.

Philippa's enthusiasm was undimmed, and she shot a knowing expression Adam's way. Adam shrugged one shoulder and grinned, resigned to his fate - however many dogs it might involve.

"Da, can we have a dog?" Walt, five years old and more freckle than boy, asked. He stood by Will, his little hands bunched into determined fists and his blue eyes round as marbles as he stared at Slata Baba. Clearly, he longed to go and pet her, but he would not approach unless invited to.

"No ye may not. Ye can play with wee Jock when we go to Grandda's, and ye already have that rat ye don't feed!" Grizel tutted and answered for him while Will grinned sheepishly, pleased to have the decision taken out of his hands.

"Mario isna a rat, Ma, he's a hamster," Walt rolled his eyes petulantly.

"Same difference," Grizel shook her head. "And I hafta clean it out either way."

Sensing the mood, Mariotta sat forward on her bean bag and tore her eyes from the TV screen. "Walt, Jeanie, Jack, do you want to help Kevin make the decorations for tonight?"

It was a thoughtful idea, but Kevin let out a sulky "No!" at the suggestion. He scowled at the TV screen. "Dad's not finished, Mum, and you're not even listening!"

Mariotta's brows raised at his tone and, appropriately chastened, she hid her smirk behind a hand, though no one else in the room bothered concealing their amusement. To think that the press had once tried to suggest this boy was anyone's other than Richard's...

"Sorry, Kev," Mariotta murmured and rubbed his back with her palm, turning towards to TV with elaborately pantomimed interest.

Richard gave his assessment of the situation in measured tones, but stuck a sharp, polite knife into the Tories at every opportunity. The interviewer could barely conceal the glint of amusement in his eyes.

When asked who he thought was the best person to replace Thatcher, Richard allowed himself a small chuckle. "You mean other than Neil Kinnock?"

Indulgent, unctuous, the interviewer echoed his laugh. "We're discussing a leadership contest, not a general election…"

"Well you asked me who I thought best," Richard pointed out, gesturing with a broad palm. "But in terms of Tory leadership candidates it's really like asking me to choose between tetanus and tuberculosis. While both can be treated, I wouldn't want to contract either of them."

"And who's tetanus and who's tuberculosis?" the interviewer didn't miss a beat.

Richard couldn't stop himself from grinning. "Let's see what symptoms we develop."

[wiypt-writes]

Honey Haloed Weakness

A Bucky Barnes One Shot

Summary: Sometimes second chances come when you least expect them.

Warnings: Bad language, fluff, feels, some sad stuff…character death…mentions of smut but nothing explicit. Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Enhanced Reader. (Nicknamed Honey). Reader appearance bar eyes is deliberately not described. Moodboard is just for aesthetic purposes

Characters: Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson

A/N: This was originally written for a writing challenge last year, and I meant to revamp/repost it for Bucky’s birthday a few days back but never did. Then the rumours of the title for the first ep of FATWS hit my feed and…well, it reminded me of this.

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters bar the reader and any other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Main Masterlist

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

One bullet. One pull of the trigger. That was all it took. As you watched, the shot flew clean through the shoulder of one hostile, ricocheted off Sam’s shield and then hit a second straight in the hand causing him to drop the knife he had been slashing at Sam with. The three of you stooped, Falcon, The Winter Soldier and you, Silver Shadow. Shield, guns and sparking hands all lowered as you glanced around, the last noises of your fight dying in the air.

“Man did you just shoot two guys with one bullet?” Sam turned to Bucky, his tone laced with shock and awe. “Did it look cool?” Bucky quipped back, an air of nonchalance in his voice, despite the level of surprise he himself felt.  James Buchanan Barnes knew he was a good shot. But that…that was something else.

And something that had been down to chance more than anything. Even if he had tried to make that shot, there’s no way of predicting the trajectory of the bullet once it emerged from the guys shoulder or controlling the angle it exited at… 

Unless… He turned to look at you. Your hair, splattered with blood and gore from the battle, hung like curtains of scarlet drenched silk round your face, from behind which warm eyes glanced back at him. Your features remained passive, adorned with the same expression you had worn when he had first seen one another in your rundown apartment in Bucharest when Steve had come looking for him post the Vienna bombings. 

Sam turned away muttering something about retrieving the Intel they had come for off the hard drives in the main office, and once his back was turned, you caught Bucky’s eyes with your own and blinked as Bucky swallowed. After using your powers, your irises were always ringed with a bright gold, a honey halo. And, as Bucky allowed himself just a second to indulge in the warmth they exuded over him, one slipped onto a sly wink. And then he knew for certain.

“You did it.” He looked at you and you merely stared back remaining passive. He was right, you had. You’d controlled the shot, directing it exactly where it needed to go. And Bucky wasn’t sure whether he felt turned on or slightly emasculated. “Don’t worry.” You said gently as you made your way back to the jet. “I won’t tell Sam, on one condition?” “Yeah? What’s that?” Bucky asked, turning to look at you. “You ask me out for that drink Steve’s been telling me you want to take me for.” And with that you left him standing there, slack jawed as he watched you head up the ramp. **** “So, in a word, you’re still a punk.” Bucky finished recapping the tale later the next morning, leaning back in the comfy chair by the bed Steve lay in. The old man laughed and shook his head. “She’s a devil, I’ll give her that. Mind you, she always was good at playing the cards she was dealt.” A fond smile spread across Steve’s face at the thought of you, his other best friend, the girl he had pulled from that shitty HYDRA base in 2014 when they had been chasing the Sceptre. No one had any idea who you were, what you could do, where you had come from…and that included you. You hadn’t spoken for three days other than to thank him or Natasha for the food and clothes you were given, and Tony for his kindness. And then, on the fourth day, Steve found you in the kitchen at the base, trying to decide on what to make you for lunch, and he won you over with an expertly made grilled cheese. “What’s your name?” He asked softly as you sat chewing.

“I…I don’t know.” You shrugged, your eyes wide as you looked down at your plate.  Steve gently reached out, his hand taking yours softly as you looked at him, your eyes flashing that sparkling gold colour.

 "Honey, you’re safe now, you know that right?

“Honey…” You said wistfully, “I like that.” 

And so it stuck. Where your ability to manipulate metal came from, no one knew. A mutation? Maybe. Human enhancement experiment? Possibly. But it didn’t matter. What mattered was the fact you embraced the responsibility that came with that power. You wanted to help people and, as such, you agreed to stay with the Avengers and they were better for having Silver Shadow as their teammate, and Honey as their friend. Allowing himself another few moments of nostalgia, Steve eventually shook himself free of his memories and, with a sly look turned his head to face Bucky. “In my eyes it’s normally correct to buy a dame a drink before you bump uglies on an African Plain. Yeah, I know exactly what went down between you two that night in Wakanda.” Bucky blinked before he snorted, shaking his head. “Of course she told you…” When the dust settled after the show down in Leipzig, Bucky didn’t see you for almost a year until you came to Wakanda with Steve to be there when they brought him out of Stasis. You were different then, but so was Steve. A year on the run in the shadows had hardened you both. Those warm eyes still flashed gold, yet they carried a darkness that hadn’t been there before.

But they still exuded all the power and warmth of the sun. And Bucky was on fire.

“Can’t sleep either?” He asked as he emerged from the comfortable farmers hut he had been given to live in. You shrugged. “My mind gets a bit busy sometimes. I find the stars help.” He sat down beside you, stretching his legs out in front of him. “Ever wonder what it’s like just to be normal?” You sighed and he snorted, his head turning slowly to look at you as you gazed up at the sky. “What’s normal?” You laughed softly and looked at him, your eyes flashing in the moonlight, turning this time a deep amber speckled with brown. There was a moment, another blink and then your lips were crashing together, tongues fighting for dominance, hands grabbing at whatever they could reach. Under the moonlight, sultry cries and gentle whimpers were shared. Skin slid on skin, hands wandered and explored as together you reclaimed your grasp on humanity, what it was to feel something other than fear and death and anger. And then you had to leave and it was another twelve months since Bucky saw you again, this time on a battle field in Wakanda…with those creatures. Now your eyes were fierce and laced with a reddish gilt, as you tore metal armour limb from limb, wrenched weapons from hands, made sure shots hit their targets, your daggers flying and returning to your hands.

But there was no beating Thanos. 

“I can’t control his gauntlet.” Your voice was laced with the desperation you felt, broken as you realised your powers were of no use.

And then Bucky had been snapped.

“Those five years were long.” Steve shook Bucky from his reminiscing. “For all of us. Trying to forgive ourselves for our failure. And it was that inability to do so that saw us figure it out, a way to bring everyone back.”

Bucky looked down. He knew all about that. Seeking redemption, wiping your leger clean. “Don’t keep her waiting another five years.” Steve locked his eyes onto Bucky’s. A plea, a beg.

So he didn’t.

Later that night, Bucky asked you for that drink. And he dated you, bought you flowers, made love to you some nights, fucked you into the mattress on others. You ran missions side by side with Sam, walked and danced in the rain.

A diamond ring was bought, a yes was said

And one bright April day a year later, his honey haloed weakness became his wife.

***** “Where are my keys?” Bucky asked, frowning as he gently closed the drawer to the sideboard. “You know, Honey, I wish you’d stop moving my stuff.” No sooner had he finished, he felt a vibration in his pocket and a moment later he heard the keys in question jangling. He turned with a soft sigh to see them hovering about a foot away from him in the air. You stood at the other side of the room, hand raised lightly as you wriggled her fingers causing them to move higher as you arched an eyebrow. “You owe me an apology, Buckaroo.” “So what’s new?” He chuckled and you smiled as you shrugged on your jacket and walked towards him, whilst he checked you had everything your needed. Even for a simple trip down the road it seemed like you were prepping for a mission, but then again, maybe you were… You made your way out of the Brownstone into the glorious September sun, your hand curled around Bucky’s arm, nestling comfortably in the crook of his elbow, the shiny platinum and diamond of your rings sparkling as they caught the light. Bucky had a knack for steering and making sure everyone moved out of the way, which was why you were happy to let him take the lead. After a short walk, you reached your destination and made your way down the familiar narrow gravel path towards what you were aiming for. Your pace slowed a little here, it was always harder on gravel, you felt like you were sinking almost.

Together you stopped in front of a beautiful headstone made out of white marble upon which a simple inscription was etched in deep, gold writing.

‘Steven Grant Rogers. Much loved husband, father and friend.’ Below the wording sat Steve’s symbol. His shield, the star surrounded by rings, along with a simple phrase to remind everyone exactly who the stone commemorated. ‘Captain America is hope, he’s freedom, he’s just a kid from Brooklyn’ Bucky’s metal hand gently ran across the top of the headstone and you smiled softly at him, before a noise drew your attention back to exactly why you had come here today specifically. Smiling at one another, Bucky turned and gently lifted his four day old baby boy from sling around your chest as you watched, reaching up to smooth a finger down the baby’s soft, rosy cheek. Steve had been so excited when you had both told him you were pregnant. But you had all known deep down that Steve’s time was coming to an end. The serum wasn’t repairing what was happening to him anymore, and hadn’t been for a while. Steve had noticed its effects had been dwindling for almost thirty years by that point and he was ready to go, to be with Peggy who had left him some ten years previously. All of you had hoped he would live long enough to meet Baby Barnes, but things never do work out the way you want them to, and Steve had passed quietly surrounded by his friends and family some six weeks before your baby boy bad been born. Bucky had made a vow, a promise to himself that his son would understand exactly who his Uncle Stevie was. Not Captain America, but that little kid from Brooklyn who was always too dumb to run away from a fight. “Had to bring him to meet you one way or another.” Bucky said gently, looking from his son’s face to the stone with a soft smile before he crouched down in front of it. He took a moment, the words he was trying to form sticking in his throat as pure emotion washed over him. He felt grief, he felt loss, but also joy at the fact he was a new father and an overwhelming sense of gratitude and serenity that he had found his salvation, his second chance.

And it was draining to feel it all at once. You stepped forward, softly squeezing his shoulder before you crouched by his side, gently wiping the tears from your own face as Bucky finally found his voice again. “Yeah, it was a him, so I got to pick the name.” Besides him you chuckled. “I can still see your face, Stevie, when we told you about that deal. Girl I picked, boy he picked.” Watery blue eyes that still had that sparkle widened as Steve looked at you both, horror on his face as he shook his head on disbelief. “What? You can’t do that…I mean it needs to be a joint decision, no matter what the gender…surely?” In the end, Steve had been right. Whilst Bucky had suggested the first name for your little boy, he had struggled with a middle one and it had been you who had quietly suggested one as Bucky stood in the hospital room, gently rocking his new-born baby in his arms. Both of you had welled up with tears at the simplicity and the poignancy, and the utter love you both felt that your son would help keep the memory of your friend, your brother, your Captain, alive. “Punk,” Bucky gently shifted the baby in his arms so he was facing the stone. “Say hello to Steven Roger Barnes” His son. His beautiful son. A life created because two people fell in love. 

 Because James Buchanan Barnes had a Honey haloed weakness.

[messrmoonyy]

number 3 from the physical touch list (hiding face in neck) for remadora please :)) (no pressure)

Not me neglecting previous prompts/requests because this one the one I got motivation for.

Prompt from this list.

I used this to do my spin on the aftermath of the Battle of the Seven Potters, Cause I like anxious overprotective Remus🙃😗✌🏻( I also changed like. The entire dialogue from the original scenes because why not ). Think battle of seven potters but add a little ✨spice and drama✨. I went off on a total tangent on this tbh. As I do with every prompt it seems. Anyway. Hope you like it my dear anon.

Pairing: Remus lupin x Nymphadora Tonks

Warnings: none

Check my masterlist for all my other writing!

She was late. Incredibly so. Her and Ron should have been one of the first pairs to arrive at The Burrow, he’d arranged for her to have one of the shortest routes. He’d not told her that of course but he was quite sure she’d known he’d gotten a little too tetchy and secretly spoken to Alastor. But he had a right to be over protective didn’t he? This was was his wife. The woman he had literally, and in every sense of the word, sworn his life to. Sworn his dying breath to protect her, care for her.

Yet he’d let her put herself in danger. He could have tried to persuade Alastor to let him and George go the same route as Dora and Ron, or at least in the similar direction. He knew he had to be focussed on the war effort, knew he had a duty to protect the children. But… he also had a duty to protect her. His wife. His Dora. And now for all he knew Bellatrix could have struck her down, her body lying lifeless in a field somewhere.

He wasn’t a particular calm man at the best of times, his stress had its own stress, but he had never felt worse than he did in that moment. He’d already practically attacked Harry, was in no way of any comfort to George and Molly. Or anyone else.

So he was waiting out of the way by the window, constantly looking up at the sky through the glass and waiting for her to materialise through the burrows guards, come skidding over and laugh at him for being anxious over nothing. But the sky remained clear of her vibrant hair and her joyful laugh. The stars practically mocking him as he waited.

“ she’s a tough one. She’ll be okay “ Kingsley had appeared at his side “ Bill and Fleur, Ron and Tonks. They’ll all be here soon. Stop fretting Remus “ Remus almost laughed at the sheer stupidity of telling him not to fret over her. As if he ever did anything else. He always worried for her safety, had done long before they had even become a couple. Waiting up for her to come home from late shifts at the ministry in the days she’d stay at Grimmauld, worrying about her when she’d turn up with a new bruise or gash from something. Marrying her had simply made him fret more.

He’d never felt so protective of anyone in his life, never thinking he ever would either. Yet here he was, constantly putting her first and wanting to do nothing but take care of her. She never left his mind, was his first priority forever and always. He didn’t even want to think about what he’d do if he ever lost her, if he ever failed to protect her.

“ Bill and Fleur were scheduled to arrive as one of the last. Dora and Ron should have been one of the first pairs here “ he said it slightly more harshly than intended and turned to apologise to his friend immediately after, but as he did there was the sound of something passing through the guards outside.

Remus charged outside, almost tripping over his own gangly limbs as he went. He froze to the spot in a mixture of shock and relief as Doras broom appeared in the sky, the bristles smoking and charred as she made an unsteady decent to the ground. She landed in a long skid,stumbling from the broom and directly into Remus’ arms. She practically fell into him and would have knocked him to the floor if he hadn’t been stiff as a board.

“ Remus “ she gasped, hugging him so tightly it took the air from his lungs. But he didn’t even care, he’d give his last breath if it meant dying with her there in his arms. Because she was alright. She was right. There “ was so worried about you. The death eaters and- fuck I know you’re really no good on a broom and you bloody hate flying at the best of times. Merlins balls I was so scared “ she rambled so fast Remus barely understood what she was saying to him.

His hand slipped into her hair in some attempt to hold her as close as he could, still trying to accept that she was really there. Safe. Alive. He had worried for nothing of course. He should have known. She was tough. So much tougher than he gave her credit for it seemed.

He gently pried her out of his grip slightly, needing to see her face just to make sure it really was her. That he wasn’t dreaming it.

“ where were you “ as had most of his words that evening, it came out a little harsh but she didn’t seem to care. She reached up to cup his face in a soothing manner that was the complete opposite of his previous words to her.

“ Bellatrix. Wants me dead just about as much as Voldy wants Harry. Missed our port key. But I’m fine. Ron’s fine. We’re fine. You’re fine? “ he could feel tears welling in his eyes and he felt a bit stupid, but he couldn’t help it. Words failed him and he simply just nodded and pulled her back into his arms “ fucking deatheaters “ she grumbled.

He pressed his face into the crook of her neck, breathing in her scent and letting it calm him. She smelt like the fresh air, her hair all wind tousled and the slightest hint of smoke. Probably from her charred broom. Her hand rubbed gentle circles into his back and it made him feel… small. Which was funny with how much smaller she actually was compared to him.

“ sweetheart… I’m fine “ she said softly, clearly reading his fear still evident on him “ Remus “

He lifted his head as her hand patted him lightly, but he couldn’t bare to part from her again just yet and his forehead dropped to hers.

“ I’m afraid I underestimated you once again, darling. I knew deep down you’d make it back to me, I’m getting far too old to be worrying like this “ he said with a hint of a smile.

“ oh don’t worry, you won’t get rid of me that easily. Take more than a few of old Voldys mental lackeys to take me out. You’re stuck with me now. Im going no where “ their faces were so close he could feel her cheeks shift as she smiled with her words. Her nose brushed against his before she pressed a kiss to his lips. He usually was rather strict on his avoidance of showing affection to his wife in front of well… anyone really. But he happily kissed her back, even if he did cut it off a little shorter than he truly wanted. Still wondering at the back of his mind if any of the order were secretly judging him. It’d never escape him no matter how hard he tried not to care about it.

As they pulled apart she then only seemed to notice that there was blood on his hands and his jacket. She took a step back, her hands suddenly searching for an injury.

" blood? Remus? " her hands were frantic as she yanked at his collar, pushed up his sleeves, searching for anywhere she could find an injury. He grabbed ahold of her hands and shook her slightly so that she would look at him, it was clearly her time to fret and not his.

" Dora. Dora relax. It's not mine. It's not my blood. George was hit.. don't worry he's alive. He's lost an ear but he's okay. So am I. Not my blood love, it's not mine " she couldn't seem to help herself then and dived for lips again, holding his face in her hands and kissing him harder than before. He still couldn’t help but be a little reluctant but kissed her back, his embarrassment of kissing her in front of others not mattering when they were both just thankful to be alive and with each other.

" I'm just so happy you're alive " she whispered when she pulled back, resting her forehead to his. He opened his mouth to say something else but suddenly she was yanked out of Remus' embrace and shoved away, her clumsy legs stumbling in the gravel and she fell quite ungraciously onto her ass with a grunt of pain. Remus immediately rushed to her side in confusion.

" what the fuck! " she shouted and Remus looked up to see that Kingsley had been the one to pull her away, his wand now pointed at her face.

" Kingsley! Lower your wand! " Remus immediately jumped to her defence, crouching beside her and placing a hand to her shoulder  " Dora are you okay? Dora? "

" someone betrayed us we have to check everyone. You didn't even confirm her identity Lupin, she could have killed you. Look I didn’t mean to knock you down- we have to be certain you understand? "

" are you bloody mental?! " Dora yelled again, rubbing at her elbow that she’d clearly hurt on the way down.

" Kingsley... lower your wand she got Ron back safetly it's quite clearly- "

" we have to check " Kingsley said cutting off Molly, who had come outside with the commotion. Remus helped her back to her feet and then grabbed her hand, stepping in between her and kingsleys raised wand.

" lower. Your. wand. " his voice was commanding as he could muster, Kingsley was his friend. But Dora was his wife. And she came first. And he would put himself between her and a raised wand any and every time. No matter who was on the other end of it.

" Nymphadora Tonks gave me a present for my birthday last year. What was it?" Kingsley asked, ignoring Remus entirely, his wand still pointed at her as she was half hid behind Remus’ body.

" this is ridiculous! We're all turning on each other now? "

" answer the question " Kingsley ignored Remus again, which only made his blood boil more. He was already on edge that evening with the fear of losing his wife. This wasn’t helping to lower his stress levels.

" I know my own damned wife- "

" what was it! " Remus drew his own wand then at the increase in Kingsleys anger, pointing it in Kingsleys direction.

" Remus! "

" lower. Your wand. And step away from my wife " he demanded, not wanting to hurt Kingsley… but willing to if he had to.

" you don't even know if that is your wife"

" please! Stop the both of you! " Molly shouted.

" fucking hell " Dora said and held onto Remus hand harder, stepping better into view " I gave you a new set of quills because I charmed your last lot to throw them self out the window whenever you touched them. Happy? " Kingsley was quiet for a moment longer " now drop your wands. Both of you " Kingsley looked to Remus before finally lowering his wand. But Remus couldn’t. He felt betrayed almost, that someone he thought as a friend would do something like threaten the woman he loved.

Dora pressed gently on Remus' wrist to make him too lower his wand when he didn’t do it if his accord immediately " Remus. Lower your wand...Remus “

" this is exactly what Voldemort would want. To see us all turning on each other. We cannot let ourselves get paranoid like this " Remus said bitterly, wrapping an arm around his wife protectively and finally dropping his wand arm. He knew that Kingsley has been right to check in a way. He had needed to check. Though there were much better ways to go about it rather than pointing a wand at her head. To hold a wand to a witch or wizard was one of the most disrespectful things you could do.

" someone betrayed us "

" Dora and I are never out of each other's sight long enough for anyone to have made a switch or have her as their spy. And you know that. How dare you hold a wand to her head. How dare you " Remus was itching for an argument. And Dora could sense it, also so incredibly good at reading his emotions and thoughts before even he was.

" Remus " she said softly, lifting a hand to gently turn his face to look at her instead of glaring at Kingsley " Remus look at me " she ran her hand gently through his hair and he instantly seemed to relax. His own muscles losing tension without his consent at her touch. She had a knack at being one of the only people to get him to the calm down in almost an instant. Sirius and James had been the only other people he knew that could " relax. It's okay " she transported them into their own little bubble. As if the others were no longer in the burrow too and she kept him there, gently rubbing at his hand until his first unclenched and angry breaths returned to normal.

[mysticgoblinwriter]

Driving In A Cold Sweat; There Is No One On This Highway

Warnings- Murder, infidelity, swearing, food imagery, shitty parents, i made Steve the villain who’s in the HOA and a politician, adult content, dark!reader, cheating, a bit of flirting, mental health joke (mental health is NOT a joke, y’all), religion symbolism, dark!steve, peggy x bucky,

Word Count- 1.9k

kudos to @blackberrybucky for being my soundboard, and @fandomsandxfiles for being my beta reader. Love y'all

a/n- This is inspired by Hypothermic by Goodnight Texas.  Its really dark, and I surprised myself writing this but I like it. I also changed the landscape to desert. Leave comments if you want! As many as you like, I fangirl over my work too. All writers should, its selfcare.

IF YOU WANT SOMETHING FLUFFY AND SOFT TURN AWAY NOW; MINORS DNI

DO NOT COPY OR REPOST ANYWHERE. A REBLOG IS APPRECIATED. A REPOST IS NOT.

Bucky looks you up and down, taking you in like you are the gods own ambrosia.  “So, doll.  What brings you to this shit hole?”

You laugh to yourself.  “I murdered somebody.”- was the sentence that also inspired this but its not in the actual story.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The radio gave out miles ago.  It was emitting nothing except for crackling and static.  Every now and then it would cut back to a sermon, funnily enough it’d been the same one that was on when you started your trip.  Sunset was a little ways off.  If you looked hard enough you could see coyotes just off the asphalt.  Alive, yes.  But just how long had their souls been gone?  Someone was screaming.

A man.  You’d heard that scream before.  Seared into you memory like that steak you had for your 15th birthday. It was right next to you.  Oozing blood and raw-red.  You could hear the clink of the knife as it scraped against the plate.  Shaking your head to clear it, you notice an exit with a gas station.  “Now’s a time as good as any to stop.”  Gravel crunches as you slide up next to the pump. The neon beer lights from the bar across the road are calling.  But you can’t answer. The gas handle is slick and grimy, you’ve felt something like that before, but you can’t remember what.  A fuzzy noise in the back of your ears gets your attention.  Another truck has pulled in.  Right in the spot next to yours, never mind the dozen others that are free.  A bulky man steps down, his face hidden by a rangers hat.

You could tell he worked out though.  And had hair in need of a washing.  Clunk.  The tank was full.  You thought it best to leave before anyone could place you, but your stomach needed something other than greasy two-bit fast food.  You glance around, looking for any sign that promised a hot meal.

“Looking for something, doll?” You let out a small gasp.  He was staring straight at you now.

“Does this shithole have a place to eat?  I might have to start eating the cactus.”

He lets out a soft laugh, “Yeah, there’s a diner about half mile down the road.”

His face brightens like he just thought of something.  “You wanna meet me there?  I’ll buy dinner?”  You weigh the options.  You can’t have anybody recognize you; but your cash is getting low and however you can stretch it, you must.  You nod once.  “Sure.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The diner is every trope you’d seen in the movies your pops watched when he got off work.  Flies buzzing, neon sign flickering, checkered tile.  It even had the shiny red leather booths.  What a dream.  “Getcha a seat anywhere, honey.  I’ll be right over,” came a perky voice from the back.  Presumably a waitress. You choose the booth near the back exit.  Its always good to have a backup plan.

The man said he needed to get something at the mini-mart, that you could go ahead and he’d catch up.  Somebody screamed right next to you, causing you to jump out of your seat.  You whip your head around.  No one was even in the dining area.  It sounded so real.  Like you could reach out and grasp the shattering inky blackness.  You take a couple of deep breaths.  Try to remember your happy place.  Tahiti, its a magical place.  Or so you’ve been told  You just picked it from a magazine that was open on the coffee table the night your mother set fire to the curtains in the living room.  The flames had licked up the page, burning the island resort into ash.  Boots thudded as they made way to where you were.  He slides in across from you.

“Um, the waitress’ll be right out,” you said softly.  He barely heard it over the rickety air conditioning.  He nods to show he heard.  He’s sitting close.  Closer than you’d thought another human would ever sit next to you again.  His hands are rough and calloused.  The sleeve cuffs of his hoodie are frayed; as if someone clawed at them.  Eyes traveling up his body, you take in more details.  The hoodie isn’t faded, its brand new.  He wears a bracelet of leather on his right hand, with a charm you can’t quite see.  His necklace is corded hemp, plain and understated.

A light stubble that’s maybe three days old covers his jaw.  His eyes... are piercing right through you. You take in a quick breath, not being able to look away.  You’d never seen that shade of blue before.   He’d been watching you watching him.  Quirking an eyebrow, ”See anything ya like, doll?” You start to sputter an answer but the waitress comes over.  “Sorry about the wait.  Here’s your-”  Blue eyes interrupts her, “We don’t need those.  I’ll have the special and she’ll have the ‘Its Impossible To Go Away Hungry’ plate”  “Okay, then.  I’ll get that right out to ya folks.”

You glare at him, he mirrors it with dicky nonchalance. “Why did you order for me?”  He leans forward, tilts his head the right the tiniest fraction.  “You’re starved.  I really don’t give a damn what kept you from eating but I ain’t gonna let you go without giving you a meal.  The steak plate is the biggest meal they have.  You can take a to go box, that is if you don’t eat the whole thing.”

“Oh.”  You cast out a huff, “Well, thank you.”  He flashes a killer smile. Pearly white teeth in a straight line.  Not an imperfection to be found anywhere.  A silence falls between the two of you.  You can’t decide whether its comfortable of not.

“My name is Bucky.  I thought you wouldn’t like eating with a stranger.  I like to doodle in the margins of my books sometimes.”  “Please tell me not library books.”  He scoffs as if you suggested the impossible, “Never.  Do you think I’m crazy?”

“Jury’s out on that, Bucky.”  He looks at you more intently now.  “Really?  Same could be said about you.  When I first spoke to you it was like a deer in headlights.  Ya running from something, sugar?”  He’d said it jokingly but you didn’t laugh.

“No.  Nothing like that.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Shirley came back with your plates, and two root beers.  She left the check at the end of the table and Bucky swooped it up.  The meal passed by in the comfortable sounds of silverware clinking and ice clacking in the cups.  You both ate in record time.

You were careful to save enough for a second meal. That went into the to go container.  Now both cups were drained and plates scraped clean.  You start to slide out of your seat, mumbling a thanks but Bucky stops you.  “Wait, won’t you sit here a while longer?  I’d be kinda sad sitting here alone.”  After a moments hesitation, you resume your position.  “What do you wanna talk about?  It can’t be the weather.  Its been dry as bones for weeks.”   He ponders for a moment, “You.”  He shifts a little, resting one ankle on the opposite knee.

“I want to know what you’re running from, and see if I can offer...a distraction.”  That shocks you.  “Life?  Aren’t we all running away in some form or another?  I just happened to take the mobile route.”  You shrug, “What do you want me to say?  It was all shitty so I left it behind.  And as for the distraction part, I got a whore last night, so don’t bother.”  He is silent.  Just sits there and gazes at you.  You cock your head, getting impatient.  “Am I allowed to leave now?  Or do you want to talk about our feelings?”

“I slept with my best friends wife.”

“I-I’m sorry you what??”

“I slept with my best friends wife.  He owns half the town, what with him being mayor and all.  I couldn’t take it anymore, he’s always been the golden boy.  Always been the beacon of light.  I just wanted a slice of what he had.”  He looks up, his eyes are dead.  “She was willing, and I just... took her.  There on his desk.  He’d been out for lunch with some bigwig, and I made her cum twice on my cock.”  He chuckles darkly.  “That’d been the first time.  All the other times don’t matter, he doesn’t know about those.  But he does know about the time in the craft shed.  Peggy did pottery.

Had a nice little workshop, it was connected to the mansion they had.  I wanted to bring her pleasure in the place where she gets frustrated often, so she’d have something else to think about.  Steve caught us on the floor.  A big bunch of daffodils in hand.  Stupid, those weren’t even her favorites.”  He was gone now, lost in memories, not even knowing he was talking.  “Said he had come by to take her to lunch.  That was always like Steve.  Expected her to clear her schedule at the drop of a hat but never doing the same for anybody. He didn’t even get mad.  He just walked away, muttering something about his office.

Peggy said she could talk some sense into him.  The next day I found her in the garbage when I took out my trash.”  Your sharp inhale and big eyes do nothing to catch his attention.  “Steve comes strolling out of nowhere, said that she was a threat to his image.  Said that I need to leave or face the same.  I asked why he left me alive and he said ‘So you can remember the pain until you lay down in the ground and the mice and carrion drag your body up from its silk cocoon to feast.”

But that’s not all.”  He said the last bit so quietly, it was as if he said nothing.

“What?”  He’s crying now, tears are forming rivers in his eyes.  “She knew.  She knew  he was going to be there and that’s how she wanted to go out.”  Your puzzled expression makes him laugh.  “Don’t know many politicians, do you?  Good.  Keep it that way.  That day when the mail came I got a letter.  From her.  It said how she wanted to divorce Steve ever since he became the HOA president.  But she couldn’t.  He had threatened her once, just once and what he said was so blisteringly awful.  And he did it.  He is a man of his word, after all.  He kept his damn word.”

“So...she used you as an out?”  He winces.  You hadn’t meant to sound like that.

“Yes.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Out in the diners parking lot you say goodbye to James.  Wait.  No, no.  His name is Bucky.  He’s got a green  Chevy and blue eyes.  Or was it red?  It doesn’t matter anyway.  You back out and head for the next state, ignoring the blood leaking from the tarp in your trunk.  The screams have stopped.  And the moon is bright.

[chilling-seavey]

Qui Totum Vult Totum Perdit (d.s.) - 15

A/N ...and a conclusion.

Warnings: This story is centered around a murder so there will be graphic descriptions of blood, death/manslaughter, dealing with corpses, possible domestic abuse (physical/verbal), crime/covering up a crime, shock/grief, and other possibly heavy or triggering topics. Please read at your own discretion.

I didn’t move for a moment, frozen in stiff shock. That couldn’t be true. Jonah had been helping me this whole time…coming over when I called and helping me leave the state…

I slowly tucked the papers into a neat stack with realization and turned casually out the passenger side window, trying to wrap my head around what I just pieced together. I hoped it wasn’t true. I prayed to whatever God above that it wasn’t true. I felt like I was going to be sick. My wife was dead in the trunk of my car and the hand who did it to her was driving me two states over on the run. There was nothing around us for miles so it’s not like I could run for help if I wanted to and even still…would I want to call the cops on my best friend? He didn’t when we thought it was me. But yet, everything he ever said to be the prior twenty-fours hours had been complete lies to set me up into believing this trap.

He had been all too calm.

Jonah sang softly from beside me, the music playing quietly through the car as we drove down the desert highway. He had his sunglasses on and his hat, shading his face from the sun and from me. I couldn’t look at him without wanting to be sick with dread.

“Jonah.” I finally spoke shakily.

“Yeah?” he answered innocently.

I kept my eyes out the side window, curling the corner of the letter under my finger nervously as I fought with myself to confront him. My leg was shaking and I pressed my hand down on my thigh to try and calm the habit. He turned down the music and I could feel him glancing over at me a few times before focusing back on the road. I took a small inhale before whispering to the window, “You did it, didn’t you? You killed her.”

There was a silence. A suffocating tense silence that pressed down on my chest until I swear I was going to choke. The music turned off and the only sounds for miles was the desert winds whooshing past the car. I closed my eyes tightly and resting my fist against my mouth in anticipation for his reply. His hesitation only made it worse.

“Tell me the truth, Jonah.” I ordered as strongly as I could but even I could hear my voice shaking. “What was this letter about?”

Jonah’s hands gripped tighter to the wheel and I heard him let out a strong sigh, “She just blocked my number.”

“Why did she block you?”

A pause.

“Jonah.”

“Because I was in love with her, bro.”

That certainly got my attention. I whipped my head around to look at him, eyes furrowed in his direction, “The fuck do you mean you were in love with her?”

“I loved her. And you were a shitty fucking husband, dude.” Jonah tisked. He adjusted the blue cap on his head, “I could have treated her so much better than you and I told her that but she didn’t like that.”

My eyebrows furrowed as I processed the information my best friend was telling me. I turned back out the window and watched the desert speed past us along the empty highway.

“But did you kill her?” I repeated my initial question.

There was a pause.

His silence was my answer.

“You did.” I breathed.

“Don’t freak out, okay?”

“Don’t freak out? Jonah, what the- what the fuck-”

Jonah huffed as if I was being a complete vexation. God, dear reader, I didn’t know what to think. I tried to form some sort of response, some sort of sentence to figure out why to did it but my lungs had abandoned me and I could only muster a few random panicked words.

“Why- I just- You- She- I- Why- Why did you- Oh my God- Jonah-”

The car slowed down as Jonah pulled onto the dusty dirt shoulder of the freeway. I glanced back at him as he put my car in park and got out, his jaw clenched stiffly and his face stone. I watched him step to the back door and he tugged his bag towards him before shuffling through it and right to the bottom. My chest was heaving with emotion and I swear I could hear my heartbeat pounding in my ears. Neither of us spoke.

And I especially didn’t when I saw the pistol he pulled from his bag.

He slammed the backdoor and walked around the car to my side, angling the gun right towards me through the window, “Get the fuck out.”

I froze.

“Get the fuck out of the car, Daniel.” Jonah repeated darkly.

My trembling hand found the handle and I stumbled out of the car and into the hot desert heat, the papers dropping to the floor of the car and the two cell phones and the denim jacket tumbling out onto the hot sand. The buzz of insects could be heard faintly in the distance between the dry patches of grass that dotted the landscape behind Jonah and beyond the paved highway. I raised my hands up slowly, not taking my eyes off my best friend and the gun in his hand.

“Jonah…” I spoke slowly, cautiously.

This had to be a fucking dream.

“I didn’t want it to come to this.” Jonah said darkly, his voice shaking with emotion.

“We can work something out.” I assured him quietly, now just trying to save my own life.

“Shut up.”

I swallowed thickly, eyes dropping to my cell phone that had fallen beside the feet in my haste to get out of the car.

“Don’t.” Jonah lunged forward and I gasped as he grabbed my arm and yanked me around so he was standing between the car and myself, giving me a shove away. His aggression made me stumble over my feet and the slight decline off the side of the highway shoulder and I fell backwards on the desert ground.

Have you ever joked around with your best friend about loving them so much you’d take a bullet for them? Cruelest twist of fate of my fucking life.

I stared up at Jonah from where I was splayed out on the ground, staring into the end of the pistol and the reflection of my own face in his sunglasses.

“I loved her.” Jonah said sharply. “I loved her more than you did.”

“Jonah…”

He cut me off, “I-I told her not to marry you! I told her you’re too in love with music to give a shit about her but she didn’t listen. I had to prove it to her so I sent you all that work to look over on your honeymoon. I’m not a fucking idiot, Daniel, I could have done it myself; but she had to see that you would put her second to your work if it came to it. Dumb woman didn’t even care. Not even when I met you at home after your flight and spoke to her in the studio that night and gave her all the proof that I loved her more than you.”

Jonah tisked distastefully and shook his head.

“You fought so loudly in there I could have sworn it was over…that you two were over…but she told me that she…that she loved you more than anyone in the whole goddamn world no matter what and I could never come close.”

I felt my chest tighten at that, tears choking me up in the back of my throat as he spoke of her last words and her last moments.

“We could have been happy together, she and I. I could have given her a nice fucking life. I fucking hated seeing her with you…especially seeing how fucking miserable you treated her. So I told her…if she didn’t want me, she couldn’t have anyone.” Jonah said through his teeth. “And she tried to run. And she set off the security alarm but I am the only other person outside of your family who knows the code to turn the alarm off and delete the tapes. It’s her birthday. Of course, I was going to remember her fucking birthday.”

I tensed at his confession, feeling the rough sand and heat of the desert burning through my skin and my clothes as I laid under his control.

“I knew where the knives were. I had this plan for weeks…ever since she first blocked my number before the wedding. She had one last chance to change her mind…to be happy with me and she blew it. And she begged for her life. And she cried for you. And I watched her sweet face fall into the hands of death like an angel.”

I couldn’t hold back the sob that fell from my lips.

“Then you came out. You heard her scream so you came to check on her but I couldn’t let you see me so in the shadows I knocked you out on the side of the piano and left you there, setting up the perfect scene to make it look like you did it with no traces of my own. No security camera tapes, no unfamiliar fingerprints, nothing. And I could have gotten away with it if you…if you weren’t so…so fucking persistent.”

The pistol was trembling in his fist, still directed right at my face.

“Jonah.” I breathed shakily.

“My name is still clear though. You’re the only one who they’re looking for right now, especially after you just told Corbyn she was dead…Jack knows too. The cops are probably tracing your phone right now. They’re probably on their way to lock you the fuck up right now.” Jonah licked his lips and took a breath, “But you’re gonna talk.”

“N-No I won’t.” I rushed out. “I swear I won’t. W-We can set up someone else…we can figure it out, Jonah, I promise.”

Jonah cocked the gun and I scrambled a bit farther back over the coarse sand, scraping my skin over the gravel in my futile attempt to get away.

“Jonah, please, bro, I swear I’ll help you. I-I forgive you-”

“I don’t need your forgiveness.” Jonah walked down the slight embankment to where I was dropped back over the ground and he stood right over me until the sun was blocked by his body and cast a shadow over me.

He was my best friend in the world, my business partner, and we had gone through most of our lives together but looking at him in that moment, I didn’t even recognise him.

“Jonah.” I spoke slowly, cautiously, licking my dry lips under the scorching heat of the desert sun. “Please, bro. Please…we can work something out, I swear.”

“Shut the fuck up, Seavey.” Jonah snapped loudly, his voice nearly echoing across the vast expanse of bare land around us. He dropped his volume as if he was convincing himself, “Fuck it. At least this way I’ll get your shares of the label and a clean slate.”

He was breathing hard as he moved closer and stepped on my hands to keep me from moving, the toe of his designer shoes pressing light indents into the back of my hands as he pushed them against the rough ground. I leaned away from him and the stare of the pistol habitually, praying for any sort of miracle. The freeway was perfectly empty and there wasn’t a car in sight but my own. There was no way out of this.

I let my gaze linger on the closed trunk, swallowing back the tears that threatened to fall at the image of her tucked up like a science experiment in the equipment case. The dust was burning my eyes but I didn’t doubt that the drop that finally trickled down my cheek was an honest heartbroken tear.

If she cried for me, I was going to cry for her too.

“What a Romeo and Juliet love story.” Jonah spoke, his voice dripping in taunting darkness, as he bent down slowly over top of me.

The cold metal of the mouth of the pistol touching my forehead instinctively made my eyes close tightly. The pumping of my heart echoed in my ears and the scorching desert sun dripped sweat down my brow to mix in with the salty perspiration of fear.

“Daniel Seavey killed his wife…” Jonah pressed it harder there, enough to make a whimper fall from my throat, “and then killed himself.”

What do you think of in your last moments? People often say you see your life flashing before your eyes or you see a bright light but, for me, all I saw was Avalon.

Nearly twenty-four hours since I found her. Nearly forty since she died on my studio floor alone and in fear. My world died that night and the only positive that I could possibly reach for was that at least I wouldn’t live in a universe without her for too long.

And yet, thrown there on the side of the freeway with my best friend holding a loaded gun to my head, all I could think about was her. I could hear her laugh and feel the warm of her skin and I couldn’t wait to see her again; to be able to stroke her soft hair and smell her sweet perfume and to be able to tell her how much I really did lov

-(The End)-

Detective Team: @jonahlovescoffee​ @randomlimelightxxx​ @stuffofseaveyy​ @hopinglimelight​ @tempus-ut-luceant​ @br4nd1s​ @xkelsev​ @hiya-its-amber​ @the-girl-who-cried-wolf​

[expensiveglasses]

Charming Chapter One

Summary: Prince Jungkook was as infuriating as he was beautiful. In line to one day be king, he requested your guidance in the ways of his people. In turn he will make you laugh, give your family fine gifts, and become an invaluable friend. Unfortunately, he will also make you fall in love with him. But the most unfortunate thing of all was his betrothal…to Snow White

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Fantasy, Angst, Snow white/au

Rating: NC-17

Word Count: 4538

Warnings: None for this chapter. Future warnings are TW: Major character “death” TW: Thoughts of suicide TW: Attempted suicide. Nothing is graphically described. Chapters will be noted when these things take place.

.

.

It was during the spring that you felt the most content. Everything was reborn, blossoming from the frozen winter. The village came to life with music, new animals, and the sweet smell of fresh bread.

It had been this way since you were a child, no taller than your mother’s hip and only aware of how acutely you spurned the winter. With chapped fingers and lips, you watched bitterly as your friends, Peter and Else, played, squealing loudly as they threw snow at one another.

The three of you, friends since you could remember, filled to the brim with laughter, scraped knees, and all as plain looking as could be. This suited you fine, and there was little to disappoint you but short moments of impassioned arguments with your two best friends and a brief encounter with the very silly king and his very silly son.

As the only daughter (and indeed, the only child) of the villages master tailor, you found yourself often around the regal and ridiculous. So it was of no surprise when the king himself requested your father’s services and you were required to help him carry his materials to the castle where the king greeted you with his only heir, a son, wearing the silliest hat you’d ever laid eyes upon, a red feather sticking from the top.

You were as different as two people could be and with your simple manners and upbringing, you could not begin to understand the pomp and circumstance of such a silly little boy with rounded cheeks and a chest puffed much too high.

He strutted and flounced about the castle as a peacock would its park and the sight was all together ridiculous for your 9 year old eyes to behold. He’d called you peasant girl and remarked on your general lack of beauty and at 13 years old himself, you felt he had little to offer either, aside from a sizeable kingdom to trump the bed of straw and sheep’s skin you called your own.

For his 13th birthday, Prince Jungkook of Löhrenstein, would have a party, in which all the nobility and sovereigns of the land would be in attendance with their young princesses, and little duchesses, hoping to secure a treaty with his father, a contract between two kingdoms; a betrothal of a prince and a princess.

Of course, you would know nothing of this sort of formality or indeed the contracts of marriage. Your education was as broad as tending a home, carrying your father’s supplies, making flower crowns, and helping to herd the cows during the Viehscheid.

So, while the prince was living in a castle and throwing parties and sneering down his nose at near everybody, you were busy helping your father to sew his clothes. At least you could still play in the fields when the sun was high and warm and the flowers were just beginning to bloom.

And this was how you spent your years, watching as Else became beautiful and elegant, long brown hair thick and wavy, tied back in braids as she went to work in the village at her father’s bakery and you watched in quiet envy as all the boys took notice, bringing her fine milks and cheeses as tokens of their affection while you stayed plain. Even Peter had become mildly handsome as he grew into his gangly limbs, erasing the once mousy appearance for a broad shouldered, sun freckled young man.

You told yourself you didn’t mind so much that you were still plain while she was beautiful, but of course you did a little. To be poor but beautiful afforded you more than being poor and plain. Peter often told you that you were just as beautiful as Else, and while you were happy with the compliment, you knew it was because of his childhood love and devotion to you.

You believed that was why he chose to become apprentice to your father, to someday seek your fathers blessing for your hand. While you did not love Peter the way that he loved you, you could not deny the appeal of continuing with the comforts that you were already accustomed to. After all, you were the only daughter to the king’s tailor…that did afford you some small comforts. You supposed someday when he asked for your hand, as he inevitably would, that you would accept.

When you turned 18, however; there was a small gift from the gods, in the form of a late blooming. A glow to your cheeks and a blossoming of beauty. You were, of course, no Else, but you could certainly hold your own and found that you had more than just Peter as an admirer; much to his chagrin.

Perhaps that’s why you feared that any day now he would ask for your father’s permission to court you because then your path as his future wife would be decided. You were in a strange position as the daughter of the king’s master tailor. You were neither peasant nor nobility so while your ability to choose your spouse was more under your control, you were still held to the standard of your father and who he deemed fit to represent his family, and in turn, the kings.

.

.

The sun had just risen to its fullest height, waxing hot as it commandeered the sky, blue and shivering with the heat. It was sweltering and crowded in the square; noisy with life. The baker’s wife was out shouting, calling attention to the freshly baked rolls sitting just passed the door of the bakery. Else stood beside him, batting her eyelashes and looking pretty; using charms her father could not to entice more customers and you smiled.

The sheep were drinking from the water trough in the center, surrounded by red and yellow poppies in full bloom. The clock tower struck one and you glanced up, eyeing the time wearily. You stood under the archway of a building painted green as a melon, hoping to escape some of the day’s heat.

A woman chased a boy from her garden, chickens flying around in aggravation and you peered after the child as he sulked down the lane, feet dirty and bare. “You hungry, boy?” You called and he looked to you, face caked with dirt from playing and a nod as answer. “Here.” You tossed him the apple you held in your hand and he thanked you, running back into the bustling of the town.

The crowd quivered with conversation and your attention was suddenly captured by the gossip of two young ladies as they passed you. “Yes, the king’s carriage has already left the castle. Apparently, the prince is to be fitted for a ball.”

“I wonder if we shall see him.” The other remarked and your eyes swung to the road, spotting the carriage, scarlet curtains billowing from the windows as it made its descent into town. You gasped, grabbing the skirts of your dress and dashing mad towards your home.

Your father would whip you if you were late. You ran through the fields, cutting through tall shrubs and across dirt paths. A childhood spent playing in this winding village afforded you the intimate knowledge of all its byways.  

You arrived at your home, gasping and covered in dirt and your mother came out, fussing loudly over your appearance, bustling you into the home and towards your room. Your father sighed loudly as you passed, eyes scanning your dress, soiled with the toil of your morning.

“This is no way to greet your king.” He remarks as your mother pulls you behind the wooden room divider, helping you to strip from your clothing and wiping you down quickly with a wet wash cloth.

“My dear, you are not fit to be seen!” Your mother scolded, washing roughly at your face and you grimaced, shivering in the chill of the room. “You knew they were coming today.”

“They are early.” You complained and your mother’s lips smacked in irritation.

“A king is never early. He always arrives exactly when he means to. You would do well to remember that, Y/N.”

Your mother helped you to dress in something new quickly, repining the last piece of your hair just as the crunch of gravel from the royal carriage wheels could be heard rounding the corner and the two of you rushed from the room and to the front door to wait with your father.

You took a deep breath, head bowed into your chest as you heard the carriage come to a stop in front of you. It was abnormal for the king to come to your home, far too busy with his royal duties to condescend to see a peasant, but his son and only heir had recently returned from…well, to be sure, you did not know where he actually had been, but rumor said he was poorly behaved and had gone somewhere far away to teach him the ways of a king.

This would not surprise you, were it true; he’d been a ghastly child. You could only imagine him now, in adulthood. Upon his return, his father had announced his desire to reacquaint his son with their kingdom and your father being his master tailor would receive the special privilege of his presence, it seemed.

The king stepped from the carriage first, and you watched his feet move towards your family.

“Your majesty!” Your father bowed and pleasantries were exchanged as the prince himself disembarked from the carriage.

You kept your eyes trained fast on the ground; the bottom of your dress already smudged with dirt from where you stood.

“My son,” The king announced and your father bowed once more, both your mother and yourself curtsying deep.

“You remember my wife and my daughter?” Your father said and it was now that you felt it was safe to lift your eyes from the ground.

“My, yes,” Said the king turning his gaze towards you, “you have grown well, girl.”

“Thank you, your majesty.” You replied, soft; bowing your head and he smiled, pleased.

“You remember my son?” He asked, pointing his hand to the figure by his side and you allowed your eyes to slide over to him.

It is unfortunate, in this life; that some people are just born with everything the heart could desire. Good fortune, health, money and comfort and to have all that and still be handsome? Well, truly life was unfair.

He stood tall, face angular with deep set brown eyes and rounded lips. You were under no illusion that he was anything but blessed by the gods. They must have looked upon him very favorably, indeed.

“Yes, your highness.”

The prince looked at you curiously, head curved to the side as your father beckoned them into your home and you watched the king and prince follow after him. You heated with shame as you entered after, watching the prince survey your home while your father and the king conversed.

He must think this was so beneath him; to stand in the home of a pauper. The floor, though it had been swept, was still covered in a layer of dirt and the furniture was old and matted, worn with use. You had more than others in your village, but compared to a king, this was true poverty. It must have seemed you had nothing at all.

“Florian, come look at these colors.” The king beckoned and the prince was quick to walk to his side, looking over the fabric your father had assembled as options for his ball.

“These are exquisite.” He remarked, voice low and serious. “I wonder, sir, my father says you will come to the castle tomorrow to prepare my clothing.”

“Yes, your highness, with my apprentice in training, Peter.”

The prince’s eyes flickered to you in surprise and you looked back down at the floor. “Not your daughter? I remember she used to join you when I was a boy.”

“Yes, my daughter would come to help me carry my things, but since I have acquired an apprentice, I have found that quite unnecessary.”

“I would very much like if you would bring her tomorrow, along with your apprentice, of course.” The prince smiled and you couldn’t help but look up in surprise.

“A woman?” The king laughed, loud and joyful and you bowed your head once more, flushed with shame. “What purpose would a woman have in a man’s business? She should stay here and help tend the home, Florian. Don’t be unreasonable.”

“I should very much like to have her return to the castle, for reminiscence sake, father. That is, if her mother can spare her.”

“Of course, your majesty.” She bowed.

“She can carry some of the fabric.” The prince smiled, eyes flickering to your bowed head, “like when she was a child.”

“You have a very strange sense of humor.” The king chortled and you closed your eyes, willing the humiliation from you. “Very well then, we shall see you on the morrow with your apprentice and your daughter. You know the time, I presume?”

“Yes, of course, your majesty.” Your father smiled, escorting them out the door and your mother and you stood in the kitchen, eyes trained on the floor.

So, it would seem he had not changed. Like a dog at his table, you had been summoned. So amusing, was it, to watch a woman carry fabric and needles for a man and stand in the background. Always to be seen, but never to be heard.

Your heart bled with the thought and you listened carefully as the carriage resumed its journey. Your father stepped through the threshold of your home and you could feel his eyes on the crown of your head.

“Now come, girl, there is no need to be so downtrodden.” Your father remarked lightly and your throat burned with emotion.

“Y/N.” Your mother said softly and you shook your head, turning to walk away.

“I wish to be alone.” You murmured, fleeing to your room.

The window was open, soft breeze fluttering through the soft white curtains, now dirtied from the dust of the road. You closed your bedroom door softly behind you, walking towards the window where you sat at your stool.

Laying your arm across the lip of your window, you rested your chin in the palm of your hand and sighed. To feel like a bartering chip in the world of men was difficult. To never be in charge of your own destiny. Destiny, for you, was to be nice to look at and the ability to spread your legs. You wanted more than that; wanted to be heard, wanted your thoughts and feelings to be considered.

A knock at your door called your attention and your mother stepped through the door, smiling softly. “It is an honor to be called back to the castle.” She remarked and you sighed once again, returning your gaze back out the window.

“Mother.” You frowned and she sat down on your bed. “You should understand…as a woman. We’re not objects to be played with.”

“My dear,” she tutted and you looked over at her. “Men are simple creatures, if they’ve nothing to look at, they don’t know what to do with themselves.”

You chuckled, sitting up straighter, hands dropping into your lap. “Then what are we to do with them, mother?”

“We guide them, darling. They like to feel useful, so we help them feel so. We know our worth, we don’t need to be reminded. Men, they need to feel powerful; what else do they have? They may be the head of the family, but we are the neck and they turn where we will it.”

“I have the feeling a prince would be harder to guide.” You smiled and she shrugged.

“Perhaps. It just makes it more fun; more of a challenge.”

You frowned, staring back out the window and into the forest just beyond your gate. The air rippled with heat and you watched as a rabbit hopped from your garden and into the shade. “I don’t want to go, mother.” You admitted.

Your mother’s fingers closed around your hand at the window and you turned to look at her. “My dear…I’m afraid you’ve no choice.”

.

.

The morning was hotter than usual and your dress stuck uncomfortable to your back. Peter was thrilled at the prospect of meeting the king and you realized belatedly that he’d never met him before. As the daughter of the king’s master tailor, you were in a unique position within society; neither pauper nor noble.

You’d had the unfortunate pleasure of meeting both the king and his son and you didn’t particularly care for either. “Imagine the palace, Y/N.” Peter sighed, eyes distant and smile pleasant as he threw an arm around your shoulder.

“I don’t need to imagine it.” You huffed, pushing his arm from your shoulder and readjusting the wrappings of fabric in your arms. “I’ve been there, remember?”

“Yes, I do. You never told me much about it, though. Always so secretive.”

You watched as he paused, tucking the edges of the tarp back around the rest of the fabric on the cart before resuming the journey. Your father walked steadily in front of the two of you.

“It was never a secret; I just didn’t particularly enjoy my time there.” You said carefully, eyes focused on the back of your father’s head. He’d beat you if you misspoke of the king.

“Yes, you did mention the prince was rather…interesting.”

“It seems nothing has changed.” You hummed softly, staring down at your feet, dusted yellow from the road.

“Then why are you coming today? If you dislike the prince, why come?” Peter questioned. The castle came into view, large and imposing against the backdrop of the mountains. White brick stood tall, the spires topped with a deep blue and for a moment you allowed yourself to admire the view.

Though the people within the castle were not to your taste, the palace itself was beautiful. Draped on every side by the mountain range and a large lake nestled in its cove, it was one of life’s true pleasures, gazing at its majesty.

“I think you will find, Peter, that I don’t have much of a choice. The prince requested his dancing monkey.” You replied, the words bitter on your tongue.

Your father called Peter forward and you spent the rest of the walk in silence, listening to the creak of the cart’s wheels as they cracked over rubble and dirt. Your mother had attempted to make you look pretty today, though you could not think why; presentable should be good enough for any man who wasn’t looking to choose a wife.

Your hair had been done and pinned beautifully, your most beautiful dress resting against your skin. It was certainly nothing to a noble, to be sure, but it was not unpleasant to look at and flattered the shape of your body.

It was hot, though, unbearably so, and you suffered dearly under the harsh rays of the late spring sun. Your mother insisted beauty had a price, but you weren’t quite sure why you were being asked to pay it.

The shade of the drawbridge was a welcome relief and you pulled a handkerchief from your bag and mopped at your face and neck. You didn’t need to offer the prince anymore reason to mock you.

You were escorted to the kings fitting rooms where you gently placed the fabric from your arms on top of what your father and Peter had carried from the cart. You patted at your neck once more as you watched Peter’s eyes scan the room excitedly. Absently you wondered if your father had taught him how to behave when the king was in the room.

Your father motioned you over and you slipped your handkerchief back in your bag and went to stand by his side. It wasn’t long before the king entered and you curtseyed deep, eyes trained on the floor.

He and your father spoke loudly as introductions were made and you could practically feel Peter vibrating from where he stood. He was excited, at least. You resisted the urge to pat at your cheeks, flushed with heat from the walk. Your throat felt like sand, dry as you swallowed and you wished more than anything for some water.

The men spoke noisily as they congregated around the fabric and it was decided that the king would be fitted first. You waited quietly as your father began his measurements, your fingers bunching tight in the fabric of your dress.

The room was overly warm, large windows allowing the sun to enter liberally and you felt yourself wilting in the heat. Voices muffling like you were under water, you watched as the gold, cerulean and cobalt of the room became nothing more than puddles of grey before fading into black.

.

.

Your brow felt cool, wet with the brush of a damp cloth and your eyelashes fluttered open, taking in the surrounding room.

Deep mahogany filled your vision, blue and white canopy drapes traveling the length of the rail. Walls painted in beautiful scenery drew your gaze and you reached up to feel the cloth against your brow.

“You’re awake.”

You inhaled sharp, turning to find the source of the voice. You were surprised to find the prince sat beside you, a basin of water resting on a table next to him and a small smile as greeting.

“I’m sorry to have startled you.” He said softly and you lowered your hand, attempting to sit up. “Please remain as you are, Y/N. You need just a moment to recover.”

“What happened? Where am I?”

“You are in one of the spare bedrooms in the palace. It seems you over heated and became faint.”

You closed your eyes tight, shame filling your breast. It was one thing to faint in general, but in front of the king and his son. Mortification was a bitter friend.

“Where is the doctor?” You asked carefully, peaking one eye open and glancing around the room. The prince smiled watching as your gaze flittered everywhere but him.

“I asked him to step outside for a moment. I wanted to make sure for myself that you were well.” He replied, watching your brows furrow in thought.

“Why is that, your majesty?” You pondered, looking up at him and he removed the cloth from your head, soaking it back in the basin before wringing it anew and placing it back against your brow.

“We are old friends, are we not?”

He stared down at his lap, seemingly unsure himself of his statement and your mouth parted in surprise. “You would consider us friends, your highness?”

The prince smiled, wry, before chuckling with a shrug. “Perhaps friends is too liberal of a word. I know I wasn’t the most…pleasant to be around when I was a child. I was selfish and cruel and it’s why my father sent me away. I’m very sorry to have ever been cause for discomfort.”

He paused to gauge your reaction but at the moment you weren’t sure what to think. It had seemed so unlikely to ever receive an apology and now that you had it, you weren’t quite sure what to make of it.

“I was hoping we could begin again…become real friends.” He admitted.

“Please pardon my confusion, but I find myself very surprised. Why would you wish to be friends with a pauper, your majesty?” You finally asked, looking over at him and his smile was gentle, gaze shifting to the open window, the afternoon’s breeze composing a dance among the curtains.

“You are not a pauper, YN” He said, watching as a small starling landed on the balcony, head twisting side to side as it chattered excitedly. “But even if you were, I would still wish to have your friendship. It is my father’s intention to make me king someday and after so many years as a selfish child, I am ashamed to admit that I know nothing of the people in my kingdom. The sorrows, the trials, the joys…I want to be a good king. I want people to know they can depend on me to help, even if I’m not perfect or don’t always have the answers. I want my people to trust me.”

You watched the starling yourself now, hopping across the wood of the balcony, a song puffing his chest wide. “And you think I can help you with that?” You asked softly, watching as the bird resumed flight and soared into the distance.

The prince looked back down at you, reaching his hand out to press against your cheek and you flinched. “My apologies, I only meant to see if your skin was still flushed. May I?”

You nodded, watching as his fingers extended back to your face, the back of his hand pressing gently across your cheek and neck. He hummed, retracting his hand and smiled. “Your temperature has reduced. How are you feeling?”

“Better.” You admitted, “Though I would love to have some water.”

“Yes, of course, I will have some fetched for you. Can I help you sit up?”

He held his hands out for you and you allowed him to pull you gently into an upright position. The world spun for a moment before settling and he moved to the door, calling for a water.

“As an answer to your earlier question,” he said, coming to sit across from you once again and you watched as he set the cloth and basin further away from the bed, “Not only do I wish to make amends, but I want to learn about my people and my kingdom and I believe that spending time with someone who knows the kingdom so well could only benefit that cause.”

“Spending time with me?” You questioned before pausing as a maid entered the room, handing the prince the water before leaving the room once more, door closed tightly behind her.

“Here,” he said, handing you the water which you took happily, clear and cool to the taste. “Yes, spending time with you. Getting to know all about you and my people.”

He paused to allow you a moment to think and you took the opportunity to finish your water, staring down into the cup once you’d allowed it to settle in your lap. It seemed unreasonable to refuse his offer if he really was trying to make a change.

The kingdom could only benefit from having their future king know them and care for their wellbeing. Perhaps the prince would make a very decent king after all, not the tyrant you’d assumed as a child.

“What say you?” He asked gently, holding his hand out for your glass and setting it on the table with the basin.

You looked up at him with a nod, smile tucked in the corner of your lips. “Very well. I can’t see how it would hurt. I will do as you request, your majesty.”

“Wonderful.” He smiled. “And please, call me Jungkook.”

.

.

You guys! Welcome to my page. I’m so happy you’re here and I’d absolutely love to know what you think of my new series! Go ahead and leave a cheeky comment, my loves   😘 See you soon!

Chapter 2

Copyright © 2021 by ExpensiveGlasses. All rights reserved.

[johannstutt413]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY GRAVEL!!!!!!

Capybara waifu who loved you waaaaay before you loved her back. Remember, guys: she’s everyone’s wife. Yes, you too. You’re married. This is a threat.

--------------------------------

(continuing from this, based on calligomiles’ comment)

“Hey, Senomy?” The Doctor and Gravel were lying in a bed in the center of their thoroughly ravaged bedroom. It’d been a good night. “Let’s go on a road trip. Just the two of us.”

“If you’d like; as long as I’m with you, everything’s wonderful~ Where are we going?” She was lying on top of him, looking him directly in the eyes.

Enjoyable, but it made his next few words a bit more difficult. “We’re going to Kazimierz.”

“Kazimierz?” The Zalak gazed through his eyes to the man beneath, but as usual, all she saw was his silver soul and bottomless heart. “Why Kazimierz?”

“There’s something I want to find - something the me I forgot wasn’t brave enough to do. We won’t be there too long, I promise.”

Senomy sighed, absentmindedly reaching up to brush his hair. “It would never be my first choice, but I meant what I said, darling. We’ll leave tomorrow?”

“Mmhmm, tomorrow.” His hand drifted along her back, running along countless scars earned in her masters’ service. “I love you so much.”

“And I love you.” One kiss. “With.” Another. “Everything.” All of them.

The next morning, after sleeping in later than usual, the pair borrowed an RV and set out. It was a 5-day trip, but they had all of RI’s digital resources available to them for notices on weather and other hazards, as well as a full library of entertainment. While Gravel was probably the better choice, the Doctor insisted on driving, as it’d been his idea for this trip and wanted her “as comfortable as a queen;” that meant plenty of stops along the way, to the point it actually took a week to finally reach Kazimierz...not that either of them were in a rush.

Finally inside the city, the Doctor checked his phone’s GPS at the still-closed RV door. “Alright, so that’s where it is. Senomy, before we go, would you prefer me to call you Gravel while we’re out?”

“That would be better, yes. Now that we’re here, can I ask where we’re going?”

“Yes.” He took a deep breath. “We’re going to see the man who has your contract.”

She stared at him. “We’re...darling, that’s a terrible idea.”

“I know, but it’s the only way to make the revision I need made to it.” It was an effort to look her in the eye as he said that; his heart was an echo chamber for her pain, and this was one of the rare occasions he knew he’d see it.

“Revision?” Gravel, incapable of backing away from him even in fear, practically flew to cling to him. “Doctor, I thought...you’re not going to...”

The Doctor kissed her forehead. “I promised you once, and I promise again: I will not end your contract to me so long as you do not wish for it. For all the ways you protect me, it seems like the one way I can do the same.”

“But what change are you hoping to make, then? Contract law is almost inscrutable for even the most proficient lawyers in the country.”

“I had the clause written for me by someone from Rhodes Island more familiar with it.” He gently pried her off of him. “Now, let’s move quickly; the faster we finish here, the less time we spend in danger.”

Senomy still couldn’t fathom what the person dearest to her in all the world wanted to accomplish, and the thought utterly terrified her in a way that took her back to dark places...but this was the Doctor, not some sweaty Kuranta with a strong backhand or lecherous Lupo with wandering eyes. She had enough faith in him to see her through this, no doubt.

The only question left was what exactly this change was supposed to be?

Some time later, in a bar that pretended to be far more noble than it was (just like Kazimierz itself), the Doctor went directly to the bartender, Gravel barely even a step behind. “I’d like to place an order.”

“Oh, found one you like?” The Anaty gave him a crooked grin. “Whatcha havin’, masked stranger?”

“Give me a Rocky Road.”

The record on play skipped as a few nearby turned to look at him. The bartender took a step back. “That...I haven’t heard that name in years-”

“And you won’t be hearing it or anything else again if you’re not faster.” He drew no weapon, but his eyes began to glow crimson through his visor. “Give me a goddamn Rocky Road.”

“...A-alright. I’m not mopping you off my floor afterwards.” He reached into a small box under the counter, took out an envelope, and handed it to him.

The Doctor nodded, palming him a substantial amount of Kazimierzian currency. “We’re done here, then.” And without any further ceremony, they left for the address on the envelope.

“I didn’t know you could be so threatening, Doctor.” Senomy was doing her best to control herself, but it wasn’t easy. “How did you know where to find my contract?”

“Even if I’ve forgotten where I’ve been and what I’ve done, the rest of the world isn’t so fortunate,” he replied cryptically. This was all so strange for him - to her, he was usually an open book. Why all the secrecy? Why the omission? What was so important that they...that she had to see them again?

The manor hadn’t changed much in the time since Gravel had left it - some of the iron fence had a reddish hue, but the grounds were still well-kept, and a guardsman kept watch from the same tower as always. Said guard met them at the gate, a halberd in their hand. “Halt. Who goes...Lady Gravel?”

“They call you Lady?” The Doctor smiled at her before turning to the roadblock in front of them. “You know who I am, I expect?”

“Yes, the Doctor of Rhodes Island. Have you finally come to claim her contract?”

He nodded. “That I am. You’ve been expecting me, then?”

“I never understood why you left the physical contract with the family rather than take it with you...” The guard stepped aside. “I’ll inform the recordkeeper of your arrival. Do you wish to see-”

“N-no, that won’t be necessary, thank you, Roderick.” Gravel took a step behind the Doctor and followed him through the gate, up the winding path to the manor house, and inside the manor. It was hard to imagine that she used to think of this place as home - it wasn’t even that long ago, honestly. Amazing how love could change a person, no?

They found the recordkeeper easily; her office was close to the entrance, and while the family did have servants that could take them there, the Zalak knew the way as well as any of them. A surprisingly youthful-looking Feline was waiting for them, a slight smile on her face. “I knew you’d return, Doctor of Rhodes Island. You need the original form, yes?”

“I will, yes, but first, there’s an addendum I need to make to it.” He took a folded, well-worn piece of paper from his pocket, unfolded it, and handed it to her. “This is to be added between sections 4A and-”

“Doctor, this is...this is bureaucratic sorcery. What you’re asking me to do, it could very well rend apart the very fabric of the legal system this city stands on-”

The Doctor continued. “-and 4B. That’s why I’m taking the copy with me, my good woman, but please, make the change and make it quickly. We have places to go, things to see, you know the drill.”

“Considering the alteration, I imagine you do...” The Feline retrieved a file from a cabinet behind her, not even needing to look at the labels, flipped to the last page, and used a quill to make the alteration necessary. “You’ll need to initial it here.”

“Um, if I may, what’s the alteration? Doctor, you’ve kept me waiting since we arrived in Kazimierz.”

He took the quill, initialed the change, handed the quill back...and embraced her, lifting her off her feet to spin her around. “Now I may. Senomy, will you marry me?”

“W-what? I mean, of course, but...” The Zalak looked back at the recordkeeper, who smiled back at her. “I thought it was impossible for chattel to marry outside of their class?”

“Your Doctor, somehow, has bound himself to you much as you are to him; in essence, you belong to each other. It’s a rather clever way of going about it, and far too revolutionary for the current social climate, which is why you should leave as soon as the ink is dry.”

The Doctor nodded. “Exactly. Thank you for cooperating; I didn’t want to threaten a second person’s life today.”

“It comes with the job,” she shrugged as she grabbed a hand fan and began wafting the document. “Let me see if I can’t speed this along somewhat.”

“Thank you. Oh, Doctor, I can’t believe this is happening. But, um, please don’t be so secretive about things from now on?”

He nodded. “I promise I won’t, darling...Also, happy birthday.”

“Happy...birthday?” Her eyes widened. “Did you- but I thought-”

“That’s why I didn’t want you to drive; if we’d gotten here earlier, this wouldn’t be a proper birthday present, now would it?”

Senomy collapsed into him; he caught her without any trouble. “Oh, Doctor~”

“Alright, it’s ready.” The recordkeeper rolled the document and placed it in a scroll box. “For you, Doctor. And Gravel? You’ll look fantastic in white, I’m sure of it.”

“That she certainly will. Well, darling, shall we?”

She nodded, standing up again and taking his hand for the first time since they’d arrived at Kazimierz. “Yes, let’s hurry; we have so much time to make up for~”

[bonniebird]

Birthday Party

Shelby Family x Shelby!Sister

For @smallheathgangsters​ (Happy birthday!)

As the brothers climbed out of the car Tommy fished in his pocket for a cigarette. When Polly had said she was giving you a proper party for a send off he should have thought of the extravagance.

Lights and candles and balloons were everywhere. Banners and streamers glistened in the late afternoon light. The gravel in the driveway seemed to be mixed with glitter and threads of tinsel. A large red carpet was rolled out, up the stairs and into the hall, that was spewing people and music out into the evening.

“What the hell has Polly done to my house?” Tommy muttered.

“She did say she wanted to give (Y/N) a send off.” John muttered. When Tommy frowned at him as he lit his cigarette John cleared his throat. “Esme said she might be moving but Polly had made her promise not to say where.”

“So you’re telling me you know our little sister will be running off somewhere and you didn’t say anything?” Arthur said quickly. He glanced at John who winced.

“Yeah, well I wasn’t allowed to say anything.”

“Nothing we can change about it now Arthur. Let's go and enjoy ourselves.” Tommy muttered as he lit his cigarette. They watched people arriving and parking for a moment. Once Tommy had stubbed out his cigarette they headed inside. The music grew louder as they moved further into the house. Tommy spotted Finn and Isaiah surrounded by a gaggle of girls. Familiar faces filled the rooms of Tommy’s house. Some people he didn’t recognise but they seemed to be congregated around you and Polly who was smiling gleefully beside you.

“Happy birthday.” Tommy muttered when he finally managed to get through to you and Polly. “How long will you be staying at your party before you leave?”

“Now don’t start that Tommy! She leaves tomorrow afternoon, we can talk about it then.” Polly snapped. Tommy glared at her but Arthur pushed past him and hugged you.

“Doesn’t sound like a bad idea! Let’s get you a drink, we can catch up before you go… where are you going again?”

“America. It’s only for a few months.” You said nervously and grinned when Arthur looked happy for you. Ada waved at you from across the room. She had been trying to keep Karl and John’s children from opening the gifts on the designated gift table. Arthur danced with you for a while, then John took a turn whirling your round the dance floor. After a break you danced with Finn and Isaiah until you needed to sit down.

“Everyone if we could please head to the dining room, dinner is ready.” Polly called. The party calmed for a moment. The tempo of the music slowed down and everyone was led to the dining room that had been moved around to fit everyone at the table. The children were guided away to a side room where Polly had a table set for them along with their own entertainment. She’d insisted that the maids go with them to sweep them off to bed as soon as they started dropping like flies from the excitement.

The night was rounded off by good food, drink and company. At one point a fight started to break out at one end of the table but with a delicate arch of her eyebrow Polly ended it before it could begin.

The next morning you woke in your room, head spinning. When you sat up you saw the packed bags at the foot of your bed and sighed. Ava hurried into your room, shaking her head when she saw you’d only just woken. “Well come on. You’ll be late for your boat. If you don’t get going now Tommy will change his mind.” She said with a smile.

The two of you talked as you got ready. She helped you fix your hair so it was perfect. She’d gone through your bags and repacked a few, adding things she thought you should take, despite your complaints. She smiled and laughed as you scolded her. Once she’d fixed your outfit as well she nodded, adding one of her lipsticks to your purse. “Well come on.”

You followed her down the stairs, linking arms with her when she paused at the bottom of the stairs for you.

“Right then, little sister.” Arthur said awkwardly. He cleared his throat as if the thought of you leaving for a few months was making him tearful. No one else said anything as they piled into the cars and drove to the dock. It was Tommy that spoke up first explaining that he’d arranged a man and his wife to travel with you for safety. The look on Polly’s face told you she’d negotiated him down to this so you thanked him. Shaking their hands when Tommy introduced them. Finn, being the closest in age to you, hugged you so tightly you felt like you might pop. Isaiah smiled and muttered that he hoped your time went well. John made you promise to write to all his children and you promised you would, he seemed relieved and you noted that he was the one who most likely wanted the letters. Ada and Polly led towards the boarding strip. Polly made a fuss of you as she checked you had money, passport, any paperwork you might need. Ada shared an amused look with you. She wasn’t worried. She knew you’d be fine.

“Now you write every week and you call whenever you can. The minute you get into trouble you come home.” Polly said as she fussed your hair and smiled. “Oh! I remember when you were just a shy little whip, hanging off the hem of Ada’s dress. The boys would run with you on their shoulders, you’d have to hold onto John for dear life. The boy would never slow down. Look at you now. All grown.”

You hugged Polly as she teared up and Michael hurried over. “The captain has a private room for you. You’d need to board now, they’ll leave soon.” He said. You shared an awkward smile before you hugged him and each of your siblings again. Polly held onto you until she had no choice to let you go.

“You don’t forget to write (Y/N)!” She called, convinced she’d forgotten to tell you something.

“I’ll see you all soon!” You promised and waved as you climbed up the boat ramp and waved down to them.

[taeken-my-heart]

Charming Chapter 1

(Banner by the incredible @xjoonchildx​ ! Thank you so, so much. I love it!)

Summary: Prince Seokjin was as infuriating as he was beautiful. In line to one day be king, he requested your guidance in the ways of his people. In turn he will make you laugh, give your family fine gifts, and become an invaluable friend. Unfortunately, he will also make you fall in love with him. But the most unfortunate thing of all was his betrothal...to Snow White

Pairing: Seokjin x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Fantasy, Angst, Snow white/au

Rating: NC-17

Word Count: 4538

Warnings: None for this chapter. Future warnings are TW: Major character “death” TW: Thoughts of suicide TW: Attempted suicide. Nothing is graphically described. Chapters will be noted when these things take place. 

~~</3~~

It was during the spring that you felt the most content. Everything was reborn, blossoming from the frozen winter. The village came to life with music, new animals, and the sweet smell of fresh bread.

It had been this way since you were a child, no taller than your mother’s hip and only aware of how acutely you spurned the winter. With chapped fingers and lips, you watched bitterly as your friends, Peter and Else, played, squealing loudly as they threw snow at one another.

The three of you, friends since you could remember, filled to the brim with laughter, scraped knees, and all as plain looking as could be. This suited you fine, and there was little to disappoint you but short moments of impassioned arguments with your two best friends and a brief encounter with the very silly king and his very silly son.

As the only daughter (and indeed, the only child) of the villages master tailor, you found yourself often around the regal and ridiculous. So it was of no surprise when the king himself requested your father’s services and you were required to help him carry his materials to the castle where the king greeted you with his only heir, a son, wearing the silliest hat you’d ever laid eyes upon, a red feather sticking from the top.

You were as different as two people could be and with your simple manners and upbringing, you could not begin to understand the pomp and circumstance of such a silly little boy with rounded cheeks and a chest puffed much too high.

He strutted and flounced about the castle as a peacock would its park and the sight was all together ridiculous for your 9 year old eyes to behold. He’d called you peasant girl and remarked on your general lack of beauty and at 13 years old himself, you felt he had little to offer either, aside from a sizeable kingdom to trump the bed of straw and sheep’s skin you called your own.

For his 13th birthday, Prince Seokjin of Löhrenstein, would have a party, in which all the nobility and sovereigns of the land would be in attendance with their young princesses, and little duchesses, hoping to secure a treaty with his father, a contract between two kingdoms; a betrothal of a prince and a princess.

Of course, you would know nothing of this sort of formality or indeed the contracts of marriage. Your education was as broad as tending a home, carrying your father’s supplies, making flower crowns, and helping to herd the cows during the Viehscheid.

So while the prince was living in a castle and throwing parties and sneering down his nose at near everybody, you were busy helping your father to sew his clothes. At least you could still play in the fields when the sun was high and warm and the flowers were just beginning to bloom.

And this was how you spent your years, watching as Else became beautiful and elegant, long brown hair thick and wavy, tied back in braids as she went to work in the village at her father’s bakery and you watched in quiet envy as all the boys took notice, bringing her fine milks and cheeses as tokens of their affection while you stayed plain. Even Peter had become mildly handsome as he grew into his gangly limbs, erasing the once mousy appearance for a broad shouldered, sun freckled young man.

You told yourself you didn’t mind so much that you were still plain while she was beautiful, but of course you did a little. To be poor but beautiful afforded you more than being poor and plain. Peter often told you that you were just as beautiful as Else, and while you were happy with the compliment, you knew it was because of his childhood love and devotion to you.

You believed that was why he chose to become apprentice to your father, to someday seek your fathers blessing for your hand. While you did not love Peter the way that he loved you, you could not deny the appeal of continuing with the comforts that you were already accustomed to. After all, you were the only daughter to the king’s tailor…that did afford you some small comforts. You supposed someday when he asked for your hand, as he inevitably would, that you would accept.

When you turned 18, however; there was a small gift from the gods, in the form of a late blooming. A glow to your cheeks and a blossoming of beauty. You were, of course, no Else, but you could certainly hold your own and found that you had more than just Peter as an admirer; much to his chagrin.

Perhaps that’s why you feared that any day now he would ask for your father’s permission to court you because then your path as his future wife would be decided. You were in a strange position as the daughter of the king’s master tailor. You were neither peasant nor nobility so while your ability to choose your spouse was more under your control, you were still held to the standard of your father and who he deemed fit to represent his family, and in turn, the kings.

~~</3~~

The sun had just risen to its fullest height, waxing hot as it commandeered the sky, blue and shivering with the heat. It was sweltering and crowded in the square; noisy with life. The baker’s wife was out shouting, calling attention to the freshly baked rolls sitting just passed the door of the bakery. Else stood beside her father, batting her eyelashes and looking pretty; using charms her father could not to entice more customers and you smiled.

The sheep were drinking from the water trough in the center, surrounded by red and yellow poppies in full bloom. The clock tower struck one and you glanced up, eyeing the time wearily. You stood under the archway of a building painted green as a melon, hoping to escape some of the day’s heat.

A woman chased a boy from her garden, chickens flying around in aggravation and you peered after the child as he sulked down the lane, feet dirty and bare. “You hungry, boy?” You called and he looked to you, face caked with dirt from playing and a nod as answer. “Here.” You tossed him the apple you held in your hand and he thanked you, running back into the bustling of the town.

The crowd quivered with conversation and your attention was suddenly captured by the gossip of two young ladies as they passed you. “Yes, the king’s carriage has already left the castle. Apparently, the prince is to be fitted for a ball.”

“I wonder if we shall see him.” The other remarked and your eyes swung to the road, spotting the carriage, scarlet curtains billowing from the windows as it made its descent into town. You gasped, grabbing the skirts of your dress and dashing mad towards your home.

Your father would whip you if you were late. You ran through the fields, cutting through tall shrubs and across dirt paths. A childhood spent playing in this winding village afforded you the intimate knowledge of all its byways.  

You arrived at your home, gasping and covered in dirt and your mother came out, fussing loudly over your appearance, bustling you into the home and towards your room. Your father sighed loudly as you passed, eyes scanning your dress, soiled with the toil of your morning.

“This is no way to greet your king.” He remarks as your mother pulls you behind the wooden room divider, helping you to strip from your clothing and wiping you down quickly with a wet wash cloth.

“My dear, you are not fit to be seen!” Your mother scolded, washing roughly at your face and you grimaced, shivering in the chill of the room. “You knew they were coming today.”

“They are early.” You complained and your mother’s lips smacked in irritation.

“A king is never early. He always arrives exactly when he means to. You would do well to remember that, Y/N.”

Your mother helped you to dress in something new quickly, repinning the last piece of your hair just as the crunch of gravel from the royal carriage wheels could be heard rounding the corner and the two of you rushed from the room and to the front door to wait with your father.

You took a deep breath, head bowed into your chest as you heard the carriage come to a stop in front of you. It was abnormal for the king to come to your home, far too busy with his royal duties to condescend to see a peasant, but his son and only heir had recently returned from…well, to be sure, you did not know where he actually had been, but rumor said he was poorly behaved and had gone somewhere far away to teach him the ways of a king.

This would not surprise you, were it true; he’d been a ghastly child. You could only imagine him now, in adulthood. Upon his return, his father had announced his desire to reacquaint his son with their kingdom and your father being his master tailor would receive the special privilege of his presence, it seemed.

The king stepped from the carriage first, and you watched his feet move towards your family.

“Your majesty!” Your father bowed and pleasantries were exchanged as the prince himself disembarked from the carriage.

You kept your eyes trained fast on the ground; the bottom of your dress already smudged with dirt from where you stood.

“My son,” The king announced and your father bowed once more, both your mother and yourself curtsying deep.

“You remember my wife and my daughter?” Your father said and it was now that you felt it was safe to lift your eyes from the ground.

“My, yes,” Said the king turning his gaze towards you, “you have grown well, girl.”

“Thank you, your majesty.” You replied, soft; bowing your head and he smiled, pleased.

“You remember my son?” He asked, pointing his hand to the figure by his side and you allowed your eyes to slide over to him.

It is unfortunate, in this life; that some people are just born with everything the heart could desire. Good fortune, health, money and comfort and to have all that and still be handsome? Well, truly life was unfair.

He stood tall, face angular with deep set brown eyes and rounded lips. You were under no illusion that he was anything but blessed by the gods. They must have looked upon him very favorably, indeed.

“Yes, your highness.”

The prince looked at you curiously, head curved to the side as your father beckoned them into your home and you watched the king and prince follow after him. You heated with shame as you entered after, watching the prince survey your home while your father and the king conversed.

He must think this was so beneath him; to stand in the home of a pauper. The floor, though it had been swept, was still covered in a layer of dirt and the furniture was old and matted, worn with use. You had more than others in your village, but compared to a king, this was true poverty. It must have seemed you had nothing at all.

“Seokjin, come look at these colors.” The king beckoned and the prince was quick to walk to his side, looking over the fabric your father had assembled as options for his ball.

“These are exquisite.” He remarked, voice low and serious. “I wonder, sir, my father says you will come to the castle tomorrow to prepare my clothing.”

“Yes, your highness, with my apprentice in training, Peter.”

The prince’s eyes flickered to you in surprise and you looked back down at the floor. “Not your daughter? I remember she used to join you when I was a boy.”

“Yes, my daughter would come to help me carry my things, but since I have acquired an apprentice, I have found that quite unnecessary.”

“I would very much like if you would bring her tomorrow, along with your apprentice, of course.” The prince smiled and you couldn’t help but look up in surprise.

“A woman?” The king laughed, loud and joyful and you bowed your head once more, flushed with shame. “What purpose would a woman have in a man’s business? She should stay here and help tend the home, Seokjin. Don’t be unreasonable.”

“I should very much like to have her return to the castle, for reminiscence sake, father. That is, if her mother can spare her.”

“Of course, your majesty.” She bowed.

“She can carry some of the fabric.” The prince smiled, eyes flickering to your bowed head, “like when she was a child.”

“You have a very strange sense of humor.” The king chortled and you closed your eyes, willing the humiliation from you. “Very well then, we shall see you on the morrow with your apprentice and your daughter. You know the time, I presume?”

“Yes, of course, your majesty.” Your father smiled, escorting them out the door and your mother and you stood in the kitchen, eyes trained on the floor.

So, it would seem he had not changed. Like a dog at his table, you had been summoned. So amusing, was it, to watch a woman carry fabric and needles for a man and stand in the background. Always to be seen, but never to be heard.

Your heart bled with the thought and you listened carefully as the carriage resumed its journey. Your father stepped through the threshold of your home and you could feel his eyes on the crown of your head.

“Now come, girl, there is no need to be so downtrodden.” Your father remarked lightly and your throat burned with emotion.

“Y/N.” Your mother said softly and you shook your head, turning to walk away.

“I wish to be alone.” You murmured, fleeing to your room.

The window was open, soft breeze fluttering through the soft white curtains, now dirtied from the dust of the road. You closed your bedroom door softly behind you, walking towards the window where you sat at your stool.

Laying your arm across the lip of your window, you rested your chin in the palm of your hand and sighed. To feel like a bartering chip in the world of men was difficult. To never be in charge of your own destiny. Destiny, for you, was to be nice to look at and the ability to spread your legs. You wanted more than that; wanted to be heard, wanted your thoughts and feelings to be considered.

A knock at your door called your attention and your mother stepped through the door, smiling softly. “It is an honor to be called back to the castle.” She remarked and you sighed once again, returning your gaze back out the window.

“Mother.” You frowned and she sat down on your bed. “You should understand…as a woman. We’re not objects to be played with.”

“My dear,” she tutted and you looked over at her. “Men are simple creatures, if they’ve nothing to look at, they don’t know what to do with themselves.”

You chuckled, sitting up straighter, hands dropping into your lap. “Then what are we to do with them, mother?”

“We guide them, darling. They like to feel useful, so we help them feel so. We know our worth, we don’t need to be reminded. Men, they need to feel powerful; what else do they have? They may be the head of the family, but we are the neck and they turn where we will it.”

“I have the feeling a prince would be harder to guide.” You smiled and she shrugged.

“Perhaps. It just makes it more fun; more of a challenge.”

You frowned, staring back out the window and into the forest just beyond your gate. The air rippled with heat and you watched as a rabbit hopped from your garden and into the shade. “I don’t want to go, mother.” You admitted.

Your mother’s fingers closed around your hand at the window and you turned to look at her. “My dear…I’m afraid you’ve no choice.”

~~</3~~

The morning was hotter than usual and your dress stuck uncomfortable to your back. Peter was thrilled at the prospect of meeting the king and you realized belatedly that he’d never met him before. As the daughter of the king’s master tailor, you were in a unique position within society; neither pauper nor noble.

You’d had the unfortunate pleasure of meeting both the king and his son and you didn’t particularly care for either. “Imagine the palace, Y/N.” Peter sighed, eyes distant and smile pleasant as he threw an arm around your shoulder.

“I don’t need to imagine it.” You huffed, pushing his arm from your shoulder and readjusting the wrappings of fabric in your arms. “I’ve been there, remember?”

“Yes, I do. You never told me much about it, though. Always so secretive.”

You watched as he paused, tucking the edges of the tarp back around the rest of the fabric on the cart before resuming the journey. Your father walked steadily in front of the two of you.

“It was never a secret, I just didn’t particularly enjoy my time there.” You said carefully, eyes focused on the back of your fathers head. He’d beat you if you misspoke of the king.

“Yes, you did mention the prince was rather…interesting.”

“It seems nothing has changed.” You hummed softly, staring down at your feet, dusted yellow from the road.

“Then why are you coming today? If you dislike the prince, why come?” Peter questioned. The castle came into view, large and imposing against the backdrop of the mountains. White brick stood tall, the spires topped with a deep blue and for a moment you allowed yourself to admire the view.

Though the people within the castle were not to your taste, the palace itself was beautiful. Draped on every side by the mountain range and a large lake nestled in its cove, it was one of life’s true pleasures, gazing at its majesty.

“I think you will find, Peter, that I don’t have much of a choice. The prince requested his jester.” You replied, the words bitter on your tongue.

Your father called Peter forward and you spent the rest of the walk in silence, listening to the creak of the cart’s wheels as they cracked over rubble and dirt. Your mother had attempted to make you look pretty today, though you could not think why; presentable should be good enough for any man who wasn’t looking to choose a wife.

Your hair had been done and pinned beautifully, your most beautiful dress resting against your skin. It was certainly nothing to a noble, to be sure, but it was not unpleasant to look at and flattered the shape of your body.

It was hot, though, unbearably so, and you suffered dearly under the harsh rays of the late spring sun. Your mother insisted beauty had a price, but you weren’t quite sure why you were being asked to pay it.

The shade of the drawbridge was a welcome relief and you pulled a handkerchief from your bag and mopped at your face and neck. You didn’t need to offer the prince anymore reason to mock you.

You were escorted to the kings fitting rooms where you gently placed the fabric from your arms on top of what your father and Peter had carried from the cart. You patted at your neck once more as you watched Peter’s eyes scan the room excitedly. Absently you wondered if your father had taught him how to behave when the king was in the room.

Your father motioned you over and you slipped your handkerchief back in your bag and went to stand by his side. It wasn’t long before the king entered and you curtseyed deep, eyes trained on the floor.

He and your father spoke loudly as introductions were made and you could practically feel Peter vibrating from where he stood. He was excited, at least. You resisted the urge to pat at your cheeks, flushed with heat from the walk. Your throat felt like sand, dry as you swallowed and you wished more than anything for some water.

The men spoke noisily as they congregated around the fabric and it was decided that the king would be fitted first. You waited quietly as your father began his measurements, your fingers bunching tight in the fabric of your dress.

The room was overly warm, large windows allowing the sun to enter liberally and you felt yourself wilting in the heat. Voices muffling like you were under water, you watched as the gold, cerulean and cobalt of the room became nothing more than puddles of grey before fading into black.

~~</3~~

Your brow felt cool, wet with the brush of a damp cloth and your eyelashes fluttered open, taking in the surrounding room.

Deep mahogany filled your vision, blue and white canopy drapes traveling the length of the rail. Walls painted in beautiful scenery drew your gaze and you reached up to feel the cloth against your brow.

“You’re awake.”

You inhaled sharp, turning to find the source of the voice. You were surprised to find the prince sat beside you, a basin of water resting on a table next to him and a small smile as greeting.

“I’m sorry to have startled you.” He said softly and you lowered your hand, attempting to sit up. “Please remain as you are, Y/N. You need just a moment to recover.”

“What happened? Where am I?”

“You are in one of the spare bedrooms in the palace. It seems you over heated and became faint.”

You closed your eyes tight, shame filling your breast. It was one thing to faint in general, but in front of the king and his son. Mortification was a bitter friend.

“Where is the doctor?” You asked carefully, peaking one eye open and glancing around the room. The prince smiled, watching as your gaze flitted everywhere but him.

“I asked him to step outside for a moment. I wanted to make sure for myself that you were well.” He replied, watching your brows furrow in thought.

“Why is that, your majesty?” You pondered, looking up at him and he removed the cloth from your head, soaking it back in the basin before wringing it anew and placing it back against your brow.

“We are old friends, are we not?”

He stared down at his lap, seemingly unsure himself of his statement and your mouth parted in surprise. “You would consider us friends, your highness?”

The prince smiled, wry, before chuckling with a shrug. “Perhaps friends is too liberal of a word. I know I wasn’t the most…pleasant to be around when I was a child. I was selfish and cruel and it’s why my father sent me away. I’m very sorry to have ever been cause for discomfort.”

He paused to gauge your reaction but at the moment you weren’t sure what to think. It had seemed so unlikely to ever receive an apology and now that you had it, you weren’t quite sure what to make of it.

“I was hoping we could begin again…become real friends.” He admitted.

“Please pardon my confusion, but I find myself very surprised. Why would you wish to be friends with a pauper, your majesty?” You finally asked, looking over at him and his smile was gentle, gaze shifting to the open window, the afternoon’s breeze composing a dance among the curtains.

“You are not a pauper, Y/N” He said, watching as a small starling landed on the balcony, head twisting side to side as it chattered excitedly. “But even if you were, I would still wish to have your friendship. It is my father’s intention to make me king someday and after so many years as a selfish child, I am ashamed to admit that I know nothing of the people in my kingdom. The sorrows, the trials, the joys…I want to be a good king. I want people to know they can depend on me to help, even if I’m not perfect or don’t always have the answers. I want my people to trust me.”

You watched the starling yourself now, hopping across the wood of the balcony, a song puffing his chest wide. “And you think I can help you with that?” You asked softly, watching as the bird resumed flight and soared into the distance.

The prince looked back down at you, reaching his hand out to press against your cheek and you flinched. “My apologies, I only meant to see if your skin was still flushed. May I?”

You nodded, watching as his fingers extended back to your face, the back of his hand pressing gently across your cheek and neck. He hummed, retracting his hand and smiled. “Your temperature has reduced. How are you feeling?”

“Better.” You admitted, “Though I would love to have some water.”

“Yes, of course, I will have some fetched for you. Can I help you sit up?”

He held his hands out for you and you allowed him to pull you gently into an upright position. The world spun for a moment before settling and he moved to the door, calling for a water.

“As an answer to your earlier question,” he said, coming to sit across from you once again and you watched as he set the cloth and basin further away from the bed, “Not only do I wish to make amends, but I want to learn about my people and my kingdom and I believe that spending time with someone who knows the kingdom so well could only benefit that cause.”

“Spending time with me?” You questioned before pausing as a maid entered the room, handing the prince the water before leaving the room once more, door closed tightly behind her.

“Here,” he said, handing you the water which you took happily, clear and cool to the taste. “Yes, spending time with you. Getting to know all about you and my people.”

He paused to allow you a moment to think and you took the opportunity to finish your water, staring down into the cup once you’d allowed it to settle in your lap. It seemed unreasonable to refuse his offer if he really was trying to make a change.

The kingdom could only benefit from having their future king know them and care for their well being. Perhaps the prince would make a very decent king after all, not the tyrant you’d assumed as a child.

“What say you?” He asked gently, holding his hand out for your glass and setting it on the table with the basin.

You looked up at him with a nod, smile tucked in the corner of your lips. “Very well. I can’t see how it would hurt. I will do as you request, your majesty.”

“Wonderful.” He smiled. “And please, call me Jin.”

~~</3~~

OK, here’s the latest series! I’m unsure of how many parts this will have, at least three. I hope you enjoy it and please send in your feedback, I’d love to hear your thoughts <3

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