#(bc lets be real that all i can reach. maybe even knee height who knows)

[ryungseo]

okay nvm un-liking junseo because he's. tall tall.

[frenchfrywrites]

Hi and the person who asked about G/t, could you write a scenario with the brothers with content G/t It doesn't matter who is G and who is T feel? if you can could you put a little penetration... please?

G/T scenarios with the bros

MINORS DNI

warnings: micro or G/T.. i.e. the boys are very small. objectification in levis, rimming in satans, fear play in asmos,

note: I kept the boys small and reader big, hope that's okay. Also, did them at varying sizes bc idk abt you but i like them real small.. I tried to fit in penetration where I could :)

Lucifer 6.5 in (16.51 cm)

Lucifer can't do much at this new size, but he can just barely fit your fingers into him. He looks so pleased with himself when you tell him your finger is all the way in. He’s so tight, so fragile, you’re almost scared to move, so Lucifer takes things into his own (small) hands. He rides your finger like a pro, his tiny cock bobbing with each roll of his hips. With your free hand you rub his little nipples, feeling him tighten even more around you at the sensations. He doesn’t last long the first round, but you fuck him with your fingers til he’s shooting blanks.

Mammon 2 in (5.08 cm)

Mammon holds desperately onto your finger, just barely able to wrap his arms around the circumference of it. He rubs his little hard cock against you, huffing and panting moans that you can just barely hear. You’re trying to be so careful, but when you tap his ass with your free hand he squeaks, jolting his head to look at you. “You’re so cute,” you tell him. His hips stutter against your finger, and he squeezes you tighter. He resumes his pace, though you poke and prod at him every once in a while. It’s only when you tug gently on his hair that he cums.

Levi 1ft (30.48 cm)

Levi can just barely fit half of your cock/strap inside him. You keep him upright with just one hand closed oh so delicately around his chest. A prominent bulge appears each time you guide him down and back up again. Levi holds onto your hand for dear life, letting you manhandle him in a way he’d never experienced- never dreamed of- before. “You’re like my little fleshlight,” you groan out, causing Levi to cum then and there. He’ll let you keep fucking him though, after all he’s your little toy until the spell wears off.

Satan 6in (15.24 cm)

Satan’s on his hands and knees before you, his head craned back to watch as you drag your tongue over his hole. You can only poke the very tip of it into him so you've focused your attention elsewhere, but he seems to be enjoying the rimjob you’re giving him; if the trembling of his legs, the way he shakes his ass, and the pre coming from his cock are anything to go by. You’re getting him so messy, and Satan doesn’t seem to mind at all. He was closer to orgasm than you’d thought, for it catches you off guard when you lick at his balls and he cums with a loud wail, only then closing his eyes.

Asmodeus 3in (7.62 cm)

You press your finger against Asmo's tiny cock which is tenting the dress he'd forced Levi to sew for him now that he's so small. “Please,” he whines so sweetly, jerking his hips, rutting himself against you. You hold him down easily by applying just a little pressure. He pales with fear at your display of strength and you'd be concerned if not for the fact that his cock twitches against you while his pre stains the fabric of the dress. "I could break you," you threaten, and even though he knows you never would, he cums all the same.

Beelzebub 10in (25.4 cm)

Beel’s cock hangs heavy between his legs, but at this newfound height, it looks like a little clit to you. You tell him such and he sinks further down onto your cock/strap (though he’s still got quite a bit until he reaches the base), causing the already prominent bulge of his stomach to expand just a bit more. Maybe you’ll tell him he looks pregnant next. Beel cuts you off before you can speak, “you’re so deep in my tummy,” he wails, “I’m not even hungry anymore.”

Belphegor 5in (12.7 cm)

Belphie is doing the best he can to lick and suck at your dick/clit, but it’s so big. He pulls away from you, stroking the tip as he tries to catch his breath. His face is covered in drool and slobber, but he seems more than eager to get you back into his mouth. He can only get so much of you down his throat, but he’s trying so hard to keep you pleased. You jerk your hips up (it was an accident, if he asks) making him choke and gag around you. Though he glares at you, he continues to suck you off obediently.

[hobiiwan]

mirror • cpt. rex

pairing: captain rex x gn!reader

warnings: post-order 66 angst, hurt-comfort but i thrive in the hurt

w/c: 1.6k

notes: i'm back with lots and lots of feelings bc i've been ghosted and it's 5 am so i should probably sleep but i hope you enjoy :D

lovely gif credit to @pieklalat!

Framed by distant moons and even further stars, the night sky never seemed more vast. If you closed your eyes, it didn’t take much to picture a Republic Star Destroyer slicing through the atmosphere of the moon whose gravity became inescapable, with you in it.

Glancing over your shoulder at where Rex had made camp for the evening, you could tell he was thinking it too. Though his eyes were closed, it was clear as watching a holofilm; reliving the searing heat of plasma bolts, shot from the blasters of his brothers, the ones he had served beside for years—the same ones he had buried just hours prior.

It felt as though there was a vice wrapped in a deadlock around your heart, constricting your chest until it threatened to collapse in on itself. You exhale sharply, willing yourself to push past the hollow ache of the now-dulled Force connection, the flashing faces of the clones and Jedi who had perished under the Order—the fear they had felt in their final moments. It was now your fear that you would never escape it.

The price of surviving the command settles atop your shoulders, making a home. A bitter, weighted reminder that you are here, alive, when you shouldn’t be—when you aren’t supposed to be.

You collapse onto the ground next to Rex, which pulls him back to the present. His eyelids flutter as he blinks slowly, once at you, then back up to the stretching expanse of the inky black overhead. He lets out a sigh, leaning up on his shoulders to cast a weary glance at his surroundings. “How long was I out?” He questions.

You reply with a thoughtful hum, “Not long. You need the rest, anyway.” It’s true. The day’s events have undoubtedly taken its toll on the both of you. But how does one go about resting after being hunted to the death?

“I’ll take first watch. Get some sleep, cyare.” He says, now sitting upright and then you know there’s no point in fighting it. You both need rest, but with the way Rex’s frame is pulled tense as a bow, his hand twitching ever-so-slightly towards his blaster, you know there’s no way he’d rest easy.

So, you offer him a victory, albeit a minute one. You pull his unarmed hand into yours and close your eyes, feeling the way he lets out a shaky breath, releasing some tension along with it. A victory—you’re still here with him.

Neither of you can be certain how long you stay that way. The low croon emitting from the transceiver is the only sign that time actually passes. Neither of you complain about the noise, either. It didn’t need to be said that the silence—this silence, was much too loud.

You do try to sleep, Rex gives you credit for that. Though, after turning for the fifth time (he counts) you give up and sit up beside him. He’s got his knees pressed to his chest, one hand curled tight around his blaster. In his other, his thumb rubs circles against the back of your hand. The answer to whether it soothes you or himself doesn’t matter.

Wordlessly, your head lowers to his shoulder, propped gently against the curve of muscle.

“Did I ever tell you I wanted to be a singer?” You murmur, glancing at the transceiver. You don’t recognise the singer on broadcast, though you do take note of the melody, slow and mellow.

Rex watches as you even try to hum along, as offbeat as you are.

“No,” he huffs something short of a chuckle, “you didn’t.”

He knows what you’re trying to do, sees it clear as day. Yet, as he watches your feet tap to the tempo of the ballad, he can’t stop himself from humouring your attempt to comfort him.

You nod eagerly, eyes widening as if to express your candor. “I was about to be one, too! Then the Jedi came and…”

Rex waits as you trail off, then clocks the far-off look in your eyes. He picks up where you left off. “Would you sing for me now?”

You return in a split second, your lips pulling into a bashful smile as you avoid his eyes. “I’m definitely rusty by now, I don’t want you losing your hearing because of me.”

The Captain nudges you teasingly, grinning when you break into soft laughter. “It would be an honour, though,” he quips.

He wonders how much of you has been hidden behind the mantle of a Jedi’s title. Who would you have been had you not been brought into the Order, raised from young to be one thing, and one thing only? Who would he be?

Once again, Rex is dragged out of his thoughts. This time, you’re tugging him to his feet. It takes an effort and a half, which you currently lack in your fatigued state.

As he looks up at you questioningly, you motion to the transceiver, dropping his hand to raise the volume. It’s enough to provide a comfortable backdrop instead of a desperate attempt to quell silence.

“Dance with me,” you propose softly, “please?”

“I don’t know how to, mesh’la.”

As if pointedly ignoring his feeble protest, your hand remains outstretched, beckoning his participation.

Maker, he’s only ever seen couples dancing on holofilms and is even more certain he has two left feet. But gazing up at your expectant self is like looking at a promise of escaping the sorrow he now knows as reality.

Really, it’s all up to him.

Rex swears he feels three times lighter from the way you beam in delight when he fits his palm into your smaller ones and helps you lift him to full height.

He stands awkwardly, clueless as to where his hands should go, how he should move. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea.

Below him, you soften at the uncertainty tainting his features. Taking mercy on the poor man, you lift a hand to cup his cheek, garnering his attention.

“Put your hands on my waist,” you murmur, eyes twinkling when Rex’s hands fly up to root himself to you. Your own arms loop behind his neck and he takes it as a sign to pull you into his chest, no stranger to the position.

“and now we sway.”

Such a simple command, yet Rex feels like a fish out of water. His limbs are stiff, like the serenity of the movement is a stranger. To an extent, it is.

When you take over, moving him to the beat instead, he gratefully surrenders, allowing himself a moment of tranquility.

The only sounds that reach him become the silky notes of the singer and your soft, steady breaths. If he tries hard enough, he can pretend to be in a distant galaxy, where he is not a clone and you are not a Jedi, where the war is nothing more than a brash concept and his brothers are alive and well.

Rex doesn’t realise he’s crying until your thumb smooths away a tear rolling down his face. His eyes stay closed as he wills himself to keep pretending, but he can’t.

He is still a clone but you are no longer a Jedi. His brothers are gone.

You hold him when he finally breaks, cradling his head close when his shoulders tremble with the force of his sobs. His tears soak into the collar of your singed robes, but you truly can’t find the will to care—not when the man you love is falling apart, barely held together by the threads of your embrace.

“It wasn’t them,” he chokes, shaking his head, a wretched attempt to convince himself, “—it couldn’t be.”

At that, you’re positive your heart shatters. Stars, he doesn’t deserve this. You wish with all your might to take the pain away, to rewind every clock in the galaxy and then the next, but all you can do is watch.

“It wasn’t,” you nod, lowering your forehead to press against his, “not the real them. You know they loved you.” And by the Maker, you know.

Rex’s hands clutch tightly at your robes, as if letting go of that would mean letting go of you. The last tether to what is now his past, his only constant.

What if you hadn’t made it off the ship? What if Ahsoka hadn’t gotten the chip out of him in time? What if he had hurt you?

He briefly registers your voice calling his name, cutting through the despondent scenarios that could have, by any deciding factor, become his present.

“Rex, my love,” you plead, “please look at me.”

When he raises his eyes, he finds that yours are a mirror of his own. The anguish that parallels his agony. He feels you, your presence. He’s never understood much about the Force, but he thinks this is pretty damn close.

“I’m here,” you whisper. The promise of those two words anchor you both. “‘M not going anywhere.”

You mean it. If you believed it before, there was no chance in any star in the galaxy that anyone would be able to tear you away from him now.

For the current moment, you weren’t sure if there was a place to go, even if you wanted. Less than twenty four hours ago, you had been anticipating the end of the Clone Wars. Now, it feels like you’ve been thrown onto the losing side.

“What do we do now?” Rex asks, but you both know there isn’t an answer. There’s no precedent to go off of.

Two of the finest leaders in the GAR and the Jedi Order are lost, with no one left to follow them.

There’s nothing to do but move on.

“We keep living,” you say with a heavy sigh, burying your face into the crook of Rex’s neck, “we live for them. We’ll find a way.”

You always do.

[jeni182]

Hi here's a prompt: Andrew keeps insisting it's 'nothing' right? So now Neil is hell bent on making him admit that it isn't, so he's trying various things to do so, including making him jealous.

First, I’m sorry this took so long! Second, I know this is probably not what you had in mind and I’m sorry for that. This is just where my mind took it, and I think I just didn’t want to see Neil making Andrew mad on purpose to get him to admit it bc I’m fragile okay I HOPE THIS IS FINE.

_________________________________

Andrew’s mouth was cold.

Usually, it was warm, and Neil knew it would warm up soon enough, but he’d been sucking on an ice cube right before they kissed, and Neil was enjoying the novelty of a cold mouth on his own.

They were at the Columbia house in their room, in their bed, in their feelings. Neil was, anyway. He suspected Andrew was too, but he’d never admit it.

That was the thing though, wasn’t it? They’d been doing this for a year now. They’d been together practically every second. They’d stood together and fought together and taken each other apart together, after slowly and carefully building trust bit by bit.

Neil pulled away from Andrew’s mouth, panting slightly. Andrew turned his attention to Neil’s neck instead, and he had to fight against the urge to close his eyes.

“Hey.” Andrew stopped and looked at him. “One of the soccer guys asked if you were my boyfriend.”

Andrew’s face didn’t change. “So?”

Neil shrugged. “I didn’t know what to tell him.”

“You? At a loss for words? Wonders never cease.” Andrew didn’t lean down to kiss Neil again, and Neil knew he wouldn’t. He’d wait until it was made clear that Neil wanted to keep going. He sat up instead. They faced each other on the bed and Neil looked down to the soft black blanket Andrew kept on it because he liked rubbing his feet against it at night.

“Seriously, though. What should I have said? Are we?”

“Are we what?”

“Boyfriends?”

Andrew tilted his head just slightly, his mouth turning down a bit at the corner. “No,” he finally said, and moved to leave the bed. Neil stood with him to stand in front of him.

“So, what then? It’s been a year Andrew. This is still nothing? This is still just a fun way for you to pass the time?” Neil hated the way he sounded. This wasn’t him. Whining and carrying on about labels. He didn’t even need a label, really. He just wanted Andrew to admit that yes this was something and yes Neil was something.

Andrew patted his pockets like he was looking for his cigarettes. “Fun is objective, don’t you think?”

Neil crossed his arms, clenched his jaw, and threw his cards on the table. “So, you’d be totally fine if I hooked up with someone else? Since this is nothing and I’m nothing?”

Andrew’s head snapped up and his gaze met Neil’s. He could see a muscle tic in Andrew’s jaw, but all he said was, “Do what you want.”

He left the room. Neil didn’t follow him.

****

They were quiet with each other after that. Still together, still connected. It was like Andrew was inside his own head constantly, but Neil didn’t mind. He didn’t really know what to say anyway. He was still thinking about it but pushing Andrew to admit something he wasn’t ready to didn’t seem like a good idea.

They were in the library one day, studying for midterms. Neil felt good about this, because Andrew despised the library and the fact that he was here at all was, Neil was pretty sure, just to be with him. They sat across from each other, both reading. Neil, a history textbook. Andrew, something that looked very unacademic.

Neil startled a little when someone slid into the seat next to his. He’d gotten too comfortable here, he thought for the millionth time. He was out of immediate danger, sure. But for how long?

He looked to the person next to him, and it was a guy he vaguely remembered from one of his math classes.

“Hey, Neil.”

Neil didn’t say anything. He looked at the guy confused. He didn’t know his name. Tad or Jake or Brad or something similar to the hundreds of other white guys at this school who all looked exactly the same to him. Brown hair, eyes, a nose maybe, taller, weakness is in their lack of speed.

Tad or Jake or Brad cleared his throat, eyes flicking to Andrew before landing back on Neil’s face. Neil looked at Andrew too, who was still staring at his book, eyes not moving.

“I just wondered if maybe you want to study together? This statistics final is gonna kill me, and I know you’re so good at this.” He flashed Neil a smile of straight white teeth.

Neil shrugged. “I guess, sure.” He needed to study, too, after all. He didn’t think he’d have a problem, but his scholarship was dependent on his grades and the last thing he needed was to risk it now that his choices were to go pro or die.

“Perfect. Here’s my number.” He reached over and used Neil’s pencil to write his number on the corner of his history textbook, which seemed unnecessarily rude. He squeezed Neil’s arm and left with one last glance at Andrew. Neil watched him leave before shrugging to himself and looking back down at his book. He could feel Andrew’s eyes burning a hole in the top of his head a minute later.

“What?” he asked, without looking up.

Andrew didn’t answer. Neil did look up at him then, confused. He was staring at Neil with his normal blank expression, but there was something about the tightness around his mouth, the slight narrowing of his eyes that Neil didn’t like.

“What’s wrong?”

Andrew stood, shoving his book in his bag and leaving the library without looking back. Neil started to follow him but stopped. Whatever Andrew was pissed about, he probably just wanted space to sort it out. Neil knew by now that bugging Andrew to talk was only more likely to send him deeper inside his shell. So, he stayed in his seat, wrote flashcards to study, and thought about Andrew the whole time.

He let him have until after dinner before he tracked him down to the roof. Andrew was there like he was always there. Sitting at the edge with his knees pulled up, arms circling them loosely. A bottle of vodka at his hip and the acrid scent of cigarettes on the air. Neil took a seat beside him and looked out over the glowing lights of campus.

Neil waited for Andrew to talk first. Whatever this was, he was here as silent support until otherwise requested.

“Did you set up your date?”

Neil looked at Andrew in surprise. “Date?”

“With statistics boy. He seemed awfully eager.” Andrew threw his cigarette off the side and immediately lit another one.

“You mean to study? No, that exam isn’t until next week.”

Andrew snorted. “Oh, Neil. You can’t be this clueless. Don’t think I didn’t notice that you mention hooking up with other people and then you agree to study with a guy who looks at you like he’s already fucked you.”

Neil’s hackles rose immediately. “I seem to remember you telling me to do what I want. Or did I hear that wrong?”

Andrew threw the new cigarette off the edge, too. Even though it was only half spent. “No, you didn’t.”

“Then why are you complaining?”

Andrew took a swig of the vodka in answer, and Neil grabbed it from him before he could take another.

“I don’t plan on hooking up with anyone else. I don’t want to hook up with anyone else. I still don’t swing for anyone but you, in case you’ve forgotten. That guy was asking me to study, and I agreed. I’m not going to manipulate you into admitting that there’s something here by fucking someone else. If you really think I’d do that, you don’t know me at fucking all which is a shame, because I know you, Andrew.”

Andrew laughed with no humor. It was sad, and Neil thought maybe a little broken. “You don’t know me.” Neil’s chest tightened to the point of pain. Because he did know him. He knew this man, knew him better than he knew himself sometimes.

“Yeah?” Neil leaned into Andrew’s space and Andrew did not lean away. “I know you’re afraid of heights, and you’re afraid of me. I know you think as soon as you admit to yourself - to me - that this isn’t just two guys getting off together, it becomes real. It’s one more thing for you to lose in a life where you’ve lost so fucking much. It’s one more thing someone can hold against you when they want to hurt you again.” Neil leaned closer, and not getting any resistance from Andrew, he placed a kiss on his neck. Andrew shivered. “I know you’ve never had this, because I’ve never had it either. And I know it’s scary, because I’m scared too. But Andrew,” Neil sighed and leaned back again, “I’ve been nothing my entire life. I still feel like nothing sometimes. You are my something, and the fact that you also think I’m nothing is fucking soul crushing sometimes. As much as you don’t want to hear it, you are everything.”

Andrew looked from Neil to campus, and Neil watched his throat work as he swallowed hard. He closed his eyes before looking back to Neil.

“Are you going to study with that guy?”

“Not if you don’t want me to.” Neil honestly didn’t know if the guy was flirting, but if it was something Andrew took this seriously, he would take it seriously, too.

“I don’t want you to.” He took out his pack of cigarettes but didn’t light another one. He just flipped it over and over in his hands.

“Why?” Neil couldn’t help but ask.

Andrew looked at him, pale and washed out from the artificial lights, but eyes still bright as they landed on his.

“Because you are everything, too.”

 AO3

[kindiekritz]

Get Some Rest, Samurai...

Via Anon Ask; “because im also a sap for Johnny and V- How do you think Johnny would help V cope with a panic attack? Especially when its likely something he's feeling laggy echoes of himself if he's in her head during it? (hurt/comfort is a FAVE of mine and i have anxiety, can ya' tell?)”

B ro,, don’t worry anon bc same here, we are anxiety homies together 👏😔 - This is my first time writing for Johnny Silverhand! Trying to get back on the writing boat, (haven't forgotten my previous fic!) and there's nothing like simping for video game characters to get that inspiration flowing. Do let me know what you think! Johnny may be a bit too OOC in this, I may have gone a little bit overboard with the soft? Ah well, I hope someone will enjoy it regardless :P

Here is the Ao3 Link! :D

V’s time was running out. 

Every time the relic in their head would malfunction, every time they went into a coughing fit and the disgusting taste of metallic blood would fill their mouth, every time he would manifest himself in her head and V would catch a glimpse of his stupid fucking face…

V was reminded of the fact that their time was running out, and fast.

And despite the fact that they were doing everything in their power to stop the construct in her mind from completely destroying her from the inside out, that didn’t stop the fact that she still had to pay the rent. 

In fact, it wasn’t cheap coughing up the eddies to pay Rouge for her services, or having to pay for bigger and better gear that would keep her alive when dealing with Arasaka guards, hell, it wasn’t cheap to keep purchasing more and more bottles of Omega Blockers, the pills were the only thing that kept him from completely taking control. 

She found herself taking more and more gigs, trying to simply keep up with the extra costs of having a completely second personality living rent-free in her mind. But even then… she couldn’t find it in herself to reject or turn away people who needed her help, even if they had little to nothing to offer in return. 

It seemed as if her phone was constantly buzzing with calls and texts of people who wanted and needed her help. No matter where she went or what she did, people needed her services, people needed her time.

And yet, time was something that she had very little left of.

V was exhausted. The bags under her eyes revealed that she hadn’t slept in days, and she couldn’t remember when she last had a proper meal.

She was always on the go, she didn’t have time to take care of herself.

But as she groggily opened the door to her apartment, she thought to herself that… maybe, just maybe… she would finally let herself take a nice, long warm shower.

V was too exhausted to care about the possibility of Johnny potentially staring at her nude form as she stood under the running water. Hell, let him stare for all she cared! The thought of warm water running over her exhausted muscles, washing away the dirt and grime of the city… it was too appealing at that moment. 

She removed her weapon slung across her back, letting her beloved leather Samurai jacket slip off her shoulders and onto the ground, too exhausted to care about putting it away properly. 

The weight of the gun in her hands was normally a welcome and grounding presence for V when she was on a mission, the weapon in her hands keeping her safe from those who wished to do her harm. But now? It felt too heavy, unbearably so, as if the weight would make her topple over onto the floor below. The muscles in her arms were exhausted and spent. As she rotated her shoulder she heard the joints audibly pop. The consequences of pushing her body too far.

She would do anything for the physical ache to go away. 

As she stepped through the door to her armory and switched on the fluorescent lights of the room, her gaze fell upon someone already there, casually lounging atop her workbench and raising a cigarette to his mouth, pausing to speak before inhaling a deep puff of smoke.

“Damn V. You look like shit.”

She rolled her eyes at his comment, and made her way to her weapon locker instead, trying to ignore the weight of his gaze on the nape of her neck.

V fiddled with the combination, her foggy mind struggling to remember the correct numbers and the correct order, her fingers felt clumsy and uncoordinated as she inputs each digit. V cursed herself for making it so damn difficult, but eventually, she finally managed to swing the metal door open, proceeding to put her gun away amongst her collection of stored weapons. 

Johnny hopped off of the workbench, stepping towards V as she organized her storage, resting his metal arm against the locker, using his height to his advantage as he towered over her and confronted her. “No, seriously V, you look like shit. When was the last time you slept?”

“Fuck— Johnny, I dunno… A few days I guess?” V slammed the door of the locker using more force than necessary, Johnny already starting to get on her nerves, the last thing she needed was Johnny Fucking Silverhand following her around like a worried mother hen. V pouted and huffed, blowing away a stubborn strand of hair that had fallen across her face, then turning to meet his gaze, hidden behind wine-colored lenses, and asked, “Why do you care anyway?”

“You’ve been on edge all day, I can feel it. You’re like a string that’s been strung too strongly. I feel like you’re ready to snap at any fuckn’ moment, V.” 

She could feel his stare on her body and the tension in the room was beginning to suffocate her. He was poking at a sensitive topic for her, and he knew it. 

V stuttered, trying to find the right words to say as she couldn't bring herself to look at him in the eye anymore, instead choosing to halfheartedly push him aside and walk away, “Johnny… I’m fine. Really. I just— I just need a shower and a nap, that’s all.”

As V stepped out of the room, the weight on her chest seemed to grow heavier with each step. 

She wanted to crumble, she wanted to cry. 

She just wanted to wrap up herself in a bundle of blankets and cry into an order of takeout. One of those ugly cries that made snot dribble from your nose and your cheeks flushed and red.

She wanted— no, V needed to let everything out.

But… she couldn’t. She didn’t have the time for it, she needed to get back to work soon. Here were people that needed her help and there were eddies to be made. She would let herself rest when she’d gotten that damned biochip out of her head.

It was at that moment when V’s phone began to ring, the sound interrupting her thoughts and causing her to pause in her step.

Almost as if on reflex, she quickly reached into her pocket and withdrew the device, not even bothering to check the caller ID before answering, “V speaking, what do you want?”

“V, it’s Regina. I’ve got another report of a cyberpsycho attack…”

V stopped listening to the voice on her phone, too distracted by the crushing pressure on her chest and the fact that she had begun to tremble and shake like a leaf.

All she had wanted was a hot shower and a night in, was that too much to ask?

After weeks of dodging blades and bullets, running meaningless errands and tasks for just a few eddies in return, spending sleepless nights that left dark circles under her eyes, and going days on end without even seeing her fucking apartment, all she wanted was a night in.

Was that too much to fucking ask?

She could faintly register Johnny’s voice coming from behind her, an uncharacteristically concerned tone in his voice as he asked, “...V? What’s wrong?”

The pressure in her chest grew heavier by the second, her breaths becoming strained and labored as the increasing fear and dread overwhelmed her body. She gripped her phone tightly in her hand, glaring at the device with tears prickling the corners of her eyes.

“V? Are you listening? I said that there’s another report of a cyberpsycho near your current position, are you still—“

With a press of a button, she hung up the phone.

Johnny watched V, her form trembling and shoulders tensed.

In all of their weeks stuck together, he’d never seen his little merc look so small. A real juxtaposition when compared to her usual self; a real fucking hardass, she was the only other person Johnny had ever met that was just as bullheaded and stubborn as himself. 

As much as he teased her about it, Johnny knew one thing for certain. V was strong, V was determined. A damned force of nature and he pitied the bastards that stood in her way.

But despite the cybernetics in her body and the chip in her mind… V was human. V had her limits.

The facade she’d built up for herself couldn’t last forever, and Johnny knew it. He’d sensed the cracks in her resolve grow larger and larger with each sleepless night and after every exhausting gig.

But for a brief second, a thought crossed Johnny’s mind; 

V was fractured… V was broken… V was weak.

And with that thought, V finally snapped.

“I AM NOT FUCKING WEAK!”

V cried out, lobbing her phone at him. It phased right through him, instead hitting against the wall, shattering the screen, and sending the device flying into some unknown corner of the room. 

She froze, her eyes widening in shock, almost as if she couldn’t believe what she had done. The realization slowly setting in after the result of her outburst.

V’s vision blurred as tears welled in the corners of her eyes, she slowly fell to the cold floor, cradling her knees up to her chest and muffling her sobs in her arms.

Johnny watched as she sat in the middle of the room and sobbed. 

She didn’t let herself cry when Jackie had died, she didn’t let herself cry when Vic told her that she was practically dying. V didn’t cry as she carried Evalyn’s bloodied body, and V didn’t cry late at night when she was alone, and her chest felt tight and her throat choked up.

He knew it was coming, he could feel V’s emotions as they bubbled up and reached their boiling point. 

But what truly surprised him, was just how much it hurt him to see his little merc cry.

“Shit— V…” he nervously swallowed his throat, but try as he might, for once in his goddamn existence, he couldn’t find the right words to say.

Johnny didn’t like the way he felt. 

Johnny didn’t like the way she made him feel at that moment.

He didn’t like the way his chest tightened at the sound of each of her sobs. The way he felt so restless as he could only watch her curl onto herself for comfort. He couldn’t stop himself from pacing back and forth across the room, unsure if it was her anxiety or his that was setting him off. 

Johnny could almost feel V’s heart racing in her chest, the adrenaline flooding her veins, adrenaline meant to stimulate a fight or flight reaction. But when the pain and panic swelled from within her own chest, there was nowhere V could run, nobody she could physically fight.

All she could do was sob into her knees, desperately trying to hide her sobs and cries from him, but her own cries easily overpowered her. 

And because of him, she didn’t even feel like she had the ability to freely have a goddamn mental breakdown in her own apartment, even as she choked and sobbed, she tried to grasp onto the shattered remains of her facade. Was it for her sake, or for his?

At that point… neither of them knew.

V couldn’t stop her body from trembling. She tightly gripped onto herself until her knuckles turned white. But V didn’t notice. It didn’t even register in her mind.

She didn’t register the hot tears as they streamed down her face, the shuddering cries that caused her lip to quiver with each breath. She couldn’t recognize that no matter how hard she tried, her frantic breaths caused her lungs to feel as if they were on fire, incapable of delivering oxygen to her body.

V’s mind didn’t even register the fact that Johnny had stopped pacing back and forth.

Her mind cursed at her to get her shit together. V needed to wipe away those tears and she needed to get back on the streets. A moment of weakness could’ve gotten her killed in her past, and now was no different. 

But… the thought of standing up and leaving her apartment caused another fresh wave of sobs to rattle her body.

She was tired… she was so goddamn exhausted… 

“V…”

All she wanted was a night in. Was that too much to ask? After all of her hard work and effort, hadn’t she earned it?

“V, listen to me.”

Clearly, she hadn’t done enough if people were still calling, still demanding her presence. Clearly she—

V felt something warm touch her cheek.

Someone was there. 

Although her mind had stopped temporarily spiraling, she felt the wet salty tears dripping down her face, her vision was still blurry, and her cheeks were incredibly flushed. She must’ve looked… pathetic she thought. But regardless, she allowed herself to look up at the person who had reached out to her.

The cold of his metal rings juxtaposed the warmth of his hand, and as her eyes trailed up towards his arms, she caught sight of his familiar tattoos, but also an unfamiliar detail as she reached his face.

Instead of seeing her reflection in the lenses of his glasses, she was surprised to see his eyes staring into hers. Gone was any trace of malice or cruelty, instead his brown eyes reflected nothing but concern… an emotion she’d never expected to see from him.

Johnny. 

As her tearful eyes met his, he could’ve almost sworn that he felt his engram heart stop beating for a second. The tears rolling down her cheeks, the way her lip trembled with each breath. He didn’t know why the sight of V feeling so upset affected him so, he blamed her emotions, her hormones, whatever came into his mind. He hated the way she made him feel, he hated that she had this much power over him. 

But most of all, he hated the fact that he felt so powerless to stop it.

He would’ve gladly taken V cussing him out, he would’ve taken V nagging at him and complaining about the smell as he smoked in her apartment. He would’ve even happily taken V as she sang along to the car radio, something she’d originally done to get onto his nerves, but now it has become a sound he’s grown… to tolerate. Even sometimes… appreciate it. 

He wasn’t the type to comfort people like this, he was the type to leave as soon as emotions came into play, the countless amount of hearts that he’d broken in the past were evidence enough. Fuck, he didn’t know how to deal with his own goddamn emotions, blowing up Arasaka tower as revenge to deal with his grief, that’s what got him into this mess.

But as he wiped away a tear from her soft cheek with his calloused thumb… he wasn’t going to just sit there and let his little merc cry.

“V. You’ve done more than enough for this city than it deserves. You’re always running back and forth, trying to make this shithole a better place… all while trying to keep yourself alive.” He wanted to tell her that this damned city didn’t deserve her generosity, it didn’t deserve her hard work, fuck, this city didn’t deserve her.  

He didn’t deserve her.

And she didn’t deserve what he was doing to her.

“You keep spreading yourself too thin, you keep wanting to do shit for others, you keep wanting to help. But then you add the cherry on top — the fact that there’s a chip in your head slowly killin’ ya… You’ve got enough on your plate. You’ve earned a few nights of rest.”

V sniffled and tried to wipe away tears, her voice wavering as she spoke, “I-If I don’t keep goin’ if I don’t keep looking for a solution— I’m gonna die. Johnny, I don’t want to die—“

“V, you’re gonna end up dead long before the chip has an opportunity to kill you if you keep pushing yourself like this… You need to get some rest.”

He was right. As much as she fucking hated it… he was right.

She felt his metal hand cup her other cheek, the cool metal refreshing against the flushed skin, wiping away tears as he continued to speak.

“You’ve proven yourself enough to this city. You’ve proven yourself enough to me. But running yourself to the bone is not worth it in order to prove it to yourself. And you’re not alone V… as much as they get on my fuckn’ nerves, you’ve got chooms lookin’ out for ya, even if one of them is a fuckn’ cop—“

Through tears, V chuckled and playfully chided him, “Johnny…”

There it was… that little chuckle of hers that he was looking for. He wouldn’t admit it to others, he wouldn’t even admit it to himself, but V’s laughter never failed to make him feel something funny in his chest… it wasn’t like the high of drugs or liquor, but it felt just as addictive. It wasn’t like the adrenaline rush of a firefight or the rush during a show, but it made him feel just as excited and lightheaded.

He cleared his throat, trying to get his mind off of that feeling, and spoke, “Listen… all I’m saying… is that you’re not alone V. And although I don’t have much of a choice, whenever you need me…” he playfully smiled as his eyes met hers, “I’m always here for ya V.”

And that’s all it took.

In one moment to another, V wrapped her arms around his waist, knocking him on his ass from his previous kneeling position, and burying her head against his chest.

Despite sharing a head and body, somehow, someway, V always found a way to surprise him.

He groaned, the deep rumbles from his chest as he spoke making V settle in closer, anchoring herself to his presence.

“Fuck, V, a little warning next time would be nice.”

But even as he whined… he wasn’t complaining. Not when her sobs were beginning to fade, and she was instead chuckling at his expense in his arms. 

He ignored that funny feeling in his chest as his organic arm wraps itself against her body, his calloused hand rubbing circles against the small of her back, feeling her trembling begin to slow under his soft touch. Over time, her breathing began to even, and soon enough she was taking deep breaths as she recovered. 

Without even consciously doing so, Johnny’s metal hand found itself entwined with the strands of her hair, softly caressing as V’s eyes began to droop, and exhaustion began to overtake her body.

“V… it’s time for you to go to bed.”

“I’m fine Johnny, I’m—“ a yawn interrupted her mid-sentence, “I’m not even tired.”

“And I’m not buying it.” He chuckled as his arm wrapped around her midsection.

“W-wait Johnny what are you— Johnny!” In an instant, V was thrown over his shoulder as he stood from the ground, and she gripped onto him in order to avoid falling to the floor.

“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m taking you to bed.” He chuckled as he felt her hand playfully slap against his shoulder.

“Fucking hell Johnny, a warning would be nice!” He could almost imagine her expression as he walked across the apartment, the way she would pout in exasperation.

“Just repaying the favor, that’s all.” He smirked as he reached her bed. Slowly setting her down from his shoulder onto the mattress below. 

“There. It’s time that you allowed yourself to get some rest, and not that weird shit you do where you sleep across the bed huddled in a little ball, but some actual sleep, under the covers and all.” 

“Fine, fine…” V slipped into a pair of nightclothes as Johnny had the decency to look away, and then slipped under the blankets, making herself comfortable. But before she drifted off to sleep, she called out, “Johnny?”

“... yeah?”

“I just— I just wanted to say thanks. Y’know, for tonight and all.”

“‘Course…” he stepped towards the bed once more as he spoke, “I mean, if I’m the one telling you that you need some rest, you probably fucked up somewhere along the way.”

“That’s true… judging from your memories, you’re terrible at following your own advice, Johnny.” She smiled at him, uncertain if the lack of sleep had made her delirious or if perhaps she was feeling particularly honest that night, but she spoke, “Y’know, if fucking up this badly was the catalyst for us to meet… I would do it all over again.”

He smiled sadly in return, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, his cold metal hand brushing her cheek as he did so. An action to acknowledge the words between them were best left unspoken and unsaid— at least, for now.

“...Goodnight V.” He tore his gaze from her as he turned to walk away.

“Wait— Johnny!”

She grasped his metallic hand before he had the opportunity to pull away.

“... stay with me? Just for tonight?”

With her eyes looking up at him, her smaller hand clinging onto his, causing his breath to hitch and his heart to race—

How could he say no?

“Fine, but just for tonight. I can’t have you thinkin’ I’m goin’ soft or something.”

Johnny slipped under the covers, and without even needing to be asked, he wrapped his arms around V, and she rested her head against his chest in return.

“Get some rest, samurai… the city will still be there waiting for us when you awake.”

-

Thank ya kindly for reading! I'm always down for some constructive criticism and I love to read any lovely comments about my fics. Do let me know if there are any mistakes, I don't have a beta reader for Cyberpunk just yet, so a few mistakes may have gotten away from me!

And feel free to send in asks/requests! I'm so in love with Johnny and V and I can spend hours thinking and talking about them aaaaa

[captainjimothycarter]

Prompt: okay so Peggy is de-aged and Steve finds out but he’s far away undercover. Like worst timing ever so she gets on the phone and he races to her—big heartfelt reunion and everyone is there to witness and it’s beautiful, but don’t forget the snark. Maybe avengers didn’t really believe that their relationship was so pure 😱😭😭😭♥️

Oh my god so i am on sleepy pain meds bc i hurt my back and this might be the worst thing i’ve ever done.

--

Everything about this was hushed-hushed, no one was to know. Of course, naturally at Shield that meant everyone knew but the intended people. That meant when Peggy found herself waking up to a body that was only in distant memory, Steve was nowhere to be found. It didn’t take much prodding from a Doctor Banner and or Jemma Simmons to get an answer as to where exactly he was.

Over 400,000 miles away. Undercover. On some vital information that is meant to save their asses in some case or another.

Peggy was not a patient woman, even if Banner and Simmons kept her busy with all these tests. Even if they were the most patient people in the world when it came to Peggy suddenly getting her old body back and being right as rain. She understood the need for tests to see if she ran in tip-top shape and wasn’t going to deteriorate but what she really wanted was to call Steve.

How could no one see what was important to her?

Well, maybe some people did.

The lab was empty as Jemma brought her in for another round of testing, her face stoic as she brought her into a new room with just a table and a phone. She pressed a finger to her lip and motioned that she had one call to make and a timer on the clock said she had a few set minutes. 

“Thank you,” she breathed to her, pulling Jemma into a tight hug. She had to be mindful of her strength now, given the serum.

“I know how it feels to be separated from your life partner, even if this case it’s just miles.” The look in her eyes told a story that Peggy wanted to dissect. Later, she told herself. “Banner and I will keep people ready but if you hear us bang on the door, drop the call.”

That’s all Peggy needed.

She found herself clinging to the simple block of a phone that was meant for satellite calls, listening to the breaking dial tone. Then the click. The heavy breathing. The slight pain in his breath, like he was reminding himself to breathe.

“Fury? Coulson? What-what is it? We’re sorta busy - there’s…”

Oh, his voice. That beautiful tone. Even if the break in it made her worry about the pain he was in.

“Hello? Is anyone there? Oh, fuck. Sam, duck!”

She could hear crashing, a pause, then laughter from Steve that made her eyes sting and her heart soar.

“Steve,” she breathed, feeling the tears roll down her cheeks. She didn’t bother to wipe them off.

“Peggy?” He sounded about as shocked as she did. “Peggy is that you? Where...how…?”

“It’s a long story,” she laughed. “De-aged thanks to your blood samples, a project I did not approve of but I am glad they did it anyway.” She flinched at a loud screech and clung to the phone. “Steve? Steve! Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, doll. I’m okay.” He sighed over the phone, hearing his own aggression. “I’ll be right there. Don’t leave HQ. Sam, we gotta go!” 

“Be careful and…” She clung to the phone like it was her lifeline. “Don’t you dare fly a plane, Rogers. I mean it.”

“I love you too.” 

Even over the phone, she could hear that trademark smirk as the line died on them just in time for Jemma to open the door.

--

“So the rumors are true?” Jemma asked her when they weren’t exactly alone an hour later. She stood beside Peggy as the new patient was jogging lightly on the treadmill. Banner was on the other side of the room, doing something on the computer. 

Steve had just been confirmed to be coming back in-land and it would take a few hours. There was another agent or two here, someone by the name of Bobbi, working beside Jemma and adjusting the monitor to Jemma’s height. Someone named Fitz was with Banner and given Jemma’s heart eyes on him, she could guess that was her life partner. 

“I suppose we’re no longer at our war nor am I officially his liason, so yes,” Peggy mused, slowing the speed down to a small trot. “Steve and I were...together.”

“I thought that was only for the history books?” Banner mused, looking over his shoulder at her. “Y’know, the hero gets the girl sorta thing.”

“He didn’t get me,” Peggy scoffed, rolling her eyes. “It’s complicated.”

“I think those two know a thing or two about complicated,” Bobbi mused, her head bobbing towards Fitz and Jemma. She looked downright amused. “As do I.” 

“It…” Peggy sighed as she hit the stop button much to Jemma’s frowning. “Simmons, I’ve been at this all morning. I am fine. Anyway...Steve and I were in a relationship before…” Her throat tightened just at the thought alone. Before...he sacrificed himself for the greater good and took a piece of her with him.

“Miss Carter,” Fitz suddenly spoke, seeing the look on Peggy’s face. He shared a look with Jemma, rolling his stool over to her. “Why don’t we go for a stroll in the garden, hm? I take it you had some personal touches in the plants there? Jemma and Dr. Banner can run the analysis on your tests before they treat you like another dancing monkey.”

“I’d like that,” Peggy sighed, pulling her hair off of her neck in an attempt to cool down.

--

Turns out, it wasn’t just Banner who doubted her relationship. Tony did too. Even Fury. Everything seemed to relate to the history books of a picture-perfect tale of them together just for Steve to lose her. 

The only people who seemed to understand were those working under Coulson. Even Phil Coulson seemed to understand their relationship to a degree. Though, Fitz and Jemma seemed to understand on a personal level and their young love...it made Peggy’s heart swell. 

By the time she got the notification Steve’s plane was in the area, Peggy was freshly showered and being lead up to the docks by Jemma, Fitz, and Bobbi. Suddenly the people part of Steve’s team had other things to do.

She could barely sit still as the plane landed and the ramp was lowered. Steve was not the first one-off. The first one-off, basically running off before the ramp was fully lowered was a tall, muscular, yet slender blonde with purple hearing aids. She watched him throw himself to Bobbi, knocking them both to the ground. Who she could only assume was Sam was next, the man giving her a trademark wink that reminded her of Gabe Jones, before hugging FitzSimmons to his chest and helping Bobbi up.

Steve did not get off and she feared the worst. 

“He fell asleep behind the wheel,” Sam whispered to her, patting her shoulder. “Told ‘im not to pilot but he said they’d get there faster.”

“The bastard,” Peggy sighed. “Never bothers to listen to a thing I say.” 

Ignoring the reunions around him, she jogged inside and passed the small cots and a few labeled containers that Fitz was carefully grabbing. She found Steve as Sam had promised. Behind the controls, head tucked into his chest. The few stray hairs falling onto his forehead, chin rising with every breath he took. 

He was breathtaking and Peggy’s eyes brimmed with tears. She dropped to her knees beside him, hearing Jemma pause as she looked over to make sure their prized science experiment didn’t just die on them. 

“Oh, darling,” Peggy breathed, her red painted nails [habits died hard] reached out to touch his cheek, stroking the soft stubble. Her hand moved to push his hair out of his face and smiled at how a lock fell right back. “Working yourself to the bone again. Don’t you know when to rest?”

“He does not,” Clint mused, crossing his arms and leaning into the entranceway. “I think you know that by now.”

“And I know you follow suit and are avoiding medical,” Bobbi pointed out, wrapping an arm around her boyfriend’s waist. “Come on. Before Hunter and Bucky see you like this, you idiot. Did you break another rib?”

Peggy ignored them as they left, leaning up to gently press a tender kiss to Steve’s lips. She was met with a flutter of baby blue eyes that brought her back to the first time she saw them. A scrawny Brooklyn Native covered in red dust and in a helmet far too big for him. He smiled against her lips, eyes still hazy with sleep.

“Are you an angel?” he whispered, pressing their foreheads together but making no other moves. She was sure he stopped breathing.

The question made Peggy laugh. “No, darling, no. I don’t think that statement has worked on anyone.”

“Damn.” He rubbed at his eyes and yawned, having enough courtesy to turn his head before he wrestled Peggy into his arms. He couldn’t care about their little crowd. He needed her. Hastily kissing her lips like he needed to breathe.

“You two are disgusting,” a voice snorted from the entranceway. 

Peggy didn’t even need to look up to know Steve had thrown the shield haphazardly at Bucky. 

“We’re making up for lost time,” Steve groaned, pulling away from Peggy with kiss-swollen lips. “You don’t gotta look.”

“How can I not when you’re kissing right in front of me? Hiya, Pegs.” Bucky wrapped her up in a hug and kissed the side of her face, letting Steve drag his weary body out of the chair. “Do me a favor and get this sap home.”

“Consider it done. I think we need to christen the bed anyway,” she mused thoughtfully.

Bucky’s expression was everything to her as Steve wrapped her up in a hug and half carried her off of the ship.

--

“Hang on it’s real?” 

Tony breathed, turning to point his wooden spoon threateningly at Peggy’s face. She easily batted the spoon away with her own, making him pout.

“What’s real?” Steve sighed, dropping into the stool beside Peggy with his own coffee from the counter. “Our relationship?”

“Yes! I thought that was just a...thing Howard and you made up! I didn’t think you and Cap actually got together!” 

Peggy rolled her eyes, draining the last of her tea. “Christ, is everyone going to say that?”

“I mean, I thought you two boned or kissed, but…” Clint mused from the couch, his leg up in the air to wave in their direction. “Not like kiss-kiss.”

“What are you twelve?” Natasha snickered. “Of course they were together. Don’t you see how Steve pined after her? Even in just her photos at the museum.”

“Aw, you pined after her?” Bucky breathed, earning an elbow from Steve. “Oh c’mon, punk, I had to live with this dancing around one another crap for years before Hydra finally put me out of my misery.”

“Hey, not funny,” Steve grumbled. “Still not funny. That will never be funny. And we didn’t dance around one another.”

“It is funny. I told yah, I was found before you and everything.” Bucky huffed, stealing a croissant from Tony’s hand to bite into. “And yes you did. Pegs, tell him.”

“I wasn’t dancing around,” Peggy mused, refilling her mug. “Steve was the dancing monkey.”

“I see where you two learned it from,” Bobbi teased, throwing a look where Fitz and Jemma were sitting on the other end of the couch from Clint’s prodding foot.

“If everyone can stop taking the mickey out on all of us that would be great,” Fitz over dramatically sighed. “Steve and Peggy can finally be together, thanks to this genius.” He squeezed Jemma’s frame to him, making her flush. 

“And Dr. Banner,” Peggy pointed out. “Where is he, by the way? I haven’t seen him since we left.”

“Vacation. Something about this was a favor to the history books,” Bobbi mused, waving her hand. “So, you two...Pegs, when’s the wedding date? And don’t tell me not yet. You two finally get to be together. I think you and FitzSimmons over there need to do a double destination date.”

Peggy and Jemma shared a look from over the table, making Steve laugh. “I wouldn’t say no to that. What do you say, Miss Simmons?”

“I’ll draw up the wedding plans.”

My tip jar

[unicyclehippo]

just a simple prompt if you want one: beau and jester play a game. interpret however you like!

ok so what follows came abt bc i thought of a joke that made me cackle & i wanted to write it in the context of a story so: ur welcome 🤙🤙

//

the fancy flop, like all good bars, is small, dimly lit, and grimy. the bar itself is sticky with spilled drinks that have accumulated over time into a thin laquer that coats the dark-red wood and beau’s cloak sticks to it as she leans over it, making sure that the bartender is well and truly busy with another patron down the opposite end to see her making off with a bottle of his best.

she wouldn’t do it ordinarily—and if she had, she wouldn’t’ve set more than the cost of the bottle in its place, as she does now—but she’d spotted the dusty plum purple bottle earlier and couldn’t get it out of her head. kamordah—her family—keep popping up like a cursed copper and beau figures, fuck it, why not face it head on for once?

so yeah. she steals—and then promptly pays for, because the bartender seems like a good enough lady—the bottle and scarpers, out the door and into the street, slipping the bottle into her bag before she catches up to the rest of the nein wandering their weaving way back to their inn.

‘beau!’ fjord greets her, laughing. his cheeks are flushed and his eyes glossy and beau notes, a little fuzzy herself, that his smile seems way more genuine, way bigger too, ever since he stopped fiddling with his tusks. ‘where’d you go?’

‘around,’ she tells him, makes a big show of complaining when he slings his heavy arm around her shoulder and neck and pulls her in. ‘you’re drunk,’

‘we’re all drunk!’ caleb corrects. beau glanced sideways to the faintly smiling clerics, shakes her head. ‘drunk on life, beauregard!’

it’s her imagination, probably, that makes her think jester narrows her eyes. because beau certainly didn’t earn a look like that, didn’t flinch at the sound of her full name.

‘drunk on mead, caleb.’

the man smiles. tilts his head up to the moon. ‘that too, my friend. that too.’

//

they shepherd everyone back to their rooms, to their beds, and it’s nice how these things go. the shuffle and bump of getting changed, the low murmurs from the washroom as teeth are cleaned, the creak and slow rising snore as friends fall into beds. beau guides a well-toasted nott into the room she shares with caleb, watches him lever up on the mattress when they cross the alarm. she lifts nott, sets her into bed alongside him at the mumbled instruction; beau watches as her friends curl up together without a care to her or what she might see in it, and leaves them be.

stepping out into the darkened hall, she catches a glimpse of a horned head, a flick of a spaded-tail as jester turns the corner, headed down the steps into the common space.

curious, beau follows.

it’s habit to drift toward the shadows, instinctual to tread gently and avoid those places in the floorboards where they bend and bow and creak. even so, she knows she hasn’t managed to hide her approach from jester, because the girl is waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs. perhaps a little more hidden than she thought, actually, because it isn’t until beau is a few steps down to where the light of the common room washes pale against the stairs that jester blinks and shakes her head a little and smiles up at her.

‘oh good! i was hoping you’d come.’

‘me?’

‘mhm!’ she holds a hand up to beau, wriggles her fingers invitingly. ‘come on!’

‘where are we going? jes?’ beau asks, but if there is an answer she misses it, mind wiped blank by the feel of jester’s cool fingers twining in hers and the dizzying rush of being yanked forward, all while already the tiniest bit drunk.

they don’t go far.

jester has found, it seems, a mostly hidden table in the inn built into the corner, where support beams stand to block anyone’s view of the table and the roof sits low overhead. it’s close to the kitchen and awfully warm, fires still smouldering away to heat the water in gurgling pipes, and the scent of fresh baked breads travels out on curls of steam. jester slips into the alcove first, pulls on the hand she still hasnt released so that beau slides in beside her on the cushioned bench, not across as she would have done otherwise.

‘nice place you got here.’

jester grins, bats her lashes. ‘i’m good at finding sneaky places.’

‘i know that,’ beau nods. ‘yeah. this,’ she knocks on the wooden post. nods again. ‘solid.’

jester still hasn’t let go of her hand. beau swallows. hopes that her hand doesn’t feel as sweaty as she thinks it does. she always gets alcohol sweats, and with this sauna jester has found, she can feel her whole body prickling with it.

‘why are we - you couldn’t sleep?’

‘i’m not tired yet. and i wasn’t drinking.’

‘milk.’

jester rolls her eyes. muffles a small laugh with a look of exasperation, like she can’t believe she’s laughing at such a bad joke. her fingers slip over beau’s, tangling and slowly slipping away. beau makes an attempt to keep hold before she realises what jester is doing; cheeks flushing, she looks away, stretches her arms out to rest on the tabletop, fingers drumming on the wood, tracing over the slices and crude carvings, fingers swirling over the letters.

‘i wanted to play a game,’ jester tells her, pulling from her bag a deck of cards. it makes beau’s stomach plummet until she realises she doesn’t recognise them: these are not the brightly painted tarot, but considerably smaller and battered.

‘playing cards?’

‘uno!’

beau frowns. ‘the game you wanna play with your dad?’

‘yeah!’

it’s the drink making her bold, or the closeness of jester pressed soft to her side, that makes beau smirk. tilt her head. ‘if i play with you, does that make me your daddy?’

jester smiles back, all sharp teeth and hooded lids. ‘i don’t know, beau, does it?’

beau doesn’t recognise the tone, not from jester anyway, but it sends a bolt of energy lancing through her from the top of her now-prickling scalp to her core.

‘uh.’ she unsticks her tongue from the dry roof of her mouth. ‘um.’

jester giggles. drops her eyes to the deck, quickly splitting it and shuffling. beau is thankful that it gives her a moment to recover herself, swear at herself for losing her senses; beau is not thankful for the way it draws attention to jester’s clever hands, easily breezily moving the cards through a shuffle, a tilted riffle and a cut, before pressing them in a weave and cutting again.

‘holy shit. you’re really good at this.’

‘i like cards,’ jester agrees, nodding, but beau notes that she looks pleased by the compliment.

‘is it a problem that i don’t know how to play this?’

the cards explode out of the riffle, scattering across and beneath the table, a few smacking up into their faces.

‘ow.’

‘oh no, my cards!’

‘it’s fine, it’s fine, lemme—hold on, let me help,’

beau dives out of the nook, scrabbles around for the little cards. she slaps a few handfuls onto the table, ducking under it to find the remaining ones as jester counts. it’s hot, and dark, and jester’s tail snakes out to tap against beau’s arm as she fumbles around.

‘okay down there?’ jester calls.

beau grunts. ‘there’s—ugh—it’s like they washed the whole place with beer.’ her fingers brush against something furry that moves as she yelps, moves back too fast and knocks her head hard on the table above. ‘ow—fuck!’

‘beau!’

‘i’m fin—are you laughing?’ beau slides out from under the table, peeks over to confirm that jester is in fact laughing at her, wounded in the course of finding her fucking cards. ‘wow. real cool,’ she complains, though her hearts not in it, not with the way jester is having to fight to keep from busting a rib, eyes glittering with it. ‘did i get all the damn cards?’

jester counts them quickly. ‘two missing,’ she tells beau, who sighs and crawls beneath the table again, this time pulling down her goggles.

the first she finds under the opposite bench, while the second takes a little looking. it isn’t until jester moves her feet to try and help that beau sees it, the thin card stuck in the floorboards by jester’s feet. she reaches out, knuckles grazing against jester’s stockinged leg, and plucks it up.

‘got ‘em!’

beau climbs up, flops into place beside jester, who takes the cards with a quiet,

‘thank you, beau.’

‘don’t mention it.’ beau rubs at the top of her head. ‘i think i broke it. am i bleeding?’

‘lemme see.’ jester wriggles up onto her knees, bending over beau’s head. she’s of a height where beau has to keep herself very still and maybe close her eyes because jester’s chest is right there—and then her eyes flash open with the feeling of cold lips on hot skin, pressing gently to the bruised spot, and the warm fizzing feeling of magic crawling out from that space. ‘there,’ jester says, sitting again, the green light fading from her eyes. ‘all better.’

beau mumbles something that was hopefully an agreement, and tries to hide behind the cards jester hands her.

[shortnotsweet]

Hello, your fiveya pride and prejuice had me on my knees. Everything you have writing for the umbrella academy is so nice, this fandom should be thankfull you are here making gold content. I'm not very creative and I still dont know which kind of prompts you would like, but the last au gave me some Elizabeth Swan vibes, so maybe you could do a Fiveya Pirates of the Caribbean Au? Whatever you make I'm sure will be wonderfull :)

It’s 1732, and Governor Reginald Hargreeves and his two adopted daughters, accompanied by the family butler, Pogo, are sailing to Port Royal aboard HMS Crown when they come across a shipwreck. The lone survivor of the tragedy is a young boy, shaking and shell-shocked. A sympathetic Pogo begs Reginald to allow him to take him in - Pogo himself will rear and provide for the child out of his own wages.

Vanya clutches the railing and looks out into the wreckage, into jagged mountains of burning wood obscured by ink black plumes of smoke that cast a ghostly silhouette against the dreary sky and the great gray sea, and can’t take her eyes off of it. It’s a tragedy, with glowing embers peeking through the remains of the ship, keeping it alive and drowning in the water, and Vanya is fascinated.

I do not want to know what transpired here, she thinks. She doesn’t need to know, anyway - it looks like a wasteland, like something writhing and nearly dead, and then her father takes her by the shoulders and pulls her away.

The boy is raised in a fine household, alongside Reginald’s two young daughters, both of whom are handsome, intelligent, and composed. His truest and most constant friend, though, is Vanya.

The Boy starts out as a Will Turner of sorts, only more confident and living in relative comfort, except with the knowledge that he is an outsider even among orphans, and a survivor of something terrible. He longs to go back.

By 1742, the boy is merely fifteen and already deemed an academic prodigy in a vast array of scientific, mathematical, mechanical and historical studies.

By the end of 1742, he’s gone, vanished into the night and headed for the sea. Vanya, not for the first time in her life, is alone.

Years later, she’s grown into a beautiful yet confined woman. During a botched proposal, Vanya faints, due to a combination of heat, anxiety, and a too-tight corset, plummeting into the harbor below, only to be rescued by a mysterious man

Surprise y’all guess who it is

Five and his crew are under a curse that renders them undead corpses under the moonlight, burdened with immortality. Idk why he’s cursed, ig he just got up to a lot of pirate shit lmao. The gold of his father’s pocket watch is key to breaking this curse, and he’s returned to Port Royal after all these years to retrieve it, after he gave it to Vanya for safekeeping the day before he abandoned the Hargreeves household to rejoin the life of piracy

She agrees, of course, but he is soon confronted by both Reginald and Leonard, backed by the Navy, on account of 1) being a pirate and 2) trespassing and in order to safely escape he takes Vanya hostage

In his time away, Five has become captain of the dreaded Academy, the ship that his own father used to command before the wreck. Vanya initially disapproves of his life choices because he may be older now and like damn ok, but 1) hygiene 2) the ethical ambiguity of piracy and 3) you left me dude without warning ,, tf is up with that?

Cue childhood friends reconnecting in really awkward circumstances + maybe Stockholm syndrome

Luther, Ben, Klaus, and Diego are members of his crew. While Diego is a fantastic swordsman, Ben has a connection with sea monsters that allows him to dissuade nearby creatures from bothering their ship. Klaus is a mystic they picked up along the coast who can communicate with the dead - it’s through him that they learn the specifics of the curse.

Five glances down at her, sleeves rolled above his forearms, his hair dripping saltwater over his brow. “The Romans did it, didn’t they?” Honor among thieves is how the saying goes. “They encouraged it, actually, especially in children. Stealing. Steal from your enemies, steal from your neighbors, steal from your friends.”

At this, Vanya’s eyes narrow. “I wouldn’t steal from my friends.”

Five shrugs.

“It builds character,” he says, “and it builds world skills. If you’re a thief, then you’re fast, resourceful, and, most importantly, you’re still alive. That’s helpful. It can be a good thing, to be a thief.”

“The greatest empire of all time, after Britain, just a whole lot of thieves?”

“That’s Rome, then, a bunch of thieves. The empire essentially stole its own foundation from other civilizations, you know? Arches and aqueducts and art - even the Republic was based on direct democracy.” He leans back and looks at her from under his lids. The floor below them shifts and sways along with the rhythm of the sea, and Vanya leans against the mast to keep her horizon line steady.

“So you’re a history buff now?”

“I always have been,” Five says defensively. “Math is just more exciting. You don’t need to get caught up with the Romans anyway,” Five laughs. “We’re pirates.”

“I suppose I need to find a way to make myself useful, then?” Vanya crosses her arms, squinting under the white hot sun. “Be helpful.” Do as the Romans do.

“No, of course not,” Five says quickly, uneasy, bitter. “You didn’t join the crew, remember? You were kidnapped.”

Days into her kidnapping on the high seas, Vanya ditched her heavy ass dress for a practical pair of trousers and tied her hair up. The sun smiles down on them in a thousand yard stare, reflecting white off the crests of the waves that jostle the ship further away from land, and her white skin has already shown signs of browning. She can breathe, though, better and easier than she’s ever breathed in her entire life

The ocean never ends, but Vanya can see something flickering on the horizon, something that looms across the skyline and drags the sky down to meet it. It feels like hope, like dreams once dashed in her girlhood, and now that it has come out of hiding, unclothed and unabashed under an impossible white sun, Vanya can’t stop looking.

The Academy is still being pursued by the Royal Navy, and Five can’t just return Vanya bc they're not only on the run but they’ve got shit to do, aka curse-breaking shit. Plus, he really, really doesn’t want to

And deep down he can tell that she doesn’t want to either

“But you like it here, don’t you,” he accuses her, hard and fast because he knows she’ll be honest, and the strategist in him wants to size the queen, wants to take her home. “You were miserable back there,” Five reminds her, his own eagerness a tangible thing to his ears. “Reginald made you miserable. Jenkins made you miserable, hell, even Allison made you miserable.” Vanya’s gaze remains unblinking, but the corner of her mouth twitches ever so slightly, her lower lip dragging it down. The sight of it gives him pause, and he wants to stop for a moment, wants to apologize for it, but the conqueror in him leers in approval and he’s plowed too forward, too far already. “You wanted to leave, every second of every day. That’s what you told me,” Five reaches forward to take her by the shoulders, gently crowding her against the railing, and she looks up and into his face, dwarfed by his height. “You’re free now, you’re here. Reginald can’t get to you. Why would you want to go back?”

You’re free now. There’s nothing for you there, he tries to say, and she must get this, because her eyes go alight, just for a second, and her lip curls into a snarl.

The thing is, she’s much happier here, with Five and his crew and a great, endless sea, but she remembers Allison all too vividly, remembers that she left her alone without warning. Vanya knows that it’s like to be left behind, and the thought of Allison alone with only their father for company strikes something hollow and sinking into her chest, something like dread

“I don’t want to go back,” she snaps, harsher than he expected, and he lets go of her. “Of course I don’t.”

You think I want to go back to corsets and Reginald’s voice in every hallway of that old, evil house, and Leonard crowding me everywhere, acting like I’ve already said yes, and this stench of absence that follows me wherever I go.

Oh, she realizes, of course he doesn’t.

“Then don’t.”

Vanya glares at him, hard and herself, and he can see the betrayal sink into her face and settle like silt at the bottom of a glass.

“It’s because we’re family,” she says, and the fifteen-year-old in Five finds himself enraged because Vanya’s family is supposed to be here, with him.

“I need to see her again,” Vanya enunciates carefully, forming every word with a nervous kind of fear, like she thinks he won’t understand, and Five’s anger dissipates almost as quickly as it had risen.

They’re going to break that curse, and Five will be a real boy (man) again. Allison won’t be alone, because her sister will come back for her (just as Five came back for Vanya). They’ll all have real, red, beating hearts, and Five will have Vanya for himself and Vanya will have one thing all her own - she has an entire ocean to conquer and no regrets

For once, Vanya has a choice, and it’s a pirate's life for her

[4jimin]

well since you so kindly asked for prompts: jikook+12 (bc necessary lol) and yoonseok+7

jikook; "why the heck aren't we making out?" canon compliant | bickering“Hyung, can you take the big pot for me?” Jungkook asked while washing the dishes, a grin playing on his lips along with a crinkling nose. Jimin would think it was cute if he wasn’t wanting to punch it. The little shit had chosen that day specifically to piss his hyung off with jokes about his height. Said big pot he was asking for Jimin to take for him was in the highest shelf of their kitchen's cabinet – Jimin could only reach it using a chair and he was mostly definitely not doing that. Not in a million years, not in front of that brat they called their maknae. “Jeon Jungkook, I swear to god.” Jimin deeply breathed, trying to focus on cutting the vegetables the way Jin had asked before leaving for buying groceries. “I'll deck you in the face if you don’t stop this shit.” Jungkook turned to look at him, giggling and cleaning his wet hands on the apron he was using. Jimin could think it was funny if he – again – wasn't wanting to punch him.“Oh? But can you even reach my neck?” The older hand's stopped, knife midway the cucumber, eyes dragging up to meet the younger's. Jungkook gulped, wondering if he had gone too far, Jimin's gaze a little too intense – enough for a shiver to run down his spine like lightning. He took his apron off, nervously trying to find an empty drawer to put it in. He heard his hyung getting off his seat, the chair scratching the ground in a high pitched sound, Jungkook's shoulders shrinking involuntarily in response, as if it'd stop the sound from hurting his ears. His heart may have stopped when he saw Jimin's hands in front of him, flying to hold on the counter's border by his side, caging Jungkook in between his arms. He felt that familiar warmth by the side of his body – Jimin's loose tshirt brushing against his bare arm. Jungkook sucked as much oxygen as he could into his lungs, before turning his torso to fully face the boy, who instantly pressed their hips together to get Jungkook's lower back hitting the border of the sink. His breath hitched, locked in his closed throat, and his eyes fell closed, Jimin's body pressing him too tightly for his sanity. Jungkook didn’t need to open his eyes to know Jimin's face was inches apart from him, his hot breathing warming Jungkook's dry lips and flushed cheeks. “Wanna find out?” Jimin whispered low and Jungkook was desperate. He knew Jimin could actually reach his neck, but what did he intend to do if Jungkook said yes? Choke him to death?Well, maybe that was a good option, considering Jungkook could pass out at any given moment from a heart attack anyway.“Ahm– I– I'm sorry.”“I asked,” Jimin pressed harder, his nose touching Jungkook’s and his knees failed, Jimin's body being the only thing holding him in place, “if you wanna find out.” His tone was low and dangerous. Jungkook knew he should stutter a rushed 'no' and end all that shit for once, but he couldn’t bring his body to obbey him, mouth remaining shut as he ordered it to deny Jimin's question. Maybe because his heart couldn’t stop thundering loud yes'es against his chest. “Seems cat got your tongue now, huh...” Jimin murmured, and Jungkook was so intoxicated he couldn’t even open his eyes – he knew if he did he'd fall into Jimin's orbs so hardly and so deeply he wouldn’t find a way back after. “Think I'mma have make you speak...”And just like that Jungkook felt Jimin's breath moving from lips to his chin, then down his jawline. He had to hold back on the counter to stop his body from giving in to the gravity's will when Jimin closed his hot mouth on the muscle where the his neck curved into his shoulder, roughly catching the flesh with his teeth just so he could lick it a second later to soothe the bruise. He dragged his plump lips up the younger's skin, stopping right below his jawline to suck sweet and slow. Jungkook was going to go crazy. His breath was a mess, rhythm meaning nothing more than a substantive to his nostrils. He whined, hands tightening its grip on the marble behind him. “Oh?” Jimin pulled back to look at Jungkook – his heart forcing himself to open his eyes. The boy in front of him, darkly staring at his face with lust, lips wet with saliva, shining the reddest red Jungkook had ever remembered seeing. “Maybe cat didn’t didn’t get your tongue at all...” he whispered, and his lips were so close Jungkook felt it briefly brushing against his own. He squeezed his eyes shut, heart beating on his throat, knuckles white holding the counter. “Will you me let hear your voice, Jungkook-ah?” Jungkook shivered. Much for Jimin pronouncing his name that way, but more for his hands invading his tshirt, cold fingers sliding through his hipbones to his waist, pressuring it hard enough for his breath to fail. “H...Hyung...” he breathed, the only word he remembered in that moment.“Mhm?” Jimin asked, but his lips were already back on Jungkook's neck and – Jungkook was losing it. His hands flew to Jimin's waist faster than he could've imagined, firmly holding on the thin curve of his torso for, in a second of overwhelming recklessness, switch their positions, pinning Jimin against the sink and pressuring their bodies closer than before. Jimin gasped against his skin, hot breath hitting his wet neck, and Jungkook groaned, stomach tingling so much with anticipation he wanted to cry. He closed his eyes, drowning in the sensation of Jimin's lips kissing and sucking his skin, until he felt the older's fingers being brought up to slide into his hair, a shudder spreading on his spine thanks to it. Jungkook dragged his hands down Jimin's body, unable to bold back anymore. He grabbed his thighs hard, pulling him up to sit in the counter behind them, Jimin's legs instantly wrapping around his waist, his hard member pressing below Jungkook's bellybutton. He partially cried, partially moaned on Jimin's ears, a little bit louder this time – when he remembered.“Hyung.” He called breathless, halfheartedly holding on Jimin's waist to pull him away. “Hobi-hyung and Yoongi-hyung are home.” Jungkook forced his eyes to stay open, glued on the floor of the hall, scared a shadow would suddenly grow in there before someone appeared in the kitchen.Jimin didn’t give him any attention, stubborn as he was, one hand on Jungkook's hair and another on the back of his shoulder, pushing his tshirt aside so he could kiss the skin in there too. Jungkook was barely breathing, Jimin's soft lips being too fucking much for him to remain in control. “Hyung... they–” “You taste so good, Jungkook-ah.” Jimin cut him off and Jungkook suddenly unlearned all the existing words, mind going blank as Jimin's breath followed up his neck until his hot mouth was pressed against his ear, “So fucking good.” He growled, “You're gonna get me addicted.”Jungkook pulled back to meet his eyes, a question – the only question hovering his mind. “Then why are we not making out yet?”Jimin fisted his hair harder and pulled him closer – eyes darker than ever, before falling closed. He stopped an inch away from Jungkook's mouth, breaths mingling and lips brushing as Jimin whispered, “Because I like to tease.”And it was all it took for Jungkook to lose it. He moved his chin forward, catching Jimin’s lower lip on his mouth and sucking, all oxygen being knocked out of his lungs as the older whimpered and melted under his touch. He held Jimin by the waist, arms wrapped around his back, not a centimeter of air between their bodies. Jungkook swiped his tongue over Jimin's lip inside his hot mouth, feeling too fucking inebriated, Jimin's lips too fucking soft to be real. They parted lips open together, tongues meeting in a dazed thirst for each other. He moaned into Jimin's mouth, his erection feeling too hard for his own good. It was when they heard a door opening, their bodies separating from each other in a heartbeat. Yoongi and Hoseok appeared on the kitchen's doorframe before the boys could even think of recovering – Jimin having jumped to the ground, but still panting breathless in front of the counter, Jungkook sitting in one of the chairs wondering if he was going to faint from a too racing heart.“Hyung and I are going out to eat something, so you two take care. Don’t burn the house down.” They barely made Hoseok's words out, the two hyungs having hurriedly left before the youngers could see their fingers interlaced together. The house was suddenly silent, Jimin staring at him after they heard the front door closing – lips swollen and cheeks flushed. “Bedroom.” His voice failed, breath still trying to settle in his lungs. “Please.” He didn’t have to ask twice.yoonseok; "we're made for each other"canon compliant | just fluff really The sun was shining bright up in the sky, its warm rays washing their skin through the open window and – Yoongi honestly couldn’t care less, Hoseok's smile being such a better source of light for his thundering heart. It was always like this, it would never settle on his chest when Hoseok was close to him. Even almost a year after they've started officially dating. Even after so many kisses and intimate moments shared. Hoseok was a magnet, and Yoongi's heart was another, beating frantically whenever he was around, wanting to break free from from its cage to reach him. “No, but there's some really funny, for real. Listen.” Hoseok managed out, trying to contain his laugh while his eyes kept glued on the screen of his phone. He had found some posts on Pinterest of people rambling about supposed realities where soulmates existed. Yoongi thought it sounded pretty lame, but Hoseok was having fun with it for the past twenty minutes. “So, if the very first words your soulmate ever says to you are tattooed somewhere in your body since the day you were born,” he started reading, “Imagine having something like 'man, I can’t believe dumbledore died' tattooed on you.” he paused to laugh, not being able to contain it throughout the whole story, having made a funny voice to impersonate the tattoo's words. Yoongi allowed his lips to smirk the slightest bit up too, not knowing if the giggle growing on his throat was due to Hoseok's enjoyment or the story itself. Probably the first one. “Imagine being spoiled for a book series that doesn’t even exist yet. Imagine worrying about this dumbledore guy dying for your whole childhood not even knowing who he is.” They laughed together at this part, picturing the scenario. “Imagine knowing dumbledore dies before J.K Rowling even thinks about it.” “Okay, I admit.” Yoongi let out, a smile still playing on his lips, “They're not all lame. This one's lamely funny.”“Hyung!” Hoseok complained, letting his phone fall on the bed and sitting straight to look at Yoongi. “They're cute, you have to admit that!”“They're not cute, it seems like they have been taken out of a cheesy drama or something.” Yoongi judged, knowing Hoseok would pretend offended, his soft spot for cheesy dramas showing. “How can you be so cold-hearted?” he got up, hands on his hips while walking till where Yoongi was seating in front of the computer. “I bet you'd melt if we had–“ he started, but then stopped, a sudden thought hitting him and making his eyes shine. “Hyung!” his smile was brighter than it ever had been. Yoongi knew what was to come.“No.”“Hyuuung...” Hoseok whined, brows furrowed, frustrated by Yoongi's instant denial. “Please, let me search your body... I bet we have at least one soulmate mark!” he was so excited Yoongi almost gave in, but he knew that was a bad idea.“Hoseok, this is stupid, if we don’t have one – which is completely normal, to be very clear – you'll be sulking for the rest of the day.” “I won’t!”He did. Twenty minutes later after finishing a complete research on Yoongi's bare: chest, thighs, legs, arms and neck. “See, you're sulking.” He had to confirm his point, even though it only made the boy's pout grow bigger. Hoseok was sitting on the bed again, arms crossed over his chest, a frown on his face and his lips dangling down in that adorable way it always did whenever he was mad. Yoongi fought with all his force against the urge to coo. “I'm not.” He sounded like a 5 yeard old, voice managing its way out through his pout. “It's stupid, you're right.” “See?” Yoongi pulled his tshirt down – which was still resting above his chest thanks to Hoseok –, and scooted closer, crouching down in front of his boyfriend’s body, a hand going up his neck to caress his hair and comfort him. “I don’t need any mark on my body to know I belong to you for the rest of my life.”Hoseok softened a little, his arms uncrossing along with a hint of a tiny smile playing in the corner of his mouth. Yoongi got up on his knees to kiss it. It was just a peck, but it bloomed Hoseok's smile, the older's heart tugging in his chest with the sight. “I know we were made for each other, I don't need to have a random mark on my body to reassure that.” He pinched the tip of Hoseok's nose, watching him crinkle it afterwards. Too cute. “So don’t do that sad face again. Okay?”“Okay...” the younger murmured, eyes down, cheeks slightly blushing.“I mean, seriously, we're like yin-yang. You're the day and I'm the night.” Hoseok loudly laughed at this, satisfying Yoongi's ears and need of constantly hearing his voice laughing.“Hyung, you're so cheesy.”“I'm serious! Even olives!” The black haired boy exclaimed out of nowhere, providing a confused expression to Hoseok’s features, “They were made for you to love and for me to hate so we can complete each other, you stealing all the olives from my food and being... happy about it. Okay, this part specifically is gross, because who likes olives, but I'm not judging.” He completed, Hoseok's smile getting wider with each word, irradiating warmth everywhere, including into Yoongi's chest. He was so deep down in love it was embarrassing.“Can I be cheesier than you?” Hoseok asked, a hand resting on the nape of Yoongi's neck to pull him closer, getting both their hearts to race in sync. “I think you're my whole universe. I look at you and I know it.” Yoongi might have just melted inside, but no one needed to know that. He held on Hoseok's shoulders, who pulled him up to his lap, not breaking eye contact for a second. “I love you so much I think I can explode sometimes.”Yoongi couldn’t stop looking at his eyes, stunned, lost in thoughts of how he had never felt so happy like that before. “I love you.” It was all he could say. “I love you.” He repeated, before Hoseok closed the distance between them, their lips meeting in the sweetest touch, fitting perfectly on each other's mouth. When their lips simultaneously parted, Hoseok couldn’t tell from whom was the butterflies on his belly – his or Yoongi's. But it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter, because in that moment Min Yoongi was his and his alone – and that was the only thing he could think about.