#it couldn’t work out for us anyway because of the circumstances we met under sob sob

[mammaryjamboree]

I’m going to be so heartbroken when I have to stop speaking with my crush, so I just wanna let it out here while I can, Alexa play your best American girl by mitski

[chudleycanonficfest]

The Soul Truth

Day 2, Story #1 is by @honouraryweasley12

Title: The Soul Truth

Author: honouraryweasley12

Pairing: Ron x Hermione

Prompt: Soulmates

Rating: K+

TW: none

The ornate doors slid open and Hermione stepped out of the lift, her shoes clacking on the stone floor as she walked forward, head held high but movements stiff. She quickly found that it was best to give off a strong, confident air as she met with various ministries in her new capacity. 

She hadn't been in this part of the Ministry often and it was quite unfamiliar to her. All the more reason to keep her guard up.

"Greetings, Minister Granger-Weasley. Congratulations on your victory."

A wizened old man in heavy, dark robes welcomed her, limping forward and holding out a shaky gnarled hand. She took it and met his eyes, which were still sharp—despite his advanced age. A playful twinkle shone out from them, reminding her immediately of Dumbledore.

"Thank you."

He gave her a smile. "Welcome to Archive floor of the Department of Mysteries."

She looked around the cavernous space, taking everything in. She could practically feel the hum of ancient magic reverberating around the walls.

"And you are?"

"I am the Archivist."

"Oh, I meant your name."

He chuckled. "We don't use our given names in this department, just our titles. There is great power in names, as you no doubt know, and we don't want that to interfere with the work we are doing here."

"What should I call you?"

He thought for a moment, before looking up at her. "For today, you can call me… Dave."

She immediately relaxed and shook her head, her face incredulous. "Why Dave?"

"Ah, you see, the power of names. By picking something so simple and informal, your posture and tone changed completely. Had I picked something more formal, you would have responded in kind."

She smiled, immediately taking a liking to the mysterious old man. "Lead the way, Dave. I was told I would be receiving the grand tour."

The two walked slowly through the vast archives, the various rooms and chambers full of different experiments, mystical objects, and parchments.

"Where is everyone?" Hermione stopped to ask, noticing that they hadn't seen a single person, Unspeakable or otherwise, as she was shown around.

"Some of our greatest breakthroughs happen in the early morning or late evening. We encourage our members to work when it best suits them." He squinted at a battered gold watch that seemed to weigh heavily on his wrist. "Yes, 3:00 PM is usually the quietest time of the day down here."

"I see. I do some of my best work at odd times as well."

He nodded sagely. "The quiet mind is often the clearest."

They continued touring through, until they came to a small door tucked behind several suits of armour. It was so old and dark that Hermione wouldn't have even noticed it, had Dave not mentioned it.

"Most Ministers of Magic I've worked with seem to be worried about other objects down here that might help them, but I have something interesting which I think you'll appreciate."

He fished out a small key from within the folds in his robes and turned it in the lock. The heavy door creaked open to reveal a closet-sized space with a single pedestal. On top of it sat a thin, aged book.

"It's my understanding that you are an avid reader, Minister."

"Yes, how did you know?"

"It's my job to know," he added gravely, watching her eyes narrow. He waved his hand dismissively, grinning again. "No, no, I'm only joking. I happened to share a lift with Auror Weasley one Monday morning, and while I didn't mean to eavesdrop, he was complaining quite loudly to Auror Potter that he missed you, because you had your nose stuck in a book all weekend. I mean no offense, of course."

She blushed and rolled her eyes affectionately. "That sounds like Ron alright."

"That's why I thought this might be of interest to you," he continued, gesturing to the pedestal.

She couldn't help but be intrigued as she stared down at the frail old book, her voice dipping down to a whisper of reverence. "What is it?"

"It's called The Book of Souls—though it's just a single parchment. Yet, it's the most dangerous object down here."

Hermione stared at it, her face a mask of awe. "How so?"

"Legend has it that the parchment was created by a powerful young witch, who was being courted by a prince. She wasn't sure if he was her soulmate, for she sensed a darkness in him, so she invoked some very ancient magic to help reveal the truth."

"It worked?"

"Indeed, it did. The parchment was charmed to reveal a small note, riddle, and sometimes even a name to the reader, one that would help them understand who their soulmate was. Unfortunately for that witch, her soulmate was most decidedly not the prince. She rejected his proposal, and as was the case back then, disappeared under mysterious circumstances soon after."

"That's terrible. Then what happened?"

"As the story goes, rumour spread about the witch's parchment, and as with most powerful objects, the lure of it drew out many seekers. Though the object was made with good intentions, it soon led to a trail of darkness and bloodshed. Broken families, obsessions, blackmail, jealousy, and even death. Knowing that kind of unshakeable truth proved to be a valuable commodity, or a lifetime of heartbreak for those unable to meet their soulmate."

Hermione nodded. It sounded very much like the Elder Wand, but more subtle and insidious. One thing was puzzling her though. "I've never heard of this before, and I've studied many books about souls, both ancient and dark."

"Once the Ministry recovered it, they deemed it was too dangerous for this information to be out there, so they've removed all known references to it. Those who had known of it died off, and it was forgotten from memory."

"When was this?"

"Centuries ago. However, as Minister, you are privileged to learn certain pieces of information that the general population is not privy to."

"Fascinating," Hermione replied. She watched as he slowly reached a hand toward the weathered book. "Wait! What are you doing?"

"Every so often I check to make sure it's still under the cover, and since we're already in here, I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all. Does… does that mean you've looked at it?"

"Oh no, never. I always look away, as should you."

He lifted the corner for a second, and try as she might, Hermione couldn't help but open her eyes to see a word of blazing red ink, before he shut the cover again. Hermione felt the blood drain from her face, unable to comprehend the word she saw so very briefly.

"No, it couldn't be."

"What was that Minister? Did you say something?"

Hermione shook her head.

"Everything seems to be in order here. Shall we continue?"

Hermione nodded mutely, the word still burned in her thoughts.

~*~

She cancelled the rest of her meetings and went straight home after finishing with Dave, or whatever his real name was, needing time to collect her thoughts. How could she tell Ron, the love of her life, what she had seen?

She sat at their dining table, absentmindedly stirring a soothing cup of tea when he walked in.

"Hermione, I'm home."

He came bounding into the kitchen, a piece of parchment in each hand and a wide smile on his face. "Look, the kids wrote. Hugo promises he's already started studying for O.W.L.s, and Rosie is nervous, but excited, to captain her first match against Ravenclaw next week."

"That's great," she replied, her voice a dull monotone.

"They even said their classmates think it's cool that you were elected as the youngest Minister of Magic in history."

"Hmm."

Ron looked at her and frowned. "What's wrong? Tough day?"

Hermione pulled out the chair next to her and patted it. "Come sit down."

Ron scrutinized her again. "The last time you did that, it was to tell me you were pregnant with Hugo. Are you pregnant?"

She sighed. "No, please just come here, I need to tell you something, and I don't think you're going to like it."

He sat down, unsure of what was coming. She quickly told him about the Archivist, the tour, and the Book of Souls, before swearing him to secrecy.

"You saw something when he lifted the cover, didn't you?"

She nodded sadly. "I saw a word."

"What did it say?"

"I-I don't want to tell you."

"Why not?"

"Because it's not true. Whatever it says, it's not true."

"C'mon Hermione, please tell me."

"It said… Krum."

Ron let out a laugh. "Oh, is that all?"

"What do you mean? Viktor Krum is my soulmate, and that's all you have to say!?"

"What do you want me to say?"

"That you're upset, that you care that I was destined to be with Viktor."

"Destined? We have two beautiful kids, an amazing family, and great careers. I don't care what some ruddy old book says, the charms are probably wonky anyway." He pointed to his chest. "I know that I love you with all of my heart, and you feel the same."

She slid into his lap and threw her arms around his neck. "I do, you know I do… but…but…"

"What?"

She suddenly burst into tears, burying her head in his neck as she sobbed. "I-I always had this idea in my head that we were real soulmates, if such a thing existed. We met when we were so young, and I've only truly ever loved you. I know it's silly, but I hate that it's not true. I didn't even like Viktor that much."

Ron ran his fingers through her hair and rubbed her back comfortingly. "Maybe it was a mistake or something. You said yourself you only saw one word."

Her breathing started calming down. "I-I suppose that's true."

"We know what happens when a charm or prophecy is misinterpreted."

She sniffled. "It would be nice to know."

Ron gave her a squeeze. "Maybe we should sneak in there tomorrow and take a look."

"We can't just sneak in there! I'm the Minister of Magic! Besides, there was a key to get into the room. I don't know how we're going to get it from the Archivist."

"You're the Minister of Magic. I'm sure you could come up with some reason to be there."

She gave him a dirty look. "I'm not abusing my position like that."

"I don't mind abusing my position, as you put it. Maybe I can say I'm researching something for a case."

"No, Ron. What if you get in trouble?"

"Who am I going to get in trouble with? Harry? You?"

"That's not the point. We swore we'd never take advantage of our roles for our own gain."

He sighed. "Fine, you're right. Sneaking in it is, then. It'll be like the good old days! A secret mission, breaking into places we have no business being in. An ill-formed plan. It'll be fun."

She smacked him on the arm. "Those days were terrible."

"Aren't you curious though, to find out the truth?"

"Of course I want to know the truth! I don't want to go through the rest of my life thinking Viktor was my soulmate, when it's clearly you."

"As sweet as that is, we clearly only have one choice."

Hermione shook her head. "Fine."

"Good, things like this are much easier when you're agreeable to them," he smirked, nudging her playfully. "You said 3:00 PM was when it was empty, right? Meet me in my office tomorrow at 2:55 PM, and we'll head down there. I'll just tell Harry we're going to a broom closet or something."

"Ron!" Hermione screeched. "You'll do no such thing."

"It's perfectly plausible. It's not like we haven't done that before."

She blushed, unable to count the number of times they'd had fun at the Ministry. "Alright, fine. 2:55PM at your office."

"Good. Now, I'm starving. I'll whip up one of your favourites. I bet I'm a better cook than ol' Vicky. What do Bulgarians even eat?"

"Not funny, Ron."

~*~

The next afternoon, Hermione was found pacing in front of Ron and Harry's office, much to the fear of the recruits who were stationed outside the door. It wasn't often the Minister of Magic would show up unannounced, muttering under their breath.

The door swung open and Ron sauntered out, his lips upturned in a smug smile. Harry's face had gone a shade of green from what he'd just heard from his best mate.

"Hi, er, Hermione," Harry greeted her awkwardly. "You two… um… have fun."

Mortified, Hermione could only return a quick wave before grabbing Ron's arm, hauling him toward the lifts before she was forced into any further interactions with Harry.

"I honestly can't believe you told him we were going to go shag."

"I literally told you I was going to say that."

"I didn't think you actually meant it." She let out an exasperated snort and pinched the bridge of her nose as they entered the lift. "What's the plan?"

"Plan?"

"You are the Head Strategist of the Auror department. Surely you must have thought of something!"

Ron shrugged his shoulders and grinned. "We'll make it up as we go. Seems to work best for us."

"I don't like this one bit."

The ding of the bell signalled they had arrived.

Ron clasped her hand, their fingers entwining. "Let's do this."

The doors opened and they were greeted with utter silence. It was as if the entire floor was abandoned, which it likely was.

They crept forward, trying to make as little noise as possible before finally reaching the same spot she had been the previous day.

Hermione turned the handle of the door, and to her surprise, it was unlocked.

"Hey, look at that!" Ron exclaimed loudly.

"Ron," she hissed. "Keep on the lookout."

He nodded and stood in front of the armour blocking the door, ensuring that Hermione couldn't be seen, in case they were interrupted.

Hermione took a deep breath, her heart pounding. Whatever it said under the cover wouldn't change anything between herself and Ron, but she needed to know for sure.

Her fingers paused for a second, lightly gripping the frail corner, her body tense. She delicately opened the book, the bright red ink bursting into view, almost glowing in the small, dark chamber.

Her greedy eyes flew over the words that were revealed.

"I knew it," she whispered.

Ron suddenly poked his head in. "Everything alright?"

"Perfect. Everything's perfect and wonderful!" Her giddiness couldn't be contained as she closed the ancient text.

"I guess this means you aren't going to chuck me?"

"Never."

"What's it say?"

Her pink cheeks were starting to hurt from her wide grin. "Your soulmate will first love, then hate, a Mr. Viktor Krum."

"That confirms it. See, nothing to worry about."

"Oh Ron, I'm so relieved. I knew it couldn't be true. This whole thing is ridiculous, but I'm still glad to know it's always been you."

Ron nodded. "Me too."

"We should leave before we get caught."

"Not so fast, it's my turn now."

"What?" Hermione asked sharply. "What do you mean?"

He shrugged. "Might as well take a look while I'm here."

Hermione stepped back, biting at her bottom lip—a sure sign of anxiety. "But… but… what if—"

Ron cupped her cheeks in his large hands and gently kissed her. "It doesn't matter what it says, I love you and only you. Trust me."

She nodded, before resuming his place as the lookout.

After a moment, she heard him chuckle and close the door behind him.

Hermione whispered urgently. "What did it say?"

"It said my soulmate will be a nightmare."

Hermione let out the breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. "Thank goodness. I don't think I would've been able to handle it if it wasn't me."

"It's always been you. I thought you'd have learned by now."

"I know, I never should have doubted it."

"Can you imagine if we'd learned this information when we were younger? We might have been able to get together much sooner," Ron remarked.

"Or we'd have made an even bigger mess of things."

"True. It doesn't matter in the end though, does it? We figured it out and we've done pretty damn well for ourselves."

"We have, Ron. I love you."

"Love you, too. We'd better get out of here before someone sees us."

The two quickly retreated to the lift, having successfully completed their mission. A minute after the doors had shut on the snogging couple, an old man slowly made his way toward the chamber and pulled a small key out of his robes, locking the heavy door.

As it's appointed guardian, he had vowed to never look in the book, and he had kept that oath. That didn't mean he couldn't use it's power in other ways. Past Ministers, those inquisitive few who had the intelligence to understand the book's worth, often revealed something in that moment when he checked the parchment, for good or ill. Usually it mattered little to him, but not in this case.

He paused for a moment, before extracting a small glass sphere from the same pocket as the key. A sphere he'd kept with him for many years, since he was a young man working with prophecies in the Department of Mysteries. Knowing Minister Granger-Weasley was coming to take a tour was the perfect opportunity to solve a mystery he'd been researching for the better part of seven decades.

He held it up to the light, the familiar swirls of mist dancing in the globe. He had long since memorized the prophecy, which had been made by a seer almost a hundred years earlier. His colleagues at the time had dismissed it, because like many visions, it was almost impossible to determine what the seer was referring to.

He had kept this one, for it always gave him hope. He never thought he'd actually solve it. Yet here he was, still alive and able to record this last surviving prophecy in the annals of history.

He turned it over in his hands, the glass still unblemished.

"Magic," he whispered, "such a wonderful tool."

He stared at it again, reciting for the last time the fates encompassed within.

"Two soulmates, brown and orange, will form a triangle with black to defeat evil. Through many trials the two will forge a love so strong it will be unbreakable, and their strength will reshape the world."

He let out a final chuckle, his long-held desire now confirmed by the soulmates themselves. He lifted the glass to his lips, his breath fogging up the shiny surface.

"Prophecy fulfilled."

The sphere melted away into nothing, the outcome recorded somewhere else in the archives. He shuffled away back to his office, his eyes sparkling, and his heart lifted with hope.

[datsrightbby]

Marko + David (TLB) x Fem!Reader

Insatiable Habits

Warnings: NSFW/Smut, cursing, voyeurism, threesome

It had started off as subtle teasing at first, the kinda stuff that made you blush. Like, a gloved hand skimming your thigh and creating shapes across the exposed skin, or a lingering kiss on your neck, and the occasional whisper in your ear that had you burning crimson red and burying your face into the crook of his neck. It was the minute his palm went that bit higher on your thigh, the minute his thumb ghosted over your clothed crotch, did you start feeling flustered to the point of rubbing your legs together in need of friction. 

Not often did you and the boys stay back at the cave the whole night, but tonight was one of those rare occurrences when all of you were content staying in. David took full opportunity, of course, and kept you on his lap. The night had just begun to seep into early hours of the morning, which reminded you -

"Don't you guys need...food?" It's not as though you were ignorant to the fact of what they were, it was more so you'd refused to fully wrap your head around the idea that the four guys you met, one now your boyfriend and mate, were violent in any way. Though if you could avoid talking about it, or thinking about it for that matter, then you'd be okay. 

"Dude, I’m starving -" 

" - Yeah we should leave before the sun starts coming up." Marko remarked, putting down his sketch book and standing up to tug his discarded jacket on. You went to move off David, but his hand on your hip kept you in place on top of him, the subtle gesture telling you that he planned on staying with you. The boys gave you both a once over as they headed toward the stairs, smirks decorating their features at the sight. 

"Guess David's passing up tonight for some other kinda food." Paul hollered and Dwayne sent you a wink, which internally made you roll your eyes, but you grinned back at them anyway. Marko had hestitantly headed towards the steps after them, albeit a few strides behind -

"Marko!" There was a pause as Marko's attention turned back around to David, eyes skimming across your figure before focusing intently on the man who's lap you resided. 

"Stay." It wasn't a question, it was a demand, and Marko didn't seem to have much to say about the ordeal. You couldn't pinpoint why David had asked Marko to stay behind as it was implied, from both the endless teasing and staying behind, that the two of you were gonna do a little more than some heavy petting. David reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette and lighter, lighting it in one attempt and taking a deep intake, exhaling toward the ceiling as to not get smoke all over you. 

Marko had resided back to the couch, while you and David shifted against each other, you placing little kisses on his jaw as he blew smoke toward the ceiling again. 

"Why did you ask Marko to stay behind?" You whispered lowly, hoping he couldn't hear. 

"I have an idea." It was all he said before dipping his fingers into the waistband of your underwear, your head fell back and you let out a low, breathy moan as he rubbed languid circles against you. The cigarette he lit hung loosely from his lips, ash falling onto his lap haphazardly. In the corner you heard Marko shift in place and you panicked, reminding yourself of his presence and trying to pry yourself away from David's fingers, which had now entered you and pumped in and out a few times. There was no reaction from Marko other than staring at the sight in front of him, though you were sure he wasn't expecting to see David’s fingers working sinfully against you when he looked up from his previous activity.

"Relax kitten, I know what I'm doing." You looked up at him in both shock and confusion, but didn't question his motives, he'd never done you any harm before and you trusted David. Perhaps, if you hadn't been so worked up from his endless teasing all night, things would be different under the same circumstance, but that was neither here nor there. Relaxing into his touch, opting to close your eyes and focus on the feelings rather then the wandering eyes, you allowed for the situation to continue.

"Let us hear you -" David's voice growled in your ear and you moaned explicitly, louder than you had expected.

"That's my girl." You whimpered and bucked your hips up into the palm of his hand, knowing he was smirking down at you right now. 

Your arousal laid thick in the air to the vampires, it was sweet and intoxicating, and Marko swallowed thickly at the scent of it. Just when you felt as though your high may have been approaching, David pulled out and sucked on his fingers, licking off any trace you'd left on them. Marko watched you intensely, eyes lingering on any exposed skin they could get too. You felt erotic and filthy, but in the best way possible. The way the two looked at you sent goosebumps flying across your skin, it was as though you were the prey and they were the wolves, every fleck of color in their eyes had turned to black in desire and need, and you knew where this was headed simply by how they stared at you. On somewhat shaky legs you stood from your spot on David's lap, he waved his hand in Marko’s direction as if to tell you to go over to him -

“Remember you’re still mine.” Nodding, you thumbed over his jaw before sauntering over to Marko, who'd watched your every step approach him. In a surge of confidence you placed your hand on his shoulder, laying him back against the couch, sitting on his crotch with your thighs either side of him. You grind against him slightly, noting that his cock was already hard as sin. Marko let you have your fun, looking over to David who only watched while smoking the remains of his smoke, with a nod from his leader he had all the knowledge he needed of the situation. This wasn’t planned, but Marko was aware David knew of his feelings for you and it seemed he was letting him indulge a little. Instantly he had spun you both over, thrusting against you, a moan skipping past your lips. You'd been teased all night, so feeling his erection right where you needed him most, well, it was heavenly almost. 

"You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this." Marko teased your neck with kisses and nips, his eyes closed and he inhaled your scent; the way your hair smelled, the arousal between your legs, the perfume you wore, you were intoxicating and it's no wonder David could never keep his hands off you. Who could resist you?  

David had long stubbed out the rest of his cigarette as he watched the two of you toy with each other and tease, he watched as Marko whispered dirty things in your ear and how you replied with giggles, and he soon unzipped his fly and freed himself of the restraints his cock was behind, stroking himself at the sight of the two of you. This wasn't just because he knew you found Marko cute, or the fact that he knew Marko had been in love with you since he met you, no, this was David's fantasy too. 

It didn't seem long before Marko had ripped your clothing off of you, you'd responded with as much fervor. His hands roamed every inch of you in eagerness, he relished in the soft curves of your body and the way you shivered beneath him. It seemed too good to be true, having you here now was better than he had ever imagined. Marko kissed down your body, nipping here and there, which caused him to grin up at you every time you jumped. He stared at you for a moment, breath heavy and chest heaving, eyes pleading with you -

“Please let me have a taste?”

You weren’t sure if it was a question for you or David, but you’d instantly whined out a ‘yes’ and he wasted no time working against you. His tongue teased your clit in circular motions and you shook underneath his grip on your thighs, hips moving up against his mouth in need of more friction. The desperateness of the night took over you; David’s consistent teasing since you’d arrived, your forgotten orgasm from David’s fingers, and now Marko’s tongue wickedly lapping against you, you couldn’t help but huff out in neediness. Your head lolled to the side and noted David palming himself through his jeans, it appeared he was enjoying this just as much as you and Marko. A bite on your thigh had your attention back on the curly haired blonde in between your legs in an instant, he grinned and delved further into your wetness, giving you the relief you’d been craving.

“Use your fingers, she likes that.” Per David’s request Marko’s middle and index finger entered you and your head fell back against the couch, hands holding his head in place as his tongue roughly explored every inch of you. You couldn’t help the curse words that slipped, and the slap on your thigh because of it had you whimpering. 

“I - I think I’m gonna cum” Marko only sped up his ministrations, adding another finger inside you, stretching you out, he played with the spot that had you shaking the most until your body was overtook in blissful release. Never once did he stop, even as your hands attempted to tear him off of your spent body, he continued until he was sure the taste of you was burned into his memory. His body moved up you once again, claiming your mouths together in a sloppy kiss, the taste of your arousal still heavy on his tongue. His mouth moved from yours to you ear -

“I’m gonna fuck you so hard you’ll feel me inside you for a week.” he whispered so possessively it had you clenching around nothing and praying he’d live up to the promise. The sound that came out of you was borderline pornographic, though you were beyond modesty at this point. Marko lined himself up with your entrance, looking down at you for silent permission, you wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him close, his cock slipping into you with ease and stretching you out deliciously. Between Marko’s moan and your choked sob, you knew you were gonna crave the feeling of him being inside you for weeks after,  he was inside you raw, and he took a moment in awe to rejoice the feeling of you, knowing it was probably the only time he'd ever get to have this experience, and he wasn't about to let this go to waste. He was going to fuck you so good you'd remember it forever, remember him forever. The pace he set was fast with deep, hard thrusts that had you clawing at the couch underneath you to keep you still. Your mouth hung open from the intense feeling of him pounding into you, your lips spewing out a mantra of curses and Marko's name. 

“Do I fuck you good baby?" You moaned louder at his words, trying to find the will in you to focus on anything other than his cock filling you to the brim with every movement of his hips. When you didn't answer him, he opted to slap your thigh, an echo wondering around the cave because of it. 

"Tell me."

"Y-yes - you feel amazing- ugh" 

Your head coaxed to the side, noticing David had now freed himself and was stroking his cock to the same pace Marko fucked you at. "Oh fuck -"

You didn't know who to look at; Marko fucking you into next week, or David getting off to the sight of you being fucked. It was overwhelmingly sexy having the two men desire you so greatly, being shared between them made you feel powerful. 

David watched your thighs flex around Marko’s torso, the way you threw your head back in pure pleasure, how Marko’s cock disappeared between your legs over and over again. He stood and sauntered over to the two of you, placing his cock at the tip of your mouth, asking for entrance into your, all too willing, mouth. You happily accepted and took as much of him as you could fit at once, though David soon had a hand on the back of your head and his hips thrusting his cock into your mouth. All you could do was relax and let him take you, forcing yourself to hold back chokes and spit as he fucked your throat with ease, all while Marko rammed his painfully hard cock into you, your thigh now over his shoulder and the new angle allowing him to be so deep inside you it hurt, in the most pleasurably painful way. It wasn’t long before you felt your second orgasm build up, the aftershocks of the last one still lingering and causing you to tremble against the two men ravishing you, tears spilled from your eyes as Marko fucked you through it. Soon your body was convulsing and shuddering underneath them, David’s cock still deep down your throat, and Marko’s deep inside you. You clung onto Marko’s shoulders for dear life, heat spreading throughout your entire body and turning you numb as you tried to adjust to the overwhelming sensations, both of them were close, from Marko’s messy pace to David’s twitching cock, you moaned around him to spur him along, while Marko chanted out in whines as his release approached -

“Don’t you dare cum inside her.” Marko did as he was told and pulled out quickly, spilling himself all over your stomach, David soon cumming down your throat and making you deep throat him as you swallowed every last drop, you grabbed his thigh and squeezed, a sign that you needed to stop and relax a minute, which he did immediately, tucking himself back into his pants and leaning down to your eye level. 

“Are you okay kitten?” You nodded, noting how your body ached from the rough actions it had endured. Marko placed a kiss on your cheek, wiping away a few stray tears. “You sure? I can get you anything you need.” You gave him a weak smile and stroked his cheek, trying to reassure him as best you could that you were, indeed, fine, but fucked out. 

The boys helped clean you up and take you over to the make shift nest David had built you a few months prior. Though, one question lingered in your mind. Where does your relationship go from here?

[krispytidalwavesheep]

a Natasha x fem!reader where Nat has been distant and reader thinks shes cheating, but in actuality she lost the engagement ring she got for reader (maybe because of another team member 👀) and is trying not to let her find out

My lovely anon, thanks for the prompt! I added a lot of backstory, I hope you still like it!

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You and Natasha have been together for the better part of three years and you always thought you two were happy. When you joined the team 4 years back, and you got along like a house on fire, since your pasts were quite similar. Natasha was a victim of the red room and you were a victim of Hydra. They ripped you away from your family when you were still a child and trained you to become one of the best assassins they ever had. They took everything from you, broke you into pieces, and put you together just the way they needed you. But you were very stubborn, waiting for a chance to escape their clutches.

And 6 years ago, your chance came. Some Shield Agents were infiltrating one of your bases and as luck would have it, you were right in the middle of it, taking Hydra Agents out left and right. That's where you met Clint, after the worst of the fighting was over he held you at gunpoint, demanding answers. You couldn't help yourself, all your pent up emotions broke free and you broke down crying, telling him everything. Maybe it was the relief that came with the realization that it was finally over and that you were finally free. Or so you thought.

Even though Clint pitied you and stood up for you, they still took you in for questioning. But you weren't bothered all that much by that, since you understood where they were coming from. You have been with Hydra for almost twenty years, of course, they wouldn't trust you, just because you broke down in front of one of their best agents. Still, you were afraid. What would they do to you? Would they torture you for information and kill you, cast you away once you outlived your usefulness?

They put you in chains and you went willingly. Agent Hill got the job of questioning you and you gave them everything you've got. Locations, double agents, everything you thought would keep you alive for just a little while longer. Your cell wasn't all that bad, and sometimes Clint would come over to check up on you, asking about what they did to you. That was the hard part. You knew they sent him to test if you would be trustworthy, or if you would betray them, just like you betrayed Hydra.

It wasn't easy to tell them everything. You were scared that Hydra would get back to you and it would all be over. They would torture you, kill you in the worst possible way. Hydra didn't like loose ends.

“I know someone who is quite like you... Less open though. We couldn't get any information out of her for months. But then again, her circumstances were a bit different than yours” Clint told you one day, and you got curious.

“Her name is Natasha, but don't tell anyone that I told you that. Especially her, if you're ever gonna meet her” he said and scratched his neck.

“So I am still not trustworthy?” You asked bitterly, getting tired of all the questioning. It has been months and you already gave them all you got, including your sad backstory.

“Don't give up just yet y/n... I think you won't be a prisoner for that much longer” Clint smirked and winked. And he was right. Two weeks later you were set free, under one condition: You had to join shield as a special agent. Of course, you agreed, since it would keep you safe from Hydra too. But they wanted to test you and test you they did. That was when you first met Natasha and the second you saw her, you knew you were done for. You seduced many men and women when you were with Hydra, and a lot of those people were stunning. But you never met someone so beautiful.

“So you are the Hydra-Girl?” she asked matter of factly when she entered your cell. You didn't know what to say to that, still mesmerized by her. Later you would say that it was love at first sight, just to mess with her.

“Uhm... yeah? Unless you took other stray Hydra-Girls in, that is” you stuttered. She smiled at that and said, “They want me to test your combat abilities.”

You already thought that that was the reason why they sent her and you followed her eagerly, happy to be out of your cell for once. She took you to the basement of the building, where they had the biggest training room you have ever seen. Clint was there too.

“Look what the cat dragged in!” he smiled and to your utter surprise, fist-bumped you. You hadn't much time to talk though, since Natasha motioned for you to get into position.

“Don't hold back. I won't either” she said and crouched. You smiled and got into position too. It was a surprisingly long fight since you hadn't had much time to work out in your cell and with all that questioning. But what after felt like hours you had Natasha pinned down to the ground.

“Wow... I don't think anyone ever managed that!” Clint whooped from the sidelines and you grinned, helping Natasha up.

“Nice work Rookie. My name is Natasha Romanoff and Clint and I will keep an eye on you from now on. I'll bring you back to your room, where you can get settled. After that, we will show you around the facility.”

And that's where your life finally truly began. Most people were still cautious with you, but Natasha, Clint and you developed a fast friendship. You soon became the resident Hacker for Shield, since they didn't want to risk losing you to Hydra on field missions. You were the gal in the chair and you were content. And soon enough, Fury trusted you enough to make you a part of the Avengers. Right about the same time you confessed to Natasha that you fell in love with her and to your utter surprise, she felt the same way. You two were happy, sure, not everything was sunshine and rainbows, mostly because the two of you suffered such huge traumas. But at the end of the day, everything was worth it and you finally felt like you belong.

That is why you were upset right now. Natasha was acting weird, distancing herself from you. Most nights she even slept in her room, which only happened if you had a huge fight and never for more than one night. You were barely talking anymore, not for a lack of trying on your part though. She just slipped away more and more and you wondered where you went wrong. You tried talking to her on more than one occasion, but she would always have another excuse as to why she couldn't talk right now.

The worst was yet to come, though. You finally managed to corner her and you were pretty sure she couldn't slip away that easily now, but of course, she didn't. She just mumbled some excuse of going on an overnight mission with Clint, but that she would talk to you when she got back. Funny enough, when you wandered to the compound kitchen later that night, Clint sat beside Peter, happily talking about some archery tricks.

“Oh, I thought you were on an overnight mission with Natasha?” you frowned as you entered the kitchen and Clint looked... guilty? What was going on? And then it hit you. Natasha was cheating on you, she must have found someone else and that was the reason she was behaving so weirdly.

“List y/n I can explain-” Clint tried but you just growled at him and went back to your room. You couldn't believe it. You thought you and Natasha were happy, that you loved each other and were faithful. But somewhere along the way, she must have tired of you and someone else took your place. Anger overwhelmed you at that thought. How could she do that to you? And why didn't she tell you that she wasn't loving you anymore?

There was a small knock at your door, but you just shouted for them to go away. It was probably Clint with some shit-ass excuse and you didn't want to hear it. It was the ultimate betrayal. He knew that something was going on, but just like Nat, he choose to not tell you. Some friend he was... Tears were streaming down your face again and you collapsed onto your and Nat's shared bed. What did you do that everything went downhill? Were you just not enough anymore?

Self Doubt and guilt wracked you until the early morning sun shone into your room. You felt disgusting but you didn't care for one bit. There was another knock on your door different this time.

“Whoever it is, go away or I will break your fucking legs!” you shouted, but the door opened anyway. Natasha stood in the doorway, looking like a guilty puppy and soaking wet.

“Oh no, get your ass outta here. No wait, explain yourself first! Why would you do that to me? Why not just tell me that you don't love me anymore!” you sobbed and tried to get up, but your legs got tangled in the bedsheets.

“Y/n let me explain, please!” Natasha begged desperately and walked into the room.

“Explain what? That you are fucking cheating on me? I got that all by myself since Clint wasn't a part of your suspicious overnight mission!” you growled and gave up on getting on your feet.

“It's not like that! Please, just give me five minutes to explain myself, okay?”

You hated yourself for nodding, but you wanted answers more than anything.

“I'm not cheating on you babe, I love you too much to hurt you like this. This is all Clint's fault.” You scoffed at that. “Shit, I know this sounds horrible. Okay, listen, I was acting so weird because I was nervous. No, not nervous, terrified. Baby, I love you more than anything in this universe, never doubt that. I... I wanted to ask you something. But I didn't know how, because I've never done anything like that before. I had this big plan, that's why I was so distant because I was preparing. But then Clint had to go and lose the fucking ring I got for you-”

“Hang on. What ring? What the hell are you talking about?” you asked, slight panic and confusion evident in your voice. It couldn't be, could it?

“Okay, then we are doing it this way... I want to ask you to marry me, y/n. But when I showed Clint the ring he just had to stumble and drown it in the river. That's why I told you I had an overnight mission, I wanted to go and find the ring.”

“Are you stupid?” you choked and Nat looked at you, jaw-dropping. “Excuse me?” she asked but you started giggling. Nat was such a fucking idiot.

“Are you telling me, that you went out of your way, to search for the lost ring, in the middle of the night, where it is dark as fucking hell out there?” you started cry laughing now. You were so relieved.

“Oh just great, you are laughing your ass off, while I stand here, soaking wet, mind you, opening my heart up to you,” Nat pouted but you finally managed to break free from the bedsheets. You collapsed into her arms, sniffling and hugging her tight, rubbing her arms.

“You are the biggest idiot on this planet love. But you are my idiot. I love you more than anything too, and since you lost your ring, maybe we could use the one that I bought for you,” you whispered and kissed Nat's nose...

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I am still taking prompts, so hit me up if you have something for me!

[rizlowwritessortof]

Meant To Be - Chapter 8

Dean and Jordan are each trying to escape their painful pasts. Their chance meeting and a dangerous encounter begins a relationship that may give them both a new start.

Pairing: Police Detective Dean Winchester/Jordan Taylor

Word Count: 3085

Warnings: None

Aesthetic by @editsbymichele on Instagram; Dividers by @firefly-graphics​ 

Jordan regained consciousness with a groan at the throbbing pain in her head. She tried to move, to hold her head in her hands, but they were securely bound behind her back – duct tape, it felt like, and she opened her eyes slowly, remembering what had happened and wondering where she was.

The masked man in front of her shoved at the shoulder of the larger man beside him. “Hey – bitch is awake.”

She squinted up at the man who had spoken, defiance in her eyes. “Fuck you.”

He took a step towards her, but his apparent boss grabbed his arm. “Knock it the fuck off. Take a walk.”

Douche-bag flunky stalked away in a huff, and the man in charge hunkered down in front of her. “Sorry things have to be like this, but it’ll be over soon. Just keep your mouth shut and do as you’re told, and you’ll be fine.”

Jordan just glared back at him, then turned her head, letting her eyes scan the room. She was in some sort of garage, or storage building, she wasn’t sure. The windows were painted over, so no view to the outside. She winced as she moved, her jaw aching and her head pounding with every beat of her heart. Oh, God… Sam…

“What about the guy you beat half to death. Will he be fine?”

Her captor tilted his head. “They hauled him off to the hospital. I’m sure he’ll live.”

She stared back at him, venom in her gaze. “He’d better.”

He chuckled quietly. “Listen, all you need to worry about is that your boyfriend does what he’s told. Then everybody can go home, nobody else needs to get hurt.”

“Right. Except him.”

He shook his head. “As long as he does his job, he’s good.”

“I thought this was all about revenge for the shooting.”

“I want one thing, and one thing only, and a cop is the only one who can get it for me. Speaking of… it’s about time to make a call. Since you’re awake and so chatty. Because I’m sure he’s gonna want to talk to you.” He stood back up, pulling a phone from his pocket – it was hers. He placed the call and put it on speaker, waiting silently for an answer.

“Jordan?”

“Wrong. I am Jordan-adjacent, though.”

“She’d better be in perfect health, you dick, or...”

“She’s fine. Just shut up and listen. Remember a couple of months ago, the big drug bust, made all the papers?”

Dean was silent for a moment, and Jordan pictured him closing his eyes, dreading what was coming next. “Yeah.”

“Well, Detective – all that cocaine? That was mine. You’re gonna go to the evidence lock-up, take it all out, and bring it to me. Three duffle bags, no tricks.”

“You’re fucking crazy.”

“Crazy or not, it’s mine – and I want it back. I don’t care how you do it – not my problem. You get me that coke, and your little spitfire here gets to live.”

“I’m not doing shit until I talk to Jordan. I need to know she’s okay.”

“Yeah, I figured as much.” The masked man knelt down in front of her and held the phone closer to her.  “Go ahead, talk.”

“Dean?” Her voice quavered as she fought tears for the first time since her ordeal had begun.

“Jordan, are you hurt?”

“I’m okay. Dean, is Sam...”

“Sam’s gonna be fine. Don’t worry.”

Her captor rose to his feet again. “Okay, that’s enough for now. I’ll call you in one hour with instructions.”

Jordan swallowed a sob, tears slowly trailing down her cheeks as he ended the call. “You’re insane. How is he supposed to steal drugs from the police lockup?”

“He’ll figure it out. He’d better.” He turned and reached to grab her by the arm, pulling her to her feet. “And now, since our little phone call is done – you can go into the storage closet so we can take off these fucking masks. Hope you appreciate how careful I’ve been to make sure you can survive this little transaction.”

She shot him a glance full of spite. “I’ll send you a fruit basket.”

He laughed. “You know, different circumstances, I think I could really like you.” He unlocked and opened the door to a large walk-in closet, windowless and dark except for vents high up near the ceiling that let scant light in from the room outside. He moved farther into the room, lowering her down next to the wall. A blonde sat across from her, arms held close against her body. “Brought you a roommate. Play nice.” He turned and left the room, locking the door with a loud click and walking away.

The girl looked up at Jordan, her expression stoic. “So you’re the one.”

“The one what?”

“The one I was supposed to grab the first time.”

Jordan leaned her head back against the wall. “You’re Megan? What are you doing in here? I thought you were working with these assholes.”

Megan looked away. “I was supposed to do their dirty work for them. Didn’t work out so well.”

“Sucks when you piss off the boss,” Jordan muttered resentfully, and the blonde’s head raised back up, her blue eyes angry.

“Look, I didn’t… I mean, I knew what I was doing, but I just – I wanted justice for my brother. They lied to me. I found out, after… I tracked down a couple of people that were there that night, people that are still hiding because they’re afraid of these fuckers. They told me what happened. That your cop boyfriend didn’t have any choice. And I was pissed, I called these asshats and told them I wanted to meet.”

“I take it they didn’t like what you had to say.”

“I told them I didn’t like being lied to and used, and that I was done. And they told me that was too bad, because they couldn’t let me go since I knew too much. And I tried to get away, but they broke my fucking arm and knocked me out, locked me up in here.”

Jordan was silent for a moment, the only sound the other girl’s agitated breathing as she fought to control herself. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I assumed… Do you know who they are?”

Megan shook her head. “No. They wore masks when I met them, before that it was just phone contact.”

After a few seconds of silence, Jordan spoke softly. “They want Dean to steal cocaine from the evidence lockup and bring it to them. Supposedly, if they get what they want, they’ll let us go.”

Megan let out a derisive snort. “I’ll believe that when it happens. They’re already on the hook for murder, I doubt if they give a shit about a couple more.”

Resting her aching head against the wall, Jordan let out a sigh. “I know.”

Dean gripped his phone so hard that his hand shook, and Donna put a firm hand on his forearm. “Calm down. Losing it right now isn’t going to help anybody, Dean.”

He looked at the technician sitting behind the monitor, and she shook her head before dropping her eyes. “No trace. Damn it, Donna, what the hell am I supposed to do?”

“Cap’s office, now - brainstorm. We’ll figure it out.”

After a quick knock, the partners were invited to enter, and they both plopped down into the chairs in front of the Captain’s desk. “So what are we dealing with?”

Dean filled him in on the ransom call, and the Captain leaned back in his chair, looking Dean in the eye. “You know we can’t just give them the coke, Detective.”

“There’s got to be something we can do. He’s calling in one hour to give us the drop instructions,” Donna said, forcing herself to remain calm. “Can we put dye packs...”

“They said no tricks. They’ll check for that. We can’t risk it.” Dean bit back, and she took a breath before trying again.

“Okay, they demanded we bring the drugs in three duffle bags. We put a tracker in them.”

The Captain spoke up. “In all probability, they’ll expect that and switch to their own bags when we make the drop.”

Dean moved forward, his forearms braced on his knees. “Okay, so we put a tracker in the coke. Let forensics open one up, put it in the middle so it can’t be seen, and seal it back up exactly like it was before. Then we can track it to their destination.” The Captain narrowed his eyes, considering, and Dean continued. “Sir,  I swear on my life I won’t let them get away with those drugs. But you have to let us do this.”

The Captain thought for a few moments before sitting upright and blowing out a loud breath. He nodded, then said reluctantly, “Okay, I’ll sign the order. I’m holding you to your word.”

Dean closed his eyes for a moment, breathing a sigh of relief. “We won’t let you down, Cap.”

The older man’s words followed them out the door. “You damn well better not.”

Jordan looked up as the door rattled, then swung inward. Her captor knelt down in front of her, setting a bottle of water nearby. “Lean up, I’ll cut your hands loose. Can’t do anything in here, anyway.”

She did as she was told, relieved to be able to move her arms, and gratefully accepted the water. “Thanks,” she muttered grudgingly, and he moved over to set water down near her fellow prisoner. “She needs a doctor, you know.”

He rose to his feet and turned, moving back towards the door. “After I have my property, she can see all the doctors she wants.”

Megan looked down at the bottle, shaking her head as the door closed and locked again. “And how the hell does he think I’m gonna open this?”

Jordan stood up, stretching her aching shoulders, and walked over, kneeling down to open the bottle. Megan’s face looked flushed, her eyes glazed over a little, and Jordan laid a hand on her forehead. “You’re feverish. Maybe they’ll at least give us some aspirin.”

Megan huffed out a sarcastic laugh. “Don’t count on it.”

Jordan went to the door and pounded, shouting. “Hey! Anybody out there? Can we get some aspirin?”

A loud bang on the other side of the door startled her back a step. “Shut the fuck up in there! Be glad you got water.”

Megan gave her a half-smile. “Told you. But thanks for trying.”

“Assholes,” Jordan said under her breath, stripping off the button-down she was wearing over her tank top and kneeling back down in front of Megan.

“What the hell are you doing?” she asked, watching Jordan fold and re-fold the shirt until she was satisfied with the results.

“You have to be exhausted trying to hold your arm like that. I thought maybe a sling would help.” She carefully slipped the makeshift sling under Megan’s injured forearm, taking the sleeves behind her neck and tying them into a knot. The girl sighed with relief as she relaxed her shoulder, letting the shirt cradle her arm.

“Thank you.” Jordan smiled at her and headed back to her spot against the wall.

“You’re welcome.”

Dean ended his call and stuffed his phone back into his pocket, turning to Donna. “Sam’s out of surgery, everything’s good.”

His partner sighed with relief and smiled. “Thank God. One of the guys from forensics just finished up with the tracker. Everything’s ready to go.”

As if on cue, Dean’s phone rang, and he grabbed it from his pocket, nodding towards the tech who would be trying to trace the call. When the officer signaled, Dean answered. “Yeah.”

“I assume that you’ve got my coke ready to deliver?”

“Yeah. Just tell me where and when so we can get this over with.” The man rattled off an address, and Dean repeated it. “I want to talk to Jordan. Make sure she’s still okay.”

“No more time for socializing right now. She’s fine. You’ll just have to trust me.”

“Like hell I will.”

“You don’t have a choice. Meet me at that address in 45 minutes, come alone, and I’ll give you her location so you can have a nice, long chat with your girl.” The call ended abruptly, and Dean swore, his teeth clenched together in frustrated anger.

Donna put a hand on his shoulder. “Hey. We’re gonna nail these bastards.”

He took a breath, his expression taut and determined. “Fuckin’ right. And she’d better be okay, or I swear to God...”

“She’ll be okay. She’s smart, and she’s tough, and you’re gonna get her back.”

Dean pulled into the parking lot, eyes scanning the area. “You can still hear me?” he asked, and a tinny affirmative reply came through his earpiece. Donna and two other squad cars were parked a couple of blocks away, and the SWAT van was another block over and north, their tracking equipment set up to follow the cocaine after the drop.

A dark, nondescript SUV pulled into the lot and parked a couple of car lengths away. Dean exited the car, tugging his vest down and taking a couple of steps to the front of the car. His contact climbed out of his vehicle, mask in place, moving forward a few steps and then taking a wide-legged stance, his arms folded over his chest. “Okay, let’s get this party started.” Dean nodded, opening the trunk and grabbing the bags, walking forward until the man shouted for him to stop. “Drop the bags right there.”

“Where is she?” Dean responded, still holding them, challenge in his eyes.

“When we conclude our business, I’ll tell you. Now drop the bags.”

He did as he was told, muttering under his breath, “I’m gonna kill this fucker.”

Donna’s voice came back, “No, you’re not. Just take a breath, partner.”

At a motion from the man in charge, a couple of masked men exited the vehicle, empty duffle bags in hand. They knelt on the ground and began to transfer the cocaine to their own bags, and Dean walked back to close the trunk on his cruiser. “What’s the matter, don’t trust me?”

“Oh, come on, Detective. Like I don’t know they’d put some kind of tracker in those bags. I don’t blame you, don’t worry. I’m sure your commanding officer insisted.” His men finished loading the coke and retreated back to the SUV, tossing their prize into the back before getting back inside. The driver pulled a phone from his pocket, dialing and speaking a few quiet words before looking towards Dean and speaking.

“All right. Well done, Detective. You’ll find your little spitfire in a storage building two blocks north of here.” Dean moved quickly towards his door, but the man called out again. “Also, you have a choice – you can have your backup try to follow us – or you can get to that storage building and save those girls. Seems a fire got started in there somehow. Your choice. Better hurry, though.”

Dean was in his car, engine roaring to life, as he spoke to Donna. “Did you hear that? Meet me there, let SWAT track the coke!”

“You got it!” the answer came back, and Dean squealed the tires, heading north.  His foot to the floor, his eyes scanned frantically for smoke as he approached the two-block area, and he screeched to a halt in front of the building, smoke already pouring from a broken window on the side. His backup pulled in a few seconds later as he reached the door, placing a palm against it to test for heat.

“Bring the battering ram!” He shouted, knowing it was futile to try to kick in the steel-reinforced door, and two officers came at a run with the tool in hand. “Call fire!” he shouted over his shoulder as the third slam into the door sent it flying inward, the frame splintering. Donna and two other officers entered right behind him, skirting the fire and searching the building.

Dean headed straight for the closet, hearing Jordan pounding on the door and calling out. “Help! We’re in here!”

“Stand back from the door!” he shouted, waited a few seconds, and let the battering ram do its work. “Jordan!” He rushed into the room, letting his relief wash over him for a split second before taking her arm and shoving her towards an officer. “Get her out of here!”

“Dean! Megan needs help, she’s sick, and her arm is broken,” Jordan called out to him, then let the officer lead her out.

He nodded, heading Megan’s direction. “Okay, Megan, I’m just going to pick you up and carry you out. Can you get your good arm around my neck?” The girl nodded, and Dean bent to pick her up, as careful as he could be not to jostle her arm.

Fire and Rescue were just pulling in, and Dean carried Megan directly to the ambulance, waiting for the EMTs to ready the gurney before laying her down. “You okay?” he asked, and she nodded, and he stepped back to allow the paramedics to do their job. He turned, eyes searching until he spotted Jordan being hugged by Donna, and in a few long strides, he was there, pulling her into his arms.

He held her tight, letting her sob softly into his chest until she quieted down. “Thank you,” she whispered as he pulled back, looking down into her eyes. He touched her face, barely brushing over her bruised jaw and gently touching the cut over her eyebrow, beautifully framing her black eye.

“Got quite a shiner, there,” he said, and she nodded, wincing.

“Yeah, they, uh – they slammed my head into the steering wheel.”

He pressed a soft kiss to her lips. “Baby, I’m so sorry.”

“Not your fault. Sam...”

“Sam’s okay. He’s out of surgery, he’ll be fine, hospital called me.” Another ambulance pulled in, and he brushed his knuckles over her uninjured cheek. “I’m sorry, Jordan, but you need to go in and get checked out.” She looked into his eyes, watching the guilty struggle there, and put her hand over his.

“Dean – go. Catch those assholes. They’ll take care of me.”

After a moment’s pause, he finally nodded. “Okay. Let’s get you in the ambulance, then Donna and I will go help SWAT take out the trash.”

Chapter 9

[kpop-zone]

Red velvet reaction to their s/o finding out that they started dating them for a bet pt.2

Warning: 2 curse words

Irene

Joohyun didn’t know how long she sat in the living room all on her own while silent tears streamed down her cheeks and her mind was being consumed by her bad conscious. Eventually, however, an endless fatigue took over her body and she knew that it must have been at least a couple of hours. It was probably already three in the morning and she would have to get up in a few hours for work.

“I should probably head to bed.”

Joohyun mumbled under her breath, trying to encourage herself to go the bedroom where you had disappeared a few hours ago. Hesitantly, she stood up and dragged her feet across the living room until she ended up in front of the closed door. She felt stupid for moving around like an intruder in her own apartment, but her bad conscious was telling her that she would indeed invade your personal space if she entered the bedroom now. Not wanting to feel completely exhausted during work though, Joohyun eventually pushed down the door handle and entered the room.

Like expected, you were already asleep, so she tried to get ready for bed as silently as possible before laying down next to you. Despite knowing that she would probably regret it afterwards, Joohyun couldn’t stop herself from taking a glance at you. You were peacefully sleeping now, but your puffy face was giving away that you must have had a hard time falling asleep too. Instant guilt washed over her again and Joohyun slowly reached out to gently stroke your cheek. She hated to make you cry.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I wish we would have met under better circumstances, but I’m still so glad that we did. I love you so much.”

Joohyun whispered before leaning down to press a kiss on your forehead.

“I know that you do.”

Your sudden voice caused Joohyun to almost jump off the bed in surprise. Apparently, you weren’t asleep. After calming herself again, Joohyun sheepishly cleared her throat.

“Will you forgive me?”

She asked hesitantly, not knowing whether she wanted to hear the answer.

You were silent for a while, causing Joohyun’s heart to almost jump out of her chest, but she waited patiently for your reply.

“Yes...eventually.”

Your words were more than Joohyun had hoped for and she sighed relieved.

“Ok. Good night, Y/N.”

She tried to accept your decision humbly, nevertheless, Joohyun couldn’t stop a soft smile from tugging on the corners of her mouth. You could punish her for her wrongdoing as much as you wanted to as long as her forever with you wasn’t at stake.

Seulgi

“Why didn’t you just come clean earlier?”

After Seulgi’s sobs had filled the room for the longest time, she eventually managed to calm down in order to talk with her members.

“I-I don’t know. I didn’t want to scare Y/N away in the beginning and then I started to repress the memories of our first encounter at one point. I was just so ashamed of it.”

She buried her face behind her hands, thinking about every lie that she had ever told you because of the bet.

“I just don’t want to lose Y/N.”

Seulgi sniffled and Seungwan comfortingly patted her back.

“Then go and talk to Y/N. You guys are perfect for each other. I know that you can fix it.

The other members nodded in agreement, causing Seulgi to anxiously chew on her bottom lip.

Shouldn’t she give you more time to process everything? Or would that make you think that she didn’t care? Seulgi knew that she couldn’t risk the latter.

“You’re right. I need to see Y/N.”

Determined, she jumped off the bed before grabbing a random pair of shoes and a jacket to rush to your apartment. In less than half an hour, Seulgi was standing in front of your door, looking like a mess, but with your favorite snacks and flowers in her hands. Nervously, she rang your doorbell and shifted from one foot to the other while waiting for you to let her in. The sound of movements on the other side were giving away that you were home, nevertheless, the door didn’t swing open immediately. It took Seulgi several more knocks and a near heart attack caused by nervousness until you finally revealed your puffy face to hear.

“Why? Why did you accept such a horrible bet? Why didn’t you tell me earlier? Just...why?”

You blurted out immediately before allowing her to greet you. The hurt in your voice was bringing tears to Seulgi’s eyes again, but she was telling herself that she needed to stay strong now.

“Because I’m stupid and a horrible person. Believe me, I know that. I’ve already regretted the bet, the moment that I started talking to you. But then we got along so well, and I didn’t want to walk away.”

Nothing brought Seulgi more happiness, yet also pain than thinking back about the day that she had met you. Nevertheless, she kept explaining herself in order to try saving her relationship.

“And I just couldn’t get myself to tell you that I only talked with you because of a bet; I knew that you would have been scared off. Which would have been absolutely understandable; I was just too selfish to accept that.”

The longer Seulgi talked, the more she realized that she didn’t deserve you. What was she even doing here?

“If you are trying to win me back, you are doing a miserable job.”

You chuckled, causing Seulgi’s inner conflict to tear her apart. Wasn’t it selfish to fight for you?

Anxiously, she chewed on her lip, contemplating her options. But no option seemed to be the right one. Only thinking about living without you made her lose her breath. Making another selfish choice, however, didn’t seem to be right either. Several seconds passed while Seulgi was stuck on making a decision until you suddenly grabbed her wrist and piped up.

“If you really regret what you’ve done, then you’re not a terrible person.”

Your words made a tear spill from Seulgi’s eye and she let her head hang in shame. How were you still so nice to her?

“Why don’t you come in and we’ll talk about everything a little more?”

Without awaiting an answer, you tugged on her arm to pull Seulgi into your apartment. Uncomplainingly, she followed you inside, ready to pour her heart out. Maybe you were willing to forgive; she’d leave the fate of your relationship in your hands.

Wendy

When Seungwan had thought about where her home was in the past, she had always come to the conclusion that it was in your arms. Funny, how that could change in only one night though. She had promised to give you time, and she was exactly planning on doing that. But it was just so hard. You were on her mind 24/7 and with every day her mind was increasingly clouded by controversial thoughts. You needed time to process, but at the same time Seungwan was contemplating whether she should show you that she cared; that she was different now and willing to fight for you. Her thoughts were simply driving her insane and guiding her to your apartment almost every day.

After arriving at your door, however, her insecurities always came rushing back and she never dared to knock. Therefore, the hallway in front of your apartment had basically become her new home by now. She spent hours there, walking up and down and preparing words that you would never get to hear.

Until that unexpectedly changed one night.

Like so often, Seungwan was prowling the hallway in front of your apartment, when a voice suddenly made her jump in surprise.

“Seungwan?”

When she turned around, she could see you standing a few steps in front of her with some grocery bags in your arms. Sheepishly, Seungwan looked to the floor in hopes that it would swallow her in order to remove her from this awkward situation.

“Oh hey, Y/N.”

Seungwan said as nonchalantly as possible as if it had been mere coincident that she met you here. Expectantly though, your gaze bored through her for a while, waiting for an explanation until you realized that she wouldn’t follow up with anything.

“What are you doing here?”

You asked; your voice making it hard for Seungwan to detect your emotions. You weren’t necessarily sounding hostile, but your crossed arms were making it clear that you were still having your guard up.

Nevertheless, Seungwan decided that it was time to show a little more initiative. You had caught her lurking anyways, so she could also use this chance to disclose her feelings.

“I...um...wanted to ask whether you were ready to talk.”

She proposed cautiously while searching for your eyes.  You seemed to be contemplating her offer for a second, but then you walked to your door wordlessly. In defeat, Seungwan slouched her shoulders, ready to leave the building in order to give you more time.

“Are you coming in? Or do you want to talk here?”

Your question almost caused Seungwan to choke on her own spit in surprise, but of course, she immediately rushed to your side in order to enter the apartment.

You headed straight to the kitchen which reminded Seungwan of all the good times that you had spent in this apartment together. Her heart stung because of the memories and she hoped that those hadn’t been the last ones that she had collected with you.

“What do you have to say to me?”

You asked while rummaging around in the cupboard to pull out two mugs.

“I came to apologize once more. I know that it was an absolute gruesome thing to accept such a bet. I wish, I could tell you why I did it, but I can’t. It was simply wrong.”

Seungwan immediately got caught up in her emotions again and became incredibly frustrated with herself. Your relationship could be so perfect if she had only had the courage to ask you out without a bet.

“It was wrong.”

You stated coldly, causing Seungwan to avoid your gaze in shame.

“But I am very grateful that you told me about it. It showed me that I can truly trust you.”

Your words completely blindsided Seungwan, but her heart immediately beat twice as fast.

“Does that mean...”

She asked carefully, waiting for you to finish her sentence.

“That I will give you another chance to make it right? Yes.”

You smiled softly, but Seungwan couldn’t process your words.

“Really?”

She blurted out in shock and you nodded while chuckling in amusement.

Pure happiness washed over Seungwan and she leaped to her feet in order to fling her arms around your neck.

She would make sure not to waste this chance.

Joy

“Damn it...how did that get here so fast?”

Sooyoung picked up her pace when she saw you getting into a taxi in front of the restaurant. But her efforts were in vain. Before she could reach the vehicle, it sped off with you inside of it.

“Goddammit!”

She yelled while hastily pulling out her phone to call her driver. As soon as her car arrived, she hopped into it and told the manager to start driving.

“Where to?”

They asked and Sooyoung fell quiet.

Right, where to?

“Think...Where would Y/N go now?”

Sooyoung mumbled under her breath while thinking concentratedly.

You could have ordered the taxi driver to bring you to your apartment, but her intuition was telling Sooyoung that you wouldn’t have done that. You wouldn’t find the comfort there that you were seeking for. No, there was another place that you always went to when you were upset.

Namsan Park.

You had told her once that it made your worries seem so little when you looked at all the city lights. This had to be the place that you had run to.

“Please bring me to Namsan Park.”

Sooyoung asked her driver who immediately started the car.

Even though the car ride didn’t even take half an hour, Sooyoung became increasingly impatient. All of this was taking much too long. She couldn’t give you the time to come to wrong conclusions. Therefore, she leaped out of the car as soon as it came to a halt and started running through the park like a maniac. There were just too many paths, but Sooyoung remembered that you liked to sit right at the edge of the park, so she made her way to the very end where the view over the city was best.

There were hundreds of people enjoying this mild summer night, but it didn’t even take Sooyoung a second to make out your figure. You were sitting on a bench with your head hanging and slumped shoulders. The sight made Sooyoung’s heart clench, but she wasted no time before rushing to you and falling to her knees.

Perplexed, your eyes widened, and you looked at her in disbelief.

“H-how did you find me?”

You stuttered, seeming to be in a state of shock.

“Because I love you and know every little detail about you!”

Sooyoung exclaimed in despair while cupping your hands and pulling them to her lips.

“I know that the city lights make you forget about your worries; I know that your favorite Ramyeon is the one in Gwangjang market next to the booth with the eels and I know that you don’t sleep well when I’m not with you. I can go on and on for days. Do you really think, I know all of those things because of a bet? No, I know them because I love you.”

You didn’t reply and Sooyoung didn’t know whether that was a good or a bad sign. Therefore, she just kept talking.

“I’m sorry for taking that bet. I’m sorry for messing up the beginning of our love story, but I swear that I’m going to make the rest of it more epic than every romcom that you’ve ever watched.”

Finally, your eyes met and Sooyoung could see that the anger from before had disappeared. Therefore, she pressed her lips on your knuckles and stroked your hands lovingly with her thumbs.

“Please forgive me. Please?”

She asked nervously, hoping that her arguments had been enough to convince you of her sincerity.

“Fine.”

You replied, causing Sooyoung to squeal happily. She was about to crash into your arms when you lifted your hand to stop her.

“But...if our love story is anything less but epic, I’m going to leave.”

Your eyes were narrowed warningly, but a smile on your lips was giving away that you were just joking. Relieved, Sooyoung nodded before finally pulling you into her arms.

There wasn’t a wish that she wouldn’t fulfill you.

Yeri

Nothing had ever hurt Yeri more than watching you cry. Your tears streamed down your cheeks for what felt like hours and when the sobs finally died down in the room, Yeri was feeling completely dried out herself. You looked at her with puffy eyes, causing her heart to clench.

“What was the bet?”

You asked and Yeri avoided your gaze. She was too ashamed to look into your eyes while telling the story.

“I went out with some friends and we were having so much fun. We were playing truth or dare, and the dares started to get more and more out of hand until Doyeon dared me to ask you out. She bet 100.000 Won that I wouldn’t manage to convince you to go out with me.”

Yeri took a break and looked at you, just to see that you were nodding as if that was everything that you needed to hear. But there was more. Did you forget how much fun you had on your first date? This stupid bet was just a little bump in the road, everything after that was proof enough that you belonged together.

“Please, Y/N, let’s just forget about the bet. I swear I fell for you right on our first date. I never even took the money, because I knew that the bet was wrong, and I didn’t care about it anymore.”

You scoffed in response, the sadness in your face slowly being replaced by anger.

“Am I supposed to be grateful now? If you had known that it was wrong, why didn’t you just tell me earlier?”

Yeri winced when you hit her weak spot; yes, why hadn’t she told you earlier? Her bad conscious had been telling her all along to come clean, but her fear had mercilessly held her back.

“I didn’t want to lose you...”

She mumbled, aware of how stupid she sounded.

“That’s a really great plan that you had there... You know, if you had told me earlier, there might have been a way to fix this.”

Your words caused Yeri’s eyes to widen and she stared at you in panic.

“Might?? What do you mean? Y/N, please don’t leave me.”

Pure horror flooded Yeri’s body, causing her voice to crack.

“Then tell me how you intend to fix this.”

You replied, crossing your arms impatiently. Yeri was running out of time, she could feel it. She had to trust her guts now, otherwise, you would walk away for good.

“Let’s take a break, so both of us can think about everything. You can process this night and I can reflect on all my wrongdoings. Then we can decide how to continue.”

Although those words hurt Yeri more than anything, she figured that this was the best solution. You were far too agitated right now to make a decision and maybe it wasn’t the worst idea if she thought about her past mistakes.

“Ok.”

Yeri had secretly hoped that you would ask her to stay, but she wouldn’t disrespect your wishes. Therefore, she lingered for a second more to admire you one last time before leaving your apartment.

The following weeks were pure torture for Yeri. Every single day, she dialed your number or drafted a text message for you, only to never reach out to you in the end. She had offered to give you time and she would keep her word. There had been times that she had cursed herself for being so obedient, but when you finally sent her a text after four long weeks, she was glad about her perseverance.

Let’s meet

It was a simple text, but Yeri still danced through her apartment in pure joy. After pulling herself together again, she sent a reply, asking to pick you up in order to grab a coffee and thankfully, you agreed. Therefore, Yeri was standing in front of your door not even an hour later.

Nervously, she fixed her hair one more time before closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. This was not a date. There was still the probability that you wanted to meet in order to break up. She needed to keep a clear head and give you space. With that thought on her mind, Yeri rang your door bell. But as soon as you opened the door, all of her good intentions vanished into thin air.

You were looking gorgeous.

Yeri knew that she had missed you, but seeing you again after such a long time, made her realize just how much, because all air was knocked out of her lungs. In pure trance, she stared at you, searching for the right words.

“I’ve missed you.”

Yeri suddenly blurted out, causing her to slam her hand over her mouth. Giving you space definitely looked different. Yeri was sure that you would probably close the door on her now, but instead, you chuckled.

“I’ve missed you too.”

And Yeri hadn’t heard such beautiful words in a long while.

[crazedtmnt]

Misshapen

Turtles X Autistic F!Reader

Hello! So, this is something I’ve been working on for a while. Fun fact about me, but I’m actually autistic. I didn’t find out until I was in college, though, since my mom was terrified to find out the truth (she’s much better about it now). As such, this caused me a lot of trouble growing up. I was constantly missing signals and making people mad without realizing. And I had no way of knowing what was wrong with me.

So I wrote a little self-indulgent thing about that! It was kind of an experiment, so it came out more abstract than I was expecting. I hope that’s okay. I focused mostly on the hyper-fixations, since that caused me the most problems, but I tried to get more in there. It’s a little hard to describe everything. Hope you enjoy!

[y/n] = Your name

~~~~~~~

“No.”

We tuck our hearts behind logic and manners, but every now and again someone’s pokes out, showing the world their true feelings. At the sight of one, we smile and laugh. Its appearance indicates further understanding between us—a bond of trust. Some wear their hearts more readily, while others keep it under lock and key, even as their logic falls apart. But whether a heart is social or shy, one thing remains constant: the more we view each other’s hearts, the more we learn.

“No, no one understands what you’re saying.”

But sometimes a heart is misshapen. Not due to cruelty or malice, but due to life. Not every heart can be made the same. Everyone has cuts or lumps along their veins, but some are born with entirely new designs, foreign and strange to the average person. The sight of these hearts confuses and even angers others.

“I’m sorry. I was just—”

“You were just being annoying! Can’t you read the room?!”

Even if their appearance marks a display of love, trust, or wonder, the twisted form screams a meaning unheard by its owner. The misshapen heart will parade this misinformation happily, unaware of the contempt boiling beneath the surface. That is, until the earth cracks open and reveals what all other hearts could already see.

“I-I… I didn’t mean to…”

“Of course you didn’t. You never think of anyone but yourself. You’re always babbling on about whatever you’re into and never stop to consider others. Do you know how exhausting that is?”

“I’m sorry, I… I’m sorry…”

A misshapen heart can stare itself in the mirror all day long, but even if it realizes that its design is unusual, it cannot change what it already is. The bumps and cuts are familiar—comforting—and the heart itself works just fine. Whatever could be wrong with it? The misunderstanding it keeps exclaiming is just that: a misunderstanding. Its true feelings should be easily heard. It can hope that other hearts hear the truth behind the oddities, but if not…

“God! All you do is apologize! You never actually try to be better! Do you seriously think we enjoy listening to you talk about the same two things every single day? You never even let us get a word in! How would you feel if we ignored your interests to only talk about our own?”

“…”

“What? You won’t even look at us anymore? …Oh God, now you’re crying. You’re such a pain. Learn some social skills and maybe realize that you aren’t the center of the universe. Other people want to talk too.”

“…”

“Stop crying! You just… Ugh! Nevermind. Come on. Let’s leave her to feel sorry for herself.”

A misshapen heart can break just the same as any other.

~~~~~~~

[Y/n] could barely see her friends leaving through the torrent of tears cascading down her face. She couldn’t even stand straight. Under the weight of her shame, guilt, and confusion she was practically doubled over. And once the slam of a door pierced her ear, echoing its hatred through her very soul, she completely broke down.

Sobs wrenched through her body, her chest heaving as she barely managed to hold back full-blown wails. As crying overtook all other functions, [y/n] collapsed on the ground, her hands thrown out to prop her up. All she could do was watch as teardrops fell to the ground at a growing rate and feel a burning sorrow choke her lungs.

“What is wrong with me? What is wrong with me?!” she screamed into the void, knowing no one was listening—nor did anyone care to listen. After all, she was an annoying little child whose passions drove away the few people who could stand her. She should know exactly what’s wrong with her… right?

“What is…? What is…?” [y/n] hiccupped, her squinting eyes forcing out more tears so that maybe reality would slip away. If even the floor was blurred, she could imagine she was home in her bed. She could escape to a familiar place where routine was king.

Escape… Escape… Pretend the world worked in a way that made sense. Pretend that every sentence that fell from a stranger’s lips had an obvious tone—no one hid their feelings behind passive aggressive words that slipped her notice. Pretend that background noises didn’t drown out everything else until all that’s left is a sense of anxiety and the realization that she couldn’t breathe. Pretend that she could laugh at jokes thrown at her instead of wondering later if it was even a joke.

Pretend the world’s normal… Not her normal that was weird, boring, or disruptive. No matter how she bent it, it never matched everyone else’s that they fought tooth and nail for. It had to be the normal that suffocated her with expectations she could never hope to meet, since the starting line was nowhere in sight. Her normal was wrong.

…But in the end, it was all she knew.

“What did I… do wrong?”

“Nothing.”

[Y/n] gasped, feeling a warm hand sliding up and down her back. She was still doubled over, but another shadow combined with hers. How long had it been there?

The soothing voice spoke again. “You’re absolutely perfect. It’s not your fault.”

[Y/n] tightened her hands into fists. It was so comforting to hear that… Too comforting.

“No. I… I made them mad…” She wiped her eyes and tried to stand up—tried to escape the calming presence before she forgot her place. She was a broken human who deserved to be hurt. Obviously, she wasn’t working hard enough to be a better person. “I act like a child… and… and ignore… ignore everyone around me.”

The tears had slowed, but it was impossible to catch her breath. Hell, the lump in her throat made her more likely to choke than speak. So she needed to leave before her selfishness made her accept his comfort.

Her love. Her turtle hero. [Y/n] couldn’t let him indulge her any further.

But those strong hands were persistent. In one smooth motion, he had wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her into his lap. Once seated on the floor with him, all desire to flee left. [Y/n] merely gave in, though her gaze was fixated on the floor.

He hummed in somber amusement, the rumble of his chest almost tickling her. It was hard to believe this was the same [y/n] he had fallen in love with. She was so passionate about whatever caught her interest. It was his favorite thing to watch the sparkles in her eyes as she talked for hours over her obsessions. Now, she lay against him like a hollow doll, ready to obey whatever order her owner gave her.

Gently, he wiped her tear tracks with his thumb. “Love, I saw everything. You were just excited to talk to them. They could have stopped you and explained what was wrong, but they chose to get mad at you. It wasn’t your fault.”

“But I… But I should have tried to… be better. Be nicer and more considerate. I’m such a terrible—”

“No,” he cut in firmly, his grip around her tightening. “Don’t you dare say anything bad about yourself. You’re wonderful. My angel and my love. If they don’t appreciate you, then they don’t deserve you.”

He used his finger to gently push up [y/n]’s chin, guiding her gaze towards his. For a few seconds, [y/n] tensed and closed her eyes. That was the hardest thing in the world: looking someone in the eye. She didn’t deserve his comfort, much less his love. How could she ever meet his eyes?

“[Y/n], look at me.”

His breath caressed her cheek while his hands rubbed her face softly. It was so warm… So familiar and safe. [Y/n] gave in and opened her eyes.

Her gaze was met with calm kindness. It didn’t matter how excited or anxious she got. He always looked at her like she was a princess. His princess. Despite the circumstances, his smile was beautiful, lighting a fire within her heart. Suddenly, [y/n] felt a weight lift from her chest. He was here and he still loved her. He had seen her at her worst and yet he never showed any hint of regret. Instead, he made allowances. It didn’t matter what he was doing—if [y/n] called him in a fit of anxiety, he was there in minutes. He even altered his routine when she was around to better match hers. The stubborn, no-nonsense leader changed his routine out of love for her… And here Leo was right now: smiling that handsome smile, whispering sweet words into her ear, and gently rubbing circles into her back. In spite of all her supposed flaws, he wasn’t going anywhere. On the contrary, he loved every minute he spent with her. She was a blessing and he would do anything to listen to her pour her heart out. In those moments, he could forget all the bad in the world and stare into his love’s eyes.

The first thing she noticed was the solemn expression of understanding. He got it. He also had issues with driving people away. However, that was because of his temper, not unrestrained passion. If anything, his issue was much worse because, while he always regretted it, he purposefully drove people away. [Y/n] was only doing it on accident. She meant no harm. And yet she still chose him, the hothead, to love. With all the words in the world, he couldn’t explain how much that meant to him. So screw those other people. If they couldn’t see how wonderful [y/n] was, then they didn’t deserve to know her. He would keep her all to himself anyway, if he could. She deserved the world, but if she couldn’t have that then she would get all the love he could give. As Raph pulled her closer, inhaling her sweet scent, a wave of relief fell over [y/n]. No matter what, she had her strong protector right beside her. He didn’t care if she rambled on about nonsense; having her care enough to stay by his side meant the world to him. To both of them.

It wasn’t hard to tell what he was thinking with that big grin. Every day, if he didn’t get to hear her lovely voice rant on about whatever, it was a failed day. He loved it, every minute of it. She had the most beautiful mind and could see things from angles others never even knew existed. To society, the world was a 2D image on a piece of paper—simple, clean, and always the same no matter the view point. But to her, the world was 3D and bursting with possibilities. Each day, she viewed it at a new angle, discovering a new story or truth. And each day, she came to him with a surplus of ideas bursting out of her very being. [Y/n] was his muse, his light, and most importantly the love of his life. She needed moderation sometimes, but so did he. That didn’t make her a bad person. [Y/n] was overflowing with passion and potential, if only the right people encouraged her. So that’s exactly what Donnie would do. He gently kissed her forehead, reminding her that her “strange” mind was his favorite thing.

Love. Just endless love. It was all she could see on his face—that warm smile and those bright eyes holding all the love in the world. It was like he was radiating sunshine. Suddenly, the weight on her heart seemed to dissolve. He looked at [y/n] like she was the most beautiful thing in the world. A goddess that owned his heart and all he could give her. If there was ever a moment when he got annoyed at her rambling, he couldn’t remember it. He could only remember all the late nights of them snuggled together, enthusiastically whispering to each other about everything under the sun until Splinter showed up to shush them. Mikey leaned his forehead against hers, brushing some hair behind her ears. Watching [y/n] get excited and analyze her newest obsession was always the highlight of his day. He got to see her gorgeous smile and how her eyes sparkled with delight. In those moments, nothing stood in her way. She shined like a star and graced him, a mutant turtle, with her light. What more could he want?

It was almost too much. Tears filled [y/n]’s eyes again, but for a completely different reason than before. Her heart clenched with love… and the hope that maybe she wasn’t a broken person after all. If her turtle could look at her in such a way, without a hint of regret, then…

“I’ll always be here for you,” he whispered in her ear. Slowly, his lips brushed passed her cheek, settling on her lips. It was a short kiss, but one filled with promises she knew he’d keep. “…I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Then maybe her misshapen heart had found its match.

[gureishi]

Hi hello hi.

I’ve got a bunch of wonderful prompts sitting in my inbox but I was feeling anxious af yesterday and today I had to go to a freakin Zoom funeral and my anxiety brain instead spewed out...this.

I was watching a playthrough of the Forgive ending to try and sort out the timeline for the Jihyun request I’m writing (which I should be posting tomorrow~ <3) and then I started thinking about the disturbing little hints that are in there about depressed Saeyoung and alcohol, and then my anxiety said I needed to write about it. So I transposed that thought into another timeline so my boy could have an mc cause god knows otherwise it would get way worse.

I know alcohol is a really sensitive topic when it pertains to the Choi twins because of their trauma relating specifically to alcohol and alcoholism. To be super super clear, drinking can be fine and okay and not harmful for lots of people, but that’s not the type of drinking I’m portraying here. 

YEESH, I’ll stop rambling. Cw for alcohol abuse; if Saeyoung drinking alcohol is gonna be triggering for you please skip this one. Take care of yourself I love you <3

wanna be ok

The bunker is dark when you get home, and that is your first sign that something is wrong. 

You’re off work a little early, and you fully expected to find the house bright and full of energy. Usually at this time, there would be at least one brother in the living room. There’d be a half-built robot croaking gibberish in a corner or an inexplicable mess from some overly enthusiastic project in the hall.

But when the door slides open (greeting you by name, of course), you’re met with darkness and a startling, eerie quiet. Could they both have fallen asleep…? You check your watch. It’s just after nine.

“Saeyoung…?” You slip off your shoes, calling quietly in case he really is asleep. He hasn’t been sleeping much since his father’s investigation began, waking up at night and pacing the house. Sometimes he does fall asleep at the computer, even these days…

No answer. You peek into the darkened living room. Nothing. No light from his office or the bedroom, either.

You hear a noise and spin, senses on high alert. All your instincts telling you that something is certainly off, you peer warily around the corner.

He’s in the kitchen.

“Babe?”

He’s perched precariously on one of the tall stools at the kitchen island. His arms are everywhere, splayed over the scrubbed wood; he’s slumped over, head in the crook of his elbow. His hair is mussed as though he’s been running his hands through it.

None of this surprises you too much—it’s much a difficult few days. But what does startle you is the stale, harsh smell in the air. There’s a bottle on the counter that looks suspiciously like…

Dread settles in your stomach like hot lead.

You call his name again, some foolishly optimistic part of your mind hopeful that this is an off-color prank. But this isn’t the kind of thing he jokes about.

At the sound of his name, he stirs, lifts his head. As he does, he slips to the side, almost falling off the stool—catching himself at the last minute on the island.

He blinks at you blearily, as if he’s trying to get you into focus, and you know in that moment that he’s not messing with you.

“Hiii, babe,” he slurs, his voice thick. He tries to say your name, stumbles over it. Laughs at himself.

“Honey.” You approach him cautiously. Closer up, the smell is unmistakable—it’s whiskey, mingling with his natural spicy-sweet scent in a way that you find particularly unsettling. “What did you do?”

He tries to spin around in the stool to face you and nearly falls again—you have to reach out an arm to grab him. He gazes at you dizzily, his eyes glazed over.

“Wha’ d’you mean?” he mumbles, his words running together. He sways dangerously on the stool and you put a hand on his shoulder, bracing him. Out of the corner of your eye, you peer at the bottle beside him—it’s one you’d gotten as a gift ages ago and put away in a closet. It’s more than half empty.

“Baby, why did you drink that?” You shift, taking his face in both your hands; he’s unstable again without your hand on his shoulder. You turn him, make him look you in the eye—and he tries, he tries, but his gaze slides over your face as though he can’t quite focus on it.

“You’re pretty,” he sings, and he leans forward as if to kiss you—and misses, his head falling onto your shoulder. “Missed,” he says, giggling. His hands reach clumsily for your waist.

It would be almost cute, you think, under other circumstances. If it weren’t Saeyoung, who doesn’t drink alcohol. Who’s promised himself never to drink alcohol—and for good reason.

He presses his lips against your neck, tilting sideways as he does so. Okay. Okay. One thing at a time. You know how to deal with drunk people, under normal circumstances. Just pretend it’s not Saeyoung. Just for now.

“Come with me, baby,” you say, expertly evading his grasp and offering him both your hands. “Let’s go sit somewhere a little more comfy, okay?”

“Don’wanna,” he mumbles, titling to the right. “Comfy here.”

“You’ll be comfier on the couch, I promise.” You keep your voice light. Taking both his hands, you give a gentle tug, and he obliges you, sliding off the stool without any of his usual grace or agility. He sways as he lands on his feet and you brace him with both hands again, waiting till his gaze clears. 

You lead him to the living room and he comes obediently, albeit stumblingly.

“…m’too drunk for this,” he mutters, laughing at himself as he narrowly avoids running face-first into the door frame.

“Too drunk to walk to the living room?” You guide him more carefully now. Most people would be well and truly messed up from the amount that he drank—based on your cursory assessment of the kitchen, anyway. For him—someone who has, to your knowledge, quite literally never consumed alcohol before—it’s astonishing he’s even still conscious.

You steer him to the couch. He hesitates and you turn to him—his face has gone pale, and he claps a hand over his mouth.

“M’gonna…never mind.” He shuts his eyes.

With some difficulty, you get him onto the couch. He slides sideways immediately and you slip a pillow under his head. He smiles a sloppy, lopsided grin.

“…galaxy,” he murmurs, sinking heavily into the pillow. You don’t question it.

Confident that he’s not going anywhere, you make your way back to the kitchen, fill a big glass with water. Now that you’re alone, your hands are shaking.

It’s not the end of the world to get drunk, but it’s certainly less than great to do it alone. It’s worse, though, so much worse, because it’s him—because of the promise he made to himself, because of the memories of his mother’s violence, because of the fear you know he has of those same genes manifesting in him.

You know that the last few days have been difficult, that the trial’s brought up memories he’d long repressed. But you wouldn’t ever have anticipated…this.

What could possibly have happened?

You take in the havoc in the kitchen: in addition to the whiskey bottle, there’s a glass knocked over on its side as well as the usual debris from chips and other junk food. One of the stools is on the ground.

And where, you think suddenly, is Saeran?

You take a deep, steadying breath—care now, you remind yourself. Figure out the rest later.

When you return to the living room with the water, he’s crying. 

His eyes are shut tight and he’s wrapped both arms around the pillow; there are tear tracks on his cheeks and as you approach he lets out a quiet, pitiful sob.

“Sweetheart…” You kneel beside him and he wriggles toward you like a wounded animal. You bring a hand to his face and wipe away the tears and he clumsily throws out one arm and dangles it over your body.

“Drink a little bit of this, please, love.” You tilt the cup toward his mouth and he opens his lips the tiniest bit. You get a little water in him; most of it ends up on the couch.

“…still hates me,” he mutters, pushing aside the cup, nuzzling his face into your chest. You stroke his messy, tangled hair with your free hand, pulling it off his forehead.

“Who does, baby?” 

“Saeran…does.”

You run your fingers over his feverish skin; his cheeks are flushed and his forehead is warm to the touch.

“Saeran doesn’t hate you, honey. I promise he doesn’t.” You try again with the water. It’s a little more successful this time.

“Does. We hadda…fight,” he slurs. “Gotta…find’m.” Defying all logic, he tries to sit up again, using your shoulders for leverage. Even in this state, he’s stubborn as hell.

“Where is he?” you ask, not sure if Saeyoung will even be able to tell you. You help him wriggle into a sitting position, thinking it’s perhaps safer than lying down after all.

“Walk,” he murmurs. He’s trying to look at you again, his eyes wandering over your face. “Babe! Your face’s…blurry.”

You sigh. It’s not out of the ordinary Saeyoung to push Saeran too far, or for Saeran to snap at him and go for a walk to clear his head. You wonder if the confluence of circumstances—the trial, both twins’ tensions running extra high, the memories Saeyoung associates with his family and raised voices and a dark, empty house—led to this turn of events.

One of the cameras near the door flickers to life—someone’s coming into the garage. You sit up stick straight. Saeran was just on a walk—he couldn’t have gone far. Which means…

“Baby, I’m so sorry, but I need you to move again.”

He groans and mutters something you don’t understand, but you have no time to waste. Glad you’ve already got him sitting, you slide your hands under both his arms and pull. He sags like a rag doll, but he doesn’t weigh a lot, and you’re strong—you tug him to a standing position and he sways dangerously in place, his face pale again.

“Can’t,” he moans, and you don’t have time to pity him. You simply can’t risk the consequences—for both brothers—of Saeran finding him like this.

“C’mon, sweetheart, please try to walk. For me.” You kiss him firmly on the cheek and he perks up a little, reaching for you. You take both his hands again and walk backwards, guiding him to the bedroom.

“No more…” he moans, but you get him down the hall and into the room, giving the corners a wider berth this time.

Panting, you deposit him on the bed.

“…spinning,” he mutters, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. 

“I swear I will be right back,” you gasp, and you run from the room before he can respond. You sprint to the kitchen, sweep the whiskey bottle into the cabinet under the sink. You dump the glass and throw it under there too for good measure. You right the stool, leaving the chips bags—that’s normal enough. 

But the smell…

You hastily grab your bag, which you’d dropped on the floor earlier when you’d found him here—pull out the little bottle of perfume you carry, spritz it liberally over the kitchen island. You inhale. It’s not perfect, but it’s better than nothing.

You throw open the big window over the sink and, bag under your arm, slink back to your bedroom. As the bedroom door is shutting behind you, you hear the security system beeping, the front door sliding open. Just in time.

You spin around. Now where is…?

A soft moan from the en suite bathroom answers your question. You peer through the dark—sure enough, he’s sprawled on the ground, head bent over the toilet. The fact that he’s managed to drag himself there is impressive. You sigh—this was inevitable and is probably for the best.

You sit with him there for a long time: pressing a cool, wet washcloth to his head, plying him with tiny sips of water when you can. He apologizes to you again and again in a raw, miserable voice; you stroke his hair and rub his back and promise him that he’s going to be okay.

Eventually he slumps into your lap and, almost incoherently, whispers the word “bed.” So you hoist him up again, arms around his torso; he tries valiantly to help you, stumbling through the doorway, over the carpeted floor. You guide him onto the bed and he practically melts into it, his breathing immediately slowing, deepening.

You get him as comfortable as you can—wresting his jeans off and casting them aside, tucking the blankets all the way around him. He murmurs groggily as you press a soft kiss to his forehead and then he’s out, chest moving slowly up and down, face peaceful.

You’d never know, you think.

You retrieve his glasses from the bathroom floor, fold them neatly on the bedside table. And then, steeling yourself, you slip through the bedroom door as quietly as you can, tiptoe down the hall. As you’d suspected, Saeran is still in the living room.

“Hey,” he says, lifting his eyes from the book he’s reading. He’s draped over the couch, white hair tousled. He’s turned on a lamp—the dim light illuminates the red roots that are just starting to grow in.

“Hi,” you say. For something to do, you fetch the cup of water you’d left on the floor earlier. Saeran doesn’t bat an eyelash.

“We had a fight,” he offers, unprompted. He drums his fingers on his book—the same nervous habit his brother has. “Did he tell you?”

“Um…sort of.” You put the cup on a side table. Nervously straighten one of the fluffy throw blankets.

“I was mean,” Saeran says bluntly. “I shouldn’t have been.”

You perch on the arm of the couch. Once, he would have flinched away from you; now, he watches you impassively, green eyes unreadable.

“Was it about the trial?” you ask, with some hesitation.

Saeran shrugs. “I guess. He keeps all the TVs in the house on all day. I can’t stand hearing our father’s voice anymore.”

“Right.” You know this—know that the ongoing trial is wearing on them both, know that they’re coping in their own ways.

“Is he…” Saeran looks down and back up at you; his eyes are bright. “Is he mad?”

You take a shaky breath. “No,” you say honestly. “But he feels bad that you fought.”

“Should I talk to him?”

He is still looking at you. You’re surprised—he’s never asked you for advice before.

“Maybe in the morning,” you say, perhaps a little too firmly—but Saeran is unfazed.

“I get it,” he says. “I’m gonna go back to reading now.”

You smile, grateful as always for Saeran’s manner. There’s no risk of overstaying your welcome, because he’ll always tell you when he’s done.

“Good night,” you say. He looks up at you again, gives you a tiny smile.

“Night.”

。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。

You wake abruptly the next morning. Through the haze of half-dream, half-wakefulness, you hear an intrusive rustling sound—then clunk. Clunk. Clunk. Your eyes shoot open.

“Saeyoung…?” you murmur, the events of the previous night momentarily evading you. You blink the sleep out of your eyes, see a blur of red hair in your peripheral vision.

He’s…cleaning?

“Oh god.” His golden eyes go huge with panic as he sees that you’re awake. He drops the mop (why was it clunking?) and throws himself onto the bed, kneeling beside you. “Hi. Good morning. Um. I am. So, so, so, so, so, so, so sorry. I mean, I—uh. Gah. I practiced this. Hang on—”

“Shhh.” You put a finger to his lips, pushing yourself up in bed. He sits back on his heels like a guilty puppy, eyes huge, waiting for a scolding. “So you remember last night, huh?”

His cheeks match his hair. He lowers his gaze.

“I am so, so, so, so…”

“Hush.” You take his face in both hands again, just as you’d done the night before. Tilt it up, forcing him to meet your eyes. “You don’t need to apologize to me. But I would like to know how it happened.”

He hangs his head, one red curl falling into his eyes. You brush it away.

“I don’t know,” he mutters. “You know I’ve never done that before. Right?”

“Yes, I know.” You slip out of the blankets and sit cross-legged, facing him. “Do you remember why you did it? Why you went looking for the whiskey that I didn’t even think you knew was in the storage closet?”

“I’d known where it was for a while,” he says softly, shamefully. “I found it one day when I was looking for an old hard drive and I guess I thought, wow, glad I know that’s there in case I ever lose my mind.” 

This surprises you. You didn’t know he’d ever give it any thought at all.

“I wasn’t seriously thinking I was gonna drink it!” he says hurriedly, his cheeks growing—if it were possible—redder. “It was like a…weird, bad joke. Like, haha, what a great way to escape my mind if I ever hate myself that much. I…dunno.”

You make yourself take a deep breath. You hate it when he says things like this. “Okay, fine. So why did you…?”

“I fought with Saeran,” he says, still looking down. He twiddles his hands in his lap, fiddles with the blanket. “It was stupid. We were just tense about the trial. And then he left, and it got dark, and I was alone, and I just couldn’t…stop thinking about her.”

“Your mother.”

“Yeah.”

He taps a pattern on his thigh, too fast, too hard. You take his hand, wrapping up his fingers in yours. He shoots you a grateful glance.

“It’s hard to explain,” he mutters. “It was like I was possessed. It was this feeling, like if I could…get inside her head somehow, I’d understand.”

“Understand what?” You realize you’re squeezing his hand too hard and you make a conscious effort to loosen your grip.

“Why she didn’t love us,” he says simply. You look up; there are tears in his eyes again. Automatically you reach for him, catching a tear on your fingertip. You kiss it away.

“Did you?” you ask quietly. Slowly, he shakes his head.

“I don’t think I ever will.”

“Oh, Saeyoung…” You hold open your arms for him and he bows his head, falling into you. You cradle his head against your chest, kiss the tears from his eyelashes.

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispers.

“You are a wonderful man, and you deserve the world,” you say firmly. You wrap your arms all the way around his waist and squeeze him tight and he exhales, like he’s letting out breath he’s been holding for a long time.

“I’ll never do it again,” he says, his voice muffled by your shirt. “I promise. I mean it.”

You thoughtfully run your fingers through his curls, de-tangling them, pulling them apart one by one. “Can I ask you something I’ve asked you before?” you say tentatively. He nods; you can feel it. “Would it be okay if I just…got some names? My therapist offered to make a list for you before, you know, and you don’t need to commit to anything, but I just—”

“Yes.” He pulls back enough to peer up at you. There are tear tracks on his cheeks again but his expression is sure. “I’d like that.”

His eagerness takes you by surprise. You smile and kiss the tip of his nose.

“Thank you.”

He leans his forehead against yours. “I’m meant to be the one thanking you. You shouldn’t have had to take care of me last night. You should’ve just left me there.”

“Never.” You take a deep breath and he breathes with you, exhaling against your lips, tickling you. “Now would you please explain to me what the hell you were doing that woke me up this morning?”

He giggles, a little guiltily—still, you’re relieved to hear him laugh. “I felt like crap, both physically and emotionally. I thought I could start apologizing by…”

“Slamming the mop against the wall?”

“I don’t…actually know how to use a mop.”

That makes you laugh, and it feels good, like a release. You wrap your arms around his neck and he sighs against you.

“You’re gonna be okay?” you whisper. He nods, gazing at you reverently.

“Because of you,” he says. He strokes your hair with his long, thin fingers—cautiously, gently, like he needs reassurance that you’re still there. “I’m gonna be okay.”

[clonewarslover55]

Walon Vau’s story

I decided to write out Walon Vau’s story, especially his home life and childhood. Why is Walon Vau the way he is? Read this and find out why. 

Notes: I used my own headcanons mixed with the small details Karen Traviss gave us in the Republic Commando books. Please don’t steal this because you think it’s all hers! 

Warnings: Bad childhood, abuse, child abuse, wounds, whipping, exile, royal drama, evil in the form of a man, thoughts of suicide, angst, 

Let’s start this off with a little bit of planet information and backstory! 

 The planet Irmenu is a small ocean world, the only land masses being large rocky islands. Most seem like mountains, with dangerous cliffs leading into the cold unforgiving sea. The ocean is riddled with beasts and monsters, but the only way of life is to sail. There are some valleys for livestock or farming, but not many. The valleys usually flood anyways, the storms always ruthless. So the Irmenu people fish and sail, searching for months on end just to survive and feed their family. 

Sailing is easy enough. The winds are strong and the seas rough. It’s cold year around, but the people have learned to adapt and survive. Wearing the fur of the air breathing sea beasts, making larger boats, etc. 

The kingdoms are clusters of islands, not one large land mass. Many islands are in large clusters, huge oceans between each cluster. The islands are all under the rule of the religious leaders, but sometimes there is still conflict. Conflict never lasts long on Irmenu though. 

This oceanic planet is in the Outer Rim, in the Belsmuth sector. Their planet is in the middle of the Crombach Nebula, which is extremely hazardous. This gives Irmenu a very good excuse to be so isolated. The leaders of the world use this to their advantage.  

This planet is a Feudal world, which means it’s controlled by a strict religion that also runs the powerful military. This means his world is very close minded and far behind on certain technologies and such. They still have spaceships and holopads, yes, but they’re out of date and ancient. 

The Imperius Priesthood runs the planet under very strict rules. They control what leaves and goes, along with who. They control the nobles and their money, using the Count’s as their marionettes. If you didn’t follow their rules/beliefs, you were either publicly executed, exiled, or sent to a nunnery. All depends on the situation. 

They’re everywhere, spying on their people and arresting whoever they please. Being so strict and ruling by fear affected the Irmenu people terribly. Most were religious fanatics, which means religion dictates every single part of their lives. They read the Irmenu Bible over and over instead of other books, and they follow the rules like good puppets. 

This planet is clearly terrible on it’s own, which only made Walon Vau’s childhood even worse. 

Walon Vau was born around 79 BBY on the planet Irmenu. He was the first and only son of the Count of Gesl, who was also an admiral in the very large Irmenu navy. Walon was raised like any royal, so he didn’t have much of a childhood.

Every second of every day was planned out by his father. He was highly educated, classes every day of the week and all day long. He rarely saw his parents, and when he did it was never under good circumstances. 

Walon learned proper etiquette, dancing, poetry, politics, and many other things he’d need to know for his future as a ruler. He was taught by a number of tutors, each brutal and cruel. He either learned, or was beaten. 

Once he reached the age of ten he began to work harder, practicing and studying for the navy. He didn’t want to follow in his fathers footsteps, but Walon had no choice. Plus he loved sailing, the ocean was calming and vast. The navy was his only hope for a better life. 

Pa Vau, Walon’s father was a harsh man. He was described as domineering, cold hearted, and unpleasable. He beat Walon when he didn’t do perfect on his lessons or training. He wanted Walon to be like him, so he tried to beat all emotion and feeling from his son. He almost succeeded. 

 A good ruler in Irmenu has no heart or soul in Pa’s eyes. 

He would never hit Walon on the face or anywhere visible, he had to have a good face as a royal. As Walon got older the beatings became more often and more brutal, because he wasn’t doing good enough in Pa’s eyes. 

When Walon was fourteen and tried out for the navy his own father rejected him, saying he was not good enough. Walon continued to train, the beatings even worse. The training didn’t help, Walon never made it into the navy. Pa was so unpleasable his only child was never good enough for him. This caused Walon to quickly lose hope, the thought of suicide seeming more appealing by the day. 

Walon only ever got to see his mother at nights, when she would come clean up his bloody lashing marks and other wounds. She was a soft gentle woman, but timid. Pa beat her as well, making sure she didn’t see her son for too long. She was never allowed to see Walon alone, because Pa didn’t want Vau to go soft by a mothers love. 

She was a religious fanatic just like his father, so she would lecture him as well. He had to be better, he had to. He was royalty, he was better than how he acted. Her words were often more cruel than intended. 

When she finished cleaning his wounds she’d read him a chapter of the Irmenu Bible, a book Walon was forced to know every last word to. He never listened though, he would always zone out and dream of a better life…….Or even of ending his life.  

His parents were never in love, their marriage arranged. His father married his mother because of her wealth and bloodline. His mother had rare golden eyes, a symbol of high status to his people. He got her eyes, but his father said that the color of his eyes meant nothing compared to how much of a failure he is. 

When Walon turned sixteen he was at a ball for some religious holiday, where we meant a beautiful princess of a neighboring province. After a few dances they quickly hit it off, and grew close rather fast. She basically saved his life, keeping him from ending it once and for all. She also changed his future for the better. 

He would sneak out as often as he could to meet her under the stars, but more often than not they wrote love letters on flimsy back and forth. Each letter, written with the finest penmanship and finest poetic words was kept by the princess. Walon kept hers as well, in a box under his bed.  

When Walon was eighteen, he asked his father if he could marry the princess. His father and her father both rejected the marriage, along with the Priesthood. Not because of politics or religion, but because Walon was not good enough or worthy to marry such a beautiful woman. 

His father was enraged that he had dared to ask such a question, so he was beaten worse than ever and nearly died. All because his father was embarrassed. When Walon healed a little he learned his love had been shipped away across the planet, to a nunnery. She would learn her lesson for sneaking out and falling in love with someone who was not of an arranged marriage. 

He knew he’d never see her again. 

Walon was exiled temporarily aftwards, being sent to some neighboring shit hole of a planet. He was eighteen and alone, with no idea of the outside world. His mother sobbed for days, her only child and her last hope gone. She prayed every night that he would be allowed back soon. 

Luckily for Walon Vau, he used to sneak out to the large library every night to read books. They had no fiction books, so he just learned about other societies and their ways. Most books pointed out how “bad” they were, but Walon always thought they were so much better than his planet's society. 

Thanks to reading, he knew a bit about the real galaxy. 

Walon had nothing but the clothes on his back. He had no money or possessions. No title, no name. So he wandered. 

Soon he ran into a group of Mandalorians, one by the name of Jaster Mereel. They quickly took in a teenage Walon, teaching him a new way. The way of the Mandalorian warriors. He never believed his home world's ludicrous ideas, so switching religions and cultures was very easy for Walon.

His family found out and disowned Walon for giving up his culture and religion. He lost his title and broke his mothers heart. His mother apparently died of a broken heart, after she heard the news that he would never return. But he knows deep down that his father finally snapped and killed her.

Walon became a perfect warrior, his body and mind already scarred from years and years of abuse. He was cold, calm, and calculated. Walon was also highly educated and very intelligent. So much so that some other Mandalorians taught him how to torture and dismember. He learned about the medical field and could have even been a doctor, but he preferred dead bodies and torturing. 

Jedi could hardly sense him in the force, his soul too broken. He was a perfect Mandalorian Warrior, fighting along with his friend Jango Fett and many others for years.  He fought in the Mandalorian Civil Wars, killing Jedi with no issue. 

Early in his time with the Mandalorians, Walon met a Strill. The Strill could sense Walon’s shattered soul and broken mind, so it adopted him. The Strill was named Lord Mirdalan, jokingly after his favorite uncle. The uncle that had beaten him the less, and had been executed when Walon was ten. Walon did not miss him, or anyone from his home world. 

That’s Walon Vau’s childhood story. He’s ice cold, calm, and utterly detached for a reason. His body is scarred, as is his shattered soul. He was so traumatized and beaten down into the way of the soulless that he had a hard time trying to escape that pit. 

He was cruel to his Clone Commandos, but every day he would be up all night thinking. He wanted them to survive the war, that's all he wanted. He didn’t want them to be failures like him, he couldn’t allow it. Failures never survived.

Walon Vau hardly ever sleeps at night, his mind plagued by nightmares. Not of the wars, but of his home life. 

Mird held Vau together a little better, but his soul never healed. He could never escape the hole of his traumatic past, and it ruined his life forever. 

They call him a psychopath but he really isn’t. Walon Vau can still feel, he just doesn’t know how to. Walon Vau is just a shattered and traumatized man, one who never got proper help. One who never had a childhood. 

(Please reblog this if you like it! I worked very hard on it!) 

Tags: @leias-left-hair-bun @iamassbuttkingofhell @catsnkooks @mxndalorians @colorfulloverbatturkey @ahsokatano-thetogruta @jedi-mando @peacefulwizardfox @hounding-around @julyzaa @feathersforclones @chr0nicbackpain @strangebroadwaykinks @jedi-nila-rhyn @crimson-dxwn @detroitbydark @passionofthesith

[amazingphanisnotonfire-imagines]

Steve//i can see a better time, when all our dreams come true

hey! last part! i just want to say thank you to everyone who’s read, liked, reblogged and supported this series! you all mean the absolute world to me. i know this is gonna sound cringey or whatever, but this series is more than just that. i was originally supposed to write and post this last christmas. but something that i can’t really remember stopped me and i was so disappointed in myself. then this hell hole of a year happened and i had a major mental health crisis (something i am still recovering from) meaning i couldn’t do anything but watch the same three tv shows and scroll through instagram for about 3 months, as well as a bunch of other awful things. i thought it would be a miracle to just start writing requests again, but then when i was going through a notebook, i found this idea and remembered how much i loved it and how upset i was that i hadn’t done it. so i thought i’d try and do it, and after many, many days and nights of me stressing about the littlest things and driving my girlfriend absolutely insane by only talking about this (sorry, i love you!), i’d done it! and i am so proud of myself! i know its not the biggest achievement of the year, but it’s mine. so again thank you to not only everyone whose read this series, but also thank you to everyone who has read and supported everything i’ve done this year. i really do hope that next year is a better one for all of you! happy new year my loves! 

They say that time moves in different ways depending on the situation. 

For example, the day you spent hours driving to the beach with Steve and Robin felt like it was over in five minutes. But the time stuck under ground in a really crappy elevator with them felt more like a week. 

From the time it takes Steve to take his bandana and goggles off and to walk the three steps to you, it feels like days and seconds all at once. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you tight to him and the two of you let out a breath you feel like you’ve been holding for the past week. Finally you feel like you can breathe again, and finally the weight on Steve’s chest shifts a little. 

Your hair is matted, your clothes dirty and torn and there’s a cut on your cheek, blood slowly trickles down your cheek, staining your face and your t-shirt red. But you’re you, and you’re alive and you look like you don’t know whether to laugh or cry. 

“You have no idea how much I’ve missed you.” You’re the first to speak, your words stumbling over each other. A chuckle mixed with a sob passes your lips as you hug him again, you hold him tighter than he’s ever been hugged before, it feels like his ribs are being crushed but he doesn’t care. He just presses a kiss against your forehead, and runs his fingers through your knotted hair. 

Hot tears land on the top of your head but you don’t feel them, you’re too busy crying into his shirt and the two of you stand like that for a few minute, thankful and very overwhelmed that the other one is alive and well. 

“I think I do.” He sobs and you let out a short laugh. “I love you so much Y/n. I am so fucking sorry. I’m such an idiot.” 

“No, no. It’s fine.” You cup his cheeks. “I was overreacting and I shouldn’t have stormed off. It’s fine.” You say and press a quick kiss to his lips, they’re salty because of the tears but neither of you care. “I love you Steve.” You finish and he breathes deeply, his shoulders sagging and the only thing that keeps him from falling is you. 

“I thought you were dead.” He cries. 

“Nah. You can’t get rid of me that easy.” You try, nudging his shoulder but he doesn’t smile. 

“I thought I’d never see you again. I thought...I thought.” 

“I’m fine.” You cut him off before he can finish his sentence. “Look. I’m good.” 

“I wouldn’t go that far.” He teases and you stare at him offended. 

“Rude. You do know that I almost died right?” 

“You’re so dramatic.” He rolls his eyes and yours widen. 

“Excuse me? I’m sorry who came all the way into an alternate dimension just to save me? Oh right. You.” 

“I only did that because I had nothing better to do. You know after boxing day things got a bit boring.” He shrugs and you slap his shoulder. 

“Asshole.” You mumble making him laugh. “How did you find me?” 

“Do you really think I’d forget the place we first met?” He replies, sending you a look and you squint up at him, the light from his torch blinding you slightly. “Sorry.” He mumbles and quickly turns it off.

“I thought given the circumstances you would have at least tried.” You shrug, staring at the floor. 

“Nah. Surprisingly it was the best day of my life.” He confesses and it surprises not only you but himself. That’s something he never thought he’d say. 

He thought Halloween 1984 would be a day that always hurt to think about. And yeah, thinking about what Nancy said to him still stung, but then he remembers you. 

You, in a costume he didn’t quite get. Your expression full of irritation that only softened when you saw him crying. You who asked what was wrong and stayed with him until he decided he wanted to go home. You who the next day found him to make sure he was okay. 

“Will you marry me?” He asks and your eyes widen.

“What?” You splutter and he stares at you hopefully. 

“I love you more than I have loved anything ever. You’re my favourite person ever, you make every day brighter. On days where I think I can’t do anything, when I think my dad is right about all the the shit he’s said and that little nagging voice in my head is shouting, you’re always there to tell me I’m wrong. You’ve helped me when I’ve been broken up with, beaten up and drugged. You fought a Russians for me and beaten up creatures from another dimension without even knowing what it was. I’ve never felt safer or happier with you by my side. I know I’m an idiot, but still...will you marry me?” 

“Steve.” You gasp, tears roll down your cheeks mixing with the blood and goo. “Yes. Yes I will marry you.” You reply and he lets of a sigh of relief. “Although, you didn’t get on one knee, and I don’t see a ring.” You tease and he rolls his eyes. 

His hands cup your cheeks delicately, he ducks his head down and presses a gentle kiss against your chapped and sore lips. 

“Steve? Steve? Are you okay?” Robin’s voice crackles through the walkie-talkie and you jump apart, suddenly remembering where you are. A loud crash comes from just outside and you and Steve freeze and stare at each other.

Thunder booms so loud it rings in your ears for a few seconds after and Steve feels the weight come back, only this time its shared with you too.

“I’ve got her.” He says slowly and eyes the bathroom suspiciously. “If you’re not already at the portal, go now. We’re on our way back...over.” He says and you hear a collection of relived sighs. 

“Yay! You said it!” Annie cheers and Steve rolls his eyes.

“What she means is we’re glad you’re both okay. Now get your ass back.” Robin adds and you and Steve don’t need to be told twice. Steve grabs the bat he dropped on the floor and reaches for your hand. He starts to pull you but is instantly stopped when he hears your cry in pain. 

“What? What’s wrong?” He’s in front of you instantly, looking you up and down for any injuries, and then his eyes land on your leg, and you watch him pale. 

“Stupid ugly thing got me.” You mumble and glance down at it, you cringe at the sight of the now brown blood, and inflamed scratches. Yeah, there is no way you’re going to be able to get that stain out.

“Can you walk.” He asks and looks around for anything to help. 

“I’ll be fine Steve. I just need to get used to it.” You reply. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes.” You nod. “Come on. I don’t want to be in Tina’s bathroom anymore than I already have been.” 

“Same.” He huffs and wraps his bandana around you. 

“What about you?” You ask while he puts the goggles on you. 

“I’ll be fine.” He waves you off. “It’s only a bit of dust.” He smirks and you roll your eyes. “Now come on.” He says quicker and wraps an arm around you. The two of you hobble towards the front door, tripping on a few vines and branches.

Steve helps you balance against the wall and the front door creaks as he pulls it open. 

“Okay.” He nods and looks back at you. “Nothing is waiting to kill us so I think we’ll be fine.” 

Famous last words.” You smirk and he rolls his eyes at you while helping you walk again. 

As soon as your outside, the door slams closed making the two of you jump. Wind rushes around the two of you and brown and black works its way into the cracks of the sky. Buildings tumble down around you, almost as if an invisible force is stomping on each of them. You and Steve share a look as the chaos seems to get closer and closer to you. 

“Shall we go then?” Steve asks, his eyes wide with fear and you quickly nod. 

“Yep.” You reply. “I hate parties anyway.” You say and a small smile twitches on your lips. Steve returns it and the two of you make your way down the steps and onto the street. 

Thankfully, Tina doesn’t live that far from you. In the past that was something you hated because it meant you couldn’t get out of parties, this time however, you’re very grateful for the closeness of your homes. 

In an ideal world, it means you’ll be able to get back to the right and semi-safe world in less than twenty minutes. However, if the past seven years have taught you and Steve anything, it’s that you don’t live in an ideal world. You live in the opposite in fact. 

Like you said, the habitants of The Upside Down, don’t care much for cleaning, and it’s only made worse now that the entire things seems to be collapsing around you. Either it’s doing it on purpose so none of you can escape, or all of you just have some really bad timing. 

“So this whole place is dying?” You ask and look around. It certainly looks like it’s dying. It has done since you woke up and its only gotten worse. You also thought it was strange that you hadn’t been eaten by now. 

“Yep.” He replies. “Apparently all those times we thought we’d won but hadn’t. Did actually do something. It just took a while for it to feel the affect.” 

“And I’m in here because?” 

“Annie said that whatever dragged you in, was probably looking for anything to eat.” He replies and you think about it for a few seconds. 

“So why didn’t it eat me?” 

“How the hell am I suppose to know.” He says. “Do I look like the scientist here?” 

“Furthest from actually.” 

“Exactly.” He smiles. 

“So what’s the plan?” 

“We get out as quickly as we can.” 

“The more detailed plan?” You roll your eyes. 

“Dustin and Lucas got a bunch of explosives and fireworks. We’ve dumped them in here and as soon as we get out, El and Will’s going to explode them!” He says proudly and you look at him impressed. 

“Wo-Watch out!”

You and Steve narrowly miss being hit by a falling tree, only to trip over some sort of decaying monster. 

“Gross.” You huff and look down at your hands, now covered in blood and guts. “Are you okay Steve?” You ask while trying to stand back up. 

“No.” He mumbles and you frown as you turn around to face him. He’s hunched over in the middle of the road, dry heaving and your eyebrows furrow as you watch him. 

“What’s wrong?” You ask, however instead of answering you’re just met with a groan. “Steve? We haven’t got all day.” 

“It went in my mouth!” He exclaims and turns around, throwing his hands up in the air. “That things guts were in my mouth. I can taste blood. Oh god. I’m gonna die. Or turn into one of those. Y/n, if I turn into anything like that please just kill me. You have my permission to take a baseball bat to my head...just please, bury me somewhere nice.” He rambles making you snort a laugh. “It’s not funny Y/n.” 

“It kind of is.” You reply and he glares at you. 

“It’s not.” He mutters and slowly walks towards you. However he freezes when he notices your eyes widening. “What?” He asks. “Y/n? What’s wrong?” 

“Don’t move.” You whisper and he feels his blood run cold. 

“What?” He squeaks and watches you slowly limp and pick up the bat lying on the floor. 

“Oh god. It’s happening isn’t. I love you Y/n. Tell Robin it was me that broke her Walkman. I told her it was Dustin, but it was me.” He closes his eyes, expecting the worst. 

Something scratches at his legs and he breathes in, this is it. He’s going to die, so are you and everything is going to be for nothing. He wants to reach out for you, to hold you close and then at least you’ll be together, but he can’t he’s frozen. 

And then he hears a thud, a small whine and your heavy breathing. Slowly he opens one eye, expecting to see some sort of toothy monster staring back at him. But instead he’s met with the back of your head. He watches you drop the bat, the noise echoing into the darkness and slowly he looks down. 

He’s not entirely sure what tried to kill him, it’s unrecognizable now that’s been beaten into the ground, but it looks scary anyway. 

“It’s the same fucker that dragged me in here in the first place.” You look over your shoulder and wipe your forehead. 

“I love you so much.” He stares at you in awe. “That was hot.” 

“Shut up.” You huff but wink at him anyway. “Are you okay?” You ask and glance at his leg. 

“Oh, yeah.” He shrugs and looks at the small scratch. “I’ll be fine. What about you?”

“I’ll live.” You shrug. 

The two of you stumble around the corner and into the forest and you watch as your friends climb through the glowing doorway to the real world. 

“Guys!” Steve shouts making everyone freeze. The kids have already gone through, leaving just Nancy, Jonathan, Robin, Annie and Joyce behind. Tears form in your eyes as you stare at your friends. 

“Hurry up!” Jonathan shouts. 

“I’m trying! It’s a bit difficult though with my leg hanging off!” You shout back and watch as Jonathan pushes Nancy through the goo before running towards you. 

“Jonathan!” Joyce shouts, her voice can barely be heard over the wind. It blows through your ears and makes you shiver. Trees move wildly around you and you watch as the sky starts to fall away. 

“Well that can’t be good.” You gulp and walk a bit quicker. Jonathan stands on the other side of you, holding your waist and the three of you stumble towards the portal. 

They let go of you and push you through, you land on the forest floor with a loud thud and small groan escapes your lips. 

“Y/n!” The group shout and everyone moves to help you stand. You’ve never been so happy to see everyone. Robin and Annie pull Jonathan, Steve and Joyce through. And as soon as Joyce is stood up, El and Will press the detonators. There’s a loud bang that makes you all jump back, and you watch as the portal vanishes, leaving the brown of the tree trunk behind. 

“Is everyone here?” Joyce asks and scans the group. 

“It’s a bit late if they’re not.” Robin replies. “But yes...I think we did it. We actually did it! Yes!!” She cheers and jumps up and down. Everyone shares a look before looking back at her and even Annie looks a little concerned. 

“I can’t believe you all came for me.” You pull the goggles and fabric off of your face, and tears roll down your cheeks. 

“Of course we did.” Dustin hugs you. 

“You didn’t think we’d leave you in there did you?” Nancy asks also wrapping you up into a tight hug. The res of the group follow and soon you’re in the middle of an eleven people hug...not that you’re complaining though. 

“Jesus Christ. How long were we in there?” Steve asks and looks at the now dark sky.

“Who the fuck cares. Let’s go home.” 

Fireworks crackle and explode above your head. The sky lights up with red and oranges, leading the way home for the 12 of you. 

The residents hope that the bright lights will keep the darkness at bay, but from now on, they won’t have to.

“Happy New Year love.” 

“Happy New Year Steve.” 

[shamelesslypoetic]

be still my foolish heart (don’t ruin this on me)

Summary: After the events of “Flirting With Social Anxiety” Roman and Virgil retire to Roman’s room, confess their feelings and have a well-deserved nap.

Wordcount: 2.7k

Pairings: romantic prinxiety

Warnings: Spoilers for the latest episode, kissing, cavity-inducing diabetes on the spot sweet fluff.

Ao3 link

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Roman was happy. Roman was so so happy he buzzed with it. Every fiber of his being sang with joy, his heart slamming against his rib cage in the best way, overflowing like an erupting volcano or milk left too long on a stovetop or a boy whose earliest dream had come true.

As Roman followed the one who helped him achieve said dream (and the most momentous victory to date) into his room, pride gleamed high and unbidden within him, intensifying tenfold the second they stepped over Roman’s threshold. 

Roman wondered if the rest of the mindscape could feel it too, the delicious rush in his veins, the exhilaration, the pure unadulterated euphoria. 

With how wide Virgil’s smile stretched, Roman thought it must be possible. 

They stood face to face, Roman in the doorway and Virgil leaning against the wooden end of the bed, both grinning at each other as their chests rose and fell with the depth of their breathing. Virgil’s was laboured and a little shallow, but continuous and steady. He was shaking and rightfully so after the sensational stunt he’d pulled that day. 

When the memory flashed into Roman’s mind, Virgil pushing Thomas in the truest display of courage Roman had yet to see, he wanted to hug Virgil so much his arms ached with it. He hadn’t wrapped him in a long embrace at the mall solely because he thought it would look weird but by Zeus, what was stopping him now? 

He took a step into the room as if to reach for Virgil but then stopped short as his eyes met Virgil’s radiant pair. Those eyes, glowing above two end-of-rainbow violet whirls, shone bright as the purest brown gemstone. Amber. Dark topaz. Jesper. Or perhaps a subdivision of carnelian? Roman would have to scour Logan’s collection of precious rocks for an exact shade later.  

For now he was content with gazing into them, their blinding light, the sugar-melt gum-drop fairy-floss sweetness of hope reflected in his companion. 

And well, if he was a little overwhelmed, a little overcome by such a vision, no one could blame him for wrapping his arms around himself instead of Virgil could they?

Virgil, ever the worrywart, peered anxiously over at Roman’s hunched form. 

“Is everything alright, Roman?”

Roman threw his head back and laughed -- airy and loud. It startled Virgil a little and Roman shook his head, wiping a tear from under his eye. 

“God yes. More than that, Virgil, it’s perfect,” he confirmed brightly. “You’re perfect.”

Virgil’s face colored with a pretty blush. Carnations, sweet strawberries, cherry blossoms. 

“Ro--”

“I really wanna hug you,” Roman interrupted, clasping his hands together. “Can I hug you please?” 

Virgil stared at him. He let a croaked questioning noise. “Ohuh?”

Oh. 

“Only if you want me to of course!” Roman blurted, mouth moving a million miles an hour; it was a miracle the words didn’t come out as gibberish. “I don’t want you to feel pressured I’m not desperate or anything, definitely not as desperate as I was at the mall haha, thank you again by the way--”

“Roman!” cried Virgil, snapping Roman’s jaw shut with the sheer force of his matter-of-fact stare. “Yes. Yes you may hug me.”

Roman froze. Then, in a flash of white and red and gold, surged forward, his arms pinwheeling ridiculously before he managed to get a grip on Virgil and crush him to his chest.  

“What?” Virgil wheezed as snarkily as he could through the chorded muscles trying to anaconda-squeeze him to death. “No comment about Logan’s grammar stickler tendencies rubbing off on me?”

“Not today, storm cloud,” said Roman, choked and fragile as he loosened his grip. 

Virgil patted Roman’s back, sarcastically sweet. “There there, Princey, it’s gonna be okay.

Roman shuddered as a sob-laugh wracked his frame. 

Virgil stiffened. “Are you crying?” He wrenched back, his hands skittering through the air. His long spider-leg fingers raced to wipe Roman’s tears. “Wait, shit, did I do something wrong?”

The tender touch was a bit much for our mushy-hearted prince, so it took him a moment to respond. 

“No no!” Roman grabbed Virgil’s hands gently, lowering them down before he let go. “I...I’m just. I’m just really happy, Virgil. Thomas is finally…he...my goodness are we actually ready for this?” 

Virgil didn’t answer. Roman’s heart rate spiked, his breath hitching with a worry so acute even the natural radiation of confidence his room emanated couldn’t stifle it. 

“Fuck, what if we aren’t? What if it goes wrong? He’s such a cool guy and Thomas finally has one thing to be happy about and if I ruin this too--”

“Roman stop!” cut in Virgil. “Breathe.”

“Yeah,” Roman rasped out, heaving. “Yeah, okay. Four, seven, eight right? 

Virgil smiled softly. “There you go.”  

It took a few tries before Roman’s inhales and exhales stabilized enough to use the countdown and somewhere in the interim Virgil had splayed his fingers across Roman’s chest to guide him through it.  

“Just relax.”

Roman snorted, too preoccupied to be embarrassed about the ingelancy of the sound. “You’re one to talk.”

“Shush,” Virgil tutted. “Panic attacks are no fun. I would know.”

To that, Roman couldn’t really say anything. Even though he wanted to, even though he wanted to offer up consolation or comfort, he knew Virgil hated pity so he stayed quiet. 

“Roman…” began Virgil. He glanced down at where his hands rested on Roman’s chest, blinking as if bewildered, as if they hadn’t moved of his accord. He stepped away, shuffled his feet and stuffed his hands into his pockets. His eyeshadow blackened back into dark gray and he wouldn’t meet Roman’s eyes. “What was that about you ruining this?”

Roman, slightly concerned by Virgil’s sudden withdrawal but trying not to show it, grumbled petulantly. “We weren’t supposed to angst today.”

Virgil’s eyes darted up to Roman’s and he smirked that one sourdough-crooked smirk Roman loved as much as it had infuriated him in the early days. “Excuse you, there’s never a bad time for angst! Angst makes for the best romantic tragedies.”

“Touché,” clucked Roman, almost disapproving of himself for agreeing. But when you literally worshipped Shakespeare you had to have a taste for tragedy, not that Roman would ever admit it. “I really don’t want this to end up a tragedy though.”

“Same,” said Virgil but he still had that probing poker face on, as well as the colorless eyeshadow.   

“Can we...check in for the Prince Roman woe program tomorrow?” Roman wagered. 

Virgil crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “We are gonna talk.”

“Yes I promise, but later. I...I just wanna bask in this for a moment.” 

Virgil deflated, arms dropping to his sides (ha) once more as he sighed. 

“And I’d argue you’re a bit too tired for serious-talk time anyway,” Roman added for good measure. It was true, Virgil’s slumped shoulders and drooping eyelids showed for his exhaustion. He’d really spent himself that day, panicking again and again. The dog had been the straw that broke the camel’s back and Roman, hopelessly fond and maybe a little lovesick, was torn between being proud and chastising his hardworking friend.  

Friend? Why did that not sound entirely right?

Maybe it was because of the way Roman’s heart fluttered or the way he was breathing in flowers and confidence and pride or the kinetic energy that freely flowed between them, Roman high on adrenaline, Virgil tired and yet so frenzied in a duality that honestly made him look stunning. Or...maybe it was the way Virgil was looking at him, head tilted and eyes shining, like Roman had handed him the moon on a silver platter.  

“Never too tired for you, Princey,” Virgil cooed mockingly. But he meant it. 

Roman rolled his eyes, ignoring him. “Lets go lay down okay?”

Virgil nodded. His expression subsided into something timid and gentle. “Okay.”

And that’s when it dawned on Roman. They were alone. Him and Virgil, Virgil and him. Alone in Roman’s room. 

Aphrodite have mercy on his poor soul. 

Originally they stumbled in to prolong the blissful feelings, Roman with the ulterior motive of ignoring the ever-crumbling reality awaiting him just outside, the one he’d been forced to confront in front of a public bathroom. 

But Virgil needed rest or he would run rampant for the rest of the day, expending himself even more. So perhaps Roman’s offer had been a little forward so what? Sue him for not wanting Virgil to faint.  

Still, with Virgil on the bed, his bed, Roman hesitated. 

Virgil made grabby hands in a request for cuddles and Roman thought he must be really far gone, exhaustion hooked too deep in his skin to keep up his tough-love emo character. Not that Virgil was disingenuous but Roman understood asking for affection “under normal circumstances” wasn’t easy for him, nevermind that Roman wanted to hold him forever reasons be damned. 

And there. There Virgil was, unfurled and willing and confident. 

Roman’s room had apparently worked its magic faster then usual, which wasn’t incomprehensible given the amount of energy electrifying Roman one vertebrae at a time, rolling down his spine in pleasant shivery waves. 

Roman had stood still for a moment too long and Virgil pouted. Roman, frantic to coax his face back into elated warmth, finally accepted Virgil into his arms, who wiggled to find the right position. The right position ended up being his face pillowed on Roman’s bicep with his legs draped across the top of Roman’s thighs, the sheets pooling with the scent of buttercream and freshly picked roses beneath them. 

A few minutes of comfortable silence passed, intercepted only by gentle breaths that had now settled down and Virgil’s absent drumming on Roman’s knee. 

Virgil broke first. “Roman?”

Roman typically would have responded with a “yes?” coupled by a nickname but he just hummed a pleased little sound as he pulled back to look Virgil in the eye, to indicate that he was listening.

Virgil said nothing and Roman waited patiently, expectant, when Virgil propped himself up and mashed their lips together. 

If not for the effects of his room, Roman would think he was dreaming. 

Their foreheads knocked and Virgil’s hands scrabble-squeaked on the bed like a tumbling mountain climber searching for purchase until Roman saved him from his predicament. He guided Virgil’s arms around his own waist and dipped forward over him, tilting his head into the kiss and savoring the licorice-plum medley playing on his tongue.  

The feelings that fire-crackered through him were liquid-fast, weaving up his veins, carving ornate shapes into his bones, dressing him in starlight that burst from the cove of his mouth and showered him in brilliant gold and silver sparks. 

Virgil felt like honey and hazel bloom, the cling of lipstick and chocolate and morning dew. Pink salt. Pearl ink. The orange blazes and reds pops and strokes of lilac that comprised sunsets. The softest velvet and sweetest birdsong. Treasure Roman cradled in his hands, hair that tickled his cheek like butterfly wings and shy fingertips that smoothed up his chest and caressed the hollows beside his neck. Lips, dry and cracked and bitten and slightly tangy but so very soft. Roman had never felt more alive, not even as Nico had led Thomas to his table. 

When Virgil finally pulled back, so close he murmured the words right against Roman’s mouth, Roman’s eyes remained shut. He was a little dazed, and despite that the kiss hadn’t been particularly heavy, utterly breathless. 

“Sorry,” said Virgil, breaking the spell. 

When Roman opened his eyes Virgil’s eyeshadow had glimmered back into purple and he grinned so wide Virgil’s breath hitched. Roman could see his adam’s apple rippling the long expanse of his neckline. He wanted to kiss him there, maybe leave a teeny tiny mark, but refrained, mentally waving away his room’s influence. 

“You have absolutely nothing to apologize for. I’ve wanted this for ages.”

Virgil’s eyes widened, the purple underneath shimmering faintly. “Then why didn’t you--?” He shook his head, cutting himself off. “S-Still, I rushed in, I--”

Roman ducked and kissed the words out of Virgil’s mouth. The second time around it felt like a blazing forest fire. Or a cozy hearth’s flame. Or perhaps somewhere in between. 

“It’s okay,” Roman breathed out when they parted for oxygen. “I loved every second.”

Virgil’s shoulders fell from their tense line and he sighed shakily. Once, twice, then he smiled up at Roman. Small and precious as the first bud of spring. “I’m glad,” he murmured with a nonsensical gesture. “We um, took a huge chance today, ya know? I...I figured what’s one more.”

Roman grinned, caught Virgil’s frantically fluttering hand mid-air, and pressed his lips to the back of it. He held Virgil’s palm to his face, tilting his head to the side to kiss it as well. 

“Valid,” he generously allowed.

Virgil blushed, hiding in the crook of Roman’s neck as he tugged his hand back and curled it into his own chest. 

Sudden and too-bright in the calm joy of the room, Roman laughed. “God, Virgil, I love you.”

Virgil looked up at Roman, awed. His eyeshadow glittered. “You...you do?”

Roman stopped, slipping into a porcelain-perfect statue. Slowly, his hand rose as if to clamp over his mouth or slap himself. He lowered it back down. Roman then looked away, sheepish but smiling like a rising sun. “Yes, I do,” he whispered, afraid anything too loud would ruin the moment. “But I think that’s a conversation for after you wake up.”

“Fair,” conceded Virgil reluctantly. “I’m holding you to it though. I won’t forget, Roman. About either talks.” A threat and a promise. Exactly what Virgil was, exactly how Roman liked him. 

Maybe it was a tad underhanded, but Roman kissed Virgil’s forehead and flashed him another grin. “Kay.”

Virgil’s mouth fell open. He closed his eyes and sighed, brows upturned in fond exasperation. 

Roman cooed and pressed more featherlight kisses to each of Virgil’s cheeks. The tip of his nose. He stopped an inch above his lips. Virgil opened his eyes but instead of his perfunctory blank face, his eyes shone open and guileless. Limpid and hopeful. 

Before speaking Virgil closed the distance between them, pecking Roman to seal the deal. “And even if I do you’ll remind me right?” 

Roman’s face softened into resigned adoration. “Of course,” he promised, kissing each of Virgil’s eyelids. “Now sleep, my beautiful blackbird.”

Virgil’s face scrunched in mild annoyance but he didn’t call Roman on using enchanted fairy-dust to will him into sleep or the throwback. Instead, he looped his hands through Roman’s arm pits, clinging to his shoulders like a baby koala. 

Virgil yawned, rubbing his face on Roman’s undershirt that peeked from his collar. “Mmh, only if you do.”

“As you wish, my featherbrained fellow.”

Virgil gave him an unimpressed look. “Stop,” he deadpanned. 

Roman grinned obnoxiously, bumping their noses. “Never, my captivating corvid.”

Virgil groaned, tucking his face into Roman’s chest. “I hate you.”

Funny how the words sounded like an “I love you”, even though he hadn’t said it back the first time. 

“I love you too,” replied Roman, dropping one last kiss to the crown of Virgil’s head. 

He must have taken a moment to get the words out through the lump in his throat, because Virgil’s eyelids had slipped shut and his breath had settled into a rhythmic pattern. Washing onto Roman’s lips was peppermint, Virgil’s breath smelled like peppermint. 

Roman knew Virgil couldn’t hear but he said it again anyway. 

“Thank you, Virgil.”

Virgil, fast asleep, nuzzled into the rumble of Roman’s voice. 

With a snap of his fingers Roman cloaked the room in darkness and the fairy strings across the canopy of his bed glowed to life. Licorice and plum still tingled on his lips and even in sleep Virgil’s eyeshadow glowed with tiny divots of amethyst under the fairy light. Roman drifted off, content for the first time in months. 

Outside the mindscape, Thomas felt like he could do anything. Absolutely anything. 

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A/N: Please reblog, this took two hours formatting on phone cause Tumblr kept eating the post and I don’t have a laptop (yet). Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed! Don’t forget to drink your loving Roman juice. See you soon ❤

Tag list (ask to be added/removed): @drown-in-lava-choke-on-rubies @birch-pictures @ace-corvid @seouqi @ymmm-someone @coconut-cluster (obligatory prinxiety tag)

[asgardianthot]

Hunting Season (sambucky) – Part 5

Series Masterlist

Warning: mention of abuse

Words: 2597

A/N: I know I sort of disappeared for a while lol school work has been insane and I’m just beginning to get used to the stress of being an art major, especially under these circumstances :/ All my free time I spent doing fanart tho so it feels like forever since I last wrote! Anyways, enjoy the following set of heavy declarations between these two loverbois because I loved writing this chapter!

Another note! In case it’s unclear, the flashback in the second half is what happened the night of the first chapter, when Sam invited Bucky over to help him with his financial problems and such, and he ended up getting drunk and being dragged to bed (when Sam asked if he said anything stupid, Bucky lied and said no)

When they reached their bedroom, Bucky let go of Sam’s grip, softly enough so that Sam would know he wasn’t tumbling from mere drunkenness. Even though he did tumble a bit on his way to the bed. Meanwhile, Sam closed the door and turned to aid his friend.

"I'm fine, Sam.” Bucky reassured him as he sat on the edge of the mattress, “Just wasted, 's all."

Sam, however, was determined to look after him, "Sit." He ordered.

James nodded with acceptance and took a breath, feeling the alcohol wash away and making room for sleepiness. Almost immediately, a knock was heard on the door, to which Sam checked to see if Bucky looked decent enough, in case they had to deal with any family members.

“Who is it?” Sam asked before opening.

He was relieved to hear a female voice which belonged to the maid, Nicole.

“I brought your coffee.” Her statement sounded more like a question.

Sam let go of the breath he was holding and received the platter, not without before thanking her with a kind smile. He waited until she had left to shut the door for good; the next person to come knocking would be met with them pretending to be asleep. Neither Sam nor Bucky were in the mood to withstand more judgement, but especially Sam wasn’t in the mood to deal with any other Barnes than the one in that room.

Sam offered the mug to Bucky, "You still want it?”

Yet the man made a grimace before rubbing his left eye, letting Sam know he was sleepy now and was in no need of sobering up through caffeine. It was better to just go to bed. When Sam put the mug away, James laid back on the bed with exhaustion. A few seconds later, he felt Sam’s hand taking off his shoes.

"Thanks." Bucky said in a hoarse, almost embarrassed tone.

Once Sam finished taking off the drunk man’s shoes off, he tossed them aside and sat on his butt, groaning with tiredness. What his eyes spoke to Bucky was uncertain, but there was a clear hint of disappointment. Sam didn’t mean to, but his entire body was rejecting the patience he tended to have for his buddy.

"What's got you so jumpy, dude?" Sam finally spat out what was in his preoccupied mind.

From the bed, Bucky looked down to the man on the floor and saw concern. Love. Someone who cared, and Bucky’s every fiber rejected the possibility of giving into it. He put up a big emotional wall between them and proceeded to fake disinterest. He scoffed, rubbed his sleepy eyes again and began looking up at the ceiling with nothingness dwelling in his eyes.

He shrugged and spoke as if it was nothing, "You know what's got me jumpy."

It had to do with Brock, obviously, and he didn’t feel like discussing the sensitivities of the past relationship right now. But Sam knew his friend and he knew he had never seen him react that defensive to anyone before. So aggressive, and excessively responsive. Sam wasn’t an idiot.

"No, I don't.” Sam replied sternly, “I know he's an asshole, and he's manipulative, and he's horrible, but I think there's more. And I really want you to tell me, if that's okay."

The way Sam phrased it, Bucky knew he already suspected the answer. There was no use hiding it, and he felt like lying about it would turn the whole situation into a bigger deal. There was no deceiving Samuel Wilson.

He bit the inside of his cheek, concealing his disgust, and replied in a monotone, "He kicked my ass, okay?"

Sam frowned, but his friend couldn’t see him.

"He what?"

Bucky sighed loudly. No matter how hard he tried to derail the subject, he knew he had to tell the details. He was finally giving in, and he hated it.

"I was... walking out that door for the last time, you know, he said he was tired of me leaving and coming back.” He turned his head to avoid facing his friend before continuing, “So he- whatever, he sort of... yanked my hair and stuff.”

The silence that followed gave room for Sam to believe there was more.

“Kicked me.” Bucky completed the details, then cleared his throat in an attempt to get rid of the knot in his throat, “Like I said, he kicked my ass."

"That's a big deal, Bucky,” Sam stated, his eyes big and apprehensive, and filled with an indiscernible mix of negative feelings, “that's abuse."

"So, it was. What'd you care?"

As much as Sam knew, deep down, that Bucky was speaking out of mere rejection of his own feelings, he couldn’t help but feel offended at the assumption that he could not worry about it.

"Because I care.” He raised his voice with disbelief, “God, of course I do, how couldn't I?"

He gained no response from James. In the midst of the horrific news, Sam had to remind himself of the fact that the man was still wasted, therefore he couldn’t ask too much of him. Sam wanted to know more, he wanted to have a real heart-to-heart, he wanted to go downstairs and smash a glass to Brock’s smug and damage his face permanently. Instead, he steadied himself, somehow. It took him a few long and difficult seconds to gather his calm, but he managed to do so.

He stood up and went to the bathroom to put on his pajamas. He seized the walk to throw Bucky his pajama pants, not too gently. The last thing he saw before shutting the bathroom door was Bucky’s inaccurate hand grabbing the item from the other side of the bed. When Sam came back from brushing his teeth, he saw Bucky in pajama bottoms and shirtless, passed out on his belly.

During the half hour to follow, Sam tried to catch some sleep, but his mind was elsewhere. More agonizingly long minutes passed, and all he could think about was that he would be too tired at the hunt the next day, which made him think of the Barnes and their guests, which made him think of Brock and how much he wanted to kill him for hurting Bucky.

Eventually, he heard choked noises coming from the man he was giving his back to, and later he realized that those noises were sobs. He turned and saw Bucky, curled up on himself, also giving Sam his back and trembling slightly as he failed to conceal his own crying.

"Buck." Sam called softly.

"I'm sorry.” He replied, his voice cracking, “I'm sorry for everything, for bringing you here, asking for money, fuck, I'm sorry for being your friend."

The final statement broke Sam’s heart even more than the sound of Bucky’s sobs. He placed one hand on the side of his torso, where his ribs contracted at the rhythm of his hectic breathing and attempted to calm him, mostly by telling him a comforting truth.

"Don't say that, man. I love you." He reminded his friend.

"You shouldn't.” James denied it, “God, I'm a mess, I drag everyone into my shit, and now I dragged you. You- you don't deserve this."

"Hey.” Sam interrupted, “You got some issues, doesn’t mean you're not a lost cause."

"No, but I am.” Bucky’s pitch dropped an octave, managing to express more sorrow and certainty than before, “Not even Brock fucking Rumlow could handle me, he said I was so-“ a hiccup cut his words short, “so damaged that... that not even he- he could stand me."

"He was manipulating you."

"I know, but he's right!” his own words surprised him, and they truly cut like knives, “I'm such a fucking-“

"Hey." Sam cut him off, hugging him from behind.

"I'm-"

"You're my best friend, remember?” He said sweetly, “You're a great guy. And I'm a great guy, so I know what I'm talking about."

Barnes shook his head, "No."

"Just let me hold you, dude."

At the sound of that, Bucky’s breathing calmed a little, realizing there was no convincing Sam of his own self-flagellating thoughts. Sam believed he was good, and perhaps, only perhaps, it gave Bucky a tiny bit of hope. He eventually loosened next to Sam’s embrace, and they accommodated themselves in a cuddle. Sam ran his thumb up and down Bucky’s naked shoulder, as a reminder that he was there.

"You're okay.” Sam whispered soothingly, “You're dealing with stuff. We'll manage."

We. Bucky couldn’t help but warm up at the thought of a ‘we’.

"Thank you.” Bucky croaked, then swallowed with difficulty, “For everything."

Silence and calm being insured, they slept like that, cuddling until morning came.

-

A few weeks ago. The night before.

“Okay, Professor Wilson, you got homework to grade tomorrow.” Bucky groaned humorously as he struggled to hold Sam’s weight on his feet.

The wine they had poured for themselves was long gone, but its disappearance was, at least, ninety percent Sam’s fault. While Bucky’s senses were untouched, even though he was the one whose life was falling apart because of his miserable living situation, Sam seized the opportunity to get absolutely wasted nonetheless, leaving the task of getting his ass to bed in Bucky’s hands.

While Bucky found his friend’s drunk state amusing, leading his tumbling body to the bedroom turned out to be harder than he thought. Sam’s entire weight relied on Bucky’s upper body strength, not to mention his resistance to being babied.

“N’a don’t.” Sam protested.

“Well, you’re drunk.” Bucky sighed.

Sam’s lips curled into a smile and he directed his wine-smelling breath directly towards Bucky’s face, almost taunting him, “Yes’am.” He slurred.

Bucky looked the other way with exasperation before bettering his grip on Sam’s unstable body, losing his patience.

“Come on, man, help me out.” He complained.

Finally, the two managed to cross the door to Sam’s bedroom, and being so close to dropping the dead weight on its bed, Bucky started realizing how tired his own arms were.

“You hittin’ the gym or something?” he mocked, almost out of breath, “Why do you weigh ten times more than the last time I did this?”

“Mmm-maybe I put on old man fat.” Sam said in a grumpy tone, “Like an old man.”

Barnes rolled his eyes while taking a breath to recover his physical strength, “You’re not an old man.”

As soon as he let Sam’s body fall dead on the mattress, Bucky sighed with contempt, yet went back to his babysitting task by leaning down, hovering over Sam’s face.

“Hey.” Bucky put on a stern, yet not serious voice as he pointed a finger at his friend, “I hope you remember this tomorrow, ‘cause I’m about to drop some knowledge, okay?”

Sam’s lost expression didn’t change though, “M’kay.” He mumbled.

“You’re not old.” James began, “You’re a youthful, incredibly handsome man, and any woman would be lucky to have you.”

The hyping words caused Wilson to snort amusingly.

“I bet all of your students drool over you but you’re too much of a good man to even notice.”

This time, they both laughed.

“I dunno…” Sam shook his head, his eyes not really focusing on anything.

“Say it with me. I’m hot.” Bucky demanded.

“’m hot.” The other repeated.

“I’m a catch.”

“I’m a catch!” He raised his voice with a deep, exaggerated tone, clearly concealing his laugh.

Bucky then squinted with amusement, “And I got a fine piece of ass.”

That got the last of Samuel, provoking him a loud chuckle that satisfied Bucky enough to decide his job as drunk-babysitter was completed.

“Alright, go to sleep, hot stuff.” He smiled and stood up straight.

Sam, however, stopped him before he could leave, “Wait. I got some knowledge, too.”

His words were difficult to pronounce, and even more when he struggled to sit. He gave up on trying and simply rested on a more upright position, supported by his forearms. Bucky watch him do his best effort and prepared for the drunk babbling that was certainly about to happen. He crossed his arms and was incapable of concealing his smile.

“Alright, go.” Bucky taunted him.

“You’ve always… been too good for him.”

At the sound of that, Bucky’s smile dropped. He wasn’t expecting a serious chat, and less one about Rumlow. He didn’t know what to respond, and so Samuel went on.

“He’s not even that great, he’s just… so good at lying, he-he made you think he was.” He declared, frowning like he was trying to understand the injustice, “And you-you tried to…I dunno, see the good in him. ‘cause you do that, you find the good in people.”

Sam’s gaze lingered, focused on Bucky’s expression, but it didn’t seem like the drunkenness allowed him to process the fact that Bucky was neither content nor comfortable with the conversation. After a few seconds of silence, Bucky spoke in a cold, partially upset tone.

“Why would I do that?” He asked out of genuine curiosity for Sam’s insight on the matter.

“’Cause you’re good!” The man replied with an instantly escalading smile, definitely not reading the room, but entirely confident in his own words, “You’re the goodest- no, that’s not…” He stopped himself by laughing at his own made up word, finally catching on how unintelligent he sounded.

“Alright.” James cut him off dryly, “Time for bed.”

But Sam was too invested in conveying his strong opinions to his friend, so he barely even heard him.

“His hair is dumb.” He continued naming Brock’s flaws, “And he’s the dumbest guy alive for treating you like that. ‘Cause you, you… God, if I…? If I had you-?”

Before he could stop stammering, Bucky raised his voice and interrupted him.

“Sam, go to sleep.”

Being too wasted to protest or even understand why Bucky was acting in such a way, Sam dropped his head down with exhaustion. He nodded in agreement of the fact that he should go to sleep, and plopped on the pillow behind him.

Sam was too far gone to consider the weight of his words. But even if he was sober, he would never know to what extent what he was about to say would hurt Bucky. Because Bucky had considered it before, years ago. He had thought, in his darkest days, that if only Sam liked men, if only Sam dared to look Bucky’s way like something more than a friend, perhaps Bucky could have had a shot at real love. He fantasized, long ago, that Sam’s love would be a breath of fresh air, that Sam could teach him what respect and real care could mean.

In his brightest days, however, before Brock, he had felt something beautiful. There were no selfish reasons, no wishful thinking, simply… something. Bucky had felt something beautiful towards his best friend, something that made him think perhaps he was capable of beautiful feelings, he was capable of loving selflessly. The problem was that if it ever came out into the light, and Sam found out, he wouldn’t reciprocate, and then Bucky would have risked everything. He decided, eventually, that Sam’s friendship was more important than his hope of becoming the kind of person who felt beautiful love.

That kind of confusion, Bucky hadn’t felt in years. Not since he shoved it all down his throat and pretended he had never even considered Sam as something other than just his best friend.

So, whatever Sam was about to say right there, Bucky refused to hear the end of that sentence.

[ct7567329]

Thank You: Fives x Reader

Kinda Sad, sorry

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

"And that is why I would never, EVER, threaten to steal Rex's hair dye again!" Jesse laughed. You and Kix did the same. The 501st was on Coruscant so you decided to spend the day at 79's, or the clone bar as some call it, with your friends Kix and Jesse. Just because you were their general, it didn't mean you couldn't be their friends. You wanted to spend the day with your boyfriend Fives, but apparently he was going to have a secret talk with the chancellor. Jesse and Kix were hysterical, but your laughs didn't laugh long though. Suddenly, a screen in the bar lit up with a picture of Fives.

"Guys look!" you gasped.

The screen read: Wanted: Treason to the Republic, Assassination attempt of the Chancellor.

"That can't be right!" Kix muttered as you and Jesse shook your heads. You tried to call him on his comlink, but the call never went through. Worry began to take over your body. Kix got up to go to the bathroom while Jesse was trying to make you comfortable.

"Look's like the 501st made its way to Coruscant," Fives mumbled, causing Kix to turn around.

"Fives! What are you doing here?!" Kix whispered with spite, "I heard you tried to assassinate the chancellor!"

"It's not what you think! Where's (Y/N)? I need (Y/N)!" Fives panicked.

"She's here right now, I can get -" Kix was cut off by Fives.

"No, no, I need her to meet me at these coordinates! Please tell her to hurry. Tell Rex and General Skywalker to come to those coordinates too. But give them to (Y/N) first. Please," Fives pleaded. "I must be going now!"

Kix stood in the bathroom for a minute, speechless. Finally, he decided to come out of the bathroom to speak to you and Jesse.

"He was here! I can sense it! I know it!" you were almost screaming as Jesse was holding you, trying to relax you.

"(Y/N), Fives has given me coordinates, he wants to see you. He begged to see you. You must go here," Kix informed you.

Instantly, you jumped out of Jesse's grasp and ran out of the bar.

"Poor girl," Kix sighed, taking a sip of his drink.

Outside the bar, you hopped onto the closest speeder and sped off into the depths of Coruscant. "It's impossible. Fives wouldn't try to kill the chancellor. He's probably so scared. Something isn't right," you kept thinking. Before long, you were finally at the coordinates Fives gave to Kix. It was a warehouse. You slowly walk in.

"Fives? Fives, it's me. I'm here. Fives?" you were getting no response. Your insides started to shake, you feared for Fives' life.

"(Y/N)?" Fives called. The fear in his voice gave you chills.

"Yes Fives, I'm here!" you called back, finally seeing him behind some boxes. You run up to him and jump into his arms. He embraces you as tight as he can, tears running down his face. "Fives, what happened?!"

He tries to make out words between sobs. "(Y/N). As crazy as this seems you must believe me, you have to. Please. I would never lie to you!"

"I believe you Fives, please talk to me," you say with compassion in your tone, rubbing his head, which was pressed against your chest.

"The chancellor. He's the Sith Lord, (Y/N)! He told me all of the clones have a chip in their heads. All he has to do is give us a command and all the clone will turn against the Jedi and kill all of them! It's the ultimate plan against the Republic. (Y/N), his order would make every clone want to kill the Jedi, even you!" Fives cried, "You have to make sure every clone has their chip removed!"

"Fives," you cried along with him, "Fives, who told you this."

"The chancellor himself!" Fives was shaking at this point.

"Fives, don't worry. I've got you. We will get through this," you insure him, continuing to rub his head.

"Fives? It's Anakin and Rex. We're here to talk to you," you both heard Anakin say.

You let go of Fives and go to meet Anakin. Before you do though, Fives tells you no to tell Anakin anything. You promise not to. You walk to Anakin.

"Anakin?" you call out.

"(Y/N). What are you doing here?" Anakin asked, seeming defensive.

"I was given the coordinate from Kix. I'm here to talk to Fives. I was looking around for him."

"We need to find him," Anakin started to say, "Fives, Fives! We're here to talk to you! We won't hurt you. It's just me, Rex and (Y/N)."

"Uh, put down your weapons!" Fives yells.

"I don't think so Fives," Anakin replied with some sass.

"Please General!" Fives cries out.

"Okay Fives," Anakin groans, putting his lightsaber down as Rex puts his blasters down. You also put your lightsaber down as well. "We all put our weapons down Fives," Anakin sighs.

Suddenly, a ray shield comes down around you, Rex and Anakin.

"Fives!" Rex yells.

Fives jumps out from behind the boxes. "I'm sorry, I just need to talk to you guys."

"Well we don't have a choice now, do we?" Anakin sarcastically adds.

"There's a sinister plot, in the works, against the Jedi! I have proof of it! I can prove that everything I know is true beyond a shadow of a doubt!" Fives started to yell.

"Show me the evidence!" Anakin commanded.

"The evidence, is, in here. It's in here!" Fives hardly got out, pointing to his head, "It's in all of us, every clone!"

"What is it?" Rex growled under his breath.

"Organic chips built into our genetic code, to make us do whatever someone wants, even kill the Jedi. It's all in here!" Fives kept pointing to his head.

You exchanged a distressed look with Rex.

"Let's just get you some help first the we can review everything. You'll be okay Fives, we'll sort this out," Anakin reasoned with Fives. Watching the pain in Fives tortured your heart.

"You don't believe me!" Fives yelled. You looked at Fives with fear in your eyes.

"I believe you Fives," you told him, trying to put compassion in your tone.

"Fives, we are listening to you. We only want to help," Rex told Fives, trying to calm him down.

"How do I know you're not tricking me? How do I know it won't be a trap? The chancellor will try to kill me! I promise you that!" Fives yelled at Rex. You tried to calm Fives with your eyes, but he wouldn't look at you.

"The chancellor?" Anakin questioned.

At this point, little did you know, a squadron of clones, assigned to arrest Fives were approaching the warehouse.

"He's in on it! I don't know to what extent, but I know but I now he orchestrated much of this. He told me in the medical bay," Fives tried to explain.

"He told you, when you tried to assassinate him?! You have gone too far Fives! The chancellor is incapable of what you claim!" Anakin yelled at Fives. You put your hand on Anakin's shoulder to try to calm him down, but it was no use. Anakin, pushed your hand off him.

"He is! I swear to you general! You have no idea!" Fives started to say, but he was interrupted, but a squadron of clones.

"Stand down trooper! Stand down! Down on your knees!" Fox screamed, rushing into the warehouse.

"No! NO! Stay back!" Fives yelled back, eyeing Rex's pistols resting on a box.

"Fives don't do it!" You begged, screaming at him.

"Get away from me!" Fives growled as loud as he could, grabbing Rex's pistol.

"Fives, no!" Rex yelled as you remembered you always kept a blaster on your belt. You instantly grabbed it and shot the ray shield that had you, Anakin and Rex held in. As soon as the shield fell, Fox took a shot a Fives, but you shoved Fives out of the way, taking the blast right into your side.

Fives dropped Rex's blaster and rushed to your side, you were still standing up, but gasping for air.

"(Y/N)!" Anakin yelled, helping Fives keep you up, but you fell to the ground anyway.

"Call a medic!" Rex commanded, "Get help!"

Fox quickly commed a medic to come, guilt flooding his mind. "General, I am so sorry," he started to say.

"Shut up!" Fives yelled at him. "(Y/N), my love, (Y/N)," Fives cried, stroking your face. Everyone in the room was taken back by Fives calling you "his love" but due to the circumstances, they didn't do much about it.

"Fives," you gasped.

"Yes?" Fives cried.

"You, you are the most driven guy I have ever met. You also also taught me what it mean to love and be loved. You changed my life Fives. I never said it enough, but I love you Fives. Thank you for being my lover for over a year now. You were the first thing on my mind when I woke up and last thing when I went to bed. You made me want to do better and Fives, I would do anything for you. My last wish is to have you not be wanted anymore. To have the Jedi talk to you, not kill you. Thank you Fives, thank you, I lov-" you faded out in his arms.

"(Y/N)! (Y/N) No! No! You killed her! You kriffing killed her!" Fives cried, putting your lifeless body close to his. "She was all I lived for!"

Anakin fell to the ground and stared at you, "She was going to be the most powerful Jedi Master, I knew it."

Rex put his head down, "I can't believe it."

"She's gone! I can't believe she's gone!" Fives began to choke, "I can't take it! I loved her. I loved her so much."

[turtlepated]

The Handbook for the Recently Married (to the Deceased)

Chapter 7:

Tag list:

@sapphic-florals , @beetlejuicebeadoll , @do-ya-hear-that-sound , @imtherain , @imsuchahobbit , @pastelnacht , @tialanderrol , @sammyskip , @monsterlovinghours , @allmycrushesaredead , @missiheart23 

------

 It wasn’t the first time a Monday had seemed to stretch on forever. But this particular Monday, after the extremely unorthodox way I spent the weekend and the fact that there was a demon? man? something in my house while I was stuck at the office for the next… I paused halfway through the thought, checking the time again and utterly dismayed to see that it was still only mid-morning. Beetlejuice would have the house all to himself for the next 7 hours. It seemed like every time I looked at a clock, the hands stood still. Finally I pasted a sticky note over the bottom left corner of my computer monitor because I couldn’t stop glancing at it every few seconds.

I did my best not to dwell on it, since there was plenty of work to occupy my mind and my time, but I kept getting distracted by thoughts of Beetlejuice. He’d been docile enough this morning when I hurtled through the house getting ready to leave, but what might he be getting up to while I wasn’t there? I’d glimpsed the sort of mayhem he was capable of back in the Deetz house; morphing the Victorian home into a devilish fun house straight out of the seventh circle. 

Early on I planned to run home during my lunch hour, just to check on things, but that plan fell through when an overwhelmed coworker asked if I’d be willing to help them out instead. Which I wasn’t, but I agreed to help them anyway even while my own stress level continued to climb. By the time I left for the day I was wound tight as a bowstring, both gunning to get home and anxious about what I mind find when I arrived. But I’d also realized that if he was going to be living with me, Beetlejuice was going to need some things. So I forced myself to drive at a normal speed and to make a stop at the chain department store in town, consulting the list I’d put together as items occurred to me throughout the day. 

Once or twice I did think about the fact that I hadn’t told him when I would be back, but he hadn’t asked either. And I didn’t have any way of contacting him to let him know I’d be late. I could, perhaps, find the Deetz’s home number, but it might be…. awkward to ask them to drop in on the specter who had terrorized them. So I just did my shopping as quickly as I could, loaded it all back into my car, and booked it for home. 

At first blush the outside looked perfectly normal when I pulled into the driveway and I let out a sigh at the rush of relief. Leaving all the bags in the car for the time being I mounted the steps, rifling through my keyring to unlock the back door only to find it standing slightly ajar. Intrigued but not yet alarmed, I stepped inside and shut it behind me, my eyes roving every square inch of the room for anything out of place but finding nothing of note. The kitchen was still messy from where Beetlejuice had made pancakes: the island countertop cluttered with dried spots of dripped batter, bits of eggshell, dusted with flour with the bag left sitting open. The dirty griddle still sat on the stove where I’d put it for him, the sink full of used dishes. Overall, I’d been braced for worse, but it was nothing a wipe down with a hot dish cloth and a load in the dishwasher wouldn’t take care of. 

In the living room the coffee table had been shoved against the far wall and in the center of the room it looked as though he had gone through the whole house scrounging pillows and blankets which he had then constructed into some sort of enormous fort. The couch was bare of seat cushions, and I even recognized the pillows and blankets off my (our?) bed. At some point he must have gotten bored with it because the blankets and quilts and pillows were now strewn all over the room, as if he’d burst out from inside like some sort of larvae escaping its cocoon. 

The signs of his habitation and how he’d spent the day were in plain sight, but I’d seen neither hide nor hair of the man/ghost/demon himself. “Beej?” I called, belatedly realizing he might be lying in wait to scare me in some way like he had when we first met. Going a little more warily now, I proceeded into the bedroom only to freeze in the doorway, dumbstruck. 

It wasn’t quite pitch black in the room, but only because a ghastly greenish radiance seemed to be emanating out from under the bed, throwing long, twisting shadows over the floor and up the walls. The wallpaper had torn itself free, curling into ragged scrolls and exposing cracked drywall that looked like a stiff breeze would reduce it to dust. The skittering of many small things with many small legs made me flinch and recoil as I picked my way forward, unable to see the source of the skin-crawling sounds while I sidestepped puddles of viscous goo that seemed to be dripping from the ceiling in thick, foul-smelling ropes. Something dark was seeping down the full-length mirror by the closet door, and in the poor light I couldn’t tell if it was slime or paint or blood. 

More of the spectral light was leaking out from the cracks around and under the door, along with drifts of thick mist and shadows that curled along the floor toward my feet like tentacles reaching out to grab me. This was so similar and also somehow so much worse than what I’d encountered in the Deetz house. My heart was hammering in my throat, but I did my best to keep my breathing calm and slowly reached for the knob to the closet door.  

Steeling myself, I gave it a twist and pushed it carefully open. 

Inside was much the same as outside. All my hanging clothes were coated in the same sticky residue dripping from the ceiling, a veritable swarm of small shiny insects scattered to the shadowy corners of the small room as I opened the door, and huddled at the rear wall, crouched on the floor and curled into a surprisingly tight ball, facing away from the door was Beetlejuice. His broad back was rising and falling rapidly, his hands clasped around the back of his neck, his head ducked low and out of sight. I opened my mouth to speak but found that I couldn’t make a sound, snapping it shut and taking a moment to collect myself before stepping fully into the closet. 

“Beej?” I said tentatively, moving closer. He didn’t appear to hear me, utterly unresponsive except for his quick, shallow breathing. I took another step, reaching out a little apprehensively to give him a gentle prod in the back, softly repeating his name. At the touch, at my voice, slightly louder this time, he visibly flinched and gasped, uncurling with startling quickness and turning to look up at me. 

His eyes were red rimmed and puffy as though he’d been crying but his cheeks were dry. His chin, on the other hand, was slick and shiny with drool that had dripped down his neck and onto his shirt front. His messy hair, which I had come to understand possessed some sort of mood-ring quality with its shifting colors, was a deep, dull burgundy. I had jumped back, surprised by his quick motion when he spun around, but the state of him was so worrying that I forgot all about the mounting dread I’d felt when I saw the bedroom, the messes left in other rooms of the house. I moved closer, his eyes riveted to my hand as I reached out again and laid it on his shoulder. 

“Beetlejuice, are you okay? What’s wrong?” 

For a long moment he didn’t respond, blinking at me with a look of acute confusion. Then he made a sudden sound, a gasping sob that seemed torn from deep in his chest and scrambled up onto his knees in front of me, flinging his arms around my legs and clutching them against his body while he buried his face into my stomach. Thrown off balance by the grabbing, I staggered and braced my hand against the sticky wall while my other hand bemusedly settled in his unkempt reddish-purple locks. It took me a few seconds to realize that the vibrations against my middle where muffled words, rendered incomprehensible by Beetlejuice’s face pressed tightly to the fabric of my shirt. 

“Beej, I can’t understand you,” I said, chuckling as I brushed my hand through his tousled hair. “You wanna tell me what’s bothering you?” 

His arms tightened around my upper thighs, his head shaking back and forth as if he were trying to burrow in even deeper and I grimaced at the thought of the saliva that would now be soaked into my clothes. Sighing, I peeled my hand off the wall, regarding the thin strands of muck strung between my fingers before wiping them off on my pants, which I would now have to wash anyway. When most of the mess was gone I laid my hand on his shoulder again, squeezing softly, rubbing soothing circles into his upper back while my other hand remained tucked in his hair. 

“C’mon, Beej,” I coaxed gently. “Did something happen? I can’t help if you won’t tell me what’s the matter.” 

I felt him sigh harshly, a blast of warm breath against my stomach as he finally pulled back enough to look me full in the face. His eyes were still red and swollen, ringed with bruise-like dark shadows, though I realized now that it wasn’t just from inflammation, his irises had actually shifted to a deep and very inhuman bloody red. His face looked haggard and drawn, like he hadn’t slept in weeks even though when I’d left this morning he had looked perfectly – well, not normal, perhaps, but certainly normal for his circumstances. Beetlejuice stared at me hard for another long moment before answering. 

“You left,” he croaked, and my eyes darted from his to the roots of his hair where a fiercer scarlet color was bleeding slowly up the strands between my fingers, like spilled ink spreading over paper. I grew aware of his hands, gripping my hips, holding me against him, digging into the soft flesh through my pants in a way that was bordering on painful. “You left,” he repeated, his voice coming out stronger this time, gravelly as ever but with a much more bestial rumble than I’d heard before. Something primal in me tensed fearfully at that predatory growl, hair standing on end up my arms and at the nape of my neck. 

With a gracefulness I wouldn’t have thought to expect from him, Beetlejuice rose smoothly to his feet, never blinking or releasing me from his burning gaze or his tight grasp as his arms unwound from my hips and his hands moved to grip my elbows, dragging my hands from him. 

“You said you wanted me here but you still left!” Beetlejuice snarled between clenched teeth that were sharper than I remembered, flecks of spit flying from his lips. I couldn’t help flinching when some of the airborne saliva inevitably spattered my cheek, feeling the bite of his short nails gouging my arms. 

“Beej, you’re hurting me,” I said, fighting valiantly to keep my voice even, a tiny tremor escaping. 

“You left me!” he shouted, his voice harsh and accusatory in his anger but colored unmistakably with pain and despair. 

I struggled to understand why it should trouble him so much, why my absence for one single day would cause him this much panic and distress. Slowly, I brought my arms up to press against the underside of his forearms, my hands curling around his elbows. 

“I know,” I told him, not wanting to discredit his statement which was technically correct. “I went to work, Beej. We talked about it last night, remember?” I watched his brow furrow, could practically see him digging back through the recesses of his mind to recall our conversation.  

“You… you left,” he nearly whimpered, the anger literally draining out of his countenance as every spec of hair I could see on him shifted to a dark plum. 

Like a bolt from the blue, understanding struck me. In the house, when Lydia had gone upstairs to talk with the Maitlands, that was when Beetlejuice had apparently turned on her. He must have assumed that her departure meant she was choosing them over him, when all she had done was leave the room. I felt my fear evaporate, my chest aching at this realization, at the knowledge that he was so sure he would be abandoned and forgotten as soon as he was no longer in someone’s line of sight that it would reduce him to this. What sort of horrible experiences would instill such a fear in him? 

“Beej,” I began hesitantly. “Did you… did you think that I would leave and not come back?” 

A quiet, keening wail left him, involuntarily it seemed as he pressed his lips together to silence it and abruptly released me to sink his hands into his own hair, his eyes squeezing shut as he backed away. That seemed the closest I was going to get to an affirmative. It took everything in me not to rush right over and pull him into my arms, but I didn’t want to spook or stress him anymore than he already was so I went slowly, one step at a time.   

“Who would do that?” I asked, mostly speaking to myself. I hadn’t been expecting an answer, but Beetlejuice gave one anyway, seemingly unable to stop himself. 

“Everyone!” he burst out, his voice raw with hurt. “Friends, roommates, my dad, every girlfriend or boyfriend I ever had! When my mom wanted me to move out, she just stopped coming home!” With a small plaintive squeak he clapped a hand over his own mouth, his eyes wide and round and fearful as they searched my face. I sighed deeply and moved closer still, tugging his hand gently but insistently away from his face. It came away wet, strings of saliva trailing from his palm to his chin and bottom lip. I wondered if maybe Beetlejuice, as a ghost or demon or whatever he was, was incapable of producing tears even when he might want to and the excessive drooling was meant to be some sort of caricature of the very human act of crying. 

Pulling my sleeve down over the heel of my palm, I dabbed at his wet chin to give him a moment to calm down while I thought of how to respond. “I’m sorry, Beetlejuice,” I repeated softly, tracing my fingertips across his cheek before I lowered my hand from his face. “I’m sorry that happened. I’m sorry you were upset today, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you when I’d be home. I didn’t even think about it, I’m not used to having someone waiting for me.” 

His eyes fluttered closed for a second when I touched him, and it didn’t escape my notice that he tilted his head to press his face into my hand, nor did I miss the oh-so-tiny mournful noise he made when I pulled away. I smiled warmly at him, though he didn’t see since he was avidly avoiding my gaze by staring at the floor, at his hands as they fidgeted with his clothes and with one another.  

“Would you like a hug?” I asked, spreading my arms in invitation, wondering if I was setting myself up for another awkward physical moment with him. But he just looked so forlorn and forsaken that I couldn’t stand it. Beetlejuice nodded adamantly and stepped into my embrace without a word, his face tucking into the curve of my shoulder, his arms lax at his sides as mine wrapped around him. He was tense, but after a beat I felt him sigh and relax against me while I stroked the back of his head and rubbed up and down between his shoulder blades.  

Gradually, tentatively, his arms came up as well and settled themselves around my waist. “It’ll be okay,” I assured him. “You’re going to be okay.” I said it that way very deliberately, since I was certain that at the moment he did not feel okay. His arms tightened around me, his fingers twitching against my back and fisting my shirt. I felt warm wetness against my collarbone, so he was probably drooling again but I muscled my way past the shudder that tried to crawl up my spine at the sensation. I noticed that, as Beetlejuice continued to calm down, the frightening transformation of my closet around us shimmered like a heat mirage and disappeared to reveal the small room exactly as I’d left it.  

Beetlejuice made no move to pull away or loosen his hold, and in all likelihood he would have happily stood there in my closet all night long as long as I kept hugging him. But when his stomach gave a long, loud growl powerful enough that I could feel his round midsection rumbling against mine, I broke away but made sure to keep in contact with him since he seemed to draw so much solace from it.  

“When’s the last time you ate anything?” I asked, and he have a lopsided shrug. 

“Dunno. Prob’ly the pancakes, I guess.”  

I shook my head and tutted at him with no real crossness. “Beej, you’re alive now. Not human, maybe, but alive. Which means your body needs things: like food, water, rest.” He shrugged again, rubbing his damp chin on the sleeve of his shirt. The violet tone had left his hair, which was green again but a pale, dull tone. I took that to mean he was feeling better, which was good.  

“Tell you what,” I said. “Let’s get some food in you, that should help you feel a little better, and then I’ll show you what I brought you.” At those words he perked up like a puppy hearing someone said ‘car ride’ or ‘treat’.  

“You brought me something?” he asked slowly, as if he was sure he’d misunderstood or heard wrong.  

I nodded, turning to exit the closet, tugging him by the hand after me and quietly relieved to see that the supernatural makeover in the bedroom had likewise disappeared like mist burned off by sunlight. “Sure did.”  

“Is it a bucket of spiders?” 

I laughed. “Not quite, but good guess.”  

“Two buckets of spiders?”  

I laughed again, clearing a space at the kitchen island to make him a sandwich while Beetlejuice settled on a bar stood. “Tell you what,” I said. “After you eat something, you can come out to the car with me and help bring it in.” 

-------

This was one of the very first parts I thought up when this story idea came to me and finally getting it out was so much fun! 

I am so soft for a soft garbage man. Hopefully you all are now too!

No ETA for chapter 8 but I’ll do my best!  Thanks for reading!!

Previous Chapters:

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

[maruzzewrites]

If you’re still doing these I got Alpha Obsessive Hitman for the prompt thingy and whOO boy that fits for anyone in La Squadra tbh,, maybe Risotto specifically?

I will never be able to make Risotto soft with these type of prompts. I mean, he isn’t soft anyway so we can accept that. Warning for kidnapping, obsessive behavior, violence and gore.

When you're simply strolling around your city, the last thing you would think was that you would be held hostage. When you aren't even a celebrity or politician's child, that thought is even less reoccurring, assuming no one would really be interested in your existence for something more than interpersonal relationships. Yet, there you were, held hostage; once the huge man dressed in black, with eyes to match, approached you while you were returning home, you should have known that willing your mind to trust the menacing figure would not be a good idea.

For some odd reason, after a few days of captivity, he revealed his name to you. Risotto Nero. You had a hard time believing that was his actual name, but you didn't dare to contrast him, trembling under his scrutiny. You, admittedly, had no idea how kidnappings and hostage situations worked in real life, and you were fine when you didn't need to know, but you were sure this instance was quite odd: Risotto didn't ask for your family's name, didn't record a video or took photos to send to your loved ones to prove you were really in his hands, and he didn't do anything resembling torture besides dragging on encounters in extreme, heavy silence.

He would come to see you pretty often, actually, but when he couldn't be present for a day or two, he made sure you were in good company. Well, not really, his companions were odd at best and plain horrible at worst; you were sure you were under the care of his most trusted friends or comrades, because only the same three men came around in his absence. Two of them, for how mean and sinister they were, you could stand; the third one, however, was a nightmare of chats, flirts and black humor. Maybe, if you met him in different circumstances, you'd spare him a giggle at his jokes, but in that situation you really didn't care to hear about how odd it is to see a sickly thin person severed limbs, with bones barely smaller than the flesh around it.

Yet, he was the only one who was willing to strike up a conversation. You even dared to question why you were in that situation to being with, seeing the man eyes almost bulge out for the surprise. He then let out a bark of laughs, latched with malice, before recomposing himself enough to answer you curiosity, "He didn't try anything yet? Dude has been talking about you for fucking months!"

Your confused look gave him the possibility to dive into a story. About how Risotto saw you, for the first time, when he was supposed to complete a simple hit, an easy target. You remembered that night, as you witnessed an assault just when the killer was running away. You stopped to help the poor victim, but when the ambulance came, it was too late and you were bawling your eyes out for the tension and the horror, covered in blood that wasn't yours. Apparently, the man you watched running away was Risotto, and he took an interest in you after your odd kindness, extended to a man in an alley you didn't know, when you were exposed to the risk of being killed yourself. As the man in front of you continued to explain how annoying it was that their boss was fawning over a civilian, a simple person he met casually, you could only stare in disbelief and terror.

If the toll that revelation wasn't enough, you didn't see anyone but Risotto for a few days. Still locked away, still in complete silence, he was trying to pry you open to reveal why, why, why were you even more skittish and frightened. You never attempted to answer him, but you could see he was putting together the pieces, just reading you with his dark eyes in the cold silence surrounding the both of you. One day, you felt the haunting premonition that something wrong would happen soon.

And you hated being right, as Risotto came in the next day, dragging the other man - the one who spoke to you- on shaky, broken legs. His tanned skin was littered of cuts, dirty with dry blood, his cheeks a mess of faded red where his tears fell down. His jaw was still trembling, his teeth clashing against each other with each clench and pained whine. Risotto was keeping him up with a single arm, staring down at you with hard eyes, but then he shook the man in his grip until he cried out his understanding and looked at you, directly, his gaze blank, "I'm sorry. I didn't want to scare you."

As soon as he said those words, so mechanic and insincere, he was thrown on the ground. You saw him crawl away, wincing when he attempted to use his feet, and opting to drag himself away on hands and knees - and yet, you could see him hold in a breath for the pain. You didn't dare to raise your eyes to meet Risotto's gaze, even after the other man was out of the picture, leaving you alone with him. You saw his body move, close the door behind him and stalking closer in the same stillness he usually left behind him. Then his voice came, and you didn't know how you managed to keep in the sobs.

"You made me hurt one of my best men, now make it worth it."

[ohwereusingourmadeupnames]

For sentence prompts: "I'll always be on your team" starker 😊

I’ll Get You Up On Your Feet

Pairing: Peter Parker/Tony Stark (Starker) Rating: General (G) Word Count: ~2.5k Notes: I’m not the biggest Noah Cyrus fan, but I thought of her song Team almost instantly. I kind of went from there - I hope you enjoy the cheeky fluffiness, nonnie! Warnings: None, it’s saccharine sweet, y’all.  Summary: 

Tony is used to the media blowing his name up. He’s dealt with it his entire life. Peter, on the other hand, is still adjusting. A nasty comment on a special picture gives Tony insight on Peter that he never had before. 

do the thing, send in all the prompts 

For the most part, Tony didn’t mind being a household name.

A lot of years, his name had a negative connotation connected with it – whether it was because of his weapons industry monopoly or the playboy portion of his notorious nickname, people turned their noses up at his name in the headlines.

His stint in the desert changed not only his perspective, but the general public’s, too. Everyone loved a good sob story, even if it came at the price of a bit of Tony’s sanity and the inherent safety he felt up until that point. Though the Iron Man suit brought him positive notoriety, Tony pursued the good he could do with it for purely selfish reasons. He survived the miserable conditions and all odds bet against him for a reason. That guided his moral compass.

Then, he met Peter Parker. At first, his interests were strictly on Spider-Man and the brilliance that Peter could create when behind the mask. Even in pajamas and pool goggles, he moved marvelously and got the job done without any hesitation. It became abundantly clear that with a good support system, the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man could easily be a hero that the world needed.

Try as he might, Tony did not possess the strength to keep Peter away from the dangerous situations. Besides the fact that they needed the skill and intelligence he possessed, Tony was acutely aware of the truth that Peter did belong amongst them and his youth was not an exclusionary criterion. It couldn’t be – not when Peter understood what it was like to carry the world on his shoulders.

After Thanos, there wasn’t denying anyone’s worth – the entirety of the Avenger’s collective put everything they had into the plan, execution, and inevitable defeat of the biggest foe the world took on to date. From that point on, there was no point in trying to deny anything – especially when it came to Peter. The boy he met in the small apartment in Queens was no longer the youth Tony forced himself to categorize him as. It was easier to think of him as a kid than admit that so many things he saw in Peter were exactly what he was looking for.

Even though the realization came, Tony still felt a little hesitant. He offered Peter a position in his lab that equated to something full time in R&D while he went to school, so they were always around each other. There seemed to always be a power balance between them – one that, when the media got a whiff of, would be the highlight of the story; not the relationship that Tony knew they could have. Though, the more he thought about it, the easier it was to see that any relationship with Peter would be scrutinized – their history together was too deep.

Peter did not have the same qualms, however. Tony noticed the flirting when he first started working in the lab. It wasn’t subtle, though, he didn’t think Peter was trying to be. At 20, Tony remembered the ruthless way he went after the things he wanted – he recognized the hunger for that in Peter’s eyes almost instantly. Tony tried to resist it for as long as he could, but the siren call of a connection that just made sense couldn’t be fought. Especially when, in most circumstances, Tony was a hopeless mess that never picked the right fights.

At least Tony felt the satisfaction of finally making the first move. It was only a matter of time, the two of them were dancing around each other – Tony let himself lean into Peter’s touches more and when the dam broke, he pulled him in by the hips and pressed their lips together so tenderly. Peter’s gasp gave him just enough room to deepen it; and suddenly, the line was crossed.

Most of the people around them took to their relationship pretty easily. Of course, the team had a few reservations about objectivity, but with the way Tony was trying to take a step back from the actual battle part of the Avenger gig, it wasn’t too difficult to reassure everyone that missions would come first. When it was reasonable, at least. Though, Tony didn’t voice that to anyone but Peter. May wasn’t hard to convince once Peter was able to make her understand that the move was recent and that at 20, he was more than capable of making his own choices.

For the sake of actually enjoying things between them without the world’s opinion, Tony and Peter spent the first 2 years of their relationship keeping it on the way down low. They were plenty open in front of the team and around Happy and Pepper who were surprisingly supportive of the whole thing – but in public, Tony tried to keep the dopey smile off his face and worked exceedingly hard not to touch Peter, no matter how much he wanted to.

When Peter graduated college, Tony took things one step further between them and got down on one knee in the comfort of the sleek kitchen of Stark Tower. The dark tungsten of the ring looked good on Peter’s skin and immediately drew media attention when it was in pictures the very next day. It seemed like a good time to finally let the world know about the love that ran so deeply between them.

Of course, Tony’s worst fears showed their ugly head almost immediately. Every media outlet that ever wanted to say something bad about Tony decided to pick apart the entirety of their relationship – starting when Spider-Man joined the Avengers. It was a rough blow to the wall he created around the precious thing between him and Peter. They’d been in the dark hiding for so long, it took him a little while to adjust to the bright light of unrelenting cameras flashing and rumors being created just because.

He figured that letting a news outlet like People take care of the photography for their wedding would calm the craziness down a little bit. The entire thing was understated and highlighted who they were together as a couple. Peter smashed cake in his face, and they ended the night with the cheesiest walk under sparklers that were some of the hardest things to procure out of all the wedding supplies that ended up being necessary.

The photos were beautiful and the write up that went with it actually did justice to the sincerity of the relationship between him and Peter. It took the heat off of them for a little while – the cuteness and novelty of two of the world’s superheroes getting hitched sparked an entirely different discussion than the age different between two consenting adults.

That’s what he thought, anyway.

A couple weeks after coming back from their honeymoon, Tony found Peter on the couch looking at his phone with the grumpiest expression. The ache to rub the crease between his brows away settled in the tip of his fingers, but he ignored it, sitting on the cushion next to him instead. “What’s up, Pete?” Tony asked as he leaned in to press a soft kiss to his husband’s temple.

“Pepper told me not to ever look at the comments when I first joined up, you know?” Peter mumbled, his voice a little hoarse from the obvious emotion coursing through him. The question was rhetorical – that was rule number one when trying to keep ahold of sanity while constantly under public scrutiny. Peter knew that, too – but sometimes desire easily bypassed rational thinking.

“I put up the most beautiful picture from our wedding. The one where you’re gazing at me like I’m the greatest gift to the world. And I forgot – just for a second. That people suck.” Peter shrugged, the defeated gesture making his heart pang.

For the longest time, Peter didn’t want to sit in the limelight – Tony and the rest of the crew did what they could to make sure Peter’s identity remained a secret. It was enough to get him through high school and then another year or two through college before it got too hard to hide. Tony remembered the conversation they had about Peter taking the last step out of the dark vividly – even then, he’d been apprehensive. More than anything, Tony understood the mourning of his private life.

Wrapping his arm around Peter’s shoulder, Tony pulled him tightly against him, the shininess of the ring on Peter’s finger catching his eye – he still got a little giddy thinking about the look on his face when Carol pronounced them husbands. He grabbed up that hand and pressed a kiss to the ring and the knuckles surrounding it.

“It sucks, doesn’t it? Being under the microscope of people that don’t know you or anything about you or your life. The judgement of a populace that only gets news presented to them by people that have an agenda.” He bite down on all the other comparisons that wanted to flow out of his mouth – Peter got the point, he could see it in his eyes.

“What doesn’t suck, though, is the fact that you’re mine. Or the fact that despite what people want to believe, our relationship is built on a foundation that is unshakable and as pure as the carnality of a marriage can be. Fuck them, Pete. If I’ve learned anything, that’s all the really matters. We didn’t save the world to live within it half-assed. I love you. No one gets to take that away from me – or us.”

Peter leaned into him; the frantic nodding of his head felt against the solid part of Tony’s chest. He recognized strong arms circling around his middle, crushing him against Peter in a way that he’d grown familiar with over the years. His husband was so incredibly cognizant of the truth of his statements – Tony could tell by the silence that engulfed them, and the way he merely squeezed him tightly.

“You’re right, Tones. You’re right. It just got under my skin – the way people decided to disregard something that’s so real and pure and honest. I always want to defend you. Your character shouldn’t suffer because love for you came in the package of someone that’s younger. It’s grossly unfair,” Peter retorted, the huff in his breath making his voice come off pouty and the slightest bit childish.

It warmed Tony’s heart.

“Pete, the fact that you’re on my team is more than enough. I’m used to the outlandish things people want to paint me with. You’re all I need. Knowing that you don’t think those things, is the easiest way for me to stay firm and not care about what people think.” Turning a little, Tony grabbed Peter’s cheeks softly, his thumbs tracing the seam of Peter’s lips.

“I’ll always be on your team,” Peter whispered, his lips kissing at Tony’s thumb with every pass of the digit. “I love you, Tony.”

Tony leaned forward and pressed their lips together then, his eyes closing when Peter wrapped his arms around his middle and pulled him in closer. He still needed to go back to the lab and finish the latest experiment they were working on, but in that moment, it felt more important to keep Peter close and enjoy the fact that his husband loved him so damn much. Enough to be offended by the shit people said about him, to want to stand up and defend him for all he’s worth.

The unfortunate truth of the matter was, Peter would have to get used to it – Tony couldn’t escape his past or the fact that the people believed that he owed them a piece of himself. Of course, Tony didn’t need to throw that in his young husband’s face just yet; there’d be more than enough time for that learning lesson. Instead, he let Peter lead them through a deep kiss, their lips kiss swollen when the need to breath pulled them away from each other.

“I love you too, Pete,” Tony muttered against Peter’s lips, “but, I know you knew that already.” He pulled back and tossed Pete a beaming smile. A moment later, an idea slipped across the front of his mind and made the look on his face transform quickly from affection to mischief.

“Want to really say fuck ‘em?” he asked, getting up off the couch and pulling Peter with him.

He walked them down the hallway until they were outside of their bedroom – Peter quirked a brow at him but didn’t say a thing. Tony walked them forward until he was kicking off his shoes and crawling into the middle of the bed. “Come on,” Tony beckoned, his back flat against the mattress and arm spread open wide for Peter to settle in against his chest.

Peter, being the beaming baby that he was, didn’t hesitate to crawl into the space Tony left for him, his face settling into the nook of his husband’s shoulder. Tony wrapped his arm around Peter’s wide shoulders and pulled him close.

Getting his phone out of his pocket took a bit of maneuvering, but he finally did and fucked around with it until the camera was facing them. “Be extra cute, Petey,” Tony said, his voice soft as he lifted the camera above them. Wrapping Peter up and turning his head, Tony snapped a few shots – his thumb hitting the button over and over again.

Greedy hands took his phone from him before Tony could swipe through the different pictures he’d taken. It was all well and good – he and Peter both looked amazing in any pictures they ever took of each other or together. The prints from their wedding they decided to have put up a couple of days ago were proof of that.

A soft rush of air leaving Peter’s lips had Tony looking over, his eyes softening when he saw the picture that Peter was looking at. Tony’s lips were spread in a smile against Peter’s forehead. Peter’s eyes were closed and the expression on his face was absolutely blissful. His hand was on Tony’s cheek where the gleaming wedding ring was abundantly obvious. The natural way they fit together came through in the picture – there was no deny it.

“Put that one up. Force those shitty people to see just how good we are together.”

The vibration in his pocket a little while later had him pulling his phone out. Grinning when he saw the @PeteParkerStark Instagram notification and quickly went about pulling the post up. He closed his eyes and let out a soft sigh when he saw it – the little reminders of why Peter Parker Stark was his husband never failed to blow him away.

There, under the picture they’d just taken, was a caption that read – ‘fuck ‘em <3’.