#In the first time I dreamt about it it was only selling clothes for people who were doing Heathers cosplays

[cryptid-on-a-string]

I’ve had two separate dreams on two separate days with the same place that doesn’t exist in real life, and I think that’s a very gay thing for me to do

[thegodthief]

Dreamt of choking on the snake again but also visiting a dollmaker. They made little bound yarn poppets to put in your pocket and three-feet tall ceramic jointed bodies sized for children's clothes and a seven-foot tall nutcracker and dolls to play with and dolls to look at and dolls to keep tucked away in that one corner that no one feels comfortable sitting there for long.

They had me sit in a side room that gave me full view of the public store without being seen by whomever is in that room. I wasn't sure why I was there, but they knew and shushed me with the most mischievous look in their one good eye.

(Before you give me grief about the Read More, please note that this entire post, minus this one aside, is 5,546 words.)

I watched children come in with their birthday money to get the doll they always wanted. Their mothers were always disapproving of the choices at first, until the dollmaker spoke up about the one-of-a-kind nature of the doll and how no one else on the street will have a doll like this one and how rugged it is to withstand handling but will look neat enough to display when that one nosy woman comes over and realizes that she will never have a doll like this one and suddenly the mothers are very happy to purchase the doll.

But the dollmaker won't take the money from the adults, only from the children. And the children are always very happy to pay for their doll like how their mums pay for things and they never notice the money being back slipped into a pocket on the dolls' coat while the dollmaker winks at their mum to keep them silent.

"Such joy cannot be bought. They will be adult enough in time, let them remain children while it is safe for them to be."

I watched doll collectors come in, furious and ranting, wanting only to accost the dollmaker and perhaps do him bodily harm because they were promised that he would never make another doll with this particular face and just the other day they saw three of them in another shop with the same expressions and dimples after showing the exclusive doll to their friends and they paid good money for exclusivity and he is going to not only pay them their money back but create a new doll for them on the spot with these very specific set of features and when the cast is complete, he is going to hand over the mold so no one else can have this doll!

But the dollmaker just smiles softly and nods as they listen to the complaints and when the collector has run out of breath, the dollmaker asks, "Does it always hurt when you realize you are not the only one who dreams? Do you demand an accounting from God when twins are born? Does it fill you with ire that other people on the street dare to walk with one foot in front of the other as you do? Or have you considered that there are only so many ways to assemble a face and sometimes two people can come up with the same idea at the same time in different rooms?"

Furious enough to devour the sun, they take a breath to begin to bluster anew but the dollmaker holds up a finger and they choke like a smothered furnace.

"I will never make a doll face with those features in that substance again. I keep records of what I have done so it will never be done again. To whom have you shown your personal treasures? To whom have you revealed what I told you to keep private and bragged to them that they will never have the same? If it can be seen, it can be copied, and the quickest way to achieve something is to be denied it. Never again will I sell you a doll as you have broken our agreement. You wanted a doll that no one else had seen before or again. You wanted a doll that you would keep in private, away from the eyes of the covetous. You wanted to look upon a face that would make you forget your own, and I did so, but by your own admission, you shared it with others and now others have the comfort that could have been yours. You created the darkness that I leave you in."

The dollmaker closes his book and walks away from the counter into another room. The former patron, now suddenly recovered from their fit, stands in a darkening room. They look around at the dolls on the shelves and I watch silently as fear and shadows creep up to cling at their face. They threw one last obscenity at the dollmaker before fleeing the shop.

"Here." The dollmaker surprises me as they place the tea tray on the table just out of reach at first. They wait for me to resettle myself before moving the tray forward with a smirk. "My apologies that you had to suffer such a sour presence. Please, have some tea and bread that you may remember a better time instead."

They look up at me with one clear and sharply dark eye and one clouded and menacing dull eye but with such a gentle expression, I could fall asleep sitting up in their presence.

The showroom brightened again. The front door had opened and another patron was looking at the shelves with curiosity. In the time it took me to glance at the showroom and back, the dollmaker had left my presence and entered the showroom from the other side.

And so it went with the day. Some came to pick up custom orders. Some came to place custom orders. Some wanted a doll to remind them of a family member recently passed. Some wanted a doll to remind them of a character from a book. Some wanted a doll for comfort. Some wanted a doll for intimidation. All wanted something, but not all left with something in hand. Not all who left empty handed were sad about it, and not all who left with a doll were happy about it.

Throughout the day, the dollmaker served me lunch, and then later a light dinner. They thanked me for staying so long, as they were the one who had extended an invitation to me earlier and they were waiting for the reason for the invitation to arrive. There was someone who wanted to meet with me, but in a place that was neutral and mutually safe.

"So, what did you think of those that came to me? Was I right to refuse some and indulge others?"

"I think that you are the master of your shop, and that I have no right to judge how you conduct yourself here. I will take the risk of saying that I watched you uphold the Law of Hospitality to each and every one, so that I can find no fault in how you interacted with each one. I reserve the right to complain about some of your less hospitable visitors at a later date!"

The dollmaker laughed with me before speaking. There was mirth in their voice but none on their face. "And what did you think of the dolls? I know you see."

I took another sip of my suddenly full teacup before speaking. "Well. I saw that each doll that left the shop was a match to the person taking it. The dolls you gave to the children will protect them for a while, at least until the children learn to protect themselves. And the dolls you gave to collectors fit each collector's need. And the dolls that were bought as trinkets are merely trinkets. And the dolls that were special ordered were made to fit that order, some empty, some not. I am not a dollmaker, so I cannot speak to the technical aspects of your work. As a third-party observer, I would say that you have acted honorable and justly with everyone you have contracted with, and even with those that you did not."

They laughed and their mirth spread warmly over their face. "A neutral answer! You spoke no opinion, but merely reflected the facts of the day. Well done! To take offense at your words would be to take offense at a mirror for being clean. Not that I have any reason to take offense to you at all. You have behaved yourself admirably. Very well, then. You have passed my test, and I consent to permitting the meeting to continue."

"Meeting?", I asked as the dollmaker stood up and entered the showroom. As they passed the front windows, they closed the heavy curtains so that from the street, only the object in the windows were visible. The front door was locked and the door's curtain drawn as well. Step by step, the showroom lights were extinguished until the only light that fell into the front room was blocked by the dollmaker stepping into the sideroom with me and closing the door.

The lights in the sideroom brightened considerably and I realized there were benches lining the room that I had been ignorant to this entire time. A jury of child-sized dolls sat on these benches. All of them were turned to face me, if not by body posture then by head tilt. While many of them were dressed according to customs not familiar to me, I realized that none of them were dressed as children.

The dollmaker brought a third chair from somewhere and placed it beside the end of a bench. They moved the second chair already at the table to a position opposite of mine and placed a thick cushion there. When I made to stand up and reposition my chair, they commanded me to sit back down with a soft wave.

"Madam?" I looked up at their request and realized they had not addressed me. I followed their gaze to the dolls seated in the far corner of the sideroom. Indifferent to my movement, the dollmaker continued. "Madam, the chair is placed. If you need assistance, I would be glad to provide it."

A head turned in that far corner. Slowly. Subtly. I would not have caught the motion except for the falling lock of hair that was displaced by the gesture. Eyes of black glass set in milk-white porcelain stared at me. In the stillness that followed, I recognized the importance of the faint lines that crossed the ecru glazed face from which those eyes regarded. This doll had been repaired and I felt a flush of embarrassment from recognizing that.

"Ah, forgive me for staring, Madam!" I turned my gaze away towards the dollmaker, who was very amused by my gesture. Realizing that I was trading staring at one person for another, I chose to inspect my tea cup with great deliberation.

As I studied the tea cup, I heard the sound of cloth sliding against wood, followed by delicate yet rough steps approaching the table. A clink as something free-hanging tapped against something else free-hanging, and then the sound of cloth moving being muffled by the second chair being brought closer to the table.

"You are forgiven, Child. Thank you for recognizing that I did not wish to be studied as I moved. You may look up now."

The voice was from a grand dame, old in years and generations, with a steady timbre developed from decades of commanding her household and affairs. As I settled into its fading echo, I complied with her command (as it was definitely a command) and looked up to see a doll seated in the chair across from me. The cushion gave height to the doll so that their waist was level with the tabletop and we could see each other without bending up or down.

The doll was dressed in a costume of nobility, but I did not recognize the era or the location. Long locks of black hair curled around the face and shoulders, more than could be contained in the decorative gold and silver clasps and bindings on the head. Now closer to the table lamp, I could see the repair in her face and hands. I tried not to notice them.

"Cracks and wrinkles. They happen to all bodies, regardless what they are made from. It is not cruel to acknowledge that time passes, to declare that we are still here in spite of it. You can guess what happened to create this damage, however I will not speak on it. I will declare, that I am indebted to our host for their exceptional skill in repair."

Her head turned towards the dollmaker who had seated themselves where she had been before. I turned my head as well and noted that we both nodded in admiration at the dollmaker, who was suddenly fussy about everything immediately around them in return.

When her head moved back to face me, it was everything in me not to turn towards the motion as human instinct demanded. Instead, I looked past her to the sideroom door or to the table lamp which kept changing appearance every time I looked away and back at it. Finally, I found a way to keep my face turned towards her so not to be rude, but to look just enough away that I was not staring at her directly, and thus grant her visual space.

"You called this meeting, Madam? To what do I owe this honor?"

"So formal, Child. This is not what I expected from you. I shall answer your question with mine own: Why do you take on a face that isn't yours?"

I grinned, almost too much it felt like. The action did make my face feel like it was about to slip off and reveal something ugly from underneath. "Well, I have had to be political at my day job, and I have learned very quickly in the Dreaming that it is never safe to assume a personal familiarity with anyone until that familiarity is earned. And the dollmaker here has one good eye and one not-so-good eye and that's the hallmark of someone else that it is imperative that I remain on good terms with. I never know who is connected to whom in these realms, so it is better that I wear the face of the Diplomat until it is necessary to wear another face, or if required, weapons, in its stead."

The dame chuckled. I watched the echo of her hand moving to politely cover her face as she did so. "Oh, you have such manners when you feel it necessary. But I had been informed that you are rude enough to challenge gods. At first I thought that our host had brought the wrong person here after watching you so politely and demurely sit in silence all day, but I hear the softly cloaked threat in your sweet answer, and I am at ease."

Her hand lowered to the table as she resumed her posture of nobility. "Do you have dolls? In your, how would you call it, in your Waking world?"

I thought of the items in my care. "Well..." A small crisis of taxonomy overtook me as I struggled to understand what she meant. "I have many things at hand. I have statues of wood, porcelain, and clay. I have poppets of yarn, string, and cloth. But I also have jars, cards, and books. So, if it would please you, Madam, pray explain what you mean by 'dolls'."

"I call you 'Child' because you are younger than me by measurements beyond your understand. But as your Waking world goes, you are an adult. Tell me, when you were a child in your Waking world, did you have dolls as toys?"

"I did."

"Were they mockeries of babies as what some cultures give to girls?"

"Some were. And some were mockeries of adults. And some were images of imaginary things. And some were images of things not yet created."

I felt her nod more than I saw it. "And I take it that some were cloth and some were metal and some were hard and some were soft, so yes, you did have dolls as a child. But, tell me, do you have dolls, now?"

Again the crisis of taxonomy kept me from immediately answering. "I... do?"

"But?"

"But, there's a difference in meaning between the dolls of my childhood and the dolls I have now. And I feel the difference but I am struggling to place them in words. Nearly all of the dolls I have now are not meant for children, even if they are superficially the same."

The dame nodded her head. I did not ask how porcelain could bend or if she has a jointed neck. That I even considered the possibilities felt rude and invasive. The grand dame is her own person, entirely and completely as she is.

"So you have no velveteen rabbits in your care?"

I brightened to hear the reference and almost looked up directly to her face. I caught myself at the last moment and ignored what my eyes were seeing and allowed them to drift past her. "Ha! I do! My daughter made a poppet that only a parent could love, and I love it dearly. And what was supposed to be a replaceable toy now has a place of honor despite no longer being functional for what it was created for. But they have the worth I have personally ascribed to them."

I realize the direction of her questioning and spoke more blunt than I should have. "Those do not have value independent of me. As you do, Madam."

Her head tilted. "And of your dolls made of wood and porcelain and clay, your dolls wound from yarn and string and cloth, and your dolls caught in jars and cards and books, do any of them contain value independent of yourself, as I do?"

"Yes." The answer came from my mouth before I could even consider how to answer politely.

Her head tilted the opposite direction. "And of those, did you make them yourself or were they made by others? And of those made by others, were they made specifically for you or were they valueless upon arrival and developed value over time?"

I felt the dollmaker's gaze from across the room fixing me to the chair even as I lost all use of my eyes entirely. All I could see was my room in my mind's eye and all the things I had in plain sight or tucked away. I could not help but to respond to her interrogations.

"One, I made myself according to the instructions given to me. The others were made by other hands, some made specifically for me and some were made to be bought. But the value ascribed to them were deliberate. My only choice in the matter was to accept the value as ascribed or not."

Something made a clunky noise on the table and the sharp retort broke me from the spell. I looked at where my tea cup and plate had been to see a rough piece of quartz. Beside us, another chair had been placed between the grand dame and myself. Seated on the bare wood was another doll, only two feet in height, and completely inert.

At first glance, it appeared to be a large nutcracker as if from the play, but as I stared at it, the features melted and remolded. I studied what remained constant: The clothes were always shirt, jacket, and pants regardless of the color. The shoes were always black. The hair was always black as were the eyes. The doll always presented as male, no matter what costume it wore for however short a time that I could see it. To my dismay, the chest was open and the inner material was revealed.

But I realized that this new doll's chest had not been marred or ripped open from an attack. The wound was present because the doll was not yet complete. I realized this was why the body kept changing form. The value of the container was not yet settled.

"I asked to meet with you, because my son wishes to travel in your company. And what [matriarch] would I be if I did not take care to ensure that the company he wishes to keep would be worth keeping."

A porcelain hand reached across the table and pushed the chunk of quartz towards me. "His heart. I know that the doll you made has something similar. The exterior could be anything so long as the heart is secure within it."

The quartz flashed as light played within it. I felt a deep dread chill my bones and recognized it as simple fear. The kind of fear that should be listened to.

"Forgive me, Madam, but taking on such a doll is a great responsibility. I will be honest with you, I am not doing well in the Waking and there are matters that I need to settle so I can have empty hands to pick up anything else. I do not know how to care for nobility. I struggle to care for the krew I already have and we are all ditch-bred."

The porcelain hand withdrew and I heard her settle further into her chair. "Oh, of that I am quite aware. My son is of the opinion that he would be of service to you, that he would be able to assist you with some of those concerns that have dug their barbs into your feet."

For all that my mouth was voicing objections, my mind was already taking stock of the rocks, stones, and crystals in my possession. There are two pieces that could be a match for the shard on the table. One matches the coloration but not the size. The other matches the size but not the coloration. Both are independently under the purview of other personas already.

If either one of them were willing to give up their claim...

"Madam! Please forgive my obstinacy! What you are offering is not a trite matter. Not to mention, due to the size of the heart, the doll's body must be equal in size. I lack the skills to create a proper body this endeavor would require and the funds to commission an appropriate body from someone else! It would be irresponsible of me to accept the sponsorship you are offering and I wish not to offend you or your clan." I bowed my head in a gesture of contrite apology.

My peripheral vision informed me that the grand dame turned her head to look at the dollmaker, and that the dollmaker responded with a gesture I could not perceive. She tilted her head as if in thought for a moment, before turning again to me.

"What is there to refuse? He will serve you. I agree to it."

I kept my face tilted low and asked what would be the rudest thing to come out of my mouth thus far. "And what is required of me should I agree? Madam, to be rudely blunt, you are forcing me to accept a burden I do not understand as if I were caste bound to a destiny I never sought."

I heard the scrape of cloth against wood and closed my eyes in childish fear.

From across the room, I heard the dollmaker's voice, quiet and gentle. "You are afraid of being forced to pay a debt that was never yours to incur, yes? You are covered in the scars left by traps wrapped in the colors of good will, after all. I warned Madam of that, that flesh and blood has survival instincts and those that have survived are wary of repeating the experience of being wounded again. Would you take my word for it? My word as a dollmaker."

I turned my still bowed head to the dollmaker. "If this were something that only existed in the Dreaming, I would not hesitate to accept. I need all the help I can get right now, and someone who can speak on my behalf in languages and corridors I will never have time to learn would be a big help. But I can feel the texture of the doll's heart on my thumb and its weight in my hand, which means this is going to be a physical thing in the Waking, which means costs and space and physical limitations that I am already running face first into."

I recalled how that one doll came into being and how the resulting familiar has inserted itself into nearly every aspect of my waking life. "A physical doll has physical repercussions. I will not give up my autonomy for the sake of an experience. Let the good prince find a sponsor worthy of his attention. I am not it."

The dollmaker sighed. I could feel them nodding across the room. The tension began to coldly settle. "Look at me."

I could not refuse the command. I turned my head and opened my eyes to find the dollmaker kneeling beside me at the table so that my face was even with theirs, close enough that the warmth of my body was reflected back to me, close enough that I could see the reflection of my panicked face in their eyes.

"Trust me. Accept. The physical doll does not need to be immediate. The Waking has its own time to turn. But if I did not think you were worthy of the doll, or that the doll was not worthy of you, you would not be here to consider it."

I looked away from the dollmaker to the unfinished doll on the chair. Its body kept changing but the opening in the chest remained void.

I looked away from the unfinished doll to the grand dame seated across from me. It was my intention to look her directly in the face, but some instinct kept my eyes from looking past the length of long dark ringed locks crowning her. I saw enough of her porcelain skin to realize that her body had been repaired many times.

I looked away from the grand dame to the doll's crystal heart on the table in front of me. Again, it matched one physical crystal in coloration but not in size, and another physical crystal in size but not in coloration. The only thing that could prevent me from accepting is that I had nothing in the Waking to anchor the matter as I did when I build the familiar's doll body.

"Even if I were to accept here, it is an empty gesture and nothing will come of it. Not just because I lack the ability to follow through with the creation of the doll's body. I don't have the heart. When [my familiar] came to me, I already had the heart. I just didn't realize it until they showed me how to create the body. This crystal here, I don't have. I physically have two that could substitute for it, but then something is going to have to give for one of those two to be a match. Mainly the permission of those that already have a claim on them."

I looked back to the dollmaker. "I don't know enough about how physical materials affect the spirit using them. I have a lot of books and enough information on the Internet to drive someone mad, but I don't know if the mismatches between what is on the table here and the two crystals I have is going to be a problem. My familiar picked the heart for their body before any actual construction began."

The dollmaker nodded and turned to the grand dame. "Do you take offense at her refusal, Madam?"

The doll sniffed in a way that was tragically cute. "Yes. But only because her concerns are valid and I recognize that. However, I do not retract my offer, nor do I accept her refusal! She will have my son as one of her dolls!"

I tried to look up at her again and found my sight stuck on the lace trim at her shoulders. "Madam, it was four months between my familiar picking their heart and me actually making it. For the body style presented here, it could be a year after getting the right heart before I will have the funds to commission the creation, and likely another year after that for it to be completed! I can't even begin to think what kind of ritual and process it will take to install the heart after that."

The grand dame sighed with great impatience. "I am aware. I am very aware of the passage of time in your Waking world. Sometimes, those that wish to be have no choice but to wait until the time of being. I know that, very, very well. And this, my son will learn as you do what needs to be done."

I leaned my head to the dollmaker. "She really isn't going to accept no as an answer, is she?" The dollmaker failed to smother their chuckle as they shook their head.

The panic having left me, I thought through my options with a clear head. "I accept, with conditions! No heart, no body. I will not begin pursuit of a proper doll body without having the heart physically at hand. If one of the two prospective crystals in my care are surrendered by those claiming them, then your son may take up either one that suits him better. If neither one is suitable or if the current claimants will not surrender the suitable crystal, then it falls to you and those you command to bring the proper heart to me, without debt, and without injury to myself or those I care for. Once I have the heart, and it is confirmed by you to be acceptable as the heart, I will begin the process of saving funds for the commission of the body and all the necessary processes that follow."

I heard the tiniest of chinks as a new crack appeared in the grand dame's porcelain face. I almost started to panic but the dollmaker's stern look towards her made me look away again.

"Madam! What have I told you about exuberant expressions! Porcelain can only give so much!"

I had to face the wall to keep from staring and I held my mouth closed to prevent myself from bursting into laughter. As the grand dame fussed at the dollmaker's fussing about her face, I felt the cold tension in the room completely dissolve into cuddled mirth.

For all the joy across the table, I felt tired and aged. There are so many problems waiting for me in the Waking world, that I had deliberately withdrew from many types of shenanigans so I could focus on fixing myself. And here I am, adding another knot to the thread of my life.

It took three years between agreeing to get a certain ring and actually obtaining it. This will likely be similar in time and physical cost. But until the physical heart is in my physical hand, I resolved to regard this as merely the dream it is and to think nothing more about it.

"You can look forward again. She and her son have left."

"Huh?" I look around to find the dollmaker opening curtains and unlocking the store's front door. Somehow the entire night had passed while the grand dame was contending with me. The shadows returned to cover the jury of dolls on the benches, but it was clear that two seats were now empty.

They extended their hand to me and helped me stand from the table. "I do not know what... what did you call him? The Good Prince? I do not know what the Heart of the Good Prince will look like. I do most of my work here in the Dreaming, after all. But I am confident that when it comes to you, that you will recognize it on sight."

They escorted me to the front door. In the street a few people were waiting for the door to be opened. "I am always available for consultation once the process of commissioning the body begins. It is my endeavor to match doll to home, after all. Now, then, it is dawn in your world, and you have matters to attend to. Be well."

They opened the front door and instead of opening to the street, the space beyond the threshold was a vibrant and sparkling void. I looked through the window and realized that to the waiting patrons, the door was still closed.

"I'll try, Dollmaker. Thank you for intervening, I think. I'm still not sure what I just signed up for, but I guess I'll find out along the way."

I shook their hand and stepped through the portal.

It was indeed dawn, and there were physical matters that demanded my full and woke attention. After obtaining coffee, I sat down with the intention to write "just a few notes" about the matter, and here I am.

[anyoneseenadam]

Hi I was wondering if you could do a Azriel x reader where they are cuddling and talking after a long day of work?

pairing: azriel x reader (acotar)

warnings: mental health/anxiety being mean, insecurity, asides from that it’s pure fluff and nice and lovey dovey

a/n: I love writing fluff omg, I went in a slightly different route that I intended with this one but I hope you like it :))))

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You pushed the heavy wooden door of your home open, dragging your legs in as you fought to keep your eyes open. You pushed the door closed with your back, leaning your head against it, and closing your eyes for a second, before sliding down, still leaning against the door, and wrestling to remove you shoes with a huff.

You heard a cough ahead of you and looked up to see Azriel fondly watching you, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. He was still in his leathers, so you presumed he had just beat you home, his tired eyes sparkling with humour as he watched you struggle with your boots. You didn’t say anything as you stood and padded over to him on heavy feet, wrapping your arms around his middle and squeezing your eyes shut.

You didn’t want to think of the long week you had dealt with, you just wanted to bury yourself under a mountain of pillows and blankets and maybe wrap your limbs around Azriel like a koala bear. He wrapped his arms around you, scarred hands rubbing up and down your back as the two of you stood together in silence, simply breathing in the other and allowing your souls to be reacquainted.

When you first met Azriel he had wandered into your shop on a whim, wanting to get Feyre some flowers to congratulate her on the pregnancy and he remembered Elain had mentioned this shop being one of her favourites. He had expected to be in and out, not in the mood for a long conversation, or any conversation for that matter. But as soon as he saw your pretty face, your flowy, dress that stopped just above your dirt covered knees, all his plans were thrown out the window.

“Can I help you?” you had asked, sweet-lipped, your voice sounding the way cherries tasted, sweet but with a deeper richness. A smooth tone that he could listen to for hours.

He ended up buying as many flowers as he could without seeming insane, not wanting you to ever stop speaking, wanting you to explain the meaning behind every flower in your store if it meant he got to stay with you.

You had noticed him as well of course. Who wouldn’t, he was beautiful and carried himself with so much grace and poise that you were sure he was a fallen angel. You had lengthened your descriptions of the flowers, face heating when you realised you were rambling and fighting a grin when he asked you to continue.

You had invited him to sit with you as you were brewing tea and he had accepted, sipping tentatively at the tea you told him you grew yourself, the greenhouse in your garden perfect for the needed flowers. The two of you had spoken for hours before he left, ignoring the confused looks from his friends when he came home with six separate bouquets of flowers. Instead deciding to picture your pretty face as he lay in bed that night, finally getting rest for the first time in weeks.

Now, you were wrapped up in his arms, still not speaking. He didn’t worry too much, he knew that sometimes you weren’t ready to speak, that some days you just needed some quiet to process your day and come back to yourself. When you had first explained the way you would drift from your own mind, feeling as if you were floating above your own body Azriel had almost cried, the realisation that maybe he wasn’t the only one in the world, that maybe there was someone for him after all.

He lifted you into his arms and carried you to the kitchen, carefully avoiding the plants littered around the house, before shifting you onto one hip like a baby, knowing you wouldn’t be letting go any time soon. He set about brewing your favourite tea, smiling as he picked up the pot that you had shared the fifth time he came to visit you.

The store had been closed but you had invited him, so he pushed in, cringing at himself when he realised how early he was but all his thoughts came to a halt when he heard that sweet voice of yours coming from your apartment above your shop.

“My lovers got humour, she's the giggle at a funeral, knows everybody's disapproval, I should've worshiped her sooner. If the Heavens ever did speak, she's the last true mouthpiece, every Sunday's getting more bleak a fresh poison each week- AH!” you screamed when you saw him standing in the doorway, pressing a hand to your heart as it slowed back to its regular beat. ��Fuck you, oh my.”

He genuinely laughed then, not expecting to hear you swear. The girl who had green stained fingers and who fed stray cats, the girl who always decorated for every holiday and who apologised when she bumped into inanimate objects. Your face was hot to the touch and you wouldn’t look him in the eyes, so he had stopped laughing, moving to up your face, forcing you to look in his eyes.

“You have the prettiest voice I’ve ever heard.” He said sincerely but you scoffed,

“No I really don’t,” you laughed but he saw the insecurities then, “I know it’s whiny.” He frowned; your voice having been one of your most attractive traits in his eyes. He had started to see beneath your cracks then, but now with you wrapped around him he remembered how deep they went.

“Do you want to talk about it baby?” he asked carefully, not wanting to startle you, knowing how deep you could get in your head, tiny noises startling you when you were zoned out.

“Bad brain.” Was all you muttered, and he frowned but just kissed your forehead and continued making your tea. When he was done he carried both you and the tea through to your bedroom, setting the tea down before twisting you again and carrying you to the bathroom. He sat you on the side of the bath and wet a cloth, cleaning the makeup from your face, and moisturising your skin before picking you back up and taking you back to your room. You slowly changed into one of his shirts and some loose boxers before crawling under the duvet and reaching your hands out to Azriel who had changed into his pyjama bottoms.

He crawled in next to you, pulling you into his chest, his wings wrapping around the two of you and then his shadows settling over both of you, protecting you from the outside world.

“How was your week?” he asked, one hand coming up to play with your hair knowing how much it relaxed you and feeling his heart warm when he felt you smile against his neck.

“Bit shit,”

“How so?”

“Just rude customers, and this one guy wanted like two dozen flowers which I made up but then he couldn’t pay and trashed the bouquets I had made him. Plus all the noise made my anxiety play up,” you muttered, and he frowned, not liking how put out you sounded.

“Want me to kill him?” he asked, only half-joking.

“I think that’s a bit extreme,” you laughed into his shoulder.

“Lightly maim then?”

“Maybe just a scare, make him think his house is haunted or something,”

“That I can do.” He smiled, kissing you, happy to have you partially back to him.

“What about you, how was your week, I feel like I haven’t seen you at all.”

“I know, sorry. I’ve been doing some stuff for Rhys.”

“I’m presuming I’m not allowed to hear about it,” you said, well aware of how secretive his job was.

“It’s not a mission per say, I’m just babysitting.”

“Is it fun at least?” you asked, grinning at him cheekily and he scrunched up his face, thinking back over his week of baby sitting two horny Fae’s while he dreamt of being in your little apartment.

“Not the word I would use, they’re too horny for their own good.”

“The babies?!”

“No! NO! They’re not actually children!” he backtracked as you collapsed into a fit of giggles, Azriel joining you soon after. “You know I think they suspect something,” he said once you finally calmed down, “I think they’ve worked out I’m sneaking off.”

“Hmm, guess we have to kill them then.” You mused and Azriel grinned,

“Only reasonable course of action.”

“I mean we’d be fools not to,”

“Clearly.” He laughed, before tightening his grip, “seriously though, do you want to meet them?”

“I mean, yeah. I think it’d be nice,” he noticed your mood had shifted again and nudged you, imploring you to continue, “It’s just you’re all so accomplished and amazing, powerful people and I’m just… me.”

He tried to ignore the pain that stabbed into his heart at your self-deprecating words, having thought them about himself enough times to know how they felt. “Don’t say that, you’re an incredible person. And even if you weren’t the kindest, sweetest person I had ever met, you’re still the girl I love and honestly I think Cassian is one ex-girlfriend away from selling me to the highest bidder.”

You laughed and nuzzled in farther, “Kindest person you’ve ever met?”

“Well asides from the occasional death threats,”

“ah yes, ignoring that. Of course.” He laughed and kissed your forehead, eyes closing as he heard your voice get softer and your breath slower.

“I love you.” He whispered into your hair as you felt your eyelids droop, the weight of the week lifted off of your shoulders as you buried yourself in Azriel’s arms, peaceful in his embrace.

“I love you.”

[gotnofucks]

A Man’s World

Pairing: soft!dark!Andy Barber x Reader

Summary: To advance in a man’s world, you must allow one to own you. He promises you success, as long as you give yourself to him.

Words: 3.1k

Warnings: Dub-con (at the beginning), smut, language, implied age gap, poor knowledge of law and legal system, 18+ ONLY

A/N: This is my late entry to Berry’s Sugary 4k Challenge (everyone go and send some love to @donutloverxo​ for being so awesome. I am also dedicating this fic to Lexi ( @bluemusickid​ ) who’s had a difficult few weeks recently. I hope you feel better my love.

Sweat was building under your top hat, the urge to itch making you frustrated with the delay. The officer before you was young, probably your age and fumbled with the papers you had handed to him. You tried to relax, almost as nervous as the man in front of you and tried to console yourself with the fact that he was far too jittery to look at you long.

No one will find out, you’re safe.

“Sir?”                                                                                  

You chewed your chip, feet tapping irregularly on the ground in agitation.

“Sir?” The officer said again, peering at you worriedly. You quickly pulled down the rim of your hat, still not used to being called ‘sir’.

“Uh, yeah. Yes.” You said, clearing your throat and trying for a deeper voice. The officer handed you your papers back, all signed and stamped. “Thank you.”

He nodded slightly and motioned for you to wait while your client was brought out. This was the first time you’d been out in the open alone, the fear of discovery clashing with the freedom that ran in your veins.

“Did you bail me out?” A rough voice asked. You looked up at Mr. Lane, a huge mountain of a man who towered over you. You nodded and offered him your hand to shake, wincing as his rough palms scratched against your soft ones. He looked doubtfully at you and you could understand why. You barely looked like a person who belonged in the police station, no matter as a man or woman.

“I am Mr. Barber’s assistant. He was busy with a hearing and sent me to bail you out. If you’d follow me to his office, he’d like a word before we proceed to your trial next week.” You explained, a little more confident. You knew the work, you knew the ways. You only needed to sell your lies to make your truth valid.

Mr. Lane nodded, following and entering the coach outside the station after you. He sat across from you, eyes narrowing as he ran over your soft features, the clip clop of the horses the only sound within.

“You old enough to be an assistant, boy?” Mr. Lane asked, and you scowled. Oh, how you’d like to tell him you were old enough and good enough to be not just an assistant but also a lawyer. You could be the one representing him in court and making him a free man. You should be that one. But, alas, this world doesn’t see women doing much rather than peeling potatoes and popping out a child every second year.

“I am.” You replied in a gruff tone that made it clear you weren’t about to entertain more questions. Your companion nodded, looking out the window and into the streets where peddlers screamed about discounted watches and handkerchiefs and buttons. Not many people had cushioned coaches like this, but Mr. Barber insisted one for your travels.

The journey to the office was quick and silent and you gestured Mr. Lane to follow you up to the top floor where your boss sat in his office. Some people nodded at you, now getting used to seeing you here though they didn’t stop to talk. You had never spoken much to anyone here outside of the receptionist who was deaf in one ear and considered every man under the age of 40 was a boy.  

“Wait here, I’ll let you in in a moment.” You said and had Mr. Lane take a seat on the benches outside. Then, you knocked softly and entered, shutting the door after you. Andy was sat behind his desk, frowning at some paper, and beckoned you closer without looking up from them. You walked over to him, licking you lips softly.

“Sit.” He said, taking your hand and pulling you into his lap. You positioned yourself on his thigh, squirming a little. He scribbled something in the corner of his paper before pushing it away with a sigh, turning his face to you. His eyes, bluer than the ocean at the docks, glittered at you and a small smile curled on his lips. With a practiced move, he removed your top hat and released the band that held your long locks tied together at the top.

Running his fingers through your hair, he leaned closer to press a kiss on your lips. You instinctively kissed back, holding onto his shoulder and moulding your lips to fit his.

“How did it go?” He asked, caressing your cheek softly. You fingered his collar, not looking in his eyes.

“I was worried someone will see through me.” You softly murmured. “There were so many men out there.”

Andy chuckled, pressing another kiss on your lips as his hand sneaked around your waist to bring you closer.

“There are always going to be men around. But you must remember you’re better than them. Better than any other son of a dick out there pretending he is the boss.”

You looked at him at that, taking in his beautiful face that had you smiling and crying in equal parts. You could tell exactly how that well-groomed beard felt between your legs, how those lips could make you utter the filthiest of sounds and curses and how those large hands touched you in the dark of the night.

“Better than even you?” You tentatively asked and Andy smiled, taking your hand and bringing it to his mouth.

“You’ve always been better than me.” He said. You blinked and looked away, his gaze far too intimate to hold. Try as you might, you could not figure this man out. Months you’d spent with him, living, and working and being his any way he asked, and yet he was as much a mystery as he’d been the first time you met.

“Uh, Mr. Lane is waiting outside. Should I call him in?” You asked and he nodded, squeezing your side before releasing you. You put your hair up again and wore your hat, hiding your face under its shadows and calling the client in.

When a girl turns a certain age, she is expected to find the most eligible bachelor and flutter her eyelashes in a bid to secure a match. Your mother threw grand balls for your sisters and was planning an even grander one for your introduction to the society. But you had had enough of dancing with lecherous bastards with as wandering hands as their eyes. You couldn’t stomach the thought of being bound to one of them, so you took your chance and ran.

Leaving behind your quaint town, you entered the bustling city with an assortment of clothes and a heart full of hope. It took you a week to understand that this was no place for you, no place for a lady who dreamt of being her own person. No one wished to employ you, a young girl who had no business demanding pay and rights.

However, in this bustling city of strangers, you found a man who wished to own you. Andy Barber told you in no uncertain terms that he would not hire you as long as you dressed like a woman, but he also promised that he could train you to be better than any other man. Provided, you give yourself to him. You weren’t naïve enough to pretend to not know what he was asking for, but you were desperate enough to say yes. This was better than a marriage anyway. There too, a man would have parched his thirst over your naked chest, but at least here you could learn and get paid for it without being bound to him.

Andy was not unkind. As a mentor, he was strict and meticulous. He worked you hard, taught you well, gave bitter feedback but praised you just the same. As a lover, he was exacting, exploring your chaste body with touches rough and soft, demanding response and reverence. The first night you laid with him, he spent hours worshiping you. His lips, lined by his bushy mustache, traced your face and neck, roving over each contour of your body until his mouth had tasted all.

The modesty you had guarded forever was bare to his gaze, but he didn’t lust like a man who cornered women in dark alleys. He had knelt before your open legs like men of cloth did at the lord’s altar, kissing the dewy folds of your sex with so much passion and delicacy that you had indeed felt like a goddess. Never had you imagined a man to put his mouth there, not when your mother had told you it was unclean. Andy, on the other hand, tasted it like he tasted absolution in your nectar.

He taught you more than simply law. The pleasures of flesh, of learning to please yourself and your companion were lessons that took place in the dark of night. He whispered things that Satan preached in your ear, seducing you into sin that you soon came to crave.

“Touch yourself”, a command he gave often. Nothing pleased him more than seeing you bring yourself to completion with your eyes trained on him, thoughts full only of him and how his body rocked yours.

You had done a great many things with him, things that had you flustered for days on end whenever your thoughts would turn to him, but what you were doing now was nothing short of scandal. It was blasphemous, something that would ruin you way more than if people found you falsely parading as a man in the city.

“Andy!” You hissed, pushing against him to no avail. He had dragged you into the men’s room inside the courthouse, cornering you against the wall and pressing his body flush to yours. He was wearing his best clothes today, about to represent an important man in a case that had made the front page for two weeks straight. Time together had been more work than pleasure, and it seemed Andy had reached his breaking point right before the trial started.

He started working on the buttons of your waistcoat, a frenzy in his eyes. “I need to take you now. This might as well be the most important case of my career, and I’ll begin it by being inside you, and end it just the same!”

You moaned, letting your hands roam his body as he finally undid your waistcoat and shirt, frantically ripping away at the bandages that bound your breasts. As he took one of your hardened nipples in his mouth, you palmed his pulsing hardness from over his pants, shivering at the thought of feeling it inside you again.

He scared you like this, for someone could walk in and see the illustrated Andrew Barber making a beast with two backs in the male room with someone who greatly resembled a man. He will be ruined. You would be ruined. And as of now, the very thought of that caused wetness to pool in your underpants.

“Get on your knees and taste me.” He urged, pulling out his cock and pumping it. “As you sit beside me today, I want you to have my taste in your mouth. One day, I’ll sit beside you too.”

You were a gently bred lady of impeccable reputation, but you sunk to your knees with the practiced move of a street woman to take him eagerly in your mouth. Oh, if your proper mother could see you, sucking a man like a whore in the damp men’s room, her teachings of propriety and modesty all but forgotten. But nothing made you feel more than a woman that receiving Andy like this. His desire, his need for you burned in his eyes and you lapped on those flames to quench the thirst in your heart.

His hand moved behind your head, easing you into taking him deeper. “Look at me” He whispered, and your eyes met his, shining with unshed tears. He did this to you, reduced you to who you loathed to be and yet loved. Swirling your tongue over his soft skin, you bobbed over his length, the squelching sounds filling the small room.

Just like always, you tasted his power and his yearning. The milky drops of precum coated your tongue, your nose taking in the smell of his musk as he groaned above you. He reduced you, but then why did you feel raised?

“Touch yourself, let me taste you too.” He ordered, and you complied. Your hand slipped inside your pants, finding your moist core. Generously lubing your fingers in your slick, you rose on shaky knees and presented your wet fingers to Andy who sucked them eagerly in his mouth. Warm, wet, his tongue took in your taste with relish.

You couldn’t stop but stare into his blue eyes, eyes that should have haunted your nightmares, but you only saw them in sweet dreams. “Kiss me” You begged, and he did. He kissed you like a man starved, like a man who could suck out your soul and draw it in himself. He kissed you like dew kissed the morning grass, like the colours of rainbow that scattered in the sky to paint it pretty.

“Tell me where you want me, how you want me.” He said, surrendering control. You stilled, hands resting on his chest. How were you to lead him when he was infinitely more experienced about the art of making love?

“I – I want you inside me.” You softly said, eyes fluttering as you shy looked away. Why was saying what you do so many times so difficult.

“Inside where?” Andy asked, tilting your chin up again. You gulped, your face and chest flushed.

“In my – in my” You stuttered, fearing to speak the word he spoke often. “In my pussy.”

You would have thought he would ravish you as soon as you said the words, instead he brought you closer and nudged your nose with his. His breath came out in erratic spurts, his need evident in his gaze. “You will put me inside you, however you want. It’s time I let you take some lead.”

Holding his gaze, you pumped his length gently before turning around and presenting him your ass. You struggled to position him, trying to place his tip at your opening. He didn’t move an inch to help you, only chuckling slightly when you huffed in frustration. Finally, you felt him at your slit, and you slid him between your folds carefully, trying to coat him in your wetness like you’d seen him do.

“What if someone walks in?” You asked, hesitating for just one moment.

“They’ll have to wait while we finish. You’re not walking out of here unsullied, so how about we hurry up?”

You pushed back into him, taking him inside your pulsing sleeve with ease. The stretch of his cock had always felt good, a pain that had a lasting effect and reminded you of him. As you moved back and forth, urging him to meet you halfway, you wondered why the self loathing never came. Andy had a way of making you feel like a queen when others may suspect you of nothing more than a whore.

“Andy” You brokenly said as he thrust inside you faster, “I want more. Please.”

He gave you more. He took over, holding onto your waist and sliding home inside you in deep, powerful strokes. You whined under his assault, jerking when his fingers found your nub and mashed it. Praises, curses, words of love and lust that had the power to destroy hearts and armies flowed freely from his mouth, as if the only thing tethering him to this earth was your body.

Your hands went to play with your breasts, a strangled moan caught in your chest. Suddenly, even when he moved inside you with such passion, you craved more intimacy than his cock could offer. You tilted your head to the side, offering him your mouth that he took in a sensual kiss. You were so close that you couldn’t decide what limb was yours and which was his anymore. In the age old dance of sensual love, you became one.

“What do you want?” He asked, and your eyes met his. He asked you this every time, and you had always answered the same thing. But today, this felt different. You were in the courthouse, a lawyer’s battleground and also the place of worship. He was more than your mentor and boss, he was also the man who you had grown to care for so deeply it could only be called one feeling.

“Inside me. I want you to finish inside me today.” You answered and his hands clutched you tighter. You’d never allowed that before, never allowed him to call you his so completely. But you felt compelled by his heat today, by the desperation he never bothered hiding from you. Once, this may have felt like a chore. Today, it was your blessing. “Andy, make me yours.”

He groaned, pumping in you with abandon and bringing you over the edge with his fingers that were running circles around your clit. You moaned loud, blubbering in pleasure that spilled from you, uncaring if someone were to walk in. His thrusts were getting irregular, hips jerking until you felt him twitch and release inside you in hot spurts. Warmth bloomed in your core, your essence mixing with his.

He hugged your sweaty body to his, the wool of his coat scratchy against your flesh. “You were mine, even before. Now, more so than ever. And one day, when you’re ready, I’ll claim you in front of the world as fully as my heart has done in private.”

You felt him run his thumb over your ring finger and licked your lips. He wasn’t asking, and you weren’t answering. But one day, maybe you will. Until then, you were happy to be his beautiful secret, posing as his assistant and learning from him.

“Don’t,” He whispered hotly in your ear, turning you around swiftly. “Don’t think too much. We’ve got a case to win.”

He helped you dress again, buttoning your shirt and waistcoat with nimble fingers. He was getting back to being your boss, and you couldn’t have been prouder of him at this moment. One day it will be you in his spot, you knew it.

“Just one question.” You said, fixing his tie and smoothening the wrinkles on his clothes. He raised an eyebrow at you, softly smiling at the mischievous look in his eyes. “What will happen once I am a lawyer too?”

Andy chuckled, pressing the softest of kisses on your lips. “Whoever wins more cases gets to be on top of course.”

You exited the men’s room with him, head high as any other man’s. As you entered the courtroom, you licked your lips and smiled as you tasted him on your tongue.

[moralesispunk]

In his eyes (Blacksmith Pero Tovar AU)

Pero Tovar x Female Reader

Part 1 of a short Pero Tovar Blacksmith AU

Summary: when a handsome and mysterious stranger enters your village as the new blacksmith you are drawn to finding out more about him.

Masterlist here under Pero |

Part two here

When the handsome, stone face stranger entered your village a few weeks ago, every head in the village was turned. You eyes and mind were his from the moment he walked in and soon your heart would belong to him as well.

You were at the market when he came in atop his beautiful horse, trotting between the stalls. If his wide shoulders and scowl did not entice you, his dark brown eyes with a scar down one of them did. His hair was messy on his head, choppy in length but stopping enough above his eyes to show them to the world. He wore armour of a kind you had never seen before, dark silver and grey starting high up on his neck covering his body all the way to under his heavy boots. His hands gripped loose at the reigns of his horse, in full control without much effort.

For a moment, as he went by your bakers stall you ran for your father, your eyes met. His scowl did not lift but his eyes widened and seemed to soften slightly. You managed to curl your lips into a smile as you kept eye contact with him until he had moved by.

You had seen him every other day since. He was taking over from Mr Williams the old blacksmiths after he passed away a few weeks ago. You hadn't learned too much about him in the weeks he had been here other than he came from another land and didn't talk more than he absolutely had to. Oh, and his name was Mr Tovar, having heard it mumbled by patrons of the local inn.

You had only spoken to him a few times before when you ran your market stall on Saturdays. The first time he did not utter more than a grunt as you sold him a loaf of bread, the second he managed a "thank you" letting you hear his beautiful accent the landlady of the local inn had told you about, every time after he would compliment your baking in few words before buying another.

Other people in the village seemed to stand a little further away from him, his standoffishness not being aided by his scowl or scar down his face. They moved out his way quickly as he made his way through the market and put their head downs while he looked through their items on their stalls. You could see why they would want to do this but rather than stand away you wanted to stand a little closer, often moving round to the front of the stall as you helped him. There was something underneath all his armour and stony expression that you wanted to learn more about.

As you worked today in the bakers shop with your father in the back and you dealing with customers at the front, you heard footsteps enter your shop with your back turned. 

"I will be there in one moment," you called over your shoulder, finishing stocking the freshly baked bread.

"No rush," the voice replied.

It was him. You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks already as you knew he would be watching your every move. When you turned to face him, his hands were held together in front of his body as he waited patiently for you.

"What brings you here today, Mr Tovar. One of our fresh loaves, perhaps a sweet pastry?" you smile at him and see one tug at the edge of his lips.

"It’s Pero, please. My name. And just a loaf today.” 

Your eyes stayed on him for a moment, repeating his name back with a smile. It was unique for your village and sounded beautiful as it fell from his lips, a perfect name for him.

You work a little slower than usual as you wrap one of the freshest loaves for him, enjoying spending this time in his presence even in silence. As you handed the bread over to Pero, he passed coins over in his other hand letting his fingers linger over your palm for a moment before gently tracing back over your fingers before he pulled his hand into a fist at his side.

Your eyes stayed on his for a moment, your mind going blank of anything other than the thousand words that were swimming around your mind to describe his eyes, when a loud bang from the back pull both your attentions away.

"Papa?" you shouted as you ran into the back.

"I'm fine, sweetheart,” his voice called back but you still moved into the back.

The tray from the oven had collapsed into the fire, pulled out just in time before being melted by the flames. The old pole that had been creaky for years had finally given out. You hadn’t realised that Pero had followed you into the back until you heard him grunt behind you. He walked by you, gently placing his hand on your back to move you out of his way as he did so. His hand had stretched across the whole of your back, his warmth only touching you for a moment but lingering after his palm had moved away.

He lifted an old cloth to pick up the tray and pole separately, inspecting the parts.

“I can fix this,” he huffed, looking at your father.

You father’s eyes were wide at the man standing in front of him. He had heard of the man from another land who had moved to the village with a scar down one eye and dark eyes. 

“Papa, this is Pero- Mr Tovar. The new blacksmith,” you introduced them to one another. 

“Mr Tovar, thank you. I will pay you generously in coins,” your father offered but Pero shook his head.

“No. It will be free,” he huffed before walking away with the metal wrapped in cloth in his hands.

You and your father waited for a moment, not sure what to say of the exchange before your father laughed.

“Everyone is right, he is a man of few words.” 

When you walk back to the front you notice his bread is still sitting on the counter where you left it but there are customers waiting to be served. You sell it on to the next customer, deciding to take him a fresher one once the shop quietens down. The day goes in quick and with sun lowering and you do not get a chance to take a new loaf of bread to Pero. Your heart grows heavy knowing you will not get to see his face again today but you make sure to remember to bring him one in the morning to thank him for his kindness.

When you got into bed that night you dreamt of him. While you had dreamt of him before, of serving him at your stall and listening to the few words he said, this night was different. It was of the two of you sitting by a fire, your head resting on his shoulder as he told you stories of his travels before he reached your village. His voice was warmer than the flames in front of you, surrounding you in a secure embrace as he told you about the scar on his face. Suddenly, his lips were on yours and moving down your neck to your chest, undoing your bodice as he kissed every piece of skin that touched the air.

You woke, chest heaving and mind racing over the dream. You could feel his lips on yours if you concentrated hard enough, the dream from the night before feeling so real.

As the sun was already rising and as the silence echoed around your house you realised your father must have already been down at the bakery. Quickly getting dressed, you pulled the front of your hair back into a loose braid and walked down to the bakers. 

You heard the clanking of metal as you walked by the blacksmiths, slowing your pace to look inside. 

There was Pero, his body bent over a piece of metal he was working on. One hand gripped the metal in his hand while the other raised and slammed down the tool with a clang. You watched as his eyebrows furrowed in concentration, the sweat dripping down his brow from the heat of the roaring fire in front of him.

Thoughts of your dream crept back into your head, imagining his warm body against yours. Your lips fighting over one another and the sweat of your bodies mixing together.

As his hand came down one more time, his head turned to face you, catching your eyes in his. A heat was sent through your chest and neck to your cheeks as you bowed your head and quickly moved on. You didn’t lift your head until you reached the bakers, quickly walking through the back to find your father.

He was working with the oven, a new tray and pole in his hand.

“Look at this,” your father called, “he didn’t fix the old one he made us a brand new one! And look how quickly it turns.” 

Your father moved the tool easily in and out of the oven to show you it in action. It moved a lot smoother than the old one, holding more loaves of bread as it did so. You couldn’t stop the smile from reaching your face at the thought. Pero would have been busy catching up with all the blacksmiths work needing done since Mr Williams had left but he took the time to make a completely new one for your father. Despite his rough look you could see the kindness in his soul that many would not realise it with it being wrapped up in dark eyes and a frown.

“You should take Mr Tovar some loaves for his trouble. This was far too kind.”

You looked down at the thought of going back to see Pero again, trying to hide your blushing cheeks from your father. When you look back up your father raises his eyebrow as he studies your face for a moment before a smile reaches his mouth.

“Maybe throw in one of the sweet pastries I made this morning,” he adds.

You nod and head to the front, wrapping up the freshest loaf and sweetest looking pastries in the brown paper and placing them in your basket. You shouted to the back, telling your father that you were leaving and he came out to wish you goodbye. His hands were behind his back, asking you to close your eyes. You felt a tug on your hair slightly before your father tapped your shoulder to open your eyes. He had a metal pan in his hand, moving it to show you the back of your hair. 

There was a lily in your braid now, placed in simply. You smiled and hugged your father. The two of you had been close with your mother dying not long after you were born and no other siblings.

“Beautiful, sweetheart,” he opened the door and watched as you began your walk to the blacksmiths.

On the way there you pass by the patch of lilies your father must have picked the flower from this morning, stopping to reach down to them. You place the basket on the ground next to you before plucking another and placing it underneath the string that is wrapped around the bakings for Pero. 

You stand up and brush the dirt off your skirts before finishing your walk to the blacksmiths. The heat from the shop is astounding and you can feel it warm your skin before you have even reached the steps inside.

The same beautiful sight as earlier is before your eyes as Pero continues working on the metal. You take the steps slowly so not to startle him before knocking gently at the wooden door. He looks up, his dark eyes meeting yours once again, and stops in his work. He quickly moves his hands causing the fire to cease from roaring as wildly.

“S-sorry to interrupt Mr T- I mean Pero,” you see a smile play on his lips as you stumble over your words, “you forgot your loaf yesterday so I brought you a fresh one. Some sweet pastries too to say thank you for helping my father, the new bread tray works wonderfully.”

Pero walks over to a bowl of water by the other side of the wall, thoroughly cleaning his hands before walking over to you. As you hand over the basket his hands grip the handle on top of yours, grunting a thank you as he places it on the table next to you both. 

He reaches for the contents of the basket, stopping when he notices the lily. His large hands, although rough and calloused, lift the flower out with such care as he holds it in one hand.

“I’m sorry I- I don’t know why I-” your voice trails away suddenly embarrassed by your inclusion of the flower in the basket.

Pero turns to face you and for the first time he has a real smile on his face. One that shows the crinkles at the side of his eye and dimple at the side of his cheek. He reaches to the back of your hair, touching it gently. 

“El lirio.”

“Sorry?”

“That is their name in Spanish,” he explains.

“And that is where you are from?”

He nods, the smile still on his lips. He looks younger and softer and although it lasts for only a moment before his usual scowl take over it makes your heart stop in your chest. 

He turns back to the basket, lifting out the carefully wrapped sweet pastries before moving to the steps outside the shop. He sits down, moving so there is enough space next to him for you to sit as well. He takes out both pastries, handing you one as you sit down before taking the other for himself. 

You eat in the quiet for a moment, watching wide eyed as Pero swallows the large pastry in two bites before starting your own. The stable boy passes by, stopping to say hello. He asks how your father is and you his before you introduce him and Pero to one another. The boy’s smile is wiped off his face when Pero grunts in response, ignoring the outstretched hand. You offer an apology with your eyes as he leaves.

“You know, you might make some friends if you aren’t so rude,” you tease, nudging him with your elbow.

He looks at you, grunting again and rolling his eyes.

“There are nice people here. People who like to help one another.” You begin to tell him about some of the villagers, like the landlady who serves extra large portions of soup to people who can’t afford the biggest bowls or the farmer who lets the children run through his field as a shortcut to the river and the same children who take every step slower than usual to make sure they don’t accidentally stand on the crops.

Pero listens carefully, his eyes on you the whole time as you smile and tell him about the villagers. 

“I think you will fit in well here. It is a kind village and I can see the kindness in your eyes, Pero.” 

You look down the street and see your father’s head poke out of the bakery. You give him a wave letting him know you will be there soon and stand up.

“Sorry for distracting you,” you wave inside at the fire that is near dying out.

“No,” Pero quickly stops you, “don’t be sorry.”

He had not spoke to someone this long in a while. Well, he had not listened to another speak to him this long in a while. He liked hearing you speak, noticing the way you smiled extra wide as you spoke about the children who splash down in the river before it dries up in summer. You were soft and gentle, your voice almost so quiet he would not be able to hear unless he leaned in slightly. He didn’t know why you were paying him such mind but he liked it. And he liked you.

You turn to look at the fire one more time before you leaving, taking in all the tools surrounding his workshop. You notice a board on the table with small discs covering it.

“What is this?” you ask as you step in and reach to pick up one of the black circles.

“Checkers.”

“A game,” you ask and he nods.

He watches you play with the disc in your hand before gently placing it back down where it was.

“Thank you again, Pero,” you stop by the door turning to face him.

He is standing close enough that you can feel the heat radiate off of him and your senses are filled with his smell. Fire and smoke with a hint of sweetness from the pastries. You can’t stop yourself as you stand on your toes, placing a hand on his upper arm to brace yourself as you place a kiss to his cheek choosing to place it on his scar below his eye. You hear his breath stop for a moment, his eyes closing upon the feeling of your lips on his skin.

As you step back he nods shakily, standing by the door and watching as you walk back to the bakery until he can’t see you any longer. When he turns back the fire has completely died down, grunting as he moves to relight it.

When you walk inside the bakery, your father is waiting behind the counter a smug smile on his face.

“Did Mr Tovar enjoy the pastries?” 

“Yes,” you nod as you wrap an apron around your body to protect your shirt and skirts from the flour.

“And the company?” your father raises his eyebrow.

“Papa,” you groan and your father chuckles

“He seems like a good man. I can see it in his eyes,” your father gives you a kiss on the cheek before moving into the back again.

You nod to yourself. He is a good man and you hope to see more of him.

//

Permanent tag list //  @phoenixhalliwell @asta-lily @hb8301

[finelinevogue]

Can you expand on that topic of Harry buying that island for Y/N to conserve like you touched upon on the 73 questions thing you wrote please?

oooh yes!! i didn’t think this would be something that people would bring up but i’m excited to talk about it!! enjoy;

oli - 4, felix - 3, belle - 3 weeks

“What about this one?”

The same question Anne and Harry had been repeating for the last two hours. Neither Anne or Harry could decide on an island that they both thought you would absolutely love - an island that Harry would buy somewhere new for you to conserve and protect, for future family vacations and eventually potentially even retire to, whenever that day may come.

He had originally thought about purchasing a large plot of land along the coastline of Italy, because it had always captured a special place in Harrys heart. He loved the people, the culture, the weather, the food and he loved you when you’re bathing in the Italian sun. The boot-shaped country was the one in which you and Harry had spent your first holiday together. It was where you’d had your honeymoon. It was where, you’re pretty sure, that Oli was conceived. It held so many precious memories, so you both thought it time to make the country more permanent in your lives and purchase a house over there.

Unfortunately, due to coronavirus, Harry wasn’t able to physically go anywhere and house, or island, hunt - especially with a 3 week old baby. Belle had been born on October 2nd and she was an absolute angel - as happy as can be. Oli and Fix were currently looking after her, whilst Anne and Harry sorted through the mess of trying to organise the gift of a lifetime for you. Luckily you were out with a friend, shopping for baby clothes and a little something for yourself, for the day so Harry could complete his surprise in secret. Harry already held property in Malibu, New York, Japan, London and Manchester. He, until recently, had an apartment in San Fransisco, but he never used it and so the money that he got from selling that was going to be spent buying an island for you.

He always remembers one of the first conversations that he ever had with you and it was about how you wanted to change the world. You’d answered “I think i’d buy my own island and start conserving the planet one bit of land at a time, until I save it all!” Now obviously you were being very optimistic and silly with your dreams, but that’s all you thought they’d be - dreams. Harry was willing to make them a reality though. Okay, perhaps not world domination but he could start small and give you the thing you’d dreamt of even as a little girl.

“Mum—” Harry sighed, knowing he would reject it just like all the other ones she’d picked out for being either, too small, too big, too dangerous, too humanised. He didn’t care about price, he just wanted to get it right. He looked over to her computer, seeing what she’d found and brought up on her screen. “Shit, wait…”

This was it.

“Mhm?” Anne smiled knowingly.

“Give me details.” Harry asked her, pulling over his notepad and pen to jot down key information. He wasn’t planning on buying today, but he was planning on making inquiries so if he thought something needed negotiating then at least he’d have the information to hand.

“Okay, um,” she looked over the screen. Harry had only seen glimpses of the the island from the photos but even now he was fully invested in it, “it’s in Phuket, Thailand. Minimally developed on. 110 acres, but you know…”

“Could lessen due to climate change, yeah.” Harry noted and looked to his mum to see if she was continuing or not.

“They are allowing an income potential so you could build and make profit from it. Then again the island itself is $160 million so it’s going to be 7018 before you even start making a profit.” Anne joked, but Harry sighed. “What, love?”

“$160 million.” Harry pondered, thinking whether this is all worth it. It’s a huge investment and potential waste of money, but it was for you.

“You’re a near billionaire Harry. What else are you going to do with all your money? You could build back half of that money just from releasing a new album with no promotion. Imagine if you released a documentary or something too. You work hard, Harry, and you will continue to, so is it so wrong to treat yourself to something nice?”

“It’s not for me, though.”

“Well then, there’s the question you to need to ask yourself.” Harry looked at his mum quizzically before she responded. “Is Y/N worth it?”

Well that was a stupid question.

“Looks like Y/Ns getting her island after all.” Harry grinned so wide, feeling so happy that he was doing this for you. You deserved this so much. Yes it was a bloody huge investment and risk, if Harry was being honest with himself, but you were ridiculously worth it. So much so that he would have bought the island even if it were double that price. Harry sighed in relief and slouched back on the chair, thinking about how happy you’re going to be when you find out. Obviously there was so much paperwork and calls that needed to be made, so it was going to take some time, but to see your face at the end of this was going to be so worth it.

“Cuppa tea then?” Anne asked, slinking out of the chair and standing up.

“Yeah, go on—” The sounds of rattling keys and the front door opening broke Harry’s sentence, making him look up at his mum in panic. Time had flew by so quickly that he’d not even realised you could’ve actually been home anytime now.

Shit, you were home.

“Quick mum, help me hide all this. Wait mum, you’re going to have to sneak out the back because Y/Ns going to have too many questions otherwise!” Harry shot up from the kitchen table and started to gather bits of paper and close the laptops down. Luckily Harry was using his work laptop and Anne had brought her own so they didn’t have to worry about clearing browser history.

“What and you can’t just say you were hanging out with your ol’ mum?” Anne asked, laughing as she packed up her stuff because she knew just how demanding and stubborn her son was.

“I love you and call me when you get home safely okay?” Harry asked, chivying her out of the back door quietly and pecking her cheeks in thanks for everything she’s done for him today.

“Alright. Love you!”

Okay, act normal Harry.

“Mummy!” You heard Oli shout from the other room. You furrowed your eyebrows as you entered the house, dropping off your shoes and bags at the door before heading into the living room, where you knew you’d find the kids.

“What’s wrong?” You asked, looking around the room to see everything was in order. In fact, your heart melted at the sight of the siblings. Oli was sat upright against the sofa and had his baby sister laying on top of his stomach with hers, and Fix was sat just to the side of them - patting his sisters back rhythmically. It was a sight for sore eyes.

“Baby Belle just smiled.” Oli beamed brightly and you smiled back at him. Even though it was slightly irrelevant of him to shout for you because of this, you couldn’t help but awe over the fact the siblings were so loving for one another.

“Did she now?” You took out your phone to take a few pictures of them. “Smile again for mummy then, all of you.” You giggled as Fix pulled the cheesiest smile and Oli did his signature smile too - no teeth and raised eyebrows so high to the sky. You even caught a golden photo where Belle was slightly smiling too. “Are you okay in here still?”

You didn’t want to feel like you were abandoning your kids, because you would never, but you needed just a day to yourself to rejuvenate and help overcome the post-natal depression slowly. As much as you so very much loved them, it was hard for you sometimes. Belle was going to be sleeping for at least another hour, so you weren’t too worried about her. Oli and Fix were ever so sensible too, simply watching Teen Titans on Cartoon Network whilst they babysat their sister. You were only a shout away if something were to happen, which made you wonder where Harry was.

“Yes mummy.” Fix nodded his head whilst keeping his eyes glued to the TV.

“Everything all right in here?” Harry’s voice came from behind you, but you’r felt his presence a lot sooner before that. He stood behind you, peering into the room to check everything was in order.

God, you’d missed him today.

“Yeah, Oli tell daddy why you called me.”

“Baby Belle smiled daddy!” Oli retold the story just as animatedly as the first time, but keeping as still as he could so not to disturb his sister.

“Did she now? You must’ve made her happy then.” Harry slunk one of his hands around your waist and squeezed the pudge that had situated there. He absolutely loved the way you’d become curvier after giving birth. He said it gave him a bit extra of you to love on, to which you always cried at the words because he never failed to make you feel so beautiful.

“I try daddy.”

“I try too.” Felix added, obviously wanting his dad to know he wasn’t not helping in taking care of Belle.

“Good boys. Proud of you both.” They both smiled after their dads words, “Now you both behave and look after Baby Belle whilst I go make mummy a cup of tea okay?”

“But come back, daddy.” They both replied and you gave them a final warm smile, before making your way to the kitchen to make a warm, milky, beverage.

“Nice day?” Harry asked, following you into the kitchen. His hand was placed lowly on your back and guided you into the room.

“Lovely, thanks. Just missed you all.” You sighed and turned around to kiss him in the middle of the kitchen. Your lips moulded to his perfectly and he tasted so sweet, you probably so sour from your lemonade you’d had earlier.

“Miss you always.” Harry murmured against your lips and then pulled away, not before giving you and extra peck though.

You walked over to the kettle and switched it on, whilst Harry collected the mugs from the cupboard you were too small to reach. He picked out one with the letter H on and one with the letter of your first name on, knowing that you’d drink from each others letters as always.

“Been busy today?” You asked, dropping teabags into the cups and leaning against the counter side as you waited for the kettle to take its’ boil.

“Kinda.” He smirked to himself, trying to dodge that question and any others you might have about the day. “Glad you’re back home though.” He walked to you and cupped the back of your head lightly, guiding your face up to his.

“Thank you for being my home.” You smiled at your cheesy comment and then lead your lips to his again.

“You are a dream, my love.” Harry said, looking deep into the eyes he could fall in love with all over again.

Just as you were about to touch lips with his you heard the wails of your tiny daughter and sighed in sync. You chuckled as you flopped your head onto Harry’s chest. As much as you wanted to stay and soak up all the love he was about to give you, your children were a priority - especially a crying baby.

“Well, your dream will have to wait hun.” You patted his chest before walking out of the room, Harry watching you go before whispering ever-so-carefully under his breath.

“But yours won’t.”

[jiminrings]

umm maybe this is me projecting bc i am messaging you during my break but for a drabble request, yoongi in a retail setting???? 😐😐😐😐 oc could either be a co-worker or a regular customer who asks too many questions 😔😌

retail-type beat

drabble week: day three

drabble week masterlist

pairing: customer!yoongi x retail worker!reader

wordcount: 3k

glimpse: "hi! almost thought you were hiding from me for a second. anyways, is this sweater wool or cotton?"

feedback + support mean the world to me!!

the last time you checked, work doesn’t start until nine

you kNEW it doesn’t start until 9 in the morning, so clearly that’s why you’re just wearing slides instead of your sneakers

the company uniform is either black or purple (it has to be from what the store is selling though so you can get to choose) with of course!!!! a lanyard!!!!

and you know this, because you’re still wearing your slides from home because it isn’t opening time yet

“goddamn it, i forgot to bring my slippers,” jin moans the moment he walks to see you, looking down on your feet that only reminds him he’d be stuck in his cool yet painfully uncomfy sneakers

he’s probably the only co-worker that you’re truly close with, not feeling the urge to sell him just to get a free day

“i told you to get the sneakers that nurses use!!”

hands-down one of the best purchases you’ve ever made

retail’s hard and it’s not exactly the best-paying job!!! thankfully the franchise owner is a bit more generous so that’s why you get slightly-higher hourly pay

“i would if they looked a little more seasoned,” jin snorts and stubbornly crosses his arms, “i might sacrifice my pride and buy some compression socks.”

OOOOOH THOSE ARE GOOD TOO

makes you feel like ur walking on air

but lol no seokjin isn’t ready to buy those just yet

he’ll settle on some blisters and putting salonpas patches because they look cooler that way, thank u very much <3

jin yawns, talking about finding a steam iron somewhere to replace a blowdryer so he could break in his shoes

“you wipe the glass this time.”

oh right he absolutely hates wiping down the glass — even before opening!!! even when there aren’t any grubby kids that would soil it instantly with their equally as grubby hands

you don’t mind it honestly

you might honestly like it

you prefer wiping the glass a hundred times over than steaming clothes

there is nOT a single thought in your head when you spray on the solution to the glass, rag and squeegee tucked between your fingers when-

maybe you should’ve hOLY FUCKING SHIT

it’s not opening!!!! it is nOT nine o’clock in the morning!!!!

you know that the shop you’re working in is pretty fucking famous and it’s located on one of the most populated streets ever BUT THERE’S ALREADY SOMEONE

although the bucket hat seems familiar from a distance and-

oh it’s just yoongi

yoongi?

yoongi’s already here????

:O

yoongi, the guy in question, is an always customer!!

no, not a regular customer — an always customer

he comes every week and maybe even twice within that period

he’s a nice talkative customer who likes asking questions and even occasionally guides the other customers on what to buy and where to find it

he’s yoongi!!! of course that’s expected of him

he’s been going here long since you ever started working here, and jin keeps iNSISTING that he’s been here more frequently since you started like a year ago

but doesn’t he come at eleven in the morning?

“woah, yoongi’s already here? — doesn’t he come at eleven in the morning?”

?!!?!!

“i was just thinking the exact same thing.”

jin bangs the glass with his fist and you automatically wince and frown

you dO like cleaning the glass panes!! you didn’t say you liked cleaning them a second time :(

“YOONGI!”

“YES??”

you push jin’s fist away to wipe at the smudge his hand left

“IT’S NOT OPENING YET!”

“I KNOW!!”

wow they’re uh

they’re really loud

sometimes you forget how seokjin could be since it’s been awhile since you heard him yell

lol no one’s been shoplifting recently so you haven’t been hearing him

a mind-blowing idea is for jin to come outside and talk to him in a normal talking voice, so your ears would stop ringing

“HEY! WHAT IF YOU JUST ENTER EARLY IN?”

“REALLY? IS THAT EVEN ALLOWED??”

"YOONGI, EVERYONE ON THE FLOOR KNOWS YOUR NAME. NAMJOON EVEN GAVE YOU A CUSTOMARY BIRTHDAY GIFT, AND WE DON'T GIVE CUSTOMARY BIRTHDAY GIFTS TO ANY OTHER CUSTOMER!!"

namjoon, who technically should be called mr. kim because no one really thinks to call the franchise owner with their government first name, is actually pretty cool

but he's too busy these days and haven't been visiting because he's too busy tending to his newly-opened coffee shop

as if the money he earns from opening his franchise in a day alone isn’t enough :0

"IF YOU SAY SO?"

you’re the one who hikes up the roll-up door in the slightest, enough for only yoongi to enter and not encourage anyone else to nOT enter when it’s still not opening time!!!!

he only has to crouch a little but he still has to dust his thousand-dollar pants as if he crawled through mud

his cream-colored slacks with a large black hoodie that has a giant bear embroidered on the middle of it and mules

... you don't hate his outfits

pretty cute, actually

it's yoongi!!

you'd never catch him lacking!!!

you don't even have to envision him rocking the shit out a paper bag

one time, he came in the store wearing the WRINKLIEST brown linen jumpsuit that no iron could possibly fix and he still pulled it off

toon-teen-ten!

oh god that’s the sound of the intercom

and the sound of the intercom equates to jungkook

... as in jeon jungkook who’s the floor manager and his constant top one goal for every month is to endearingly annoy seokjin

he’s young and mischievous!! but if you were to ask him, only you and jungkook are the people in this floor he’d actually get drinks with outside the shop

“seokjin come to the lingerie department right now, please.”

you see the thing is :D

“now this is just funny

there’s walkie-talkies for everyone here!! jungkook likes intercoms, and seokjin like yelling!!

“WHY ME AGAIN?? I’VE ALREADY FOLDED-“

“there’s a literal rat and i need yOU to catch it!! you know that i hate rodents!!”

him and jungkook are forever gonna be on this eldest-youngest brother dynamic and while jungkook pouts and shared the extras that he gets, jin is the one who kills the bugs :D

10/10 totally fair

fine then!! he’ll catch that goddamn rat

that leaves you and yoongi. alone.

“why did you come so early this time?”

you ask out of courtesy, genuinely baffled too because you know that yoongi’s a creature of habit

yoongi’s eyes pop out, head fervently shaking no

“i’m typically not the type to do that, no.”

???

is he-

are you-

are you both talking about the same thing

yoongi’s face flushes in embarrassment, his mind just then registering what you were actually saying

“o-oh! it’s because last night, i dreamt of the sweater i saw here last week!!"

oh right

typical :D

"need me to find it for you or do you already know the aisle?"

you align the folded shirts by the corners as you pass, looking at yoongi briefly while he trails behind yoh

“not unless you pulled it out already."

he's hoping that dear god you haven't

the black sweater with the moon aND buildings on it and when you turn on the flash, the windows of said building reflect it right back???

he SHUDDERS just by thinking about it

it’s gonna go with everything!!! an instant boost of serotonin every time he sees it

"for you, yoongi?" you shake your head, a small smile on your face that he only sees every once in a while, "i'd comb through the entire stock room."

wait

that’s sweet :((

“i’ll hold you to that.”

you know what??? you're less cranky when it's only him, and a couple of hundred people less

your smiles aren't for customer-service and you don't have misplaced clothes hanging from your shoulders and your walkie-talkie isn't talking in latin

or when no one’s asking you to reach something from the top shelf

or when you’re on the way to the intercom because a kid got separated from their mother

or when someone’s approaching for a refund for a shirt who has a stain that’s 100% no doubt customer error

his feet immediately move on its own because he’s memorized the outline of this too many times

there it is!!!

the sweater he’s dreamt about is already on his hands, only a handful few left

the piece is considerably more expensive than majority of the items here, so that’s why they’re all spaced-out instead of being clustered altogether

yoongi rarely goes to the dressing room, regardless if it's a full-house or not!!

he could just look at an item and immediately tell that it’s made for him ta know

he's beyond sure that this sweater fits him perfectly, but he may want to be here a little longer

yoongi may have say inside one of the fitting rooms and spent a little time in it just to sit on the chair inside, not fitting the sweater at all

he's gotten his item SO quick and he wished he could've just walked slower or pretended to not know where it was!!!

he wants to spend a little more time here

you don't hate yoongi!!! but sometimes he could just be... yoongi

he's quite talkative and strikes it whenever, making you unguarded

he could be overbearing but like an overbearing kind of nice

yoongi’s nice!! he’s the type to ask a lot of questions sure, but he’s also the type that would point the other customers what to buy and where to find it

he’s the type to find an obvious faulty stitch on a shirt, but he’d just quietly exchange it instead of asking for the manager

he’s the type you wouldn’t want to stand behind in line because it would take a long time for him to finish, but he’s also the same one who buys giftcards with generous amounts for family and friends

yoongi’s kind of cool and that’s cemented on your mind

"what do you got for me?"

he materializes out of nowhere, spooked because you thought he already ringed up and was out of the store already

it just happens to be ten minutes before opening and you’re doing last-minute arrangements on a new spread

well, yoongi most certainly is still here and his attention’s piqued

“we have... a new collection."

you clear your theory, awkwardly gesturing because you’re more than aware that yoongi hasn’t seen this either

“yeah, i know that. but like, what's going on??" he gestures to the displays and racks, squinting his eyes, "what's the theme? what's the material?"

:O

uhm you haven't read the brief about this

you aren't even sURE if there is one!!

doesn't everyone make up something on the spot in retail

or atleast that’s what seokjin tells you

“the theme," you clear your throat, scratching your temple before gesturing towards the full rack, "is everything."

“everything?

yoongi’s eyebrow is raised, not expecting that answer at all

you look back to the new feature, and nOW that you think about it,, there's no cohesion at all

“y-yes. the shop was going for the theme of uhm, everything... all at once — yeah, that's it. everything all at once."

it’s a nice way to put it when not one bit of the new collection goes together

“hmmmm. i like it,” yoongi nods solemnly and tilts his head, “and the material?"

"the material?"

you repeat, eyesight not the best so you can’t really tell anything off the bat or uh aNYTHING really

"t-the material is shirt."

they're all shirts!!! that’s it

yoongi grimaces in disgust, the first time you’ve seen of it

“what?? you can't say that.”

he outsretches his hand to the nearest article, holding it up by the hanger

"this, right here, is satin. see how it shines like silk, but doesn't feel like silk?"

uhm yes

you have a gist of what he’s saying but yes

yoongi picks up a pink button shirt this time, flipping it inside out

"this, is silk charmeuse. look at the inside, is it smooth?"

okay where is he going with this

he urges you to put your hand on the fabric and uhhh you didn't sign up for this???

it looks smooth, sure!! end of discussion

"yea-..."

“it's not. it's rough. it is smooth, but it's dull. silk charmeuse is still silk, but the backing it has is different from the lustrous part."

okay yoongi

you’re starting to feel uncomfortable and it has to do something with the tone he’s using on you

“can't believe you didn't know that!! how about this," he plucks out a shirt with a tiny print at the middle of it, "cotton or polyester and rayon?"

"i don't-"

there’s an itch in your neck that you want to scratch, a tell-tale sign that you just wANT to remove yourself from this situation

“come on!! it's a dead giveaway!!"

:((

why is he being like this?

toon-teen-ten!

“y/n, panty section please. jin almost got bit by a mouse and he needs comforting. two minutes until opening, people!!"

jungkook speaks at the right moment, and jin’s little incident is enough of a reason for you to bolt

yoongi's still looking at you but you can't afford to embarrass yourself further

“bye. happy shopping."

huh?

yoongi’s face falls when you leave as cold as that!! typically when you were going to show him out (when it’s regular shop hours), there’d be a smile :((

there's not even a customer service smile :(((

yoongi goes to the only cashier that's open so far and it happens to be far away from you and a teary seokjin

seokjin's fine he didn't even get bit!! that much he could say

but are you okay? uhhh you kinda went cold on him by the end and he thought he started on a good note

yoongi doesn't visit for another week and you don't find yourself counting the days until you meet him again

you did not have a devil wears prada moment where anne hathaway has an epiphany for fashion knowledge

you just felt belittled at a job that isn’t exactly what you wanted anyways

needed, yes. but wanted? not exactly

you know that basic knowledge about clothes is required in a retail job like this and you have it!! you do!!!!

you’d know more if only there were actual available resources for employees to know!!! nobody besides yoongi asks anyways

you’d know if you have time to yourself and aren’t working two jobs trying to make ends meet and tHEN you could pull up a book or something!!!

you’d know if your life is as lax as yoongi’s and could have the budget to buy new things for yourself every single week

“jin, i need to ask you something.”

he hums as called, looking at you briefly until you get on with it

“do you know the difference between silk and silk charmeuse?"

he shrugs casually while you're sitting inside one of the closed-off fitting rooms to catch a break, sharing a burger because the store’s packed-packed

why did you ask him? it’s too easy

“one's made by worms, and the other's a pokémon."

that,.,., could not possibly be righti* it brings you a laugh and you honestly don’t even try to correct him

it’s 11:15 and you kNOW it’s time to resume your shift, straightening your shirt because atleast one (1) person would hound you when they see a familiar red lanyard

oh you’re hounded alright

“hi! almost thought you were hiding from me for a second.”

yoongi????

oh

you haven’t seen him for a week and you don’t know what to feel in all honesty

"anyways, is this sweater wool or cotton?"

wow

you're quite speechless as he holds up the item

really?

this thing all over again???

why are you even surprised

the only thing that yoongi gets your customer service smile, fishing your hand from inside the sweater to show him

“70% wool."

that's it???

NO GOOD MORNING????

you're mad at him, aren't you?

he knew it :((

he knew something was wrong but he just didn’t know what

he’s gonna fix this!! he will

which is why the very next day, he takes the day off from his work and comes to the store at a time he knows you’d surely be there

you're on cashier duty and you like it actually :D

you have an option to sit and the way you’re just gonna scan pricetags (and occasionally enter the code if it doesn’t work) is really appealing

“good morning!"

you’re about to grab the items from the basket laid on the counter and your eyes could only see the very familiar hand

the same one you’ve seen go through racks and racks

yoongi??

he sets his items one by one, buying himself more time

the first one is the same exact sweater he came to wait for before opening

“you already bought this."

you tell him even before you could hold it back, looking back at him briefly before you scan the tag

“i know. i just wanted to see you."

oh

oh

yoongi threw a bunch of other items (individually) so it would be a longer talk, but you scan each item quickly that he’s grabbing things from the counter

hand sanitizer!!! hair ties!!! keychains!!!! yeah he needs them

“i'm sorry that i tend to spring shit on you most of the time. you don't need to know the difference between silk and silk charmeuse."

you only chuckle then, a meek smile on your face

"it's okay, yoongi.”

“it's not."

... it’s not?

yoongi fidgets, opening and closing his mouth like he’s nervous!!! he’s never had his credit card cancelled but he could only feel that this type of jitterness is more than the former

“can i make it up to you? no lanyards, no baskets, no customer service?? i don't wanna fuck things up with you."

“don't feel obligated-"

“i know i could be a condescending ass who expects people to automatically know fabric and whatnot, but i wanna make it up to you."

alright yoongi’s a really good apology-maker

you mIGHT be even flustered a little

“you're holding the line, yoongi.”

“i cleared my schedule."

“i haven’t!!!!!” - guy in the back

“dinner at my place at 8. i-i promise to make your hard-earned break after your shift worthwhile!!!"

hmmm

maybe that wouldn’t hurt

“okay. just because you're holding the line."

“fine by me."

:))

yoongi transfers all the items he bought, all but one, to his tote bag

he hands back the paper bag to you, scribbling his address on the back of the receipt before he does

he lingers a little while at the counter, the people behind him ALREADY switching lanes to the one seokjin’s just opened beside you

it's the sweater that he has too

yoongi scratches the back of his head, this time being the meek one

“what? m-matching sweaters for our first date. s'cute."

[theanonymouswriterb]

Dusk til’ Dawn

Prologue: The Queen saved the King

Paring: Kim Taehyung x Reader

Mafia Au Series

Warning: SMUT, literally porn on paper 😗, lots of fluff, violence, gang, bratty!reader, dom!tae, daddy!tae, daddy kink, babygirl kink, punishment, bigdick!tae, rough sex, make up sex, lots of after care, pregnancy kink, oral!sex, deep throating and everything in between🤧

Warning in this chapter: just blood, wounds and guns, well a gun

Word Count: 5.1k

Summary:

Kim Taehyung, Now a feared and well known crimes boss but not was he always the man that he is today, searching for the women that saved him on the day that changed his life forever. Willing to sacrifice everything to find the women that could tame him.

One day after 5 years she shows up in his night club, will he be able to hold himself back from taking her and claiming her as his queen or will he do what he do everything in his power to make her his?

A/N: Hi, this is the first chapter that I’m releasing and it’s basically the prologue of how they met, hope you guys like it, if you want to be tagged please tell me and don’t forget to leave some feedback. Also I might be releasing chapter 1 tonight or early tmr, I just need to read though it for mistakes. Much love 💕😗 -B

~

Next chapter

Five Years Ago

The sound of police sirens roams the city, as darkness and fog rain down on Seoul city. Helicopters roaring the skies and the bad guy trying to hide. Kim Taehyung, A man being tracked down by polices and rival gangs from a exchange gone wrong, blood spewing from his stomach and bruises on his face as he runs through the alley. The only thing in his mind right now is to survive the night and make it make it back home alive, or at least die trying.

He keeps running and running for his life as he hears footsteps behind him like the devil is chasing me to take away his life and drag him to hell but he isn’t ready to die yet! Not just yet. He still has a lot more things to accomplish and until he does that not even the devil himself can drag him to hell.

The cut in his stomach is deep and the pain his unbearable but he has to keep it up and there’s no stopping cause if he’s stops he’ll get caught like a mouse in a trap. But he is no mouse, no fucking mouse at all. He’s a fucking mighty lion, no a fucking Dragon that’s roaring and will get his revenge on the people that played him, the ones he thought were family and sold him out. He will kill who ever gets in his way but he’ll just have to survive the deadly night as it calls out to him .

The pain keeps worsening and worsening but he doesn’t know what to do but clutch onto the stomach and hope for the best. A dragon doesn’t die easily, it’s gonna take more than a pack of Hyenas to take down this mighty Dragon.

But the Dragon wasn’t always like this, he had a family, that until he was left in front of an adoption center with no note no fucking idea of where he came from or who his parent were, he spent all his life trying to find out what happened that night that someone decided to leave him, was he not worth the love that a baby deserved? Was he that worthless that his parents gave him up for adoption? Was he not enough. These sentences rang through his mad all his life up til now, the day he’s praying to what every god is listening to him to not let him die, he will keep fight on and on until he’s on top of the food chain.

Kim Taehyung grew up to do bad things, very bad bad things, join gangs at a very young age, was made into the leaders puppet and rose up slowly to be the right hand man of the Cobra gang.

The cobra gang was well known gang of youths in their 20s doing wilds shits like shootouts with the police and drug dealing and selling girls, the reason Kim Taehyung joined the gang at such a young age was to survive, he didn’t like the idea of selling people, doing drugs or anything as such but he had to survive, in a world full of

Cobras and Hyenas he had to survive. He mad a living out of this and he rose to be the right hand man of the Cobras but oh man, that didn’t didn’t go down well.

Did it!?

The thing that burns him was that he was never a Cobra, never was and never will be.

A few miles away at Seoul estate town houses ~

Walking into her house Y/N sighed, “can this day get any worse” she flopped down in the sofa and looked at her phone, hoping for a call from a certain someone, but what was she hoping for?

She got up from the sofa and strutted up to her master bedroom. From the ceiling hung a huge diamond chandelier, to the side floor to ceiling widows, fine famous artwork hung on the walls and in the middle room, her queen sized bed made for the queen herself. Her room was every girls dream, a large space with with many expensive things, a humongous walk in wardrobe filled with designer clothings, shoes, purses and more. Y/N could get anything she wanted, whether it’s cars, houses, clothes, she could get anything she wanted, but she was no brat. Well maybe sometimes.

Walking into the closet, she took her suit attire off, she was promoted to the creative designer of Givenchy and got everything she wanted on her way up the ladder but the pressure on her shoulders were too real. She looked at the mirror in mirror in front of her and saw her figure, she was a beautiful girl no doubt about that, she was fine as hell, the only thing that could fault her was her mind, the mind that thinks she could be a failure to her family.

After changing into a white tank top and joggers she walked back out into her bedroom and down towards the living room that Intertwined with the kitchen.

Y/n turned the kettle as she walked from the kitchen to the living room, she sat down on her sofa and smiled as she turned in the tv “ finally, I get to sit the fuck down” she groaned. As she scrolls through Netflix a call comes through a phone. She looked at her phone screen and smiled at the name of no one else but her best friend E, short for EziKia, a girl she has known since she was a baby, their fathers grew up together and were very close with each other and that’s how they greet up to know each other. “Hey bitch” her best friend spoke “ how was work?!” She continued. As Y\N looked at the TV she replied “girl it was a disaster, you know how I get when I have to present my work”. “I know” her best friend laughed “But I’m sure you did fine and I’m sure they loved every bit of your design for the new collection” her best friend smirked as she spoke, “I’m already proud of you, I’m fucking excited for the new collection to drop”

Y/n’s a young girl, she always grew up with her parents love and affection but couldn’t find her place in the world, alright she had everything she wanted from her parents, finding love within her self was hard. Yes she has confidence, yes she’s amazingly breathtaking and beautiful, she doesn’t need anyone to tell her then cause she knows that and she knows she bad and she can get everything she wants in this world. She knows she worth all that. But why is it so hard for her to find love, not with any man but within herself, it is almost as if she hides behind this facade of confidence. Her insecurity’s ushers to come out of her but she builds this facade to hide it front he world. And the one thing she is most scared of is losing her family if she doesn’t make them proud. She feels as if it’s hard to love herself and make everyone else proud of her.

Y/N groaned as we moved on the sofa and said “I hope so, enough about me and my day, how was yours?” Ester sighed “ my day was amazing until I got home and got into an argument with my Khai” Y/N rolled her eyes and asked “what was the argument about this time?!” “ He dreamt that I cheated on him and he got mad at me!” Y/N couldn’t hold I get laughter and laughed out loud “ what the hell, now that is too funny”

“ well now he’s still mad at me for no reason and I won’t be the first person to apologize cause it wasn’t me fault to begin with”. EziKia replied

“Well it was your fault” Y/N began “ you cheated on him” “In his dream”they both said at the same time.

Ezikia and her boyfriend Khai have been dating for a while now and they’re hopelessly in love but they argue about the summery things in the world, which is why Y/N think they’re a perfect match cause they’re literally dumb and dumber.

The kettle hissed and Y/N spoke “ what’re you up to now anyways” as she Stirred her tea waiting for ester to reply. “ nothing if I’m honestly just playing games at the moment” she laughed out,”what about you”. “ just made some tea and about to watch haunted on Netflix” Y/N replied and she sat down on the sofa and pressed play.

A moment of silence filled the room.

“Have you spoken to J yet?” The voice of her friend E rang through the phone

“Who?” she replied

Sighing out in frustration her friend spoke “ You know who Y/N, you can’t stay mad it him forever he’s also your friend”

“I’m not mad at him E” she hushed out looking at her phone.

J short for Jungkook was Y/N other friend, they were very close, they loved each other but they both didn’t have the guts to tell each other that, it could fuck up the friendship but it was only friendship right?, they would always fight and instantly make up but this was different, they weren’t speaking but it’s not like it’s her fault....right? J was always a nice guy, treating her the best, they would always flirt with each other but it wasn’t anything serious, it was always just games but when she saw him kissing another person, her heart felt like it exploded and she felt like she had been betrayed and betrayal was too real to bear.

But how could this be a betrayal if they aren’t in love? That’s what they both keep telling themselves right?

He’s not her responsibility and she doesn’t love him like that, but she keeps lying to herself and he betrayed her and so she can’t let it go. Not just yet, she just needs to stay mad at him just a little longer.

The rain began to fall as she spoke to her friend, they laughed and continued speaking, hours has passed and the clock struck midnight and they said their goodnight and they both hung up. As she continued watching the tv, the rain outside came worse, Turning into a thunder storm. The wind whistled outside and lighting struck and she could hear the Thunder roaring. She began to shiver at the should and the flashes outside her windows “ why the fuck am I sacred of thunder” she whispered to herself as she continued to watch the series, it still came as a shock to her at how she was some what scared of the sound of thunder and lighting but she’s able to sit through and watch a full series of horror stories by herself at night.

Hours and hours had passed as she watched the series and she felt her eyes beginning to fall close and she then drifts of to sleep on her cloud like sofa and feels like dreams.

She dreams about her future, what it would be like if she followed what her parents told her to become, maybe then she would think she wasn’t such a Failure to her family.

Although her parents were always supportive, Y/N felt that she wasn’t enough, she saw the look on their face of disapproval when she said she wanted to become a fashion designer, it was like she disappointed her parents saying what she said and wanting to become a designer instead of a doctor. But her parents were always proud of what a women she had become and loves her deeply. However she felt that just In case her fashion career doesn’t workout, she learnt a few tricks from her older sister who was obviously a doctor about how to deal with someone is had been wounded.

The man still on the run 10 minutes away~

Kim Taehyung on the other hand was also having the worst fucking day of his entire life! How could this get any worse, first the drug and money exchange gone wrong with the rival gang, obviously he was set up to fail by you know who and now he’s not just running from the gang who are out to kill him for more money and truce between the gangs as Kim Taehyung’s boss thought he was out to take his place on the Cobras throne.

Now with the police are after him too, since he was like the “ right hand man to the king “cobra” he knew a lot about him and the police where out to shut all the bullshit down but Taehyung had his loyalty, but how loyal can a ‘dog’ be if he’s been abandoned but he never snitches. Running from the gangs, Taehyung has a run in with the police and they saw him at his venerable place, bruised up and cut deep, so they decided to take him out to show the “king cobra” what they could do with his “people”.

But obviously that was fucking useless cause they used him and played him hard.

And Taehyung was no longer a cobra at this moment of betrayal, Kim Taehyung knew where his loyalty lies and that was with himself, he will get his revenge on everyone that played him, the cobra, the police & his family.

He continued running as his life depended on it, but he never looked back to see if he was being followed he kept his eyes straight forward and went on. The rain kept pouring on him as he ran and ran and ran like there was no end to the road, he suddenly slowed down as he crouched down in pain and held his stomach, “fuuuck” he groaned. He wasn’t going to let today be the day that he died, he had a lot to live for if he wanted his revenge. He got up again clinging to stomach and continued walking. As he approached a few blocks of town houses, he had to get out of the rain and get some help of else he might die, he walked up the stairs to bang in the door but there was no response. He then continued to the next few houses but there was still no response. He groaned in frustration as there was no one to help him. He then saw a light at the end of the block of houses and walks towards the light, walked up the stairs and banged on the door as if trying to break down the door.

He continued banging on the door as if it was his last resort which it was, he whispered out all his might but the only thing that came out was a soft breath “please help” he never thought he would have to resort to begging but here he was outside a strangers door, hair and clothes drenched from the storm asking for help not knowing if the person inside would be kind enough to help a poor stranger in need.

As if he gave up, he leaned against the door and shut his eyes closed, but then he heard foot steps coming from the other side other door and the locks clicked and the door Swung open. He looked up slowly from down at the strangers feet to the face and he saw the stranger in front of him, “wow she’s beautiful” he thought to himself,

“Thank you” he sighed out of relief as his vision became blurry and everything went black.

At Y/N House ~

Y/N woke up from her sleep hearing banging on the front of her door, she lifted herself up from her sofa that was way to comfortable to leave the room and groaned out “ who the fuck is banging on my door at the hour”.

As she got up she realised that she fell asleep on the sofa and left the lamp on.

She looked at her clock and it was almost 3 am, she then whispered “ why do I always either get waken up or wake up at around 3am” as if she was scared and her suspicions came creeping in the back of her mind. And she thought ghost always wonder around at 3 AM. She then was pulled from her thoughts by the loud bang at the door again and she slowly made her way to the front of the house and she saw a figure standing outside, she thought to herself thinking she shouldn’t open up the door to strangers at this hour, as she slowly turned to leave she suddenly hears a cry of help “please help” the stranger whispered silently.

As she heard the cry of help, she thought to herself “ I should probably help this person” “ but what if the pardon is a Pedophile or someone really dangerous” as if her demon and angel thoughts were fighting each other she huffed out a breath and walk towards the door turned the lock opened the door. There stood a tall man twice her size, built like a Greek GOD, dressed in a suit that was drenched from the rain droplets of water falling from his fringe a hand holding onto his stomach that was bleeding, bruises on his face and the other hand holding onto the doorframe. The man then looked from down at her feet, then his eyes lifted up to her face, she then saw him smile for a second then his eyes suddenly shut closed and he fell forwards towards her.

Her eyes grew wide was she was trying to hold her balance and trying to hold a man twice her size that just fainted at her door step. Not knowing what to do as the man’s head laid on her shoulder, she then whispered “ fuck it” then leaned sideways and the man dropped to the floor. Sighing she looked down at the stranger that passed out on her, who she then dropped to the door, frustration and guilt overpowering her mind and she closed her eyes and thought for a moment.

She then crouched down, grabbed him from under his armpits and dragged him a little further into the house and closed the door. She then began to slowly drag him through her house to the living room, “ damn he’s fucking heaving” she choked out. After a though 20 minutes grafting him through her house, She then was able to lay him on her couch that she adored very much and said “ well maybe that wasn’t the best idea” as her white couch began to turn red form blood stain that fell form the stranger. Then her eyes turned to the gun that sat perfecting in the holster wrapped around the mans body. “Shit”. Her face was stoned cold from shock, asking herself why this man had a gun on him and why he was bleeding and she palmed then slapped her forehead, sighing out loud in frustration and anger at herself for helping this possibly dangerous handsome man.

She looked at him and for a few seconds fought with her self, asking herself if she should still help this stranger for all she knows he could be really dangerous. She shook off her thought and went into her bathroom to the her first AID kit to help this poor, passed out man on her couch. She ran back into the living room, crouched down lifted his shirt to tend to his wounds and bruises.

As she opened up his shirt she saw how beautiful he was built, the tone muscles that covered him and the tattoos that bloomed on his chest. She also noticed that he had many scars in his body, the ones where it shows be fought for his life.

As time passes, she stared at the beautiful but bruised up stranger and couldn’t help but feel bad for him, she thought of many things that he must have gone trough and couldn’t help but wonder who this man is.

Time deciding to go really fast~

The clocked struck 7:30 am and very loud pound bang came though the house from the door at the front. Y/N opened her eyes slowly and saw the stranger lying into of her, she hadn’t know that she fell asleep looking at the stranger and she drifted into her thoughts. Then the loud bang pulled her from her thought and she hurried to her feet and went to the door. The door opens and she saw a group on men in uniform. The mother-fucking police. “ Hi miss, sorry to disturb you this fine morning, We just wanted to ask you a few questions if that is ok” she nods her head and the police proceeded to ask the questions. “ Did a man came knocking on you door last night?” She hesitated for a moment and shook her head no and the made some notes in their notebooks and proceeded to ask another. “ Did you see or hear anything suspicious last night” she shook her head again said “ no officer” and the officer furrowed their eyebrows and said “Miss your are not lying to us are you?” she then replied “ no “ and they ushered “ Miss you need to tell us if you saw anything cause this man is a very dangerous man and he killed a lot of people and we need your help” The silence loomed around them but Y/N didn’t say a word. Although she just heard of how dangerous this man was, she helped him and already lied and there was no going back.

She could be arrested for helping a criminal and lying about it. The shock on her face was clear but she payed it off well and shook her head in disagreement and said “no officer, i didn’t see anything or any man of any sort” and smiled softly hoping to get them off her back.

The police stared at her as if they knew she was lying carried on saying,

“ Then miss what is this blood stain that is here on your door step?” She was surprised as she didn’t realize there would be blood at her door step even though a bleeding man was just at her foot steps a few hours ago. She then huffed out trying to sound as smooth as possible, then lied “ You see officer, last night I came home late From my boyfriend house and I forgot my underwear at his house, you know what happened there” she winked “ I came on my period and bled on the floor and I forgot to clean it up” she then thought “what the fuck was I thinking lying to the police like that, this is embarrassing” They’re not gonna believe that are they?

As she opened her mouth to speak again she stopped her herself as she saw the flustered faces on the officers, they then said “ oh, sorry miss, s-sorry to bother you and thank you for your help” then then bowed and turned and walked back to their car.

Y/n shocked at her own words hurriedly shut the door and leaned against it and spoke” fuck that was embarrassing”. As she turned she was greeted with a shirtless man with patched of wounds that SHE patched up holding a gun towards her head. Her eyes then widened in shock but not fear, “ so this is how your gonna treat your saviour?!” She spoke, the silent that came after could Pierce through someone like a knife, he then softly growled in a low husky voice “ thank you “ and lowered his gun. “You’re welcome “ she said as she rolled her eyes, bumped his shoulders and walked past him back towards the kitchen.

He then turned to follow the small girl that helped him last night. As they entered the kitchen he spoke lowly “ so YOU were the one that was bleeding in front of your own door” he asked, she then said with confidence “YES, the reason I said that was to save your ass and I don’t even know you” she turned to look at him and met his ice cold gaze, if looks could kill she would be dead right now. “ that’s right, you don’t know me” he hushed out “ so why would you help me” he raised his gun again. “ Will you stop raising your gun at me” she shouted, he then touched his stomach in pain. She then asked with worry in her voice “ are you ok”.. nothing, there was silence as she watched him crouch in pain. “Yea....I’m fine for now” he whispered, y/n furrowed her eyes brows and looked at him with sympathy and said “ do you want some pain killers?” He nodded and she turned on her feet to search trough her drawers for pain killers and sprung back into the kitchen to give home the medicine. She watched as he gulped down the pain killer with a glass of water and smiled, relieved that she was able to help him. She then broke the silence, “ since I don’t know you, want to tell me who you are?”

“No” he bluntly said he got up to pick his shirt up from the side of the sofa and put it on. “Also, who gave you permission to take my clothes off” he said glaring at her. She then scoffed “ dude, you seriously need to get you anger and manners in check, I helped you and this is how your repaying me!” His gaze soften at her words but then he frowned again saying “you don’t have to tell me every minute that you saved me”

Y/n couldn’t believe what the hell was going on, this man she just saved from DEATH itself never mind the police, DEATH! was treating her like this. But maybe he was right she thought, maybe she didn’t have to shove it in his face every minute that she saved him, “sorry” she said Turning from him as he was finally dressed in his bloodied clothes.

As she walked away, he slowly turned his head and leave into the kitchen, he thought to himself that he should be great full that this beautifully kind stranger helped him when no one else would. He then followed her into the kitchen and watch her make food for them. He watched as she busied herself in the kitchen with her task and a smile crept of his face. There was literally and angel right in front of him but he couldn’t give her the satisfaction of that and so his smile disappeared as she turn to look at him.

They then stared at each other for a few minutes and as if time slowed down he couldn’t believe his eyes, it was like love at first sight, he couldn’t believe he was falling in love with this stranger at their first meet but it couldn’t be love could it? He’s just great full for her helping him...isn’t he?

“What are you staring at” she broke the silence

“Obviously not you” he replied harshly

He has to be rude and he can’t fall in love with her not now and not ever, because of who he is, if he falls in love with her she could be a target to the gangs and it’s not like she’s in love with him anyway, she’s probably so scared for him and wouldn’t want anything to do with him after he leaves. He thought and sighed.

Y/n watched him as he lowered his gaze and thought to her self what this stager has gotten himself into that he’s running from the police, he’s such a beautiful and muscular man with tattoos that covered his body and instantly she almost fell in love. ALMOST. She was just glad she was able to help him and continued looking at him in pity.

A few moments had passed and she continued making the breakfast and he gazed up at her and watch her work.

She could literally be the light of his world but his world is to damn dangerous.

A few minutes later she had made breakfast, she turned and shoved the plate towards him “ Eat . You’ll need the energy” “thanks” he whispered and they both ate in silence. “I’m Taehyung” she looked up towards him as he broke the silence “I’m Y/N” “nice to meet you” he countered and then said softly “thank you for saving my life Y/N”.

Then awkward silence filled the room.

She shyly looked up from her plate and broke the silence again saying “ Why were the police looking for you?”

“ That’s none of your business” he said harshly and glared at her with his Piercing eyes

“Well it’s now my business since I helped you, why the were the police chasing you?” She shouted back

“ I don’t give a fuck that you helped me, I can literally kill you right now” laughing as he spoke out.

“ You really have a rude temper you know that?” She glared

Gazing back at her slowly, he opened his mouth to speak.

“I know” he spoke softly as if she just tamed him.

He watched as she got back to eating, and he watched the way she ate her food and how her lips moved as she continued speaking..as if he couldn’t like her more than he already does, everything she does changes him and makes him weaker than he currently is.

She was a girl full of sassiness and confidence but was also very kind and warm hearted and he couldn’t help but fall hard.

Was it wrong?

He got up as her gaze came up to meet his face,

He then leaned in over the small table and pecked her lips with his.

SMACK!

Out of shock her hand landed in his beautiful bruised face and he groaned out in pain “fuck, I deserved that” as he leaned back in his chair.

“ yes you deserved that!” She shouted back and he rose from his seat, rounded the table and approached her, grabbed her face and kissed her hard on the lips , flames rose up Y/N face and she shoved him backwards and slapped him hard again “ the fuck is wrong with you” she screamed. Taehyung held his face and smirked saying “ thank you for saving me princess”, he turned, put on his blazer then left, Y/N still shocked from what just happen lifted her hands to her lips and touched her lips softly with her fingers as she heard the door closed.

That was the first and last time last time they both saw each other.

The King just met his queen.

Tags: @sugarplummies

[january31st]

I show up to the party just to leave (Venable x reader)

Summary: After a long time of not seeing each other, your brother invites you to his birthday party.

A/N: Title from Amoeba by Clairo. Her new album is like salt on an open wound, but in the softest way possible, and I love it :'). This has been in the drafts for a month and it was supposed to be a quick one to get me out of a slump :/ oops i guess (also i have no idea what this is or how we got here)

The reader doesn’t know about the whole selling their souls to the devil thing

Warnings: Drug addiction, overdose and hospital mentions. 

Masterlist

~1800 words

The brightness inside Kineros was somehow even worse than outside in the California heat. Its whiteness and clean, modern look took you by surprise, given that your brother’s room back home used to be a mountain of unwashed dishes and dirty clothes, his PC setup the only thing you could look at without getting a headache. 

“This.... is insane Jeff” you said as you took your sunglasses off, squinting very hard.

“I told you! I don’t know what’s so hard to believe about it. The whole multi-million company thing wasn’t convincing enough to make you believe this place is nice?” He said as he led you around to his office.

“Well, I’m just saying that coming from you I expected more of a nerd bunker than a sci-fi spaceship”

“Are your standards really that low Y/N?” he said with his hand on his chest, pretending to be deeply offended.

“Yeah, in the beginning you bragged for months about your Van”

“Oh but you can’t say that a company on the move isn’t cool”

“Sure” you said, shifting your attention to the woman in purple sitting behind the desk.

“Hi, you must be Ms.Venable! I’m Y/N, Jeff’s sister.” You said with your hand stretched out in front of you.

She looked from you to Jeff, and then at your hand, considering whether she should take it or not. Slowly, with the help of her cane, she stood up and shook it.

“And I hear you would be joining us to prepare for tomorrow, although I’ve told Mr. Pfister I have it handled.” She said, shooting your brother a menacing look, but you were too distracted by the feeling of her gloved hand still in yours. Had someone turned off the AC?

“I know Ms. Venable, I just had to show her the place before the party so she would believe it is nice. And by having her help get things ready she would know we didn’t mess things around to make it look better than it is” He said, and when you managed to shift your gaze away from her you noticed how Jeff looked. Someone finally taught him respect?

“If I had met Ms.Venable before, maybe I wouldn’t doubt how nice it is.”

“If you hadn’t left home for so long, maybe you would know more about the company”

“If you didn’t have so much blow up your nose all the time back then, maybe I wouldn’t feel the need to run away!” 

“Awww family reunions are so cute” You turned to the circle door on the left side of the room to see your brother’s work partner leaning against it and looking at you two with a pout.

“Oh… hey Mutt” 

“How is my favourite Pfister doing? I can’t believe how long it has been since I’ve seen you bro!” He said giving you a hug you did not expect.

“Hey! What the hell? Your favourite Pfister? Really? Stop flirting with my sister, asshole” said Jeff.

“I’m not! But it’s true, your sister is the best. Back then before we even dreamt of Kineros, the three of us would have so much fun!” Mutt answered, his arm still around your shoulders.

“Yeah I guess, before you two started your bullshit in between the lines” you said, scratching at your nose.

“Oh, speaking of flirting, how is that girlfriend of yours doing?” Jeff asked.

“Girlfriend? What… Ah. Yeah, well- she..” You laughed “ I swear I can’t make this shit up. Has it been that long since we spoke really?” The topic was making you even more uncomfortable, and you noticed that Ms. Venable was looking at you with an almost curious look? Was it? She was hard to read.

“Well, would you believe it, she fell in love with your dear coke instead.” Jeff looked at you as if he had just broken your favourite toy.

“Yea she just dumped me a while back and hit the streets. I tried to look for her, but she was just gone. I have no clue if she’s even alive.”

“Shit Y/N I’m sorry” Jeff said.

“Are you? Or are you still sniffing lines like a mad man?” 

“Technically not lines no.” He said, smiling at Mutt knowingly.

You took his arm from your shoulders. “So you’re telling me that if I punch your ass right now it wouldn’t be snowing in here?”

When he didn’t answer with anything other than laughter you went on “It’s not funny! None of this is funny Jeff! Not now, and not that time I had to take your ODing ass to the ER! And not on all those times you were in withdrawal!”

He only laughed more, and said “It would be hell if that happened again!”

“Jeff! Have you-”

“I’m terribly sorry to interrupt, but the last of the decorations for tomorrow are just arriving.” said Ms. Venable. And despite her low voice, all three of you went silent.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You worry too much”

“What?” You asked through the pen you were chewing at, with your back still turned to her from the top of the chair, as you exchanged the regular lightbulb with a colorful one from the box you were holding.

She didn’t repeat herself for a while, as if she regretted saying anything in the first place. The past hour or so you had barely exchanged more than a couple words, her impassive looks making you assume she just didn’t like you.

“You worry too much about him.” She said, her voice loud and clear this time.

You stepped down from the chair placing the white bulb on the box she was holding with one hand. Thinking about your brother now made something clench on your stomach. To hide how hard it was to find an answer for her, you went to write a check on the lighting part of your to-do list.

“How could I not?” You asked.

“I must admit his lifestyle is… interesting. But it seems to have worked to bring this company to where it is today.” She said.

“I know he’s your boss, but you don’t have to doll-up how things are around here. And don’t give him more credit than he deserves, he is cocky enough about it.” after a pause you added “I know that if it were up to him, he would still be assembling robots amidst his dirty socks. It doesn’t take much to realise who’s behind everything that isn’t necessarily robots here.”

You reached for the box she was holding to go put it away, and noticed she was standing as still as a statue. Grabbing it from her with the ghost of a friendly smile on your face you went on, since she didn’t seem to know how to answer you this time.

“He used to say it helped him think and work better. And maybe it does but as his sister I can’t just ignore it and pretend I’m okay with it. He never takes things that matter seriously.”

“Before we got here I- for some stupid reason- actually thought he stopped it. He isn’t like he was before. Something has changed about him.”

“It has.” She said. “I think his dedication to the job put him in his tracks somewhat. Whatever his tracks are” She added with a smirk.

Giggling at that, you said, holding the checklist for her to see “Now that we´re done, how about we go get a snack and talk about something that doesn’t involve dumb and dumber or their tragic hairstyles?”

Fighting back a smile, she guided you somewhere you could eat, and said “I’m glad you don’t have a bowl cut too.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For the first hour or so Jeff introduced you to random people at the party, none of them getting much of your attention at all. Fancy and famous people, and though it was hard to believe seeing your brother around them- their nice suits next to his striped shirt, jeans and hoodie- you didn’t feel astonished at all. You felt crushed by everyone around you and took every opportunity to avoid dull conversation.

Some of them were surprised to meet you, to see how his casualty wasn’t a trait you shared, and given that you knew this would be a somewhat big party you did, in fact, dress up to the occasion. You decided to wear a nice blazer over a silk lingerie type shirt, straight legged pants and heels, hair slicked back and makeup dark and bold. Anywhere else you would look out of place, but here you managed to melt into the rest of the well dressed crowd. Thankfully that worked to your advantage so you could be away from the center of attention.

On the quick calls you did have, your brother never failed to gloat about his life and how great things were, and a part of you hoped blindlessly that it would mean he left his bad habits behind. Though now as you stood under the coloured lights it was more than obvious that he wouldn’t change, and all the bad memories from his addiction came back to you at once. Overwhelmed by your thoughts and the ambient itself, you made your way to the outside of the building unaware of the tic-toc of a cane following you.

“Where are you going?” her voice pulled you back to reality.

“I don’t know. Just away from this” you said, hand waving in the air. Then you took a second to look at her, as formally dressed as the day before, lilac suit and all, only her expression had changed. Though you knew she would never admit it, her face was contorted in a plea, almost begging for you to stay.

“I thought he changed. I really did. Like a foolish fucking child.”You blurted out.

“You don’t have to leave like this.” She stated, sounding disinterested despite herself.

“I do. I really do.”

“I never come to these events… I hate these people just as much as you do.” You narrowed your eyes at her, waiting for the rest of it, and when it didn’t come you asked “What made you come this time?”

After a long pause she said “I was surprised to meet you. I would never believe your brother had someone as… prudent and sensible in his life.” Another pause. “I’m trying to say don’t leave m-” She stopped herself.

“Then take me somewhere” You said without thinking, looking straight into those brown eyes as they seemed to soften. And for the first time her face twisted into what was definitely, unmistakably, a smile, and all you could do was smile right back.

“Come along then”

[tamagoincident]

To Lure a Bird

arthur morgan x reader

summary: The Van der Linde Gang plans to rob a train, too bad you hit it first. You, being the reasonable person you are, coerce rough-looking men to run a job with you in exchange for the stolen money, and everyone gets more than they bargained for.

chapter: 2/10

link: AO3

Chapter Two - The Man Who Makes All the Decisions

Chapter content warning: brief encounter of sexual harassment

You awoke gasping in the night, heart pumping, heaving in lungfuls of stale air. The darkness of the Saints Hotel room pressed close. You’d dreamt about Emma and Henry again. 

Frightened as you were, you whispered to yourself that you were safe, that the dampness upon your brow was perspiration, and not the spatter of blood from Henry’s gunshot wound. That the screams seeping from the peeling walls were not Emma’s, but recalled from the etchings of your memory. You collapsed back onto the sheets and pulled the blanket over your shoulders, shuddering hard against the nausea prickling in your stomach and praying for sleep to find you once more.

—

Arthur stood at the bar in Smithfield’s Saloon, casual in the way he leaned over it. How at ease he appeared, unapologetic in his taking space. You choked on your envy, allowing yourself to wonder what it’s like to do whatever you wanted, wherever you pleased, unescorted. This feeling climbed as the man seated closest to the entrance pulled his chair out fully in your direction, reclining with his thighs spread. You tightened your grip on the handle of your travel bag and kept your revulsion from showing too much. Folk like that chased any sort of reaction, like they chased down drink after drink.

Ernest waved you over, having noticed how quiet the room fell when you’d walked in through the swinging doors. Arthur remained fixated on his glass despite the change in atmosphere, spinning it idly atop the nicked wood, taking more stock in it than in his surroundings. His voice cut across the idle chatter from the tables. “You even wash these?”

“Funny you ask,” Ernest said, wiping down the bar with a rag. “We’re in the market for a dishwasher. You look right fit for the job.” He abandoned his task at your approach to reach towards one of the dozens of bottles lining the shelves behind him, but you held up a hand to stop him. You needed your full wits to do something as illogical as you were about to, potentially letting a stranger lead you to God-Knows-Where to meet God-Knows-Who, with the pistol shoved in your right boot acting as your sole reassurance.

“So you’re a comedian now, mister? Didn’t realize I was getting dinner and a goddamn show.” Arthur knocked back his shot of whiskey and put the glass down on the bar. You set your bag at your feet and settled yourself in the space beside him. Through the aroma of decades of liquor soaked into the timber of the saloon, you caught a whiff of soap and freshly scrubbed skin. 

“Cursin’ in front of women,” Ernest said, acknowledging you. “Ain't your daddy ever taught you manners?”

“Say that again,” Arthur growled and smacked both palms on the counter, moments away from hopping over it. You cleared your throat before he could hitch a leg up. He turned and froze, as if it surprised him that anyone else was in the saloon at all, let alone you in your best (and only) dress.

The disturbance had caused a bit of rubbernecking your way. While Ernest rattling the clients was always an entertaining diversion, (and privately, you would have seized the opportunity to see Arthur try to throttle him, the mountain of a man Ernest was) an all-out saloon-brawl was counterproductive to anything you’d arrived there to do. The situation had to be defused, and fast.

“I’m not a delicate flower, I won’t wilt from a little profanity,” you said. “It didn’t offend me to hear him swear the first time we’d met, and it doesn’t offend me now.”

Arthur looked at you. His expression turned from confused to even more confused. Clearly he hadn’t recognized you from your previous encounter. Taking pity on him, you helpfully concealed your nose and mouth with your sleeve, resembling the scarf you’d worn when he met you. He rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment. You dug four bits from your skirt pockets, sliding them onto the counter to Ernest. “For this man’s next drink.”

“Couldn’t tell it was you without the get-up you was wearing the last time,” Arthur grumbled, and accepted the second shot of whiskey, placated for now, “or without the rifle.”

The rifle wasn’t concealable, and it hadn’t fit in the bag with your other travel necessities, so you left it with Ernest. You’d come back to Valentine to retrieve it later, at the right moment, along with half of the train score you had hidden away in a lockbox. “Had to try to look somewhat respectable for a negotiation. If there will be a negotiation, that is. Didn’t want to show up in my dusty travel clothes.”

“You look naïve, and an easy target to swindle,” he said, sparing a glance toward Ernest, who only cocked an eyebrow in response. Arthur cleared his throat. “Not that I’d do something like that. You see, I’m an itinerant worker, laid off from a factory—”

“Save it, please,” you said. “I’m not interested in divining who you really are or where you’ve come from. What I am interested in is whether you can help me with that offer we discussed. From your countenance, I assume your friend decided to take me up on it, against your better judgment.”

“What’s wrong with my countenance?”

“You’re scowling.”

“I ain’t,” he said, scowling. You put your hands up, conceding.

“He said he’d meet with you,” Arthur said. He brought the glass up to his lips. “Still decidin’ if I want to spin him a tale that I came to Valentine, but you never showed. Or, I could just rob you. I don’t think he’d mind that as much.”

“You just said you wouldn’t swindle me,” you accused.

The corner of Arthur’s mouth twitched, as if he wanted to laugh, but didn’t wish to act on it for fear of appearing too amicable. “You said we’d get half the money upfront?”

“Yes. You’ll get half if we can come to an agreement, and the other half once Emma is home safe.”

“I’m gonna be honest,” Arthur said. “We already went through an ordeal with that train, risking our skin to come up empty-handed. Now you want to pay us to risk it again with the score which should’ve been ours in the first place. This might end up being more trouble than it’s worth even with the seventy dollars you promised on top of it.”

“Hey lady, how much for your company?” A grunting voice emerged from behind you. You ignored it, too immersed in assessing the value of all your worldly possessions, your rifle among the other trinkets you had stashed away in different locations. You didn’t own land or assets to sell or put up for a loan. The single thing of monetary value in your possession was Henry’s wedding ring, and you’d hang before pawning that off. It’d been his dying request to return it to Emma. They’d only been married for five months when he was killed.

“I said, how much?”

Ernest jabbed his finger at him. “You best shut your mouth and sit back down ‘fore I drag you out of here, you drunken fool.”

 “Weren’t talkin’ to you.” A hand clapped on your right shoulder, jerking you backwards. “I was talkin’ to this uppity bitch—”

You only had a brief moment to recognize the man as the one from earlier who’d leered at you. In the next second, he was flat on the ground, clutching his newly crooked nose. Arthur was towering over him, shaking out the soreness of the impact from his hand. He bent down and, without so much as a word, wiped his bloodstained knuckles on the howling degenerate’s shirt. Apart from his slightly mussed hair and the wild promise of barely restrained ire lurking in his eyes, an eerie calmness rolled off of him.

So much for preventing a brawl. 

“You broke it! You fuckin’ broke it!”

“Hey,” someone piped up from the cards table. “Ain’t that the feller who damn near beat Tommy to death the other day when Hubert was workin’?”

“That was you Hubert was talkin’ about?” Ernest said to Arthur. “You owe us money for the window you smashed through, my friend.”

“How much was it to replace?” you said. “I can pay—”

More wailing. “I’m gonna skin you alive!”

“You know, Tommy ain’t been right since,” another person called out. “He may be an imbecile, but he’s our imbecile! You think it’s fun beatin’ on all of us?”

People were getting out of their seats. “Yeah!”

“Let’s go,” Arthur barked at you amid the jeering.

“My bag—” you said, surveying around your feet for your belongings. In the chaos, Arthur had grabbed it for you and was heading to the door. You struggled not to trip over your skirts in pursuit, casting one last apologetic look to Ernest, who seemed like he wanted to go after you. 

Arthur stood outside, unhitching his horse from the post. The temptation arose to make a jest, to smooth the terse silence with something guaranteed to irritate him further. You swallowed it and instead listened to the bustle of wagons and barking of stray dogs. 

“Grab your horse,” he said. “You can follow me. We got a bit of a ride south from here. Can’t for the life of me figure out why he wants me to lead you to camp, but I’m tired of arguin’ with him.”

You wondered who exactly Arthur was referring to. At the Trading Post, he’d hinted at a leader of sorts, the one who had yet to be named. You thought to ask for it, but there was a more pressing issue at hand. “I don’t have a horse. Not since my last one ran off.”

“She doesn’t own a horse,” he said to no one in particular, a moment of exasperation to the universe perhaps, if you had to guess. “How the hell you been getting around? Hot-air balloon?”

“Much less exciting than that, I’m afraid. Trains and stagecoaches. Sometimes I borrow a horse from Ernest. Sometimes I ‘borrow’ from strangers and return their horses before they’re missed.”

“I’m not even gonna pretend all that trouble you put yourself up to makes any sense,” Arthur grunted in response, strapping your bag to his saddle. “Alright, then. Come here.”

You didn’t move. In your hesitation, you considered beginning your rescue plan anew, using the train money to pay for hired guns, which you had wanted to avoid. If the first meeting between the two of you had gone well, the incident in the saloon had gone every bit as astray. But Arthur had intervened on your behalf, which you appreciated, regardless of the issue it had caused. You thought if there was any chance of a man caring whether or not Emma made it back alive, he was it. And there was the small detail of the score you lifted off his hands. You imagined it wouldn’t go over well if you offered it to another group.

Arthur placed the tip of his boot in the stirrup and hoisted himself up and over the saddle. He lowered his hand. This, you accepted with thanks and up you went onto the back of the horse. At this proximity, the scent of soap you’d noticed in the saloon was stronger. You couldn’t remember the last time you met a man who bathed with any regularity, let alone bathed at all.

“Might want to hold on to somethin’,” Arthur murmured. Your hands scrambled for purchase on the cantle as the horse fell into a trot. 

And off you both went, past the gun shop and the train station, the muddy roads shifting into dusty trails the further Valentine receded from view. You were glad to quit the miserable little town if only for a moment, and though you hadn’t any high expectations for your destination, you hoped it smelled better.

“You mentioned you’re taking me to a camp. How big is it?” you asked.

“Suppose you’ll find out soon enough,” came the curt reply. 

“Then, how many people are with you? Besides you and your friend.”

“Ain't you full of questions,” Arthur said. The pistol hidden in your boot felt heavier. It might be enough to fend off several people if they decided to take back by force what they believed to be theirs, but an entire camp? You reprimanded yourself for not thinking this whole thing through.

The horse veered left. Though you sat quietly, your mind was rife with uneasy thoughts. The sun blazed high in the sky, but it would soon begin its descent. You wish you’d asked to meet earlier, having not considered where you would lay your head down tonight, especially if your offer was declined. In all likelihood you’d end up sleeping propped up against a tree in the good company of hungry mosquitoes. Or hitching a twilight ride back to the Saints Hotel with some shifty wagoner. It wouldn’t be the first time you’d done either.

Arthur said something, which you were too deeply absorbed in your misgivings to have caught. You asked him to repeat himself. “I said, it’s not too much further now.” 

The horse picked up its pace. Suddenly you were aware of the soreness in your biceps from straining to grip the back of the saddle. Squeezing your thighs harder to maintain balance, you wrapped your arms around Arthur’s torso. If the unexpected contact startled him, he did not show it.

“I never thanked you earlier,” you said.

“For what?”

“Quieting that fellow back in the saloon.”

“I reckon you could’ve done it yourself. One minute you’re firin’ a rifle in my direction. Next, you’ve gone all feeble and quiet.”

“If I rose hell whenever someone pestered me, sir, I wouldn’t be here to pester you.”

This earned you a laugh. You felt sorry you weren’t able to see it. “It’s Arthur Morgan,” he corrected. 

Arthur Morgan. You’d known to call him Arthur from that friend Marston of his, but now that you knew both names, you thought it sounded familiar. You racked your recent memory for it, coming up empty. It was a common enough name, anyway. 

“You ain’t told me your name,” he added.

“That’s right, Mr. Morgan. I didn’t,” you said. And that was that.

—

“Coming through,” Arthur shouts as the horse slows. You crane your head to see who he’s speaking to when you spotted a man stepping into the clearing, adjusting the bowler hat atop his head with his left hand and swinging a rifle with his right. Your arms slipped away from around Arthur’s waist, back to gripping the cantle for support.

“My my, what’s this? Returning with a girl before the sun goes down,” he says with a wide grin. “You’re getting romantic in your old age.”

Arthur groaned. “Do you ever shut up? You fill every waking moment with your nonsense.”

The grin grew impossibly wider. Tilting his head up towards you and Arthur, you were just close enough to make out this man’s freckles beneath the shadow cast by his hat’s brim. “I’ve plenty of time for peace and quiet when I’m six feet under.”

“Just another reason to hasten you there,” Arthur said, then, softly to his horse, “Come on, girl.”

“He doesn’t really mean that, you know. He loves me,” the man called as you passed by, “Isn’t that right, Arthur? Like an older brother, I’d say!”

The horse stopped at a hitching station just beyond the camp entrance. Off you went from the rear of it, lowering yourself until your boots hit the grass. “Quite the lively introduction,” you said to Arthur.

“That boy is too busy cracking jokes and chasing skirts to do much of anything useful,” he said, dismounting. 

“He’s amusing,” you said. “It’s a breath of fresh air from all the prickly folks around these parts. Look at them wrong and they’ll be twitching for their gun.”

“About as amusing as an insect buzzing in your ear.” Arthur led you to a table, gesturing to the folding stools. “You can sit here a moment. And don’t talk to no one.”

You peered down at the tabletop, noticing copper stains that had long seeped into the wood. “Is that blood?”

Arthur shrugged. “Or you can stand, if that’s your preference.”

You tracked him as he made his way straight to the center of camp, to the largest of the surrounding fixtures, a cream-colored tent that stood proudly over all the rest, watchful. He stopped at the entrance, waiting for the dark figure inside to turn towards Arthur as they stooped slightly, perhaps to grab something. 

The figure emerged finally, joining Arthur outside of the tent’s shade. Sunlight beamed against glittering rings on fingers wrapped around a smoking cigar. You squinted.

Oh God, you thought. That’s Dutch van der Linde. You read about him in the New Hanover Gazette. Your mind ran miles per second as you put bits of information together. You had passed his face on wanted posters during your travels, passed Arthur’s too, lingering above a five-thousand dollar reward for one of the largest heists in Blackwater history. A heist that had seen a dozen or more people dead. And now you were in their camp, a camp that bounty hunters across several states would pay a pretty penny to find.

Those wanted faces turned to you. Arthur waved you over. Your legs grew heavy, rooting themselves to the ground. You had a decision to make.

[pepperpills]

The Harvest - RE8 fanfic

The Harvest

A Resident Evil 8 fan fiction by Joana

Notes: It is a headcanon of Karl Heisenberg x Female Reader. I will be uploading chapters' parts everyday and a new chapter will be out every tuesday. English is not my mother tongue, so sorry if there are any grammar mistakes. Please, feel free to enjoy hehe

NSFW content.

Part I – Destiny (1)

It had been a week since the encounter with the creature in the woods surrounding Karl Heisenberg’s lot. It wasn’t the weirdest event you have seen though, of course; you grew up in one of the cabins close to the Village, you, and your people, were way familiar to the rusty metal sounds, the night fogs and the guttural growls living in the forest around the houses. Because of that, one day, when they grew nearer, your people knew the time had come and you too would be absorbed by the Village, being lead – not to say forced – to worship Mother Miranda and her children.

At first, it was odd, the mood was mournful as if your own family had lost the brightness of joy in their irises. Everything there felt uncanny as there was a sweet and mistrusting mist in the air.

You have always known about Miranda and the four lords, but had never laid your own eyes on them. Until your 20s, they have been nothing but whispers in the distance, folk stories to scare the youngsters, so they wouldn’t go too deep in between the trees and their twisted thin branches.

As the months and then the years passed by, your people started making that place feel like home. Luiza, Urias and their own have been very kind and supportive to all of you, they’ve shown you their believes, their rituals and their daily life; in return, the cabin folk shared their knowledge on herbs, flowers and wild animals, which meant hunting instead of raising them. It worked out fine, anyway, you knew you couldn’t stay in the cabins forever, there would be a time when the Village would grow and it did.

To this extent, you felt comfortable, you actually started sharing a feeling of belongness, especially when it came to rituals and festivals. It was astonishing how the Village would gather, sing, dance, bake and eat on special dates – mostly agricultural calendar ones – and helping organizing it, putting up the decorations, the horns distributed in clothes-line, the red fabrics waving as flags on the ceilings, all of these things were very reassuring.

Years passed by and transformed you into a woman, you had your periods every month, the etiquette practices and the daily choirs such as baking and feeding the animals (now you had pigs and chicken to look after). This, however, bothered you, not the baking though, that made you happy, but you would much more appreciate to help your father and brother with the machinery and hunt with the men, which you did, only hidden, for sport maybe, until you improved your stealth and archery abilities so it became a part of you that you liked much more than singing by the lake while doing laundry with the wives, even though that too had its appeal – music always got the best of you, particularly when it came along with dancing.

About the hunt, you would sell it to Duke, the impartial merchant that comes every week. He is the best way to maintain a low-profile about your illegalities, once he also deals with prohibited materials.

Thinking of it, you believe it was fine, definitely bucolic, but you never expected more. And for your mitigation, you had never yet seen all of the lords face-to-face. Miranda came by at least once a month, but mostly spent her precious time with the Village leader. She usually went back to her lot afterwards. The others were… Well, different.

Lady Beneviento was an in-doors person, the only one who had constant contact with her was her groundskeeper who lived closer to her house. Lady Dimitrescu was only seen in her castles’ windows looking way distant and melancholic to anyone that far from her stand. Her daughters too never left the upright protective stone walls, no one knew why, neither bothered to find out. Sometimes girls from the Village would be sent to the castle in order to serve them as handmaiden, some of them came back on special dates, but never spent the night in the Village.

Lord Moreau was the only one who visited more frequently, usually fixing demands for his experiments. He never stayed too long, he probably sensed that the people had less interest on him than they had in the other lords, which kind of made you pity Lord Moreau; however, you never had the courage to speak to him anyway and it didn’t feel very possible to be friends with the lords.

The last one, Lord Heisenberg, you had only heard in the distance when exploring the Altar surroundings, hidden from the others once it wasn’t allowed to be there without a good motive. The villagers told you, sitting around the fire in windy twilights, that he used to wander around more decades ago. Back then most of your friends were kids and nowadays don’t remember him very well, just his temper as he tends to easily lose patience.

They don’t know what made him stay in his factory for so long, but through the time he has been recluse, some said the metal noises have risen as if he has been working to exhaustion on something. When they told you these stories, you hoped never to find out and feared The Harvest.

That was it for your historic with the lords, at least until three months ago when you turned twenty years old and The Harvest took place again. The 20s was a unique age for the villagers, it was when they would know for sure if they had been chosen by Mother Miranda for some position in her family’s choirs. If you were free, as you’d like to say, you should start thinking about your role in the Village, finding a partner and leaving your parents’ place, if not… You would serve, not sure exactly how.

For your absolute pleasure, your 20th birthday was the most beautiful ceremony you had ever attended while living in the Village. It made it easier. It wasn’t made only for you, but for all of the young people who were turning that age in that year, as it was traditional to have The Harvest.

The small town was all dressed in light colours, paper lamps gave the paths a magical blue aura, goat wood sculptures painted white were disposed here and there blessing the birthday boys and girls. Women wore lace Prussian blue dresses below the knees and men were in grey linen tunics. People commemorated in the area around The Maiden of War with gasps and smiles.

You were dazzling. Tradition demanded that the 20s wore white, almost transparent, clothes. It was supposed to show you emerging as a pure being into something else, finally you would be considered a part of the mundane world after two decades of only experimenting it.

The families were responsible for their children’s garment, so each one looked different and unique. In your case, your mother, Ana, made a ravishing job, one that you could only have dreamt of.

Ana sewed you a white mesh ruffle midi dress, almost off shoulder if it wasn’t for the thin straps that held it there. The down skirt’s fabric was tulle and in the breast area you had a lace to tighten it, the ruffle there also worked on hiding your boobs, so you wouldn’t feel completely naked, only your nipples would show due to Fall’s weather.

After celebrating throughout the afternoon with wine, fresh pies, music and the villager’s affection for you and all the 20s being demonstrated, the night fell upon the Village and the oil lamps were lite, they started dancing in your vision like phantasmagorical illusions, inviting you to follow the way they headed. You didn’t fully understand back then, but it probably was Beneviento’s work.

Your heart throbbed immediately, the euphoria peaking your skin, making you feel electric. Maybe you were drugged, maybe a bit drunk, that didn’t matter, once what mattered was that you were absolutely surrendered by the moment. It felt almost like gluttony, the atmosphere made you want more of whatever there was to so deeply desire.

Attending the call, one by one, the 20s started walking towards the ceremony site were their parents, Mother Miranda and the four lords should be waiting for them. That year there were twelve of them, one more than last year, equally divided between men and women.

Even though it was prohibited for any villager, besides Luiza and Urias, to go past the area of the Altar, you knew where you were heading, you have explored every inch of the Village, quietly, never daring to talk about it with someone. On The Harvest, though, you were being guided. A magnificent deer appeared in front of you, it moved slowly, unafraid of your presence, he glanced at you and walked towards the site. You couldn’t help, but following it, somehow you were sure it would lead you to a pleasant event.

Past the gate and there they were, the four lords all together for the first time in your live. Strangely, you felt seduced more than scared, maybe it was the deer spells, maybe something else made you feel welcomed. The night was your wonderwall and nothing bad could happen to you.

[kpop---scenarios]

Watch Me

Pairing: Baekhyun x Cam Girl! Best Friend

Warning: Smut: Choking, Slight Overstimulation, Anal, Dirty Talk.

Word Count: 4k

Summary: You and Baekhyun are bestfriends, but he doesn't know about your cam life.. or does he?

You'd be lying if you said you hadn't thought about having your best friend, Baekhyun ram his cock into you, but that was something you could never tell him you wanted. You laid in your bed, thinking about the night you just had with him, and a few other friends. You all had decided to go to the club for a good night of drinking and dancing, and as usual, you and Baekhyun drank far too much during one of your drinking matches. You always had to see who would win, and it was always him and the loser had to do a dare of the winner's choice. 

"Mhm.. you see that guy over there?" Baekhyun asks, pointing to a guy doing some very.. interesting moves on the dance floor with a girl. 

"Yeah.." you respond, hesitantly. 

"Go and put yourself in between him and the girl and start dancing on him." Baekhyun chuckles.

With a raised eyebrow and a determined face, you slid off the stool, and strutted over there, shaking your ass in the process. 

Without any hesitation you squish yourself in between the couple, spitting a small apology at the girl before wrapping your arms around the guys neck. You sway your hips to the beat of the music grinding against his leg. 

Seconds later you let go, turning around to rub your ass against his crotch, placing his hands on your hips as you shake your ass into him. You look Baekhyun dead in the eyes as you continue to dance with the stranger. You can see it in his eyes, he's getting mad. His fists clenched in a ball, biting his lip as he watches you. 

Things like this make you question your relationship with him, best friends don't typically act like that. 

You and Baekhyun had been best friends for 5 years, never going a day without at least checking in with each other, talking about hookups, problems, achievements, anything really, but there was one thing you had been hiding from him for the last six months.  He had been there for your lowest of days and your highest. He had seen and heard things that you kept hidden away, deep down inside yourself and for whatever reason, he still loved you. 

Like a best friend. 

You asked yourself often, what changed? When did it change? When did you start seeing Baekhyun as more than just your goofy, clumsy, humorous best friend? When did you start seeing him as a man with muscles, and abs and a thick cock that you wanted to choke on. One instance came to mind, actually. 

**

One night you and Baekhyun had been hanging out with a girl he was interested in pursuing. For whatever reason, he wanted you to come along, you assumed it was in case she was a psycho. The night started out innocent enough, with him introducing you to Elle.

"Ayn, this is Elle." He smiles. "Elle, this is my best friend, Ayn." 

You knew from the moment she set her eyes on you she didn't like you. The way she looked you up and down, and scoffed. You knew she didn't want you there, but you weren't there for her. You were there for Baekhyun and until you thought things were fine or he said you could go, you would be right there. 

The night started out with some drinks at a pub. He sat beside Elle, while jealous knots twisted in your stomach. The way he moved the hair away from her ear before he leaned in to whisper, the way she giggled as he slid his hand up and down her back. It had you wishing it was you, and you hated yourself for feeling like that. You didn't want to be jealous, you didn't want to want him but as usual, you want what you can't have. 

"I think I'm gonna go." You announce, gathering up your belongings. 

"What? Why?" He asks, moving away from Elle, who was desperate to keep his attention. 

"Looks like you guys are good." You smile. 

"No, we're all going back to my apartment. Come on. Please?" He asks, his bottom lip protruding in a pout that you just couldn't say no too. 

"Fine." You laugh, finishing your drink. 

After that, Baekhyun had started paying more attention to you than his date. The two of you held hands while walking down the street, her trailing behind you. You pay no mind to the murmurs she spits behind you. She didn't like you, and you didn't care. 

Baekhyun held your hand up the stairs, pulling you up and laughing, while you assumed Elle had a scowl on her face behind you. The moment you got into his apartment, you threw your stuff on the floor, heading for the kitchen. Baekhyun's house was your second house so there was absolutely no reason for you to not feel comfortable. 

You grabbed a bottle of liquor and three shot glasses before you made your way back to the living room, but the sound of Elle talking to Baekhyun made you stop. 

"I want her gone." He spits. 

You scoff. 

"Just relax. She's my best friend, I can't just kick her out." Baekhyun says. 

"She's annoying, and hanging all over you." She pouts. 

Oh good god. They weren't even dating and she was already acting like this. 

"I'll talk to her." Baekhyun says, walking towards the kitchen. 

"Do you want me to leave?" You ask, the moment he rounds the corner. 

"Oh my god no, help me get her out of here." He pleads. "We're not even together and she's like this. I can't." 

So you did what was typical for you and Baekhyun, you two drank too much, and got flirty, and eventually a little handsy. 

"You're such a shit head." Baekhyun laughs, sitting on the couch, scrunched down, legs spread. 

"You love it." You whisper, walking passed him. Just as Elle had decided to stand up, you assume to sit beside Baekhyun, he grabs your wrist, pulling you down onto his lap, to straddle him. 

Your face is shocked at first, but then you remember his request, to get Elle to leave. He could just be a man and ask her to go, but this way was so much better for you. 

Baekhyun places his hands on your hips as you run your fingers through his hair, leaning your body in closer to his, just putting on a good show.  

As the flirting went on, you almost forgot Elle was even there, until it happened. You were still stradling Baekhyun, his arms wrapped around you as you ran your fingers through his hair. 

"Are you sure you guys are just friends?" Elle asks. 

"Sure." Baekhyun says, his eyes never leaving yours. 

With a scoff, Elle grabbed her things and left, or so you thought, though the two of you didn't really notice. To really sell it, you had been wiggling yourself around. Doing it one last time, that's when you felt his erect cock as you grinded against him. You both stopped what you were doing, staring at each other for a moment before you both slowly inched your lips closer to each other. 

"Ugh." You hear a scoff from the door, before it slammed, breaking the two of you out of your haze. 

You quickly jump off of him, mumbling something about feeding your fish before you walked out of there so fast. You leaned against the wall in the hallway, catching your breath, wondering why you said you needed to feed your fish, when you don't even have a fish. 

That night you dreamt that you and him fucked, and it was the best fucking thing. You wished it was true. 

The next day when you met up for brunch, you both acted like nothing happened and it was never brought up. That was two years ago, and even since then, you've had close calls like that. The sexual tension is strong, especially when you drink but neither of you will make the first move. Whenever you're out with friends, they always ask if the two of you are dating, but it's always a no. You won't make a move because you don't think he could ever truly be attracted to you. In your mind it's a heat of the moment thing for him. You're not what he wants, at least that's what you tell yourself. 

You knew all too well the type of girls he typically went for, and you weren't it. He liked the ones who wore tight outfits, makeup done, nails done, as well as hair, and you were the opposite. You prefered to wear what made you comfortable, which usually turned out to be looser fitting clothes but that didn't mean you didn't have some special outfits somewhere in the back of your closet, and some very specific ones buried under lots of clothes in your dresser drawers. 

**

About six months ago you hit a very rough patch. The man you had been seeing stole your debit card, withdrawing all the money you had in your account and in your savings, and left you, completely high and dry. On your second night of binge eating ice cream and crying, you saw a commercial, one of those late night infomercial type things for a cam girl. No showing your face, paid well, and you made up your own rules. 

Sexuality and sex in general wasn't an uncomfortable topic for you, so if you were going to make it and get paid good money you had to be open, and were you ever. 

You signed up on the website, using the username shykitten82. The first week was slow, but you didn't give up. The second week, you managed to get two people who signed on and paid you $60 each to watch you masturbate with your fingers, legs high in the air as you used your fingers. 

The next week you had four people, who paid you to watch you rub your clit only. Slowly people began sending you money to buy toys for yourself, wanting to watch you use them. They sent you money to buy yourself some sexy lingerie, giving you specific instructions, or just sending you money because they liked you. And you never had to show your face. 

You had told Baekhyun about your ex and his stealing, and him being the sweet man he was offered to help you out, but you told him you had it covered. When he asked how you made so much money so fast, you should have just told him the truth, it's not like you were ashamed but instead 'bartender' is what slipped out of  your mouth, so you went with it. Although now you had the issue of Baekhyun wanting to come visit you at your bartending job and buy drinks from you. You could have said anything. Why bartender? 

It's not as if you hadn't tried to tell him, you did but either you chickened out, in fear of the off chance that he would judge you, or he interrupted you and you just didn't stop him because well, it was easier to say nothing. Until one night. One night that the two of you again, had drank far too much, resulting in you sleeping on his couch in the living room. 

You woke up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom, and on your way you saw the glare of a dim light coming from Baekhyun's room, along with some muffled sounds. Rubbing your eyes, you walk over, peeking around the door frame and that's when you see it. Baekhyun is stroking his cock, watching porn, but not just any porn. 

It was you.

He was watching one of your previous streams, jacking his cock off to you. Cumming to the video of you cumming, listening to you moan. 

You were so turned on now. 

You tip toe away from his room, heading to the bathroom, contemplating on what you do now. Did you confront him? Just tell him about your channel and drop your username without telling him you know, or do you just keep it buried deep inside yourself so you don't embarrass himself or you. 

You ultimately decided to keep it to yourself, maybe one day you would bring it up but that was not today. When you finished in the bathroom, you headed back to the couch, listening to his faint moans, while you rubbed your clit, cumming to the sound of him finishing. 

That night you slept like a baby. 

In the morning, you pushed the thought of the night before from your head, deciding you'd rather enjoy the day you had planned with Baekhyun instead of lingering on that one thing. 

**

"What are you doing tonight?" Baekhyun asks at a late lunch, taking a bite of his French fry. "I was thinking we could see that new scary movie." He smiles. 

"I'm actually busy tonight." You say. You had a special stream tonight, one consisting of you riding two dildos. One in your ass, one in your pussy, a viewer of yours paid you a lot of money to do it. 

"Doing what?" Baekhyun asks, his eyebrow arched. 

"Just have some bartending courses to do online. But I need to have complete silence. So no you can't come over because you are never quiet." You laugh, taking a bite of your burger. 

He may be offended, but he knew you were right, he was loud. 

"Fine. How long will it take?" He asks. 

You didn't know. So you ballparked. "I'm not sure. Like 2, 2.5 hours?" You guessed. 

"Mhm, okay. Start time?" He asks. 

"What's with all the questions?" You ask. 

"Hey, call it curiosity or just being interested in your life." He smiles.

"Around 7, I start." You cough. 

"Okay cool. Well i'll pay, and talk to you later then. I have some shit to do." He says, standing up to walk away. 

You knew he was mad. You didn't think he bought your story of doing a course, but what unfortunately was the only thing you could think of to say. You had no other choice. You watch Baekhyun pay the bill before leaving, walking down the street with his hands in his pockets. 

You felt guilty for the rest of the day. As much as you tried not to, you couldn't help it. You hated lying to him, but it was only a temporary thing. You'd tell him everything, eventually. 

** 

That night you were running late, not starting your show until almost 2 hours after you were supposed too. At 845 sharp, you were dressed and ready to go. You had on a pair of lace, thong panties which made your toys easily accessible to every hole you needed. You wore a lace bra that was see-through, giving a good view of your nipples when they got perky. 

You still didn't show your face so you didn't put on any make up. You had your tripod with your phone on it, ready to go live, the toys you were using, already suctioned to the wall at the right heights. 

You were excited. 

At 9pm on the dot, you begin your live, the viewers flooding in as well as the payments. This was turning out to be the biggest show you'd ever done. You stood in front of your camera, face out of view but perky nipples fully in view as you read some comments. 

'I can't wait for this.' 

'I want to suck your nipples.' 

'I swear I love you shykitten82' 

You giggled as you read the last one. 

"Shykitten loves you too." You moan in your most sexual voice. 

"You're shykitten82?" You hear from behind your phone and ring light. You would know that voice anywhere. 

"Baek.." you stutter, pausing to live with an apology, saying there was a technical error. 

"Answer me." He growls, walking towards you, his face angry. 

"Yes." You admit. 

"I knew it." He smirks, not stopping as he reaches you. You back up until your back is against the wall, Baekhyun's body pinning you there. "You saw me watching the videos last night." He states, cocking his head to the side. "Didn't you?" 

"Yes." You breathe, Baekhyun dropping his head down, his hot breath covering your neck. 

"Did you like it?" He asks. "Did you like watching me stroke my cock while I watched you play with your pussy? Mhm?" He asks. 

"Oh god yes." You moan.

"Why didn't you come in and suck me off then?" He asks. "I know you can take a big cock down that throat of yours." He groans. 

"I.. i didn't know if you.. wanted.." you murmur. 

"You didn't know if I wanted you? Baby, I've wanted you for the last two years." He says, tucking a hair behind your ear. "How could I not?" 

Slowly, Baekhyun leans his head closer to yours, making you stand on your tippy toes as his lips touch yours. The kiss is passionate and needy. He doesn’t hesitate to slip his tongue into your mouth, wrapping his hands around your waist, pulling you in closer into him. You wrap your arms around his neck as he lifts you up, allowing you to wrap your legs around his waist. 

Baekhyun breaks the kiss, pinning you against the wall harder, to keep you up and free his hands. He tears down the cup of your bra, freeing your breasts. He cups your perky breast, dropping his head down to put your hard nipple in his mouth, sucking. He brings his hand up, rolling your nipple in between his fingers as you throw your head back against the wall with a moan. He takes your breast from his mouth, moving his lips back on yours, immediately sliding his tongue into your mouth. 

You can't help but move yourself against his crotch, feeling his growing erection through his jeans as you rub your wet pussy on him. 

"Shit." Baekhyun groans, his cock throbbing. 

"Let me down." You breathe, needing his cock in your mouth. 

You slide off Baekhyun's body, your hands immediately moving to his belt, unbuckling as fast as you could. You pull down his pants and boxers, revealing the thick, veiny cock you knew was in there. Placing your hand on his shaft, you pump his cock a few times, making him throw his head back, letting out some loud moans. You smirk as you open your mouth, taking in as much of him as you could at once, shoving his cock down your throat.

Baekhyun groans at the sight of you taking his cock in your mouth, and the feeling of him going a little down your throat. You look up at him as he starts thrusting his hips, your eyes begin watering as his hands get tangled in your hair while he fucks your mouth, hard. 

"Such a good girl." He groans, pulling his cock from your mouth. "Keep it open." 

You do as you're told, kneeling there with tears falling from your eyes, spit running down your chin and your mouth wide open, waiting for his cock again. 

Baekhyun discards his pants behind him, as well as his shirt before he turns back to you, grabbing a clump of your hair, teasing your mouth with his cock. He gently thrusts his hips, only.giving you the tip to suck on. When you try for more he yanks your head back, only letting you take what he gives you. 

With a sinister look on his face, he pulls his cock from your mouth completely before ramming it back inside, as far as he could go, making you gag and choke. 

"Good fucking girl." Baekhyun praises you, standing you up, seeing the spit and precut slathered across your face. "What would you like now, baby?" He asks. 

"Fuck me in the ass first, please." You beg. 

Baekhyun looks surprised, but he will happily stick it in your ass. He grabs your hand, taking you to your desk where he pushes you down, laying you flat with your ass in the air. He lines himself up with your ass before slowly pushing his way in, stretching it down. 

“Oh my god" you groan. Your hands gripping the desk, tight. “Fuck daddy" you cry out. 

You can hear Baekhyun growl at the name, loving the way it sounds coming from your desperate, needy mouth. 

Baekhyun has a tight grip on your hips as he pushes the rest of his cock into your ass, settling for a minute, enjoying the tightness pulsating around him.  

A few seconds later, without warning, he pulls out and roughly rams himself back into you. Baekhyun doesn't stop with the hard thrusts, your stomach digging into the edge of the desk, but you didn't care. 

"Your fucking ass feels so good baby girl." He huffs, fucking you harder. 

He reaches his hand around and down in and in-between your lips, rubbing your clit, making your entire body tighten. 

“Oh my god. I fucking love your cock" you cry.

"That's right baby. Don't cum until I tell you." He spits, making you cry out more. 

"Please." You beg, your orgasm not far away. 

"Don't cum." He spits, taking his hand away from your clit, and taking away your orgasm. 

Baekhyun pulls out of your ass, yanking your body off the desk by your hair again, and taking you to the bed, where he pushes you down, laying on your back. 

"Be a good girl, and don't cum until I say." He says again. "Got it?" 

"Yes." You pant. 

"Good." He smiles, pulling you forward, sticking his cock inside your soaking wet pussy. "Shit." He groans, slowly sliding in and out of you. 

Without a word, he lays down, almost on top of you, his large hand wrapping around your throat, squeezing as he picks up his pace. 

"Nasty fucking girl." He breathes, squeezing harder. 

He lets go of your neck, giving you a few seconds to breathe. He reaches his fingers in between your lips again, rubbing your clit fast, building up your orgasm again. 

"Tell me when you're going to cum." He groans, rubbing hard. 

As soon as those words left his mouth, your orgasm came fast. "Im cumming." You cried. Baekhyun pulled out of you, inserting his long fingers, fucking you hard with those, while also rubbing yojt clit, making you squirt all over him. "Oh my god." You cry out, your body twisting, needing a break. 

"You'll do it one more time." Baekhyun smirks, taking his fingers from inside you, inserting his cock again but his other hand still rubbing your clit. 

It didn't take long for your overly sensitive clit to build up another orgasm, a smile plastered on his face as you cum all over his fingers and body, again. "So fucking hot." He groans, lifting your legs over his head, pounding the fuck out of you. 

You clench your pussy around him, making him cry out in pleasure, his orgasm coming fast out of nowhere. "Shit, shit." He cries out. "I'm gonna cum." He yells, his hot cum spill inside of you, filling you all up. 

Baekhyun stays inside of you for a moment, both or you catching your breath. Finally, he pulls out of you, laying next to you as both your chests heave, desperate for air. 

"So what now?" He asks. 

"I don't know?" You say. You really didn’t know, especially not what he wanted. 

"Let's see where this takes us?" He suggests. You laugh, but fully agree to just see where things go. 

"Tomorrow though.." he begins, a devilish look on his face. 

"Tomorrow I have to do my live." You laugh. 

"Can I maybe, join you?" He asks. 

"Maybe next time. But tomorrow, you just watch me." You say, excited to see where this new adventure takes you and him.

[the-fiction-witch]

What the ever loving hell!

MOVIE MAZE RUNNER DEATH CURE

COUPLE NEWT X READER

RATING ADORABLE AF

I sat with y/n at one time the only girl I knew in the world, she was always sweet as sugar back in the glade and even though the horrors we had all insured she never completely lost that sweetness. She sat on the rocks as we watched the water, doing some repair work for some clothes as she always did. I kept my eyes on the water trying not to think of minho and what those bastards could be doing to him. 

"Fry? You seen tommy about?" Newt asked as he came over his hands in his pockets 

"He was with Brenda last I saw him" I shrugged

"These gone of with Brenda. For a drive" y/n giggled

"Alright, thanks" he waves before heading back to whatever he was doing, I smiled a little see y/n and newts faces flash red when they spoke to each other. Newt and y/n have been smitten on each other since the moment they saw each other, when she came up in the box one chilly rainy morning, and newt climbed in to get her. But as soon as she arrived alby became very harsh in his rule of no dating gladers, so the two of them never really did much about it, even if everyday I would sit listening to his much of a crush she had on him and every evening listening to him go on about his crush on her. Newt did say he was going to tell her the night before we left the maze but he chickened out. Since then they both just sort of lived with it even if they both clearly liked each other very much. 

"Talk to him" I told her 

"I do talk to him" she says 

"Y/n, properly talk to him. Why don't you tell him? There are no rules now, no wicked around."

"I can't"

"Why not?"

".... He doesn't like me"

"Y/n. Trust me newt likes you I've been telling you this for the last two years that he likes you. Go on give it a shot" I told her 

"Your right fry" she giggled putting her work away "I'm gonna do it! I'm gonna walk right up to that blonde boy and I'll… uhhh I have no idea what I'll do."

"Tell him, tell him everything you've told me" 

"Okay, see you later" she giggled giving me a hug before she ran off to find newt. 

I laughed watching the water, he'd probably have a heart attack knowing she likes him back, and she'll go all giggly, or he'll pick her up and cuddle her and give her a thousand little kisses, or get in one knee and propose on the spot, or maybe run off to his hammock to make up for lost time. I thought I'd leave them too it no matter what happens.

I finished up dinner and was about to go see Thomas to see what him a Brenda got up to today, but I should really check up on y/n and newt, now where would they be? Maybe in newts hammock cuddling and kissing or maybe y/n's tent talking about all the things they told me when they where apart. But as I looked around I saw newt. 

So I went over, "hello lover boy" I laughed

"What?" He asked sounding a lost as he turned to see me "what are you bloody on about fry?"

"Where Is she?" I laughed

"Where's who?" 

"Y/n"

"Oh." He said the colour draining from his face "how should I know?" He said avoiding my question and my eyes 

"Ooohh? Relax I won't tell anyone you who's secrets safe with me" I laughed

"No fry" he snapped 

"Newt… what happened?" I asked a little worried forcing him to look at me, he was pale, his cheeks had tear stains, he looked like he was fighting back tears as he stood there 

"Nothing. I just… I don't wanna talk about y/n. Okay" he says pushing me away and matching off to his hammock 

I went as quickly as I could across camp to y/n's tent the moment I was outside I could hear crying, I went in and saw her on her bed in tears, 

"Y/n? What happened?" I asked her sitting beside her pulling her into a hug 

"Newt… newt said, he has never liked me, that he'd never be with someone like...like me," she cried I held her close as she cried doing my best to make her feel better, I was so confused what on earth was going on! Once I did my best to comfort her I got up and marched with purpose across camp to the little meeting room, empty but newt sat looking over things I slammed the door going over to him and slappihis stupid blonde head so hard he fell of his hair 

"OWW! what the bloody hell fry!" He complained

"What the ever loving hell!" I yelled 

"What?" 

"What the hell did you do to her!"

"Look fry it's complicated…"

"No, newt straight fucking answers what did you do to her!"

"Nothing…"

"Nothing! Then why is she in tears you british idiot!" 

"Look I can explain"

"Explain! You broke her fucking heart! Her sweet sugary little heart! And you've smashed it! All those nights you kept me up passing around telling me how much you liked her, how you'd sell your soul for her, give anything to be with her, and you go ahead and break her heart!"

"You think I don't know what I've done!" He yelled tears slipping down his cheeks "you think I wanted to. You think I'm happy she's crying because of me. You think i can bare to watch that girl cry"

"Then why'd you do it"

".... I had to"

"What the hell is going on with you newt?"

"Its complained fry."

"Newt. Everything is fucking complicated. Just tell me" I said sitting down and offering him the other chair, he took it wiping his tears and sniffling "straight answers okay?"

"Okay"

"Did you really like y/n?"

"Of course I did"

"Do you still?"

"Of course I do… fry. I love her."

"Then why did you break her sugary little heart?"

"Because I love her. Because I love that girl more then anything, and I can't bare to watch her suffer for anything."

"You can't bare to watch her suffer? She's in tears newt!"

"I know. But I had to."

"Why did you do it?" I asked him "If you love her, then why did you break her heart?"

"Fry. What I tell you… can't leave this room?"

"When has anything you've ever told me. You know I can keep your secrets"

He nodded and pulled up his sleave showing the crawling black vains climbing up his arm I was in shock, frozen unsure how to react. "Turns out. Not all of us where immune. Some of us where just to tell the difference, I'm infected fry. Badly. From my estimates I've got about nine months before I loose everything , before I turn and become one of those nrewing, biting, screaming shells of people." He explained "less before I start to lose my mind" he explained "I'm already getting wild mood swings" he says 

"So you… you broke her heart-"

"So she doesn't have to watch me turn. So she'll forget me. So it won't shatter her when I turn. So she doesn't have to suffer through this with me. I broke her heart… so she can move on, a beautiful girl like that deserves to be happy, to have someone who loves her, and will be able to be with her, and raise a family with her. And… and I can give her that. Even if I want to… she deserves much more than I can give her. So… I'll let her go. So she can move on, and have a happy life without me" he explained

"Newt… we, we could cure you."

"There is no good damn cure fry. Too late anyway, even If there was a cure I've hurt the only girl I care about too much to want to be alive. I wouldn't want to still be around having hurt her this way" he says 

"Newt… did. Do you mean that?" I heard and we saw that the door was y/n. 

"Y/n!.... I uhh I umm" he stuttered

"Please newt, did you mean all that?"

"Every word. Y/n… love I've adored you since the moment I saw you, dreamed of you, admired you from a afar to stave off albys rage, I passed for hours thinking about you, I was worried sick when they took you away from us, I didn't eat didn't sleep until we found you again. And… if I could, I would spoil you, and make you smile every single day, i'd do anything you asked of me for the rest of our lives, make you my wife, give you a house, children all the things you've ever wanted. But… but I can't. I'm dying y/n. I can't bare to put you through it, for you to care about me while I turn, to abandon you, you deserve better then that… better, then me" he explained taking her hand 

"Newt. I don't want any of that, I just want to be able to spend time with you, to hold you and kiss you like I've always dreamt of. I don't care if we have an hour, a week, a year or the rest of time so long as I get to spend it with you"

"It's not fair of you to love me, when I'm destined to go insane, to infect you too, to break your heart and abandon you"

"Let me be the one to decide that. Not you." She says 

"I can't ask you to be with me, when I know I'll have to leave you" 

"We'll figure it out, and I'd you do have to go. Then… I'll see you again, eventually." She giggled

"Are you sure? You could ever love a crank like me?"

"I already do" she smiled hugging him tightly 

"I'll leave you two alone" I laughed heading out, and as I did I spotted Thomas across the way so I headed over "hey Thomas? You know how Brenda is like… basically fine now?"

"Yeah?" He shrugs 

"What happened in that tent?" 

"Wh… what tent" he said sheepishly 

"The one at right arms first camp you idiot"

"Oohh. I thought. Nevermind, yeah she took some blood mixed some blue goo and infected her with it now she's fine"

"Could you if we got Vince to help do that again?"

"I don't see why not? Why?'

"Because, newt's infected and him and y/n finally figured out they love each other" 

"Took long enough, yeah sure let's go get him" he shrugs getting up so I lead him back to the meeting room where I left them but they where stood cuddled up together kissing and slightly crying "should we shop them?"

"I'd give them another five minutes" I sighed "come on let's go find vince maybe by then they can bare to part each other for five minutes" I laughed

[vesuvian-american-fics]

better with time. Ch 11

the end of the beginning.

You looked forward to a trip abroad, you share one last meal with your family before your life would change forever. (AO3)

Words: 1,836

Falling.

Falling.

You were falling really fast. Your breath was caught in your throat. The air was hot and scorching. Microscopic beads of sand stuck into your lungs. When you finally opened your eyes a bed of sand that went on for as far as the eyes could see was surging up to meet you head on.

You shielded your face and that was it. For a moment. In the next moment you were waking up in bed. You were home. Your weary father woke you from your deep sleep.

“Wakey wakey deary! Don’t sleep in again Y/N. Today’s a special day, up up!” He cheered, his voice was raspy, his posture was bad from a long life of work to support you and your younger siblings.

“Where am I? Papa?” You asked weakly, the words feeling foreign on your tongue, but not so out of place. Your father gave a hearty laugh, he was a large man, with big rough hands almost always with a coating of soot on the from his job in the coal mines of... you don’t know where you are yet.

“Must be some dream you were having, deary. Get dressed now and come downstairs for some oats for breakfast! The good kind! The kind you loved since you were a baby!” He smiled, a slight wheeze to his voice. Although you could tell your father had a hard life, he was always happy at home. Never letting it be known how tired he really was.

You couldn’t help but find yourself smiling to him, a renewed energy surging through you and getting you up and out of bed.

“I-I’ll be down in a minute Papa!” You shouted after him down the stairs. You were happy, really happy. You felt like you had just been away for a really long time and now you were finally back where you were meant to be. Back home with Papa, your sisters and brother. You remember now that Mother passed away just a few years ago but you had come to peace with that in time. She passed peacefully in her sleep; you were told at the hospital.

After dressing yourself in the clothes that had been left out for you, you skipped down the stairs. Four smaller kids rushed you and squeezed you tightly.

“Y/N! We really miss you!” They shouted in unison, you recognize them at your three younger sisters and your baby brother.

“Huh? But I’ve always been here.” You commented, patting the children atop their heads. They didn’t respond except for giving you one last long squeeze. They felt desperate, clinging a bit longer than what was comfortable for you but you dismissed it as silly child’s play.

You father gave you a big hug as well, picking you up off of your feet before placing you in your seat at the table. The seat you sat in your whole life, you recognized everything you saw. The quilt your mother had sewn, the rusty oven your father loved to overuse, the bowtie around your brother’s neck, every little thing. However, it was as if everything not within your direct line of view simply didn’t exist. You couldn’t remember it, you couldn’t comprehend it, you couldn’t attempt to imagine it if you wanted. It only existed if you saw it. How odd.

“Well Papa, what’s so special about today?” You asked between spoon fulls of your morning oats.

“You hit your head or something? You had been yappin’ about this day for months now! You were one of the Eldian’s chosen to go get on that big ship abroad to a neighboring country! Today’s the day!” He hooted, dropping a heavy plate stacked high with freshly buttered rolls from the oven.

From this moment on you were on autopilot. No longer in control of your actions, you were in the passenger seat of your own existence, only allowed the privilege to see what happens.

“Oh, I can’t wait! I didn’t want to be stuck here forever! No offense Papa, but you know I’ve dreamt of leaving and exploring new things!” You squealed. Right on time, the first horn was blown on the ship announcing the first-class boarding. You gasped and hopped to your feet.

“Obviously that horn isn’t for me but, Papa, I’ve got to get going I don’t want to be late!” You declared, scooping your siblings up into your arms for one last hug. You pecked your father’s cheek with a feather light kiss before grabbing your packed bags and dashing out the door.

There was a flash of regret across your father’s features, but not one the old you noticed in that moment. The you of today, whenever today was, wanted to stop and ask why he looked so troubled. Torn like he didn’t want you to go, but beyond that of missing one’s child off to a trip abroad. A look of dread stricken across his features. Lack of color to his skin, excess sweat beading to his brow and thick tears already spilling over his cheeks.

It sent chills through you.

The next time you opened your eyes you were on a ship, still excited, only a little concerned about the conditions you were being kept in. You hadn't seen your bags since you had boarded the ship. They were quickly taken away by military staff as you were rushed off to where you’d be staying. That was three days ago already. Your room was filled with other girls about your ages. They seemed troubled, they kept quiet only speaking when spoken to. You brushed off the thoughts screaming to you that something was very wrong.

You were Eldian, you knew your conditions wouldn't be pristine in comparison to... the other people. You can’t remember what they’re called for some reason. Let alone the fact that you can’t remember what makes you so different from them. But these were the times you were born into. You can’t change it.

Another two days passed and finally the door to your holding area was opened. You were no longer excited. Only afraid. You don’t know where you are, or why it took so long to get here. Why you hadn’t been able to change clothes in five days and why you hadn’t been offered food for the last day and a half. The other girls were crying now, and had been for a long time that it was starting to make you tear up as well.

“You! With me...” A masked man said as he stomped towards you grabbing you roughly by the arm and dragging you out of the ship and above deck. You were blindfolded and another set of hands dragged you somewhere.

The air was hot and scorching. Microscopic beads of sand were stuck into your lungs. Your blindfold was ripped off and as your eyes adjusted painfully to the change in light your heart jumped into your throat.

“Where am I?” You cried out; your questions were ignored. Instead, you were answered to a sharp pain in your upper arm, a large syringe imbedded into your skin. You cried uncontrollably until you couldn’t manage your breathing. To your right you heard a man's wales echoing, you looked to where the noise was coming from and what you saw made your heart freeze. Everything froze. The man was roughly kicked over the edge of this giant wall down to the desert below.

Then the next man, then a woman, then your neighbor from back home. Next was a child you had recognized from always selling newspapers by the shops back in town. Many more people were kicked from the wall. Screaming, crying, sobbing, puking as they fell.

You were next.

A horrifying man stood before you, a scowl ever-present on his face. You could feel the hatred oozing off of him like a sticky ink and you felt your stomach wretch from the dread that settled deep in there.

You began to shake violently, trying to fight free of the men holding you in place, to run, far far away from this place and never turn back. You were afraid. You were hyperventilating, your face hot and wet from the continuous rivulet of tears streaming from your eyes.

The man was quick, his hand snapped up to grab you harshly by the face, keeping you still.

“I recognize this one. Remember, few years ago? W-what was the name...uhhh. What’s your last name kid?” He asked, his voice was deep and smooth. It sickened you how he was talking so comfortably to you as if he weren't just about to kick you from this wall that was however many meters tall. As much as you wanted to ignore him, your fear won the battle and obediently you answered his question.

“Yeah, yeah! Few years ago, your mom was here! Ha! See I told you I recognized this one, looks just like her old bat of a mom.” The two men laughed in your face as the realization settled in you.

“W-what.... no? No! My mom died in the hospital! You’re lying!!!” You screamed and spat at the two men. Your insolence wasn’t tolerated, and the man in charge punched you harshly in the head.

“Yes, she was! Your mom was on the first batch out here and now it's your turn, and then the rest of your family if we’re lucky, there’s too many of ya.” The men began to laugh again. The two holding you down finally loosened their grip on your shoulders and before you knew it, there was a harsh kick to your back.

Falling.

You were falling really fast. You closed your eyes as you felt your stomach leap as you became weightless. You don’t know how much time passed before you opened your eyes. But a bed of sand that went on for as far as the eyes could see was surging up to meet you head on.

You shielded your face and that was it. For a moment. In the next moment you were coughing violently. Your whole body was sore.

“Y/N! Y/N!” Hange shouted as they cradled your head on their sturdy lap.

Levi sheathed his swords back where they belonged. He was sure you were turning into a titan when a huge cloud of steam surrounded you. However, just as he and Hange made it through the fog you were collapsed and foaming from your mouth after having a particularly violent seizure.

“Papa...” you gargled as your face twisted in pain. Levi frowned, you sounded so weak and... sad. He sighed before calling the horses around and getting you set up securely in the carriage with Hange. The three of you rushed back towards the base where the proper infirmary that you have become so acquainted to was waiting for you.

“You better wake up, you... and explain yourself damnit...” Levi grunted to himself as he pushed his trusted horse as hard as he could towards the horizon.

[ladyleahcat]

Seraphine’s Lore Rework

So.. I have to say that I was really hyped for Seraphine. I followed her in social media and I really liked her design. But, after her lore and abilities were revealed, it just felt... out of place in Runeterra. Her in-game abilities don’t make sense with her natural gift. She doesn't have a grand purpose, or breaking point in her story that motivates her to be... you know, a champion. So, I tried to fix the lore. Please be kind, and let me know what you think (English is not my native language, so there may be some redaction mistakes). 

I don't have an extensive knowledge of the LoL universe, so here goes nothing! (I took the official one and changed a little bit too much... I kinda throw away the dream of unity between Zaun and Piltover. And knowing that the Brackerns communicated through MUSIC it´s a fact too rich to ignore. I did a little reseach and took some terms and ideas from Skarner’s short story).

As a child, Seraphine always loved music, especially her father’s lullabies. The songs were beautiful, but sad. He and Seraphine’s mother—two lifelong Zaunites—always dreamt of a better life in the City of Progress. But poor as they were, they did everything they could to give their only child a decent life in Zaun.

Leaning out the window of their hexcoustics workshop, where broken sound tech was made to play again, Seraphine sang along with the dark streets. The constant sound of the leaking pipework, working machinery and wispered conversation was her companion.

Over time, Seraphine realized she could sense songs too private, too personal, for any ordinary person to hear. And as she grew, so did the intensity of her gifts. She heard every person’s soul, loving or cruel—turning the streets she’d once loved into an overwhelming cacophony of conflicting desires. How could she make sense of the voices if none of them harmonized? Some days, she hid shivering in a corner, hands over her ears, unable to hear herself above the chaos and feeling her sanity slowly escape.

Seraphine’s parents couldn’t bear seeing her struggle. Even scraping together their savings, they knew it was not enough to help her. Risking their own safety, they made a deal with powerfull mechants in Zaun´s black market to purchase a shard of a rare hextech crystal. And so, they crafted a device that dampened her magical hearing. For the first time in years, there was silence.

Within that quiet, though, Seraphine heard something—someone. The crystal had a consciousness. But it was hard to hear, and harder to comprehend. Seraphine, awed, asked for guidance. But the crystal refused communication. She made her goal to achieve understanding of this rare soul, but her attempts were interrupted by tragedy.

The debt of the crystal was greater that what her parents could pay, and the mechants, tired of waiting, decided to claim the price in their own way. On the darkest of the nights, the rumbling sound of incessant knocking on the door accompanied by violent threats awoke the family. Taking their few possessions, they intended to flee, but, Seraphine´s father knew they would be followed. Giving his wife and daugther one last kiss, he ordered them to run and never look back, while he faced their attackers. They did, and in the distance the sounds of gunshots rang out. Seraphine was ten when she saw her dad for the last time.

Full of sorrow, the broken family got to Piltover with almost nothing. There were difficult days of cold and hunger until Sera´s mother could grab a job at a hextech workshop, as she refused to sell the crystal, see her child suffer, and let her late husband´s sacrifice go to waste.

Seraphine refused to sing the first months in Piltover, as it didn´t feel like home anymore, and it hurt to much to remember, while she also felt all their disgrace were her fault. One day, through her pain, she finally heard a distant voice. The lethargic soul hidden in the crystal slowly opened up to her. It told her stories and songs of the old brackern race. About how it once was big and respected, and how the greedy softskins destroyed it to gain the power of the crystal namestones hidden within their bodies. Horrified, Seraphine realized how the city that surrounded her was powered by the brackern, and so, she asked the voice why it had decided to share all that information with her. With a kind voice, it answered that she had a unique talent to hear souls and songs, and, that she could understand the pain of loss after what she had been through, just like it had lost its kin a long time ago. Then, the soul inside the crystal proposed a way to help them both.

The brackern knew Seraphine had a gift, and he could teach her to amplify it with magic. To give her voice power, potency and purpose. She could ease, enchant and thrill the crowds, gain fame and fortune, and give her mother a better life. But she could also inflict pain, make suffer and bring death to those who took her father away. The soul only wanted something in return.

There was an old ritual that brackerns knew about. The content of their namestones was to precious to get lost, and they designed a way to bring their race back if something ever went wrong. The proccess requiered to gather a great amount of brackern crystals in a hidden temple within the deserts of old Shurima. But it demanded a great price. The same amount of souls of a single different race in exchange for the awakening of each soul of the dormant one. The brackern wanted them to be human, as it seemed as a fair exchange. The enchanting dreamsong to fulfill the process had to be sung by a representative of each of both races. And she was the perfect candidate of her kin to do so.

Seraphine felt dread all over her body and refused, at first, to cooperate with the crystal; imagining the amount of people she would be required to slay. But as the weeks passed, and she and her mother keep on struggling to survive each day, Seraphine decided to agree to the plan. The brackern teached her a melody to seal their agreement, and with it, theirs souls were bounded to commitement, while allowing their magic to flow and combine. Their practice together begun. Each night, Seraphine grabbed her crystal and escaped to the superficial sewers of Zaun to rehearse. Slowly, she learned to manage the noise. Seraphine felt the crystal´s influence as it helped her understand how to resonate with a crowd, to sing with them, using her dampener less each day. Soon, she realized her full potential, and started to develop dangerous skills as well as the brackern teached her magic enchanting melodies of old. It took them years of practice. When she felt ready, Seraphine asked her mom for help to turn her dampener into an amplifier to test her full abilities.

The first time she performed in front of an audience, testing her skills, she was sixteen, and nervous beyond words. She choose a poor street of Piltover to start. With simple clothes and just her amplifier made of old recicled hextech, she started singing. And soon, a crowd gathered enchanted with her lovely voice and bewitching melodies, as she could take all of their personal songs and hopes to turn them into heart touching harmonies. The first day she collected so many coins that her mother and her were able to buy new things for the first time. With each passing day, the crowds were getting bigger, the profit was growing, allowing her little family to slowly achieve the life they always dreamt of. Still, something was missing—in the crowds, and in herself. She knew her father’s crime was still impune and with each song, his memory was painfully revived. She wanted justice.

Using her newfound richness, Seraphine located the merchants that took her father's life and (by her crystal's indication) collected a vast amount of a very special type of mineral, native from the Shadow Isles. Taking advantage of the cloak of night and her growing abilities, she descended into Zaun to make them pay. She infiltrated their place, lured the group of men and their leader with a beautiful melody and then took their lifes with one of the most complex ancient songs the brackern had teached her. Following the elaborate instructions, she absorbed the bodies and souls of the criminals into some shards of the minerals she brought with her, trapping them forever. These were the first souls she would need for the ritual. Taking advance of her accomplishment, she took all of the remaining brackern crystals keept by the band, and then, her mission started.

Although she felt guilty about her actions, she knew that, finally, she had made justice by her own hand, and had found a purpose for her gifts. The brackern's namestones had been waiting for a long time for someone that could listen their dreamsongs and help, and that was exactly was she was about to do. She was born for it. Seraphine knew there was no way she could take all of the brackern crystals in Runeterra, and that not all human souls are aware of the horrors behind the powerfull fuel of hextech, but there were enough gilty ones that she could execute.

Armed with a platform to keep her precious brackern crystals hidden and safe, and also her trapped human victims, she has become the premier star in both Piltover and Zaun. In the public eye, she uses her playful apearance and beautiful voice to enchant the crowds and win their hearts and favor, while she listens for the brackerns old voices slowly awakening inside their cores and calling out for her, singing gladly their dreamsongs. In the shadows, it´s her duty to retrieve them to safety and trap the souls of those who are greedy enough to collect them. She knows one day, she will gather enought of them to make the journey into Shurima´s desert, looking for the one called Skarner that the ancient spirits talk about and being able to, at last, fulfill her destiny.

(I know it’s not that great, but let me know your thoughts and suggestions :3 ) Disclaimer: These characters belong to Riot Games. I don’t own them, I just did this for fun.

[starkerforlife6969]

Starker - Age of Adeline AU

Prompted by an anonymous genius, this one-shot is starker endgame, with background Harley/Peter, Bucky/Peter, Wade/Peter. Enjoy beautiful people! 

many thanks to @darker-soft-starker who helped me every time i got stuck xx 

Harley doesn’t bring guys home.

He’s a playboy, he takes after his dad like that, but Peter-

Well, Harley’s not a fool.

He’d scoffed at ideas of love at first sight, but Peter is radiant. He’s perfect and Harley’s determined not to mess it up.

It’s why he’s pulling up now, driving carefully over snow and ice to park next to his dad’s glistening maserati (show off, Harley thinks fondly). It’s why he’s bringing Peter to meet his dad even though they’ve only been dating two months. Even though Harley doesn’t bring guys home and-

“Harley?” Comes the sweet voice of an angel, and Harley’s jerked out of his nervousness to see his boyfriend looking at him from the passenger’s seat- eyebrows furrowed together with concern. “Are you okay?”

“I…” sometimes Peter doesn’t even seem real. Just this perfect thing that’s been created, an angel God forgot to scoop back up into heaven, some sort of fairy creature without wings-

“We don’t have to do this,” Peter whispers, reaching over to lay his small hand over Harley’s where it grips the wheel. “I can meet your dad anytime, really, don’t force yourself.” Peter’s voice is soft, his eyes sparkle with earnestness.

“No.” Harley mutters, lifting Peter’s hand to kiss his fingers. “You’re gonna meet him. He’s going to talk to you for five seconds and then beg you to marry me.”

Peter laughs, cheeks flushed with delight, “we only met a few weeks ago-”

Harley shuts off the engine and pushes open the door, “oh Pete, we have a connection.”

Peter laughs again. It’s blistering outside, snow whips in every direction in the wind, and they both hurry towards the door.

Harley jams his key in the lock, dimly hoping his dad is even home. Maybe he should have called first, but the thought of surprising his dad was so appealing-

The two of them trip over the threshold in their haste to escape the cold, and Harley kicks the door shut behind them, soaking in the warmth.

“If you’re an intruder, you should know I’m only exceptionally wealthy.” Comes a drawl, and Harley grins, looking up to see his dad stroll around the corner into the hallway. At least he’s not wearing something embarrassing like a Hi Hungry, I’m dad t-shirt. Instead, he’s in a plain black sweater, a cup of coffee in hand.

“Dad,” Harley grins, wrapping his arm proudly over Peter’s shoulder, “this is my boyfriend-”

“Peter.” His dad whispers, and the coffee cup slips from his fingers.

Harley’s bright. He’s not as bright as his dad (who is?) but he can feel things. Time, in that moment, feels different. He takes in his dad’s face- his eyes, they’re- struck. Harley’s never seen them look like that before, and when Harley turns to Peter- Peter who’s just looked up from where he was trying to free himself from the tangle of his knitted scarf- snowflakes still perfectly formed and glistening on his eyelashes- looks friendly, if bewildered.

Harley’s bright enough to feel something, but he doesn’t understand what it is.

The coffee cup hits the wooden floor but doesn’t break. The dark liquid sloshes over the side and the white ceramic rolls around noisily for a moment.

“Dad,” Harley mutters, rushing over to hold his dad’s arm, scanning him for signs of injury or fatigue. “Are you okay?”

His dad doesn’t look away from Peter. Doesn’t tear away his gaze.

“Hey,” Harley says, louder, before frowning. His dad knew Peter’s name. “You know each other?” He turns to his boyfriend.

Peter’s cheeks are still a little red from the cold, his curls are messier than usual, and he’s as beautiful as always. His eyes, however, are just confused. He shakes his head.

“Dad?” Harley says again, more worried this time.

“Peter Reilley,” his dad whispers, gaze still fixed.

Something happens then- to Peter, this time- his breath catches, and his honey eyes go wide. He fumbles, speechless, equally struck, before stumbling out: “Peter Reilley’s my- my dad.”

Harley lets out a croak of disbelief. Puzzle pieces slot together. “Oh my god, this is just fate!” He exclaims, grinning. What were the chances? How small is the world? Soulmates are real. The universe and destiny...

“The likeness is-” his dad takes a step forward, stepping right over the coffee, one hand already reaching out to trace over Peter’s cheek in a gesture that’s far too intimate, “-the likeness is- you must hear it all the time-” Harley watches, stunned, as his dad traces his fingers across Peter’s jaw like he’s done it a thousand times before.

There’s something fragile and tender in his dad’s voice that Harley doesn’t understand.

And then he sees that Peter’s crying. Tears slip down his cheeks onto his dad’s fingertips. “Pete!” Harley cries, hurrying over and cradling his boyfriend into his arms, out of his dad’s inappropriate caress (what the hell is happening?) “Hey, hey, shhh, what’s wrong?”

“N-nothing.” Peter hiccups, burying his face into Harley’s neck. His nose is still cold and his hair smells like lavender.

“The resemblance is- your dad- how is he-”

“Dad.” Harley hisses, but Peter gives a shaky smile.

“He- he passed away a-a few years ago, T-M-Mr Stark.”

Harley watches; awed. His dad doesn’t make a sound, but something passes over him. A loss, a grief, it nearly brings Harley to tears.

He doesn't understand what’s happening. His boyfriend is crying in his arms and his dad looks like a wound, decades old, has been ripped open. Something heavy hangs in the air. The smell of coffee is starting to get stronger.

“I’m gonna…” Harley clears his throat, “I’m gonna show Pete to my room, then- then maybe I’ll make us all something to eat. Will you be alright, dad?”

His dad doesn’t look away from Peter, who’s half hidden in Harley’s embrace. He looks like he’s seeing a ghost.

“I’ll make pecan pie.” Harley offers lightly, trying to break the tension.

Peter giggles wetly and says “I love Pecan pie-” just as his dad, in perfect unison, says: “Peter loved pecan pie.”

Peter shuts his mouth.

Harley swallows hard. “Dad,” he mutters, because his dad is staring too hard now. “Dad, can you- I’ll meet you in the kitchen in a few minutes, okay? Dad.”

“Sure,” his dad whispers, unmoving.

Peter shuffles towards the stairs, head down. “It was nice meeting you, Mr Stark.”

Harley frowns when his dad says nothing.

_______

The boy laying out napkins is just a boy.

Tony keeps trying to repeat that to himself, but his fingers won’t stop shaking. He can’t look away. His eyes devour every single inch of Peter Parker. Not Reilley. Not Reilley.

But Reilley.

It’s like he’s gone back thirty years, like he’s eighteen again, like he’s looking at the only person who ever really knew him.

When Pepper had found him, she’d found him broken. Tony had loved Pepper, he did, and he had grieved when she passed away, but it was a candle to the blaze that losing Peter was.

His Peter, which this Peter can’t be…

But Tony can’t look away. From those huge, honey eyes. From the smattering of freckles across delicate cheekbones, from the plush rose bud lips and the thick, tousled curls. He can’t help but watch as Peter flits about the table, arranges the knives and forks for three, as he smoothes down his jeans before he sits down in a gesture that’s really...odd.

Endearing, but odd.

It’s something Tony’s dad used to do. Pinch his slacks and tug them up just a little to avoid creases. Tony hasn’t seen it done in decades. Unless you count the old black and white movies he throws on on a Saturday evening.

“Dad,” Harley murmurs, tugging the casserole dish out of the oven and placing it on the counter. “You’re staring. Still.”

Tony turns his head but not his gaze. Peter’s smoothing out the table cloth when his nose twitches, and those gorgeous, amber eyes are whirling over to them.

“Oh, that smells lovely!”

Tony’s heart is pounding. His palms are damp and his throat is tight.

“Thanks, Pete, wait till you taste it. You know I’m not one to brag, but-”

“You brag all the time,” Peter teases, and Tony snaps out of it.

That’s his son and the boy he’s brought home. This Peter is not his Peter, no matter the resemblance. Tony has to get over these- these feelings because it’s fucking messed up. He just has to get to know Peter Parker and see all the ways he’s not Peter Reilley, and then Tony can keep his head together. “So, Peter,” he cuts in, picking up their plates, now heavy with food, and carrying them over to the table. Harley follows with wine. “What do you do for a living?”

Peter blinks, before smiling shyly. He doesn’t maintain eye contact for very long. “Oh, well, Mr Stark, I’m a- well, I work in a coffee shop.”

Relief, just a little, seeps into Tony’s shoulders. This isn’t his Peter. His Peter had been a genius. He’d dreamt of being a theoretical physicist, of understanding the universe. “Well,” he begins kindly, “I’m sure that’s-”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Pete,” Harley defends, lavishly pouring gravy over his potatoes. “He’s super smart, dad, seriously, you should hear him talk about science- he could give you a run for your money.”

“No, I-” Peter hurries to interject, eyes wide, “-I’m really not-”

“You are.” Harley says fondly. “He wrote the most amazing article on cognizant string theory and let them publish it anonymously! Doesn’t brag or anything. I wouldn't even have known if I hadn’t seen the essay in his apartment. He didn’t get a single cent off royalties, but,” Harley smiles, reaching over to peck Peter’s cheek, “he doesn’t care about money, do you? Peter says that scientific discovery is for all of mankind.”

Tony’s throat is tight again.

“You say that, Pete?” He croaks, and those honey eyes meet his- again, only for a moment- before darting away. “Your dad used to say that.”

“Oh yeah,” Harley nods cluelessly, mouth full, “how’d you even know his dad?”

_________

It was 1990. A blockbusters at three am.

He’d been morosely scanning for a movie, anything to stop thinking about his dad, when he’d turned the aisle to see a boy his age plonked down in the middle of a stack of Ghostbusters and Star Wars. He was wearing leg warmers and big boots and glitter was dusted across his sharp cheekbones.

The boy had looked up, had grinned, a little tipsy and the glitter sparkled in the light. “Empire Strikes Back, right?” He’d said, bottom lip caught between his teeth, eyes on the coil of Tony’s shoulders and the bulge of muscle through the tight leather jacket.

Tony had grinned, nudging Ghostbusters with the toe of his shoe. “Drinking and watching Star Wars? Sounds like my kind of night.”

They were making out in the backseat of Tony’s chevy ten minutes later.

__________

“We were friends.” Tony says, a half truth, eyes flickering over Peter’s face. The boy eats his casserole daintily. Focused on the food. “Did your dad ever….did he ever mention me? We were- I thought we were…” he’d thought a lot of things, though. When he’d bought that ring he’d thought things. When he’d rolled over to see an empty bed.

His heart is pounding. He wants to scream.

“Mr Stark,” Peter whispers, voice a little choked, and Tony looks up to see that Peter’s looking at him. Those same eyes, beautiful and transcendent. How are eyes like that passed down? Morgan and Harley don’t look much like Tony, but Peter is the spitting image of his dad. “I don’t know if- my dad used to talk about someone, he never said their name, but he said that he only ever regret one thing and that was walking out on a friend. I don’t- I don’t know if it was you, but he never got over it. He said that the two of them were gonna go to MIT together and-”

Tony lets out a desperate gasp for air. Harley reaches over, alarmed, but Tony shakes him off. He stares, transfixed, drinking in oxygen. “That’s me, that’s me.”

Peter’s eyes are swimming again. “Mr Stark, I’m so- Harley, maybe I should go-”

“Dad,” Harley is there, suddenly, hugging him, and Tony feels a little stronger. “Dad, I didn’t realise that- that there was so much history there. You never talk about your life before MIT, I didn’t…” he pulls back, a son’s love and concern on his face, “maybe Pete and I should go? I’ll come back up myself and visit you in a week, or- or maybe I could call Morgan or Uncle Rhodey and-”

“No.” Tony chokes out, because the thought of Peter leaving is worse than remembering all he’s lost.

His Peter, his Peter regret leaving him. Does it help to know that? His Peter is gone, is dead, but cared about him enough to tell his son that he had one regret in life- something he never got over- leaving Tony stayed with him- haunted him- the way it haunts Tony-

“I loved him so much.” He sobs, chest heaving, and tears start to pour. His son holds him tight and Tony can dimly hear Peter flee the room, but he can’t do anything but cry and cry and cry.

________

“I think Microsoft is gonna loan Apple the money.” Tony says around a yawn, stealing a piece of bacon out of the pan. He hisses as it burns his finger tips, and pops it into his mouth.

“Hey,” Peter warns, brandishing his spatula. “Not yet.”

Tony pouts, holding out his fingers and talking around bacon. “I burnt myself.”

Peter grins, pecking Tony’s fingertips. “That’s cuz you’re a moron who would rather talk about tech companies and steal bacon than get up early to help me make us a delicious breakfast.”

“It is early, Pete,” Tony grins, wrapping his arms around Peter’s waist and nosing at his neck. “It’s seven am, baby, what do you want from me?”

Peter wiggles his hips and his eyebrows. “Lotsa things. I want us to work on our applications. I want Madonna and Vanilla Ice to get married. I want you to carry me back to bed and have your way with me.”

“But then the bacon would burn.”

Peter flicks him.

Tony reaches over, flipping off the stove.

“Hey- woah! Tony!”

Tony grins, hoisting Peter over his shoulder and dancing back towards the bedroom. “Your wish is my command, hot stuff.”

___

In the morning, his eyes are crusty, but he feels better.

He has a long, hot shower, and he doesn’t fight the memories. They come to him easily, wash over him like the hot melt of his high pressure shower head. He remembers Peter’s teasing, their arguments of science vs engineering.

“Building another thingy ma-bob?” Peter would tease, flitting around the apartment in one of Tony’s Highschool jerseys. “That’s cute.”

“Oh, yeah?” Tony would smirk, prodding one of Peter’s thick books. “Plagiarizing Newton? That’s original.”

Peter always wore Tony’s high school jerseys, but Tony never saw Peter’s. Peter had said they moved around a lot, and Tony never met his parents.

Peter had always been such a mystery. An honest, beautiful, mystery.

“I get it, you know,” Tony whispers, dragging his fingertips across Peter’s skin, lit by the moonlight that drenches Peter’s tiny apartment. “Parents they can- suck.”

Peter kisses the underside of his jaw tenderly but doesn’t say a word.

The jeweller in Tiffanys had smiled and accepted the money. He’d said: “she’ll love it, Sir.”

“He will.” Tony had drawled, leaving behind shock and awe, his speciality.

He’d believed it.

Maybe Peter would have loved it. Maybe if Tony had just- had just proposed a day earlier, had just done something differently-

His entire life would have been different then.

He wouldn’t have Morgan or Harley

And he loves Morgan and Harley with his whole heart.

When he heads downstairs, he’s determined to be normal today. It’s a weird, freakish connection that Harley’s newest beau is the son of the man that Tony would have given everything for, but it’s not the end of the world.

He strolls into the kitchen and pauses, because Peter’s whispering to himself and wearing one of Harley’s flannel shirts and looking through the cupboards almost angrily.

It’s so arresting a sight, so beautiful a thing, so breathtaking that even though he should feel like a pervert, Tony just feels swept away.

“Looking for something, Pete?” He quips, biting back a smile as Peter jerks around.

“Oh! Morning, Mr Stark, I was…” his voice drops away, he looks down. “I’m uh...I’m really sorry about-”

“Not your fault, kid.” He promises. “I obviously don’t deal with emotions in the best way and that’s nothing you have to be sorry for. Hell, I’m sorry. Not a great first impression, is it? Don’t let me ruin Harley for you.”

Peter smiles a little, but won’t meet his eyes. “Harley’s great.”

“‘Course he is. Raised him myself.” He tries to coax Peter into looking at him. “What were you looking for? Something to eat?”

“I um- I had a bit of a headache, that’s all. A coconut flat white normally- it was a long shot but-”

“I promise you I have every single type of coffee in the world.” Tony smiles warmly, “One coconut flat white coming up. Sit, sit. Did you not sleep well?”

Peter slowly slides onto one of the stools at the breakfast bar. Tony pulls two mugs out of the cupboard. “No, I couldn’t...I couldn’t sleep.” He admits.

“I get that.” Tony sighs, “it was a long evening. If there’s anything I can do to make it more comfortable you let me know - extra blankets, pillows, you name it.”

“Everything’s perfect,” Peter smiles down at his hands. “You’ve got a really lovely home.”

Tony smiles as he flips on the coffee machine. “Thanks, Pete, it does the job. So, how long have you known Harley?”

Peter shrugs, accepting the hot drink with a pleased thank you. “Seems like forever.”

Tony snorts, fixing himself his own black coffee, sinking into the white noise of the machine whirring. “I’d believe that. Kid has a way of getting under your skin and settling in. He gets that from me, believe it or not.”

Peter smiles. “I have no doubts about that, Mr. Stark.”

“I can’t tell if that’s praise or criticism about my character.”

“I can’t tell if you would accept either one,” Peter counters, sipping his drink with a pleased hum.

Tony bites back the bile in his throat, swallowing it down with too hot coffee. You sound just like him, Tony wants to say. Instead, he says: “So, physics, huh?” He bites back the offer to let Peter call him Tony. He doesn’t think he could bear to hear it. Not in the same tenor, the same lilt.

Peter blushes into his coffee. “It’s just a hobby, my dad was- he was the real physicist.”

“Got that right,” Tony murmurs, “he was- when I knew him, we were- well, about the age you are now, and he was...brilliant.” He snorts softly, “little brat, though. Thought physics was better than everything else. Smug little shit.”

Peter’s smile is tighter. “Sounds like dad.”

Right. “I’m sorry for your loss,” Tony offers weakly, even though he knows saying it doesn’t help. “Is your mom…”

“She died when I was a baby.” Peter murmurs, taking a deep sip. “It’s alright, really.”

“Well, how’d you and my boy meet, then? He come stumbling into the coffee shop, an old barista style meet cute?” Tony can picture that. His son in one of his goofy snapbacks, ordering a black coffee and then looking down from the board to see Peter by the till, all mahogany eyes and cream skin. “Oh god. He didn’t try a pick up line, did he?”

Peter laughs. To Tony, it sounds like pure nostalgia. “He gave me his number when I asked for his name. I didn’t call him, though.”

Tony takes his mug to the breakfast bar and sits opposite him, curious. “Oh?” Harley’s a handsome kid-

“But then he kept coming in every day, kept giving different responses when I asked what his name was for his order. Stuff like: R2D2 and Bill Clinton. I got so curious as to what he was actually called that I offered a trade. A date for a name. It was very Rumpelstiltskin.”

Tony grins, “well, he’s smitten with you. He’s never brought someone home for me to meet before. There must be something about you.”

Peter blushes.

But there is. It’s the same something that Peter Reilley had.

Tony sees it more and more. He can’t help but remember and compare. When Peter takes their mugs to the kitchen sink he actually washes them. He doesn’t rinse them and pop them into the dishwasher. He has a dimple on his left cheek, all the same freckles, and the same gorgeous curls of auburn hair.

When Harley gets up, shirtless and still drowsy, he ambles into the kitchen and tugs Peter into his side and kisses him sweetly.

Tony tries not to let it bother him.

“You guys have breakfast already?” Harley pouts morosely, prodding a plate with a little poached egg left.

“Yes, we did.” Peter teases with a smile, “because you’d rather sleep than get up early.”

“It is early, Pete! It’s 9am that’s still like night.”

Tony and Peter meet each other’s eyes.

For a moment, Tony swears that-

——-

Morgan comes over in the afternoon.

Harley called her, probably worried that Tony’s sick which isn’t an unfair assumption. Still, Tony’s happy to see his girl, and he hugs her tight.

“Well?” Morgan whispers, peeking over Tony’s shoulder, “is he a nightmare, dad? Harley has such shit taste. Is this one a gold digger?”

“No,” Tony croaks, “this one’s the one.”

Morgan raises her eyebrows.

Predictably, Morgan loves Peter. Tony’s pretty sure everyone does.

After they bond over antique cars and the newest season of The Bachelor, Morgan reaches over and clutches Harley’s arm.

“Marry this one, little brother. Or I’ll steal him from you.”

Tony overhears this as he plates up dessert. It should make him happy but it just makes his heart ache.

_______

Peter wakes up gasping.

He sits bolt upright, blankets pooling around his hips, and he tries to breathe.

The dream, however, still pricks at his skin. Pelts against his face like a torrential downpour.

“It’s not gonna be glamorous, baby,” Bucky drawls, their fingers twined, the moon above them.

“Won’t it?” Peter grins, “fighting for our country side by side? It sounds pretty great, Buck.”

“War’s no joke, baby, my dad fought in the first one.”

Peter props up onto his elbow and looks over at his partner. “I’m not letting you go alone.”

“You’re seventeen-”

“I’m your partner.” Peter reaches over, steals a kiss. “You’re it for me, James. Where you go, I’m going.”

He hasn’t thought of James in-

It’s a mistake; being here, Peter thinks, as he slips out of bed. He brushes the tears from his eyes with his knuckles, and doesn’t look at the sleeping figure of Harley as he edges out of the bedroom.

He’s remembering things he doesn’t want to remember. He’s remembering Bucky. He’s remembering war. He’s remembering his naivety. He’s remembering the bolt of lightning that hit him hard when he was down in the trenches and covered in mud- remembers the moment that everything in his body burnt like fire and then he just stopped.

Stopped ageing. Stopped living.

Bucky was gone.

Peter was immortal and with nothing to live for.

Then had come the 50s and the 60s and with it, a brief stint with Wade Wilson, an actor taking Hollywood by storm.

Then the 70s and the 80s and then-

In 1990-

___

“Tony.” Peter sighs, scanning over book titles, “I told you, that was really more of a one night kind of thing.”

“Right, see, normally,” Tony hums, talking to him through the bookshelf, “I’m all about that. Seriously, I’m a huge playboy.”

He snorts a little at that, pulling down a thick book to arch a delicate eyebrow through the library aisle. “Really?”

“I’m serious!” The eighteen year old laughs, “everyone’s always trying to pin me down but there’s something...Pete, we had fun, didn’t we?”

Peter chews on the inside of his mouth, before making a small sound of triumph when he finds the periodical he’s after. It’s the latest publication of New Scientist.

Before he can reach for it, it’s jerked clumsily out through the other side.

He sighs. “Tony-”

“One date.”

“Tony-”

“You know I’m a Stark? My dad is really rich.”

At that, Peter smiles sweetly. “I’m worth more than your dad could even imagine.”

Tony blinks in surprise, before grinning hugely and following Peter as he heads for the check out desk. “You’re the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen, you know that?”

The librarian gasps; scandalised.

Peter can’t help but laugh.

“I’m serious- in your fuckin’ 50s jacket and carrying science journals and you’re- don’t make me beg.”

Tony Stark is probably the most handsome guy Peter’s ever seen. Even now, with his dorky aviators and his playboy charm and his unkempt hair. He has dark eyes and a broad chest and lips that curve into a smile that does something to Peter’s heart.

“Tony, I’m really sorry, but I just don’t date.”

“Good lord.” The librarian mutters, “it’s experimentation gone mad.”

Peter frowns at her.

“Hey, bitch?” Tony hums at her, shoving a load of books onto the floor with a clatter, “d’you mind? I’m trying to have a private conversation.”

“Holy shit.” Peter whispers, delighted, jaw dropped, “well, I…”

“One date. Then you never have to see me again, I swear.”

He’s handsome, and sweet and a little lost. The librarian is staring at all the books on the floor; aghast.

Peter says yes.

___

Somethings don’t change.

The moon looks just the same. The way it did that night in 1938 with Bucky Barnes.

The way it did when Peter went on his first boat. When he changed his name. The night he tried his first cigar. It looks the same in Paris and it looks the same in Kentucky.

It looks the same here, sitting on the gorgeous lavender fringe of Tony Stark’s garden.

It’s a huge, silver pebble in the sky.

Peter breathes in the night.

Tony Stark.

Tony Stark.

It’s been thirty two years and the moon hasn’t changed and Peter hasn’t changed but-

Tony has kids. An eighteen year old named Harley, a twenty one year old named Morgan. Tony’s grown up. He was married- there are photos on the walls with a blonde woman with a thin, satisfied smile.

Tony’s grown up.

Peter looks away from the moon and his tongue feels too big and he lets himself cry.

His Tony had been on the precipice. MIT in the distance, a new convertible in front of him. He’d been a boy and now…

Peter and the moon: distant.

Tony Stark? He’s grown up.

Peter feels like Peter Pan seeing Wendy again after all that time. There’s an adult in her place- with the same eyes and the same smile.

“You lied to me, Wendy.” Peter had said in the story, face screwed up, eyes betrayed. “You promised you wouldn’t change.”

“Oh, but I haven’t, Peter, don’t you see?” She replies, “I’m still me. Look, Tink.”

“Pete?” Comes a voice, and Peter wipes his face hurriedly, but it’s too late.

Tony’s standing there in his pyjamas, a robe on, a small glass of scotch in hand. He stands in the wet grass and stares. “I thought that was you- are you okay?”

Peter nods. He doesn’t trust himself to speak.

“Aren’t you cold?”

Oh, right. He’s just in his pyjamas. The bench he’s sitting on is wet and the wood has absorbed all the cold of the night. Peter’s freezing. There’s winter hanging in the air and he feels like the wind is passing right through him. “A little,” he croaks, “I’m just…”

“Couldn’t sleep again?” Tony nods, creeping closer. “Same.”

Here’s Tony Stark, all grown up. He’s just as handsome. Devastatingly handsome, maybe even more so now. With the silvers on the edges of his hair, the beard, the cocky wisdom in his gait.

He comes and sits beside Peter and they both look up at the moon.

“You can talk to me, you know,” Tony offers, “I-I mean, if you need someone to talk to. Judgement free.”

Peter can’t have sex with Harley anymore. Not now that he knows. Harley’s touch makes him shiver- makes him queasy. It’s so much like- but quite enough like-

“Pete, you’re killing me. Please, let me get you a coat or something, it’s the dad inside me. You look like you’re freezing.”

The dad inside him. Tony is a dad. “I....”

“I’ll make us some hot chocolate. I’ve got Never Ending Story on the dvr.”

Peter lets out a wet laugh. “I saw that when it first-” he stumbles, looks away from the moon, “when it was re-released.” He gets to his feet, nodding. “Hot chocolate sounds nice.”

Tony’s looking at him- too clever, too brilliant.

Peter tries so hard not to feel betrayed. Tony grew up. Had a life. Lived. Without him. Which is what he wanted, obviously, but-

“With almond milk, instead of regular, right?” Tony says, getting up, and Peter nods.

“Yes, please.”

They don’t watch The Never Ending Story, they just drink their hot chocolate in silence, looking at one another over the kitchen island. It feels like a mini-world.

It’s only later, when Peter’s back in bed, that he realises that he never mentioned his preference for almond milk.

He can’t see the moon from Harley’s bedroom window, but he knows that it’s there.

______

“I really like him,” Morgan says brightly, stealing Tony’s hashbrowns and looking far too perky for so early in the morning, “but he’s weird sometimes, right?”

Tony nods at the waitress and orders more bacon. Morgan’s too skinny. “What do you mean, sweetheart?”

“I mean I told him if he was gunna go to the Trump impeachment rally and he said ‘but he was only just elected’.”

Tony half smiles. “Not everyone is as up to date with politics as you,”

“Mm,” she beams when the bacon is set down and Tony hides his smile into his coffee mug. “Still, and you know what Harley said?”

“What did Harley say?”

“He said that he and Peter haven’t done it since they’ve been here.”

“Morgan, honey,” Tony sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, “please. I’m eating.”

She laughs and chugs some orange juice.

That’s totally normal, though, Tony thinks as he drives them both back home. A couple having sex in a parents house, it can be awkward. Peter’s probably just uncomfortable.

The thought of Harley and Peter having sex makes Tony feel weird.

And not the uncomfortable, ‘that’s my son’ kind of way, but in a way that’s starting to get harder and harder to not call jealousy.

That makes sense, though. He was in love with Peter’s father and the likeness is- obscene, quite frankly.

Residual feelings, yadda yadda.

If Pepper were here, she’d tell him to get his ass to a therapist.

When they pull up to the house, Harley and Peter are outside.

They’re arguing.

“Oh shit,” Morgan breathes.

Tony kills the engine, and they both step out into the bright morning.

“If you would just talk to me!” Harley yells, face red and splotchy, hair still damp from a shower, “but you’re so goddamn secretive, Peter!” It takes a lot to get Harley angry. He’s remarkably chilled.

“I’m not allowed secrets?” Peter demands, anger much more controlled. More poised. Tony can only stare.

“Sure, but not when they’re lies.”

“I’ve never lied to you-”

“Bullshit.” Harley sneers, and Peter jerks like he was slapped and there are tears in his eyes and Harley looks suddenly ashamed.

“Hey,” Morgan murmurs, stepping between them. She looks over at Tony, but he can only stand there.

This is all too much.

He’s seen this before.

“C’mon, guys,” she continues, “I don’t know what’s going on, but can’t we go inside and talk?”

“Give me my keys, Harley.” Peter says quietly, lashes wet with tears, “I want to go home.”

“They’re my keys.” Harley replies, stubborn. “It’s my car. You have to stay. We have to talk this out.”

Peter lifts his nose, juts his chin. “I’ll walk back to town.”

“You’d rather leave?” Harley cries, waving his arms, “than have an honest conversation with me? Jesus, Pete, you keep me at arms length all the time. And now- look where we are! We’re at my family home, with my dad and my sister and- and I don’t know anything about you. Where you’re from or where you went to school or-or- you won’t let us take any pictures together and-”

Tony can see Peter shaking. Can see him crying.

He’s seen this before.

“Harley,” he says, using his dad-voice, the one he hasn’t had to use in a long time. “Enough. Peter,” he tosses him his keys, “here. Please do me a favour and come back. This car’s my third baby.”

Peter catches the keys and stares at him.

“Tony.” He sniffles, before getting in the car.

Nobody says anything as it crunches over the gravel and disappears around the corner.

Until:

“Well,” Morgan sighs, hands on hips, looking so much like Pepper that Tony almost can’t believe it. “What the fuck was that about?”

_____

“C’mon,” Tony grins, winding up the polaroid. “It’s cute. We can have a whole scrap book.”

“No, Tony, seriously,” Peter smiles, but his voice is firm, “I don’t want any photos, I don’t like it.” He’s perched on the hood of Tony’s car, a huge gameboy in his lap.

“You also said you didn’t like honey in your porridge but don’t think I don’t see you adding it every morning.” He chirps, slinging his arm over Peter and turning the camera onto them both. He snaps a shot before Peter shoves him: hard. “Hey!”

“I told you I didn’t want you to do that!”

“Jesus, Pete, calm down-”

“You don’t listen to me!” Peter chokes, breath tight, “You never listen to what I want.”

Tony rubs at his arm, eyebrows furrowing together. “What are you talking about? Yes, I do, I listen to everything you say. I buy all your bullshit, too.”

Honey eyes bore into him; hard. “What?”

Tony takes a breath before he sighs. “Your bullshit, Pete, I buy all your bullshit. You never talk about your parents, you lie all the time, I take it and I don’t complain-”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about-”

“I’m guessing it’s like a witness protection thing? Or you did some shady shit in the past and got a new identity- or you’re an immigrant or whatever, I don’t care. I love you.” He reaches out, takes Peter’s hand. “So, I won’t question all your bullshit. I do listen to you.”

Peter’s white like parchment. He pulls out of Tony’s grip. “I have to go.” He whispers coldly.

Tony snorts, leans back on the car. “I’d ask where, but you’ll lie.”

He doesn’t see Peter for over a week after that fight.

He never asks about it again.

_______

There’s a box in the attic that hasn’t been opened in years.

It’s open now, sitting around Tony, his life in pieces and memorabilia, all lain neat around him. Captured perfectly. His diploma, his graduation cap, his marriage certificate, Morgan’s birth certificate, Harley’s birth certificate, Pepper’s death certificate.

There are old research papers and bank accounts. There are a few postcards from friends long forgotten. Embarrassing haircuts and radical fashion choices tucked away.

Tony finds what he wants in a shoe box in the box.

There’s a birthday card in there.

Happy birthday to the most handsome boyfriend in the world - Lots and lots and lots of love, your boyfriend (peter, since I know you have to sooooo many, playboy)

There are photos too.

Well, there are two.

One of the two of them, it’s poor quality, just before a fight, and Peter is blocking his face from the camera as best as he can with a gameboy in his lap.

Those curls are unmissable, though.

The other photo is one Tony had taken before that.

It’s a profile shot, Peter driving his cherry pink chevy, lips parted as he sang along to whatever was on the radio.

Tony brushes his thumb over it.

“Holy shit,” Harley whispers, tugging the photo from his grip. “It’s Peter.”

“It’s his dad.” Morgan persists, the way she has been for the past half hour.

“No.” Harley chokes, “no, it’s not. It’s Peter. Dad, you were telling the truth-”

“It can’t be Peter-”

“Look.” Harley points to the photo, points to a small silver line on Peter’s bare shoulder. “He has that scar. I’ve seen it. I’ve…”

Morgan turns to Tony, eyes huge. “But…”

“I knew it the second I saw him.” He whispers, “it’s my Peter.”

Harley turns to him sharply, but Tony doesn’t say anything. He just reaches into the shoebox and pulls out the ring.

His children look at it.

“Dad.” Harley hiccups, and Morgan trembles as she reaches for it. The gold glints in the dim sunlight that filters into the dusty attic.

“We wouldn’t have been allowed to get married back then, anyway,” Tony whispers, trying to smile, “but I figured we would, even if it was just for us.”

Harley gets up and goes to the window. “Do you think he’ll come back?”

“No.” Tony whispers, pushing the box away. “I don’t think he will.”

_______

“You look nice,” Harley says charmingly, as the two of them take their seats in the restaurant.

Harley cleans up very nicely. It’s a very different look to the Harvard sweater and ripped jeans. Peter picks up the menu and smiles politely. “Thank you, Harley, but please-”

“Hey, no, no,” Harley warns, “you promised me one date, Parker. I’m collecting.”

Peter smiles. “If you want to buy me dinner, I won’t say no.” His eyes drift down the various choices. He’s in the mood for spaghetti. Maybe a glass of wine.

Except they might ask for ID.

Sparkling water it is.

He closes the menu and blushes when he sees Harley staring him. His eyes are a piercing blue, and his blond bangs sweep across his forehead in a way that’s alarmingly appealing.

Harley’s lips twist into a little smirk and there’s something so familiar about it that Peter can’t help grin in response.

“What do you study, Harley?”

“Law.” Harley shrugs, “it’s fine. Not sure if I wanna do it.”

“Harvard law,” Peter hums, “very impressive.” He’s done the course himself, a long time ago now.

“Not in my family.” Harley snorts, “my dad’s like a genius and my sister’s at Cal-Tech. I’m the cool rebel one.”

“Ah,” Peter laughs, shaking his head fondly. “Harley, I-”

“I saw you once,” Harley interjects, like he knows Peter’s about to insist that they can only be friends, “I wasn’t stalking you, I swear, but I saw you in that astronomy museum way down near Ridgeway? It was a-” Harley swallows, and Peter can’t look away, “-a Sunday night and only members are allowed in after a certain time, but a friend of mine snuck me in, we wanted to get drunk and go in that space tunnel thing. I saw you sitting alone in one of the exhibits, you were- you were wearing a purple blazer like- you looked like someone pulled you out of an eighties movie. You were watching the presentation and- I swear, you looked like a piece of art. Not in a- not in a creepy way, but you just- you aren’t like anyone I’ve ever seen before.”

There’s a lump in Peter’s throat, and he looks over Harley again, with new eyes. It’s been so long since he’s felt seen. It’s been so long since he’s even thought there was a chance someone could know him. The last guy he- the last love he-

Love only ends badly, he’s learnt that lesson now.

But there’s something so familiar about Harley. Something disarming. Something sweet.

“Let me pay for dinner.” He says, and when Harley’s shoe slides up against his calf, Peter doesn’t pull away.

______

“Peter,” Howard drawls, and Peter pulls away from the window guiltily, lets the curtain fall and hide the bright half moon.

“Mr Stark,” he greets politely, ducking his head.

Peter’s much older inside but there’s something about Tony’s dad that scares him a little. That intimidates him. That makes him feel like he is actually only eighteen. “Couldn’t sleep, hm, boy?”

Peter stiffens a little. Mr Stark had seemed fine with him and Tony being together, maybe he- “I was just- a little restless, Sir.”

“I can understand.”

Peter watches as Howard walks towards one of the many grand display cases. This one’s filled with pressed butterflies and small medallions. Howard’s still dressed, in a forest green suit and brown polished shoes. Peter’s in his pyjamas. Everyone’s asleep, the house is silent. Jarvis had locked up hours ago.

Peter wishes he’d stayed in bed with Tony.

“Can I share something with you, Peter?” Howard asks, pulling a sleek piece of glass out of the cabinet. There’s a spliced butterfly within it, beautifully preserved.

“Of course, Sir.” Peter doesn’t like calling him Sir. He knows there are people who deserve the title. Like his commander in the trenches. Like his professor at Oxford in the 60s- Charles Xavier, a man so beyond his time.

“Technology is the future, yes? I think we can all agree. But there’s something more. Enhancement. You know I’ve been searching for that missing soldier, well, the results are fruitless. Some myths are myths, but when God closes a door…” he chuckles, and it’s a cruel sound. “I do a lot of work with the FBI, Mr Reilley.”

Peter stills, and then forcibly relaxes.

“It’s funny, isn’t it, disappearing? Reappearing? I suppose it was easier, in the past, when there weren’t as many records. As many pictures.”

His heart is pounding. He hasn’t felt like this since that scare in the 60s. When he’d had to run, when furious shouts of officers yelling commie at him in the dark got too close, when they had wanted to test him, harvest him.

Howard is suddenly right in front of him, looking down at him- admiration and hunger in his eyes.

“All myths are rooted in some truth. Enhanced cells, Peter. Have you ever heard of such a thing?” He whispers.

Peter wants to yell for Tony. For Jarvis. For Maria. For help.

“I don’t-” he stammers, “-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Howard backs off, still smiling. “Neither do I. Not yet. But I will.” He turns on his heel, heads for the door. “Dress pretty tomorrow, Reilley. My son’s planning some idiotic proposal.”

When Tony wakes up in the morning, Peter’s gone.

______

Peter doesn’t come back.

Tony had known he wouldn’t. He understands now. It makes sense now. Whatever Peter is, he doesn’t- he doesn’t age.

Tony’s gone through databases, found dozens of different aliases, he’s found a photo of a scrawny, cocky looking boy from 1939 with a team of other soldiers in the war. He’d zoomed in and stared and sure enough, even in the black and white, honey eyes and curls had stared back at him.

There’s a photo of a Benjamin May in 1970, a little blurry, a paparazzi shot, coming out of a restaurant with the actor Wade Wilson. He’s clearly drunk, and his face is half hidden, but Tony knows.

There’s a record of a Peter Richards graduating Juliards in 1982. A Pierre Reiley buying stocks and setting up a bank account.

Tony goes through it all, gathers and sorts as much of it as he can, tries to piece together the life of something he doesn’t understand.

Peter Parker doesn’t age. He goes back to at least the 30s. Tony’s yet to find a birth certificate.

The secrets, the lack of parents, the lack of past, it makes sense.

“Hey, look,” Morgan calls from where she’s hunched over her laptop. Tony looks over, and she projects what she’s found into thin blue light in the air. “That’s him, right?”

Person of Interest: Peter Parker / Benjamin May / Peter Richards

It’s an FBI casefile. Peter’s photo is there. There’s a description of enhanced cells. There’s a note of a failed attempt to bring him in.

“They were onto him?” Tony breathes, checking the date. 1961.

“Only for a few years.” Morgan whispers, still scrolling. “Looks like after the red scare the new FBI director shut the case down. Declared it nonsense. Thought people were being overly imaginative over what the Russians could actually do.”

Tony feels a little relieved.

“But dad, the file was pulled again. Someone accessed it in 1990. Dad- dad, it was-”

“Don’t say it.” Tony whispers, closing his eyes.

Fuck. He already knows.

______

Bucky’s body isn’t in his grave in the Brooklyn cemetery. Bucky’s body is somewhere in Europe, Peter isn’t sure where.

But Peter had a headstone made in this shrubby little graveyard near Bucky’s mom’s house a very long time ago. She made the best cookies.

James Buchannon Barnes.

Son and Soldier.

1917-1942

Peter sets down his flowers and strokes his thumb over the words. The stone is cold, but the sun beats down onto his back.

“Well fuck a duck, fancy seeing you here.” Comes a voice, that startles Peter so hard he falls flat on his ass into the grass.

There’s an old man leaning on a cane, wearing a red sweater and black slacks.

“Jesus.” Peter gapes, “N- Wade?”

“The very same.” Wade grins, doing a little bow that seems to hurt him immensely. “And look at you, Pete. The very same. Forgive me for prying, but how is it that you don’t look like you’re in your 60s? Like you should? Like me?”

“60s?” Peter grins, still on the ground, still on the grass by Bucky’s grave, looking up at an ageing Hollywood star, “by my calculations, you’re 72. I could probably google it.”

He’s not scared. Not with Wade looking at him, smiling with crooked teeth and wrinkles. Wade knows the truth now.

Peter trusts him with his life.

“I should’ve told you.” He realises aloud, shaking his head. “I should’ve told you.”

“You’re not wrong,” Wade grins, laughing with weak breath. “Then I wouldn’t have had to piece it together in a cemetery fifty years later.” He eases himself to the ground very, very carefully, and looks at the grave. “I coulda helped you through it, Pete. I’ve got money. You coulda had someone to talk to.”

Peter aches. “I should’ve- I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, hell,” Wade shakes his bald head, “I can’t imagine how lonely it’s been. You know, when I saw you, I thought maybe I was dreaming.”

“I’m surprised you recognised me.” Peter sniffles, smiling, “you were so high all the time.”

“How dare you, I am the definition of sobriety-”

“You invented ecstasy.”

“Pretty neat,” Wade grins, wiggling his eyebrows, and he doesn’t look seventy two in that moment. He looks thirty. Looks like the party animal he was when Peter met him. “So, how the fuck has this happened? Where can I get some?”

“Bolt of lightning,” Peter says ruefully, pointing up at the sky. It feels amazing to say it aloud like this. To just admit it. “1942, down in the trenches, thought it was a bomb but…”

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah.”

“1942? Peter you’re...how old are you?”

“A hundred this year.”

“Holy fuckballs.”

“Wade.”

“Peter…” he reaches out his hand. It’s terribly old and wrinkled, there are dark spots all over. Peter’s so jealous of it. He takes it and twines their fingers together. Wade’s grip isn’t that strong and Peter can feel all the prominent veins, but it’s enough. “I think maybe you should come back with me. Tell me everything. Tell me about this grave. Then we can watch some of my movies.”

Peter helps him up and nods, a little teary. “The blockbusters or the sextapes?”

“You horndog,” Wade grins, “lusting after a seventy two year old man, but I can’t blame you. Look at my ass.”

____

Tony is fifty years old.

He doesn’t feel it. Well, sometimes he feels it. Sometimes he aches in cold weather or he’ll wince at modern music and say something like turn that ruckus down. The kids never let him hear the end of that.

But most of the time, he feels young. He’s one of the sharpest minds of the century, he’s a billionaire, still a playboy, he does a bit of boxing, he looks pretty damn good.

It’s been two months since Peter. It hits him hard, it made him stumble, but there’s a sense of closure that wasn’t there before. No longer is there the hanging burden of uncertainty. He knows now. He understands. Peter loved him and had to leave. It wasn’t about Tony, it was about the mystery that is his life.

Tony hates his dad a little more than he did before, but the uncertainty is gone, and it has taken with it the sense of insecurity that has been rooted deep within him for such a long time he’d almost forgotten what it was like to live without it. It feels like something dark and sad has slowly, and for the first time in a long while, loosened its grip on his heart.

Harley is still a little lost, and Morgan has been determined in tracking Peter down.

“Sweetheart,” Tony sighs, straightening his bowtie and admiring just how dapper he looks in the mirror, “I told you, you won’t find him. He’s been doing this for a very long time.”

She looks at him and she’s beautiful, his little girl, in a slinky gold dress, her hair down to her hips. “But you’re soulmates.”

“Honey-”

“Come on,” Harley calls, his own suit a little dusted with snow, “we’re not going to be late to our own New Years Eve party. Not again.”

Tony chuckles, holding Morgan’s hand and guiding her out. “What? It’s tradition.”

It is a tradition. Tony rents out the top floor of the town’s nicest hotel, invites everyone for a free bar and a spectacular place to watch spectacular fireworks. It’s made him rather popular.

It’s just as gorgeous this year as it is every year. The floor to ceiling windows look out over the town at night, and the city beyond it is just whitening with frost. There are lights and the distant cheering of celebration.

Tony heads over to the bar, where Harley is sipping at a tall glass of orange juice.

“This is ridiculous.” Harley grumbles, “I’m practically an adult.”

Tony pats him on the back. “You can have one glass of champagne at midnight. Because I love you.” He presses a kiss onto the back of Harley’s head.

“And him.” Harley whispers, almost bitterly. So quiet that Tony could try and pretend he hasn’t heard it. Could try and pretend that things between the two of them haven’t been tense for the past two months. It’s there, though, just beneath the surface, an anger and a hurt from his son.

Tony pauses. Closes his eyes. Gathers his breath.

Harley goes on: “You love my boyfriend, Peter was-”

“Have you had something already?” Tony asks warningly, he can smell it on Harley’s breath.

“You should’ve seen the way he looked at you over dinner.” Harley hiccups, “I didn’t understand-”

Tony swallows hard, and signals the bartender for some water. “I would never do anything to hurt you.” He whispers, brutal and true, “you are my son, Harls. You know that I’d never do anything to hurt you.”

“I loved him.”

Tony doesn’t think that’s true. Peter and Harley had only known each other a matter of weeks, but Harley’s always been so head-first diving into everything. The first guy he ever brought home and it turns out his dad-

“I’m sorry, bud,” He murmurs, ruffling Harley’s curls, because he doesn’t know what else he can say.

_____

There’s an angel in the lobby.

Or Harley died on the elevator ride down. Which he might have done, vodka and orange juice aren’t mixing the intoxicating way in his stomach that he thought they might.

There’s an angel in the lobby, looking a little lost.

He has hair of perfect chocolate curls and cuts a sharp, gorgeous figure. He’s in perfectly tailored black trousers, shoes polished like two glistening opals, and a satin shirt of so fine an indigo it almost looks like liquid silk. There are simple diamonds almost hidden in his ears and the silver buckle of his watch around his wrist shines under the soft lights of the lobby.

“Peter,” Harley breathes, and Peter turns, the top buttons of his shirt all undone and tempting and showing that lovely cream skin and those sharp collarbones and the hint of a scar from a photo taken 30 years ago.

____

“I’ll have one double shot espresso with some cream and-” Harley cuts off, stuttering when his eyes land on the boy behind the counter.

The barista smiles, ducking his head a little and hiding his face beneath the navy blue cap that’s part of his uniform.

Harley grins, tensing his muscles a little, and checking his shirt for ketchup stains. “Hi,” he beams, taking in the delicate frame and the pretty lips that he can still see. Now this is a pretty boy he wants in his bed. Maybe they’re both freshmen- The name tag says - “Peter. Can I get a double shot espresso with some cream? Maybe your number?”

One of the girls in the line behind him mumbles oh god, but Harley figures she’s just jealous.

Peter peaks up at him, punching his order into the till. “One double espresso with cream coming up.” He says politely, but there’s still a little blush on his cheeks so Harley hums thoughtfully. When he hands over the money, there’s a fifty dollar bill there.

“As a tip.” He offers winningly, when Peter gives him a look.

The boy laughs. “Is that what I’m worth?”

“Baby, you are priceless.”

Peter laughs again. It’s glorious. Harley can’t take his eyes off him. Jesus, he’s beautiful. “Do you go here?” He asks, nudging his head towards one of the college buildings.

The barista shuffles over to fiddle with the machine for another order and Harley follows. “No, I’m just working here.”

“That’s cool too,” Harley hurries to offer.

He wonders what Peter’s hair is like under that cap. His eyes suggest brown-

Fuck, Harley needs to get laid. How long has it even been?

“Name?” Peter asks, and Harley grins.

“0538 124 212.”

He gets a look.

“I know, right? What were my parents thinking?”

Peter looks like he’s trying very hard not to smile.

Harley’s thrilled. He reaches for a napkin and pulls a pen out of his pocket. It’s leaking a little, but he scribbles down his number and slides it over, black stained on his fingers. “If you ever wanna...get coffee?”

After a long moment of delibration, Peter’s eyes flickering over his face, the barista reaches over and gingerly takes the napkin. “What’s your name?” He asks eventually.

Harley beams. “Guess.”

_______

“Oh, Harls.” Peter gasps, rushing over to him.

Harley wants to be mad. He wants to be angry. The last time he’d seen Peter they’d been fighting, he’d been so hurt. But Peter’s there now, his hands cold from the snow outside, and cradling Harley’s face, looking up at him with concern and love.

Harls. Only his dad calls him that. But he’s never minded Peter doing it, either. He stands there, head bowed, and relishes in Peter’s touch as those fingertips fret over his forehead, brush his bangs out of eyes. “Have you been drinking? Oh, Harley! Let’s get you some coffee.” There’s a steady arm wrapping around his waist, guiding him.

“Coffee,” Harley laughs, feeling carved out. “That’s where we met.”

Peter doesn’t say anything to that, and Harley’s being pushed into a plush seat in the corner of the hotel’s restaurant on the ground floor. It’s empty, everyone’s upstairs at his dad’s party, but somehow, Peter procures a cup of coffee, just the way Harley likes it.

He takes a long, warm sip, and then looks across the table.

Peter is so beautiful. Even now, his expression pinched tight, fingers tapping nervously.

“You haven’t come for me.” Harley whispers; ragged.

Huge honey eyes dart to him in surprise. “Harley,” Peter frowns, “I did come back for you.”

“What? But-”

“I just left you, without any explanation, and...that was a really shitty thing to do. I’m so sorry. You have to know-” Peter’s eyes burn with sincerity, “-it’s all me. I know people say that, but Harley, I’m...you deserve someone so much better for you than me. There’s something wrong with me and-” Peter’s eyes are wet, he’s trembling all over, and Harley realises with a cold sobering thought that-

Peter doesn’t know they know.

Harley watches; awed. For the first time since he’s met him, he can see the pain that radiates off of Peter in waves. It’s something that’s always been there. A sense of being out of place, something just a little bit wrong.

For the first time, Harley thinks about how awful life must be for Peter.

Peter’s always struck him as so wise, so full of guidance, but he’s just lost.

“Pete,” he breathes, inhaling, “we know.”

Peter scrunches his nose up a little, cheeks glistening with tears. “Know what?”

“Dad- he- he figured it out.”

A stillness overcomes Peter, then. He stops trembling. “I-”

“Don’t say you have to go.” Harley whispers in a rush. Everything’s clear to him now. This sadness and this sense of being lost, he’s seen it before- he saw it when his dad dropped his cup of coffee, when he showed them the wedding ring he bought thirty years ago. “Peter, please, you have to go upstairs. You have to talk to my dad-”

Peter flinches hard. He composes himself, gets to his feet. “I have to go now, Harley-”

“You just apologised to me. For leaving.” Harley chokes, his own eyes wet, as he gets to his feet and blocks Peter’s way. “Doesn’t my dad deserve that? Fuck, Pete, he loved you so much-”

Peter’s shaking his head, like he can push the words away, like they cut him too deep to be heard.

“He’s upstairs right now, it’s New Years Eve, just- he’s forgiven you. He’s not mad, I swear,” Harley whispers, words a blur of persuasion, “none of us are mad. We just- we get it, we get it, and-and we all hate grandpa for- we- please, please get in that elevator. Go upstairs, I…” he shakes his head, he feels unsteady on his feet. “When I first saw you in that lobby I thought it was gonna be a big romantic moment, and you know- there is gonna be, but- it’s not gonna be with me. Please.”

Peter walks past him and Harley can’t bear to watch whether he goes to the elevators or the doors.

______

The countdown to New Years brings apprehensive excitement every single year. Every single year, even though Tony knows how it goes. He counts down, he cheers, he sips champagne. Morgan will rush up to kiss his cheek, and then he’ll watch the fireworks and maybe treat himself to a slice of cake.

But still, when everyone starts cheering ten, nine, eight he can’t help the little rush that shoots through him. He looks in vain for his son, but can’t see him.

Everyone’s on five, Morgan’s already kissing a well-dressed man and Tony rolls his eyes fondly, when someone taps him on the shoulder.

It’s so fucking ludicrous to say that time stops when you see that person. The person. Time doesn’t stop or slow, and the countdown continues, but Tony feels a peace in his soul that permeates into every inch of him- that makes him take in every minute detail in a fraction of the time it normally takes him, so it seems like time has slowed.

But time hasn’t slowed. The countdown goes on.

Peter’s there.

He’s crying, he’s smiling, and then he’s pushing onto his tiptoes, and just as the fireworks go off-

Tony gets kissed.

It’s like going back in time. He’s 18 years old again, cramped in the back of his car with Peter in his lap.

Peter’s arched on the very tips of his toes, chest pressed flush to Tony’s, and just like he did 30 years ago, dancing the same beautiful dance, his favourite dance, Tony bows his head and cradles Peter’s neck and eases them into something no less desperate, but a little more comfortable.

Peter tastes of tears and gratitude and love.

Tony can’t believe he’s holding him, that he’s here, that it’s all real.

When they pull away, they’re gasping for air, but Peter stays close, burying his way into Tony’s neck just like- just like-

“You know,” Peter hiccups, as everyone cheers and fireworks bang. “You know I’m all wrong, but- but- I love you.”

Tony holds him so tight he knows he’s hurting him, but he can’t let go. Can’t reel it in. “You’re the most right thing I’ve ever known.” He confesses into Peter’s hair, a promise and a vow.

When he looks up, Morgan is staring at them, jaw dropped- tears in her eyes.

_______

“Well, fuck me slowly,” Wade mumbles, rotating his jaw slowly and feeling around his dentures. “That’s a story, Parker.”

Peter nods, dipping further into the expensive furs and ludicrous rugs that are draped over every single piece of furniture. “What do I do, Wade? It’s all- I can’t keep doing this forever.”

“It’s easy, Petey.” Wade says softly, nodding when Peter turns to him for all the answers. “Bucky was your guy. Most people just get one. Yours died. But then, you got another one. His name is Tony Stark, Pete, and he’s not dead. He’s your guy.”

“My guy?” Peter croaks desperately, searching for truth and seeing it staring him in the face- in the form of liver spots and a crude mouth.

Wade nods sagely. “He’s your guy, Pete.”

“I can’t,” Peter blubbers, burying his face in his hands, “I can’t face him. I- I- with his son.”

“Yeah, that didn’t end brilliantly.” Wade sighs. He’s silent for a long moment, just until Peter’s breathing evens out. “I get if you don’t think you can make it work with Tony. But trust me, Pete, a string of lovers gets old real fast. Especially when you don’t. If you’re not gonna get your guy, I think you probably owe his son an apology.”

Peter looks up, a watery half smile on his face. “When did you get so wise?”

Wade winks, then gestures to the bed. “A quickie for old times sake? I’ll just need to pop a little blue pill.”

“I’d much rather hear your life story.” Peter murmurs, eyes alight with merriment, “I bet it’s been amazing.”

Wade puffs his chest out a little. “It hasn’t been half bad.”

_______

The scruff of Tony’s beard dragging against his neck is not the only thing that’s different.

Tony’s hands are firmer, his touch more knowing, more confident. Not as clumsy or unsure. Peter’s writhing in his lap, hips rocking without his consent, as Tony bites up the column of his throat.

Tony’s hair is just as thick in between Peter’s fingers. He’s broader, Peter’s legs spread wider over his thighs, but he smells just the same. He touches all the same places and that touch makes Peter hot all over.

“You’re like a dream,” Tony whispers, prayer-quiet, into the hollow of Peter’s throat.

Peter clutches him. “All this time-”

“You’re here now.” Tony shushes, gentling, he kisses Peter’s lips, the corners of his mouth, his nose, his eyebrows, until Peter pulls away.

Peter looks down at him, and traces his hands over all those handsome features. “You are loved. I’m so sorry if I ever made you feel otherwise. You are enough.”

Tears slips down Tony’s face and it’s like he doesn’t realise they’re there. “I’m enough?”

“More than.” Peter promises.

______

They don’t leave the bedroom for two days.

Tony knows that Morgan’s probably making fake-vomiting faces downstairs, but she’s only half right.

Being with Peter again is- it’s something he’s wanted for so long and now that he has it, nothing else seems to matter. All the wrongs pale into nothing. He feels like he can handle anything in the world. Anything life could throw at him.

He lies in bed as Peter tells him the story of their missing years. Of the turn of the century, of moving to England and working as a fashion photographer, or coming back home and moving from college to college, soaking in every inch of every culture he could get his hands on.

He talks about it almost like he’s ashamed, and Tony lies beside him, tracing the planes of Peter’s chest, and doesn’t let him feel guilty.

But then it’s Tony’s turn, and guilt bubbles up inside him. The look on Peter’s face is one he can’t school. When Tony talks of his wedding to Pepper, of the joy when Morgan was born, of his technological break-throughs, the money, Harley, seeing graduations and getting his first grey hair-

“I’m sorry,” Tony murmurs, drawing Peter into his embrace as he cries.

“Don’t be,” Peter sniffles, “I’m so happy for you. I’m just so jealous. I’ll never have that- and- and one day you’ll be gone and you’re all I want.”

When Peter talks about the 30s, Tony expects for those memories to be faded and muted, but Peter remembers them with startling, heart-breaking clarity.

James Buchannon Barnes, Tony thinks of the photo he and Morgan found of the soldiers. He reaches for his laptop as Peter talks.

“The training was kicking my ass, Buck kept trying to get me sent home on purpose-”

“Is he in this photo?” He blurts, a little graceless, pulling it up.

Peter stares, stricken by the sight of it, and he reaches out to touch the screen.

There’s Peter, skinny and muddy, painted in black and white and grinning- exhausted. Tony watches as Peter touches another man. He’s tall and stony faced, a few people away, but strappingly handsome.

“It’s Bucky,” Peter whispers, but it seems like he has no tears left to cry. Instead he smiles, and cradles the laptop. “I-he-...”

It’s almost unfathomable. “Did anyone know?”

Peter shakes his head. “I think some people in our regiment guessed, but they were good men. Just boys, we all were. Even Bucky. I think they knew but they didn’t care one bit.”

Tony shuts his eyes and rests his head on Peter’s bare shoulder. “I can’t imagine you, Peter.”

They don’t leave the room. Tony just holds him. Feels their skin press together. He keeps bracing, waiting for Peter to look at him and think he’s old, but he comes apart at Tony’s touches like he’s been waiting for them, craving them all this time.

Tony knows how it feels.

He’s eighteen years old again when Peter settles between his legs and takes his cock into his mouth. He grunts, hands fisting into those impossible curls, and he can feel Peter’s smile.

____

“Jesus, Pete,” Tony pants, even as he bucks his hips a little, “we’re due back in like three minutes-”

Peter pulls off, framed by the thick wool of the coat room, lips sinfully shiny. He arches an eyebrow. “You don’t think I can get you there in 3 minutes?”

Tony laughs breathlessly, “you’re gonna try-”

Peter takes him all the way and Tony thumps his head back against the wall so hard he’s seeing stars.

_____

The winter sun breaks in through the window and Tony blinks slowly, shaking off the lingering slumber. He’s in bed, and Peter is draped over him, snuffling in his sleep and Tony feels so much younger and lighter than he has in years.

Softly, he lays his hands over Peter’s back, and just rests them there.

It took thirty two years but his soulmate is here. Is with him.

And it’s all thanks to Harley.

______

“After all these years,” Tony chokes out, framed by vines and lavender. “After all this time…” the ring he’s had for so long is finally on the person it was always meant for.

From the pews, Wade lets out a little sob.

From behind him, Tony can hear Harley sniffle. Can see Morgan smile.

Before the priest even says “you may kiss-” Peter’s springing onto his tiptoes and kissing Tony like he can’t bear to wait another second.

Tony can taste his smile, and he holds him tight and feels the tickle of petals as they cascade down onto them both.

There are going to be things to work out, science and forged identities and searching for a way to see what exactly happened to Peter.

But all of that is on the backburner.

Tony finally has the love of his life in his arms, a ring on his finger, and all the time he’s waited suddenly feels like no time at all.

He finally has his own slice of forever.