#fate! second chances! that's my fucking jam right there!

[senditcolton]

happy birthday!!!!! 🥳🥳🥳

what about for a prompt number 5 (I promise right here, right now. I won’t let you down.) with anthony beauvillier? maybe some angst, some fluff, (maybe even exs to lovers or second chance romance? but i know that’s not always everyone’s vibes so feel free to ignore it!!!)

babe, i love second chance romance so if you ever see me turning down the opportunity to write it, there is something incredibly wrong.

I promise right here, right now, I won't let you down.

“Kaitlin, I am not going on a blind date, no matter how many times you ask.”

You sigh, walking through the living room, down the hallway towards your bedroom with your roommate and best friend close on your heels.

“Oh, come on, you need to get back out there!” she exclaims, following you into the room before dramatically falling onto the top of your bed.

“I am perfectly fine being single right now, thank you very much.”

“Are you just saying that or are you still hung up on Tito, the guy who cheated on you?”

You sigh again, pausing your rummaging through your dresser to roll your eyes at her words. She always did this, as if that was the defining point of you and Anthony’s previous relationship, even though she never said it maliciously. The concept of how you and Anthony ended was just foreign to her ‘delete their number and never interact with them again’ approach to exes.

“I wish you would stop referring to him as just the dude who cheated on me. I told you a hundred times, we hadn’t defined our relationship at that point and even if we did, he didn’t try to hide it from me. He told me as soon as he saw me again. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“If it wasn’t that big of a deal, why did you break up with him?”

“And I know I told you this a hundred times as well,” you sigh out, closing the drawer and spinning to face her with your sweatpants in your hand. “It still hurt and I needed a break to take some time to process everything. And that’s what I am doing right now; processing.”

“And you’ve decided that you’re still in love with him,” Kaitlin says, adding a conclusion to your previous statement that you didn’t ask for.

You shoot a tired glare in her direction before disappearing into the adjoining bathroom to start your bedtime routine. And as soon as the door closes between the two of you, you let out a deep sigh, your forehead dropping to hit against the door gently.

It wasn’t her prodding that really bothered you. It was more so that part of you thought that she was right. You did still love Anthony even though he did disappoint you previously. But like you said to Kaitlin, he was upfront with you, something that you admired even though hearing his confession hurt you deeply.

That conversation was probably one of the best you’ve ever experienced in a relationship; Anthony told you the truth and said that he understood if you wanted to end things permanently. His honesty made you not want to throw everything away and when you told him that you needed a break, just some time to process everything and work through your emotions, he said he understood and he would wait for you.

The cynical part of you expected him to go off and act like a bachelor as soon as your ‘break’ began, as if his whole apology was an act to make him look like the good guy. But that part was proven wrong. You never learned about him sleeping around, kissing or even flirting with other people. Instead, he did exactly what he said he would: he waited for you.

He remained your friend, helping you when you asked, hanging out with you whenever your mutual friends got together and it was never awkward. In fact, it felt the same as it had been before; perhaps a little bit less romantic and physical but the same emotions and care were still here.

And it took a while, but you came to realize that you still cared for him and wanted him back in your life as more than a friend.

All that being said, after a few months of living in this weird in-between space, you weren’t sure how to get it back to where it was. You also wondered if Anthony still felt the same way about you; if he was still waiting for you to return to him romantically or if he realized that he just wanted to keep this easy friendship instead.

You wanted clarity but were too scared to ask directly. And after going through the motions of your bedtime routine, thinking over everything, you decide to go take the scenic route to receive that clarity.

When you push open the bathroom door, you find Kaitlin still sprawled across your mattress, furiously texting before you clear your throat, pulling her attention to you.

“Okay, I’ll do it,” you say and you watch a brief flash of confusion cross her face before she understands your words. And when she does, she practically leaps from the bed.

“Really?”

You nod in confirmation and she squeals, pulling you into an excited hug before leaping away.

“You are going to love him, I promise,” she says before burying her face back into her phone, texting away as she disappears down the hallways and you chuckle, lightly shaking your head, wondering what you’ve just gotten yourself into.

~

You had never been on a blind date before so you weren’t sure if all of them were this goddamn secretive. Kaitlin had revealed nothing about the guy you were meeting tonight, not even his name. You were supposed to meet him at this Italian restaurant down the street, the reservation held under Kaitlin’s name to add another layer of mystery. The only thing that you were told was that he was “absolutely perfect for you.”

You sigh, soothing out your dress one final time before walking into the restaurant and talking to the hostess before you were following her into the dining area.

And your feet almost stopped beneath you when you saw Anthony sitting in the booth that the hostess was leading you towards, his eyes unfocused on a point in the distance, his hand smoothing his jawline, a habit that you noticed he fell into every time he shaved. The arrival of the hostess draws his attention and his eyes dart to her before looking behind her towards you.

And you can’t stop the fluttering of your heart when you see the soft smile appear on his lips when his eyes finally land on you.

You slip into the booth, quietly thanking the hostess before turning your attention back towards Anthony.

“Did you know about this?” you ask, wondering if he came into this moment as blind as you did.

“I had no idea,” he replies with a chuckle. “I honestly thought I was meeting Kaitlin.”

“Why would you be meeting Kaitlin?” you inquire and you are surprised to see a soft pink hue appear on his cheeks.

“Is it embarrassing to say that I asked her to meet me so I could ask about you?”

“It’s a little weird,” you counter, your voice light so you made sure that Anthony knew you were teasing him. “Besides, you could’ve just asked me anything directly. I’m an open book.”

“It was about getting you back,” he confesses and there your heart goes again, doing little backflips inside your ribcage. He just confirmed the one thing that you wanted to know, the question that you had been wondering about for the past few weeks; he did want you back. Like that.

“What did Kaitlin tell you to get you to come here?”  

“She said it was a blind date,” you say. Anthony’s face falters at the admission and it takes you a minute to realize that the reason for that was because it made it seem like you hadn’t been as patient as Anthony. You quickly start to talk again, rambling slightly to try and make sure Anthony understood.

“I haven’t been dating or seeing anyone, this was the first time I even thought about it since… well since you know when. I just had some uncertainty about where we stood and what I wanted that I thought maybe going on a low-stakes date with a stranger would help give me clarity.”

“Has it given you any clarity? Even though I’m not a stranger?”

“I know that I was really happy when I saw you sitting here. Startled, sure, but happy.”

Anthony shoots a gentle smile in your direction once more and any tension and hesitancy that may have been floating between the two of you seemed to vanish, right as the waiter arrived at your table, taking your drink order before strolling away, leaving you and Anthony alone.

The dinner fell into that easy conversation that always seemed to happen when you and Anthony were together. But on top of that, there were more lingering touches and playful glances in the other’s direction, a tiny spark of hope growing between the two of you.

It isn’t until after dinner is consumed does the conversation circle back to your shared history.

“So, I know we kind of already touched on this,” Anthony begins, dropping his fork onto his plate, his eyes connecting to yours, “but I wanted to ask you about us.”

“What about us?” you say, your words tentative.

“I was just wondering if you’ve had enough time to think things over and make a decision about where we stand.” You take a deep breath in, sorting through the emotions of the past month in an attempt to make your feelings clear to him.

“I’m going to be honest, because you were always honest with me” you say and you watch Anthony steel himself. “I’m still scared to let you in completely, just because of how you hurt me before. But I do know one thing for certain and that is that I really, really like you, Anthony. I’m afraid to say that word to you just yet but I know that it’s a definite possibility as well. And so, I suppose that I want to start dating you again. Pick up kind of where we left off and go from there.”

The biggest smile that you had seen through the entire night broke out on Anthony’s face at your words. You watch as his arms raise as he reaches out to you from across the table. There is no hesitation as you place your hands in his outstretched palms, his fingers closing around you, thumbs brushing across your knuckles.

“I told you I would wait for you. And I will. I’m not going to push you or pressure you to anything you aren’t ready for. But this much I swear to you; I will do everything in my power to never let you down again.”

[letmelickyoureyeballs]

Witcher Fic Recs

Wanted to make a list of some of my favorite Witcher fics! Most of these are not Jaskier/Geralt, but I did add some, and they are just as good! A lot are also Explicit, and some need an AO3 account to access. Feel free to message me if you want your work taken off this list.

*I do not claim any of these fics as mine, and I give all the credit to the original authors*

"Bat Out of Water" by @tafkamayle One of if not my favorite Witcher fic! 65k words, Explicit, Jaskier/Geralt Jaskier/Eskel Jaskier/Lambert, Vampire and Pirate AU

"The Songbird of The Cats" by @ohwhoopsok I've read this one so many times I cannot recommend it enough! 28k words, Mature, Jaskier/OCs Jaskier/Aiden Jaskier/Lambert, Jaskier becomes the School of the Cats new obsession, little non-human Jaskier

"The Shape of Love" by @jaskierswolf 17k words, Teen and Up, Shifter AU, Geralt/Jaskier, there's a bunch of works in this series and they're all great!

"Fateful Red" by @tafkamayle again, 16k words, Explicit, Jaskier/Geralt, Soulmates and No Powers AU, I love this one so much!

"That's my Jam(bert)" by @greenbirddraws/GreenBird, 14k words, Explicit, Jaskier/Lambert, I love them together so much!

"So Tight I'd Bruise You" by @sweetpeapod 496 words, General Audience, Jaskier/Lambert, little hurt/comfort and soft Lambert

"Cat Up A Tree(Going Down on a Witcher)" by Hallianna, 10k words, Explicit, Aiden/Jaskier/Lambert, love this one a lot!

"Bring Your Hunger" by @sweetpeapod again, 2k words, Teen and Up, Jaskier/Lambert, teasing and fluff

"Take a Chance on Second Chances" by Caelanmiriel, 9k words, Explicit, Jaskier/Lambert, some courting rituals

"Fingertips" by @ohwhoopsok again, 3k words, Explicit, Jaskier/Lambert, Lambert can't get hard, some fluff, this one is super sweet!

"to the wolves" by @besselfcn 1k words, Mature, Jaskier/Lambert/Eskel/Geralt, Past SA, hurt/comfort, revenge, past Valdo/Jaskier

"I Just Want to Feel You" by @stfustucky 6k words, Explicit, Jaskier/Geralt/Lambert/Eskel, Geralt and Eskel fuck up some aftercare so Lambert has to make things right, super sweet one!

"Soap, and the Scents of Home" by @round--robin/round_robin 32k words, Explicit, Jaskier/Geralt/Eskel/Lambert, lots of touch-starved Witchers, Scent kink, an amazing series!

"5 Times Geralt was Cat-Like (+1 Time He Was Wolf-Like)" by @xrdragonix 2k, General Audience, Geralt/Jaskier, Wolf and Cat traits, super cute and wholesome!

If you enjoyed any of these please let the authors know with comments, kudos, and/or bookmarking it!

[angelkissiies]

Ive had this image in my head all week and i need to excorcise it so im writing it here. Feel free to ignore.

I really think Abby should get to rip open a clicker's skull by jamming her hands into that... I have no idea how to describe it... you know that split up their faces where the two halves of their explodey mushroom heads meet... jam both hands in there and rip it apart like whichever Chris splitting that firewood in that MCU movie... where he... does that... I'm vaguely remembering a gif...There's a reason why you write and I send asks on anon and it's not cos I'm articulate.

But yeah, whoever plays Abby in the HBO show should get to do that, as a treat! :)

Also, for us Abby x Reader nerds, just picture it: You think you're fucked, there's a clicker crawling toward you, you lost your weapons somehow (stay with me). You're scrabbling backwards but its faster than you, there's nowhere to go and all you can do is accept your fate. Out of nowhere, Abby jumps on its back, grabs the motherfucker's face as its inches away from yours and pulls it into her chest to rip it apart. Blood everywhere. She's breathing heavy. You can't believe she'd be so stupid to put her hands IN a clicker's FACE. She can't believe you thought she wouldn't try everything to save you. Then you make out. You know?

Exorcism complete

i kinda just threw this out because you seriously inspired me !! i hope this is an okay rendition of your vision !!

You’d run out of options, dodging behind a half wall to escape the roaming clicker that you’d gotten trapped with. The floor to the room you’d been searching caved in and left you empty-handed, scrambling around in the dark to gain your bearings- though before you’d had the chance to dig your flashlight out of your pack, you heard the telltale clicking noise come from down the hall. It was one bad situation after another, leading you to where you sat now, clutching the only useful thing you could find in the array of items you’d retrieved from the building.

The light from your flashlight bounced off of the ceiling, illuminating your surroundings as you peeked around the corner, seeing the cordyceps ridden being shuffling around the stairwell. So far, it only seemed like it was the one, which sounded easy enough right? Wrong, without a knife you were almost certainly fucked- seeing as their growths served as a king of armor for them. “Goddamn it.” You mouthed, hearing the floorboards above where you sat squeak- catching the clickers attention.

You quickly moved, taking refuge in a small corner, having no place else to go now. The room only had one exit and as you used a hand to cover your mouth, you saw the hypersensitive infected shuffle in- whipping its blinded head around as it made a hellacious screaming noise. It knew, somehow, that something was down here. Its legs drew it further and further into the room until it was just feet away from you. You knew this was it, do or die- and the circumstances had forced your hand to choose the latter- squeezing your eyes shut as you braced yourself for the inevitable lunge.

Abby had made it, just seconds before it was too late- not even thinking to draw her knife as she saw your unmoving figure coward under the clicker. She moved too fast for it to counter her, her heavy boot coming into contact with its knobby kneecap- causing it to fall before her. Her heart was racing, hands jamming inside the monster's mouth- fingers securing on the flattened beds of its teeth as she forced the bones apart- a sickening noise of pain emanating from its mouth as the pieces came apart in her hands. The blood from the kill didn’t phase her, not wasting a second as she threw the pieces of the skull onto the floor, coming to her knees before you. “Baby?” She whispered, rubbing the blood from her hands onto the legs of her cargo pants.

You could barely hear her over the sound of your heartbeat echoing in your ears, only jumping when you felt her calloused fingers brush the hair from your face back. Your eyes darted up, slightly blurry from how tight you’d screwed them shut- arms immediately latching around her shoulders as you launched yourself at the girl. “Fuck, oh god, Abby.” You shuddered, fingers digging into the dark blue of her jacket, burying your face in her neck. “I thought it was over.”

She let out a shaky breath, thinking the same, as she wrapped her arms around your waist- pulling you impossibly close. “I’d never let anything happen to you.” She said matter-of-factly, mind still racing as she took a deep breath- inhaling the sweet scent of your coconut shampoo. It had been a gift, something you only used once in a while due to its scarcity, and she thanked god you decided to use it today- feeling the nerves dwindle as she melted into you. “Would do anything to keep you safe.”

[allelitesmut]

Palate Cleanser part 2

After their reunion goes south, Max makes one last desperate attempt at changing their fate. But with a lifetime of history and baggage, have they missed their chance at getting the timing right?

Find Part One here

Ship: MJF x Actress!Childhood Friend!OFC

Rating: Explicit - 18+

Warnings: Smut (minors dni), Angst is their second language, Maybe even a little fluff this time, Cheating, Rough Sex, Choking, Hair Pulling, Oral Sex(f receiving), minor degradation, daddy kink, and breeding kink, biting

-One Missed Call-

-Two Missed Calls-

-Three Missed Calls-

*Riley, please pick up the phone. Please, I’m begging you.*

-Four Missed Calls-

*Please, we can’t leave things like this...*

*I went to your hotel but they said you already checked out. How did you get here so much faster than me? I’m going to be so late for this convention*

-Five Missed Calls-

*I’m going to the airport. They can fucking fire me if they want, I’m not sitting around in some loser convention while you walk out of my life*

-Six Missed Calls-

*Riley, pick up. I’m going crazy here. Please, pick up the phone.*

*I’m trying really hard not to be a psycho right now but i’m running out of options.*

-Seven Missed Calls-

*Please, Riley. I can’t say this stuff to you through text. Please pick up.*

YOUR CALL COULD NOT BE COMPLETED AS DIALED. PLEASE HANG UP AND DIAL AGAIN.

“Why aren’t my calls going through?”

MESSAGE NOT DELIVERED.

YOUR CALL COULD NOT BE COMPLETED AS DIALED. PLEASE HANG UP AND DIAL AGAIN.

“Riley?”

MESSAGE NOT DELIVERED

YOUR CALL COULD NOT BE COMPLETED AS DIALED. PLEASE HANG UP AND DIAL AGAIN.

—————

-One Month Later-

Max hesitated in the cool night air before stepping up onto the sidewalk. He took in a long breath through his nose and squeezed his eyes shut. The ‘for sale’ sign out front was a daunting reminder that this was his last shot.

He had heard through the grapevine that she put her townhouse on the market, but seeing it for himself was a different story. The place looked just like it always did, a gem tucked away on a quiet street near Washington Square Park. The wave of nostalgia that hit him nearly bowled him over; he missed this place and the fact that he didn’t do this years ago was making him itchy.

Her porch light was on and he could see the light on in the living room. She was home and she was still awake. It wasn’t until he was halfway here that he realized that it would be nearly one in the morning by the time he got here and some people actually slept.

His expensive shoes scuffed along with pavement, turning onto the walkway up to her porch. He wondered if she heard his car pull up and his stomach was suddenly turning. Climbing the few stairs up to the door, his heartbeat pounded in his ears. Fuck, he had been so confident the entire ride here but now that he needed to raise a hand to ring the doorbell, his arms were suddenly made of concrete.

It had been a long time since he had been here. Probably five years by now. It seemed like a lifetime but he couldn’t help but feel like it was still a second home. How many times had he parked in that same spot, walked up those same stairs, knocked on this same door? How many times had he not bothered to knock because he had a key and she had an open door policy for him, and him alone? How did he manage to screw things up this colossally? Fuck, he was in his own head.

Acting before he could double guess it, he reached up and jammed on the doorbell that he suddenly wasn’t sure he had ever used before, wincing as it let out a stuttered double chime throughout her house. Swallowing hard, he shifted his weight and tried to train his face into something she might not want to spit at. His fingers fidgeted as he waited for a response, one hand fiddling with the bag that was strangled tight in his fist. Then, he could hear the soft pad of her footsteps approaching the door, and his mouth went dry.

Without stopping to think, Riley swung the door open, spoon still dangling from between her lips from the ice cream she had just sat down to eat. She caught sight of him and screeched to a halt, pulling the spoon from her mouth. Time stood still as she took in the sight of him, hair slightly disheveled, beard more grown out than she had ever seen. He was dressed in a t-shirt and sweats, his eyes clearly bloodshot even in the flickering porch light. A well in her chest grew astronomically fast and she slammed the door shut before he could even get out a ‘hello’.

Max deflated on the other side of the door, cursing himself for being so dumb-struck that he couldn’t manage to conjure up a single word in the time she was looking at him. He drove over an hour, practicing what he was going to say when he finally got here and now he was totally blank. The sight of her, hair tied up, wearing those tiny silk pj’s that he knew he bought her for some birthday a million years ago, it knocked the wind out of him for a second. He knocked pointedly at her door.

“Riley, come on, I obviously know you’re in there.” He tried to speak loud enough for her to hear through the door. It was quiet, only the sound of some drunk kids down the street. But importantly, not the sound of her walking away. “Please, just talk to me, Ry.”

“Go away, Max.” Her voice was faint on the other side of the door but if she was responding, he could at least get somewhere.

“No, I’m not going anywhere until you hear me out. I will camp out on your porch if I have to.” He insisted, fully prepared to settle in. It wouldn’t be the first time he fell asleep on this porch.

“You can’t just show up here unannounced.” She slid down the door, sitting on the floor, back flat against it. Her stomach was in knots and she was doing her best to suppress the thrill that was so desperately trying to peak through.

“Well I would’ve called but you blocked me.” He settled into the brick porch, leaning his shoulder into the door, as if it made him any closer to her.

“Maybe you should have taken that hint.” She laid her head back, eyes closed, willing herself to get up and go back to the couch; to eat her ice cream and finish her movie and go to bed and pretend this was just another futile dream.

Max fell quiet at that. He had been trying; he really had. He crawled back to the life he had blown up with his tail between his legs and tried to accept that it was over. And his efforts at seeming unaffected to everyone around him were valiant - they worked for a while, and they probably would have continued to work if he had been sleeping at night. But a month of sleepless nights took its toll, and his perpetual bad mood was making him hugely unpleasant to be around. The news that she was moving just pushed him over an edge. An hour of staring at the ceiling in bed and he finally cracked, jolting upright and barely stopping to throw on a shirt before he got in his car.

“I can’t stop thinking about you.”

“Go home, Max.” She pushed off the floor to get to her feet and he could hear the movement on the other side of the door, scrambling to get to his feet himself.

“I got your shoes fixed.” He offered, holding up the bag in his hand like she could see it through the door. She stilled, brows furrowing. “You left them in my room after...” Trailing off, he ground his heel into the porch. It was a blatant tactic; they both knew it...but that was her favorite pair of shoes...

“You fixed the heel?” She breathed cautiously, almost not wanting to hear the answer, and Max closed his eyes in a relieved breath.

“I’ve got a guy.” That guy was his mom but none-the-less, it was fixed.

Ever so slowly, she creaked the door back open, bracing herself. She could accept the shoes and tell him to leave. That was well within her power. Presumably. She held out an expectant hand, trying not to let her eyes wander anywhere beyond the bag in his hand. His hands that were absolutely not distracting to her at all.

“Not even a ‘thank you’?” He gave her a lopsided grin that she ignored, just jutting her hand out more insistently.

“Do you think that this fixes anything?” She sat back on her heel, her other hand clung to the doorknob, ready to slam it shut at a moments notice.

“Well maybe not fixes…per say, but bit of an olive branch?” He suggested but the silence that hung in the air afterwards told him it wasn’t cutting it. Extending his hands, he offered the bag up to her.

“Thank you for bringing me my shoes. Drive safe.” She responded finally, taking the bag and swinging the door closed, but Max caught it this time, stopping it from closing. Riley panicked, trying hard to slam it shut, his fingers be damned.

“Riley, come on. I came all the way out here, please can we just talk? Five minutes, that’s all I’m asking.” He held her gaze through the small opening left in the doorway and she froze to the spot. It was a bad idea. Giving him any opening was giving him too much leeway.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Five minutes and then I swear to god I will leave you alone for the rest of my life.” He insisted and Riley hesitated. She had locked herself away with all these thoughts after making her escape from his hotel room and it had made for a jumbled mess of unchecked emotions.

“Five minutes.” She finally conceded and he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “I’m setting a timer.”

Reluctantly letting the door ease open, she dropped the shoes on the entry table and retreated, hoping to keep a buffer between them. She started down the hall without waiting for him - he knew his way around. Stopping short before heading to the kitchen island, visions of their last night together slammed back into her brain. She decided the living room was safer than the kitchen.

“Think I could get a glass of water?” He lingered just outside the entrance to her kitchen. He was pushing his limits but sometimes that was what he did best. Riley rolled her eyes, sitting back on her hip.

“I already agreed to five minutes. Now you need a drink too? What is this, ‘If You Give A Mouse A Cookie’?” But she was already breezing past him into the kitchen, despite her objections. Max grinned, leaning against the arched doorway.

“Yeah, you know what they say.” He watched her as she struggled to reach a cup in her cabinets - same as always. “If you give a Max five minutes, he’ll ask for a glass of water…” Riley suppressed a smile. She wasn’t charmed by him. She wasn’t. She could will that into reality. “And if you give a Max a glass of water, he’ll probably need to use the bathroom, and if you let him use the bathroom, you’ll make him feel welcome in your home, and you’ll have to let him stay forever.” She got her pitcher of water from the fridge and poured it halfway up his cup.

“Only half a glass, then. No bathroom use allowed.” She seemed like she was teasing but her face was stoic and Max was having a hard time placing where her head was at. Hell, she was having a hard time placing where her head was at.

“You’re missing out.” He cocked his head but Riley just passed the glass to him and breezed past him into the living room.

“I’ll survive.” She sat down in the single chair, crossing her legs. The couch was much too dangerous. As Max came around to sit on the loveseat nearest to her, she fiddled with her phone, pulling up an alarm.

“Are you seriously setting a timer?” He leaned over to see as she placed it on the coffee table in front of him. Glancing over, he noted the bowl of ice cream that was melting, then up at the Sex in the City reruns that were up on her tv.

“Deadly, and it starts now. So I recommend you skip past the cute comments and make whatever point you wanted to make, so I can get on with my evening.” She said, leaning forward into his space to press start on the timer, and Max caught the scent of her shampoo, sending something shuttering inside him that withered the cute comment he was going to make about how exciting her evening looked. The timer ticked down. His brow furrowed and the corner of his lip twitched.

“You’re selling the house?” It tumbled out before he could stop it and her face scrunched for a moment. She had imagined him showing up on her front porch a hundred times in the last month; she had made herself thinking he was going to come chasing after her. But in all the times she had pictured it, this was never his leading point.

“You drove over an hour, after midnight, to demand five minutes…all to ask about my real estate dealings?” Her brow raised. It may not have been what she expected but it was easier than his apologies and guilt. Max shrugged and she shook her head. “Yeah, I’m selling the house.”

“Why?” His voice was soft and genuine and it unsettled something deep in her chest. Her head tipped from side to side; there were a lot of reasons she was selling this place, she just needed to figure out the safest reason to admit to him.

“Because my show is over and my chances of finding something new are drastically higher in Los Angeles than New York.” It was simple; clean. It made sense; in fact it was hard to argue with. So why did it feel like such an excuse?

“You’re moving to LA?” Max felt like he’d had the wind knocked out of him. If he picked up on how phony her reasoning felt coming out of her mouth. he didn’t show it. His finger tips felt numb. “There’s plenty of acting jobs in New York.”

“Not nearly as many and usually not as good.” She held her tongue about the ghosts of her bad decisions that haunted every inch of this house. She knew that if she even hinted that this move was more about her need for a fresh start, he was going to be able to needle his way in until she couldn’t think straight. And this felt like the first time she had been thinking straight in years.

“But you love this place.” He finally took a moment to look around. It was staged for viewings but, underneath it all, it was still the same. From the vinyl records in the corner to the vintage chair she was sitting in, but also in the bones of the old townhouse, those great wide beams that stretched across the ceiling and the hundred year old floor boards. He was with her when she first toured this place when she was finally ready to move out to Manhattan; he watched the way the pieces clicked into place when she stepped inside. It was instant for her.

“Well sometimes you have to do things you don’t want to do.” She meant for it to sound like she was being mature, but it felt oddly petulant coming out of her mouth.

“Do you, though?” He took a sip of his water, trying to occupy his hands anyway he could. Riley tilted her head, brow inching up. “Do you have to?” Her face fell, jaw shifting. “I mean, have you even tried finding something here?”

“I don’t need to try. I got lucky the first time and that’s not going to happen again. There’s nothing left for me in New York.” She focused her gaze down on the ice cream that was melting on the table. Max wet his lips, brow furrowed, before he shook his head.

“Riley...” He pleaded, trying to voice a dozen things with just her name, but her eyes snapped to him, narrowed. She understood perfectly what he was trying to say.

“Don’t. Don’t even try to pretend you’re a reason to stick around.” She snapped with the smallest shake of her head. Her chest ached and she glanced down at the timer. Three and a half minutes. She could handle another three and a half minutes. Then she could put this behind her.

“I could be.” He was more serious than she had ever seen him and something rolled in her stomach. Maybe three and a half minutes was too long. “But you shouldn’t stay for me.” Their gazes lingered on each other, the stillness in the air rippling through them. “Stay for you because you love this city and you love this house and because California is a wasteland.”

“California is beautiful.”

“It’s not New York.” He pinned her down with his eyes and she squirmed, struggling to meet his gaze.

“Well I think...New York and I have outgrown each other.” She said, finally looking up at him, and Max couldn’t help but feel like she was talking about more than just New York.

“Not possible.” He said definitively. “Soulmates don’t outgrow each other.” He watched her swallow, fingers toying with the seam on the couch cushion. That was a lofty word and it was difficult to pretend he was talking about the city. He thought he had laid all his cards on the table back in his hotel room but dozens of nights laying awake gave him plenty of time to think about all the things he didn’t say. In the moment he felt like he had bared his soul out to her but, thinking back, he wasn’t sure he said anything substantial. God, she jumbled his brain.

“Then maybe we aren’t soulmates.” She couldn’t stop the hurt from seeping into her voice. It didn’t matter what she wanted, some things just weren’t meant to be.

“Bullshit.” He stated like it was indisputable. Because to him, it was. Whether he was talking about himself or New York, it was bullshit. This is where she was meant to be. “You were made for this city. You’ll miss snow too much if you go to California.”

“I’ll live without it.” She looked away from him, eyes fixed on a small plant on the bookshelf on the other side of the room.

“Yeah? How many of the things you love are you going to leave behind when you run this time?” He abandoned all sense of pretense and her eyes snapped back to him. He was running out of time. In under three minutes, he needed to either convince her to stay or weasel his way into more time. The pressure was building in his chest. Riley scoffed, uncrossing then recrossing her legs, sitting back in her seat.

“You won’t get me with that twice.” She insisted with a small shake of her head, ignoring the tug at her gut that it caused. “Sometimes running is the smartest thing you can do.” No matter how many times she repeated it to herself, she couldn’t manage to get it to sink all the way in, though. “I’ve seen enough of your wrestling career to know that.” She deflected. Ever the masochist, she had found herself tuning in lately. Max’s brow furrowed, face scrunching up.

“That is not the same and you know it.”

“How is it not? I’m running from a fight, just like you do.”

“Okay, first of all,” He held up a finger. “I don’t run from fights, I make strategic decisions to conserve my energy.” He defended with exaggerated hand gestures, and she rolled her eyes. Her mouth opened to protest that she was doing the same thing, but he continued before she could. “Second of all, I’m not trying to fight you.” His voice was softer this time, more genuine, and it knocked her off balance.

“Yeah, then what are you trying to do, exactly?”

That was the question, wasn’t it? It always was. What did Max want? He may not have had an answer if he was asked a few years ago but he didn’t have to think anymore. He had done enough of that for a lifetime and it always led him to the same place.

“I’m trying to spend my life with the only person that has ever mattered to me at all.” He came all this way; none of it meant anything if he didn’t lay it all on the line. And the look on her face, even if for just a few stunned seconds, was enough to make it worth it, because he could see, at her core, that she wanted it as badly as he did. But then, oh boy, did her expression shift quickly, into something much colder than he had hoped for.

“Really? So Kelsey didn’t matter to you?” Her voice wasn’t angry but it was certainly frosty, and Max shrank back. “You were living together but she didn’t matter at all?” For the past month, her emotions had been all over the map but she kept coming back to that sickly guilt. That look on Kelsey’s face when she looked back at Riley - she knew that pain, she had worn that face, and she was angry that Max made her inflict that face on another person. He sighed, scrubbing his hands over his eyes, then back through his hair.

“Not compared to you.” He knew that wasn’t fair to Kelsey but it didn’t change the facts. The moment he saw Riley walk into that bar, Kelsey may as well have stopped existing.

“That’s not how it works, Max! You lived together, she trusted you! Why would you move in with a person that you don’t care about?”

“Because you were gone!” He shouted back, barely containing the urge to jump to his feet. “The same reason I’ve ever been with anyone - because I couldn’t be with you!”

“To what end?” She was frustrated and her chest was aching and she was stumbling down that same impassioned path that always brought her to ruin but she didn’t know how to stop. “If we hadn’t run into each other at that convention, how long would you have stayed with her? Would you have married her? Even though you don’t care about her?”

“Would you have married Lucas if he’d ever manned up and bought a ring?” He demanded and Riley’s eyes narrowed. “I was following your lead, Riley. Always. For the last twenty fucking years I’ve just been following your lead and you know what, maybe I would have married Kelsey.” He tried not to falter when he saw the way her face shifted. “Or maybe it wouldn’t have been her. Maybe it would have been some other girl I don’t care about. But it was always going to be some girl I don’t care about unless you came back into my life. And it would have been the same for you - just rotting away in some pointless fucking marriage, sitting awake at night, knowing that it was never going to touch what we have here.“

Riley sat back in the chair, swallowing hard and trying to keep her breath from noticeably trembling. This was too much. She knew letting him inside was asking for trouble. Any time around him was too much time around him. She was immensely grateful for the distance her chair was providing, unsure she would have been able to keep her head on if he was any closer.

“So what do you suggest, then?” Her voice was barely a squeak, legs knocked out from under her. Max swallowed hard and she watched his adams apple bob before he captured her gaze.

“Marry me.” Said without a hint of irony. Riley felt her spine turn to jelly, skin buzzing.

“What?”

“Marry me, Riley.” He rooted around in his pocket for a moment before brandishing a loose ring and sinking off the chair, to the floor between them. Fire raged through her bloodstream, catching on every raised hair of her arms. “No more fucking around. No more wasting time. This is where we’re supposed to be and we both know it. So marry me.” There was no time to think through the words flying out of his mouth. They weren’t the ones he had so perfectly practiced in the car but they were out now and there was no taking them back.

And the blood was pumping so strong in her head that she couldn’t hear herself thinking. A life with Max. How long had she been dreaming about that? Surely since before the make-believe weddings they held in her backyard when they were seven and life was easier. Her eyes drifted to the ring, clutched between his fingers, nearly trembling as he held it out to her, and she recognized it in an instant. Almost twenty years later but it was hard to forget the ring that got Max grounded for the first time after he stole it out of his mom’s jewelry box. He wasn’t allowed to watch wrestling for a month after that but the picture of her with that ring, in her prettiest dress out in the backyard, with him in his dad’s suit jacket, was one that was pinned to her dresser for most of her life. The fond warmth that crept through her dulled the feelings that had been threatening to suffocate her. A life with Max...

But then the alarm on her phone echoed through the electrified silence of her house and she snapped back into her body. He reached for her hand but she snatched it back, pulling her legs up off the floor and retreating as far back into the chair as she could get.

“No.” She said with a finality but none-the-less followed up with, “No, no, no, no, no, no, no.“ Ice water flooded through Max’s veins as he sat back on his heels. “Have you lost your mind?”

“Why is that so crazy?” He looked up at her from his defeated position on the floor, eyes so genuine it made her chest ache.

“You want a list?” She practically laughed and he shored himself up quickly.

“Yeah, I think I do, actually. Tell me why we shouldn’t get married.” He replied, as if this wasn’t a completely outlandish thing to do. And maybe he was sleep deprived and floundering a little bit but he knew this was right.

“Well for starters, we’ve barely spoken in the last four years.”

“So what?” He crept forward on his knees until he was against her chair. “I have thought about you every single day for the last twenty years.” She stayed, recoiled as far back in the chair as she could get, as if his touch would singe her skin. “And I’m gonna think about you every day until the day I die.” He pressed his luck, finger trailing, light as air, up her bare calf, sending electricity skittering out through her veins. “And I’m pretty sure you’re thinking about me too. So why are we wasting all this time fighting where we’re supposed to be?”

“Thinking about each other isn’t enough.” She shook her head like she was convincing herself too.

“You’re right, it’s not. We should be doing way more than thinking about each other.”

“That’s not what I-”

“We should be living with each other, cooking with each other, waking up next to each other, spending our lives together.” He laid his palm, warm and strong across her knee, and she struggled to swallow. “Aren’t you tired of the constant effort it takes to stay away from each other? I feel like I’ve been swimming upstream for years now and I’m just…really exhausted.” His hand pulled away from her and she sucked in a breath at the loss, watching as he lifted himself up to sit on the edge of the coffee table, directly in front of her. Her brain was sending out alarm flares but the way he was looking at her was much louder.

“Max, please...” She wasn’t entirely sure what she was asking, all she knew was this moment was excruciating, and it was all too much. And now he was so close and, god, that look...

“Tell me you don’t want a life with me.” He didn’t give her the time to decide what she was asking. “Tell me you don’t want Sunday Morning Pancakes and shower duets and nights curled up watching your trashy reality tv together until I end up annoyingly invested.” She couldn’t pretend she didn’t. She might have been an actress but Max knew how to see through her.

“It’s not that simple.”

“We can make it that simple!” He exclaimed, trying to reach for her knees again but she flinched this time, worried she would burst into flames if he touched her again, and he sat back. “The only thing standing in our way is us. If we want this, all we need to do is take it.” Holding her gaze was an Olympic sport sometimes but he was performing exceptionally well. “I know you want this too, Riley. You told me as much last month.” Finally, she stopped avoiding his gaze, eyes glued right to him. He didn’t have a right to use the things she had said that night against her.

“Yeah, then I woke up and met your girlfriend. Suffice to say, my plans changed.” She didn’t sound angry and he almost wished she would be. She was almost easier to handle when she was yelling at him, but she only sounded hurt and that was something that made his stomach ache.

“Look, I fucked up, I know. Okay? This obviously isn’t how I wanted this to play out.” He leaned in as close as he could get but she only scowled at him. “I need you to understand, I was fully planning to head home and pack my shit up at Kelsey’s. I hate that it went down like this but my protocol is, and always has been, to drop everything the second you become an option. I knew going in that things with her could end like this.”

“Oh, well isn’t that nice? Did you ever think that maybe you should let me know about your relationship?” She scowled and he just wet his lips, stammering for a response.

“I know…I know I should have but I knew that was my only shot at this and that you would have run the second you heard about Kelsey.” He heard it coming out of his mouth and wondering how he thought that would make for a good defense.

“Oh really, you thought that maybe I might not behave the same way if I knew you were in a serious relationship? So weird.”

“Okay but that what I’m saying! It wasn’t a serious relationship - it was always going to be second to anything you and I have.” He tried to sway her, his hands warm on her knees but the withering look she gave him had him retreating.

“How sweet. Did you let Kelsey know that or was that just supposed to be a fun surprise for her one day?” She demanded and he was suddenly regretting his words and location as she unfurled her legs down to the floor.

“I mean...I feel like she must have known from the way I talked about you.”

“Right, the unspoken exception to the rule.” She scoffed, parroting back his own words from that night, and Max winced. This was not going to plan. “Was it as implied to her as it was to me?” He heaved a breath, eyes begging for an understanding he wasn’t due. His fingers tapped repetitively along the edge of the table and he fumbled for a response.

“I’m not gonna deny that I fucked this up on a major scale. But I can’t change that anymore and I’m not about to fuck it up more by letting you walk out of my life again.”

“People get hurt when we’re around each other, Max! I can’t hurt anyone else.”

“People only get hurt when we’re trying to fight what we have!” He shot back and Riley stilled for a moment. “We just need to close off the circle and other people don’t have to get caught in our crosshairs.” She was quiet at that, her mouth opening and closing a few times.

“Well maybe I don’t want to be caught in the crosshairs either.” Her quiet admission was stinging but Max cocked his head, brow heavy.

“I’m not firing at you, babe. Never have, never will.” He held her gaze with a pleading look.

“And yet, we’ve both managed to hurt each other plenty.” She shook her head decidedly. “If I stick around here, we’re only going to end up hurting each other again.”

“We’re hurting each other by staying apart. How is that any better?” He demanded, leaning toward her. “At least this way we’ve got a shot at being happy.”

“Well maybe we don’t deserve to be happy.” Her face was weary and Max could instantly see every ounce of guilt that she had been marinating in for weeks.

“That’s crap.” He didn’t hesitate. “Making ourselves miserable doesn’t undo what I did to Kelsey or what we did to Jonah. And it’s definitely not going to undo what we’ll do to the next unsuspecting sucker that has the misfortune of being around us the next time we snap and wind up together.”

Riley was quiet, eyes locked with his, her heart hammering in her chest and echoing in her ears. Her breathing was erratic, his scent filling her nose. How did he do this to her every time.

“What else am I supposed to do, Max? I can’t trust you.” She wet her lips, teeth just barely grazing over her bottom lip. It stung more than he expected to hear that.

“Yes you can. I swear to fucking god, I am all in on us, Ry.” He gestured to the ring, still clenched tight between his fingers. “Just give me one chance to show you that I’m right when I say we’re meant to be together.”

“Max...” She warned but he was already out of time. He wasn’t leaving anything left unsaid.

“I swear, the first, smallest indiscretion and you can kick me to the curb. If I don’t unload the dishwasher when I’m supposed to or I forget to take something out for dinner, you can ship me out with no fight. But please, just give me that chance.”

“I already gave you a chance.”

“Come on, that doesn’t count!” He pleaded, his hands warm as they covered her knees, the ring pressed into her skin. She wanted to shove them off but couldn’t bring herself to move that warmth. “We never even got started. I promise you, you spend even a couple days being with me, the way we were always supposed to be, you’ll never look back.”

That was almost what scared her most, though. She knew that this dive was one she would never recover from. If she let her guard down and gave him that chance, there wouldn’t be anything she wouldn’t overlook. Because she knew that it would feel right. She knew it would feel like finally coming home and that feeling was going to be too good to deny, no matter what he did. It would be cutting the last remaining thread of her self control and that was a dangerous line to cross.

“I can’t marry you, Max. That’s insane.”

“Then take an insane fucking leap of faith with me.” His thumb rubbed half circles over the edges of her knee and it obliterated a few braincells. “Tell me this doesn’t feel right.”

“That’s not the point…” She was exasperated and everything about him was starting to invade her senses. The feeling of the ring pressed into her was dizzying and distracting.

“No, it is the point. The point is that this feels right because it is right.” He dared to let his hands glide past her knees, smoothly journeying up her thighs, dragging the edge of the stones into her soft flesh. Her breath caught in her throat, eyes fluttering shut for just a fraction of a second, and she tried to ignore the fire that burned low in her belly. “We shouldn’t have to work this hard to stop thinking about each other.” His voice was raspy and hypnotic, her brain tearing itself to pieces to try to hold onto that last thread. “You told me you loved me, Riley. Did you mean it?” It was hard to breathe, his face inching closer and closer to hers.

“I wasn’t in my right mind.” She shook her head, latching desperately onto the unyielding anger she was feeling when she said that. The way she had been left feeling gutted like a fish. How that confession was a dying gasp from an overtired, overstimulated, over emotional girl.

“I think you were in your right mind. I think you said what you’ve been dying to say for the last ten years.” He wet his lips and her eyes snagged on it, digging her teeth deeper into hers. But that anger she’d felt back on that morning in the hotel was still lit in her stomach.

“I said what you didn’t have the balls to say.” She narrowed her eyes and Max stilled. “What you still haven’t had the balls to say.” Scoffing, she shook her head and it devolved into a full laugh. “You’re here with a fucking ring but you’ve still never said you love me.” And Max sat back, finally clearing her personal space, and she could breathe again. “This is a joke. We’re not meant to be together, Max, we’ve just got no self control. Go home.”

She stood up forcefully and eeked past him out of the living room, buying herself as much space as possible. Max’ chest was seized as he looked at the empty chair where she once was. He wanted to say the words. He had tried practicing saying it as part of his speech, on the car ride here but tried not to overthink it when he couldn’t get them out. But now he was wishing he had pushed himself because now he couldn’t make his mouth work. He couldn’t even make his feet work. He heard her hand rattling the front door and he jumped into action, shoving the ring back into his pocket.

“Riley, please...” Was all he managed as he headed around the corner, into the hall to the front door, where he saw her waiting expectantly with the front door held open.

“No, I said five minutes and you got way more than that, like always. Now its time to go.” She tried to sound unwavering but her voice wasn’t cooperating. Max slowed, halfway down the hallway, brow furrowed heavily as his tongue traced over his lip.

“Ya know, when I was growing up, my dad took me out to get my first shave.” He leaned back on his heels and Riley rolled her eyes with a huff, not budging from her spot by the door. “And he sat me down and told me ‘Kid, there are two things you gotta know about love: the first is how to know you’re in it.” Max scrubbed a hand over his mouth. “He said, ‘That’s important, but thankfully it’s easy.” He took a breath, eyes intent on her, “It’s hard to miss because its in everything - the way your skin...buzzes when they’re around; the constant magnetic pull to be near them,’” He drifted toward her but she kept a trembling hand on the open door, “’The ache in your chest that tells you to follow them anywhere. Its unmistakable and it can’t be ignored.”

He was inching toward her so slowly she might not have noticed if she wasn’t so laser focused on him. Her mouth was dry and struggling to form the words to tell him to stop. She felt frozen to the spot, anchored to the door as a final lifeline.

“The second thing, he told me, which was arguably more important, was to know when the timing was right.” He swallowed hard before licking his lips.

“Max...” She warned but he disregarded it.

“Do you remember when we used to have those neighborhood-wide night time manhunt games?” He diverted her and her eyes fluttered shut for a moment with a sigh before she finally nodded. “There was a game one night, not long after that talk with my dad. Derek Flynn teamed up with the Anderson twins and was decimating all the usual hiding spots.” Riley’s body deflated a little with a whisper of a smile flitting across her lips.

“The night they broke Mr. Garvey’s antique lawn statue and he chased them down the road with a wiffle ball bat?” She bit the corner of her lip to hold back the grin that was dying to peak out.

“The very same. But before that happened, I had been chased from the reliable spot behind Ms. Allander’s pool shed and forced to flee into the woods.” He watched the understanding dawn behind her eyes before being fogged over by confusion. Her arm lowered slightly on the door without her noticing. “I found my way to the fort we had made not long after you moved in. It couldn’t have been more than two minutes later before you came barreling down into the cramped space with me. You knocked me over, not realizing I was in there, and then swung both hands around like you were gonna hit me.” Her lips twitched as she remembered the night, the memory so vividly fresh she could practically hear the buzz of the cicadas. She had just narrowly avoided being caught down by the docks and run straight there - the safest place she could think of, somewhere that was just for them. “But then you recognized it was me and you got this dreamy little smile that I could barely see in the dark, and you laughed before pulling me into this tight hug like you had never been so glad to see me in your life. Then you handed me a nerf gun.” He said with deathly serious, and she blew out a breath that wasn’t enough to conceal the smile she had. “And I knew in that second what I have never questioned since - that my dad was right.”

Riley’s hand dropped to the doorknob and she wet her lips, staring, wide-eyed back at him. Her heart was in her throat as he crept closer to her, hair raised all across her arms. His pulse was hammering away, and he swallowed as he got just outside of arms reach of her.

“I have known that I’m in love with you for half my life already, Riley.” He confessed and it felt like time screeched to a halt. The clock ticked on the wall and the kitchen sink dripped and her chest swelled out of control. A tingling started in her chest but quickly spread down her arms until her grip slipped off the doorknob. She drew in a ragged breath, her pulse racing out of control. “And I’m tired of waiting for the timing to be right.”

He took another step closer and gave the front door a nudge to push it the rest of the way closed. Riley watched him, chewing a hole through her lip, frozen, desperately fighting against the way his words were lighting her up like a Christmas tree.

“Now, i’m gonna ask you again.” He kept his palm flat against the front door and angled his body toward her, a few mere inches between them now, and that was close enough for fire to catch. “Did you mean it when you said you loved me?”

His eyes were glued to her, intense and desperate and uncharacteristically vulnerable. The dark bags under his eyes were particularly visible this close and she wondered if hers were as bad. It had been a sleepless few weeks for her as well. Weeks of staring at the ceiling, spinning in circles in her mind, thinking about what could have been and how they ended up here. She knew, even as angry as she had been in that moment, that she meant it. Even if she hadn’t, she would be lying if she said she didn’t love him, then and still. Those feelings were burrowed so deep in her, she wasn’t sure she would ever be free of them.

“It doesn’t matter. It’s not enough, Max.” Her voice was as devastated as she felt. She had been wanting to hear this for so long but it was too late now.

“It’s plenty.” He insisted but she was already retreating toward the wall.

“I’m moving to California.”

“Then I’ll come with you.” He didn’t miss a beat and she shuttered a sigh. Her stomach was turning, this all suddenly feeling too real. “Or better yet, just stay.” His voice turned pleading, starting to match a tenth of what he was feeling.

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I can’t.” She said as if that was ever going to be an acceptable answer to him.

“But you can. You can do anything you want.” He took a tiny step toward her. “I love you, Riley.” His eyes were glued to her, bared and genuine and maybe even a little scared. “Do you love me?” And maybe it was the look on his face, or maybe it was the lack of sleep this last month, or maybe it was the fact that his scent was clouding her head as he got close enough to touch, but she couldn’t bring herself to lie.

“Yes.” She breathed the word into the space between them, a lifetime of baggage hanging from it.

“And do you want a life with me?” He dared to move in dangerously close, mere centimeters separating them now, and the smell of her shampoo made his eyes flutter shut for just a moment. His stomach was running itself through a spin cycle as she hesitated, looking up at him with those wide, panicked doe eyes.

“I don’t even know what that looks like, Max.” She said finally, shaking her head. Their relationship was always just transient - she couldn’t picture what security with him looked like. As alluring as the life of cooking dinner together and shower concerts was, she knew that morning always came when it came to Max and that was a pain she couldn’t subject herself to anymore.

“It looks like finally coming home.” He said and her eyes were locked on him, warmth curling around in her belly, making itself comfortable. “It looks like laughing so hard we can’t breathe and dancing to show tunes on a rainy afternoon and waking up to my face between your legs. It looks like you being the center of my goddamn universe because you are.” Heat raced up her cheeks and he stepped into her, a hand brushing over the strand of hair that was dangling by her face, sending electricity pulsing through her skin, and her eyes fluttered shut. “It’s what we were so fucking close to before Lucas and Kelsey and all this stupid bullshit. And I don’t know about you, but that ‘what-if’ is the one that keeps me up at night. You’re the one that keeps me up at night.” His rough fingers gripped her chin, tipping it up, urging her to meet his eyes. “Tell me you don’t want the chance to see how it feels to give this an honest-to-God shot. To really do it right this time.” The heat of his body this close to her was intoxicating and her legs were starting to feel a little insufficient. She struggled to feel like there was breath in her lungs and the sheer number of thoughts ping-ponging across her brain was debilitating. Skin prickling head to toe, she wet her lips, blinking back at him, willing an answer to come out - any answer but the one that was begging, shaking at the gates, to come out.

Because, God, she did want that chance. She spent more nights than she would have liked, staring at the ceiling, thinking about what could have been if it weren’t for a million different things. But that was always the problem; there were a million different things that stood in the way, some his fault and some hers, but in the end, they were still in the way. Now, though, there was no one standing in their way anymore and she was running out of excuses. Her mile high wall of reasons had been whittled down to a measly few bricks and Max was kicking them over faster than she could layer them back up. And beyond that wall, there was nothing left but the fact that she was scared. Just positively terrified of ending up like her mother, bitter and heartbroken and lonely for the rest of her life. She knew plainly that Max had the potential to absolutely ruin her in a way she would never recover from, but when he looked at her the way he was looking at her right then, she kind of wanted him to.

He let his palm slide up her face, cradling her cheek, and she melted into him on instinct. Fuck, that felt good.

“Tell me you don’t want this.” He whispered, breath fanning across her face, and she shivered. “Tell me you don’t know in your bones that this is right.”

“I...” She murmured, his lips just a whisper from hers and she could practically feel the fire licking at her from here. Her breathing faltered, the hazy fog that he brought with him washing over her brain. “I...don’t want to...” But she didn’t move an inch.

“Don’t want to what?” He prodded, lingering close enough to breathe the same air; close enough that she would barely have to move to feel that familiar bliss of his lips on hers. He was taunting her.

“To want this...” She could feel the space heater that was his body thawing her from the toes up as if she’d been left outside in the dead of winter. It was impossible to resist but the longer she let herself bask in that warmth, the more likely it was she would end up burned.

“But?” He lent her the word she was clearly missing and she sighed. Shifting ever so slightly, he let his lips just ghost across hers. Her hands drifted up to his shirt, curling around the soft material, though he wasn’t sure if she was trying to stop him or pull him in closer.

“But I need it.”

She couldn’t physically stop the way she launched at him, arms looping around his shoulders as she met him in a demanding, desperate kiss. His hands latched around her hips without thought, pressing her back against the wall. Her tongue invaded his mouth, needy for the taste of him, and she nearly groaned when she got it. Max’ pants tightened at the muffled noise and he let one hand drift up, under her shirt. The motion sent lightning coursing through her veins, straight through to her core. Her fingers curled up in his hair and he groaned when she tugged at it, biting down on her lip. He thumbed over her pebbled nipple and she hissed out a breath.

“Fuck, Max...” She whined his name and he snapped to attention, hands instantly reverting back to her hips and forcing a few inches between them, despite her whimper of a protest.

“No, no, wait a minute.” He insisted in spite of the way his skin was throbbing from the loss. She had caught him off guard before and his body took over before his brain had a chance to catch up. “What are we doing here, Ry?” But she was already gone, pupils blown with a need he had stoked too much. Her lips curled into a dangerous smile.

“I’m pretty sure you know what we’re doing.” She let one hand trail from his hair, down his neck, and over his chest. Her teeth raked over her already semi-swollen lips. “It’s a game you’re really good at.” She practically purred as her knuckles grazed their way over his stomach until her thumb caught on the edge of his sweatpants. Max swore under his breath, swallowing hard, his fingers digging hard into her hips. He gave a snake-like, swaying shake of his head before snatching her hand that was trying to creep beneath his sweats, holding it firmly in place.

“No more games, beautiful. No more running, no more pretending, no more waiting for the timing to be right. Be with me. For real this time.” He held her gaze insistently. She wanted to argue, she wanted to remember any of the reasons they were bad for each other. But god, if she didn’t just want him more than any reason she could possibly conjure.

“Maaaax.” She whined, fingers wiggling beneath his grip, unable to voice much more. “We don’t need to...” It was much easier to admit she needed him to drive her through this wall than it was to open herself up to dating him. But Max took her hand, pulling it up to his face, gingerly turning it and leaving a lingering kiss on the tender skin of the inside of her wrist that she could feel long after he let her hand fall.

“No, we do, Because I’m not doing this anymore unless we’re doing it right.” He almost sounded like he might actually mean it, even though they both knew he would fold like a house of cards if she so much as batted her lashes. “I need a life with you, Riley. I need to take you out to dinner, and go see a movie so we can fool around in the back row. I need to go to watch you on set while you blow away everybody around you. I need you backstage at my shows, making every last person in the building jealous that they can’t have a love like this. I need to fall asleep next to you every night because now that I’ve remembered how it feels, I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to sleep again.”

Riley’s breath caught in her throat, thighs pressed together to try to quell her desperate need for friction. Her head was clouded by his warmth and his smell and the familiarity that made her feel safe even when they both knew he was her Achilles Heel. He let his body slowly settle back against her, arms supporting his weight against the wall on either side of her until he was the only thing that existed to her. Every inch of her was screaming for something different but every single thing revolved around him.

“Be my girl, Ry. Cuz I’m already all fucking yours.”

Blowing out a shaky breath, Riley stabilized herself, her own recent lack of sleep weighing on the situation. The dull throb between her legs was secondary to the way her heartbeat was pulsing in her ears. There was no slowly wading into the pool with Max; he was asking for a dive right into the deep end. Now it was sink or swim but she was still stuck shivering at the top of the diving board.

“This imaginary life of Pancake Sundays and movie dates sounds like a dream, Max. And I’m sure it would be for a month or two - hell maybe even a year or two.” She swallowed hard, struggling to keep her head above the water. “But what happens when all those promises run out and real life kicks in, and we both end up getting hurt?”

“Then we get hurt.” Max didn’t flinch but she did. “I really don’t think that’s how this goes down, but it doesn’t matter because I’d rather burn to the ground with you after one month, than live the rest of my life without breathing the same oxygen.”

He ghosted the back of his hand across the curve of her jaw, brow furrowed as he looked right through her. Wetting his lips, he leaned ever so slowly towards her and she froze, blinking back at him, breath stalling in her lungs. He stopped just before their lips could brush and began to sink down to his knees in front of her, holding her gaze on the way down. His hands followed his path, featherlight down the curves of her waist and resting at the swell of her hips, fingers bunching in her silk pajama shorts.

“Please, Riley...” He trailed one finger down the back of her bare thigh and she shivered, resisting the way she wanted to buckle when he traced along the inside of her knee. Thick fingers unfurled down her calf until they were wrapped around her ankle. She leaned back against the wall for support as Max lifted her foot off the ground. Moving in closer to it, he spared a glance back at her before laying a slow kiss just beside her ankle bone. His eyes drifted back up to her, trying not to visibly react to the way her face had become markedly more fucked out. “Give this a shot with me.” He laid another kiss just a little higher up her calf and Riley gripped at the wall as if it offered any support. As his eyes met hers again, he watched as she bit down at her lip, his hand meandering up her calf sending electricity shooting up to her core. He set a lazy pace of kisses up her calf until he reached her knee, holding her gaze pointedly. “Tell me you don’t want to be with me.” She met his eyes, head tilting to the side as her tongue dabbed at her lips. Her mouth was dry as she practically panted, watching him as he pulled her legs apart and nestled between them. His hand shifted so he could lift her thigh to his lips, and his fingers brushed the edge of her shorts. He pressed his lips just above her knee and Riley’s hand grasped in his hair for support, her panties getting wetter by the second. “Tell me you’d rather have anyone else in the world between your legs right now.” He didn’t bother to reconnect with her gaze and she was glad because the way her eyes rolled back in her head when he nipped at the inside of her thigh would have given him a firm answer. “Tell me you don’t want me to make you come on my face right now.” His eyes reconnected with hers with a twinkle of mischief, lips not leaving her thigh. Her fingers tightened in his hair, breathing ragged and her core pulsing. She tried to rut her hips towards him but he used his other arm to pin her hips to the wall, and a whine slipped out her lips.

“Max, pleeeease.” Riley practically begged, in spite of herself, and Max smirked against her thigh. She urged his head toward her center by the hair but he resisted with a groan that vibrated against her skin. He glanced up at her.

“Tell me you’re in this with me.” He kissed higher up her thigh, hand shifting to cradle just below her ass, angling her into him. “Tell me you want to try at a life together.” He nipped at her skin just at the edge of her shorts before firmly commanding her gaze, and she squirmed against him. Her chest heaved with her breathing and she swallowed hard. She wanted the imaginary life he was offering but it didn’t feel real. But if that life felt this good, maybe it was worth taking a risk on. His tongue swiped across the skin just beneath her shorts and her knees buckled for just a second before she stabilized, yanking hard at his hair.

“Okay.” She choked out the word and his eyes flashed up to her, fingers digging harder into her skin. “Okay, fuck, I want to try.” Her fingers dug into his hair and she nodded subtly.

“Yeah?” His eyes widened, fingers creeping up to the waistband of her shorts, digging down into them. She nodded more firmly with a cautious smile before she narrowed her eyes.

“I swear to god if you hurt me…”

“You can gave me drawn and quartered in Central Park.” He cut her off, quick to let his fingers curl around her shorts, inching them off her.

“Deal.”

She rushed the word out, hands flying down to where his were trying to pry her shorts off much too slowly. Max didn’t miss her signals, yanking her shorts and panties to the floor at once, guiding one foot out and promptly around his shoulder. He laid messy, open-mouthed kisses up her thigh until he reached her mound, dripping wet from anticipation.

As much as he wanted to wait and tease her until she was shaking and begging, but the smell of her arousal was so familiar and tempting that he wasn’t sure he could refrain a second longer. With a final enamored look up at her, he wrapped both arms tight around the bottom of her thighs, yanking her core straight to his mouth. No easing in, his mouth latched around her lips, licking and sucking at her soaked folds. His head bobbed between her thighs with a symphony of vulgar noises and her head fell back against the wall with a stream of curses and whines. Her hand wound through his hair, pushing him into her harder, her hips jerking against his face as she struggled to stay upright. Max hummed against her clit and her knees buckled.

“Fuck, Max, fuck pleeeeeease!” She couldn’t control the words flying out of her mouth. He reached down, forcing her to try to stabilize herself, brushing the pad of his thumb over her clit. Strumming over her, he let his tongue move in broad strokes across her pussy, his erection quickly beginning to press into his sweats.

“God you taste so fuckin’ good.” He growled the praises into her skin and her legs shook. His fingers slipped down, easing inside her, one then another, and her walls clamped around them. She whimpered when he sucked her clit between his lips. Not relenting in his pressure, he worked his fingers in and out until her body was twitching.

His fingers hooked right up into that spot that he knew made her brain melt. Stroking over the spongy spot, he sucked at her clit, and she shrieked, legs giving out before she could catch herself. But Max didn’t miss a beat, fingers pulling out of her just in time to catch her leg, shifting her weigh until both her legs were up on his shoulders, fully off the ground.

Tongue flitting over her sensitive bundle of nerves as he slowly rose back to his feet, driving her higher up the wall. Her body doubled forward, curling around his head, hands clenched tight in his hair for all she was worth. He lapped at her folds, alternating his speeds as she writhed against him, her cries getting louder and higher pitched.

“That’s it’s pretty girl, gonna come for me?” His words vibrated against her clit and her thighs trembled. “Gonna soak my face? Be a good girl and let me taste how good I make you feel.”

His teeth scraped over her bundle of nerves and she squealed, arching her back until her shoulders collided with the wall. One hand reached aimlessly beside her, desperately looking for purchase when she found the edge of some picture frame. Her hips chased the high she was so close to as her entire body shook.

Max’s strong arms kept a tight grip, curled around her thighs, and he dipped his tongue inside her. Her body grew taut as he fucked his tongue in and out of her. The tip of his nose circled around her clit as he worked her to the edge.

“Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck, Max! Please! Don’t….I need…I…ahh! Oh my god!” Her cries devolved to a babble, her legs scrambling behind his shoulders. Her grip of the picture frame slipped and she vaguely heard the crash of the the glass shattering on the floor nearby. It hardly registered, though, as he sucked hard on her clit and sent her toppling over a cliff. Her body peaked and her eyes rolled back, Max not letting up, his hands keeping her fully supported.

As her soul drifted back into her body, he helped her maneuver her legs down off his shoulders. Supporting her entire weight, he eased her back down the wall, his lips following a slow and lazy path up her stomach as she came down, his fingers snagging in the fabric of her shirt. As her feet finally touched the ground, his lips ghosted across her nipple as it was temporarily exposed on his way up. He didn’t linger, letting her shirt flutter back down as he took her face between both hands, pulling her into an insistent kiss that knocked the breath from her lungs.

The overgrown hair on his face was slick with her orgasm and she could taste it on his tongue when it slipped into her mouth. Her arms snaked around his neck, half to support her still jellied legs, and half because he could never be close enough anymore.

“God, I missed you so much.” he murmured against her lips, face held tight between his hands, and her eyes flashed to his, heated with desire. Her fingers strummed down the back of his neck and his eyes rolled shut for a moment. The wave of relief that was finally hitting him was intoxicating and his chest was heaving with it. Carding his fingers up through her hair, his palm settled at the back of her head. He notched his nose against hers, pressing past the warmth that grew in his stomach from the smile stretched across her face.

“I’ve missed you too.” She said in an overdue confession before pulling him back to her lips, unsure she would ever feel like she could have enough to make up for all the time they missed. His fingers curled in her hair, the other hand dropping to her hip, pulling her flush against him so she could feel his erection pressing into her stomach.

With one arm still slung around his neck, her other hand skated down his chest, then stomach, not stopping before it reached the top of his sweatpants. She reached between their bodies, palming over his dick through the thick cotton and he groaned into her mouth. Her tongue swept into his mouth, silencing him as her fingers wrapped more firmly around his length, rubbing him through his sweats. His grip on her hair tightened, trying to keep pace with her lips as she reached down and caressed his balls.

He gasped at the loss when her hand drifted back up to his stomach, warm as it crept beneath his shirt. Her thumb hooked in the bottom of the fabric, dragging it up until she finally let them break a part so she could pull it off him. Her arms were quick to return to him, one tangling in the hair at the base of his head, the other clung tight to his back. He paused, eyes raking over her hot enough to burn the city down, and her teeth grazed across her lip before they curled into a smirk.

“Well are you just going to stand there or are you going to take my shirt off and fuck me through this wall?” She challenged with a raised brow and she watched the devilish grin rise to his face. Without another second, he yanked hard on her hair, pulling her attention to him, and her belly clenched.

“Ohhh my pretty girl,” he cooed before he bucked his hips hard against hers, driving them against the wall with a delicious thud. “You want me to fuck your sweet little pussy like I own it?” Her mouth fell open, panting as he drove his hips up into her again, urging her legs apart. She nodded eagerly. “You need my cock stretching your cunt until you cry,” He drove into her harder this time, hiking her up the wall, and her legs wrapped around his waist, “fucked so stupid the only thing you can remember is my name?” His hips ground into her bare core, erection throbbing as he rocked it against her. Her head fell back with a throaty moan.

“Fuck, Max, please.” She cried as he bucked into her center.

His lips settled into the crook of her neck, laying messy open mouthed kisses across her skin. Trailing down to the neckline of her shirt, he gripped it with his teeth, using his other hand to tear straight through the front of it, and she gasped. She went to voice an objection but it died in her throat when his lips closed around her nipple. His teeth latched around the bud, pulling it back, and she yelped, arching against him, providing exactly the friction he needed so badly.

Arms wrapped tight around her, he lifted her off the wall, bouncing her against the hard as steel erection that was begging to be buried in her. He fumbled backwards towards the entry table on the opposite wall. Tongue flittering over her nipple, he spun them and managed to get her seated on the edge of the table. Rocking into her center, he moved to the other nipple, licking and sucking and pulling a string of breathy moans from her lips.

Knocking her hips further and further back onto the table, objects around her clattered into each other. Her feet urgently pushed at the top of his sweats but his hips shifted, notching at just the right spot as he ground into her. Strangling cries, she reached for any purchase she could get on the table around her. Her fingers curled around an object but her eyes fluttered shut when his teeth raked across her nipple. The table knocked against the wall in time with his hips, objects clattering to the floor after she arched unexpectedly. She let out a wracked whine, delirious with need, and he grinned into her chest.

Letting his lips trail back up her neck, he stopped to nip at her earlobe before return to her lips. He laid gentle, pain-stakingly slow kisses against her lips and she practically squirmed in his grips. Tongue trailing across her lips and exploring every inch of her mouth, he let his hips drop to a drag up and down her core. Her hips stuttered against his, desperate to up the pace but his hand shot down to pin her in place and she let out a defeated whimper.

“Aww, what’s wrong?” He pouted, his other hand tugging her hair to make her meet his gaze. “Does my impatient little slut need something?” The humiliation burned low in her gut but she was too far beyond it to even register.

“Pleeeeeease, I need your cock, Max, please.” She begged without hesitation and Max pulled her straight to him by the hair, meeting her in a hasty, gnashing kiss.

“That’s my good girl.” He growled into her mouth, releasing her hip to push his sweats down with one hand. “Gonna fucking wreck this perfect pussy, baby.” Getting his cock free, he dragged it through her folds and she whined. “Gonna claim this body so well that people that pass you in the street will know who you belong to.” His cock throbbed against her as he coated himself in her slick. She moaned when he rubbed over her clit, and he pulled her in close until their foreheads rested against each others. “Tell me you love me.”

“Hmm?” Riley’s eyes fluttered, trying to stay open through the haze. Max lined his crown up to her entrance and she blinked back at him with heavy lids.

“Tell me you love me.” He repeated, loosening his grip on her hair, hips rocking shallowly against her entrance.

“I love you, Max.” Her voice was raked over but he heard just fine. Pulling her into a crushing kiss, he jerked his hips, driving them up into her until he was fully seated. Her lips hung open, a silent cry vibrating through her body.

“I love you too, Ry.”

Pulling back, he started a relentless pace from the start. Hammering into her, he yanked her hair back, giving him access to the thin skin of her throat. His thick cock stretched her to her limit at a brutal pace, quickly winding the thread tight in her belly. When his thumb connected with her clit in rough circles, her hands grappled for nothing on the table, sending a lamp to the floor with a crash. She brought a hand up, clinging to his back as he drove into her harder and harder. The thread inside her stretched thinner and her nails dragged down his back, driving him rougher.

The table shook with their motions, colliding with the wall over and over, and he could feel her fluttering around him.

“That’s it, beautiful, taking this cock so nice for daddy. Gonna let me watch you come undone?” His lips were hovering just above her gaping mouth, moans flowing out in time with his thrusts as she hurtled toward her high. “Squeeze this cock, princess. Let me feel you.” He shifted his angle and drove hard into her, brushing her special spot as he heard the ominous crack.

“There! Right there! Don’t stop!” Her head tipped back, legs trembling, and Max obliged, firing his hips into the same spot at a brutal pace.

She felt the vibration from the snap of the table leg before she heard it, one last thrust from Max destabilizing the balance and sending them to the floor. They both groaned amongst the carnage but she couldn’t stop writhing against him, her orgasm so close before it was snatched away.

Cursing, Max shuffled them a few feet away, just to the base of her stairs. After a sloppy, needy kiss, his fingers clutching her jaw, he flipped her so she was leaned over the bottom stair. Gripping tight at her hips, he drove into her from behind and she lurched forward. His arm snaked beneath her, holding her tight to him as he rocked in and out of her, getting even deeper than before. Working up a rhythm, his other hand gripped her hair, tugging it so her back arched.

His hips snapped against her and she pushed back, off pace and needy. Her moans filled the space and Max leaned over her back, breath tickling her ear.

“That feel good, baby?” He groaned, her walls squeezing around him at the words. Nipping at her earlobe, he set to work on leaving another mark on her neck. She moaned her agreement, nails digging into the stairs. “Who owns this pussy?” She squealed when he reached down from her stomach to pinch her clit.

“You do! Fuck! You own this pussy!” She cried out and Max throbbed inside her. His hand drifted from her hair, settling around her throat, giving a trial squeeze. She moaned and snapped her hips back into him in approval, and he squeezed a little harder.

“That’s fuckin’ right I do.” He growled next to her ear. Bottoming out over and over, he strummed across her clit, feeling himself creep closer. “Should fill you up with my cum. Fuck a baby into this perfect body so everybody fuckin’ knows I own it.” Her moans pitched, legs shaking beneath them, but he didn’t relent. “Bet you’d fuckin’ like that, huh? Daddy’s little slut just dripping with my cum.”

“Fuck, yes, Max please I’m so close, pleeeease.” Her body twitched beneath his and he moved his fingers impossibly faster.

“You gonna milk this cock, baby? Come on, come with me, beautiful.”

His pace was punishing as her screams echoed around the hall. Her head was swimming, the pressure on her throat limiting her oxygen until color started to dot her vision. Max pulsed inside her, rubbing just against that spongy spot deep inside and the thread in her belly snapped, sending her brain hurtling over the edge. Then Max released his grip on her throat with a final hard thrust, spilling inside her, and oxygen rushed to her brain in a wave that would have bowled her over if he wasn’t clung so tight.

They stayed there together, shaking over the bottom stair, gasping for breath for what felt like hours. Limbs hit their breaking point and Max reluctantly pulled out of her, thumbing over cum dripping from her entrance as he sat back on his heels. She slumped down flat onto the stairs and he pulled her up into his lap, smoothing her hair down before laying a kiss.

“God, I love you so fucking much.” He whispered into her hair. This felt like the first time in his life he actually felt satisfied. Riley nuzzled into his neck, letting her body weight rest on him. Scattering kisses anywhere he could reach, he squeezed her tight to him.

“I love you too. A lot more than I probably should.” She spoke loftily, her brain still floating somewhere above the Great Barrier Reef. He chuckled into her hair, fingers tickling at her sides and she squirmed with a laugh.

“So is that a yes on the wedding, then?” He prompted, trying not to laugh too hard at her undignified snort.

“Not a chance, baby. Try taking me to dinner first.” She scoffed but he could hear the smile in her voice.

“Okay, so dinner, then marriage, yeah?” He tickled again and she backed further into him as if it would stop his attacks. Shaking her head, she squirmed in his lap. “No? I’m getting some very mixed messages here. I’m going to just have to assume its a yes.” She attempted to argue the point but was cut off when he scooped her up and laid her over his shoulder. Squealing, she thrashed in his arms but he ignored it. “Sorry, can’t hear you. Gotta get to bed, so late. so tired. We can pick this up tomorrow, but for now i’ll jot down that its a ‘yes definitely’ on the proposal.”

He trudged up her stairs with her slung over his shoulder, smacking her butt as he rounded the corner onto the second floor. She squirmed and shouted her objections but she knew as well as he did that she was perfectly content just where she was. And bed with him suddenly sounded like the greatest idea in the history of this planet.

So when he kicked the door to her bedroom open and tossed her down onto the bed, she didn’t fight it. And when he started the long crawl across her king sized mattress, she reached forward to drag him in. Because this was everything either of them ever needed and they weren’t waiting another second for it.

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Beta Read by @daddyhausen​

Tags: @fvckingromantic​ @omg-im-such-a-masochist

[yandere-sins]

I see that ur request is open, u don't have to do mine (I just rly wanna see how this gonna turn out 🤡)

But may i request a yandere farmer x fem reader

(I'm not rly into any fandom so you can just pick any or Rhys is fine too 👀)

My jam, and you know what? I owe everyone named Alex something, so let me create this wonderful buff farmer!yandere named Alex who I don’t kill off this time, I promise. Enjoy!

I uh, did hint at my ideas for yandere farmers with Milo from Pokémon before so yeah. Let’s go over that again, shall we? I’ll give a warning for pet play for those unfamiliar.

Rated Lime

»»———————— ♡ ————————««   

It’s still early in the morning when you hear the jarring sound of the barn door opening. For a moment, you hope that all you experienced for the last few days had been a dream, but your body still aches from sleeping on the cold ground, revealing the heavy truth. You can hear the chipper, “Good morning, ladies!” as the cows start to moo in response, the unbearable smell of fecal and urine drifting towards you with the fresh air coming in from outside.

It’s time to get up, scream, do something! But you blink a few times, your swollen eyes barely opening after you cried yourself to sleep last night, and you look at the iron cuffs around your wrists. Why even trying? you ask yourself, immediately discarding the thought and pushing yourself from the floor. No, it’s too early to give up. You can’t let yourself down like this yet.

“And good morning, Sunshine.” The voice next to you makes you flinch as you look up into the chestnut eyes of your captor. He tips his cap, smiling. You’re disgusted by his presence alone, but a sweet smell comes your way. Leaning over the wooden barriers he put up as your ‘pen’, Alex holds a plate in his hands, pancakes stacking up on top of it with blueberries rolling off of them. The food is still warm, steam visibly rising from them in the colder morning air.

He looks at you expectantly when you don’t make a move, only trying to hide the saliva building in your mouth. You haven’t had a homemade breakfast in a long time, much less proper food in the last few days. There is no telling if your body can still stomach something as delicious as pancakes, but you prefer it so much more than the weird grain mix he also feeds to the cows and would shove down your throat. “Thought you might be hungry, Babe,” he smiles as he sees the desire in your eyes, his own gaze never straying from you, taking in every last flinch and move of yours.

In a way, you are like a wild animal to him, that much he told you. He restricted your movements with chains, fed you like cattle, and treated you like a dog, cooing and using the carrot and stick method to handle you. It’s disgusting, but by now, you at least feel as dirty as one. Using the fork he brought along, Alex cuts off a piece from the breakfast, eating from it first, his eyes staring into yours as he does it. Did he do it to show he didn’t poison it? Does he want to claim this plate of pancakes for himself? But why would he bring it to you in the first place if that’s the case?

Still chewing, he puts the fork down, pulling another pancake piece off the plate with his bare fingers, and holds it out to you. He was eager to lessen the distance between you and him from day one, but his dirty methods made you want to spit in his face. Stomach growling, you are at a loss of what to do. If you let him feed you like a dog, there was no way he’d keep it at that, but perhaps this was your only chance on receiving actual, human food he’d give you if you refuse him.

Your chains rattle as you scoot closer, refusing to play the captured animal and crawl on all fours. Every muscle of yours is sore and hurt from the cold, but there is no other way, the chains around your wrists and ankles keeping you down with their weight. Instead, you stretch your neck as far as possible, your back tensing up in response until your mouth is under his fingers and the piece of pancake hanging from them. But Alex doesn’t just let the food go, watching you with an excited grin as you carefully put the piece between your teeth. Only then does he let go, and you are able to claim the sweet sensation on your tongue as yours.

Eager, Alex holds out another piece, and you take it without even swallowing the first one completely. Something in you completely set out as your brain is satisfied with sugary sweet and fluffy pancakes melting in your mouth, their warmth going through your whole body. You are hooked on the rush of food, you don’t notice your tongue lapping up the syrup on his fingers with the next piece of pancake until it’s too late. But Alex notices, his lips immediately turning into a disgusting grin of self-satisfaction, and he reaches for your face, fingers curling under your chin and thumb rubbing over your cheek.

Immediately, you shy away, disgusted by his touch and disappointed in yourself that you didn’t see it coming. In the reflection of his wide-open, maniacally staring eyes, you can see how dirty and disgusting you are after living like a barn animal for days, and that is precisely how Alex sees you. An animal that he just touched for the first time. Who came to him of their own free will. To him, it is progress. To you, despair.

“Come,” he entices, luring you with more pancakes, but you feign disinterest. “Don’t be scared now. I know you like it.”

The pancakes? Yes. Him? Not at all.

“You need to eat to get big and strong, you know?”

“I’m not a baby animal,” you hiss back, putting on the meanest glare you can muster.

“You sure act like one,” Alex reminds you tauntingly, his smile unfading but his expression less amused than it had been before. “Licking at my fingers, coming to me for food. Don’t you think that’s what a good pet does? You’ve been holed up in your corner for too long. You should be more grateful for my efforts, just like the cows.”

Gnawing at your lip, your eyes fall from his to the pancake slowly growing cold. Only now do you realize he has been feeding you with these fingers of his without your knowledge if they were dirty or clean. Being a farmer, you never know where he puts them before approaching you, and you grow more disgusted for having fallen into this trap he had laid out for you.

Suddenly, for the first time, you hear him sigh. Even when he scratched his head and wondered what to do with you before, he never once had sighed. Somehow, it makes you shudder, a bad feeling spreading in your stomach as he hangs his head, shaking it.

“I’m not asking much, you know. Here’s the deal.” His eyes are ice-cold as he looks up again, and Alex roughly throws the piece of pancake to the floor right in front of you. It no longer looks appetizing, but you are more afraid of the man before you than the wasted food. “Eat it,” he orders commandingly, fitting this whole scenario he imagines you two to play in.

“Ew, no--” you want to protest, furrowing your brows when he interrupts you harshly by throwing the whole plate, including the pancakes, to the ground inside your pen. “In less than an hour, your whole fucking pen will be swarmed by ants. But I’ve got something better for you.”

Pointing to the piece of food before you, Alex repeats, “Eat it,” and this time, you don’t dare to respond. “Eat, and you can come inside with me.”

At this, your ears perk up, eyes widening. “I-Inside?” you ask, doubting that he meant what he said. “Yeah. I prepared a nice box for you in the house, warm and cozy. Clean water and a hot shower included, but I need to know that you are willing to listen to me, you understand?”

Body trembling, you sit there like a deer in the headlights. This is too good to be true, and you fear how high the price is that you’d have to pay if agreed. Listening to him can’t possibly be the only thing he’d want once you were inside, but you watch as the first few flies come over from the cows, wanting to get a piece of the delicious breakfast wasted on the ground. You’d have no peace if you stayed here - never.

Your hand reaches out but just as quickly pulls back. “What will we do inside?” you squeak, unable to control your anxious stuttering. Now that Alex’s lips curl back into a smile, you see his sinister side for the first time. He is leaning casually onto the barricade, but his whole demeanor changed into something horrifying, something that gives you the vibes of a sick and twisted person more than ever. “Don’t ask, just decide. Eat and come inside with me, or stay here between cows, piss, and shit. Maybe you can be useful for milk production?”

The pure horror of thinking about what that fate would entail makes you go weak, and in less than a few seconds, you had gobbled up the piece of pancake, stuffing it into your mouth. Immediately you feel the recoil of your body after doing something so disgusting, but you hold back from spitting it out, already having come so far. “Good girl,” he praises you in a belittling tone like you’d use for pets and children. Opening up your pen by unlocking the many locks he had put on for safety, Alex doesn’t mind the food on the ground, neither slipping on it and breaking his neck like you hoped for, nor having shards of the plate go through his boots.

“Give me your hand,” he asks, holding his own out until you slowly lift yours into his. The chains are way too heavy, but the fear keeps you working even though your wrists are open wounds from the chafing cuffs. “Good,” he keeps praising, repeating the progress for your other hand. “You’re learning so quickly, look at you. Attagirl!”

You don’t dare to rub your bleeding wrists as they are finally free, but a giant boulder falls from your heart as you feel relief set in. “Damn, you do need a good bath, though,” Alex mutters as he sits down beside you, proceeding to uncuff your ankles. You feel a sense of shame, not being able to smell yourself anymore but not wanting to imagine it either.

Finally, you are free of all restrains, but before you can try doing anything funny, Alex picks you up in his arms, his broad chest in front of your face and the smell of aftershave and sweat filling your nose. You didn’t know that was how he smelled. After all, he brought you here unconscious, and when you woke up, you were already in this shitty pen, cuffed and gagged for the first two days.

“Feeling good?” he asks you as he notices how quiet you’ve gotten, not much left of your spiteful self that would scream and curse at him before. You nod slowly, not looking up. Looking at him from close-up might cause you to puke after all, and you’ve worked too hard to get to this point. Alex gives you a rough, scolding shake, and you instinctively grip onto his shirt. “Tell me.”

“Yes...” you mumble, hoping that will be enough to satisfy him, and Alex gives you another sigh before shrugging lightly and adjusting you in his arms. “That’s something we can work on,” he promises you for another time, and you keep your head low as he carries you outside.

It’s been way too long that you saw the morning dew on the grass, fog covering the fields in the distance, and the sun only starting to fully rise above you. It makes you look up in awe, unknowingly being observed by a curious pair of eyes from above. Being outside again almost makes the trouble worth it, and you are able to find happiness in this small victory.

But you have yet to grasp the consequences of your decision. Even if it looked great in the image you had in your mind, you aren’t aware of the state of the house inside, what was waiting for you behind the pretty facade of a farmer’s home. The demands he has of you that Alex had yet to reveal and how eager he was to train his adorable little darling. Make you just as dependant and obsessed with him as his animals were, while you’d share their place at the end of the bed for a long time.

And you didn’t even know about the collar yet.

»»———————— ♡ ————————««  

A/N: Oh god, I haven’t written anything in the present tense for a loooong time. I hope it was readable! Sorry in advance if I messed up occasionally, I tried to get everything sorted out properly... >_< Still, a very enjoyable write and I hope the read as well!

[ivyaugustetc]

the dead poets at hogwarts: a headcanon from hell

@aedan-mills @charlie-dalton-simp @pretentious-strikes YOU ENCOURAGED THIS BEHAVIOR SO YOU'RE GONNA HAVE TO LIVE WITH THE CONSEQUENCES. also i love you a lot but THAT'S BESIDE THE POINT.

also @aedan-mills i found out that some of the wand stuff is related to their birthdays and i am much too lazy to look all that up and figure it all out, but anyone else is welcome to lmao. sorry to disappoint but alas it's summer and i don't want to research that much. but other than that, please listen to me flex my extensive knowledge on harry potter :)

neil (half blood): i'm sorry,,,, can you say gryffindor? this boy would get up there and in a second the sorting hat would have him all figured out: big dreams with the will to pursue them, but not ambitious enough to step over others to achieve said dreams? sounds like a gryffindor to me. i just know he'd thrive at hogwarts, probably going on to play quidditch (def a chaser) and would excel in charms class. as far as pets go, i feel like he'd stay simple and classy with a chill barn owl he'd name after a famous broadway actor. he would kind of be a mix of james and remus, in which he's wild and crazy but still manages to get good grades. the teachers love him simply because they don't know much about him outside of class. he would absolutely LOVE going to hogsmeade and going batshit crazy at zonko's and honeydukes. he'd have a whole phase where he gets addicted to licorice wands and everyone else thinks they're disgusting but he simply cannot buy enough of them. he'd play a bunch of zonko tricks on the rest of the poets, saving the most harsh for charlie and the most wholesome for todd <3

todd (muggle born): ugh see i can see him being both a hufflepuff and a ravenclaw, but my heart says hufflepuff so i'm gonna go with that. he would absolutely HATE the sorting ceremony with a burning passion. getting up in front of everybody only to have a hat judge u??? no thanks. HAHAHA CAN YOU IMAGINE HIM ON A BROOM. i can't either because he would simply never get on one, probably referring to them as "flying death traps" more often than not. "hey todd, you think about joining quidditch?" "no thanks, i'd rather keep my limbs intact ;)". but he would love muggle studies a lot, even if the teacher was boring as hell. snape would scare the hell out of him for sure, resulting in his lowest class being potions. he would excel in classes that are more learning out of the book rather than in practice. for a pet, he'd want something that could not possibly turn on him and would just be sweet and loving, so ima give him a toad :) he'd name it something fancy and british, like nigel or sumn. and because of nigel, he'd love chocolate frogs because hey they're twins!!

fanon knox (pure blood): hogwarts fuck boy. okay well maybe not f boy but like...his favorite part is the fact that this is a co-ed school rather than an all-boys school so he can spy on both genders equally yknow. hmm i get hufflepuff vibes from him because he's a big romantic, sucker for cute relationships, etc. he would enjoy whichever class his current crush is in, although I feel like he'd do well with classes that involved spells and wand work mostly lmao. he'd want a really fucking cute pet, so i'd give him a kneazle (it's like a cat but a bit more lion like). he'd give it a strong sounding name, something german idk. but he'd love the shit out of that kneazle, i can tell you that much. i feel like he'd try out for quidditch his first few years, not make it on, and then make it on to the team around fourth year and somehow end up team captain in seventh (and that proves kids, that you too can have a redemption arc in sports). as far as candy goes, ima say he likes the super sour candy like acid pops n shit. like i feel like the others would dare him to each as much sour candy as he can and then he wouldn't be able to taste for a week. but he'd think it was worth it :)

cameron (muggle born): good god this boy just wants to learn. magic just fascinates him, what with growing up in a big muggle family (bestie he is the weasleys if they were all type a). he's a ravenclaw, no questions asked. he would love classes involving preciseness and attention, things like potions and transfiguration. i feel like he'd have a cute, stable relationship along the way ofc because he deserves so much love and happiness and UGH he's a baby. he'd stick with a lil ginger cat, naming it after one of the famous wizards he's read about. he would love spending christmas at the school and going places when the ground are nearly empty, enjoying the scenery. for candy, he'd go plain and simple with chocolate frogs. can't go wrong with those. he'd still have fun with his friends, but he'd skip a lot of parties for some studying (don't judge, i do it too lmao). would not play quidditch but would enjoy it, end of story.

charlie (pure blood): slytherin. don't dispute it. think the weasley twins but even more flirtatious. he would be a regular at every single party that happened, flirting with the guys and gals shamelessly and drinking butterbeer like it was water. look me in the eye and tell me he would not absolutely fucking HATE GILDEROY LOCKHART WITH EVER FIBER OF HIS BEING. he'd do spot-on impersonations of him though. teacher's worst enemy. like when he walks into class on the first day, every teacher collectively mutters "bloody hell not this kid again". asks the most incredibly stupid questions ("okay but is there a spell to turn my eyebrows green? just the eyebrows though, not my hair"). he would be the most aggressive beater on the slytherin team, though he would never deliberately try to hit someone, just distract the shit out of them ("put the fear of god in them and fate will do the rest"). he'd want a loud, aggressive pet but he'd probably end up with a mean cat that hisses at everyone. he'd give it the most adorable name that just. does not fit the personality. something like priscilla. for candy, he'd take his chance with bertie botts' every flavour beans and just roll with the punches. he's chaotic like that.

pitts (half blood): ASTRONOMY IS HIS JAM. he fucking loves that class. he tutors the entire ravenclaw house in that class. he's the guy that little first years who are terrified of the class go to when they're completely lost and don't understand what's going on. besides that, i feel like he'd just be everyone's cool older brother yknow? like he'd be in charge of helping all the first years figure out where stuff is and giving them advice to help them and stuff. he would be a die-hard quidditch fan although he would not play the sport (maybe recreationally on the weekends and holidays and stuff, but the fact that it's so fucking dangerous just does not appeal to him). he'd like the candy that does tricks and stuff, like fizzing whizbees and stuff. he gives me charlie weasley vibes, where he's hardcore in certain areas (in his case, astronomy) and just flipping chill in anything else. cool older brother vibes, man. it fits.

meeks (half blood): i've said it once and i'll say it again: nonproblematic ginger dumbledore. also a hufflepuff <3 this dude just wants to fucking coast along, getting good grades and not participating in the dumb shit that could probably get him killed (even though he would in a heartbeat if his friends were in danger. duh). he'd be a teacher's favorite, probably having conversations with his favorite teachers during free time. okay ik this isn't technically at school, but i swear to god he would be dumbledore one day. like he would be the chill ass headmaster who gets shit done while also being very la di da life is nice flowers are pretty type of person. that being said, his favorite candy is and has been lemon drops ever since dumbledore got him addicted to them. his favorite classes would be potions (he'd surprisingly get along well with snape) and he'd just be great and mixing shit right and just knowing how much of stuff to add in ("how much powdered root do i add?" "about three and a half shakes." "that's not a measurement, meeks." "*shrug* it works"). he'd stick with his small friend group and love them to death, but he'd be a friend to all really. he'll help anyone that comes to him asking for help with homework (and though he won't admit it, he gets super prideful when it's someone a few years ahead of him).

stick (muggle born): harry potter if harry potter could've been more harry potter. like he would just be a part of everything and end up being part of some prophecy that demands he'd save the world and at first he'd be like HEY i'm just a small boy but then he'd grit his teeth and finesse the shit out of this preventing the end of days stuff. he'd definitely be a gryffindor, and fucking proud of it. he'd be the seeker on the quidditch team because he is so short and small and yeah he'd fucking kill it there. he'd kind of be the shy one no one expected much from, but once he starts absolutely wrecking the shit out of the other houses' quidditch teams, he'd become sorta popular? like people would invite him to parties and stuff and he's too nice to say no, but he'd mostly just hang around the outskirts, saying hi to the other poets if he saw them and mostly talking to chris and ginny (danburry, not weasley). he'd like defense against the dark arts and minerva mcgongiall would become his literal mother i can't explain it. he'd have an owl as a pet and treat it like it was his own child, telling it thank you every time it brought his mail or took his mail. as for candy, he'd like drooble's bubble gum because the bubbles are all magic and shit and i just feel like that would make him so happy <3

chris (pure blood): the older sister lesbian <3 she'd be a sweet hufflepuff who would be friends with everyone while also being the greatest socialite the school has ever seen. you know that party that practically the entire school attended and talked about for months on end? she planned that shit. she'd be like pitts in the respect that she'd help all the first years find their way in the school and in life in general. she's just such a warm and kind person that everyone would love her. she's have a little pink pygmy puff to match ginny's purple one, and she'd give it such a perfect, human name like lila or something. she'd be great at muggle studies and all the teachers would love her. also every one is so invested in her relationship with ginny it's adorable. he favorite candy is acid pops even though they make her eyes water like crazy. she'd make pretty good grades, every once in a while getting one slightly lower than she'd expected, but she always manages to bring them up to her satisfactory level :) she would not play quidditch, but she would go all out to support ginny, even though they're in different houses. that's what i call love, baby.

ginny (half blood): the mom lesbian <3 she's a ravenclaw and also one of the sweetest people in the whole school. while chris helps other with the social aspect, ginny will help anyone in any subject they need help with (she and meeks are a help duo on this). she's quieter and less social than chris, but she's one of the best chasers the ravenclaw quidditch team has ever seen. she'd end up team captain by fifth of sixth year. she'd be like oliver wood in that she is sO invested in the team's success that at sometimes she'll go a bit crazy, but chris is always there to help her put things back into perspective <3. she'd make stellar grades of course, being good friends with all of her teachers. her favorite candy would be the sweetest things like fairy floss. as previously stated, she'd have a purple pygmy puff to match chris's pink one, and she'd also give it an adorable human name like lisa or something. ginny's just sweet to everyone, especially neil and his friends.

I DID IT. IT TOOK FOREVER AND A FEW HAIL MARYS BUT I DID IT. enjoy besties <3 love u all

[luvteez]

bassists do it deeper

pairing: yunho x genderneutral!reader genre + tags: smut, band au | kink discovery, exhibitionism, a brief segment of semi-public sex, hand kink, size kink, yunho monster cock bc this deserves a tag, power play, switch dynamics (i think??), dom!yunho pulls through in the end, unprotected sex wc: 6.3k

note: big thanks to my fav babie @lustjoong​ for motivating me to combine the two ideas i had for the prompt into one and motivating me to finish this!! here’s my take on the unspoken obligatory yunho size kink fic every ateez smut writer should have written once but make him a bassist. also, the band au to this pwp is literally just there as an excuse to make yeosang the lead singer of the band bc if kq won’t give yeosang lines, i will 

A lot can happen throughout a single weekend, as your English professor suddenly quitting her job, your brother Yeosang almost burning down the kitchen from deep frying an egg, an influx of voicemails in your inbox all sent from Wooyoung, as well as Yeosang’s punk rock band losing a member. It’s a lot to process when all you’ve done is stay the night at Yuqi’s, even harder so when Wooyoung keeps repeating every five seconds that Seonghwa quit the band. (”Why did it have to be Seonghwa who left Stereowave? He was the hottest one!”)

That being said, you expected to come home to a beyond grumpy Yeosang who was trying to find a replacement asap. A band without a bassist sounds empty, and while Stereowave has garnered a big enough fanbase over the years that wouldn’t mind the band continuing as a trio, it just feels wrong. Besides, branding a group consisting of Yeosang the frontman, San the guitarist, Mingi the drummer, and nobody covering the bassist position a band doesn’t sit right.

You were prepared for the worst; a messy kitchen, Yeosang walking around in clothes he wore for five days straight, possibly the outbreak of World War III depending on how shitty he’s feeling. But instead, you find the kitchen exceptionally clean and Yeosang acting as if nothing ever happened.

“Can you help set up the camera? The guys and I wanna film a new song.”

“Uh, sure,” you answer irritatedly. “Shouldn’t you be more concerned about finding a replacement for Seonghwa though?”

“Oh, we already have a new bassist,” he waves off casually, “What are you gaping at? Shut that jaw of yours before flies fly into your nasty mouth.”

“First of all, rude.” Yeosang rolls his eyes at that comment. For a split second, you’re contemplating letting him figure out on his own how to use the camera because he’s the walking embodiment of a technology illiterate, but your curiosity about the new band member is bigger. “But how did you manage to find a new replacement so fast? It’s been like, what, a day since Seonghwa left?”

Yeosang sighs. “He’s been thinking of quitting for weeks now, so I had enough time to look for a new bassist. It’s not that big of a deal anyway.”

And this is exactly why you should never get dicked down by your bandmate several times in a month, you think to yourself. Seonghwa and Yeosang thought they were slick, but everyone figured they were more than friends. Needless to say, it was only a matter of time until the strain of their relationship wreaked havoc within the band.

“So,” you say as you two walk to the makeshift studio in the basement, “Is the new guy good? What’s his name?”

The change of topic makes Yeosang relax visibly. There’s a sheepish smile on his face and he replies, “You’ll see.”

You arch a brow. For some reason, that doesn’t settle comfortably in your gut. Then there’s the fact that Yeosang is slightly skipping, and that makes you more concerned than relieved. Because Yeosang barely skips, only when he’s being petty and is planning on pranking somebody. (Most of the time, it’s San.)

The faint vibrations of drums and guitars ring in your ears before you step a foot into the basement. Mingi is the first to acknowledge your presence, immediately dampening the cymbals before waving at you. That causes the other two guys to stop playing their instruments and turn their heads around. You greet San like you normally do, and when your eyes flit to the new addition, all brightness drops from your face.

“What. The. Fuck.”

Yunho cocks his head to the side almost tauntingly, eyes challenging. The corners of his mouth quirk upwards, though more with the intention of saying hah you thought you’d never see me again. “Hello to you too, honey. Looks like fate brought us together once more, eh?”

You blink multiple times to make sure your eyes aren’t deceiving you. To your dismay, they sure aren’t. It really is Yunho standing right next to an utterly confused San, and the bass in his hands just confirms it furthermore.

“Since when do you play an instrument?” you gawk. There’s no fucking way he could’ve had time to pick up music, not when his schedule was already jammed with basketball training and student council activities. Then again, that was his schedule in middle school.

“Since I was fifteen,” he drawls, unaffected by your outburst. “Any other questions, honey? Preferably something along the lines of how have you been? I expected a warmer welcome from you, not gonna lie.”

“What does Yeosang even see in you?” you splutter instead, disgust prevalent in your voice.

“Talent. Believe it or not.”

“Guys, no fighting,” Yeosang warns, but you’re too busy sending Yunho daggers and every pg rated curse under the sun your brain can wrack up.

Meanwhile, San shifts his weight on one leg awkwardly and asks in the background as your verbal dispute continues, “Are they exes or something?”

“Nah, just childhood enemies,” Mingi mumbles, clearly used to your interactions to the point where he’s becoming bored of it. He’s heard all the profanities too many times coming out from the same mouth, hence why he isn’t as disturbed as San is.

“Listen up, you piec—“ 

“(y/n), the camera. Help your older brother out, will ya?” Yeosang cuts you off urgently, the warning tone in his words hard to miss.

“Yeah, help your brother out, shorty,” Yunho snickers. Appalled by his blatant shamelessness, you scowl.

“I’m not that short—!”

“Still shorter than I am, shorty. Or do you prefer honey?”

World War III would’ve broken out right then and there if it weren’t for Yeosang’s death glare — you know, the look he has etched on his face whenever he means business and is willing to go so far and expose all of the nasty mishaps you’ve done in middle school, which is definitely something that should never see the light of day.

“I prefer neither,” you mutter after weighing the gravity of Yeosang’s wrath, avoiding any eyes before you set up the camera. Luckily, nobody further comments on that and eventually, everybody resumes practicing their parts of the songs.

Just in time as Mingi takes another short break to chug his water down, you stumble across a problem. “Uh, Yeosang? You should buy a new camera. This is still usable, but you might have to reset every ten minutes or so.”

A groan leaves him, followed by a shrill guitar riff, and you can see that he’d prefer death over spending money for a new one. “Can’t you just stay here during practice and reset it? You also get to hear some new tracks of the upcoming EP!” That fucker, he’s just too lazy to run forward and press a button every few minutes.

“I have to be on standby for the Block B ticket sale,” you lie. Technically, it’s not really a lie because you do plan on going to the Block B concert with Wooyoung, but 1) the ticket sale isn’t even today and 2) it’s always Wooyoung who buys the tickets. Yeosang doesn’t need to know that though. Any excuse is better than having to sit through practice and see if Yunho is as good as he claims.

Seems like Yeosang desperately doesn’t want to keep running back and forth to reset the camera as he suddenly says, “You can do it here too.” You would argue that the garage has its separate WiFi and only the band members have access to it, but then: “You can use my laptop instead.”

And letting you use his laptop is something he never does. You failed to submit an assignment in time because your own laptop broke down and he didn’t let you borrow his computer for even that.

“Fine,” you sigh in defeat. Yeosang thanks you with a smile so obnoxiously sweet it makes you gag. When all he gets in return from you is the middle finger, his demeanor drops and he mutters something inaudible under his breath, pointing to the small table at the side where all their phones and laptops are lying before he goes back to the others.

Once all four of them are in position and ready to play, you press the record button before flipping yourself onto the old patchwork couch Yeosang bought at a garage sale for only thirty quid a few years back. To your surprise, Yeosang’s MacBook is already unlocked, the default wallpaper of mountains and northern lights quite jarring to your eyes.

When given the rare chance to have unlimited access to your sibling’s devices, it’s self-explanatory what to do. You either a) go through all of their accounts and find as much dirt as possible about them that serves as good material for future blackmail purposes or b) sign them up to as many online subscriptions as possible that will make them go crazy. Unfortunately, that doesn’t work on Yeosang because 1) he doesn’t mind online subscriptions, and 2) he never checks his email account, hence why his inbox is filled with over 2000 mails, a third of them most likely unopened. On top of that, his MacBook is strictly meant for work, so if you really wanted to find out his most embarrassing secrets, your only shot is his phone.

That being said, you’re left with option c) which is checking out Block B’s concert merch since that’s the only sensible thing you can do right now. Forget productivity; that isn’t doable when Yeosang’s deep timbre is blaring in your ears along with the instruments. To be honest, you really enjoy Stereowave’s music and that’s on their music, not because your brother is the lead singer. You’ve enjoyed each of their performances and perhaps you’ve been indulging in the privilege of hearing their new songs first.

But now that Yunho’s involved, suddenly the prospect of having a new favorite band sounds tempting. What was Yuqi’s favorite band again? Day6? You should take a closer look at their discography.

As much as you want to mute the sound, from San’s riffs to Mingi’s drum solo, you fail to do so. One moment you’re opening the search browser, and in the next, your eyes are set on the group. They’re practicing like they usually do; fun etched on their faces as they lose themselves in the music. Yeosang is singing as if he was performing in front of a million viewers while San improvises a solo on a whim. Mingi messes up the beat for a split second after failing to catch his stick and somehow, your eyes have zoomed in on Yunho. It doesn’t take you five seconds to realize:

Yunho is good.

While he might not seem as fired up as the other three, he’s visibly relaxed. Just like Seonghwa, he plays smoothly and isn’t overpowered by the others, but he seems to have an easier time gliding his fingers across the fingerboard. The bassline is easy to filter out, not the generic pattern you can find in every second pop song, yet still compliments the other instruments.

He can play, fair game. However, that’s the least of your worries. You’re more attentive to the ratio of his hands to the bass. His hands are larger than Seonghwa’s by far, no doubt. That makes sense given his height, maybe an inch taller than Mingi. But Mingi doesn’t have that big hands. Doesn’t that mean that Yunho’s body is disproportional?

Before you know it, you drag your gaze from his shoes up to his legs and stop at his hands briefly, only to proceed upwards until you see the cocky smirk and amused eyes directed at you. All clogs in your brain come to a stillstand and despite that, that’s when you realize you’ve been 1) enjoying his music, 2) checking him out, and 3) checking him out and caught red-handed.

It feels as if you were living on the sun instead of on Earth as you burn up in embarrassment. Knowing there’s no way you can deflect what you just did, you quickly turn back to the laptop, the Google search bar staring back at you.

You’re about to type in something when the search history pops up, catching your eyes. A gasp leaves you but it goes under the music, everyone too immersed in their own thing to notice the prevalent horror settling on your face.

exhibitionism

getting off in public

best crowded places to have sex and get away with it

You blink, thinking that your sleep deprivation got the worst out of you and that you’ve finally reached the stage where you start hallucinating. Except, you know you’re not hallucinating. After going through the words again and again, you know that you’re really not fucking hallucinating and that your nonexistent sleep cycle isn’t as bad as Yuqi makes it out to be.

When you said you wanted to dig up dirt on your brother, you didn’t mean it in the form of his kinks. Money can’t buy everything, but how you wish it could so you could unsee that shocking discovery.

Since this is Yeosang’s work computer and he’s signed into his Google account, he must make use of the drive to save a copy of his ideas. It probably won’t amount to anything since he’s the walking embodiment of staying unbothered, but writing him a note on his docs about how he’s made your life worse by not clearing his search history is better than staying silent.

You click on the little icon on the top right corner, expecting to see Yeosang’s name right above the email address. But then you see Yunho’s name instead, and suddenly everything makes much more sense.

This was never Yeosang’s laptop to begin with.

To say you’re at a loss of words is an understatement. There’s no way someone could have as little self-awareness and leave their laptop unlocked, let alone Yunho out of all people. Then again, the last thing you expected from him was to play the bass and blend well with the rest of the band as if he’s always been the bassist of Stereowave and not the newly found replacement.

This is absolutely bonkers. But:

You could have fun with it. Maybe it’s for the better that money can’t buy everything.

Besides dozens of articles about semi-public sex and even a blogpost titled Shagging in Broad Daylight for Dummies, his search history of the last 24 hours consists of many forum links discussing the morality of exhibitionism, conspiracy theories, and hand care guides. You wheeze when you see the private playlist he saved on his YouTube account; a collection of videos about filing your nails properly and the best hand cream brands for dry skin.

Yeosang calls in for a break, and everyone’s grateful for it. San lets out a relieved noise as he places his guitar on the stand before catching the water bottle Mingi chucks at him.

“My arms are beat,” Mingi complains.

San sends him an incredulous look and snorts, “All you do is bang! crash! ppang! while my throat is fucked! And so are my legs!”

“Not my fault if you keep doing your high pitched oows! while jumping around like a— like a cricket!”

“A cricket? Are you serious?”

“I’m tired, okay!”

“Then that means we should call it a day and go home and rest, right?”

“Choi San, I think you’re onto something.”

“Absolutely not,” Yeosang deadpans, causing the bickering duo to pout in sync. “We have lots to do especially since Yunho’s now part of the band.” When all he’s met with is an attempt of cute puppy eyes that rather looks like a bad rendition of any horror movie featuring creepy dolls, Yeosang sighs, “I ordered chicken for dinner and yes, it’s on me.”

In an instant, Mingi and San’s faces brighten up and they’re celebrating as if they won a free cruise to the Bahamas. They don’t hesitate to envelop Yeosang in a bear hug, crushing the life out of him. A chuckle escapes you at the sight of your brother wringing for his sanity. Sometimes you wonder how on Earth those three guys are the same three guys who perform in abandoned warehouses, jamming out their punk rock songs while looking all edgy (in a cool way that has at least half of their fans thirsting after them).

Meanwhile, Yunho drops himself on the other end of the couch. Propping his right leg on the coffee table in front, he digs around in his pockets before pulling something out.

“Since when do you file your nails?” You pointedly raise a brow at him. Although your extensive research on his browser history already answered that question, you ask him just for the sake of it.

“Hand care is important, shorty,” Yunho replies, keeping his eyes trained on his fingers as he works the file around a nail. “If Kageyama Tobio files his nails, I can too. But enough with the small talk, what do you want?”

“I didn’t peg you as an exhibitionist.”

His hand stops moving. Yunho looks up at you, irritation written all over his features. “Because I file my nails...? A bold assumption, honey.”

There’s a reason why Yunho has always gotten away with pretty much everything. He’s a good actor who’s able to feign innocence at any time. His posture is relaxed, voice genuinely sounding flabbergasted that not even your shit-eating grin can throw him off guard.

You can’t, but your proof will do the job.

“I never said it’s because of your hand fixation.” You turn the laptop screen his way and once his eyes flicker on it and decipher the words, his face falls. Gone is the faux-confusion; as all color drains from him, his eyes look like they’re about to fall out of their sockets. “Is it really a bold assumption now, honey?”

Yunho inhales sharply when you scoot closer to him and put a firm hand on his left leg, his laptop now closed and long forgotten. Your fingers are placed too high for it to be friendly, skimming lightly on the inside of his thigh. Yeosang and the others are busy minding their own business but the chance of getting caught in the act is still there. The simple realization has adrenaline running a hundred miles an hour in your veins, and with the way Yunho clenches his jaw — a desperate attempt to fight the groan that’s threatening in the back of his throat — you’re not the only one who’s aroused by the setup.

Slowly, your hand inches closer to his growing bulge. Before you can dare yet another experimental squeeze, Yunho’s hand surges forward and holds your wrist in a vice grip.

“Don’t,” he snarls through gritted teeth, but it sounds sadder than it is intimidating when he’s sporting a boner right in front of your eyes.

You cock your head to the side, almost in a mocking demeanor. “You sure? Think about it, it’s a win-win situation. You get to live out your exhibitionist right here in front of your new bandmates, and I get the confirmation that you’re into it. But if you really don’t want to…” you try to retreat your hand but Yunho doesn’t let you budge, hand still enclosed around yours. That won’t do as an answer.

“Which one is it? Say it, Yunho,” you assert, narrowing your eyes. Yunho looks distraught, feverishly biting his lip while he’s internally fighting with himself, but he eventually chokes out a response.

“As long as nobody notices—”

“You either say you want me to touch you or not. I don’t want any roundabout stories.”

“Touch me,” he whispers defeatedly and the grip on your hand disappears completely. “But I swear to God if anyone realizes what you’re doing— hhnh—!” he cuts himself off with a low moan when you cup him over the material of his jeans.

“Yes yes, I get it. I don’t need Yeosang to know about this,” you dismiss. “And oh wow, you’re getting hard fast when I’m just touching you over your pants.”

“Just get to it.”

The snappish attitude causes you to stop dead in your tracks. “You think you’re in the position to tell me what to do? I can be mean too, y’know,” you start nonchalantly, a stark contrast to the way your heart is shaking in your ribcage. The power you suddenly hold is exhilarating. “I could just leave you like this, and then you’d have to try to cover your situation down there while practice goes on. How would the others react if they only knew your dick is hard? Probably won’t take them too long to find out since standing for a long time can be tiring, hm?”

Yunho’s head lolls back in response as he’s struggling to keep his eyes open. His breathing is uneven and the resulting moan that follows suit makes you smirk. You lightly smack the inside of his thigh, causing another wave of arousal to rupture in him. He chokes out a hushed ‘f-fuck’ and at this point, the constriction around his cock must be bordering painful.

“Who would’ve thought that the big bad Jeong Yunho is actually a submissive bitch who’s hungry for attention?” you ask gleefully, delivering another slap before stroking the area. “Who would’ve fucking thought you were a sub?”

“I-I’m not— shit, s-stop that, hngh— a fucking sub.”

“Yeah yeah, say that to yourself.” You rip your gaze away from Yunho’s flushed face to check if the coast is clear before targeting his fisted hands. He stiffens when you pry his hand open and bring three digits to your lips, sticking your tongue out to give kitten licks to his fingertips before pushing them into your mouth. You hum, suck, swirl your tongue around his fingers, giggling when all he does is stare at you wordlessly, unable to form any coherent thoughts. “See? Not even once have you put up a fight.”

That seems to snap him out of his daze. In an instant, his eyes darken and his jaw clenches.

“Oh honey, you know, you really shouldn’t tease me.”

You snicker, seeing through his bluff. “Wow, I’m so scared. What do you wanna do? Leave practice right now? Drag me to my room and pound me into the mattress?”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“You could never, sub.”

Whatever strands of self-control were still residing in Yunho have turned to dust by now. One moment he’s towering over you in full height, looking down on your sitting form in bitter distaste, and in the next, he’s dragging you out of the basement, unaffected by the sudden silence and Yeosang, Mingi and San’s confused expressions.

Once you’re in the living room, Yunho wastes no time crowding you against the wall and crashing his lips against yours. The kiss is a messy clash of teeth and tongues, but it leaves you hot and lightheaded and aching for more. Yunho knows no limits and snakes one arm around your waist to pull you closer to him, the other hand fisting your hair. He tugs harshly and the sharp sting sends all your nerves into a frenzy.

“Bedroom. Now.” The sudden huskiness in his tone catches you off guard and you wonder when his voice has ever sounded so rough. You moan into the kiss, fisting his shirt as you stumble your way to your bedroom.

Yunho pins you against the door once you’re in your bedroom. His lips are addictive, just like the groans he slips in kisses and his hands roaming your body. He gets rid of your clothes until you’re left in your underwear, then forces a knee between your legs to keep them from closing. Your eyes roll back at the friction, growing needier and hotter when he presses his thigh against you harder. 

When you finally pull away, his eyes are hooded and his lips are red and swollen. There’s no trace of inhibitions left in him as he watches you like a predator. With horror, you realize that the tables have turned, and when he easily locks both of your wrists above your head with one hand only, that’s when you know you’re undisputedly powerless against him.

“Who’s the sub now?” he pants, eyes sparkling with glee.

“Still y-you.” The response sounds pathetic to your own ears, but you have too big of an ego to admit it out loud. Yunho doesn’t buy it either if his quirked brow wasn’t telling enough.

“Still in denial, honey? I see. Guess I’ll have to do more then.” His free hand reaches down to tug on the waistband of your underwear, only to let it snap against your skin. The slight sting is enough to render your knees into mush and set fog into your vision. He does it again, and then he actually tugs the fabric down and you finally grab his motives.

“You’re bluffing— y-you wouldn’t put y-your fingers,” you ramble, hyperaware about how dangerously close his fingers are. Just when you think he’s about to shove a digit in, he pulls away completely.

“You know, you keep talking about my hands. It’s always my hands this, my hands that,” Yunho says casually, giving his nails a quick glance before meeting your eyes. “Rather than me having a hand fixation, it’s you who has a thing for hands. My hands specifically.”

You don’t like how every word is true. You don’t want to acknowledge that he’s correct. Verbally, because your body is moving on its own and has betrayed you long ago.

Yunho taps on your bottom lip and you comply reluctantly, letting him shove the same three fingers you sucked before. Mumbling unintelligible words under his breath, he watches intently as you hum around him, eyes fluttering shut when he slowly moves them in and out of your mouth. A whine escapes you when he pulls them out for good, soaked wet with your spit.

“Tell me.” Yunho grins, “Tell me what you like about them. Or else I’ll leave you hanging.” He’s not lying and you know it. The look he sends you is enough proof that he wouldn’t hesitate to leave you high and dry.

You don’t like how he’s stringing you on like a rag doll. You don’t like how he’s stripping you off your dignity step by step. Strangely enough, you feel yourself leaking and wanting nothing but his pretty long fingers inside of you.

“I like how they, agh I— I l-like how—” you stutter, losing all levels of rationality when he suddenly circles around your entrance. Yunho urges you to continue and it takes up all of your brainpower to pick up where you left off, “—they’re so long and big and pretty—”

“So you have a size kink.”

You stare at him in disbelief. Now that, that’s something he shouldn’t have deduced. “W-wha— I don’t!”

“Seems to me that you have one though. You kept stressing how big and bad and tall I was after all.” You stiffen. Did you? Did you really? You don’t recall saying it that many times but it's hard to think straight when Yunho still has your wrists above your head and is looking down at you in a downright patronizing way. It leaves you trembling pitifully, feeling called out and feeling so, so small.

He really wants you to hit your lowest peak because he doesn’t stop there. “Who’s the real sub here? Is it really me? Or is it you who likes feeling so short, small, tiny.” His smirk widens when your breath hitches ever so slightly. “I fucking knew it.”

“You don’t know shit,” you bark back, but to no avail. Your credibility has diminished the moment he caught up to your kinks.

“Say whatever you want but that won’t change the fact that you’re tiny baby,” he pauses, takes his bottom lip between his teeth as he’s giving you a thorough once-over and then enunciates the next syllables with such clarity that forces time to stop, “My tiny, helpless baby.”

The pet name breaks you. It’s the final trigger that takes all your inhibitions away and the pathetic size of an ego that was left in your stubborn head.

“Please,” your voice cracks but that’s the least of your worries. You can’t move, can’t talk back, and won’t get anything in return. Yunho is right in front of you, finding satisfaction in your internal destruction and yet, after all of the things he’s slaughtered you to, he won’t give you anything in return.

“Just a little bit more, baby. I’ll give you what you want if you repeat after me; I’m your—”

“I’m your tiny, helpless baby who desperately wants you to fuck me.” Yunho is mildly taken aback that you were still able to think and get it right before he even finished his sentence. “Now get on to it, Yunho. Please.”

You’re sniffling at this point, begging for any kind of stimulation that shoots you to the stars. You’re fucking sniffling, and that’s all it takes for Yunho to manhandle you on the bed. A gasp escapes you, not expecting this turn of events at all. It all happens in a flash and the next thing you know, you’re on all fours, face buried in the pillow.

“Yunho, I t-thought y-you’d fuck me,” you complain, glancing behind to see what’s taking him so long. Your mouth waters at the sight.

“Patience, baby,” he says as he’s unbuckling his belt, taking his sweet time. You rub your legs together to ease the tension, but you can’t really say you’re not enjoying the show. Yunho’s lean, slightly defined, and once he’s only left in his underwear, you swallow heavily. There’s a large, dark patch on the fabric and the bulge seems more prominent than before.

If your mouth was only watering, you’re drooling by now. Yunho takes off his boxers, revealing his painfully hard cock, tip red and oozing precum. Just like the rest of him, he’s abnormally huge.

You have two thoughts. One: Fuck, you want him. Now. Two:

“That’s never going to fit inside of me.”

“Oh it will,” he says with such confidence it gives you shivers. “I’ll pound you into the mattress and you’ll take it all.”

He grabs you by your thighs to pull you closer to him before positioning himself right behind you. “W-wait!” you cry, heart suddenly feeling heavy in your chest, “D-don’t just put it in without prep— o-oh, hnngh—” your body feels like jelly when Yunho presses two spit-coated fingers past your entrance, stretching you out with finesse.

“I’m not that heartless,” he chuckles amusedly, right at the same time he curls his digits right against your sweet spot, sending you headfirst into bliss. “You’re so small you wouldn’t be able to take an inch without prep.”

You only whine into the pillow, arching your back as he continues his ministrations. Once Yunho deems you stretched out enough, he retreats his fingers and replaces them immediately with his cock.

The difference is like night and day. It’s like his fingers didn’t amount to anything compared to this. The high-pitched cry that escapes you is loud as you grasp onto the pillow for dear life.

“How can you be so big?” you pant. There’s no way he’s past four inches deep inside of you. You’re far from being filled, but your walls are already clenching hard around him.

“Bassists do it deeper for a reason.” The innuendo is tacky but in your current headspace, it sounds like the sexiest thing you’ve ever heard. Yunho stills his hips, letting you get used to him. “How are you feeling?”

“Guh—” he chuckles at your inability to form coherent words, let alone thoughts. “So big.”

“You’ll get used to it, honey.” He leans forward to pet your hair. “Tell me when I can move,” he adds gently, and you swear you could melt right then.

It takes you a moment to get your breathing steady, and then he pushes more of his length inside. Whimpering, you writhe beneath him, feeling as if you’re being torn apart. Meanwhile, he’s breathing hard through his nose, trying his damn hardest to go as slow as possible. At a certain point, Yunho stops pressing for more and pulls out ever so slightly before rocking his hips back forward. It starts out slowly, but he gradually picks up the pace and you lose yourself into him.

“Faster,” you moan, bending your back for an even deeper angle. “Hnngh, so full. Want m-more.”

“You were right, you can’t take me to the hilt.” Yunho readjusts his grip on his hips and you know that bruises are going to last until the end of the week. “God, you’re so fucking small that you can’t take me to the fucking hilt.”

Your vision turns foggy once the meaning gets through you. Now that he’s saying it, how much of his cock is inside of you? Half of it? A third? He’s stretching you out so well, filling you up so impossibly deep and that wasn’t even his everything?

“That’s not— want more of you, all of you,” you stammer, not realizing what you’re even saying. “Baby wants all of you.” God, you’re so drunk and desperate for his cock that you can’t refer yourself in the first person anymore.

Yunho reacts just as perplexed, eyes widening. His hips still once more, and though you’d want to shout at him to keep on moving, you don’t find the energy to move your head, or even lift a finger.

“So fucking greedy,” he growls, pulling out of you completely. Not even a second later, he flips you around on your back so that you’re facing him dead in the eye, and then he pushes back in. The new position has you gurgling on broken words as your arms flail around for dear life.

Yunho throws a leg over his shoulder, creating a deeper angle. You don’t know if he’s actually giving you more if he’s managed to force more of him into you. All you register is the messy squelch of liquids and your moans bouncing off the walls. You can’t even see properly, everything a blur and a mix of different colors.

“I’m gonna cum,” you whimper, sensing your demise nearing closer and closer.

“Then cum,” Yunho orders in between groans, then adds in a louder voice, “You hear that baby? Cum and make a mess out of yourself.”

Your orgasm crashes onto you in a big singular wave as you tremble under his frame, walls clenching around him tightly. His name leaves your mouth like a mantra as you continue to convulse. Yunho pulls out moments later, just to spurt white on your abdomen. His face is flushed and beads of sweat are forming on his forehead while he jerks himself dry.

It’s a miracle that Yunho hasn’t toppled on you once he slowly comes down from his high. The fog in your vision clears up gradually, but your limbs are as good as worthless. You won’t be able to move freely for a good day or two.

As you continue to blink at the ceiling, only finding the energy to breathe, Yunho grabs the box of tissues from your nightstand and wipes himself off before doing the same to you. His touch is gentle unlike before, and you’d thank him if your vocal cords were still functioning.

You’re about to drift to sleep until he suddenly leans down and pecks your lips. In an instant, you narrow your eyes at him and ask, “What was that for?”

“You had some cum on your lip. I wanted to taste too.” Yunho smiles cheekily and runs his tongue against his bottom lip, then grimaces. “It tastes... yikes.”

He cleans you up in silence before plopping onto the bed right next to you. No words are exchanged up until you say, “Yeosang is going to kill you.”

“He can’t afford to kill me. He needs me for the band,” he muses.

“He’ll still kill you.”

“I appreciate the concern, honey.”

“Just scram back to practice.”

“Don’t you want to go to the bathroom first?”

“I can do it myself.”

“Oh really?”

“... Yunho, help me on my legs and then scram back to practice.”

Meanwhile, back in the basement, the guys are waiting for their bandmate to come back so they can finally finish practice and then eat chicken.

“You sure (y/n) and Yunho are only childhood enemies? They’ve been going at it like rabbits if he isn’t back here yet!” San exclaims, throwing his arms up for dramatic effect.

Mingi can’t counter that because San has a point, so he whips his head to Yeosang. “Dude, you sure they’re not in a relationship? They have to be at least fuckbuddies! Or fuckrivals? Fuckenemies? Or…”

“I do not know and I do not care,” Yeosang says blankly, looking like he’s about to bang his head against the wall because he sure won’t walk into your room and curse his eyes for the rest of his life. Damnit, all he wants is to practice and get the band together; their next gig is only a few weeks away. “In fact, I want to unsee what I just saw and unhear what you just said.”

[burnedbyshoto]

the marriage contract

chapter one: [begin this journey.]

— Just because your soulmate is Bakugou Katsuki doesn’t mean that he’s the one meant for you; in fact, he’s your worst enemy. With trouble brewing across the way, and with no one able to complete this job except you and Bakugou, there’s nothing you can do except go along with the mission. But wait, what?! You’re supposed to be married?!

pairing: pro hero!bakugou katsuki x pro hero fem!reader

chapter warnings: cursing

word count: 4,093

a/n: in this enemies to lovers story, only you get to decide whether you remain enemies, or if you succeed in becoming lovers. the choice to make is at the end of the story, good luck :D also, background on your quirk (sorry, I had to give you a quirk in order for this to work the way i see fit.) I won’t lie, im really nervous about all this... hopefully this is fun and won’t come and bite me in the ass.

Quirk: Water Sprout - using water from your body, you are able to extract and then use the water (that comes from your body or has come in direct contact with your fingertips) freely. Drawbacks include constant dehydration, dizziness, headaches.

bolded choice is the answer. ~ {masterlist}

[Begin this journey.]     [Turn back now.]

relationship status: enemies.

“You’re fucking with me, right?”

Cosmic and gods, there was nothing in this world that proved these existed.

Nothing.

Nothing in this world could show the nonbeliever that there was an outside force in the world that made people suspect that there were otherworldly ties. Not the appearance of quirks, which was proven to be a genetic mutation as part of humans' evolution, and even the sudden and ancient appearance of The Contract did anything to solidify this - well, at least to some.

Quirks were easy to understand.

Powers, drawbacks, uniqueness.

Oh, it was something that was still so new to the world that people enjoyed it so, but for The Contract, oh how that was different.

The Contract was what was the name of the world wide know phenomenon more known merely as soulmates. Everyone had a fated one, and you would know who they were because every once in a while, a simple choice would appear before you.

A this or that situation.

You would pick one of the options, and somewhere out in the world, there was a person who, despite their own free will, would succumb to your choice. It was as simple as choosing to make someone double knot or single knot their shoes, or sometimes as hard as pulling the plug on a stranger, you had no idea existed. But it had been generations since it had first appeared, and people had grown to accept the inevitable. Which, in turn, brought out new problems.

Soulmates, while fundamentally and theoretically excellent and good, seemed to shock people by the work that needed to be put into them to succeed. Two souls that were perfect for each other didn’t guarantee two people were perfect for one another. The blind, false, true love these people bragged and teetered on was ridiculous and often led to horrible breaks within soulmate bonds. People did not understand that soulmates - just as any other relationship - needed time to fester and grow. It wasn’t an over the counter remedy, it was two people trying to find similarities other than the gods and the cosmics wanting this.

It was rather rough, to say the least.

Most people didn’t mind the growth, waiting for their soulmate to become the person meant for them. Others, well, you were the perfect example of it.

Your entire life, you had thought your soulmate was an asshole, well, scratch that, he IS an asshole. Every chance he got, he would always pick the worst of the two options. He chose for you to reject pursuers in your school days, to trip your siblings, to yell at your parents when you were upset. He picked for you to get up early in middle school and train, to study for tests right when you were about to go out with friends. He was obviously picking the worst things for you (not that you were any better), and so by the bitter age of fifteen when you were put into Shiketsu High School, you were glad to pledge to be someone who wouldn’t accept the soulmate shit for anything.

If he was your soulmate, so be it, but he would never be your lover.

Things in high school and your last year of middle school went reasonably well, the choices the two of you had to make were simple enough. The worst one you remember seeing late one night at the beginning of summer break during your last year of middle school, two options illuminating before you.

[Accept his offer.]     [Decline his offer.]

There was no context for your choice.

But there had been a pit in your stomach, something telling you to chose the bottom one, and you did. Nothing consequential came from that, and you forgot about it with time.

High school went on with usual choices; both of you continue to choose the lesser of two options from what you could tell. The worst thing was rejecting your senior who had asked you out on a date (something he had told you to keep a secret from the school officials), and you had really wanted to go on a date with him… but nonetheless, you survived. Fresh out of high school with your official Hero License under your belt, you had been accepted into Rising Agency, a very new agency founded by a class older than you over at Yuuei - Class 1-A.

The prominent faces being hero Deku, Ground Zero, and Shouto.

Somehow you had passed the interview selection and had been accepted, and your first day went horribly. On account of your quirk, Water Sprout, you had woken up with a mouth drier than a desert, and like you always did, you grabbed your liter bottle and went to chug.

Only two options popped before your eyes the moment you moved the water to your parched mouth.

[Spill the water.]     [Safely drink the water.]

You had tried your hardest to get your lip to the opening, but you knew better. During the time The Contract appeared, time literally froze. Your soulmate was given up to fifteen seconds to choose the answer before the first choice was automatically selected. You had tried to suppress the scream at the back of your throat when the cold, cold water came splashing down on your chest. Spraying all over your bed.

The scream you made when you were soaked to the bone no doubt made your soulmate smile wherever he was.

So you were glad when his options appeared before you a few minutes later.

[Break the sink faucet.]      [Turn off the water.]

With a sniff, you held no remorse when your hand jammed out and hit the option he deserved.

You had arrived at the agency's front door within the next hour, your most formal business clothes were worn fresh and sharp. Your hand held your case with your hero costume and nerves at your stomach. This was it, you had thought, your hands sweating profusely, your mouth so dry you felt faint, and with a quick chug of your water, you entered the facility.

The agency smelled like Pine-Sol and sweets, and you found the front desk immediately but were off-put by a man who was already there. His back hunched over, arms crossed, and placed onto the counter as he seemed to be arguing with the receptionist.

Nearer and nearer you drew, and the more you began to recognize just who the man was: Ground Zero.

Calm down, calm down, calm down.

Your heart hammered viciously in your chest as you were finally in earshot of the conversation - it seemed that he was fighting over his new time slots for his routine patrols. But you were no stranger to his… vivacious temperament, and instead of addressing him first, you figured it was in the best interest to simply ask the receptionist what your first steps should be.

But as you opened up your mouth, your internal monologue of what to say blaring on repeat so that you wouldn’t mess up, the world froze, and you panicked.

[Ace the introduction.]      [Fumble the introduction.]

The world was still for five seconds, but never did you ever once experience someone moving within The Contract. So, when Ground Zero’s hand moved and punched in an option that was mirrored right in front of your mouth, you immediately felt the blood in your cheeks from seeing him recoil back to your heart faster than you could blink.

“Hi, I’m Hero, and I’m new? I’m looking for the y/l/n room?”

Horror struck through you immediately at the realization.

Ground Zero was yours...?

He was your…?!

You saw red.

“Hah? What kind of introduction was -- WHAT THE FUCK?!”

Your fist throbbed pathetically still curled near his face, and Ground Zero’s blazing, burning red gaze matched the blood pouring from his busted nose as you panted like a corned animal.

“YOU MADE ME WET MY BED, ASSHOLE!”

So went your first interaction with your soulmate.

Your fist connecting and shattering his nose. Three of his friends holding him back, and three trying to escort you away quickly. It was indeed one for the books.

But that was three years ago, and at the age of twenty-one, you could still not handle the sight, or the presence of your soulmate, and vice versa. The both of you were like oil and water, conflicting and fighting whenever left together for too long, unable to get along. He was not meant for you, and you were not meant for him - it was evident like night and day.

Right decisions were made, however, once knowing who the other one was. The both of you taking track of each other’s patrol schedules to make sure good choices were made at that time, just in case, but as soon as the other was off, payback was a bitch. The entire agency had learned that both of you were soulmates the same day the both of you found out, and there were actual looks of sorrow given to you from his friends?!

Not to mention that his nickname for you was bedwetter now, something that both infuriated and embarrassed you to this day.

Both of you were separated at all times, never once having to work together, that is, until today. A time where we find ourselves back in the beginning.

“You’re fucking with me, right?”

A part of you wanted to roll your eyes at Bakugou’s quip, but in all consideration, you agreed with him ultimately.

“Unfortunately, I’m not,” Yaoyorozu sighed, her mouth pinched and her hands passing both you and Bakugou a small stack of documents for you to read over. You took your file after placing your water bottle down and opened it immediately as Yaoyorozu continued to speak. “Kane, Bryan is an American man who has recently been on Japan’s watchlist. He is highly dangerous, evasive, and a hard man to pin anything on… all we know is that innocent people are going missing when they enter his land, and undercover heroes end up in the sea with no memories, or worse, dead.”

That took you by surprise, and your stomach twisted at that thought.

Heroes have turned up dead?

“I don’t doubt the seriousness that this Kane man brings, but no offense, Creati, why does it have to be a mission for Ground Zero and I?” you asked, your eyes flittering from the blurred photo of the man on your page onto the slightly frowning commandeer of this agency. “We aren’t exactly… a good fighting duo? If what I think you’re asking is correct, why not send in Deku and Ground Zero? They have the best duo track record, I’m sure that they’ll be able to apprehend this man better and faster than we can.”

Yaoyorozu sighed, her teeth tugging at her bottom lip while her fingers drummed on the table, obviously not comfortable telling the full explanation.

“Well, to be honest, he stays on a remote island nearby, and it’s very exclusive.”

You owlishly blinked at Yaoyorozu, who straightened in her chair, a new air of confidence flowing through her that made you almost ask if a choice had been made for her.

“Kane owns a private island that is known for its resort, and to enter the resort, there must be two truths to this,” her eyes were holding yours for a moment, they were deep, so dark that for a second you felt fear tickle at the back of your spine before she turned her attention over to Bakugou. “One: those who may enter must be in a romantic relationship.”

What?

“Two: they must be soulmates.”

“WHAT?!”

You blinked, your head snapping over at Bakugou, who had yelled the same words as you did, obviously not impressed with what they were now enforcing. Oh god, this was not what you were thinking at all!

“Why the hell does it have to check off those two boxes? I’m not going somewhere obviously dangerous and in the middle of nowhere with bed wetter!” Bakugou growled, his feet planted onto the floor as he had his upper lip pulled into a sour face of sorts. “I’ll do it with literally anyone else, ponytail!”

“Unfortunately, that’s not an option,” she sighed, her hand pushing through her bangs with a sad shake of her head. She looked tired, and her exhaustive eyes rose to meet yours, and his, and her voice was weak and oh so pleading. “There is some way they can tell if you’re soulmates, and those we sent out who weren’t already soulmates never made it in. You two are quite literally our only option, without the two of you, we don’t stand a chance.”

“So, can we act as estranged lovers then?” you questioned, your stomach twisting in the thought of having to display any sort of romantic displays with the man sitting right next to you. “We can be a couple trying to work on our relationship?”

Yayorozu gulped.

“W-We actually made profiles for the two of you…”

“And?” came Bakugou’s near whisper.

“Y-You’ll be acting as a, well, a newly married couple. This is your honeymoon… I know you two don’t have a good history, and your on field teamwork has never been tried, but I’m pleading to you two now, please consider. You have until tomorrow to tell me if you accept.”

If there had been a choice that appeared for Bakugou to make you slam your head through the desk, you would have thanked him for choosing it.

[Carry all the bags]     [Take only his bags.]

“Thank you!” you chirped with no pity for the situation you had just placed him in, the glint of a sneer flashing across Bakugou’s face was fierce as he took the bags of luggage the two of you had been given from your agency. This was it, it was starting.

The weight of what was to come of this was now starting to hit heavily, the importance of the diamond ring on your finger - a symbol of the fake marriage contract between you and Bakugou felt like a ton. There was no hiding the discomfort the both of you held when you had to act in love, your hand itching to leave his clammy, abnormally warm hands, and you never realized how he mumbled under his breath until you were forced to sit next to him on the private plane. But as you were given two days to prepare for this mission, it didn’t hit you what was happening until you unloaded from the plane.

From the initial observation of the island, you immediately recognized just why the owner was so elusive and able to keep his agenda hidden. The island's natural barriers were bright as day, the rocky mountains seemed entirely inhabitable, and the entire resort was located where the mountains met the beach. Tropics and natural waterholes existed in those parts before slowly blending into the white sand beaches with water so blue and clean that you genuinely wished you would be having a good time.

You hated having to remind yourself that you were here for the sake of a mission and not to simply lay out, well, it was easy to forget that until Bakugou was beside you, and you fought the instinctive reaction to scowl at him. In fact, with your gaze falling onto the blond-haired hero, you didn’t notice the small woman appearing from nowhere, a bright smile on her face and white linen clothes on

“Welcome to Hibani Island!” she chirped, her eyes closing in well-practiced greetings, she spoke with an accent, and with her appearance, you assumed she was American. “My name is Jane, and I’m here to welcome you to our wonderful island! May I please have your names and the choice you had upon arrival?”

Your greeting smile disappeared at that point, your head tilting in confusion, “I’m sorry, our choice?”

“Mhm!” Jane nodded enthusiastically, the same bright smile plastered on her face. “Our wonderful island works in mysterious ways! As you both know, our beautiful resort is only for those who are soulmates; after all, we would never wish to poison her beautiful nature with impure love! Upon entry, with the help of the island, I am able to procure a choice for you and your soulmate to make! Since I posed the question to you,” her glazed over eyes focused on you, “I would appreciate it if your partner answered!”

There was a silence, and it couldn’t have lasted any more than a few seconds in all reality. But in that still, you could feel the hair on the back of your neck stand straight up, there was obviously something entirely wrong here.

“A choice about who would carry the luggage in,” Bakugou calmly, smoothly answered, his voice somehow not picking up on any suspicion. “Be -- Y/n chose that I would carry them all.”

The way your name passed his lips made your spine stiffen, it felt weird, unnatural, fake.

Well, this entire thing is fake, you reminded yourself, grateful that Jane was at the moment impressed by Bakugou’s correct statement.

“Well, wonderful! I’m so glad that our island can greet two beautiful soulmates today! Your names? So that I may check you both in?”

“Nakamura Katsuki and Y/n.”

“Amazing! Let’s get you to the main lobby, and they’ll set you two love birds up!”

Thankfully, Jane was a woman who didn’t mind talking to herself the entire way over to the resort’s main lobby, she spoke wonders of how the hot springs were especially “magically” at night, and promised that a trip during that time would lead to “the best of fantasies.” The resort itself was oddly busy. Couples were everywhere, each in their own world, yet all orbiting around one another, never once mixing.

The white sundress you wore suddenly felt too simple, especially with the stupid designer wear most people were wearing.

Jane escorted you to the front desk, and with one last overenthusiastic smile, she disappeared.

“Check us in, Joo Dee just about made me fucking lose it,” Bakugou grumbled, his patience hanging on a much thinner thread than yours apparently.

“Glad to know it takes only one super smiley person to ruin your day,” you couldn’t help but snip, the rolling of your eyes only stopped when the front desk clerk began to walk over, a bright smile on his face, and his hand waving in greeting.

You opened your mouth, ready to begin talking when his welcome rang clearly in your ears, but just as it happened all those years ago, the world froze.

[Ace the introduction.]     [Fumble the introduction.]

The prideful, arrogant smirk on his face seemed to burn into your back as he stared from behind you.

“Hi, I would like it.”

Your voice gave out, and with burning cheeks, you and the front desk clerk stared at each other, the awkward silence biting into your throat. The clerks’ smile, breaking slightly in his second-hand embarrassment and wonder as to why you stopped talking, but despite wanting to continue speaking your voice refused to work again.

Bakugou Katsuki was an asshole.

“Are you here to check in?” he asked, his eyes searching yours in hopes that was what you were here for.

With a burning face, you nodded, and the check-in proceeded.

The clerk, who introduced himself as Ryan Locke, quickly checked you and Bakugou into your rooms. He pulled out a simple paper map and circled the small house - yes, small house - that the two of you would be residing in. Just as the package the two of you purchased, both of you would be here in two months, and the entire time everything would be included. Name it, and it would be brought to the room, well, house. You nodded, trying to take everything he was throwing at you in, not at all relying on Bakugou, who was standing by the window staring at the other guests with a frown on his face.

PDA was not something either one of you were comfortable with.

“Well, that’s it from me! Should you need any assistance, please do not hesitate to call!” Ryan smiles, the crinkles by his eyes creasing, even more, washing you over with ease despite the tension in your body. You heard Bakugou approach the two of you, and with him beside you, Ryan seemed to remember something as he rubbed the back of his neck. “And, there is a couples event tonight, should you and your husband want to join! Most couples do, and by the look of it, it may help re-spark things?”

A sour rancid taste crawled at the back of your throat as you awkwardly laughed, your fronts were weaker then you thought, and shook your head, “Oh no! That’s no issue! We’re actually here on our honeymoon,” your fingers pressed to your chest, your eyes trailing to where Bakugou was standing in hopes that it somehow looked romantic. Pet names were a thing, right? But what to call him? “Uh, K-Kacchan is actually super shy with PDA!”

You froze when the only nickname you’ve ever heard used toward Bakugou fumble clumsily from your tongue.

Kacchan?!

KACCHAN?!

WERE YOU SUDDENLY DEKU?!

“Oh! Yes, I understand now!” Ryan laughed, waving off his mistake, the apples of his cheeks dusting in what you could only pray to be embarrassment. “Well, if you want to help your Kacchan here express his love for you without care of the world, tonight’s session is the place to be!”

He turned and walked away with a final smile, most likely retreating to the ringing phone in the back room.

“I swear to god, do not ever call me that shitty nickname ever again, or else I’ll explode your ass,” Bakugou hissed, his hand grabbing you by the elbow as he had you in close.

“I’ll call you whatever I damn please!” you hissed back, ripping your elbow out of his hold.

You watched as his upper lip twitched, and he moved to go grab your luggage, something The Contract still held over him. You stood with the papers that Ryan had given to you, the stack of itineraries and options of what the both of you two could do while at your stay taking far more room in your arm then you thought was acceptable. Your concentration on your fake husband - as you kept vehemently reminding yourself - broke when the door opened and in walked a woman who was alone, and headphones on her ears. You offered her a smile when eye contact was made but did nothing more.

Bakugou leaned down, his hands lifting up the luggage, most definitely annoyed with rolling the large suitcases. But with the woman’s course and the way that Bakugou’s back was towards her, having not noticed her entry at all, you could see that they were going to collide. Essential items were in that suitcase, and you had no idea if they could break if Bakugou managed to drop them after crashing with her. But again, it would be payback for the embarrassing first encounter with Ryan!

But before you could make up your mind on what to do, the world froze.

[Crash into her.]     [Avoid her.]

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

(make sure to vote for the choice to be chosen!)  poll closes august 30 8am pst

[nikki-writes-stuff]

Straight Lines and Sharp Angles (Tony Stark x Reader)

Summary: After finding out that Tony Stark is your soulmate, you spend the next several years avoiding the wild, cocky playboy. But when he shows up on your doorstep one day asking for you to give him a chance, you start to reassess your assumptions about the man with your matching soulmark. 

Pairing: Tony Stark x Reader, Soulmate! AU

A/N: I still don’t know if this is going to be a oneshot or not, but for the moment there aren’t any warnings here! Maybe just fluff if you squint; I didn’t realize I was so soft for Tony Stark before writing this! I hope y’all enjoy. Let me know if you think I should write a second part. 

Tony Stark – it was a household name, one that everybody had heard of, no matter what country they lived in, what language they spoke. Nearly every person in the world had heard of the famous billionaire, and you’d grown up hearing his name on the news.

Up until the day you were 16, he was just another celebrity, albeit one that you looked down upon. Nearly every month, he was in the papers for doing something reckless and stupid, but at least it made for good entertainment. However, that all changed after one of his more drunken interviews on Access Hollywood.

When your mother had called you into the living room that day to watch it, you’d been confused by the shocked, almost horrified look on her face.

“Mom, what is it?” you’d asked, furrowing your eyebrows. “He didn’t blow up a country, did he?”

“I… No,” she’d said carefully.

“Screwed the first lady?”

“No. But-“

“Skinny dipped in a public fountain again?”

“Honey, just… Just watch.”

Picking up the remote, she’d gestured for you to sit down beside her before pressing play. Perplexed, you’d dropped down onto the sofa, watching as the famous philanthropist swayed drunkenly on his feet.

“Mr. Stark,” the reporter started, “Is it true that you broke a world record for the amount donated to UNICEF in one year?”

“Oh, please,” he slurred in response. “The point in giving to charity is to do it out of the, the goodness of your heart. So I will by no means confirm the fact that you just stated. It just wouldn’t be, be ethical to mention the literal billions myself and my company have given to charity in the past couple o’ years.”

The reporter had smiled at that, but you couldn’t help but roll your eyes.

“Asshole,” you muttered under your breath.

“So are you out celebrating tonight, then, Mr. Stark?” the reporter carried on.

“Oh, yeah; Playboy called and said their models are eternally grateful for my contributions to humanity.” He winked at young man beside him, who only grinned and nodded. “So I’m headed over to the mansion to let them thank me in person, if you know what I mean.”

“Oh, I have a pretty good idea.”

“Mom, this guy is a complete douchebag,” you said, “but I don’t see why you wanted me to-“

“Shh! Just watch.”

With a sigh, you did as she said, watching as Tony seemed to sober up a bit, looking into the camera.

“Sorry - I’ve been told it’s not good for business to talk about banging supermodels. Plus, I mean. I can only imagine how pissed my soulmate is by now.”

For a minute, the reporter froze, his eyes darting to the cameramen in surprise before turning back to the billionaire.

“I’m… I’m sorry, Mr. Stark, but I wasn’t aware that you had a soulmate.”

“Oh, yeah,” the young man laughed. “Shit, my bad. I’m not supposed to talk about that on tv. Fuck, Obadiah is gonna kill me-“

“Are you and your soulmate together, Mr. Stark?”

“What? No. Fuck, you think I’d be out right now if I had a hot piece of ass waiting for me at home?” He stumbled on his own feet for a second, and he reached out to stabilize himself on one of the cameramen. “Shit- Nah, I haven’t even met her yet. At least. I mean, I think it’s a she. Might be a he, who knows? But, I dunno, I just have a feeling that they’ll have tits.”

All of a sudden, Tony looked as if he’d just come up with a brilliant idea, and before anyone could say anything to stop him, he was reaching down and pulling his t-shirt off, flinging it somewhere behind him. And, all of a sudden, you realized why your mother had made you watch this debacle of an interview.

Tony Stark had a soulmark that sprawled from his left shoulder down to his right hip, and it was made up of a geometric pattern. The mark contained crisp lines and sharp angles, all coming together in unique shapes that stretched across his torso. Your mouth went dry, and you felt the blood drain from your face as you stared at it and the man who it belonged to as he pointed at the camera.

“If you’re out there,” he started, but a hiccup shook his entire frame before he could continue. Blinking his eyes a few times, he shook his head and tried again.

“If you’re out there, and you have my matching mark, please, just…please contact me. Send me a letter, shoot me an email, fuckin send a carrier pigeon – just let me know you’re alive, at least.”

From there, he made to say something else, but he suddenly looked as if he was going to be sick. His face took on a greenish tinge, and he covered his mouth and turned away from the camera, stumbling away by a few feet. Your mom paused the tv at the first sound of his retching, and for a long moment, you just sat there in silence, feeling the weight of what had just happened settle over your shoulders.

Your eyes trailed down to your thigh, to the geometric soulmark that had been painted across it since you’d been born. You’d always liked to think about who your soulmate was, what they would be like and how the two of you would meet. But never, in all of your years of fantasizing, had you ever imagined you would be bonded to a celebrity. Much less an arrogant, loud-mouthed, entitled playboy.

“…Sweetheart, I… I’m so sorry. He had no right to speak about you that way-“

A bark of laughter escaped your mouth, and you looked to your mom incredulously.

“He has no right to do any of the shit he does,” you fired back, and your mom didn’t even try to correct you on your language.

You’d stood up, pacing the length of your living room, feeling a cold dread start to settle in your stomach.

“…He’s not my soulmate,” you eventually declared, eliciting a sharp exhalation from your mother.

“Sweetie, his mark looked just like yours-“

“Well, I don’t care,” you interrupted her. “He doesn’t get to be my soulmate. And not just because he talked about my tits on national television. It’s because he makes his billions off the suffering of others. He manufactures weapons, for God’s sake. And he thinks that a few donations to UNICEF is gonna make up for it?

“I would rather die than be with Tony Stark.”

_____________

Years passed after that fateful day when you were sixteen, and you went to painstaking lengths to make sure Tony Stark remained unaware of your existence. Even after he hung up his weapons development and turned into the beloved, lauded Iron Man, you couldn’t find it within yourself to reach out to him. In your mind, he would always be the same spoiled, drunken brat you’d watch humiliate you on Access Hollywood.

Ever since then, you only ever wore pants that covered your whole leg, even in the summertime. You didn’t have any social media profiles, and if anyone asked if you had a soulmate, you would lie and say you were one of the many who’d been born without a mark. Even when you moved to Massachusetts to start college at Harvard, you did your best to stay out of the limelight, instead choosing to throw yourself into your studies. And despite the temptation, you avoided all news that pertained to Tony Stark.

But, despite all of that, you still had a social life. You had a good, tight-knit group of friends, and you were mostly happy with where you were at. You were in your second year of college, and you were living on your own in a tiny, matchbox apartment just three minutes from campus. And you had grown comfortable with what you had.

Too comfortable.

Because one day, when your good friend Jade asked you for the millionth time to hang out at her parent’s pool with her, you’d said yes. She’d worn you down with promises that it would only be you, her, and a few of your mutual friends, and you’d reasoned that it wouldn’t hurt if the people who were closest to you knew about your soulmark.

And, sure enough, the pool day came and went without incident. You went, you swam, you dodged any questions they had about your mark, and you quickly forgot about the entire day within a week of it happening.

But on the seventh day after the pool, you heard a knock at your door.

_____________

“Coming!”

You put down your textbook and rubbed your eyes, glancing at your phone. It was 6:45 in the evening, and you’d once again gotten carried away with your homework. With a sigh, you stood up from your bed and stretched your arms above your head, listening to your joints pop with the movement.

Once again, a firm knock came to your door, and you let your arms drop to your side with a huff.

“I said I’m coming!” you called out, crossing the small living space.

Unlocking the door, you went to pull it open, but it barely moved an inch as you tugged at it. It wasn’t the first time that had happened; in fact, every day you told yourself that you would get one of your friend’s dads to come help you fix the door jam, but over a year had gone by without you doing anything of the sort.

With a grunt, you pulled on the doorknob with all your might until, finally, it popped open. You huffed, pushing some hair out of your face as you straightened up.

“Sorry about that. It sticks someti-“

Your words died on your tongue when you saw who was standing before you. You blinked, wondering if you were dreaming as you stared blankly at Tony Stark, who was looking between you and the door with arched eyebrows.

“…Candy gram?”

You huffed, looking down to the large bouquet of red roses he held in his hands. His hair was slicked back, and he was sporting his usual impeccably-sculpted facial hair. Plus, you knew next to nothing about men’s fashion, but even you could tell that his charcoal-gray suit had to have cost him thousands of dollars, if not tens of thousands.

“Um… Hi,” you greeted, shifting on your feet. “Can I help you, Mr. Stark?”

Once more, his eyebrows twitched, and he took a step forward.

“You know… For most of my life, I’ve been preparing a little monologue for whenever I finally got to meet you, but for the life of me I can’t remember a single word of it,” he admitted, a ghost of a smile spreading across his lips.

You nodded your head, still unimpressed.

“Does any of it include how you found me?”

The smile faltered on his face, and he shifted uncomfortably on his feet.

“I have my A.I. routinely check the internet for any image matches to my soulmark,” he explained. “Your picture popped up this morning, so I flew over from Malibu and-“

“Wait, my picture? I don’t have any pictures of myself up on the internet. Not any that have my soulmark in them, at least.”

Tony furrowed his eyebrows and made to reach into his jacket pocket, trying to juggle the large bundle of flowers for a second before giving up.

“Uh… Here, hold these for me,” he said, all but shoving the roses into your arms. You scrambled to accept them, immediately getting hit by a wave of their scent as you watched him pull out his phone.

After unlocking it, he turned it around to face you, showing you his home screen background. Your eyes widened as you looked at the picture of yourself in your swimsuit, smiling at something off camera with your soulmark in plain view. You hadn’t even remembered seeing anyone take your picture, but there was no denying that it was from Jade’s pool party.

“I… I didn’t post that,” you stammered. “How did you-“

“Someone named Jazzi put it on her FaceBook,” he explained, shoving the device back into his pocket. “Friend of yours, I’m guessing?”

“Yeah…” You trailed off, frowning. “But, wait, you set it as your phone background?”

He didn’t even have the decency to look sheepish.

“Well, yeah. I mean, my soulmate turned out to be a smoking hot college girl. Why wouldn’t I have you as my screensaver?”

You felt your cheeks heat up, and you shook your head, not knowing what to say; your world had suddenly been tilted on its axis, and your brain couldn’t keep up with it.

“So,” he continued on, oblivious to your inner turmoil. “I thought that we could have some dinner together tonight. You know, wine, dine, get to know one another. From there, I can have your things moved to my place – you’re gonna love Malibu. It’s so much nicer than Massachusetts – summer, all year long. Beaches, palm trees-“

“Wait, wait, wait,” you said, holding a hand up. “Just… Pause for a second. Pause. You want me to move in with you?”

“Well… Yeah. I’m on the wrong side of 40, hon – I’ve waited long enough, I think. Now, I’m starving. Do you like Italian? I know a place close by-“

“Tony!” you interrupted.

He stopped in his tracks, his mouth still open as you shook your head.

“I’m not… I’m not going to move in with you,” you told him incredulously. “I can’t just put my life on hold at the drop of a dime. I have my own home; I’m in college. I’m not going to leave that behind just because you showed up at my doorstep saying you want to make up for lost time.”

Tony sighed, sliding his hands into his pockets as he chewed on his bottom lip for a second, thinking over what you’d just said.

“…I get that,” he finally conceded. “I guess that would be a little too fast. …Alright, well, I can buy a place up here, I guess. We can live there until after you’re finished up with university-“

“Ok, you’re…clearly still not getting this. Tony, has it occurred to you that maybe, just maybe, there’s a reason why you haven’t found me until now?”

At that, he was left speechless, and for a second you wondered how many times in his life someone had managed to leave him without anything to say. You could practically see the gears turning in his mind as he tried to fathom the idea, and you used his silence as an opportunity to speak your mind.

“Listen, I get that you’re a big deal. I mean, you have your own action figure for crying out loud. But I’m perfectly content with where I’m at right now. I don’t need a reckless, arrogant billionaire showing up in my life thinking he owns me just because we happen to have the same pattern on our skin.

“Now, if you want to get to know me, I guess I can live with that. And maybe something will one day come of it. But if I do ever move in with you, that’s gonna be years from now. And any kind of relationship we do go into is going to have to move slower than what you’re clearly expecting.”

As you spoke, you could see Tony’s face start to grow more and more somber, and there was an edge to his stare that made goosebumps spring up over your arms. His hands were balled up into fists in his pockets, and once you were done speaking, he ran his tongue over his teeth as he considered his next words.

“…You don’t know a thing about me,” he started off. “Reckless? Yeah. Arrogant? Maybe on a bad day. But there’s a whole different side to me that you would be able to know if you just gave me a chance. Do you know how much it’s hurt? To watch the years tick by, knowing you have someone out there that the universe hand-picked for you, but still not able to do anything about it except sit and wait with your thumbs up your ass until something turns up?”

“Not as much as it hurt me to hear you objectify and humiliate me on television when I was sixteen years old,” you fired back. “And, yeah, my heart bleeds for you. However hard it was for you to wait for me, I’m sure the women, booze, and drugs did more than enough to numb the pain. I’ve been meaning to ask you, how did that evening at the Playboy mansion go, hm?”

“…I had no way of knowing you were only sixteen,” he tried to defend himself. “And that was one time; it was a drunken mistake, and I don’t even drink like that anymore. And, for the record, I haven’t touched drugs in years; I’ve gotten better-“

“And yet you show up here, thinking a bouquet of flowers and a fancy dinner will be enough to get me to move in with you? Even if you’ve gotten better, I can’t just look past that arrogance, Tony. If you want me in your life, you’re gonna have to prove it.”

With that, you turned on your heel and walked back into your apartment, slamming the door shut behind you. The last thing you saw before it closed was the look of hurt on Tony’s face as he watched you walk away, and you waited by the door until you heard the click of his footsteps as he walked away. As soon as you were sure he was gone, you felt the dam inside of you burst, and tears started leaking down your cheeks as you lowered yourself into one of your dining room chairs.

You sat there for a while, crying and clutching the flowers, watching as your tears dripped down onto their blood red petals. Because even though you’d been avoiding Tony for your entire adult life, and despite the fact that you’d meant every word you’d said about his arrogance, you still couldn’t deny that there had been a small, treacherous part of you that had wanted to go with him to dinner. That was the part of you that whispered to you, saying that he was still your soulmate, that there had to be a reason why he was your chosen one, even if you couldn’t see it.

But, as you dried your tears and stood up to find a vase for your roses, you snuffed that voice out. Whether or not Tony would get his chance with you was now completely up to him. If he was willing to show you that he would be able to put away his pride and work with you towards the relationship he wanted so desperately, then you would give him a chance.

But miles away, soaring through the air, Tony was developing his own plan. He’d spent enough time waiting. And now that he’d found you, he was gonna make damn sure that you didn’t slip away from him again.

_____________

You’d worked at the campus coffee shop as a barista for about a year, now, and you’d grown to enjoy it. It wasn’t your favorite among the three jobs you kept to afford rent and student loan payments, but it definitely wasn’t the worst. You’d gotten to know your regular customers, and your coworkers were generally cool people, easy to get along with. You were used to the little routine you had at the café, and that was why it was so jarring when, in the middle of your shift, a UPS delivery man walked in with a large package, claiming it was for you.

“I… I didn’t order anything,” you’d tried to tell him. “And even if I had, I wouldn’t have given my work address.”

“Look,” he’d sighed, “your name is on the package, and I had very specific instructions not to leave until you’ve accepted it. Can you please just sign for it?”

With an annoyed huff, you’d done as he asked, taking your 15 minute break to open it in the back room. Your coworkers had all watched the scene with piqued interest, but you’d shrugged them off when they asked any questions.

Cutting through the tape and cardboard, you sliced across the top seam of the box and opened it…only to find three more boxes. Shoe boxes, to be specific. One was labelled from Miu Miu, one read Christian Louboutin, and the third was from Louis Vuitton. You gulped, opening them each up to find the most stunning pairs of high heels you’d ever seen.

You jumped when you heard a gasp sound from behind you, and you turned to see your coworker Anna staring over your shoulder.

“Oh. My. God! Those shoes are to DIE for,” she squealed. “Ohmygosh, can I hold them?”

Arching an eyebrow, you handed her one of the Miu Miu heels, which were encrusted in glittering gemstones that you were sure couldn’t be actual diamonds. No one would be able to bring themselves to wear diamonds on their feet, right?

“Holy fuck, I think these are real diamonds!”

Well, shit.

“How in the flying fuck did you manage to afford these?” Anna demanded, handing the shoe back to you reluctantly. “Did you get yourself a sugar daddy?”

“No,” you immediately answered her. “No. This is just… It’s a long story. But I’ll tell you one thing – I will not be keeping them.”

“What? Girl, are you crazy? …If you’re going to get rid of them, could I have maybe just one-“

“I’m giving them back to the asshat that sent them here in the first place, Anna,” you informed her. “I’m 99% sure I know exactly who it is, and if he thinks he can buy me, then he’s got another thing coming.”

There hadn’t been a return address on the package, and so at the end of your shift and before your American History class, you dropped it off at your apartment and told yourself you’d get them back to Tony later, not even thinking to wonder how in the world Tony had been able to guess your shoe size perfectly.

The next day, though, while you were working your shift at the campus bookshop, yet another package had come for you. This time, it was a Chanel purse with a note attached to it that simply said, ‘I’m sorry.’ You’d simply snorted and thrown it into the box with your unwanted shoes that night when you got home, only mildly concerned that Tony had found out A) where you worked, and B) your work schedule. But, you reasoned, if he’d been able to find out where you lived, it wasn’t that surprising that he knew the rest of it, what with the resources he had at his disposal.  

The third gift, though, went above and beyond the others, and it crossed a line that you hadn’t even thought Tony Stark would cross.

That night, you’d come home from your day of classes, feeling relieved that no other delivery men had tracked you down to give you an insanely expensive package. You’d changed into your pajamas and snuggled into bed, ready to watch some Netflix and get a head start on homework.

And, of course, that was when you heard the doorbell.

With a sigh, you’d stood up and marched over to the door, ready to tell Tony that it was too late for him to bother you and prepared to force him to take back all of his gifts. But, instead of your soulmate, a delivery woman was standing at the door, holding a package in one hand while a crate rested at her feet.

“Are you (Y/N)?”

With a sigh, you nodded your head and signed for the gifts, not even wanting to fathom a guess at what Tony had in store for you this time. After accepting the crate in her hands and setting it down on your couch, you watched in surprise as she picked up the crate, cooing to whatever was inside of it before holding it out to you.

“I hope he’s able to find a good home with you,” she said, smiling, and your heart clenched when you heard a soft whimper come from inside.

“Wait, wait, wait,” you said, shaking your head. “Please tell me there isn’t a living organism inside that box. Please, tell me he didn’t-“

You were cut off by a sharp, high pitched bark, and you backed up a step.

“I can’t accept this,” you told the woman, and you watched as she pursed her lips.

“Well, whether you want it or not, there’s a dog in here for you. And I was told that, if you didn’t take it, it’s going to the nearest pound.”

“I…”

You trailed off, watching as a small, wet nose poked out of one of the thin slots in the crate. You didn’t have a dog, nor did you want a dog at the current point in time – you could barely afford to feed yourself, much less a pet.

But you weren’t heartless, and you couldn’t bare to send an innocent animal to a pound that, for all you knew, could be a kill-shelter. And so, with a heavy feeling in your gut, you took the crate and closed the door behind the delivery woman, setting it on the ground and kneeling down to open it.

Inside was the most beautiful puppy you’d ever seen. It was a Samoyed, and its fluffy, pure-white fur offset its big, black eyes and its dark, button nose. It squirmed in your hands as you lifted it from the crate, and your heart all but melted when, after you sat it down, it climbed into your lap and rose up on its back legs to put its paws on your chest.

“Well, hey there, little guy,” you murmured, reaching down to the collar on its neck. It had a circular pendant hanging from it. On one side, there was a phone number listed, one that you didn’t recognize, and on its other side there was a name printed on its gleaming silver surface.

“…Ozzy, huh? Nice to meet you, Ozzy. I’m so sorry that you’re just a pawn in a rich man’s game to win my heart, but…at least you’re cute.”

Ozzy panted as he looked up at you, and you found yourself scratching behind his ears as your eyes fell onto the other package that had come with your new household member. You leaned over and pulled it to you, peeling off the tape as Ozzy waged war against one of your slippers.

Inside of the box, there were all the supplies one would ever need to take care of a dog. There was a black harness that came with two matching leashes, and further down you found two marble bowls for food and water. There were also more toys for Ozzy than you’d ever owned cumulatively during your childhood, and beneath it all there was a small, embroidered dog bed that had “Ozzy Stark” embroidered on it in gold thread. You huffed at the last name, wondering if it would be too petty to use a pair of scissors to remove ‘Stark’ from it, but you reasoned that you wouldn’t resort to that just yet. After all, you didn’t even know if you would be keeping little Ozzy.

That night, you took Ozzy outside to walk around for a little bit, and after he did his business, you went back in to set up his supplies. Luckily, Tony had included puppy food in his doggy care package, and so you served up a bowl of it for Ozzy to chow down on. From there, you put off your homework and played with him, watching his antics with a smile on your face; he really was adorable.

Despite the fact that his bed had probably cost more than yours, Ozzy slept curled up against your side all night, and you had to admit that you slept sounder than usual with him tucked against your hip. And when you woke up to him laying sprawled out against your stomach, you couldn’t hold back the happy grin that had come over your features. Luckily, it was your one day off during the week, and so you were able to sleep in, watching the little puppy slowly wake up.

As he lifted his fluffy white head up and yawned, your eyes caught on the tag hanging from his collar. More specifically, the phone number printed on the back of it. You chewed on your lip, weighing the pros and cons of giving Tony a call, but you reasoned that it was your only day off during the week – if you were going to return all of his pointless gifts, then it would have to be today.

And so, after taking Ozzy outside for a short walk, you took a seat on your bed and pulled him into your lap, dialing the number and waiting with bated breath as the phone rang.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Tony said, having picked up right after the third ring. “How’s our son doing?”

“He’s not…” You huffed, letting yourself fall back against your pillows. “Tony, c’mon. You can’t just get me a dog.”

“Why? You allergic? ‘Cuz Samoyeds are actually hypoall-“

“Tony, you know why! This isn’t a pair of shoes or a purse – which I’m fully planning on giving back to you, by the way. This is a living being! I’m too busy to take care of a dog. And he’s going to grow up to be big; he’ll need more space than I can give him.”

“I know. I’ve thought about all of that,” your soulmate assured you. “And I have a proposition for you.”

“Tony, I’m not going to move in with you-“

“So you’ve said. Look, just… Can I come over? I’d kinda like to be able to see your face again. It’s a nice one.”

“I…”

You groaned, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“You’re the most difficult human being on the planet.”

“Aw, love you too sweetie. I’ll be over in five.”

With that, he hung up, leaving you just barely enough time to get dressed. You threw off your pajamas and pulled on some jeans and a t-shirt before frantically arranging your hair into something mildly presentable. You studied yourself in the mirror even though you told yourself that you didn’t care about what Tony thought about your appearance and straightened up as much as you could, throwing dirty clothes from your floor into your hamper and washing as many dishes as you could before a knock sounded from your door. Your heartrate jumped when you heard the tap-tap-ta-tap-tap, and you hurriedly dried your hands off before walking over to let him in.

Once again, the door jammed as you tried to pull it open, but with a bit of finagling you managed to pry it away from the frame. There Tony stood on its other side, holding a box of donuts and wearing, this time, a burgundy button-up with a black tie.

“I brought breakfast,” he announced. “But you have to let me in to have one.”

You rolled your eyes but, wordlessly, stepped aside, closing the door behind him as he took a seat on your old, threadbare sofa. You crossed your arms as he turned his head, taking in the small studio, his eyes lingering on the chipped paint on the walls and the water stains on the ceiling.

“…Well, this certainly is an apartment,” he deadpanned.

You were about to say something snarky back, but Ozzy chose that moment to jump into Tony’s lap, prompting a wide grin to spread over the man’s face.

“Well hey, there, buddy,” he cooed, scratching behind his ears. “You been wearing her down for me?”

“No,” you answered for the dog, taking a seat on the opposite end of the sofa as your soulmate. “I know I shouldn’t be surprised that you bought me an entire-ass dog, but I am.”

“What can I say? Chicks dig puppies.”

You let out a sigh, shaking your head as you reached for the donuts; you were hungry, after all.

“I can’t keep him, Tony,” you reminded him. “I mean, he’s really sweet, but it just wouldn’t be responsible for me to have a dog right now.”

“Oh, I agree,” he replied, arching his eyebrows. “At least, not when you’re living here. With not one, not two, but three jobs. Fuck, how you’re not exhausted 24/7 is beyond me.”

“I am exhausted, Tony,” you sighed. “All the time. But some people weren’t born rich geniuses.”

“But some people are born as their soulmates,” he pointed out. “And you haven’t heard my latest offer yet.”

“A relationship isn’t a transaction, Tony-“

“I will buy you a house,” he spoke, stopping you dead in your tracks. “One that’s not too far from your campus. And I’ll give you a weekly allowance so you don’t have to work so much; all you’ll have to focus on is your classes, Ozzy here, and yours truly. And before you say anything, I won’t be living with you in this deal. I mean, I’m totally going to buy some property really close to you so I don’t have to fly up from Florida a couple times each week, but you’ll have your own space.”

You gulped, turning his words over in your mind; if this were anyone else, you’d tell them that they’d have to be a fool not to accept this offer. And Tony had clearly thought a lot about this a lot.

“Oh, I do have some conditions, though,” he added, as if it were an afterthought.

“…Ok. What are they?” you asked warily.

“I wanna see you at least two times during the week,” he started. “And I want to be able to spend at least one day out of the weekend with you – Saturday or Sunday, take your pick. And one other thing.”

At that, he leaned forward, scooting closer to you on the couch, and you noticed that his face had gone stone-cold. There was no joking whatsoever in his eyes, and there was no hint of a smile on his features. Your own eyes widened; you’d never seen him look like this, not even during his famous ‘I am Iron Man’ press conference.

“I want you to give me an honest chance,” he said solemnly. “I know I’ve done some stupid shit in the past, but I meant it when I said that you don’t know me. Not yet, at least. So no more of this ‘arrogant billionaire’ bullshit – I’m asking for a clean slate in return for a full-ride through the rest of your college career. And a shot to make it work with the person you’re destined to be with.”

You bit your lip, looking away as you processed everything that he’d said. If you said no, you knew, without a doubt, that you’d spend the rest of your life wondering what would have happened if you’d said yes. You would still have your pride, sure, but you would also have a student debt that you’d never even be able to dream about paying off. And the sentimental, optimistic side of you whispered that you would lose your chance of getting to know the person behind the mask Tony wore, the person who shared a destiny with you.

“…Deal.”

Relief settled over Tony’s features, and he closed his eyes as his wide, joyful grin returned to his face.

“…Thank you,” he murmured, almost under his breath. When he finally did look back up at you, he leaned forward, his hand planted on the sofa cushion beneath him.

“Would a celebratory kiss be too much to ask for?”

“Yes, Tony,” you chuckled in spite of yourself. “Yes, it would be.”

“Damn.”

__________________

Moving day came only a week later. Tony had emailed you several listings that were within five minutes of Harvard’s campus, and you’d at first balked upon seeing that not one of them was below one million dollars. You couldn’t say that you were surprised; the location alone was enough to drive any property’s worth up by a considerable amount. But you’d still felt guilty as you looked them over.

“Are you sure this isn’t too much?” you’d asked him over the phone.

“Hon. I could buy all of the homes on this list and still have enough money to live comfortably for over a century. Pick whatever you want.”

You’d eventually picked one of the more modest listings, comforting yourself by forcing Tony to take back the shoes and purse he’d bought for you. From there, you’d packed up all of your belongings and posted your furniture to Craigslist; your over-zealous soulmate had already hired an interior designer for your new townhome before you’d been able to warn him not to do such a ridiculous thing.

And now, the day had finally come to move your little life from your ratty studio apartment to a three-story brownstone on the other side of campus. Truth be told, everything was moving so fast that the week had gone by in a blur. Tony had left you alone for the most part, busying himself with getting your house ready for you, and you’d put in and worked your one-week notice at your three jobs. Anna had known right off the bat that your quitting had something to do with the mystery man who’d bought you the shoes she so coveted, but she surprised you by not saying anything about it, merely telling you on your last day that she wished you luck and happiness.

Now, you were dressed in an old pair of overalls and a Rolling Stones t-shirt you’d stolen from your dad as a child, and your hair was pulled back as you lifted your boxes into the moving truck Tony had hired. He’d had a meeting that morning in New York, but he’d assured you that he’d be able to make it back in time to help you with moving them into the new place.

You’d assured him it was alright, but he’d still insisted on hiring movers. After about two minutes of watching the men carry your boxes down the stairs and into the moving van, though, you’d insisted on helping them with the work. And now, here you were, shoving your last box of books into your van as Ozzy barked from the front seat. You’d asked the movers to crack the window and blast the A/C for him, but he was still anxious from being away from your direct line of sight.

“Alright, I think that’s it,” one of the movers said. “You all set to head out, young lady?”

“Just a second! I need to leave my key under the mat for my landlord.”

“Okey doke. Well come on down to the truck when you’re ready to. We’ll keep it running for you.”

“Thanks so much!”

After dashing upstairs and leaving your key, you turned to walk back out of the old apartment building. But you paused for a moment, turning back and taking one last look at the space. So much had changed in such a short time, and you couldn’t quite believe you were leaving this behind. But despite where you were going, despite how uncertain you were of the future, you knew that you would always be proud of the person you’d worked to become while living in your tiny, broken down apartment.

Taking a deep breath, you turned around and walked out to join the movers, and you offered them small smiles as you climbed into the backseat of their truck.

From there, it was only a twenty minute drive to the other side of campus, and you watched as the buildings along the way started becoming nicer and nicer, dissolving from worm apartment buildings popular with the students to sophisticated brownstones favored by the wealthiest of the university’s professors. You couldn’t believe that you were going to be living among them, in a house with three floors and a small, fenced-off backyard.

A suspicious voice whispered to you in your head, saying that it felt too good to be true because it was, but you pushed it aside. Today, you were solely focused on the move, and you’d be damned if you let your anxiety ruin your day.

Part of your optimism faded, though, when you saw a sleek sports car parked in front of your building, with none other than your soulmate leaning against its hood, a pair of gaudy sunglasses perched on his nose as he tapped away at his StarkPhone. You fought against the urge to roll your eyes when you saw that he, too, was wearing a Rolling Stones t-shirt under his black blazer, but it was too late to change now; hopefully, your overalls would cover yours up enough for him not to notice.

After the movers parked the van, you picked Ozzy up and exited the vehicle with him tucked under your arm, squirming with excitement as Tony walked over to greet you, a wide grin parting his lips.

“What took ya so long?” he asked, eyes darting up and down your figure in a way that brought heat to your cheeks. “And one of us is gonna have to change.”

Damn.

“Hello, Tony,” you sighed, finally letting Ozzy down while keeping a firm grip on his leash. “How did your meeting go?”

“Boring – painfully so. But the rest of the day looks promising.”

“What do-“

“Holy cow, is that Iron Man?”

You were interrupted when one of the movers approached you, jaw slack in disbelief as he looked between you and your soulmate. You watched as Tony’s smile dropped into something plastic and practiced, indulging the mover by striking up a conversation with him as you turned to unlock your new home’s front door. The other mover, bless him, seemed unaffected by the superhero’s presence, and so the two of you began unloading boxes as Tony took a selfie with his enthralled fan.

“Woah, hey,” he suddenly interjected, gesturing for you to put down the boxes in your arms. “These guys got that covered; I thought we could go get lunch while they finish up.”

At that, both of the movers started working in earnest, and you glanced between them and Tony, arms still full.

“I mean… I feel bad just leaving it for them,” you reasoned. “And there really isn’t a lot to move – shouldn’t take more than ten minutes. You can wait for me inside, if you want to.”

A bemused huff escaped the billionaire, and he quirked an eyebrow at you before starting to shrug out of his jacket. You watched as he threw it onto the hood of his car before brusquely taking the boxes from your hands and starting to carry them inside.

“You know, I did hire them to do this so we wouldn’t have to,” he grumbled, but there was a fond gleam in his eyes as he glanced over his shoulder at you on the way in.

Pleasantly surprised, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself as you grabbed the next box from the van, making sure to put Ozzy in the downstairs bathroom so he couldn’t escape through the open door. With the four of you working together, it only ended up taking five minutes to complete the move; you really hadn’t owned a lot of things, a fact that Tony was clearly unsettled by.

“So, is that it?” he asked once you were done, a light sheen of sweat breaking out on his brow. “All of your things? Clothes? Kitchen stuff? Books?”

“That’s it,” you confirmed, turning towards the movers as they started towards the cab of their truck. “Thank you guys, by the way. I appreciate the help.”

“No problem, miss,” the one who wasn’t Tony’s fan assured you. He, on the other hand, had been making moon-eyes at your soulmate the entire time, and if you’d been more invested in your relationship with him, you might have even felt jealous.

“Oh, before I forget,” Tony suddenly startled, reaching into his back pocket. He pulled out a black leather wallet and fished out a few hundred dollar bills, causing your eyes to widen as he handed it to his still-enraptured fan. “Divvy this up between the two of you; thanks for helping my soulmate out.”

Now, their eyes widened, and even the more chill of the two men stared between you and Tony. You felt as if your cheeks were going to catch on fire as he smugly smiled and turned towards you, placing a hand on your lower back and spinning you around to steer you towards the house.

“Now, about lunch…”

___________________

The two of you ended up going to a boujee outdoor bistro for lunch, located smack dab in the center of the nearby shopping district of town, and you were already deeply regretting your decision not to change into something other than your paint-stained overalls. The menu didn’t even have prices listed, for crying out loud, and there were things like ‘herbed Israeli couscous with preserved lemon’ and ‘brunch galette with spring greens, herbs, and feta’ on it. You couldn’t even pronounce some of the items, but Tony looked right at home as he ordered a bottle of champagne for the two of you.

“Starting to drink early?” you asked, arching an eyebrow, but he’d just grinned and shrugged.

“Champagne hardly counts as drinking,” he defended himself smoothly.

As the two of you waited for your drinks, you fell into a silence that was, at least for you, supremely awkward. To distract yourself from it, you stared down at Ozzy, who was curled up at your feet with his leash looped securely around the armrest of your chair. The bistro apparently not only allowed dogs, but actively encouraged them, if the bowl of whipped cream your waiter had brought out for him earlier was any indication.

“So… How’d you like your new digs?” the man across from you suddenly asked, and you turned to find his eyes locked onto your face, his chin resting atop his fist as he rested his elbow on the table.

“It’s…nice. Still entirely too expensive,” you added, at which he playfully rolled his eyes, “but it’s nice. …Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” he immediately fired back. “It was part of our deal; I’m getting something out of this, too.”

You glanced up as the waiter suddenly appeared to pour the two of you champagne, and despite your initial protests, you found yourself gulping down half of your glass as soon as it was filled. When he asked for your orders, you just blandly stated that you’d have whatever Tony was having, but your soulmate seemed immensely pleased with your words before launching into his order.

Once the waiter had retreated to the kitchen, he turned back to you, tilting his head slightly as he took in your features.

“Has your opinion about me changed at all?”

You were momentarily taken aback by such a sudden question.

“…Tony, it’s going to take more than just gifts to get me to like you the way you want me to.”

“Oh, I figured. You wouldn’t be the one for me if they were. But what will?”

You bit your lip, tracing the lip of your champagne flute with the tip of your finger.

“…You said that there’s a side of you that you don’t let people see,” you started. “Tell me about it.”

The man smiled, mischief gleaming in his eyes.

“Only if you show me yours, too.”

You nodded, and he leaned back in his chair, snatching up his flute and taking a quick sip of the bubbly booze.

“What do you wanna know about the ‘real’ me?”

“Whatever you think is important.”

He paused, considering that as his eyes flickered between you and the puppy at your feet.

“…You make me incredibly nervous,” he started, taking you off guard. “I’m used to people pandering to me at least on some level, either because of my money or fame or their sense of ‘gratitude’ for me, you know, saving the world on a few occasions. But not you. And I like that about you, I do. I hardly know you, and I already love your sass. But I’m not used to it in the slightest.”

Unexpected warmed bloomed in your chest, and your lips twitched up into a smile to match his as he carried on.

“I got you the gifts because that’s what I’ve always done in relationships in the past, but I was secretly glad when you gave back the shoes and the purse. …Not enough to stop buying you things, obviously, but most girls I’ve met took the presents even if they insisted they weren’t in it for the money.”

“So you have tried to date other girls?” you asked, not feeling surprised or offended that he’d date people that hadn’t shared a matching soulmark with him.

“Jealous?” A mischievous glint sparkled in his eyes, but you only raised your eyebrow at him, prompting his smile to fall by a few centimeters.

“I wouldn’t call it dating,” he eventually sighed. “But it’s been, uh…lonely. I would swear off relationships for a year or two at a time, saying I was gonna just buckle down and wait for you, but then I would meet someone and feel that spark and think, what the hell? Might as well.

“But they, predictably, never worked out, and then I was back to waiting. And the cycle would repeat itself.”

You felt a pang of sympathy for him, seeing the earnestness of his words in the set of his shoulders and the depths of his eyes.

“…I have to admit,” you murmured, “I’ve never pictured you feeling lonely before. The possibility hadn’t even come to my mind.”

He shrugged, trying to make light of something you knew weighed on him.

“Well. Now I have you to bother, so I don’t expect to feel that way much longer.”

For the rest of your lunch date, the two of you made easy conversation – easier than expected. All of Tony’s comments were laced with carefully constructed humor, but you quickly realized that it was just a coping mechanism, a way of protecting himself from sounding too vulnerable when discussing matters that hit a little too close to home.

During that first deep conversation, you found out that, though his relationship with them hadn’t been perfect, Tony still missed his parents deeply, and that a lot of his actions stemmed from a place of wanting to make them proud, even in death. He was also a genius, but while he was very much aware of that fact, he didn’t flaunt his knowledge nearly as much as you thought he would.

He briefly touched on the Avengers, but it was still too soon after Captain Rogers’ defection for the subject to not be painful for him, so you steered the conversation back towards lighter matters, noting the grateful look on his face after you did so.

In return, he asked you question after question about your life, proving to be a better listener than expected. He soaked up everything you had to say, learning about your family, your hobbies, your preferences. As it turned out, both of you enjoyed art, and while you didn’t consider yourself a gifted artist by any means, you enjoyed listening to his opinions about different genres and classical painters.

By the time your food arrived, you were so in deep with your conversation that the waiter startled you as he arrived with two artfully arranged plates.

“Here you are,” he gushed, his voice filled to the brim with pride as he served your famous counterpart. “Creamy oven risotto with crispy roasted mushrooms and lemon-pepper chicken.”

After placing the food in front of you both, you noticed a small bowl tucked into the crook of his elbow, and you smiled as he knelt down in front of Ozzy, presenting him with it as if he were a patron at the table.

“And some frozen strawberry yoghurt for this little one,” he cooed, giving the pup a pet behind the ears before straightening up. “Can I get anything else for you three?”

“No, thank you,” you assured him, picking up your fork.

The food, predictably, was delicious, and both you and Tony were quiet as you dug into it with relish. Ozzy, too, gorged on his food, getting pink yoghurt all over his face as he dived headfirst into his bowl. The two of you laughed at his antics, and by the time you were finished with lunch, you realized that you felt…content.

Tony really was different than what you were expecting. He was still slightly full of himself, aware of his own accomplishments to a fault, but he was also considerate of yours. You’d always pictured him as the type to talk over others while flaunting his superior intellect, but he was more down-to-earth than you’d ever hoped he’d be. After the two of you finished and the check was paid (all of your offers to help cover it had been met with eye rolls and pseudo-glares), you didn’t even hesitate to take him up on his offer to stroll through a nearby park before heading home and starting to unpack.

The weather was bright and sunny as the two of you watched Ozzy run down the sidewalk, his tail wagging so fast that it was just a little white blur as he sniffed at everything that crossed his path, and you walked and talked until Tony got a call at 4 o’clock. F.R.I.D.A.Y., his AI that, as he put it, ‘ran his life’, had informed him that it was from someone named Happy, and he’d apologized before stepping to the side to answer it.

As you took a seat on a nearby bench and watched him talk, you felt your own phone start buzzing, and you pulled it out of your pocket to find that it was your mother calling.

“Hi, Mom,” you said as you accepted the call.

“How did moving go?”

Your mother, when you’d first told her about your deal with your soulmate, had been apprehensive, to say the least. She’d never forgiven Tony for the way he’d unwittingly spoken about her daughter, and she’d made it clear that, while she would support your decisions, she didn’t trust your soulmate as far as she could throw him.

“It went well,” you assured her. “He actually carried boxes.”

“I know,” she sighed, and you could all but picture her rubbing her forehead in exasperation. “There are already pictures of the two of you floating around on the internet.”

You bit your lip, unconsciously darting your eyes around the park if you could see anybody sneaking pictures. It was mostly empty, though, with the only person in your range of vision being Tony, but you were still nervous about what you would see when you searched for yourself on Google later that evening.

“He’s…been really nice,” you admitted lamely. “Today has been really good, so far. He took me and Ozzy out to lunch-“

“I still can’t believe he mailed you a dog.”

“…And now we’re walking around a little park close to campus.”

“Has he said anything rude to you?”

“No, mom. I promise. If he does, I’ll slap him just like you said to.”

“Kick him in the balls for me while you’re at it.”

You huffed out a laugh, perking up when Tony hung up his phone and started making his way over to you.

“I have to go,” you told your mom. “But I’ll call you as soon as I get home.”

“You’d better.”

“I will! Love you.”

You hung up after she echoed your last two words back to you, and you watched as Tony lifted one sculpted eyebrow, glancing pointedly at your phone.

“Should I be jealous of someone?”

“Not unless you see my mom as competition.”

A relieved smile came over his features, and he held out his hand to help you up off of the bench. You didn’t comment when he kept it in his as he walked you back towards the entrance of the park, but you did let go when a couple of joggers did a double take while passing you on the trail. For a second, you thought you saw disappointment flash over his features, but he made no comment as the two of you made your way back to his car.

“So, what did your mom have to say?” he asked, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“…Well, she started by asking how moving went,” you began, wondering if you should tell him about her distrust. “I told her you were very helpful.”

The corner of his lips quirked up at that, and he shot you a glance from the corner of his eyes.

“She’s not a fan of me, huh?”

You were puzzled by his deduction, and it must have shown on your face.

“I figured. I wouldn’t be a fan of me, either, if I were in her shoes.”

“I find it hard to think of you as being anything but a fan of yourself.”

A hiss of laughter escaped from behind his teeth, but his expression was surprisingly devoid of a smile.

“Your soulmate ended up being a self-righteous playboy who’s nearly 20 years your senior,” he deadpanned. “Not really the type of person you bring home for Thanksgiving.”

“…If it makes you feel any better, I’m probably going to end up hosting my family’s Thanksgiving this year. And I’ll invite you.”

At that, he did smile, and a part of you was relieved to see it.

“It does, actually. Thanks.”

The rest of your walk was done in silence, with both of you watching as Ozzy became less excited and more sleepy with every step. At his first yawn, you bent down and scooped him up into your arms, and by the time you’d arrived back to Tony’s Lamborghini, he was fast asleep with his nose tucked against your chest. The sight was enough to make your heart melt, and you jolted when your soulmate reached over to rub his upturned belly, his fingers just barely grazing against your breast as he did so. Even though you knew it was unintentional, your cheeks were once again enflamed as he opened your car door for you.

The two of you only spoke next when you were stood on your doorstep, whereupon Tony hesitated as he stared up at you from his place at the bottom of your steps. Neither of you knew how to say goodbye, and neither of you knew whether or not you should address the instant connection you’d made over lunch. You didn’t regret giving him a chance, and while you were still apprehensive of the man you’d been avoiding for the past several years of your life, you couldn’t help but wonder, almost hopefully, if he’d kiss you goodbye.

“…I had a good time today,” you started, clutching your puppy even closer. “Thank you for lunch. And, um…the house.”

The both of you chuckled at that, and Tony kicked his heel, digging it into the concrete beneath him with something resembling bashfulness; the sight was endearing, as was his honest smile.

“Thanks for giving me a chance,” he replied. “It’s…probably more than I deserve.”

Your heart squeezed at that, and after a moment of deliberation, he determinedly rose up onto the second step of your small porch and leaned closer, pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek. It was over in a moment, barely as long as a heartbeat, but his lips were soft and warm against your flesh, and you’d been able to smell his warm, spicy aftershave as he leaned close.

“Call me,” was all he said before turning around and climbing into his car, leaving you with a fluttering heart as you walked into your house and closed the door behind you.

Something had blossomed somewhere behind your ribcage, and it took you a second to identify it as your thoughts swam and spun around Tony. It was hope, you realized, and a small smile spread over your lips.

It was hope, and it was beautiful.

[langdxn]

Careless Whisper!! I need my husband and Careless Whisper! Pwease 🥺

aaah i love this! i’ve been wanting to try out crispy Xavier for so long, so here goes…

WARNING: very graphic details of injuries (gif by langdvn)

“Hello?”

Xavier knew calling out would be futile; the others would be halfway across the camp by now, Bertie would never have escaped Jingles’ clutches and Jingles himself wasn’t likely to release him from this oven when he was the one that put him there in the first place. Nevertheless, he called out.

“Hey!” He cried, slamming his palm against the glass regardless of the stinging waves of heat flushing through his veins. “Hey!”

You’re wasting your breath, he thought to himself. Preserve your strength.

Unfurling his lavender collar and dipping his head beneath its thin veil, another pointless effort at shielding himself from the stifling heat closing in, Xavier felt his nose run cold, liquid pouring freely from his nostril. Raising a hand to wipe his lip, his fingers emerged coated in blood.

“Fuck,” he seethed under his breath, slapping his palm against the glass pane, a translucent barrier between him and freedom. “Fuck!”

Bashing the oven door over and over, his frantic rhythm was interrupted by a familiar sound outside his boiling prison. A lone saxophone blaring from the radio Bertie keeps beside her sink to stave off dinnertime boredom.

George Michael.

“Is this hell? Am I doomed to burn to the sound of Careless Whisper on an infernal loop?”

I feel so unsure, as I take your hand and lead you to the dance floor

“Help me!” He screamed in vain, yanking his hand from the glass with a hiss as blisters swelled at his fingertips. His gaze dropped to the grill beneath him, reluctantly accepting his fate. “I don’t want to die in here.”

As the music dies, something in your eyes

“But you are going to die in here,” a familiar voice rasped over the music, jolting Xavier to look out. Margaret Booth stood calmly at the oven door, arms folded before her.

Calls to mind a silver screen and all its sad goodbyes

“Margaret! You’re here! Please, please help me! Let me out!” Xavier’s sore hands crashed against the glass again. “It’s... it’s so hot.”

“I don’t think so, Mr Plympton.” Margaret seethed behind gritted teeth, lips furled into a snarl. “You see, you’re trying to destroy all my hard work.”

I'm never gonna dance again, guilty feet have got no rhythm

“What?” Xavier’s jaw dropped open, his brows furrowing intently. “Margaret, I’m not trying to do anything! Please, just let me out? We can talk this through!”

Though it's easy to pretend, I know you're not a fool

“You and your friends, you’re only here to bring the forces of Satan into Redwood. This camp is a God-fearing establishment, thanks to me. But you, you and the debauched company you keep, you won’t be leaving here until you meet your God and answer for your sins.”

I should've known better than to cheat a friend

“Margaret, are—are you crazy?!” Xavier wailed weakly, pressing his eyes closed to fend off the searing heat building in the sockets and coursing through his skull. “I’m dying in here, Jingles did this!”

And waste the chance that I've been given

“At least I didn’t have to get my hands dirty,” Margaret hissed through a sinister grin. Xavier forced his eyes open and she was gone.

So I'm never gonna dance again, the way I danced with you

Scanning the room, Xavier pressed his burning hands to the glass. “Margaret, please! Don’t let me die in here!”

Time can never mend, the careless whispers of a good friend

No response came. Xavier’s eyes darted around the dark kitchen, desperate and terrified.

“Margaret, please!” He cried. “I’m so sorry!”

To the heart and mind, ignorance is kind

A tidal wave of pain rushed through his head, forcing his eyes shut again as stifling blisters swelled on his forehead and cheeks.

“I knew you were capable of apologising,” another female voice chimed in, this time less evil but nonetheless livid. His singed hairs stood on end.

There's no comfort in the truth, pain is all you'll find

“Babe... is that...,” Xavier stuttered before opening his eyes to glance at your figure propped up against the oven door, one hand resting on the glass between you. “Is it really you?”

I'm never gonna dance again, guilty feet have got no rhythm

“No, but I’m surprised you have the capacity to imagine me,” you sassed with a quick roll of your eyes. “You probably don’t even remember what colour my eyes are, let alone anything else about me.”

Xavier’s bloodshot eyes blinked away blistering hot tears welling at his lashes. “Wh—why would you say that?”

Though it's easy to pretend, I know you're not a fool

“Because you were far too busy screwing that Duke girl to look twice at your own girlfriend.”

A single searing tear formed in Xavier’s bloodshot eye and dried before it could burst its banks.

I should've known better than to cheat a friend, and waste the chance that I've been given

“Baby... I made a mistake,” he shook his head furiously, his blonde streaks curling tightly on his forehead and melting into the vicious welts as they rose on his skin. His gaze wandered to your hand fixed to the glass, wondering why your fingers weren’t yet curled around the ladle jammed in the door handle to release him. “Please, let me out and I’ll make it up to you! Please!”

So I'm never gonna dance again, the way I danced with you

“Why should I?” You retracted your hand, folding your arms to mirror Margaret’s defensive stance. “It would be so much easier if you died here, that way I’d never catch you screwing that blonde bimbo in our bed again.”

“I—,” Xavier’s head shook in accepted defeat, gazing down at his hands. Flayed skin flaked away from his knuckles, revealing the raw crimson surface beneath.

Tonight the music seems so loud, I wish that we could lose this crowd

“Your skin is peeling, Xav,” you sighed unmoved. “Soon the skin that touched mine will burn away, soon there won’t be any of you left to touch me.”

“I don’t... I don’t know what I saw in her, baby, I don’t—.”

Maybe it's better this way, we’d hurt each other with the things we want to say

“Spare me the last minute defences, please.”

He sighed to himself, drawing his boiling lip between his teeth. “I deserve this.”

We could have been so good together, we could have lived this dance forever

“Amazing,” you scoffed with a wry smirk. “You’ve accepted your imminent death before you’ll even consider apologising to me.”

“Baby I’m sorry!” Xavier pressed his palms against the glass as if reaching out to hold you, his scorching nails slowly tearing away from their beds as he pushed against. “I’m so sorry!”

But now who's gonna dance with me? Please stay

“Too little, too late, Xav,” you shook your head dismissively, walking away with a click of your tongue.

“Where—where are you going?” Xavier inched closer to the door, careful not to touch his cheek to the searing surface.

I'm never gonna dance again, guilty feet have got no rhythm

“There’s a lady out here,” you declared, crouching to the ground to examine the twitching body at your feet. “She’s dying too.”

“Bertie?” Hope burst through Xavier’s voice. “She’s alive?!”

Though it's easy to pretend, I know you're not a fool

“Barely.”

Xavier’s heart sank, dropping to his knees on the oven grating.

I should've known better than to cheat a friend, and waste the chance that I've been given

“She reminds me of your mom,” you sighed, pressing a hand to her blood-soaked hair clinging flat to her head. “Before the alcohol turned her into a monster, of course.”

“She… she’s a good person,” Xavier muttered despondently, distantly aware of the scolding metal burning through his white pants to his kneecaps. “She’s the one that doesn’t deserve this.”

So I'm never gonna dance again, the way I danced with you

You turned to Xavier with a hint of sympathy in your gaze.

“Have you never seen a slasher movie before, Xav?” Pursing your lips, you chuckled under your breath. “The troubled guy always has to fight for his life.”

“But… but how?”

“That’s another trope that might just save you,” you rose to your feet and returned to press your hands at the glass to meet his on the other side. “The good woman always saves a life in her final moments.”

Now that you're gone

“But she’s...”

“She’s slipping in and out of consciousness,” you sighed, curling your lips into a comforting crooked smile. “Make enough noise and you’ll bring her back around.”

“Wh... why are you doing this?” Xavier cried out, visibly in tears which kept evaporating before they coursed down his blistered cheeks. “If I’m so bad, why are you trying to save me?”

Touched by his concern, you leaned your forehead against the oven door.

Now that you're gone

“Because you’re in the middle of a literal horror movie and you deserve a redemption story.”

“Th… thank you,” Xavier smiled, however much it pained him to stretch his swollen and burst lips.

“Don’t thank me, thank Bertie over here,” you sighed gently, gazing over at her body wriggling in agony on the tiled floor.

“Princess,” his fragile, frantic voice shook as he leaned in closer. “When I get out of here, I’m going to change. I’ll be the best boyfriend to you, I’ll take you to see Hall & Oates, I’ll watch Grease with you — you wanted a baby, right? We can have a baby if… if you still want to?”

Now that you're gone

“Xav,” you dismissed him with a shake of your head and a deep sigh. “Just promise me something?”

“Anything, any—anything at all!”

“Think of others before yourself this time. This is your second chance at life, don’t waste it. Be brave.”

Xavier silently confirmed with an understanding nod. You leaned in to press a kiss to the glass, cool to your lips as his skin peeled at the palms against the other side.

“Use your shoulder, Xav, she’ll hear you.”

Was what I did so wrong?

Xavier squeezed his eyes shut, clinging onto the hope in your voice. When they opened again, the vision of you vanished.

“B… Ber… Bertie,” he stuttered weakly, shoving his clothed shoulder into the glass with all the strength he could muster. “Please… please help me!”

With another sharp slam into the door, Xavier looked up to see a bloodied Bertie facing him, one eye fused closed and the other bloodshot.

“Bertie!”

So wrong that you had to leave me alone?

Suddenly, she collapsed in a heap as she unhooked the ladle imprisoning him, springing the oven door open and tumbling Xavier onto the floor beside her.

His agony stepped aside for utter relief as he felt the cool breeze of the kitchen sting his wounded face.

“Be… be brave, she said,” Xavier muttered to himself, sucking in his searing hot cheeks and holding his head up. “Time to be brave. For her.”

[hlcreators]

AUTHOR REC:  jacaranda_bloom / @jacaranda-bloom 

Be sure to show some love by leaving kudos and comments! 

Seven Simple Words (15k)

It’s not like he and Louis were a couple. No, they might have been a lot of things—best mates and colleagues with a seemingly convenient friends-with-benefits arrangement—but never a couple. It wasn’t Louis’ fault he didn’t feel the same way and couldn’t reciprocate Harry’s feelings in the way he’d wanted, the way he’d needed. Harry had allowed himself to get in too deep, his entire being aching to be loved back by the object of his affections. But in love, as in life, you don’t always get what you want.

OR the one where you don’t always get what you want the first time around, but sometimes the universe decides to give you a second chance at getting it right.

Feels So Right (8.8k)

The emcee leans in between them, handing over his mic to the blue-eyed vision. “You know what? Someday… Someday you guys might thank me for this...”

OR the one where Louis is Troy, Harry is Gabriella, and we find out what really happened after karaoke at that ski resort...

Wonderland (4.3k)

Louis has always loved lazy mornings in bed with his mate, but now that his Omega is carrying their pup, they’ve reached a whole new level of wonderment.

OR the one where Louis loves to worship his Omega’s body and Harry loves to let him.

The Baby Whisperer (18k)

Harry’s newborn baby is having trouble sleeping and nothing he does seems to work. Tired and alone and at his wits end, Harry is at a loss until a new neighbour arrives to turn his world upside down.

OR the one where being neighbourly takes on a whole new meaning.

Fuck U Betta (11k)

There’s something about having Louis like this, exposed and desperate, that makes a primal urge bubble up from deep inside Harry’s chest. Desire mixed with something else, something unquantifiable. It’s the thing that makes them want this, need this. Nothing else will satisfy them or quench their thirst.

OR the one where Harry likes the thrill of the chase, Louis likes to be chased, and everyone gets what they need… in the end.

Caves End (39k)

When a recurring injury cuts short Harry’s time as the Captain of the English Football Team, he needs to rethink his career and his future. His best mate and manager, Niall, decides that what Harry really needs is a change of scenery, time to relax, and to get some perspective on his life. What Harry doesn’t expect is for them to end up in Australia, on a farm, with the most gorgeous man he’s ever laid eyes on.

OR the one where Harry has lost his future, Louis has lost his past, but maybe together, they can find a way through the dark.

When Tomorrow Comes (11k)

When Louis and Niall are partnered up to complete a project on Omega scents and how they effect the nesting behaviours of Alphas, little does Louis know that the course of his life is about to be forever altered.

OR the one where Louis is an Omega who has been keeping himself pure for his Alpha, Harry is a traditional Alpha focusing on his studies while he waits to find his bondmate, and Niall is a sneaky bastard who keeps borrowing Louis’ clothes and never returning them.

You Drive Me WIld (5k)

Most people would think that keeping a tube of lube hidden behind the driver’s side visor of their car is foolish and completely unnecessary, but then most people don’t have to chauffeur Louis Tomlinson around for a living.

OR the one where Harry has a brilliant idea to while away the time as he waits around for his boss but fate decides to rain on his parade... or maybe it’s the universe answering his prayers.

No Going Back (56k)

Sales reps Harry and Louis are bored with their jobs and their lives. After meeting at a conference in Cardiff they hook up, have a few too many drinks, and jokingly apply to become remote lighthouse keepers. Six months, just the two of them, looking after the southernmost lighthouse off the bottom of Australia. It’s not like their applications will be accepted. Right?

This is the story of how one choice - a left instead of a right, a go instead of a stop, a yes instead of a no - can change the future forever and that sometimes, taking that leap of faith, is worth the risk.

Strong Enough (20k)

“So…” Liam starts, and Louis instantly knows where this is going. He’s actually glad it’s Liam that's dragging the subject out from the shadows and into the light. Louis turns to face him, mirroring his position on the couch and nods, ready for him to continue. Liam takes a deep breath. “Have you spoken to Harry recently?”

Five years after Vertigo goes on hiatus, the band comes back together for a benefit concert. Can Louis and Harry work through their complicated past, or are some wounds too deep to be healed?

Shine (13k)

“How does it feel?” Harry asks, genuine curiosity evident in his voice.

Louis lets his eyes drift closed and focuses on the sensations. “It’s like… like I’ve got hands all over me, touching me, inside and out, and…” Louis tries to zone in but it’s so hard to describe. “It’s like I’m being stimulated everywhere all at once.” As if on cue, his nipples and earlobes start tingling and he arches his back. “Oh fuck, yeah.”

OR the one where Louis has a thing for the sun and Harry is more than happy to indulge his sunshine boy.

If You’re Out There (I’ll Find You Somehow) (55k)

Harry looks so intensely into Louis’ eyes it’s as though he’s reaching in and touching his very soul. “I never thought… I never… I’ve been searching for so long, Louis, but I never gave up. I couldn’t stop, wouldn’t stop trying,” Harry says, bottom lip trembling as he strokes the backs of Louis’ knuckles. “I just knew that if you were out there, I’d find you somehow.”

OR the story of how one man’s love changed the world.

Everything I Do (16k)

Harry’s ready, has been for a while now, and he’s fairly certain Louis is too, it just hasn’t been on the top of their priority list. There have been offhand mentions, a comment here and there, more in jest than anything, no serious discussion or consideration. Harry stands up straighter, a stomach-churning thought forming in his mind. Has Louis been waiting for him to ask?

OR the one where Harry finds a book of Elizabethan courtship rituals which sets in motion a series of events that can lead to only one conclusion.

Playing To Win (36k)

Big Brother UK alumni Louis Tomlinson and Harry Styles are selected for the UK vs Australia All Stars series with a massive one million dollar prize in the offing. They’re both fit and smart and would make a great alliance... if only they can stop their feelings from getting in the way.

OR the one where Louis really doesn’t want to like Harry, Harry is struggling to quell his growing fondness for Louis, but sometimes, no matter how hard you try, you just can’t fight fate.

Exposed (666)

Louis should really stop agreeing to do favours for his friends while drunk, especially when they result in him becoming a live-art model…

Forever And Always (25k)

“Right,” Harry says and slaps his hands down on the kitchen benchtop. Now he just has to get home, find this poor Niall guy who is currently camped out in his body, and have them swapped back. What could possibly go wrong?

OR the one where Harry’s neighbour is a crotchety old witch who hates vampires, Niall is the unsuspecting human who ends up inhabiting Harry’s body, and Louis is the caseworker who is assigned to swap them back. How it ends up a love story is anyone’s guess.

Going My Way (20k)

"Hey Harry. Really sorry to do this to you but an emergency has come up with Vera’s mum and we’ve had to jump a flight home. My mate Louis is going to take over my LYFT clients while I’m away. He’s got my car and my phone and everything else. Hope that’s okay. He’s a good guy and I think you two are going to get along brilliantly. Catch you soon, Benny."

OR the one where Harry gets a replacement LYFT driver, Louis is just trying to earn some extra cash before the baby arrives, and they both end up with way more than they bargained for.

Up For It (18k)

Each year, the five friends take a lads holiday; it’s tradition, and this year is shaping up to be a jam-packed, fun-filled trip with their best mates just like all the rest... or is it?

OR the one where Liam is Mr Organised, Zayn is too perceptive for his own good, Niall is a compulsive matchmaker, and Harry and Louis might just have the surprise to shock them all.

With Words Unspoken (18k)

At forty-nine, Louis hadn’t envisioned being at a crossroads in his life; kids, grandkids, an ex-wife, and completely at a loss as to what direction his future will take. When he finds himself drawn back to a cabin in the Californian wilderness that’d he’d visited fifteen years earlier, an acquaintance from his past triggers an awakening deep inside and reveals a new path that he could never have imagined.

OR The one where Louis is lost, Harry is an excellent tour guide, and age is no barrier to finding the love of your life.

Henry and Lewis (4.3k)

PART 1 SUMMARY: Louis hangs out in his local coffee shop to work on his weekly WordPlay Prompt, speaks to his beloved muse aka Harry the gorgeous barista, embarrasses himself in front of said muse, and receives a comment on AO3 from his favourite reader.

SERIES SUMMARY: Every Tuesday, Louis spends his day off holed up in his favorite coffee-come-bookshop, writing his little stories as part of the WordPlay challenge while daydreaming about the resident barista, Harry. Each week a new word prompt is revealed and Louis adds to his series of short stories about Henry, the owner of a B&B in the Cotswolds who has curly hair and dimples, Lewis, his long term guest who just happens to be a writer, and Tigger, Henry’s cat.

As Louis and Harry’s friendship develops, could his fantasy world spill out into real life? And how does that reader who leaves the lovely comments with the teacup emoji seem to be able to read Louis’ mind?

Smuturdary (4.1k)

Louis struggles with this week's WordPlay prompt before finding inspiration, and a date, in an unexpected place, and could there be more going on with his favourite reader than he originally thought.

Tea For Two (4k)

Louis grapples with what to do about his new found suspicions over his favourite readers real-life identity.

Life Imitating Art (6.8k)

Louis is taken on a very real journey through his fic back catalogue - life has never imitated art so salaciously.

Entertain Me (5.3k)

All good things must come to an end, including the WordPlay challenge. But while Louis has mixed emotions about its end, and struggling to make sense of the final prompt, he is relishing every aspect of his newly revitalised personal life.

Play Me A Memory (26k)

Louis lives with his nine-year-old son Jake in a peaceful beachside community on the east coast of Australia, working as an entertainment coordinator at the local five-star resort. Harry is a recluse who lives on millionaires row and writes musical scores for blockbuster movies. When the roots of a wayward willow tree create havoc at his home, Harry is forced to stay at the resort while repairs are carried out.

Cue matchmaking storms, muffin preferences, laughter, love, and a whole lotta music.

The Cyber Sphere (17k)

As the author of The Cyber Sphere, a series of best-selling books which have spawned seemingly limitless spin-offs, Louis Tomlinson hides away from the world in his fortress-like London penthouse. But when he decides to interact with the host of The Cyber Times radio program, Dermot O’Leary, on Twitter, it causes a fandom meltdown and offers him hope for a future he’d never imagined.

OR the one where Liam likes to think he’s Batman, Dermot has terrible taste in sporting teams, and Louis should really get a cat.

Surprise Me, Space Boy (7.1k)

Louis is a solo officer on Space Station Zeta and the isolation can present many challenges, not least of which is that it’s really bloody hard to date. He’s pinning his hopes on that changing with a fellow solo officer, Harry, from a neigbouring station who gives great banter and has a gorgeous smile. Maybe online dating has its benefits after all?

OR The Space Wank Fic.

Harry Poppins (32k)

When Louis’ best friends pass away he finds himself with an instant family. Maddie and Thomas are wonderful children but take an immediate dislike to every nanny that sets foot inside their house. After nanny number six is summarily dismissed Louis is at his wit’s end, that is until an unusual man arrives on their doorstep. Harry Styles is like nothing any of them have ever encountered before, and perhaps, exactly what they’ve been looking for all along.

My One And Only (Desire) (500)

Harry is his, only his, and Louis belongs to Harry just as completely. They consume each other, in life, in love, in every way two people can.

Take Me Down Slow (Don’t Let Me Go) (26k)

Louis has always felt different. Not necessarily on the outer realm of societal norms, but pretty damn close to the edge. As an Omega, he’s supposed to want certain things; to want to raise a family, to want to build a life with a partner, and to want that partner to be an Alpha.

Well, two out of three ain’t bad.

OR the one where Louis wants to find the right kind of partner to love, Niall hates snowboarding, Liam wants to settle down, Harry is really good with his hands, and mother nature could be the thing that changes everything.

Soup Of The Day (19k)

It had been the single minded goal for them since college and seemed simple enough. 1. Study hard. 2. Open their dream restaurant. 3. Take the culinary world by storm.

What could possibly go wrong?

Or the Restaurant AU where Louis and Niall are chefs, Chicago is windy, and cracking the big time is harder than they ever imagined. But when a mysterious man starts grading Louis' soups by leaving little piles of rocks, could it be just the thing they need to get them on the road to success?

The Clock Strikes New Year (9.6k)

Louis senses people moving around behind him and cranes his neck left to right. The store is quiet, just staff and Louis and Harry, but all of the other salespeople appear to have gravitated to where they are to watch the little runway show Harry is putting on. He can’t blame them really, Harry is a sight to behold, but it makes him chuckle anyway.

“Okay, Lou, you ready for me?” Harry calls from the change room.

“As I’ll ever be, baby. Get out here!”

Harry comes into view and Louis’ breath catches in his throat.

OR Harry was homeless, but now he has Louis. Louis was lonely, but now he has Harry. And there’s more than one way to see fireworks on New Year’s Eve.

The Bet (2.4k)

Louis Tomlinson never reneges on a bet. Ever.

He may be many things - a joker, a sometimes-wayward student, a loyal friend, a Tony Award winner in the making, and a card-carrying member of the Chad Michael Murray fan club - but never, ever, a welcher. Louis makes good on his promises and does it with flare.

OR The one where Louis misjudges Harry's ability to do TLC's Waterfall rap and finds himself having to put on a one-man show for his viewing pleasure. If Louis decides to go all-in and dress the part, then that's just a bonus for his (very appreciative) one-man audience.

Heat (2.4k)

Louis was smitten from the moment Harry had arrived a month ago. Long, curly hair which he mostly keeps up in a bun, and a sinfully deep voice. Cheeky too. Louis likes that the best. He gives good banter and laughs at Louis’ dumb jokes, adding his own woeful puns. When Louis had asked him why he was in this godforsaken dust bowl, he’d said something about a ground crew traineeship and fulfilling his visa requirements while experiencing the real Australia. Louis had been momentarily distracted by Harry’s plush, red-bitten lips so the salient details may have washed over him.

OR Drinking beer in a blow-up pool, in a backyard, in stupidly hot temperatures, in outback Australia should be ridiculous, and it would be, if Louis didn't have a curly-haired workmate to keep him company.

Whisper The Wind (36k)

Louis’ father has political ambitions and decides it’s time for Louis to step up as the company’s Chief Financial Officer. Louis thinks this is a monumentally stupid idea. After storming off in a rage he has a chance meeting with a tall, dark, curly haired stranger. A technical glitch with their shared elevator finds Louis spending twenty minutes with the most intriguing man he’s ever met. Unfortunately the man is leaving London the very next day and moving to Australia to work at his mates surf school. Timing, as they say, can fuck right off.

Fast forward three years and Louis is miserable, a shadow of the man he once was, working in his father’s company, and hating every moment. At his thirtieth birthday party, surrounded by people he doesn’t know or doesn’t like, he decides to throw it all in and follow the impossible dream. Happiness, a fulfilling life, and someone to love. The question is, will that dream be found ten thousand miles away on a sandy beach, with a curly headed surfer dude?

Or the one where Louis rides an elevator that may change his life forever, Harry loves the ocean but is a terrible surfer, Liam proves not all heroes wear capes, and Niall might actually have all the answers.

The Clock Strikes Christmas (10k)

The clock ticks over to midnight and Niall strikes the match, lighting the candle and looking expectantly at Louis. “Time to make all your dreams come true. What’s your birthday wish Tommo?”

Louis stares into the flame and wonders. Closing his eyes, he thinks of cold winter nights curled up by the fire, driving along country roads holding hands across the console, laughter and warmth and a sense of belonging. An image creeps into his mind, blurry and shimmering. Curls, green eyes, milky white skin. Louis sucks in a deep breath, opens his eyes and blows.

The lights in the pub go out and the music stops, time seems to be teetering on the edge of something, like the crest of a roller coaster before the fall.

Then the pub surges back to life. “Sorry about that folks! Damn storm must be coming.” The bartender shouts out.

Niall is staring at him, mouth agape, before regaining his composure. “Must’ve been a helluva wish Tommo.”

Louis is a little stunned himself, but blinks out of it and laughs. “Yeah, must’ve been.”

OR the one where Louis needs someone to love, Harry needs a miracle, and sometimes, wishes really do come true

The Prince Of Light (35k)

Louis was found abandoned at a hospital at six months old and adopted by an older couple who raised him. Now twenty, he studies by night and by day works as a live-in au pair for a family with three little girls. One of the girls, Holly, swears there is a Garden Fairy coming and eating treats she leaves out in the cubby house each night.

When the family goes away for a two week holiday, Louis is secretly tasked with feeding the Fairy. While laying out the food one night he falls from the cubby house and is found by Harry. Harry is different and Louis is fascinated. But as Louis learns how different Harry really is, he discovers his own true home and a very surprising past he never knew.

Cue badgers, bananas and cookies, soulmates, a whole other world, and a future he’d never imagined.

Clouds On Curtis (9.6k)

A wave of comfort sweeps over Louis like a blanket as he allows himself a moment to imagine the possibilities. His past failures and disappointments feel like they are ebbing away, like shackles falling from his limbs. The burdens he's been bearing and the guilt he’s been carrying slipping away into the ground with each step he takes.

Harry reaches for the door and pauses, holding the handle he turns to face Louis.

“Are you ready for the adventure to begin?” Harry looks at him with hope in his eyes, dimple cratering in his left cheek.

“Absolutely, I’m all yours.” Louis says, wide smile breaking across his face, feeling the crinkles appear at the corners of his eyes.

In that moment he is sure of it. Surer than he's been about anything for years. This is exactly where he’s supposed to be. This is his second chance.

Or the one where Louis is a chef who is looking for a chance to start over, Harry’s restaurant needs the right chef to make his dream come to life, Niall is a cook who desperately wants to be a chef, and Liam just wants to be happy. Together, can they turn their dreams into reality?

[magioftheseas]

Boom Through Jabberwock!! Bang Bang!

Summary: An alternate/bonus scene spanning from Matsuda giving Ibuki a certain CD in Chapter 24 of Super Danganronpa 2: Matsuda Yasuke’s Battle of Despair and Wits.

Rating: PG

Warnings: None really.

Notes: It’s the yukata bonus scene but for SDR2 Protag Matsuda Yasuke. There’s a bunch more song references and extra banner. The yukata scene’s probably my favorite of the bonus events in sdr2, so it ended up being the longest. Hopefully that’s okay. It’s also much gayer. Because pride.

Read this fic among others HERE

Main story is HERE

Commission? Donate?

“If dealing with her is your way of dealing with guilt over Koizumi, then—I don’t think you could continue bothering.”

Mioda blinked again. Her mouth hung open, jaw slack before it began to tremble.

“Y-Yasuke-chan, that’s—way harsh! You’re making it sound like I don’t care about Hiyoko-chan at all!”

“It’s suffocating to have someone dote on you because they feel sorry for you,” he said. “It’s even worse when that person is floundering because then you feel bad for them.”

“Wah!”

“The fact that you approached me screams that you’re pulling your hair out over what to do about her.” Matsuda sighed, rubbing his nape. “That’s not remotely helpful. Gather your bearings first. Maybe...”

It’s not that I’m obligated to help, but it would be to my benefit that she and Saionji get along.

“When you kick the gachapon enough times, you can get prizes,” he finds himself saying, digging around in his coat to pull something out. “I happened to get this.”

This being the debut single of the band, The Black Cherries. Summer Festivitrees.

He tossed it to Mioda, but it just smacked against her chest as she gaped and he hurriedly had to catch it before it fell to the ground and broke before even having a chance to play.

“Um,” Mioda uttered as Matsuda handed it to her a second time. She didn’t take the CD. “W... Wow, Yasuke-chan.”

“No good, huh,” he guessed, waving it in front of her. Somehow, that did not make the CD more enticing. “Guess this kind of thing isn’t your jam.”

“I was just thinking that you’re fearless,” she said. “I mean—coulda guessed that from you and Nagito-chan being a thing... But seriously, that you’d have the brass to show me this...”

Matsuda’s frown deepened. His brow furrowed for good measure. However, when he pondered about what the fuck this girl’s problem could be, he could scrounge up a few ideas.

“Rival band?” he guessed, looking at the back of the CD. All it listed, of course, was the songs and artists and some copyright. “Or was there some stupid band drama?”

“Rivals!” Mioda confirmed with a chirp. “Did you not hear about all the hype of boys versus girls?! The battle of the boy bands and the girl bands?! The epic showdown of chicks and di—!”

“...isn’t battle of the sexes so last decade?” Matsuda asked, raising an eyebrow. “Hell, wasn’t it more thing two decades ago? Talk about outdated.”

“It super is,” Mioda agreed. “But that was just the press for ya. Out of time, out of tune, out of touch! My old band’s ticket sales and concert attendance numbers still got compared with the Cherries’ all the time.” She perked right up. “But out with the old, in with the new! It doesn’t matter to me because it’s old news about my old band!!”

“I see...”

“Music shouldn’t be about sales anyway!” she exclaimed. “Down with capitalism! Eat the rich!” A pause. She groaned, pained. “Oogh, Byakuya-chan would have been so yummy and chewy... I miss him so much...”

What the hell am I supposed to say to that?

“The meeting’s about to start,” he reminded her. “And...about Saionji...”

“This lightbulb has now been lit!” Mioda went right back to shouting, undeterred even as Matsuda grimaced. She just looked at him with bright, sparkling eyes. “Yasuke-chan, can I have you for the night?”

“...” His grimace darkened. “...”

“If you’re that busy with Nagito-chan, I gueeeeeeess he can come too,” she says, huffing before outright whining. “But you gotta give me an answer! Even if it’s not the story that I planned, I gotta hear your answer! I wanna know the answer!”

Matsuda squeezed his eyes shut, sighing as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

I really don’t want to, but...

“I guess I might as well go,” he grumbled.

“You should!” Mioda agreed happily. “GOOD answer! There wouldn’t have been much point in this bonus scene if you said no, Yasuke-chan!”

Matsuda stared.

“Ooh, so sharp! So cool! Cutting like the highest note!” she gushed. “Alright! The meeting time is two hours before the evening announcement! At the supermarket! No carts needed!”

Matsuda turned on his heel to hurry on ahead.

“Alright, then, guess that’s that.”

When she shouted some more, he didn’t look back. Only quickened his step.

--

After all the plot-relevant stuff of which the reader shouldn’t be concerned with right now, Matsuda did end up remembering the plans he made.

“Oh, right. It’s probably getting about whatever time that rocker girl wanted to meet up.”

“Oh, Matsuda-kun!” Komaeda exclaimed. “If you had already made arrangements with our Mioda-san, shouldn’t you have respected that first and foremost?”

“I had more important things going on,” Matsuda muttered. “Stuff more...relevant.”

“Geez, you’re such an asshole,” Hinata griped because he was here too for reasons. “Just hurry on. You shouldn’t keep Mioda waiting.”

“Eh.” He really shouldn’t. That said—“She said Komaeda can come, so I guess you should come, too.”

“H-Huh?! Why?!”

“Just...a feeling I have. Come on, you two.” Matsuda gestured for them to follow. “We’re heading to the supermarket.”

“Uwah, how exciting! Mioda-san’s kindness knows no bounds!” Komaeda gushed to which Hinata could only grumble.

“I feel like I’m just going to get pulled into extra work...”

Good news.

--

“O-nya-su-mi! O-nya-su-mi!” Mioda waved them over frantically from behind one of the aisles. “Ready for something to happen?!”

She gasped, gripping one of the cereal boxes with glee when she saw that Matsuda hadn’t arrived either alone or with just the resident crazy on the islands.

“Ooh, you brought Hajime-chan, too! I guess you do know the saying! Three’s a crowd, four’s a party!”

“Hey, Mioda,” Hinata greeted half-heartedly as she put the cereal back. Hinata strode up to her only to pause. What laid scattered before him was undeniable and he could only sigh at his fate. “Okay... What’s all this?”

When Matsuda got close enough for a look, he could see the piles upon piles of cardboard boxes. Komaeda, too, blinked at the sheer volume.

“Kaboom! Through summer!” Mioda exclaimed with a thunderous clap. “You can’t have a summer without fireworks!”

“I’ve had many of those,” Matsuda informed her without missing a beat.

“Loud noises make me a bit nervous,” Komaeda admitted before exclaiming, “How exciting!”

“Oh, right,” Hinata remembered. “Komaeda, on your student profile, it lists your dislikes as...”

“D-Don’t worry about it, Hinata-kun! It’s for the sake of hope!” Komaeda did in fact seem more nervous than excited. “Hope can come in loud, colorful bursts!”

“Eh...?”

“Filthy fireworks disappear into the sky!” Mioda sing-songs. “From Summer Festivitrees! Haven’t you heard it?”

“I don’t really listen to music that doesn’t play in anime,” Matsuda replied.

“Bang! Bang! There go my dreams!” Mioda gasped, but she recovered quickly. “Anyway!” With a salesperson grin, she gave a wide sweeping gesture towards the boxes. She even wiggled her hand while she was at it. “Boys, get those boxes! Let’s go! Set up!”

“Hah,” Matsuda huffed. “You could have gotten literally anyone to do grunt work.”

“Between the four of us, it won’t be too bad,” Hinata points out. “I mean...”

“Yeah, it’s a party!” Mioda agreed. “A super spicy party! Well—it’s a real party since I’ve already invited a few others! Chiaki-chan, Akane-chan, Mikan-chan, Sonia-chan—and did you know?! Hiyoko-chan’s gonna take pictures!”

...that’s good.

“Oh, and Nekomaru-chan juuuuust for Yasuke-chan!” she added, giving him a wink. “Everyone else already brought these fireworks in, so we’ll leave the rest to you! It’s Ibuki yukata time!”

“I suppose everyone else will be wearing yukatas as well?” Komaeda asked, to which she gleefully nodded.

“Yep! Sonia-chan’s gonna wear what she calls a Japanese yukata! So will Nekomaru-chan! Just for Yasuke-chan!”

“Great,” Matsuda griped, unenthusiastic. “What about us?”

“You want to wear yukatas too?!” Mioda yelped. “Unexpected! Aren’t the protagonists supposed to be the normies?! Or—wait! You want to see Nagito-chan in a yukata too, don’t you?! Sly dog! I should’ve known with my Ibuki sense!”

“W-What’s that mean?!” Hinata stammered. “I-I mean... Komaeda...!”

Komaeda blinked twice. His head tilted.

“I guess you’ll change into a yukata, too,” Matsuda told him. “I’ll look for some earplugs. Hinata will handle the boxes.”

“Wait why did I suddenly get saddled with all the work?! If Nidai’s here, he should help, too!”

“Nekomaru-chan helped during the day, Hajime-chan!” Mioda tutted. “Now, it’s your turn! Yasuke-chan has already asserted his dominance as top antenna!”

“What does that even mean?!” Hinata cried.

“Good luck, Hinata-kun!” Komaeda exclaimed. “Work your hardest so that your hope can shine your brightest! Oh, but, Matsuda-kun, please don’t feel obligated to...”

Aaaand Matsuda was already making his way down the aisle. No longer listening. A man single-focused on his mission. Mioda saluted him before marching on her merry way. Komaeda, too, left to go obediently change. Hinata, left alone, could only sigh.

Resigned to his fate, he began to move the boxes with only a mild grumble.

(Thankfully, once he found some earplugs, Matsuda did go back to help. He wasn’t that heartless.)

--

Thus, the night ended with a climactic series of colorful explosions in the starlit sky. Nidai whooped, Mioda cheered, and Sonia chattered excitedly.

Another burst. Nidai whooped again. Tsumiki was stammering in delight. Owari was happy, too.

The only one who wasn’t was...

“Pffft, so fucking lame,” Saionji muttered, but she snapped away with her camera. “It’s just because Mahiru-nee would’ve taken these pics...”

“The Ultimates are more radiant than any blossoming firework!” Komaeda exclaimed, voice uncomfortably loud as he likely couldn’t hear himself with the earplugs. “How wonderful! Sublime! Vibrant!”

Matsuda gave him a thumbs-up before gritting his teeth and adjusting the other’s yukata lest it be too revealing for this rather chilly evening.

Nidai whooped again, much to Nanami’s apparent confusion.

“Nidai-kun...keeps doing that...”

“It’s because when fireworks go up, you...whoop,” Hinata explained. He was looking away quite pointedly from a giggling Komaeda, his ears almost as red as a firework that just dyed the sky. Another whoop from Nidai as Nanami let out a curious hum.

“Girl power!” Sonia exclaimed.

“G-Go...burst...” Tsumiki stammered.

“Oh god, you two are so laaaaame,” Saionji groaned, to Tsumiki’s despair.

“E-Eep! I’m so sorry!”

“Oh! That’s a better face!” Saionji snapped with more enthusiasm. “Bwahaha! Pathetic weeping suits you waaaay more!”

“...Hiyoko-chan’s having a great time!” Mioda shouted. “Wahoo! Ibuki’s decisive victory!”

“W-What the hell are you talking about?!” the dancer shrieked.

“Lit ‘em up, Hajime-chan!” Mioda yelled, whooping with Nidai. “Do it, just DO IT!!”

“Got it, got it,” Hinata sighed, doing as he was told.

“After that one, we’ll trade off!” Nidai laughed. “You gotta enjoy these fireworks TOO, ya know!!”

Hinata did smile back, even warmer under another burst of color above.

“So lovely,” Komaeda cooed, and Matsuda didn’t care to ask if he specifically meant the fireworks.

Regarding everyone’s bright faces, made brighter by the fireworks, nothing else...really mattered.

The scent of summer enveloping the night. Goldfish fireworks trickling down, falling in drops,

Matsuda thought, remembering a song.

With eyes dazzled by the light, your gentle face was reflected for an instant.

When everyone parted, it was with a sense of satisfaction and accomplishment. One could even think it contentment if not for the erratic stumbling of a few stray thoughts.

[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.

[life-love-musicaltheatre]

Anathema Device, ward of the Fell family, has gone missing and Aziraphale must enlist the help of infamous traveler and adventurer Anthony Crowley to find her. Can the two men brave the unknowns of magical encounters and their burgeoning feelings to save Anathema from her fate, and solve the mystery left behind by her late Aunt Agnus?

~~~

He stood there for a while in the study, refusing to look away from Mr. Crowley's face. His twisting hands, which were clasped in front of him, was the only thing that betrayed his nerves. Surely he would help. Aziraphale’s family name usually put him in most people’s good graces, despite the fact that he felt—internally—that he sided closer with Mr. Crowley’s opinions on his father and siblings, but no matter Aziraphale’s own feelings he would not tolerate being brushed off while Anathema needed him. He chanced a glance up towards Mr. Crowley and found the man’s expression unreadable.

I just posted my first long form chapter fic! This is the first chapter and the second should be posted right after Christmas. I’m so excited to be writing this and share it with you all. Please read and leave comments, I’m so excited to hear what everyone thinks, and its just something I came up with for school of all things (and then got scolded by my teacher for making it too long, so fuck you Cody, I made it longer!), and in all seriousness I think it’s a unique and fun concept. It was originally so soooo loosely based on The Odyssey and takes place in a fictional fantasy England/Europe. I have been playing what I like to think of as GO!fic bingo while I write this too, so it has all the classic tropes of a Good Omens fic. I’m having a good time.

Also I’ve been making my fiancé beta for me currently and he’s being a good sport. However fan fic (especially expl***t fan fiction) is not really his jam. Help me save my boyfriend from the me. He’s too nice and supportive to tell me no but I need a real beta before I get to the smut. If you have any recs or want to beta for me please hit me up. 

[i4z-0892-il]

Monster House 7

Summary: Posing as Newlyweds Sam and Y/n set out to investigate what’s killing the visitors of a secluded Inn, and attempt to keep their working relationship professional.

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Word count: 4884

Warnings: NSFW, 18+ Only, suggestive themes, language, smut

A/N: tropes, tropes, tropes!! Well here’s another wall of text y’all! 

Immerse yourself in the story, Buy Sam’s Scent Here from @scentsfromthebunker (And damn does it smell goooooood)

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Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6

No one wants to tell you how much effort is involved in digging up a six foot deep grave armed with nothing but a couple of old rusty shovels and sheer willpower. No one wants to tell you how long it takes either. The Sun was going to be up in the next hour or so, and the cover of darkness was a necessary precaution when it came to gravedigging. When Sam’s shovel struck something hard and hollow you could not have been more thrilled. Your eyes met his, as he moved to get a better angle. 

Sam jammed the spade of his shovel between the lid of the coffin and the side prying it open with creaking wood and a crack of relief as the lid came loose. 

“…The hell?” Sam’s face twisted in confusion as he lifted the top, hazel eyes moved back to you as he shoved the lid to the side of the hole revealing an empty coffin.

“Well that can’t be a good sign.” You announced, just as puzzled as Sam.

“You’re sure he said he was buried here?”

“No Sam, I just made it up so we could pointlessly dig a hole in the middle of the night for fun.” You rolled sarcastic eyes at him.

“Hey, I know how much you love digging holes. So if he’s not here-”

“Then just where the fuck is he?”

Together, you and Sam dug up the next grave, Mrs. Wellington’s body- also gone.

 In less than an hour the night sky would turn and Sunrise would come all too quickly. Time was up, none left to double check the coffins of the children, but the conclusion was that it would be a fruitless effort regardless. They would likely be gone. The two of you shoveled the dirt back into the holes and set to hike back to the Inn.

“So… How do we stop a ghost that doesn’t have bones?” You asked, wiping sweat from your brow with the back of your dirty hand.

“Better question is what took them?” Sam replied. 

The snap of a branch echoed through the trees and you both stopped in place, cautious eyes scanning the woods around you. In an instant you were transported back to the Wilderness of West Virginia, that fateful day. Had it followed you? Was that even possible? Was there more than one? You never spoke about it, never spoke aloud what happened to your family in fear that the White Thing would somehow find you again to finish the job. 

Sam put a large hand on your shoulder, gathering your attention and pointing about thirty yards north to a little blip of light strobing between the trees. You certainly weren’t alone, but your anxiety quelled at the notion of it being literally anything other than the White Thing. When you and Sam moved it was in stealth, following the light back to the rotting house you found the day before. The light turned off, and the shadow of a tall man wrestled with the lock on the door for a moment before the loud clattering of chains fell to the forest floor.

“Same guy from yesterday.” You said. Same height, same hunched over posture. The bag he dragged behind him had a body in it no doubt. The stench from the kitchen was far to foul to be anything other than a body, it wasn’t a far leap to guess what this bag was filled with too. He disappeared into the house followed by the sound of clacking locks. You followed Sam to the back of the house to the busted basement window. It was easy going in when no one was home, far harder to screw up the courage when you didn’t quite know what was locked in the house with you.

“Are you strapped?” Sam asked, you gaped at him. What nerve. You tugged up the back of your shirt where your handgun was tucked into the lining of your jeans.

“Uh, yeah Sam. I’m not an amateur.” You snarked, it came out a little bitchier than you’d intended, but Sam didn’t seem too bothered giving you a dimpled grin in response. To be fair you had a right to be sarcastic. You’d been doing this just over half your life. Left home at 15 and never looked back. It was rough in the beginning, learning the ropes. Thankfully you were a pretty quick study; save for some bumps, bruises and scars along the way, you managed. 

Sucking in a deep breath you readied yourself to climb back into that dank basement. Sam was looking at you, you could see him in your peripheral, sizing you up and gauging your reactions. Surely he noticed your hesitation, but he gave you the much needed moment before offering to step in for you. The idea of Sam, gigantic, humongous, Sam trying fit through that tiny ass window? Ha! You’d pay good money to see him try but now wasn’t the time.

You let out a huff, breath coming out as mist dissipating in the air, before setting to your task and climbing into the window again. Boots hit the dirt floor with a soft thud as you allowed time for your eyes to adjust to the pitch. Barely visible shapes of shelves bloomed in your sight, your hands slid along the wall careful of your surroundings as you tried to make it blindly to the cellar door. Sam watched you disappear into the dark, moving to the door for the tell tale sound of the log being moved. 

A full minute passed, and the edges of paranoia crept in. You were still trying to find your way, it was too dark in there, he should have given you a light.

30 more seconds. He’d give you 30 seconds to find the door. Much too impatient for that he stepped back to the broken window, whistling a bird call. When you didn’t reply with a call of your own his panic was full blown. Something was wrong. 

He wouldn’t fit through the window. He couldn’t break through the log sealing the cellar doors, and even if he thought he could, it would waste too much time trying. The open window on the second floor was too high, even for his height. There was no way he’d break through the locks on the front door. The windows were all boarded from the inside. The scenarios whipped through his head like a meteor shower, all of them landing back exactly where he was, helpless. 

A loud crash from inside the house ripped him from his thoughts, then gunfire. And another crash. Before he had a chance to think again his feet moved, following the sounds of struggle, and pain. Fingers dipped into a soft spot along the outside of the wall, he stopped on the spot, brow furrowing in thought. The wall was squishy there, bloated with water, mold, and old termite damage. He pressed both hands into the wall and like a sponge it gave way, just enough to give him hope.

Another scream ripped from your throat, and it was all the confirmation Sam needed to plow his shoulder into the wall, and tear through it like tissue paper. He stumbled into the room with the closet pulling his gun from the back of his jeans. Another scream, more in pain than the last, and he rounded the corner into the kitchen, a struggling body writhed on the table, as something pinned it to the table face down.

“Y/N!” Sam shouted, unloading three rounds into the back of the shadowed figure. It stood upright, and turned on heel to face him, taller, and broader than even Sam was.

“Sam! Ghoul!” You screamed as you rolled off the table , hitting the ground with a thud. Sam adjusted his aim, Ghouls meant headshots. With a bang the silver bullet let loose ripping through the forehead of the shadow, reducing it to a heap on the ground. Over as quickly as it had begun. On instinct Sam found you, pulling you into his arms.

“Hey, you alright?”  He asked, helping you to your feet. Out of breath and exhausted you let out a laugh.

“Just fuckin’ peachy.” You muttered. You snagged the ends of the body filled plastic bag the Shadow had drug in, clutching the tender spot at your side with a grunt. “Lets’s get the fuck out of here.”

Sam agreed, grabbing the body of the Shadow, and leading the way out the front door. The moonlight illuminated your attacker. Probably the groundskeeper based on the coveralls, and the smell of sweat, dirt, body odor and death; you were now sure the putrid scent wouldn’t wash off no matter how many showers you took.

“Jinkies. Why is it always the groundskeeper?” You said, enthusiasm lacking severely in your tone. Sam crouched tearing a hole in the black plastic trash bag. Sure enough, a body,

“Nolan…” He sighed, disappointment setting in. The man from the parlor earlier that night. “He said his wife was sick, he looked pretty rough himself.”

“Worse now.” You replied.

“How did this happen right under our noses?” Sam questioned. He should have seen it coming. Sam usually got more involved in cases than you did. He always found a way to connect with people, always cared. People trusted him, it was the puppy dog eyes you thought. He just had a specific charm that cut through the walls of anyone. You loved that about him. Other people loved that about him. On the other hand, you were not so warm and fuzzy. Of all the descriptors in the world “people person” was not among them; you never knew what to say to make it better when he beat himself up over a loss. But you admired that he gave a damn enough to still feel anything anymore.

“Sam, we were out digging graves all night. We couldn’t possibly have known. Hell, we were pretty sure it was a ghost until like literally right now.” You said, dropping a hand to rest on his shoulder, giving a comforting squeeze. Looking past him at the body it became clear what Sam meant. The body was still warm, but Nolan was sickly looking, not just the dead kind of sickly, spent, and sallow, greying in pallor even for a freshly dead body. The Ghoul hadn’t even gotten the chance to chomp into him yet. “Did he say how long he was sick for?”

“No. But I got the impression that whatever the Wife was sick with hit her pretty quick.” Sam said with a shake of his head. This explained how parts of the bodies were being found. The Ghoul ate what it wanted and scattered the rest throughout the grounds.

“ If I’m right, and I usually am- If this was the groundskeeper, how much do you want to bet he was talking to one of the Overly-Friendly Innkeepers yesterday?”

“Think they’re in on it too?” He asked.

“I have some suspicions.” You answered. Fucking. Esmeralda. That woman rubbed you the wrong way from the first second, if there was something else fishy going on you’d stake your life on the claim that she was behind it. Something wasn’t adding up, and it stunk, like Esmeralda. Ugh, no. She probably wears designer perfume and smells amazing.

Disposing of the bodies was quick but messy. Nolan deserved to be salted and burned, but the ghoul… just to be sure it was dead you and Sam dismembered it, and buried it in the dirt basement. Time seemed to speed up with the Sunrise, and you barely made it back to the Inn before the sky lit up entirely.

Sam helped you shrug out of your jacket. A fresh, but shallow bite mark on your left shoulder was just one of two injuries you sustained, The other was a piece of wood sticking out just over your ribcage. That was going to suck. Bumps and bruises aside you walked away from the fight in pretty good condition. You’ve suffered far worse on hunting trips, this was cake.

“What happened in there?” He asked, the shame in his voice was palpable. It was guilt. Guilt that he wasn’t the one who climbed in and got hurt. Guilt over the fact that you didn’t even want to be there, that you hated this job, that you hated this lifestyle, and he put you in danger. It should have been him.

“I don’t know- he grabbed me out of the black, and the next thing I knew he was trying to take a bite out of me.” You answered. Sam’s  fingers brushed over the supple skin at the back of your neck raising goosebumps in the wake of his touch as he pulled the collar of your blood soaked shirt to the side to inspect the bite. Turning into a monster was the last thing you wanted to worry about, but you couldn’t remember if Ghoulishness was communicable or not. No, of course it wasn’t. Well… maybe. No. It’s not. But it could be. How the fuck were Ghouls even formed? You couldn’t think straight with Sam’s hands on you. “Is it bad? I’m not going to turn into a Ghoul am I?” 

“Uhm… I don’t think this is a bite.” Sam replied, humor in his tone, as he looked at three large dots in a perfectly straight line just above your shoulder blade. Either it was the oddest bite mark on Earth or…

“Well what is it then?”

“Best guess. A fork?” He answered.

“What?”

“It uh- it looks like you were stabbed with a fork. You’re up to date on your tetanus I hope?”

“Are you serious? I got fucking stabbed with a fork?” You questioned, standing up to inspect it yourself in the mirror hanging on the wall. 

“Better than being bitten right?”

“Ah ha ha ha. You think you’re funny don’t you?” You snarked, a pleased little smile graced Sam’s lips as he poured alcohol over the little punctures, like pouring lemon juice over papercuts, and then placed a single wide bandaid over it. “Thanks, Doc, am I cured now?”

“Not yet, let’s see those ribs.” He commanded. A little more than happy to oblige you struggled to tug your soiled t-shirt over your head. Some of those stains weren’t coming out, and it was one of your favorites. Sam stepped up to help, fingers grazing over your bare skin as he freed you. There it was, over your left rib cage a large black and purple bruise, with a large chunk of wood buried deep under the skin and out the other side. Hed it been any less intriguing to look at his eyes certainly would have fixed lower than you face. He could see you half naked a thousand times and you would never stop taking his breath away. But he was a gentleman, and you had made your professionalism clear, even though you called to him in your sleep. 

“Oh gross.” You exclaimed upon seeing the biggest splinter you’d ever gotten. No, not a splinter, you straight up got stabbed with a piece of wood. 

The struggle was real, he caught you completely off guard, you didn’t hear him, didn’t know the houl was down there in the dark with you until he clamped a large hand over your mouth and wrapped you up in arms too thick and strong for you to do much. But he wasn’t counting on you giving him the struggle of a lifetime. 

“I’ve never had living flesh before.” He taunted. Kicking and biting all the way up the stairs you finally saw an opportunity and dug your feet into the doorframe refusing to go any further, pushing back hard enough to knock him off balance and drop you. You hit the floor and rolled yanking your handgun from the back of your jeans and unloading 3 rounds into his chest, but he kept coming stalking towards you getting angrier with each bullet. He whipped a hand across your face, before grabbing you by the shoulders and slamming you onto an end table which collapsed beneath you splintering into shards, then pain. Yanking you up by the hair he threw you into the kitchen table and then he was on you. That sick rancid smell of rotting meat and death permeating every sense. Until gunfire, and Sam.

“You know this means we have to stay longer.” Sam stated, as he set to work trying to figure out the best extraction method. It was deep but nothing punctured, a clean through and through. Best thing to do was just pull it out. 

“Yeah, I figured as much. I’m not thrilled about it, gotta say.” You replied. Sam responded with a  half smile, focused on the task at hand, with a quick motion he yanked the shard of wood straight out of your side. “OW!” You yelped, and shoved his shoulder in mock offense.

“Hard part’s over now.” He said, before pouring more whiskey over the open wound. With a wince you shoved him again. Sam just smiled, and began the less than fun process of sewing up the two large puncture wounds. It would have been easy to watch him work forever. It would have been easy just to watch him do literally anything forever.

“Why are you nervous in the woods?” He asked, out of the blue, and feeling like walking straight into a wall.

“What kind of question is that? You know why, you know what’s you there.” A half truth. Sam saw through it, saw through you.

“Yeah, but I don’t think it’s just that. You’ve been on edge since we pulled in.”

“To be fair I could be back home stuffing my face with pizza rolls with a six pack, binge watching Outlander. But instead I spent the night digging graves. You should be on edge too.” Mmm… Jamie. You had a full docket, wasn’t that enough reason to not want to go traipsing around the woods digging up empty graves under the scrutiny of the weird Staff and getting stabbed with a fork? It was more than justifiable to you.

“That’s how you’d spend your week alone?” Sam asked with a chuckle, snipping the ends of the suture.

“Pfft, I’m not telling you all my secrets.” You replied. Oh but he could imagine the things you might do by yourself. Did you ever think of him? Just once even. What he wouldn’t give for confirmation. The little sounds as you touched yourself, the things you might be thinking in your own head. The thin layer of sweat glistening in the cool night air. His name falling from your lips in a gasp as you came apart. But there was only one secret he was truly interested in.

“Okay, then just tell me one. What’s going on with you?” He said snipping the ends off of the final stitch.

“Look, Sam I’m not going to give you my damn- origin story. I just don’t care much for the woods is all.” You snipped. End of conversation. Shut that shit down. You never told anyone what happened. It was something you intended to take to the grave. It was something you intended to keep locked away even from yourself. So much time and effort went into fighting the memory of that day, you couldn’t just drudge it up for anyone. Sam wasn’t anyone. Could you do it for him?

“Okay. Maybe I misread you. But- uh… If you did. Want to give me your origin story, I would be more than happy to listen.” He reassured, taking your hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. Suddenly you felt guilty for not sharing. It was your story to give if you wanted to, but now it felt like you were just hiding something.

“It’s violent, and bloody, and traumatizing, like everyone else’s. There’s nothing more to it.” You dismissed, moving to grab clean clothes to sleep in, and a towel.

“I don’t think you’re like everyone else.” Sam replied, stopping you in your tracks. If you turned around, if you looked at his face, you’d cave. So you didn’t.

“That doesn’t matter. It’s the same old song and dance. You see something, you lose someone, you search a little too hard and then you get sucked in.” You said and disappeared into the bathroom.

After a night like this, the best cure for any ailment was a steamy shower with the water cranked as hot as you could stand it. Letting it wash over you, carrying away the dirt, the blood, the sin, it was as close to tranquil as you’d ever get. And you were not one to miss out on a shower at a nice hotel. Great water pressure, perfect temperature. Ah, it was like heaven. The nagging in the back of your mind was impossible to ignore. Open up. Just tell him. Just do it. You might feel better. You’ve only kept this secret for a decade and then some. Speaking it into reality doesn’t make it any more or less real or true. It happened, it couldn’t un-happen. You can’t undo it, and it wouldn’t make the pain of that any more bearable if you shared it with someone. And of all people… it was Sam. 

Stepping out of the bathroom finally your eyes immediately landed on Sam pouring over John’s journal. There you were again getting lost in his visage, still covered in dirt, and exhausted beyond measure. You walked up behind him and leaned over his shoulder, between the sweet and floral scent of your shampoo and the feel of your breasts as you leaned against him, he could have melted into your arms. Soft, and warm, if he paused in his mind he could trick himself, for a brief moment, that this was how it always was. 

“Someone’s been busy.” Your eyes scanned the various papers and notes spread over the table in front of him, picking up one of the papers your brow nit at the list. “Vampire, Vetala, Djinn… What is this?”

“I don’t think Nolan and his wife were sick. You saw his corpse he looked sucked dry. I’m trying to find anything that takes the life force to feed. It happened fast, but over time. So it’s not a wraith, or Okami, or a Banshee.” He explained. Something just wasn’t adding up for him, but he couldn’t quite put a finger on it.

“That’s a pretty short list.” 

“No kidding.”

“You’re brilliant, it’ll come to you.” You said, dropping the paper back on the table, and moving to the chair beside him. Pausing and starting and pausing again, you struggled to find the words. Being vulnerable was not a speciality of yours, in fact you did your damndest not to let yourself feel that way. It only led to pain and digging up shit you’d buried for reasons.. But with Sam you weren’t afraid. You knew his story, yours was just as unbelievable, it was only fair. “So, uhm… When I was 15, I was walking through the woods behind our house, it was basically a straight shot home from school, and I used to play in those woods, like… all the time as a kid. But one day it was like the forest was alive and threatening me.”

You made the mistake of looking at his face, fixed in confusion, concern, maybe even adoration. He’d dropped everything, the monsters in the book before him suddenly meant nothing.

“I know how it sounds, but trust me, they- the trees moved, and switched on me, and I got lost, and then. Then there was this stillness, like a vaccuum sucked out all of the air, you could hear a pin drop. And the… White Thing. “ A chill ran down your spine, raising goosebumps, he took your hands in his. “And it was the most terrified I’d ever been, I thought I was going to die, but it handed me this little stone.”  He didn’t believe you, or you were convinced he didn’t. Either way it didn’t matter, you had proof. You stood and walked to the bed, yanking your bag from under it, and rifling through the pockets, finding it with an ah-ha you returned to the table and set the little green stone with a carving in it on the table. Sam’s brow creased as he picked up the stone, his mouth moving to speak, but you cut him off.

“I left it there in the woods. I didn’t touch it. I ran straight home, and eventually passed out I guess. In the morning I got up and uh-… I went to find my brothers, and my parents, It was a blood bath, They were dead, all of them, and this stupid fucking rock was left there. That thing killed them, it was in my home… I was asleep. I didn’t even know.” Sam gave your hands a reassuring squeeze thumbs running over your knuckles as he leaned in until there was nothing but him in your vision. There was empathy in his eyes, no pity, or disbelief. You took in a breath to steady yourself, emotions beginning to peak more than you were comfortable displaying. You sniffed back the tears that threatened to gather.

“I tried to throw it out, back into the woods. Down a well. I buried it. I smashed it. I threw it into a river, a lake, the ocean. I threw it out of a car. Sam I’ve tried to get rid of this thing for almost 15 years. It just keeps coming back.” You said with an exasperated sigh attempting to catch your breath, gripping his fingers tightly. “Anyway… It wasn’t long after that I went searching for answers, and found the life.”

“And here you are.” He said, eyes like a field of sunflowers fixed on yours mesmerized by you.. Heart jumping into your throat you leaned in, closing the space between you to practically nothing.

“Here I am.” You whispered. He was close enough you could feel the warmth from him, you could practically taste him. You wanted more than anything in the entire world to know how his lips tasted. More than anything he wanted to know what yours tasted like.

Knock! Knock!

Nearly jumping out of your skin, and now boiling you turned a rage filled head to the door stomping to it more than happy to give that perfect little shit a piece of your mind. It was barely past 6am and Esmeralda was already trying to sink her claws into Sam? Yanking the door open you started in.

“Look I don’t know what your deal is but-” It was Derek! And he looked mortified. “Oh, shit I’m sorry! I  thought you were someone else.” Not that it made it any better.

“Good morning, Mrs. Wesson, I thought you might be awake. Pardon the interruption. Breakfast will be served shortly, but I wanted to deliver you this. For the Masquerade Ball tomorrow night.”

“I’m sorry, did you say Masquerade?” The dumbfounded look on your face must have been entertaining because Derek chuckled and handed the box to you. Sam stood up and walked to the door, hearing Derek’s voice and hearing about a delivery was more than enough for his interest to pique past disappointment at what just transpired- or rather, what didn’t. He stepped in close resting a hand at your hip, happy to play the territorial husband.

“Yes, in carrying on the tradition set down by the Wellington’s. This year’s theme is Heaven and Hell.” Derek explained.

“How charming. If there’s one thing I love more than a Ball, it’s a Masquerade. What is this box for?” What’s in the box? What’s in the boooxxx?! Brad Pitt. No, but really there better not be a human heart or something weird.

“Well, forgive the assumption, but you don’t strike me as the type to typically shop for such occasions, I sent for a few things for you.”

“You- I’m sorry, you sent for a few things?” You clarified, because clearly there was blood in your ear or something. Peeking into the box you gasped, and shook your head trying to hand the box back. “This is like a lot of money’s worth of a few things Derek. I’m sorry I can’t accept this.”

“But I insist, you may return them after the night is over, but in the meanwhile I think they will suit you.” Derek said, not taking no for an answer and stepping away from the door.

“Thanks…” You replied, unsure and a little confused. Turning to face Sam you kicked the door shut.

“There’s a really fancy dress and jewelry and stuff in this box.” Panic. You were in panic mode now. You were expected to wear that stuff- and lets not even touch how creepy-weird it is that the fucking Innkeeper just “sent for a few” really expensive, but also really pretty things for you! Ew! Weird! Pretty… You were expected to wear high heels.

“Well, if we’re going I guess I need to go into town later.” Sam said.

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[thiswasinevitableid]

I had a terrible thought. I want to preface this by saying that I have a difficult time starting new fics when I finish one that I love, even if I’m excited to read it. After reading Metamorphosis, it was difficult to start Falling, and now I am having a similar issue with M&M. Though I enjoy it already and am rooting for the couples! This made me think of reincarnation aus. What if Indrid knew Duck’s soul in a previous life of the latter, but after losing him had to go on?

In addition, Indrid is overjoyed when he realizes he’s finally found Duck again?

Apparently, I’m in a “what if” mood? I was thinking about how Indrid views so many timelines, the way Garnet does. How you mentioned in various parts of the Falling series. What if Duck does follow the “canonical” path, right up until he’s about to leave for Brazil? Indrid living their life through visions of what could have been? BUT THEN, because I can’t stand sad endings, Duck suddenly regains his memories(via your personal choice of magical means) and....(ran out of space)

Okay, so this is wild: A week ago, I was thinking about how I’d do a soulmates/Reincarnation story, because those AUs are not my jam but I was procrastinating (side note: I too struggle to move from one story to another when I read; your brain has to finish the rinse cycle on the universe you were in before starting on the next one)

Behind the cut for angst (with a happy ending) and, perhaps obviously, mentions of death. The fics I reference (for those who spot them) do not, canonically, relate to each other like this but since we’re playing “what if?...

Indrid Cold hangs up the phone.

See you tomorrow?

Is that all he could really think of? But then again, Leo had been in danger prior to that and the whole tree mess is wrecking havoc on his mind. But then again, what could he have said.

Over a century ago, in another life, you hunted me when all my failures turned me to self interest?

Nearly a century ago, I told fortunes in dusty tents and lifted heavy things for their amusement?

As soon as I heard your voice, I knew it was you?

He shakes his head; maybe he’s wrong. Maybe Duck isn’t the man he has loved and lost twice over in his time on earth. Maybe his intuition and visions are wrong.

------------------------------

They’re not wrong. This helps him very little. Because while he remembers, Duck does not. He watches the disgust on his face at the state of the trailer, the fear when he removes his glasses.

Yes, the mess has gotten rather bad. But the first time we met was in a cave.

Please don’t be afraid of me. Please remember all the times you lay in these spindly arms, wrapped in my wings.

Please remember.

Duck saving Billy is so familiar. So like him, and when Indrid sees the argument between him and Minerva play out in the futures hes awash with pride. Stubborn and kind, not nearly as bloodthirsty as fate wishes him to be.

Strong too, if the punch is any indication. 

“I’m gonna save the Mothman.”

You remember. Some part of you remembers. You thought to save me before anything.

“That’s the whole tourism industry of Point Pleasant right there.”

Well, fuck me I guess.

-----------------------------------------------------------

He sits in the trailer for a week after the tree is destroyed. There are futures where Duck comes to apologize, to check on him, to ask for his help.

No matter how many times he plays them over, they do not materialize.

He can’t force the issue. He can’t. He can’t bring himself to go see Duck. The last time, while he never remembered, he seemed as drawn to Indrid as Indrid was to him, their loving blooming naturally as they traveled together.

Duck Newton has fought fate all his life. He’s been hounded to take up a destiny he did not want. Indrid will not be another voice yammering about fate and destiny in his ear. The man he loved, the man he could easily love again, deserves better.

He starts the trailer, and pulls away from the forest.

--------------------------------------------------

The images of the end play out, over and over, as he drives. He tries to drown them out with the timelines he cherishes that never came to be; Duck falling asleep in his arms, Duck kissing him in the snow, Duck seeking him out when everything went to hell.

“It could use some work.”

I will not allow the Quell to take you. Even if you never remember me, never love me, are never even my friend.

--------------------------------------------------

His wings ache, still sore from where something bit them during the fight. He’s staying at the Lodge while the Bago gets repaired (a Quell Rhino went straight through it). Outside he hears Duck laughing, Minivera’s booming laugh underscoring it.

I really did not see that one coming.

Duck is excited for Brazil. He is excited to be with Minerva. He is excited for his future, and Indrid would never, ever, ever take that from him.

“I do not wish to be apart from you. My life has more color, more substance, more futures in it when I am with you. I love you, and I want to stay by your side for as long as you’ll have me. You seem to feel the same about me and wish me to stay. I’m proposing a way that can be true.”

“You’re askin' me to marry you?” Indrid gives the smallest nod as confirmation. His lover turns the ring over in his fingers.

“Well?” Indrids' voice is soft, shy, unsure.

“Mr. Cold, I do believe I’ll accept your proposal.” He slips the ring onto his finger, holds up his hand and watches Indrid slump forward on the table in relief.

Two out of three meetings lead to love, that is more than he could ever dreamed of.

 “Is that what you’d like? For me to carry you away?” Indrid brushes their noses together.

 “So goddamn much.” The strong-man closes the half-inch between them. It’s as gentle and as tender as first kiss ought to be, their lips learning the shape of each other and teasing at the promise of more.

 When Indrid pulls back, pressing their joined hands to his cheek, he whispers, “simply say the word, and it will be so.”

He can’t go back to Sylvain. What good is a seer who can’t let go of the past?

---------------------------------------------

“Indrid? Oh, there you are buddy.” Duck grins at him, setting the box down on the small table in the trailer, “this was stuff they had to move when they were fixin’ it. Didn’t want to chuck it without lettin’ you look through it.”

“Thank you, Duck.” Indrid begins emptying the box, and Duck helps him, setting things in to neat piles.

“Are you excited for your journey?”

“Uh. Yeah, uh, hell, fuck, hell yeah.”

Indrid looks at him, worried.

“I’m havin’ second thoughts. And Minnie and I done nothin’ but fight the last three days.”

“All couples do, I am told.”

“Yeah but this, these feel like bigger fights. Things we need to hash out before we move to totally new fuckin continent.”

“Perhaps you can defer your work? That would give you time to work things out.”

“Ain’t sure that’s a--shit!” The sketchbook turns out to be a stack of loose papers, and they tumble from Duck’s hands. The ranger kneels down along with Indrid, and as they gather them up, Duck’s hands slow.

“Indrid? Why are these all of me?”

With horror, he sees the futures that did not come to pass, but that he drew anyway so he could look at them, held in Duck’s hands.

“They, ah, they were just futures. You must have been having a busy day, or, or something.”

“Hold up, they ain’t just of me. Seems like there’s a lot of us, uh, together. Really together.” Duck blushes, setting aside a page in a hurry as Indrid wills the floor to open up and swallow him.

“As I said, just futures.”

“Futures you wanted?”

“I, ah, I...”

“Wait, how old is this one? Did you so somethin funny to the paper?” Duck holds up the brown and brittle page.

“Huh. That fella looks like me if I were, I dunno, dressin up like a cowboy.”

“Sheriff.” Indrid corrects softly, “that was sheriff Jake Ellis. I man I loved many, many years ago. As far as I can surmise, he is a past life of yours. There was another in between who I, ah, I also loved. Who was also you.”

“........What the fuck?”

“A reasonable reaction. You should go.”

“Wait, Indrid, why didn’t you say nothin?”

“Would you have honestly enjoyed someone saying ‘by the by, we were lovers in two of your past lives, I already feel myself growing attached to you, so please date me because this feels like fate?”

“Okay, fair point, I woulda hated that. Why not stick around then, be my friend, lemme get to know you?”

“You deserved better than my lurking in the shadows in hopes of you loving me.”

“Indrid-”

“Please leave.“ Indrid points to the door. Duck hesitates, then stands and exits the trailer, gait subdued.

----------------------------------------------------

Duck hears the sad chirring start as soon as the door shuts. He turns, heading into the woods. He needs some time to think.

----------------------------------------------------------

It cant be

“Duck? Your, your flight, you missed it.” It’s been a month since he last saw the ranger.

“Yeah. And, uh, Minerva’s stayin with Leo for a bit. Had some things I wanted to sort out in Kepler before I did anythin’ else.”

“Please don’t tell me this is due to my drawings. I cannot bear the thought of you setting aside your life on the off-chance you might come to love me.”

Duck shifts side to side, “Are you at least willin to give me a chance?” He holds out his hand.

Indrid looks at the futures, but they’re too jumbled by his own indecision to be much help.

“Very well. Two months. If you still feel nothing more than friendship for me after that, please promise me you'll forget about me.”

Duck nods, takes his head, “Deal.”

---------------------------------------------

Indrid yawns, pads into the living room still half-asleep. Waiting for him on the table is a vase of flowers and a mega-pack of fruit gushers, along with a note.

Happy six months, darlin. See you tonight.

-Love, Duck.