#and decorated it so it either looks like space or the bottom of the ocean

[little-pondhead]

I am physically holding myself back from going into great detail about these outfits.

Here’s some shitty close-ups.

[s-talking]

Amaryllis was hiding somewhere in the house. Usually, the exotic, beloved feline never shies away. Never in her own home. Unfortunately, she had reason to do so, when someone thought it wise to try and sneak in. Possibly rob the place, maybe do the only known woman who lived there harm. What the fool didn’t know nor expect, was that she did not live alone. Not just with her cat — a serial killer.

It came to Sakuyoru’s realization what transpired as she enters the building. All to her knowledge being normal. What hit her first was the heavy copper smell. The aroma hit her hard. An abrupt recollection of her mother came to the forefront, and all the groceries for tonight’s dinner were dropped on the spot. The door almost off it’s hinges as it’s swung open with an adrenaline-rushed force. The stopper breaks, and a hole in the wall from the knob ruins the drywall.

There’s blood all over the floor in her kitchen, and Envy is standing there with it on his person, the signature butterfly knife in hand. All polished clean from use.

Her expression is wild. Pupils dilated and her heart racing in her ears, as she runs for him on the verge of crying. She tracks the blood she stepped in back into the spot he had just cleaned.

Maybe he thought he’d have it all taken care of before she returned.

“Envy! Envy are, you… Oh. Nature please be okay... Please…” She sounds devastated. Like he was the one who was just killed in her once pristine kitchen, even if he’s standing there looking at her. She searches him over. Looking for holes. Picking him apart right there until she meets his face finally. Those empty dark eyes…

She takes his face into her hands. Uncaring of the blood on her palms now. She’s shaking like a leaf, her wild behavior almost like his own, but for different reasons. Staring at him, feeling him there, it makes her fall apart. Her shaking followed by hot tears rolling down her porcelain face. Fingers slipping down an angled visage until her nail catch the collar of his shirt. Then the belts across his torso. She’s trying to ground herself on him while she has a panic attack on the pretense that her mother was killed all over again, taken from her — except her being him, Envy being taken from her.

“Please be okay…” Completely, utterly broken. Never mind that the body in a bag was a few inches behind him. She repeated her words like a mantra, staring at the space his heart resided, and death-gripping at the clothes there.

Don’t leave me.

𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐘 𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐃𝐀𝐌 𝐅𝐄𝐋𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐄𝐍𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐓𝐎 𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄. at first glance, it appeared to be very old fashioned & beautiful, decorated with mississippi's dark antique furniture & portraits that complimented its basil tinted walls, however, upon further inspection, such impeccable scenery merely proved to be an illusion. adam saw layers of dust & grime covering everything, & every single portrait on the walls had its eyes either completely scratched out or stabbed through, making the young man freeze in place for a second, frightened & confused, his eyes darting between the haunting images before settling down on the sofa beside.

       how could sakuyoru... live like this... ?

the silence starts to gnaw on him, a weight of intense stillness that only grows heavier with each passing second. adam feels like a pebble at the bottom of the ocean, so perfectly immobilized & listening, straining to hear any signs of life ── a footstep, a giggle, an echo of her beautiful voice ── however, he only hears the wind. the whole house is creaking softly, only to slowly fall back into silence. he stirs uncomfortably in place, feeling unwelcome in an empty room. something is off, most terribly so, however, having already gone this far adam decides not to dwell, making the wooden floorboards creak along his cautious steps.

calm yourself, he thinks, you can ask her about this later. surely this isn't her actual house & there's some sort of explanation for this... like an art project... or.... something. he shivers, looking up at the long set of stairs that look like a pathway leading straight into a burrow. a most distressing comparison. still, he is determined, & so he starts to climb up one step at a time, completely unaware of the silhouette now standing at the bottom of the stairs. silent. waiting.

adam swallows hard, feeling his heart race faster & harder with delusions of love, finally, approaching the bedroom; i.... i can't believe it. i'm actually here.... i'm actually in her bedroom! standing within the crooked doorway, the young man looks around with excitement, however, the room is strangely pitch black. are those.... newspapers on the windows? he can't almost see anything, making adam tempted to use his phone for light but just as he starts reaching into his pocket, someone's arm suddenly snakes around his neck & squeezes hard, cutting off his air supply like a guillotine.

❝ HURK── !!! ❞ adam's eyes widen in shock, unable to breathe. he instantly reaches for the aggressor's forearm & feels just how strong it is when attempting to pry it apart before another one quickly wraps around his waist & with horrifying ease, starts dragging him off. adam trashes around, growing more fierce & desperate as the aggressor remains completely calm in turn, seemingly unphased by the deep wounds caused by vicious scratching. ❝ mngh... !!! ❞

suddenly, the young man feels himself get turned around & thrown, falling like a sack of potatoes straight down those wooden stairs. he can't grasp at anything. he can't even comprehend what part of his body just got dislodged or shattered as the entire house booms from the sea of echoes, coming alive, & devouring him.

by the time adam is at the bottom of the stairs, he can't do anything but watch, having lost control over his own body. p-please... don't hurt me, please, please. i... i'm so sorry, the mind whispers, seeing a tall shadow of a man standing at the top of the stairs. a man whose wide, pitch black eyes are the only thing he can see.

       ❝ .. . . . ❞

they are haunting. as haunting as the silence, as haunting as those scratched out portraits on the basil tinted walls & the slow, calculating steps he starts to take. adam feels mortified, feeling a warm tear slowly roll down his bruised cheek. he wants to move, to scream & break away from this hellish house ── to never see her again ── however, the man is upon him now & so are his cold, dead eyes. they do not even blink as he reaches down & grasping a handful of dark hair, starts to drag adam towards the moonlit kitchen.

it hurts. he feels like the hair is getting ripped away from his scalp, forcing the young man to tear up with eyes tightly shut before being dropped on the kitchen's white tiles. they feel cold & hard against his bruised body, but adam doesn't care, hearing the once silent man finally speak, muttering in a low, empty tone, ❝ you've..... come to my house.... ❞

a kitchen cupboard slams open, stirring the silverware inside. ❝ you..... lust after..... what is mine...... ❞ a sound of steel scratching against steel echoes throughout the empty space, making adam open his eyes slowly & see how the man is withdrawing knives. all ten of them. ❝ i will...... ❞ his face is voided of emotion as he turns in place, ❝ cut your wings. ❞

dragging the first knife off the counter, adam sees how the man positions himself over his waist & sits down, raising the knife high above own head. he wants to scream, but his voice dies in his lungs just as the steel blade is jabbed deep inside, ❝ UGH ──!! ❞ then again. ❝ A-AH ──!! ❞ again. ❝ NGH!! ❞ AGAIN. ❝ GH!!!!! ❞ AGAIN. ❝ GAH!!!! ❞ only for the man to leave the kitchen knife lodged in place, & slowly, without a rush, reach for the second knife which he plunges straight into his neck, repeating the entire process with blood spurting out of adam like a broken fountain. & he does this with every knife, even when the young man died three hours ago, leaving his body completely mutilated & riddled with glistening blades.

by the time sakuyoru finally comes back, envy turns to her without a spec of emotion, looking like a bloodied mannequin standing in the dark.... only to smile wide at her sudden approach.

he ravels in her worry, following each & every subtle movement with increasing pleasure before reciprocating such loving sentiment by sneaking both arms around her waist, & tapping the butterfly-knife against her rear. as expected, sakuyoru doesn't notice, so the silent man leans even closer & licks the tears right off her cheek. slowly. deliberately. making sure she knows of his devouring passions, that will one day swallow her whole.

[merakiui]

Hemlooo Meraaa!! I'm havin yandere octavinelle thoughts and I thought why not share it with u? I hope you're havin a good day!

(CW: imprisonment, forced use of potion, dubcon kissing, implied sadism?)

imagine one of em (or all three of em, take your pick) keeping you prisoner in the dorm's big ass aquarium that decorates the Mostro Lounge.

But like, in some corner surrounded by rocks/corals/just a secluded place where no one can really see u, and only he knows of your location.

And you're chained at the bottom of the tank (probably long enough that u can explore just a tiny itty bitty bit of your space) and only he can visit you cause he can change into his merform, aight.

In order to keep you alive, he's given you a potion that enables you to breath underwater (or maybe turn u into a merfolk?)

But here's the thing, the potion's effect is not permanent, and it'll probably last like 24 hour ish or less.

Don't worry, he won't let u die, he'll still give u your daily dose (an excuse to visit u). Probably let u struggle a bit before giving u the potion (if he's feeling sadistic that day/feels like u need to be punished or sumthin).

He also won't just give you the potion as it is, oh no. He'd probably give it thru a kiss (u know, like that giving oxygen via kissin thing??) You're just so complaint whenever he gives you your potion.

And so every time you feel like you're feeling hard to breathe, you'd trash around in your chains and try to swim closer to him who are just in time (or a bit later) for his visit, clinging to him and desperately crashing your lips to his to get your daily dose.

He'll probably saw it as you just being really eager to meet him and that you finally loving him back (I mean why else would you initiate the kiss first if u don't love him?)

He's so happy that you're finally depending yourself on him, giving all of you to him and him only. Don't worry darling, this will only last until graduation, and after that you can live happily at the bottom of the sea with him forever <3

Also, this one is a specific thought for Azul:

octopus can change how they look to match their surroundings as camouflage right?Imagine a darling who thought they're finally alone (either still in the aquarium or in the ocean), only to suddenly feel his arms around their waist and his tentacles clinging to them as he hugs them from behind. He's been there all this time, just lovingly observing his beloved pearl among the corals and rocks, they're so cute when they're oblivious <33

I'm having big brain thoughts when I tried to take a nap today and so I'm sharing it with u cause I love your yandere writings so much <33

-heyyy

Hello, heyyy!!! Thank you so much for blessing me with yan!Octavinelle. OTL they’re always on my mind… this is fueling my brain rot.

(cw: yandere, captivity/kidnapping, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, non-con touches/kisses, brief mention of violence)

Omg giving the potion to you through a kiss is so good because they would absolutely prefer that way. Why force the potion down your throat when they can transfer it through a sweet (or all teeth and tongue if you’re Floyd) kiss? And every time they feel you reciprocate the kiss, even if it’s only because you need the potion in order to live, they’re certain that you’re getting closer to accepting the new life that awaits you!

If anyone ever does happen to notice you in the tank, they should start running. The trio aren’t fond of prying eyes and those who don’t know how to stay out of business that doesn’t concern them. A few broken ribs ought to teach that nosy student. And if they aren’t scared soulless by that, there are always scarier threats that can be used. Death is always on the table when it comes to keeping their beloved safe and sound.

AAAA YES YES!! Azul camouflaging himself so he can watch you is very delicious to think about. He can be as suave as he wants when he interacts with you, but he just can’t quite be entirely truthful with you. He’s still hiding some unsavory part of himself. He’s still shrouding himself in all of these layers in order to bury who he really is. You’ve yet to meet the real Azul—the Azul who laughs with genuine amusement, who occasionally cries in secret, who spends hours starting and scrapping love letters because he just keeps messing up and he wants it to be absolutely perfect for you. What terms of endearment should he use? How should he begin his greeting? What should he write about? These questions haunt him.

It’s easier to lie and hide and bury. It’s easier to act as he always has: sly and silver-tongued. But it’s harder to avoid his reflection in the mirror because it’s the one thing that can’t lie.

So when he hides himself from your view, he’s not only doing it to watch you. He also does it so that you won’t see his tentacles. So you won’t judge him. So you won’t have to face the fact that he’s not actually human. But as much as he wishes to observe, he can’t resist reaching out for you. You’re like the radiant light that draws him out of his octopus pot—into a world of love and color and fluttery heartbeats. It’s fine if you detest him. He’ll fix that. It’s fine if you claim you could never love him, a heartless monster from the deep. He’ll fix that. It’s fine if you prefer your humanity. He’ll fix that, too.

Azul’s hugs range in severity. Sometimes they’re quick and fleeting—merely a brush of tentacles against skin. Sometimes they’re possessive and insistent—tentacles wrapping so tightly around you that you’re certain your bones will splinter. And sometimes they’re sweet and sad—a rare sort of hug where Azul sheds his many layers and clings to you. All while lamenting about how much he missed you, how it’s not fair that he can’t be with you 24/7, how you still avoid his touch, how he’s worked so hard for your sake.

And like the variety of hugs you receive, there are also many sides to Azul. You’re not sure if you prefer clingy Azul, emotional Azul, cruel Azul, sweet Azul… But all of these facets make up his personality and you’re forced to accept it—to accept him—because there’s no way you can escape him.

Like a ship destined for wreckage, he’ll sink alongside you if it means he can be with you for all of eternity. And luckily for him, the ocean is as deep and blue as his love for you.

[be11atrixthestrange]

The Loft (Chapter 7)

After a bad break-up, Hermione Granger moves into a messy and dysfunctional loft with four single men. What starts as a temporary home until she gets back on her feet becomes so much more, as she learns there's a lot of life - and love - that happens at rock-bottom.

Inspired by the TV Series ‘New Girl’

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Also on A03 | FFN

More Chapters

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Chapter 7

Hermione is so far outside her comfort zone, she might as well have been launched into outer space.

Here she is, standing in a lakeside field, a shotgun slewn over her shoulder as she aims at a can of Pabst Blue Ribbon on a ledge.

Lavender Brown — Ron's 'friend' — stands next to her, close enough to whisper in her ear. "See that can? Imagine he's your ex. Now shoot him."

They're at Shell Cottage, Ron's brother's house, while he and his wife are out on vacation. Although the cottage is nowhere near the ocean, it's decorated (and named) like a seaside villa, supposedly an attempt to make Ron's sister-in-law feel more at home. The blue and white color scheme, nautical theming, and beachy decor look just as out of place as Hermione feels standing next to a sad-looking, algae-ridden lake.

Apparently, Ron has brought Lavender here to 'escape the city' (code for sex) and run a little wild (code for shoot guns, apparently).

Hermione isn't a huge fan of swearing, even in her own head, but regardless, the same phrase keeps floating through her mind.

What the fuck?

"I need a backstory," she tells Lavender.

"What do you mean?"

"Why am I shooting at my ex? What did he do to me?"

"Oh. You need a reason. I got you! Let me think." Lavender studies her for a moment, as if contemplating what Hermione would think is the worst thing a lover could do. The thought unsettles her. "He cheated on you."

"That's awful," Ron pipes in, deadpan. "Sounds like no one we know."

Without her consent, Hermione's mind plays back a memory of Ron and the boys rushing Cormac McLaggen for her belongings, donning musical themed hats and all. The thought threatens to tug her lips into a smile, but she remains straight-faced.

"What else did he do?" asked Hermione.

"You need more than that?"

"To shoot him? Yes."

Lavender clears her throat. "Okay, he doesn't like it when you read books."

Hermione scowls, focusing on that cheating, book-hating can of PBR.

"And he thinks musicals are stupid! Ron told me you like musicals."

He did?

At that moment, Ron speaks up. "Also, Hermione, he doesn't think women should vote."

"Wait, what?" Hermione turns toward Ron. He's grinning triumphantly and she shoots him a glare. "Why did I date him in the first place if he doesn't think women should vote?"

"Woah, watch that gun!" says Ron as he dodges behind Krum.

"Sorry, sorry!" Hermione lowers it from her shoulder.

Ron approaches Hermione and positions himself behind her. He wraps his arms around her shoulders, and cups her hands over the handle and trigger. The gesture reminds her of a date making an excuse to show her how to mini golf.

Krum clears his throat, which causes Ron to drop his arms and back away. Hermione had almost forgotten that he's here too.

Why are they here?

She recalls the events that led them to this point. By the time Lavender and Ron had become a 'thing' as he so eloquently put it, Hermione had been seeing a lot of her. She'd creep out of Ron's room in the morning and help herself to coffee, smiling at Hermione as if they were already best friends. She'd tell Hermione things about Ron, either things she already knew (Hermione was his friend first, after all) or things she really didn't want to know.

When Ron and Lavender started spending time at Shell Cottage, she became curious. If they were just casual, like her and Krum, what would they do hiding in a cabin by themselves for a whole weekend?

Well, she knew exactly what they'd do. But still, curiosity got the better of her. So she invited herself and Viktor along. A double date, if you will.

And that was that.

Now she's in a field, holding a gun, while Ron whispers in her ear.

"So he was a feminist when you started dating, but got caught up with the wrong crowd," says Ron, breaking Hermione from her memory.

"Sure. It happens."

"It started small, you know. He started spending too much time on reddit. Then he began catcalling women on the street. Then, before you knew it, you were watching The Handmaid's Tale and he was like 'Gilead seems nice.'"

The fact that Ron knows Hermione well enough to describe her biggest, reddest flags makes her hair stand on edge.

"Okay, that's it," says Hermione. "He's dead."

"Your hair smells good, by the way," Ron adds matter-of-factly.

Hermione freezes, then feels her finger push down on the trigger. She's not prepared for the recoil, which causes her to stumble back and by default, she clutches onto the first thing her hand contacts, which just so happens to be the trigger. Again.

The second, unintentional shot ricochets off a nearby tree and collides with an electric pole leading to the cabin, causing the lights to spark, sizzle, then go dark.

"Fuck!" she says, before clapping her free hand to her mouth.

"Hermione!" groans Ron.

"What did you do?" says Lavender.

"It wasn't her fault!" Krum says in defense. "She didn't do that on purpose!"

"Now we don't have any power tonight!"

"How are we going to cook our food?"

"We'll have to order pizza, I guess."

"We'll get so cold tonight," says Ron. "Because of you, Hermione."

She wants to be annoyed, but there's a smirk in his tone.

"We can get cozy," says Lavender. "C'mon, this will be fine!" she adds when everyone groans. "We'll make it fun!"

x

Less than an hour later, Hermione, Viktor, Ron, and Lavender are sitting in the living room of their cabin eating pizza. Lavender is practically sitting on Ron's lap, and Hermione can't help but roll her eyes when she tries to feed him a piece of her slice. She wants to laugh when his ears turn pink and he looks away pointedly.

"I think it's time for a drink!" Lavender flops her pizza back onto her plate and rises to her feet. "I've got wine and more beer, and I've also pre-rolled a few joints if you're interested."

Hermione's never smoked a day in her life, so she politely declines. Ron and Krum, however, take up her offer eagerly.

She watches Lavender pass them each a joint, unsure how to feel about it. She's tempted to reprimand them both — don't they know how harmful smoking is for the lungs?

Ron pulls a lighter from his pocket, leaving Hermione to wonder how long he's been carrying that around. Agreeing to smoke is one thing, but having his own lighter?

He passes the lighter to Krum. For some reason, watching Krum smoke bothers her less than watching Ron. Hermione's eyes keep following the joint to Ron's mouth, then to the slight dusting of a beard emerging, and the way his lips gently wrap around…

No. Don't do this.

"What?" asks Ron, smirking. He's caught her looking.

"Nothing."

"You're judging me."

"No, I'm not!" she says, although she's quite relieved that he thinks so. She can't have him knowing what's actually swirling in her mind — that he looks pretty sexy with a joint. She needs to keep that one locked up tight.

"You totally are," says Ron. "Granger, you need to loosen the fuck up."

Hermione rolls her eyes. She's at a cabin, drinking beer, with her casual sex partner, having just fired a shotgun. She's already loosened the fuck up. "No, I really don't."

"All in favor of Hermione loosening up, say aye," announces Ron.

"Aye," both Lavender and Krum chime in.

"The jury has spoken. Let me get you another drink. Red or white?" Ron motions to the two unopened bottles of wine on the coffee table.

"Either is fine."

"Okay. White. Because white wine makes you silly," he says as he begins uncorking the bottle, holding onto his joint with his teeth.

"Why do you say that?" asks Hermione. As far as she knows, white wine doesn't affect her any differently than red.

"It's true. Right Vicky?" asks Ron.

"He's right," says Viktor. "White wine makes you giggly."

"So white wine it is," repeats Ron. He pours her a generous glass and slides across the table to her. "Would you like to try this too?"

Hermione looks at his outstretched hand, his two fingers gripping his fuming joint.

"No thank you, I'm not a smoker."

"You know, smoking is an activity, not a personality trait."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"One puff won't taint your character."

She narrows her eyes at Ron, his gaze constant, challenging. She knows exactly what he means by that — stop being so judgemental.

"Fine." Hermione takes the joint from him and puts it to her lips. It's wet from Ron's mouth, and she should find that disgusting, yet she doesn't.

"Just inhale."

Hermione takes a breath, and immediately erupts into a coughing fit. Ron showcases his teasing, lopsided smile. "You'll get used to it."

"I don't want to get used to that," she says between coughs.

"That's okay," says Ron as he takes his joint back. "But hey, I'm proud of you! You tried something new."

He has the audacity to wink at her, causing goosebumps to break out on her skin. She snuggles closer to Krum to ward off any shivers following the chill that runs through her body.

As if by response, Ron drapes an arm around Lavender, never breaking eye contact.

Hermione reaches for her wine and finishes it off in one big gulp.

As the night goes on, things get blurrier. After a disorganized game of True American, some overly ambitious karaoke, and a few rounds of Never Have I Ever, Hermione's surroundings have begun to fade to the background.

Except for one surrounding in particular. Ron and Lavender.

Hermione's kept an eye on how open they've become with one another. The way Lavender tangles her fingers in his hair while talking to Hermione, or kisses him (with tongue) in between sips.

She hasn't missed how much he's loosened up over the course of the night, now pulling her onto his lap and tracing her breast with his thumb as she climbs toward him.

It's a stark difference to sober Ron, looking pointedly away as Lavender tried to feed him pizza.

And frankly, it's a lot.

Hermione looks at Krum. He's attractive, sure. She's attractive, right?

He's not pulling her into his lap. Does she even want him to?

It's all too much. She can only watch Ron and Lav's public display of affection for so long before her eyes begin to sting. She doesn't want anyone to see that, so she gives Krum's hand a squeeze, stands up, and stealthily leaves the living room for the kitchen, hoping that the party continues without interruption.

Based on the familiar footsteps that follow her, Hermione's quick to discover she's not alone in the kitchen.

"Want to tell me why you're upset?" asks Ron.

"I'm not upset. Just getting some water." Hermione keeps her back to Ron. Her face is probably flushed — hopefully she can blame the alcohol.

"You seem pretty upset," he pushes.

"So I guess you're not too drunk to notice," she snaps back.

"Hey," says Ron as he rounds the kitchen island toward Hermione. "Are you mad at me for drinking?"

Hermione shrugs and shakes her head.

"Or is it something else?"

"Ron, I don't want to talk about this."

"So there is something else."

Ron is right next to her now, clearly able to see her flushed face. "Just needed a break."

"From?"

Hermione's jaw clenches. She buys herself some more time by taking a long sip of water. It sounds like Ron is fishing for something specific, so maybe she should just tell him. "Lavender's a lot."

Ron nods. "She is."

So he agrees. "Then why do you like her?"

Ron takes a step back, clearly confused by her question. "Sorry?"

"What do you see in her?" she specifies.

"You don't like her?"

"I didn't say that. I'm just making conversation."

"You're implying it."

"I like her just fine. Just curious why you like her."

She knows she sounds ridiculous, and that this is none of her business. But her words spill out anyway. Maybe she should blame the alcohol.

"You just don't like me with her?"

Hermione groans. "Forget I asked."

"No, I'll answer," he says, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "Starting with the obvious: she's beautiful. And friendly. Not to mention fun — I like that she encourages me to try new things."

"Like shooting beer cans? Smoking weed?"

"Sure. Among other things."

"What other things?" she asks, full well knowing she doesn't want the answer.

"I don't think you want to know about those."

He knows her so well. She doesn't want him to continue, so she merely shrugs.

Yet, he continues. "It's casual, you know. Just like you and Krum."

Right. Her and Krum.

"Won Won!" calls Lavender from the living room.

"Speak of the devil. Ready to return to the party?" Ron asks.

Hermione takes another swig of cold water. "Yeah."

The pair returns to the living room to find Lavender and Krum waiting for them. Lavender is sitting on Krum's lap and stroking his hair. Their faces are awfully close. Krum turns toward her and she closes the gap between them, pressing her lips against his.

"Erm… what's going on here?" asks Ron.

Lavender breaks away from Krum and beams. "We switched!"

Hermione narrows her eyes at Krum, who shrugs. Then she turns to Ron, whose face has lit up like a flame.

"Care to join us?" Lavender adds as she ruffles Krum's hair. "We could all be together tonight…"

Hermione looks back at Ron to gauge his reaction, but he's frozen in place, his thoughts hidden behind his stoic poker face. His prior words echo through her mind. Lavender encourages me to try new things. Was this what he meant? Have they done this before?

For a moment, she lets herself imagine it. His hands in her hair, her legs around his hips. Tangled in the sheets, exploring each other. With Krum and Lavender right there. Watching. Participating.

Nothing has ever sounded so wonderful, and so repulsive at the same time.

Looking at Ron, she knows one thing: She wants him. More than anything.

But not like this.

Hermione's eyes well with tears she can't quite explain, and she turns on her heel and leaves the room before anyone can see her. The room becomes deafeningly quiet the moment she leaves.

When the door to her bedroom slams behind her, she tumbles onto the bed and lets her tears flow freely.

How did she let her attraction to Ron get so out of control? He was never attainable in the first place. Dating her roommate would have gotten pretty messy, so why does it feel chaotic already? She has Krum, so she shouldn't be jealous of Lavender. It doesn't matter that Lavender is clearly more adventurous than her, more beautiful, more fun. It doesn't matter that Ron dating Lavender means that his taste in women is so far away from anything she'd ever live up to. None of it matters, so why can't she stop crying?

She clutches the blanket with her fist and uses the pillow to muffle a sob. Her own distressed breathing is so loud that she barely hears the door creep open.

"Hermione?"

Viktor Krum's soft voice doesn't calm her down as much as it should, nor does the feel of the bed sinking under his weight as he crawls next to her and lays his hand on her back.

"I'm so sorry."

His apology catches her off guard. She's the one who should be sorry for ruining Krum's opportunity for a foursome. How is she supposed to be someone's girlfriend if she can't even be a good fuck buddy?

In an uncharacteristically soft voice, Viktor continues. "I shouldn't have kissed Lavender. I didn't know that would upset you."

Caught off guard, Hermione freezes. Yeah, she was upset, but not by Krum kissing Lavender…

"I should have come to check on you before. It shouldn't have been Ron. Obviously he said something to make you angry, and then to walk in on Lavender and me… I'm really sorry."

"Viktor," says Hermione before clearing her throat. How can she possibly explain? "It's okay. We're not exclusive or anything."

"I know," he says, his voice soft. Nervous. "But we could be."

Hermione pauses and looks up at Krum. His eyebrows raised in question. "Wait, what?"

"If you want to. I mean, clearly we get along and have fun together. I know I didn't want anything serious to begin with, but maybe that's changed now. I would have much preferred to be kissing you back there, not Lavender."

Her gut instinct is to tell him no — she wants nothing more than friends with benefits, she never agreed to exclusivity in the first place. It might have been clear before, but it's even more evident now that her motives for being with Krum border on selfish. No matter how much she denies it, she wanted to make Ron jealous.

But obviously, it didn't work. She could tell by Lavender's muffled laughter from the living room and the way she called him Won Won — girls don't just throw out nicknames like that without some sort of positive feedback. Ron clearly likes Lavender, and there's nothing Hermione can do about it.

"Hermione?" asks Krum, his fingers rubbing her back gently, but expectantly.

She wishes she had more time to sort out her options, to make a pro and con list. To be exclusive, or not to be?

"Yeah. I do want that."

The words feel foreign in her mouth, but it has to be the right choice. Things might be great with Krum. He's available, and if things do go south, it won't blow up her living situation. She has to get over Ron, and focusing her energy on Krum is probably the best way to do that. The other option is being single.

Ron's not going to be hers either way.

Krum silences her spinning thoughts with a kiss, and Hermione can tell he's smiling through it.

See, this is good. She would have hurt him if she'd said no.

The kiss intensifies as Krum flips her onto her back, his hands sliding up her sides to caress underneath her shirt. "I'm so glad you said yes."

Me too, she wants to say, she should say. But she doesn't.

Instead, she does her very best to get lost in the sheets with Viktor, her boyfriend, pushing a certain red-haired roommate to the back corners of her mind.

x

The next morning, Hermione awakes to blinding sunlight, a pounding headache, and a dry throat, evidence of a little too much to drink the night before. She turns over and groans, awaking the man beside her, who appears just as hungover and miserable as she. His dark hair is disheveled, there are thick circles under his eyes, and his lips are chapped with dehydration.

"Fuck, I need some water." Krum turns onto his side and snakes a hand around Hermione, pulling her close to him. "Nothing good happens after midnight," he mutters into her hair.

His words ignite a chain reaction of memories from the previous day. The shooting range. The power outage. Then the drinking.

Ron and Hermione arguing. Lavender and Krum kissing. Hermione's emotional outburst. Krum's assumption that it meant she had stronger feelings for him.

She agreed to be Krum's girlfriend.

There's a moment of panic when Krum's lips brush against her forehead and he whispers, "Well, one good thing happened."

His lips travel to hers, capturing her in a kiss that she doesn't return. He pauses, before pulling away. "Are you okay, 'Mione?"

Krums use of a nickname instantly makes her shudder. Not that she's against nicknames, she just never thought she'd hear one from Viktor. It doesn't sound right coming from him. "Yeah. I'm fine. I just need some water."

Hermione slides out of bed and takes a moment to regain her composure. She's still disoriented from the night before and unsteady on her feet, and it takes a few focused steps forward to reach the door without stumbling.

Her heart is pounding when she reaches the kitchen — either her body really wants to be in bed, or she's staving off a panic attack. She fumbles for a glass in the cabinet, paces over to the sink, and fills it up, her hand trembling under the stream of water.

It takes her two seconds to finish a glass, which barely quenches her thirst. She fills it up again.

"Someone's thirsty," comes Ron's familiar voice behind her.

Hermione turns to see her roommate taking a seat at the barstool. His hair is messy, just like Krum's, and his eyes are bloodshot, suggesting he's been awake all night. The image of Ron and Lavender comes to mind, creating a jealous knot in her stomach. Not that she has any leg to stand on, unfortunately.

"Long night?" he presses.

"Yeah," she says. "Too much to drink."

"Happens to the best of us. I'll heat up some water for tea."

Ron rises to his feet and makes his way to the stove, where there's a tea kettle. The power is still out, so he pulls a lighter from his pocket to help ignite the stove.

"Morning, Ron." Viktor Krum has emerged from the bedroom. "Morning, babe."

Hermione's face heats up the moment Krum utters 'babe'; his confident use of the pet name feels like a spotlight on her, even more so when Ron whips his head around to face Hermione.

"Babe? That's a new one."

Krum approaches Hermione and wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her close to him. "Well, Hermione and I made things official last night."

Hermione looks at Ron, his piercing blue eyes boring into hers. "That true?"

She nodded, slowly, uncomfortable under his intense stare. "Yeah. It's true."

"Well," he continues, his voice stiff. "Congratulations. I'm happy for you."

"Thank you!' Krum beams, oblivious to Ron's stiff tone. "Where's Lavender?"

There's an extended, tense silence as Ron shifts uncomfortably, his gaze dropping to the floor. "She left."

"What?" asks Hermione.

"She left," repeats Ron, with emphasis this time. "We ended things last night, and she left."

"Oh no… why?" asks Krum.

Ron shrugs and turns his gaze back to Hermione. "Turns out we wanted different things."

"I'm sorry to hear that," says Krum. "That's rough timing."

"Rough timing, indeed." Ron's eyes never leave Hermione's.

"Well, we better get packed up," says Hermione with a pat on Krum's chest.

Hermione slithers out of Krum's embrace to head back to the bedroom. She needs to get out of here. This cabin weekend needs to be over.

She was so sure that Ron and Lavender were getting on fine. If she had known they'd break up…

No. She can't think like that. It's not fair to Krum. Ron may be single, but she's not. Not anymore.

Even if she was, Ron is her roommate, and he was off-limits from the start.

She ignores the contradicting voice in her head that says her rules are arbitrary, that she can date her roommate if she wants to, that it won't lead to a crumbling disaster, and she doesn't need to be with Krum. That's not her logical brain speaking.

She'll get over him — she has to. She has a boyfriend now.

[keewriting]

Cove x MC - One Shot #3 (request)

[Read on google docs to insert your MC's name]

SPOILER WARNING: Don't read if you haven't finished Step 3!

Your insides bubbled with excitement as the car neared the cabin nestled deeply in the forest. The fresh blanket of snow was nearly blinding in the bright morning sun. You looked over to your driver, Cove, who wore a focused scowl.

Cove: We made it. I can’t believe we made it.

Y/N: Isn’t it gorgeous? There is so much SNOW.

Cove smiled at you with apprehension. This trip was a special one for many reasons. You were both freshly 19, so it was your first holiday together as independent adults. On that note, it was also your first holiday away from your families. You felt more down about that than Cove did. His main gripe was the snow, and it was unmistakable in his expression. Cove parked the car in the designated snowless space. You both stepped out, Cove with a little less enthusiasm than you did.

Cove: Snow, snow, and more snow.

The cabin was glowing and decked out in beautiful Christmas decorations. An intermingling of garland and lights hung across the roof. More garland and Christmas baubles framed the frosted windows. Oversized candy canes lined the pathway up to the porch. The wreath on the front door was massive. It hung proudly with a cute snowman proclaiming “Let it Snow!”

Cove: The owners didn’t hold back out here. It’s impressive.

Mesmerized, you could only nod. The online advertisement described the cabin as a pre-decorated Christmas escape. The images you showed Cove online were spectacular, but they did not do justice to the real thing.

Not wanting to stand outside any longer, Cove moved to the trunk and began unloading the luggage. Cove first extracted a suitcase that he claimed was not filled entirely with gifts for you. Your gift for Cove lived safely in your own suitcase, already wrapped and ready to go. He then removed both of your clothing-packed suitcases. You were proud of your ability to convince Cove to bring winter-appropriate clothing to this trip.

You helped Cove drag the luggage to the front door. The host messaged you the entrance code before your arrival. You punched it into the keypad which stood in place of a normal keyhole. 1-2-2-5. Clever.

You paused for dramatic effect, then slowly opened the door to reveal the inside. It looked like a Christmas bomb went off, in the best way possible. You squealed and bounded inside first, leaving Cove to the luggage.

The cabin was small and cozy. The kitchen and living area were open to each other. There was no bedroom, only a pull-out couch that sat comfortably in front of a fireplace. The only other doors in the cabin were for the bathroom and a storage closet.

The Christmas tree drew in your eyes first. You stepped closer to inspect it and inhale the sweet evergreen scent. The tree skirt was wide and inviting to colorful wrapped boxes. Cranberry and popcorn strands wrapped the tree from bottom to top. An assortment of ornaments littered the branches. You peered into one of the big red baubles and smiled at your distorted reflection. Finally, you tilted your head upwards to take in the tree topper— a stunning golden star.

You spun around excitedly to appreciate the rest of the decorations. There wasn��t a corner or window without winter greenery. Festive cushions sat on either side of the couch. Stockings hung by the chimney with care. A miniature village of joyful folk lived on a console table by the entrance. You turned to face Cove, who had just finished lugging everything inside by himself. He shut the door and smiled at you, happy that you were already having a magical time.

Y/N: I’m sorry, Cove. I got a little carried away with—

You halted your own sentence. Your gaze drew upward to the ceiling above Cove. A mistletoe hung delicately in the doorway. Cove followed your sight, twisting his head for a better view. You strode towards him before he could speak. You stared at him intently and wiggled one of your eyebrows. He met your gaze again, already blushing intensely.

Cove: It’s one of those...

His sentence trailed off as you stepped even closer and hushed him.

Y/N: Just kiss me, you big, beautiful dumbass.

Cove gulped hard. He gently took your face in his cold hands. You hoped the heat from your blushing face would warm them. He bent towards you as you stood on your toes to meet the kiss. Your lips danced together sweetly. You parted after a moment and stared into each other's eyes. Cove’s ocean blue eyes glistened and crinkled with the wide smile that spread across his face. You dove into a hug, wrapping your arms around his tall frame. He returned the hug enthusiastically.

Cove: Let’s get everything unpacked and unwind. I need to get that fireplace lit as soon as possible.

You agreed and helped Cove locate a suitable location for the luggage. He paused with his gift-laden suitcase in hand. Face lost in thought, Cove's grip tightened on the suitcase.

Y/N: Everything okay, Cove?

Cove: Today is Christmas Eve.

Y/N: That it is.

Cove: Presents go under the tree on Christmas Eve.

You chuckled at his observations, but allowed him to continue speaking. He brushed it off casually.

Cove: I want this to be special, Y/N. If I put the gifts under the tree now you’ll see them and start wondering what’s inside.

The concern in his tone was apparent. It was just like Cove to worry so deeply about something most people wouldn’t think about. You pondered for a moment.

Y/N: Wait for me to fall asleep tonight, then sneak them under the tree like the real Santa Claus.

Cove laughed at the implication of a “real” Santa Claus. You were glad to see his mood lighten. He hesitated, then set the suitcase behind the others, careful to conceal it. Perhaps in an attempt to block you from using your x-ray vision to see through the luggage. You thought it was ridiculous, but in the sweetest way. Satisfied with the arrangement, Cove slapped his hands against his legs.

Cove: Well, now what? What Christmas activities does Y/N have planned today?

Y/N: Let me just pull out my Christmas to-do list.

You spoke sarcastically with a twinkle in your eyes. Cove rolled his eyes lightheartedly and wandered to the fireplace. While he fiddled with it you sank heavily into the couch. With an enthused “Aha!” from Cove, the fireplace roared to life. It crackled pleasantly.

Cove turned around to smile at you sweetly. He patted the ground next to him. You got up and settled in next to Cove. He wrapped his arm around you and drew you in closer. You immediately appreciated the warmth from both Cove and the fireplace. You leaned on his shoulder.

You spent the rest of the morning watching Christmas movies and munching on candy canes. For lunch, you and Cove made macaroni and cheese. You both welcomed the gooey warmth of the meal.

Imbued with energy from lunch, you leapt from your seat and proclaimed.

Y/N: We have to go outside and enjoy the snow before the sun goes down.

Cove made a sour face and spoke quietly without looking up from his now empty bowl.

Cove: Enjoy, yeah…

You sighed and clenched your jaw, restraining yourself. You knew Cove would be difficult regarding the snow, but hoped the special occasion would nudge him along.

Y/N: Fine. I’ll go outside myself.

Cove’s head immediately snapped up and he stared at you with wide, pleading eyes. He didn’t expect you to so easily give up on convincing him. You maintained an unimpressed expression while he spoke.

Cove: No, Y/N. I’ll come with you. You know I love spending time with you no matter what.

Your expression cracked with a hint of a smile, but you regained control.

Y/N: You’re going to hate it. Don’t bother.

You weren’t sure why you were being so stubborn with this. Cove was willing to compromise, but you still felt annoyed that his initial reaction put a damper on your mood. You shut your eyes tightly, now irritated by your own childishness.

Cove stood up and firmly gripped your shoulders. He waited for you to look at him. You met his gaze and stuck out your bottom lip in a small pout.

Cove: Let’s go build a snowman. It’ll be like building a sandcastle.

You sighed, but couldn’t resist his comforting voice and adoring eyes.

Y/N: I’m going to have to bundle you in layers. Gloves, a hat, maybe even a scarf.

Cove cringed at each word that escaped your lips. He nodded anyway. You both put on more winter gear in preparation for the snow activities. You held open the door for Cove, who hesitantly stepped outside.

Cove: This is way worse than the ice skating rink.

Y/N: You don’t say?

You loved teasing Cove for his blunt and often obvious statements, but he knew you adored him for it. He scoffed and stuck his tongue out at you.

Y/N: Careful with that, might get stuck on a pole.

Cove retreated his tongue and blushed lightly. You gently poked his tummy then grabbed his hand to lead him into the snow. You chose a wide open space away from the cabin for your snowman’s home. You started shoveling snow into a pile. Cove stood reluctantly nearby. You didn’t want to push him, but hoped he would join in the building.

To your surprise, it was only a moment before Cove dug his gloved hands into the snow. He smiled at you shakily while adding to your growing pile of snow. You went back and forth between adding snow and rounding the pile into a snowman base. Cove’s big hands proved useful in this endeavor. With the base done, you moved onto the head.

Y/N: We have to make the head smaller than the body.

Cove: How small? Do you want to give him a shrunken head?

You cackled at the thought, but shook your head.

Y/N: I think he deserves a normal sized head.

Between the two of you, the snowman’s head slowly grew. You stepped back to assess the size.

Y/N: I think that’s perfect. What do you think, Cove?

Cove stepped back as well and tilted his head. He spoke matter-of-factly.

Cove: Looks like a snowman.

Y/N: Not yet, he needs a face and arms.

You scoured the ground around you for twigs, leaves, and rocks. Cove did the same.

Cove: If only we had seashells. That would bring it all together.

With your findings combined, you got to work on designing the snowman. His face came together in a wide smile made of various pebbles. Leaves stuck to the top of his head represented the hair. Two sticks on either side of his body became the arms. Cove found several small pinecones to pin on his front like an array of buttons. Finally, the nose. You didn’t have a carrot on hand, so you opted for another one of Cove’s pointier pinecones.

Once again, you stepped back with Cove to admire your work. You wrapped your arm around him in a side hug, he returned the gesture with an arm around your shoulder.

Y/N: He’s beautiful.

You pretended to dramatically wipe a tear from your eye.

Cove: We should name him.

You agreed, and began to ponder names that would fit the snowman. After much deliberation, you settled on Sandy, as a memento of the inspiration for his existence.

Y/N: Sandy the Snowman, it really is perfect.

Cove: Next time we’re at the beach we should build a sandman and name him Snowy.

Cove waggled his eyebrows at you, hoping for a reaction to his hilarious joke. You couldn’t contain the grin that emerged from within. You were suddenly overcome by a wave of affection for Cove. His dorky jokes, the way he looked at you, his willingness to put his own comfort aside for your sake. You wanted nothing more than to push him down into the snow and ravage him. Knowing better, you instead decided to grab his hand again and lead him back indoors.

Cove followed with a small gasp at your sudden insistence. Once inside, you leaned Cove against the door and pressed your lips into his. You were desperate for his warmth. He returned the kiss passionately, running his fingers through your hair. You broke away from Cove, satisfied with your second mistle-toe kiss. Cove stood bewildered, disappointed by losing the warmth of your lips. You winked at him, never tiring of teasing your flustered fiancé.

You spent the rest of the afternoon enjoying each other’s company. You played board games, sang Christmas songs, and drank hot chocolate. As the evening emerged, a light snowfall began outside. You gazed out the window, hypnotized by the dancing snowflakes. Your eyes began to droop, and you felt the weight of the day pulling you down. You yawned and turned to Cove, who was already turning the couch into a bed. He must have sensed your weariness.

Cove threw some blankets and pillows into the bed and you dove right into the inviting warmth. He joined you and extended his arm to make his chest available to your sleepy head. You nuzzled in and closed your eyes, ready to drift away…

You stirred awake at the feeling of the mattress shifting. Your eyes fluttered open and tried to adjust to the darkness. Cove was climbing back into bed. It was completely dark outside, you judged it must have been a few hours after you fell asleep. Still half asleep, you muttered quietly to Cove.

Y/N: Santa, baby…

You couldn’t see his expression through the darkness, instead you heard a small chuckle. You held your arms out limply, hoping for a Cove cuddle. He took you in his arms and kissed the top of your head. You continued feebly, in a sleepy sing-song voice.

Y/N: So hurry down the chimney tonight…

Cove chuckled again and stroked your cheek gently.

Cove: I love you so much.

That was the last thing you heard before falling back into a deep slumber. Several hours later, the morning sun woke you. Cove was sleeping peacefully next to you, likely exhausted from playing Santa Claus last night. You turned over and rested your body on his chest. You peppered his face in tiny kisses until he awoke. His eyes eased open, a smile already growing across his face.

Y/N: Merry Christmas, Cove.

Cove: Merry Christmas, Y/N.

Unable to contain your excitement, you leapt out of bed, leaving Cove to fully wake himself up. You ran to your suitcase and recovered the small wrapped gift you got for Cove. You decided to place it beneath the already populated tree. Your jaw dropped seeing how many gifts Cove got you. You placed the gift down carefully and went to check on Cove.

Y/N: Please tell me you’re ready to open gifts.

Cove: I’m ready, but you have to open yours first.

You didn’t argue, you wanted to save your gift to Cove for last anyway. He joined you by the tree and sat cross-legged across from you.

Y/N: Where should I start? Is there any order to this madness?

Cove thought for a moment, then pulled out one of the presents. Shiny reindeer-imprinted paper covered the box. He held it out to you.

Cove: Definitely start with this one.

Impressed that he seemed to remember what was in each box, you took the gift with a smile. You tore open the paper and uncovered the joy within: an adorable stuffed dolphin. Your eyes lit up as you hugged the little guy. You thanked Cove, who immediately bestowed you with another carefully selected box. You giggled and repeated the process. The rest of the boxes contained: a book from your favorite series, tickets to an upcoming play, rare foreign candy, colorful seashells, and a beautiful ocean-themed puzzle.

You felt overwhelmed by the thought that Cove put into each gift. You struggled to find words besides “thank you.” However, Cove wasn’t done. He handed you a final box.

Cove: One more.

You unwrapped this one carefully, a mix of anticipation and nerves stirring within. Inside was a small album titled “Our Life.” You carefully lifted it out of the box and flipped through the pages. Each page was designed to represent a point in your lives together, from childhood all the way to this past summer. There were pictures, funny quotes, tickets from various events, and doodles. Cove even included the piece of paper from your infamous hang-man game.

You were already tearing up before you noticed a smaller box within the original box. With shaking hands and a pounding heart, you opened it.

Inside the box was a simple ring with an engraved wave design. You couldn’t stop the waterfall of tears that erupted from your eyes. Your emotions surged and your mind was spinning. Without speaking, you grabbed the present you put under the tree and offered it to Cove. He was visibly confused, even a bit concerned.

Cove: Y/N, is everything okay?

You spoke through tears.

Y/N: Just open it.

Cove silently complied. His fingers carefully removed the red and white pinstriped paper. He looked at you nervously before looking into the box. His eyes widened and glistened.

Cove: A ring…

You laughed shakily and scooted closer to Cove, still holding your own small box. He looked up at you, tears streaming down his red cheeks.

Y/N: We’re already engaged, but still got rings for each other. And look at how emotional we are about it!

Cove: I thought it would be nice to make it official with a real engagement ring.

You nodded in agreement, pleased that you were both on the same page.

Y/N: Let’s put them on each other.

You exchanged rings with Cove. He held your still shaking hand and carefully slipped the ring onto your finger. You did the same, relieved that the ring was a perfect fit on his finger.

You let out a massive sigh, it felt as if you had been holding your breath for ages. Cove was admiring the ring on his finger, his ocean eyes still glimmering with tears.

Cove: It feels as magical as it did the first time on the poppy hill.

You looked at him adoringly, unable to contain the crashing ocean of love you felt inside.

Y/N: Thank you, Cove. For putting in so much effort for me. All the time. But especially this Christmas. I know holidays aren’t your thing, especially not winter ones…

Rambling nervously, you felt like Cove in that moment. He invited you to sit on his lap with a simple pat. You settled in and waited. He cradled you close and spoke quietly but confidently.

Cove: You are my thing. You’re the best gift I could ask for. You make braving holidays and snow worth it. I can’t imagine how this day could get any better.

Cove was right. The morning was still fresh, and you were already swimming in bliss. You sniffled, feeling lucky to have him and looking forward to living your life with the man you love. Christmas Day would hold a special place in your hearts for the rest of your lives.

[whatgaviiformes]

Fic: All Hands Code Verde

Summary: “The hell did you do to that cactus?!”

Characters: Tracy Family, with a focus on Scott, Virgil, and Gordon.

Genre: General - Maybe threads of humor? It sounds funny, but I am not really a funny person soooo. Twinges of h/c and angst.

Words: 4.6K

Completed, One-shot

A/N: I am not the first person to write about plants for Thunderbirds, and I am certain I won’t be the last, but I got obsessive one day over the number of plants on Tracy Island in TAG - and then one of them looked cactus-like to me. So then this became the result. And I was dared to write it. So here we are.

Edit: I forgot to do thank yous! @the-original-sineater for the cactus help and for the glochids in the skin idea and @gumnut-logic for the nudge.

Read in Full over @ Ao3 | FF

~*~

Mission reports were always the worst when there was a casualty list. The events at the Global Seed Vault in the North Pole had been quick and sudden – one second Kayo had a lead on the Chaos Crew based on GDF intel, and the next John had also taken it upon himself to put himself in danger, and then both of them were fleeing toxic gas by the end.

It didn’t escape Scott that the casualty list could have been much longer with his siblings’ names on it, but there was still a list.

Gladys Tedford, Geranium

Age unknown

Cause of death – poisonous gas

Next of kin – Ned Tedford

“John! Really?” Scott asked, tabbing through the mission report on his data pad. “Ned’s flower was just a plant. Hardly warrants listing as a casualty.”

He heard a loud crunch from behind him as Gordon flung himself on the couch next to Scott, chewing messily on a celery crunch bar.  “Excuse me!” he argued, followed by a few chaotic, unintelligible syllables mumbled through his chewing.

“Ugh, you’re spewing celery crunch. Try that one more time when you’ve swallowed your food.” Scott flicked a crumb off his shirt. He hoped it was from the packaging and not from Gordon’s mouth.

“I said Gladys was not ‘just a plant’,” he answered after a moment. “She was a survivor. And this latest adventure was her last. She was Ned’s friend.”

“It was a tragic loss, Scott,” John agreed. Scott glared at the hologram of his brother above the lounge table. He expected the sass from Gordon, but John was a different story. And his space-bound brother thought he had no sense of humor.

Yet, there were no traces of that awkward John half-smile.

“I even wrote a lament,” Gordon mourned, before jumping right into his  dramatic recitation, using his half eaten crunch bar as his microphone:

There once was a plant named Gladys

who had in her not one lick of malice

She escaped the deep sea

and the dangers of space

But she couldn’t outrun poison’s embrace.

“That’s – not a lament,” John frowned. “It’s just about how she died.”

“It’s barely a limerick, Gords.”

“It’s not actually that either, you know.”

Gordon scowled. “Both of you shut it. Ned liked it and that’s what matters. It’s for Gladys. Not for you.”

Scott rolled his eyes and went back to reading the report on his tablet. “Still don’t you think this was still a relatively successful mission, John? Why mar it with a casualty list?”

“Because it’s the truth,” John advised, his lips tight. It was typical of Scott to review the minutes after debriefing, but he’d never so severely questioned John’s statements before. “It’s my report and I’m standing by it.”

“It was a plant!”

“She was a geranium,” Gordon snapped as he jumped up from his seat to face Scott, his hands on his hips and with an angry fire in his eyes.

“Seriously! What gives? Why does this matter so much to you two? We save people.” John was hardheaded when he felt he was right, but John and Gordon together were an utterly immovable duo. Little brothers. 100% infuriating.

“We know that.”  

“Look, Scott, Gordon’s mission to save Ned at the bottom of the ocean – that wasn’t just about Ned and Gladys. If that toxic waste had gotten into the water, it would’ve affected the entire ecosystem. That has downstream effects; it would’ve been a global catastrophe.”

“How is this at all similar?”

“Ugh!” Gordon growled, throwing his hands in the air. “Give it up, John. Trying to convince him is like trying to convince a wall. Dammit, Scott, we only have one Earth,” he shouted, “and you don’t even seem to care.”

“What?! I care.”

“Puh-lease. You are so plant blind you haven’t even noticed you keep elbowing the bromeliads.”

Sure enough he felt the pointed edges of the leaves jabbing into his arm, and he shifted his positioning on the couch to create more space between himself and the plant box that decorated the space in the lounge. “God. There. Better?”

Even though he’d listened, the question was a jab laced with mockery. And Gordon knew it. He stomped off, as Scott again glanced back down at the report with blatant dismissal of the conversation.

“I can’t with you.”

“What do you want me to say? It’s one plant. I still don’t get the big deal.”

“The deal is: what we do matters,” John scolded. “No one is arguing what constitutes life or death, Scott, but we can still be mindful of our impact and recognize when we could’ve done better.”

Through his peripheral vision, he saw John give a shake of his head before he clicked off.

Scott’s vision blurred, his mind wandering back to John’s intense eyes and Gordon’s frustrated retreat, as he tried to finish up the rest of the report.

He left the casualty list as John had written it and wondered if, before he closed comms, his brother had still been talking about plants.

That night, Scott looked up plant blindness.

Read More @ Ao3 | FF

[howdoesthisworkiwonder]

🦆 DT 2017 Head Canons 🦆

(This can all be used in any fanfics or fanart as long as I am tagged)

Scrooge has a room for each and every member of his family in McDuck Mansion, dead or alive, each specialised for the individual although many of them hardly get used. Scrooge actually enjoys drawing for fun, and decorates each door with an individual item that reminds him of that person. Members include but are not limited to:

- Donald&Della. When they were little they shared a room with twin single beds either side of the room. The walls are painted a pale blue, as well as the door, which also has a boat sailing along the sea (bottom half) and an airplane zooming through the sky (top half). Now, they have individual rooms next to each other although Donald mainly sleeps in the house boat.

- Della. Her room is painted white to contrast with the darkness of space. She struggled in her room at first, as she longed to be able to see the sun when she woke up, but couldn’t face being able to see the moon or stars at night (at least not at first, she gets better). As a compromise, she has blackout curtains to block out the moon. She also has a lava lamp that Lena got her, and a white noise machine that is constantly playing lightly in the background. It’s not perfect, but it’s a good in-between of the crushing silence and imperceptible darkness of the “planet” moon, and the deafening cacophony and overwhelming visuals of earth.

- Donald. His door is dark blue with a white anchor on it. The walls are painted a greyish blue with a painted “thick” rope that curls around above the skirting board so it looks a bit like a ship being tied to a port. There is a large window that you can see the sea from but it doesn’t actually open. Instead, there is a flap but above it that you can flick up and down to prevent the wind from blowing through.

- Gladstone. His door is painted a pale green with cream walls. His door has a chain of four leaf clovers in a horse shoe shape.

- Feathery. His room is quite small, being the only bedroom (apart from Donald’s) that Scrooge could find that had a decent view of the docks and sea. To make up for it, he painted the walls a light blue with silhouettes of sea creatures swimming through the ocean. The door is bright red to stand out from the darkish wall of the corridor with a shrimp painted on it. (He later painted a krill to play with it once Feathery plucked up the courage to correct his uncle on his favourite animal) feathery also hangs up a hand made solar system that drives Huey insane when they are exploring as it isn’t accurate at all.

- Matilda. Her door is painted a light peachy pink, with white daisies in chains. Her walls are white with Lythrum salicaria, Scottish wildflowers randomly painted across the walls (the same ones she wears in her hair normally)

- Hortense. She was very family oriented, and always liked knowing where she came from. Knowing this, Scrooge painted a large tree on her door, roots curling around the skirting boards on either side, with leafy branches stretching to the ceiling. Instead of writing names, Scrooge draw a symbol for each family member that Hortense would recognise. The tree includes as far back as the McDuck’s can be remembered, and a branch also stretches off to the Duck family tree (Quackmore) and the latest of the Coots seeing as Hortense is married into that family.

MORE TO BE ADDED!

I want to add way more to this including all the kids (HDLW+Lena+Gosalyn+Boyd+April&May), Team Science, Goldie (QUEEN!), Launchpad, Mrs B, etc.

So if you have any ideas for them, don’t hesitate to tell me!

[softestziam]

Lisa, gorgeous!

I have a prompt for you, something like bucky never realising how much he in love with Steve until he sees him with kids at some kind of charity event and his heart just melts 💕💕

LOVE YOU

Love you Bec Boo. I left this open ended so maybe it’ll inspire me to write a continuation. 💕

Bucky huffed as he looked at himself in the full length mirror in his room. He felt like a damn penguin in his suit. It was a small price to pay to be Steve’s plus one for some hospital charity event. His best friend was the head nurse at Brooklyn Memorial and that came with all pomp and circumstance as well. He’d so anything for Steve, since they met back in school yard over thirty years ago. Life kept them apart for a few years due to school but they always found their way back to each other. Bucky sighed as he fixed the loose strands of his hair. He couldn’t stand around and daydream about Steve, even though that was his favorite past time nowadays. With one last look around his room, Bucky grabbed everything he needed and headed out the door and to the subway.

The ballroom was decorated immaculately. Everything was perfect and had a place. The dimmed lights that shined blue and purple, the matching streamers and balloons, too. Bucky was taken aback when he arrived and was escorted to his assigned seat. He felt out of place momentarily, everyone around him was dressed just like him. Suits on the men, ball gowns on the women. He had to keep his bubbling laugh to himself, it all felt a bit much like a high school prom, all that was missing was a DJ playing the worlds worst music for teens to dry hump each other to. A waiter came around and poured him water and placed a glass of champagne in front of him. Bucky hummed his appreciation and nodded towards the man.

His eyes skimmed through the building crowd for Steve. He was supposed to be his plus one after all. He couldn’t be that hard to find, Steve was taller than most people and his voice always echoed in a crowded room. Right on cue he heard that laugh that made his stomach turn into molten lava, make his cheeks flush without his permission. Steve effortlessly made his way around the crowd and right towards Bucky. His eyes were shinning bright in the dimly lit room, his blues eyes an ocean of emotion. The lava in Bucky’s belly got hotter and hotter the closer Steve got.

“Clean up nice, Barnes,” Steve complimented him, sitting down next to him in his assigned seat.

Bucky’s eyes raked Steve up and down and tried to soak him all in. His charcoal suit made his eyes pop, the light blue tie not helping either. “You look amazing umm , I mean, decent looking, Rogers.”

“I try,” he replied with a shrug. “It’s all for the kids, you know? These kids deserve the best.”

“The kids?” Bucky asked, eyebrows drawn together.

“Yeah. You didn’t read the invite did you?” He asked with a laugh. “Course not. This is a benefit for the new children’s cancer wing.”

“Aww fuck, Steve,” Bucky groaned. “You’re going to make me cry tonight, aren’t you?”

“As long as those tears turn into cold hard cash,” Steve joked. “Any amount would really help, Buck. And as my date I can’t have you not contributing.”

Bucky’s stomach tightened at the mention of being Steve’s date, something he immediately wrote off as hunger. Yup, that was it. He was just starving. Where was that waiter?

“Buck-“

“Hmm?”

“Nothing,” Steve shook his head. “I’m going to mingle a little, I’ll be back. Don’t get into trouble while I’m gone.”

Despite Steve disappearing for most of the night, Bucky was enjoying himself. He was sat with people he knew, luckily. Sharon, another nurse who worked alongside Steve. Sam, the hospitals social worker and his girlfriend Natasha. It was good company, occupied his time and mind most of the night. Steve would pop back in and out when he wasn’t talking to the DJ or the caterers or whoever else needed to be spoken to. Bucky knew he wasn’t going to be the center of Steve’s universe that night but it still bothered Bucky that he hadn’t seen him as often as he wanted it. Not that he wanted to spend a lot of time with Steve, nope, not at all. Just a normal size amount of time, like best friends do. Best. Friends. That was all. Okay? Okay.

“How do I look?” Steve asked when he rejoined the table. Smile wide from ear to ear.

Bucky had to grab the table to stabilize himself. Here sat Steve in front of him, in full face makeup, looking like a tiger. They had a face painter set up in the corner and of course Steve participated. He had to suck in a deep breath to get his lungs to work again. “Best I’ve ever seen from you, Stevie.”

“We should put a butterfly on you,” he said, a casual hand brushing against Bucky’s cheek. “Some pink, maybe a little purple, and glitter. Definitely glitter.”

Bucky’s face was not getting hot, absolutely not. The room was stuffy and hot, that was it, thank you very much.

“I’ve got to go,” Steve told him. “The kids have boundless energy. We’re doing a piñata later, come join.”

“I will,” he agreed with a nod. “Go. Have fun.”

Bucky tried to distract his already distracted mind by stuffing his face with all the bread on the table and the endless supply of champagne that was poured into his glass and Steve’s as well. He was making small talk with Sam, Natasha, and Sharon about everything and nothing at all. He could feel his skin tingle every time he heard Steve’s laugh from across the room. He could just picture his face as he did so, head thrown back, his hand either slapping his knee or grabbing his chest, reminiscent to when he was younger and needed to catch his breath after every giggle fit due to his asthma. The more he thought about Steve the more he stuffed his face with anything edible. The DJ announced that it was time for the piñata and Bucky froze, he knew he had promised Steve he’d make a cameo and show his support.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve greeted him when he arrived in the middle of what once was the dance floor. He was surrounded by close to a dozen kids, all their faces painted similarly to Steve’s.

Bucky was immediately in trouble. Steve was crouched down talking to a little girl who’s face looked like Minnie Mouse. She had stars in her eyes while talking to him and Bucky definitely knew that feeling all too well.

“Having fun?” Bucky asked, shifting his weight from one foot to another.

Steve’s smile was wide as he nodded up at Bucky. “Seeing them smile and enjoy themselves makes this whole thing worthwhile.”

The fire in Bucky’s belly was burning hotter the more Steve interacted with the children. The little girl he was speaking to, who was named Sophia, giggled once Steve picked her up with ease to help hit the piñata. He let her down gently and helped smooth out her dress before grabbing another kid to do the same. It was unfair how effortless Steve made everything seem. It was burning Bucky from the inside out. The genuine care Steve gave everyone and everything. This was no how Bucky wanted to realize his feelings for his best friend. Fuck.

“Buck?”

“Hmm?” He hummed, biting his bottom lip, words stuck in his throat. So many words he wanted to say. This was definitely not the place to say them. Absolutely not.

“You’re spacing out on me, bud,” Steve laughed. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

Bucky clenched and unclenched his fists, he wanted to grab Steve and shake him, kiss him, and oh crap, tell him he loved him. “C-can we talk? Like later, just-just the two of us?”

Steve looked at him oddly, his brows drawn together in confusion. “Yeah. Of course. I’ve got to clean up once we’re done so we’ll talk then, yeah?”

[waiting4inspiration]

Stories (Bjorn x Mermaid!reader)

Summary: You’re captured while your colony attack Bjorn’s ship and he decides to keep you as a trophy. And idea you don’t like at all. 

Warning: strong language, angst, little rivalry, mermaid!reader, if I missed something, please let me know

Word Count: 2,702

7k Mythical Creatures Masterlist II Vikings Masterlist

Bjorn has heard so many stories about creatures of the seas from his many travels. Seas creatures that remind him of Jormungandr. Stories that remind him of Ran, the Goddess of the sea, and her nine daughters who personify the waves. One story that came as a warning before setting sail back home. Women of the sea that seduce men before luring them to their deaths. Creatures are said to have the upper half of a woman, but the lower half of a fish. Creatures that go by many names; sirens, water nymphs, water devils, mermaids. 

But that didn’t frighten Bjorn or his men. And they sailed through the apparently cursed sea infested with these creatures. 

It was like sailing into a hurricane. At first, the thought that the Gods were angry with him crossed Bjorn’s mind. He could see that fear on the faces of his men. But when he recalled the stories he heard of the land they had just come from, he thought that they might have been true. And in the distance, when he sees something somewhat relating to what he had heard jumping out of the water like he had seen dolphins do, the fear that his men’s lives are in danger replaces the fear that the Gods are angry with him. 

For you, it has always been like this. It has been a way of life since the beginning of your kind. The two-legged people thought your kind to be monsters, so why not be what they fear. Besides, after generations of feasting on the flesh of man, you and your kind had grown accustomed to the taste. 

So, when a ship sails into the territory, no one has to order and attack. The passing ship overhead is like a ringing dinner bell to every fishtailed-folk in the colony. Now, it’s only a fight to get your own human before they’re all taken. 

You remember listening to stories about how your ancestors were. How they used to catch their prey with such pose, such grace. They didn’t just attack like animals. They sat on rocky beach shores and sang songs that echoed in the distances to lure men close before they charmed their meal into joining them for a swim. That’s when they’d attack. 

But things changed when people found out about your kind. The stories are what drew the merfolk away from the shore. The stories are what turned your kind into being so malice. 

You’re not the first one to throw yourself out of the water. You missed your chance at that with being lost in your own thoughts. And because of that, you mistime your jump to capture your prey and fly into one of your sisters. Colliding with her pushes her away from taking hold of one man and back into the ocean. 

As for you, you’re not so lucky. 

You fall onto the deck of the ship, surrounded by men that slash their weapons at your sister to try and defend themselves. Thinking that you haven’t been spotted, that you have a chance to get back to the water, you start to drag yourself across the wooden floor and towards the side of the ship. 

Until someone grabs a fistful of your hair and pulls you up to press a knife against your throat. Your hiss at him is what stops the attack of your kind and you watch as they bob in the water, watching you with cold eyes but not doing anything to aid you in your rescue. 

Your tail thrashes, trying to get away from the man’s hold to prove yourself to your colony. They’re only watching you because this is a test. But you fail when you give a small cry of help as the knife presses deeper against your throat.

It’s like they take the storm with them when they leave. They won’t attack anymore. They won’t waste lives trying to save one mermaid. A colony strives with the strongest members. Not with the weakest. 

Pushing yourself out of the man’s arms, you fall to the ground and keep your head down as you curl your tail closer to you as men start to gather around you. Your animalistic features change as you revert back to the appearance your kind is supposed to use for luring men, for seduction. 

Clawless hands, unwebbed fingers, fangless teeth. The scales on your cheekbones turn back into fair skin to give way to an angelic, innocent type of face. 

You gasp when a blade pierces your tailfin, your head snapping over your shoulder to see a sword embedded in the floor as if to prevent you from going anywhere. “We should kill her,” the man that pierces your tail shouts, ignoring how you begin to bleed when you fight against the blade. 

“Or we can make money out of her.”

“Enough!” You tremble at that voice, your head slowly turning up to the section of the crowd that begins to part to let through a man. From that fact alone - the parting - you know he’s in charge. Not to mention the way he carries himself forward. Like he owns the entire ship. 

He has these blue eyes that remind you of how the waters look on a clear day; bright. His hair is a long braid down his back that reminds you of the oldest members of the colony. Mermaids never cut their hair. Doing so would be like trying to stop a wave from forming. Which is why yours is able to significantly cover your breasts. 

The man holds you stare as he frees your tail of the sword and pushes it in the chest of its owner before he steps forward to kneel in front of you. A creature he had heard about, a story, now in front of him. 

His eyes flicker down to your tail, follows the curve of it curled up close to you, and notices how it looks as he thought it would look. Scaly, like a fish. He smiles to himself as he looks back up at your face. It’s not the kind of face he had seen when his men were attacked. “She’s mine,” he states, pushing himself back up to his feet, leaving you to stare at the appendages you lack. 

Two legs. 

Your eyes then land on those with a rope around their wrists, all of them staring at you. You’ve attacked enough ships to know that these are not free people. These are slaves. And when a man steps forward to you with rope in his hands and his intentions to bind you, the blue-eyed leader’s words have a different meaning to you know. 

Slashing at the man who tries to tie your hands up, you hiss at him as he retaliates with cuts on his forearm. “I belong to no one but the sea,” you snap at the man that dares make you his property. 

He smirks at you and tilts his head to the side. “Well then, feel free to go back to your family,” he whispers, holding his hand out to the sea over the side of the ship. 

“Maybe I will. And maybe I’ll take you with me as a snack,” you snarl, pushing yourself a little bit off the ground to display that you have some pride left. 

He chuckles at you and kneels in front of you again. “You won’t make it to the edge of the ship,” he mutters, leaning closer to your face as an attempt to intimidate you. “My men won’t let that happen.”

“What are you? A king?” you chuckle, but your laugh dies when you see the serious look on his face. Then you look around you. You take note of the colors of the sails that have now been lowered, the shields that decorate the sides of the ship. The monstrous head on the front of the ship. You’ve heard the stories. “You’re a Northerner.”

He’s a Viking. All the men around you are. And you know that they’re known not to show mercy. 

“And I saved your life. I could have allowed that they kill you,” he whispers, your eyes shifting to look over at the men that still stare at you. “But I won’t.”

“Why?”

Your question makes a smile grow on his face. When he reaches out to touch your face, you pull back and glare coldly at him. “Because no one has ever found something like you. You are far more special than any gem,” he mentions, making your heart skip a beat. 

“Because I’m different. Proof of a myth being true,” you say, knowing exactly what he means by saying that you’re ‘special’. “I am not an ornament for you to showcase how great and magnificent you are, King,” you snap. 

He smiles at you and shakes his head. “Not yet.” With that, he breaks your heart and stands to his feet. “Make sure she doesn’t dry out,” he orders a nearby man as he walks away. 

And you know that this is the start of the story of a mermaid captured by a Viking man. 

By the time you had reached the home of these men, a place you hear them call Kattegat, you’re used to being stared at, being ogled at, and being talked about in whispers. And though the man charged with making sure you don’t dry out has done his job, he didn’t think to keep your upper body wet, only thinking that your tail needs water. 

To get you to the Great Hall, the blue-eyed, nameless-to-you leader had a tub brought to the ship. You watch people fill it with water from the sea before placing it beside the ship. Men stand around you to make sure you don’t bolt to the sea. Not that you would do that anyway. You don’t know these waters and fear that there may be a creature in the depths that your strength won’t match up to. 

You have to choose between an uncertain world of the sea you’d flee to, or being safe as an ornament to a man you barely know. 

The latter seems better to you. 

As you hoist yourself up using the edge of the tub, refusing help from a stranger, you quickly block out the gasps of awe by submerging your head into the water. There’s no space for all of you to be in the water, so you have to choose to either be top half exposed, or bottom half exposed to the city you’ll be taken through to get to this Great Hall.

Again, the latter seems better. You’d rather not see the staring faces or hear anymore whispers as people point to you. Before the tub is lifted, you see the man you now ‘belong to’ glance down into the water at you. 

You see his hand reaching over to touch your tail and it makes you shoot out of the water, pull your tail in and hiss at him. “Let’s get one thing straight right now, King. You don’t touch me, and I won’t bite your hand off,” you snap, leaning against the edge of the tab as it’s lifted and narrowing your eyes at him. “No doubt you’ll still need it to fuck yourself,” you mutter as you’re taken away from the dock. 

Bjorn chuckles at your words and turns to look at Hvitserk who stands beside him. “She’s feisty,” Hvitserk laughs, making Bjorn nod in agreement. 

“She’s a free spirit. Why would she want to hold her tongue?” he mentions, patting his brother’s shoulder before moving forward to follow you being taken to the Great Hall. He has to stop them from placing you where everyone can see you. You’re not part of the treasure that will be dealt out among the men that survived your colony’s attack as well as the raid. 

You are his. 

Glancing around the room you’ve been taken to, your eyes end up staring at something that you’re not sure about. It looks like a flat rock surface you used to lie on. But it seems so much softer. And there are textures on the surface that you know you’ve never touched before. You’re not sure you want to touch it anyway. 

The door opens and in walks the man that brought you here. You sink into the water, wetting your face before letting your tail hang out over the edge as you rest your arms over the sides. You stare at him, watch as he walks across the room and sits on the surface you’ve been staring at. 

You watch it give in beneath him. It’s not as firm as rocks. 

“Do you have a name?”

“Does it matter?” you fight back without a second thought, lifting your eyes up to him to find a tired expression on his face. You sigh and roll your eyes at him. “(Y/n),” you mutter, looking down at the water you sit in and lightly run your fingers over the surface. 

You hear him move closer but you don’t lift your gaze up to him. “Are you going to ask me for my name?” he questions, folding his arms to rest on the rim of the tub as you slowly look at him. You raise an eyebrow, challenging him and making him chuckle. “Bjorn.”

Humming and nodding your head, you glance at your tail as you flex it to inspect the wound on your fin. It seems to be fine. “So, what do you expect me to do while you have me here?” you ask, looking back at him and tilting your head to the side. 

“Well, what do mermaids normally do?” Your expression drops as you roll your eyes. “There must be something besides attacking ships and killing men.”

You sigh and sink into the water a little more. “Nothing more than what a family does. We interact with each other, care for each other, teach younger mermaids our ways,” you softly explain, biting your lip as you recall the sounds of swimming among the waves. “We swim until the sunsets. Then we soar with the stars.” You smile, letting you tail relax as you look up at Bjorn again. 

He stares at you, his own smile growing as he shifts in his spot. “And is it true that you have a voice that can lure a man to his death?” he asks. 

Laughing, you lean slightly forward and lick your lips. “It’s not the voice that kills them, it’s the song. A promise of a better life, a better love. Something so pure, the Mother entrusted us to keep it hidden at the bottom of the sea.”

“The Mother?” he asks, confused as to who you’re speaking about. 

“The first woman to walk the earth. It’s said that she could alter her body into any form she needed,” you explain, your fingers floating on the surface as you lock your eyes with him. “She favored a mermaid form; half woman, half fish. She explored the oceans a thousand times over. She wanted to share the ocean. The kiss she shared with humans as she dragged them underwater is what changed their legs into tails. Men and women changed into merfolk, never to walk the earth again.” Your words have trailed into a whisper and you find yourself close to his face, your lips so close to his. “Our oldest members told us when we were young, that the Mother’s kiss passed down to us. That we can change a human into one of us. With a kiss.”

“Is that true?” he questions, listening intently to your every word that draws him in closer. 

Placing a hand on his chest, you push him away from you and return to leaning against the rim of the tub. “It is just a story. Nothing more,” you mutter, staring back at the water as you sigh. 

He hums and stands to his feet. “Your kind were thought to just be a story too. And yet, here we are,” he states, making you bite your lower lip and pull your head away from his hand that tries to touch your cheek. 

“Unfortunately.”

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[hansolmates]

jjk; angel’s trumpet [08]

summary; one second, your life is flashing before your eyes and the next, you’re transported into a world exactly like your own. but the jungkook you meet in this world isn’t a renowned singer or your former almost-lover, in fact he has no clue who you are and why you know him so well. as you work to find your way home lost and confused, you conclude that you’re either dead or in the middle of the most wicked drug trip of your life. pairing; idol!jk x reader (f), alternatively film producer!jk x reader genre/warnings; fluff, angst, supernatural, idol!au, non-idol!au, alternate universes, themes of fate, language, alcohol consumption, in this chapter–mentions of sex, a panic attack w.c; 4.5k a/n; can’t believe there’s one more chapter after this! (+the bonus chapter!) its such a bittersweet feeling to close this all up so i hope u all join me in my w2!jk sobbing party im making matcha cookies rn so i can wallow

[07] [08] [final] -> masterpost

Jungkook’s worried. 

After he left your apartment, he dove himself into his work and tried to get you out of his head. Somehow he ended up from his living room table to his bed, bleary and with a pen jabbing him in the cheek. He doesn’t know how he feels right now, and has micro analyzed every bit of your relationship in between breaks.

He fell fast, and loving you (as much as it scares himself to admit) was so easy it hurt. It’s why it’s so hard for him to accept that you would betray him like that. What could he have possibly done to deserve this? If you had just admitted your issues from day one, this crisis could have easily been averted and you would be with him right now. 

But that’s not why he’s worried. Jungkook wakes up the following day around 10AM, noting the dozens of messages and unanswered phone calls from Jimin and Taehyung. 

According to Taehyung, you’ve been missing for three days. Off-the-grid type of missing, to the point that Taehyung is debating on whether or not he should call the police. 

The first day you didn’t come home, Taehyung chalked it up as you spending the night at Jungkook’s. The second day however, he visits the library where your office hours are held only to find your usual table empty and your students upset over your lack of contact. 

“Here,” Doyeon had said, pointing to the vague email you sent. Taehyung skimmed through the barebones message, mentioning that you had to take an indefinite leave and that the students can email Professor Kim Namjoon if they still had lingering questions. 

Taehyung notes the sincere apology at the bottom, and how you tack on that “you are a wonderful group of students and I wish you the best of luck in your future endeavors.” 

Almost as if you aren’t planning to come back. 

He could hear Taehyung deflate on the line, knowing that Jungkook has no idea where you are either. 

“Did you…” Jungkook scratches his head, sitting at his kitchen table, “did you check her room for a yellow notebook?” 

“What?” Taehyung asks, “I checked her room yesterday. Y’know the weird thing is? Her room is clean, like clinically clean. There’s nothing on her desk, the sheets are washed, and her clothes are all folded and put away. Usually it’s like a whirlwind in here.” 

“Yeah,” Jungkook replies, remembering how your room is usually quite lived in, with warm sheets and a candle glowing. 

“Why aren’t you more stressed out, dude?” Taehyung says, and Jungkook instantly feels guilty. “Your girlfriend’s fucking missing, are you gonna get up and help or not?” 

“Y-yeah, I’m just a little shaken,” he manages to reply, thinking about how you tried to explain to him the other night. He pinches the bridge between his brows, regretting not letting you have your word when refusing to listen to you. Maybe if he heard it, things would have turned out differently.

Taehyung sighs, “Yeah, it’s a bit of a shock. She really isn’t like this normally, but I trust her. If you can, maybe contact Jung Hoseok? I already visited Kim Namjoon and he doesn’t know anything, but he’s the only friend I know that could have any idea.” 

Jung Hoseok. He remembers that name frequently in your notebook. Not as frequently as his, but enough to have a good idea he could be involved in your sudden departure. 

“Okay, I’ll visit him today.” 

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

The tables that you usually occupy for study groups are painfully absent of your presence, noted by your stressed out students that are hoping you’ll show up unexpectedly. 

Thankfully, Hoseok is working today. Jungkook eyes him from the doorway of the playroom, seeing Hoseok carefully distribute plates of snacks as a movie plays on the flatscreen. He looks like a preschooler himself, decked out in a sunflower yellow bucket hat and denim suspenders. Jungkook tries to see if there’s anything strange emanating from Hoseok, like if he also has secrets to hide, but feels nothing of the sort.  

“You’re really creepy, Mister,” the door swings open to reveal a little girl, tugging impatiently at his cargos. 

Hoseok makes a face at Jungkook, rolling his eyes. “God, just come in. You’re scaring my children.” 

The little girl practically shoves him inside, forcing him to sit at the playtable on the very end. She then hands him a plate of cheddar Goldfish and strawberry fruit snacks, a toddler’s delicacy. Hoseok makes a show of telling the children to be quiet, focusing on the movie’s “historical elements” and “symbolic imagery” but they don’t understand any of that and just want Hoseok to move so they can watch Mulan. 

Jungkook feels like he’s being crushed in the too-small chair and Fisher-Price table, munching absentmindedly on his Goldfish. Hoseok is playing on his phone, not sparing him a glance as he texts someone. 

Jungkook swallows, wishing he had some milk to down the snack. “Uh, are you texting y/n?” 

“No,” Hoseok replies coolly. 

“Well, do you know where she is?” 

“I can tell you where she went,” Hoseok replies eerily, plucking a fruit snack from Jungkook’s place, “as to whether she’s still there or not, I’m not sure.” 

“I’m sorry, but are you mad at me?” he whisper-hisses, not wanting to disturb the children enamoured at the front of the room. He’s tired of the secrecy and blurry answers. 

“Yes, I am,” Hoseok snaps just as quietly, leaning in to get into his face, “I’m mad because I believed in you.” 

“Believed in me?” he gapes, “you don’t even know me!” 

“I may not, but I believed you’d trust y/n at least. She’s a victim too, y’know.” 

A victim? 

“Look,” Jungkook puts some space between them, afraid he would get too heated, “just tell me what’s going on so I can understand. I know I messed up, but I feel like I’ve been in the dark for God knows how long.”

Hoseok bites his lip, “It’s really not my story to tell. Y/n didn’t want to tell you right away because she wasn’t sure of the circumstances. She wasn’t sure even if she was supposed to tell you.” 

Jungkook watches the expressions morph on Hoseok’s face. He sees the faith in his gaze, as he holds his phone expectantly, as if he’s also waiting for a sign that you’re okay. Jungkook suppresses a sigh, looking at his own blank screen. Shaking his head, he manages to smile knowing that so many people believe in you.

So why can’t he? 

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

You hate this. Three days ago you felt peachy keen, ready to transcend into your own universe and live your life to the fullest. 

Now three days later you’re sitting at the wine lady’s cottage, waiting for the past two days for her to show up. 

“How long does she need to go on this ‘spiritual retreat’?” you admonish, looking on angrily at the same waitress that has served you for the past two days. 

“I don’t know,” the waitress has grown tired of your presence, waiting all day in the little restaurant for the owner’s presence, “until she feels more spiritual, I guess?” 

It annoys you further that this waitress has the spitting image of Sehlyung. It’s weird to see her with natural pin straight black hair, always loving the pretty blond-white color and sacrificing her hair health for the bright hue. Every time she sees you still in the same spot, she makes it a point to roll her eyes and walk a little louder. This version of her is just as temperamental, unwilling to budge. 

You groan, shamelessly annoyed as you drop your head on your arm. “And are you sure there’s no angel’s wine in the bar? I’m willing to take the risk of switching lives with my third dimension-self at this rate.” 

The waitress eyes the one empty bottle of soju that decorate your side of the bar, chalking it up as a drunk episode. “No,” she says flatly, jerking her hand out. “Now, please pay and leave. We’re closing up, but I’ll give you a call if she decides to show up late. Since y’know, you’ve left your number here despite our protests.” 

“Can I stay until you’re at least done cleaning—” 

“No.” 

You narrow your eyes, snatching up your half-finished bottle of soju before tucking it in your purse and offering up your credit card in exchange. You know you’re not in the right mind, but you’re pulling at strings at this point and you don’t know what to do. 

After a couple paces of shaky walking and trying very hard not to appear tipsy in public, you plop yourself onto the beach, overlooking the shore. You place your backpack next to you, taking off your shoes and dipping your toes in the sand. 

You glare hard at the moon, despite the distance the big ball of extraterrestrial rock is bright and full. It reflects in the ocean and bathes you in it’s grace. 

Sighing at its beauty, you take a swig of your soju as your feet wade in the water. The touch of the ocean is glaringly cold, but your body feels warm and the contrast is appropriately jarring. You feel stuck between two worlds, your body in one while your heart is in the other, desperate to find the bridge to bring you home. 

What exactly was the goal in bringing you here? Did you need a break from your real life? Did fate want you to remedy your relationship with Jungkook? Were you supposed to rewrite the wrongs you committed in your other life? 

You snort, taking a long swig. It's easy to see how well that went. 

You miss your life back home. As much as you love the one your alternate self has made here, nothing compares to Sehlyung’s humor and dirty jokes. Nothing compares to the look on Beomgyu’s face after getting a sentence translation correct. Nothing compares to the way Jungkook looks for only you after a concert, desperate to give you a hug and an affirmation that he did well. 

Just as you are about to sing to the moon and beg for a reprieve, a body plops themselves next to you, snatching the bottle from your hands. 

“Y’know, normally when people run away, they leave a mysterious note.” 

You frown at Jungkook, who looks absolutely ethereal as he stares at the moon. He’s glittering in his denim jacket and black jeans, as if he’s part of an intimate moment in a slice-of-life film. You have half a mind to grab your phone and yell at Hoseok, but it’s far too late since your location has already been revealed. 

“What are you doing here?” you ask, trying not to snap when Jungkook pours the contents of your drink into the ocean. “Hey, I paid for that.” 

Ignoring you he says, “I’m here to take you home.” 

“I don’t have a home here,” you snap, and you mean it. 

Jungkook digs a hole for your bottle, letting the sea green grass sit in the sandhole. He turns to you, looking weary and worried. You try not to feel worried over the slump in his chest, or the way he looks like he ran a marathon to find you. 

“Then where is your home?” he asks gently, resting an arm over his knee and turning to face you. 

You curl up further into your body, hoping you’ll shrink if you press your legs close enough to your chest. “It’s not here,” you mumble into your knees. 

“Tell me where,” and you don’t shove him away when he puts his palm on your thigh, coaxing you out of your shell. “I’ll listen this time.” Deathly slow, you lift your head up, letting him catch your stray tears and spread your body with warmth. He scoots over to you, the rough sand making it difficult as he tries to wrap his arm around you. The both of you let out a breath, missing each other’s touch. “I’m sorry,” he says, the apologies melting into your temple, “I should’ve listened from the beginning, and been more patient. It’s my fault you’re all the way out here.” 

The oceans crash against both of your feet, the water eager to swallow you whole. 

“Two months ago I got into a fight with you, the other you,” you start, and Jungkook doesn’t budge, and you’re thankful he doesn’t attempt to bombard you with questions, “it wasn’t a stupid fight. It was something building for a long, long time. And I came home drunk. One second, I was two seconds away from being sideswept by an incoming truck, and the next second it’s daytime and it’s you that nearly runs me over.” 

He rubs small circles into your shoulder, and you almost hum at his touch. You miss Jungkook so much. 

“The Jungkook I’ve told you about isn’t dead,” you explain, “he’s—and I’m, we’re from another universe.” 

And between you, Jungkook, and the moon you profess your journey. Starting from the anxiety you felt from the first week, how you holed yourself in your apartment until Namjoon had to whisk you out, to your relief when Hoseok believed your crazy ideas. Halfway through you decide to piece your theories within the story, your last conversation with Jungkook, coupled with the angel’s wine and explaining how scary it was to see your matching tattoos and the meaning behind them. 

“But, I wasn’t trying to fall in love with you so I could go home,” you admit tearfully, feeling the weight of the night on your shoulders, “it, it just happened naturally. It made me believe that in another world, we would’ve worked out. Just like he said.”  

“I believe you,” he says firmly, exhaling. The whole explanation, understatedly, is a lot to take in. But he isn’t going to reject it, in fact as absurd as it is it makes far more sense than you planning out a Jungkook-inspired sci-fi novel or questioning your sanity. “I—I didn’t want to at first. It was easier to say you were crazy but, it doesn’t seem like the case. The way you saw me that morning we met, I could see how much you cared for me—him—us?” he scratches his head, unsure of how he should refer to himself in the situation.  

“I don’t blame you,” you shake your head, “Namjoon wanted me to see a doctor.” 

“It must’ve been hard,” he states, “seeing so much of him in me.” 

“You are him,” you retort, looking up so that your noses are touching. There’s pain in both your gazes, equally upset at the circumstances. “I’m sorry you got the short end of the stick. I wish you could’ve met me, the other me, under normal circumstances.” 

“Remember what I said before?” he asks, lifting a hand to brush your hair behind your ear. “I said that our meeting was fate. And now I believe it more than ever.” 

You laugh, leaning your head against his shoulder. “Y’know, Jungkook believes in fate too. He used to joke about hearing the bell when he found ‘the one’ like in Kimi No Na Wa.” 

Jungkook grins, “That guy of yours seems pretty cool,” he jokes, “let him know that in our case, the bell was my horn because I didn’t wanna run you over.” 

The whole situation is confusing, but you’re thankful that Jungkook seems to be at ease now that all your cards are laid out. 

“So does your Jungkook do film too?” 

“Uh,” you choke out a cough, “he’s actually a singer, dancer, producer, and films when he has the time. Mostly singer, the main one in a K-pop group. With Hoseok, Jimin, Taehyung, Yoongi, Namjoon, and Seokjin.” 

He gapes, “Kim Seokjin? The actor Seokjin? Damn he’s like, super fine—” 

“God this is so weird.” 

“So how many figures are they making a year? In the hundred-thousands, like six-figures?” 

“Er, more like eight,” you squeak, “and then some. But you put a lot of your money into donations.” 

“Damn babe, you downgraded,” Jungkook jokes, and you smack him playfully on the arm. “So that’s how you got the song, huh?” 

“Still With You? Yeah,” you say, running your hands through the soft sand, “it’s weird to live in a world without your music, byproduct of my job. It happens to be a big part of my life,” your eyes glaze over the ocean, “I missed hearing your voice.” 

“Y/n,” Jungkook threads his fingers through the sand to find your hands, “I’m really, really sorry I doubted you.” 

You disagree, “It’s a crazy situation. I don’t even know if I’m really sane at this moment,” you chuckle, “I mean, the time went by so fast. I would be paranoid because for you, it’s like being in a new relationship. I didn’t think it would be so easy to love you all over again like that.” 

“Neither did I.” Jungkook replies warmly, and he smiles when he sees you gaping. He leans over to press a kiss to your lips, a feeling long-missed. “And a little part of me knows he feels the same way, too.” 

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

It’s almost 12AM before you return to your apartment, dripping wet because neither of you anticipated the sudden spring shower. You tumble in like wet noodles, giggling like children in hushed whispers as you struggle to find the lightswitch. 

The lights blare on for you, Taehyung’s fingers hanging by the toggle. His hair is wet from the shower, and he looks like he sees a Christmas miracle when he wraps you up in his arms, despite the protest of you being dirty with sand and salt. 

“You dummy, don’t ever scare me like that ever again!” he sobs into your shoulder, and you return the embrace as you pat his head comfortingly. 

“Sorry Tae,” you say, “had to do a little soul-searching.” 

Jungkook rolls his eyes, more like world-searching if anyone were to ask his honest opinion. But Taehyung is looking past your body to mumble a teary ‘thank you’ to Jungkook, and he nods his head politely. 

“Well next time you soul search, you better call.” 

“Done and done.” 

Satisfied that you are going to stay the night and not budge, Taehyung returns to his room. He gives you a good scolding however, and he makes you promise that you’ll give him the full story over breakfast. 

After that bump, Jungkook and you can’t keep your hands off each other. You two shower the grime off your bodies, taking turns shampooing and scrubbing. Even after you’re clean and towel-dried, Jungkook’s fingers fail to untack from your skin, pushing you eagerly to your mattress as he presses kisses along your clothed body. He’s singing against your skin, waxing poetics about how beautiful you are and how much he loves you. 

“Jung—koo, Jungkook,” you say breathlessly, running your fingers through his damp locks, “Taehyung’s in the other room, we can’t be loud.” 

“Don’t,” kiss, “give,” kiss, “a fuck,” Jungkook pants, large hands trailing over your soft skin, memorizing every inch of you, He presses his length against your thigh, insistent, “if this is the last time, we’re going off with fireworks, baby.” 

And with that, you relent. It’s nothing short of electric, the way he takes great care but great power into your pleasure. He takes his time, as if it isn’t the first and last night, tracing every inch of your body because he doesn’t know what the future entails for the both of you. 

You’re equally stung like live-wire, wracking with pleasure as he seals his affirmation to you with sweet nothings, bodies pressed against each other feverently like they’ve always meant to be. Every bit of contact is purposeful, unbridled and overflowing with affection. 

When you’re done you’re both sweaty and almost painfully content, acceptant of the ambiguity of your futures. 

“Jungkook?” you ask, holding his hand tightly.

“Yes, pretty girl?” 

“Will you… fall in love with me again?” 

“Is that even a question?” he balks, leaning forward to peck your nose. He smiles at the way you scrunch your face. “Your office hours are 1-3PM, Mondays and Thursdays in the general library. If you’re not there, you’re teaching the History of Neuroscience in the ARC building on Tuesdays and Thursdays from 10:20 to 12:10. I also know where you live, so.”  

You don’t care how sweaty you are, and tuck your head underneath his chin, needing to be closer. 

“I will find you,” he promises, “hopefully not under my bike the second time around, but I’ll take what I can get.” 

“You’ll have a lot of explaining to do, y’know,” you sigh into his chest, feeling it rumble as your hair dampens. Your hair has dried long ago from the shower, but you know Jungkook’s trying hard to be strong as he cries into your crown, “you should leave before I wake up, just in case.” 

“Hoseok and I will handle it,” Jungkook assures you, “we’re like the Power Rangers, defenders of space and time.” 

“Alright Red Ranger, make sure you’re at least clothed before I wake up, then.” 

He pulls away lightly, seeing your equally red-rimmed eyes and ruddy cheeks. Both of you bump arms as you try to wipe away each other’s tears. The moon continues its power over your bodies, the only source of light in the room. Despite its movement since your time at the beach, it continues to illuminate the room and make the moment glisten with the rhythm of time. 

“You really think this is the end for us, huh?” his voice cracks, his hands cradling your face. 

Stretching to reach him, you press a kiss on every available centimeter of skin on his face. His forehead, his cheeks, his chin, his lips. You take care to kiss the tears away, silently wishing nothing but the best for him. He immediately melts into your touch, and he gives you a teary smile. 

“It’s not the end,” you assure, “it’s our beginning. Thank you, for loving me.” 

Jungkook nods, pressing a long, sweet kiss to your lips. “I can’t wait to fall in love with you again.” 

The two of you sleep like that, not with a goodbye, but with a promise. 

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

W1. 

When you wake up, it’s loud. 

The transition is jarring, painfully so. Gone are your soft flannel comforter, replaced with dry, scratchy sheets that are a poor excuse for bedwear. Your hands are heavy, bounded by the fluids snaking into your bloodstream. Your eyes are crusty and bleary, taking in the plain white and wood room. The sharp sound of the monitor reverberates in your ears, a high-pitched reminder of your slow vitals. 

Everything is painful, confirming that in fact you did get hit by that truck. You give props to your alternate self for dealing with this for the past two months. 

Your eyes dart around the room, taking in the night sky and the full moon looming above you. The only other person in the room is your baby niece, who is just short of five years old. She has since ceased coloring at her little table, her little mouth gaping open like a pufferfish. You make eye contact with her, and she nearly spills over her 64-count Crayola pack as she throws herself off the chair, running over to reach for your hand. 

“Auntie!” she cheers, the biggest smile on her face, “you’re awake! Mama said you were hibernating like bears do, and that you would probably wake up by spring time. She was right!” 

Although it pains you to smile, you manage to squeeze her hand in return. You open your mouth, the inside feeling tacky and gross. “Ah-ah,” you grimace when no sound comes out, just rasps and ghosts of what once was your voice. 

Your niece’s face crumples, and she lets go of you. “Imma go get mama, she’ll bring help!” 

She leaves you alone to succumb to the beeps of your monitors and the pain in your bones. Your fingers grapple the paper-thin sheets, and your gaze drifts to the moon. You think of Jungkook, sleeping blissfully in bed, holding you with so much tenderness and care. In a matter of what felt like minutes since you fell asleep in his arms, disappears just like that. 

The doctors and your family find you hysterically crying, the monitors going crazy as you hyperventilate yourself into a stupor. You feel like you’re choking on air, whatever little tubes in your body restricting access to fully express how torn and conflicted you’re feeling all over again. The medical expertise does work to evacuate your family, chalking your reactions up as your trauma catching up to you and the shock of the past two months hitting you full force. 

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

It’s nearly 3AM when the music cuts out with no explanation, and Jungkook is annoyed. He just got that set down and he finally felt confident in adding facial expressions, but the manager killed the music and now his head is spinning. 

He’s heaving, hands on his head as he tries to get his body back to equilibrium. He watches intently as Namjoon immediately takes the call, not even bothering to leave the studio to answer it. The rest of the members watch as Namjoon’s expressions morph into happiness, combined with short “yes”es and “I understands.” 

Namjoon makes eye contact with Jungkook first and beams, “She’s awake!” 

What originally felt like a hot and stifling room, immediately dissipates into an air of relief. While not all the members may not know you personally, the thought of a fellow co-worker on the road to recovery is enough to ease their exhaustion. 

“What?” Jungkook doesn’t hide it, and collapses on the floor, thoroughly spent for today. “Is she okay?” 

“Well, she actually just passed out. But she’s conscious.” 

“What, why?” Jimin asks, rolling a water bottle over to Jungkook. 

“Doctors say she woke up in a panic, started freaking out when it sunk in that she’s been in a coma since winter.” Jungkook’s heart squeezes painfully of the thought of you scared and feeling trapped in that small hospital bed. 

“Well, can we go see her in the morning?” Jungkook says hopefully, biting his lip. 

“We can’t,” Namjoon confesses, looking down at his shoes in disappointment, “at least not right now. y/n was apparently terrified. The doctors think she’s suffering from some form of PTSD, because she can’t recall anything that happened after she got hit. Her guardians are sending her to a facility for her to process her trauma. It’s in the countryside, and she’s not allowed visitors until she’s fully recovered.” 

Just when Jungkook thinks he has you back, you’re already far from his reach. He should be happy, knowing that you are well on your way to get better. He’s thankful enough that you’re finally awake. But the small, selfish part of him wants to visit you, and comfort you. 

Whether you’ll let him or not is your choice, but this time, he decides he’s going to fight for you. 

[yconic]

"Divorce is a special kind of pain. It's like death without a body, " is what they say when two halves of a whole heart separate.

Tony never understood when he was younger, never extended the notion of two people who gifted each other to eternity in union splitting up beyond 'Just not talking for a bit.'

He looked at it from a small perspective belonging to a small person, as if the people in question were just two good friends who couldn't decide on what game to play, hurt each other, and needed space.

His parents had done it more times than he cared to count. The frigid silences and artificial prompt politeness between the socialite power couple Howard and Maria Stark could last for two days, or two months, depending on how deep the issue picked out that time ran.

Tony sat straight as he watched the clock tick away, dutifully counting the hours that would bring Maria closer to home from whichever elicit travel affair she filled her time with while Howard closes himself into his workshop, stewing in anger and bitterness that leak out from the door he's not permitted to trespass.

He learns to measure the gravity of their squabbles, - If it's a small argument, Maria picks Germany, France, or Spain. She sends a letter stating the duration of her stay. She sends Tony well wishes, with a touch of formality for a mother, and her name is elegantly plastered on the bottom in cursive.

When Howard fucks up, she picked China, Britain, or Italy, and she disappeared from the earth until she emerged at her like. Howard is Howard, - the relationship between him and his son was too cold for Tony to tell how his father was like without the disdain gleaming in his eyes, but the liquor cabinet always needed at least a daily refill after a spectacular drama.

He looks back at those moments and realizes, with a shade of pity coated in something more sour, mellow but active, that divorce was never an option for them, the cycle of co-dependency and maintaining legacy had to be kept no matter how demanding that task was.

He can't bring himself to be angry when he feels so bad for them. All that money, and they couldn't buy a second of peace.

It doesn't take long for him to realize his parents don't love each other.

Tony was young, but he was never a child. He was naive, gullible, innocent, - but he was awake. While he didn't clearly understand what love was, he looked at the unhappy frowns on the miserable faces of the pair and thought: 'If that's how love looks like I want no part in it.'

He doesn't love people for more than one night, - A full week if their company was good enough to distract him from the rich golden color of his whiskey that gradually tastes bitter, and more bitter every time. It's not love, he knows, - He keeps that special for his family. But the kind of feeling he has with strangers, with nobody's with a name, resembles what he knows of love too much for him to change meaning.

He won't know how "love" feels like. He refuses to be the caged bird his mother was, to take form in the monster Howard let himself become.

Then, life gives him Steve.

He nests into Tony's life like a storm with skin, hair kissed by sunshine and eyes filled with an ocean that the brunette longs to sink into. He has a boyish charm to him, an old soul that swoops Tony off his feet. It makes him want to slow down, even if he belongs to the future, to activity, to progress. He wants to sit and listen to the stories Steve has, told in a Brooklyn swird that gives character to every word.

Steve looks at him like Rhodey told him all people should look at him. 'Like they can't see the status, or the money, or the power. Like they just see Tony, and nothing more. Because Tony will always be enough. ' Steve looks at him like he hangs the moon for him.

Tony never stood a chance. He looked at Steve, and thinks: "Oh, shit. He's It for me."

He just knows that this one, this Captain, decorated to the teeth, hiding in awkwardness at this petty mingling, social climbing Gala, lowering himself at the bar because he didn't know anybody, was made for him. And if Steve clings to Tony the whole night, he agrees with the parallel drawing out on his part.

He doesn't leave Tony's side, arm snug and comfortable around his middle like they've known each other for longer than time itself, and Tony loves it more than he has the courage to say.

Steve looks at him when the epilogue of the night strikes, too soon for either of their likings. He's tall, broad-shouldered, strong but has the softest eyes in the world. It hurts Tony to arch his neck to stare, but he doesn't want to miss a thing. "I've... I didn't laugh like that since I was in tour. You made my night, Tony."

"It's nothing, -" Because it really is. Considering the sins to his name, the least he can do to atone some mistakes is make as much people as happy as he can. And Happy is a great look on Steve.

He does learn one thing: When Steve says something, it stays how Steve says it. "No, its everything, Tony. I didn't smile once since coming home, " he croaks, like the confession pains him, and Tony aches alongside him. "Everyone is worried about me, saying that, that I seem upset, or sad, or just, never happy anymore, but how else am I supposed to feel?"

"You can't let others tell you how you feel, " Tony soothes, without thinking, a hand softly brushing against Steve's cheek. A frisson zaps through him at the feeling of the soldier's stubble spiking his skin. Steve leans into his touch like it's the most normal thing in the world. Tony's heart grows. "It's not even in your control, so why should it be in theirs? " He understands how Steve feels. More than the world would care to listen.

"Exactly. So, if it's not too much trouble, " his shyness compliments Tony's smitten. "Would you mind making me smile again?"

Tony is, utterly, indubitably, irrevocably, without a shade of doubt, fucked.

He smiles anyway. "You know, soldier, I think I could pull some strings."

---

Their love is like rain in June. It's mellow and distractingly peaceful, makes their worry and everything that ever went wrong scarce away. They can breathe around each other even when they feel like drowning. For once, Tony feels like it'll be okay.

But Life decides to do what it always does when Tony finds something good. It takes, and it takes, until there's nothing.

Steve tells him about Bucky. About the fallen brother that vanished in the mission that stole everything for Steve. "Only one soldier fell off that train, but two died that day, " God, Tony is so worried when Steve talks like that. "It should've been me. I wanted it to be me."

Tony listens and he pictures Rhodey falling. Steve loved Bucky in ways he couldn't even hope to understand.

It turns out, Death is not something so permanent after all.

It's a lovely night for them when Steve gets that call. He's wrapped around Tony and holds him in his arms as if he'd rather go to war again than let him go and Tony's heart never beat so loud for anyone. He would have never let Steve answer if he knew that phone call was the beginning of their end.

Bucky's alive again, is reborn from snow and war and ashes. Broken, but alive. Held captive by terrorists and is unmade, undid, but still alive. Everything around Steve is lost after that.

Tong gives him space and resources, help, support, he gives everything to Steve like on their wedding day. He gives him his care and gentle hands and soft words and love with a heartbeat. And Steve is just... Too preoccupied looking at Bucky to notice. Tony feels like a selfish bastard for wanting his soldier to look at HIM instead of coddling his friend at every moment notice.

He wants Steve to stop suffocating Bucky when he already looks like he's just inhaling instead of breathing.

He wants his husband back.

That's why he deserves what's coming to him. That's his punishment.

They drift apart slowly, as most terrible pains start.

Steve starts spending more and more time around the mental help facility Bucky asked to be enlisted into after his hasty return that had everyone clutching at their pearls. He wants to do it alone, Tony figures easily, starves for a journey he wants to walk himself, for the kind of autonomy only a man who lost it for too long craves.

His bitterness aside, Tony marvels at how similar they are. Maybe In another life, he and Barnes would've made a handsome pair of kindred souls.

Steve doesn't agree. He looks sickened, struck even, at Tony for having the Gall to suggest maybe Barnes would be more responsive if he talked with someone who had mirroring experiences. "God, Tony, you don't... You're not a soldier. You're just a man. You've been through pain, sure, but not like Bucky. No one went through what he did. I'm honestly speechless you ever thought you could compare."

Steve says that, it's why it hurts so bad. The man who swore he'd walk back into the hellfire of war just to find the people who hurt Tony and tear them apart.

The man who couldn't be moved by anything. No nightmare, no night terror, no panic attack, no argument. Nothing convinced Steve to leave. He stayed through it all.

The man who cried relentlessly when Rhodey walked Tony down the alter because 'He couldn't believe how lucky he was to marry someone so beautiful.'

The man who hasn't written Tony a love letter every morning like he used to do in over a year.

The man who spent more time sleeping in hospital rooms than in their bed.

The man who used to not go even one day without saying "I love you". Tony can't even remember the last time this sentence was spoken between them unless he said it first.

The man who agreed to couple therapy, then acted like it rained the next day.

Tony would will himself to shove this under the rug. To put a blind eye to it, to make it work, to ignore Rhodey's disapproval and Pepper's warm worry, to push away the pain blossoming in his chest, threatening to overspill.

But this man adopted a child with him.

---

"That one" Steve points to a small boy, thin but sturdy-looking even in the hand me downs from the orphanage, short limbs supporting a mess of brown hair that looks impossibly soft. His eyes are big and kind. Tony wants to take him home and feed him. "That one's ours."

His name is Peter, and he got into a fight with older kids when they wanted to stomp on ladybugs. He pushes back, but not unkindly. He's no bully. Instead, he takes the time to teach them why disrespecting and hurting nature is wrong, then takes their hands into his own, playing with the tiny creatures for hours.

Tony falls in love immediately. "Let's bring him home, Cap."

---

He can't do it. Tony can't look into Peter's adoring eyes, wide and brown that feel more like a mirror than anything, and see the fear he had for Howard, or the sadness for Maria. Tony can't handle looking at the love of his life and see another him.

Steve is Peter's role model. His knight in shining armor, his protector, everywhere he goes he sings praise to anyone who cares to listen. About his fearless father, his heroic antics that seem so tall for him. "My daddy's a superhero!" Tony doesn't have the heart to take that away.

And Tony loves Steve too much to see him become Howard.

So when Steve misses their son's 5th birthday party because he had more pressing business in D.C, Tony realizes bitterly, there's no saving this. People labeled him as a mechanic, a futurist, but he feels unworthy of both when he couldn't fix or foresee this.

There's no coming back from this.

Natasha doesn't voice it, but she doesn't need to. She tucks her phone away after a third failed attempt to coax, threaten, and guilt Steve into joining them, with muted movements, and Tony can tell she agrees.

Tony's grin is too wide when he looks down at Peter when he drags him off to paint his face, unaware of his father's turmoil. He laughs. He smiles. He celebrates. He has a nice day with his family.

He pulls Pepper aside and asks her to prepare his lawyers in the same breath.

This is why Tony knew love wasn't made for him.

---

Tony's always been good at hurting himself. The more pain he inflicts on himself, the less it'll hurt when someone else does it. So he unpacks the stash of letters he kept locked away in a seif, because they're prized to him, more than any sleek car or company, and reads them before he burns the bridge.

They feel like warm kisses and goodbyes.

'Left for a grocery jog, ran out of coffee. It's supposed to be cold, so don't you even think about leaving the house without a jacket! I'll know. Take care of yourself, even when I'm not there. '

' I love waking up next to you every morning. I love how you hide from the sun in my chest. I love how grumpy you are when Pepper calls for updates and all you do is cuddle me and whine. I love your messy bed hair and how you fall asleep in the shower.

'I never cared for jewelry before but seeing my ring around your finger never gets old. I still can't believe you said yes, but I'm glad you did. You deserve more, but you settled for someone like me. I can't believe it when you say no one would want you forever, I hate that someone made you think like that, that they let you go, but their biggest mistake is my biggest win. Jokes on them.'

'I can't imagine my life without you. Its all radio silence and broken static. Like an artist with a blank canvas and grey paint. You're the best damn thing that ever happened to me, and the fact that I have you means there really is someone up there looking our for me. I'm never letting you go. I love you, I love you, I love you, '

Tony stains the paper with tears as he listens to the song of heartbreak in his chest.

---

"Nat, " Tony pleads, choosing not to look at the tremor in his hands as he neats the papers he wants to see burn. "There's no need for that, come on. You know I love you, but I'm a big boy. I don't need you to hold my hand for this."

Natasha shrugs. "Indulge me."

"He wouldn't do anything to me."

"I thought there were lots of things he wouldn't do. Like stop loving you, for one, " she doesn't mean to be a jab, but Tony strokes his right arm and lets the hurt wash off. He sometimes forgets how blunt and terrifying Pepper's wife is capable of being. "Being paranoid is worth being safe."

They find Steve in the kitchen, sitting stiff and unfamiliar as if he didn't design the place himself. Tony swallows down the pressure in his throat and forces his eyes to stay dry. He wants to rest his hands on Steve's shoulders and pepper the lines of laughter on his flushed face with kisses.

But they're behind that now.

Steve raises his eyes to look at him. He's tired, run-down, missing the spark Tony marked as one of his favorite traits of the blonde. The life wasted from them, telling Tony that he's surviving, but not living.

Tony looks at him back and his eyes say, 'Me too.'

Steve's mouth twists into an imitation of a smile, tries his luck at mimicking something of the reassurance and ease variety, to hide his emotions with a mask of cracked peace Tony undressed a million times, just as Steve undressed his. He's always been good at reading the man. Or, was.

Steve's eyes fall on the documents Tony's holding with his naked hands, no ring in sight, and Tony watches something die in him.

The room drowns in silence for a while.

Natasha stands as a loyal shadow at his side, silent but sharp, hands folded in front of her crotch like a guard dog waiting to pounce. There's a forced calm into her breathing that puts him even more on edge.

Papers brush smoothly above the marble surface, ear piercing to him. Red hot blazing into white noise. It's the most terrible sound he's ever heard. He prefers his breathless, agonized screams in Afghanistan to this.

Steve recoils away, standing up suddenly and shakily, as if the documents are bombs about to kill him anytime now.

He turns his head, refusing to look at them. Refuses to accept they're real.

"Throw those away, Tony, " he says, voice edged with the kind of suffering that would bring Tony to his knees on other circumstances."Get them the hell away from me and never bring them up again, you hear me? I'm serious.''

Carefully, Natasha chimes in, tone mild and neutral. " Steve. Tony would like to speak with you about something, alright? Let's sit down, and talk like grown-ups, -"

"Where's your ring!?" Steve shouts, tiptoeing at the border of desperate and hysteric. Tony wants back into the cave, wants the water to take him away from all of this. It's hard to kill something that's already dead. "What did you do with it!? Why aren't you wearing it!? You PROMISED me, you promised you'd never take it off you JERK, you lying -"

"And you promised to love me until the day we die, but by the looks of it we both could use a lesson in honesty, " Tony cuts icily, colder than colder. His words are resigned, hollow, at the brim of mechanical. He thinks all the people who say Starks are more machine than men had a point. "I'm the fuck up in this relationship. What's your excuse?"

He thought he'd feel vindication watching Steve taste a fraction of his sorrow, that his destroyed look would make something in Tony retaliate. It does nothing. Tony loves him stronger, fiercer, and there's no win here for anyone.

His mouth tastes like ashes.

He just wants to stop, to sink in his bed and swim in ratty hoodies drenched in cheap but sweet cologne, smudged with paint of all shades, and feel Steve's arms shield him from the world.

He wonders if it'll keep Steve up at night, how it never occurred to him that the danger he wanted to defend Tony from might have his face.

"I'll do better. Tony please," Steve begs him, and Tony wonders if the situation is so low a man with his nature would resort to that. He's shaken by big hands engulfing his own for exactly a moment before Natasha intervenes, pushing the blonde away with a hint of regret. Steve recovers, looks right through her at Tony who wants to wipe his tears away. "I'll do better, I'll- I'll spend less time with Bucky if you want, -"

"Bucky isn't the problem. It's not about HIM, it was never about him, this is US, Steve. We, our marriage, our family, its been here longer than Bucky. I never wanted you to - to erase him from your life, I just wanted my husband. Peter wanted his daddy. Bucky could've been apart of that, but you just, you just pushed us aside,-"

"I won't do that anymore. I, - Do you want me to be at home more often? I can, sweetheart, I can do that no problem. I can be at home, I can make time for dates and-and for activities, I can take Peter to the park and play ball, - Do you remember that? How we used to play until he fell asleep? I don't mind, its no problem, -"

Something in Tony snaps.

"WE'RE NOT YOUR FUCKING CHORES," His voice is more roar than man, ragged, tight, pushed to the last limit. The garden of silent pain, fury, rage, and fear he's been harboring finally blossomed into something that seemed to shake the world. His body shudders. "We're not some,- some pestering tasks that you have to save your precious time to complete! Some fucking pets other people have to force you to care of, or some dirty laundry you decide to wear whenever you feel like washing! We're your damn FAMILY,- " A sob hitches his anger, and by the broken look on Steve's face, it's worse than any rage.

He narrows his eyes in disbelief, as if Steve was some stranger and not someone he gave years of his life to. A laugh is pushed out of his chest, choked, long, and terrible. "I would've ended this sooner if, - God, if I knew how much of a burden we became for you."

"Tony, Tony don't say that, " Steve's face is blotched red, painted in punishing torment. "I love you and Peter more than anything in this life. You're mine, both of you, how can you think I don't love you? I, -"

"Just love Bucky more, " Tony finishes, note flat, accepting, rehearsed. His voice feels as hollow as his chest when Steve flinches. "I'm just... I'm so tired. Steve,I'm tired, and- I can't do it anymore. My son, my baby is not going to be a burden on anybody. I can put up with a lot of shit, but Peter is my limit. I can't and I won't put anyone above him. Not even you."

Horror shines bright and clear on the blue eyes Tony loves so much. He spots Steve's finger tremble at his sides, notices the hesitant movement of his Addams apple.

Natasha was wrong. It's a rare occurrence, but it happened.

Steve never stopped loving him.

It makes signing the papers so much harder.

---

Steve lost Bucky to ice, snow, and time. Tony loses Steve to fire, anger, and distance.

---

Pepper is surprised when she hears Steve ended up signing willingly.

She doesn't want to ruin the calm air that finally settled over the emotion packed atmosphere surrounding the living room, currently stashed with carton boxes filled with Steve's stuff, ready to be delivered tomorrow as Tony wanted, but it's a needed talk.

"What did you say to convince him?" She asks, not demanding an answer but clearly expecting one. "I'd just assume Nat had him in an arm lock until he agreed, but, in all honesty, Steve would probably lose an arm than do what people tell him to. Seriously, I've seen anarchists with more respect for authority than this guy."

Tony laughs, too loving and too fond for this predicament. "I said you'd drag his ass through every courtroom in America and drain him of everything he's worth?"

"Mmm. Try again. I mean, that's a Sunday for me, but he's already heard that talk before." Giggles are shared between the pair on the couch, snuggled under fuzzy blankets with wine glasses that clink slightly. Pepper's face relaxes into something sympathetic, earnest. "Was it something Peter related?"

"No, " he shakes his head. It never crossed his mind once, no matter how hurt he was. It felt too much like what his father would do. " Peter is his son, too. No matter what happens between us. There's no changing that. "

"No one would blame you if it came down to that, you know that, right?"

He hums. Pepper waits.

"I asked him to let me say goodbye to my husband instead of forcing me to stay with Howard."

A sharp intake of breath settles something cold beneath Tony's skin. He closes his eyes, and accepts the wine Pepper pours in his cup, neither commenting on how it spills over the rim.

---

Talking to Peter is the hardest part.

He doesn't understand why suddenly there's only two people there instead of three, why he isn't woken up by two pairs of arms tickling him and kissing his sleepy eyelids every morning, why Tony's laughter isn't echoing through the house as Steve spins and twists him around in the living room dance session they had at least once a week.

Why, apparently, Steve now has a permanent residence in DC and can only see him twice a week as their legal agreement states.

Why he has to live in two different places and split his playtime.

Why Tony bought a new apartment and they had to move away, stretching the distance between them and Steve.

"Is Papa comin' home today?" A hand squeezes Tony's heart painfully tight at the small question. He looks down at his son, smaller than usual and playing with his fingers at his feet. His frail shoulder raise, housing an anxious breath as he awaits an answer.

Tony takes his tiny hand in his own, leaning down to press kisses on the back of his son's palm, apology on his lips. "Yeah, baby. He has to come and pick up his stuff. Maybe you can play a little when he arrives! I'm sure he'll be happy to see you. "

Steve sends Sam to pick up his things and Tony feels guilt bite at him for hissing 'coward' in his mind.

Peter is excited to see his uncle Sam but the disappointment when he hears a truck coming instead of the deep rumble of a motorcycle engine doesn't wash off. He soldiers on, smiles for Sam because as little as he is, he's careful with people and their emotions. His goodness is organic. He takes after Steve like that.

Sam's always been frustratingly talented at deciphering his thoughts, even when his face is emotionless. It's one of the many reasons why Tony thinks him and Rhodey match so well. "He said he's really sorry he couldn't come, but... Okay, his excuse is just sad, because I doubt you'd believe he'd rather attend a Zoomba class than see you and Peter. Truth is, he's scared."

"Of facing me?"

"Of hurting you."

"Yeah, well, he's already got that job done on the to do list, " Tony huffs, petty and aware. He tosses Peter his baseball that lands in the backyard, gently nudging him away from the conversation. They watch the ball of energy squeal in delight as he runs to fetch it, tension momentarily on hold. "Sorry. You don't need my shit. Let's just load this and be done with it."

Sam huffs. "Man, I've been involved with your shit for a while. Appreciate the feeling but it's a bit late for that. Trust me, me and Rhodey have in length discussions about it. I'm neck-deep in white boy drama, but well, sacrifices of the job. Not much you can do."

He's playful, Tony knows this, in the corner of his brain that isn't raided by anxiety, yet fear claws at him, sharp and cruel and unexpected. Coldness spreads inside him like wildfire, almost matching the thoughts racing in his mind. Sam and Rhodey were talking? Were they arguing? Had Tony harmed Rhodey's relationship as if he didn't wreck his own enough?

"Talk?" Tony rasps, pushes the words out of his constricted throat that seems to close more and more, synchronizing with his lungs. Sam's wide, concerned eyes tells him the surface looked as bad as the inside."You... You and Rhodey, you guys- Bad talk? You, you fought about it?"

His mind torments him by showcasing Rhodey yelling in Sam's face and Sam yelling back, both standing their ground like two soldiers on a mission and defending their friends like avenging angels. Rhodey is more brother than friend, he'd take his side, like the devoted friend he always proved himself to be, but he watches with a cut breath as Rhodey locks himself in his room and weeps.

Rhodey sharing his fate is Tony's own horror movie.

"...ony! Tony, deep breaths, come on, " gentle hands guide him away from the void his own psyche trapped him into, speaking in a low voice that plucks him back up little by little. "Come on, in and out. Focus on my voice, that's good. Listen to me, Rhodey and I did not and will not fight about this. We're fine, Tony, promise! We agreed, no side pickers. This isn't war, and we won't get into some life or death fight for your and/or Steve's honor, " he tries for a little grin. ''I mean, I'm not supposed to tell you, but we don't like you guys that much."

Tony laughs, at once, a pathetically small sound, but he's grounded enough to laugh. He basks in the lack of sound around them, like the silence of an after battle, suffocating, but free.

The quiet hangs in the air as they load the truck, too, not oppressing, but welcomed, with a touch of comfort that burns just right. When the last box is secured and road-ready, him and Sam stay just a bit on the porch to stare at the house. Because that's what it is, isn't?

'Is papa comin' home?'

There is no home. Not if Steve's missing.

"Steve said you can keep those, if you want," that sentence made Tony hunch his shoulders, releasing that bitter aftertaste in his mouth again, blending with something sweet, and igniting the warmth that pierced as deep as his very marrow. "Nothing he loves or wants back is in those boxes."

Yes, Tony wants to scream. I want to keep the sketchbooks he has for me. I want to keep the photo albums. I want to keep the paint, the charcoal, the brushes. I want to keep the stuffed animals he won me at the fairs. I want to keep his clothes. I want to keep the dances in the living room. I want to keep his love, attention, care, worry, sadness, anger, grief. I want to keep my husband.

Instead, Tony reaches for his back pocket, and squeezes his ring. It burns in his palm, almost begging him to put it back in it's place, or on his finger, where it fitted like it always belonged. His being feels it, as if connected, and he decides to even the odds in the cowardice department.

Sam holds his breath as Tony hands him the ring, with hesitance, with no indication he wants to. "You sure about this?" It's a careful question, painfully gentle, far softer than Tony deserves.

No. Not by a long shot. "Yeah, " he mutters, almost lost in the air. "It's not mine anymore."

Sam curls his hand around the ring, pockets it, and Tony wrestles with the urge to ask for it back. His eyes are trained to the floor, on his shoes, the fine leather ones Steve bought for him on their anniversary, he realizes.

He watches droplets of water splash and dissolve into the concrete. It's raining, he figures, he should take Peter inside or he'll catch a cold. He looks up to watch the dark clouds, and the senine blue above mocks him.

"It's okay, " Rhodey picked a good one, Tony thinks, as Sam covers his crying form away from Peter's eyes. "It's okay, Tony. Just... Let it out. You earned this."

"I tried, " he sobs in Sam's neck, sobs his demise his failure, his bottled cocktail of emotions that waited to implode. "I tried, Sam, I tried so hard, I swear I did."

"We know you did, Tony. We all know."

---

Peter wants to meet Bucky one day.

"Papa used to talk about him all the time, " He says, oblivious to how vexed Tony is hearing that. He apprehends himself, reproaching that he should be over it already. "He sounds pretty cool! I want to see his Terminator arm!"

"It's a Tin Man or Robocop arm, at best, " He smirks at the pout Peter throws his way, smoothing it out with his thumb. "And he's in a hospital. You and I hate hospitals, remember?"

Peter whines and makes his eyes larger, pitifully glassy and sad, just the way to wrap Tony around his little finger. "Daddyyyy, pleeeease!" He hooks his fingers around his arm, hugging it close to his chest and his lower lip trembles.

He imagines Steve behind him, smothering a laugh in his shoulder, egging Peter on like two conspirational buddies. He melts, pushing the rush of yearning back, and knows it's a battle lost. Peter is too lovable, too determined, too bright eyed.

He's morbidly curious, in a way, to see what was so special about Bucky that it made Steve want to trade that.

---

Bucky and Peter hit it off in a heartbeat.

The facility hosting Bucky is uncomfortably pristine, from door corner to ceiling. Everything is tailored and arranged with ridiculous precision, clinical, professional, boring, and detached, as most medical spaces are. His workshop dances circles around it in the personality field, and he tells Bucky as such.

He laughs at him. "That's an interesting way to say you're a chronic untidy mess."

'Chronic untidy hot mess, " Tony corrects, hating how easily he falls into conversation with him. He tells himself it's merely a distraction from the stomach twisting smell of medicine, stingy and sharp smothering the air. "How offensive. I demand a trial by combat. Peter, make him pay in blood!"

Peter turns to Bucky, unblinking. "Your hair's greasy."

A theatrical gasps spreads in the room from the blue eyed brunette. Tony beams, kissing Peter's cheek. "That's my boy. I'm sure Bucky's bleeding a lot on the inside."

"Yeah. You know, where blood usually is, " Bucky snarks, heatless, propping Peter off from the spot on his leg and putting him on the ground . "Why don't you go ask nurse Joy to give you some magnets for the arm? Your father and I gotta talk adult business."

"Uncle Clint says adult business is just gossip for grown ups. " Peter retorts, smirk on his lips, half raising on the edges of his mouth. He got the smugness from him, that much Tony will admit. Bucky huffs a laugh that mirror Tony's own and waits for Peter to be out of the hearing range to say his next words.

"I owe you an apology."

Tony blinks, hastily, and speaks before he can even register what he's saying. "No, you don't. Drop it." It comes off razor sharp, yet Bucky must be used to worse, because he doesn't falter.

"I ruined your marriage. There's no forgiving that, but I DO regret it and you'll damn well listen to what I have to say."

"Look, I appreciate it. I do. I'm not... Mad at you. You're just in the crossfire of this clusterfuck. There's no forgiving because there's nothing to forgive, " he murmurs under his breath, words quiet, but sincere, he realizes. "My failure is my own to carry. "

"Stark, relationships need more than one person. Stevie ain't exactly blameless in this whole thing, - Far from it, trust me, I let him know. He got the scolding of the damn lifetime, because he threw away a damn good thing. He made a home for himself and then demolished it. You didn't hand him the sledgehammer, he picked it up on his own dumb self."

"You know, your philosophy lesson would impact me better with wizard lingo. Throw in a riddle or a prophecy and I might bite. " Receiving a blank stare to his quip, Tony sighed, eyes downcast.

"Look. I called it off, alright? I lit up the matches, I burned down the bridge, and I watched it turn to ash. But it was meant to happen, one way or another. We were just too different. Guys like me break the world apart. Men like Steve put it back together. He'll move forward. Like he always does."

Bucky's reply is instant. "No, no he won't, " it's said with such conviction, with such a finality, that it has Tony freezing. "He'll never move on. Not from this. I've never seen him like that for anybody, hell, never seen ANYONE like that. You and him? That's a forever kind of deal. You don't need a ring and name change for that to last. You don't have a choice."

Tony swallows, slowly, unsure. "So what? We just keep path crossing like fate has us tied together, in each other 's range but standing on parallel lines, never meant to cross? This isn't a fairytale, Barnes. It's real life. And even if it wasn't, that's still far from fair."

"It is real life. Which means it ain't fair, Stark. "

Tony takes Peter home, cuddles him closely as if he might disappear, and eyes the empty area around the right side of the bed with a lonely glint that burns in the darkness.

---

The first time Tony meets Steve after the divorce, it's for Natasha's birthday party.

Time jumps from slow to fast, alters between stagnation and overwhelming in the first 6 months that pass after the finalization of their parting. Some days are agonizingly slow. As if the world wants him to stomach every second, consume every minute, where Steve is not with him, isn't his anymore, and choke on the pain that tastes just as sharply as the first time.

And in some, time goes by in blink record, not keen on giving Tony the courtesy of healing, of moving on, of according him the patience or kindness in adapting his feelings to his pace, to accommodate to the arrangement it dragged him in.

Concern crawls inside him regardless of how many times he buries it, makes a tangly nest right in his chest, and makes no effort to move. He doesn't blame Steve for not wanting to meet him, to look at him, to give him the chance of staring into the bright, baby blue eyes that hold everything beautiful in the world.

Tony's seen the wonders of the world, all 8 them, and they all pale put next to Steve.

He feels seething, scalding guilt showering him for thinking that. Because Steve is not his to worry over, not his to call wonderful, not his to care for. Not anymore. He repeats that like a mantra against his eardrum when Natasha asks him if it's fine if she invites him to her party, too.

It's the perfect excuse to see how he's doing, but Tony elects to ignore that and remind Natasha grown-ass people don't ask other grown-ass people for permission on what to do. "Do I look like Pepper to you? No? Then why would I order you around?"

A discreet smile reaches Natasha's features, exhibiting confidence but betraying relief. She loves them both, Tony knows, and wants her friends first, not the fallen lovers. "Just wanted to know if I should hide the sharp knives or prepare some spare sheets."

His face heats ferociously, climbing all the way to the tips of his ears, and all the embarrassment in the world is worth listening to Natasha laugh. Something sharp-edged inside of him brittles at the prospect of seeing Steve, thought, and he holds his tongue from saying something of that nature won't happen.

In the company of his solitude and shame, Tony wonders later, is he afraid of seeing Steve again because he fears the blonde is not doing okay, or because he is?

Later on, he sees Steve stand in flash before him, chatting with some faceless figures, hair longer than last time and flattened slightly at the nape, sporting a beard that framed his gorgeous face perfectly. The impeccable balance between scruffy and well-groomed. Tony itched to run his fingers against it.

"It's the divorce beard, " Clint muses, elbow jolting Tony in the side to show the humor. "Give him a few more weeks, and you'll see him shopping from the Hobo shop. All wrinkled shirts and ketchup stained clothes or something. Men are useless without their wives.'' He winks in Tony's way, but Tony is too entranced by Steve to acknowledge it.

His fists are bruised, Tony notes with a wince as he gets drunk on Steve's form with a studious gaze, creamy skin battered and laced in a cluster of dark purple, crimson, and small patches of yellow shaping his knucklebones.

A trail of question rests blistering on his tongue. 'What happened? Who did that? Who were you fighting? Why? Are you okay? Did you win?' But he closes his eyes and bites his tongue, knowing these questions don't belong to him anymore.

He gave up his rights to that.

But then, Tony spots them.

His breath is knocked out of his lungs in a silent punch, eardrums pushing out all the sound attempting to penetrate his ears. His fingers loosen so much they almost drop his water, feeling tingly numb. Tony's eyes, large and surprised, trace the circle of gold curled around Steve's fourth finger, gleaming softly against the artificial light around the dining room.

Steve is still wearing his ring.

But then, his chest burns and booms, heart roars fiercely behind his ribcage as he notices the thin string of black leather circling around Steve's neck, loose as a necklace, hanging low enough for Tony to eye the shape of metal halo looped right in the middle of the material.

Steve was wearing Tony's ring, too.

The realization left him petrified in place, more statue than man, in stunned shock as he bore into his former lover who only then noticed the brown eyes looking at him, transparent astonishment clear as crystal in his features.

It's like a spell breaks.

Tony's limbs move mechanically, on autopilot, running to the nearest room, getting himself away from what his body detects as danger. Urgency is packed on his step, taking him to the bathroom in record time, but Steve's always been the runner, more athletic between them, and his sprinting lands him a spot in the sleat Tony wass about to slam.

He's pinned to a wall effective immediately, feels cold tiles plant clammy kisses on the back of his head and neck. Tony almost hisses at the force of the slam, but before he can make a peep, his lips are stolen in a savage, fierce kiss.

It's pure desperation conveyed in the most unconventional way. Steve pounces on him, lips wild against Tony's own, pouring every emotion he went through in the past few months,- Longing, yearning, craving, hunger, desire, - his being, his love, his soul into that kiss, barely giving Tony the chance to breathe.

"St-Steve, " He gasps, head tilting slightly to the side to escape the ministrations, to gulp air, moving to avoid the chase at reconnection Steve is playing at by trying to capture his lips again. "Wait, wait a minute, -"

"Missed you, " Steve's voice is thick with want, hitching in the small puffs of air that came off raggedy and breathless, words melting over Tony's mouth. Steve's face glows with a blush he wants to kiss with inhuman greed. "I missed you, I missed you,Tony I missed you" Tony's fucked.

[icollectyoursins]

Gift Headcanons Pesci x Reader

Look. I know the holidays have just passed, but I am unashamedly a SIMP for all of La Squadra and I wanna give them gifts. I just love them. So here, have some (mostly) tender gift giving and receiving for da boyz. I’m excluding Sorbet and Gelato because I know next to nothing about them, sorry!

This one was kind of cheesy, but wholesome. 

Risotto

Prosciutto

Illuso

Formaggio

Ghiaccio

Melone

Have a character, but no idea? Prompt list here!

Looking for more? Master post here!

WARNINGS: SFW, light mentions of anxiety or worry, mentions of gangsters.

Word Count: 1433

Giving:

God, this boy. He has no idea what to get you. Do you like books? What kind of books? What if he gets the wrong one? Pros said you might like jewelry, should he get that? What kind? He doesn’t have a lot of money, what if it breaks? Pesci is a mess, so if there’s something specific you want, tell him.

Once he gets over himself a bit and calms down, he’ll probably get you your favourite book or maybe a really nice scarf. Something that he thinks you’ll use a lot. If you use the gift every day he will feel so good about himself. You can practically feel the confidence radiating off him.

Because he’s nervous about it, he’ll give the gift to you in private, nervously stuttering out whatever he wants to say.

     Pesci fiddled with the bow and ribbon on the decorated bag in his hand, trying to keep his mind occupied. You would like it, right? Of course, who wouldn’t like a soft, warm scarf? Aniki, probably, but you weren’t Prosciutto. You were (Y/N) and you were nice and sweet and I mean, you wouldn’t be with him if you didn’t like him, right?

     “Pesci?” Your voice called from the other end of the hall. Oh, shit.

     “Uhh, over here!” He called back. Everything was going to be fine, right? What would Pros do? What would Pros do?

     He’d be cool; confident. He wouldn’t worry about whether or not you liked the gift, he would be suave! Pesci had every right to be confident. You were an amazing, beautiful person and his partner. What did he have to worry about?

     “Is everything okay?” You appeared next to him quicker than he had anticipated. 

     “Ah! Yeah, everything’s fine. I have something for you.” His heart was racing. He’d spent a lot of money on this, more than he should have. But, that’s what made it special, right? He pushed the gift bag into your hand quicker than he should have. “Sorry.”

     You chuckled, used to this by now and happily took the bag. “It’s okay, don’t worry about it. What is it?” You asked, pulling out the tissue paper and scrunching it into a ball which Pesci took from your hand. “Oh, Pesci!”

     His heart swelled with joy at the sound of how happy you were. You pulled out a long, well-knitted scarf with the same print as his jumpsuit. He took the bag as you rubbed the soft fabric with your hands, bringing it up to your face. You wrapped it around yourself, hugging it close to you.

     “It’s lovely, Pesci! Thank you so much.” You practically leaped into his arms, hugging him tightly. That warm feeling again. He did good.

     “It’s custom. I found someone on the internet who could make it. You like it?” He knew you did, he just wanted to hear it one more time.

     “Yes! Oh, god yes. It’s so nice! And the pattern! Thank you,” you kissed his cheek making him blush. He laughed lovingly, returning with a kiss on your cheek. You wrapped your arms around each other’s shoulders, staying close for the rest of the night while you show off your new favourite scarf and Pesci. Well, Pesci couldn’t help the prideful smile stuck on his face. He heard Illuso and Formaggio laughing at him, but he didn’t care! All he cared about was how happy you were.

Receiving:

Just as much as he doesn’t know what to get you, you don’t know what to get him. It’s not that he’s hard to shop for, Pesci is happy getting pretty much anything from you, but it’s more there’s so much you know he would like you can’t really decide!

He loves to read, he’d read pretty much anything under the sun, but if it’s about his favourite subject (something like space, the ocean, fish, old fashion gangsters, etc.) he will literally never put it down. Pesci also loves sweets, so feel free to bake him something like cupcakes or a cake! Something he can either eat in one night or pull out of the fridge to eat every now and then.

Now, giving him the gift. Absolutely, he would love anything given to him in private, but I think there’s a part of him that wants to show off to the rest of La Squadra. Like, yeah, they’re mine, they got this for me! I’m good! That kind of way.

     You hummed out a random tune while licking off the last of the icing from the spoon. It wasn’t perfect, but Pesci would get the idea. A small two-tiered cake with yellow fondant on the bottom layer and the black with pink heart cutouts on the top to match his usual outfit. Of course, you had to add some extra icing here and there to satisfy his sweet tooth.

     “(Y/N)?” His head popped out from the door frame. You smiled, setting down the spoon and going in for a hug. 

     “Hey, hun, how are you?”

     “Okay, Prosciutto kept lecturing me.” He sounded defeated. From your talks with Prosciutto, you knew he just wanted Pesci to be confident and proud of himself, you just wished he was a little gentler with his words.

     “I know something that will make you feel better,” you mused, pulling him to his chair in the living room. A large, beige lazy boy that he happily collapsed into, kicking his feet up. “Wait right here, I’ll be back.”

     You heard him mumble out an “okay” while you hurried off to the kitchen, chucking your licking spoon into the sink. Pesci worked hard trying to impress people, you felt it was your job to make him feel a little more appreciated and what better day to show him he’s worth hours and hours of baking than Christmas night! You returned to the living room, carefully holding the cake with two hands, knife tucked under your arm. 

     “This is for you,” you said, sliding it onto the coffee table with ease. You heard the springs in the lazy boy creak as he leans forward, tucking the footrest back into its place, looking back just in time to see his eyes light up. 

     “Oooh~” his mouth is practically watering. You hand him a fork with a grin. “Ah, no plates?”

     “Nah, who else is going to eat it? It’s just us.” Pesci returns your grin excitedly, taking the first bite out of the yellow half. He happily screams out how good it is, greedily taking more and more while you calmly eat off the side. Through mouthfuls, you manage out: “Actually, there’s a bit more.”

     You quickly hop up onto your feet again, walking to the small Christmas tree you had set up the week before. You pull out three rectangular presents each one smaller than the other. Eagerly, you hand the three of them to him. He stares at you wide-eyed, then at the presents.

     “For me? Why?” He asks, confused. You chuckle.

     “Because it’s Christmas!” He looks at you shocked. Really? Today? Christmas? Thank god he got your presents beforehand. Regardless, he’s excited to see what you got him. 

     Pesci quickly ripped the paper off, making a mess on the floor. He verbalizes his joy with a loud gasp, clearly happy with the first book. The latest Game of Thrones, a favourite series of his. Then he’s onto the next one and equally as elated for this one. Of course, you had to get him something on old gangster history book.

     He’s practically shaking with delight when he opens the last one. A beautiful art book from the Lord of the Rings movies that you spent literal hours searching for. All the work paid off seeing how happy he was. He pulls you into a back-crushing hug. 

     “Thank you, (Y/N)!” Pesci finally puts you down, leaving a quick kiss on your cheek. You smile happily, still holding him close. 

     “Now, why don’t we take a picture, hm? Show it off a bit?” He agrees, pulling out his phone. He sets up the books and the cake so it looks nice, then he takes a few pictures. Okay, maybe a lot of pictures, but the enthusiasm is there. The two of you pick through the best ones and send them to his group chat. For the first time in a long time, Pesci can feel the pride swelling up in him as you lean into him, occasionally stealing bites of cake from his fork while he thumbs through his new books, pointing out the cool things he finds.

[fatoomie2801]

his queen | kyoya tategami

💫 preview 💫

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"It's so hot!" Kiara screeched, flopping onto the first bed her eyes made contact with.

"We're in Africa," Kyoya deadpanned, closing the door behind them, making sure it was locked. "What did you expect?"

"I know, but I didn't think it'd be this bad!"

"Deal with it."

The two bladers, after an exhaustingly long flight, had booked a room in the hotel near the airport for the night, a place to get some rest before the journey that awaited them the following morning. The room was quite spacious; it had a small open kitchen in one corner with a couple of stools by the counter, a couch in front of a TV in the adjacent corner, two single beds that were quite spaced apart, a bathroom by the front door, and a balcony.

"There's a balcony?!" Kiara exclaimed as she spotted a sliding door on the wall opposite the room's entrance, rushing towards it in excitement before pulling the door open and stepping outside. "This is awesome! At least I won't drown in sweat now since I can just stay outside."

"With that outfit, you'll drown in sweat anywhere," Kyoya commented, gesturing to the layers of clothing Kiara wore.

"Ah, you're right," Kiara chuckled, making her way inside and rummaging through her backpack for lighter clothes. "Okay, I'm getting changed first."

The girl immediately dashed to the bathroom, locking the door before throwing off her clothes and slipping into some comfortable, baggy beige bottoms and a simple white cami top, removing all jewellery but her nose ring. Once she was done, she stepped back into the room, leaving her clothes sprawled on the bed on the leftmost side of the room, the same bed she claimed as soon as she had entered the hotel room.

"I'm done," she announced as she headed straight for the balcony, unseen by her travel partner who was occupied retrieving a bottle of cold water from the fridge and gulping it down, before heading into the bathroom to change into grey bottoms and a white vest. 

After he had changed, Kyoya made his way back into the room and instantly spotted Kiara leaning against the glass walls of the balcony, staring down at the bustling city below as her long brown hair flowed gently in the cool breeze. He gazed softly at the sight in front of him, a slight smile forming on his face. Why was he smiling? He had no idea. In fact, he was completely unaware that such an expression had even crept up onto his face. Did he like her? No. Impossible. At least that was what he told himself when he finally realised that he was staring at his travel partner, his eyes frantically searching for something other than her to look at. Sure, he wasn't the kindest person towards her, but he was never truly kind to anyone so it didn't make a difference here. However, something about her had had an effect on him, but again, he was oblivious to it all. 

Soon enough, the boy's ice-blue eyes made their way back to the girl before noticing something on her right arm. He took a few steps towards her, and studied her carefully, inspecting what he had now identified to be a large scar that began somewhere on her back and ended at the middle of her upper arm. Kyoya finally made his way outside, gently placing his hand on Kiara's arm, unexpectedly ending the short moment she spent under the warm rays of the brilliant sun.

"What's this?" he asked, his voice soft yet laced with concern. Kiara's golden eyes shot open, her gaze focused on her arm as she flinched at Kyoya's touch, her body moving away from the boy, causing him to retract his arm and let it fall beside him.

"It's a scar," she whispered, her fragile voice noticed by the boy. She paused momentarily before continuing, answering the question that had not yet escaped his lips. "It's from a fire. The one that killed my parents... and Haru." Kiara's gaze shifted to the setting sun above, shielding her expression from her travel partner, as she began reminiscing about the time she spent with her younger brother Haru. She was unable to explain how much she missed both him and her parents, and just how strong her desire to turn back time was just to be able to be with them again. Tears escaped her eyes as she thought back to the days that she and Tsubasa would entertain Haru, telling him silly jokes and earning the sweetest, most adorable giggles from the baby.

"Kiara..." Kyoya muttered, his ocean-blue eyes fixated on the girl. He was ignored as she walked inside, shutting the door behind her, and retreating under her covers in order to fall asleep and escape her traumatising memories. 

The boy could do nothing but watch Kiara as her emotions overcame her, his expression softening as he witnessed the vulnerable state she was in, something he'd only seen once before. He turned back to face the setting sun, the golden glow illuminating his features and causing his azure eyes to glimmer. Kyoya became lost in his thoughts, wondering what to do in order to cheer the girl up, his mind clouded with a myriad of things they could do for the fraction of the day that remained. His eyes suddenly widened in realisation after noticing a small stream not far from where they were staying. A walk by the river at sunset, he concluded. She loves that shit. Kyoya rushed inside, closing the balcony door, calling the girl's name a couple times before making his way to her bed, crouching beside it and gently lifting the blanket from her head.

"Kiara?"

Upon uncovering her face, Kyoya was instantly met with Kiara's peaceful expression as she slept, her head resting on her hand, her long dark brown locks covering her features. The boy gently brushed the hairs away from her face and tucked them behind her ears, gazing at her, a faint smile forming on his face. Unbeknownst to Kyoya, his hand remained on the girl's cheek for a short while, the green-haired blader only realising and moving it once she had begun to stir in her sleep. How long have I been here? he questioned himself. 

He immediately stood back up only to be met with the sun disappearing into the horizon and the darkening sky unveiling its hidden stars, the moon glowing iridescently as it succeeded the sun, lighting up the world beneath. For fuck's sake, Kyoya sighed, making his way to the other bed in the room and lying down, looking up at the ceiling with his hands behind his head. How many times am I going to catch myself staring at her? The boy continued to question his strange actions for a short while, constantly tossing and turning in his bed before finally falling asleep after he concluded that it would be a waste of time to ponder on such things.

Kiara suddenly awoke in a cold sweat, gasping for air as she placed her hand on her chest to calm herself down. It was just another fucking nightmare, she internally concluded, taking deep breaths in and exhaling. Looking over to her right, she noticed Kyoya asleep, his usually wild expression seeming tamed and peaceful. At least he's getting good sleep, she smiled to herself. She then began searching for a clock, finding it hanging on the wall seconds later. 2am? Great. I barely got enough sleep. As usual.

Kiara made her way to the balcony, sliding the door open gently so as not to wake her sleeping travel partner, and stepped foot onto the cold tiles which momentarily sent shivers up her spine. Gently closing the door behind her, she walked over to one of the two chairs that were situated on either side of the balcony, and seated herself on the rightmost.

The moon's radiant pearly shine illuminated the city below, its silver rays reflecting off of the glass windows on the tall buildings that towered over the city. Stars twinkled brightly above Kiara's head, decorating the sky above, a sight she always treasured no matter how often she was able to witness it. The gentle breeze swayed her soft hair towards her left, getting in the way of her golden eyes, causing her to gently tuck the dark brown strands behind her ears.

For Kiara, right now, being awake felt much more peaceful than being asleep. She decided that she'd rather spend the entire night on this balcony, gazing at the wondrous beauty of nature, and feeling both inner and outer peace, than sleep and encounter those horrifying experiences once again. Of course she was tired, she hadn't gotten much sleep at all, but she knew that she had to force herself awake if she wanted to escape her fears. A few moments passed before the girl began singing the lyrics to her favourite song, her voice quiet yet angelic and harmonious.

Meanwhile, Kyoya stirred in his sleep, opening his eyes in order to briefly check the time, which he concluded was 2:30am. He began to readjust his position in bed when he heard the sweetest melody being sung by his travel partner, her voice soothing to his ears and calming to his soul. Ah, she's singing again, he thought, smiling slightly as he propped himself up on the bed, making himself comfortable. The girl sang, just not as often as Kyoya himself would've liked, so he made sure to savour it every time he had the chance. But why is she awake? he soon wondered. Is she okay? He decided to wait until she had stopped singing before he tried to speak to her and find out what had woken her up at a time like this.

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the rest of chapter 16 is available on wattpad:

[crystalninjaphoenix]

MerMay 2021 Day Two The Abandoned Ruins

When down this far deep, there was no natural light, as sunlight couldn’t pierce the water. Swimmers would have to bring their own illumination. Fortunately, Jackie had just the thing. A lantern. It must have been magical in make, because he wasn’t sure how the small white stone in the center of the metal sphere was able to turn on and off when he twisted the key. He’d found it in Jack’s lagoon, who apparently kept it for explorations into dark areas. It didn’t look like it had been used that often, though. The metal bars were rusty, as was the loop of chain one could use to hold it. But it still shone brightly.

Jackie wasn’t sure how close he was getting to his destination. He just kept going down, down, down through the open water. Not many landmarks to go by; hopefully he wasn’t lost.

As he turns out, he was not. This became evident when the lantern light shone on a tall stone spire. Unfortunately he wasn’t exactly paying attention, so he almost ran right into it before coming to his senses and dodging around it. “Oh my gods!” he gasped, but quickly recovered. This was it, wasn’t it?

Swimming along the side of the spire, he soon reached the ocean floor. By now, he guessed he was about six thousand feet below the surface, maybe sixty-five hundred, and it was pretty chilly. But still habitable, for most merms. As evident by the structures he’d now found.

The lantern light was now shining on a smaller spire, about ten feet tall and much narrower, except for a bowl-shaped bit at the top. Jackie swam up to this pole, peering into the concave alcove. He reached inside and poked something soft and squishy.

The squishy thing began to move, tendrils unfurling into the water. They started to light up, glowing red, and revealed the squishy thing to be a plant of some sort. Soon after the plant was fully unfurled, similar dots of light began to appear all around, in shades from yellow to orange to red. And slowly, the structures were lit up.

It was a city.

The buildings were all made of stone, surprisingly brightly colored. Red stone, yellow stone, green, blue, purple, gray, white. They extended upwards for a few hundred feet, most of the taller ones being narrow spires like the one Jackie had almost run into. Even the smaller ones were still over a hundred feet tall, and they usually had a narrow, but strangely lumpy, design, as if the rooms had been piled on top of one another. In the distance, Jackie could make out several perfect domes, which were probably in the center of the city. All the buildings had open entrances all across their surface, even on their ceilings.

Jackie made a low whistling sound, impressed at the vast extent. Chase told him that human cities tended to have square buildings, made of metal and glass, which were shorter but covered a lot more area. Jackie wondered if he’d ever have the opportunity to see one, and compare it to this.

He started swimming once again, staying close to the ocean floor. Another thing Chase had told him about human cities was the idea of “streets:” designated paths for humans to walk and drive on. Merm cities didn’t have any of those; after all, if someone was in your way, you could just swim around them in any direction. Each building did have an area of clear ocean floor around it, but these spaces were not orderly like streets. So he ended up winding and twisting around instead of heading in a straight line towards the center. 

More of those stone poles poked up from the ocean floor, each one holding one of those strange glowing plants. Similar structures dotted the sides of buildings, as well. But the plants weren’t just contained to these poles. They also covered the walls and ocean floor, and any other available surface. These plants must have been created by merms, either through magic or breeding or some combination. That would explain why they lit up when poked, and why they all did so once just one was. Not to mention how they were growing this far down, with no light. But with no merms here to take care of them, they went wild, spreading beyond their designated beds.

Curious, Jackie poked his head into one of the buildings through an entrance. The room beyond was empty, of course. It had two other rooms connected to it, which were the same. But strangely, one of those rooms had some sort of design on its walls. A mosaic, made of tiny bits of sea glass. Shining the light from the lantern onto it, Jackie found it was quite beautiful, if a bit abstract. He wondered who made it, and why.

As he swam towards the center, he looked into a few other buildings as well. Some were similarly designed to the first one, with each entrance leading to a series of rooms. Others were entirely hollow, or divided up into stories. The glowing plants were everywhere, though it was doubtful that they were meant to be. And all the buildings were empty. Shells without any furniture or personal artefacts. Rarely one had some decoration, like the mosaic, or a sculpture attached to the floor. But mostly, it was just hollow stone.

Finally, Jackie reached the domes in the middle of the city. The one in the very center was dotted with large entrances, its walls decorated with sea glass. Jackie swam in through the side, finding it was entirely hollow, but significantly more furnished than any other building. Stone disks, slightly curved like shallow bowls, jutted out from the sides and sat on top of stone pillars. They covered three-fourths of the dome’s area, surrounding another platform in the center. This was stone as well, but fashioned to look like an open clam. There was also a raised stone disk on the floor in front of this clam-shaped platform.

What was this place for? It must have been important, but Jackie couldn’t guess what its purpose was. He swam up to the clam platform, running his fingers along the edge of it. Maybe these were places to rest, and some sort of cushions were supposed to be inside all these stone structures. Well, there weren’t any cushions anymore, but there might have been once.

Jackie swam into the clam, settling down on the bottom. There was a small hook on the edge of the stone, made of terribly rusted metal. He tried to hang the lantern from it, but it broke off immediately, so he just sat it down nearby. Now with both hands free, he opened the bag he’d brought along. Inside were just three things: a list, a map and a stylus.

The list was titled “Future Explorations.” It had a series of entries, about half of them crossed off. The first one that wasn’t crossed off read Lydia (historian) says monarchy era city at 567 345 2.1 Narrow Ocean. See? The entire list was written in Jack’s handwriting.

Jackie smiled a bit, then checked the map. If he was reading this correctly, he was currently at the location listed. He picked up the stylus and made a little dot there, labelling it and therefore adding it to the multitude of other dots on the map, each marking a location Jack had discovered.

So this was what it was like being an explorer. Jackie could see why this was Jack’s occupation of choice. Though the wandering did feel a little aimless to him. He preferred going to places with a purpose besides just “ooo what’s here?” but honestly, he could see the appeal of it. When Jack woke up, maybe he’d show him this city, go with him. They’d do some exploring together.

Packing the list, map, and stylus back into the bag, Jackie grabbed the lantern and took off, leaving the dome through one of the entrances in the ceiling. From there, he kept heading upward. More to see, more to do.

[fae-redux]

im stuck on you

S: People usually find their soulmate by following their heart (the closer you are to your soulmate, the warmer you’ll feel). Remus has been pining for so long, he doesn’t know how to handle himself.

P: dukeceit

happy birthday, @littlemisschameleon!! it’s corona and i can’t give you a physical present so have some dukeceit soulmate au!! i hope you like it :D (here’s an ao3 link if yall like that formatting better)

***

Remus sends the letter because Roman’s teacher thinks a penpal will help him learn English. Also, because Roman thinks it’s stranger danger and won’t. 

If he gets kidnapped, at least there’s a chance for his heart to feel warmer whichever direction his kidnapper goes. Fact remains, he’s freezing and bored and he’d do pretty much anything to not be.

He neglects to say that in the letter. 

His penpal instead receives the gift of approximately two full pages of fun facts about different species of mushrooms and how fast they can decay different animals. It’s pretty well written, if he says so himself, and it’s all in English because he’s polite, not because it has to be.

Any who, Ms. Andrea says she’s not going to read the letters before they’re sent, and Roman is only required to send one at a time, so Remus signs it with his own name and lets it go.

He doesn’t expect the letter he gets back to be so nice.

His penpal’s name is Janus and he doesn’t like to eat mushrooms unless they’re in fried rice, but he loves how mushrooms look.

There are little mushroom doodles that line the bottom, along with a few snakes, which Janus goes on to say is because they’re his favorite animal because of the way they unhinge their jaws.

Remus has never wished to be in the same school as someone more.

***

The next letter they write to each other includes their emails, and Remus takes full advantage of it to send Janus all the deadliest snakes he’s found out about in the library, and includes a pain scale with human accounts of getting bitten.

Janus sends back a heart and fun facts about the deadliest octopi in the ocean. 

He feels his heart get slightly warmer when he hugs the monitor, and when he loudly proclaims he found his soulmate, he gets a laugh from Roman.

He asks him what his plan is here, and Remus tells him to shut his fuck and keep his nose out of it if he doesn’t want to get smacked.

***

When they’re old enough to have phones, they exchange cell numbers, and Remus gets daily updates instead of sporadic emails.

He finds out that Janus likes to dress a little more on the punk side and that he wants a million tattoos as soon as he’s old enough. Janus tells him about foster homes and how he thinks he might be sticking with one of the other kids he met who is a little older than him, but is sort of like him. 

Janus is smart, smarter than anyone he’s ever met in real life, and he wants to go to law school because he knows he can talk his way out of hell if the devil asked him to try, and Remus is inclined to believe he could do it if he wanted to. He thinks through all his words, his every movement, ten times before he follows through, unlike Remus’ zero-thought policy.

He learns that Janus likes boys, but there aren’t really other people in his hometown like him, and that he wants to study in a big city someday so he’s not so alone. 

He learns that Janus wants to keep talking to him forever, or at least that’s what he tells him.

Remus in turn tells him about his brother, and their origin story. He tells him about how everyone else just seemed to have grown out of curiosity and how he feels out of touch with other people his age sometimes. 

There’s still a part of him that feels like he’s been touching all the stars in the sky, but none of them have set his orbit quite right, leaving him drifting endlessly.

He tells him that he might like boys too, but he doesn’t really want to tell his mom because she already rags on him for everything else, like wanting to go to art school and his knife collection and how he’ll never meet his soulmate with an attitude like his. 

He doesn’t tell him about the small seed of doubt in the back of his head that Janus won’t want to stay if he ever meets him in real life. 

He tells him he wants to keep talking forever too.

***

They don’t ever talk about meeting in person. For the first time in their lives, they’re in the same city, but every time he goes to bring it up, seeing a picture of Janus in the financial district, or near his favorite Starbucks, something makes him hesitate. 

Remus wants it so bad, it feels like all the air in his lungs isn’t real sometimes, or like something cut up his insides then spooned all the pieces out to replace them with ice. Still, the thought lingers in the back of his mind that Janus hasn’t suggested it for a reason. 

They still talk all the time though, whether it's to rant about professors, or homework, or siblings, or just about something they saw recently.

Janus tends to hyperfocus on cases he works on in his internship sometimes, and when he’s allowed, he tells Remus all the gory details and grins when he revels in the fun, while also giving valuable insight that contributes to his defense.

Remus in turn sends him the paintings that don’t involve Janus’ face and stupid selfies he takes at random food carts around school that are rumored to give you instant food poisoning. 

He makes sure to send progress updates on the projects he really feels good about and sends him updates on Roman and his new trends, whether they be six second dance videos or random quotes he’s said to him of varying hilarity based on how stupid they are.

The longer he lives in the city, the more Remus knows his heart feels warmer. He’s been feeling it since the start of the semester, but he hasn’t said anything yet, at least not to Janus. Roman is free game, though:

“Roman, I swear to everything fuckable within a ten mile radius, he probably goes to the same college as me,” Remus groans, his feet propped up on the back of the couch as he lies upside down. “I get warmer every time I go to campus.”

“There’s a million colleges in New York, so he really might not be,” Roman says reasonably, doing his eyeliner in the hall mirror. “Besides, he’s pre-law, right? There’s no way.”

“You’re just being uppity because you fricking met your soulmate on campus,” He responds grumbling.

“You’re right, I am. My soulmate’s a genius and I am very lucky to have met him when I did,” His twin’s pride infects the room, and he throws one Roman’s unnecessary couch pillows at him. “If you make me screw up my eyeliner, I’m going to run you through with one of your stupid wall-katanas.”

“They aren’t stupid, and I’m never going to see him face to face at this rate, so you might as well,” he snipes back, his purely decorative wall-mounted katanas be damned.

Roman raises an eyebrow, as if his mocking will affect Remus at all, “I’ll be back in like three hours, then you can mope your heart out, okay?”

He gathers his things from the hall table as Remus yells at his retreating back, “I don’t mope, I’m not you!”

“No, you’re not, and that’s why you don’t have a hot date tonight!” he hears as the door shuts.

He wishes he kept the pillow to suffocate himself with.

***

When Roman knocks on Virgil’s door, he doesn’t expect the person who answers the door to be so familiar, and he’s sure the answering party doesn’t expect him either.

“I thought-Sorry, I thought my roommate’s soulmate was coming over,” Janus says, a flash of recognition in his eyes, completely stunned in a way Roman has never heard while listening in on his brother’s phone calls. 

“Yeah, no, I’m here for Virgil. Janus, right?” And at the immediately suspicious look goes, “Oh, for fuck’s sake, you send my brother at least five selfies a week, and he agonizes over your beauty for ages after every single one, you have to know I would recognize you on sight.”

“....Roman?” he asks, like he doesn’t actually know what was going to leave his mouth when he said it.

“That would be me,” Roman just goes for the back of his neck, before wincing at the Remus-like gesture. “So, uh, Virgil?”

“Yeah, yes!” Janus opens the door fully so fast, Roman almost expects him to run himself over, “Do come in. Would you like anything while you wait? Water? Tea?”

“Nah, I’m good,” Janus hovers for a moment like he’s going to say something, but bites his lip instead, “Want to know how my brother is doing?”

He shifts elegantly, though his chains rattle, making the adjustment more obvious, “Of course not, what do you take me for?”

“A liar, you definitely want to know how he’s doing. Well, you’ll be happy to know he lives fifteen minutes away,” Roman grins, “And he’s home alone right now, pouting about wanting to see you, if you wanna go over.”

“It would be rude to leave you unattended in my home,” Janus replies, his voice strangled. “Arrangements can be made to get Virgil to hurry up.”

Leaving the room in a swift movement of leather and metal, Janus nearly vaults the couch in his haste. Roman can hear him yelling at Virgil to “Hurry up, you nasty, spider-pet keeping bitch,” and his soulmate’s yells to “Get out of my room, you tattooed skank!” Then an offended gasp, “How dare you?” and the snarling response, “You barge into my space and-”

“You hooked up with my soulmate’s brother-”

”Who is my soulmate, idiot!”

“Would you just-”

“Fine!”

“Fine!”

Janus leaves the room and, in Roman’s line of sight, straightens his shirt as if he’d just been in some sort of scuffle. “Virgil will be out shortly, if you wouldn’t mind giving me the address.”

“You two are going to be related if you marry my brother, you know?” Roman grins as he puts the address into Janus’ phone.

He takes the phone back and rolls his eyes, “We were fostered by the same family. We really can’t get any closer, but I’ll keep that in mind.”

“We were adopted by the same person, Jan, why do you always conveniently leave that part out?” Virgil grumbles as he enters the room. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, and be safe.”

Janus sniffs turning up his nose, “I’m going to get violently murdered before I even make it there,”

“Don’t test me, I will put off this date,” he pushes Janus’ head forward so he can’t look up at them. “Be safe, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Janus mumbles, fixing his hat and his chained belt, “Do I look okay?”

“My brother is a trash rat,” Roman responds, louder than he means to, “You will look like a model next to him and you will constantly get questioned as to why you’re in a five foot radius of him.”

“So, good?”

“Fantastic,” Roman confirms. “Now have fun.”

Janus double checks his pockets for his phone and his wallet, and then he books it in the direction of the twins’ apartment.

***

For the first time since he moved in, Remus feels himself getting warmer by the second. It’s not as though he’s moved from his spot going over every single thing that could currently be going wrong at Roman’s date, but somehow, his heart is pounding like he has.

“What do you see?” He asks it, vaguely aware it can’t actually respond. Either his soulmate just figured out where he lives, or there is something extremely important happening in the city.

Picking up his phone to check, it lights up with a text from Roman reading ‘Sending a pick-me-up your way,’ but he has no idea what it means.

After two minutes of constant heat, he searches for major events happening nearby. Nothing.

Five more minutes pass, and he thinks he might die young to a heart attack.

There’s a knock on the door.

His self preservation instincts must be completely nonexistent at this point because he yanks the door open with a knife in his hand and freezes. There, right in front of him, is Janus, who he thought he’d never see, and who was always too good for him, and yet, perfect for him in every way and, “I could have accidentally killed you with one of my many wall-hung weapons because you didn’t knock like Roman,” and that is the first thing he chooses to say to his soulmate.

“I wouldn’t have appreciated the trip to the hospital after I just sprinted over half a mile to see you,” he pants a little, “I know we didn’t talk about it, but Roman showed up at my door, and I knew you had to be nearby, and I just-”

Remus yanks him forward into his arms, and sighs in relief as the heat abruptly goes away, “Mr. I-think-everything-through needed to be impulsive, huh?”

“Yes,” Comes the fervent response as he clings to Remus’ body. “I missed you.”

“I thought you didn’t want to meet up. We didn’t even-”

“I know,” And Janus’ mouth brushes his cheek, just barely, because he’s not tall enough to reach, and Remus bends down, and kisses him soundly on the mouth, the feeling running through his body like a new kind of heat and comfort, and it feels like he’s done it a million times, even if it’s the first time.

Breaking apart, he notices they’re just standing in the doorway of his apartment. “Come inside, sweetheart,” He wiggles his eyebrows salaciously, Janus bursting into laughter as he pushes him back. 

“Nope,” He grins fondly, and this is the first day of the rest of their lives, it hits Remus, “I think I’m going to cause problems on purpose.”

“Fair enough, honeybee,” He tugs at the yellow cuffs of Janus’ leather jacket, pressing a kiss to a tattoo at the edge of his hairline, “Want me to carry you? Roman did say he was sending a pick-me-up, and I can definitely pick you up.”

He’s giggling, Remus delights as he scoops him up, kicking the door shut behind them, “If you call me one more pet name, I will combust, and you will have no soulmate to be with, is that what you want?”

And he says what he wants to say, because Janus has never once cared about the shit that leaves his mouth, “Biscuit, I’ve waited so long to see you, even death couldn’t keep me away from holding you.”

Janus pushes into him and kisses him again, putting a hand in his hair, tugging slightly to get the angle he wants, “I wouldn’t want it to,” Then after another kiss, “Love you.”

Remus sighs into his mouth, his world aligning so he could be the orbit to Janus’ sun, the whole system correcting itself. “Yeah,” He holds him just a little bit tighter, “Love you, too.”

[jobean12-blog]

I absolutely love your fics and was wondering if I could request a smutty fic with beefy Bucky and a baker/cake decorator reader? Thank you💋

Sweet Spot

Pairing: Bucky x reader (Bucky of the beefy variety ;)

Word Count: 1,625

Summary: You are working on perfecting your chocolate cake recipe and Bucky requests a private lesson because he likes it so much. 

Author’s Note: Thank you so very much sweets @amisutcliff I really appreciate that and I’m so glad you’re enjoying them! I have to admit, baking is a fav hobby of mine so this was such a fun request! I hope you love it! Thank you all for reading! Much love ❤❤❤

Warnings: Fluffy sweetness, chocolately goodness, SMUT, oral (fem receiving), fingering, sex with Bucky (always a warning because duh!) 18+ only please! 

The chime of the bell over the door brought your attention to your favorite sight, ocean blue eyes framed by chocolate brown locks that hang over broad shoulders. You would never tire of it, Bucky’s smile lighting up his whole face when his eyes land on you.

The early morning rush had just begun to die down and you were checking out your last patron as Bucky made his way over to the counter. “Have a great day, see you tomorrow!” you say to one of your regulars as you wave goodbye.  Bucky reaches his hand over to yours, a gentle squeeze as he leans over the counter to plant a sweet kiss to your lips. “Morning doll, how’s it going?”

“Morning baby, good thanks, I think the rush is finally over,” you reply, smiling up at him. “So, what’s in my goodie bag today?” You give him a sly smile, bending down to grab a small brown bag from under the counter. “Well, it’s my new chocolate cake recipe. I think I finally perfected it, but I’ll need a professional opinion.”

His eyes crinkle at the corners as he excitedly grabs the bag and opens it to look inside. “Wow, that LOOKS really good, I bet it tastes amazing.” You let out a small squeal of happiness, “I hope so, let me know as soon as you eat it.” With one more kiss and a sexy wink he says goodbye and heads out, the small bag clutched in his large hand.

The rest of the morning keeps you busy, between the brunch rush and decorating your cakes you don’t even realize it’s after lunch until your phone pings with a text from Bucky. Wiping your hands on your apron you search for your phone, finally finding it under a piping bag. Your smile widens as you read Bucky’s text, ‘doll, this cake is so delicious, I ate it in about 3 bites. Moist, super chocolatey and that gooey stuff in the middle was crazy good!’

As you’re replying with a thank you, you notice the text bubble pop up, ‘in fact it’s so good, I think you should teach me how to make it, a private lesson.’ Your cheeks heat at his suggestion, knowing full well the lustful tone he would have said it in. ‘I can definitely help you with that…meet me after hours and I’ll show you my skills.’

His reply is almost immediate, ‘I can’t wait, I’m dying for another taste…’ Your body trembles with anticipation as you try to focus and type back a reply, ‘I’ll have plenty for you to taste, see you later, baby.’ You set your phone down, looking up to find your good friend Wanda giving you a sly look. “I came in for a piece of that cake Bucky has been raving about.”

Shaking yourself from your dirty thoughts you greet her, “hey Wanda, yea, no problem, I hope you like it too.” Grabbing a to-go container you cut her a large slice, “here you go, I’m excited to hear what you think!” She looks around the bakery, seeing that no one is approaching the counter and asks, “can I try it now?” You smile wide, “yes!” with a happy clap of your hands.

She takes a bite and makes an appreciative sound, “this is amazing, y/n! Bucky wasn’t kidding!” You run around the counter to give her a hug, thanking her again and sending her home with an extra piece. You spend the rest of the day working on your cake decorations and seeing to customers, the very last one of the day leaving with the very last piece of chocolate cake.

You put the ‘closed’ sign on the door and begin straightening up as you wait for Bucky. You don’t have to wait long as you hear a soft tap on the glass, Bucky’s face smooshed to the window as he waves. Running over you unlock the door and let him in and before you have a chance to get the word hello out, he has you pressed against the door, his lips on yours.

He finally pulls away to take a breath, “sorry, I’ve been missing you all day,” he says, voice husky. You grab his shirt and pull him back down to your mouth, your kiss desperate as you feel the hardness in his jeans press against your stomach.

“Bucky, the cake…” you whisper against his mouth. Nibbling on your bottom lip he moans, resting his forehead to yours, “ok, baby, let’s make this cake before I eat you instead.” Taking his hand in yours you pull him toward the back, motioning to all the ingredients and tools you have ready, “let’s bake!”

Bucky ties on his apron, his eyes dark as he watches you move around the kitchen, “you look so sexy,” he says, voice low. “I’m covered in flour and I smell like butter,” you retort with sass. “Exactly, doll, delicious.” You give him a look to try and hide how much he is affecting you. You’re not sure you’re going to last through baking either.

Somehow you fall into an easy rhythm, Bucky playing the role of sous chef perfectly. After getting the cake batter mixed and into the cake pans you look at the batter left on your fingers, bringing one up to Bucky’s lips, “want a lick?”

Dark eyes never leaving yours, he takes you finger into his mouth, sucking along the length and licking all the batter off. He releases it with a moan, grabbing the next one and doing the same. Once he’s licked every finger clean, he dips his own finger into the batter, bringing it to your lips and gently parting them. You moan around the thick digit, sucking on it a little longer than necessary before popping it from your mouth.

“Fucking tasty, baby,” Bucky growls, rubbing his hard on against you. “Let’s get this cake in the oven and set the timer,” you hum, then we can figure out what to do while we wait for it to bake…” You saunter over to the oven, bending down to place it inside, knowing full well his eyes are locked on your form.

His hands are on your waist before you can make it back to the table, hoisting you up and sitting you atop the messy counter. “Bucky, there’s flour and eggs everywhere!” you giggle, holding onto his forearms as he moves between your legs. “I don’t give a shit; I’ve been thinking about burying my cock inside you all day.”

Untying your apron, he throws it to the floor then lifts your shirt above your head. His large hands palm your breasts, squeezing and kneading the soft flesh as you melt under his touch. Deftly unclasping your bra, he brings his warm mouth down and wraps it around your nipple. “Too many clothes, Bucky,” you whine, pulling at his shirt and jeans.

He quickly pulls his shirt over his head and unzips his jeans, his metal hand running up your thigh to hook into your leggings. In one swift motion he rips them from your body, revealing your pink lace underwear, “these are almost as pretty as what’s underneath,” he says as he slowly drags them down your legs.

Bucky’s mouth meets yours just as his fingers glide over your wet folds. Biting down on your bottom lip he thrusts two fingers inside you. You gasp as your pussy clenches around his fingers, your arms tightening around his neck, “feels so good, Bucky.”

“Just wait ‘til I get my mouth on you, baby,” he croons, pumping his fingers faster. He kisses down your chest, kneeling between your legs and bringing his mouth down to your pussy. His tongue slides through your folds before sucking gently on your clit, his metal fingers curling inside you.

With a few more pumps of his fingers and flicks of his tongue you cum, his lips and jaw coated in your wetness as he stands to kiss you. Moaning at the taste you palm him through his boxers, rubbing along his thick cock, “please, Bucky, fuck me.”

His lips are still on yours when he pulls his boxers down, lining himself up and sinking in slowly. Bucky stills for a moment, the throb of his cock making you shove your hips forward. “Bucky,” you whine wantonly, “move.”

His next thrust is hard enough to send a bowl crashing to the floor, neither of you caring as he sets a relentless pace, your ass sliding along the table every push of his hips.  You bite down on his neck, making him growl into your skin, “you feel fucking incredible baby.” Bucky’s metal hand reaches between your bodies, vigorously rubbing your clit until you come undone with loud scream.

Your walls tighten around his thick cock and with a few more hard thrusts you feel him pulse inside you as he cums. You run your hands down his sweat slicked chest, teasing your fingers over his abs while you watch them flex under your touch.

Just as he leans down to kiss you the timer goes off, beeping loudly in the quiet space. “Talk about good timing,” he laughs. “Mmmmm perfect,” you sigh, looking down as he pulls out of you. Your inner thighs are wet with your arousal as you watch his cum drip down your leg.

“Fuck me, doll, if that isn’t the most beautiful sight.” You carefully slide off the table into Bucky’s arms, “I thought I was the most beautiful,” you tease, standing on your tippy toes to wrap your arms around his neck. “That’s a given, baby, now let’s get that cake out of the oven, I’m ready for my second dessert.”

@aesthetical-bucky @book-dragon-13 @chuuulip @eurynome827 @hiddles-rose @itsunclebucky @ikaris-whore @jhangelface0523 @jewelofwinter @jewels2876 @loricameback @littleredstarfish @littledarlinhavefaithinme @mushyjellybeans @marvelgirl7 @marvelandotherfandomimagines @nano–raptor @nerdypinupcrystal @hailmary-yramliah @randomfandompenguin @sallycanwait68 @softpeachbarnes @sebastiansloserclub @when-the-hell-is-bucky @nano--raptor