#m!a: barkeep whiskey

[the-seduction-anon]

M!A Barkeep, Whiskey!

M!A Barkeep, Whiskey!: your Muse is shit-faced, drunk off their ass.

*POOF!*

"Hoooooooooooly Fuuuuuuuuuuck~" Antony was struggling to stay steady on his feet as he is hit with a wave of dizziness.

[vaaaaaiolet]

Why choose between riding a cowboy, a stallion, or an Italian when you can have all three? In which you find competition for the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost in the American West.

mdni holy shit. f / m, shameless smut just like pure filth. p in v, wild west au, TONS of christian imagery via metaphor??, mild praise + size kink, leon's a tease as usual

word count: 1.69k <3 // read on ao3

a/n: re6 leon turns my brain into illiterate mush and this is the proof. i wrote this 1 word an hour. i couldn't cope. ignore the half assed banner, half assed writing, half assed everything. listen to nessa barrett's song from the title. god bless you all.

God makes no mistakes: you’re on your knees in the back of an Arizona saloon, but you’re not exactly praying thanks. God is a vision in dirty blond as far as you’re concerned. How’d you end up here?

Enter Leon Kennedy: outlaw on the run.

He hadn’t gotten the memo when angels started coming down to Earth and wanted to give you the warm welcome you deserve. 

“Seriously?” You laugh; swirl your watered-down whiskey.

“I’ve always wanted to try that one out,” Leon grins. Cocky and magnetic, he takes your hand in his own calloused one and guides you to the dance floor. “But you haven’t seen my real trick yet.”

“And what’s that?”

“This.”

Every other beat of your heart finds you in a dizzying dip over the floor as Leon leads you in a dance akin to gunfights in Tombstone, except Leon is more than O.K. at what he does. He’s got you in a trance with his hands spanning your waist.

Sucking in dust and his woodsmoke cologne, you gasp, “Where’d you learn how to dance like that?”

“You’ve never been danced properly before?” Leon laughs. He spins you like you’re the moon.

“Not like this!”

“Oh darlin’, you don’t learn by talkin’ about it. Keep dancing and you’ll figure it out.”

Figure out a two-step you might not have, but you can figure just fine what Leon means when his hand slips up the hem of your blouse. A hungry thumb soon lines your brassiere right under the nose of the barkeep. 

“You’re crass, Leon,” you whisper.

“Is that a no? I’ll treat you right if you let me.”

God expects his servants to give and take, and you’ve done a lot of taking so far, no? You’ve been a little down on your luck lately. Can’t afford to tempt fate that way. So you pull Leon down by the collar, whisper back with your lips lined in devil red, “Make it my treat?”

His smirk glimmers in the dark. “Lead the way, doll.”

Quickly, quickly. Miracles disappear in the blink of an eye and Leon needs to take you before you can disappear into the night. Rope-toughened fingertips fly down your lined blouse, slip the silk off to unveil your sun-freckled shoulders behind the barkeep’s storage door. You’ve spirited Leon away for twenty minutes at best before the saloon closes and the workers come barging in. You’ve got to pay penance for this, haven’t you?

You sink to your knees. 

Leon hooks his hands under your thighs and sits you right back up on a crate, and gets down on his knees.

What.

You’re running on borrowed time, you can’t afford tweaks to this arrangement. “I thought we had a deal?” you scowl. 

But you forget God makes no mistakes. Leon is his creation, so causation, correlation, you do the math. Your anger dissipates at the first swipe of his thumb over your clothed slit. Wetness blooms at his touch, and Leon chuckles as your breath shudders. Genesis.

“Wouldn’t be very gentlemanly to let a lady do all the work.” He kisses the spot between your legs, looks up at you with eyes of oasis blue. “You know I take the lead.”

Your chest heaves. “I do.”

“I’m good at it.”

“...You are.”

"And I know this isn't your style. All I ask is that you let me earn my keep.”

Well, that goes without saying. And so Leon flips the script. 

He starts lining burning kisses down your thigh, entices you with an “Open for me”, sighs dreamily when your legs part of their own accord. A previously bothersome, soaked scrap of lace falls at Leon’s feet. 

“Oh, baby, you should’ve asked next time. Look at this mess. Wouldn’t’ve needed to be so quick, then.”

Try and look down, but Leon’s already latched his warm mouth onto your clit, sucking like it’s a Tootsie pop. You throw your head back in ecstasy. 

Waves of feel-good wash over you in all the colors of a pinkening sunset, gold at the edges and red hot at the center, your own overflowing with slick as Leon dips his tongue inside – oh, oh, oh, swirling the colors with each revolution around your sensitive pearl. Your thighs threaten to clamp around his head. He keeps you pliant, capping your knees with rough palms.

“Leon…” you can’t help but whine. 

“Just workin’ ya a bit. Think you’ve had enough?” you hear him groan from underneath.

You’re barely breathing. “Need…need more.”

“Don’t seem that way to me from here. God, you’re gorgeous.” Leon croons, sucking a tender bite a little ways from where you need him most, over the softest part of your inner thigh. A landmark so he can hope to find his way back. He taps your knee. “Time?”

The dusty clock on the barkeep’s desk reads ten minutes to twelve; you relay this with difficulty as Leon does his damnedest to render you incapable of speech. He hums, considering. The vibration shoots right up your core.

“I’ve been in tighter spots,” he eventually decides, shooting you a lopsided grin as he hefts you higher on the crate you’ve practically melted off the side of, “No offense, doll.”

You’d laugh if you weren’t so close. “Low-hanging fruit, Leon.”

“You taste sweeter nohow.”

Missing his mouth already, you pull him back into a kiss. His leather belt clinks in time with the glasses back inside the bar as he unbuckles it, and you take the time to appreciate how you’re level with him even perched atop a crate. Leon’s got height on you. 

Inches where it matters, too. His cock bucks in his hand when it finally springs free, and you bat your lashes up at him ‘cause it seems Leon’s been keeping secrets. He’s thick, ruddy and leaking, got a halo over the head of his dick in the light that creeps in from under the door, and you make a prayer to put your mouth on him if you cross paths once more. Your fingers barely go all the way around.

“Make a deal with me, cowboy,” you breathe. “I let you have your fun. Now, you let me.”

Leon cocks a brow. He’s antsy, understandably so. “What’s that entail?”  

Plywood burns the back of your jean skirt as you slide off the crate, Leon watching as you shuck off the denim, pool it underneath your feet. You reel him in by the collar just to shove him onto the barkeep’s high-backed chair. Leon’s eyes widen when your thighs bracket his and everything suddenly makes sense as you center your cunt tantalizingly over his painfully erect length. 

He’s rasping, needy. “This what you had in mind?”

“‘Fraid so.”

“You sure?”

You scoff haughtily, dragging a smile from him that’s all lynx. “Your wish is my command, miss.” 

Palms start gliding up your torso, thumbs rub circles on the undersides of your breasts. Leon’s collarbones collect moonlight streaming in from the open window and you want to lap it all up like milk, but you’re getting distracted. The clock is counting closer to midnight. Adrenaline makes you heady. Maybe you should tell Leon to get a good handle on your hips when you sink down on his dick – point blank. 

All the way to the hilt. 

He takes it in stride as best as he can. “Tight, doll, ah,” he hisses, head bobbing, “so tight. Gonna send me to heaven.” 

You shift your hips experimentally, whimpering at the stretch. You’re a lousy judge of character but an apparently worse judge of size because you have no idea how you’re going to do this. Leon’s thumb reroutes to your navel, North Star that it is, and travels down to wait over your clit. Technically, you’ve still got the lead. Everything’s still. So so still. You’re about to break.

The minute hand ticks.

“Leon, please,” you whimper.

“What’s that, doll?” 

You paw uselessly at his chest. “Need help.”

Leon clicks his tongue in sympathy. It’s hard to get mad at a thing like you no matter how tough you sell yourself. Smart mouth and pretty eyes, bubblegum sweet underneath, something he’s gotta help. Leon’s always been a sucker for the damsel in distress type.

So he calls down a miracle. “I gotcha, sweetheart.” 

You cry out in relief at the lifting sensation of his hands around your hips. This is another dance you’ve yet to learn, it seems. 

“I gotcha.” Leon’s voice is a psalm over the burn of his cock inside you. A familiar thumb sneaks in between where you and he meet; whiskey and mint on his breath intoxicates you when he murmurs, ”Did so good for me, darlin’. Doesn’t feel too great right now, does it?”

You sniffle. “Mm-mm.”

“Gonna let me make it better?”

“Please.”

Leon indulges you. Taking advantage of the slick velvet he’s wrapped in, he glides you up just the tiniest bit, revealing the inch of his length you’ve covered in your arousal. You watch transfixed as he lifts your hips up and down. Baby steps. Stomach flips. You leave him coated in stardust like you’re made of it.

Leon’s in awe. “See that?” 

But you’re too far gone to take notice of anything but the embers in your stomach, seconds away from crumpling onto his chest. You were once sitting proudly upright. The extent of your desire hits like a revelation once your insides finally mold around him, like it was all prophesized, and you can’t tell up from down when Leon starts to piston you on his lap.

Five minutes 'til it’s all over: You’re tender and boneless and about to explode. Leon is relentless. Sweat drips from his brow like holy water. He kicks the barkeep’s chair to barricade the door because you were right, there’s no way you’re making it out here alive.

Your thighs ache with exertion, steering you on their own.

Four minutes: “Can’t take it, Leon!��� You’re going under. The flood is no myth.

“Tell me where,” he grits, desperate.

Three. 

You want him to pull up the ladder.

Two.

“Where, doll, where?!”

One.

“Inside.” 

And God, you burn brighter than the sun.

psst, find more of my work here!

comments and reblogs are very much appreciated <3 take care and i love you!

[cha-melodius]

Aaaaaaah congrats on 100 fics! I’m so excited that you’re doing this! Can I request Lokius in a western/cowboy setting?

(You were a prophet when you sent this back in August, Old West Lokius is quite the in vogue thing now lol. I hope you enjoy!)

Ain't No Place for a Better Man

(3k, M; read it below or on AO3)

They’ve had easier jobs, that’s for damned sure.

Protecting an entire train of stagecoaches was always going to be a strain on his crew, especially through this territory. They’re good, but they’re not that good. Mobius should have insisted that the client cough up the money to bring on another couple of folks, but they’d been reluctant and Mobius hadn’t wanted to risk the job going to someone else. And really, against most bandits, they’d probably have been fine.

They weren’t up against most bandits, though.

Mobius flips a blood-streaked silver dollar at the barkeep and collects a bottle of whiskey and four glasses in return without a single word exchanged. His crew is damn-near legendary in these parts; people vacate ‘their’ table when they enter the saloon, tip their hats when they pass on the road, and generally treat them with the kind of wary respect they’ve worked hard to cultivate. Mobius’ crew may be nominally ‘good’ guys, but a hard world makes hard people, especially ones who are hired to protect what passes for civilization out west.

Verity grunts in appreciation when he deposits the glasses on the table and sloshes a generous helping of whiskey in each one. Wincing a little as he leans forward, Mobius pushes two across to the others then settles back into the rickety chair. He tosses his hat on the table and kicks his feet up next to it, crossing them at the ankles and ignoring the dirty looks from the barkeep. The burn of cheap whiskey flows down his throat and spreads out in his chest, dulling the ache of what’s probably a bruised rib. 

“How do you think he found out they were moving the gold?” Casey asks, fidgeting with his glass. Twitchy guy, but surprisingly good with a rifle. He’d been riding with the trailing coach on the job and had caught the butt end of a pistol to the face when they’d been boarded, which is now darkening to a mottled purple across his cheekbone. Hadn’t gotten shot, though, which was a small blessing.

“How does he always? He’s got his ways,” Mobius returns with a shrug. “Weren’t one of us.”

“Obviously,” Verity snorts. “Slippery bastard has his fingers in plenty of pies, and people are easily bought. What I don’t get is how no one has managed to shoot him off his horse yet.”

Mobius snorts. “You’re the marksman, Ver. You tell me.”

“Swear he’s goddamn magic. One of them spirits. No one should be able to dodge all those bullets.”

“I assure you, he’s just a man.”

“And how exactly do you know, Mobius?” Verity counters, a too-shrewd look on her face.

Mobius blinks at her slowly and takes another sip of his drink. “Didya forget how I got this?” he asks, tugging aside the collar of his shirt to reveal an ugly scar twisting just under his collarbone. “He was flesh and blood when he drove that dagger into me.”

She looks chastened, but not completely convinced. “Could be he takes human form sometimes,” she mutters into her drink. 

“I heard of spirits like that,” Casey puts in. “One of the girls at the Mariposa was tellin’ me about this guy who comes in—”

“Enough,” Mobius says. His voice isn’t particularly loud or sharp, but everyone falls silent nonetheless. “You tell these stories, you let him get in your head. He ain’t a spirit, or a witch, or whatever else has been said about ‘im. Bleeds as red as the rest of us. Now,” he says, swinging his legs off the table and throwing back the rest of his whiskey, “I’m beat. And I’m takin’ this with me.” He grabs the bottle of whiskey off the table, ignoring their protests, and tugs his hat back on before he turns and walks away.

His steps are onerous as he climbs the stairs leading to the rooms over the saloon, heavy with a deep weariness he can’t seem to shake off these days. He’s getting too old for this shit, that’s for certain, but there’s something else weighing him down that he’d rather forget about in the bottom of this whiskey bottle tonight. He takes another swig as he kicks open the door to his usual room, only to find it already occupied.

The black-clad figure is little more than a lump, sitting hunched over in a chair next to the a small table with his hat pulled down low so that the broad brim of it hides his face from view. He doesn’t react when Mobius enters—unconscious or dead or just uninterested in the newcomer is difficult to say. Mobius’ hand is on his pistol before he knows he’s moving, even as something familiar twinges in his mind at the shape of the man’s shoulders.

“Think you’re in the wrong room, buddy,” he says evenly. “This one’s spoken for.”

The man looks up, a curtain of dark hair falling back from his face, and his lips twist into a wry smile. “I’m exactly where I intend to be, in fact.”

“Shit,” Mobius swears, his hand falling away from his gun as he takes another long swig from the bottle. Kicking the door shut behind him, he pulls his hat off and tosses it onto one of the bed posts. “You know they’re all downstairs, right? This is the last goddamn place you should be.”

“Didn’t have much choice in the matter.”

“What are you doing here, Loki?” Mobius sighs.

“I can’t want to see you?” Loki asks, trying for flippant and falling short by a mile.

As Mobius draws closer, he can see that Loki’s even paler than usual—which is really saying something—and he’s still hunched over, clutching his shoulder. Mobius reaches out and gently takes hold of Loki’s slender wrist, tugging his hand away and sucking in a breath when it comes away covered in red.

“You took a bullet today.”

“Astute observation,” Loki returns dryly. “I fear that Verity of yours is going to shoot me dead one day.”

Mobius squeezes his eyes shut and takes a deep breath, forcing his hand not to tremble. “She’d like that.”

“And you, Mobius?”

“Don’t you dare ask me that, Loki.”

Loki bows his head again, and Mobius turns away before he accidentally says something powerfully stupid. He steps out into the hallway and flags down a maid for a basin, a rag, and some clean water—well, clean as it gets, anyway—then returns to dig through the saddlebag slung over the foot rail of the bed for the sewing kit within, the one that’s mended more flesh than fabric. He leaves it on the table next to Loki along with the whiskey and goes to fetch the basin and water at the sound of a light knock on the door. The legs of the other chair grate loudly against the rough wooden floor as he pulls it around in front of Loki and settles into it, close enough that their knees are knocking together where they’re interleaved.

The silence stretches out between them, somehow heavy with unspoken words and comfortable all at once, even as Loki flinches when Mobius pushes his jacket off his shoulders, even as Mobius’ fingers find a familiar path in the buttons of his shirt, even as Mobius takes another swig of the whiskey before passing it to Loki. A subtle shine to the fabric of his black shirt is the only visible trace of blood on it, but when Mobius carefully peels it away from the wound, the bright red staining his pale skin tells another story. The disturbance brings a fresh surge of blood oozing to the surface, and Mobius pretends that he doesn’t notice Loki trembling under his hands.

He works with movements far gentler than most people would think him capable of, and the water in the basin steadily darkens as he cleans around the wound. Even though Mobius’ attention is focused on his work, he can tell Loki is watching him raptly the entire time, his eyes fixed on Mobius’ face, until Mobius pulls out the long forceps he keeps in the kit just for this purpose. Only then does his trepidation show on his face, the knowledge of what’s coming only too familiar at this point. Mobius shoves the whiskey bottle at him again, and Loki dutifully drinks before handing it back. The muscle of his jaw jumps when Mobius pours a glug of the alcohol over the wound, but his stoicism is put to the test under the assault of the forceps. Loki inhales sharply and turns his face to the ceiling when Mobius goes digging for the bullet, as if that might hide the tears welling in his eyes.

Fortunately, the bullet comes out easily along with the bit of shirt that it pulled in with it. The unassuming hunk of lead clinks dully when Mobius drops it into the basin, the sound of it a bleak reminder of how close he’d come to losing Loki entirely. Another few inches…

Mobius shoves the thought out of his head. He can’t let his mind travel down those roads, not when he needs his hands steady to finish this hellish task. One thing at a time, one stitch at a time, until the hole in Loki’s shoulder is finally closed and Mobius lets out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. He rinses his own hands, then dampens the rag again and carefully takes Loki’s, gently wiping the now-dried blood from his skin as best as he can manage.

Loki’s head is bowed when he finishes, and Mobius reaches out with both hands to cup the sides of his face. His expression is impassive, but dried tears streak his cheeks, leaving pale tracks through the dirt and grime, and Mobius can’t help but rub his thumb through them in an ineffectual attempt at wiping them away.

“You’re all right, sweetheart,” he says, barely more than a murmur. He lets one corner of his mouth tug upward. “Gonna take more than that to take out the legendary Loki Odinson.”

Something fractures in Loki’s expression. “Mobius—”

“Shhh,” Mobius hushes, pressing a thumb to his lips.

Then he pulls his thumb away, leans closer, and presses their lips together instead.

It’s chaste at first, the barest brush of contact, but a moment later Loki is gasping into it, almost a sob, and his hands come up to curl desperately in Mobius’ shirt. He deepens the kiss hungrily, his teeth tugging at Mobius’ lips and tongue licking into his mouth, until the angle becomes untenable and he’s climbing into Mobius’ lap instead.

“Loki, you can’t—” Mobius protests, but can’t is not a concept that Loki is well-versed in, and he’s swallowing down the rest before Mobius can put voice to it.

He kisses Mobius like a drowning man in the desert slaking his thirst with Mobius’ lips, sinking his good hand into grey locks to pull them ever closer together. Mobius’ hands find the narrow dip of his waist without really meaning to, only that he could never resist that spot, the way Loki’s wiry muscles flex under his grip, the soft smoothness of his skin under hard calloused palms. His own shirt long discarded, Loki sets to work on Mobius’ instead, and despite the way his cock is definitely taking an interest, Mobius stills Loki’s hands with one of his own.

“I just sewed you up,” he scolds, a frown settling into his features.

Loki has the audacity to look annoyed. “And now I’m fine, can we move along—”

“You gotta take care of yourself.”

“Mm, not in my nature,” Loki says bluntly, leaning for another kiss before Mobius can reply. “That’s why I’m here,” he murmurs against Mobius’ lips, “because I know you’ll take care of me.”

“Loki,” Mobius exhales on a shuddery breath, squeezing his eyes closed against the emotions threatening to choke him.

A moment later, Loki’s forehead contacts his, and he brushes their noses together. “Please, Mobius,” he whispers into the narrow space between them. “I could have died today—”

“I know,” Mobius grinds out.

“—so I need you to fuck me until both you and I forget about it.”

Mobius can’t deny it’s an appealing prospect. “But your shoulder—”

“You’ll be careful,” Loki cuts him off. His lips twist wryly. “You’re always careful with me, even when you shouldn’t be.”

For two people who are constantly at odds, Mobius has always been terrible at saying no to him. He doesn’t manage it now, either. “Alright,” he surrenders, his hands already sliding over Loki’s back, lingering in the dip of his spine. “Alright.”

It’s not easy, between Loki’s shoulder and Mobius’ own injuries, but Mobius takes his time. He presses endless kisses to Loki’s skin, perfect in its imperfection, marred by countless scars inflicted over the years. Some by Mobius’ own hand; more by his crew, including the starburst that will form at his shoulder, no matter how neatly Mobius stitches it closed. If Mobius had his way, he’d never gain another one.

In this, Mobius knows he’s destined to be disappointed. Instead, he focuses making sure the pleasure overwhelms the pain, in treasuring every moment like it might be the last. He works Loki open with endless care—well, Loki wasn’t wrong—sinks into the impossible heat of him, rolls their bodies together as Loki urges him on, chasing the moments where they are just this. Not opponents, not adversaries, but two men seeking comfort in each other’s arms, finding what solace they can in a hard world.

In the aftermath, Loki tucks himself against Mobius’ side, pillowing his head on his shoulder, leaving no trace of space between their bodies. He’s unusually quiet, and Mobius doesn’t know if it’s just the trials of the day or something else weighing on him.

Loki’s hand moves idly over his chest, eventually finding the very scar under the collarbone Mobius had showed off earlier that evening. “Do you remember this day?” he asks, trailing a finger over the gnarled flesh.

“Are you asking if I remember the day you stabbed me in the chest?” Mobius returns incredulously.

Loki shrugs. “You’ve had closer calls.”

“Not from someone I love.”

Loki’s hand stills, not unexpectedly. It’s not the first time Mobius has said it, but he doesn’t deploy it often. It tends to make Loki… skittish.

“You didn’t know me back then,” Loki says eventually as he spreads his palm out over Mobius’ heart.

“I know you coulda killed me, but you didn’t.”

“I fear you’ve always made me soft, Mobius,” Loki murmurs, like a confession pressed against his skin.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It is in this life.”

“Don’t have to be,” Mobius says. “Not all the time, anyway.”

That, apparently, was a step too far. Or maybe this was always going to be the end of their limited time tonight. Loki doesn’t reply for a long moment, letting the statement hang in the air, then his hand curls into a loose fist.

“I should go before anyone finds out I’m here,” he says. He sits up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, and grips the edge of the mattress tightly. “I’ve already lingered too long.”

“You don’t have to run,” Mobius tries.

Loki laughs, without a single goddamn trace of humor in it, as he stands and grabs his trousers off the floor, tugging them on and doing up the buttons. “It’s not that simple.”

“It could be,” Mobius insists. He sits up, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “I have contacts. People in the marshal’s office, they could get you a deal—”

“And what makes you think I want a deal?” Loki snaps, though a second later his shoulders sag. “I appreciate that you’re willing to stick your neck out for me. I do. But just because you’re on the side of law and order doesn’t mean you’re in the right.” He bends down snag his shirt off the floor, wincing as he tugs the bloodstained garment on. “How do you think your employer got all that gold, hm? It certainly wasn’t by asking nicely.”

This is not the first time they’ve had a similar argument. 

“Don’t know. Don’t care. The law says it’s his,” Mobius answers with a shrug. “You expect me to believe you’re stealin’ out of some kind of highfalutin moral righteousness?”

Loki flashes him a wicked smile as his long fingers fasten his shirt. “Of course not. I’m stealing it because I want it. Which I’m fairly certain is also true of the man who’s paying you.” Once he’s finished with the buttons, he crosses back over to the bed and stands between Mobius’ legs, lifting a hand to the corner of Mobius’ jaw as he stares down at him. “You and I, we’re not all that different, in the end.”

Mobius slides his hands under the loose tails of his shirt until his palms find warm skin again. “In that case, if I asked you, again, to come join me…”

“I’m sorry, darling,” Loki murmurs, bending down to press a lingering kiss to his lips. “I can’t. Not— not yet.”

“I’m never gonna stop asking, you know,” Mobius tells him.

A melancholy smile tips onto Loki’s lips. “You’d break my heart if you did.”

That, right there, is why Mobius will never be strong enough to end this. It’s the hope that kills you, so they say.

“When will I see you again?” he asks instead.

“When’s your next job?” Loki jokes. Or not. It might not be a joke.

“Not funny,” Mobius huffs. 

“I’ll find you,” Loki tells him, then quickly adds, “not during a job, all right? I’ll always find you.”

It shouldn’t be so comforting. Nothing is certain in this life—especially not for men like them—and yet this, he’s come to rely on. “Take care of yourself, sweetheart.”

“All right,” Loki promises. “just for you.”

[hayffiebird]

Taste of Strawberries, chap. 45

Hayffie Post-Mockingjay Multi-chapter, Rated M

Summary: Four years have passed since the end of the war when Effie returns in to Haymitch’s life once again. An old friendship is renewed. Will it lead to something more?

Meanwhile Panem has entered a new era. The rebellion’s over, the borders are open but in the shadows, anger and mistrust are smoldering. Something that will affect Haymitch and Effie’s life in a way they never saw coming.

Chapter 45, Take me drunk, I'm home

He staggered through the rain, wetter than a shot of whiskey dropped into a mug of beer. Nothing but thick black clouds above.

No moon. No stars. You couldn't see anything but the path right in front of you. Nothing to guide your way but the distant lights of the district.

The duffel bag was lost. Probably in a ditch somewhere. Soaked and vile. Like its owner. Or maybe he just tossed the thing in some corner of the train, after he’d finished the last bottle. He couldn't recall.

Not that it mattered. Nothing mattered anymore. Now that Effie and the kids were gone.

Where were they now? Which district? Did she manage to get them to sleep on time or was she still on rocking duty? Exhausted. Alone. While the train added mile after mile between them.

Once his family had gotten onboard back in Eleven, he was supposed to just sit back and wait. Bags packed. Ticket in hand, until his own train pulled into the station.

But he didn't. Walking up and down that misty platform. The smell of damp concrete. Distant rumbling. The unforgiving sky, overrun by storm clouds as dark as the soul of president Snow.

He couldn't stand 5 minutes of it. Hell, not even one.

If he was going to wait, might as well do it on a bar stool.

One of the local pubs was just around the corner. Chaff told him as much. Back when they were passing a bottle between themselves, he described the way in detail. The shops. The landmarks. Which road to turn and when.

“We’ll go there someday”, he said, the last time they ever spoke to each other. “Bring the little lady. If we survive this blasted war, drinks are on me.”

The bell above the door gave a merry tinkle when Haymitch pushed inside, 10 minutes later.

Just like Twelve, he thought. The one Sae and Ripper put up at the Hob made the exact same noise.

In the end, he didn’t mount a bar stool. Place was far from empty, despite the bad weather. Or maybe because of it. He couldn’t sit and wonder which ones of them mourned Chaff. Or – worse – if no one was even left besides Pearl, still alive to do so.

“A bottle of wine please”, he said and set the duffel bag on the counter. “Red. Whatever looks good. Or better yet, make it two. And the amber one over there.” He gestured to the rows by the mirror. “No need for a glass.”

The barkeep recognized him. One glance told him as much. But then again, who didn’t?

Must be Bernard, he thought. Unless the owner of this place had changed since the end of the war. Lean fellow. Same skin tone as Chaff, but his hair was grayer by the temples.

At least he didn't tell him to get the fuck out of his pub. The man simply reached for the desired bottles and set them on the counter, one by one.

“Will I have my work cut out for me later?” Bernard’s voice – if it was Bernard – was neither merry nor hostile. Just practical. Matter-of-factly.

“No”, Haymitch said. “I'm not staying. Not for long.” He got out his wallet, handed over the last of the ruffled bills. “Keep the change. Can you remind me I need to leave in an hour?” He glanced at the wall clock. “Hour-fifteen minutes? There's a train I gotta catch. Can't miss it.”

“Sure.”

Bag clunky and heavy, clinking with bottles, he found his way out into the beer garden. Dumped himself by the first available bench. The moist which had collected in vast continents on the painted wood, instantly soaked through his underwear.

More of the stuff trickled inside the collar of his shirt. Tepid as a cup of tea, forgotten on the mantelpiece. Summer rain, the kind that made you sweat even more.

Whatever. Here he was alone. The leafy trees growing around him offered some shelter but still: No one dumb enough to loiter out here today.

He unzipped the bag. Twisted the top of the first bottle he encountered. Didn't even hesitate before he had the first sip.

What for? Effs and the kids weren’t here. Amy. Ian. God only knew when he’d hold them in his arms again. No. He couldn't think of one good reason why he should board his train stone-cold sober.

Just don't get too deep in your cups, you ass, he warned himself before the second mouthful. Or else they won't allow you on.

He had to go home. Couldn't – wouldn’t – embarrass June and Annabel in front of their friends and neighbors. He'd been enough of a pest whilst under their roof.

Talk about wearing out you're welcome.

Half a bottle. Then the train.

And so he drank. Watched by no one but a ruffled mockingjay hiding in the trees and the occasional pair of eyes through a window.

His recollections thereafter were hazy. Nothing but bits and pieces – the passage of time.

Birds like black confetti, high in the sky. A lone dog barking. The splatter of water through a downpipe. The aftertaste of wine. Fruity and sour.

But the barkeep must have kept his promise because hours later, in the dead of night, the mentor of District 12 staggered out onto his own soil once again. Tanked to the gills. Again.

Home.

Shoulders sagging, rain dripping down his hair, his hands, his eyelashes, he hardly ever looked up. No need. He could walk this way blindfolded.

The ground felt soggy, slippery under his clumsy feet.

Different district. Same downpour. He swore it followed him from place to place. Taunting him.

Not that he didn’t deserve it.

He staggered through puddles as deep as his ankles. Didn’t bother to swerve off his path much. Only mindful of people’s windows. Their vegetable gardens.

Last thing he wanted was to ruin someone’s future dinner or frighten the kids in their beds with the sound of his squelching boots.

Lights were on in maybe one in ten houses. The Goat Man, who had a history of insomnia. Delly Cartwright’s youngest cousin who couldn’t sleep without a night light. Bristel and her husband. Naked and tangled in bed perhaps?

Most were dark though. Doors bolted shut against the night.

Not all of them. Up ahead, he saw the open window. Just slightly ajar to let the air in, on a warm night like this.

Someone was awake. Golden light spilled through the curtains of the living room. As he approached, he could just make out the soft rattle of cutleries against china over the pattering rain. A cup of tea perhaps. Or maybe a bowl of soup.

Half-blinded he rubbed his eyes, his soaked face. A pointless attempt. More than a little round under his feet he made a slack fist and knocked. Once. Twice. Or, in his state, it was more like pounding.

Eyes downcast, the first thing he noticed when she opened the door was her house slippers. Woolly and soft in a quiet pink color. A birthday gift from Hazelle.

Hand against the handle, she wore the same simple robes her mother wore before her. His gaze lingered on the small baby blue flowers around the hemline and the hems of her wrists.

Effie’s work. She stitched them onto the fabric, back during that summer she spent with them after her overdose.

Peeta loved the details and Nella loved the very texture of the little leaves and blossoms. Used to follow them with the tip of her finger.

Forget-me-nots.

Throat choked up, his dull, blood-shot eyes finally met her gray ones.

Seam gray. Like the eyes of his mother. His brother. His son and daughter.

Sae gave a quiet smile. As if expecting him.

“You better come in”, she said. “Before you catch your death out here.”

Haymitch’s face crinkled up like a worn tissue. He couldn’t help it. Couldn’t hide it. Not from her. The tears he’d carried within, for hours and hours – just below the surface – finally welled up.

All at once.

His old babysitter spoke nothing further. Water soaked through her slippers, but she paid it no mind. Just stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him.

He tried to speak. Tell her how sorry he was about the hour, the fact that he was drunk, that he didn’t know where else to go – but no words came out. Only sobs.

The old woman held him. Her small frame so frail and yet so strong. She caressed the back of his head, just like when he was a toddler, speaking soft, soothing words in his ear.

And Haymitch clung to her. Like a child to its mama, while raindrops tinked against the sphere-shaped porch light.

[cannedcrow]

Arbitrary Darkness Part III: An Unorthodox Night Out

Part I, Part II,

Read on AO3

A/N: Hey all - it's been a while, I'm sorry! I don't know if anyone is still interested in my writing but if you are, enjoy!

~ Please reblog if you enjoy <3 ~

Grian wasn’t quite sure what he expected behind the heavy door. Vague, juvenile images of a shadowy stone room full of cloaked demons materialised in his head, contemptuously dismissed in the next heartbeat. As the door swung open, however, it seemed to sweep outwards with it a wave of chatter, laughter and music, somewhat jarring in comparison to the dimly lit and silent lobby.

The arch led onto a balcony which crowned the cavernous room below. Two flights of stairs led down to the main floor, flanking a gently curved bar of sleek, red-stained wood that dominated the far end, a wall of glittering bottles and glasses towering behind it. Music rose through the floor, insinuating that below them, in the shade of the balcony, a jazz band played.

Pillars of imperious black marble supported the balcony and provided intervals for other doorways or more secluded alcoves. Tables of varying sizes and shapes dotted the remaining space, at which sat a bizarre range of visitants, some of whom looked perfectly human at a first glance, until their jewel-toned eyes flicked upward, or a sip of their drinks showed mouths far too full of teeth. Some others were monsters with far more obvious features - backwards-bending legs ending in clawed feet, antlers and glinting scales, tails that swished relaxedly in pleasant conversation.

Without a word, Scar led the way down the stairs, navigating smoothly through the maze of tables and towards the bar, whilst Grian attempted to follow, adopting what he hoped was an expression of appropriately excited bewilderment. He was aware suddenly of how surrounded he was by faces that could turn unfriendly at the slightest moment, that he was following a monster - one who, for whatever reason, had decided to vouch for Grian’s entry to this peculiar place. But none of the occupants looked up for more than a moment, and some even nodded a friendly greeting. He forced his prickling feathers to flatten.

Relax. Nobody has any reason to look twice at you.

“Thank you, by the way,” he began to Scar as they reached the bar, “Is entry to this place usually difficult?” He thought better than to ask ‘why did you help me’. Better let Scar think that he simply thought him a sympathetic stranger with no unsavoury motives.

“You’re very welcome!” Scar returned pleasantly. “Who am I to deny a man company of his own kind at the end of the day?”

That wasn’t much of an answer. He was beginning to piece together an impression of Scar already, but didn’t press further.

“What’ll you have?” Turning towards the sudden voice, Grian met the playing-card gaze of the barkeep, whose pale silver hair spiked like shattered glass in spite of his headband and mask. It was damp, too, he noticed. Someone’s shift just started. Grian studied the bottles lining the shelves, and felt intermingled disgust and nausea well in his stomach upon spying several rows of bottles containing various dark fluids ranging from cherry red and rich plum to abyssal reds and blacks, all labelled simply by origin- Human - F - XX45, Hoglin - M - XX03. “Bourbon rust for me, and my friend will have …?” He turned an inquiring gaze to Grian.

Grian suppressed a shudder - he did not like the sensation of those iridescent eyes fixing on him, the way they flickered like peridots when the light caught just right, as though unable to maintain a human facade. “I- uh, just gin and bitters. Please.”

The barkeep nodded and moved to select the necessary elements, which included, to his distaste, one of the bottles of blood.

“That’s Etho, by the way,” Scar provided helpfully, watching with benign interest as Etho shook the bottle roughly and splashed some into the glass of amber whiskey, mixing until the drink reached a uniform, slightly cloudy red.

“He’s the best mixologist in the city with the worst PR,” Scar chuckled. Etho placed Scar’s concoction in front of him, remarking with amusement, “To be fair, it’s not like I had much competition working here …”

Scar sipped his drink with appreciation, and the tang of alcohol and iron reached Grian, making him think queasily of an operating theatre.

“It’s actually very difficult to keep blood from coagulating,” Scar expounded with the blithe air of a professor enthralled with his subject, “Especially considering it's for consumption. At the end of the day it’s a living thing, you know? So every moment it’s not in the body, you have to stop it dying, preferably without also poisoning your customers. Not sure how Etho does it; that’s his secret.” Etho winked and presented Grian with his drink.

Grian nodded dumbly. He picked up his own drink and took a deep draft, hoping to subdue his steadily mounting anxiety.

“Come on then,” Scar broke in, gesturing to an empty table in the shadow of the balcony.

They settled in their seats, and Grian found himself growing more comfortable, surrounded by the glow of lamplight and the cheerful sounds of chatter and clinking glass. It was, after all, a beautiful establishment, all shining dark wood set against elaborate wallpaper in shades of phthalo green. He turned his attention towards the jazz band, where a singer had joined the musicians for the next number.

Grian found himself staring in shock, for the man was utterly entrancing. He was fairly tall and willowy, with rather long, silky hair the colour of aquamarine and sharply defined eyes in an identical hue. With sharply pointed ears and pale, seashell skin, he struck Grian as some sort of elf. He was dressed with simple elegance in a loose, gossamer shirt of pale blue, and high-waisted corset pants. His voice was soft and sirenesque, with a Scottish lilt to it.

“Careful,” Scar chastised, a knowing smirk on his face, “that’s a good way to die horribly.”

Grian looked away in surprise. “What?”

“He’s a each-uisge.” (Scar pronounced this term with the great pride and concentration of one who has had to practice,) “The only one I’ve ever met.”

Grian couldn’t help the twinge of embarrassment at having no clue what a each-uisge (which sounded to him more like a sneeze than a word) was. Scar seemed to pick up on his confusion and seemed pleased at the chance to elucidate. “Kinda like an incubus, kinda like a kelpie. They’re a type of fairy that can turn into a water-horse. Not the nice kind though, the drag-you-to-the-bottom-of-a-lake-and-rip-you-to-shreds kind. Interesting guy, just not the best lover,” he laughed, and Grian had to keep himself from shuddering. He began to take mental notes, intent on building profiles.

“Charming,” he replied wryly, “I assume you’ve spoken then?”

“Oh, yes, a few times. His name is Scott. He told me the only way to recognise his kind is because they often have waterweeds caught in their hair, so he has to be careful to keep it clean.”

“Waterweeds, huh?” The largest body of water nearby was the Hermiton Canal, and he imagined one would be more likely to bring wet newspaper or slimy algae up with them. “Fancy that,”

Grian sipped his drink, then changed the subject: “Do you know who owns this place? I’m curious as to who might have the means for such an establishment.” The second part was added in a hurry to make his question less interrogative, but Scar didn’t appear to be bothered. Grian was starting to notice Scar’s uncanny ability to appear completely friendly and unperturbed no matter what, a demeanour he found unsettling.

“Of course! Couple of wonderful gentlemen, Doc and Ren. RenDoc. Or DocRen - which, fun fact, is a slant rhyme for coc-“

He did not get to finish his quip.

“Will you stop telling people that? It does not make a good first impression for either of us,” a new voice growled with playful annoyance, the heavy German accent surprising Grian until the sight of it’s owner usurped that concern.

The creature would’ve been easily defined as a creeper-hybrid, had it not been for the goat horns spiralling from his temples and parting his slick black hair. Half of its face was roughly human but for the characteristic jagged facial orifices of a creeper, while an uneven line drawn from one cheek to the forehead marked the edges of a metal reconstruction. One eye was emptily black, with only a pinprick of pale light suggesting a pupil, while the other glowed red under eyelids of black silicone. In stature, he was clearly broad and well muscled even under his tuxedo, while his face was prominent in jaw, nose, and brow. His skin was poisonously green, and his mouth stretched too far into each cheek, just above a short, well-kept black beard.

“Well, speak of the devil!” Scar looked up with a cheerful grin, evidently unconcerned that he was being addressed by a terrifying abomination of science who might very well have been the Devil, “Hello there, Doc!”

“Good to see you, my friend,” replied the newcomer warmly, drawing a chair for himself before holding a - cybernetic - hand out to Grian. Grian took it, prepared for cold metal and surprised by the warm silicone pads of the hand. He introduced himself (or rather, ‘Adrien’) again.

“Good to meet you, Adrien. How did word of the Eighth Circle find you?”

Grian assumed this was the name of the establishment. “Tango,” he answered, thinking quickly, “a friend of mine.” To his relief, Doc smiled with recognition.

“Oh, that so? Tango is a regular here. Spends half his time selling enderman bones and strider eggs to Joel.” He nodded in the direction of a man who sat alone, a hood drawn over his head, the dark hair that protruded split by a forelock of green, rain-soaked over wary eyes.

“He’s a human?” Grian probed, curious at the evident exception.

“Yeah, but he’s an alchemist. When you talk to criminals you’re bound to find non-humans too, and we’d all be strung up together if anyone found out, so…” Scar’s face fell into a lazy, lopsided grin and he shrugged, “The more the merrier.”

It wasn’t as though alchemy was strictly illegal, but it was heavily ostracised by residents of New Hermiton. For as long as the city had stood, it’s tangled streets had been riddled by monsters and nonhumans, and it’s residents had learnt to harbour virulent distrust of anything even faintly supernatural. Alchemy - the practice of crooked or occult experimentation - was, unsurprisingly, faced with the same anger and fear. It was most likely that to the outside world, Joel was an apothecary - a far more suitable profession that while tolerated by the public (though not welcomed gladly, which usually suited those involved perfectly well) that both funded his unsavoury and illegal under-the-table purchases and was based in similar learning. At that moment, Joel’s eyes met his with a challenging glare, and he contorted his face into an expression which bore a striking resemblance to an illustration Grian had once seen of a yawning green tree python. With a polite nod, he averted his gaze.

Doc stood rather suddenly. “I want to get a drink,” he announced, “Come.”

“I’m about ready for a second!” Scar acquiesced cheerfully. Having nothing better to do, Grian followed suit.

“What’s the deal with Etho?” He asked Scar, catching sight of the pale hair as they walked.

“The deal?”

“I mean … he looks … um, normal.”

Scar chuckled, and Grian glimpsed with intrigue that the inky-purple colour of his mouth. “Oh! Dunno, really. Some kind of shapeshifter. Which is really convenient for him. But he’s always white or grey and has his eyes, so it’s not perfect camouflage.” With great enthusiasm he added, “He makes the cutest cat, but he never lets me snuggle him - can you believe it? It’s the greatest miscarriage of justice.”

Grian snorted with laughter despite himself. They reached the bar and Grian leant his back against it as Doc waved for Etho’s attention.

Scar’s mention of a cat had jogged something in his mind, though. The image of the rain-soaked alley outside the cafe window came to his mind, and the pale grey cat he’d watched catch a pigeon. How long had that cat been there? Why that alley? Had it been watching him? And more importantly, had it been Etho or simply a stray cat? He hadn’t seen the cats eyes; he’d remember. He began to feel uneasiness drawing soft claws through his skin. Etho’s hair had been wet when he’d first seen him.

He looked over the room, determined to remain as nonchalant as any other visitor. It didn’t help, particularly, though there were plenty of peculiarities to focus on. Two fauns sat at a table, absorbed in the singer’s performance. One was a ram, with soft golden hair that gave him a youthfully windswept look, and a lab coat draped over the back of his chair. His ears, legs, tail were like that of a creamy-brown sheep. The other was a red deer, whose braid of copper hair was carefully parted around her small antlers and fell down her back past her tail. At a more secluded table sat a lone man who stared tragically into his old-fashioned glass, the bottle waiting patiently beside him like a consoling friend. He - like Grian - was at least part harpy, though he didn’t look pleased about it. His small, buttery yellow wings were ruffled with lack of care, his dirty-blonde hair equally unkempt.

“Adrien!” Scar waved a drink in front of his face, “Doc’s paying! It’s tasty.”

Grian suddenly regretted not watching whatever it was being made, because the cloudy red tint of the drink made him question the contents.

Scar sampled his own, uttering a gentle sigh of delight. “C’mon, now - it’s an Etho original. Don’t hurt his feelings!”

“I’m … good,” Grian replied lightly. I’m not drinking that filth; leave me alone!

“Come now,” Doc rumbled sweetly, “can’t drink on the job?”

[boyslit]

hehe it's #ficwip's word game Wednesday :3

got some snips 👇 all HSR, various ships, assume M rating for everything

i should have tagged @littlekiara96 for the snip from "Bartender's Delight" lol :3c

hot dragon young.wip

There was still plenty of time to meet up with the others for a late-night post-fight snack.

Caelus sat a bit tenderly on the seat instead of flopping down carelessly as usual. March grinned at him and passed a menu over.

Dan Heng looked up from his own menu to ask, "Are you alright?"

"Yeah. Peachy." Caelus stared down at the menu to decide on his celebratory dessert. Most of the desserts in Belobog were warm and hearty, like bread puddings and warm cobblers. But there were a few offerings of ice-cream like desserts that caught his gaze.

March squinted at him over her windberry shortcake. "You didn't go see Natasha after the fight, did you?"

Caelus shrugged. "I wasn't that beat up."

"But you were limping—" She frowned when Dann Heng shook his head at her. "What? Sorry I care about my friend, yeesh!"

Caelus put another spoon full of ice cream into his face and tried to will the heat in his cheeks to go away. "Anyway, what were you guys up to?"

Bartender's Delight.wip (Rara knows what this is :3c)

He laughs, almost in a self-deprecating way. "About me? I'm sure there's a lot more interesting topics just in the Golden Hour."

"Hmm, I doubt that," you said, letting your eyes trail down from his heavy jaw to his thick shoulders, and down his muscular arm to the scarred forearms under his rolled-up sleeves. "Besides, I was thinking you look like you could use some refreshment yourself, barkeep~"

His eyebrows perked up with interest, and a tiny smile tugged at his cheek. "I'm not sure what you could have in mind, that Felicitous Warmth you've got isn't half as good when it cools off."

You grinned. "Nothing that fancy, I'm afraid, but I think you'll still like it. We should probably partake in your office, though, for privacy."

Everything clicked into place, and his warm, intrigued smile made the corners of his whiskey-brown eyes crinkle. "I guess I could use a break, anyway."

homopathic medicine.wip

Hazy memories of strong, warm arms catching him before he hit the ground came back to him as he pondered the day's events. He frowned, frustrated at the little bit of excitement bubbling up at the thought. Yeah sure, fainting and being caught by someone was romantic and all but he was not going to have feelings for Sampo Koski just because the guy prevented him from concussing himself on the pavement. He was going to be sensible and have a nap like the doctor ordered, or … at least lie here with his eyes closed for a while.

a Sunday kind of Love.wip (the 20s au)

The excitement lasted all the way up until he saw Sam leaning against the paint-chipped door to an old truck, with a lazy grin and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He leered at Luka from underneath the brim of a patched old newsie cap, looking for all the world like an alley ambusher spotting his next mark. It made something dark and warm curl around Luka's spine.

"Theeeeeere's our little star! I was wondering when you'd show up!"

Luka scoffed, rolling his eyes to break his gaze from the way Sam's shoulders rolled as he pushed himself off the truck door. "I know I'm not late, I left twenty minutes early. Don't you have a watch or something, fancy pants?

Sam pulled a pocket watch from his vest pocket and made an exaggerated face of suprise. "Well…how do ya like that?! You are early! I must've just missed you so much that waiting felt like an eternity," he said dramatically, gesturing widely with an arm towards where Luka had been standing. He opened his eyes and blinked at the empty patch of pavement.

DanNelo bits.wip (fan region au canonXoc)

Marinelo's eyes, warm despite their icy blue color, held his gaze as he reached forward and lifted Dan Heng's chin. Their lips pressed together softly, and Dan Heng let his eyes close, trying to savor the sensation. It was over far too soon; a chaste kiss, and the rose-scented night air rising to cool Marinelo's warmth from his skin.

The Lieutenant chuckled faintly. "Expecting a bit more, were you?" It didn't sound mocking, though. He almost sounded guilty.

Dan Heng licked his lips and glanced away. "...a bit," he said hesitantly. In truth, he wasn't sure how much he'd expected, or even wanted, but he knew if Marinelo wanted to kiss him in the garden all night, he wouldn't object.

"An apology, then." Dan Heng leaned his cheek into the palm that held him and closed his eyes as Marinelo leaned in to kiss him again, twice, longer this time but still hesitant. A third kiss found its home warmly on his forehead. "Forgive me," Marinelo whispered, holding him close. Dan Heng leaned his head against the finely-tailored shirt, listening to Marinelo's heart thudding just as hard as his own.

[pepsi1]

Frita yammers on ignoring the stares from the curious patrons at the Legend's Hollow Tavern. Most of what she had said sounded like gibberish and nonsense to everyone but the barkeep who kept serving her drinks on the house to continue her story. Seemingly enchanted with it.

Frita, deliberate and slow with her words to avoid the alcohol slurring them together asks for a nonalcoholic drink. Her eyes burst with flame at the question asked to her when it just so happens this tavern does not carry Coca-Cola.

Angrily she speaks.

F: Is Pepsi Ok? IS PEPSI OK? DON'T YOU DARE FUCKING SAY THAT BASTARD'S NAME NEAR ME. NO THE FUCK HE'S NOT...

She continues into a tirade of judging and belittling every flaw of her brother, downing shot after shot of whiskey and seemingly her anger is slowly replaced with sadness. Anyone who walks into the tavern now would hear her sobbing through her true feelings but barely understandable. Even still, her words carry malice in them. The barkeep no longer enchanted but rather uncomfortable at his inability to stop serving her.

F: Imsposed t'be 'is oldr sis *hic* ter... m' pa'nts *hic* 'usted me t' pr'tect 'im... 'nstead I I I I broke broke.... 'e waz 'ust a child 'at I orchurred... Sum 'uckin' 'ig sis I wuz.

The other patrons yell at the barkeep to cut her off and stop handing her drinks. If they caught his gaze they would see fear in his eyes as he can't refuse her call for another drink. Only one patron remains uninterested in her drunk stupoor, instead writing in a book with a rather metallic hand. But the rest of their appearance suggests normal human features. The book closes and it's title revealed only to Frita, who yells at the owner of it, and the spell over the barkeep lifts.

F: Hey! S'trbrn bstrd. Hither 'ere. 'uck! FUCK FUCK FUCK. I WANT T' TALK

She continues calling out and being ignored. And she reluctantly casts a spell to sober herself up.

F: FUCKING BASTARD WITH THE PROSTHETIC!

That patron is long gone now as her vision starts to clear, her eyes falling towards the entrance to see who was enthralled with the commotion she began.

F: I finally find a way to drink myself to near death and that bastard had to ruin it with his tome. Piece of shit... uhh, what all did I say? I'm starting to blank... I hope that's just the drinking.

(Do you tell her the truth, lie to her, or scold her? This fox made of magic will likely respond in anger with whatever you do but that's just how she's gonna be for the time being.)

[skvatnavle]

Mistakes and Forgiveness

Rhett Abbott x Abigail Miller

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, poor self image, kissing, fluff, SMUT! handjob (m receiving).

Notes: Thank you to @a-reader-and-a-writer for helping me with the plot and always being so supportive and @hederasgarden for a great talk, support and beta reading.

Words: 2.3K

Series masterlist

Perry is quiet all the way home, not answering any of Rhett’s questions. Rhett can’t help but wonder if he’s to blame for the problems with the Tillersons. Been in a fight with Trevor once or twice, Perry had a knack for always blaming the problems on him. Sure, neither of the two families were particularly happy about the other, but the hate between Trevor and Rhett ran deep.

When they arrive home, Perry quietly walks to the house and right as Rhett reaches him, he could swear that Perry almost looks sad. Now more worried than ever, Rhett sits down at the table opposite his father, taking his hat off before placing it on the table.

“What’s wrong, Pa?” 

Royal doesn’t look up right away, just stares into his glass, swirling the whiskey around before he downs it all in one sip. “I have something to tell you, boy, and you’re not gonna like it.” He says, before raising his gaze to meet Rhett’s.

“Wayne Tillerson just informed me that Trevor is to be wedded into a wealthy family.”

Frowning, Rhett doesn’t quite understand what that has to do with them. The only thing going through his mind is whoever the poor girl might be getting hitched to a Tillerson. “But… Why is that important?”

“Dammit, Rhett! Are you stupid?” Royal shouts, before composing himself. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he lets out a heavy sigh, before looking at Rhett again. 

“You know they want our land. If that intended betrothal goes through, the Tillerson’s will have quite the fortune at their disposal. Enough to pay off our debts and take over the deed to our farm.”

Rhett falls back into his chair, not really knowing what to say or think. They had to stop this somehow. They can’t just lose the farm like this, especially not to the Tillersons. That’s when Rhett notices how all eyes are on him. How they all stare at him with gloomy eyes. 

“Wait. Who’s the girl?”

Never before had he ridden his horse this fast and hard. Only a faint murmur in the background, he can hardly hear Perry anymore. He’s riding behind him, trying to stop him, so Rhett just pushes Peaches harder. Soon the town comes into view and as he turns down the main road, he nearly rides into deputy Mark. He just rides on, the roars of Mark filling the air. 

When he finally finds you, it’s too late. Standing at the station, you’re engaged in a conversation with a woman that can only be your mother. And to Rhett’s horror, your father is shaking hands with Trevor Tillerson. 

It’s like all the air is punched out of him and for a minute he can’t breathe. He just watches in horror as Trevor takes your hand in his, placing a soft kiss on the back of your hand, just like Rhett did mere hours ago.

You break into a smile as you give a small curtsy to Trevor, your hand still in his as you walk with him away from the station. Fighting the bile building in his throat, Rhett has to look away. It can’t be, it simply can’t.

Finally caught up with Rhett, Perry brings his horse to a halt just in time to see you walking away with your parents and Trevor. Putting a hand on Rhett’s shoulder, Perry tries to comfort his little brother, knowing full well nothing he could say would help.

“Come on, Rhett. Let’s go home.”

Rhett pulls away from Perry’s hold, turning towards the saloon. He needs a drink, needs something to make him forget what he’s just seen. Jumping off his horse, he walks up the stairs to the saloon, pushing the swinging doors open with such force that every person turns to look at him. Trotting after him, Perry offers a small apology before joining Rhett at the bar.

Placing his hat on the bar, Perry gestures for the barkeep to bring the whiskey over. Next to him Rhett sniffles, his eyes fixedont the bar. When the first glass is poured, he downs it in one go. The next one follows quickly and before an hour has gone, Rhett and Perry are already drunk.

“I was never good enough for her, was I?” Rhett asks sadly, pouring more whiskey into his glass, spilling golden drops onto the wooden surface. 

Before Perry can answer, Rhett sucks his teeth, looking at him. “I was only kidding myself. I’ll never be good enough for anyone.”

A pair of slender arms wrap around Rhett, delicate fingers dancing over his chest. Daisy leans in, giving him a kiss on the cheek before flashing her brightest smile.

“You know you’ve always been good enough for me, Rhett.”

“Be gone, Daisy.” Perry hisses through his teeth, batting her away. She just pouts, giving off a little sigh as she walks away. Rhett turns and looks after her, a new wave of sorrow washing over him. Is this his life now? No other woman wants him and the one he had set his eyes on, is beyond his reach. So for now, he drowns his sorrows with Perry at his side.

Until the early hours of the evening, he downs more whiskey than any man should be able to handle. Perry is snoring next to him, passed out over the bar. Rhett just chuckles, downing another shot.

“‘ey John? Johnny? A-another.” he hiccups, swaying in his seat. But John just gently removes the glass, telling Rhett it’s time to go. Bastard. Grabbing his hat, Rhett stands and staggers towards the door. Once out on the porch, he inhales the fresh evening air.

A pair of familiar arms wrap around him once more as Daisy places soft kisses on his cheek. Rhett stops her hand, but she just smiles as she leans in closer to him.

“Come on, Rhett. Please…” she purrs into his ear, her hands roaming his chest, “You know I can make you feel good. Make you forget all about little Miss Miller.”

He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t, but if can’t have you, maybe he’ll have to settle for Daisy. Anything is better than the despair he’s feeling. He turns around and looks at Daisy, her fake smile wide as she speaks to him, pretending to be in love with him when really all she’s in love with is his money. He doesn’t listen to her words, he doesn’t care anymore.

Crashing his lips to Daisy’s, Rhett pushes her against the wall of the saloon. She breaks away, only to drag him into the alley between the saloon and the neighboring house, claiming his lips once more. She kisses him with vigor, moaning against his lips, yet Rhett barely responds to her touch. He doesn’t want her, but she’s here and she can help him dull the ache in his heart.

He wonders what it would be like if it were you in his arms, you pinned between him and the wall. How his lips would dance over the soft skin of your neck, pulling the sweetest whimpers from you. His lips on yours as he tears open your dress, feeling that soft skin no one else has felt. His mouth would find the swell of your breasts, his tongue playing with your sensitive buds as his fingers find their way under your dress, slipping into your wet heat.

His cock hardens as he sees you in his mind, pretending the feverish touches from Daisy is you. He knows he’s kidding himself, that you’ll never touch him like this, but as Daisy’s hand cups his hard length he imagines her hand is yours. 

Daisy makes quick work of his belt and pants, opening them just enough for her to pull out his weeping cock. Rhett groans as she begins working his length, out of pleasure or frustration, he doesn’t know. It’s not you, he thinks as he thrusts into Daisy’s hand, his heart aching. He knows he’ll regret this, but a moment with Daisy is better than feeling lonely.

“Oh Lord…”

Barely breaking away from Daisy, he looks towards the street, ready to tell whoever interrupted them to piss off, but his blood runs cold when he sees you. Standing there in the faint glow from the lights of the saloon, your face is twisted in horror as you take in the sight before you. Stepping away from Daisy, Rhett fumbles with his pants as he walks towards you on unsteady feet.

“Miss Miller, I…” he tries desperately when you take a step backwards. He finally manages to close the last button and waddles towards you, his drunk state making it hard to walk straight. But he manages to catch you by the wrist, stopping you.

“Get your hands off of me, Rhett Abbott!” you hiss, your voice almost breaking. Rhett can see the tears in your eyes and if his heart wasn’t on the verge of breaking before, it certainly is now.

“Please, Miss Miller. Just… listen to me.”

“There are no words that can explain this, Mr. Abbott.” You manage to sob out, before running around the corner. When Rhett moves to run after you, he sees Trevor Tillerson standing at the corner with a huge smirk on his face. 

“I knew I could count on you to screw this up yourself.” He grins, before walking away, joining his brothers at the saloon. You are already gone. 

The ride to your house the next day is the longest and hardest Rhett has ever had. He’s not even sure what to say when he reaches you, but he’s gotta at least try to make things right. He can’t lose you before he’s even had the chance to have you.

As your little house comes into view, he sees you sitting on the front porch, book in hand. Images of how he could sit there beside you, having you teach him how to read flashes before his eyes. How you would read to him and in time, maybe him to you. Have you lay there, head in his lap as he would run his fingers through your hair.

When he comes closer, you look up and your bright smile gives away to a frown. Before you can run inside, Rhett jumps off his horse and closes the distance.

“Please, Miss Miller. If I could just-”

“What, Mr. Abbott?!” you pause, looking at him with eyes that make his heart break. He sees how deeply he hurt you as your eyes fill with tears. “I’m not interested in anything you could have to say.”

“I’m in love with you, Miss Miller.” he whispers, his voice fragile.

You stop, your breath hitching in your throat. Turning back to him, Rhett knows it’s now or never. You may belong to another man, but maybe your heart was still his to win?

“If you love me, why were you with… her?”

“When I saw you with Trevor… My heart broke.” He says softly, closing the distance between the two of you. “I thought the only woman I’ve ever felt anything for was gone.”

Stopping mere inches away from you, he looks down into your eyes hoping you can see the sincerity in his eyes. How much he regrets breaking your faith in him. Your heart. 

“I was drunk and stupid.”

“Something that’s a regular occurence, if I’m to believe the talk around town.” You bite at him. Your words are nothing he hasn't heard before, but they still sting. But he deserves that.

“That’s true. A drunk that has slept with every willing woman in town and has had his fair share of fist fights.” He counters. You move to go, but he stops you, a gentle hold around your wrist. His thumb rubs soothing circles on your soft skin, more to soothe him than you. “But that was all before you.”

Walking closer, his broad body cages you in, pining you to the wall. Rhett knows it’s a bold move, but this might be his only chance to make you listen.

“I know I’m not good enough for you, but I want you. Now and always. But if your heart hasn't made the same choice, tell me now so I won’t live in the misery of not knowing.”

Leaning his arm against the wall, he brings his face closer to you, lips so close to yours. He aches to taste you, to feel the softness of your lips. His eyes find yours, begging for an answer.

“I think I’ve loved you from the moment I first looked into those deep blue eyes.” you whisper softly.

Rhett cups your cheek, looking deeply into your beautiful eyes like he can see into your soul. Rhett closes the distance, his lips finally meeting yours. For a second, it’s like time stands still. All that exists are your lips against his. Your soft, plumb lips he could kiss for the rest of his days.

Breaking away for air, you give Rhett a smile so soft his heart skips a beat. Right then, he knows he wants to look at that smile forever. He leans forward, capturing your lips once more. It starts off slow and sweet, but soon turns more hungry. Needy. Weeks of want poured into the kiss, as Rhett pulls you even closer, deepening the kiss further. 

A small whimper leaves you, causing Rhett to groan in response. His body is already aching for you, wanting you more than any woman ever before. He wants to give in, to take you right here against the wall. Feel your warm heat around his cock. 

But he stops himself, knowing he’ll have to prove he’s changed. That you’re not like everyone else. He breaks away, but only a few inches, his hot breath ghosting over your lips. Rhett looks into your eyes, his heart pounding harder than ever before.

“I may not have much, but I'll give you everything I’ve got… Just give me a chance”

Thank you so much for reading <3

Tagging: @loverhymeswith @a-reader-and-a-writer @wildbornsiren @milestellussy @fictionalhaven @andshivroytoo @green-socks @yespolkadotkitty @callsign-phoenix @hederasgarden @crazy-bi-btch @mayhem24-7forever @lorecraft @blessupblessup @straightforwardly @mulansaucey @tooflef @blue-aconite @airplaneanon @priceof-freedom @weasleywinchester @weakling-grace @luckyladycreator2 @hoe-on-the-range @lluckpng @blackwidownat2814

[x3kristax3]

For All Of Time - The Perfect Life Together - 1600s England

A/N: I want thank @paigenoelchas-blog for starting this collaboration. If your interested in joining in please message her. This is a different write for me from normal but I'm totally in love with it and cant wait see what everyonr else write. Story start here

As Jake's voice fades away from me, I see a street. No real details are sticking out until I see a man. I instantly smile and everything comes into vision. There's an old cobblestone street with lots of people walking around. The man is walking into a bar and this feels like it's a distant memory as I just see his back. He turns around and I see his face. He reaches his hands out for me and I walk towards him. 

As I reach him I see the blonde hair and green eyes and as my hand reaches for him I see an engagement ring on my hand.  He pulls me close as we walk into a bar. You can smell the cigar smoke and everything goes hazy again. Then I see a man's face, he's different from the rest. He is tall with black hair and those blue eyes you can get lost in. He walks up to both of us and in a deep voice congratulations us on the engagement.

I look down and my focus is on the ring on my left hand again but I still hear his voice clear as day "you are the luckiest man in the world to win Madeline's heart and get to marry her, Robert" he says.

"I sure am, you have no Idea how many lads have tried to steal her from me" Robert says.

"Hold her tight because someone just might one day" the mystery man says.

"You're right Jacob, but that's why I proposed to her finally" Robert says.

I walk away and up to the bar for a drink. The barkeep keeps helping other men that walk up but ignoring me.

"What can I order you M?" I hear Jacob ask.

"Whiskey neat" I say blushing.

"No blushing, we've been friends forever. I should have known that answer based on your facial expressions." He says with a smile.

He gets the barkeep's attention and orders two whiskey neats. 

"You're the only woman to stick around me long enough and enjoy your drinks the same as me. You are not allowed to go run off with him. I still need you around even after the wedding. You hear me?" He says with a humorous tone.

I lean into him and whisper in his ear "maybe I want to run off with you. You're the only one who hasn't tried to steal me away from him", I say as the drinks come to us and I grab one.

He gently grabs my hand "Don't say that. You know he's good for you and your family unlike me. I cause trouble with every girl" he says, staring into my eyes.

I lose all fight against him "you never tried with me" I manage to get the courage to say as I walk away. 

This time he grabs my wrist and pulls me into the back of the bar through some doors and pins me against the wall. 

"You never gave me the chance. Why now? When you're engaged do you say this?" He says staring into my eyes.

I feel my body melt, "it never lined up and you never hinted at wanting more than friendship with me." I say staring back into my eyes as he leans forward and kisses me gently.

He pulls away but just inches from my face. "Be thankful I'm one of the few people he trusts alone with you." He says in that smile.

After that kiss, I'm unable to speak. There are butterflies in my stomach and my heart feels like it's in my throat. I look into his eyes and close the gap between our lips again. This time he grabs the back of my neck to pull me even closer to him as we kiss passionately.

We finally break away to catch our breath. "I need to end things with him, he's not my forever" I say looking into his eyes.

"He's gonna fight for you," he says.

"I know but it's not right to lead him on. When every ounce of my body feels on fire when your this close to me."

He moves away and I walk away from him out to the bar where I find Robert. All of a sudden I'm forced to walk through a door that wasn't there with Jacob. I slowly turn the doorknob unsure of where it is going to lead. As I open the door it's a peaceful field and take a few steps through and I'm rush with all these memories.

That first kiss with Jacob plays in my mind when were at the bar. Everything starts moving so fast but all happy emotions. The canceling of the engagement with Robert, the first date with Jacob. I see us building a life together like I'm someone watching someone else's life. I see the hardships and our first fight where we questioned if we could really make this work. I see the moment he proposed to me and our wedding and a tear escapes my eyes. I see the love that we built and growing a family. I see us growing old together and I cant help but smile.

I slowly start to hear Jakes voice again still talking about childhood memories as he holds my hand. I want nothing more then this moment to squeeze his hand but i try and Im unable too. I feel myself drift back off just wishing I could stay awake and open my eyes and see his face.

[aztecbrujeria]

James Bonde (Moriarty the Patriot) x OC Intro

*Introducing my MTP OC: Magdalena Caballero-Calixto, Mexican American Bandida on the run from both countries; having been in Poncho Villa’s band of outlaws. A true Outlaw who landed in London as a haven, who stays with the Gypsie's and works in the underground canals for them. Sharpshooter with any gun, gives Sebastian Moran a run for his money when she’s faster than Billy the Kid, excellent skills in hand-to-hand combat, and excellent in using her sexuality for intel. James has run into her many times and worked once before the Moriarty brother’s. Pansexual, polyamorous, independent, woman. *

Characters: James Bonde

SFW/NSFW Warning: M/F, Shooting, Violence, mentions of death, some implied racism against OC, Kissing...I think that’s it 

 Word Count: 1.2K

Chapter One: Across the Pond

She was crouched behind a drum of whiskey, she could feel the cold fog against her copper skin from the canals, “Mierda! This was supposed to be an easy exchange, pinché cabróns!” Magdalena screamed at the Irishmen and Scotsman that were shooting back at the assailant. They could only keep the return fire at bay, “Cover me!” Magdalena stood up and ran towards the firing shots. She felt the bullets whiz by her, bobbing and weaving behind crates and drums, she was close enough to see an opening finally. As the return fire stalled, from reloads she thought to herself, she brushed her hat off letting it hang around her throat as she stood and walked into the open, “Oye! Okay, okay, you got me...Soló soy una mujer...I am, but a woman, I can’t possibly be that good of a shot.” Feigning innocence she waited until two men popped out from their cover, she smiled wickedly at them, “Gotcha!” Faster than Billy the Kid she drew her two pistols on her hips and hit them square in the head. When she heard the heavy bodies drop like flies, she reholstered her pistols and began to walk toward the assailants.

The only sound echoing off the cobblestone and mortar from the canal was her spurs and rubbing of the leather chaps she wore. When she saw the victims of her wicked accuracy, she signaled for the two gypsies it was clear, “Oi! Get the goods, hurry before La Doña notices we’ve been gone too long and comes for us!” Once the boat was loaded and she bid the boys adieu she took her earned pocket and walked toward the seedier part of the city so she could get a drink. When she reached the pub, she entered and immediately got looks from the men, “Oi! Who let this feather in!” Magdalena tipped her hat up, she stood at five feet, wearing a duster, a vest over her white cotton shirt hugged her exactly right, bound breasts, pants held up with a large belt with leather chaps, and hip holsters. She realized she stood out in London, especially underground, but she didn’t care she was on the run from the American and Mexican governments. She gave the room a deadly glare and moved her duster behind her pistols so they could see she was serious, “I’m here to drink, puto, I’m not here to start trouble.” She walked, spurs echoing off the room, towards the bar, “I’ll take a whiskey and some of your bread.” She reached into her vest and pulled out the money, making sure to leave extra, “I canna give ya a clean glass lass, we dinna do that fer feathers.” She smiled sweetly at the barkeep, “Fine...Give me a damned glass of whiskey, double then, and bread.” The room stayed silent as the barkeep poured her whiskey in a dirty glass and gave her a chunk of dried bread. Once she received her glass and meal, she headed to the secluded seat in the back away from the crowd. 

She took her duster and hat off, men eyed her exotic looks, as her thick braids fell forward and framed her high cheekbones, “A feather huh?” She just ignored the man trying to make conversation, “You’re a long way from home I’d say.” If only you knew...to damned wet here...not enough space... “Yo soy Mexicana...Debría estar de vuelta en mi país, pero...I’m here now...Qué quieres?” She constantly went back and forth between the two languages so she could avoid unwanted attention. The man behind her got up to stand in front of her when she saw who it was. She looked at him in a perfectly tailored suit and slicked back hair knowing she’d see him again. She immediately smiled wide, continuing to drink her whiskey, “Ay, Jaime, I haven’t seen you in sometime...What are you doing here?” Magdalena set her glass down and motioned for the blonde-haired man to sit across from her. “Malena, it’s so nice to see you, still know how to enter an establishment I see...Ever the true outlaw.” She smiled and looked at the man with hungry chocolate eyes, “Yo recuerdo la última vez que te vi, te fuiste primero.” She knew James understood her and didn’t want to switch and only thought of how the man before her had made her cry his name, “But, I digress, what do you need Jaime?” He reached across the table and took her small hand, “Malena, my current boss, Mr. Moriarty would like to bring you on to the team.” Her eyes widened, she knew that name, “Jaime, did you forget last time, I have the bullet scar to prove I paid my way en sangre.” He brought her hand up and kissed the back of her hand, rubbing circles into her dark skin, “You know, they don’t like to see a white man with a feather, though I am not one, es muy peligroso.” This didn’t stop Magdalena from reaching for her whiskey glass and letting him continue with touching her, “James...what’s the pay? You know my price, now that I know who it is... When do I meet with Mr. Moriarty?” James smiled against her skin and inhaled the scent of leather and gunpowder before chuckling softly.

“I knew you wouldn’t say no... Do you have somewhere to stay tonight?” Magdalena thought hard for a moment, finishing her whiskey, “No I don’t just with my usual, the gypsies have talked about getting me a caravan of my own, but until then... No, I usually find a warm space.” James looked up into her eyes knowing full well it was with another woman or man, “You’ll come with me then, you can get a hot bath, and sleep in my bed, maybe some clean clothes.” Magdalena sat back into her chair while popping the last bit of stale bread into her mouth, “You got comida?” Earning a laugh from the man in front of her, “Yeah, I’ve got plenty...We’re actually staying with the Moriarty’s, so you’ll see them in the morning...they’ve been expecting you.” Magdalena sat forward as she reached for her duster and hat, standing in front of the man, “What are you waiting for? Vamos.” She took James’ chin in her hand to take his lips with her own, sliding her tongue across the softness of him, earning entrance into his mouth letting him taste the whiskey on her tongue. She opened her deadly eyes towards the patrons of the pub, tongues and teeth still mashing together, and smiled against his lips seeing the disdain from the men in the seedy place. She broke the kiss, still holding onto his chin, “We’ve got an audience.” She put her hat on and walked toward the door into the alley with James following behind. 

[jiminsfault]

Baby, I…

— pairing: Dad!Taehyung x reader

— genre: Idolverse, 18+ / fluff, smut, angst, we’ve got it all babey!

— word count: 19.8k

— summary: a one night stand with a stranger leads to so much more than just great sex

— warnings: alcohol abuse, sex under the influence (they’re both sober enough to consent!), daddy kink, safe sex, oral (f & m receiving), multiple orgasms, big dick tae, impregnation, lots of hormones, soft dom tae, nipple play, (slight) name calling, cum swallowing, accusations of manipulation, pregnancy sex, body worship, domestic tae, idiot tae, multiple smut scenes, insecurities, mentions of birth, pain related to birth

— this is my fic for the fwl valentines project, The Luv Library!

masterlist

After graduating from Seoul University, the partying didn’t come to an end until late summer. You and your best friend, Desiree, celebrated in the loudest and wildest clubs of the city for weeks on end. Tonight, for a change, you decided on a more laid back, sexy and high-class club.

It was one of your favorites, only appropriately clothed people were allowed in, the light was dim and the people were all looking at you with hungry eyes. You felt as sexy as never before, the bouncer already checking you out when you weren’t even inside the club, the barkeeper flirting with you and multiple men and women dancing up on you. 

Nobody really lived up to your expectations, though. Until you felt a heavy gaze lingering on your dancing figure. He’d been looking at you more or less the whole night, hands loose around his whiskey glass and legs spread widely, oozing dominance and sex appeal. 

Your friend had already decided to disappear with a mysterious man who snatched her up right after you assured her you’d be fine on your own. She gladly took the offer and hasn’t showed up since. 

You felt the urge to invite the man, his face barely visible behind the shadow his fluffy, curly hair threw, only more prominent because of the lack of light. Fixating his eyes, you slowly made to disappear in the dancing crowd, hoping his interest in you was big enough for him to take initiative. 

He didn’t disappoint. Smugly pressing his front to your backside, his hands holding your waist and your stomach, he whispered into your ear, “hiding from me?”

Hearing the glint in his voice, you pushed against him and purred, “wanted to see if you’d come catch me, handsome.” 

You didn’t really know if he was actually handsome, you could only assume. His aura was appealing to you, that’s what was pulling you in despite not seeing his face properly. His gravelly voice groaned when you moved your hips with the music and simultaneously grinded into him. A bulge was already obvious, seemingly big and your mouth started to water up a bit at the thought of finally getting good dick. 

The bit of alcohol you drank throughout the evening helped you be confident as you turned around and when his lips greeted you immediately, you gasped. 

He tasted of the whiskey he was drinking, intoxicatingly good and his lips were warm and soft. You almost wouldn’t have parted from him, if it wasn’t for someone lightly tapping your shoulder. 

Whirling around, you discovered Desiree, the man she slipped away with earlier behind her. Your companion decided to kiss up your neck and nip at your earlobe, making you almost moan as you asked, “what’s up?”

The airy tone of your voice was no surprise with the arousal you felt collecting in your underwear but it still made your friend and the man, whose hands were all over you, chuckle. 

“Wanted to tell you that I’m heading out, but I’m seeing you won’t be missing me much, eh?” She grinned with mischief, making you smile and nod as approval. You waved, your short circulated brain wouldn’t allow you much more. 

As Desiree disappeared with her lover once again, your attention went back to the devil at your hands, who’s captivating your lips once again. Pulling apart for a moment, forehead against your own, he pushed you into his groin and growled out, “gotta take you home, pretty. Make you mine, if you want to?” 

The suggestion was delicious and you nodded quickly. 

The ride in his car was a blur, you don’t remember much except that he’s probably loaded, considering the fact that he drove a red Lotus and asked a man in front of the club to “go fetch his car.”

It turned out that your assumption was correct, about him being rich. His apartment was very high up, which meant for a long lift ride and a long make out session with his hands sliding up the back of your dress teasingly slow. Once arrived in the apartment, your mouth went flying open. 

It was huge, minimalistic furniture and decorations making it look even more spacious. There was a large window stretching across a curved wall, displaying the city skyline at night with its beautiful lights. You were struck in awe, not paying attention to the insistent kisses and touches from the mysterious man behind you. 

Realizing that you don’t even know his name, you voiced your concern and he chuckled, “you won’t be needing my name, baby. Daddy works just fine.” 

Your breath hitched, your arousal spiked and suddenly you were standing up straighter than ever. Noticing your stiff back, he retreated. “Unless you’re uncomfortable with that, of course.” 

He stated it calm and firm and you gave it a thought. “No, it’s fine. I just...never did that.” Blushing, you shuffled from one foot to the other. He breathed out heavy and put his hands back on your waist to pepper more kisses on your neck and shoulder. 

“While we’re at names... mind telling me yours, doll?” He hummed into your skin. You shook your head and murmured your name into the still air around you. He repeated it, letting the word slide off his tongue and humming happily afterwards.

“You’re not too drunk, right? I saw you only drinking light drinks,” he asked, concern lacing his voice. 

You were feeling the buzz, just slightly. Were you sober enough? Yeah, definitely. Sure of yourself, you nodded, “I’m not much of a lightweight and I only had three drinks, I’m fine.” 

To be frank, talking about consent in such a clear way before he went further than to tease and nip at your skin was assuring you, you felt comfortable with him, even without knowing his name. For the night, he was just a stranger. 

Taking you to presumably his bedroom, he kissed you dumb and felt you up like he couldn’t get sated. His tongue worked it’s magic on your skin and while his hands were undressing you, the anticipation built up, wondering how they would feel when caressing your most sensitive spots.

He proved he was a man of skill with his soft tongue and lips on you and quickly worked you to your first orgasm of the night. Before you could even think of returning the favor, he finished undressing himself and reached into a bedside table to fetch a condom. 

“Lube?” He questioned hushed and you breathed out an exhausted approval. 

The night was spent with heavy breaths, giggles between moans and many kisses. He thrusted his dick into your pussy like no man had ever done and you were sure you’d be ruined for everyone who came after him. Screaming the name he chose for himself for tonight, you came a second time as he moved your legs up on his shoulders and didn’t seem to stop so soon. 

To your side there was another window with more of the pretty view into the lit up city, the only light source in the otherwise dark bedroom. The nightlights made his bronzed skin shine beautifully as he thrusted his hips.

When he successfully brought you over the edge for the third time, he buried himself deep into your cunt and emptied his cum into the silicone. Out of breath, he kissed over your face as you both calmed down, slowly pulling out as to not hurt your already sore walls. 

He threw the condom into a bin, you assumed from him standing up and the rustling noises that came from him moving about. The mattress sunk a little when he placed his knee next to you, carefully wiping the lube off your thighs with tissues and disappearing again to discard them as well. 

Finally settling down under the blanket, he pulled you over to his side and cradled you in his arms. You stayed quiet for a while, enjoying each others warm breaths fanning your faces and sharing the warmth of his bed. Everything felt comfortable, but something didn’t feel quite alright.

“I hope to not push you with this, but I’d love to see you again, Y/N,” the man whispered into your hair. Smiling, you couldn’t disagree. “My name’s Kim Taehyung, by the way.” 

“I’d love to see you again, too, Kim Taehyung.” You said, voice already sounding sleepy but still carrying the humor of your answer. “Can I sleep here tonight?”

He let you sleep at his place, confused by your non-existent reaction to his name. Have you not recognized him? Baffled, he shuffled into a more comfortable position as he heard your tiny snores. You looked like an angel in his arms, he couldn’t keep himself from kissing your nose.

When you woke up the next morning, the bed was empty, just like the rest of the quiet apartment. Next to you on the pillow laid a note, telling you that his manger called him, he had to leave but you should call him sometime. Smiling at the heart he left next to his initials, you took it with you on the search for your clothes.

Throwing them on, making sure to pocket the note into your bag and checking for your phone, you closed the door behind you and found your way to the lift and out the house.

You were definitely going to call him soon.

Over the next two weeks you’ve felt quite drowsy, not in the mood for anything and you supposed you were getting the flu. 

Desiree called multiple times to check up on you, teasing you about the man you last spent the night with and asking if you already called him. 

You haven’t.

Way too tired for no reason with an ugly mood, you didn’t want to interact with him in that state. You sent him a short message three days after, hoping to not come off clingy and attached. Something along the lines of “btw I’m Y/N from a few nights back! This is my number :)”

Just to make sure he wouldn’t think you forgot about him, of course. How would you ever do that, anyway. The man was gorgeous in bed, touching you in places you didn’t know existed and making you feel warm and glowing all over. 

Not much like you do now. You’re waiting on your period, it hasn’t always been much regulated due to you not being on the Pill, but you could depend on the little Ps every four weeks, that you regularly scribbled in your calendar.

Well, that’s what you thought so until now. A tiny bad feeling lurked in your belly, the bloated stomach you sported and the constant feeling of fullness without eating putting an ugly worry in your brain. 

But it couldn’t be what your bad feeling told you, Taehyung used a condom and you just couldn’t afford getting pregnant at this moment in life. Just graduated and still working your part-time job wouldn’t do for a stable family life.

Deciding that you needed to talk to someone, you rang up your best friend. She would know what to do. 

“Come again, did you just say his name is Kim Taehyung?!” Holding your phone away from your ear, you let the screeching of Desiree subside. She prompted you to tell her everything from that night, insisting she’d be able to find out whether or not you truly could be pregnant or not.

“Y/N! You cannot be serious right now, this isn’t the time to joke around. Do you really want to act like you don’t know who that is?” Her voice reached high places and your brain was running empty. Why would you know him? You’ve met him at the bar and she knew that. 

“Alright, please just google him. And I’ll come over, with a test.” Desiree hung up, sounding done with you, and after you searched up the man of the hour, everything made sense. 

Leave it to you, not recognizing one of the biggest Idols of the world. You were in deep shit. 

“What am I gonna do now? He’s going to think I’m crazy!” You were it to raise your voice this time, nervously walking up and down your bedroom floor, Desiree sitting on the edge of your mattress and watching you, pregnancy test in hand and no words left to say. 

It turned out to be positive, the test. You couldn’t wrap your mind around it, you used a condom, for god’s sake! How were you ever going to tell Kim Taehyung, member of BTS, the biggest boy group in the world, that he impregnated you through a condom.

“Look. You just have to tell him. He’s going to be a father and he should know! It would be unfair not to inform him about his own baby. You have his number, just call him and try to ease him into it. Maybe the condom ripped?” Your best friend managed to make sense if the situation, keep a clear mind meanwhile you were going crazy. 

A little off, you smiled, trying to keep your cool. This is alright, just call him. He’ll understand.

Nodding to yourself, you picked up your phone and clicked on his contact. The line connected and as you waited, you tapped your foot nervously. With an eye roll, Desiree pulled your wrist to flop you down on the bed.

There was a broken noise and the phone was picked up. 

“Hi! You called, I was waiting,” the husked voice exclaimed, joy present in its tone. You felt bad, felt like throwing up. This was going to ruin his career, ruin his life. If he was ever going to believe you at all.

“Yeah…I- I kind of have something to tell you. If you have a little time on you?” You didn’t know if you were hoping for a yes or a no, kind of just wanting to hang up and sleep forever. 

“Yeah, I’m on break. What’s up?” There was rustling in the background and you could hear him drinking something a little off the phone. 

Gulping, you decided that you couldn’t stretch this any longer. “So, you know how we had sex, right? With a condom?” 

He made a confused but approving humming noise, breath falling. “I- uhm. I guess it maybe like…broke? Or something,” you tried to ease it up with a nervous laugh, but it just made it worse. 

The line went quiet, except for the background noises. His breath hitched and you could only imagine the shock in his face. 

Haspling for words, you tried to make it better. “I haven’t slept with anyone else! I’m really not lying and if you don’t believe it, I heard that we can take a test before the baby is even born! I’m willing to prove it to you I-” 

“What? How’s that...,” he stuttered with his words, interrupting your rambling. “So we’re gonna have a baby?”

The question threw you off. You expected him to scream at you or not believe you, tell you that he doesn’t want it. Literally anything but be happy about it. His smile was clear through the slight raise in his words and you were stunned. 

“Y-yeah…I guess so…”

After the surprisingly calm exchange between the both of you, he promised to send you an address you should come to in a few days, to discuss all the important aspects of this. 

The building was tall and kind of scary, security guards around it and you spotted one or two cameras. Paparazzi was waiting a few meters off and before they catched onto you, you disappeared through the door after you told the guards your name and they seemed to recognize it.

Taehyung greeted you not far away from the entrance and led you to a room with a large table and many chairs, seemingly a conference room. On one end of it there sat a few people, probably managers and what not. Nervously you rubbed your hands off on your jeans before walking in, smiling and bowing to greet everyone. 

“So you’re the girl who claims to be pregnant from Taehyung, yeah?” A woman much older than you spoke first. It made you retreat almost, they made it clear to be unbelieving.

“I-,” you started, stutter in your words. “I don’t claim to be pregnant, I really am. I brought the test and I’m willing to prove it once we can take a blood test!” Desiree had told you to stand your ground when you went out, she couldn’t accompany you but gave you her strength.

A middle aged man spoke up, scowl on his face visible. “You aren’t the first one to do so, why would we believe you?” Unsure, you looked at Taehyung. He seemed to believe you on the phone, you were here to discuss matters and not fight against people from his company!

“Taehyung, I wouldn’t lie to you.” You spoke with sincerity in your eyes, you wanted nothing but to be trusted. “I wouldn’t do this for the money, I’m well on my own! I didn’t even know you were an Idol before I found out I’m pregnant and my friend made me google you,” you continued. 

“I do believe you, it’s just…my manager heard that I asked you here and he doesn’t believe you. He wanted to make you an offer, actually.” Taehyung took your hand and motioned you to take a seat across all the important looking people. 

Another man, you guessed now that was Taehyung’s manager, put a paper in front of you. Confusion written across your face, he went to elaborate. “This is somewhat of a contract. If you really are pregnant, we don’t believe it is Kim Taehyung’s child. We will offer you any amount of money that will keep you quiet about this. If you take it, you will have to restrain from trying to contact Taehyung.” He paused, looking you in the eyes and you were shocked. They really didn’t believe you. 

“If you decide not to take the money, that is your decision, we would ask of you to not talk about the matter publicly anyway. If Taehyung does decide on his own to trust you, we will support his decision. With the condition to test if the child really is his, as soon as it is possible.”

Mind spinning from all the choices, you looked at the handsome man beside you, his arm across the back of your chair and his eyes already fixed on your figure.

“If you really just want money, it’s best to accept the offer. However, I believe you if you insist it’s my baby. And I want to partake in raising it, if I can.” His voice was firm, gaze never wavering and he sounded serious. You shifted, choosing to ignore all the people around you. 

“Won’t that ruin your career? I can’t hide my child for your sake, Taehyung.” This matter was something to be taken seriously, you wouldn’t hurt your own family just to protect his career.

He looked over at his manager but you didn’t catch the exchange between them. “We will keep it private for a while, at least until you’re three months in. After that, we can think of publicly announcing it.”

“Will you be there for the baby?” Your question heavy with worry, holding eye contact with Taehyung to scan every small reaction. 

“I will. I’ve always wanted kids. I would’ve wished for it to happen in a few years with my wife but…I won’t abandon our child just because it’s the result of a dumb one night stand.” He laughed at that. 

For just a short moment, your heart fluttered when he said our child. But his choice of words to describe the night between you two unsettled you. Frowning, you went to speak but got interrupted by Taehyung’s manager again.

“We will excuse ourselves now, stay as long as you want, to discuss further matters with Taehyung. We will prepare a contract and organize the doctors appointments.” 

Once they left, you turned to Taehyung again. “I have my own doctor, I don’t want to go to some high class one. Mine’s just fine, I know him since I was a little kid and-” smiling, he put his index finger atop his lips to indicate that you should be quiet. 

“Please let me offer the best care for my baby. And stop stressing so much, it’s not good for the little bean.” Did he just call your embryo bean?

“Okay well, only if I can separately go to my own doctor. Also, why would we need a contract? We’re having a baby, not a deal.” He laughed at your confusion, standing up and offering his hand to you.

When you took it to stand up yourself, he smiled at you, “if you insist on going to your doctor, we’ll just make the appointments there. No need to waste so much time. The contract is just for…your safety.” The mysterious ending of his sentence made the question marks around your head multiply and it seemed to be obvious.

“Things like us keeping it a secret for a while, you not having a claim to any of my things except the money for the child, protecting you from fans once we made it publicly. Necessary stuff.” 

He seemed so casual about it, you were almost scared. 

“Will you only be visiting the child once a week? Do you even have time for this? I don’t want your money and be left alone with a baby and I need your support in all possible wa-” 

“I want you to move in with me, actually.”

If it wouldn’t be for his hand still holding yours, you’d think this was a dream. He wanted you to do what exactly? And what was the matter with rich people interrupting you all the time?

“You cannot be serious, Taehyung. I will not move in with a complete stranger!” You said, completely set on your decision.

He turned out to be very serious. And you very well did move in with a complete stranger. 

You were sat on his overly large couch, your belongings put in boxes that were still strayed about the apartment. 

To be fair, Taehyung wasn’t a complete stranger. Google informed you that he is a 24 year old ambidextrous man, which freaked you out when you first saw it. You also learned that he’d be a strawberry farmer, if it wasn’t for the fame and his stage name was V. 

Except for google, he himself was the best source for all kinds of important information you’d need from your baby daddy. 

He took you out to eat multiple times during the first three weeks, after that he made you slowly pack your things when you trusted him enough to care for your plants and over the course of eight weeks, your apartment was empty and the first prenatal visit was over. 

Everything was checked, your first ultrasound was made as an exception, you read that the norm is around the sixth to eighth week, but apparently Taehyung convinced the doctor to do one already, just this one time. And Taehyung couldn’t hold his boxy smile back when he first got to see his own little bean.

You grew closer to the man, as much as you despised the idea first. Somewhat scared that he’d just push you around because he’ll provide the most money, you weren’t keen on being taken care of him. He almost wanted you to stop working, saying that walking around and taking people’s orders won’t be good on your feet and the stress of the customers would affect the baby. Instead of seeing his worry, you thought he’d want to make you depending on him. 

That was actually your first fight, you were crying and wanting to go back home and once he realized where he went wrong he took you in a big bear hug, explaining that he just wanted you to experience the best pregnancy possible, wanting to completely spoil his child’s mother. 

You kept your job, wanting to work as long as your pregnancy made it possible and planning on starting again as soon as your baby let you. He complied easily when you promised to let him spoil you when you were on parental leave and that you’d want all the massages you could get from him once your feet would get uncomfortable and your back pain would appear.

One night when you were laying in Taehyung’s bed you sat up shrieking when a sudden thought hit you. Full of panic he emerged from the living room to check up on you and with horror in your eyes you whispered, “I still haven’t told my mom.”

His eyes bulged when he exclaimed, “me neither!” but both of you started giggling, promising that you’ll take up the challenge soon.

And when you did, your mother was beaming. You wanted her to come over to your new place, showing her everything while she was confused as one could be. “Why do you live with a man when you’re not in a relationship with him? Do I have to worry?” She asked.

“Ma…that’s why I wanted to see you,” you said. Taking a breath of preparation, you just spit it out. “I’m pregnant. That’s why I live here, Taehyung is the father, Ma.”

She held her hands over her open mouth, surprised but not angry. With a big smile after she got over the surprise, she took you into her arms, tears in her eyes and congratulating you. 

“Oh my, what shock! And now you live with the father? An Idol of all! My Y/N…how did that happen?” Her grin told you that she already could imagine how it happened and letting out a flabbergasted laugh, you asked her if she’d be up for a cup of coffee. 

When Taehyung found you, he gave you a kiss on your hair and greeted your mother with respect, talking to her like he’d be her son in law. They clicked immediately, calming your nerves. You were afraid your mother would judge him, hold a grudge against the man that impregnated her daughter this young. Of course, she dropped multiple comments about how you’d have to start an actual job and couldn’t keep being a waitress, and about how Taehyung would have to prove his loyalty towards his family.

After she’d left, you collected some bravery and facetimed Taehyung’s parents, living too far away to travel there just for the news.

His Mother was an angel, being equally happy about becoming a grandmother as yours was. Her husband looked just as handsome as Taehyung does and he was nice, happy, but held it in. Taehyung said that was just the way his father was, always a little stoic but soft at heart.

Feeling lighter after letting the most important people know, Taehyung invited you to watch a movie with him, he was exhausted from the day and needed to charge his energy up.

That was how you spent the night, just after eating a quick meal and Taehyung telling you about his day. He’d said that you’d still need to meet all the members, they were excited to get to know you and expected you to show up very soon. You agreed, happy that Taehyung wanted to include you this much into his life, whether for the baby’s sake or not was irrelevant.

An hour into the movie, you fell asleep. Your head hung to one side, leaning on a pillow and looking uncomfortable. Taehyung repositioned the both of you, letting you rest on him, his arm around you and fond look analyzing your facial features.

He adored the nose scrunch you absentmindedly made, while you were off to dreamland and couldn’t hold himself back from booping the tip of your nose. Turning around to the side, he inspected you more. Letting his gaze wander around your face, stopping at your lips. They looked soft, rosey and puckered from your slow breaths.

He noticed that you breathed through your mouth when you were sleeping, when he asked you why, you told him about how you used to snore when you were little, afraid of still doing it you adapted to breath through your mouth while sleeping. 

Smiling at the memory of you blushing when you told him about it, he reached his hand out to hold your face. Your skin was soft, cheeks a little full of baby fat, making you look extra adorable. He’d felt his heart flutter at the thought of just leaning in and feeling your lips against his again.

Ever since that night he missed your touch, seeing you everyday made his desire to sweep you off of your feet and carry you to bed only rise and he wished you’d reciprocate it. He wished you’d ask him to sleep by your side instead of his couch, kiss you first thing in the morning and fulfill his duties as the only man in your life. That’s what he wanted, and he wished you’d want it too.

Slowly, he put his hand on your belly. You told him you were two months in, explaining how pregnant people count the weeks and confusing him with it. It was a weird way to count and he couldn’t keep up but he knew you would start showing soon. In about a month the baby would be save from any spontaneous dangers that could inflict in the first three months, making it possible for him to tell his fans. He was excited to announce that he’d become a father, scared that the reaction would be negative, but still excited.

When he told the members a few weeks back they were just as happy about the news as he was, congratulating him and patting his shoulder. They all demanded to see the mother of his child soon and that they’d have to be it’s godfathers.

“You’ll be a happy baby. Six uncles and a gorgeous mother. Grandparents who love you and millions of people who will protect you from every harm,” he whispered into the almost dark room, the tv screen being the only source of light to make your features visible.

Carefully, Taehyung took you into his arms bridal style, carrying you to bed and tucking you in. Brushing his hand across your forehead, he sat next to you and smiled. “Thank you for making me a father.”

A week later you met not only all of the members of BTS, but also a small fluffy friend, yapping about. Taehyung didn’t want you to be overwhelmed with the small fur ball right when you moved in and his schedule kept him busy, so he had Yeontan being taken care of by his parents. Earlier in the day, one of them came over to bring the dog to his owner, without you knowing anything about it. 

Now the angry looking puppy barked and jumped around, wanting to tackle you and scratching your shins. “Tan-ah! Sit, be a good boy and say hello to your new Mommy!” Taehyung said, full of joy to have his dog back for a while. 

“M-Mommy? I- I am not going to take care of this!” You screeched, retreating into Namjoons figure, the human tree being the perfect cowering spot. “I am- I’m…,” stuttering, you pointed towards the loud ball of wool. “I’m scared of dogs, Taehyung! Please, take it away from me!”

Offended, Taehyung swept the tiny and very aggravated dog into his arms. “Yeontan isn’t an ‘it’! He’s very much a male dog and he’s precious!” He pouted, petting Yeontan’s head and turning away from you. You insulted his already existing son. This was too far.

Realizing your mistake, you came out of your hiding spot, shily smiling at Namjoon who just laughed endeared. “Taehyung…don’t be mad at me,” you said, returning the pout. Two could play this game. “I’ve always been afraid of dogs!” 

He turned to look at you, holding Yeontan’s ears closed with his hands. “You called him a thing! Y/N, I will not go home with you unless you apologize.”

Very set on this, he did not look at you until you muttered your apology to the dog, telling Taehyung that you might consider bearing with him, if he’s not biting you.

“Tae and Y/N are like two little kids when they’re fighting. They battled for the most powerful pout to see who gives in first,” Hoseok said, big smile on his face and very amused with how your little banter turned out.

Meeting the boys, except for Yeontan, went great. They all loved you and couldn’t stop touching your belly - even when you repeated that they won’t be able to feel anything yet, the baby was barely the size of a cherry, just growing from an embryo to a fetus.

When they asked you about the reveal to the fans, full of excitement, you could see Taehyung’s eyes shining as well. You shrinked into yourself, realising that it’s only three weeks until he planned to announce the news to the world. Saying that you felt nauseous helped, Taehyung rushed to get his things, as well as the dog, to get you home safe and sound. 

Once out of the car, he was attached to your side and not letting his eyes waver from you for a second. Getting aggravated with the yapping dog and the constant hand on your lower back or waist, you snapped once the door of the apartment was closed. 

“I’m not nine months pregnant and need your help to walk! I’m still independent enough to do everything just fine, stop incessantly pushing in on my privacy and get that dog away from my shins!”

Your explosion of anger shocked everyone in the room, including Yeontan. Taehyung pushed his lips into a line and nodded. Guilt flooded your senses immediately, fishing for words to apologize and explain the burst of aggression. 

“It’s alright, Y/N. You don’t need to explain anything,” Taehyung said. He sounded chipped and avoided looking at you. Taking Yeontan’s leash he turned around and mumbled, “I’ll take him for a walk.”

The guilt didn’t subside half an hour later, Taehyung posted on twitter with pictures of Yeontan and the caption “Guest🐾” which made you even more sad. The implication behind the title reminded you of how ignorant you acted back in the company and in your apartment. 

He finally had a little more time on his hands because the group is getting a small break and now you wanted his dog gone. He probably missed him the whole time, you weren’t in his life for long and already made demands beyond your position. And the worst of it all is that Taehyung won’t get mad at you or go against you, because he’s way too much of a nice person to do that to the mother of his child.

Another twenty minutes later you rolled up on the couch with a bucket of ice cream and an anime on, when Taehyung stepped through the doorway with Yeontan. He didn’t look at you much longer than just a glance, before he knelt down to remove Yeontan’s leash. The dog trotted further into the apartment and laid down on the carpet in front of the couch, probably tired from the long walk.

“You alright?” Taehyung checked in with you, even after your mood earlier. Nodding, you held the spoon between your teeth, unsure what you should say. 

“The doctor called…he confirmed the appointment in two weeks. He wanted to try hearing the heartbeat again, you know? Since it wasn’t there last time…” trailing off, you looked up at Taehyung and saw that he already watched you. 

“Let’s talk about this, Y/N. Why did you get this angry? If I bothered you, you could’ve told me sooner,” he said, walking towards you and sitting down on the couch with a small distance.

“If I tell you, you’ll be disappointed, Taehyung…” hearing this, he seemed all ears. Sighing, you guessed he should just know. “I don’t feel ready to tell the whole world about me having a baby. It’s a little much on me, actually. You keep introducing me to new things and I still need to adjust to all of this. Once you tell everyone, I won’t be able to go on walks when I feel sick or just look at the sky at night. I’m very stressed, about like, everything. I constantly eat sugary things which keeps me shaky and since last week I’ve been throwing up first thing in the morning everyday, I just ca-”

He stopped your rant when he pulled you into his arms by your hands. You didn’t notice you started crying, but his hold comforted you. He held you close and repositioned the knot of limps you ended up in. Laying back, he took you with him and had his arms closed over your body. Your head laid on his chest and you felt his heartbeat.

“Y/N, the last two months were a lot for you, I can’t imagine what you’ve been going through and I’m really sorry I didn’t ask you sooner. Please always tell me about any worry you might have,” he murmured into your hair, sounding like he might drift off into sleep soon. “If you don’t want to, we can keep it private for longer. Until you’re ready, I can wait.” 

Your heart melted a little at that, he always was so very caring about you. “Thank you, Tae…,” you said. Looking up at him, he beamed at you. Returning the smile, he repositioned you once again so both of you could watch the still playing anime and not long into it, you were both sleeping heavily.

Hearing your baby’s heartbeat was a magical moment, holding Taehyung’s hand tight to remind yourself that this isn’t a dream. Very happy about knowing that you and the baby are fine, the doctor left you two alone for a second, calling the assistant to take your blood because you’re ten weeks now, which means it’s time to prove to the company that Taehyung is, in fact, the father of this child.

He did insist that it wouldn’t be needed for him, because he knows you won’t lie to him. But the company really wanted the proof, so you were willing to cooperate.

While you two were alone in the room, you asked Taehyung to get you some tissues for the glibber on your tummy and he not only handed them over, but continued to wipe your skin, making sure there was nothing left of the see-through gel. He laid his hand out on your tummy and smiled.

“Thank you, Tae…for supporting and helping me so much. And trusting me even though I could’ve been a crazy fan,” you laughed at the end, the thought was silly, when you remember how you had to google him to find out that he was famous. “I really do appreciate it, even though I’m grumpy most of the time lately and cry a lot…you’re always there for me.”

He held eye contact and smiled softly, “Of course, I’ll be there for you forever.” The hushed words made your breath hitch, panicking when you saw him inch closer to your face. “Not just because of the baby, you know? I’ll be there for just you, too,” he whispered, eyes never leaving your face, glancing down towards your lips. He had his right hand still on your belly with no pressure and lifted the left to touch your face. 

Nervously, you didn’t know what to do, looking at everything but his face until he was merely an inch away from you, meeting his piercing eyes and stuttering, “T-Tae I don’t- we-”

Your rambling was stopped when his nose touched yours, feeling his breath on your face and he closed his eyes when he leaned in, holding your face to position you in a comfortable way. When his lips touched yours, it felt like a spark. It was soft, just barely with any pressure and you could tell Taehyung was nervous about this. He wasn’t sure you really wanted this and wasn’t sure if he should do this.

Shyly, you moved your face a little and pressed your lips more against his, showing him that you’d be okay with it. But just as you were about to move your lips to deepen the kiss, he removed himself completely when he heard the creaky door handle being used.

You blushed, felt your face getting hot and you looked down into your lap, your fingers suddenly being the most interesting thing possible. Taehyung cleared his throat and sat back into his chair, putting his ankle on his knee and holding it there, watching the nurse prepare all the needles.

The process of taking your blood went quick, the nurse explained that they will call once they have the result, which could take around a week. Nodding along, you tried to be as casual as one could be and once you were excused to leave, you rushed out of the room and hoped Taehyung wouldn’t want to talk about this.

Your wish had been granted, because once in the car Taehyung was on his phone, busy talking to his manager about a concert his group would perform tonight. The break for the last two weeks was officially over, which meant he’d have less time for talking about an awkward kiss.

That also meant that Yeontan was being picked up today, hopefully before Taehyung had to leave, because then you’d have to meet his parents by yourself, which you really didn’t want to do.

In the end, his father came over right when you were in the shower, successfully hiding and when you came out, wrapped in towels, the apartment seemed empty.

It just seemed empty, though. Taehyung sat on the bed and you almost screamed when you spotted him, not expecting him to still be at home. 

“I’ll have to go in a minute, please order yourself dinner and don’t stay up too late, alright?” He said offhandedly while he typed on his phone, not looking at you until he probably sent a message and packed his phone into his pocket. You stood in the doorway, looking at him without a reaction and when you didn’t say anything he sighed and walked towards you. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, please order something healthy.” With that he walked to the door and took his keys, locking up and leaving you alone for the night.

You pouted, crossing your arms in front of you and stomping your foot. Not even Yeontan is here anymore, to who you’ve grown accustomed to over the last weeks. You were alone and already bored and you didn’t want to eat something healthy and go to bed early. How could Taehyung act like this after kissing you just a few hours earlier?

Your mind went sour when ugly thoughts swept your mind, making you wonder if you were already gaining weight and now he wasn’t attracted to you. 

But your cravings couldn’t be stopped, someone had to stock up the fridge almost daily with weird mixtures of foods that you desired. Only thinking about it made you hungry, mouth watering and you tapped over to the fridge, looking for the kimchi leftovers you planned on eating. Not wanting to miss out on something sweet you grabbed the chocolate sauce, ice cream and a banana. 

“Eat healthy!” You mocked Taehyung. Screw him!

Almost forgetting the glass of pickles, you made a u-turn and hunted them down. Comfortably sitting down, cuddled up in a fluffy blanket, you sat on the couch, turning on the tv. Almost screaming, jumping from the shock, you dropped your pickle when you saw Taehyung’s face on screen. 

You turned the tv on right when the camera focused on him, while he sang his line, clad in a green suit looking like sin. You stared at him, movements fluid and almost hypnotizing. How could he be this attractive? It wasn’t fair that you couldn’t have him with you right now. 

Losing your appetite when the ugly thoughts invaded your brain once again, you put the pickles back on the couch table.

You couldn’t let those insecurities win over this early in the pregnancy, had to prove to yourself that you didn’t lose a bit of the appeal you had just almost three months ago.

The desire to show him how attractive you still are is definitely there, the fatigue is more prominent though. So you decided to just take a nap, ready to be sexy when you’ve gained energy to do it. Yep.

So you fell asleep, didn’t wake up until Taehyung came home, quietly getting dressed in a sleeping shirt and his boxers, after he took a quick shower to rinse off the sweat from performing.

He felt bad for how he pushed you away after he kissed you, didn’t want you to feel rejected. He didn’t know if you even cared, maybe you were glad that he didn’t act more on his desires. You seem to set down the borders of a parental relationship quite harshly.

Wanting to take the risk, because he yearned for your touch, he carefully walked around the bed. You were all cuddled up and he went to lay down behind you while he lifted the blanket.

You stirred, mumbling something incoherent. Freezing, he held his breath. When you went quiet again, he settled down, tucking himself in and putting his arm around your figure. You were warm, making him drowsy and your hair always smelled really good. 

He smiled, nuzzling his face into your neck with the risk of you noticing his presence and telling him off. But you slept like the dead and he could rearrange you in a way that he’d lay comfortably behind you, hugging you with his limbs thrown all over the place and he kissed your temple before he settled his head back against the pillow.

Tiredness overtook him, it was an exhausting day and he’d have to work more tomorrow. He’d also have to figure out how to act around you, now that he kissed you and pushed you away after. Insecurity wasn’t his usual trade but around you, he just never could safely assume his place.

With an upset stomach over how badly he missed you while you were in his arms, he eventually got lulled into sleep with your calm and very present breathing, the smell of your shampoo and the warmth your body was radiating.

When you woke up, you felt a weird weight on top of you. You remember falling asleep with the blanket, but this was much heavier. Confused, you tried to turn around, hindered by the weight on you.

There was an arm and a leg, a lot of hair in your face and generally around you. Shuffling, you identified it as Taehyung. Why was Taehyung laying on you? Why was he even in the bed?

He grumbled when you tried to move, tightening his hold on you. Mumbling incoherent things and nuzzling his head in your nape. “T-Taehyung…,” you said, eyes wide as saucers. What was going on with him? You were the one with hormones going crazy, not him.

“Just a little more, please,” he whined, voice grainy from sleep but unusually high. He kept his eyes closed and pushed himself more into your form.

“Why are you in bed? I thought…I thought you were gonna take the couch?” Your voice was squeaky, shocked at how close Taehyung was. You could feel his breath on you, his lips were mere millimeters away from your skin.

He slurred, “this is my bed, too. You should share.” Lifting his head for a short moment, he glared at you with barely open eyes, chubby cheeks and ruffled hair. The sight was too cute not to coo, reaching out to pet down his hair when he dropped his head back onto your shoulder.

But even sleep drunk, Taehyung had great reflexes, catching your wrist and holding it in the air, suddenly towering above you.

Stuttering, you faltered under his hard gaze, looking elsewhere while you ask in panic, “W-what are you doing?”

“Y/N…please tell me to stop,” he said, eyes intense as he slowly lowered his face down to yours. He was asking you to stop, giving you the power of the situation. But you didn’t want him to stop. You wanted to ask him to keep going, hurry up. Couldn’t wait any longer for his touch.

The mixed signals he’s been giving you, always caring about you but then being distant, kissing you and pushing you away, it confused you. Him sleeping next to you and initiating another kiss made your heart flutter. Was he genuinely seeing more than the mother of his child?

Holding your breath, you stared into his eyes, ready and waiting for him to take you, make you his. Sinking lower, he breathed, “tell me to stop, Y/N.” You shook your head, shakily exhaling and putting your hands on his biceps. 

“I don’t want you to stop, Tae.” Your confession made him smile a little, pressing his lips together to hide his excitement. His eyes looked down to your lips and he lowered himself more, finally touching your lips and the warmth of his mouth met yours.

You both had morning breath, but neither of you cared, moving against each other and gasping in between. He laid down fully between your legs, spreading them with his thighs to position himself more comfortably while pulling quiet moans out of you. One hand of his slid up to your face, holding the side and gliding his fingers into your hair. You reached your arms across his head, one holding onto his back, the other playing with the longer hair in his nape.

Testing the waters, you licked across his lips, wanting to taste him fully. Opening his mouth, he moaned into you, breath heavy and hand starting to roam across your side, holding your waist.

You were tangling your tongues, moaning and gasping into each other’s mouths. Pulling lightly at his hair when you felt his bulge pressing against your thigh, you were whining into the kiss. Separating you from him, Taehyung leaning his forehead against yours, looking into your eyes. “Please,” you gasped, voice high and breathy.

“Please what, pretty?” With a knowing smile, he still teased you. “Want me to take care of you?”

You moaned lightly at the way he spoke, radiating dominance this easily. Nodding, you slid both hands into his hair, stroking his scalp and pulling him in, “yeah, please make me feel good, Daddy.”

Taehyung groaned when you used the name, looking like he was ready to go down on one knee right then and there. Grinding down into you when you spread your legs more and rose your hips, he grinned. “Mhhh, good girl.”

The endearment in his voice would’ve made you purr if you could, giddy and smiling when he went in for another kiss that traveled down your body. He raised the big t-shirt you slept in off your body, almost growling when he saw your breasts. “I missed these a lot, you know?” He smirked. Pulling your shirt over your head, he dropped it onto the floor and latched onto one of your nipples. He kitten licked the nub, sucking on it and gracing his teeth across the sensitive skin.

You moaned, hands tangling still in his hair, your legs crossed over his hips and holding him close. He kneaded your breasts with his big hands, rough but yet careful not to hurt you, knowing the pregnancy heightened your sensitivity. 

“You’re so pretty, all soft,” he murmured, kissing over to your other side, lovingly treating your nipples with care. His head slowly dipped lower, kissing a trail over your stomach. “Carrying my baby for me, gorgeous.”

His words made you giddy, tummy filling with butterflies and you stroked through his tousled hair to show appreciation.

His fingers hooked between your skin and your shorts, looking up to see if you want him to stop. “Go ahead,” you said, shaking with anticipation. The shorts were removed, light blue panties on show and you were sure there was a dark spot, showing him your arousal. He licked his lips, stroking across your middle with his thumb.

“Such a pretty pussy, gonna let me take care of you and eat you up real nice, yeah?” He breathed, slowly teasing to take your underwear off. You made an approving noise, laying your head down on the pillow. Gasping when he pressed his nose against your crotch, you rose up quickly, looking at his intense stare directly. “Smell so good, babe. Can’t wait to taste you again.”

The reminder of your last night with him made you shudder, taken back to how he had you writhing underneath him.

Finally, removing your undergarments, he dived in immediately, licking up from your clenching hole to your clit. He sucked and nibbled on it, making you arch your back and push into him. You were grinding your pussy into his face, taking more of what he gave you. He chuckled at your eagerness, putting his hands on your hips to hold you down. The vibration of his laugh made you shudder, whining out a small, “Daddy, please!”

He made quick work of getting you towards the edge, lapping at your pussy and using his thumb to rub at your clit. He pushed his tongue into your hole, starting a rhythm and making you gasp and moan with every movement. “Daddy, please make me cum, I really need it, I’m so close!” You gasped, holding him where he was as he licked quick across your clit, taking his hand and stroking your lips with his finger.

“Yeah? Daddy make you feel good?” He groaned into you, licking a fat stripe across and wiggling his middle finger into your hole. “Such a tight cunt, sucking me in,” he said, looking up at you and pushing his finger knuckle deep to feel around for your spot. “Can’t even put a second finger in, how did I fit here, huh?”

His lewd words made you blush furiously, leaning back into the pillows. He laughed an airy laugh at your shy demeanor, kissing your clit and continuing to push in and out of you with his finger. “You’re so wet, baby. All for me, hm?”

“Yeah,” the breathy answer left you, nodding harshly. “Gonna cum soon,” you announced, voice high and airy.

He seemed to get more eager at this, removing his finger to push in again with a second one this time, making you keen. His fingers were much bigger than yours, long and pretty. He made you feel so good, never again could you find another man to please you as much as he did. You felt the need to express this, whispering, “Daddy, make me yours, please. Ruin me for others.”

A sound similar to a growl rumbled in Taehyung’s chest and spurred on by your pretty moans, he gave it his all, continuously rubbing on the spongy spot, sucking your clit. You nearly scream when you cum, feeling like all your muscles snapped and electricity ran through your veins.

Feeling like a shell of yourself, you sank down into the mattress while breathing heavily. You felt distinct kisses placed on your thighs and hips, trailing up and when you opened your eyes, not remembering when you closed them, Taehyung was in front of your face, kissing your chin and up your jaw. “Feel good?” He asked, laughing airy and softly caressing your body.

“Mhm...,” you hummed, out of breath. “You’re so good at this, that was really great.”

He laughed at your slurry compliment, pushing himself up with his fists on the mattress. “Up for more, or did I tire you out?” His question wasn’t seeming to pressure you into continuing, but you still didn’t feel sated.

“Yeah, wanna feel you inside of me,” you said. “Please,” you added, puppy eyes and pouty lip.

He stilled you with an adoring kiss, pulling away to finally remove his shirt as well as his boxers. Last time it was much too dark to see his body well enough, but now everything was on show, gold brown skin stretched across his broad shoulders. His dick was already hard, as big as you remember it and tip oozing out precum slowly.

You let a moan slip at the sight of him pumping it a few times, his big hands not sizing his cock down.

He chuckled, looking at you with a cheeky smile when he asked, “so, do we still need a condom?” Rolling your eyes, you couldn’t keep from laughing.

Without you having to say it, he reached to the nightstand and retreated the lube, remembering your request from last time. “I’m clean…if you are too, we won’t need it. Damage has already been done,” you giggled. He growled cutely at your comment and gave you a soft kiss again.

“I’m clean too, have to get checked regularly and all that,” he trailed, starting to lube his dick up. The light talking made your nervousness dissipate, realizing that it’s still just Taehyung in front of you. And seeing how attractive you are to him made you giddy, confident that it’ll stay this way at least for a while now. You didn’t think you started showing quite yet, just getting a little bit of baby fat around the hips, so the worst was still to come.

“Look at me, baby. Why are you spacing out?” He asked, smile in his voice and you let your eyes focus on him again. “Gonna fuck you now, yeah?”

Even though it wasn’t an actual question seeking for an answer, since his dick was almost inside of you anyway, you nodded. When he let himself down to hold you close, you trailed over his now freely exposed tan skin. It was smooth and you felt his muscles clench when he concentrated on entering you not too harshly.

The stretch was still very present, making you hiss out. Even though he prepped you nicely and applied more than enough lube, his size was still unusual for you, never having someone as big as he was inside of you.

Once you stopped scrunching up your face because of the uncomfortable feeling, he pushed in more, groaned at the pressure your walls put on him. “God, you’re so tight. Fuck,” he cursed, breathing heavy to control his urge to fuck into you fast and hard. You clenched around him, grip tight around his shaft.

“Your tiny pussy can’t handle me, pretty,” he said, mushing his head into your nape and kissing along. He was warm and felt homely, much closer than he already was.

“Mhh, you’re so big, feels so good, Daddy,” you moaned when he pulled out and thrusted in. Still not fully sheathed inside of you, but nearly there, he bit the skin on your jaw, sucking and licking the spot. When you pulled on his hair to get him to move, he moaned deeply next to your ear and you shuddered.

“Impatient little girl, huh? Can’t wait to have my dick?” He pushed himself up to watch you, appearing high on pleasure and letting out sweet little noises. “Look at you,” he grinned, stroking through your mushed hair.

“Fuck me, please, Daddy,” you said, voice hoarse from moaning so much and desperate for him to move even an inch. His grin grew into an almost evil looking smirk, he pushed into you with one movement and you were immediately crying out. He was now balls deep inside of you, you could feel him press up against your sensitive spot, feeling him deep inside of you and if you weren’t delusional, you could swear you felt his tip gracing your cervix. Was that even possible? 

Your eyes grew big for a second at the thought, but it couldn’t linger much longer, considering how Taehyung leaned back to sit on his knees and held your legs up around him, splayed over his forearms, his hands stroking your calves.

“Gonna give you what you’re begging for so nicely, pretty,” he said, skin looking golden with the sun shining through the room. His chest was on full display for you, looking delicious and you just wanted to touch him, but with the new position, you couldn’t reach.

He picked up a quick pace, thrusting inside of you deep and your cunt clenched around him to keep him there. “Fuck, you feel so good, baby,” he groaned, pushing your legs up to your upper body for you to hold there. He leaned down between them and looked you deep in the eyes, smirking when you couldn’t keep eye contact, feeling too good not to close your eyes.

“D-daddy, I’m already close,” you whined. “Make me cum, please!”

“Yeah? Gonna cum on my cock like a good little slut, huh?” He coaxed, pushing his hips slowly against yours and kept them there.

You moaned, looking up at him with teary eyes. “Make me feel so good, gonna cum soon,”

“Touch yourself, babe. C’mon make yourself cum for Daddy,” he spurred you on. Completely pliant to his wishes and partly because you knew you wouldn’t be satisfied with cumming untouched, you slid your hand down your abdomen and circled your clit. Instantly feeling little bolts of pleasure rushing through you, you were nearing your second orgasm and almost screaming, you fell over the edge. Spasming tight on his cock, your eyes rolled back and your mouth fell open.

Taehyung stilled to let you come down, watching you with amazement. “You look so fucking hot like this,” he panted. Your hold on your legs loosened, and slowly they dropped to the mattress. He leaned over you, kissing across your face and sliding his hands up and down your thighs. Carefully he pulled out.

“Mmh, no Daddy, you need to cum too. I can take it,” you murmured, looking at him with still teary eyes. He nuzzled his head into your nape and peppered kisses across your sensitive skin.

Insistent, you pushed at his shoulders to make him go back on his knees. “Baby, I’m fine. I can just jack off, you’re exhausted and-“ he started, stuttering when you cupped his balls with one hand and leaned down to lick up his dick. He moaned deeply, bit his lip and threw back his head. “F-fuck!”

The lube on his dick was still partly present, so you thanked god that it was strawberry flavored. In with it, mingled your taste and his precum, dribbling down his dick and you moaned at the tangy taste. Licking along the shaft, you massaged his balls and held his dick to take it inside of your mouth. Suckling along the tip, you looked up at him, big eyes and moaning around him.

He looked down at you, hissing when he breathed in tightly at the way you look on your knees in front of him, ass up in the air. He placed his hand on your head to collect your hair for you, holding it back and using the messy makeshift ponytail to pull at the streaks.

“God, you’re so good at this,” he said. “Where did you learn to use your mouth like that, hm?”

Trying to contain your smile, you swallowed more of his length, bopping your head up and down with heat, using your hand to swirl around on the part that wasn’t between your lips.

He hummed, “‘m close, baby.” Stroking your hair back, he thrusts his hips a little and with a few more sucks, he moaned loudly and spurted his seed down your throat.

Without request you swallowed, licking up his dick and looking at his blissed out face. His pupils were blown wide, eyes half closed and droopy. “Oh fuck, you’re too good.” He murmured, leaning down and taking your face in his hands to sloppily kiss you, tongue and teeth.

You giggled, standing up to go to the bathroom. When you walked back into the bedroom, Taehyung was still naked, looking blissed out with his eyes on you. “Why are you staring at me like that?” you asked, smiling when he scrunched his nose with his boxy grin.

“I just looked at my beautiful woman, prancing around naked with that gorgeous body of hers,” he said, as casual as he’d ask for the weather and you blushed heavily. “You’re starting to show, right?” he now asked in almost a whisper, a cute look on his face.

Biting your lip, you looked down at your little growing tummy. You haven’t really noticed any growth, but he must’ve seen it immediately, considering that he hasn’t seen you naked since you weren’t pregnant yet. So you nodded, shrugging your shoulder and falling into the mattress again. Taehyung cradled you into his arms, kissing your head.

“Aren’t you supposed to work?” You suddenly broke the quiet.

“Yeah, but the company can wait for me. Had to take care of my family,” he grinned. Unbelieving, you shook your head and laughed, telling him how unprofessional it was to stay at home for sex.

But he went quiet when you stopped laughing, looking you into your face with a serious expression. “Y/N, I really want this to be more than just us having a baby.”

His confession made your heart clench, so happy to hear that you meant more to him than you assumed.

“So, you mean like…,” you trailed off.

“A relationship, I mean. I’m in love with you, I think,” he said, voice soft but still sounding sure of his words.

Sniffing a little, you looked at him and reached in for a kiss on his swollen lips. “I’m in love with you too, I think,” you whispered against his lips. You squeaked when he suddenly grabbed you and turned both of you around, making little growling sounds and pretending that he was going to eat you, blowing raspberries on your skin, with you giggling loudly.

A week went by with many kisses and giggly nights spent in bed, nothing but the blankets covering your forms.

The both of you were truly on cloud nine, spending every possible moment with each other. Even if you wanted to, you couldn’t keep your hands off of each other.

Taehyung and you both still had work to attend to, him more than you, since you still only worked part-time at the café from college times and you thought it would be useless to change contracts if you’d leave in a few months anyway.

He only agreed to that, pulling the biggest eye roll out of you because you knew how much he wanted you to just stay home. He reasoned it with him being a traditional man, wanting to take care of his family, but you didn’t buy it.

And you still wanted to prove that you weren’t in for the money. Which brought you where you were now.

The doctor had called and said that the results came in today and so you hurried to the clinic with Taehyung to get them.

The biggest smile split both of your faces when it was proven what you already knew, he really was the father of your child.

But the happiness wasn’t forever because as soon as Taehyung called to inform the company, you were asked to come in for a meeting with managers and all kinds of other important people.

The grumpy man from last time was sitting across from you again, scowling at your happy face and splayed across the table, you were met with similar grimaces.

“And you think this will prove to us that you didn’t do this for the money? Taehyung probably was too drunk to notice the lack of protection! Maybe you lied to him about being on the pill or you poked the condom!”

The accusations were rough, thrown at your face and your stomach churned. The smile dropped from your lips when you realized that really nobody will ever believe you. You were forever going to be a lying gold digger in their eyes, taking advantage of Taehyung.

Before you could dwell more on the negative reaction, Taehyung slammed his hand hard onto the glass table, making it wobble a little when he stood up and raised his voice. “I will not be tolerating the way you talk to the mother of my child. My girlfriend.” He stressed your title, making the angry people gasp.

“If you feel like insulting her, then I’m not willing to look over it.” His voice was stern and had everybody in the room big eyed and a few mouths were hanging open.

“My contract is about to run out, remember that? Do not think I will stay with a company who treats my family this way. I’ve decided to trust her and still went to take a blood test, to prove her innocence in this,” he paused, shaking his head. “For this company, to make you accept her. And you still try to accuse her of manipulating me, taking advantage of me?”

He laughed, disappointment obvious and he stared down every single one of the managers. “I know for a fact that me leaving BTS will cost all of you a lot of money. Fans will be upset to hear that I left because you disrespected me and my family.” At his words everybody in the room seemed to realize what terrible mistake they’ve made.

“Mister Kim, I’m seeing how important this matter is for you,” a woman, who wasn’t there last time, spoke up. “I for myself do not believe this woman would break your trust when your bond is this strong. Strong enough for you to risk your whole career.” Some nodded, some frowned at her words.

She looked towards you, smiling. “I hope this doesn’t unnerve you and the baby,” she turned to look at the other managers now and stated, “I think we should agree on letting Mr. Kim make this decision for himself. After all, we do have proof that he is the father and if he trusts this girl, a company does not intervene with that.”

“Thank you,” Taehyung said, lowering his voice to a less scary volume and settled down in his chair next to you. With a calming gesture you held his arm and moved your hand up and down slightly.

There was muttering around the room and a man who hasn’t spoken neither last meeting, nor this one so far, stood up with a smile. “Taehyung, I’m happy to see that you’ve grown up into a man who stands up for his family.”

Taehyung nodded, proud. “And he is very much right with what he’s saying. As a company, we shouldn’t disrespect him and the people who mean a lot to him. I think we can all agree on that?” The man looked around the room towards the many managers and smiled when he only received compliant nods.

“Thank you, PD-nim.” Taehyung finally calmed down, taking your hand from his arm to hold it. So this was the CEO of Bighit? You gulped. At least he believed you.

After the managers had sincerely apologized to you and Taehyung, he told you that it was better to go home now. Only agreeing because you needed to rest up after the exhausting meeting, you bowed to Bang PD and the rest of the suited men and women.

On the way out, Hoseok crossed your ways, smile almost ripping through his face when he saw you. “Y/N! How are you, how’s the baby?” He asked excitedly. 

You giggled at the hastic way he reached to touch your belly, Taehyung slapping his hand away before contact was made. “Hands off!” he growled playfully. “The baby is fine and Y/N too, I’m capable of caring for them.” He stated, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“Tae,” you laughed quietly, shaking your head. “Don’t be silly, it’s just Hoseok!” He made a disapproving sound and pouted, which made both you and Hoseok coo at him.

“Hobi, you still won’t feel anything, I’m barely starting to show yet.” He joined the pout-party and excused himself shortly after, ‘the rest of us don’t have a baby to use as an excuse to miss practice.’

With the company finally approving fully of your pregnancy, it felt like a weight has been lifted of your shoulders.

“Now we just need to tell ARMY,” Taehyung happily sang, making you freeze midwalk towards his car. He looked over his shoulder when your hand slipped out of his. “Y/N? What’s wrong?”

Biting your lip, you looked down and shook your head. “I don’t want to disappoint you,” you muffled. “Or make you mad.”

He looked shocked at your words and walked over, holding your face in his hands and turning you to look at him. “Baby, what are you talking about? You’ll never disappoint me! Why would I be mad at you?”

Your lip quivered and you tried to hold his initiated eye contact. “I-,” you hiccuped, “I don’t want to make it public.”

His eyes moved quickly over your face, taking in the way your eyes watered and your nose turned red and wiggly. “Please don’t cry, baby. We don’t have to make it public! No no no,” he hurried to take you into his arms when a single tear rolled down your warm cheek.

“But...you were so excited about telling your fans…,” trailing off, you fiddled with your hands that were hanging to your sides, held there by his hug. “And I don’t want to make you lie to them.”

“Hey, please listen to me closely. I’m not mad at you, you didn’t do anything wrong. I’m glad you’re telling me about how you feel and I won’t be sad about not telling them. I thought you just didn’t want to do it before we for sure knew the baby will be safe, you should’ve told me you don’t want it at all!”

Little sobs escaped you, your body shivering. “A-are you sure?”

“My angel, of course I’m sure! I never want you to think that you shouldn’t tell me about your feelings because I could get mad. We don’t have to make it public. I’m gonna tell management right now,” he made to move away, but you held him close.

“N-no…I want to go home now…,” you whispered, looking like a little puddle of sadness. Your runny nose made you look extra cute and Taehyung grinned when you tried to look strong.

“Alright, baby. Let’s go home,” he said. You could hear the softness in his voice, happy that he accepted the way you feel, even without explanation.

Arriving at home you made to start cooking, but Taehyung refused you did so. “I’ll do it! Let me,” he smiled, holding your shoulders and turning you to walk out of the kitchen.

He pushed your carefully into the bedroom, sitting you down on the bed. With confused and wide eyes, you looked up at him. “Let me spoil you today, make sure you feel loved enough.”

Your heart beat hard and fast, a big smile spreading across your face. “You’ll get dressed in my most comfortable hoodie and cuddle up on the couch. Just wait for me until I cooked something for you and then we’ll watch your favorite movie, alright?”

Almost tearing up at all the domesticity of this, you nodded with your cheeks rosy and pushed up with your grin. Taehyung kissed your forehead and turned to look for his fluffiest sweater.

After you received the clothes, he disappeared into the kitchen and soon there was a steamy, mouth watering smell, hovering around the apartment.

You were buried under the blanket, the weather had been colder recently. When summer turns into autumn and the temperatures drop, you feel the most comfortable. Wearing the sweater Taehyung gave you, hood up and face hidden inside, you looked like a little bear.

When he brought the plates full with food over, he couldn’t hold back the coo. “Baby bear, you look so cute.” You were angrily pouting but because you disappeared beneath the hoodie, he only saw the crease between your eyebrows deepening.

Chuckling, he sat down next to your legs, putting his hand on them above the blanket. “Come get up and eat, baby,” he sing sang and held your plate up.

The movie you picked was already up and ready to get started, intro rolling when Taehyung pressed play. You got cozy next to each other and munched on the delicious home-made food, constant praises about it leaving your mouth.

Seasons changed, leaves turned red and slowly brown, letting go of the tree and falling onto the ground. With the weather changing, so did your body slowly. 

The baby bulge started to really appear when you were around 17 weeks in, the baby kicked you for the first time after it started to slightly move a short while ago. It was night when it kicked you, waking you up with a cramp pulling down your abdomen. Not connecting the dots, you woke Taehyung up in panic, almost crying because you were scared the baby was hurt. 

Even in his sleep induced state, he was able to remind you of the doctors words, “the baby is going to start moving within the next month, everything is going to be okay.”

Around this time you also decided to sign up for a birth preparation course, presenting all the advantages it will bring for the both of you. You were quickly reminded that that was impossible for you and Taehyung to do, he couldn’t be seen with a pregnant woman in public.

This has been the biggest struggle for you to accommodate to, trying your best but still finding it hard. When you wanted to grocery shop with him, you couldn’t hold his hand, bodyguards usually were sent with you, both for him and you. Both of you had to cover up and soon enough there was just someone sent to take care of these duties.

He couldn’t take you out for dates without hiding and once your belly grew, it stopped completely.

When you voiced your frustration over all this, he suggested, that he could hire someone to give you a private course, giving you the privacy that was needed. But you declined.

Your first fight after officially dating happened that day, he couldn’t understand why you didn’t want the things he offered you and you refused to explain your problem with his ideas.

That night he slept on the couch, too frustrated to keep up his good attitude. You cried silently before you dropped into a draining sleep. When you woke up, there was an unexpected weight on top of you. Opening your eyes, Taehyung’s hair was the only thing you saw.

Your bottom lip jutted out and you felt your eyes burn from wanting to cry. Throwing your arms around him, you smelled his hair. His grip around you tightened and he took a shaky breath. “I couldn’t sleep without knowing you were fine, but seeing your pillow wet with tears only made me feel worse.”

His words were muffled and his breath warm against were your shirt slipped from your shoulder. He nuzzled into your nape and whispered, “I’m sorry that my career is making this hard for us.” Pouting, you stroked his hair, gracing along his scalp with your nails.

“Never apologize for your profession, Tae,” you said, voice shaky. “I thought about this and…,” you took a deep breath to stabilize your words. ”I think we should tell them.”

He breathed out harshly and raised his head to look at you sternly, but concerned. “Don’t ignore your comfort for practicalness, Y/N. If you want to tell them just to make things easier, it’ll be rough for you.” His worry was clear and heavy and you swooned over the way he constantly thinks about your well-being.

“No, I want to do this for our family. Yes, it’ll be easier because we can go out together and I can sign up for a pregnancy preparation course, but I’m also doing this for you.” He looked at you confused, tilting his head in question. “I know how much pressure you are under when you have to keep this a secret. It’s also part of your life and if you have to hide such a big part of it, you won’t be happy.”

You truly wanted to show him how important this is for you and that you were sure of this decision, staring at him with your lips pressed together and a tight hold on his shoulders. He started laughing the cutest laugh you possibly ever witnessed, leaning down to kiss your nose.

“You’re so cute, baby. If you’re this sure, I’ll believe you,” he said, clearly happy and not hiding it.

When the company was informed, Taehyung made to tweet out an official message to all of his fans, “I’m happy to announce that I will be a father soon!” Which made the comment section go wild, unexpectedly receiving many positive reactions and multiple hashtags started to trend worldwide.

Articles have been posted within hours and youtubers posted videos the next day. Watching all of this unfold was crazy, unimaginable for you a few months ago. You kept on updating your social medias, looking at the newest comments and posts about the curiosity of Taehyung’s supporters.

You felt light, as if you could fly, that much weight has been lifted off your shoulders. This way, you imagined things to move along much easier.

And you were right. The same week you and Tae started to go to a course, enough security present to keep you safe and sound and it was fun to go out and spend time with your boyfriend, like normal couples do. The instructor advised the couples to do certain moves that will make the baby move, turn the right way and keep the women fit.

Taehyung also took you out on a date, the photos of him with you at his hands making headlines and more people started wondering who you were.

While all of this happened, you constantly kept Desiree in touch with every little detail about the baby, when it moved and when you had a new appointment at the doctors. 

She’d excitedly ask, “when will you know the gender? Do you guys already have a name?” Which you had to turn down and tell her that Taehyung had a list, but he kept it hidden from you until the gender got revealed.

Which wasn’t so far away now, only two more weeks until your next appointment and then you will finally know. 

Taehyung was all about you, every second he could get away from training was spent with you, constantly having his hands on you and smothering you with his love.

His baby grew inside of the girl he loved, it was understandable. But the hormones kept fucking with you so every now and then you snapped at him, telling him to go train or record some songs, practice piano or violin. He pouted but complied, leaving you for a few hours to let you cool down. When he came back in the evening he kissed you mushy, massaging your calves even though they didn’t hurt just yet.

He insisted on softly talking to the baby, trying to get it to move. It happened once when you were giggling heavy so now he intended on getting a reaction too.

“Why won’t my son talk to me?” He asked, pouting against your slightly protruding tummy.

“Why are you so sure it’ll be a boy?” You responded, teasingly. For more than a month he’s been addressing the baby as a boy, completely set on him getting a son.

Looking up at you, he playfully growled and furrowed his eyebrows. “Why are you so sure it won’t be a boy?”

You shrugged. Not having a reason for it and no energy for a discussion, you just pet his head and stroked through his hair. You’d find out soon anyway.

Your baby bulge grew much faster the later into your pregnancy you got, so when you and Taehyung are waiting for the doctor to reveal the gender, you couldn’t see below your stomach without having to sit up.

It was an exciting moment and Taehyung couldn’t keep still next to you. “And? Will I get a son?” He hopefully asked, grinning like he already won the bet. The bet as in, whoever wins, gets head tonight.

Your doctor took a good look and slided the gel over your stomach, looking at the display and then pausing the scene projection. “There, can you see? You guys are gonna get a little baby girl!”

You smiled big, looking at Taehyung. The greatest thing about him in this situation was, that he wasn’t sad about getting a daughter. He loved girls as much as boys and he’ll love his own baby princess the most. So he carried the biggest boxy smile and wide eyes, grabbing your hand. “Did you hear that? You’re gonna give me a baby girl,” he said, soft voice and happy face.

The excitement was big and so was your stomach. Right after the appointment, Taehyung dragged you to look for furniture, not listening to you about how your parents offered you a crib and you would get many presents once you threw the baby shower.

In the end you came home with snacks only, able to convince Taehyung that it’s way too early to be thinking about furniture. He started planning the baby shower with you, asking who you want to invite and putting his own friends on the list. Both of your parents are invited too, but that went without saying.

“When will you show me your list?” You asked. He told you the list full of potential names will be revealed to you once the gender would be known. Which was now.

“I think I’ll wait some more until I show you that list…,” he trailed off, playfully looking up and putting his finger on his chin. 

Pushing him, you laughed. “You’re such a goof, I hate you,” you smiled. But he took a hold of your shoulders and twisted you around, so that he was leaning on top of you. You were a little surprised by the sudden movement and gasped out.

“You know… I lost the bet.” The obvious was stated and the suggestion thrown into the room, cozy pillow underneath your back, so you nodded. “You know what that means, baby?”

He kissed you deeply, pushing his tongue between your lips and luring little moans out of you. Making his way down your body, rising your sweater to reach more skin. Once he disappeared beneath your belly, only his curly hair were in your view. You laid your hand on his head, gasping and moaning when he got to work between your legs.

He spent the whole night there, making you gasp and wither underneath him. Once he deemed you tired enough, he grinded himself into you and came on your face when you offered.

You showered, not able to remove his hands from your stomach and went to bed right after. Cuddling into his arms and listening to the deep baritone of his voice, your eyes dropped and you fell deep in a soft slumber.

The next morning went by cozy and with a slow pace, eating breakfast and further discussing the baby shower. It had to be done soon and you had to look after both BTS’ schedule and the ones from your parents. After a date was found, you called Desiree to make her accompany you when going out to order invitation cards.

“This isn’t a wedding, just send them a message, babe.” Tae grunted while he was getting dressed for work. He had a concert today, had to go to the soundcheck and practice beforehand.

“Yeah, but a baby shower. I want my friends to get a pretty card to open and look at,” you sulked. He just didn’t get it, you wanted to be extra. “I’m gonna pay for it all by myself, anyway. So don’t bother.”

The snappy tone in your voice made his eyes grow and he turned around with a widely open mouth. “Now don’t get all bratty on me, miss. I never said I didn’t want to pay for them, I just don’t see the point in it,” he said. His protests made you roll your eyes and turn around. Looking at a wall was better than looking at him.

“Hey! I said don’t get all bratty on me, what do you think you’re doing?” His tone was light but you still shifted nervously. Taehyung was scary when mad, you already knew that.

“Fine, I won’t be bratty. But I’ll still pay them myself.” He shook his head and grabbed his wallet. Pulling out a credit card, he pointed it towards you. “No,” you refused. “I don’t want your money.”

He signed but didn’t make a fuss out of it. “Alright, then pay for it now but I want to take half of the price, it’s my baby too.” With that he kissed you on your blown out cheek, still pouting. He took your bag and placed the plastic card into your wallet, wiggling it in the air and making you roll your eyes.

You said your goodbyes and he left the apartment.

Precious shopping time was very needed, after not being able to leave the house pretty much ever, but the bodyguard following you made it uncomfortable. He never left your side for more than a minute and that only, when you managed to slip away. Taehyung had given him a bigger check, to pay extra attention to you when he wasn’t there. The bulky man obviously didn’t want to lose that money.

But Desiree had a plan, because she really needed to talk to you alone.

“Sir, could you please call over an employee for us? Y/N needs some advice and I obviously can’t get someone,” she chirped, right after she slipped away behind the curtain in the changing room. With unsure eyes, he looked at you.

“It’s fine, Desiree is here,” you smiled, noticing his struggle. He nodded tighty, turning around to find the nearest employee.

“Finally he’s gone, oh god!” Your best friend jumped out. “Okay, quick, put this on and tell me if it fits!” The flimsy material she shoved into your hands didn’t need much explanation for what it was, your smile falling, being replaced by a serious look.

“I won’t wear that, stupid.” Your finalised answer was expected and she had a response immediately on her tongue.

“Yeah, but no. You’ll wear it, Taehyung will find it sexy. It’s on,” she deadpanned. Rolling your eyes, you turned around to the cabin, pulling the curtains closed and looking at the underwear in your hands, unsure if this would be a good idea.

“Taehyung and me have regular sex, it’s fine. He likes me with my ugly underwear just the same,” you tried to defend, changing her mind.

But she didn’t buy it. “He hasn’t actually fucked you in like, two weeks. You told me! He only ever goes down on you and then rubs one out. That doesn’t count.”

Exhaling, you nodded to yourself. She was right and you did tell her about it because you were bothered by it. She was just trying to help her friend.

After changing into the thin fabric, almost sweaty because of the trouble it made, you looked at yourself in the mirror filled room. It wasn’t too bad, you supposed. The belly was visible and very prominent but it didn’t bother you.

“You think Taehyung will like it?” Desiree asked from behind the curtains. “Hurry up, the bodyguard is coming back!”

You sighed. “I suppose I’ll take it, yeah. Taehyung will be exhausted tonight, though.”

“Stop trying to find excuses, missy,” she scolded.

When the two of you finished up and you payed for the clothes, leaving the credit card in your wallet because you refused to use it, you made your way to the card printing store.

The cards turned out really pretty, they were being printed and sent to the addresses you gave the nice old man there. You chose a cursive font with pretty colors and everything a light shade of powdery pink. Little butterflies in gold, just like the lettering was, decorated the empty spaces.

It’d give the gender away but you thought about how Taehyung would like it and agreed with Desiree’s opinion, “he probably wants all the cute pink stuff for his princess that he could get.”

After you grabbed some food for the both of you and handed the bodyguard his own bag with lunch, even after he protested, you decided that your feet were tired and you should head home. Although not after promising Desiree that you’d definitely wear the skimpy lingerie.

When Taehyung came through the doorway, he called out into the dark apartment, “I’m home! I hope you ate already, baby. You didn’t respond to me telling you I’d eat with the boys...,” he trailed off, when he didn’t receive an answer.

There was light shining under the bedroom door, so he placed his bag down next to the couch and walked in, quietly opening the door, in case you’d already be asleep.

“Y/N?...,” he questioned shocked. You laid on the bed, cramped up in a position that should be deemed sexy and looked at Tae with playful eyes. He looked around the room, you lit candles and drew the curtains.

“Hey there, handsome,” you smiled. This was nerve-wracking, to say the least. Not being sure of what his reaction to this would be, you pressed your lips together impatiently. He didn’t really show any emotion on his face, just looked at you.

After a short minute, he furrowed his brows. “Why are you not sleeping yet?”

Expecting everything but this, your mouth fell open. He couldn’t be serious.

“Are you for real right now? I’m awake because I waited for you,” you gritted your teeth.

“I texted you, though. Why did you wait up when you knew I was going to be late? Did you eat?” He pushed his jacket off of his shoulders and discarded it on the chair next to his closet. You stood up, angry pout on your face and crossed your arms over your very exposed chest.

“Tae!” He flinched at the raise of your voice. “Look at me,” you stomped your foot. This was childish of you, you knew it. But why couldn’t he appreciate your effort?

Turning around on his heels, he looked at you wide eyed. “Put something on baby, you’ll get cold. It’s winter,” he continued to be ignorant.

“Taehyung, do you really want to fuel me like this? I dressed up for you nicely and present myself like this and you tell me to put some clothes on?”

His mouth fished for words. “Why did you dress up for me?” This was it, you were done. How could he be this dense? Was this really going to be the father of your child?

Squinting your eyes at him, you walked past his figure, to the closet and angrily took a shirt, that was originally his. Pulling it over your head, you reached under and removed the bra, chucking it at his face. He retreated, laughing slightly at your actions.

“What’s wrong, baby? You know you don’t need to dress up for me,” he said, big smile and wrinkled eyes. He walked towards the bed to join you, but you pulled the blankets away when he went to pull them up and slip under. Sulking, you turned your back to him.

He chuckled and shook his head, removing his pants and clothes before laying on the mattress sideways. Carefully, he laid his hand on your shoulder, leaning over you.

“Are you mad now?” He asked. You could still hear the teasing in his tone. You shrugged his hand off and closed your eyes. “Angel, you know I find you sexy all the time, no matter your clothes. Why did you feel the need to dress up?”

You sniffed a bit, keeping your tears of frustration in. “We haven’t had actual sex in a bit, I thought you didn’t want to have sex with me since I’ve gotten bigger.”

He gasped, wanting to talk but you interrupted, “I told Desiree about it and she said I should try this. You don’t even want me dressed up, so what’s the purpose?”

Taehyung turned you around, looking into your eyes intensely. “Angel, my gorgeous baby. Never think that. I love you and you’ll always be attractive to me.” He leaned down and peppered your face with kisses. “You’re the prettiest woman on this planet and you’ll give me a little daughter. I couldn’t be more thankful.”

Pout still present on your lips, you let a tear slip past your cheek. He quickly wiped it away with his thumb, “no, no, no. Don’t you cry right now, baby. I’ll cry too.”

He got you to giggle a little bit at his words, hiding your face away towards the side. He leaned down and nuzzled your cheek with his nose, smooching you and making an obnoxious noise with it.

“Let me explain, alright?” He hummed, laying himself back down on his side next to you. “I’m kind of scared to hurt you or the baby when I actually...put my dick inside of you,” he said shyly.

“Don’t say it like that! Tae,” you giggled. “We’re not high schoolers.”

“Yeah, yeah. Sure, I’m just trying to be clear. What if I poke her? That’s so scary!” He almost screeched, raising his hand in the air to enhance the dramatic scene. This time you actually started to laugh, so hard you rolled to the side and hid yourself in his chest. You couldn’t get enough air in and went red because you laughed so hard. 

The baby seemed to dislike the action, kicking you hard and making you gasp and wince. “What? What happened?” Taehyung asked, full of panic. Waving your hand, you let him know that it wasn’t serious.

“She just didn’t like the noise and movement of me laughing this much, it’s fine.” After the cramp subsided, you turned on your back again. “Tae, you won’t poke the baby. Until the doctor tells us, it’s safe to have sex. If you want to be extra sure, we can just ask him the next time we’re there.”

“She moved? Let me feel!” His eyes lit up, completely ignoring your answer to his concerns. Laying his hand on your stomach, he waited for the baby to move again. “Hey, princess. It’s your Daddy,” he smiled. His voice was soft and controlled, not trying to make the baby upset.

“Be nice to your Mommy, alright? I love her a lot.”

His words made you smile widely, tearing up again. He meant so much to you, you couldn’t fathom it. This was your family, full of love and you couldn’t be happier. You put your hand on his head and played with his hair.

“My feet hurt,” you complained. “We walked so much today, I feel like all the water went down into my soles.”

He looked up with a concerned look, furrowing his brows and shaking his head. “This can’t be, my woman suffering? I won’t rest until you’re rid of the pain.” He played it up, jokingly tutting. You giggled when he kissed your knees, calves and went to sit cross legged at your pulsing feet.

He took one foot in his hands and got to work on massaging them, relieving you of the pressure. While he spoiled you, he talked about how the concert went, asked you about your day and the card design you chose.

In complete bliss over being pampered by your boyfriend, you got comfortable. You reminded yourself of having to update Desiree and then cuddled up with Taehyung, listening to his timber voice and falling asleep peacefully.

Until the baby shower, your baby only grew, soon you spent most of your days wearing loose sweaters and at home you completely discarded pants. They just weren’t worth it. The struggle to even find a fitting pair and then growing out of them quickly, made you lose hair at just the thought.

And Taehyung had all these soft sweaters without wearing them, so why not hog them? He noticed only after a week, laughing at your pout when he asked if he could wear one of your favorites. “You’re nesting,” he said, shaking his head in disapproval, but still smiling. “Keep it, I’ll find another one.”

He loved to see you hog his things, loved to see you wear them. It made him embarrassingly hard to see you walking around all pregnant without pants and a care in the world. And ever since you assured him that sex was still fine until the baby grew too much, you weren’t able to get his hands off of you.

For the baby shower you wore a soft winter dress, pants just really didn’t do it for you. And Taehyung said you looked really pretty, so you had to wear it. The party would be in a park, the company was able to reserve it from uninvited guest and this way you’d get some fresh air.

The event went by smooth, everyone loved the cupcakes you baked, with pink icing on top. You prepared fun games and the music was great. Meeting Taehyung’s parents without the phone screen separating you was terrifying but they were still as nice. They brought Yeontan along with them, the excited yapping wouldn’t cease as soon as he saw you and his Dad.

You had to sit down multiple times by Taehyung’s request, he was too worried you’d be in pain again. You kept standing up to talk to all of the guests and once he spotted you on your feet, he practically lunged at you and chased you, Yeontan thinking it’s a fun game, until you had to sit down.

The people enjoyed their time and loved putting their hands on your tummy, trying to coax the baby to move. At the end of the day, when people slowly started to leave and only Desiree, some of Taehyung’s friends and your parents were left, you truly were too tired to stand.

Taehyung gave you a kiss on your hair and insisted that it was fine if you just sat down and you wouldn’t need to help, to calm your conscience.

“We’ll visit soon, gotta keep up with the little bean,” Taehyung’s mother cooed, laying her hand on your stomach and taking you in a hug afterwards. His father took you in his arms too and while they said their goodbyes to their son, you bent down to pet the fluffy monster at your feet.

“You know, you’re not that bad when you’re not scratching my legs,” you spoke to the dog. “Gonna miss you, hairy baby.”

Behind you, Taehyung and his parents chuckled and continued to discuss when Yeontan could spend some time at your place. “Y/N is going to start her maternity leave soon, so if she’s up to it, Yeontan could stay with her.”

You nodded absentmindedly, not really involved into the conversation but still agreeing. It would be less lonely when Taehyung worked, with the dog staying at the apartment.

Not after long, your mother took her leave as well and the boys left in one go and took your best friend with them. Once your things were in the car, you and your boyfriend drove home as well.

After the first half of your pregnancy, everything seemed to go by faster. Your belly constantly grew, the baby already had hair, fingers, with which she was able to form a fist and she recognized when people touched your stomach. The doctor said she’d soon be able to differentiate yours and Taehyung’s voice, you should listen to calming sounds when she’s kicking a lot and she now started to practice breathing.

Ever since the news from the doctor, Taehyung hasn’t stopped talking to his daughter, every night before he went to sleep. He told her stories or sometimes just how much he loved her.

Her eyes should start to open soon as well, making you all wiggly with excitement. Having the ability to feel a little human grow inside of you always seemed scary to you, but now that you experience it, you couldn’t be happier.

She developed quick, you sometimes forgot that she wasn’t going to be in your baby bulge forever. Which reminded you of names, Taehyung still hasn’t shown you his list and you grew impatient. He kept assuring you, that he’d kept it in his mind and that it’ll be worth the wait, that it’s the perfect name and you’d love it. So you gave in, kept letting him pamper you.

The little devil kept notifying you of when she woke up, making sure to let you wake up with her regularly. She also started gaining weight in a more regular rhythm, giving your bladder an even harder time than before. You’d soon stop going to work, your boss wanted you to stay at home as soon as your belly got in the way of serving customers, but you wanted to hold out as long as you could.

You only gave in once the doctor advised you to stop around the 32nd week, the bump being too much to carry around for more than a few hours a day. “If you insist on working, I’ll have to put you on bedrest until you give birth,” he warned, playfully.

Once the oh so dreaded week rolled in, Taehyung jumped into the air, full of joy to know you’ll be safe and sound at home. He started going to practice less to spend more time with you, cooking your favorite foods and massaging your feet almost daily. You read that babies develop a preference of food around the week you were in, so it made sense that you only had appetite for the most delicious things.

The time was well spent, attending birth preparation courses regularly, checking up on the position of the baby and working out with you. It was practical for both of you, this way he stayed fit without being in the dance studio so much and you became less insecure. The baby did put some weight on.

Only five weeks left with your girl and you couldn’t stop the giddiness. Taehyung started to prepare a room in the apartment that was originally supposed to become a gym, but he never started up on it, so it was empty ever since you’ve known him. He and the boys painted the walls in pastel colors and built up the many useful presents the baby shower brought.

You watched them from your place in the wooden rocking chair, bickering over instructions of the crib, diaper changing table and other things.

Smoothing over the loose dress you put on, you laid your hands over your belly. Your little girl was going to be a spring baby and you couldn’t be more excited. Still not knowing the name of her turned out to be hard, so many people asking for her name and being irritated when you didn’t have a clue.

Your mind buzzed full of worries over her. She was in the right position, head down and ready to pop out but she also seemed a little too eager for your taste. Your cervix prepared your body for birth and you regularly felt cramps that scared you to death every time. The idea of going into labor too early was horrifying you, scared of what could happen to your baby.

Thank god for your caring boyfriend, who lives for making you worry less about scary things. He rather made you worry about him and his way of spending money on unnecessary baby things.

Just recently you had to discuss baby clothes with him, because he planned on ordering multiple gucci onesies. “We don’t need these. Our baby will grow up just fine without them!” Is what you kept on defending.

“We do need them! I want my baby to be stylish and cool!” You rubbed the bridge of your nose, not believing his words.

“Tae, the baby will grow so quick it won’t even be able to wear every onesie that’s in your checkout. My mom was already going to bring us some hand me downs from when I was a baby,” you spoke, trying your best not to finally go crazy. 

He was completely and utterly thick headed and still went on to buy the overprized baby clothes. He did see your point and only got one in various sizes, this way she could at least sometimes be stylish and cool.

He couldn’t be stopped, continuing to buy branded shoes and dresses, sunglasses and earrings. But you let him to his thing, it was his money and in the end you could always sell the things to other future mothers, once your baby grew out of the clothings.

Having to control the biggest baby in this house was already hard enough, but when Taehyung’s parents left Yeontan at his place your mind went into overdrive. Back in your second trimester the idea of a fluffy friend was nice, going on walks with him to catch some fresh air and cuddling him.

In reality, he constantly barked towards your belly, scared by the unfamiliar bump. Your feet hurt too much, to even walk Yeontan for more than 20 minutes and in the end you had a ball of too much pent up energy running around the apartment.

That’s what best friends were for. Desiree was willing to go out with the dog and get you food while you were too exhausted to move to the kitchen. She took care of you when Taehyung was working and even participated in your at home exercise.

All in all, you were surrounded by people who loved and cared about you. You appreciated everyone, but first place always won Taehyung. He was the one who gave you back and foot massages, kissed you tired when you didn’t feel loved and helped you find a comfortable position when the baby wiggled around.

He was also the person who cried one night, when you had bad cramps and didn’t know why, the baby didn’t kick you and they didn’t feel like birth woes, as far as a description on a mommy page told you. He held you close and tried to calm you down, kissed your hairline and repeated that it’ll be fine.

In the end, the pain stopped after a few minutes and you fell asleep, too exhausted from everything that is the last month of pregnancy. The next day you went to your doctor and felt like floating once he told you that it was just a very heavy cramp, your body preparing for birth.

With that knowledge, you started to pack your bag for when the baby will come. You packed everything you deemed necessary and placed it near the door, in case you needed to grab it in a hurry.

It happened when you were asleep. Taehyung was snoring a little because he catched a cold, splayed out over the bed, when he noticed you moving. You suddenly flinched up, feeling like you peed yourself.

Wide eyed, you sat up, feeling around the bed. A sharp pain pulled through your abdomen and you hissed, holding your stomach. “T-Tae,” you huffed. You hurried to shake him up, he was groaning, not completely asleep anymore, but still not grasping what you were saying. “I think the baby is coming, Tae! Please wake up, please,” you cried.

At this he sprang up, almost screaming. “What? It’s- now?!” Full of panic he looked at you, saw the obvious pain in your face and hurried to grab his pants. You didn’t bother to change out of your sleeping dress, standing up slowly and walking out of the bedroom. Taehyung came to your side after he grabbed his phone and held you close, making sure you were stable on your legs.

“Can you grab the bag, baby? Wait-,” he reached for your coat. “It’s cold out, put this on.” After you were able to pull the jacket on, you took the bag from Taehyung and walked in front of him outside of the apartment. “We’ll drive, the ambulance won’t be quick enough,” he stated. “You’ll be okay, baby. The woes only started right now, they’ll be slow.”

If you wouldn’t be waddling across the hall towards the elevator, concentrated on holding your footing, you’d be amazed by how much he picked up from all of the courses you attended. He locked the apartment up before you went down the lift towards the parking lot. In his car, he called your doctor, on his advice. He tried to keep calm, informing your doctor that he had to come to the hospital you were on your way to.

After that, he called his manager, only reaching his mailbox. Hastily, he told him to inform the others and the company. You kept your breathing even, holding the door handle tight to level out your pain. “Tae, I can’t do this,” you looked at his face with wide eyes. He shook his head, looking at the road ahead and held your hand.

“You can, and you will. You did so great until now, you know what to do. I’ll be right next to you the whole time,” he said. His voice appeared steady, completely opposite to your teary state. Taking your hand in his, he took a quick glance over. “You’ll get our baby girl out there, too. You’re so strong.”

His words did help a little, he truly trusted in you. When you arrived at the hospital, rushing to the check in, a nurse immediately ran to get you a wheelchair. Taehyung described to another nurse how far you might be, telling her that your doctor is on the way here to assist. Adding to that, a doctor from the hospital was informed to prepare for the birth.

To your request, you were put under medication as soon as the process allowed it. When it kicked in, all the pain was relieved. Laying back, you could finally concentrate on breathing.

Delivering a child was different from what you expected and you were glad that Taehyung had the decency not to look, once it got ugly. After tough eight hours of pushing, breathing and breaking your boyfriend’s hand, you heard screaming. It was faint in your ears, exhaustion taking over your senses. You were sweaty and tired, laying flatly on the bed and when the doctor held your baby, after washing it and cutting the umbilical cord, you smiled. It was a hazy, tired smile and you could barely focus on the infant in front of you.

“Baby, look at her, our daughter is so gorgeous,” Tae whispered, calming you down with regular stroking over your hair. “You did it, angel. It’s done.”

“Yeah?” you asked, voice hoarse from the exhaustion. “Can I sleep now?” The nurses and Taehyung laughed, the doctor was busy writing down the time of birth and all the necessary data.

“What will her name be?” The question came expected but you still weren’t prepared. Your boyfriend still kept his secret and smiled at you.

“Can it wait until she’s rested? She doesn’t know what name I chose yet.”

“She’s such a cute angel! Oh my god, you did so good with her!” Desiree squealed. She came to visit two days after you delivered, excited to meet your daughter. Taehyung just went out to get some actual food for you and you laid back on the bed, smiling when Desiree picked her up.

“How are you doing postpartum? Feeling good?” She checked up on you. Previous to birth you voiced your concerns about getting postpartum depression, so it was only natural for her to be curious.

Nodding your head, you sat up a little. “Yeah, I’m actually fine. Except for the ugly details when I go to pee. I adore her,” you yawned. Taehyung had been watching her when you slept out your exhaustion, but with a newborn constantly needing to get stilled, sleep wasn’t as good as before.

“Heey, how are the ladies?” Taehyung walked in, swing in his step and bags of food in his hands. “She’s awake?”

Desiree nodded, smiling brightly when she turned around to present the bundle of cuteness. Putting the food down, Taehyung gave you a kiss and then turned to stroke his daughter’s head.

“When will you be able to go home?” Your best friend asked. Shrugging, you stuffed your mouth with much needed food. You wanted pizza, but Taehyung refused to indulge your unhealthy wishes. So now you had a chicken salad.

“The doctor said she can go home as soon as the nurses know she’ll be fine at home,” Taehyung answered for you.

You all went silent except for the munching noises, until the princess of the room started to scream. “She’s hungry,” you stated simply. With a bit of fiddling, Desiree put her in your arms and helped you get into a comfortable position to feed your baby, taking your lunch and placing it on the side table.

“My call to leave,” she chuckled. “The boys will be here tomorrow, right? I’ll come over then,” she mentioned, smiling and waving. Taehyung escorted her to the door and then sat down next to you, baby already suckling happily.

“You did so good with her, angel,” Taehyung murmured, watching you and his daughter with a soft gaze. He reached over to smooth over the fluffy hair she already had and smiled. Your heart clenched at the sight.

“We did good, Tae. She’s yours too,” you said. Taking his hand, you pulled him in to kiss him. “She’s gorgeous. Our baby girl. Can’t wait for our parents and Yeontan to meet her.”

Taehyung hummed, smiling at his little family. “Our springchild, sweet Chun-ja.”

[whirlybirbs]

✶  —  las rosas están cayendo   ;   j.m. 

summary: you're a figurehead in a far-reaching criminal underground operation that's offered jesse mccree haven and work in the last few years. your relationship with the cyberized cowboy is complicated but oh-so lovestruck.

pairing: jesse mccree / reader, est. relationship

tags: fluff, angst, good guy falls for the bad guy who’s not so bad

a/n: i’m simping, it’s fine

                               (    read on archive of our own !   )

Jesse McCree likes the Silkroad's End. Always has.

The place's very namesake pays homage to some dark web marketplace that operated back in the 10s; it's fitting, Jesse thinks, since the entity itself certainly fits what he'd imagine the personification of that very digital market to be. Dark, a bit shady, and always crawling with folks who aren't really who they say they are.

Staff changes every three weeks. Location, too. Lucky for him, the only thing that stays the same is the barkeep. Everything else is rotating, always moving, always changing. It's best that way.

Truth be told nothing in the States offers true anonymity, anymore. All that's long since past. Every damn street corner has a camera watchin'. But, the Silkroad's End is good — and discretion is their business. They offer what people like Jesse McCree need:

Trustworthy resources.

Even still, knowing about the Silkroad's End is one thing.

Getting in is another entirely.

Jesse's learned not to be startled when a stranger ambles up and slips something in his palm — might get 'im killed someday, but for now, he offers a gentle tip of the hat to whatever camera is eyein' his current move in whatever city he's in.

The chips — obsidian colored and round — are few and far between. There's a chain-code implanted in the micro-computer inside that registers a location on his personal data-device; but without that chip, he ain't gettin' inside. It's one use, one time only.

This time, the den is a quiet little place on a side street in New Orleans.

This chip was delivered to Jesse in a seedy bar bathroom — and as he shoved it into his pocket and muscled up his tawny-colored jeans, he was left grimacing. Bastard that gave it to him didn't even wash his hands. Just pissed and dropped it on top of the urinal.

The den is downstairs, and Jesse turns in his chip after finding the little location to a towering omnic who reminds his a little bit too much of a certain butler he once knew.

"Might wanna wash that."

Spurs tinker on the wooden steps, and when the door's eye slot slams open, Jesse is met with the gaze of a human this time — an unknown staff member with a tattoo that crawls up the side of his head. There's a tense silence. Then, the slot slams shut.

With a quick yank of the three-inch durasteel door, Jesse finally steps foot into the Silkroad's End.  

And, with an elated sort of smirk, he swaggers right in your direction.  

Jesse reckons it's been four months since he's seen you — the ever-present barkeep and present owner of the Silkroad's End  — last ;  could be that you're one of many owners and operators, as he suspects but... Well, Jesse never had enough to go on that hunch.

There he was, as always, distracted.

You know the sound of his spurs from a million others. In an instant, your lashes are flicking up from the bar and through the crowded back room. Tonight is busy — seems a good few members decided tonight would be the night they cash in their chips. You shouldn't be surprised to see Jesse McCree, but...

He's always had a way of knocking you off your game.

"Have I ever told you," comes the low croon as a set of cyberized knuckles rap on the mahogany bar, "that you make the best drinks around?"

Your smirk settles into your words. You move slowly, reaching for that top-shelf whiskey he likes so much.

"Is that why you keep coming back, then?"

Jesse smirks. His trademark hat finds a spot beside him at the bar, and he leans back to run a hand through his dark, wild hair. "One of a handful of reasons I could list, sure."

The drink that lands in front of him is coupled with your full attention.

Jesse feels awfully big in it.

His fingertip tinker against the glass. The sound is pleasing.

Your elbows meet the bartop. You lean. Your eyes drift across his face, and for a moment you find a rush of relief bloom at the realization that there are no new scars. He looks tired, but well.

Alive.  

A lot for a man with a bounty of sixty million on his head.

You work hard to keep that very bounty out of the Silkroad's End 's docket. That ledger of his, deep and relentless, has become harder to ignore in recent months. With word that Overwatch was recalled... Jesse's name had been floating around more than you liked recently.

It made you worry.

Your voice is soft. So is your smile.

Jesse, the sap he is, is glad he's sitting down for the sight of it.

"You look good, Jesse."

He scoffs into the whiskey. His eyes, a dark brown and warm like the run, roll at the remark. You grin.

"M' gettin' old," he rumbles, "And things are changing' faster than I can keep up with."

You don't pry. A habit. A good one, mostly. Jesse has a habit of being an open book. Given the chance, you'll pry later. For now, you opt to air on the side of wistful interest. Fleeting and light.

Your chin finds your palm.

Long ago, you wouldn't have dared to let a soul see you so engaged with a member like this, but... This operation ran on trust. Discretion was a part of the bigger equation and the people in this room?  You've known most of them for years now.

Bounty hunters, arms dealers, drug peddlers.

They know better than to bite the hand that feeds.

"You been busy, then?" you ask, watching the way his eyes stick to you, even when he reaches to dig out a cigar from a pocket beneath his serape. In a flash, he's procured a gilded lighter and flicked it open. The flame dances between you both, and you watch as he puffs the cigar. The embers burn red.

He exhales and smoke swirls around his head like horns — Jesse's lips slip into a lopsided sort of look; more playful than anything.

"That lead you gave me," he drawls, "It worked out. Paid good, too."

Your smile is slow.

This song and dance is always fun.

"Been savin' a few for you," you say, "You're one of the few I can trust to actually bring people in alive."  

"I haven't even been here fer more than a minute an' you're already talkin' business, pumpkin," Jesse grins, all toothy and scruffy, and takes another puff of his cigar, "That all you ever do?"

"You know me, Jesse," you slide your fingers across the underside of the bar, sending the partition up and allowing you to step around. You shrug your shoulders and hang your hands. The way his eyes flick across your figure isn't lost on you.

You cock your head towards the back office as you speak. "Always scheming."

If that ain't the god damn truth.

You're a smart little thing. All devilish wit and pulled strings. You have enough dirt in your back pocket to bring a few governments down, Jesse supposes. Nothing to bat an eyelash at.

He follows with ease; hat tucked upon his head once more, cigar and whiskey held in his hands. He follows you, looming over your shoulder, as the sea of patrons part with sidewards glances and half-aware nods. Everyone has their own business to attend to. You're simply attending to yours.

The back office isn't really much of an office — if anything, it's a refitted storage room. There's a desk, a handful of monitors, and enough security barring entrance to the windowless room that Jesse's roughed up every time.

The omnic patting him down isn't gentle. He tugs the peacekeeper from his hip holster and grunts. Jesse scowls.

That ain't never been a problem before, though.

You, all poised with your arms crossed, wave it off. The gun is shoved roughly back into Jesse's holster. If both hands weren't preoccupied, maybe the bouncer would get more than the nasty snarl Jesse manages as he's waved through. Maybe.

As the door slips shut behind him, the sound of your heels is all he hears.

"Beefed up security, huh?"

Your sigh is tight. He can see the tension along your shoulders when you round the sleek desk in the middle of the room and unlock a drawer. If you'd thought he'd move past your silence, you're wrong.

Jesse isn't like you.

He has a bad habit of asking plenty of follow up questions.

"What happened, pumpkin?"

That damn nickname is enough to spur you to straighten yourself, to set the datapad down gently on the desk in front of you, and to frown.

"There was an incident."

His worry is palpable.

"Nothing dramatic," you wave it off, shooing him slightly when he nears the desk. You walk around it and lean, settling on the edge, "But it was enough to spook a few staff members into being more mindful of who carries in the establishment. Especially behind closed doors."

You've had enough guns pulled on you in your life to know that one could have been the last — but it wasn't. It was fine. Might have earned you a few restless nights and a few connections to clean up, but the disgruntled member was dealt with. That was a month and a half ago now. Distant.

Jesse frowns. He sets his whiskey down on your desk, then leans and smothers the cigar in a fizzle of ash and smoke in the ashtray there.

His voice goes low, gruff, and serious.

"Pumpkin, I ain't a good man," he breathes, eyes low beneath the brim of his hat, "You're better off not trustin' men like me."

He does this every time.

A glimmer of self-consciousness towards his own character.

You know him better than to believe that shit.

"Jesse, if anyone was to put a bullet between my eyes," you mutter, unlocking the datapad with a flick of your finger, "I'd be honored if you were the one to do it."

That earns you a low grumble.

His weight moves to shift beside you. His hip bumps yours. His shoulder saddles right up against your own. You can smell the cigar on him, the burn of the whiskey on his tongue. Jesse is warm. He laces his own fingers together. You can feel his eyes on you as you sift through the files of bounties — and you try not to seem startled when he says your name soft enough it could pass for a lullaby.

"... You alright?"

It's not often you're asked this question.

You were right before — you were always talking business. Personal matters were kept far from any business dealings you did on a daily basis. It was pertinent. Kept the machine well-oiled.

Things with Jesse, though... They'd been different for a long time.

Things changed when the two of you had forgone professionalism once a handful of years ago now. It wasn't long after the first time you'd met him the cowboy had stolen himself into your well-guarded feelings. You blamed the charm. He believed it was luck. Despite knowing nearly nothing about you, he'd become enamored, and — when you'd initially thought the sex was something to sweeten the deal, Jesse quickly made it plenty clear he intended on keeping the sex and the business separate.

The feelings grew between those two things.

Now, in the center of his attention... Well, you feel small.

You let out a slow exhale.

"I missed you, y'know," you say slowly, eyes still trained on the names staring back at you on the datapad.

"Yeah," he breathes, "I missed you, too. Ain't fun bein' gone so long."

"As if either of us has a choice?"

Another hum. This one a bit sadder. Jesse supposes you're right, that it isn't exactly ideal  — and it's not as if he's allowed himself to be vulnerable to anyone else these last few years. Not when he's a wanted man. Not when gettin' someone tangled up in the danger is the last thing he wants.

It was different with you. You knew the danger. You...

Christ alive, he wishes now things were different.

Back then, it was easy.

Coming to terms, now, with the numbing loneliness that hangs itself over the both of you hurts a bit worse. Time is ticking by. He'll be older than he is younger soon.

"You ever wish you could leave it all behind?"

His question is met with a tired scoff. Your cheek finds his shoulder. Your hair falls along his arm.

"And become the world's most wanted woman?"

"What you've got is an empire," Jesse drawls, a hand slowly reaching for your own, "M' sure someone would wanna call it theirs ."

"And then what happens to the tired, old queen? The queen who knows what makes that empire strong?"

Your quirk your brows. Jesse sighs.

"... Point taken."

"I made my bed," you say with a measured sense of finality, "And I've gotta lay in it, Jesse."

His eyes dance alight when something then that's tempered with fire; he blinks down at you through thick lashes as he speaks.

"Wouldn't mind layin' with you..."

It's husky. Drawn out. Nearly a sigh, especially when his fingers slip along the curve of your wrist and draw up to your cheek.

"I'm starting to think you come here," you mumble with an edge of sarcasm as his nose brushes yours, "For more than just business ."

"Oh, sweetpea," Jesse grins as he whispers, "It's been that way for a long time now."

The kiss is bruising — the sort you missed horribly in those months apart. It's lip and teeth and scruff; the brush of his beard is enough to make you smile, enough to make you abandon the datapad on your desk.

Enough to keep you distracted enough that you don't notice Jesse McCree tapping an encrypted data transfer skimmer over your datapad.

You'll notice in the morning.

And by then, he'll be long gone.

[thelastspeecher]

D R A M

The title of this post is actually what I named the Word doc that I wrote this up in.  This write takes place in an AU inspired by a post that said something along the lines of “supervillain winds up marrying the ex-spouse of their superhero archnemesis”.  I saw that post and was like “time to make another version of the Superhero/villain AU”.  So here you go.

——————————————————————————————

              Stan slid into his regular stool at the bar. At the sound of soft muttering, he looked over.  He raised an eyebrow.  Normally, no one sat next to his stool.  But today, a young woman sat there, staring morosely at her drink and mumbling something.

              “Hey, hot stuff,” he said cheerfully, leaning in. She held up a hand.  Light glinted off the golden band around her ring finger.

              “I’m married,” she said dully.

              “You don’t sound too happy about it,” Stan remarked. She glared at him.  “I call it like I see it, toots.”

              “Don’t call me ‘toots’,” she snapped.

              “Fine.  What should I call you, then?”

              “By my name.”

              “Which would be…?”

              “…Angie.”

              “Angie.”  Stan held out a hand.  “I’m Stan.” Angie shook the offered hand. “So, what brings a troubled wife to my favorite dive?”

              “My dick of a husband,” Angie groused.  She slumped over the bar.  “I swear…some days he acts like a completely dif’rent man than the one I married.”  Tears shone in her voice, along with a distinct southern accent.  She picked up her drink and pulled on the straw.  It rattled in the ice at the bottom of the otherwise empty glass.  “And I’m all out.”

              “I’ll cover it.  What’s your drink?”

              “Long Island iced tea.”

              “Oof.  Maybe I shouldn’t get you a second one of those.  Those are a bad decision in a glass.”  Angie straightened, her eyes boring into Stan’s.

              “I can handle my liquor, sir.  I bet I can handle it better ‘n you can,” she snarled. Stan held his hands up.

              “Okay, okay, I believe you.  Man, you’ve got claws, don’t you?”

              “Maybe.”

              “Heh.  I like a woman with a bit of fight in her.”  Stan winked.

              “Still married.”

              “To that dick?  Why?”

              “He treats me right,” Angie mumbled into her drink. “…Sometimes.”

              “Sometimes?  What about the rest of the time?”

              “He tries to get me to quit my job and be a housewife.”

              “Why?”

              “If I knew, I’d tell ya,” Angie said with a shrug. She tapped the rim of her glass. “So, about that drink…?”

              “Hey, barkeep?” Stan called, flagging down the bartender.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw one corner of Angie’s mouth turn up, into a ghost of a smile.

-----

              Stan had just about finished putting his boots on when his favorite coworker, Undertow, stormed into the locker room.  He watched with a raised eyebrow as Undertow tore open his locker, muttering under his breath.

              “You’re in a mood today,” Stan commented.  Undertow sighed.  He looked back at Stan.  The crew’s general policy was to keep masks on at all times in HQ, since there were some new heroes with telepathy who might be able to take a peek at a villain’s memories.  Undertow’s outfit had a full cowl, rather than a domino mask like Stan’s, but even partially obscured, he had one of the most expressive faces Stan had ever seen. And at the moment, Undertow’s expression was frustrated and saddened.

              “I thought she was fin’ly goin’ to leave him,” Undertow said.  Stan’s second eyebrow raised to join his first.

              He’s pretty damn upset.  Normally, he keeps that accent in check.

              “Who?” Stan asked.

              “My sister.”

              “You have a sister?”

              “Two.”  Undertow sat on the bench next to Stan.  “But the one I’m speakin’ of is my twin sister.”  Stan racked his brain for any hints about Undertow’s background.  As someone without villainous family connections, he wasn’t privy to information that some of his coworkers had.  But he remembered hearing once that Undertow came from a long line of villains.

              “Is she…in the trade?” Stan asked.  Undertow shook his head.

              “No.  When we were younger, she wanted to be.  But she decided not to, when she started datin’ the feller what became her husband.” Undertow scowled.  “Her husband’s a real piece of shit.”

              “Did he prevent her from being a villain?”

              “Nah.  He don’t know ‘bout our fam’ly bein’ full of villains.  But he’s on the straight ‘n narrow, and wouldn’t have liked his wife to be breakin’ the law.”  Undertow sighed heavily.  “As it is, he don’t really like his wife doin’ much of anything.  Which is why my sister needs to dump his sorry ass.”  Undertow rubbed his face.  “And I thought she was goin’ to do it this time.  But she didn’t.”

              “What happened?”

              “They had another argument about how he wants her to start poppin’ out kids.  She don’t want to yet, ‘cause she feels like takin’ maternity leave right now would cripple her career trajectory.  And his response was that she won’t need maternity leave, ‘cause she can just quit her job.  He keeps pushin’ that issue over ‘n over.  He don’t like her workin’.”

              “Sounds like a douche.”

              “He is!  And after that fight, she came to my house fer a shoulder to cry on.  I did my best to sway her, but she still went back to him once she’d calmed down.”  Undertow groaned loudly.  “Honestly, at this point, I can’t think of a single thing that’d get her to leave him.”

              “Maybe I should make a pass at her,” Stan joked. Undertow snorted.

              “I wouldn’t be opposed to that.  You’d be better fer her than what she’s got right now.”

-----

              Stan went to the bar every night, hoping to see Angie again, but it took a month before she showed up.  This time, she arrived after he did, visibly in tears. She made her way to the stool next to Stan’s and sat down.  Faint breezes danced around her, kicking up her caramel-colored hair.

              Is…is she a super?  I knew she was something special.  Stan wordlessly slid her his whisky, which she downed in one swallow. He winced.

              “Your husband again?” he asked.  Angie nodded morosely.  “Well, at least he lasted a month before he pissed you off enough to make you drown your sorrows.”

              “Nah, I just went to my brother’s last time,” Angie said hoarsely.  “He’s got real moonshine, and I wanted somethin’ strong.”

              “If your brother’s got hooch, why are you coming here?” Stan asked.  Angie slid Stan’s empty tumbler back to him, determinedly avoiding eye contact.

              “I…wanted to talk to you.”

              “…Really?”

              “Yes.”

              “Look, lady, I’m not a marriage counselor.”

              “I know.  But you don’t have an agenda.  My brother does.  My whole fam’ly does, all my friends do.  All they say is ‘leave him’.”  Angie met Stan’s gaze.  Her eyes were a bright, brilliant blue, swimming in tears.  “I just need someone to listen.”

              “I can do that, but you’re gonna have to pay for another whiskey for me first,” Stan said.  Angie managed a watery chuckle.

              “Fine.”  Angie waved over the bartender and ordered herself a Long Island iced tea and another whiskey for Stan.

              “All right,” Stan said once his drink was in hand. “What’s going on?”

              “My ma became a stay-at-home mother when I was a tot.  She kept house and raised six kids-”  Stan coughed roughly.

              “Six kids?” he croaked.  Angie nodded.  “What the-”

              “We’re Catholic.”

              “Ah, okay.  Carry on.”

              “Props to her.  It’s a rough job to have, and I don’t look down on it.”  Angie slammed her hands against the counter.  A wind picked up, rattling the old beer advertisements on the wall.  “But it ain’t fer me!”

              “Lemme guess.  Your husband wants you to be a stay-at-home mom.”

              “Yes.  Which I knew. But this time- this time, he brought my ma into it!  Told me that I’d be good at it ‘cause my ma clearly was.  I just-”  Angie gestured wordlessly.  “How- how could he think that’s a compliment?”

              “Probably ‘cause he’s so dead set on you doing that,” Stan said with a shrug.  “He’s already decided you’ll do it, so he’s already started complimenting you on it.”

              “…That makes sense,” Angie said softly.  She groaned loudly.  “Why is he like this?”  Stan shrugged.  “I want to stay with him, to get him to change his mind-”

              “That’s not your job.  Your job is-”  Stan frowned. “Wait, what do you do?”

              “I’m a zookeeper.”

              “Your job is to keep zoos,” Stan said.  Angie furrowed her brow, like she couldn’t decide whether she was amused by Stan’s phrasing or not.  “Not to drag your husband out of the fifties.”

              “But I’m his wife.”

              “And?”

              “I’m s’pposed to help him change.”

              “What if he doesn’t want to change?” Stan asked. “What do you do then?”  The winds that had entered the bar with Angie abruptly died down.

              “…Yer right.”

              “I am?”

              “He don’t want to change.  He don’t want to listen to me.  I can’t force it, I shouldn’t have even tried.”  Angie dropped a twenty-dollar bill on the counter and stood to leave.

              “Hey, uh wait-” Stan started.  Angie looked at him.

              “Yes?”

              “I, uh, I never got your last name.”

              “It’s Hillcrest.”  Angie slid her wedding ring off and tucked it into the pocket of her jeans. “But not fer long.”  She paused for a moment, watching Stan, then leaned in and placed a gentle peck on his cheek.  With that, she left the bar.

              Stan stared at the door long after she had gone, his mind running a mile a minute.

              Did I just get her to break up with her husband?

-----

              Stan walked out of the shower and headed for his locker to get dressed in his civvies.  After he had his pants on, Undertow entered the locker room and went for his locker as well.

              “Hey,” Stan said.  Undertow grunted.  “Is it your sister’s husband again?”

              “Hmm?”  Undertow turned around.  “Oh, no, she finally dumped him.”

              “Really?  Good for her.”

              “Yeah.  But she’s got a new beau, and she insisted on dinner with him tonight.”  Undertow sighed.  “I’m not looking forward to it.”

              “Is he a dick, too?”

              “Don’t know.  Haven’t met him.”

              “Ah.  I get it. You don’t wanna meet your sister’s new man just yet.”

              “No, I do not.”

              “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I’m not looking forward to dinner tonight, either,” Stan said, slipping on his T-shirt. “I’m meeting my girlfriend’s brother for the first time.”

              “Oof.”  Undertow looked at him sympathetically.  “Don’t worry too much, Flamethrower.  You’re a great guy.”

              “Thanks, but I dunno if her brother’s gonna think that. My girlfriend says he can be a bit tough.”  Undertow walked over to Stan and clapped a hand on his shoulder reassuringly.

              “I’m sure it’ll go great.”

              “Hopefully,” Stan muttered.  Undertow smiled at him.

              “If her brother doesn’t like you, he’s a damn fool.”

-----

              Stan walked up to the address Angie had given him. When she divorced her ex-husband, she had moved in with her twin brother, Lute.  Apparently, Lute was thrilled to have her with him again.

              I get it, though.  That twin bond is strong.  Stan stopped in front of the door.  He took a deep breath and knocked.

              “Comin’!” Angie called.  Stan felt some of his nerves disperse at the sound of her voice. The door opened, revealing the beaming face of his girlfriend.  “Stanley!” She stood on her tiptoes to kiss him. “Thank you so much fer agreein’ to this.”

              “You said it’s important, so…”

              “It is,” Angie said softly.  “It really is.”  Her eyes lit up.  “Oh! And, um, remember how ya told me that yer not exactly…on the side of the law?” she said, her voice low.  Stan nodded.  Telling Angie he was a villain had been nerve wracking, but she had proven herself once again to be the best possible girlfriend and taken it in stride. “Well, the reason I took it so well is ‘cause I have a lot of fam’ly members who ‘re in the same career.”

              “Wait, really?”

              “Yep!  Lute’s one of ‘em.  If things go well tonight, I can prob’ly convince him to put a good word in fer ya, get ya moved up in the ranks a bit.”

              “You really think so?” Stan asked eagerly. Angie nodded.  “That would be awesome, Ang.”

              “Just be charmin’, okay?”  Angie messed with his shirt.  “But that shouldn’t be a problem.”

              “Hey, Angie, the oven just beeped!” a voice shouted. Stan’s head whipped up.

              That almost sounded like Undertow.

              “All right, I’ll come take care of it,” Angie called back.  She kissed Stan on the cheek.  “Come on in and take a seat in the livin’ room.”

              “You got it.”  Stan kissed the top of her head and entered the house, following the hallway until he arrived at a cozy living room.  He took a seat on the brown couch.  Shortly after, a young man that looked eerily similar to Angie entered, holding a glass of water, and took a seat next to him.

              “So, um…” the man said.  He cleared his throat.  “Yer Stan?”

              “Yeah.  I’m guessing you’re Lute?”

              “Yessir.”

              “Nice to meet you,” Stan said, holding out a hand. Lute shook it, visibly reluctant. “Angie speaks pretty highly of you.”

              “She does the same fer you.”  Lute cleared his throat again.  “What do you do?”

              “I sell used cars.”

              “Used cars?”

              “Yeah.”  Stan shrugged.  “It’s just to make some dough while I work on my passion projects.”  Lute eyed Stan with interest.  Much like when he had heard Lute’s voice earlier, Stan was reminded of Undertow.  Something about the look in Lute’s gray eyes was eerily familiar.

              “Passion projects?  Like what?”

              “Oh, uh, I’m keeping them to myself until they work out,” Stan said.

              Don’t wanna spill just yet that I want to become a villain full-time.

              “Ah.”  Lute seemed disappointed.  He looked down at his glass of water.  After a moment, he spoke again.  “You a super?”

              “Yeah.  You?” Stan asked without thinking.  He fought back a wince.

              Angie just told you he was a villain, of course he’s a super, you dumbass.  Lute smirked. The water in his glass shot up, hovered as a sphere for a split second, then zipped around the room before returning to his glass.  Stan’s jaw dropped.

              “Whattaya think?” Lute asked snidely.

              “…I think you’re a super,” Stan said.

              Shit, it is Undertow!  How did I wind up dating my coworker’s twin sister without realizing it?

              “Yup.”  Lute winked. “Better yet, I’m a mask.  Give ya twenty bucks if ya can guess who.”

              “Lute!” Angie scolded from the kitchen.  Lute groaned.

              “Fine, I’ll drop it.”  Before Stan could think of what to do with the information that Lute was Undertow, the villain in question spoke again.  “So, ya sell used cars.  What’s yer education like?”

              “Uh, high school.”

              “That’s it?” Lute asked.  Stan nodded.  Lute frowned. “My sister has a-”

              “Doctorate in herpetology, I know,” Stan said.

              “And you don’t think it’s odd at all that someone so educated is with someone who only graduated high school?” Lute pressed. Stan shrugged.

              “It just means that she’s smart enough for the both of us,” he said airily.  Lute froze. His eyes began to frantically search Stan’s face.

              “…What did ya just say?” he whispered.

              “That Angie’s smart enough for both of us,” Stan said.  A memory abruptly surfaced of a conversation he’d had with Undertow a few days ago. He had mentioned his relationship, as well as the discrepancy between his education and his girlfriend’s.  And Undertow had simply replied that Stan’s girlfriend would have to be smart enough for the both of them, then.

              “Hmm.”  Lute leaned back, still staring at Stan.  “Say, yer a super, right?  What kind?” In lieu of a verbal response, Stan snapped his fingers.  A flame burst to life on his fingertips.

              “Whattaya think?”

              “Flamethrower,” Lute whispered.  Stan extinguished the flame.

              “Undertow.”

              “Yer- I-”  Lute dragged his hands down his face.  “Consarnit!”

              “Yeah, I gotta admit, finding out that my girlfriend’s twin is my favorite coworker is pretty weird,” Stan confessed.  Lute groaned.  “But you seem to be taking this way harder than you should be.”

              “It’s just- yer my fav’rite coworker, too.”

              “You make that sound like it’s a problem.”

              “It is.  I like ya, Stan, which is goin’ to make it difficult to be hard on ya.”

              “Wait, what?” Stan asked.  Lute sighed.

              “I have to be hard on ya to make sure yer all right fer my sister.”

              “What?  Come on, man!”

              “My sister just got out of a bad relationship. I don’t want her to wind up in another one right off the bat.”

              “You know me.  I’m a good guy.  I treat Angie right.”

              “That’s what I thought ‘bout Max,” Lute said softly. “Hell, we’d been friends since we were in diapers.  I thought he was a decent sort.  So when he ‘n Angie started datin’ in high school, I didn’t bat an eye.  I should’ve.  If I had, maybe I could’ve stopped Angie from needin’ a divorce.”

              “Lute.”  Stan and Lute looked up.  Angie had entered the living room.  She crossed over to Lute, knelt in front of him, and placed a hand on one of his knees. “Don’t blame yourself.  The only person to blame is me.  I should’ve left the minute he became a hero, and I was goin’ to have to abandon the dream of followin’ the fam’ly tradition.  But I stayed.  Even when he started raggin’ on me ‘bout how I needed to be a more traditional wife.”

              “You were in a toxic relationship,” Lute said softly.  “Yer not to blame.”

              “The only person to blame here is your dick of an ex-husband,” Stan said.  Angie and Lute looked over.  “Lute’s right, Angie.  It’s difficult to leave a toxic relationship.  My mom’s proof of that.  But Angie’s right, too, Lute.  It’s not your fault, either.  Sometimes…sometimes people start out good, but then they get worse.  Even if you had been hard on Max when he started dating Angie, things still could have played out the way they did.”

              “Yeah,” Lute said.  He sighed.  “Yer right, Stan.  We should be blamin’ Max, not ourselves.  Especially since he’s apparently a hero.”  Lute directed the statement at Angie, who paled.  “Banjolina, what’s that about?”

              “Banjolina?” Stan mumbled.

              “I didn’t share information either way,” Angie said tartly, getting to her feet.  “I ain’t a snitch.”

              “Ya won’t be tellin’ us what his hero name is, then?” Lute asked.  Angie shook her head.  “Hmph. Guess we’ll just have to figure it out on our own.”

              “Speaking of secret identities,” Stan said, “why didn’t you warn us that we already knew each other?”  Angie grinned.

              “I might not have ever gotten into the villainy game, but that don’t mean I ignore the chance to stir up some mischief.” Something in the kitchen beeped.  “Oh, I’ve got to get that.”  She rushed back into the kitchen.

              “Given what ya just said and what I already knew about you,” Lute said slowly, “I’ll drop the protective big brother speech.” Stan leaned back.

              “Cool.  I mean, no offense, but you’re not as intimidating as you think you are,” Stan replied.  Lute rolled his eyes.

              “Whatever.”  He leaned closer to Stan.  “Between the two of us, I think we could figure out which hero it is what broke Angie’s heart and trapped her in a bad relationship fer years on end.”  Stan nodded.

              “I agree.  That motherfucker needs to get a firm ass-kicking.”

[ao3feed-larry]

Diamonds and Pearls

by superglass

He expects his usual warm welcome from Sue, always drying off a glass or cleaning the taps with a dirty rag. Instead, to his shock, a man is behind the bar, pouring a Whiskey Sour for a regular Harry always sees at this time of night. He’s no doubt his age; he can tell by the smoothness of his skin, the muscles in his biceps, the way his hair is swept back in a style not unlike a young James Dean, exemplifying the cut of his cheekbones and the sharpness at his jaw.

As he approaches the bar, quietly since he’s not wearing his shoes, he blurts it out— “Where’s Sue? Is she alright? She’s not dead, is she?”

The barkeep, wide-eyed at first but quickly growing amused, smiles at him, eyeing his dress, tousled wet hair and smudged makeup with a curl in his lip. “Darling,” he says, completely ignoring his question, “a leather jacket with a dress like that? Are you mad?”

 or

 In the midst of the AIDS crisis, Harry meets Louis after coming home from a drag ball. 80s NYC au.

Words: 6866, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: One Direction (Band)

Rating: Not Rated

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: M/M

Characters: Harry Styles, Louis Tomlinson, Original Female Character(s), Original Male Character(s)

Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson

Additional Tags: Genderqueer Harry Styles, Alternate Universe - 1980s, Bottom Harry, Top Louis Tomlinson, Light BDSM, Choking, Rimming, HIV/AIDS Crisis, No deaths!!!!, Smut, Fluff and Smut, and a bit of, Angst, Feminization, LGBTQ Themes, LGBTQ Female Character of Color, Trans Female Character, LGBT culture, ballroom culture, is that a tag?, like gay ballroom culture, Alternate Universe - Historical, Harry in Lingerie, Crossdressing, British Harry Styles, British Louis Tomlinson, New York City, Meet-Cute, trigger warning, Chronic Illness, that's all i can think of for now, Drag Queens

via AO3 works tagged 'Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson' https://ift.tt/39k3PJV

[rdrthingies]

Yeehawgust Day 29: Big Iron

It was a small town, about the size of Valentine if he remembered that small town correctly. It was like Valentine if Valentine was in the desert and the men weren’t all morons.

The folks were nice, greeting the stranger who rode in with pleasant smiles and happy “howdies.”

The Stranger stopped at the saloon and dismounted, giving his horse an affectionate pat before entering.

He went to the bar, placing down fifty cents for a whiskey, and another for information.

“I’m lookin’ for an outlaw that’s said to have been riding through town recently.” The Stranger drawled to the barkeep, “Goes by the name of Micah Bell.”

The bartender stopped cleaning his glass, giving the mysterious man a cautious look. “I’d stay away from him if I was you,” he warned. “Micah Bell has the quickest draw I’ve ever seen. He’s killed twenty lawmen and rangers alone that’d been lookin’ for ‘im.”

The man gave a small laugh, downing the rest of his whiskey. “Well, you tell ‘im that an old friend is lookin’ to settle a score. You tell him that I’ll be waitin’ in the street every day at noon for him.”

“You’re funeral, pardner.” The bartender sighed, returning to his dirty glasses.

The man stayed at the hotel for two days and nights, waiting for the word to reach the Outlaw. Each day he made a trip to the saloon, ordered a drink, and watched the streets. At 11:55 he made his way to the street, looking out towards the horizon, waiting for the outlaw.

People would pass by and worried looks, some would stay out and wait for the outlaw as well, eager for a show.

It was the third day, some folks were getting antsy, but not the stranger. He just continued to order one whiskey and sit at the table by the window, sipping it as he watched the comings and goings of the townfolks.

He knew today was the day when a boy came busting in, sweat beating down his face, looking around the saloon frantically.

“He’s here!” The boy cried. “I saw ‘im ridin’ in! He’s here, M-Mister!” He found the stranger, hurrying to the table, pointing towards the north end of town. “Mr. Bell is on his way!” The stranger nodded solemnly, downing the rest of his drink and fixing the hat on his head.

He tossed a dollar to the kid and leisurely made his way to the street.

He stood in the middle of the street, hands resting easily on his belt buckle as he viewed the horizon.

A lone rider approached, riding a black horse with a white face and feet. The man dismounted at the saloon and approached, never taking his eyes off the other, and the Stranger had a small smile of satisfaction at Bell’s surprise.

He stopped only a couple feet from the other, laughing.

“So... you lived.” he sniffed heavily, “Should’ve finished the job when I had the chance.”

The Stranger kept his face calm, eye narrowed. “Yeah, you should have.”

“Well, guess now I have the chance to finally put an end to all of this.” Micah Bell gestured between the two of them, the townsfolk increasingly more invested in the upcoming duel.

The Stranger replied with a simple shrug, “Whatever you say.”

The two turned and walked, at this point the entire town had paused, everyone watching the two leave forty feet between them and then turning.

“Thought you weren’t into the revenge business, Black Lung?” Micah called out, shaking his right hand.

The Stranger fixed his gun belt, “I’m not. This business is stopping a killer and a rat that’s been left unchecked for far too long.”

Bell’s laughter was loud and sickening, “Still caught up in that business, huh?”

“As far as I’m concerned, Micah: all those deaths? Mac, Jenny, Davy, Sean, Kieran, Hosea, Lenny, Molly, Susan... those are all on you.” The Stranger relaxed his hand at his side.

“As far as I’m concerned, Black Lung: there are only two kinds of people. Winners, and losers. And all of ‘em? They were the losers.”

“Sure.”

There was silence, the entire town standing outside, on the porches of the buildings, watching with wide eyes.

The clock turned 12, high noon, and the two outlaws drew their guns.

Everyone thought Micah Bell had killed another, another notch to add to his gun to make it 21. But instead, they saw speed they had never seen before from the Stranger. He drew his cattleman and shot before Micah could even get his own gun out of his holster.

Bang

A single gunshot rang throughout the town, people jumping at the loud noise.

The town watched as Micah Bell crumbled to the ground, dead with a bullet between his eyes. And Arthur Morgan holstered his gun, spit on the ground, and turned.

Arthur Morgan left the town, the sun, and Micah Bell at his back. 

[averymagicalanon]

A compiled list of M!A’s to get inspired! Before you reblog this post, make sure anon is turned on so people can send them in.

If the anon does not specify a duration, Mun gets to decide how long these last. 

M!A Tongue Twisted: Mun gets full control over the Muse's dialogue, answering in their stead with whatever they would say at that moment. The Muse's actions remain their own. 

M!A 'Till Death Do Us Part: your Muse wakes up from a haze, just as they're saying their 'I do's' to the next person who reveals themselves in their inbox [off anon, or with a specified Muse].

M!A Fun Sized: your Muse has become small enough to fit in the palm of someone's hand!

M!A Yes, sir!: your Muse must agree to any proposal and obey any order given. 

M!A Truth Serum: your muse has been given a truth serum and must answer any and all questions truthfully!

M!A Amnesia: your Muse has lost their memory, can anyone help them remember? 

M!A Daddy? Do I Look Like--?: your Muse has become a parent! 

M!A Cinderella: your muse is stuck in a poofy princess dress [complete with glass slippers] until midnight. The dress cannot be removed by any means, magical or otherwise.

M!A Obsession: your Muse becomes obsessed with [insert person/thing/habit]. 

M!A Meow: your Muse has become [insert an animal here]. 

M!A Are You There?: your Muse hears the voice of [insert character] inside their head. 

M!A Change of Heart: a good character becomes evil, and vice versa. 

M!A Barkeep, Whiskey!: your Muse is shit-faced, drunk off their ass.

M!A Atchoo!: your Muse is sick! They have a very bad cold! 

M!A That Winged Bastard, Cupid: your Muse has been struck by cupid's arrow! They will fall in love with the next person they see and will become absolutely smitten.

M!A Chained: your Muse is chained to a wall and unable to escape on their own. Lasts until they are released, or somehow manage to escape.

M!A PUT SOME DAMN CLOTHES ON: your Muse can't find ANY clothes to wear, anything they try to put on goes up in smoke. 

M!A I'm Sensitive Aubrey!: your Muse has become super sensitive to physical touch. The brush of fingers makes their skin erupt into goosebumps, though rough treatment hurts more. 

M!A Nyah~: your Muse now has a cat tail and ears! Enjoy!

M!A Sleeping Beauty: your Muse has fallen asleep and only a kiss from [insert character] can awaken them! Those who kiss and fail to wake the muse will fall prey to the sleeping curse too. [Until original cursed muse is woken up] 

M!A Sing It, Swing It!: your Muse can only speak through song and has a compulsion to dance at all times! 

DON’T send these to @averymagicalanon